TastyTrixie.com

Posts Tagged ‘love’

Here I am, mowing the lawn naked in January/winter with a really bad cold:

Mowing the lawn naked in January.

It felt great to wake up this morning with my cold five times worse than it was yesterday. I’m not being sarcastic; it truly felt great! I almost never get sick with colds or flus, so when it happens I appreciate the excuse to just stop everything and take care of myself. Not sure why that manifested as mowing the lawn today, but I think it’s a home and hearth thing, and wanting to enjoy the yard and remind myself what a blessing it is to be out there, interacting with the ground and the trees and the birds and all the little nooks and crannies flowers and green things might pop out of, and that I can take part in that and witness it. AND BECAUSE IT’S SUNNY TODAY, and too beautiful to resist.

I pushed my boundaries and found the place where, for now, my body and instincts needed to lay the line down. Geographically I’m in the same place, but I have a renewed appreciation for the spaces and body I inhabit and for the expansion of my concept of what my life may contain.

*****

Rugaru is back at our house for a few nights with a plan to go home this week, many states away from us. I am so happy for him and his kids and thankful for the people who know and care about him back there.

I’m incredibly grateful for the crazy and beautiful things the three of us have learned and experienced together (and have learned experienced alone, too, BECAUSE of each other) over the past five+ weeks.

I’m also super grateful for the people — friends (including Roog’s friend, T.) and near-strangers and fans and even family (like my mom who popped up with a comment here) — who read our blogs and care about us and generously and genuinely PULL for us and celebrate our happiness with us . . . and worry for us when things get wobbly. We are so fortunate to be the recipients of so much love and well wishes – THANK YOU!

I also feel tremendously lucky to have close family and friends who bestow blessings and acceptance without unbearable loads of judgment upon the unconventional choices I’ve made in life and that Delia and I make together. I don’t know if I would be brave enough to allow myself to experience all of these things without their open-mindedness and support. I wish everybody were at least as lucky as we are – the world would be a better place if everyone were surrounded by the kind of love we’ve been privileged to grow inside of from people like my mom, my sister and her husband, Delia’s sponsor, my sponsor, Lightning Allie, and a host of other friends who root for us online and off and are patient with my many mistakes and enthusiastic wanderings.

I’m excited about spending the rest of this gentle winter with Delia and seeing what pops up for us to experience with and by each other in the springs to come.

*****

Note: I was actually done mowing the lawn by the time I stripped off my clothes for Delia to shoot this for fun. But I really did mow the lawn today/right before this snapshot and it really is winter and I really do have a bad cold.

Sorry this nudie pic is late… it was a stressful day in which I blew up when H. Rugaru backed out of a shoot at the last minute. Then I said a bunch of mad things and he said some shitty things and I said that if that’s how he feels then he has to leave tomorrow.

And then because I was so mad I actually forgot I said that & asked Delia when she & I were alone, “so what’s going on? Is he leaving? I feel like he’s supposed to leave tomorrow but do we really know that or did I make that up in my head?”

Delia looked at me strangely and said, “I think that’s the plan.”

And I was like, “okay…okay…but how do we know that’s the plan? I mean, who said so?”

And my girlfriend gently looked into my crazy eyes and said, “you did.”

And I vaguely remembered saying it, and then I remembered why. And that it was the decision I had to make. Even if he doesn’t actually leave right away. Even if it means I’m an impatient controlling selfish asshole. I had to make that decision.

And hours later he and I fucked sweetly like maybe it was goodbye to all of this and here’s the picture and there probably won’t be any new ones like it to count-on or look forward to or make a meaningful collection out of:

Dripping Rugaru cum out of my pussy, down my crack into a wet spot.

I’m tired. I’m sick. I’m stupid.

I did the dishes with my angry energy & tortured myself with the compulsion to throw the black-handled soup mug, the orange vase, the mismatched plates from auction and half a dozen coffee mugs, feeling bitterly deprived looking at the walls & windows I could feel my arms sending them through.

Not throwing them left me feeling exhausted & defeated so I went to the liquor store.

*****

This is about sex work. This is about addiction. This is about gender. This is about idealism and trust and disappointment and fear. This is about practicing love poorly. Without regret.

This is about what Picard says about space, the final frontier, and boldly going. And crying into his shoulder because of it.

Trixie and Rugaru wearing helmets, practicing loving teamwork.

Seeking out new life. It’s about that, too. Finding it every day.

*****

I miss Delia. I miss myself. I miss quiet. I miss my illusions of control. I’m relieved in some ways and hopeful in others but really really sad, too.

I was going to write a whole bunch of stuff about the awesomeness surrounding this picture, but like all of the days there is so much of it constantly being replaced by right-now awesomeness (and wow-that’s-hardness) that it slips away. All of the words and confusion and fears and revelations and recognition and skin-on-skin melting into the next and away into a fast-growing mountain of thick-bondedness.

You can't see my pussy-full-of-cum in this picture, but it's down there.

Actually I was just going to write about the sex, but hours (and more sex) later, the picture means something much fatter than that.

Note: Hunter is going to get an iphone soon and then I think there will be more me-and-Delia and Delia-and-Hunter and the-three-of-us pictures. It’s pretty scary what buying a phone can signify, fyi. Anyway . . . I sorta want to post a picture of Hunter and Delia together from today too, but I don’t think either of them like the pics I took enough to want them posted. *I* love them, though.

I haven’t seen most of Elizabeth Taylor’s movies, but in the favorites I have seen I adored her viciousness and commitment to performing with unflinching ugliness. How many women are willing to do that? How many are even given the opportunity?

Here’s the trailer to my absolute favorite of her films. I was fortunate enough to watch it without knowing what I was getting into except that it was based on a Carson McCullers novel, so if you have an opportunity and interest to do the same, just skip this preview, DON’T read the summary on IMDB, and indulge yourself in some hideous kinky asap.

Also taboo but in a more romantic way: The Sandpiper (it is so hot to see her and Richard Burton together in “an Adult Love Story”):

I know those movies are dated, but at the time were extremely provocative and more progressive than youths today might comprehend. I will always admire Elizabeth Taylor as someone willing to take bold social risks who cared for the humanity of broken characters in real life and in movies.

How long can I feel this super groovy? I hope a looooong time! The memory/deja vu/hopeful-excited-magic feelings I mentioned last week are still here and I feel GREAT. So great that I’m almost worried that I’m losing my marbles and trying to figure out what to attribute these good feelings to.

Is it the B vitamins? The D’s? The pressure being lifted from IRS after being forced to resign myself to accepting and even embracing whatever bad things might happen? Our deliciously mild winter (that could fuck up the winter olympics in Vancouver if the Pacific Northwest doesn’t get more snow)? Getting rid of DirecTV and reading more and enjoying each other more? Our new sound therapy machine with the delta wave inducing sounds (I usually dream so much that I don’t get deep dreamless sleep: a symptom of low serotonin levels/depression)? Is it that I’ve lost some weight? Is it going to twelve-step meetings? Is it just that I’m reading more and I FUCKING LOVE TO READ?!?

I don’t know, but IT IS GOOD! So I’m going to try to enjoy it and not worry that there’s something wrong with me. Goes to show how unhealthy I’ve been for so long that when I feel terrific for more than three hours I think maybe the sky is falling.

*****

I picked up my new weighted hula hoop today for more high jinks on the spycams! I also have a bollycardio dvd that we rented which I’ve only gone through once and am looking forward to doing more of. It’s jolly/silly camwatching goodness.

Speaking of camwatching goodness, we enjoyed some fucking yesterday and I hope our voyeurs did, too.

*****

On Friday and Saturday we had a great visit with my sister, brother-in-law and nephews which contributed to my heightened sense of awareness and positivity. Hanging around a three year old and an easily-delighted baby with a huge grin and dimples is like bathing in a clarifying happiness. Music sounds better, everything looks newer and more interesting and mysterious, and I have an excuse to read books aloud that were read to ME when I was little.

And hey, on top of that there is all of this boundless LOVE. On top of just loving those little guys to pieces, the amount of unconditional love I get from them is totally amazing. I’m forced to love myself more just being around them, in part because they do not see flaws but also because I want to always model un-self-conscious confidence to them; they make me love  myself more.

Maybe that’s what’s going on with me lately . . . better brain chemistry. Getting better sleep. Getting rid of the television — maybe having more oxytocin like from being around my nephews and my sister, but also from cuddling Delia and really being TOGETHER in bed instead of just staring at the tube all of the time. Maybe I’m just being flooded with a lot of girl juice: the loving, bonding chemicals, not necessarily the sexy ones.

Cuddling never used to help me fall asleep — it was more something I liked to do for a few minutes BEFORE unsticking bodies and going to sleep on my own side of the bed. Bizarrely enough, I’m actually finally starting to understand how great if feels to fall asleep nestled up to Delia. If I get in her armpit with her arm around me and my nose on her upper tit, I now get an instant jolt of SOMETHING I’ve never had with anybody else. Seriously, it’s some kind of a drug injection that I do think has something to do with oxytocin. Whatever it is, it’s BLISS. Tranquilizing and emotionally/sensually stimulating all at the same time.

It’s still sort of weird and foreign to me so I mostly continue my years-entrenched habit of nestling into my own don’t-touch-me space to sleep, but I think I’m going to try to get more of that business more often. I might need to work on my initiation technique though which consists of awkwardly trying to lift her arm up and demanding she “let me in”.

While walking, December 23rd, 2009

We walked downtown to our favorite sandwich and coffee joint. Delia finished her lunch and groaned about how over-full she was.

“Foundered?” I asked her.

“What?”

“Are you foundered?”

“Founded? Floundered? WHAT?”

“No, FOUNDERED! Are you FOUNDERED!”

She looked even more confused when she answered, “no . . . I’m totally LOSTered”.

*****

We’ve been together more than seven years. Over this most recent one, her body has become new to her and to us. There are so many things you can’t see or feel by looking at pictures. Changes only I’m privy to.  When I place my hand over hers, it’s so soft. Her arms are so soft.  Her mouth is so yielding. Her face is so soft and looks so different to me. In ways you might not notice if you haven’t been lying in bed with her every night for seven years. Luminous, radiant, serene . . . heart-meltingly beautiful.

She reminds me of divinity. White whipped waves of sweet solid froth that looks substantial until you hold it in your mouth and it’s a mass of a million tiny soft pockets of air you absorb so fast. You’re eating sweet air given just enough of a slight temporary body to inform you you’re privileged to devour the form of an angel. Her tongue is like that. The way you melt into your girlfriend’s body. The way you melt into togetherness and your mouth is full of nothing but sweet. The edges are just a frame for softness. I like to hold her in my mouth, close my eyes, and let her dissolve into my bloodstream.

There are recipes for this. Special chemistries that rely on the temperature and the weight and the wetness of the air plus a perfect balance of ingredients. It’s a very delicate process, and only certain ladies have the gift to create bodies of divinity. My girlfriend is one of them. It’s art, inheritance, science . . . and a gift gods only bestow on a few.

While she was cooking I kissed her on the ankle.

*****

We saw Santa on a motorcycle at a stoplight. I whooped and he waved. We waved.

A few blocks later we passed a playground with a dozen kids telling us, telling each other, telling their parents, telling everyone:

THE REAL SANTA!! I saw the real Santa! The REAL Santa on a motorcycle!! I saw him! It was the real Santa! Did you see Santa? I SAW SANTA!

They celebrated with shock and awe and hysterical thanksgiving this fleeting glimpse of a man in a red suit riding by on a black and chrome motorcycle.  THE REAL SANTA!! Little evangelical Santa believers, riled up with faith revived.

It was fucking beautiful.

*****

On Christmas Eve we had pizza slices for a big snack. I couldn’t stop kissing her mouth, our lips slick with orange-colored oil. Looking at her mouth and wanting to press my smile into hers. I took a picture of her and sent it when a song came on the radio. I asked her and all of the pizza boys how to spell Skynyrd. Nobody knew for sure but it was a good conversation. Hot open ovens in front of us, cold open door at our backs. Two women kissing each other and three young men spelling S-K-I-N-Y-R-D . . . no, S-K-Y-N-I-R-D . . . wait a second . . . S-K-Y-N-A-R-D.

Pizza time with Delia on Christmas Eve

*****

This is our seventh Christmas together. About six months ago I developed a new fear when I recognized that I wouldn’t know how to live without her. That I’ve forgotten how. Sometimes when I put my hand over her soft hand my chin starts to wobble because of how much that idea scares me.

Our Seventh Christmas Eve Together