Secrets and Exposure

Here's the deal, blog readers, I tell you a lot. I mean, a ton. I tell you so much that some would argue I probably turn some of you off because I spill my guts all the time.

We've grown to trust each other, right? I mean, you get me. You understand my compulsively narcissistic need to have callers whisper in my ear references to my blog posts, don't you? Because that is seriously, blindingly, searingly hot when that happens. The other day... oh, no, wait, stay on topic.

So, um, I... I have a confession to make. I have to keep a secret from you. It's not that I don't trust you, because I totally do. But there are these annoying things called traffic leaks ... If I link to a competing site on this blog, my NiteFlirt listing could get pulled, because I link to the blog from my listing. It makes sense, doesn't it?

So the truth, as much as I can tell you, is: I've been wandering a bit, trying out other spots, uploading pictures and videos to other venues. But in general, other places don't pay as high a percentage as NiteFlirt, they don't pay as often as NiteFlirt, they don't generate the same kind of traffic as NiteFlirt ... so I'm not interested in jeopardizing my NF relationship in any way.

Plus, you're better off calling me and buy my pay-to-view items via NF, anyway, because my rates are higher elsewhere to make up for the hassle of having to keep track of multiple logins. The pattern for taking calls elsewhere seems to be that I try it for a few days, get annoyed again, and go back to only logging in to NF as usual.

So far, it's just been more work, with little additional income, but I'm going to keep at it for a while, and do some follow-up marketing-ish activities, at least with the pay-to-views, in case it brings new exposure. In the meantime, it has the benefit of helping me feel like I'm getting a few long-standing organizational tasks knocked off my to-do list, and that part feels great.

Plus, I've learned the fine art of making animated gifs!

This one is my favorite, the gif for the Galiana-bot Demo 01 (and here's the link to buy it if you're interested and haven't bought it already):

It does a much better job of capturing the best moments of the video than the auto-generated animated gifs. Plus, animated gif "previews" are way way way way way way easier to make than video trailers, but I feel like it's an acceptable enough substitute to be willing to settle for it, so yay.

Oh, dear, I'm sorry... is the flashing images of me unzipping my body suit and grabbing for balance mid-orgasm is distracting for you? /grin (Okay, so, totally, I'm not sorry about that at all)

So that is what I've been up to for a few days' worth of between-call time now: learning how to make animated gifs, setting up storefronts, and uploading stuff. Now you know... mostly. I feel better now that we've cleared the air with that, don't you?

The List

mmmmwuh!

When we moved to Houston, we managed to sort/categorize/cull about half our stuff (which is fucking miraculous considering we had two weeks' notice), and I've been slowly sorting through the rest since the move, including prepping old computers for donation / recycling.

I found The List.

You know, THE List! Of course you know which one I mean ... /grin. Sure you do. THE LIST: the names of all the people I've ever had physical sexual contact with!

Ohhhhh THAT List.

My version of The List is ridiculously overcategorized. The rows are numbered, then there's name, Location, Year(s), Base (as in: 1st base is kissing, 2nd base is clothes off but no orgasms, 3rd base is orgasms but no penetration, 4th base is penetration, and then 5 means anal sex so I could categorize that separately), and then a column for each of 2nd, 3rd, 4th, and 5th to let me quickly figure out what my total is for that "base" (although with five, I should call it something else, but it's my spreadsheet, so shut up).

It's possible that thinking about the people I kissed in high school makes me juvenile. Sure. I'll blame that.

I started The List when I got to 3, in the back of my diary, and I've kept it in one form or another since then. I thought I had lost it, but the spreadsheet version was on a computer I hadn't used since 2006. Whew! I never would have remembered half of it, but the memories are too fun to have lost.

My List includes such first-base-only gems as "Dean (Crawfish Festival)", "Mike (U of H)", and "Jim (from Numbers)". Numbers was an all-ages dance club in Houston I frequented in the late 80s. I never learned their last names. But hey, at least they were only kissing, right? So I don't claim too much slut cred with those.

But "Random Guy (Galveston)" was third base. I find it amusing I had to qualify beyond just "Random Guy", but apparently that's because the very next entry is "Random Guy (Shane's party)", and there are two more later.

I went to a very fun high school, where taking someone as a date to a formal was free license to make out with them with no expectations for a relationship. I was in a limo for prom with six couples, and we realized between dinner and the dance that not only had I kissed all six of the guys there, five of us girls had kissed all six of the guys. The other girl was only a sophomore, and one of the guys was her first boyfriend, but I'm sure by the time she got to her prom, the same was true for her as well. We were a smoochy crowd.

So when I left for college, I had kissed 36 people (35 males, 1 female), and had sex with 4, and only a few of those numbers would have been considered questionable by my peers. But at college, late one girl talk in the dorm, the other girls were shocked! Stunned! Dismayed! by my numbers. I called my sister and asked, "Why didn't you tell me I was a slut in high school? That seems like something I should have known!" I think she laughed at me. No frikkin help whatsoever.

Then things slowed down dramatically for a while: when I got married at age 25, I had only kissed another 12 guys, and had sex with 3, including my husband. We don't like to talk about those long, boring, dry years...

But then there was The Rampage -- after my separation at age 31, where I rebuilt my bruised ego through the healing power of sexual attention. I kissed 21 people (18 guys, 3 girls), had sex with 12 of them, and tried anal sex... with four guys. I have many happy stories about that period, and thankfully, they end with, "And I was very careful and very lucky, and I never caught an STD."

I met my husband in 2003, and we both assumed we'd be fuck buddies for a while, because it was the period we were both in. We ended up never breaking up, then he talked me into marrying him by telling me he would stay with me even if I didn't marry him (I should be able to see through reverse psychology, but apparently, I can't). Since then I've had 7 lovers.

That brings my totals to ... drumroll please...

77 1st base: at least kissed
46 2nd base: at least clothing removed
39 3rd base: at least orgasms exchanged
25 4th base: at least fucked
5 my silly designation as 5th base: fucked in the ass, in addition to 1st-4th bases

At my current rate, I'm going to be in my late fifties when I hit 100 smooch partners. I just decided: I'm going to throw a Century Slut party and kiss everyone present. Lemme know if you want an invite!

Perfectionism, Insecurity, and Nakedness

This is why I don't do more videos and pictures: perfectionism and insecurity. Well, and the effort.

Logistics first: to get paid for spending an hour on the phone, I need to: (a) feel sexy (b) make sure my dogs are well enough taken care of that if I have to suddenly leave them alone for an hour, they won't starve or dehydrate or chew anything valuable (c) make sure at least one phone has been charged (d) log in (e) wait for an hour's worth of calls.

To get paid for making a video or a picture set or being on cam, I need to: (a) feel sexy (b) shower, do my hair, put on makeup, put on a sexy outfit (c) make sure the lighting and camera and room are set up correctly, including picking up the guts of any toy the dogs have recently shredded (d) try not to lose my sexy while cleaning (e) decide what to say/do (f) make sure dogs... same as above (g) shoot a take (h) watch the take, and about half the time, decide I need to re-shoot it (i) piece all the good takes together into a coherent video with open/close titles (j) upload the video (k) write a blog post / email to announce the creation of the video (l) absolutely die of insecurity until someone tells me it looks great.

In theory, it should take me about an hour to make a 15-minute video. In reality, because I haven't set up a smooth-running content machine yet, and my computer is slow to render, and I can't work on the computer too long at a time without nauseating myself, it takes me a whole day. At least.

Ideally, I'd shoot more than one video in a day, after all that prep, but again, the reality is, once I've done an hour or two of setup and then shot for an hour or two, I need a break, my makeup is getting smudgy, and my creativity is starting to run dry.

All this stems from a video I shot on Sunday, which in theory, I should have released yesterday, but as long as I'm being totally honest and whiny here... deep breath...

I've gained weight since I went on my medicines, and this was a custom video, and he wanted me naked, which I was fine with until about an hour after I shot it, and then all my Inner Cast, all at once, basically started yelling at me, "YOU'RE NAKED ALMOST ALL THE WAY THROUGH THIS ENTIRE VIDEO AND YOU LOOK FAT!"

I know, fuck those voices. I'm trying. I'm doing my best. I actually did just hit send to the person who ordered the custom video, so he has the link.

Now I need to break it up and post it for sale. It's 25 minutes, and it needs to be broken into either two or three shorter videos, because most clips are simply nowhere near that long, so the pricing expectations are geared for shorter videos, so I need to break them up, or else my brain will fucking explode from trying to figure out what to charge.

HOLY FUCKING SHIT, DID I MENTION I'M NAKED IN THIS VIDEO? Like, I have on NO CLOTHES AT ALL. None. Not even earrings. Just inordinate amounts of silver/grey makeup and some pretty awesome silver glittery nail polish.

The nails rock. I'll admit that much. Even though you can't see them for long in the video, they're fucking awesome. Here, I'll distract myself by taking a picture and sharing it with you (which, of course I took 3 times before I just gave up and decided this was good enough, even though my fingers look oddly disproportionate to me, because I'm so fucking neurotic):

I curse a lot when I'm trying to force my way through my insecurities into action. Fuck hell shit damn yeah I do. Oh, and cunt, for good measure.

Well, at least I can still crack myself up. Always. In fact, that is my favorite thing about myself: I can amuse myself endlessly.

Soooo. Back on topic. The poor guy who requested this custom video ... he asked for it almost two months ago, and I said I thought I'd get it to him in a week or two (that was the week before I started taking my new medicines, before everything went haywire for a while). The guy who asked for custom audio asked for it the week before that (I also recorded that on Sunday, two months overdue). Clearly, I have no business making estimates of any kind.

So, if you want a custom video from me, I would be happy to do it, as long as you don't mind waiting approximately forever, and you don't mind if I have a full-fledged insecurity attack before I send it to you. Especially if you want me naked.

Naked. Pudgy. Insecure. Did I mention I was naked? Deep, deep breaths, Galiana. Inhale. Exhale. You'll be fine...

Slow Down, You Move Too Fast

As long as I'm doing old songs as blog titles, this is the one that fits me today.

Yesterday, I filmed four custom videos, and got the right links sent to the right people. Yay me.

Today, I'm trying to edit those videos to put them up for sale, which involves:
* editing out personal stuff like names from the custom version
* mixing a large and small version
* uploading large and small version with a unique user name and password
* making payment buttons on NiteFlirt
* updating my "Stuff To Buy" page on my blog
* taking screen shots for the blog entry
* writing up a blog entry
* and with robot videos, posting about it on Fembot Central

Each of the four videos is at a different place along that task list, and I've been attempting to multi-task, to keep all of them moving forward, hoping to use the "dead time" wisely when videos were mixing down or files were uploading.

In the process of doing so, I sent the wrong link to all the people who bought the first Galiana Demo video (what do you mean you don't want to buy the first video twice?), so I had to re-send that.

Then in Galiana Demo #02 email, I had the link to the small version of the video twice (instead of the small and the large). And the wrong username and password for the Demo #02 (I sent out the username and password for the Demo #01).

Seriously, Galiana, in fifteen years as a technical professional, you didn't figure out how to "copy and paste AND THEN FIX"?

And then one of custom videos from last night was corrupted on the web site, so I had to re-upload it, which failed on the first try... Okay, so that one wasn't my fault.

I'm good with details, usually, but I am facing a sad truth: I need to work on one of these at a time, or else I make mistakes.

I would rather feel like this:

I've got no deeds to do, no promises to keep
I'm dappled and drowsy and ready to sleep

Wouldn't that be lovely?

I'll work on it. Really. Right after video number 4 is out the door, I'll get right on that next.

Call Me Unreliable

As I say on my calendar page, I'm happy to make arrangements to play by request for times outside my general availability. Usually that means during the day.

I have a new caller who likes bimbo-ization hypnosis role plays (he does the yummiest things to me once I'm under), and we agreed to meet today at noon his time, which is 11 am my time.

Last night, the phones were slow until 1 am my time, at which point I got a fantastic call from another new caller who wanted to role play with accidentally being sold into slavery. I know, it's a little tricky to fathom at first, but if you think of two spoiled rich girls in ancient Greece playing a game where one of them dresses as a slave and walks around the market (including walking near the slave market), and the bitchy one who isn't the slave that day thinks it would be funny to threaten to sell her friend... it could happen.

After that call, I went back to work finishing up a new photo set (I'm determined to finish the sets from my birthday before the end of March - longer than six months is too embarrassing). I thought I'd logged out, but no, actually, I hadn't... so I got another call at 3 am my time! It was a regular, who wants me to role play his crush from high school, a role I thankfully know pretty well by now, or I wouldn't have been able to pull it off at 3. Always a pleasure to get engaged and be impregnated in the same night.

Then I set my alarm for the next morning. That, ladies and gentlemen, is where I made my mistake. I should have set the alarm the moment we made the appointment. Because at 3:30-ish am, the only word stuck in my head was: noon.

Noon his time. Eleven my time.

Oops.

Thankfully, he was still around, and we still got to play. And he said it was worth the wait (thank you!) But WOW I hate disappointing. Hate it, hate it, hate it. And after that, I hate it some more.

So if you make an appointment with me, I promise from now on, I'll set the alarm right then.

Punishment

Friday nights at 5, or Sunday nights at 7, he confesses his sins to me, a way to clear out the cobwebs from the week, or to hold on to the weekend for all it's worth. The misdeeds are naughty at worst, with no harmful consequences on their own. Masturbating without permission. Lusting over coworkers. Watching porn.

I punish him: redden his ass with my hand. Or a flogger. Or a paddle. Or a crop. Or a cane. It depends on my mood. But regardless of the instrument, the position is the same: he is draped over my knees, naked, with his hungry cock pressed between the lace tops of my stockings. 

After his punishment, sometimes he services me. Or sometimes I take him with my strap-on, pressing against his freshly spanked ass. Or sometimes he takes me, emboldened by adrenaline from his pain. We linger over the sensations, and savor the rising tension. We never rush. And even when I climax, thrashing against him, calling his name, he remains still, and strong. And, in that space, utterly mine.

After he releases, he thanks me, calmly, for punishing him. For letting him serve me. For taking him. For letting him come. My ragged breath betrays my pleasure as I accept his gratitude.

The other day, he sent me pictures: one of his mid-section from the back, and one from the front. That ass I had reddened a dozen times... it was perfect, exactly the way I had pictured it, slender but rounded, and deliciously, invitingly pale. 

The surprise was his cock: the slight downward curve and the smooth, long head looked like a deep throat training tool -- it would be unbelievably luscious to press all the way into my mouth and hold and savor.

I wrote him back, telling him my delighted responses. And then telling him to look into my eyes, deeply, and answer the question, "Do you think it's appropriate to send pictures like this?"

He responded back, quickly, calmly, simply, "No. It's not appropriate. I'm sorry. Will I be punished?"

... what do you think? 

Confessions

I am stunned to realize I have completely neglected an awesome category of phone sex calls from the blog so far: the confession.

There are, of course, entire listings devoted to the idea, "Tell me your dirty little secrets. Let me be your confidant." I don't have a confessional listing, but I get confessional calls. And I love them.

The feeling varies, from "This happened and I'm shocked, and I had to tell someone" to "This is a complete fantasy, but I want you to pretend you think it's real." It doesn't matter to me, my responses are still the same.

I had someone email and say he'd never played with anything larger than his finger in his ass before, but an ex girlfriend had sent him a giant black dildo, and he couldn't stop thinking about whether or not bigger is really better, and if he got up enough drunk-courage to think about taking it, would I walk him through it?

Of course I would. He started on his back, with a finger inside himself. We chatted about cock size, and how this ex-girlfriend came to send him this strange thing. He went to two fingers while we talked about lube, and prostate stimulation, and how erections have strange responses to anal. He went to three fingers while we talked, with his breath growing more erratic, about whether or not he would change from doing this.

The dildo went in. He was overwhelmed, then ecstatic. By the end of the call, he had mounted it from the suction base against the wall and backed up against it. When he cried out a string of profanity and enthusiasm as he came, I suspected perhaps he fell into the category of fantasy (a hunch later confirmed to be true): this was a guy who had taken that dildo more than once, as well as real-life big black cocks, but he was using me to pretend it was his first time.

I've heard about trips to glory holes, with cocks of ever-increasing sizes feeding through the anonymous openings. I've heard about pantyhose secretly worn under suits. I've heard about gang-bangs arranged for exes, the memories of which he just can't seem to shake.

My participation is rarely directly sexual: it's not about me getting off to the confession, it's about me feeding my energy into it. My enthusiasm, my encouragement, my noticeable lack of disbelief at even the most outrageous of claims. I look for details to add, questions to ask, the right moment to let out a happy girly squeal of delight as I enjoy the movie in my mind.

Or sometimes, I'm asked to participate: What does it feel like suck a cock for the first time? How would you have felt after losing your virginity in a dorm room, then crossing the room and mounting his roommate, who had pretended to be asleep? Does it make me weak to want someone to tie me down and hurt me?

I love the role play fun of participating in an obviously fantasy confessional, but I think the real confessions are even more fun. I love the connection, the sense of befriending someone around an especially intimate issue for them, and, when I'm very fortunate, the rare chance to help someone accept who they are a little more fully.

Oh, and don't worry, semen tastes great. I promise.