The Camera Adds

Back in December 2011, I took one too many anti-vertigo medicines after getting dizzy after shooting a custom video, so I decided it would be a fantastic time to wax philosophical on camera. Most of what I shot that evening was unsuitable for viewing by anyone other than my Recycle Bin, but this one was pretty funny.

I was getting frustrated at how disproportional I looked when I was in any position other than sitting, leaning forward, with my elbows resting on my knees. So I talked about other positions and showed just exactly how unflattering some other angles are.

But there are a couple of nice moments where I hit good angles and I look deliciously curvy instead of freakishly out of proportion. Also, the little grey cami + undies look cute.

Camera Adds by GalianaChance

Today I wanted to test embedding videos that are potentially more risque than YouTube allows, so I posted this one, and now I'm sharing it with you to ask you to be my guinea pigs. Let me know if it doesn't work? Thanks!

Please enjoy me making a dork of myself...

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...

Playing With My Food

In my off-phone sex life, I have a few great memories of mixing food and sex, which is not surprising, given my strong oral fixation. I'm plenty hedonistic enough to appreciate multiple layers of taste and smell and texture.

By far the best ever was the night my husband and I ... ummm... /blush... met in person for the first time? slept together for the first time? Oh, hmm, mmaaaayyyybe those were the same night... Anyway (/innocent whistle), we had been fucking like bunnies for a couple of hours, and I felt snacky, so we ventured to the kitchen, naked, to discover our culinary choices. I opened the fridge, saw the whipped cream can, shook it, opened it, leaned my head back, filled my mouth (without touching the nozzle with my lips or tongue, of course, because although I am clearly trashy and presumptuous and greedy, I'm not germy), and then I had the good graces to be mortifyingly embarrassed that I'd just done that. He looked stunned. Like, eyes wide, blink, blink, blink stunned. I managed to swallow it all, which is tricky to do when you're trying to apologize and not laugh with a mouth full of whipped cream. He finally caught his snap and said, "I think I just fell in love with you a little bit. That was awesome."

The most creative was the sensation game: I was blindfolded while a lover fed me different food and drink, or traced different sensations over my body. When I guessed correctly, I got rewarded with kisses or stimulation or flesh in my mouth or, eventually, permission to have orgasms. When I guessed incorrectly, I got spanked, clamped, or restricted. By the end of it, my hands were clamped to my collar, my feet were cuffed to the spreader bar, the spreader bar was leashed to my collar, and I had clamps everywhere sensitive. As we were cooling down, after he freed everything but my hands, he fed me samples of flavored chocolates and kissed the flavors off my tongue. Not only was the experience wonderful and unforgettable, the set-up he had to do was damn impressive indeed.

In my on-phone sex life, I've enjoyed some super sexy food play, without any annoying logistical concerns of cleanup or hygiene.

The most amusing was the guy who asked if I were on my knees with his cock in one hand and chocolate in the other, what would I choose? Those of you who guessed "melt the chocolate on your dick and let me clean it off with my tongue" are the ones who know my greedy little self the best.

The most surprising was the man who started describing his homemade turtle cheesecake, then how he would feed it to me, then shifted to focus on how much weight I would gain. The more I described fat packing itself onto my flesh, the more aroused he became. After the call, I referred him to SS BBW Angie Kimber (who I've had the pleasure to meet in person), and the weigh-in videos she told me about (search her studio for "weight gain combo"). Since I haven't heard from him since then, I assume Angie's taking great care of him!

The biggest divide between "fun to imagine" and "probably not fun to clean up in real life" was the gentleman with the combo fetish: sploshing and silky panties. Sploshing, in case you don't want to wander to potentially frightening new places on the internet, is the fetishistic use of wet, but solid, food, like getting a pie in the face, or having a food fight with spaghetti and meatballs in tomato sauce. This particular gent wanted me to fill my silky undies with chocolate pie or banana pie and describe it oozing out onto my thighs and soaking through the soft fabric so he could lick and suck it off me.

Man. Now I'm hungry.

Heartbreak And Phone Sex

Me: I'm not very good at humiliating people, and there are dozens of listings who advertise that. Why do you want me to try?
Him: Most of them are skinny bitches. I want... like... gentle humiliation. From someone who... I thought you might...
Me: I might understand what it's like to be fat.
Him (quietly): Yes.
Me: I might understand what it's like to sit down at a fast food restaurant and feel my flesh hanging off the seat, and wonder if the people behind me are making fun of me.
Him: (gasps, pauses, starts to cry). Yes.
Me: I might understand how waiters seem to judge you when you order dessert.
Him: Yes.
Me: I might understand how you spend a plane flight knowing the people next to you hate you for crowding their space.
Him. Yes. (crying harder) Why... why does this turn me on?
Me: (with a laugh under my breath): I don't know, sweetheart. Nobody knows why things turn them on. But I know how it feels to talk with someone attractive, and to have them not even see you, as if you are wrapped in a cloak of invisibility instead of layer of fat.
Him: Oh my God, yes.

And we continued. Quietly, calmly, I let him know I understood what it was like to be fat. Or that I could imagine it. And that, as baffling as it might be for me, it was okay for him to be turned on by it. He climaxed, violently, choking on his own tears, and thanking me profusely.

I said goodbye, hung up, logged out, and wept. From a place deep within my gut. It's been weeks since that call, and I still can't unravel all the reasons why I cried like that.

Once I finally composed myself, I told my husband about it, and his eyes welled up with tears as well. He wrapped me in his arms and said, "I hope it helped him, baby. I'm proud of you, of what can you do sometimes."

I understand that I need to protect myself emotionally if I'm going to do this job over the long haul. I can't let my heart break like that every day, or I'd be exhausted. And I understand that I'm not a therapist, that I'm neither trained nor qualified to help people in deep emotional pain.

And yet, there is a human being on your side of the line. And a human being on my side of the line. And sometimes, human beings connect in surprising ways when they let themselves. My Twitter post that day was, "Advice that perhaps I should care less about the people who call me is, so far, going unheeded."

Maybe I'll need to close off more. Maybe I'll end up less available emotionally. Maybe I'll harden. But right now, I'm okay with some heartbreak if it means I get to keep partaking of this incredibly rich experience of life.

Weight, Weight, I Got This

Since I gorged on fondue tonight celebrating a friend's upcoming wedding, it's a good time to write about my weight.

I was always thin - flat tummy and all - until I was 22. I got told I was cute a lot. I'll let you judge for yourself - this is my passport picture taken a few months after I turned 18, when I was home from college for Thanksgiving my freshman year. That is how I still picture myself in my head, a size 6 or 8, about 65 pounds lighter than I am now.

Between the ages of 22 and 25, I: took a desk job instead of jobs that kept me on my feet, stopped going dancing weekly, went on birth control, and quit smoking. Unsurprisingly, I gained about a pound per month.

I also stopped putting on makeup regularly because I'm lazy, and started wearing my glasses daily instead of contacts, because Chicago is not kind to contacts, and I scratched my corneas one time too many from letting my eyes dry out (please see: "I'm lazy"). It didn't start as a conscious decision to conform less to societal standards of beauty, but that's essentially what I did.

And a funny thing happened: random sexual attention stopped being hurled at me from men I didn't know. I realized one day when a stranger expressed interest in me on the train that (a) it had been weeks or months since anyone had done that and (b) the guy expressing interest seemed smarter, more thoughtful, and generally more attractive than the ass hats who normally wolf-whistled and one-lined at me.

By 24, I was conscious enough of what was happening that I was explaining to friends and family that I had figured out how to successfully avoid the attention of any guy stupid enough to use the term "fat chicks" -- by becoming one.

Honestly, it was kind of a relief. I didn't feel as bombarded by the world. I didn't need to be constantly on guard. I didn't need to stifle smiles or avoid eye contact to sidestep confrontations with jerks who insisted, "You gotta give me your number, cuz you're so hot!" (ummm, what exactly is in that for me?) Thirty pounds and a pair of glasses and no makeup, and I was suddenly the female version of Clark Kent, unmemorable for any but the most astute observer.

I plateaued at size 16-18 (XL) at about age 26, where I have been ever since. That size is statistically average for the United States, but considered "large" in the dating / swinger world. So I figured I should put my listing in BBW when I started doing phone sex work six weeks ago.

Two things have happened since then: (1) I've learned that BBW is larger than just XL in the adult entertainment industry, so I don't really belong in BBW, and (2) I've been dropping weight... ten pounds in the past six weeks. Hilarious! So I moved my main listing from "BBW" to "Sex", where it's probably more at home.

I'm not dieting. I'm naturally dropping the weight in a basically healthy way: when I'm logged in for phone sex, I don't go out to eat as often, and I eat by snacking between calls. So I basically have ten handful-sized meals per day, across the basic food groups, plus vitamins to make sure I don't get leg cramps or rickets if I accidentally don't balance my diet. And I'm elevating my heart rate by masturbating multiple times a day. Seriously. I dunno if it helps, but it couldn't hurt, right?

I'm happy about the weight coming off naturally because I would love to be a little healthier. I would like to be able to go a steady mile at a very fast walk or a slow jog, but I'm not quite there yet. Having less weight is less long-term strain on my back, which I care about now after I injured my back in April.

But I really don't care what my body looks like in terms of being attractive. Everybody is somebody's fetish, and I think sexy is much more about attitude than shape. And at every size, once I say, "I love fucking," I can get plenty of male sexual attention and affirmation. Yay for being a woman!

Well, except... except for one thing. There's one reason I'm hesitant to lose weight. I... I... I don't wanna lose my boobs. My boobs now are boobs I would love on another woman, and I don't want them to shrink. That makes me shallow, doesn't it?