Sunday, December 31, 2006

Dinner with SirMax

Wednesday, 27th, I woke up late and took my time. In between all of this mess of the past weeks I had started up a conversation with the locally-known dominant, SirMax. I had started looking on Alt.com again and received an email from someone not matching my direct interests, but who cited his training with SirMax. I not-so-innocently sent an email to SirMax telling him about this man who dropped his name. We struck up a conversation and I talked to Ms. M and pdh about him - both had meet with and played with him and his live-in lover, slavegirl.

Yes, in the past I have laughed at those people online who Capitalize Sir Master Dominant and lower case the submissive slave girl. But I overlooked this, and felt more at ease now in my own skin to say so, and continued chatting with him. We decided to have dinner together Wed night. I'm entering PMS stage and not sure I can even feel sexy so I took my time showering and dressing, playing my sex music, getting in the mood - just in case. I didn't think our time would extend beyond dinner but was hopeful I might be convinced. As Ms. M said, he was, indeed charming. An older gentleman, he certainly didn't exhibit any less vigor or hipness. We laughed and talked, and I was charmed.

After our dinner he brought me back to my place and we dropped off my leftover food. He invited me over to his house, with the infamous dungeon. I had no need to worry. My gut said go, Ms M had assured me of his goodwill, he is known in the community and wouldn't risk that for, say, suffocating me or slicing me up into tiny chunks for chipmunks. I was as giddy as a schoolgirl to try myself out and take him for a spin. But I remained outwardly in control. Not a drop of liquor, not a minute of freak out. When we got to his house, he asked me to take off my boots and wait upstairs -- after we had discussed his summer project of kitchen renovation, new deck, and nicely finished doors by his darling slavegirl.

He led me downstairs to his basement. A harem-ish bed in the corner as if Sheik AliBaBa would lay down with his 7 slaves -- and then chain them up for some tickle torture or thrashing fucks. Next to it a soft rug, candles all over, a tv and couch, library. He started by instructing me on the signals of presentation that he liked. I helped remove his shoes. "Now," he explained as he sat on a stair and I kneeled. "Some people take the laces and just tug and tug so all of them are loose to remove the shoe. I prefer, and need, just the top lace loosened and then give a tug to the shoe and it comes off. Then, slowly slide a finger into the sock, like this, to remove it." There was the sit position: "From kneeling, you sit back on your calves with legs slightly ajar. Not obscenely open but slightly apart. Hands resting on your thighs, Lola." The "present" position: from "sit" up to kneeling, hands sliding up the back of my neck to hold my hair up, and elbows out. "This is a position that is helpful for collaring." And others. I liked the challenge. I liked the formality. Years ago I did balk at this style or request. But now, I felt rather ready for it. Rather like I needed it.

I don't think I can accurately describe the nervousness I felt, the attraction to the dirtiness of being with a much older man [you can't tell me that the Playboy Bunny girls don't feel the same mix of horny and badness when with Hefner], the fight within myself between wanting to completely turn over my body and mind to this dom and completely keeping myself in-check and composed and in control, the need to tell him I'm not a pain slut and the desire to be tested as such, the ambition to follow and obey every command to the T, the need to be the best girl ever, the want for a daddy/dom, the overwhelming joy at trying this all out, the attraction to his command, the curiosity about what's behind door number 2.

As I kneeled presenting, he came behind me. Slowly and tenderly - sending shivers down every nerve in my body, he lifted one shirt and then the other. "Now," he whispered, moving to my front. "You cannot tell me you thought we'd only have dinner wearing a bra like this." My new pink and leopard print bra from H&M. "I only own bras like this...except for my sports bra," I said. I still, even now, wasn't willing to give up too much of myself. I need to keep some secrets, some control.

As soon as I had understood the positions he taught me, he joked, "And you thought there was nothing else to the basement..." I knew there was more as Ms M had told me and I had seen some pictures, and I'm sure he knew that I knew and still, the game was about teasing the tension out a bit longer, letting the butterflies buzz about in both our bellies, allowing my little girl eyes to widen into saucers at the dream of it all. He opened door number two and there it was. My first dungeon sight.

Only lit by candles. He told me to roam the room. We'll go clockwise, dear reader. For what I remember - as I tried to touch it all, see the corners and crevices, feel the walls. The immediate left [I won't recount all the candles], a fire extinguisher on the wall, the walls sound-proof, covered in black, a type of doctor's table raised to waist level with chains on either end, hooks perfectly spaced on all the 2X4 studs overhead, a row of chains and binding tools hung on the wall, carabineers and chains hanging from the wall around a slight corner, a panel of black cloth hanging. I paused. What's behind this black panel? Nothing but wood wall. SirMax grabbed my arm and twisted it gently behind my back crushing me up against the cloth.. "Because this feels better than pressing you to a wood wall." He released me and stepped away again. A variation of a Saint Andrew's cross in the corner. Hooks and more hooks in the ceiling. A loveseat couch to the right of the cross. Another, lower, black table like a bench for weight lifting. A padded, saw horse. A small table supporting gadgets, whips, floggers, paddles, tails, toys, and items - oh my! On the floor, a neatly contained variety of ropes. "And I thought you weren't into rope?" I asked.

Earlier in our conversations online and on the phone I had mentioned my relationship with James and how he had wonderfully found his natural niche with rope and was starting into Japanese bondage tying. SirMax had mentioned that his slavegirl was very much excited by rope bondage but that he wasn't as favored to it. I emailed James what info and pictures of slavegirl I could find and mentioned that SirMax and I would be meeting and if James would be interested in another rope model for his practices. SirMax did tell me that James had contacted him and they had started a dialogue -- and meet on Saturday.

Another wall to end our circular tour - sporting all kinds of floggers and other toys, as well a chain cutter. The other wall I had passed hosted medical scissors. This place was well thought-out, for sure.

SirMax had me come over to the love couch first. Sit. What is it that Lola likes? I was having the most horrible time trying to be articulate - this whole time, the whole time we'd been conversing - what it was exactly I was interested in. We both understood and got around the whole "If I tell you X, what if you don't like X then we might not click" issue. But I still couldn't articulate or explain - shocking, I know! He asked, what was the most painful experience I'd had? God... how many there are... I thought of bd and his favor of whipping and slapping my open pussy, my bruised tits after he'd beat them to my thrills.

He took my pants off. I was completely naked with only my tiny, white, cotton thong on. He, as much as a gentleman as I could hope for and as much separating sex and bdsm play, left his pants on the entire time.

"Restraints." I knelt up and turned my arms out in front of me with wrists upward. I got ankle cuffs and wrist cuffs. He put my hands through two loops like short dog leash loops and showed me how to hold on to them. He led me to the center of the room. [Slightly cheesy, but seducing and soothing nonetheless, was some kind of Enigma music playing the background.] He locked the two dog loops into a carabineer and into a hook in the ceiling. Lastly, he put a blindfold on me.

I'd read about this and heard, and I had only once experienced the sensory delicacy of bdsm. Once, when I was a lot more risky than I am now, when I was into late night phone calls on those cheesy sex phone 1-800-meet-sexy-singles lines, I invited a boy over. He made me lay down on my futon couch and he blindfolded me and tortured me with soft feathers and gentle pinches. Strung up in the middle of SirMax's dungeon he warmed me with the delicate fur of a gracious dead animal and then started slowly slapping my ass with the other, harder side. Then, he brought out the flogs. We had agreed on safewords "yellow" and "red" and what they meant and hoped that I'd be verbal enough so we wouldn't need to reach either - and I was determined not to.

Across my ass and then my back. My hands gripped the loops and I only truly flinched from pain a handful of times. He wasn't a sado this night and he didn't intend for me to scar, bruise, or bleed this time. After a while - time goes to where ticking stops and I kept smiling and grinning and loving it - he moved me to the cross in the other corner of the room. The wrist cuffs were locked to chains on either end of the upper X and I was shown how to grab them if needed. I meant to signal my tolerance and tenser moments through my open hands and squeezing the chains, gripping them.

He had asked if I preferred that he talk to me or let me go into silent sub space. I said I liked both. I wasn't sure what it was I wanted yet. But I found I had no need for talking. And he preferred not to. I let my mind go beneath the blindfold. I felt the solid thump of the flog - centered and spread out in one place on my ass, my back. I wondered if this was me still, still standing, accepting this, doing this, almost completely naked, feeling the wetness between my lips build and build, the tingling and the endorphins rushing. A pointed sting of one lash to my outer thigh or inner thigh woke me to this being real. The indentation of the board into my feet kept me in the moment and not drifting too far. I kept re-adjusting my stance and this kept me awake.

"Whiplash girlchild in the dark"

He'd switch utensils and would run the new toy - a paddle - past my face. I'd search it out with my nose sniffing the leather, my tongue reaching out to feel which object it would be. My hands chained to metal warming under my sweating palms. The thick feeling of my ass warming and the paddle rounding me out. Then, the several tails run over my mouth, my drying tongue seeking it out.. "Can you count it? Can you count how many there are? How many are there, Lola? .. That's right, nine." A cat o' nine tails on me. How many swats did I receive? How many times did I wonder, am I a pain slut? Am I braver than the rest? Am I average? Am I good? Am I weak? Am I best?

"Strike, dear master, and cure her heart
Taste the whip, in love not given lightly
Taste the whip, now plead for me"

Sweet sugar topping, like painful cherry delight, he smacked my tender bummie over and over with a paddle of some kind. And I felt each wallop with a blunt bolt to my nerves finished with a shaken jolt of electricity. I was feeling each smack - each - fucking - smack - so electric it went right to my cunt. I was sopping wet already but now I felt something so familiar and something so shocking... was I really about to fucking orgasm off of this? Was I really about to spasm inside and pass out exhausted with release? Oh. My. God. I was shaking. I was hearing my breaths and my moans like I was being fucked. Each. Fucking. SMACK! Brought a moooooooooan of suuuuuch delight. Fuck. Fuck. Yes. Yes! And, then ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!!!!

And when I finally cried out in utter pain and mewed in delight he said, "That's what Daddy likes. That's what Daddy likes to hear." I let out more moans and more cries. And he returned to me with the gentle, soft fur.

"Ermine furs adorn the imperious"

"Now, Lola," he removed the blindfold. "Do not move when I'm up around your face or neck, and do not open your eyes. But you can feel free to move when I'm not at your face or neck, okay?" "Yes, Sir." Starting at my neck he moved over me with finger needles. Over my face, gently. I held as still as a statue. Over my neck. I felt like a robbery. A prisoner on a pirate ship with the knife to her neck. Don't move... Down my arms and down down my sides... I knew I could move, and lord did I! It felt like the most tremendous giggle and tickle over my whole being. I wanted to jump and I did jerk a bit and I laughed harder than I have in a long time. Over my sides, my belly, my thighs, my super sensitive ass, my thighs. I was laughing so hard. Endorphins over endorphins releasing and waving and eclipsing and folding in and out of me. [fingerneedles pic does not include me - c/o SirMax. Adjacent pic is me post-play. More are available on Flickr - email me if you'd like access to view.]


After this thrill, I was released and moved to the doctor's table in the opposite side of the room. He actually bent over, picked me up and carried me like a lightweight child. He laid me on the table and hooked my ankle cuffs in and told me to hold on to the chain above my head and not to let go. I was staring at the ceiling, wondering what the pulley was for - or, even, was it a pulley or some electrical device - small enough for wonder. He pulled my wet thong to the side and I heard a familiar whirr and felt the springing electricity of a vibrator on my clit. My god.... My god... Fuck yes.... I held that chain for dear life and I squirmed my legs still chained down and I wiggled downward closer to the source of pleasure.

When I told him I had lost my dear fave vibrator and was vibe shopping, he made me promise not to buy another until I tasted his.

Pulsing, steady vibration, pulse, shake, I couldn't help but cum -- in shaking and trembling and jerking. Over and over and over...

I laid there, in a daze, in a dreamy daze. "I want you," he said. My eyebrows raised. Ok, what's that mean? He wants me in a general sense because I'm delicious? Or, he wants me. Turns out, he wanted me. "Is that okay?" I was gung-ho for anything he was giving at that point. And, I was in awe and lust as he put a condom on, crawled up on to the table and proceeded to fuck the shit out of me. It's not true that women care much about size, honest. But the friction, the motion of the ocean, the pushin' on the cushion - that's very important. Any well-trained whore can teach herself to flex her cunt muscles to take a long, wide, short, thin, bulgy, stubby cock. His cock was very well proportioned, but his motion - I would rate it up there with James. Almost but not quite close. James has a jackhammer thrust in his lower back, SirMax almost matched that. At some point he had to pull me back down as I was almost head off the table. Sweat dripping off of him onto me like warm, salty rain.

Better than the pummeling thrusts, was the nasty, dirty talk. Earlier, when I was kneeling at his feet at the love couch, he requested that I use "Sir" in speaking to him throughout. Not at every statement or question because there is such thing as overuse - thank god he said that - but when I felt it appropriate. But now, it was Daddy. And Daddy had to do his business in his good little girl. Daddy loved his little girl, and she was so brave for taking him and letting him take her. Daddy knew she wanted to be a big girl and wanted to be good and Daddy was going to show her how. Hell, I don't even know what he was saying at that point, but it all had to do with how nasty I was and how dirty he was and I was in headspace so mixed up lovely that I couldn't help but cum all over again. And, let me tell you, hearing a man fucking cum out loud with those groans and the finish-line grunts and sighs and yeses and exasperation of expiration - it could almost make me cum all over again.

He unchained my ankles and carried me out to the harem-esque room/bed. I was sighing as closure but he warned that that was not the end of the adventure. There was more where that came from and he pulled me up from reclining heaven [because I'm such a guy and ready to pass out after sex]. I did try my best to suck him off but it's not easy knowing for each cock, darlings. And yes, he's right, that's the difference between girls and boys - boys press harder, we girls are afraid of damaging your cocks, so be sure to tell us how to do it well. I certainly did not give my best performance sadly. I think my mind was too overwhelmed to concentrate on giving good head and I think he was focused elsewhere, as well.

He rolled me over, put a cushion under my hips, tilting me ass upwards. And plunged back into my cunt for one last round. "Yes, baby, your Daddy has to do what he wants. Just take it, baby will just take it. Just - let - Daddy - fuck - his - babygirl - one - more - time..." I love Daddy talk. God... !

Our post-coitus was spent just kind of laying there, chatting a bit, but not too much, and then dressing for him to give me a ride back home. Just how I like it, frankly. Screw the roses, send me the thorns.

He was only a gentleman. A man from days past. I was told that, in private, I'd follow his instructions. In public, he only requested that I allow him the courtesy to open doors for me and make sure I position myself for him to walk on the outside of us, closer to the street - traditional, but his way. Funny that, that's how I grew up. Dad always walked us around Buenos Aires that way. In fact, he's always kind of instilled that gentleman old school in us. Which I found very charming about James, that he'd open the car door and other doors for me. [And, it's interesting to hear of one of his new dates being confused at that chivalry. When he went to open the car door for her, she felt threatened like what are you doing on my side of the car? Sad, sad world. But understandable. All women should and need to go through anti-man, anti-world, feminist freedom to find self-reliance and strength. It's just nice if we can also incorporate a pleasure for caretaking and appreciation, as well. Feminism and femininity can go hand in hand really.]

Joys of a Whore

To be nobody but yourself
in a world which is doing its best
- night and day -
to make you everybody else
means to fight the hardest battle
which any human being can fight;
and never stop fighting.
e. e. cummings



Updates:

*PhD2006 comes to town and fingers me for an hour at the Great Dane bar, alas ends poorly.

--> I had a business dinner and then walked the block over to the bar to meet PhD2006. Never a good sign, and recommended that you never do this boys: He actually emailed me earlier saying he wanted to be in a bar where he could "watch the game." I totally thought he was kidding, but it turns out he wasn't. We didn't go to a more comfy, sexy bar at all but stayed in the not-so-sexy, pool hall bar. Regardless, nothing gets a whore down. Make do with whatcha got, and dump it if it's not enough. Anyway. We chatted a great deal about what he does, what I do, and then he slowly started raising my skirt. I was wearing a knee-length, kinda loose & swishy, nice black skirt. We were sitting facing the bar and he'd requested that I not wear panties. Let me summarize by saying there were multiple fingers up multiple times and that skirt went to the dry cleaners. But I'm a polite and professional woman, so the moans were contained and the eyes didn't roll back into my head. I did get glassy-eyed and dreamy and tingly. And it was very exciting to be doing this in a public place with a guy sitting close to my left and another guy rather close behind PhD's back. It was going all well and good, but he was going to drive the 2 hours back to his home and I had to get off to bed. So he offered me a ride in his car. Oh, lordy. Not that I'm that particular, puhleez. But at a certain age in life, it's a good idea to have some of your life in order - especially if you claim to be a dominant who can and wants to play with young lady submissives. He walked to me his car, told me to close my eyes because it was a mess, tidied up a bit, and actually laid a towel down on the passenger seat for my very nicely dressed ass. I felt like a high schooler. I felt bad for this man. I didn't feel sexy and I felt slightly repulsed. I know, I know. I drove a rickety old car for years and left it cluttered with my crazy life - when I was 22. Totally turned me off. ... I did email him my "concerns" and he emailed back saying he was getting a car loan approved for the first of the year. I emailed that I was eager to meet again. Apparently I got busy in the rest of my life and he sent me a Dear John IM - I'm now not on his IM buddy list anymore. Juvenile.

*Roger Z is a sub, I'm sure of it.

--> Or maybe just in his core he plain' ol' wants to please is all.

*Why can't I get accepted TODAY to a school in some more exotic locale?

--> Cuz that ain't the way the cookie crumbles.

*Frustration and patience. My middle names.

--> They both pay off in overdose in the end.




I was going to write a re-make of the reindeer song [on Dancer, on Prancer, on ...] with the names of my current lovers, but I thought it childish.

So before this week and year are over, here's what's been making me glow like I've been re-born. Vacation really does look good on me....!

Monday, 18th, I had the work dinner and met up with PhD2006. Tuesday and Thursday I chatted with a yummy dirty sick pervy online - well, a couple of them actually. One who lives in NYC and is writing a book, Roger - not the aforementioned one. He indirectly kicked Jim Carroll's ass; he's been spotted by Gawker and hated it; and he's a yummy pervert to chat with. Then, there's Joe who is a college student in Ohio and gets off by writing nasty pervy incest chats for women to get off on. Apparently he only squeezes his cock on a break between typing but gets his thrills off of the woman's participation. Yes, I did ask, "How do you know if the woman's getting off?" It is true though - some people can cover it up well... ho hum I'm so bored, "ooo ooo yes yes!" And others can't express themselves well at all when totally turned on, "o my. yes. yes." And there is a a way to read a chatter. So what if some of the ladies lie to him? I'm just not good at faking it so I go deeper and deeper into horrible fantasies. The youngest boy I've chatted with in a while. Vacation rules.

Wednesday [as you saw below in the garters, fishnets, and lacy slip], Andy generously stopped by in the early evening. I know it's mutual and that I excite him as much as he does me, but I still feel lucky to have him available and interested. This was the first re-introduction of my sexy parts in about a week and a half. The last visit he paid me ended up turning my bumstar into a sad, sad, dim lit pucker. Of course, bumstar was off limits this visit, but the rest of me was eager. I'm still perfecting my ability to take all of his length into my mouth and learning to relax my throat so I don't feel the need to gag immediately. The sex... oh my. We both give and get.

Oh, yeah, I also shopped for xmas presents and got out of the apartment. I've been making sure that I leave at least once a day and work out at least twice a week. You know me, I could hole up for days in here with enough groceries, booze, music, and workable vibrators. I'm such a dirty boy on the inside. Amused with my own buttons.

Friday I got my hairs cut and had dinner with James. We ran into each other at the gym and worked out, then were going to part for a few hours, meet up again for dinner. But we moved dinner up and I texted that I was hoping he'd want to fuck me a bit afterwards. It's good to put my desires out there I've decided. Some people can't read my gestures, some people can't guess, some people aren't mind readers. And I should ask for what I want, dammit. We had sushi and almost rushed back to my place. He wanted to show my his new rope tricks, tossed me into a shower (since dinner was almost 1/2 hour after working out), and started prep. I came out to see something like 8 piles of rope laid out cleanly down the bed, ready for use. My chest was bound first, separating and lifting my tits. My wrists and arms tied together on top of my abdomen next. My lower calves, sitting Indian style were bound together next. For the finale, he tied a sort of noose around my neck which connected directly to the rope around my calves. Helpless, he had to push me onto my back. He had to hold me in position while he fucked my face. He was able to cock slap my cheeks and humiliate me. Helpless, he had to roll me back up to my haunches, turn me, push me back down again and find my cunt. The rope tied at my back started to press deeply into my skin and my cunnie tunnel was shortened by the angle so every cock thrust topped out at my cervix. It wasn't comfortable, but not painful. And, that's how he wanted it. And that's how we both came. Together. Waves and waves of relief and confusion rolled out through me.


This is what I had pictured for the last year. My sex infused with kink in every second. From the humiliation, the bondage, the gagging, the dirty words, the pain in my back, the delicious rope marks afterwards. This is exactly how I wanted it. And I got it.




I did cry a bit as he untied me. PMS? Emotion? Overload? Love? I don't know. But he was great. He held me from behind as he untied me. He caressed me and shhh'd me, calmed me. .... And, like I like it, he left me.

Saturday I was hooked on making phonics. Rented a car - which I thought was styling but my dad later informed me was Buick's attempt at making a not-so-old-lady car. Then, swung by and had a lovely, and slightly nervous visit with Ms. M., one of the current lovers of my ex-lover pdh. [Are you keeping up? Sadly, CDOA v.2 will not be made available for cross-checks or previous references for a bit so just go with it for now. If you're like, who is James? Who is pdh? Hold tight. It will all fall into place over time.... UPDATE: CDOA v.2 is available but not in use.] I dare not say why it was slightly nervous. But she was a doll for giving me a great present to take to my sister for xmas, which made shopping way less painful for me overall. I am so much more into people who give xmas lists over people who generalize, "I like fiction books." Grrrrreat.

After our sit-down, I got lost looking for a stupid store to buy some ingenious gift for my pops since he's the hardest to shop for. Stupid west side of town. I was starving b/c I find I'm wayyy more horny on vacation and wayyy less hungry. So, I did the kiss-of-death stop. The once-in-a-year stop. I drove in the parking lot, up to the drive-thru, paid, and looped back around to scarf back in the parking lot... and I know it was just condemned for the E. Coli, but I had a mad craving for 2 bean burritos & nachos & crazy melted cheese whiz from the Bell. I only got the nachos & 1 burrito down before I almost heaved, but it was soooooo worth the break down. Man, I love that grease.

Really, I was routing around and rooted for food, not only because I was hungry, but also because I was waiting for the XM radio to kick back in. The rental car subscription apparently cut off right after I left Ms. M's apartment. So, I signed back up knowing the rental car folks would reimburse me. XM was pretty fucking cool, too. Although, they had like, singularly focused channels - a hip hop, a hardcore rap, an 80s, a chill, many world music stations featuring mostly French groups, something called "Ethel" and "Lucy" of kinda alt music either from my college days or current. It would have been fucking rocking if they had a compilation or mixed channel though. Incorporate a bit of all of it together to keep me on my toes and diverse.

Family gatherings have fallen into tradition of sorts so I went off to Whole Foods for my 4 special cheeses and crackers. My sister makes the pies now and I'm the cheese girl. Fucking bitch though, doesn't remember that I started the pie making scene. Back when I was so super poor I could only afford to eat rice, tomatoes, and tofu stir-fry for every dinner; oatmeal and raisins for breakfast; and whatever I could scam at the pizza restaurant for lunch. I learned how to make cheap pies then. Made my own dough with flour, sliced up butter, salt, and water. Rolled it out for a bottom and top. Cut up apples and sprinkled in a few slices of butter, some brown and white sugar and a slight drop of salt. No credit where credits due when she makes an apple & cranberry pie, pumpkin pie, mincemeat. I started that, bizotch, and don't you forget it. Next she'll be cutting in on my cheese business.

I stayed up way too late chatting and fiddling my diddle. Sunday, Christmas Eve day, I was planning on leaving at about noon. I got up at 10am and craved one last wank before leaving. Subconsciously - and knowingly - I had no interest in getting to my parents at all. I found my college boy Joe and came sooo hard while my laundry spun and the minutes were passed noon.

"i want him to climb on top of you, your legs still in the stirrups, he places his raging hard cock inside you, your pussy is still just a massive pepsi can sized hole. and he goes balls deep in you, making sure his piss stream goes as deep into your body as possible. you nasty slut, take your doctor's piss"

"you are like the 109th patient he is breeding. he is still using his strong arms to pin your shoulders down. but the mating at his hips, is passionate. you are the best patient, giving him the most pleasure, because you are the first patient he has allowed free of the stirrups. he LOVES how you wrap those thighs around him. he knows his slippery cock is working, because you are panting. you aren't even fighting the rape anymore. but he still knows who is in charge, he still calls you slut. he says, first my piss, now my seed, you're going to be my bitch"

"'Sweetie, it's no good, Daddy can't finish up with your tummy.' said her father, slowing his tummy-fucking and releasing his vice-grip on her chubby little body. Mary was crestfallen but she was prepared mentally. Now she would have to accept her father's blood-engorged stiff cock up into her own little body, where hopefully there he could relieve himself of the terrible hurt that Mary knew happened every day in Daddy's testicles...............Drawing his hips back now he reached down and gripped his own cock and angled it down between his very own daughter's smooth thighs. It was Mary's turn to grunt as the blunt pre-cum-slicked head of her father's cock prodded inquisitively at the sensitive little slit between her legs."

Don't judge me, dear reader. When in the mood, I can be completely vile and sick.


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We interrupt this broadcast. 9:30am CST. Saddam is dead. Honest, I have mixed emotions. I don't like capital punishment and as my dad says, if he's left to live his life in prison in the Middle East he could be freed. I know this, but I also know our own President has committed some of the same crimes only more covertly. Will he then experience a week-long observation like Ford or will he get what's due? And there are others. I certainly do not support the mass slaughtering of innocent peoples in Kuwait or Iraq or other countries. Not at all. But if we hang one, shouldn't we follow that policy to charge and hang the rest of his kind? And where do we draw the line? Robbing the poor to give to the rich - is that not a heinous crime? Starving your own people. Assassinating pools of your own people. Sending your own people off to die. Corporate greed. Where do we draw the line? It's a difficult thing to reconcile. He deserved a hell fire burning and an anal rape and licking the depths of the gutter with his cock cut off - for the rest of his life, yes. But I'm not sure that he deserved to not suffer these the rest of his life. .......... And, yes, I do worry for the judge who sentenced him.


@@@@@@@@@@@




Do not judge me. You may feel all liberty to swear at me and to call me names and to live vicariously or think I may have stepped over the lines. But until you can rest your body into mine, do not even think about judging me.


Dinner with the family was fine. We had my sister's ex-step-kids over --- no, Hex, not those step-kids. I don't terribly hate all kids, and I do like these ones a bit. But I was cornered on the couch with a 20-days-away-from-turning-18 year old girl. Blabber blabber someone save me blabber impress you blabber blabber. My internet boys had all chided me not to think dirty thoughts while at home. I couldn't help it when her younger brother, a sweet 16 year old baseball jock boy talked to me. His nicely, still tanned, toned arms, his sweet innocent smile. His slightly blushing looks. I could only hope that he'd touch himself later thinking of me. And their younger brother, 13 years old. Such a darling. Wants to go off to save the world but is afraid of the homeless. How was I not to laugh? I'm sure I was laughed at as a child. My dreamy aspirations colored by ignorance.

Xmas day we opened up gifts with our mentally-failing grandmother. I love her dear soul but feel like she's slightly like a shadow of a woman I knew before. And then... the torture. We had almost 4 hours between gift opening and dinner. Boredom. Pure and total boredom. It tested me and almost killed me. Our family doesn't fancy walks, doesn't see the need to be busy. So, we sat there. My sister made pies. My mother chastised my sister's unruly dogs and helped with pies. My grandmother was forced to read some dumb book. My father read and chastised his mother for speaking unclearly. I sat, curled in the corner of the couch and read Persepolis, the entire first book [totally fucking awesome by the way, a graphic novel about a girl growing up in Iran and then the second book about her becoming a woman in Europe and going back to Iran]. I read a book and a half in those hours. Wishing I would just disappear. I tried to explain to them the night before why I'd appreciate them moving from this house of my childhood. But even if they moved, I'm sure I'd still find myself tortured with the cemetery silence and boredom.

Dinner was great. My maybe-pervy uncle and my favorite aunt. Great food. Good conversation. But I still counted the hours until I could drive home. I finished the second Persepolis book in the gues bed that night. In the end, I got good food, good presents from Santa and family, I was loved... but so bored.

I got home and washed myself over by indulging once again in my existence.

Wednesday was dinner with SirMax [which I have made into its own post - either click the link or scroll up]

.........................................

The story does not end there. Oddly, I had almost double-booked my life. Thursday, I was due for a day date with Roger Z from 11am until 5pm. PMS girl who was tapped out had to reinvigorate, rest and re-horny.

But this story, and the second visit with SirMax, and what I hope to create tonight on New Years Eve - these will all have to wait, darlings.

I bet you'll read this on 01-01-07 ----- 007! ------ and please let my words of well wishes, prosperity, superior health, amazing sex, heartfelt love, and fucking right-on karma reach you on this day, darling.

All my love to you, dear reader.

And, while I don't encourage skipping ahead, I will tickle your ear and tell you that there are all kinds of new photos in Flickr just waiting to wish you a Happy New Year, love.

Saturday, December 23, 2006

The thing I like about it is Misteltoe

Lovely advice c/o noman from My Secret Life [wouldn't want it to get buried in the comments]: blow job training seminar - a good gift to give to your loved ones.


And, here's a preview of my tryst with Andy














And, here's my lovely gift to you










And, if you'd like to give a gift to me - take a look at the right side for the Amazon Wishlist.

Merry Happys to all of you!!

XOXOXO

Thursday, December 21, 2006

Cellular stranger

It's cold and drizzly here today. I needed some fun.

Outside of my apartment, I walked across the street to drop another transcript to another school into the mail box. Walking back I spotted a cell on the ground. A dream come true for a curious kitty like me! I opened it and it was working. Saw there was a text message from Nikki "So did your Marine woman work you over yet?" Accidentally deleted it as I was fumbling through navigating a way to get this cell phone back to whomever had dropped it.

Phoned Nikki first, and she called me "ma'am" in the way that only people in the military call other women "ma'am." She apologized for the phone cutting out as they were out in the middle of nowhere in California. Said she didn't know the owner of the phone well and only talked to him every couple of months, his name is John Doe and she thought he worked at the ROTC at University of Wisconsin in Madison.

So, I looked in the "called history." Angelina at 12:20pm today. Called - no answer. So, I started down the list of contacts. Aunt Sally - no answer. Aunt Jane - no answer. Dad - no answer. I was in the middle of calling Sgt Smith when Angelina called back. She gave me John Doe's wife's number. Of course, you have to know how much fun I'm having, calling these people who think they'll hear John Doe's voice and instead they get me. I call John's wife, she's got grandma on the other line and a crying baby in the background. She takes my digits and address down.

A few minutes later John calls. I tell him I was walking back from the mailbox - yeah, that's where he was and he laughs, didn't even know he'd dropped the phone. I'm starting to put things together in my imagination. Bland wife, new baby, military guy, having trysts all over, texting random slutty military women named Nikki who were one-night stands but are now buddies and keepers of secrets. He works on campus and will be over in 10 minutes. He'll park in the same place across from the mailbox and he'll be in a blue SUV.

I watch the clock. At 7 minutes I go out to the foyer to wait. I'm radiating because I'm just that way - or, is it, as some have said "oozing sex." Tight, yellow long-sleeve over a tight white long-sleeve, slightly visible lacy pink & leopard print bra underneath, flattering jeans, brown boots. I think I see the SUV coming from the university area. He's definitely driving too fast because he wants his phone before something bad happens and we all have these panics when we lose things but don't even know it. He cuts off a car coming towards him and gets honked at in a steady, long honk that seems to last for 7 full seconds. He pulls into the curb. I walk out of the building into the chilly drizzle. There's something.. I'm sure it's just me making stuff up in my mind and in my body but I feel like it's a reunion or a blind date. He gets out of the car and I walk toward him, "Trevor?" I call out. "Yeaaaa," it sounds slightly embarrassed, slightly intrigued. He walks toward me and all I can see is his blond crew cut and his lips. I know I'm smiling and he leans in for a hug and I almost think we're going to kiss. He gives one of those mostly-chest hugs and we pull away, standing almost shoulder to shoulder as he looks at the mailbox, smiling. "Yeah, I stopped here to mail something and didn't even know I dropped it." I tell him I accidentally deleted a text message from a Nikki and he's cutting me off saying it's fine, it's okay, it's fine, thank you so much. I tell him I'm sorry but I called a few people in his contacts and in the last calls made and he's cutting me off saying it's fine, thank you. I say I'm sorry and I hope I haven't called anyone dead or enemies, like Aunt Sally and Aunt Jane. He's making hand motions like brushing it off no big deal. He seems so relieved in a way, and shocked, like his life flashed before his eyes in some frustrating but not deadly way. He says he works at the university - is a faculty there and trails off.. There's a short, awkward silence where we're both just smiling. He's looking out at the street and world and I'm looking at him. "Well, you have your phone now..." He snaps out of it, "Yeahhh.. Yeah.. Thanks so much." I turn and walk back hoping he's watching me.

I wonder if he'll call me sometime.

That whole 5 minutes was so fucking exciting. Of course, I'm kicking myself now for not dragging it out longer.

I'm a homewrecker pervert horndog.

Sunday, December 17, 2006

Stronger for the Wear

Well, the Mister Doctor Latex Glove In My Ass was wrong. He said it was okay to go ahead and have anal sex.

So many things have been happening and not happening lately. There's been a lot of waiting and being patient. A lot of my body forcing me to re-examine and be thoughtful. I'm not sure if I do or don't believe in karma or reincarnation, but I do think - often - that my one hurdle in this life is to be more patient and I'm tested on this more than I like.

I've gone on the prowl again - it sounds like it should be "I've gone on the dole again." I've got a few fingers in a few pots. Sadly, this world is so small that James and I run into each other quite frequently through our online personals. I guess it's not so much sadly as it is "oddly." And while my fingers are dabbling - quite cautiously - in a few places, I'm still moving slowly and not actually filling my dance card that quickly. One would think that the Lola, THE Lola would have lovers coming and going, almost tripping over each other on the way out. Not the case. And, in one fashion, thank god for the internet. Online I can quite assume a position of local whore and get off all in due time on my own clock.

So, you ask, what's really happening in my bed then? Well, a lot of Andy lately. As you saw peeks below, so you can find the rest over on Flickr - and if you don't have access to the pics, let me know so we can remedy that. Andy's been the sole visitor to my sanctuary. He's reliable, unassuming, medically/scientifically aware so he understands my cold sores, adventurous, dominant, and completely taken so there's no worry of either one of us obsessing. As I mentioned to James on our last few dates, I truly belive I'm happier and better as a mistress than a girlfriend.

The images from "military man pays Lola a visit and brings a giant lollipop" aren't quite the calibur of the event itself. His digicam isn't quite porny trained - here's hoping Santa comes through for Lola!! So, please disregard the photos wherein I look completely drugged, drunk, fat, and quite like a corner tart from the uglier side of the UK.

Anyway. Andy's agreed to be my partner in helping me swallow cock and cum better. [Oh, such a difficult task for him! ha.] As you'll see, practice makes perfect. If any ladies out there have tips, please feel free to share. I really don't think any ladies are reading my blog, but whatever. If you gents have tips, share as well. Andy's also well aware of my sick fantasies around incest and older man/younger girl, humiliation, and the like. I really really really didn't want to do some of the things he requested, but I did them anyway. Like, spreading my ass wide for the cam. You'll notice that I romanticized that image with a bit of fuzzing.

Well, these images were taken a few weeks back [disregard the 10-08-2003 date stamp]. But Andy visited Thursday, 7th - after Mister Doctor Latex Glove said I didn't have hemorrhoids but had a "tag" of skin and I was okey-dokey to get ass fucked. Well, come to find out, I had a fissure already started in my bummie and the arse fucking just made it worsen and made it all grody.

Seriously though, it's like we need to proclaim a Coming Out day for medical issues. We could all wear t-shirts - some women could wear "I had an abortion" shirts, some could wear "I have hemorrhoids," some could wear "I had my wisom teeth out," some "I had Lance's ball cancer and now I have one nut," some "I have prostethic tits," some "I am missing my frontal lobe." And on and on.

Since I told a couple of people about my hems (hems reminds me of hemi which sounds tough whereas 'roids sounds like steroids and sounds like a gay boy weight lifting), there are some many hot, young ladies who have confessed to me that they, too, have them. It's astounding. I seriously thought I was alone [insert music from an after-school special]. But I'm not. And then I heard from young, hot men. And it seems that anyone who has ever tried ass fucking has run into the hems. Not like I'm about to wear a shirt that says "Ass fucker with hems & I'm proud!" But it sure is nice to know that it's not just the 60 year old grandpa Joes with them.

Thank god I'm not a single mom who has to work 60 hours a week. Instead, I got to take a couple of days off from work to worry, soak in a tub every hour for 10 minutes, focus on eating salads & roughage, drink water, sleep enough, and generally suck in my anus so it wouldn't tense up and hem up. And... let ... me... tell... you. It worked! All that bullshit we hear as kids (eat well, sleep enough, exercise, drink water) works.

Anyway.. totally not sexy. But totally true. And who else would bring the truth about assholes to you, darlings, but me??? Someone's gotta talk about it.

So, I'm bored out of my mind for days at home, soaking (which btw, I was never a huge fan of baths - I think I might actually be into them now), eating, drinking water, sucking in my anus. What's a girl to do but dream of the day when she can get fucked? Which of course led me to nerve.com and I guess I re-started my story_101 ad wherein I make up a theme (this month is sexy santa) and write a personal ad for that. Which of course wasn't enough so I posted about on alt.com and ended up chatting with a few fellows. One I'd admired from afar but had never thought to contact him. Another was a newbie from the other side of the state.

First came the newbie, PhD2006. Looking back there were tell-tale signs. [collective sigh & cringe] But damn were his photos hot of his torso & overall body & cock. Although tasteful in a way. There are so many so many ... SO MANY personal ads that just have a shot of cock. I mean, really. You boys might think you're oh so fucking hot with your hot rod & about to cum, but let me tell you. Ladies - we ain't digging on the chicken. Put it back in your pants and just give us a shot of your right foot for god's sake. It's better than your floppy, puny, thin, too red!, curvey to the right, uncircumsized, oh so veiny, so thick and long it'll pain ya, short cock. I mean, really. I'm way more attracted to a photo of a man standing in a yard with his face covered than a cock. Cock just screams loser.

Anyway. PhD2006 was slightly discrete with his cock photos with a teaser of a mostly chest shot with a slight cock head peeping out of a tough hand. At 49 years old his body was built. We exchanged emails. Then we exchanged IMs and he was witty, I was witty. It was fun. Then the webcam - as it always progresses this way. He did act rather un-dom-ish and more college boy-ish. Kept asking me to show him my tits. But he also has a PhD in human behavior, could talk books, was sexy, and a good distraction for me. So, we were planning to meet in Madison when he'd be in Madison on Monday.

Meanwhile, an old flame Roger has been emailing me back and forth since around election time. I remember having 2 drunk dates with him back in 2004 and being pressed up against the full floor to ceiling window of a top floor hotel room. But now, seems he's working more, traveling more, more willing to exchange emails and not have a date. He's a romantic vanilla man with kinky ideas but limited experience. I'm totally interested in a date, but he's just not coming around. So I'm losing interest.

Meanwhile, I drop an email to a well-known dom in town regarding an email I get from some other guy claiming he knows him. Well-Known Dom emails back and confirms their friendship/apprenticeship and also divulges he'd like to know more about me. I'm totally into exploring more with W-KD. I have lady pals in the area who vouch for him and he's got a live-in slave so there's no chance of obsession or long-term focus, although secretly I would love to live vicariously through them and learn what happens in a long-term master/slave relationship. And this guy takes the cake. He isn't asking me to bare my tits on cam, isn't using Capitalization for Dom and lower case for sub and isn't commanding me to do things and makes note that he isn't my dom and thus can't force me to do anything, isn't rushing to meet or wishy-washy about details. I know I'm putting too many eggs into one basket.

I do that a lot.

Meanwhile, I know James is beating some cutey pie in Milwaukee and dating sweet things around town. I wonder if we'll awkwardly run into each other some time.

Meanwhile, I'm back to soaking for 10 minutes. Staring at the black and white tile. Closing my eyes. Letting my mind wander and re-focusing it. Meditating on healing. Walking down the street... There's a car stopped at an intersection. It waits for the minivan to go first since it arrived first. Waits. Waits. Goes. I walk toward the crosswalk and catch the minivan's attention so it doesn't run me over. A woman. There are some people who are so traumatized, like today life left them by a few breaths. Like someone died and a layer of their skin left, too. They're not vaccuous, they're not dumb, they're just stunned by a wallop of life. Her eyes, slightly empty, far away, her brows slightly turned upward, her mouth gently ajar. She's not begging for help, she's not weeping. She's not desperate. She's just coping. Slightly stunned by life. I cross and turn around after 20 seconds. She's still sitting there in the minivan waiting to turn. ... Wait. Wait. Back to my ass. Right.

Meanwhile, Friday I did allow myself to indulge in humanity. pdh had invited me to join some of his pals to see the Nutcracker. Apparently there's some kind of competition with people in this town to actually _be_ in the Ncracker. Sadly, some poor sap had to bail on his role in the parent party in the beginning -- if you haven't seen it, goes like this: parent xmas party, kids run around, creepy magician guy gives a weird present of dolls coming alive like a nutcracker guy & ballerina girl, the real girl who gets the ncracker falls asleep has a dream of rats fighting the nutcraker men, then she dreams she's sitting for an hour on a sleigh with a little boy while they watch the ballerina dance with a bunch of other ballerinas, no one speaks or sings, show over, bows. Yeah. I seriously thought it was soooo much more than that. Then again, I must be a social retard b/c I thought that swan lake was in it - well, jesus! The ballerinas are dancing on the stage with a snowflake backdrop.. C'mon. Give a girl a break.

So, guy bows out of parents party and pdh hears about it and steps in. There's like 30 people on stage and pdh is one of the men dancing around merrily throwing his arms up in perfect dramatic flair. I decide to ignore the hems and head out to dinner with Ms. M, Cat, a, and Emily. They mostly talk roller derby since the 3 ladies are derby girls (sooo hot, I know) and a is .. what are you a? A groupie? An afficionado? A derby roadie? A few times I think Ms. M thinks I'm bored. I'm totally not because this is the first brush with people I've had in days. I'm consuming my salad thinking about how it'll help my shit pass better and enjoying the discussion about who's size C tits are better - Emily's or some other derby chick. I'm feeling conservative and shy and appreciate being a fly on the wall of the soup.





more to come:
*PhD2006 comes to town and fingers me for an hour at the Great Dane bar, alas ends poorly.
*Roger is a sub, I'm sure of it.
*Why can't I get accepted TODAY to a school in some more exotic locale?
*Frustration and patience. My middle names.
*PS. I didn't censor or spell-check this entry. It's just too long overdue.
*PPS. No chlamydia, no gonorrhea, no nothing. Apparently I just had a fissure which made life hard for a week. ... why? why? why me?
*PPPS. At least Andy is stopping by soon. I'm not getting enough sex. I'm not getting enough domination. I'm just plain ol' not getting it. Patience - I hate thee. Frustration - I hate thee more.

Thursday, December 14, 2006

When there's time, but for now...

enjoy this:

my new favorite band:



A few of the moments of late:


little girl & military man










**Dentist visit: good results, not so bad in pay, it's an xmas gift
**The general surgeon stuck his latex finger in my bumstar and proclaimed I had no hemorrhoids - I think he wanted to laugh at me for going in to check.
**I've completed 5 applications to grad schools.
**I might be going on a date soon.
**I was invited and went to a holiday party where we shook it to the '80s.
**Mister Mister bought us tickets to Coachella next April - although I don't plan that far ahead.
**I'm going to the Nutcracker on Friday night. I've never seen the Ncracker. My lovely ex & pal, pdh is dancing in it. He also bought me a gift I requested: a text book on Microeconomics. I'm so psyched for my holiday reading!
**I registered for my first 2 classes in years and I am so giddy it's like Santa and the Easter Bunny are double-penetrating the Toothfairy in my head. M/W, 4:30-6:50 Basic Statistics; T/R, 8-9:15 Economics.
**The only downside to these days of late [which, lord, how can it be considered a downside since it's only the 2nd time all year] is a cold sore ... I'm still a very good person who is very very sexy.

More photos to come....

Tuesday, December 5, 2006

Welcome to CDOA v.3

Not the most unique re-naming, but I like Cheating Death Once Again. I think it's something I should get tattooed somewhere on my .. yeah, upper lip! Ha.

I could take forever to pull this website together and there's really not much that I'm trying to do. I mean, I'm too lazy and short on time in life to actually make a website - or actually create fun things on a website - or even edit this stupid layout so that the white space is wider. But oh well. I started in spiral notebooks and then pocket Moleskines and then Geocities and now this. It's not about the frosting as much as it is about the moist cake.

Thanks to you for coming back and coming through. Oh, and, if you know James or my parents or my sister or any of my relations or my bosses, please don't forward this link to them. James will ask when he wants it, as will everyone else I hope.

So, I'll get it out already! YOU, my friend, have to start at the bottom of the page though. So get to it by going here

Don't peek! Don't jump ahead! I've written enough to keep you entertained for a while today. Please read in order. No cheating!.... or, well, ahem... cheating...


xoxo

Quote

From James:


"To be alone in a room is like medicine to me," said Orhan Pamuk, the Turkish novelist who found a writing refuge at Columbia's Deutsches Haus.



You're not the only one

Monday, December 4, 2006

Minnie-Apple part 2

So, back to Minneapolis for the rest of the weekend. I wasn't awake when James called Friday night because I had to give a presentation on Saturday morning. It was fine. The day was fine. Lots of flirting eyes and boring workshops and lame presenters. The Mister Mister from Friday night texted me mid-day to say he could think of a better way to spend his time, but I wasn't interested. I could tell he was hungry - like when you get a yummy cookie and want another the next day.

Dinner was pretty cool. We were going to eat at fancy pants Solera but it wasn't the right atmosphere for our rowdy, chatty group of all women + Paul Rogat Loeb (a not-so-inspirational speaker at our lunch earlier that day, although I was thrilled that every conference participant got a free copy of his new book!). So, instead we went to Rock Bottom Brewery.

My sister joined us which was fine. You've heard about my divorce from her and all. I wasn't thrilled by her presence but it was nice to see her. At the end of dinner, Mr. Clichemonster met up with us which was awesome. I'm sure that not all meetings of internet friends in real life turn out so well, but this was really nice. He totally knew how to roll with the whole "we've known each other a long time" story - after all, I did go to undergraduate in Minneapolis and no one got too close to ask him if he had lived there that long.


My sister did pull a funny and a shocker at one point though. She recently returned from a week in Japan and brought me presents not fit to present at xmas. She stopped off at Condomania and
brought me back a few cool gifts.

This Choco Magic one is hilarious. "Shake Before Serving" and "Finest Quality Chocolate" - I am totally looking forward to tasting that quality chocolate. Despite the fact that - with men I know have been tested and have no STIs - I prefer latexless.

While I do love strawberries, midnight, and being called Sweety (or is that Sweetie? or is that supposed to be Sweaty?), I'm not sure that calling a condom "Rubber Yum" will make me want to put it in my mouth. I do love their disclaimer though "Highly effective against pregnancy and helps reduce the risk of spreading many sexually transmitted disease." I like "Highly effective" a lot. I think it's accurate.

The best present though was this little Hello Kitty charm for my cell phone. I took it out of the bag and laughed so damn hard. I had to show Mr. C who would be the only one in the room to know how much it would mean to me to get a Hello Kitty called "Pour Lolita." (It's a gothic Kitty!) Little did I know, my sister knew, as well. I pointed out the tiny "Lolita" script to Mr. C and started to try to explain to my sister and she goes, "I know." Of course, she elaborated. This guy she was dating this past summer tried to google her to find dish. And I guess one of the places (jump in here, Mr. C, if my explanation is wrong) he looked was on nerve.com -
instead of finding her, he found me. Now, HOW he knew it was me is beyond all our comprehension. I'm pretty good at keeping my fullfrontal face off the 'net, but maybe it was through her Friendster page to my Friendster page to my full frontal face to match it on nerve.com. I'm not quite sure how it went, but what he landed on was the old "Looking for a third" - the personal ad that James and I used to find a guy for our love triangle. Of course, my name on nerve.com is Lola or Lolita. So.... sis pulled a cool shot. Yay, sis! (Don't forget to click on the images for larger versions. I especially love the Hello Kitty back panel - check out the danger-of-choking image.)

So, we all had a good laugh over sister's smarts and the awesome gifts. From dinner, a couple of us (Mr. C, my sister, 3 WI interns, the MN Conference Planner and her boyfriend) went over a couple of blocks to Lyon's Pub, and on the way made a stop at Shinders for cash. Man, I miss living in Minneapolis. Downtown is so seedy despite its attempts at cleaning up by adding Block E. The club we went to was quite fun and I had no idea that our interns dug hip hop or that we were such good dancers. Although, MN was playing IA that weekend and there were some total lame ass drunk boys on the dance floor - one which kept dropping ass bombs. I mean, literal shit stink bombs right in the middle of the dance floor. So uncool.

[Lola & Clichemonster - wait.. wait... we're not ready!]

The funniest scene though. Shouting in the bar. Ms. MN Planner says she likes to workout to "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard" and I had the realization that when that song first came out my sister and I were talking about it and she goes, "You know what that song's about, right?" "No. And I don't think I want to know." Because, of course, I'm thinking it's about a baby mama serving up her milky tits on the playground. Or, maybe it's about a guy cumming in some girl's ass and another girl drinking it. Because, of course, my mind goes somewhere worse than other people's minds.


So, I tell Ms. MN Planner and shout to the other girls, "What's that song about anyway?!"
And intern1 goes, "It's about a money shot!"
I go, "What's a money shot?" and I think I know what it is, but I'm not sure I do, so I lean over to Mr. C and yell over the music, "What's a money shot?!"
And he looks taken aback. He leans away from me in near shock, "You don't what a [muffled] shot is?"
"No. What is it?"
"It's a drink!"
I lean back to intern1 and go, "It's a drink?!"
She laughs so hard, "NO! It's not a drink! It's jizz on the face!" And makes the motion of jacking a cock.
I turn to Mr. C and go, "A drink?!"
He laughs so hard, "I thought you said body shot!!"
Of course, intern1 later can't believe she said "jizz on the face" to one of her bosses.

Maybe you had to be there, and be slightly buzzed.

No drunkeness for us that night though. Mr. C walked us all back and while I tried my best to lay some cute moves on him as a gesture of goodwill, my sister lingered at our goodbyes and all I got in was a great bear hug with Mr. C and a cheek kiss. It's all good. I'm a whore, he's a nice man.

Got back to the hotel and thought for sure Mister Mister would text me as we'd texted a bit during dinner hours. It was 1 in the am, but he's one of those guys who doesn't sleep much. Didn't hear anything so I didn't feel badly. Sunday we packed it up and left.

All in all a good trip.

I took Thanksgiving week off. Tuesday was all about a very, very nice late afternoon tryst. Which you'll have to come back to read about. As a teaser, it involves a schoolgirl outfit and lolipops.

Sunday, November 26, 2006

When in Rome, do as the Romans - when in Minneapolis, do what you want

[New to Cheating Death Once Again v.3? The beginning is a good place to start -- scroll all the way down darling.]


So, elections are over. I was out of the office that whole week and man did it feel fucking awesome.

James and I started our relationship two years ago as crazy fuckers, dating, playing, partying and somewhere after New Years I started to think seriously about trying to call it a "relationship" and talked to him about giving a relationship a good 'ol fashioned try. Well, now we know that I'm not relationship material and I mean "relationship" in the old fashioned sense. Or, maybe even the liberal sense. I started to grow tired and weary of nice, loving sex in the tender mornings after sleeping together. He started to love those moments. I was the one who started the relationship adament about not being monogamous and he's the one who ended up having the "open" part of it all. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. We're still friends and work-out partners. Well, actually, he's been patient and kind enough to mentor me through working out still so my ass doesn't get too flabby. Although, for some reason he keeps telling me to stay home and eat twinkies. Huh. Tomorrow's our 2nd year anniversary and I'd like to say we're doing something together but he's in Milwaukee - no doubt playing with some sweet girl who had no idea what she was getting herself into but totally enjoying it all the same. And, I'm on hour 12 of applications, financial aid research, minor breaks for Mad TV, and a few coctails. Tomorrow I believe I'll continue the work. And I guess that's just the perfect way to celebrate our non-relationship relationship.

Regardless of what is or isn't between us, it didn't stop us from going out Saturday night after the elections. He picked me up and we had sushi. I was pretty sure that there wasn't chemistry any longer but we went over to the pool hall for some games anyway. And, I was still pretty sure that there wasn't chemistry and - in normal, blunt Lola fashion that I thank the bejesus that James doesn't just walk out on me every time - I brought it up. He was kind of pussyfooting around us, around me, around the pool table and I was rather getting fed up with it. I mean, I guess I'd been ballsy of late and rather in control of my own self and making the decisions. He'd been reacting to my decisions and trying not to just explode at me and walk out, keeping it together, keeping it a bit distant. So, I grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulled him to me, and leaned in to make out. We even stumbled back a bit and I think I pushed my tongue into his mouth. There! That's passion. That's what I'd wanted. That's what I was missing.

When we got back to my place we were both a bit snockered. We sat on the carpet and I poured myself another drink. "Where's your mojo?" That was easy for drunk Lola to say, hard for James to hear. But I guess that's what it boiled down to in my mind. Where was the spunk, the heat, the crazed and overpowering lust and domination, the brutality, the control, the degredation?

PDH once explained, "The paradox, I find, as a dom myself is that the closer I get to someone, the harder it is to dom them. It's easy to humiliate and discipline a stranger in a way. Different when you wake up next to them in the morning and make them toast. If you see what I mean. The trade off is that of course, you get to love. And love and companionship aren't a trivial thing. I don't presume to know what you need/want, just I hope it works out for you."

Well, James did not take kindly to me asking where his mojo went, but he swallowed it with pride and courage. And, then took it out on me as I took it out of him. On the bed, trying to tie me up, I was not a limp, compliant Lola. I tossed and turned, kneed and scratched, I twisted and turned, wrastled and wrestled. And he kept me on the bed and forced me into exhaustion and acceptance.

In the morning we both felt better. My muscles ached. I remembered how good it felt to be overpowered by him. And, I think he was able to wake his mojo again.

The next weekend I went to Minneapolis for a conference. Drove up there Thursday with the interns and thought I was going to shoot myself but it ended up being a nice 4 hour drive of fun conversation and jokes. After dinner with all the conference kids, I went back to my room, ordered up a beer, and hooked in the laptop.
I guess I've had a resurgance of courage and risk. I decided to un-divorce my sister and told her I was in town and thought she might want to come to dinner with all of us on Saturday night. I was emailing our pal Hex and he reminded me that our pal Clichemonster was living in the cities still. So I dropped him an email to see if he'd be around over the weekend and would he want to meet up quickly. Then, I decided to drop an email to a colleague to see if he was in town, too. Said colleague was, indeed, at the conference and wondered if we could meet for dinner on Friday. He and I had hooked up a few times before although many of the dates ended without any sexual interaction because I was too drunk and suddenly overcome by a feeling of guilt or complication over a current lover. But, now I was free and feeling a bit over-sexed and under-touched. All day Friday, work was replaced by flirtations, accidental eye stares, panty wetting feelings, and trying to hide the unethical tryst. First of all, he's my superior (in a way), a high level CFO of another state's Dem Party, the chair of the CFO affinity group, and a pal to our CFO. Secondly, he's married although technically separated although sleeping on the couch at their place "for the sake of the kids." I'm a whore. I know I am. I know it.

Clichemonster and I decided to meet at 5pm in the hotel lobby. It was so nice to meet him in person, and it really felt very relaxed and comfortable. He had the wrong hotel and actually ran over while we texted descriptions, blocks, and hellos. It was a really quick intro and a brief hug. Granted, I only had 15 minutes to hang out with him between end of conference for the day and the reception. But he thought he'd be available to come meet us out Saturday night. I wasn't quite sure what I was getting myself into - either with this guy who I only knew from the virtual world, or inviting my sister, this guy, and trying to get laid. It felt nice to be a bit overwhelmed and I had this weird energy from god knows where. Like, I could have gone all night had I not had a presentation on Saturday morning. I could have juggled 3 more friends and guys, coulda done coke and smoked all night, coulda spent $500 in a strip club, coulda swaggered in the next morning and bombed the workshop but held my head high in experience. Needless to say, some of that happened, but not all. And I was a good lil' presentater.

I joined my co-workers at a nice 5:30pm reception and ended up wining a case of beer. Fuck, that's right. I won a case of beer. I shouldn't be buying more gin and tonic! Seriously though, I don't drink beer. You want some of my beer? Right, so I won a trivia quiz and got a case of beer. Oddly enough, I had stepped out for a smoke with the tryst man when they called my name. We planned to head out in half-hour for dinner away from the downtown area. It wasn't easy trying to sneak away from co-workers and interns, but I was able to and cabbed it over to the old Loring Cafe which is now Cafe Lurcat. The conversation was work-based because I wasn't sure what to say or how to say it so instead, I probbed and got all the juicey insider scoop we all dream of getting from the boss's boss who has the eagle eye view. It was a fucking fabulous meal and I recommend it to anyone who's on a special-occassion date. I had 2 glasses of white wine, 3 raw oysters on the half shell with mignonette, horseradish and lemon ($3.25ea), and the seared ahi with lemon confit and ponzu ($24.5). I wasn't really paying attention to what Mister Mister had.

After our meal we went outside to share a smoke and I apologized for my previous behavior. I feel like I've been apologizing a lot lately. Even right now, home alone on a Saturday night when I could be getting totally wasted I'm still sipping slowly and not crossing into a wild brink. Even with James on the wicked night of wrestling I didn't feel quite over the drunken edge, although I know was teetering and don't remember all the details. But I apologized to Mister Mister for forgetting a lot of our interactions, conversations, reasons why, and how it happened. He very nicely reminded me of some of the details and forgave some of my idiotic actions.

The bathrooms at the Cafe shared common space sinks and at one point we found each other there and started making out. His hand was starting a rough grope when someone walked in and joked that we get a room. So Mister Mister paid the tab and cabbed us back, asking the cabbie to drop us off a block away. Not too uncommon I'd suppose, but I still felt rather immature. I let him go ahead and waited as he texted me his room number.

Our make-up make-out was rather giggly and rough. After taking off my pants, he instantly rolled me over and proceeded to slap my belt across my ass. Definitely not quite measuring his strength or direction. My ass was stinging and I told him to stop - 1) I'm not a pain slut, 2) I asked if he'd tried this out on his own ass lately. I find it's really not easy being the most experienced, dirty minded sub in the room. This means that others end up tapping into a very nether region of their loins and brains. It means they get carried away and think they have some innate power and strength and command, and they think they can -finally!- do whatever it is they've dreamed of doing or experimented once and want to try again. I'm not an idiot either, nor am I naive, and I hope James never reads this because I know he'll feel protective and maybe even a bit self-defeatist thinking he could have protected me. But I am my own woman and I know how to handle situations. Mister Mister just got a little rough is all, a bit more rough than I was planning. And while his cock isn't nearly James's or (R)Andy's size, it was long enough to make me gag. And he liked that too much and held me there for too long sometimes. I didn't end up tossing the lovely oysters but I did end up pushing back a lot more than I like.

There was sex. Lots of sex. Front and flipped over and on the side sex. And I can now tell between a practiced man and a man needing practice. Or, maybe it's just plain ol' hard to live up to the best -- once you go black you never go back? Well, I've had delicious oysters and it's just hard to be satisfied with guppies. We did roll and laugh and kiss and he told me about his fancy small ipod. I did have to be in bed though. Beauty rest and all...

Don't mind the spelling mistakes, they're not due to drunkenness but to laptop typing - to which I am not accostumed. To James: "I couldn't wait.And Idon't want to tell you about it b/c I don'tw ant to know about your adventures. (I hate typing on laptops Ialways miss the space bar) I hooked up here w an previous lover and I don't knowthat I want to tell you about it.

On theother note, I got to meet Clichemonster in personwhich was cool. He's nice. We only chatted for 5 minutes but I wholly support bloggers meeting in person.

Istill love you and want to be your tying subject and want to hang out but it might get more complicated. Idon'twant to hurt you or make things dramatic or hard and Iknowthey are."

To Lola:

"pretty buzzed.

I just read for the first time that you fucked some guy when I wasn't around. then I called you real quick. sorry to wake you up, but I thought you might be chatty. It's only 12:30 at night. ......

I was absolutely fucking certain that you'd sleep with someone, if nothing else than to further break the bond between us. I know you need separation, and you are going to create it. I understand. It's fine. I'm doing the same thing. The only difference is you caused it and I'm reacting to it, but it all works out the same. We are creating a chasm of sorts between us. We aren't bf and gf, but we can still be lovers perhaps and friends for certain.

you don't have to tell me about your experience with said previous lover if you don't want to, sweetie. although, I'd be curious why you need to hide, and I'm sort of curious if it was kinky or just vanillas.

if you still love me and want to be my tying subject, I'm curious what might get more complicated...
You are not making things harder, or more dramatic, and I mean it. You couldn't possibly be any worse than I am, for god's sake. Just don't fuck any of my really close friends, and we'll be just fine. that's all I ask of you, please.

I won't tell you any more about what my adventures, until I understand where you are coming from.

I still want to know. When do you bleed?
tell me. it helps me understand your mindset, dammit.
I might talk to you tomorrow, but I am rather busy. You have fun, don't worry about me.

dont worry.

fuck

like

a

slut

I love you"

He does know me well. Saturday's to come.....

Monday, November 20, 2006

I'm a crackwhore for Myspace

words heard at a conference I attended this past weekend






photos found on the 'net:

Tuesday, November 14, 2006

Forced (Sex) Change

[Earlier in the broadcast.]


I hate morons today. Humanz are such morons. Maybe I'm completely anal retentive and think I'm better than everyone else. But it's true. I... am .... not.... a ..... moron. Really. I'm not. I'm too self-conscious to be one. I would never say "um" 50 times in a 5 minute speach. I would never write a strident letter to the CEOs of 5 corporations claiming I supported something that was actually incorrect science. I would never not BCC an email to my secret friend's email address and her parents. Because I'm not a moron.

But there are those among us.

I'd like to see the apocolypse of zombies versus morons. I'd like to see their heads fucking ripped off.



[After a cool down.]


I suppose it's all well and good. I was due for a change anyway. I'm no longer seeing James on a boyfriend/girlfriend basis. I helped win an election. I'm going to grad school. I'm getting the fuck out of this dumb town. I'm going to find a city where I can wear sexy clothes to a packed club and be fondled by nasty people. I'm going to find a dirty nasty kinky strong dom. I'm going to work for the United Nations and wear leather panties under my skirts. I'm going places. I'm going to write a book on a beach of south Spain. I'm going to own a flat on the 10th floor of a grey building on the edge of a park in Buenos Aires. I've saved a ton of cash. I'm going to start dating again. I'm going to learn to swallow all of his cock. I'm going to exchange unpleasantries online to anonymous people. I might even get myself arrested sometime. I can see the tiny buds of balls growing below my pussy. I'm going to re-swear allegiance to the devil. I'm going to get my way. I can not care and it's fine.


[Static!]



Fine. It was time for a change anyway. But fuck you, moron, for forcing it upon me. That's not acceptable. I don't care if it was an accident. I hope you die an unpleasant death by zombie. Fucker.



[Zombies.]



I have a clitoris. It's quite possibly 3-4" long. Deep inside my soul are a pair of steel balls. My pheremones are still "oozing sexuality" but I've come out of this sex change a new woman. If you find yourself into transexuals or translations or transparencies or transnationals or transcontinentals, please drop me a line and ask me on a date.

Saturday, November 11, 2006

I am my father's daughter

She was Lo, plain Lo, in the morning, standing four feet ten in one sock. She was Lola in slacks. She was Dolly at school. She was Dolores on the dotted line. But in my arms she was always Lolita. Light of my life, fire of my loins. My sin, my soul. Lo... Lee... Ta.