Cupid, pierce me

Lola had her bumstar filled




oh joys of slow, deliberate, hours long passion



of mussed up hair and pretty clothes that are removed



of lube layered layered sprayed squirted doused



of patience and embarrassment



of stages of increasing sizes



but more, gagging until repulsive sounds were made as belly burps



tongue lapping and clit sucking



fingers and clinical gloves - snap snap they go on



oh fingers in front and cock in behind



laughing and kissing and hiding my face



tongue fucking my pucker



and finally ... sucking you up into me in geyser fulls



and there will be jazz and blues and sounds overlaying the scents we left on sheets and in pores

Everybody knows

Everybody knows that the boat is leaking
Everybody knows that the captain lied
Everybody got this broken feeling
Like their father or their dog just died



And that's all I'll say about the SOTU.

Although I did particularly like the part when he said that medical decisions should be made between a patient and a doctor - not insurance companies. Too bad he couldn't have tossed on there "not insurance companies, or governments, or activist Attorney Generals, or the handful of crazy religious wingnuts." That's the speech I would have written. F'n losers.

Did anyone notice that the only time that Bush and Cheney drank any water was at the exact same time? I mean, hello... puppets!!!! And, what the hell was up with Pelosi? Get that woman a drink of water. She kept licking her collagenated lips like she had leftover lollipop on them. Maybe that was the situation - she thought she was going to starve up there so they coated her lips with sugar to keep her awake. Um, and hello mister cameraman, not a flattering view of McCain while he was looking down to read something -- or, was he really asleep? And, good lord, does the Prez really alienate that many legislators that the only time they can get his autograph is while he's exiting the building? It's not a fucking Ticketmaster show and he's not Justin Timberlake, you nut cases.

Yes, yes, I did listen to what he said. I wasn't just playing Inside Hollywood or something. And, I agree with the reporters, it was somber and sober. But it was a bunch of hooey all dressed up in grown-up clothes, too. The average American will wonder why Pelosi didn't stand up more and won't necessarily get the significance of some of his "plans" or that he's requesting to remove earmarks after his fucking party accepted and encouraged and made it law of the land to slide slippery policy into fucking everything they could. And, I wonder if the average Joe/Jane will get the fact that he wants to allow government to only give doles to the elderly, the handicapped, and the poor snowflake babies -- and not to the middle class or the recently laid-off blue collars or the struggling single mom or the non-traditional, older student trying to work and pay her tuition. And do you think that the average American will understand that the guy who's gonna see to it that doctor's don't get sued for such silly and outrageous offenses as medical malpractice is Michael Leavitt who won't fire a guy who believes that birth control is bad and supports bullying and threatening pregnant women into continuing their pregnancies instead of opting for abortion.

Yeah, I don't have much faith in the average population. Yes, yes, they did make a statement when they voted for Democrats [or rather, voted anti-Iraq war]. But will they understand the politics of the SOTU tonight? Will they still call for an end to the war? Will they see through his b.s.? Will they - will we still call for impeachment?

And, that's all I'm going to say about the SOTU.



Anyway..

I took a break physically last week from men. The only man I saw was my ass doctor who didn't even touch me. It was purely a consult to discuss having the "tag" of skin [aka the tail of the devil] removed from my bumstar. We had to have an official consult so my insurance would refer me and cover the cost of my future surgery. Yee-haw! Surgery! Fun! Buckets and buckets. I have no idea how this is going to go down at all. [I'd tell you a funny story about James and surgery, but I don't have his permission to share. Anyway, he'd prolly tell it best.] All I know is that this will require a cut and, I imagine, some stitches near my bumstar. I will be purchasing shares of the Luv's corporation - specifically requesting a ton of my investment in baby wipes. The hospital has sufficiently tried to scare the beegeezus out of me with a packet of info containing a form for power of attorney, pages of instructions about what not to eat or drink before the surgery, and has me second-guessing my decision already.

School's going well. Crazy cat lady econ professor is indeed crazy cat lady. I'm remembering all her stories about the snowplow her husband bought, the cat she spent $1000 on, and the mini-storage rental business she owns, but I'm not understanding the correlations to economics. And I think her lectures confuse me more than just reading the book, which btw has nice photos and colors and bigger sized font and good examples and fun stories. I do feel slightly like they're telling me I'm either a retard or a 9th grader, but it's a nice, slow re-introduction into school. Stats isn't going any better - not that either are going poorly, it's just .. average, I guess. There are some things I'm experiencing that I remember from back in the day. The immediate camaraderie you can build with a classmate if you just introduce yourself and share a bit. All of a sudden I have a study partner or two! I'm being a very good student and reading all the material - and more! - than required. I'm grasping it all pretty well, too. And it seems perfect that the econ goes with the stats as I'm learning them. Correlation but not causation. Etc...

Applying's going well. The London School of Economics turned me down but that was expected as it was a long-shot. You're the first to hear this news. Please don't tell everyone, especially not my recommenders or family. I'm not ready to tell the disappointments. .... I've only got Hertie[Berlin], Leiden [NL], and Sciences Po [Paris] left to go. The grand total will be 12. Geezus if I don't get accepted by one of them!

Anyway... this is a good week. Men on the horizon. I'll catch up with schoolwork. Work-work's not too demanding yet. Next week I get to attend the State of the State and the reception at the Governor's mansion. It's also my mum's 60th birthday and my dad's 64th. I can't imagine a world without them and I can only hope that they'll be around for forever - even though I know that's not possible. And, what kind of gift says that? Got any suggestions?

Oh, and I posted an entry below that was free-flow following a playdate with SirMax. Enjoy!


And total PS. I haven't really been following them all that much, but I just spotted The Shins on Dave Letterman [I guess they were on SNL recently?!?]. If you click the link [to YouTube] or you know them at all.. Dave Hernandez, the back-up vocals and guitarist, you know, the hottest one of them all - well, he was in a band out of Albuquerque called Scared of Chaka. SoC played our basement back in the punk rock days. And, as drunk young girls are, my gal pal and I almost flipped a coin to see which boy we got: Dave or Dameon [the bassist of SoC]. But, we both kind of leaned toward one of the boys - she got Dave and I got Dameon. And... she got nuthin' that night and I got Dameon. .......... All my Minneapolis boys makin' it big now. Sigh. I loved that time in life.

All abuzz

"I bet a lot of people have liked you too much," he said.

I was on my right side, naked, with my arms tied in close and my hands in fists. I don't want to talk about myself I don't want to seem grandiose about myself.

I am bent over the high doctors table. My hands out, on my elbows, my palms flat - just like the Secretary. It's the negative space that I feel most sometimes. The minus of touch means the readying of slaps.

It flies through space and hits my ass in a thud. His arm goes back and I hear the air whisper and whine. The chains are rattling in the aftermath of sway. Something will fall on to me and it may or may not hurt in a sharp or dull pain.

I am trying to keep my eyes closed the whole time I am told to. I wish I had a blindfold because it is harder to keep them closed and the tiny peeks I take remind me I am alive instead of dreaming more deeply.

There are no chains to hook me into this time. I am not restrained by outward ties. It is of my own volition and my own control to remain -- or not to. My palms feel sweaty only when I take a second to move them. My feet only feel the wood digging into them when I chance a movement.

I wonder if I'll use a safeword or use a caution.

I feel like I need to hide my face more. But I know he'd never accidentally strike it.

I am on the X cross.

It's a tumble of feeling on my ass, my back. It's the smell of leather rubbed across my face. The twitch in my nose of cat fur whipped up into the air. The sound of the thuds, the biting sting, the air between each which is a whistle and an anticipation, the air around the air which moves around me and around the room like a ghost.

It's not about levels of pain, he said, it's about endurance. Move my fingers when I'm tired of being in this position or my arms get frail or I need to move. I am determined not to move my fingers. I want this so badly.

Yes, like the Secretary needs to cut, needs the release and the rush. I feel I find myself building between emails. I feel myself wishing for this.

The flogs are different in shape, length, texture. One, shorter, stings more. One longer, thicker feels like a massage. Yes, on my back, between my shoulder blades I feel like I'm being massaged. A deep, Swedish, painful massage. I can sigh in relief.

Am I falling? Is the cross tipping over? I'm falling. I'm falling. I'm .... dreamy.

Flagellation. The Romans. Christ. The Catholics in the street during Easter in Spain. Even they flog themselves. The children dressed in green or red hoods like a decorative KKK. The march down the narrow cobblestone. Why do they flog themselves? Do they like it? Yes. Yes. Yes! YES! Yes, they must.

My panties are getting wetter. Please touch me there.

My ass is so sensitive.

If I were blind... I hear that. Something being plugged in. Something humming. I don't know how I know, but I know what that is. "I'm scared" the first words I utter other than "ow" and the tears I have cried. Sappy, as "The Blower's Daughter" song sings, I weep. I feel such release and a sting that I think is a ruler - a ruler from class, made of wood with that narrow metal on one edge - the metal that could cut a finger if used so. .... A shock to my thigh. A zap. I have been zapped more than once a winter day at work for 6 years. We finally bought and use a humidifier. I'm so afraid of this though. Electricity. I'm wondering if my electrons are being rearranged.

When he calms me, he stops flogging and presses his jean-covered leg between mine and I feel safe. Covered. Engulfed. Just by a pair of legs and a whisper, "You are such a brave girl."

Romans.

What is he thinking as he flogs me? Where are his thoughts? I'm worried he's not getting off like I am. And, why am I getting off?

I am eyes closed and led to another part of the room. Hands on a pillow-covered bench. Kneeling. Bending over. I am spanked some more. And teased between my legs. At one point, he pulls my white, cotton thong down to my thighs and spanks me. I cannot help but start to push my ass toward him more. My legs are only slightly apart but each slap on my ass brushes air to my cunt or warms it with his hand - I cannot tell where the feeling comes from. All I know is that I want more and I want to open more and reach out more. I push my ass out. Slowly. Incrementally. God I can feel how wet I am.

I am belly on the bench, legs spread behind me wide. His cock is entering me and, again, I feel like a virgin. He almost thrusts me off the bench. I am holding on and trying to push back. My toes digging into the carpet. My thighs taut and forced.

"Now it's your turn to move onto me." I feel his hand holding the vibrator on my clit and something enters my cunt. My eyes are still closed. I think it's a dildo. I think it's plugged in. It keeps getting warmer as I ride it and move backward on to it. I try to find a rhythm but am distracted by the vibrator. I want to hold the vibe on my clit where I know I'll find it. He's doing his best. Warmer, warmer, deeper, deeper. Oh god, I'm cumming again.

It was 2 of his fingers. No dildo.

It's the finger blades again. He has this habit to put his hand on my face, on my head. He's holding me still. I like the muffled feeling of it. I like the caution. Finger blades up and down my entire body. And when they touch my ass, I unconsciously, purely from biological reaction quiver and shake.. I'm so sensitive now. I'm afraid my ass will bleed from moving too much. It tickles, it makes me shriek, it zings me.

I am on my back on the bench. His mouth is on my clit. It's almost as embarrassing as him peering through a monocle at my ass. I'm embarrassed but he sucks my mini-cock clit into his mouth and sucks, flicks, licks, sucks, flicks, licks. I can't help but move my legs, curl them up and apart. Opening myself more, bucking my hips at him more, rotating.

I am on my back on the bench and he is fucking me. Hard, fast, a long-distance runner. He is sweating and I am gasping, Daddy. Daddy. Daddy. Yes, Daddy. Whispering. I want to be like Mommy. I want to be a big girl. I pull my hands from the bench legs and touch his back - to crave him more. And he says yes. He says yes. He grunts and cums whispering, grunting nasty words of how I will be a big girl and how Daddy loves his little girl.

I want to do it again. I want to do this again. I want to do it now. Again. He tickles me lightly with his fingertips - all over my body. Up and down and circling lightly around my cunt. If.. if .. if you dip one more second down there I will lift up to meet you and tell you to touch me more.. I could go again that way.. I could pin myself to the wall again and I could kneel and I could spread all over again. God I love this. I love I love I love I want to say I love my Daddy but I don't love you I love this I love how you are making me feel I love this God I want this again Now.

My legs are shaky. My arms tired. My mind a buzz. When we lay on the bed outside the playroom and he asks me what I thought I ramble. Romans. Flagellation. Sounds. Air. Negative space. What are you thinking. Pain. Tears. Suffering. Dreamy. Floating. Wet. I ramble. I think this is the most I've ever said before to him.

And then I am upstairs, outside her room and he tells me to sit and I'm naked on the floor and hair ruffled and sweaty and he asks her to come out. She sits in front of me - she had previously sat in front of me as we were clothed and we made small talk but giggled - and I'm totally humiliated and embarrassed and I hope she's not mad and .. "This is awkward," I say. I catch her eyes looking at my face and then my chest and pubis. She is checking me out in a small, sideways, non-chalont way. I wonder if she registered that I am trimmed. I wonder what her cunt looks like. She's younger than me but I feel like she knows more. And there isn't some weird command that he has over her. It's natural that he ask her to come out and tell her to sit. She only protests with her body as anyone in the middle of a home project would - what now? She doesn't laugh at my nudity or timidity which makes me feel better. And for these interactions I could see myself kissing her.

He and I grab salad fixings and eat the entire bowl of salad as I ask him questions about their relationship, about how he found his dom-ness, about what we know about bdsm and how we got there. I am talkative and at times I feel stupid. Sex brain. When the salad is done I'm ready to go home. PCSS - as he calls it, post-coital [...] syndrome. I said "stress" he said ".. " god I cant' remember. Yes, it's true, I have a lot of male genes in me. I'm ready to pull away and go. He makes me roll over on my side on the harem bed and there I am, arms curled to my chest and he's trying to break into me. "I bet a lot of people have liked you too much," he said.

I am warming to him though. It's impossible not to fall for a deliverer of lusciousness. It's hard not to like someone who is likable.

[written 1/15/07 1:38am]

Oy, homework

We were given chapters 1-3 on Tuesday am for Thursday am. Three! chapters. Um, hello. I work for a living... Also, as I told M. and pdh, "Class went well. The econ prof is a crazy geeky hippie lady who is married w 5 cats. Yeah, crazy cat lady. And the kids are -- kids. All about 19-22 years old and really kind of the bottom of the barrel of society. It'll be interesting for sure."

Today, in my stats class, I was given the task to purchase a stats or graphs calculator. I haven't owned a calculator in years because, nicely, Bill Gates planned ahead and installed one in every fucking computer!!!

I hope it cools down a bit next week so I get weekends to really focus on all my reading. Lordy. .. I am, indeed, still psyched, but I'm also tired as hell. It's kind of a draining rush to go back to school after 8 years. Met a nice young lass in my stats class who, like me, did undergrad in art and now we're playing catch-up for real world pursuits -- this, I am learning, has everything to do with economics, too. ;)

My boss made me have the realism chat today. When am I planning on leaving my job? When should they hire someone to try to get 2 months training in? ... I told her I've only really been thinking in incremental steps so I wouldn't go insane with this enormous shift in lifestyle. First, researching schools. Second, applying. Third, get W-2 back to apply for financial aid. Fourth, hear back from schools. Fifth, negotiate funding with the schools. Sixth - somewhere around April - decide where to go. Seventh, contemplate moving and quitting my job. Apparently, I can't move along in orderly fashion. I have to think beyond myself and my own fears and interests. And, it kind of hit me. I'm actually leaving a job I've held for almost 6 years in a place I've lived the longest in my life. And, I actually have to think about storage pods, transportation, new living situation, finances -- all over again and in a new light. It's exciting and terrifying.

2007 is about "no to never!" and adventure.

Lola goes to school

Oh. My. God.

I start classes tomorrow. My whole life is going to change completely. What if I can't keep up? What if the other kids laugh at me? What if I'm over-dressed? What if I can't understand Professor Wu? How much are the textbooks gonna cost? How the hell am I going to go to bed by 11pm tonight and get up by 645am tomorrow? Will they let me bring my coffee in to class? What if it's too hard? What if I don't 'get it'?

Oh. My. God.

I'm so excited. I'm so so so so scared.

I think I'm going to throw up.

Back to last year

As I've said before, and as some of you know, this blog isn't about who reads or how many read [although I do love my readers dearly]. It started out when I realized I had amassed 30+ spiral notebooks of diaries. God, what would happen if the apartment burned down? I'd grab the diaries and the photos first. Everything else can go to hell.

But then, from '97-'98 I was studying abroad and while I still created about 3 notebooks, I also started endless hours in the computer lab typing out my adventures in emails to my parents. Typing seemed so much faster than handwriting out the long strings of thoughts. When I got back and plunked a computer in my very first apartment of my own, I found Yahoo Geocities. Then, this guy "rhet0ric" found me and offered to host me on his site. Then, I found Blogger - and found a need for it in '01. I leave no paper trails around for fire to lick or boyfriends to find. I write a lot more quickly and editing is so much more pretty. And, then, there are you all, you dear dear readers who pop in and reassure me that it's a good idea to be so public about my private parts. Because this is my private journal, my 1000+ spiral notebook. A place for me to get it out of my soul, cleanse my mind, jump for joy, sob for hours, and remember all the things and people and smells and minutes.

I'd like to remember the last week in December.

After my dinner with SirMax. The next day I was planning on meeting Roger the Traveller at 10am. I thought we were going for coffee, heading to a hotel room he would rent, play for hours, grab some lunch, play some more and then he'd head back to Chicago. Thank god I kind of cleaned the apartment because it happened just like that, only in my tiny cave-like womb of a studio. [I was embarrassed for him to see it because once bd made like he was really uncomfortable by the size and lack of my apartment. I am working on getting over this. ... Anyway. This isn't about 2003, we're only going back a few weeks.]

I might not be Deep Throat yet, but I do think - with the appropriate coaxing and patience - I have become, and can become for each man quite an amazing cocksucker. Roger Traveller came inside the apartment, kissed me and I reached for his belt, slowly easing him backward to the bed.

Sidebar: Now, right now, at this point in time of my life there is one major change that has occurred. I have quit drinking quite as much as I used to drink. In November, I stopped drinking during the work week when I started writing my personal statements for schools as I applied to them. I just couldn't allow myself to slosh my way through what I would think was a great 3-page paper and then wake up the next day to read shit and realize that I'd already pushed "submit this application." Then, it was a total coincidence that I stopped drinking as much with social engagements. It just so happened that I didn't want to drink before meeting SirMax for dinner. And it just so happened that I didn't even want to drink during dinner. I actually enjoyed the tremors and nervousness and insecurities I felt. From there, it just seemed like I could do anything, take chances, risk myself, be adventurous and didn't need booze to steel me or loosen me. /Sidebar

So, here I was totally sober, 10am in the morning, bright sunlight outside, a guy getting half-nekkid in my apartment. And I just felt like something was missing or something wasn't quite right. It wasn't that I needed a gin & tonic to get that cock in my mouth. It wasn't that I needed to get out of my apartment and into a hotel room. I think what I really needed to do was make it night. Make it dark. There's something so unsexy about fucking under florescent lights, sucking under a spotlight, and having all the light in the world shine down on a new body, a new crotch, a new set of legs. And me feeling hesitant makes me feel less bold which makes me feel less courageous which makes me feel self-conscious which makes me perform less intensely which makes me feel like the whole date just blows.

I fought this feeling though. And after spending about a month's worth of time watching porny videos sent by Roger Traveller focused on girls giving blowjobs, girls giving handjobs, girls facing away as they rode guys' cocks, girls getting their asses filled with cock. I knew what to do and how to blow his mind.

I shut my eyes and pretended that the birds were silent, that my music was cooing, that he couldn't see every little blemish on my back, and I proceeded to give a blowjob he wouldn't ever forget or ever be able to match with one of his glossed over porny girls. His hard cock laying on his belly, I went down covered by my hair. From the base of his cock, open-mouthed, tongue sliding up slowly like a snail. Fat, round licks on his head, my mouth a natural cave of glistening wetness. A few pointed flicks just under the head around the sensitive cap. A perfected no-hands quick suction-up of his head into my flush lips. Cradling just the helmet between my wet lips, a slow inching downward, a gentle pull upward, moistening and wetting each inch as I dropped lower, lower, lower. Sucking so hard as to pull my cheeks in as if drawing the life out of him. Tightening my mouth closer around him, and slowly, slowly back up. I pulled up, opening my mouth, allowing that lovely walking bridge of saliva to dazzle between me and his body, wrapped my right hand just under the curve of his head, and covered it again with my mouth. My hand holding him at attention, my mouth was free to release a wide open smile with my tongue again lapping in fat strokes at his head and down, underneath his shaft and up, again pointing my tongue just a bit, like licking up the center of an ice cream bar.

I wrapped my hand around tighter and started pushing all the way down the shaft to stretch his sensitivity followed by my wet mouth sliding down, and he stopped me. "I don't want to come yet." He pulled me up to him and kissed me. It always surprises me when men want to kiss their own taste and it surprises me more when men I don't expect to want this, do. He told me to get a condom - something I'm running a bit short on in Chez Lola - and I balked, "You didn't bring your own?" Secretly, I wasn't sure if he'd want me whipping out the Magnums [leftover from James]. "I don't know what size you are or what you'd like!" He told me to reach into his bag o' goodies [a mini Rubbermaid container - hrm]. I'm also not the one to usually put the condom on either, but this doesn't mean I don't have excellent training in how to do so.

I started wondering if maybe his naivete about dom/sub interactions led his mind to think that he'd get a sex slave out of the deal and not have to work much at all on this adventure. Maybe it wasn't just that it was bright as hell daylight outside. Maybe there were things starting to rub me the wrong way. Or, maybe it was me entering total PMS zone. I pushed through it nonetheless.

I turned around and eased myself back onto his cock - again, something I rarely do and never do as the first act [I'm not very coordinated or strong legged for on top] and haven't done the backwards rodeo in years. Luckily, I was wearing a skirt when he came over and luckily, I kept the boots on. Boots on the floor for bracing is the best way to do this. If he could have laid down on the carpet it might have even been better at least until my thighs gave out.

I bounced, I contracted, I slid slowly, I turned my face to him and spied from between my arms, I spied around my shoulder, I used my arms and my legs, I pulled my legs together between his, I put my legs around the outside of his and then I came in sweat and panting and exhaustion. I turned around and laid my head on his chest. He put himself back in me and slowly, slow, slow, slowly pulled out and pushed in. At every inward push I could feel ripples, tiny ripples, little soundwaves emanating from my pussy all the way to my head and toes. Each time he pushed back in I mewed. And each time I mewed he wanted to hear it again. Another tinygirl sigh squeak. And the more he wanted to hear me the more I wanted to feel him. The faster and harder I wanted to feel him. The faster he moved himself into me and the harder he pulled me over him, the closer I got to exploding a mini-fireball born from glowing waves and tired tides.

Somehow I was down between his legs again using my hand to twist up and push down and my mouth wasn't far behind. I didn't want his cum just then and so I let it erupt below my eyelashes, shooting up to my shoulder and arm, landing on his belly. A mini geyser.

We cleaned up and went for Laotian. I felt like I was driving the date and I didn't like that very much. We had decent conversation over lunch. I learned about his 6 month travels in the East. I'm not sure how much he learned about me.

We came back to my apartment and he asked if I wanted to try on the suit now. Sure! I'd never worn a fishnet bodysuit. The busty blonde on the cover definitely pointed out the attributes I would not be featuring in my modeling of it. But she wasn't snickering at me. I think the crotchless part was probably the least flattering of the whole get up. It could stand to be slightly less huge and obvious. But I liked the feeling of being a mermaid trapped in netting. It's a bit of bondage of its own. Not tight, not snug. Just a light decoration holding me. [no, sorry, no pictures of this]

I sat next to him on the couch in front of his laptop. This was one of his fantasies. He has a ton - I mean ton - of porn and I was kind of interested in watching it with someone. I've never really done much of that at all. [Maybe because I do fine making it on my own?] He told me to just pick. It was hard because porny clips are never named "Beth_cocksuck_assfuck_a_bit_of_goth_and_a_castle" or "Mary_beach_2_guys_collar_cocksucking_double_pene" or "Total_gaping_assholes_get_filled_and_stretched." Most of them are all of these undecipherable names like "x9ue8239-karri-cum23490" or "erika_fuck_2_t987d." So I had to just click and try. A lot of them are assfucking and that just made me feel bad and made bumstar want to cry. Finally I clicked on something about a girl kind of dressed in punk rock slutty wear with a collar and leash, 2 super cheesy slick-back hair guys on a couch in a beach house and something about her getting both cocks. It was good enough to continue watching. I liked how she was somewhat degraded, being pulled from one cock to another. I played with myself just to see if I could get it up. I sucked on him just to see if I could get him up. As we neared the end of the film he stood up and went around behind me. "Get on your hands and knees, Lola." It didn't take long for him to come.

We mumbled and thanked each other and he said he had to go. [rolling my eyes - as if I'd want anything beside that?] I got my night to myself. Slight let down. I wasn't really feeling his kink. Over the past days he's emailed me all kinds of naughty words and nasty ideas. I kind of ignored them but decided to tell the truth. I just wasn't sure that our kinks were matching up. We need to have another date to see what's the what with it all. I don't want to write him off completely just because he's a vanilla coming out of his shell and he does have many kinky ideas.

Friday I stayed on my own in my own world. I received instructions from SirMax for our playdate on Saturday. Nothing too serious, but serious enough:
"Beautiful girl,

There are a number of things that I want to be sure to get done tomorrow. I will do what of them that I can before noon but I won't have time to get it all done then. I will have to do some of it after my walk with James.**

Therefore I will come by to pick you up at 6:00pm. This time, however, I want you to have already eaten. I also want the following:

1. E-mail me a list of foods that you enjoy snacking on so that I can have some of them in the house.

2. Bring a toothbrush and clean undies just in case. I am planning and expecting to take you home, but this gives us options. Just in case.

3. Bring music that you think might suit tomorrow evening.

4. Wear similar undies, or, if you've had the chance to do laundry, the same will serve just fine.

5. Check your e-mail sometime between 5 and 6:00pm tomorrow should I have additional directions.

I trust that if my sweet girl needs more specifics that she'll let me know.

Tomorrow, lovely one."

**James did go for a walk with SirMax. Interestingly, they talked about everything but kink.

You can see the end result of Saturday's playtime with SirMax in the Flickr photos. I'll have to spend some time at another time writing about it. It was quite the mind trip for me. And, very very much the body trip. I don't know that I've ever been that bruisey. I do think that some of the pics make it look like I've been visiting a Russian prison.

I might have to interject the retelling of the last week of December to skip to this week and weekend. Andy stopped by on Wednesday night and god, that was delicious and new and bumstar got a nice, slow, gentle treat. This past Saturday James and I went to the gym together and man, we laugh a lot. Then, this afternoon I visited SirMax again. I never figured that I'd become a spank-o or flagellation whore. I never, ever thought I'd let someone use a violet wand on me. I've never cried out orgasming, "Oh, Daddy! I want to be a big girl!" [don't laugh - well, okay, laugh - I guess you had to be there.] I've never kneeled naked in front of another man's girlfriend/slave/lover/partner, a woman I just met 2 hours earlier, as I stank of sex and was covered in the after-effects of a good ol' beating. I guess the theme for 2007 so far is: adventure, dare to go where Lola has not gone before.

Life is not a journey to the grave
with the intention to arrive safely in a
pretty and well-preserved body,
but rather to skid in broadside,
thoroughly used up,
totally worn out,
and loudly proclaiming,
Wow!! What a ride!


The human body has limitations.
The human spirit is boundless.

[1st part: a running buddy of Dean Karnazes
2nd part: Dean Karnazes]

Twists in my belly

It makes me homesick for the Twin Cities and frustrated that I was this || close to being the object of Craig Finn's songs. I grew up there with Lifter Puller always at the Turf Club and now I can hear and see The Hold Steady singing "he loved the golden gophers but he hated all the drawn out winters" on the Letterman show.

I'm glad they made it.

My heart feels heavy.




The Hold Steady - "Stuck Between Stations" - LIVE
Live At Warsaw, Brooklyn, April 2006






Stuck Between Stations
c/o The Hold Steady

there are nights when i think that sal paradise was right. boys and girls in america have such a sad time together.
sucking off each other at the demonstrations.
making sure their makeup's straight.
crushing one another with collossal expectations.
dependent, undisciplined, sleeping late.

she was a really cool kisser and she wasn't all that strict of a christian.
she was a damn good dancer but she wasn't all that great of a girlfriend.
he likes the warm feeling but he's tired of all the dehydration.
most nights were crystal clear but tonite its like it's stuck between stations
on the radio.

the devil and john berryman took a walk together
they ended up on washington talking to the river
he said "I surrounded myself with doctors and deep thinkers
but big heads with soft bodies make for lousy lovers".
there was that night that we thought that john berryman could fly.
but he didnt so he died.
she said "you're pretty good with words but words won't save your life"
and they didn't so he died.

he was drunk and exhausted but he was critically acclaimed and respected.
he loved the golden gophers but he hated all the drawn out winters.
he likes the warm feeling but he's tired of all the dehydration.
most nights were kind of fuzzy but that last night he had total retention.


these twin city kisses.
sound like clicks and hisses.
and we all come down and drown in the mississippi river.

we drink
we dry up.
we crumble into dust.

we get wet we corrode
we get covered in rust.

I feel so decadent

Ignoring emails

Feeling the slow slide of blood

Sipping on the champagne I bought to share

Slipping on the fuzzy socks, long john tee, no bra, baby panties

Watching [in this order]:
The Heart is Deceitful Above All Things [my own acquiescence to JT Leroy],
Spanglish [in case the aforementioned sucks],
Bukowski: Born Into This [intrigued], and
Paris, Texas [because I saw it in '97 in a small theatre in Toledo, Spain and want to re-visit this Wim Wenders delight].

Yummmy yummmmy weekends....

I am your best dream, I am my worst nightmare

I really, really, really didn't intend to drink that much. Thank god I ate enough beforehand, and - now remembering - afterwards. Alas, no regrets! Not a damn one! Great fucking time!

• Roger NYC and I chatted at great length early in the evening. I even gave him a slow moon on my webcam.
  
• SirMax swung by to return my CDs and give me a copy of "The Secretary" [of course, I've seen it, love it, but didn't have my own]. He was looking extremely dapper in a tux. Not sure where he went for the evening, but that was one lucky lady!
  
• The cab wait only took 7 minutes.
• The High Noon Saloon was not sold out as I had feared.
• All the bartenders were super sweet to me. [The dude one even bought me a Jameson shot.]
  
• I spent about 7$ on the "Revenge of the Sith" pinball game. Stupid fucking game with it's trick magnet in the middle right. [I totally want one of these!]
  
• Saw a. and was sweetly invited to dance by him during the greatest fucking Screamin' Cyn Cyn and the Pons show EVER!
• Shane of SCC&P was dressed as baby New Year in diapers and a silver sash. Such a fucking cutie as he counted down.
• Didn't dance with a. because I was "accidentally" bumping into this cute punker kid standing kind of behind me.
• 2007 came in and I kept dancing and started plotting how I'd steal a kiss from the cute punker guy.
• At the end of the SCC&P set, I turned, looked into his eyes and just leaned in and kissed him. His lips didn't really open up and he kind of leaned back like he was totally caught off guard, which he was. And I said, "Sorry. I just didn't get a kiss at New Years and wanted one." [I'm sure if the sexes in this scenario were changed I'd be sued for sexual harassment. Then again, I'd also be a very stunning, hot guy.]
• I drank a few too many jack & cokes.
• I didn't want to wait for the line in the bathroom and instead, left the bar, hopped over the short wall, facing the deserted lot and the gas station far off, an I peed next to two punk girls who I think were smoking crack.
• I sat outside at a table, had a smoke, and coerced a dying poet and an Iraq war veteran to kiss me for New Years. [The military dude kept calling me "Loooooooola" all night every time he'd see me. It was endearing.]
  
• Cute pucker dude and I made serious eye contact during the next band and between sets he told me he was going to sit up front to watch the next band and I should come up there.
• Actions becoming hazy.
• I found him sitting on a stool in front of the bar and I stood next to him. He pulled me to him - kind of on his lap, kind of between his legs, and I leaned back. We made out. I .... of course, dirty Lola... started to rub his cock behind my back.
  
• Words becoming hazy.
• Somehow we went outside the bar and he somehow pulled me over to where his bike was locked up against the chain-link fence in the corner behind the fenced-in dumpsters.
• He mentioned something about just ending a super duper long relationship.
  
• We started kissing.
  
• And somehow I pulled him behind the dumpsters and leaned him up against the fence.
• And somehow I squatted down onto my knees and unzipped his pants.
• And somehow he was so hard and so perfectly sized for my mouth I felt like this was the way to bring in the New Year.
  
• And somehow I wasn't too drunk to be too sloppy.
  
• And fucking somehow he tasted so fucking fucking fucking fantastic. I want to know what his diet is.
• We laughed that his friend had come and taken his own bike, which was locked up a few feet away from where we were.
• He couldn't believe that I didn't want reciprocal attention.
  
• I told him I'm not a normal chick and that what we just did was exactly what I wanted. [God, I hope he didn't think I was a trans or CD!]
  
• A bartender came out of the dumpster area just as we were leaving.
• We ended up under the heated lamp stand on the patio.
  
• Why did I end up giving Shane of SCC&P my phone number? And, why did I tell him where I work? Good lord...
  
• a. came up and totally made me fucking wet my pants again as he made full on mouth love to Shane.
  
• Then, a. recognized the punker guy I was with and talked him up about music. [Thank god a. could remind me what punker guy's name was today. Apparently, through the rabbit hole of the web I found out that punker guy isn't really so punk either... but he looked fucking incredible last night, and kissed so wonderfully with slow, big, wet lips.]
• And when I was about to head to the Weary Traveller with cute punker guy to meet up with my friends Ms. M and pdh, and he with his - coincidence - a. told me that M and pdh were actually upstairs at the High Noon.
• So, cute punker guy and I hugged and thanked each other and he went on his way... although I was kind of let down a bit cuz he rather dissed me. I mean, I was being totally "I'm not a whiny girl and I don't have to come to the Weary with you and I'm not having sex with you so if you don't want me to come, you should say so.. seriously." And, well, he said so. Not in so many words, because men in Madison are fucking feminists.
• pdh, Ms. M, a. and some others and I hung out in the upper balcony. Some of the others were naughty, naughty girls who smoked up there and I think one said that she could understand my sucking-behind-the-dumpsters story because she used to be a hooker. And, I think I rudely clarified that I was indeed not a hooker. HA! .... I'm not because if I were I'd fucking have enough money to pay for grad school.
• pdh, Ms. M and I drove over to Cafe Montmartre because I remembered that 2 years ago [when James almost dumped my sorry ass because I was super drunk and thought I wanted to go home with the Cafe's owner] they had food. They did not, in fact, have food last night. But they did have good music [and it was so less packed than 2 years ago, too]. pdh and Ms. M went home and I stayed to shake it a bit more and ran into an old pally.
• Danced with a drunk military looking boy who had the most fucking freezing hands and arms I've ever felt and they did not get warmer over time. Trust me, I tried to warm them - nothing vulgar. We went into the Sidecar, where no one was at, I pulled out a chair and tried to warm his hands by putting them between my clothed legs. Drunk Lola, "See? You put your hands in the warmest places to warm them, like under your armpits or between your thighs..." What a moron. His military buddies came and stole him back and I realized that was my cue to go home.
  
• I remember pigging out on corn chips and dip. One channel on TV had only an American flag flapping - and that was it.
  
• Somehow I got my pjs on, but did not wash my face.
  
• I woke up at 1:34pm today and that was surprising.
• I woke up fucking happy about the night - and that was wonderful.
  

I hope each of you had a grand time ringing it in last night. Share your stories!! What did you do?

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

More about last week maybe this week.


xoxo