Wednesday, July 4, 2007

First person on earth, last to know

It's funny. I feel like I'm the first person on earth to ever move to Paris. So, I'm perusing The Paris Blog which is like a hub for all-blogs-Paris. Down the rabbit hole and I'm discovering that I'm really not the first. Not the first American, probably not the first student, not the first hungry, not the first wide-eyed, not the first trying to figure out why calls to the USA are free, not the first wondering about my living situation, not the first having anxiety attacks.

I kind of want to be the first.

But I know that I will be the first with my own viewpoint which will definitely tell more [or less, depending on my class schedule and load].

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

I'll have photos soon, but last weekend I went to visit the parents and went up to Minneapolis. I swung by the parents so I could meet with the lawyer and finalize my Last Will and Testament along with all the Powers (of Attorney and Health Care). It's weird realizing the end and recognizing it and detailing what I want if I become a vegetable - or people think I'm a vegetable.

Friday I met up with a high school friend B. It was his pre-birthday party and we had dinner at Psycho Suzy's. I met all his professional friends - all doctors and most some kind of crazy (the obsession with marathons and triathlons!). I was designated driver so he could party it up.

I took my underwear off in the car at his request.

He and I have gotten together once in a while over the years. He reminded me of a weekend when Lola was a Drunkard and a bunch of us met in a hotel in Minneapolis. I ended up half-naked in the hallway over some truth or dare. Then there was the parking ramp when I gave him head. Then back at the hotel room after a friend of ours' 30th birthday party when he crawled on top of me and shoved his cock in my mouth.


["The Dead Flag Blues (Intro)" and lyrics

the car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows

the government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn...


When we got back to his place we did two shots of Maker's - mood enhancer or relaxant, you be the judge. Over dinner I had nonchalantly told him about SirMax and James, rope and spankings. I was sitting on the stool in his kitchen when he got up and laid a heavy handed smack on my ass.

we're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death...


He came back from his den with a thin make-shift, regular hardware, white rope. He tied my wrists behind my back and looped the rest up through my mouth like a gag.

the sun has fallen down
and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead at the top of their poles...

[It went like this]

"Crawl up the stairs."

I had to do it on my knees alone with no hands to help.


We got upstairs and he put me on the bed, took off my clothes and left my fuck-me-boots on.

"You're not putting up much of a fight."

My mouth free, I warned him, "Are you sure you want me to fight you? Because I will, but I can't be held responsible for how I do it."

I wasn't drunk. I'd nursed 2 Fu Manchus over 5 hours, stopped at
The Red Dragon for 2 shots of buttery nipples, and then the 2 Maker's - I'm a Dorothy Parker.

So, I giggled.

You know, that giggle when your dad spanked you once and you were expected to take it seriously. Or, when your drunk mum says you're in deep trouble for missing curfew. Or, when your older sister was so angry she twisted your arm and dug her nail claws in. I laughed in his face of aggression. And, then I kicked.

[Kiss me you're beautiful]

And he flipped me over and sat on my legs. Then he flipped me over and spread my legs wide.

The camera went click click.

I kept kicking and squirming and trying to get free from this tight rope around me and his 6'5" rower/swimmer/runner/basketballer frame.

And then I rested, out of breath, exhausted but not worn out. While he went to his closet and brought back a belt.

He looped the rope through my mouth again - like a drooling pig, like a bit in a pony mouth - flipped my fighting body over and whacked my ass.


I wanted to believe he was a natural. I could fall in love with someone who rejects who they are.

Such goofy big brother drunkenness at midnight, such silly butt moon as we walked under the full moon back to the car, such hesitancy to verbalize demands, such aggression and use.

Use is the word.
Because I know I couldn't
wake up and go running,
read the paper on the porch,
balance checkbooks,
water the new plants in the dry backyard,
smile and chat with the neighbors,
befriend and best friend the blonde OB-GYN who can't stop complaining about being on call when she's making 6 figures.

But I could totally go for more of this. Belt on my ass. Legs spread and click click like he's never seen a pussy or like he's going to cum to this one over and over.

I wished for the lesbian encounter that he's been jacking off to over and over again in his den.

He barely let me lick his cock.
He wanted me begging with my actions.
Raising up on my tied arms, stretching my neck, sticking out my tongue.

As the sweat built up and the endorphins raced, I started to feel drunk.

I wanted to fight and get on top but there was no way that would happen.

I wanted his thick cock inside me.

I had been thinking about this since I sent the proposing email that we hook up - on Tuesday.


Instead, he finger fucked me and teased my mouth with his barely bare touches to his cock.

He rolled me over and close to him.
"I want you to fuck me."
"You want me to fuck you? Where?"
"In my cunt."
"You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes. Do you want to fuck me?"
"No. I want you to suck me."
"Why?"
"Why? ... Because that's what I want to do."

His legs spread and my hands tied behind me, my head bobbing, stretching the rope to let my hands free to touch him and to touch me.

"You whore. You filthy cunt. Yes. Yes. Suck me. Suck me, dirty whore."


He snuggled me at 4am.

I let my fingers fall on his back - tracing and soothing and touching at 8am. "You have an amazing body."

I let myself give him tenderness. Just like I let myself ask him earlier in the afternoon, "How was your day?"


Sometimes Mother Teresa of Love knows better how to treat my lovers than I do - or would.

Sometimes it's appropriate to let her in, to let her take over.

Just as Penny Paris Fate moves into my body and makes me type 'Paris apartments' and 'Stafford Loan' and 'Macbook.'





I hate waiting, but I waited for him to get back from his morning swim in the lake - training for the triathlon. We met up with another couple and their baby daughter and some young 20-something snotty pants swimmer for breakfast. Conversations can be so shallow sometimes. And even more for me when I haven't had coffee. I'm more of an apparent airhead, nodding and smiling, not talking. Brain neurons not connecting.

We hugged good-bye.

I wandered Lake and Lyndale, Lake and Hennepin. On blazing hot sun boiling days this area of the city can seem so run-down and lonely and poor and tired.

[we woke up one morning and fell a little further down -
for sure it's the valley of death]


So I bought shoes.

My feet are like duck's feet - narrow at the heel and wide at the toes. Girlie shoes never fit me well. So I spent way too much money for a pair of these and man, do I love them. I guess the more money, the better fit.

[i open up my wallet
and it's full of blood]


Ms Lucifer called me and I pulled over as I had pulled out of the Calhoun Square parking garage. Ms Lucifer is the Italian from Montreal who lives in NYC but has owned an apartment in Marais for 15 years. The space is 50m2, kitchen, bathroom, great part of town. She's only there a week every 4 months or so. She sells Freixenet brands in NYC. She says the apartment is decked out in Ikea-type furniture. ... Have I died? I want to do a colocation [aka roommate] situation to bring down the costs and to have some tie to the city to drag me out when I'm feeling trapped, freaked, frozen. But I also want to be able to fuck who I want, come and go as I please, cook for myself, masturbate loudly, be on my own schedule. Of course, as you all know me, I'm responsible and kindly - not about to trash her apartment or disturb the neighbors. So, she and I chatted and I'm hoping for this.

In the meantime, I've also gotten a kick-ass, considerate invite to apply for the apartment my new pal Wilfried has advertised with his lady love. Wilfried got connected to me via Alixxx. Thanks to Hex I knew who Alixxx was and thanks to Alixxx for putting 2+2 together. Wilfried and I have had some amazing conversations via email and I can't wait to meet him and his lady.

["Rehab" by Amy and Jay-Z ... just as I was about to hate this fucking song.]

I shoved off from the parking garage in Minneapolis and met up with my sister. I don't like her new boyfriend and there's all this drama with her, her choice of boy, and my father. I'm not going to go into it but suffice it to say she hasn't made the best choice here.

Dinner and drinks over on the Mississippi River and early to bed, falling asleep on the couch while watching Hannibal Rising. Just before that my pregger friend A called. Woman is due on Saturday and yet she's going out to a friend's 40th b'day party - way to show the world that pregnancy is not a disability!

Sunday gal pal A and I had breakfast. She drove, all basketball belly. We had a great time catching up - we went to study abroad in Spain together in '97 and kept in touch when we got back but lost touch when I moved to Madison. Then I drove back home. A sunny as fuck day with mayflies dying on the sidewalk and on the car. Summer air and a sunroof rental.

Tonight my friends pooped out on me and I'm home adding to the new 'Oui Oui Paris' links on the blog. Pretending I'm the first person on earth to go to Paris.

A couple of new photos on flickr, too, from nights with Phillip.

2 comments:

Monster said...

Sucks that you were in Minneapolis and I wasn't.

Sometimes, that places really feels like home.

I think you dig.

lola said...

monster, I do dig. I left feeling a mix of emotions which reminded me exactly why I never made frequent trips back. I get depressed after I leave. The drive back was beautiful, but wistful. Three of my 'homes' are there, more than 20 friends are there, some of my favorite dives, a few of my favorite museums. I wouldn't want to live there right now, but a huge part of me still does.