Sunday, April 20, 2008

metro intimacy

he said... "because I did it to the end, as usual. We danced until 5AM :) Now it's time to work again... I'm in a terrific mood : the day after parties I want sex more than usual, and going to the countryside makes it worse, always :) When I have this kind of tireness, I can almost feel my skin without touching it. It's a pity I'm alone :)"

Lola said:
It is a pity! I hope you are able to enjoy some company tonight!! ... The season doesn't help - spring time makes me more randy. For some reason, when I'm sick with a fever it makes me very hungry for sex, as well (sometimes) when I have a hangover, and lately -- well, all the time. I love how you describe it though - feel your skin without touching it. One of the reasons why I love the metro in Paris. People are either horrified when you bump into them, or you can find yourself rubbing an arm, shoulder, back for 20 minutes with a stranger. It's my new intimacy.

I keep forgetting to write this story down, but the other day, I got on the line 2 at Blanche at the back of the car. There was a horrible looking Indian man, although I thought he looked kind of Aborigine with a flat, juicy nose, bad teeth (which I imagined covered bad breath), and a pocked face. He was standing between the 2 poles. The back of the car somewhat emptied out when I got on, and the crowd flowing out revealed this Indian man slightly pressed up against the buttocks of another man. The other man was pasty white with too short, greasy hair like a typical nerd, thick glasses, and a short, badly-fashioned blue jacket. He held a book in front of his face and read, but I could see him coyly lean back against the Indian man's stiff pants. I pretended to read my own book but glanced up slyly now and again. They were somewhat protected from the view of other riders by a few people standing, as well. The Indian man would look nervously side to side occasionally, while the pasty man pretended he was innocent of all affairs, studiously managing the book in his hand with fake concentration. The car doors opened for more people to get on, more people to get off. The car would jerk on the rails and the Indian man would take the opportunity to press his cock further into pasty's jeans. There is about 3 feet between the poles at the back of the car - enough for 2 people to stand comfortably without touching. The cock man had reached his hand behind his back to grab the pole - to steady himself on the ride, and to have leveraging mobility. While the ass man held the opposite pole with one hand and the book with the other, leaning back but with less intensity, less obviousness. I wondered if they were lovers, pretending not to know each other. Maybe life had gotten a bit stale and they wanted to play the game of "let's pretend we don't know each other." Or, maybe they had seen one another's eyes across the street at Clichy and one turned to follow the other. There is such excitement in being pursued (I remember back to the greve when I walked from Blanche to Nation and was followed 2.5 km at the end of the walk by a man and his camera). Or, maybe they answered an ad on Craigslist and had just spent the last two hours fucking in a hotel room with pastel-flower sheets. Or, maybe, they didn't know each other at all, but one push backwards led to one push forward and no one would ever see the other's face. Anonymous rubs, anonymous tingles, anonymous panting while trying to conceal the hard-on, the heart racing, the thrill of remaining calm, the quiver of a buttock, the painfully confined cock. Again, the car door's flew open, and more people got on and off. Some glared with furrowed brows and tsk-tsk mouths when they were forced to move around the engaged men, who refused to move, looking away - or deeper into his book. I was jealous for a while. Jealous when a woman sitting opposite the coupling noticed something out of ordinary and studied them curiously. Even when children sat down near us, they didn't stop their dance. I was starting to feel what they were feeling. And I made up more stories of their passionate game. I remembered being on the metro during the greve when I thought a big man was pressing his cock up against my ass. I felt simultaneously insulted, used, and turned on. The car doors opened at Barbes and suddenly the pasty man half-bolted, half-brisked his way off the car. I waited two seconds for the Indian man to jump after him. He didn't. He didn't know where to go or where to turn. He was exposed. The doors closed. I could feel his emptiness - like when I beg lovers to not pull out quickly after they cum. It's not nicer to do it like a band-aid. It's too sensitive to tear away from me then. He moved forward and stood in front of the door and got off at the next stop.

Saturday, April 12, 2008

The moments in between

=====JSmith wrote=====
... I would appreciate you to tell me story occasionally...

=====lolita wrote=====
I write better stories when someone gives me a theme. I usually tell better stories when it's fact rather than fiction. But I do sometimes invent interesting bed time stories.

What's your art?

=====JSmith wrote=====
Hello again,
could you write me a sweet bed time storie, a variant around this girl Nabokov once called Lolita ?
I photography sometimes

au revoir...

=====lolita wrote=====
Well, that's a very lovely but naughty story of an older man who loved a very young girl. A titillating tale with passion, obsession, and young, gentle skin. Maybe you'd like to know what happens when she grows up, or maybe you want me to tell you about a lovely day they shared once in Paris?


=====JSmith wrote=====
What a striking beginning of your story... To sleep well, I need to know more. What happened that very day in Paris ?


=====lolita wrote=====
Well, she was a very lucky little girl to have Humbert Humbert bring her all the way to Paris, where the chocolate is like pure pillows melting on her tongue and the city lights brighten every little girl's eyes like stars on fire.

That day they woke up in a big, soft bed with a thick feathery blanket and they let just their eyes peek out over the covers, revealing only wrinkles as each made a giddy grin. They kept their smiles secret from the morning sun and just hints to each other. Humbert couldn't help but trickle his hand over to her soft, warm, small thigh. And Lolita couldn't help but open her eyes wide in giggly surprise, faking shock but also delightfully ticklish with butterflies in her tummy. Eyes watching eyes, he moved his hands along her peach fuzz leg while she giggled all nervous and excited for the big adventure.


=====JSmith wrote=====
Hello... I would really like to know what happens next...


=====lolita wrote=====
Humbert's hand had a mind of its own, while Lolita, wrapped nicely in her long dressing gown, laid buried under the thick, soft blanket. He very slowly rolled onto his side so as not to frighten her. His fingers glided up her thin thigh, brushing the night gown lace upwards as he moved. Loli's mouth relaxed from her giggle. A muscle in her forehead contracted to raise one eyebrow ever so slightly, naked to the eye, but revealing an ounce of apprehension mixed with one sigh of relaxation.

It wasn't the first morning they had woken up together. Nor was it the first time Humbert had played spider with his hand, gently tickling up to the elastic band on her knickers. Each of these rounds of intimacy brought a pulse of fear within her gentle body. A drop of nervousness from her soft tongue. Swallowing the pooled butterflies, down to her tummy, sending them racing up and down her pale skin, speeding like a boat on rough seas through her blue sky veins.

His caresses also signaled the anticipation of 'the special tingles' and 'angel bells,' as she had described it to Humbert. His left hand on her right hip. His right on her taut belly, lifting the knickers. His eyes half-opened with adoration and hunger. She felt the angel bells now as her tummy contracted with tickles and a small gush of honey kissed her lips. He made a gentle question, "Mmm?" And she answered by barely lifting her small buttocks from the bedsheet. Her dainty hands at her sides, lifting her from the bed. A slight breeze between the open sheets cooled down her arms to her wrists.

Humbert wanted to tug quickly, but knew better. His Loli Dolly liked to go slow, no surprises, just gentle Daddy kindness. He leaned upwards and slid the knickers over Lolita's bent knees. This pulled the fluffy bed cover upwards like a tent and inched it downwards to reveal Loli's tender neck and smooth collar bone. He slipped the knickers over her toes, took them in a hand, and planted a gentle kiss on the curve of her neck.

Humbert's breath hovered over her neck, just under her earlobe. A bare breathing of morning, last night's cigarette, and this minute's lust warmed her neck, sending ripples down to her special spot.

Lolita's body slow-danced to the gentle tempo of the forefinger on Humbert's right hand as he made circles just above her pubis. Her right hand, still at her side, felt Humbert's heat.