Friday, October 17, 2008

The men as lovers in my life



I'm finding it easier and quicker to post over on Tumblr, so there you will find a short photo post recently, and more details back on Flickr. I've become a bit more selective in who I invite to view the Flickr. I've found a few faker men who pose as women who want porno shots and I'm not interested in sharing my photos that way. If you are a legitimate reader with interest and intrigue, and you want to view the photos, then I suggest you share something with me that is consistent and makes me believe you aren't a photo spammer or faker. I don't mean to impose rules, nor do I care what you send me, or if you're married and on the sly, but be real. And, be smart. My intuition is more finely tuned than most people's so I can see through bullshit rather quickly. That said, you want to view the photos, email me.


I could make my own movie right now if I so desired. There's the Filmmaker, the next-door neighbor actor, and then the TV Producer. Maybe I'd be cast as an extra walking down the street.

I've stopped fucking the neighbor. Well, that was a while ago, but he's made some kind gestures and I've denied them. I just have a sour taste in my mouth from our last adventure to the swinger's club bath house.

So, in reply to the Craigslist (as you can see in the previous post), I found the Filmmaker.

I also found the TV Producer by this:

I've enjoyed reading your post
I'm french, 39, divorced and single
I like some of the games you mentionned but only with chemistry and good vibes
i live in the 5th near Le PAntheon and i can host
would you like to carry on?
[insert name with é accent]

It was really his photo that captured me. And, then:
Hi dear Lola
Are you spanish or italian or american? where do come from?
congratulations for typing the accent on your last top!
regarding le pantheon i have the pleasure to have a direct view on le pantheon: to be discovered
what do you do in Paris?
i work in a production company
I really like your pics
i'd like to know more about your expectations: what sort of games do you like or what kind of ambiance?
it would be nice to have a drink
ciao cara
[insert namé]

So, we did meet. Over by the Pantheon and had drinks in a quiet, dark bar that I thought, upon entering, was a swingers club for it's drapes over the windows, the low seating, the sexual music, the quiet dignity. But it's not. Or wasn't then. We talked for a long time. He's an alumni of my school and now is in the arts. He seemed a bit dry or restrained, which made it all the more intriguing to wonder what was underneath it all.

I was bold and he was warm so I went over to his place. Up the side stairwell directly in front of the Pantheon. This man would not be a murder, he would not jeopardize his standing with blood on the carpet. I sat on the couch inside his enormous apartment and picked up a child's book on Hanukkah in French. He and his ex-wife divorced several years ago and he has a room for his 7-year old son. He's re-discovering his Jewish heritage and is feeling strongly about it. I read the book out loud, in French, and he relished in correcting me, and then, at the end of the book, chastised me when I couldn't answer the short quizzes on dates in history and moments of importance.

Then, he blindfolded me with a blindfold I felt he'd used on a few dozen other women. We had talked about this earlier. The blindfold wine test with repercussions for poorly identifying the right wine. He said he would start easy on me. He gave me sips from the glass and then sucklings of his finger dipped into the glass. Dry. Familiar. Bordeaux. Yes. He wondered if I cheated. I wondered if he made it too easy. Then, he wanted me to guess which region of Bordeaux. More finger licking. I couldn't guess. So, he educated me. While watching me squirm - blindfolded and watched. On a stage.

I was placed on my knees between his legs, bent over at the waist across his thigh, and my jeans removed. After a fashion of spanking me, he removed my blindfold and cupped my chin in his hands and turned my face toward him, his eyes reflecting mine with each slap. Squinting, wincing, begging for more and to stop. He moved my hand to his sex and I felt a steel rod. A hard cock more and more excited with each slap. It's not that his spanks were so hard or repeated in the same place to cause pain, but they were passionate and inciting, exciting.

I pulled his cock out and sucked it as he continued to spank me. There was no sex this night. And, I feared he'd fall hard for my cock-sucking and would prove to be a normal, vanilla fiend instead of a bdsm friend.

Meanwhile, I saw the Filmmaker again. As I've said before, it's important for me to get regular sex fulfilled before I worry about bdsm. And sometimes the bdsm needs scream out and I beg for some fulfillment. Filmmaker and I have started a repetition of drinking like Bukowski and Parker together - without the aggression or anger. Instead, we talk and laugh and get naked and, ever more, he takes advantage of what I offer. A spank here, several teeth-mark bruises there, more spanks until I turn red, cock-choking, bondage. Bit by bit he is unraveling and opening and using his strength. And bit by bit I'm asking for more, hinting at more. It's a nice package at Christmas.

And then, in the mornings, I am awoken with gentle caresses. The lightest fingers over my body, the smoothest kisses. On my shoulder, magic arousal of my nipples, down my hip, my inner thigh. I am a study for a sculpture in his hands. And then he enters me and I bite my lips, cringe, cry, scratch the walls. After, we get fallafel or orange juice or coffees at the cafe at 1pm. We have spent late nights up until morning, watching movies, looking at each other's photos, talking, fucking, and mornings have become afternoons. We are behaving like French kids.

Then, the TV Producer invited me over. With instructions. Dress as if I was going for an escort date. We had talked about my interest in this. Why not be paid? I've had this debate with so many people. And so many people, including the Filmmaker and the TV Producer, don't wholly understand my interest in receiving payment. I think it's because they come from a place where their cock should be enough blessing to me. And it is, but given a different situation, where the date wouldn't get wrapped up in the real, on-going date, I might be paid. And I wouldn't mind it. Even for a blow job. I just can't seem to get myself out on the streets is all. I can't join some escort service because my time is erratic. I want my dates to be good-looking. I have expectations and I'm also not at the caliber to be demanding my own clients.

So, I climbed the stairs in heels, a skirt, and a low-cut shirt - as he'd requested. When I got to the door, I took the man's tie and put it around my neck and then tied the blindfold on my eyes - noticing the previous mascara from other girls. (I should be paid.) He led me into his apartment as I stumbled slowly following his too-quick lead. He fed me little hors d’ouevers. And then we talked over slow, sexy music. He changed seats and invited me sit at his feet. I heard his zipper and went hungrily.

He took off my blindfold and I was aware that he was in a suit. I asked him if he had come from work and he told me that no, he'd dressed for our date. (See tumblr photos) He reached in his jacket inside pocket and put a condom on, lifted me up, pulled up my skirt and licked me until I couldn't stand and needed to put him inside me. I crawled on top of his lap, pants still around his waist, and tried to accept being on top. He pulled out slowly and brought me to his couch, bent me over and took me from behind. My hands on the couch sides, my hands on the couch cushions, my teeth biting my lips, my moans.

He called me a cab after and I rode home with a mix of dignity and slutiness. Perfect.

The filmmmaker and I went out again and again. And, again, had hat night (see tumblr or flickr) and he tied me up. He made me stand on a small table in the middle of his room - his rommmate gone this time, unlike the first night I was over and went for the toilet and gave her a cheek-kiss hello - unlike the second night when two girls were over and I gave them both, including the birthday girl, cheek kisses while wrapped in a sheet. He took photos of me, tied my wrists behind my back. Bent me over the small table and walloped my ass until bruises remained for days.

I came home one night from drinks with a colleague after class. TV Producer emailed me and I decided to dress quickly, pack a small bag for the next day classes, and went over. "I'm drunk-ish," I told him. He's so mellow and overly Jewish and a dad, so he remained calm, knew I was, offered me water, and then fucked me silly in his big bed. In the morning, we fucked again, which was really more like 4 hours later. Then, we had a slightly awkward dressing-for-our-day morning. His shower is like mine. He made coffee. I putzed around. He showered longer than I did. I grabbed a lotion I found and he told me it was from a former "story" (story in French often means histoire which means history which means other lover in the past). I wasn't sure if this would ruin my chances for other dates with him or not. It didn't.

The differences. As I've said before, I am not monogamous because I find that I can't align all of me to one person. The Filmmaker fulfills my need for discussion, debate, art, romance, touchy-feely, whiskey, late nights, debauchery, bowling, competition in games, laughter, photos. The TV Producer fulfills my need for anonymity, separation between classes, allure, intrigue, a daddy figure. I know I can show up at the Filmmaker's in my pajamas and expect a tight neck grab kiss. I know I need to prepare into sexy woman for the TV Producer. Things are different. I'm much more easily comfortable with the Filmmaker, but I'm challenged by the TV Producer. For instance, the former, we pay for each other's drinks or food and get each other back in turn. The latter, he gave me money - the last time - for the cab and I joked that he shouldn't pay for the cab but for the sex. He balked and got uncomfortable. There are different degrees and different planes.

And, meanwhile, there are two boys at school who are interesting. Oh my. Oh my.

But for now this is enough. And sometimes too much.

What happened to the Butcher? Well, I told the Filmmaker, I hate being bored. I don't want to be an end all be all. If I'm not challenged or feel stable, I lose interest. If you're not a James or an Andy - I guess, forget it. I don't like pedestals or anything resembling them - unless I'm being commanded to step up on one so as to be tied. The Butcher got infatuated. He showed me everything and quickly. He drinks too much when we're not together (not that I'm the catalyst, but I don't drink all the time alone). He told me he loves me after a month. A Canadian friend of mine has been dating a French guy and she attests to the same. Too fast, too deep, too needy. Not all French men are like this - take the TV Producer, he's a playboy and we talked about how most of the time he breaks women's hearts. That's more interesting to me. I don't care about my heart - not with him, not with others. And it's not because of James or Andy - for I took a lengthy call with James one night when I was out with the Filmmaker. They are now great loves I've had (and James is my best friend), like the Beekeeper. I have been loved and loved in turn. But I cannot handle being loved without loving in return. I cannot be a savior or a beauty of all beauties. Plus, the Butcher has been exhibiting desperateness in trying to date my girl friends. He's a socialite of the weirdest kind. He wants so many people around .. and I don't know why. So, now we hang out - sometimes. But he fell too hard and I did not fall. That's all. That's it.

So, tomorrow I go shopping for food, pens, folders, school supplies, thigh highs, and other girlie things. Sunday I'll see the TV Producer. Later in the week, the Filmmaker. It's enough for me. And, I am blessed for it.

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