There are new photos over on Flickr, including the sets:
One-night stand via taxi
"Slut" by flimmaker
The Spaniard 1 and 2
Halloween night and the day after (featuring Tall Tom and a few drunk kids, as well as a few glimpses of school-girl Lola)
Spanking with the TV Producer
Italian playboy
It's Friday and I don't care that it's a weekend because week days have been weekends. I'm home, laundry is drying, and I'm catching up on relaxation, photos, writing, chilling.
I'm not sure if it's that I'm fiercely independent, or so content where I am right now, or that I just don't miss my immediate family, but I saw some photos of Thanksgiving and it looked like snore-bore and yawn and tension - and I didn't feel like I missed anything. I had a half-hour Skype with them before they had to cook the turkey and I ran off to have pasta al dente with the Italian. It made me cringe. My sister has such an expertise at retaining unhappiness and being passive-aggressive. My mother is clearly drowning in suburbia and has no idea how to help herself. My father looked perpetually bored and regretful. And this was just a half-hour, from across the pond, through a video stream. I do love them. I do. But I just can't stand to be with them very much. My dad and I get along the best because we have a knack to cut through bullshit and talk politics, real life, and can be honest with each other. But even he's a fucker - not so nice to my mom always (but they're going on 40 years anniversary so it can't be that bad). And, I'm certainly not perfect in the mix. I only wish I could know what they honestly thought.
I haven't seen the filmmaker in a month. He's out at a 1920's party tonight, to which I was invited and forwarded to him. I need to see him again, but in moderation. There was so much whiskey and crazy Lola.
The one-night-stand guy keeps SMSing me about when I want to hang out again. Ugh. Not with a dude that shows up at the door in his boxers and tee-shirt, with the TV blaring. Yucky.
The Spaniard sent me a short story about him emailing with a chick who wanted him and her boyfriend to fuck her. He ended up meeting the boyfriend, going to the same bathroom stall in a restaurant and jacking off together. He moved further across town so it's not as easy to see him.
Especially when the Italian lives 10 minutes walking distance from me. The only thing is that the Italian seems to be on a rampage. Free from his 3-year relationship (the last 2 years he cheated though), he says he's "experimenting" right now. I'm not sure where I fit into that experimentation, but he fucked a virgin midget. Yes. He told me the whole story after he said he was "experimenting." He fucked a teacher. He fucked a married Mexican woman, taking her ass virginity. It's strange to see myself in a mirror. Although, I know I'm a MUCH better kisser - after the first night I came away with chin rug burn from his stubble. I'm also more interested in finding a rotation of reliable lovers, whereas he just seems to be out to fuck all the women in Paris. He's had at least twice as many lovers as I have in the past month. It kind of makes me feel dirty, which makes me think about my own lifestyle. .... But then, he pulls out the olives, bread, homemade guacamole, wine, and makes pasta al dente. And in the morning he pours perfectly strong coffee, serves small chocolate croissants, and homemade tiramisu. This morning he had to leave super early for work and SMS'd me: "Buongiorno bella, whenever you wake up there is a tiramisù waiting for you. I made it for you, don't disappoint me... baci"
On Tuesday night, Tall Tom took me to dinner. A kir royale to start. I had escargot, he had funny mashed potatoes. Then, he had the veal and I had the salmon. We shared our desserts and had two bottles of wine. 80 Euro dinner. He's very sweet to me, which throws me for a loop. He calls me, tenderly, "silly Lola" and is treating me so nicely, almost like a girlfriend. I'm not sure how I like this. I like the secrecy part of it, as he attends my program, but just started this year so we don't have any classes together. But then, in the morning, he wants me to pet his head and body and wants to roll me over into his arms, resting my head on his chest. I told him it felt awkward.
Strange.
Strange things.
School is fine. It was quiet for the past 3 weeks, which was totally needed. Now, I'm seeing the finish lines for papers and need to get working. In my small group, we've finally figured out what our final project will be, which will involve a multi-national corporation, a European Union directive, an emerging economy in EU, and making an enterprise risk management toolkit to integrate into their plans for expanding their markets into this country. Should be fun! Some travel, some interviews, some work. Meanwhile, I'm also starting the job search. ... Know anyone hiring? I'm really good at ... um... well.. heh.. No, I won't do that. Silly!
Look for my expanded entry on my trip to Bahrain. My bag searched in a Muslim country, me working for Euros, the ex-pat party with gay Saudis, the flight over Iraq, the thousand men and one woman, the camels, etc...
Friday, November 28, 2008
Wednesday, November 26, 2008
This week
Monday and Tuesday
the New Italian and Tall Tom
over on Tumblr for now
sigh. such a damn lucky girl.
the New Italian and Tall Tom
over on Tumblr for now
sigh. such a damn lucky girl.
Saturday, November 22, 2008
A nice reminder
Because I was just re-reading my Alt.com profile and wondering if I'm turning into a spanko.
My Testimonials
SirKeithD
Apr 2, 2007
lolita is totally beautiful on so many levels that it's difficult to use only words. She is more physically beautiful than her pics suggest, more insightful and intelligent than her profile suggests, has an especially sexy voice, smells great and tastes delicious!!
She's honest and considerate, and appropriate (i.e., a Lady when called for, and a GFE just when you hope so).
An exhilarating woman for any man to know, especially the more so for an experienced Dominant jaded by the vacuousness of so much of cyber.
This woman is not for the amateur, if your ready, she is that higher level that is calling.
Five stars.
My Testimonials
SirKeithD
Apr 2, 2007
lolita is totally beautiful on so many levels that it's difficult to use only words. She is more physically beautiful than her pics suggest, more insightful and intelligent than her profile suggests, has an especially sexy voice, smells great and tastes delicious!!
She's honest and considerate, and appropriate (i.e., a Lady when called for, and a GFE just when you hope so).
An exhilarating woman for any man to know, especially the more so for an experienced Dominant jaded by the vacuousness of so much of cyber.
This woman is not for the amateur, if your ready, she is that higher level that is calling.
Five stars.
Friday, November 21, 2008
Spanky bottom
Sorry, James, but even a spanking is better than workout at the gym.
If Sir K reads this, I'd like him to know that I miss his flogging tremendously. It was better than a gym workout and better than the massage I had in London.
But tonight came very very very close to both.
A half-hour of catching up and and then 2 hours of pure spanking and fondling. Granted, I wish my cock-sucking skills weren't what they are, because men seem to call me back specifically for that talent. Still, he spent more time on me than I did on him. And, man, I feel relaxed as if I'd been to an all-day spa with pedicure, hair cut, deep Swedish massage, and a healthy fruit drink at the end.
He showed me the new art piece on his wall that he'd re-acquired from his ex wife. We were standing in the living room, after wine and talk of our vacations. I asked him to take it off the wall - an intaglio print (I may have impressed him). He put it back on the wall and reached to my sweater, unbuttoned it, and started pinching my nipples gently. "Harder," I whispered. He reached inside my shirt, pulled my tits out from my bra, and pinched them harder through the flimsy blue shirt. I kept my head down. He turned me around and bent me over the back of his couch. His right hand on my right cheek. Slapping then rubbing and then fondling me through my girl panties.
Pigtails, a school girl skirt, boots, and my girl panties. He knew I was coming over for this. It was no surprise. But I think we both thought it wouldn't be so prolonged. After a long while of interchanging his hands and my cheeks he pulled me up, changed the CD from classical to modern and lowered me onto my knees in front of him.
He helped me keep the rhythm with my hand and would lift my face forcefully to look at him. "Ask me to have more." I wanted to suck more because I wasn't sure my hand could last or that it'd get dry. And I wanted him in my mouth. He smells so sweet, so soft, so clean, so fresh, so pure and what I do to him is the complete opposite of this. "C'est bon ça." He says this and it reminds me of the Economist Beekeeper. I'll forever think of him when I hear those words. And, now I will think of both the lovers. "Je viens." He had my tits open and surrounding my hand on his cock and my mouth barely touching him. He wanted to move me so I wouldn't be assaulted by his cum, but I stayed and sucked and licked and chupa.
And then I showed him the toys and he wanted to try them out.
You can see some of the night over on Tumblr, where I posted some pics.
More will be over on Flickr soon. If you want to see them, let me know.
Somewhere between finger fucking me and spanking me at the same time, I decided I wanted to come home and be alone to sleep. I've slept better with Tall Tom than with the TV Producer. But more than that, I just wanted this moment with him. Not a full date. Just this needed moment.
God it was lovely.
If Sir K reads this, I'd like him to know that I miss his flogging tremendously. It was better than a gym workout and better than the massage I had in London.
But tonight came very very very close to both.
A half-hour of catching up and and then 2 hours of pure spanking and fondling. Granted, I wish my cock-sucking skills weren't what they are, because men seem to call me back specifically for that talent. Still, he spent more time on me than I did on him. And, man, I feel relaxed as if I'd been to an all-day spa with pedicure, hair cut, deep Swedish massage, and a healthy fruit drink at the end.
He showed me the new art piece on his wall that he'd re-acquired from his ex wife. We were standing in the living room, after wine and talk of our vacations. I asked him to take it off the wall - an intaglio print (I may have impressed him). He put it back on the wall and reached to my sweater, unbuttoned it, and started pinching my nipples gently. "Harder," I whispered. He reached inside my shirt, pulled my tits out from my bra, and pinched them harder through the flimsy blue shirt. I kept my head down. He turned me around and bent me over the back of his couch. His right hand on my right cheek. Slapping then rubbing and then fondling me through my girl panties.
Pigtails, a school girl skirt, boots, and my girl panties. He knew I was coming over for this. It was no surprise. But I think we both thought it wouldn't be so prolonged. After a long while of interchanging his hands and my cheeks he pulled me up, changed the CD from classical to modern and lowered me onto my knees in front of him.
He helped me keep the rhythm with my hand and would lift my face forcefully to look at him. "Ask me to have more." I wanted to suck more because I wasn't sure my hand could last or that it'd get dry. And I wanted him in my mouth. He smells so sweet, so soft, so clean, so fresh, so pure and what I do to him is the complete opposite of this. "C'est bon ça." He says this and it reminds me of the Economist Beekeeper. I'll forever think of him when I hear those words. And, now I will think of both the lovers. "Je viens." He had my tits open and surrounding my hand on his cock and my mouth barely touching him. He wanted to move me so I wouldn't be assaulted by his cum, but I stayed and sucked and licked and chupa.
And then I showed him the toys and he wanted to try them out.
You can see some of the night over on Tumblr, where I posted some pics.
More will be over on Flickr soon. If you want to see them, let me know.
Somewhere between finger fucking me and spanking me at the same time, I decided I wanted to come home and be alone to sleep. I've slept better with Tall Tom than with the TV Producer. But more than that, I just wanted this moment with him. Not a full date. Just this needed moment.
God it was lovely.
You think you surf anonymously
But you don't.
Just to remind you again, Mr. Prairie du Sac, that this isn't the only information I get on you when I look at who my visitors are...
Domain Name norlight.net (Network)
IP Address 209.83.88.# (Badger Internet)
ISP Norlight Telecommunications
Location
Continent : North America
Country : United States (Facts)
State : Wisconsin
City : Prairie Du Sac
Remember when you got banned last year, sweetie? I have no problem doing that again. In fact, I'm kind of fed up with the dumb way that Blogger manages comments anyway.
I'd also like to remind readers that it's probably best not to surf my blog, most of Tumblr, and really half of the internet world from your workplace. The IT guys collect that info. So, unless you're the head boss of the BMW store near Stony Brook, NY, I'd suggest that you be careful what you visit during the business day. Please stop by another time, when you're safely alone at the cyber cafe, at home, or at your mistress' apartment.
Just to remind you again, Mr. Prairie du Sac, that this isn't the only information I get on you when I look at who my visitors are...
Domain Name norlight.net (Network)
IP Address 209.83.88.# (Badger Internet)
ISP Norlight Telecommunications
Location
Continent : North America
Country : United States (Facts)
State : Wisconsin
City : Prairie Du Sac
Remember when you got banned last year, sweetie? I have no problem doing that again. In fact, I'm kind of fed up with the dumb way that Blogger manages comments anyway.
I'd also like to remind readers that it's probably best not to surf my blog, most of Tumblr, and really half of the internet world from your workplace. The IT guys collect that info. So, unless you're the head boss of the BMW store near Stony Brook, NY, I'd suggest that you be careful what you visit during the business day. Please stop by another time, when you're safely alone at the cyber cafe, at home, or at your mistress' apartment.
Thursday, November 20, 2008
If I were to get a job with the Obama Admin
To: Those who have access to CDOA and other, more family-friendly places
RE: Please contact me
Subject: How much of a bribe do you need to be quiet?
RE: Please contact me
Subject: How much of a bribe do you need to be quiet?
The birth of Adam
Seriously, I can’t remember when it happened, but I’m pretty sure it was somewhere around … no wait.
I had my first free, alone apartment when I went to Spain in ‘97, I was 22, and yet I shared a bathroom with a Colombian woman. I had snuck some pot in my bat box, covered it with perfume tear-outs of a girlie magazine, wrapped it in toilet paper and had in a plastic bag. I was obviously not thinking properly that I’d fly from Minneapolis to NYC to Amsterdam and would be groggy when passing a drug-sniffing dog. But I passed through and smoked a little bit over the year I lived there. I still didn’t know how to touch myself. But I had freedom from living with 6 or 10 roommates.
When I moved back in ‘98 I got my first solo apartment and spent too much time discovering the internet and dialing 1-800 hook-up-sex lines. I had a couple of those guys over but still didn’t know how to touch myself alone. I moved again, into Sheila’s old apartment. She was like 10 years my senior and taking photo classes at my uni. She left me her full couch and brought me as her photo assistant to Paisley Park to photo a guitarist - and we ran into Prince. It was in this apartment that I accidentally stumbled into bdsm online, when some 44-year-old guy from NJ mistook me for another girl on chat and over the days on his phone bill tried to entice me to pour candle wax on myself. I realized that I couldn’t do this kind of torture to myself but deeply wanted someone else to do it. I bought a pair of painful metal handcuffs, a ball gag, and a rabbit vibrator with a full body dildo and wiggly ears for the clit. I scared my then-boyfriend with the fact that I didn’t want just straight sex but wanted to be tied up. Still, I didn’t get off with the rabbit and didn’t know how to touch myself.
When I moved to Madison to live with a lover - which failed - I moved out, got my own place, on my birthday. Sometime around then, 2001, when I was 26, I was wandering drunk on State Street and ended up in the State St Arcade and was perusing the porn mags.
Porn stores are not women-friendly. Despite the fact that pdh and I fucked in one of the cabins, while some stranger guy jacked off watching us - before they closed the cabins down and shut the whole shop up - it was still not a welcoming place for solo chicks. Even A Woman’s Touch felt foreign, with their uber silence and origami waterfall zen atmosphere, showcasing all the dildos and vibrators and toys and books and lingerie like they knew better how to cater to chicks. It didn’t do it for me. Nor did the Arcade, where the gum-snapping college kid who cared less about you but still looked at you in disgust would run your dirty items through the check-out scan, give you free batteries and roll their eyes as they said thanks. Neither of these places made me feel very free to find myself. Still, I felt more pressure in the Arcade to buy something and try something - because I was a woman in a man’s store, because I was daring, because I was drunk and seeking. Where the Touch store made me feel like I should KNOW what I want and want what I KNOW.
In the end, I grabbed a couple of toys to try and when I tried the Doc Johnson’s egg vibrator, I was hooked. There’s no rabbit, no whirls or zings or big fat cock-wannabes, no zaps or pain or hums or whirrs. I just had to place it in my undies, turn the porn on, or select an erotic story to read, and went off. Yeah, yeah, men fear the clit factor - that they’ll be replaced by clitoral satisfaction or a girl who doesn’t need a dildo inserted is some kind of lesbian wannabe. So not true. I need men and I need male parts and touch and testosterone on my skin, but there’s really no comparison between a fuck orgasm and an alone vibrator orgasm.
The Doc Johnson, which I refer to as the egg vibrator, doesn’t burn out after a quick or long use. Actually, it depends on one’s usage, but mine lasted a pretty long time until I either burned out the batteries or broke the wire for bending it in certain ways for long hours in my pants.
But even in 2001, it wasn’t yet Adam time. It was just me, joyous and Christmas day happy that I’d found a way to get off when I wasn’t able to get off with a date. A completely new idea, a new feeling, and god I felt so late in the coming of finding it.
But when I did… well, it was certainly my drunken girl phase, when I was a waitress at the local historic theatre/restaurant/bar, fucking boys in the theatre after-hours, serving under-age kids, tossing shots, and sliding fancy food onto big payers’ tables. Around this time, I also registered to be a certified, ordained marriage official. I filled the boxes online, printed the certificate, and could marry anyone who asked. So, I married me to myself. I also fooled around with the Ouija board - not too distant cousin from the marriage officiator - and made my own board when alone and asked my own silly questions.
When the strangers came knocking on my door one night and asked if I’d seen my neighbor in a few days, and then we called the landlord to bring us the keys to his apartment, and when the landlord couldn’t open the door for fear and I did instead, and found Ze dead on the floor, well, it kind of signified the drunk world colliding with the dead world. I freaked out. And realized that yes, I do see dead people. And, yes, perhaps I should stop fucking with the Ouija board.
But it might have been too late.
I think that if I had to pinpoint, it would have been that time that discovering self-pleasure coincided with Adam’s incarnation inside me. After those days, I’d have no problem with taking vacation time to stay at home on a Thursday or Friday to extend the weekend, holing up with frozen pizza, Maker’s Mark, cigarettes, and the egg vibrator. My viewing became progressively naughtier. Porn stars fucking on couches, amateurs in beds, some chick and a dog, the cartoon Simpsons making on the Flintstones, and then… and then… breakfast of cereal at noon, whiskey at 4, coming 6 times before the sun set.
And it hasn’t stopped since. Only, it’s changed. I brought an egg over from the States and it recently died on me. Paranoid I wouldn’t find a replacement, I went in and out of sex shops at Pigalle, finally finding its cousin in a store overwhelmed with hookers and gigantic cock dildos for gay men or vacuous women. It used to be a span of 5 or 10 days that Adam would inhabit my life and disrupt my work pattern. Now, it’s almost guaranteed that he’ll visit on the last day of my period and stay for at least two weeks.
I’ve got a bit better handle on it. Employment affords daydreaming and who cares reports. But grad school requires late night research and 50% of a grade on class participation. I might show up to class in a low-cut hussy shirt and short shorts, but at least I’m able to discourse about the change in regulation of financial institutions and the shrinking of the state.
But, still, here I am, on one of two working days off from scheduled class, when I could be using my time wisely for research or tying up loose ends. Instead, I’m perusing the You Porn, posting horrible ads on Craigslist and AFF, eating chips and chevre, drinking the last of my grappa. Good lord.
I do have to say though, that I hope he stays around for a bit. I’m not at all excited by the prospect of menopause, drying up, or feeling less sexy. I actually prefer this strange fight of feeling like a dirty 18-year-old boy inside a 33-year-old woman’s body to being a tired old hag.
I had my first free, alone apartment when I went to Spain in ‘97, I was 22, and yet I shared a bathroom with a Colombian woman. I had snuck some pot in my bat box, covered it with perfume tear-outs of a girlie magazine, wrapped it in toilet paper and had in a plastic bag. I was obviously not thinking properly that I’d fly from Minneapolis to NYC to Amsterdam and would be groggy when passing a drug-sniffing dog. But I passed through and smoked a little bit over the year I lived there. I still didn’t know how to touch myself. But I had freedom from living with 6 or 10 roommates.
When I moved back in ‘98 I got my first solo apartment and spent too much time discovering the internet and dialing 1-800 hook-up-sex lines. I had a couple of those guys over but still didn’t know how to touch myself alone. I moved again, into Sheila’s old apartment. She was like 10 years my senior and taking photo classes at my uni. She left me her full couch and brought me as her photo assistant to Paisley Park to photo a guitarist - and we ran into Prince. It was in this apartment that I accidentally stumbled into bdsm online, when some 44-year-old guy from NJ mistook me for another girl on chat and over the days on his phone bill tried to entice me to pour candle wax on myself. I realized that I couldn’t do this kind of torture to myself but deeply wanted someone else to do it. I bought a pair of painful metal handcuffs, a ball gag, and a rabbit vibrator with a full body dildo and wiggly ears for the clit. I scared my then-boyfriend with the fact that I didn’t want just straight sex but wanted to be tied up. Still, I didn’t get off with the rabbit and didn’t know how to touch myself.
When I moved to Madison to live with a lover - which failed - I moved out, got my own place, on my birthday. Sometime around then, 2001, when I was 26, I was wandering drunk on State Street and ended up in the State St Arcade and was perusing the porn mags.
Porn stores are not women-friendly. Despite the fact that pdh and I fucked in one of the cabins, while some stranger guy jacked off watching us - before they closed the cabins down and shut the whole shop up - it was still not a welcoming place for solo chicks. Even A Woman’s Touch felt foreign, with their uber silence and origami waterfall zen atmosphere, showcasing all the dildos and vibrators and toys and books and lingerie like they knew better how to cater to chicks. It didn’t do it for me. Nor did the Arcade, where the gum-snapping college kid who cared less about you but still looked at you in disgust would run your dirty items through the check-out scan, give you free batteries and roll their eyes as they said thanks. Neither of these places made me feel very free to find myself. Still, I felt more pressure in the Arcade to buy something and try something - because I was a woman in a man’s store, because I was daring, because I was drunk and seeking. Where the Touch store made me feel like I should KNOW what I want and want what I KNOW.
In the end, I grabbed a couple of toys to try and when I tried the Doc Johnson’s egg vibrator, I was hooked. There’s no rabbit, no whirls or zings or big fat cock-wannabes, no zaps or pain or hums or whirrs. I just had to place it in my undies, turn the porn on, or select an erotic story to read, and went off. Yeah, yeah, men fear the clit factor - that they’ll be replaced by clitoral satisfaction or a girl who doesn’t need a dildo inserted is some kind of lesbian wannabe. So not true. I need men and I need male parts and touch and testosterone on my skin, but there’s really no comparison between a fuck orgasm and an alone vibrator orgasm.
The Doc Johnson, which I refer to as the egg vibrator, doesn’t burn out after a quick or long use. Actually, it depends on one’s usage, but mine lasted a pretty long time until I either burned out the batteries or broke the wire for bending it in certain ways for long hours in my pants.
But even in 2001, it wasn’t yet Adam time. It was just me, joyous and Christmas day happy that I’d found a way to get off when I wasn’t able to get off with a date. A completely new idea, a new feeling, and god I felt so late in the coming of finding it.
But when I did… well, it was certainly my drunken girl phase, when I was a waitress at the local historic theatre/restaurant/bar, fucking boys in the theatre after-hours, serving under-age kids, tossing shots, and sliding fancy food onto big payers’ tables. Around this time, I also registered to be a certified, ordained marriage official. I filled the boxes online, printed the certificate, and could marry anyone who asked. So, I married me to myself. I also fooled around with the Ouija board - not too distant cousin from the marriage officiator - and made my own board when alone and asked my own silly questions.
When the strangers came knocking on my door one night and asked if I’d seen my neighbor in a few days, and then we called the landlord to bring us the keys to his apartment, and when the landlord couldn’t open the door for fear and I did instead, and found Ze dead on the floor, well, it kind of signified the drunk world colliding with the dead world. I freaked out. And realized that yes, I do see dead people. And, yes, perhaps I should stop fucking with the Ouija board.
But it might have been too late.
I think that if I had to pinpoint, it would have been that time that discovering self-pleasure coincided with Adam’s incarnation inside me. After those days, I’d have no problem with taking vacation time to stay at home on a Thursday or Friday to extend the weekend, holing up with frozen pizza, Maker’s Mark, cigarettes, and the egg vibrator. My viewing became progressively naughtier. Porn stars fucking on couches, amateurs in beds, some chick and a dog, the cartoon Simpsons making on the Flintstones, and then… and then… breakfast of cereal at noon, whiskey at 4, coming 6 times before the sun set.
And it hasn’t stopped since. Only, it’s changed. I brought an egg over from the States and it recently died on me. Paranoid I wouldn’t find a replacement, I went in and out of sex shops at Pigalle, finally finding its cousin in a store overwhelmed with hookers and gigantic cock dildos for gay men or vacuous women. It used to be a span of 5 or 10 days that Adam would inhabit my life and disrupt my work pattern. Now, it’s almost guaranteed that he’ll visit on the last day of my period and stay for at least two weeks.
I’ve got a bit better handle on it. Employment affords daydreaming and who cares reports. But grad school requires late night research and 50% of a grade on class participation. I might show up to class in a low-cut hussy shirt and short shorts, but at least I’m able to discourse about the change in regulation of financial institutions and the shrinking of the state.
But, still, here I am, on one of two working days off from scheduled class, when I could be using my time wisely for research or tying up loose ends. Instead, I’m perusing the You Porn, posting horrible ads on Craigslist and AFF, eating chips and chevre, drinking the last of my grappa. Good lord.
I do have to say though, that I hope he stays around for a bit. I’m not at all excited by the prospect of menopause, drying up, or feeling less sexy. I actually prefer this strange fight of feeling like a dirty 18-year-old boy inside a 33-year-old woman’s body to being a tired old hag.
my little vacation
Somehow I slid some sex in at the end of the conference that I organized. It was the last night though, so no points for almost-caught, super-sneaky sex without being noticed by 3 strangers sleeping at my place. And, no, none of the strangers were intriguing enough. Tall boy from Halloween Party night invited me to his place and we had sex three times between sleep (2am) and reason (2pm). God bless youth.
I packed on Sunday.
Monday I took the Eurostar over to London (or, under to London - as it goes under the Channel and all). Slept all days long at my friend’s LSE dorm. During the day I went out for a massage in some danky hair salon, lunch, brief shopping, and email-checks. Stayed up late enough to close the tired ass pubs down (2am) and gained like 6 pounds drinking beer and eating fish & chips.
Thursday I left for Bahrain on British Airways, which offered free beverages including blood marys and wine. Flew over burning oil fields and felt solemn over Iraq. I hear that Saudi Air flies around Israel, as if they care I’m sure. Bahrain was desert, sex, 50E bills for each naughty act I performed or let him perform on me, an ex-pat party, finding the Tree of Life, taking some sunrays on my bikini body, more sex, more drinking, more euros.
Saturday at 2am (technically Sunday) I caught the BA flight back, took some Tylenol PM, a bloody mary, curled up over my 2 open seats and tried to sleep until we got fed again 6 hours later.
Sunday I got out of Heathrow, took the 1 hour tube to Saint Pancreas (well, it sounds like an organ to me), ate again and hopped the Eurostar back to Paris. I was going to take EasyJet for like 50$ but they wanted me to fly out of somewhere called Liddy, England - stupid cheap airlines. And I’d already booked when I realized this, of course. And, of course, I was mid-conference conundrums when I booked my last minute Eurostar back to Paris. I thought it was so expensive because it was booked a week before I needed the ticket. When I was getting into my car, the Eurostar employee guy looks at my ticket, tells me I’m 4 seats back on the right side, and there are magazines for my enjoyment. Shit. I accidentally booked First Class. No wonder it was so damn expensive. And, it wasn’t even worth it. I got fed AGAIN, worked on some photos, watched some crazy old people argue, napped, and basically didn’t even really enjoy the twice-as-much ticket adventure.
Today I’ve been catching up with work and getting back into school. Shit’s starting to be due soon and I’m totally out of it. My neighbor guy, the Actor (who I fucked a couple times when I first moved here and now just see him as a lowly hunchback for some reason), stopped by and asked for vinegar. Several hours later he knocked again and asked if I had some free time. “Do you need something?” I asked him. He took a step closer with a sly smile and started to rub my tit. I brushed his hand off and tried to play it off so he wouldn’t feel like a total ass and I’d get to keep my free wifi… “It’s just that I’m super busy catching up with work, have an overview of a paper due tomorrow, and I’m waiting for them to deliver the new fridge any minute now.” I kind of wanted to wash my sweater, my shirt, my bra, and my tit where he touched me. Odd how he was attractive then and now is just desperate and grody.
The TV Producer has sent an SMS. The Spaniard Big Cock sent an email. I’m a bit under the weather since the conference ended so I’m not rushing into anything. Plus, I found out just before leaving Bahrain that no one’s a dad this month. Celebration… and down time.
(from Tumblr)
But now... well, oh boy oh boy. My first day back to class on Tuesday was a long one. From 10am - 8:30pm. Everything was going well until I was heading into the last course and got an SMS from Halloween Party Host aka Tall Tom: "Lola, where are you?" Only, he calls me by my last name, which leads me to think that I'm on his basketball team and that it's endearing and that it's kind of dirty that he's being endearing to a woman six years his senior, which then makes me feel naughty and school-girl-esque. So, then, while the boring lecturer launches into a discussion on risk perception, I'm thinking of Tall Tom's cock and how he fucked me the last night of the conference - after sneaking into his apartment past his uncle - and then fucked me again two other times before we got out of bed. Risk. Perception. Whatever. Fuck. All I could think about was cock.
Tall was in a lecture by some South Korean diplomat who was loving and hating on the US. I was done with class and went home. He SMS'd me that I had to come out and meet him. I had just finished my period, but already I was entering into 18-year-old-boy-Adam taking over my body. (Poor, poor Bahrain lover who got me at PMS girl time - although he still got his rocks off by half-raping me in the morning and making me dry-mouth suck his cock.) Yes yes, I'd dress and take the metro and meet him at Odeon. We had a few drinks and I hadn't eaten and hit a moment of back-in-the-day crazy Lola and almost stormed out on him due to a miscommunication. Instead, he calmed me and tossed me a cab to his apartment, where his uncle was asleep. (Thank god. And thank god he wasn't there when we got up at noon the next day because the last time I got up and met him he served me coffee and croissants and we talked about quantum physics and philosophy - he's a philosopher. This time I wasn't interested in deep conversation so I lucked out.)
This time he held my wrists - tentatively but held them down - and told me to shut the fuck up. It was worth going back out for. He persuaded me to cut class and came over to my apartment and then we went for sushi for lunch, where he ordered us a bottle of wine and I worried that I'd be tipsy for the group work meeting I had at 5pm. He studied elsewhere and we found each other during a break before another class meeting and, again, he ordered a bottle of wine. (He'd also taken my 50E and bought a very, very, very nice bottle of champagne that I'll gift to my Madison friends Amanda and Leo when we see each other on Saturday - they got married and champagne seems a better gift than a toaster or some shit.)
(Boy, this post is full of asides!)
We got through the dumb class meeting and went for pizza and beer with 2 other kids from class and then he pushed me to invite him to my place. Remember if you will that a) I fucked my neighbor when I first moved here (and fucked him in a group setting at a bathhouse), b) my neighbor has a teen daughter sleeping on the other side of my paper-thin wall, c) I am now repulsed by my neighbor, d) I am still embarrassed by making loud fucking noises knowing that people can hear me. I caved and brought him home.
This time he fucked me from behind while pushing my head down, or when I'd try to get on all fours, he'd push my back down. Mmmmm god that was nice. I'm starting to move into the place where I'm getting enough sex (finally!) and now need to fulfill the submissive side. I'd explained this a bit to him over lunch. Whereas he'd said he was taken by the [insert last name] power during the conference, leading the whole thing, controlling the crowd, etc.. I explained that I didn't mind having that confidence and control in my work life, but I needed to balance it with my submissive side and explained a very small part of what I meant. It wouldn't have been wise to tell him I wanted to be used as a toilet, pissed on, tossed around, degraded, controlled. It would have shocked him too much and frankly, I need to keep him in rotation and not scare him away. So, when he flipped me over and fucked me more and then whispered, "Are you going to cum? Are you going to cum on my cock? Cum on my cock. Do it." I had no other option to but let loose in wildness... dirty talk, repeating words I'd said before, feeling over-powered, my god yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, I'm cumming on your cock. Who knows how loud we were really - after 2 bottles of wine, a few beers, I didn't care if we were repulsing the teen girl next door.
And then, he had early class this morning and I have no class today or tomorrow, which only brings trouble from Adam. I slept until noon and then sat in the grey sky dark apartment playing with myself and waiting until dusk to drink the wine. It's not even really Adam Time yet ... he's growing stronger and bigger and taking up more of my free time.
I'm not convinced I'm a orgasm addict, although I love the song.
I packed on Sunday.
Monday I took the Eurostar over to London (or, under to London - as it goes under the Channel and all). Slept all days long at my friend’s LSE dorm. During the day I went out for a massage in some danky hair salon, lunch, brief shopping, and email-checks. Stayed up late enough to close the tired ass pubs down (2am) and gained like 6 pounds drinking beer and eating fish & chips.
Thursday I left for Bahrain on British Airways, which offered free beverages including blood marys and wine. Flew over burning oil fields and felt solemn over Iraq. I hear that Saudi Air flies around Israel, as if they care I’m sure. Bahrain was desert, sex, 50E bills for each naughty act I performed or let him perform on me, an ex-pat party, finding the Tree of Life, taking some sunrays on my bikini body, more sex, more drinking, more euros.
Saturday at 2am (technically Sunday) I caught the BA flight back, took some Tylenol PM, a bloody mary, curled up over my 2 open seats and tried to sleep until we got fed again 6 hours later.
Sunday I got out of Heathrow, took the 1 hour tube to Saint Pancreas (well, it sounds like an organ to me), ate again and hopped the Eurostar back to Paris. I was going to take EasyJet for like 50$ but they wanted me to fly out of somewhere called Liddy, England - stupid cheap airlines. And I’d already booked when I realized this, of course. And, of course, I was mid-conference conundrums when I booked my last minute Eurostar back to Paris. I thought it was so expensive because it was booked a week before I needed the ticket. When I was getting into my car, the Eurostar employee guy looks at my ticket, tells me I’m 4 seats back on the right side, and there are magazines for my enjoyment. Shit. I accidentally booked First Class. No wonder it was so damn expensive. And, it wasn’t even worth it. I got fed AGAIN, worked on some photos, watched some crazy old people argue, napped, and basically didn’t even really enjoy the twice-as-much ticket adventure.
Today I’ve been catching up with work and getting back into school. Shit’s starting to be due soon and I’m totally out of it. My neighbor guy, the Actor (who I fucked a couple times when I first moved here and now just see him as a lowly hunchback for some reason), stopped by and asked for vinegar. Several hours later he knocked again and asked if I had some free time. “Do you need something?” I asked him. He took a step closer with a sly smile and started to rub my tit. I brushed his hand off and tried to play it off so he wouldn’t feel like a total ass and I’d get to keep my free wifi… “It’s just that I’m super busy catching up with work, have an overview of a paper due tomorrow, and I’m waiting for them to deliver the new fridge any minute now.” I kind of wanted to wash my sweater, my shirt, my bra, and my tit where he touched me. Odd how he was attractive then and now is just desperate and grody.
The TV Producer has sent an SMS. The Spaniard Big Cock sent an email. I’m a bit under the weather since the conference ended so I’m not rushing into anything. Plus, I found out just before leaving Bahrain that no one’s a dad this month. Celebration… and down time.
(from Tumblr)
But now... well, oh boy oh boy. My first day back to class on Tuesday was a long one. From 10am - 8:30pm. Everything was going well until I was heading into the last course and got an SMS from Halloween Party Host aka Tall Tom: "Lola, where are you?" Only, he calls me by my last name, which leads me to think that I'm on his basketball team and that it's endearing and that it's kind of dirty that he's being endearing to a woman six years his senior, which then makes me feel naughty and school-girl-esque. So, then, while the boring lecturer launches into a discussion on risk perception, I'm thinking of Tall Tom's cock and how he fucked me the last night of the conference - after sneaking into his apartment past his uncle - and then fucked me again two other times before we got out of bed. Risk. Perception. Whatever. Fuck. All I could think about was cock.
Tall was in a lecture by some South Korean diplomat who was loving and hating on the US. I was done with class and went home. He SMS'd me that I had to come out and meet him. I had just finished my period, but already I was entering into 18-year-old-boy-Adam taking over my body. (Poor, poor Bahrain lover who got me at PMS girl time - although he still got his rocks off by half-raping me in the morning and making me dry-mouth suck his cock.) Yes yes, I'd dress and take the metro and meet him at Odeon. We had a few drinks and I hadn't eaten and hit a moment of back-in-the-day crazy Lola and almost stormed out on him due to a miscommunication. Instead, he calmed me and tossed me a cab to his apartment, where his uncle was asleep. (Thank god. And thank god he wasn't there when we got up at noon the next day because the last time I got up and met him he served me coffee and croissants and we talked about quantum physics and philosophy - he's a philosopher. This time I wasn't interested in deep conversation so I lucked out.)
This time he held my wrists - tentatively but held them down - and told me to shut the fuck up. It was worth going back out for. He persuaded me to cut class and came over to my apartment and then we went for sushi for lunch, where he ordered us a bottle of wine and I worried that I'd be tipsy for the group work meeting I had at 5pm. He studied elsewhere and we found each other during a break before another class meeting and, again, he ordered a bottle of wine. (He'd also taken my 50E and bought a very, very, very nice bottle of champagne that I'll gift to my Madison friends Amanda and Leo when we see each other on Saturday - they got married and champagne seems a better gift than a toaster or some shit.)
(Boy, this post is full of asides!)
We got through the dumb class meeting and went for pizza and beer with 2 other kids from class and then he pushed me to invite him to my place. Remember if you will that a) I fucked my neighbor when I first moved here (and fucked him in a group setting at a bathhouse), b) my neighbor has a teen daughter sleeping on the other side of my paper-thin wall, c) I am now repulsed by my neighbor, d) I am still embarrassed by making loud fucking noises knowing that people can hear me. I caved and brought him home.
This time he fucked me from behind while pushing my head down, or when I'd try to get on all fours, he'd push my back down. Mmmmm god that was nice. I'm starting to move into the place where I'm getting enough sex (finally!) and now need to fulfill the submissive side. I'd explained this a bit to him over lunch. Whereas he'd said he was taken by the [insert last name] power during the conference, leading the whole thing, controlling the crowd, etc.. I explained that I didn't mind having that confidence and control in my work life, but I needed to balance it with my submissive side and explained a very small part of what I meant. It wouldn't have been wise to tell him I wanted to be used as a toilet, pissed on, tossed around, degraded, controlled. It would have shocked him too much and frankly, I need to keep him in rotation and not scare him away. So, when he flipped me over and fucked me more and then whispered, "Are you going to cum? Are you going to cum on my cock? Cum on my cock. Do it." I had no other option to but let loose in wildness... dirty talk, repeating words I'd said before, feeling over-powered, my god yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes, I'm cumming on your cock. Who knows how loud we were really - after 2 bottles of wine, a few beers, I didn't care if we were repulsing the teen girl next door.
And then, he had early class this morning and I have no class today or tomorrow, which only brings trouble from Adam. I slept until noon and then sat in the grey sky dark apartment playing with myself and waiting until dusk to drink the wine. It's not even really Adam Time yet ... he's growing stronger and bigger and taking up more of my free time.
I'm not convinced I'm a orgasm addict, although I love the song.
all I could find
(sorry for the blurred faces - to protect the innocent)
Perfectly describes Halloween Party 2008:
a bit of the Lola
drunk dancing
Perfectly describes Halloween Party 2008:
a bit of the Lola
drunk dancing
Sunday, November 2, 2008
the never-ending
Yeah, no photos from Halloween. Strange since I'm typically so addicted to the camera, but I forgot to whip it out.
I accidentally deleted all my SMS messages meaning I've now lost the easy dictation of my daily life.
Wednesday, 29th: business meeting in the morning with the multi-national firm that we're working with for our graduating project, class, and then we had a petite soiree in my program with the directors of the school. I was busy in the back room sending emails while the Head Director made his speech. After, a bunch of us went for drinks at Coolins the Irish pub and after I lazily put my hair into pigtails to the amusement of the boy school chums. I tried to explain Lola's Philosophy on Sex and Love to a colleague who was coked up. Stumbled home on the metro.
Thursday, 30th: late night hook-up with The Spaniard Huge Cock, spent the night, and went to class in the morning feeling refreshed and exhausted.
Friday, 31st: Had a smoke with the colleague who admitted I was on his "could-do" list. I was blushing in the rain as we leaned against the big door to our building. Made it through class and got home with plenty of time to prepare the school girl costume, which required little prep anyway. Trying to find any random photos of me accidentally in the background. Great party, lots of drinking, tapped the coke friend for a bump and then we stayed in the bathroom almost in tears talking about each other's power and insecurities, danced a ton, watched Sex Colleague make out with a friend of a friend, talked shit for hours, kissed one guy who I think was a friend of a colleague, kissed another boy who was rambling about his hating on chicks, and then decided to stick around at 4am, fucked the party host -- non-planned, but wonderful.
Saturday, 1 Nov: He'd told me I'd have to be out by 11am and brought me coffee in his bed at 10h30. A few photos of him cleaning his place - it was a wreck. Metro all hung over and a rainy cold day. Climbed the 101 stairs, got into pjs, got into bed, and played with myself for 4 hours, napped for an hour, wrote a short paper for class, pulled myself together and went over to the Spaniard Huge Cock's place, had a quickie in between his packing to move to another apartment and my between parties, grabbed to-go Indian food, zoomed back to my apartment, made sure that Sex Colleague wasn't going to pussy out on the birthday party night, went to party. The strangest thing was that all of a sudden these boys were all over me. But boys who typically have not been my closest colleagues. Boys who I know talk shit about me - it's so high school in grad school - and who we mutually feel love-hate at various times. Alejandro greeted me at the door - his birthday and I hadn't seen him since he transferred to a sister-school in London. Emanuel winked at me from across the room all night. Sebastian danced with me, kept grabbing my ass, and tried to finger-fondle my cunnie. It was a strange fascination with them. Caipirinhas, beer, wine, and all of us dancing until we finally left at 5am. Sex Colleague again danced with friend from out of town and in the cab, sighed exasperatedly when she said she wouldn't be coming home with him.
Sunday, 2 Nov: Sleep at 5am, wake at 13h. Slow getting up. Laundry. The landlord comes by to fix the sink and take my rent money. I posted another ad on Craigslist to try to find closely-located sex partners. So, I perused my email box. Dreaming. Floating. Hungover but happy.
This coming week promises no sex and all work. US elections. We're having an American party over at Sex Colleague's apartment that starts at 10pm and will probably go until 9am on Wednesday. I'll be prepared to stay up all night. Wednesday night starts the conference hell until Sunday. I've got 3 people staying in my apartment. Two of them leave on Monday, when I'll hop on the Eurostar to London and then fly out on Thursday to Bahrain to hang out with an off-on-again lover.
I keep thinking that these are the best days of my life. I hope they only get better. So far, it's been a good trend that progressively my life has only gotten better over time. Let's keep the trend going.
I accidentally deleted all my SMS messages meaning I've now lost the easy dictation of my daily life.
Wednesday, 29th: business meeting in the morning with the multi-national firm that we're working with for our graduating project, class, and then we had a petite soiree in my program with the directors of the school. I was busy in the back room sending emails while the Head Director made his speech. After, a bunch of us went for drinks at Coolins the Irish pub and after I lazily put my hair into pigtails to the amusement of the boy school chums. I tried to explain Lola's Philosophy on Sex and Love to a colleague who was coked up. Stumbled home on the metro.
Thursday, 30th: late night hook-up with The Spaniard Huge Cock, spent the night, and went to class in the morning feeling refreshed and exhausted.
Friday, 31st: Had a smoke with the colleague who admitted I was on his "could-do" list. I was blushing in the rain as we leaned against the big door to our building. Made it through class and got home with plenty of time to prepare the school girl costume, which required little prep anyway. Trying to find any random photos of me accidentally in the background. Great party, lots of drinking, tapped the coke friend for a bump and then we stayed in the bathroom almost in tears talking about each other's power and insecurities, danced a ton, watched Sex Colleague make out with a friend of a friend, talked shit for hours, kissed one guy who I think was a friend of a colleague, kissed another boy who was rambling about his hating on chicks, and then decided to stick around at 4am, fucked the party host -- non-planned, but wonderful.
Saturday, 1 Nov: He'd told me I'd have to be out by 11am and brought me coffee in his bed at 10h30. A few photos of him cleaning his place - it was a wreck. Metro all hung over and a rainy cold day. Climbed the 101 stairs, got into pjs, got into bed, and played with myself for 4 hours, napped for an hour, wrote a short paper for class, pulled myself together and went over to the Spaniard Huge Cock's place, had a quickie in between his packing to move to another apartment and my between parties, grabbed to-go Indian food, zoomed back to my apartment, made sure that Sex Colleague wasn't going to pussy out on the birthday party night, went to party. The strangest thing was that all of a sudden these boys were all over me. But boys who typically have not been my closest colleagues. Boys who I know talk shit about me - it's so high school in grad school - and who we mutually feel love-hate at various times. Alejandro greeted me at the door - his birthday and I hadn't seen him since he transferred to a sister-school in London. Emanuel winked at me from across the room all night. Sebastian danced with me, kept grabbing my ass, and tried to finger-fondle my cunnie. It was a strange fascination with them. Caipirinhas, beer, wine, and all of us dancing until we finally left at 5am. Sex Colleague again danced with friend from out of town and in the cab, sighed exasperatedly when she said she wouldn't be coming home with him.
Sunday, 2 Nov: Sleep at 5am, wake at 13h. Slow getting up. Laundry. The landlord comes by to fix the sink and take my rent money. I posted another ad on Craigslist to try to find closely-located sex partners. So, I perused my email box. Dreaming. Floating. Hungover but happy.
This coming week promises no sex and all work. US elections. We're having an American party over at Sex Colleague's apartment that starts at 10pm and will probably go until 9am on Wednesday. I'll be prepared to stay up all night. Wednesday night starts the conference hell until Sunday. I've got 3 people staying in my apartment. Two of them leave on Monday, when I'll hop on the Eurostar to London and then fly out on Thursday to Bahrain to hang out with an off-on-again lover.
I keep thinking that these are the best days of my life. I hope they only get better. So far, it's been a good trend that progressively my life has only gotten better over time. Let's keep the trend going.
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