I blushed

As an aside, I need to clean up the links on the right. Some I don't read anymore. Some are out-dated. Some are lame or gone.

Anyway.

I went to the Gotan Project show on Monday night and it was fan-fucking-tastic. Took Tall Tom with me. Probably annoyed the old French lady next to me as I was dancing in my seat the whole time. You know, that toe-tapping and upper-body dance that one does while forced to keep the ass in seat. She was all like "Oui!" when they asked if we wanted more tango dancing. I was all whistling and clapping and rapping to the more dance songs. It made me miss the Beekeeper so much. When I sent him photos from the show he wrote back how wonderful and that he remembered our Gotan-sexo. Yes. To me he is glory. Me to him is sexo. It's completely expected and real.

After, Tall Tom and I went to dinner at a cozy little place and I caught a taxi home. He SMS'd me after I got home that I should go to his place for sex. Instead, we made a rendezvous for Tuesday night. Over dinner, in another very hip place at Parmentier, after the bottle of wine was almost gone, he commented on me faking orgasms.

I like Tall Tom enough. He's funny, too young for me, totally filthy rich from two years working for an evil financial consultancy (as I can tell), a great storyteller, has crazy piercing eyes, and is great in the sack. But that doesn't mean I'll tell him my deepest secrets. One being, that I really don't orgasm.

I know a few lovers from Christmas past read this blog. And they know what I mean. I cum with some and not with others.

But what I immediately thought, as I turned beet red and tried to feign falseness, is that I never orgasm. I'm not sure why I thought that because later today I pondered on it and realized that I do - but with certain people and at certain times. And that I've developed a habit of the way I fake it such that I'm not really faking it but I am. This sounds horrible.

If anyone really wanted to know, I'd certainly show them the true-cumming-of-Lola. But yes, it has nothing to do with being with another person. ... In fact, later Tall Tom commented that I have intimacy issues. Good lord. He's too young to even know what he's talking about, and if I do, it's really the last thing he should be interested in. We are part-time lovers. We are not psychoanalyst daters.

I did blush though, over wine and being called out. I had no idea what to say because he hasn't earned any brownie points for my secrets. So, I lied. Which I rarely do. Very rarely. Because the truth is always more interesting than lies - especially if it's a hard truth. And the lie was horrible and I know he knew and I know he knew I knew.

Later, he took me back to his place - his new place - on the almost-top floor of a fabulous building in the 20th over-looking a reservoir with too much space for one boy. He wants people to like him - and he's throwing a fun party in January to assure that we all do. Halloween fun party wasn't enough. He's buying an ice sculpture for this one. He plugged in the lights and showed me how they look like water but with colors. And when he ran off to look at other places for the lights, I fell asleep on the couch. And I was impenetrable after that. Granted, Adam has been replaced by period Cecilia. So, he pushed me to bed - in an infantile way - and I slept all night and longer into the day than him.

It was a strange evening and day. He likes me. And I find this odd.