Saturday, May 30, 2009

Vacationing

Yes, friends, well it is over. I emailed my last paper, memo, and documents for the final project. And a day early, thank you. This does not speak to the caliber of work because it sucked and it was sent intentionally as crap. Be done! Move on! Senioritis!

And now, there's a sort of confusion. Mr FD put it so nicely as "postpartum" and I'd have to agree. In a way it was giving birth. So, my final project comrades and I had lovely flutes of champagne and talked about how odd we feel now that it's done. What do we do? One has a job already so she's set. The other has called in reinforcements and her NYC pally will come to town. The other has a partner and they will make flight plans to return to South America. And me?

Well, I have been invited to go south to Toulouse to hang out with pdh and his lovely lady M. I thought about saying no so I could just simply veg out in Paris, wander, readjust, etc. But it's better I go. See them. Get out. Move my brain in other places. Staying here and I might have felt trapped in the 2-year rut of sitting at my antique table with laptop, typing typing something, and not seeing much of summer sun. So, instead I'll go to Toulouse and laugh with them, talk, drink, and who knows what else. Then, they'll so generously throw me in the back of a car and drive me to Barcelona with them. I've always loved car rides, train rides, bus rides, motorcycle rides, bike rides, traveling over the landscape with my eyes, and the rhythm of the road. We'll have a whirlwind together as they wind down their trip and I start mine. Short visit in Barcelona and I'm off to Switzerland again. This time, for a 10-12 day homestay with Mr FD.

I realize I'm overdue in posting an overview of actions and thoughts from April's homestay, but I'm not sure yet how to share those. May was a different story. I think it was, from the outset, very different than what we would have imagined. Mr FD was sick, I was stressed out, and the weekend was different contextually than what I had envisioned (whenever I envision ... and don't let my mind race too far off). I think we had some really deep progression. As cheesy as it sounds, Mr FD decided that I would/could/should be his submissive and we talked at length about what that would/could/should mean. The end of the weekend went a bit off into a strange place and we're still talking about what happened, acknowledging it, figuring it out, and man, I can't wait to just move beyond it now. But, I do know that we have some more to discuss.

It must really suck being a dominant. I mean, as a submissive, basically, my biggest job is to obey, serve, and try my hardest to be the best sub I can be. (Which, evidenced by my rate of incurring punishments says something. I am trying, trust me. But there's a LOT to learn and, remember, I come from a testy, fuck-you, punk rock, skater girl background. I have a will that wishes to be tamed, but nonetheless it bucks a bit.) But dominants, well, they've got to remain steady and reliable, trust-worthy, capable, sometimes what our dads weren't or sometimes what our dads were, sometimes what our lovers were or weren't, in control, monitoring, keeping it together, etc. Often there's not much room to be human or real or fallible in these scenarios. After all, I'm not sure what extreme risk the dom sees in trusting the sub. "Please don't be totally crazy or sue me after I beat the shit out of you." Whereas, subs - if they aren't totally crazy - are thinking about the aura of trust into which they are placing their vulnerable bodies and minds. Huge responsibility for the dom. Anyway. Mr FD and I are building over time and interested in seeing what happens and that's good enough for what I want right now. Funny though, since February, since deciding to meet him, I've been saying the same thing to myself: I am ready to be his full-time and live with him - but let's see how this homestay goes just in case. I have, since February, asked the stars for a sign and all I get is monthly decisions to make another homestay. I think they're now laughing at me - and some must be screaming and rolling their eyes. "What more do you want, Lola?!?!?! THIS IS THE SIGN!" I know. I know. But rationality isn't a foe.

And so, vacationing and home.

I'd like to get crazy fucking drunk on wine with pdh and M and see where things go in the middle of the sky. Albert Camus visited it in the 1950s and remarked that “In Cordes, everything is beautiful, even regret”. We shall see.

And then, Barcelona. I haven't seen this fabulous place since sometime in 1998, when one could climb to the top of the cathedral and look out. I wonder if I still can. I didn't fall in love with BCN then, but so many people have loved her since that I wonder what magic has come. I'd prefer to stop along the way than rest inside the city. But, I'm lucky to be driven along the road so we'll see where we go.

And then, BCN to GVA, train to Mr FD. We had an hour chat today, which was nice as my mind was reeling with packing, doing, running errands, paying landlord, this person wants to see me, this person, and he told me stories that distracted my brain race. But at the same time, I felt a bit ... strange. I haven't been one to co-habit with another person for a long damn time. Even with James, my longest relationship, we spent almost 2 years just spending weekends together. I have to admit I'm terrified by the idea of 10-12 days with one person. Granted, we both have work to do and I have territory to explore in the country so it won't be like every second spent together. But it could be. And I'm not afraid of that. Strangely. Instead, I'm afraid of finding out that we couldn't spend every second together. And my seconds are imagined with silence - me in hood and serving with no talking, with OCD - me as céline cleaning and no speaking, with screams - in pain, with quiet - us both on laptops working on whatever, in torture - me tied up and silenced for hours on the floor. Whatever. I'm so hoping it will work out because I can't fathom it not.

One strange thing I thought about today though. As Mr FD told me about a fling with a story. Adjusting to poly is interesting. I haven't really practiced it despite my years of believing in it. I have bubbling feelings of fear, desire, want, admiration, justification, attraction, love as he tells me about this. I'm also jealous. I had a drink - finally - with the Butcher since our last year love affair. It ended up with a lot of whiskey and spanking and fucking. I loved being with him, but I also kept seeing Mr FD. I kept feeling him. I kept thinking of him. I'm just not sure what kind of a poly I am. Or how to do it without feeling weird. I want sex and love and fun with other people, but I'm not sure how to balance all the feelings. So I'm jealous that Mr FD already has his poly understanding - although I'm sure he'll help me figure out mine. And from all this, as our Skype call went on, as he told me about his fling and as we talked briefly about mine.. I kind of started to freak out. This is the first time that I feel I'm involved with someone who out-kinks me. Really. Someone who knows more about bdsm, has more experience with poly. This hasn't happened since... well, almost never, at least at this depth. And that's a total throttle. Not that I don't have something to share or teach, not a self-diss. But to be with someone who might be more kinky and crazy than me? I think this might, sadly, bring out the defenses and the punk rock fuck you. Or, I might be able to bring the earthy, yes, yes, guru listening and learning in me. I just don't know. I've never been here before. And part of me hates the idea and part of me is oh so grateful.

Yes, vacationing. It will take on a lovely form. And I'm ready for it.

Tuesday, May 12, 2009

Thank you

Every year, without fail since I've known him, noman, a dear friend and secret lover of mine sends a birthday gift. I'm sorry, noman, but this year, well, it was a bit of a distance enjoyment.

So, after this email exchange with my mum, my dad dropped an email that if I'm still online, could they Skype with me for my birthday? I said sure and got on Skype. Went to call them, and, ironically, dialed Mr FD instead. (We had chatted for an hour and half before hand.) We laughed and laughed and I apologized - total Freudian slip to call my Daddy when I meant to call my dad. So funny!

Then, dad and mom called. The screen was all weird and pixely with funky rainbow colors. I could hear them but could not see them. Must be the laptop. Hit it a few times while they kept saying, "Hello? Hello? Hello?" Then, I hung up the call and called back. Same screen visual and they told me to just wait a second. All of a sudden, they came into view behind a piece of paper and sang the complete version of Happy Birthday to You. I laughed. I cried. It was so sweet and silly of them (unlike them actually). I laughed so hard.

Then, they showed me the package from Amazon. It was big. They said it felt heavy. Having looked over at my kinky Lola Amazon wishlist page, seeing that my address for the wishlist was France, I figured that anything in the box must be from the other safe Lola family-friendly wishlist. I asked my mum if she'd gotten my last email, that I wasn't doing anything shady or .. she finished my sentence "harmful to children or pets." Ok, so, well, there you go, dad, now you know I'm bisexual. Hahahah I was laughing. He said I was getting too silly (his way of dealing with uncomfortable levels of open expression, I guess).

So, they opened it. I asked who it was from. They said noman. Ohhh, noman! Such a good friend that I know from Madison. What a sweet friend to send a gift for my birthday!! Mum held up the first book, Revolutionary Road, and then the second book,



















Oh, I started to laugh and laugh.

Dad picked up the card again and I said I wasn't sure if he should read it out loud - did he want to read it? I was laughing. He was smiling but being serious and "Sure. It's nice. Here, listen." He read it.

First, my birth name is not Lola. Indeed, it's something different. Dad read this. "Dear Lola - is Lola you?" I was still laughing. "Yes." "Because if it's not you, maybe these gifts go to someone else?" He was smiling.

noman had recently read Revolutionary Road and thought I'd like it. noman had read some of my writing lately and thought I might like the Secret Identity book, as well.

What a sweet friend, I sighed.

My parents quickly changed the subject after the gift opening and we moved to talk about lawn de-thatching, birthday day tomorrow, and laughed again about their surprise birthday song to me. Pretty gutsy and cool for Midwestern folk. And, so damn sweet and nice and thoughtful of noman. He's meant a lot to me over time but I never thought we'd still be friends for this long. Thank you, noman. No worries on the how it happened. It ... just so happens. And it's probably a destiny waiting to happen, actually, that my parents get eased into Lola and my lifestyle. After all, I do aim to write a book or three on the matter and would rather a toe-inching-into-the-pool than a grand dame of heart attacks.

Thank you again, noman. Really. They'll be shipping the books tomorrow so I get them before end of month. I'm so looking forward to seeing them on my shelf and reading them.

You gave me a belly ache of laughter and some tears of joy. What a great way to start a new year of life!

So much love to you.

xoxoxo

Lola
with a Secret Identity

Birthday present - from you?

Hi, friends -

My mum sent an email that she received a Fed Ex Amazon package mailed to me ("it's not ticking," she joked). Not sure who it's from or what's in it. In order for her to ship it to me or for my sister to bring it to me from the US, she'd have to open it and know what's inside. I'm guessing it's a book. However, if you, by any lovely chance, happened to be so kind as to send me a birthday present, and if it happens to be a dildo, erotica about spanking, a porno of midget incest, or a pair of delicious anal plugs - please drop an email to confess so I can warn my poor (yet super duper cool) mother and ask her to ship them over.

Many thanks in advance.

Lola

Friday, May 8, 2009

Down the rabbit hole

Seen in Wonderland:

"Seeing to My needs by sating the needs of she who serves Me."



Overheard in Wonderland (regarding Old School):

Man: For you young lady, you may start thinking about just one thing. Why did we always have mountains of pristine white handkerchiefs to iron where I trained.. EVIL GRIN
girl: (darting behind a nearby sofa and peeking out at him... while thinking of a response)
Man: And while you thinking about handkerchiefs girl, consider what a six inch ruler and a pair of nail scissors are useful for *CHUCKLES
Man: Notice how she still hasn't worked out what those white handkerchiefs, nail scissors or six-inch ruler are for?
girl: LOLOL... I am waiting for You to enlighten me.
Man: White handkerchiefs are for checking the adequacy of cleaning, eg behind s-traps, above door architraves, inside all sorts of nooks and crannies... GRIN

Nail-scissors and six inch ruler are used for mowing the lawn. Each blade is to be exactly 1 1/2 inches long - there is an acre of ground to do... GRIN

.....I don't keep a clean apartment at all, but for some reason I've found myself fantasizing about cleaning Mr FD's apartment (not that it's messy, mind you). Not only cleaning it, but letting my OCD out to get all the little bits of dirt or dust, to be able to almost meditate into a service for him. Reading about the handkerchiefs and mowing the lawn made my heart race and my panties wet.

Oh, this strange world I'm entering.

Thursday, May 7, 2009

Here's a toast to Ze, wherever he may be

Sunday, May 09, 2004

"i see dead people"

i wonder if my hands are shaking today because of the abundance of alcohol i drank last night, the humid rainy weather, or because of everything that happened this past weekend. probably all.

i sat through work agonizing over the hours. meetings. minutes. left early because i wanted to get some personal time in before i was to meet up with one of the agents for fleetwood mac. he'd emailed me on nerve looking for a "backstage beauty" for a night. (my short-hand version of the email.) for now we'll call him Mr. White.

i hadn't had sex in a week or so and we all know that lolas don't do well non-sexed. so many things were going on at once. i was supposed to meet Mr. White after 9pm. i was supposed to meet Mr. Saff from aff at 7pm. i was anticipating having dinner with greg at 5pm who was in from minneapolis. i wasn't supposed to respond to bd's email inviting me to come over while he was frustrated over not being able to open bondagetrials.com

yes, an un-sexed lola is a horny lola.

so i cancelled Mr. Saff. waited for greg. and then drove over to bd's.

at 7pm we were done with dinner and at 8:30pm i was tied up in 4 cords of rope and getting my tits and pussy lashed. he even made me cry. and although, dear reader, it sounds possibly cruel and horrific, do remember "to each her own" and that i dig it. i wanted to stay with him, sleep with him. i was exhausted, but knew i had to go. you make me want to stay here, i said. but i didn't. sometime around 9:45 i was at home and had called Mr. White to say i'd be at his hotel by 11pm. meanwhile, i was online chatting with Mr. Ian about how excited he was that he could watch me sip maker's on the rx via my webcam. (he'd never used cam before.)

and at 10:25pm someone knocked.

i remember the times vaguely, but i'm pretty sure it was then. i remember it was past 9pm when i left bd's because Mr. White had emailed wondering why i hadn't called him yet. and i remember it was past 10pm when i was chatting with Mr. Ian because i kept thinking, i'll give myself 10 more minutes with them and then i have to go change and freshen up.

i thought for sure the knock was one of the lovers who don't know the rules not to visit without calling ahead. i opened the door and the music flowed out behind me. i was faced with a woman in her late 30's with brown hair and glasses, a greyish face. and a man in his 30's with hair pulled back into a long ponytail. they looked somber. asked if i knew my next door neighbor (i live in an apartment building, his door is 5 feet from mine). i said i'd met him last week friday for the first time. i'd seen him once before in the hallway, thought he was kinda cute, wondered why i always heard his door open and close but never saw him.

so last week friday, i tell them, i was heading out at night to go dancing and his door was open. i didn't tell them that i could see a painting of naked butts hanging over a bed in his back bedroom. and that the lights were on and i really wanted to see that painting and meet this man. but i did tell them that i knocked on his wide-open door and he said yes, as i stepped inside and i introduced myself and he called himself "ze" and he is portugese and was smoking and i said that i smoke in my apartment, too, eventhough it's not allowed. and that i hoped he wasn't moving out because of me (loud music, smoking, fucking or whatnot.. i'm always afraid that i'm a horrible neighbor). he laughed, no. he's a scientist and someone threw a rock into his bedroom window the first week he lived there. i said that was horrible and that, as a woman, i'd never live on the ground level.. and really, neither should men. no one should live alone on the ground level. and he agreed, said he was waiting for our landlord to tell him if there was an available apartment upstairs for him to move into. i asked to look at his apartment b/c i'd never seen what it looks like. did he mind if i looked around? he invited me in gladly. i saw the couch, a sparse living area, a huge painting of colors on the wall, a desk. did he do the paintings? no, his mother, but he had done this one over here. colors, lines. i said i liked them both. i peeked into the kitchen. small. yes, and the kitchen, he said, it's too small. i like to cook and it's too small. i agreed, stepped back and wandered to the bedroom. can i see the painting in here? sure, he said. yes, my mother painted that. she's a great artist, i said. i turned and went into the bathroom. and we exchanged pleasantries and i thanked him for letting me look, hoped he'd get the upper apartment, and said goodbye to go off to dance.

i didn't think it odd that he was hoping to move at 11pm. or that our landlord was finding an apartment for him at that late hour. or that his door was open at 11pm.

it was an asian dance night. some after-bar party for them. lots of people. i danced in my usual corner and drank. at bar time i hit the pizza place and got two slices of spinach, talked to a cute boy in line who said he was a professor of history. came home and ze's door was still open. i called in and he met me in his hallway/living room. asked, in my drunk friendly fashion, if he wanted some of my pizza. he was holding a bowl of something and eating already. we laughed, well i guess you're eating already. yes, but thank you. sure. he'd changed clothes. i said goodnight.

i don't remember what i did saturday. oh yeah, el stopped by on his way to his brother's and i was going out on a hunt to meet Mr. History Prof. (different than the one at the pizza place but that's mute at this point.) Mr. Dutch was supposed to come over sunday and fuck me, but Dutch and i cancelled and i know i didn't do laundry b/c i was lazy. monday the door was closed to ze's apartment and two brown couch cushions were outside his door. i thought he'd finally moved but left the couch or something b/c he didn't need it. monday night i talked to Mr. Ian online for hours and the police came by. i have no idea why they came by, but they shouted outside, "Madison police - Stay inside!" maybe it was that night. i heard nothing that would have roused my suspicion.

and nothing happened. nothing at all happened. all week. all week i talked to Mr. Ian, met Mr. White online and got giddy over meeting him and seeing Fleetwood Mac (not that i really care that much about them), pushed through work, had my hormones rise up like flames inside me, masturbated like crazy.

but i told them i had no idea about ze. and they wondered if they could call our landlord b/c they were concerned. a friend of his had called from portugal to say he hadn't heard from ze and was worried. i said i thought that they should call our landlord. and closed the door to get his number while they went to the front building to write it down from the "apartment for rent" sign. we matched the numbers and she asked me if i thought he'd mind they call him. i said, no, of course not. in this instance you should call him. they went outside to call and i went back to Mr. Ian online with our chat. i'd been drinking and we'd been reveling in the new-found web cam abilities. he was pysched to see me and i was having fun. when i got back to him i was worried though. and that thing that happens to me happened.

like when i was in virginia in the back woods at a party. the ghosts came. all those ghosts from the civil war. left helpless and hopeless and no way of knowing how to get peace. like when i was at bd's and grieving at the time of my grams' burial. i could see them in australia crying and my cousin in colorado pulling her car over to cry. like all the times the parallels of time collide in me and electrons and atoms meet. and i know it could be dillusional. i know it could be because of the liquor. but i wonder if it all comes with the liquor b/c i let my brain cloud over and not stop it. only then. not when i'm sober. when i'm sober there are walls up around those thoughts, around those possibilities, closing off any connections between distance and time and space.

so i held my head. and told Mr. Ian that i could see him. i could see ze. he wasn't dead, he wasn't alive. he was trapped. he was trapped somewhere. and i feared for him. i couldn't tell though. i had all these visions... was he abducted because he was gay, a scientist, a portugese? did someone really want to harm him and they had? was he duct taped in his bathroom, on the floor struggling? he was in a dark corner. he was crying. he was dead. ...

oh. my. god. he's dead. Ian, he's dead. he's next door. he's dead in the apartment. he's dead. oh my god. he's there. and he's dead.

just then i heard them talking outside my window, on the front lawn. and i heard my landlord's voice. i told Mr. Ian to hang on. i went outside.

the tattoo on my ass is a japanese symbol. for courage.

landlord said ze had called him a while ago and spoke .. he hesitated.. well, oddly. so i asked him, did he seem unstable? and he said yes. and i asked his 2 friends, did he seem quirky? yes. i told my landlord i thought he was inside the apartment. and from the front lawn we could see the bathroom light, or the bedroom light, some light was on inside and i could see the mattresses naked of sheets and the painting of the naked butts had been taken down and was resting on the opposite wall from where it had been hanging. we need to go in there, i told the landlord. i started heading back to the apartment. wait, he said. no, we have to go in there now. god knows why i said that. god knows why i knew we had to go now. we walked back into the building and landlord said he had to get the master key. he went down the stairs to the basement and came back up. he hesitated, said something, the world rushed in and out of me. he couldn't do it. i wanted to laugh. i was nervous. i was scared. but i knew we had to go in there. i took the key from him and put it in the lock. i turned it one way and pushed, it didn't open. i turned it the other way. i pushed the door open.

half of me thought there'd be some abductor or killer inside. some agressive freak. but there was silence.

the landlord reached across me and turned on the hallway light. ze? ze? we called. and i can't remember who went in first. maybe he did and turned around and said it. maybe i did. but i think the landlord went in first, walked a foot inside, turned, said he was dead, and walked out. and then i walked in, a foot inside, turned and looked.

it wasn't slow motion like they all say it's supposed to be. it was quick. a flash in the pan. but it's burned on my brain now.

i walked into the mini-hallway, turned to the right, saw the edge of the couch, and in front of the couch, two tennis shoes pointed upward.

i quickly backed out of the apartment, put the key in the door, turned the lock, left the key and followed the landlord to the hallway of our building. call the police, i said. call the police now. he dialed. he started talking. his friends started coming into the lobby. and i was overcome with shock. i wanted to smile. i wanted to giggle. i wanted to freak out. i wanted to cry. the landlord was saying the words that i didn't want his friends to hear. i controlled myself i think. and composed myself to hug her. and say i was so sorry. so sorry. so sorry. so sorry. so sorry.

we went outside. the landlord couldn't handle talking to the 911 dispatcher so i took the phone. just then i told her the police were coming. sirens. they're here. it's okay. i'm going to talk to them. it's okay. they're here.

and a flurry. a flurry of activity. blue suited bodies coming in. me going to my apartment and telling Mr. Ian "he's dead." me crying. sobbing. uncontrollable. the lady cop knocking. standing in my doorway as the blue bodies go in and confirm. and talk and noise. and yes, i met him last week for the first time. and my name is. and then we went in. and i've got to stay here and wait around for a detective, and someone from some sort of victims/witness help group? i've got a hot date tonight. and we giggle and i'm sobbing. and no, i didn't know why he wanted to move. and yes, i'll cancel and stay here. and i can't talk to his friends now because it's an investigation. and i get offline and call bd. please come over. please. please come. call Mr. White. hysterical i'm sure. cancel. he's worried. no no, i've got a friend coming over. don't worry. i'll talk to you tomorrow. ok. ok.

i tell the police that bd is coming over and to let him in please. bd shows up, worry in his eyes. i hug him and sob. and tell him all about it and fall back on the closet door. ze needs to leave now. he needs to leave. and he's scared. he's so scared. he's in the dark. he's between dead and alive. he needs to go now. oh my god. go, ze. go it's good there. it's warm. it's safe. it's so safe. bd holds me. it's so safe. go, ze. go. you'll be loved. you'll find peace. and you'll find family. i'm not crazy, i tell bd, i can see him. he's scared. i wish i could hold him. i wish i could warm him for a minute. he's so alone and scared. but ze goes. ze goes and i'm calm again. i have a cigarette and tell bd i have to tell his friends. he thinks it's a bad idea that i go out there. but i go. the lady cop says i can't talk to his friends b/c they're going to ask her questions now. but that i can hug her if i need to. i do. i go outside, i hug her and tell her he's free now. he's safe. he's fine. i can't say any more. they won't let me talk to you. but he's okay now.

i go back in and stand in the doorway. watching the blue bodies go in and talk, move around, i hear something about stabbed neck and bloody cigarettes. or cut neck. the blue bodies have light blue hosiptal covers on their shoes. they're in the living room, the bedroom, they go in and out. an older man asks if someone reads portugese because there's a letter. i say i read spanish, it's close. i look at the letter and it's covered in love, longing, love, love. but i can't interpret it so the friend comes to the hallway, says she can read it. it's a letter from his mom.

i come back inside the apartment. bd and i go back outside. it's calmer. i talk to the friends. i ask if i can get her anything. she and he want tea. tea. tea. how do i make tea? i go into the apartment, bd stays, i then signal him to come to the apartment.. tea? how do i make tea? which tea? i had pulled every tea box out and tossed it to the counter. which one do i make? he finds the "calm" box and says, with a laugh, that this one will be perfect. i laugh. we sit in the other room while the water brews. or we stand in the kitchen. or i pace. and i wonder if the water's done yet. is it done? is it done? i grab the honey. he thinks it's done. i drop honey into the glass and miss and hit the pot. i'm a wreck.

we deliver the tea. i didn't want any but i sip it from bd's glass. i ask ze's friends about him. i think the investigation is over and it's suicide. his friends say he was quirky, people made fun of him because of his clothes (?), he wasn't stable. no, he hadn't lived there a year like i'd thought, only a couple of months. oh. well, i couldn't remember. he was a scientist. and like i'd guessed internally the week before, yes, he was doing stem cell research. she kept calling me a brave woman. the coroner came and asked questions. and the hallway stunk like rotting egg. like cars stink sometimes. i thought it was a cop fart, but then wondered if it was coming from his apartment. i hadn't smelled anything in the week previous. and i hadn't smelled anything like it that night.

at some time the phone rings. bd says he answered it before and it was my upstairs neighbor. she is concerned. i call her back. am i ok? yeah. do you need to stay somewhere? nah, i'll go to bd's. thanks though.

the other lady cop came and said yes, they could go home now and i could leave b/c the investigator feels like he's got all the info he needs. i wonder where the counselor is. i might need some. but bd helps me get my jacket and we leave. i can't stay there. and i should have just stayed at bd's after our tryst earlier. i get on the back of the vespa and pull my hood up. i can't see anything. i stare at the pavement. the lines the pavement make. it's windy. and when we get there i want to start rocking back and forth but stop myself. i ask for drugs. he gives me a valium and i climb in bed sobbing, shaking. i ask for more. he doesn't think i need it but i want more. he gives me a 1/2 more. some time later i'm passed out.

i get up at 10am and i'm starving. i'm groggy. i'm in a haze. i feel nothing. i make two bowels of cereal and read some magazine. go back to bed. he gets up and cooks for himself. i can't get up. i finally open my eyes after i hear a phone call he gets. i know he has other things to do. i keep sleeping. he comes in at about noon and fucks me. i'm so groggy but i want to do it. as i've heard, people when involved with any kind of death want to fuck. reaffirm life.

he drives me back home and another neighbor lady sees us. she asks if i'm ok. i think i am. i'm still dazed. like bd said, it's not like the ad "this is your brains on drugs" and the egg fries. with valium it's more of a slow baking. he walks me into my apartment. the couch cushions from outside ze's apartment are gone. the door mat remains. and the flyer that was left. the flyer for some college thing "make $$ now" kind of thing. they left it. and i remember when i picked mine up sometime that week earlier. and tossed it in the garbage. ze was gone for long weekends and i remember always picking up my junk mail and seeing his remain outside his door for days. bd picks it up and throws it in my garbage. he hugs me. tells me i can call him and come over whenever i need.

i try to log online. i need to talk to Mr. Ian. i need to check my mail. it's 1pm. my mother has called to thank me for the flowers. my friend emily misses me and says that cleveland bound death sentence will be playing soon in minneapolis and i should come see them. Mr. White calls. i try to log on and i'm unsuccessful. i forgot to pay my dial-up fee. i call and pay over the phone. no internet. at 3pm i unlog the phone cord and go to dial Mr. White's number just as he calls. i drink some and go over to meet him at his hotel.

it's awkward but we have good conversation. at 5pm we go decide to go get dinner. we hop in the elevator and there are 2 women with 2 tiny dogs and a man and stevie nicks with her hair in two big curlers. one of the women introduce Mr. White to stevie. she says she's excited for the show but hasn't played in a while and has a beer in one hand. she seems drugged up.

we walk outside and i'm introduced to some agent. stevie is in the limo but another man says wait b/c the girls aren't in yet. the girls are the tiny terrior dogs. they hop in the limo and they leave. two lay people are gawking amazed into the limo. i put on my sunglasses. we eat at cafe montmartre. the first people there. i have a glass of wine and i'm trying to pretend i'm not in a haze. Mr. White knows everything so i'm not shy about being out of it. we part so i can get ready for the fleetwood mac show and i go home. i have a drink and change. he calls. a car will stop by to get me. he holds my hand and puts a pass around my neck. when we get to the arena we're in the back part of it. the under-belly. i'm introduced to agents, managers, bookies, production people. i don't feel unusual. i don't feel out of place. i don't feel odd. but i do feel a bit conscious of the "backstage beauty" thing. like, i'm from here. they're all from there. and they know why i'm here.

i get beers and the set list. and we go outside for my last smoke (can't smoke in the arena). it's starting to thunderstorm and it's almost 8:15pm. a drop of rain hits us and we go inside. we sit with the sound board guys and other media and guests. on the floor but back in the back. i borrow his glasses to see that far. and i wear them for a while. dance. we retreat to the back b/c he wants to try and fuck me. but the gang's still back there. i grab another beer. we go back to the show. it's the encore and mick has some weird drum gadget attached to his shirt and he drums these pads like mad and i'm shaking my body, my ass. it feels so good to dance.

we head back to the hotel by getting a ride from a local promoter. he has gifts for his wife in the back seat. his car is nice and expensive. i ask to stop by the bar so i can get smokes. i run in the rain and grab a pack and run back to the car. we get to the hotel and get a drink. the bridal party arrives and she looks hot in white. i request "strange fruit" from the piano man / singer lady. she says she doesn't have it, but will play some billie anyway. i have a maker's and i really don't need it. but i need the smoke.

we head upstairs. and i have dazed, hazed, drunk sex. i think he says this is the best fuck he's ever had.

we go back downstairs for my cigarette and to see the band back now. i'm introduced to more of the crew. i sit down and he goes into the back room where the band is. mick walks past me. i'm drunk and passing out. i tell Mr. White i have to go to sleep. i'm exhausted. i tell him to stay and i'll head up. i go up, undress, pass out. next thing i know it's like 4am and he's waking me up. sorry, he says, but i can't sleep. i can't sleep with you here. and i need some sleep. i'm okay with this b/c i'm drunk & b/c we talked about me leaving at some point b/c we both don't sleep well with other people. hate it when lovers want to sleep holding me. (barring friday night when i needed bd to hold me.) it's 4am. i don't care. i figure it's the only way i'll be able to sleep in my apartment anyway. drunk, tired, and unknowing. he says he's called a cab for me. gives me two 5$. i dress. i tell him it's okay and i head down. no one is at the desk. there is no cab. i walk home. the morning is dark but starting to lighten. i curse my whole way home. it's only 7 blocks, but i'm cursing. fucker. kick me out of bed?!

i walk past ze's door. and pause. my key won't unlock my door. god just let me in. i get in and pass out. i only wake up at 11:45am when Mr. White calls. and then he calls right away again. trying to wake me up. i don't answer. but i get up.

i've just spent a couple hours writing this. and i'm still shaky and my head hurts again.

i keep hearing things. like when bd dropped me off and left. i opened the window and after i opened it i heard "lola." the closet door creaked open on its own... but that happens sometimes i think. i hear the door to ze's apartment open and close. bd was online and told me to call him if i need anything or when they start tapping me on the shoulder. that's not funny, i said. b/c that happens. all the time. and i haven't showered today. the bathroom wall connects to ze's apartment. i wonder what it'll be like showering there tomorrow morning. i won't be able to close my eyes i'm sure.

i keep seeing those shoes pointed upward.

even when i was fucking bd in the morning. even when i was fucking Mr. White. even now. even now i see dead people.

Lola 4:12:00 PM

Tuesday, May 5, 2009

A true gentleman

Me to the TV Producer:
Sorry I haven't replied, schools' been busy.

I could maybe see you later in the summer but I'm not sure it would do us justice. I'm really crushing on this dom in CH and not sure I could completely engage in our activities. But it would be nice to see you again. I'm here past my graduation until at least end of July. Maybe we'd see each other later then?

Him:
Thanks for your mail
i understand and i'm glad for you
maybe we will see eeach othe rlater
take care

Monday, May 4, 2009

and then...

Yeah,

total embarrassment.

Love letters shouldn't be shared to the world really. Unless they're written by the dead poets. Otherwise, they're like weird, disjointed declarations of overly grammatical syntax and over used adjectives to tedium.

Ugh.

Retract. Delete.

Or suffer in my ridiculousness.

To Sir with love

I just read a wonderful email from my girl friend on FetLife. It's so settling to know I'm not alone in this venture of realizing who I am and who I can be - to you.

I have not been your good submissive lately and I'm so sorry for this. I know you're fighting flu-like feelings right now so I wouldn't send this to you (hence posting on my blog - wherein I can be free to write my feelings of any nature and know that I can get them out of my system in privacy and confidence and without burdening you).

I know that the reason I've behaved poorly in communications is because I'm struggling to balance the submissive I want to be to you with the dominant I have to be in other realms of life. I'm writing quickly between school tasks and not taking the time to use my words properly. And I'm smarter and more cognizant than this. I know that every word uttered in life has value and every letter written carries meaning. But life is not lived to the crossed T and dotted i. Still, I should have more consciousness of my communications.

I am, also, aware of the twisted questioning I have for our dynamic. It's new, it's physically infrequent, it relies on mental and spiritual diligence, and a whole lotta trust. On the one hand, I'm completely at ease with giving myself to your control, nurture, design, discipline, but yet on the other I have reservations on that great leap. I'm not sure what they're based on: baggage, newness, wisdom with age, worry-wort tendencies, caution of heart break, safety, stubbornness, or punk rock rebellion. Or, any other little negative inch worm trying to nibble away at my growth. As such, as of now, you have demonstrated no inconsistency or irrationality that would indicate I'd have foundation for this mistrust. It just is what it is and I have some inner activities to figure it out.

My friend on FetLife was talking about her interest in become a slave to her dominant. That it is not for her to decide in their relationship, but it was one key point she made that intrigued me:
"We discussed the 'slave' topic. He was very quiet and simply stated that he has noted for some time that I act in a way that would be in keeping with a slave towards him. Whether or not I am a slave however, seems to be something that he will determine the timing of and I suppose at that time I will need to decide whether I give myself entirely over to his control. It is a little confusing to me, because at this time, I don't know that my mindframe isn't already there. But, I also recognize that he is the one to better know what that means and so perhaps I am not ready or he has not determined that is the level of commitment that he wants to make, at this time. We can both feel it though and it surfaces in our interactions anytime we are together."

This idea of the dominant knowing better about situations - and about ourselves - than we know. This is such a mystery to me and yet it has surfaced in our email exchanges quite a bit. Yes, I comprehend the idea that a (good) dominant watches physical reactions during play to analyze the situation beyond what the sub will be capable of doing. Yes, I understand that the dom judges what the scope of play is before engaging to find the right direction for play and the limits (with the underlying principle that no one is perfect and communication reigns supreme in this interaction). But this whole life outside of physical interaction is confusing: service, commitment, mental engagement - and a phrase I'm still slightly turned off by "total power exchange" (buhm buhm booommmm - as if some guy should jump out of a horrible TV commercial: "And now, introducing, Total Power Exchange! The brand that gets those tough stains out of your precious linen!").

And then, after my years of providing for my own survival and enjoyment, who the fuck thinks they know better than I do about my own satisfaction, growth, improvement, needs, wants, etc? How does someone have this magic power to see the bigger picture and is able to determine the specific details better than I can? I have the deep desire to concede this grand spectrum of my life, but I guess it does simply involve a depth of trust and breadth of demonstrated comprehension. And, most certainly, I am not near to having a slave discussion. While my heart might want to go in that direction, and I have already longed to be told to change my "relationship status" to say "submissive to Mr FD," I have silly reservations about that (ugh, that's so dumb to declare that kind of thing) and serious considerations (only he could tell me if I've reached that point).

This all said, I've reached a point where things are rearranging inside me. I've had many new swoons over my life and have wariness that this one prove itself as something beyond an instant infatuation. I'm a risk-taker (you can't steal second base and keep your foot on first). I like the extreme (although I thought this had tempered over time - considering that I'm on the way to become a voodoo doll with needle play, who knows if this is true). I like newness. I like the taboo. (I remember talking to James about my incest erotica fetish and he eased my concerns about this by pointing out that I've always liked taboo things.)

But there is a clear obviousness that reveals itself when I'm least looking. A hastily written email, badly worded, and you send message back that I'm out of line and why am I thinking so self-centeredly? This sends my mind spinning (even if you follow that note with a caution that I shouldn't indulge in guilt or whining or rationalization, just understand the point and get back to school work). It's not an instinctive reenactment of my own childhood misdemeanors with parental disapproval. But it extends from that. I've disappointed many people since I was a kid and have felt no such impact as I do when I get your notices. When given tasks from afar (shopping or writing), I've felt such dedication to the point where I could end up caring less about other responsibilities. Although you wouldn't allow that. There are days and moments when I feel a sensation of distraction, elation, concern, peace and send you an email and get some type of in-kind acknowledgment that there was, indeed, a reason for it: you were working on me, you received good news, you were considering a punishment, you were calm taking a nap. These could be rationalized away from my thoughts as simply coincidental interactions, but I've studied synchronicity and quantum physics and know that coincidences do not exist solely as accidents.

There is something bigger at work between us.

When I looked up at the sky in December and felt trepidation for the future and realized what I wanted was to fall in love, it wasn't as simple as that. It was a longing that wasn't being met and a call I put out to the universe. (Hippie shit, I know, but after all my parents have said over and over that I was reincarnated from that time period or born too late.) And, when I started to shut down from the lovers of Adam's reign, it was a signal to other notions developing. And when the year had passed and I got a call back from you, the stars said it was time. And while I was meditating on following my path as it should be, following the course of events as my life should develop, requesting some sign that I was moving to the next phase of my life as it should be, and asking for clear signals of this next step, I received them in overlapping greatness: Venus was at the southern sky and shining brighter and bigger than an eye could conceive, such that I thought for sure it was a UFO; energy centralized in me; comfort in this huge wash of uncertainty folded around me; the sun gave me a spring in step; I started to blossom; and your words came frequently, my trips on the train became an umbilical cord, puzzle pieces fell into place within me. I've had only clear signs - all pointing to Yes: yes, follow this final project I'm working on at school for it will lead to continuation; yes, time is running out and it's time to carve out the words of years and years; yes, give myself to Mr FD - wholly and without hesitation. Yet, with all these signals, my rational mind plays intervener and protector. It's a constant struggle to be true to my destiny.

Along those lines, I've achieved momumental development. The final project is a first of its kind and will be met with praise for its timeliness. My words are ready for formulation and structure into some kind of permanent, publicly available medium. And I had never thought I'd crave you, pain, service, adoration, and more than total power exchange.

All this to say, I still have deep and frequent questions - and will forever (and at random times). I have a want and a need for you. I have a want and need to learn more. And more importantly, I will live by my new mantra:

I’m here to serve you, be obedient, and be the best sub I can be.

Thank you for your patience and interest in our development. I'm humbled to be considered your memo, céline, sex slut, little girl, lola, dolly, slow anne, fast anne, natasha, sherpa. I can only hope it continues as long as it should.

<3
lo.

The TV Producer

The guy I found via Craigslist, the guy who was into spanking me, the guy I went to Les Chandelles (the sex club) with, is now interested in seeing me again.

When I was in his neighborhood months ago, I sent a nice SMS to let him know I was thinking of him while passing through. He SMS'd back that it was nice and went on to tell me he was seeing someone since January. I wasn't sure how to interpret this but wished him well.

Then, recently:

Him:
how are you cara?
i know it has been a while since we have not heard from each other
i want to know hoa you are and what's going on in your life

Me:
Good to hear from you bello. I'm in the last month of school, finishing up my graduation project, working on papers, etc.. I've been seeing a guy in CH who is dominant and into bdsm so getting my bottom spanked quite a bit ;) How are you? What's going on in your life?

Him:
i would love to see you before you leave Paris or before the end of graduation
i'm fine: lots of work just finished a shooting and starting a new one in June
i'm still with the person i've met begining of the year but i'd like to see again
i'm glad to read that you 've been spanked i miss me spanking you and you blowing me :-)

Me:
[silence]

Him:
how are you?
did you get my last mail?
would you like to see each other?
Kisses

Me:
[Not really. I feel like I've kind of moved beyond him spanking me and "blowing him." In fact, his words felt a bit crass to me. Not that I'm not still a slut and don't, in a context, enjoy reading about his enjoyment of me. I just feel like, well, that's what it was. Even in the giddy photos that I took as he spanked me last (with paddles I brought), there was no ultimate enjoyment on my part. Even at the time, before my plunge into this S&M world, I found myself thinking, "Harder! Harder!" And, even kneeling at his feet giving him a blowjob, I felt like there wasn't any fairness in it (I give great blowjobs and only got half-assed sex) and really was bored by it all. Sure, there was the rush of drinking a ton, dolling up, hailing a cab, pretending I was a hooker going to see him, spanking, blowing, and sex and waking up in a fucking kick ass apartment over-looking the Pantheon. But I wasn't paid for the cab fare. I wasn't paid for the hooker dream I had. The sex didn't even "pay" for it. And the spanking wasn't nearly what I was hoping for.

The fact that he's seeing someone doesn't really matter to me. I've been a mistress before. More importantly is that I wasn't getting out of it what I wanted and was bored.

So, I guess I need to write this to him.]

Self-inflicted pain

I was never a cutter. I mean, I once hated my dad so much that I carved his initials into my ankle/heel area so I'd never forget what an asshole he was. I once hated being a teen so much that I took one of those tape dispenser things with the jagged edge teeth and sawed it over my wrist. It bled and I covered it with a big band-aid and told everyone it was from a volleyball accident. There's still a hint of a scar. But I never continued the sporadic moments into a stream of being a cutter or the like.

So, when I have tense days I turn to porn for a quick release. And lately I've watched my porn sometimes with the nipple clamps on.

But it's only on Skype with Mr FD that I found myself digging my nails into my inner, soft thigh and loving it. The mixture of him telling me to rub my clit and my automatic response to dig my nails simultaneously is an amazing feeling. Endorphins of all proportions running through me. The hunger in my sopping wet cunnie, the swelling of my clit to a mini-penis, the twang of pain zipping through my nerves and filling my veins even fuller with lust.

It's an amazing thing.

I can't see myself pulling a Maggie "Secretary" and trying to spank myself, because just as she found, there's really not enough force in my limbs to want to hurt myself badly. I'm also not interested in directing hurt on purpose. But there is the shared desire for some kind of stimulant like that. Some kind of shock wave supreme that acts like chiropracty and realigns all the fragmented parts of myself through the pain+pleasure mathematics.

And, really, it makes me more content and satisfied to do it for Mr FD, in front of him, in the comfort of his non-judgment, in the embrace of his encouragement than to do it alone where my mind can wander into questions about my sanity.


UPDATE:
Mr FD: Funny how memory goes: I told you to start pinching you inner thighs and then saw you were quite in it and did just let it flow naturally.

Me: I think I might have pinched before then though. It was a rush of all good things last night. And thank you for that.

Mr FD: I was looking at you and controlling each of your moves: you didn't. It doesn't matter (but is interesting ;-)

Me: Really? I could have sworn that I had leapt to grabbing them with my nails myself just out of desire while fiddling myself inside my panties on the stool the 2nd time. ... If it's the case that I was doing everything you told me to do - being controlled by you - then it felt like myself at times and that's very strange.... interesting.. and perplexing.

Mr FD: Yeah. Good sign.

Again the sequence was I controlled every movement and had you pinch yourself to add another feed point in the circle of energy I was building with the different predicaments.

Then I saw you dwelled into it deeply and just let it be for it was extremely intense and having a life of its own which was what I would have ultimately had it do, so no need to micromanage anymore.

;-)

Me: Interesting... something to ponder.

Thank you for letting it have a life of its own.

Saturday, May 2, 2009

Something is brewing

Mid-life crisis?

I'll be 34 in 10 days.

Last month, I heard "Would?" by Alice in Chains on KEXP and promptly downloaded the studio album and the Unplugged album (latter rocks it).

Tonight, I'm watching "Singles" (1992).

I was 17 when it came out. And it's got Pearl Jam and Alice in it and features a love story and a "when I grow up" story that I imagined I'd have when I went off to college and then graduated.

I'm not sure what this all means to me - yet.

I guess I'll find out in a week or so.