Don't cry for me Argentina

Pretty low-key lately. Chicago was nice with amazingly warm weather and great family. The drive to Minneapolis was giggles and singing '80s songs loudly with my sister and her fiance (who did not sing but deejayed). Then, it's been a slow easing-into-society process. Job hunting a bit online, driving practice to the car wash, dinner with a girl friend.

Then, last night I went out with a guy who worked with me way back in the day when I was working for a local newspaper. We had drinks at some typical bar with wooden interior, a circular and centered bar, TVs blaring sports, and stools supporting all kinds of overweight, boring-looking people. I brought him a 2Euro coin and he brought me 5 scratch-off games, which I've never played before. We won $2. I had a dirty martini and it didn't taste as I was hoping it would. He had grapefruit juice. We've both cut down on the drinking quite a bit during these precarious days of unemployment, when we could be easily subjected to a bout of depression or anxiety. We went to a pool hall to shoot some and I learned that not all pool halls serve booze, and some can feel downright depressing. I won one, he won one. Then, we rounded off the night at a dive bar called Vegas, where some scowly college kids were drunk and singing karaoke. I had a Maker's Mark on the rocks for old time sake. He had a Sprite. Talking came easy. We had exchanged some emails over the past couple of months since finding ourselves via Facebook, so we knew that we could joke about naughty sex, share openly about our depressions, and dream of our evolution.

When he drove me home, he patted my back and let his hand linger. We wished I was wasn't staying at my sister's and that he wasn't crashing with his parents. Then, we kind of leaned into each other and he started kissing my neck. My heart palpitated and my body sighed. We kissed gently until I tightened my teeth around one of his lips. His right hand grabbed my hair and pulled my neck back. His left hand dove into my jacket. I tried to move it into my skirt, under my tights, but he kept pointing out that we were parked in the middle of the street under a street lamp. I didn't care. Who would care? I didn't live there. No one was awake. No one was looking. I am not fifteen. But I was totally prepared to jump into the back seat to get it on. He said he had no condom. We said we'd hang out Friday night. He waited for me to get inside the house and his SMS was "Nighty nigh cutie pie."

First person on earth, last to know

It's funny. I feel like I'm the first person on earth to ever move to Paris. So, I'm perusing The Paris Blog which is like a hub for all-blogs-Paris. Down the rabbit hole and I'm discovering that I'm really not the first. Not the first American, probably not the first student, not the first hungry, not the first wide-eyed, not the first trying to figure out why calls to the USA are free, not the first wondering about my living situation, not the first having anxiety attacks.

I kind of want to be the first.

But I know that I will be the first with my own viewpoint which will definitely tell more [or less, depending on my class schedule and load].

....................

I'll have photos soon, but last weekend I went to visit the parents and went up to Minneapolis. I swung by the parents so I could meet with the lawyer and finalize my Last Will and Testament along with all the Powers (of Attorney and Health Care). It's weird realizing the end and recognizing it and detailing what I want if I become a vegetable - or people think I'm a vegetable.

Friday I met up with a high school friend B. It was his pre-birthday party and we had dinner at Psycho Suzy's. I met all his professional friends - all doctors and most some kind of crazy (the obsession with marathons and triathlons!). I was designated driver so he could party it up.

I took my underwear off in the car at his request.

He and I have gotten together once in a while over the years. He reminded me of a weekend when Lola was a Drunkard and a bunch of us met in a hotel in Minneapolis. I ended up half-naked in the hallway over some truth or dare. Then there was the parking ramp when I gave him head. Then back at the hotel room after a friend of ours' 30th birthday party when he crawled on top of me and shoved his cock in my mouth.

["The Dead Flag Blues (Intro)" and lyrics

the car's on fire and there's no driver at the wheel
and the sewers are all muddied with a thousand lonely suicides
and a dark wind blows

the government is corrupt
and we're on so many drugs
with the radio on and the curtains drawn...

When we got back to his place we did two shots of Maker's - mood enhancer or relaxant, you be the judge. Over dinner I had nonchalantly told him about SirMax and James, rope and spankings. I was sitting on the stool in his kitchen when he got up and laid a heavy handed smack on my ass.

we're trapped in the belly of this horrible machine
and the machine is bleeding to death...

He came back from his den with a thin make-shift, regular hardware, white rope. He tied my wrists behind my back and looped the rest up through my mouth like a gag.

the sun has fallen down
and the billboards are all leering
and the flags are all dead at the top of their poles...

[It went like this]

"Crawl up the stairs."

I had to do it on my knees alone with no hands to help.

We got upstairs and he put me on the bed, took off my clothes and left my fuck-me-boots on.

"You're not putting up much of a fight."

My mouth free, I warned him, "Are you sure you want me to fight you? Because I will, but I can't be held responsible for how I do it."

I wasn't drunk. I'd nursed 2 Fu Manchus over 5 hours, stopped at The Red Dragon for 2 shots of buttery nipples, and then the 2 Maker's - I'm a Dorothy Parker.

So, I giggled.

You know, that giggle when your dad spanked you once and you were expected to take it seriously. Or, when your drunk mum says you're in deep trouble for missing curfew. Or, when your older sister was so angry she twisted your arm and dug her nail claws in. I laughed in his face of aggression. And, then I kicked.

[Kiss me you're beautiful]

And he flipped me over and sat on my legs. Then he flipped me over and spread my legs wide.

The camera went click click.

I kept kicking and squirming and trying to get free from this tight rope around me and his 6'5" rower/swimmer/runner/basketballer frame.

And then I rested, out of breath, exhausted but not worn out. While he went to his closet and brought back a belt.

He looped the rope through my mouth again - like a drooling pig, like a bit in a pony mouth - flipped my fighting body over and whacked my ass.

I wanted to believe he was a natural. I could fall in love with someone who rejects who they are.

Such goofy big brother drunkenness at midnight, such silly butt moon as we walked under the full moon back to the car, such hesitancy to verbalize demands, such aggression and use.

Use is the word.
Because I know I couldn't
wake up and go running,
read the paper on the porch,
balance checkbooks,
water the new plants in the dry backyard,
smile and chat with the neighbors,
befriend and best friend the blonde OB-GYN who can't stop complaining about being on call when she's making 6 figures.

But I could totally go for more of this. Belt on my ass. Legs spread and click click like he's never seen a pussy or like he's going to cum to this one over and over.

I wished for the lesbian encounter that he's been jacking off to over and over again in his den.

He barely let me lick his cock.
He wanted me begging with my actions.
Raising up on my tied arms, stretching my neck, sticking out my tongue.

As the sweat built up and the endorphins raced, I started to feel drunk.

I wanted to fight and get on top but there was no way that would happen.

I wanted his thick cock inside me.

I had been thinking about this since I sent the proposing email that we hook up - on Tuesday.

Instead, he finger fucked me and teased my mouth with his barely bare touches to his cock.

He rolled me over and close to him.
"I want you to fuck me."
"You want me to fuck you? Where?"
"In my cunt."
"You want me to fuck you?"
"Yes. Do you want to fuck me?"
"No. I want you to suck me."
"Why?"
"Why? ... Because that's what I want to do."

His legs spread and my hands tied behind me, my head bobbing, stretching the rope to let my hands free to touch him and to touch me.

"You whore. You filthy cunt. Yes. Yes. Suck me. Suck me, dirty whore."

He snuggled me at 4am.

I let my fingers fall on his back - tracing and soothing and touching at 8am. "You have an amazing body."

I let myself give him tenderness. Just like I let myself ask him earlier in the afternoon, "How was your day?"

Sometimes Mother Teresa of Love knows better how to treat my lovers than I do - or would.

Sometimes it's appropriate to let her in, to let her take over.

Just as Penny Paris Fate moves into my body and makes me type 'Paris apartments' and 'Stafford Loan' and 'Macbook.'





I hate waiting, but I waited for him to get back from his morning swim in the lake - training for the triathlon. We met up with another couple and their baby daughter and some young 20-something snotty pants swimmer for breakfast. Conversations can be so shallow sometimes. And even more for me when I haven't had coffee. I'm more of an apparent airhead, nodding and smiling, not talking. Brain neurons not connecting.

We hugged good-bye.

I wandered Lake and Lyndale, Lake and Hennepin. On blazing hot sun boiling days this area of the city can seem so run-down and lonely and poor and tired.

[we woke up one morning and fell a little further down -
for sure it's the valley of death]

So I bought shoes.

My feet are like duck's feet - narrow at the heel and wide at the toes. Girlie shoes never fit me well. So I spent way too much money for a pair of these and man, do I love them. I guess the more money, the better fit.

[i open up my wallet
and it's full of blood]

Ms Lucifer called me and I pulled over as I had pulled out of the Calhoun Square parking garage. Ms Lucifer is the Italian from Montreal who lives in NYC but has owned an apartment in Marais for 15 years. The space is 50m2, kitchen, bathroom, great part of town. She's only there a week every 4 months or so. She sells Freixenet brands in NYC. She says the apartment is decked out in Ikea-type furniture. ... Have I died? I want to do a colocation [aka roommate] situation to bring down the costs and to have some tie to the city to drag me out when I'm feeling trapped, freaked, frozen. But I also want to be able to fuck who I want, come and go as I please, cook for myself, masturbate loudly, be on my own schedule. Of course, as you all know me, I'm responsible and kindly - not about to trash her apartment or disturb the neighbors. So, she and I chatted and I'm hoping for this.

In the meantime, I've also gotten a kick-ass, considerate invite to apply for the apartment my new pal Wilfried has advertised with his lady love. Wilfried got connected to me via Alixxx. Thanks to Hex I knew who Alixxx was and thanks to Alixxx for putting 2+2 together. Wilfried and I have had some amazing conversations via email and I can't wait to meet him and his lady.

["Rehab" by Amy and Jay-Z ... just as I was about to hate this fucking song.]

I shoved off from the parking garage in Minneapolis and met up with my sister. I don't like her new boyfriend and there's all this drama with her, her choice of boy, and my father. I'm not going to go into it but suffice it to say she hasn't made the best choice here.

Dinner and drinks over on the Mississippi River and early to bed, falling asleep on the couch while watching Hannibal Rising. Just before that my pregger friend A called. Woman is due on Saturday and yet she's going out to a friend's 40th b'day party - way to show the world that pregnancy is not a disability!

Sunday gal pal A and I had breakfast. She drove, all basketball belly. We had a great time catching up - we went to study abroad in Spain together in '97 and kept in touch when we got back but lost touch when I moved to Madison. Then I drove back home. A sunny as fuck day with mayflies dying on the sidewalk and on the car. Summer air and a sunroof rental.

Tonight my friends pooped out on me and I'm home adding to the new 'Oui Oui Paris' links on the blog. Pretending I'm the first person on earth to go to Paris.

A couple of new photos on flickr, too, from nights with Phillip.

Minnie-Apple part 2

So, back to Minneapolis for the rest of the weekend. I wasn't awake when James called Friday night because I had to give a presentation on Saturday morning. It was fine. The day was fine. Lots of flirting eyes and boring workshops and lame presenters. The Mister Mister from Friday night texted me mid-day to say he could think of a better way to spend his time, but I wasn't interested. I could tell he was hungry - like when you get a yummy cookie and want another the next day.

Dinner was pretty cool. We were going to eat at fancy pants Solera but it wasn't the right atmosphere for our rowdy, chatty group of all women + Paul Rogat Loeb (a not-so-inspirational speaker at our lunch earlier that day, although I was thrilled that every conference participant got a free copy of his new book!). So, instead we went to Rock Bottom Brewery.

My sister joined us which was fine. You've heard about my divorce from her and all. I wasn't thrilled by her presence but it was nice to see her. At the end of dinner, Mr. Clichemonster met up with us which was awesome. I'm sure that not all meetings of internet friends in real life turn out so well, but this was really nice. He totally knew how to roll with the whole "we've known each other a long time" story - after all, I did go to undergraduate in Minneapolis and no one got too close to ask him if he had lived there that long.


My sister did pull a funny and a shocker at one point though. She recently returned from a week in Japan and brought me presents not fit to present at xmas. She stopped off at Condomania and brought me back a few cool gifts.

This Choco Magic one is hilarious. "Shake Before Serving" and "Finest Quality Chocolate" - I am totally looking forward to tasting that quality chocolate. Despite the fact that - with men I know have been tested and have no STIs - I prefer latexless.

While I do love strawberries, midnight, and being called Sweety (or is that Sweetie? or is that supposed to be Sweaty?), I'm not sure that calling a condom "Rubber Yum" will make me want to put it in my mouth. I do love their disclaimer though "Highly effective against pregnancy and helps reduce the risk of spreading many sexually transmitted disease." I like "Highly effective" a lot. I think it's accurate.

The best present though was this little Hello Kitty charm for my cell phone. I took it out of the bag and laughed so damn hard. I had to show Mr. C who would be the only one in the room to know how much it would mean to me to get a Hello Kitty called "Pour Lolita." (It's a gothic Kitty!) Little did I know, my sister knew, as well. I pointed out the tiny "Lolita" script to Mr. C and started to try to explain to my sister and she goes, "I know." Of course, she elaborated. This guy she was dating this past summer tried to google her to find dish. And I guess one of the places (jump in here, Mr. C, if my explanation is wrong) he looked was on nerve.com - instead of finding her, he found me. Now, HOW he knew it was me is beyond all our comprehension. I'm pretty good at keeping my fullfrontal face off the 'net, but maybe it was through her Friendster page to my Friendster page to my full frontal face to match it on nerve.com. I'm not quite sure how it went, but what he landed on was the old "Looking for a third" - the personal ad that James and I used to find a guy for our love triangle. Of course, my name on nerve.com is Lola or Lolita. So.... sis pulled a cool shot. Yay, sis! (Don't forget to click on the images for larger versions. I especially love the Hello Kitty back panel - check out the danger-of-choking image.)

So, we all had a good laugh over sister's smarts and the awesome gifts. From dinner, a couple of us (Mr. C, my sister, 3 WI interns, the MN Conference Planner and her boyfriend) went over a couple of blocks to Lyon's Pub, and on the way made a stop at Shinders for cash. Man, I miss living in Minneapolis. Downtown is so seedy despite its attempts at cleaning up by adding Block E. The club we went to was quite fun and I had no idea that our interns dug hip hop or that we were such good dancers. Although, MN was playing IA that weekend and there were some total lame ass drunk boys on the dance floor - one which kept dropping ass bombs. I mean, literal shit stink bombs right in the middle of the dance floor. So uncool.

[Lola & Clichemonster - wait.. wait... we're not ready!]

The funniest scene though. Shouting in the bar. Ms. MN Planner says she likes to workout to "My milkshake brings all the boys to the yard" and I had the realization that when that song first came out my sister and I were talking about it and she goes, "You know what that song's about, right?" "No. And I don't think I want to know." Because, of course, I'm thinking it's about a baby mama serving up her milky tits on the playground. Or, maybe it's about a guy cumming in some girl's ass and another girl drinking it. Because, of course, my mind goes somewhere worse than other people's minds.

So, I tell Ms. MN Planner and shout to the other girls, "What's that song about anyway?!"
And intern1 goes, "It's about a money shot!"
I go, "What's a money shot?" and I think I know what it is, but I'm not sure I do, so I lean over to Mr. C and yell over the music, "What's a money shot?!"
And he looks taken aback. He leans away from me in near shock, "You don't what a [muffled] shot is?"
"No. What is it?"
"It's a drink!"
I lean back to intern1 and go, "It's a drink?!"
She laughs so hard, "NO! It's not a drink! It's jizz on the face!" And makes the motion of jacking a cock.
I turn to Mr. C and go, "A drink?!"
He laughs so hard, "I thought you said body shot!!"
Of course, intern1 later can't believe she said "jizz on the face" to one of her bosses.

Maybe you had to be there, and be slightly buzzed.

No drunkeness for us that night though. Mr. C walked us all back and while I tried my best to lay some cute moves on him as a gesture of goodwill, my sister lingered at our goodbyes and all I got in was a great bear hug with Mr. C and a cheek kiss. It's all good. I'm a whore, he's a nice man.

Got back to the hotel and thought for sure Mister Mister would text me as we'd texted a bit during dinner hours. It was 1 in the am, but he's one of those guys who doesn't sleep much. Didn't hear anything so I didn't feel badly. Sunday we packed it up and left.

All in all a good trip.

I took Thanksgiving week off. Tuesday was all about a very, very nice late afternoon tryst. Which you'll have to come back to read about. As a teaser, it involves a schoolgirl outfit and lolipops.

When in Rome, do as the Romans - when in Minneapolis, do what you want

[New to Cheating Death Once Again v.3? The beginning is a good place to start -- scroll all the way down darling.]


So, elections are over. I was out of the office that whole week and man did it feel fucking awesome.

James and I started our relationship two years ago as crazy fuckers, dating, playing, partying and somewhere after New Years I started to think seriously about trying to call it a "relationship" and talked to him about giving a relationship a good 'ol fashioned try. Well, now we know that I'm not relationship material and I mean "relationship" in the old fashioned sense. Or, maybe even the liberal sense. I started to grow tired and weary of nice, loving sex in the tender mornings after sleeping together. He started to love those moments. I was the one who started the relationship adament about not being monogamous and he's the one who ended up having the "open" part of it all. Different strokes for different folks, I guess. We're still friends and work-out partners. Well, actually, he's been patient and kind enough to mentor me through working out still so my ass doesn't get too flabby. Although, for some reason he keeps telling me to stay home and eat twinkies. Huh. Tomorrow's our 2nd year anniversary and I'd like to say we're doing something together but he's in Milwaukee - no doubt playing with some sweet girl who had no idea what she was getting herself into but totally enjoying it all the same. And, I'm on hour 12 of applications, financial aid research, minor breaks for Mad TV, and a few coctails. Tomorrow I believe I'll continue the work. And I guess that's just the perfect way to celebrate our non-relationship relationship.

Regardless of what is or isn't between us, it didn't stop us from going out Saturday night after the elections. He picked me up and we had sushi. I was pretty sure that there wasn't chemistry any longer but we went over to the pool hall for some games anyway. And, I was still pretty sure that there wasn't chemistry and - in normal, blunt Lola fashion that I thank the bejesus that James doesn't just walk out on me every time - I brought it up. He was kind of pussyfooting around us, around me, around the pool table and I was rather getting fed up with it. I mean, I guess I'd been ballsy of late and rather in control of my own self and making the decisions. He'd been reacting to my decisions and trying not to just explode at me and walk out, keeping it together, keeping it a bit distant. So, I grabbed him by the shirt collar, pulled him to me, and leaned in to make out. We even stumbled back a bit and I think I pushed my tongue into his mouth. There! That's passion. That's what I'd wanted. That's what I was missing.

When we got back to my place we were both a bit snockered. We sat on the carpet and I poured myself another drink. "Where's your mojo?" That was easy for drunk Lola to say, hard for James to hear. But I guess that's what it boiled down to in my mind. Where was the spunk, the heat, the crazed and overpowering lust and domination, the brutality, the control, the degredation?

PDH once explained, "The paradox, I find, as a dom myself is that the closer I get to someone, the harder it is to dom them. It's easy to humiliate and discipline a stranger in a way. Different when you wake up next to them in the morning and make them toast. If you see what I mean. The trade off is that of course, you get to love. And love and companionship aren't a trivial thing. I don't presume to know what you need/want, just I hope it works out for you."

Well, James did not take kindly to me asking where his mojo went, but he swallowed it with pride and courage. And, then took it out on me as I took it out of him. On the bed, trying to tie me up, I was not a limp, compliant Lola. I tossed and turned, kneed and scratched, I twisted and turned, wrastled and wrestled. And he kept me on the bed and forced me into exhaustion and acceptance.

In the morning we both felt better. My muscles ached. I remembered how good it felt to be overpowered by him. And, I think he was able to wake his mojo again.

The next weekend I went to Minneapolis for a conference. Drove up there Thursday with the interns and thought I was going to shoot myself but it ended up being a nice 4 hour drive of fun conversation and jokes. After dinner with all the conference kids, I went back to my room, ordered up a beer, and hooked in the laptop. I guess I've had a resurgance of courage and risk. I decided to un-divorce my sister and told her I was in town and thought she might want to come to dinner with all of us on Saturday night. I was emailing our pal Hex and he reminded me that our pal Clichemonster was living in the cities still. So I dropped him an email to see if he'd be around over the weekend and would he want to meet up quickly. Then, I decided to drop an email to a colleague to see if he was in town, too. Said colleague was, indeed, at the conference and wondered if we could meet for dinner on Friday. He and I had hooked up a few times before although many of the dates ended without any sexual interaction because I was too drunk and suddenly overcome by a feeling of guilt or complication over a current lover. But, now I was free and feeling a bit over-sexed and under-touched. All day Friday, work was replaced by flirtations, accidental eye stares, panty wetting feelings, and trying to hide the unethical tryst. First of all, he's my superior (in a way), a high level CFO of another state's Dem Party, the chair of the CFO affinity group, and a pal to our CFO. Secondly, he's married although technically separated although sleeping on the couch at their place "for the sake of the kids." I'm a whore. I know I am. I know it.

Clichemonster and I decided to meet at 5pm in the hotel lobby. It was so nice to meet him in person, and it really felt very relaxed and comfortable. He had the wrong hotel and actually ran over while we texted descriptions, blocks, and hellos. It was a really quick intro and a brief hug. Granted, I only had 15 minutes to hang out with him between end of conference for the day and the reception. But he thought he'd be available to come meet us out Saturday night. I wasn't quite sure what I was getting myself into - either with this guy who I only knew from the virtual world, or inviting my sister, this guy, and trying to get laid. It felt nice to be a bit overwhelmed and I had this weird energy from god knows where. Like, I could have gone all night had I not had a presentation on Saturday morning. I could have juggled 3 more friends and guys, coulda done coke and smoked all night, coulda spent $500 in a strip club, coulda swaggered in the next morning and bombed the workshop but held my head high in experience. Needless to say, some of that happened, but not all. And I was a good lil' presentater.

I joined my co-workers at a nice 5:30pm reception and ended up wining a case of beer. Fuck, that's right. I won a case of beer. I shouldn't be buying more gin and tonic! Seriously though, I don't drink beer. You want some of my beer? Right, so I won a trivia quiz and got a case of beer. Oddly enough, I had stepped out for a smoke with the tryst man when they called my name. We planned to head out in half-hour for dinner away from the downtown area. It wasn't easy trying to sneak away from co-workers and interns, but I was able to and cabbed it over to the old Loring Cafe which is now Cafe Lurcat. The conversation was work-based because I wasn't sure what to say or how to say it so instead, I probbed and got all the juicey insider scoop we all dream of getting from the boss's boss who has the eagle eye view. It was a fucking fabulous meal and I recommend it to anyone who's on a special-occassion date. I had 2 glasses of white wine, 3 raw oysters on the half shell with mignonette, horseradish and lemon ($3.25ea), and the seared ahi with lemon confit and ponzu ($24.5). I wasn't really paying attention to what Mister Mister had.

After our meal we went outside to share a smoke and I apologized for my previous behavior. I feel like I've been apologizing a lot lately. Even right now, home alone on a Saturday night when I could be getting totally wasted I'm still sipping slowly and not crossing into a wild brink. Even with James on the wicked night of wrestling I didn't feel quite over the drunken edge, although I know was teetering and don't remember all the details. But I apologized to Mister Mister for forgetting a lot of our interactions, conversations, reasons why, and how it happened. He very nicely reminded me of some of the details and forgave some of my idiotic actions.

The bathrooms at the Cafe shared common space sinks and at one point we found each other there and started making out. His hand was starting a rough grope when someone walked in and joked that we get a room. So Mister Mister paid the tab and cabbed us back, asking the cabbie to drop us off a block away. Not too uncommon I'd suppose, but I still felt rather immature. I let him go ahead and waited as he texted me his room number.

Our make-up make-out was rather giggly and rough. After taking off my pants, he instantly rolled me over and proceeded to slap my belt across my ass. Definitely not quite measuring his strength or direction. My ass was stinging and I told him to stop - 1) I'm not a pain slut, 2) I asked if he'd tried this out on his own ass lately. I find it's really not easy being the most experienced, dirty minded sub in the room. This means that others end up tapping into a very nether region of their loins and brains. It means they get carried away and think they have some innate power and strength and command, and they think they can -finally!- do whatever it is they've dreamed of doing or experimented once and want to try again. I'm not an idiot either, nor am I naive, and I hope James never reads this because I know he'll feel protective and maybe even a bit self-defeatist thinking he could have protected me. But I am my own woman and I know how to handle situations. Mister Mister just got a little rough is all, a bit more rough than I was planning. And while his cock isn't nearly James's or (R)Andy's size, it was long enough to make me gag. And he liked that too much and held me there for too long sometimes. I didn't end up tossing the lovely oysters but I did end up pushing back a lot more than I like.

There was sex. Lots of sex. Front and flipped over and on the side sex. And I can now tell between a practiced man and a man needing practice. Or, maybe it's just plain ol' hard to live up to the best -- once you go black you never go back? Well, I've had delicious oysters and it's just hard to be satisfied with guppies. We did roll and laugh and kiss and he told me about his fancy small ipod. I did have to be in bed though. Beauty rest and all...

Don't mind the spelling mistakes, they're not due to drunkenness but to laptop typing - to which I am not accostumed. To James: "I couldn't wait.And Idon't want to tell you about it b/c I don'tw ant to know about your adventures. (I hate typing on laptops Ialways miss the space bar) I hooked up here w an previous lover and I don't knowthat I want to tell you about it.

On theother note, I got to meet Clichemonster in personwhich was cool. He's nice. We only chatted for 5 minutes but I wholly support bloggers meeting in person.

Istill love you and want to be your tying subject and want to hang out but it might get more complicated. Idon'twant to hurt you or make things dramatic or hard and Iknowthey are."

To Lola:

"pretty buzzed.

I just read for the first time that you fucked some guy when I wasn't around. then I called you real quick. sorry to wake you up, but I thought you might be chatty. It's only 12:30 at night. ......

I was absolutely fucking certain that you'd sleep with someone, if nothing else than to further break the bond between us. I know you need separation, and you are going to create it. I understand. It's fine. I'm doing the same thing. The only difference is you caused it and I'm reacting to it, but it all works out the same. We are creating a chasm of sorts between us. We aren't bf and gf, but we can still be lovers perhaps and friends for certain.

you don't have to tell me about your experience with said previous lover if you don't want to, sweetie. although, I'd be curious why you need to hide, and I'm sort of curious if it was kinky or just vanillas.

if you still love me and want to be my tying subject, I'm curious what might get more complicated...
You are not making things harder, or more dramatic, and I mean it. You couldn't possibly be any worse than I am, for god's sake. Just don't fuck any of my really close friends, and we'll be just fine. that's all I ask of you, please.

I won't tell you any more about what my adventures, until I understand where you are coming from.

I still want to know. When do you bleed?
tell me. it helps me understand your mindset, dammit.
I might talk to you tomorrow, but I am rather busy. You have fun, don't worry about me.

dont worry.

fuck

like

a

slut

I love you"

He does know me well. Saturday's to come.....