Silly foreign visitors using me as a mailbox. (A grad school chum coming to visit - forgot to attach his last name to the To: portion of the address.)
Sigh… and I thought they were my size, albeit, kinda ugly.
Tuesday, May 25, 2010
....and the underwear mystery is...
Who sent Lola 8 pairs of girlie undies (in size small) from Victoria Secret?
God, I hope it's not a wife of a lover sending a not-so-subtle hint.
Eeek! I hope it's just a generous admirer instead.
If it's you, 'fess up, please.
God, I hope it's not a wife of a lover sending a not-so-subtle hint.
Eeek! I hope it's just a generous admirer instead.
If it's you, 'fess up, please.
Thursday, May 6, 2010
The pain is the glory
"I don't get the whole being in pain is pleasurable thing. How do you get all these bruises and why do you like it? If you don't mind me askingg......" [asked on tumblr]
Oh, darlin', the answer to this has been written in books and tomes and encyclopedia-length writings.
For me personally? Geez, even that's a book-length novel. Well, to give a synopsis while withholding learning opportunities...? I hate to explain it without offering links or books or references for your own exploration or learning, because frankly I'm not fond of giving my own version of the facts without supplying you with alternative comparisons. Although, for now, I don't have the time to search it out for you --- I hope commenters will suggest things, or you'll go a-looking on your own.
So, here goes my personal interest part:
Endorphins.
Just like smokers dig on nicotine and heroin addicts dig their drug and runners relish their highs, so is pain in the body. It jogs a part of the brain to "feel." Granted the aforementioned is more hazardous, the same principles apply. The brain is the center of transmitting feeling, sensation, perception. And the body reacts.
I wasn't into pain much for most of my bdsm life, but I've come to enjoy it more. It's like, for me, an ass spank can be a snap-to, a wake-up-call. It's taking the brain away from thinking and into feeling, focusing on the senses. I like morphing from a sitting girl in a chair crunching numbers or plotting over programs into a girl reacting to how my body feels and goes. A slight tweak of a nipple, a pinch on a cheek, a spank, a paddle to the ass, flogger to my back, a lit cigarette to my breast, a face slap -- all these things re-focus my brain from abstract ideas and into a place where flesh matters and is foremost.
And, once that sting - of whichever kind - hits or happens, then my brain changes. Forget schedules or ideas, confusion or analysis, dreams or interpretations - and focus on what is actual. It's in some way, a retreat to a primal state of being. When humans hunted and gathered, speared and sucked poisons from our bodies.
I've read about the days when we used to hunt our own food (and many still do), we'd feel the flesh of the goat/dinosaur/deer and kill it. Blood would flow. People would skin it. It would hang in the foyer of the habitat, people would see it. Then, it would be cooked and eaten.
Shit's not like that now. Now, it's pre-packaged, arranged, dressed, presented. We have no idea what came before or middle. We just consume the end.
I want to feel the beginning, middle and end. Granted, not as a delectable item, but as a part of life. And, I've read about people reenacting these hunting scenarios to go back to those days, those feelings. Or, enacting kidnapping scenes (mostly the bored rich do this) to feel the throttle of surprise.
It's rather similar, in my mind. A primal urge, a hunger, a genetic curiosity and interest.
Sure, one can find this kind of pain in bicycling a long distance (as I have), weight lifting (as I have), getting a deep massage (as I have), etc... It's the same thing really.
But there's more.
It brings in the domination/submission (top/bottom, master/slave) aspect wherein someone who has the control and someone else gives up the control of the situation. Another aspect of the above, I suppose. I would prefer to be the hunted than the hunter. (Although that's fluid to a point.) And brings in trust - that the person wielding the pain instrument will respond to the person receiving so there's "just enough" --- which varies person to person.
It brings in the beautiful side of competition. Not the ugly "I'll fuck you over you bitch" side, but the "Can I take more than my own best?" side. The upping of a person's own ability. The challenge to be and do better than before. To take more cycling up the hill (Lance Armstrong), to box harder (insert a famous boxer), to beat the time and distance and strength of the last time.
It also brings in the beauty of visuals. To see my own flesh formed. I might wear a hood (as I did recently at a play party where my tits and ass were pained) and miss seeing the actual action, but after, I get to look at my body and see colors. Reds and blues and pinks change to purples and roses and greys. And they change over days into other paintings.
So, I guess this all can explain my own perspective on pain as pleasure. It's invigorating, it's enlivening, it's rich and real, it's instantaneous, it's sustainable, it's beautiful. And it's so freeing.
Oh, darlin', the answer to this has been written in books and tomes and encyclopedia-length writings.
For me personally? Geez, even that's a book-length novel. Well, to give a synopsis while withholding learning opportunities...? I hate to explain it without offering links or books or references for your own exploration or learning, because frankly I'm not fond of giving my own version of the facts without supplying you with alternative comparisons. Although, for now, I don't have the time to search it out for you --- I hope commenters will suggest things, or you'll go a-looking on your own.
So, here goes my personal interest part:
Endorphins.
Just like smokers dig on nicotine and heroin addicts dig their drug and runners relish their highs, so is pain in the body. It jogs a part of the brain to "feel." Granted the aforementioned is more hazardous, the same principles apply. The brain is the center of transmitting feeling, sensation, perception. And the body reacts.
I wasn't into pain much for most of my bdsm life, but I've come to enjoy it more. It's like, for me, an ass spank can be a snap-to, a wake-up-call. It's taking the brain away from thinking and into feeling, focusing on the senses. I like morphing from a sitting girl in a chair crunching numbers or plotting over programs into a girl reacting to how my body feels and goes. A slight tweak of a nipple, a pinch on a cheek, a spank, a paddle to the ass, flogger to my back, a lit cigarette to my breast, a face slap -- all these things re-focus my brain from abstract ideas and into a place where flesh matters and is foremost.
And, once that sting - of whichever kind - hits or happens, then my brain changes. Forget schedules or ideas, confusion or analysis, dreams or interpretations - and focus on what is actual. It's in some way, a retreat to a primal state of being. When humans hunted and gathered, speared and sucked poisons from our bodies.
I've read about the days when we used to hunt our own food (and many still do), we'd feel the flesh of the goat/dinosaur/deer and kill it. Blood would flow. People would skin it. It would hang in the foyer of the habitat, people would see it. Then, it would be cooked and eaten.
Shit's not like that now. Now, it's pre-packaged, arranged, dressed, presented. We have no idea what came before or middle. We just consume the end.
I want to feel the beginning, middle and end. Granted, not as a delectable item, but as a part of life. And, I've read about people reenacting these hunting scenarios to go back to those days, those feelings. Or, enacting kidnapping scenes (mostly the bored rich do this) to feel the throttle of surprise.
It's rather similar, in my mind. A primal urge, a hunger, a genetic curiosity and interest.
Sure, one can find this kind of pain in bicycling a long distance (as I have), weight lifting (as I have), getting a deep massage (as I have), etc... It's the same thing really.
But there's more.
It brings in the domination/submission (top/bottom, master/slave) aspect wherein someone who has the control and someone else gives up the control of the situation. Another aspect of the above, I suppose. I would prefer to be the hunted than the hunter. (Although that's fluid to a point.) And brings in trust - that the person wielding the pain instrument will respond to the person receiving so there's "just enough" --- which varies person to person.
It brings in the beautiful side of competition. Not the ugly "I'll fuck you over you bitch" side, but the "Can I take more than my own best?" side. The upping of a person's own ability. The challenge to be and do better than before. To take more cycling up the hill (Lance Armstrong), to box harder (insert a famous boxer), to beat the time and distance and strength of the last time.
It also brings in the beauty of visuals. To see my own flesh formed. I might wear a hood (as I did recently at a play party where my tits and ass were pained) and miss seeing the actual action, but after, I get to look at my body and see colors. Reds and blues and pinks change to purples and roses and greys. And they change over days into other paintings.
So, I guess this all can explain my own perspective on pain as pleasure. It's invigorating, it's enlivening, it's rich and real, it's instantaneous, it's sustainable, it's beautiful. And it's so freeing.
Monday, April 12, 2010
Knicker party
So, how has DC been for the sexy side of Lola?
Y'all know that I've been working my ass off. Getting to bed by 10pm. Getting up at 6am. Waiting for the horrendous bus system to get to me work by 8am. I'm enjoying the job, feel challenged, and get to assist with an agency that has over 180,000 employees and spends over $10million in certain programs (which we are analyzing). I pretend to be grown-up. I dress like I'm comfortable in the heels and skirts, pants and patterned jackets. I'm aiming for the next levels of promotion.
I've walked a lot. It's a half-hour from my apartment to the bottom of the hill in Georgetown - past quaint stores with French names, "It" girls and their faux tan legs, boys with their Polo collars up, fashion, and ice cream. I took my bike, Duane, in for a summer tune-up, and need to return him for gear alignment, but he's in working order. Took a 17-mile bike ride NW up to Chevy Chase (still makes me think of Clark Griswold) and down through the Rock Creek Park. They close the main road off on the weekends so it's cyclists, lolly-gaggers, and families.
But, really, what you want to know is: how happy is Lola's cunnie?
Well... it's been an interesting few weeks.
I updated my OK Cupid profile before I left for DC and have had some intriguing exchanges from that.
I started an exchange with a guy on OKC who is in a poly relationship. He works on the Hill and his wife is a raging horn dog, but so is he. I'll call him Hill for now.
I had my Daddy-type friend over. The one who has known me since CDOA v.1, who helped me secure my flat, and who has helped me acclimate to DC over the past few weeks. I'll call him DCDY.
I placed two Craigslist ads, which introduced me to some interesting chat, but no consummated action.
I met up with a Daddy/dom type. I'll call him DD.
So, what has come of this?
Well, DCDY and I met for dinner after work my first week. Had awesome guacamole and margaritas over at Oyamel. He drove me home, came up, we snuggled a bit, and talked about some of the Daddy/girl ideas we have. He got to see the apartment in mid-unpacking state. Nothing much happened, but he came back the following weekend. He brought me some big, blank paper and crayons of all colors so I could draw to my little girl heart's content. Then, we snuggled more with Mr. Bear and my Dolly. And then Daddy wanted to show me a new friend he brought. He sat down on my bed and I kneeled on my appropriate placed hand-woven rug. He stood up, back against the wall, looking into the full-length mirror. He got behind me as I crouched over on all fours on my bed. Then, we had pizza. And talked and then he split. A nice, lovely afternoon.
[In fact, he just stopped by now. I need a drill to screw my full-length mirror to the door. (Yeah, it all reads so naughty, doesn't it?) A kiss, a bit of relating our busy weeks, his drill plugged in to recharge, a good long hug.]
Then, I met the DD. We had lunch before I started work. He teased me with the toys in his pocket and staring deeply and intensely without letting go. I blushed. I fidgeted. He put my hand under the table on his hard cock. I decided not to invite him over for the afternoon. We met up again the next week. I went over to his office after work and we drove out of DC to a house owned by a friend of his - actually his submissive's husband. The basement has been converted into a dungeon playspace. He gave me an Easter Bunny of chocolate and a cute card with stickers. It was a nice distraction to ease into the game by letting my little girl stick the stickers, while my big girl sipped on some wine. He had me call him "Sir" or "Daddy" and asked me to take off his socks and shoes (something I remembered from being with Sir Keith back in the day). I sucked his cock and he finger fucked me. I bent over his lap and he worked my ass into some bruises and stinging release. He bent me over the medical table in the center of the room and used a few natural bamboo canes on me. And, then flipped me over and fucked me.
We sat on the couch for a while and talked about our interests. There were a few things that pulled me back and made me re-think the possibility of our continuing on a deeper level. Small things that can matter, like not having a blanket after our play. I'm a sensitive being and need after-care. No excuses there, just saying - there was no blanket. He's been with his submissive for more than 5 years now, so I'd definitely come in second in the running. He's also got a family that requires a lot of attention. And, he likes women in heels and skirts. I don't mind dressing up occasionally, but anyone who knows me well knows I'm a tomboy pretending to be a girl who likes to dress up like a slutty princess sometimes. Also, just some of the too-quick assumptions that a lot of people make in the bdsm world: that a submissive will submit so readily to someone who shows dominance. I might have done that before - to my detriment and to my joy - but I'm a bit more cautious now. And, perhaps, more patient now.
Last weekend Friday I was in a heated (ie sexy) exchange with Hill, as he was home alone and his wife had left him in town. After a bit of whiskey, I decided to venture across town to his place. We talked easily, he showed me his sleeping babe in the other room (so naughty!), and we got undressed with quickness and familiarity. I sucked his cock and he called me good girl. He fucked me from behind whispering about how I'd watch he and his wife fucking, sitting in a corner of the room, touching myself, not being able to do anything but wank to them fucking, how I'd be their girl servant, and do what I'm told. And then I sucked him off. Walked for forever to find a cab (while I got my period in my little girl panties). Couldn't remember my apartment address. Walked a bit of the way home. Content, relaxed, relieved of a certain pressure that had been building up for weeks.
Aside from that, there is building. Growing of a "network." Although, I'm back to how I felt last year. Maybe it's spring that does this new mind twist on me. Maybe it's age. But there's a piece of me that wants to find a bit more in someone.
I described it on CL like this:
little girl missing her Daddy
I know there's gotta be a Daddy out there who is missing his little girl, too. I'm not talking about a money Daddy. I'm talking about a protective Daddy who knows that his little girl needs hugs and teddy bears, spankings when she's been bad, pink hair bands for her pigtails, a special lollipop when she's been good, walks in the park, pushes on the swing, a particular pacifier at bed time, and sometimes big girl outings. I'm not a needy little girl and my big girl job keeps me awfully busy. I am intelligent, creative, fun, thoughtful, naughty, and mature. But a big part of me misses Daddy time. Do you have an empty lap and big arms that need a to be filled?
(Please send a pic for a reply. No, I'm not a bot or seeking monetary means.)
:)
...........
There's a lot in that paragraph that could be construed as regular, ol' relationship action. Boyfriend-girlfriend hand-holding, comforting, supporting. Sure. I know this. But it's not what I want. I want those things wrapped in a clear kinkiness. I want those things within a lens of naughtiness. And I don't want them all the time.
I keep going back to how Frida and Diego lived. One complex, two houses, meeting places in the middle. What Katharine Hepburn said, "I often wonder whether men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then." I want my space, I want lovers, I want severe kink, but I also want some protection, some support, like a little bird under a dirty old wing.
I wrote down my call-to-action, as it were. As I read many, many years ago and have done off and on. Write down my interests, put them under a candle, make it a direct call to the universe. (Albeit, I'm without any candles for some reason so my Mother Mary statue will have to do. Regardless, it's my official call to the world that I know - again - what I'm looking for and hope someone will come along with some of the traits.)
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
So, all in all, my cunnie is happy, my desires aroused, my intrigued heightened, my possibilities ... endless.
Y'all know that I've been working my ass off. Getting to bed by 10pm. Getting up at 6am. Waiting for the horrendous bus system to get to me work by 8am. I'm enjoying the job, feel challenged, and get to assist with an agency that has over 180,000 employees and spends over $10million in certain programs (which we are analyzing). I pretend to be grown-up. I dress like I'm comfortable in the heels and skirts, pants and patterned jackets. I'm aiming for the next levels of promotion.
I've walked a lot. It's a half-hour from my apartment to the bottom of the hill in Georgetown - past quaint stores with French names, "It" girls and their faux tan legs, boys with their Polo collars up, fashion, and ice cream. I took my bike, Duane, in for a summer tune-up, and need to return him for gear alignment, but he's in working order. Took a 17-mile bike ride NW up to Chevy Chase (still makes me think of Clark Griswold) and down through the Rock Creek Park. They close the main road off on the weekends so it's cyclists, lolly-gaggers, and families.
But, really, what you want to know is: how happy is Lola's cunnie?
Well... it's been an interesting few weeks.
I updated my OK Cupid profile before I left for DC and have had some intriguing exchanges from that.
I started an exchange with a guy on OKC who is in a poly relationship. He works on the Hill and his wife is a raging horn dog, but so is he. I'll call him Hill for now.
I had my Daddy-type friend over. The one who has known me since CDOA v.1, who helped me secure my flat, and who has helped me acclimate to DC over the past few weeks. I'll call him DCDY.
I placed two Craigslist ads, which introduced me to some interesting chat, but no consummated action.
I met up with a Daddy/dom type. I'll call him DD.
So, what has come of this?
Well, DCDY and I met for dinner after work my first week. Had awesome guacamole and margaritas over at Oyamel. He drove me home, came up, we snuggled a bit, and talked about some of the Daddy/girl ideas we have. He got to see the apartment in mid-unpacking state. Nothing much happened, but he came back the following weekend. He brought me some big, blank paper and crayons of all colors so I could draw to my little girl heart's content. Then, we snuggled more with Mr. Bear and my Dolly. And then Daddy wanted to show me a new friend he brought. He sat down on my bed and I kneeled on my appropriate placed hand-woven rug. He stood up, back against the wall, looking into the full-length mirror. He got behind me as I crouched over on all fours on my bed. Then, we had pizza. And talked and then he split. A nice, lovely afternoon.
[In fact, he just stopped by now. I need a drill to screw my full-length mirror to the door. (Yeah, it all reads so naughty, doesn't it?) A kiss, a bit of relating our busy weeks, his drill plugged in to recharge, a good long hug.]
Then, I met the DD. We had lunch before I started work. He teased me with the toys in his pocket and staring deeply and intensely without letting go. I blushed. I fidgeted. He put my hand under the table on his hard cock. I decided not to invite him over for the afternoon. We met up again the next week. I went over to his office after work and we drove out of DC to a house owned by a friend of his - actually his submissive's husband. The basement has been converted into a dungeon playspace. He gave me an Easter Bunny of chocolate and a cute card with stickers. It was a nice distraction to ease into the game by letting my little girl stick the stickers, while my big girl sipped on some wine. He had me call him "Sir" or "Daddy" and asked me to take off his socks and shoes (something I remembered from being with Sir Keith back in the day). I sucked his cock and he finger fucked me. I bent over his lap and he worked my ass into some bruises and stinging release. He bent me over the medical table in the center of the room and used a few natural bamboo canes on me. And, then flipped me over and fucked me.
We sat on the couch for a while and talked about our interests. There were a few things that pulled me back and made me re-think the possibility of our continuing on a deeper level. Small things that can matter, like not having a blanket after our play. I'm a sensitive being and need after-care. No excuses there, just saying - there was no blanket. He's been with his submissive for more than 5 years now, so I'd definitely come in second in the running. He's also got a family that requires a lot of attention. And, he likes women in heels and skirts. I don't mind dressing up occasionally, but anyone who knows me well knows I'm a tomboy pretending to be a girl who likes to dress up like a slutty princess sometimes. Also, just some of the too-quick assumptions that a lot of people make in the bdsm world: that a submissive will submit so readily to someone who shows dominance. I might have done that before - to my detriment and to my joy - but I'm a bit more cautious now. And, perhaps, more patient now.
Last weekend Friday I was in a heated (ie sexy) exchange with Hill, as he was home alone and his wife had left him in town. After a bit of whiskey, I decided to venture across town to his place. We talked easily, he showed me his sleeping babe in the other room (so naughty!), and we got undressed with quickness and familiarity. I sucked his cock and he called me good girl. He fucked me from behind whispering about how I'd watch he and his wife fucking, sitting in a corner of the room, touching myself, not being able to do anything but wank to them fucking, how I'd be their girl servant, and do what I'm told. And then I sucked him off. Walked for forever to find a cab (while I got my period in my little girl panties). Couldn't remember my apartment address. Walked a bit of the way home. Content, relaxed, relieved of a certain pressure that had been building up for weeks.
Aside from that, there is building. Growing of a "network." Although, I'm back to how I felt last year. Maybe it's spring that does this new mind twist on me. Maybe it's age. But there's a piece of me that wants to find a bit more in someone.
I described it on CL like this:
little girl missing her Daddy
I know there's gotta be a Daddy out there who is missing his little girl, too. I'm not talking about a money Daddy. I'm talking about a protective Daddy who knows that his little girl needs hugs and teddy bears, spankings when she's been bad, pink hair bands for her pigtails, a special lollipop when she's been good, walks in the park, pushes on the swing, a particular pacifier at bed time, and sometimes big girl outings. I'm not a needy little girl and my big girl job keeps me awfully busy. I am intelligent, creative, fun, thoughtful, naughty, and mature. But a big part of me misses Daddy time. Do you have an empty lap and big arms that need a to be filled?
(Please send a pic for a reply. No, I'm not a bot or seeking monetary means.)
:)
...........
There's a lot in that paragraph that could be construed as regular, ol' relationship action. Boyfriend-girlfriend hand-holding, comforting, supporting. Sure. I know this. But it's not what I want. I want those things wrapped in a clear kinkiness. I want those things within a lens of naughtiness. And I don't want them all the time.
I keep going back to how Frida and Diego lived. One complex, two houses, meeting places in the middle. What Katharine Hepburn said, "I often wonder whether men and women really suit each other. Perhaps they should live next door and just visit now and then." I want my space, I want lovers, I want severe kink, but I also want some protection, some support, like a little bird under a dirty old wing.
I wrote down my call-to-action, as it were. As I read many, many years ago and have done off and on. Write down my interests, put them under a candle, make it a direct call to the universe. (Albeit, I'm without any candles for some reason so my Mother Mary statue will have to do. Regardless, it's my official call to the world that I know - again - what I'm looking for and hope someone will come along with some of the traits.)
&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&&
So, all in all, my cunnie is happy, my desires aroused, my intrigued heightened, my possibilities ... endless.
A few tips: How Not to be a Moron in the Workplace
Do not talk to yourself in that "people around the table will hear me and ask me about what I'm oohing and aahing" way.
Do not talk out loud to your email.
Do not talk too much personal biz: no one wants to hear that you just decorated your Tampa back yard with columns and hired a plant decorator; no one wants to sing "Happy Birthday" on the phone to your husband because it's his birthday and you are not at home with him to celebrate - plus, it's the middle of the work day, he's at work; no one wants to hear you moan "I don't have anyone to put on the 'Emergency Contacts' list - it's a long story."
Don't be all aggressive in new team work. No one is trying to steal your mojo. No one is going to usurp your job (unless you don't know what "usurp" means). Just chill the fuck out.
Do not have HR discussions with your employee in front of other employees. It's not classy. Take a moment, get up from the team table, walk to the other room, and then tell her/him about time off, comp time, and why there's no paid OT.
Don't eat ice cream for lunch and try to make up excuses for why you're doing it. Just eat your damn ice cream. No one is judging, and if they are - it's all internal, and who the fuck cares?
Don't talk about PMS or bras or pantyhose around your male colleagues. It's inappropriate and weird. Who wants to know about their jock straps, ranging hard-ons that they release in the bathroom, or five o'clock shadow growth?
It does not matter if you're from the South, North, or Far East - "ain't" is not an appropriate word for use in a professional situation.
Grow a pair of balls. Keep it together. Have some class.
Do not talk out loud to your email.
Do not talk too much personal biz: no one wants to hear that you just decorated your Tampa back yard with columns and hired a plant decorator; no one wants to sing "Happy Birthday" on the phone to your husband because it's his birthday and you are not at home with him to celebrate - plus, it's the middle of the work day, he's at work; no one wants to hear you moan "I don't have anyone to put on the 'Emergency Contacts' list - it's a long story."
Don't be all aggressive in new team work. No one is trying to steal your mojo. No one is going to usurp your job (unless you don't know what "usurp" means). Just chill the fuck out.
Do not have HR discussions with your employee in front of other employees. It's not classy. Take a moment, get up from the team table, walk to the other room, and then tell her/him about time off, comp time, and why there's no paid OT.
Don't eat ice cream for lunch and try to make up excuses for why you're doing it. Just eat your damn ice cream. No one is judging, and if they are - it's all internal, and who the fuck cares?
Don't talk about PMS or bras or pantyhose around your male colleagues. It's inappropriate and weird. Who wants to know about their jock straps, ranging hard-ons that they release in the bathroom, or five o'clock shadow growth?
It does not matter if you're from the South, North, or Far East - "ain't" is not an appropriate word for use in a professional situation.
Grow a pair of balls. Keep it together. Have some class.
Wednesday, April 7, 2010
New phone number
If you have my old one - and you know who you are - I'm changing it. Email me if you need the new one.
And, no, Mister Random Stranger, I will not give it to you.
Bisous from DC,
Lo.
PS. Updates coming soon. This work lifestyle is so not my color....
And, no, Mister Random Stranger, I will not give it to you.
Bisous from DC,
Lo.
PS. Updates coming soon. This work lifestyle is so not my color....
Thursday, March 25, 2010
Freedom in the Capitol
I christened my new apartment yesterday. A nice solo job with my jeans down around my ankles and all the freedom of porn that I wanted.
I so missed living on my own.
DC is beautiful these days (although it'll rain tomorrow). I've been a grown-up, getting up at 6am to run trial bus routes to my future workplace. I've already been assigned some work for this weekend.
Joined the Zipcar and took a many-hours drive for apartment essentials. It's my first 1-bedroom and it's obvious that I've lived in studios. Rooms that are almost finished: bedroom, bedroom closet, bathroom, coat closet, kitchen (with a whole 3 shelves of crystal glassware and punchbowl scored from the grandparents - I could host a killer booze party but don't have any food). I have no living room furniture at all except for two bookshelves. I need a couch, rugs.
I'm totally excited about this new chapter of life. I grabbed a coffee downtown by the Naval metro stop - the first coffee I've had in 10 months. I think I'll need it for pep in these early mornings. Realized that I could easily be intimidated by the suits and the "What do you do?" attitude (which equals "What can do you for me?"). But I don't care. I don't care if I don't have killer outfits, that I'm not a hottie 20-something intern, that I'm not living in the most hip neighborhood, that I can't do anything for you.
I've got some dates set up. One with an old, old friend who has known me since CDOA v.1 days and who has been such a savior in my move to DC. We're setting ourselves up in a Daddy/girl situation and I'm excited to try it out with him. I'm also meeting with a dom from FetLife for lunch. He's into women wearing dresses and skirts and I might disappoint in that arena, but we're both into watersports and he's much older than I am so that's attractive. Then, there are a few randoms from OKCupid and FetLife. I'm in no rush. There's a whole city of pervs out there and I'll have my fun.
Meanwhile, my mind wanders back to Scat Man. A guy I met for drinks in Minneapolis and then invited over to the place at which I was crashing. I let down all my guards. I went deep into my kink. I explored more Daddy/daughter roleplay and incest fantasy. The deepest I've gone ever. Where fantasy could blur to action. Where dirty talk wasn't dirty, it just was.
We had such a good time that we stayed in touch when I went back to my parents before driving out to DC. He came down for a visit and stayed in a local hotel. We fucked in the room and then went out for drinks at a small pub. We held hands as we sat at the bar and turned our heads from each other, talking to strangers we'd just met. The whole time, our hands gripping.
When we got back to the hotel we were wasted. And somehow (I don't remember the details - all the whiskey I indulged in, after days of sterility at my parents'), we were in the bathroom. I squatted, and shit in his hands. He rubbed it on my ass, on my arms, on his face. I can still see this fleck of it sticking off the side of his cheek. This is where my drunk brain woke up. Where my drunk brain saw the openness of two people. Where I saw the exploration that could be. Where I tested a limit and went beyond it. Where I trusted someone to care for me and get deep down with me. My shit. My feces. My dirtiest part. My insides... were on us. Something so much more organic and beautifully sick and honest and internal... internal... I can't think of another word. My insides came out - outside. If I have a hard time showing my emotions, speaking words of care or interest, or breaking down the barriers of mind and body -- they were gone. We were dirty and sexy and reveling in our nature.
I had that scent in my nostrils the entire next day. I kept thinking I had shit on the bottom of my shoes, like when you step in dog doo and can smell a bad scent but have no idea where it's coming from. Is it following me? Is it my mind? Oh, fuck, it's on my shoe! But there was no shit anywhere. It was just the memory lodged in my mind.
I've never gone there before. I remember Daisy, a friend who was an escort and dancer. She told me once, as we leaned over the bar and talked closely, about how a client of hers got them a hotel room, brought plastic sheeting, covered his chest, and asked her to shit on him. I was aghast with curiosity and fear. Now I know.
I do not require this kind of interaction and depth, sincerity and honesty in my everyday life, but I am changed for it. We have developed something I don't know that I could find elsewhere. But I am still pining for my future, potential lovers. And Scat Man and I relish in that: he's fucking other women, I'll fuck other men, we'll play with others. It's an easy poly situation in long-distance, but we're not as honest with others as we are with ourselves over chat or email. I had a heart sigh for him - have - but we're anchored on the same boat while freely drifting and backfloating and tickling with the octopus and mermaids.
A nice segway of safety and surprise into this new chapter of my life. I'm excited for the change. I'm excited to see how my growth goes. Many challenging days ahead with the new, high-level job. Many fun nights. Work hard, play hard. And, above all else ---- freedom.
I so missed living on my own.
DC is beautiful these days (although it'll rain tomorrow). I've been a grown-up, getting up at 6am to run trial bus routes to my future workplace. I've already been assigned some work for this weekend.
Joined the Zipcar and took a many-hours drive for apartment essentials. It's my first 1-bedroom and it's obvious that I've lived in studios. Rooms that are almost finished: bedroom, bedroom closet, bathroom, coat closet, kitchen (with a whole 3 shelves of crystal glassware and punchbowl scored from the grandparents - I could host a killer booze party but don't have any food). I have no living room furniture at all except for two bookshelves. I need a couch, rugs.
I'm totally excited about this new chapter of life. I grabbed a coffee downtown by the Naval metro stop - the first coffee I've had in 10 months. I think I'll need it for pep in these early mornings. Realized that I could easily be intimidated by the suits and the "What do you do?" attitude (which equals "What can do you for me?"). But I don't care. I don't care if I don't have killer outfits, that I'm not a hottie 20-something intern, that I'm not living in the most hip neighborhood, that I can't do anything for you.
I've got some dates set up. One with an old, old friend who has known me since CDOA v.1 days and who has been such a savior in my move to DC. We're setting ourselves up in a Daddy/girl situation and I'm excited to try it out with him. I'm also meeting with a dom from FetLife for lunch. He's into women wearing dresses and skirts and I might disappoint in that arena, but we're both into watersports and he's much older than I am so that's attractive. Then, there are a few randoms from OKCupid and FetLife. I'm in no rush. There's a whole city of pervs out there and I'll have my fun.
Meanwhile, my mind wanders back to Scat Man. A guy I met for drinks in Minneapolis and then invited over to the place at which I was crashing. I let down all my guards. I went deep into my kink. I explored more Daddy/daughter roleplay and incest fantasy. The deepest I've gone ever. Where fantasy could blur to action. Where dirty talk wasn't dirty, it just was.
We had such a good time that we stayed in touch when I went back to my parents before driving out to DC. He came down for a visit and stayed in a local hotel. We fucked in the room and then went out for drinks at a small pub. We held hands as we sat at the bar and turned our heads from each other, talking to strangers we'd just met. The whole time, our hands gripping.
When we got back to the hotel we were wasted. And somehow (I don't remember the details - all the whiskey I indulged in, after days of sterility at my parents'), we were in the bathroom. I squatted, and shit in his hands. He rubbed it on my ass, on my arms, on his face. I can still see this fleck of it sticking off the side of his cheek. This is where my drunk brain woke up. Where my drunk brain saw the openness of two people. Where I saw the exploration that could be. Where I tested a limit and went beyond it. Where I trusted someone to care for me and get deep down with me. My shit. My feces. My dirtiest part. My insides... were on us. Something so much more organic and beautifully sick and honest and internal... internal... I can't think of another word. My insides came out - outside. If I have a hard time showing my emotions, speaking words of care or interest, or breaking down the barriers of mind and body -- they were gone. We were dirty and sexy and reveling in our nature.
I had that scent in my nostrils the entire next day. I kept thinking I had shit on the bottom of my shoes, like when you step in dog doo and can smell a bad scent but have no idea where it's coming from. Is it following me? Is it my mind? Oh, fuck, it's on my shoe! But there was no shit anywhere. It was just the memory lodged in my mind.
I've never gone there before. I remember Daisy, a friend who was an escort and dancer. She told me once, as we leaned over the bar and talked closely, about how a client of hers got them a hotel room, brought plastic sheeting, covered his chest, and asked her to shit on him. I was aghast with curiosity and fear. Now I know.
I do not require this kind of interaction and depth, sincerity and honesty in my everyday life, but I am changed for it. We have developed something I don't know that I could find elsewhere. But I am still pining for my future, potential lovers. And Scat Man and I relish in that: he's fucking other women, I'll fuck other men, we'll play with others. It's an easy poly situation in long-distance, but we're not as honest with others as we are with ourselves over chat or email. I had a heart sigh for him - have - but we're anchored on the same boat while freely drifting and backfloating and tickling with the octopus and mermaids.
A nice segway of safety and surprise into this new chapter of my life. I'm excited for the change. I'm excited to see how my growth goes. Many challenging days ahead with the new, high-level job. Many fun nights. Work hard, play hard. And, above all else ---- freedom.
Wednesday, March 17, 2010
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