Back from Croatia

I had a great time, but am down for the count with a horrible cold/flu/sinus thing. I'm leaning to it just being a cold, but feel like a train is running over me again and again. I guess it's time though, haven't been sick in a long, long time.

I started writing a post about little girl lolita while in Croatia but haven't finished and am too tired to write much right now.

Went out one night to a dance club with some locals. Walked around quite a bit and agree with the Lonely Planet that one only needs about 2-3 days in Zagreb to see all the sights. Had success in school work with my team there. Ended up totally drunk one night and let the Filmmaker have his way on me. It was okay. Mostly I was too drunk to know what was going on. I was singing all the Devotchka albums, drinking wine, and then all of a sudden he was next to me leaning over to kiss me. The other team mate sharing the apartment reminded me the next day that we actually were loud for a long time, which reminded me that he'd fingered me for quite some time before having sex. It wasn't sad sex, which Mr FD was hoping I'd stop having. It wasn't oh-so-much-fun. It just was. I did feel a bit strange telling Mr FD about it. Not that I had to, but I'm not good at secrets from people I care about and if it came out later it would feel to me as if I was hiding something. He was happy I had fun and not strange about it (as I could tell).

But I did/do feel a bit odd. On the one hand, Mr FD was entertaining a play date over the weekend and neither of us is interested in monogamy. I still want this freedom to see other people and have fun, but I also felt like it was some minor kind of betrayal. Like, I'm really into Mr FD and the Filmmaker was only so-so. I have my focus kind of on Mr FD but want to keep my options open. I don't know. ... I've always told every lover that I'm not monogamous, but even when I told James this I ended up accidentally monogamous with him for 2 years and it was he who had dates toward the end. So, I guess I've never really been in a polyamorous or non-monogamous actuality. While in Zagreb, I spent a lot of time with the team mate who suffered the sex sounds. We spent a lot of our in-between work time at cafes drinking wine in the sun and talking about sex and relationships. I told her all about bdsm, Mr FD, and his playdate. Over time, I felt much more comfortable explaining bdsm (my 2nd conversation recently about it with people who had no prior knowledge), comparing her return from Seattle with bruises from sex spanking to my return from Switzerland with bruises from spanking and whipping and the like, comparing the marathon she'd run to masochistic activities of endurance that I went through (the "what the fuck am I doing?" to the "I'll never do this again" to "Oh my god, this is so awesome" to the aftercare we both got: poncho to blanket, food and water, hugs from loved ones, pride, tears, and the great high), etc. And talking about Mr FD's playdate made it easier for me to think about and easier to actually believe the things I thought about the whole deal. He has skills that should be shared with other hungry subs. From what I know of her, she seems like a good person for him. Polyamory doesn't have to necessarily mean that people have primaries and secondaries and so on, but that each person has a place in another's heart. That my insecure mind, trying to compare myself to her (what little I know of her) is just silly, because if you lined up my lovers next to each other I could tell you that each one brings something different out of me and gives me something different. So, while I'm sure my team mate learned quite a lot - I probably was the one who gained even more from the conversations.

That said, when Mr FD and I started emailing again in regularity yesterday and Skyped today, I still felt removed. Granted, I've got a fever brain and I am not in the best of form. And, remembering that it's been a week of an email per day if that -- from regular exchange and frequent Skype. Still, there was a moment when I thought that I should cool down a bit of the other fever I've got for him, be careful a bit more of my heart and take a bit more time to fall into him. ... It's much more of the rational adult in me talking, but it's something I'm feeling. I hate the idea of it, but it might be worth contemplating. .... Or, maybe it's just temporary fears, which will all vanish in three days when I'm back at "homestay" again.

Who knows. And since I'm not thinking all too clearly, it's time to put fever girl to bed.

New photos and words

There are new photos over on Flickr, including the sets:
One-night stand via taxi
"Slut" by flimmaker
The Spaniard 1 and 2
Halloween night and the day after (featuring Tall Tom and a few drunk kids, as well as a few glimpses of school-girl Lola)
Spanking with the TV Producer
Italian playboy


It's Friday and I don't care that it's a weekend because week days have been weekends. I'm home, laundry is drying, and I'm catching up on relaxation, photos, writing, chilling.

I'm not sure if it's that I'm fiercely independent, or so content where I am right now, or that I just don't miss my immediate family, but I saw some photos of Thanksgiving and it looked like snore-bore and yawn and tension - and I didn't feel like I missed anything. I had a half-hour Skype with them before they had to cook the turkey and I ran off to have pasta al dente with the Italian. It made me cringe. My sister has such an expertise at retaining unhappiness and being passive-aggressive. My mother is clearly drowning in suburbia and has no idea how to help herself. My father looked perpetually bored and regretful. And this was just a half-hour, from across the pond, through a video stream. I do love them. I do. But I just can't stand to be with them very much. My dad and I get along the best because we have a knack to cut through bullshit and talk politics, real life, and can be honest with each other. But even he's a fucker - not so nice to my mom always (but they're going on 40 years anniversary so it can't be that bad). And, I'm certainly not perfect in the mix. I only wish I could know what they honestly thought.

I haven't seen the filmmaker in a month. He's out at a 1920's party tonight, to which I was invited and forwarded to him. I need to see him again, but in moderation. There was so much whiskey and crazy Lola.

The one-night-stand guy keeps SMSing me about when I want to hang out again. Ugh. Not with a dude that shows up at the door in his boxers and tee-shirt, with the TV blaring. Yucky.

The Spaniard sent me a short story about him emailing with a chick who wanted him and her boyfriend to fuck her. He ended up meeting the boyfriend, going to the same bathroom stall in a restaurant and jacking off together. He moved further across town so it's not as easy to see him.

Especially when the Italian lives 10 minutes walking distance from me. The only thing is that the Italian seems to be on a rampage. Free from his 3-year relationship (the last 2 years he cheated though), he says he's "experimenting" right now. I'm not sure where I fit into that experimentation, but he fucked a virgin midget. Yes. He told me the whole story after he said he was "experimenting." He fucked a teacher. He fucked a married Mexican woman, taking her ass virginity. It's strange to see myself in a mirror. Although, I know I'm a MUCH better kisser - after the first night I came away with chin rug burn from his stubble. I'm also more interested in finding a rotation of reliable lovers, whereas he just seems to be out to fuck all the women in Paris. He's had at least twice as many lovers as I have in the past month. It kind of makes me feel dirty, which makes me think about my own lifestyle. .... But then, he pulls out the olives, bread, homemade guacamole, wine, and makes pasta al dente. And in the morning he pours perfectly strong coffee, serves small chocolate croissants, and homemade tiramisu. This morning he had to leave super early for work and SMS'd me: "Buongiorno bella, whenever you wake up there is a tiramisù waiting for you. I made it for you, don't disappoint me... baci"

On Tuesday night, Tall Tom took me to dinner. A kir royale to start. I had escargot, he had funny mashed potatoes. Then, he had the veal and I had the salmon. We shared our desserts and had two bottles of wine. 80 Euro dinner. He's very sweet to me, which throws me for a loop. He calls me, tenderly, "silly Lola" and is treating me so nicely, almost like a girlfriend. I'm not sure how I like this. I like the secrecy part of it, as he attends my program, but just started this year so we don't have any classes together. But then, in the morning, he wants me to pet his head and body and wants to roll me over into his arms, resting my head on his chest. I told him it felt awkward.

Strange.

Strange things.

School is fine. It was quiet for the past 3 weeks, which was totally needed. Now, I'm seeing the finish lines for papers and need to get working. In my small group, we've finally figured out what our final project will be, which will involve a multi-national corporation, a European Union directive, an emerging economy in EU, and making an enterprise risk management toolkit to integrate into their plans for expanding their markets into this country. Should be fun! Some travel, some interviews, some work. Meanwhile, I'm also starting the job search. ... Know anyone hiring? I'm really good at ... um... well.. heh.. No, I won't do that. Silly!

Look for my expanded entry on my trip to Bahrain. My bag searched in a Muslim country, me working for Euros, the ex-pat party with gay Saudis, the flight over Iraq, the thousand men and one woman, the camels, etc...

Lola's little adventures

(also posted over on Tumblr - don't forget to check it for shorts)

Thursday: The Filmmaker before he went off to Rome for a 48-hour shoot. Three times. God bless youth.

Friday: Thought I was tired after a full day of lame class, but ended up over at a stranger's apartment getting fucked hard and fast. Won't be seeing him again - he answered the door in boxers and a t-shirt and thought he could keep his big screen TV going. He offered me champagne, but from a half-sized bottle.

Saturday: Les Chandelles sex club with the TV Producer. The premier sex club for the well-dressed. We danced and wandered, but the two rooms of sex were so over-crowded (school kids on holiday, their parents out for fun) that I just ended up sucking him off in a room of moaning and sucking noises. Went back to his place. He had good champagne. And I had my first scooter ride in Paris with thigh-highs exposed all over town. Man, the wind felt great. And in the morning he brought me breakfast in bed, while he tried to figure out why the heat wasn't working.

Sunday (tonight): Booked my tickets to London to see school chums. And then my flight from London to Bahrain to visit the Porn Guy who moved from the Midwest, USA, to the Middle East. We've dated a bit here and there. And I'm thrilled to get to travel to see him.. on his dime. And now, off to see The Filmmaker, back from Rome and needing a blowjob. How much protein is in cum again? Or is that myth?

I have to say, I'm grateful for my life right now. Without these marvelous adventures I'd be a bitch from hell with the pressure of the US elections on my mind, the daily conference planning, studying, and preparing for a big meeting with a multi-national client for my graduation project. I need this multiple, whorish release. And I've loved them each - for their individual qualities. Even boxer short boy - he really shook me. And the taxi rides cut me across town into new realities. Away from my own mind. Out of my own anxieties. God bless 'em, as Palin would wink.

Some stories about men

The Economist Beekeeper Sex God comes to me out of the stars and says he remembers me as there is light illuminating the sky over the Jura mountains.

I wonder why I adore this validation of my existence.

Pienso en vos como veo la madgrugada
Algunas dias duermo contenta en los brazos de un otro
Depertandome con las estrellas de noche autre fois

Otros dias me levanto y veo le soleil de manana
Y pienso gracias a dios que existe esta belleza en el mundo

Otros, miro los aviones cruzando el sol de apres-midi
Con los pajaros volando donde yo no puedo y las abejas tocando lo que yo no puedo

Y les matins that you come to me
And I open my curtains to your soft glow
Pienso autre fois que suerte tengo en ver y sentir y oir
El silencio de lejos
La luz de aqui
El conocimiento de alla
The new day rises again
And you are still with me



I do miss him.
And this is bad poetry.
More than offering a Goggles notifier, Google needs to offer a "You're about to send bad poetry to someone - is this what you really want to do?" notifier. Oh well.

The Filmmaker asked me something interesting recently. Saying he hasn't gone searching for Lola's blog, and requesting me to send snipits here and there, he asked if I had something less individual-story-like and more general over-arching story-like. I told him that's what the book is for, although the book will be compiled and published in probably ten years because the writing goes on and on. No. I don't have anything like that. And that question has been inside me for days. The overarching why. Not the existential "Who am I?" question, but the "Why do I do these things?" question, which leads to the former, I guess.

The compilation of lovers. The list we all make sometimes when we sit down and write all the names or all the stories that go with each lover for whom we've forgotten their name. Why am I attracted. Why do I get bored. What makes me feel like I'm on fire every month and have to hump every man in sight. Who is "Adam" - the inner 18-year-old boy who takes over and makes me want to call in sick to life and just fondle myself all day and night. My ring finger is longer than my pointer finger - which has been suggested to mean I've got more testosterone in my body than estrogen. What does that mean? How does it play out? Who are all my lovers and why do I seek them? If they were all in one room I know I'd look out and try to connect the dots and they'd just be insulted by looking at the others in comparison. There are no answers tonight, only more questions.

The Filmmaker came over late last week after I'd been drinking and he offered to take the cab. We talked and talked, I fired my co-organizer of the conference with an email he helped me write, and then we smoked in my apartment, and then we slept and around 3am he slowly fucked me in the double-futon. Now, the next-door teen girl won't look at me. We tried to be quiet. It's not my fault that the walls are paper thin or that she's disgusted.

This past Sunday I got all dolled up in thigh highs and skirt and went to the TV Prodcer's. We couldn't resist - despite my period - and fucked before we even got to dinner. I'm too self-conscious with him - that I'm smoking again and he's a non-smoker runner. That I'm not cute enough and he could have anyone. This latter is something I felt I out-grew with the relationship with the Economist. .... free thoughts.... I really did feel validated by him in a way. While he's trapped himself in a small town in a land-locked country in the middle of Europe, he's still so incredibly beautiful and relaxed and wealthy and laid back and focused and non-chalont and non-caring and comfortable in his own skin and predicaments. All these things made me feel unworthy and when he gave me attention I felt - validated. Coming back to school, a place that replicates high school in so many sick ways, I felt empowered thinking, I have been adored by someone who really shouldn't even give me the time of day. And his interest - and continued interest - as pathetic as this is, has given me more power. More self-esteem in a horrible way. I recognize that this is fucked up but secretly felt so much more assured walking into the school, being a conference organizer... Like, you all might think I'm xyz, but really I've been abc. And, again, the TV Producer is not a gorgeous stud man, he's not thrillingly intelligent - although, when I was explaining to him how I didn't feel so comfortable in lipstick and was hoping he wouldn't laugh and how I'm becoming more of a woman in a sense, he quoted "Second Sex" and "you aren't born a woman, but you are continuously becoming a woman." But the fact that he finds me mildly entertaining or interesting gives me some sick validation.

So, right, there we were fucking against his wall and then sitting so properly at his dining room table having Italian food. And then discussing art and music and politics like I had not just been bent over getting fucked from behind while my blood stained his shirt. And then, we went to his bedroom and I got on all fours on an ottoman and he spanked me for a good 20 minutes. We ended up in his bed and he snuggled me all night to where I was sweating in the boxer shorts he loaned me. I actually felt comfortable in some moments and then would wake up and need space. He got up and left before I did and I took my time showering, making coffee in his place, looking at the things that were visible to me.

But it's back to Adam creeping into my body and I'm starved for fucking. Since Sunday, which was nice with the TV Producer but I was bleeding which can make the whole scene different. Tomorrow I'll go find the Filmmaker for a short quick 3 hours before he leaves for Rome on the ...

uh oh

distracted into wondering if there's a way I can go with him and skip class on Friday.

trouble.

damn you Adam!