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.)

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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.

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....

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.

Never, but maybe now

I was never into scat before. That might change.

Huh. Interesting comments of late.

Mostly I've been rejecting spam comments: lines and lines of links to drugs and chicks.

But the most recent on "The Nooner" is very interesting.

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Other than that? It's been 2-1/2 weeks with my family. I'm somewhat losing my mind, considering one of those weeks was me sick with a horribly sore throat. This, of course, freaked me out and sent my mind into wondering if I'd contracted an STI from oral sex. Needless to say the swab revealed that I had haemophilus influenzae, a common bacteria, that my body did well fighting off on its own with the help of gargling salt water. (Seriously, I should listen more to this type of household advice.)

And, waiting. Waiting. Waiting for confirmation. I'm DC-bound for a job, but there are hoops to jump through and then Olympic-sized judges to confirm or reject my performance. The waiting is really getting to me. I scour the Craigslist apartment listings, find something I could live with (and in), and then hope it sticks around. I've given up on that one and will, instead, wait for the final confirmation before getting excited. It should be any day now. So they say.

I am excited about the move, and finally living in my first one-bedroom apartment. Having the salary to do so. Having a job. Making a difference again. And, getting the fuck out of my parents' house. They're lovely people, but it's not advisable to visit this long with parents once one has become an adult. I see their dysfunctionality much more clearly. And I don't want to.

Anyway... nothing fun to report. Just the good news of a job and the patience that is my karma.

The nooner

My friend told me on Friday about a potential date he was going to have for a guy to suck his cock. It's been a personal fantasy of mine to see guy-on-guy action. A long-standing fantasy at that. I don't usually wank to gay porn, because I usually envision myself as the bottom in the porn scenario and if the bottom has a cock it kind of confuses my lust. Nonetheless, over all my years of crazy libido, I'd never watched live guy action. So, I told my friend I'd love to be invited to watch.

Turns out that his date's fantasy involved sucking a cock with a woman. And, my friend, well, he's up for almost anything.

The date plan was that my friend was going to cross-dress as a slut in black and heels and the date was going to come by over lunch break. The date's a rather stereotypical looking bear daddy who is married, living a quiet life over on the other side of town. My friend put us in contact via email to assuage any nervousness on the part of the date: who is this chick, what does she want, is she for real, etc...

We chatted a bit over email and I sent him the nudey lola with socks photo and the nudey lola riding the sex toy photo. I guess he was convinced because he replied with "OMG!!!!!!" Flattery will get you everywhere.

Got over to my friend's house and poured a small whiskey (all work being done for the day). My friend got all dolled up in his slutty CD outfit with black stockings, black top, and heels. He was quite a sight with his plaid lumberjack robe on top. The Date arrived. We were all a bit nervous - least of all was my friend, most of all was The Date. His hands were shaking when we introduced ourselves and his voice cracking and rapid, "So, this is your first time?" (He'd already asked me that in email.) He pulled out the poppers and put it on the table. They both took a hit and my friend, with lovely moaning porn on his laptop in the background, got up and straddled The Date on the couch so his cock was well positioned for The Date's mouth. I watched from a comfy chair across the room: hand in my tights, slowly finding my clit and working myself up.

My friend came over and put the poppers below my nose. Having never indulged, I thought poppers were pills (poppers, uppers, same idea in my mind), so I'm sticking my tongue out a bit waiting for him to drop one and he says, "You inhale." Of course, I blushed, but then the blushing turned to red balloon fire inflating of my cheeks as the rush hit me. I'm not sure it really did anything for me - and we sniffed a few more times - but damn if my friend's cock wasn't enormously hard and bursting at the seams.

My friend called me over to the couch to fondle myself there, in view for him and The Date. I wasn't planning on participating really. In my mind, I'd just envisioned being an onlooker, like some Eyes Wide Shut masked observer. Power in my distance, cooly watching as if they were my actors, or my homemade porn. I guess I'm like a bitch in heat though - a cock is around, I can sniff it out, and damnit I want it. I was a bit reluctant because the spontaneity did catch me off guard. How far would I go? Did I want to fuck? Did I want cum on my face or in my mouth? Did I want to be sucked? Thankfully, time was in check. This was a lunch date, not an all-nighter. The Date touched me tentatively and I let him. I played with his cock in my hand while he sucked off my friend and my friend sucked on my tits. It was a tangle of limbs - so much so that a leg movement and my friend almost bonked The Date.

It was super fucking hot to play with my clit and watch these two. The Date's lips tight around the head of my friend's cock, and his hand just below, gripping and stroking. A man who knows how to touch another man. Sure, there are chicks who know how to give blowjobs and handjobs well, and I'm damn fine myself, but there's still never quite perfection for me. I don't have this body part. I don't want to hurt it. I don't want to grab too hard or pull too much. My friend tells me he doesn't like wet things - isn't into kissing, doesn't like saliva much, hates gum. Me? I prefer slobbery wet blowjobs. I want spit on my face, trails of drool from a cock to my mouth, swallowing multiple pools of saliva. The Date knew just how much pressure in his hand, how much spit was needed. It was horny perfection.

My friend pulled my sweater off. (I'd already taken off my tights to show my little red cherry thong.) They both went at my tits and I kept my finger on my clit. The Date went back to my friend's cock and he shot his load as I moaned along.

Then it was done. Clothes put back on. The Date said I was hot and wiped up a bit of dripped cum on the floor with some toilet paper. I thanked them for letting me watch. My friend was like, fun and gotta run back to work.

It all happened so fast. Truly, a half-hour can go by like a wink. In my mind, I think I was imagining a drawn-out porn hour-long fantasy. Different positions. Some unplanned fucking. I wanted to see cock in ass. I wanted to roll around on the floor and call The Date "Daddy" and pretend my friend and I were siblings in some wack incest roleplay. Or, maybe they'd push the coffee table out of the way and get into a 69 while I touched myself, viewing from the couch. I'd pulled out my silver underwear bag thinking I might want the egg vibe - but there wasn't time. It was all over so quickly. Guess that means there's room for more expansion on this. Guess that means I can add it to my list of "Things To Explore More Fully." At least I got a good taste.

Almost caught

I've done this a few times. It meshes with my trucker fantasy. But today, I was spotted, and not sure how much or what he saw.

Between cities. I pulled over to the rest area. Further from the other cars, but not so far as to be suspicious -- I guess? (As if I have this figured out.) I pull out the mobile to pretend some work call is coming in. Of course, that's why I pull over. I am a good citizen after all - don't want to drive and talk. Whip out the laptop. Reach behind into the roller suitcase, pull out the silver underwear bag. Laptop in lap. Pull out my trusty egg vibe (this one from the sex store in Paris). Slide the seat back. Facing the big, heavy, resting trucks. Dirty trucks. Some with headlights on in mid-day. Some just pulling up. Are the men napping? Do they have girls with them? Are they getting sucked off? Are they shooting up? My dirty dream to connect somehow and - of course - am serviced and fucked. In a cab. In one of those awesomely dirty, messy, lived-in cabs, with rosaries hanging from random hooks, velour red (blood red) curtains, a small college dorm-sized fridge, a mattress?, a cushion? what the hell is in the back of these cabs? how big are they?

I put the egg in under the open zipper, under the soft pink fabric of my thong. Put the laptop crooked-wise in my lap and pick the one video where the hairy French guy is pounding the nubile girl from behind and she's into it but her moans are screams. Side by side next to the one of "hungry joe" - some guy I friended years ago who likes exhibitionism and makes videos of himself jacking off. In this one he's using a see-through fleshlight. She's screaming (I turned the volume up as the car engine runs), he's lubing up the fleshlight, the phone is by my side, my hand in my pants, I change one of the batteries out, turn it up high high high, not enough time to work up to it.

I look up and see the rest area janitor guy at the trash bins in front of my car. Fuck! Slide my hand out from my underwear to the keyboard. I feel the instant blush in my cheeks. Cover the open zipper with my sweater. He looks at me. Looks back to the bins. I toss the egg vibe to the floor of my car. Pick up the phone. "Oh, hi, yeah, so I found the document.." He empties the bins. I try to mouth words in fake conversation and attempt to quickly calculate his viewpoint angle. Was the laptop hiding my hand. Was the cord obvious? Did he hear the screams? He moves on to the next bins.

I pretend the fake call. He finishes this stretch of cleaning and walks past me. I try to smile innocently as he walks by.

Out of view, I pretend a trucker has binoculars on me. Staring. Watching. Wondering. Knowing I'm faking my phone call. Watching me put the phone down, jack up the videos again, quickly place the now dirty and dusty egg vibe into my pants (I wipe it a little beforehand but the dirt makes me feel more naughty), and and and and .... quick, pulsing release. The blood rushes to my cheeks. The inside walls clench and contract in spasm. I close my eyes in orgasm like an addict feeling the kick in my veins. But quick. The janitor might have seen it all and called the cops. I'm running late anyway. Battery out. Egg back into the bag. Bag into the suitcase. Laptop closed. Pants zipped. I step out for a smoke. (I have quit, but it's my rebel behavior on these hormonal trips that makes me want something between my lips.) Pretend - again - that I'm on the phone.

Climb back in. Pull the seat forward. Reverse. Pull out.

Ahhhhhh, yes....