This post will be heavy on the images, light on the writing. I just wanted to let you all know that I, HH, am in the midst of writing a long-form (novelesque?) piece that I hope to be done with by late November. It’s called “Rogue’s Gallery.” Here are some pre-views.
Also, in our kink news, as many of you know, we have just published our latest book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume VI, SlutLife. It was supposed to come out in time for summer reading by the beach, but due to some production hiccups, it didn’t get released until September.
Today’s post is to reach out to everyone in our extended virtual kink community and give a shout out to those of you who have supported us in so many ways, especially during these difficult times of limited social connection due to COVID. We want to hear from all of you, to know how you’re doing and, also, to know if our posts here and our books, have helped you during these very trying times.
We have been so blessed by enthusiastic kinksters showing and telling us about their enjoyment of our blog, books, and audio books. We wanted to share with you the people who make this “work” worth it.
We would be remiss if we didn’t give our first shout out to the voice of MySexLifeWithLola, Miss Jupiter Grant. She is a talented narrator (understatement), author, and a sex goddess in her own right.
Jupiter Grant
Next, we recently received this lovely tribute photo from the seductive and interesting Lilith Avair. She and her Daddy Dom, Michael, (in the second photo) have been crucial to our success. Without Michael’s technical help, this blog wouldn’t exist.
Lilith, Michael, Lola
We also want to give a warm shout out to Lil Gem and her man from PurplesGem. They have been enjoying the books and all of their fans have been enjoying them.
Lil Gem
Lil Gem
Lil Gem
Artistic photo of LilGem
Illustration of HH and Lo by LittleGem of purplesgem.com
LilGem’s Daddy has a happy read.
Lil Gem in B&W
Glad Lilgem didn’t get lil’ jealous about this sexy photo.
While this lovely hotwife is out having fun with a bull, her hubby is getting of to Lo.
Karla takes a selfie
Karla, the day she became a hotwife.
Karla and Chris
10 Years of Carla
Karla and her Bull
Evolution of Karla
Meanwhile, Chris, her hubby, printed out Lola’s photos to enjoy.
Chris Cums on Lo’s Pics
The real you is sexy!
That photo above is from an ad campaign, we just replaced the models with pics of Lola. However, the sentiment is the same – you, all of you, in your different shapes and sizes, are sexy as you are! Nothing is more sexy than feeling yourself to be sexy.
This couple have been enthusiastic fans of ours for a long time, though they don’t have their own blog. He is a professor. She is thinking about getting into the OnlyFans biz. Sam & Alia.
Sam and Alia read Match, Cinder & Spark together.
Our favorite fans are fans who get off to us together.
Alia seems more interested in the book than her hubby’s pud.
One thing leads to another.
But sometimes Sam has to take matters into his own hands.
Alia
Alia & Sam
And then there’s a beautiful blogger who has been creating poetry with the speed and power of lightning. The Lustful Empress.
Collage of TLE getting off to Lola
Isn’t she just beautifully lustful?
We hope you’ve enjoyed this little tour of some of our friends in the bloggosphere. If you would like a free copy of one of our books in exchange for a sexy photo of you with it and some free publicity from us, just ask.
Of course, back when travel was a thing we did, when HH was apart from Lola, he would send her cumtributes as a token of his love & lust.
We’re very excited to bring you this Special Report!
Most of you surely already know the wonderful Kayla Lords of erotic blogging and podcast fame, a.k.a. The Smutlancer. If you don’t, check her out. She has done amazing work and she continues to do something that all of us need to do more – build kink community!
She has teamed up with Gabi Levi – an artist and writer and, if you ask me, probably a great shag – to create a retro themed, art infused corner of the internet for erotic stories and images called Shag Story.
Gabi reached out to us to get our impression of the new site and we LOVED it! I (Lola) started chatting with her and soon enough, we just put together an interview. So, without further introduction, my interview with Gabi Levi:
Gabi Levi, self portrait
What is your background in art?
I went to the Gallatin School of Individualized Study at NYU and essentially developed my own major titled Art and Ethics. It was based on an amazing course I took that took a look at the ethical implications of art that maybe was a little bit risqué in a number of ways. It questions its value to society and I always took the stance that provocative art was incredibly valuable, so I started to make some of it.
Who has influenced you?
So many artists, but Magritte is a big one along with various pop artists, comic book creators, and pulp artists. I also love Playboy.
Rene Magritte – Nude Standing
Lola – Nude Standing
What attracts you about erotica or erotic art in particular?
I appreciate the beauty of sex, the human form, and pop culture. As someone who is both an artist and a writer, combining the art with erotica felt natural to me.
Tell us about this new venture, Shag Story (or shagstory.com), that you and Kayla Lords have started. How did you two come up with the idea? Who is your ideal audience? What sorts of stories do you hope to publish and why?
I wanted to start an erotica site that felt fun and incorporated art. I loved the 70s Playboy aesthetic, so decided to call it Shag Story as a way to allow for some retro art. In terms of audience, it’s anyone who enjoys erotica. Shag Story is a fun place to hang out, embrace eroticism, and enjoy erotic art and writing. I wanted to create a feel-good space.
Why the 70’s theme?
The ’60s-’70s were a time of sexual liberation and revolution. It feels fun, exciting, and like a party.
Who is writing for Shag Story?
Various writers! We always have an open call for submissions that are published upon Kayla’s review.
What is your role at Shag Story?
Along with being one of the founders, I am in charge of the art direction.
What are some of your favorite books and why?
I love Lolita and anything by Elizabeth Wurtzel. Lolita is another great example of a piece of art that is ‘morally corrupt’ but so beautifully written and flawlessly executed. It stirs up mixed emotions, which I think makes something great.
Lola’s Playboy Cover
What are some of your favorite movies and why?
I love Natural Born Killers from an aesthetic and artistic perspective. It’s so jarring, interesting, and beautiful in a sense that isn’t traditional. The acting is also incredible. Watching it is a cathartic experience for me.
If you could meet one person, past or present, who would it be and why?
This answer might be silly, but I’ve always said Eminem. He’s such a genius, so uninhibited, and so talented.
Tell us your most recent or most frequent sexual fap fantasy.
It depends on the day, but most recently it was a fantasy/memory of a time with an ex in the back of his car during summer. Very hot and sticky ;).
I’m allowed one vanity question. One thing that attracts you about mysexlifewithlola.com?
It’s smart, candid, and sexy!! Who wouldn’t love it?
[Hi everyone! We hope that you boys & girls reading this from home are all safe and healthy. We know you’re sexy! We’re interrupting our usual programing of the mini-series “Mount Bliss” to bring you this story. You, our longtime readers and fans, probably know that most of the stories you read here are true, but HH takes a long time to craft them and so they are not usually about what is happening NOW. This is a little different. It was featured in the May edition of Ethical Non-Monogamy (ENM) Magazine (p. 38). It’s appropriate not only because it tell you how we are dealing with life under lockdown, but also it’s appropriate since May is Masturbation Month! We hope you enjoy and we love to hear your stories of how you are doing: downloladown@gmail.com]
How to Practice Ethical Non-Monogamy Under Lockdown
“Fuck me,” she said, “Yeah, like that.”
I looked in the slightly ajar door to see just whom Lola could be fucking during a mandatory lockdown in a global pandemic.
“Oh, yeah,” she cooed as she lay, splayed out on the bed, one hand up inside her, the other squeezing her tits.
She was fucking herself and, apparently telling herself just how much she enjoyed it.
Desperate times, I suppose.
We had been in lockdown for two weeks. It wasn’t so bad. We were in Florida, by the beach, which eventually got closed down. But we had a pool. That too got closed the second week. Now, all we had was each other and our health – a lot to be thankful for, no doubt, but not nearly enough for Lo.
We were both working remotely. It was a little past one in the afternoon. I was trying to do a conference call to Ms. Gale, my secretary, and one other person, but the moans and groans, gasps and grunts from the bedroom could be heard throughout the small apartment we were renting. When she transitioned to actual words like “Fuck me. Yeah, like that,” I had to make an excuse to hang up and go check on my nympho in the bedroom.
I politely waited until she was done – or at least taking a pause from her self-pleasure.
“Lo, come on!”
“What Daddy?”
“It’s one-fifteen.”
“Yeah, so?”
“Don’t you have work to do as well?”
“I’ve always had an hour of me-time scheduled every day on my work calendar, even before this whole Coronavirus thing. Everyone knows not to bother me for this hour.”
“Do they know what you’re doing on your ‘me-time’?”
“Oh no, Daddy. Well, I mean, I guess some of them probably have their suspicions.”
“Let me tell you, if you’re as loud in your office as you are here, then everyone knows.”
“I’m sorry, Daddio. But I wouldn’t have to do this if you’d just fuck me.”
“We fucked last night and this morning.”
“So, why not this afternoon?”
“If I fucked you as much as you want it, then I certainly would die during this pandemic, but not from the virus!”
“It’s good exercise.”
“It seems like the only exercise you’ve been getting.”
“Well, the gym’s closed. Besides, the CDC said that the safest sex anyone can have right now is with themselves.”
“The CDC did not say that!”
“Someone said that.”
“Probably you.”
“That doesn’t make it untrue.”
“Good grief! Well, try to keep the sound effects to a minimum. OK? I have calls to make.”
While I work the day away, Lola plays. She carries on about five to ten affairs from afar with various men and women. Her friend, Nero Black, posted about jacking to her photos while his wife, who rarely gives up her goodies to him, jills it in the next room to taboo incest literotica. Yet, the married boy best beware if she happens to walk in on him in the onanistic act of worshipping Ms. Down. Lo has frequently suggested (nay, more than suggested, demanded) that Nero direct his partner’s web browser to mysexlifewithlola, or, at the very least, put the two of them in contact with each other. But, as of yet, he has refrained. Many-a-night I’ve had to hear from Lo about how she would have treated the two of them if she were their couples counselor.
Lo is friends with a lovely married couple from NJ, Mike and Danielle. Mike has been a stay-at-home-dad to his two young daughters while Danielle has done the 9-to-5 at the office. This has left Mike with time to chat with Lo and fap to Lo when the girls are down for a nap. Luckily, unlike with Mr. Black, this has all been on the up-and-up with his wife Danielle. In fact, not only with her blessing, but her encouragement. She loves to come home and see the cumtributes her husband made to and for Lola. Then, after the kids are put to bed, they turn on Lo’s pixilated pussy and fuck each other while looking at Lola.
Sharing Couple from NJ Hubby’s Cumtribute to Lola
Sharing Couple of NJ Enjoying the Stories
Sharing Couple of NJ Getting off to Lo
Of course, for Lola this is more fodder for the fapper.
Then there’s Floss and Nikki of FlossDoesLife and LoveIsAFetish, respectively. They both have written raving reviews of the Match, Cinder & Spark books and, what gets Lo going even more, took sexy pics of themselves getting off to the printed page. What else are you going to do in isolation?
Floss & Lola
Nikki of LoveIsAFetish getting off to Match, Cinder & Spark
Not only do the reviews get Lo riled up, but Lo listens to Jupiter recite tales of Lo’s ribald antics just about every night, which causes her to alternately laugh and lunge in the bed next to me.
Don’t get me wrong, this whole ordeal has taken its toll on all of us in so many ways, and Lo is not exempt from that. There are the nights that Lo can’t sleep due to anxiety about losing her job. Afternoons that Lo returns from food shopping and has a full-blown panic attack that she has contracted the virus and is certain to pass it on to me. Lo’s greatest fear? – dying alone. That means, if I die first, which is more than likely given our age difference, then who will be there for her? So, worse than her getting sick, in her mind, is my getting sick and dying! There is the frequent fretting about family members who are already fighting this virus in far-flung points on the map. Yes, we don’t talk about family too much here, but we do have relatives who are now among the ever-growing statistics you read about in the news.
For Lo, the go-to stress relief from all this ever-higher mountain of seen and unseen woe is found right between her legs.
Lo practicing Social Distancing Stress Relief, pass it along.
Finally, of course, there is just your straight-up porn that Lo has been watching. Lo has a penchant for amateur porn and her latest infatuation is with the couple Lindsey and Mike Love. Just as Lo and I fulfill the fantasies of many of our fans, I believe, Lindsey and Mike live out the fantasy life of Lo. A married couple who enthusiastically got into porn together from the tender age of eighteen and rise to amateur stardom, getting rich and having fun. I think the thing that Lo likes the most about the pair is that they have a real relationship, a story, and that they are very open to exploring sex with all genders, together and solo.
An hour later, Lo emerged from the bedroom. “Daddy, it’s hot in there. Will you help me open the window?”
I entered Lo’s lair of self-love. I opened the window with ease to let in the ocean breeze, but it immediately deflated downward.
“Is it broken?” asked Lo.
“I don’t know. It definitely doesn’t stay up like it used to.”
Without missing a beat she quips, “I’m sure you can relate.”
Stay safe everyone and we’ll see you on the internet.
[We interrupt our regularly scheduled story (from the “Mount Bliss” mini-series) to bring you this tale of epistles and dildos.]
“Guess who got fan mail?” sung Lola teasingly.
“Oh, what a mystery,” I said flatly, “let me see. . . could it be Lola?”
“Well, uh, yeah. Duh. But in addition to me, guess who else.”
“I?”
“Yes you, Shakespeare!”
“And am I allowed to read this love letter?”
“Who said it was a love letter?”
“I just assumed.”
“Here,” she said, abruptly shoving the computer over to me at the breakfast table.
I looked at the email. It read:
Dear Lola,
Eric asked me to write you something about his special experience with you.
You and my boyfriend Eric have had chats, I know. He`s always busy with drawing ladies from the internet. I don’t mind, as long as the women are total strangers and from the other side of the world and I don’t have to be his model. And we promised each other that real sex is exclusively between us. He can ‘use’ me anytime he likes. Luckily for him I also like sex very much, so he’s a happy camper.
He tells me everything and shows me all his work. I must say, he has got some talent but he’s no Rembrandt yet. It turns me on sometimes when he’s busy drawing. He sure knows his female anatomy. At least he knows mine real well.
He told me that you would like Eric to ejaculate all over the pictures you send. I asked him if he would do that. He said: If you are ok with it?
I said, I don’t mind as long it’s a pic and not for real.
The thought of him jerking off over your pic was actually exciting me! So I suggested to help him a little. . . . That he didn’t expect. LOL.
We agreed to do it that night. That night I got him naked. I kept my shirt and panties on. I watched him stroking his cock. It was rock-hard from the start.
I whispered some dirty words in his ears, reading from your blog, and brushed my big soft tits on his back and arms and everywhere.
I got excited a little too. Seeing him stroking his cock for another girl and me working him up, I was soaking my panties. I saw some precum on his cock. I licked it away, pulled my shirt up and let him suck my breasts. I grabbed his cock as he looked at your photos and I read to him as best I could – one eye on the words and one on his rod.
It wasn’t long before he came all over you. I mean, all over your pic. I must confess I swallowed a lot of it.
After that we made this photo for you. Hope you like it.
I got so horny that I wanted him to lick me and he made me come. I was really dripping wet. After that he penetrated me real tenderly. Only after half an hour did he eject another load in my pussy. He obviously had to reload. LOL. He even ate my cream-pie! It was great!
So Lola, thanks for the question you asked. You are looking very young and lovely. How old are you? And have you ever had experience with women? I don’t mind that. And how is your boyfriend looking? And do you have sex often? Maybe we can exchange some nice pictures?
We hope to hear from you!
Bye now and kisses,
Eric and Charlotte
From Eric and Charlotte
“Lo,” I said after reading it.
She looked up at me, anticipating my reaction.
“It’s all about you. She wants you. This isn’t fan mail for me. It’s adoration of the goddess for you!”
“She said she was reading your writing.”
“One line of the entire letter indirectly alludes to me and you call it my fan mail?! Good grief! A bigger egomaniac I never met!”
“Egomaniac or nymphomaniac? Which is it?”
“Both!!!”
“Fine,” she said. “I was just teasing with that. Here’s the real fan mail,” she said, clicking on a different message from her in-box.
I read:
Dear H.H.,
Your power with words penetrates me deeply. It’s so potent that I lose myself and end up in a place where I am with both of you. You’re that good! You’re the type of good that I can begin to feel you. All I want is to reach through my screen and kiss you. Taste you. I’m very selfish, so I may just have to have you all to myself while Lola watches us. Be forewarned.
She also sent a few sexy photos of her as attachments.
“Why are you showing me this?” I asked because she usually keeps me at a “healthy” distance from temptation. Except her temptation, of course.
“I thought it was sweet.”
“It was sexy and direct.”
“Just like me.”
“Exactly, which is why I’m suspicious of your motives. You despise anyone who attempts to seduce me. Are you trying to get rid of me?”
“No no no,” she laughed as she got up from the table and moved very close to me. “Show me you love me.”
“I show you with my words.”
“I want you to show me with your cock.”
“Lo, it’s eight in the morning on a Sunday!”
“Exactly. This could be our fun day.”
“I get it now,” I said. “You showed me that to arouse me. You are only interested in getting your needs met.”
“On Maslow’s hierarchy of needs, sex is the top tier.”
“No it isn’t.”
“Well, it’s up there.”
“No it’s not. Self-Actualization is top.”
“Well, I’m just going to have to go self-actualize myself, if you’re not going to do it for me.”
She sauntered to the bedroom, removing an article of clothing with each couple of steps down the hall.
As you well know, dear reader, Lo is half my age and at least double my libido. As much as I try to satisfy her cravings, putting logs in the fire so to speak, it only makes a bigger fire of desire that burns through the logs twice as fast. Buddha was well aware of this maddening math. I’ve tried to steer clear of becoming consumed by coitus and I’ve finally reached an age where I can transfigure the intensity of my love from physical acts to intellectual creations.
“Your writing is just mental masturbation,” Lo called down the hallway.
“And your masturbation is just. . .physical. . . masturbation,” I responded with a repartee that fell flat as the pancake I was eating.
I turned the computer back toward me and scrolled through Lo’s other fan mail. Something caught my eye. It was an exchange between her and a man named Nero Black. Nero is another middle-aged married man. Like me, his wife spends much of her sex-drive on self-pleasure, getting off to all manner of taboo literotica. Unlike me, she doesn’t first try to use him as a sex toy. In their exchange, Lola had encouraged Nero to sneak mysexlifewithlola.com into his wife’s reading list somehow, or to buy one of the books or the audiobook for his wife to read. Lo was convinced that if the two of them were to enter into the dregs of desire together, they would find each other there in the darkness of their depravity.
But for whatever reason, Mr. Black was hesitant to take Lo up on this suggestion. He was in a sexual rut. His wife was busy getting herself off in the bedroom while Mr. Black was jacking off in the bathroom. But rarely did the two sex drives cross paths. Unable to convince Mr. Black to break this pattern, perhaps because he was secretly fond of it, Lo did the next best thing – try to get Mr. Black to get off to her.
Mr. Black had written about how his wife caught him stroking himself to some porn in the bathroom and she just ignored it, with the exception of a snide remark, as if that kettle wasn’t blacker than Mr. Black. Lo then clamored to Mr. Black to please please please use her photo next time he has a hankering for a wankering. She even sent him a variety of choice shots to shoot his load to. She was also hoping he would get caught by the Mrs. while looking at Lo’s image.
There is a certain pattern that emerged from the correspondences I found in Lo’s naughty letter box. The women who wrote to me were all younger. I guess I’m so old that statistically speaking, almost all of them will be younger. And the men Lo wished to worship her were all older – around my age, and mostly married.
It’s true that, like Charlotte, there were a number of women around Lo’s age who also took a fancy to Lo. But there most decidedly was an age gap between our respective fans.
A dug a little further and saw that dear Mr. Black had indeed used one of Lo’s pornographic images to find his sweet release and he even paid Lo the highest compliment of writing about it!
I walked into the bedroom to find Lo making sweet love to the greatest fuck of her life – herself.
“What is this?!” I demanded, not waiting for her to complete the self-impalement that she was engaged in with her glass dildo.
She didn’t stop. She looked up, her right hand still rapidly thrusting in-and-out between her legs.
“Get behind me,” she commanded, evading the question and turning on all fours at the same time.
I thought she wanted me to replace the dildo with my own tool. I was wrong.
“Grab it,” she said, indicating the handle of the dildo. “Fuck it,” she said, indicating her pussy. “Faster,” she said. “Harder,” she said. “Deeper,” she said.
As she gave me instructions, she scrolled through her photos until she came to one that tickled her fancy.
Her pussy exploded, rocketing out the glass dildo like a missile propelled by a water cannon! She’s lucky that her discharge was aimed back at me and down at the bed or else her computer would be beyond repair.
When the waterworks were over and I had dried off, Lo was in the bathroom doing who-knows-what. I looked at the image and accompanying story that had set her off.
“Wait! What?!” I exclaimed.
“Don’t look!” she called to me from behind the bathroom door.
But there’s some things you just can’t unsee.
It was an illustration, thank goodness, and not an actual photo. With it was a confession from an older woman who reported to Lola that she found her son looking at Lo’s photos and the blog.
The mother tried to use the opportunity as a “teaching moment.”
She said to her son, “It’s ok, son, Dad also gets off to Lola Down.”
“I know,” he said, ashamed, his face in his hands, “This is his computer.”
“You see,” she said, consoling him, “It’s normal.”
“But,” he began haltingly, embarrassed to say the next few words, “I’m logged on to your account.”
The mother tried not to flinch or to show any sign of embarrassment herself. Teach by example. It was true, she had found the blog through her husband’s search history and she had secretly fapped her snatch to it. But now the family secrets were revealed and they revolved around Lola.
Sorry to see her son’s erection had not dissipated even through this difficult conversation, the mother offered, “Let me help you. You’ll feel better, I promise.”
Wow! I can’t even go into the details of what this housewife and mom shared with Lola about what happened next, but I think you get the idea.
Now, I thought, I bet that’s a story that Mrs. Black would really enjoy.
It was said by the renowned sex researcher, Alfred Kinsey, that “A nymphomaniac is someone who has more sex than you do.” It would seem that modern psychology has caught up with Kinsey’s insight. The dictionary of psychological disorders, the American Psychiatric Association’s Diagnostic and Statistical Manual (DSM), removed nymphomania from its list in 1980. But does that mean Nymphomania no longer exists?
In popular culture “sex addiction” has been used as a catch-all for a number of “disorders” that have been named and described: hypersexuality, compulsive sexual behavior, erotomania, hyperfilia, etc. But the DSM puts almost all of these under one listing: Sexual Disorder Not Otherwise Specified. This heading is as ambiguous, amorphous, and as slippery as the subject itself.
However, let’s keep in in mind that no matter how something is categorized or listed, it’s not a “disorder” unless it is distressing to the person exhibiting it or has detrimental effects in one’s life. If the result of the behavior is a net negative, then it could be labeled a disorder. That net negative could be manifested psychologically, as in feelings of guilt and remorse, or could result in actual physical harm to oneself. Other net negatives could include weakening of relationships, loss of a job, or other harms external to oneself.
Fan, getting off to Lo at work
In modern European and American culture, nymphomania has as checkered a past as the women diagnosed with it. Even though there is a male correlate to it – satyriasis – the two labels have been employed in radically different ways. Historically, the ascription of “nymphomaniac” has been applied to women who, had their gender been ascribed to men and the behaviors described as those of men, rarely would they be described as afflicted with satyriasis. In other words, historically, women exhibiting the same healthy and robust sexuality of men would be diagnosed with a disorder while their male counterparts gained the praise and admiration of others as Don Juans.
But, in the last decade or so, with the rise of internet porn, the term “sex addict” has been increasingly utilized in less stereotypical and gender specific, patriarchal ways. Famous actors such as Rob Lowe, David Duchovny, and Charlie Sheen all have come out as being sex addicts, making it easier for others to do so.
Despite the DSM debunking the myth of nymphomania and our modern society’s willingness to embrace a more gender-neutral term applicable to men and women, the term “nymphomania” and its connotations continues to live on in the culture’s consciousness and the collective unconscious.
Fan, getting off to Lo
Nymphomania is a concept that has a history to it almost as old as civilization itself. In Jewish lore there was Lilith, the contemporary or predecessor of Eve, who refused to be subservient to Adam and, supposedly, insisted on taking the “top” position during sex. Her name is derived from the Hebrew for “night” and she is associated with other female night demons who seduce men. As such, she is a succubus. This tale probably has its origin in explaining men’s nocturnal emissions.
Throughout history, assertive women and sexually promiscuous women have been associated with the demonic. Accusing a woman of being a witch was one way of marginalizing or eradicating powerful and lustful women. In more recent times, diagnosing them as hysterical was another. Perhaps if we rewrote history as “hystery” (from the Greek, hyster, meaning “womb”) we would have different stories to tell. But, from the ancient Mesopotamian Epic of Gilgamesh, in which the goddess of love, Ishtar, unsuccessfully tries to seduce the hero, and the temple prostitute, Shamhat, successfully seduces and thereby defiles the natural man of the wild, Enkidu, to Helen of Troy, whose face and unfaithful figure launched a thousand ships, to the Sirens and Calypso, all the way through to Gatsby’s fair Daisy Fay Buchanan, wanton women have been revered and rebuked by the West’s confused attitude toward female sexuality.
In the West, only Virgins, like Mary, and doting, devoted wives, like Penelope and Henry James’ Isabel Archer, get univocal approval.
(The East, by contrast, is not as uncomfortable with strong, sexual, and wise women. From Cali to Guan Yin, not only are they revered and worshiped, but even the gender ambiguity of Vishnu is given prominence.)
Even in the contemporary medium of myth-telling – movies – the nymphomaniac is never depicted as anything but pathological and her fate is always a morality tale told from the point of view of the negative exemplar. Lolita, the touchstone of our modern-day horny heroine, has been made into a movie twice: once in 1962 by Kubrick and once in 1997 by Adrian Lyne. Based upon the classic book by Nabokov, the films and the book stand in a league of their own. The ultimate fate of Nabokov’s Lolita (spoiler alert) is morally ambiguous. Clearly a letdown to the pedophile protagonist, Humbert Humbert, when he finds his life-long love at the end of the book, we are never given any insight into mature Lolita’s feelings of fulfillment in family or lack thereof. However, it is, perhaps, too hasty to say that there have only been two Lolita films made. One of the most popular tropes in porn is Lolita. In this way the myth of the nymph lives on and on.
Lola Down, 21st Century Lolita
Other films, such as Lars von Trier’s Nymphomaniac and Craig Brewer’s Black Snake Moan, put nymphomania front and center. However, in both, the female protagonist is depicted as pitifully damaged and pathologically in need of redemption. In the latter film, that redemption takes the form of Christina Ricci, dressed only in her panties and a cutoff t-shirt, being chained to a cast iron heating radiator by a strong black man (Samuel L. Jackson). As psychologically dubious as this “treatment” might be, it could be said that the film gets to some deep, underlying archetypical images and fantasies buried in the American collective unconscious by playing on race, gender, and slave tropes.
The former film, Nymphomania, as drab and sexually non-stimulating as it is, does get to some diagnostic characteristics. As Robert Weiss, founder of the Sexual Recovery Institute, has discussed in his “Thoughts on Nymphomaniac: Volume I,” in the Huffington Post, March 20, 2014:
Nymphomaniac: Volume I is “sex addiction accurate.”
Joe’s sexual exploits start out (rather early in life) as innocent and fun-seeking, but before long she’s using them less for enjoyment and more for escape. This is typical. Simply put, addicts of all types engage in their addictions not to feel better, but to feel less.
• Joe views men as objects — a means to sexual gratification — rather than seeing them as equals and potential partners in emotional intimacy. When her lies actually ruin one man’s life, she feels nothing for either him or his wife and kids. Nor does she change her behavior.
• Joe spends nearly all of her free time pursuing sex. She has no other interests or hobbies.
• Joe’s sexual activity escalates in both amount and intensity. She has more and more partners as her addiction progresses, and she engages in ever-more risky behaviors.
• Joe’s response to any sort of emotional crisis is sex. When her father is terminally ill in the hospital, she has sex with an attendant. Later, she experiences sexual arousal at his deathbed.
• Joe seeks a sense of control and power through sex. For instance, she ‘allows’ or ‘forbids’ certain activities. At one point she speaks to Seligman about ‘privileges’ granted to one of her regular sex partners. Using sex to feel ‘in control’ is common with sex addicts, especially with female sex addicts.
• Joe appears to have not bonded appropriately with her ‘cold hearted bitch’ of a mother, relying on her father for kindness and nurture. Her childhood flashbacks show that she learned ways to ‘please’ her father, and that doing so was incredibly important. Even though their relationship does not appear to have been sexual or otherwise abusive, it is clear that she learned early on that the way to get love from men is to please them. This type of dysfunctional childhood bonding is common in sex addicts of both genders.
• By the end of the film, Joe’s entire life (not just her sex life) has become ‘monotonous and pointless.’ She compares her daily movements to those of a caged animal. Everything she does is rote and repetitious, and nothing has any meaning — especially not the sex. At one point she says to a partner, during sex, ‘I can’t feel anything,’ and it is clear that she is talking about both physical numbness and emotional numbness.
Though Weiss points out in the article that female sex addicts are often ascribed “highly shaming labels” such as nympho, slut, tramp, and whore, “that society routinely attaches to women who have a lot of sex, regardless of whether they do so because they enjoy it” or not, he does not in any way discuss the possibility of a positive nymphomaniacal experience in which those labels are coopted into accolades.
The linguist Geoff Nunberg has pointed out that many one-time derogatory and profane words have been coopted and reappropriated by the subjugated, marginalized, and oppressed populations against whom the slurs were originally leveled. As he says about the term “slut,” “after a Toronto police constable told a crime prevention meeting that women should avoid dressing like sluts if they don’t want to be victimized,” “slut walks” served as a way “to protest the whole culture of slut-shaming.” He points out that, “it is hard to imagine ‘slut’ being reclaimed the way ‘queer’ was, as a respectable label for academic programs and cultural centers.” (“Slut: The Other Four Letter S-Word,” on Fresh Air, WHYY, NPR, March 13, 2012)
This sort of reevaluation of values is exactly what Lo is literally embodying, pushing psychology today to free itself from the prejudices of patriarchy. She wears the labels “slut,” “tramp,” “whore,” and yes, “nymphomaniac” proudly (and she often wears little else). Between us, we use the words “nymphomania” and “slut” as honorifics rather than stigmatizing terms. Every slur can be reclaimed and used subversively by the oppressed.
There is some evidence that lustful, liberated women are making inroads into the tyranny of normativity. Thinkers such as Rollo May have proposed a theory of the daimonic, hearkening back to the origin of “demonic” as coming from the Greek “daimon.” For the Greeks, daimon meant something more akin to a personal deity; a guiding angel, you might say, rather than a guardian angel.
May uses the term “daimonic” to denote a drive that is not univocal in nature and, in one word, is akin to Freud’s dual Eros/Thanatos drives. As May says of the daimonic, it “has the power to take over the whole person. Sex and eros, anger and rage, and the craving for power are examples. The daimonic can be either creative or destructive and is normally both.” (May, Rollo, Love and the Daimonic, p. 123) It is worth mentioning here that, before May and Freud, there was a theory of human psychology in Judaism that posited two chambers in the heart: the yetzer tov and the yetzer ra. The former, “the impulse for good,” and the latter, “the impulse for evil,” worked in tandem and the rabbis believed that neither was “evil” (unlike the proverbial Christian good angel and devil on one’s shoulders), but that the yetzer ra was a force that propelled humans to creativity and sexual union, but it needed to be bent toward the yetzer tov in order to avoid its destructive tendency and be sublimated into socially acceptable expressions and activities that benefited society. One can easily see the parallels between that and Freud’s Eros/Thanatos theory. Perhaps “parallel,” is too benign. Maybe Freud was more plagiarizing from his own tradition. In line with this theory of complementarity, May has said, “The daimonic (unlike the demonic, which is merely destructive), is as much concerned with creativity as with negative reactions.” (Diamond, Stephen A., Anger, Madness, and the Daimonic: The Psychological Genesis of Anger, Madness, and the Daimonic, from the Forward by Rollo May, p. xxi)
In the nymphomaniac, the daimonic drive has been described as a propensity toward indiscriminate, compulsive, and often risky sexual behavior. To the extent that this is dangerous, harmful, and results in negative net results, it is “pathological.”
But that’s not the whole story.
As was mentioned above, the daimonic is also the engine driving creativity and the nymphomaniac can use her prurient powers for good, positive, “healthy” outcomes. As Mihaly Csikszentmihalyi, the pioneer psychologist in the study of “flow” or “optimal experience,” has said, “One manifestation of energy is sexuality. Creative people are paradoxical in this respect also. They seem to have quite a strong dose of eros, or generalized libidinal energy, which some express directly into sexuality.” (Csikszentmihalyi, Mihaly, “The Creative Personality,” Psychology Today, 1996, p. 38) I believe that the reverse of this is true as well: One manifestation of sexuality is creative energy. Perhaps that is because, as Csikszentmihalyi also says, “a certain spartan celibacy is also a part of [the creative person’s] makeup; continence tends to accompany superior achievement. Without eros, it would be difficult to take life on with vigor; without restraint, the energy could easily dissipate.” (Ibid.) Of course, the nymphomaniac is characterized by her lack of “continence,” but that does not mean that her prodigal participation in pleasure isn’t also a creative, artistic, and perhaps even a performative act. Seeing sex and art as two separate realms is the fundamental error in this analysis. Sex can be every bit a creative endeavor, full of “flow” and genius as a Picasso or Pollock painting. The only difference being that the “results” are fleeting, ephemeral, perhaps even “dissipated.”
In my particular case, I would say that writing about Lola Down, my own personal high priestess of porn and beloved nymphomaniac, is also a result of the daimonic and the writing often flows of its own accord in peak moments, like autographia. According to Csikszentmihalyi, flow is the experience of intense concentration during creative endeavors. For me, that describes the act of writing. For Lo, that describes the act of fucking. For me, the restraint and “continence” is crucial to produce just the right amount of effulgent energy. But for Lo, her creative power may be more akin to “the woman who identifies with the archetypal role of Muse or femme inspiratrice, providing sexual love to artists.” (Diamond, Stephen A., “What Motivates Sexual Promiscuity?” Psychology Today, 2011)
This is not to say that Lo doesn’t have her own creative endeavors, her own talents, interests, and areas of outstanding achievement. Far from it! But she does love being celebrated as muse, not only by me, but by all the artists who have been inspired to draw or paint her, as well as those who have written lovely verse and prose to her and about her. In addition, she frequently hears from women and men and couples who credit her as an inspiration in the bedroom. Frequently these accolades are accompanied by “tribute” photos of the men, women, and couples cumming to her inspiring images.
As much as all this worship is proudly welcomed by Lo, it is also of concern how many people – mostly men, but some women – write in to lament that, for them, the nymphomaniac is akin to some sort of mythical figure, a unicorn, a phoenix, or the Holy Grail. These awestruck admirers cannot believe that one actually exists, in the flesh, as it were. They had heard rumor of such creatures, but had never met one or received confirmation of their reality. Lo, like the Holy Grail, is for them a receptacle into which they can pour forth all of their hopes and dreams (and bodily exuberances) and also a cup that runneth over, spilling forth for all who thirst for her baptismal water.
Is this perceived paucity of nymphos due to the stigma attached to the term, repression of sexuality, or a failure to recognize and reclaim the term in a positive light? I don’t have the answer to these questions, but one thing was clear early on in my relationship with Lo – I was unable to find anyone writing about their nymphomaniacal girlfriend and the great challenges such relationships entail. So I began writing about it in a public forum in order to inform others and also to find out if others could inform me. It’s been a fun and enlightening journey and I thank all of you for your words of wisdom, encouragement, and envy. But most of all, I thank Lo for opening me up to all new vistas of life’s possibilities.
When we published our first book together, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl, it was quite literally a novel experience. We had never done anything like that before and we both delighted in the editorial process – rereading the stories, selectively choosing sexy photos to accompany the tales, deciding on the font size and type. The entire experience was a sensual exploration on so many levels.
After Marxism, “materialism” became a bad word. But now that the world has gone digital, I find that I indulge in the material universe: Books made of paper with pages that you can turn with your thumb and index finger; Magazines that are glossy and clearly have had thought put into the layout design; Oil paintings and marble statues. All these mediums of reproduction that are tangible delight me, perhaps because, in the age of the internet, they are becoming endangered. There is the possibility of pixels putting print out of business.
Lola Down in digital and print media
However, during that maiden voyage into publishing, there was something we did not consider nor realize until the long and arduous work was over: price. After compiling twenty-nine chapters and an introduction, organizing the 221 pages and including numerous full-color, glossy photos, when we finally hit the “publish” button, the entire project weighed in at a whopping $74.95! That was far more expensive than we ever contemplated.
Oh well, there was no going back now. We figured we’d put it out there and maybe it wouldn’t sell like other pulp, but it would become a collector’s item.
Someone Enjoys the Glossy Photos of Lola Down
Luckily for our readers, but completely defeating my materialistic motivation, the entire book could be digitalized and easily downloaded as an e-book at the very affordable price of $1.99. To date, this has been our top seller, with thousands of copies being read on devices around the world. Unfortunately, at the time the technology was not available to include all the spicy photography that accompanied the hard-copy text. But at least our dedicated fans were able to get this collection of stories all in one place.
Enjoying the digital image of Lola Down while on a date with his gf.
But now, we are very pleased to announce that a different form of material immersion is possible for Match, Cinder & Spark. Thanks to the magic of technology and the talent, dedication, endurance, and sonorous sexiness of Ms. Jupiter Grant, the entire first volume is soon to be released as an audiobook. That’s right, all 6.1 hours of steamy stories will be yours to hear. Though the immersion into the senses that is provided by the hard-copy is, in my humble opinion, a wonderful medium through which to experience Lola in all her glory, I have to say, after listening and re-listening to Jupiter Grant’s marvelous performance of the spoken word, I feel as I have suddenly discovered new and relatively unexplored dimensions of sound and sex.
I hope you will give it a listen. (Stay tuned for the release!)
The Sexy Jupiter Grant!
Here’s what people are saying about the e-book:
Reviews of Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I: Nymphomania and the Single Girl
About the book: The story of Lola Down, your average nymphomaniac next door. This roman-a-clef tells the story of how she and the author, H.H., survive the trials and tribulations of life with her libido.
Rodin: Lola looks at this absorbing topic with such sexy passion. A great read. 5 stars!
Kathy K: HOT! HOT! HOT!
Calling all Nymphomaniacs
All wannabe Nymphomaniacs
All fantasy Nymphomaniacs
Any type of Nymphomaniacs.
This is THE book for you.
An extremely explicit detailed account of Lo’s sexcapades told in blog post form from her beginning preteen sexual awakening through the years to her current Nympho state.
Erotically told by the author, her lover, her Daddy.
Sexual experiences you couldn’t even imagine told, in truthful, frank detail.
A must read!
And the perhaps biased review from Ms. Jupiter Grant herself:
Intelligent and thoughtful erotica.
I have had the recent pleasure of reading Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume I for the upcoming audiobook version, and I can honestly say that it has been a very sexy, delightful read. H.H. tells us about his beautiful muse, Lola, and her insatiable desire for sex and pleasure. As well as recounting plenty of hot scenes, the book discusses nymphomania, stigma, non-monogamy, sexual exploitation, and numerous other issues.
If you want your brain to be enticed as well as your body, grab a copy of Match, Cinder & Spark.
This blog is about love, sex, relationships, psychology, and sex. Yeah, I said sex twice because, if the name of the blog is “mysexlifewithlola.com,” then an expectation is created that there will be a lot of sex. So, there you have it.
This blog is decidedly not about politics. In fact, many of you dear readers may have noticed that through all the topsy-turvy turbulent times in which we are living, this blog has delicately navigated a course far from politics. There is a good reason for that. If you are reading this, it’s because it is a fun escape from whatever else is going on in your life. No need to bring all that baggage here as well.
But right now sex and politics have mingled in a way that make it appropriate for us to discuss.
You may have heard about Congresswoman Katie Hill recently. If not, allow me to summarize her story. She was, until last week, a Democratic representative from California. She’s only 32 and she got elected after being the executive director of the non-profit People Assisting the Homeless (PATH). Apparently, she also has a “kinky” side. She came out as bisexual after high school and it is alleged that she and her now estranged husband were involved with another woman in a consensual relationship.
These facts became a problem for Hill when allegations swirled that she had an inappropriate relationship with a male staffer – a violation of House ethics rules that were put in place to prevent exploitation of power differentials in the wake of #MeToo.
But the thing that sunk Hill’s ship was the release of nude photos of her, allegedly by her estranged husband in an act of revenge porn.
It seems to me that in this day and age we need to begin taking seriously the fact that people can be more than one thing. Katie Hill can be a successful, sincere, hard-working, do-gooder striving to help the homeless, represent her constituency, and bring equity and justice into the lives of many. And she can be married to a man, have relationships with women, and not be limited by traditional notions of monogamy. And she can be into taking nudie pics of herself and her lovers. All of this can be true of the same person. “Kink” does not mean bad or selfish or untrustworthy. “Public Figure” does not necessarily mean missionary position for the rest of your life with the same partner of the opposite sex. Aren’t we beyond that yet?
Further, though once upon a time it was the height of scandal for a woman to be exposed – think Phryne being exposed by her lawyer in ancient Athens, Lady Godiva, A Night in Paris, or The Great Celebrity Photo Leak of 2014 – today it seems as if everyone and their mother is eager to have their racy photos on the internet and trending! So what is the big deal? Andy Warhol spoke of everyone having 15 minutes of fame in the future. I think now that everyone will soon have their top 15 nude photos on the internet.
As optimistic as that may be, we also need to be realistic. There are still many backward-thinking, bigoted, misogynist, mean-spirited, spiteful, and opportunistic people out there who are not above using a woman’s nude images against her.
Lo and I were pondering all of this when, just the other night, one of her female friends from the NFWITSFW part of the internet (that stands for “no fucking way is this safe for work”) told her that she wants to be “exposed.”
“What do you mean, ‘exposed’?” asked Lo.
“You know, like, I want the pics of me nude and pregnant to be the first image result when someone searches for that.”
Lo said that if I wrote a story about her friend and posted it, she probably would be. Though Lo is a “sinfluencer,” I think she overestimates our power of “product placement.”
Our friend, Karla, or KB HotWife, as she likes to be known, said, “Use my real name.”
“What?!” asked Lo.
“Yeah,” said Karla.
“You’re sure to get all the attention you crave if we do that, but be careful what you wish for,” cautioned Lo.
Luckily for Karla, I’m not a speed writer. The next day she told Lo she changed her mind.
Both Lo and I were relieved. It’s one thing if she wants to use her own name, but we didn’t want to be the ones to expose her. Who knows, she might want to run for public office some day!
[Below, enjoy some photos Karla has sent us for you to enjoy.]
“Come,”
I heard her yell from the bedroom down the hall as I walked into the house
after a long Friday at work. She might
have been saying “Cum!” to a lover.
There’s never any way to tell from the sound of her voice – only on the
page.
I
cautiously walked down the long hall to the bedroom. What would I find?
The
door was open a crack. I peeked in. She was naked, on her tum, her round rump
nicely illuminated by the setting sun.
Her legs were bent at the knees and her bare feet dangled up in the air,
twined around each other. In her hand
she held her phone.
“Come
in, Daddio,” she said without turning her eyes from the screen in front of
her.
I
walked in and removed my jacket and tie.
“What
you up to?” I inquired.
“I
bet you’d like to know.”
“That
is why I asked,” I said flatly as I removed my shirt and undid my belt.
“Get
naked, get hard, and get in me,” she commanded.
“I’m
already hard,” I said.
“As
you should be,” she replied, moving her hand to her mouth, licking her fingers
and then moving her hand to her ass and circling her wet fingers around her
special spot.
“Oh,”
I commented, “You want it like that?”
“No,
Daddio,” she said, “I’m just enjoying myself.”
Always
coy when it comes to her ass. Always for
someone else, or for her own pleasure, but never for me.
I
got behind her and tried to look at her phone by leaning forward over her back
and seeing over her shoulder.
“Get
up there and fuck me,” she instructed, her finger still rounding her sweet spot
as I slid into her puss. “I’ll tell you
what I’m looking at.”
I
did as she said and she told me that a fellow blogger, a woman named TJ, wrote
to us saying, “I love reading your blog.
It gets me so wet.”
“Really?! Do I know this TJ?” I asked as I thrusted
harder.
I
slowed down a bit trying to remember which erotic blog that was.
“Don’t
stop!” Lo said as her hand grabbed the girth of my cock and she pushed her ass
back into my hips, bouncing off of my bare bodkin.
I
resumed my powerful, pleasurable, pelvic pounding.
“Look,”
she said, putting her phone up on her back for me to read the email. It said:
I love how
accepting you are of Lola’s magnificent sexuality. You guys seem to have ‘it’
don’t you? I wish I could masturbate as openly as you do, Lola. I feel
self-conscious, like an addict or something. But I fucking love fucking myself.
. . it’s the best. I am more autosexual than anything else I think. Keep
celebrating each other.
Fan mail like that makes it all
worth it. Well, that’s not completely
true. I know that I would be writing all
this whether no one read it, or only one person read it – Lola. But knowing that others read it, enjoy it,
and get off to it is the icing on the cake.
Speaking
of icing, as I read the email, Lo began to climax as one hand worked her ass
and the other, from underneath, worked her clit. Her Kegel muscles contracted and I was
squeezed out of her as she curled into a convulsing, throbbing ball, squirting
uncontrollably. The more she pushed her
knees up to her breasts in a tightly bound fetal position, the more she sprayed
the bed and my knees. I lifted up her
phone to prevent it from being ruined by the liquid.
“Fuuuu-uuuuck,”
she groaned as the last bit of lady juice spurted out of her.
When
she regained control of her limbs, she slowly got up and pulled the soaked
sheets with her, dropping them in the laundry basket. “I’ll clean up, Daddy, but right now I have
to get ready.”
“Ready
for what?” I asked, holding my throbbing, hard rod in my hand.
“My
date.”
“Date?”
“With
Robert. I told you, didn’t I?”
I
just looked dumbfounded.
“We’re
going to the movies.”
“Really?”
“Yes.”
“And
what are you seeing?”
“The Favourite.”
“Is
he your favorite now?” I asked, demoralized.
“No,
Daddio, she said, caressing me and looking up at me with those beautiful big
brown eyes. “That’s the name of the
movie. It’s a period piece.”
“Really? Not a porno?”
“Well,
I hear it has a lot of woman-on-woman sex scenes.”
“I
knew it!”
“But
that’s not why we’re going to see it.”
“You’re
going to see it to have sex in a crowded theater.”
“Oh,
Daddy, you always impute to me the most debased of motives.”
“So
why are you going to see it?”
“It’s
historical. It has great sets, acting,
and costumes.”
“And?”
“And
probably to fuck in a dark theater.”
“Don’t
get caught.”
“But
getting caught is at least half the fun.
Does that make you jealous?” she asked, as her hand stroked my hard
cock.
“So
you’re leaving me home alone on a Friday night?”
“Not
totally alone,” she said, “You have TJ.”
“Who?”
“TJ,
the woman from the blog.”
“Oh,
right,” I said to my consolation prize.
Lola
made the bed and I watched her tits droop as she bent over to tuck in the
sheets. Her naked body moved like a
delightful dance as she unfurled the blanket.
“Look,”
she said, as she hopped back in the bed and took up her phone. I sat next to her. Her left hand stroked my hard erection up and
down as she scrolled through TJ’s blog with her right hand.
We
read and looked at the photos together.
“She
sounds like she could be your twin sister,” I said as I read about how TJ
becomes aroused by her own naked body.
“Hold
this,” she said, giving me the phone.
Now,
with her right hand she was stroking her pussy and I scrolled through the
blog.
“Oh
boy,” I said, “You want her.”
Lo
bit her lower lip.
“Lo,”
I cautioned, “You just made the bed. You
don’t want to. . .”
Before
I could finish my sentence, she had jumped off the bed and ran to the bathroom,
barely making it to the toilet before releasing her ejaculate all over the tile
floor with a scream.
When
she had regained her composure, she got some paper towels and got on her hands
and knees to clean up the mess.
“What
time is your movie?”
“Eight,”
she called back. “But we’re meeting for
drinks first.”
“Well,
you’re going to be late,” I told her.
She
jumped in the shower and I continued to look at the blog, hard up.
“Hey,”
she called to me, “you’re not allowed to cum.
You know that, right?”
“I
still don’t understand how that is fair,” I said, taunting her.
I
got up and looked at her in the shower.
“Get!”
she screamed. She hates when I see her
in her shower cap.
“How
is it fair that you get to cum twice and then go on a date with another man and
I’m not allowed any autoerotica myself?”
“First,”
she said from behind the shower curtain, “it’s not autoerotic if you use
someone else’s pictures. Second, you
didn’t count the three times I came before you got home.”
“Lo,
now you’re just. . .”
“And
third,” she cut me off, “this has nothing to do with fairness. It has everything to do with me.
What I want. What I allow
you. Got that? Don’t forget it.”
Lo
jumped out of the shower and hastily dried off before slipping into a blue
dress and blue heels. No panties.
“You’re
going to be cold like that,” I cautioned.
“I’m
planning on things heating up quickly,” she said.
Soon
enough she was out the door, leaving me alone.
I
scrolled through TJ’s blog, which I recalled I had seen before, and I thought
to myself, “She said no cumming, but she didn’t say no edging.”
I
spent about an hour going through each and every post before I thought to
myself, “If I don’t stop this right now, I’m going to explode!”
In
order to take the edge off, I switched to photos of Lo, which are always fair
game, and I pulled out the old Stoya Fleshlight. Lubing up Stoya and myself, I imagined what
Lo was up to with Robert. I didn’t even
need to see Lo’s photos. Soon enough I was
cumming and cumming hard and deep in Stoya’s pussy, just thinking about Lo in a
dark theater, legs spread, and Robert discretely moving his hand up her smooth
thigh until reaching that wet pussy, pulsating with anticipation. Gently he would rub and flick her pussy lips,
clandestinely making her cum. I pictured
her hands gripping the seat and her upper teeth biting down on her bottom lip
to prevent the scream from escaping her mouth.
That was enough to bring me over the edge and release me into a deep
sleep.
Friday and finally all my meetings were over. I flew home that night. I hadn’t heard from Lo since the previous night when she enigmatically told me that she had dinner with Robert. I was eager to see her. I was hard-up and aching for release. On top of that, there was the tantalizing mystery of what happened on her “date” with Robert. Just to make matters worse, fate so ordained it that on my flight home I was seated next to a young, attractive college girl wearing a tight fitting miniskirt and a low cut blouse. Her breasts were full and, when placing her carryon in the storage compartment above, she stretched and revealed a delectable midriff and even some under-boob. When we sat down, she saw that I was reading Fast Girl, the book by Suzy Favor Hamilton about her life as a high-end Vegas escort and her sex addiction.
“What
is that?” she asked, naively, but with a hint of being in-the-know.
“It’s
a memoir,” I said tersely. Her interest
made me nervous. Her looks made me more
nervous. Her age made me simply
petrified – in every sense of the term.
“I
think I’ve heard of it. It’s about. . .”
her brow wrinkled with the struggle of recall.
“A
woman who leads a double-life as a devoted wife and mom and as a prostitute.”
“Oh,”
she said, shocked at my candor. She
quickly followed it up with a smile and, “Do you like it?”
There
was a mischievousness to her question that indicated to me that she wanted to
know what turns me on.
“It’s
my homework,” I said, as if that negated any pleasure I may derive from it.
“Homework?”
she asked. “What class are you in?” She wanted to enroll.
“My
girlfriend assigned it to me. She said
it would help me understand her better. The last assignment was Getting Off, about a woman addicted to
self-pleasure through humiliation porn.”
“Girlfriend?”
she asked. “Aren’t you married?” she
inquired while indicating my wedding band.
Clearly she was interested in more than my reading material.
“Oh
that,” I said, “I wear it to keep the ladies away.” My standard line.
“Yeah
right,” she said. “Every guy knows that
nothing attracts single women like a man who’s spoken for.”
“You
got me there,” I said. She was
attracted. This would be a l-o-n-g
flight.
“I
wish,” she said under her breath. “So,
your girlfriend – or whatever – is addicted to porn?”
“I
don’t know that she’s addicted to porn.
She likes porn. But she
definitely is addicted to pleasure.”
“I
know the feeling,” she said.
“Is
that so?”
“Would
you like to know the feeling?”
“Look,”
I said, “what’s your name?”
“Kayla,”
she said. Of course her name was Kayla.
“Look
Kayla, I’m already involved with a nymphomaniac. It takes every ounce of my energy, focus,
concentration, devotion, love, and chi to satisfy her. . . and still I come up
short. I appreciate your interest. I really do, but I’m on my way back home to
see her, and, well, to be honest, the beautiful batting of your eyelashes is
very well and good, but I’ve got a perfect slut waiting for me at home.”
If
this attractive, flirty, young woman had been sitting next to me on the departure
flight, when I was more mad at Lo than missing her, things may have been
different. Even then, the fact is, no
matter how angry I am with her, I still love Lo. And I know, no matter how attractive other
women may be, the witty repartee that Lo and I have is inimitable.
I tried to make my
position clear. She accepted the
boundaries I had set. But she switched
gears and now asked me all about Lo. I
gladly told her. It was probably my best
in-flight conversation. By the time we
landed, despite our fight or because of it, I wanted Lo more than ever. (I gave Kayla the blog address, just so she could
see for herself how it’s done.)
I
got home and as soon as I walked in the door I knew I was in for trouble. Lo wasn’t talking to me except monosyllabic
words. “Hi.”
“How
are you?” I asked.
“Fine.”
You
get the gist. But she was dressed in a
pink sleeveless t-shirt and her black lace panties. That’s it.
She pranced around with her hard nipples poking through the front of her
shirt, her side-boobs bouncing and peeking out from the open underarms. She.
Looked. Good.
I
was hard.
I
wanted her.
I
needed her.
I
had no idea how to approach her.
So
I took the direct approach: “You wanna fuck?”
“Your
seduction technique is so subtle, yet captivating,” she said.
I
knew I was making good progress because captivating is four syllables.
“Yeah,”
I said, nonchalantly.
“Then
why are you still wearing your clothes?”
I
stripped and she pulled down her panties.
Her
pussy was smooth, shaven, pink and beautiful.
“What’s
the occasion?” I asked.
“This?”
she asked, stroking her lovely mons pubis.
“Yeah,”
I said, “that.” For a moment I was under
the impression that she was anticipating my return and that she had shaved for
me. She disabused me of that notion
right away.
“I
told you,” she said, “I was seeing Robert last night.”
We
were in the bed now. I was looking down
at her lovely body. “You did that for
Robert?”
“Semper
fi,” she said.
“Semper fi?” I asked,
perplexed.
“Yeah,”
she said, “Always prepared; the motto of the marines.”
“Semper
fi means ‘always faithful.’”
“Oh,”
she said. “Whoops!”
“You
can say that again. So, were you
faithful?”
“Fuck
me and I’ll tell you.”
I
was arched over her and I enjoyed looking at her beautiful body as her hand
guided my protruding member up and down her wet labia. “Come on, Daddy,” she said, “fuck me. You know you need it. Take it.”
I
penetrated her. From the feel of things,
she needed me as much as I needed her.
Once
I had fully engorged her, I asked, “So, what happened last night?”
She
was too busy enjoying my rod. She came
within seconds.
I
waited for her to catch her breath.
“Tell me,” I commanded.
“I
met him at his house,” she said in her breathy voice.
“What
were you wearing?”
“A
short skirt. My leather boots. A tight top.”
“Go
on.”
“I
met him there. He kissed me hello.”
“On
the lips?”
“Yes.”
“Mighty
forward of him.”
“I
made sure it was on the lips.”
“Oh.”
“We
talked a little and then he drove us to the restaurant. I think he liked being seen in there with
me. It looked like a first or second
date, I’m sure.”
“What
did you talk about?”
“Him,
mostly. His needs. His wants.
His desires.”
“Oh,
so you talked about you.”
“You
could say that.”
She
came again. Nothing excites her as much
as she.
“And
then?”
“We
went back to his place. He invited me
in. He offered me a drink. We sat on the couch. Before I finished my first drink, we were
making out. His hands were under my top,
feeling my breasts, pulling my nipples.”
Too
much! I came.
As
I pulled out of her and rolled on my back, she said, “Well, I guess you’ll have
to wait to hear how the night ended.”
“Uh-uh,”
I said, “You’re going to finish this slut-saga tonight.
“Only
if you’ll fuck me again.”
“Start
talking. You know what your words do to
me.”
She
moved closer to me and her index finger twirled around my flaccid cock as she
spoke:
His fingers were running up and down
my clit over my panties. Within a couple
of strokes, my panties were soaked. He
could feel it.
‘Why
have you held out on me all this time?’ I asked Robert as he was feverishly
trying to slide my panties over my boots.
He got them off and he was trying to
remove my skirt, but it has a zipper in the back. I kissed him and slowly stood up, turned
around, and let him unzip it. The skirt
fell to the floor and he felt my bare ass with his hands and then he began
kissing it.
‘You’re beautiful,’ he said. ‘Even more beautiful than in your photos.’
‘Thank you,’ I said, turning around
to face him. He saw my silky smooth
pussy. He kissed it. I came.
I came hard just from the light touch of his lips on my soft
triangle. I had to grab his shoulders to
steady myself. I pulled his head in to
my tum and he kissed me as he slowly removed my shirt. He sucked on my tits as I stood totally naked
before him.
‘Here I am, bare as the day I was
born,’ I said, ‘and you have all your clothes on.’
I began unbuttoning his dress
shirt. I got him out of it and out of
his t-shirt. I then got him to stand as
I got on my knees and I undid his belt, his pants button, his fly, and slowly
pulled down his trousers. I could see
his enormously long cock in his boxers.
I wanted it. I pulled down his
boxers and there it was, just as I remembered it. It was beautiful, but it was as soft as you
are right now.
I
was soft, but getting harder. “He did
tell us that he has a performance problem,” I said.
“Yeah,
I know,” she said. “I sucked on it and
gave it my best blowjob, but damn it all, I couldn’t get it hard.”
“Really?!” That was a first.
“Yeah,”
she said.
“Please
demonstrate,” I asked. “Perhaps there is
a problem with your technique.”
That
really pissed her off. Never insult Lo’s
skills in the bedroom, or any other room.
She
put her mouth on my cock and said, “I have impeccable technique.” That she did.
She worked on my slack slinky and it slowly regained some rigidity.
As
she lifted her soft lips off my stuff, she said, “He didn’t respond to my
loving labia, so I got under him and opened wide, taking his huge balls in my
mouth. That he liked. It got an immediate reaction.”
“You
are fond of instantaneous reviews.”
“He
then guided me to the bedroom where. . .”
“No,
wait,” I interrupted, “let me get in you now.”
I was hard-up and wanted to hear the end of her story from a position
that would allow me to gage her level of excitement. I slid my arousal-meter inside her and she
continued.
“We got into bed
and, well, he was still having difficulty performing. I asked him, ‘Do you want to look at some
porn together?’”
“You wanted it
bad, didn’t you?” I asked.
“I’m always up for
porn,” she said, nonchalantly. “And he
was too. He pulled up the blog.”
“Our blog?!”
“Yes. What other blog?”
“OK.”
“And we scrolled
through some pics together. He settled
on one of you.”
“Me?”
“Yeah, you. And he got hard.”
“You’re kidding
me.”
“No I’m not. I asked him, ‘You like his cock?’ and he
said, ‘Yes.’”
“You wouldn’t put
me on like that, would you?”
“I swear,” she
said, sincerely. “I asked him more about
it and he told me that he thinks his problem might be that he’s gay. He said he likes being with women, but he gets turned on by looking at guys.”
“So what did you
do?”
“We looked at some
more porn together, mostly gay porn, cuck porn, and swinger porn. He eventually turned me over, doggy-style,
put his laptop on my back, and fucked me from behind.”
“He used you like
a coffee table?!”
“Well, if someone
invented a cross between a coffee table and a fuck doll, then, yes.”
“Good idea.”
“And then he asked
me if he could go in my ass.”
“The audacity of
that man!”
“And I said yes.”
“You little slut.”
“Yes, Daddy. Say it again.
You’re turning me on.”
“You skank. You trollop.”
“He went in my ass
and then he asked, very politely, if he could cum in me.”
“You anal
whore. I bet you wanted him to.”
“Well, I had cum
so many times by that point, it only seemed fair.”
After she said
that, I came, not in her ass, but deep in her, for the second time.
“I’m glad you were
able to be so charitable while I was away,” I said. I have to admit, I felt a twinge of jealously
and, for a moment, I regretted not taking advantage of my opportunity on the
plane.
“Why didn’t you
sleep over?” I asked her.
“It had been a
long time since I had anal sex,” she began to say.
“Don’t I know it,”
I added.
“And so I wanted
to go home to clean up. I’m sorry, but I
may have made a bit of a mess on your car seat.”
What
does it mean to be an “underground” author in the age of the internet?
Lately
I’ve been reading a lot of and about Charles Bukowski. Largely ignored for most of his life, he
submitted his rough, distinctly “low-brow” poetry to independent and small
press journals. Through these he gained an
“underground” following that slowly grew by word of mouth until other independent
and small press publishing houses printed his works in book form for that
“underground” fan base. Bukowski’s work
caught the eye of other writers and musicians, mostly in the L.A. and San
Francisco areas, until eventually he caught on nationally and even
internationally.
But
in today’s media world, what does it mean to be an “indie” author or to have an
“underground” following?
This indie author, whom you are now
reading, dear valued patron, has a substantial following, or, shall I say, a
much larger following than I ever imagined would sprout from my initial blog
posts about Lola. As I have explained in
various interviews elsewhere, this compulsion, which borders on graphomania,
came into being because, after a few months with Lo, I discovered that there
was almost no literature out there about being in a relationship with a
nymphomaniac. Since no one else was
writing about it, I figured I’d toss my hat in the ring and give a first-person
account of what it’s like – the proverbial trials and tribulations as well as
the orgasms and titillations.
Before
I knew it, I was suddenly gaining a following and garnering the praise and
accolades of other fellow sex-bloggers.
Women were sending me fan mail and nudes of themselves, much to the
consternation of Lo. Men and women were
writing to Lo and sending her all sorts of salacious selfies, much to her lurid
enthusiasm.
Our
subscriptions and unique visits to our blog went up and soon we were being
featured on sites like Bustle and Top Sex Blogger lists.
I
compiled various stories into books and those sold swiftly. And now, today, we have over 20,000 followers
on our various media outlets.
However
much those numbers might dwarf the reach and following of a Bukowski back in
the day, with the potential of today’s technology, that seems far less
impressive than it would have been when the only way to get your writing in
front of a reader was through the mimeograph machine.
Are
you, dear confessional confidant, part of an underground audience? Does it even make sense to speak of such in
today’s complex and multilevel media ecosystem?
Or is “underground” just a term that is used retrospectively to describe a core following of people that read a
certain author before he or she hit the mainstream? Is it something that can only be applied with
hindsight?
I
don’t know the answers to these questions and I suppose, on some level, it
doesn’t matter since I write about what I love and I love what I write about –
Lo. As long as the love is good, I feel
the writing will be good as well. And
though the letters and gifts from the readers are flattering and the money
(what little there is) earned from the writing is appreciated, what matters
most is that I really enjoy doing what I’m doing.