Interview with the Author and Muse

Posted on March 5, 2019 by Lola Down

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The following interview was just published on the very elite blog: AuthorsInterviews by the wonderful Fiona Mcvie!

Hello and welcome to my blog, Author Interviews. My name is Fiona Mcvie.

Let’s get you introduced to everyone, shall we? Tell us your name. What is your age?

LOLA: Hi, my name is Lola Down. I’m in my mid-twenties. My man, H.H., the author, is in his mid-fifties.

Fiona: Where are you from?

LOLA: We’re both from the U.S. The North East to be more specific. But that’s about as specific as we get.

Fiona: A little about your self (ie, your education, family life, etc.).

LOLA: We’re both well educated with graduate degrees. My family background is rather tattered and filled with pain. His is all American Apple Pie, so far as I can tell, but I’m sure that there’s lots beneath the surface. He doesn’t talk much about it, so it’s a bit of a mystery to me. We met when he was my art history professor. I was a freshman and 18. He was in his late forties.

Fiona: Tell us your latest news.

LOLA: Latest news is that soon we will be publishing the third book in our series of Match, Cinder & Spark. The first volume, subtitled “Nymphomania and the Single Girl,” included a lot of stories about me when I was single. The second volume, subtitled “MORE!” included more stories. The third volume, subtitled “Writing Under Cover,” included a story about living a double life: of normal folks by day, and sexplorers by night. The next volume is subtitled “Sexy Shorts” and will only be two-three page stories.

Get all of the books, hard-copy for best results.

Fiona: When and why did you begin writing?

H.H.: I began writing in high school. Short stories, mostly of a sci-fi genre. In college I tried a bit more, but it wasn’t very good. It wasn’t until I was in my late twenties, early thirties and going through some very tough times in my personal and professional life that I turned to writing as a form of escape, release, or therapy. That’s when it began to go much better.

Fiona: When did you first consider yourself a writer?

H.H.: I never really felt like a writer and certainly never introduced my self as such because it seemed so pretentious and false. But at a certain point I just had written so damn much that it was undeniable that that was what I was. A tiny fraction of it had been published, but it wasn’t until starting the blog, mysexlifewithlola.com, that I really felt like a writer. That’s when our readership just went up and up and people from all over the world began writing to us saying how much the writing (and Lola) inspired them. That felt great!

Fiona: What inspired you to write your first book?

H.H.: After a few years of regularly writing and publishing for the blog, the manuscript of stories was into the hundreds of thousands of words. Currently, as of today, the word count of only the published stories is 476,472. That doesn’t include the words in the hopper ready for publishing on the blog, or the notes that have incomplete stories and fragments. So, even though the stores didn’t have a narrative arc, and they were mostly a collection of stories with two main characters in each story, I thought, this is a good way to make access to the stories easier for people. The blog navigation can be as confusing as it is easy, if that makes sense. I didn’t spent time shopping the manuscript around since we already had a built-in fan base of over many thousands. Unfortunately, the first volume, Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl, was rather lengthy and, in the hard-copy, we included a lot of high-quality, glossy photos. That shot the price really high. I didn’t realize how expensive it would be until the project was finished. By that time, after all that work, I decided that I was just going to publish it as is, let the buyer pay for the book. It is a collector’s item, after all. And, with some more work, I could publish an e-book version and sell it for literally 1/70 the price. Unfortunately, at the time, the technology was not available for the photos to be included in the e-book, but that also meant that people all over the world could safely read it in public places, like the subway or on a plane or the airport, without fear that Lola’s pussy would suddenly pop up on the screen. And if they wanted to see Lola’s va-jay-jay, they could always just do a Google search of mysexlifewithlola.com.

Fiona: How did you come up with the title?

Lola: Match, Cinder & Spark – He’s the “cinder,” that is, the fire that has passed its prime. I’m the “spark”; the catalyst that sets things aflame. Together, we’re a match. I won’t say a perfect match, but one that is highly combustible. . . and hot!

Fiona: Do you have a specific writing style? Is there anything about your style or genre that you find particularly challenging?

H.H.: The writing usually comes very easy. It’s mostly quasi-autobiographical. Lo provides the inspiration and a lot of the raw material for the stories and then I just take artistic liberties to craft it into a story that has some form. But every once in a while I try to switch it up by trying out a new narrative style. I once wrote a story called “Fuck Noir” and I tried, not too successfully, to adopt a detective novel narrative voice. I was particularly fond of the last line, but that was all Lola’s doing.

Fiona: How much of the book is realistic and are experiences based on someone you know, or events in your own life?

H.H.: Like I said, almost all of the book is based upon something in our lives, either individually or together. We take pains to protect the innocent as well as the guilty, and I use poetic license to intersperse scenes out of sequence in order to tell a better story, but there’s very little there that didn’t actually happen.

Fiona: To craft your works, do you have to travel? Before or during the process?

H.H.: Travel provides great material. There has never been a trip that we have gone on, either separately or together, that hasn’t produced at least one fun story.

Fiona: Who designed the covers?

H.H.: I once wrote a story called “How My Girlfriend Became an Amateur Internet Porn Star” which is all about the design of the cover of our first book, Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl. I had chosen some stock photo for the cover and when Lo saw it, she freaked. “I go on the cover. No one else. Me.” Well, from then on, I knew that any promo for the book or the blog had to be of Lo. It meant a lot of photo taking by me (and some sexy selfies), but it’s truly a labor of love.

Fiona: Is there a message in your novel that you want readers to grasp?

H.H.: Love yourself. Love the one you’re with. Love each other. And if you’re single: Love yourself and love our blog and books.

Fiona: Are there any new authors that have grasped your interest? Who is your favorite writer, and what is it about their work that really strikes you?

H.H.: There are a lot of bloggers in our blogging community whose work I really love. Too many to name them all, but a small sample includes: Cara Thereon of CaraThereon.com, Hyacinth of adissolutelifemeans.com, Nilla of Vanilla Mom’s Blog, just to name a few.

Lola: Also, lately I’ve really enjoyed TJ of The Lustful Empress, Nero Black and his eponymous blog, and lots of writers on Medium.com, most especially MyErotica run by Rose, and the columns by Madelaine Hanson.

Madelaine Hanson

Fiona: Outside of family members, name one entity that supported your commitment to become a published author.

Lola: Actually, none of our family members know about this blog. But I’d say that Medium.com has done the most in that they pay their member authors for the content they create based upon some mysterious formula. I’m sure that they somehow make far more than the authors, but it’s more than other platforms provide.

Fiona: Do you see writing as a career?

H.H.: Outside of the erotica that I write, I have a whole host of other works under my real name. One day, maybe after I’m dead, the truth will out and then it will become the unenviable task of others to reconcile the “legit” writing with the “scurrilous” works. That is, of course, if anyone cares.

Fiona: If you had to do it all over again, would you change anything in your latest book?

H.H.: Well the latest book is just on the cusp of being published and so I’m trying to insure that it will be the best yet.

Fiona: Did you learn anything during the writing of your recent book?

H.H.: I learned how much I love Lola, not because she’s so incredibly sexy, so dirty in her thoughts, but because she is so incredibly funny. Writing dialogue with her is so easy because our day-to-day lives together are full of amusing banter. We like to think of ourselves as like Nick and Nora Charles from The Thin Man movies.

Fiona: If your book was made into a film, who would you like to play the lead?

H.H.: Jeremy Irons. I think he is wonderful in the remake 1997 of Lolita. But he’s probably a bit old for the part now (though he’s in great shape). Maybe Jeff Goldblum.

Lola: Amanda (Donaghey) George. She looks just like me. Or maybe Sasha Grey, because she looks a bit like me and is willing to do anything.

Amanda George

Sasha Grey

Fiona: Any advice for other writers?

H.H.: Never take advice from a fellow writer. They’re all full of shit.

Fiona: Anything specific you want to tell your readers?

H.H. & Lola: Thank you!!!

Fiona: What book are you reading now?

H.H.: John Gardner’s On Moral Fiction.

Lola: Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts.

Lo in her “Sexy Shorts”

Fiona: Do you remember the first book you read?

H.H.: Erica Jong’s Fear of Flying. I stole it from the library and read all the sexy parts under the covers with a flashlight.

Fiona: What makes you laugh/cry?

H.H.: Lola.

Lola: H.H.

Fiona: Is there one person, past or present, you would love to meet? Why?

H.H.: The Marquis de Sade. He was absolutely versatile as a writer and a genius.

Lola: Brad Pitt because he has a huge cock and a great bod.

Fiona: Do you have any hobbies?

H.H.: Boating.

Lola: Beach Volleyball.

Fiona: What TV shows/films do you enjoy watching?

H.H.: We both love “Broad City.”

Lola: Magic Mike.

Fiona: Favorite foods, colors, music?

H.H.: Lola has really expanded my pallet.

Lola: I eat anything that casts a shadow. Favorite color: right now, turquoise. Favorite music: local folk music.

Fiona: Imagine a future where you no longer write. What would you do?

H.H.: I think Hemingway got it right.

Fiona: You only have 24 hours to live how would you spend that time?

H.H.: With Lola.

Lola: With H.H. and a room full of naked, sexy men and women fucking.

Fiona: What do you want written on your head stone?

H.H.: “Laugh”

Lola: “Look on my body of work, you beauties, and despair.”

Fiona: Do you have a blog or website readers can visit for updates, events and special offers?

H.H. & Lola: mysexlifewithlola.com

Writing Nude

Posted on September 25, 2018 by Lola Down

4

I write erotica. No. Scratch that. What I really write is love poems to Lola. Really, really, really long love poems. So long that, to the untrained eye, they read like prose.

Niel Gaiman once said, “If you’re only going to write when you’re inspired, you may be a fairly decent poet, but you will never be a novelist — because you’re going to have to make your word count today, and those words aren’t going to wait for you, whether you’re inspired or not. So you have to write when you’re not inspired.” I don’t have a problem with this advice in general, but part of the problem is that when I’m not inspired, a certain detached, disinterested, distant feeling comes over me with regard to my writing. I hesitate to say “objective,” because that implies a truth to the judgment and, for the life of me, I pray that that cold view of my writing is not true.

I struggle to capture exactly the feeling I get at these moments of disenchantment, but there are a few readily available examples of how I feel about my work that I can offer. If you’ve ever seen The Big Lebowski, then you may recall the “modern interpretive dance” scene where The Dude watches his landlord, Marty, perform. It is painful and comic to watch. But it means so much to Marty. That’s certainly part of it – if Marty was an author and not a dancer.

Another analogy is thinking thoughts when very stoned as compared to reading those thoughts when sober; some crucial élan vital is missing. A third analogy is that of being naked. One can be nude with one’s lover and that can be magnificent, or one can get caught naked in public, as often happens in humiliation dreams. The difference between nude and naked is as great as the difference between consent and coercion.

Being nude is easy. Writing is not.

But then there are also times like now. Last night Lola and I went out to a party with some friends. She wore her jack-pot top that prominently displays her cleavage and she wore her tight jeans with heels. She looked good and I wasn’t the only one to notice. Most of the evening her eyes sparkled and her teeth twinkled as she chatted and laughed, throwing back her long hair and touching the arms of those she liked. She flirts. And I love seeing it. I watched her from afar and occasionally I sidled up next to her sliding my right hand over her round butt. I wanted her all evening and the longer we stayed the more I wanted her. But I’m not as young as I used to be. The witching hour approached and my energy for performance and social settings dwindled. I felt fatigued on the ride home. Lo and I were traveling in the back of a cab and she was clearly not ready for the night to end. She kissed me and reached down between my legs. She reached between her legs and she enjoyed the thrill of being just out of sight from the driver as she made small-talk with him.

We got home and I got in bed, loving her, but needing sleep. She joined me, naked, and feeling dejected by my drowsiness, pulled out her Hitachi, phone, dildo, and began her nightly bedtime ritual of self-pleasure.

In the morning I awoke before she. She was curled in the fetal position facing away from me. I was wrapped around her, holding her tightly for it was a chilly morning and we needed each other for warmth. My hand roamed over her soft skin from her shoulder down to her breast, feeling the flesh of her tum and over her round hips. I wanted her. My rod was stiff between my legs, protruding into her. She was down for the count.

Desirous of her, but respectful of her sleep, I snuck out of bed, washed up, made my coffee, and set up my little writing nest on the couch and began to compose this lustful literary tribute to her, my muse. I know that when she wakes she will be full of passion for me as I will be for her. And when I read these words to her, she will find them flattering, beautiful, and inspired. That will make up for all the disenchanted moments when I look upon this massive encomium to Lola as if written by someone else. My love, my longing, my lusty imaginings and my self-critical eye will all be aligned. All shall be well, at least until the next wave of despair, alienation, and disenchantment plumes within me. But, until then, I’ll take what I can get – of Lo and of writing.

Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III – Writing Under Cover is Available NOW!

Posted on August 25, 2018 by Lola Down

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The latest book of the stories from mysexlifewithlola.com is now on sale. Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume III – Writing Under Cover is only $9.99 for the soft-cover. This book contains 35 chapters of the sexiest, naughtiest, funniest smut since, well, since Volume II was published.

It also is replete with original erotic artwork of Lola (and H.H.) by five renowned artists. Because this volume is itself a work of art and a collectors item, unlike past versions of Match, Cinder & Spark, this one will NOT be coming out in an e-book edition.

The cover art is by Jo Koss.

We hope you’ll buy this lovely little volume, the sales of which help to support the continuation of this blog.

Below you’ll find the chapters that can only be read in Writing Under Cover and will no longer be available on this blog.

Stay sexy everyone!

xoxoxoxo,

Lola & HH

Per-verse –

XXX-Mas Stocking Stuffer

An Intimate Encounter. . . With a Dirty Girl

Transformation

Lo’s Many Loves

The Insomniac & the Nymphomaniac

Beauty & the Beasts

Superheroes, Fairies, & Pixie-lust

Love That Body Image

Father Confessor

Nocturnal Commissions, Sins of Omission, and the Missionary Position

Private Tutor

Chicks & Dicks

Loose Lips Sink Ships

Rubbing Off

On the Edge of Glory

Portrait of H.H. as a Young Man

Sexhibitionism

Wet, Wild, and Wet

A Very Public Paddling

Good Dirty Fun in the Shower

Cumuppance

Cumming Together/Cumming Apart

Sausage, Strawberries, and Sex

Caught in a Cliché

Hardball

Obsession & Infatuation

The Kinks

Role Reversal – The Shock of Recognition

What is wet, a wild ride, and is never afraid of getting dirty?

Creative Juices

What if I told you?

A Hard Man is Good to Find

Every Morning

Lo Likes It Ruff

Slap Shot

Posted on July 25, 2018 by Lola Down

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“Tell me about the hockey team,” I say.

“What hockey team?” she asks.

“Don’t be coy Roy,” I say.

“Oooohhhh, you mean the hockey team that I met on my trip.”

“Yeah, that hockey team. Why? Is there another I should know about?”

“There are a lot of hockey teams in the world.”

“And you’re just the gal for each of them, aren’t you?”

“If you say so,” she says, batting her eyelids.

“Just tell me about the hockey team you began telling me about the other night.”

She had begun telling me about it the night she returned from her business trip, but I was so primed and ready for our reunification that I didn’t last long enough to hear any more than the teasing preview. Now a few weeks had gone by of my living in ecstatic mystery wondering about her little hints and jibes and I felt ready to hear the full-length tale.

“First,” she says, “get naked and lie on your back.”

I follow instructions.

She pulls out the massage oil and drips it over my cock. She begins to rub as the starts up where she left off.

“I told you, I was on my way back up to my hotel room when I got in the elevator with a bunch of guys who had arrived in town for a hockey tournament. I think they positively could smell how horny I was. They began to make small talk with me and I flirted back. They told me that they had the entire ninth floor of the hotel. I told them I was on the eleventh floor and I asked if they were up for coming up.”

“Let me guess, they were all very hard-up.”

“Oh yeah,” she says, caressing my member with both hands. “Just like you. . . only bigger.”

“And?”

“Well, they invited me to their floor first and so I got off.”

“Off the elevator?”

“Well, I got off on my floor, went to my room, got myself off, freshened up, and then went to their floor. All the doors were open on their floor and everyone was coming and going like in a dorm room. I flitted here and there and some of them were changing or walking around with their shirts off and a few had just gotten out of the shower and had nothing on but a towel around the waist. They were all gorgeous.”

“I bet. I bet you didn’t even see their faces.”

“Oh, no. I saw their faces and their arms, their chests, their lovely sculpted legs. I saw just about everything.”

“But you wanted more.”

“More is my favorite amount. So I invited five of them down to my room.”

“You did what?”

“You heard me. A select five.”

“Oh, I’m glad to hear that. How did you select them?”

“I had the whole team stand at attention in a row naked and I selected the five longest cocks.”

“You did not!”

“No, but a lady can dream, can’t she?”

“Anyhow, I selected the five nicest guys and we went down to my room and I told them a bit more about me before slipping off my panties. I had my little black cocktail dress on and I bent over the side of the bed and let them take a look under it.”

“Really?”

“Yeah. And I encouraged them to pull out their cocks and jack off behind me, which they did willingly.”

“I bet.”

“And then I said, ‘Go on, slap it.’ And one of them gave me a good, solid whack.”

“They were so kind and considerate.”

“I thought so too! My fingers were down between my legs, caressing and pulling my long pussy lips. They could see as they took turns slapping my ass. First they were timid, but then they grew more confidant as I moaned and said ‘Yes.’ Then I asked who wanted to be first in. One of the guys immediately got behind me and began thrusting as hard and fast as he could. It was rough and manic like a jackhammer horizontally placed in my cunt.”

“And you loved it, I bet.”

“You wouldn’t be wrong. But he came so quickly, deep inside me. I crawled up on the bed and let the next guy in. He was slower, more loving.”

“Loving?”

“Well, more gentle. I turned over my shoulder and said, ‘You can do better than that,’ and his friends encouraged him. They each had their puds in their hands, except for the guy who had just cum in me. But guy number two couldn’t finish. I guess it was a lot of pressure. He pulled out and a lot of cum from the first guy dripped out of me. One of them snapped a photo of me from behind just before the third guy went in me. After that, I sort of lost track of who was where because then one of them got under me and entered me so that they were double penetrating my pussy just like I always wanted. And later one was fingering my ass and then he let himself in there, cumming deep inside while a different guy was under me in my puss. I have no idea who came where or how many times I came. One of them even got in front of me and came in my mouth and on my face. In the end, let’s just say that everyone had scored at least once.”

“Who says that hockey is a zero-sum game?”

“Right? Win-win!”

“Any chance I can get a shot on goal?”

“It’s wide open,” she says as she gets on top of me and slides her puss down my pole.

“How’s it feel,” she asks.

“Smoother than ice, and a whole hell of a lot warmer.”

Money, Booze, Sex, & Lola

Posted on December 16, 2017 by Lola Down

2

“Did you see this?” she said, holding a piece of mail in her hand and waiving it in the air. I could tell by her tone and the scowl on her face, we hadn’t won the Publishers Clearing House prize.

“What?”

“You bounced our rent check! That’s what.”

“I bounced it?!”

“Yeah, you.”

“Well, it’s our checking account.”

“Yeah, well you’re the one responsible for balancing the books.”

“Oh, so because I do more than my fair share of work, I am also responsible? No good deed ever goes unpunished in this house!”

“You’re not responsible because you take on the balancing, you’re responsible because you fucked up the balancing.”

“How the hell am I supposed to balance a checkbook when you have the debit card and spend through our cash?”

The fight went on like this for some time before I finally walked out the door.

My phone rang. I didn’t answer. I was in the car with no particular place to go other than away.

The phone rang again. Again I didn’t answer. I just grew even more heated. Why should we talk when we’re both angry?

A text came through, “You’re being conflict-avoidant again.”

At a red light I texted back, “And you’re being annoying again.”

The light had changed and the guy behind me honked his horn before I had time to hit send. I gave him the finger. Asshole.

I drove to my office – my refuge from the storm.

She called again.

“What?!” I said, answering the phone.

“I’m sorry,” she said in a contrite voice.

I wasn’t expecting an apology. I was expecting a continuation of the fight. My tone was completely over-the-top. But I wasn’t ready to apologize yet. Her apology was met with silence.

“Are you there?” she asked.

“Yes.”

“Did you hear me?”

“Yes.”

“And?” she asked.

If she was looking for a reciprocation of an apology, then she was sorely mistaken.

“Nothing,” I said.

“Come home,” she said.

“No.”

“Are you going to the bar?” she asked.

“I wasn’t planning on it, but that’s a good idea.”

“No! Come home!”

“I might. It depends on if I’m coming home to a hornet’s nest or not.”

“You won’t! I promise. You’ll come home to a horny-nest!”

“Lo, sex isn’t the answer to every one of life’s problems.”

“I’m not looking for answers, I’m looking to get off.”

I returned home, a little more calm.

We talked about money a bit more in quieter tones. I explained that our finances are just a bit short right now, “but I’m confident things will be better next month.”

“That’s just the problem,” Lo said, exasperated, “you always think that next month will be better than this month. What if it’s the same? What if it’s worse?”

“So you’re saying that my worst quality is that I’m an incorrigible optimist? – I can live with that.”

“No! I’m not saying that’s your worst quality, but that’s what you hear because you are an incorrigible optimist.”

I fixed myself a whiskey on the rocks.

We talked some more before agreeing to revisit the problem another day. She suggested going out that night.

“Out?!” I asked.

“Yes,” she said. “Let’s go out and have a good time. Maybe you can watch me flirt with someone.”

“Here we are, scraping together the pennies from our spare-change jar to pay the rent, and you want to go out? I’m sorry, I just find the idea of going out tonight repugnant and odious.”

“At least you can masturbate with your words.”

I shot her a look before taking another sip of whiskey.

“Well,” she said as she spread her legs on the couch and rubbed her pussy, “if we can’t go out, can you at least cum in?”

“Why this sudden erotic twist?”

“I don’t know what you mean. I’ve always been erotically twisted.”

“I’m in no mood,” I said. “You’ll just have to man the torpedoes tonight.”

“I know I don’t look so good tonight,” she said, referring to the mascara that had run when she was crying and the old sweatshirt she was wearing, “but I promise, I feel good,” she said as she put her hand between her legs and rubbed her pussy, revealing that under the oversized sweatshirt, she wasn’t wearing anything else.

“Can I just sleep here tonight?” I asked, feeling tired and comfortable on the couch.

“Are you drunk or just an asshole?”

“Can’t I be both?”

“No, you can’t sleep here tonight. You’re coming in the bedroom. . . and I will be too, soon!”

We went in the bedroom and I got naked and in the bed. As I waited for Lo to get out of the bathroom, I dozed off to sleep. I awoke to find her straddling me, naked, grabbing my cock and using it as a dildo to rub her clit. I heard her moaning and then fell back to sleep.

The next day I saw that she made a Facebook post at two in the morning. I asked her about it. She told me that she couldn’t sleep. I asked her if she jilled it. She said, yes. I asked, “To what?”

“I used you.”

“What?”

“I licked your soft, little, good-for-nothing dick in your sleep until it got hard and then I used the tip of it to jill my clit.

“Yeah, I saw that, but that was right before I fell asleep, around ten o’clock. You made your post after two in the morning.”

“Well, it worked the first time, so I did it a second. . . and a third.”

I went to sit up and get out of bed, but my body ached and I moaned.

“What’s the matter?” she asked me.

“Nothing.”

“You’re hung over,” she stated.

“No I’m not. I’m sick. I’ve been fighting off a cold.”

“You’re dehydrated.” Her go-to diagnosis.

“No. Didn’t you see how much water I drank last night?”

“I didn’t see you drink any water.”

“I drank it right in front of you.”

“You drank two whiskeys. Don’t you remember?”

“Yeah, and what was in the whiskeys? – Ice!!!”

“Why do I even try?”

“I wasn’t even going to have one, but I was so agitated, I felt compelled to have a drink.”

“And how do you explain the second?”

“Well, after the first, my throat didn’t hurt anymore and I was feeling quite good, so I thought: if one caused that much improvement, two will be even better.”

“And was it?”

“Last night it was.”

“And now?”

“It seemed like a good idea at the time.”

“Well, it was a bad idea.”

“I may be great at making bad choices, but at least I’m great at it.”

“You have to preserve yourself.”

“I’ll buy a jar of formaldehyde.”

“As long as you use it to keep your cock stiff and hard.”

“Watch it babe. One of these days I’ll be dead and then you’ll miss me.”

“Yeah, but I’ll be married to a rich guy and I’ll have his money to console me.”

“Money won’t make you happy.”

“I wouldn’t know, but I’m willing to give it a shot. Have I told you my plan? I’m going to marry a rich man and then keep you on the side.”

“Stop promising and hurry up and do it. I ain’t getting any younger here. My plan is to grow old disgracefully, and you’re just the gal to help me do it too.”

Priestess of Porn

Posted on December 12, 2017 by Lola Down

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Lola and I were discussing my latest publication and the woeful lack of financial reward gained from it.

“Do you think that the problem may be with the world, not with me?” I asked, tired of being responsible for the failure of monetizing our sexy, silly, sensuous, serious, sappy, serial story.

“Yes, of course,” she said, “the problem is the world, not you. The blog is the best writing you do.”

“Thank you dear,” I said, “you are an inspiration.”

“The world just isn’t ready for you,” she said. The way she said it, I couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic. I shrugged and allowed myself to take it as a compliment.

“You know, you’re right. I’ve put a lot of thought to this and I honestly can’t think of one author who is comparable in terms of range.”

“Oh boy,” she said, “here we go.” Her tone was that of exasperation, as if she had heard this all before. But I had never mentioned this to her.

“Aren’t you going to ask me about range?”

“Yes dear, please, tell me about your range.”

“Well, I’ve written plays, screenplays, works of philosophy, art theory, novels, poetry, and, erotica – don’t forget the erotica.”

“I am aware.”

“Perhaps,” I said, gazing off to the middle distance, rubbing my beard, “there is one, one author who has an equal range.”

“And who would that be?” she asked as if reading from a script.

“Marquis de Sade. Yes, yes,” I said more enthusiastically the more I thought on it, “he had range – plays, philosophy, theology, erotica.”

“And look at how the world treated him.”

“Precisely, my dear, precisely! They put the genius in prison! I suppose I should count my blessings that I have not been arrested, charged, indicted, found guilty and imprisoned.”

“By that reckoning, you’re ahead of the game.”

“No matter how things go, I am fully confident that someday my true talent will be recognized, like with Sade. It may just have to be posthumously.”

“Great,” she said totally devoid of enthusiasm.

“Oh, don’t worry, you’ll be remembered as more than my mistress. You’ll be known as my divine muse.”

“Just what I’ve always aspired to in life.”

“You sound disappointed.”

“And you sound like a pompous ass! You know, I’m more than just your muse. I have great achievements in my own right.”

“Of course you do,” I said, “but we’re talking about an immortal legacy. For that, you’ll be remembered as I see you; as high priestess in the holy church of Venus.”

“As a porn star, you mean.”

“A priestess of porn.”

“A slut.”

“An entelechy of the divine feminine.”

“A pinup calendar model.”

“Why must you speak in such pedestrian terms?”

“Your speech flies to the heavens. I’m here to keep you grounded. Earthly delights, remember?”

Top 10 Sexiest Writers on Medium.com

Posted on September 18, 2017 by Lola Down

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I have been posting on Medium for only four months now.

I just hit 3,000 followers! Thanks so much to all of you!!!

I still consider myself new to this medium — Medium. But, since I’ve been here I’ve discovered some really excellent, sexy, steamy writers.

Of course, HH is still my favorite and I post here because I want to share his stories of me with all of you. But, here are ten other Medium writers, in no particular order and without any scientific system for choice, that I have enjoyed over the brief time I’ve been around this neighborhood of the internet. The following is not based on number of claps, number of followers, or anything other than what has turned me on.

Another reason HH isn’t on this list is because I deliberately chose only female bloggers. HH is one of the only male erotica writers I read, but I love the ladies you’ll find in the list below.

If you’re a writer and think you should be on this list, maybe I just don’t know about you. Send a shoutout to me either in the comments or via email.

If you’ve been included here, please do the following: 1) Make your own Top 10 (or 5 or 3 or whatever); Include the medallion on your post/page; 3) Include a link back to this post. Thanks so much! ~ Lola

And the top ten are:

Rose of MyErotica — Rose has done perhaps more than anyone to promote new erotica writers and get the word out about erotica on Medium. She’s a great writer and a generous soul.
Ally Snow — Ally Snow has a unique and honest voice. She doles out advice and also is candid about her own mistakes in relationships. After reading her, you feel like you’ve sat with a close girlfriend for a coffee, chatting for a couple of hours.
Mimi Bordeaux — A direct writer who comes at you straight on, though she’s far from straight! Her writing is like Hemingway if Hemingway was queer, a woman, and a hell of a lot more sexy!
Vienna De Vega — A smart, witty writer who also is an avid reader and an unabashed enthusiast of all things kink.
Kris Gage — I don’t know how old Kris is, but she has an old soul in the best sort of way. She speaks about love and relationships from a well of experience, both good and bad. Her insights into Buddhism are definitely worth reading.
Madelaine Hanson — A witty, take-no-prisoners writer who is prolific and poignant. A staunch feminist with a pen!
Jessica Wildfire — The professor is in and everyone is hot for teacher! Jessica’s writing is steamy and occasionally she shares amusing anecdotes from the trenches of higher education.
Stoya — You may know her from porn, but she has always been one of the most well-read, intelligent, and feminist voices in the industry. Lately, to the benefit of us all, she has been using her voice by writing a lot. Anyone who can cite Bataille in a blog post on sex deserves kudos!
Lacey Divine — Writing on open relationships, sex work, and orgasms. Can’t beat that!
Alexis McCall — A hotwife, like yours truly, who writes about all different aspects of these complex relationships. Prolific, insightful, and a great resource!

These are only the top ten of literally hundreds of great writers out there. I apologize if I’ve left you out. For more great suggestions, just look at my “following” list.

xoxoxo,

Lola

Hopeless, Romantic

Posted on August 30, 2017 by Lola Down

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I walked into the office and said, “Ms. Gale, please block out the week of July first through July tenth. I’m going on vacation.”

She looked up from her desk, her blue eyes framed by her wide-rimmed glasses, and asked, “Vacation?! Where?”

“That’s right, vacation. I’ve gotta get outta here. I booked a resort hotel for Lo and me on a beach in Maui.”

“Ooooo, really?” she squealed with excitement. “Are you going to propose to her there?”

The question took me by surprise. “Propose? Why would I do a darn-fool thing like that?”

“Because, Mr. H., that’s what people do at those romantic resorts on the beach.”

“People,” I said with scorn. “I am not people.”

“You’re in love with her, aren’t you? Why are you just stringing her along?”

“Ms. Gale, you are correct, I am madly in love with Lola.”

“So why don’t you get married to her?”

“Because I am madly in love with Lola. I am not madly in love with marriage. Marriage is a comfort that, once achieved, leads to the erosion of love.”

“Oh, Mr. H., you’re such a stick-in-the-mud.”

“And you, Ms. Gale, are a busybody twenty-something who has never been married, divorced, or lived fifty some-odd years to learn from experience.”

“Well, that’s no reason not to get married.”

“If you’re so crazy about marriage, why don’t you marry Lola?” I asked as I walked out of the reception area where Ms. Gale had her desk, slamming the door to my private office.

That was how my day started. It only got worse from there. Needless to say, by the end of the work day, which was nine at night for me, I was in no mood for Lo’s tomfoolery.

I walked into the bedroom, found Lola naked under the sheets, doing what Lola is always doing when she’s naked under the sheets with easy access to her phone, and I began to undo my tie and remove my button-down shirt.

“Oh yeah,” Lo moaned.

“Is that meant towards me, or your porn video?” I asked as I removed my pants.

Without taking her eyes off the video or her hand from between her legs, she said, “Yes.”

I washed up in the bathroom and returned, taking off my pants and getting under the sheets next to Lo. “Well, Daddio, am I going to get any tonight?” she asked as she was rubbing her pussy lips under the covers with one hand and holding my flaccid cock with the other hand, the phone with the video still playing next to her, flat on the bed. I could hear the couple in the video moaning and groaning.

“You have to get me hard first,” I said.

“That seems to be an insurmountable obstacle,” she replied, lifting and dropping my soft dick.

“Really? I never thought I’d hear you say that.”

“I never have had that problem. . . with other men.”

Within moments I was asleep, or so Lo told me the next morning. She had to get her rocks off without me. . . again.

When I woke in the morning, I found her curled up next to me, her eyes already open. “You can fuck me if you want to” were her first words to me.

Luckily, having expelled all my bad feelings of the previous day through my sleep, I was very “up” that morning.

“Roll over on your back and spread your legs,” I said. My first words to her.

“Oh, Daddy! You’re so romantic!” I honestly couldn’t tell if she was being sincere or sarcastic.

I positioned myself over her naked body and took a good look at her. “You look good,” I said.

“Prove it!”

“The proof is in the puddin’, and I’m puddin’ it in you.” I slid in. She was dripping wet. “Lo,” I said once I was deep inside her.

“Yes, Daddy?”

“How long have you been up?”

“I don’t know. Why?”

“Did you jill it?”

“When?”

“This morning.”

“Yes.”

“How many times?”

“Daddy, I’ve been jillin’ it since last night. I have no idea how many times. I’m sore and soaked and I want you.”

“What have you been jillin’ it to?”

“Daddy, I can’t remember it all. Just shut up and fuck me. Please.”

I shut up and gave her what she asked for. But she asked, “Can I turn over, Daddy, please?”

I let her turn onto her tum and she put her ass up in the air to be had from behind. But then I saw her grabbing her phone and looking at it. One hand held it up for her to see and the other was manipulating her clit. I tried to see what she was looking at, but couldn’t quite make it out.

“Lo, what is that?” I asked as I leaned forward and put my hands on her shoulders to see better.

“Never you mind. Just get back there and do your job. I want to feel you, hard and deep and hard.”

I complied with her demands. She came. At the moment when I felt her pussy clench on my cock, I came too, deep inside her. She collapsed into the pillows, dropping her phone. I fell on top of her. Eventually, I slowly pulled out. Looking down at her, I quoted one of her favorite films, “Little full, lotta sap.”

She laughed and then said, “Clean me up.”

I took care of her and then suddenly she was up and out of bed.

“I have to go now,” she said.

“But you only just came!”

“Work, Daddio. I have a job, remember?”

She went into the bathroom to get ready. I picked up her phone and went through her browsing history. I was shocked by what I saw, but I figured I’d ask her about it that evening, when we could explore her fantasies together. I put down her phone as if I wasn’t looking at it just as she opened the door to the bathroom. She was putting on her makeup. “Honest answer,” she called to me, “do I look like a trollop to you?”

“Honestly? – Not enough of a trollop.”

“Perfect. That’s just what I’m going for.”

Masturbation Monday: Creative Writing and Performance Art

Posted on July 3, 2017 by Lola Down

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Creative Writing and Performance Art

I heard her typing as she sat across the couch from me, but I also heard her moaning.

“Lo,” I asked, looking over the brim of my book, “what are you up to?”

“Oh nothing, Daddy,” she said, but the biting of her lip that followed her response belied her words.

Now I looked more carefully. Her hand was shifting from her computer keyboard to her crotch. (She reclined on the couch in just her oversized nightshirt.)

“Care to share?” I asked.

“In just a moment,” she said, typing and masturbating in turn.

When she finally came – pressing her legs together tightly so as not to ejaculate – she slammed the laptop closed and then looked at me, blushing and panting.

“Yes?” I inquired. “Can I help you?”

“You sure can,” she said, getting up and commanding me from her standing position to march into the bedroom. She lifted the shirt that draped over her butt, revealing her sweet ass to me as she wiggled it enticingly.

I placed my bookmark between the pages and got up, knowing I was expected to perform. Lo’s masturbatory exercises are more often than not just a warm-up for sex and her two or three orgasms that result from the sex are just a warm-up for her next masturbatory session. In logic we call it a ‘vaginal-circle.’

Once horizontal in the bed, I asked her what this was all about as I aligned my cock with the opening between her legs and began to slide in.

“Don’t you believe in foreplay anymore?” she asked as she squeezed her tits and pulled on her nipples, extending them as far as they would stretch.

“What was your solo session on the couch just now if not foreplay?”

“Look,” she said, very demandingly, “look at these.” She indicated her chest by taking her tits in her hands and squeezing them hard and pointing her nipples at me. “Many men – and women – would love this rack in their face.”

“I see,” I said, impressed by her impertinence. “And you too seem to enjoy them – enough for both of us!”

“Well, what are they for if not enjoying? Here,” she said, pulling my hands to her nipples, “pinch, twist, pull. Repeat.”

I humored her for a while as she moaned. My fondling her breasts freed up her hands to pinch, twist, pull and repeat on her pussy lips – something that gets her very aroused.

“You may pet my ass now,” she said, rolling onto her tum and raising her bum in the air.

I slapped her ass hard and said, “That’s so you’ll come to your senses.”

“I cum to a lot of things. Cumming to my senses is one, but cumming to your cock is more fun.”

“Then let me have you.”

“No. Not just yet, Daddio. Play with my ass,” she implored, grabbing her ass cheeks with both hands and showing me exactly the spot she wanted touched. I obliged. “Mmmm, yeah,” she cooed. “I wish you could take a picture of that so I could see it.”

“You need one of those extension poles people carry with them nowadays,” I said, not knowing the proper terminology.

“It’s called a selfie stick.”

“Selfie stick? Don’t you have a few of those under the bed?”

“Ha!” she chuckled, “Don’t make me laugh. Not now. I want to. . .” She came, squirting downward on the bed. The combination of the gentle caress of my finger rounding her target and laughing broke the dam. “Finger me, Daddio. Feel how wet I am.”

“Lo, I see how wet you are. Let me feel you with my cock. I’ll put in my dipstick and give you a more accurate reading of your fluids.”

“Oh, Daddy. Why do you use such horrid metaphors?”

“Because, my dear, you’re like a BMW – it’s not the price, it’s the maintenance that will get you.”

“OK,” she said, flipping over onto her back, spreading her legs wide, looking up at me. “How can I deny that raging rod? Get in me and I’ll tell you what I was up to on the couch.”

She didn’t have to ask twice. I was stem-to-stern in, our faces cheek-to-jowl. She whispered in my ear:

Another hotwife found our blog and reached out to me. She’s married to a fifty-year-old and she’s in her thirties. She’s ‘very bi,’ as she says, and eager to be with a woman again. And not just any woman, but a woman like me – dominant, sub, sexy, femme, who can give and take a giant cock. She wants us to get together and I was just telling her how I fantasize it would happen. After drinks in a hotel lobby, we’d go up to the hotel room. Since her man is older than you (twice my age, in fact) and you’re older than she and she’s older by ten years than I, the three of you would marvel at me – this young meat. You’d all be salivating, wondering who would get to have me first. But I would have it all planned out.

In the hotel room I’d stand still in my heels, blouse, and short skirt. I’d tell you that each of you gets to remove one article of clothing. Only one. We’d go in age order – youngest to oldest – and so she’d begin by slowly unbuttoning my blouse as I stood stone still. One-by-one she’d undo the buttons until my blouse was wide open and then she’d slowly undo the buttons of the cuffs and ever-so-gently guide my arms out of the sleeves until I was standing in nothing but my bra on top.

Then it would be your turn. You’d look me up and down and consider, ‘Shoes? Blouse? Bra?’ Generous guy that you are, you’d let them have the choice articles, so you’d go for unzipping my blouse and letting it fall to the floor around my feet. I’d continue to be unmoving, like a manikin.

Then the older gent would have to pick – bra or panties? Being a gentleman, he’d go for the bra and carefully unclasp it from the back. His trembling hands would slowly, reverently pull down my shoulder straps and, thinking the bra would fall, he’d step back to watch his handiwork. But I’d use my arms to keep it up so that he’d have to tug on it a bit to get it fully off of my torso.

Then it would be her turn again and she’d get on her knees and, using her long, delicate fingers, she’d pull down my thong little-by-little until it fell around my ankles.

I’d continue to stand still and say, in the same order, you may touch, pull, squeeze, grope, kiss – whatever you want. It would all be very Marina Abramovic. It would be your turn and so you’d come right up to me and kiss me on the lips, whispering, ‘I love you.’

Then it would be his turn and, thoroughly loving my young, perky tits, he’d cup them, caress them, hold them, squeeze them, pull on the nipples. He’d step back, letting his wife approach. She’d again get down on her knees and she’d ever-so-slightly kiss my pussy as her hands reached behind me and grabbed my ass.

This would go on for some time as each of you enjoy whichever part of me you wish. Then I’d say, ‘Put me on the bed.’ The three of you would lift me and smoothly place me on my back on the bed. I’d spread my legs and, since it would be her turn, I’d call her to me to place her face there and eat me out.

Next it would be your turn and you would go in, but only for a moment, before I’d say, ‘That’s all for you, HH.’

Then it would be his turn. He would be allowed to penetrate me, but he’d have to wear a condom that his wife would put on – her hands pulling the ring down the shaft of his cock and pointing him right into me. He’d have a good go at me for a while.

After each of you had a turn with me on my back, I’d turn over and get on all fours. By this time she would have her strap-on fully in place and she’d fuck me good and hard from behind. Then it would be your turn again, and finally his. I’m sure I’d cum multiple times through this exquisite torture. Finally, when I felt I couldn’t take it any longer, I’d flip over onto my back again and I’d have her get on her knees at the foot of the bed and eat me out while the two of you jacked it over my open mouth until you both came over me in unison.

The whole time she was telling me this story, I was barely moving inside her for fear of interrupting her lovely imaginings with my orgasm. But that didn’t stop her from cumming and cumming again, each time having to take deep breaths before continuing her story.

“Is that what you were writing?”

“Yes, Daddy. I know I’m bad.”

“And this admirer of yours?”

“She told me it made her cum a lot.”

“So, she wants to get together?”

“Yes.”

“And him?”

“I assume so.”

“And you?”

“I can’t wait.”

“So, this is your way of asking permission?”

“No, this is my way of telling you what’s going to happen.”

“So you want me to cum on your face.”

“Yes. Badly.”

“Now.”

“Always.”

“That would prove difficult. How about we start with now?”

“Yes.”

I pulled out and got on my knees next to her and she reached up, grabbed my cock, stroked it and it only needed one or two caresses of her hand before, seeing her open mouth, I shot like a bottle rocket. The first spurt went clear across the bed. She readjusted the aim and pulled my cock down towards her face and managed to get covered with the second, third, and fourth rounds.

“Had your fill?” I asked as she began to clean up.

“Did I ever tell you my bukkake fantasies?”

“Lo, I’m not up for any more fantasies tonight,” I said.

She grabbed my limp dick and said, “I can see that. That’s why I have bukkake fantasies,” and she reached under the bed to pull out her toy box.

G.I. Confidential

Posted on May 29, 2017 by Lola Down

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[This story was published today, in honor of Memorial Day and all those who serve, on MyErotica.com.]

G.I. Confidential

It started when he wrote an email that said simply, “Love your blog. Can I please have a password?” From that brief, shy, initial correspondence grew a virtual pen-pal connection with one of our men in uniform deployed abroad – somewhere in the deserts of the middle east. He couldn’t say where because it was confidential and who knows who was also reading those emails? But whoever was reading them was in for a tantalizing treat.

[Some images you get from a Google search of “mysexlifewithlola”]

Lo wrote back, in her flirtatious, friendly way, and soon found out much more about her G.I. fan. He was twenty-two, married, one kid. He had been deployed for two years. His wife wrote to him frequently and he loved and missed her dearly. But she sent sexy pics only on occasion, and even then, they were more suggestive than explicit. He loved her, but he dreamed about Lo. He read the blog and studied her pics. He had hotwife fantasies and wished that his own wife would send a nude pic now and then with a note saying, “Please share with your friends.” But that was beyond the realm of possibility.

Because he was so shy around women, it took him a long time to get up the courage to write to Lo requesting a password to the protected posts. Little did he know how flattered she would be. Little did he know how she secretly had a fetish for men in uniform. She encouraged frequent correspondence, but, due to his rigorous duties and the limited time he got on the internet, he could only write back very brief missives.

Even so, he complimented her, flattered her, and reported on his “down time” – his “Lola Down” time, that is. Excited to the point of bursting, Lo sent him many explicit photos with little notes like, “Please be sure to share with your bunk mates,” or “Tell all the guys with you that Lola wishes them all to be safe, strong, and hard.”

After gaining his trust, the G.I. sent Lo some pics of himself and his family. Lo thought it was sweet and that his wife was truly beautiful. He sent a pic of her on their honeymoon in Hawaii where she wore nothing but a lei. Then he sent her the address where Lo could send him actual letters and such. She sent him a signed calendar, saying, “I’ve always wanted to be a pin-up girl.” She told me after the fact.

When she received a warm thank you from him, in which he told her that he posted it by his bunk in the barracks and that all the soldiers were commenting on it, she was thrilled! When he wrote to her a week later, saying that someone had stolen it, she was even more elated. She took it upon herself not only to send her pen-pal a replacement copy, but one for every guy in his battalion.

You can imagine her delight when he wrote her the following email:

Hi Lola. All the guys say thank you for the calendars! They are envious of me because you have been like a hotwife to me. I ordered your book, Match, Cinder & Spark, (even though it’s really expensive in hardcopy!) and at night, before lights out, a bunch of us sit around on our bunks and we take turns reading HH’s stories about you. Last Sunday, we were given some R-n-R and we read the book in the morning. After reading it, five of us went to the showers. It’s one long tiled room with about fifty showerheads. The five of us were naked, under the hot showers, soaping up and very hard and horny from the story we had just read. I hope my wife never finds out about this, but as we were there, lathered and rinsing off, we all started casually grabbing at our cocks. Eventually we started jacking off. Someone grabbed the cock of the guy next to him and soon enough it was a full-fledged circle jerk. We came on each other and laughed and washed down, smacked one another’s ass, and got out of the shower much refreshed.

Pretty soon Lola was getting emails from other guys in the troop and some of them told her how they had Tumblr accounts with their wives or girlfriends on which each would post something that turned them on or pics of themselves so that it was like virtual sex. They told her that they were including Lo’s Tumblr pics so that their wives could see what they like. Lo was thrilled to be the object of the attention of those couples – her virtual three-way.

After a few months of this sort of thing, Lo encouraged her original soldier to tell his wife about mysexlifewithlola.com and loladown.tumblr.com in the hopes that she would become more adventurous in their marriage. With trepidation he did and, we’re happy to report, she opened up to him like never before, admitting to all her erotic longings, fantasies, and desires. The grateful soldier thanked Lo and eventually his correspondences with her became less and less frequent. Hopefully the hot couple is blissfully reunited by this time.

Many thanks to all our men and women in uniform serving our country!