“I’m so fat!” she decried as she stood in her bikini looking in the mirror at her reflection.
“You say that like fat is a bad thing,” I said with a smile.
“Shut up.”
“What? All I’m saying is I like some meat on your bones. You always tell me how much you like my meat and to bone.”
She threw a pillow at me. “You’re tapping into my greatest insecurity.”
“Your weakness is your strength,” I replied.
“Your weakness is me.”
“I know. I know. Lola, you’re my Kryptonite. I’m the Man of Steel. But after being around you I go soft as a Slinky. But seriously,” I said, “come here.”
She walked to me like a child who had just been caught with her hands in the cookie jar. She stood in front of me. I grabbed and kissed the small bulge above her bikini line.
“Stop it! You know I hate that!”
“But I love it. It’s so sexy.”
“I have to work on my beach body.”
“I’m working on my beach-ball body.”
“We both should exercise.”
“Exercise?! Are you kidding me? I just heard about a forty-year-old man who dropped dead – DEAD! – while on the treadmill. Oh no. Not for me, thank you.”
“What are you talking about? He probably had a preexisting condition. He probably had heart problems or was overweight.”
“That’s proof! Proof that exercise is bad for you. Positively lethal!”
“That’s not proof.”
“All I’m saying is that you never hear of a perfectly healthy forty-year-old man dying on his couch while reading a book.”
“Give me a break!” she said, throwing her arms in the air.
Lo and I went down to the pool of the hotel.
It was Valentine’s Day, we were on vacation in a warm-weather city, and Lo was looking like one sweet-tart.
Lo thought that, as usual, I had failed to make any plans for V-Day. There she was wrong.
After some hours by the pool where she only got jealous of the other bikini babes walking past me, lounging in the reclining chairs, or dangling their feet in the water, we both were hungry and, after changing, I surprised her for the first time that day by actually having a lunch destination suggestion.
“Chinese?!” she questioned, both skeptical and disappointed.
We drove through the grid of the city to the special Chinese restaurant I had scoped out. This wasn’t just your average Chinese joint; it was a newly opened, chic, “Asian-fusion” place simply called Red that was all the rage.
Luckily, Lo was impressed.
After our meal, Lo’s Fortune Cookie read: “Emotion is energy in motion” and I added “in bed.”
When we got back to the car, a compact, two-seater, Lo laughed as she got in.
“What?” I asked, curious as to what she found so amusing.
“Nothing,” she replied, enigmatically.
“I want to know.”
“I’ll tell you later, when you’re older.”
“Lo, I’m older now. I’ll always be older. So, out with it.”
“Where are we going now, Daddio?” she asked, changing the subject.
“Where would you like to go?”
“Oh, I don’t know. . . some dive bar.”
“That should be easy enough,” I said as I got the car started and, put the top down, and pulled out into the busy road by the beach.
No sooner had we gotten stuck in the see-and-be-seen crowd of the resort road, than Lo leaned back with one high-heel shod foot dangling seductively over the edge of the door and the other up on the dash as she flashed me, venting up her skirt in the warm, humid, sea-salty air.
“Lo, you’re doing it again?”
“Doing what, Daddio?”
“Flashing in public.”
“Am I? But we’re in the privacy of our own vehicle.”
“Lo,” I said, as I gave her a side-long glance, trying to focus on traffic.
“You like, Daddio?” she asked.
That night I surprised even myself by having dinner reservations, chocolate, cupcakes, roses, and a card all lined up. Good job, HH. I congratulate you. When we got to the red rented convertible, I popped the top down and looked in the back seat, saying to Lo, “Oh, look there, someone must have left something in the car before we rented it.”
She looked over the bucket seat and saw, sitting on the leather behind her, the scarlet box of chocolates, the bouquet of roses, a box of pink-frosted cupcakes, and a cardinal colored envelope.
Hopping in, she tore into the card. It was an e. e. cummings poem and a little note from me.
She read the e.e. cummings poem and looked at me seductively and said, “Soon I’ll be-e cumming too.”
She then opened the cupcakes and slowly sank her mouth over the pink-frosted top, taking a slow, seductive bite.
“Lo! We’re on our way to dinner,” I jokingly rebuked her. “You can’t eat dessert before dinner.”
“But Daddy,” she said, looking at me with frosting on her lips. “you know that I can’t pass up a good cream filling.”
“How did you know it was a cream filling? You’ve only just had the frosting.”
“I wasn’t talking about the cupcake,” she said as she bit into it again. She then leaned over the seat and gave me a big, wet, frosted kiss. “But I know that you know that cream filling is my favorite and so I figured you got me what I wanted.”
Secretly, I delighted in seeing her eat the cupcake. A certain kink, that is, if she was into it too, which she most definitely was not.
We got to the restaurant and Lo was wearing a cute, short red dress and matching pumps. She looked adorable. I could tell that all eyes were on her, just as she likes it.
“Lo,” I said as we sat at our romantic, candle-lit table, “you look better than ever!”
“Oh, go on,” she said, vainly. I love her vanity.
“Really, they say that men get better looking with age and that may be true. But you, my dear, look better to me every day we’re together.”
She slipped her right foot out of her sexy shoe under the table and lifted it to rub my leg up and down, showing her appreciation of my sincere, but flattering words.
“Don’t do that,” I said.
“Why not, Daddy?”
“Because I may have to ravish you right here and now, rather than wait until we get back to the hotel and in bed.”
“Sex is not just something that happens in bed. Sex is a lifestyle.”
“You should write adult fortune cookies.”
She continued to rub my leg up and down, stretching now to touch my crotch. Her antics were hidden by the long tablecloth draped over the cozy round table, but I have no doubt an onlooker would be able to tell what she was up to.
After our meal, the waiter asked if we’d like dessert. I looked at Lo. “I really shouldn’t, I had the cupcake in the car,” she said.
I looked at the waiter and ordered an espresso and the red velvet cake for the lady.
After the waiter left, Lo said to me, “Daddio, I shouldn’t.”
“But you want to, don’t you?”
“I do.”
“Then do it. Why not? It’s Valentine’s Day, after all.”
The cake and espresso came and I almost did too as I watched Lo eat the decadently delicious confection.
“Let’s go to the hotel and order a whole cake for you to eat while I eat you out,” I suggested, eager to have my luscious little Lo.
“Not yet, Daddio,” she said. “It’s early. Let’s go out for a few drinks first.”
“But I want you so much right now,” I said as I watched her tongue lick her red lips of the crimson cake crumbs.
“I’ll give you an appetizer in the car.”
We got in the convertible and Lo turned toward me in the red leather bucket seat. She spread her legs and rubbed her pussy over her cherry colored panties.
“I like how your entire outfit matches.”
“I’m good like that.”
I drove down the main drag of the city and Lo let the seat go back, lifted her feet onto the dashboard, and removed her panties. “I won’t be needing these where we’re going,” she said as she tossed them high in the air. I saw them fly upwards and then down onto the road behind us.
“Lo!” I scolded.
“She laughed.”
“I knew we shouldn’t have ordered a bottle of champagne for the two of us.”
“Oh, Daddio,” she said, rubbing my arm, “don’t be so rigid about the rules. Are you rigid?” she asked, moving her hand down to my cock.
“Like a ruler,” I said.
“If only you were twelve inches!” she exclaimed.
I parked the car and we went into a cute little bar called “Rosebud & Thistle.”
“Remember Citizen Kane?” I asked.
“Yeah,” she said as we walked to the joint.
“Rosebud.”
“What about it?”
“That was the last word he said.”
“And the name of his sled.”
“Did you know that it was also what William Randolph Hearst called his wife’s clit?”
“Now you’re just making that up,” she said skeptically.
“I appreciate your esteem of my creativity, but that’s a fact.”
“Well, why don’t you have a pet name for my clit?” she asked peevishly.
“Because, to me, you’re so much more than your clit.”
“Good save,” she said as we walked in the bar.
Inside was drenched in dim, romantic, rubicund light with lots of tufted leather love seats and a long bar with classic, 1950s style shiny red leather and chrome stools.
“Bar or booth?” I asked Lo.
She scanned the space and settled on the bar, leading me to the far corner. We found two vacant stools kitty-corner to each other. She made for one that was next to a lone gentleman who stared into his dwindling drink. She interrupted his ponderings to ask if the stool was taken and he politely invited her to sit. She slid up on the stool which, given her diminutive size, meant that her feet didn’t touch the ground. She smiled at him and I could see her eyes penetrate his dark soul.
Immediately she initiated small talk with him, telling him that we are from out of town and never had been to this place before. “Is there something pretty and sweet that catches your eye?” she asked before adding, “on the menu.”
He began to make a recommendation, but before he could even get it out, she interrupted him and said, “You know,” grabbing his elbow, “I’m in the mood for something stiff.” He looked at her, his eyes growing a little wider. “What are you drinking?” she asked.
He simply said, “Whiskey.”
“Straight?” she asked.
He nodded.
“Well, I’m not straight,” she said, “I want something complicated.”
She looked at the drink menu and put her finger to her lips, contemplating the choices in her mind.
I cleared my throat since throughout this award-worthy performance, I had remained silent.
“OH!” said Lo, introducing me, “This is my man, HH. HH, this is. . .”
Obviously she didn’t know his name.
“Ron,” he said.
“Hi, Ron,” I said.
“HH, will you order me a pomegranate martini? I’m going to freshen up,” she said as she attempted to scooch off of her stool. But the sliding down lifted up her red dress and nearly exposed her rosebud.
“Whoops!” she exclaimed, waiting just long enough for Ron to see before pulling down the front of her dress.
Lo gave me a peck on the cheek and disappeared.
I sat at the bar making conversation with Ron for a few moments before Lo returned.
“So, Ron,” she said almost immediately, “why are you here all alone on Valentine’s Day?”
I felt that that was none of Lo’s concern, but there was no putting the question back in between her just glossed lips now.
Ron went into a long story about breaking up with his girlfriend of four years only a few days ago. Turns out she was cheating on him.
“What can I do to cheer you up?” asked Lo, sliding her dress up.
“You’re already cheering me up,” he said with great appreciation in his voice.
Lo’s drink came.
“How’s your drink?” I asked as she took a sip.
“It’s wet.”
“Your drink?”
“That too.”
Soon she ordered a slice of strawberry shortcake.
I took great delight in seeing her eat her third dessert and flirting with Ron as I sipped my Manhattan.
“Mmmmm, this is so fucking good!” she said as she took another bite.
“‘Fucking’ is unnecessary and vulgar,” I replied.
“I don’t agree at all. For me fucking is completely necessary and appropriate.”
“Only if you’re doing it,” I said.
“That’s what I meant,” she responded immediately. “Why, what were you talking about?”
“I was talking about your vocabulary. You have a dirty mouth.”
“Not nearly as dirty as my mind.”
Then Lo turned and offered a taste of the cake to her new friend and he took it. “Isn’t that just heaven?” she asked as her right hand rested his left arm on her bare leg. He nodded yes and I could see him rubbing her thigh. When the cake and drinks were consumed, Lo paid the bill, pulling some dollars out of her ruby purse.
“I would have got that,” I said as the bartender took Lo’s cash.
“That’s ok, Daddio,” she said, “this has been my treat.”
Lo kissed Ron on the cheek, slid awkwardly off the stool again, and wished him a happy Valentine’s Day, adding, “Next time, let her cheat – it’s more fun that way.”
Lo put her arm around mine and we went out to the car.
“Lo, you were very bad in there,” I said.
“Was I?” she asked, feigning innocence. “I thought I was very good.”
When we got in the car, she kicked off her heels and put her feet up on my lap. “Rub them, Daddy,” she said.
I caressed her toes and instep with my left hand and she moaned.
“Did you like Rosebud, Daddy?” she asked.
“You mean the bar or your clit?” I asked back, looking at her rub her pussy as I pulled out of the parking spot.
“Yes,” she said enigmatically.
“I liked watching you eat three desserts,” I said. “Maybe tomorrow I’ll get donuts for breakfast.”
“I’m like the perfect donut – delicious, hot, fresh, with a lovely hole.”
“You sure have a way with words,” I said.
“My tongue is wicked, that’s why it’s red, but my soul is pure as the driven snow.”
“Well, that wicked tongue of yours was really charming the pants off of good ole Ron.”
“Can it charm the pants off of you?”
“What do you mean?” I asked as I looked at her, driving distracted.
“Take your cock out.”
“Lo, I’m driving. In a convertible. On the main street of this city.”
“Exactly,” she said, wiggling her toes over my lap.
At a red light, I unzipped and pulled out my hard shaft.
We drove on and as we did her feet and toes caressed me. The surprise of it all brought me to an unexpected climax as well, covering Lo’s toes with my warm jizz.
This presented a problem. My trousers were soaked. The seat had a puddle. Everything was wet and sticky. How were we to get into the hotel to clean off?
“Well, isn’t this a fine mess you got us into?” I asked, mimicking Oliver Hardy’s constant refrain to Stan Laurel. But the allusion was lost on Lo. Different generation.
“What do you mean I got us into?!”
“Just kidding, dear. But what are we going to do?”
“Not a problem.”
“Really?”
“Yeah. Just drive up to the side entrance of the hotel.”
“What are you going to do, put on your invisicloak?”
“Sort of.”
I drove up and Lo said to me, “Leave your phone and wallet in the car and follow me.”
I followed her and she used her hotel key to let us in the pool entrance. She walked as if she was tipsy and, as if she were walking a balance beam, she tiptoed along the edge of the pool before “accidentally” falling in.
After a split second of shock, I kicked off my shoes and dove in after her, fully clothed.
A few of the guests and the staff ran over to the pool. I held Lo in my arms, her red dress clinging to her breasts, her little bare feet kicking and splashing. She faked coughing.
“It’s all right,” I called out. “I got her! But could someone get us a couple of towels?”
Men rushed to help and we both got out of the pool even more soaking than we had been a few moments ago. We wrapped ourselves in the plush white terrycloth towels and I turned to Lo and said, “Pure as the driven snow.”
She looked at me, her mascara dripping down her face, her hair matted down, and she smiled saying, “You’re welcome.”
“You’re welcome?! I saved you!”
“By letting you save me, I saved you. Happy Valentine’s Day Daddy.”
Back in the hotel room, after a long hot shower, as I lay naked on the bed watching Lo brushing out her hair, I put on a song that summed up Lola’s V-Day shenanigans. It’s called, “What Ever Lola Wants,” sung by Sarah Vaughan
Whatever Lola wants
Lola gets
And little man little Lola wants you
Make up your mind to have (your mind to have)
No regrets (no regrets)
Recline yourself resign yourself you’re through
I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for
Whatever Lola wants (Lola wants)
Lola gets (Lola gets)
Take off your coat
Don’t you know you can’t win (can’t win you’ll never never win)
You’re no exception to the rule
I’m irresistible you fool
Give in (give in you’ll never win)
I always get what I aim for
And your heart and soul is what I came for
When she came out of the bathroom, she said, “Damn straight! And now I’m coming for your cock.”
She crawled on the bed and, just to tease her, I said, “I thought I’d read a little.”
She spread her legs and replied, “Read between the lines,” as she placed her middle finger between her lush red labia.
“Looks like it says, ‘Rosebud,’” I said as I indulged in my dessert.
