Sore, but not Satisfied

We watched Boogie Nights up until the scene where the newbie pornstar, Dirk Diggler (Mark Wahlberg) is filmed by the seasoned director, Jack Horner (Burt Reynolds), making love to his wife, Maggie/“Amber Waves” (Julianne Moore).  At that point, Lo was too turned on from watching the movie while cock-warming me to continue.  We retired into the bedroom where she proceeded to ask me, “I bet you’d like to film me auditioning all those men who want to be pornstars, wouldn’t you Daddy?”

“I thought you were sore?” I asked her, referring to her masturbation marathon earlier in the day.

“Sore, but not satisfied.  Fuck me.  I like it when it hurts.”

I slid in her slippery snatch and she moaned with pleasure and pain.

“I think you’d like to be auditioning them,” I responded to her.

By the way her eyes rolled to the back of her head, I could tell that the image of her being the older seductress, seducing young, aspiring actors, getting them to break through the role and into the authentic enjoyment of her body, was turning her on.

While her fantasyland role was screening in the adult theater of her dark and dirty mind, my own thoughts were scrawling across my cerebrum.  Since I had cum on my own earlier that day, my stamina was augmented.  I had plenty of time, while Lo bounced up-and-down on my rod to the beat of her own drum, to explore the following musings.

I began with Boogie Nights and the thought of how, yes, Lo was right, I could easily see myself in the role of the director, Jack Horner, filming his own wife as she slept with various pornstars.  Turning her lustful liaisons into works of art was already my forte.  My mind then turned to the late, great Orson Welles and his love affair infatuation with Oja – his muse, mistress, and movie star of films such as F for Fake, and The Other Side of the Wind.  A documentary about the making of the latter movie came out a couple years ago and in it, those who were on set with Welles recalled how he wanted to film, at great length, a pornographic sex scene starring Oja with Robert Random (actual actor’s name).  Perhaps the aging Welles (he was between 55 and 61 while making it) took delight in seeing his young mistress (she was between 24 and 30 while making it) getting delight from a younger man who could give it to her.  Sounds familiar.

“Deeper, Daddy, please,” she whined as she rode me, startling me out of my musings.

I opened my eyes and saw her pulling at her nipples over me.  “Am I your pornstar?” she asked.

I tried to meet her descending hips with ascending thrusts of my own.  She needed to feel the tip of my shaft on that magic spot deep inside her.  If I were larger, longer, harder, I would press that button without even trying.  But, alas, that was not the case.

Frankie Shaw

 

Frankie Shaw

 

Frankie Shaw using her Instagram to expose herself

Her question turned my thoughts from directors making their muses the material of art, to that wannabe pornstar who used her creative powers of writer, director, and actor to live out her clear fantasy of being fucked on camera.  Frankie Shaw, in her series SMILF, used every opportunity to get naked, get laid, and get herself off in her show.  I wondered how her husband, Zach Strauss, enjoyed watching her perform completely gratuitous sex scenes on the show.  Let’s be clear, none of her sexpoloits were essential to the story – from her fantasy gangbang in the pilot where she is fucked by a basketball team of black men, to her seducing the boy she babysat, to the creepy scenes of her naked in a bathtub with her fictional child.  None of that advanced the plot in a way that it couldn’t have done without those scenes.  But, given the creative license she had, she used it to be as licentious as she could, making her the star – the pornstar.

Frankie Shaw from her Instagram being exhibitionist in her neighborhood during COVID

Lo wasn’t cumming.  She got up, off of me and commanded, “Get behind me and fuck me, hard!”  She was on all fours on the bed and needed me to stand up, perpendicular to her, as she looked in the full-length mirror before her, watching us fuck, as she might watch a porno.

“Come on, Daddio!  Really ram it home,” she called over her shoulder.

I thrust at her with all I had.  I was panting, sweating, wondering if my back was going to be sore for a week.

Mercifully, she began to cum.  I could feel her pussy clenching, preparing to eject me and ejaculate.  Her voice was insistent.  “Cum!  Cum!” she demanded, knowing that there were mere seconds left before I wouldn’t be able to remain deep inside her.

Enjoy your erotic reading.

“Where do you want me to cum?”

“Inmeinmeinmeinme!”

I don’t do well with cumming on command.  If she had said, “Whatever you do, don’t cum,” then there would have been no problem.  Besides, I had, at her recommendation, already cum once that day.  I was near my limit.

Frankie Shaw gets nailed by the boy she baby sat in SMILF

It was already too late.  The torrent had been unleashed.  The spillage had gushed down her legs and now the dam was about to break, flooding me right out of her.

Frankie Shaw stars in a porno

Her legs were quivering and she was pounding the bed with her fist as she screamed “FUCK!  FUCK!  FUCK!”

I backed up and watched the demonic possession take hold as she lost control of her faculties, senses, bodily movements, and sanity.

Her orgasms are simultaneously a full-body and out-of-body experience.  They are sublime to watch, in the full sense of that word: terrifyingly beautiful.

The bed covers were drenched; her body lifeless on top of the mess she had made.

Frankie dreams of Lola

Scene from SMILF
Not necessary, Right?
How did this get approved?

 

Slowly, her breathing steadied and resumed regularity.

She rolled over as if she had been hit by a Mac truck.

“Wow!” was all she said.  And then, a little while later, “I won’t be able to walk, sit, or cross my legs tomorrow!”

Frankie Shaw getting off to Lola Down

“I guess you’ll just have to lie in bed all day.”

“That’s ok, it’s my favorite place to be and my favorite position.”

She got off the bed and began cleaning up the sodden bedding, throwing all of it in the laundry basket.

“Feeling better?”

“You didn’t cum,” she had the gall to complain.

“I did, just not with you.”  I knew that remark would piss her off.

She gritted her teeth and growled at me.

“You told me to fuck Stoya, remember?”

“But on these short days in January, I really needed an injection of vitamin D, if you know what I mean.”

“It would have just come out in the wash anyhow.”

“That’s not the point.”

“What is the point?”

She thought for a moment.  “I like to have the power to make you ejaculate on command.”

“Talk about a control freak.  I did ejaculate on command – your first command.  You told me to jack off while you masturbated to oblivion.”

“But I thought you knew the Golden Rule: Love thy woman as thyself.”

“Oh, is that the rule?  I thought you said it was: Love thyself and often.”

“That’s my rule.  Not yours.”

“So, why did you tell me to go away instead of letting me watch?”

“Well, you made me jealous when looking at all those women.”

You’re the one who wanted to look at them with me!”

“Fiddle-dee-dee,” she said, dismissively.  “I wanted to make you jealous.”

“Oh, so it had nothing to do with being turned on by them?”

“There was that too.  But now I feel so slutty.”

“You should.”

“No, Daddy.  I mean, not only was I cheating on you. . .”

“It’s not really ‘cheating’ if I know about it and condone it.”

“I was corresponding with a guy online.”

“Today?”

“Yeah, well, like every day.”

“And?”

“His name is John.  I call him my internet boyfriend.”

“I think you mentioned him to me.”

“And I was cheating on him with another guy.  Or maybe I was cheating on the other guy with John.  I don’t know.  It all gets so confusing.”

“Let me see your other boyfriends.”

She showed me their cumtribute photos.

“Looks like I have stiff competition!”

Lola

Masturbation Marathon

Lo and I were in the living room, sitting on opposite ends of the couch.  She was looking at her phone.  I sat with my laptop open, reading emails, when suddenly, up popped an email in our shared account.  Unlike most of our fan mail, it wasn’t directed to Lo, it was addressed to me.  And it had a few photos attached.  Sexy photos.  Of my female fan.

“What are you looking at?” Lo asked, never one to be unobservant.

“Nothing,” I clumsily lied.

“What do you mean nothing?”

“Just an email,” I said, telling the truth, trying to pass it off as nothing.

“Let me see,” she said, scooting over, closer to me, suspicious.

How does she do that?  How does she know when something is amiss?

My heart was racing.  She gets so jealous.

There was nothing to do but give in to the inevitable.

I showed her the email and the photos.

“Nothing huh?  Who is she?”

“I don’t know.  I really don’t.  Just a fan.  A connoisseur of fine literature.  A grateful reader.  A woman of exquisite taste in art.”

“You really don’t know who she is?”

“I swear.”

“She just wrote to you for the first time?”

“Yes.”

“You haven’t carried on a correspondence with her?”

“No, absolutely not.”

“You like her?”
“What do you mean, like her?”
“You find her attractive?”

That is a very dangerous question.  The female author of the epistle in question was, in point of fact, appealing.  As her missive made clear, she was a wife and mother whose sex life had fallen fallow in the past few years as the children occupied more of her time and energy.  But reading about my sex life with Lola had rekindled something deep down inside her and she just wanted to show me exactly where it was rekindled.

“She’s not unattractive,” I said, attempting to be as neutral as possible.

“Let’s play a little game,” said Lo.  I was quizzical.  “I’ll go through photos of our fans and you tell me if you find them sexy.  But let’s do it in the bedroom.”

“What?”

“Yeah, just be honest,” she said as she walked down the hall.

“Are you trying to get me deeper in the hole?” I asked, following behind her.

“Depends on which hole you mean.”

GULP.

“Let’s start,” she said as she took out her computer and went to her special stash of emails and photos.  She unzipped my pants and grabbed onto my flaccid member as she pulled up photo after photo.  Honestly, I was too scared to get hard.

After about five or ten, she paused and looked at me a moment.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Lo, you know perfectly well what’s wrong.  For years now, you’ve made the nature of our relationship clear.  Now you want me to look at other women?  I think that I’m being set-up.”

“No no no,” she said with a smile.  “I’m just feeling like changing things up a bit.”

“You know, I could get just as hard looking at photos of men who’ve sent you cumtributes.”

“Well, maybe I’ll throw in a few of those as well.  But don’t be bashful.  Let’s keep on playing.”

She scrolled through scores of sexy photos and, for each one she gave me a bit of backstory, telling me the names of each woman and a bit of bio.

“That’s Floss,” she said.

“Yes, I know Floss,” I responded as she went through photo after sexy photo of her.

Floss and Match, Cinder & Spark

“And this is Karla.”

“I know Karla too.  In fact I wrote about her.”

Just Floss

“Yes, that’s right.  Did you know her hubby, Chris, gets off to me when he has her at home?”

Karla and Chris

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

“This is the author, Larry Archer’s wife.”

“Is she a fan?”

“I don’t know, but I’m a fan of hers. . . and his!”

“And this is. . .”  The list went on-and-on.  With each new set of photos that Lo opened from her password-protected fap file, she grew a little more excited.  If she was a guy (and she sure acts like one), she would have had a raging hard-on at this point.  I have no doubt that her clit was fully tumid.  She was reaching for it.

Karla over the years

Karla’s husband Chris getting off to Lola

“Um, can you give me a minute?” she asked.

“What?”

“Here,” she said, passing me the Stoya Destroya vagina.  “You can use this if you want to wank.  But only use my photos.”

“What are you going to do?”

“I’m gonna have me a wank too.”

“But you want me to leave.”

“Yeah, is that ok?”

“Um no.  Not really.”

Larry Archer’s wife

“Just give me a little while.”

She got out of bed to escort me to the door as she got out of her clothes.  She put her panties on the doorknob as if she had a paramour over, but it was just her and her fingers, toys, and binders full of women.

I went back to the living room, confused, carrying my vagina.  Well, Stoya’s vagina.  Carrying a vagina.

I returned to the bedroom and knocked on the door furtively.

“What?” she asked, not opening the door.

“Lube,” I said.  “You didn’t give me the lube.”

The door opened a crack.  I saw her standing naked.  She looked good.  Her arm extended, dropping the tube of lube in my hands.

“OK?” she asked, shutting the door.

Stoya front, Lola back

I walked away again.

Finding my way onto the couch, I began writing – this story.

Lo’s orgasmic arias were audible throughout the house.  They rose and fell, crescendo, decrescendo.  So many ups and downs I lost count.  I looked at the vagina sitting next to me and said, “It’s bad enough she needs more from me.  Don’t you just sit there and look despondent at me that she’s getting all the action.  It’s not my fault you don’t have arms, hands, or fingers to help yourself out.”

Finally, I made use of Stoya, more for her sake than mine.  She looked so sad there.

I came, one brief onanistic climax, looking at Lo’s photos on the internet while Lo, in the flesh, was having a grand old time fucking herself just down the hallway.  I got up to do the proper aftercare cleaning of Stoya in the second bathroom and saw Lo’s panties still prominently displayed on the doorknob as Lo went at it.

I returned to the couch and took a long nap.

I was woken up by the feeling of Lo’s lips on my flaccid cock.

“What are you doing?”

“Cock-warming,” she said as she lay naked on the couch between my legs, looking up at me.

“You want something?”

“No, Daddy.”

“No?”

“I’m sore.”

“What the hell was going on in there?”

“You really want to know?”

“Yes.”

“Well, I started off jilling to the women I was showing you, but then I was into the cumtributes I’ve been getting.  I’m such a slut.”

“Agreed.”

“No, you don’t know why I’m saying that.”

“Do tell.”

“Well, I guess it’s bad enough that I am not faithful to you.”

“I don’t mind. . . usually.”

“But I have a sort of internet boyfriend.”

“What is that?”

“You know, like a work wife or a work husband.”

“You mean when people become overly chummy with people they work with?”

“Yeah, like that, but in my case, it’s with people I’ve met online.”

“Go on.”

“Well, I’ve been cheating on one of them with another guy.”

“I’m sure they don’t expect monogamy from you, dear.”

“Yeah, they’re both married themselves.”

“So, what’s the problem?”

“That’s just it!”

“What?”

“Do you think I have a problem?”

“Other than being a nymphomaniacal, egomaniacal hotwife attention whore?”

“Yeah, other than that.”

“No, not at all.”

“Really?”

John Doe shrine to Lola

“If your biggest problem is that you’re sexting with someone behind the back of your long-distance lover while shutting me out of the bedroom so you can fist-fuck yourself because you’re turned on by your fandom, well, hey, we all should be that lucky!”

John Doe gets of to Lo

“I love you, Daddy,” she said, before returning to cock-warming me.

“Want to watch a movie?”

“Sure.  What?”

Northerngentleman

“How about Boogie Nights?  Have you ever seen it?”

Northerngentleman cums in his wife’s panties.

“No.”

“Oh, then you’re in for a treat.”

  • Photos used with permission.

Rear Windows

“Where are you going?” I asked.

She was dressed up in a blue dress and strappy wedges, looking like she was someone’s blue belle.

Blue Belle Lo

“I’m going to meet Meri.”

“Where this time?”

“Oh, her house,” she let fall from her lips as if that were no big deal.

“Her house?!” I asked, concerned.  “In COVID Times?”

“Don’t worry, silly.  We’ll be at a safe social distance from one another.”

“How’s that?”

“I’ll tell you when you’re older.”

“When I’m older you’ll have to tell it to the funeral director.”

“Love you!” she said as she blew me a kiss and walked on out the door, hopped in her car and drove away with a little beep-beep.

I hadn’t expected to spend that Sunday alone.  It was beautiful out.  The sky was as blue as Lo’s dress and the sun as bright as her disposition.  The air was warm, but not oppressive, as it had been most of July.

Without plans or partner, I ventured to the local park with my folding chair, thermos full of G&T and ice, and the novel I had been reading, My Mother by George Bataille.

Simultaneously, as I was sitting in the park, reading, watching the youthful frolics of the people around me, reminiscing of my Lola in the park with Meri a couple of weeks prior, and comparing the scantily clad flirts around me with my slut, Lola (there is no comparison, really), Lo was off in the burbs engaged in the following activities.

She arrived at Meri’s picture perfect suburban home around eleven.  It was in one of the wealthy bedroom communities around our city, about a half-hour away from us.  She pulled up along the curb in the cul-de-sac and texted Meri, “I’m here.”

From the car, she observed the blue hydrangeas, the yellow black-eyed Susans, and the rose bushes.  She wondered, Did Meri tend those?  Hired help, probably.

Due to COVID, there was no going in the house, except for use of the bathroom.  Lo put on her mask when she saw Meri come outside.  Lo got out of the car and had that awkward moment when, during normal times, there would have been a hug and maybe a little kiss hello, but not now.  Not during COVID.  They just smiled, delighted to see each other.

Meri said, “I love your dress.  And those shoes!”

“Aw, shucks,” said Lo with faux modesty.

“And what do you have on under that dress?” asked an eager Meri.

“We’re tanning in your backyard, right?”

“Yep.”

“I’ve got on a bikini.”

“Perfect,” said Meri, smiling a devilish grin that looked even more authentic given her red hair.  “I’d give you a tour of the house, but. . .”  She didn’t have to say anymore.

She led Lo around the side of the house, through a little gate, to the backyard.

“Is anyone home?” asked Lo.

“Everyone.”

“Everyone?”

“Yep.  Scott and all three boys.”

“Oh,” said Lo, “I thought it was going to be just us.”

Meri didn’t answer.  She simply extended her hand to the lounge chairs in the backyard, separated by many feet from each other, and behind them, the blue inground pool.  “How’s this?” she asked.

“It’s lovely!”

“Come on in and get comfortable.  Can I make you a drink?”

“What do you have?”

“Anything you want.”

Lo looked at Meri and said, “Something wet that will make my head spin.”
“Coming up!”

Lo removed her shoes and walked around barefoot in the backyard.  She looked at all the flowers in bloom, the lush green grass, the tall trees in the distance, and then back at the house.  Soon she saw Meri emerge from the sliding doors in the center of the house that led into the kitchen.  She was carrying two tall drinks.  When she had gone in the house, Meri was wearing jeans and a blouse.  But now she was wearing only a tiny thong bikini bottom and a just as skimpy, matching solid yellow bikini top.

Bikini Babe Lo

“Here you go, Lo,” she said, passing her a glass filled with pink bubbly liquid and a red striped straw in it.

“Thanks,” said Lo, sipping and staring at Meri.

“Don’t you want to change?”

“Oh, yeah.”

Lo pulled her dress up over her head, revealing a more modest bikini than Meri was wearing and than Lo had worn the previous time they met in the park.

“If you feel like going for a swim, help yourself.  You can even skinny dip if you want.  None of the neighbors can see.  Not that that matters to you,” she added, referring to Lo’s exhibitionism in the public park.

“What about. . . ?”  Lo nodded in the direction of the house, indicating Meri’s family.

“Oh, them?”  She shrugged her shoulders.  “They’ve seen you naked already.”

“What?!”

“I told you.  Remember?”

“You said that you found me through your husband looking at the blog and that your son also discovered it, but you didn’t say everyone had.”

“Well, I don’t know that for sure,” said Meri, “but it wouldn’t surprise me.  It’s a house full of testosterone.  It is unbearable for me sometimes.  It’s nice to have another woman here for once.  You’re my first guest since COVID.”

They were lying down now and Lo couldn’t help suspecting that she was being watched by four pairs of eyes in the house.

“Is your husband going to come out and say hello?”

“Probably not,” said Meri.  “He’s shy.  He knows that you know and he’s embarrassed.”

“Do you think he’s watching?”

“I hope so.”

“Really?”

“Oh yeah.  He’s been doting on me ever since he found out that I’ve been corresponding with you.  It makes him so horny.  Sometimes we put your photos on the computer so we can both see it and he goes at me from behind.  I’ve told him about how I’d love to have a strap-on to fuck you the way he fucks me.  That makes him give it to me even harder.  We’ve also been listening to your audiobooks.  Sometimes we pick a destination an hour or so away, just to get in the car and listen.  Then we pull over in the woods somewhere and I give him a blowjob while he listens to Jupiter Grant narrating those sexy stories about you.  Maybe one day she’ll be narrating about me!”

Lo was blushing.  She was not used to her life on the down low being out in the open, commented on, and even being pandered to in order to make it into the narrative.

Their lounge chairs were facing the pool, that is, away from the house, but, as they continued to talk, swapping stories and fantasies, the sun had repositioned almost behind them.  Lo stood up and said she was hot.  She was going to take a dip, if that was ok.

“Sure, it’s fine.  I’ll refresh the glasses,” said Meri, walking in the house.  Lo watched her strut inside and she liked looking at Meri’s sweet ass move in that thong.  She thought about how Meri was almost twice her age, had three sons, and still had an incredibly seductive saunter.  MILF Meri, she thought.

The thought of the three sons was gnawing at her conscience, however.  The oldest had to be almost Lo’s age.  The youngest. . . how old was he?  He must be at least eighteen, right?  I mean, Meri didn’t seem to have a problem with his reading the blog.

Lo walked out onto the diving board and dove into the pool.  The chilly water was refreshing and helped her clear her mind of all the dirty thoughts that were swirling in it.

When Lo saw Meri returning with the drinks, she got out of the pool and the two of them turned their chairs to be facing the sun.  Facing the house as well.

“I think I’ll take a dip too,” said Meri.

Lo was sorry that her chair was now facing the opposite direction from the pool because she couldn’t watch Meri without being obvious about it.  She didn’t want to gawk.

She sat and sipped her drink and looked at the vacant windows of the house in front of her, wondering behind which of them were her secret admirers.

When Meri returned to the chair, Lo was taken aback because, when Lo wasn’t looking, Meri had stripped out of the little that she was wearing.

Meri picked up a towel to dry off and then put it down on the chair under her and laid down on top of it, naked.  Lo liked what she saw.  It was clear that Meri usually tans nude.

Lo was about to say something when, from within the house bellowed a loud “Maaaahhh!”

Meri looked at the house.  Again, louder, “MAAAAAHHH!”

“Hang on a sec,” said Meri, walking quickly into the house.  Lo watched keenly as Meri’s naked ass jiggled in front of her.

Soon Meri came outside again, still naked, her large and slightly sagging breasts flopping without any constraints on them as she walked.

“Everything ok?” asked Lo.

“Yeah,” said Meri.  “It was just my son.”

“What did he want?”

“To be a pain in the ass.”

“Really?”

“He craves attention.  He was upset because I had put a parental control on the computer and on his phone.  He demanded that I unlock it.”

“Did you?”

“No.”

She was about to add something else when again was heard, “MAAAAAAHHHHH!!!!” even louder than before.  The sound, which reminded Lo of a foghorn, bellowed from inside the house.

Meri raised her index finger to say just a minute as she danced her way inside again.

This time she took a while.  Lo was left wondering at her absence.

When Meri finally returned, she didn’t look happy.

“What’s up?”

“He’s so spoiled.  It’s my fault.  I spoiled him.”

“Why?  What’s going on?”

“Never mind,” said Meri, taking a long sip of her drink.  “You don’t have kids, do you?”

Lo laughed, “No.  I don’t plan on it.”

“Grrrrr,” grumbled Meri, “I’m sorry.  They treat me like a house servant here.  It’s always, ‘Mom do this.  Mom, I need that.  Mom, take me here.  Mom, I want. . .’  Since COVID, it’s been even worse.  All three boys here twenty-four/seven.  Absolutely no privacy.  Scott works from home.  The kids are always home.  I’m used to everyone being out of the house for at least eight hours a day.  It’s bad enough that I’ve lost that me-time, but they are up to all hours at night.  I have to do something to take my mind off this.  Will you help me out?”

“Sure.  What can I do?”

“Will you turn towards me?”

“OK,” said Lo as she turned her chair toward Meri.

“Will you show me your pussy like you did in the park?”

“Ummm,” Lo was feeling uncertain.  “Where are your sons and your husband?”

“There, there, there, and there,” said Meri, pointing at the three bedroom windows on the second floor and the dining room window on the first floor.

“Are they watching us.”

“I don’t know.  Scott was on a phone call when I went in.”

“And the others?”

Meri shrugged her shoulders like it didn’t matter.

Very self-consciously, Lo slid her right hand under her bikini bottom.  She raised her leg that was closest to the house in an attempt to conceal what she was doing from the voyeurs within.  With her left hand she pulled the thin fabric to the side so Meri had an unobstructed view of what Lo was doing.

Meri moved her right hand down between her legs and parted her pursed lips with her fingers.  Slowly she moved her finger inside, stroking back and forth as she watched Lo digitally diddle her clit.

Lo was too aware of the eyes that might be watching to cum, but it didn’t take Meri long to climax quietly in the peaceful suburban sanctuary.

“Feeling better?” asked Lo when she saw the rush of blood to Meri’s chest begin to subside.

Meri just laughed quietly to herself and licked her fingertips.  “Thanks Lo,” she said.

Lo mustered up the courage to ask the question that was distracting her the whole time.  “You don’t have a problem with the kids. . . uh, seeing you?”

“Like I said,” began Meri nonchalantly, “there is no privacy around here.  I’ve given up on trying to hide it.  And so have they.  We just accept ourselves as we are and accept our sexuality.  We’re all sexual beings, Lo.  You should know that more than anyone.”

Lo was not at all clear as to what Meri meant by “accepting” things, the way Meri spoke about it.  Also, thought Lo, this house is huge.  How could you not have privacy?  But she didn’t ask questions.  She just listened.

“When I went inside, he wanted my help again.  He says he likes it better when I do it for him.  Spoiled brat.  You’d think he could do something for himself at that age!  But, it’s ok,” she added in a gentler tone, “He’s just a momma’s boy and I know that one day that will come to an end.  My husband calls him ‘Prince Hamlet,’ because his life is so easy, yet he is always seeing the sinister in everything.”

“Maybe I shouldn’t have come over,” said Lo, voicing her misgivings.

“I’m so glad you’re here, Lo,” said Meri, spreading her legs further on the lounge chair.

“But I think I’m just complicating everything.”  Lo’s head was spinning.  The drink, the sun, the sexual stimulation, the hidden intrigue, all culminated in a dizzy spell.

“He might be a little jealous, but I haven’t had a guest in four or five months!”

Lo didn’t know whom Meri was talking about, one of her sons or her husband.  Images of men’s faceless faces flashed in her mind.

“Can I, er, use your bathroom?” asked Lo.  She felt like she had to get out of the sun, out of the spotlight.

“Sure.  Straight in those doors and to the left,” said Meri, pointing.

Lo picked up her mask and put it on as she timorously walked toward the imposing house.

She slid the sliding screen door open and walked into a large, open-plan kitchen/dining room.

A large, rotund man was sitting at the dining room table looking into a laptop computer.  He wore cargo shorts and a short-sleeve button-down blue shirt, untucked.  He looked over at Lo when she entered the room.  Her eyes took a moment to adjust to the relatively dim light inside.

“Oh, you must be Lola,” said the man in an authoritative, booming voice.

“Yes.  And you’re Scott?”

“My wife is crazy about you,” he said, making Lola feel awkward.

“The bathroom?” asked Lo, timidly.

“Right there,” said Scott, pointing to a door at the end of the kitchen.  “Did you really do all those things H.H. wrote about you?”

“I’m here now, ain’t I?” was all Lo responded, before walking to the bathroom.

When she came out of the bathroom, back into the kitchen, behind the ‘L’ shaped kitchen counter, far at the other end of the room, by the dining room, was a young man, staring unflinchingly at Lola.

Lo walked towards him.  She had to if she were to exit the kitchen.

“Hi,” she said nervously.

He was shirtless.  No answer.

“You must be. . .” began Lo, realizing she had no idea the names of Meri’s sons.

“You’re even better looking in person,” he said, mesmerized.

Lo looked around the room for Scott.  He was nowhere to be found.  It was just this kid and Lo, staring each other down like the Sheriff and the Outlaw in some western.  But who was who?

“What do you mean?” asked Lo, knowing very well what he meant.

“You like my mom?”

“She’s very nice,” said Lo, flustered.

“Are you going to fuck her?”

“You should watch your mouth!” replied Lo.  He had the face of a cherub, but that just made it all seem more inappropriate.

“You’re one to talk,” he said in a joking manner that Lo found a little endearing.  “Can I see you without your mask on?”

Lo briefly pulled down her mask under her chin.

“You’re beautiful,” he said, seemingly unaware of the words escaping from his lips.

“Shucks, thanks.”

“So, are you and my mom going to. . . ?”

Lo walked toward the boy, her mask back on now.  “You have needs.  Your dad has needs.  Well, your mom has needs too,” she said, gently.  “You might not be aware of her needs because she’s always taking care of you and your brothers and your dad.  Her needs might not be as obvious.  But they are just as real and just as. . . pressing.”

The boy looked blankly back at Lo.  Then he said, “You don’t know my mom very well, do you?”

“Well enough.”

“Her needs come before everybody else’s,” he said.  Lo thought she detected a hint of word play when he said “come.”  Maybe it was just in her perverted imagination.

“From what I hear, she takes good care of you,” replied Lo.

The boy acknowledged the truth of that statement wordlessly, looking a little ashamed and blushing.  He added, “But we’re all clear that she has needs.”

Lo walked past him and out the door.  When she got into the backyard, she saw Scott talking to his naked wife.  The sight overwhelmed her for a moment.  When Scott was sitting inside, she had noticed his rather hefty size, but now he was standing over Meri and he seemed like a giant in comparison to her.  He was enormous, both in height and girth.  He was easily 300 pounds.

Scott & Meri

The two of them saw Lo as she reentered the backyard and they stopped whatever conversation they were having to smile at her as she returned to her lounge chair.

“I just met your son,” said Lo.

“Oh, which one?” asked Meri.

But before Lo could say she didn’t know, Scott chimed in with, “I hope he was polite to you.  You know, these boys – three of them – it’s like, I mean sometimes I feel like the animal trainer at a circus.  That’s the best we can expect of them at that age!”

“Oh no he was. . .” began Lo before being cut off yet again by Meri.

“Scott, will you go and back me up about the parental controls on the computer?”

“Enjoy the sunshine,” said Scott as he dutifully walked back into the house.

Lo settled into the chair and tried to see in the dark doorway to the kitchen to ascertain if any eyes were looking back at her.  She could make out nothing.  The brilliant sun outside made the door to the house appear as a rectangular void.

“He’s not wrong,” said Meri.  “Living with three teenage boys, well, it is like being a zoo keeper – constantly cleaning out their cages, feeding them, and trying to keep them in line.  It’s exhausting.  I can’t wait until this damn COVID thing is over and we can send them all to college.  I never thought I’d say that, but it’s true!  I was just getting used to having two of the three out of the house when this plague struck.”

“I can’t even imagine,” said Lo.  Then, pensively, Lo asked, “Has it always been like this?”

“Like what?”

“I mean, have you always been so, er, nonchalant around them?” asked Lo, referring to Meri’s non-concern for her nudity.

“I’ve never been ashamed of anything,” she said.  “But this COVID quarantine put all of us in closer quarters.  And, I have to admit, in the past year or so, my sex-drive has shot way way up.  Like through the roof.  I don’t know if it’s the onset of menopause or what, but I can’t seem to get enough.  And with the three boys always around and, well, frankly, Scott. . .”  She trailed off and then added, “I eventually gave up on the idea of me-time.  Sex and sexuality are completely natural.  We’re all sexual beings.  We all have needs and desires.  Believe me, I’ve had to clean up enough cum-covered sheets from these three boys to know that they’re not exempt.  So, why hide it?  Why pretend like it’s not real, for me, for you, for them,” she said, nodding at the house.  “Yeah, I’ve known for a long time that Scott looks at porn and that late at night, after I’ve gone to bed, he jacks off in his home office.  Frankly, he doesn’t try to hide it.  Or, if he does, he doesn’t do a very good job of it.  For many years, before my libido kicked into high-gear, I just didn’t care.  I mean, at least he wasn’t bugging me at midnight, so I got my sleep.  I didn’t like the lying or the deceit, but I put up with it.  It was a minor transgression.  As long as he wasn’t having an affair.  And I checked his computer and phone enough to know that that wasn’t happening.”  She paused to take a long sip of her drink.  “The boys?  I’ve known that they are self-pleasuring ever since the oldest hit puberty.  Fine by me.  I’d be a hypocrite if I said it was wrong.  I just ask that they use tissues rather than give me more laundry to do.  I also don’t want them watching all that extreme, violent, misogynistic, hyper-objectifying, crazy porn out there.  Women being choked, abused, spat on, peed on.  Women fisting other women anally all the way up to their elbows.  Women having their anus used as a cereal bowl.  Have you seen the porn out there?”

Lo was praying that the question was rhetorical.  But, in asking the question, Meri was, perhaps inadvertently or intentionally, giving away what she had seen somewhere.

After only a slight pause, during which Lo was silent and merely blinked, Meri continued, “It’s horrible.  Women being fucked by dogs, horses, drinking pee, you name it!  I mean really!  I don’t want my kids being raised on that.”

Lo was blushing by now.  She hoped Meri would think it was just the combination of the alcohol and the sun.  She couldn’t tell what Meri had seen of the blog.  Had she seen the more risqué posts?  Was she referring to those?  Did she want Lo to open up about all her naughty kinks, her taboo fantasies, her hidden shame?

“I don’t care if they get off on a naked woman’s body,” she said while applying more sunscreen to her breasts, “or lesbians, or even a blowjob scene.  Whatever.  But the internet is worse than drugs.  It will fuck with your head for years to come if you’re not careful.  So, as long as they’re under my roof, I insist on access to their search history and their phones.”

“And they agree to that?”

Meri was now applying the sunblock to her legs.  “Well, they used to, before college.  The older ones, I mean.  Now it’s a struggle.  ‘But Mom,’” she mocked, “‘I have a right to privacy.’  And I have a right to know what’s on the phone that I pay for and on the computer that I bought, and what you’re downloading from the internet that is in my name.”

Lo suddenly realized that Meri was drunk.  She was ranting.

“Does Scott know that you track his porn activities too?” asked Lo.

“Scott?” Meri asked with a laugh.  “Ha!  No.  Either he is completely oblivious to the fact that I can see everything in his search history, or he wants me to know.  Either way, it’s fine.  But, as you know, it’s not fine when the kids discover what he’s been looking at (or when they discover what I’ve been getting off to).  When my libido was resurrected, it actually was helpful.  If I saw that he jacked off the previous night to a woman fingering her ass, well, I knew what to do to get him turned on.  If I saw that he got off to photos of a woman’s feet, well, the next night I was feet-forward.  When I found out that Scott was reading your blog,” she continued, “I was actually relieved.  I mean, yeah, you’re half his age and only a little older than our oldest son, but you’re real.  You’re not some desperate young floozy from god-knows-where who has been coerced into making porn.  You’re not strung out on drugs and putting yourself out there on the internet for your next fix.  You’re in it because you want to be.  And it’s clear that HH loves you, worships you.  It’s a healthy, if unconventional, relationship.  It’s refreshing.  And if my son wants to read about it,” she laughed to herself, “ha! at least he’s reading!!!  Right?  I mean, it’s good writing.  It’s both intellectually and sexually stimulating.  If porn is junk food, then it’s a granola bar.  Sure, it’s got a few chocolate chips thrown in, but it’s not bad for you!”  She laughed again.

Lo laughed with her, though she was feeling uneasy being talked about in this way.

“Do you think that Scott is reading about me because he has a thing for a hotwife?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, maybe he secretly wants to see you fucked by another man.”

“If only!” blurted out Meri, loudly.

“Have you talked to him about it?”

“No.”

“But surely you talked to him about me.  I mean, he was reading the blog.  You discovered that he was reading the blog.  You got into the blog.  Your son, or sons, got into the blog.  And now suddenly, here I am, in the flesh!  How did you explain that to him?”

It gradually dawned on Meri that Lo didn’t know the whole story.

“I told Scott that when I was checking our son’s browsing history, I came across your blog.”

“Oh.”

“He played dumb, like he had never heard of it or you before.  That night, before bed, I said to him, ‘Do you want to see what sort of smut our son has been looking at?’  He said ‘Sure’ as if he had no real interest in it.  I pulled up your blog on our laptop and we scrolled through it together.”

“No!” said Lo, incredulously.  (One of her greatest satisfactions is knowing that couples read the blog together.  Meri probably knew that already.)

“Yes, we did.  And I could see him getting aroused.  I said to him, ‘You like that?  You like that young slut?  That little nympho?  Do you wish you were with a cum-hungry cock-whore like her?’  He got all flustered.  He didn’t know what to say or what to make of me as my hand reached under the covers for his hard dick.  I stroked him off as he scrolled through your blog.  Then I gave him a blowjob.  And then I got on all fours and you won’t believe what he did.”

“What?!”  Lo was very interested.

“He put the computer on my back and fucked me from behind while looking at your photos.  He came like he hadn’t cum in twenty years!”

“Na-ah,” said Lo, incredulously.

“Yeah.”

“How’d that make you feel?”

“I was fine with it.  You and I had already had our date last year and so I was envisioning you in my mind as he fucked me.  I knew that I had one up on him.  Also, I was just glad to be fucked from behind.  You’ve seen Scott.  He’s huge.  Usually, when he fucks me, it’s missionary position.  I can hardly breathe.  He’s so big and heavy.  And, worst of all, he has a tiny cock.”

“No!”

“Yes.  He has to be really right up against me to get it in me at all.  I literally cannot remember the last time I climaxed with him.  I mean, I cum, but it’s always due to self-manipulation.”

Lo glanced down at Meri’s mons pubis and saw that there was a sparkle of light glimmering from her pussy because she was dripping wet again.

“How did you explain today to him?”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean, how did you explain that you and I know each other and that I was coming over?”

“Oh,” said Meri as if it was no big deal to pull the wool over Scott’s eyes, “I told him a week ago or so that I wrote to you and it turns out you live close by.  I told him we had carried on an email correspondence and that we finally met up for coffee.”

“What was his reaction?”

“He was surprised, but he clearly tried to play down his excitement at the prospect of meeting you.  I’ll bet you anything that when you went inside and saw him at his computer, he was reading your blog, not doing work.”

“Does he know that you and I. . . that we. . . that you have bi tendencies?”

“Oh yeah.  I mean, he knows that I’m interested in women, or at least that I was in college.  You wouldn’t know it now, seeing me as a middle-aged housewife and mom in the suburbs, but in high school and college, I lived up to the reputation redheads have for being wild and crazy.”

“I can believe it.  So, he’s ok with that?”

“Well, he doesn’t know that we’ve fooled around, but yeah.  What hetero guy isn’t ok with that?”

“I’ve known a few,” said Lo, reminiscing about some past relationships.

“Anyhow, he can’t believe you’re here.”

Author’s Aside: This whole account reminded me of a wonderful Italian movie I saw years and years ago called The Icicle Thief in which a beautiful, buxom, blonde model from a color TV commercial intrudes upon the black-and-white realism film depicting an impoverished family.  The notion of Lola the nympho, hotwife, sex-blog star walking into the quiet, suburban family life of Scott and Meri was superimposed in my mind over the Italian film.

“Does he have any expectations?” asked Lo.

“What do you mean?”

“Is he hoping to sleep with me?”

“I hadn’t thought of that,” said Meri.  She paused to think for a moment, gazing off at the house.  “I’m sure he wants to, but knows that he can’t without my go-ahead.”

“How do you feel about it?”

“Do you want to sleep with him?” asked Meri, incredulously.

“I’m just trying to gauge expectations.”

“Hmmmmm,” sounded Meri as she pensively looked off, picturing the scene in her mind’s eye.  “I guess I don’t really care.”

“Really?”

“Yeah.  I mean, he’s tiny.  I told you that.  And he cums in like five minutes, tops.  Would you really do it?”

“I’m not opposed,” said Lo.  “But I don’t want to create any problems.  You two should probably talk it over and make sure you’re both 100% on board.”

“I’ll let you know,” said Meri.  “He’s only slept with like three or four women, including me.”

“Poor guy.  And you?”

“How many people have I slept with?”

“Yeah.”

“Too many to count!” said Meri with a laugh.  “But no one new since getting married.”

“Oh, then do I have the boys for you!” said Lo.

“What?”

Lo went on to tell Meri about the brothers from across the street.  Meri was simultaneously intrigued and repulsed by her own excitement.  “They’re like the same age as my own boys,” she remarked.

Together, Lo and Meri discussed the myriad possibilities for the COVID quarantine cuckolding adventures.

Eventually, Lo and Meri bid each other farewell as Meri went to prepare dinner for her hungry family and Lo came home to me to get her fill of my love while she recalled to me the events with which I have just regaled you.

Sound

[This story, in case you don’t pick up on it, is dedicated to the incomparable, Jupiter Grant. You can find her work here, here, here, here, and here.]

“In physics, sound is a vibration that propagates as an acoustic wave, through a transmission medium such as a gas, liquid or solid. In human physiology and psychology, sound is the reception of such waves and their perception by the brain.”

Lola’s Tum

 

It had been a wet month.  The typical English spring attempted to outdo itself with unrelenting grey skies, showers, and sopping English gardens.  Jupiter Grant, or Jupi, as she likes to be called by her friends, had not gone out for weeks.  Her groceries had been delivered and her supply of wine was dwindling.  It had been months since she had seen her ersatz lover, H.  She referred to him only as H and thought of him as “ersatz” because he was a Husband to another woman and had a family in London.  Jupi was the proverbial “other woman,” the “mistress,” the “seductress.”  At least that’s the way the judging world would see her.  The judging world being the monogamous, heteronormative world.  Between Jupi, H, and H’s wife, there was an open understanding.  Still, that cozy relationship was of no use during the long COVID lockdown.

From Jupi’s point of view, she was the guest always late to the party.  She and H had chemistry that they both acknowledged.  Not just sexual, but spiritual.  They knew they were meant to be together, but their paths had crossed many years too late in life.  As a compromise to life’s cruel humor, they connected when and how they could; neither one demanding more of the other or disappointed by the other since they both knew that this was the best arrangement for all parties involved.  Yet Jupi was not late to the poly-party.  Thank goodness, she thought, that she lived in and was a part of the polyamory zeitgeist.

A Happy Fan

Yet the knowledge that they were two lost souls doing what they could to find joy in a largely painful and sad world provided little relief for Jupi when her deepest needs swelled up to fill her entire being with desire – desire to be held, touched, caressed, kissed, fondled, spanked, sucked, filled, and fucked.  At those moments, a quick fap merely whet her ferocious appetite.  She needed more.  She craved the comfort of H’s strong, firm flesh pressing down on her own soft, welcoming, warm body.

Unrelieved in her needs, she turned to compensatory pleasures and perversions.  Much of her sexual energy, she found over the years, could be diverted into creative power.  Writing erotica was her main outlet.  But lately she discovered a new medium into which she channeled her plentiful reserves of poetic and prurient lust and her craving to perform: her voice.  Through a series of happy coincidences, she discovered that not only could she narrate literotica, she could nail it with every ounce of sexy she felt swirling through her sensual spirit and her beautiful body.

Volume I

A manuscript had arrived: Match, Cinder & Spark: Nymphomania and the Single Girl.  “Hmmmm,” she thought, “this could be interesting.  Or, it could be a colossal waste of time.  Thousands of words, hundreds of pages of driveling, second-rate, even third-rate pablum ‘poetry’ for pubescent boys.”  She poured a glass of red wine and opened up the document on her computer.  She began reading:

 

“Tell me,” she said, “tell me what I am.”

“You’re a slut.”

“Yes,” she said, encouragingly.

“A whore.  A fucking sexmaniac.”

“Go on,” she moaned, biting her lower lip.  But I was too occupied with banging her from behind.  I needed to catch my breath.

“Tell me,” she demanded, “tell me what I am.”

“A cum-bucket.  A little cum-hungry tramp.”

“Yes,” she screamed.

“A sex addict.  A nymphomaniac!”

I slapped her ass hard as she screamed with delight.  Her wet little snatch secreted her luscious, warm juices all over my hard cock.

After she collapsed into the bed of blankets, I reached around her from behind and whispered in her ear, “Good girl.  That’s my good girl.”  She purred like a little kitten.

 

Artistic Tribute Photo

She felt a tingling between her legs.  She kept reading, taking small sips of wine as she felt her mouth watering.  As she continued, she felt something else getting wet.  She tried reading the words aloud, just to hear how they would sound in her voice.  Could she do the male lines?  It was narrated by Lola Down’s lover, H.H.  Was she the right voice for that?  Wouldn’t a man’s voice be more appropriate?  She tried it out, experimenting with various octaves and tones.  Clearly these two characters were American.  Should I pronounce “ass” the American way, or as I would pronounce it – “arse”?  Technical questions like these kept appearing, but she liked what she read.  She liked it a lot.  To her surprise, she especially enjoyed embodying the male narrator’s role.  Yes, she thought, yes, I’ll take this on.

A week later she was in her tiny makeshift “recording studio” – actually a closet with a light, a microphone, and her computer.  It was the most soundproof room of her flat.  She was in the middle of recording a story, “NYC,” about Lo and her raconteur’s trip to a strip club in Manhattan:

 

She slowly eased her way down Lo’s body, pressing her perky breasts and nipples directly in Lo’s face.  She took Lo’s hands and encouraged Lo to apply them to her body, caressing the dancer’s ass and legs.  As she slithered over Lo, she inconspicuously pulled Lo’s strapless dress down over Lo’s breasts, exposing them so that they could rub up against her own.  She then got down between Lo’s legs and gracefully pulled the hem of Lo’s dress up and up, rubbing her soft hands over Lo’s thighs and then sitting on Lo’s lap and rubbing her ass deep into Lo’s crotch.  All the while, Lo licked her lips and ran her tongue over her teeth in that sumptuous way that indicates that Lo is hungry.

 

 

Jupi found herself breathless.  She couldn’t continue with the narration.  There in the narrow confines of the darkened closet, she reached down under her skirt and panties and her fingers fondled the fount of her effulgent creativity.  She read the lines again and again in her mind and switched roles in her mind from being Lo to being the stripper to being H.H. observing it all.  The dance of subjectivity stimulated her mind as much as her digits released her pent-up puissance by penetrating her pulsating pink pussy.

Browsing the Literotica section

Wave after wave of relief and gratitude poured over her as her legs gave out and she slowly crumpled onto the now wet wooden floor of the closet, panting and heaving.  She opened the door to let in more air.  She desperately needed more air.

Eventually, she was able to finish recording the story.  She liked it so much that she wanted to share it, prematurely, with someone.  No, not with someone.  Not with anyone.  With H.  She needed to know his opinion of it.  Was it any good?  Was she any good as a narrator?  But there were so many doubts that accompanied her wish.  What if he didn’t like it?  What if he thought she was weird for even producing it?  What if he was turned on by Lola?

Ultimately her desire for validation and attention outweighed her insecurities and she hit “SEND” and immediately wished she could unsend it.

An excruciating day, then two days, then three days went by without a word from H.  She couldn’t record another page before hearing back from him.  She was in a frenzied state.  Why hadn’t he called, texted, emailed, something???

But, just when she thought she couldn’t take it any longer, there was an unexpected knock at her door.

A visitor?  No.  Couldn’t be.  Probably just a grocery delivery.  She hastily put on her robe and furtively opened the door.  There he was.  H.  Unannounced.  Unexpected.  Un-fuckig-believable!  She was ecstatic.  Jupi threw the door open wide and let him in.  But then she remembered the recording.  Was he here to break things off?

“Hi,” she said shyly, her nerves shot.

“Hi.”

“I wish I knew you were coming.  I would have. . .”

“I didn’t even know I was coming.  But I’ve been. . . I’ve wanted to. . . I just started driving and I found myself here.  I’ve been listening to your recording on repeat.”

“And?”

“Your voice is so fucking sexy.”

“Really?”

“Yes, really.  I’ve been hard-up for days.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?”

“I wanted to.  But I wanted to see you and tell you.”

“Way to drive a woman crazy!”

“Who wrote this?  Who is this Lola?”

Suddenly Jupi felt nervous again.  She felt butterflies in her stomach.  “What if?” questions started forming in her mind like they did before.  Incessant, annoying, pervasive questions filled with self-doubt and fear.  Her anxiety ramping up again.  She needed to get grounded.

“Come on in,” she said, taking his coat.  “Want a drink?”

She took out the wine and two glasses.  She let her robe drop, revealing her bare body just beneath the sheer negligée she was wearing under the robe.  It was sexy, but it was also comfy.  He looked at her, soaking in her visage.  She was a shy hermit full of inner life – sensual, spontaneous, artistic, creative, smart, witty, emotional, and most of all, madly in love with him.  Seeing her filled him with passion, just as the sound of her voice speaking those salacious sentences had made him crazed for three days.  Her flesh.  He wanted it.

She sat down next to him at the small kitchen table and opened her laptop.  She clicked on mysexlifewithlola.com and scrolled through the plethora of Lola’s porno pictures.

“Oh. . . oh. . . my,” he said slowly with long pauses in between exclamations.  “Um, wow!”  Images of Lola naked were replete on the screen.  But not just naked – naked with her 12 inch dildo, with her princess plug, with pearls on a string streaming from her ass, with her man, H.H., sucking his cock, filled with his cum, overflowing with the cum of other men, and stretching herself wide with one of the largest replicas of a horse cock H had ever seen!

“Yeah, she’s a handful,” said Jupi, resigned to sharing H’s attention with Lola.

“She reminds me of you,” he said, looking up at her downcast eyes.

“What?  Really?”

“Yes, if I had met you ten years ago.  I think she’s the spitting image of you.”

“Ten years ago?” Jupi echoed.

“Oh, no.  Come on.  I didn’t mean it like that.”

“You sure you don’t want some young sexy thing like Lo?”

“No, Jupi, I want you.”  He leaned in to kiss her.  Her stomach’s butterflies flew in a flutter, suddenly startled by the unexpected availability of his lips and everything else he brought to the table.

“I was just about to record another chapter.”

“Really?  Can I listen?”

“I don’t think you’ll hear much.  I record it in the closet,” she said.

“Which closet?”

“In the bedroom.”

“Oh.  Well, go right ahead.  I’ll just be lying on the bed.  Maybe I’ll hear something.”

They got up to go to the bedroom.  She took the computer and disappeared into the walk-in studio.  “Wait here quietly,” she said before shutting the door behind her.

She was just finishing up the story, “Horsing Around.”  She read loud enough for H to hear:

 

I was in jeans and I could feel my cunt getting totally saturated, soaking my panties through and through.  I spread my legs and rubbed his cock back and forth until finally he exploded.  It was a ginormous shot of cum over my head, but, as his cock slackened, he dripped some remaining cum down into my hair and on my face.  I had to unbutton my jeans and pull them and my panties down as I got on my knees.  As I sat under his dangling cock, I stroked my pussy till I too came in a giant puddle on the cement floor.

 

 

When Jupi was done with the story, she emerged from the closet.  She found H lying on his back, his trousers down around his ankles, his massive hard-on clenched in his right fist which stroked up and down from tip-to-base and back again.

“Could you hear?” she asked, astonished.

“MmmmmmGrrrrrrrrrAaaaaahhhhhhh,” was all he could say as his member erupted like a spewing volcano sending its warm lava all over the surrounding countryside and dribbling down its sheer cliffs, covering his hand in goo.  “Fuuuuck!”

“Did I do that?” asked Jupi innocently.

“You have the most sexy voice,” he answered.

Though flattered by his visceral standing ovation, Jupi was at least slightly disappointed that she wasn’t going to get any of her man’s patronage that day.  Never one to miss an opportunity, she got between his legs and licked up the mess he had made.

“Can I get an advance copy of that audiobook?” he asked.

Jupi smiled, looking up at H from between his legs.  “Of course,” she said.

After he left, she sent the audio files to him via email.

A few days later he texted her and said, “Jupi, you have no idea how happy you have made me.  I know that we can’t see each other, but I’ve been listening to your recording in the car every chance I get.  It’s incredible.”

“Glad you like it.”

“I’ve even started listening to it in bed.  I told my wife that it’s just a guided meditation to help me sleep, but, in fact, it has the opposite effect.  After she falls asleep, I pull out my cock and stroke to your voice.”

A week later he was at Jupi’s flat again.  This time they had an actual date planned.  After a small meal, they went into the bedroom and, lying down on the bed, he asked, “Can we, uh, listen to the audiobook?”

“But I’m right here,” Jupi replied.

“I know, but it turns me on.”

She agreed.

He had another request.  “Can I have you doggy style?”

“Yes.”

“And. . .”

“And what?”

“Never mind,” he said as she got on all fours on the bed and he stood next to it, ready to enter her from behind.

“What?” she asked over her shoulder.

“Can I put your laptop here?”

“Really?”

“I mean, I won’t if you. . .”

“No, go ahead.”

He placed the computer on her back, opened it up to Lola’s photos, and, listening to Jupi’s narration, entered her wet and waiting pussy.

Not Jupi, but a fan photo

 

Lo picked up her head and said, “Stroke it again as I rub my pussy.”  Lo leaned back across from Bill in the back seat and spread her legs wide.  Her right leg was lying on top of Bill’s knee.  She still had her cute little heels on.  Bill stroked his cock as he looked on, salivating, at Lo’s spread pussy.  With her left hand, Lo spread her pussy lips wide and with her right hand she was fingering her clit and her cunt.

Bill was treated to a feast for the eyes.  Lo came and came again to her own digital manipulation.  She so love’s to see men jerk off, but the only thing she loves more than that is to see them jerking off to her.  This Bill did with enthusiasm and then he started asking Lo, “I bet you want me to cum on your pussy, don’t you, you whore?”

“Oh yeah,” responded Lo in her low, deep, sexy, guttural voice.

“You want me to shoot my load all over that hot pussy, don’t you?” he asked.

“Oh yeah, do it,” she said in response as she continued to spread her legs and finger-fuck her pussy.

He got up from the seat and almost stood over her, frantically yanking at his cock.

“Come on, come on,” Lo encouraged, “cum on my pussy.  Come on.”  And then finally, in an explosion of cum that fell like rain all over Lo and her dress and her stomach and her pussy, he came and came and came and came some more.  Lo was shocked by how much he came on her.  She had never been drenched that much by a guy in her life. . . and she loved it.

 

As they listened to the story, they too came together. . . and loved it.

Lying next to each other, sprawled out on the mess of a bed, the computer screen still displaying Lo’s cum-covered body, H said, “You know, my wife has been listening to the stories as well.”

Lo Bathes in Beauty

“No,” Jupi said incredulously.

“Yes.  She found me out.  She discovered it wasn’t a ‘guided meditation.’  And so now, whenever she’s in the mood, she puts in her earbuds and listens with her computer open in front of her, while I go at her.”

“I can’t believe it,” said Jupi.

“I’m sorry.  Does that upset you?  I shouldn’t have told you that.”

“No, I can’t believe that little trollop.”

“Who?”

“You know who: Lola Down.  She’ll be getting off all of London before long.”

“No, dear, you’ll be getting them off with your voice.”

Thank you Lola.  Thank you Jupiter Grant.  Thank you H.  Thank you everyone who reads, listens, and gets off to these words dripping with love and lust, jizz and juices.  Thank you.

The End

Pictures of Lily

[Dear readers, here is the story that was just published in the July issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine (ENM, p. 38).  We hope you enjoy it!]

We finally returned home after months in exile paradise during COVID-19 lockdown.  We returned to a dusty house, cars covered in pollen as if after a light snow, and springtime blossoms.  With nowhere to go since work-from-home orders were still in place, we Lo set herself to doing the spring cleaning in between Zoom meetings.

I, being an entrepreneur, resumed going to my office, though it was empty of Ms. Gale and my other employees.

One day, not long after our homecoming, after work I was greeted by Lo at the door.  “What are you going to do with these?” Lo asked as I approached the threshold, holding four eight porno mags in her right hand.

My Sex Life Before Lola

“I was thinking about lining my coffin with them for the afterlife.”

“You can’t even get it up now – you think that you will be able to in death?”

“Haven’t you ever heard of rigor mortis?”

She let me inside to explain.  She placed the porno mags on the dining room table, displayed prominently as ‘Exhibit A’ in the case against H.H.

“Lola, where did you find those?”

Gili Sky in a very Lola pose

“The top shelf of our closet, buried under a pair of old shoes in an old, raggedy box.”

“That’s where you started your spring cleaning?”

“I’ll be asking the questions here.”

“I’m sorry Madam Prosecutor.  What was it you wanted to know?”

“Why did I find porno mags in our closet?”

“Because that’s where I put them?” I asked more than answered.

Gili Sky, precursor to Lo

“Begging the question!”

“OK, ok,” I said, raising my hands as if under arrest.  “Lola, look at the dates on those.”

“I don’t have to.”

“I know, because they’re so freakin’ old.  I’m sorry.   I guess I’m just sentimental.”

“Sentimental?!  What does that mean?  Are each of those porn stars an ex-girlfriend?”

“No no no.  I bought those when I was in my teens or twenties.  I haven’t let go of them.”

“Because you’re a hoarder.”

“I am not a hoarder!”

“You have alumni magazines from fifteen years ago, newspaper clippings from twenty years ago.  You even have a copy of the Sunday coupons from five years ago!”

“I’ve been meaning to redeem those.”

“Yeah, that’s my point!  They don’t even sell those products anymore.”

“Maybe I have a slight problem.  You’re right.  But, if you’re going to clean, start with the coupons, leave the porn.”

“Why?  You have all the porn you need right here,” she said, pushing her tits up, emphasizing her cleavage in the cutoff t-shirt she was wearing.

“Because?”

“Because why?”

“Just because.”

“When’s the last time you looked at those?”

“I don’t even know.  Let me see.  I need to refresh my memory here.”  I began to flip through some of the magazines.  “Oh yeah, Gili Sky.  Wanda Curtis, and Gina Wild!”

Gina Wild looking for her keys

She pulled the magazines out of my hands.  “That’s enough of that.  They’re going in the trash.”

“But Darling!”

“What?”

“Those aren’t just any porno mags.  They’re European.  I got them when I was in Germany for grad school.  They cost a fortune!”

“Trash!”

“They’re collectables.”

“You have to learn to let go.  What sort of Buddhist are you?”

“A bad Buddhist.  A very very bad Buddhist.”

“You got that right.”

“But, Buddhism is beyond duality.”

“So?”

“Good/bad, right/wrong.  All that is in the realm of Samsara.”

“Samsara eh?  Is she another porn star?”

“The best!”

“Good grief!”

“Those magazines are keepsakes.”

“Why’s that?”

“Well. . .” I didn’t know how to explain.  “You’re too young to understand.”

“Try me.”

“Back when I was growing up, we didn’t have the internet.  I wasn’t exposed to all the adult content you had at your fingertips.  In America we had Playboy and Hustler.  If you wanted some really raunchy stuff there were cheap, rather disgusting knock-off magazines.  But in Europe, well, this was great stuff and. . .”

“And what?”

“The first time I ever even heard of anal sex and so much more that really expanded my horizons.  They were truly beyond anything we had in America.”

“So, you can have all that now, in the flesh, with me!”

“Actually, it’s not the porn, so much as it is the medium.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“I mean, in today’s world of internet porn, it’s all pixels and binary code.  There are no more material products that you can hold in your hand, touch, feel, see the glossy pages, and put on a shelf to age like a fine wine.  It’s all instant gratification and disposable consumption.”

“You can hold me in your hand, touch me, feel me, see me.  I’m a very material girl.”

“You’re like a mashup.”

“What?!”

“A mashup between The Who’s See Me, Feel Me and Madonna’s Material Girl.”

“Oh,” she said.

“And these, these are my ‘Pictures of Lily,’” I said, picking up one of the magazines.

“Lilly?”

“No, not our friend Lilly.  The Who’s Pictures of Lily.”

The “Pictures of Lily” drum set of Keith Moon

“What’s that?”

“A song about a boy who can’t sleep at night because he’s hard-up so his dad gives him some nudie photos to jack it to, but the boy falls in love with the woman.  Unfortunately, she’s been dead since 1929.  The boy is heartbroken.”

“So you jack it to these photos?”

“No no no!  I’m just saying, all these women, they’re twenty-five years older now.”

“So, when I grow old, you won’t love me anymore?  Is that what you’re saying?”

“No, Darling!  You’ll never grow old.  You’re forever young – er younger than I am, that’s for sure.”

“Yeah, maybe you should plan on lining that coffin with these, since you’re practically one foot in the grave already.”

She hates it when I point out our age difference.

Just then there was a noise at the front door.

Lo checked it out and then walked back to the scene of our skirmish.  She held the mail in her hand.

“Look what just arrived,” she said, holding a package.  She opened it.  It was the June issue of Ethical Non-Monogamy Magazine.  She gave it to me to peruse.

“I like it.  Glossy.  Centerfold.  Lola.”

“I sometimes get the feeling you like me better in print than in real life,” she said as I read over our column.

“That’s not it at all, Darling.  I like that I get to share you with so many people all at once.”

“It’s the most ‘non-monogamous’ I’ve been since this pandemic began!” she complained.

“Yes, the most ethical too.”

“Look, we’ll make a deal.  You get to keep the magazines that I’m in.  The others go in the trash.”

“At least put them in the recycling.  We don’t want to be irresponsible.”

Lo as Playboy Covergirl

Will You Come With Me?

[The Mount Bliss mini-series continues from I Want to Drown in Lola Down.]

 

She licked my lance from tip to taint with a worshipful devotion before turning on her side and pressing her caboose into my pelvis.  She moaned, “Slide back in my ass, Daddy.  That’s where I want you to cum.”

In I pierced her from behind without the slightest bit of resistance.  She and I were both saturated by her super soaker and the spunk of her previous coital conjunction.

I was deep inside her and ready to fulfill her wishes when suddenly there was a knock at the door to the bedroom.

We both froze.  We listened intently.  Silently.  Another furtive knock.  Rap, rap rap.

In the still muted darkness I could feel my heart pounding and the pulse of my blood throbbing through my swollen saber lodged deeply in Lo’s spare sheath.  Pump, pump, pump.  Each heartbeat felt like a violent thrust inside her.

To my astonishment, Lola said quietly but confidently, “Come in.”

The door opened slowly and silhouetted in the frame was the unmistakable outline of Collin.  He stepped into the room and approached Lola’s side of the bed.  He walked slowly, probably because he had difficulty seeing in the sudden darkness.  He stood over the two of us, imposingly.

“I’m sorry to disturb you like this,” he said in a hushed tone.

If I disliked him before, I despised him now.

“What’s up?” asked Lo.

My cock was up, up inside her hooha, waiting to climax in a spectacular array of orgasmic delight.

“I just wanted to apologize,” he said slowly.

Couldn’t this just wait till morning?

Lo didn’t ask what he was apologizing for.  She patiently kept silent and allowed him to continue at his own pace.  For once he was fumbling for words.

“You see, uh, I’m not sure how to explain this.  But.  Suzanne.  She and I.”

Get on with it!  I am a man on a mission.

“Here, sit,” said Lo, pulling the covers back to reveal her naked body.  She shoved her ass further into my pelvis to make room for him.  I felt my cock penetrate parts of her that it had never probed before.

Collin sat down as Lo’s breasts, tum, and pussy were all exposed to him and I, the big spoon, was cuddling her from behind, conjoined to her body through her anus.

“What is it, Collin?” she asked kindly, touching his hand.  “You can tell me anything.”

“Well, Suzanne and I.  You know that we haven’t had marital relations for many years now.”

This was news to me.

“And you know why,” he continued.

No, I don’t know why.  But Lo just looked at him with gentle understanding.

“Go on,” she said.

“Well, for many of those years she. . . well, you can probably guess.”

Come out and say it, I thought.

“Anyhow,” continued Collin, “I wanted to apologize for her.  Her behavior.  And for Shadow.  I’m very sorry all that happened.”

“It’s ok, Collin,” said Lo, taking his hand and putting it on her naked body just above her hip.  “Is there anything I can do for you?”

He’s apologizing to you!  Why would you do anything for him?

Collin looked at me.  His eyes had adjusted to the dim light.  “HH,” he said, “You have a good one here.  A really special lady.  Don’t let her get away.”  As he said that, he caressed her breast.

“Let her get away?” I asked.  “You say that as if I have her locked down like a caged animal.  The reality is quite the opposite.”

“Yes,” purred Lola as Collin squeezed her bosom.  “Kiss me,” she instructed him.

He leaned over and kissed her.  Her ass jutted back, taking more of my cock, if that was possible.

She gave him a long, open mouthed kiss and I could feel her muscles clench around my cock.  Collin was clearly enraptured by Lo’s pure sexuality.  As they continued to kiss, I exploded deep inside her.  I could hold out no longer.  The pent-up energy from a week of celibacy was too much for me to bear.  I could feel the warm wetness that I had injected into her surrounding my cock.  She felt it too and her hand moved up Collin’s strong arm and gripped his bicep firmly as she clenched her ass, clutching my cock, squeezing every last drop out of it.

It was not how I had hoped to consummate our reunion.

“Will you come with me?” asked Collin, unaware apparently that I had just cum in her.

“What?” asked Lo.  She probably thought he had asked her to cum with him.  Hard to tell if the words are not written on the page.

“Come with me,” he repeated.  “I want to show you something.”

“Now?”

“Yes.”

“Is it ok, HH?” Lo asked, turning her head over her shoulder to look at me.  It was really just a formality.  She knew what I’d say.  Do I ever deny her anything?

“Sure,” I said, trying to conceal my resentment.

Lo began to move forward and I slowly slid out of her ass as she released me.  I flopped out of her and she dribbled a bit on me from her ass as her anus simultaneously made a sloppy slurping sound.

I could see her gingerly maneuvering her legs over the side of the bed.  She stood up, naked, and kept her legs and ass cheeks clenched tightly as she slid on her thong panties and slipped into a sheer beach coverup.

“Be back soon,” she said, as she turned to blow me a kiss.  I imagine that she leaked right over that little thong of hers, down her legs.

She shut the door behind her.

 

Mount Bliss: The Invitation

We had just finished watching David Hamilton’s film, Laura.  Yes, a throwback to 1979 and one that I had seen back in the “arthouse” days of cinema.  I had told Lo about it and her curiosity was piqued.  Not only was it sexy, taboo (in more ways than one), delightfully innocent (in more ways than one), and a classic of retro soft-porn, but it was an artifact from my sexual “youth,” or at least my younger days.  It was incredibly difficult to obtain since no one in America would touch it, stock it, sell it, or even acknowledge its existence.  But I had managed to procure a copy.  Anything for my Lo.

When I say we had just finished watching, keep in mind that Lo rarely gets through hardly any movie in one sitting, let alone a film involving overt sex and sexuality.  It had taken us five nights of her masturbating on the couch in fifteen minute bursts (towels spread on the couch and on the floor, of course) followed by role playing in the bed before we got to the final, climactic scene.  You could say she watched the movie in fits and spurts.  Now we were on the bed and she was looking up at me, over her shoulder, saying, “Daddy,” and I stood behind her bare bottom ready to ‘deflower’ her when suddenly her phone began vibrating.  Usually vibrating objects in the bedroom are welcome, but this was worse than coitus interruptus.  This was pre-coitus annoy us.  Lo grabbed her phone, looked at who was calling – Lily – and decided to answer it.

“Hey!” she said enthusiastically.  Then she turned around again, looked at me and made a motion with her free hand that I should penetrate her anyway, even as she was on the phone.

“Laura” still

“No, it’s not too late to call,” she said as I eased inside her very wet snatch.

“Ooooohhhh,” she moaned into the phone, “that sounds good!”  I thought she meant to say, “that feels good,” but whatever.

I continued going in and out as she was saying, “Uh hu.  Uh hu.  Yep,” to her friend.

I was feeling a little mischievous and I wanted a little more attention thrown my way, so while she listened to Lily on the phone, I grabbed her ass with both hands and slowly began circling her rear entrance with my thumb.  Like a planet gravitating to the event horizon of a black hole until it is swallowed by the singularity, suddenly my thumb was up to the first knuckle in.

Lo’s Lips

“WOW!” I heard Lo exclaim, but it sounded more like “Owwwww” with a double-u just barely in front.  She turned around and gave me a look before saying, “I mean. . . that’s just so exciting!”

Enjoying the attention I got and also enjoying embarrassing her a bit, I continued to insert my thumb up to the second knuckle.  I could feel my cock thrusting up against her rectovaginal septum.  She began to ease into it.

“Ooooh yess,” she said into the phone.  “I can’t wait.  It will be sooooo goooood.”

I held her ass with my hand, grabbing on from the inside with my thumb as my four fingers held her from the outside.  I pulled out my cock as I felt her cunt clenching.  I grabbed her even more tightly with my hand and watched as she squirted all over the bed and my knees.  It felt as if I had a leaky catcher’s mitt on my right hand.  Using that hand, I flipped her over on her back, before sliding my thumb out from in her.  She looked up at me and then I saw her eyes roll to the back of her head as she was breathing heavily.

“Yeah, yeah, I’m here.  Yes, I’m ok.  Just, uh, washing the dishes,” she said.  “OK, I’ll talk to you later.  Thanks!  Bye.”  She hung up.

“Washing the dishes?” I asked, incredulously.

“Shut up!  Who gave you permission to double-penetrate me?”

“You didn’t like it?”

“I loved it, but that doesn’t mean I expected it.”

“Well, I didn’t expect you to take a phone call just as I was going to knock on your front door.  What did Lily want anyway?”

“Do you remember Lily’s Uncle Collin?”

“How could I forget?  His big house, his big horse, his. . .”

“His big cock!” Lo interrupted.

“You didn’t see his cock.”

“I know, but I thought that’s what you were going to say next.”

“I was going to say his big personality.”

“Yeah, right.”

“Anyhow, what about him?”

“He called her and invited us to his other house; a little cottage on a lake.”

“Us?”

“Yeah, you, me, Lily and Jim.”

“For when?”

“Next week.”

“And you said yes?”

“I hope that’s ok, Daddy.”

“You know I can’t next week.  I have a huge case on Friday of next week and I’ll be prepping for it intensely.”

“Oh, but Daddy,” she said, making a sad, pouty face.”

“No.  There’s absolutely no way.”

“Can’t you work remotely?”

“I can’t.”

“Well, then I guess you can’t go.”

I was perplexed for a moment.  “So, you’re going to go?”

“I don’t have to be at work next week.  Why wouldn’t I go?”

Something about this didn’t sit right with me.  I mean, usually I wouldn’t have a problem with Lo’s spending time with another man.  But usually it would be a day or a night.  But a week?  And with this man.  Something about him I didn’t like.  He was rich.  He was older.  He was in great shape.  Did I mention how rich he was?  OK, yes, I felt threatened.  I admit it.  The other guys Lo likes to fuck are rarely competitors.  Sure, they might have a big cock, good technique in bed, or some other winning trait, but never did the whole surpass the sum of the parts.  Lo’s hole might have been filled, but I always knew that she’d come back to me after she came with them.  But with this guy, I wasn’t so confident of that.  Maybe it showed when Lo said that she’d go without me.

“Oh Daddy, are you worried?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t be worried,” she said, grabbing my cock and putting it in her mouth.

“Is that what you plan to do with Uncle Collin?”

She looked up at me, her mouth full up, and grunted something.  I couldn’t tell if it was a yes or a no.

“What?”

She let my junk fall from her mouth and asked, “Do you want me to?”

Now I couldn’t tell if my answer was yes or no.  The thought of it turned me on, but it also terrified me.

She took my cock back in her mouth and diligently applied all her oral techniques to it, pleasing me physically, even as she tortured me mentally.  I came in her mouth and I’ll confess, I came to the thought of Collin taking my place, doing exactly as I was doing to my little cum-slut.

Lola Loves Dick

Flawless

The Artist, Manu3l Beauty, Drawing Lo, as Drawn by Manu3l Beauty

 

In the first volume of Parerga und Paralipomena I read again that everything which can happen to a man, from the instant of his birth until his death, has been preordained by him.  Thus, every negligence is deliberate, every chance encounter an appointment, every humiliation a penitence, every failure a mysterious victory, every death a suicide.

 

Jorge Luis Borges

Labyrinths, from the story, “Deutsches Requiem” p. 143

Ever since I first read Henry James’ The Portrait of a Lady, I knew what I wanted to write: the antithetical portrait.  I wanted to write a response to the ever upright, ever virtuous, ever socially acceptable Isabel Archer.  I was young when I read Portrait, still, it had a profound effect on me.  I found it a struggle to read each and every painstaking page.  The rectitude of the protagonist grated on me.  Her compliance to social norms caused the hairs on the back of my neck to stand on end.  Her pathetic powerlessness at the hands of the pervasive patriarchy outraged me.

By the time I had read Portrait, I had already loved and left my lusty slut to whom I had lost my virginity.  Her nymphomaniacal ways were beyond my limited abilities to assimilate into my concept of the world at that tender age.  But, as I read Portrait, I knew, with every fiber of my being, that I wanted to strip Isabel of her honor and her clothes.

The idea remained and germinated in my mind over many years.  When, at a more advanced age, I had read the collected works of the Marquis de Sade, I thought at first that I was too late.  Someone had written the great work I envisioned since reading Henry James.  However, the more I read of Sade, the more I realized that no, this is not the work I envisioned.  Sade is brilliant, imaginative, subversive, and powerful.  He was an important voice for his time and, despite many detractors, he actually offers a harsh critique of religious institutions, monarchy, marriage, and all the other permutations of patriarchy.  He spares none in his scathing evaluation of oppression in all its forms.  But his protest is essentially a resounding No!  That was important for his era, but what he lacks, probably because it was unimaginable at the time, was a heroine who could proclaim a resounding Yes!

All of Sade’s fictional female figures are victims.  They may also be villains, but they are so only because they were first victims.  Hurt people hurt people, as the saying goes.  They were formed by the social, political, religious, judicial, and educational systems, hierarchies, and prejudices of their culture.  What Sade was really up to is open to debate, but a charitable reading could be that he was shining a light on the gender injustices of his day and, even if his medium of doing so was “sadistic” (a term that was invented because of him), it also was sympathetic to the plight of women.

But I longed to write The Great American Novel that told a different story.  Not the story of Justine, not the story of Juliette, and certainly not the story of Isabel Archer!  I wanted to write the story of a sex-positive woman who claimed her own sexuality, her female form, her feminine facticity, her healthy desires, her sexual conquests, her orgasms, her self-pleasure, and her liberal lending of her labia as her own in a way that was not the result of victimhood and was not wielded as vindictiveness.  In other words, I wanted a sexual heroine, not an anti-heroine, despite how some retrograde segments of our modern society might still view such a character.

Perhaps that deep-seated vision of a new dawn was responsible for drawing me into Lo’s orbit and then, ultimately, for my “drawing” her in my writings as the woman of my dreams.  I cannot deny that Lo, when I met her, was not already without scars from the injustices of society, family, and past sexual partners.  But she was not a victim.  She was, even then, well on her way to inhabiting her own power.  She was healing.  Through obstacles, with love and support, encouragement and empathy, she (re)claimed her puss and her prowess.

Lo might not have escaped the perils of being born a woman, but she has transformed her trauma into a personal triumph.  I endeavor to portray Lo not as a perfect portrait of feminine form, but as a realistic rendition of a flawed, fallible figure; made all the more beautiful by her unique imperfections.

I love Lola not because she is flawless, but because of her wabi-sabi character.  I love her the way Woody Allen loved New York City of the ’70’s.  Back then, the city was far from perfect.  She had her many ugly sides.  But he was in love with her and wanted to tell her stories to the world, to get the world to see her the way he saw her.  To get the world to fall in love with her just as he had.

Writing about Lo is not only my love letter to her, but, as so many who have read about her have told us, her story is also a vehicle to help others become as daring, confident, and self-actualizing as Lo, because perfect people don’t perfect people, but healed people can heal people.

Public Figure Exposé

Katie Hill

 

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.]

For All and None

Recently it was the 200th anniversary of Herman Melville’s birth and just about every report of the event included the phrase, “died in near obscurity.”  This phrase, “near obscurity” has been bouncing around in my head.  What is meant by “near” exactly?  I understand obscurity.  By far, the vast majority of authors die in obscurity, that is why, other than those whom I have personally known, I cannot name any of them.  But what constitutes near obscurity for an author?  Nietzsche, too, died in near obscurity.  One might even say that Thoreau died in almost complete obscurity.  Same with Zora Neale Hurston, Emily Dickinson, and Sylvia Plath.  For each of these luminaries of literature, at the time of their deaths, either the light of their past glory had faded or, like Kafka, they never had any fame during their brief tenures above ground but, due to unforeseen assistance from the universe, their stars began to rise only after their mortal flames had expired.

Like you, I have frequently seen the bumper sticker advice of: Dance like no one is watching.  Recently, though, I came across someone whose blog bio read: Write like no one is reading.  (Unfortunately, that author’s name has escaped me, and so she must remain, to me at least, obscure.)  That quip really stuck with me, just like the phrase “near obscurity.”  These two adages knocked around in my brain like billiard balls.

Writing as if no one is reading is a liberating thought.  It is permission.  It is license.  It is dangerous and risky.  And so, perhaps, living, writing, and even dying “in near obscurity” isn’t so bad after all.

(It’s also important to recall that “obscurity” has a second meaning as well: unclear, difficult to understand, complex.  Maybe that characterization doesn’t apply so much to this blog, but much of my writing would be aptly described as “almost totally obscure” in both senses of the word.)

When I look at our blog stats and I see that there are over one million views and over a thousand comments on the blog, not to mention all the other eyeballs watching Lola and me in our most intimate prose in other platforms around the blogosphere, and leaving out all the books we have sold over the years, I suddenly realize that there certainly are readers of what I’m writing.  Yet, when you compare the numbers, it is easy to feel as if no one is reading.  Various sources state that in there are approximately 500 million blogs in existence as I write this.  That means that even if we round up all the various platforms upon which we appear to five million views, then that doesn’t even comprise 1% of just the writers out there, let alone the readers!  Yes, multiple blogs may be owned by one person and writers are also readers, but you get my mathematical point, right? – Though people are reading the blog, it is “nearly obscure,” given the vastness of the virtual universe.

But the injunction to write like no one is reading is not saying that I shouldn’t have any audience at all.  It’s saying to write as if the audience didn’t exist, just as I might dance as if all of you beautiful people on the dance floor with me weren’t judging my awkward movements.  If the music so moves me and it gives me joy to dance, however I might express that joy, then, by all means, I dance as if no is watching.  Same with writing.

Yet you million or so people out there, and especially you lovely likeminded literary leches out there who write to us – you do read us and thereby keep us from the cold uninhabited reaches of the blogosphere where we would be in complete obscurity.  For that we thank you.