Lola awoke in a cold sweat and with a hot, soaked puss.
“What is it?” I asked, startled from unconsciousness suddenly.
“I just had the weirdest wet dream.”
“OK,” I said, realizing that there was no returning to sleep now, “tell me about it.”
“Well, you know how you try to make me jealous talking about what’s her name from what’s that show?”
“You’re going to have to be a bit more definite than that.”
“Anyhow, I had the weirdest dream about her.”
She then proceeded to tell me the following.
She was Casey’s babysitter. Now it was just the two of them, home alone, and she was horny. She had been fapping to Lola Down and the erotica of mysexlifewithlola.com all night. She hadn’t slept. Her sheets were soaked. She wanted to feel another’s flesh on hers, between hers, deep inside hers. She wanted that hot white cum. She wanted to be a slut. She didn’t want him to think of her as that “older woman,” a cougar, beyond the bounds of propriety. She wanted to get down and dirty for him. Shock him. Shake him out of his innocent naivete about women of a certain age. About women in general. About her. She was a woman – a woman with needs, wants, desires, lusts, and deep, dark, hidden shame, disgust, and revulsion. “Debase me,” she thought, “and I can rest in my degradation.”
She led Casey to the bathroom where she had up a poster of Lola Down. She lured him there with a request that he help her “clean the drain. It’s clogged.” He followed her, admiring her ass, against his better judgment. He was ashamed of himself.
She showed him the drain. It was clogged. After only a few minutes, they agreed it was time to call a plumber. He noticed her sex toys strewn around the sink, the bathtub, even next to the toilet. He didn’t say anything. He looked around. She looked at him. It was awkward. In order to break the uncomfortable silence, he looked at the poster and said, “Nice. You?”
They looked nothing alike.
“No, it’s Lola Down. Have you heard of her?”
“No.”
He was shy.
“She likes to fuck.”
“Oh.”
“Do you like to fuck?”
“Excuse me?”
“You heard me.”
“Bridgette. Um. I. . .”
“I’m going to take a shower,” she said, removing her clothes. She was naked. She leaned over the sink.
“I guess I’ll get going,” he said, not leaving.
“Fuck me,” she said, protruding her ass back toward him.
“What?”
“You heard me. Fuck me.”
He simply could not believe this was happening.
“Are you a virgin?”
The question took him aback. Was it an insult? Was she demeaning his manhood? He was a virgin, that was for sure.
“I knew it,” she said without a word from him. “Now’s your chance to change that. Fuck me.”
He was fumbling to undo his belt and get out of his pants.
She turned around once she saw in the mirror that he had gotten it out, but not gotten hard. She got on her knees and looked up at him.
“How long have you wanted me to do this?” she said, her lips parted inches away from the tip of his flaccid cock.
“I. . .” He didn’t know what to say. He couldn’t deny that he had often masturbated to the thought of her. When she was babysitting and after he went to bed, he had stroked it thinking about her face or about finding her naked in front of the TV asleep. Why had he fantasized about that? Vaguely, as if in a dream, a distant memory rippled across his mind. He saw her, on the couch. He had gotten up in the middle of the night. The TV was on. People were on the TV. It looked like they were fighting, wrestling. They were naked. Her jeans were down by her knees. Her hand was between her legs. She didn’t see him. He just watched. He stood silently on the stairs and watched. She was engrossed in the images on the screen. He noticed something bulging in his pajama bottoms. He didn’t know what it was. A change had come over her. She pulled her hand out of her crotch. She sniffed it. She licked it. She clicked the TV off. She pulled her jeans up. She stood up and walked to the kitchen, away from him. He went unnoticed. He returned to bed, feeling guilty and dizzy. The hard thing in his pajama bottoms wouldn’t go away.
She blew gently onto his detumescent, flagging flesh. It felt good. A tickling, caressing breeze. She put her warm wet lips over that thing. He knew what this was now. He was old enough to know. He never thought it would happen with her. His babysitter, whom he had fantasized about for so long with pangs of guilt. The babysitter he had played football with – who tackled him like a boy with laughs and fun. The babysitter he had cozied up to while eating popcorn and watching “Blue Mountain State” with, against his parent’s wishes while they were gone. The babysitter who had kissed his bruised knee better, causing a tempest of confused feelings in the pit of his stomach.
She moved her mouth, tongue, lips in ways that made his thing grow. It grew hard. She let go and turned around again, facing the mirror.
“Fuck me, Casey,” she insisted.
He moved forward. She was taller than he. He needed to stand on his toes to get the right spot. He couldn’t. She reached back, impatient, grabbed it, pulled it forward violently. “Go in!” she demanded. He went in. She was wet.
She grabbed something from next to the sink. It was a dildo. She covered it with lube of some sort. She passed it to him. “Put this in my ass.”
“What?”
“Put this in my ass,” she repeated.
He took the pointy fake penis and pressed it to the spot. It didn’t go.
She moved her right hand back to the spot. She inserted one, two, three fingers easily.
“Try again.”
He repeated the gesture. It went in.
“Hold it there,” she said.
He held it there.
“OK,” she said a little later, “Pull it out.”
He pulled it out.
“Put your dick in my ass.”
These were very elementary instructions, yet they perplexed him.
“Put. Your. Dick. In. My. Ass.”
He pulled out and put his dick in her ass.
“Harder!”
He tried to go as hard as he could.
“Slap my ass.”
“What?”
“Slap my ass.”
He gave her ass a slight graze with his open palm.
“No, slap it!”
He slapped it.
“Spank it!”
He spanked it.
“Harder. Fucking harder!”
He was hitting her ass as hard as he could with his open palm. It scared him.
“Call me a slut.”
“What?”
His repeated questions were frustrating her.
“Call me a slut!”
“Slut?” he meagerly pronounced.
“Call me a SMILF.”
“SMILF? What’s that?”
“Sitter-Mom I’d Like to Fuck.”
“OK, SMILF.”
“Call me a cunt.”
“You’re, you’re a. . .” he began crying. She could see it in the mirror.
“Fuck, you’re useless. I can’t even feel you in my ass. Pull out.”
He pulled out.
She turned around. She got on her knees again. “How small are you?” she said, observing the thin, diminutive member with wonder. In her haste to fornicate, she hadn’t thought about it much when she had it in her mouth.
She put the toilet seat down. She grabbed a dildo from the bathtub, ran it under the water of the sink and suction-cupped it to the lid of the toilet. She eased her ass down on it.
“Pass me that,” she said, indicating another dildo by the sink.
Casey passed it to her. She took it and inserted it into her pussy.
She had a look of maniacal gratification on her face.
She looked up at him looking at her with wonder. The wonder years, she thought.
She looked down and saw his cock, erect. She realized he must be in incredible discomfort.
“You need to cum?”
“What?” he asked again.
“Shut up and come here,” she said, pulling him towards her with her left hand wrapped around his buttocks.
He involuntarily moved forward. She put his cock in her mouth again, roughly. Her right hand was manipulating the dildo in her pussy. Her left hand controlled him from behind. Her ass slid back-and-forth on the dildo attached to the toilet seat. In her mind she thought about being a sexy cheerleader, the free-use girl of an orgy, a goddess worshipped. She thought about Lola Down. . . .
She was horny.
“Call me a dirty, disgusting, whore.”
He was silent, looking down at her.
Her left hand moved down toward his ass. She fingered his ass and slid a finger up inside.
He suddenly ejaculated in her mouth. The thick, copious cum dribbled out of the corners of her mouth and onto her nipples.
“OK,” she said, “Go.”
“What?”
“Go!”
He pulled up his jeans and left her there on the toilet fucking both her holes.
The next day she called a plumber. A large, middle aged white man showed up. He was unattractive. That suited her just fine. The more disgusting, the better, she thought to herself.
She led him to the bathroom. The same bathroom.
He noticed the sex toys, the poster, the toilet seat with the suction cup dildo attached to it.
“Is this the bathroom or the playroom?” he said with a chuckle.
“A little of both,” she said seductively.
Without much more conversation, they were both naked in the tub. The same tub where it had happened. The thought of it made her feel disgusting and worthless. That’s how she wanted to be treated and that’s how men – real men, like the plumber, not like Casey – treated her.
“What do you think?” asked Frankie, looking up eagerly from the pages in her hand.
“That’s your treatment for the next episode?” asked Zach.
“Yeah. You don’t like it?”
“I didn’t say that.”
“So?”
“Well, you’re going to do all that on camera?”
“Yeah. What?”
“Nothing.”
“What is it?”
“Can I ask a favor?”
“Yeah.”
“Can I be there to watch.”
She laughed and leaned in to kiss him. “Only if you call me a dirty little whore while I’m getting fucked.”
“Deal.”
“So you like it?”
“I do, but I don’t think you’re going to get the greenlight to make it.”
“Why not?”
“Frankie, there’s too much that is. . .”
“What?”
“Taboo.”
“I have a way of getting to green.”
“Through the redlight district, no doubt.”
“The way involves a few curves and back roads, but I’ll get there.”
“A dream within a dream?” I asked.
“More like multiple orgasms within an orgasm.”
“I think you need to call Christopher Nolan.”
“Yeah, we could make a film together and call it MetaPorn.”
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