Tag Archives: sexy
Protected: “Paint me like one of your slutty girls.”
Finding Lola – Three Covid Stories
3
Covid Quarantine had a way of messing with our mental life. It has been well documented that people reported having more intense dreams during the first lonely months of quarantine. Since then, many people have experienced a strange time distortion when attempting to recall any sort of chronology. Things basically fall into B.C. (“Before Covid”) and whatever it is that we’re living through now. But placing events exactly on a timeline post-Covid is a bit wonky.
For us, Covid was a time when we made a lot of new friends virtually. In order to help people through the forced “celibacy” of the quarantine (both single people and the people like us who are non-monogamous and so had to curtail their outside playtime) we started up our free books program where we sent a complimentary copy of Match, Cinder & Spark to friends, fans, and avid readers in exchange for their sending back to us a sexy photo of them with the book. That was so much fun that we’ve continued it on a limited basis. (Please request one via email if you’re interested.)
We heard from a lot of you out there in Lolaland and we continue to receive sexy missives from our beloved kinkster community.
This week we are going to feature three short stories sent to us by new and old friends. Diving into Lola’s Letter Box, we are pleased to bring you a story about a single college student, a married couple, and sisters who learned a lot about each other in lockdown.
The first comes from Melissa, a college student who, like Grace, was stuck at home with her parents in the spring of 2020. “At the time, it was the middle of my freshman year. I’m a shy introvert, an voracious reader, a bookish nerd,” she says.
I also am a closeted nymphomaniac. With limited tolerance for social interactions, I found that it was just easier to get off on my own. In fact, that’s how I found your blog. I was concerned about my internet porn binging and, by doing a search to find some way out of it, I came across Erica Garza’s book, Getting Off. And not only did I come across it, I came to it and got off even more! I couldn’t get off enough and so I did a deep dive (into my pussy and on the internet) until I found your post about ‘Her Porn Addiction’ and everything I read, except for Lo’s confidence and extroverted personality, sounded very familiar to me.
After that, she was hooked. She became a regular reader of the blog for a while, but she was hungry for more. Similar to Grace, she was afraid of ordering one of the books and having it arrive at her house, only for someone in her family to discover it and expose her. So, she too found a way to get off during those isolating times though other means. “I purchased all five volumes of Match, Cinder & Spark on audiobook and masturbated every night to the voice of Jupiter Grant reading the sexy stories while simultaneously scrolling through the photos of Lola on the blog.”
As we all remember so well, getting out during Covid Quarantine, even just to do shopping or go for a drive, was a big deal. Melissa relayed that her favorite sexy thing to do was to up the stakes and take risks by getting in the car and playing the audiobook on the speakers while wearing a skirt with no panties and finger-fuck herself or dildo while driving.
Lying down in bed, masturbating naked was fine, but it didn’t have the interaction I craved. I wanted to be around people. Also, there’s a difference between hearing Jupiter Grant’s voice through the earbuds and hearing her through the car’s speakers. Every chance I got, I borrowed my mom’s car and went for a drive. Listening to the stories was like an education – I learned about some great books I should read and I learned about sex. Win-win! But as the months got warmer, I would drive around with the windows down. One day I pulled up to a stoplight just as Lola was describing being mounted and pounded, used and abused, in the story ‘Pound.’ I was on the verge of cumming when I noticed the guy in the car next to me had his windows down as well and he heard everything that was making me so wet. He gave me an intense, sidelong glance. I just looked at him, blushed, and tried to shut off the radio, but I suddenly felt an orgasm violently taking over my body as I reached for the button. No use. The light turned green. Neither of us moved. I came. He watched. It was hot!
From Melissa’s miles and miles of masturbation, we now turn to our good friends Jane and Andrew. You will recall these newlyweds discovered their kinks on their honeymoon when it was revealed that Jane gets off to erotic stories (like Match, Cinder & Spark) and Andrew likes to wear women’s panties and takes delight in his wife locking his chastity cage while she mercilessly masturbates in front of him as a form of titillating torture.
This week they sent us a photo tryptic of sorts showing how they have fun. She hops in the tub, takes a long, relaxing bath, shaves her twat clean and smooth, and then cuddles up with a good book. In this case it happens to be Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts. When she is good and gushing, she invites in Andrew. He knows by now that during her sexy-time he is to be locked and loaded. She then reads aloud the passages that have her groin grinding. If he is lucky, she might fondle and cup his genitalia, but he is not allowed any greater gratification than that. Yet she is free to dive into her toy drawer and pull out all the necessary accessories for her maximal self-care. She indulges freely in the pleasures of the flesh while denying him the release he desires.
Jane and Andrew reading Match, Cinder & Spark
As she was reading the stories, she asked Andrew, “What would you think if I took many male lovers and had them fuck me in front of you?”
“Like Lola does?”
“Precisely.”
“I don’t know if I’d be able to prevent ejaculating, even in my cage.”
“How would you like it if our entire marriage you were never allowed to fuck me – only watch – as I was banged by so many men on a regular basis?”
“You would make me the happiest husband on the planet!”
“Then learned Leo was wrong – not all happy marriages are alike. Perhaps each happy marriage is happy in its own way.”
“I know ours is.”
For Your Entertainment
Our third story is from Nicci and her sister Malory.
[Abridged. The unabridged version you can find here.]
Just before the lockdown went into effect, Nicci had traveled from her hometown of Charlotte to visit her sister Malory in Tampa. Everything was going fine until the day the CDC announced that no one should be flying anywhere. That nixed Nicci’s return flight. As with everyone else, her job shut down and then went remote, as did Malory’s. The two of them were cooped up in Malory’s small, one bedroom, one bathroom apartment with only Malory’s black lab, Lucky, for company. This made for rather cramped living space. As Nicci tells it, the couch was too small for either of them to sleep on, so they bunked up in the bed. When either of them needed “self-care” time, one sister had to ask the other sister for some “personal space” to “take care of business.” On more than one occasion, stuck in bed together at night, one or the other would begin fapping. Two twenty-something women isolated from the rest of the world needed an escape from the ever more grim news inundating them each day.
But they weren’t the only ones in need of relief. Lucky was a rescue dog and by the time Malory had adopted him, he was too old to be neutered. He was “intact,” as they say. And, as such, he too needed to get off – on the couch, on the floor, on Nicci’s or Malory’s leg.
According to Nicci, one evening the two of them joined in a Zoom happy-hour with some mutual friends. Both of them had a couple of strong margaritas and after the happy-hour was over, they continued to drink and reminisce about high school days. Malory brought up one of their girlfriends about whom it was rumored that she had regular sex with her dog. Nicci denied the rumor as urban legend and they both shared a laugh about it. That led to Nicci asking Malory if she had ever seen the movie Sleeping Dogs Lie. “It’s a terrible romcom about a woman who. . .”
“No, don’t even!”
“I kid you not!”
“What kind of romcom is that?”
The two of them ended up watching it, or at least trying to. Nicci was right, it was terrible.
Sleeping Dogs Lie
“If I hear another accordion, it will be too soon!” said Malory.
“I know! That soundtrack was the worst. Like they were some French film or something. And it manages to be cringeworthy in every way and insult just about everyone.”
“Not to mention, the moral of the story – if you can call it that. It’s best to lie – to your spouse, family, coworkers, and friends.”
They loved hatewatching it. Nicci added, “And the entire premise of the film – that a lonely, single college woman would give a blowjob to her dog.”
“I know, right? I mean, it’s so unbelievable. If I was that lonely, I wouldn’t blow him, I’d have him fuck me.”
Suddenly Nicci stopped laughing and looked very seriously at her sister. “What? You wouldn’t, would you?”
Malory mysteriously said, “Who says I haven’t?”
“Come on! Stop joking. Really?”
“Ew!” screeched Malory, dramatically, “I take him out twice a day and clean up his shit after him. Are you kidding me? No.”
Sure enough, just as they were having this conversation, Lucky went at it again on the rug.
“Whew,” said Nikki, laughing nervously. “You had me worried for a minute.”
Malory laughed and, looking at Lucky, said, “If I had been fucking him, I don’t think he’d be doing that like three times a day.”
“You should have named him Horny, not Lucky,” said Nicci.
“Who are we kidding? We’re all fucking horny and none of us are going to get lucky anytime soon,” replied Malory.
That conversation and movie was enough to set the wheels in motion for both of them. Who knows, maybe Lucky had this arrangement in mind all the while and that’s why he was constantly causing friction on the carpet.
Before long. . . .
When Nicci would go out to do the grocery shopping or Malory would go for a run in the afternoon or morning, whomever was at home was busy with. . . .
But when Malory went out for a jog one afternoon only to have the sky open up and drench her in a downpour so that she returned to the apartment early, she found her sister dripping wet as well, but not from the weather. . . . Nicci looked up at Malory with a swirling combination of satisfaction, shame, and helplessness.
. . .
This cozy arrangement continued for about two or three months, until Nicci felt safe enough to return home. When that fateful day came, she and her sister made an unspoken pact never to so much as mention this intense ménage à trois again.
Nicci wrote to us to say, “Though we never, ever talk about what happened between the three of us in those early months of the pandemic, since then I have found (and shared with Mal) your blog. (You can guess what I was searching for.) I didn’t tell her why I was sharing it with her, but I’m sure she figured it out. Thank you for your honesty, candor, and sexiness!”
Sisters at the beach with Lucky
Deferred Desire
Jane and Andrew
Jane and Andrew had just taken their wedding vows. They celebrated with their friends and family. They were both in their forties when they finally tied the knot. After many failed relationships in the past for each of them, they were pleased to finally find each other. They prided themselves on the fact that the cornerstone of their relationship was honesty. They loved each other, they admired each other, and they desired each other.
But in the hotel on the night of their wedding, they discovered something about each other neither of them expected.
Andrew was eager to get Jane out of her white gown and get into her wet pussy. Jane, you see, had been deferring the consummation of their love saying that, though not religious, she wished to wait until they were married before engaging in coitus. Now that the fateful night had come, Andrew’s desire for his bride had reached its pinnacle.
He slowly unzipped the back of the dress and helped Jane out of it with care. She wore a white satin bra, white panties, and lacey white thigh-high nylon stockings. Nearly naked, she sat on the couch and pulled Andrew towards her. He had already removed his tuxedo jacket, tie, and shirt. As he stood in front of Jane, he removed his t-shirt. She had already seen him topless before, but the smoothness of his chest, which lacked any hair, struck her as unusually feminine. But then she unbuttoned the button on his tuxedo slacks and unzipped the fly, pulling the pants down past his pelvis. She was shocked at what she saw!
Instead of boxers or tighty-whities, he was wearing a transparent, satin black thong! His cock was pressed up against the see-through material, barely contained by the tiny triangular fabric, stretching it to almost the breaking point.
“Oh wow!” she said as her face was inches away from the contained cock. She had never seen him nude before. “Are these yours?”
“Whose else would they be?”
“Mine,” she said.
He laughed and said, “No, I didn’t sneak into your panty drawer.”
“So you went to the store to buy these special?”
“These and a lot more like them.”
“I see.”
She slid the pants all the way down to his ankles, revealing a second surprise. He wasn’t wearing black socks, as she assumed. He was wearing sheer lacey black thigh-high nylon stockings, almost identical to hers. In their nylons, they were like yin and yang.
“Well, well, well,” she said, “what is this all about?”
“Do you like?” he asked her nervously.
“I do. Just about anything kinky gets me wet,” she said seductively.
He was thrilled. He had taken a real chance by dressing up like this under his wedding tux, but he had to know how she’d feel about his kinks. All was going to plan. He had suspected it would, but out of fear of rejection, ridicule, or even worse, indifference, he had not revealed this side of himself to her ever before.
“Shall you be Mistress’s little Sub-Boy?”
This question from her took him aback. He had not thought this far along in the chess game.
“I am Mistress’s little Sub,” he said, furtively, fearful of the wrong answer.
“Go fetch Mistress’s bag,” she said to him. He brought to her the large weekender bag she had in addition to her suitcase.
She reached in. He had no idea what was next. Out of the bag she pulled a paperback book – Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts. It had a drawing of a woman in tight blue shorts, bent over on the cover.
“Mistress likes to read,” she said. “Make Mistress an ottoman so Mistress can put her feet up.”
He complied by getting on his knees on the floor and turning himself into a stool for her feet. She sat in the comfortable chair and read while he dutifully demeaned himself to her will. However, time went by and he began to wonder if any relief to the raging erection he had at the mere touch of her silken-clad feet was to come.
“Mistress,” he whimpered.
“Yes little Sub?”
“May I please smell your pussy?”
“Yes little Sub.”
She spread her legs and allowed him a good whiff of her cunt through her white satin panties.
“Mistress,” he asked again.
“Yes little Sub?”
“May I please kiss your ass?”
“Yes little Sub,” she said, turning over in her chair.
He kissed her ass.
“That is all,” she insisted, putting an end to his probing tongue. “Mistress wishes to recline on the couch,” she added. “Stand by me, little Sub, and allow me to amuse myself with your member while I continue reading my book.”
“Yes, Mistress,” replied Andrew, standing at attention, allowing himself to be used and fondled as plaything of her whim.
“Little Sub,” she said eventually.
“Yes, Mistress.”
“Lick my clit.”
“Mistress?” he asked, taken aback by the request.
“You heard me. Get on your knees and lick my clit as I read. I have come to a particularly puissant passage and I wish to be stimulated orally.”
She spread her legs and allowed him to pull her panties to the side far enough for his mouth to make contact. All the while she kept reading her book.
He got down between his mistress’s legs and began to lick politely, respectfully.
“Fuck my cunt with your tongue, damn it! Make me cum. Now!” she demanded.
He licked, sucked, flicked, and fucked her orally as best he could.
“Yes, that’s it – make your mistress moan!”
She came, and her cunt drizzled its joyful juices on the white leather couch causing a puddle under her ass.
“Mistress?” he asked once he had emerged from her love-spot.
“Yes little Sub?” she asked breathily.
“Will we ever consummate our love?”
“Little Sub, you have that long protrusion in your panties and I think that as punishment for that, you shall never be able to use it.”
Andrew’s erection grew powerfully in his panties as he contemplated the thought of ever desiring his wife, never satisfying her, never releasing his pent-up phallic powers.
She got up to pee and while she did, Andrew grabbed the book that was lying open to the page Jane had been reading. It was a story called “Pound” and it had some very taboo imagery in it.
“What are you doing?” Jane demanded when she returned.
“Uh, um, reading Mistress.”
“Without permission?”
“I’m sorry, Mistress.”
She got on the couch across from him and used her feet to tease his cock as he read.
“Is this the story that brought you to an orgasm?” he asked.
“And if it is?” she replied superciliously.
“Well, then I suppose there are more kinks about you that I have yet to discover.”
“Isn’t that what love is all about – the slow reveal of each other’s depravity?”
“I hadn’t thought of it like that.”
“You would if you read more about H.H. and Lola.”
“Am I allowed to cum to her, or them?”
“Absolutely not!”
“But you are?” he asked.
“Mistress’s needs are not for you. Mistress keeps her cunt off limits. All her erotic experience is in the mind, in words, in the denial of the dissipation of your desire. I shall keep you around as my obedient canine. You shall obey your Mistress and never give in to the aching needs between your hind quarters. You shall ever remain in a state of perpetual penile priapism.”
Andrew could not have found a better match for his masochistic longings for a sadistic matriarch to marry.
Introducing Elizabeth Wylde
Elizabeth Wylde
“Lizzy, the book got returned,” Lola said as she sat on the couch, playing with her cooch.
I could hear Lizzy, that is, Elizabeth Wylde, on the other end of the phone let out a moan of disappointment.
“They won’t deliver to P.O. boxes. What should we do?”
“Try this address,” said Lizzy, telling Lo where to have the book shipped. “It’s my aunt and uncle’s house, but they won’t mind.”
Lo laughed. “You sure? What if they open it accidentally?”
Lizzy also laughed and said, “That would be a tough one to explain.”
About two weeks later the book, Match, Cinder & Spark, Volume IV: Sexy Shorts, arrived for Aunt and Uncle Wylde. They didn’t open it, but they were curious. They called Lizzy and she came over one Sunday to pick it up.
“Aren’t you going to open it?” asked Auntie Wylde.
“Nah, I know what it is.”
“What is it, Lizzy?”
“A book for work.”
“Work?” asked Uncle Wylde.
Now Lizzy got herself into it. Lizzy’s work, you see, is sexy phone chat.
“Yes,” she responded, “work.”
“I thought you were out of work since the pandemic started,” inquired her aunt.
“I’ve picked up a job I can do out of the house.”
“Really? And what is that?”
Lizzy had to think quick on her feet. “Customer service. . . for BJs. I make sure everyone gets what they want.”
“Oh, so I might get you next time a package is lost?”
“You might,” said Lizzy, laughing to herself.
“So, what is that?” asked her uncle, returning to the rectangular shaped package in Lizzy’s hands.
“Instruction manual.”
“Don’t they have that online?”
“Top secret. The internet isn’t to be trusted,” said Lizzy.
Luckily, she managed to get out of that jam without opening the book in front of them.
She quickly drove home, stripped naked, hopped into bed, and opened up her literotically Lola paperback.
Just as she was about to feast upon the non-fiction fuckery, her work phone rang. It was Henry, a regular client. At his request, Lizzy told him exactly what she was up to. He requested that she read to him. She opened the book to the middle and began reading the story, “Home Entertainment.” She had no idea what she was in for! As the story progressed, Lizzy realized the taboo topic she had waded into and waded is the right word for she was very, very wet by this point. She could hear Henry moaning on the other end of the line and soon enough both of them were climaxing together to the cadence of the chapter.
When she was done, she pulled out her laptop and added a line to her brief bio:
Hi, I’m Elizabeth Wylde – a sexy, crazy, caring, fun-loving girl who provides erotic phone conversations. I’m a sex addict who channels my issues through making explicit adult content. I love being watched and turning people on, getting them hot, making them cum. In some weird way it’s an exciting accomplishment just knowing that you blow a huge load or squirt by fantasizing about little ole me! Give me a call for some sexy talk or, if you want, I’ll read you a taboo tale from Match, Cinder & Spark – my favorite collection of literary smut.
When she was done, her phone rang again. It was Henry coming back for more.
HERE is Lizzy’s LINKTREE and a few fun photos too!
Lizzy Reads Match, Cinder & Spark
Lizzy and Lo
Cum to the photos, stay for the story.
A view from behind
Lizzy is waiting for your call.
Toon of Lizzy
The Real Deal
Lizzy is ready
toon time fap
toon time fap no panties
Don’t you want this ass?
This ass wants you!
Lizzy & Lo
Lizzy & Lo
Naked News Flash – Women Get Older! Who Knew?
If you are like me, or simply not living under a rock somewhere, then you probably have been watching a lot of news lately. None of it is particularly good. So, in order to take your minds off of world events for a brief moment, I present a little news worthy distraction. As you all know, I am old. Older than Lo by a long shot. As you might also know, I am, as Lo fondly says, “an incorrigible lech.” How fitting that I am paired up with an incorrigible nympho. Anyhow, for many years, I have been a fan of Naked News and especially of their first news anchor, Victoria Sinclair. She began in 1999 and continued there until 2015. Below you will find some photos of her that I have tried to organize in chronological order, but I will allow you to correct me where I am wrong. She has grown right before our eyes and, in my humble opinion, like a fine wine, she has improved with age. What do you think?
Do you see a resemblance or is that just my imagination?
Smalltown Strumpet – Part IV – Gatekeeper
[Continued from Smalltown Strumpet Part III – Flaming Lips]
In my haste to leave the library the previous day, I had not realized that I accidentally left with my pile of research material a lone copy of Match, Cinder & Spark there among the various historical texts.
And I didn’t realize it until. . . well, let me pick up where I left off.
It was Sunday and it was hot! Hot and humid. There was no air conditioning in this country house and we woke up in sopping sheets. Now, granted, some of that moisture may have been from the ice-play the night before. Some of it may have been from whatever antics Lo got up to while I was sleeping – slapping her pussy, masturbating to who-knows-what, and squirting. I have no recollection of anything since it was a king-size bed and I slept like the dead.
All I know is I woke to a sticky, tropical atmosphere and I did not like it.
Lo was asleep, naked, next to me – her fine, round ass in a revelatory and prominent position.
Hot Lola on a hot night
I made some coffee and wondered what the hell we would do in this oppressive heat.
Lo eventually got up and sauntered through the house naked.
“Daddy,” she complained, “I can’t take anything else off to get cool.”
“You could fill up on ice again,” I joked.
“How can you possibly drink that hot coffee in this?”
“I need something to get me up.”
“Doesn’t this do it for you?” she asked, posing seductively.
Would this get you up in the morning?
“That only gets up one appendage and one appetite.”
“Well, it should stimulate your entire being.”
Suddenly we heard a knock.
“What was that?” I asked.
Lo shrugged her shoulders.
Another knock.
“The door?” I asked out loud, walking over to the rarely used front door. Lo followed, naked, filled with curiosity.
I opened the door a crack. A man in his late twenties or early thirties stood on the front steps.
“Can I help you?” I asked.
I saw his eyes dart over my shoulder and attempt to catch a glimpse of my nymph standing in the living room’s shadows and morning light.
“Hi,” he said genially, “I’m Tom. I live across the way, over yonder.” He pointed with his thumb over his shoulder.
“Yeah?” I asked, a bit defensive.
“Well, it’s a hot day and we have a pool in the backyard. I was just wondering if you wanted to use it.”
“That’s awfully nice of you, Tom,” I began to say, when Lo ran up behind me and, edging her way next to me, exposing her entire self to Tom and the front yard and the street beyond, she interrupted and said, “That sounds great! We’ll be over in about an hour.”
“Sure thing ma’am. Just walk around the side and let yourself in.”
I closed the door and turned to Lo, who had a very contrite look on her face.
“Lola, do you really think that we are going over there?”
“Yes. Why not, Daddy?”
“You’re going to put on your little dental floss bikini and tan and swim with a bunch of redneck hillbillies?”
She nodded her head up-and-down rapidly.
“It’s hot,” she said, “and I want to get wet.”
After breakfast we walked across the country road – Lo wearing almost nothing at all – and went around the side of the house. There was a gate around the backyard.
“Why do you think they need a gate in these rural parts?” asked Lo.
“It’s the law,” I said. “If you have a pool, you have to gate it in to make sure no little kids accidentally get in, fall in the pool, and drown.”
“Ah, I get it.”
We walked into the enclosed backyard. By the looks of the front of the house, I didn’t expect much, but I was pleasantly surprised by the inground pool and the upkeep of the grounds.
There were five guys, I’d say all in their twenties, standing around, practically drooling when they saw Lo in her bikini. Did I mention that she literally stopped traffic as we crossed the street?
“Hiya!” called Lo, waiving.
“Hi,” they almost grunted back.
“Got a nice cold beverage for a thirsty girl?” she asked. “Make sure it has a straw for me to suck.”
One of the men ran inside and got her something in a tall glass.
“Why you boys so over-dressed?” she asked. They were in shorts and t-shirts.
“What?”
“Get naked,” she said plainly.
They did as she said. They got right down to nothing, revealing the pale white areas that were exact replicas on their skin of the shorts and t-shirts they had just removed.
Their junk hung out and Lo liked what she saw.
She lay down in a lounge chair and spread her legs, hanging them over the sides.
“Isn’t anyone going to offer to apply sunscreen?” she asked, holding out the bottle.
The five guys sprang to it, each taking some lotion and applying it to a limb, leaving one to apply it to Lo’s neck and shoulders. His cock was very close to Lo’s face.
During this whole circus routine with the trained bears, I just stood in the shade of a large oak by the side of the pool. No one even questioned me with a “How you doing?” or “Can I get you anything?”
When Lo was good and greased up, she lay back as the nude men stood around her.
“Well, you just going to stand there, or are you going to get to wanking?”
“What?” asked one of them, not comprehending.
“Jerk off! Put your puds in your palms and start stroking.”
Lo lay back while they formed a circle-jerk for her. That’s just what she enjoys – being the center of attention, the object of affection, the target of ejaculation.
She pressed her tits together in the tiny bikini top.
She allowed first one then the other nipple to peek out of its tight cup.
She pulled up the thin thong between her legs, allowing her meaty pussy to protrude on either side of the taught string. Her flappy folds fell from between her legs, yet her wet hole was obscured by the itty-bitty material nestled up in her nook.
She rolled over and pulled the back of her bikini bottom up high, revealing just about all of her balloon knot, but the spot itself.
Then the gentle tributes began to rain down on her like warm droplets and streams of liquified love.
First one, then two, then all five of the guys were releasing their pent-up power onto her soft and supple skin. She was eager to see it happen in its full glory of the morning sun and she swooped over on her back and caught the remaining orgasmic rush with her tum and tits.
When they were done, she gracefully sat up, licked her lips, walked across the lawn to the pool, and slowly descended into the cool blue water. The pearly patina of the libation bearers floated on the surface of the water, gradually spreading further and further out across the large pool.
“Aren’t you guys going to come in?”
They all dove in right quick. They swam around and close to Lola like she was a rarely seen sea animal who, against impossible odds, was in captivity and available for inspection.
“Aren’t you going to come in, HH?” called Lo from the side of the pool. “It’s warm and wet,” she said quite unambiguously.
“I’ll wait till it’s not quite so crowded,” I responded wryly.
“Suit yourself.”
“More than I can say your suiters have on!”
“Huh? Oh. Funny,” she said, sticking out her tongue and swimming away.
After some frolics in the water, they all got out and someone refreshed Lo’s drink. They sat around naked as the day they were born – except Lo. Ain’t that a twist?
Somebody asked, “Lo, why don’t you take your clothes off?”
“Clothes? Am I wearing clothes?” she asked with her Scarlett voice. Her affectation left zero impression on her audience.
“You sure are.”
“Well, boys, the way I see it, men just want to see only about four to six inches of a woman’s body,” she said, sliding her finger over the skimpy string between her legs, “but a woman is much more than these six inches.”
“You got that right,” said one of the guys. When we all looked towards him to see what he meant by that, he grew silent, apparently lacking comprehension of his own comment.
One of the guys suggested a two-hand-touch football game.
“Sure,” said Lo, “I’ll be goalie. I’m good at goaltending.”
“First of all,” I said, setting her straight, “football doesn’t have a goalkeeper. And second of all, you’ve let a lot of balls in your goal, from what I can tell.”
“No balls! Some logs or sluggers, or whatever you call them.”
“Call what – baseball bats?”
“Yeah!”
“Again, wrong sport.”
“I think you just don’t know what game I’m playing.”
“Touché!” I called.
The guys picked up a football and gave it to Lola. They explained the game and said that she could be on whichever side she wanted.
Lo certainly enjoyed touching those guys with her two hands. It took some more explaining that, though the game is called “two-hand-touch,” that doesn’t mean that Lo’s team gets points every time she touches a man on the other team with both hands. She looked very dismayed at her misunderstanding.
We played a little more and at one point Lo was the quarter back. The other team blitzed and the guy who was guarding Lola reached up and grabbed her tits with his two hands as soon as she said “Hike.”
“Hey!” she called.
“What? You’re down.”
“I know I’m Down, but who said to stop? Try Lo Down,” she said, moving one of his hands to her crotch.
Later Lo was covering one of their receivers and, as the ball was thrown to him, she grabbed him by his dong.
“That’s pass interference!” he cried out after he missed the ball.
“What’s that?” she asked.
“It’s a penalty.”
“Punish me!” she said, turning tail and sticking out her bum for a spanking.
Eventually we got hot again and we all ended up in the pool this time.
“Wasn’t I a great gatekeeper?” she asked me.
“Gatekeeper? I told you Lo, there’s no goalkeeping or goaltending in football.”
“I wasn’t talking about football, I mean not one of these guys has fucked me yet. I’ve been gatekeeping.”
“You want praise for that? It’s COVID times. You know that.”
“Yes, Daddy, praise me.”
“Good girl,” I said with sarcasm, and she rubbed her wet, dark hair up against me like a loving kitten.
But soon our fun and games came to a halt because we heard what sounded like a mob outside.
We got out of the pool and dressed and saw a number of women with signs. It looked like they were picketing the house across the street – the house where Lo and I had been staying.
Turns out that the previous day, when I was at the library and got called away in a hurry by Lo, and I accidentally left my copy of Match, Cinder & Spark behind with the other library books, someone found it. I’m not sure exactly how it went down, but my guess is this person who found it read a little of it, but then he or she put it on the small table in the entryway of the library, and displayed it with the other “new acquisitions” books. So, there it sat, prominently. Who knows how many people saw it, picked it up, read it? But eventually it caught the attention of some busy-body do-gooder who promptly called a meeting of like-minded people and, after church on this particular Sunday morning, they organized a protest against Lola Down. Word had spread through the town as to where we were staying and so women showed up in droves to protest the smalltown strumpet!
Anti-Lola
Apparently, they were against pornography, but not just that, they were against the use of “perfect women” in pornography. One housewife displayed her sign calling for banning our books in the libraries, but she was protesting in the buff. I guess she was trying to make a confused point about “real bodies.”
Pro-Lo
To my surprise, however, there was a counter-protest of women in support of Lola. They were certainly in the minority, but they praised Lola as the champion of fifth-wave feminism.
It was a Lo Down showdown and we were caught in the middle. The only fortunate thing was that no one who had come out to protest knew that we were across the street from the house where they were congregated.
The police showed up, the local news showed up, even the county judge showed up! In a small town like this, any commotion creates a snowball effect. The crowd was growing through curiosity and also people eager to see tits.
Lola on the News
“What are we going to do?” asked Lo, looking out the front window. “Oh shit!” she said.
“What?” asked one of the guys.
“That huge guy, the bouncer from the strip club, he’s walking right up to your front door!”
There were a loud three knocks at the door and one of the guys inside opened it up cautiously.
“You made it!” he called out, “and not a moment too soon!”
The bouncer walked in and said, “What the hell is happening across the street?”
We filled him in. He had been invited to join the Lola Show by the owner of the house, but he ended up saving Lo’s sexy ass by leading her out the back door, putting her on an ATV and disappearing into a wooded trail, leaving me with the five guys and the angry mob. I was quite worried. All I saw was her cute little rear, triangulated by the three lines of her thong bikini bottom as she held on tightly to the bouncer, and the two of them bounced their way into the thicket.
“Got a second ATV?” I asked, pathetically.
Lola was whisked off over the hills and through the woods to. . . the strip club. It was Sunday morning and, per the town’s regulations, there is no stripping allowed on the Lord’s day.
He brought her into the vacant establishment of disrepute and offered her a drink.
“Sure,” she said.
“Sorry I had to throw you out of the joint the other day. I was just doing my job.”
“I understand.”
Lola felt like little Hermione Granger in the hut of Hagrid.
Hagrid placed a potent potion in front of Hermione and she took a few sips, looked up at his hulking figure, and smiled just a little.
“Heap a trouble you got yourself into.”
“The power of my pussy is truly amazing to me.”
“Girls dancing here all day, all night, and you come to town for a few days and suddenly you’d think the gates of hell had swung open.”
“I prefer to think of them as the pearly gates to heaven,” said Lo. “Would you like to see?” She asked, looking over at the empty stage.
“My own personal show?”
“Yeah. Can you put on some music?”
“What would you like to hear?”
“Got any Rihanna?”
“Anything you want.”
“How about ‘Love on the Brain’?”
Hagrid put it on. As the lyrics echoed in the empty hall, “What you want from me? What you want from me?” Lo swerved and shimmied on the stage, slipping this way and that like an Asklepion serpent.
“You’re good enough to work here,” said Hagrid.
“Thanks,” said Lo. “There was a time when I really wanted to do it, either professionally or just for fun.”
“What happened?”
“I went to an amateur night and the management treated me and the other girls so disrespectfully that I swore I’d never go back.”
“Oh, that’s too bad. We’d treat you right.”
“Oh yeah? How would you treat me?” asked Lo as she sat on the edge of the stage, her legs spread.
Hagrid was unfazed. He works in a strip club.
It beats me black and blue but it fucks me so good
And I can’t get enough
Must be love on the brain.
The music continued and Lo slapped her pussy to the beat. Hagrid looked on as he poured some beer for both of them.
“We treat the girls right. I can assure you of that.”
Lo turned over onto all fours and began stroking her ass. Over her shoulder she asked, “I’d like to believe that.”
“Believe it,” said Hagrid as he placed one beer on the table in front of him and one on the stage for Lo. “My younger sister strips here.”
“What?! No way?”
“It’s true,” he said, taking a sip, which left a foam line on his mustache.
“She doesn’t have a problem with you working here?” asked Lo as she sat next to Hagrid and had some beer.
“Why should she?” he asked, naively.
“Well, I mean, she’s your sister.”
“Whatever,” he said. “I see her naked and more at home.”
“What do you mean by that?”
“She brings guys home from the bar. . . and women too.”
“Really?”
“She likes to strut around naked, teasing them, when I’m home.”
“You both live with your parents?”
“No, we have an apartment together.”
“You. . . and your sister. . . live together?”
“Yeah. Cheaper that way.”
“And she fucks guys in the apartment?”
“All the time. And women.”
“In her room?”
“In her room, with the door open. In the living room. In the kitchen. It doesn’t really matter to her.”
“I’ve got to meet this woman!”
“You already have.”
“What?!”
“Yeah. The skanky stripper who was trying to eat you out when I threw you and your man outta here.”
“She’s your sister?!”
“Yep.”
Hagrid looked at his phone.
“Well, you’re in luck,” he said, looking up at Lo.
“How’s that?”
“She just texted me and said the guys dropped your man off at our apartment.”
“What?! We gotta get over there!” said Lo, frantic that while she spent time dirty dancing for Hagrid, Hagrid’s little sister might be trying to bed her ole man. Double standard? You better believe it.
Hagrid and Lo arrived just as I was explaining to the little sister why I had to be smuggled to their apartment like a fugitive from justice.
Lo strutted in after Hagrid’s big bouncer body filled the frame of the door.
“You!” said the little sister.
“You!” said Lo right back at her. It was like, how do they say it, when an unstoppable force meets an immovable object? But in this case, it was an insatiable slut meets a nymphomaniacal tramp. Who is who? Does it matter?
Hagrid’s sister, let’s call her Luna Lovegood for convenience, was wearing just her pink heart panties and a ratty old t-shirt, no bra.
Luna Lovegood/Evanna Lynch
The guy from the across the street, Tom, was with me. He had hid me in the back seat of his old Buick and got me to Hagrid and Luna’s place without drawing the attention of the mob.
“Jesus, Luna, put some clothes on for fuck’s sake,” demanded Hagrid.
“Why?” she asked, leaning over me and letting me see down her t-shirt. “They’ve all seen me naked anyway.”
Evanna Lynch
“Whatever,” said Hagrid.
Evanna Lynch
The apartment was more just a three room shack than an apartment. It had two bedrooms off of the main kitchen/living room. The walls were paper thin and looked like they’d fall down if someone sneezed too loudly. The living room had a drab, dirty, worn green carpet with an old, ratty couch. The kitchen had dirty grey linoleum tiles from the middle of the last century and a tiny table with three chairs around it. There was a large, flatscreen TV that hung unevenly on the wall of the living room and looked out of place among all the decrepit furniture and peeling paint.
On the wall was one calendar – out of date already – issued by the strip club and with a photo of Luna nude, spreading her legs with the stripper pole blocking sight of her slit, her tits visible on either side of the pole.
“Do you want to fuck me?” Luna asked me, point blank.
“No, he doesn’t want to fuck you,” inserted Lo.
“Can’t he speak for himself?” asked Luna. “He’s a grown man.”
“If he’s going to fuck anyone around here, it will be me,” she said defiantly.
I sort of liked the attention and having the two women fight over me.
“Why is the town all up in arms about Lola when Luna lives here?”
“What does it mean to be ‘all up in arms’?” asked Lo in her little girl voice that she knows turns me on.
“Play your cards right and I’ll show you tonight,” I said.
“You’re such a pervert – that’s what I love about you,” she said, sitting on my lap and kissing me.
“They don’t give a shit about her,” said Hagrid, nodding at Luna, “because she grew up here. They know her. They know all about her. To them, she’s just more white trash in a town full of white trash.”
“Fuck you!” said Luna, grabbing her handle of vodka and taking a swig. Mind you, it was early afternoon on a Sunday.
“But you,” said Hagrid, undeterred by Luna and talking to Lola, “Your white ass has class. You’re from the city. You’re not from around here.”
“I’d like to have some of her white meat,” said Tom. “Her chicken tenders look delicious.”
“It might be white,” said Hagrid as he put on a pot of coffee, “but it ain’t tight.”
“Hey,” said Lola, “don’t judge a pussy by its possessor.”
“Well, is it tight?” asked Tom.
I played dumb. Lo spread her legs. Anyone could see her pussy flaps falling on either side of the thong.
She pulled at them with both hands. “It’s accommodating.”
“That’s one word for it,” said Tom.
“Look,” said Luna, “if you want some real pussy. . .”
“Real skank pussy,” interrupted Hagrid.
“You can have it,” continued Luna. “Right here,” she said, rubbing her pussy over her shorts.
“OK,” said Tom, dumbly.
“Do you have to fuck every damn friend I bring here?!” bellowed Hagrid at Luna.
Luna put out her hand. “A hundred.”
“What?!”
“It will cost you. One Benjamin.”
“Seriously?”
“I don’t give it away for free, you know.”
“Yes she does,” said Hagrid, getting a couple of coffee mugs from the cabinet.
“Fuck you!” yelled Luna at her brother, “This is our rent, asshole.”
“I don’t have a hundred.”
“What do you have?”
He pulled out his wallet. He opened it. He looked in. “A twenty.”
Luna reached into his wallet and pulled out the twenty before he even knew what happened. “It’s a deal.”
Luna stuffed the twenty in her jeans shorts and took the guy by the hand into her bedroom.
Lo, Hagrid, and I were left in the kitchen. The coffee maker sputtered indicating it was brewed.
“Coffee?” offered Hagrid.
“Sure,” I said.
“Got anything to eat?” asked Lo.
Hagrid looked in the fridge, in the cupboard, and finally said, “I got these crackers and some cheese.”
“Perfect,” said Lo.
As Hagrid was preparing the cheddar and a plate of crackers, we could all hear Luna saying, “Yes, yes, yes,” in the other room, coinciding with what sounded like the slam of a bureau against a wall in rhythm with her affirmations. The wall to her bedroom was literally shaking with each thump.
“Is it like this a lot?” I asked.
“Pretty much every night she dances.”
“I guess she’s gotta pull her weight for rent.”
Hagrid laughed a little. “You saw how little she weighs. She barely pulls that weight. All her money goes to that,” he said, indicating the handle of vodka. “And drugs.”
“That’s too bad.”
Hagrid just shrugged his wide shoulders as if I had said that it’s too bad it gets dark so early. It’s out of his control.
“But the village vice squad leaves her alone?” I inquired.
“Like I said, she’s a known bad apple. Lo here, she’s. . .”
“I’m more of a juicy peach,” Lo said.
“Or nectarine,” I said, indicating her smoothly shaven puss.
“The sweetest nectarine you ever tasted.”
“Fuck! Fuck! Jeeezuuus, fuck!” we heard Luna from the other room screaming.
“When do you think it will be safe to get back to. . .” I started to ask just as the walls began shaking like it was an earthquake. The door to Luna’s bedroom opened and she stood in the doorway, bent over, getting it from behind.
“Will one of you get me a glass of water?” she asked. Her hair was matted to her forehead with sweat. “I just squirted and I’m so thirsty.” It was hot in that shack. No AC.
“She’s thirsty alright,” muttered Hagrid.
Lo got up and got a grungy glass out of the cupboard and filled it with water from the tap. She brought it to Luna who stood naked with Tom’s hands covering her tits as he rammed it home from behind.
Luna downed it in one gulp. “More,” she said. Was she talking to Lo or Tom?
Lo filled up the glass again.
“This guy’s getting every cent of his twenty bucks worth,” she said before drinking the second glass.
She handed the glass back to Lo and propped herself up by bracing her hands in the doorway.
“He’s goo-oooo-ooo-ood,” she said to Lo. Her “good” was drawn out and had bumps in its tone as she was rammed hard from behind.
“I’m good,” said Lo, laughing a bit.
“Shut the damn door,” cried Hagrid, exasperated.
Luna just gave him her middle finger.
“Fuck my ass,” she said over her shoulder. It seemed she said it just to piss off her brother.
“The condom fell off as I pulled out,” Tom said to her. “It’s still in you.”
“Forget the condom. Fuck my ass.”
“I don’t have another one.”
“FUCK. MY. ASS.”
The three of us slowly sipped our coffee as Luna got it up the ass in the doorway.
“What were you saying?” asked Hagrid.
“Oh, I was wondering when you think it will be safe for us to get out of here.”
“We could do a drive-by now and check it out.”
“ATV or. . . ?”
“We’ll take my pickup truck.”
“Wait!” said Luna. “I want to go with you.”
The guy behind her was still fucking her ass.
“There’s no room,” said Hagrid.
“It’s big enough for everyone to fit in,” she said without irony.
“Why would I take you?” asked Hagrid.
“Because, I want to go.”
“You’re busy, right now, earning rent.”
Luna looked over her shoulder, shut her eyes, and appeared to be focusing on performing some sort of Jedi mind trick.
Suddenly the guy behind her was cumming and cooing and cumming and calling out for the Jesus.
“Works every time,” said Luna.
“What does?” asked Lo.
“I have incredible control over my sphincter.”
Luna pulled forward, turned, got on her knees, and took Tom’s cock in her mouth. I couldn’t help but think, “Wow! What a Lola move!”
When Luna was done cleaning him off, Luna put on some raggedy clothes and the four of us piled into the tiny back seat of the pickup truck.
Why were all of us in the back seat? Hagrid was driving and in the passenger seat was his giant Great Dane, sitting regally with the window open, surveying the landscape as we drove.
Lo sat on my lap and Luna on the other guy’s lap. Lo’s and Luna’s legs were touching.
“I really liked what I saw of you in the club,” said Luna, rubbing her hand up Lo’s thigh.
“Cut it out, whore!” called Hagrid from the front.
“Fuck you!” said Luna.
Luna spread her legs. Lo could see the tight shorts stained with wetness from the cum leaking out of her ass. Luna unbuttoned the shorts and unzipped them. She reached down and appeared to be finger-fucking herself. But then she pulled out her hand.
“There it is!” she cried, displaying the recovered condom. She tossed it out the window with a laugh.
We got to the house and the angry mob had moved on.
“Thanks so much,” I said to Hagrid.
“No problem. Get outta town while you can,” he cautioned.
“Will do!”
“Thanks! Thanks for everything,” said Lo to everyone in the truck.
“Bye!” called Luna, to Lola, as she flashed her tits. “Stay slutty!”
“You know I will!”
Lo and I waisted no time packing up, writing a little note to my friend John, and getting the hell out of Dodge.
The End
Lola Down – Cover Girl
A Time to Love
Lola’s older sister, Roberta Go
“Gazing at the written world, seeing the elegant self-restraint that guards an inner decomposition, a biological decay until the last moment from the prying eyes of the world; that bilious, sensually disadvantaged ugliness that is able to kindle its smoldering fire into a pure flame and to even usurp the throne in the kingdom of beauty.”
– Death in Venice, Thomas Mann
“Really?” asked Lo as I mixed the gin in with the tonic and sliced up a sliver of lime.
“What?” I asked.
“It’s not even noon.”
“What is time in a global pandemic anyway?”
We were two weeks into lockdown. We were stranded in paradise. Far away from our everyday hustle and bustle, cold weather, friends and family, we followed the dire warnings about travel a week into our winter vacation to the beachside resort town. The sun was shining, the sea breeze gently moderating the temperature, the inviting golden sand beckoning us to walk through it barefoot. But all the amenities of this place were off-limits. One-by-one each pleasurable pastime was shut down, cordoned off, closed – first the bars and restaurants, then the beach itself, and finally the boardwalk. We were allowed to walk on the sidewalks, but that was it. There was nowhere to go anyhow. We could take our lives in our hands and go to the supermarket to get necessities (if we could find them on the bare shelves), but we didn’t want to do that and we made as infrequent visits there as possible.
News of sickness, disease, and death were filtering into every media channel. It seemed that even if we didn’t watch the news, we still couldn’t escape it – it was in the air. The stock market was tumbling down off a cliff, unemployment was spiking, and anxiety was everywhere. We couldn’t hug our neighbors for comfort, for they may be the vicious vector conveying the virus within their sincere attempt at reassurance.
Lola and I were utterly alone on the 25th floor of a resort hotel overlooking the vacant beaches and streets with nothing but the brilliant yellow, blue, and wisps of white for company. On the horizon we could make out three giant cruise ships forbidden from docking for fear of their deadly cargo. We were informed that the virus was rampant and people dropping with asphyxiation on the decks, desperately looking to the shore for some sort of assistance, in vain.
Death surrounded us. So why not have a gin-and-tonic after breakfast? I had plunged into nihilism.
Yes, I still had Lola as my companion, but there was little for me to write about regarding “my sexlife with Lola.” Her trysts, flirtations, and dogging down by the pool area were prohibited by the pandemic. Yes, she still masturbated three, four, five times a day, but I’ve written about that in such detail and with such frequency that there is hardly anything new I could bring to the topic. Our lives beat on with the same monotony as the repetitive waves upon the shore.
Until one day our desperation to escape the gloom of death and destruction was relieved. We found solace in the strangest of places. While preparing for her Friday morning fap session, Lo was doing her usual foreplay routine which includes checking her elicit email account. In it, she discovered a missive from her sister Robie, whom she hadn’t seen for a dozen years or more. Even with me, she had only mentioned her in passing as her “estranged sibling.” All I knew about her was that she was older and residing abroad. How on earth did she find Lo’s secret email account?
After getting the email, Lo called me into the bedroom and explained some of the backstory.
“She’s older and when we were kids we slept in the same bed. It became. . . interesting. . . when she grew boobs. Long story short, we got caught, she got kicked out of the house and sent to boarding school and then to Europe. We were separated for a long time.”
“Why did she suddenly write to you now?” I asked.
“I’m getting there,” said Lo, still naked under the sheets, slowly stroking between her legs as she spoke, “During COVID lockdown she needed something to help her get off. She was scouring the internet to find the really dirty stuff. She came across (and to) our blog and, because I don’t show my face, was fapping to it regularly, not knowing it was me – her sister – that was making her horny, until one day she noticed something that gave me away. She reached out and sent this photo of her with the ebook of Match, Cinder & Spark.”
Robie with our ebook
She showed me the photo. I was in a state of shock; first by the events that led to this interaction and then by the family resemblance I saw between Lo and Robie.
“She’s beautiful,” I uttered unconsciously.
Lo took offense. Always jealous.
“I mean, she looks so much like you. It’s a compliment.”
Apparently Lo, being the younger sister, always took a backseat to Robie. My comment brought back all those jealousy issues.
Since that first email exchange as adults, the two have reconnected on a number of levels, not least of which is that they frequently get off to each other long-distance.
I suppose the ever-present, yet occasionally more pressing, specter of death can reunite as well as rend.
Robie showing that she has been using Lo to get off
Protected: Hero
Swing
[The following story, which took place a few years ago, was published in the March edition of ENM Magazine – Ethical Non-Monogamy. Unfortunately, despite heroic efforts by its publisher, this month is the last month of its short existence.]
Lo’s Green Dress from ENM spread
Saint Patrick’s Day in Chicago, where the river runs green and the jazz of a bygone era still swings. Lo and I had gone there for Lily and Jim’s wedding. It was an extravagant affair. All the quaint rituals and odd practices of the public betrothal symbolizing holy monotony. I mean monogamy. I mean matrimony. Sorry, I struggle to find the right words sometimes. All the focus on the bride as an unblemished princess performing for her solid, stoic king. There’s just something about it that provokes the puckish prankster in me. Especially when I know that the beautiful bride in her pure white gown has a devilish desire for exceptionally large cock and that her groom comes up short.
But Jim is a good friend of mine and a sometime paramour of Lo’s, so we took added delight in the carnal knowledge that behind all the nuptial vows, the oaths of fidelity, and the pomp of the ring ceremony, both Lily and Jim hadn’t any plans of restricting their bodies and pleasures only to the one legally bound to them.
So, as all the other guests let out gentle expressions of awe and shed a tear in reflection of this display of love and affection, I grinned a wicked little grin as I sipped my expensive scotch.
Lo saw my mischievous look and rubbed her leg up against mine under the table, indicating that she had some ideas of her own.
We both knew Lily and Jim to be swingers and so, when the formalities were over and the dancefloor opened up for revelry, Lo missed no opportunity to scandalize the evening.
We sat at the table next to the newlywed couple. Rather than the usual choice of two entrées, there was a choice of four and so people were passing bites from their plates around for each other to taste.
“You are so generous!” said one guest to me after I let her have a bite of my food.
“Whenever I experience something amazing, I just want others to share in it,” I replied, rubbing Lo’s arm.
“I’m the opposite,” said the young woman to me. “Whenever I find something amazing, I keep it all to myself.” She also rubbed the arm of her partner.
“You can have him,” I thought.
Meanwhile, Lo was seated next to Lily’s Uncle Collin. He arrived to this event without his wife Suzanne and no one blinked an eye about it. The family was used to their “independent” social schedules. This wedding happened after the shenanigans that had taken place at Collin’s mountain cottage, so Lo was very familiar with ‘Uncle Collin’ and his love of young women and his E.D. issues. The whole night, any stranger would have thought that Lo was Collin’s date for the evening. Given the age difference, they might have thought Lo was his hired companion as his FGE – “Full Girlfriend Experience.”
They danced together – marvelously, I might add – and reminisced, quite loudly at the table, about the days at his cottage. He repeatedly alluded to Lo suntanning nude along side Lily, going to a farm and milking goats, and they laughed about how Lo lost her bikini bottoms while tubing behind his boat on the lake.
As they told these stories, Collin gradually drew the other guests at our table into their intimate stroll down Memory Lane. He is charismatic and a good storyteller, but the whole time I was silently fuming, ready to burst out with, “Yeah, you could read all about it on our blog! With photos!!! I wrote it better than he tells it!!!” But I remained silent and let the senior statesmen have the spotlight that he so craved.
He subtly hinted at, without giving too much detail, the nudity, sex, and other debauchery that took place at the cottage. He was in on the secret we shared with Jim and Lily – that they got married prior to this large ceremony to appease their Catholic families and that, though they lived “in sin” prior to the private wedding, Lily was and continues to be an A.O.L. girl (Anal Only Lifestyle).
After Collin regaled them with his tales of titties and sun, one of the young women at our table, noticing Collin’s wedding ring and Lo’s “hotwife” ring, asked, “So you two are. . . married?” She asked it hesitantly, knowing it was an inappropriate question that was only sparked by the gaping age difference between them. Yet the curious guest was inebriated enough to broach the subject and display her incredulity.
“Oh no,” said Lo, laughing and delighting in the twist of the knife that was about to take place, “I’m not married!”
“Oh, so you’re. . . ?” the woman’s half-formulated question hung in the air awkwardly.
“We’re just friends,” said Lo. “This is my partner, HH,” she added, as she put her delicate hand on mine.
The fact that they weren’t married, but had shared so much together, compounded with the fact that Lo was dating another, yet different, older man who was seated right next to her as she laughed about these sexperiences, seemed to blow the mind of our dinner companion.
“Oh,” she said, feigning comprehension, but displaying complete befuddlement.
The band began to play again and Lo begged me to dance with her.
I demurred, saying, “Dancing is emblematic of our relationship. When we dance, you do whatever you want. For me, though, the goal is to have fun. But all you do is criticize and then, when I stop, you criticize because you always have to have an object of your derision. Without it, you feel a tremendous void. And whatever I do – driving, cooking, dancing, cleaning – I’m your eternal object of derision.”
Lo replied, “Well, when dancing, it’s more fun for both partners if one is not stepping on the other’s toes.”
“That’s only possible if you’re dancing solo.”
“You’re right, dancing is emblematic of our whole relationship.”
As harsh as this banter sounds, it was all said lovingly, tongue-in-cheek.
One of our friends at the table overhead us and said, “You two should write a book chronicling your lovers’ quarrels.”
“That’s a great idea!” I replied “That way I could document my long suffering. I could call it, ‘The History of my Calamities,’ after Abelard.”
“Your calamities,” chided Lo, “you should be so lucky to have an Eloise like me!”
Having fully lost our audience with our theological allusions, Collin remarked, “You two have great erotic tension.”
“Yeah,” I said, “but no erotic release.”
“There’s a difference,” said Lo, “between erotic tension and sexual tension.”
“And what is that?” I asked.
“Erotic tension is in your head. And you have a great release for that – the blog. Sexual tension is between your legs and you have a great release for that.”
“What might that be?”
“My puss.”
“How’s your sexual tension?”
“I never have sexual tension,” said Lo casually, “I only have sexual release.”
“I suppose that’s what it means to be ‘a liberated woman.’”
She got up to dance with Collin some more.
Louis Armstrong’s “Just a Gigolo” was being sung by the crooner and Lo, wearing her green velvet dress in honor of the Irish holiday, looked stunning as she twirled and dipped with Collin.
As they kicked up a storm on the dancefloor, one of the women at our table sat next to me. “Aren’t you jealous,” she whispered in my ear. I couldn’t help but think of her as Iago. Though green was the color of the day, it was not the color I was seeing as I watched my Desdemona dance with her Cassio.
“No,” I replied with a smile.
“Not at all?”
“Not in the slightest.”
“Want to get some air?” she asked.
“Sure.”
I followed my femme Iago out onto the balcony of the hotel and, though it was freezing in the windy city, she offered me a few puffs from her vape pen. Not wishing to be rude, I accepted.
Suddenly my Shakespearean companion transformed into a jovial leprechaun and the next thing I knew was Lo, Collin, the sexy pixie elf and I were at The Green Mill, a dancehall throwback to the age of Swing. A big band was playing with a tall, lean black trumpeter in the lead. They were pounding out “Tain’t What You Do” as Lo was passed from partner to partner in the crowd that was jumpin’ and jivin’ to the beat.
In my mind, the spotlight was on Lo and her eyes were on the prize – the trumpeter who seemed to be singing the words especially for her, with a peculiar emphasis on them, changing the meaning from, “Tain’t what you do, it’s how you do it” to “Taint, what you do. It’s how you do it.”
“How you feeling now?” asked the leprechaun.
I felt as if a green wave was carrying my Lo further and further out to sea as I was stranded on the shore watching her recede into the distance.
There, far on the horizon, I saw her up by the stage, talking with the trumpeter who was standing, his crotch eye level with Lo’s face. She was looking up at him, saying something.
The band took a break and Lo disappeared, as did the band leader.
Collin returned to the table and I inquired about her whereabouts.
“It’s Saint Patty’s Day!” he said, “The luck of the Irish. I believe that Lo is getting lucky!” He slapped me on the back and bought me another drink that I didn’t need. “When in the Emerald City, anything can happen with a little magic from the Wizard,” he said, removing a teal handkerchief from his jacket pocket that suddenly turned into Lo’s satin panties. He handed them to me and said, “Improbable, yes. Possible, perhaps. With Lo, all is green go-go and Eternal Return of the Dame.”
When I heard these words, I knew that I was slowly losing my grasp on reality.
The last thing I recall from the evening was a Julie London song, “Hey Daddy,” being played by the band as an instrumental number.
When I woke up, I was in my hotel room in the bed and Lo was rising and descending on a large bottle of champagne.
Celebration Time
Groggily I rubbed my eyes and looked at her to make sure I wasn’t hallucinating. I then said, “Be careful darling, I wouldn’t want that bottle to break.”
“Not to worry. I’m wide, wet, and willing.”
As she proceeded to hump to her heart’s content, she said, “Will you order some breakfast from room service?”
Always the dutiful daddy, I said, “Sure, what do you want.”
“A bowl of Lucky Charms.”
Lo’s Taint