Wednesday, November 21, 2012

Sneak Up and Write “Fuck You”

If you haven’t forgotten, I study architecture. Aside from designing buildings to look pretty while they are trying not to fall down, I have to design how the water, lighting, sewerage and gas work inside them.

To keep it simple, it’s not a subject I’m passionate about. I think that showed on today’s exam, about sewerage systems.



Tuesday, October 30, 2012

The Only Normal Bastard

Okay, so I had quite a funny story all build up since a month ago. When I was on the flight back from (getting lucky) England I met the most obnoxious guy ever. The ‘fun’ out this story was, of course, the reasons that made him obnoxious. However, I have let so much time pass by that the only reasons I can remember are that he was loud, stupid and a little bit racist. I’m telling you, with all of its details, it was a hilarious story. I promised myself I would write it up the second I got a second free. I’m not going to lie, I did get plenty of lazy seconds this month, I just didn’t feel like writing at all.

Stuff has happened (that’s the retarded-phrase-cousin of ‘Shit happens’), and a lot of it was the ‘bloggish’ kind of stuff. I must admit I felt a dash of inspiration when I heard one of my roommates having very loud sex while I was eating a pasta salad and reading about ways to camouflage ugly drapes… But, I guess, living for the first time without my parents or nuns has left me with two consecutive colds and a writer’s block.

I’m trying to work past that by writing shorter entries, at first. Also, I decided to go into a new project which now has me all excited. I have a new sex blog, completely independent from this one… Because nothing inspires me more than sex.


I don’t want to link this blog to the new one, for personal (although, probably silly) reasons. If you want a link you can send me an email at . There’s no need for you to explain why you want it, introduce yourself or anything… Just ask me to send you the link and I’ll do it.

Thursday, October 4, 2012

Romeo and Juliet, At Least it Was Their Own Fault



Disclaimer: No one really offered me any sausages…

Sunday, September 30, 2012

Something Always Happens

A lot of stuff has happened since I posted last and I plan to write about it… Just not today.

The reason I’m writing this is, partly, to let the 4 or 5 still interested know I haven’t forgotten about my blog; however, this is mainly a remainder for myself to write about this issues.

1. Meeting British Man’s friends and family.

2. Meeting a very weird dude on the flight back from England.

3. Moving into my very own* apartment.

So, wait for that…! Or not. I’m aware I don’t deserve your patience anymore.


*Ok. I know it’s  not really my apartment. I’m not really paying rent with money I’ve earned. Either way, I’m still calling it “my very own”, it’s more exciting that way.

Thursday, September 13, 2012

Her Eyes. Her Nose. Her Forehead. Her Mouth.

“We are all going, […] and it applies to turtles and turtlenecks. Alaska the girl and Alaska the place, because nothing can last, not even the earth itself. The Buddha said that suffering was caused by desire, we'd learned, and that the cessation of desire meant the cessation of suffering. When you stopped wishing things wouldn't fall apart, you'd stop suffering when they did.”

― John Green, Looking for Alaska

Yesterday night I met with some old friends, and since I’m leaving Mexico in just a few days, we decided it was a great excuse to go through old yearbooks. That’s what we did. We remembered unfortunate haircuts, braces, not-hypster-cool glasses, baby fat and awkward faces. In that moment it was all about us, every time we opened up a book, we went straight to our generation pictures.

By pure coincidence, one yearbook opened up on the photographs of a generation a year below ours. In that moment, a friend pointed out a picture of a girl; I remembered her instantly. I didn’t talk to her, she was a year younger than me and at that age it means a whole other level of life experiences, but I remembered her. For the life of me I can’t tell why I remember her, though. She had an Asian last name, maybe that was it. She had a boyish haircut, maybe that was it. She looked a little bit Asian, but not quite; her face was pretty and feminine enough to pull off the haircut. Maybe that was it. 

“She died” my friend whispered.

Instinctively, I asked how. That’s what we do, isn’t it? Because we want to hear about a sickness that we’re already cured for; we want to hear about an overdose of drugs we don’t do; we want to hear about dangerous places we would never visit.

She died in a car crash about a year ago. No. Not a year. Months ago. She wasn’t driving; the guy who was wasn’t drunk. He lost control of the wheel for a few seconds and that’s all that was needed. She wasn’t even 21. I think.

I looked up the shocked faces of my friends. I could tell that all they wanted was to turn to the next page and pretend it didn’t happened. We did.

Or maybe I did not. I had trouble sleeping last night. I couldn’t stop thinking about the girl I didn’t talk to and that I never will. When I woke up, it took me just a few seconds on the internet to find the news of her death. According to the site she died instantly. It remind me about the main character of the book ‘Looking for Alaska’ by John Green. He rants about what an ‘instant death’ means; he wonders how long it really is and how awful the pain must feel like. I don’t know about the pain, but just a second of thinking “I’m about to stop existing” sounds terrifying enough to me.

As human being, as the selfish creature I am, I can’t help but think how it makes me feel. How it makes me feel the fact that ten years ago I saw her smiling and I had no idea she was going to die young and tragically (although, I’m being redundant, dying young means dying tragically); how it makes me feel that she must have been going home after a fun night; how it makes me feel that she must had had plans for the next day; how it makes me feel that nobody knew she would stop existing that night… And as selfish as it sounds, that’s all that is important now; how the living feel about the dead, because, even if the particles that conformed her still exist and, theoretically,  will never stop existing, she as a whole doesn’t. She’s not aware of her death anymore, because she’s not aware of anything anymore. So, I can’t stop thinking about my own feelings about it, because that’s what we do.

…Isn’t it?

Tuesday, September 11, 2012

Catholics Stick Together

While it can be said that I’ve spent a good amount of time with my friends and family during school break, the photos on my last blog entry (and, well, the simple fact that I have a blog) show I’m not exactly an ‘outside’ kind of person. Luckily I have televisions shows to teach me how human interactions work – Heeh.

Who am I kidding? There’s no pseudo-sciency way to explain why I like using my dad’s Netflix account to watch early seasons of Beverly Hills, 90210.  There’s nothing I can say on my defense; nothing I want to say, to be honest. We are talking about a show with characters like: Kelly Taylor, daughter of a former supermodel addicted to cocaine and alcohol. Kelly, who is voted as Spring Princess ; goes after best friend’s boyfriend; gets best friend’s boyfriend; breaks up with best friend’s boyfriend; goes out with best friend’s brother; temporarily abuses diet pills; temporary abuses cocaine; gets trapped in a house fire with a lesbian who later on falls in love with her; joins a cult because of the fire scare; finds a long lost sister; almost gets rape; gets rape; shots rapist; gets shot in the stomach which causes a 2-episode-long amnesia; suffers a miscarriage; finds out she might never have kids; has a kid. Characters like Kelly suffer daily on BH 90210, the least we could do is watch and enjoy.

What I’ve notice from this show – and many other teen dramas – is that if you take them just a tiny bit seriously, you won’t be able to go through an entire episode without dropping a “what a bunch of horrible horrible people”, even if you’re home alone (and let’s face it, you are home alone, it would be too embarrassing to watch it otherwise). It’s understandable, though, not even I would watch a show full of:

“my dad is a jigsaw puzzle piece cutter; he doesn’t have any kind of criminal relations so I’m not expecting him to blow up in front of my eyes any time soon”

“I’m Pre-Med, I have a child and I’m married at 19… I’m way too busy to have an affair right now, so I’ll pass on this one”

“Drugs? Oh, I’m not really into them, but it’s nice from you to offer”

The only way to stand the actual storylines is to lower your moral standards. Supposedly, there are good and bad characters, although, they are all bitches and scumbags. The only difference between them is that the good characters feel bad about it afterwards. It must have something to do with all of that religious stuff about god forgiving every sin if you feel some remorse and shit.

I don’t know about you, but if an ax murderer is going to split me in half I’d respect him more (if I wasn’t very dead already, anyway) if he was proud of his almost symmetrical job instead of whining about what an awful person he is and then move on to the next victim because, give him a rest, is his nature! 

…Because killing someone is just as bad as stealing their boyfriend!

Anyway, enjoy the 90’s, everybody!

Tuesday, September 4, 2012

Coffee, Sandwiches and Magazines

So… This is what I’ve been doing instead on whining about my life on the internet.


San Cristobal Stables, 1968 (Mexico)


Dancing House, 1996 (Prague)


Fallingwater, 1939 (USA)


Frida Kahlo and Diego Rivera’s Study House, 1931 (Mexico City)


Guggenheim Museum, 1959 (New York)

Yes. This will be a very useful talent to have now that I’m going to live all by myself and can hardly cook rice without burning it.

Saturday, August 25, 2012

If a Body Catch a Body

From my last blog entry, you might have gotten the impression I just love sitting here doing nothing but judge people I know. That’s not true. I also love judging people I don’t know.

There’s this blog (which I’m not giving its name because I dread to think you’d use your internet connection on something other than reading me), it’s run by a couple, a guy and a girl in a D/s relationship. I follow a few more blogs like that one, but written by people older than I am and much more skilled on the issue. These two are much more relatable, specially her, being around my age, fairly inexperienced and with a bit of a smart mouth.  Just a few days ago, the guy –or the Dominant- shocked me by posting his decision on renting “his pet”. Through an agreement, people would have a chance to screw the girl. It’s not the first time I’ve heard this. It is a relatively common practice (or that’s what my research says). People do it and that’s awesome; I just wasn't expecting it from someone similar to me.

British Man and I have discussed it. I’m not into being shared around men and he’s not into sharing me with other men… It was a short discussion, as you can see.

When I was a teenager, it used to be a bit of a fantasy to be with a number of guys at the same time. As I grew it, the fantasy has been diminishing until now, it has completely disappeared. I keep wondering why, specially since I have no problem fooling around with girls.

I’m sure that admitting men and women are different is the first step I have to take to solve this dilemma (ah! If all dilemmas revolved around hooking, either, with a bunch of guys or a bunch of girls… That’s the world John Lennon truly imagined). We are different. We are both awesome, but in our own way… And there’s no need to send any gender to Mars. Just saying.

Being with a woman would be like being with someone similar to me. Next to British Man she would stand as a completely different individual, with different things to offer and different (my thesaurus couldn’t find a better word either) ways of seeking pleasure. It would be easy for me to see her as a complement, regardless if she’s a sub, a Dom or a goddam astronaut.

A guy or guys would be another deal. While I do think my British Man is a special snowflake, to share the spotlight with others “like him” would compromise this all-mighty figure I have of him…Ok. Let’s start this over.

Hi! I’m Lola and I love sex. I also love reading about sex. From my research, I have gathered that this “sharing the sub” act has quite a romantic meaning (not one I’d share when my friends are arguing which Nicholas Sparks novels is the cutest). See, you really don’t own something until you’re able to share it. This is a level of ownership, both, Dom and sub crave for. I understand this and I truly believe it’s beautiful in a way.

The whole BDSM community is very complex to me. The more I read about it, the more I feel I don’t know a thing. However, like everything else in this world, it can be reduced to this: do whatever the fuck you want. It’s about having fun, being comfortable, feeling fulfilled, not raping or murdering anybody, and putting the label you want to it.

I’d love to please my Sir by fucking other girls; I wouldn’t enjoy it if he asked me to do the same thing with guys. I could put it in fancier words but I’m not a fancy person; it’s as simple as this: I feel owned and appreciated by my Sir when he doesn’t want any cock but his own to benefit directly from my work.

Tuesday, August 7, 2012

Buy Cars and Drink Martinis

I’m back in Mexico for summer break, and man did I miss it. The food, my family, my bed, my friends (and I don’t mean the 10 seasons I own on DVD… Although I did miss that), my baby (that’s how we, childless women, call our missed links between dogs and a stuffed toys), and… Did I mention the food? I can’t really blame the country for owning the silver medal on “obesity”, comes with the territory. What I didn’t miss at all is how society works around here.

For the few weeks I’ve been here, I have already heard three girls my age got married. I mean married-married, not “lol I just changed my status on Facebook and now I’m married to my best friend… Which is funny because we are both girls but we are not lesbians. We just like pretending we are… Get it? Hilarious, right!?”*

I guess I just reached an age where is perfectly normal for girls to get married in MexicoI don’t like being so generalin my city? social-class? book club? God, I don’t know, simply, around me.

Some of them find a job; some of them jump from planning a wedding to baby showers to soccer practices. I’m not trying to judge here. I wasn’t exactly the “put a pillowcase over my head and play bride” kinda gal, but not even I am so cynic to deny that the idea of throwing a big party and receiving free blenders is kind of cool. If you want to marry young and rich, go ahead, you won’t have me burning any of my bras at your wedding.

What I wonder is if these girls (yes, I’m focusing on the ladies… Let a male blogger worry about the dicks) know there are other choices. I remember telling a friend, last year, marriage wasn’t in any of my near-future plans. Even though she didn’t run around the Starbucks yelling “KILL IT WITH FIRE!”, she did look at me as if I had chanted “Bloody Mary” three times in front of her and she was a mirror… Or some other allegory that actually makes sense. I don’t know, maybe I’m just ditzy from all that husbandless I had for breakfast.


*Yes, my Facebook profile  does say I’m engaged to a girl friend but that’s totally different. I did ask her to marry me. Technically, we are engaged and, although, we are not really going to marry each other, it would be rude if I didn’t post my relationship status on Facebook, come on!


Thursday, July 5, 2012

Dixieland and Whorehouse

Don’t you think I haven’t notice that, with all of these sexy entries (fictitious or not) I’ve left out to update you on my normal and monotonous life. Next semester I won’t be coming back to the dorms I currently live in (I still don’t know know how nuns could let such a cock-sucking atheist join, in the first place). I'm moving to my very own apartment (and by that I mean an apartment my parents are paying) which I’ll be sharing with 2 other friends: Muffin and a girl we will be calling Barbie (because she’s tall, blonde and perfect).

In the first instance, we will be welcoming anyone who’s not a thief, rapist, murderer or Jehovah’s Witness (unless you agree to keep your dirty laundry at home and are great at compliments) but here are some points to consider:

  1. We reserve the right to refuse admission.
  2. Welcome gifts are accepted.
    Here are some of ideas: cake, wine vodka, a house cleaner, sex toys*, a book shelf, free Wi-Fi, etc. 
  3.  If you were looking to have sex in our premises, let me bring down that fantasy for you: we are three (3) very much taken girls by, as far as I know, three (3) guys who are filling their role (pun very intended) satisfactorily.
  4. Woman in the apartment below: No, we are not the ones playing reggaeton, we are too busy having taste.
  5. Woman in the apartment below, again: Yes, that moaning does come from here… My friend gets really excited with her Physics homework. I’ll tell them her to keep it down.
  6. Telemarketing salesman: I’m sorry… I’m 17 years-old, no, there’s no adult available. Yeah. I’m sorry.

Tuesday, June 26, 2012

Sex is Something I Just Don't Understand; pt3

As you may had notice (which is not the same thing as ‘cared’, I’m aware), I’ve been absent these past weeks. I had a very hard week of finals followed by a very sexy one of British Man, during which I was able to finish ‘50 shades of Grey’. Dramatic readings included.

Again, I don’t feel like telling you what happened point by point, mainly because nothing really did. Ana and Christian have unrealistic and stiffed conversations, fight, have sex and, at some point, have a family dinner, but that’s about it. The book ends with them breaking up which, if that was indeed the end of it, I’d have thought the story was saved: two people who share sexual attraction can’t work through their differences. It’s not a Jane Austen but it would’ve given it a sense of realism. Nope. There are two more novels in which they get back together, a sister gets kidnapped and they have two kids, in that order… At least that’s what a housewife wrote on her blog; there’s no way I’ll waste more time reading this. The BDSM issue gets tossed aside, making me feel a bit cheated, it was the reason I was drawn into the books for fuck’s sake! I was, in fact, expecting a crappy book, but at the very least, a crappy book about a D/s relationship. This is a very simple book about a rich, handsome and mentally unstable man who gets saved by this “girl next door” persona, oh,  and they have sex. I haven’t even read Danielle Steele but I can assure you, you’d be better off reading Danielle Steele.

At this point there are a thousand blogs criticizing this book; I’ve stumbled into some dedicated solely to correcting its grammar. I’ll use my final entry on the subject to concentrate only on what bugged me the most: the portrayal of BDSM.

Disclaimer: I’m aware this is just a Twilight fan fiction and the author is in her whole right to write on her wet dreams however she pleases; this is not the end of the world… But if I don’t make a big deal out of things I have no blog left!

The author made it pretty clear through her novels she is not only clueless about BDSM, but she is also repulsed by it. She demonized a world she’s very ignorant about.  I’ve already messed around with Christian “I can make girls cum by just pronouncing their names” Grey enough times, so let’s get started with him and get it over with. Through the first book we are told over and over he’s a sicko for wanting to spank women, later in the series we get explained why (let’s thank the housewife again for this information): his birth mother was a crack whore who abused him; he grew up wanting girls who looked like her (Ana being one) to beat the shit out of them and later on, have sex with them… I guess the author took some Freud 101 class. 

I’m pretty sure there’s a reason I grew up to be the way I am. I guess I wasn’t born being a submissive for an English man, something must have happened to make me into it. I have two older brothers, an overprotective father… I’m sure I would be a fun psychological exercise to resolve, but fuck you very much. Do it and I’ll paint a straight line between your mom and your girlfriend’s nipples. However, I had a nice childhood in a loving family that always told me I could do whatever I set my mind into. Since I’m a nice person and I don’t torture little animals in my spare time I consider myself a mentally stable person who likes it when, the guy she’s been with for a year now, grabs her by her throat and whispers into her ear that’s she’s his property. For a book that’s liberating women sexually is making me look like a girl with daddy issues.

Now, my sweet little Ana is not getting away so easily this time…

(I didn’t want to mention 'I’m currently reading ‘The Story of O’ since these 2 books have very little in common other than being kinky novels; also, I’m only half way through it, one of the characters could turn into a sparkling vampire and ruin the whole thing. However, it would help me get my two next points across.)

point no.1 It’s not about orgasms. I think. There are girls who are multi-hyper-mega orgasmic, I know and I’m happy for them. I really am. I, on the other hand, have to work for my supper. I’ve realized I get most of my pleasure out of the brain-fucking and helplessness; sex could get a bit painful or uncomfortable, not get to cum and still be the most satisfactory experience ever. Orgasms are just the cherry on top. The sex scenes in ‘50’ could’ve been enjoyable but dear Ana came all over them. I think it’s interesting that ‘O’ never really describes having an orgasm; she moans and enjoys it but never mentions exploding into a ball of pleasure, I’m pretty sure she did, multiple times, but it’s not a reliable way of rating the experience.  This is, again, about me feeling a bit cheated by this book that was supposed to be so about “omg bondage and stuff”, it didn’t even capture a nice quality of it. It just did what regular porn has been doing this whole time: pretend girls cum by the simple touch of a penis.

point no.2 There’s this scene in the book where she ask him to beat her with a belt because she wanted to know how much it could hurt. In the middle of the session she stood up, called him a sick individual and left. Far from me to defend Christian, you just don’t do this. This is not a “you go, girl!” moment; you don’t ask your partner to do something for you and then insult them when they do. Also, your safe-word is your friend. 

Incidents like this one are bound to happen when you don’t really want to go into a certain scene and just do it to please a pretty man. Ana freaks out after every spanking session and thinks it’s a degrading experience, meanwhile, we have O who get fucked mouth, ass and pussy by a bunch of strangers who then beat the shit out of her in front of her lover. O feels beautiful, empowered and proud of being an object for her man to own and share. I’m definitely not saying “show off your feminism getting gang-banged, girlfriend!” No. If you don’t like getting spanked it doesn’t make  you a coward or a less fascinating person. It doesn’t make you anything other than a person who doesn’t like spanks and who shouldn’t get them.

I guess my main problem with the whole novel is that Ana and Christian never seemed to fulfill each other, with or without the kink. I never really got how could this be considered romance. I’m not an avid member of the BDSM community; I’m quite conservative by their parameters, but I’m able to appreciate the beauty on what they do, while the author of ‘50 shades’ can’t. The book deals with two individuals who get massively scared and insecure every time the other person interacts with someone of the opposite sex while there’s this other couple who is actively having sex with others and don’t get hurt by it because they know they love each other and the rest of the people are just instruments in their games.

What I’m trying to say is that it doesn’t matter if you’re not into getting your ass whipped; if you just have sex with girls that remind you of your mommy; if you want your boyfriend’s friends to bang you under his supervision or you want your friends to bang your girlfriend… It’s about not feeling pity for your- damn- fucking-self.

You know what? No. What I really want to say is that I’ve read Harry Potter fiction that had me hotter than this book (man, do I wish I was kidding!) but it doesn’t really matter, because you don’t publish fan fiction. Jeez!



Saturday, June 9, 2012

Sex is Something I Just Don't Understand; pt2

Bear with me, is finals season and there’s nothing else going in my life other than a mediocre erotic book. I’ll keep analyzing it until something shiny distracts me, mkay?

There was this girl, before I started the book, that said she couldn’t finish it because there was very little character development. I thought “well, she’s majoring in literature or something fancy like that, she must know stuff I’d never notice”. Nope. It doesn’t require a scientist to notice nothing ever happens in 50 Shades of Grey: Bella Ana bitches about Christian for being so fucked up, he introduces her to his mother; she is sad because he doesn’t let her touch him, he buys her a car; she cries because he spanked her, he fucks her. They are going through this back an forth weird dynamic where you end up asking yourself “is she happy?” “is this supposed to be romantic?” “who says ‘Argh!’ during sex?” “Does that make her a pirate?”

I haven't finish the book but this is what has happened so far (that I can remember): she graduated collage; Christian met her dad; her best friend is dating Christian’s brother which reminds me too much of fanfics where all my friends married pop singers; Ana and her bestie moved houses; Christian gave Ana a Mac, a Blackberry and a car; she made up with her rapist friend with a “ just don’t do it again, ok?” *hugs*, all in all while they were still discussing the contract bullshit.

Maybe you are planning on pretending you’ve read it using my recap, but I’m not willing to stop in every single stupid stuff because I’d never end. I’ll, then, give you a list of things to mock while discussing the book with someone else: GBAlizzieM2LD-g

  • Anastasia’s Inner Goddess reminds way too much of the little cartoon in Lizzie McGuire. She’s not simply an inner voice; she’s a full character who does salsa, owns a set of pompons and, sometimes, is just “sitting there”.
  • Christian’s pants keep doing that hanging from his hips. I really don’t understand what’s especial about it, but she mentions it every other page.
  • Just like Twilight there are this oh! –so-clever analogies about the girl’s weakness towards him. Here, instead of a lion and lamb they are: Icarus and the sun; a moth and fire.
  • Anastasia orgasms all over the place, it’s ridiculous. The guy just has to say “hey Ana, how’s it going?” and she explodes into a wave of pure passion. She, then, claims she has never masturbated and never will… Of course you fucking don’t! You just have to wipe your ass and you cum.

… Not so funny matters:  
Notice: From the little knowledge I have on BDSM or simply D/s relationships, there are different ways to start one as an inexperienced person. In my case we were both inexperienced so, I admit, my next points will be based on what I have asked and read from other people rather than personal experience. You can start a life in BDSM  like I did or searching for a skilled Dom or  sub to guide you through or you could bump into one when your partner admits that’s what they are into, which is the case on this book, is also a male Dom the one trying to “gain” a female sub so I’ll focus on what I know about that specific case.

Christian is not a Dom,  he’s an asshole; Anastasia is not his sub,  she’s a naïve idiot with very low self-esteem. There are so many things wrong with this; for start, a good Dom doesn’t force the situation. Hell! A good person shouldn’t manipulate their partner into doing something by telling them they’d leave them if they don’t. From experience I can say that being a sub had me question my  feminism, integrity, morals, independence, etc. Women decide to go through it for various reasons, but this one shouldn’t be one of them:

“Please, let’s do this… [she’s saying to herself] otherwise we’ll end up alone with lots of cats and your classic novels to keep you company.”
-chapter 11

I’ll leave Anastasia alone for now, the poor thing has enough dealing with the fact that she has no personality and is merely a viewpoint for the reader to use. She, at least, has her stupidity as an excuse for not knowing how to deal with such situation. Christian ‘I know what I’m doing’ Grey is my biggest problem. He claims they will take it slow at the beginning, but Chris, my dear… Yes, you’re a genius billionaire who feeds the poor, but where did you learn your definition of slow? Making a girl sign a commitment to you when you just met her 3 weeks ago, forcing her to take oral contraceptive because “boohoo! Condoms are just too uncomfortable for your enormous penis”, and telling her you want to claim her ass (thus, making the contraceptive issue irrelevant) is not taking it slow and you know it, you imbecile! *

*Dear Lola, they are fictional characters. Calm your tits. Thank you.

My concern is that the author is selling this guy out as the perfect man: You! Yes, I’m talking to you, sexually repressed woman! Are you tired of the missionary position? Why don’t you take some Christian Grey! He’s a business man who will buy you shiny stuff! He’s rich! He’s handsome! Sure, he’s emotionally damaged and doesn’t enjoy human contact unless is sexual, but don’t worry! You can change him!  Christian Grey, he will know how to make you scream with pleasure! No. Fuck you. I can buy my own stuff and make myself scream with pleasure at the same time. Stick those childhood traumas up your own ass because you’re not touching mine. 

Saturday, June 2, 2012

Sex is Something I Just Don’t Understand

A couple of months ago I heard about the existence of this new best seller, one that deals with a D/s relationship, 50 Shades of Grey. It all went to hell when I discovered it was originally a fan fiction based on Twilight. I planned to stay away from it, but I have heard so much about the book that I thought “if it’s that bad, I could always blog about it”.

Before I even go through this, I have to get something clear: from the little research I’ve made, this book is opening the door for women to explore their sexual needs, and anything that mainstreams the idea that women enjoy sex is awesome by my standards… Other than that, I can’t wait to destroy the fucking thing.

Oh, and I should probably warn people this next thing contains spoilers, and by that I mean I’m going to tell you what happens on the book point by point.

50 shades of ‘Secretary’ goes-wrong

We are introduced to Anastasia Steele, the narrator who, for all means and purposes, we are calling Bella; a 21 year old college virgin, without any sense of ambition or need to use her vagina for anything other than peeing. She’s set to interview this successful and young entrepreneur, Christian Grey, or Edward. It’s supposed to be a piece for her school paper  but all we really learned from this guy is that: he’s the epitome of male beauty (or, as she sets it: yummy) he’s adopted, not gay, has a “warm and husky [voice] like dark melted chocolate fudge caramel” , is filthy rich and likes controlling people *wink, wink*

Later on we meet two other characters: Kate, her supposed best friend who constantly annoys Bella with her questions (which are not that many or that intrusive, Bella is just a bitch) and beauty (because our heroin is “oh! So bland and clumsy!1”), and Jacob José Luís Rodríguez, whose name I’m keeping because I know about 5 people with that same name.

For a reason unknown for, both, Bella and me, and after just a short and very awkward conversation, Edward becomes obsessed with the girl. She constantly wonders why, since she’s so dull and boring (her words, not mine… I believe her, though), but goes along with it because, according to her, there’s some connection between them. (if you ask me, she wants some dicking)

Since I watched the second Twilight movie I was pretty much predicting an almost rape scene from our dear Jose… Now, I don’t know if the author didn’t do enough research before introducing a latino character, or she thought it would give him a much rounder personality if he didn’t know how to speak spanish properly but, Mr. Rodríguez, if you’re out there, there’s no female form for “cariño”, the word “cariña” does.not.exist. Whatever. Edward saved the day and the drunk Bella, took her to his hotel after tracking up her cellphone or something and… Nothing happened.

Bella was invited to his place the night after that; Edward says she must sign some papers before anything happens between them. She signs the first one, which is a confidentiality contract, without even looking at it. I’m guessing she thought it was just like clicking Accept to that ‘Terms and Conditions’ thingy after installing Photoshop. He shows her his Bondage playroom, because dinner and a movie is so last summer,  and asks her to sign a second contract: to be, officially, his.

Ignoring for a second the very absurd context we are in, where they met each other just a few days ago and haven’t had a real talk…I was somewhat pleasantly surprised. Let’s forget this is a suspiciously unnecessary contract; we are given a couple of pages of what this guy is expecting to get out of this relationship and what his hard limits are, very important issue to deal with before starting any D/s relationship (and I’m not being sarcastic). However, when he asked what her limits are, she had no option but to admit she was a *dramatic music* virgin!  Edward threw a gigantic fit and basically ask what’s wrong with her (which I felt compelled to answer: a lot of things, and being a virgin is not one of them). It took him a couple minutes to relax and do what any gentlemen would do in his place; he volunteered to,  and I quote, “rectify the situation”.

Now, the sex scenes were actually better than I expected but ridiculously unrealistic. Bella sucks as a narrator and kills the mood constantly with lines like “I cry as I feel a weird pinching sensation deep inside me as he rips through my virginity” , but to be fair to this girl, she’s good at sucking since she has “no gag reflex” and is capable of giving a earthshaking blowjob on her first try. Not at all like my first oral sex experience went, as I just stood still with a dick in my mouth asking myself “now what?” , but of course, I’m not a fictional character. This woman doesn’t cease to amaze us by, also, having 3 orgasms on her first time, 2 through penetrative sex and the first one through her nipples… Some are just lucky bitches.

Not everything is bad, of course, I must admit Edward is a decent dirty talker. I was so reminded of British Man when he asked Bella to cum for him that I had no other option but to take a break,  look for real porn and masturbate to that. Yes, he was doing well until this happened.

Oh! Turning to face him, I’m shocked to find he has his erection firmly in his grasp. My mouth drops open.
“I want you to become well acquainted, on first name terms if you will, with my favor­ite and most cherished part of my body. I’m very attached to this.”
- Chapter 9

I’m through one third of the book and I’m already annoyed at Bella’s overstated innocence, I’m amazed she even knew where her vagina was. She didn’t seem to have any interest in sex or BDSM, and she gives the impression she’s just going through it because Edward is so damn pretty. It’s not like he is helping her show her submissive side either, the bitch is a submissive in every aspect of her life.

Same thing goes for the Edward guy; the author is trying to push this “Dominant with a sensitive side” kind of profile but all I get is a man with a heavy obsessive-compulsive disorder. He claims to want Bella but states clearly that, if she doesn’t agree to that kind of relationship, they won’t be having any relationship at all. He doesn’t want to have power over Bella whilst taking care of her, he simply wants any power he can get. A Dominant is not the same thing as a controlling jerk. At all.

I, however, can’t be seen caring too much about this. My short attention span is forcing me to continue this another day.

Sunday, May 27, 2012

Riding for Some Kind of a Terrible, Terrible Fall

I found out, a while ago, that the best way I have to deal with being sad is watching a horror movie… Not a comedy, a love story or even a look-how-cute-puppies-are movie. What I really need is to watch a teenager being slashed in two and think “well, that is a real problem… unlike mine”.

Yesterday I was in serious need of something like that, and browsing through horror movies I found “The Human Centipede II”… Of course, I have already watched the first one. For those who don’t know what I’m talking about, first of all, bless your soul, second: it’s about some crazy doctor who has too much free time on his hand so he decides to attach 3 people mouth to anus creating, that way, a human centipede. People like me, who apparently think there aren’t enough tragedies going on all around the world, proceeded to watch him do it, generating enough success for the creators to conclude we were asking for more. All of their best ideas were wasted on the first movie, so they resorted to simply adding more people to the centipede.

…And I wanted to watch that. I can’t say I liked the first one… I guess it fed it’s purpose of making me sick. Yesterday I thought that the sequel would not only make me feel grateful that I’m not eating someone else’s shit (literally; metaphorically, I’m pretty sure we all are) but, also, I would be unable to think about anything else for, at least, a week. Then, this happened:


Hanging my clothes helped me come back to my senses so I closed the tab; without any permanent emotional damage .

I ended up watching ‘Seed of Chucky’… My favorite kind of horror movies are the ones which are simply horribly bad.

Saturday, May 19, 2012

Records of Their Troubles

One of the things I’ve learned from being in a long distance relationship is that a lot of difficulties can be overlooked with a decent amount of creativity. It doesn’t end here; I’m in a long distance D/s relationship, but the rule still applies.

Punishments are a big part of having a Sir, especially since I’m still going through training. I appreciate them in a way, not because of the punishment itself, believe me; I simply don’t want to feel like I can get away with a bratty behavior.

We have talked* about what my punishments would be if I were physically with him and he could let out his frustration on my body (since I’m the one who caused it). Unfortunately, not even when we visit each other we have such an opportunity, mostly because I’m too happy and excited to be bratty. I’ve earned myself some spanks a few times, for being a smart mouth or tease him too much… That’s about it.
*By talk, I do mean talk, but with our hands on our genitals.

What has gotten me the most in trouble has been my incapacity to remain respectful in certain situations. Usually a warning is enough for me to understand I’m not being cute, but once I get in a grumpy mood I open a portal to hell for him… Which he doesn’t appreciate. Go figure.

The first step is to admit I was being rude and apologize. My fate then rests on how much I aggravate him.

He likes cutting me off stuff I enjoy; I get sent to bed without dessert. Literally. Another times not so literally and I get sent to bed without masturbating. You know what follows, right? I mean, horny and without being able to touch myself… As a more direct punishment, I’m ordered to take a cold shower. In my case it means standing on the corner of the shower squealing every time I reach out my hand to touch the freezing water, and while I’m doing that I have to say out loud the reasons that got me that punishment.

Now comes the worst of all. Worse than not being allowed to masturbate is being ordered to do so and to stop just when reaching an orgasm. Whoever has played that sick and cruel game knows how excruciating it can be. I end up with shaking hands and on the border of tears. Ironically, I also end up with a weird sense of satisfaction, knowing I’m doing it for Him.

There’s something else I end up having to do from time to time, but I wouldn’t call it a punishment; it’s more of a reminder, it’s this:


Tuesday, May 15, 2012

Lousy with Perverts

I interrupt this program to bring you an announcement: My boobies are awesome.  Now, before you say anything, hear me out… I have people to back me up, people I didn’t have to sleep with to get the good critique.

Today, as many other days in the past, I felt the need to surprise British Man with a nice dose of boobies. Coincidentally, I found a site to make your own GIFs in a really quick and easy manner. I didn’t have to go through the hazard of making a video, select the frames on Photoshop, and choose between length and quality. I figured, what could go wrong here?

With a question like that, I was really asking for it.

You know this new thing where Facebook connects to every single site you know and asks you if you want to share the porn you’re watching with your friends and family? Ok, that’s not what happened. I was worried about that, so I checked. Double checked. Triple checked. I have my dad on Facebook, I really can’t leave anything to chance here! Nothing. What happens on the GIF site  stays on the GIF site.

After a few rehearsals I made the GIF. Black and white; really classy (if you don’t take into account that I was toying around with my boobies). I checked Facebook again. Nothing. I sent the GIF to British Man, as a thank you for being such a good Sir to me; feeling just the right amount of slutty, I went downstairs for a cup of coffee.

A couple minutes later I came back. Checked Facebook again. Nothing. Awesome. The GIF site was still open and before I clicked to close the tab I notice something weird. “8 new comments” … That can’t be.

8 new comments.
12 new followers.
10 new private messages.

What? No. I joined in 5 seconds ago. Those can’t be for me.

“u have awesome boobies” “thats such a turn on” “your really hott” “can u send me a private video?” “mmmmMMmmmm!”

So that’s the story, kids. That’s how I learned my boobies get me attention. Fast.  No. I won’t send you proof. You will just have to believe me on this.

Thank you for your attention. Next time we will be back to our regular programming where I’ll talk about punishments; a lovely suggestion from an anonymous reader <3

Monday, May 14, 2012

Don’t Want to Interrupt My Worrying

It’s not exactly a newsflash that I removed my contact section; I did that a while ago, it’s just time to explain myself (you just have to go with it).

To put in a few words, some people were getting too excited communicating their exquisite taste on internet blogs. Far from me to ask people to lower their standards, I should say that this blog started as a way to entertain and express myself. You could tell by my early entries I wasn’t expecting any attention at all; for some reason I got it and I loved it. I, then, wanted to write better entries, still using this blog as a way to vent out about my stressing life as a middle class young woman but being relatively entertaining. I knew I could be funny or at least I could fake it for the sole purpose of amusing myself.

Over time some readers started getting demanding and were expecting a certain kind of humor or subjects; they weren’t too shy to let me know. For a while I worried and discarded a couple of blog ideas because “the public” might not want to read about it. That’s when I knew there was something wrong going on.

Do something for me. Imagine you get a puppy, a really cute one. You bought it for yourself and simply enjoy having it in your house peeing on everything you love. Now, imagine some people hear about the cute peeing puppy and want to look at it. You’re a bit surprised but, also, excited about the prospect of having someone to share some “d’awww” moments with. Then, imagine some of those guests are training the puppy to not pee on the couch. Ok. That sounds reasonable. Some are now expecting the puppy to play the piano as that cat on youtube did once. Another person wants to dress it in human clothes; another one thinks it’s time for the fuzzy thing to learn the basics on fire ring jumping; another – Ok. I don’t exactly know where I’m going with this, or if my puppy analogy truly fits what I was trying to say. To be honest, sometimes I just want to talk about puppies no matter what the subject was to begin with. Because puppies are cute. I like puppies. Sometimes I have fantasies about British Man turning into a puppy.

Where I was trying to get is: I’m not getting paid to write on here. I do it because I love it and I love being read too. However, the only thing I can do is to write about whatever my tiny stupid heart feels like and hope you enjoy it.

All of this doesn’t mean I don’t want to hear from my readers. I get excited every time I get comments, I guess everybody likes feeling people care about their mildly pathetic lives…. It’s ok to criticize; go ahead and tell me how silly I am for the choices I make, or how naïve my thoughts are. Just, please, abstain yourself from telling me I shouldn’t write about it because you don’t find it fun to read.

That being said, and even if there’s no contact e-mail, if you feel like telling me something or insulting me, that’s what the comments section is for. Believe me, I’m not a very important person, so I can give myself the time to read every comment over  and over again.

However, if you want to know more about any aspect of my barely relevant life; if you have any question for me or for British Man (I have no problem sharing the attention with my Sir) you can ask anything anonymously on this link , he or I (whoever the question was directed to) will answer as soon as we can on that same site, but if I see any blog topic potential, I (or he, again) will write a whole entry about it on this blog.

I now apologize for saying I’m not an attention seeker and parade myself as an attention whore on the same post. Also, puppies.

Wednesday, May 9, 2012

No Excuse

I am an ungrateful pet. I have behaved selfishly and spitefully towards Sir, despite everything he has done for my benefit. I am so lucky that Sir has chosen me as his pet, and must be suitably thankful at all times. As I am his property, it is his duty to protect and care for me in every way as his priceless possession. In return for this kindness, it is my duty to trust and submit to him unquestioningly in all things. If I cannot obey him to the letter, he cannot look after me.

I am only happy when Sir is happy. His pleasure is my pleasure.

Monday, May 7, 2012

I Blame Catholics

As you may already know, British Man is my Sir and that doesn’t change once we are out of our sexy modes. Also, if you have read this blog long enough, you will also know how bitchy/stubborn/hot-headed/dramatic/annoying I can get (don’t get me wrong, I’m still pretty awesome to hang around with). It’s not hard to imagine how those 2 stated facts are so hard to reconcile.

He and I talked about it, and I finally decided I wanted to take our relationship one step further; I wanted him to be more strict with me and not let me get away with such bratty behavior, making this, officially, a 24/7 dominant/submissive relationship.

As flattering as a fully leather bondage suit might look on me, this is not what it means. Every fetish has its spectrum and in a scale of 1 to ‘that scary stuff you find in redtube’ we are in a pretty low beginners’ level… But I’m very fucking happy with it.

If you’re the kind of person who is very calm and needs a strong motive to disrupt their qi, then, I’m not expecting you to understand. I’m a very sensitive person and if someone reaches a certain level of trust, he/she is due to experience one of my lovely outbursts.

Having, in addition, a romantic relationship with me is particularly hard. I know, I know, I’m funny, not bad to look at, I have boobs and I’m a dog in heat… What could be wrong with me? Well, I have a tendency of being cruel if something is bothering me. I’m not talking about throwing plates, kill the pet turtle and sleep with a best friend;  I get quieter and, if I do talk, I use that time to throw snarky comments. Nothing people go to trial for but still stuff someone shouldn’t have to go through, specially if they’re good to me.

One could think that, if I know that about myself, I could change it, specially since I want to. Realistically, it’s harder than that. Right now, sure, I do n0t feel like being bitchy, I’m lying in bed and I just ate a whole pack of Chips Ahoy! Life is as good as it can get. However, if I’m in a bad mood, I’m not going to think so clearly.

British Man doesn’t tolerate any sign of disrespect. He, immediately, warns me to stop and compose myself, if I don’t want to earn myself a punishment. It’s hard to imagine a harsh response would be the answer but it’s not that he’s telling me “yo, dude, calm your tits” No. No… No. He’s is, indeed, telling me off – is what I need, really, I shouldn’t be awarded for being a bitch – but he’s doing it with a firm, confident voice and introducing a bit of our sex life into it; in other words, he’s getting me wet.

Do you recall this scene in Harry Potter and the Philosopher's Stone (the 1st one, man)  with that giant three headed dog that could be calmed down with music? Well, think of that harp as sex, put me a collar and call me Fluffy! Ok. That didn’t come out right.  

Friday, April 27, 2012

As Kindhearted as a Goddam Wolf

One of the things I hate the most about myself is how sensitive I am. A couple of words from the right person have the power to, either, make me storm out of the room or cry. Or both. Sure I calm down soon afterwards, but that doesn’t take away the fact that I’ve made a big deal about stuff as silly as British Man collecting peakyrinds faster that I did at this online game we –er- make fun of while we discuss sex, drugs and the rest of really cool stuff we do. Yeah. He says I’m just being passionate, but after the peakyrinds marihuana anal sex, ok, peakyrinds incident of 2012 he’s not going into the suicide mission of asking me not to get my panties all in a bunch.

However, I have this objective in which the little strength that I’ve been given it’s going to be used - not on useless things as giving birth and such but - on acting as a champ whenever I get corrections for my Architectural Projects class.

For those who don’t know how it works, this class is about pretending you’re a graduated architect and someone is stupid enough to hire you for  a job. You’re given a project with a long list of requirements and restrictions which you have to follow if you want to pass the subject. Professors for these subjects are working architects who earn some extra money by spending a couple of hours a week checking on your progress and  telling you what a big loser you are and, if they are in an specifically bad mood, they might advice you to reconsider your career options.

Through all these years of being a student I’ve seen girls cry, guys get really angry and some people simply take on the advice and reconsider their profession to, finally, drop it. I think I can recall getting a bit offended the first time a teacher didn’t tell me what a special little snowflake I was. Nevertheless, now, I’m really cool with it. Me. Miss I-have-cried-not –only-when-Bambi’s-mother-dies,-but-every-time-I-remember-it. I’m cool with harsh criticism. Not regular cool. Marihuana-and-anal kind of cool.

Last Monday was the perfect example. A girl went first, she left the room as soon as she was done and came back 20 minute later with bloodshot eyes. The guy before me chickened out. The professor took the chance to remind us we are disappointing him, then he added “who’s next?” That was me. I approached him with the same spark of hope only a naïve rosy-cheeked teenager can carry before she gets sliced in two with a rusty ax.

He started with the regular “no, no, no… no” that always comes accompanied with him scratching  the blueprints I worked all weekend on, in which the only exercise and fresh air I got was when I stood up to open up the window. ‘I should move the location of the bathroom, and the kitchen, and the main bedroom, and the other rooms would look better on that other place. Keep the font. The font is nice’. While the common response for stupidity is an excuse or a weak defense I went for a “you’re right'”. Then he told me shapes must fulfill a purpose, I shouldn’t simply draw whatever comes out of my ass. I laughed, because if you’re lucky enough to have a professor who says ass so casually, you have to laugh.

I walked away, not before thanking him for ripping apart my soul and destroying my dreams (although, I omitted the soul and dreams shit); a guy asked me how it went, “could’ve been worse” answered Miss Grown-up-pants.

Thursday, April 19, 2012

Trying to Feel Some Kind of Good-by

I kissed you good bye at the airport, I held you so close to me.
I said “So here we are now and I can't stop from crying”
And you said “Hey, you know I’ll be there before you know it; you’ll be brave for me when you get on that plane

The plane took off and I left him behind. Gravity pushed my whole body down and the man sitting next to me said “Everything is gonna be alright”
I said Nothing is gonna be alright, but thank you anywayand then I saw your face through the airplane window.
I waved my hands and I shouted to you:
”Tonight! I wanna be with you tonight” 

I wore a T-shirt and my worn out boots. Abandoned as a summer cat.
As I sit there as a broken hearted I realized I had something to distract myself with,
so I tried to get immerse in a book; I fell asleep on my seat, instead.
I dreamed of summer sex with you and you whispered in my ear:
”Tonight; I wanna be with you tonight”

Why couldn’t I leave tomorrow instead?

And above the clouds I said to myself:
”I can't believe how naive we are both being,
that’s why I go through all of this
and that’s why it might work out

Billie The Vision and The Dancers

Can I get arrested for murdering a song with my nonexistent writing skills?

Thursday, April 5, 2012

Me? Twenty-two.


“Are you anybody else’s missing piece?”
“Not that I know of.”
“Well, maybe you want to be your own piece?”
“I can be someone’s and still my own.”

— Shel Silverstein, The Missing Piece


P.S. Happy Birthday to me ♪

Monday, March 26, 2012

One Thing I Like?

I think I was a bit of a sex freak before I even knew what that meant. I don’t like to think of myself as a screw-up, nor have I had any kind of traumatic childhood experience I can recall; no weird touchy uncle or exhibitionists parents. Nothing.

My earliest memory of this is being around 10 years old, taking a shower and some sort of fortunate accident brought the water faucet to “a pleasant position”. I didn’t think much of it, I wasn’t even that curious about it, the only thing I thought is that it was an interesting sensation and “yay for that!”

As I grew up I learned the connotation behind it and, living in an specially conservative society, I got the feeling that it was wrong and I should probably be ashamed of it. However, I never considered stopping because, have you ever masturbated? It’s freaking awesome! So, maybe, just maybe, that’s when I started developing forced sex fantasies. It wasn’t just incredibly sexy to be desired and used, but it was a guilt-free trip where I could pretend I didn’t want any of that.

I didn’t feel comfortable enough sharing this until I had a boyfriend. I’m going straight to the point: roleplaying is fucking fun. I must have done a bit of growing up between such games that made me more comfortable with my sexuality. I didn’t feel ashamed anymore and I was ready to take it to another level… I just didn’t know that yet. Without being aware of it, my sexy games were lacking something; there’s even this (relatively) funny story when I, in the middle of a consensual rape session, begged my “rapist” to care about me, to be with me. You can image it was a bit of a shock to everyone involved. That was a few years ago.

present day;

British Man and I, as some of you may know already, get our sexual getaways from time to time, but the rest of the year we have to resort to ‘mental sex’. Feel as sorry as you want for me, but you’d be amazed what can be achieved if you don’t get straight to the action. This guy not only knows my general kinks, he also hears about my everyday fantasies. As for me (and he may deny this), I learned he’s the kind of guy who gets his kicks out of protecting and spoiling his little princess… Somehow, we ended up complementing each other.

It’s still rough and there’s still this feeling of pain and pleasure; I just stopped pretending I didn’t want it. I do want him to fuck me, nice and hard… And that’s ok. Not only that, I have to be a good girl to earn that fucking.

It also stopped being a game, it’s not a temporary role that lasts as long as the sexual encounter. He’s my Sir while I’m sucking his cock. He’s my Sir when he’s sending me dirty e-mails ordering me to pinch my nipples in the middle of a lecture. He’s my Sir right now, while I’m typing this and he’s out there doing whatever.

Most importantly, sex stopped being “impersonal and wrong”. Yes, I do all sort of shenanigans but, as a “reward”, I get such cute glances, soft kisses, sweet compliments and, you know… All that romantic shit girls are supposed to cream for, because, really, who am I to think I’m better than that?

Saturday, March 24, 2012

Monday, March 12, 2012

Fifty Million Dead Cigars; Part 3

I know, I know… I should have done this a while ago but admit you weren’t holding on to your chair either.
If you were… Deny it. It would be embarrassing for everyone involved.

Sexy Ones
Time longest sexual encounter lasted?
A 6 day holiday.

Time shortest sexual encounter lasted?
”oh, honey, don’t worry…! It’s such a compliment!”

Favorite place to be touched? Least favorite place to be touched?
It’s not where, it’s how.

A lot of pictures in your tumblr (always tagged britishman) are doggie-style, and quite a few add hair-pulling. How does that feeling compare to your favorite Cunnilingus? (unless that's Lola's favorite, not yours)
This one is really easy. I simply love sex. I really fucking do.
I like it when I’m in all four, on my back, on my knees, standing up… Bring me the right person and I’m sure we can figure out a nice mix of sexy positions.

Are there Spanish boys hitting on you these days?
If I go out clubbing there are always guys who want to get their penis a nice warm home… The rest of the time I just have a group of nerdy guys who laugh at my jokes.

Do you rank men's sperm taste after a BJ? How was one "best", and which was worst?
I have never notice that much of a difference that would have make me, either, throw up or wish there was an ice cream with that flavor.

Name three places where you'd really like to have sex, whether it's actually possible or not.
Fancy dinner party. Trashy house party. Faillingwater house (it’s a really cool house…)

When you orgasm, you...
Arch my back, close my eyes and gasp.
(Unless British Man instructs me to do something else).

do you prefer a dick growing inside your mouth or already hard before starting the bj?
…It really depends! He’s not hard already because it’s an spontaneous blowjob or I have suddenly decided to suck on unwilling penises?

do you notice a big difference about doing with or without a condom?
… Wait, that’s nothing to be ashamed of!

Which tastes better a penis or vagina?
I haven’t taste any other vagina but my own… And it would be weird if I loved myself that much.

Most orgasms during single sex session?
How do you declare a sex session officially over? If I put on my clothes back again and ate fried chicken, does that count as a small break in the middle of one ‘sex session’ or it divides the sex into two different experiences?

You like it best when someone's _______ is rubbing against your vagina
From a scale of 1 to 8.5, how creeped out would you be if I answered this with ‘puppy’?

do you let guys film you during sex?
Depending on the guy, this answer could go from “sure, hon” to “what the fucking fuck is wrong with you?”

My Irrelevant Life
Have you ever worm short hair (not asking for it, I prefer longer)
Yes. It makes me look like a little girl.

Favorite sport?
Ugh... And tennis <3

Vacation (money not an object): ski, bungee jump, rafting, museum, cultural faraway place, tropical beach, hiking/biking, sailing. Top two?
I don’t know if this would qualify as a “top” since I have never done it and I could hate it… I have wanted since I was a teenager to go to a secluded cabin (preferably during winter, while it’s all snowy) with a boyfriend and a group of friends… Be stupid together and, at night, have (monogamous) sex with our respective partners (or by themselves, I don’t care, as long as I am the one who gets dick).

You know… The kind of place where everyone is killed, by Nazi Zombies, by the end of the weekend.
In this silly little fantasy of mine, this cabin is very modern and luxurious… And nobody dies. Of course. 

Right handed or left?

Philosophy and Stuff

You have one wish, What would it be?
Mhm… To have such a satisfying life that when my death comes I don’t feel like I should have done something differently.
Or, you know, to achieve the perfect Brazilian wax.

Stealing my Spotlight
May I buy you a drink? What are you drinking? My place or yours? Did reading these questions turn you on? What are you going to do about it?
No. No. No. No. Tell my mom there’s someone on the internet making me uncomfortable.

What is the airspeed velocity of an unladen swallow? (had to)
It depends on whether you’re talking about an African or European swallow. (had to)

Misconception of what a question is
-Finish the sentence a man walks in…
… a very lousy joke?

The Holy Roman Empire was neither holy, nor Roman, nor an empire. Discuss.
False. None of the Above. All of the Above. Yellow. My religion prohibits me from talking about certain issues.

Thursday, March 8, 2012

A Beautiful Reciprocal Arrangement

Dear ‘First Real Crush’,

Thank you for teaching me, at a really young age, how fucking useless is to long for a guy who isn’t interested in me.

Lola ‘no hard feelings for one of my oldest friends’ Dahl

P.S. I bet you hate I grew up to be such a hottie <3

Dear ‘First Kiss’ Guy,

Since you came along, I never again confused a hot make out with actual care. Thank you for the cynicism.

Lola ‘my first kiss was quite hardcore’ Dahl

P. S. You had an awful taste in music.

Dear Whatshisname,

Being born as an ‘emotional slut’, I was due to get disappointed constantly… And even though I still get attached easily, the thicker skin you gave me reminds me I’ll always be able to get through guy problems. 

Lola ‘Reading through my old blog I noticed
my spelling got so much better after him, coincidence?’

P. S. Love is, in fact, blind. You were really ugly.

Dear Friend with Benefits n°1,

Thank you for letting me know I’m the kind of idiot who has a hard time differentiating between love and lust.

Lola ‘it was lust’ Dahl

P.S. You were even uglier than the last one. I had no standards.

Dear Ex,

Sometimes, no matter how much you care about someone, you grow apart from them.  It doesn’t mean that what it was once shared wasn’t special or real, it just means that people change, just as feelings do… And that’s okay.

Lola ‘this is slowly turning into a Whitney Houston song’ Dahl

P.S. What kind of bitch would I be if I now insulted a guy who put up with me through more than 3 years of constant PMS?

Dear Friend with Benefits n°2,

Some experiences, just for the sake of having them, are not worth it. I’ll never forget that.

Lola ‘what a fucking jerk he was’ Dahl

P.S. With that ego of yours, one would think you’d have a bigger cock.

Dear Dude,

I’ve been listing past ‘relationships’ that have made a significant impact on my life and that, through time, I grew to appreciate as an experience. You, however, are not one of them. Either way, I decided to send you a letter too because, through the short time we dated, you served me as an excuse to reach out to girls I now consider awesome friends. Thank you for that.

Lola ‘I’m so glad I didn’t deflowered him’ Dahl

P.S. I have nothing to add for you. We can go back to pretend we don’t know each other.

Wednesday, February 29, 2012

Saturday, February 25, 2012

Sometimes I Act Like I’m About Thirteen

Let me tell you something about me. I’m a blog slut. I have had a lot of blogs through my lifetime. Most where cheap short affairs, just with two of them I’ve been able to maintain a decent healthy relationship, this being one of them. The other one started when I was around 14 and I’ve been rereading it since yesterday night.

As a writing exercise, a ‘neuron murdering’ project, and my very own present to the readers who have been annoyed by my latest teensie entries, I’ve decided to sort my current feelings in my old format:

Hello! hi! (: I used to start all of my entries like that, so I thought “why the hell not, right?” haha how you doing? (I’m not really looking for an answer here, it’s just a way to avoid my fear of introductions and seem nice at the same time).  My friend Grey left for the weekend. Do you remember Grey? She’s great, we have the same kind of sense of humor and she has great taste in movies! Whatever, she left me to take care of her fishes, and I just think how awful must be to live in a fishbowl your whole life, but then I think “we all live in some sort of fishbowl too” you know? Haha! I didn’t mean to get all deep on you! I just think of weird stuff like that all the time.

So, lately I’ve been really sad. I don’t know why good things can’t last for me. I’ve been having problems with British Man, I really don’t feel comfortable giving details over the internet but it has to do with exgirlfriends and shit… And I don’t know, you know? It’s just really hard when you used to really trust somebody and then you feel like you can’t and stuff. You want to give things another try but you feel naïve for doing it, like in that Taking Back Sunday song: the truth is you could slit my throat and with my one last gasping breath I'd apologize for bleeding on your shirt. These guys just speak to my soul, and I think you should buy all of their cds (which I didn’t, I downloaded them… illegally!) I just don’t want to get hurt anymore because god knows what a tough life I have had already.

Oh! I just remembered what I wanted to tell you! I went to a costume party the other day, as Minnie Mouse, I mean, a lot of people told me how adorable I looked but I don’t know lol! Well no, I’m just being modest, I looked fucking amazing. I know it because a lot of guys talked to me that night, including this guy who was all like “hey, where are you from?” and I said “Mexico” and he was like “Are all Mexican girls as cute as you?” and I said “no” and he said “I really have a thing for Mexicans” and I was all like “of course you do” and I left. Lol. I’m normally not that mean but I was a bit drunk (don’t tell my parents, lol!) (seriously, don’t) and I’ve heard the same compliment like a 100 times, haha! (I hope that, as a teenager, I actually laughed every time I wrote I did, and not stare at the screen with the poker face I own today)

And well… I think that’s all I can think of right now. Bye!

Tuesday, February 7, 2012

Cool and Nonchalant


My friend Muffin (you better remember her, she’s a sweetheart) has this little conviction based –mostly, but not entirely- on that excitement we developed by the time we become greedy bastards; the feeling you have the day before your birthday/Christmas/casual friday. She calls that anxiety of anticipation “the best part”; just like when you were about you unwrap your presents, when you had no idea what you were going to get, you just hoped for something awesome.

I mentioned that to British Man last night and, immediately, I was forced to spend 2 minutes and a half explaining myself (time we could have used discussing who was going to hang up first). I don’t agree with Muffin. The best part, for me, was playing with my new Barbie convertible. Howeeeeever, I do think there’s something really cool about anticipating… anything.

We wait impatiently for something we are getting in an hour, a day, a week… The amount of time doesn’t even matter, mainly because we just want to get it over with. There’s where I agree with Muffin (and with Schrödinger, I guess), we should appreciate the fuck out of that moment because, no matter what the gift turns out to be, the second before we were simply ecstatic.

Tuesday, January 31, 2012

A Horse is At Least Human for God’s Sake

a.k.a British Man’s entry

*Any views or opinions expressed are solely those of the author and do not necessarily represent Lola Dahl’s… Howeeever, click here first<3

[you already know what to do...]No, I don't. Tell me. Plzkthx?
Pants, then trousers. There's a good chap.

What is your favorite thing about your body? Your least favorite?
My favourite thing about my body is the way it (along with just a few words, and perhaps a momentary touch with barely two fingertips) can make Lola slide off her seat. I have no least favourite thing: I am consistently awesome.
If you meant favourite part of my body, it's my hands; I can do all sorts of neat tricks with them.

What do you think about during sex?
How long it'll be before the neighbours inevitably call the police again.
hi, click click

What is your favorite sex position?
Doggystyle. Makes her easier to hold down.

How big is your, uh, ego? Cut or uncut? Clean shaven or wild? Pandas or platypuses? Beer or hard alcohol? Favourite brand of condoms? Apples or oranges? How many questions do I get to ask? Do you mind if I keep going?Favourite book series? Favorite quote? Last time you laughed? Last time you cried? What turns you on? What turns you off? What's your favourite curse word? Was that enough? Should I continue? I'll write more later...
Brobdingnagian. Uncut. Trimmed. Platypuses. Currently teetotal. Durex. Apples. As many as you like. Please do. The Hitchhiker's Guide to the Galaxy. "We can't stop here, this is bat country!". The last time I said something hilarious. The last time I said something poignant. Everything that isn't Megan Fox. Megan Fox. 'Megan Fox'. Almost. Oh god yes. Wait- where are you going..?

How do you feel when you're with Lola? (And, not the answer that makes me laugh because you're such a pervert, the one that makes me say d'awwwww.)
here, boy, click!

How does it feel dating a sexy, pervy goddess like lola?
I often find myself feeling sad for everyone who isn't - in which case I usually cheer myself up by having sex with Lola.
click on me, babe

Where do babies come from?
Ask yer mum.
Because; vagina.

Do you want vjagra? only $0.33!
Call now!
If it's your birthday, give her a party night!
Hello, I would be very intrested to purchasing your product!!! I would want to deposite $300,000.0 in you're account, if you would reply with your bank details I would make a transfer. I am looking forward to our partnership!!!!!
- Prince Ouannah Shagyermuhm

yellow Just a random yellow question yellow:
What yellow is yellow your yellow favourite colour?
Yellow. Seriously.

Hi, do you consider having a threesome?
What would your Spanish/Mexican girl would have to do for you to stop talking to her?
Have you been mean to her?
Would you ever consider marrying her?
Would you adopt kids?
Do you masturbate everyday?
Do you like your penis?
How dirty are you?
I love your woman..
I love her boobs.
Ok that's it :)
Hi, yes I often consider having a threesome - I might share my Lola with another girl someday, if she promises to play nice...
Duct-tape my mouth.
Does erotic physical punishment count as mean?
There aren't many things I wouldn't at least consider doing with her.
Not unless they were extremely quiet, inoffensive smelling, and trained to make excellent espresso.
Only on days of the week that end with a Y.
Not as much as Lola does.
When I go outside, I wear shoes to keep the ground clean.
I know you do.
Trust me; they're magnificent.
Thanks for playing :)

If you and Lola got married, what would your life together be like?
I like to think it would involve more pancakes.
here click

There are twelve monkehs after Lola;
One has cheesy eyes, there's one with a tiny little dagger, then there's one which has an awful lot of books piled up next to him, and who wears sleazy glasses, then there's this monkeh with thick fur, and the red one, that is very loud. There's a very large monkey, the size of a Gorilla, or twice that maybe, and there's one with a sniper rifle. It seems to treat it like an ordinary banana though. Finally, there is one monkey that seemed to have drowned about a week ago, and there's another one without pupils in his eyes. And the last one, he doesn't have any teeth, but he whispers aloud all the time.
The monkeys are in her room. What do you do?
More importantly; what happened to the other two monkeys?

The judge is about to speak up his verdict on your case. Your phone buzzes in your pocket. It is Lola. Do you take her?
Often. But I prefer to call it 'semi-consensual sex'.

It is almost Christmas. Your mailbox is littered with Christmas cards. After opening a few, you find a condom in it, opened but unused. Before you look at the card that comes with it, who do you assume is the sender?
Yer mum again, most likely.

Your mom baked a pie. Lola doesn't like it. You know your mom is sensitive about the situation. What do you say to your mom?
"Mum, I'd like you to meet Lola..."

It rains outside. Lola is out on her own. Do you worry?
Nah, she's waterproof.

You take a shower. Suddenly, the water goes cold. Someone must have opened a hot tap, somewhere in your house. Was it the cleaner, or was it Lola?
If she's dressed in her French maid outfit, it might technically have been both.

You buy a new car. Who picks the new color?
Me. If by new you mean old and by car you mean motorcycle. Racing green.

There is a weird smell in the basement. You hear footsteps. A man comes up, wearing stinky sneakers. At what time do you start thinking about Lola?
I don't have a basement, I'm British.
 you know you want to click here.

A meteorite heads for Earth. It destroys mankind, except for you and Lola. How many years until we're at six billion people again?
In theory you'd need 16 breeding pairs at the very least to successfully renew the human species from scratch. I don't think Lola and I have quite that many distinct roleplay characters and sexy costumes.

You are left in a forest, on your own, without equipment, naked. There is no civilization anywhere within 50 years walking. How long till you can call Lola?
Depends what I feel like calling her.

You are having great sex. Where's Lola?
Under the other girl.

You are having great sex, with Lola. You feel Nad's urges coming through your own feelings, teeming with death and sorrow. Do you abort?
You make it sound like it's a simple feat, disengaging the drive shaft whilst simultaneously signaling the midget to turn off the Norwegian folktronica and get the alpaca back in it's cage. The last time I tried that, safety harness almost broke, and I got jam in my hair.
aaaand, click!

You look out the window, to see Lola waiting for the bus. A main walking his dog passes her. His dog pees against her boots. What do you do?
Most likely witness her mug the man, steal his dog, and inevitably dress it up in little hats.
one more click, come on

A man touches Lola. She hits him. He continues. You try to do something, but apparently it is only a video tape. You worry. An envelope folded into a paper plane hits you in the temple. You can't see where it came from. Your temple bleeds. Describe your state of being in 430 words.
Horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny horny
and I could do with another cup of tea.
last click, really