It was Saturday morning and the sun had been up for a few hours, casting brilliant yellow light down through the beautiful pied canopy of leaves, illuminating them like the colors of a cathedral’s stained glass windows. The light, the quiet, the stillness of it all sanctified the moment.
I took a long sip of my hot coffee and soaked in the tranquility outside my living room windows and thought. . . “FUCK! FUCK! OH MY GOD! FUUUUUUUUCK!!!” No, that’s not what I thought. That’s what Lo was screaming from the bedroom as she fucked herself.
“Well, Lo’s awake,” I thought, interrupting whatever sublime idea I was pondering the moment prior.
I gave her some time before sauntering to the bedroom to pay her a visit. I cracked open the door and found her splayed out on the bed, naked, Hitachi in one hand, dildo in the other, like a warrior princess armed for battle.
“Everything alright in here?” I asked.
She was out of breath. “Can you pass me a towel?”
“When are you going to put the mattress protector you bought on here?” I asked, frustrated, as I grabbed a towel for her.
“Today, Daddy. Promise.”
“Good, because I’m sick and tired of the laundry being full of towels.”
“I’m sorry, Daddio, but it’s not my fault.”
“Oh, I plan to.”
“No, I mean, how is it not your fault?”
“It’s their fault,” she said, pointing at the ceiling. “They were fucking up there like Sex-du-Soleil!”
“And they woke me up. I was so angry. I tried going back to sleep, but they were so loud that I couldn’t help but hear the bang-bang-bang and the oh-oh-oh.”
“And it got me horny,” she said bashfully.
“I don’t hear anything.”
“Well, they probably got scared by the sounds of me.”
“If I were upstairs, I’d think that an exorcism was going on down here and it would scare me too.”
“It was a sort of exorcism. I got that last big O out.”
“Yeah, I had two smaller ones before that one.”
“I suppose you’re hungry now.”
“Mmmmm, famished. Pull that cock out and feed me.”
“I meant, for breakfast.”
“That’s what I meant too.”
“I mean at the breakfast table.”
“We could do it there. That’s always fun!”
“Oh, you’re incorrigible. Let me know if you want some eggs and toast,” I said as I walked away.
“Daddioooooo,” she called to my back.
Just as I was sitting down to eat my perfectly cooked breakfast, she strutted her naked stuff in and sat across from me.
She reached her hand out like a paw and opened her mouth to beg. I put some food in her mouth.
“Yep,” I said, “Your spirit animal is a dog.”
“And yours is a cat,” she said.
“My spirit animal isn’t a cat, it’s more like a panther or a mountain lion. I’m undomesticated.”
“Ha!” she laughed. “If anything your spirit animal is Garfield. You are perfectly content with your lasagna and sleep and you’re a grumpy, pompous ass.”
“Don’t forget cookies,” I said as I bussed my table and went to the kitchen to put the dishes in the sink. She followed me, close at my heels.
“Dogs chase cats,” she said — “WOOF!”
She pulled me to the bedroom.
She got down on her knees and unzipped my fly, reached in my pants, and pulled out my meat. She took it in her mouth and worshiped it with enthusiasm. I held her head in place until the very last moment when I pulled back, grabbed my cock and baptized her mane with my holy water.
“What the fuck?! My hair?!” she yelled at me.
“I didn’t know it was off-limits.”
“Grrrrrr!” she said as she stood up. It never ceases to amaze me how quickly she can alternate between randy and angry.
“Go!” she commanded.
“We’re out of bread and I want toast after my shower.”
“I’ll be back soon.”
I left and while I was strolling up and down the aisles, trying to make the most of my morning trip, I got a text from Lo, “Hurry! The bed’s-a-rockin’ upstairs again.”
When I returned, loaf in hand, I found Lo lying tum down on the bed, naked, feet dangling in the air, one hand holding the phone to her ear and the other between her legs. She was speaking indecencies to a “gentleman caller.” She saw me walk in and continued in her sensuous voice to her phone fan. I dropped my bags, fell to my knees, and slid my tongue up on her perineum. She fingered herself faster. I twisted and curled my tongue as she began to climax and tell her phone companion about it. Soon she was cumming and I could hear the guy on the other end of the line cumming too.
When Lo was done, she pushed my head away from her, said a polite good-bye to her satisfied fella, and rolled over. “I’m a little insulted,” she said.
“What? Why?” I asked.
“You walked in the door and kissed my ass before you kissed my mouth.”
“With the profanities you were uttering, I didn’t dare interrupt your poetic inspiration. Besides, I’m good at kissing ass,” I said.
“That’s right — as long as it’s only mine. Now, what took you so long?”
“So long? As soon as I got your text, I hightailed it here.”
“Well, I waited and waited.”
“They went at it again upstairs and. . .”
“And you couldn’t wait.”
“They finished quickly. I didn’t.”
“Who was that?” I asked, indicating the phone call.
“Never-you-mind,” Lo said curtly.
I washed up and then began making Lo’s toast. I had everything ready for her when she came to the breakfast table.
“Lo,” I said, “is that all you’re going to eat for breakfast? — Toast and orange juice?”
“I’ll make a fruit smoothie later.”
“I’m really proud of you.”
“You are? Why?”
“How you’ve had the self-discipline to stay on your health plan.”
“It’s easy, and I cheat once in a while.”
“Do you still feel like I don’t support your new regimen?”
“It’s only in moments when I feel fat, vulnerable, weak. I know you support me. I think we just communicate things differently.”
“What do you mean?”
“You love things about me that I don’t. I love that you love me, all of me, but I still get upset to hear you mention those qualities about me that I wish I didn’t have.”
“Really?” she asked, sarcastically.
“You just want to hear me say it.”
“Don’t do this.”
“Lo, I just want to know what you’re talking about.”
“Fine. You think that I’m fat. There. I said it.”
“Lo, you’re not fat.”
She threw down the piece of toast she was eating in disgust.
“Lo, even if you were fat, it wouldn’t matter to me. I love you. When you take me in your arms and hold me, I love you. I love your body, your hair, your soft skin, your smell, your everything and I’m not thinking about this or that. I’m feeling how much I love you.”
She was looking down at her plate. I reached out my hand and put it under her chin and lifted her head up. “I love you.”
“You know, I told my analyst about you,” she said.
“I should hope that by now you have.”
“No, I mean, I told him something about you.”
“Something good, I hope.”
“I told him how you will eat four pancakes drenched in syrup, toast, eggs, and orange juice in the morning and then follow it up with a bowl of Fruity Pebbles or three chocolate chip cookies.”
“And I told him how it upsets me that you just don’t care.”
“Wait, are you saying I’m fat and that I need to go on a diet?”
“No, that’s not what I’m saying. I’m saying. . .”
“Cause, I would, you know, if it upset you.”
“No, I’m just saying that I wish I could be more like you — not care.”
“Now you’re making me feel like I’ve given up on life and I look like it too!”
“No, no, no. You look good. I mean, you could eat better. I don’t want you to die and leave me — you know I have abandonment issues.”
“You’d find someone else.”
“Someone rich, but that’s beside the point. I wish I could be as comfortable in my body as you are in yours.”
“Comfortable? I’m not comfortable at all. I wish I had the body that I had when I was twenty.”
“So, why don’t you do something to make that happen? I saw those pictures of you then, Daddy,” she said, licking her lips, “and I’d like that too!”
“Lo, as Epicurus once said, ‘I do not know how I can conceive the good, if I withdraw the pleasures of taste, withdraw the pleasures of love, withdraw the pleasures of hearing, and withdraw the pleasurable emotions caused by the sight of a beautiful form.’ That’s why. Because ultimately I am Epicurean.”
“What about the pleasures of a healthy and strong body?”
“If it means that much to you, then I’ll do it.”
“You’ll run with me, work out with me, swim with me?”
“I thought you’d never ask,” I said, jokingly. In fact, I was afraid she’d ask precisely that.
“Oh, Daddy! You make me so happy!” she said, getting up and kissing me. “We’ll start today!”
“What did he have to say about me?”
“Oh, right. Well, I told him about how we sometimes misunderstand each other’s love languages.”
“That you love sex and I love you?”
“Daddy!” she said as if I had said something inappropriate.
“Well, what did he say?”
“He suggested couples therapy.”
“Yeah, couples therapy. What’s so strange about that?”
“It wouldn’t work for us.”
“You think our problems are too insurmountable for therapy?”
“No, I think we’re too complex for a therapist.”
“You are a pompous ass. Too complex?”
“Lo, think about it. What are we going to do, go in there and say, ‘Hey, Doc. We are a couple. This is Lo: she’s a nymphomaniac and she likes fucking other men and women. I’m her partner and I love her. Because I’m infatuated with her, I write a blog about her filled with steamy sex scenes. Usually we’re extremely happy in this arrangement, but every once in a while Lo has some issues and I struggle with major mood episodes. Lo has taken to fucking out her problems and I have taken to writing about how Lo fucks in order to work out my problems.’ Is that going to be our introduction?”
“Maybe you’re right,” she said, adding, “Come.” She grabbed my hand.
“Hearing you say that got me all riled up again.”
[Excerpt from the story, “Couples Counseling,” from the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]