Edging to the Break of Day

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Sitting at the hotel bar watching a couple to my left and being watched by the various solitary strangers to my right, I felt a tingling sensation down by my crotch. No, it was not that I was becoming aroused, it was my phone vibrating — a text from Lo.

“I miss you. Come home,” she wrote tersely.

I was out of town on a business trip and my flight was cancelled due to mechanical failure. The airline put all of us fellow stranded travelers up for the night at the closest, cheapest hotel.

I had been away for three days already and now, just before midnight, I was heading into four full days of separation from Lo. Truth be told, I was looking forward to this jaunt. Life at home had become challenging. During the days, Lo and I had taken to bickering more often and more seriously than our usual back-and-forth banter. During the nights Lo was always looking for that reconnection resolution through sex.

The last night I was at home we had gotten into a rather nasty argument about nothing in particular. It ended with my fixing myself a generous pour of whiskey on the rocks and retiring to the bedroom while Lo sat on the couch in the living room. Shortly thereafter I fell asleep only to be roused from my slumbers to find Lo’s mouth on my cock. I tried to fall back to sleep but then she straddled my body and slowly let her wet pussy down on my erect cock. On her feet, as if doing squats on the bed, she slowly lifted and descended repeatedly. Up and down she slid on my pole until she came, gushing all over my torso. Without even so much as a word from me, she dashed to the bathroom and grabbed a towel to dry me off. When she was done, she put her head down on my chest and whispered, “I’ll miss you, Daddy.”

It wasn’t until later that I found out that when she was on the couch, she was lining up her dates for the time I’d be away.

I left the next morning, before sunrise and thus, before Lola rose, and I was already in the airport ready to board when I got my first text message from her. “Miss me?” it read.

I felt like writing something sarcastic back to her regarding the previous night — how she fought with me and then didn’t even let me get a good night’s sleep before my trip — but I figured I didn’t need to start off another day with conflict. I simply responded, “Jill it?”

“Working on it,” she texted back. A moment later I received another text — a picture of all the photos guys had sent into her recently, some of them with phone numbers. I turned my phone onto airplane mode.

When I landed and turned my phone back on a flurry of messages appeared from Lo: “Success!” “Again!” “3x” “I want you.” “Come back!!!”

A nymphomaniac with daddy issues and abandonment anxiety doesn’t handle separation well.

Then the sexy photos she texted me arrived. At least her exhibitionism still had an outlet. I had to keep my phone covered lest the passengers in the row behind me saw.

The three days were filled with one meeting after another, punctuated by updates from Lo, mostly informing me of her latest self-care session, along with pics. To my inquiries about her various gentlemen callers, she was silent. Though we spoke occasionally, she only gave me the briefest of accounts of her day (and night). Because I was in a different time zone, it was already passed midnight for her when I returned to the hotel to sleep, so there was no pillow talk.

I was looking forward to returning to her — eagerly looking forward to it in fact — when we were informed of the flight cancellation. Back at the complimentary crappy hotel bar, after Lo’s text imploring me to do the impossible and come right home, the bartender asked me if I wanted another round. I put my phone down on the bar for a second to reach in my pocket and see how much cash I had. I had enough for a few more rounds, so I said, “Sure,” and before I had the chance to pick up the phone again, BZZZZZT!, it vibrated on the bar as a pic of Lo’s sexy lips and bare breasts appeared on the screen. The lonesome fella next to me at the bar saw it and, rather than pretending like he didn’t and thus creating a stifled silence of subterfuge, he came right out and said, “Whoa!”

With some embarrassment, I grabbed my phone and said, “The wife,” as if that explained everything.

Before he said anything more I saw in my head exactly where the conversation was about to go — it was mapped out in front of me like a GPS image unfolding. I had been down this road before. First the disparaging comment about his own wife, followed by the inquisitive longing for a woman like Lo, the generous but jealous compliments, etc. And that’s just how it went. Feeling rather lonely, I indulged my hapless friend’s curiosity and told him about my lovely nympho Lo. To insure that he had a good night, I even wrote down “mysexlifewithlola.com” on the cocktail napkin for him.

Seeing his eyes widen and his envy grow (among other things), I paid my tab and retired to my room. Free wi-fi. Well, that was a plus. I pulled out my laptop and, scrolling through the sexy photos of Lo on loladown.tumblr.com, I grabbed myself and decided that Lo’s gentlemen callers weren’t the only ones who could woo her with “cumtributions.” I hastily took some photos of myself and, despondently realized that either all these other guys are really well endowed or I just don’t know how to get the right angle for a dick-pic because all of my selfies depicted my prick as short and stubby.

Be that as it may, I sent what I had to Lo and, not wanting to diminish any of my desire for her before we reunited, I edged practically until the dawn when it was time to go and catch the next flight home.

[From the blog: mysexlifewithlola.com]

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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail: downloladown@gmail.com

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