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I came home from work early and found Lola on the couch looking at her computer — hand down her pants.

“Hi!” she said, surprised to see me walking in the door at that hour, but not bothering to pull her hand out of her unbuttoned jeans. I heard the moaning of the porn on her computer as I approached her.

“Up to no good, I see.”

“Sorry, Daddy. But it’s been so long,” she said with a frown and quickly turning from me back to the computer so as not to miss a beat.

She was right, I had been quite stressed and work had occupied way too much of my mental activity.

“Well,” I said a little sarcastically to the back of her head, “don’t mind me.”

“Oh, Daddio, don’t be mad. I’m almost done. Just give me a couple of seconds and then I’ll come in the bedroom to get the real thing from you.”

“No, that won’t be happening.”

“What?!” she hollered.

“You didn’t even ask why I am home early.”

“I’m getting there.”

By the tone of her voice, I didn’t know what she meant — getting to that question or getting to her coveted orgasm.

“Well, I’m home because I have a splitting headache and I just need to lie down and take a nap. Maybe a hot mug of coffee when I. . .”

I was mid-sentence when she started with her climax. I waited to watch and listen. She and the two people (I think it was just two) on the computer screen were all cumming together.

When she was done, she turned and said, “What’s that, Daddio?”

“I said, I’m not feeling well and I’m going to go lie down.”

“No. No no no no no nononono!” she protested.

“Why no?”

“I need you. I have to have you right now.”

“It will have to wait till I’m done with my nap. And, like I was saying, when I wake up a cup of coffee would be nice.”

“No, Daddio. Do me. Do me now,” she said, getting up from the couch and following me to the bedroom.



“Later, Lo.”

“Now, Daddy.”

She was reaching and trying to unbutton my pants.


“You’ll live to regret this. Someday I might not beg like I do now.”

“When? When?”

“You joke, but you never know.”

“I am pretty sure I won’t live long enough to see that day.”

“You’re spoiled,” she said.

“No, I’m in pain. Excuse me, I have to use the bathroom.”

She was blocking my way, trying to fondle me between my legs. “Please, let me just touch it. Let me just suck it.” She got down on her knees and put her face next to my crotch.


“Please, Daddy. Just put it in my mouth.”

“I have to go to the bathroom,” I said as I walked around her.

“Leave it open!” she demanded — a constant wish of hers and a kink that I haven’t indulged frequently, but this time I was too tired to fight her. I left it open.

“You’re not even aiming!” she called from behind me.

“That’s right. Look, no hands!”

“Oh my God!” she called out.

“What? It’s not that difficult,” I said.

“No,” she corrected my assumption, “I mean the color of that — it’s like molasses! No wonder you have a headache; you’re dehydrated.”

Lola’s prescription for every malady is water. This has been a running battle between us. I drink when I’m thirsty and I usually drink a beer, coffee, or whiskey. All fine liquids.

“That’s why I want a coffee when I wake up,” I said.

“No! No way! I’m not dating a fifty-something-year-old just so he can go and end up in the hospital on dialysis.”

“Who is this Dalia sis’ you speak of, and is she good looking?”

“Shut up!”

“Lo, I just need to rest. I told you this morning that I felt like I had a hangover. All I had was one beer last night.”

“Yeah, well most people don’t drink beers every night.”

“I was thinking of giving up alcohol altogether. I just don’t feel good the next day.”

“Let’s give it up together.”

“Whoa! Let’s not get hasty. I said I was thinking about it. But I decided not to.”

“Why not?”

“Because I like it too much.”

“You’re incorrigible.”

“You’re the one who had her hand down her pants when I came home.”

“What does that have to do with anything?”

“Forget it.”

“No, I’m glad you reminded me. Fuck me. Just a little.”

“Lo, there is no fucking you just a little.”

“Then fuck me a lot.”


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Just your average nymphomaniac next door. I love fan mail:

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