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“Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do,” advised Lola as she was walking out the door to go meet up with her girlfriends that Saturday night.

“Really?” I replied. “You might want to rethink that.”

“Right,” she said, “Don’t do anything I’d do if I were home alone.”

She gave me a peck on the cheek and flitted off down the stairs as her hair bounced and her skirt plumed just a bit. She looked gorgeous, as usual, and a bit of me wished to still be in her company — the bit between my legs, that is.

But I had big plans for my time alone. I had a novel I wanted to read, some writing I wanted to do, a delicious meal planned out. It was going to be a grand ole time.

Lo was meeting up with “the girls” and they had planned their “girls’ night out.” It involved drinks and dinner first, followed by a night of dancing at Lo’s favorite retro dance club.

When Lo goes out, leaving me alone, she very dutifully checks in on me periodically — as if she were afraid I’d suddenly be struck with a massive coronary or a stroke. I swear, if I didn’t find it so offensive, she’d buy me one of those emergency buttons the elderly wear around their necks that automatically dials 911 when pressed. Lo is a worrier, so I usually don’t take her precautions with too much umbrage.

But this night Lo didn’t text at all and now I was the one worried. Once it hit 11:00 p.m. and I had heard nothing from her, I texted her to check in and make sure nothing went awry. I heard nothing back. Not wishing to intrude upon her night with a phone call, I put on some documentary and tried to stay awake. Around 1:20 a.m. I got a text message from her saying that she’s fine and she’s on her way home with Brianna.

The text was ambiguous. Was she on her way back home with Brianna or on her way to Brianna’s home? With Lo, you never can tell. Knowing that she was ok, I shut off the mindless chatter of the TV and went to bed. Around 1:40 I heard the door open and some hushed voices. A bit later Lo tiptoed into the bedroom, removed her clothes and slid under the sheets naked next to me.

“Hi Daddy,” she whispered. “Don’t pretend you’re asleep,” she said as her hand reached its way down to my throbbing cock.

No, of course I wasn’t asleep.

“Oh Daddy,” she exclaimed when she found what she was searching for.

“Did you have a good time?”

“Mm hm,” she said in the affirmative.

“What happened?”
And, as if conforming to the script of nights like this, she then went into her account of the evening, describing it using her soft, breathy voice that I find irresistible. She told me about meeting “the girls” and their dinner, but she quickly fast-forwarded to the dance club where she said that not one, but two of her girlfriends tried to make moves on her.

“That doesn’t surprise me,” I said.

“Why, Daddy?”
“Cause you’re hot. You looked so good when you left tonight. And I’ve been telling

you for weeks now that I thought they had crushes on you. I love being right. How’s it feel to be wanted by so many women?”

“Actually, it’s getting really annoying. I mean, these are women I like, women I want to be friends with, and they’re colleagues of mine” — you see, most of “the girls” were friends Lo had made in her grad school classes — “and I just want to be friends with them.”
“Oh, the ‘I just want to be friends’ line?”

“No, it’s true.”

“I know, I know. I’m just teasing. But Lo, you have to realize, they’re all single ladies who are carrying over into grad school the hook-up life-style they led in undergrad.”

“That would be fine if it was just one of them, or at least just one at a time! But when they’re all interested in bedding me, then the relationships get complicated and I don’t want complicated.”

“There’s only one solution,” I said.

“What’s that?”

“Sleep with them all at the same time.”

“Ha-ha, very funny. You’d like that, wouldn’t you, you old perv.”

“So you rebuffed them?”

“Yes, as gently as I could.”

“So who’s here now?”

“Brianna. She gave me a lift home and I didn’t want her to have to drive all the way across town to get to her place. Is that ok, Daddy?”

“That’s fine. But did she try to bed you too?”
“No. Actually, we had a really good talk about it on the way home.”

“And what did she say?”

“She said. . .” Lo got quiet and gave my cock a gentle squeeze, “that I attract them by giving off subtle signals on a subliminal level.”


“Yes. She said — and I’m not making this up — that I have an ‘aura of sex’ about me.”

“Ha! That is so true.”

“You think so?”

“Of course I think so.”

“I can’t help it!”

“I know you can’t, and that’s why it’s so utterly irresistible.” I reached over and caressed her breast before getting between her legs and giving her what she wanted in order to fall asleep.

She spread her legs and said, “Daddy, I’ve been so wet for you.” Yes, yes she was. As we were in missionary position, she reached down with her right hand and began fondling her clit. I could feel the occasional manipulation of her fingers on the shaft of my hard cock.

“Turn me over,” she instructed.

I did as she wished and entered her from behind as she was on all fours.

“Daddy, may I touch myself?” she asked. She knows very well that she need not get permission — I always grant it — but she likes asking all the same.

“Yes, dear,” I said.

She reached down between her legs and rubbed herself just the way she does when she’s on her tum looking at her porn, masturbating alone.

The bed began rocking, Lo began moaning, and I became self-conscious of our houseguest. Lo whispered feverishly, “I’m cumming, I’m cumming!” as her fingers frantically tapped her button with the rapidity of an expert in Morse Code. I reached forward and forced her face down into the pillow as she moaned until her entire body went limp and she collapsed into the bed, lifeless and unconcerned that I was still rock-hard.

[Excerpt from the story, “There’s a Time and a Time and Then There’s Solo-Time,” from the blog:]

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

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