We lay on the bed in each other’s arms for a while and she was way off in space thinking about something. Finally she asked, “Daddy, do you think I’m damaged goods?”

“What?”

“Do you think I’m damaged from all the shit I’ve gone through growing up and in my previous relationships?”

“No, I don’t think you’re ‘damaged goods.’ I think of you like Matilda.”

“Matilda?”

“Yeah, you know, the character with the rotten parents from the Roald Dahl story.”

“How am I like Matilda?”

“You must have been smarter than your parents, like Matilda, and you relied on inner resources — your intelligence, your sense of self — and you read books and. . .”

“And had magic powers?”

“The magic power is just a metaphor for coping strategies. You must have had powerful coping strategies.”

“Yeah, I jilled it incessantly.”

“That works.”

“Never underestimate the magical G-Spot.”

“So, Zach and Erin are coming here tonight?”

“Yeah.”

“Are we cooking them dinner?”

“I was thinking just light bites and drinks.”

“Well, we’d better get this place in order. It looks like a sty and smells like sex.”

“But Daddy, it’s so early.”

“Lo, it’s ten in the morning!”

“Like I said — early!”

“Well, I’m getting up. You know that morning is my time.”

“I’d like the morning, too, if it started a little later.”

I got up and began putting stuff away in the living room. After not too long I heard a buzzing sound from the bedroom. Shortly after that I heard moans. Those were followed by screams and then the call of “Shit! Shit! Fuck!” and the obligatory prayer, “Oh. My. God!” When everything had returned to quiet again, I walked into the bedroom. The sheets were wet.

“Sorry,” Lo apologized again.

“Again? Really?”

“Sorry, I wanted to finish the fantasy I started telling you. I reached down and got my vibe and . . . I squirted again.”

“You’d better have some OJ, before you die of dehydration.”

“Will you get it for me, Daddio?”

“No, get up.”

“Please? I’ll blow you if you do.”

“Lo, do you know what you sound like?”

“Yes, I do. So, do you want me to blow you?”

“I’ll get you the juice. You don’t have to blow me.”

“But I want to. I’ll blow you anyway.”

I got her the juice and she pawed at my pajama pants, trying to take them down. I finally relented and she took my slack cock in her mouth, to no avail.

When she was done with the futile effort of getting me up for another round, she said, “You know, I thought the batteries on this vibe were dead.”

“They were,” I replied, “I replaced them the last time you threw a hissy fit because it didn’t work and you were trying to secretly masturbate while I slept. I didn’t want that to happen again.”

She smiled broadly and said, “Who needs flowers? You found my Silver Bullet and replaced the battery. That’s love.” She looked up at me dreamily.

Eventually she got out of bed, stripped — the bed that is, since she was already naked — and went to shower. She brought one of her big dildos with her.

I was startled when I suddenly heard her yelling — not the screams of an earthshattering orgasm, but a shriek of distress from the bathroom.

“What?!” I asked, running down the hall thinking there was an intruder waiting for her behind the shower curtain.

“I saw a big spider. It almost landed on me!” Lola said when I got to the bathroom door.

“Here it is,” I said, seeing it on the floor of the tub.

“Don’t hurt him!”

“What do you want me to do, build a house for it?”

“No. Flush him down the toilet. But give him a snorkel first!”

Disaster averted, Lo proceeded with her shower. I cleaned. She came.

Finally she emerged, that post-six-or-seven-orgasms-glow about her, and she helped me with the housework. I was a bit peeved and therefore not pleasant.

“Is there a reason there are two extension cords on the coffee table?” I asked, pointedly.

“Yes I was. . . wait, is that your passive-aggressive way of asking me to put those away?”

“Yes.”

“Well, is there a reason your box of books is still on the stairway? Is there a reason that your suitcase from two weeks ago is still packed in the bedroom? Is there a reason — ”

“OK, OK, stop already.”

“I can play that game. I’ve been playing that game since I was born.”

“Well, if you keep playing that game, you’re going to end up a lonely old woman because it will shorten my life and good luck trying to find someone else playing your game.”

“Oh, I won’t ever be alone; don’t you worry. There’s plenty of people who’ll play with me,” she said, patting her puss over her shorts.

The two of us got the entire house in order, dusted, and made it presentable for our hosting that night. Lo got on her computer, saying, “I’ll let them know what time to meet us.”

As she was reading her e-mail, a sullen look suddenly appeared on her face.

“What’s the matter?” I asked.

“Looks like they have to cancel.”

“What? Why?”

“Erin wrote about an hour ago saying that she got called in to work tonight.” Lo was staring off into the middle distance.

“What?”

“Nothing. Just thinking.”

“About what?”

“Well, this was more for Zach this time. Poor guy.”

“Oh, you want to have him over?”

“I do, but she said that even though she wants him to ‘play,’ she wants to be there to see.”

“I know how that feels.”

“Damn it!”

“Lo, what’s up?”

“I was really looking forward to it.”

“Well,” I said, consoling her, “maybe we’re not having a crazy orgy tonight, but at least the house is clean.”

[Excerpt from the story, “Couples Counseling,” 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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