lollypox: (Lollypop)
I should point out that for many years my immune system would give out in mid-February. I spent a LOT of February 14ths in bed fighting a fever and hacking up a lung. (or similar)

I also started dating later than my peers, for the most part, so I didn't much care for the Couples Holiday Of Doom.

Before that, I was a supremely unpopular kid, so the whole Party Day at School where we exchanged "Valentines" was usually a recipe for humiliation. I might get cards (because it was obligatory) but I would get a crappy one, or one without an additional treat in it. Other people might get cool stuff from their actual friends, but all I ever got was the obligatory piece of cardboard in an envelope. Sometimes they didn't even bother to sign them.

Once, my school took us to the skating rink for Valentine's Day. It was unseasonably warm, the ice was melty, and I managed to fall and run over my hand with my skate.


I don't have a long history of LOVE for the holiday of love, do I?

On the other hand, I have an excellent Valentine's Day story (as the runner-up) and a spectacular story (as my favorite.)

One year, I got my boyfriend and my friend and HER boyfriend to come over to the house for Valentine's Day. A small party, actually I think it was three couples.

The guys were all part of the same Gaming group. The girls and I hadn't played with them. (The other two girls had never played at all, actually. I'd started "gaming" with my brothers.) So the three couples played D&D all afternoon.

It was a hoot!

It also guaranteed that the girls would be invited along for gaming in the future, preventing us from sitting at home seething because the guys were gaming on a viable Date Night.

It was awesome! Gaming and smoochies!

Many MANY years later, I took up with a guy who would become my current Male Primary.
We hooked up in late January, so when February 14 rolled along, we weren't really sure where we were and what we were to each other yet. I did want to celebrate the holiday with him, but I wasn't sure how.

He was living at the very southern edge of our fair metropolitan area, and I was living "in the city". We were both working in the northern part of the "central corridor." What this meant was that if he came to stay with me, we both had to fight traffic to get to work. If I went and stayed with him, we both had to add about 40 minutes to our commute. So overnight stays during the week were logistically difficult. We stayed the night together on weekends, sometimes. February 14th landed on a weeknight that year.

So I came up with a harebrained scheme (like I do.) I invited him to spend the night with me in a "Cheap Motel" close to where we both worked, so we could have a nice, leisurely date. Then we'd spend the night in each others' arms and go to work in the morning.

Brilliant! I even hit a porn store with my mom to pick up some special treats for the evening. (Yes, I did. We wound up splitting a package of Kama Sutra Honey Dust.)

The night of the 14th, he came and picked me up from work. The ladies I worked with were all a twitter about it; I was vague, but announced that I had a Hot Date for Valentine's Day, and I changed into my date clothes at work. He picked me up in his Truck (Funny. I'm the truck driver these days...) and we were off.

Of course, my whole cunning plan was to walk into a Cheap Motel and rent a room for the night together. Little did I realize that all the hotels/motels in the area JACK UP THEIR RATES for February 14th. A room that would have cost us $30 any other week night was up to $60 and more!
I didn't really have much budget, and neither did he.

We looked at the rooms at a little roadside motel.
We were told that we probably wouldn't like the room. Oops. Yeah, we didn't like the room. We also didn't like the looks of the transients hanging around the property... eyeing us.

We stopped at a couple of slightly pricier places, and they were booked.

We stopped at a place, were quoted something vaguely reasonable (like $50) but when we went in there... the room was YELLOW.
I don't mean sunshine-fresh yellow, either. I mean old paint yellow. I mean urine yellow. I mean tar-stained chain smoker yellow. I mean cheap nasty cigars yellow. And it smelled yellow, too.

I looked at him with complete and utmost seriousness. "I'm sorry, darling. I can't fuck in that room."
"Oh, good," he answered. "I don't think I can fuck in there, either."

We got our money back.

Finally we found a little no-tell motel that wasn't too bad and didn't gouge us TOO badly for the space. It was small and efficient. The bed was not very comfortable. The shower had decent water pressure, in fact it was so forceful that our shower together was brief due to the pummeling from the shower head.

But it was a room. And it was close to work for both of us. We ate a simple dinner at Steak and Shake, headed back to the room in giggles and proceeded to have a very merry Valentine's Day indeed! Warming flavored lube is a beautiful thing.

The next day we showered together (briefly) and scooted out the door. He dropped me off at work and said, "I think that's the most romantic Valentine's Day I have ever had." He had a tear in his eye when he said it.
"Me, too!" I exclaimed, and smooched him.
lollypox: (Default)
It occurs to me that I use this format to whine a lot.

I whine about the things I don't think I can talk about elsewhere, or things that I just need to organize my thoughts about.

Not today. Today I want to talk about my Male Primary. I was inspired by several things I bumped up against today while cruising LJ and other sites, and as such this is a kind of a love letter about him. I'll go ahead and put a cut in it. You have been warned...
Read more... )
lollypox: (Lollypop)
I was recently reminded to tell a certain story about how I managed to acquire six DVDs of really mediocre foriegn porn.

Care to find out?
Read more... )

Story time

Aug. 26th, 2006 08:08 pm
lollypox: (lick lolly)
A story was requested. A true story.

Since I don't have any other restrictions, I'll tell the story of my former girlfriend's 21st birthday. How to celebrate coming of age on a weeknight with someone who doesn't drink )
lollypox: (Default)
No rant today, just housecleaning in my head.

My dreams last night were populated with people from my past, taking positions of people in my present.

I bet my brain was trying to remind me of past mistakes. Or perhaps there are people I simply miss. There are a few people I miss terribly from my college days. Most of them are out of touch now.

All this reminds me of the first possibly-poly relationship of mine. No cheating, no compartmentalization, just honesty and openness. Until it all went horribly horribly wrong. Cut for very stale drama. )
lollypox: (Default)
Well, I thought I would share some more stories.

Because oversharing is my specialty.

I'm a pretty laid back person, usually. Behind my back at work, my bosses have commented to each other that I don't "Freak Out" over things the way other people do. One boss said that I don't freak out at all, the other countered with, "Oh, she does. She just does it in very subtle ways. And almost never freaks out *HERE*."

My freak-outs are not so subtle, but I have to be pushed really really far to get to that point.

You know, a job is just not something that should inspire fight-or-flight (or in womens' case, Hide-or-Fix) adrenaline soaked actions. Really. Unless your actual life is in danger.

At least, that's the way I see it.

But there are things that are far more important to me, and I have had some pretty amazing moments of obsessive behaviour, and self-destructive freak-outs.

You know, this story has few freak-outs in it, now that I think about it.
Read more... )
lollypox: (Satyr)
I was recently telling this story to a friend, and I felt a need to share it.

Up until now, I've been posting my wonderful triumphs, my silly stories, my warm fuzzies.

I'm not perfect at this poly thing; and yes, my refrigerator does break down from time to time.

This is very long so I'm going to cut for length.
Read more... )


Aug. 13th, 2005 02:08 pm
lollypox: (Satyr)
Stories! YAY!

Once upon a time, shortly before I left for college, there was a guy I had sort of dated the summer before I went away. I don't really describe that as a relationship, in fact when asked directly if he and I were ever boyfriend and girlfriend, I simply smile and say, "We had a... sweetness... between us." He is a person who I swear is part Fey. I always had the impression that he didn't REALLY live in the same world that I did, he just slipped through the membrane between his world and mine, and shared what he knew. A very serious, silly, mercurial, creative guy.

Over the course of the next year, he had acquired a girlfriend. She was... gorgeous. Petite, elfin, sweet and smart. She had a mane of curly dark hair and big, soft eyes.

When I came back from my year of college, I was hanging out with him and my other friends a lot. I had met his girlfriend, and liked her on the spot. (can you TELL?)

I had confided to most of my friends that I was pretty sure that I liked girls *in that way.* I had a few brief crushes at college, but nothing substantial. The guy I was dating down there tried to set us up for a threesome but that didn't work out (Which is probably for the best.)

So, one day my sweet friend comes over to me as a party is breaking up and says in a conspiratorial tone of voice: "Hey, I wanna ask you for a favor..."

I scampered over to him and hopped into his lap and said, "Oh, you and your girlfriend want a threesome, and you thought of me? How sweet!"

I was joking.

He gave me a startled look, lost his train of thought and murmured for a minute. "That's not what I was going to ask you... but now that you mention it..."

I can't remember what the favor was that he was actually asking for. I'm not sure he ever remembered to tell me, because then suddenly we're having this really intense conversation about how to make the logistics of this interesting idea work.

See, all three of us lived *gasp* with our parents. Her mother was not even happy that she had a boyfriend, his mother was crazy with a capital Q and my mom didn't yet know what was going on with me. (Plus, my house was ALWAYS full of people.)

So we just sort of made eyes at each other and whispered about doing something about our new possibility.

I was the "one with a car"... or at least regular access to one. So one day I was taking them home, her first since she lived much farther away from me than he did.
And when we pulled up to her house she spontaneously reached over and kissed me. Blam.

I was rooted to the spot, tingling from head to toe. It was brief and soft and wonderful. It was the kind of kiss that makes the hero of the story blush right down to his toes with little hearts coming out of his head and exploding around him.

My friend (her boyfriend) turns to me with a huge grin on his face. I said, "OOOOhhh, yeah. I like girls." And started giggling uncontrollably. (Probably babbling, too.)

He and I would talk about her and swoon for many years after the fact.

Oddly enough, nothing else ever happened between us, physically. We hung out together, got kicked out of a grocery store once (Odd story. Apparently we were those "damn Kids".) and just spent a lot of time carbonating each other's hormones.

But it set the stage for my first close encounter with a girl. (Sigh.)

By the way, that girl inspired a piece of art that I am considering using for my LJ icon. So if you see a girlie satyr next to my future posts, that's who that is.

**Xposted to [ profile] polybigrrls**
lollypox: (Default)
We all wish for a million dollars, so that we don't have to put up with the daily grid and can achieve our dreams.

(Not taking into consideration that a million dollars has annoyances that we poor folk can't even imagine...)


If I had a million dollars
If I had a million dollars
(Shut UP barenakedladies!)

I would buy a piece of property. Norman Lindsey's piece of property in Australia is very attractive, I would try to reproduce that here in the states.
Or maybe in New Zealand.

Imagine if you will, a series of smaller buildings (rather than a grand house) all fairly close together, but far enough apart to afford some privacy.

Each bungalow has sleeping quarters and probably plumbing. Some of them might be "offices" or studios. Some will be for storage.

In the main building, we have the galley kitchen, the Studio, the dining hall, and the Library.

The Studio is the large open space with good natural light (and excellent curtains to block the light as needed). Hardwood floors and a space at one side to add a stage if necessary. Mirrors on the walls on one side for dance and choreography, self portraits, and whatnot. Adjacent to the Studio are several storage rooms to house different kinds of proto-art. Paints, canvas, paper, inks, and etc in one, costumes and props in another, the Music System in yet another.

You get the idea.

The library houses the books and the computers.

Now, on the grounds we have the bathing pools (Not really the modern swimming pools, although at least one should be big enough to swim around in). We have the decorative coy ponds, without any actual coy in them. No, no. Our "decorative fishes" will be eatin' fish. Bass. Trout. Walleye. Maybe even Tilapia.

Of course, then there's the goats. I've considered chickens, also, but they strike me as more noisy and messy than helpful.
Goats, on the other hand, are amazing creatures. Friendly and intelligent. Adorable. Tasty. They provide meat, leather, fur, milk, and entertainment. No need to mow the lawn if there's goats around. Here's the deal: I like goats as companions, so it might be somewhat difficult to butcher them.


We make a deal. I know that billy goats tend to be aggressive and mean. So, we only eat the mean goats. Eventually, this has the long term advantage of breeding for good temperament. In the short run, I have this image of the goats conferring in the goatyard.
"Hey, Bill. Here comes Lollypox."
"Oh, boy! Food!"
"Uh, Bill? She's carrying the big knife. I smell curry in the kitchen."
"Well, last time these things happened, she came down and took Roger away."
"Why'd she do that?"
"Hey Bill. Go ram the gate for me, will ya? OOh. 'Bye Bill!"

I would, of course, have to either learn goat butchery myself, or hire someone else to do it for me (Possibly a combination of both.)

So. We have the Goats. We have the Coy Pond That Isn't. We have the Studio.

What are all those little bungalows for, anyway?

Storing people.
The grand one is the Mistress Suite. Large bedroom, bathroom that could house a small family, soft nooks and crannies, wardrobe large enough to house an Italian family... you get the picture.

The rest of them are almost dormitories. Bedroom, sitting room, bathroom. Guest houses.
And I'd keep them full most of the time.

Residents would have strict rules and guidelines.
For example, anywhere on the property is clothing-optional, but lewd behavior in front of the minors is unacceptable. (There might, in fact, be children living on the property.)

The usual rules about respecting others' privacy, property, and whatnot apply.

Since this is the rich fantasy, food wouldn't have to be divided, but the rule applies that no one is allowed to finish anything off except for community meals.
Dishes are to be cleaned immediately after use, no exceptions. If you dirtied it, you wash it.
By that same token, if the Chef is cooking for you, you help with the dishes.
Each member of the household will have a specific dish set. Use it, wash it, put it away.

This being the rich fantasy, there will be TVs but probably not prominently. There will be a projector TV in the studio for watching movies, but I suspect that will end up being a rare occasion.

Given that my time is my own, I don't see myself watching too much TV. Or movies, either.

In order to run such a household, I would end up hiring helpers. Not so much servants, as folks willing to do specific jobs for the house. Cleaning, for example. Goat maintenance. Bath house maintenance.

Those bungalows wouldn't be free.

Residents would pay rent or trade for work. Work will be supervised and when working one would be On the Clock. Jobs would include the above, plus working for me directly.

That's right ladies and gentlemen: I wanna grow up to be Jubal Harshaw.



lollypox: (Default)

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