October 2003

 

October 5 2003

Hello? Hello? Is this thing on? [Sound of screeching feedback]

Welcome to my brand new blog. I'm Lila. I've been keeping diaries on and off since I was but a wee thing, but usually the idea with a diary is that other people don't get to read it, so it's funny to be doing it all out in public like this. But I guess it's the hip thing to do these days, isn't it?

This is an experiment. I don't know how often I'll want to write in this, or how long I'm going to leave it up. I'm trying this because I've gotten so much out of reading other people's blogs over the past couple of years.  So much of what, I don't exactly know, but I know I've gotten so much. A lot.

I guess acknowledgement is in order, or maybe blame. The bloggers whose work I've followed most loyally, the ones responsible for inspiring me to create one of my own, have been Bonkydog (whose blog, written in the form of letters to someone named Luz, was the first one I got into), Nickykaa (who I've actually met in real life, and who gave me helpful design tips and promised that if I started a blog he'd put a link to it on his site), and Bitter Pie (who rocks my world).

The thing about me keeping a blog is that when I keep diaries, all I ever seem to write about are dreams and sex. And that's probably all I'm going to write about here in this blog. But don't you worry, dear reader - I have very interesting dreams, and very interesting sex. I promise.

Okay, I'll pop back in soon and tell you some stories. Bye!

 

October 6 2003

Amazing how much time I've spent in the past few days agonizing over the formatting of this blog. I've decided that the technique Bonkydog and Nickykaa use, where there's a blog index page with a list of dates and titles of all the entries, and each entry on the list is a link to a new page, is just too much for me. I decided to go with what seems to be the standard blog approach now, all the entries one above another on a single page, which is how Bitter Pie does it, and all the LiveJournal people. I almost decided to do this site through LiveJournal or some similar service (thus saving me the trouble of learning to use Dreamweaver), but I realized that whatever service I used would end up banning me for sexually explicit content.

But when I sat down to work on this, my second entry, I realized that the standard format, where each successive entry gets posted above the previous one, just didn’t work for me. I guess I’m just too linear to put up with that whole last entry first thing. I kept thinking about all those people who might discover this site in the future, when there are a dozen entries, who would end up reading them in reverse chronological order because that’s the order in which they’d come to them as they scrolled down the page. I found the idea unbearable.

Yes, I admit it, I’m a control freak. There’s no point trying to hide it, you’re going to figure it out sooner or later if you’re reading my diary.

My solution: I’m posting the entries in chronological order, in bold defiance of convention, with the first one at the top, and the most recent at the bottom. Of course, I figured out why people do it the conventional, reversed way: it’s so that a regular reader just popping in to visit the site can see instantly whether there’s a new entry up. But fear not! I have a solution for that, too: at the top, before the first entry, where everyone can see it as soon as they pop in, I’m putting a line that gives the date of my most recent entry. Then you’ll know if there’s a new one since last time you were here, and you can scroll down and find it if there is. Clever, aren’t I?

But not that clever – I’ve spent all this time thinking and writing about formatting, instead of telling you the sexy story I remembered about having my diary read, which is what this entry was supposed to be about. And now I have to go to work. Sorry. Next time.

 

October 8 2003

A first date tomorrow night. No, silly, not my first date ever, just my first date with this girl.

Oh, yeah, a girl. I date girls these days. If you didn’t know me before you started reading this, then you didn’t know that. How weird, that most of the people who will read this won’t know anything about me except the bits and pieces that I think to write.

That makes me feel like I should be writing some bits and pieces.

Oh, I have an idea. I’ll let you read the most recent personals ad that I posted online – the one that got me this date. Then you’ll know as much about me as my date-to-be knew when she decided to answer my ad.

I love online personals by the way. In fact, online personals are responsible, in a way, for this blog you’re reading now, because online personals are how I heard about Bonkydog’s blog, and also how I met Nickykaa (without knowing, until we met, that Nickykaa was a friend of Bonkydog’s who I’d read about in Bonkydog’s blog, where he goes by a different nickname).

I never post the exact same ad twice. And I don’t leave them up long. Here’s the latest, the one that got me tomorrow’s date:

Wish me luck on the date!

 

October 9 2003

Did you wish me luck on my date, like I told you to? Thanks, it worked! Right now there’s a cute naked chick tied down on my bed. Which means I probably shouldn’t spend too much time writing this.

I just looked back over my shoulder to check out her hot little bod, and she was straining to see what I was doing. “What are you doing?” she said.

I told her that I had promised the readers of my online journal that I’d tell them about my interesting sex life.

“You’re writing about me now?” she exclaimed incredulously.

I told her she should just consider herself lucky that I don’t have a webcam.

 

October 11 2003

There are moments when I’m walking with someone and I suddenly want to stop, turn, and kiss them. Kiss them long and deep and hungrily. Not just people I’ve got that sort of relationship with, either. Sometimes it’s not even someone I’m normally attracted to. Sometimes it’s even people I don’t know, who I’ve just fallen into step with. Today I found myself walking side by side with a little high school chick, couldn’t have been more than half my age. Tight, low-cut jeans, tight ass, doe eyes ruined with a bad schoolgirl makeup job. And for the length of half a block, I swear I wanted it so bad I could taste the bubblegum in her mouth.

 

October 14 2003

Frustrating dream last night. I Thought I was going to have a nice kinky sex dream, and, like a bad date, it just didn’t pan out. A bad date with my subconscious? At least I’m not having nightmares lately.

It started out as one of those dreams where I’m back in high school. I think everybody has those dreams at one time or another. This one was better than most, since I hadn’t shown up naked or forgotten my schedule. School was back in session after summer vacation. Classes were being held at night, for some reason (maybe just because it’s pretty much always night in my dreams). Before going in, the students all gathered out front (which looked a little like the front of my high school and a lot like the front of the Quik-Stop from the Jay & Silent Bob movies), and opened up our bags to show each other samples of the clothes that we planned to wear during the year. My friends were impressed with my new wardrobe, which was tie-dyed and embossed with images of autumn leaves.

My first class was gym. There was no teacher there, just me and a few friends. It started getting sexy when my friends suddenly announced an intention to tie me up to pass the time (I’ve been tied up by friends just as impulsively and arbitrarily in real life, but never in a gym class). It got unsexy again really fast, though, because instead of tying me up, they all ran off to plan how they were going to do it. And then more people started showing up in the gym, kids I went to high school with and hardly knew, and they were all in on the plan. Little freshmen whose names I could never remember asleep or awake were wandering up to me and saying, “How long before we tie you up?”

More and more people dropped by the gym to check on me, many of them people who I wasn’t really keen on being tied up by. And most of them weren’t very sexy about it, they might as well have been dropping in to see when the assembly started or something. And meanwhile I still wasn’t getting tied up. Ever been bored in a dream before? I finally left the gym and went looking for my friends who started the whole thing, and found them gathered around a table in a little room, trying to elect a treasurer. I guess they must have started a Tie Up Lila Club, which sounds like a really cool idea. I’d join, even if I were given a choice about it. Maybe I should even start one now. In the dream, though, the whole thing ended up pretty lame. I never did get tied up, I just stuck around to see which of my friends got elected treasurer, and then I wandered out into the hall and shortly after that I woke up.

 

October 22 2003

Dream last night. I met a guy in a cafe, he was an assistant professor at some university, he started telling me all sorts of intriguing things about ancient literature. I can’t remember any of it now, but I think it had something to do with oral storytelling traditions. I found him yummy, and kept finding ways to steer the conversation around to sex. Usually I’m really good at that, but in this dream I was crude and clumsy about it. In retrospect, I was talking about sex like a completely inexperienced little schoolgirl would if she was trying to impress someone with her sexual sophistication. Which isn’t surprising, because in the dream it turned out that I was eleven years old. Imagine my surprise. I’d completely forgotten that I was still eleven, until I got too forward in my advances, and my yummy assistant professor looked at me very kindly and seriously and explained to me that although I was very attractive, his teaching career would be over if anyone found out he was having sex with an eleven-year-old.

“Not if we’re married,” I assured him, with the eleven-year-old bravado that it’s probably a damned good thing I didn’t really have when I was eleven.

He saw the sense in that immediately, and the next thing I knew I was in his opulent family mansion, where there was a big formal party going on which would be the perfect opportunity for me to announce our engagement to his family and all their friends.

That’s right, the perfect opportunity for me to announce it, not for him to announce it. In one of those twists of dream logic that seem perfectly sensible until you wake up, my dear fiancee didn’t accompany me to this event.

My dream logic told me that the proper way to behave was to introduce myself privately to my fiancee’s mother first, before making any kind of public announcement. I knew, somehow, that I’d find her upstairs in her bedroom, because she was far too dignified and important to have to get out of bed for her own party. I also knew that she was a fearsome old tyrant, and that if I wanted my marriage to happen (which I did want, since, in my odd little dreamworld, it was the only way that an eleven-year-old girl like me could get any action), I’d better make a good impression on her. I had a gift with me, a package wrapped in brown paper.
I entered her room, and she was laying on the bed, fully dressed in a maroon evening gown and elbow-length gloves, all dolled up for the party even though she was spending it in bed. She was a big, imperious woman like Margaret Dumont in the Marx Brothers movies.

Unfortunately, just as I entered the room, I realized that the gift I’d brought her was on fire. I panicked when I remembered that the gift consisted of a bundle of sticks of dynamite, which would surely explode in my hands as soon as the fire reached it. In my panic, I tossed the package to my fiancee’s mother. It made sense at the time. I was eleven, she was an important and powerful adult, obviously she was better equipped to deal with it than I was. Besides, it was her gift.

It blew up, vaporising her in a cloud of smoke, and instantly I turned into her. I laughed in joy and triumph, because now I was a wealthy and powerful adult instead of an eleven-year-old. I felt as though this had been my plan all along, though of course it hadn’t been.

Fortunately, I woke up before I had to deal with the question of how I was going to get that assistant professor into bed now that I was his mother.

 

October 27 2003

Ace’s site now includes a recipe page! What a cool idea! Some of those recipes look really yummy. Since I don’t know Ace personally (I just found his site on Nickykaa’s links page), I don’t know if I’m welcome to submit a recipe to the page or not. But I can always just post my recipes right here on my own site, so that’s what I’m going to do. Here’s my favorite dessert recipe...

Lila’s Hot Chick with Chocolate Sauce

You will need these ingredients:

Advance preparation: spread the bath towels out on your bed. Pour about 1/4 cup of the liqueur into a small bowl and place it on a night table next to the bed. Put one of the silk scarves around your neck or somewhere else on your person.

Put half of the chocolate and a shot of the liqueur into the double-boiler, and heat it up until it completely melts. While the chocolate is melting, fill two small glasses with the liqueur, and pour one into yourself and one into the hot chick, one sip at a time. In between sips, use your fingers to place small chunks of the remaining chocolate into your mouth and the hot chick’s mouth. When the chocolate in the double-boiler is melted, turn off the heat and leave it covered.

Use the silk scarf you have on your person (see “advance preparation”) to blindfold the hot chick. Lead the hot chick into the bedroom and remove all of her clothing, tasting her frequently. Use the four remaining silk scarves to tie the hot chick’s wrists and ankles to the corners of the bed.

Bring the double-boiler pan full of melted chocolate, and the remaining chunks of chocolate, into the bedroom, and place them on the night table. While teasing and caressing the hot chick, dip chunks of chocolate into the bowl of liqueur (see “advance preparation”) and slowly feed them to her.

When the melted chocolate has cooled enough that it is warm to the touch but not hot, dribble it slowly over the hot chick’s body, Lick it off, stopping occasionally to dribble some onto her lips and kiss her. Continue until the hot chick’s skin has no chocolate left on it. Repeat as desired.

Wash the chocolate off your face, and enjoy the hot chick’s body in whatever other way you want to.

 

October 28 2003

Yesterday’s entry hadn’t been up more than an hour when I got an email from Nickykaa saying, "Send your recipe to Ace! His site needs more bondage." So I did. And Ace sent me back a really sweet and wonderful email, and put my recipe up on his site right away (with the added notation “serves two,” which cracked me up), and even added me to his links page!

I feel so honored. This is the first time I’ve ever submitted something I wrote for publication anywhere, and what a wonderful reception! Now, if I ever become a famous porn writer, Ace can say that he was the first person ever to publish me.
It turns out Ace has been reading this blog all along, just as I’ve been reading his blog since it started. It makes sense, since we both read Nickykaa’s site, and since Nickykaa has us both on his links page and announced the debut of both of our sites in his blog entries at the time. But somehow I was thinking of it as a one-way mirror, where I was reading all these other people’s blogs, but they probably weren’t bothering with mine. Now, of course, I’m wondering how many readers I’ve got. The only ones I knew about, until I heard from Ace last night, were Nickykaa and Neige (the chick from my October 9 entry, who I’ve had a few more hot dates with since). Are there more? Not knowing how many people are reading, or who they are, is part of the strange excitement of this medium.

Hey, there’s another milestone for me: Neige is the first person I’ve assigned a kenning to. “Kennings” are what Nickykaa calls the nicknames that some bloggers use for their friends in order to preserve anonymity while also expressing something about what the person is like. Until now, I’d just been using the same kennings that Nickykaa uses (Ace and Nickykaa also seem to use the same kennings, which is fun because it’s like reading two books by different authors who share the same pool of characters).

It was cool that Ace turned out to be so sweet. That doesn’t come across in his public writing the way it comes across in his personal email. It’s not that he comes across as mean or anything on his site, it’s just that I hadn’t been able to tell how warm and caring a person he was or wasn’t. Just like I don’t think Nickykaa’s blog really communicates his unique, intense presence (which is, somehow, simultaneously sexy, calm, sly, powerful, reptilian, and autistic). And Bitter Pie’s blog led me to expect that her music would be angry, grinding, and industrial, and it blew my mind when I finally heard it and it turned out to be so sensitive and melodic. Ace’s blog didn’t prepare me for his warmth and charm. Now that I know, I advise all female readers in New York and New Jersey to write to him and beg him to invite you over and make you Lila’s Hot Chick with Chocolate Sauce.

 

October 29 2003

In his October 20 entry, Nickykaa posted and answered six questions that someone had posted to an email list he’s on, and invited his readers to answer the questions in their own blogs, sort of like a blog chain letter. I’ve been meaning to get around to answering them, and this whole daylight savings time changeover has me up early enough to do it over my morning coffee today, so here you go:

1. If you could build a house anywhere, where would it be?

In an enchanted forest full of nymphs and satyrs and nubile faerie-maids.

2. What's you favorite article of clothing?

My ankle-length black silk kimono.

3. If you could have chosen your name, what would it be?

Lila.

4. What makes you really angry?

Institutionalized sexual mutilation of women. The genital mutilation practiced by some African tribes is the worst, but I’m also talking about how little money this country puts into finding breast cancer treatments that don’t involve hacking them off, when we all know damn well that if dick cancer were as common as breast cancer, dick cancer researchers would get as much money as the Pentagon.

5. Do you believe in an afterlife?

Reincarnation is the best idea I’ve heard so far. I sometimes have dreams that I think might be past life memories. I liked Nickykaa’s answer to this question, though I don’t fully understand it and I’m not sure if I fully believe it, I just like how he put it.

6. The one person from the past you wish you could go back and talk to?

Casanova.

 

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