What Lola Wants, Lola Gets

Dear Lola

I have been gasping at the thought of us meeting this evening, with nary a breath left in my lungs. I have been told by others that I have a penetrating stare, which, when you have understood the thrust of it, will most likely seem as if I am jabbing at your heartstrings, with my poking style.

I have been pushing the day forward, coming on strongly by hammering on your very door, with the throbbing intention, of jack-hammering your attention so hard, so long and so intense, that it might cause the lights of your house to go out!

This expose of my emotions, will serve to unclothe my feelings, leaving my words naked in your sight. This blatant use of semantics will show you in no uncertain terms, that your eyes won’t be able to extract themselves from my words, causing you to warm up to my way of thinking.

This biting commentary, will most likely start as a small nibble, but slowly, with definite rhythmic pulses of emotion, will hopefully bring you closer over to my side, my way of thinking, until the intensity cause you to lose control of your emotions, spreading your essence, so that I might complete the final thrust of my syllables in one climatic crescendo.

Your devoted friend


PS My name is similar to something of another character, but if it escapes your attention, then please call me what you wish, but never late for dinner…..




Mountains Majestic

When atop one of the neighboring
mountains majestic
allowing my wings to soar
while my thoughts occupied a place
where no one’s words of hate
could reach me


Allowing someone, anyone
into my/your personal space
spouting fiery words, thinking that they
should tell me my business,
when they don’t really, truly know
what I am, and what I can do
with my own life, my own thoughts

Don’t let them, the others
get you down
Even though I don’t know you
what, who you are, not really,
you have just as much right
to be yourself, your own being
what this life knows you to be


Stand tall
just as one of my many
majestic mountains

and don’t let others
erode those thoughts

wearing you down, OK?

Words of hope and understanding

for anyone who needs them……

Mt Dana seen from Koip Pk. Yosemite National Park; October 1983

Mts Ritter and Banner- seen from San Joaquin Mtn. 1984

A Question of Semantics

Lola asked me to consider her in a different way. I thought, I’d tried all the different ways before, but this time turned out to be different. Before I get into this story, I had to visit the nearby TruWalu Hardware Store for an important item.

Armand greeted me with the usual joy and excitement of being a major cog in the wheels that were driving Alaska forward. His store was filled with top to toe, or the reverse, with everything in the world. Lola might have gotten lost here, if it had been someplace for her, but her heart was more to visiting Wally’s Gun Emporium and Sushi Bar, being just next door to Armand’s place.

My quest today was not only one bottle, but a whole box of “Fog Away“, a spray that was guaranteed to keep your sight “Fogless“. Armand prided himself on knowing of his customers and their ways, but I felt that this time, I needed to keep this particular purchase under wraps. “A little too steamy at home?” he still managed to ask, while I was heading for the door. I tried to respond in a fitting way, but suffered a lack of words, as I pushed on the glass door, setting off the local hit “Caribou Blues” which was heard whenever anyone entered, or left Armand’s Hardware paradise!

Back at home, I told Lola I was ready for her new plan for us. I sprayed a copious amount of “Fog Away”on my glasses and hoped for the best.

“Now” said Lola, taking a deep breath, showing me two of the reasons we were together that day and others, and began to speak.

“I have not felt that you have been attending to my needs of late.”

Such a thing to say. I used my best moves on Lola, waiting for her to counter them by moaning in the right ways, and during the best parts of my whole, but that was apparently not enough.

“You don’t seem to do what I want, when I am using certain words!”. I felt my glasses starting to fog again, which made me break open a new bottle of “Fog Away” before the subject went any deeper, or became more penetrating.

“I’ve made a list of important words, which will allow you, to allow me to attain a new sense of consciousness.”

Breathing, pushing, raising, pounding, exposing, biting, thighs spread, moans escaping...

“Stop it Lola” I yelled aloud, but had to feel my way towards her to apologize for my outburst. Fog Away, I thought. A complete waste of money! This was not going to work, I just knew it.

She just sat there, looking hot and bothered, putting down her tablet where those words seemed to exist from someone else’s imagination, but where mine didn’t seem to match them in form, or function.

Lola started again, after sighing a bit, but coming with a new suggestion.

“If we take those words, then translate them into some that are less threatening for you, then you’ll be able to use them without losing your sight (and your mind).”

“Remember” She said before we began. “It is just a question of Semantics”.

Breathing – might be panting, gasping, or pulling air in and out of your lungs

Pushing – could be thrusting, poking or jabbing

Pounding – hammering, throbbing, jack-hammering until the lights go out

Exposing – undressing, unclothing, stark, what the eyes cannot look away from

Biting – nibbling, chewing, snapping

Thighs Spread –

Moans Escaping..  “Funny that you would mention that Lola. I met a fellow the other day named Mogens, Danish I believe, and he told me about how foggy their glasses get, when…..”

“We are moving away from the subject at hand” said Lola, a bit more exasperated this time. “I would like you to take my alternative words, and use them in a story, then you could recite it to me, when we…..”

I would, really I would, but she was still lacking a synonym for the next-to-last phrase, “Thighs Spread“. I thought of Butter being spread on bread, or perhaps it was a new recipe for pancakes. Maybe it should have been flapjacks, or griddlecakes, but not with buttermilk or, we’d have to go to the store, and sometimes I’d get distracted thinking about sauces.

Lola just looked at me and against her better judgement, chose to ask what I was babbling about?

“In the old days” I began, “as if we were out exploring the last Outpost with Douglas Fairbanks, which is another place in Alaska, or Moot Shipley, the famous Alaskan Trapper, who…”

The look on Lola’s face told me to continue, or die, which seemed to be a good enough argument for anyone existing on this side of her rifle collection.

“People used to talk into the Clown’s mouth at Jack-in-the-box. Then there was the TV commercial with a young kid named Rodney Allen Rippy. What’cha eating? A Jumbo Jack. I used to dream, some might say fantasize about the Secret Sauce that was contained in those puppies, but….”

“Lola honey. Where are you going?”

The door slammed with the sound of her footfalls exiting the house, while cursing and yelling about killing that wolf once and for all. Regardless of  whether he was outside the house, or inside….

I felt the need to work on my assignment, which started to look like a life-or-death task, as the day grew older, and I sat in the corner of the room with my classic “Hunted Animal Look” residing on my face.

I thought of starting with “Thighs Spread” and working my way as far as I could with that opening line…..pardon the pun…

To be continued, but if you are only going to moan about that thought, then you might have to re-adjust your fantasies!…


Another Meeting

When you are down. Way down. There is only one way left.

I had hit bottom. Rock Bottom. I knew, I was heading that way, but I couldn’t get my act together and stop from falling. I knew in my heart, I’d be losing it all, but who could have stopped me from myself? Who?

I stood in line with my equals. The others who had come down to my level. Not all of them moving upwards yet. Just dragging their feet in a horizontal way. Waiting. Just waiting.

I hadn’t seen her in many years. Too many years gone by without even thinking about her, but there she was again. The steam from the soup adding a bit of darker color to her greying hair. A wisp hanging down, then placed back where it belonged. Where something in this life belonged.

I avoided her glance, when I first saw her. Not that I was ashamed of where, of how I had come to this place in my life, but something inside of me wanted anonymity. Just passing the time. Warming body and soul with a touch of soup. The best religion for the masses. The best religion for me, right now anyway.

I just retired any further thoughts about her, and went about my business. The only thing I could provide while my soul was healing, was a sweep of the church, or some good old back-breaking chopping of wood. Gain some blisters. Cleanse the soul. Then I wouldn’t be owing more than I could pay back. Either on this earth, or when the heavens considered my membership card.

I spent the rest of my time mending the grasses and weeds of the cemetery. No one seemed to complain that my shirt today was the same one as yesterday, or if my friends and family didn’t know my name anymore. If nothing else grew on some barren patch, I left the weeds alone to gain some color and life. Not everyone has the ability to enjoy the feel of grass beneath their feet, so other means have to be considered.

Kind of like Lola and I. I might just have been the weed in her life, while she enjoyed the nurturing and care of the grasses. We used to walk, hand in hand along that pathway along this very cemetery. Looking over the wall, laughing at those poor souls who had left this wondrous life for another. They worked too hard, or just died too quickly. Not for us, my dear. Not for us.

I held my head down the next time I saw her. My memories had been playing tricks on me since last time, making me believe we still had a few laughs to share together. A roll in the hay, sitting on the edge of the bed, smoking a cigarette, before sharing a common thought and doing it again. Doing one another again.

Praise Jesus. Praise the Lord. The preacher seemed to tell the same story. Over and over again. The wages of sin is death. Just death.

We didn’t think about our lives being any different by what we did back then. She would rub her ring finger, while I was thinking of the next drink. A good buzz going always enhanced the love-making what followed with her. She would just turn away sometimes. Just afterwards when we needed the closeness to continue. That feeling of being one, taking it onward to the next day, the next year.

No ring seemed to come, but that didn’t stop me from my habits. My way of thinking about taking another drink to get me through the times, when we weren’t together. I started to fall out of my excuses. Started seeing other women. Did everything I could to mess up the best thing that ever happened to me. That ever would happen to me. She was gone one day, or was it one night? I had lost track of the difference between the two, not caring really. The devils of my past had found me again, and were whispering so loudly in my ear, I didn’t hear how she had been crying in her sleep.

My life continued, but to say I succeeded in what I set out to do, would be another lie. Just another lie upon a lie. I started to realize that the ones around me that loved and cared for me, couldn’t wouldn’t be doing that full-time. Not for love or money. Not for the rest of their lives. I needed to do something, before. Before I’d be spending time on the other side of that cemetery wall. Just wasting time with the others.

As I struggled with one of my weeds the other day, a hand fell down upon my shoulder. Firm, but warm. I hesitated. I wanted to look, but feared all the same. I heard someone breathing behind me. My time had then not yet come to join the others in this most hallowed ground.

Lola’s eyes were deeper in color than I had remembered them to be. Deeper and more caring. Deeper with compassion within them. Her voice being just the same as I remembered it. Back when it mattered what she said, and when I listened. I used to think of drinking when I had thoughts about her. “Here’s another round to you my dear”, but that was someone else. Someone who lived and loved a wonderful woman. Someone who managed to screw up his life so badly, he didn’t know if he were coming, or going.

We just sat across from one another. The mists from my coffee not being strong enough to hide behind, nor could they help me escape her eyes. Her lovely eyes. Anyone else would have been shooting the breeze. Talking about old times and asking about where we now were in this life. Why had we ended up here, in this life?

I just stood up and walked over to Lola. She was just standing there, smiling when she placed both hands on my shoulders and said, “God Bless you dear”, then turned around and disappeared into the mists of my memory.

We only have one life to live. That’s what they say, anyway. One chance to get it done, one love to carry us through. My first love. My failed existence. One cup of coffee between someone I knew, and someone I know. One more chance to get it right. One more love to seek. To win. To ask forgiveness for my past sins.

Put your trust in Jesus, the preacher told the same stories, from the same book. He was someone who was among the haves, while I existed among the have-nots.

I had someone once. She influenced my life like no other. If only I had bought her that ring. If only she had stayed and prayed. If only won’t bring her back.

It just won’t bring her back.

Say Hallelujah and thank him for your redemption. Your life being now complete.

So complete…


I would have given my left wing-nut, if there was an instruction manual for Lola. There might even be a warning on Page 1: Caution. Slippery when wet. Be wary if your jokes don’t facilitate a laugh. If provoked, back away slowly. Before beginning, read all the instructions thoroughly. Funny how that last instruction should have come first, for all the good it would have done me!

Lola was out spelunking at Katmai National Monument. I say spelunking, but it might as well have been something else, like skydiving, or practicing spooning with my best friend. I really liked her when she got back from these trips. She was so exotic. Almost a different person, but it did have its drawbacks.

I was a born worrier. The latest tremor registered on my Earthquake App, would give me the willies, even if it had been Mt Pinatubo in the Philippines! You know, the power of nature and all, closing the US Military Base, succeeding in doing what the native population had probably wished for since WWII, then it took an Act of God to do the work for them!

Lola was caught in a few close-calls, when she wanted just one more photo, just one more selfie with pyroclastic lava shooting in the air, looking dangerously close to her, when I’d get the odd postcard, in living-color from none other than her. “Lava Lola” was her nickname among the Volcanologists, with her winning an opportunity to be “Ash-Babe of the Month” in Volcano Monthly!

It seems as if she got the glory, while I had to be satisfied with sweeping up the residue, and enriching our outside soils with a bit of Lola’s latest lava adventure.

She was a different person, like I said. How you might ask? Well, she tasted a bit on the gritty side, which made me worry about grinding down my teeth before their time. I also had a few issues with our cozy moments on the imitation grizzly bear rug. I yelled out, in the heat of the moment, that it was as if we were covered in sandpaper, and were rubbing each other the wrong way! She’d just counter that statement with “If you knew the right way to rub me, then it wouldn’t matter, would it?”

I suggested we tale a long hot shower to wash off any further argument about her gritty- disposition meeting my baby-bottom softness of a Caribou’s left fetlock. She started to giggle, and wanted to feel my fetlock, which of course, led to this and that, with the whole thing ending up with….well, that might be a story for later on, if of course it doesn’t receive an X-Rating along the way!

Although in the heat of the Volcanic Moment, when the lava was at its hottest, I let slip her new name, Ashly, which made her stop doing this and that, and look into my deep brown eyes. Don’t worry, I checked their color once before, so you wouldn’t think that she was doing this and that to someone entirely else! Anyway, she looked at me and said, “Do you prefer your women, smooth as a baby’s bottom, or gritty like “Ash Babe of the Month?”

Some might think that I haven’t been here before, with Lola, or Ashly, as it were, asking me such a loaded question with failure most certainly to follow, but I considered my options, and lit a number, that is, some of our Cannabis from Southern Alaska, before tendering my answer.

I had to admit to my voyeuristic tendencies of buying a number, or 2, or 10 of that most famous magazine, and letting my fantasies loose on that fantastic Babe in the Centerfold section of the magazine. I would “ouch” pry the two “ouch” staples out of the glossy photo paper, then store the rest of the remaining pages under the mattress, where any self-respecting, rather fearful, what-if-she-catches-me-doing-that type of fellow, that you can find.

Lola wasn’t born yesterday, which was she continued to tell me, and demanded proof that I was telling the truth.

I opened the closet door where my clothing was kept, and lo and behold, there she was in her Pin-Up glory! I had blacked-out her eyes, so she wouldn’t catch me in the act of ogling her, but the rest was there for the world, that is only me, to see.

Ashly reached over and shut off the overhead light, while I turned on the glow-in-the-dark Lava Lamp, illuminating the remains of that volcanic ash for our eyes only!

I got up and closed the closet-door, and turned to Lola saying. “The next show is for your eyes only Ashly, and…..and…….


First posted 30 March, 2018


“Bite down on this stick, before you bite your tongue off instead.”

Lola really had a way of expressing herself. You’ve got to give her that much. Some might say that it would have been better for her not to fire that sawed-off shotgun at that wolf, especially when I was standing in the way, but not everything like that made the same sense to Lola, what we others thought it should be.

The blast split the tree behind me into toothpicks, breaking off the lowest branch which embedded itself in my left arm. I just lie there on the cold ground, wondering if my life was going to pass before my eyes, again?

It might have been back when I was just a small boy, standing on the edge of the Interstate wondering why my sister told me to go play on such a dangerous street as that one? A car stopped suddenly, and a woman passenger threw open her door, grabbed me and set me off on the nearest off-ramp. “Are you crazy young man?” she drawled to me, in her Southern Alaskan Accent. “Now you are safe, at least until a Grizzly Bear catches up to you!” which seemed to be some sort of Alaskan humor, said before she jumped into her car and sped off into my dream.

The next thing I remember is when we went on a weekend vacation from California to Juneau Alaska. Mom said it was too far to drive, what with her bad stomach and their precocious son who only seemed interested in looking at “The women of New Guinea” in the latest National Geographic Magazine. Dad just guffawed and consulted the map, which covered California, Nevada and Southern Oregon. “We’ll just make up the rest of the route as we go, ” said while my mother was considering running off with the divorce lawyer, and abandoning me along some Interstate highway, with a note pinned on my lapel reading “Alaska or, Bust”.

Lola poured some of her rotgut on the cut, and began to hum a strange song. I wasn’t sure if she was on some kind of ancient Indian Root cure, or if it was necessary to hum, in cases where the injured person was hallucinating about his fractured childhood, but I had always trusted Lola before.

I remember, how I had been hitchhiking along some lonely road with a sign pinned on my lapel, “Alaska or, Bust” when she stopped to ask for directions to the nearest Roadside inn. Her face glowed like apples in the autumn, ready to be picked, then smashed into juice. I just stood there in awe, while she wondered if I had run away from an orphanage, or was kicked out by my old lady on the coast, where we smoked Jimson Weed and sold surfboard wax to the tourists? I was eyeing her fine form, and wondered if she was a runner, or a championship bicycle rider, possessing such muscular legs which led my gaze right up to

“This won’t hurt a bit”, she said, and which was something she’d say more than once. I felt my eyes glaze over like the sugar she poured on the ham, before it went into the oven that dark and stormy night, when we found ourselves alone in that cabin, with only our bodies to ward off the freezing storm heading our way. She grabbed me where I lived, and I acquiesced knowing that she might be kind with me, and she might not, but it was worth it, whatever she decided to do.

That night as we lie in each other’s arms, we told each other our first names. Just in case the police needed us to use an alibi, thinking that it would be better to be on a first name’s basis, before one of us was sent up the river for 30 years to life for murder. She had blockaded the door, and yelled out to the flashing-lighted cop cars, that she wasn’t going back to that prison, no matter what. I was to feed the belt into her machine gun, allowing her to strafe anything, or anyone that moved outside of that cheap motel along some dusty back road existing somewhere in the darker corners of my memory.

I had her name tattooed onto my right thigh, so I would never, ever forget it, even after that near-fatal chainsaw accident, when the tree she was cutting, took my left leg off and rolled it down the hill out of sight. I just lie there on the ferns and such waiting for someone to rescue me, with only her name, Lola still visible to my fading sight.

“Now, we’ll just slap a band-aid on it and hope for the best”. It looked a lot like it would be needing more than just a band-aid, but I settled for what I got, along with a kiss on my forehead, just like Mom used to do.

Lola just stormed off into the underbrush, firing her shotgun and cursing the day that the wolf had been born, while I wondered what was in store the next time the two of us drove into town to buy some cigarettes?

And the darned thing was, neither of us smoked…..


First posted  29 March,  2018

One Day, Taking One Step

The car crash couldn’t be avoided. That’s what the police investigators said when asked if Lola was to blame. The car spinning out of control. The only thing that saved her was her faith in using seat-belts, that or she had put it on by accident, and forgot to take it off again?

I just sat next to her in that hospital in Anchorage. Sitting, staring out of the window into the darkness, the light of the Midnight Sun, the misty mornings when no one else was around.

She didn’t know me. Better said, she didn’t know anyone. Comatose. Unconscious. Out of this world. Gone to a better place. Sitting at the right hand of God.

I would take her hand into mine and feel the warmth. I would take her memory and mix with mine while I softly blamed myself for not taking that trip with her. I cursed the ground she had walked on for taking away the one person in the world who really understood me. The doctors thanked the paramedics, who in turn thanked the police for the escort into town. Through the snowstorm. Across the lanes of stranded traffic. Everyone thanked each other, but I could only curse her bad luck.

Every word she’d ever said to me. Every damned cross, insane word she ever had yelled at me. In anger and in love. With this ring, I thee, but you didn’t want marriage, did you? It was just another way we men had of controlling your thoughts, you said. Holding you down. Barefoot and pregnant in the kitchen. The boys and I are going into town for a few drinks. The women were warm and drunk, but don’t worry honey, I still love you and the kids.

All those times we’d cosy up to the fire dying, how we’d go out to the woodshed and get lost in each other’s arms, how the sun met the night, which met the light of day. The seasons knew our names, but we refused them service if it didn’t please us. We were in command, by being servants of the coming day. I shook off the covers after you, after I, but only fell on my knees and thanked the Good Lord for someone like you. Curse you for not being here with me to remember those nights turned days. Can’t you do anything else but lie there looking so peaceful and serene?

I’d leave you for someone else, if only I could muster the courage to do so. You’d come home drunk and smelling of some other man’s cologne, but it was just one dance. Just one time to remember when you were younger and the boys flocked around you like, like. Then we’d have to make passionate love with you crying in the end. Hasn’t my face gone to wrinkles, you’d ask me. Look at my hair all streaking in grey. How can you stand to be with me, but before I would answer, you’d just kiss me, and tell me, and we’d end up doing it again. Just so many times again.

I just sat there, writing my own stack of letters of thanks. Thank you for risking your lives to save hers. Thank you for your concern, for your condolences. I never wanted to wear black at such events. What do you say afterwards? Pass the coffee and cookies, oh by the way did you know that she died in her sleep? Then I’d find some excuse to wash some dishes but find a cup that you’d always used, but never washed. Then I’d have to excuse myself again to take a walk and a smoke, while the family and friends comforted each other. They were talking about you again, you know? You probably wouldn’t like it, but sometimes people just have to get their feelings, their emotions out. They just need to come out.

I walked along the banks of the Susitna River. You know, where the road crossed it, along the sides where I caught you before you fell into the raging waters of springtime. We had a good laugh, then a good cry, but when the other cars stopped and started taking pictures of us, we felt kind of silly, didn’t we, shouldn’t we?

I just sat in the morning sunlight and asked when you’d be home later on today. The roads were terrible due to the snow with the State Troopers warning drivers to stay at home if it wasn’t absolutely necessary to drive. I stoked up the fire and found your favorite books, making it as enticing as could be. A cake recipe was rolling around in my head, as well as hoping for a bit of late-afternoon passion, but those things would show themselves if the time were right, wouldn’t they?

Then the car’s motor would almost turn over, but I waved you inside again, and convinced you to drive to the other county some other day, when the weather wasn’t life-threatening. I wouldn’t couldn’t lose you. I don’t know what I’d do. Where I’d go?

You chided me for my negative thoughts, then curled up with your best read, while pointing to the kitchen where those future cookies were to be found. I took your apron on and my sexiest mittens, while humming a tune, I had heard when I was visiting someone at a nearby hospital. I can’t quite remember who it was, but I’m sure they recovered from their ails, and will be with us a long while.

A long, long while….

My Aim, My Destiny

My imagination
allowing me to breathe in
Alaska while the Caribou eat
out of my hand,
it tickles you see

My aim in life
what Lola does to me
taking me places, kinky ones at that
and allowing my destiny to soar
perhaps on the wings of an eagle
or, along the tundra, galloping

Wanting, needing someone
who exists 10 time zones away
not being able to touch, to see
other than what my imagination allows
controlling what I write, what my dreams
tell me, what they tell me

Taking the time
not to smoke the cigarette
in my hand, choosing to relax
on my imitation grizzly bear rug
smoking some of her finest cannabis
from the tropical climes of Southern Alaska

Oh, Lola
how I’ve needed someone like you
to set me free, to let my wings fold out
and swoop along the forests, espying
the fumaroles gasping
atop an Aleutian Volcano
resting in your arms
while the fire dances on the walls

Needing a Lola in my life
in my dreams….

Taking Just One Moment

Just one moment
not residing in my busy day
floating as it were,
seeking someone to bestow upon
my best wishes, my salutations
wishing you the best,

Feigning indifference
not one of my professions,
just a passing fancy designed to ward off
any well-wishers, or lost loves wanting me back

I have appeared
in order to greet you in the warmest ways
my hands held out in greeting you
telling you that life most certainly will return
adding the rosy to your cheeks,
and the smiles to your life

I’ll be going now
but remember this one moment
and allow it to reside in your heart
when the night seems blackest
or, your thoughts not wanting to get up
out of your bed, letting you
breathe in the day,

Remember me
Please, remember me…

Being Lola

I asked Lola how things were going on this fine day, but I shouldn’t have. I just shouldn’t have.

“I’m tired of being her” she replied as we ate breakfast. “I think you should do right by me, and find a new Lola for today”.

Here I go and spend my whole life looking for someone exactly like her, and now I’ll have to start from square one.

We both had a look at the want ads, while I thought she might ask some others closer by, if there was anyone suitable within her circle of friends? She made a list, and we looked at the possibilities, but it seemed a daunting task, at best.

I asked about number 3, Charmain? She had a name that might just open doors, while  I was wondering, how she was in bed?

Lola just replied, “She is one kinky bitch, who will make you crazy from minute one!” I didn’t think that kinky was a negative thing, but Lola just shook her head and replied, “Do you really want to be lashed to the salt lick down at the meadow and wait until the Caribou come thundering down the hill towards you?” I said, if that was something that the real Lola had in store for me, then what the hay, but Lola just shook her head and took out her non-lightable cigarette and started pacing the room.

“We might try, number 5 “Devon” who seemed to be a woman who knew what she wanted. We could cruise into town, displaying our arrogance at being singled out at the last 4th of July picnic for being too tall on the one end, and too obtuse on the other. I said that women like that made me hot, and wondered anew how Devon was in the can?

Lola just looked at me as if I were some sort of sex-crazed fool, but then she was the one who made me like that in the first place. I guess, we could walk around dressed like the vicar and his wife, eating tea and crumpets, whatever those were, and talking about the next combination church social, and cake walk. Lola number 2 and I could set the moral standards for the area, looking down our noses at those types who only wanted to satisfy their urges, here and now.

Lola started to feel as if the temperature was not right in the room, so she needed to remove some of her winter garb in order to keep a cool head in a heated situation. I suggested strip-poker while we waited for the Temp Agency to call, while she took the jar with last season’s cannabis down from the shelf. There we were, stoned out of our minds, and buck naked when Lola’s replacement showed up at the door. Since I only had eyes for Lola, I was required to apologize to Lola and send her on her way, so my full  attention could be applied to Lola, waiting inside.

As the day was wearing old, as was my patience for finding a new Lola, she finally said that this past day, being rather different than the day before, was enough to shake her clear of her Lola-the replacement mood and was ready to take her rightful place in our relationship once again.

As we lie there on our imitation grizzly bear rug, she asked me if I really would prefer a new Lola to the old one next to me? That was a loaded question, and if I am any judge of character, I most likely would end up putting my foot in my mouth with my answer, allowing another opportunity of making love to Lola pass me by. So I just leaned over and kissed her instead of answering, making that rug growl in agreement.

I don’t know, but maybe that was my stomach growling, as I had the extreme munchies after having a number or two. No matter, I’m sure we’d figure something out, the two of us.

Just Lola, and not Lola and me….


First posted 26 March, 2018