Lola

Author's note: Affectionately based after the song Lola by The Kinks. Lyrics have been added to the end for anyone who hasn't read them. I tried to do a little bit of research on this and took some creative liberties, but hopefully I've done this song a little bit of justice~

~*~

I know I'm not dumb, but there's a lot of things I don't understand in life. Everything for me had been pathetically...uneventful, up until the point where I finally turned eighteen. And it was only then that I was determined to change things for myself unlike ever before. The night marking the day I turned eighteen, I swore to myself that I'd stop being so mixed up about what I wanted and would finally just take it. At least, that's what I'd told myself.

I'd be drinking in bars that night, and rightfully so, but most of all, with a nervous sort of hope, I wanted to find someone to take home with me for the night. By world of mouth it seemed like Soho was just the place for me to do it. I'd never been, but rumors of hundreds of bars and scantily clad women were temptations I couldn't pass up.

I shaved, very cautiously and almost needlessly, managing for once not to nick myself in the process. I cleaned myself entirely head to toe, carefully grooming my hair and choosing clothes I thought were flattering. Examining myself in the mirror, I was a little down-hearted to see that I looked like a child wearing his father's suit. I tossed off the necktie and the jacket, untucking the shirt from beneath my belt and letting it hang loose. It was thankfully a bit more tolerable of a look and I let it be at that, rechecking my wallet for both money and ID before I was out the door.

I caught a bus to the Soho downtown, toying with my shirt sleeves the entire way. I felt giddy and strange and...alone. I tried to shake the feeling, instead taking to examining my freshly-polished shoes for scuff-marks. None so far.

The bus stopped and I found my way off, hearing the bus roar off behind me as I looked the place over. It was already getting late but every place seemed busy, lit up in a myriad of rainbow neon lights and blinking yellow bulbs. The excitement of the moment, this step into my full adulthood, pushed aside that melancholy loneliness that had taken me over moments before. I could barley suppress a smile on my face as I stepped out into the night, not knowing where I was going and trusting my feet to take me on.

I came up on one small bar that seemed to suit my mood better than the busyness happening everywhere else. Pushed a little further into a street alcove was a building made of rough grey brick with a heavy wood door. I pulled it open before walking in in what I could only hope was a casual way, glancing around inside in a way I hoped didn't expose the fact that I'd never been there before.

It was all lit up in amber and gold lights, the decorations dark in browns and reds and blacks. Couples lounged in booths taking slow drags from smoky cigarettes, soft chatter floated along with the upbeat music flowing from the jukebox. Some who had paired off were making lazy circles around the hardwood dance floor near the back, laughing as they wrapped arms around each other. It was busier inside than I assumed it would be, but I wasn't about to leave, perching myself on a nearby barstool and eyeing the bartender warily.

He made his way over slowly, looking quite bored as he polished a glass. "Old enough kid?" He asked in a grumbling drawl. I had my ID ready, flipped it towards him in a motion that was, unfortunately, not as smooth as I would have liked it to be. He eyed it before nodding, asking me what I'd have. I hadn't thought about that much and asked weakly what he recommended. Champaign was the first on his list of recommendations and I went with that immediately, figuring the other drinks would go down easier the sooner I got something in me.

Holding the slender flute he gave me, I suddenly felt very ridiculous. Whether or not they were actually doing it, I felt like people might have been watching me, and, smart as I am, I tossed back the drink in one go. I'd had drinks off and on at restaurants, but as my first night as an adult, it's a shame that my first one was taken in embarrassment. I was surprised to find that it tasted oddly sweet, fizzing down my throat as I worked it down. It was much easier than I had assumed, and though the aftertaste was bitter, I gained a bit of confidence from it.

I only waited a moment before trying to catch the bartender's attention again, this time prepared for something a little stronger. I told him so and to give me whatever he felt like making, and soon enough I found a glass of ice and strong smelling liquor before me. The bartender didn't move then, looking interested in my reaction. I picked up the glass, the contents of which smelled vaguely like sweets and chemicals, before taking a drink. It was much stronger than the champaign, he had given me that much, and the sugared burn made me cough under my breath as I set down the glass.

He raised an eyebrow and moved on after that, leaving me be with my glass swilling before me. I could feel it warming my stomach, and I knew that it wouldn't take much for me to really be pissed. I didn't want it to happen too fast, but I also knew it'd take me a bit more before I would gain any courage to talk with any of the other patrons, including the beautiful women with their long cigarettes.

Drinking more, I felt myself loosening up, and it was both scary and thrilling all at once. The room seemed soft and glowing around the edges, moving in slow motion every time I turned my head. It was enough to give me back my nerve, at least enough to look around the room and all the people in it properly. The crowds mingled with comfort and ease, melding into each other, talking, kissing, dancing. Some eyes met mine briefly, others avoided me altogether, too busy indulging in finer things than my curious gaze.

Only one set stayed on me. At a booth further down, a woman was looking right at me, cigarette dangling limply from long fingers, stained red by a generous, half-smiling mouth. Her skin was a dark gold in the light, beautiful and brazen as she leaned back into the leather seat. The man at her side, old and grayed, seemed more amused than seduced in her company, laughing lightly and whispering something in her ear. Her eyes flickered up towards me once more and, with a cavorting gracefulness that I'd never seen anything like, she moved out of the booth and started walking across the room.

It caught me off-guard that a woman so fully clothed could look so provocative. The thin redness of her dress clung to subtle curves, the sway of a hip, giving away a glance of lean leg with every step. I was dumbstruck, teetering on my stool and gaping openly. I was only aware enough to snap my jaw shut when she leaned in closer, smoke curling up from the corners of her lips. And the smell of her hit me like a wave; thick, musky, spicy, the smell of her perfume, her cigarette and the alcohol still wet on her lips. I was completely drawn in.

Another smile, and she was there asking me, "How about a dance...?" Her voice was a husky half-laugh that went right through me, and I nodded, noticing my own sudden onslaught of stupidity but unable to do anything about it.

She took me by the wrist and led me out to the dance floor, promptly placing my hands on her waist. Even the heat of her through her dress was enough to fluster me, and when she wrapped her arms around my neck I asked through a broken voice, "What's your name?"

In that same thick, boisterous way, she laughed into my ear just as the music picked up, "Lola."

I felt her fingers curl up into the hair at the base of my neck and couldn't think much after that. She swayed against me, almost taller than I was in the heels she teetered on, taking lazy draws from her cigarette and letting the smoke billow out from her red-smeared mouth. I was tempted to kiss her, but shied away, content enough to feel her arms around me strongly, pulling me in close as we made clumsy circles around the dance floor and any other dancers.

A few more songs and she recommended drinks, and I whole-heartedly went along with that, with anything she suggested. We collapsed together in a booth, new glasses of champaign placed before us, and I watched as she worked down her whole drink as if it was water. I followed suit, feeling dizzied when she yanked me up from our short respite for another dance. I laughed along with her as we clutched together and swung on drunken feet, keeping each other propped up when the laughter and drunkenness got to be too much.

I don't think I'll ever know or remember how many hours we spent dancing and sipping on sweet champaign, in my memory it all flows together like syrup, all sugared and amber and slow. I think that the others were looking then, they must have been at the way we were dancing and laughing, though even if I was sober I probably would have never noticed the hints of amusement and sympathy in their eyes. I was completely caught up, drunk and smitten when I found myself seated in her lap, watching as her long fingers walked a haphazard trail against my chest.

"Won't you come home with me?" She breathed against the side of my neck. I turned, looking over my shoulder, her eyes so bright and glazed and drunk as she looked back at me. My heart hammered in my chest just as I said yes, and just as quickly she was standing and pulling me towards the door.

The trip to her flat was all a flash of bright lights and plush leather, the taxi swerving in ways that felt wild and uninhibited. By the time we were there I had no idea where we were, or how long it had taken-- I was too easily distracted when she nuzzled in close and smirked against my neck, hot breath leaving me on edge and already hard, wanting. I could have stayed in the taxi all night with her pressed flush against my side if she didn't pull me out, as always taking lead and letting me follow.

It was a walk up, but only a flight, and her laughter echoed down the stairwell as she clomped her way up the stairs in those treacherously high heels. I trailed after her, finding her laughter infectious and childishly trying to catch her. I only brushed the hem of her skirt and felt my fingertips brush a sinfully bare ankle before we were there, flushed and out of breath.

She unlocked the door with a curse and then we were inside. She didn't bother to turn on a light, only tossing her keys away blindly before she turned towards me. My breath caught in my throat when she stepped in close, a smile pulling at her lips as she smoothed her hands up my sides. I was suddenly painfully aware of just how much I wanted her right then, my body having long since ached for just what her smile promised. Faint memories of preadolescent kisses had sufficed me until then, and with a shiver I realized that I'd never really kissed a woman before. A thrill of nervousness ran through me just as she leaned in, chuckling low in her throat just as she pressed her lips to mine.

It was very surreal. Her mouth tasted just like I had imagined it would; smoky and tart and sweet. She hugged me strongly to herself and I submitted myself wholly, pressing myself into her and letting my lips slip open. Our tongues tangled in a slow, passionate way that I would have never thought myself capable of if not for the way she had been looking at me all night, if not for the courage that drinking had given me. It left me bold, and I took her closer into my arms, craving every bit of contact I could get with her.

She stumbled backwards, grinning and clumsy as she backed up, leaning against the back of the couch heavily. I followed her, taking her eagerly back into my arms, standing between those long, spread legs and feeling the heat steadily rising as my mouth met hers and she arched to meet me.

It was only then that I noticed something. Just barely, something didn't feel quite...right. Drunk and stupid, it was hard for me to think of what it was, though I heard her murmur when my lips grew slow and unsure. She shifted her legs against me, and in a moment of sobering clarity, I knew. I knew that no woman should have something firm between her legs to press against me.

I pushed her...him away, scrambling in my onslaught of sudden disgust. The dark room spun around me and I struggled to find my footing, to find the door. I rushed towards it as fast as I could, my heart hamming loud in my ears, and just when I thought I would make it, my foot caught under the edge of a rug.

The world spun around me and I didn't even feel myself falling, only the jarring sensation as I landed on my knees. I heard a noise and realized it was my own panting breaths. I tried to swallow them down, to catch myself, to hang on to one little scrap of thought even as they all fled my mind. Everything was clouded in alcohol and unsurity.

And then I heard him say something. I couldn't really understand, too overwhelmed and emotional, but instinctively I looked back towards him. He was sitting there, still looking just as beautiful and feminine as I remembered, but that confident guise was broken, leaving him there half-smiling with confused, scared eyes. We held eye contact for a long moment, frozen with him leaned against the couch, me on my knees. I don't think I could have moved then even if I wanted to, and he took it as a sign to walk towards me, weaving unsteadily on those damnable heels.

When he came in close, he kneeled down in front of me, and it was only then that I tore my eyes away, too afraid to get caught up any further in his trap than I already was. I heard him say, drunkenly but honestly, " 'm sorry..." When I didn't answer he laughed, softly under his breath, the same laugh that I had come to almost love. I felt a strange, unwanted stab of affection still, and that might have been why I hesitated, and when he leaned in closer and pressed his lips gently to mine I couldn't say stop.

His mouth was insistent, still so soft and hot that I forgot myself. I forgot who I was, who he was, what he was, let myself be swept away into the feeling of mouths on mouths, skin on skin. Hands ran back through my hair, coaxing and apologetic. I melted into them just as I had before, falling for it all over again. I was really, pathetically, helpless.

Part of my clouded mind managed to self-actualize that without the panic and embarrassment of only moments ago, and the passion I felt was renewed even as it was his tongue in my mouth, his hands on my waist. Even then, distracted by his kiss, I tried to blame it on the fact that I had been drinking, that he was manipulative, that he just made too good of a woman. My mind reeled and my body reacted, growing hot as he pressed fully against me.

He broke the kiss and we both gasped for air, and I didn't look at him until he tangled his fingers with mine and started to speak, "Still can make a man of you yet...if you want to stay." That gravelly, partly amused and overtly honest voice went right through me, his lingering laugh making my skin prickle. My mouth was dry and I gaped, and he kissed me again, red lips curved with a hint of a smile. I never said yes and he pulled me up anyways, leading me through the dark to the bedroom without another word.

I couldn't see much more in the dark other than the curves of his body and the shadowed bulk of a bed. Arms wound around me, he pulled me over himself onto it, arching against me carefully now as if just testing the waters. Unlike before, knowing what to expect, feeling that strange but familiar hardness between those beautiful, spread legs wasn't as disillusioning. I still wasn't sure what to do with him, but he made it easier when he shifted, winding his legs around me and kissing me more wildly.

His frantic mouth was a welcome distraction that I indulged in readily, my hands clumsy and running over his shoulders as he ground up against me. As much as his revealed gender had startled me, I couldn't help but admit that the friction between our bodies was terribly erotic, and my previously waned erection returned with a fervor. The kiss broke with us both breathless and his hands found the front of my shirt, starting to unbutton it. Every inch of skin revealed he let his fingers tease over, and everywhere he touched felt suddenly, amazingly hot. I pulled away enough to let him finish the last button before he was pushing it off over my shoulders, running sharp nails up my spine. It was almost too much and I moaned weakly, my response seemingly satisfying him.

Hands next found the clasp of my pants, opening them with such efficiency that I wasn't prepared to feel his palm loosely cupping me through my boxers just yet. My hips jerked forward and he laughed as he felt me over, tracing me through the thin material until he had me panting against his neck. He showed me some sympathy, easing my pants and boxers down gingerly, and I kicked them off just as he took me into a firm fist.

Feeling a hand other than my own was so much better than I thought, stroking me over in a sure grip, playing with different angles as he pumped over the length of me. And I was enthralled, groans building up into my throat and soon swallowed up by his eager mouth as I rocked forward into his hand. He didn't let me get too far, pulling his hand back and murmuring something slurred and lurid against my ear as he began to hike his dress up. I helped him, just barely, running my hands over the expanse of smooth honey skin up to the lacy little shorts he wore beneath.

I didn't dare look, but the feeling of lace under my palms was unexpectedly intimate, especially when I knew what my hands were so very close to. I'd never been with anyone, man or woman, so my inexperience went both ways. I wasn't sure how to touch anyone, though the fact that his body was technically similar to mine was comforting at the same time as unnerving. I first cupped against him, the same as he did to me, and the soft sigh he gave made my own breath catch. Male or female, it was still a warm, aroused body against mine, and that same wash of affection came over me again. I realized a little belatedly that I really wanted to pleasure him, and only hoped, as I would have with a woman, that I was doing things right.

I took some time to experiment. I found that if I touched just beside where he wanted me to, he would squirm almost fitfully. If I ran just the tips of my fingers against the head, he would fist into my hair and kiss me so hard that I could barely keep my own sanity. I played over him like a musician testing out a new piano, learning which keys produced which notes, learning to feel out this lithe new body beneath me. The shock of the deception was replaced with a feverish need, and after I'd had my fun I slipped his underwear off with ease, and he lifted his hips to help.

I was still, admittedly, afraid to look, at least to look anywhere below the waist. I did watch as his face, still misleadingly that of a woman, furrowed in pleasure when I finally touched bare skin. He was hot and wet against my palm, and I could feel his heart beat pulsing against my fingertips when I finally wrapped around him. He tossed his head back into the pillow when I began to stroke him, and I nuzzled into his neck just as I worked him over, slowly, teasingly. Every little subtle arch of his back, every strained, heavy breath, sent another coil of heat between my legs, made it that much harder to ignore the affect he had on me. I was drunk and completely, stupidly, half in love with him.

He hooked a leg around my waist and pulled me in closer, sending my world reeling when skin met skin. Instinctively I moved my hand, and I couldn't stop the uninhibited moan that left me when our bodies perfectly aliened. His thin dress still clung to his upper body, pooling around his waist, but it was almost better that way, needlessly keeping up the now broken facade he had tricked me with in the first place. He didn't seem to mind either, now as distracted as I was by the feeling of us pushed so close, and his nails clawed into my back when I began to shift and grind against him.

We writhed like that together over the mattress for what seemed like forever, kissing openly as our hips found a heady, matched rhythm. When we finally slowed and our lips parted, I'll admit that I was reminded how little I knew of what I was doing. With a woman, I would have assumed it would have been quite a bit easier, but with no extensive thought of what I would have done with a man in bed, I was lost. My hands moved down to his hips, gripping to them cautiously, and he seemed to get the hint at my uncertainty, giving a little laugh of a moan before he sat up partially and told me to wait.

I pulled back and he stood up from the bed, walking over towards a dresser on the far side of the room. I could barely see more than his shadowed silhouette, still so girlish despite what stood between his legs. He returned and pushed me over by the shoulder, crawling quite boldly on top of me. I was too stunned by the audacity of it, by the feeling of his weight over me, to notice what he held in his hand. Instead I pressed my head back into the pillow and gripped at his thighs, slipping my fingertips against the silky material of his dress. He laughed again, bucking down against me, and I couldn't have formed a coherent thought if I tried.

I felt long hair brushing my cheek as he pulled back, only distantly recognizing a small tearing sound before his hands were dexterously rolling the rubber onto me. It was a tight, weird kind of feeling, and I shifted against him as his hands teased me through it, his lips finding my ear and chuckling softly as I began to squirm needily. Next, with a soft pop, his hand moved away only to return, slick and cool. I hissed, trying to adjust to the sensation, to the idea of what we would be doing next. He didn't leave me much time to be nervous then, and for that I was honestly grateful. He distracted me with a few light bites down my neck, with his hand pumping me in slow, tight jerks until I was almost uncomfortably close. That's when he stopped.

He left me like that, perched over me and looking down with dark eyes. I settled down just enough to have myself under control, finally looking back, unsteadily, his expression changing from contemplative to the slight curve of a drunken smile. He asked me in a low voice if I was ready and I told him candidly that I hoped so. He smiled again, wider this time, as he leaned down to kiss me, and just as he pushed his tongue into my mouth I felt his hand on my cock, pulling me towards him. And then all I could feel was him, all around me, yielding and hot and tight. His hands on my face, coaxing me back as he sunk down around me, and I could barely breathe.

I really had no idea how it worked. In a technical since I did, but being with him, I would have never imagined just how good it would feel. He was around me completely then, settled over me and panting as he ran his hands over my chest. I was trembling, trying to find something to hold on to, managing a tight grip on his waist as I tried to regain my grip on reality. When I looked down, I found that the bottom of his dress shielded me from seeing exactly what was happening, though it may have been better that way in the end. Sitting over me like that, he still looked convincingly like a woman, though for once my mind didn't seem determined to remind me of that.

When he finally moved, I watched in awe as his back arched and he moved in fluid, heavy bucks, rising up on me, taking me in wholly again. I was moaning with every breath I could catch, clawing into his waist as he smiled and moaned along with me. He kept the pace slow but almost rough, proving then that he was much stronger than I assumed each time he pressed down to meet me. I was thankful then, too, that he took such control of the situation, since I doubted I could do much else other than laying there groaning and jerking my hips up thoughtlessly to push in.

He wound long fingers through my hair and panted brokenly when he began to ride me faster. The quickening pace left me dizzy, and my head rolled in his hands when he began to bite and suck along my exposed neck. I didn't know how I was able to stand it, how I held out even that long, completely enraptured and obsessed with him, with the way he moved against me and the way he gasped when I started to touch him through his dress. I wanted all of him, no matter how much of a man he was, felt this startling, aching hunger building whenever he ground down on me. I lifted up the dress, almost tore it right off of him, before I was taking him into my hand and pumping him quickly, nearly too fast. He made this noise, a breathless whimper right against my neck, and I was gone.

I flipped him over without thinking, pinning him under myself and relishing in the moans we both gave from it. It must have been the alcohol then, too, because I would have never thought I'd have it in me, but there I was with my hands on his hips, on his cock, thrusting in wild and reckless. He clung to me with his whole body, legs wrapped around me and pulling me in as he cursed out senseless, slurred words. We moved together in that innate, primal way that I adapted to surprisingly well, rocking into him at a pace that was continually growing animalistic in intensity.

When his breath hitched in and he grew tighter around me, I knew he was close. I very suddenly felt just the same, my body desperate to hold out for him. I pumped him faster, gave him everything of myself as I pressed him up against the headboard and ravished his neck, his lips. He groaned, loud and low into my mouth, just as I felt a wet heat over my fist and him clench around me so strongly that I wasn't sure if I could move. I clutched to his hips just as I pulled back, pushed in to that intense heat, and that was all it took.

I came buried deep inside of him, bucking weakly as I rode down from my peak. Suddenly everything in the world seemed amplified, the feeling of him still around me, the sticky cum on my hand, his chest rising and falling with rapid, settling breaths, his lips on my shoulder. I was trembling, barely coherent, pulling out of him almost too quickly for the both of us. I collapsed next to him, my skin tingling and my body well spent, drunk and exhausted. I heard him say something, but the lull of sleep was far too tempting, and when he realized I heard him laugh lightly one last time before I was gone.

I woke in a room that seemed unnaturally bright, searing my eyes when I opened them. I groaned, clutching at my now pounding head, not taking the time to wonder where I was, to think of what I’d done the night before. It didn’t take long for it to return to me through my hangover, and I felt my cheeks heat up when flashes what we had done in that very bed made their way through my aching head. My mind didn’t spare any details, only serving as a reminder of just what I’d done. Blatantly, my conscious tried to tell me that I had just gotten drunk and lost my virginity to a transvestite. That on top of a horrible hangover didn’t bode well for me.

I pulled the sheets up over my head as I tried to figure out just what I should do. The space besides me was empty, thankfully, but it wasn’t like I could just run and escape from my now returning embarrassment and shame. I couldn’t really decide what I was ashamed of more-- the fact that I had slept with a man, or the fact that I had undeniably enjoyed it. Then again, I don’t think I really wanted to have to choose.

As I tried to collect myself mentally, I heard the door open, then soft footsteps coming in closer. I held completely still, under the impression that, maybe, if I held still, he’d still think I was asleep, or forget me altogether. I felt the bed dip slightly besides me and knew it was futile, so slowly I started to peel back the sheet corner, trying to get used to the morning light streaming through his windows.

When my eyes adjusted, I finally saw him. He was sitting there, no longer in his little red dress, no makeup, just completely and wholly...male. Even the long hair I had been used to was gone, replaced with a thick thatch of shorter, dark hair, mused and damp. He was looking at me with the slight curve of a smile that I recognize, that made my heart hammer despite the reality of what was before me. And I realized, sickeningly, pathetically, that he was still just as beautiful to me as he was when I first saw him.

He shifted in place and then I noticed the glass in his hands, filled with a thick, red concoction. When he saw me looking at it his hinted smile grew sheepish, and he rolled the glass in his hands. “Bloody Mary. Thought it might help with your hangover...” He said almost knowingly, his voice hoarse from the night before. I blushed, trying to sit up a little more, seeing now that, while he had gotten dressed in a casual pair of jeans and shirt, I was still totally naked. He laughed softly when I scrambled, making sure I was covered by the sheet, even if he had seen everything just that night.

I tried not to look him directly in the eye, but our gazes kept inevitably meeting when I took the glass and started to drink it down. As foul as it looked, it wasn’t as bad as I expected, kind of spicy but refreshing down my parched throat. He seemed pleased with my reaction as I drank more than half of it in one draught, fingertips playing over his lap as he stared down at them thoughtfully.

“...you know, ‘m sorry for last night...what I did...” He started, and I kept the glass to my lips even after I had stopped drinking, almost as an excuse not to say anything. When I gave him the time, he continued, “I mean...it’s just something I do on the weekends. It’s just fun and all. But since you came into that bar...I would have thought you’dve known. They kind of...specialize in that, you know.” He tried to explain, shifting slightly in place as he looked up to me, wondering if I understood.

I lowered the glass slowly, my muddled mind still trying to catch on. When it hit me, I have to say I felt like the biggest idiot, and my realization must have dawned on my face from the way he smiled again.

“It’s not your fault. I mean, it was your first time, right? Drinking and everything, that is.” When I looked confused, he laughed, running a hand back through his hair almost nervously. “I’ll admit I peeked into your wallet this morning. Just out of curiosity.” He gestured to the bed stand and I saw, next to the lube and condom wrapper from the night before, my wallet laying innocently open besides it. A wave of embarrassment hit me again, and I felt like he saw me for what I was-- a stupid eighteen year old boy who didn’t know what he was doing. I felt a little angry, too, if only for how stupid I felt just then, and I tried to muffle it behind another drink.

My hangover was starting to wane, at least, and once I had settled enough I tried to find something to say. He was watching me, the look in his eyes almost affectionate as he watched me struggle. All I could work out was a croaky, “I’m sorry, too...”

“No need to be. Really.” He assured, moving to put a hand on my bent-up knee. When I flinched he almost withdrew, apologetically. I sighed out, frustrated, and he smiled at me, his mixture of sympathy and tenderness still too new for me to openly accept. His gaze lingered on me and I shifted, not sure how to feel for him then, struggling with myself inwardly as his unquestionably attractive face came in a little closer. He tilted his head and my eyes met his, and for one scary moment I was afraid I would kiss him.

“...I could at least make you some breakfast, if you’d like.” He offered, and I held back from my impulse.

Part of me wondered just how much trouble I was getting myself into with him, but the other part of me just couldn’t say no.

~*~

I met her in a club down in old Soho
where you drink champagne and it tastes just like Cherry Cola
C-O-L-A Cola.
She walked up to me and she asked me to dance.
I asked her her name and in a dark brown voice she said, "Lola"
L-O-L-A Lola, lo lo lo Lola
Well, I'm not the world's most physical guy,
but when she squeezed me tight she nearly broke my spine
Oh my Lola, lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola
Well, I'm not dumb but I can't understand
why she walks like a woman and talks like a man
Oh my Lola, lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola
Well, we drank champagne and danced all night,
under electric candlelight,
she picked me up and sat me on her knee,
She said, "Little boy won't you come home with me?"
Well, I'm not the world's most passionate guy,
but when I looked in her eyes,
I almost fell for my Lola,
Lo lo lo Lola, lo lo lo Lola
I pushed her away. I walked to the door.
I fell to the floor. I got down on my knees.
I looked at her, and she at me.
Well that's the way that I want it to stay.
I always want it to be that way for my Lola.
Lo lo lo Lola.
Girls will be boys, and boys will be girls.
It's a mixed up, muddled up, shook up world,
except for Lola. Lo lo lo Lola. Lo lo lo Lola.
Well I left home just a week ago,
and I never ever kissed a woman before,
Lola smiled and took me by the hand,
she said, "Little boy, gonna make you a man."
Well I'm not the world's most masculine man,
but I know what I am and that I'm a man,
so is Lola.
Lo lo lo Lola. Lo lo lo Lola.