Loving Care: The Stories of Lola Trechlyn

Chapter 16
XI - Live Connection

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Chapter Description: F on M, Mind Control, Mental AR. / Seventeen months later... Whereas "Lonely Cam" was an experimental story with no dialogue, this one's practically all dialogue. It's a kinder, gentler AR, with what I hope you'll find to be a distinctly Lola touch. Rated PG. / Published March 14th, 2012.

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SUNDAY

On a computer screen in King of Prussia, Pennsylvania, there ran a two-way live camera feed with another computer in Philadelphia.

Drake Samson’s eyes were trained on the one in K-o-P. He had Chatrouletted his way to a girl named Maxine. Her warm smile made her seem nice enough, but there was no denying that Drake wasn’t there to find a friend. Maxine’s blonde hair, which had been pulled back into a ponytail, served as a perfect complement to her inviting blue eyes. Drake’s romantic interest in her was immediate.

None of that mattered, though, as Maxine appeared to be 23 or 24 years of age.

“So you’re 16, huh?” she asked.

“Yeah,” he answered with a sigh that suggested he wished he were much older.

“You’re up awfully late on a school night.”

“I’m kind of an insomniac.”

That was a slight stretch of the truth, he later confessed. The fact was that Drake didn’t have a bedtime. Nor had any restrictions been imposed on his internet usage.

“Wow,” Maxine said. “You must have some pretty cool parents.”

“Not so much. I mean, they provide for me and everything, but they sorta just leave me alone. They’ve been doing it that way for some time.”

“A lot of kids your age would be envious of that.”

“They might be,” said Drake, “but when a kid’s parents fight as often as mine do, that kinda tends to take the bloom off the rose.”

Maxine frowned. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

“A lot of kids your age.” Major “friend zone” flag. Drake Samson was an attractive boy, but he didn’t expect 23-year-old girls to be crawling all over him. The image that displayed on Maxine’s screen showed a square-jawed, Bieber-haired teen with green eyes and features that suggested he played sports.

“As a hobby,” he said, in response to one of Maxine’s questions. “I’m not on a team or anything.”

“Do you do well in school?”

“I do great in school,” Drake said with an accidental grin that betrayed his justifiable pride. “I ace my honors classes and everything.”

“Well,” said Maxine with a smile, “your parents must be very proud of you.”

Drake’s grin decayed. “I don’t get so much positive reinforcement from them, you might say. They’re pretty busy people.”

The pair’s conversation focused on school for several minutes -- friendships, teachers, those rectangular-shaped pizza slabs the kids got for lunch. Drake noted that Maxine seemed genuinely interested in him. Not sexually or romantically, of course, but in him as a person. He elected to return the appreciation.

“So, what do you do?” he asked.

“I work with at-risk and troubled youth. I also contract my services out as a nanny.”

“What’s that mean?”

“Basically,” explained Maxine, “if a well-off couple wants a week in Barbados without their kids, they hire me to take care of them in their absence. Occasionally there’ll be stretches of time when some couples suddenly have two work obligations, and they need me then, too.”

“Is it interesting work?” asked Drake.

“Well, I wouldn’t call it interesting, but it’s pretty fulfilling. I don’t mean to sound cliché, but I get a special sort of satisfaction from seeing kids happy.”

“Heh. Maybe you could come over and teach my parents a thing or two about that.”

Maxine laughed. “I don’t work so well with adults, but thanks for offering the contract.”

“Well,” Drake sighed, “I’m afraid I’m pretty tired, but it was great talking to you. Let’s link up again tomorrow night.”

“Will do. It was nice meeting you. And Drake?”

“Yeah?”

“Sleep tight, hon.”

MONDAY

“How was school today?”

“Great!” Drake replied, beaming. “Normally, I hate Mondays, but I had a really restful sleep last night and I aced two pop quizzes.”

“That’s great, Drake! Congratulations!”

“Thanks!”

Drake had spent much of his schoolday thinking about Maxine. It wasn’t daydreaming, per se, but he felt blanketed and reassured by the genuine interest she had seemed to have taken in him. It had given him a long-overdue shot of confidence.

“The bad news,” continued Drake, “is that I have a serious paper due on Wednesday and I’m only about a quarter of the way through it. I’m stressing my guts out.”

Maxine laughed good-naturedly. “Ahh, yes, the dreaded essay. Don’t worry about it; you’ll get it done.”

“Well, until it is, my brain’s not gonna be having a whole lot of fun.”

“You should do what I do when I get stressed out.”

“What’s that?” Drake asked.

“I suck my thumb.”

Drake laughed out loud. “C’mon, be serious!”

“It’s true,” Maxine said with a smile and a nod. “I’ve been doing it my whole life when the going gets rough.”

Drake feared that what he wanted to say -- “That’s pretty weird” -- would sound rather rude, directed at somebody so nice. So he tweaked it a little before speaking again.

“Doesn’t it make you feel silly?”

“I’d feel a lot sillier with a cigarette in my mouth, I’ll tell you that.”

“What do people say?”

“Well,” said Maxine, “normally I only do it when I’m alone. Sometimes around people I trust. What’re they gonna say? They’re certainly not gonna cut it off.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Drake conceded. “I don’t think that’s for me, though.”

“How can you write it off so quickly? Have you tried it?”

“Yeah, when I was a baby,” said Drake. “I gave it up when I was four. I don’t think going back to it 12 years later makes a whole lotta sense.”

“Would you do me a favor?”

“What’s that?”

“Just give it a try,” Maxine said. “Right now, when you’re talking to somebody who understands.”

“I’ll feel and look ridiculous.”

“For me?”

Drake paused, took a deep breath, and exhaled. He certainly hadn’t predicted the trajectory of this conversation with any sort of accuracy. Would he really suck his thumb in front of this girl -- for this girl -- at her request?

“Just go ahead and open your mouth,” instructed Maxine.

Drake did so, slowly.

“Verrry good. Now, just make a fist, stick your thumb out, and push it between your lips.”

He felt as if he were doing everything in slow-motion. But Drake was, in fact, doing them. He made a fist with his left hand and stuck its thumb out -- indisputably his thumb of choice during his days as a toddler. And he pushed it between his lips, just as Maxine had instructed.

“Now just close your mouth around it and suck.”

In seconds, Drake was doing it. He was sucking his thumb for the first time since he was four years old. At first, the salty surface of his skin, coupled with the rigidity of the tiny bones beneath, struck him as unpleasant.

But the suckling motions came naturally. Maxine watched as she saw Drake’s cheeks inflate and deflate, inflate and deflate. She could hear the slurping sounds through her speakers. The boy on the other end hooked his index finger over his nose as he pumped away on his thumb with an expertness that suggested he’d never given it up. And, if she wasn’t mistaken, Maxine could even see his eyelids flutter a bit and come to half-closure.

“Therrre you go,” she cooed. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

Drake wanted to answer verbally, but the comfortable familiarity of his old friend the thumb was too enjoyable to sacrifice. So he just shook his head.

“I didn’t think it would be. Now, whenever you get too stressed out, you’ll remember how calming it feels to suck your thumb, won’t you, Drake?”

The boy nodded, still nursing his digit.

“Good,” Maxine smiled. “That’s a good boy.”

Later, the two said their goodbyes, with Maxine exhorting Drake to not let the bedbugs bite. The teenager slept well through the twilight, his thumb never leaving his mouth.

TUESDAY

“We just had the saddest case today,” said Maxine, relating her day at work to Drake via webcam. “A boy who, one day, came across his mother’s stash of heroin... and got curious.”

“What happened?” asked Drake, sipping on a Dr. Pepper.

“He was curious enough to try it once. He liked it enough to try it twice. And now he’s... well, let’s just say he’s doing things he wouldn’t normally do, just to support his habit.”

“That’s horrible.”

Maxine sighed. “Sometimes I wish these were my kids. They certainly feel that way-- to me, anyway.”

Drake popped his thumb into his mouth. It hadn’t felt voluntary.

“Oh, so I see the thumbsucking thing worked out for you!” said Maxine, with no small measure of happiness. “I’m so glad. I bet you got your paper finished and everything.”

“Yeah,” replied Drake, removing his thumb for the time being in the interest of holding conversation. He wiped it on his jeans. “It really just seems to... slow the world down a bit. Y’know, to a pace where I can handle things.”

“I do know,” Maxine nodded. “Did you wake up with your thumb in your mouth?”

Drake’s stomach dropped. How could she have possibly guessed a thing like that?

“Y--yeah,” stammered Drake. “I did.”

Maxine nodded a second time. “Most thumbsuckers do. It certainly leads to a restful night’s sleep. Like the ones I have when I’ve got Mr. Bounce, my stuffed bunny, tucked into my arms.”

The boy raised a quizzical eyebrow. “Did you say a ‘stuffed bunny?’”

“Yeah. I’ve had him since I was a little girl. He was always by my side then, and he rarely leaves my side now.”

“I see.”

“Certainly you had something like that as a kid,” said Maxine.

“Uh... yeah,” Drake confessed, blushing. “It was a bear. Wiggle.”

“Wiggle? Why Wiggle?”

“I dunno. He was given to me when I was two, and I guess I really liked the word ‘wiggle’ back then.”

“That’s adorable,” smiled Maxine. “Do you still have him?”

“I dunno. Probably buried somewhere in my closet. I kinda dropped the whole ‘teddy bear’ thing eight or nine years ago.”

“Why?”

“Why what?”

“Why’d you abandon your bear in the closet?” Maxine’s tone was a bizarre balance of curiosity and disappointment.

“Because I was growing up. I didn’t need him anymore.”

“Y’know, it’s kind of sad. We’ve got our stuffed animals, and they follow us everywhere, play with us, be our friends. Then we get to some arbitrary point where we just go ‘eh’ and dump ‘em in a closet or give them away. When, in a million, billion years, they would never have abandoned us.”

Drake was silent for several moments. “.....So, I was watching ‘Tosh.0’ the other day, and--”

“Why don’t you get your bear?” interrupted Maxine.

“Pardon me?”

“Go get Wiggle out of your closet. I think you know where he is.”

“I’m pretty sure I don’t, Maxine.”

“Drake?”

“Yeah?”

“Go get Wiggle out of your closet.”

Without a word, Drake stood up, walked to his closet, opened its door, and proceeded to rummage through it. There was a lot of junk to soldier through: Binders of baseball cards, a Rubik’s Cube, and a ton of board games Drake hadn’t cared to play since before puberty.

And there, at the bottom of it all, was Wiggle, brown and fluffy, smiling, arms outstretched, begging to be picked up, with a pair of button eyes that seemed to say “I missed you, Drake.”

Sixty seconds later, Drake was back at his computer, sucking his thumb and hugging his bear across his chest with his other arm.

“Drake?” asked Maxine.

“Yeth?” he slurred around his thumb.

“How does he make you feel?”

“Pwetty widdle.”

“Comfortable?”

“Yeth.”

“Protected?”

“Yeth.”

“Just like a little boy again, huh?”

Drake remained silent, but he nodded, almost imperceptibly.

“That’s how they’re meant to make us feel,” Maxine said in a soothing voice. “That’s their job, and they’re so good at it. Remember that. When you come home, and you see Wiggle sitting atop your bed, smiling with his arms spread, remember that he’s been waiting all day to see you. His best friend. He wants to hear all about your day. He wants to make it better if it was a bad one, or celebrate with you if it was good. Either way, all he wants is to hug you and love you, and to be hugged and loved back. Do you think you can remember all that, Drake?”

The boy nodded vigorously, tightening his clutch around his bear.

“Good,” Maxine smiled. “That’s a good boy.”

Drake smiled.

“Well,” said Maxine, “I think it’s time for somebody to go to bed. He’s got a biiig day at school, and a paper to hand in! So, what do we say?”

“Nighty-night!” Drake called out from around his thumb.

“Nighty-night, sweetheart.”

The video disconnected. Drake blinked once, then twice.

Did she just call me “sweetheart?”

He took his thumb from out of his mouth and wiped it off. He tossed Wiggle unceremoniously onto the bed and began to undress. Stripped to his boxer-briefs and with the yawns attacking him hard and often, Drake slipped beneath the covers.

The boy snuggled Wiggle up to his bare chest and stuck his thumb in his mouth. His dreams that night were pleasant and beautiful.

WEDNESDAY

“I know you’ve already told Wiggle about your day,” Maxine said with a good-natured chuckle, “but I’m afraid that, now, you’re gonna have to repeat it all to me.”

Drake took a swig of his Dr. Pepper. “Well, I handed my paper in, and I feel pretty confident about it. Played baseball for about an hour after school, then came home and read for a while.”

“Oh, you like to read?”

“Yeah,” he replied. “Mostly horror. Stephen King, Dean Koontz, Clive Barker... that sort of thing.”

“Doesn’t it kind of defeat the purpose, reading those guys in the daylight?”

Drake shrugged. “I’unno. The house is deathly quiet at night. If I’m in bed reading and, suddenly, a door creaks a little, my eyes completely freeze. Totally and completely freeze on the one word I was reading at the time. I can’t even bring myself to look over the top of the book.” He laughed and took another sip of his soda.

“Aww,” Maxine cooed, “you’re not telling me that little Drakey’s afraid of the dark, are you?”

The boy’s heart dropped into his stomach. How could he have been so stupid, so cavalier?

Now this girl thinks I’m scared of the printed word!

“Of course not,” declared Drake, sounding more than a little defensive. “I just--”

Flustered and distracted, Drake’s arm came in contact with the half-full can of Dr. Pepper and knocked it to the floor. Gentle gushes of flavored corn syrup oozed from the mouth of the can and absorbed into the carpet fibers.

“Dammit!” Drake yelled, and he raced to grab an old shirt and start dabbing away the soda.

“What happened?” asked Maxine.

“Oh, I spilled my damn soda. All over the carpet.”

“Yeesh. I bet your parents are gonna be pretty cross.”

“Probably not,” said Drake, returning to his chair after completing the cleanup job. “They probably won’t see it, and they definitely won’t care if they do.”

“Maybe you should be drinking out of a bottle.”

Drake’s heart skipped a beat. He couldn’t believe he had heard what he thought he’d heard.

“Excuse me?” he said. “That’s kind of a rude thing to suggest.”

“Is it, though?” Maxine asked, tilting her head to the side just a bit. “Think about it. What would’ve happened if you’d knocked a baby bottle full of soda off your desk just now?”

“Well... nothing. I’d pick it up and that’d be that.”

“Exactly.”

“You’re not suggesting--”

“Drake,” said Maxine, “after school tomorrow, I think you should stop by the pharmacy and pick up a baby bottle or two.”

“Oh, now you’re just fucking with me.”

“Language!” Maxine shrieked. “Don’t you ever use that kind of language around me!”

“I’m... I’m sorry.” Drake was kind of dazed. He actually felt scolded, like a child, for talking as he normally would. “It won’t happen again.”

He put his thumb in his mouth and began to suck.

“That’s a good boy. You know, there are so many benefits to drinking out of bottles, apart from them being spillproof. You can’t drink too quickly-- the nipple sets the pace. That saves on money and calories in the long run. You can bring them absolutely anywhere... carry them in backpacks, even take them to bed with you if you want. You can feed Wiggle with them! But best of all is that warm, comforting feeling you get when you slide that rubber nipple between your lips and start to nurse. So yummy. So satisfying.”

Drake simply continued to suck on his thumb and listen, his heart finally starting to slow down from the shock of the chastisement he’d received for his swearing.

“So,” sighed Maxine, seemingly to change the subject. “what are you planning on doing after school tomorrow, Drake?”

The teenager slid his thumb out of his mouth to answer. “I’m gonna go to the pharmacy and buy some baby bottles.”

Maxine feigned surprise. “Really? I sold you on them that easily?”

Drake shrugged. “It makes sense. I can bring a drink to bed with me, have it right there if I ever need it in the middle of the night. Even my teddy can have some. But what’s most important to me is that it’s spillproof. Obviously I don’t have the best luck with open containers.”

“Good,” Maxine smiled. “That’s a good boy.”

THURSDAY

As if it were the most normal, natural thing in the world, 16-year-old Drake Samson sat at his computer desk, teddy bear nestled firmly in the crook of his arm, nursing Dr. Pepper from a baby bottle as he regaled Maxine over webcam in realtime.

“I was pretty nervous at the pharmacy,” he conceded. “I was certain people were staring, wondering about the teenager with the baby bottles. Whether I was an irresponsibly young father. What sick, twisted games I might’ve been playing... or worse. But I played it cool, like I was picking up supplies for my baby brother. It was still tough checking out, though.”

“You know where that comes from?” asked Maxine.

“Where what comes from?”

“That anxiety.”

“No,” said Drake. “Where?”

“If it had been anyone else buying those baby bottles -- any other boy, just like you -- and he really was buying them for his baby brother, he wouldn’t care at all. He wouldn’t even notice the other shoppers. But you... since you were buying them for yourself to drink out of, something almost all teenage boys would be humiliated to do... you were worried that people knew. Irrational as that fear may be, you were worried that people knew. ‘There’s that kid who sucks his thumb.’ ‘That’s the boy who still sleeps with a teddy bear.’ ‘I hear he’s not even ready to handle open containers yet.’”

Drake shuddered. The girl made perfect sense. How could she get inside his head so easily?

“The truth is,” Maxine continued, “you’re worried that people will learn you like acting like a baby.”

Drake slammed his baby bottle down on the desk and clutched his teddy bear indignantly. “How dare you suggest such a thing! You’re the one who got me into all of this! You said that thumbsucking would relieve anxiety, and it does! You claimed that digging out Wiggle would help with loneliness, and it did! You convinced me that baby bottles are convenient and spillproof, and they are!”

“Drake!” Maxine yelled, her eyes staring straight into the camera, her mouth a straight line. “You don’t ever raise your voice to me!”

The teenager leaned back in his chair. Nobody had ever yelled at him like that before.

“Now you apologize this instant!”

Drake’s thumb crept slowly towards his mouth, and in moments, he was sucking feverishly on it. “I’m thowwy.”

“That’s better,” said Maxine, dialing back the volume of her voice, though she still sounded severe. “Now, who do you think would know more about things like this-- a trained professional like me, or a high school student like you?”

“Twained ‘fessional,” Drake slurred around his thumb, suddenly feeling extremely little.

Maxine’s tone became gentler. “Now, listen to me very, very carefully, Drake. I understand how it works. I know that some boys don’t really get their chance to be little. Their parents are cold and distant. The detachment causes the boy to grow up well before he’s ready. There’s a whole portion of his life left unexplored.”

“You hyp’mtized me.”

“In a manner of speaking, I suppose I did,” remarked Maxine. “But I only unlocked what was already there. Whatever mental regression you experience is yours to own.”

Drake’s mind felt fuzzy. He clutched Wiggle closer to his body and ardently sucked his thumb. What was the nice lady talking about? He knew he trusted her implicitly, but something was wrong. He knew he was too old to be acting the way he was acting.

“Do you trust me, Drake?”

“Yeth.”

“You like acting like a baby, don’t you, Drake?”

“Yeth.” Long rivulets of drool began dripping from his chin and onto his shirt.

“There’s always been a baby in there, hasn’t there, Drake?”

“Yeth.” The toes of both of his feet turned inward. He squirmed.

“Good,” Maxine smiled. “That’s a good boy.”

Drake’s gaze blurred. He gulped. A soft whine escaped from around his slobbery thumb.

The teenager looked downward in response to a sudden feeling of warmth surrounding his penis. He was peeing his pants, right where he sat. Transfixed, Drake watched as an expanding navy circle conquered the crotch of his jeans and spread to their inner thighs. The sensation was notably foreign yet not altogether unpleasant. There was the relief Drake felt at emptying his bladder; there was the warmth of the fabric of his saturated boxer-briefs clinging to his genitals; there was the added pleasure of heated wetness streaking down his perineum and proceeding to soak his bottom and his computer chair.

“Drakey?”

“Yeth?” He didn’t look up.

“You’re peeing your pants, aren’t you?”

A blush and a whine from the teenage boy. “Yeth.”

“Show me how smart you are,” Maxine continued. “Who pees their pants?”

“Babieth.”

Eventually, Drake’s bladder had been emptied, its contents soaking his undies, his jeans, his chair, and the carpeting beneath it all. He felt his penis involuntarily twitch out a final few squirts, and then it was over.

“Now show me how really smart you are. What do you have to go to the pharmacy tomorrow and buy?”

Drake finally stopped watching his crotch, moving his eyes to meet Maxine’s. “Dipeeth. I have to go buy dipeeth.”

“Very good, my sweet, precious little boy. Now, I have to sign off, and when I do, you’ll be back in control. I’d recommend doing the laundry and taking a shower before bed, lest you get a nasty rash. You won’t have to worry about soaked laundry or stinging rashes after tomorrow... as long as you don’t forget the powder. Goodnight, delicate angel.”

When Maxine disconnected and her image froze in the window, Drake snapped back to competence. He knew he had to toss his jeans in the wash and shower up, but first, he allowed himself to have a good cry.

Was he crying out of sadness, or humiliation, or happiness, or some combination? He didn’t know.

He just knew that it was alright to cry.

FRIDAY

“How was school today, sweetheart?”

“Gooood,” Drake replied to Maxine, taking babyish pleasure in cutely drawing out the word. He shifted left and right in his computer chair, crinkling all the while. “Wearned wotsa new stuffs.”

“That’s great, Drakey!” Even though her vantage point was from in front of a computer screen, Maxine could still tell that Drake made for just about the most adorable regression case she’d ever seen. With his “fumbie,” his bear, his “baba” -- of milk, not Dr. Pepper -- and stripped down to just a disposable diaper, Drake Samson could almost be mistaken for a genuine toddler. “And did you have an easy enough time buying your dipees from the nice man at the store?”

Drake nodded vigorously. “Uh-huh. Uh-huh. A’first I was real newvous’n stuffs but den I ‘membewed I hadda have my dipees ‘cause I just a baby.” He giggled and took a swallow of milk from his bottle, using the palms of both hands to lift it.

“How do they fit?”

“Fit wea’ good. Vewy comfy. Wan’ spen’ my whole life in dipees.”

Maxine laughed. “Well, that’s not entirely practical, my dear.”

Drake tilted his head and furrowed his brow. “Pwac-tic--”

“Never mind, honey.”

The 16-year-old leaned forward and peered into his webcam, causing a mischievous grin to grow in size on Maxine’s monitor.

“Draaa-keeey?” Maxine said in a sing-song voice. “What are you doing?”

“Making ‘tinky.” Maxine had to hold back a chuckle with three fingers as she watched Drake bite his bottom lip and distort his face into comical profiles of concentration. After a couple minutes of this, Drake’s face shrunk in frame, and he planted his squishy bum back onto his computer chair. Maxine could’ve sworn she saw his eyes roll back a bit. “Ahhhhhh.”

“Feel better, Drakey?”

The teen nodded and nodded and nodded. “Muth bettew. Maxine t’ange Dwakey’s dipee?”

The girl smiled. “Maybe someday, precious. I’m not that far away.”

“Huwaaayyy!”

“Are you ready for your bedtime story, sweetheart?”

“Bedtime thtowy!” Drake clapped maniacally.

“It may not be Stephen King,” said Maxine, “but I think you’ll like it, anyway. It’s called If You Give a Mouse a Cookie.”

Drake looked intently at his computer screen for the next several minutes as Maxine read him the story. Calmly did he nurse on his thumb, except for when he took breaks to laugh or applaud.

And that’s how it went for some time. Drake Samson’s parents still fought each other and ignored their son, Drake himself still excelled in school and hit homeruns, and Maxine still found her way online every night.

But, at last, Drake had found the love he’d always wanted... and the babyhood he’d always needed.

About This Story

First above everything, this story was inspired by the contributions of my longtime boyfriend, nico. So if some of it sounds familiar, there you go.

Writing as little trip can become emotionally taxing after a while. I mean, my main series ("Valedictorian 2013," "Ecstasy," "Some New Disaster," and "After the Wave") had the working titles of "Humiliation," "Humiliation 2," "Humiliation 3," and "Humiliation 4." That’s a lot of ego-ruining for one writer to inflict. So it’s nice to be able to go back to some gentler stuff once in a while.

"Live Connection" was a "one-sitter" -- that is to say, I sat down, wrote it, and stood up when it was done. (There were bathroom breaks in there, but... never mind.) That’s what it has in common with stories like "The Strawberry Pair" and "Lonely Cam;" I feel it’s the most reliable way to maintain a continuity of spirit, just as one can easily tell a filmed scene of flash-cuts apart from a scene filmed in one take.

But this story is also in opposition to "Lonely Cam" in that it switches up no-dialogue to (almost) all-dialogue. There’s nothing inherently special about that, but it was something I wanted to try. Also unique to this story is a complete lack of sexual gratification. It didn’t belong, so it didn’t go in. I can be reasonable sometimes.

Consider this the sweet after the salty "Havoc." I owe you more Lola, and there’s more to come.

Thanks for reading. -lt

 

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