Lilly and Lucas – The End of The Love Story

 

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Lucas tried TexMex for the first time (my homemade enchiladas).

“How are you?” Lucas asked me.  Often.

“Well, let me tell you about this guy…” I would answer.  Often.

That’s just who I am.

When I finally got around to asking how he was, I would be humbled by the answer.

“At the hospital, doing dialysis.  I’m fine.  How’s Sally?” Lucas would redirect.

Why?  Because he’s a sweetheart.  Because he was truly, deeply, a self-less person.

I say, “was” because Lucas died on Wednesday.  That was yesterday; how is it that I heard the news over a day ago?  I’m still trying to process this.

Lucas and I only met in person once, in 2015, when he and Lilly visited Dallas.  They had a wedding reception to celebrate their love.  Lilly surprised us all by wearing her wedding dress; she had led us to believe that she didn’t have room in her suitcase for it!  Lucas hugged me like we were old friends; we had met on Skype, just like he had met Lilly.  We had messaged on Facebook.  Who cares that this was the first time that we stood face-to-face?  Lucas’s love wasn’t limited to people who were in the same room.

Lilly knew that Lucas had a chronic, terminal disease soon after she met him on Facebook.  At that time, she was in Dallas, Texas and he lived in Canberra, Australia.  He was very open about his medical issues.  I really loved his openness, and Lilly did, too.  His openness was part of what she fell in love with.  Anyway, his medical condition was such that he knew that he’s need an organ transplant within the next 10 years.  The heart wants what the heart wants.

And, Lilly knew that she could deal with hospitals.  She had been a photographer for Logan’s Legacy, a group of special people with huge hearts: they comfort grieving parents and take pictures of precious babies who never had a chance to experience the world.    Through this work, and seeing the parents who longed for even a few minutes with their children, Lilly understood that every moment is precious.  Even a few days with her beloved was worth any pain that she might experience.

And the prognosis for Lucas was at least 10 years; heck, with a transplant or two, he might outlive all of us.

Only, the doctors who said that, were wrong.  Lucas’s lungs were weak, and he applied for the transplant list last year.

And was denied.

His body was too weak for the operation and he might not survive it, the doctors said.  Plus, there aren’t enough organ donors.

Lucas could have curled up in a ball and lamented his fate.  Instead, he and Lilly set out on a quest to solicit more people to sign up for organ donation.  They volunteered to photograph anyone on the transplant list or who had transplants.  The plan was to compile the pictures into a coffee table book to raise funds for the cause.

But he was too sick.  He was in and out of the hospital.  He continued to ask how others were doing and to work as much as possible, whether at his day job nursing or his other job as photographer.  In every picture of him, whether taken by another photographer as a test shot or a selfie with his bride, he is smiling.  Rarely would he let the world know how much he was hurting.

Lilly tried to smile, too.  They were foster parents for kittens; they adopted a 3-legged dog; and they joked about how all the animals passed wind.

I can’t believe that vivacious young man is gone.  I can’t believe that the 10-year-minimum that he was supposed to have with Lilly, was cut so terribly short.  They had barely a year together as a married couple.

Even a day with one’s soul mate is worth any amount of pain, I’ve heard.  To have a year together, they were blessed.  And I would bet good money that Lilly would do it all over again.

You can read more about Lilly and Lucas (Mallie and Matt, to the rest of the world), in this article from a year ago (shared with permission from Mallie):  http://www.canberratimes.com.au/act-news/canberra-life/matt-and-mallie-taylor-to-hold-photoshoots-for-those-in-need-of-organ-donations-20160831-gr5ew5.html

If there is but one thing you get from this tragic love story, Lilly and Lucas would want it to be: Donate your organs.

For me, this story is also about carpe diem.  If you love someone, spend as much time with him/her as possible.  Savor the good times.  Laugh about cat farts in the bad times.  Smile as much as possible.  When you hurt, find a way to help others.

Lilly, I love you!

Cheers,

Jules

PS On Sunday, we will return to our regular programming.

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Everyone loves an Aussie Man!

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Lilly was a radiant bride!

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Lucas and me at the wedding reception.  (It had a Hawaiian theme, which is why he is wearing a lei.)

50 Shades of Naughty Nadia

 

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“Can you show me how to be a dominatrix?” Trixie’s email said.

I stared at it.  WTF, Sunshine?!  There are sooo many things wrong with that sentence.

The email continued, “John said that you offered to teach his wife, so he figured that you could teach me.  What should I do?”

I considered telling the bitch to fuck off.  Seriously.  But since I have a new Boy Toy and I’m getting laid on a regular basis, I decided to be nice.

Nice.  Shudder.  That’s like being, “Normal,” –not something I strive to be.

Ok, so I decided to be as nice as I could be.  Or, nicer than I could have been.

Fuck it, I hate labels.

I emailed her back, “Trixie, you and I are not friends.  I was friends with John’s wife, before he left her for you.  So while I could teach you how to dominate him, I will not being doing so.  Have a great day!”

That should have closed the topic.  As I see it, she asked for a favor.  I said no.  Aren’t people allowed to say no to favors?  After all, it is called, “Asking.”  Otherwise, it would be called, “Demanding.”  If someone demanded a favor from me, I might still say, “No.”  That’s how I fucking roll.

Deal with it, Trixie.

But she didn’t.  She pitched a temper tantrum.  Gee, with the name, “Trixie,” you would expect her to be so sweet & innocent!  Maybe she should’ve been named, “Salome.”

(Get it, Jules?  Too soon?)

John had been a friend of mine for years.  I tried to remain neutral when he and his ex went their separate ways, really—I didn’t call him a fucking cheater once.

Ok, maybe once.  We hugged it out.  But that’s a whole diff story.

So, to get my friend John off my back, I’ll help Trix out.  I have a feeling that she won’t be able to—how should I say it?—perform anyway.  Just look at step 1.

  1. As a dominatrix, you have to stand tall and own the room.  Who wants to listen to a timid mouse or a sweet pussy cat?  I’d eat them for lunch.  <whip-pow>
  2. Know what you plan to do, and have the key items close at hand.  I prefer silk ties to handcuffs (less abrasions) and a good blindfold.  Slaves always try to peek, but are secretly disappointed if they can.  Ever find out what you’re getting for Christmas, before Christmas day?  Ya, it’s like that.  You may really want what’s coming, but you wish that it had been a surprise.
  3. More props. Candle wax.  Ice cubes.  Clothes pins.    Ah, the fun that you can have with ordinary household items!  And the places that you can put them: nipples, lips, and…
  4. Talk the talk. A dom doesn’t ask, she tells, “You like that, don’t you?!  I said, YOU LIKE THAT!!”  Most people respond to that.  “Yes, Mistress!” is the correct reply.  Unless you’re doing it right – then they’ll be panting too hard to answer.  You can spank them for that, too—they’ll thank you later.
  5. Sensory deprivation. Blind folds and/or headphones cut off one or two senses, heightening the others.  Ever been alone in bed, and you hear a noise?  Every hair on your body stands on end.  You can feel the darkness around you.  Your heart beats faster, your ears strain to hear more while your eyes try desperately to make out the shapes around you?  Ya, it’s like that.  Only, better.
  6. Always, always, ALWAYS discuss things in advance. Some people get off on being humiliated, like, “You’re a very naughty boy!”  FYI, that turns me   Tell me I’m gorgeous, tell me I’m one of a kind, tell me I that you can’t stop thinking about my hot bod…mmmmmmm…. What were we talking about?
  7. Have a safe word. Like, DUH.  Some peeps like to mumble, “No, don’t, stop,” which might sound a lot like, “Don’t stop!”  Really, Chris, that’s what I heard–don’t blame me if you couldn’t sit down for a week.  (He liked it, really.)  If you have a safe word like, “New York,” or “Pineapple”—you know, things that you don’t normally say in bed—then there will be no question about when someone is calling a time out.
  8. Pro tip: if you’re going to use a gag, put a brightly colored ball in your lover’s hand. When he drops it, that means, “STOP NOW.”  I do recommend against ball gags; they’re dangerous.  And if you’re getting tips from me, you’re not ready for the big time, Trixie.
  9. Dress for Success: If you show up in your Mickey Mouse undies, your bottom (slave) isn’t likely to take you seriously.  Howevs, if you dress in leather or latex, then you are much more likely to get his attention.
  10. Surprises are for idiots. See rules number 6 and 7.  Also, if you show up in my bedroom wearing black leather and carrying a whip, I’m more likely to taser your ass then play along.  Unless your name is Professor Mercury and then…Hey, just kidding!  Jules called dibs!  Though he does sound yummy.  <wink>

If you’re serious and want to know more, there are websites that you can visit and movies to watch: 9 and a Half Weeks has some good ideas, though it breaks the last rule, so don’t follow it too closely.  Same with its sequel, Wild Orchid, and the book, The Story of O.  That last one has a really sick ending, spoiler alert, but some of it is good.

For the record, I didn’t read 50 Shades.  Shrug.  Why read it, when you can live it instead?

BDSM = Bondage, Domination, Sado-Masochistism.  Sadists get off on causing people pain, while masochists get off on receiving the pain.  Eh, to each his own.  I’m more of a heightened-pleasure kinda gal.  If you’re having fun, and I’m having fun, let’s do it some more.  Real pain or real blood—no thank you.

There, Trixie, quit your bitching.  And FYI, John has a foot fetish.  Let him paint your toenails, put on a tall pair of heels, and he’ll lick your toes.  He’ll be moaning in ecstasy before he gets to the last little piggie.

Oh, he didn’t tell you all that?  There, I did you a favor without you even having to ask.  You’re welcome.

John, see that?  I was nice.  Are you happy?  No, wait—You are happy now.  Because I said so.  <whip pow>

Pass the whiskey.

I’m filling in for Jules while she’s studying for her final Final.  That is, her last Final Exam of her Graduate school career.  To hear her tell it, it’s like scaling Mount Everest.  Good luck, Jules—knock ‘em dead!  Or, break a slide rule—uh, whatever, we know you can do it!  —Naughty Nadia

Lovers in Dallas

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The Dallas World Aquarium, pictures in the park, and video blogging: it’s going to be a fun filled weekend!

And like the picture implies, there may be some smoochin’ too 😉

Sandy Oranges is driving 917 miles to see *me*!  And there’s not even a beach nearby that he can use as an excuse 😉  He left Destin, Florida for Dallas, Texas to see me!  Woot!

“Hey There Delilah” by The Plain White T’s,  “A thousand miles seems pretty far, but they’ve got planes and trains and cars, and I’d walk to you if I had no other way…”  Queue The Pretenders,  “I would walk a Thousand Miles.”

Seriously, this is how Sandy and I have been texting each other all week: song dedications and current events. Most of which are, “I miss you,” and “Just __ more days!” And now it’s a mere number of hours!

I promise to post picts no later than Monday. I may be a bit busy between now and then 😉

If you only had 2 days to spend with your lover in Dallas, what would you do?

Cheers!