Silly Mouth!

Well Hello There, 

So another week and yet more blissful romances have continued with my dear Mr. Cheese, that as until my ridiculous mouth said something it wasn't meant to...

I looked at the clock. It was nearly quarter-past four on a Friday afternoon and in a few moments it would finally be home time. As I shutdown and cleared down my desk for the weekend I knew that it wouldn't be long until I was rattling down the tracks to Mr. Cheese. Luckily enough I even ended up bagging a lift to the station from one of my work colleagues who lived nearby so grabbing my bag I jumped in the car and off we went. Its funny how I didn't seem to realise just how busy rush hour gets the closer you get to London on a Friday evening. Irrespective of this I still took up four seats on the train with my bags and coats and worldly possessions for the weekend ahead. Safe to say I don't travel light!

Arriving into King's Cross I speedily whizzed around looking for a less busy ticket kiosk but everywhere was manic with tourists and business people, families and general busy-bodies alike, all searching for a platform or information or like me, a ticket machine for the Underground. Finally I found one but oh wait; My card has decided to have a disagreement with the machine and so after spending a few years in the queue, several minutes reordering my tickets and annoying the forty-odd commuters and travellers behind me I went to go join another queue where a real person could help me. My card ironically worked and after an hour of wandering around looking for a ticket I eventually got one. Now for a coffee and boy did I need one! 

As I skipped off to the Underground, coffee in hand I felt my stomach rumble for something more than just an expensive beverage. I was glad that Mr. Cheese was making me dinner, even if it was all alien to me. I mean Mr. Ginge helped me cook but never took the full reins and Mr. Workaholic, well, I can hardly count chicken dinosaurs and potato smiles is hardly a romantic meal is it? Arriving into West London once more I was greeted by a warm yet slightly damp Mr. Cheese. Typical British weather. It was raining. As we let ourselves in he informed me that we were having a feast of local butchers chicken breasts stuffed with Italian buffalo mozzarella wrapped in cured Parma ham with a side of homemade seasoned fries, carrots and broccoli all coated in a rustically prepared-from-scratch white wine jus. Impressive I know. Sounds like Michelin star dining when I put it like that. And as we sat down to eat at the shiny black glass dinner table in his kitchen I thought to myself whilst being poured another glass of wine by a gleaming, gorgeous Mr. Cheese "Wow, this one is a keeper!" 

After dinner was the game. Of football. Now everyone will know I am no sports fan, as a matter of fact I am the furthest from a sports fan. London hosted the 2012 Olympics last year and the whole world watched as I avoided watching TV for fear of getting out of breath just looking at people doing sports. But somehow I have found that sports, football in particular can be very, very entertaining and by the end of the game I was holding my breath and getting excited just as much as Mr. Cheese was. I suppose what made it better was the build up of sexual tension as I unknowingly stroked Mr. Cheese's thighs and felt along his arms which were tightly wrapped around me as we cuddled watching in awe at 11 overly-paid men run around and kick a ball.

What followed was an evening of passion, one that is best kept under wraps. One thing is for sure though and that is after a few weeks of figuring out each others sexual excites and pleasures it seems that Miss Tweedle-Dumb was right. The sex does get better. Once all the anxiety is lost and the pressure is stripped away (no pun intended) there is just left two people that fancy some fun, and what better way than to get your rocks off with someone who fancies the pants off you ... quiet literally! Saturday morning again was 'orgasmic' in a way that I have never felt before up until then. Somehow Mr. Cheese has an uncanny ability to make me want him, even when he is getting dressed. After sectioning myself to the corner of the bedroom we were both finally dressed and ready to have breakfast out at a posh restaurant on the local high street near Mr. Cheese's flat. Smooth small talk and conversation bubbled across the breakfast table whilst we both gazed into each others eyes longingly although unbeknown to me something was brewing. Something big ...

Rushing, Mr. Cheese and I paced down the steps to London Victoria's Underground station. We both knew we might be a little late to our appointments that afternoon. As the two tubes stormed into the platforms we quickly hugged and said our goodbyes. It was at this point it spilled out. 

I meant to say something nice and sweet and lovely, something that I say to Mr. Cheese all the time because there are no other words to say how I feel. And then. Out of no-where. Like a freight train it comes steaming out my chest and through my mouth but before I have a chance to cover my lips it escapes ... I Love You. Fuck! Everything slows down and for a few seconds I wonder what just happened. He turns to walk away and I pray to God that he didn't hear that profanity. I had promised myself I wouldn't say it. Not until I'm ready. Not until the moment is right. 'And Victoria Tube Station was not the right time mouth!' I scolded  myself. As I stepped inside the closing doors of the tube I wondered how I may tell my children about 'Love' one day. 

"Mommy, How do you know when to say I Love You?" my children will ask me. And what shall I tell them - "Well my child. When your in a stuffy, crowded Underground station in the middle of London. When your cooking alive because your wearing seven layers plus a coat, scarf and gloves. When your standing across from the man you have been nurturing feelings for ever since you went to the wrong damn bridge on your first date. When both of you are finally ready to depart one anothers company and there is seconds to spare before the tube doors shut and your left stranded on the station. That's when my dear. That's when you say I Love You. Then you turn, curse yourself for saying it and continue beating yourself up about it all weekend hoping that, despite your love-interest saying that he didn't hear, a little part of you wonders if he secretly did." Yes. Sounds about right. 

So as I made my way to the hairdressers to have a fringe cut into my long locks that I had been growing for nearly three-years I wondered how Mr. Cheese's journey was, en route to volunteer at a local Charity. Auuhh! I had tried so hard and convinced myself that I didn't feel that strongly for him, fooling myself into understanding it was just infatuation and smitteness with something or someone new. But maybe this is my sub-conscience telling me that in actual fact I do. Do I? I mean I have come around to the idea that it is now beyond sex and there are the foundations for something special. Mr. Cheese has had a lot of me and my life to deal with and he still wants to spend time with me. My family adore him and my friends are just as besotted as I am but is it Love? 

Well if that isn't enough I am sure that this weekend will be a sticky one. I am meeting some of Mr. Cheese's closest friends. Friends of his I might add that are under the impression that we are an item. Boyfriend. Girlfriend. Item. Question is, by the time Sunday evening rolls around will I? Or will Mr. Cheese explain to his friends that we are simply "friends"? Will I be friend-zoned? What will I be telling you all next week? Oh, Silly Mouth! How I love you so.

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx