Fifty Shades Finished ...

Evening, 

Sitting in the cinema, work colleagues surrounding me I felt emotional as the last few scenes played out on the big screen. This was a massive part of my life. It had been here for so long. I had read the books, Imagined my Christian and I his Ana. I had witnessed the terrible first movie and how, hooked and in need of a giggle I continued onto the Box Office for the second and third instalment. But now it was over. The end of an era and time maybe to say goodbye once and for all. 

Back in 2012, admits a gut-wrenchingly messy break-up with Mr. Workaholic I took complete solace in reading the trilogy of books by E. L James; 'Fifty Shades of Grey', 'Fifty Shades Darker' and 'Fifty Shades Freed'. It seems like so long ago I struggle to remember what it was like reading them, although I know already a part of me is hesitant to return to such a dark place in my past. Those books shaped my being, gave me structure and when everything else failed helped me realise that there was life after heart-break, even if it was sleazy and smutty. 

After being gifted 'Fifty Shades of Grey by Miss Tweedle-Dee I began reading a matter of weeks after Mr. Workaholic left what was to be our family home one day. I was hooked. It was my escape and at every given opportunity I would dive straight back into it. I couldn't put it down. On the Bus. On the Train. In the Weight Watchers Class. At work and At home. Like the rest of the nation, I was enraptured by Christian and his Red Room of Pain! Written as part of an original Twilight fan fiction I soon completely immersed myself in the world of Mr. Christian Grey and Miss Anastasia Steele. When I wasn't found drinking away my sorrows with friends of a weekend back home in Dunstable and Luton, or at sneaking out of work on a break to call Mr. Woof just to get him off, I would be found with my head in those books; escaping in any way I could from my own reality. 

As things got easier with my break-up with Mr. Workaholic, I soon rekindled a somewhat telephonic and long-distance relationship with Mr. Woof, (to which he has now earned his name) and in a round about way, gave me back some power and control I had since lost. In past blog posts I have written about how control and domination has been something of interest for me since I was a teenager, with rough play and borderline BDSM being a sticking point in many of my previous relationships. When E. L. James hit the big time with the trilogy of clit-flicks Fifty Shade of Grey, Fifty Shades Darker and Fifty Shades Freed, I was left wanting more. So when the films were announced to be released in cinemas I like many a red-blooded women was screaming in pleasure and joy at seeing Willies on the size on iMAX screens. Since then however, some idiot decided to turn the whole thing into a shoddily thrown together movie of the first book whereby we learnt that the cast hate each other, the director and the author hate each other and how much tits, bums and fannies get airtime in films that were made for women who like cock. 

Anyway that was Media Student me popping out to say hello, One minute whilst I beat her back into her fluffy-handcuffs. 

I suppose in a way the concept of BDSM had always been in the back of my mind, a taboo idea reserved only for a trusting relationship of which I found myself without. But I always liked the thought of being in control and in charge. I tried it once. Once! 

Cast your minds back everyone to my post entitled "A Midsummer Night's Disaster!" in which I truly thought that this would be a good time to implement my inner dominatrix. Suffice to say that attempting kinky sex with a drunk man whom you do not know the name of and have brought home for the night is not a good idea at all. My excuse was that I was a lost little soul who had just found out the love of her life was not reciprocating the feeling. I think we all know the ending to that story so I shall not relive it again. Looking back now it was a step too far and one which was taken in hast with the prospect of getting over my first and possibly only true love, at least that is what I thought at the time, unbeknownst to me that I would meet the quirky Mr. Cheese, The flash-in-the-pan that was Mr. Coffee and oh-so lovable Mr. Warehouse not to mention some of the other odd-balls I dated. 

Needless to say that I was happy with the (NSA) No Strings Attached heated phone-calls I received in the dead of the night from Mr. Woof. Some of them were when he was stoned. Some of them were when he was drunk. Some of them were even when he was at work himself. When I talk about it like that it seems as though he was using me to the highest of advantages; abusing the trust and vulnerability of an old friend. But I was as much to blame in that as Mr. Woof was. I wanted and needed attention. I craved it. I was lacking from all areas of life and was bruised by recent events, so I did what any normal girl would in that scenario and go back to what was familiar and comforting to me and that was Mr. Woof. Yes we had an odd relationship from the moments we would sneak off to a quiet corridor in school or the after school stolen sessions on the meadow fooling around in the sun. I was always his secret and now I didn't mind that so much as I wasn't ready for commitment but still needed that yearning attention and to get back some sort of control on my life. Even to this day I don't think that Mr. Woof really knew the power he had over me and how he made everything seem better in those stormy, cloudy days. I needed a little something I could dip into as and when I wanted. My honey pot of self-discovery and self-obsession. A confidence boost that extended far further than sexual gratification. Ahh yes, it was "A Dogs Life" after all. 

And as I left that cinema seat, another film over and done with, I felt sad for the ending of something that had brought me such fun, laughter and naughtiness over the last six or so years. And all for seeing a crumby movie about bondage. 


'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Getting Back On The Horse!

Hello one and all, 

So after the debacle of last week I am slightly feeling better although I am fully aware that my Cystitis is still raging my downstairs mix-up and creating more hassle than its worth. I have the day off tomorrow though so I am hoping now my course of Antibiotics have finished I can go back and they can finally get to the bottom of why this is such a chronic issue for me. As another week has come and gone, yet another drama unfolds. Would it surprise you in the slightest if I told you that my absolutely lovely Mr. Warehouse has yet another job. Yes. I know. 

Meeting me after work on Tuesday en route to my second job I saw a solomn face that said something was wrong. Worried Mr. Warehouse was about to put us right back to square one, I asked why the long face. He explained that after finishing his job that afternoon and despite being told that he would be needed all week at the Steelworks, he had been told on Tuesday afternoon as he finished that his services were not required tomorrow and that they would be in touch if and when they did need him. Heart sinking and feeling the all too familiar now sickness return to the back of my throat I swallowed the anger and resentment and told him I loved him. "It would get better, wouldn't it?" I soothed myself. "I mean it has to right? Can't get much worse - Can it?"

"Come on then, be honest, there must be a reason why they would give everyone else work and not you. Just tell me. I wont be angry. I promise." I asked my beloved other-half. 
"I don't know. I really don't have a clue." He replied, puzzled. "Unless it was the fact that some women asked me to cut two-hundred-and-forty sheets of Steel and I cut two-hundred-and-forty-three as otherwise there would have been a lot of excess waste."
Disappointed I tried to hide it as I said to him that he needs to listen carefully to instructions and follow them by the book exactly or this will keep happening. 
"If this women has asked for two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's then she wants two-hundred-and-forty sheets of metal cut into heart-shaped dildo's! If she wants them rammed up her arse - She wants them rammed up her arse, no questions asked." I said trying to be empathetic although lacking slightly through frustration and anger. 

Arriving into town, we departed the bus and headed towards the call centre. After making several phone calls to the agencies in town that were still open with no luck I had said it would be a good idea to come with me to my place of work and enquire if they were still hiring as they may have been able to interview him there and then on the spot. Although Mr. Warehouse clearly had other ideas as he kissed me on the cheek and headed for the bus back home to the flat. 
"What are you doing?" I asked, confused. 
"I'm going home. I can't do this right now. I'm so sick and tired of this!" Mr. Warehouse flippantly said, unaware at just how close I was to boiling point. 
"What, and you really think I enjoy going to work every single evening at a call centre I am not even reaping the rewards from?" I simmered, although cooling myself enough to convince him to come with me and give it a go. 

No more than a few steps into our ten-minute walk to the call centre I heard moaning. 
"Well its not like you support me anyway is it?" Mr. Warehouse snapped. And with that phrase, so did I. Launching into Defcon-10, I ranted about how much love and support I have tried to muster over the last few weeks, all in the knowledge that my wages alone couldn't support us, especially not when we have a wedding to go to this weekend which we have barely anything saved for and my annual summer holiday with the girls which I again barely have a two-cent coin to run together let alone any spending money for Euros. Rant continuing after Mr. Warehouse had explained that 'its not what I meant - I meant financially' sent me into overdrive and I launched even further stating that given another week or two and it would be yours truly picking up his credit card bill and all other manor of bills he has. 

Boil over I arrived at work and sat on the wall outside looking into the storm in the distance. It began to rain. I thought about how it would ever get better if there is no motivation, confidence or skill to be had. I couldn't keep doing this. Was this it? Was this how it was all going to end? Would I be in a fortnight or so's time asking Mr. Warehouse to move out and calling an end to our relationship? What about all those horrible dates on Tinder? Who would I have pillow fights with at four-in-the-afternoon or tickle before I go to sleep? 

Worried I went to work and returned home in a zombie like state, going about the motions until it was time for bed. Someone was hungry but all I could think about was the fact that my boyfriend was yet again unemployed and in that very moment I could feel myself detach from him slightly and a little light in me went out. Scared for our future together and what may be round the next corner I struggled to sleep as the stiffness of an angry-jobless penis stuffed into my lower back, its owner oblivious to how it felt to be skewered like a shish kebab.  

The following morning I got dressed and ready for work, sighing as I looked at my sleeping Beau, only to feel the same as the night before. Grey. Leaving the house I was hopeful that something would come up, but all in the knowledge that the Xbox was still on standby. But I need not have worried so much, for by the time I sat down at my desk with my breakfast and morning coffee I had a email. It was Mr. Warehouse. He had a phone-call from the Agency and they had asked him to come it to do a drugs test as they may have got him a placement for a Temp-Perm contract at a Pharmaceuticals company. The same Pharmaceuticals company my doting father works at. Nervous and worried he wouldn't pass I encouraged him to be honest with them as to what he had taken medication wise in the last four-weeks and just get down to their town-centre offices to do the test. 

Couple of hours later I had the phone-call I had been waiting for. 
"I start tomorrow" Mr. Warehouse said down the phone in an excited and yet relieved tone. I was so proud of him. He had passed all his Math, English and Drugs test with flying colours and was now a fully fledged member of the temporary team working the daytime shift, aptly named 'The Golden Ticket' as it starts at 7am and your finished by 3pm - Perfect for parents, second-jobbers and lazy-bums alike. And with picking and packing it shouldn't be the hardest thing my little employee has had to do. I was absolutely over-the-moon for him and so was everyone around me, for I had turned into such a stress-head when Mr. Warehouse didn't have a job. 

Now sure, money would be tight, and will be at least for a few weeks until we are back from the wedding in Newquay. I still have no idea how we are going to pay for everything, but I am sure we will manage. What was that old nineteen-fifties saying I swear by: Make Do and Mend? Well I have made a couple of the wedding gifts and I have mended some bits and pieces together so hopefully we can still have a lovely time, just on a bit of a budget. I have numerous vouchers, discount codes and coupons clipped and stored away for meals out and cheap and cheerful days out. A combination of Sea Safari's, Aquariums, Long Beach Walk and Pirate Museums have me very excited to visit Cornwall - I have even convinced Mr. Warehouse to come horse-riding with me.

In all honesty I am actually really looking forward to going away with Mr. Warehouse who I am still proud to call my boyfriend. He may be a pain in the arse sometimes and we may row every now and again, but who doesn't. Here's hoping that Newquay will be just the break to rekindle our love for each other and that I can get back that little light that went out. I just hope he really see's just how much I have done for us and just how close to the edge we were from falling. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx 

Breaking Down Over Breakdowns!

Bonjour, 

So after last weekend's fun and frolicking I felt as though I needed a weekend at home in my flat. With washing piling up alongside the washing up and numerous household chores to do I knew that although I should probably make some time to see my granddad, especially after recent events last weekend. 

And after a cosy Friday night and all day Saturday days lounging around on the sofa and watching crap telly with Mr. Warehouse I decided to get off me' bum and meet the Tweedle's in Bedford town centre for some Coffee and Cake. As all four of us pottered round town we became bored with window shopping and Mr. Warehouse lead us all to a wonderful little Ice-Cream Parlour in one of the many back streets and alley ways. Upon entering The Gallones Ice Cream Emporium I felt a huge pressure from all the wonderful flavours. From Salted Caramel to Blueberry Muffin I was overwhelmed by flavours, toppings and sauces not to mention the waffles and crepes. So when making my choice I felt it was only right to kick off the five-week countdown to mine and Mr. Warehouse's holiday to Lyon with a crepe, sprinkled with toffee fudge pieces, drizzled in warm caramel sauce, squirted two cream-puff flowers and blobbed two big scoops of ice-cream; One Tiramisu and the other Espresso Choc-Chip all topping a warm and folded crepe. Haha, if that isn't food porn I don't know what is! 

After indulging ourselves more than we should do before a weigh in the following morning I suggested given the fact it was raining something horrible, that we all go back to my place and warm up with some hot chocolate and a good old Disney Film. All in agreement we set off and bundled into Miss Tweedle-Dumb's little blue car. After switching on the engine and pulling off as normal there was a massive "Clunk". Stopping the car, we all got out and looked around the car. Had we blown a tyre? Had we just ran over an empty bottle that had popped? Had we hit something? Nothing seemed to be amiss, until that is Mr. Warehouse found a piece of metal in the shape of a horseshoe left in the lonely car parking space we had just vacated. Theorising that it had just come off the car there was nothing left to do but to give the little motor a thorough whizz round the multi-story. Realising that there was now a clunky, tick noise coming from the front axle every time the car turned left or right I had said that the best thing to do would be drive it back to mine, park it up and call breakdown. 

Chucking it down with rain we finally arrived at my abode and whilst my besties fretted over how they would get home and what the state of the driver would be who would come to recover them, Mr. Warehouse scaled the car for any other further damage and generally tried to look as manly as can be, which is not exactly hard given his stature. Finally admitting defeat we all scrambled inside and up the four flights of stairs to my penthouse apartment. Offering everyone teas and coffees and generally everything to warm us all up and lift our moods. Calling the breakdown company, Miss Tweedle-Dumb was told it would take anywhere between ninty-minutes and two-hours for someone to come and rescue them. Fortunately they weren't stranded on the roadside of the A6 in the pouring rain. happy for their company for a few more hours than expected we settled in for natter and some crappy background TV. But as the hours past there was still no pick up. Calling numerous times I could see Mr. Warehouse giving me the eyes as if to say he was wasting away, but with my friends almost on the brink of going home to their own dinners I put off cooking mine and Mr. Warehouse's just yet. That was until gone seven in the evening, more than three hours after Miss Tweedle-Dumb called the RAC Breakdown people. 

After much persuasion from Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee I decided to start cooking, asking them both constantly if they were hungry or cold or thirsty. I wanted them, like everyone who visits me at home to feel happy and content and comfortable, even if the situation is made worse by silly corporate giants with no human empathy. Soon enough the boredom kicked in and after the usual thing my friends and I do to pass the time culminating in rummaging through my sex toys, reading extracts of my teenage diaries and playing Pictionary as well as the obvious - Dancing round mops like were in Magic Mike XXL which we recently went to go and see (Absolutely incredible! Take a spare pair of knickers, you will need it after this film! Everyone must get up right now and go and see it. Man, women, dog, chicken, lamp-post, you all need to enrich your lives by seeing Channing Tatum getting down and dirty to a song that sings about the cookie monster!). 

Finally after much minute using, argument infusing, stress taking, call-centre-shouting, and near-to-tear spilling hours (nine to be precise) my little Tweedles were off home. All of our evenings wasted to some extent. But I suppose on a lighter note, we all got to spend some QT with each other and out of all of this my dear friend Miss Tweedle-Dumb can now get lots of compensation for the horrendous way she was treated and as a warning to those whom find themselves under a motorway lamp reading this in the rain as you too have broken down somewhere cold, rainy and wet - Don't buy breakdown cover with the RAC!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx