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

Another Chapter Done ...

Hey Hey, 

What a week. Could I cram any more in? Me thinks not. But I will sure as hell give it a good go this week as well. I should probably explain myself really shouldn't I?

At Lunch last Monday, discussion turned to how rough I looked leaving the Friday beforehand, all in haste with a cup under my chin to catch any vomit and a taxi-cab awaiting me I was certainly far from feeling my perky self. Still not feeling great I knew I would have to come back to work at some point, and there is only so much lolling around on the couch that one can do when ill. So there I was, in the canteen I had come to know and love. A real home from home. I had encountered my first flings with Mr. Warehouse in that room, a few near arguments with others and even a rare heart to heart with Mr. CWG. 

But now my conversations with Mr. CWG were more job related and as such were directed at a position that had become available literally across the road from our Depot in Kempston. You see, Mr. CWG drinks with the owner of the establishment in his Local in Marston Mortaine, and just so happened to mention that they were recruiting for a position similar to what I am doing now as a Service Desk Coordinator for a security and alarms company. Taking the opportunity, I called the offices and asked for some more details. Twenty-minutes or so later I had sent over my CV and by the end of the day they had asked me to come in for a chat after work. Not expecting this at all I trundled over the road after finishing work, hoping no-one from my office would notice and enquire as to where I was going. Thinking it was just a chat I hadn't braced myself for a full blown interview in the offices. I aced it, and despite my deepest apologies for being still slightly infected and wearing Black Button UGG Boots to an interview I didn't know was an interview, less than forty-eight-hours later they offered me the job. 

Dumbfounded I just stared at my screen on Wednesday afternoon, unable to speak. What had I done!? Suddenly I felt my legs become jelly and my stomach drop out of my belly. Was I about to do this? Looking through the contract they had sent over I quickly worked out that the salary would mean I would be better off by about seventy British pounds every month. "But was that enough? Was it worth it? Was it really deserving of leaving all of this behind?" I thought to myself. Immediately I called Mr. Warehouse and as soon as he answered he said what I wanted to tell him. It was like he could read my mind or something. Weirdo! However the boyfriend was less than useful when it came to discussing what I was going to do and how my options now looked. My dearest Mr. Warehouse is not one for talking things through and would have probably rather me just drop it in conversation along the lines of "So this weekend we are doing this and that weekend were somewhere else and Oh I got a new job and did you know were fresh out of Ketchup?"

Confused I called my Dad that night, hoping I might be able to get some more sense from him. Slightly better than Mr. Warehouse, my Dad was positive and I took away from our conversation that no matter how much I had been belittled, patronised and scrutinised throughout the last few months - I still had it. Although ever the realist Dad proposed the facts that I needed to really consider. What happens if I get sacked? What happens if I don't like it? What happens if I can't do it? All these things running through my head, coupled with the mere fact that seventy-quid is not a lot of money to leave a permanent job role I have been cushy in for over two-and-a-half-years I was seriously frazzled. But my early night made no impact on how I felt and whilst the morning always brings with it a new light to see something in, I was severely tired and needed to start thinking quickly about what my decision would be. 

Speaking with yet more close friends and family including Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb, Miss Hackney and Miss Sugarcoat (yet another close work colleague I have yet to introduce you all too), the reoccurring subject line was that whilst the money was not great in terms of moving, seventy-pounds a month extra was still an extra seventy-pounds a month I didn't have last week and wont have next week. The thesis was that if I was unable to progress where I was in earning more money or more responsibility to be taken more seriously then it should be time to move. I had been considering it for a long while and with the current situation I found myself in I couldn't think of a better time to make the leap. 

Besides I had always said to myself there was never any point in learning to drive whilst I was at my old job, simply because affording a car and living alone, or even with someone would be a stretch if not impossible to do. I enjoyed my luxuries too much and I suppose with this new move I can not only afford the lifestyle I love so much, but also keep up with a car as well. The opportunities are endless and as Miss Sugarcoat put it herself - I am full worth the twenty-four-plus annual salary I am asking for, but it would seem a little odd to go form earning just under eighteen to another five-thousand-pounds a year in one jump. I need to make baby steps and work my way up to a salary I can not only live comfortably and happily on, but also a salary I can start to build a future on, a family and a home life. 

But on the other hand it will be ever so devastating when I do go. As I said at the top of this weeks post, its my home from home. So much has changed since I walked through those doors in April 2013. It was where I saw out my last days with Mr. Cheese (so glad you could make it, long time no see), went on to have some awful dates including Mr. Rockclimber, Mr. Krusty and countless other Mr's that didn't make the grade. Mere months into my probation period I met Mr. Warehouse and from then onwards spent many, many a dark rainy night cuddling in the canteen, away from the prying eyes of his family whom he worked alongside. Our love blossomed in those walls, out from the tea stained floors and breeze block walls came something that I now cherish so deep. Not only that but I have all my work family there and all the wonderful people that I see sometimes not for weeks or months at a time but all in the knowledge that I honestly love them all. Crazy cousins from sales, my office sharing sisters-from-other-misters, weird uncles from other divisions and even my embarrassing office Dad and Grandad. 

I will miss everyone so, so much. Miss Sugarcoat and Miss Hackney and Miss Gravy all but to name only a few. Some of whom I never spoke about on my Blog and others I am glad frankly to see the back of. My engineers whom I deal with on a daily basis, calling up and handing out jobs, asking how the wife and the kids are, sending out Birthday and Christmas cards, sending treats at Easter and Christmas also, all in which I have got to know so very, very well. Even my sales reps, who annoy the fucks out of me on an almost weekly basis, some more than others of course. Again I have wheedled my way into their lives as they have with mine, sharing in every detail of their holidays, families and moments, good and bad. All of them will be missed though, for we are a little family, a unit and a force to be reckoned with on a night out! Speaking of which ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx