Evening Guys,
On closing my eyes I have somehow been transported to a district that I have never been to before. Down a single country Lane surrounded by trees and bushes and on the opposite side of the road to where I was stood I could see the rolling countryside and disappearing sun. Mr. Warehouse appeared soon after and we entered the Cottage-Barn type venue to have a look around. Looking around however I couldn't help but get the feeling that we were either being watched or preyed upon. As my fiance and I wandered around the dark wood stained walls and buildings, I felt myself constantly looking over my shoulder. It wasn't long before I saw him. Mr. Workaholic.
Making some sort of excuse I left Mr Warehouse to look around the remaining of the buildings and out houses, following Mr Workaholic into a quieter area of the estate I asked him rather frantically what an earth he thought he was doing here.
"I needed to see you" He muttered, hushed so as not to be discovered.
"I am a engaged woman now and you have no right turn up here - What were you thinking?" I demanded, terrified about Mr Warehouse made come along and think that something was going on when it was not. As Mr. Workaholic took me further away from my husband to be, my Ex and I snuck around the lush gardens, fountains and water features of the grounds. Mr Workaholic continued his soliloquy saying that he was unable to let me go ahead with the wedding.
"This should have been somewhere that we would have been at time at the knot, not you and someone else. I cant let you go through with this - Please lets try again?" Mr Workaholic cooed. This was beginning to get dangerous as I could feel myself getting hotter as the moments passed. I continued to feel as though I was cheating on Mr Warehouse even though I had done nothing wrong. Just being in the same company and presence as Mr Workaholic was just as potent as before and as time went on talking about how we used to be I struggled to keep my cool.
And as I walked closely with Mr Workaholic through the dark Forest like environment I wondered why. Why now huh?! Why would he choose this moment or this time in my life when I am happy and settled, ready to start a new beginning with someone to come back into my life and want to start again. It was Mr Workaholic that ended it all between us! Now don't get me wrong it wasn't a relationship that ended badly in the sense that there was infidelity or anything, just that Mr. Workaholic felt there was more out there than me and he wanted to find it all out. As we stopped walking amongst some trees, Mr. Workaholic turned to me and asked me to leave it all behind. As the raging battle inside my head continued, I try to reason with myself. Yes Mr. Workaholic was a brilliant lover back in the day, the best maybe - or so I thought at the time. But I have to remember that Mr. Workaholic was also the same person that left me screaming and begging in absolute turmoil as he drove away, leaving me in the home you used to share with a shattered life and a broken heart. I felt so stupid. Why should I be getting emotionally involved in something that had ended over six years ago? My memoirs started to flood back and were a stark and brutally honest reminder of how things genuinely used to be - Play fights that got out of hand, annoying each other and Mr. Workaholic putting me down or making horrid comments about me - Something Mr Warehouse would never do. But there were also laughs and giggles and happiness.
"I am an engaged woman and I'm happily in a relationship where I mean something to someone and I to them. I cant just throw it all away like you did." I said, appalled at the notion I had been wanting for so long all them years ago. Mr. Workaholic decided to call it off in late Spring, nearly seven years ago and I suppose I never really got over it totally but it was those darker thoughts and feelings I was desperately trying to cling on to so as to hold off the passion and lust I still felt raging up inside me. But it was too much. Reasoning and promising me that things would be different this time, Mr. Workaholic leaned in closer and we passionately kissed. Shocked, horrified and stunned I backed away and surprised myself by saying "OK"
I needed to let my fiance know that the wedding was off and the engagement was over. Finding my way back to the dark wood stained barn I found Mr Warehouse wondering where I was standing around and waiting for me. I felt awful as I left Mr Workaholic in the shadows, but not nearly as awful as I would feel having to go through with what I was about to do. An emotionally charged goodbye ensued with me explaining it that it was simply not Mr Warehouse that was to blame and that this was something that I had selfishly wanted for some time.
"I love you" I said as I left, saying goodbye to the same distraught and heartbroken face that I knew only too well.
Returning to Mr Workaholic I wondered if I have done the right thing by going back to him. It had not worked once before and would give good reason to it not working again second time around. Nevertheless I pushed all of this to the back of my mind as I left Mr Warehouse to gather his things to leave. Hours seemed to woosh past in a rush of excitement and giddiness. Yet I felt like there was something ever so foreboding. Something was not right. Then suddenly I knew. Standing with bags packed and ready to go in Mr Workaholic's girlie white hatchback I knew I couldn't do this. Running all the way back to the almost black, wood-stained barn I found Mr Warehouse packing his bags and ready to leave, tail well and truly between his legs. And like in some kind of Hollywood movie I ran and embraced Mr. Warehouse as hard as I could never to let go again. Kissing and holding each other I began apologising and telling Mr. Warehouse that it will never happen again that he was the only one; The one and only for me.
It was not long after this that I suppose I awoke from it all. In the knowledge that it was just a weird dream, almost nightmarish in its approach that I was unable to wake from. In my half-sleep-slumber I was forced to live up to the reality of my subconscious thoughts. Although in reality it was a Monday morning and Mr Warehouse was in no mood to be hearing of my fantastical dreams, no matter how scarily thought provoking or poignant. I suppose I will save that for another day ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Showing posts with label Lust. Show all posts
Showing posts with label Lust. Show all posts
Monday, 29 October 2018
Monday, 22 June 2015
Material Girl
Hi everyone,
So last week we heard some extracts from my Diary as a Teenager, something I like to think of as the beginnings of my writing career, if you can even call it that. I have decided that on the odd occasion I am going to share some more of my prepubescent ideas and philosophies with you all as I think that they are both hilarious and ridiculous. Let me know if you would like to hear more from Little 'Baby Moi'!
So this week I had a old friend from college write to me about some issues he was having with his group of lads and how whilst he knew in himself he was being silly and jealous of the situation he found himself in he still couldn't shake these feelings of insecurity and anxiety surrounding him and the circle of friends he was in. Honoured that he thought of coming to me I tried to comfort him in a way that would make sense of the situation and allow him to come to his own determinations on what to do. But this got me thinking about jealousy and insecurity with myself.
Now its a rare thing (Some would say even more rare than rocking-horse shit) that I am one of those girls that is always whining about being too fat, too thin, too short, too tall. I am in most respects happy with my body but there are many hundreds upon thousands of things that people get jealous and anxious over. For example; I am at one with my body and love it for all the amazing things it helps me to do everyday even though I despise its wobbles every time I step into the changing rooms of the local High Street Stores. The fact I am far from the size I was in High School makes me doubt in myself sometimes, making me a timid, quiet mouse from my usual grand, Lioness self. With body anxiety and problems surrounding appearances and aesthetics comes the feelings of low self esteem and the desperate longing for something that is in many cases unobtainable immediately. A full bust, tiny waist and curvy silhouette is what every girl wants and whilst some have it, others don't and to get something even close to what is deemed perfect by most peoples eyes is either with a knife, drugs or with a whole heap of hard work, many of us choosing the first options over sweating like a pig at the gym.
For some people however it is about the material things in life rather than a cracking body, shiny hair or flawless skin. Money talks but so do people and the more money, power or fame someone has the more other people envy them. I can also be very materialistic and whilst I think that this has improved a lot since I was younger I know it is still a mammoth part of who I am. I know that in many ways the lifestyle I want for my future will never be something I can realistically achieve alone. I will need a hard working partner in crime with a good job and and a salary to match. As for myself I want to be a high earner. I want to afford my children a holiday every year to somewhere exciting. I want them aged twelve or thirteen to be enrolled in one of the best private schools that the local areas has to provide and to come home to a wonderfully decorated and well-maintained home, complete with all mod-cons. I want a nice shiny car and Christmases to be filled with presents, family and laughter. But I know in some respects that mine and my husbands combined income would have to be in the region of £50,000.00 per year.
I know in myself feel that, as with the last section and the one before that, I can be arrogant, selfish and egotistical one moment and the next being completely insecure in my body and how I look. Same being with finances, money and material items, I can be wanting of a long list of lustful items, not realising how lucky I am to have what I already possess.
But it should never really matter about these thing should they? We all should be so very grateful for what we have, besides whilst there are some people above us on the food chain that have much, much more that you or I, there are also some people that have nothing at all. And as I close off this week I leave with you a thought that here in Bedfordshire, the lush and somewhat affluent areas of the Home Counties, as it rains intermittently, there are still people with no home to go to. No family or friends to confide in or seek advice. No food to settle their growling bellies. No money to buy new shoes. Nothing. We all should be thankful for what we have. You never know how close you are from slipping down that life ladder ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
So last week we heard some extracts from my Diary as a Teenager, something I like to think of as the beginnings of my writing career, if you can even call it that. I have decided that on the odd occasion I am going to share some more of my prepubescent ideas and philosophies with you all as I think that they are both hilarious and ridiculous. Let me know if you would like to hear more from Little 'Baby Moi'!
So this week I had a old friend from college write to me about some issues he was having with his group of lads and how whilst he knew in himself he was being silly and jealous of the situation he found himself in he still couldn't shake these feelings of insecurity and anxiety surrounding him and the circle of friends he was in. Honoured that he thought of coming to me I tried to comfort him in a way that would make sense of the situation and allow him to come to his own determinations on what to do. But this got me thinking about jealousy and insecurity with myself.
Now its a rare thing (Some would say even more rare than rocking-horse shit) that I am one of those girls that is always whining about being too fat, too thin, too short, too tall. I am in most respects happy with my body but there are many hundreds upon thousands of things that people get jealous and anxious over. For example; I am at one with my body and love it for all the amazing things it helps me to do everyday even though I despise its wobbles every time I step into the changing rooms of the local High Street Stores. The fact I am far from the size I was in High School makes me doubt in myself sometimes, making me a timid, quiet mouse from my usual grand, Lioness self. With body anxiety and problems surrounding appearances and aesthetics comes the feelings of low self esteem and the desperate longing for something that is in many cases unobtainable immediately. A full bust, tiny waist and curvy silhouette is what every girl wants and whilst some have it, others don't and to get something even close to what is deemed perfect by most peoples eyes is either with a knife, drugs or with a whole heap of hard work, many of us choosing the first options over sweating like a pig at the gym.
For some people however it is about the material things in life rather than a cracking body, shiny hair or flawless skin. Money talks but so do people and the more money, power or fame someone has the more other people envy them. I can also be very materialistic and whilst I think that this has improved a lot since I was younger I know it is still a mammoth part of who I am. I know that in many ways the lifestyle I want for my future will never be something I can realistically achieve alone. I will need a hard working partner in crime with a good job and and a salary to match. As for myself I want to be a high earner. I want to afford my children a holiday every year to somewhere exciting. I want them aged twelve or thirteen to be enrolled in one of the best private schools that the local areas has to provide and to come home to a wonderfully decorated and well-maintained home, complete with all mod-cons. I want a nice shiny car and Christmases to be filled with presents, family and laughter. But I know in some respects that mine and my husbands combined income would have to be in the region of £50,000.00 per year.
I know in myself feel that, as with the last section and the one before that, I can be arrogant, selfish and egotistical one moment and the next being completely insecure in my body and how I look. Same being with finances, money and material items, I can be wanting of a long list of lustful items, not realising how lucky I am to have what I already possess.
But it should never really matter about these thing should they? We all should be so very grateful for what we have, besides whilst there are some people above us on the food chain that have much, much more that you or I, there are also some people that have nothing at all. And as I close off this week I leave with you a thought that here in Bedfordshire, the lush and somewhat affluent areas of the Home Counties, as it rains intermittently, there are still people with no home to go to. No family or friends to confide in or seek advice. No food to settle their growling bellies. No money to buy new shoes. Nothing. We all should be thankful for what we have. You never know how close you are from slipping down that life ladder ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 4 August 2014
The Drought!
Morning All,
So with last week melancholy nature well and truly put to rest (no pun intended) and with my addiction to boys slightly scarred by the previous few date I have been on I have officially picked myself up and am ready to start again with dating - In more ways than one!
More than six-weeks have passed since I was last laid. Six Weeks! I didn't even know such a drought could happen like this. But whilst I wonder every night laying there drifting off listening to cats killing themselves or my middle-aged neighbours (whom I am pretty sure are swingers) my thoughts turn to why I am not hanging off the end of my black iron bed-frame. I am single. Still. Now this would not be such a bad thing but I feel that in some respects I am more highly sexed than your average female and as a result when I don't get it I end up tense, achy and stressed constantly. The effects of not having regular bodily stimulation takes on a physical as well as mental toll on my gorgeous body (Ironic there you see! Aha). Like today at work. I nearly hid under my desk from all my problem emails and phone-calls but instead I took my lunch and ate Cous Cous to which everyone from the office and adjacent warehouse now thinks I am a Toff! Mental note for future - You know you need to get some when you are reaching for the Ainsley Harriott Red Pepper Couscous in the supermarket. Step away from the freeze-dried goods aisle and hit me up someone on Tinder! And yes I am still addicted ...
Now whilst being single is definitely not a problem, in fact I think I much prefer myself out of a relationship, at least one that was as stifling as the last one I encountered; I still find that my needs are not being met. You see I am unfortunately a girl whom is unable to satisfy herself. Odd as it sounds and as strange as it may be I have never taken much pleasure in twilight antics of a lone nature. I find it tedious and boring. Its not that I don't like it, its just I don't see the point if I am alone. Besides, for moi, it is so much more thrilling and exciting when it is with someone else. Especially when you have been with that person a fair amount of time and you know that they have the history and skills to bring you there but sometimes just choose to keep you just beneath the peak for pure torturous pleasure until you beg them to stop. Even when your begging it doesn't always have to end. If you have a strong partner who can keep his (or her) cool then asking for something and not getting it is almost as exhilarating sending you into a wild frenzy, just itching for that release. I also have never experienced 'The Big O' yet. Now many men have tried, but most I feel have failed in there quest to bring me that wave of heat and excitement. Disappointing as it is I know that I may be one of the many women of this wonderful planet that never ever get to feel what it is like. But then again a question I always ask my friends - How do you know? I may well have had one and never even known about it. The annoying thing about all of this is that if anyone was even close to getting me there it would have been Mr. Workaholic or Mr. Cheese both of which are slightly absent right now!
Frustrating as this all is I know that I cannot wholly become fixated on what happens between the sheets. Whilst sex is a fairly sizable part of my relationship with someone, I understand that it isn't for everyone. I need someone who I can have fun with. Something fresh and new, exciting and clean (or filthy). I want to feel giddy and woozy as well as the horn. Am I looking for Love or am I just looking for a good time? This is the question that has been battling me for several weeks now and I feel that now is the time to decide. A boyfriend is just scary and not a necessity I really can deal with right now. A relationship (of sorts) that can be loose and free within reason is something I am tempted by. It intrigues me and teases me with all the possibilities it entails. As time passes by and the longer the dry spell continues the less my 'Number' seems to matter to me. I mean, I could always lie about how many people have seen the downstairs. I remember someone telling me a rule of thumb once - Divide your 'Number' by three and then add one?! That brings me out to 3.33 recurring. How does that work?
Maybe I need to work backwards rather than forwards with this whole dating thing! Start with the sex and see if it leads anywhere good. And whilst I like the idea of a NSA (No Strings Attached) set up I know it would be unlikely to work for both parties. An NSA programme is good in theory but it can never work when you live somewhere like Bedford where men that are pleasing to the eye are scarce. Plus I think that in the long run it would make me unhappy stuck with someone who I will inevitably fall head over heels for only to realise they like the back of my head rather than the front. If I wanted just sex I would have found that weeks ago but I am not. So what the hell am I looking for? Maybe I am therefore looking for a friends with benefits thing. The two are very different as I have come to discover. Where NSA sex is very much what it says on the tin - wham bam thank you ma'am; a friends with benefits situation is much more pleasant I feel. A place whereby if left long enough and seeds planted a fruitful, loving, nurturing relationship could blossom. The thing that I probably enjoyed most about the first few months with Mr. Cheese was simply having the freedom to do as a single girl can whilst having someone to snuggle up with and go on dates to the local ice-cream parlour. I want the cuddles at night, the spooning, the curled up TV days and the giggles and play-fights that turn into lazy but mind-blowing weekend afternoon sex. Yes, that is where I want to be.
Naturally I invest too much in people. even in dates that are not dates. It was only just this last weekend I spoke to Miss Tweedle-Dumb of a few dates lined up in the coming weeks jokingly mentioning how Abbey *Insert Last Name* sounds blissfully better than the last few. And as my dear best friend looked at me oddly I secretly envisioned our entire wedding day together like something from a girlie Rom-Com! I seem to start making the omelette before I have even loaded up my egg basket never mind how much is in it. Always thinking far too much into stuff and not letting things go with the flow. As my father said to me the other day after nearly an hour of showing him how to use Tinder that I should slow down and stop hunting for something that will make itself known when it is ready. Pappa Bear explained that I should take a moment for myself and remember that although I am nearly twenty-three, my clock still has a lot of tick left in it. Throughout what he was saying I knew he was being truthful but it still didn't silence that little part of me that thinks that if I reach thirty and am not at least married then I will defiantly be eaten by Alsations by the time I reach thirty-two. He told me I should be young and free, making mistakes and cringingly laughing about them with friends over a bottle of wine or two. I think he was talking about Love, but it could well have been a moment of insanity in which I seem to indulge in - Alot!
And with this in mind I my thoughts immediately turn to a naughty little thing I did the other day. An UnDate - Basically Date that is not a Date or whereby one of the attendees does not acknowledge the alterer motives of such a meeting with said other party. Make sense? Probably not. But not too worry all will be revealed soon after my trip to Ireland but for the time being I can't spill too much, but all I can say is that I better get some oven mittens because I could quite well get burnt by this one ...
''Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx
So with last week melancholy nature well and truly put to rest (no pun intended) and with my addiction to boys slightly scarred by the previous few date I have been on I have officially picked myself up and am ready to start again with dating - In more ways than one!
More than six-weeks have passed since I was last laid. Six Weeks! I didn't even know such a drought could happen like this. But whilst I wonder every night laying there drifting off listening to cats killing themselves or my middle-aged neighbours (whom I am pretty sure are swingers) my thoughts turn to why I am not hanging off the end of my black iron bed-frame. I am single. Still. Now this would not be such a bad thing but I feel that in some respects I am more highly sexed than your average female and as a result when I don't get it I end up tense, achy and stressed constantly. The effects of not having regular bodily stimulation takes on a physical as well as mental toll on my gorgeous body (Ironic there you see! Aha). Like today at work. I nearly hid under my desk from all my problem emails and phone-calls but instead I took my lunch and ate Cous Cous to which everyone from the office and adjacent warehouse now thinks I am a Toff! Mental note for future - You know you need to get some when you are reaching for the Ainsley Harriott Red Pepper Couscous in the supermarket. Step away from the freeze-dried goods aisle and hit me up someone on Tinder! And yes I am still addicted ...
Now whilst being single is definitely not a problem, in fact I think I much prefer myself out of a relationship, at least one that was as stifling as the last one I encountered; I still find that my needs are not being met. You see I am unfortunately a girl whom is unable to satisfy herself. Odd as it sounds and as strange as it may be I have never taken much pleasure in twilight antics of a lone nature. I find it tedious and boring. Its not that I don't like it, its just I don't see the point if I am alone. Besides, for moi, it is so much more thrilling and exciting when it is with someone else. Especially when you have been with that person a fair amount of time and you know that they have the history and skills to bring you there but sometimes just choose to keep you just beneath the peak for pure torturous pleasure until you beg them to stop. Even when your begging it doesn't always have to end. If you have a strong partner who can keep his (or her) cool then asking for something and not getting it is almost as exhilarating sending you into a wild frenzy, just itching for that release. I also have never experienced 'The Big O' yet. Now many men have tried, but most I feel have failed in there quest to bring me that wave of heat and excitement. Disappointing as it is I know that I may be one of the many women of this wonderful planet that never ever get to feel what it is like. But then again a question I always ask my friends - How do you know? I may well have had one and never even known about it. The annoying thing about all of this is that if anyone was even close to getting me there it would have been Mr. Workaholic or Mr. Cheese both of which are slightly absent right now!
Frustrating as this all is I know that I cannot wholly become fixated on what happens between the sheets. Whilst sex is a fairly sizable part of my relationship with someone, I understand that it isn't for everyone. I need someone who I can have fun with. Something fresh and new, exciting and clean (or filthy). I want to feel giddy and woozy as well as the horn. Am I looking for Love or am I just looking for a good time? This is the question that has been battling me for several weeks now and I feel that now is the time to decide. A boyfriend is just scary and not a necessity I really can deal with right now. A relationship (of sorts) that can be loose and free within reason is something I am tempted by. It intrigues me and teases me with all the possibilities it entails. As time passes by and the longer the dry spell continues the less my 'Number' seems to matter to me. I mean, I could always lie about how many people have seen the downstairs. I remember someone telling me a rule of thumb once - Divide your 'Number' by three and then add one?! That brings me out to 3.33 recurring. How does that work?
Maybe I need to work backwards rather than forwards with this whole dating thing! Start with the sex and see if it leads anywhere good. And whilst I like the idea of a NSA (No Strings Attached) set up I know it would be unlikely to work for both parties. An NSA programme is good in theory but it can never work when you live somewhere like Bedford where men that are pleasing to the eye are scarce. Plus I think that in the long run it would make me unhappy stuck with someone who I will inevitably fall head over heels for only to realise they like the back of my head rather than the front. If I wanted just sex I would have found that weeks ago but I am not. So what the hell am I looking for? Maybe I am therefore looking for a friends with benefits thing. The two are very different as I have come to discover. Where NSA sex is very much what it says on the tin - wham bam thank you ma'am; a friends with benefits situation is much more pleasant I feel. A place whereby if left long enough and seeds planted a fruitful, loving, nurturing relationship could blossom. The thing that I probably enjoyed most about the first few months with Mr. Cheese was simply having the freedom to do as a single girl can whilst having someone to snuggle up with and go on dates to the local ice-cream parlour. I want the cuddles at night, the spooning, the curled up TV days and the giggles and play-fights that turn into lazy but mind-blowing weekend afternoon sex. Yes, that is where I want to be.
Naturally I invest too much in people. even in dates that are not dates. It was only just this last weekend I spoke to Miss Tweedle-Dumb of a few dates lined up in the coming weeks jokingly mentioning how Abbey *Insert Last Name* sounds blissfully better than the last few. And as my dear best friend looked at me oddly I secretly envisioned our entire wedding day together like something from a girlie Rom-Com! I seem to start making the omelette before I have even loaded up my egg basket never mind how much is in it. Always thinking far too much into stuff and not letting things go with the flow. As my father said to me the other day after nearly an hour of showing him how to use Tinder that I should slow down and stop hunting for something that will make itself known when it is ready. Pappa Bear explained that I should take a moment for myself and remember that although I am nearly twenty-three, my clock still has a lot of tick left in it. Throughout what he was saying I knew he was being truthful but it still didn't silence that little part of me that thinks that if I reach thirty and am not at least married then I will defiantly be eaten by Alsations by the time I reach thirty-two. He told me I should be young and free, making mistakes and cringingly laughing about them with friends over a bottle of wine or two. I think he was talking about Love, but it could well have been a moment of insanity in which I seem to indulge in - Alot!
And with this in mind I my thoughts immediately turn to a naughty little thing I did the other day. An UnDate - Basically Date that is not a Date or whereby one of the attendees does not acknowledge the alterer motives of such a meeting with said other party. Make sense? Probably not. But not too worry all will be revealed soon after my trip to Ireland but for the time being I can't spill too much, but all I can say is that I better get some oven mittens because I could quite well get burnt by this one ...
''Til Next Time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 2 June 2014
Flirting With Feminism ...
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com. Also If you have any ideas on how to make me sound or look more interesting then just do the same! :) xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Hello Again,
Bidding my grandmother a farewell as she drove off I chuckled to myself about her lasting phrase. "Don't do anything I wouldn't do" She would always tell me and as principal I had always taken it as a mantra. You see my Grandma was somewhat a modern lady in herself, fully comfortable discussing programmes on telly we had both watched about prostitution and escorting, the occasional swear word and even the odd frolic on a bouncy castle. Yes, my grandma was a character. Shuffling around in my bag for my purse I walked into the train station and bought my normal ticket to London. I was off to see Mr. Cheese and after retelling the story of our first date (And So The Battle Commences ...) and visiting the same place where we first ignited a fondness I was more than keen to see him.
However it seems that it was not only Mr. Cheese's attention I was grabbing as dusk fell on the Big Smoke. Boarding the underground my music paused. Although peeved at first it turned out to be a blessing in disguise. Waltzing onto the Tube, my long legs were out in full force only topped off by my new, high-heeled buckle ankle boots teamed with a short pleated metallic skirt and cute jumper, I took note of a male audience. The four rowdy twenty-somethings were clamouring for my attention as I sat opposite them in the carriage, however I was unaware at this point frustrated that Avicii was no longer blessing my ears. Sunglasses shading my eyes from gaze, the men clearly had noticed my arrival and commenced with the standard comments you would expect from such creatures. Comments included smashing several of my doors in and also some choice phrases about, I quote; "What a nice bit of fluff" I have on me. I hoped they were talking about the flaming orange hair I have been sporting since before Christmas but I know that they meant a differing kind of fluff! I wasn't shamed by it though and took pleasure in their comments and boyish jokes, even smiling at several of them. As I unknowingly scooped my hair off my made up face whilst trying to shoo away a cheekily smug grin one of the lads had made some banter about how "She definitely wants it if she's playing with her hair". I couldn't hold out any longer and the smile broke into my rosy cheeks. Noticing they upped the ante with remarks on my weekend bag being full of filthy toys and sexual instruments. In actual fact my day-old ham and mustard sandwich, book on a psychopath and Monday morning work-wear couldn't have been further from the truth, but I kept my mouth shut, not wanting to spoil their memoir of moi. As they left the train the other passengers let go a sigh of relief, however I was almost saddened at their final departure as now I should have to continue my journey with no flirty gestures from naughty boys.
Now I must stress that whilst that may all sound vulgar and hideous that a women in the 21st century cannot board the underground without being harassed by men that fully sympathise that sometimes it goes too far and that yes there is a line where enough is enough and should be stopped. But I am about as far away from a feminist as can possibly be. I like the idea that whilst I have a loving boyfriend waiting for me in a pub beer garden somewhere in West London I still have a sex appeal that can lure men in. I love flirting with people of all ages, shapes and genders. Sometimes I don't even know I'm doing it. I love it. I take joy in being told I have "nice fluff" and that I am hot. In fact going on my first hen party a few weeks ago taught me exactly how hunter-esk us women can be. We are powerful individuals with an allure that incites men in. I love the charm I possess and at times it can be a great advantage. In the modern world you don't get many compliments and so when a builder with an overhang and a crack as bad as the one he is filling in on the masonry wolf-whistles at me I enjoy it for what it is - A compliment. I see nothing wrong with a bit of playful back-and-fourth between the sexes. It keeps things fun and fresh. If anything I think a small part of me likes the dominating side I have, even though I know when it comes down to it I love being overpowered and overruled by a strong independent male. I have always joked at how I fit more into the nineteen-fifties way of the world, where a women knew her place and stuck to it.
However on the flip-side, I fully respect that I cherish what I do have in the year 2014. Women can vote, have an education and even drive cars now (apparently) all things which fill me with pride and honour. I am glad I am a women now and feel even more empowered knowing I have just as much if not sometimes even more right as a man to do things. Although I feel that as a women we should respect ourselves a little more not to go out dressed as a hooker (unless fancy dress calls for such an occasion) I as a women should be able to go about my daily life without being constantly harassed or shamed for dressing a certain way. And it goes to show that the majority of people feel the same way. Just because a girl or women is wearing a short skirt or revealing top does not mean she is gagging for it, in need of it or indeed deserving of it, with the 'it' being unwanted attention in the form of gropes, grabs or in extreme circumstances rape. A women, or indeed a man, should have the freedom to walk down the street wearing nothing at all without having to worry about being sexually assaulted. I should be free to do as I please without being tormented or bullied into a sexual act. Of course everyone feels pressure from the other sex, both men and women, but I think that is all part of growing up and not only teaching others but to teach yourself where that line is and when to say no, enough is enough.
After my stint on the tube with my London-lovers I tottled out of Goldhawk station with one thing on my mind. Toilet! I desperately needed a wee however was meant to be meeting Mr. Cheese and his fit flatmate in less than a few minutes. I made the decision to pop to the Costa across the street and relieve myself before returning to the spot I left moments earlier. Whilst in the coffee shop thrown room Mr. Cheese had rang me several times. Not wanting him to hear me gush I shut it off. Outside the tube station entrance I scrambled in my bag once more as my mobile buzzed with excited tone as Mr. Cheese tried to call me yet again. Answering this time, I put on a sexy voice only to be playfully yelled at in response. "Get on that bus!" Mr. Cheese threatened and even before I had a chance to answer back the iconic red double-decker pulled up along side me in traffic. Screaming back as I teetled along in my new heels that my boyfriend was making me run for public transport I boarded and joined him and the flatmate upstairs, much to the happiness that I had pleased both of their peepers with my ensemble.
We decided to go for dinner soon after we got back to the flat in West London and settled on a place well-known in the area as the place to get ice-cream. A favourite haunt of mine and Mr. Cheese's we had been going there ever since I first graced Chiswick back in late summer last year. Never had we stayed for dinner though as somewhere had always looked more appetising. Following instructions of the boyfriends flatmate we all sat at a table and ordered. I never noticed I was flirting but I suppose in a way I was looking back on it. Not even knowing it, I shared my dinner with the flatmate and even shared a few girlish giggles too. I was charmed by his love of Arctic Monkeys and horror flicks but my being was all of Mr. Cheese's and he knew that. Or did he? As I engaged in conversation with the fit flatmate I noticed someone else getting very tall and broad! Was this jealousy I was seeing? Was my boyfriend, the very man whom invented the phrasing of chest-wig, was he a little bit threatened? I think he was! Taking note of the hand rubbing, arm round my shoulder, constant pecks and kisses, thigh touching and his increasingly puffed-up chest I felt both amorous but also slightly awkward given the situation already. Food arriving we ate and continued in our merriment scoffing and laughing well into the evening.
Arriving back at the flat later on, the T.D.H (Tall, Dark and Handsome) flatmate left me and the Cheese to it and with an almost instant ignition a spark was lit and we were all over each other like a cheap suit. Taking note of our lustiness and being slammed into the corner of the couch I suggested we took it to the bedroom. Laying down on the fresh, comfy sheets I had come to love my mind wondered with thoughts of an exciting and explicit nature. Kisses and touches playful tickles and teases we tried to keep the noise down as we excitedly played with each others bodies. Pausing for a moment amongst all of it I gazed into the blueness of my boyfriend's eyes and wondered where all the passion had come from. I didn't care. The heat and immense passion between us at that point was palpable and something I shall struggle to forget. All I knew was that I loved it and when I climbed on top ready to satisfy us both I was glad to hear that Mr. Cheese said I was hot. I never really see myself as hot. Maybe cute but rarely hot. I took pleasure in that comment as I had done with his hand magic earlier. That night I settled calmly into his chest, knowing that it was the first night of pure intimacy I had felt in a long time. I was in a world of pure bliss. I fought the urge to again, as I always do after sex, to say those three little words. I couldn't help myself. As I whispered "I love You" I thought about what a wonderful situation I am in and that it was silly to think that not that long ago I was contemplating letting it all go.
If this last weekend is anything to go by then I will have a very fruity post next week. Mr. Cheese and I will be Mini-Breaking in Bristol this weekend, a place I have wanted to go to for ages and somewhere held very close to Mr.Cheese's heart for that is where he partied hard whilst studying for his degree in ancient history. What a clever boffin! And so I shall probably be writing to you from somewhere in the South West of England as I hurtle through the Devonshire countryside on a train back to London or maybe even in London itself. Either way I am sure I will be worn out, exhausted and with many a naughty tale to tell ...
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Monday, 14 April 2014
Confessions of a Lustful Job Hunter!
Bloggers Note: I have recently decided to start a thing going whereby if you yourself have a 'Trial or Tribulation' that I can help with then feel free to drop me a free and fully confidential message by popping it on a mini form in the right-hand sidebar or email me at: Abbbey4@gmail.com :) xx
Morning All,
And so my first week of unemployment has melted away before I even have a chance to understand fully what I am actually going to do with myself. Grateful for the understanding nature of friends and some family this week I have been well supported with my job search. Although I thought that after loosing my job would be the worst thing in the history of the universe I have actually been surprised with the amount of feedback and the successfulness in finding work if you want it.
Following a telephone interview with a well-know camera manufacturer I bagged a 'real' interview at their Bedford HQ on Wednesday morning. Running slightly behind schedule I made it in time to meet the ladies who walked me through my interview and also the women whom I chatted on the phone to as well. The role itself was pretty simplistic and I wasn't wholly thrilled by the fact that it would only be until the end of this year covering maternity leave, but with a two-thousand-pound bonus at the end of the contract and the possibility of being taken on permanently, I didn't really have ground to complain. Thus don't start asking me for a discount on lenses and filming equipment just yet as I unfortunately didn't make the cut for the second stage interviews and so the ideal of working within a company that made the selfie that much easier was dashed.
Wednesday also held for me much more good news as after I had finished my hour-long interview with my first potential employer I attended another interview at a Fire Safety establishment in a industrial park just outside the town centre. Arriving to the premises after getting slightly lost I was ready to shine. And that I did. After another hour-long interview which felt more like a lengthy and fun chat about credit control I was let loose back onto the streets of Bedford to hunt down that all elusive job with a healthy salary and good atmosphere to match. Luckily for me the gentleman that interviewed me on Wednesday at the Fire Safety place wants me back along with another lady to go head to head in the second stage interviews this Thursday. Wish me luck!
I wasn't finished at just two interviews Wednesday as I had to attend a meeting at the local hell hole - The Job Centre. walking into the meeting I was ushered over to what looks like a pimped up 18th century school class room with chairs that had easels attached for writing down important stuff. As this wasn't the first time I signed on I wasn't expecting what happened, which was essentially a group lecture on job searching and about claiming off the state. Brilliant! As if every one of us in the room needed another punch in the stomach to wind us of all self-worth and motivation. Thanks coalition government!
Still not having eaten I headed to the train station and boarded a train to St. Albans, a city in which I hold much favour. It was one of the first places I had come as a young adult on a shopping trip with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and subsequently visited with Mr. Workaholic but obviously not for anything other than seeing work colleagues and finding out which one of them had recently been struck off work for dealing in cocaine. Nevertheless, exhausted as I was I multi-tasked by walking swiftly to the agency office in the town centre whilst conducting another telephone interview with another agency based back home in Luton. I know right, how skilled I am!
Thursday was much the same as Tuesday whereby I used the time I would usually be at work slaving over spreadsheets and paperwork scouring the web for the next best positions in my area. Following my Job Centre lecture I learnt that there was truth in what I had always told people and that the majority of jobs are now posted online. In fact the figures we were given as in-between-jobbers was that over seventy percent of jobs are now never even posted on the net, employers preferring to source potential candidates themselves or in my instance just add the workload to the employees already busting their ball-sacks working as hard as they can. Companies would favour 'Twitter' rather than going through and agency or website and paying fees for such services that they could easily get for nothing via social media.
The week was rounded off with another interview with a flooring company in which they loved me so much they invited me back today for a tour of the office space and warehouse as well as to meet the team. A lovely bunch and I must have done something right being the first person that they saw at 10:30am on a Friday morning and wanting me back in their offices Monday afternoon. The vibe I get is that they are eager for me to join as am I although I wonder if maybe I can hold out on giving them a definitive answer by the end of the week as I would like to see where the rest of my interviews this week get to. I have five lined up for the days ahead. That, coupled with the eight I had last week means that in every sense on the phrase I am getting their. I would say slowly but surely but everything had sped along so fast this week I haven't even had a chance to think about being out of work.
It wasn't all hard work though as Wednesday evening was spent with my favourite girls; Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Stuu. Yet again our conversation turned round to the topic of sex, boys and relationships. Most topics of conversation were covered I feel, making us more aware that yes, every female in the land has experienced the compression of air in the Southern Hemisphere whilst being in the presence of a naked man. Yes, the aptly named 'Fanny Fart'. Gross as it may sound these are things that ladies speak of. In fact the conversation didn't stop their as talk soon turned to the ''apparently'' best bit about pleasure. The Orgasm. Now I myself am able to come and whatever is happening down their feels amazing when done right but I don't think I have ever experienced 'The Big O'! I mean what is it? Where does it come from? And most importantly how the hell can I get one?! You see I am not one for self-pleasure or masturbation as such and despite my abundance of toys I am still unable to get myself off. Its not that I don't know what I like because I do, god knows I tell the men that have come in and out (Don't laugh) of my my life what I like and don't like but I am just not able to do it myself. Maybe its the fact that I know what is coming (Naughty) or whether I prefer someone else's touch even if it isn't quite hitting the right spot.
I am a difficult one I feel; easy to please when you know how to but somewhat unrelenting in my appetite lately. I feel sorry for Mr. Cheese sometimes for having to put up with my thirst for bedroom exercise. Sex is something that for me makes all my problems go away. Not to say that I am an addict or anything but that is my go to when I feel lonely or stressed or sad or loving or angry, anything. I'll give you an example. Last weekend I saw Mr. Cheese himself and after a lovely meal we settled in front of the box for a bit before bed. Getting up from the couch I whispered in my boyfriend's ear seductively to come meet me in the bedroom in five minutes. After leaving a salivating other-half on the sofa to stew I flung my clothes on the floor and dressed myself in nothing more than a football shirt and suspender stockings. Laying myself bare on the bed I lit some candles and set the mood for a night of lustful intentions. Entering the boudoir I hoped for the passion to be ignited. Unfortunately after what felt like an eternity of teasingly fantastic foreplay and being thoroughly ready for some action I was informed that despite my effort, enthusiasm, suspenders, stockings, football shirt and lack of a bra the Boyfriend just wasn't interested. Shocked and stunned by what I was hearing the lights went on, teeth were brushed and I was forced to accept that I wouldn't be getting laid. Feeling deflated, unattractive, anti-sexy and questioning everything about us I fell asleep. The excuse that Mr. Cheese was tired were justifiable but nevertheless nearly every man on the planet has that as a fantasy and by his own admission had said it was one of his quoting that I should do it when his flat mates were out so as not to make too much noise.
But on the other end of the spectrum I seriously worry about my being and whether I am normal. Is it normal for a women to have such a high sex drive? I don't know? It has always been a happy medium of sex-initiation's prior to Mr. Cheese but I feel now sometimes that he only obliges to my panders because he wants to appease me rather than him also wanting to partake. I am usually quite a relaxed person generally but lately I have been feeling more tense and stressed almost on a daily basis. The last time I felt like this I was with Mr. Workaholic and it was just a simple case of getting naked for him and that was it I would be pounded within an inch of my life only to then fall asleep blissfully unaware of the train-wreck it would eventually end in. Sadly with a Boyfriend in London it seems my stresses shall have to wait. It is at time like these where I feel my back tighten and my body ache a little that I know I need a really good seeing too, someone to come and ruin me. Don't get me wrong I love when its slow and rhythmic with an intense build up knowing that I will hit peak soon although sadly it ends with the man finishing too early. But Hey I can't blame him it does blow your mind when it is at the same pace, slow and steady. I think maybe I need to experiment more with myself.
So off I hop to dust off my rabbits and get my rocks off - Just in time for Easter!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Morning All,
And so my first week of unemployment has melted away before I even have a chance to understand fully what I am actually going to do with myself. Grateful for the understanding nature of friends and some family this week I have been well supported with my job search. Although I thought that after loosing my job would be the worst thing in the history of the universe I have actually been surprised with the amount of feedback and the successfulness in finding work if you want it.
Following a telephone interview with a well-know camera manufacturer I bagged a 'real' interview at their Bedford HQ on Wednesday morning. Running slightly behind schedule I made it in time to meet the ladies who walked me through my interview and also the women whom I chatted on the phone to as well. The role itself was pretty simplistic and I wasn't wholly thrilled by the fact that it would only be until the end of this year covering maternity leave, but with a two-thousand-pound bonus at the end of the contract and the possibility of being taken on permanently, I didn't really have ground to complain. Thus don't start asking me for a discount on lenses and filming equipment just yet as I unfortunately didn't make the cut for the second stage interviews and so the ideal of working within a company that made the selfie that much easier was dashed.
Wednesday also held for me much more good news as after I had finished my hour-long interview with my first potential employer I attended another interview at a Fire Safety establishment in a industrial park just outside the town centre. Arriving to the premises after getting slightly lost I was ready to shine. And that I did. After another hour-long interview which felt more like a lengthy and fun chat about credit control I was let loose back onto the streets of Bedford to hunt down that all elusive job with a healthy salary and good atmosphere to match. Luckily for me the gentleman that interviewed me on Wednesday at the Fire Safety place wants me back along with another lady to go head to head in the second stage interviews this Thursday. Wish me luck!
I wasn't finished at just two interviews Wednesday as I had to attend a meeting at the local hell hole - The Job Centre. walking into the meeting I was ushered over to what looks like a pimped up 18th century school class room with chairs that had easels attached for writing down important stuff. As this wasn't the first time I signed on I wasn't expecting what happened, which was essentially a group lecture on job searching and about claiming off the state. Brilliant! As if every one of us in the room needed another punch in the stomach to wind us of all self-worth and motivation. Thanks coalition government!
Still not having eaten I headed to the train station and boarded a train to St. Albans, a city in which I hold much favour. It was one of the first places I had come as a young adult on a shopping trip with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and subsequently visited with Mr. Workaholic but obviously not for anything other than seeing work colleagues and finding out which one of them had recently been struck off work for dealing in cocaine. Nevertheless, exhausted as I was I multi-tasked by walking swiftly to the agency office in the town centre whilst conducting another telephone interview with another agency based back home in Luton. I know right, how skilled I am!
Thursday was much the same as Tuesday whereby I used the time I would usually be at work slaving over spreadsheets and paperwork scouring the web for the next best positions in my area. Following my Job Centre lecture I learnt that there was truth in what I had always told people and that the majority of jobs are now posted online. In fact the figures we were given as in-between-jobbers was that over seventy percent of jobs are now never even posted on the net, employers preferring to source potential candidates themselves or in my instance just add the workload to the employees already busting their ball-sacks working as hard as they can. Companies would favour 'Twitter' rather than going through and agency or website and paying fees for such services that they could easily get for nothing via social media.
The week was rounded off with another interview with a flooring company in which they loved me so much they invited me back today for a tour of the office space and warehouse as well as to meet the team. A lovely bunch and I must have done something right being the first person that they saw at 10:30am on a Friday morning and wanting me back in their offices Monday afternoon. The vibe I get is that they are eager for me to join as am I although I wonder if maybe I can hold out on giving them a definitive answer by the end of the week as I would like to see where the rest of my interviews this week get to. I have five lined up for the days ahead. That, coupled with the eight I had last week means that in every sense on the phrase I am getting their. I would say slowly but surely but everything had sped along so fast this week I haven't even had a chance to think about being out of work.
It wasn't all hard work though as Wednesday evening was spent with my favourite girls; Miss Tweedle-Dee, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Stuu. Yet again our conversation turned round to the topic of sex, boys and relationships. Most topics of conversation were covered I feel, making us more aware that yes, every female in the land has experienced the compression of air in the Southern Hemisphere whilst being in the presence of a naked man. Yes, the aptly named 'Fanny Fart'. Gross as it may sound these are things that ladies speak of. In fact the conversation didn't stop their as talk soon turned to the ''apparently'' best bit about pleasure. The Orgasm. Now I myself am able to come and whatever is happening down their feels amazing when done right but I don't think I have ever experienced 'The Big O'! I mean what is it? Where does it come from? And most importantly how the hell can I get one?! You see I am not one for self-pleasure or masturbation as such and despite my abundance of toys I am still unable to get myself off. Its not that I don't know what I like because I do, god knows I tell the men that have come in and out (Don't laugh) of my my life what I like and don't like but I am just not able to do it myself. Maybe its the fact that I know what is coming (Naughty) or whether I prefer someone else's touch even if it isn't quite hitting the right spot.
I am a difficult one I feel; easy to please when you know how to but somewhat unrelenting in my appetite lately. I feel sorry for Mr. Cheese sometimes for having to put up with my thirst for bedroom exercise. Sex is something that for me makes all my problems go away. Not to say that I am an addict or anything but that is my go to when I feel lonely or stressed or sad or loving or angry, anything. I'll give you an example. Last weekend I saw Mr. Cheese himself and after a lovely meal we settled in front of the box for a bit before bed. Getting up from the couch I whispered in my boyfriend's ear seductively to come meet me in the bedroom in five minutes. After leaving a salivating other-half on the sofa to stew I flung my clothes on the floor and dressed myself in nothing more than a football shirt and suspender stockings. Laying myself bare on the bed I lit some candles and set the mood for a night of lustful intentions. Entering the boudoir I hoped for the passion to be ignited. Unfortunately after what felt like an eternity of teasingly fantastic foreplay and being thoroughly ready for some action I was informed that despite my effort, enthusiasm, suspenders, stockings, football shirt and lack of a bra the Boyfriend just wasn't interested. Shocked and stunned by what I was hearing the lights went on, teeth were brushed and I was forced to accept that I wouldn't be getting laid. Feeling deflated, unattractive, anti-sexy and questioning everything about us I fell asleep. The excuse that Mr. Cheese was tired were justifiable but nevertheless nearly every man on the planet has that as a fantasy and by his own admission had said it was one of his quoting that I should do it when his flat mates were out so as not to make too much noise.
But on the other end of the spectrum I seriously worry about my being and whether I am normal. Is it normal for a women to have such a high sex drive? I don't know? It has always been a happy medium of sex-initiation's prior to Mr. Cheese but I feel now sometimes that he only obliges to my panders because he wants to appease me rather than him also wanting to partake. I am usually quite a relaxed person generally but lately I have been feeling more tense and stressed almost on a daily basis. The last time I felt like this I was with Mr. Workaholic and it was just a simple case of getting naked for him and that was it I would be pounded within an inch of my life only to then fall asleep blissfully unaware of the train-wreck it would eventually end in. Sadly with a Boyfriend in London it seems my stresses shall have to wait. It is at time like these where I feel my back tighten and my body ache a little that I know I need a really good seeing too, someone to come and ruin me. Don't get me wrong I love when its slow and rhythmic with an intense build up knowing that I will hit peak soon although sadly it ends with the man finishing too early. But Hey I can't blame him it does blow your mind when it is at the same pace, slow and steady. I think maybe I need to experiment more with myself.
So off I hop to dust off my rabbits and get my rocks off - Just in time for Easter!
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
Tuesday, 3 December 2013
College Days!
Hi There,
Another week down and only a few more left until Christmas is here and already I'm like a kid in a sweet shop. So after a lazy weekend in decorating my little flat with Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb and having a good old girlie sleepover I am glad to have time to myself this weekend what with not seeing Mr. Cheese and all. Its not that we didn't want to see each other because we did, it was just the fact that getting anywhere on public transport in the UK is such a ball-ache and so very expensive. Although a quiet weekend in has left me craving another night out with my fellow single wing-women, Miss Chocolate. Oh the fun we used to have in college, or outside of it as the case may be. We had some wild times, most of which was fuelled by alcohol and exploits of a naughty nature. It was on one of these occasions that I fell arse over tit for a boy whose wardrobe was more colourful than Elton Johns and had more complications that flat pack furniture. Meet Mr. Babycakes ...
Ever
since I first started College back in September 2009 there have been many
people that I fancied that have come and gone with the change in seasons. It
was my first few months in College where I met one of my closest friends, Miss
Chocolate. At first she wasn't my cup of tea but after spending a few projects
larking around and filming together we soon became the best of friends. She
knew all my secrets including who I was crushing on and all the gossip and
drama that came with it. And despite being labelled the 'married couple' of our
year we had some laughs including our first College trip away. Up until the
last day of our College trip had been a bit of a downer. Whilst the filming was
fun and exciting and I enjoyed being in front of the camera I was missing home
and my Dad especially. It was very unlike me to get home-sick, but somehow I
was. The last day of the holiday was upon us and as filming commenced I thought
about how the holiday had gone and as the clapper went down our Tutor yelled it
was a wrap and we all hugged and cheered before heading off to get ready for
the after-parties that followed.
I didn't
really feel in the party mood and hadn't really brought anything to wear
anyhow. "I'll just sit in with a good book" I thought. Be a
loner. As everyone left our Tutors Chalet come Studio to start a night of
complete mayhem and drinking I stayed behind to change out of my costume and
back into normal clothes. Mr. Babycakes, my on-screen boyfriend; Who was that
last person to leave and just before I went to change I asked him to wait for
me so I wouldn't be alone. He obliged and stuck about until I was finished
changing. We left our Tutor's 'Studio' shortly after and Mr. Babycakes offered
to walk me back to the Chalet I shared with Miss Chocolate and some other
College friends. As I explained that I didn't have the key so there would be
not much point we started to walk in the freezing night air. It started to rain
and it wasn't before long that I was shivering and getting wet. Kindly, Mr.
Babycakes slipped his arm around my waist and I copied. We were a friendly
bunch in College; always hugging and kissing one another so this whilst felt
romantic and lovely didn't come across as such at first.
Walking
along the gravel roads that crunched beneath our feet I explained that there
really was no point in us going back to mine without a key and if we wanted it
then we would have to walk all the way down to the sea front in the freezing
and now getting heavier down pour to collect it. Suddenly we stopped outside an
unfamiliar and vacant Chalet and Mr. Babycakes mentioned how he thought I was
cold. I said that I was and he quickly hugged me, unzipping his Mr. Babycakeset
and wrapping me in it. This meant that we were now very, very close. I liked
it. In fact, I liked him. From the moment we first started college in September
I had fancied him, but he was pushed aside as I was in a different group to him
as well as social status too. But nevertheless I wasn't complaining about being
this close to him, and apparently, neither was he. Mr. Babycakes asked me if
there was anything wrong, I had seemed a bit dull and upset. I explained that
it was my character to be gloomy and bitter. He replied smartly with something
about if it had anything to do with missing my Dad. I agreed. How did he know
that? Miss Chocolate probably, I know she would have been trying to get us
talking more what with me crushing on him a little. With this he gave me a
cuddle. I love his cuddles; he was so gentle and sweet. Our heads started to
become very close. Very, very close and it wasn't long before our foreheads and
noses were touching as we gazed into each other’s eyes. in the crisp, wet
twilight.
"We
probably shouldn’t be here; it’s a family Chalet, mines just over here." I
said taking some much needed control of the situation. Together, Mr. Babycakes
and I continued to walk along the gravely path towards my Chalet, talking about
my Dad and filming over the past week. Once we arrived I trotted up and past
the front window and I wrestled with the door handle. The lights were on but
there was no-one home. Everyone was out and the doors were locked. "As
they should be" I thought, my laptop is in there. And again we found
ourselves entwined together hugging and cuddling as I rested my head on his
shoulder, nearly ready to fall asleep as I felt so comfortable with him. Mr.
Babycakes and I stood there in a warm embrace for what seemed like ages. Stood
there, directly in between the two lit doors to the Chalet I did not possess a
key to. As I pulled away from the hug I caught his eyes and instantly forgot
what I was about to say and just stared as he did too. Shiny and blue like a
polished gem. The silence was finally broken when he quietly whispered the fact
that our on screen kiss was knocked off the schedule after he fell ill on the
second day of filming and we had to cast another person to play the part.
Typical
me and without thinking; I shocked both of us when I said in a husky voice that
we could just kiss anyway. Mr. Babycakes seemed to enjoy what I had just said
and took it as the green light to continue with anything else he had in mind. I
soon realised what I had said and apologised and yet again I was interrupted by
his sparkly eyes. Slowly the sentence trailed off as our heads began to move
closer together, and as we commenced the part where our skin touched our heads
started to lean to one side my mind was screaming with joy! As it started to rain heavier our lips locked, and
we began to kiss passionately under the night sky. We continued to kiss for a
long time, gently testing the waters. Suddenly my ears pricked up and apart
from the rain I could hear footsteps in the wet gravel. Big footsteps. Heavy
and very nearly upon us. Not wanting to get caught canoodling I reluctantly pulled
away and as Mr. Babycakes collected himself a friend of Miss Chocolate’s walked
round the corner waving a shiny, silver key. With a fag in his mouth Miss
Chocolate’s associate handed me the key and I let us all in, grateful for the
warmth. Pulling out my stash of smuggled alcohol I asked if my key-bearer was
staying.
"Nah
can’t stay. Our Tutor is having a wrap party over at his, he's finished
filming. Are you coming?" The key-man asked, his cigarette bouncing up and
down like mad as he continued to talk with it hanging out of his mouth. I
declined. As he left I locked the door, unsure as to why I was locking it and
when I was going to be unlocking it and what would be happening in between then
and now. A short silence was raising its head as I asked if Mr. Babycakes was
leaving too. He too declined. I asked if he would like a drink. He said yes. As
I went to pour the Vodka into tumblers, Mr. Babycakes broke the quietness with
a question.
"OK,
well we can either forget that ever happened as of tomorrow or continue with it
and go with the flow?" I stopped in my tracks as he said this and began to
reflect upon what I should say. "Forget it tomorrow? Surely if you’re
going to forget something you would forget it now, wouldn't you?" I said
as a smile played across my face. I looked over to him and he looked
uncomfortable and not sure as to what to say to explain himself. I don't think Mr.
Babycakes expected such an answer to come back. “Touche” I thought. As I handed him a drink and took my seat next to
him on the couch. Instantly I turned to face him, paying no attention at all to
the television that he had switched on upon his arrival. No sooner than I had a
chance to sit down and the flirting and teasing commenced. It started with
playful hand and knee touching as we talked, progressing further to full blown
seductiveness in everything that we did.
I would
play with his hair as he whispered in my ear. I would lean in close and reply
in hushed tones. Mr. Babycakes seemed to enjoy this, a little more than one
should when he has prior engagements. Nevertheless he didn't decline to my
advances and proceeded to tell me exactly what they were doing to him, keeping
no graphic details to himself. This in turn lead us to kissing again and this
time I decided to turn up the heat a bit by softly biting his lower lip.
Surprisingly you would think that he might want to pull away, since it is me
that were on about here. Not exactly Sleeping Beauty am I. But for some unknown
reason that I was not planning to confront, he didn't. Now you may be starting
to think that this was happening all because of that drink. Well you would be
wrong. I had one sip before sitting down with him and Mr. Babycakes hadn't even
bothered with his. We were both completely sober. So you can imagine my
amazement when he had told me that I was a good girl and I needed a treat. And
yes. Indeed he did class that as a treat for me and not at all a for himself. Mr.
Babycakes and I teased for the majority of the evening, seeing how far we could
push each other. Turns out the floors the limit. With my knees firmly fixed in
the short pile of my seaside Chalet.
Standing
back in the lounge of the Chalet I prepared to go outside and into the cold
night air again by shoving on my coat and boots. When Mr. Babycakes wasn’t
looking, I quickly took a swig of neat vodka to cushion the blow I had just encountered.
As I turned to collect the keys from the sideboard, Mr. Babycakes gave me a hug
but as we pulled away he went in to kiss me. I turned away positive that he
would not approve of the lingering taste in my mouth. He looked at me and
gathered what I was trying to say. Then he simply kissed me softly on my cheek.
I think at that point I had melted and realised that I wanted him all to
myself. Mr. Babycakes kissed me several times on the cheek before we left, departing
separate ways to our own group of peers saying that we needed to exchange numbers
sometime.
Oh yes. How myself and Miss Chocolate had some gossip to share in College. I'm surprised we passed. I am sure that we have many more years to party on as wing-man and wing-woman.
'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx
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