Adieu France!

Bonjour, 

Ahh and to think that this time last week I was probably enjoying a wonderful meal with Mr. Warehouse in a quiet little restaurant in Lyon, watching the sun slip behind the La Basilique Notre Dame de Fourvière and becoming in great anticipation for our last night of holiday passion. Sipping on French wine probably grown a few miles from where we were staying in the Rhone Valleys I soaked up some of the hottest days I have ever experienced, and I have been to the Nevada Desert. 

Nevertheless the journey home was not as bad as our arrival (whereby I spent nearly four-hours in the airport trying to work out how to use my money card which ultimately lead me to frantically calling the UK offices in London to speak with someone who could verify that I was who I was. Duhh, do they not know who I am?!). Almost immediately after finishing dinner we headed back to the hotel and started to pack to go home the following morning, there bore the beginnings of an argument that this time was definitely an argument. The main sticking point of the argument was the weight. Now I am imagining that anyone who has ever gone on holiday, whether it to be Dublin or Dubrovnik have experienced this before. The dreaded weight problem! The scales (which were provided by Mr. Warehouse I believe for when I went to Las Vegas earlier in the year) were showing us to be weighing in at around twenty-kilos which was what we were limited to in terms of airline restrictions. and So after several hours of fighting, we ended said argument, but not before I had taken all my clothes, shoes and anything else I could carry out of the hold luggage leaving just Mr. Warehouse's clothes and medication in there. Both exhausted from heat, arguing, packing and a French food-coma of meats and cheeses we hit the sack and for the first time in what seemed like forever, we set our alarms for the early wake-up call. 

Waking the following morning I could tell I had not had the best sleep in the world but was up and ready for the day ahead. I wanted my home. My bed. My duvet. Albeit on the contrary when I arrived home I realised that my bed in my tiny apartment was much smaller than the fluffy white island Mr. Warehouse and I had become accustomed too. The wonderful thing about mine and Mr. Warehouse's bed on holiday was that it was so big that I could starfish the night away, one of my many love's in the bedtime routine, without infringing on Mr. Warehouse's personal bed space. If I was nice and fancied a bit of intimacy I could always reverse backside out into Mr. Warehouse and create a criss-cross with only our bottoms touching. Sometimes I would live life on the edge, hanging off the end of the bed like a tree Panther dozing in the afternoon shade of a palm leaf or two. But all this was safe in the knowledge that if I ever got scared or wanted to snuggle, all I had to do was reach out to him through the heavenly sheets of cotton. 

Indeed once I had prised myself from the memory foam mattress I knew I should get myself ready before Mr. Warehouse moans yet again that I take too long to get ready and that I shouldn't be wearing all that make-up, I look beautiful without it. (Ahhh, Smush, Smush, Smush!) Getting myself ready I took an occasional peak through to Mr. Warehouse in the bedroom. Hurrying myself along I pecked a sleeping boyfriend just before 9am to head out to the market in order to find a Pain Au Chocolat and Croissant as we had yet to have one this holiday. I know and we were in France!? Scowling the markets by the riverbanks near the hotel I could not find any. Pacing down every street and looking in every delicatessen, patisserie and boulangerie I found nothing. Then one last ditch attempt at a busy cafe which was overrun with business men, espresso and financial newspapers. There was one left. And so sacrificing my love for food I bought the last one from the waiter at the bar and ran back to the hotel with it still warm in my hands. Mr. Warehouse woke as soon as I let myself in. He was still tired but appreciative for the breakfast pastry, even though he never said thank you. 

Grabbing our things together we made our way to the airport and after discovering the hold luggage was well within weight restrictions (coming in at just over 16kg). Happily as we trotted up to the security we ended up nearly having yet another argument over the fact I had lost several items from my hand luggage because Mr. Warehouse said I should put them there to keep the weight of the hold luggage down. But I couldn't stay mad at my Mr. Warehouse if I tried. It was only Chocolate spread anyway. I could buy that back home, I suppose ... But that's not the point here! Finally after scrapping together enough loose change to buy a baguette and a bottle of water, playing a long tedious game of Eye-Spy, the wait for the air-plane gates to be announced was soon upon us and we were nearly on our way home. 

Sitting on the plane ready to taxi down the run way I looked lovingly at Mr. Warehouse and how nervous he was at the point of take off. Hmm. I had enjoyed living with him for these past few days, I thought to myself as I applied the primer to my already heated skin. Indeed the holiday in general had not been the nightmare I'd envisaged and to be fair whilst I had been cranky on holiday (mainly down to the soaring 36-degree-temperatures) since being back, things have been great! Sex is better than ever I think in my whole life - Yes, even better than Mr. Workaholic! We cuddle and kiss much more. I appreciate him and his company alot more now than I think I did before. In a way, so far at least, I think this holiday has brought us together even more than we were already. Hmmm, Maybe is this the first holiday with a boyfriend that has not ended in a tearful break-up and move in location?!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

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

Those Three Little Words ...

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

Afternoon One and All, 

So this weekend was an inciting one with much to do and see. Also something unexpected and so out-of-the-blue even I didn't see it coming. But maybe that is how it was planned. Unplanned! Well whatever planning or un-planning went into the act it certainly gave me a skip in my step this morning and made my commute back home to my job in Bedford all the more better and as I write to you from the train hurtling through the English countryside I am smiling, conscience that this may not be anything of huge magnitude, but to me it is. Early morning Starbucks did help though! 

Friday night I had my favourite people round, Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee and amongst idle chit-chat we discussed the more important things in life like having banana's for hands and indeed spelling the word banana, which at nearly quarter-to-midnight I was failing to do without the help of my academic side-kicks! After ordering pizza delivery from Domino's we decided to escape for a cheeky cigarette. Whilst we awaited the man with our order we took to talks of weddings and other such girlie stuff. Using the pavement as a aisle we joked about what we would do and how hilarious it would all be. As Miss Bride's wedding approaches in the coming weeks, I look forward to a time whereby my friends and I shall also join the club of marriage and leave behind Singlesville with all its meals-for-one and empty beds. Yes, instead we shall swap lives so that we can bicker about directions and only have sex once a week. Oh Joy! The part of my evening with Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee that I enjoyed the most was the prospective speeches that were to be projected at my celebration as a Missus. Stories of years gone by including the time I got so sun-burnt I threw up every time I looked at myself, the time I decided to go blonde and ended up looking like 'Big Bird' from Sesame Street and that time where I threw a tantrum in a Spanish shopping mall because no one would come and look at the bag I wanted to buy. Incidentally in that case Miss Tweedle-Dee did come and look at the handbag with me but resulting in no purchase - I was too pissed off. And so I look forward to the day whereby I don't only become someones wife and forever, but I also am blessed with friend's like these whom share in my every moment, no matter how awkward or embarrassing. Thanks Guys!

After a potter round town on Saturday afternoon I hopped on the train to meet Mr. Cheese from his volunteer placement at The Brixton Windmill. As it started to rain heavy I went in search of the preoccupied boyfriend wandering around Brixton Market aimlessly to kill time whilst I arrived. After a soggy hug I was described as 'Wet, Cute and Sexy' by that wonderful man, although I'm not sure how I can do all three at the same time. Go me I suppose! After dinner we boarded the Tube home with the promise of looking at hotels and things to do for our up and coming first Mini-Break to Bristol together. Our trip is planned for a few weeks time, just after Miss Bride's wedding and just before the World Cup 2014 in which like any women with a football mad other half I shall mourn their loss to the great game until July sometime. I however would class myself as a conventional girlfriend where by I am happy to sit in a pub be fed cider and pork scratchings whilst watching moderately attractive men run around in little more than hot pants, occasionally groping each other. Yes, a great game indeed! Although not as good as Rugby! I digress though, and a proper holiday, albeit the Christmas Getaway last year with the family will be much deserved and much fun for us both. Although it was not to be as an unlikely haze took hold of Mr. Cheese and struck him with an arrow of lust and unspent energy. 

Starting off unconventionally on the Tube home from dinner at Honest Burger in Brixton, I shared with my boyfriend a kiss that would make anyone knees give way. Good thing I was sitting down. Passionately kissing me as we begged for the Tube to be empty of the only other occupant in the carriage to leave I embraced his passion and added to it myself, entwining ourselves in each other in a haze of young lust. Walking home from the station we could hardly contain ourselves, knowing that a flat free from house-mates and a neighbour with a heightened sense of sound to piss off I felt more excited than I had done in months. 'This was what I was missing' I thought. With promises of looking into a break to Bristol in June, we unlocked the door to the three-bed West London pad with a new agenda that didn't include taking off our pants. That failed and before I knew it I was lying on the Greek flag, being Falafel-ed! I think Mr. Cheese put it right when he said to me drifting off into a cuddly slumber that nothing would have got done that night anyway. 

As my boyfriend kissed me on the lips Sunday morning I smiled although conscience of my apparently putrid morning breath. Hiding it as usual I snuggle back into his chest like a woodland animal not wanting to rise from the bed until wholly necessary. Unfortunately this was to come too soon as Boyfriend and I had the company of a good friend Mr. Cheese knew from school and university for the afternoon. Slipping on some heels and making myself look presentable I hoped I would be somewhat a talking point of lad-banter when I tottered to the bathroom or the bar to refresh our table with snacks and drinks. Although following the afternoon of football, cups and goals I decided to go back home with my boyfriend and snuggle for a bit before heading home. Secretly I didn't want to go home and wanted to try my luck at the bedroom-game but with the ill look on his face setting in I knew what my Mr. Cheese needed was for me to wrap him up and tuck him in bed with a nice cup of hot, loose-leafed tea and cuddles. This was not the case yet again. 

Eyes squinting, I peeked out from behind the fluffy animal-print throw. Light blistered my peepers making me not want to get out of the cosiness I had found myself. I was naked and not alone. Yes, the person that stared back at me was my sleepy boyfriend. Sickness prevailed and I could tell he was unwell. Snuggling under the sheets he pulled me in close as I realised I was naked again and the implications this may have for the near future of my nether-regions. Poor Mr. Cheese. He was sick, so I probably shouldn't have come on to him, but nevertheless I did. A back massage later and craving something more than just rubbing, I straddled him, soon discovering I would not be getting what I wanted. I suppose I shouldn't be greedy as the following evening had been spent (quite literally) in a whirlwind of pleasure. I am hesitant to use the word ecstasy as that word is commonly used to describe orgasm, to which I still have yet to find at twenty-two but that is neither here nor there. As we spooned in the harsh glow of the bedroom light I recalled in fondness the way Mr. Cheese pandered to my every desire the previous evening. My arched back. The shivers down my spine. The eruption of pleased squeals from my lungs as I cried out his name in the moment. Ahh yes, the satisfying evening prior! 

Napping until just gone nine at night though after a passionate encounter was the norm with us. And I enjoyed it. It made me feel young and throw-away and reckless, not caring for the hours knowing that I had so many left ahead of me. Realising that the massage had done the opposite affect that I wanted I decided to turn my head to cake instead (as one does when one is not ravaged on the spot). The lemon tart Miss Tweedle-Dee had bought me Friday night had made the long journey from Bedford to Chiswick and was about to be sampled! Serving up a warmed slice accompanied with tea and coffee I entered the lounge and joined Mr. Cheese on the couch to watch some traditional wildlife TV before bedtime properly. Again Bristol Mini-Break didn't get a look in but the thought was there. As we positioned ourselves facing one another again, noses barely touching, I suppressed the compulsion to say the 'L' word, unaware that it was only hanging off the other persons tongue. 

Waking naturally I wondered to the time. Looking at my phone I noted that I still had a few moments I could steal away between the sheets before I had to dash back to my job in Bedford. Due to the ill-health of the Boyfriend I decided to stay last night in Chiswick to care for him and make sure he was OK. He seemed worse when I woke this morning, clammy and tired. I worried for him and really tried hard to think of ways I could stay, knowing that I couldn't, not when I was only a few weeks into my new role. And so as I prised myself from Mr. Cheese's weak grip I asked if he wanted tea or breakfast. The reply was a short and sweet declination. I offered him anything else he wanted and he reached out for a cuddle. How could I deny him that. Of all the simple pleasures in life this was one of them. Getting dressed I tried not to rouse the sickly Boyfriend too much although he did say how wonderful it felt to be feeling so terrible but able to wake in the night and just reach out to someone just across the pillows. And as if that didn't touch me enough I was bowled over by what was to come next. 

Pulling on my coat and borrowed scarf from Mr. Cheese I knew that the 6am London air would be chilly and unpleasant compared to the warmth of the flat. Nevertheless I knew I had to go and that if I didn't go soon I would be making a convincing phone-call to my boss explaining why I wasn't coming in. Asking once more if there was anything I could do for him I bent down to kiss him goodbye. Flashes of role-reversal invaded my mind as I saw myself being kissed by Mr. Workaholic before he left for work, leaving me too in bed. Casting those thoughts aside I rose to my feet, only to be tugged back down for another smooch. This time it was for real - I had to leave. And maybe it was the conscience illness talking or maybe it was straight from the heart I had listened to beat only a matter of hours ago snuggled up on his chest, but one thing is for certain and that is that this morning, I heard clear as day; Mr. Cheese said 'I Love You'!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Not A Cloud In The Sky

Hello everyone, 

So I know that for many of you this week's will be very much an anticipated post about life thus far since Mr. Cheese got home from his Greek adventures. I have even had Miss Tweedle-Dumb and Miss Tweedle-Dee emailing me their own rendition of things. Well here's hoping you wont be disappointed ...

After finishing work early I headed straight to the shops for some much needed alcohol for the impending night out with Miss Chocolate. Why did I leave work early? Because I thought I had an interview. But as per usual I had muddled it up and booked the wrong day off. It was in fact for Monday morning. Irrespective of my inaccuracy I bagged the job and am now working as a Credit Controller for a large industrial machinery company. I know what your thinking - Nine months and four jobs. But what can I say, I like the change! Heading back home to collect my things for the night out I mooched about until it was time to leave. Upon arrival to Miss Chocolate's abode I wasted no time in getting stuck into pre-drinking and talking about life in general. We discussed my upcoming birthday plans and of course my date the following day with Mr. Cheese. As we kept talking, in between taking selfies and putting on make-up, the drinks continued to be poured and before long I was well on my way to loosing all inhibitions. Soon after we left in a cab and arrived at the club in due time but not before stopping off and having a healing from a god-squader who wore very long fake nails and had a head tattoo. Straight to the bar a necked a few before dashing to the dance floor. 

After a few hours and even more drinks I had thought it would be a good idea to email Mr. Cheese although the content of which I am unable to recall. Probably something about dancing and drinking far too much. Throughout this though Miss Chocolate and I have been dancing the hours away with some very dodgy characters, one of which was walking around a fairly packed nightclub with nothing less than a hard-on. Only in Luton would that be acceptable. Nevertheless our night continued. Dancing along suddenly I was approached from behind (No pun intended and anyone who knows me personally knows that this scares me greatly) and grabbed my hand. pulling me in for a hug he whispered in my ear "Follow my lead". Confused I didn't have time to think before he whirled me around the sticky, tiled floor. A space in the crowd formed and in seconds I had turned into a dancing pro; tapping my feet to the Charleston, Mamba and the Waltz. Who was this weirdo though and what did he want? Well apparently he wanted to buy me a drink. I obliged and we headed to the bar. Small talk followed and then the drinks. Not one. Not two. Not three. But four drinks. Granted two were intended for Miss Chocolate but since she didn't like the chosen beverage I adopted it to my bloodstream instead. After some sneaking around Me and Miss Chocolate scurried away from our drinks dispenser and found a quiet corner to guzzle. He found us though and wanted to tell me how rude it was to run away. I explained to him loudly how buying me a drink does not mean I am forced to spend the rest of the night with him and indeed leave with him either. He soon left me to my alcohol and wing-women. 

The night progressed and as it did the more photo's and the more emails were sent, although this was not my only concern of the night. According to legend there was many a frog in the club that night and only a fair maiden such as myself (don't laugh) could cure them of such hideous facial disfigurement. Safe to say no amount of drunken kisses could make them more handsome and so in the small hours of Saturday morning Miss Chocolate and I left for our beds, but not before being followed out of the nightclub and nearly out the doors by one frog in particular obviously wanting more. Smiling and waving as I left I knew that my ego was growing out of control, but by morning came it was back to the usual uninhibited self. 

Finally after spending the morning being shouted at by Miss Chocolate to get up and out of bed I left for London, Jelly Belly well in-toe. Shaved, trimmed, tidied and ready in case anything was to happen and we just couldn't continue with the day until our sexual appetite was satisfied. And so as I approached the grey, shininess of the city there he was to great me, as promised underneath the romantic Marble Arch on the edge of London's Hyde Park. Although I was twenty-odd minutes late he didn't seem to mind and we embraced and talked of our time apart. It was all planned out in my head. We would start off with a picnic by the Serpentine and then head to the Natural History Museum for a potter. Why I hear you ask? Well my dear's Mr. Cheese is very clever and studied ancient Greek history at university. Now since there wasn't a ancient Greek history museum in London that he hadn't been to I thought I would tie in his love of history and Zebra's to make it the best choice next to the Zoo which wouldn't be great if it was raining. As we walked around the green flower gardens of Hyde Park it was at this point my home-made picnic fit for a king and queen was beginning to get heavy. I suggested a pretty spot by the Thames to eat our picnic but after a heavy night of drinking my stomach still did not agree with food but even still I picked until I was satisfied I had dented the amount I brought. 

The rest of the day was spent walking round the expensive shopping quarters in the west of the city stopping off at a cafe for tea and cake. I settled for fruit juice as the belly still didn't know where I was. Hours flew by and I was enjoying myself being around Mr. Cheese although it did take me most the day to pluck up the courage to hold his hand. Naaw! But before long we had dinner in front of us at a simple yet contemporary fish and chip shop in Covent Garden, somewhere a little townie such as my self had never been to before. As the twilight crept in we continued our city tour in under the cover of darkness and the London lights, stopping off at Trafalgar Square, seeing Big Ben, and the Eye, Piccadilly Circus and Nelson's Column. The only thing we missed out on my trip to the capital was Buckingham Palace - But seriously who can complain when you have a cute guy kissing you sweetly beneath the twinkling and bustling action of London Town?

I know what you are all wondering now though. Where did it go? Well I am never one to kiss and tell (at least not yet anyway) although I shall tell you that after an excuse of a nice cuppa we did in fact end up back at Mr. Cheese's very, very nice flat in West London. Surprisingly though,  for a male in his early twenties there are no naked girls plastered on his bedroom walls, only innocent photo's of friends and family. Oh and flags. I think he is a bit obsessed with flags?! Hmmm. But yes I digress. After tea we talked and gradually things started to simmer and whilst the pot didn't boil over as expected or anticipated it was a nice and lovely. Maybe Mr. Cheese has left room for the pot to explode next time we meet which will be this weekend? Oh I do hope so! More than half a year without some hard, hot action and I am in need of a good session that will leave me exhausted and content not disappointed and flat like last time. 

I woke up at 5am on Sunday morning feeling awful and knowing that I couldn't be sick in Mr. Cheese's lovely home I planned on leaving early. Sitting on the edge of the bed and watching him whilst he snoozed (I'm not weird OK everyone does that ... Right?!) I realised that maybe we had made a huge mistake letting things get this far. Was it too soon? Is this the best thing to do? Where do we even go from now? Is this it? To be honest I don't think that really helped my Jelly Belly situation and instantaneously I felt a wave of sickness from the realisation of what had happened the previous night and the serious questions that followed. Mr. Cheese soon woke though and made me melt when he simply rolled over and kissed me on the forehead before asking if I was hungry or wanted tea. Maybe this was it after all? I declined Mr. Cheese's offer and explained I would be leaving soon, although that soon changed when I decided his chest wig and cute tee-pee moob's was much more comfy than the long train journey home. I finally left just after lunch time, although a quick exit was induced as Mr Cheese's flat mate got back from her own escapades just minutes after finishing round three.

All in all though a wonderful weekend of naked cuddles, tender kisses and whispered sweet nothings all topped off with enough pillow talk to smother an elephant. However the questions still prevail; Was it too soon? Is this it? Where do we go from now? All these things. All happening at once. Finally maybe my luck is changing and it seems as I look up theoretically the sun is out and there is not a cloud in the sky ...

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Passion, Persistence and Puke!

Afternoon Everyone, 

So all is well in the world this week. My dilemma essentially has resolved itself as I choose my head over my heart (for once). This has been made maybe slightly easier by the fact that the 'Mystery Man' otherwise now referred to as Mr. Welsh has not been in contact with me since. Although I think that maybe Mr. Cheese may be something worth investigating further - Especially as how things have been ramped up a gear ...

So since our date last week with Mr. Cheese I was struggling with the fact that whilst I tried to tell him through body language that I wasn't comfortable with kissing on a first date he still went in for it and kissed me anyway. Not that it was an awful 'washing machine' experience like some other frogs I have kissed, but as already explained last week was sweet and innocent. We had made plans to meet a week on, however after both Mr. Cheese and I found ourselves at a loose end on Friday night we decided to spend the evening together; And so I had a wonderful evening out in a quaint little Italian restaurant in town. I think the staff could tell we were a 'new pairing' and made all their efforts to make us feel comfortable. Not that I paid much attention to the staff, especially when I have the company of Mr. Cheese rambling on about the appreciation of hats, zebra's and other madness that I thought only I possessed. 

Finally I have found a fellow foodie that doesn't just survive on chicken dinosaurs and potato smiles for breakfast, lunch and frigging dinner like Mr. Workaholic. Although, until your in that position, you never know just how difficult it is to eat a salad gracefully is when the bowl it comes in is lopsided and you have half the Amazon in there too. Desperately trying to cram a forkful of leaves and chicken into your face-hole before your date look's up from his own delicious meal is very hard but I think I got the hang of it. Maybe that's what the staff we smiling about, that funny little women in the corner wrestling with the artistically ridiculous bowl that is completely impractical. Following my wrestling match came an indulgent pudding of Tiramisu and Profiteroles shared with my date, Mr. Cheese. And so there we sat, for once barely saying a thing as we ate our desserts with twinkles in our eyes, slowly licking the spoon and twisting our tongues round a silver fork. As if it couldn't get more intense, Mr. Cheese revealed how one of his siblings would probably be spying from another restaurant across the road, trying to get a glimpse of the action. 

After dinner we made a swift exit hoping not to be caught sight of by Mr. Cheese's brother and made it to the safe haven of a local pub. From the outside it didn't look too busy and so we went in. Sod's law would say that as soon as we walked in it was packed to the rafters and after buying a couple of drinks we spent the rest of the evening there, right up until closing time. We talked thoroughly about everything and anything. But then came the subject of what happened to the 'Ex'. Sweetly and as if not to impose, Mr. Cheese simply hinted at the question so as not to scare or upset me, and, since he himself had opened up about his ex-girlfriend (who sounds like a boring-arse anyhow) I felt compelled to tell him. So for the first time in many, many months I let loose and took myself back to a rainy Friday evening in April last year when my world caved in on itself. I didn't cry, although I did feel very emotional and I think I would have if I had not stopped at certain parts of the story. 

At that moment most men I would have expected to pop on their running shoes and make a swift dash for the exit but Mr. Cheese did not. He stayed put. He comforted me with wise words on how, as I had always hoped, that Mr. Workaholic had lost the best thing that ever happened to him. So sweet we sat in that beer garden surrounded by very loud, drunken, middle-aged people and we talked away for hours. It almost seemed that everyone else just melted away and we were the only two in the world. I loved it. Everything was so relaxed and laid back. My worries of getting serious and falling were suddenly gone and both Mr. Cheese and I agreed that we liked things how they were and not to change them until we were both ready. 

After last orders were called I invited him back to mine where we simply kissed and he called a cab. And that was it, but for some odd reason my bed felt comfier that night, softer than ever before and I fell into a deep sleep. Saturday morning came and went as I passed most of the day lounging in bed listening to old songs thinking about the future with someone other than my Mr. Workaholic. It then suddenly dawned on me. I was thinking about sex. But not just general sex, I was thinking about soft and passionate embraces, lust-filled and exciting with someone other than my Ex! Oh what a feeling it is to realise you are now free from his wretch'ed face! Nevertheless I had to get up at some point as I was meant to be joining Miss Tweedle-Dee and Miss Tweedle-Dumb on a night out with an old acquaintance of theirs, Miss Stuu. Sadly though we never made it to the planned night out as both me and Miss Tweedle-Dumb had subsequently redecorated the inside of Miss Stuu's mothers car. I have never felt guilt like it and both me and the Tweedle's were in bed by ten that night.  

Sunday morning broke and it suddenly dawned on me that date number three is on the horizon. I checked my phone as it bleeped with four messages from what appeared to be a very, very intoxicated Mr. Cheese. Laughing along with Miss Tweedle-Dumb we set a time where we would both be able to make some sort of recovery. Making the journey back to Bedford with Miss Tweedle-Dumb, stopping en-route for a burger from a fast food chain the conversation soon turned to relationships and where things were destining for me and my Cheesey friend, although thankfully I was able to just shrug it off with a few simple answers, although in my head I hoped that maybe in the future something good would come of me muddling up my bridges and meeting that quirky Mr. Cheese.

Arriving home I changed, showered and beautified myself before spending the late afternoon wandering round the parks and rivers of Bedford with Mr. Cheese on our third date. A wonderful afternoon, only to be topped off with a fiery evening of making out on my sofa. It could have gone a lot further if I wanted it. Hell, it could have gone all the way if I hadn't kept cool and collected. Although I would be lying if I said that I wasn't disappointed that we didn't fall asleep together that night. It sounds so simple when writing that we just made out - But for nearly three hours he made me feel like a million dollars. Sweet kisses to my neck and bust made me giddy with excitement and anticipation. I had not felt like that in years and can barely remember a time when Mr. Workaholic had made me feel so wanted. Although just as the passion was taking a hold and the intense sexual chemistry hit a peak whilst Mr. Cheese and I straddled one another on the floor kissing madly I murdered the moment by asking when the last train was. Probably should have kept quiet given the heat of the moment. I didn't want him to miss the last train back to London where he lives though and in all honestly wanted to wait for a few more dates until I 'put out'.

And so Mr. Cheese left. Although this time there shall be a long gap between our next encounters since the jammy bastard is off on a fortnight long, all expenses paid, family holiday  to the hot and luscious islands of Greece. Well I think Greece is an island? (Hmmm) So now I wait and think about what could have been but also of what might be. Where will this go and will it end like last time? I shall have to wait and see, but I am positive that Cupid has well and truly got us with his arrow ... 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx