Implant not Impregnate!

Heyy, 

Sitting in the surgery doctors waiting room to say I was nervous was an understatement. I was anxiously tapping my foot on the floor as I answered questions about my sexual health. Have I ever been paid for sex? Have I ever been forced into sex? Have I ever had abusive sex? Some of the detailed questions were strange, but I suppose they have to ask them as nurses in order to safeguard, both as an arse-covering exercise and to flag up any would-be problems or concerns. And so here I was for my fourth implant exchange. 

Looking on the NHS website, Nexplanon, otherwise known as the contraceptive implant is a small flexible plastic rod that looks a little like a match stick. It is placed under the skin in your upper arm by a doctor or nurse and releases the hormone progestogen into your bloodstream to prevent pregnancy. Lasting for 3 years, it is more than 99% effective and can be useful for women who can't use contraception that contains oestrogen.

The science-y part states that the implant steadily releases the hormone progestogen into your bloodstream, which prevents the release of an egg each month AKA your period.  It also thickens the cervical mucus, which makes it more difficult for sperm to move through the cervix, and thins the lining of the womb so a fertilised egg is less likely to implant itself and cause that dreaded pregnancy! 

The NHS website also states that you can have the implant put in at any time during your menstrual cycle, as long as you're not pregnant. If the implant is fitted during the first 5 days of your menstrual cycle, you will be immediately protected against becoming pregnant, however, if it's fitted on any other day of your menstrual cycle, you'll need to use additional contraception (such as condoms) for 7 days, although if you ask the sexual health nurse or doctor they will usually provide you with as many as you need in a nice little discreet packet, almost like a goody bag or sticker like from the Dentist. 

Some of the reasons to choose the implant over other forms of contraception are that once the implant is in place, you don't have to think about it again for 3 years and is very useful for women who find it difficult to remember to take a pill at the same time every day like me. Obviously, the implant can be taken out if you have side effects which could include periods may become irregular, lighter, heavier or longer but once removed your natural fertility will return very quickly. As soon as that implant has been removed, you'll no longer be protected against pregnancy. You can also use this method until you reach the menopause when a woman's monthly periods stop naturally.

Another common side effect is what I have most of the time which is called amenorrhoea when your periods stop altogether. It's not harmful, but you may want to consider this before deciding to have an implant if unlike me you prefer Aunt Urma staying more regularly. I think this, along with the fact I am incredibly forgetful and blase about the small stuff in life, means this is perfect and I only really need to think about it when I am having it exchanged and replaced. 

I mean obviously, it goes without saying that some medicines can make the implant less effective and that it won't work or protect against sexually transmitted infections (STIs), so you may need to use condoms as well if you are not familiar with your bed-fellow. I think I found it especially useful when I was dating (although this feels like many, many moons ago now) as I was not only using condoms but also relying on my implant too as a sort of double barrier, just in case the condom split or came off. 

To have it removed as I have this evening is simple as well and mostly pain-free. Starting with a local anaesthetic to numb the area on the inside of your upper arm, the implant is then inserted under your skin (mine was after the doctor made a tiny cut in my skin and gently pulled the implant out). It only takes a few minutes to put in and feels like having an injection so you won’t be in need of any stitches afterwards. 

As I type to you all tonight I have been through this very quick and simple procedure several times over and, like me, when it's first put in you may feel some bruising, tenderness or swelling around the implant. My arm is killing me right now, mainly because the nurse took it out and nearly forgot to put me a new one back in, by which point the general anaesthetic had nearly worn off so inserting that little stick felt like pumping molten chilli sauce into my arm. But I am now protected, at least in part from Mr Warehouse's super sperm. His whole family seem to be able to procreate at a somewhat incredible level I don't think I have ever encountered before. 

Don't get me wrong, as the day approached and even this afternoon as I thought more and more about it I know that this will be the last time I will have it going in as I will not be finishing the full term until September 2022. If Mr Warehouse had it his way we would have had children back when we met, aged twenty-two and me at twenty-three. I, however, prefer the more planned and thought out route, choosing to get life to a more stable place, with a house and well-formed relationship to steady the unpredictability of a child. And to think that the next time I lay down on that bed, fist punching the air will be when I have made the decision to breed and make more little me's!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Fifty Shades Finished ...

Evening, 

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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


'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Crime-Scene in My Pants

Evening one and all, 

So after a long and stressful week I was certainly looking forward to the weekend and a much deserved bottle or two. Settling into the drivers seat outside TESCO as I prepared for the journey home, snacking on some ham since I had been hungry since missing my lunch that day. Suddenly walking past the front of my little Viv I noticed my Dad, and, clocking one another I was certainly glad for what ensued. Several hours later we had touched on many a subject including marriage, travelling and home buying, something until only recently I had sought some professional advice about. I think that everything last week had seemed like a challenge and that I wasn't going anywhere and that getting to where I wanted to be, especially on the property ladder, seemed out and out so un-achievable unless I came into a great deal of money or spent the next decade saving. Seeing Dad was lovely and the heart to heart conversations was what I severely missed in my relationship with him. Pop's probably doesn't even realise it but our meeting was really cathartic and meant a great deal to me, even if it was unplanned. 

Seeing Family over the weekend also cheered me up no end, especially my cousins. Aged eleven and twelve, both boys are starting to learn about the world and how it works, and during the course of Saturday I was taught the difference between all the difference levels of Cannabis on the spectrum of hallucinogenics and how these days, schools tend not to bother with the whole banana and condom trick. Oh no! Kids nower days are given full blown Dildo's (And yes my cousin did shout the word dildo several times in the middle of Costa Coffee) and made to put a condom on. The world has come a long way since 2001 I thought. 

Back in the day the lad's and ladies were separated in order to learn about their bodies, but we were never shown or taught what the other had to endure. Ergo, we had the era of the period jokes and a crude fascination with the opposite sex. I would have loved to be a fly on a wall in that room, hearing all about inappropriate boners and what semen contains. I suppose as a boy is may have been equally interesting listening into tits and fannies for half hour every Thursday afternoon. 

In this time frame all the girls were handed a booklet about our body and how it changes in preparation for periods and the eventuality of childbirth. This was my actual nightmare beginning. I hated,  and still do, talking about periods openly. It is something private and whilst every women aged fifteen to fifty does it I still feel a twinge of cringe when I open up about bleeding 'downstairs'. I don't laugh and period puns and can hardly stand it buying tampons or pads, forcing them through the self-scan at TESCO like some strange lady with a weird body function to hide. Its embarrassing - Both being so ashamed of it and actually having to put up with altering your life for however many days in the month. I am lucky in a way that I never suffered at the hands of cramping or major mood swings like some of my friends in the playground, however I think every girl will admit to remembering those dark days when you didn't know how to manage it. Spills, accidents and leaks were something I loathed but in a way I was grateful because it meant that someday I could have my own children and in  way I have now come to accept that it is something natural and normal. 

I will still try to hide away when someone reminds me of that scene in a Rom-Com somewhere, I think its called 'No Strings Attached' (which is ironically funny when I tell you where this is going). Ashton Kutcher (love of my life) makes a period mix-tape and brings round cupcakes for all his Bae's friends, including one friend who describes her period as "A Crime-Scene in My Pants". On this mix-tape including old favourites such as Bleeding Love by Leona Lewis, Red Red Wine by UB40 and The Tide Is High by Atomic Kitten (or Blondie, if your so inclined). As cringe as that was it does go on and the full track listing can be found online. Cute, cringe and bile-inducing all at the same time is hard, but somehow Ashton nails it ... And me if he is in Bedford any time soon!

Back in the classroom the time soon comes when both the classes were combined, adding to the social awkwardness, both for students and teachers alike. Settling an unruly class is one thing, but trying in-vain to teach them about the birds and the bees was another, and so most teachers at my small town Middle School chose to simple put in a VHS they had recorded from a teachers Satellite channel in the late, late hours (Yes I did just say VHS). 

But I must confess that in the whole history of me being in school, both middle and high, the majority if not all of the things I learnt and picked up weren't from phallic shaped fruits or dodgy home-recorded videos, It was from friends (Miss Tweedle-Dee deserves a shut out here as my main provider of such material and knowledge), late night babe channels and sadly porn. I think that teaching kids younger about what is right and wrong in relationships is and can only be a good thing. Starting them off young, telling them about the Pant Rule and showing them about how good relationships work is crucial in bringing down the number of Rapes, teen and unwanted pregnancies as well as STI's and non-abusive relationships. It can only get better and as on the continent shows that good things come from starting them off early with preventative education and serious chats about well-being. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Still Got It!

Hiya!

Who makes up the rules of relationships? Where is the line from just a mild flirt to overstepping the mark? What constitutes as having an affair as opposed to just a fling? And why do we sometimes feel the need to dip our toes in the waters of singles-ville? Now who am I to judge what way you live your lives, but something over the weekend got me thinking. 

Sitting in a nice enough social club in the heart of the Bedfordshire countryside and surrounded by mainly faces I had never met before, I was mildly entertained by my evening at a thirtieth birthday party. With the needy DJ switching up songs every few minutes in order to keep at least one or two people on the dance floor, I was merry without the effects of alcohol. And no, I do not have something wrong with me (cheeky mare, you) but I had a driving lesson the following morning so wanted to be clear and clean ready to get behind the wheel with my instructor. 

After several rounds on the dance floor and a couple of trips to the bar, the night was rounding off to a good ending. But it was about to improve, for who was this Mr. Warehouse was talking to! "Ding! Dong!" I thought to myself as my boyfriend sat and chatted to whom appeared to be an old friend. The stranger soon noticed me sitting their trying to look interested in the tired, 1970-esk decor that shrouded the hall. Extending his hand, all the while sipping red wine from the other I took not of the dark, floppy hair and chocolaty eyes that framed the chiseled face and jumper-clad body. Well that's how my sober mind saw it anyway although you all know how I love to exaggerate. Nevertheless I acknowledged that he was and undoubtedly probably still is a dashingly handsome young man, whoever he was anyway. 

As the evening continued I found myself laughing at all his jokes, bonding over talk of work and what we all do for a living and even convinced him to wear my fedora, pulling it off like something out of a James Bay tribute act. Explaining how Mr. Warehouse and I met filled me with joy strangely and I am still unsure as to why. Maybe it was because I was so giddy that I was in the presence of not one but two equally screwable men, or maybe because I had already seen this stranger check me out and I was proud that I was all Mr. Warehouse's - No sharing permitted! Either way we had a length conversation with the good-looking stranger and his equally funny and friendly wife (yes that's right folks you heard correct - Wife!) and as you do when you are drunk and you plan to go onto buy houses next door to each other, send the children to the same school and eventually get a graveyard plot a few centimetres apart. 

Alas we have yet to go on our first double date with them which we had swapped numbers and made plans to do very soon but this got me really thinking. At what point would you say someone was overstepping the mark in a relationship? Everyone walks down the street or sees someone on the tube now and again and thinks 'Phwoar! I wouldn't kick them out of bed for farting' - A phrase I stole from my good friend Mr. CWG otherwise known as Creepy Warehouse Guy. Now you see why?! But when does it get past that and onto something more sinister. Is it when they stare with an intoxicated gaze at your chest, then look at you with a smirk in their eyes? Is it when they ask you to meet up after work for a quick drink? Is it when your on their sofa and your pants are ... OK we get the picture! But seriously though, what is OK?

Its normal right? I mean everyone has a crush on a celebrity or someone completely unobtainable like their boss at least once in their lifetime, its just life right? I know that the moment Cheryl Cole (or what every her bleeding name is now) is on telly with her new music video, trotting round in a pair of knickers, platforms and a whole heap of not-much-else; I know that my beloved boyfriend, Mr. Warehouse will be out for the count for at least three-minutes. But I don't mind because its unobtainable in the most part. What is dangerous is when it crosses into daily life - The stranger in the social club, the women on the bus. On an almost daily basis sometimes I watch people on my morning commute or that come through the offices be it Male or Female, and I appreciate how hot they are. Sometimes I feel the need to go and congratulate them on dressing well and sometimes I imagine them in underwear.Its naughty and you probably shouldn't do it but its just in your head so it cant really hurt anyone ... Can it?

I feel that this is a huge thing for me as I am always conscientious of not making Mr. Warehouse feel awkward or unloved or left out in social situations as I know I can be a bit (OK alot) of an attention whore sometimes (OK all the time - Jeez) and with this I feel comes part and parcel a little bit of flirting. Now I know where the boundaries lie and when your kissing someone who isn't your other half more than you would kiss your grandma then that's where you need to step away from the adultery and back the fuck off before anyone gets anymore hurt. I don't see anything wrong with kissing someone you have known for a while and that you are friendly with in a normal conventional sense on the lips. Nothing smoochy, just a quick peck on the lips - Soft and swift. Anything longer than a second is awkward and anything longer than three is pretty much "Get the topsoil we have a hoe"!

I'm not saying its OK to cheat or that I myself would, but what I do know from my past experience which I am not proud of being a cheater and being cheated on, someone is always going to lose. What I have taken away from anything on Friday evening was that whilst attractive strangers will come and go, its the people that tickle you on the sofa that matter. I love my Mr. Warehouse more than ever and with his new job finishing in a few moments I will anticipate his arrival home with more love and affection that I had yesterday but less than tomorrow. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

A Smile Is The Best Fashion Accessory!

Afternoon, 

So after last weeks torturous and slightly S&M evening with Mr. Masseuse (No Pain, No Gain! - If you haven't read it you need to .. Its Hilarious!!!) I was glad of a somewhat mundane week at work with an uneventful weekend to follow. 

I was not however looking forward to the dentists appointment though. Several weeks ago I had gone for my first check up in over seven-years since I left school, aged sixteen. Terrified as a child after having some surgery and not being given enough drugs to knock me the fuck out I woke half way through the procedure and with eyes flashing wildly to gain the attention of the dental staff I was otherwise paralysed, forced to watch and feel as they drilled and burrowed into my tiny mouth. 

Another reason why I was so frightened of the Dentist as a teen was mainly because the appointments always seemed to crop up on a Wednesday or a Thursday - The days I used to finish school early and meet the boys after school for some more "advance classes" and "extra tuition" if you follow my drift. So scared I was of getting caught in the act I would rush home after one of these "sessions" and brush my teeth in a bid to rid my mouth of any evidence. I don't know why. I was like fifteen and thought that the Dentist would peer into my mouth and turn to my mother and say 
"I am sorry but it looks like your daughter has been sucking dick. What do you propose we do with this then, Hmm?" Genuinely scared, even as I sat in the scary leany-backy chair that they would look at my pearly whites and see residue of something that shouldn't have been there. It humoured me slightly to think that when I was lying in a similar chair on Saturday Morning. 

Preparing myself I had already called the surgery in advance and asked about the procedure and what would happen, what would be done and what I should bring. Of course I knew all the answers myself and in all honesty could have easily saved not only my time and lunch break but also my dignity, especially when I asked if someone could come in and hold my hand. And yes, just to remind you I will be twenty-four in nearly a months time! 

Saturday morning I awoke and rolled over to a bemused Mr. Warehouse. 
"What exactly is so funny?" I asked croakily through tousled bed hair and blurred vision. 
"Today is the day!" Mr. Warehouse chirped and after asking what he was on about a shuddering noise rang through me, knocking out any hope of a cheeky lye-in. It was Mr. Warehouse - Making drilling noises and humming the Jaws theme tune. And as he nonchalantly laughed off his lad-ish "banter" I secretly made a mental note not to place anything in long and hard in my mouth other than a toothbrush before 9am. 

Getting up and dressed I bought time by Googling pointless things of interest like Puppies and John Wayne Gacy paintings (If you haven't seen them or even know who he is then I give you permission to seek out your inner sicko and Google this man and his heinous crimes) - Yes I have a fluctuating mindset sometimes. Nevertheless it was soon time to leave but as I made my way out of my flat, followed shortly by Mr. Warehouse I was yet again greeted by the deathly hum's growling form Mr. Warehouse's voice box, of which I was very close to ripping out. He was not very nice to me that day!

Arriving at the surgery, again like the last time I visited it was baking hot and I was thankful for the empty waiting room and friendly receptionist. Unlike last time I came for a check up, whereby I was over forty-minutes early because Mr. Warehouse had rushed me out the door, I only had a few moments to wait before I was called for. And so, up the wooden staircase I ascended, dramatically thinking as I always do that I may never return and I somehow may meet my death in a Sweeney Todd Style Murder a la Dental Practise. But as soon as I walked into the room and was greeted with the same, slightly foreign and overly-made-up dentist I was at ease - slightly!?

As the chair reclined once more I opened my mouth wide and stuck in my headphones with a preplanned playlist consisting of mostly club but certainly all loud songs ranging from guilty pleasure hit "Don't Call Me Baby - Madison Avenue" to the 2003 smash "Milkshake - Kelis" and even a new favourite of mine "Gimme Head - Shystie" which is vocally, erm, interesting, but more importantly would definitely take my mind of Miss Tooth-Decay drilling away in my moush. But as I felt the prickly jab of the needle going into my gums, flooding my mouth with local anaesthetic, I tried to relax. Liking the fact I had already put together a compilation of my favourite tunes for my impending doom at the Dental Surgery. I even got a chance to relax enough to tap my toes to a few beats. I had somewhat even started to enjoy the drilling sensation and started to play silly games like running away from the mini-sucky-thing they use! 

But before I had even got a chance to get to some of the better song on my playlist of pleasantness the chair was re-clining back up to an upright position. Taking my headphones off my ear holes I asked if that was it. My kind Dentist friend nodded and went on to say how well I did. "I wonder if I am going to get one of those overly-sized stickers for being such a good girl today?" I thought to myself as I listened to her saying something about flossing more. Woozy from the injections and sudden, unexpected right-angle position I found myself in I exclaimed that I felt like a cat, feeling my swollen face and cheeks, checking that I didn't in fact look like a balloon. Thanking my Dentist and nurse I exited the room and descended the stairs, without the body bag and still very much alive. As I turned into the main staircase there he was, Mr. Warehouse, waiting patiently for me with a concerned yet proud look on his face. I knew he had not been there for the full time I had been in but I appreciated the little white lie he told me, despite not being able to uphold it later on when questioned. I made an appointment for February next year and promised to see them soon. I don't know if I will go in six months for sure, but rest assured I am slightly less scared of the Dentist, although I am not fully cured. I will now be on my way to alleviate any more worry and have a giggle by Googling tooth fetishes and dental depravities. Good Night Mon Frere's!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

No Pain, No Gain!

Hey Ya'll, 

Ever wondered what its like to be a lady who lunches all the time. An unemployed busy-body whose husband is always working away, you probably have children in private school, and a friend circle which including the names Pippa, Harriet and Felicity. A wonderfully luxurious cocktail of Pilate's, Champagne afternoon tea and sneaky Tuesday afternoons stolen with a gardener whom tends to not only your roses but you as well, right after Murder She Wrote. Ahh yes, and the husband doesn't even know a thing! 

One thing that posh ladies who are unemployed do is go for spa days and massages on a regular basis, and as a wanna-be-posho, I try to keep up with this trend by booking in a massage every couple of months or so to relieve all the tension that builds up through people generally just getting on my fucking wick! However, my normal salon, which is college based training new, upcoming college-grad's on the best techniques and methods, was closed for the summer break and so I booked in with somewhere new. And so, walking into the new Chiropractic Surgery and taking a seat I glanced round the converted 19th Century waiting room. As the pre-twenty-something receptionist handed me a clipboard I read through the registration form before filling it out as best I could. After a quick pop to the little girls room I was ready to be rubbed down and have all the tension of the past few weeks eased away. 

Soon I was greeted by a tall gentleman, softly spoken with a wonderfully smooth and relaxing voice, possibly even sexy to an extent. He welcomed me into the small but airy consulting room and ushered me to sit on the massage table. Seating myself we talked for a few minute about my specific areas of tension and 'tight areas'. But with such a chocolatey-velvet voice I struggled not to imagine this as a weird porno whereby I would have added extras to complete my "treatment". To look at the poor man he wasn't that much of a painting, or at least not for me. He was no Mr. Warehouse put it that way. But Mr. Masseuse was very calming and relaxed in his attitude, especially given the fact he was sat bouncing softly on a Pregnancy Ball. Fairly young, probably no older than early-thirties, blonde hair - short but messy and with a twang in his husky voice that seemed European, or at the very least well travelled I listened carefully as he grilled me on not drinking enough water. 

As he got up and left the room, I undressed down to my panties as I usually would and did that odd shuffle you do when trying to get onto the massage table whilst attempting to keep my dignity and not look like a dead seal by the time the Masseuse comes back, which is always milliseconds after they initially leave. Placing my head in the doughnut I saw two feet appear, clad in a socks and sandals combo. 
"Yes, that's defiantly got 'home-schooled in Prague' written all over it!" I thought to myself as he lubed - I mean oiled up! Getting cringier by the minute he awkwardly asked if he could undo my bra and after saying yes politely it was unclasped quicker than you could say 'Playaaa'. 

As he started to work on my shoulders I winced at the pain. 
"This is meant to be relaxing not punishing?!" I pondered, gritting my teeth through the searing sting. "Or maybe that's what he wanted?!" my mind said, altering what was a normal visit to the Chiropractors into something much seedier. 
"Wouldn't it be hilarious if there was a mirror on the floor so you can see your face crumple when you are kneaded within an inch of your life by a smooth talking, beardy European man with no clear sense of sandal-etiquette" I chuckled to myself as I braced once more for his powerful push. 

As time went on I wondered if it would ever end and I will just get a nice smooth caress. No. The pain and struggle continued as Mr. Masseuse stretched, pulled and pushed my back like he was making a loaf of bread. 
"I will pay for my kindness and inability to saying ease up on the pressure tomorrow" I thought to myself wrenching once more as he Mr. Masseuse bore into my spine once more with his knuckles. It was almost laughable in some instances, especially when he went up round the back of my neck, a sensitive, sweet-spot anyway. I think the fact that he was discussing a "friend" of his whom enjoyed the feel of ladies walking on his back didn't help to stifle the sniggers and in all fairness I was just waiting to feel something oddly shaped and sticky on my back. 

But again and again I watched those socked-up, granddad-trainer-sandals pace in front and to the sides of me ready to deliver the sharp pinch of back-fat. Suddenly, as if the pain in my shoulders and spinal column wasn't enough to leave me paralysed, I felt a sharp jab on my Love-handle. And again, this time rolling the burn from my tail-bone to my hip. This had gone from what I envisaged as an oddly erotic, 1980's style porno, to a full blown BDSM, bondage sesh with zero safe-word. No longer could I contain my torture and out escaped a little "Eeeep"!

"What was that?!" I scolded myself, wondering if Mr. Masseuse though he may have stepped on a mouse. But alas, the agony had somewhat eased. I was tender in a spot I never even knew was tender! I was more sore their than anywhere else on my body. But after a few more 'oohs', 'ahhs' and "Eeeeps", the agonising manoeuvres were met with some reassuring 'hmms' from Mr. Masseuse. Kindly he said that my sides and the bottom of my back was seized up and needed to be released. Listening to his creamy tones I soaked up the moments of painlessness. But then a jab. Right to the buttocks. And then the other. Right in the middle of each Arse-cheek. Under my bum. On the sides of my bum  and back to the middle of each cheek again. "That hurt. That really hurt!" I squealed in my head. Agreeing with my pain he pokes some more along my thighs and concludes that whilst they are not the problem, my derrière, love-handles and calves were all seized up and needed to be "worked on". 

Facial distortion over with I was finished off (No Pun Intended!) with a firm rub to the nape of my neck to which made me squirm with a cold mixture of delight, tickles and the gratefulness that my hour-long ordeal with Mr. Masseuse was nearly over with. But then, just as I had contained my giggles so far he came out with the phrase "Mmm, yes. Your neck is spasticated." And oh dear. It had slipped out in a pure gaffeur of excitement and hilarity. Laughing and chuckling away to myself, imagining partly the look on my Mr. Masseuse's face and also reliving those words in my head I tried to excuse my behaviour by stating that I was ticklish their. I mean how old was I - Four!? 

With a buttery-smooth response, slightly sexy in a way from Mr. Masseuse saying that "it's be its OK to be ticklish" I was brought back into the room, in my imagination now with red and black walls, dimly lit and smelling of candle wax; When in reality it was still light outside and with a cool but warm breeze through the third floor sash window. Slowly and rather gently wiping off the excess oils Mr. Masseuse exited the room and I swiftly shot up and snatched at my clothes, shoving them on as quickly as I could, knowing Mr. Masseuse was waiting behind the frosted glass door. After I was dressed I invited him back into his room and listened to all the things he had to say about my body and how to try and alleviate some of the stresses in it. 

Granted I have probably over-exaggerated the whole BDSM, rough and ready, porno vibe but in my mind it sounds better than a whitewashed Chiropractic Surgery in which a Professional well-educated man with a slight accent massages the aches and pains of an overly excited twenty-three-year-old. Nevertheless I left the Treatment room, glad to be home safe in the knowledge that I will not be signing up to a life-time of luxurious mani's, pedi's and massages any time soon, and certainly not to the sado-masochistic Mr. Masseuse with his dulcet tones, heavy handed nature and odd footwear choices

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Fifty Shades of Dismay!

Hello one and all, 

So last week was Valentines day and suffice to say that the loving nature of things came to a crashing blow mid-week. One reason being an altercation with a colleague but another was my absolute dismay at how shockingly poor the hotly anticipated blockbuster 'Fifty Shades of Grey' was. 

In 2012, admits a gut-wrenchingly messy break-up with Mr. Workaholic I took complete solace in reading the trilogy of books by E. L James; 'Fifty Shades of Grey', 'Fifty Shades Darker' and 'Fifty Shades Freed'. It seems like so long ago I struggle to remember what it was like reading them, although I know already a part of me is hesitant to return to such a dark place in my past. Those books shaped my being, gave me structure and when everything else failed helped me realise that there was life after heart-break. I soon rekindled a somewhat telephonic and long-distance relationship with Mr. Woof, (to which he has now earned his name) and in a round about way, gave me back some power and control I had since lost. Written as part of an original Twilight fan fiction I soon completely immersed myself in the world of Mr. Christian Grey and Miss Anastasia Steele. When I wasn't found drinking away my sorrows with friends of a weekend back home in Dunstable and Luton, or at sneaking out of work on a break to call Mr. Woof just to get him off, I would be found with my head in those books; escaping in any way I could from my own reality. 

I suppose in a way the concept of BDSM had always been in the back of my mind, a taboo idea reserved only for a trusting relationship of which I found myself without. But I always liked the thought of being in control and in charge. I tried it once. Once! Cast your minds back everyone to my post entitled "A Midsummer Night's Disaster!" in which I truly thought that this would be a good time to implement my inner dominatrix. Suffice to say that attempting kinky sex with a drunk man whom you do not know the name of and have brought home for the night is not a good idea at all. I think we all know the ending to that story so I shall not relive it again. Looking back now it was a step too far and one which was taken in hast with the prospect of getting over my first and possibly only true love. Needless to say that I should have been happy with the No Strings Attached heated phone-calls I received in the dead of the night from Mr. Woof. Some of them were when he was stoned. Some of them were when he was drunk. Some of them were even when he was at work himself. When I talk about it like that it seems as though he was using me to the highest of advantages; abusing the trust and vulnerability of an old friend. But I was as much to blame in that as Mr. Woof was. I wanted and needed attention. I was lacking it both in my job as well as friends and family who lived far from my door. I needed a little something I could dip into as and when I wanted. My honey pot of self-discovery and self-obsession. A confidence boost that extended far further than sexual gratification. Ahh yes, it was "A Dogs Life" after all. 

As for the film though I was disappointed to say the least. With the media hyping it up as they usually do with these things I tried to take it all with a pinch of salt and with a level head told myself I would judge when I had seen it not through another persons version of events and retelling. Once seated in the cinema with our sneaky snacks from outside the establishment brought in we awaited the film in high anticipation along with other eager viewers, most of them women and over the age of thirty-three. 

Rolling titles beginning it started as I had hoped and expected. the long drawn out scenes were everything that I hoped Hollywood would create. But obviously anyone whose anyone read the book in their own special way, imagining how Christian would look and what he would sound like as well as the timid Ana. I always thought of Anastasia being a brunette, yes, with an unfamiliar and uninteresting face, something you could so easily miss in the corridor to your office or in the halls at college. I never imagined her attitude being so open to such shocking and horrific mistreatment in the bedroom. Always thinking of her as a mouse and Grey as a calculated lion ready to pounce at any moment. Speaking of which, in my minds eye I saw my Christian as taller, broader, more chiselled and strangely more tanned. He had stubble for me and was more of a darker grey-eyed than anything else. 

Cinematically the colours were completely off. Far too much grey. We got the picture. Its 'Fifty Shades of Grey', we weren't expecting a bright technicolour rainbow on our screens, but neither did we expect to be sitting here wondering if this is what the world is like to dogs. Grey. Scenery was on point, not perfect but OK. Christians Apartment was what I expected from my head, as was Anastasia's flat-share with BFF Kate. Audibly I don't think they come better than Danny Elfman. The mastermind behind the music for TV Show 'The Simpsons', The award winning 'Silver Linings Playbook' starring Jennifer Lawrence and Bradley Cooper and my personal favourite of creating the brilliant theme song for 'Desperate Housewives' (God Rest In Television Peace - You are sorely missed!). 

Ahh yes, and so my film critic has come to a close. I would in all fairness urge you to go. Unless your a raging feminist and then of which probably don't go; You'll be scowling at the screen like Miss Tweedle-Dee wondering if consent was ever given or not and whether this all constitutes as rape. But that my friends is another story. All in all it wasn't the worst film. Very, very rushed, poorly made, shoddily thrown together with little nudity or sexual engagement or enlightenment yes. But not a whole waste of time. For as I left that cinema seat, another little part of my heart healed from where my first love had broken it. And all for seeing a crumby movie about bondage. 

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

Like Waiting For A Bus ...

Evening everybody, 

Hope all is well in the land of wherever you be reading, fine fellows. Here in Blightly as some of you may have noticed is fucking freezing. Quite literally - It was snowing here in the 'Shire. Which is why I now in my toasty little flat with a blanket draped over my legs. Yes. I am naked as I write and as brutally honest I could be much more honest with you all on some of my most recent feelings, but I shall not dwell on them before I have to. All in good time. Instead I thought I may share some warmth with you and try my hand at some erotic fiction. Now I must warn you that this is maybe not for the faint hearted and nor should you be reading whilst your Boss is in the same room, besides shouldn't you be managing an Excel Spreadsheet or drafting up a letter. For this is something special, a personal experience, and one that I will never forget - All I can say is ... FINALLY!
Enjoy!

'Til next time, Love A.Lou xx

---

It was a cold and blustery evening in late December when the young, blonde and her current partner, were lying on a pull out sofa-bed, watching junk TV and scoffing even junkier food. After hours of relaxing and laughing in each others company the mood suddenly changed. With the mind racing (and somehow playing Barry White at the same time), she experienced her lovers hot kisses, leaving light wet stains down her pale neck as he trailed down her warm body. In vain, she tried to keep her breathing slow and steady whilst allowing  her spirit to be taken over. Hearts starting to skip, beating harder and faster making the young women breathe heavier as he went even lower. As he cups her supple breasts in each hand she whispers for him to take her nipples to his lips and begin to nibble and suck lightly making her moan softly, throw her head back in pleasure, long, blonde hair tumbling over the both of them, cascading down her voluptuous body. 

"I can feel myself getting wetter with every kiss you place on my smooth skin" she says as he tugs on her chest once more, swiftly making her convulse with pleasure. Slowly his hands start to run across her warm stomach and down to the hips where he holds them tightly, pressing his palms into her pelvis to stopping her body writhing from the pleasure. 

"Its too much. I need you. Now." she pants in his ear. "Take me" she says in deep, hushed tones. Breathing heavy and kissing passionately he grasps her neck and face in his manly hands, tugging playfully on her long locks and she knows to return the favour running her deft fingers through his hair. Holding the nape of her neck as he kisses her - Long, passionate, meaningful kisses. This is making the tension between them harder to resist. 
Slowly she trails her hands to his crotch, playing with the waistband, teasing making him feel the pressure as much she is. Inch by inch she gradually makes it into his tight underwear. Feeling him throbbing in her soft hands she moves him up and down, pacing them both until their breathing gets to the same speed. Feeling him succumb to her charms was exhilarating and knowing this just by looking into his eyes and hearing him groan, she moves faster until he cant take it no more. Releasing himself she ran her fingers along his silky shaft whilst he kissed and bit at her décolletage. 

Grabbing at her waist, he shifted her so she was finally underneath him, revealing the silken bedsheets swaddling the make-shift bed. Looking into each others eyes lust takes hold and suddenly they are pulling at each others clothes violently trying to get them off as quickly as possible, sensually making-out as they undressed. As she ruffles her fingers through his hair, he moves south and in the knowledge of how moist she was, he tugs off her underwear. Finally he bury's his head between her strong, toned thighs and with a strong hold on her pelvis begins to taste her, as hot as the tension between them. She could feel herself getting higher. He could feel it too as they entwine their fingers, steadily climbing to the peak. Again it gets too much for her to handle and just before she climaxes he stops and join's her in the Northern-hemisphere. 

As he clutches something long and pink, bought by someone old, he smiles knowing just what an impact this joyous stick will provide. Smiling he slowly caresses her lower body with the vibrations, holding it close to her making it even more intense and highly-strung than before. She was so sensitive. So moist. So ready. He can tell just how amazing this feels for her and getting more and more excited himself he continues to stimulate her Nether-Region. Harder he presses. Faster he moves. Deeper he thrusts into her and higher she climbs. Oh god. More! More! Please! She begged him to pull her in closer and hold her as she climaxed. Getting hotter she felt the waves she had read about and heard tales of so many times as her and her friends sat around at dinner discussing it. Rolling waves of heat and chill soon enough lead her to the peak. Eye rolling, back arched, body uncontrollably shaking and quivering with excitement she came, her world crashing around her in a spectacular first ever orgasm. He wasn't about to give up though and getting off himself in this torturous pleasure-game as mere seconds later it was in another blazing glory that she climaxed again, coming a second and a third time.  

In the moments that followed he wanted her for himself and as they spend moments staring into each others eyes, all she wants is to feel him inside her, getting deeper and harder. She does not have long to wait as he teases his way into her, prizing her legs apart and squeezing her waist as he enters slowly. Gasping as she feels him stretching her and letting out a little moan he starts to get harder, tensing his manhood as he thrusts into her once more making her cry out in pleasure. She knew by his contorted face that he was not far behind and as she tightened herself around him. She could feel him. All of him. As she whispered breathlessly sweet nothings into his ear and softly bit the earlobes of her partner, he held down her hips, his grip getting harder he let out the longest, deepest, animalistic groan she had ever heard. She felt the shudders from his core as he groaned once more, finishing deep and hard. 

Exhausted he collapses, snuggling his head into her breasts. There they lye for a while as she plays with his face until he pulls her into his chest where they fall asleep in each others arms, both of them blissfully unaware of the world outside and just how different it is, now she has experienced her first orgasm that is!

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