A whole lotta Durex and a whole lotta fun

So, The Frenchman came, he went and I conquered. And we came. And came. A massive box of Durex, gone. Fun times. Right now, I’m battling against a cold and feeling a bit sorry for myself. The cold is courtesy of The Frenchman. He came down with it three days before flying in but hey, it’s a small price to pay for the fun we had.

 The weekend went without a hitch, despite the sky shitting snow all over London. I mean, really?! I had to adjust the plans I’d made a little but on the whole it went to plan. I was unbelievably nervous waiting for him at the airport. I have no idea why. But I was. Proper heart ricocheting in my chest, sweaty palms, sickly nervous. But then when I saw him, well, all was good. He looked deliciously handsome and was wrapped up in the scarf I’d bought him for Christmas. Looked good on him, too. On the drive into London, I showed him various sites – the Olympic Park, Canary Wharf, my house. Yep. We drove straight past it. And if it wasn’t for the fact I’m living with the ‘rents, I’d have been taking him there instead. Having said that, when we got to the hotel, it was clear I’d made the right choice. We got upgraded to a suite for no apparent reason (and I never get upgraded anywhere, on anything, ever). So, instead of just a room, we had a massive living room with a great view over London, massive bathroom with double shower, kitchen and bedroom. Nice. This clearly meant more surfaces to get dirty on. And get dirty we did. Bedroom, tick. Shower, tick. Bath, tick. Kitchen, tick. Sofa, tick. Up against the floor to ceiling height windows overlooking Waterloo station? Tick. Just, fabulous. I’m quite amazed at how good the sex actually is. Very cat that got the cream, I can tell you.

 So, the Friday, we went to look at Egyptian mummies and drink real ale in a chintzy Victorian pub and in the evening, I introduced him to Nandos. I cannot believe they don’t have one in France. I mean, seriously? What’s that all about? I adore Nandos. So we met up with Miss America and her husband, had some food and then headed into central London for some cocktails. It was a lot of fun. I love that The Frenchman loves to dance. I love that he’s so affectionate, even in front of other people. He’ll kiss me anywhere. Over the table in a restaurant, on the Tube, on the bus, in a packed bar. I felt thoroughly adored and I’m sure I was positively glowing. It was a lovely day and night. With the snowfall everything was coated in white and it was nothing short of romantic, walking around the near deserted streets of London at 2am after having argued about whether English or French McDonald’s was better…ahhh, l’amour. Saturday was a chilled affair. We had a long lie in and a nice lunch before wandering around Covent Garden, Soho and Carnaby Street. We stopped off at Yuautcha, a Chinese/Japanese restaurant in Soho and had coffees and macaroons (cola, hazelnut and parma violet flavoured. Just yum) and headed back to the hotel for a nap. That night we went on the London Eye, a first for the both of us, and then into Chinatown for dinner. I think it’s safe to say that his naughty side is definitely becoming a lot more pronounced now. As we were having a cigarette in the freezing cold, he told me he’d love to warm me up by pushing me up against the wall and fucking the life out of me. I almost choked on my cigarette. Not because I’m a prude, but because it came from him. He’s always sensitive, more romantic than aggressive in the bedroom, and even though I knew he had a naughty side to him, it took me by surprise coming from nowhere like it did. Yeah. That was a lot of fun.

 That’s what the weekend was. Fun. We didn’t have any heavy conversations, we just hung out. Enjoyed each others company. Took the piss out of my bad French and his dodgy English phrases. After talking about blowjobs, it transpired I can’t say ‘souffler’ (blow) and it’s a common term of endearment in French to call a woman ‘Ma biche’ (my doe). He calls me his little venison instead. We’re racking up the ‘in jokes’ and each of them make me smile. I didn’t repeat the L-Bomb but it took a LOT of restraint on my part. It’s incredibly hard for me to hold back on what I’m feeling sometimes but, I did it. And as he told me at the airport as he was leaving, ‘we’re strong’. That’s enough for me.

For the entire weekend, we were literally joined at the hip. So much so that I feel a bit lost now. As usual, it’s going to take a good few days for me to feel back to normal, get used to sleeping alone and waking alone. Total balls.

I go back to Marseille in four weeks time and I’m already marking the days in my calendar.

It.Cannot.Come.Quick.Enough.

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Fun Filled Dirty Weekend

Ok, so I’ve been a touch lazy with the old blog updates, but since I depart for my girls holiday tomorrow, I thought I ought to find time.

So, first things first. Mr Grey? So not a prude. After instigating a text conversation with him in an effort to find out what his sexual preferences were, he was very forthcoming. In fact, he provided a list as long as my arm! Some of them were fairly run of the mill, some were things I needed more clarification on. For example, he likes to be tied up and abused, with no limits on how. What does this mean? When I asked, he said it depended on the other person, but it could be anything. Does he like to be slapped about, or is it all verbal? I have no idea. I need more information on what this entails. Also on the list, he’s a fan of a little bum action. What man isn’t? Perhaps I should add he’s not averse to a sly finger up there himself.

Hmmm.

Not sure about that. In any case, I unleashed a monster because my phone was blowing up with messages all night. Which made me a bit worrisome for Miss Sunshine’s birthday weekend. It ended up being a fantastic laugh. Her new boyfriend is lovely, I’m so pleased for her. Back at the hotel, Mr Grey and I had immense amounts of frankly, amazing, sex after our adrenaline filled afternoon. In the evening we went for dinner and drinks, made more exciting by the fact that I went commando under my little black dress. When I told him, he said ‘but you’re wearing tights.’ Perfect timing for me to reveal my suspenders and stockings. Yup, that’s how I roll. So after holding back on pent up tension all night, we went back to the hotel for more dirty time.

Oh, and as you might’ve guessed by my last post, I stacked it in my eagerness to get back to our room. Fell flat in the middle of the road and grazed my knee quite badly. I don’t know what it is about him that makes me lose control of basic motor functions but as per usual, we both saw the funny side.

On Sunday, we relaxed in the morning before driving back to his where I stayed until early evening when he went out with his boys. And now, I have at least a week until I see him again. I’m ridiculously excited about Ibiza with the girls, but I’m going to miss him. Oh dear. I actually like him – a hell of a lot. I don’t quite know how that happened. I mean, how on earth can a guy call me ‘cunt flaps’ and have me giggling like a moron and wanting more? Very odd indeed.

I’m pleased he’s not a prude. He’s getting more and more like Christian Grey every day 🙂

Getting the treatment

It’s Monday already. Not quite sure how that happened! My weekend with MOD was good – mostly hungover, but good. When I got to his house I was more than surprised to smell a roast cooking in the oven. I’d expected to get a bag of chips or something, not least because I know money isn’t his best friend at the moment. When he went split personality on me, we’d been talking about a shared love of roast dinners and it seemed he remembered that. He told me I had roast beef, roast potatoes, mash and veg, and to top it off, chocolate cheesecake. And a bottle of red wine. Clearly I was getting the treatment!

What I liked was that there was no awkwardness. We fell back into our default mode of taking the piss out of each other for pretty much the whole weekend. After stuffing our faces and leaving the cheesecake til later, we went to our friends gig. There were a few people from school there too and we had a good laugh. Of course we had a deep conversation about life and love and he very nearly shed tears talking about his frustration at not being able to see his son as much as he’d like, but on the whole we had a fun night. He was a perfect gent, buying me drinks and holding my jacket all night – small things make me smile. We went into town for some more drinks before heading back to his and when he stripped off the fun began. Thankfully this time he wasn’t sick – not while we were busy anyway. And I’m meant to be the lightweight!

We progressed to sober sex (which was just as good) and then he took me out for lunch, which is when my hangover started to really kick in. Not fun when you consider I’d been taking the piss out of him all morning. Karma is a bitch. After doing the rounds seeing the family, I went back to his to sleep. He was meant to be going out but as he was still feeling rough decided not to. Instead, his friend came round and we had pretty much a repeat of last time all three of us were together: lots of stupid talk, giggles and drinking. We eventually went to bed at 5am. So much for a quiet night in! It was an early start the next day – me getting my train back to London and him seeing his son, but I had a smile on my face.

After our drunken, deep conversation, it’s clear he wasn’t joking when he said his mind isn’t in the right place for a relationship, but regardless of where this goes, I’m glad we’ve kept in touch and seen each other again. He’s a very smart guy, more than I’d have given him credit for, and a great laugh.

In other news, I should be meeting up with Mr Double-Barrel again this week. Busy, busy, busy!