Masturbation and Media

As achievements go, masturbating myself into my local A & E has never really been up there on my 'top ten to do before I die', but achieve it I did. Y'see, recently it was my birthday and ever the kind soul that he is, one of my long standing clients in Belfast asked me what I would like. No contest, I asked for a Hitachi magic wand. For those of you not familiar with said device, in terms of stimulating a woman, it gets you from nought to sixty before you can say 'HEADS' - on the break during Coronation Street.

Eager as I was to try my new toy, I rushed back to my hotel room and sure enough, found that euphoria in record time. There was just one small problem, I developed a very bad headache, to the point where I thought it might be a migraine, although I've never had one of those in my life. So I darkened the room and lay down and in time it passed. Fast forward some two weeks and I'm demonstrating the benefits of a wand to a bemused client in his hotel room, rather like a late night shopping channel, naked.

With the rush of fluids and moans and all things gorgeous which go to prove that the good lord did indeed intend us to have sex ad infinitum - came the worst headache I have ever had in my life. It was at the back of my head and was pulsating, literally taking my breath away. What to do ?

As it happened I had a routine appointment with my GP several days later and gingerly raised the issue. She said she was going to consult with her colleagues and call me back, and in the meantime I was to find something to keep me amused 'above the waist', as she delicately put it. So, I threw my case into the boot of my car and hit the road for Inverness, as had been the plan. Having just reached the bottom of the A9, the phone went and it was my GP.

"Can you get to A & E as soon as possible please ?"

"Sure, I'll be back from Inverness on Thursd ...."

"No, NOW."

And so it was that I found myself flat on my back for five days, whilst they ran test after test to ensure I hadn't ruptured something or was in danger of doing so. The first day or two were great, and the novelty of having a television and a bed all to myself without -

1. 'MOM'.
2. 'MEOW'.
3. 'FIFTEEN MINUTE QUICKIES LOVE?'

...was delicious. In time though, I got so bored, I thought they were going to have to transfer me to the psych ward. Finally, on day number five, the most goddamn beautiful doctor I have ever seen in my life came to see me. I was good to go, he explained, but my stress levels were through the roof and that's what was most likely contributing to the headaches, chest pains, racing heartbeat and insomnia. (I know, I know.) Rather predictably, I phoned my Dad.

"Hola Padre, I have seen the error of my ways and am coming home. I plan on checking myself into a convent where I shall self flagellate for the rest of my pitiful existence."

"Hilarious. See you on Saturday".

So we sat, my father and I for some considerable length of time and deep into the night in his garden, chewing the fat and contemplating what needs to change. I know that ideally he'd like me to go and work in an animal sanctuary for the rest of my life, but for the moment, that's not going to happen. Nope, I'm going to have some fun.

I'm taking June until October off study completely, although I had originally planned on doubling up on modules. I'm going to let my hair down and I'm going to chill-the-feck-out. So, for those of you wondering why I have suddenly organised a group session in Glasgow, it's because I want to, it's something I thoroughly enjoy and if it goes well I will do it again.

Before I sign off, let me just say a HUGE thank you to everyone who phoned, texted and emailed after Sex on Wheels. I have no regrets about doing it at all, I think it's an important issue which needs to be addressed and I will continue to campaign as hard as I can. The only regret I have is when they filmed me speaking to a potential client on the phone and saying - 'I'm closely trimmed'. I'm sorry, but that information is not required to be known by the disco mummies, my neighbours and very definitely not my Dad. Memo to self - in future when the camera is rolling - astound everyone by simply SHUTTING UP.

LL xx

P.S : My availability diary is now done until the end of July, although subject to change. I will be in both Leeds and Bristol so do drop me an email. 'Tis about time I ventured South to see what all the fuss is about.

Mother of the Year

It's a very odd situation to be in really, mine I mean. Recent events have conspired to ensure that I am 95% "out", at least in my local area, but that's OK. Had I been asked how I felt about being "out" four years ago, the likelihood is you would have found me in a crumpled heap in a corner, but that's because at the time there was a very large element of a very small community determined to make sure I was "out" to all and sundry and further, to make sure that the full brunt of all that entailed in a small town was brought to bear on both myself and my daughter. How times have changed.

These days I view it as a very strong position to be in because I believe that if it's not a secret, then it can't hurt you. So my neighbours, my family and all my good friends know too, that I am a chubbier and probably narkier version of Belle. Their support and their acceptance mean a great deal to me actually, not that I'm so insecure that I would seek their support but when it comes to protecting my daughter then I will take any help that is on offer.

When we initially moved to Ayrshire some time ago, La Princess befriended a couple of little girls and at first everything was splendid although I did have one or two inner "niggles". Two of the girls concerned began to literally live at my house at weekends, ostensibly because I was a "cool" Mum, in other words I let them bake cakes in the kitchen on a Sunday and didn't have a nervous breakdown if there was some flour left on the counter. Having (at that point) never met the parents of one of the little girls though, I began to have concerns when her parents said it was perfectly OK for her to spend the night at our house and she could come back the following day, um .... whenever.

Quite obviously, I'm not a child abductor or serial killer, but they didn't know that. Again, I'm not nominating myself as "Mother of the Year", but if my heiress to the throne wanted to stay out all night then damn sure I would be down to the house to meet the parents and make sure I knew who they were and what they were about. These "sleepovers" happened on several occasions before I actually met the parents and I'm sorry, but I found that odd. Following on from that came the Sundays. I literally became the "Pied Piper" of the locality and every time I sought to go out on a Sunday with La Princess, there were two little tag alongs, kicked out of the house for the afternoon with a fiver and a "make sure you say thank you".

None of that became an issue until it became known locally who I am. Suddenly, those little girls who were kicked out of their houses routinely because their parents needed "to rest" were no longer allowed to come to my house, or hang out with my daughter. I have to tell you, that hurt. It hurt me, because I had welcomed them in with open arms when they were clearly a "nuisance" at their own homes. Stepping aside from my own feelings though, it hurt La Princess, because she couldn't understand what she had done to create such a rift, and given that I had only begun to explain to her about the nature of my job then I really couldn't explain the actions of some severely hypocritical and bigoted parents.

The good news is, since then we moved again and are now surrounded by the most wonderful, loving and accepting people, who will stand by us and support us no matter what, a position which is very much reciprocated. The irony of it all is, we still bump into those girls and indeed their parents, and it's all I can do to stop myself bawling them out on sight, but that's not who I am and it's not the values I want to instil in La Princess either.

So instead, since they know who I am and I know they read my blog then I would like to say the following -

*clears throat*

Congratulations. Congratulations on teaching your daughters the very values I have gone out of my way to avoid as a Mother. Intolerance, bigotry, prejudice, and downright dogmatism.

Myself ? I'd rather continue to teach my daughter acceptance, assertion, self-worth and a belief that no matter who or what you come up against, let it never deter you.

LL xx

Bed Picnics and Belfast

Short, spiked fringes coaxed with gel ( fae Farmfoods ) and brushed forwards to within an inch of their lives, an over powering waft of Lynx Animal and his and hers shiny tracksuits - it can only mean one thing, I'm back in Glasgow, hurrah.

I had a splendid time in London. Firstly let me say it is always a pleasure to meet a gentleman who has found me via Rhia Charles, as I know he'll have a modicum of basic manners and decorum as a minimum. This particular gent arrived at my hotel room with a bed picnic, consisting of freshly squeezed orange juice, smoked salmon, grapes and chocolate biscuits too, it was bliss, ( or as we say in Glasgow - it was pure brilliant, so it was ).

I had the opportunity to have dinner with Ellie LLoyd, Susan and Burlesque Honey and we amused ourselves by people watching. To be more specific, we were watching one particular "lady" ( and I use the term very loosely indeed ) who was gyrating around a bemused business man with such ferocity that I thought she was going to do her neck an injury with all that orgasm-mimicking flicking that was going on. We were in stitches to begin with, especially when said business man spotted us and said -

"In her defence, she IS Norwegian."

Well that finished us off I'm afraid. In the end I found myself rather annoyed that her so called "friends" didn't get her in a headlock and take her to her room to sleep off the excesses because she really was in danger of doing something dreadfully daft. Ho hum.

Tomorrow I'm off to Belfast and true to form the volcanic ash has hit us once again, just on time. Great. Hopefully Spandex and I will formulate an alternative travel plan which succeeds, otherwise I shall miss my monthly tryst. I've grown completely impervious to the bemused looks of security men now, I usually just flash them a grin.

Well, I'm sure I'm not the first woman to walk through customs with a rampant rabbit, butt plug, cat o'nine tails, handcuffs, bondage rope, lube in several flavours, nipple clamps, an egg topper, various restraints, a blindfold and two strap ons. Anyway, if anyone compromises my identity on Twitter I can always sue, I don't see why not, every other fecker is.

LL xx

Strawberries, champagne and handcuffs

Afternoon all, I've just crawled in from my overnight and am sitting here grinning from ear to ear. What a night we had. I arrived at the hotel to be treated to ice cold champagne and strawberries dipped in chocolate, YUM. On the side table was a beautiful bouquet of roses and lillies ( pic attached ) and my apartment now smells divine.

Dinner was excellent and by the time we had polished off the wine and the Irish coffees I flashed my guy a devilish grin and he just knew he was in trouble. What is it about powerful men that attracts them to subservience ? Is it because it's the antithesis to their daily lives ?

I looked at him when we had got back to the room and asked "Do you trust me ?" He considered his reply for a while before his response "Yes, you know I do". WRONG answer. Before he could blink I had him flat out on the floor and handcuffed to the side rail of the bed.

Me : "Who's in control now, huh ?"
Him : "Laura, put the keys down, you're making me nervous".
Me: "If I swallowed them, how long do you think it would take them to reappear?"
Him : "Laura, that's not even remotely amusing. Let me out".
Me : "I'm thinking about it. How would it be if I sent an email to your superiors with a pic saying
'Hey guys, shouldn't you review your security procedures ? I mean here's a man who takes an hour to get through airport clearance, and yet I've got him handcuffed in a Glasgow hotel".
Him: "Laura, I'm warning you......"

I'm guessing a five foot nine woman in thigh high pvc boots standing over a prostrate male is quite a sight at the best of times, never mind when said male is completely and utterly helpless.

I let him out eventually, and put him out of his misery in more ways than one. He's not really that cross with me, he can't be, we're due to meet again in two weeks. :)

...and I wouldn't really send an email to his bosses....... well not unless he REALLY annoys me, hehe. Whipped cream and a WPC's uniform anyone ? It'd make a good pic, doncha think ? ;)

All jokes aside I would never kiss and tell, and discretion is paramount for me and my guys. "Ladies" who sell their stories to the gutter press give the rest of us a bad name.

There endeth my Sunday sermon.