Reasons to stay alive; Part VIII

He was the reason I should keep inhaling and exhaling, the reason I wanted my ‘spike’ to come down so I could get better and we could run away together. He was also the reason I wanted to stay there forever, forever being nursed by him.

My heart sank. He was married too. I’d even cheekily asked if he was still with his wife to which ‘Haydn’ replied “Yes he’s married, lives with his wife and kid”.

“Oh”.

I didn’t really know what else to say to that, that was the end of it for me. No happily ever after saved by my prince who was going to help me out of this shitty mess. My spike could sky rocket for all I cared, no one gave a shit and I felt so fucking miserable.

Haydn was the other male nurse on the ward, he was small ,thin and very tanned, in fact I’d genuinely thought he was Asian until I was informed he’d just been to Cyprus. That to some of you might make me sound bad, but it was an innocent observation and he even later on told me “Nobody believes I’m English”. Phew it wasn’t just me then! Haydn was funny, he whistled and sort of sauntered in and out of my room with a very happy disposition, I’d not only assumed he was Asian but I’d also convinced myself he was gay too, which was because Id never met such a happy smiley bloke before (I was very presumptuous and naive back then, thats what a Norfolk countryside childhood did to me).

Anyways I was crushed, my heart was in some black hole knowing it would never be loved and I was dying and that was ok because as I mentioned I felt like a total loser and an absolute joke. My friends from school were working high powered jobs or marrying rich folk in the city and doing exactly what it is was they were supposed to be doing. Clare was marrying a professional sportsman, Lizzie was working in Dubai and running her own PR firm (Daddy had been a PR superstar in London) and the rest of them were ‘lunching’ in London together talking about life and forgetting about me. I didn’t fit their circle, I never really did to be honest, I never felt good enough/rich enough or posh enough and now my situation proved my point.

For three nights in a row he’d attended to me, touched my wrist so gently it sent shivers up my sweaty body sort of like when someone strokes your hair and it feels lovely. This felt lovely too but in a way that I wanted him to never stop. He’d ask me if I wanted anymore water in his west country burr, of course I did! I had been constantly thirsty since arriving but also wanted water because I wanted him to have to come back in my room again. The first three nights he asked me a few questions such as where my family were, what did I do; normal everyday questions that were very embarrassing for me.

“Oh I work as a receptionist in a brothel” Yeh it wasn’t exactly going to go down well so I figured I’d lie and tell him I still worked in fashion. He’d probably seen my notes but was just being polite.

I was completely infatuated with this tall, skinny, tattoo covered bald headed male nurse! He wasn’t even my type, I usually liked hair ;). On his right forearm (the skin I did see was very hairy which I found odd considering he was so bald) was a tattoo of the Union Jack and what I thought looked like a monkey from the ‘Planet of the Apes’ until he laughed and told me it was a lion.

The next night he was gone, I was pining for him like a teenage girl, distressed and emotionally drained. I didn’t want blonde nursey, I didn’t want happy Haydn I just wanted him. For four nights I cried myself to sleep I had no idea where he’d gone and wondered if he was ever coming back.

I wasn’t just crying myself to sleep because he’d gone and disappeared off the face of the Earth but I was still frightened and had no idea how to get out of ‘R’s’ grips. In those 5 lonely days and 4 hellish nights ‘R’ had the balls to visit me in hospital, he’d given me the  main ‘work’ phone now and expected me to continue to make bookings via the BBM channel. Of course I didn’t say no, I couldn’t say no and by now you know this is my issue. Can’t say no to giving people money when Im skint, I can’t say no to lending a friend I know either wont give my dress back after wearing it out or the type to return it  with ciggie burns and I certainly couldn’t say no to drugs when I was that low and frightened to fall asleep in case I’d missed a booking. ‘R’ like many sociopaths and world class manipulators made me feel he was doing me a massive favour by giving me the responsibility of the phone whilst I dying in my isolated hospital bed! I should feel grateful, proud that no one back at flat 16 was as good as me at getting the girls punters! Jesus Christ what a friggin talent I had. How grateful I should feel that he wanted me back and like he kept saying “Your talented! You should be so happy I’m keeping your job open for you”.

We all know it wasn’t a real job; there was no security, no tax, no sick pay, no holiday pay nothing but stress and palpitations. I have to say since getting my first job aged 13 I have had my fair share of shit narcissistic wanker bosses and ‘R’ wasn’t the last either. From side room 7, Ward 15 at Southport and Ormskirk NHS trust hospital I was running 50 girls single handedly from my bed. I’d say at least 20 at the Liverpool apartment and around another 30 dotted over the North West but predominantly the rest were holed up in an apartment in Manchester City centre above the Premier Inn.

I’d managed to get out of night shift which started at 9pm and stopped at 8am! Lucky me. I’d had to say no to that part because most of time I was drifting in and out of consciousness after my meds at 9pm. Yum, Tramadol, codeine and an IV line to stave off the spike! Best bit about hospital besides him. 

I was exhausted, still sweating like a Bitch, still ‘down-Lo’ and still no closer to getting away from ‘R’ or getting closer to the other ‘R’ aka ‘Him’. That glimmer of hope, that fantasy of having a normal, stable, happy successful life was once again gone in the blink of an eye. Doctors were still totally clueless as to what I had and I’d refused point blank to let them do a lumbar puncture! Absolutely fuck that! Didn’t they know I’d read every single ‘Take a Break’ magazine my mum had ever bought and I’d read many times about how those dreaded needles the size of a telegraph pole pierced your spine and in some horror cases paralysed you! I’d told them “just treat me for what you think it is please” but they’d told me it wasn’t that simple. So for now it was plenty of antibiotics via IV and pain killers for the constant horrendous migraines that woke me up every morning just before the noise of that bastard phone did reminding me it was now my ‘shift’.

I needed to tell someone, I just had to. Maybe if I couldn’t have him he’d be my friend anyway and I could get him to listen to me offering perhaps some sound advice. Then again I didn’t want him to think of me as another ‘fuck up’ one thing I’d learnt is that blokes don’t like crazy according to James who’d told me daily I was crazy as well as having AIDs

Worryingly now Id started to freak out that I actually did, that working in that environment had somehow given me a new air borne strain.

Fuck sake, I just had to pray for a miracle.
Thanks for reading my blog you bunch of beauties xxx stay tuned for the next part

I’m not dead: Part VII

First of all I’d like to admit My knowledge of Roman numerals is shocking and before every blog post I google this shit! Enjoy!

For most people the idea of 4 weeks in hospital sounds like hell; for me it was fucking bliss! I felt safe, I was fed 3 times a day and I was warm at night (ok so not just because of my through-the roof temperature). On one hand I was petrified because I really did feel like microwaved shite, convinced I was dying and baffling doctors even more by the day; and then there was the other side that left me feeling elated, free and finally able to get the fuck away from that psycho ‘R’.

It was day 3 and I showed no signs of getting better, my temperature was still ‘spiked’ (if I had a quid for every time I heard that friggin word) and I was still shitting through the eye of a needle, spewing my ring and screaming at the nurses to get me a fucking ice bucket! Apparently they don’t have an ice machine in hospitals which I still find absurd! I was sweating my pre-enhanced tits off, well it was dripping off my chest and even my thighs, I mean who the hell knew your thighs could sweat? Mine had never sweat before but now even my eyelids were sweaty and I lusted after a cube of ice like you couldn’t believe. I now knew how Renton felt in trainspotting and I needed a fucking hit (of ice not coke or meth) but instead I settled for Luke-warm tap water. My aunt was away and they’d called my ‘next of kin’ who happened to be my first husband still at the time. A blonde smiley nurse came in with a phone on wheels, it looked like it was from 1985 “your husband is on the phone'” my fucking what?! The bloody cheek of him! Still nevertheless I took the call hoping someone was going to feel sorry for me. Yet again I was wrong and instead he spoke to me like a piece of shit telling me that I’d got AIDs from being a whore. James ALWAYS called me a whore long before I’d ever ventured into this world so in hindsight, if you call someone something enough they will bloody become it. I need to explain that James was a weird germaphobe and always telling me in arguments that I was riddled with AIDS which I found most peculiar though it all made sense when going through his sock drawer that fateful day I caught him out after I found a specimen pot in a plastic sandwich bag with a laboratory form ordering tests for 1. The clap, 2. The ‘HIV’ and a load of other diseases that hadn’t been discussed at my rather lovely private all girls school (though shout out to Mrs Gafford who was a gem!). What the hell was he worrying about having all these crazy STDs when he was only sleeping with me? Oh right, hmmm yeh he wasn’t! Turns out me and miss waif-like blonde weren’t the only girls and in fact he’d not only ordered these tests from the GP but his other girlfriend had mentioned in a text I’d found on his phone that she too was taking a test;  a whole different type of test though! Yup! You got it! She was possibly up the duff! Great.

Anyways I’ve digressed again but you guys needed to know that bit I felt. So I’m in hospital with a ‘spike n’ a half’ and I’m still dying though I’m not dead. Thank fuck. I’m terrified of dying as you lot already know. So day 3, no one has visited me and of course they’re not going to, I was being silly, blonde nursey was sweet but I was in ‘isolation’ as they didn’t know what type of lurgey it was I had so I had little human contact. By the way you also need to know I’m in my hospital bed being harassed to fuck by ‘R’ on the ‘work’ phone (your probably wondering why I’m even bothering but he petrified me) he’s asking me when I’m back and I kept telling him I was really sick wishing he’d believe me. That afternoon a nice nursey pops into my room, she’s small with cropped hair and mum like demeanour. ‘Kath’ (yes her real name!) asks me if I can think of anything that could have caused me to get ill? Urmmmmmm ….

I start to cry, tears streaming down my face, salty little drops of misery and regret landing in the corners of my mouth (probably the only nourishment I’d had in a while). Kath is a total Hun and she’s telling me it’s all going to be ok, and I wanted to believe her sooo badly, in fact I wanted her to adopt me right there and then. I told Kath most of it, mainly about the drugs and how miserable I was and even admitted that I was for the most of it (meaning during my drug taking) suicidal. Yes, I have a fear of dying but I had also been very suicidal wondering what the hell I was doing and wanting to never wake up again, I couldn’t believe I was even in this position to begin with it wasn’t supposed to happen to me I just really wanted my mum even at the age of 26. I had the perfect opportunity back then to tell Kath about ‘R’ as I knew what he was doing was criminal and that he was a evil bastard rapist but I was too scared still.  After an hour of Kath comforting me she left my side and in came a gaggle of doctors staring down at me firing questions at me I don’t remember whilst prodding my stomach. Another IV line fitted with different drugs to try and bring down this bastard spike. They left and I drifted off until I was woken by a terrifying bald figure standing there looming over me and holding my wrist.

It was the night shift and this nursey was a bloke! A gruffly 6ft odd bloke with a bald head and the most soothing voice that sounded like he’d just finished ploughing his fields in Cornwall. Wow. I was definitely high on the all the drugs I was being pumped with but this bloke was beautiful and an overwhelming indescribable feeling of ‘he’s mine’ came over me. He held my wrist so gently and told me he found it easier to take my pulse that way than using “those bloody machines”.

Love at first sight is real and I wanted to stay awake all night just so I could speak to him when  he returned. I was already technically married but I was going to marry this man……

stay tuned

Love Lo xx

Im dying; Part VI

I’m now in a rigid routine of misery where I find myself being scared to ask if I can go home, I know the answer you see meaning the drama isn’t worth it for me, I don’t want to be ‘punished’ I know what that entails. My anxiety levels are through the roof and I find myself on day and night shift because I am told there’s no one better than me on the phones. They are right there, I’ve always had the ability to fake it to people’s faces, come across confident, happy and well-rounded when inside I’m a total fucking wreck. I’ve always had the need to be a people pleaser and it’s to my own detriment, I just can’t say NO. That simple two letter word is my own worst enemy and I want to scream and shout it from the roof tops but I simply can’t. I can’t say no to staying on the phones 24 hours a day, I can’t say no to him when he comes here after work every night to take a terrified girl into the room where he abuses her and I can’t say no to him when he tells me I’m wasted on the phone and should be working too. All I can do to avoid the latter is to be better on the phone so every girl is booked out so much so that I don’t have to do any ‘jobs’. I don’t want to, I’m fuckt up enough and I know that’s going to fuck me up even more and I don’t think I can handle it.

I’d gone on ONE ‘job’ and had been very lucky, these types don’t come around often; in fact, we’d call it a ‘white whale’ because it’s so rare. The well-spoken nice guy who reminded me a lot of Mark from ‘Peep Show’ had paid a grand for the night but I was only getting £650 as ‘R’ took 35%. I didn’t mind because I met him at the Crowne Plaza, Liverpool and I was glad to be away from the hell-hole of flat 16.  ‘Mark’ wined, dined and in no way shape or form did he try to well… if you know Alanis Morisette songs then you’ll get that bit. We went back to his room and he stripped down he then rang for a dominos and let his fat gut hang there wearing grey Y-fronts until he fell asleep. I sat there wide awake all night fully clothed with shoes on the bed feeling uncomfortable yet also relieved that I wasn’t in the Flat. I’d ‘texted’ the girls all night to see how they were going but mainly to make sure they knew I was still alive (by now you should know I’m a paranoid mess). 7am came and I was barely awake, my eyelashes sticking together every time I ‘rested my eyes’ and my heart pounding every time I drifted off and woke up again. Luckily for me he woke up at 7.30am and said he needed to get ready for work, thanked me for a lovely night and handed me an envelope with the fat wad of 20s in it. Yet again I couldn’t believe there was a world where all this happened, I was exhausted and over the moon he hadn’t expected anything other than my company (as I said this was a rarity). My only regret was that I hadn’t begged him to rescue me from my enslavement, I’d been desperate to speak to somebody about how I’d been feeling but was just too scared and when I thought about what I’d even say it sounded stupid and mental.

‘R’ rang me at his usual 8am time whilst driving to his job as an accountant where he was seen as an upstanding member of society (ha if only they knew), he demanded I go back to the flat and get back on phones again. I got back filled with dread and exhausted that crazy tired where you start to feel delusional. When I got back Mandy and Brandy were there, brandy you already know about and Mandy not so much. Mandy was a buxom blonde in her thirties who was brash and intimidating yet tried hard to portray an image of a decent genuine woman who was there to help and listen. Truth was Mandy was just a cow bag who was nosey and wanted to know everything to use it as ammo if she needed to. The look of jealousy on their faces when I returned was horrific and heightened even more because I was exhausted and an anxious mess. I’d only just stepped through the door when the questions began about what he was like and what did I have to do… blah blah, I couldn’t be arsed to deal with them so I had a coffee and ran a bath. I felt disgusting and filthy even though I’d not even removed my shoes the night before let alone my knickers.

I made the fatal error of leaving my handbag in the lounge that morning while I soaked in the bath for what felt like hours yet was about 25 minutes. When I got out that was when I realised she’d got off with my money and she’d never return. Mandy denied all knowledge and joined in with me when I slagged Brandy off for being a scum bag Bitch. Brandy wasn’t answering her phone and let’s face it she wasn’t going to. She’d stolen my money all £650 plus another 100-odd quid; I’d already posted ‘R’s’ cut into the actual post box attached to the wall in the cleaning cupboard where all ‘fees’ were posted until he came over in the evening emptied his money box and his load into some poor girl.

I was raging inside, I was furious, I had plans for that money and I was supposed to be using it to help me get out this god-awful situation. I rang ‘R’ to explain and knew he wouldn’t give a fuck so wondered why Id even bothered, a part of me thought he might have some kindness in him and say to keep my ‘fee’, but no I was being silly doing that thing where I think people are as fair as me. I was so fuckt off and Mandy was loving wallowing in my misfortune, pretending to be nice and supportive yet I knew she didn’t give a fuck. I couldn’t call the police, now could I? So, I had to sit there miserable and even more depressed than I already was. Life was shit and I felt like giving up, but that was never an option, Ive always believed Id make it somehow but at that time I didn’t have a clue how.

Susie came in at 6pm for the night shift, it was Friday night and boy was I glad to see her, she always cheered me up and when she was on night shift I felt safe. The Little pit-bull she was, taking no shit from anyone especially men! Ashleigh showed up and Serena too, we also had a new girl called Priya who was scouse as they come but ‘R’ was passing her off as an asian girl as they sold so well. We were at ‘Full House’ capacity and that was great because weekends meant lots of outcalls too and I hated sending girls on them, but Susie could handle coked up drug dealers whereas the likes of Serena couldn’t. Still reeling and exhausted from weeks of no sleep and constant anxiety I decided to go halves on some ‘lemmo’ with Susie (scouse word for coke), I thought ‘fuck it’ I needed to keep awake as Id nearly been ‘punished’ the week before for falling asleep on shift. Id asked to go to sleep for a bit as I was flagging big time and so I popped a Zopiclone. Serena had been on shift too and so took the phones (thank fuck) but I fell asleep for 6.5 hours and by god when I woke up I felt better until I realised how much trouble I was in. I couldn’t believe I was even asking when I was allowed to take a nap!

The resident dealer turned up and dropped off, we’d ordered in a fair amount knowing we’d be up all night and knowing my nights merged into days and vice versa. ‘R’ had scheduled a photo shoot for the next day and had been banging on about his new ‘Green screen’ so he could do us new pics for the websites, urgh! The thought of him turning up made me sick and luckily he wasn’t coming that night so I was over the moon i didn’t have to deal with him until the next day. Susie racked up the lines and poured me a vodka orange, I’ve never been a big drinker really and can’t handle it at all, but I drank it to be polite. I had two all-night (drinks that is) and I probably had around 1 and a half grams of lemmo. The night was a blur and I was knackered, 12 bookings had gone through by 3am and I was on fire, the girls were happy except Serena who was never happy unless sat with her nose in a book. 3am came and I was so messed up I stood up and remember a feeling like I’ve never felt before, a feeling where I nearly passed out and felt my heart beat out my chest. A party of 4 guys had just turned up and wanted a girl each, except there were only 3 girls available meaning one had to wait in the lounge with me whilst I struggled to function. We got chatting, and he was a nice guy, Priya emerged from the big bedroom 15 mins later with his friend and called the last guy through who decided he then wanted me. The look on Priya’s face was of anger and disappointment, she’d told me earlier she did this job to pay for her 7-year-old daughter and give her a better life yet in the few hours I’d known her she’d hoofed at least 4 grams of the white stuff herself and I realised she was yet another tragedy. Luckily I managed to convince him to go with Priya as Id started getting a horrendous headache and my heart was still skipping beats every now and then.

I looked at myself in the mirror, I’ve never been a skinny girl, in fact id always been a sturdy size 12-14 and at 5ft 8 that was healthy, but I looked gaunt, exhausted and a total mess. My skin was sallow and my cheek and hip bones stuck out so much so that my hip bones hurt when I laid down. I was frightened for my physical health for the first time ever, like properly scared, I’d always been scared of most things but this was a new feeling. I told myself I needed to chill, lay off the coke and go and snuggle on the couch under the blanket to see the early morning through until someone might kindly take the phone from me.

It was midday when I was roused by ‘R’ and I heard his booming annoying sickening voice behind me. Jesus Christ my head was pounding like fuck and I felt terrible, Susie was leaving and looked a bag of shit herself so I hated to think what I looked like. The other girls were all sleeping and Serena was curled in a ball on the leather chair opposite me on the couch. Off he went with her into the room, for fuck sake I thought, I hated him and felt for her more than the others because he ALWAYS chose her. Emily had been AWOL for a few weeks and no doubt would return to face the punisher when she needed money so Serena and Ash were getting it big time. Susie would tell him to fuck off and he wasn’t interested in developed women anyway, he was clearly a lover of the child like physique. Grim. Sure as shit I did look like shit and my headache was worsening, I had sweat pouring off my chest and I was shaking like fuck, I made some toast and downed some codeine I found on the side belonging to ‘R’ no doubt he loved his prescription pills. When he returned from forcing himself on poor Serena I said to him that I felt like shit and needed to go home, I was feeling that rough I didn’t give a fuck. Out came his ‘Drugs are bad for you’ speech before agreeing to let me back to the comfort of my bedsit in Southport.

That train journey of 45 minutes back to Southport from Liverpool central was the longest ever, I don’t remember much other than my head spinning and it feeling like I had some form of head trauma. The headache had worsened, the worst of my life, my temples were caving in and I was sure I was going to be one of those people who dropped dead from a brain haemorrhage; BOOM- gone. I started thinking awful things like well at least it would save me from the hell hole, maybe it was my destiny and that perhaps I was never destined for anything other than this and that just like my dad anything better were just delusions of grandeur. Finally, I was back at my bed-sit, I got a taxi back from the station which was all of two minutes if that, thats how weak I was. Fifteen minutes I’d been back and I couldn’t handle the loneliness, I rang the only friend I had made in the town and asked him what he was doing even though I was dying. 30 minutes later I was at his mate’s house who was lovely too, we all became good friends when I was recovering and still are. Relaxing was something I’d not done in a while so I figured having a joint with these two and chillin was just what I needed, ‘J’ gave me some of his mum’s back pills to ease my headache and I managed to relax until he noticed the sweat pouring off me again. I was soaked and so off I went back to my bed-sit for an early night, I hadn’t been to bed at 8.30pm since 1998 and it was 2011. 3pm the next day I woke up! 3 friggin PM!!! I shit myself, that wasn’t normal! I had 128 missed calls from the work phone and ‘R’, Oh god I’m for it I thought but I felt worse than the day before and something told me I wasn’t being my normal dramatic self.

Ten minutes I was in A and E for before they admitted me, I knew that was a bad sign I mean you always have to wait for hours on end and id expected to but didn’t mind. Id collapsed and the next thing I knew I was in a cubicle being told I was going to a ward immediately because my temp was 40! I finally relaxed as I felt like this was it, I was going to die but its ok because at least it will be from an illness and not at the hands of the psycho ‘R’ or some gun-toting addict desperate for cash (yes that happened and I will discuss that in a later post).  I arrived on the ward and was put in isolation; they had no idea what the fuck was wrong with me but again, I woke up 14 hours later with an IV line in and feeling rough as fuck.

Ward 15A was my home for 4 weeks.

Sorry it took a while,

 

Love Lo xxx

Family Relationships; NPD and Daddy Issues

For those who’ve been reading my blog posts under ‘Lo-Life’ then you will have read my last post part V ‘I’m being groomed’. I have sat back and wondered why I had gotten into such a horrific situation with the narcissistic misogynistic sociopath that is ‘R’, I didn’t really need to wonder, the answers always been there it was just a matter of acknowledging what deep down I’ve recognised since entering my teens. The Truth is I am like many am the daughter of a misogynistic narcissistic tyrannical sociopath who treated the women nearest to him like objects and subjected my sister, mother and I to what I can only describe as living hell. It feels awful to even write that and still a part of me feels shameful and embarrassed but its about time I did because like I’ve said all along, if what I write can help anyone else in similar situations then what I’m doing is working and I should keep going. For me, mum and Annabel (my sister) it was normal to be called ‘whores’, ‘bitches’ and ‘cunts’ by him, it was another word that meant nothing to him yet has resulted in the profound unhappiness of us all for many years but mainly for my mother who was the victim who never got away.

I grew up in a household where screaming matches were a daily occurrence and where every night my parents would both drink themselves into a violent rage or a coma; the latter for my mum which was best because it meant he wouldn’t hit her, he only wanted to abuse people to get a reaction out of them and so I now know why she got pissed to the point of passing out every night. My dad would drink until he was violent, manic and hating on the world that he has always believed owes him a living, he would phone up family or friends (pretty much whoever answered) and either abuse the life out of them for them not helping him or not giving them some of their vast wealth (his only love is money yet he does nothing to make his own) or grovel to them like he was their best friend. If I were around he would direct his anger at me and call me names until I broke down crying or he’d pin me against walls in the house punching holes in them and then blaming me for making him so angry. When I was 9, I broke my arm whilst outside roller-skating, I had tripped over a tree root poking up through the patio and had snapped my wrist in half. I was crying and screaming in pain even though this was the third time I’d broken my arm this time felt like hell, my mum was out which was rare and it was a Sunday. My dad had been left at home to look after me and he’d sat inside getting pissed all day, I ran into the house crying hoping he’d help me and take me to hospital but instead I got screamed at, abused and told “Feed the cats and stop fucking crying”. I did as I was told through fear; he stood over me watching me with a broken wrist desperately trying to open the tin of food that didn’t have a ring pull. Later when mum got home she rushed me to hospital where I had indeed broken it and needed surgery to pin it in place, I woke up in the Jenny Lind ward of the Norfolk and Norwich hospital thinking how lovely and calm the place was; in fact I never wanted to leave.

As I got older I would hole myself up in my bedroom, which I would then turn into a bunker by barricading myself in with books and any heavy objects I could find. Our house was dirty, covered in dog hair and I had little furniture or things in my bedroom that were new. In fact I had the same metal framed bed until I left home that mum had got second hand when I was around 5 years old, the springs dug into my back and my mattress was the same one id had since then too, it wreaked of old piss as Id wet the bed until I was around 10. I don’t feel sorry for myself, I know theres kids who weren’t fed and I certainly was, food was my solace and luckily there was always food in the house mainly because my dad was a fat greedy bastard and loved it too. There was no pride in the house, the furniture worn and the only new items I ever saw them buy was when Granny came to live with us and she bought a new 3 piece suite for my mum. I can truly never recall feeling ‘safe’ and loved in my childhood home where I spent the first 17 years of my life, the only time I had felt safe was at school. Our house felt dark, sinister and unhappy, my mum would cry herself to sleep most nights and I don’t remember a night where she didn’t.

Most people never realised there was a problem in our family, in fact many people thought we were affluent, happy and a very normal ‘middle class’ family. Both my parents were teachers, my mum taught primary school kids and was fantastic at her job, dad taught media studies at a college and was head of department he spent his free time sailing on the broads with his beloved boat and impressing others. My dad is your stereotypical bull shitter; charming, funny and in his younger days women would swoon over him whilst I’d watch him flirt outrageously at some bull shit dinner parties he’d drag me and mum to, he just had no regard for my mum’s feelings at all. Now I look back I wondered what she saw in him because she was so pretty with cheek bones to die for and long jet black hair standing 5ft 4 inches tall with a petite frame and cracking legs. I heard rumours that her own father had been a nasty intimidating bastard but he’d died when she was 24 so I’d never met him, though that would explain the reason’s she’d picked my dad, repeating a cycle that is all too common when women have grown up with tyrannical narcissists as fathers. To the outside world we seemed perfectly happy and normal and as I mentioned we appeared affluent, but now looking back we had no money because dad spent it all on ridiculous things such as sailing boats, cars that were converted to LPG and even though the first two blew up he never learned, lavish holidays and booze. I never saw him spend a penny on mum but he did get me a horse, though again I see that like the other status symbols it was a way of appearing richer than we were. A man with delusions of grandeur and a belief that he was some sort of member of the aristocracy all because my grandad (his dad) had been a doctor who was loved and well respected in the pit village he had his surgery in, in Staffordshire. My mum came from a council estate in south London where she grew up with her 2 sisters and won a place in the local Sydenham Girls High school so she was certainly a working class Londoner. We were normal, normal working class people but my dad couldn’t accept that and instead truly believed we were a rich family from ‘good stock’ and those are the actual words he used often when on one of his vile rants.

I grew up in a hamlet in Norfolk in the beautiful countryside though it was very isolated; perfect for my dad to further isolate my mum from her family and alienate us from any ‘real’ civilisation, perhaps maybe why I now know I could never settle down in the middle of nowhere, I love people around me. Dad wouldn’t have gotten away with his vile behaviour on a housing estate; oh no someone would have picked up on his outrageous crazy manner and challenged him on it, and something he cannot handle at all. So we lived in an ex council house; semi-detached normal 3 bedroom house that was attached to the most meek, kind decent couple named Alan and Christine who lived their with their beloved English sheepdog and 2 cats who were fed fresh fish daily. They too were perfect neighbours for my mad dad to be attached to as they rarely said a word even when they probably sat there wondering if we’d all been slain by him (he often threatened to kill us and on many occasions held knives to mum and I and even had a gun upstairs in his sock draw that was easily accessible to anyone including myself who found it aged 6.

I remember being 14 and him taking me to school, I was wearing mascara for the first time and he looked at me and said ”you look like a fucking whore like your mother, take it off now!” We were two minutes away from school and I couldn’t stop the tears streaming down my cheeks, I was a good student and always tried hard, teachers liked me and they noticed when I wasn’t what they knew as ‘myself’. My teacher asked me if I was ok and I burst into tears telling her what my dad had said, I was taken to an office in the school I hadn’t been to before when a kind lady asked me some more questions. I later learned it was a social worker, she had asked me why I was crying and I told her the truth too, she’d asked me if it was a regular occurrence and I told her the truth about everything my dad called me and my mum on a daily basis. My mum and dad were then called into the school and I was placed on the ‘at-risk’ register. When I got home that night my mum was crying hysterically and my dad was going mad saying he’d lose his job and my lies and ‘teenage fantasy’ had caused him hell. Dad rang everyone who would listen and ranted down the phone telling them what an ungrateful shit i was and that maybe I needed some psychological help for my pathological lying. Truth is, the years of abuse eventually led me to create a fantasyland that I now know as ‘dissociation’ but at that time I had told nothing but the truth to my teacher yet I was now manipulated by my dad so much so that I even went back and said Id made it all up. Just like women who drop the domestic violence charges because they are scared/intimidated or now so under control that they even questioned their own mind into believing that they had made it up which is what I did and continued to do for years as did my mum.

I realise now that my dad only ever bullies women, and never would bully a man because he’s a typical bully when it comes to real men, as deep down he knows his own inadequacies. Most men like this are so insecure they need to seek constant reassurance from mainly women that they are wanted and are seen as masculine.

Its all clear to me as to why I ended up allowing myself to be bullied intimidated and ruled by ‘R’ as its all I’ve ever known when it comes to men, that is until I met Robbie. My dad has successfully isolated himself from every family member as they simply had enough of his bullying cruelty, his venomous insults and his disgusting poisonous rants that hit everyone where it really huts. I have been the scape goat child, the golden child and he has managed to fool me over and over again into believing his lies and mistaking his manipulate techniques for genuine kindness and fondness of me. Every time I tried to mention my dad’s behaviour growing up people would look at me shocked like I had made it all up, those who did believe me were family and close friends who i then shunned when he got me in his grips again, feeling a huge sense of loyalty towards him because at the end of the day after all that’s been said and done he is my dad. These feelings are exactly what they want you to feel, they play on the weaker ones and I was certainly one of them. For years I have watched him successfully ruin friendships, family relationships and yet none of them ever being his fault, he rinsed his own mother of her pension and will and then when she died he really hit rock bottom; Granny wasn’t there to save him anymore.

People like this can seldom be helped, often refusing to ever truly acknowledge, accept or take responsibility for the damage, hurt and pain they cause to those around them. I have recently read an online article called the ‘Tyrannical Rule of the Narcissistic Father’ and every single word of it made sense and applied to my own father. My poor mum bore the brunt of his nasty evil manipulative twisted ways which I to this day truly is the reason she developed early onset dementia, it was almost a good thing for her because she’d have never left him, he bullied, beat and treated like scum for the duration of their relationship and now I am old enough, have had enough therapy I have learned that this is something I will never tolerate and nor should you. I believed for so many years that it was all my fault, that perhaps it was me that was mad, I believed I was a whore and that by wearing make up it meant I was a slut like he told me. During puberty I used to pray I would stay a child forever, because I didn’t want to stop being daddy’s little girl who he was so proud of in front of people. The older I got, the less he acknowledged me, and Annabel had been long gone in his head, at 13 years my senior, she’d managed to escape his wrath and cruelty and has since done wonderfully for herself, living a happy life in New Zealand with her husband and kids. Sadly, in a period of me being the ‘golden child’ I turned against her because I believed all the lies he spun me about her, I think a part of me believing it was because I also felt so abandoned by her, desperate for her to rescue me and save me from the toxic unit we were. I haven’t spoken to her in years and one day I hope we can get together and chat like sisters do.

There are many incidences I remember where he was vile and did outrageous things especially when he was drunk but certain things remain ingrained. One of the awful things that sticks out in my memory was how dad called mum a “French whore” every day without fail. Her ‘loving husband’ reminded her of something that would have profound effects even on the most strongest of women; when she had been a teenage girl she’d been on a school trip to France (a huge deal back then) she’d gotten pregnant to a French bloke who had forced her into non consensual sex, he had raped her. It was long before she’d met my dad and she’d confided in him as most normal partners who love each other do, my mum had been so scared so frightened and hadn’t been able to tell her mum or dad through fear and shame. Like most teenage girls finding themselves in the similar situations she felt so alone and ashamed and so as my mum has always done when faced with horrible situations she put it at the back of her mind and tried to ignore it. My mum carried that baby to full term only confiding in her older sister Janet who was doing her nurse training at the time, she delivered the baby still born in her childhood bedroom, I cannot imagine the trauma she went through and all I can say is thank god she had my auntie Janet there and didn’t have to face it totally alone. This story was all too common back in the 60s and 70s, and my mum feared she would end up in a home for unmarried mothers and be banished from the family. Back then for my mum there were little options, the option of an abortion was questionable too as that too would have bought shame and snide comments as sadly we still see today. I am passionate about campaigning for women’s rights because of things like this, no woman should ever feel the way my mum felt and there should always be someone to turn to for help and non-judgemental help at that too.

This has been a heavy post and as I’ve mentioned the things I saw and heard and witnessed as a child until even very recently have affected me for sure, It would be lying to deny that they haven’t yet one thing I do know is that actually I am strong, resilient as fuck and that just because someone is my dad it doesn’t mean I can excuse them for their vile behaviour. If you are in a situation like this be it with a parent or with a partner then please do something to get out of it before its too late like it was for my mum. You don’t have to live that life, life is to be enjoyed and without sounding cheesy it’s a bloody gift! I will never forget when splitting up with my ex husband (guy who left me for skinny blonde, see part 1 of ‘Lo-Life) what my mum said to me after explaining he’d been dipping his wick in anything with a pulse “don’t get divorced my darling, I really think that deep down he’s a good man and i believe in the sanctity of marriage”. That said it all really, and by god from that moment on, though it took me a long time and some serious lows I knew that I would never accept that in a partner and now I will certainly never accept that in a father either.

You can’t choose your parents, but you CAN choose who to have around you and you must my darlings ensure it is always people who love you and want the best for you; those who when you succeed look at you like Reece Witherspoon looked at Nicole Kidman at the Emmys this year! You can love your family members but that doesn’t mean you have to respect them, keep them in your life or feel compelled to help them just because they are family.

Love Lo xox

Part V; I’m being Groomed… 

If I think back to that time and ask myself to be honest then I’d say I realised ‘R’ was a bit of a shit from the moment I met him (understatement of the century),even before what he did to me in that flat. I get ‘vibes’ like we all do, his vibe was bad to begin with and I should have listened to my heart and head but I didn’t. As I always say “desperate people do desperate things” so I chose to ignore my gut and my intuition instead going along with it. It wasn’t just purely financial, I must also admit that from the word go I was like putty in his hands, I was there ripe for him to pluck.

It’s a weird thing to say, but I had spent my entire teenage years praying to god I wouldn’t end up a rape victim or even worse, murdered. Your probably all thinking wtaf who the hell even thinks like that?! But I had good reason to. When I was 12, my classmate disappeared in the summer holidays, he’d had his life tragically ended by some horrible bastard who owned the local shop where I’d ridden my bike just like him to spend the 50p pocket money a week on one penny sweets. What made it so much worse was the fact the evil murderous bastard evaded capture for 18 months, still selling his sweets like nothing was even the matter. I can’t imagine what it was like for his parents, the whole community was left stunned but the tragic event was sadly over shadowed by the death of Princess Diana. The day after his disappearance was reported he’d been found naked and strangled in a lay-by 50 miles from the village. I will never forget that summer of 97′ for the rest of my life. From that day I spent my life fearing men I didn’t know, crossing the street if I saw a man coming towards me and having palpitations if I had to go anywhere alone in the dark. I had an irrational fear of men which is why it was so out of my character to have even agreed to meet up with ‘R’ that fateful day. I was often told I was ‘hysterical’ by my parents, granny and aunts, funny thing is though they were the most hysterical people I knew all certifiable nut jobs. I hate being labelled ‘hysterical’ and instead I like to think im just vigilant, I swear to god that being like that has actually saved my life on many occasions. I had that terrifying ‘hysterical’ feeling when I met ‘R’ but as I say, I couldn’t afford to so I’d managed to convince myself that yes I was a drama queen and often hysterical so I needed to calm my crazy thoughts and stop being so bloody dramatic. ‘Not every man is a rapist or murderer’ I would repeat in my head over and over to further convince myself.

Deep down I knew I was being groomed from the moment ‘R’ opened his mouth, he spoke total balls and jabbered away at 100 miles an hour, half of which I didn’t understand due to his very strong accent but also because he was wasted. I soon realised he was a prescription pill junkie as well as an alcoholic who would often drive pissed out of his head up and down the North West’s traffic heavy motorways. Our first conversation had been about all the wonderful things he’d be able to do for me and how if we worked together and had each other’s backs then we’d be rolling in it. I wondered how a man who knew nothing about me or my back ground could be so trusting? There it is! Thats what they do! They trust you from word go so you almost automatically have to trust them and having any kind of ill feelings towards him would mean that surely your the one with the suspicious mind and you need to stop being like this! You know when those piece of shit ‘fuck-boys’ (more on my stance on fuck-boys at a later date) tell you its all in your head and that your the crazy one all the while using subtle tactics to have you believe their BS?! Yeh well ‘R’ was the same except much more dangerous and predatory, he gave me a black berry phone within minutes of meeting him and showed me how to work the phones, he rambled on about how he’d been waiting for a girl with some intelligence to come along who would be able to work with him and not for him. He seduced me in a different way, he made me feel special, like I was the chosen one, the one with class and intellect, not just another working girl. News Flash! I wasn’t special, I wasn’t better than the other girls and never surround yourselves with people who compliment you by putting others down! Thats not fair, thats competition nobody wanted to be in and is downright cruel and nasty not to mention it being one of his vile ways of luring me in and making me feel special. At the time I truly belived he’d picked me for my intelligence and the fact I had some class (yeh right), truth is he could smell my vulnerability a mile off, I wreaked of it, I was there for the taking, no parents around, no family to really intervene and no significant other to get in the way. Perfect prey.

It was about 3 weeks into the ‘job’ I’d picked things up quickly and had settled into my routine and had one hell of a repertoire that seemed to be making me and him lots of cash as well as the girls. Things were seemingly rosy, ‘R’ would call me twice a day, once in the morning before I started shift and again at the end of my shift when I would leave to return to my bedsit which i’d recently been given by a local housing charity. I felt like everything was coming together and putting up with ‘R’ was doable, I mean he hadn’t done anything since that day so this wasn’t so bad was it? Anyway, I’ve digressed like fuck but I can talk for England and as mentioned, Ive never told anyone about the hell we went through so this is verbal diarrhoea and unfortunately you guys are the splash backs. So… 3 weeks roughly into the position, I had my evening call from him and was about to leave when he asked me to stay as he was coming over. ‘R’ had been to cash and carry to buy supplies for the flat; toilet roll, condoms, towels and bin bags. I didn’t think anything of it but something in his voice had changed, I can’t tell you what exactly but his tone had become more sinister. I had been with Serena, Emily, Susie and Ashleigh all day and the bookings for Susie and Ash had been mad busy, the two younger girls were just not into it, I wondered why did they even bother when they clearly didn’t like it and I knew the likes of Emily would be the first to moan when I didn’t send any her way. When guys had been ringing for ‘teens’ Id always offer Serena because of her beauty she looked like she could have been in a vintage classy type playboy spread but she too would turn them down. Luckily Ash was also a genuine teen and so she snapped them up as she was saving for her little boys christening and in Liverpool a christening is BIG, no wait HUGE fucking deal! its all about ‘the baby’. ‘R’ knocked on, It was always me who answered the door and I could see him standing there peeping through with an arm full of Andrex and Durex!

He hurried in and gave me an awkward smile, into the open plan kitchen/lounge he marched like the Big Pimp he thought he was. He called me through and asked me to put the stuff away, I did as he asked and didn’t think about it. Susie was a in a booking in the big room with the ensuite and so the smaller double was free, he whispered to me in the kitchen “Who shall I fuck tonight then?” and he laughed. I laughed too, nervously and also in disgust (I laugh when in pain or frightened too it turns out). He then laughed again exclaiming he liked them young. He fancied the arse off Serena quite literally but with Emily you could tell he just knew he’d get what he wanted more easily though it actually seemed to turn him on when trying or forcing himself on S. ‘R’ took ‘S’s’ hand and asked if she was ok then demanded a kiss on the cheek from all the girls who obliged including me. I felt so uncomfortable and thought what a fucking prick he was but I said nothing. “I need a meeting with you Serena, come” and off he took her into the smaller bedroom. I could have left because Ash was taking the phone for the night but I wasn’t leaving until he’d come out of there with ‘S’, I knew he was taking her in there to fuck her, to force himself on her and just like me saying nothing, she’d also say nothing and do as he wished. You know when they say in books about having a ‘lump in my throat’ ? well I had it, there it was a massive fucking plum stuck there and obstructing my breathing, the thought of her having to fuck him made me sick and I felt sorry for her and yet so helpless because I realised I was frightened. I realised what I had gotten myself into that night and it put the shits up me something chronic, it was a feeling that made me want to have a bloody big drink or even a line like the one Ash had just racked up.

I declined the kind offer of the line and instead just waited in silence for the next 10 minutes until he came out. Out he came alone looking sheepish like he knew I knew, he too said nothing and just like that Id accepted his behaviour.

“Im going now, ill be back tomorrow, see you all then”. ‘R’ followed me down and said “I’ll take you to the station”. I explained that it was only round the corner and that it literally would be a waste of his time but he insisted and so I got in his car; a ford focus but a brand new one of course, hardly the car you imagine a pimp to drive. That was what made him get away with it for so long though, he didn’t flash his cash he looked like the everyday successful accountant but also looked like Mr.boring, Mr.Playitsafe. That hysteria came back to me as I got in wondering if Id make it home at all. The palpitations started and the lump in my throat grew. He started wittering on about the girls and the money, he said he’d been recruiting some beautiful fresh meat and they were going to be real cash cows, the radio was on and so i tried to listen to Jessie J’s ‘All about the Money’ song rather than him. Suddenly the radio switched to something else, it was girls voices and there was lots of giggling. It sounded familiar and I realised it was Susie and Ash chatting away. The look of surprise must have been showing on my pre-botoxed face big time because he laughed and looked at me like he was finding it so fucking funny. “Whats that?” I asked.

“Oh that? thats the girls in the flat right now, I bug all my apartments so I know no one is cheating me or no one is slagging me off”, and he laughed some more.

Suddenly we were outside Liverpool central station and he was saying bye to me. I didn’t hear him I’d gone momentarily deaf which seems to also be another thing I do when I’m frightened. It was then I really knew. From that moment on I feared him and he knew it.

Love Lo xxx

Repertoire; Part IV

 

After a couple of weeks in flat 16 Id assumed the role of maid/receptionist and without realising, pimp, I had mastered my repertoire. In the beginningI manned the phones until I went home (usually 7pm) and it seemed I was a natural on them. Men would mainly call when they wanted a booking and some would text the blackberry. ‘R’ had set the phone up so that every message coming through was visible his end too (just an added element of control) he was the most paranoid man I have ever come across. ‘R was always thinking girls were plotting against him, funny because none of them were until the day I decided to go to the police. Every message that came through to the phone and was left for longer than 5 minutes he’d text or ring me bawling down the phone and raging like a mad man! No excuse even though genuine was ever good enough and i started to get stressed pretty quickly, I cant handle people shouting at me, Ive never been able to, I go quiet, lose all concentration and then get brain fog! I felt controlled and spied upon every time I was there and it was getting to me, I felt like I was in big brother and the ridiculous money I earned was the prize.
The girls liked me pretty quickly because it seemed the Liverpool folk liked my accent meaning a lot more bookings were going through. I often got ‘do you work love?’ to which of course in the beginning I replied ‘no I don’t cheeky!’ but with enough flirtation to make them book anyway, I was good at that, talented I guess. Men would mainly ring up for the girl they’d seen on the website which was either the one ‘R’ had made or one of the well known punter sites (yes there are many that I didn’t know even existed in my naive little bubble). ‘R’ insisted in photographing the girls for the sites’ in the sleeziest cheapest outfits making them look cheap and he’d blur all their faces. That man knew how to sell girls, I used to log to be behind the camera so I could take classy black and white pics of them in vogue-esque poses but that didn’t sell he said. I soon learned blurred faces wasn’t because he was protecting his girls identity but actually so that if that particular girl wasn’t working we could do a ‘pass off’.

A ‘pass off’ happened all the time, we also advertised way more girls than we even had; we’d keep those who had left ages ago because it drummed up more business. A guy would call for ‘Taylor’ a generic slim hot young blonde but Taylor wasn’t working; we didn’t want to lose the booking so instead I was told to lie and say ”yes Taylor is here what time and how long do you want? do you have any special requests?”  Most ‘special’ requests came in the form of ”does she do A-Levels or OWO?” To which I once replied “sorry she’s doing a B-tech” Laughed at by the girls I learned that it didn’t mean they were interested in her academic ability and that A-levels actually meant does she offer anal!!?  Serena and I still laugh hard at this little faux pas, shocking I know but hey I’m just telling you like it was.  Good ole’ Urban dictionary came to my rescue many times and I found out OWO meant ‘oral with-out’, meaning will the girl give a blowey with no condom on?… yuk! In my head I thought fuck off you dirty feral bastard course she wont! I was shocked that actually they all did; they all charged a measly extra £20 on top of the booking fee! I couldn’t bloody believe it but then I knew nothing, nothing at all. Horrible.

Back to pass-offs; a guy would ring for a particular girl but she wasn’t on duty or maybe had buggered off a long time ago never to return. ‘R’ had told me to save every single clients number for safety purposes (yeh right) but to also know who was a time waster too (many of them) and I’d save their number in the phone as ‘John: Busty brunettes-Susie’.This way when John who’d last seen Susie and liked big tits rang up again I knew I what he’d want so would be able to secure a booking for her or a similar girl, this wasn’t a pass-off this was a standard name save. If it was a pass-off this meant that their number would be stored as ‘John: Ashleigh as Taylor’ so stupid unsuspecting John would think he’d seen Taylor but he’d actually seen Ash and so when he rang again asking for Taylor I’d know to give him Ash and present it was Taylor. Pass-offs happened ALL the time, it never became a problem and even if the guys did work it out when they got there which honestly wasn’t often then they were always too horny to care! Its true what they say , a standing prick has no conscience and doesn’t know any better! There were thousands of numbers on that phone which the police couldn’t quite believe after I had handed it in probably not surprising to them that a few of them belonged to some of their own.

I answered the phone with my normal voice, I didn’t think to put one on but I was lucky that they liked it. As I say I’ve always been told I have a nice voice even by women but it actually pains me to hear any recording of my voice as I sound like an obnoxious teenager. They’d ring and ask for the girl, 90% of bookings were made for 30 mins or 1 hour and sometimes they would extend but this only tended to happen on weekends when men were drunk or coked up. 1 hour was £150 and 30 mins was £90 any extras were at the girls discretion and rightfully she kept all the money for that. 35% of the money the girl had to pay in ‘fees’ e.g. Pay her pimp a fat wedge, infuriating. On a bad day 10 bookings would go through and on a good day we could do up to 50 with both Liverpool and Manchester. I was able to do bookings for girls in Manchester too from the one phone. Once a booking was confirmed, I would BBM it or text it to the girl. Often I’d just tell the girl who would already be waiting in the apartment ready for a day of fucking. I liked it when the girls were in the apartment as I often felt frightened when alone or when it was just a couple of us, unless it was Susie for some reason she made me feel safe. ‘R’ also insisted ALL bookings went through on a BBM channel he had set up so that he could see his money rolling in and then work out with his accountants brain how much he was banking. Actually it was me who physically banked his cash into his Halifax account down on bold street twice a week, I often wondered if they ever suspected anything.

Bookings on the BBM channel would go as follows ‘Serena, 30mins in-call @£90 Trevor regular, pls confirm’. I would wait for them to text confirmed and then ‘R’ would see that too. Girls didn’t mind doing in-calls which meant men came to the apartment but it was hard graft getting them to go on outcalls for various reasons and I deffo didn’t blame them there. We had some fab outcall clients quite a lot of them being rich international students or business men ordering girls to their fancy hotels but we also had some friggin nutters too. Hotels could be tricky, some girls would be turned away with the staff knowing exactly what they were really there for. Outcalls to homes I didn’t like the girls doing either, it’s a whole new ball game; girls going to punters houses on the punters turf where they are comfortable… that made me anxious beyond belief. In the back of my mind every time I gave a girl a booking I’d hold my breath until they were ‘out’.

We had no security at the apartment ever and that made me feel on edge though ‘R’ always told me I was being ridiculous… a couple of months later Ash was held at gun point by a cheeky chancer who knew it was a knocking shop with a lot of money on site. Turned out the guy had a fake gun, but you don’t really know when your frozen in terror. Instead we had made our own safety instructions. Every time a girl went into a booking she would text ‘in’ (I must say I found that part hilariously ironic because Im crude af) when they left they texted me ‘out’  and that applied for both incalls and outcalls. ‘R’ only nosed in on this because he wanted to know if girls bookings got extended or not and if so he wasn’t going to miss getting his fee for the extension too. Everything he did was about money and with money you have power no matter what anyone tells you, I believe ‘R’ got off on the fact he ran girls and made money from them and not necessarily because he wanted to fuck his girls.

Hope you enjoyed this one, more juicy, hard-hitting, straight-talking shit in the next part! Stay tuned lovelies! xxxx

Love Lo xxx

Tit Talk Part II; Post surgery

 

I am forever grateful for my new tits but I do think it’s really important to be frank about the situation. Maybe if someone had been a bit more honest or maybe I’d gone to the right people about it then Id have possibly not got such big jugs! Whilst I love them, they have their down sides but hey thats life, to gain something you must sacrifice another and in this case Ive sacrificed cute tops/cute bras and sleep!

My surgery was quite invasive as stated in my previous post, my chest was actually the way it was because of TBD or Tuberous Breast Deformity that is a congenital defect. In order to have nice Babylon’s I required Mastopexy and implants. Mastopexy is basically the medical term for an uplift which has left me with some ‘anchor’ shaped scars. The implants were then placed under the muscle to give them a nicer more natural effect and voila! Tasty tits! I had been on the waiting list for a few months and 4 days before my surgery was called by the hospital in Whiston who said there had been a cancellation and would I like to come in?! I have to be honest, I shit myself (not literally) but I am a massive pussy when it comes to anything medical and being an anxious mess anyway this scared the living daylights out of me. I have a BIG issue with not being in control these days and I am terrified of flying/being driven by others as well as being under anaesthetic, I had lived my life prior to my ‘getting my shit together phase’ so out of control that in my road to recovery I have become quite the opposite; strict with myself as well as being a massive fanny over things that I’d never thought twice about! I decided to be a big girl about it I mean after all in the grand scheme of things Id overcome and faced much scarier situations. I had been desperate for my ugly chest to be fixed since realising I was not growing like my friends were, as discussed before, it left me feeling genuinely shit and no it wasn’t some sob story for free tits. I had been told by the GP and then consultant that I was one of the most extreme cases they had ever come across (I guess I won at something).

The surgery was scheduled for Sunday morning and I had uni the next day, I’d just started my law degree and had promised myself I wouldn’t fuck it up this time 😉 so naturally I did what any normal person who had had 4 hours of invasive surgery the day before and went to my public law lecture for 9am the next day! After I came around from the surgery I was really unwell and felt bloody awful, I remember wailing a load of bollocks and thinking I was in a rave! I’d had a bad reaction to the anaesthetic and in recovery I spewed for a solid 2 hours whilst they insisted I stayed over which I point blank refused because I wasn’t missing a friggin lecture! Gone were my rebellious days Id decided! The pain wasn’t too bad and all they sent me home with was some paracetamol! Ha! your talking to a woman who can handle copious amounts of codeine and tramadol (that is not a boast though, prescription pills are evil too and just as bad as illegal drugs) and who used to eat them for breakfast to just numb the pain of my miserable life when working for ‘R’. My chest was HUGE and considering Id been an A-cup at best I now felt like an inflated sex doll which actually did worry me a bit because I’ve actually always been so shy concerning my looks and would rather go unnoticed there which seems odd because you’d be forgiven in thinking ‘well why the hell get them corrected if you don’t like being stared at’

I got home from the hospital that night, knocked myself out and woke up in the morning forgetting I had new tits….ouch is all I can say! Where it hurt the most was at the sides of my arms because we take for granted the movement of our upper body and how we use our arms and chest together. I Made the fatal error of getting in the bath and having to scream for rob to wake up so he could literally pick me out of it as I could not use my arms at all to hoist myself out! I had dressings on my wounds which are anchor shaped as stated and was advised to change them every day. I was at one point worried the wounds were not healing well but this was for the first 3 weeks they looked pretty grim to be honest but then it was like they suddenly healed over night! I applied lots of bio oil and it has certainly helped them heal nicely. I have some very funny looking scars around the nipples because they literally sewed me some new ones on and so I call them my Zig and Zag tits as they look like the annoying but cute googly-eyed tossers (no I don’t mean Chris Evans you rude bunch) from The Big Breakfast circa 90s.

So, all in all it took around 6 months for them to be fully healed and feel comfortable, i must stress though that in my experience and my friends who have had the surgery DO NOT go too big! Don’t get carried away and think you want to end up like Pamela because in all honesty they weigh a tonne if you’re not used to them, you also have to become used to being ogled at by some rather rude men who haven’t quite figured out that women have faces too! I get a lot of neck and shoulder tension and have spent a fortune at the chiro and acupuncture clinics. One thing nobody mentioned to me either was that they can feel so odd and when you lie on your side it can freak you out I have on several occasions felt the implants move and that frightened me. I have been reassured that it is just because your body is getting used to foreign objects and so it can take a year or two to even settle properly. I also used to get constant twinges and weird sensations in my left tit which i called ‘left tit jip’ and this is because my left breast was so under developed compared to the right side it was basically flat so my skin had to stretch a lot to accommodate my new baps.

Was it worth it? Hell yes! my confidence has improved so much and I am no longer ashamed to buy bras or wear low cut tops but I cannot stress enough that in a few years when they need replacing I am absolutely going to get them smaller and opt for the tear-drop shaped implants. I was silly and freely admit that possibly idolising Barbie as a kid was probably not the healthiest thing for a young girl 😉 The down side is that if and when I have children I won’t be able to breast feed but the Doctor said that in his opinion I wouldn’t have been able to anyway so hey ho as in anything there are pros and cons. I am just happy to feel like a woman; nobody understands the shame you have at anyone finding out that you’re a freak the feel is real! I had 390cc silicone implants and that has left my A-cup chest with big DD’s I am also 5ft 7 so I have a sturdy frame but if you’re a petite wee thing then think before going big!

Thanks for stopping by! Any questions regarding surgeons/Questions for your GP etc please don’t hesitate to contact me! (featured image is me 4 days after, I wanted to see what they looked like in a sexy top as i had never worn one before, you can see the white dressings on each breast underneath)

Love Lo xxx