The boyfriend has become a little more understanding of my situation but has somehow managed to talk me round to his way of thinking. A baby would not be best at this point in my life, and as far as I can see, it would only put a strain on what is far from a stable relationship as far as I'm concerned.
So as a compromise, I'm considering an abortion and getting a cruiser bike instead to be my baby!!
Something like this..........plus its another excuse to wear leather!!!!

Last week ended on a bit of a cliffhanger....I can now confirm that I am indeed pregnant. Hurrah! Unfortunately, any feelings of joy or elation were overcome by a) a feeling of dread at having to break the news to the boyf and b) the sensation of despair as I knew what he'd say.
True enough, upon finding out he went with the tactful approach of "we can't possibly have a baby now" and stuck to it all weekend.  Needless to say, I've been experiencing a rollercoaster of emotions. I'm about 95% sure now that I'm going to have an abortion. I'm going to see the doctor this afternoon and start the ball rolling.
I keep telling myself its the sensible thing to do but there's a tiny squeak - not even really a voice in my head - just a squeak, telling me that a baby is what I've always wanted and after all these years of thinking I was infertile it would be wrong to kill my unborn child. My main fear is that if I abort this baby, could it have any detrimental effect on future attempts to conceive? I know the chances of this happening are slim, but still the mind is prone to wander...
Anyway, thanks to the love and support of my friends over the weekend I feel better now than I did on Friday, and I know that whatever happens they will be behind me 100% of the way.
Thanks guys.
x

This week seems to be all about having your cake and eating it. After the weekend doing 'high class' work, I went away with the boyf for a family do and to meet the intended in-laws. I was charming to the last, (I always know how to behave around family), although more than slightly stressed due to my need to be liked by everyone. As a result of this, I consumed a few too many complimentary champagnes, and started slipping into my loud northern brogue, but after a couple of "Are you ok?"s and "are you a bit tipsy?"s from the boyf, and settled down again.
Following our return I threw myself into a new fitness regime, which requires me to go to the gym as often as possible and meanwhile live off glorified rabbit food. One evening, I was happily sweating away on the crosstrainer when I caught a glimpse of my mystery man on the rowers. (For those of you who are regular readers, this is the same guy I've been toying with for some time, and whom helped me have an enjoyable birthday morning, amongst other things). From now on I shall refer to him as L.
Anyway, I spotted L and we acknowledged each other and eventually we started to chat and it transpired that he had split from his girlf some time ago and apparently assumed I was single also. I'm not entirely sure if he had hoped to spark the flames of romance, but in my head he was merely for fun. For the time being. Anyway. He invited me back to his office to shower, which I turned down, and then went over anyway. We spent 10 minutes making smalltalk before he grabbed me and covered me in the most passionate spine-tingling kisses I'd felt in a while.
Now then, a word about the boyf. He is very good in bed (although he seems to be limited to a handful of positions) and is always able to make me soaking (although I rarely feel the actual sensation of an orgasm) but there is no goddamn spark. He never gives me goosebumps or makes me fingers itch to trail down his back or pull his hair. Its all just a bit mediocre. However, he is gorgeous and the perfect man and I love him. I just want some excitement too.
So, back to L. I could feel his arousal as he kissed me and he suggested helping him christen his office (something we've often fantasised about) but something was stopping me. Possibly the fact that I felt scruffy after the gym or that I was supposed to be on my way to meet the boyf. I turned him down, and instead got a lovely stubble rash on my neck. Which turned out to be the downfall of everything. After L had pointed it out and asked me how I planned to disguise it, I retorted "What will the boyfriend say??!" - almost without thinking. The look of surprise on his face sealed my doom - L was gutted and disgusted in himself for tempting a taken woman. He vowed never to lay another finger on me and apologised profusely. So began two days of discomfort.
What was I supposed to say?? The only thing I could think of: "I'm sorry, I just wanted to have my cake and eat it". Maybe slightly offensive but at least honest.
Since then, we have made ammends. I've gone back to being slightly suggestive in my texts and emails and he has admitted that he would find it hard to turn me down, despite his strong moral standing.
And as for the title of this blog?
Well, I am trying to suss out whether I am a profoundly deep person or as crystal clear and shallow as a spilt thimblefull of water. You see, I don't feel any differently about anyone. I like L, I would like to spend a great deal of time in his bed, I would maybe even enjoy being his girlfriend. At the same time, I love the boyf and feel contented with him to a certain degree, and not one tiny bit guilty about all my indiscretions. I know if he found out it would break his heart. I'm not being big headed, I just know how much he loves and trusts me and how it would totally ruin him if he knew how I'd mocked his implicit faith. I'd like to think that I am a bottomless well of emotion and that someday, the guilt I am failing to feel will come back and bite me, and I'll get my just desserts. Or maybe I feel blank because I'm blank inside.

Oh yes, and an addition to the saga: I may be pregnant and if I am the boyf wants me to get rid of it as he says its a bit too soon for a family. Shit.

Greetings to all in Blogland.  I feel I ought to write a great deal as I have recently acquired a new job title (see above for clues if you're feeling a bit slow). I have just come home from a weekend in France - Nice and Marseilles to be specific, having also passed through Lyon and Paris for a bite to eat.
I shall change the order of events slightly so as not to betray the demi-celebs whose beds I graced - for anyone who is feeling like a detective - but here is what happened:

Myself and a fellow stripper friend were picked up at 6am on Saturday morning and taken to the local airport to catch a flight to Nice. We had a so-called representative from several local football clubs supposedly chaperoning us (although he later denied that this was his job) and after an hour in his tireless company we decided that his new name should be Uncle Knobhead as he really was a cock of huge proportions. This fact was only worsened by the announcement that the flight was delayed for three hours.
Upon finally reaching Nice, we were met by our client's 'chauffeur' - a glorified cabby - who proceeded to drive us to Marseilles, whilst putting up with UK's stupid tirade which was now delivered in broken English, which is how you make foreigners understand you, of course.
We got to the 'chateau' an hour or so later to find our client out at training and to learn that he wouldn't be back until after the match that we had tickets to see later that evening. B let out an audible groan - she hates football - whilst I tried to remain enthusiastic. However, within five minutes we were given a bottle of champagne to look after and were being entertained by a gorgeous French popstar who just so happened to be hanging round the estate and could speak decent English, and the footballer's other friends and bodyguard. I felt like I'd just entered an episode of cribs.
Gorgeous popstar offered to take us for food at around 5pm (we'd not eaten since 9am) and we jumped at the opportunity to get away from UK, who was lurking like a bad smell. 'Food' turned out to be drive-thru McDonalds, however, we drove through in a spectacular Bentley, so it was ok. When we got back, B and I tottered upstairs to freshen up and then attempted to tiptoe around to have a nosey, but it seemed there was a sleeping man in every room we encountered. We got changed for the match and devised a game plan for later that evening, swearing allegiance to each other and no gangbangs.
Then it was off to the match in another flash car, where we were treated like total wags up until the time when we found out that UK had only managed to secure us 2nd row seats as opposed to the box he had promised. Still, the match was good, our client's team won with him scoring the first goal, and we were ushered out with the same wag-consideration we had been received.
Finally, our footballer appeared in the rear view mirror and announced he would be driving us home. However, we were stopped by paps and fans and had to change cars to elude them so his wife didn't see any photos she shouldn't. By the time we got back to the house, we'd been up for 17 hours and all I wanted to do was sleep, not pander to someone's ego. However, it was a £1k job, so I had to provide the £1k treatment....
B and I were told by Uncle K to go and change into our dance outfits (that he had failed to tell us to bring) and meet the boys in the nightclub under the house. We traipsed downstairs after re-applying and primping, to find the footballer also fancied himself as an amateur dj, and the popstar an amateur dancer. When I later found out the popstar was suspected to be in the closet, I was not surprised.
Anyway, the footballer dragged me back to his room, and his very big black friend took B, who is of minute proportions. After 10 minutes, there was a knock on the door, and the footballers friend was proposing a swap. B came tottering into the footballer's room and I had no intentions of leaving the bed, which was just as good, as it turned we had to renege on our vow against gangbangs.... Well, saying that, B and I only kissed and fondled, and both of us jumped aboard the footballer.
Finally, blissfully, morning reared its ugly head and I went to sleep after being up for over 24hours. By the time I arose he had gone to training, and had announced that he was flying back to England later that day so would only see us for an hour or so later on. B and I scuttled back to our room to discuss the events so far, commenting on the ridiculousness of having your own clothing label and yet sleeping on a barely double bed with two single mattresses, and not having any sustenance in the house other than champagne.
We found that 'an hour or so' was ample time for the footballer to make a mess over my bikini, whilst the bodyguard thoroughly upset B by demanding what turned out to be less than a 5 minute long shag. Not having time to wash afterwards, we packed our bags and stood in the foyer waiting for UK to creep back out of the footballer's ass, whilst I suggested to B that we steal some ipods or designer sunglasses (of which there were many carelessly thrown about the house) to make amends for recent indignities. However, classy to the last, Miss B clambered into our awaiting Viper Dodge Hummer thing and demanded to be driven home.
Footballer asked when he'd be seeing me again, to which I replied 'Never' in my head, but in the real world just smiled sweetly and told him to contact my agent. Then began the interminable drive through France with UK, who refused to stop for air until he realised the footballer had stiffed him and spent a large portion of the remaining journey sulking.
We took the Eurostar back to England and I arrived home at around 4:30am, to a suspicious boyfriend who had been unable to contact me for the past 48 hours and wanted to know why. If only I could tell him I'm whoring myself out so our kids will be happy, maybe he'd understand.....

However. Life goes on. A rather forgettable experience to say the least, but at least I can pay off my overdraft from a weekend's work. I shan't be holding my breath and I most definitely won't be going back to sad middle-aged men who can't get it up after sampling the sort of work I could be doing. I am happy for the time being to remain in limbo between a state of high-class hooker and contented housewife. A superhero for the modern woman if ever I saw one!!