Flirting with destruction, one post at a time.
I’ve managed to calm my anxiety down quite a lot now, with thanks to ChatGPT’s – AKA “Shadow” ’s – help. Shadow taught me some things that I can do, through tactile assurances, to damage assess and help me calm my nerves. So I’ve managed to take myself from “oh my god! Half of my tooth is missing!” to “it’s a small, easily treatable cavity that might not even need drilling”. Quite a come down, I think!
I did assault myself with my water flosser before bed Friday night, once downwards into the gum (like a tiny water bullet) and once right up my nose. At least I haven’t managed to wash the walls again since the first time.
The morning dread is slowly wearing off, still there, but calmer now. Less inevitable drilling, more curious, “let’s see what modern dentistry can do”. I’m actually quite excited about that.
Saturday morning Master had to leave to cheer his father on at a boules final, but he comes to kiss me farewell before he leaves. I flip onto my back, scantily clad, and give him a wry smile.
“Have fun, won’t you?” I purr. My implication is less than subtle: you could be having ‘fun’, right here.
“I wish I was” he says, his tone matches my train of thought. I stretch with wrists upwards, cross them above my head and grin.
“I wish you were too, but you’re going to have fun with a bunch of oldies and their boules instead” I tease. Master bites my lower lip before he departs.
“Until later” he says in a warning.
“Looking forward to it” I reply.
I also picked up quite a lengthy message from Sir JGood, who was at an air show Friday evening. Sir kindly sent me a photo of a Eurofighter jet, which made me smile.
Naturally I warned Sir.
Graceful, isn’t it? Yet you know both the power that it hos and the damage that it could do. Be warned, Sir.
Of course, we need to be clear about exactly the kind of “damage” that I mean. There are people out there for whom “damage” involves family, friends and jobs – I’m not that way inclined. “Damage” for me involves unshakable thoughts, desires, curiosities, distractions, or if provoked, precise statements that make clear my boundaries and the consequences of crossing them. That’s the kind of “damage” that I deal in.
I left what I can only call a trail of destruction on the Lovehoney Forum on Friday night, and Saturday morning, Sir had plenty to say.
So I’ll admit, sometimes this is something that I/we do, sometimes the forum’s our “battle arena” of sorts. Sir and I can’t talk about these things directly; as much as I would love to “escalate” with him, the limits of his marriage mean that such conversations are unfortunately off the table. But if I should tailor my answer slightly on a forum thread, and if Sir should happen to read it and have his poor little mind sent in a spin? Well then that’s not my fault, is it? I didn’t say anything to cause it directly.
Who’s winning in this little “battle” of ours? I’m never quite sure. Maybe there are no winners, and maybe it does lead to “mutually assured destruction”, if indeed it hasn’t already. Whatever, it’s fun, and it’s even more fun to be back in the dogfight. Too bad Sir won’t succeed 😉
Something that I haven’t written about yet, and that I promised Sir I would, are his “Grey flags”. Grey flags aren’t seen as an inherently bad thing, in the same way that Master Levi’s “Shades” aren’t (all) bad either. Not a problem per se, more of a tongue-in-cheek, seen-this-before jab.
Not a bad thing, mrely a shared quirk between my Dominant husbands and the fictional billionaire.
Sir is a business owner, so that’s one Grey flag. No Charlie Tango (or Juliet Golf, for that) though, so he can’t have one there.
Ordering me to the dentist? That’s gonna be two.
As it was, there was no “later”: Master lost his Google Pixel earphones which meant he wasn’t really in the mood for “later”. He tried to get them back but we watched on the map as they moved right across Bristol. Too late, they were gone.
Yesterday ended with a surprise: a primary school friend of mine, G, got in touch. I’m loathe to re-engage with my old school friends; the “me” that they remember is not the “me” that I am now.
The “me” that they likely remember was quiet, well-behaved and studious. The “me” that I am now? Well, she’s still quieter (and smarter) than some, but she’s certainly not so well behaved!
What on Earth will G think of the work that I do, or the life that I live now?
I admitted to G the reason that I pulled away from our little gang, that I was worried what everyone would think of me if they knew the real me. Everyone knew me as quiet and good and playful, but kinky? They’d never have accepted me!
So I dropped that bombshell, that I am polyamorous, kinky and work in sex. G wanted to read my work.
Oh god! Oh god! Oh god!
Despite my fears, G – now a doctor by profession – was actually incredibly supportive of my work, she even said that my voice must empower other people. I’m humbled by that, I told her that “I hope so”.
G said that I’ve “always been cheeky” though, which I had to politely disagree with.
I’m a GOOD girl!
Last night there’s a little knock on the door, Rose – she was returning the drill that I let her father borrow. She also asked if Master could go out to play football with her on Sunday, so I promised that speak with him – I couldn’t give her a definitive answer without him home.
So I would learn when I spoke with Mr C, Rose was never supposed to ask us on her father’s behalf – Rose was supposed to ask for what she wanted for herself. It’s all part of a strategy to encourage Rose to be more confident, too bad the little monkey is finding workarounds.
As goes with Rose, the little madam got Mr C and I talking, and typically she scoots off to play while we talk. I wish I could say that it was indeed a conversation, it was more thirty minutes of being talked at.
I told Mr C that G said I was “always cheeky”, and he laughed and said that I only pretended to be good at school, that he can “read people”. I maintained my innocence, he denied it and he repeated his accusation.
“Oh fuck off” I laugh. He laughs louder.
“Just know that you’re not the only one who can read people” I add in a warning. That’ll give the bugger something to think about.
I cancelled my birthday plans in the end – it’s crept up on me much faster than I was really ready for and my head really hasn’t been in it. I was supposed to make a dessert but I’ve only just about managed to muster up the energy to do a dirty dishes and litter sweep through the flat. I will get myself back in fighting form, I’m just not quite there yet. Maybe once I’ve seen the dentist and quelled my worst fears, then I’ll be much calmer. Obsessive thinking (and obsessively watching sensational dental videos) undoubtedly won’t help anyone.
This morning Sir reminded me that I’m two days away from the birthday bumps. I’m not worried: there’s still 400 miles between he and I, and thirty-seven is a smaller number than the forty-six that he’ll be owed in nine days time. What do I have to be worried about?
This evening Sir laid out, in detailed fashion, the uses for an intimate part spreader. I know what he’s doing: I made his mind roam, and now he’s sending mine on a spin.
It’s admittedly quite effective, but I have enough resolve not to concede that easily.
You think you can Dominate me, Sir? Cute. Try harder.
So this is the space that Sir and I occupy, routinely provoking one another but never quite “escalating”. He’s welcome to cross that line anytime he wants, of course; he’s welcome to “escalate” anytime he’s ready. But if he does, do know this – I won’t be the only one “destroyed”.
The Thoughts & Musings Of Mrs Wolfie 
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