Perhaps the danger lies only in our imagination.

It was Sunday one minute. It’s Wednesday before I know where the week has gone, my mid-week ramble day.

Predictably, I’m back outside with Mr C on Monday, even in spite of him letting my mother down. We had our casual exchanges over the weekend but once I’m home alone, I’m on his terms once more. 

Mr C asks for the quarter tub of paint that I’d promised him from the shed. As I wander down the garden, he’s close behind me, talking. 

“Oh, something you sprayed the other day smelled really good, by the way” he says. I look at him quizzically. My perfume?

“Kind of floral?” I ask. He affirms it and I smile. 

“You know Mr C, you all say I’m not, yet anytime I wear it you all comment on it. So my guess is, it must suit me after all”. Now it’s Mr C who is confused. 

“My signature perfume, Carolina Herrera’s Good Girl” I smirk.

Master has apparently had plenty of compliments on his new haircut too, with some colleagues asking who his barber is. 

“I can just imagine their faces when you tell them that your wife cuts your hair” I grin. It’s just another thing I now seem to do unintentionally and reputably well. 

I have made a few new friends on Slowly recently, so please allow me to introduce them before I forget. There’s M from Portugal, a fellow kinkster who defined me as “dangerous… in the best way”, he also said that I’m the kind of woman who chooses how my stories end. There’s also S from Ireland –  a senior clinician by profession – who I am already enjoying discussing all things sex and psychology with. 

Both of my husbands know of me being defined as “dangerous” by M, though they both have different responses to it. 

I told Master of Mr C’s demanding my time and attention in his absence and he jokes about me being “stolen” from him, so I dismissed it and told him that “the Portuguese (M) is more of a threat than the neighbour is”, owing to my love for Portuguese pastries. Not to be outdone my darling husband pointed out how “easy” I am, that I could be “bought” for a pastéis de nata – a Portuguese custard tart. I glared at him. 

Alas, there’s no denying that I might at least consider such a proposition. I do like pastéis de nata.

For my work husband, Sir JGood, he said that “dangerous is a broad term”. True too, and the “danger” that I pose to a man greatly depends on how he acts towards me. 

Tuesday Sir asked for my help on his project. Normally I’d be happy to help, but I’d turned in for a nap and my brain was running at 40% capacity. Sir had asked me for my thoughts while I was bedbound and vulnerable, lost in a world of ASMR and on the cusp of sleep. A new kind of torture, I feel. 

Not one that I like, but certainly not one that I hate. 

Sir suggested leaving the door ajar, and I was confused by that – it seemed oddly specific to me. 

So Sir explained that with the door closed, there’s a possibility of disruption. With the door open, I wouldn’t have any privacy. With the door ajar, I’d have both. 

I conceded his point, and Sir said that it was “easy”. I mewled in protest. 

Enjoy it while you have it, Sir. 

I admitted to Sir that I had “trained” myself to resist his kind too; that I had (somewhat) “trained” myself to resist things like hypnosis and ASMR under certain circumstances. Sure, I may have these things about me, but the more resilient I make myself to them, the less vulnerable I am to men like him who might try to capture me and use them to “submissify” me for whatever intentions they may have. Sorry, boys. Actually, I’m not sorry at all 😉 

I did fall asleep eventually. When I woke up, Sir had called me “cadet”. Ahh yes, Cadet Ruckford. However did I forget about her? 

Sir did invite me to roleplay with him Tuesday night too, which surprised me. Roleplay, Sir? After last time? Is that wise? 

To recap, Sir and I once had a kind of roleplay between a Earthling woman and a Vulcan man that nearly, ah…. Escalated. I certainly don’t regret that it nearly did and I hope Sir doesn’t either, but I fully understand why it had to stop where it did, because of his marriage. 

I’d love to say that last night was anywhere near as sexy, but Sir simply wanted to roleplay pitching his product (not a euphemism) to a tenant. So Sir got a taste of the usual treatment that any canvasser gets when they knock on my door – polite, curt, disinterested. 

Oh that poor man, and he thought I was “easy”. Perhaps I can remind you, Sir? 😉

Also last night, Master and I had to have a conversation about our own sex life. Not that there’s anything wrong with it per se, mostly that we never seem to have the time (or energy) for it. Usually there’s some kind of distraction: the dog wants to play, a parent calls up, an alarm goes off, there are chores to do, and so on. 

So Master and I realised that we are down to the dreaded sex on schedule. Bang goes the spontaneity! Such is life that we now have to plan to fuck. 

But there was another problem, a daft problem. A very silly little other thing that could well be getting in the way of our spontaneous sex sessions.

You see, Master and I developed this silly little thing that, whenever something of a sexual nature came up, we would respond to it by saying “oh noes” and covering our eyes, as though it was shameful to see (or hear). It wasn’t that sex is shameful – that’s certainly not a view that we subscribe to – it’s just that according to society, sex is supposed to be unseen.

And we’d kind of developed our silly little gimmick based on that.

But in making sex “oh noes” we were cut-and-drying the conversation; we were ending the conversation about sex right when we could be talking about what turns us on. Right when we could be, you know, having sex. 

So I suggested that henceforth, we banish “oh noes” from our vocabulary. 

“Could you imagine if, instead of saying ‘oh noes’, we actually said, ‘hey, that kind of turns me on’. Could you imagine how that conversation might go?” I ask Master. 

“Hmm, I could” he purrs.

“How?” I whisper. Go on, Mr S. Show me. 

He lets me linger in the intensity of the moment for a beat.

“But not right but now, you have burgers to cook” he says, swats my ass hard, and sends me off to the kitchen.

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Until next time!

Stay safe & have fun,

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