Just when I thought I was healing.

Monday

Early hours of Monday morning I could feel my throat beginning to rasp up. I wanted to blame indigestion from a late dinner,  but I think in my head I knew. Master had been coughing and sneezing not 72 hours before, and now I was just fooling myself. 

When I woke Monday morning it felt like someone was sat on my chest.  My throat felt properly sore, too. 

Master is off work, takes one look at me. 

“Oh God. Sorry!” he says. 

“We do not need to collect bugs” I croak. “Whatever bugs are going around in the office, we do not need to try them all.”

I swallow. Gasp. Speak again.

“If you don’t mind, I like breathing.”

“Deoxygenation” has become a kind of running joke between Valkyries and I lately, after he made me gasp (and bite my lip) a few times. I referred to Valkyries’ ability to make me suddenly forget how to breathe as him inducing “sudden hypoxic episodes”. Fortunately Valkyries, a first aider himself, knows what hypoxia is. 

So as the new cold set in, I joked to Valkyries that I was “casually deoxygenating” once again. I wasn’t actually, but my breathing still felt heavy and sore. 

Valkyries suggested an oxygen tent to “blow the snot out”. Grim. 

We did have quite a nice chat on Monday too, Valkyries and me, about where we are and where everything is going. I don’t want to say too much except to say that polyamory is not compatible with Valkyries’ life right now. So, that is just sort of where we’re at.

Valkyries also talked about his past and assured me that people can change. I don’t know that it’s that I can’t handle Valkyries’s past so much as I was worried about our potential future. Everyone has a past, but just like I said to Valkyries, not all of us think about going back on it — I didn’t want to commit myself to Valkyries if what Valkyries wants for himself isn’t compatible with what I wanted, for me. Now though, it seems, we’re kind of “simpatico” once again. 

We also talked about things being scary, both “scary good” and “scary, full stop”. Things are scary: ultimately, we’re two internet strangers who met on a forum where you’re not even allowed to swap personal information, found that we have a lot in common, and started talking elsewhere after Valkyries contacted me through my blog. 

And now here we are, imagining what our polycule might look like. We’re not even talking in terms of an online Dom/sub dynamic here: we’ve talked the f-word — future.

 

Tuesday 

I took delivery of another bunch of Amazon things — among them some rope LEDs to replace the front garden string lights that are no longer working — and to replace the replacement string lights that I bought to replace them. 

I plugged them in. Nothing. 

I tried a different extension. Still nothing. 

Directly into the socket. Nothing again. 

So I have given up, defeated by physics, and I have now settled for another small, battery powered security light instead. To match the existing four that we already have on our home. 

Well at least I know those bloody things work!

Mr C steps out to find out why I’m back and forth in front of his doorbell camera. So I tell him, and of my decision. 

“I’ll put it up” Mr C says. 

“I don’t even have it yet” I reply.

“No I know, but I use screws, not like you” he teases. I glare at him. 

What Mr C refers to is the battery-powered security lights that I stuck up with a bit of double sided foam tape. They held, but that didn’t impress him. 

No, Mr C wants to install the new light “properly”. 

He torments me again about “cutting corners”, and about the “usual standards” of my workmanship. Apparently, a woman isn’t allowed to “cut corners” and use an even stickier, equally-weatherproof alternative to the sticky pad supplied — she has to use screws instead. 

Man logic, you gotta love it! 

My door number plaque, by the way — that is held up with aforementioned sticky foam tape — still hasn’t moved an inch.

Master is still off work with his cold and so he’s horizontal on the sofa, watching House. This bug feels more like a flu, and as I drift in the lethargy of it, I become aware of the medical talk in the background. 

The P word — “patient” — hits a little differently right now. Here — with the window cracked open and providing me with a cool stream of fresh air directly into my inflamed and goo-filled lungs —  I kind of am the patient. Again.

This time, I’m able to apply some logic to it: it’s my need to be cared for. 

And I am cared for. By Master and Mister Valkyries. 

Both Master and Mister Valkyries delight in winding me up, about “white coats and little else”. I want to resist them but my mind is already awash. This is a cruel affliction that they’ve inflicted upon me. 

Tuesday evening I enquired about the whereabouts of the charcoal grey faux mink blanket that normally lives on our bed. It was nowhere to be seen. 

“It’s in the wash” Master says.

“How come?” 

“It just needed washing.”

I had my suspicions that Master had been masturbating without me, but I let it go. It doesn’t bother me if he did, I’m just surprised: I always thought Master’s libido was much lower than mine.

Okay yes, maybe I do feel a little cheated. 

“You’re ill, I didn’t want to bother you” he explains. 

“Wolf, I’m dying, but I’m not dead yet!”

“I know but…”

“But… you didn’t think I’d want sex? Believe me, if only you knew how much I wanted sex last night. I took matters into my own hands because I didn’t think you’d want sex.”

“You bad girl!” he growls, and kisses me. 

In the end, we did end up having sex; the lust-filled, intense kind. Easy? Not really, but definitely worth the effort!

Enjoyed this post? Give this post a like, share, or leave a comment below. Alternatively, click here for more of my Bad Girl Diaries posts!

Until next time!

Stau safe & have fun,

---

Enjoyed my writing? Gained something from it? Please consider giving something back by supporting me via Paypal or checking out my Amazon wishlist. I thank you for your kindness 🙂