Who knew a simple favour could be so dangerous?

Friday afternoon and for his last day of annual leave, I did something frankly unforgivable to my poor husband. I’d ordered a small Amazon shop for some bits for my work, and Master Levi is curious as to what I’ve ordered. 

“Would you like it in my working wife voice or my best influencer voice?” I ask. 

“Wife, please” Master says. So, I do. 

“Clear pencil case, 2026 planner and an A5 sketchpad for doing sex position illustrations” I say. Master Levi nods.

“Now do that in your influencer voice” he says.  

Well alright, but he did ask for it. 

So I clear my throat, and I begin my little show.

“Oh my god! Check out this clear pencil case!” I say, holding the pencil case at arm’s length for dramatic effect.

“Like, can you just imagine how good my pens and pencils are going to look in this?! This is literally going to be life-changing!”. Master laughs hard into the crook of his elbow. 

I continue.

“Check out this planner too, like, look at it! Look. At. It. Look at that swirly green pattern on the cover. No, look at it! It’s giving, like, tropical ocean vibes.”

“Oh god, woman! You’re killing me!” Master laughs. I grin. 

Also Friday I received a Slowly letter, from a pharmaceutical scientist from Germany, who I shall call “US” for now. He identifies as Dominant, is into consensual non-consent/erotic hypnosis scenarios, including “subject” roleplays like I’m into. I’m not against that, but I am against someone who tries to establish authority over me right from the start. 

So I tell him straight: tell him that my surrender is not something that is freely given; it has to be earned. The nice thing about being a submissive who knows their worth is that you stop giving yourself to just about anyone willing to take you. Instead, you only surrender yourself to the ones who prove worthy of your devotion. 

And when I speak of this exchange with my Kings, both are proud of me.  Master says he looks after me and trusts me to look after myself, and Valkyries is “cock-a-hoop” with my ability to conduct myself and write good letters. 

Saturday is Valentine’s Day, and I’m up into the early hours talking with Valkyries after Master Levi passed out on the sofa. Valkyries makes a “misfire”; he accidentally suggests that I need space — from him. It causes a raised eyebrow. 

I need space from YOU? Pardon me, Sir, but I’m not the one who insists we’re “friends”. 

There’s an aside or two to this. First of all, I overheard the Shawn Mendes ft Camilla Cabello song “Senorita” on Mr C’s outdoor radio the other day, and it caused me a small smile to myself – not because of Mr C, but because of Valkyries. Particularly the line “you say we’re just friends, but friends don’t know the way you taste“. Mmhmm. “Friends” indeed.

Secondly, I’ve done this whole “friends” dance with a guy before, and if my memory serves, we were fooling around for a while, then one day we were out with (really just) friends, he got drunk and on the way home he told me that he loved me. He played Queen’s “You’re My Best Friend” (the first of “our songs”) at the pub a few weeks later, and the January after that, he asked me to be his girlfriend (initially by dancing drunkenly to Justin Timberlake’s “Like I Love You”, but we’ll let him off). It’s been twenty years of hanging out with that same “friend” now, and of which, thirteen (and counting) we have been happily married.

Also slightly related and not, I told my Mum once that “being married is like having a best friend that you enjoy kissing”, to which she replied “come off it, Elena, marriage is like having a best friend that you enjoy fucking”. So, I guess there’s that. 

My point is, I know what’s going on when a guy enjoys the “benefits” of my friendship but doesn’t want to make us more than friends. The problem isn’t usually me. 

I’m awesome and I’m pretty. Frankly, I’m pretty awesome. Why wouldn’t anyone want to be with me? 

So we chatted about it, and though Valkyries admitted again that it wasn’t his intention to suggest I needed space from him, it had been a “happy accident” that had led to us talking about and clarifying our situation. 

And Valkyries agreed that we are indeed “more than friends”. 

But I also hunted you like my prey, he says. 

Or, Sir, perhaps I allowed myself to be caught by you? 

Just a defenceless lamb staring at the big bad wolf, he continues. 

Not defenceless, Sir, restrained. There’s a difference between not having capability and not using it.

Valkyries did say he’d already “invaded” my “sovereign space”, and I bit my lip hard. Oof, he’s playing hard ball tonight.

Saturday daytime I admittedly abandoned my blog post to have a little fun. Mr C said a few weeks ago that I’m not in the garden enough, so Saturday I thought I’d put my blog aside for an hour and go and join him instead.  I did have things I needed to do out there, anyway. 

Before I did though, I put on some clean clothes, brushed and tied my hair up, put some pretty ear studs in, added a quick spritz of perfume and chewed a piece of mint gum – less “date” energy, more “girl next door who is having a good day”. I didn’t try too hard because I didn’t want to. I didn’t need to. 

I picked up my gardening gloves and stepped out. Within moments, Mr C is onto me like a bee on a flower. 

I work, and he works, but he can’t help but stop and come talk to me. I don’t chase him; I stay calm, poised, polite. 

He mentions “Freya” and I just smile and nod; I ask no personal questions of their “relationship” and I give him no indication that I might be envious of it. I know “Freya” isn’t real. He doesn’t know I know though, and calling him out on his lies has only led to tension in the past.

We lean across his homemade bin store, facing one another, and I allow him to enjoy this conversation with me. This is his time with me, that he apparently doesn’t get enough of lately.

“Anyway, I have to get on,” I say eventually, “I think that’s enough gardening for today”. I smile to myself at my less-than-subtle implication, and with that, I disappear back inside. 

I did hear from my German penpal, “US”, again on Saturday — he said that my response carried the “unflinching clarity” that he’d hoped for, and that he will respect my boundaries “without question”. I sighed deeply; I know how this goes. The only remaining question, then, is do I kneel now or later? 

Saturday night is a takeaway curry and wine for us – we both forewent the idea of gifts this Valentine’s Day, owing to a lack of desire for more clutter. 

Master finds Fifty Shades of Grey on the TV, so, he puts it on. Presumably so he can interrogate me about that one next.

“Didn’t we watch this at the cinema one Valentine’s Day?” I ask innocently. We did: 14th February 2015. The same day Ten Shades & Me was born, right after the movie. 

Also that night, we had an exceptionally chatty taxi driver for the journey home, who asked what we’d been to see. Not wanting to expose our private proclivities to a stranger’s judgement, I lied  and said “Selma”  instead. My ass of a husband then proceeded to ask me who was in it, what the movie was about and which parts I liked most, knowing full well I was ad-libbing the hell out of this situation. He got a swift kick in the calf for his crimes. 

“I think I prefer this theatre more” I say to Master, turning my attention to him. 

“Yeah?” He asks.

“Yeah,” I reply, “fewer rules.“

We never did watch the rest of the movie. 

I have another bugbear on Sunday, that’s stupid and hilarious at once. Our garden water butts? Empty. Our garden waste bin? Full of rainwater. Even I can’t unsee the irony of that situation.

But I don’t want a bin full of rainwater, obviously – water butts are for water, and waste bins are for waste. So I need to find a way to keep what I don’t want in the bin, out of the bin. 

My first thought was a bin store: we have one already, for our recycling bins, and they’re usually not full of rainwater. If I could get something similar, hey presto! Problem (hopefully) solved. 

So I started browsing, but then I realised: if I bought something to build myself, I’d get it in the neck from Mr C for not asking him to make me something. For wasting my money on something he’d happily make for me.

So I spoke to Valkyries about it, joked that I know how these “handyman types” like to be appreciated. I wasn’t trying to stir any jealousy or anything, I was simply acknowledging the facts. I know you guys like to be appreciated, especially by the ladies you like. 

I sensed the tone shift though, even if it wasn’t my intention.

So realising that allowing Mr C to help me was going to risk causing Valkyries some discomfort, I rethought my plan. I could buy and build something myself (which again, would probably have still caused Mr C to ask why I didn’t ask for help, and just how exactly do you tell these handyman types that your partner could be envious of them helping you, without risking them strutting about like a peacock?)

… Or I could do the cheaper, no-quibbles option and simply buy a better bin. One that won’t let the rain in. 

It cost me £12 and it’ll be here this week. I did joke to Valkyries, though – The Admiral Of My Undoing – about me narrowly doing a “Helen of Troy”.