The past few days have been a bit chaotic again. I got approved for the Lovehoney UK affiliate programme, which is nice, but I had to take a few days to insert my links on several posts. It’s done now, and weirdly, I feel more of an entrepreneur for doing it. Like this isn’t just a blog anymore – it’s a business! 

There were negotiations to be had with Master Levi and Mister Valkyries as well, about how we’re going to do the whole “sex toy testing” thing now. Essentially, I’ve opted out of the Lovehoney’s Sex Toy Tester Programme — I’m quite done, begging for toys. What I plan to do instead is this: if we see something we like the look of, I buy it, review it, and post it on my blog, obviously with affiliate links. All being well, I will still get the toys I/we want, and with commission, I won’t leave myself too out of pocket. 

So I set limits: £40 top spend (I want to make my choices fit in with my “affordable” mission statement) and it has to be something we think my audience would be interested in, not just whatever ridiculous contraption those two feel I should try next. Novelty is fine, but within limits. 

Predictably, my two idiots take a “review all the things” approach. I sigh deeply. Is this really what I’ve signed up for?  

It feels slightly weird, being their (kind of) boss in this and being their submissive at the same time. I have power here, but I know the limits of just how much power I have. They let me lead, but they don’t let me rule. 

Not that I would want to. 

That arouses me in some deeply submissive way too — leading, but knowing I’m not the leader, and knowing they could flip the script at any time. And they do.

They keep me on my toes, as I keep them on theirs. 

Valkyries and I did have a… Situation the other day, which we resolved in the most healthy, most respectful way possible. Sexting was a thing we did, but to be completely honest, I’d noticed that my brain was just not in it like it should be. 

I spend a lot of time writing about sex and relationships, so for me, sexting is just more of the same — it’s just writing about sex, and that’s kind of boring. My brain doesn’t want to be writing sex — it wants to be having sex! 

So I had to be honest with Valkyries that sexting was just.. Not doing anything for me, and we had a really honest, healthy conversation about it, which was quite lovely. Valkyries told me that he doesn’t want me faking interest, and he doesn’t want me faking my orgasms either. That felt unfair, because I admittedly have faked my orgasms in the past, when I was either too tired, too bloated or just not really feeling it. How dare he take my “I’m glad you enjoyed it, honey” away from me? 

They haven’t been fake in a long time, that I will say. Great for mutual satisfaction, hellish for productivity levels. 

My relationship with L comes back up here, because L and I said and did… things, and I have said several times that my relationship with Valkyries kind of reminds me of my relationship with L, in a way. It’s easy and flowing, as a good relationship should be. 

There were… other things, as well. 

L and I had a kind of coded system: “DEFCON2” was our intense flirting; it was where we were both poking and daring the other to escalate. “DEFCON1” was when one or both of us were masturbating; we’d already “unleashed the beast”. “Mutually Assured Destruction” was our mutual orgasms — when we were both tired but thoroughly satisfied. 

So yeah, in a way, you might say that’s how it’s kind of familiar. 

Valkyries asked what L and I did instead of sexting, and I explained that we used to have phone sex. Actually, it often didn’t start out that way, but what started as an hours-long chit-chat call between lovers often ended up that way. And L and I could talk for hours, about everything and nothing in particular. 

I did find myself thinking about our relationship the other day, while I was out under the stars with Huxley. It wasn’t a bad relationship we had, but the polycule was bad for me. L wasn’t a bad person; he was a bad hinge, and that was what ultimately broke us up. I had to fight to protect my boundaries from my metamour, and that should never have had to happen. 

Yesterday I stepped out to do a few chores in the back garden, now that I’m over colds, dodgy stomachs and I’m slowly getting back into my routine. One of my main goals was to re-hang the festoon lights that had been bundled up and left atop a storage unit after a fence panel blew down earlier in the year. Now that it had been replaced, I wanted to hang them back up. 

I drilled a screw into the post to wrap the cable around. I didn’t hear my neighbour leaning against the fence behind me. 

“It’ll fall over, mind”  he says just loud enough so that only I can hear him. I turn and look at my neighbour, who is grinning like an idiot.

“Well if it does, it’s your handiwork, not mine” I reply with a playful smile. He doesn’t have anything more to say. 

I finish my work, throw the abundance of blown bulbs in the bin and head back in. As I do, I cross paths again with my neighbour, who is just heading back out into the back garden. 

“I’m done for today” I say. 

“Fair enough. We’re nowhere near finished” he replies, gesturing to his nephew — his “minion”. 

“Well I’ll let you carry on,” I reply. “Don’t miss me too much, will you?” I add.

“Eh? What was that?”

“I said don’t miss me too much, will you?” I repeat. The neighbour grins, blushes. 

“Fair enough,” he says, “have a nice day.”

And it was a nice day, because now I’ve clocked him. Now I understand him, and I understand this little game we play. He tests the perimeter, but he never quite works out how to cross it. 

And that? That’s not my problem. 

It is fun being me sometimes though, undeniably. 

This morning, it was Master Levi who I had in my crosshairs. 

I was talking money, about what money is going where and when, and a few things I needed to pick up from Amazon. Unexpectedly, Master calls me “Scrooge McDuck”. It raises an eyebrow, namely because funding a blog to help other people is probably the least Scroogiest thing anyone can do, but also because this “Scrooge” once paid to feed and heat his dad, and I buy him mini “snack cheeses” on the grocery shop, because he likes his cheese. 

So please, do tell me how I’m a “Scrooge”? 

The evidence does not add up, Sir. 

I told Master that he should “leave the jokes to me in future”, told him that I don’t “appreciate cheap laughs”. We were both bullied in school, and we’re both better than it. I don’t want our humour to go to that level — it never ends well, and someone always ends up hurt. I don’t want to be that person, not to someone I love, but I absolutely will defend myself if I have to. 

I don’t want a war with Master, that’s not what I’m about, but right now Friday’s social hangs in serious jeopardy. I know where this “humour” comes from, and I remain unconvinced that I want to spend a whole afternoon around it.