An Englishman isn’t always in disguise.
I’m not sure why, but Thursday morning, I couldn’t help but think of my long-overdue cervical exam. I received a reminder letter about two weeks ago, but like the one before it, I popped it in the recycling and carried on with my life.
I know I should go, but here’s the thing: my two of two exams have been excruciatingly painful, both physically and emotionally. The first time I queried an incorrect detail on the paperwork – the wrong prefix for me – and the nurse snapped that “it doesn’t really matter, does it? Most marriages end in divorce anyway” – my very recent and long-awaited marriage was, in fact, my whole motivation for being there. She also used cold water as lubricant and stretched my body, causing an abdominal pain like I’d never known before.
The second nurse was much kinder, but she did still manage to cause unbearable amounts of pain. At one point she accidentally dug the bill of the speculum into the wall of my vagina, causing a pain that felt like a giant’s fingernail. She also talked to my cervix like it was a shy woodland creature, and, like, where do you look or what do you say when your nurse does that?
I remember having a bath with a large glass of wine after the second exam. I needed the bath – I felt traumatised.
So since then, my exam reminders have gone exactly the same way as broadband package offers and takeaway flyers – yeeted into recycling upon glancing at them. A little interest, sure, but absolutely no commitment.
I know a while ago there was some promising research into a urine test that could detect HPV, and I mean, hell yeah! I’ll sign up for that. I’m not squeamish or embarrassed about pee, I just don’t want to experience that level of pain again.
So I ended up chatting to ChatGPT, about my options and my risks of cervical cancer.
Fortunately, because I’m childless and I’ve never smoked, my odds of developing cervical cancer are relatively small. But they’re not zero, which is why screening is still important.
ChatGPT recommended something like a home sample kit, so I could collect my sample in a more relaxing environment, at my own pace and stop if I felt I needed to. There would be no pressure, no moody nurses. Just me.
And I mean, at £60 every few years for my own peace of mind, it would be darn foolish not to. What, besides the unthinkable, could possibly go wrong?
Well, when you’re the submissive woman of two men, these things hit a little differently. Oh sure, I didn’t think Master Levi would be interested – medical play isn’t his scene. But Valkyries? Oh my dear, sweet Valkyries. How ever was I going to get out of that one?
So suddenly, I had a new problem: this thing, that absolutely didn’t need to be a thing, now absolutely could become a thing, and for absolutely no other reason than because Dominants be like that sometimes.
Great.
Thursday night went ahead and didn’t. Actually, before that, I had some success with dinner, and I shall impart my newfound wisdom upon my readers: your shop-bought curries don’t have to be baked for half an hour in the oven; they can be simply reheated in a saucepan on the stovetop instead. As long as you make sure they’re hot through and you stir them well, it works perfectly and shaves off time waiting for food. You’re welcome 😉
So a dinner that normally takes me about 45 minutes to prepare, actually took me closer to 15. I’ve also recently purchased some rectangular serving plates that hold poppadoms and fit perfectly between two plates on our small, two-person dining table. Result!
Dinner eaten, we relaxed for a bit. The air feels residual from last time – when Master commanded me to put my phone down after calling off the evening, with absolutely no indication as to why I should comply – but it feels like we’re in a much better place now. We understand one another much better now: communication is important.
Master had asked me “what do you want to do with tonight?”, the sexiest question I think he’s ever asked me. I know he means it to gauge my interest in an evening of kink, but it contains about as much leadership as a soggy biscuit.
I don’t say that of the man himself, by the way – Master is quite the adept leader on the whole. The issue is the question, not the man. Or maybe the issue is the man who asks the question, for asking the bloody question in the first place? I don’t know.
So our evening: my friends, if you were expecting an evening of sexy kink, then this – at least primarily – was not that. Actually it started off with me playfully licking Master’s nose, to which he licked mine back, so I licked his jaw and he responded by pinning me down and licking my face, Golden Retriever-style. So then I had to change my tactics: I couldn’t lick the sadist anymore, but I could blow raspberries at him, and did. So then he mirrored my method, and we ended up in a… raspberry-off?
But those moments of stupidity did pay off, and led to a makeout session (once I’d used Master’s sleeve as a towel. No regrets 😉) and Master going down on me. Sure, it wasn’t the “proper” play session we’d normally have, but somehow? It was still quintessentially us.
Friday morning I went dog walking with Mum, after the weather forecast said “rain” and the actual British weather just laughed. It was still a little overcast, but at least it wasn’t wet.
We had a lovely walk, and I sent Valkyries some photos from our dog walk as he sometimes sends me some photos from his. Unfortunately the signal is a little patchy, so Valkyries only got the name of the area, minus the pictures.
And Valkyries being Valkyries, he has to joke about that. So that then leads to some of our silliness, about coded language.
“You did tell him it’s a secret location,” Mum points out – it’s true, I did. The walk is indeed down a little lane off of the main road, very “blink and you’ll miss it”. Which sometimes isn’t a bad thing.
I forget how the conversation came about, but Mum says something about Valkyries not being a “true Scot” (he’s an Englishman living in Scotland). I wince.
“That’s it, Mum is in on the ‘fake Scot’ joke too now,” I say. “He’s cooked!”
It feels quietly good, though – the lady who wanted nothing to do with him at one time is now finally beginning to accept him as a part of my life.
Friday evening I noticed a curiosity on my blog stats: any time a new person interacts with me in my comments section, someone checks out their Gravatar profile. I had a hunch who that “someone” was.
So I mentioned it to Valkyries, in a non-accusatory, “how odd?” kind of way. Valkyries admitted that it was him, and I said that I knew, hence I mentioned it. I taunt Valkyries about thinking I’m not aware of his intelligence gathering: I’m very aware, I just hadn’t stopped him.
A little later, I told Valkyries that my mother was in on the “fake Scot” joke. That leads to an almost Mr & Mrs Smith-style exchange between the pair of us.
Valkyries accuses me of slander, which technically, my actions are not – It would be slander if A) it weren’t true and B) Valkyries somehow experienced damages as a result of my actions. As it is, Valkyries is an Englishman living in Scotland – AKA a “fake Scot” – and so it’s not slander (or now, libel) – it’s just… facts. As for the consequences? Well, he did travel north of the border, and that’s not my problem 😉
Valkyries also knows that I mean no harm. He did pursue me, getting taunted mercilessly by me (and now my family) is just the consequence of taking the risk. Any man who has relations with me has to have a thick skin: you will be mercilessly roasted; that’s just how me and mine show love.
It’s exactly as I said to him: welcome to the family.
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Until next time!
Stay safe & have fun,
If you’ve made it this far, congratulations, you’re now emotionally invested. Go ahead and worship me properly. My writing chocolate won’t buy itself, you know? 😉
