20th August 2021 – Weddings & Celebrations

Weddings and milestone birthdays.. . and the wedding dress that I wore!

Disclaimer: Although nothing in this post is sexual, it contains details of my life, banter and conversations that happen within a self-described 24/7 D/s dynamic and is aimed at normalising and providing acceptance of those of us who choose to live this way. For further reading on my decision not to provide an adult content disclaimer on my non-sexual posts, please see my post “LGBTQ+K: A Case For “Kinky” As A Sexuality“. Thank you.

Over the past week, things have substantially improved for Will and I. Ever since an emotional (and at times, incredibly challenging) heart-to-heart, I feel as though we have a better understanding of one another. We’re both sensitive souls, I realised, we’re both broken souls, and I think we’ve realised that too. In life, you have two choices – you can let life break you, or you can let life make you. For Will and I, we had chosen the ‘make me’ option.

And for me, perhaps, that was also part of the charm.

Ever since we moved to Kik, Will and I have hardly stopped chatting. Like two new starcross’d lovers, we share almost everything from the moment we wake to the moment we go to sleep. We’re both oversharers, we realised, but that also hasn’t stopped us. What even is oversharing, anyway? I was curious. Is it even a thing? Is it, *gasp*, a problem? Perhaps something that I perhaps should do less of? I read up some stuff and ound fellow blogger Alice’s great take on being a genuine, authentic person. It turns out, oversharing is subjective, and really, oversharing might just be a judgement from somebody that I would otherwise consider a bit of a prude. That’s alright then, no change required. I quite like me, anyway, certainly a lot more than I like my old self.

Life feels simpler with Sir Will in it, and it has also been said that I seem to be smiling more, too. I’m not fretting and trying to control things like I used to, because I have someone to give that to now. Even when I want to contest a point, Sir knows how to get into my mind in a way that just works for me. Sir and I are very, very like-minded people, so I suppose that it makes sense that he knows exactly how to make me tick. I love him and I hate him, and for Sir, I know that that’s also somewhat rather amusing in itself. Some of my outlooks have changed, some of the things I once held true are different and some of my biggest secrets have finally come out. Things that I’d normally run and hide from have instead resulted in self-reflection, causing me to pause and ask myself why I do the things that I do. Rules haven’t been forced either, instead, they’ve happened as we go along: Bed by 2AM (that’s a mutual one), no staying awake on my phone, even chocolate for breakfast is allowed, as long as it’s not every day. It almost feels hypnotic, as though I can go through life now safe in the knowledge that some of these decisions have been made for me, against my will sometimes, and yet I also don’t know that I want to change it, eifher. There’s even the half an hour for myself every day, a rule that came about after I’d washed to save time, instead of having a shower. I wanted to love Sir back, I wanted to nurture him and care for him in all of the ways that he cares for me. Alas, I know that Sir won’t let me. It’s frustrating sometimes, but then I know Sir will have an argument ready to counter any argument that I make. Such is life.

One of the problems that a lot of people don’t tell you about polyamory is the yucky bits or the challenging bits, the things like managing your time fairly or not making comparisons between your lovers. On Tuesday though, I could sense that Matt was feeling a bit put out, and so I wanted to make more time for him.

Because of his shifts this week, movie night was off. Instead, we marathon ran a few episodes of Don’t Tell The Bride.

“Do you remember before our wedding, you used to watch this regularly with… what was the other one?”

“Four Weddings!” I grinned. Truthfully told, I was the most “un-bridey” bride, but I had to draw inspiration from somewhere. I had no idea what I wanted, where I wanted to get married or anything, I also didn’t believe that I was feminine enough to be a bride.

How bloody wrong I was.

The first wedding dress I tried was the one that I had set my heart on. It had an asymmetrical design with a small fluster of sparkle above the hip. It was okay, but truthfully told, it wasn’t me. It looked, for all it was worth, surprisingly simple.

In another store, I can remember the horrendous gold-and-cream Tudor-style wedding dress that my mother had wanted me to try on. I was sure that she was just having the last laugh, and by the reaction of the shop assistant, she too felt the same. It had various areas of mismatched patterns and looked more like a patchwork quilt. We gave Mum a quick show to entertain her, and then we were back to the dressing room to try out the dress that the assistant wanted me to try on.

True to form, if you want someone to give you advice for your wedding dress, then bridal shop assistants can be truly wonderful people. The dress that the assistant picked out for me was a heavily laced ivory gown with hand beading, a button-up back (contrarily to my desired lace-up back) and a cathedral length train. There was no way, could it? I let my hair down and stepped out.

“Oh my god, Helen. You look like an ice queen” my mother whispered, I gave a wry smile. Unable to contain herself, my best friend of thirteen years was overcome with emotion too. My mother’s reaction, however, was very different when she realised the £1495 price tag.

So there we have it. Yes, I really could be a bridey bride, and the wedding dresses that I never imagined would suit me wound up suiting me, most of all.

I never did get that dress, but the one that I did get, most bizarrely, was eerily similar to the one that I’d roughly sketched on a scrap of paper in a café in Bristol city centre: I’d been a horrendously picky bride (at least about my dress) and in one last attempt to get me into something, my mother resorted to shopping for my dress online. In the end, I found ‘the one’: Bridal ivory, halterneck, lace-up back, appliqué lace, chapel length train with a lace trim. It cost me a tiny £395 brand new and handmade, too boot.

“Do you remember my mother’s royal icing?” I recalled. My mother’s royal icing was so strong, it bent the cake knife on the end. My Mum has been doing our birthday cakes for years and so it made sense for her to make the cake for one of the biggest days of my life. This, however, was the first wedding cake that she’s ever done.

The partially- edible flowers on the middle tier of our wedding cake – handmade by my mother!

Tonight is my mother’s 60th birthday celebrations and mother, bless her, had opted for trying to make a birthday cake with a working waterfall. Despite her plans, the fountain that she’d worked carefully into her design proved to be too strong and the waterfall-effect had flooded the ‘pools’.

Oh no! What are you going to do?. I text her, I’d happily order something or pick it up, if needs be.

Eat what we can, came the reply, which somehow perfectly mirrored my family’s spirit.

My mother doesn’t know that I went against her advice, and moreover, neither does she know that Will and I have already discussed the day when he may finally meet her. I made a decision, I made a decision and I know the pros, the cons, the risks and the benefits of what I have decided.

“You know how sometimes you make a decision that isn’t morally right, but it is the right decision for you?” I’d begin, I had already imagined how that conversation might start. I’d pinned her with my gaze from across her large kitchen as she questioned my life choices, admonishing me for ever involving myself secretly with a family. She herself wasn’t perfect, and she too, I had no doubt, had once been involved with a married person without their partner knowing. My mother had been quite proactive on the BDSM scene back in her day, and after my father’s passing, she’d started doing the rounds again. I don’t condone her actions – her recent act of stringing along four potential suitors at one event seems pretty heartless and dangerous to me. Things aren’t perfect, I know that, anything can happen and nobody knows what the future may bring. Maybe we did rush things a bit too fast and maybe discussions would be better held off until a later date. Still though and for now, Will and I are quite happy, enjoying every step of our journey.

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