What’s Up WordPress?: 07th November 2021 – On Fireworks & Feelings

Remember, remember, the fifth of November…

Contains strong sexual references.

At the whistle and pop of the first firework, I knew that the party had begun. Little Hugo leapt off of the sofa and proceeded to bark at the window, just as he had always done. Once again, my annual placating-the-Jack-Russell – or Guy Fawkes night – celebrations were here.

“Alright, come see” I sighed, snapping up Hugo’s leash. I took Hugo out to the front door and let him see, smell and hear the fireworks. He wasn’t terrified of them at all, if anything, he was rather curious.

“See? Just silly people with more money than sense” I said. Well, certainly they are around here.

Fireworks dismissed, we headed back indoors. Determined to keep Hugo distracted while my neighbours set alight the explosive equivalent of this month’s wage packet, I picked up three tennis balls and sat on the living room floor. At the same time, that was when the first tears fell.

On the one hand, I wanted to expose Will for some of the unacceptable behaviours that he had demonstrated towards me, and on the other, I had nothing but acceptance, forgiveness and love for him. Will was not a bad guy, I told myself, he just needed some support right now. Quite a bit of it, in fact.

Will had opened up to me about a lot of things going on, and perhaps maybe, part of my problem was a sense of not knowing how to help, trying to help anyway and then falling flat on my face. In an effort to save what face I have left, I had to pull away.

Thursday had seen an argument after I used some gentle humour to try to diffuse a sticking point, a technique that has served me well many times over the years. Unfortunately, my joke wasn’t well received and I immediately apologised for the offence caused. Despite my apology, what followed next was a guilt trip.

That was it, I decided. I was gone.

I threw the tennis balls into the kitchen in a similar way to how I imagined throwing bricks at Will’s window. I was hurt and angry by his actions and worse, I felt disrespected by them too. For his part, Hugo appeared to quite appreciate my frustration and twenty minutes later, he was led panting on the kitchen floor.

For a time, I stayed sat on the floor and stared at the base of my thumb as more tears fell. He’d cut me there as part of a blood oath during our Sumisa roleplay and I’d meant it. I’d fucking well meant it.

Idiot.

I missed that about Will. I missed his creativity, his attention to detail, his open-mindedness. I also missed his little “question?” and “confession?” messages. A sign of his insecurities, perhaps, but I loved how effective they were as a means of communication. If only we could have communicated in all things.

Maybe I was also somewhat resentful after learning that we didn’t have a future, only what we’d developed online. I’d wasted my time in an online relationship for two and a half years before and so I was determined not to do that again. No, I’d been willing to wait three years until he returned to civilian life and now, even the future that we’d talked about feels like a fantasy. I wasn’t willing to commit so much of myself to him now, only to get so little in return.


I poked at the chunks of chicken in my bowl, swirling it around absent-mindedly in the overly-red, distinctively soup-based tikka masala sauce. We really should get back to eating our old, home-cooked chicken curries on a Friday, but not tonight, I’d decided, Not tonight.

“Ooh!” came the voice from next to me, “ahh!”

I glanced at the digital firework display on the TV screen, that I’d played to desensitise Hugo to the noises outside. Smirking slightly, I turned my attention to Matt.

“You’re a real idiot sometimes, you know that?” I laughed.

“Yep” came the reply.

I tried attaching a happy memory to each firework, watching them fall into the screen and explode in an array of colour. It was a mindfulness exercise, I decided, designed to let go of my pain.

It didn’t work.

Pretty soon, each firework became a celebratory symbol of an ejaculation that I’d been responsible for, and by jove, there had been a few. I gave a wry smile as I recognised my filthy sense of humour, the same filthy sense of humour that Will knew me for. At the same time though, I also supposed that being responsible for an orgasm was somehow sort of the most odd, best kind of compliment that a girl could receive?

With food eaten, we relaxed back for some evening TV. Friday should have been our fortnightly play time but, with the dog barking at every whistle and pop outside and my heart and mind not being in the right place, we decided to cancel for the evening. On any other occasion, kink can be beneficial for my stress. When I’m already missing a once kinky partner? It’d probably have the opposite effect.

The Last Leg failed to get a rise out of me, and even Live At The Apollo only got a slight reaction. Humour, at any other time, is the language that I know and love. Humour when I’m pissed and hurting, though, seldom works.

I’m not saying that nothing happened on Friday, and I’m not saying that it was exactly soft and sweet, either. A look led to a kiss, a kiss led to a touch. Before we knew it, clothes were on bedroom floor.

“I thought we agreed to be nice tonight?” I whispered.

“That depends, do you want to be nice?” Matt asked, his hand caressed my jaw as his thumb rested on my chin. From my seated position on the bed, I looked up at him for a moment while I considered my answer. I sighed deeply, swallowing and compartmentalising my pain.

In the moment, Helen. Be in the moment. Carpe diem.

“No, Sir.”


I woke up Saturday in a much better mood than I had been. Strip ass naked and messy, admittedly, but still better than I had been. Sexually deprived and horny as hell, but even that was okay by me. Recently, serving sexually and without expecting anything back had all been a part of my fun.

I allowed my hand to wander and to serve my needs, the sunlight streaming through the cream curtains and bathing my soft, pale skin. For once, my fantasies were mine alone to enjoy and I grinned again as relief and satisfaction consumed me.

“Finally,” I whispered into the emptiness as tears ran down my cheeks, “an orgasm meant just for me.”

I allowed myself to relax in bed for a while, listening to Ed Sheeran’s “Shivers” as a sort of antidote to the painful emotions that “Bad Habits” would inevitably bring. It didn’t have the same emotional attachments to anyone or anything, no, but it was still somehow bizarrely soothing. Almost mind-numbing from all of the other thoughts, in a way.

When I checked my phone, I found another journal entry waiting for me, from Will. Again and as heartless as it sounds, I put that one straight into the trash, a way of managing my own pain. It was something that I’d used for a while and something that I know former UK military TV celebrity Ant Middleton uses in hostage situations. Captors will do anything that they want to get to you, and that includes emotional manipulation and so, to prepare recruits for this during the final stage of SAS Who Dares Wins, the recruits are subjected to a videoed message from home. Ant has explained before that when this technique was used on him during training, he closed the lid and pushed the laptop away. Not watching the videos allows him to remain focused in the situation and in a similar way, not reading Will’s entries had allowed me to do the same.

I spent much of yesterday tidying the bedroom and the lounge, the two rooms that I’d been neglecting for several weeks prior. By nightfall though, and with nobody to talk to, that was when the split hit me the most.

Saturday evening, the time when I would have been most present with Will.

Last night, I did quite a lot of reading on jealousy and polyamory red flags. I made a note of the things that had gone wrong, and all of the things that stood out. Matt and Will had both been loving and protective towards me, but that didn’t give one rule over the other. Pushing for kitchen-table polyamory had been another mistake, as had not setting boundaries and moving too fast.

Little wonder we failed.


This morning, I woke up feeling a little better, stronger, brighter, happier. I’ve put myself back onto tea and biscuits until I’d done my grocery shopping because right now, muesli is just too painful. As I sat down with my tea and biscuits, though, I decided to take a deep breath and read.

The first entry was about some of the things that Will had been going through, as well as how I’d made him feel with my joke.

“Okay, so that’s another guilt trip” I sighed, toggling back off.

But in his entry the following day, it was quite clear that Will felt sad and remorseful.

‘That pain in the arse Bristol girl’, I laughed softly to myself as the tears threatened again, that pain in the arse Bristol girl indeed. The one that had always challenged him to be better and to do better. That pain in the arse Bristol girl. He means me.

His Hellion.

His Little Lychee.

Right now wasn’t the time for going back, for discussions as friends or anything thereof. Wounds are healing but they aren’t healed yet, and even then, they’re still likely to leave a little scar. Right now, I need to focus on myself, I need to focus on forgiveness, on recovery and on setting boundaries. Then, and only then, maybe we can move forward.

That’s it from me! How is your week?

Until next time.

Stay safe & have fun,

Helen xx

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