The Wicked Wednesday prompt this time is 3rd person, and as most of Sweet’s work is written in the 1st person she thought this would be an interesting challenge. Let’s hope it actually works and Sweet does not make a horses ass of herself!
A gentle nudge stirred Sweet from sleep, she tried to turn her head away from the source, but the ginger cat was not to be deterred. With deliberate care he touched his head to hers, and touched his nose to her cheek, making a little kissing sound. When Sweet still did not open her eyes, he sat on her chest and gently patted her mouth with his paw. His message could not be clearer; he wanted breakfast, and attention.
With a resigned sign Sweet opened her eyes. “Good morning little boy,” she whispered reaching her hand to stroke his head. He leaned into the palm of her hand, and Sweet smiled indulgently at him, he really is very cute and loving. “I know, I know,” she crooned softly and as she stroked him, his contented purr vibrated through her hand. “Come on little one, let’s get up,” Sweet said softly as she began to move. Her body was stiff, and as she rolled onto her side, a sharp pain shot up her spine and down her legs, taking her breath away. Pausing she took a deep breath, and then pushing through the pain, she sat up. The sun is shining brightly and the room is already warm. Outside the birds tweet and twitter away in a cheerful chorus. Sweet pulls a face, she is not a morning person. With a sigh she stands up, using the wall to steady herself and breathing through the pain as it begins to increase.
Slipping her dressing gown on, and using her crutches for support, Sweet heads to the bathroom to complete her ablutions accompanied by the Captain, and although it is a struggle she washes the dried ibuprofen gel from her lower back so her pain patch will stick. When she returns to the bedroom, Mr H is up and dressed, sitting on the edge of the bed reading his twitter feed waiting for her. In her absence he has laid out clothes for Sweet to wear and made the bed. He stands and she moves to the bottom of the bed, standing next to the clothes. Once she is stood, Mr H can see the trembling in her body and pallor already caused by the pain of being stood so long. Picking up the panties, he squats down, holding one leg hole of the panties in front of Sweets left foot. Holding his shoulders, she lifts her foot so he can put the panties on. They repeat the action with the other foot, and he pulls the panties up to the top of Sweets thighs where she can reach them to finnish putting them on. Repeating the actions of the panties with the lounge pants, he finishes dressing her lower body. Standing up again, he turns his attention to placing the pain patch on Sweets lower spine, and Sweet quickly pulls on a bralette and top, needing to get laid back down and ease the pain as soon as possible, her movements are hurried.
While this routine has become second nature, it still upsets Sweet that she requires so much assistance, and with no end in sight, it is hard not to consider the burden that has been placed on Mr H. She turns now and moves her hair away from her neck, exposing the fasten on her night collar, taking a deep breath, and trying not to let him see her bottom lip is quivering and the sheen of sweat that is forming from the effort of enduring the pain.
Mr H comes to stand behind her and unfastens the collar, replacing it with the silver chain he made. It does not take long, his fingers are nimble and the movements practiced. Placing his hands on her shoulders as if to lend her some strength, he begins their ritual exchange.
Their words exchanged, he kisses her and settles her into bed. He can see the relief settle on her as the change in position reduces the pain she is in, and he hands her the tablet box so she can take her oral medications.
“Do you want your phone?” he asks.
“No thank you,” Sweet replies, her eyes closed with relief. “Sweet took Sirs advice, and deleted the twitter account.”
Mr H nodded. They had discussed this possibility a few days ago, Sweet needed a break. Her Website crash had been upsetting, but it gave her the opportunity to change URL, something they had spoken about a few times, and it seemed as if the universe was giving her a sign that now was the perfect opportunity. Of course the 700+ posts that now needed to be checked for errors would be a mammoth task in itself. A twitter handle to match the site was obtained because Sweet requires that they match in some way, and the work began. Having 2 accounts was not ideal and so Sweet followed the accounts she likes to read to the new account, and now it was time to leave the past behind.
There will be some who believe this move is to escape the past but it is not, not really. Sweet started her blog because she wanted to write, and she hoped some people would like to read her thoughts. Joining twitter was a way to publicise the blog and the new account will do that again but to a private audience, because Sweet has no desire to be counted as part of the sex blogging community as it currently exists, unforgiving and angry. It is time to go back to basics, to write what Sweet is inspired to write, to take control of the audience, and more importantly to safeguard her mental health.
Sweetgirl the sex blogger has gone, she was naive enough to believe that when mistakes are made, an apology and promise to not make the same mistake again was sufficient, because that is how she would respond to that situation. She has learned that is not the case and so Sweetgirl is transformed and reborn, Sweet Autumn Rose (autumn for her favourite season and to denote maturity, and rose her favourite flower) has taken her place. She will write about the things she has knowledge and experience of. If people want to read they will.
But laying in bed Sweet can feel the effects of the last few weeks. She has just woken up and she is exhausted. Yesterday afternoon she fell asleep. She knows it is time to stop looking backwards and to start looking forwards. While the country starts to emerge from the lock down she remains imprisoned by her body and this will be another challenge to her mental health. Now she must look to take care of herself, for we are not promised tomorrow, and time is too precious to waste. Sweetgirl is no more, in her place is the wiser, and more cautious Sweet Autumn Rose.
Sweet Autumn Rose