The prompt word for Wicked Wednesday this week is AWKWARD. Well I have been in a lot of awkward situations in my lifetime but the ones which are more relevant to here are concerning the two different areas of my life: kinky and non-kinky. While some overlap goes unnoticed, there are other things and pieces of information which you don’t want to divulge. Real name, address, too many personal details on the one hand, and evidence of a kinky and alternative lifestyle on the other. Running two separate parts, particularly online can have its hazards and only this week, I realised that I had booked our trip away under my submissy persona.
While these social faux pas can be embarrassing, hopefully they are not insurmountable, and even if the letting agent wondered at the strange email address, it would be more than the contract was worth to try to put two and two together. However, the way that AI seems destined to find me and assimilate the various parts of my life is a constant worry, as it that moment when someone close to me sees something that I don’t want them to. In the end, awkward though it is, I have had the conversation head on now with each of my children to some degree or another.
However, there is one incident that, when recalled, will still send the ice of fear and regret coursing through me as my stomach lurches. It occurred back in July 2018, but time has not lessened the awkwardness I feel as I think back on my error. I think we have all sent the wrong text to the wrong person at one point or another, sometimes with life changing consequences. But this haunts me still, not just because I sent the message to my mum, but also because it is not something we ever spoke about again. It hangs there in the annals of time, a moment of regret from which I cannot go back and an action which I cannot change.
It came about because I was doing two things at once. Not unusual and not usually unsuccessful. I was talking to a friend on hangouts and, at the same time, texting my mum about arrangements for going for a walk. My friend was writing an article for The SafeworD/s Club blog and was having some issues seeing how to upload it. I was trying to lead her through it by message and took a picture of my own screen in order to provide a comparison with what she was seeing. As notifications do, receipt of my mum’s text popped up as incoming on the screen at the same time as I had my picture ready to send to my friend. One thing led to another and off it zoomed, through the ether, directly to my mum.
I knew immediately what had happened and there was the instant desperation as I wondered, foolishly if there is anyway to stop a text message. I felt sick at the thought and worse when I checked over the picture to see what would be revealed. It was a photo of my laptop, rather than a screenshot, and I could clearly be seen in the reflection on the screen. No deniability there. It was also my living room, immediately identifiable to someone who visits me often. It contained not only the screen I was looking at, but also the tabs at the top. A few for submissy.com, some on the admin side, as well as a couple of other sexy sites. Would she investigate? I could hope not, so what was the damage on what was actually seen?
I looked around the image in front of me, trying to work out it if would be obvious that The SafeworD/s was MY site. If she went onto it, or submissy for that matter, then sure, but if not, perhaps it could just be something I was looking at. A quick scan of the content told me this would be no help. The image was of the blog posts which sat there in a list, the first of which was: Like to build Your own fucking machine? Now this is actually a popular post, the most viewed on our site, and it is very informative if you do want to build your own fucking machine. I could think of no good reason why I would be sending a picture of me looking at a screen containing a series of sex-related posts, the first of which was this.
The other two posts in the shot, Non-sexual Play and Pervertable Chat Notes were not much better, so I did the only thing I could do in that instant and sent a message saying rather simply: Sorry I meant to send that to someone else. I then proceeded to tell my friend the horror of what had just happened and that was my second mistake. For some unknown reason, my phone jumped again, and a message, explaining that I had sent the message to my mum complete with the post about the fucking machine, also went to my mum instead of my friend. I then sent a follow up telling her that my phone kept going weird and then another asking if she was ok to meet at 6pm, which was what I had been meant to send her in the first place.
Needless to say, she didn’t bring it up when we met that evening and neither did I. In fact we have still never spoken about it. I would have explained if she had asked but she is much too polite and doesn’t use words like fucking or want to know how to build a machine that might do something of that sort. We had normal chats about normal things and I resisted the urge to offer to delete the picture from her phone. She is not up on technology and I have no doubt that my picture remains, not just on her handset, but on the camera roll which lives in her cloud. I cringe at the thought and awkward only really covers part of how I feel.
If I thought there was anything I could have said to take the sting away I would have braced myself and gone for it, but in all likelihood it would only have made things worse. All the excuses seemed to be just that and yet, to take it and own it and explain what I was really up to, the whole truth and nothing but, just felt like a step too far. And so we drift on, and I hope that she has forgotten all about that text and whatever she thought that it meant. But I have not, and the little pricks of fear still wash over me sometimes when I recall it to mind, and I am awkward all over again.
For another awkward moment, you might like to read the post, Knock Knock – eeek!