Since I last wrote in January, a lot has happened. I started with a lockdown friend (who I have known for ages and ages), we became a bubble and grew and grew, so now I have a friend who is a bit like a Daddy type to help look after me. For a long time, it was all about spanking and the occasional meetings were had were on role play terms, and things were complicated so we never really got to spend much time together as people. Lockdown socially distanced teas, coffees and fistbumps turned into proper conversations.

Since Michael died nearly 5 years ago, I never wanted to date anyone again, I never wanted anyone to get that close, or give anything, or tell too much. When the person you love dies with all your secrets and love, it was as if I had exhausted all my hopes and dreams and I was all talked out. We covered everything from Shakespeare to Chateauneuf Du Pape. I had gone from Eliza Doolittle to A level standard and from a glottal-stopping council house (and proud) slightly cockney Londoner to Queens RP English for the stage. I got more auditions, saw plays twice a week, and laughed and laughed at the same things. The problem with marrying someone much older than you is that you never ever think it will end. You cannot be rational and practical, feeling right is right, it doesn’t matter who you meet. I know for sure that age, gender, race and any other consideration you might have a preference for can go out of the window when your ships collide and nothing else matters but togetherness and savouring every second of time you think you have.

I think I grieved long enough and got it all out over 5 years so far, but sometimes I’m not sure. I still can’t look at any wedding photos and I openly cry over the silliest things that remind me of him, regardless of where I am and who I’m with, even in the office I have, but I never feel embarrassed or apologise, I’m not mature enough to care about what people think when it just happens.

Whatever you think, and I know only a few people who really know me will understand, like my parents, I’m just 16 now (on paper) and I feel I know more and have somehow survived when I wanted to die too at one point. I know I’m a lot stronger than I ever thought and with my serious three-year-old chronic eyelids problem (which I still have and am praying I can get surgery for soon without going totally blind), I have had to find what I had when ‘Emma Bishop’ the spanking model was born and use her strength to take it day by day and always know it will work out fine.

Anyway, fast forward the missing and blurred last five years to today, and I am happier. I was afraid of being hurt, and still am, and afraid to admit that actually he does everything right and cares about me, even when I think I know what’s best for me.

Most of all I no longer feel like I’m not good enough, other girls are better than me and I have to keep looking over my shoulder and wondering who is going to spoil my dreams again. Michael made me feel good enough, now I can finally trust again. However things turn out in my life from now on, I know I am good enough for myself,