At twenty five, Queen Elizabeth had just become Queen of England.
At the same age they crowned Elizabeth queen, I had just met my master. He, naturally, claims he knew the whole time how our lives would unfold. Me? It was simply another stumble. Though one for which I’ll be eternally grateful.
I hadn’t even discovered the term M/s. I’d had a brief kinky rendezvous via my first female crush. She invited me to a threeway with her then boyfriend. I, being astute, picked up on her very subtle hints she might be interested in me. Might.
She almost wasn’t Queen at all, you know.
She only rejoined the succession because of her stepmother, funny thing, after having been removed when her mother fell out of favor. Her father was rather fickle about this sort of thing. I wonder if she liked her stepmother (as I am one, it interests me). Did she feel destined to be Queen?
Am I supposed to be a slave?
I’m never sure I’m meant to do anything. I never mean to do any of it. It just happens.
Imagine if that happened to you, what happened to the Queen. Imagine what you could do with that position? Or those positions, as the case may be. Sorry, what were we talking about again?
Queen Elizabeth left no children behind, but what a legacy!
I, in my arrogance, believe I might leave behind a legacy. Perhaps I will. Maybe I already have.
And maybe one day they’ll hang a portrait of me (or you).
Well, wouldn’t that be nice!