Vesta's submission

What makes a successful partnership?

2012-01-30T17:38:00.000-08:00

Time is precious right now. I've moved into and taken over the dining room because it helps me to focus and shows the family that I really do need to work. My son just looked in on me and said that if he didn't know better he would think I had been sitting here all the night. Well, I've been sitting here half the night, I'm afraid.

I've been doing a lot of reading and research. The problem is that one fascinating paper or research article only leads to the next. So, I thought to take a quick break and let you guys here ponder a few things...maybe have a thought or two on the following...

Did you know that the research suggests that 'traditional' couples do better than 'harmonious couples'? This seems to be because traditional couples are more realistic, more committed and stick with one another through good and bad times.

Did you know that a good 'friendship' underlays a good relationship? You need to know things about your partner. What is their greatest fear? What is their favourite color? Relationships are like bank accounts and the other person needs to know that he or she is loved by depositing into the bank account more than you take out.

Did you know that it is vital not to descend down into a negative cycle? When you criticize the other 'person' rather than their behaviour, things are starting to spiral down into the area of 'contempt'. People find that terribly hard and those that practice contempt for the other are well on their way into the divorce courts.

Did you know that one of the most important elements of a long term successful marriage is for the man not to stonewall? Men are much more inclined to do this, the research says, and this is the reason why it is so important for them to be open to listening to a woman and her concerns, ideas and upsets.

Did you know that if a negative sentiment between the two of you overrides a positive sentiment, you need to get back to working on 'friendship'? "I'm sorry" goes a long way towards the positive side of the ledger.

Did you know that research has shown that 'influence' is vital in a relationship? If a man is willing to be influenced by the woman this is a great indicator for a successful marriage.

And, one last thought, did you know that for every criticism you make you need to give five positive comments?

Do you pass the test?

Motivation to write web journals

2012-01-25T17:24:00.000-08:00

A fascinating discussion begun by Remittance Girl about the definition of pornography had me asking a similar question to her: Why do I write here? It was once suggested to me that I have such an inclination for "use" that I don't mind being used by total strangers and perverts (I'm sure the phrase was used in the nicest of ways).

It is true that if I wrote with no readers it wouldn't feel the same. Even if there are no comments at all, I can see from the stat counter that people are reading and it means something - though I don't really know what it means. I'm not at all an exhibitionist. I'm much more inclined to wear the outfit that allows me to blend in with the crowd. I'd like to think that I get a few admiring glances but I don't want people ogling me. I don't want that sort of attention.

I am willing to concede I may be a bit of a voyeur. I do so enjoy finding Tumblr photographs that turn me on. I enjoy artwork that has an erotic effect; words that have an erotic effect. I very much enjoy certain movies like 'Nine and half weeks' and 'Secretary' and 'Eyes Wide Shut' and even some songs can lull me into a sense of happiness; fulfilment, joy, arousal. So, if anything I am a voyeur of life and not at all an exhibitionist. Except for this darn web journal which keeps pulling me in.

I do write naughty things elsewhere now quite regularly and I don't have any desire to share that; just the writings here. And, you may or may not have noticed but I am being a bit more discriminating about what I post here. There is some sort of movement away from the need to share as much as I once did. I don't quite know what that is about since we're having a lot of fun in that bedroom of ours and my husband is very much more into taking control right now, which is incredibly satisfying.

Perhaps, I am more settled. Yet, the desire to write here hasn't stopped at all. I write regularly, even if the content is a bit different.

Could it possibly be that this web journal is a desire to hold onto this part of my personality...this little segment of me that actually enjoys titillating and engaging with others in a slightly decadent way...this little fragment of myself that is exhibitionist; that can imagine myself being amongst a roomful of men with me as the central object of their desire?? Could I really be that naughty inside my head???

And yet, I really don't like blatant comments. I don't want to hear dirty talk from just anyone. I am deeply discriminating about that. I may want to tittilate you but I don't really want you to tittilate me back. I have always been ultra fussy and I can count on my left hand the men over my life who have been allowed into my mind. I think there would be a finger or two left over, actually. I'm not looking for cyberspace lovers or anything remotely like that. If you like to read and you like me that is enough for me.

Am I and people like me nothing more than shameless hussies, in the intellectual sense...within the confines of our minds? And what do you call that? Erotica, pornography or simply taking the opportunity to express a part of ourselves which society is unsure about: full blooded women with huge appetites?

D/s from both sides now

2012-01-23T17:21:00.000-08:00

I now have a great sense of compassion towards the feature writer. Imagine for a moment a person sitting amongst a high pile of notes and material trying to sift them down to the essence of the story, one lead following another until she feels she should not be a writing a 3,000 word article at all but instead, a book. A conversation with one person leads to a conversation with the next person and in the end she feels she is on a long road with no end and no way to turn back.

The conversations and discussions here tell of couples who have chosen a dynamic where the male is the top and the female, the bottom. We've chosen this, worked on this and refined this to make it the best possible outcome for us based on our natures, sexuality, needs and wants.

But, I now understand much better that there are D/s couples out there - many of them - who also want this dynamic but they choose for the female to be the top and the male to be the bottom. The male wants and needs to submit to the woman.

My discussion with someone well in the know assured me that there are a great many men who want to give control to the woman in their life; to still have a womanly woman but for her to wear the pants. Some men literally want this and enjoy their girls wearing the pants whilst others merely want that euphorically speaking. They all want the dynamic; the loss of control.

Like us, this goes to the nature of the two people involved. This can be a difficult process of discovery. This can mean that one partner is caught on the hop trying to understand her husband and his declaration to her. They are the same stories as ours but in reverse and the percentage of the population that want this is higher than I could ever have imagined.

It is also the same story as it pertains to therapy. Just as my therapist was concerned about my "submissive bubble" and chose to show me ways to communicate to assert myself, so many men who see therapists are discouraged from exploring this side of themselves; probably being shown similar communication strategies as I.

So much of this is still under the carpet. So few professionals are willing to openly consider and discuss the notion that a power exchange runs at the heart of many people's wants; natures; life experiences.

If you can offer anything to this discussion. especially in terms of professional advice you have received, please don't hesitate to comment or send me an email. Thank you.

Feeding time

2012-01-23T01:54:00.000-08:00

She could feel the hunger. She could sense the voracious appetite in his choice of words; his responses.

Her reaction was instantaneous. Not a thought flickered through her head before she moved away to appease him. There was no slowing down the action here. No flirting with intention; desire; want. There would be no appertif tonight.

Here was a meat and potatoes man. He needed to feed; to bite into that bloody steak and swallow it; to have it fill his gut.

When he began to fill, he slowed down just enough to look up and into her eyes to see for himself if she also had been sustained. It was rarely his style to eat alone. Although he fed off her, he needed to know that she was nourished in presentation of the plate.

Her pleasure was abundant.. His wants were her wants; or the other way round. Who could say now which came first.

She served. He fed. Both left the table completely satisfied.

Equality

2012-01-20T23:05:00.000-08:00

I am noticing that there is a bit of a movement towards the idea that 'equality' is not the perfect and harmonious state it was cracked up to be. Instead of believing, for example, that partners in a marriage or in a relationship need to be equal, there are more people talking about embracing the differences - in skills, in ability, in knowledge and in the desire and ability to lead.

Of course, it is clear that I have come at this from the point of view that I am the one happy to be led. I don't want to be the boss. I think that is clear. Yet, I do do some things better than my husband. For example, I am better with routine and order on a day by day and every day and every year basis. I take responsibility for establishing the routine for the children, for the meals, for the social calender, for present buying and putting out the garbage. On the whole, things that need to be done repetitively don't entice my husband and they are better left to me. He doesn't want to do them so it works for both of us. The only proviso I would note is that he doesn't waste time telling me if he doesn't like the way I happen to do one of those tasks. If he thinks I haven't stacked the dishwasher the best possible way, he tells me. If he thinks the dogs need washing, he tells me. Like that.

Of course, we are not in the majority here. A lot of men don't (want to) take the lead and even if they did, they don't necessariy have wives or girlfriends or partners that would agree to this. Most people have areas of disagreement and they sort that out the best way they can. Sometimes, the only way to sort that out is to agree never to see one another again. Or, they meet somewhere in the middle. Or, they both remain frustrated with one another. There are any number of outcomes for these power struggles.

I am in contact right now with a woman who is very interested in promoting women led relationships. She feels that power struggles may result in a couple agreeing that the woman should take the lead; that 'equality' is not the solution necessarily. She is thinking here of women who are particularly competent; perfectly capable of running the show and she wonders out loud about this. Are there not men who secretly would love to hand the reins over to their wives; to pay the bills; make the decisions, arrange the party and the annual holiday; even make the sexual advances??

For my husband and I it will always be a bit of a blend. He's happy not to be responsible for various decisions, so long as I decide things in a way that he would agree with, and that I consult him when I am not certain about that. He knows, for example, that I might buy a platter without consulting him because he trusts my taste. He knows that I will not buy an expensive work of art without him because that has always been a decision we have discussed together first.

When I look around at the marriages I know, it really does seem like a lot of men are happy for their wives to take the lead. Or, they are frightened of them. I have considered this theory quite carefully and I think for many men, this is the case.

But, putting aside the techicalities for a minute and just staying with the basic theory...this notion of all people being equal is a bit simplistic, don't you think? Of course, we are all of equal worth in terms of all being human and all deserving of a vote and education and rights and so on. But, we do have different strengths and different skills and aptitude and knowledge and it makes sense to me to accept this and embrace it into our lives. If I speak French and my husband doesn't (I speak it incredibly badly but at least I speak it, whereas he knows less than 10 words) he is going to leave the communicating with French speaking people to me. It is, after all, our best chance of getting fed in a little French town where no English is spoken. Whereas, I am going to leave the details of purchasing a major asset to him. It would be ludicrous to suggest I could do that better than him because he has skills and experience that I do not.

It is very challenging to some people, this sense that we should relax a bit about 'equality' and it has so many pitfalls in terms of being mismanaged that it seems almost too dangerous to go to that sort of thought. And yet, people are going to that sort of thought more and more. Because, if we don't, how else are we to explore engaging experiences with our partners?

I guess all I can really say for sure is that I got a whole lot happier and fulfilled when I gave up the notion of equality for the idea of equal, but different and accepted myself for the very feminine damsel that I am. I got happier when I wholly embraced my strong desire to be taken; dominated; held down; even mind fucked (well, especially 'mind fucked', actually).

In the same way, perhaps there are men out there hoping against hope that their women will express their desire to take the reins. We are all very different and varied as to how we tick and that is, surely, a very good thing.

Torn

2012-01-18T23:59:00.000-08:00

I think (I certainly hope) that I have thanked all those very kind folk who have answered my questions for the article I must write. I am grateful to you all and also very humbled that you allowed me access into your lives. Reading the responses I have been moved to tears; choked up at some of the words you have used. "Are you proud of her?" I asked the dominants.

"Very very"
"Incredibly"

The love and pride and admiration were evident and each time I glowed that I have come to know such generous and giving souls. Thank you. Thank you. Thank you.

Over the past two days I have also been moved at the generosity of experts of relationships with whom I have been in contact. Probably the most well known sex therapist researcher in the country was very generous with her material and contacts and an expert of BDSM in relationships was overwhelmingly kind in his efforts to assist me. I'm just a l'il student. I can't really give them any publicity of any sort, so these were acts of kindness and I felt moved by them.

It is wonderful on one level to have the opportunity to use my brain again. I really am enjoying and am challenged by what I am learning.

"I'm out of my comfort zone nearly all the time," I said to my husband.
"Good," he responded. "That is where you should be."

I absolutely tip my hat to you parents out there who manage to work and to cater to your family's needs and the needs of your partner. I struggle. It is the reason why I chose not to work, because I feel so conflicted some days. I so want to absorb myself in my learning but we are on school holidays here and there is no routine that can support me. The children come and go but they simply have this perception that "Mum" will be there to provide clean clothes, lovely meals, a clean home, a driver, a listening ear; a problem solver when needed, to name a few roles I have.

Just when I think the coast is clear to attend to my own needs the phone rings, or someone comes home, or I have to rush out to the market to get more fruits and vegetables or...something...

My husband doesn't care for when I leave his bed at dawn to go read and write and I don't function well late at night. And, during the days my house is busy; chaotic even...

So, I do what I can, when I can, in the best way that I can, and I hope for the best.

Interestingly, whilst all this buzz whirls about me, I feel a stirring for controlling and containing strategies that I haven't really embraced over the past few months. I wrote about it just now in another capacity and I was full of plans to do this and that. Fun. Fun. Fun.

And, it suddenly, haphazardly and serendipitiously occurred to me that those sort of indulgences actually require consent. Well, usually they do. It's complicated. Asking for those things it is hoped I desperately want, usually require consent. Am I getting ahead of myself here?

But, after frustration must come relief, right? Whose going to deny the l'il doll that??!

Training

2012-01-16T15:11:00.000-08:00

I get a little rush of blood to the head on Tuesdays. Tuesdays is the day I submit my weekly assignment. It isn't critical that I do that. It could be Wednesday or Thursday for this particular tutor. He's not that fussed, but it works for me to keep to my old deadline from last semester. I need order. Who would have guessed?!

And, it is also an exciting moment to press that "submit" button because I can file away all those articles and documents and feel that I have a little time to myself; maybe only a minute or two, but long enough to venture over here and type away without a strict agenda. I need order but I also need creativity, you see.

So, this is what is on my mind. It occurred to me, via a response to one of the questions of my questionnaire that I think I finally have this notion of "training" figured out. The person answering the question wrote that in the early days he needed to be strict and didactic with his submissive but once he had her operating as he wanted her to do he could relax his approach; words to that effect.

As I was writing my response to the module just now I realized that my current tutor did exactly the same thing with us! At first, he picked us up on every last little mistake. He told me I had misused a comma! He noted every last tiny little mistake in a 1000 words response. There was the odd use of the word "good" but at first it was all about what we did wrong rather than what we did right. I, for one, took umbrance at his approach and made it my mission in life to show him that I could do things excellently. Over time, the tutorial responses to my work became much better until last week they were simply glowing; or as close to glowing as I think this particular man will ever get!

So, that's the deal!! Get them trained according to your rules, regulations and wants and then sit back and enjoy watching the show. Gotcha.

A Big Day

2012-01-14T14:27:00.000-08:00

It had been an extraordinary beginning to the day for me; nothing less than transformational, physically and emotionally. I could have done with some time to process it alone. However, I had asked my youngest son the day before if we might go to the movies together and I didn't want to back out of that commitment.

The evening before, my eldest son had arrived with my husband's late Christmas present. How that evolved was that on Christmas Eve my eldest son came to me with the idea of ordering my husband a new set of golf clubs from America and I immediately agreed. If we had the money we would have gone out and bought a motorbike but short of that, a new set of clubs and bag would tickle his fancy, we felt sure.

And, they did. He was absolutely delighted with the clubs but I think he was especially touched that we did this for him. He considers himself the breadwinner (which he is) and that money ought to be spent on us and not him. So, that we should go to this effort for him meant a great deal to him. It was very clear to see that.

My eldest son has left today for another very remote location as his business life demands and my husband said, on receiving the golf clubs that when he got back they would play together. But, we both said to him, "Why not tomorrow?" And, that's when I said to my youngest son, "Why don't we see a film together, while they play golf?"

It was his choice of film. It was always going to be this way and when he said that 'War Horse' was his choice I did my best to prepare myself. I had seen the promos and knew that this was going to be hard emotional work.

And, it was. For well over 2 hours he and I worked hard to get Joey home safe, emotionally travelling with him over every obstacle in life he encountered; being taken on that journey and all the high and low moments of that amazing life of his. The film explored areas of trust, loyalty, courage, strength and good training and after my morning - those extraordinary highs and moments of happiness - this film was eating into every raw nerve; literally, in certain ways.

When the movie ended my son turned to me and said, "Can I have a hug?" And, that's when people started climbing over us to get out of their seats, not wanting to interfere with these two oddballs who were hugging one another tightly, wrapped in their own emotional space.

We were the last to leave the movie theatre and when we did neither one of us was ready to go home. We checked in at a restaurant walking distance away, ordered some food and began the process of discussing the movie; the elements of the film, the themes, the strategies Spielberg had used. It was with a great sense of pride that I realized that I had missed a symbolic element of the final scene and my son explained his theory to me. He will one day be a great creative force in this world. Watch this space!

As we discussed together, one big element of this very fine movie is the use of the words "big day". "Some days are big days, Joey, and this is your big day" said the boy to his horse.

And, what providence it should be that I should be sitting in a movie theatre watching a movie about Joey's big day on the very same day I had a big day of my own.

Translating for the doll

2012-01-11T13:17:00.000-08:00

cindi writes most days now, sometimes more than once a day. (I have just had to correct her spelling, in fact, because as soon as I type 'cindi' she just takes over.) Since she just finished writing, this is an experiment to see if I can express what she said.

She said that wearing a big plug all night in bed doesn't necessarily allow her to sleep longer but that she wakes in a very different state of mind. She said that her thoughts on waking went to far more containment than she was experiencing and that she imagined her wrists tied, her mouth filled with a cock gag, her eyes covered.

She was aware, she wrote, that her pussycunt was throbbing and that each time she squeezed on the ass plug she felt a deep urge for relief, for orgasm, but that she lay there still and tried to imagine that she had no control over her wants whatsoever.

She said that she lay there very still and tried to imagine the man coming to her and asking how she slept and her feeling revitalized from the sleep. I believe she used the word "refreshed", possibly she also said "invigorated". I think she was trying to say that she felt 'good to go'. She had slept well and now it was time for her day to begin; that she was waiting for instructions; ready to see what the day had in store for her.

cindi felt small, for sure. She saw the man as her protector and the man who would look after her. She treated him with reverence. May she rise? May she leave the bed? May she empty the asscunt? She asked all these questions as if it was the most natural thing in the world to do so and she was very happy within herself; very content.

I can only surmise that cindi revels in her limits and is just thrilled to be back in business. At least, that's the feeling I got.

Down the winding road

2012-01-09T00:21:00.000-08:00

Restlessness follows me wherever I go right now, leaving me contemplative, with everything and nothing to say, all at the one moment. There is a sense of arousal and an indomitable spirit to make it down this winding road, but I am being blown about by feelings that I cannot quite catch or tame.

You just need some time.

This was the sage advice given to me. But, how long before I can tap into these feelings and then have a chance at conquering them? If I cannot even name them, where am I to go; what direction should I take?

The past six months or more have taken their toll. Perhaps the lesson I have learned is that I have no control over the winds of time. I do not know what is coming around the next corner and I will never know. Perhaps I needed to learn to surrender to time; to watch and wait and see what comes to me.

It is not my way. Something deep inside me tells me that I must make some running. I must demonstrate who I am and what I am made of. I must make and then seize opportunities. I must not be inert.

I want to understand what happened in the past year and yet words fail me. I do know that I tapped into extraordinary strength and acceptance. My meditations took me to the highest mountains, to valleys and springs and caves that gave me a great deal of succour. On one memorable guided meditation I held onto that person that had guided me and sustained me, knowing that in a few moments I would need to set him free. Tears rolled down my cheeks as I searched for the strength to let him go and with every fibre of will, I let go.

I set you free.

And from an enormous and beautiful tree a huge flock of colourful birds burst free, guiding his spirit on the journey away from me. It had taken everything I had but I had done the right thing; the only thing to do. No wonder ‘The Tree of Life’ meant so much to me.

Dolls are not meant to be alone. They survive but do they do not thrive under such conditions. Like a toy with batteries, their energy depletes and sometimes they just stop and stare at nothing in particular; waiting, waiting for the day when their batteries are recharged. They have a plentiful supply of faith and quietly, they wait; hope; believe.

Is it really over?

I have asked this question a few times in my life. Sometimes, it is over when you least expect it. And yet, the desire to breathe a sigh of relief is held back. Emotions must catch up to the events.

Give it time.

But already, I can feel a stirring; a sense that this too shall pass and that there are very good days ahead. Life’s like that.

The pleasure of observation

2012-01-08T12:51:00.000-08:00

I was minding my own business going through my tumblr account when this image came up on the computer screen and I had reason to pause. The girl with the blond plaits reminded me of one of my best friends at school. She wore her hair in just this way and her bottom was about that round as well. We too wore shirts tucked into woollen skirts with regulation panties but they weren't allowed to cane at our school, even though some teachers thought that a good idea.

I remember a nasty Science teacher who on the first day of a new term told us that he hoped that some of us were spanked after our fathers read our reports. And, I remember when I was just a little tiny girl watching a teacher pull her hand back and slap a girl's bottom and tell her to go back to class immediately, but the new teacher was from Ireland and didn't seem to know the rules.

However, I did read of school canings in books and Roald Dahl was quite descriptive of what happened at his school. Do you remember the nasty lady who owned the sweets shop? Roald and his pals had placed a mouse in the lolly jar, frightening the poor old lady and she went up to the school and asked for retribution. The Headmaster had the whole school come out and parade for the old bag and she pointed out the culprits and wanted to watch while they were being caned.

Harder, if you please, Headmaster. Harder!

We've a similar situation going on here in the pikki, unfortunately. The young lass has taken it upon herself to upset her Housemaster. For giving her a Saturday detention and making her miss the boat races she has got back at him by drawing marker on the back of his shirt as he walked by the quadrangle. But, on detecting the marker stain on his shirt that evening, he has had the whole school line up in the quadrangle and demanded to know who had committed the crime. Finally, Lucinda had come forward, but only after he had threatened to cane all of them until the truth was revealed.

Of course, Lucinda was taken away to receive her punishment. But, it was not to be given by the Housemaster this time. This time, it was the Headmaster who would cane and the Housemaster who would determine when he was satisfied with the results.

More please, Headmaster, if you would be so kind. And, if the next 12 could be harder, please. Much harder.

Mantras

2012-01-07T19:50:00.000-08:00

I have been trying to use mantras to assist me with my personal goals. I use a few mantras but right now I am focusing on one in particular:

I easily resist the temptation to eat empty foods.

What I mean by "empty foods" is any food that doesn't do me any good; that is not nutritious. This pretty much excludes all sugary foods, which happen to be my downfall.

I also read recently that you should try to live your life as if your guru or mentor or the special person in your life (whoever that may be to you) were watching you. As you open the fridge and reach for that chocolate bar and break off a piece, imagine that person watching you and perhaps it will have you returning the chocolate bar to the fridge and closing it tight.

A few months ago, I went to the fridge and picked up a chocolate bar. It was very cold and hard and as I broke into it, I broke a nail and that was a double dose of guilt for me. I made my way soon thereafter to the nail salon and it happened to be the Filipino man that day that beckoned me to sit down.

"Oh, what has happened here? How did this happen?"

Please don't ever count on me to lie for you because I suck at that.

"Well, I was breaking off a piece of chocolate, actually."

He didn't say anything but his silence and the look of disapproval on his face said it all. I had been bad.

The mantra is going quite well. It has saved me from a sugary fate any number of times in the past week or so. But, honestly, I can't think of anything better than the dominant saying,

"No sugar without express permission."

That's something I really could completely respect (even though it may be best for him to follow up regularly...)

The Reins

2012-01-04T17:10:00.000-08:00

I woke frustrated; annoyed; out of sorts. I announced that I was going to get up; that I couldn’t sleep. He pulled me into him; said to settle down; that he couldn’t understand what had got into me.

I said that I thought it best I get up and get on with the painting. He said that he didn’t want me up on the ladder. I said that in that case I would continue with the low bits.

He said that I was obsessing about the "bloody painting". And, why had I spoken back to him last evening?

And, why was this the fifth time he had mentioned the encounter? Did I go over and over the times he lost his temper with me, I wanted to know.

Ahhhh, but we talk about my behaviour, don’t we? I can’t resort to speaking of his behaviour when it is my behaviour that is the behaviour to be analysed and most importantly, contained.

“I made a mistake but you keep bringing it up,” I said.

“Because you haven’t acknowledged it. That is the first time you acknowledged it.”

“Well, I made a mistake. I acknowledge it.”

“That’s all I want. That you acknowledge your behaviour as unacceptable.”

By now, I’m fuming internally. It is useless to argue with him. I just need to get myself under control. I go under the covers, literally.

He dresses; closes the bedroom door.

Five minutes later, he opens the door and tells me to sit up and not to say a word.

He puts down a tray; muesli, yoghurt and a cut up peach; half an English muffin with jam; a mug of tea.

“If you say one word you’re in the corner for an hour and if you spill a drop you’ll get your bottom spanked."

He leaves; closes the door behind him.

I monitor how I am feeling; notice it; not judge it; just as I have been doing for the past few days. For some reason, I feel a great need to sit with my feelings and try to understand how they are controlling me right now; how I can’t quite get a grip on what is going on internally, in my mind.

How do I feel now, I ask myself? Well, honestly, I feel much better for him taking the reins and affirming his place in the saddle.

It’s freaky.

P.S. I ate my breakfast and then slept for hours and hours and hours...

Perfectionism + Procrastinaton = Control

2012-01-03T19:46:00.000-08:00

I’m writing this dressed in very old clothes. The reason why I am dressed in very old clothes is that I intend to paint the garage. I’ve hated this old brown brick garage at the holiday house for ten years and a year ago I convinced my husband to paint it a mellow shade of white.

We went into town and chose the colour. It was mercilessly easy. I remember thinking it odd that it was so easy. Back home, I got into my old clothes. Of course, I have heard my husband say many times that preparation is everything and so I accepted that I needed to wait for him to do this to his satisfaction. As I recall, I went back inside and did other things that day.

The next day, I donned my old painting style clothes again but he said that he thought it best that he do the painting. I recognized his need for control; for perfection and order and I could clearly see that in his mind, if he were to pass over a smidgeon of control to me, even under tight supervision of my job, it was going to cause him a lot of distress. I went back inside and he painted a very small section of the garage before we went back to the city. My wish to paint the ugly garage would have to wait until next summer.

Fast forward twelve months and I sit here typing in my old clothes. Yesterday, I asked if I may paint the garage and in an irritated way he responded, “Yes. Yes, you can paint it tomorrow.”

I woke today to discover that some men had arrived to do a construction job. But, I can be a bit dim sometimes and I didn’t make the connection right away – that these men threatened my ability to paint. On went the old painting clothes.

“May I please paint the garage today?”

“Well, I don’t want any drips. I don’t want a wall of drips, you understand?”

“Absolutely. I will be very careful. Do you think you could set me up now?”

“I am focusing on doing this first,” he responded (He was reading a book.)

I thought it wise not to say anymore in the hope that he meant he just wanted to get to the end of the chapter which I could see was close at hand. About 10 seconds later he slammed the book shut.

“I can’t stand it!” he said.

I thought he was going to say that he couldn’t stand that I was badgering him but what he meant was that he couldn’t stand the fact that the men weren’t doing their task with the precision and perfection that he would apply to task.

Off he went to talk to them. It was clear he was in no hurry to set me up and I am not competent enough, he made clear, to stir the paint can well enough. It was one of the reasons he gave for telling me I had to wait to be set up. Whilst waiting I sent an email off to my tutor, got onto the Discussion Board and got involved there; made the bed; made lunch; read my book.

Time wore on. My husband returned, not entirely satisfied but not as agitated either. He ate the sandwich I had made for him. We chatted.

“May I please paint the garage now?” I asked sweetly.

“Yes. Yes you can. Just a minute.”

Half an hour has gone by and he has picked up the book and is reading again.

And I ask you, what do you make of this?

A. He is stalling for time. He has no intention of allowing me to paint the garage.

B. He intends to paint the garage himself one day in the future but certainly not to day with me dressed in my painting clothes.

C. He is a control freak and a perfectionist.

D I am a saint.

E. All of the above.

Calling for volunteers

2012-01-01T21:27:00.000-08:00

Part of the requirements of my journalism subject that goes towards my Masters of Writing is to write a 2000 to 3000 word article on a subject of my choice. Of course, 'power exchange relationships in today's world' was a subject choice that sprang immediately to mind, despite the obvious issues. I don't think there is a problem with the topic or material. The people that run the course are already 'onto me' with what I have already written in the course and they have shown no objections. Nor is there an issue with appropriateness for publication. The article could be written with, say, readers of 'The Australian' newspaper in mind; the Sunday magazine.

What is concerning me is that I need to collect "expert opinion", but then again, I have the name of an authority, an Australian actually, and I'll check, but that should count all right. However, if anyone reading this does happen to be an expert on power exchange relationships, it would be marvellous to hear from you.

The other concern I have is that I would need to interview people - people who have, of their own volition, consented to a power exchange - either taking control in the relationship, or, giving it up. I have not formulated any well honed questions as yet but they would centre around: why you want to be in a power exchange relationship, the pros and cons, any difficulties that creates in your mainstream life; if you feel you have to keep a veil over how you live, if it affects the children or family, what your life looks like on a day to day level; if you feel you are happier than in a regular, vanilla marriage/relationship; what you do to reinforce the dynamic; that sort of thing.

I'd be awfully grateful to hear from people who wouldn't mind answering some questions for me. I could send you questions that you could answer and send back to me; or we could email or chat or skype; whatever works well for both of us. In my article I could just refer to you as Pete from Ontario or Anne from Chicago. You'd be completely anonymous, unless of course, you want to be identified in another way.

If you can offer me your assistance in this way please email me or leave a comment. Many thanks.

Happy New Year

2011-12-30T23:06:00.000-08:00

I thought of reviewing the past year - the ups, the downs, the highs and lows. I thought of saying something affirming about 2012 being the best one yet and all those sorts of things that people tend to like to say on December 31st. But then, something happened.

I'd said goodbye to three people, my husband and son had gone off to do some errands in town and I was quite suddenly alone. I stripped the beds, washed the sheets and pegged all the sheets on the clothesline outside (it's an antiquated notion, I know, but it does so please me to dry sheets in a gentle breeze) and it suddenly occurred to me that I could play any music I wanted.Yayayayay!

I started with Andrea Bucelli and a few songs into that CD I found myself with a desire to lay down. It was a gorgeous sunny but not hot afternoon and I cuddled into the couch and very quickly, I think, fell asleep. The old 'music machine' was on 6 CDs that repeat over and over and when I woke it was to Michael Buble singing his heart out. In that dazy state when you are neither awake nor asleep, I heard Michael singing 'That's Life' and I found myself intently listening to the words of an old favourite song of mine.:

That's life
That's what all the people say
You're riding high in April
You're shot down in May
I know I'm gonna change that tune
When I'm back on top in June

I say that's life
& as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks
Stompin' on your dreams
But I don't let it, let it get me down
'Cause this fine ol' world keeps spinning 'round

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn & a king
I've been up & down & over & out
But I know one thing
Each time I find myself, flat on this face
I pick myself up & get back in the race

That's life
I can't deny it
I thought of quitting, baby
This heart wasn't gonna buy it
And if I didn't think it was worth one single try
I'd jump right on a big bird & then I'd fly

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn & a king
I've been up & down & over & out
And I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up & get back in the race

That's life
That's life & I can't deny it
Many times I thought of cutting out
But my heart won't buy it
But if there's nothing shakin' come this here July
I'm gonna roll
I'm gonna roll
I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball & die
Can't deny it
That's life

Dean Kay and Kelly Gordon, who wrote the song for Frank Sinatra could not have expressed my 2011 better than I could myself and so, I'm going to leave it at that. There have been good days and bad days. But, we all pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off and get back in the race because, that's life!

Of course 2012 will be a great year because that is what we intend! And when things don't go to plan, well, we'll deal with that and take it one step at a time.

I'm providing a link to Michael singing 'That's Life' on 'The Today Show'. I chose this particuar one because it seemed like a party and it has a great feel about it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1UN-DYYehc

Have a very happy New Year's Eve and a wonderful 2012.

My best.

New naylz 4 cindi

2011-12-29T13:00:00.000-08:00

Yesserdey, cindi hab fun speriens. Wel, first ob ull, it nut so fun. Cindi broke her nail in da garden. She helpn onnir cullekt da weedz n cuttingz n wen she pik up a big pile of stuff, da thum nayl on da rite han broke. Ohhhh, deeri me. Cindi hab a broken claw n dis mek her sad.

Der jus no wey, asaloooooti no wey dat cindi ken weyt til she get bak 2 da citi n so she looki up da google 2 c if der a nayl gurl sumwhere rown her. N, ta da!! Der a gurl stertd up in her town. Hoooray!!!

cindi call n get poytmin at 6pm. Onnir wanna go 2 da beech in da aftanoon but he drop cindi off at 6 in da bote n off she wen. Dis beri speshel 4 cindi coz dis da ferst tym ebr she ken talkiz wif a nayl gurl. Ull da udderz in da past Chinese n cindi nut speeeki dat langwich et ull.

Da gur tel cindi so meni new tingz. Did da gurlz no dat ken get da naylz rebalansd??? Wel, ken. N, cindi hab her naylz rebalansd. Yayayayyay. Dey looki beri pretti. Also, did no dat ken bild up da acrilic 4 da broken claw?? Ken. Yep. No need 2 gloo on et ull. Cindi jus amazd!! N, dis gurl nut ebn esk cindi if she wanna cut dem down. Jus slite file, dat ull. She jus gr8!! Cindi so happi wif her new naylz; ull shini n pink n lung. Yayayayyayayayayyay!

cindi skeeeezn wey heeer. She beri alyv rite now. Beri much bimbo. If onli der peeepil owt der hoo ken speekiz flewn bimbo speeki. Der def wun or 2. Wish dat dey cood tawk wif cindi rite now...

Faith

2011-12-27T14:23:00.000-08:00

I can rarely catch my dreams. Sometimes, I can catch a feeling; perhaps fright or concern or confusion. If I am really lucky I can capture a scene, but on the whole I don’t know what I dream, other than I feel sure that I do dream.

This morning I woke up feeling quite rested but again: nothing. No dream was remembered. However, Psalm 23 was running through my head:

“Though I walk through the shadow of the valley of death I will fear no evil for thou art with me.”

I lay there on my side with the words of the psalm running through my head over and over and the words conjured a memory.

It was rather a long time ago. My children were little; one of them not yet born. I was living in the United States but I had returned to Australia to spend some time with my family: a little holiday for me and the children over the American summer. I’d put the children to bed and my very sick father was asleep. My mother and I were sitting by the fire and the night was very still. Out of nowhere she said to me that she knew that something was wrong. She could feel it, she said and she wanted to know what was troubling me.

I remember feeling that the issue was so buried inside me that no words would rise to the surface that would enable me to share my sorrow with anyone, but as we sat in silence I heard words coming from my mouth; not my voice in the slightest, but my words emanating from somewhere very deep within me.

She listened and she said to me that I had been through something that must have nearly torn me in two but she was glad that she knew; that she could understand my failure to engage with her completely now. She told me that I was very strong and that she knew that I would be all right.

Although nothing had really changed and my situation was still exactly as it had been half an hour before, I felt much better. Perhaps it was the sharing that made a difference; that I had “unburdened myself”, as they say.

When I was back in my home in the United States, I received a letter from my mother and in the letter was a cutting from the newspaper. It was this poem:

I Had a Dream

One night I had a dream
I was walking along the beach with my Lord.
Across the sky flashed scenes from my life.
For each scene I noticed two sets
of footprints in the sand,
one belonging to me
and the other to my Lord.
When the last scene of my life shot before me
I looked back at the footprints in the sand.
There was only one set of footprints.
I realized that this was at the lowest
and saddest times in my life.
This always bothered me
and I questioned the Lord
about my dilemma.
"Lord, you told me when I decided to follow You,
You would walk and talk with me all the way.
But I'm aware that during the most troublesome
times of my life there is only one set of footprints.
I don't understand why, when I needed You most,
you leave me."
He whispered,”My precious, precious child,
I love you and will never leave you
never, ever during your times of trial and testings.
When you saw only one set of footprints
It was then that I carried you."

Margaret Fishback Powers.

The gesture meant a great deal to me; not only that she had thought of me and felt the words would help but because the words were exactly right. I had been to the beaches close to where she lived all my life and the image of there being only one set of footprints because I had been carried by ‘the Lord’ in my hour of need, truly resonated with me. I kept the cutting close; referred to it often. (I think to myself at this moment, that I never told her...never told her how much the little gift meant to me...)

When it was time to pack and return to my homeland, the cutting came with me. And, when something happened where I again needed a great deal of strength and faith that this too shall pass, that I was again walking through the shadow of the valley of death, I retrieved my cutting, taped it all over for fear it would disintegrate and kept it beside me on my desk.

One day, my husband saw the little cutting and asked about it and I simply said without fanfare that my mother had sent it to me years ago. My relationship with the poem was just too private to say any more.

This morning I realized that I have not only walked through the shadow of the valley of death but I have come out the other side intact. Perhaps, this is what I had dreamt...

I would not say that I am a particularly religious person. I don’t attend church regularly although I love it when I do; get a great deal from it. I was brought up Church of England even though my mother was Catholic because when my father heard the stories of how terrified the priests had made my mother during confessions, he said he didn’t want his children going through that.

That I am not particularly religious in any organized way makes my sense of faith all the more intriguing, I think. For it is faith that has sustained me in my hour of need; faith that I am not alone and that I have the inner reserves to walk through as many shadows of the valley of death that I may need to traverse.

A few years ago, I received a call that my aunt was dying and my mother and my sister were on their way to the hospital. I dropped everything to go to be with them but I was too late and when I arrived at the hospital they told me she had passed away.

We went for coffee. To be honest, my mother and aunt were not close to their sister but I had always found she touched me in some way. On the other end of politics, a trade union person through and through, she signified for me “the battler”; that person who doesn’t have an easy life but keeps on going. My mother and aunt told me that in her final moments on this earth she had sat up from a deep sleep, thrust her arms into the air and said, “Take me”. I have thought of her often since and what her inner world must have been like.

I cannot put into words; this sense of things that one is not alone; that there is someone walking beside me. I feel it; feel it sustaining me.

It is said often, on tumblr sites and the like that if someone chooses not to be in your life, you should forget him or her. I get the point but I am not prepared to be so rigid about absence. The spirit lives on sometimes; connections are felt; nothing is over until it is over, unless you choose to end it in your heart.

Rules

2011-12-25T11:53:00.000-08:00

Like millions of other people, I woke up to some advice from WebMD - "Shrink your plate and lose the weight". Um, I think it might be a bit late now for that gem. Our Christmas dinner plates were humongous - turkey and ham, a variety of vegetables, gravy and cranberry sauce, followed by a home made pudding, with cream and ice-cream. The saving grace was that apart from the odd gent who chewed on a turkey bone later in the evening, we skipped the evening meal. It's breakfast time now and I still have no desire to eat anything.

But, the point made by those wise WebMD people is not lost on me. If you want to lose weight, you have to keep the calorie consumption down whereby you are expending more energy than you are taking calories in, and that is all there really is to that. It requires discipline and commitment and you have to keep giving yourself the right internal messages, motivating yourself to stay on course. The scales don't lie.

I have to admit that I am not an especially disciplined person. I get things done. I accept responsibility, but I rail against it too . Take, for example, this writing course that I am doing. The first subject of the Masters was challenging but well within my comfort zone. I could 'bullshit' my way through it. Whilst there were some rules, I guess, I wasn't especially aware of them in any sort of intense way and being out of the academic scene for decades and having nothing to lose, I did my own thing and discovered that it was entirely satisfactory. I found out a couple of days ago that I even got a Distinction. At first, I wondered if it was a D in the sense of A, B, C or D but then I looked at the number and realized it was a D for Distinction and that pleased me.

Now, I never intended to do Journalism next because I figured that probably was not a subject I could 'bullshit' by way through, but that was all I could do over the summer period according to their timetable and so I enrolled. There was no getting around doing the subject. I had to get through the subject. From minute one, I was concerned. The tutor had put up a great many rules and appeared rigid and even anal-retentive. Fun and laughs between the group on the discussion board were going to be scarce, I could tell.

Along I went, until on week 2 I got back some negative feedback (almost all of us did). I had gone over the word limit and I wasn't to do that again! And, I had not referenced my reading adequately. He needed evidence, he said, that I had done all my reading. Wow!

You would think by now I would be used to a man telling me what to do but in truth, I was affronted. I wrote to Bart. What did he make of it all?? I got back a response telling me that he had had tutors like this before and to do what he said, as he said. There was no other way, said Bart.

But, "the girl" in me just couldn't let it go. I wrote to the tutor and said that I appreciated the feedback but it was a pity he was late with the feedback because the next assignment had been submitted and I didn't have a chance to do anything about it now. He wrote back with more complaints (in other words, that no matter what I said he would have an answer for it) and when I responded to that, he wrote back to say that basically, he was the boss and to do things his way but if I wanted to resubmit, he was giving me "the chance" to do so. Hmmmm. Polite negotiation seemed to work...

So, I did that and thanked him profusely and wished him a 'Merry Chistmas' and I noticed that once I had submitted to his authority and accepted his word as law, the exchanges were a little lighter and brighter and quite possibly, we had forged a better working relationship. He was still going to demand that things be done well and to the letter (as he should) but perhaps there was a better spirit of co-operation on both sides of the ledger.

Being told what to do is something that I like and that I don't like. I do bristle against authority really at the same time as I have enormous respect for it. I do best with structure and with a boss and with expectations. I rise to that.

And so, here I am on Boxing Day early morning watching the sun come up over the lake, sitting at my computer and surrounded by the reading of my next assignment, which I know I must reference in my response. I must do that and so, I shall. Lessons must be learned to advance.

What never ceases to amaze me is that if you are truly blessed, you will come across tutors/bosses/mentors/people in your life who will not only demand that you must do something their way, but they will leave you feeling that you want to do something their way - not just to please them but because their way has become your way. That's gold.

Greetings of the Season

2011-12-21T15:01:00.000-08:00

It is once again that time of year when I would like to wish all readers a very Merry Christmas and a Happy Holiday season. Most importantly, stay safe and play nice and don't eat too much pudding!

It has been an incredibly full year over at Vesta's house. The end of the year festivities are still keeping us on our toes, entertaining the masses and surrounded by children and their partners and friends. It has a feel about it that we have entered a new phase of our lives. Half-jokingly, my husband suggested to me as we lay in bed thinking about all these young adults and their respective partners and where their lives are heading that perhaps we could get a little one bedroom place in Paris; that it could be our escape hatch. When we proposed it to the group last night, they said there were always sleeping bags!!

And so, our lives will remain filled with people and busy with activity, which is what makes my explorations into the world of BDSM so important to me: an opportunity to experience life in a way that has to do with us as a couple and with me as a quirky, loving person who wants to experience and interact with life in certain ways that make me abundantly happy.

I have been very grateful and honoured to experience what I have in this space and I end the year with a very positive spirit; with a sense (and a hope) that very good things are yet to come. Dreams really do come true, if you believe.

Da cindi/vesta cunnektn

2011-12-20T05:16:00.000-08:00

Sumtymz, cindi get da presshin dat summ hoooz tinki dat vesta da bed g-eye; dat she stop bimbo frum cumin owt 2 pley; dat vesta da parti poopu. Dat reeeli nut troo. Wel, nut zactli troo, enewey.

C, vesta n cindi beri rel8d wun nudda. If cindi happi, vesta happi. Dat def troo. Vesta noz, ebin if she akt liki she dunna no sumtymz, dat cindi expressin hessef beri importin 4 bof dem.

Der beri importin tingz dat need 2 hab dun 4 cindi 2 spress hessef n vesta need co-oper8 wif dat. If she stert 2 yooos da intallekt n nut lissen 2 da roooolz dat low bimbo 2 cum owt, den tingz go awri 4 bof dem.

Wen cindi ken show hessef jus bowt everidey, vesta bubblin obr wif hapines. Howebr, wen vesta akt liki she no bettr dan cindi, n akt liki she bettr dan cindi den ull betz off. In doz caysz, vesta beegin 2 struggil n bimbo left on da shef bi hesssef. It nut a happi owtcum 4 eidda dem.

Vesta noz ull bowt da "on" switch 4 cindi. She noz. She noz. She noz full wel. But, sumtymz she ken get beri full hessef. She meki owt liki she noz best; liki she noz nuttin bowt bimboz. Dis beri herd on bimbo.

It ashoooli jus az portin 4 da gurlz 2 show displin as 4 da bimboz. If gurlz undisplind den bimboz beegin feel dey ken hardli breeeef. Dey beegin dispeeeer. Dis no gud 4 enebodi - nut da onnirs, nut da bimboz n nut da gurlz.

Tingz set up 4 bimboz - dayli limits n challinjjz. Gurlz liki Vesta ken sey dat she got no speshel limits. But, dat rung. Dat ashoooli a lie. Dat onli seyin dat she fooolin hesssef - dat she ken lif happili wiffowt bimbo. Dat jus hogwash.

cindi dus wut she ken wif vesta but she reeeeei a han full. cindi sey, "y sed, vesta? vesta no bowt da on swich. Jus do it. Donna tinki bowt it. Jus do it."

Sumtymz, she jus duzznt lissen 2 bimbo n dat da hol prollim in a nutshell. Dat y bimbo wish dat sumwun hoo unnerstan how 2 motiv8 her ken get involvd sumtymz n giv bimbo a bitva hand. It tuff werk, but sumbodi gotta do it.

Intent

2011-12-18T18:48:00.000-08:00

It is all about if I can feel his intent; his own desire to want to insist that I do what he says to do. Lost in a dreamy world of sleep much needed, I feel him awaken me with a desire to play. Even though for me it could go either way – I could easily go on enjoying the deep, heavy slumber – I know that I have no choice and the fact that I have no choice appeals and stirs me.

He tells me he wants to spank me but that first he wants to feel my mouthcunt around his cock. I oblige. He asks me to ask for my spanking and I do so. He grants my request. He enjoys hearing my whimpers, I think; tells me that I am sorely out of practice. I like it when my breathing becomes laboured; when I am challenged. There is something deeply soothing about the discomfort and the ultimate pain.

For a man who has not made it routine to do this lately, he seems quite enamoured with the process. Even though he has filled my mouthcunt with a plastic cock gag, he tells me how much he enjoys the sounds I emit; my attempts to ride out the sensations by biting on the plastic cock, something I would never consider doing to his cock. He tells me every now and then what courage it takes for a man to give his cock to his girl’s mouthcunt. Just like a mother would not allow harm to come to her baby, a woman knows not to harm the man’s cock. He has nothing to fear.

I can see nothing. My eyes are covered by a chord tied tight. He tells me he wants me to go to the corner, something he hasn’t asked for a very long time. It’s not easy for me to accept this childlike endeavour. I’ve grown unaccustomed and ill-prepared for such a game. Today, I only want to please; to do whatever he says to do. But, I have no bearings. I mumble that I can’t see. He will direct me he tells me and I get down from the bed and on my hands and knees. “A little to the right,” he informs me and later, “Now, put out your hand and rise up.” I love the sensation of being directed and I fold my hands behind me as he says to do; put my nose to the cold wall, as he says to do. I wonder what objection I had to this play in my mind. It is arousing me so today.

Before long he tells me to return to the bed; tells me that seeing me there in the corner with my red ass on display is making him hungry. When I make my way back up to the bed it is to make my way over a high stack of pillows. As yet, I have no idea if this is now about his pleasure or mine; whether his intention is for this to be long or short.

I am soon enlightened. His appetite has taken over and he wants only to plunder me and ride me and cum. I feel his mind release and allow his body to do what comes naturally; to ride wild and free and to take what is his; what belongs to him. I wallow in the process; thrilled that he has put himself first; that his thoughts are not about me. If it happened every time I would feel underprivileged. That he is such an attentive lover allows me to revel in his lustful abandon now.

We are told that it is the bottom’s task to ask for what she needs and I know I have to do this. We’ve talked about this. We continue to talk about the fact that I must advise him when my needs are overwhelming my state of mind. Most likely, such a talk enabled and led to this play. But my mind demands that it is the top who makes the ultimate decisions; that my role is to experience and make way for what the top wants; not what I want.

Of course, I want it too. I know this. He wants it because I want it. I asked for it. But, if he didn’t enjoy reducing me, I would not reduce. I need to feel that desire to see me captured and caught. Only then can I feel removed from the real world; subsumed in a place where I feel completely safe and serene.

These experiences settle me; contain me; make me feel enriched and uplifted. Without them, I am only a shadow of myself.

Blessings

2011-12-17T19:01:00.000-08:00

Frank cuts my hair. He’s early 30s; Italian; gay. We get on very well; the conversation always flows effortlessly. But, last week the conversation reached a new level of depth. I could tell immediately when he began talking that something significant had changed in his life.

He started from the beginning. He’d moved in with a person who also worked at the salon. She was there with him all day at work and at night in the apartment. He felt imprisoned in a situation that he had come to detest. Unable to speak to anyone about it, he felt he was going slowly mad.

A good friend of his, a single mother was to come to him for a weekend in the big city. Frank lives right in the heart of the area where there is an abundance of wonderful cafes and restaurants, beautiful stores; great entertainment. But, he told her he didn’t think it would work this weekend, given the situation. She immediately suggested he come to her in the country. It isn’t really Frank’s style but something told him to go, he said.

The clever girl involved a friend in the weekend; a woman who is into meditation and healing and it was this woman who said “What’s the matter Frank?” She was sitting in the back seat; he in the front. He didn’t answer. “It is a relationship, isn’t it Frank?” “Yes, it is,” he heard himself say.

They took him for a walk; a very special walk up 1000 steps. Then, they took him to a place where he joined them for a group meditation. He said he found it extraordinarily easy to do; that it was the most blissful, wonderful and enlightening experience.

I think it was probably clear to them that Frank was open to this; that all he needed was to be shown how to find his own internal happiness and salvation. They had a healer work on him, giving him love and they also had him come to a sort of church service where the person leading the service said that he had noticed Frank; felt his energy all the service and that he had messages for him; that his grandmother in Italy was proud of him; that she was proud that he worked with his hands and carried the family name.(They worked on the basis, without knowing anything about Frank that he had not truly believed that his family had accepted that he was gay.)

The whole time he was telling me this story (and I can’t type it all because he was telling me so much so fast, I can’t remember it all at this moment) he was the most animated he has ever been. I know this will sound odd but in the few months since I had seen him last, his hair had grown curly and now his eyes were beaming with life. He really was a much, much happier man.

He told me all this because he knows I have studied the chakras and meditate and so on. He doesn’t know that I am really ‘a doll’ but he senses something, for sure.

He told me about his past; about his mother. When his father divorced his mother, it sent her into a deep depression and she has been in a psychiatric hospital several times. The youngest son, he felt obliged to mother his mother all this time but he told me that he has learned that he must tell her now that it is time for her to act like the mother and for him to act like the son.

He kept me at the salon long after my hair was cut; playing with it so that it looked like he was still working when he was really just wanting to talk. He told me he was going to Bali to a meditation retreat and I asked him for the details since it is a great passion and desire of mine to do that. I am sorely tempted to go with him!

We reached a very new level of friendship on that day, Frank and I. He showed me how to hug, heart to heart, and we practiced it several times, much to the amusement of the busy salon that late afternoon, I suspect, but who cares?

He walked me to the door. “I love you Frank,” I said. I don’t recall what he said in reply because I was too busy watching how his face softened to hear those words. It all felt much deeper than the relationship I have with people I have been socialising with regularly for years. I was on a high myself. This sort of interconnecting with another human being is so very special and important to me.

This morning I read over a chat between D and me. I was wearing Mr. Ringo and I was clearly very, very happy – on the high of being so low. It had come out and it talked in the way that only it can. It is a slut, no doubt about that and it is giving, peaceful; ditzy; happy. It is the best of me.

The opportunity to interact with people who have explored the workings of their inner lives and come to terms with themselves in a way that allows them to shine and to spread joy is a wonderful gift for me. It makes my life rich. It makes me realize I have so much more to learn; so much more to give. And for that, I am eternally grateful.

Cindiz Krissmis list

2011-12-13T14:20:00.000-08:00

It now almost 6 monthz sins cindi on her own. Der few occasionz wen she ken cum owt n pley of cors but dey much mor limitd now. N, she hab beri few limitz. Der nut reeeli enewun soopervyzn her. Nebrdrless, she reeeli a well traynd dolli in lotsa weyz n der sumtingz ebin a dolli nevr 4getz. 4sampel, cindi wood nebr yoos no no werds heer, or enewher else. She noz dey nut 4 her.

Dolliz tri beri herd nut 2 cumplane. Dey tri herd 2 unnderstan da peepil, da hoooz arown dem, n wut dey want, n dey tri herd jus 2 go on az best dey ken. But, dis so so hard 4 cindi 2 nut hab da interakn wif doz speshel hooooz hoo unnerstan her; hoo unnerstan dat dis da reeeel entiti; dat da gurl jus a mask 4 da reeeeel dolli insyd her. So, 2 nut hab dis interakn beri much liki a littil def. It takz a gr8 deeel of will 4 cindi 2 demand of hesssef dat she hab a voys in da werld n dat she jus nut swampd by vesta n bi eberibodi els in da werld, ebin bi doz most close 2 her.

It seeemz dat god lookd down on cindi n saw dat she in such need n he desydd 2 gif her a speshel presint; a new fren hoo unnerstanz her beri wel n ncurijjz her 2 liv. She beri gr8fil 4 dis. He encurrijjz her 2 membe dat cindi dat reeel livin entiti, n dat beri much da case. cindi in floodz of teeerz ritin dis coz it feeeelz so gud 2 jus let dis owt; 2 spress da payn insyd.

If cindi greedi, der lotsa lotsa tings she cood esk 4 Chrissmis. Dolliz liki booootifill tingz - lace n silk n shooooz n leather n latex tingz. But, der onli wun ting she wan. She wan 2 liv. N, she wan talkiz wif doz beri beri few peeepil in da hole wide werld hoo unnerstan cindi n appresh8 her 4 her dumdum sef. If she ken haf dat, den ull da udder tingz superflooooous.

cindi risin up 2 dey 2 esk, 2 esk beri polyteli 4 da ting she wan. She hopz dat Santa Klaus lissenin 2 her.

Merri Krissmis everiwun!

A keen student

2011-12-12T01:39:00.000-08:00

I should not be here. I should be over there, writing my response for this week's assignment. I'm doing 'Journalism' now and as interesting as it is, I am too tired to write a serious article; too tired to think about newspapers and the role of the media; of how the greed of shareholders may be the enemy of good service to readers, and so on and so on. Better to do that first thing in the morning when my thoughts are cogent; when I feel a big girl in the big, wide world.

Right now, I feel tired from drinking wine at lunch; never a good idea for me when I need to work. So, to hell with the work. I am going to day dream instead...

I'm a woman in her mid 30s and I have fallen in love with a man around twenty years older than me. We met via a friend who invited me to a party in the country and that's where I met Joe. The courtship was something of a whirlwind. I acted entirely on my instincts and sense of happiness and adoration for him and we married in a small ceremony in the local church.. Naturally, I moved to the country since he was well established on a large cattle farm in the centre of the country and there was never a thought that we would live anywhere else. It was well understood that I was joining him in his life.

He was very kind to me and highly attentive and I was blissfully happy; deeply in love with him. As time passed I came to see that he was set in his ways and I had no choice but to accept that we would do things his way. Of course, I made efforts to steer him to my way of thinking on matters that were important to me and he was generous about that. He seemed to enjoy giving into me on the little changes I wished to make to the household. I would ask very nicely if I may have this or that, or if we could do this or that. He seemed to enjoy allowing me little indulgences and alterations, as if I were a child and he were the indulgent parent. I confess I played up to this; being sweet and smiling prettily and getting my way.

But, he was clearly the boss and I never considered second guessing him on matters pertaining to the running of the farm. If he told me to close the gate behind the cows, I did so. If he told me not to go near a certain horse because he was afraid I may be kicked, I stayed well away. He enjoyed teaching me about life on the farm and I enjoyed being under his tuttelage. "Good girl," he would say when I managed to tie the knot the way he had demonstrated or when I learned to drive the motor bike precisely as he had shown me. My life was a joy every day as I learned to fit in to my new life as his helpmate.

Perhaps six weeks into the marriage, my husband called me into his study just before I was ready to serve dinner and had me sit by the fire. He handed me a glass of red wine. He told me of how proud he was of me; that I had settled so beautifully into the country life. He patted me on the head and I purred with satisfaction. He moved his chair closer to me.

"Darling?"

"Mmmm-hmmmm?"

"I feel like spanking you."

His words had an instantaneous response on me. I was aroused but shocked; a little afraid. I needed to understand what he meant.

"Have I displeased you, Joe?"

Not at all, my darling. I just wish to spank you for my own pleasure."

"Ohhhhh. Would it hurt, Joe?"

"I'm afraid so; yes."

"Darling, I want you to do whatever pleases you."

"That's my girl. You are sure?"

"Yes, Joe, I am sure."

Joe sat down on a hard, wooden chair and he had me take off my panties, lift up my dress and bend over his knee. I felt very strange exposed in this way but I wanted to please my new husband and would never have considered denying him this pleasure. For a minute or so, he spanked my bottom, alternating from cheek to cheek with his hand and I wondered what the fuss was all about. It was a pleasurable, light sensation and I rather liked it. Every dozen or so smacks, he would rub my cheeks smooth with his palm. It was quite lovely. Having never been spanked before I had expected something quite unpleasant but this was very pleasurable.

Then, he stopped.

"Now, it is time for me to use a paddle. This may hurt a little, darling. You don't mind?"

"No, no, Joe. I don't mind."

From the first swat of the paddle, I realized that this was an entirely different sensation. It stung quite considerably.

"Owww"

"Be a good girl, now. It will be over soon," he told me.

And so, I told myself to be brave and to be good and to accept this sting. But, over a minute or so, the sensations built and I was breathing heavily. This stung like blazes!!

"Owwwww. Owwwwwwwwwww," I repeated over and over again.

I didn't want to move out of the range of paddle. I wanted to move out of the range of the paddle. I didn't know what I wanted at all. I was just trying to be good and to hang on."

"There's a good girl," I heard him say at one stage and later, "Not long now, darling. It won't be much longer."

When he finally put down the paddle and rubbed my stinging skin I felt that my ass was on fire. But, the thing about that was that it wasn't exactly a horrible sensation. I rather liked the feel of the heat and I felt extraordinarily close to Joe. My entire body and mind was profoundly aroused in a new way and my first reaction was to sit up and kiss Joe longingly on the lips. He returned the kiss and then he said:

"Did the young lady enjoy that?"

"Not telling," I said

"Did the young lady enjoy that?" he repeated.

"Possibly..."

"Did the young lady enjoy that?" he asked again.

"The young lady did."

He smiled a devilish, wicked smile; one that instinctively had me smile back.

"Ahhh, Mildred, I have so much to teach you; so much to show you...so many things to do to you...!"

"Hurry, Joe, hurry. Show me right now."

"Patience, darling. You must have patience. Let's have dinner first."

"Dinner? You want to eat?"

"Come, darling. If you are polite and obedient, I'll show you a good time after dinner."

"All right, Joe. Let's eat!"

In the forest

2011-12-09T13:08:00.000-08:00

I have been reading about bi-polar lately, a brain disorder where there are unusual shifts in mood, energy, activity levels and the ability to carry out daily tasks. A person with this condition can go from intense emotional states where they might be overly joyful to a state where they are extremely sad. I definitely don't know enough about this condition to say anything prescriptive about it. However, it does seem to be the case that many people who are diagnosed with the condition are medicated, but not all that much occurs in terms of looking at what can be done with the unbearable thoughts people may experience.

With bi-polar it seems that people can move from an emotional state where they think that everything is hopelessly damaged to one where they think that life is wonderful. The feeling that "life is wonderful" can appear as a piece of 'magic' because the depressive thoughts have lifted; vanished. And, who wouldn't be thrilled about the fact that this has happened?

It also appears that this "magic" can evolve via some formula devised by the person. It might be a different job or career; perhaps a new deal or financial break or success. It might be a new love or sex with a new person. It might be a gambling win, alcohol or drugs or it might be a shopping spree. It might be a bout of BDSM; the opportunity to bind or be bound; to whip or be whipped; to be used or to use. I'm not saying I know anything special here. I am just speculating, opening the door to a thought...

Lately, I have been working with my cravings for BDSM; rather than giving in to the idea that I must be given some BDSM experience or I can't be happy, I have sat with the notion that it is not currently available to me. At first, it did feel hopeless. It was a deeply disturbing feeling and I often felt sad; frustrated; lonely.

I've practised sitting with this unpleasant feeling and there has been a change in my thinking. Rather than try to flee from the unpleasant thought I have begun to submit to the feeling. My life is currently not operating on a optimal level but I am in some strange way developing new inner resources to deal with that. I am not blissfully happy but I am looking at my reality square in the face and I am developing the inner resources to cope without falling into depressive thoughts about my current situation. This sense of things leads me to understand (to have the conscious thought) that nothing last forever and that things will get better. I can realistically expect that I can have wonderful BDSM experiences some time in the future. Just not right now.

What I am trying to say to anyone out there listening to me is that if you have intolerable emotions and feel that your situation is hopeless, rather than go looking for the magic bullet to cut yourself off from those extremely uncomfortable emotions, maybe you should sit with them for a time. Over time, you may discover that they are not so intolerable after all. Your feelings may not be so black. You may come to see that with a more realistic sense of what is going on internally and what ways you find to alleviate those awful feelings, there is a more measured thought to calm you; there is a deeper relationship with yourself; a stronger, more resilient self.

When we are in a forest, it can be hard to see anything but trees. But, if you let yourself sit back and view the horizon, things can become more clear. Life may not be perfect but it is not hopeless either. We can anticipate better days. This too will pass.

Good Enough

2011-12-06T22:50:00.000-08:00

What is in the past is done.

There is no need to hide the scars from me.

I accept your pain. I embrace your sadness and sorrows.

They are a part of you and I love your vulnerability too.

None of us is perfect. No- one is complete,

until we share thoughts that we try to hide from ourselves.

You are not perfect and neither am I.

But, you are good enough.

You are my light, my love; my partner in life.

Allow my acceptance to balance you and protect you

from all “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”.

Together we are safe. Together we are good enough.

Family ties

2011-12-04T04:22:00.000-08:00

I went up north for the weekend - without my husband and with my mother and aunt. It was totally exhausting - all that talking, all that being nice and all that checking about what they wanted to do and how they wanted to do it! But, it was incredibly worthwhile. My brother was in a show and I would not have missed seeing him for the world. Most importantly, I know it meant a great deal to him to have us there.

Just before we left the theatre and said our goodbyes, for we were leaving for the airport the next morning, I gave him a big hug and whispered in his ear that I was very proud of him and happy for him that he is so happy. We don't see a lot of one another but growing up, there was just the two of us and I feel very close to him on some deep, emotional level that I find hard to put into words. Of course, I teared up when I said that and tried to move on before anybody could be aware of that. More vulnerability on display; more uncomfortableness with that...

I'm operating on so little sleep, by my standards anyway. I lay there in my big empty bed listening to the waves of the Pacific Ocean and I found myself with an over thinking brain. I was thinking about my brother and my Dad; my mother; my husband and I; my daughter and her new man...well, I was thinking about everything really well into the night.

I confess I felt sad. My brother has built a good life up there: one where he works hard (and he enjoys what he does) but one where he enjoys simple pursuits to the max. He has a caravan (trailer) that he loves to take into the outback with his wife. He has a truck. So excited about this truck was he that he pointed out to us on the way to show us his house (simple but comfortable) exactly where he had bought the truck. He has also bought a motor bike. Well, he didn't show us that. My youngest niece spilled the beans there because I am sure he had no intention of my mother knowing that he had bought a machine that only "one way men" ride.

I'm not remotely jealous. He's my young brother and I have never felt that emotion about him. I am overwhelmingly happy that he is happy. What I felt myself experiencing was a wish that we could embrace this rather simple notion of living.

When I returned home I raced over to my older son's house to collect my youngest son from there and I was sufficiently antsy about things to mention my concerns to my eldest son. It is most unlike me to do this. In typical fashion, I keep those concerns to myself, or else I tell you. I asked him if he could reiterate to my husband that he needed to be less hard on himself; to be less demanding of himself and to enjoy himself more. My husband would adore a motor bike but the question is, would he ever allow himself such an indulgent luxury?

Later, I felt tremendous guilt about having done that. My husband told me that our son was preparing this weekend, all weekend, for a very important business meeting with a client and on reflection I recalled the passing thought that my eldest son had seemed haggard and fraught looking.

I sent him an email smoothing things over and wishing him well for the meeting and he replied right back that on the contrary, it was good to talk and he had made a mental note of what I said. He admitted that he worries about work too and that as a older person now he can understand that just as "Dad" feels the weight of the responsibility of the family, he can feel torn when his girlfriend is about the house and he feels the need to prepare for meetings. He also said that he knew for certain that "what Dad wants most in the world is for you to be happy". What I want most in the world is for my husband to be happy. Quite the co-incidence!

Then, there was the conversation with my daughter to consider. I said to her on Skype that I wondered if she would spend more time at the boyfriend's house once they are home (very soon!) or would he spend more time with us. She replied that she hoped that he would consider our house the base but she felt it would probably be the other way around.

It is silly but in that moment I felt that I had lost her. That's just a silly thought because we will always be very close. But, this man is the real deal, I think: "the one", and what he says goes. I can hardly believe the changes in her. She uses totally different words."He would not allow it" is one of the sentences she has typed lately. Their dynamic is well in place and totally agreeable and complementary to both of them.

As much as I adore her and am proud of her I must admit she did have a temper when she left for Europe 18 months ago and I got the brunt of it quite often. Not now! The new man put her straight. If she was tired or not feeling in a good mood, that was okay, he told her. But, she had no right to transfer her mood onto him. And, if she didn't like his suggestion as to what they would do on the weekend that was okay too. She was welcome to reject it, so long as she verbalized what she did want to do.

We were talking on Skype recently when she sort of cut me off quick and said, "Mum, I better clean up the apartment before P gets home." And, she has started painting and drawing again, at his suggestion: something I couldn't motivate her to do for the love of money. In short, she is besotted with him and could not be more poor right now, or more happy!

We are all very, very close and my marriage is very close; very intense. It sometimes gets off kilter and maybe that is because I have a sense that my husband could be happier and he has a sense that I could be happier and then we get a little unbalanced for a time until we take in again in a conscious way that our happiness depends on us both feeling that we are taking care of one another sufficiently well; that each of us is happy with the other.

We talked a little with each other around these sentiments and my husband happened to say at one point that he was cross with himself about something. That gave me the opportunity to repeat those particular words; to point out that he was much harder on himself than anyone else and that sometimes in life we just needed to let things go; to give ourselves a break and accept that we were not perfect; never would be perfect.

I only have so much opportunity to effect change. We are who we are. We all look through our eyes but what we see is very different. It is the best reason I can think of that man should find a mate: so that we can save one another from ourselves - at least, as far as that is possible.

Vulnerability and embarrassment

2011-11-29T02:28:00.000-08:00

I went to my group meditation class today and I was happy to get there in amongst a very complicated schedule right now. I had made it to no ‘calming’ activities last week – not yoga or Pilates or meditation and not even much walking of the dogs. So, I felt good to be there in amongst the group. I had had a good morning and nothing was standing in my way of just “letting go” and enjoying this special hour of my week.

However, about half way through the meditation hour I began to feel unwell. I was wearing a plug and I thought it might have been about that but I used the techniques I know to talk myself through that. It wasn’t my decision (well it was but I have a good imagination and anyway, I still use techniques I have been taught) and I had to let go and accept. But, just when I thought I was getting on top of the wooziness I broke out into a sweat and I realized that I needed water. It was a very hot day, the door and windows were closed and the energy from the other people had created a still, lifeless source of air.

I tried to convince myself that I was all right. An acquaintance had recently told me of being stuck in a tunnel in rural China and feeling that he couldn’t breathe and his wife had needed to talk him through that distress. So, I reminded myself that I had enough air to breathe and tried to assure myself that I was okay. Yet, with low blood pressure I know what it is to faint and it was becoming apparent that my body was refusing to co-operate with these thoughts and I was about to keel over.

I opened my eyes and could see that the rest of the people in the room were intensely into their own thing. They had no idea of my panic and trouble and I just could not disturb the meditation. I thought of trying to race out of the room to get water but I doubted I could make it without fainting. Momentarily, I thought of lying down on the floor and lying on my side. It was exactly what I wanted to do, but I was well aware participants would ‘feel’ this movement and come to my aid.

Eventually, I moved out of the chair and sat on the floor with my back to the wall and although I was far from well, the air was a little cooler down there and over a few minutes I started to feel that I could make it through to the end of the hour. Once the teacher asked people to open their eyes, I said that I was going for water. Of course, Rebecca came after me worried as to my welfare but I assured her I was okay and I returned to the room to say my ‘goodbyes’.

On reflection, the muggy, sultry, cloudy weather we have been experiencing had put my body into a severe migraine overload which began on the weekend. On Sunday, my stress maxed out and unable to process the events around me, I did manage to save myself by heading off to a coffee shop and settling down my breathing. Alas, there was not much I could do about the dreadful pain in my head, neck and shoulders. It was not until today that I had the good sense to put myself to bed this afternoon and later at the market, to buy myself a piece of almond nougat, and now, to drink a cup of coffee. Only migraine sufferers understand such techniques.

I have been thinking about this experience of the past few days. I went close to not being able to take care of myself and this made me feel intensely vulnerable. I was extremely embarrassed that I was unwell and extremely uncomfortable at the thought that I needed to ask for help. In fact, I could have been much more unwell – say, having a heart attack – and chances are high that I would have tried to fend for myself; to get myself home or to the hospital without seeking the help of another person.

I think this experience plays into my whole attitude about asking for things – kinky things and any number of practical things. Being vulnerable is an emotion I fear at the same time as being a doll that is vulnerable to those that play with her, turns me on. I fear the emotion of vulnerability and I crave the emotion of vulnerability; am deeply aroused by having zero control.

I cannot explain this incongruity. I cannot explain why I try so very hard to manage so much on my own at the same time as I seek to ‘let go’ and have all control taken away. I was thrilled to discover the silence in following my breath all the way to the top and the bottom of my breath; to stop controlling my breath and letting my breathing do it all by itself. That moment occurred a few weeks ago in the very room where I felt so embarrassed and vulnerable today. That the attention of the group would be drawn towards me was something I definitely did not want. I have absolutely no desire to be the centre of attention at the same time as I crave the attention of the dominant – to be his sole focus.

It is something I don’t have a handle on. I just feel incredibly grateful to have stumbled across BDSM techniques and the opportunity to explore the side of my nature that processes humiliation and vulnerability so positively.

The caveman

2011-11-27T04:01:00.000-08:00

In the last post I talked about my difficulties with asking or communicating with my husband about what I need and want. I think it is understood that this is a necessary skill and that it makes sense from every one's perspective for a 'bottom' to keep in touch with her 'Top'. There is a responsibility on the part of the 'bottom' to be active and not passive because only then can the 'Top' make the necessary adjustments or alterations to her life.

The fact that submission is a 'negotiation' can be overlooked and I am guilty of overlooking that fact. I think it relates to all the material I have read and all the blogs I have read where things between the Top and the bottom, or the Dominant and the submissive, or the Master and the slave have a certain rigidity to them. Somewhere in all that reading, I can simply forget that in any relationship there is going to be negotiation and why would a power exchange be any different?

In 'power exchange' relationships there is a tendency to want to be pleasing that is more profound than in most other kinds of relationships, I think. This is compounded by the sense that if one is not pleasing and does not push oneself to commit to the wants of the Dominant, there will be a sense of disappointment and failure all round. If one's body belongs to the Dominant, and that thought is often expressed in just that way, does one even have a right to say that one cannot do this or that?

No matter how hard one tries to effect the best outcomes, we are all fallible and there will be conflict. One of my commenters, rollymo, pointed out that he thinks of himself as a "caveman" and my husband does as well. He feels deeply responsible for me, the children and even his extended family and for various reasons, work and solving problems is something that he takes very seriously. On the whole, he and I are 'at one' with how we live. We decided a long time ago that I'd be the one to deal with the domesticity and children whilst he'd be responsible for bringing in the annual income.

In the movie, 'Closer', one of the characters played by Clive Owen, interrogates his partner played by Julia Roberts after she admits she had been making love with an acquaintance played by Jude Law. Julia Roberts' character is upset and guilty and she answers his questions until she becomes exasperated enough to spit out as him, "Why do you want to know?" He answers angrily, "Because I am a cave man."

I never was more attracted to Clive Owen than at that moment, the same man who minutes before had referred to himself as a "Sultan bearing gifts" when he handed his girlfriend a gorgeous pair of shoes he had brought home for her (which turned out to be a gift related to his guilt of having a one night affair himself). Something told me right then that he would stop at nothing to keep his girlfriend. And, so he did. I could sense his sense of ownership of her. I think I understood that character well because my husband has that same sense of 'ownership' about me. It is a good thing but it can lead us into the muddy waters of conflict. This is how it goes:

His worrying mind has him up late working away on matters or planning strategies which means he can gets very little sleep and I can get very little sex or attention. There have been periods of time where this can last weeks and in this case it lasted nearly six weeks. He gets more tired and I get more frustrated and upset. I cease to come to him; either to rescue him or to rescue myself. I escape into a world of my own: often a rather negative or neutral sort of world of 'endurance'. I vow not to complain or show any upset but underneath the surface, it builds. It builds despite all efforts to stop it building and eventually, when I least expect it, I blow. I express my distress.

This inappropriate expression of my distress (which could be just a few quiet words all to the way to an angry venting, or something in between) is not something he responds to well. For one thing, he can't understand why I waited so long to express my distress. He can't see why I don't come and tell him how I am not coping. For another thing, he never accepts this sort of behaviour from me and at first blush what he wants is an apology about my behaviour before he will consent to discuss anything he might have done. This can leave me confused, frustrated and in despair as to how misunderstood I am; how the energy is going into all the wrong places. Later, I can see that I approached it the wrong way but at the time I feel that the issue is about his bruised ego rather than addressing the problem at hand.

It must always be remembered that perfectionists don't like making mistakes and they don't like criticisms of their behaviour. They are inclined to 'shoot the messenger'. I equate it to slaying the person who should even suggest that their behaviour is flawed. Perfectionists can be angry with the person who would do such a thing and one's girl is particularly marked for an Exocet missile because she should know better. It is just not the way she should talk to him, he feels. And in any case, does she not realize that he is a caveman, doing his caveman thing: looking after her!!

I can rationalize all this; write it out coherently. But, I assure you that when I am put upon at such times, I am incredibly, inconsolably upset. I spoke about this response to my psychologist and told her that in my mind I escape; I am there in body but not in spirit. I find anger directed towards me by a person acting as a dominant to be a very scary phenomena.

In my opinion, this earthy, dominant, 'deeply connected to his girl' caveman sort of personality requires a rather resilient and naturally submissive girl. She needs to have some sort of innate sense of what things between them are all about and she needs to be active in her submission: willing to come to him and negotiate and communicate her needs; to maintain the connection; to understand the way his mind works and his motivations and dare I say, obsessive, perfectionist traits.

In my particular situation, there are several reasons for maintaining the mindset of a 'doll'. Without that mindset I struggle a bit as a human being because the doll allows my sexual state to be a part of my day and my every day; she gives me a positive and relaxed state of mind. She makes me glow and she keeps me happy. But more than that, she is the perfect complement to the caveman state of mind. He wants to protect his girl and he expects that she will support him. Anything less than this and he is in turmoil; unable to nurture. The bond between them is temporarily broken and they are both in pain.

When I was introduced to the dolli within me - to cindi - it felt right, right away. Lost in the mindset of cindi, I am blissfully happy. My husband is blissfully happy. We fit together.When cindi is not present in my day and in my life, I struggle to deal with a husband who is a caveman; a perfectionist; a worrier; a perpetual talker; a man who thrives on a deep and sustaining connection with his girl; a naturally dominant man who married, quite purposely I believe, a quiet, gentle, giving, submissive type of girl. When cindi is present, nothing is too much trouble; the sun perpetually shines; the caveman is appropriate and pleasing. cindi understands that it is her role to counterbalance the cave man; to give; to feed; to nurture and listen; to love unselfishly and unconditionally.

cindi does not worry. This is the perfect antidote to a caveman who spends a good deal of his time, day and night, worrying. cindi is always appreciated and welcome by both of us.

The vital ingredient

2011-11-22T00:15:00.000-08:00

My husband's desire for BDSM containment practices waxes and wanes. The times he binds me in some way are rare and tend to relate to a time when I am "used". I'd prefer it otherwise. I love those evenings when he comes into the bedroom and I am already in bed and he ties my wrists together for the whole night, for example. He might go back to his study for a few hours but the benefits for me are considerable, even when I am alone. I sleep extraordinarily blissfully when constrained in some way and I get the pleasure of being sexually aroused all night but without anything that I can possibly do about it (sort of). For reasons that can't be well explained, the fact that he has chosen to do this for me and to me fills me with a deep sense of being loved.

Every now and then, he ties my wrists together and then my ankles and then some rope between my wrists and ankles. In this way, I am in the foetal position on my side, my left hand side if you prefer more detail, and in this position and after several hours, I am not at all comfortable. Yet, I am entirely comfortable really, comfortable in my discomfort and I find this position deeply, deeply arousing. I sleep well but fitfully. I drift in and out of a sexual sort of consciousness whereby I am aware of every fibre of my being. My head is full of sexual sensation but not a thought can really be produced. I am simply, a sexual object.

Maybe only a handful of times, he has bound my whole middle section of my body, just as Popeye did for Olive Oil, round and round my body with the rope. This is quite marvellous. I get to watch him at work, which I love. From a farm and an able seaman he is perfectly at home handling rope and I find watching him quite hypnotic.

Busy as he is, occupied with many business projects at once, I rather doubt that he has much notion that I would dearly, dearly loved to be tied up and that tonight would be good. I don't think that thought has entered his radar. I know, and I know full well that I would only need to walk into his study later this evening, or mention to him on the couch when we have a cup a tea after dinner that I would love to be all tied up in bed this evening and he would do this for me. If I were to ask nicely...not complain that it has been a while or anything vaguely closely to any sort of criticism...I feel almost certain that he would do this for me. My happiness is something that he wants for sure.

And yet, I cannot guarantee you, sitting here at my desk in amongst making the dinner that I can do this. It seems agony to have to ask for the things I want. I can't think of anything harder. What's hard about it, you may well ask.

May I please have a spanking?
Would you please bind my wrists together tonight?
Could you please come to bed and use me?

They are simple sentences. I don't think he would say "no" especially since he knows how hard it is for me to ask him for these things.

But, why? Why is it so hard?

As irrational and just plain dumb as this is going to sound, I am going to say it anyway. The reason I find it almost impossible to ask for anything is because in my heart of hearts I believe that if he loved me enough, he would do these things for me without me needing to ask for them. He would be aware of the distress it causes me for him to not do them and he would come to me of his own volition and contain me; correct me; love me. When he doesn't come to me to do those activities that I associate with love and care, I feel abandoned and rejected. To come to him is to acknowledge that abandonment and intense vulnerability that it is to be me.

Yes, those feelings would disappear the moment he resolved the situation by responding to my request. Yes, I can resolve non-compliance by "getting off my bimbo haunches and executing", for example. But, I often feel on my own and on my own it can be easier to wallow in a sense of lack of love than it can be to solve the problem. I like to be forced to do things because I interpret the force as love and care. He cares enough to enforce the requirement. I matter. I matter to him.

On the weekend my husband spanked me quite firmly and shortly after that in the car on the way to do an errand together he said, "You really liked that spanking, didn't you? It has settled you." I am not great at talking to him about my responses and I simply said, "I haven't made a secret of the fact that spankings make me happy." The spanking did indeed carry me through the day happily. Even being told to mind my manners makes me feel loved (so long as he is not angry with me. I deplore anger directed at me.)

This incredibly profound sense of vulnerability inside of me has roots so deep within my psyche that I can tap into them but do nothing to alter them. I am capable of feeling enriched; loved; adored; wanted but at the same time I can question what is lovable about me. It is a horrible sense of being unworthy; different; not good enough that I fight with most days.

Then, I am used or corrected or contained; loved; and the sunshine comes out. I beam with pleasure; find love and light in everything I see and touch; feel an immense sense of love inside of me and surrounding me. I feel worthy of the attention and love.

This 'asking' business is that important; a skill I must hone. Nothing could be more important to my state of mind.

And while I am on a roll...

2011-11-20T18:45:00.000-08:00

I've just finished the first subject of the writing course; as in, just posted my last module and responded to other responses from classmates. One of the gals noted that Bart and I seemed made for one another - had moved onto the next stage of writing, which is to use one another to make editorial changes; to respectfully convince one another that the other needs to make changes/improvements. I responded that I had set my sights on Bart from the get go. Okay, Bart was the only male, but that is not the only reason. Bart is irreverent. Bart loves to tell jokes and most important of all, Bart likes to laugh and have FUN!

Having fun in a D/s relationship is probably the most important thing of all. Having fun in LIFE is probably the most important thing of all. It is why I watch the 'Big Bang Theory' most nights with my boys; because Sheldon makes me laugh.

cindi can be really silli; dumdum; an airhead. But, cindi has a blast. cindi has lots and lots of fun; giggling away madly...yes, sometimes even at her own jokes. She is ditzi. She can't even spell! But, here's the thing: She doesn't care.

Sure, sometimes a D/s relationship is all business; sometimes things are serious. But, laughing is very good therapy for the soul. Try it. You'll see what I mean. Well, Bart gets it...

An update: The search for peace of mind

2011-11-20T04:29:00.000-08:00

I have just said goodnight to my teenage son who is struggling with obsessive thoughts related to his perfectionism. He shared with me that twice this weekend his mind had locked in on a single issue related to his study that had him searching for the perfect answer relentlessly whilst precious time to attend to all the other work was lost.

We talked about that; that there is more than one way to solve a problem in most cases; that he doesn't need to feel alone when he could have asked me for help; for a friend for help; anything but sit there and worry. It is harder now because exams are just a few days away and that means the stress in his life is increasing, and the stress makes it all the more likely that he will have an urge to obsess about the fact that something or other is not perfect.

I did my best to to turn the situation into a positive outcome: better that it happened over the weekend and now he can remind himself in the exams NOT to do what he did at home; remind himself that he can move on with the exam. Once his mind is more relaxed having done more of the paper, he might well find that the missing fact that was bothering him just comes to him all on its own.

Finally, I sent him off to sleep with a meditative script that I pretty much have learned by heart now. He was instructed to think about his feet in the bed, his fingers, his head - to notice how they felt; not to judge the thought in any way but simply to notice. I find myself altering the script now and I had him focus more on his breath. I told him to let go; that there was no more worry today; that it was time to go to sleep; to let go and allow his mind to drift.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world."

I repeated that several times, gave him a hug, rubbed his head, kissed him and repeated the mantra again several times before I left the room.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world."

With a mind that can focus on worry I know what he is going through and I know too how to encourage him to "let go", in the same way that I encourage you to let go; as I encourage myself here, right now, to "let go".

This is what 'bimbohood' is all about. This is why I do what I do. The search for peace - for my own peace and for the peace of those I care about - is my purpose.

Thank you

2011-10-27T22:57:00.000-07:00

Some readers will be aware that recently I was unsure as to whether to continue writing here and that I made a determination to keep writing. As one reader rightly pointed out, I would stop writing when the need to write here went away. Of course, there is no knowing about the timing of such things in advance. It happens when it happens.

Some readers may also be aware that the anniversary of my birth day is a difficult day for me. I have never really come to terms with this. I can offer no plausible explanation. I have just come to accept it as a fact.

Today is my birthday. Today, I am fifty five years old. Curiously, I have written 555 posts here. For reasons I can't fully explain, today is the day I have decided to write my last post here on Vesta.

It seems only fair to offer those readers who have read here over time and come to know me through these pages, some sort of explanation. Generally speaking, I feel that "Vesta" has said all that she should say. For a long time, I worked on the basis that I could combine Vesta and cindi into one entity: thus they are both on these pages. I was wrong. They are really two quite separate entities and the entity that needs a voice from now on is not Vesta but cindi. I am most happy and most myself when cindi is at the forefront of my mind.

For a long time, I held onto independence of thought (Vesta) at the same time as I craved (and continue to crave) that state of grace that is cindi. I am most happy when I have a very deep connection; when I accept my nature; my place and the limitations and advantages of that place. Both my heart and my head tell me that this place of grace is most easily attained in a quiet place; that as long as I hold onto the position of hosting this site I won't reach the place that I seek.

I want you to know that I leave here in excellent shape. I have just returned from having lunch with my husband in the city. I lost count of the times he told me how beautiful I looked; how "hot" I still am; how lucky he is to have me; how happy I have made him; how much he has revelled in the places I have taken him on this journey (and whilst journeys have no end if you are a wanderer, the lucky ones do reach moments when they feel they have arrived).

I am rich in love. A loving husband, the soul mate of my life and four handsome, intelligent and loving children have made my life abundantly rich.

I don't discount either the great feelings of warmth I have felt here. I felt truly wrapped in your care a few weeks ago when you wrote in to speak with me. I had thought perhaps I no longer resonated with you.

Although he will forever be anonymous, I give huge credit to my mentor of the past few years. I don't know how he did it but he tapped into my soul, my heart and the very essence of me to truly transform my mind. Words cannot convey my gratitude. Words cannot convey how sorry I am for the times I disappointed him.

For me, submission is synonymous with connection: a connection between people that is felt in one's heart, one's soul and the deepest recesses of the mind. It is not for everyone but it is very much for me. Whilst I no longer will write here, nothing has really changed. I still believe in love. I still believe in being true to one's nature. I will still live as I was meant to live.

The blog will remain. You are welcome to read here as it pleases you, whenever it pleases you. I wish you all the very best and shall think of you fondly. Thank you for having me and for taking such good care of me. You were very kind.

With love,
Vesta
xo

Forever

2011-10-25T15:16:00.000-07:00

There is something about the word 'forever' or 'never' that is just so abundantly challenging. One immediately thinks of all the days and nights to come; of the years folded out in front of one's eyes and dismisses the idea as laughable.

"What do you mean I can never...?"

But consider this: I can never read this screen in front of me again without putting on my reading glasses. Never again. I have accepted that. It is a bore and bothersome but I can either accept that limitation or not bother reading and writing here at the computer. Case closed. I accept it.

When I was being 'trained' I had to accept my limit of 'bimbo speeki' if I wanted to talk to my mentor. I knew that I could NEVER use regular language. For some weeks or even months, I found that concept an enormous struggle. Over time, the limit became like the closest of companions and I revelled in the knowledge that I never ever had to decide how to speak. I stopped railing against the limit. I embraced the limit. I LOVED the limit. I MISS the limit.

Last night, I was prepared to say that a 'forever' limit on my sexuality was out of the question. This morning I feel more open about that.

Fear

2011-10-24T02:53:00.000-07:00

One of my greatest pleasures over the past several years since I have explored the power exchange arrangement is that I get to experience fear. Not in my childhood I don't think, at least I don't remember a situation right now, but since I have been an adult I have so enjoyed being a little frightened.

I don't enjoy the sort of fear where I truly fear for my life or safety, of course, but I adore feeling the sort of fear where I get a tickle in my throat and my heart skips a beat; where the world stands still for a moment or two and I realize that I am in one of those moments where the Dominant has pulled me up with a round turn.

I have a love/hate relationship with those moments. On the one hand, I never feel more alive than in such a moment but on the other hand, I know I will pay. Big time.

I try to distract. I beg for forgiveness. I express my sorrow to the extent I can. Fear pulls me over to the side of the ledger where I try to expunge myself from consequences.

If I am not let off the hook, not only do I get to experience fear but I get to experience force. That is, I am forced to push through the fear and experience it completely.

There is no education quite like the lesson of fear pursued in its entirety. The Dom will have his way and I will accept my place of subservience.

What a thrill.

Age

2011-10-22T18:29:00.000-07:00

Bart's currently writing a critique of a story of mine. He hasn't finished because he really is flat chat with his life. I don't know how he manages to do what he does and I know he'll pull through. I'm not worried, even though I have to write a report on the effect of his critique on me and how I felt about being 'critical friends' in a pretty short space of time. Quietly and privately we are probably both freaking out, but in our messages to one another we say things like, "No worries" That's cool" "The story is in desperate need of a woman's point of view or "I know the story should probably be 50,000 and not 3,000. I'm completely open to critical analysis."

We are, in fact, both noobie writers, trying our hearts out; wanting to hold onto what is core in ourselves but knowing that we have so much to learn. We both love the course. We both love our lives. And we are both happily married. It is a great partnership.

Bart and I have incredibly different styles of writing; write in completely different genres. Whilst he couldn't send through a finished product he sent what he had done so far this morning and how fascinating it is to read the thoughts of a young man (I'm sorry but for me 30 is only just starting out in life) and how he relates to the thoughts of a woman who dreams of control and of submitting to a man.

I must say he has not wilted from the task and I am very proud of him for that. But, his age (and my age) did show through when he wrote that I used "antiquated" language for the woman which forced him to think of her as having a "staid world view" as opposed to her "violent" fantasy world. He was referring to words like "bottom" and "hospital corners" (when making a bed). I had to stop and digest that; that my choice of words was giving me away. I suppose young men always say "ass" these days, do they? Hmmmm My female yoga teacher always refers to the "bottom" and she is 29. He certainly has a point. As a contemporary young male, he noticed these things and so he should.

What really had me sit up was when he said that the young woman in question associated the man she met who did eventually control her, seduce her and bed her with the Headmaster in her dreams. He made that leap in his mind. Well, I had not intended that. I didn't mean for a reader to think that she wanted the Headmaster. I intended that the fantasies of tight control meant to tell the reader that she was open to tight control; but not with the Headmaster. The Headmaster is gruff; inflexible; shows no mercy and no affection of any kind. He just dishes out discipline because that is what gets results. If girls know they will get the cane then they will obey. It suits him. It works. But, that is all it is. Nothing else. She doesn't want that at all! She wants to be loved; to be kissed and cuddled. Sure, some days may have her thinking he is a bit of nasty old Headmaster. But, she doesn't want the Headmaster!

Something got lost in the translation; probably the best reason so far to expand this story into a much longer story where I can really explain and explore this woman's state of mind. You have to feel a little sorry for Bart. I mean, what are the chances that he would get the kinky woman writer? How often must one come along - perhaps one every five years? Perhaps the next story could be a simple murder mystery. I saw a production of Sweeney Todd recently. A little murder might be nice... Honestly, I really can't imagine it. Poor Bart will just have to do his best with that sweet little lady who talks about hospital corners and bondage and discipline all on the same page. Ohhhhh dear.

The greatest thing...

2011-10-20T17:53:00.000-07:00

I saw my psychologist for the last time this week . We hadn't had a session since August but she wanted to know that I was all right before we went our separate ways. And, you know how I like to please people... So, we did that and she asked how I felt and I answered her questions.

Then, she told me how well I had done; how hard I had worked and how well it had all gone and feeling the need to reciprocate (that's what well mannered people do after all) I thanked her for her assistance and she said it was entirely her pleasure...she photocopied something she wanted to give me...I wrote her the cheque, she gave me the receipt and we were drawing things to a close. She wanted me to know that it was never entirely over between us...that if I ever wanted an emergency session to ring her mobile...that if I wanted to talk over something next year that she would be here. Very sweet; very reassuring. Very caring and kind.

I felt moved to ask her something about her life. I asked if she was still very busy and she said it was hectic; that before Medicare changed the rules people had come to her for the classic problems - anxiety and depression. But, now that Medicare paid the bulk of 12 (now 10 sessions) people presented with other issues.

"What sort of issues are they," I asked
"Existential issues."
"Like, what is the meaning of life?"
"Yes."
"Oh dear."
"I hate it. I don't have the answers."
"No. Do you think people are placing too much emphasis on performance? Forgetting that at the end of the day all that matters is the connections we make?"
"Yes. Connections is all that really matters. Nobody dies worried about much else than if they loved and were loved adequately."

How about that! All that time I was seeing Michelle I was not sure we were enough alike and it turns out we were entirely the same.

Limbo

2011-10-19T04:37:00.000-07:00

I have received some lovely and very helpful comments to my last post and I do intend to respond to each one of them. If you put them together they tell a story - little fragments of me as you have come to know me. I just put up Jake's comment. He made me laugh. Ah, Jake, if you only knew how little self-control I have. Of course, I would peak at it! It would be like saying, "See that New York cheesecake on your desk? Well, you are not to touch it! Now, honestly what are the chances that I would be able to walk away?? So it is with the Vesta/cindi blog.

Anyways, heaven only knows why thoughts are gushing out of me at this time but that's what is happening. So, for now I am just going to keep putting the thoughts down here and see if I can read the tea leaves. Part of me hates that Sir J is right; that I am not ready to put this thing down. It makes me so desperately want to put it down...that I have this need still...but he is right. I feel there are things that have to be expressed or I will explode.

I don't know how to say it any other way. What happened to me over the past two years was a true transformation. It wasn't something I expected to go away and it didn't go away. If anything, things got more intense in the past few months and cindi became a much bigger part of my life. My husband calls me cindi almost exclusively. He has become adept in taking me to that mindset and keeping me there. It is a completely freeing, 'out of body' experience and afterwards, I don't hit the ground for many hours. I float in a bubble of satisfaction. You simply can't take the smile off my face. For opening "Pandora's box", I will be forever grateful.

But, there are emotions going on within me and for some weeks now that are not so attractive - a sense of sadness mixed in with a sense of waste and even some anger and disappointment. He tried his best, I think, to prepare me and encourage me and help me to understand his decision but cindi never really did understand. She said to him several times comments like, "But how dis ebin pussibl. Wood leef babi lone? How ken leef cindi lone n nebr chek in on her?" One of the last things he said to cindi was that it was "ber sitin"and that cindi "hab lots trennin". That is true. She did have lots of training and maybe it was time for her to venture out into the world all on her own.

I am not proud to say that I cannot overcome my feelings of "abandonment". I want to overcome them and on certain days I convince myself that I have overcome those feelings. But, honestly they never go away. And, in amongst those feelings is the sense of waste. "Such a waste" someone used to say regularly and that is how I feel. What arbitrary measure is being used here to deny cindi?

Of course, I'm aware enough of the real world and its limitations to acknowledge that there are good reasons for caution and restraint. I do understand. But, cindi does not really understand at all. Her sense of faith and trust and loyalty and smallness doesn't allow her to understand such a grown up notion as that someone is there, alive, well and breathing but not able to speak to her; absent for an unknown length of time; quite probably forever.

And, she wonders, would it have been better to say "bi bi" without hope rather than "c u l8r" and be left wondering forever if he might return to give her some energy some day? Is she stuck in the land of limbo, poor bimbo, unable to accept?

There is no regret here. It is a far, far better thing to have had this thing and lost it than never to have had it at all.I will never feel differently about it. I feel ultra confident about that statement. And, cindi is not just sitting on the shelf pining either. She is getting on with life, is cindi. It is just that she lost her friend and that is rather sad.

Crossroads

2011-10-18T12:09:00.000-07:00

I am just going to write the thoughts as they come...

I was having a shower last night when a thought demanded my attention...maybe I should close the Vesta blog...go and close it right this instant. The thought was strong and as I let it wash over me, I realized that the thought was about the sense I had been having that "Vesta" or "cindi" or a combination of both those entities was making it difficult for me to move on. I had been at this writing course for a couple of months now and still all the thoughts and all the ideas led back to sex and kinky sex at that. If I closed the blog and shut off that avenue to express all that, maybe my mind could free itself to think about other things to write.

I willed myself to go to sleep but by 5 am I was awake again and the thought returned. But, how would I do that? Leave the blog there but take away my reading list (thus making it more difficult for me to read other blogs)? What of my friends? If I close the blog do I cut myself off from the email address(es) from where I communicate with them? Do I give a select few my real life address instead? I just didn't have all the answers - wasn't sure what to do about the details - worried that I would pine without this outlet...so many details to consider. What of my tumblr account? I love my tumblr account (which was a gift to me) and the opportunity to record a photograph that turns me on. But, how do I keep that account open if the rest is closed?

In some curious way, it feels that my sexuality has taken over my life. I am not at all sure you are meant to feel this way in your mid 50s. Aren't you meant to move onto other concerns and interests by now? Aren't you meant to write about social issues and the world at large and all the thoughts that go through regular (non-kinky) peoples' heads?

Rather than settle down, my sexuality is stronger than ever. My fantasies are rich and detailed and full of containment and power over me...all sorts of restraint and and taking control of me. My body responds to those thoughts; continually and repeatedly looks for touch and use; hungers for it.

I correspond with a girl not unlike me and I just read her latest entry. It is so apparent why we were hooked up with each other (put in contact, I mean). We are so alike; fixated really on sex and control. I've lived a quieter life than she has but our minds relate to one another in a way few other minds do.

Yes, I go about my life and I achieve and function. But, this has been an obsession for sure and maybe the outlet of this blog is merely feeding that obsession. Maybe if I stopped writing here I could simply focus on my writing assignments and start a little novel and just be like a regular 50+ year old woman.

This year has been so full - of travel, of change, of loss and of love. I am blessed as a woman and a human being; incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by love and family; thrilled to have learned what I have and to have the opportunity to learn to write well via this course. It is a stroke of luck to have Bart who was a bit surprised but not shocked by the short story of lust and control that I sent him - who was willing to see it as a first draft with potential just as I saw the potential in the first draft he sent me.

But, it can't continue like this, can it? Such characters are so vastly in the minority. I am so vastly in the minority. I think my thoughts and my characters and my plots have to deal more with the other 99.9% of people in the world.

I have long held the view that these wants and needs of mine (and presumably yours) live in many more people than are willing to admit to them. But, even Bart called it "racy" and Lord knows what the faculty people will think of it.

Part of me says the solution lies in letting the short story format go...in creating stories about lust and desire and love and conflict and struggle that evolve over many more thousands of words; that that might provide the opportunity to show how these things come to pass; what makes us tick in a more convincing and acceptable way.

If I close the blog, will my thoughts move on to other subjects or will I simply frustrate myself losing the opportunity to say here what is more likely to receive a sympathetic audience?

I feel that I have reached some sort of crossroad in my life and development and I honestly don't know which path to take. Has anyone any thoughts? Thank you.

On being a girl

2011-10-17T16:38:00.000-07:00

It is so lovely being a girl. I can't begin to imagine what life woud be like were I not a girl. Poor old boys don't have nearly half the fun. This morning, I woke on fire. Does that happen to boys? Well, it does to me frequently. I lay there imagining the most strict of discplinarians in my life, providing me with intense limits and once I had done that I was ready to greet the day.

It turned out to be a glorious morning. The birds were chirping away in merriment (there is very little bird life in Italty. I have no idea why...) and the sun was mild but warm creating the perfect light. And, I didn't feel jet lagged any more and when I looked in the mirror my face had lost that tired look. Why, I looked pretty good - skin glowing, eyes clear and bright. Yayayayay.

I thought about my day. It was...Tuesday. Maybe my husband and I would go to the market...maybe not...but I did have meditation class at 1.00 o'clock and I looked forward to getting back to that. Surprisingly, my concern about the work I had to do imminently had passed. I would certainly need to get it done and get it done in a timely way but it was do-able, I decided.

I thought about what to wear, and remembering that the weather forecast was for a warm 25 celcius degree day, I thought about what sort of summer outfit I wanted to wear. I remembered the dress I had bought in Venice.

We had been gliding along the narrow laneways on our way to San Marco from Dossidoro, my husband was on the phone and we walked past a small boutique with a navy blue linen dress on the mannequin at the door. The shop keeper had pinned a sign to the dress stating that it was reduced from 143 euros to 50 euros. I am not a hunter but I am a gatherer and I tapped my husband on the shoulder to say that I was going in. He followed me in but was standing in a separate part of the store to make his call.

Without a common language I pointed to the dress, the shopkeeper took it off the mannequin, pointed to the change room and I tried it on. It was a perfect fit I discovered when I came out to the mirror and I walked to my husband and asked in his ear, "Do you like this?". He nodded and within another minute I had handed over 50 euros and we were on our way. (I don't really like carrying money when I am with my husband, not wishing to make my own purchases, but a girl knows a bargain when she sees one. Trust me. She is born with this skill.)

When we got home from our trip I hand washed the dress and ironed it up (It is a very soft linen. It does crease but in a very soft way; quite unlike the sort of linen dress I have had before which put me off linen as a fabric.) and this morning when I put it on I was delighted with it. It actually has a French (tres jolie) feel to me; very feminine and very Spring and it made me feel very feminine and happy.

That prompted me to get out a more chunky set of pearls than I usually wear day to day and that again prompted me to put on a full apron that an old lady friend had made for me many years ago and which I keep to remember her. It is decorated with a little lace on the sides and I felt very homely in it; very 1950s. It made me smile.

That prompted me to make blueberry pancakes and that made my son very happy. Suddenly, all the world looked and smelled and tasted great. Huuuummmm. Right here, right now, all is well in my world...

Do men have these lovely moments when the world feels so right....when your outfit makes you sing, and you feel prompted to do nice things for the people in your life? Do you think of a shirt you bought when you travelled and it conjurs up all sorts of romantic notions? Do you feel happy just because you woke up feeling alive and manly and vibrant? Or, is that why you have us around?

Feet on the ground

2011-10-16T17:42:00.000-07:00

For reasons I can't quite tap into, I haven't had a great desire to talk about our holiday. But, the simple fact is that it was divine - three whole weeks to spend with just my husband: no kids, no responsibilities, no house to keep, no extra curricula activities. We made love over and over and there was one particularly memorable morning where it seems that my moans and groans that spanned an hour and half were overheard. The Canadian husband shared that information with us over dinner once he realized that it was we who occupied the apartment closest to the pool. Oh well!

Of course, it is not always that easy to put one's feet on the ground - to get on with the business of daily living: school runs and messy kitchens and needing to put everybody else's needs in front of your own. I do understand the process of accepting the mundane again after such a dreamy, ideal time. Having said that, I find myself particularly out of kilter this morning and I don't like that feeling one little bit.

What I do know is that when I feel that way, I need to put my house in order and I mean that quite literally. I need to make it appear orderly and in that way, I feel more in control. So, I have done that but the restless feeling remains. Right now I should be having a late breakfast, or an espresso and a little bun in Radda, or Castellina in Chianti or in Sienna or Rome... Or, I should be being used, just wallowing in the glory of being used; fucked and fucked and fucked.

I think my body became used to daily use and not just for a few minutes but for hours. I think I became used to a little life with just my husband and me and the strangers we met. I think my taste buds became acquainted with crusty, thick Italian bread and ripe tomatoes and mozzarella cheese and wine. Lots of wine.

We are both feeling the loss; both talking about the next trip; both wondering why we have to work; to think. He's missing his rented Mercedes and zooming around all those corners. He asked for prosciutto when I went to the market yesterday. I'm missing the Tuscan hills; the sounds of guns in the still morning air and I am missing the changing of colour of the trees that must surely be taking place now. In my mind's eye I see the monastery we visited and already the leaves on the grape vines must surely be witness to reds and oranges. How lovely it would have been to have seen that.

Of course, I am fiddling here while Rome burns. I simply must start that assignment. But, what a bore it is to be so responsible! Exactly how old do you have to be to be reckless and carefree and do as you please?

I know. I know. This feeling will pass. But, when?

Lovely long nails

2011-10-16T00:12:00.000-07:00

When I get my weekly writing assignment in there is a little window of opportunity, before I think about the next one and the major assignment to be done, to have a little fun. Call me strange, but coming to this web journal is what I call fun. So, here I am.

Today has been a good day. I went down to the nail salon and asked for a new set and when it was time to determine the length, I made sure they kept them long; longer, in fact, than I have ever had them before. Times have moved on and I don't have the pleasure of sharing that information with anyone any more. Remember when getting a long set of nails was incredibly hard for me, in spite of expectations? Well, now I don't really have any expectations to deal with, except my own. A set of long nails was what *I * wanted today. I recall that thought actually earlier today as I sat there. It was a little lonely to know that my sharing days were over; that I wouldn't get the pleasure of making someone else happy. But, even so, I knew that I needed very long nails right now and I was entirely correct about that.

For one thing, they are incredibly beautiful. My fingers look amazing and I feel very graceful; contained; at peace. My husband wanted to see them, of course and he wondered if I would be able to manage. "Are you sure you can type all right with them?" he asked. But, I can type perfectly well with them. In fact, I feel more balanced and able with them this length than the way they were before.

It is a strange and wondrous thing how much I took to heart all that I learned over the past couple of years. So much of the 'education' has become ingrained; so much of what I learned feels as if it was always this way; as if *I* was always this way. Of course, I was not always this way. I never pined for long nails before I learned how to have the mindset of a doll. I had no real idea that by being contained in various ways I would find my peace and my contentment. It didn't really occur to me that I was desperately in need of being saved. But, I was. I was desperately in need of being saved.

It is true. I had lots and lots of training. I have changed for good; for the good. But, ohhhh, how utterly marvellous it would be to share such a day as I once did. My goodness, you would think I would stop missing those conversations. But, I strongly suspect, I never shall.

Roots in the ground

2011-10-14T18:01:00.000-07:00

I always knew that I was going to have to hit the ground running. There was the fact that three weeks washing was awaiting me (yes, I did show him how to use the washing machine), that one son had been ill and still needed attention, that the school term had already begun, that I was late with a big writing assignment, that two suitcases needed to be unpacked and so on and so on...

At first, I recognize that I have a mountain to climb and I just put one foot in front of the other and climb. But, by day three, I feel rattled. I want my house (and my life) in order. I want some time to myself to get things done. I want some sleep and I want to go to the nail salon and get a new set of nails.

I wouldn't exactly call this perfectionism. Would you? I just want my ducks in a row, that's all. Is that a tinge of OCD? Whatever you call it, I want it.

There is where the submission comes in because I know I need to submit to the chaos; to accept it; nay, even embrace it and recognize that instead of letting it derail me internally, I can simply continue to chip away at it and one day soon, I will look around and most things will be in their place. I will be in my place. And, all will be right in my world.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world. Huuuuummmmm. Huuuuuuuum." My meditation teacher is a "recovering perfectionist" and every lesson, this is what she says.

When things get hectic and when there is this sense that you don't know in what direction to go because there is work in all directions, the trick is to stand still for a minute or two and register that this is just a little thing. Really, nothing is wrong at all.

Life is so often a state of mind. Turn your thinking around and turn your life around.Take a deep breath; let the stress go.

Keep in mind the root chakra; imagine those roots that exist in your body and make their way down into the earth, grounding you; supporting you.

I asked my meditation teacher before I went on holiday what I might do to ease migraine headaches which I felt was related to certain types of cloudy light.

"Remember, your root chakra," she said. The more you are supported by your roots, the less migraine headaches you will have."

I do that now. If I feel a little head achy I stop and feel the support of the earth under my feet and when I open my eyes, my head feels clear.

So much of what we feel, good or bad, relates to our thoughts and perceptions rather than what life is dishing up. I am in an untidy state and I don't like it. But, it won't last forever and it won't exactly kill me to deal with it. Everything will be entirely all right. Everything is just fine.

(P.S. If you were wondering if this is for you, my dear, you are entirely correct.)

Mrs. Robinson

2011-10-13T01:22:00.000-07:00

Writing about my inner most secrets here is completely comfortable for me. I have been doing it for years now, after all. I would surely have given up a long time ago if I felt squeamish at all.

Talking about such matters face to face is an entirely different matter. Sure, I discussed issues face to face recently with men I had made friends with on the Internet, but I knew they were like minded souls who had no issues at all with any matter I had raised here. It was not difficult. On the contrary, it was a pleasure.

I don't bring up matters of my sexuality with other people - people who I assume are of the vanilla persuasion. When someone else does - "Would you like a spanking?" one friend asked his wife when she was cheeky one time when we visited them. "Ohhh, yes please," she responded enthusiastically - I try to pretend I haven't the slightest idea what they are talking about. I can suddenly get terribly shy as if, were I to acknowledge their repartee, I am making a complete confession.

Now that I am doing a writing course I find myself unwilling to hide completely. I have spilled a few more beans as each week has gone by. We were discussing "Theory" this past week and what that might mean to a writer when I realized that my style of writing lends to the theories of psychoanalysis, which was entirely suitable to discuss. This felt very liberating; allowing my inner self to seep out into the real world.

We are required to partner up with another student for the purposes of critical evaluation. Perusing the list of participants it was not lost on me that in my group there was a sole male student who just happened to be currently living in China. Bart (we shall call him) was my man! If anyone was going to accept my kinky nature it was Bart: bright, 30, adventurous, an intrepid traveller with an astounding imagination; much more imaginative than me and writing in the sc-fi genre.

We were meant to team up in week 5 but I laid out my case early. Why didn't we team up, I suggested. I was interested in peace and calm and he was interested in chaos and confusion. We would be good for one another: get ourselves out of our comfort zones. Bart took to the notion immediately and I laugh every time he sends me an email. Here I am thinking that I am telling him something that will shock and he returns a salvo back far more shocking than I could ever be. He has turned out to be wonderful value.

Perhaps, he is simply smarter than me for he managed to make me comfortable enough that I have just sent him one of my naughty stories to critique. There is an f-word but absolutely no c-words in the story so I didn't throw it all at him at once but even so I get the feeling that he sitting there in China right now saying, "Ohhhh myyyy Godddddd" as he is reading it, wondering how he will ever be able to critique it. Of course it goes both ways. It won't be exactly cheesecake to critique his sci-fi first draft of chapter 1 either, but nothing is for free, right?!

I think I sensed the free will and open mind in Bart from the get go and I have chosen well, I think, but even so, I do feel a bit naughty; a bit "Mrs Robinson" like. He is after all nearly half my age and here I am introducing him to the thoughts of a woman who wants to have all sorts of naughty things done to her. Will he think the thoughts mine, will he think I have an over active imagination, or will he think that this story girl is simply a product of a writer's mind? I really would rather not know the answer to that question, but the problem with the young sometimes is that rather than let such a question sit out there unanswered he is likely to engage, and with gusto. It is his style to have strong opinions and colourful language.

I've often wondered about Mrs. Robinson; the pleasure she took in educating Dustin Hoffman; his wide eyed wonder at it all. But something tells me that Bart won't be wide-eyed at all. He'll respond as if he knew the inner thoughts of a kinky woman all along and then it will be he that will try to teach me a thing or two. Typical.

What age is 'cindi'?

2011-10-11T19:18:00.000-07:00

On my travels my husband and I had the pleasure of sharing a glass of wine with a Dominant friend of mine and he asked a most intriguing question: how old was cindi?

I did not always understand that cindi was so child-like. It was pointed out to me by a dolli friend of mine and when I asked my mentor if he agreed that cindi was rather young, he agreed immediately. Honestly, that was a surprise at the time to me. But, I do get it. If one reads the 'bimbo speeki', the gay abandon with which she embraces new things, the way she wishes to please and the way she seeks praise, it is all the workings of a young girl. Maybe, she is about 8. It is awfully hard to pin it down but she often feels very young to me and to those who interact with her.

She can be mischievous. Recently, her owner showed her how to use the hotel safe and figuring that she could get her owner to handle that with her wiles, "Could onnir do dat 4 cindi?" she asked sweetly, he turned her over and spanked her bottom. "cindi has to listen to instructions and learn to do things for herself sometimes," he chided. And, when she got the combination wrong, she was spanked again. She sat on the bed and pouted about that. cindi always tries to get her own way, figuring that she is cute enough to achieve that, you see. Maybe that is why the 'hooz' can be rather strict with her...

It is complicated because sometimes cindi is a much bigger girl (or doll really); big enough to have and enjoy rather lurid sexual encounters. But, at the height of those encounters, when she is in a high state of arousal, she often reverts to a baby girl. She will suck her hands, her thumb, a few fingers for comfort and often she is heard to say, "Ba ba, baba baba, ba ba" as she goes back to a time when she knew nothing else but pure pleasure (or discomfort) and she depended on an adult for everything.

Whatever her age, and it varies from one experience to the other, cindi is awfully keen to impress; to receive the praise of her owner and to relish her status.

A few days ago she asked her owner why he almost always called her 'cindi', or very often just 'bimbo' these days when before he found it so hard to do. He told cindi that that is who they had become: cindi and owner; that was who they are now. Gosh, but that made her smile!

Control of a different kind

2011-10-04T04:22:00.000-07:00

I am not refuting the value of orgasm control, of the benefits and value of this technique of control, but it is not at all the way I was trained; the way cindi was trained, I should say. She was strongly encouraged to have her sexual desires, needs and wants met practically all the time. She was tightly controlled but her orgasms never were. The more, the merrier.

Of course, the training was long-distance and on line but a method quite the opposite to orgasm control was used: namely that of the doll appreciating her needs and wants in the form of embracing the slut within her: all the time. Her pluggiz kept her in a state, day and night; a slutty, wanton fucktoy and orgasm control simply didn't suit those purposes.

Let's face facts: the doll was greedy. If she had to be disciplined and she did, her pluggiz were taken away, and that, let me assure you, was much, much more controlling than denial of an orgasm could ever be! It was not just the denial of immediate pleasure but so much more. It ground her to a halt.

That training has endured - lasted long after the training ended; cemented itself in my mind. His wants became my wants and the control became my enduring need.

If you can take a pluggi away and get that response perhaps you can take an orgasm away and get a similar response - a burning, never ending desire to orgasm. Perhaps.

Or perhaps my training was tailor made for me. He felt he was in the presence of a doll and he simply reinforced his gut instinct. My God, he was not wrong.

Conflict

2011-10-02T05:19:00.000-07:00

In some ways, taking control of someone is a bit like the crux of a story. In a story there must be conflict and presumably if someone wants to be controlled, there is conflict within her (or him).

A top needs material with which to work. He must decide what he wants to do with this person and what he hopes to achieve. If he is to set limits, and they all do, then he must decide what are the appropriate reasons to set those limits. There must be something about this person he aims to alter.

Some people may disagree with this notion of mine. They may say that the dominant person can do as he pleases. All she need to do is please him but I find that far too simplistic and not at all sustaining. If he cares for her as a human being, possibly even loving her (hopefully so, in my opinion) then he wants to make her better. Even if she is already good, she could be better. This is his over riding thought.

To this end, I find all sorts of limits perfectly appropriate. If he wants to stop her eating french fries, or smoking cigarettes or limit her to 3 glasses of wine a week, all of that is perfectly okay, as far as I am concerned. Perhaps he wants to tone her body, or help her to live longer or get her tryglicerides down. Why not? If she is under his control, she should be delighted he cares. (I love being controversial sometimes. Have you noticed?)

I'm not entirely sure why a Top would want to put a girl on orgasm control really. Maybe that just suits my purposes. I consider that something bordering on 'non negotiable' but if I am to be entirely honest, I think it would do me the world of good to have a Top demand this. It goes to my wanting to be controlled and wanting to hold onto that part of my life at the very same time, which probably isn't a good thing.

There remains conflict within me. There is still a wealth of material about me with which to work. I was probably a pretty decent person to begin with. I am vastly better now but there is still improvement to be made. Folks, the story ain't over yet.

Revelations

2011-09-28T03:07:00.000-07:00

We spent some quality time with our daughter and her new (and much adored) boyfriend recently and I am delighted to write that my husband found the young man as agreeable as I had found him some months ago when I visited her in April. He is bright, well-spoken, considerate and most importantly, he adores our daughter. More than that, my husband found him grounded, practical; more than capable of running a business or forging a career.

My daughter and I shared some time alone after that whilst we purchased a winter jacket for her and walked home through Hyde Park on an unexpectedly balmy night last night and she shared her boyfriend's impression of us. Ahhhhhh! Of course! It was not just us analyzing him but he analyzing us!

I thought to share two of those impressions here on the journal:

1) My husband and I are rather competitive.

Now, this came as a shock at first. I can't stand it when couple compete with one another and I said that this surely was not right. But, as she laid out her case, it was clear that we do compete on a certain level. If I finish my meal before him (because he has been doing all the talking and I have been the one listening and eating) he will say, "You got through that fast". I hate hearing that. Any girl would hate hearing that and so I make a deliberate effort to eat slowly almost all the time until the next time he catches me out and repeats the phrase again.

We were walking along High Street in Kensington when he said to me, "I really loved the Portrait Gallery. I don't think you realize just how much I love history." I replied, "Darling, I have been with you for 35 years. You think I don't know that? I studied History as a Major and you know much more than I do." He looked at me, startled that I should say such a thing and then said, "Can I have that in writing?"

That is two of hundreds of examples. Shockingly, it seems we do compete.

2) I respond to my husband like a little girl:

It seems that I make quite a few naughty comments; comments I know I shouldn't and to protect myself or if I am scolded for them, I react by looking like a naughty, little girl.

That can't be right!? Or is the young man right about that as well?

What a hoot it must have been to be a fly on the wall - he analyzing us and we analyzing him. I am not at sure he is actually too observant.

Notz frum holidey

2011-09-26T05:00:00.000-07:00

cindi habbin fun tym trabelin rown. She bin 2 Hyde Park n she bin owt 2 Windsor Castle. She ebin wen 2 da Evensong at St. George's Chapel where she sit rite next 2 da boyz in da choir. Dat lotsa fun 4 cindi!

It a beri gud ting dat onnir approoovz ob dortaz boyfrend. He def got da seel appproooovel. Phew! So, cindi n onnir hab sum beri nys meeelz wif dem.

It seemz dat onnir tink dat cindi bit fysti l8li n so dis mornin he sed dat cindi needd sum treetmin. She hab ull da hoz filld n onnir fors her hab lotsa lotsa orgazmz until she beggin, "Pleeeeez, pleeeeez, dat nuf!" But, onnir tinki dat cindi needz unnerstan dat she nut da wun in charj n dat she jus objekt hoo neeedz akept wut she gibben. Dat wat he sed.

Ob ull da tingz onnir pak in his sootcase da oddist ting dat he pak da woodin herbrush n he yoos dat on cindi. "No cumplaynin, cindi," he sey.

Neweyz, tinki dat dis ull beri gud 4 cindi ashooooli. She feelz beri settld n in her ownd plays, n dat alweyz a gud ting. No mattr how far from home, toyz alweyz toyz, rite?

Charm

2011-09-21T20:06:00.000-07:00

I am going to be travelling for a while but since I anticipate Internet access most places I go, I hope to continue to write in this journal over that time. As any traveller knows, the time leading up to travel is hectic and this was particularly the case this time as I waved my youngest son off on a longish school trip at the airport last night. I have not only been thinking about what I had to do before we all left home but also what has to be organized for when I return. You know the drill, I am sure.

Recently, I met Anna. We worked on a raffle together and I found her to be one of the most charming women I have ever met. A seriously bright woman, her parents were escapees from Poland. Everything about her was adorable - her conversation was incredibly interesting, her adoration and love of her two boys palpable, her commitment to do the raffle just right admirable and her simple but elegant style very appealing.

She is going through a tough spot right now experiencing menopausal sweats that had made it necessary for her husband to bring into the bedroom a separate bed that has been placed beside the "marital bed". I found her embarrassment and yet her honestly about the matter endearing. In every conceivable way, she was completely appealing and anyone at all would be hard pressed not to find her an attractive human being.

After our event I suggested we meet again at the lunch in late October and she thought that was a marvellous idea, but like so many marvellous ideas expressed in the moment, I doubt she thought I would do anything about that. So, a few days ago I rushed off an email to her and said how much I would love to sit next to her and that I was going away but I could I leave it in her hands? She just wrote back to say, in the most charming of ways that it was delightful to hear from me and that she was organizing a table and we would indeed sit together; that I should have the most marvelous vacation; to leave it to her.

Anna had me thinking...Can you equate charm with submissive qualities? I suspect I am drawing a long bow here. Yet, if a submissive woman is a desirable and enticing commodity (and dominant types do seem to think so) then can charm be taught/encouraged/insisted upon? Or, is Anna's type of charm, the essence of a beautiful and graceful woman, simply granted at birth? All I know for sure is that when I am in the presence of a charming person, man or woman, they light up the room. As I go about my travels, I shall keep my eyes open for more of them.

Devotion

2011-09-19T19:48:00.000-07:00

I received your call and knowing how much it meant to you I retrieved your precious gloves and travelled to you.

You were indistinguishable, one of hundreds of young men in camouflage. I understood that if you could have come to me you would.

I hung about for a while; tried to look unobtrusive; as if I had a good reason for being there but as a mother, I knew I stuck out as the one object that did not belong.

I returned to the car and sat and thought through my options. Every one of them returned to the fact that you relied on me; that I was obligated to solve this; to get to you.

I began to see boys older than you make their way to the waiting buses and so I moved closer to them in the vain hope that one of them might be you.

Closer to the oval again where you most likely were, I made my way up to the top of the crescent and then slightly down it.

All the boys were on their feet and lined up now and I felt my chances slipping away. Yet, I stood there with the faintest of hopes that somehow you were watching me and that something would give.

The oval felt very still to me. I wondered if this was the sort of hush that occurs before battle. The thought fleeted through my mind when I caught hold of a move in the ranks. I suddenly saw you, tall and thin as a beanpole, as handsome as all get out and as quiet as a mouse, make your way towards me. I, in turn made my way towards you.

“I can’t thank you enough,” you said.

“That’s all right.”

I desperately wanted to hug you but I knew the rules. No displays of love in school uniform and especially not in cadet gear.

“Have a good time,” I offered.

As I moved away you reached out to me and caught me with your impossibly long fingers, kissed me on the cheek and wrapped your arms around me.

“God, but I love you so much,” I said.

“I love you too, Mum. Thank you. See you soon.”

You walked your way and I walked mine.

They were just a set of gloves but so much more than a set of gloves.

Self soothing

2011-09-17T18:55:00.000-07:00

In my younger days, when my husband said something to me that offended me, I would, surprisingly enough, feel offended. I would feel out of sorts because even if I told him that he had offended me or that the comment wasn’t called for, he would not necessarily acknowledge that he had done something wrong and/or apologize. He, to put it in a nutshell, would stand on his dignity.

It could leave me feeling out of sorts and not feeling particularly close to him for minutes, hours or sometimes, days. Such a situation presented itself on our first date, so technically speaking, it should have come as no surprise and I should have been ready for his flamboyant approach to life, but are you ever really ready?

The pattern often was that eventually I would go to him and sort it out. I would take that responsibility on myself because I do so deplore that feeling of discord with someone. Sometimes, he would come to me and rough me up a bit psychologically – sort of, cajole and tease me out of my funk. He got his girl back without actually acknowledging his mistake and that worked well for him. Of course, occasionally he would admit that he may have been indiscreet or spoke without taking into account my feelings. He knows he has a temper and when younger, he would say “sorry” to me quite frequently.

Time wore on and I searched for a better way. I read about the process of ‘self soothing’ and this, for me, was the answer I had been looking for. I didn’t need to allow his sense of drama, or speaking without really thinking or telling me off without knowing all the details of the situation, derail me. I could go away and “cleanse myself”. I could use deep breathing and silence to settle me down.

Perhaps later, when the situation had passed on I might note that it was upsetting when he got cross without giving me an opportunity to explain, or whatever, but the point was that I wasn’t bogged down with feelings of anger or upset at what seemed an unfair situation. I had yet to recognize that it was my comments that were often at fault in the first place and I had to learn how to say certain things such as what I wanted from him.

I frequently use a method of not saying much when he needs to verbalize his emotions out in the air; my air space particularly. I use an enormous amount of tact these days and this pays the most wonderful benefits for both of us because when his emotions are whirling, to confront him or accuse him at that moment has negative consequences. He won’t respond to the rightness or the wrongness of the matter there or then but merely digs in his heels and asserts his position. Far better to self soothe, to hold my tongue and bide my time until it is the right time to tell him how that little episode affected me or what my intentions really were.

Even then, it is rare I will go into too much depth about it. I am most likely to brush over the event, perhaps noting that he may have been unreasonable. We both know he can be unreasonable at times and even after the fact I have to watch how and what I say. He can still be feisty about it hours and hours later and what is the point in reheating the stew really?

This is all to suggest that my husband doesn’t take my feelings into account which is certainly not at all true. He is a very sweet, kind and considerate husband and expresses his love for me in a countless number of ways.

But, from the very first day, he made it patently clear that any girl who called herself his girlfriend would understand who held the power in the relationship. Tackle him if you wished, but be prepared for a long, protracted discussion about the fitness of your argument and complaint.

The mentoring gave me ample opportunity to hone my skills in self soothing (boy, are they alike!) and except for those absolutely stupid moments when I choose to tackle I find I have self-soothing down to a fine art. When you give yourself the responsibility of calming yourself and settling yourself; enabling yourself to think rationally and clearly in any situation, solutions present themselves much more easily and much angst is avoided.

I don’t see this as giving in, or not having a voice but rather using my voice to maximum effect in the most appropriate ways and moments. It certainly has aided harmony.

Obsession

2011-09-16T00:11:00.000-07:00

If any one of my friends knew of me as I express myself here or in 'bimboland' it would distress them, I think. It wouldn't just be a shock, it would be disorienting and confusing and enough for them to wonder if they should continue to associate with me.

I agree it is an obsession. I think about sex, humiliating scenes and extreme containment rather a lot. I venture to say I think about it every day and sometimes many times in a day. Whilst I don't really know why I am fixated on these topics I do know that it has something to do with finding a sense of peace within myself - stripping myself down to the bare minimum; the primal me.

I am at a bit of a loss why this sort of preoccupation is not a lot more prevalent; why I should be the aberration. Is it so strange to want to be tied up, beaten, used and objectified?! Oh, yes, I see. I suppose it is.

But honestly, I am not doing anyone harm and nor am I doing myself any harm here. I find it abundantly relaxing and invigorating to think these thoughts and to experience these states. My body fills with 'feel good' endorphins and enables me to return to the real world and give.

My son and I have divided perfectionism up into two categories - the perfectionism that works for you and the perfectionism that works against you. You can have an obsession to draw marvellously and keep trying to hone your craft. That is perfectionism that works for you.Whereas you can feel that your drawing is never good enough and you crumple up each one and throw the drawings away and that is a perfectionism that is working against you. Having an obsession/craving/strong desire to be a wonderful drawer is perfectly healthy so long as it is kept in balance. We must do more than draw.

This obsession of mine brings me closer to the 'inner me'; brings me closer to my husband; to a sense of the Divine in all things and within me. It softens me, reduces me, relaxes me and comforts me. It allows me to feel that I am living as I want to live; as I am meant to live. It makes me happy. It is a solace; a quiet place in a very loud world. It is a source of light and a source of good. It is not all of me but it is the essence of me; something that can't be separated from me.

Getting control

2011-09-13T21:17:00.000-07:00

If we are each a story waiting to be told, what of the content of the story; the ebb and flow; the conflict, the drama; the end?

Are we ships in the night waiting to see how we will fair at sea, or do we have some control over the outcomes of the journey? Certainly, it is not for us to steer the stars or command the winds.

It is said that some people are "lucky" and some are not so lucky. Some are lucky in love, in luck, with money, in business.

What makes a person satisfied with his life; able to look back on his or her life and feel content that it was lived well?

I wonder how often an individual may ask throughout life: what am I doing? Am I doing my best?

The simple fact of life is this: Things happens and people react and how they react determines what happens next. It may seem like life is random and chaotic but perhaps it is the individual that behaves randomly and chaotically.

I have an unquenchable thirst to explore human behaviour and until now I have largely done that by exploring my own mind. What makes me tick?What makes me happy, satisfied, thrilled, despairing?

The most exciting and awesome discovery of my entire life is that I have the ability to control my responses and reaction to events: to have a say in the outcomes of my own life - not just by using my intelligence and organisational abilities but by strengthening my mind to react in the best possible way.

I can't control my story but I can control how I react to the telling of my story. I'm certainly not perfect at it. I still can be disappointed, sad, regretful; wishful. But, I have taken on board that whilst I can't control any one's behaviour, I can control my own.

I liken it to my learning about writing. I have always had some ideas to play with but I didn't necessarily (and still don't) know all the possibilities of what I could do with those ideas and words. I had an understanding that if only I could turn my mind in another direction I could assist how my life played out, but I didn't necessarily have the tools to enable me to do that.

Until our last day, we never stop learning about ourselves and what it is to be human; to be the best human we can be. This is what gives life a never ending quality: the sheer mystery of living amongst all these people and what they might do next, and why. This is my motivation to write.

So much less

2011-09-12T03:43:00.000-07:00

At the current time, my life is incredibly full and complex. There is so much to do and so little time to get it all done. It will be some kind of miracle if in the next 10 days I can do what I have to do.

Yet, I come here to this web journal of mine to write a little something. I do that because this web journal is my retreat from the real world of 'to do' lists, of people who rely on me, of people for whom I am responsible. In this little space, I can be just the essence of myself. I can be nothing more than an object; a plaything; a doll; at best, just a hole.

When the world of responsibility and labour gets too much and my head spins with all the details of not just my life but many lives, it is this space which soothes and settles me.

I heard yesterday of a man who killed two wives and several other people, it seems. His victims were nurses of a certain age: women who had served all their lives and he enchanted them by providing them with attention and being of service to them. Suddenly they had a man in their lives who would have dinner waiting for them; who was willing to give them a back rub. Having fallen in love, their money was his for the taking and when he was ready, he planned their demise.

It is understandable; a woman being attracted to a man who offers care. The vast majority of women work very hard; care very deeply and happily give to their families quite selflessly. A man who offers them attention and affection; who is willing to tend to them is certainly an aphrodisiac.

The woman with a submissive nature is giving; caring; unselfish. Service is part of her makeup and she tends to go the extra mile to see that all is well in her home. Perhaps this is why she can so readily melt into a very small space; to find succor in giving up all control; to let go and simply follow instructions; to allow her body to be used (and thus pleasured) at will.

Seeing the need to bunker down to my small space after months of intense labor, my Owner objectified me on the weekend because it was clear that I needed that. As he "used" me he talked quietly to me: "You are just a hole, cindi; a hole for me to use...You need your holes filled...A hole needs no words...Just do as you are told...

As the minutes wore into hours I could feel my state of mind soar. I felt revived and revitalized. I felt lighter; brighter; energized. I floated through the rest of the day and my invigorated state of mind was evident to me and to him.

Some time ago, I underwent a transformation of sorts and it was not for the short term. I know who I am and I know what I need and what is good for me.

When I am less, I feel so very much more.

Insistence

2011-09-08T21:33:00.000-07:00

The complexity of some women is that they like things to be steady, calm and ordered at the same time as they need challenge in their lives. They take the time to organize their lives and those in it because they want to feel ‘in control’. At the same time as they want to feel ‘in control’ they need to experience challenge. They want to go out of their comfort zones.

For a partner handling both of these impulses it can be tricky, no? Making love or accepting a command would be good for both of you, but how to keep her mind off all the other things she has racing through her head? How to impact that desire of hers to seek her own comfort and follow her own impulses; to make her own choices? These are the questions you ask yourself.

Part of her just wants to sink down in the warm comfortable bed and go 'ni ni' but the other part of her would rise to any challenge you offer her too, yes? Well, not necessarily. She is caught between her two needs – that of slumber and that of having her mind (via her body) stimulated.

She says she wants to go to sleep. You say you want her to do as she is told. You banter back and forth. It isn’t so much that she hopes that you stop repeating yourself as that she needs to feel your control, your insistence, a little force.

When she is sure that you will not waver, that you mean for her to obey you no matter how long it takes, she concedes. “Very well,” she says, possibly a little petulantly; maybe in a resigned tone.

Off she goes to fulfil your demand. Quite suddenly, she is not sleepy any more. She feels bright, alert, switched on. She offers these observations to you and you say, “Imagine that”, as if it were a revelation; as if this outcome had never occurred before. She likes to pretend that there is no sarcasm in that remark, even though she knows it is there.

The dynamic between the two of you is restored. When she does fall to sleep, it will be with a lightness of being. She followed instructions. She pleased you and you are proud of her. She glows. You prevailed. Right now, all is well in your world.

Childlike helplessness and vulnerability

2011-09-05T05:29:00.000-07:00

I read these words, "childlike helplessness and vulnerability" and a wave of memories came flooding back to me. Discerning Dom was actually talking about stories with a spanking theme wherein the person was back at school getting spanked (or much worse) but for me the memories of my experiences with childlike helplessness and vulnerability were as cindi.

You really can't imagine how small I was within that persona and just how vulnerable I truly felt. You can't possibly know these things unless you experience them. There he was thousands of miles away from me and yet I felt completely helpless and totally at his mercy.

I play a very honest game or to use another phrase, I play a very straight bat. I don't pretend to follow orders if I don't follow them no matter how far away the Top. If I didn't do what I was meant to do, I told the truth.

Why did you do that, I can hear some of you say? Well, for one thing I wanted the most authentic experience I could possibly get. And for another thing, he was uncannily brilliant at detecting if I wasn't telling him the whole truth. But, most important of all, cindi is a doll. cindi just isn't capable of those girl type behaviours. In the head space of a doll, cindi knows what is expected of her and she knows that if she lies or disobeys, the axe will fall.

I don't have to search my mind for examples of when cindi felt vulnerable and helpless. They are front and centre in my mind. The first example that comes to mind is when the doll maker was upset with her for disobeying his instructions. She knew she was in trouble but she figured that he would eventually forgive and forget her mistake. But, time just didn't seem to be healing the wound and whilst she mustered the courage to one day say "hi hi" she was paralyzed in her efforts to say any more. He seemed confused and cindi typed in "cindi duzznt no if she lowd 2 sey netin mor". cindi waited for direction. cindi knew her place and cindi understood that she must impress, cajole, tantalize and most importantly obey mr. _. To disappoint him, to earn his ire, to be summarily lectured for her poor behaviour was terrifying in the extreme.

When cindi was in the good books she twirled her party dress like a little girl. She giggled and laughed and exhibited the abandon of a little girl in a candy shop. When she was in trouble she put her head down and listened to the lecture and said that she was very sorry and hoped that she was not sent away to think about her bad behaviour. Her happiness relied on him being proud of her, satisfied with her, entranced by her.

cindi was as helpless as a small child, vulnerable to the whims of her guardian. I would argue that cindi was considerably more vulnerable and helpless than a girl in a school with a headmaster that makes use of a cane. Headmasters tend to cane and move on and tomorrow is a new day, but to this day cindi could tell you of every time she disappointed and of every time she failed to impress. It was that terrifying to her and the wounds caused by her misbehaviours seemed to have a permanence about them.

Some days I look back and perhaps like you, wonder why cindi kept returning to a place where she was so helpless and so very vulnerable. The answer is simple. cindi had a childlike innocence, complete trust and faith and a reverance for her guardian. He understood her needs better than anyone ever could, looked out for her and kept her safe; had her best interests at heart. In that very safe place, with his guidance, direction and care she could come alive and thrive. It made her indescribably happy.

Her

2011-09-03T17:04:00.000-07:00

Why do I write in this journal? I write here because I want to reach my soul and I hope to reach another soul; perhaps many souls. Communication that comes from one soul and reaches another soul is what my writing is about.

I want to say what few do. I want to express my drive towards some unknowable thing. I want to reach deep into myself and find out what is true and unchanging. I want to reach the real me.

Yet, the real me frightens me and sometimes I have to back away from her. She is such a greedy, demanding slut. She wants what she wants and she wants it when she wants it. She is no submissive. She demands. Give me. Give me. Give me. That is her mantra.

So I try to back away from her. I try not to give her air. I try to smother her with talk of good submissive qualities; to care about the other.

No matter what I do that harlot rises up. Fuck me. Love me. Pay attention to me. Brush my hair.

“You are meant to say please,” I tell her. She looks at me like a little girl caught out and you can see her brain working. The clever bitch knows how to work people and in her sweetest little girl voice she says, “Pleeeeeze brush my hair.”

There’s no stopping her. There is no keeping her locked up. She beguiles. She bewitches. She demands. She pleads. She does whatever she needs to do to get what she wants. The submissive part of her personality is a bit of a hoax. She is no submissive that one. She is just a greedy, selfish, brazen whore.

Inspiration

2011-09-02T19:41:00.000-07:00

I am so happy! I have begun my writing course and am meeting fellow writers in my tutorial group. I haven't quite mastered 'Blackboard' but I will. I have been to a Writer's Festival this week and only wish I could have spent more time there. There were wonderful writers there from the USA, from Ireland; all over the world really. I learned so much. My notebook is brimming over with ideas.

I have had fun reading 'The Spanking Collection' mentioned in my last post and all in all, I woke up this Saturday morning desperate to get down a story and it has been a long time since that has happened, I assure you.

I am sorry that I can't share it here. I may need to share it with my tutorial members and we don't want an overlap with this blog now, do we? But, I have sent it off to a few close friends to read in the hope of some feedback. My only regret is that I can't send it to someone who would have enjoyed my enjoyment of the tale very much I think. I guess you can't have everything. But, I am greedy and I want everything!

Isn't it funny how the world can change on a dime?! I feel so inspired quite suddenly; as if everything is going to be all right. Yay!

Spanking stories

2011-09-02T01:40:00.000-07:00

I am delighted to advise readers that a new anthology of spanking stories entitled 'The Spanking Collection' has been published and what makes this anthology special is that all profits will go to charity. There are wonderfully entertaining stories by people you may or may not know as yet - Abel of 'The Spanking Writers is represented as is the Discerning Dom along with other well known people within the spanking and BDSM scene such as Zille Defoe.

I strongly encourage you to purchase your own copy of the anthology. There is a remarkable variety of stories there - definitely something for everyone and many of the stories oooze with erotic humiliation. This happens to really press my buttons. Perhaps some of you already knew that!

It is hard to choose one sentence from the anthology to wet your appetite. There are so many sentences I could choose but in a way this one sums up the appeal of the anthology nicely:

"Whether erotic punishment or punishing eroticism, she drank in each fiery sensation."

Ohhhhhhhh...

Okay, so follow the link below and in no time all these delightfully kinky and erotic stories could be yours:

http://www.spankingwriters.com/blog/2011/08/31/thespankingcollection/

Happy, happy reading.

Well treated

2011-08-28T19:46:00.000-07:00

It is several months ago since the day that I walked into my doctor's office - at least six months ago actually - and said that I couldn't get control of my emotions; that I felt that I just needed to talk to someone about what I was going through. He'd never seen me remotely, vaguely like that. I had always been in control of myself; always knew what I was doing and how to do it. He made note of the new me.

He listened for a while, thought it a good idea that I see someone and had me go home and do a specific online test that would give him direction to make out a "treatment plan" for the psychologist. I did the test purposely whilst my emotional state was raging. I wanted the results to be entirely honest.

Yet, even in that state, the little weird questions thrown in at odd moments were perfectly clear to me:

Do you ever feel that a voice is talking to you? No.

And later,

"Do you feel that you are under any body's control?"

If I answered "no", there were would be no repercussions. If I answered "yes" they would think me slightly mad. I answered "yes". I did feel under some body's control. I was emotional enough not to lie about that.

A few days later, I returned to my doctor to hear him tell me that I was suffering anxiety and that some of my thoughts were perhaps "paranoid". Here we go. Silly, truthful me.

At the psychologist's office, I was subjected to the scrutiny of dozens of questions all trying to get at my sense of things that I was being "controlled". Who was trying to control me and why did I think that way? This was getting a little out of hand.

I told her I knew what this was all about; that I was in a state that day; that I felt that I sometimes had to do things that I didn't necessarily want to do and that I answered the question that way fully aware that there would be questions about it (and made a mental note to say "no" to all such questions when they asked me to take the online test next time).

The fact is that whilst the therapy has assisted me in many ways, enabling me to talk more than anything else; to talk through issues as well as to explore on my own modes of thinking that may not have been beneficial to me, I was never really able to speak to her about the fact that I was being trained as a doll, that I wanted to experience that and that I was intensely aroused by such thoughts. I was never really able to speak to the issues surrounding my sexuality and the enormous sense of power, happiness and contentment I felt in "letting go" in that way. I was never really able to speak to the fact that I was being strongly encouraged to want what the 'dollmaker' wanted; that his wants became my wants; that his wants became my needs; that in fact he was simply bringing to the surface my own internal desires. I simply knew too well that she was writing down what I said and to her intellectually trained mind it was going to sound oh so "unhealthy".

So, I skirted the issues; spoke of my "submissive bubble" and my contentment therein and discovered that her goal became to break the bubble somewhat and encourage me to be more assertive; that the bubble was okay in the bedroom but not elsewhere. I found myself monitoring things to suit all parties. It was becoming hard work. It was useful. I won't say that it wasn't useful but in the end was I simply giving to her what I felt she wanted to have, too?? Ever the good submissive...

Off the top of my head (and I am typing incredibly fast here) I can't explain exactly how the therapy helped me. She said to me the time before last, "I don't have the answer" so I don't think even she could explain exactly how I was helped. But, I was helped. I was steered in certain directions and seeds were sown in my head that enabled me to feel in control of myself; relieved of my anxieties. I recognized my flaws, I suppose; was able to see clearly that I do experience some anxiety and I felt more able to handle it when it did crop up. I recognize it for what it is now and I self-soothe, primarily. If I am feeling particularly able, I ask for what I need - love and attention - and I feel particularly proud when I am able to do that - a key goal of my bimbo training, in fact!

The last few years of my life have been so intense, so rich, so challenging, so full of growth, I think I just needed a time out to digest it all and to figure out the lay of the land. Even the therapy at times was intense and believe me, there were days when I wanted to make the call and say to the psychologist I was done now. Thanks, and ciao! She could really annoy me, but I stuck with it and it is probably good that I did.

I think she feels she's done a good job and I would say she has done a good job. But, here's the rub. I'm still the dolli inside. I still prefer to wear dresses and skirts. I still think of my body as a thing to be used (as often as possible please!). I still fantasize in much the same way as I have done for years and I still feel most whole, most complete when I have been nothing more and nothing less than 'the doll' with zero control, inside or outside the bedroom. But, that is going to have to be our secret because if she knew what we knew, it just wouldn't be at all good.

Passion

2011-08-26T19:58:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about 'passion' lately; what makes one person so very passionate and another person hardly at all passionate. This led me to consider 'attachment styles ' and that led me to this statement:

"People with a preoccupied attachment style and anxious people tend to experience passion more often than other people."

According to Wiki "people with this style of attachment seek high levels of intimacy, approval and responsiveness from their partners. They sometimes value intimacy to such an extent that they become overly dependent on their partners..."

I am still chewing all that over in my mind so I won't go on and on about it now but I know that I am a very passionate person and my husband is a very passionate person. In fact, all my children are very passionate people. But, none more than my youngest son. His father just dropped him off at an art festival. He had made a costume for the event (everybody does) and his excitement was palpable. Don't tell anybody but we even let him miss school on Friday afternoon so that he could attend all three days.

My husband has been concerned about his interests. Will it all lead to a real job he wanted to know? Aware that there was no containing this passion I have encouraged it, supported it and applauded his successes. And just now my husband returned from taking him there and said, "Boy, he could hardly wait to get out of the car. He was biting at the bit to be there. I'm not going to kill that kind of passion. It is just amazing to see." And, it is. He is absorbed in a world of his creation; he adores expressing himself via numerous crafts but none more so than his drawing.

I think what really bothered me about the statement about passion that I quoted was that it implied that in some way passionate people were not as high functioning; not so securing attached as other people; less passionate people. And, maybe that's right. I see other people around me, happily married they say, who are not nearly as passionate as me; much more consistent really.

Yet, I adore passionate people; was attracted to my husband because he was so passionate about so many things; continues to be passionate every day in every way. Yes, those sorts of people can tire you but I know I couldn't be without them; thoroughly enjoy them.

I feel quite feisty about the statement, actually; as if passion was a dirty word. That just can't be right.

Anxiety

2011-08-24T16:20:00.000-07:00

Anxiety is an insidious thing; a silent sort of condition in many cases. It can mask a great deal of other behaviours and I came to know this first hand very recently when I finally managed to put the puzzle pieces together and determine that my youngest child was overly stressed.

It is well known that he is a very bright and capable young man and we were told that he would achieve at a very high level so long as he learned the skills of completing tests and exams within the time period. I knew that this was a problem for him and we put this down, over time, to his perfectionist state of mind. A capable educator worked with him when he entered senior school and together they developed strategies to overcome his perfectionist traits and he was sent on his way.

Mid way through this year, alarm bells rang for me. Together, he and I attended the parent-teacher interviews before the mid year exams and his History teacher, as an example, was excited about his recent essay and she suggested that he review his notes well so that he could attain the A+ he deserved in the exam. However, when his exam was returned the result was confusing. He had indeed attained full marks for the essay but many other simple questions were left completely unanswered.

His report again noted that he needed to finish tests and exams in the required time but there was no plan made. It was clear to me that this capable student had slipped under the radar. He was capable and he would be all right in the end, seemed to be the thinking.

I contacted the school and asked that the same woman work again with my son one and one and give me her opinion. She called me at home after a few more one on one sessions and began to make some comments and finally, I saw the whole picture.

"Do you think these are OCD type behaviours...?" I asked.

Realizing she was speaking to a parent who was open to the truth, she said, "Oh, I definitely do."

Within two hours I had located a highly capable psychologist in cognitive behaviour therapy for obsessive compulsive behaviours and my son has now had two sessions with her. We've already seen some remarkable progress. He has accepted that he suffers from anxiety. He recognizes that he is a perfectionist. He is beginning to see that he had made many rules for himself; rules which were counter-productive to his happy functioning in the world.

We understand that relieving his body of cortisol and replacing it with endorphins is important and a few nights ago we took the dogs for a walk together. He was having trouble "letting go" of a little annoyance he experienced before we left the house and together at dusk in the park we breathed quietly together, registered all the noises of trains and cars but tried to locate the quiet centre within ourselves. We acknowledged that he was tense and troubled by not finding it easy to let go, but that it would get easier the more he learned to relax and breathe through the anxiety. We hugged tight; a hug he initiated. "Thank you," he said to me later that night. We were on the same team.

This week, we are working on "shoulds" and "musts". He has been asked to locate all the "rules" he has made for himself. In the spirit of co-operation and in recognition of the fact that I am not entirely free from such obsessive-compulsive thoughts myself, I offered that I find it hard to leave home without the kitchen all neat and tidy and my bed made but that this meant I often kept Daddy waiting. It was a "should" that didn't always work in my favour. He was beginning to see what he had been asked to do: not easy but an extremely valuable exercise.

We are doing what we can to take the stress off too in terms of choices. He will drop one language next year and already this thought is calming him, it would seem. He said he was suddenly enjoying Chinese a lot more knowing that it was the one language he would be carrying through to next year.

And, his electives for next year are all fun stuff - subjects he is biting at the bit to do; studio arts, drama, computing and film and media. He is one of the fortunate boys who will be doing what he is passionate about - at school and beyond.

We are not out of the woods yet but we are certainly well on our way to the transformation of a worried young boy into a relaxed and joyous and highly productive young man because we have recognized and accepted that his behaviour was due to anxiety.

I am beginning to think that much aberrant, defiant behaviour in children (and adults) could well just be the mask and that behind that behaviour is a great deal of anxiety about how they fit into this world and how they will live up to expectations; perhaps others' expectations or perhaps their own. It bodes thought.

Acceptance

2011-08-20T17:58:00.000-07:00

If we know what it is to fall in love - the blood rushing to the head, the pitter pat of our hearts, the endless thinking about someone and wanting of someone, the way the world changes on a dime in terms of light and a sense of beauty that was not previously there - then we have some vague idea of what it is to reveal our innermost desires and thoughts.

I speak of those thoughts that have been our shadow for so many years. Speaking about them, writing about them, experiencing them for real is a heady, light hearted experience not unlike falling in love. You feel extraordinarily lucky. You feel sorry for all the other smucks who don't know what you know. You feel rather full of yourself and feel sometimes that you might burst, holding in this delicious secret that you would like to share with the rest of the world but dare not (hence this web journal).

There were endless opportunities for me to feel superior. How could you all be leading a full life, I would think around a table of friends or people at a dinner or lunch, if you don't know what I know; if you have not experienced what I have experienced? I just felt so extraordinarily lucky to be living finally as I wanted to live, you see.

I have always wanted a very deep connection, to feel a total sex pot; to be done over repeatedly for hours and hours. I wanted to feel a little fear; to not be sure what was going to happen next; to be told what to do, even if I was not at all sure that I wanted to do it. It provided me with the rushes of a lifetime. To have to bite down on the fact that I was being forced (well not literally forced but in my mind, believing there was no alternative) to do something according to the will of another was mind blowingly thrilling - the resistance, the eventual conviction to do it their way, the sense of elation of mission accomplished, the praise...ahhhh, the praise...all more than worth it in the end.My journey into the world of submission was orgasmically, spectacularly thrilling for me and I regret not a single moment of it.

And, then one day, it came to an end. It didn't so much peter out as simply dry up. There were offers to pick up from there but I declined. I seemed to have lost the will. I leaked (tears that just came at inappropriate moments) for too long, was vulnerable for too long and my self-preservation instinct kicked in. I needed to be busy. I needed to find succor in other ways. I needed to look about me with fresh eyes and see what I may have missed while I had been intellectually absent.

I absorbed myself in life in endless ways. I took on new challenges. I faced the fact that I was needed and I dealt with those needs, attended to other people. I determined to focus on calm and a serene peace of mind and as I did so I discovered I had more in reserve - felt better equipped to face and deal with the challenges in front of me.

I could see adjustments in attitude, in resilience and in willingness to try to look at life in new ways in those about me. Either it was an enormous co-incidence or my more serene state of mind was having an effect on others. Again, it was like discovering a whole new way to live. I was not abandoning what had brought me joy before; not at all. But, in its absence I had chosen to love, to forgive, to understand and to accept that I held the keys to change. It was again up to me to find the path forward and in my solitary pursuits such as meditation I had enabled myself to soften more; to be loving in spite of loss I thought might well be inconsolably sad for me. I began to feel the path to the future opening up to me and embracing me as if to say, "You have found your way. Now, it will be all right." There was a divinity about that feeling.

Last night I attended a chamber music dinner which was indeed sublime. Yes, the room was gorgeous: the flowers, the lighting, the table settings, the food and wine. But, it was the music played by boys as young as 14 and as old as 18 that was heavenly. They were passionate, meticulous; united and inspirational. We are talking 'creme de la creme' here; boys who could easily make music their career if they so chose. It was one 'wow' moment after another and clearly moved, the musical director of the school stood up and said something like, "These boys will never live in the same way again. Actually playing this music at this level...they will always remember it...hold it in their hearts...and it will effect their lives in a positive way for as long as they live."

This is exactly how I feel about my explorations - those explorations that I have reported in this journal. Even if I never experience again what I have done in the past in quite the same way, that I lived as I wanted to live, experienced what I want to experience, means that I will never live the same way again and will hold those experiences in my heart for as long as I live. I have been truly blessed.

Desire, dolli style

2011-08-19T04:22:00.000-07:00

Cindi new wen she wakiz dis mornin dat she in need n she hug her onnir. But, der no tym 4 mor dan huggiz n soon cindi takin her boy 2 skewl. Beri soon afta dat it tym 4 yoga n afta dat a soy flat whyt wif her frendz. N, afta dat, she bi da dindinz at da owtdoor market; flowerz 4 da vase.

Cindi no dat der littil tym b4 she doo at skewl 2 hep wif da big moozik din dnnz on saterday nite. Der only wun howr 2 hessef at best. Cindi nebr did dis ebr b4 but at da market she bi a hooooj coocumbr. She tek da coooocumbr n cubr it wif a condom. She tek off her jim clothz n she bring da coooocumbr up 2 her pussy cunt. Mebbe cindiz iz biggr dan der stumik. Dat coooocubr hooooj n cindi nut abil 2 hab it enter ull da wey up her pussy cunt. It no mattr reeeli coz it doin da job. Cindi beri happi wif da sens8nz.

Cindi lookiz at da clock n beri soon she dooo 2 cum 2 skewl. Cindi no dat it nut pussibil 4 her 2 go 2 skewl alone dis dey. She reeeeli need wun her pluggiz cum long. So, cindi poot da ass pluggi wey up in2 her ass cunt n instanli dat mek her feel better. But, it nut gud nuf. So, cindi tek da vaginal ballz n plays dem up hi in her pussy cunt. Dat beri gud! Now she abil 2 get dressd n go 2 skewl.

Cindi anticip8 dat she onli der 4 an howr or 2 but in fakt she der 4 obr 3 howrz helpin owt wif da plays namz n flowerz n so on. She reeeli njoy her tym der coz pluggi n da ballz mek her feel so fyn n beri cuntaynd n bimbo. Ebn do she hab cumcentr8, undaneef da cumcentr8n she feel happi n bit silli.

Bi da tym cindi cum home gin, she beri relaxd n she lyt da fire n poot on da dinn dinnz, she opin a bottil wine n wach da werld newz. (Dolliz nut nessesserli unnerstan deez tingz on da werld newz but dey liki tri sumtymz 2 follow long.)

Wen onnir cum home, cindi bit unda da wetha n beri beri lusti. Onnir feel her pluggi n poosh n challinj da bimbo n cindi tri 2 get at his cocki. But, onnir tell her dat notti coz da kiddiz nut dat far wey. So, onnir tel cindi dat in da bedroom der a serpryz 4 her. Cindi hab a feelin dat she best tek owt da ballz n dat such a gud ideyn coz onnir poot sumtin in2 her pussi cunt. She soon lern dat it a vibr8n, remote cuntrol ball n it doin da most mazin tingz 2 her. Tween da pluggi n da vibr8n ballz all dat cindi ken sey, “bubba”, “bubba” “buuuuuubbba” obr n obr gin. Tween tymz she suk n suk wey on her thumb.

Onnir yoos cindi n finally he feel it tym 2 tek owt da vibr8n ball but eech tym he tri cindi moan n grone n in da end he ken only stop da vybr8n. It jus ull 2 sensitif n cindi mekin 2 much noyz 2 do eni mor dan dat.So, cindi stil werin da ballz n da pluggi n she beri hot n botherd. She stil in her bubba babi cindi dolli zone n it feeeelz soooooo gud.

If ebr newun sey it silli dat cindi jus a dolli, u ken tel dem frum cindi dat dey rung. Dum dum dolliz hab sooooo beri much mor fun dan dem gurlz n cindi prowd she a doll.

Personal power

2011-08-11T20:26:00.000-07:00

I have been thinking about the 'personal power' chakra and I have been thinking too about the visualization that my meditation teacher told us about in some detail - a way of making the personal power chakra stronger. I even mentioned it to my psychologist in one of my final sessions. (There have only been ten sessions but they have been stretched out over a few months.)

My psychologist is very much a pragmatist, a recovering perfectionist, a feminist who I can see bristling when I mention 'submission' and so I knew that the chakras would not be her thing. But, I felt the need to tell her that I thought the chakras and my personal power weakness to be related to my thoughts - and thoughts are definitely her thing. I explained to her that I very, very much wanted to maintain balance in life - to have peace within myself by finding my boundary point (or balance) within and not allowing other people to interfere overly in maintaining that balance.

I explained to her that I sometimes felt that my joyful and peaceful state was disrupted by others who needed me to deal with their own upset and distress and that despite my best efforts to stay calm and balanced within myself, their upset upset me.

Somehow or other we were quickly into the world of my thoughts and she was going over old territory and delving further. We were talking about my "guilt" and blind Freddie could have seen that she had a point. When I had a plan of my day or my morning and some loved one came along with their own needs of me I quickly bought into the notion that their needs superseded my own. Although I was put off balance by this I invariably gave into their needs due to my feelings of guilt that otherwise I would be considered a "bad mother" or a "bad wife" or a "bad submissive". It went back to the notion of "subjugation" and it needed to return to the notion of "assertiveness" where I had the personal power to express the fact that I had needs of my own. I needed to create "barriers" around myself, she said.

I told her that I had been accepted for the Masters of Writing programme at my desired institution but was a little concerned. My desk was close to the action of the household, although I did have a little nook in my sights upstairs where I would have more privacy. She went in for the kill. Yes, the nook was a good idea and when there, unless it was an emergency, I should not be interrupted, she said. I had to be forceful about this. I had to claim my right for this to be considered important to me.

I needed to write new "narratives", she said. I needed to see that it was not helpful to other people to always jump to their beck and call. They needed to understand the consequences for their own actions and to rely less on me. Most of all, I needed to drop the guilt. I had devoted my life to my family and this was my time in the sun. She was still talking softly but I could see she was firm about this. At one point she even said, "tell them that Michelle said..." Oh boy!

This morning I went to my yoga class and when we completed the class with our regular relaxation time on our mats I felt ready to try something that I had been thinking about for 5 days. I decided to try the meditation that my teacher had told me about to boost my personal power. It just seemed the right time to do that.

I was at the base of a mountain; a beautiful and lush mountain, perhaps in Bali. I was dressed comfortably for the warmth of the day and I began the trek up the mountain; step by step up the wooden steps. By the time I reach the mountain top, a plateau, I was weary but invigorated by the beautiful view of other mountain caps in the distance. It was all stunningly green and the heavens seemed close.

Maybe 100 metres away I saw a beautiful, brightly coloured cushion and a small fireplace glowing bright. I approached the cushion and saw that there was paper and pen on the cushion and I picked it up and sat down on the cushion with my legs crossed. I knew that I was here for a purpose and on the paper I wrote down the behaviours of one person in particular; the behaviours of that person towards me that had hurt me. I made a list of those behaviours and when I had finished I crunched the paper into a ball.

I held the ball of paper in my hand, and registering that the person was indeed very safe and that I only had influence over their hurtful behaviours, I carefully placed the ball of paper into the fire. I did not take my eyes off the paper until the flames had turned every bit of the paper into ash and even then I sat for a minute or so and accepted that the bad behaviours of the past had been destroyed.

I felt my breathing soften and calm and as I looked about me, east and west, I could see nothing but spectacular beauty. I had an urge to stand and as I stood I felt a desire to bring my hands up to the heavens. I twirled and felt a magnificent lightness of being. My chest swelled with a knowledge of my new found personal power. I felt it lift upwards and I felt the surge of energy.

In real life, I was still laying on my yoga mat in a room full of women but I was unable to stop the tears that flowed from my eyes and down the sides of my face. This was a surreal moment; a holy, sacred moment of love and power and energy. My personal power chakra overflowed with a new sense of enlightenment.

It is said that one meditates when one needs to be with oneself and when one is ready, and each person knows this instinctively if they care to listen to themselves, they will return to the relationships of their lives and have more to give. My heart tells me very clearly that this is time to meditate.I trust that this will renew me in such a way that my loved ones will ultimately be the benefactors of my understanding that we must each have a relationship with ourselves. This does not, in my estimation, go against submission but merely makes for a more complete human being, better able to express his or her true nature.

Switching on the chakras

2011-08-07T22:12:00.000-07:00

I think I would be prepared to walk over hot coals to get to my meditation class on Tuesday lunchtimes. I love it that much! I have had some great visualizations that way and in a sense I feel like my meditation teacher and I have walked together through the range of emotions that have presented themselves to me over the past few months.

We have been working on the 7 chakras over the past three sessions and it has taken a little getting to know and understand them for me to take it all on. I had to familiarize myself with the colors and places in the body and I had to confirm my visual perspective of turning the chakras on. I got right away the idea of "flipping the switch on" since cindi has a bimbo "switch" and I have been turning that on for years.

The part about visualizing the turning on of the chakras that I wasn't certain about was if I turned them on in the front of my body or the back, or both? The following session Bec brought in a picture of what they might look like turned on and I could now understand that they were turning balls of energy. Yep yep, got that now, but I still needed to know more. "How fast do they spin?" I wanted to know. That is when I got the potentially worrying news that they can "over spin" which might mean that I was not dealing with reality but living in a fantasy world.

I closed my eyes and settled, ready for my chakras to spin themselves into oblivion. As deeply entrenched in the land of bimbo as was I, surely this was my fate. Not at all! My chakras were if anything, labored. I was spinning them with some sort of hand crank. It was not until Bec led me into a much more comfortable zone that my chakras spun comfortably and effortlessly and with balance.

With that session under my belt, I went home to research. I needed to know much more about chakras and the Dalai Lama's 'Mind in Comfort and Ease' is on its way to me as we speak. In the meantime, a cursory look on the Internet revealed that I could take a 'chakra test' to see which ones were not working effectively. I took the test on the weekend at a time when I felt out of sorts, abandoned, helpless and feisty all at the same time; me at my most vulnerable and needy. Not a good look! Lo and behold, my chakras were all "weak": not a strength to be found amongst them.

It is already Monday for me, though probably not for you, and I was awakened to the news that Monday morning would now be a morning of "discipline" to set me straight for the week ahead. Oh goody! I got paddled and used, always a delicious combination. But, even more edifying was the rolled up newspaper bent across the car bonnet when we both arrived home separately from an early task only for my husband to discover that I had left the garage door open in my haste. It was lovely and stingy and relatively long and it completed the re-setting of my head completely.

I came upstairs and when I checked my emails I saw that a link had been sent to sit the same chakra test. I must have done that twice without realizing. I decided to take the test again with my new mindset and the results were very different. In fact, only two chakras remained "weak" whilst the rest were now "strong". Isn't that interesting?!

I now know where my focus must lie - on my "personal power chakra" (yellow) and on my "crown chakra" (violet) and that certainly makes sense to me since those are areas of life that I identified myself earlier in the year that are in need of work. Nice to know I was on the right track.

But, the point I did want to make was that I, and perhaps other people with submissive natures, tend to change their mindset with the wind. One day is gloomy and the next full of sunshine depending, it would seem, on how right they feel with the world. When they feel in their rightful place down there on the bottom, it elevates their state of mind and gives them a supremely better and more positive point of view.