We simply adore Spain and keep extending our stay in the country, one day here and one day there, not able to drag ourselves away. We are currently in the town of Begur (meet us in the town square tonight if you wish). It is divine - an authentic, little Medieval village that just makes my heart sing. Last night, we went for a walk at midnight after a perfect meal and my eyes welled with tears to be surrounded by such beauty at every turn. I can't fully explain what it does to me to be here and immerse myself in the culture. It is a dream come true for me. Of course, it is sublime to spend so much time with my owner and needless to say we are very happy.
Just before I left home, I'd been conversing with my mentor about the fact that 'the doll' has no free will and therefore the only possible avenue for her was to ask questions/permission to express what she needed or wanted. This hit home. I finally got it; that I must ask.
This holiday, I have been asking lots of questions. One example this morning was,
"Owner, may cindi have yoos of her handz?" (I'd slept with them tied together which provides me with the most wonderful sleep.)
He is very happy with this new skill of mine but I did make an error yesterday. Here is how that played out:
"Back in that last town, I saw exactly the type of tablecloths that I have been looking for."
"For God's sake, why didn't you tell me and I would have stopped. How can I know what you want if you don't tell me? Now, if this happens again, you'll be spanked. You ask me to stop if you see something you want. Understood?"
"Yes, owner."
I had no idea life could be this easy, harmonious and blissful. If only someone had told me 30 years ago that I must ask for things, life would have been so very much more content.
Why, I think I've got this whole darn thing licked!
Monday, May 31, 2010
Friday, May 28, 2010
Spanish Rhapsody
I've never been to Spain before and so far I only really know Barcelona, but I am in love with the place. We have had so many magical experiences in the past few days that I have to keep pinching myself to check that it is really happening.
Yesterday by chance we walked past the Church of Santa Anna, apparently the second oldest church in Barcelona, and a very pretty one at that. We happened to notice that there was a concert this evening in the chapel; a guitarist by the name of Alen Garagic, and we bought two tickets on the spot. It was sublime. Not only were we two of only about 25 people in this gorgeous chapel this evening, with only candles for our light but we were treated to an hour of the most gifted of musicians playing a lovely Sergovian style repertoire. Before each piece, Alen spoke in Spanish and then in English which allowed us to hear all about the pieces he had chosen. His talent is thrilling to watch as well as to listen to and it was an experience neither my husband nor I will soon forget.
As we made our way out to the courtyard we were served a really lovely glass of Spanish wine by the man from whom we bought the tickets and he told us a lot about the history of the church. We bought Alan's CD, of course. I'm listening to it now, as was my owner before he fell asleep on the couch. (Being a tourist is just exhausting!) The deal ws that Alen sign the CD and I took it up to him and naturally told him how much I enjoyed his playing and the whole experience. As it turns out his guitars are made by a man in Sydney so we had quite a bit to talk about. It is our first real conversation with someone who speaks English fluently since we arrived, so the four of us were very chatty.
I'm loving the passion I see here - in their food, their city, their country, their history; what they do and produce. I'm loving their manners and helpfulness and their restraint. They want to help but they don't want to intrude. I get that. It's all a marvellous adventure for me and proof that a city can be densely populated and civil at the same time. Gosh, I even get to dry my clothes on some cords strung out the window three storeys up. I do love such authentic details when travelling. You won't find me in the Hilton Hotel.
Kinky things are happening in the early morning and I'm a girl with a grin on my face but I'm just so entranced at the whole Barcelona experience, I don't have a great desire to get into that just yet. But I will share I did learn pretty quickly that my owner was not going to have me dawdling or lagging behind him on the streets. I had to be right beside him at all times, no matter what I wanted to drewl over in some other window. I'm more or less running to keep up with him. In spite of the people everywhere, I've managed to get a few hard swats on my bottom out there on the streets to remind me of my place. Nobody seemed to think it at all out of the ordinary though. I noticed that.
We had to practically push a couple out of the way to get through our wooden door leading to our apartment building late last night. He was rubbing her ass and trying to get her worked up while she begged that she needed to sleep for work the next morning. We offered her an escape through the door with us, but despite her protests to him, she decided not to come with us. Isn't that odd?!
I get the feeling that the rules may be different here between men and women and I'm loving the passion, the flair and the 'daring to be different' in the men all over the city. I feel that I'm breathing fresh air.
We should be back to normal kinky thought programming soon. Trust me when I say that my kinky mind is working overtime.
Yesterday by chance we walked past the Church of Santa Anna, apparently the second oldest church in Barcelona, and a very pretty one at that. We happened to notice that there was a concert this evening in the chapel; a guitarist by the name of Alen Garagic, and we bought two tickets on the spot. It was sublime. Not only were we two of only about 25 people in this gorgeous chapel this evening, with only candles for our light but we were treated to an hour of the most gifted of musicians playing a lovely Sergovian style repertoire. Before each piece, Alen spoke in Spanish and then in English which allowed us to hear all about the pieces he had chosen. His talent is thrilling to watch as well as to listen to and it was an experience neither my husband nor I will soon forget.
As we made our way out to the courtyard we were served a really lovely glass of Spanish wine by the man from whom we bought the tickets and he told us a lot about the history of the church. We bought Alan's CD, of course. I'm listening to it now, as was my owner before he fell asleep on the couch. (Being a tourist is just exhausting!) The deal ws that Alen sign the CD and I took it up to him and naturally told him how much I enjoyed his playing and the whole experience. As it turns out his guitars are made by a man in Sydney so we had quite a bit to talk about. It is our first real conversation with someone who speaks English fluently since we arrived, so the four of us were very chatty.
I'm loving the passion I see here - in their food, their city, their country, their history; what they do and produce. I'm loving their manners and helpfulness and their restraint. They want to help but they don't want to intrude. I get that. It's all a marvellous adventure for me and proof that a city can be densely populated and civil at the same time. Gosh, I even get to dry my clothes on some cords strung out the window three storeys up. I do love such authentic details when travelling. You won't find me in the Hilton Hotel.
Kinky things are happening in the early morning and I'm a girl with a grin on my face but I'm just so entranced at the whole Barcelona experience, I don't have a great desire to get into that just yet. But I will share I did learn pretty quickly that my owner was not going to have me dawdling or lagging behind him on the streets. I had to be right beside him at all times, no matter what I wanted to drewl over in some other window. I'm more or less running to keep up with him. In spite of the people everywhere, I've managed to get a few hard swats on my bottom out there on the streets to remind me of my place. Nobody seemed to think it at all out of the ordinary though. I noticed that.
We had to practically push a couple out of the way to get through our wooden door leading to our apartment building late last night. He was rubbing her ass and trying to get her worked up while she begged that she needed to sleep for work the next morning. We offered her an escape through the door with us, but despite her protests to him, she decided not to come with us. Isn't that odd?!
I get the feeling that the rules may be different here between men and women and I'm loving the passion, the flair and the 'daring to be different' in the men all over the city. I feel that I'm breathing fresh air.
We should be back to normal kinky thought programming soon. Trust me when I say that my kinky mind is working overtime.
Wednesday, May 26, 2010
Da 'uh oh' moment
It just loveli here in Barcelona and da Spanish peeple bery frendli. But, cindiz ferst dey in Spain did nut go exactli 2 plan.
Da trip here from cindiz home a beri lung wun n wen she finali arrived at her apartment she had just enuf energi left 4 a shower n den she sleepiz whyl onnir worki on a document. Den, she wakiz n onnir need 2 sleepiz while she do a littel workiz.
Sooooo, by da time dey go owt 4 a meal, dey beri hungri (no food ull dey). Dey so enraptured by da bootifool laneways and dey pass so meni gorgus littel bistros. But, ferst, dey go 2 a bar 2 celebrate der arrival wif a glass of champayne. Dey herd da peepel eat late here n so after da champayn, dey walkiz sum more.
Eventooli, dey lookiz 4 da bistro dey wish 2 return 2 4 dinner, but 4 sum reesun, de canna find it. Dey go bak n forth da laneways n it gettin mor n mor confoozn. Cindi startin 2 feel bit woozi frum da champan n da empty stomach.
Wot beri odd, dat sum bistroz closin, cindi n onnir eventoolo reelize, n dey go back 2 da main street. Dey canna unnerstan dis. But, even on la Rambla, dey closin 2.
Dis meking onnir grumpi. He sey 2 a woman hoo sey she alredi closed da restorant,
"But, y close, wen peepel eet so late?"
She say,"Well, Sir, we have 2 close eventooli. It 1.30 am."
Dat our 'uh oh' moment.
"You meen it nut 9.30?"
"No, Sir."
"Ohhhhhhhhhh"
Thankfooli, der two nys men hoo sell felafels dis l8. Cindi n onnir liki felafels n dis wat dey haf 4 din dins der ferst nite in Barcelona, followd by delishus gelati. Thankfooli, gelati stores open beri late here.
Now, it secund dey n Barcelona n onnir n cindi off 2 c wot happens wen dey tri buy sum brekki.
Donna hold your breth!
Da trip here from cindiz home a beri lung wun n wen she finali arrived at her apartment she had just enuf energi left 4 a shower n den she sleepiz whyl onnir worki on a document. Den, she wakiz n onnir need 2 sleepiz while she do a littel workiz.
Sooooo, by da time dey go owt 4 a meal, dey beri hungri (no food ull dey). Dey so enraptured by da bootifool laneways and dey pass so meni gorgus littel bistros. But, ferst, dey go 2 a bar 2 celebrate der arrival wif a glass of champayne. Dey herd da peepel eat late here n so after da champayn, dey walkiz sum more.
Eventooli, dey lookiz 4 da bistro dey wish 2 return 2 4 dinner, but 4 sum reesun, de canna find it. Dey go bak n forth da laneways n it gettin mor n mor confoozn. Cindi startin 2 feel bit woozi frum da champan n da empty stomach.
Wot beri odd, dat sum bistroz closin, cindi n onnir eventoolo reelize, n dey go back 2 da main street. Dey canna unnerstan dis. But, even on la Rambla, dey closin 2.
Dis meking onnir grumpi. He sey 2 a woman hoo sey she alredi closed da restorant,
"But, y close, wen peepel eet so late?"
She say,"Well, Sir, we have 2 close eventooli. It 1.30 am."
Dat our 'uh oh' moment.
"You meen it nut 9.30?"
"No, Sir."
"Ohhhhhhhhhh"
Thankfooli, der two nys men hoo sell felafels dis l8. Cindi n onnir liki felafels n dis wat dey haf 4 din dins der ferst nite in Barcelona, followd by delishus gelati. Thankfooli, gelati stores open beri late here.
Now, it secund dey n Barcelona n onnir n cindi off 2 c wot happens wen dey tri buy sum brekki.
Donna hold your breth!
Monday, May 24, 2010
Remember this
In all the days, in every way
you matter to me more than I can say
I hold you close and think of you often
Having you helped me to soften
Near or far, you are never out of my mind
How could that be with such a close bind?
Watching you grow fills me with joy
You're the best gal and three boy
Wherever you go and whatever you do
I love you, I love, I Iove you, I love you
Remember this; true blue.
you matter to me more than I can say
I hold you close and think of you often
Having you helped me to soften
Near or far, you are never out of my mind
How could that be with such a close bind?
Watching you grow fills me with joy
You're the best gal and three boy
Wherever you go and whatever you do
I love you, I love, I Iove you, I love you
Remember this; true blue.
Sunday, May 23, 2010
Giving and receiving
Every now and again, the girl who so willingly served others found herself bereft. She could not understand how she could give so much and yet they always wanted more.
She sat in a quiet room at the break of day and pondered why it was that some were born to give to others. She reflected on the fact that perhaps what drove her to give without asking for very much in return was a need so deep that she could not tap into its roots. It existed within her. The need to serve always had and always would thrive and grow within her. She was a giver. This is how it had been ordained. There was nothing she could do about it even if she had wanted.
Yet, she was not without her own needs. She understood well enough that she gave with love. Her hope was that she would receive enough in return to see her through.
In her greatest hour of need, she sat very still. She closed her eyes tight and was momentarily flooded in darkness. She let her mind wander until she felt arms around her, hugging her tight. His hands were workers hands with thick, Welsh fingers. His affection calmed her and sustained her and reminded her of his unconditional love for her and her unconditional love for him.
And, then her mind fleeted across to another pair of arms; this time extra long, and she felt them envelop her. She recalled the time she had unwittingly let him into to her lustful, burning soul and he permitted her to express her vulnerability, that one time. Not the sophisticated woman right now but a little girl with a breaking heart.
He waited until her eyes had dried and with the strength of all his being he told her that she would be all right. If he said so, then she was sure he was right.
She looked up and saw the new day break.
She shook her head clear and as she did she said goodbye again to those two pairs of guiding arms; long gone.
She prepared the breakfast.
She sat in a quiet room at the break of day and pondered why it was that some were born to give to others. She reflected on the fact that perhaps what drove her to give without asking for very much in return was a need so deep that she could not tap into its roots. It existed within her. The need to serve always had and always would thrive and grow within her. She was a giver. This is how it had been ordained. There was nothing she could do about it even if she had wanted.
Yet, she was not without her own needs. She understood well enough that she gave with love. Her hope was that she would receive enough in return to see her through.
In her greatest hour of need, she sat very still. She closed her eyes tight and was momentarily flooded in darkness. She let her mind wander until she felt arms around her, hugging her tight. His hands were workers hands with thick, Welsh fingers. His affection calmed her and sustained her and reminded her of his unconditional love for her and her unconditional love for him.
And, then her mind fleeted across to another pair of arms; this time extra long, and she felt them envelop her. She recalled the time she had unwittingly let him into to her lustful, burning soul and he permitted her to express her vulnerability, that one time. Not the sophisticated woman right now but a little girl with a breaking heart.
He waited until her eyes had dried and with the strength of all his being he told her that she would be all right. If he said so, then she was sure he was right.
She looked up and saw the new day break.
She shook her head clear and as she did she said goodbye again to those two pairs of guiding arms; long gone.
She prepared the breakfast.
Friday, May 21, 2010
My addiction
I've been working away here, efficiently and productively and all is on course for our departure very soon but I have taken a few minutes here and there to read some posts of those I read regularly and it suddenly dawned on me and I just had to write it down.
I am not a masochist. I'm not especially caring if I don't receive much pain per se at all. I don't like the thought of never being spanked, and it would be a sad thing if I was never again to feel the bite of the cane or the sting of a paddle, or the scariness of a belt (I can't predict what it is going to feel like and that makes it scary to me). But, I am not a spanko at all; at least, not any more.
My desire is for control. If that incorporates spanking or whipping, then so be it. Bring it on. But, there are endless ways to assert control and I'll take any of those. Thank you very much.
I want to know that you are the leader and I'm the follower of you. I want to know my place. I want to feel your strength and that makes me strong.
I read recently in an article about happiness that we all tend to return to a certain set level of happiness. My set level of happiness is rather high. If my owner tells me we are in for a rough ride with the economy, I tend to say to myself, "Oh well, it can't last forever." I don't enjoy being unhappy and on the whole, feelings of unhappiness within my mind and soul don't last long.
I crave use. I want to feel that my body is being controlled. I want it to be pulled this way and that. I want to sink down into that place where I am wanted; every last inch of me.
I want for my mind to be filled with the thought that love leads my behaviour; that I have loads of love and I give loads of it back.
I want to feel that no matter how old I get, I am still just a young girl at heart; looking for love; for the next round of making love.
Love me any way you want; fuck me any way you like, whip me, cuddle me or fondle me. As long as you do it with love; for me, for you, with me and endlessly.
What's my addiction? I'm addicted to love.
I am not a masochist. I'm not especially caring if I don't receive much pain per se at all. I don't like the thought of never being spanked, and it would be a sad thing if I was never again to feel the bite of the cane or the sting of a paddle, or the scariness of a belt (I can't predict what it is going to feel like and that makes it scary to me). But, I am not a spanko at all; at least, not any more.
My desire is for control. If that incorporates spanking or whipping, then so be it. Bring it on. But, there are endless ways to assert control and I'll take any of those. Thank you very much.
I want to know that you are the leader and I'm the follower of you. I want to know my place. I want to feel your strength and that makes me strong.
I read recently in an article about happiness that we all tend to return to a certain set level of happiness. My set level of happiness is rather high. If my owner tells me we are in for a rough ride with the economy, I tend to say to myself, "Oh well, it can't last forever." I don't enjoy being unhappy and on the whole, feelings of unhappiness within my mind and soul don't last long.
I crave use. I want to feel that my body is being controlled. I want it to be pulled this way and that. I want to sink down into that place where I am wanted; every last inch of me.
I want for my mind to be filled with the thought that love leads my behaviour; that I have loads of love and I give loads of it back.
I want to feel that no matter how old I get, I am still just a young girl at heart; looking for love; for the next round of making love.
Love me any way you want; fuck me any way you like, whip me, cuddle me or fondle me. As long as you do it with love; for me, for you, with me and endlessly.
What's my addiction? I'm addicted to love.
Tuesday, May 18, 2010
Vesta flies away
Very soon, my husband and I will celebrate our wedding anniversary. We promised ourselves that on that date we would be in Paris and so we leave shortly for an overseas holiday together for the first time in many years.
I cannot promise anything but I hope to made additions to this journal whilst we are away.
Try to be as good as you can in that time, although I confess, I intend to be very, very naughty.
Be well.
Vesta
I cannot promise anything but I hope to made additions to this journal whilst we are away.
Try to be as good as you can in that time, although I confess, I intend to be very, very naughty.
Be well.
Vesta
Bimboz dey dreem: part 2
Wun mornin daffi wokiz n she asoomd dat soon wun of da men wood cum long as yoozuel n poot in her pluggi. But, 2dey a speshel dey, dey tol her, n 2dey she nut wer her pluggi. Dey tel her dat durin 2 dey, she shood jus relax - reed da paper, or a book, mebbe walkiz in da garden; whatever she wans. 2nite da bimboz inishi8shun in2 bimbohood, dey sed 2 her. Daffi littel apprehensif but also beri xsitd! Her ownir told her dat wen she haf her inishi8shun, she unnderstan mor bout her troo nashur, n nut fite agenst it eni mor. Daffi waytin 4 dis dey 4 lung tym!
L8 in da aftanoon, da men tel da udder gurlz 2 prepar daffy. Dey bathe her kerfoooli, n maki up her fays n her herr beri prettili. Dey poot on her wot da men tell dem - just her stey up stockinz, a pretti colla on her nek, sum high heelz n a mask ova her fays.
Wen dey finish dey sey 'bye bye' 2 daffi n she sit in a cher in da loveli drawin room n wayt. Of cors, nut onli daffi xsitd but beri arowsd. She nut no wat 2 happen 2 her xactli but sittin der on da luveli comfi cher wif no garmen over her bottom, she bcum most arowsd. She awar of da goosebumpz da form on her skin and da wey dat her nipplz so hard. But, she weyt lung tym it seemz 2 her n she start 2 drift in2 sleepiz.
Quite unexpectedli, wun of da men, also wif mask over his fays cum to get her and he attach a leed to daffy's pretti collar. He leed her down da hall in2 a bootiful room where she c 2 udder men wif maskz. Da lite beri dim so nut reeli no hoo doz men.
Da man dat leed daffi talkiz wif her. He tel her dat she beri gud bimbo n she close 2 gradu8shun n goin home 2 her onnir. She onli need akt naturel here 2 nite. She 2 do wot cumz naturalli n dey observ her n c if she ken let her bimbo hart run free or nut. If nut, der bit mor traynin. She nut 2 worri eida way.
Den, da man hoo haf her leed, takiz her 2 a loveli antik wooden bench n dey aski her 2 bend ova da bench. Soon, ull da men touchiz her - her her, n her bak, n bottom; her legs, n feet, liftin up wun at a tym; den her pussi cunt. Dey talkiz mongst demselvz dat she alredi satur8d down der; such a gud bimbo! Dey tel her dat 4 speshel treet she yoosd beri well 2 nite: all her cuntz yoosd well.
Daffi alredi in sum udder plays in her myn. Da tuchin of her bodi n da tot of wot dey do fill her wif lust n she beri relaxd. Momentz l8r, daffi feel fingerz tuchin her asscunt, n spredn her cheekz, n den she feel a hoooj cocki filln her cunt. She beri well traynd n dis nut hert her at ull. In fakt, da cocki feelz wunderfool 2 her n she begin 2 cum.
"Such a gud slut," she heer wun of da men sey.
Da man insyd her reeli njoyin da experiens n afta few minutz he cum insyd her, fillin her ass cunt wif lotsa cum. Immedi8li afta dat, she feel a big pluggi poot in2 her ass, n she told dat slowli da cum wood leek owt of her ass cunt n down her legz. Dis tot nut seem 2 worri daffi et ull. Gin, da men tuchi her bodi n it obvius she beri, beri arowsd. Dey feel her titiz n da feelin sens8shnel 2 her. Sum tym goz by; she not no how lun. She in spays.
Now, a man, she nut no hoo, wanna taki her pussicunt n he cum behin her n enter her. Da pooshin on her pluggi n da cocki in her pussy cunt combine 2 gif her orgasmz liki she neva had b4 in her lyf, n involuntarili she start 2 maki noysez. She sown liki a cow, eben 2 her eerz.
Daffi begin 2 stick owt her tung, as if she lookin 4 sumtin, n she start2 chew 2, desperet 4 sumtin 2 fil her last hole. Da men taki mersi on daffi n wun man poot into her mofcunt a larg cockigag dat fil her mofcunt n whyl she experiensin lung n deep orgasmz she sucki, sucki, sucki on da gag. She troo fucktoy.
Daffiz myd empti. She tink nuthin. She is in a spays n a plays in her myd wher she free flotin. Her myd compleetli peeceful. She nut a gurl. She nut a hoo. She a wat. She jus objekt: totalli peesefool n happi.
Eventualli, wen daffi completeeli satisfyd n spent, da man in her pussy cunt cum insyd her, n collaps on her bak. She feelz a litenes of bein but der a momen of sadness 4 daffi bcoz she wish dat she haf dis moment wif her onnir. She a troo bimbo now n she wish her onnir der 2 prayz her n luv her.
Da man on her bak begin 2 recover n he start 2 cuddel daffi n hold her tite. She notis dat da man's hans liki her onnirz hans. Den, she heer him sey,
"My darlin daffi, finalli u akept yor troo natoor. Yor onnir sooooo beri prowd!"
It her onnir ull dis tym! Da cocki in her ass cunt n in her pussy cunt da cocki of her onnir ull lung.
Daffiz hart fill wif luv n happiness. How hevenli dat dis inisi8shun happen wif him!
Soon, daffi taken 2 cleen her bodi, n 2getha she n her onnir sher a delishus suppa. Dey sleepiz da nite 2getha in a speshel room n da next mornin dey sey der bye byz 2 da udder bimboz n 2 da men, n dey go home 2getha.
Daffi n her onnir live happili eva afta 2getha. daffi no now 4 sur she bimbo n she lif accordin 2 her troo natur. She threw wey da gurl mask 4 gud 4 now she free. She bimbo.
Cindiz deydreem
Dis mornin when cindi wakiz, she ull alown in her bed, n her myn wandered 2 a rather dark scenario. Dis daydreem 'B' rated; dat meen 'bimbo rated' so if nut in2 da thoughtz of a bimbo, best 2 leef now. It beri beri hard 4 cindi 2 write in gurl langwitch wen she in her bimbo head but she tri as best she ken. She beri sorri bout da mistakiz:
Bimbo Daydreem
Once upon a time, der a gurl hoo had a ownir and he feel dat she reeli a bimbo undaneeth her gurl mask. He try 2 haf her taki off dat gurl mask and reeli live but she 2 scared. But, neverdeless, he trayn her 2 sum extent. She began 'anal traynin' wif him and she reeeli quite liki dat but nut wanna admit 2 much.
One day, the onnir sed dat it tym dat she go to 'traynin school 4 bimboz'. She shood nut feel scared or frayd coz da peepel at da treynin school, dey do nottin 2 her dat he nut no bout n aprooov. She shood jus try as hard as possibel n he prowd of her effortz.
He taki her der n introdoos her 2 da men der n he tell her to jus kell dem ull "Sir". Der no need 2 no der nemz.
At da skool der five udder gurlz traynin 4 bimbohood n dey ull beri nys gurlz n nys 2 her 2. Dis maki da gurl feel much betta.
Eberi mornin wun of da men cum rown afta da showerz n pluggi da gurlz 4 da dey n b4 bed tym, dey pluggi dem gin, but dis tym wif bigga pluggi.
Beri soon, ull da bimboz der beri yoosd 2 da pluggiz n trooffooli dey njoy it. Wun dey, da bimbo hoo cum der on her onnirz orderz, letz kell her 'daffy', she complayn bout da pluggi n she had fit at da man. She sey she sik of da pluggi. She in beri bad mood. Da man sey she may nut haf pluggi 4 3 dayz. Oh, how much she miss her pluggi!! She realiz at end of 3 dayz dat she luv her pluggi n njoy da yoos. She mor n mor bimbo eberi dey n she feel sooooo much mor happi; so much mor hersef.
Da traynin of da bimboz go on eberi dey n der lotsa lessunz bout wot bimboz do n feel n dress n akt. All sorta lessuns. But wun dey, at da end of da munth of lessunz daffy haf her initiashun in2 da werld of bimboz wuns n 4 ull.
Oh gosh!! Mebbe dis 2 rood 4 peepel nut unnerstan bout bimboz. Wel, let cindi do dis. She finish der 4 2 dey, coz she so beri shorta tym rite now 2. But, mebbe, wen she cum home gin she finish da stori. If wan, looki 4 'bimbo daydreem, part 2'.
Bimbo Daydreem
Once upon a time, der a gurl hoo had a ownir and he feel dat she reeli a bimbo undaneeth her gurl mask. He try 2 haf her taki off dat gurl mask and reeli live but she 2 scared. But, neverdeless, he trayn her 2 sum extent. She began 'anal traynin' wif him and she reeeli quite liki dat but nut wanna admit 2 much.
One day, the onnir sed dat it tym dat she go to 'traynin school 4 bimboz'. She shood nut feel scared or frayd coz da peepel at da treynin school, dey do nottin 2 her dat he nut no bout n aprooov. She shood jus try as hard as possibel n he prowd of her effortz.
He taki her der n introdoos her 2 da men der n he tell her to jus kell dem ull "Sir". Der no need 2 no der nemz.
At da skool der five udder gurlz traynin 4 bimbohood n dey ull beri nys gurlz n nys 2 her 2. Dis maki da gurl feel much betta.
Eberi mornin wun of da men cum rown afta da showerz n pluggi da gurlz 4 da dey n b4 bed tym, dey pluggi dem gin, but dis tym wif bigga pluggi.
Beri soon, ull da bimboz der beri yoosd 2 da pluggiz n trooffooli dey njoy it. Wun dey, da bimbo hoo cum der on her onnirz orderz, letz kell her 'daffy', she complayn bout da pluggi n she had fit at da man. She sey she sik of da pluggi. She in beri bad mood. Da man sey she may nut haf pluggi 4 3 dayz. Oh, how much she miss her pluggi!! She realiz at end of 3 dayz dat she luv her pluggi n njoy da yoos. She mor n mor bimbo eberi dey n she feel sooooo much mor happi; so much mor hersef.
Da traynin of da bimboz go on eberi dey n der lotsa lessunz bout wot bimboz do n feel n dress n akt. All sorta lessuns. But wun dey, at da end of da munth of lessunz daffy haf her initiashun in2 da werld of bimboz wuns n 4 ull.
Oh gosh!! Mebbe dis 2 rood 4 peepel nut unnerstan bout bimboz. Wel, let cindi do dis. She finish der 4 2 dey, coz she so beri shorta tym rite now 2. But, mebbe, wen she cum home gin she finish da stori. If wan, looki 4 'bimbo daydreem, part 2'.
Friday, May 14, 2010
Compliments
All girls enjoy compliments, I think, but when you are a kinky girl those compliments can be different to what a vanilla girl might enjoy or find acceptable.
I've the dearest friend who can suddenly splice into the conversation,
"You may be too weird for me, Vesta."
Do I take offense? Of course not.
"Cindi beri slutti tots."
"Sumtimz"
"Sumtimz?"
"Well, mebbe bit mor dan sumtimz."
What a huge compliment that is!
But, my favourite, my absolute favourite compliment of all time was this:
Remember when Deity was dressing up in that latex suit of his and we girls were giving him grief?
Vesta said...
"You may recall that in one of my stories Susan complains of her dress code and Edward explains that he too has a dress code; for example, when he attends a formal event and needs to wear a white bow tie.
This is just an extension of that thought really, but I can't help thinking of the efforts you went to, to convince the authorities that you were the exception to the rule.
Giggling her head off... "
Well, when he replied to my rather naughty and provocative comment he said this,
"Vesta,
Go on. Go ahead and giggle ALLLL you want, you little tart. *sigh*"
How deliriously exciting it was to be called a tart! To my recollection it was the very first time someone has called me a tart and I loved it.
There are so many words to describe a woman - girl, tart, wench, vixon, harlet, scamp, babe, baby, trollop, a boiler (my mother used this word recently and it refers to a woman dressed very badly usually entirely unsuited to her age and body), slut, bimbo, doll. Is it any wonder that women are sensitive to the use of these words to describe them?
Yet, the words that are used to describe me - doll, bimbo, slut, tart, little girl, cindi - all make me feel very special actually. I'm completely comfortable with my own sexuality and where I go in the process of experiencing that sexuality and I know that those words are used with a certain reverence and pride and they please me rather than insult me.
But, I should point out that my approval of the use of these words to describe me is due to the fact that when these words are used, respect for me as a woman is intact. Or, that is my feeling. I think I'm right about that. It is the secret ingredient. Those men and boys who choose to use those words amongst their friends over a dozen or so lagers at the pub can go their hardest. No self-respecting woman has the slightest interest in them if their words are demeaning.
But, under my refined interior is a slut. It's completely true. And, only me, my husband and you get to know about it. That makes those naughty words not insults to me, but rather the most pleasing of compliments.
I've the dearest friend who can suddenly splice into the conversation,
"You may be too weird for me, Vesta."
Do I take offense? Of course not.
"Cindi beri slutti tots."
"Sumtimz"
"Sumtimz?"
"Well, mebbe bit mor dan sumtimz."
What a huge compliment that is!
But, my favourite, my absolute favourite compliment of all time was this:
Remember when Deity was dressing up in that latex suit of his and we girls were giving him grief?
Vesta said...
"You may recall that in one of my stories Susan complains of her dress code and Edward explains that he too has a dress code; for example, when he attends a formal event and needs to wear a white bow tie.
This is just an extension of that thought really, but I can't help thinking of the efforts you went to, to convince the authorities that you were the exception to the rule.
Giggling her head off... "
Well, when he replied to my rather naughty and provocative comment he said this,
"Vesta,
Go on. Go ahead and giggle ALLLL you want, you little tart. *sigh*"
How deliriously exciting it was to be called a tart! To my recollection it was the very first time someone has called me a tart and I loved it.
There are so many words to describe a woman - girl, tart, wench, vixon, harlet, scamp, babe, baby, trollop, a boiler (my mother used this word recently and it refers to a woman dressed very badly usually entirely unsuited to her age and body), slut, bimbo, doll. Is it any wonder that women are sensitive to the use of these words to describe them?
Yet, the words that are used to describe me - doll, bimbo, slut, tart, little girl, cindi - all make me feel very special actually. I'm completely comfortable with my own sexuality and where I go in the process of experiencing that sexuality and I know that those words are used with a certain reverence and pride and they please me rather than insult me.
But, I should point out that my approval of the use of these words to describe me is due to the fact that when these words are used, respect for me as a woman is intact. Or, that is my feeling. I think I'm right about that. It is the secret ingredient. Those men and boys who choose to use those words amongst their friends over a dozen or so lagers at the pub can go their hardest. No self-respecting woman has the slightest interest in them if their words are demeaning.
But, under my refined interior is a slut. It's completely true. And, only me, my husband and you get to know about it. That makes those naughty words not insults to me, but rather the most pleasing of compliments.
Wednesday, May 12, 2010
The Litttle Bridge
In my younger days (no, I'm not going to define "younger days"!!), I had a tendency towards the dramatic and if someone close to me (read: husband, boyfriend, boss, mentor) upset me enough they might find themselves listening to my "it's been great but it's over" little speeches. I'd be so mad that I felt I couldn't breathe properly until that person was expunged from my life.
Initially, I'd get a surge of adrenaline that had me high on my assertive action. But, within 24 hours I would usually feel remorse and regret. I had burned my little bridge and over something that was probably not a deal breaker in the scheme of things. If I'd kept my head, we could probably have worked something out.
When a bridge is burned, the possibility of return or retreat is impossible, according to the dictionary definition. But, I never let that idea get in the way of recovering a situation and I was never too proud to return to the scene of the crime to say that I think I had made a mistake. I would get angry for sure, but I also knew how to apologize too and to beg for forgiveness. So far, it has always been given, if not before a good telling off about my passionate and perhaps, over the top response.
When you burn something (remember guys, I'm no good at science) it combusts and when it combusts it changes. In other words, the burnt object undergoes a transformation. Now, some would say that all that is left of a burning bridge is a pile of rubble, but I would like to suggest that is not always the case. Sometimes, there is a small little bit of the bridge left to salvage and with hard work and ingenuity the bridge can be salvaged; even transformed into something more special than the original and intact bridge.
Don't believe me? Here's an example of what I mean. My husband and I are close friends with a couple who married and divorced many years ago. The marriage was fraught with issues related to his children from a previous marriage and in the end it was too much for both of them. They went their separate ways and lived on two separate continents. But, the original seed of affection and attraction refused to burn out. He would visit her when he went to the US for conferences and over time he wooed her back into his arms. When he proposed a second time, she said yes.
In front of friends and family in their beautiful garden, a year ago now, they said their vows for the second time. And, a year later, their union is better than it ever was before. It has transformed into one where they work together on their mutual goals; listen to one another and enjoy one another. They have grown as individuals and as a couple and the respect that was missing before is now evident. Not only that, there is no turning back. They walked away from a wreckage and survived. They have been through too much to let their second chance go to waste.
I have transformed now too in so many ways. I'm still passionate but not angry. I still can be hurt but no longer feel a desire to retaliate; to burn my bridge. I seek to understand the other. I choose to settle myself and forgive, reminding myself that this rather odd behaviour is merely an aberration.
Perhaps the hardest component for 'cindi' is that while she may ask a question, she may not receive an answer. Her concern or her upset often remains bottled inside her for the dolli doesn't worry or think very much. This is not an easy limit. The girl Vesta looks to heal and help but without adequate knowledge often the doll is just confused. She must wait, calmly and dispassionately for the dust to settle; for the embers to cool. Rather than allow the bridge to burn she must ensure that it is never set alight; that her bridge stays intact.
Cindi is peaceful, happy, content and full of joy. She thrives. Sometimes, she is confused and a little sad. But, she knows that there will be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. With the bridge intact and in good order she will use it to make her journey over the troubled waters to firm and peaceful land beneath her feet.
Such is the power of the little bridge.
Initially, I'd get a surge of adrenaline that had me high on my assertive action. But, within 24 hours I would usually feel remorse and regret. I had burned my little bridge and over something that was probably not a deal breaker in the scheme of things. If I'd kept my head, we could probably have worked something out.
When a bridge is burned, the possibility of return or retreat is impossible, according to the dictionary definition. But, I never let that idea get in the way of recovering a situation and I was never too proud to return to the scene of the crime to say that I think I had made a mistake. I would get angry for sure, but I also knew how to apologize too and to beg for forgiveness. So far, it has always been given, if not before a good telling off about my passionate and perhaps, over the top response.
When you burn something (remember guys, I'm no good at science) it combusts and when it combusts it changes. In other words, the burnt object undergoes a transformation. Now, some would say that all that is left of a burning bridge is a pile of rubble, but I would like to suggest that is not always the case. Sometimes, there is a small little bit of the bridge left to salvage and with hard work and ingenuity the bridge can be salvaged; even transformed into something more special than the original and intact bridge.
Don't believe me? Here's an example of what I mean. My husband and I are close friends with a couple who married and divorced many years ago. The marriage was fraught with issues related to his children from a previous marriage and in the end it was too much for both of them. They went their separate ways and lived on two separate continents. But, the original seed of affection and attraction refused to burn out. He would visit her when he went to the US for conferences and over time he wooed her back into his arms. When he proposed a second time, she said yes.
In front of friends and family in their beautiful garden, a year ago now, they said their vows for the second time. And, a year later, their union is better than it ever was before. It has transformed into one where they work together on their mutual goals; listen to one another and enjoy one another. They have grown as individuals and as a couple and the respect that was missing before is now evident. Not only that, there is no turning back. They walked away from a wreckage and survived. They have been through too much to let their second chance go to waste.
I have transformed now too in so many ways. I'm still passionate but not angry. I still can be hurt but no longer feel a desire to retaliate; to burn my bridge. I seek to understand the other. I choose to settle myself and forgive, reminding myself that this rather odd behaviour is merely an aberration.
Perhaps the hardest component for 'cindi' is that while she may ask a question, she may not receive an answer. Her concern or her upset often remains bottled inside her for the dolli doesn't worry or think very much. This is not an easy limit. The girl Vesta looks to heal and help but without adequate knowledge often the doll is just confused. She must wait, calmly and dispassionately for the dust to settle; for the embers to cool. Rather than allow the bridge to burn she must ensure that it is never set alight; that her bridge stays intact.
Cindi is peaceful, happy, content and full of joy. She thrives. Sometimes, she is confused and a little sad. But, she knows that there will be tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow. With the bridge intact and in good order she will use it to make her journey over the troubled waters to firm and peaceful land beneath her feet.
Such is the power of the little bridge.
Monday, May 10, 2010
The Real Thing
This morning found me in a hospital having a small procedure. It's nothing in the scheme of things and the surgeon assured me that the chances of the report coming back with anything sinister was remote. I'm an optimist by nature, and I believe him.
However, as I made my way through the maze of corridors, I took a wrong turn and found myself heading towards the 'Day Oncology Centre'. I stopped in my tracks and went back from whence I had come, looking up into the eyes of a woman who was, most clearly, on her way into the day oncology centre. My mind immediately wondered if she had the support of someone who loves her to the depths of her soul because in that situation, that is what she needs most.
It rattled me. There but for the grace of God go I. Don't misunderstand me. I have faith in the treatments available these days and if I were given a diagnosis of cancer, I'd deal with it in a positive way. My point is that on any given day our worlds can change on a dime. And, that had me thinking about so many of us who wish to live this lifestyle and find themselves considering a choice between a vanilla style life or a D/s or BDSM sort of life.
Here's the bottom line. We all need to feel love and, hopefully, give love. We all need to feel connected with those special few people in our lives. We need to build relationships and for most of us that includes a commitment with a significant other person. We need the security of knowing that our partner is there for us; that if we get sick or life throws us a curve ball, he or she will walk the walk with us.
Frankly, I fail to see how it is possible to put the kink before the relationship. Surely, we have to build a relationship first: one based on mutual attraction, affection, love, some similar interests and beliefs, including a strong interest in sharing a lifestyle that fulfils mutual needs. Yes, the desire to express our needs can seem overwhelming. I do know this. But, it is not enough on its own.
First of all, we need to build a loving, caring and enjoyable relationship with someone else who suits our natures. We need to express our vulnerabilities and our true selves and know with some conviction that we are loved for who we are. We need to have faith that he or she will see us through the tough times which we will all have. We need to feel love and return that love. With only the kicks of BDSM, it won't be enough. I really want to encourage any girl reading to think about that before she offers herself to some 'Master' because she believes herself to be a 'slave'. Does he love you? Will he honour you and defend you and comfort you in your hour of need?
My husband has the conviction, the commitment and the passion of a Scottish warrior. He will never leave me. I know many of you will say that is just a foolish and ignorant thing to say because I can't predict the future. Trust me on this. He will never leave me and I will never leave him. It is the way it is.
And, a final word about my mentor. He was my friend long before he was my mentor. He is a great mentor because at the core is a solid friendship. This allows me to have complete faith in him and for the care to be mutual. Just below the surface of our roles are two people who care about one another and like one another. It is why it works so effortlessly.
At the end of the day, when we reach a point in life where we begin to look back to where we have gone, it is the connections with others that we will hold the most dear. When one feels this deeply about others, flaws and tough times are merely part of the tapestry of life.
P.S. After posting the above, I received a lovely comment from a regular reader who is a patient of an oncology unit. She requested that I not publish the comment. After reading that comment I would like to make another point. When someone is unwell this can, of course, happen at any time of their lives. Their relationship may be new, not fully formed yet, there may be no relationship at all or the relationship may not survive the challenge of illness. David at 'A View from the Top' wrote a wonderful piece about 'companioning' and this very much applies to people in such circumstances. We need someone to walk that walk with us and it need not be a lifetime companion. In fact, I know of a young girl, only 22, who companioned her boyfriend all the way through his illness like a pro. There most certainly is a grey area and we find our strength and love in unusual places sometimes.
To the girl who sent me the comment, I'm delighted you are still reading regularly. Your personal strength and strong character is evident and I wish you well on your road to recovery. My very best wishes and please keep in touch.
However, as I made my way through the maze of corridors, I took a wrong turn and found myself heading towards the 'Day Oncology Centre'. I stopped in my tracks and went back from whence I had come, looking up into the eyes of a woman who was, most clearly, on her way into the day oncology centre. My mind immediately wondered if she had the support of someone who loves her to the depths of her soul because in that situation, that is what she needs most.
It rattled me. There but for the grace of God go I. Don't misunderstand me. I have faith in the treatments available these days and if I were given a diagnosis of cancer, I'd deal with it in a positive way. My point is that on any given day our worlds can change on a dime. And, that had me thinking about so many of us who wish to live this lifestyle and find themselves considering a choice between a vanilla style life or a D/s or BDSM sort of life.
Here's the bottom line. We all need to feel love and, hopefully, give love. We all need to feel connected with those special few people in our lives. We need to build relationships and for most of us that includes a commitment with a significant other person. We need the security of knowing that our partner is there for us; that if we get sick or life throws us a curve ball, he or she will walk the walk with us.
Frankly, I fail to see how it is possible to put the kink before the relationship. Surely, we have to build a relationship first: one based on mutual attraction, affection, love, some similar interests and beliefs, including a strong interest in sharing a lifestyle that fulfils mutual needs. Yes, the desire to express our needs can seem overwhelming. I do know this. But, it is not enough on its own.
First of all, we need to build a loving, caring and enjoyable relationship with someone else who suits our natures. We need to express our vulnerabilities and our true selves and know with some conviction that we are loved for who we are. We need to have faith that he or she will see us through the tough times which we will all have. We need to feel love and return that love. With only the kicks of BDSM, it won't be enough. I really want to encourage any girl reading to think about that before she offers herself to some 'Master' because she believes herself to be a 'slave'. Does he love you? Will he honour you and defend you and comfort you in your hour of need?
My husband has the conviction, the commitment and the passion of a Scottish warrior. He will never leave me. I know many of you will say that is just a foolish and ignorant thing to say because I can't predict the future. Trust me on this. He will never leave me and I will never leave him. It is the way it is.
And, a final word about my mentor. He was my friend long before he was my mentor. He is a great mentor because at the core is a solid friendship. This allows me to have complete faith in him and for the care to be mutual. Just below the surface of our roles are two people who care about one another and like one another. It is why it works so effortlessly.
At the end of the day, when we reach a point in life where we begin to look back to where we have gone, it is the connections with others that we will hold the most dear. When one feels this deeply about others, flaws and tough times are merely part of the tapestry of life.
P.S. After posting the above, I received a lovely comment from a regular reader who is a patient of an oncology unit. She requested that I not publish the comment. After reading that comment I would like to make another point. When someone is unwell this can, of course, happen at any time of their lives. Their relationship may be new, not fully formed yet, there may be no relationship at all or the relationship may not survive the challenge of illness. David at 'A View from the Top' wrote a wonderful piece about 'companioning' and this very much applies to people in such circumstances. We need someone to walk that walk with us and it need not be a lifetime companion. In fact, I know of a young girl, only 22, who companioned her boyfriend all the way through his illness like a pro. There most certainly is a grey area and we find our strength and love in unusual places sometimes.
To the girl who sent me the comment, I'm delighted you are still reading regularly. Your personal strength and strong character is evident and I wish you well on your road to recovery. My very best wishes and please keep in touch.
Sunday, May 9, 2010
Circle of life
There's much ado about 'Mother's Day' as just commercial hype but I like to think of it as an opportunity to feel close to those women who have brought us life.
Perhaps it relates to the fact that neither my husband nor I come from families who were partial to big celebrations, but we've always made a big deal about birthdays, Christmas, Mother's Day and Father's Day. We've gone to the effort of finding just the right gift, and that doesn't necessarily mean an expensive gift at all.
My days of receiving gifts from the Mother's Day stall at the school are, to my regret, now over. I treasure all those gifts given to me with love, all of which were bought for under $20. The pink bear from my daughter sits on the chair beside by bed. The green purse given to me by my youngest son holds my gym card, change and house key. The evening bag my middle son gave me is the one I reach for when we go to an event and each day I make use of the container my eldest son bought me which I fill with hand lotion. As I sit here typing I am surrounded by pieces of their artwork from school, all of which I cherish.
I've collected all the cards the children have given me over the years and they are housed in a special box that my husband found at a fair. Nowadays, my daughter makes up a special big card herself and she gets her brothers to write a special message in it to me. If you were to read the messages you would see just how individual my children are and how their messages all have their own unique style. Yet, they convey the same message and that is that they are grateful for the love I give them.
I write these words in this journal at the crack of dawn. It is Mother's Day now in my part of the world but it is also a day of celebration for someone else and we must travel as a family to participate in that celebration later this morning. But, before that we will meet at our favourite breakfast cafe to spend time together as a family on our own. None of us wanted the day to go by without that time together that I think we all need. For thousands of years, people have broken bread together and food continues to be the way we come together to celebrate life. Gathering as a family for dinner is an important part of our everyday and a significant factor in our sense of connection.
I'm not going to say that a gift is unnecessary. I think a mother, whatever her age, deserves a commemoration of the day; whether that be a bunch of flowers from the garden or something more elaborate, or even to remember to call home. It is sense of connection with her family that she really craves. And so, when it is light and before we leave the house for the day, of course I will call my mother and arrange to meet her this week to share time together with her and bring a small gift.
Yes, mothers can be frustrating, annoying and difficult. They can be demanding and suffocating and pains in the neck. Yet, they give their love in abundance and ask only for a small portion back in return. This is the circle of life.
May you have a very happy Mother's Day!
Perhaps it relates to the fact that neither my husband nor I come from families who were partial to big celebrations, but we've always made a big deal about birthdays, Christmas, Mother's Day and Father's Day. We've gone to the effort of finding just the right gift, and that doesn't necessarily mean an expensive gift at all.
My days of receiving gifts from the Mother's Day stall at the school are, to my regret, now over. I treasure all those gifts given to me with love, all of which were bought for under $20. The pink bear from my daughter sits on the chair beside by bed. The green purse given to me by my youngest son holds my gym card, change and house key. The evening bag my middle son gave me is the one I reach for when we go to an event and each day I make use of the container my eldest son bought me which I fill with hand lotion. As I sit here typing I am surrounded by pieces of their artwork from school, all of which I cherish.
I've collected all the cards the children have given me over the years and they are housed in a special box that my husband found at a fair. Nowadays, my daughter makes up a special big card herself and she gets her brothers to write a special message in it to me. If you were to read the messages you would see just how individual my children are and how their messages all have their own unique style. Yet, they convey the same message and that is that they are grateful for the love I give them.
I write these words in this journal at the crack of dawn. It is Mother's Day now in my part of the world but it is also a day of celebration for someone else and we must travel as a family to participate in that celebration later this morning. But, before that we will meet at our favourite breakfast cafe to spend time together as a family on our own. None of us wanted the day to go by without that time together that I think we all need. For thousands of years, people have broken bread together and food continues to be the way we come together to celebrate life. Gathering as a family for dinner is an important part of our everyday and a significant factor in our sense of connection.
I'm not going to say that a gift is unnecessary. I think a mother, whatever her age, deserves a commemoration of the day; whether that be a bunch of flowers from the garden or something more elaborate, or even to remember to call home. It is sense of connection with her family that she really craves. And so, when it is light and before we leave the house for the day, of course I will call my mother and arrange to meet her this week to share time together with her and bring a small gift.
Yes, mothers can be frustrating, annoying and difficult. They can be demanding and suffocating and pains in the neck. Yet, they give their love in abundance and ask only for a small portion back in return. This is the circle of life.
May you have a very happy Mother's Day!
Thursday, May 6, 2010
Forbidden goodies
On the issue of a submissive gal's food intake, dominant men tread carefully. Some tell me that they tried that and they aren't going back into those shark-infested waters. Others feel it 'part and parcel' of managing their girl. I think it could work for me so long as it was handled with commitment and dedication and a steady hand. Let me explain.
In theory, I like the idea of the dominant controlling my intake. I like the idea of someone ordering food on my behalf. When I was working and my boss took me for lunch I'd often order the fish or just a salad. He got tired of this. He felt I looked "hungry" and he reached a point where he would over ride my order and tell the waiter "she will have the porterhouse steak with vegetables". I had no objection to this. I like the idea of being told in the moment that I can't have something. Sometimes, I'll see if my husband is open to the idea of ordering dessert. "Do you need it?" he will ask. Well, of course, I don't need it and I let the idea go.
I've asked for my husband's help in the past. He knows I have a sweet tooth, must sweeter than his and if he's around he might give me a look which suggests that to eat that extra biscuit or piece of chocolate is totally unnecessary. In those instances, I usually offer it to him and he knows that is to assuage my guilt. He does not accept my offer and it goes back on the plate from which it came. All of that is okay with me.
I do sin. I simply cannot in good conscience deny that. Readers who have been with me for a long time may remember that the chocolate mint I get with my coffee after a work out caused me some grief and such events are not uncommon. I have a sweet tooth and it demands to be fed.
Yet, I know perfectly well that if I am to lose those few stubborn kilos that I want to lose and get back to feeling that my body is as I want it to be, I can't eat chocolate or any sort of naughty treats. Whilst I am losing the weight at the very least, I need to demonstrate restraint and self-discipline of the highest order.
Unfortunately, the kind of assistance my husband has offered me relates to when he sees me in the act or finds some evidence that I have been naughty and eaten foods that make weight loss virtually impossible.
"Did you eat the biscuits missing from this packet?"
'Did you eat the last few pieces of the chocolate bar?"
Put those lollies away!"
It stops me in the moment but doesn't necessarily restrain me and contain me in a way that I feel would work tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
I accept that there are reasons behind why dominants won't venture into this territory, but if I can accept my rules on all sorts of other matters then I really can't see why rules about food restrictions and limitations would not work for me so long as the dominant followed through. On other matters there are corrections for poor behaviour and praise for good behaviour. I think that might be just the 'kicker' I need to achieve my optimum weight in no time.
Since nobody has ever offered me this service, I guess I may just have to ask. Frankly, that is the hardest part of all.
In theory, I like the idea of the dominant controlling my intake. I like the idea of someone ordering food on my behalf. When I was working and my boss took me for lunch I'd often order the fish or just a salad. He got tired of this. He felt I looked "hungry" and he reached a point where he would over ride my order and tell the waiter "she will have the porterhouse steak with vegetables". I had no objection to this. I like the idea of being told in the moment that I can't have something. Sometimes, I'll see if my husband is open to the idea of ordering dessert. "Do you need it?" he will ask. Well, of course, I don't need it and I let the idea go.
I've asked for my husband's help in the past. He knows I have a sweet tooth, must sweeter than his and if he's around he might give me a look which suggests that to eat that extra biscuit or piece of chocolate is totally unnecessary. In those instances, I usually offer it to him and he knows that is to assuage my guilt. He does not accept my offer and it goes back on the plate from which it came. All of that is okay with me.
I do sin. I simply cannot in good conscience deny that. Readers who have been with me for a long time may remember that the chocolate mint I get with my coffee after a work out caused me some grief and such events are not uncommon. I have a sweet tooth and it demands to be fed.
Yet, I know perfectly well that if I am to lose those few stubborn kilos that I want to lose and get back to feeling that my body is as I want it to be, I can't eat chocolate or any sort of naughty treats. Whilst I am losing the weight at the very least, I need to demonstrate restraint and self-discipline of the highest order.
Unfortunately, the kind of assistance my husband has offered me relates to when he sees me in the act or finds some evidence that I have been naughty and eaten foods that make weight loss virtually impossible.
"Did you eat the biscuits missing from this packet?"
'Did you eat the last few pieces of the chocolate bar?"
Put those lollies away!"
It stops me in the moment but doesn't necessarily restrain me and contain me in a way that I feel would work tomorrow and tomorrow and tomorrow.
I accept that there are reasons behind why dominants won't venture into this territory, but if I can accept my rules on all sorts of other matters then I really can't see why rules about food restrictions and limitations would not work for me so long as the dominant followed through. On other matters there are corrections for poor behaviour and praise for good behaviour. I think that might be just the 'kicker' I need to achieve my optimum weight in no time.
Since nobody has ever offered me this service, I guess I may just have to ask. Frankly, that is the hardest part of all.
Wednesday, May 5, 2010
Deluding oneself
Without question, there have been a lot of changes in me in the past year. I know that. My husband knows that. I think you know that. But, spare a thought for the mentor who only has words by which to evaluate and determine those changes! It actually had not occurred to me how difficult that was until he said in the past day that cindi was not telling the whole truth.
It is most rare for me to be riled these days (that happens to be one of the changes) but I was immediately taken aback. I do tell him the truth! Then why, he wanted to know, had I told him something yesterday for the first time? Why up until that moment, had I claimed that I was not interested in that particular thing; that it wasn't a goal and that it didn't turn me on?
The easy answer, and the one I gave was that the change had simply evolved to reach the point that my state of mind had altered and on that day; yesterday. Well...that's true and not quite true. I was a little rattled at first at the question he posed. I didn't feel that it was something I was into, but at the same time it did enter my fantasy life soon thereafter; it was becoming less and less scary to me and more and more, a normal part of the transformational process accepted in my mind.
No, I guess I didn't exactly impart that knowledge to him before yesterday and I imagine, with hindsight that my change of mind was rather sudden. I can see how he would feel that I was holding back.
But, here's the thing about a girl's mindset. A girl resists a thought. It's just silly, she thinks and she automatically rejects it, perhaps because she feels she ought to do so. Nice girls aren't into that! But, then she thinks about it in her own good time. And, she thinks some more. And, then she eroticizes that thought. She sees the odd photograph. She reads the odd thing. And, without her knowing it herself, her mind has not only accepted the new idea but embraced it and called it her own. The idea is set in her mind so firmly that she can't even remember when it was not part of her.
The mentor happens along at this juncture and asks the same questions again fully ready for the same answer he got before. She is not into it. But, she doesn't say that this time. With full conviction, she says the contrary to that. Yep. She's into it! And, she moves on, without a blink of an eye; without any sense of contradiction whatsoever. And, what does she get?
"Back up, bimbo."
Oh dear, what has she done wrong now? She hasn't told the full truth? Excuse me?
I am truly in awe of this mentoring process; of the attention to detail; of the insistence that the girl open herself and engage with complete honesty. I actually thought I was being honest when my own mind was deluding itself.
This is the power of the doll. She is an open vessel. She knows her own mind better than the girl ever could and when she sinks deep into that alter ego, there is nothing that she can hide, even from herself.
It is most rare for me to be riled these days (that happens to be one of the changes) but I was immediately taken aback. I do tell him the truth! Then why, he wanted to know, had I told him something yesterday for the first time? Why up until that moment, had I claimed that I was not interested in that particular thing; that it wasn't a goal and that it didn't turn me on?
The easy answer, and the one I gave was that the change had simply evolved to reach the point that my state of mind had altered and on that day; yesterday. Well...that's true and not quite true. I was a little rattled at first at the question he posed. I didn't feel that it was something I was into, but at the same time it did enter my fantasy life soon thereafter; it was becoming less and less scary to me and more and more, a normal part of the transformational process accepted in my mind.
No, I guess I didn't exactly impart that knowledge to him before yesterday and I imagine, with hindsight that my change of mind was rather sudden. I can see how he would feel that I was holding back.
But, here's the thing about a girl's mindset. A girl resists a thought. It's just silly, she thinks and she automatically rejects it, perhaps because she feels she ought to do so. Nice girls aren't into that! But, then she thinks about it in her own good time. And, she thinks some more. And, then she eroticizes that thought. She sees the odd photograph. She reads the odd thing. And, without her knowing it herself, her mind has not only accepted the new idea but embraced it and called it her own. The idea is set in her mind so firmly that she can't even remember when it was not part of her.
The mentor happens along at this juncture and asks the same questions again fully ready for the same answer he got before. She is not into it. But, she doesn't say that this time. With full conviction, she says the contrary to that. Yep. She's into it! And, she moves on, without a blink of an eye; without any sense of contradiction whatsoever. And, what does she get?
"Back up, bimbo."
Oh dear, what has she done wrong now? She hasn't told the full truth? Excuse me?
I am truly in awe of this mentoring process; of the attention to detail; of the insistence that the girl open herself and engage with complete honesty. I actually thought I was being honest when my own mind was deluding itself.
This is the power of the doll. She is an open vessel. She knows her own mind better than the girl ever could and when she sinks deep into that alter ego, there is nothing that she can hide, even from herself.
Tuesday, May 4, 2010
State of mind
Dolliz luv the color 'pink! They luv pink nailpolish n pink lipstick, n pink blush, n pink clothes. The color 'pink' maki dem feel so happi, n girlie, n bubbli.
Sumtimes, dolliz ken feel so happi in der heart dat no matta wot the werld looki liki, all dey c is pink. It so pretti from da dolliz poynt of voo.
So, herez a littel glimpse in2 da head of a real live dolli in her happi plays wen her werld is simply...pink!
Njoy!
Monday, May 3, 2010
Training: beyond 101
It's no secret that I am receiving training as a 'doll'; a plaything; an entity not interested in thoughts beyond pleasure and pleasing; playful; arousing; without ego.
I've taken to the ideas I've been introduced to via that training rather well. Naturally, I've found some resistance to some of the notions. At first, they seemed ridiculous in the extreme. But, as I've lived with them and grown with them, I've come to see the enormous value of them in my life, both within the marriage and as well, my inner life. I don't advocate those notions for anyone else necessarily but the simple truth is that they work for me very, very nicely.
I've never spoken to anyone else who has had a similar sort of training and I've no idea where I fit in the scale of those girls trained to think as I now do. But, it has occurred to me that one reason the ideas work for me is that I see life through a fairly straightforward lens. Possibly, I have just enough ego (not too much and not too little) to have an alter ego; to recognize where harmony may lie and to be unafraid to venture there, finally. I'm really just thinking out loud right now; wrapping my head around new thoughts. It could be that as a capable girl lacking in self-confidence on various levels, I found my confidence in that alter ego. There is food for thought in that idea.
Whilst I have never met girls who have trained as I have, I know one or two via the Internet and reading there it seems clear (to me) that we have something in common. We all live with very arrogant men. I definitely want to explore that thought more, too.
And, most importantly, I want to explore more why it is that I still find myself wanting to run away from situations, initially at least, that make me feel vulnerable, exposed and in competition with other girls. Is this vulnerability and lack of confidence of my own skills and appeal the reason why I can speak so openly and candidly with my men friends, but feel afraid to share all of myself with women?
Just when I thought I was doing marvellously well, shedding layers of the onion almost effortlessly, I come across a skin that I am guarding with my life. I can actually feel the anxiety inside myself as I try so hard to open myself to new experiences that frighten me for fear of what they might reveal from inside of my head.
I have found, and continue to find this exploration rewarding and revealing and rich. It intrigues me and unsettles me to realize that I may have only just begun to scratch at the surface at what is possible and what my deeply hidden thoughts may reveal. The unknown has me unsettled and tingling with electricity at the same moment.
I've taken to the ideas I've been introduced to via that training rather well. Naturally, I've found some resistance to some of the notions. At first, they seemed ridiculous in the extreme. But, as I've lived with them and grown with them, I've come to see the enormous value of them in my life, both within the marriage and as well, my inner life. I don't advocate those notions for anyone else necessarily but the simple truth is that they work for me very, very nicely.
I've never spoken to anyone else who has had a similar sort of training and I've no idea where I fit in the scale of those girls trained to think as I now do. But, it has occurred to me that one reason the ideas work for me is that I see life through a fairly straightforward lens. Possibly, I have just enough ego (not too much and not too little) to have an alter ego; to recognize where harmony may lie and to be unafraid to venture there, finally. I'm really just thinking out loud right now; wrapping my head around new thoughts. It could be that as a capable girl lacking in self-confidence on various levels, I found my confidence in that alter ego. There is food for thought in that idea.
Whilst I have never met girls who have trained as I have, I know one or two via the Internet and reading there it seems clear (to me) that we have something in common. We all live with very arrogant men. I definitely want to explore that thought more, too.
And, most importantly, I want to explore more why it is that I still find myself wanting to run away from situations, initially at least, that make me feel vulnerable, exposed and in competition with other girls. Is this vulnerability and lack of confidence of my own skills and appeal the reason why I can speak so openly and candidly with my men friends, but feel afraid to share all of myself with women?
Just when I thought I was doing marvellously well, shedding layers of the onion almost effortlessly, I come across a skin that I am guarding with my life. I can actually feel the anxiety inside myself as I try so hard to open myself to new experiences that frighten me for fear of what they might reveal from inside of my head.
I have found, and continue to find this exploration rewarding and revealing and rich. It intrigues me and unsettles me to realize that I may have only just begun to scratch at the surface at what is possible and what my deeply hidden thoughts may reveal. The unknown has me unsettled and tingling with electricity at the same moment.
Saturday, May 1, 2010
Mentoring
Whilst the concept of mentoring a girl is probably well understood theoretically speaking, each girl's experience within the mentoring process is unique and thus in practice no other person can really understand just what goes on. I have had the pleasure of being officially mentored twice and certainly the experiences differ markedly, although there were some common messages, as one would expect.
Naturally enough, I’ve gravitated to reading the words of those girls who have been mentored and those men who have mentored them as well and I have met one or two people through this journal who have been mentored or have mentored a girl and that reading and discussion has given me some understanding of their experiences too.
All of this leads me to the conclusion that there is little about my current mentoring experience that may be experienced by another mentored girl. It just seems to me that each one is a unique experience particular to the dynamic and the personalities of the two people involved.
By now, there must surely be an understanding that I am not a participant of the kinky world in any formal way. I don’t go to kinky events, munches, play parties and such. I have no kinky friends that I have actually met in person and I have only actually spoken on the phone to one kinky friend, once. I’ve heard the voice of my first mentor but was not given a clear photograph of him and in the case of my current mentor I know him only through his words.
The truth is that I lead a very ordinary life. I care for my family, see my friends, exercise; am completely faithful to my husband. My kink is in my head, my heart and my soul; every fibre of my being. It finds expression with my husband, my mentor, and my kinky friends via the Internet and within my imagination. That’s it. That’s all there is!
I’ve never been officially bound. My husband is perfectly adept with rope, bless his heart, but I’ve never been trussed up and lifted up off the floor; never experienced ‘the freedom of the ropes’. I don’t have a single marking on my body of any kind and I strongly doubt that if you saw me or met me you would have any idea of the thoughts and desires that race through my mind nearly every minute of every waking day. I have to believe that I am an anomaly in this space.
Just now a request popped up on my laptop screen from someone via Fetlife asking for access to my ‘Messenger’. I declined without a moment’s thought. I only ever made myself an identity there to have a look around and see what it was all about. I remain, on some levels, deeply introverted and shy about all this.
Let me be clear. I am not in the least ashamed of who I am, of what I do here or of the thoughts that take over my mind. I am not in the slightest ashamed of my inner slut, or self; call it what you will. To the contrary I am immensely proud of expressing my true self: to my husband, my mentor (past and present), to my kinky friends and to all my readers.
My issue is that I feel that I have left this all so late in my life. I’m all grown up. I am close to the finishing line in raising my family. I still feel a ‘girl’ in every sense of the word but I am very much a woman. Truthfully, I often wonder what you can find interesting in what I write here.
So there it is in all its glory: my vulnerabilities lay bare. My mentor knows that I am older than him. I see absolutely no point in lying about anything at all, let alone my age or my non-kinky and most ordinary life. And yet, sweetheart that he is, he is not at all deterred. I want to learn and he is happy to teach. And, that makes me a very happy and most fortunate girl.
I can’t and I won’t detail our mentoring discussions but what I can reveal is how extraordinary I find it that we can have accomplished so much together in spite of, and perhaps even because of the restrictions we ourselves imposed on the mentoring. That is not to say that we talked it all out at the outset. There was never any such discussion. Perhaps he remembers differently but I think he could corroborate that he never asked and I never agreed. It happened; both willing participants.
If there is a magic ingredient to the success it is trust. I have had my moments but they didn’t last long and apart from those moments I have put my full trust in the integrity of the mentoring process of which I am a part. I am scrupulously honest because that is my standard of behaviour but as well I know that he would and will accept no less.
I have experienced resistance. I still experience moments of resistance but it is of the playful variety nowadays should it occur. I know my limits and what is expected and I have no wish to damage the work we do. He leads. I follow. I progress. He praises. And, so it goes.
I am hungry for more; always hungry for more and completely open to suggestion. As the one I follow, he pays close attention to my reactions, questions me endlessly and in detail as to my motivations, my state of mind, my wants and needs and the whys and wherefores of those. I’m not given a command until he is certain that I understand the ramifications; that this is what I really want. And, when he is certain, no excuse whatsoever is good enough for non-compliance or breaking the rules. I rarely test his mettle in any real way nowadays. I know the result of that; it’s a waste of time and effort.
I’ve grown so much. I’m so incredibly happy to write that. This growth fulfils me in a way that brings tears to my eyes. The things I want cannot be explained through rational thoughts. I want this with a burning desire that goes far beyond rational thoughts. It is unexplainable to you in full since I cannot explain it to me. I just want it. That is what I know.
I am truly being worn down; eroded; made less. Within that process, the structure, the limits, the containment and care, I have found a contentment that may never have found expression in my lifetime. I am proud of the work we do and I’m eternally grateful for my husband’s support and blessing. What we do is a very good thing.
I can’t possibly expect you to understand but I welcome any questions you may have and I’ll do my best to answer them.
Naturally enough, I’ve gravitated to reading the words of those girls who have been mentored and those men who have mentored them as well and I have met one or two people through this journal who have been mentored or have mentored a girl and that reading and discussion has given me some understanding of their experiences too.
All of this leads me to the conclusion that there is little about my current mentoring experience that may be experienced by another mentored girl. It just seems to me that each one is a unique experience particular to the dynamic and the personalities of the two people involved.
By now, there must surely be an understanding that I am not a participant of the kinky world in any formal way. I don’t go to kinky events, munches, play parties and such. I have no kinky friends that I have actually met in person and I have only actually spoken on the phone to one kinky friend, once. I’ve heard the voice of my first mentor but was not given a clear photograph of him and in the case of my current mentor I know him only through his words.
The truth is that I lead a very ordinary life. I care for my family, see my friends, exercise; am completely faithful to my husband. My kink is in my head, my heart and my soul; every fibre of my being. It finds expression with my husband, my mentor, and my kinky friends via the Internet and within my imagination. That’s it. That’s all there is!
I’ve never been officially bound. My husband is perfectly adept with rope, bless his heart, but I’ve never been trussed up and lifted up off the floor; never experienced ‘the freedom of the ropes’. I don’t have a single marking on my body of any kind and I strongly doubt that if you saw me or met me you would have any idea of the thoughts and desires that race through my mind nearly every minute of every waking day. I have to believe that I am an anomaly in this space.
Just now a request popped up on my laptop screen from someone via Fetlife asking for access to my ‘Messenger’. I declined without a moment’s thought. I only ever made myself an identity there to have a look around and see what it was all about. I remain, on some levels, deeply introverted and shy about all this.
Let me be clear. I am not in the least ashamed of who I am, of what I do here or of the thoughts that take over my mind. I am not in the slightest ashamed of my inner slut, or self; call it what you will. To the contrary I am immensely proud of expressing my true self: to my husband, my mentor (past and present), to my kinky friends and to all my readers.
My issue is that I feel that I have left this all so late in my life. I’m all grown up. I am close to the finishing line in raising my family. I still feel a ‘girl’ in every sense of the word but I am very much a woman. Truthfully, I often wonder what you can find interesting in what I write here.
So there it is in all its glory: my vulnerabilities lay bare. My mentor knows that I am older than him. I see absolutely no point in lying about anything at all, let alone my age or my non-kinky and most ordinary life. And yet, sweetheart that he is, he is not at all deterred. I want to learn and he is happy to teach. And, that makes me a very happy and most fortunate girl.
I can’t and I won’t detail our mentoring discussions but what I can reveal is how extraordinary I find it that we can have accomplished so much together in spite of, and perhaps even because of the restrictions we ourselves imposed on the mentoring. That is not to say that we talked it all out at the outset. There was never any such discussion. Perhaps he remembers differently but I think he could corroborate that he never asked and I never agreed. It happened; both willing participants.
If there is a magic ingredient to the success it is trust. I have had my moments but they didn’t last long and apart from those moments I have put my full trust in the integrity of the mentoring process of which I am a part. I am scrupulously honest because that is my standard of behaviour but as well I know that he would and will accept no less.
I have experienced resistance. I still experience moments of resistance but it is of the playful variety nowadays should it occur. I know my limits and what is expected and I have no wish to damage the work we do. He leads. I follow. I progress. He praises. And, so it goes.
I am hungry for more; always hungry for more and completely open to suggestion. As the one I follow, he pays close attention to my reactions, questions me endlessly and in detail as to my motivations, my state of mind, my wants and needs and the whys and wherefores of those. I’m not given a command until he is certain that I understand the ramifications; that this is what I really want. And, when he is certain, no excuse whatsoever is good enough for non-compliance or breaking the rules. I rarely test his mettle in any real way nowadays. I know the result of that; it’s a waste of time and effort.
I’ve grown so much. I’m so incredibly happy to write that. This growth fulfils me in a way that brings tears to my eyes. The things I want cannot be explained through rational thoughts. I want this with a burning desire that goes far beyond rational thoughts. It is unexplainable to you in full since I cannot explain it to me. I just want it. That is what I know.
I am truly being worn down; eroded; made less. Within that process, the structure, the limits, the containment and care, I have found a contentment that may never have found expression in my lifetime. I am proud of the work we do and I’m eternally grateful for my husband’s support and blessing. What we do is a very good thing.
I can’t possibly expect you to understand but I welcome any questions you may have and I’ll do my best to answer them.
Subscribe to:
Posts (Atom)
