The Training School - chapter 2

Nicholas opened the door to the study. He left her suitcase outside the door. There were some lovely landscapes on the walls, a large oak desk and some comfortable upholstered chairs. Although there was complete order in what she saw Lucille’s first impression was one of comfort and old wealth. The carpet may have been showing signs of age, yet it looked perfectly at home in this room.

“Please have a seat,” Nicholas offered as he gestured towards a small group of chairs. Two chairs were upholstered in a crème linen and two in an olive green leather, positioned around a coffee table at one end of the room; the opposite end of the room to his desk with two straight back chairs in front of it.

Lucille sat down in one of the leather covered chairs.

“May I offer you a drink? We will be having lunch shortly but perhaps a mineral water?”

He went to the phone on his desk, an old fashioned one where you picked up the receiver and pressed a button on the phone and he asked someone on the other end for two mineral waters to be brought to the study.

Although he hadn’t waited for her response, she thought it best to act as if he had.

“Thank you...Nicholas. I’m sorry. William has only referred to you by your first name.”

“Does that make you uncomfortable?”

“Well, I call William, William, unless of course the situation calls for some more formality, when I may call him Sir, if that feels right.”

Nicholas considered that and silence hung between them for a few seconds.

“You mean, when you are being corrected?”

The use of the word gave Lucille a little buzz. She was a little embarrassed and surprised at his directness. She smiled, although she didn’t mean to.

“Yes. Then.”

Lucille watched Nicholas closely and she enjoyed watching him as his mind seemed to be turning things over; considering what Lucille said. Although a good ten years older than her, he still had a youthful air about him; a full head of thick brown hair, watery blue/green eyes that seemed to watch her like a hawk and a lean but well muscled physique. She thought him ruggedly handsome.

Yet, Lucille suspected that underneath that old world charm of his was a determination to have his way at any cost. It was something about the sense of order here and the way he carried himself. Although he was dressed casually, as if he had been doing physical work earlier, he looked very clean and put together. There was an aura of restraint and control that left Lucille feeling that she best not tangle with him, or be frivolous. When he spoke again it startled her. She had been lost in her thoughts.

“There are three other girls here at this time, beside you. One girl will be arriving shortly but two other girls have been here for almost a week now. They call me ‘Sir’ at all times.”

“I see. Should I address you in that way too...at all times?”

“Yes, that is how you should address me.”

“Yes. Yes, Sir.”

“For now, I shall call you Lucille but that will alter at the appropriate time.”

She did not understand but she nodded as if she did.

The door opened and a refined looking country woman brought in a tray on which was two glasses of mineral water and ice. Nicholas introduced her as “Mrs McNeice, the wonderful woman who provides us with such very fine food”. She cheerily offered a glass to Lucille and then to Nicholas and left the room.

Lucile was pleased to have something in her hands, something to do with her hands. She could feel him watching her, every move she made. She became aware of her nervousness when she brought the glass to her lips and it felt heavy to her and she almost feared that she would spill some. Then, Nicholas asked if she had any questions.

“Well, yes, I do. I have so many questions. I mean, this was all so sudden and I am not entirely sure why I am here or even what to expect.”

“Don’t worry yourself. It will all become evident in good time. It is of no real value for us to talk too much in detail right now. It is best that you experience change rather than talk about it.”

Lucille remained unenlightened. Perhaps a direct question this time...

“Will I meet the other girls soon?”

“Oh yes. Two of them will be at lunch. The other girl, Susan, will arrive this afternoon. I like to have four girls here at a time. I don’t like larger groups than that. Four girls is a good number. They are all in a relatively similar place to you. They are all submissives but with a great deal to learn.”

Lucille took this to mean that she had a great deal to learn. She thought this rather unfair of him since she felt she already knew a lot, but she stayed quiet about it.

“You will all sleep in the same room. We have various daily protocols and it suits the staff and me to manage all girls in the one place. There is a large bathroom off the bed room and I think you will find the bed comfortable.”

Daily protocols? What on earth did that mean? She dared not ask him for fear of his answer – no doubt another statement that would mean nothing to her. She made an effort to lighten the mood as she might with strangers at a party and as well, to provide him with the required sense of formality that he had said he wanted. She giggled a little, somewhat nervously.

“Well, Sir, I doubt I have all that much to wear. William packed for me and heaven knows what he has put in the suitcase, but he did mention that there was a ...dress code here. Are you able to give me some details about that?”

“Oh. He didn’t tell you. Certainly. Our girls here are given suitable clothing to wear. I like all my girls to wear the same sort of thing and the sort of dress that is appropriate for their status and the tasks at hand and the lessons they need to learn. We are aware of your measurements and the size you wear and your clothing has been prepared.

Since the summer is well and truly here now you will mostly wear a cotton dress of dark colour which takes notes of your shape but allows for easy access to you. These dresses will be found hanging in the cupboard next to your bed. There are some activities and tasks that require other clothing be worn. You will find what you need in the dresser and cupboard by your bed. I’m sure William has packed you some brassieres but he will not have packed you any panties. They are not suitable here and he was asked to leave them at home.”

Lucille hoped that her surprise was not registered on her face. Was this really happening to her? Easy access to her? This had to be a dream. She folded one hand in the other and discreetly pinched her skin on one wrist hard. It hurt. No, this was not a dream. Her mind tried to recall exactly what he had said about panties. Although William would sometimes tell her not to wear panties, for the day at home or when they went out to a dinner, she usually did wear them and the thought of not wearing a pair at all whilst she was here was a deeply challenging thought. She wanted to reply to this, to tell him that she would not do that but she fought with her inner turmoil, wrestled it down and simply said, “I see.”

“Girls sleep naked but I like to give girls a reward when they do good work and a pretty negligee is one such reward you may earn. You are welcome to wear a little jewellery of your own choice at most times so long as it is discreet and of good taste. No watches. I asked William to pack some suitable shoes and sandals, all with a heel... and some runners, too. Yes, you will need those. The contents of your suitcase will be unpacked in your area of the bedroom whilst we lunch.”

It was at that moment that Lucille heard the chiming of a gong and Nicholas advised her that this meant that luncheon was served. He stood up and invited her to do so too. He led her towards the dining room, a lovely room with high ceilings and a picture window that looked out to a charming garden with roses and lots of well established camellias. The table was set for four people today but could accommodate eight people easily. When they arrived two girls were already standing behind their chairs, the chairs closest to the window.

“Lucille, allow me to introduce Pammi and Sherri. Pammi, Sherri, this is our new girl, Lucille.”

“Hello,” Lucille said, smiling, hoping to make a good first impression. "I am pleased to meet you.”

They smiled back at her and greeted her. They seemed happy enough.

“Girls, show Lucille how to sit down properly please. Lucille come around here and observe them carefully.”

In unison, Pammi and Sherri (what odd names, she thought) lifted the skirts of their dresses at the back, all the way to their waists to reveal bare bottoms. Using both their hands they parted their cheeks and they then sat down very purposefully and elegantly. Their move was so discreet and done with such assurance that Lucille wondered if her eyes had deceived her. Dear God. They surely did not expect...?

“Now go to that chair, Lucille.”

In shock, she moved to the chair he had indicated.

“Are you wearing panties?”

“Yes, I am.”

“Take them off and give them to me.”

“Here? Now?”

She was getting cross.

“Take them off”.

They were all watching her. She slid her hands up to the waist of her panties and pulled them down. She handed them to Nicholas in a tight ball and he put them in the pocket of his jacket.

“Now, sit down just as the girls did.”

“But...I can’t. I just can’t do that,” she said, totally panicked.

“First lesson, Lucille. Never tell me you can’t do something. If I say that you can do it, then you can do it.”

“But, it is so embarrassing. I...I can’t.”

She put her hands over her face. This was too awful. How could William do this to her!

Nicholas seemed unmoved. His voice was implacable. He offered her no reprieve.

“Lucille, look at me.”

She took her hands away from her face and looked directly at him. She knew to do that much.

“There is nothing the slightest bit difficult about what you have been asked to do. Simply follow the directive you have been given. Raise your skirt.”

She kept looking at him but she remained frozen.

His voice rose. “Do it!”

There was no way out. She raised her skirt as the other girls had.

“Now, simply place your hands on your lower buttocks and part your cheeks and sit down.”

She wanted to die. She closed her eyes and did as instructed, but it was rather clumsily executed and her facial cheeks were now bright red.

“Good girl. We shall teach you how to do this discreetly. It is an art form and you must not worry about it. It was a good first effort. Now let’s enjoy our lunch.”

Her suspicions about him were right. It was clear to her now that Nicholas was a man who would brook no disobedience from her. His charm and manners belied his true nature. She now saw him as the disciplinarian that he clearly was. It was an affront to her sensibilities and yet she could not deny that her stomach was swirling in extraordinary ways. She was very wet and more aroused than she had known it was possible to be.

Dollied up

Cindi tinki, n udder dolliz agree, dat in eberi gurl der actually a dolli hiding deeeep insyd. If a gurl wan her dolli 2 cum owt, eben 4 jus a little bit of time, one wey 2 reech da dolli deep insyd - 2 pley dress ups.

Letz sey cindi goin owt 4 dinner wif her onnir. She tinki sum tym doorin da dey, wat she goin 2 wer? N she choosz da owtfit n poots it owta da cuppord 2 air. Mebbe sum dolliz tinki difrintli 2 cindi but she alweyz choooz a dress or skert bcoz nut so ez 4 da dolli 2 cum owt in pantz 4 her.

About an howr b4 she needs redi 4 her onnir, she hab a showr n scrub her bodi ull cleen. She wash her hair n mek it ull shini.

Den she kerfooli choosz doz undergarmints n stockingz n she pootz doz on. She dryz her hair n makes it biggr dan uzuel - mor dolli like. N den she pootz on her make up, beri kerfooli coz she wan 2 look pretti. She pootz on da owtfit da she chozen n sum high shooz or bootz, n sprays hessef wif perfoooom. She choosz sum jewelz - some bracelets, n a neklace n sum dangli ear ringz 2 cumpleet da look n da feel.

She lookz in da mirror at da final result and ges wat? She seez da dolli lookin bak at her n insyd her hart n her mynd she noz dat da dolli alyv.

Now, der wun little deeetale dat cindi nut menshin. Sum hoooz mey wonder bowt dat. Gigglz.

B4 she poot on her owtfit, eben b4 she do enetin else afta her showr, cindi poot in her pluggi, n pussibli (tee-hee) dis parta da reeezun dat she feel beri dolli 2.

But, eben if nut yoos a pluggi, gettin ull dollied up (n der a reazun 4 dat expressin, no?) hepz a gurl 2 find her dolli.

Dis cindiz tip for the day. Hab fun!

The Training School - chapter 1

As William drove Lucille down the tree lined driveway towards an attractive white wooden, two story house she tried hard to process what William had told her. He would be gone a month and would be unable to see her but he would visit her when he got back from his business trip. He wanted this time to be a useful learning experience for her; one where she would grow and learn more about herself. He asked only that she do as she was told and to always remember that whatever she was asked to do by anyone at the house, it was at his command.

William had given her no warning of what was about to happen. She tried to suggest that she had appointments to keep and things to do but he was prepared for this and told her that his secretary would attend to her commitments as they appeared in her daily appointment book and that he had appointed a cleaner and gardener to take care of the house whilst she was away. Her phone calls and emails would be directed through to his secretary and Anna would advise people that Lucille was at a retreat and handle all issues that came up. She need not worry about anything.

Not especially comfortable with surprises and being unable to do her usual planning, Lucille became flustered. Her mind immediately went to what she should pack and she told William that she would need at least an hour before she could be ready. He had thought of that as well.

“I have already packed your bag. They asked that you packed lightly since there is a dress code there. Darling, they will provide everything for you. Just gather your makeup and toiletries. Quickly now!”

William’s announcement was not entirely surprising to Lucille. She had entered into a power exchange relationship with him from the outset and understood that he was on the top. She had responded quite naturally to his assertive approach with her and their affections for one another were evident to anyone who saw them together.

However, William had been caught up in a number of major deals that soaked up his time and he was frustrated that he had not had the time to progress Lucille as he would have liked. There was so much hidden potential inside of her. He was sure of that. But, she was secretive about her thoughts. When he heard of the training school, sent for the brochures and finally met the man who had set it up he was convinced that this was the sort of opportunity for Lucille that he could not pass up.

Nicholas, the Principal of the Training School had been scrupulous in working with William in the past few weeks over every minor detail and he now had a long list of goals for Lucille. It was impossible to achieve them all in a month, or even two months, he cautioned William, but Lucille would be welcome to return periodically to achieve a new goal, if that was what he wished. That said Nicholas gave his guarantee that much could be accomplished in a period of four weeks, working with her day by day, and that he should not worry. Lucille was in safe and caring hands. They had been doing this work for many years now.

Of course, William asked for letters of recommendation and to telephone other husbands and owners who had sent their girls to the Training School. He was truly astonished to hear such words of praise and acknowledgement of a “life changing” experience. He listened to stories of how girls were now “liberated”, “had embraced their true nature” and how the couples were “blissfully happy” and became more convinced, minute by minute, that he was doing the right thing.

When the car stopped outside the front door, Nicholas was there to greet them. He opened the door for Lucille and once she was standing he kissed her on the left cheek, on the right cheek and then again on the left cheek. He had a wonderful, engaging smile and she could not help but relax in his company.

“Welcome, Lucille. It is a pleasure to meet you.”

“Thank you.”

William had come around to join them and both men put out their arms confidently and shook hands and exchanged pleasantries.

“Won’t you please come inside for some refreshments?”

William and Nicholas had already agreed that William would say his goodbyes to Lucille at this juncture. William feared that Lucille would make a scene and beg him not to leave her there and he wasn’t sure that he could resist her pleas.

“That is very kind, but I must get back to the city.”

Nicholas took from William the small suitcase he was holding. William turned to Lucille and held her tight; kissed her passionately and looked deeply into her eyes as if he were transmitting to her his strength and resolve.

“Remember darling, this is my gift to you. Do as they tell you. Remember that everything that happens here is with my consent. When you obey Nicholas and his staff, you obey me. I love you very much. Goodbye.”

She could feel the tears welling in her eyes and she did not want to cry when they were parting for such a long time and under these circumstances, so she said the least she could.

“Goodbye, William. I love you very much, too.”

He gave her a final squeeze and got in his car and drove away, whilst Nicholas escorted Lucille into the house. The bright sun of the day was a stark contrast to the cool interior and it occurred to Lucille as she followed Nicholas down the hall that she was going from the light into the dark, to a situation that frightened her but also excited and enticed her. Her curiosity beckoned her forward.

The Training School - prelude

For as much as I do say here on these pages, there is so much that I can't say. How on earth can I type into this blank space for you all to read, the machinations of my kinky mind?

You surely would not be interested to know about the training school in my mind. How devilishly dirty you would think my mind if I were to detail what happens there.

As much as it will disgust you, I am prepared to reveal that what happens to me there is not at the hands of just one man. Not by a long shot! There are many men who train me at the school and in fact, this is an essential ingredient of the success of the training school. When my body is prepared for my owner, so too is my mind. My mind must become that of a fucktoy and so it is critical that the men have me understand that I may object to nothing.

I don't. I don't object to anything at all because I see what happens to other girls who object and I don't want that to happen to me. To be perfectly honest, I also don't object to my treatment because I have no reason to object. The men keep me in a state of readiness and desire that demands I receive a great deal of attention and it is beyond the scope of one man to fulfil my current needs once they have tapped into my hidden desires.

Sordid, despicable, dark and dirty things happen at the training school and all at the behest of my owner who has provided the men with a long list of requirements before I should be sent home.

Try not to think ill of me. I shall not share with you the demands made of me at the training school. Unless, of course, you want that.

Fluency

It is stated in the the Bible, Ecclesiastes III (King James Version), "To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven."

As I wake to a beautiful sunny morning here in the country, the only sound that I can hear (apart from the click clack of my acrylic nails on the keyboard) is birds singing. And, it occurs to me that a long, wet, dreary winter has its purpose. How could one really know the beauty of this morning, the magic of this experience if one has not lived through the winter and waited, waited, waited for this moment?

As my children were growing up, every now and again there was the ever so sad tale of someone that we knew, sometimes close to us, sometimes just acquaintances, or other parents whose children were at the same school, whose child had taken their life in the dead of the night. And each time I thought that the great pity and sorrow of it all was that they had not understood that the difficult days would pass and after them, happiness would come.

I feel in an extraordinarily good place right now. I felt a shift in my mind a few days ago that felt really wondrous - a sense that I had overcome all my internal struggles and that I was handling life with ease. Suddenly, everything seemed do-able. I had the feeling that it was all within my powers. I had no more control than I did yesterday but I felt under control, able to not only cope with any situation but to find my peace with it and to thrive.

At school, when my son begins a new chapter of German or Chinese the first thing he does is to make a set of cards - the word in English on one side of the card and the word in German (or Chinese) on the other. It is a little routine I started him off with when his vocabulary tests demonstrated that he didn't have command of the new words for the chapter. And, with the words now in his command, he executes the tasks of the chapter without difficulty discovering that by the time of the topic test a few weeks later, his results are very good.

I have done the same thing for myself with my submission lessons. I have written down my lessons, reading them to myself over and over, making sense of them, internalising them and embracing them. I have a little black book where I write them and it goes with me wherever I go. And, with the rules and vocabulary of my lessons, I have attempted to put the lessons into practice and to make them part of my everyday life.

Learning foreign languages did not come easily to me at school. Yes, I took my French all the way through high school but my son is much smarter than me and I needed to work really hard to achieve the score I needed; a requirement in those days to go onto study Arts at university. Perhaps, if I had made out some cards...?

It takes time. It takes time to learn the lessons of submission and to really own them: to embrace them with your heart and your mind and your soul. My lessons have finally, and after a great deal of practice and work, seeped into the pores of my skin and buried themselves deep inside of me. They are a part of me and they won't go away. Of course, I will need to continue to use them, to practice the language of submission, to converse and to write and to read but I feel fluent now. It is not difficult and I enjoy it. I enjoy it a great deal.

There are many learning styles and one way to get through some tests is just to memorize a stack of information. It never worked for me and I had to work with material until I understood it from all sides. And, when it came to Literature or History or Philosophy I needed to do even more. I needed to not only know it very well but to feel it: to feel a connection with the text such that I could write from my heart; not the words of some esteemed professor who had analyzed the text but my own response to it.

This is most certainly a guided exploration that I am on but also a very personal and individual one. It delights me to write, I am at peace. It has made me very happy.

Communication styles

In many ways, a power exchange is an alternative form of communication. Fundamentally, I developed interest in the power exchange dynamic because I was exploring a way to communicate with my husband that was suited to his personality and to mine.

I do most sincerely hope that I have not painted an incorrect picture of my husband. He has a very soft side, is generous to a fault when he can be, is loving and sweet natured much of the time. His Achilles heel is most definitely his temper and a sense of frustration when things don't go his way. My Achilles heel is that I become really upset internally when I feel that someone has acted unfairly towards me. The power dynamic, I hoped, would take these two factors into account and allow us to better communicate with one another.

In spite of the many challenges of the past eighteen months in our lives, I feel certain that the power exchange has improved the way we communicate. Unfortunately, we still do trip ourselves up. I am happy to say, however, that these situations are more and more rare. When I think about these occurrences, there truly is no point in considering "fault". Yes, perhaps he was unreasonable in ways and I was unable to recover quickly enough, so perhaps I am at fault there. The best way I know how to deal with these occurrences is to reflect on them when I am totally calm and try to use them as learning situations. So, with that said, allow me to consider one of those more recent situations.

We were away last week, my youngest son and I accompanying my husband on a business trip. One day, he told us he had a meeting at lunchtime and he thought we could take a walk down on the boardwalk by the river before that. That sounded nice. I got ready but he was still not dressed. As he and my son ate their breakfast and mindlessly watched something or other on the television, I sorted out the apartment and when he still wasn't ready, I took my book out to the balcony to read. (Yes, that was a sort of protest. I can admit that now.)

Quite suddenly, I think he realized that time had flown by and he became irritated. Was I ready? Why did he always have to wait for me? Why had I taken both the keys? (He found his key a few minutes later.) He completely lost his temper and became, as far as I was concerned, totally unreasonable and unfair.

Perhaps, he thought that I would hurry him along. Perhaps, he thought I would remind him of the fact that we had left precious little time to take the walk? Perhaps, he expected me to stand waiting at the front door for him to be ready. We have had this conversation over and over – that I can’t just stand by him for what could be hours for him to be ready to leave; that I have plenty to do and will do tasks whilst he does what he needs to do until he informs me he is ready.

As he became more offensive with his accusations I lost all desire to take a walk with him and told him so. I think at that moment deep down he registered that he had done it again, but when people are upset they aren’t inclined to admit it, and he followed me out to the balcony and lectured me, telling me that my ego was in play again. I really was far too upset to acknowledge that or to accompany him and he left with our son for the walk, which was fine by me.

I can’t really explain on paper the internal distress I experience at such moments. It is not unknown for me to crawl up into a ball but I wanted to heal that day. I needed to find my equilibrium and find my peace. The previous day I noted that the city had a famous Cathedral and I picked up my handbag and went in search of it. On my way, I passed a pretty church and I decided to go inside. It was heavenly to sit in the quiet church and as ten minutes or so went by I could begin to feel myself settle down.

In fact, I found myself shortly thereafter in the midst of a Catholic service and although I could not make out a lot of the priest’s words, I knelt when others knelt and so on. At a certain point he must have given a directive and the next thing I knew a girl who had come in after me and sat in the pew in front of me turned to me, smiled beautifully, held out her hand and said, “Peace be with you.” I shook her hand and repeated the phrase and then again with another girl beside her.

I felt an extraordinary sense of happiness. My whole body buzzed with a sense of love and when I knelt shortly thereafter, I found that tears had formed in my eyes and were rolling down my cheeks. I gathered myself and left shortly thereafter, incredibly moved by the whole experience.

I left the church, rang my son and collected him a few minutes later from the hotel and we went to the Botanical Gardens and along the board walk and he showed me what he had seen with his Dad. I suggested we call to see if my husband would like to join us for a late bite and when he arrived we kissed and he gave me one of his puppy dog looks – the one that means he knows he was being difficult. We had a lovely afternoon together, the three of us.

The only other mention we made of the incident was just when we were about to walk into the apartment again later that day and I said, “You can be really difficult” and he said, “Yes, I can.”

It would make me extraordinarily happy if we never had such an exchange ever again. We are both upset by them and I think they hurt us. But, neither of us is perfect and I don’t imagine that we will ever be perfect. But, I think the power exchange we engage in is allowing for a much faster repair time.

I recognize my role in the relationship. As well, I recognize the need to go away sometimes and heal myself; to cleanse myself; to self-soothe. Instead of asking him for what he cannot give me, I have developed strategies to cope better and I think that is entirely legitimate. Demanding that he apologize, waiting for him to apologize or taking full blame for the situation are all strategies that don’t work.

On the other hand, I do accept my part of the blame. In my marriage, I will always be the ‘Personal Assistant’ – the one who takes note of the time, who needs to be ready on his time frame, the one who keeps the show on the road. And, sitting idly reading my book and not managing the situation was a red rag to a bull. He expects more.

I do not believe that a power exchange dynamic provides all the answer to issues between people in a marriage. However, for us, it greases the wheels and makes for a smoother ride, and that is indeed, a good thing.

Toyz

In sooooooo meni weyz, cindi alredy beri cuntaynd. She nut worri n she nut tinki ull dat much. She beri gud n beri wel behayvd. On da odd occashin she nut wel behayvd, but dis so beri unappreshe8d dat doz slipz beri rare now. She liki 2 pleez.

cindi liki fun tingz 2. It sertinlee seems 2 cindi dat doz peepel hoo wif cindi, njoy her cumpineee. Dey seem njoy da fakt dat she beri cumpliant n she do wat she told. Dey seem njoy her bubbli natoor n eben how silli she sumtymz aktz.

Cors, cindi nut alweyz abel 2 shine. Sumtymz she poot wey on da shelf n she haf wayt 4 da next tym dat sumwun wan pley wif her. Dis da lyf of da dolli. Dis parta her cuntaynmin.

4 doz peepel nut no so much bout dolliz, dey hab strung desyrz n dey desyr lotz n lotz of pleytym. Coz dey nut need tinki bout ull sortsa borin stuff, dey tinki mor bout fun tingz, n sex a beri fun ting 2 a dolli.

Der a new tot in cindiz lyf: dat it nut rite dat da dolli hab access 2 hessef.

"Wat talkin bout?" cindi wanna no. "Her bodi hab neeeeeeeedz...."

It tot it tym 4 bimbo 2 chenj: 2 "surrender".

"So bimbo hab no mor climaxzzzzzzz????!!!!"

"Oh dat nut da cays; jus nut wen she wun dem, n how she wun dem."

Cindi wanna no how dis werk. She beri cooooorius.

"Tinki bout it, ull pluggi, n den beltd, lokd, poot 2 bed den toy poot wey; yoosd l8r."

"Dat cood werk..."

"Bimbo got sins now how it toy?"

Oh ya, she got sins of how toy ull rite.

Oh boy, oh boy, oh boy!

Hypocrisy

From a child's point of view, there is hypocrisy going on in our lives. There are two standards of behaviour - one for him and one for me - and they don't entirely approve. I think I manage to keep the mood light often enough that they figure I am resilient and so they don't fester about it, but they do take note.

It is family folk lore now - one of those stories that gets repeated over and over - and it has reached a point where even my husband laughs along, so totally outnumbered is he, and it goes like this:

We were on our way up North in the 4 wheel drive - me, my husband, the four kids and my daughter's best friend. (Don't worry - we are never doing that again!) and I think it is time to turn off the highway to a new road. So, I say so. I have, after all, been assigned the role of navigator and map reader:

"Don't tell me to turn off. I know what I'm doing. Don't distract me."

So, we go a bit further along the road into a new situation and my husband figures that he must have missed the turn he wanted. I've been told not to say anything, so I don't.

"That was our turn. Look, you have to tell me when to turn. You're the navigator."

All five children groaned in one "I don't believe it!" moment. And, the rest is history.

I confess that I do struggle with these mood changes; with the very high expectations of me. No matter how out of control he is, how controlling, moody or exasperating, just one incident when I behave badly can set him into a spin. It seems to be a need that I am perfect: perfectly patient, perfectly understanding, perfectly under control, and perfectly willing to accept control.

As we move further along the path of power exchange, he has insisted on more and more control, not just in relation to me but in relation to making decisions. As I tried to explain to him this morning, we now have a situation where all decisions must be approved at the top: not decisions about what I buy in relation to small ticket items such as food or clothing and the like, but everything else.

It can be torture to stand by and watch, for example, our holiday house garden going to rack and ruin because he can't make a decision about a new gardening plan. With authority required at the top, and left to await a decision for long periods of time, huge wads of patience and tolerance are required. The alternative is to try not to let it worry me - to let the garden go to seed rather than rattle his cage. It is sometimes the choice I make but not without a great deal of internal frustration on my part.

And I wonder this: as I come to terms with my own personal needs for control, for containment and peace; as I become more and more the perfect female to go through life with, is a single incident of inability to remain in control of myself, no matter how much he pushes me, being whipped up out of perspective? It certainly seems to me that misbehaviour, such as losing my patience, is now completely unacceptable.

I spoke with an old and trusted friend about my concerns and he wondered if I should try to negotiate: perhaps a punishment to end the matter rather than a more drawn out saga of him feeling angry with me and me suffering a sense of banishment and having displeased. I think that makes sense except for the fact that a man who suffers this sense of displacement when his submissive fails him, even once in the bluest of moons, is not ready to make his peace. It is a deep sense of, at a guess, disloyalty in his mind and he needs time and space.

In fact, my husband explained it rather well to me when he said that he cannot accept the aggression towards him. When he responds to me in the way he does, he does not feel he is being aggressive, yet when I do the same thing, it seems I am. I don't understand that but I am trying to understand it.

My friend said that it is not hypocrisy because my husband is his person and I am mine. It is not hypocritical that I am being held to a higher standard because I asked to be held to a higher standard and if I was not, I would quickly feel short changed.

I don't dispute that I am being held to a higher standard than others at my own request. I certainly can't dispute the upset I cause when I am less than perfect, even if I have been perfect for hundreds of times before that and will be perfect for hundreds of times after that. I don't dispute that my role is to be the most modulated, patient, understanding and caring person that I can possibly be, no matter how prodded and poked and challenged I am in that role. I accept the role. I usually flourish in the role and I have no desire to change the role.

I only ask that the dominant stop and pause for a moment. I ask that he consider the enormous effort his submissive puts in to make his world comfortable, safe and beautiful. She recognizes the importance in his mind that she demonstrate, day after day, her loyalty, faith and love for him in the way she expresses herself and the tasks she does, just as he would wish.

On the rarest of occasions, she will falter. She will make a mistake. The world has not ended. She simply demonstrated that she is made of the same stuff of every other woman on this earth: not Mary Magdalen after all, but a woman of flesh and blood doing her best. It was just a moment - a slip of the tongue; a release of frustration. Your world is still safe. She still respects, reveres and adores you. She will recover and so will you.

Seeking co-operation

I can't say that I would have paid much attention to this photograph if I had come across it in tumbler myself. It was the words that were put with it that tickled my fancy:

"The girl on the right is concerned about the way the girl on the left is responding, because she knows she’s most likely the one who’s going to have to pay for it."

Yep, that got my attention and made me smile.

Once upon a time there was a thought to write a story about a group of girls and it was to be a rather difficult situation for them. If one misbehaved, someone else in the group might just be punished for her misbehaviour.

The words that went with the picture above totally explained (to me) why the girl on the right should be looking with concern at the other girl. She was the one likely to pay the price for the other's missteps.

It's a delicious and devilish thought, don't you think? (or am I alone here with my kinky thoughts...?)

As I was waking up this morning here's where my mind went:

It's after the scene above. The girls' ropes have been taken away and their mouths are empty. They are quiet and subdued after the ordeal; still naked. Yet the girls remain who and what they are: the one on the left is an extrovert and often in trouble. The one on the right is more of an introvert and tries hard to stay out of trouble. They are close to one another in only the way an introverted and extroverted girl can be. The introvert is attracted to the fun and excitement that the extroverted friend can bring to her life and the extroverted girl benefits from the commonsense and caution of the introverted girl. Let's call Miss Extrovert, Erina and Miss Introvert, Indy.

The man is not happy with the way things have gone in the session. and he is not ready to let the girls go and rest. He wants to consolidate the lessons learned with some time in the 'classroom' and he tells them to take their seats - two wooden seats at two separate wooden desks, side by side. The girls are reluctant. Their bottoms are marked and sore but neither of them dares disobey him.

He gives them both paper and a pen and he tells them that before they will be dismissed they are to write in their best hand writing, 250 times

"I must obey all commands instantly and with good grace."

They are not to stop writing at any time. They are not to look about and they most certainly may not wriggle in their chairs.

Do they understand?

"Yes, Sir." "Yes, Sir."

"One last thing," he says as they pick up their pens, "If there is any misbehaviour by one of you, I will punish the other girl."

The girls respond to this statement in entirely different ways. Indy sends up a silent prayer begging Erina to please behave herself, whilst Erina sees it as a delicious dare. How brilliant that she can be naughty but that the consequences will be felt by Indy! She knows it is bad but too good to let the chance go by.

Within minutes Erina is behaving like an errant school girl. She is shuffling about in her seat, looking all about her and crossing out words in a way that she knows will rile Mr. Perfectionist looking on.

"All right Erina, you were warned. Indy come here."

"But, Sir..."

"Don't make me ask twice Indy."

Poor Indy comes up to him positioned as he is over a big wooden chair holding a wooden back hairbrush and as instructed she bends over to take a walloping. Within a minute, the poor girl is howling as the brush meets her already tender backside and within two minutes tears pour down her face.

After three minutes of enthusiastic paddling, the man tells her to stand and even to express her regret for the misbehaviour and her thank yous for the correction.

This just isn't fair!!

"I am sorry that Erina misbehaved, Sir. Thank you for punishing me."

"Are you happy, Erina?" he asked.

It was true to say that at this moment, Erina had mixed feelings. Poor Indy looked so sad and confused and she had done something that Indy would never do to her. She bowed her head in shame.

"Continue on with your work, girls. Erina, begin your page again. It is a mess."

"Yes, Sir." "Yes, Sir."

As poor Indy carried on with her lines, sitting on a red hot and very sore bottom, she began to wonder what she ever saw in Erina. Yes, she had been lots of fun, but this high jinks of hers today had been too much.

The more she thought about it, the more upset she became. How dare the girl go about getting her in trouble like that again! How would she like to get that paddling??!! She would never do that to her!

Or, would she?!

A devilish, sinful and quite out of personality thought occurred to her. If she were to do something naughty, she could get back at Erina and teach her a lesson she would remember for a long time.

Ohhh, but she couldn't! Could she?! Well, maybe just this one time...

Before any thoughts of anxiety about being bad entered her good little head, she acted decisively and lifted the desk lid and banged it down, making such a thud that Mr. Perfect jumped out of his chair.

"Indy, how dare you make that noise!"

"Oh, what the fuck! Who cares about a little noise? Let's liven things up in here."

Her statement was met with silence and looks of total incomprehension. Both Mr. Perfect and Erina were too shocked to immediately respond. Indy said that?

"How dare you speak to me like that, young lady. Erina get over my knee right now."

"But, that isn't fair..." she began.

"I'll decide what is fair around here, Erina. Now, over my knee and don't think you won't pay dearly for this uproar."

Reluctantly, Erina tipped her naked body over Mr. Perfect's knees and from the first whack, he made sure that Erina would remember this paddling for a very long time. She howled out her complaints and cried her heart out while Mr. Perfect paddled her bottom, on and on and on...

To Indy's surprise, she enjoyed the spectacle enormously. She had no idea that there was a sadistic bone in her body until this moment but the day's events had changed all that. Erina was getting what she deserved and she was enjoying watching every moment of it.

The time finally came when Erina was told to return to her seat and much more subdued now, both girls completed their lines without another moments fuss.

When they were dismissed and returned to the bedroom they shared, they looked soulfully at one another and at the same moment said, "I'm sorry." They hugged one another tight.

From now on, Mr. Perfect could expect co-operation from both of them. It was guaranteed.

Training

One of my big splurges over the years has been children's books. Most of them are packed away in boxes at the moment since they over ran the book shelves and eventually needed to make way for adult reading but as yet, I can't give a single one of them away. Both the children and I have such strong ties to so many of them. Does anyone know 'Patrick and the dinosaur?' One son was obsessed with dinosaurs and I have a large collection of stories about dinosaurs. But, no story was ever better than Patrick's wonderful imagination when his brother takes him to the zoo. Dinosaurs abound in his imagination, follow him home and even peek into his upstairs bedroom window. All the while his older brother is completely oblivious.

I was wandering about the house doing some housework just before when, for no reason at all, Madeline popped into my head. With three boys and only one girl, it finally dawned on me one day when my children were still young that I had many more books where the hero was a boy than I did a girl and I went about actively seeking out books that were about girls. Of course, I bought the Madeline series:

"In an old house in Paris that was covered with vines, lived twelve little girls in two straight lines.."

It is a completely adorable set of books about 12 little girls who are orphans in a Paris convent and Madeleine, bless her soul, is the hardest of all to contain. She finds herself in one scrape after the other. Fortunately, things always end well, as they should for such an adorable, robust and courageous little girl.

I have wondered, from time to time, why I so often conjure up the image of being in a strict boarding school. Although I do feel loved by my parents who send me there, it is a distant, formal sort of love. They don't believe in sparing the rod to spoil the child and it is for my own good that I am sent off to the school with a 'hard as flint' Headmaster.

Often, on the very first day, even before the ordeal has formally begun, I am a witness to what is in store for me at the official 'meet and greet' appointment with the Headmaster. The Headmaster seeks my parents (or often just my father's) confirmation that he understands that corporal punishment is the preferred form of discipline at the school. It never seems to bother my father (or both parents) at all, and they assure him that they are in complete agreement that corporal discipline is a very good thing. 'Headmaster', as they call him, should feel completely free to correct my behaviour in any way he deems effective.

To add to my misery (or should I say, entertainment) he often suggests to my parents that in order for me to understand that all parties are in complete understanding of the measures used to teach me my lessons, a few strokes should be meted out immediately. My parents don't blink at the suggestion and I am invariably told to bend across the Headmaster's desk where my parents can observe his skill at delivering stripes to my bottom that will ensure my compliance of all rules laid down.

There truly is no way out for me. It would be fruitless to send a letter home complaining of my treatment, given that my parents and the Headmaster are clearly in cahoots and I determine very early on that I must make the best of things and do my best to stay out of trouble.

Unfortunately, my best is never good enough. Trouble comes sometimes because my marks are not satisfactory. Interestingly, in this fantasy, it is my French that causes the most difficulty and as well as making regular acquaintance with the Headmaster's cane for the offense of not mastering the language, I spend many a long hour sitting in the detention room writing my vocabulary out, 20, 50, 100 times, until the entire list is committed to memory.

The Matron at my fantasy school in no way endeavours to shelter her girls from the perils of the Headmaster's cane. To the contrary, she makes good use of her wooden backed hairbrush and the slightest sign of untidiness, of a noise in the dormitory after dark, of running in the halls or eating a contraband lolly is met with a long and arduous trip over her knee.

Such offenses are recorded, of course, and a list is sent home to my father along with the academic report at the end of each term. It is customary that all strokes of the cane meted out by the Headmaster are also meted out by a girl's father over the holidays. Thus, a girl in week 1 of the term who receives 6 of the cane will know that she can receive the same amount in her father's study upon her return home a few months later. And so it goes...

Of course, I progress and I progress fast. No relatively smart girl is not going to figure out in short order that it is in her best interests to be outstandingly polite, well behaved and diligent if she should ever wish to sit down again without it being the most awful chore. She understands quickly as well that excuses and complaints will get her nowhere. A girl who tries to justify the unjustifiable quickly discovers that things get so much worse. Much, much better to agree that the behaviour is unacceptable, acknowledge that the behaviour most definitely requires correction and most importantly, offer one's heartfelt thanks for receiving it.

One of the mandates of the school, of course, is to prepare a girl for her fate; that of marriage to a strict man, usually a good ten years older, who will appreciate a well trained girl. My mother was such a girl and my father a man who understands the importance of such training for his daughter as well.

As is the case with Madeleine, the story ends well. I come to appreciate the training I have been given and recognize the importance of it. I meet and marry a man who believes in weekly correction for his wife, adherence to dress code and all his whims, as well as exemplary manners and behaviour. I am blissfully happy with my new life and revel in his attentive care and encouragement.

In real life, I wouldn't be without my family for all the world, but I so often wondered growing up and for many years after that what it might be like to not have a family; to live only with a lovingly strict man and for him to be my world. Of course, I can only wonder and perhaps this is from where this fantasy stems; my efforts to explore that other world that I can only wonder about.

It is interesting though, is it not, that for zillions of years before I entered a power exchange in a formal sense that I was thinking these thoughts, over and over. In some way, it had entered my mind that strictness equalled love and care. And, perhaps more interesting still, that for me, nothing has changed.

Words

My husband was having a telephone conversation with his sister this morning. It wasn't about me but about something I needed to do and he was trying to protect me. I heard him say, "Look, she is as soft as butter and I'm not going to have her go through this again..."

My sister-in-law, who can be as kind as she can be cruel was having none of it and her sensibilities were offended, as they so often are, until she said something so awful and so vicious, I'm sure we will forgive, but we'll be unlikely to forget. Although she considers herself a 'Christian' it does nothing to assuage her sense of righteousness and indignation if people have a different view to hers. Her sense of self means that she must lash out when feeling at all anxious and it takes quite a bit of sensitivity on the other person's part to want to hang around and accept the assault.

What she in fact did was say the most hurtful and confronting thing she could to her brother - the statement that would offend him the most; the statement that would rile him and challenge his ability to stay calm with her. And, when she said that, she knew full well what the result of saying it would be.

My husband has a dominant character. When he makes a call he means to be heard - not necessarily to get his way but for there to be resolution of a situation. He is more than willing to negotiate and sort things out. His sister, knowing full well that he can be forceful and direct when not happy about something tends, nearly always, to go on the attack. This has them at loggerheads and most particularly when she turned viciously against their sister and he had to mediate on her behalf. His sense of how to treat a family member would not allow the behaviour to stand.

One the great outcomes of my mentoring - a mentoring that involves words and words alone - is that I have had excellent practice in paying attention to my words. Like my sister-in-law, I have been guilty of allowing my emotions to run and take me over. I have felt anger and instead of slowing down and working through that fact (oh yeah, there's that false ego controlling me again) I've let the words fly on email. It isn't nice and it isn't good. In fact, it was very wrong.

The truth is that things done in anger are invariably done badly and often with false 'facts'. It is no co-incidence I think that when I act in anger, minutes, hours or days later, I am apologizing. What does that tell you? The last time it happened, I was called on it. It caused a breach between us and we both suffered for that. We've made a wonderful team and my false ego put a blot on that.

I do feel that I have grown a great deal as a person over the past year in many ways and it is what makes me continue to challenge myself in this space. We all use words like 'trust' and 'communication' and recognize the importance of these words, but it is perhaps not until there is a breach of trust or communication that we fully understand the huge significance of those words in a power exchange. Communication is vital and trust is paramount. I failed on both counts.

I've talked privately, and somewhat publicly here, I think, that I do well about 98% of the time, and isn't that good enough?! But, it is not and I know that now. We need to put thought into our words; not just bleed onto the page. We need to consider what impact those words will have on the person receiving those words. It has been a salutary lesson.

I've taken a few days here in my everyday life to slow myself right down - to really absorb the importance of words in communication and most especially in terms of the power exchange. And, I rather doubt I'll make this mistake again. It was a lack of faith that implied a desire to control. And, that is what perturbed him the most - my persistence at seizing control at the very same time as I strive to relinquish it.

My words about ego (the last post) are pertinent here and I feel more self-assured to carry on with my goals. The extraordinary thing is that, I believe, the more self assured and self realized one is - the more one can snuff off that false ego and just connect with the self -the more one can relinquish the desire for control.

My goal has always been to seek the divine - that sense of complete peace and harmony in life - and I feel closer to it with each step. This is what it is about for me.

Ego

When I have made errors in relation to being submissive it has been caused by my ego. We established that much. I have always had ego in mind; always was travelling towards a point where I felt I had myself completely under control but still, I made mistakes and let myself down.

The weekend did not have a happy beginning and in my mind I felt completely confused. I was almost as restless as I have ever been. I got on with life and did my best but I was not at all happy. On Saturday evening, my husband and I talked; about what I was trying to achieve, about the mentoring and about me and my traits. At bedtime, sleep was elusive. I had printed out something to read earlier in the day – quite a long document - and I found a quiet corner in the house and proceeded to read it in total silence.

By the end of the article, my life had changed and I knew that I would never feel lost again; never suffer the agonies of such confusion and despair as I had felt in the previous day or so. I wish that I could describe exactly what happened. All I can really say is that when I began to read the article I was deeply upset and sometime towards the end of the article, I felt a glow about me; a deep sense of warmth and peace; of clarity and pure thought. I no longer felt profoundly vulnerable, privy to being hurt by someone else. I no longer feared. I felt strong and capable.

I returned to our bed. I nestled into my husband and felt very warm towards him. And, in the morning we made love; sometimes sweet and tender, sometimes dominating and rough, but all much enjoyed and desired. We enjoyed an incredibly happy and connected day together with our children and I noticed that in all his comments, he was respectful, calm and loving. It seemed that my new outlook and understanding had shed its warmth all over him, as well.

So, what happened? The previous week was a time of great uncertainty and confusion for me – what the article referred to as “a chaos”. It said this,

“And remember, there is going to be an interim period, an interval, where the ego will be shattered, when you will not know who you are, when you will not know where you are going, when all boundaries will melt.”

Exactly right. That was just how I had been and was feeling.

“Because of this chaos, you are afraid to lose the ego. But it has to be so. One has to pass through the chaos before one attains to the real centre.”

I was ready to listen and learn and move forward.

“...if you don’t fall back to the ego and you go on and on, there is a hidden center within you that you have been carrying for many lives. That is your soul, the self.”

Now, came the moment of vision for me...

“Have you ever noticed that all types of miseries enter through the ego (the false center)? It cannot make you blissful: it can only make you miserable. Ego is hell.”

It made perfect sense to me. I could feel the wretched misery running away as if I had let the plug out from the bath.

“A man who attains to the self is never in any clash. Others may come and clash with him, but he is never in clash with anybody.”

It was his use of the word “attention” that spoke to me; a submissive woman who thrives on attention:

“The ego lives on attention...A real beggar is one who asks for and demands attention. And a real emperor is one who lives in himself; he has a center of his own, he doesn’t depend on anyone else.”

It opened my eyes to loss and how I feel about that. I’ve spent considerable time and energy wondering what might happen to me when and if my husband dies. How could I live without him? How do you go from a power exchange to nothing: just yourself, alone? But, letting go of ego now, and instead reaching to the ‘self’ – that we come with when we are born – provides the inner strength and courage for all adversity.

When we expect something and it does not happen, our ego is shaken and it makes us unhappy. We look to causes outside of us when the cause of the problem is inside of us. We make ourselves miserable. What a revelation! I had control over my own feelings!

The article says that we should not try to “drop the ego”. Rather, one day when you see that it is the ego that is the cause of despair, it simply disappears.

“The very understanding is the disappearance of the ego.”

I understood right there and then. And, my ego quite simply, drained away.

As I write this, I cannot say that I fully understand what this clarity of thought means to my feelings of submission. I can say that all desire/need to rebel or protest against the limitations of my submission has gone. I am currently in a position where I am not being asked about my tasks and yet, I do what I have been told, silently and without fanfare. There is no praise to receive and yet I feel empowered to follow on with the tasks as prescribed. She doth not protest.

Mid way in the article is this:

“This is how people become dependent on others. It is a deep slavery. Ego HAS to be a slave. It depends on others. And only a person who has no ego is for the first time a master; he is no longer a slave.”

I do feel liberated. I do feel a master of my own fate. Yet, it is my nature to be submissive; to look to care for others and to put them first; to want them to be happy and to receive my own happiness through them; their love for me and my love for them. I continue to strive to have the closest of connections with people and find purpose in my life through giving to them. Nothing has changed here.

What has changed is that I feel empowered to take responsibility for my own self; to recognize that when I am miserable it is my ego at play. I know now how to just let it fall away. It is my fervent wish and hope that this will enable me to thrive within the power exchange dynamic already in play. We shall see.

Shelter

My husband and I talked this morning of the fact that we are, at this time, operating in very different spaces. Whilst his preoccupations are of the external kind - macro economics, the election and its aftermath and various individual businesses and their growth - my preoccupations continue to be the well being of the family as a whole, individuals within that family and my own personal and very private pursuits to write and explore the world and my inner world through writing.

To give you an example, I attended a writers' festival yesterday and just revelled in that world of ideas. I won't go into it in this post, but perhaps the next, of the polar opposite views of writers from one session to the next. It is the sort of exhilarating experience that I can usually share with my husband in detail over lunch or something, but he feels so locked away in his own thoughts that I feel that at this time I should keep them to myself.

His predisposition is to share his views with me on nearly everything and I listen. I confess, it is sometimes with only one ear. I recognize his need and want to take life seriously and that he carries around with him a good deal of stress. I accept that as part of his nature, style and responsibilities.

There are times when I feel helpless. I attend to the house, to preparing a lovely meal each evening, to fulfilling the children's needs and to keeping his life running as smoothly as I can. I bottle up my frustrations, simmer them down onto the lowest possible level and just contain my world into its smallest entity. I batten down the hatches, so to speak, until this wild storm is over and his world view has mellowed and the stress has dissipated.

I am currently reading a book entitled 'Ego and Soul' as I work towards letting go of my ego. I contain my emotions as best I know how and search to find my inner strength. It is not always easy. My natural inclination is to search for the joy in life - to reach out to life and grab it with both hands in a personally victorious sort of way - and right now this containment feels sad.

I try to remind my husband of the fun we had - and there was just as much stress back then really as there is now. He sees the point. He tries to reach out for it but just can't quite get there right now. I see the upset in his eyes - a sense of itchiness, worry and tenseness - and I worry for him and about him. It is as if he has started to hold his breath and is running out of air.

I remember once when I had begun to do that. The situation was so difficult for me and I wondered how long I could go on. And, with no fanfare or preparation at all I received a phone call telling me of good news:

"Are you telling me it's over?" I asked.

"Yes, it is over," he said.

And, one day this will be over and then we will breathe easy again, too.

We all have our challenges in life. Two writers yesterday of a similar age watched their son's die in their arms. Sorrow abounds. Yet, their vibrancy for life lives on. They gave a great deal to their audiences yesterday alone.

There are sad times. There are happy times. Life goes on. Our challenge is to never give up on life. This too shall pass.

A good thing

It is such a booootifooool day. Spring has sprung here and finally the long, cold and wet winter seems to be drawing to a close. Surprisingly for me, the winter has dogged me with various viruses but I woke this morning feeling completely energized and ready to rip into life again. Boy, that's a relief! I had such an interesting experience last night that I feel I want to share it here, although the relevance may not be immediately apparent.

It was a parent teacher evening for my son and he and I went to that together. My other three children gave me reason to not look forward to parent teacher nights. I knew that I was likely to hear several "if only he/she would put in a full effort", and so on. I knew this would be different and went there ready to enjoy myself.

What really struck me about the experience was the enormous variance in styles in the teachers. Each one of them was most definitely a committed teacher who liked my son and had very nice things to say but each one was in fact offering him, as a growing person, something very different. I'm going to narrow down my comments to three teachers because what they said applies to the dominant/submissive roles we speak of - what a dominant might be striving for and what a submissive might hope to achieve from the experience.

The Chinese teacher is a fine boned, softly spoken genteel Chinese man. He spoke of my son's "consistent effort", his "attention", his "dedication" and "respect". He expressed pleasure that he had chosen to go on with Chinese and highly recommended he pursue it throughout school. He talked of the benefits in later life - that he never knew where he would travel and what he might do and it would be useful to him. But, this conference for him was not about Chinese. He used the time to teach my son about life. He said that nothing in life has value unless you put in effort and he told him that he will need to always look for challenges - to challenge himself; not to do the easy things but to look to do difficult things. "Nothing comes for free J."

Then, the English teacher. I have known this man for many years and I have a respect for his intellect. It was apparent from the word go that he was going to be good for J and we had an amazing 10 minutes together. He took him through a piece of work. He was forceful in his approach, putting J on the spot and then commending his answers and insisting that he wanted to see that sort of evidence from the film in his next essay. He tutored him through presentation, making it very clear that presentation mattered. "I don't want an examiner to see a paper of yours and mark you down for an immature presentation, J. It gets attended to now and you are to go into the new year with it completely resolved. Do you understand me?"

His bark is much worse than his bite, but he comes across as the dominant of all dominants. I know that I would do things exactly as he said and certainly J got the message too. "He's a good lad, an honest boy, very intelligent and he has a wonderful future in this school," he ended. I was incredibly impressed by him and what he has achieved with J and I thanked him for his attention to detail and I said that it had been what he needed. He asked if we were going to the play, and thank God I had been diligent and bought the tickets. J said that he had been in a couple of plays but not this one. "Well, you will want to be in another play before you are finished here, J. Got that?" "Yes, Dr. C." Ahhhh, my kind of man!

I thought we were heading for the hills (going home) when J asked if he could see his Geography teacher. Since he isn't going on with it next year, I was ambivalent but not letting on, we sat and waited until he was free. We talked briefly about geography but the teacher had other things on his mind. How did he think it was going sitting next to Michael? "Yes, going fine; challenging but fine,"J said. Michael is a gifted boy but a complete introvert and I wondered where he was going with his comments until he let the cat out of the bag.

"Michael has really come out of his shell this year, J. We had him work closely with you, partnering him with you in many situations because we thought you might be able to help. You are in no small measure responsible for his progress as a well rounded person."

J really is a wonderful boy and we all delight in his company. It is extremely pleasing seeing him get the results he deserves. He has had his challenges, too. But, it was this last comment that opened my eyes to his potential value to the world - his ability to make a true difference in the lives of the people who will surround him.

And so, in one evening we had on display all that is best of the power exchange dynamic: a strong bond between teacher and student; respect, diligence, hard work, consistent effort, correction, adjustment of focus, attention, interplay between the two parties, motivation, a desire to achieve and a desire to teach. Perhaps most importantly of all was clear evidence of the capacity and the will to make a difference in another person's life.

A few years ago now my daughter was selected to make up a special orchestra for a week. A well known conductor came over from the United States and in one week taught them an amazing repertoire and they performed it in the Town Hall on the Friday evening. When she introduced the performance she said this (or thereabouts):

"There are a lot of bad things happening in the world. But, what you see on stage here - the effort and passion and love for their music that you will see in these children - this is all good."

I know I have a rosy way of looking at a power exchange but at its best it encompasses all that is good about people. This is the attraction for me.