Saturday, December 31, 2011

Happy New Year

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

My best.

Friday, December 30, 2011

New naylz 4 cindi

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 28, 2011


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

I Had a Dream

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

Margaret Fishback Powers

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, December 26, 2011


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Thursday, December 22, 2011

Greetings of the Season

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 21, 2011

Da cindi/vesta cunnektn

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Monday, December 19, 2011


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, December 18, 2011


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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 14, 2011

Cindiz Krissmis list

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

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

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

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

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

Merri Krissmis everiwun!

Monday, December 12, 2011

A keen student

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

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

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

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

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

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



"I feel like spanking you."

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

"Have I displeased you, Joe?"

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

"Ohhhhh. Would it hurt, Joe?"

"I'm afraid so; yes."

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

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

"Yes, Joe, I am sure."

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

Then, he stopped.

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

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

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


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

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

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

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

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

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

"Did the young lady enjoy that?"

"Not telling," I said

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


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

"The young lady did."

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

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

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

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

"Dinner? You want to eat?"

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

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

Saturday, December 10, 2011

In the forest

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Wednesday, December 7, 2011

Good Enough

What is in the past is done.
There is no need to hide the scars from me.
I accept your pain. I embrace your sadness and sorrows.
They are a part of you and I love your vulnerability too.

None of us is perfect. No- one is complete,
until we share thoughts that we try to hide from ourselves.
You are not perfect and neither am I.
But, you are good enough.

You are my light, my love; my partner in life.
Allow my acceptance to balance you and protect you
from all “the slings and arrows of outrageous fortune”.
Together we are safe. Together we are good enough.

Sunday, December 4, 2011

Family ties

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Tuesday, November 29, 2011

Vulnerability and embarrassment

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sunday, November 27, 2011

The caveman

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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