At the core of my life, of my being and of my satisfaction with life lies my sexuality. It is only in the past few years of my life that I have embraced notions such as being a ‘fucktoy’ or a ‘slut’ but ever since I was a wee, small girlie of 5 or 6 I understood that my body was designed for pleasure.
Making use of my body fulfils me. Any fuck is a good fuck because it feels that my body is doing what it should be doing. But, a long, thrilling, demanding, primal session of fucking is what makes me come alive.
In the throes of such a session, my head is empty and my body beats to the drum of longings and needs and cravings that belong to primitive beings. I am kissed greedily and hungrily and kiss back with a lust and a strength that asks, who is the aggressor here?
We hold one another as if we are holding on for grim death: two beings locked together in a grip that defies anyone or anything to part them.
He demands that my body orgasm over and over again, with no regard to how many times my body has climaxed or how long I have been at his mercy.
He makes use of every hole with a sense of ownership and noblesse oblige. They are there to be plundered. No questions asked. It is his duty and his pleasure.
And then, unexpectedly he stops. Picks up the hairbrush and tenderly strokes my hair. Resting me. Enticing me. Making me wonder if it is over.
It is not. There will be rounds and rounds of more expectations; more pleasure; more pain; more lust and longing; more love and life.
When we are finally spent, he will hold me by the hair and have me crawl into the shower; scrub me with a force that leaves me completely pleasured and sustained. Not a girl; not even a fucktoy; just ‘it’.
I am his and he is mine.
And, no matter what life throws at us, we will remain as One.
The circumstances of our lives as they were before the session began remain unchanged and yet the stress and anxiety has...disappeared.
Goodbye, girl. Hello, it. Goodbye, stress. Hello, pleasure and happiness.
Monday, January 31, 2011
Thursday, January 27, 2011
Assistance
Anyone who has read regularly on my online journal would understand that in submitting to a dominant force, I am responding to an innate sense that this is right for me. I find it erotically appealing and as well, it is my nature to respond in a submissive way.
I feel compelled however to make clear to any readers that look towards this journal for some advice as to their personal lives that over considerable time I have reached a point along my life journey where I believe that responding to my life events in a submissive way alone is an inadequate response to the challenges I face.
I am not one to run to the doctor. I certainly attend his rooms if I am due for preventative care or if my children need his attention, but only once in my life have I mentioned in passing that I have a personal difficulty of a psychological nature. I didn’t ask for help and he obviously didn’t think I needed help at that point and it was just a cursory chat. Apart from that, I have never sought psychological assistance. I have simply done by best on my own.
The moment in time when one reaches the point and understands that one has to take care of oneself is completely arbitrary, it seems to me. I could not have predicted that the past week or so would see me understand that this is something I had to do for myself.
I have made the first appointment and set in place some professional care for myself. I need to talk my issues through with someone who can guide me over a handful of sessions in the process of making things better. I see it, now that I have made the decision and acted upon it, as a very positive step, both for me and for my marriage and our lives together. There is no reason at all that anyone should feel threatened about such a step. If I had a physical injury I would see my doctor, and now that I have identified that there is an issue that I cannot handle all on my own, I will attend the doctor that can help me with that. But, I concede that it is very new for us; absolutely the first time ever and it is a bit daunting at this time for us, as well as empowering for me as well.
This step has no effect whatsoever on my submissive state of mind or on the power exchange in which I engage. Indeed, I see it as an opportunity to live better, stronger, and happier and with more balance. If all goes as I hope it will, the power exchange will be strengthened and enriched. Indeed, I intend to disclose that I am in a power exchange relationship so that it is clear how I live my life, what comes naturally to me and what I want.
I share this information with you because I do feel a responsibility to the reader of my online journal. If you feel that you need some help along the way, whether you are dominant or submissive, you should get the help. There is no reason whatsoever why it should endanger the power exchange. To ask for help is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength and I can assure you, I feel better already.
I feel compelled however to make clear to any readers that look towards this journal for some advice as to their personal lives that over considerable time I have reached a point along my life journey where I believe that responding to my life events in a submissive way alone is an inadequate response to the challenges I face.
I am not one to run to the doctor. I certainly attend his rooms if I am due for preventative care or if my children need his attention, but only once in my life have I mentioned in passing that I have a personal difficulty of a psychological nature. I didn’t ask for help and he obviously didn’t think I needed help at that point and it was just a cursory chat. Apart from that, I have never sought psychological assistance. I have simply done by best on my own.
The moment in time when one reaches the point and understands that one has to take care of oneself is completely arbitrary, it seems to me. I could not have predicted that the past week or so would see me understand that this is something I had to do for myself.
I have made the first appointment and set in place some professional care for myself. I need to talk my issues through with someone who can guide me over a handful of sessions in the process of making things better. I see it, now that I have made the decision and acted upon it, as a very positive step, both for me and for my marriage and our lives together. There is no reason at all that anyone should feel threatened about such a step. If I had a physical injury I would see my doctor, and now that I have identified that there is an issue that I cannot handle all on my own, I will attend the doctor that can help me with that. But, I concede that it is very new for us; absolutely the first time ever and it is a bit daunting at this time for us, as well as empowering for me as well.
This step has no effect whatsoever on my submissive state of mind or on the power exchange in which I engage. Indeed, I see it as an opportunity to live better, stronger, and happier and with more balance. If all goes as I hope it will, the power exchange will be strengthened and enriched. Indeed, I intend to disclose that I am in a power exchange relationship so that it is clear how I live my life, what comes naturally to me and what I want.
I share this information with you because I do feel a responsibility to the reader of my online journal. If you feel that you need some help along the way, whether you are dominant or submissive, you should get the help. There is no reason whatsoever why it should endanger the power exchange. To ask for help is not a sign of weakness but a sign of strength and I can assure you, I feel better already.
Tuesday, January 25, 2011
Monday, January 24, 2011
Personal assistant
I have been thinking about the power exchange in a new way lately. I have been thinking about it in terms of profiling the types of people or perhaps I should say, personalities, who are best suited to, or might desire a power exchange.
For reasons that should be obvious to you it is not always easy to give examples as they pertain to my own life. It just is not politic! So, I am going to draw on my past. I have already catalogued my working relationship with a dominant man. I did that right at the beginning of my online journaling when I described my working life dynamic back on Deity’s blog.
Those years of being a Personal Assistant were important in preparing me to live a lifetime with a dominant man. Of course, my job was about providing efficiency to his office but the real work took place within the dynamic wherein he was the boss of the show and I was his helpmate. I remember certain words and conversations now and realize their importance.
I remember him returning from a board meeting triumphant and saying, “Vesta, I got everything I wanted!” “Terrific,” I replied. Another time he returned and said, “They didn’t agree to (whatever).” Then it was my turn to say, “Oh dear!” and listen to him tell me how such and such was such a snivelling bastard or words to that effect.
On one occasion he was bemoaning the fact that the Chairman was such a moron and why did he have to suffer such fools, and so on. I listened quietly and patiently, as always and then I said,
“But, think about it. You’ve got the support of the entire board. You run the show. And, you know that you can convince Geoffrey of anything. You know you have that under your control.”
He brightened up. I was quite right, of course. He knew how to smooth talk anyone and the Chairman was not a difficult or divisive or contrary man at all.
On another occasion, he did something a wee bit naughty and the head of another organisation called him on it. He rang and complained. He got off the phone and went into a guilt/defensive mode and kinda obsessed about that. I listened. Always. Listened. Then, I said,
“It’s a one day wonder. Tomorrow, it will be old news. Over.”
It seemed to snap him out of it. He got over it.
One time, the receptionist, a girl of whom he was fond, asked for an appointment to see him and she put forward her case as to why she should get a salary increase. This fazed him. He wasn’t in control. She was asking for something and it didn’t give him a chance to be generous. It was as if he had overlooked something or mistreated her and it couldn’t stand. He denied her request. But, immediately after he said to me that he couldn’t understand why she would do it. He had wanted to be generous but she had not gone about it the right way. It frustrated him.
Another day, a man came into this office just before lunch with an idea. It was not necessarily a bad idea. I am sure the man thought he was doing him a favour by offering the idea. But, the idea had been presented when he had something else on his mind and he had done it immediately before lunch. It did not go well.
He opened our adjoining door and said, “What sort of an idiot would approach me with a new idea immediately before I eat my lunch??!! Never do that, Vesta. Never, ever ask me for anything before lunch. If you want to ask a man for something, do it when he is well fed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
I could go on and on.
The man I worked for wanted contol . He wanted to be right. He loathed the idea of making a mistake.
One day, I was in the car when the driver, who I knew well, was dropping my boss off at an appointment. I remember telling him something and I remember him responding to me, just before he got out of the car.
“Just do your best, Vesta. Just do your best."
We drove away and the driver, who only spoke when he had something important to say said,
“What a joke! As if your best would ever be good enough for him.”
Of everyone in the organisation, he was most hard on himself. The high standards he asked of everyone else in the organisation were simply indicative of the standards he applied to himself.
Was I sometimes frustrated with him? Of course! I was half his age and if something was not done exactly right, I got it in the ear.
He would never apologize for his outbursts per se but he did make up in his own way. Often, it was just to be there. He’d stand by me as I typed, furious with him underneath the surface, and he would try to impart the vibe that he was over his outburst and felt a tad sorry now. He never meant to have a tantrum. It was just his perfectionism; his need for control that got in the way.
He managed to create an enormous amount of anxiety in the air at times; something that I find very hard to be around. At those times, I would look into the diary and see that he had an appointment out of the office in a hour’s time perhaps and I’d hang onto that thought; that in a hour I could breathe again; in a hour I could cleanse myself from this dominant, control hungry, perfectionist dynamo.
Of course, it was not always like this. He could be quite relaxed on occasion and a bit of a devil. He liked to mimic people; to tell jokes, to sing tunes from musicals and some afternoons were really a delight. He would often call me into his office; sometimes just to collect a book from the bookshelves rather than walk around himself. “Here is your book, m’Lord,” I would say and he would smile a little sheepishly. “Why bark myself when I have a dog?” he might retort if feeling particularly cheeky. “Why indeed?” I would reply.
He liked the fact that he could get away with such things with me. I just wasn’t quick to bite and I think he liked that. It played into his desire for control that his Personal Assistant should be so independent of spirit on the inside but so controlled on the outside, I think.
What I am trying to say is that he was who he was: a dominant man: bright, able, charming, ambitious, determined. He wanted control and he controlled himself so that he could obtain control. If you were going to deal with him, and we all had to, after all, you had to recognize that fact and take the good out of the situation. Attempting to wrestle control from him was just a bad idea.
One day when he was away overseas, the Advertising Manager asked if I would be in an advertisement and I agreed. I did not ask my boss because I had a feeling that he would not agree. When he returned, he was in a rage about it and had the Advertising people can the photos. I remember being very hurt about that. At the time I figured he thought me not good enough to be in the advertising. I came to realize that if I were in the photos, it was a threat to him. Would I continue on as his Personal Assistant if I had another avenue of employment?
This was confirmed to me in later days when I asked to be transferred to the Training Department. Why on earth would I want to do that job, he asked, when I was involved with every last decision on the top level in his office? Request denied: through stupidity.
Perhaps on a sub-conscious level I am attracted to men who seek control. I have certainly been surrounded by them all my life so it must be true. It is too much of a co-incidence to not be true. I see their soft underbelly and I feel a warmth towards them. For as difficult as they can be; they can be soft and sweet. I see that. Men who seek control are complex; driven by desires they do not entirely understand themselves.
One day, late in his life, he was interviewed about his life and the interviewer asked him about a painting on the wall. He said he had bought it because it reminded him of his mother. He always spoke so endearingly of her and he told the interviewer that she was a very giving woman; that he was sorry that he had caused her so much grief.
I remember him telling me that many years after he left school he ran into some teacher of his who had been a real sadist and apparently he said to himself, “My god, I used to be so frightened of you and look at you now!”
I try to keep my eyes open now; my antenna up. I try to calm myself and soothe the beast by looking for the heart of gold; the reasons for the drive within. Perhaps, I am destined to always be “the personal assistant”.
For reasons that should be obvious to you it is not always easy to give examples as they pertain to my own life. It just is not politic! So, I am going to draw on my past. I have already catalogued my working relationship with a dominant man. I did that right at the beginning of my online journaling when I described my working life dynamic back on Deity’s blog.
Those years of being a Personal Assistant were important in preparing me to live a lifetime with a dominant man. Of course, my job was about providing efficiency to his office but the real work took place within the dynamic wherein he was the boss of the show and I was his helpmate. I remember certain words and conversations now and realize their importance.
I remember him returning from a board meeting triumphant and saying, “Vesta, I got everything I wanted!” “Terrific,” I replied. Another time he returned and said, “They didn’t agree to (whatever).” Then it was my turn to say, “Oh dear!” and listen to him tell me how such and such was such a snivelling bastard or words to that effect.
On one occasion he was bemoaning the fact that the Chairman was such a moron and why did he have to suffer such fools, and so on. I listened quietly and patiently, as always and then I said,
“But, think about it. You’ve got the support of the entire board. You run the show. And, you know that you can convince Geoffrey of anything. You know you have that under your control.”
He brightened up. I was quite right, of course. He knew how to smooth talk anyone and the Chairman was not a difficult or divisive or contrary man at all.
On another occasion, he did something a wee bit naughty and the head of another organisation called him on it. He rang and complained. He got off the phone and went into a guilt/defensive mode and kinda obsessed about that. I listened. Always. Listened. Then, I said,
“It’s a one day wonder. Tomorrow, it will be old news. Over.”
It seemed to snap him out of it. He got over it.
One time, the receptionist, a girl of whom he was fond, asked for an appointment to see him and she put forward her case as to why she should get a salary increase. This fazed him. He wasn’t in control. She was asking for something and it didn’t give him a chance to be generous. It was as if he had overlooked something or mistreated her and it couldn’t stand. He denied her request. But, immediately after he said to me that he couldn’t understand why she would do it. He had wanted to be generous but she had not gone about it the right way. It frustrated him.
Another day, a man came into this office just before lunch with an idea. It was not necessarily a bad idea. I am sure the man thought he was doing him a favour by offering the idea. But, the idea had been presented when he had something else on his mind and he had done it immediately before lunch. It did not go well.
He opened our adjoining door and said, “What sort of an idiot would approach me with a new idea immediately before I eat my lunch??!! Never do that, Vesta. Never, ever ask me for anything before lunch. If you want to ask a man for something, do it when he is well fed.”
“I’ll keep that in mind,” I said.
I could go on and on.
The man I worked for wanted contol . He wanted to be right. He loathed the idea of making a mistake.
One day, I was in the car when the driver, who I knew well, was dropping my boss off at an appointment. I remember telling him something and I remember him responding to me, just before he got out of the car.
“Just do your best, Vesta. Just do your best."
We drove away and the driver, who only spoke when he had something important to say said,
“What a joke! As if your best would ever be good enough for him.”
Of everyone in the organisation, he was most hard on himself. The high standards he asked of everyone else in the organisation were simply indicative of the standards he applied to himself.
Was I sometimes frustrated with him? Of course! I was half his age and if something was not done exactly right, I got it in the ear.
He would never apologize for his outbursts per se but he did make up in his own way. Often, it was just to be there. He’d stand by me as I typed, furious with him underneath the surface, and he would try to impart the vibe that he was over his outburst and felt a tad sorry now. He never meant to have a tantrum. It was just his perfectionism; his need for control that got in the way.
He managed to create an enormous amount of anxiety in the air at times; something that I find very hard to be around. At those times, I would look into the diary and see that he had an appointment out of the office in a hour’s time perhaps and I’d hang onto that thought; that in a hour I could breathe again; in a hour I could cleanse myself from this dominant, control hungry, perfectionist dynamo.
Of course, it was not always like this. He could be quite relaxed on occasion and a bit of a devil. He liked to mimic people; to tell jokes, to sing tunes from musicals and some afternoons were really a delight. He would often call me into his office; sometimes just to collect a book from the bookshelves rather than walk around himself. “Here is your book, m’Lord,” I would say and he would smile a little sheepishly. “Why bark myself when I have a dog?” he might retort if feeling particularly cheeky. “Why indeed?” I would reply.
He liked the fact that he could get away with such things with me. I just wasn’t quick to bite and I think he liked that. It played into his desire for control that his Personal Assistant should be so independent of spirit on the inside but so controlled on the outside, I think.
What I am trying to say is that he was who he was: a dominant man: bright, able, charming, ambitious, determined. He wanted control and he controlled himself so that he could obtain control. If you were going to deal with him, and we all had to, after all, you had to recognize that fact and take the good out of the situation. Attempting to wrestle control from him was just a bad idea.
One day when he was away overseas, the Advertising Manager asked if I would be in an advertisement and I agreed. I did not ask my boss because I had a feeling that he would not agree. When he returned, he was in a rage about it and had the Advertising people can the photos. I remember being very hurt about that. At the time I figured he thought me not good enough to be in the advertising. I came to realize that if I were in the photos, it was a threat to him. Would I continue on as his Personal Assistant if I had another avenue of employment?
This was confirmed to me in later days when I asked to be transferred to the Training Department. Why on earth would I want to do that job, he asked, when I was involved with every last decision on the top level in his office? Request denied: through stupidity.
Perhaps on a sub-conscious level I am attracted to men who seek control. I have certainly been surrounded by them all my life so it must be true. It is too much of a co-incidence to not be true. I see their soft underbelly and I feel a warmth towards them. For as difficult as they can be; they can be soft and sweet. I see that. Men who seek control are complex; driven by desires they do not entirely understand themselves.
One day, late in his life, he was interviewed about his life and the interviewer asked him about a painting on the wall. He said he had bought it because it reminded him of his mother. He always spoke so endearingly of her and he told the interviewer that she was a very giving woman; that he was sorry that he had caused her so much grief.
I remember him telling me that many years after he left school he ran into some teacher of his who had been a real sadist and apparently he said to himself, “My god, I used to be so frightened of you and look at you now!”
I try to keep my eyes open now; my antenna up. I try to calm myself and soothe the beast by looking for the heart of gold; the reasons for the drive within. Perhaps, I am destined to always be “the personal assistant”.
Friday, January 21, 2011
Flight of the angels
Her moments of nostalgia came when she least expected them; a sentiment from a movie; a piece of music.
She could feel his arms around her, holding her; giving her some of his strength; enough, he hoped to last her her lifetime.
She retrieved the letter; looked again at his handwriting and affection flooded her mind; warmed her heart; released the tears.
“Think noble thoughts,” he had written. And, she did.
She remembered him and his warmth for her; his belief in her; his ability to look at her and see her as perfect enough – genuine, honest, devoted; pure of heart.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she had cried one day. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“You are only human,” he replied.
And another day, “Remember me fondly.”
She did. When she needed it most she felt his arms envelop her, as she did right now.
The angels had released him long enough for him to return to her fleetingly and remind her once again that she was always very much loved.
She could feel his arms around her, holding her; giving her some of his strength; enough, he hoped to last her her lifetime.
She retrieved the letter; looked again at his handwriting and affection flooded her mind; warmed her heart; released the tears.
“Think noble thoughts,” he had written. And, she did.
She remembered him and his warmth for her; his belief in her; his ability to look at her and see her as perfect enough – genuine, honest, devoted; pure of heart.
“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she had cried one day. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”
“You are only human,” he replied.
And another day, “Remember me fondly.”
She did. When she needed it most she felt his arms envelop her, as she did right now.
The angels had released him long enough for him to return to her fleetingly and remind her once again that she was always very much loved.
Thursday, January 20, 2011
Frederick and Agnes: Agnes sleeps over
It had been a long day for Agnes. She took her job seriously and wanted very much to impress her new employer. Since she had settled in Paris she had become accustomed to getting off to bed by 11 pm at the latest. When Agnes left the restaurant she felt a little out of control. She could barely keep her eyes open and she felt unsteady on her legs.
She did not want to tell Frederick that she felt a little unwell; that she was not used to drinking much alcohol and that it had an immediate effect on her. She tried to hide her unsteadiness by holding onto his arm. She was not really conscious that she also leaned on his shoulder or even that they were walking much slower than before. She was just doing her best to stay upright and appear that she had it together.
When they reached Frederick’s building, he had her go up the stairs first. She held onto the rail beside the winding staircase and at no point let go. She had grown used to these winding wooden staircases that led one upwards; little steps that were not at all uniform, especially around the corners but she was especially particular about her footing this evening, placing her foot carefully on one step before she moved upwards onto the next.
She had been there once before, of course, but she was grateful when Frederick gave her a direction as to where to go. She just wasn’t thinking straight and felt rather embarrassed when she opened the wrong door. She was aware that he had taken her by the arm rather forcibly to redirect her and she got a sense that he was unimpressed. She gave herself a little shake as if to insist that her mind not fail her. Frederick took her sweater and asked if she would like a hot chocolate.
“That sounds lovely but may I use your bathroom first, Frederick?”
He escorted her to the bathroom and turned on the light and left. She was very grateful to be alone for a few minutes. She sat on the toilet for a time and rested. The thought came to her that she should drink some water. She wiped herself and washed her hands and then she cupped them to make a makeshift glass and drank as much water as she could. She felt a little better. She was grateful to feel more alert.
She noticed that the bathroom led onto a bedroom. She wanted to go in and have a good look around but she also knew that it would be wrong to walk into Frederick’s bedroom without being invited. She put her head around the corner of the door and took it in from where she stood. It seemed an acceptable compromise in her mind.
He was without doubt a very orderly sort of man. It was a man’s bedroom; neutral tones in dark colours and everything was where it should be. The bed had been made; no clothes were in sight. Even the cushions on the upholstered chair in the corner appeared to have been fluffed. Agnes’ eyes moved about the room taking in the stack of books beside his bed, the reading glasses on top of them. She noticed an odd piece of furniture; an unusual shaped chair with a high back on one end but none on the other. Her eye was drawn to it and she found herself returning to look at it several times, trying to determine its purpose.
Agnes suddenly wondered how long she had been away. It would be dreadfully embarrassing to be caught being a ‘nosy parker’ and she moved away quickly and down the hall to find Frederick.
“May I help you?” she asked demurely.
Frederick merely gestured to her to go to the sitting area and she left him and went to take in the view of the city. Paris at night was a city like no other and she enjoyed looking at the little balconies on adjacent buildings. The buildings were so close together that she was able to look out and quite clearly observe people smoking on a balcony directly opposite them and another couple kissing.
She felt she was intruding watching them and she moved away and sat down on a couch and looked for something to glance at while she waited. All the magazines were about design and architecture and when Frederick glanced in on her she asked him about it. It delighted her to discover that he was very passionate about design; that he had many interests. She loved learning these snippets of information about him.
Agnes enjoyed Frederick’s company. She found it easy to talk to him but she was desperately sleepy too and she could feel her eyes start to close on her. She tried hard to force herself to stay awake and alert but it was almost painful to force her eyes to stay open. She tried to make her eyes go very wide as if to will them to stay open but she could feel herself starting to go under and she had no control over the feeling. She decided to just close her eyes for a moment.
When Agnes woke up, she woke in fear. She lay there, conscious of only one fact: that she was not in her own bed. She lay for several seconds trying to remember what had gone on last night and where she actually was. In a moment of relief she recalled that she was in Frederick’s apartment. He must have put the comforter over her, and a pillow under her head. She felt embarrassed that she had fallen asleep but also thought it so sweet of him to tuck her in as he had and make her more comfortable.
This experience was so novel for Agnes she had no rules to follow of what she should do. She barely knew Frederick and yet she felt so comfortable and safe with him. It really did not make any sense, even to her and she could only imagine what her father would say if he knew. And yet, she had a desperate longing to find Frederick and to be closer to him. She got up and walked to the bedroom only to discover that the room was exactly as she had seen it earlier that night. He was not there. The discovery panicked Agnes for a moment. Had he gone and left her there all alone?
But, as she left the room she was aware of a presence in the alcove to the room and she realized it was Frederick who had also gone to sleep in his clothes on the day bed. She felt a great tenderness towards him at that moment and it prompted her to retrieve the comforter with which he had covered her. She lay down beside him and covered them both. He did not awaken and she returned to slumber easily with him by her side.
When she woke in the morning and Frederick conjured the plan of them spending the whole day together she barely resisted and against all previous thoughts of diligence towards her work, quite easily told her employer a little white lie. She wanted so much to be there with him. When Frederick said in jest to tell Andre that she had been "kidnapped" she smiled, but the truth was that she was aroused. The idea of being kidnapped appealed to her more than she dare let on to him. She loved his use of the word “guidance” too. She had no idea why, but she was responding to him in ways that left her speechless; wanting; ready.
She did not want to tell Frederick that she felt a little unwell; that she was not used to drinking much alcohol and that it had an immediate effect on her. She tried to hide her unsteadiness by holding onto his arm. She was not really conscious that she also leaned on his shoulder or even that they were walking much slower than before. She was just doing her best to stay upright and appear that she had it together.
When they reached Frederick’s building, he had her go up the stairs first. She held onto the rail beside the winding staircase and at no point let go. She had grown used to these winding wooden staircases that led one upwards; little steps that were not at all uniform, especially around the corners but she was especially particular about her footing this evening, placing her foot carefully on one step before she moved upwards onto the next.
She had been there once before, of course, but she was grateful when Frederick gave her a direction as to where to go. She just wasn’t thinking straight and felt rather embarrassed when she opened the wrong door. She was aware that he had taken her by the arm rather forcibly to redirect her and she got a sense that he was unimpressed. She gave herself a little shake as if to insist that her mind not fail her. Frederick took her sweater and asked if she would like a hot chocolate.
“That sounds lovely but may I use your bathroom first, Frederick?”
He escorted her to the bathroom and turned on the light and left. She was very grateful to be alone for a few minutes. She sat on the toilet for a time and rested. The thought came to her that she should drink some water. She wiped herself and washed her hands and then she cupped them to make a makeshift glass and drank as much water as she could. She felt a little better. She was grateful to feel more alert.
She noticed that the bathroom led onto a bedroom. She wanted to go in and have a good look around but she also knew that it would be wrong to walk into Frederick’s bedroom without being invited. She put her head around the corner of the door and took it in from where she stood. It seemed an acceptable compromise in her mind.
He was without doubt a very orderly sort of man. It was a man’s bedroom; neutral tones in dark colours and everything was where it should be. The bed had been made; no clothes were in sight. Even the cushions on the upholstered chair in the corner appeared to have been fluffed. Agnes’ eyes moved about the room taking in the stack of books beside his bed, the reading glasses on top of them. She noticed an odd piece of furniture; an unusual shaped chair with a high back on one end but none on the other. Her eye was drawn to it and she found herself returning to look at it several times, trying to determine its purpose.
Agnes suddenly wondered how long she had been away. It would be dreadfully embarrassing to be caught being a ‘nosy parker’ and she moved away quickly and down the hall to find Frederick.
“May I help you?” she asked demurely.
Frederick merely gestured to her to go to the sitting area and she left him and went to take in the view of the city. Paris at night was a city like no other and she enjoyed looking at the little balconies on adjacent buildings. The buildings were so close together that she was able to look out and quite clearly observe people smoking on a balcony directly opposite them and another couple kissing.
She felt she was intruding watching them and she moved away and sat down on a couch and looked for something to glance at while she waited. All the magazines were about design and architecture and when Frederick glanced in on her she asked him about it. It delighted her to discover that he was very passionate about design; that he had many interests. She loved learning these snippets of information about him.
Agnes enjoyed Frederick’s company. She found it easy to talk to him but she was desperately sleepy too and she could feel her eyes start to close on her. She tried hard to force herself to stay awake and alert but it was almost painful to force her eyes to stay open. She tried to make her eyes go very wide as if to will them to stay open but she could feel herself starting to go under and she had no control over the feeling. She decided to just close her eyes for a moment.
When Agnes woke up, she woke in fear. She lay there, conscious of only one fact: that she was not in her own bed. She lay for several seconds trying to remember what had gone on last night and where she actually was. In a moment of relief she recalled that she was in Frederick’s apartment. He must have put the comforter over her, and a pillow under her head. She felt embarrassed that she had fallen asleep but also thought it so sweet of him to tuck her in as he had and make her more comfortable.
This experience was so novel for Agnes she had no rules to follow of what she should do. She barely knew Frederick and yet she felt so comfortable and safe with him. It really did not make any sense, even to her and she could only imagine what her father would say if he knew. And yet, she had a desperate longing to find Frederick and to be closer to him. She got up and walked to the bedroom only to discover that the room was exactly as she had seen it earlier that night. He was not there. The discovery panicked Agnes for a moment. Had he gone and left her there all alone?
But, as she left the room she was aware of a presence in the alcove to the room and she realized it was Frederick who had also gone to sleep in his clothes on the day bed. She felt a great tenderness towards him at that moment and it prompted her to retrieve the comforter with which he had covered her. She lay down beside him and covered them both. He did not awaken and she returned to slumber easily with him by her side.
When she woke in the morning and Frederick conjured the plan of them spending the whole day together she barely resisted and against all previous thoughts of diligence towards her work, quite easily told her employer a little white lie. She wanted so much to be there with him. When Frederick said in jest to tell Andre that she had been "kidnapped" she smiled, but the truth was that she was aroused. The idea of being kidnapped appealed to her more than she dare let on to him. She loved his use of the word “guidance” too. She had no idea why, but she was responding to him in ways that left her speechless; wanting; ready.
We
We say so much and yet say so little of what we mean.
We talk to each other and yet misunderstandings are rife.
We think our motives are understood.
We wonder why the other is not co-operating.
We aim to please one another.
We want the other to be happy.
We act naturally but purposefully for the other's good.
We live by a code only known to us.
We get closer and it feels so good.
We misstep unwittingly and some distance returns.
We correct.
We reconnect.
We endure.
We hold onto something dear.
We patienctly wait for matters to unfold.
We give thanks for having found one another.
We talk to each other and yet misunderstandings are rife.
We think our motives are understood.
We wonder why the other is not co-operating.
We aim to please one another.
We want the other to be happy.
We act naturally but purposefully for the other's good.
We live by a code only known to us.
We get closer and it feels so good.
We misstep unwittingly and some distance returns.
We correct.
We reconnect.
We endure.
We hold onto something dear.
We patienctly wait for matters to unfold.
We give thanks for having found one another.
Wednesday, January 19, 2011
Sizzle, sizzle
I think I am really testing David's patience lately as he waits for me to write the latest scene from Agnes' point of view. Being the 'good guy' that he is, he knows that I have to get certain things out of my system first. Sometimes, life creeps up on you and reveals things to you and you have no alternative but to stop and just absorb it for a while. Yet today, I feel so floaty and happy and able and content that I just have to write here how very happy I feel!
In the last post, Oatmeal Girl made the following comment: "Need, obsession, inspiration, service... we seem to be on opposite sides of the seesaw, but without both of us it will not move and we will not reach the heights." It didn't pass Shape Shifter by either that this was a particularly poignant statement.
Need, obsession, inspiration and service are words that all have great meaning and impact in my life. My needs are just that; not wants alone but very much needs. I certainly obsess. You don't write more than 450 posts about all this and not have an obsession.
I am fortunate to receive abundant inspiration and may I humbly suggest, that I would not receive that inspiration if I did not myself inspire.
And, I serve. I do indeed serve, with good grace and dignity and pleasure.
Today is one of those days that I can tick off as a thrilling success! Just this once you don't really need the details, do you? Let's just say, I'm sizzling like only good dolls do! Can we leave it at that? And now, I can do some writing.
In the last post, Oatmeal Girl made the following comment: "Need, obsession, inspiration, service... we seem to be on opposite sides of the seesaw, but without both of us it will not move and we will not reach the heights." It didn't pass Shape Shifter by either that this was a particularly poignant statement.
Need, obsession, inspiration and service are words that all have great meaning and impact in my life. My needs are just that; not wants alone but very much needs. I certainly obsess. You don't write more than 450 posts about all this and not have an obsession.
I am fortunate to receive abundant inspiration and may I humbly suggest, that I would not receive that inspiration if I did not myself inspire.
And, I serve. I do indeed serve, with good grace and dignity and pleasure.
Today is one of those days that I can tick off as a thrilling success! Just this once you don't really need the details, do you? Let's just say, I'm sizzling like only good dolls do! Can we leave it at that? And now, I can do some writing.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
The other
I have given lots of thought to how control fits into my life but it is only very recently that I have managed to put the bits together for myself and create one full picture. I feel much better equipped to understand the need for control not just through the eyes of the bottom but also through the eyes of the top.
In Stephen Covey’s ‘The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People’, the fifth habit states, “Seek first to understand and then to be understood.”
I think I very much wanted to understand the other but I was missing a clear understanding for various reasons. Perhaps I was too absorbed with the personal experience through my own set of eyes to give due attention to what was happening to the other person; the person that makes it all possible for me to experience what I do. Perhaps I was holding onto ideas about how I thought it should be and could not see the truth before my eyes. We learn when we are ready to learn and although I learned late I am grateful to have learned finally. I am being vague quite deliberately because the specifics of any given person do not relate to the simple yet powerful message I wish to convey.
If you read the words of the Dalai Lama, as I have recently, there is one word he uses over and over, compassion. When we seek to understand someone else, someone who means a great deal to us, we give ourselves to them. We surrender. This surrender takes place both ways, if we are attuned to the possibility. The line is blurred as to who is the top and who is the bottom at certain pivotal moments in our lives because a form of loving has taken place that does not ask, well, who is the top and who is the bottom?
When we seek to understand the other and achieve that outcome as I feel I have now finally done, there is at first a sense of shock and then very quickly a new found sense of peace. I seek and am the bottom in the dynamic and yet I bring to the role my strength of mind; my intent for a positive outcome; my understanding of the other. In so many meaningful and powerful ways there is no bottom nor top but just a whole when those two complementary entities come together in a spirit of union. This is when a spiritual experience takes place. This is service to the other.
In Stephen Covey’s ‘The Seven Habits of Highly Effective People’, the fifth habit states, “Seek first to understand and then to be understood.”
I think I very much wanted to understand the other but I was missing a clear understanding for various reasons. Perhaps I was too absorbed with the personal experience through my own set of eyes to give due attention to what was happening to the other person; the person that makes it all possible for me to experience what I do. Perhaps I was holding onto ideas about how I thought it should be and could not see the truth before my eyes. We learn when we are ready to learn and although I learned late I am grateful to have learned finally. I am being vague quite deliberately because the specifics of any given person do not relate to the simple yet powerful message I wish to convey.
If you read the words of the Dalai Lama, as I have recently, there is one word he uses over and over, compassion. When we seek to understand someone else, someone who means a great deal to us, we give ourselves to them. We surrender. This surrender takes place both ways, if we are attuned to the possibility. The line is blurred as to who is the top and who is the bottom at certain pivotal moments in our lives because a form of loving has taken place that does not ask, well, who is the top and who is the bottom?
When we seek to understand the other and achieve that outcome as I feel I have now finally done, there is at first a sense of shock and then very quickly a new found sense of peace. I seek and am the bottom in the dynamic and yet I bring to the role my strength of mind; my intent for a positive outcome; my understanding of the other. In so many meaningful and powerful ways there is no bottom nor top but just a whole when those two complementary entities come together in a spirit of union. This is when a spiritual experience takes place. This is service to the other.
Sunday, January 16, 2011
Knowledge
There have been times when I have felt fragile. I sometimes wished that I was more assertive; more committed to a career; more able to stand on my own two feet. I have at times resented my nature, seeing it as somehow less than those who appeared so strong; whole; resilient.
I have come to understand matters more completely. I am resilient. I am strong. I am whole. I have in abundance compassion and the ability to love. I was given all the resources I required to endure and thrive. I did not know that then but I know that now.
I have come to understand matters more completely. I am resilient. I am strong. I am whole. I have in abundance compassion and the ability to love. I was given all the resources I required to endure and thrive. I did not know that then but I know that now.
Thursday, January 13, 2011
To better days
Some readers may know that Australia is facing the devastating consequences of severe floods. This is a time of huge sorrow for my country; of pulling together to help those in need and of just getting through a very tough time. I imagine it has some similarity to when there was a devastating event in New York City or in New Orleans and people put their best foot forward and helped out wherever they could. Catastrophic events often bring out the best in us.
For me personally, the floods have prompted an understanding of what I hold dear. A nurturer by nature, it is my natural impulse to give care to others and as a woman who is also submissive by nature, I look to receive care. I am more than my sexuality. I am a woman who values more than anything, honest and fulfilling relationships; friendship; getting to know another person at the soul level; treating people with respect; being kind. This is where I get complete sustenance. I need freedom to express myself for all that I am.
At this time, my thoughts are with other Australians who have lost everything. Kinky thoughts seem highly inappropriate right now to my mind. Instead, I offer my positive spirit that there will be better days ahead and that together, we will rebuild shattered lives.
For me personally, the floods have prompted an understanding of what I hold dear. A nurturer by nature, it is my natural impulse to give care to others and as a woman who is also submissive by nature, I look to receive care. I am more than my sexuality. I am a woman who values more than anything, honest and fulfilling relationships; friendship; getting to know another person at the soul level; treating people with respect; being kind. This is where I get complete sustenance. I need freedom to express myself for all that I am.
At this time, my thoughts are with other Australians who have lost everything. Kinky thoughts seem highly inappropriate right now to my mind. Instead, I offer my positive spirit that there will be better days ahead and that together, we will rebuild shattered lives.
Tuesday, January 11, 2011
Play
As a mother of four children and a woman who was trained to be a high school teacher, I watched with fascination last night a documentary about children’s play. American children, it was proposed, were at risk of losing essential free play in their lives. So competitive had American parents become on their children’s behalf and so terrified of what might befall a child if left unsupervised, their free play time was evaporating. We saw footage of very young children, less than eight years old saying that they felt “stressed” (I wondered how they learned that word...) They relayed that they were always expected to be doing something.
The vast majority of parents around the world would be inclined to agree that team sports build character. I agree that sometimes team sports build character and I also agree that sometimes team sports are just counterproductive. I saw evidence of both scenarios with my own children. It has to be the right sort of team and the right sort of sport with the right sort of coach to be a positive experience, in my opinion. When I saw one son being sidelined and the coach acting like a control freak weirdo, I suggested to my son that he might be better able to fill in his Sunday afternoon. He was just so relieved that he didn’t need to handle any more of our expectations of him. Instead, he did what he really wanted to do: highly competitive and challenging stuff but on a whole other level. As one expert on children’s play reported, team sports have the potential to build character.
And another thing: The researchers discovered that in team sports some kids hold back. They don’t want to make a mistake in front of the screaming onlookers. But, take those kids and put them with other kids in a smaller situation, such as their own neighbourhood away from the screaming parents and they became leaders on the sports fields.
But, I digress. The important point made, based on considerable research is that free play situations for children are essential to build their emotion intelligence; to develop problem solving strategies and conflict resolution strategies.
It was fascinating to watch what happened on a primary school playground when adults made available equipment other than balls and bats. They scattered into the trees, a variety of coloured scarves, and what do you know! Suddenly, many children were using those scarves to imagine all sorts of scenarios. They were, for forty minutes, different people in far off lands. The playground came alive with the sounds of children at play: happy, bubbly, creative children. It was a sight to see!
When I moved to America, I was just a simple Aussie girl with my own simple notions of bringing up children. If they wanted to play in a mud puddle on a stinking hot day, that was fine by me. That is what free, creative Australian children do. I was shocked to discover that this was a real novelty to the American parents who looked on. They had never seen such a thing: the abandon of a child who has sat on the sidelines all sticky hot summer day to watch his older brother in a soccer tournament simply have enough, take off all his clothes and wade through the puddle stark naked. To me, it was the most normal event in the entire world.
My two eldest children adored the Robin Williams’ Captain Hook movie, ‘Hook’, and I loved it too. It was so filled with an imaginative spirit that it was impossible not to fall in love with it. Imagine my confusion, therefore, when I found myself involved in a conversation with American mothers full of complaint about the movie. They thought it just “silly”. I just kept my mouth closed. Their world of bringing up children was something totally alien to me.
When we left America, we were snowed in for almost a week. Everything had gone. We had nothing in the house but some cardboard boxes. Never fear! We also had some masking tape and my daughter got to work to make a “house”. For three days, she and her younger brother played in their house, blissfully happy and content.
With my two younger children, I had to accept that their sort of play was going to be different. They both adored the screen and whilst they had full and varied extra-curricular lives in the form of music and sport and drama and so on, their creative play might have them in the library at lunchtime working with another aficionado of animation or whatever, putting together a movie. So be it. We are all different. A ball is not going to appeal to every kid just as one sort of recreation is not going to appeal to all adults.
As the child psychologist in the documentary said in so many words: It is about raising a resilient child. In this world the most important thing we learn to do is to adapt. Children must be resilient enough to adapt to life’s challenges. They can’t learn this skill wrapped in cotton wool, constantly supervised.
Whilst free play for my children was something that I instinctively understood and provided, it hadn’t occurred to me that I also needed free play; the opportunity to lose myself in a world of my own invention, or to have the opportunity to adapt to someone else’s version of a wonderful world.
My husband, too, perhaps didn’t understand that. He was a child who really knew how to play. With a large farm as his playground, he and his siblings were very creative and free indeed. But as he grew older, he may have lost sight of its importance.
Nowadays, we play freely and often with one another. And each time we do, we gain something: the opportunity to lose ourselves in our own creativity; an opportunity to be free and unencumbered. You are never too old or too young to want or need to play in a way most suited to you.
The vast majority of parents around the world would be inclined to agree that team sports build character. I agree that sometimes team sports build character and I also agree that sometimes team sports are just counterproductive. I saw evidence of both scenarios with my own children. It has to be the right sort of team and the right sort of sport with the right sort of coach to be a positive experience, in my opinion. When I saw one son being sidelined and the coach acting like a control freak weirdo, I suggested to my son that he might be better able to fill in his Sunday afternoon. He was just so relieved that he didn’t need to handle any more of our expectations of him. Instead, he did what he really wanted to do: highly competitive and challenging stuff but on a whole other level. As one expert on children’s play reported, team sports have the potential to build character.
And another thing: The researchers discovered that in team sports some kids hold back. They don’t want to make a mistake in front of the screaming onlookers. But, take those kids and put them with other kids in a smaller situation, such as their own neighbourhood away from the screaming parents and they became leaders on the sports fields.
But, I digress. The important point made, based on considerable research is that free play situations for children are essential to build their emotion intelligence; to develop problem solving strategies and conflict resolution strategies.
It was fascinating to watch what happened on a primary school playground when adults made available equipment other than balls and bats. They scattered into the trees, a variety of coloured scarves, and what do you know! Suddenly, many children were using those scarves to imagine all sorts of scenarios. They were, for forty minutes, different people in far off lands. The playground came alive with the sounds of children at play: happy, bubbly, creative children. It was a sight to see!
When I moved to America, I was just a simple Aussie girl with my own simple notions of bringing up children. If they wanted to play in a mud puddle on a stinking hot day, that was fine by me. That is what free, creative Australian children do. I was shocked to discover that this was a real novelty to the American parents who looked on. They had never seen such a thing: the abandon of a child who has sat on the sidelines all sticky hot summer day to watch his older brother in a soccer tournament simply have enough, take off all his clothes and wade through the puddle stark naked. To me, it was the most normal event in the entire world.
My two eldest children adored the Robin Williams’ Captain Hook movie, ‘Hook’, and I loved it too. It was so filled with an imaginative spirit that it was impossible not to fall in love with it. Imagine my confusion, therefore, when I found myself involved in a conversation with American mothers full of complaint about the movie. They thought it just “silly”. I just kept my mouth closed. Their world of bringing up children was something totally alien to me.
When we left America, we were snowed in for almost a week. Everything had gone. We had nothing in the house but some cardboard boxes. Never fear! We also had some masking tape and my daughter got to work to make a “house”. For three days, she and her younger brother played in their house, blissfully happy and content.
With my two younger children, I had to accept that their sort of play was going to be different. They both adored the screen and whilst they had full and varied extra-curricular lives in the form of music and sport and drama and so on, their creative play might have them in the library at lunchtime working with another aficionado of animation or whatever, putting together a movie. So be it. We are all different. A ball is not going to appeal to every kid just as one sort of recreation is not going to appeal to all adults.
As the child psychologist in the documentary said in so many words: It is about raising a resilient child. In this world the most important thing we learn to do is to adapt. Children must be resilient enough to adapt to life’s challenges. They can’t learn this skill wrapped in cotton wool, constantly supervised.
Whilst free play for my children was something that I instinctively understood and provided, it hadn’t occurred to me that I also needed free play; the opportunity to lose myself in a world of my own invention, or to have the opportunity to adapt to someone else’s version of a wonderful world.
My husband, too, perhaps didn’t understand that. He was a child who really knew how to play. With a large farm as his playground, he and his siblings were very creative and free indeed. But as he grew older, he may have lost sight of its importance.
Nowadays, we play freely and often with one another. And each time we do, we gain something: the opportunity to lose ourselves in our own creativity; an opportunity to be free and unencumbered. You are never too old or too young to want or need to play in a way most suited to you.
Monday, January 10, 2011
Accepting my role
I was sitting in a chair this morning giving myself all the messages I give myself when I am trying to calm down. The details aren’t important. Let’s just say that I was frustrated that something that I wanted, that my husband knew that I wanted, that he had agreed to begin was not going to be done at all; again.
My first reaction is immediate and intense frustration. I can feel my angst in the pit of my stomach rising up to my throat. My agitation is immense and I can feel my breathing become short and haphazard. I feel tightness in my chest and the desire to just explode is a deeply challenging one.
I have a sudden and violent burst of energy. I find myself with the strength of three men as I lift things and move things and try to do something with my upset. I become hot; sweaty; exasperated. I realize from much past experience that I won’t last long in this state and I give myself a message to slow down; take a deep breath. I stand still and take some very deep breaths. I am starting to feel a little better.
I remind myself to talk to myself: What are the most important things to say to yourself at these times of huge inner frustration: Are you feeling awful? Yes. Is your ego involved? Well...yes. Can you effect change or improvement or his co-operation in this state? No. Do you have any control? No.
Moment by moment, I begin to settle myself down; adopt a sensibility that allows me to accept his decision, no matter how frustrating, how silly (in my opinion) or how very disappointing to me. I just accept my lot and find my sustenance in other ways.
I read a book over the past few weeks that suggested that if you want your partner to do something for you, or in my case give me permission to do it myself (which he would never do), stop asking. Be loving and kind and understanding of him and if you behave in this way, one day he will just do it of his own accord.
Perhaps, it will happen like that. I’m not sure how much more that I can do really; how much more loving or kind or affirming or giving or accepting of our power exchange I can really be. No matter what, he will do what he wants to do, when he wants to do it and how he wants to do it. He is not trying to hurt me. He is a not a power freak. He is a perfectionist who is unable to see my version of life until, when and if he is ready to do so.
Perhaps, my acceptance allows for this situation. He sees me fundamentally happy and deduces that buys him more time. I might subconsciously wonder about this since I have noticed myself reminding him a few times that we aren’t getting any younger. We are in the last third of our lives.
I love him dearly. He loves me dearly. But, the frustration has nearly felled me a number of times. I use what I have learned to great effect to manage that and to accept.
My first reaction is immediate and intense frustration. I can feel my angst in the pit of my stomach rising up to my throat. My agitation is immense and I can feel my breathing become short and haphazard. I feel tightness in my chest and the desire to just explode is a deeply challenging one.
I have a sudden and violent burst of energy. I find myself with the strength of three men as I lift things and move things and try to do something with my upset. I become hot; sweaty; exasperated. I realize from much past experience that I won’t last long in this state and I give myself a message to slow down; take a deep breath. I stand still and take some very deep breaths. I am starting to feel a little better.
I remind myself to talk to myself: What are the most important things to say to yourself at these times of huge inner frustration: Are you feeling awful? Yes. Is your ego involved? Well...yes. Can you effect change or improvement or his co-operation in this state? No. Do you have any control? No.
Moment by moment, I begin to settle myself down; adopt a sensibility that allows me to accept his decision, no matter how frustrating, how silly (in my opinion) or how very disappointing to me. I just accept my lot and find my sustenance in other ways.
I read a book over the past few weeks that suggested that if you want your partner to do something for you, or in my case give me permission to do it myself (which he would never do), stop asking. Be loving and kind and understanding of him and if you behave in this way, one day he will just do it of his own accord.
Perhaps, it will happen like that. I’m not sure how much more that I can do really; how much more loving or kind or affirming or giving or accepting of our power exchange I can really be. No matter what, he will do what he wants to do, when he wants to do it and how he wants to do it. He is not trying to hurt me. He is a not a power freak. He is a perfectionist who is unable to see my version of life until, when and if he is ready to do so.
Perhaps, my acceptance allows for this situation. He sees me fundamentally happy and deduces that buys him more time. I might subconsciously wonder about this since I have noticed myself reminding him a few times that we aren’t getting any younger. We are in the last third of our lives.
I love him dearly. He loves me dearly. But, the frustration has nearly felled me a number of times. I use what I have learned to great effect to manage that and to accept.
Friday, January 7, 2011
Rough winds
This time last year I reported that my husband took me sailing for the very first time in his little sail boat, designed really for one just person. We had perfect conditions that day for introducing me to the experience of sailing a small boat. I adored the experience and naturally enough, looked forward to a repeat experience this year.
Several times this summer I have looked out at the lake and said, "What a lovely morning to sail!" Then he'd say, "Let's wait for some wind." We repeated this exchange several times until one late afternoon recently he said to me, "Would you like to go for a sail?" "Sure," I replied. Yet, as the minutes wore on as we got ourselves together the rather wild wind was starting to worry me. My dawdling got to him. "Look, do you want to go sailing or not?" "Well, do we have to go on such a windy day?" He was clearly agitated with me that I wasn't the fearless sailing companion that he had in mind and I felt a bit of a flop.
The next time he suggested we go sailing, I expressed no hesitation whatsoever. Off we went down to the lake and whilst he put the sail up, I watched it go crazy in the wild wind. The wind was causing a whistle in the air and frankly, I didn't think it at all a great idea. However, I wasn't going to hear the same speech about what a wuss I was, and off we went. From the moment we left the shore it was clear that the peace and serenity I experienced last year was not going to be repeated this day.
"Sit in the middle of the boat. The middle!!!! Come over the other side. Quickly!! Duck you head. Get down!! Okay, now put the wood in the slot. Do it! Further down. That's it. Now, lean back. More! Get more in the middle!"
I am used to very minute and specific instructions as to how to load a dishwasher let alone how to sail a small boat in intrepid conditions so I was not at all surprised by these commands.
"Oh shit! That was dumb. We haven't got life jackets on."
I could feel us change course.
"Are we going in?"
"Yep."
I watched him gather life jackets from the speed boat and realized with a sinking stomach that he intended to proceed with the mission.
"Are we going back out again?"
Sigh.
"Don't you want to?"
"Wellll, it is pretty rough out there..."
"Do you want to or not? Speak your mind, girl."
"I think it is too rough for me."
"If you aren't coming, I'm going on my own."
"Perhaps that is best."
"Fine."
I got off.
"I'm sorry..."
"Yeah, yeah..."
I watched him leave without me, trying to find my nerve to say I'd changed my mind. Yet, my life preserving instinct was in full force.
"It wasn't meant to be this way," he said as he ventured out, clearly disappointed with me.
I watched him leave with heavy heart, berating my scared soul.
When I saw him returning an hour or so later, I came down to meet him. Anything to regain the connection...
"How was it?"
"It was bloody rough out there. I capsized."
"Ohhhhhh"
"It was much too rough for you."
"Ohhhhh?"
"Yes. Much better that you didn't come."
Did we discuss his agitation with me? No. Did I point out that I was right and he was, well...wrong? No. We simply enjoyed the reconnection, or whatever you like to call it.
For well over 30 years I've been receiving instruction from my guy. He instinctively takes it upon himself to instruct me about anything and everything; from pulling the sheet up higher when I make the bed to how to handle a complicated business transaction and everything in between. (Don't get me started about my role of navigator and his, the driver. Just don't get me started...!)
And there it is; a dynamic set in stone; a dynamic that will never change. He's the Captain. I'm merely a lowly sailor who sometimes oh so tactfully, sets the Captain straight!
Several times this summer I have looked out at the lake and said, "What a lovely morning to sail!" Then he'd say, "Let's wait for some wind." We repeated this exchange several times until one late afternoon recently he said to me, "Would you like to go for a sail?" "Sure," I replied. Yet, as the minutes wore on as we got ourselves together the rather wild wind was starting to worry me. My dawdling got to him. "Look, do you want to go sailing or not?" "Well, do we have to go on such a windy day?" He was clearly agitated with me that I wasn't the fearless sailing companion that he had in mind and I felt a bit of a flop.
The next time he suggested we go sailing, I expressed no hesitation whatsoever. Off we went down to the lake and whilst he put the sail up, I watched it go crazy in the wild wind. The wind was causing a whistle in the air and frankly, I didn't think it at all a great idea. However, I wasn't going to hear the same speech about what a wuss I was, and off we went. From the moment we left the shore it was clear that the peace and serenity I experienced last year was not going to be repeated this day.
"Sit in the middle of the boat. The middle!!!! Come over the other side. Quickly!! Duck you head. Get down!! Okay, now put the wood in the slot. Do it! Further down. That's it. Now, lean back. More! Get more in the middle!"
I am used to very minute and specific instructions as to how to load a dishwasher let alone how to sail a small boat in intrepid conditions so I was not at all surprised by these commands.
"Oh shit! That was dumb. We haven't got life jackets on."
I could feel us change course.
"Are we going in?"
"Yep."
I watched him gather life jackets from the speed boat and realized with a sinking stomach that he intended to proceed with the mission.
"Are we going back out again?"
Sigh.
"Don't you want to?"
"Wellll, it is pretty rough out there..."
"Do you want to or not? Speak your mind, girl."
"I think it is too rough for me."
"If you aren't coming, I'm going on my own."
"Perhaps that is best."
"Fine."
I got off.
"I'm sorry..."
"Yeah, yeah..."
I watched him leave without me, trying to find my nerve to say I'd changed my mind. Yet, my life preserving instinct was in full force.
"It wasn't meant to be this way," he said as he ventured out, clearly disappointed with me.
I watched him leave with heavy heart, berating my scared soul.
When I saw him returning an hour or so later, I came down to meet him. Anything to regain the connection...
"How was it?"
"It was bloody rough out there. I capsized."
"Ohhhhhh"
"It was much too rough for you."
"Ohhhhh?"
"Yes. Much better that you didn't come."
Did we discuss his agitation with me? No. Did I point out that I was right and he was, well...wrong? No. We simply enjoyed the reconnection, or whatever you like to call it.
For well over 30 years I've been receiving instruction from my guy. He instinctively takes it upon himself to instruct me about anything and everything; from pulling the sheet up higher when I make the bed to how to handle a complicated business transaction and everything in between. (Don't get me started about my role of navigator and his, the driver. Just don't get me started...!)
And there it is; a dynamic set in stone; a dynamic that will never change. He's the Captain. I'm merely a lowly sailor who sometimes oh so tactfully, sets the Captain straight!
Tuesday, January 4, 2011
Primal thoughts
‘We are the prisoners of our genes.’ I have heard this statement many times since it was a favourite statement of someone I knew rather well. It is true. Some things about us are set in stone; preordained. We have a childhood and that adds a whole new layer of complexity. By the time we have become adults we are extraordinarily complex. Those people who blog and read here are particularly complex people, I suspect.
I love complex people. I was not a big game or crossword puzzle sort of child but now that I’m as grown up as I’m likely to be, I love games and I love puzzles. It is quite extraordinary how clever we are in keeping ourselves safe and well. As people who give and receive love in a slightly different way to the norm we try hard to make sense of what comes naturally to us but seems unnatural to others. We seek to understand.
We are in need of translating our thoughts. We tend to be people with a strong connection to thoughts that are primal; thoughts that occur within us in spite of civilization. If it is true that a man’s primal thought is to penetrate women; to capture them, then maybe it is true that a woman’s primal thought is to be taken by men; captured.
We grow up in systems: school, family, religious and community systems where we accept or reject a number of values and beliefs that may make our primal thoughts unacceptable to us. We must adapt. We adapt by translating our thoughts into some new schema that makes it possible for us to function with a sense that we are being true to ourselves and acceptable to society and our own values.
In this way, I find complex people such as you find here on the blogs very clever. Innately we know at some point in our lives that we have no choice but to accept ourselves and be true to ourselves and we do what we can to achieve that end. If the unconscious mind does not fit societal norms what can we do? We sublimate our thoughts. We find a conceptual substitute. This is highly adaptive. This is the survival instinct at work.
As clever as it may be, it is frightening too. Unlike those whose conscious mind and unconscious mind are a good fit, some of us may struggle with these variances. We want to be good. We don’t mean to cause anyone any trouble.
For many generations people similar to us must have been very torn, keeping these thoughts to themselves. Without the sorts of opportunities we have to find new schemas, perhaps on the Internet, they may well have lived their lives beseeched by the demons in their mind. Perhaps some of these people are responsible for the greatest writing:the poems and the novels we so admire. Their chosen schema was their writing. I wonder about this.
For some of us the sexual impulse is strong and for some of us the sexual impulse is almost overwhelming. Perhaps the strength of the primal urge dictates the translation and various obsessions. In any case, such translations and obsessions seem to me a healthy way to experience the feelings we have in a relatively safe way.
From personal experience, I know that one can feel guilty even about the translation let alone the primal thoughts. Even the translation can be out of line with societal expectation: the good mother, the good wife. At such times I must forcibly remind myself this is why I have made the translation: so that I can be everything to everyone, including myself. This requires diligence and good management. At heart and in practise, it is a good thing.
I love complex people. I was not a big game or crossword puzzle sort of child but now that I’m as grown up as I’m likely to be, I love games and I love puzzles. It is quite extraordinary how clever we are in keeping ourselves safe and well. As people who give and receive love in a slightly different way to the norm we try hard to make sense of what comes naturally to us but seems unnatural to others. We seek to understand.
We are in need of translating our thoughts. We tend to be people with a strong connection to thoughts that are primal; thoughts that occur within us in spite of civilization. If it is true that a man’s primal thought is to penetrate women; to capture them, then maybe it is true that a woman’s primal thought is to be taken by men; captured.
We grow up in systems: school, family, religious and community systems where we accept or reject a number of values and beliefs that may make our primal thoughts unacceptable to us. We must adapt. We adapt by translating our thoughts into some new schema that makes it possible for us to function with a sense that we are being true to ourselves and acceptable to society and our own values.
In this way, I find complex people such as you find here on the blogs very clever. Innately we know at some point in our lives that we have no choice but to accept ourselves and be true to ourselves and we do what we can to achieve that end. If the unconscious mind does not fit societal norms what can we do? We sublimate our thoughts. We find a conceptual substitute. This is highly adaptive. This is the survival instinct at work.
As clever as it may be, it is frightening too. Unlike those whose conscious mind and unconscious mind are a good fit, some of us may struggle with these variances. We want to be good. We don’t mean to cause anyone any trouble.
For many generations people similar to us must have been very torn, keeping these thoughts to themselves. Without the sorts of opportunities we have to find new schemas, perhaps on the Internet, they may well have lived their lives beseeched by the demons in their mind. Perhaps some of these people are responsible for the greatest writing:the poems and the novels we so admire. Their chosen schema was their writing. I wonder about this.
For some of us the sexual impulse is strong and for some of us the sexual impulse is almost overwhelming. Perhaps the strength of the primal urge dictates the translation and various obsessions. In any case, such translations and obsessions seem to me a healthy way to experience the feelings we have in a relatively safe way.
From personal experience, I know that one can feel guilty even about the translation let alone the primal thoughts. Even the translation can be out of line with societal expectation: the good mother, the good wife. At such times I must forcibly remind myself this is why I have made the translation: so that I can be everything to everyone, including myself. This requires diligence and good management. At heart and in practise, it is a good thing.
Sunday, January 2, 2011
Frederick and Agnes: The nightcap
Agnes followed where Frederick led her. She felt a little as if she were being led in a dance. Thinking of the dance and the music playing in her head, she began to hum. It was something she did instinctively and even without consciousness. Suddenly, he turned a corner into a darkish alley and she pulled on his arm and enquired where he was taking her. When he informed her that they were to have an after dinner drink, she was secretly delighted. It seemed such a grown up thing to do.
Frederick took Agnes by the wrist and they made their way through the bar, closely passing by people sitting at tables and on couches. She made note of the fact that several people spoke to Frederick and that once they had greeted him, their eyes went to her. She always felt self conscious when she was watched and particularly this evening. Agnes tried not to make contact with their eyes directly but it was clear that a few of the men were taking her in from head to foot. It reminded her of being at the zoo and being watched by a tiger. If Frederick were not there, she would be their prey. She drew closer to him for comfort and protection. She tried to ignore the potent smell of cigarette smoke in the air.
Frederick had her sit at a rather worn, red velvet couch but to her surprise and a little disappointment he sat down on a black leather chair at a 90 degree angle to her. It would have been so lovely to have him right by her side and be able to whisper comments about the patrons into his ear. Frederick ordered them both sifters of B & B. She had never had this before but was perfectly prepared to drink it, regardless of the taste. She would never think of letting on at her ignorance of such things. She wanted to appear as sophisticated as she could, especially here in this bar and in the presence of women whose style of dress seemed so chic in comparison to her simple clothing.
As Agnes looked around the bar, she took in so many things new to her. Whilst she was aware of her own innocence in such a bar, she was also revelling in the new experience and grateful for the opportunity. This was the sort of experience that she had hoped to have in Paris. Agnes observed the waitress come towards them again with their drinks and as well, she noticed Frederick watch the waitress’s breasts as she bent down to put the drinks on the low table.
It was not lost on her that Frederick was most likely one of those men her father had warned her about – one of the “lascivious men” he had said would take advantage of her. Frederick turned towards her at that instant and caught her watching him.
“Gretchen is an old friend.”
Agnes was momentarily wounded that Frederick must have had many women in his life. It was a pang of jealousy combined with a sense of insecurity that made her retort,
“She doesn’t look very old.”
Frederick ignored her comment and asked if she liked the bar. This gave her an opportunity to recover from her strange feeling and she responded that whilst she hadn’t been anywhere quite like this before, she liked it and was enjoying the music. He wanted to know where she went with her friends when she went out and she replied they met at local bistros and there they drank the local wine. She considered that even to her ears her response was one of a naive and sheltered girl.
Agnes watched as Gretchen returned and placed an elaborately carved wooden box on the tray and a glass appliance that looked something like a kerosene lamp. She had never seen this before but she immediately felt insecure about it. She turned to Frederick in the hope he would give her some sort of explanation and he answered, "Water pipe, hashish”. She asked him if he ordered it and seemed relieved when he said he had not and that he would have it removed.
By now, Agnes had taken several sips of her drink and having drunk the wine with her meal she was a beginning to feel slightly light headed and a bit sleepy. When Frederick began to ask her several questions about her dating habits, she answered them compliantly but she chose her words carefully. There were matters she did not wish to share with him. Her weekend dating habits were innocent enough in the main when she would join friends for a meal or a movie. She had nothing to hide on that account and she was happy to tell him about this.
If Frederick was at all like her father or her uncles, he would anticipate that Agnes was an innocent young woman who had yet to fully understand the appetites of men. He would never guess, and would be bothered, she suspected, if he knew that she had once had an encounter with a teacher at her school. She had a crush on Mr. Jacques, the drama teacher that had led to her going for a drive with him after school. In the woods just out of town he had kissed her, had her take his penis in her mouth and used his tongue to stimulate her pussy. He had not tried to fuck her.
This first sexual encounter with the handsome Mr. Jacques was a memory she held dear. She was disappointed when Mr. Jacques told her next day that they could not meet privately again. The images remained vividly in her mind. It was her secret and not for Frederick’s consumption; at least not yet. Although unworldly, she prided herself on being sensible and astute.
When Frederick said it was time to head for home, she was happy he had said so. She remained very quiet and followed along without comment.
Frederick took Agnes by the wrist and they made their way through the bar, closely passing by people sitting at tables and on couches. She made note of the fact that several people spoke to Frederick and that once they had greeted him, their eyes went to her. She always felt self conscious when she was watched and particularly this evening. Agnes tried not to make contact with their eyes directly but it was clear that a few of the men were taking her in from head to foot. It reminded her of being at the zoo and being watched by a tiger. If Frederick were not there, she would be their prey. She drew closer to him for comfort and protection. She tried to ignore the potent smell of cigarette smoke in the air.
Frederick had her sit at a rather worn, red velvet couch but to her surprise and a little disappointment he sat down on a black leather chair at a 90 degree angle to her. It would have been so lovely to have him right by her side and be able to whisper comments about the patrons into his ear. Frederick ordered them both sifters of B & B. She had never had this before but was perfectly prepared to drink it, regardless of the taste. She would never think of letting on at her ignorance of such things. She wanted to appear as sophisticated as she could, especially here in this bar and in the presence of women whose style of dress seemed so chic in comparison to her simple clothing.
As Agnes looked around the bar, she took in so many things new to her. Whilst she was aware of her own innocence in such a bar, she was also revelling in the new experience and grateful for the opportunity. This was the sort of experience that she had hoped to have in Paris. Agnes observed the waitress come towards them again with their drinks and as well, she noticed Frederick watch the waitress’s breasts as she bent down to put the drinks on the low table.
It was not lost on her that Frederick was most likely one of those men her father had warned her about – one of the “lascivious men” he had said would take advantage of her. Frederick turned towards her at that instant and caught her watching him.
“Gretchen is an old friend.”
Agnes was momentarily wounded that Frederick must have had many women in his life. It was a pang of jealousy combined with a sense of insecurity that made her retort,
“She doesn’t look very old.”
Frederick ignored her comment and asked if she liked the bar. This gave her an opportunity to recover from her strange feeling and she responded that whilst she hadn’t been anywhere quite like this before, she liked it and was enjoying the music. He wanted to know where she went with her friends when she went out and she replied they met at local bistros and there they drank the local wine. She considered that even to her ears her response was one of a naive and sheltered girl.
Agnes watched as Gretchen returned and placed an elaborately carved wooden box on the tray and a glass appliance that looked something like a kerosene lamp. She had never seen this before but she immediately felt insecure about it. She turned to Frederick in the hope he would give her some sort of explanation and he answered, "Water pipe, hashish”. She asked him if he ordered it and seemed relieved when he said he had not and that he would have it removed.
By now, Agnes had taken several sips of her drink and having drunk the wine with her meal she was a beginning to feel slightly light headed and a bit sleepy. When Frederick began to ask her several questions about her dating habits, she answered them compliantly but she chose her words carefully. There were matters she did not wish to share with him. Her weekend dating habits were innocent enough in the main when she would join friends for a meal or a movie. She had nothing to hide on that account and she was happy to tell him about this.
If Frederick was at all like her father or her uncles, he would anticipate that Agnes was an innocent young woman who had yet to fully understand the appetites of men. He would never guess, and would be bothered, she suspected, if he knew that she had once had an encounter with a teacher at her school. She had a crush on Mr. Jacques, the drama teacher that had led to her going for a drive with him after school. In the woods just out of town he had kissed her, had her take his penis in her mouth and used his tongue to stimulate her pussy. He had not tried to fuck her.
This first sexual encounter with the handsome Mr. Jacques was a memory she held dear. She was disappointed when Mr. Jacques told her next day that they could not meet privately again. The images remained vividly in her mind. It was her secret and not for Frederick’s consumption; at least not yet. Although unworldly, she prided herself on being sensible and astute.
When Frederick said it was time to head for home, she was happy he had said so. She remained very quiet and followed along without comment.
Doll heaven
Entering into the dolli headspace has been an extremely liberating thing for me in many ways and brought me much happiness and contentment. I understand that that is a very confronting statement for many people to read. I hope that you can be happy for me and not judge me too harshly in the same way that I don’t judge anyone else harshly for their choices. I do appreciate it is not for everyone (or hardly anyone). As well as being liberating it is very challenging and even for me at times, confusing and even baffling. I think my last post was an attempt to express some confusion – to try to put into words some thoughts that were troubling me a little. On reflection, I don’t think I did a good job of trying to express those thoughts.
When something doesn’t sit right for me in my life I deal with this in one of two ways. Either I give my poor addled head a complete rest and go do something that absorbs my mind and body in other ways or else I immerse myself in my troubled thoughts and don’t let go of them until I have a solution. You, my poor readers have suffered so as I go about demanding a solution and I want to thank you for your perseverance. I know (well I’ve been told anyway) that I can be a tad intense.
The benefits of the dolli headspace for me are immense. I can feel a wonderful sense of satisfaction with life and with my place in it. I can have a tremendously strong bond with my husband and we can both flourish with all the play that abounds in our life. I can benefit from the structure and expectations and even the communication style can be very rewarding. On my best days, I am quite simply, the doll. I am not just the dolli in the bedroom or when my husband approaches me in the kitchen in a certain way but I am also the dolli in my interactions in the outside world. She talks in a certain way. She interacts in a certain way. She abounds joy and transfers joy in a certain way. I can feel her taking over bringing me peace and contentment and I give thanks for the day, eighteen months ago now when she rose up and refused to be put back down.
Of course, the dolli operates in a confined space in many ways. She is contained and when that containment becomes too easy, she is challenged yet again. Dollies need challenges; to be pushed and pulled. Nothing is surer.
At the same time, I am old enough and wise enough to understand that the most important aspect of my life is my relationships. All sorts of other things have importance but nothing means more to me than connecting with other people. Finding soul mates, having one on one conversations with other people whereby they feel safe to reveal themselves to me and I feel safe to reveal myself to them is what matters to me.
I remind myself regularly that there are many types of friendship. I have a friend and we’ve been friends since we began nursery school at the age of four. We’ve never had an argument but at the same time I’ve never felt that I could talk to her about the real me. I sometimes wonder if she can talk to me about the real her. The truth is, I believe, that what I see, I get. I am seeing the real her whereas it is I that am the secretive one. It will never come to pass that I tell her about all that I tell you, because that sort of exposure would put me at great risk. It would be too titillating. The temptation to tell mutual friends would be too high. And, I say this holding onto a secret of hers through the years. I can do that perfectly well but many people cannot.
I crave intimacy. I don’t mean sexual intimacy although I do crave that big time with my husband. I crave intimacy with a special few people. I hope that my special relationships evolve such that intimacy, and then even more intimacy abounds. I look to meet soul to soul. I put great stock in this; work towards this; hope. You cannot make anyone open up but you can provide the environment that enables them to open up to you, if they wish; if they feel safe.
There are moments when I worry that as the doll I won’t have the opportunity to experience this sort of intimacy. Dollies have so many rules and protocols; so many limits. They are so contained. Yet, in my more positive moments I can see quite clearly that it is entirely possible to achieve intimacy; to meet with someone else on a soul to soul basis; for the trust to operate on a two way basis. This outcome is what I call ‘doll heaven’.
When something doesn’t sit right for me in my life I deal with this in one of two ways. Either I give my poor addled head a complete rest and go do something that absorbs my mind and body in other ways or else I immerse myself in my troubled thoughts and don’t let go of them until I have a solution. You, my poor readers have suffered so as I go about demanding a solution and I want to thank you for your perseverance. I know (well I’ve been told anyway) that I can be a tad intense.
The benefits of the dolli headspace for me are immense. I can feel a wonderful sense of satisfaction with life and with my place in it. I can have a tremendously strong bond with my husband and we can both flourish with all the play that abounds in our life. I can benefit from the structure and expectations and even the communication style can be very rewarding. On my best days, I am quite simply, the doll. I am not just the dolli in the bedroom or when my husband approaches me in the kitchen in a certain way but I am also the dolli in my interactions in the outside world. She talks in a certain way. She interacts in a certain way. She abounds joy and transfers joy in a certain way. I can feel her taking over bringing me peace and contentment and I give thanks for the day, eighteen months ago now when she rose up and refused to be put back down.
Of course, the dolli operates in a confined space in many ways. She is contained and when that containment becomes too easy, she is challenged yet again. Dollies need challenges; to be pushed and pulled. Nothing is surer.
At the same time, I am old enough and wise enough to understand that the most important aspect of my life is my relationships. All sorts of other things have importance but nothing means more to me than connecting with other people. Finding soul mates, having one on one conversations with other people whereby they feel safe to reveal themselves to me and I feel safe to reveal myself to them is what matters to me.
I remind myself regularly that there are many types of friendship. I have a friend and we’ve been friends since we began nursery school at the age of four. We’ve never had an argument but at the same time I’ve never felt that I could talk to her about the real me. I sometimes wonder if she can talk to me about the real her. The truth is, I believe, that what I see, I get. I am seeing the real her whereas it is I that am the secretive one. It will never come to pass that I tell her about all that I tell you, because that sort of exposure would put me at great risk. It would be too titillating. The temptation to tell mutual friends would be too high. And, I say this holding onto a secret of hers through the years. I can do that perfectly well but many people cannot.
I crave intimacy. I don’t mean sexual intimacy although I do crave that big time with my husband. I crave intimacy with a special few people. I hope that my special relationships evolve such that intimacy, and then even more intimacy abounds. I look to meet soul to soul. I put great stock in this; work towards this; hope. You cannot make anyone open up but you can provide the environment that enables them to open up to you, if they wish; if they feel safe.
There are moments when I worry that as the doll I won’t have the opportunity to experience this sort of intimacy. Dollies have so many rules and protocols; so many limits. They are so contained. Yet, in my more positive moments I can see quite clearly that it is entirely possible to achieve intimacy; to meet with someone else on a soul to soul basis; for the trust to operate on a two way basis. This outcome is what I call ‘doll heaven’.
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