Once upon a time..

Once upon a time in a faraway land there was a girl who dreamed. She dreamed of a way to live and love. But, no matter how hard she tried, the dream was a little beyond her reach.

One day, a boy reached out to her. Over time he showed the girl how to achieve her dreams. He showed her how to live and to love so that she was true to herself, just like in her dreams. He fulfilled her dreams. He rescued her.

The girl became attached to the boy. She was grateful to him and fond of him and held hope that they could always be friends.

One day the boy told the girl that it was soon time for him to leave. His work with her was complete.

The girl was very sad. She did not know how she would find the courage and the will to say goodbye for the final time.

As she sometimes did the girl returned to her notebooks for inspiration and guidance. She read these words:

“I’ll remember having loved you.”

“What shall we do tomorrow? Let’s think about it tomorrow.”

“To live is to prepare for goodbyes.”

“On death, some look back on having loved and some look back on having been loved.”

“I love you.” “Was that so hard to say?”

All these words she found on the one page, notes she had written a year ago, almost to the day.

And, in these words she found her strength. She could do nothing about the fact that it was time to say goodbye. This was out of her control. But through him and his guidance, she had both loved and had been loved in a way that she had dreamed about ever since she was a little girl.

It was time to say goodbye and she was as ready as she would ever be.  It had been a very good thing. She would never regret it and she would never forget; altered for good.

Sayonara, my very dear and noble friend. Thank you from the bottom of my heart. Live well. Be happy. And, so shall I.

New toyz

Wut a week 4 cindi! No soonr did her magik wand arrive (n she hab so much fun wif dat!) dan her onnir desyd 2 reeeeli cuntayn cindi dis mornin. She kenna c ne tin n she kenna say n e tin et ull. Onnir hab her get on2 her 4z n suddenli cindi ken feel dat der a brand new speriens 4 her.

Cindi nut no wut happenin reeeeli. She gotsa ideuh but she nut c dat new toy n she ken only gess. But wuteva dat toy it gibbin cindi da most AMAZIN sens8nz n she in nudder plays n tym.

If cindi hab eni ideuh – ENI IDEUH ET ULL – dat dat toy SO GUD she wood hab orderd wun in eberi cullir lung tym go.

Cindi strungli recummndz dat ull da bimboz hab at leeest wun deeez. Tym 2 own up now! Eni bimboz owt der??!!

What I know

A couple of the gals I read have been writing about their beliefs that we should do what works for us and not follow some other person's prescription of what the rules should be or how things should go. That is good advice. I think if one is going to read another web journal it is going to be about collecting interesting ideas that may work for us. I shudder to think that I ever write prescriptively. I try to make it very clear that my experiences are just that - my experiences.

Having said that, I have been collecting in my mind values and beliefs and rules and theories (call them what you will - maybe 'prerequisites'?) that I must embrace if this lifestyle is to work well for me (and my Owner). Some of those ideas may well be necessary for any power exchange relationship and some may be optional and some may be irrelevant. It is not for me to say.

Obedience: It is hard to get around the fact that obedience is expected. No matter how formal or relaxed the arrangement, without the submissive accepting the expectation of obedience, things go awry. My mentor who communicated with the doll was a stickler for it. Heaven help the doll when she disobeyed. You can't go through that sort of training without accepting and taking into your heart and soul that disobedience is a bad, bad thing. My husband has been more relaxed about my occasional devil-may-care-do-it-my-own-way approach, but he doesn't appreciate it, will berate me about it and in moments of disharmony will bring it up as a sore that hasn't healed. Dominants just don't like it, or that is the way it seems to me. If you want the relationship to go well, one has to come to terms with this.

Asking: Formal or informal, asking seems to me an important and even essential skill to master. For various reasons submissive personalities find this very difficult at times. Some submissives think their needs should all be addressed by the dominant. This doesn't really work because they rarely know all that the submissive needs and wants at any given point of time. If and when they don't get that right in entirety (or at all), the submissive needs to guide them.

Speaking respectfully and politely: Whilst this is a matter of style, Dominants and Tops do seem to expect this trait in their submissive. The doll was reprimanded fast and furiously if she was considered impolite, yet she never used honorifics.  She could be coquettish (though this did not necessarily give her what she wanted) and she could be playful but sarcasm, for example, was waaaaay out of line. One learns these things over time. My husband loathes me speaking impolitely and he would interpret this as being short or impatient; not answering questions directly.

If you put the above two traits together, one should presumably ask for thing politely and respectfully. This still trips me up. Sometimes, I wait so long to ask I am too frustrated to be entirely polite and respectful. This is a mistake and never goes down well. Asking as soon as possible seems to be an important lesson to learn. This weekend, I was frustrated enough to blurt out what I wanted. I wanted more use and I wanted more spanking. My tone was not appreciated but he didn't hesitate to get out his cane and that was a good thing at least.

Acceptance: Once power is given away to the Dominant, it does seem very important that the submissive not attempt to take control of events. Of course, it is life that things won't always go as planned and that matters will need to be discussed from time to time, but in two years I don't think the doll was ever given the opportunity to control anything. She tried. Trust me, she tried but it was always out of bounds and deeply, deeply unappreciated. My husband hates it if I try to control events. I think the dominant person finds it confusing, frustrating and sapping of their confidence. You ask them to lead and then you question the leadership. I have to watch this carefully. I have to watch it all carefully really.

Force: Some submissives would find the word itself abhorrent but I know I need some dominant force at times. If I do pick a fight (even sub-consciously) it is because I need to feel that dominant force over me. I want to be reminded that he is my dominant and I am his submissive and "all is right in my world...right here...right now" (as my meditation teacher will say).

Feeling the submission: This is going to look different to each submissive person, but I need to feel and experience my submission regularly. It pains me when my husband is absorbed in his work to the exclusion of reminding me in some way that I am his submissive because I really do best when those reminders are regularly given. This is not something I can control. I can do my best to be patient and understanding of his needs to focus on work but ultimately it will do me harm if I cannot express my submission in some way, somewhat regularly. This is the way I am wired and cannot be fought. Feeling some degree of dominant force elevates me (on some level) while not feeling that dominant force weakens my sense of self and enjoyment of my life.

That is how I see it.

Justice

I have a strong tendency to give people the benefit of the doubt. Even if they have done the wrong thing, I am not inclined to want them to suffer. I tend to think that there were extenuating circumstances or that maybe they were bullied on the schoolyard or that they don’t feel loved, to name just a few reasons why I don’t have black and white feelings about ‘justice’.

It is probably a good thing that I did not become a teacher, or a prosecutor or a judge or any such person who had to make the hard decisions about people’s behaviour. Prison movies freak me out and stories like ‘Oranges and Sunshine’ are not for me.

Yet, I have craved a situation where someone has the right to judge me – to direct me and order me; to discipline and punish me for even the most minor acts of disobedience. I have desired and made myself vulnerable to the sort of treatment that I could never inflict on another human being.

I never stop wondering why this is the case. I find it endlessly baffling that I should judge myself a success or failure according to how completely I am able to submit to another human being’s version of what I should do and how I should do it.

It embarrasses me to type that when I succeed in obeying completely I feel elevated and a success and when I don’t succeed in obeying completely I feel desolate and an abject failure – so despairing of my own disobedience that it can lead to a type of temporary paralysis and depression.

But, I know I am a decent person. I never break the law and I care for other people. I work hard and do what I can to help people in all sorts of ways. I try to be virtuous and to improve myself. I just don’t understand why I take the ability or inability to submit so darn seriously.

I recognize that life should be made up of a healthy dose of fun and there is much that is fun and arousing in submission. Surely we would not do it if there wasn’t some fun and arousal to be had.

Yet, the state of a submissive is that sometimes there is negative emotion to be dealt with – anger or at least frustration, upset, embarrassment and shame, along with accompanying feelings of regret and insecurity if we feel that we have not risen to expectations.

In fact, we accept punishment readily and even thankfully when a submissive such as me could never consider treating another human being in such a way.

I sometimes sit with myself and silently ask myself, “What are you doing?” Why am I tougher on myself than I could ever be on anyone else and why do I crave to be treated in such a way that will ultimately mean that I will judge myself so harshly – a “failed” submissive, potentially?

I have not the slightest clue but if you do, please don’t hesitate to enlighten me.

Set free: caged

The stress in our lives is bazaar, unreasonable and unrelenting and it is designed to be that way. The men on the other side are multi-millionaires; bully boys; nasty creeps. My husband who works from home at this time uses his intellect all day and all night to try to save all the shareholders from greed and underhand tactics; to outsmart their huge team of legal people, happy to sell their souls for huge fees.

Meantime, I feel myself unravelling at times; so desperate for this to be completed that I don't know what to do with myself to avoid imploding.

Some days I keep very busy, astounding myself at how happy I can still feel in the moment. Other days, like this afternoon I am not so lucky and I crave to be put in a cage with nothing to do; nowhere to go and nothing to think. I want the peace of a settled mind; a happy life; days without this pressure; bitterness; avarice and greed.

The girl can do nothing about this except endure it but cindi, without a worry in the world can let it all pass her by.

Now tell me honestly? Does not this cage in the photograph seem imminently more appealing?

Flight of fancy

Good evening, kind Sir. I wish to please you.
What is your fancy on this fair night?

What may I do for you, or rather
what would you care to do to me?

You toy with me.
Perhaps I might toy with you, too.

You seek your sadistic pleasures I know,
fear not; I translate it as thrill.

SEX

So, what it is all about, folks? Well, there are a number of factors but very high on the list is great sex. And, why is sex so important? I can't speak for you. I can only speak for me. It fills me with 'feel good' endorphins. It makes me feel that all is right in my world. It makes me glow. It makes my eyes bright and my lips form a smile and it makes me feel warm and tender to all that I meet in my path through life. It weaves its spell over me for at least 24 hours.

I feel completely alive.
I feel a woman.
I luxuriate in my femininity.

And, I think how I might engineer it that we can do it all over again, at the earliest opportunity!

First winter, then Spring

It is one of those days today when it will rain relentlessly all day. Hail is expected and the clouds are dreary grey/white. There are days like that when I can curl up inside my home and appreciate being there: light a fire, cook a meal and write.

This morning, I wrote poetry: not particularly good poems but I did share one with a friend. I find that when my emotions are whirling through me, demanding my attention, I have an impulse to write only a few words; to express the emotion in a little way, such as a short poem. I might be particularly happy or particularly sad and that emotion is best expressed in a few well chosen words. All the paragraphs in the world won't describe what I am feeling any better than a few dozen words.

The 'smallness' of the poem translates best how I feel: very small; very vulnerable; deeply submissive. In light of the recognition of my small life and my small role in life, I feel very exposed and as subject to today's winds as the camellias outside my window.

I think I always knew, even as a small child that I was not destined for 'greatness' or for a big life. It was always my destiny to be a helpmate; a wife, a mother, a nurturer; someone who loved fiercely. The 'bigness' of my life would be seen in the depth of my heart; the extent of my love for all the people in my life; my ability or inability to accept the role and place that I was meant to have.

There are days when one feels one's submissive nature keenly; when the lessons learned seep far into the skin and reach the soul. I must submit to the vagaries of life; never to be complacent; always to cherish this day; this hour; this conversation; this love. Who knows what tomorrow may bring?

It is a day of mixed blessings. I sit here all dressed up waiting to go to lunch with my husband to celebrate our 31st wedding anniversary. I know I am much loved and I certainly do love in return. In spite of the difficulties this year has brought to our door, our bond is tight; our passion and love for one another remarkable, we are told, for people our age married for such a length of time.

It is also a day of loss; of recognizing that all things come to an end. Friends come and go. Friends die. Life marches on whether we are here or not. But, energy always flows while we draw breath and the soul remains forever. I feel the souls of men departed; men who loved me and still wrap their arms around me when they sense that I need them to return for a moment or two.

Life is rejuvenating. There will always be Spring. The petals on the flowers will open again. Hearts will heal. Life is good. Every day and all experience is precious in one way or another if only to remind us what we must protect and nourish and seek.

I do wonder if not having the energy myself to slay dragons, I like to be around those that do. It is the life force that I so appreciate; the impetus I am given by those with boundless energy to create my own. Thus, the energy bounces back and forth.  If I had my way, I might crawl into a ball for this day and just grieve. But, there is nothing surer than the fact that life goes on and that I shall live to see sunnier days. There must be winter before there can be Spring.

Two moments of whimsy

She could not sit still. She could not settle. She wanted to hear his voice and when he called, she hoped with fervour that he would tell her what to do.

Of course, she could do those things to herself. She was more than capable of following the steps by now but she needed it to be at his instruction. She experienced the need like a hunger in her stomach; like a scratch she needed to itch; like a nervous twitch that needed to be calmed.

The phone rang. She heard his voice and was instantly reassured; ready to listen; wanting to please.

"Get the plug"

"Squeeze on it"

"Time for bed"

"Off to sleep"

She snuggled in; into the bed and into the comfort of his control.

"Ni ni, sweetheart"

"Ni ni."

------------------------------------------------------------

"Crawl to me," he said in a soft, low voice; so soft and with a smile that the words could be misconstrued as a tease; a suggestion.

Unsure, but unwilling to take the chance of being wrong, she got down on her hands and knees and slowly began to crawl. In her black stockings and black high heeled shoes she looked like a sleek, black cat except for the fact that her long curly blond hair fell around her down turned face.

"Lick my boots."

The instruction incensed her.

"I don't want  to lick your boots."

She looked up at him with rebellious, glowing eyes.

"Do it, he said, so softly she could barely hear him.

"No," she said, with a conviction that most men would have accepted as final.

With his right hand he pushed her head down until her forehead sat on the tip of his boots.

"Do as you are told", he ordered,  this time in a low, 'not to be disobeyed' voice.

Slowly, she brought out her tongue and began to lick the leather, one part of her brain incensed at this strident and stern sense of control and the other appreciative of her lack of choice in the matter.

She wondered why a smart girl like her would be taken in by his soft voice; his easy manner, time and time again. In the end, he always prevailed.

Letting go

It was whilst we were having dinner with a medical couple, she being an expert in adolescent health that the subject of expressing emotion came up. She made the comment that those families that express the full range of emotions were most likely to produce happy, healthy and resilient children. That being the case, I told her I was comforted since we had a tendency not to hold back. I recall her telling a story after that where her oldest son and she were having words. “I hate you,” the son said to her. “I hate you, too” Doris shot back.  No holding back there!

We express all our emotions and we do it regularly. “I love you,” my youngest son says to me when he leaves the car for school, when we say goodnight, when he passes in the kitchen. He has a desire to tell me many times a day.

Frustration is released. “How many times do I have to tell you not to...” my husband might say to me or one of the children.

Pleasure and pride is freely expressed. “That was a great game.” “You look beautiful in that dress.” “We’re so proud of the way you focused on your study.” “That was a delicious meal.”

We are not afraid to express anger either nor do we always keep the tone of our voices down. If we are not happy with one another we will ultimately say so. We get it all out. 

This sort of behaviour goes against all other teachings. Cognitive behaviour therapy teaches you to express yourself in an assertive but respectful way and civility demands that people keep control of their emotions and themselves.

In our home, there are moments when we let that sort of restraint go. We just say it like it is, have a good old ‘dust up’ and let the chips fall where they may. It rarely takes more than a few minutes, sometimes a few hours, and occasionally a full day for people to return to the scene of the crime to express their regret that feelings were hurt and that they were out of line or being irrational.

We don’t hold a grudge. We all love one another to bits and we understand by now that our Scottish heritage demands that things sometimes have to be said and that emotions will run awry. We reaffirm the love, recognize the grievance and see what we can do to amend our ways and drive on in better shape. understanding where the other is coming from.

On many levels I love to be contained but there is a place for honest and emotional conversation; confrontation and even upset. If the love is strong it is nothing more than a healthy exchange of unresolved issues and conflict.

‘Emotion’ is not a dirty word. It can be healing, cleansing and just part of the mix of interacting with one another soul to soul and heart to heart. This is my experience.

New nails: new state of mind

I got a divine new set of acrylic nails today, a centimetre long. No one told me to do it. I wanted to do it. I went to the nail salon and told them that I thought it was time I had a new set and when it was time to cut the new nails I ensured that the length was adequately long.


Did I have in my mind that I am required to have nails of a certain length? Of course. Requirements are well understood. But, let there be no mistake. This was for me. I wanted this and I needed this. I adored every moment of the process and once I had my shiny new long acrylic nails, I immediately felt more like myself. There was clarity of thought, a more positive attitude, a sense of my place, of my purpose and what works for me. I felt softer and kinder, more sympathetic, accepting and understanding. I felt more relaxed, happy and content; much more bimbo!

Is this a rational thinking process? Well, it is to me. My nails are my constant reminder of all that I have learned thus far. They remind me that my submission is a good thing; a noble thing; a calming and therapeutic thing; that I have limits and that my limits serve me well. It heals me and comforts me; lifts me up to a elevated place where I feel loved and loveable; centred and at peace.

N, gess wut? Tinki cindi jus rown da corner lookin 2 pley 2...