The human condition

There are moments in my life, such as this one, when I feel that 'roles' within a marriage/committed relationship have virtually nothing useful to add to the matter at hand.

In a long marriage what we do as a partner is act as the witness of the other person's life. We walk the walk beside them. We observe them; notice their decisions and their behaviours; their ups and their downs. If we are inclined to analyze (I have my hand up!) we make some assessments based on those observations over the many years and we come to some sort of evaluation along with general thoughts. We come to know them better than they know themselves. We accept this and we even love this.

You see, patterns emerge. We all have patterns of behaviour over a lifetime. As far as I know, it's not common to express those patterns; to be personally aware of those patterns. People often don't want to know their patterns because if they did it would require change, often long soul-searching change. They'd need to confront their lives, the decisions they have made  and determine if they want to or even can make things better. Spouses are very often the people least equipped to point out patterns and what that means is that the person literally dies with those patterns in place or, if they are lucky, they meet a professional or a significant other person in their lives who can assist them with not only change but the deep personal revelation required for effective and positive change.

In my experience, most people find this is all far too much work. But, sometimes it really is true that what doesn't kill you makes you stronger. Being an alcoholic or a drug addict is no picnic but if you are incredibly lucky it might be an opportunity to confront yourself, your patterns, your flawed thinking and embrace your humanity. You are flawed just as we all are flawed. You can do better. We can all do better.

On the other hand, it must be kinda cool to live on the surface; to not need or desire or want to reflect on our own behaviour; on what we did wrong and what we did right. It is terribly confronting to accept our limitations and our difficult, destructive personality characteristics that hold us back.

The more we embrace the other, the more we have empathy for the other (the other being all of mankind really) the more likely we are to encourage other people to take off their masks and look inside their own heads to discover what is holding them back.

The best part of real love is that we take that long, hard walk with another human being who loves us in spite of knowing that we are really quite, quite flawed.

This is why I never give up; always going on learning; am prepared to forgive and forget; and love with ferocity. I know perfectly well I have faults and I know my 'other' does as well. This is the human condition. However, it's not over until it's over and I want to take all the enlightenment that I can with me into the next world. That, I believe, is my purpose in this life.

Domestic discipline

Here's  a little confession. I can procrastinate rather badly. Oh, I don't miss deadlines but I can put the issue off. Quite a bit of my writing on this web journal relates to said procrastination. It's the easiest thing in the world to sit here and type away my thoughts. They flow freely and aren't marked (well, once upon a time my posts were either 'Approved' or 'Declined' and my God, did I love that!) so when I have something I should do but don't feel like doing, I tend to come here. Also, I'm sitting in front of the television bored silly by what's on offer.

So, let's consider procrastination and see how this might be handled in a power exchange relationship. In my case, my procrastination is up to me to sort out. I don't ask for help and I don't need help with organizing my day or life. In fact, I'm the one in my relationship most likely to have the best handle on deadlines. I'm the most inclined to not take a task right up to the deadline. My husband is much more comfortable with the adrenaline rush of taking something right up to the deadline. If I consistently missed deadlines, then that would be another matter. But, I don't. So, what if a girl did miss her deadlines; what if she wasn't managing her life well?

I have no issue with a Dominant or Top creating rules that he thinks would aid the submissive (bottom). Structuring things must surely aid some people and there's the benefit of incentive that can be added into the program. I find it quite arousing to think that a person may say that I can't have chocolate (it's on my mind because I just had three little pieces of dark chocolate with my coffee) or that I have to run 5 out of 7 days or some such rule that is monitored.

Certainly, when we are on holiday my husband has an opportunity to monitor what I eat and a little piece of marzipan in dark chocolate is allowed usually but I must ask and not just help myself. It's a fun part of the dynamic because if he wants to use something against me and tells me I must be punished it can happen any time and with complete privacy with no children to worry about. Yay!

Within our day to day lives we've tried having black marks; a little black book if you will. For a time, it was fun and arousing for both of us. However, the bottom line is that he doesn't really want to monitor my every move and I don't really want him to monitor my every move. Spankings are usually welcomed but it's not necessarily our style for him to tell me that I've earned, say 12 swats and then have me get into position. I sit here and ask myself why that is so...

Well, it seems that I  like to be captured. It seems that I function best when I have no prior notice of what is going to happen. My husband has discovered, so he tells me, that the best situations are when he totally surprises me. Thus, I may not be fully awake when I find myself blind folded or bound or told to get over his knee, or be put over a pile of pillows and entered. There's no former planning about this sort of thing, as in he doesn't give me any warning or notice. It just happens and it seems that's what I respond to best.

This reminds me of one of the most delicious memories from this year. I had bought tickets for my youngest son and I to see a movie on a Saturday afternoon and my husband knew this. However, with about an hour before we were scheduled to leave my husband "captured" me in the bedroom. Within seconds he had me bound tightly to the bed. He had laid me across the bed sideways and tied my wrists together and my arms to the other side of the (four poster) bed. My legs were also secured firmly. I can't remember if he had a pretext for this course of action or he simply said that it was time for a hiding but either way I was immediately in the zone. The reason I say this is because I couldn't remember having my hands bound and later when I tried to get away (an instinctive reaction) I realized that I hadn't a hope.

So, he spanked my bottom for a while and then he transferred to an implement; our leather paddle. I couldn't get away which is always a good thing for me and for reasons unknown I was able to absorb a lot more pain than usual. My husband seemed to sense this and the paddling was harder and longer than it had ever been before. With no hint that I had reached my limit he paddled firmly away and his voice was very dominant; lower and more demanding than usual and it was that commanding voice telling me to just take it that seemed to work the magic, I think. I remember that I didn't want to relent; didn't want to give in and beg for him to stop. I wanted to see how much I could take. It was only when I was pulling at the restrains with all my might that he contemplated that I had had enough and secretly, even when he did stop, I questioned privately whether I could have taken more.

Of course, he removed enough rope to have his way with me. He's not a sadist in that he doesn't require to do this for his own needs but when he does do it he is always aroused by it. Then, he ordered me into the shower and to get myself together immediately because it was time for my son and I to leave.

I distinctly remember being agitated about being hurried along. After a sub-space experience I'd rather go slow. However, once the two of us were sitting down in the theatre and the movie began I recall the most extraordinary sense of well-being; this beautiful welling up of feelings of love; this gorgeous sense of sitting on a terribly sore bottom. I have no idea if other people experience this (please do tell me if you do) but I was filled with and overcome by a deep sense of satisfaction with my life and my love expanded not just to my loved ones but to the whole wide world. I was glowing in my appreciation and my rightful place in the world. It was a 'body and mind orgasm' and I was flooded with happiness.

This is really our sort of thing. Discipline is something that we don't really do. Oh,  I'll get the rounds of the kitchen if he doesn't care for my words or tone and I'll be told to leave his study if I come in there and start trying to throw my weight around to get him to do what I want him to do; that sort of thing. But, it doesn't work for him to tell me that I was rude (or naughty or disobedient or whatever) and it's time for my punishment. It did in the short term but it doesn't in the long term. Maybe that's just about us as a couple or maybe it's because we've been married so long it doesn't seem right. I don't really know.

If I watch spanking clips (and okay, I've watched a truck load lately just before bed time) I don't particularly enjoy the DD scenes. I go for the Master who is caning the poor schoolgirl's bare backside. There's nothing wrong with DD or DD spanking clips if that's your kink but it doesn't seem to be mine.

Quite some time ago now, I'd go to my husband or he'd come to me and  he would give me a few swats just before bed. I liked that, but it wasn't sustainable. Maybe things get tired if you do them every day. I think once a week is more doable but we can't be sure if the children are around or not at a particular time of the week and that gets in the way of any firm plan related to that.

Yet, every day now for many days I've woken with someone chasing my tail. My very first thoughts on waking are about being spanked or whipped or caned and I am starting to think that I really could do with much more spanking than I currently get!

Obeying commands

Saturday morning. He decided to spank me, not because I'd been naughty but because he knew it would do me good. A few minutes later, he had me lie straight in the middle of the bed and he tied my hands together and then my ankles. I felt like a pencil. This was my thought.

He took the paddle now and applied it to my bottom and I sank down into that space where I like to go; that sense of letting go; that sense of warmth; of relinquishing all and any control.

After a period of time of unknown length he adjusted the ropes so that I was in the fetal position on my side. My eyes were covered and had been from the outset.

"Go to sleep," he said.

And, like the obedient girl that I am, I instantly did.

Bliss. 

Vulnerability

I happened to watch 'Sex in the City 2' in the past few days. It is rather ridiculous but fun entertainment, of course, and I was mildly enjoying it until Carrie met Aidan in the market, they had dinner and kissed and then she rang Mr Big to confess. It was creditable that she had grown up enough to understand that she needed to tell him, I thought, but it was apparent by his total silence that he wasn't responding well. As the silence wore on I could feel myself becoming more and more uncomfortable and when he said, "I'm at work Carrie, I have to go" I experienced much the same sense of abandonment and disapproval as Carrie must have experienced. She suffered. He suffered. It was not until they were reunited and he told her her "punishment" and the matter was taken care of that I began to feel some level of comfort again.

When I talk about my time in 'the doll' state I almost always talk about these wonderful feelings of lightness and happiness; of feeling deeply connected to my true self and the person that brings out 'the doll'. I mean it when I say  that it's a happiness unlike any other that I have experienced and that I'm grateful, exceedingly grateful to know that space; to have been introduced to that aspect of me; to have times when I can release my ego and all worldly concerns and just live life in its purest form. However, there are times when being the doll has caused me much angst and left me feeling that it may not be safe to enter such a vulnerable zone of living.

Even on a day by day level, I experience my husband's dissatisfaction as quite traumatic. To give an example, I said something towards the end of the evening recently and I have absolutely no recollection of what I said (something that seemed incredibly bland to me and of no importance or at all remarkable) but it bothered him; struck a nerve somehow. He berated me. It went on for maybe a minute, maybe less, I really don't know, but I had one of my out-of-body experiences where my mind responds like this:

'I must have said something wrong. Now, he will say a whole lot of things and I don't understand why he is saying them and I don't understand what I did wrong again and this is so troubling to me that my mind has switched off and I'm not here...soon it will be over and he will be he again and I will be me again and life will go on just as it did before we had another of these odd, unexplainable and very troubling events...now he has stopped talking and he is leaving the room and I can go back to living as we did before...and I get up and go and have a shower and get ready for bed...and have no recollection of the words spoken but only that I have upset him again and I don't know why or how this happened.'

This is not at all new. It's a much rarer event than it used to be a few years ago, thank goodness. I spoke to my psychologist about this experience last year and she said it was my mind protecting itself and it was a very healthy response. But, nonetheless, it is deeply troubling to me and I do what I can to try to avoid experiencing that sense of disapproval in me.

Now, in 'the doll' state I became quite vulnerable. In that state, one is well aware that the idea is to impress, to service and the doll does that quite naturally. It's a very happy and richly rewarding place for me to be; to be providing service and contentment, and as long as the doll continues to impress and for people to be happy with her, all is well.

However, over time, and as she was corrected and even punished for what was considered poor behavior, she became highly vulnerable because when she was dismissed or when she experienced the owner's anger or the mentor's anger, this absolutely crushed her. It would leave her in a puddle on the floor and more and more, she worried. There were times when she couldn't relax as the silly dumdum dolli because...what if she said something that displeased...what if He got mad...what if she was dismissed...abandoned...all over again?? The very connection that she so adored was now something that could potentially cause her to break. Better to be mindful of everything she said and everything she did and have certainty that she would not experience that sense of disapproval; not have to go through the trauma of a sense of abandonment. As much as 'the doll' has extraordinary, mind blowing and heavenly highs, she has experienced lows that leave her bewildered; confused; absolutely crushed.

Well, of course,  I am much too sensitive as 'the doll' or as the full blooded complete woman that walks this earth. In either state I long for a deep connection; for affection; for approval and to please at the same time as I have so many things to say, some of which people don't like to hear.

The doll's free flowing thoughts

It can be awfully easy on a blog such as this to make statements that don't hold up in reality. We're so often in an erotic sort of zone when we read and write. It can be awfully easy for statements to roll off the tongue.

A spanking a day sounds nice

She would wear her plug every morning and all through the night.

She would only wear dresses and skirts.

I want to feel tightly contained.

However, life isn't like that all the time. I am not like that all the time.

In the olden days when I had a mentor he had certain expectations of me and they involved doing things every day. Sometimes, it all seemed so easy and other times I'd rail against it. To this day I have no idea if he really expected me to accept those every day ultimatums. I am after all, human.

I know I bucked. I'd try to discuss it with other Dom friends. They'd walk the line of explaining that he did mean it but he didn't mean for me to look into the abyss and imagine that for the rest of my life I'd be doing this, just like as a dieter you don't look into the abyss and imagine never eating sugar again. You take things day by day. You eat an elephant one bite at a time.

That helped. I tried to take it day by day but even then I felt resistance. We'd be talking and he'd have his expectations and some days, in spite of my best intentions, I'd explain that I was feeling "bellyus". He'd quietly push and then when that didn't work he'd push harder. What he didn't do was relent and in the end, fearful of tapping into his anger, I'd accept my fate.

I appreciated (and needed) this push; this insistence that the rule remained. However, what I came to see and accept rather late in the day was that I always had at my disposal the opportunity to argue my point of view. If the argument was made well and the line of defense accepted, there was room within the rule for an exception. (Realistically, I rather doubt it would have worked to do this except in very rare and exceptional circumstances.)

When something works on an everyday basis, really truly works, there is no need for exceptions. I'd hardly ask for an exception for the rule about acrylic nails, now would I?

I'd hardly ask for an exception to the fact that I am responsible for the household. It is set in stone.

I'd hardly ask for an exception to the rule that I must speak politely. I know all too well the response that a lack of respect earns me, at home or on the Internet.

But, some rules are not so ingrained and maybe they never can be. What I was being asked to do is very hard on a day by day basis. If you add into the equation the presence of the Dominant making it happen, then I think it is entirely possible. But, my husband isn't inclined to make happen what he doesn't see himself as do-able or necessary. There's no-one to insist; no-one for whom the rule is entirely necessary. And so, it is not achieved on a daily basis any more. Whom am I  pleasing? If I am pleasing no-one then why should I do something that requires sustained effort and will?

Yet, if I don't do the task on a daily basis, it is I that is the loser in this equation. I cannot enter into the doll's state of mind without doing that thing daily. Without that task achieved where is the 'on' switch?

I grapple with this; find it endlessly difficult to know that I must do this thing without the Dominant's desire being expressed; must do it by myself; for myself; alone.

Is the doll still a doll alone; without a dollmaker; a puppeteer to bring the doll to life? Is there a value to her simply to know that she exists; that she lives and breathes within the realm of the doll house, ready and wanting; available and prepared?

Of course, there is, there is. But, should she abdicate her responsibilities there is no one to check; no-one to care and she wonders, if no-one is there to see her or speak with her; if she cannot impress or please or give pleasure, is she really alive?

She can feel her heart beating. She is just a heartbeat away from rising to the surface; from bubbly over with pleasure and joy. She is always there; wanting to come out; sitting just below the surface; waiting...waiting...

How much I wish to see her, breathe her air, immerse myself in her, be her. How much I envy her. I've seen her happiness; her joy; her bliss; her sexual satisfaction and profound love of life.  Gosh, but I miss her.

About me 51-100

51. Some days I think of myself as Tinkerbell running a home for lost boys.
52. I am not assertive with my children and am fortunate they are good, kind people.
53. I can be at a loss to understand why my daughter gets so ornery with me.
54. I wish I never sent my daughter to pre-school. She wanted to stay home with me.
55. I miss talking with my mentor. He was good for me.
56. I seem not to allow myself the pleasure of luxuriating in success.
57. Some days the only thing that can provide adequate comfort is wearing an anal plug.
58. My 'training' contained me and taught me to come to terms with my submissive personality.
59. I've learned not to sweat the small stuff but sometimes it happens anyway.
60. I pass 'depression' Internet tests with flying colors. My CBT therapy worked absolutely.
61. I'd love to ski well for the exhilaration but I remain fearful and cautious.
62. When we're done with school fees I hope my husband buys a motorbike.
63. I want to be his "bikie chick".
64. I adore school holidays so that I can sleep in.
65. Love to walk along a beach. Easy to do here.
66. Having a nap is one of life's little pleasures for me.
67. I love to be in the speed boat searching for the fish that always seems to get away.
68. I am an attention sponge.
69. I'll take a massage any day.
70. I tend to lounge on my husband the minute he comes and sits on the couch.
71. Secretly, I don't want my husband in the kitchen or laundry. That's my domain!
72. I recognize it is my role to hold the hammer but that is torture for me.
73. It gives me an enormous thrill to be dominated; tightly controlled; overtaken.
74. During sex, I often suck my thumb.
75. I don't mind correction. I even like it. I just hate to be dismissed. That's punishment.
76. Being told to be silent is agony and ecstasy at the one moment. It's a turn on most of all.
77. This is starting to feel like it did when cindi had to write 100 lines...getting tired.
78. 'Coming out' about my nature and needs transformed my life and brought huge happiness.
79. I often think that a spanking a day would suit me just fine.
80. I can procrastinate. Now is one of those times.
81. I am a bit phone phobic.
82. I struggle between loving clothes and feeling strongly I only want what is necessary.
83. Days like today I love my husband with a passion.
84. I love my mother so much but a day of non-stop talking totally drains me.
85. 'cindi' moments are the best moments of my life.
86. I'd adore a house cleaner but would feel too guilty to spend the money.
87. I want to go to Bali and learn about the culture/religion which is a surprise to the family.
88. I also want to do a yoga retreat on my own.
89. I drive a very old (but nice) car and it doesn't worry me the slightest bit.
90. To love and be loved: that's all that matters in the end to me.
91. I have to keep reminding myself that my daughter's choices are hers to make.
92. I am probably too hard on myself.
93. I believe in giving people the benefit of the doubt usually.
94. I can't stay angry. I see no value in it.
95. I love garbage day and I love the annual hard waste day even more.
96. I would love to have more rules. Containment works for me on the whole.
97. I'd rather be dominated with praise than punishment (but punishment can be erotic) *Sigh*
98. I can't imagine not being 'owned'.
99. I'm lucky in so many ways.
100. I'm happy.

50 things about me

Every now and again, one of the authors of a web journal will publish a '100 things about me'. I can't promise you 100 things but let's see if we can get to 50...

1. I am nuts for Chris Botti the trumpet player. I can't get enough of his latest CD.
2. I can become agitated if I feel I have been given too many things even though I love them.
3. I am in constant struggle with my desire for a piece of cake.
4. I really do need eight hours of sleep a day to function well.
5. I feel very guilty if I don't walk the dogs because I know they rely on me.
6. I adore to be in the house alone.
7. I write for my own pleasure and to not be allowed to write would be a harsh punishment.
8. If I care about you, if you touch my heart, I care about you forever.
9. I have collected all the cards my husband and children have written to me over the years.
10. If I can listen to music and cook a meal alone, that sends me into a blissful state.
11. Wearing pants seems wrong.
12. Sometimes, happiness just comes over me like a wave and for no apparent reason.
13. I'm always working towards minimalism in my house.
14. I love going to the movies, especially 'arthouse' movies.
15. I love to giggle. I love to be with funny people.
16. Bathtime is very precious to me. I like to write, think, chill out by the bath while the water draws.
17. I have a large scarf collection. I love collecting beautiful fabrics.
18. Being tied up tight is bliss.
19. I love to drive in the country on my own.
20. My acrylic nails are for life. They are a part of me now.
21. If a friendship fails, and that's very rare, it is hugely upsetting to me.
22. I am trying to teach myself to be a runner.
23. I probably do have a rebellious streak deep down.
24. I try to make everyone happy and settled so that I can do my own thing after that.
25. I love to travel, even if it is just to a different neighbourhood.
26. I'd adore to do up my house and make it beautiful.
27. Italy is my idea of heaven.
28. My Internet friends know me much better than my RL friends
29  If I'm feeling upset, I go iron a few shirts.
30. I do deals with myself. "Agree with him, no matter what he says..."
31  I've always been into pornography/erotica. My husband noticed it very early on.
32. I tend to talk a lot or hardly at all, depending on my fragility or otherwise.
33. I found the erotic zones of my body at about 4 years of age.
34. I bent over and imagined being spanked at about that time too.
35. When given loads of praise, there's nothing I can't attempt or do.
36. I like little adventures, getting away from the ordinary.
37. I have a temper that is rarely seen but can be ignited by a sense of abandonment.
38. Signing up for my writing course is one of the best decisions I ever made.
39. I'm eternally grateful I didn't take advice given to me to terminate my last pregnancy.
40. My children are my greatest achievement.
41. I'm very lucky to have married such a caring and devoted man.
42. I'm a discerning shopper on the lookout for a bargain and something beautiful or special.
43. I love open fires and verandas.
44. I have a Kindle but I still prefer to hold the book.
45. My indulgence is buying flowers every two weeks after my Friday yoga class.
46. I like to read the newspaper in a coffee shop rather than at home.
47. Progress on my house and garden is what turns me on.
48. Writing is a good profession/occupation for me because I tend towards introversion.
49. I love to visit churches and even stay for the service wherever I am.
50. Yoga and meditation have been a great blessing and calmed my emotions right down.

Gosh! How do you get to 100? Maybe one day, I can try writing 51-100.

Hungry

The desire to be overcome can be so intense that I experience it like an ache; like a hole in the heart; like a lack of oxygen; or a sense that I am so desperate for manhandling I need to conjure images and thoughts of great intensity to try to satisfy that longing; to try to put the fires out.

One experience simply opens the door in my mind and my soul for another experience. Enough will never be enough because the desire to feel I belong; to have my heart beat with love and fulfilment; to feel contained; adored; enriched; devoured; swallowed almost whole; completely taken and ravished is that great.

I want to feel a manly presence in my life regularly. I want to bask in my femaleness; in my femininity; my need and desire for the male presence close to me.

I want to be captured and I want to remain a captive.

There is not a thing I can do about it. It is what I want from the bottom of my soul.

If you haven't noticed, I have awoken hungry this morning.

Acceptance

When we were away for a few days recently, we were on our way back to the apartment with arm fulls of products that we had bought at the Salamanca Market when we reached a darling little store that I had seen on our last visit there a few years ago. It was 4.30 pm and she wouldn't be open all that long.

"Would it be all right if I ducked in here?" I asked my husband.

He was keen to take all the products home but he said he'd come back if I saw something; to call him.

Well, I did see something. The woman who owns the store has silk and velvet material made up in Vietnam and her store is filled with lovely garments.

"I am interested in the black velvet coat but I'll come back on Monday with my husband."

Well, she planned to close Monday as it was the long weekend, she said, so I told her that I'd call my husband and he'd come down, which he did.

She was very impressed. She said that she rarely gets a man in the store and she liked that I wanted his approval.

So, I tried on the coat again and he definitely liked it. He wandered around the store a little and located a short jacket in a soft black velvet that was reduced and also a lovely black velvet long scarf with a lining in black silk.

"Well, we best make a decision, she is about to close. I can't have them all," I whispered to him.

But, he simply gathered the three items and told her that we'd take all three of them. Oh my! In her eyes, I had a real gem in my grasp!!


It was very special and I think he was delighted to do that for me, in much the same way as I was delighted to encourage him to buy the special garden pruning cutters that he had spotted at the market and wanted. (Each to his own!)

I was thinking about that experience this morning and it occurred to me that he spent on my clothing about the same price as he would to get two young lads to come and take away some rubble in the backyard. Yet, he absolutely won't do it, no matter how much I beg and plead with him. The rubble will stay there looking ugly until he is able to do it himself.

Do you think that is because he feels some sort of guilt at paying for someone to do something that he feels he should do himself?? Why are men so stubborn about this sort of thing? He claims it is a financial decision but if that were really true why did he buy me the non-essential items?

Anyways, in the meantime, I continue to practice my mantra that I will only worry about what I can change and achieve and not worry about what I can't change

because

I definitely can't change him.

More about the perfect little angel and the big, bad wolf

Many of my comments and much of the comments back to me in the previous post related to 'the big bad wolf'. Not too much was said about 'the perfect little angel' or 'red riding hood' or 'the perfectly innocent young lass' - call her what you will.

Let's get real. Some perfect little angels are hugely attracted to big, bad wolves. But, to simply walk into the lion's den and announce, "Hi there! I know you're dangerous but I like danger and I would like to play with you. How about it?" isn't the way it works. For one thing, that's a bit too easy for the big, bad wolf. Big, bad wolfs like to hunt and find their own prey, not have it wander into their lair. Where's the challenge or fun in that?

So, the wolf is out there in the big, wide world and as wolves do, he keeps an eye out for anything interesting to eat. Something take his fancy. She's won't be easy to catch but that's half the fun.

At first, she acts likes she doesn't want to get caught, although he can see that she does want to be caught and she's aware that she is more than mildly interested in the game. Now, wolves know what to do in these situations and perfect little angels also know that you don't just lie down and roll over. The game has begun.

Fast forward to the time when she has agreed to come along with him. She's excited but concerned. Just how bad is this particular big, bad wolf, she wonders?? He can't show her. Not yet. Maybe, he can't ever show her the vast spaces of atrocious thoughts in his mind; the way he'd like to peel off those clothes and defile her; bind her up and torture her. Ooooooh no! He needs to take this slow.

He's charming. He really is a babe; wining and dining her, complimenting and attentive. He heaps copious amounts of attention on her (perfect little angels adore that and he is using it to full effect) and she basks in the arms of someone who is so inordinately special. What a lucky thing it was that she kept her cool long enough to get to know him, she ponders, as he whispers sweet nothing into her ears.

Fast forward again to a time when the wolf can hold in his voracious appetite no longer. He tells her finally all the nasty things he want to do to her. He's working on the inkling that she is ready to hear this about him...and about herself....

because...

actually,

she
wants
those
nasty things
done
to her
too.

Turns out the perfect little angel actually has a hearty appetite of her own but to hold onto her status of the perfect, little angel he needed to pounce on her. He is the big, bad wolf. That's a given. But, the perfect, little angel will always have her halo on straight because the big, bad wolf did it to her.

Hunh.
 

The perfect little angel and the wolf

In my writing I'm currently creating a couple of characters. She's a submissive type although she doesn't really quite understand that yet. I pretty much know this character (!) so I don't have much work to do on her.

She's met a man who's actually a really nice guy. He's sweet; romantic; caring; kind. Initially, she was incensed and aroused by this man all at the one moment. He displayed a truck-load of arrogance towards her initially and it made her angry (and hot!). Oh God, but I don't have to explain that to readers in this forum, do I?

However, as she'll come to understand he's also other things as well and only time will tell if he's the man for her.

Now, I've taken a look at a few online quizzes to try to think through my thoughts about this male character and it turns out that he is rather high on the scale of narcissism. That's a bit of a dilemma for me as the writer because first and foremost he's really a very good and well meaning man. I hold onto that central fact as I write and I definitely don't want to let it go.  I'm working on the basis that you can be a good man with a tendency to narcissism at one and the same time. Put it this way. He's a good guy with flaws and he's trying to overcome some of those flaws whilst seeing others of them as strengths which he doesn't intend to do anything about.

Are you still with me?

Right. So, let's look at his traits. He has a strong sense of entitlement. As an example, he might say to himself, "I insist upon getting the respect that is due to me." He would not say, "I usually get the respect that I deserve". Do you see the difference here?

He is exploitative. This is a given. My god, did he exploit her when they met! Whoa! He really deserved a smack across the mouth but you see, she didn't do that. She was up for the game. That's how he knew she was for him. He'd respond to the question, "I find it easy to manipulate people" and not "I don't like it when I find myself manipulating people." So, definitely exploitative.

He's superior. He would say, "I think I am a special person" and not "I am no better or worse than most people."

He's self-sufficient.  He will answer, "I can live my life any way I want" and not "People can't always live their lives in terms of what they want."

He's authoritative. He will answer, "People always seems to recognize my authority" and not "Being an authority figure doesn't mean that much to me."

So, what do you think? Can you be high on the scale of narcissism and still likable; lovable; right for this sweet girl??

What's that? You don't think she is a perfect little angel either????

Well, we'll  just have to wait and see about that. I am, after all, the one writing this story!

Shake, baby, shake

My husband has been unwell for a few months now but ill health is not unknown to him. He's suffered a myriad of  relatively minor (to major) but unpleasant conditions over a long period of time.

He tends to tell his doctor what is wrong with him rather than the other way around and somehow or other he manages to get his doctor to do what he wants him to do. Over the past several weeks, I've listened tirelessly to my husband give his version of what he has and what needs to be done about it. Meanwhile, he has no referral, and hence no appointment, to a see a specialist about chronic fatigue syndrome.

How does one know when one is to be tipped over the edge and fall down into the pit of impatience? One doesn't. All I can tell you for sure is that today was the day.

I have done my own research for chronic fatigue and guess what? My husband's state ticks all the boxes. Not only did he suffer childhood stress but he has been under considerable financial and general stress for years and years. He sleeps the least amount possible but now finds that he must sleep in most mornings. He has extreme fatigue worsened by physical exertion. As well, he has severe muscle pain, food sensitivities, frequent urination, dry mouth, and brain fog. He is in a bad way.

Yet, he still won't come to bed at night; still has trouble accepting that there is a stress component to this condition; that he is an anxious person; a perfectionist with some obsessive and driven behaviours.

As his submissive, I've gone the track of listening and being patient. I've agreed with him, even when I didn't agree, knowing that he'd get cross if I offered an opinion different to him.

On the weekend, I suggested that maybe 5% of his condition has a psychological component - that is, his tendency towards anxiety generally and the fact that he has gravitated towards stressful and difficult situations, only to be even more stressed when they didn't go the way he expected.

He got really, really mad. It was "bio-chemical", he insisted and nothing more or less than that.

What is a submissive to do? Well, today I told him that I couldn't sit back and just agree with him any more. He needed to respect that I didn't hold the same opinion as him and that I was voicing my opinion because I cared about him. I just couldn't sit back and watch this happen any longer. I wanted him to see an expert in chronic fatigue. He could seek any and all other remedies he wished but I wanted him to get the referral to a guy who knew something about this condition.

And, I wanted him to start taking care of himself. How about some sleep???

Well, it didn't go well. I guess you're not surprised about that. But, my husband has often spoken about the fact that to get past inertia you have to shake things up and I have shaken. It's a start.

Unconditional love

Being a mother can be an enormous responsibility because as a mother you're not just looking after the physical welfare of your children but also the emotional welfare of your children. Unwittingly, you can be doing huge damage to your offspring merely by way of how you mother them.

Perhaps your mothering style is accepting. The children are "good enough" for you. That's grand. But, maybe sometimes you are domineering. Your child is going to sit that piano exam and get his AMusA if it's the last thing you do! The kid has to learn, you argue, that you can't just give up on things!! That he'd rather kick a ball in his spare time is irrelevant, right?

Perhaps your mothering style is doting; even smothering. You wrap the boy up in cotton wool and tell him that it's best he stay home with you. No harm will come to him that way. It makes you feel less anxious that way.

Perhaps, you are indifferent, or rejecting; dare I say, abusive. It does happen...

The huge advantage to having two parents is that if one parent starts acting crazy then the other parent will usually balance that out. My youngest son's best friend has a very controlling and smothering Russian mother but his father is more a down-to-earth Aussie type and if he needs to, he tells his wife the boys are going one way, when really they are going another. It is a system of winks and nods and the boys know to go along with it. It's a bit mischievous, you might say, but without that system in place, the boy would have no life!

Now, I'm not suggesting for a moment that a boy's father isn't terribly important in his life, but his mother has a very, very important role to play.

"...very young children have few means of learning about themselves other than through experience with attachment figures....if infants are valued and given comfort when required, they feel valuable; conversely, if they are neglected or rejected, they come to feel worthless and of little value."

The child, research has shown, identifies itself as an object almost at birth. The child is an observer of itself. The mother is the secondary object. If the mother takes the view that the child is "good enough" this positive interaction with the mother is extended and applied to the world at large. The outside world is predictable and safe as is his internal world.

"If however, SO (the mother) fails or is abusive, the child reverts back to the PO (self) and to its primitive form of narcissism. This is regression in the chronological sense. But it is also an adaptative strategy. The emotional consequences of rejection and abuse are too difficult to contemplate. Narcissism ameliorates them by providing a substitute object. This is an adaptative, survival-orientated act...If this failure to establish a proper object-relation persists and is not alleviated, all future objects are perceived either as extensions of the Primary Object (the self), or as external objects to be merged with one's self, because they are perceived narcissistically."

Unconditional love of a mother for its child is that important! It goes some way, I suspect, to explain the surge of narcissistic behaviour in our world. We're all different - all have strengths and weaknesses; flaws. Some children are more difficult than others. I know this. But, they all deserve our unconditional love. It seems logical to me that if they have adequate amounts of unconditional love their behaviour will only improve. Difficult children need more not less unconditional love.

Well, it's just a theory but it's my theory and I'm sticking to it.

Porn

I am partial to a little porn. Every now and again, my fingers find themselves typing into the Google search bar words  such as 'spanking videos' and I choose a few little snippets of free clips to observe.

Two days ago, I came across a minute clip that I thoroughly enjoyed. The girl was bent across a wooden old world school-style desk - the type with a place for a fountain pen and a hole for the ink well. I like those types of desks because it conjures up all sorts of images of the girl sitting at her wooden desk on a plain wooden seat writing out her thoughts for the man after her thrashing. But, I digress.

At this stage of the video the girl has already been thrashed quite severely. Her lovely bare buttocks are a haze of red and back blotches and there are stripes running horizontally across her buttocks. She is whimpering, poor lass; lifting her hand to hold her forehead for some sort of comfort. However, at no time does she move any other part of her body. Her feet stay firmly on the ground. When he holds the cane across her rump again and then lifts it high enough in the air to produce another loud crack of the cane as it thunders across her already very well beaten bottom, her knees don't bend, nor does she move slightly to one side to try to get away from the awful instrument.

She is completely obedient and accepting. For several more strokes, she lays there completely still, whimpering nicely with each new stroke but never flinching, never raising her chest; nothing.

Of course, this is staged for my benefit. The idea is that I'll buy the video if I like what I see and thus the camera hones in on the state of the girl's bare and well beaten bottom. It becomes apparent just how severe the thrashing has been. We see where the cane has slightly opened the skin and there's just no doubt in my mind that for the next several days, sitting is going to be quite a chore.

I don't buy the video. I've never bought a spanking video but since the first viewing it is true that I have watched it again several times. I love that video! I've been wondering to myself why I love that video so much and I think I liked that she didn't have to count, for one thing. She simply bent over due to the man's displeasure and she'll stay bent over like that until he tells her she may rise.

The pacing is entirely at his discretion. Perhaps he has already told her it will be twelve hard strokes. I don't know. But, I like to imagine that he has simply said that for her crimes and misdemeanors she will be soundly thrashed until he is convinced that she has learned her lesson. This is why, I like to imagine, she is so completely still. The only way she can convince the man that she is reformed is to be very accepting of the pain he is providing her with, for her instruction and benefit, of course.

When he does finish caning her, (and we know that because suddenly his arm which is dressed in a stiff white cotton shirt moves into view and slightly away from the girl, as if he in the process of returning the cane to its resting position), she moves her hands to her bottom and begins to feel the stripes, providing herself with a little well-needed comfort.

That's where the film maker lost me really because what girl in her right mind would take the chance after such a darn hard caning of meeting the ire of the man all over again?! Did he say she could move a hair on her head? He did not. Perhaps she hasn't had enough stripes after all....Well, perhaps that is what happens next in the video and I am just too cheap to buy the video and find that out.

The little clip has really captured my imagination. I've brought myself to climax twice now on the thrills and spills of the blond headed girl in the video and each time I like to take it a bit further. This morning, she wasn't in a school-type situation at all but rather it was her Dominant who had said to her that the time had come for her to re-learn a very important lesson: respect. She's a girl used to receiving 4 moderate strokes of the cane every morning of her life. The idea is that this correction will keep her in good order; remind her of her place and her status. However, her behaviour has been a little shabby lately; her manners and words a little out of line and he's explained to her that something more is required.

She's whipped in a manner similar to the blond-haired girl with no idea how many strokes will be considered enough. In the same way, she stays very still. He's not partial to a moving girl and should she rise it's a repeat of the stroke +1 and that can really add up. She's learned that lesson the hard way in the past.

In fantasy land, enough is never quite enough and the man determines that she needs to be contained for the next month in a way that will ensure he receives her co-operation in a more intense and sustaining way. She wears her anal plug to bed each night, but let's face it; that's a pleasure and not at all arduous. He decides to up to the ante. The four strokes will be given in the morning as usual, of course, and after that she will wear her bedtime anal plug in the daytime instead. He will place it in her after the strokes and she will wear it for the next eight hours of every day for the next month. Perhaps, he suggests, it will be a stronger reminder for her of his expectations of her behaviour.

As the days wear on, the girl becomes acquainted with the sensation of sitting on a tender backside and of feeling the hole stretched and used. She bunkers down in her mind to a place now where this sensation is quite ordinary for her. She begins to think of herself much less as a girl and much more as a doll. She has less thoughts and more time when her head is free of thought; empty; joyful. She feels a very strong connection to the man who has given her these instructions and now her mind only looks to obey; to impress; to receive his praise and pleasure in her. The girl has been transformed. She is no longer capable of making decisions for herself and she awaits his instructions, ever mindful of her place and her position; eager to please; even more eager to be used.

Fetish

I am at the beginning of research for a story. There are the technical aspects of a girl being dominated by a man that I don't really have at my fingertips. I've got a general idea, of course, of what sort of deeds a man can come up with to make a girl feel helpless but I need very specific details for the story. I have to think about just how he ties her body and to what. As well, I need to understand how his fetishes drive him to want to do all sorts of unusual things to her.

I happened to come across an article (http://english.pravda.ru/society/sex/30-10-2006/85273-fetish-0/) which stated that Johnny Depp had disclosed that he had a thing for angora sweaters and that when he broke up with a girl at an earlier stage in his life he was broken-hearted. However, he really missed her angora sweaters more than he missed the girl.

Might this be the definition of a fetish, then; that you are in love with the object and not so much with the girl wearing the object, even if you are in a relationship with her?

I can understand fetishes, but only to some extent. I don't have any fetishes of my own (that I am aware of) and so I can't entirely get into the mind of a fetishist. I have some idea. I know that one son likes to have his blankie in bed with him at night; that he has always liked to run his hand across silk and I imagine he'll very much enjoy his girl's lingerie when he gets older. And, I have, of course, communicated with a fetishist; a man who loves to see a woman with very long, acrylic fingernails.

I'm aware that some fetishists probably go over the top; needing to do things that are considered gross to most people, but these garden variety fetishes, I see no harm in them at all and I can't understand why fetishists are so alarmed about having these desires. So, you love black shiny boots and like to watch women in black shiny boots with high heels walk by. So what? You aren't committing any crime, are you?

I am having trouble getting into the mindset of a person who worries so much about these things. I read in the article that if you love watching another woman other than your wife or girlfriend in a nurse's uniform more than you love watching your naked wife who won't wear a nurse's uniform for you, that could be a problem. I see that. If you really, really need to be with a woman in a nurse's uniform and that is affecting your marriage, this could be a dilemma. But , maybe it's a problem of the marriage more than the fetish itself. Is it so much to ask that she get into a nurse's uniform every so often for you?

I do get that a fetish could cause big problems if not kept under control. But, to deny the fetishist his object of desire/love can't be healthy. It's a bit like a person with an eating disorder. You don't deny them food. You just teach them how to think about food and how to go about eating daily in a healthy way.  A fetishist does need to be with his object of desire, surely, but with his object of desire in moderation.

I freely admit I just don't understand it. If anyone can illuminate me, that would be fantastic.

cindi has no control, yay!

We settled into our roles so beautifully whilst we were on our little holiday. It didn't happen automatically. As much as I wanted it to happen automatically, there was a transition period of time where I fought letting go of all control. He really needed to take away the control from me. Once he'd done that, it all went very, very well.

My body needed a lot of use and he needed to use me voraciously for his own purposes as well. There was a lot of blind folding and sensory deprivation; a lot of touching and handling every last crevice and every last hole until I vaguely heard him at one point say, "you're just like putty". I needed that.

One early evening, he used me for hours and I found my mind had settled on the pleasure of some time to myself whilst I showered. It was not to be and when I let out a slight groan at knowing that fact, he pushed me harder. I was to keep my hands on my head if I didn't want to feel a dozen hard whacks of the leather paddle and whilst I knew that I didn't want any more of that and that I definitely would leave my hands on my head whilst he did whatever he wanted to do, I could feel my mind struggle with having to obey longer. It was that tendency to want to obey only on my own terms that he wanted to eradicate.

I loved this. I loved that he had pushed the point and taken me to a place that I always want to go but can find hard to locate.

He gave me an ultimatum going forward. He told me that it was now my responsibility to come to him and ask at least twice a week for what I wanted. I could ask for what I needed. It could be a spanking or a caning or use. I needed to, must ask, or there would be consequences.

He seems to have decided in his own mind that he has to get me more involved in my own demise. He says that is where I go wrong; that I go hide under a rock when I feel deprived and underprivileged. That's entirely right, of course. This web journal is loaded down with evidence to support that thesis!

Of course, coming home isn't easy for us. After a gorgeous morning of intense lovemaking and some final photographs of our dear holiday destination, it was time to return to family life and we needed to hit the ground running - prepare a meal, get the youngest child off to the theater and some time later we attended the concert he acted in. It was brilliant to see him having so much fun on stage but by the time I hit the bed, I was overwhelmingly tired.

A new day dawns. There's a mass of academic work to get through, my mother arrives tomorrow for a few days because I bought tickets to take her to an art exhibition, and the house needs to be cleaned...the dogs need to be groomed and have their annual shots, there's food to cook...life goes on...

This is our greatest challenge. With four (darling) children spread out over a fairly length time period, we need to find the energy (and money) for all of them whilst we try to hang onto our own personal and very important kinky relationship.

This morning, after I dropped off number 4 child at school, I headed off to the market with the dogs in the back seat and I thought to myself how manic we all are zooming about in our (often fancy) cars around my neighborhood, chasing money and status and heaven knows what else. After Tasmania, it all seemed so pointlessly restless and frantic. I had to really slow myself down too to not be annoyed at situations that weren't entirely suitable to me and my mission for the morning. How terribly egocentric we become in our cars in this modern life of ours!

I'm reminded as I sit here of the last hug my youngest son gave me last night. Understanding that I was a bit frustrated that his (brand new) tap shoes have gone missing at the theater, he said to me,

"It will all be right in the end."

I had to smile because it was so darn silly. Here was the supposed OCD kid telling his supposedly not OCD mother that it would all be right in the end, because he knows I need to hear that. I have all these balls in the air, you see, and I am terribly fussy about keeping there all up there in their rightful place. Woe betide the day that one falls down! But, so what?! Balls have a tendency to fall and I (and maybe you, dear reader) have to understand the law of gravity.  Control is entirely an illusion.

Do you see now how vital it is that control is taken away from me? I'm a control freak! 'Every post has to be a winner' is how one yoga friend puts it about me. It is a huge service for someone to put me in a position whereby they can say:

"Hmmmm....looks like cindi has no control at all..."

  

Capture and release

I see now what happened and what happens when a girl isn't properly controlled and contained. Feeling unhinged, unmoored and just a tad unsafe, she struggles. After she struggles, she rebels. Oh sure, she wants what he has to offer but she rebels at first, regardless of whether or not she is now getting what she, in fact, wants.

Owner says that girls have a "punishment" mode. That is to way, if the owner hasn't been living up to expectations the girl sub-consciously makes him pay. (Naturally, I denied it.)

Owner also talked of fisherman. Well, we are in Tasmania, so I guess that's quite appropriate. He says that the deep sea fishermen have a policy of "capture and release". Conversely, if a girl is released (in her mind, that is) she won't necessarily be "captured" again without a struggle. She may want to be captured...can think of nothing more than that she would love to be captured...but the man has to work for it now. She won't come easily...

And, so it goes.

Anyways, I've been captured now. It was slow at the start..a bit of a rebellion and struggle... but ultimately this "fish" surrendered.

And, she's so glad to be back where she belongs: surrendered; satisfied; serene and safe.

(Why is that after lots of lovely orgasms girls are full of heady joy and owners look a bit worn out...?)

P.S. Owners feeling much better. We've been trialing a hunch of his as to a deficiency and its working wonderfully well.)

A Simple Life

Sunday morning. Quiet. Happy.

Listening to the beautiful sounds of Cary Lewincamp play his mesmerizing seven string guitar from his Home (www.cary.com.au) CD, a gift from my owner, purchased yesterday from Cary and his lovely wife at the Salamanca Market; a wonderful craft and fresh food market where we spent several lovely hours yesterday.

Instantly, I felt their love; their connection; their love of home and family; of music and joy.

 A simple life; a very good life here.

Something draws me to this life. Just adore it here.

Back to the dungeon

I'm back in the dungeon down in Tasmania and having a lovely time. It's cold here but I love much about the season of winter and as I sit here on the couch in our living room with the morning sun streaming through the window, I am completely serene.

My husband is asleep. We'd turned on the heat overnight but it turned out to be too toasty for us and dehydration had him up several times in the middle of the night. So, I've had a cup of black coffee and a piece of our sourdough break stick with a little real butter and homemade raspberry jam. We bought it at one of the best bakeries I've ever been to, just down the road.

One of the best things about this apartment is the location. A stone's throw from us is this sensational bakery, a little old-fashioned milk bar for (overpriced) supplies, a fantastic Italian restaurant (where we ate last night) and the Salamanca Market, where we will go on Saturday morning. It's a wonderfully quaint area, an absolute throw-back in time and I just adore it here. In my old age, I think I'll move here and spend the summers in the cooler environment. At least, that's a little dream I have.

One of the lovely things about practicing 'awareness' is that if you slow down enough to enjoy the moments of your life, little moments really do have great significance. I was blissfully aware of the raspberry jam waking up my taste buds, of the pleasure of the morning sun streaming through the window, of the rejuvenating quality of the coffee, and the delightful silence as I sit here noticing my acrylic nails tapping away at the keys.  The slower pace suits me very, very well and there's nothing more I want at this very moment.

I love the fact that I have with me just a few changes of clothes. I love my little wardrobe and how everything I have brought has a purpose. I've brought the gorgeous cashmere black wrap that my husband bought me in Tuscany last year and I have the lovely fine wool cardigan he bought me a few days ago for our anniversary (We had a blast choosing some winter clothing for one another the day before we left for Tasmania and we've bought those items with us). I love living this small, contained (yet refined) little life. I love my little dungeon so much!

Yesterday, we had a nap after we'd settled in and after that, he played with me. One of the big disadvantages of not playing with a girl regularly (especially a girl like me who can feel her oats if she's not reminded of her place for a time) is that she gets out of practice. He was spanking away when I said,

"I'm not really into pain any more..."

"I don't care what you want. You need the pain."

And, he proceeded on. Until this point, I hadn't experienced the turn-on effect. If he'd listened to me and stopped, it would have been an unpleasant outcome. I'd have been miserable. But, the fact that he insisted he do as he chose...that was the turn-on. Now, I didn't tell him that. But, they're the facts. I feel a great deal more comfortable in my life when I know my place; when he asserts himself.

Dinner last night was delicious; Veal Pizzaiola and a bottle of 48 degrees South Pinot Noir, 2008. When we were sharing a piece of cheesecake (I got two bites!) the waitress asked us what we planned to do tomorrow and I told her we were going to MONA. She told me that David Walsh (the philanthropist who set up MONA as his own private art gallery for the public) often comes into the restaurant; that he's a famous gambler; autistic with a strong bent for numbers. Many of his exhibitions are confronting and thought-provoking and I'm looking forward to it immensely.

Anyways, I'm being good; being kept in my place and life is sweet.

I want to be the doll

This morning I awoke and put on my exercise clothes. It had been a rough weekend with exam and assignment writing tension pervading the household. (There are five students in this house right now!) I needed to go exercise and get some tension released. I had worked it out that if I took one son to his exam I could go to Pilates class and be back to pick him up for more exam preparation at home. The thought made me happy.

I got to my desk to find a note from another son. "Mum, could you please wake me up at 8.30 am for my exam." Oh, poo! No exercise class for me, because the note meant that I'd also be driving him to the examination place.

As we prepared for the day ahead, the three of us, my husband wandered into the kitchen looking for pain killers and it was clear he was in pain. I swear that this is some form of Chronic Fatigue Syndrome, but then I don't get a vote.

I decided that after I dropped them both off, I would write quickly first here and then race the dogs to the park. I'd make them run behind me and that way I'd still get my exercise. Where there is a will, there is a way!

I was parking the car in the garage after the second run to examinations when I thought to myself,

"I want to go back. I want to go back to being a doll."

I came upstairs and searched in this journal and I read this entry about the doll.

I want that! I remember that insanely gorgous, divinely wonderful harmonious and peaceful, stress-free state of mind, AND I WANT THAT.

Captivity

I can't trace exactly where I began a keen interest in living life in a contained way. My family ran a business and we lived on the property. This meant that 'home life' wasn't like the family life that most children experience. I suspect the roots of my interest lie somewhere in there.

When I met my husband I met Uncle Jack and that's where I learned about his time in Changi. I remember paying great interest to any information I could gather about his imprisonment through the war. Technically, he should have been killed because he was a bit outspoken back then and on at least one occasion a fellow prisoner had to save him from imminent death because he was on the cusp of  speaking back to a Japanese official.

What I was most impressed about was that he had the mental strength to endure the ordeal. Two years ago, we went to visit his wife (Jack was in a nursing home by then but his wife was still visiting him every second day and bringing him home - a Herculean feat for her too) and she gave my youngest son a copy of the speech that Jack had given, detailing his capture. Finally, we had the details because Jack wasn't one to sit us around and tell us things about his war experience. He'd rather play host to us and fill us with his well stocked liquor cabinet while his darling wife filled us with roast lamb and rice pudding for dessert.

I do recall a story about him being held in a very small space; a coffin, of sorts. And, I remember seeing this sort of captivity in a Western movie as well. I just couldn't imagine this sort of extreme experience. I didn't understand how someone could survive it.

Not so long after my last son was born, I was experiencing lots of pain in my lower back. One day it got so painful that I simply walked into the chiropractic office that I often passed in the car and asked if they could help me. Apparently, there was some arthritis sitting there at the base of my spine and they recommended Pilates to stretch me out and strengthen my core muscles to keep the lower back strong.

A friend saw me having a coffee up at the shops one day near to the Club we belong to and she asked me to sign a petition to have Pilates classes there. I happily signed, the classes began and I have been going there ever since, at least once a week in term time.

I was very interested to learn that Pilates was begun, it seems, by a person who was confined; imprisoned was the story I heard. He devised exercises he could do in a very small space to keep himself fit. There is something about exercising on a mat that really speaks to me. In the smallest possible space, I can work my whole body. Then, when the class is over, I can lie on the mat and listen to the soothing music that is played to us and let my mind drift away to nothingness. I just adore that time.

This is a time when it is not at all uncommon for me to imagine that 'doll' state. I imagine that all the 'holes' are plugged and that my mind is quite empty. It is a rather sexually oriented experience for me because it takes me to a sense of having my body used at the same time as I have a feeling of being at great peace. I blend the two experiences/thoughts into one. Sex = peace.

This is my mindset. In my earlier life, I'm not sure that I equated sex with peace. I do know that an intense sexual experience made me exuberantly happy with an ecstatic feeling of being alive. It is only in recent years that I have equated sex with a deep peace.

I know my husband would dearly love for me to take more responsibility for initiating sex. God knows I have tried but my very natural disposition is to be taken; to be captured. When I am taken and plundered, I process that as a deep peace. I sink down; bunker down. Maybe that relates to my thoughts all my life about containment. Maybe, my mentor hypnotized me over the chat box to believe these things. It is more likely, I suspect, that he brought out thoughts that were already there and that's why I took them like a duck to water.

My body looks to be used. My mind is always considering ways to live a small but wondrous life. Containment is my preoccupation.

Abeyance

I have always had the desire with this web journal to be entirely honest. If I want to write fiction I can write myself a story. Here, what I write is what I feel, experience and live. This code of mine is not always a popular choice, I suspect, because when things aren't in 'tip top' shape in my life that may not make for great reading for the people that choose to read here. However, this is not a popularity contest and the reason why I write here is most often to express myself in a way that I can't do anywhere else.

Yet, I feel a need to apologize on occasion for the content of the journal. I'm aware it has a readership and that my woes aren't really what you come here to read. On the other hand, Rollymo made the comment not so long ago that he feels that the attraction for him was that I suffer, somewhat. Anyways, you can't please them all all the time, as they say, and I don't even pretend to try.

It has reached a point where I feel obliged to apologize somewhat for the change of direction in the writing. I extended the subject matter some time ago to include not just D/s and power exchange matters but also living well and with peace and calm. I did that because it evolved that the full power exchange arrangement I was attempting to live went that way.

It was and is, in my mind, very much about satisfying and deeply connecting sex. However, through the course of my online mentoring, issues related to finding peace and living calmly and with purpose came up as part and parcel of living more like a 'doll'. I embraced those notions and extended them to include practices that I find very comforting and sustaining on a daily basis.

Pilates, yoga, meditation, mindfulness, breathing through anxiety, finding my own peace, being still and silent are all practices and remedies I use routinely to help me function well. I still take a good deal of care about my appearance and I still very much prefer to wear a dress or a skirt. I still tend to my acrylic nails every two weeks. I try hard to mind my words and my manners. All of this is in place and fulfills and comforts me.

Life with my husband is, regrettably, at this juncture, not all that I would wish it to be. I've not shied away from writing that I asked him to spank me and later, to enter into a full D/s relationship. It wasn't his idea and he would never have brought this to the table.

Sure, he has always wanted to do things his way. He's quite conservative and even old-fashioned, born in an era when women did the inside work and men did the outside work; when men looked after the finances and women looked after the children. More than that, he has some personality characteristics that make it important for him to have things done in his own inimitable style and according to his own personally defined sense of things being done properly and perfectly.

However, dominating a woman physically wasn't something that he sought, desired or thought proper. This was my desire, my need, my desperate life time longing.

My husband needs to live his life in a way that works for him. He works for himself because that suits him best. He works both day and night because he has a strong tendency to define his life through his work. He is nocturnal. This means that although he put in a full day's work he also works through the night. Lately, this has intensified. He's working in overseas markets and he needs to be up at odd times.

Also, he has not been really well for quite some time and this ill health has intensified lately. His body has been in pain and wondering if it might be the lack of sleep that is making matters so much worse, I have quietly got up each morning and left him to sleep as long as he can. This means that we rarely are awake in the bed at the same time.

It is a woman's job to comfort her sick man. I know this intellectually and my heart tells me this is the right thing to do. However, a woman is intuitively restless when her man is unwell. Her 'provider' and 'protector' is not functioning and this makes her unsettled. This is a primal instinct. There isn't a great deal we can do about it. We can make the soup and say comforting things but inside we just aren't at all happy.

For me, it's one thing to not have those heady moments of feeling I have submitted to all sorts of dastardly deeds, it's quite another to not have intimacy, sex, in my life. Sex once a week has seemed lean to me. Sex once a month feels like a mini-death and I can't really get my head around celibacy at all. I'm just not cut out for this sort of life.

I'm not suggesting that I am in the position of some permanent demise. I anticipate there is a remedy to this ill-health, although I am not at all sure from where or when it will come. I'm surprised and saddened at the minimal efforts that have been made to provide some sustenance for me in any form. He could tie my wrists, or put a gag in my mouth at night; he could do little things requiring little effort or strain. Yet, he rarely has done so. He's almost completely withdrawn to his life of work. He's clearly in a lot of physical pain and emotional turmoil.

I asked him recently if he ever read my journal and he said that he wasn't aware that I was still writing here. That said it all, in my mind. His mind is so clearly filled with worry and distress and his body so full of pain that he hasn't got the ability to address our relationship at this time. Oh, we still have a cuddle on the couch. He still sometimes rubs my back in the wee hours of the night when he comes to bed. He had me wear an anal plug when we went to the Market a few days ago which was lovely. We are still the best of friends. We still talk and interact. We both hang in there. But, it isn't the same. It is a fraction of the relationship it was a few years ago.

I read about his condition. I have tried to get him to take a lack of sleep seriously. I have identified that he may be responding to tea and in the past few days he has had a lot less pain. I think we may be onto something here.

I am trying to stay positive. I get on my with life. I still have a household of people to care for. There's still a lot of cooking and caring going on. I meditate. I assure myself  that I have strength in reserve; that I have the tools I need to get through this period of my life. I do my academic study. I am mindful of dark thoughts and I know to challenge them and to move on. But, I am lonely. This is not something I can share with anyone but with myself (and you) in this journal.

I haven't much to report in the way of wonderful D/s experiences right now. There really isn't much reason to come here at all and I apologize about that. There have been much better days but this too shall pass.

Controlling the control

We all want some control. That really is the truth. We all want to feel in control of our lives. Sure, some people get a lovely sense of peace and fulfillment when they cede control to another person but the desire for some control is within us all.

"I feel out of control," we say. Or, "things are getting out of control." Or, someone may say to us, "Get control of yourself."

We are always trying to control someone; ourselves; our worry; the outcome; the future; our responses; the words that come out of our mouths. So much control!

For the past year, it is the need for control that my youngest son has been trying to control. The advances this year have been huge. Without any therapy at all this year for his OCD, he has managed this first half of the year incredibly well. There have been no panic attacks; no sense of fear about the school year. He signed up for the usual bevy of extra-curricula activities and whilst it put pressure on his time, he didn't complain and just got on with living his extraordinarily busy life.

Things got a little out of control yesterday. The plan was to study for the first two exams today but his perfectionism took over in terms of his art folio and he put a heap of time into that. At dinner time, he mentioned that he hadn't gathered quotes for the literature question and that's when his mother went into overdrive bringing herself up to speed on a book she had never read. By bed time, I felt I had some understanding of the novel and by morning I was ready to discuss and select key quotes to use.

We had a good conversation and it was clear he knew the story well and was empathic with the main character and his rather thwarted coming of age. Still thinking and acting rather like an adolescent at the age of 36 it was time for Rob to grow up and by the end of the story we do see some major progress. He's stopped blaming everyone else for his own behavior. He's aware that fear has driven him to make the choices he's made and the choices he hasn't made. He feels less lonely, now aware that it is not only he that has insecurities. He understands that he has to make choices; that it is time to make a commitment; to express his love; to choose a career. He really has come a long way! He's no longer the egocentric character we met early in the book; a man who thinks of everyone else as a bit player his own life. Always likable, he is now also responsible. He's been launched; finally!

But, as we got towards the time to leave for the exam, it was clear my son's feelings of being out of control had set in. He went to the bathroom, as out of control people do. When he returned, I asked if he felt tense. Yes, he did, he said.

"Listen to your body. Where do you feel tense?' (I took a guess) In your chest?"

He nodded.

So, let's get control of your breathing. Breathe through your nose and take a big, deep breath. And, when you body is ready, let it go. Keep doing that."

A minute later...

"Feel better?"

He nodded.

"You are in control of those feelings of distress. You can always settle yourself just by stopping to settle your breathing and slow it down. Now, let's take care of your shoulders and neck. Do some circles and just let the tension go."

Then...

"Why don't you lie down on the floor and I'll rub your back. Feel this lower part of the spine. That's where the tension builds. I'm rubbing that and releasing the tension. Feel better?

He nodded.

We gathered things: dictionary, pens, tissues, water, the letter giving him permission to sit up front in the huge hall; his watch. I told him I'd be down at the car...

He came down and I was waiting just outside the car.

"Would you like a hug?"

"I'd love a hug."

We hugged. As we hugged, I said softly, "You are in control. You know this work and you are a good writer. There is nothing to fear."

I drove and he was quiet. When we got to our destination, I gave him another hug and told him, "Just remember, you are in control. You can settle yourself any time you want. Enjoy the experience. Settle into it; just let it flow out of you."

"Thanks for helping me, Mum."

"My pleasure."

He's an incredibly empathic soul and it is easy to show empathy towards him; a very evolved and deeply loving young man.

And so, the person who wishes nothing more than to give up as much control as she possibly can tries to teach her son that he is always in control because to achieve we do need to be in control of our thoughts, our feelings and our reactions to stress. A perfectionist will always be a perfectionist. I see my son's nature and inclinations in the way he takes on a character in a play or the way he wants to impart his vision of the world in a photograph. Near enough is not good enough for him and that sort of thinking does lead to some stress. I think you have to make the stress and the perfectionism work for you. You can't ask a perfectionist to stop being a perfectionist but you can show him or her how to control the stress itself; how not to fear; how to accept that everyone doesn't think like you; how to deal with failures.

It's not an easy road to walk - being a perfectionist; wanting to feel in control; trying to cede control and let what happens, happens. I tend to think that if I go the extra mile, it will make a difference. Maybe this won't make sense, but I try to control outcomes but in a very controlled way. That is, I try not to become emotionally invested in that but rather act pragmatically; aware that I can help but the outcome is the outcome. I can't control everything.

P.S. I wrote this to try to control my nervousness...