A picture says a thousand words

This photograph doesn't need my words. You surely don't need my words today. Just let the photograph have its effect on  you. Happy days.

Jealousy

Oh deer, deeer, deeeeer. What are they doing to this poor l'il thing!?

I am so jealous.

Correction

Alas, there's still more assignments to be done. However, after 50 weeks straight of my academic course, I am getting close to a point where I get a bit of a rest. I come here to give myself some kinky inspiration to see me through a lot of rather verbose writing over the next few days. I really do need to connect with that part of me that must remain hidden to the rest of the world every day. Hence, I offer this photograph.

Here's what I love about it:

-  She's not completely naked. It somehow adds to the vulnerability and humiliation.
-  He has his shirt sleeves rolled up.
-  He's fully and formally dressed.
-  He's concentrating so hard.
-  He's got his whole body involved with the swing.
-  She's wincing already knowing what is to come.
-  The man reminds me of a young Al Pacino.
-   He's got her on her elbows so that her bottom is nice and high.

I'll leave you good folks to conjure up the scene this time but my money is on the fact that she'd been a little too cheeky and before he takes her out to the restaurant he needs to remind her of her place. A few stripes on her backside will ensure a much more enjoyable evening for him. It's really as simple as that.

 And so I return to the land of cultural theories. Whilst you are having your perverted fun, perhaps you'd be kind enough to spare a thought for me.

Rules

As you might have gathered by now, my abilities to lead are somewhat limited. I prefer garnering co-operation rather than actually telling someone what to do. However, I have two dogs. Well, in fact, the family has two dogs but they consider me the person on whom they should rely. It may well be that they just see me as a more senior member of their dog pack rather than their owner. Certainly, I am the person who mostly feeds them and walks them and when I go out in the car for short periods of time, they accompany me. Apparently, the male dog sits and whimpers should I not be able to take him, regardless of the fact that he has other human company with him at home.

I'm happy to look after them and I try to walk the line of looking after them well but not spoiling them and allowing them to display bad behavior. They are very possessive and protective of me and unfortunately they are inclined to chase after people around me in the park to let them know that they can't do anything to me. I growl at them every time and tell them not to do it but on one level, I get why they do it. I try to be strict and I try to ensure that they behave well but they are, at the end of the day, two prissy little white dogs.

For nearly three years I have been trying to teach them that they may never go to the toilet in my house. They understand this rule. They really, really do. However, when it is raining, and it has rained a lot this winter, they conveniently forget this rule and go and find some quiet place to urinate. Maybe they both do this or maybe only one of them does this dastardly deed. I can't prove anything at all. So, I become very, very angry with them and take them to the spot and rub their noses in it and my anger with them has them running for their dog door and out into the safety of the backyard.

I try to make a big deal of it so that their tiny little brains might register that it isn't worth being naughty. However, when it suits them, they go and do it all over again as if none of those smacks, or my anger, or those hours spent outside in disgrace matter to them at all. They'd rather avoid the rain and accept the consequences later. And there's nothing kinky about this; there's no upside to getting into trouble. They don't on any level enjoy the consequences. They just choose to ignore the fact that there will be consequences.

As I am sure you have guessed such an occurrence has just occurred. I was beside myself with anger. They are in no doubt that they are in disgrace. However, should I let them in and they want to urinate and outside it is raining, they are likely to do it all over again. They are creatures of comfort; whatever suits them!

Some rules are really not meant to be broken. Some rules must stand. Some rules are integral to the functioning of people and that is all there is to that. I'm meant to be the authority figure here and if I say there's no urinating in my house, I mean it! So, why do they take it with a grain of salt???

Bias

I heard an American author speak yesterday and she made the point that papers such as the New York Times critique male authors four times more than they critique a female author. The same male author may have three articles written about his book whereas a female author may struggle to be represented at all. She said that a similar style of novel may be called a 'literary novel' if written by a man and 'women's literature' if written by a woman.

Wow! Not only do I have to spend the rest of my days honing my craft I also have to deal with an in-built bias against women's writers.

Naughty Samantha

A woman I know very well is gay and in the time I have known her over the decades she's had five partners. All her partners have been 'the boss'. She's been submissive to them all and what they say goes. I was sitting next to the last partner at a dinner a few years ago now, the partner before the current one, when she told me that Jan had wanted a particular painting and she had bought it for her. However, she was not permitted to hang it until she did something that she had been told to do. Since she hadn't complied with the command the picture had not been hung. Wow! I didn't think that a woman could be quite so committed to instilling obedience in a partner but it seems I was quite wrong about that. I've since come to understand that 'Mistresses' can be quite committed and severe with a submissive woman 

On a side note, Jan once called me and asked me if I'd help her at her new place of employment. She had a huge event happening over several days and she'd got clearance to pay me for a week's work. I came into the office only to find that Jan was twiddling her thumbs while Rome burned. She was sweating the most minor of details whilst very big issues that just had to be done were being left undone. It was a bit of a case of the blind leading the blind, a submissive leading a submissive, but I knew enough to know that it was now my job to give the orders.

"Okay, let's get all the tasks up on the board and prioritize them," I told her. "I'll do this while you do that..." and job by job we got to where we needed to go. Perhaps in any relationship someone has to step up to the plate and take the lead.

I came across this photograph some weeks ago and instantly, I loved it. They seem about the same age to me so I'm guessing they're in a relationship where the girls in jeans is the boss. I am not sure, of course, but I'd say the naked girl has been taken down to the basement for a good, hard paddling. But, she's not quite off the hook yet. The jean-wearing girl is still as mad as hell about her behavior and keen to teach her a lesson she won't forget - that speaking back immediately after a paddling is only asking for more punishment. So, on her knees she was told to get and she could crawl up to her bed. She could forget about dinner tonight, too!

"You just behave yourself!" she commanded as she swung her arm back to give her the hardest smack she could muster under the circumstances.

On the naked girl crawled, making her way into bed, as told.

"And when you're sitting on that bottom tomorrow maybe you can remember what earned you those bruises. You just think about that!" she said, as she turned off the light and left the room.

The naked girl felt about six years old. She didn't like being in trouble but she didn't always like having to do what she was told. That was the thing. Jen had really smacked hard tonight. Maybe it was time she started to listen.

Samantha felt humiliated but even she was willing to admit that she had been rather badly behaved and she did deserve what she had got. In fact, the more she thought about the paddling the more she came to see that it gave her a safe sort of feeling to know that when she did behave badly she was accountable to someone. Jen was prepared to punish her and although she didn't like being punished she did like the safe and secure feeling that it gave her.

In fact, now that she was in her bed naked with a hot backside she also had a very warm feeling towards Jen. She wished that they could make love but Jen never allowed that if she'd earned a spanking.

Samantha waited for Jen to come to bed. She waited until the lights were out and it was dark and still.

"Jen?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I was bad."

"Well, I appreciate you saying you are sorry, Samantha."

"Jen?"

"Yes, Samantha?"

"You only call me Samantha when you are cross."

"Well, I'm not especially happy with your behaviour tonight."

"I know I was bad. Thank you for punishing me."

"Well, that's a first."

"I love you Jen."

"I love you too, Sam."

"I'll be good from now on."

"We'll see. Off to sleep now."

"Jen, can I spoon in?"

"Are you sure you've learned your lesson."

"Oh, I am completely sure."

"Spoon in then. Off to sleep now. Night night, Sam."

"Night night, Jen."

P.S. Sam really enjoyed her breakfast the next morning. Jen got up a little early and made Sam scrambled eggs and mushrooms on sourdough toast, her favorite breakfast. She felt a little sorry for her having to sit all day in the courtroom on such a very sore bottom. Still, if you do the crime... Being a prosecutor, Sam understood that.

Discipline

I'm strictly interested in the male as a Dominant figure in real life and in most of my fantasy life. Yet, I am a sucker for this sort of photograph. I can't explain why I like the photograph except to say that the photograph intrigues me and that I enjoy looking at it. I am not at all sure the woman should have access to the implement or that she'll know when enough is enough. There is something about her that worries me. I imagine that the woman with the cane in her hand will strike the naughty maid's bottom harshly and enjoy every moment of it. My sympathy goes out to the maid at the same time as I have to admit, I find her predicament rather arousing. Such is kink. In real life, the whole scenario would be appalling. As a photograph for our amusement I think it quite lovely.

Disobedience doesn't pay

Why are they looking so glum, so worried?

Well, they were put to bed in the usual way, tucked in, the light put out and told to go straight to sleep. But, once they heard Matron's steps walk down the passage and the door of her bedroom close, they oh so quietly began gathering the food and drink they had been hoarding for the past week.

Joan had bought  the sweets in town last Saturday and Mildred had saved the cake her mother had sent her, to share with her friends for their planned midnight feast. Patricia's contribution had been to buy a bottle of lemonade after her hockey game against the other local grammar school in a nearby town. She'd rushed to the store and purchased it before the bus departed back to school. It had been daring of her and her heart was racing the whole time.

The girls sat down in the middle of the room on the rug, smiling deviously at their cunning to have mastered the plan but when Sarah quietly brought from behind her back a small bottle of Vodka the girls could not contain their squeals of glee. Oh!, the naughtiest of them all, sexy Sarah had been given the remains of the bottle of Vodka by a boy she sometimes met behind the boat sheds for a pash and she had saved it for this special occasion.

They were so enjoying themselves, gobbling down the cake, and having swigs of the contraband alcohol that they hadn't heard anything in the hall at all. Suddenly, the door opened and the light was flung on.

"What is the meaning of this?" Matron wanted to know. "You girls will pay with your hides for this flaunting of school rules!

The girls suddenly weren't so happy. Sarah tried to hide the vodka bottle behind her back.

"Sarah, bring your hands where I can see them," Matron demanded.

Sarah had no choice but to obey.

"Alcohol!! Not in my dormitories, young lady. I shall see to it that the Master gives you all a very sound hiding. Go and wait outside his office at once!"

And, so there the young ladies sat, waiting for the Master to receive them.

The Matron had needed to get him out of bed since for once he had decided to have an early night. He wasn't happy and the scowl on his face as he made his way past them to his office assured the girls that they would not be sitting so comfortably again for at least a week.

Poor Sarah, the girl to the far right, the one sitting a bit separate to the others, would take her turn last, as one might have predicted.

The procurement of alcohol was strictly against school rules and it had meant that the Master had needed to telephone Sarah's father and inform him of the situation. They had a choice in such situations - either a week's suspension from school or an extra twelve of the cane. Her father wasted no time in choosing an extra dozen stripes for his daughter  and recommended that they not be forgettable. The Master assured him that Sarah would not forget the disciplinary session for some time to come.

And, so we leave the girls to contemplate the Master's disappointment in their behavior and to ponder the veracity of their ill-conceived plan. How much better it would have been to be good and simply obey.

Restraint

Somewhere in my reading last week, I read of one woman who was told that she may not touch herself for a week. She was doing remarkably well when on the sixth day she succumbed and had a most pleasurable orgasm. Her thinking was along the lines of, "I need this today. I'll worry about the consequences tomorrow."

Well, first of all, I think being told not to touch yourself for a week is asking a great deal so I give her full credit for lasting six days! Delayed gratification is something I can find difficult, although I also find difficult the consequences too really. I'm not fond of people being very cross with me and on more than one occasion I've berated myself for not just doing as I was asked. However, I can certainly empathize with the thought process that six out of seven ain't bad.

I've been sleeping on my own for the past week and my sleep has been quite disrupted because there has been too much opportunity to let my hands stray. On one night I considered tying my wrists together so that I could get a good night's rest. Fortunately, my husband returned home last evening and whilst I woke up in a similar way in the early morning I mentally acknowledged the desire but also mentally told myself that it was a darn good thing that I couldn't succumb to my desires. I folded my hands together as in prayer, a testament to my resolve, and duly went back to sleep for a couple of well needed hours of sleep.

There's a big part of me that very much likes the idea of orgasm control. Chastity belts come up in my thoughts regularly and I love photographs of a woman restrained into a chastity belt. I read once that a Dominant kept his submissive in a chastity belt (apart from cleaning and so on) for a six month period and that was not a dreadful thought for me; not at all. I feed off such thoughts.

I like the challenge of seven days without touching myself. I can't imagine my mind thinking of a darn thing other than my own desire for pleasure. Perhaps the need fades as time goes on. I very much doubt this myself. On the seventh day, I can imagine myself counting down the minutes. Maybe I'd get on with writing assignments and put pleasure out of my mind, or, maybe I wouldn't be able to write a thing so muddle-headed with the desire for pleasure I couldn't think straight.

Of course, the fact that I've been told that I can't have or do something is a truly enticing notion. I'd like to think I've progressed enough where the verbal instruction would be enough and I could exhibit restraint. On one level, it would be absolute torture but on another, deeply arousing. It would be an extraordinary act of grace to have my hands tied at bedtime and just give me a hand (by taking away my hands) but I do understand the idea is to use one's mind alone to show resolve sometimes.

When the woman in question told her Dominant of her transgression the whole time period started all over again. It lasted until they saw one another again which, I think, made it even a bit longer than seven days and I think she was starting to wonder if her life was truly worth living if orgasms were to be spaced out in this way. I so get that. On the other hand, what was he do? Well, I think he removed his Dominance from her, as I recall, and that's when the penny dropped. (Oh my, do I get this part...) She suddenly realized that delayed gratification was much, much easier than the removal of his services and I think it is this knowledge that allows her to move forward into this new time period of no touching.

I'm in a particularly desirous mindset; a desire to prove my mettle and to enjoy succeeding. I'm keen to get back in the hunt, out with pack and on with the game. I'm feeling decidedly playful and ready for challenge and I truly do think that I might be able to follow such a command, should be it ordered. I do little tests on myself, actually and I tell myself I can't do this or that for a couple of days and see what happens. Well, I can follow my own instructions with some degree of success but then again, I've never said to myself, "This time it is seven days" because I just couldn't do that to myself.

Heavenly delights

When it all falls into place, when everything feels totally natural, there is no struggle at all. In the head space of the doll all instructions are good instructions because the doll doesn't struggle or have doubts or worries. She very much lets it all go and just bunkers down into that tiny teeny spot where she feels ultra comfortable and totally relaxed.

For a myriad of reasons we can feel anxious about aspects of our life. Some of us are inclined to be more anxious than others, often with good reason. Some of us had better starts than others and it's those first dozen or more years that really do dictate how tough that road will be.

How marvelous then that we have a vehicle with which to relax. In the space of the doll all commands make total sense because she's doesn't have the the slightest interest in control, or power, or struggle. She isn't worried about anything actually because she's only got one purpose. Keeping the focus this narrow guarantees that all day-to-day concerns can't fit into her head. It's such a teeny tiny space.

Not all men, but certainly some men find interacting with a woman who has let it all go, let her shoulders drop to the point where you can visually see the stress leaving her body, very relaxing as well. Oh sure, there's the voracious aspect about it - the fox with his mouth open and the saliva dripping from his jaws - but he also enjoys the fact that he is suddenly dealing with an entity without a care in the world, someone who wouldn't dream of not doing as she has been instructed.

The dolly head space, certain bars of music, vistas, words, sounds and thoughts can transform my everyday world into moments of heavenly delight and a lightness of being.  I'm really always on the lookout for those special moments that transport me above and beyond into some other planetary orbit, even if just for a few minutes, or even a few special moments. It's what keeps writers, painters, sculptors, landscape gardeners, musicians, chefs and many other creative beings doing what they do - trying to create something truly beautiful; a heavenly delight.

Comfort, the kinky way

In 'real life' when I think about being comforted I think of the usual 'girlie' things, like soft words, big hugs and gentle kisses. I think of him telling me that it will all be all right; that he will be all right and I will be all right. I think of smiles and then laughs and after that, all is right in my world. I respond very well to a positive and upbeat approach. If he is upbeat then I'm upbeat.

In my thoughts, say, when I am waking in the morning and I'm in that world between being awake and being asleep, 'comfort' takes on a different face. Take this morning, for example:

I'm naked and he's called me to him. He says that he needs to spank me for disobeying him. The spanks on my bottom with the hairbrush should be received as a symbol of his will and his love for me and that my staying still to receive them is a symbol of my understanding that his will prevails and that I am receiving the spanks with love.


He asks me to climb over his knee and he begins to spank me with his hand. They're getting harder and I so very much want to wiggle away from his hand but he reminds me every now and again that I must stay still and accept the correction. A wiggling girl is a girl who has not accepted the importance of the spanking in her life. If I should wiggle it's a sign to him that he must spank harder and longer until I recognize the futility of wiggling.


Now, he takes up the wooden bath brush that stings so viciously. He tells me that he is going to turn over the counter and that when the sands all drift down the spanking will be over. Only three minutes. Can I be a good girl and stay still for three minutes while my bottom is well spanked?


What else is there to say? I tell him that I will do my best. He tells me that I must give into it and to just accept it; to let it pass through me and to allow the discomfort to guide me to better behavior in the future. He tells me that he is sure that I can be still; that I understand how important it is to receive this correction.


I try to hold onto his words; to please him by staying still but the heat is rising and I'm desperate to get away from that brush. I try to focus on the sands but there are so many of them still to pass through the little outlet and I begin to howl to the moon, to relieve the heat of my bottom and distract myself. Or, do I howl because I have to do something?!


When I have quietened again and just let myself surrender to the brush he tells me that perhaps next time when I have a mind to disobey I may remember the feeling of lying helplessly over his knee and I may choose differently. Do I think I may choose differently next time, he wants to know?


"Yes, Sir, yes, very differently," I assure him.


I am keeping a close eye on the sands now and it is not too long to go. Maybe five seconds, four seconds, three seconds, two seconds, one second...


"Time, Sir!"


He checks the timer. 


"Ahhhh, so it is, that's a good girl."


He rubs his hand over my bottom and I welcome the relief of the rubbing.


"Come to Daddy."


I curl up in his arms and he gives me a big hug, a rub of my back and then my bottom.


"All better now. My little girl is a good girl again."


He coos into my ear how proud he is of me and how this is just a little aberration. He's sure the correction has set me back on track and that I won't do it again.


"You won't do it again, will you darling?"


"No, Sir, not ever ever again."


"I thought not. Good girls don't disobey, do they?"


"No, they don't."


"Why don't they disobey, darling?"


"Because they are good."


"Yes. And, perhaps they may need to be spanked very soundly if they disobey. Do good girls like to be spanked very soundly."


"They don't like that at all!"


"No. So fortunate that you are a good girl, my darling. I wouldn't want to have to do that again. I won't have to do that again, will I darling?"


"I doubt it."


"I do too."


"Now, run along, there's a good girl."


"Yes, Sir."


And, then my day began. Such a comforting start to it.

Mellowing

Some mornings are stressful. We know this. This morning my son couldn't find an item that he carries with him at virtually all times and it really, really bothered him. Knowing that he was bothered, that upset me and I did what I could to find it, to no avail. Dropping him off at school, I encouraged him to "let it go" for now and perhaps once his mind was more relaxed the memory of what had happened would return. I empathize greatly because I feel very out of sorts when I don't have things in their place and I know what he goes through when he loses something too.

We talked about all this last year, the therapist and I. She said that perhaps I was putting too much stock in how distressed someone else in my life was feeling. In relation to another son she said, "While you are fretting over the exchange he's on the tram happily listening to his I Pod." Good point...I guess. It's hard for me to think about someone I care about in distress, especially if my behavior might have caused them any distress. It's what you might call being too empathic or having too strong a sense of guilt.

Later in the morning, I made myself go to Pilates class. I thought it my best shot to 'let go' of my sense of being stressed out. I know all the relaxation strategies now but with each passing day I am finding it harder and harder to be around obsessive-compulsive behavior. I want very much to just let the day come and to handle it in a calm state of mind.

People who live alone or maybe just with a partner probably have no idea what I am talking about. Unless you've been in the chaos of family life and one or more children have special needs of one kind or another you can't understand (and I wouldn't expect you to understand) how all these distractions and mini-crises trigger the senses for flight or fight, with multiple physiological responses. Of course, they are the teeniest tiniest of crises and they come and go. They are the daily grist of the mill for parents and partners of perfectionist-oriented people and the trick becomes to be aware of the tension around you, but not to let it make you tense. I keep working on this; to let it pass through me.

However, I keep moving forward to the thought that whilst I want dominance I'd prefer a rather delicate sort of dominance these days. I want the dominant to be calm; in control of himself; at peace; settled. This calm approach to life and crisis of all types would then encourage me to be settled. I want him to be a good role model for me. I want him to tell me calmly that everything will be all right in the end and if it's not all right, then it's not the end.

I've been surrounded by hot-heads and obsessive-compulsive anal retentives all my life. God bless them. It's take one to know one and I understand their complex, driven minds. However, the pleasure of a quiet man, a calm and settled person is a drawcard, I must say. It makes me think of hugs and smiles; pats on the head; someone being pleased with me; listening to gentle music; drinking soft-palette wine; nights on the porch in summer and nights by the fire in winter. It is a comforting thought for me; a gentle, wistful sort of thought which very much suits my desired state of mind. It is said that men soften with maturity; that they are gentle and compassionate with age and maturity. No wonder women enjoy the company of the older man.

Tante belle cose

I love all things Italian and like Liz in Eat Pray Love I am getting a real kick out of learning some Italian phrases and rolling them around my tongue. I particularly love this particular phrase, tante bella cose reminding me that there are many beautiful things in this world; so much to be grateful for. This pretty pink flower, one of the many beautiful things,  reminds me also that happiness is really always just around the corner.  I feel myself opening up much like this flower, ready to bask in the light. I think I may have turned a corner.  Bella.

Light up the room

What motivates us to do something? My answer to that question would be pleasure. There are other factors to consider like duty, obligation, responsibility, desire for success; ambition. However, it is pleasure that drives us at the most basic level. I sometimes forget this. I think we can all forget how incredibly important it is to enjoy our lives.

Last night I found it hard to get off the couch and fulfill my final duties for the day. I was enjoying a rather long documentary about George Harrison, one of the Beatles. What an extraordinary life and what an extraordinary mindset! Of course I related to his spiritual journey and this rather intense desire he had to prepare for his spirit to leave his body. I have just the same fixation so I got what that was all about. He had a strong understanding that he would die, a constant understanding of it, and so he lived according to that knowledge. I've often said (in real life, I mean) that when people act so grabby and grubby, they're the people that haven't come to terms with the fact that they are going to die. Why waste the time being so nasty? Why not be friendly and enjoy your time here?

I've been thinking in the past few days what I have enjoyed most about a power exchange relationship. Of course, it is very heady stuff and there are so many factors there to consider. I love feeling that I am deeply connected to someone; so connected that I don't mind at all when they call the shots and tell me what to do. I love to be forced to do things actually. I think that's because I feel even more connected to them. I love how that makes me feel.

I enjoy being under the wing of someone. It makes me feel safe. I love to feel a part of a team, and I am comfortable not being in charge. I don't like the feeling that I have if  I get bossy or intolerant. I feel better about influencing someone in a soft and gentle way; a way that makes them feel good about my contribution to the situation. I like to feel soft within my soul, heart and mind.

And, this is what all this is driving to. The more I think about, learn about and experience a D/s exchange the more I realize that I want it to be a soft and kind exchange, even during those times I am being told to or made to do the other person's bidding. I don't want to be hurt by it. I want to be enriched by it, to enjoy it; to experience kindness and connection. I guess you could say, I would like to feel...cherished.

I'm not saying that I don't crave a harsher treatment sometimes because I really do crave that too. However, after the harsher treatment I want to go back to being cared for in a softer way. It's a funny thing, this mellow feeling that has come over me lately. Perhaps the product of a little tender care; perhaps a sense that I am moving forward into the light. It is said that when George Harrison died his spirit did indeed leave his body and he "lit up the room". His wife said that if someone had been filming the scene they would  not have needed lights. "He...he just lit up the room." Now, wouldn't that be a lovely ending to our stories.

Abandonment

Last night just before I went off to sleep I gave myself the little treat of reading a few people's blogs. One link led to another and I found myself on the blog of a man who wrote that he wasn't interested in submissives. He wanted a slave.

From there he went on to discuss his feelings about a woman whose blog he had read who must surely have self-esteem issues, he determined, because she objected to a Dominant using 'abandonment' techniques.

He felt this  a ridiculous thing to suggest and he strongly disagreed because what if the man was going out of town for four days? What would happen to the her then? No. She clearly needed to work on herself before she could give herself over to a Dominant if she thought he wasn't going to do whatever he wanted to do and that included abandoning her as he thought fit.

First of all, blind Freddy knows that the woman wasn't talking about her man going out of town for four days and leaving her on her own. That's not abandoning her; that's going out of town for four days. Abandonment is when the Dominant breaks off contact and/or communication with you as a mean of discipline or for some other emotional/psychological reason, without explaining himself. Abandonment is when the submissive is left bereft and in emotional pain. Abandonment is when the submissive is left confused and feeling unloved.

I sat back on my pillows and tried to get into the mind of a man who would write and would think such things. I think he was totally genuine and sincere in what he wrote. I think he believed it. So, I ask myself, are there men in the world who simply don't have the empathic gene? Are there men in the world who intentionally cause emotional pain to a woman; who can't find it in themselves to walk in her shoes and understand what it is to have a submissive nature and to be intentionally treated in this way...or even sub-consciously treated this way? Does one's heart not speak to them and demand that they communicate with their submissive and find a better way to deal with the issue at hand?

I've seen what happens when men fall out of love with their wives (and fall in love with another woman). I don't blame them necessarily for that, of course, but I do question why the love and the life they shared for over three decades is forgotten as they make financial settlements so arduous and painstaking and as they distance themselves from the children they once bounced on their knee.

Are there some men whose hearts are permanently in winter? I have to believe this is so from what I read. The definition of abandonment is:  'To withdraw one's support or help from, especially in spite of duty, allegiance, or responsibility; desert: abandon a friend in trouble." Is that what a man is entitled to do with the woman who has given herself to him? That's okay? That's kosher?


Communication failures are going to happen because as clever as we are, we're human and inclined to make mistakes. I can understand a man temporarily abandoning a woman, perhaps even unwittingly, and I can understand a woman temporarily feeling abandoned but the man returning to her to make his real feelings for her and the purpose of his actions understood. But, to say that abandoning her is his right? Oh boy, that really stinks.

 

Courage

As I learn more and grow, progress and alter, I feel I know quite clearly what I would want to have. This, in fact, makes for far more challenge than I have ever had before because I know better than ever before that there is a big gap between what I would like to have and what I can have.

I see my husband trying to give me what I want and in his efforts to do so I also see that it is an effort he puts in for me. His focus isn't in it. He does (and probably must) maintain his focus on getting better. Ideally, he'd prefer that I look after myself and demonstrate empathy; be strong and stoic; patient and understanding; just that. This is not a time for a wanting and needy submissive but a time for a wife to exhibit strength.

I do wonder if it is time I 'let go' of what I want and focus more on what is. There is this sense that the writing here and the tendency to want something too much is causing me too much angst; far too much distress. It doesn't mean that my desires have changed but the relentless beating of my reality is so at odds with my dreams and fantasies that it has simply begun to hurt.

It is one thing to know that you heart beats faster and there is a lighter spring in your step when you feel your nature and can express that nature -  that you can live as you were meant to live - and another to understand that this part of your nature has no real current place to exist. To know that nature and what the expression of that nature can do and to not be able to express that nature is too incongruous for my mind to handle right now.

We have briefly discussed this and there is no easily identifiable answer except to say that first of all, he needs to get well. In his own mind the solution lies in his insisting that I become more involved. He very much wants me to come to him and tell me when I am in need; when I need him. I see his point of view and it may well work but I feel the hugest reluctance to do this and I have told him this. Still he insists. He says it is what he wants but I register this thought with heavy heart. I have only ever wanted what people have wanted to give to me. This directive goes against the grain of everything I know about myself - to go away and bleed alone when I am hurt.

Perhaps what I am experiencing is what all women experience when their husbands alter or grow unwell. As much as you want to aid them and empathize with them, your heart is in mourning for the life you once had and the man you once had and abject fear controls your responses and the thoughts in your mind.

In my mind, one must always have hope that things will turn around. I have always woken up feeling hopeful. Yet, in the past weeks I have woken only half aware that my mouth is forming the word hopeless. Is this now hopeless? Is it time to give up?

Well, I'm better than that and stronger than that but there are some days when I do wonder where this journey has taken me and whether the price I have had to pay is too high. But then we're in the final days of a three week  school holiday vacation where I have had precious little time to get on with my own work and maybe you are reading the words of someone who is desperate for some privacy and a little peace.

50 Shades of Grey

An admission first: I haven't read every word of  50 Shades of Grey. In fact, I have just scanned it, picking out segments of it here and there to get a flavor of the writing, the two main characters and to see how the story ended.

Last week I put in an order for the book online because I needed to know what all the excitement was about. My daughter happened to mention to me, you see, that wherever she went to babysit there is a copy of this book on the bedside table of the marital bed. "Mummy porn" indeed! For $7.40 and no shipping charge I felt I could justify reading what no kinky person seems to have enjoyed  just for the education factor.

Last night, as I was wondering what I might read I happened to spy a copy of said book on my coffee table. It seems that my daughter had been loaned the book by a female relative of her boyfriend who assured her that her boyfriend would deeply appreciate her reading it. She didn't mind me perusing the book for an hour or two, but under no circumstances was I to discuss the book or read out anything or tell her anything, she said. I wasn't to spoil it for her. Fair enough.

There were moments when I quite enjoyed their little dance of seduction. I thought the contract between them held promise and I thought the author did quite well in creating scenes. However, apart from that, it did nothing for me and in fact, the book's final pages were horrible, as far as I was concerned. It was presented as abuse; that he was sick and it really turned my stomach. I felt wretched that this was what my daughter had in store for her. I loathed the fact that experiences that had been so earth shatteringly wonderful  for me would be presented as coming from an unhealthy mind that she needed to run away from as fast as her legs would carry her. It not only was non-arousing, it set us all back decades in any effort to be accepted by non-kinky people.

I returned to my current piece of writing with a new set of eyes. Initially, when I began my novel it was with the feeling that she needed to be 'caught' because he saw something in her that she didn't understand herself. It was his task, I felt, to explore her and investigate if he was right. He needed someone like himself to feel complete and he had a sense that this girl could possibly be a suitable partner. It was a gut instinct; nothing more. But, I'm writing a much later chapter now and in that I wanted the reader to be clear that although he has set rules and that the rules must be obeyed, she derives an enormous sense of satisfaction from following the rules and that she is happy. Even when tested and challenged, angry with him and feeling fractious, she is still where she knows she should be and wants to be. She is not running anywhere.

Apparently new 'Grey' books have been written and perhaps the outcomes will be better. But, I feel quite insulted from what I read, not just from my own personal perspective but from the perspective of all the men I have come to know who have taken on the responsibility of a submissive and/or masochistic woman and helped guide her, love her, mentor her and protect her.

When nothing happens

I hadn't intended to write here. I'm up early to do my 'discussion board' actually but a quick check of my emails offered me a comment by a correspondent who said that my life seemed like "a film" in comparison to his life. I had to smile because I was immediately taken back to a much earlier time in my life when I was working. In fact, you could say that it was the perfect preparation for keeping a regular blog.

My boss often travelled. Once a year, usually, he travelled overseas for 3 or  more weeks and my life became much quieter for that time. But, I still kept him up to date on all the happenings of the office and the business world back home. Each day I cut out clippings from the relevant newspapers and made summaries for him so that when he returned he knew just what had happened whilst he was away.

He also often just ducked up to another big city for the day, returning before the close of day. Sometimes I'd wait for him and sometimes I just wanted to go home and get a meal going so I'd leave him a list of all the things that happened that day. Sometimes I'd be cheeky and say something at the end of the list like

Here are your tablets to take. Take them or don't. You can lead a horse to water but you can't make it drink!

Several times he said to me that quite a bit had happened whilst he was away and I'd say, "No, not really; it was a very standard sort of day." And, he'd say, "But, you have a way of making something out of nothing, Vesta."

Perhaps I do. Perhaps I do have a way of making something out of nothing and I think that's a bit of an art actually. Perhaps it explains why I so love movies where nothing happens. I took my son to see Take This Waltz. 

"What do you think?" I ask when it was over.

"Well...nothing happened...," he offered.

I love it when nothing happens, but being 15 I think Prometheus is more his thing.

Anyways, nothing is happening here really. It's going to be a gorgeous clear and sunny day. The lake is like glass and I'm sitting here typing these words. It's a glamorous life I lead, indeed! Ciao.

A little loving

Last weekend I took my dogs over to our beautiful big gardens on the outskirt of the city. It was cold but it had been sunny all day, which was a real thrill given the grey skies lately, and I was really enjoying being out of doors amongst light-hearted people. It was still light but the light would fade fast and in half an hour there would darkness. I was walking fast to keep warm and to get around the gardens relatively fast when a man in his forties stopped me to ask some questions about my dogs. We discussed the breed for a few minutes and he got out his phone to show me photos of "my girl"  at home and eventually he said, "Well, I'll let you get on your way".

I decided to go through one of the gates to exit the gardens and then walk around the perimeter of the gardens to get back to my car when a man, late fifties, engaged me in conversation. He used the pretext of the dogs needing to socialize to begin a conversation with me and a good hour and half later we were still standing there talking. Well, I had suggested we commence walking to our cars at one point because I was starting to feel like an ice block but even when we got to my car he was still eager to share.

I saw it as a therapy session. The man desperately needed to talk about his life and I seemed a suitable candidate. He was quite a charming, well bred and well educated man. He is from a most esteemed and well-known family and the only time he seemed remotely shy about telling me his life story was when we shook hands just before I got in my car and we exchanged names. He worried that I might be a politician's wife and I assured him I wasn't. He suggested I look him up on Google and I did. The facts he had given me about his life were quite accurate. He was who he said he was.

What is significant about this man in terms of this space is his marriage. He has been married for, I'd say, 35 years to the one woman and they have had one child. She has her own business and when she's not doing that she tends to her many horses. The horses alone take up six hours of every day. They sometimes have business trips overseas, he said, but they don't go on holiday at all because of her commitment to the horses.

He talked of his many affairs and of the last affair in particular and he talked of how wonderful it is to get to know someone and feel their affection. He was in rhapsody about that.

"You sound lonely. Have you told your wife  how you feel?" I asked.

"Well, the horses are a big part of her life. I can't ask her to give them up," he replied.

There seemed no handy solution to his dilemma that I could offer and so I listened; just gave him my ear and made general comments, as seemed appropriate.

Thinking back on the conversation I offered almost nothing about myself or my personal feelings. I gave him opinions and assessments about various topics but not about me or the state of my marriage or my personal feelings. I doubt he had a clue as to whether I was feeling lonely or sad or happy and enriched. It just wasn't the point. He needed to talk and I was prepared to listen.

Is it fair to say that this man has sacrificed his happiness for his wife? I am not sure about that really because he opted not to be the breadwinner of the family. She makes the money and that gives him the opportunity to do his good deeds for the community at large, his lobbying, which provides him with much more satisfaction than a job could do. She may have sacrificed something in that marriage as well. It is awfully hard to say without knowing her side of the story as well.

He says that they are "better" now and that he's been a good boy since the last affair was exposed but he misses her (the lover) "terribly". I think he misses the affection; the conversation; the going to see a movie together; having a meal together.

"You know, when it rolls around to 8.30 pm you do say to yourself, 'Well, it would be rather nice to have dinner some time soon..."

I wondered to myself if he prepared dinner for his wife sometimes so that it was ready when she got back from the horses. I didn't ask about that. I didn't ask about hardly anything. It was all volunteered.

Perhaps this is what marriage is all about; about making compromises for one another. Yet, if one does not receive affection at home eventually one is tempted to find it in other quarters, I think. If someone offered him a happy home, a fire in the hearth and a home-cooked meal, a little affection and love, I think he'd be sorely tempted. He's not getting any younger and he is in desperate need of a little loving. We all need that.

Property

Owned. The very word must make most women recoil in horror. No-one owns them. They are autonomous agents to do as they please.

It is not for them, a regular routine of corporal discipline; any sort of regime that demands that they let go, submit; accept their status as the one who requires direction.

My intellectual mind accepts that they are quite right. My inner world, that part of my brain that I allow to speak to me when I am being truthful with myself and acknowledge what I hunger for, tells me the exact opposite.

My authentic self craves ownership and all that that entails. Trying to explain the unexplainable is the hard task and an achievement that continues to elude me.

She only wishes to please

It's a rare thing for a woman to have the opportunity to spill her mind's contents to another person. She knows that if the thoughts are too slutty, it opens her up to correction and castigation. I've been lucky. I had someone who was happy to know all the corners of my mind until one particular day when I was in a very sharing sort of state of mind (when cindi lets loose all bets are off) and I told him about a visualization I had had in group meditation class.

I was in a gorgeous, gorgeous violet colored cave and in that cave I felt incredibly aroused and content. I came to a contained space in the cave and laid out on the floor were a mass of beautifully colored cushions. I laid down naked on the cushions and along came a man, a beautiful man, and he ravished me with kisses, entered me and brought me to climax. I was in a sort of reverie because it had been the most amazing visualization and it really was nothing short of a body and mind climax.

However, I didn't quite get the response I was expecting.

"Well, cindi needz correktin der coz she shood nut hab tots bowt enebodi but her onnir."

cindi studied those words carefully because nothing quite like them had ever appeared on her screen before.

"ohhhhhhh, cindi hab no ideuh hoo dat man. cood onnir or cood nut. He nut hab identiti, no fays. She nut no hoo he, jus wut he did wif cindi."

(something like that, it would be a long haul to find the exact words, but that's the gist of it)

The next time I was asked to share my thoughts about a similar sort of thing I reminded him that last time cindi had been corrected.

"tel mr d"

Cindi did tell and no such correction was again uttered.

Now, fast forward to last night. A doll and I were having a very intimate conversation sharing all sorts of intimacies, as dolls tend to do when they get going. It put me in a dolli frame of mind. It reminded me of how utterly divine it is to be the doll in all her glory; immersed in her happy and slutty, her obedient and completely willing state of mind. I absolutely adored this state of mind. I glowed as the doll. When nothing but 'cindi' this woman who writes to you now in  the English language (needing to correct every second word because she feels the doll within her and really cares not to express herself in English) was the happiest and the most gloriously complete  she has ever been.

It was very late. I had a shower, went to bed and straight to sleep. Sometime thereafter I dreamed. Whatever I dreamed I cannot say, but something happened. My sleeping psyche had merged with the psyche of the doll and some entity was with me, kissing me all over and demanding of me what he wanted. Whatever he wanted was what cindi wanted and it seems he wanted to enter her ass. I semi woke, realizing that I had brought my knees up under me and was making myself available for him. I wanted very much to feel him enter me and I was disappointed when I realized it was just a dream.

However, I wasn't unhappy. For a few fleeting moments I had reached the cindi state of being and I welcomed her like the old and dear friend that she is; the very deepest, darkest,  lightest and best part of me.

 Who was he? I do not know. I only know that cindi wishes to please.

She 
only
wishes
to
please.

Masochistic drive

Last night I had an impulse to go to Fetlife and see what was happening there. I have had an account there for a few years but I very rarely use it. I think it is all part of my introverted nature to feel a bit lost in big situations and I can't seem to navigate my way around Fetlife or chat rooms. I'm definitely more of a one-on-one person and so far it hasn't provided a one-on-one experience for me where I've got to know a particular person well in those scenarios. Maybe I'm doing something wrong but it is probably simply my introverted nature at work. However, I did go to Fetlife for a reason last night. I was feeling very restless and I think I just wanted to be with 'like' souls; someone/anyone who might know what that felt like.

I looked up the various groups and found what I hoped would be the right group - Sadists and Masochists - and then I looked for a thread that might have meaning to me on this particular night. One person had asked what others do when they feel restless for pain. I read those responses which at least gave me a clue as to why I was feeling the way I was feeling. I could not have expressed that I needed pain but that's the thread I read, so I think that says something.

Some of the respondents said that they gave themselves pain. Some of them cut themselves. One person said that he pulled his hair hard to settle himself. Other people said that it was important to go out and do something physical and they had put their energy into running. For many people they used the art of distraction to get over the hump of that feeling of need for pain.

It was easier for the Sadists because they were able to settle themselves sometimes by impacting into a pillow; bringing an implement down hard on a soft object. The sound of the impact and the feeling of the impact in their hand and/or arm gave them some release from that feeling of need to give pain.

I wonder if the strategy that my mentor used with me was about feeding my masochistic need. It wasn't 'sold' to me as a strategy for overcoming my masochistic need since it was more of a 'pleasurable' thing and a 'use' thing. But, perhaps anal plugs actually do overcome, in part, my masochistic needs.

The thing is that until last night when I happened to read that particular thread I would not have said that I had masochistic/pain needs. However, I think I was wrong about that. I think I very much do have a drive for masochism/pain and without that drive for masochism/pain being fed I can become extremely restless. One girl wrote that when the impetus for some pain hit her it felt like she was "climbing the walls" and I related very strongly to that feeling as I read her words. My evening had been exactly like that. I feel better educated. At least now I can put words to that particular feeling of mine.

The leader and the personal assistant

We had a book club meeting recently and since there were just four of us in town we decided to do it in style, meeting at a restaurant and having a long, leisurely lunch. Three of us shared a bottle of wine and the conversation flowed easily and rapidly across a vast terrain. Although I type a lot I actually don't talk a lot and especially not when with these girls. They love to talk and being the voyeur that I am, I like to listen until there's a gap and that's when I open up.

One of the women is a therapist; not a psychologist but a particular therapist offering a certain type of therapy to those people who need a new way of looking at their lives. Given that she's had a traumatic past herself  and has overcome that trauma to be happy I think she's in a good place to offer other people assistance now. I listen carefully for her little gems that she tends to drop into the conversation.

She said that when we choose a partner for life we tend to choose someone that will fill the void in us. This person usually can do something or be something or act in such a way as to give us abilities/characteristics that we don't as yet have.

I thought about that and I think this does apply to me. I met my husband at university and what I noticed about him right away was that, whilst he wasn't the life of the party or the court jester, he was much more extroverted than me; more adventurous and experimental.

I really needed a man like this. Although it may not have seemed that way to other people I was scared of my own shadow back then and unless someone launched me into life I was likely to lead a rather small life. It was my husband who taught me about farm life and how to deal with bulls charging at me and poisonous snakes who were coming at me; mice; discomfort; long hours of work.

It was my husband who took me overseas; who simply went round and round the Champs Elysee roundabout until he found the exit he next wanted to go. It was my husband who told me it would be all right. In the year we started going out I bought a poster to put on my college room wall and it was a photograph of a boy walking through a field all alone. The caption read

I don't know where I am going but I am on my way.

I've no idea now what exactly I was thinking when I was attracted enough to the poster to buy it but looking back it epitomized my new life with my future husband. I honestly had no idea where he was leading me but I was prepared to tag along.


Now, my friend also said that this thing about our spouse that completes us can go close to killing us. It is tremendously challenging in the long run to run up against that thing in ourselves that isn't all that comfortable and when our spouse has that thing in spades, that's deeply confronting.

What my husband has in spades is a desire for the novel; to test himself; to prove himself; to attempt to have a big score; to explore unknown territory; to hyper focus on an issue of interest; to protect; to demand; to insist; to have his own way; to procrastinate until he sees the whole picture; to want perfection above all else.

What comes naturally to me is to be careful; to be organized; to plan; to be vigilant; to look after; to nurture, to take baby steps towards a goal; to contemplate and consider; to focus on beauty and the aesthetic; to want momentum; to be safe.

As much as he completes me, he frustrates me and as much as I complete him, he finds me frustrating.

You might say...well, just as well there's a leader then...and perhaps this is so.

But, let's be clear that in relation to many things it is best that I lead and he knows this...best that I lead when organizing social and cultural events, best that I lead when organizing the lives of the children, best that I lead when maintaining a home or getting food into the house or getting us fed or determining what next to do in the renovation.

Now, this gets enormously tricky and huge wads of patience, understanding and quiet convincing are required. I want my way (to get things done) and he wants his way (to be left to do things at his own pace and in his own way even if that means they will never get done) and we have to find some middle road.

We also have to find the middle road between taking huge chances and thinking big (his tendency) and being careful and not risking too much (my tendency).

It's all a super duper delicate game of chess (which is unfortunate because I don't play chess and he does!)

I have heard this kind of relationship referred to as 'the electric energy' between a couple which means that they are likely to have the kind of relationship where they fight a lot and make up a lot and the fun is in the making up. Yes, it was like that for years and years until I discovered that one of my tendencies is to hate to fight and now I'm silent a lot more; wait out my time a lot more; stay vigilant for an opportunity to convince and cajole so that he may see through my lens from time to time. (Asking is good in theory and may work for many people but is not an adequate strategy in my case.)

It's the delicate argy-bargy required when a person like me discovers that she's the kind of gal that needs a leader but the leader needs a secretary.

Chat rooms

It's well known that some people 'play' on the Internet; have a go at dominating someone or submitting to someone and I gather that lots of this experimentation takes place in 'chat rooms'. I've no idea where one goes for these chat rooms and I've little interest in finding out. I guess it could be interesting to see what that's like and to experience different types of Dominants having a go at trying to impress me with their particular style of domination but I hold out very little hope of having a positive experience. When submissives write about this sort of thing they seems to nearly always come across some person who hasn't a clue what he is doing  and when dominants write about it they also seem to write about it as if it is some sort of game and they are putting our their 'lure'.

Well, personally I'm not a very easy fish to catch and I just can't imagine in a month of Sundays that I'd walk away from a chat room being enriched. I could be wrong, of course and I'd love to hear about other people's experiences.

I imagine in these 'chat rooms' wherever they may be, that dominants are big on 'Sir' and 'Master' and that wouldn't work for me. They're strangers. I've no idea to whom I am speaking and that sort of verbiage isn't something I'd be prepared to use. And, if they were to have expectations of me, well, that's definitely not going to work. Like any relationship I would need to go slow, to get to know someone before I'd even think of going any further than pleasantries. In my opinion, anything faster than that would seem false and even scary.

In fact, I've only ever found one person in whom I put my trust and my faith to allow for a 'transformation' and we were friends for eons before we went the route of him advising me. Oh, he advised me on an ad hoc casual basis before that but anything official and formal between us occurred long after we 'met'.

When I look back on that association it assumed enormously deep trust that isn't made in a day, a week or even a month, I don't think. It takes a lot of conversation and a lot of understanding of each other's needs before it gets to that sort of understanding of another person.

Having had a very positive 'over the Internet' experience I recognize that it is possible, albeit rare. It's an opportunity for someone new to all this to have a go and in certain circumstances it can go some way towards fulfilment, given complicated circumstances in one's 'real' life. However, it has to be said that one must keep their feet on the ground to avoid hurt. Internet friendships can vanish as fast as they appear and one has to keep that in perspective. As real as it can feel, it's tentative.

However, it's an interesting phenomena because I've met some wonderful people over the Internet and gained some lovely, long friendships and associations. It's quite extraordinary the range of kinky people that I've met through this journal; one of the huge benefits of writing here.

It takes enormous skill, time and commitment to honor an arrangement whereby one person agrees to assist/lead one person and the other person agrees to be assisted/lead, even over the Internet. Everybody has their own style and the difficult part is to match one person's style and beliefs with another. Frankly, without a sense of spirituality to the mentoring/leadership it seems a bit hollow to me and the huge attraction for me in the mentoring online was that it was about my mind, my senses, my inner core of being and the way I walked this Earth. It was an holistic approach and huge integrity both ways was central to the association. Now, how rare is that?!

It just may be that I'm well beyond someone telling me to do this or that every day unless I really saw the point. Dominance without very careful thought as to purpose is something that has no interest for me.

I think what I'm trying to say here is that any kind of dominance or submission for me has to do with creating a relationship of care and compassion. One person is looking to be cared for and to get to a certain place and one person believes that he or she can take them there, utilizing the skills of patience, understanding, commitment and determination.

I'm not at all sure that this sort of experience will ever be available to me again which makes me most grateful indeed that I had the opportunity to experience it at least once in my life.

Kinky characters

I am losing count of the number of times I have read Barthes' comment that "the author is dead"; that it is the reader that brings the text to life.

So, if one writes about a sadist, Dominant, Top and uses the vocabulary that he so often uses, either by design and intent or by way of his natural style, the reader with a kinky persuasion may take no offense; find nothing here to determine that the person is "unlikeable". He may be "challenging" or "difficult" or "frustrating". He may be "arousing" or "sexy" or "attractive" but it is certainly not a given that he is "unlikeable". And, he is "believable". He exists, for heavens sake!

But, to the non-kinky reader, she wants to read on even though she doesn't like the characters and doesn't find them believable. Well, that's saying something, isn't it?! She doesn't believe. She doesn't believe that such people exist; that such people say such things to each other and what's more she doesn't like them; at least not on this reading and knowing only this much about them.

Is there no way that a writer can write kinky-minded characters for non-kinky people?? This is my dilemma. Do I make them more polite, more attuned to the opportunities of Feminism; more accepting of society's political correct values; less "stereotypical" for the educated and presumably vanilla reader or do I put them out there to be judged as unlikeable; unbelievable? Even if I should reveal them for the complex, and very real and believable people that they are, is it too much for the vanilla mind to handle? Am I trying to do the impossible? I wrestle with these thought more than ever because you know me. I want what I want but I also want to please.

Resilience

I think one of the issues that I return to over and over again in my writing is this notion that a woman (or man) can have a submissive nature, however that doesn't mean that she doesn't need to be strong. There is just overwhelming evidence, in my opinion, that a woman will need, at least once in her life to go through a situation where she will have to dig deep to find inner resources to pull her through.

Rich (an Internet friend) once said to me that the Dominant is really an illusion; that it is really just magic. A man can't necessarily protect a woman in every situation. He's right. Life throws up issues and no matter what one's nature, they have to be dealt with.

I've made no secret that I haven't always been as strong as I am now. I know what it is to experience post-natal depression and a depression a year or more ago now had me seeking out psychological expertise; something that I never expected to happen. Frankly, that took all my courage, but in my case there was an alarm bell that dinged within me; that told me that I couldn't cope any more on my own.

I sometimes wonder if, in fact, everything does have a reason and everything does have a rhyme because the inner strength that is now being called upon wouldn't be there to call upon if I hadn't been trained psychologically to cope. The condition that my husband is experiencing has no easy answers and I anticipate that we are going to be going through a low period for quite some time. There's no official name as yet, that I have been told, but I feel confident in saying that it is within the range of chronic fatigue. He's slowed right down and in the main, we're dealing with only the very basics of life; very few actual goals at this stage of the game.

I think we all understand things when we are ready to understand things and you can't necessarily push a person along. I think part of this relates to the brain protecting the psyche. The brain advises the psyche what it is best not to know.

Make no mistake. This is a physical condition. However, I see a pattern. I see that my husband rotates from high functionality (sometimes bordering on mania; a 'high' where he has supreme confidence and positive thoughts that can leave me worrying that he is not seeing things clearly) to periods of time where he doesn't seem at all himself; isn't particularly productive and seems uncertain. Sometimes, there are periods in between where he seems to be coasting; life seems completely under control and he seems neither high nor low. Without a doubt, those 'coasting' times have been the happiest for me. If one thinks of life as a canvass, then this is the background of our lives together; his state of  mind; moods; functionality. Much of the colour that will be painted onto the canvass is determined by that.

What I tried to do was to paint the colors of a power exchange onto the canvass and this provides abundant color and interest; gave the canvass some order and allowed me to let go of worldly concerns in tall order. The exploration of a power exchange opened my mind to spirituality, to getting control of my own emotions; giving me all sorts of skills like tolerance, patience, understanding, control of myself; relinquishing control; feeling happy. It has been wonderful for me, and him.

Yet, I know deep within myself that what we are experiencing is a breakdown of the psyche; the brain and the body have talked to the psyche and insisted that he slow down; that he take a break from the anxiety and a restless state of mind and just recover. Recovery is going to take time because he has abused the body and the brain and they aren't at all happy about it. They have closed down on him and demanded he rest.

Unlike my situation where I asked to go to see a psychologist when I knew I needed help, this is not an option in this particular case and it never will be. My husband rejects all notions that his condition relates to the psyche/brain and considers this a completely physical manifestation. What value could a psychologist be to a physical condition? Perhaps he is right. What is certain is that he will only ever do what he believes is right. I must (and do, with reluctance) accept that.

It helps a lot for him to talk; to talk to me. We spend quite a bit of time in coffee shops. He takes his medical material to read and I take my course work to read and when he wants to talk I put down my reading and listen.

I read that in these cases sometimes the significant other (that would be me) needs to also take a break from life; to simply take time off from his or her life to deal with the recuperation. Certainly, I am struggling with my course workload now  and I won't take on this amount of work again. One subject at a time for me from now on. If I can just get through the next 7 weeks...

This just happens to have befallen us at a time when I have a full household. Not only do three children live at home but there is often my daughter's boyfriend living here and when he is here, the television is usually on. I am writing in the blissful state of the early morning and all I hear is my nails tapping.

However, this is a rarity. I live, these days, amongst noise; amongst the need to provide copious amounts of food; copious amounts of clean laundry. They are blissfully ignorant of my dilemma; of my having the sense at times that I am slowly going mad. I occasionally talk to my eldest son but not too much.. He travels the world constantly and when he comes over, it is such a lovely rare treat that we just hang out and chat. He talks to his Dad quietly and gives him his full attention. He knows things aren't quite right but they no doubt seem under control  from the outside looking in. We're still here. I'm still cooking big family meals. The house still looks orderly and the kids are happily living out their lives.

What I'm trying to say is that I'm still a submissive woman and always have been. He's still a dominant male. But, people have issues and when that happens no body or brain stops to ask - well, are you dominant? Then, you are excused from anxiety; excused from having to take care of your body; excused from any and all conditions. None of us is excused.

I've located a place to meditate twice a week. The people sounded so sweet when I inquired asking me to contact them if there was anything else they could do. I just pay a few dollars to come and join their group when it suits me and that sounds just fine. I'm strong and I'll get by, make no mistake about that, but a little bit of help goes a long way.