The objekt state

After a hectic morning taking care of others, I needed  the sanctity of a Pilates class; just me and the mat. We began standing up moving our arms from side to side and as I watched my hands I was aware of my newly 'rebalanced' claws. I haven't cut them in quite a while and Peter used special creme on them this time instead of varnish. I loved the result and this morning I was very aware of my claws - dolly nails; nails that encouraged me into an objekt sort of space in my mind.

I was calm and relatively tranquil; trying to give my mind the opportunity to go where it would. I am so often looking for that it space, but it is not so easily found at the moment. I do what I have been trained to do and I love that I have no resistance to any of this - the nails, the bimbo switch; the anal training. It's all a part of my life now and I give thanks for that every day.

Yet, the feeling is there, more and more each day really; that desire for intense control; the opportunity to feel just like an objekt - peaceful, controlled. Somebody else makes the decisions and I comply. He says do this, and I obey, because I am a doll and dollies know no other way. Dollies want  no other way. This thought pervades my thinking and I relish it; play with it; relax with it and embrace it.

The Pilates mat is where I have sometimes experienced this objekt frame of mind, so I remained open to it; not forcing anything; hopeful...

And, it happened. I was in a crunch on my back and pulling up into a position with my legs up in the air when it simply came over me. I was a puppet and the puppeteer was pulling my strings. I only could move when he chose to pull the strings and up I came. Down I went, when he was ready for me to do so.

From then on, for a blessed ten or more minutes, every move I made, I waited first for the puppeteer to move my strings. There was a breath while I waited and I was moved. This was an incredibly beautiful time for me; a time of great peace and contentment. The connection between the invisible puppeteer and me was rhythmic. Not only did he control the movements of my body but my breathing and my mind. This was a place of total harmony. No resistance lives here; no desire to do anything that has not been instructed. The trust is infinite. The desire to please is innate. The understanding that this is my purpose is complete.

Of course, when it came time for relaxation and I lay like a corpse on my mat with my eyes closed this state of bliss and peace brought tears to my eyes; tears that welled behind my closed eyes and when I was instructed to sit up I needed to brush away the tears that fell quickly so that no-one could see. Far from tears of unhappiness they were tears of great joy. I felt truly blessed.

Leadership traits

Some correspondence with a reader recently highlighted for me what is, of course, self-evident; that in the same way that my nature is submissive, his is dominant. In other words, he is a natural leader.

My youngest son recently undertook career-style testing. He had to do a test that lasted over three hours and when the report came back with the results it was astoundingly comprehensive. As we already knew, he has very strong skills in the creative sphere and possible careers were film producer or multi-media producer; that sort of thing. What surprised me slightly was that they inferred from the test results that he wasn't so much interested in leading as he was in being a strong team player.

When I thought about it, that's probably right. He does like things done in a particular way and he is a stickler for doing things very, very well; until he is satisfied with them. However, he isn't someone to insist on his own way when he has to consider other people. He's keen to listen to their point of view and to incorporate their ideas into the project, if he can. There are some things that he just does, regardless of what others think. He won't be without his special hat, and he's made various excuses to wear this hat at school. Remarkably,  no teacher has had issue with his point of view. I think when you are a very easy kid to teach you can get away with little things.

I'd like to think that he is Prefect material because he is fully involved in school life and boys do admire him on various levels and he would be a very good role model. I think he wants that, although he hasn't said so. Certainly, he has a reputation as a great public speaker, a good actor; that sort of thing. We'll see. However, I have to agree he doesn't jump out at me as a leader in an overt way. Yet...if I were caught in a storm I'd like to have his intelligence along for the trip. I think he'd stay calm headed and he'd sort out what to do. It's a tricky thing to explain this aptitude for leadership!

When I was at school I was very, very good. That's not news to long time readers. I've mentioned that trait before. I wasn't at the school for my middle years but I was back again in the last two years of school. I wasn't made a Prefect and my close friends felt this to be a travesty of justice. However, you see, I didn't want to be a Prefect. I didn't want to have to tell girls to tie up their shoes and put their hats on. I didn't seek power.  I just wanted to do my work and be involved in the activities that engaged me - like public speaking and writing. At no point have I wanted to lead and I wasn't at all bothered to not be a Prefect.

Here's a good example: My oldest son often got ear infections as a young boy. He has a very high pain threshold and I had to use my instincts to know if he had another ear infection or not because I couldn't rely on him telling me about the pain. So, on this day I said, "Well, do you think you should go to school or not? I am not sure..." and he responded, "You're the mother! What do you think?" Oh, yeah. It was up to me to make the decision. Duh!

Now, I can say without qualification that my eldest son was always meant to lead. At the age of three his pre-school teachers told me that he stood out as the leader and in his final year of school he was Captain of this and Captain of that. His friendship group called him "Daddy" and once he got into the workforce he quickly became a leader.

One of his very dearest friends now told me that he used to think him an "asshole" when he first knew him in their corporate life because he would just listen to people at work. Since he'd say nothing they'd keep on blathering, feeling that they had to impress him. People, including this current friend were a bit intimidated by him. When I mentioned this to my son, he said that, yes, he gave people the opportunity to speak and when they were finished, he gave them his opinion, which, yes, tended to be the final word. It wasn't a ploy; merely his way of operating at work. Needless to say, he has worked his way up the rungs of the ladder, ideally suited to leadership. It's nothing I've done. It's the way he came out.

My daughter came out feisty; terribly creative and strong willed with a very soft side. Her career is off and running now and she's incorporated her creative strengths with her ability to lead. I think in her relationship she's capable of being under her boyfriend's wing. Certainly, she's adjusted to him and when he said that she was welcome to be in a bad mood but not welcome to change his mood from a good one to a bad one, she changed. To her credit, she worked very hard on that.

My middle son is a do-er. He's got very, very strong interests and he goes ahead and involves himself in those. He's not at all interested in leadership at this point and he never really was. He's his own man, doing his own thing; not particularly worried what others are doing, unless they screw up what he is doing. I don't mean to say that he is easily led, because he absolutely is not. He's just not that phased about what other people think. I remember in grade 8 his English teacher asked him to represent the class in the year level public speaking competition but he declined; not interested in fame. Yet, in his own interests, he is very competitive. Remember Richard Burton? "I go my own way." That's my middle son.

I haven't even gone close to talking about the different styles of leadership. Some people demand that others follow. Some people cajole other people. Some people seduce; impress others; entice them; listen to everyone and then make a decision...and so on.

I can see a snake oil salesman coming a mile away. I can pick out those who are laying it on and who think they are something special. I'm not easily impressed by this sort of thing. I don't care if they have loads of money or power. I talk to them in the same way I talk to anyone else. If people are nice to me, I'm nice to them. I don't have a desire to lead and that pretty much takes away my cares about all sorts of things; although I do listen to my husband and children if something is not right with someone and make my assessment as to how they best deal with them. But, that's not leadership, that's just reading people.

People are often talking about this nature/nurture debate but when it comes to leadership qualities I tend to think either you have it or you don't have it. It was decided at birth. And if you don't have it, not to worry. There's pleasure in being submissive; at least, there is for me!

Loss of ego

In  Jeffrey Eugenides' The Marriage Plot  there are two rivals for the affection of Madeleine - Leonard Bankhead, a brilliant scientist and Mitchell Grammaticus, a brilliant theology student who is searching for the meaning of life. They were both students at Brown University in Providence, Rhode Island. One night at a party they fall into conversation about religion. Bankhead initiated the discussion noting that they had both taken a religious course. It is important to understand that Leonard has suffered mental illness and been institutionalized towards the end of college, having stopped taking his lithium. Bankhead tells him of an experience he had on a beach in Europe.

"He was on a beach, he said, in the middle of the night. He was looking up into the starry sky when suddenly he had the feeling that he could lift off into space, if he wanted to...It wasn't at all like a hallucination," Bankhead said. "I need to stress that. It felt like the most lucid moment of my life."

"Bankhead wanted Mitchell's opinion of what had happened. "Was it O.K. to think of the experience as religious, since it felt that way, or was it invalidated by the fact  that he was technically insane at the time? And if it was invalid, why did it bewitch him?"

"Mitchell had answered that as far as he understood them, mystical experiences were significant only to the extent that they changed  a person's conception of reality, and if that changed conception led to a change of behavior and action, a loss of ego."

There are moments when I might ask a similar question. Within the dolly state I let go my free will. I accept commands and obey. I give my trust and in return I am protected. I can fly high. I experience the world in a new way and the experience is light, translucent, joyous. This is an ego-less state; a time of purity and sanctity.

This morning I thought as well about the giving of pain. If one puts aside the element of masochism and sadism and focuses on the giving and receiving of pain as a symbol of trust and an opportunity to fly into a ego-less state, there is something religious, something surreal about this state.

I've flown in both experiences and in both experiences I've been flooded with feelings of love and appreciation for the opportunity to levitate above this earth for periods of time. Each time I've been humbled to have had the opportunity for grace.

Brain lost

Desire to immerse myself in the mindset of the slutty, nut 2 smert, mindless, dumdum l'il bimbo has absolutely no relation to my ability to run my own life. In fact, the more capable I feel in the big, wide world, the more I long to be taken to that fucktoy, in-need-of-control space.

I can be going along, minding my own business, ripping through the to-do list and a host of chores when it comes over me like a wave. It goes like this...

One minute: God, this day is going well. Look at all that I have achieved so far. I am on a roll. Just about all my ducks are in a row.

Next minute: So, who cares anyway. It is mildly pleasing, but is this all there is? It's not giving me the satisfaction in life I crave. What I really desire is to feel little, helpless and unable to move without somebody giving me a direction. I want to feel the containment and I want to feel my body on fire too. Achievement is nice but it's not thrilling.

Of course, I am intimately aware of the fact that the more time I spend in that space, the more the bimbo switch is on, the more submissive I feel, the more desire I have to retreat into that mindless, ultra turned on space. My relationship with my body is very different here and my mind/body connection is very connected here. I'm a dumdum fucktoy and nothing feels as good as that.

For a girl who likes to use her brain, I am here to say that nothing ever feels as good as the days when I lose my brain. Oh dear! Where did it go?

Leadership skills

I have been thinking about 'dominance' and in fact, it is just another word for 'leadership'. I've been reading about leadership and it is broken down to five key components.

- self management
- leading others
- task management
- innovation
- social responsibility.

There is far too much material within those five categories to deal with all categories so I want to focus on self-management.  Within self-management, there are issues of self control, stress tolerance, personal resiliency, work life balance and adaptability.

Leaders need to have knowledge of human behavior, to be comfortable interacting and working with others, to seek out ways to assist people in their duties and they must be able to nurture relationships, building positive and co-operative working relationships with others and maintaining relationships over time.

I have never thought of myself as a leader mainly because I am not motivated to want to be a leader.  I don't have a strong desire to lead others but if I were placed in that situation I think I could do it, with proper training. I'd like to attend one of those 'leadership conferences' and get all the material I'd need to lead well, and then I'd simply apply it. I would not be entirely comfortable. The mere thought of having to reprimand someone makes me feel very uncomfortable but if I had to acquire these skills I think I could.

In terms of self-management, well that's what I have been learning and focusing on since the day I began this web journal. I've been working on self control and stress tolerance and personal resiliency as well as adaptability, and I've continued to try to get the work life balance correct in my life. Without blowing my own trumpet too loudly I'd say I'd made pretty huge gains on that front, and how interesting it is that both a leader and a subordinate (submissive) require those skills in spades.

There are issues associated with acquiring those skills, however. I have learned not to argue back, not to cause any rumpus, and to absorb upset. I have developed my own ways of settling myself and dealing with any distress. I'm so good at this that someone who is leading me may get entirely the wrong impression - that I am satisfied and settled within myself.

This reverts back to the fact that it is vital in a power exchange for there to be free-flowing communication back and forth. A submissive or subordinate needs to feel free to respectfully explain an issue. When the leader makes an error or fails to exhibit self-control I see it as important that this is acknowledged. It encourages a good rapport between the two of them and makes the subordinate feel respected and safe under that leadership. No-one is comfortable under tyranny and those leaders who don't acknowledge their errors and who don't invite rational, free-flowing discussion using modulated voices are at risk of closing subordinates (submissives) down. That's not a good thing for anyone because without the support of subordinates, the leadership is in peril.

Leadership takes a lot of work and amongst all the skills that need to be learned and attended to over time, none is more important I think than having self-awareness and self-insight. If your emotions are often out of your control, then you need to go back to basics and develop self-control skills. I am here to tell you that it can be done with hard work. There is just no way that you can expect self control of your subordinate or submissive if you can't demonstrate to him or her that you have worked on these skills yourself.

Emotions

There's Irish blood and Welsh blood running through my veins and I credit it for my sense of humor and as well, for those days when I feel a bit brooding. It's definitely not unhappiness that I experience but rather I know that it's going to be a rather quiet sort of day; where I take a little time to be by myself and to just let my emotions settle into their rightful place, before I can offer my self to the world.

As I sit here, trying to do my very final piece of work in one academic subject (with mixed feelings about that too) my mind is wandering over numerous works of literature ranging from Soul Mountain to Angela's Ashes to Brooklyn and To Kill a Mockingbird. There's no requirement that I compare these novels but it does occur to me that within these novels there are plenty of examples of contained emotions.

I think my mind has focused in on this thought because I feel like my emotions are now contained. It seems to be what people want of me. I'm highly functional. I'm pleasant to be around. I'm upbeat and chirpy. I don't complain. I am polite and I give people what they want. I ask little of anyone. I have trained myself not to have expectations. I recognize that I can't control anyone. Although I recognize I may be able to influence them positively, I do no more than that.

If I am sad, or if I have a worry, I take myself away to deal with that emotion. I may meditate a while or do some little thing that I know will have a positive effect on that emotion. I may walk with the dogs, or listen to uplifting music to heal my troubled or restless thoughts.

I can't remember the last time I took a concern to another human being and asked for help; well not help exactly, but just worked on the basis that they'd listen to me. I might mention a little trouble to a female friend but always on the basis that I knew what I was doing. I had it under control; no big deal.

If I'm really desperate to be heard, one human being to another, I mention my concern to my mother but I have to be desperate. She's an old lady now really and my worries become her worries so it isn't fair for her to think that life for me is anything but one jolly big party.

I've come to recognize lately that we all need to be heard. We need to hear other people talk about their emotions, positive and negative. I think I come off as not having any worries because people bring their concerns to me but don't seem to think that I have any of my own. Which is true really, in a fashion. The children are all in good order and I am happy within myself. I have been remarkably happy lately.

Except, that I am troubled about this restraining of my emotions. It doesn't seem healthy. It doesn't seem to occur to my husband, for example, to wonder if there is anything happening below the surface. Can she really be so settled, so happy, so strong, resourceful and resilient all the time? Is that really her?

In the past few days I've been so missing my Dad. Prone to high emotion himself he was someone I could talk to and rely upon. The last time we talked was on the phone. By then, he was in a hospice and I rang him, desperately needing to hear his voice. He was in his own fantasy land. He was staying in a very nice hotel and the girls there were looking after him very well. I played along. Eventually, he told me he needed to go. One of the girls was there needing to do something. I told him I loved him and I said goodbye. I held onto the phone. I just knew I would never hear his voice again and I couldn't put down the receiver.

Then I heard his voice again, fainter this time.

"That was my daughter calling from America."

He had known it was me. Knowing that meant so much to me.

It is desperately sad for a daughter to lose her father, No-one ever loves you the way your Dad loves you. No one ever really wants to listens to your troubles ever again. It has been my experience that it pays to be stoic; to be strong; eternally happy around even those that love me.

At the completion of her novel Lee Harper writes,

"His (Atticus) hands were under my chin, pulling up the cover, rucking it around me."

"Most people are (real nice), Scout, when you finally see them."

He turned out the light and went into Jem's room. He would be there all night, and he would be there when Jem waked up in the morning."

When I think of my Dad I think of the flowers he would bring me when I was very ill in hospital. I think of him breaking into tears at the hospital to see me so unwell and I think of how quietly and calmly he went about calling the doctor when I told him the next morning after flying out to see my parents that I needed to go straight to the hospital because my condition had returned.

I remember him telling me, when he found me crying about a boy, that he was no good anyway and there were plenty of fish in the sea, and I remember him telling me one day that he wanted to buy me a dress and going and choosing a dress with him. Mostly, I remember that he was there for me and that he loved me very deeply.

There are days when I wonder how I came to be the age I am and how it came to be that I needed to be so strong that my tears are not for anyone else to see.

Restraint and service

There is a lot happening when I sleep. Rare is the night when I sleep like a baby, blissfully unaware of my self; awakening from a state of nothingness. I absolutely love it when it happens, usually when  I am desperate for an eight hour sleep, but on a day by day basis it is not meant to be.

The night before last my husband tied my wrists together and my ankles as well. I loved every moment of it but I suspect the minutes I was fast asleep and unaware of the ropes were few. I tossed and turned looking for the best position, eventually deciding that lying on my back was the way to go. By early morning I was conscious of the fact that my hands were in the prayer position, palms face to face, and the soles of my feet were also together with my knees spread. I was aware of thinking how marvellous I thought this new position; a sort of meditative position on one's back. I could feel my sexuality simmering away; like I was a slow cooker.

At times like this, my mind turns to chastity belts. I imagine what it must be like to be told one cannot touch oneself, or to be shown that one has no hope of touching oneself by being put into a chastity belt. In my thoughts I can take this several steps further by imagining that I'm under the control of people whose business it is to train me to accept these constraints on my liberty. Constraining my sexual liberties in reality is something I can't really come to terms with but in the night I often go to the thought; almost as if it were the last frontier for me; the constraint that  I must endure because I can't endure it.

My sexuality was given free reign later that same morning although my liberty was still in question: holes filled and gagged, eyes covered, hands tied to bed posts. That evening, I constrained myself in my usual way expecting that the plug would co-operate and leave me to sleep. But, it was not to be. My mind was too active, not with worry but with being taken and used in various ways; with men (and women, what's more) wanting to use paddles and canes on my rump. I squeezed and squeezed in the hope of settling the situation down, but in vain.

Eventually, and it's not a thing I do lightly because I like to imagine that I am in a chastity belt and have no choice over the matter at all, I woke myself up properly and went and removed the object causing me the sleeplessness. Almost immediately I think, I went into a deep sleep, waking only when  I heard the garage door open downstairs and registering that my daughter was leaving for school.

This notion in my mind of constraint and use sit side by side one another. I like the idea that I must show patience and forbearance and I like the idea that I am a waiting object. When the use takes place I like the idea that I am object designed for use and hungry for use.

Along with the interplay of restraint and use is the interplay of a mind filled with the desire for use (but the inability to do anything about it) and the mind that is emptied of all matters but sensations when use takes place. Whether I'm locked away in one fashion or another or abundantly used, it's all service (for me!). Shhhhhhhh.

Intuition

Today's school work focuses on writerly identity in part and one of the questions I am using to get into that concept is 'What is happening when you are at your best?'

Well, that's a fascinating question, I think and I had to pause and contemplate before I could even begin to answer it. These are very initial thoughts. It really is a very deep question.

When I am at my best I feel...translucent; I allow light but not certain images in. That is to say, I feel completely in my zone, at one. I have a strong feeling of well-being and that I am doing what I should be doing, in the place where I should be. There is lightness of being; an accord with the world and the sense that it is a wonderful place. I feel love in a very general sense and I'm happy both within and with myself. I'm functioning in a fluid way, not thinking too deeply or worrying too much. I'm happy to be alive and sure of my place on this earth. I'm doing what I was meant to be doing.

As to the writerly identity, well, I wrote a piece a few weeks ago in just the state as I described above and it had a different feel about it to other pieces of writing in that particular subject. In turn, I got very different responses to it. I'd touched something within the reader and they had responded in kind. I think this is what we call authenticity. We are writing from within us; we have touched the mainspring of ourselves and out flows something very authentic.

Is that sort of writing Australian, the writing of someone who is Australian but has lived many years in the United States, the writing of a woman with a submissive nature; the writing of a mother, of a content person? Or, is it something far more personal; the writing of my soul, the place that even I can't tap into on most days?

As a writer I must trust my intuition. As a woman with a strong desire to live according to my nature, trusting my intuition is also imperative.

Paddles

My husband very sweetly suggested this Saturday morning that we do something fun together today. We weighed up the options and decided to head for a country town where I know there are lots of good restaurants and fun galleries to wander through.

I love these little sojourns where we can be on our own. Over lunch the conversation got around to kinky sorts of subjects. I had just received a parcel with an object called The Ass Master and we chatted about the possibilities of that amongst other naughty topics. There was lots of giggling on my part and lots of insinuations on his part as to what could be my fate.

From there, we visited a lovely, rather chic gift and home store. I spotted two lovely living chairs that I'd love but my husband wasn't interested in paying the exorbitant price on the tags. Fair enough. Wandering further around the store I saw a pair of butter paddles. The thick set of wooden paddles were in immaculate order and call me nuts but I pointed them out to him, not the other way around.

"Look at these paddles. Aren't they interesting!"

"They were used to make butter balls."

"Oh, I made butter balls for my Gran when I was just a little girl."

I wait for the penny to drop...

"But, you know, cindi, they could have another purpose."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, I think we'll get these."

So, mission accomplished, my husband took them to the counter to pay for them. In attendance were two women, slightly older than us, full of chat and as it turns out, innuendo.

"Ah, so you've chosen the butter paddles. That's interesting you want those. You know we have people coming into the store telling us horrendous stories about these butter paddles from their childhood."

"Oh really?"

"Yes, it seems they hurt like hell. You know, we sell a lot of wooden spoons..."

"Do you?"

My husband felt it best to distract them with talk of corsets, another of the objects they sold and how he used to lace up his grandmother as a young boy."

"Oh yes. I think the women back then made the young children do that, in a perverted way."

It was getting weird. No matter what we did the conversation returned to them calling us for who (what) we were. I bowed out, choosing to wander around the store and pretend I was unaware of their game.

So, all paid, one of the women passed the bag to my husband.

"Well, it's off to the dairy with you and enjoy your instrument of discipline."

 Cheeky.

Doll returns

Perhaps the more people we know, the richer the life. It's possible. I'm open to the idea that every interaction can have value and meaning, however fleeting. However, I wonder, if you look at your lives closely, you might discover that there are only a handful of relationships that mean everything to you.

Even in those relationships and my guess is that you have a deeply caring and sharing relationship with those people, you need to tread relatively carefully. If you want to try to persuade and convince, to teach and instruct, to influence in positive ways, you need to be a skillful navigator of the human psyche. Come towards that person in the wrong light or using inappropriate words and the best of intentions go up in a cloud of smoke as they become defensive and close down.

It strikes me that the greatest asset at our disposal is our own self-control; the ability to pause and reflect before choosing words; to come at any matter with intention in order to effect a positive result.

I don't divide people into 'dominant' and 'submissive' when I speak of self-control because on both sides of the ledger, we need abundant self-control as well as to begin with the end in mind.

One of the goals of exploring the power exchange relationship was to improve my own self-control and I had that goal for various reasons, but all roads led to the fact that I wanted to have a positive influence on other people, but I didn't have all the tricks of the trade. I needed to learn to control my temper, anxiety and emotions , to pause and reflect when I didn't get the responses I was wanting and expecting, mainly because I let my temper get in the way.

Capturing and containing the doll is an effective way for me to be held in a small space where my responses are limited and expectations very clear. The doll has rules that make it almost impossible for her to break away from her place, not that she would want to do that anyway; just saying.

Cultural theories I may have studied, 'reading against the text' I may have done but absolutely nothing sustains me more than expressing that mindset and honing deep into the psyche of a happy, slutty fucktoy. Of course, it's not just that she (it?) may emerge and run free that creates the sense of enormous well being and happiness, but that there is interchange. Nothing is more doll enhancing than running up against control, expectations, appreciation and enjoyment of the object-state.

If you had the ability to observe my spirits soar,  my mind and body relax, the softness of being that is appreciated by all who interact with me when the doll has come out to play, you'd be completely convinced, Feminist, cultural theorist, academic and/or  naysayer of role play and BDSM that this is a very good thing.

Abandonment, again

When my youngest son came home from school I suggested we watch Good Will Hunting together. He'd been asked to be Will in a drama scene recently and was really curious about the character and the film. I had bought it years ago and so down we sat to watch this fabulous movie.

In my previous post, Rollymo mentioned abandonment in his comment and it is a theme that I play around with a bit because I know that I'm inclined to feel abandoned at times. Possibly, that's my dramatic nature at work.

Of course, Will suffers from fear of abandonment, He's an orphan and his foster father was a mean, cruel and violent man. Sean Macguire (Robin Williams) who plays his therapist may not be as brilliant as Will but he knows how to get around Will and we learn through him that Will rejects people before they reject him. He fears more abandonment in his life.

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"I know."

"It's not your fault."

"Don't fuck with me Sean, not you."

(as Sean walks, inch by inch, closer and closer to Will)

"It's not your fault."

And, Will, hearing these words and finally registering them, collapses into his arms and sobs.

(I've not lost sight of the fact Rollymo, that when I felt abandoned you said exactly those words to me!)

Sean teaches Will to trust him and he teaches Will to trust himself. He needs to do what is right for him. Chuckie, his best friend,  (Ben Afflick) gives him permission to get on with his life when he tells him to go and live the life he was meant to live, "for me". They'd all give their right arm to have Will's mind and it would be insulting them if he didn't go and do that, he says.

Of course, what Will needs more than anything is love and we're completely satisfied when we learn that he had to go "see about a girl".  We feel certain that Skylar (Minnie Driver) is able to give him the unconditional love he needs to thrive.

At the final session with Sean, Will hugs Sean and says "Thank you" and Sean replies, "Thank you". They have healed one another.  The circle is closed. We, as an audience are deeply satisfied on every level; an absolutely brilliant script there.

The issue of abandonment is not really my issue but our issue. We all, at various stages of life, can feel abandoned. and it can make us closed to potential opportunities. Perhaps it is best, we think, if we walk away first to avoid the pain of being abandoned, or we just don't make the connection in the first place and thus we can be assured of not being rejected or abandoned again.  It's scary, I know this, but we must forge connections. It is what human beings are designed to do.

I'm not entirely sure that we have endless opportunities to connect with other people.  Real connections are relatively rare but when they do occur they must be nurtured; one can afford to take the risk of pushing forward and getting closer because nothing sustains the spirit quite like recognition of human frailty and efforts made to reach out. 

Service

A few weeks back I was making dinner. I think I was waiting for the vegetables to finish roasting, or some such process as that and I decided to turn on the television and see if I could find something interesting for a few minutes. My attention was immediately grabbed by a old nun. I had entered the documentary at the moment they were explaining that this nun was once a famous Hollywood actress. She was a gorgeously feminine and refined young woman and there was footage of her with her beau; a man who was engaged to her and very, very much in love with her, as she was with him. They looked stunning together.

Shortly before their wedding he noticed a change in her demeanor and asked her what was wrong. It was at that point that she revealed that she couldn't let go of the idea in her head to join a group of nuns; that whilst she loved him she felt a burning need to serve God.

He was devastated and for a time they were estranged. However, they returned to one another. To this day, I think some forty years or more later, she is still a nun; in fact, she is the head nun (sorry, I'm sure I am using inaccurate words) and he still visits her regularly. He never married and he never found another woman to love the way he loved her, and so he returns to her on a regular basis to visit.

I happened to have been viewing towards the end of the documentary and I saw them embrace and say goodbye to one another on this particular day. He walked away from her as he must have done endless times before and for a brief moment sadness was registered on her face, but then she seemed to go inward again, cross herself and turn towards the big cross on the table in front of her;  to her service towards God. Her equilibrium was restored. She was serene.

A few minutes before this scene, a young nun came to see her to explain that she was still having moments of struggle. The struggle was apparent in the words she chose and in her evident sense of agitation. The old Nun assured her that all was in order; that she had made so much progress. She was doing well.

It all moved me deeply. These people deeply touched my soul.

Spanked for procrastination

The day started out well. The youngest lad walked off to school happily and I made for the gym and had a good workout. I didn't stop for tea because the plan was to go straight home to read my lecture and do my work. All good, so far.

I got home and made my owner and myself a poached egg on toast; had a little chat about various points of interest and then sat down to do my work. Simple. On track.

This is the danger moment. Perhaps if I were just to check the gmail...Ah yes, a comment. Best reply to that; it's only polite.

Then, perhaps just a quick look at a pikki or two....Oh, that one's nice...and I could post it for all those deviants who come to my blog to look for smut. No harm in sharing...

So, I've done that now and it really is time that I went about my work, or something like what happened to this girl might happen to me. Wouldn't it be fun if Masters still spanked girls who procrastinate like in the good ole days...

Okay. Okay. I'm going to do my work.

Nearly spanked with a hairbrush

Last night, I had a dream about getting a spanking. This is a very rare event. Unlike Abel who has regular dreams about giving spankings, I don't, alas, dream about getting a spanking except on very rare nights.

I was living with another family. There was a dream before that dream where I was with a boy, a disabled boy who I think belonged to this family. I was very close to him and putting two and two together, somehow or other I was a part of their family. Maybe, they'd adopted me or maybe I was an exchange student. I really don't know.

Anyways, clearly I'd done something naughty and the father was not at all happy with me. I seemed to know that I was going to get a spanking. I was waiting in the living room area of their house and I felt a sense of expectation about it. Maybe, I should have had a sense of foreboding about it but I don't recall that; just a knowledge that at any time he could call me for my punishment. I was completely accepting although I had no idea what a spanking would be like. I am clear on that. I felt curious as much as I felt worried. I was fairly certain it was going to hurt quite a bit. I figured that if someone was going to punish you by putting you over their knee, they were going to make sure it was memorable and motivated a person to never do that thing again. But, I didn't know for sure.

He came into the room and he said to me, "Let's get this over with. Into my study."

I got up immediately and walked into the study. I was ready to do exactly as told but at that moment he remembered that he'd left the hair brush in another part of the house. I was disappointed that we couldn't get on with the discipline. I had this sense that punishment was a good thing because once I got what I deserved I'd be able to be forgiven and to move on with a clean slate. I distinctly remember wanting that spanking so that I could be punished and be done with the sense that I was "in trouble" and in the bad books.  There would be no pleading for leniency from me. I wanted that hiding.

And, then...the dream ended. I never did get my spanking. I never did get a chance for the father to tell me that I had been forgiven and that he expected me from now on to obey his rules and that he felt sure that I was a good girl who simply needed to be reminded that it was my place to do as I was told.

I am still awfully disappointed about it. I can't understand at all why my subconscious would derail me in this way and not allow me the correction I so sorely needed. And, it's not the first time I've been taken up to the moment of a good thrashing in my dreams only to be let off the hook by waking up. It's absolutely not fair!

You're submissive?!

I strongly encourage you to nurture your very old friendships. Knowing someone for decades is a lovely, lovely friendship to have in your life. Every week or perhaps a fortnight, my oldest friend and I go walking the dogs and after that we have a bite of lunch in the open air. All the while, we chat. We've been good friends for over fifty years now and in all those years we've never had a fight.

So we were walking back to our cars this week when I asked her what she was reading at the moment. She mentioned an autobiography she'd finished and then she mentioned that she read, for free, the first 90 pages of 50 Shades of Grey.

What a load of rubbish that was, she said. The writing was dreadful and there was this simple, naive character who was being led up the back lane by this older perverted man...

"Oh really?"

"Yes,  and when a dominatrix turned up well I said to myself, this is definitely not for me."

"A dominatrix?"

I was laughing now.

"Well, for God's sake, what sort of a stupid, young girl is going to get hooked up with a man wanting to do those things to her?"

Now I was laughing very hard.

"But, all jokes aside, Ves, it's not a good role model for young women to be reading this stuff..."

"But, it's not just young woman reading it, it's middle aged women."

"Well, I can't understand it at all. All this submissive bullshit..."

I thought about her on the way home, and again later in the day. She's an earthy girl. She lost her virginity earlier than me. She was more buxom and more comfortable around boys than I was as a girl. As a woman, she's been constant and reliable. She brought up her children with devotion and she's been a very steady wife, empathic towards her husband's moods and needs, if not a tad frustrated. But, who hasn't been frustrated at times?

She's been very willing to play the game; very happy to hang onto her husband's shirt tails and play her role in the marriage but it's very true that she has not been submissive to him. She's insisted at times on them doing things and she's got her way. As she says, she has influence over him and he does listen to her. I've seen him pat her tail. He's quite fond of doing that and she knows not to cross him. They've had a few real rows and the odd one has really upset her. She likes peace and constancy. I think she's had a happy life because she has a positive state of mind. She's short of confidence which keeps her life relatively unchallenged but she's come to enjoy that there are few challenges. She's not frustrated by that as I was for a time.

Our natures were set from very early ages. She challenged the authority of school mistresses and masters. I eventually pulled her aside and told her she needed to play the game, graduate and move on. She took that advice and she credits me for it often. She was a rough and tumble gal as a child, whilst I was the ballerina and pianist and book worm. We could not have been more different. Whilst she was out playing hockey I was alone with my thoughts, perverted even way back then, my constant fear being that my mind could be read.

If she knew me as I am she'd be pretty devastated, I think. How could Ves, that quiet but confident, studious and innocent girl want to be submissive?! She had the brains to be what she wanted to be, so why want to be submissive; to be told what to do; to be contained and controlled?!

I wouldn't know where to begin to explain my thinking, quite honestly, after 50 years... I imagine that all I could really say to her would be that in my moments of submission I've had some of the best experiences of my life. She would not understand that at all. I can only hope that it would not derail the longest and most enduring friendship of my life.

Cumpelled

The very good and kind folk at my university had no issue whatsoever with my idea to research and write a chapter of a novel regarding a couple in a power exchange relationship. I've loved doing that but at the same time it meant so much to me to get the characters and the essence of their relationship right that I have really labored over the tone. I really, really wanted to have my vanilla reader (and I am pretty confident she is that) be convinced that this was a loving relationship between two people with particular needs. Most importantly I wanted her to read them as two whole people who functioned best together. That is to say, they weren't two halves to make a whole. Granted, they had issues but we all have  issues. They were two people who functioned. They just functioned more beautifully, dynamically and passionately once they found one another. I'd submit it right now but I can't quite let my baby go...later today is soon enough.

I wrote in my explanation of my research that "I felt cumpelled..." and the computer immediately picked up my error. Oh yes! It is c o m p e l l e d, isn't it?! But, you see, I was deep within myself as I was writing, feeling closely connected to the deepest and darkest part of my soul; the most beautiful I think as well, and when I am there, correct spelling is the least of my concerns. Lucky, I guess, that I have a computer that insists that I spell like a gurl.

Spiritual sexuality

I'm at the tail end of a subject that is particularly scholarly and philosophical and I've had a wonderful time. I know it all sounds so dry - Marxism, Feminism, Existentialism, Post-colonial theory and so on - but I've thoroughly enjoyed it really. We studied Haiku poetry the week before last. I took my downloaded lecture with me to the soccer field on the Saturday afternoon so that I could watch my youngest son play soccer while I browsed at the notes and there were glorious moments of all being right with my world - a brisk winter afternoon with a good dose of sun, the delight of the young men battling it out for a win, the ideas presented in one of the reading materials of "spiritual moments". I even went so far as to write my own Haiku poem, not especially brilliant but it expressed a strong sense of belonging to the city that I don't feel on a day by day basis. It was me having one of my blessed days when I feel extraordinarily happy within myself.

When I got to write up my response to the unit I think my spirituality did shine through the post. I had been moved and I didn't shy away from writing about that. Late in the discussion I heard from a man who said he had been very inspired by my post and he wanted to discuss with me "the meaning of life". Oh my goodness, you could hardly hold my fingers back from the keys! In fact, you could not hold my fingers back from the keys and I wrote him back a reply that I hope sustained him.

It's this spirituality that really inspires me to write here on my best days. It must sound hocus pocus  to those coming here always hopeful to find something salacious and meaty but for me it's often not about that. It's an impossible mission to try to explain how my true nature, when revealed and given free rein opens doors for me to a very spiritual place where I feel like...a young girl running free through the summer fields with no shoes on...like a spirit that has no body to hold it back...like the essence of me is making contact with that being that created me for a specific purpose.

The feeling floods my mind with something, perhaps endorphins. I am not au fait with the technicalities. All I can say is that it is like a release of some sort of chemical and I feel whole when before I felt empty.

I have known all this for some time now but of course life can rob someone of the opportunity to experience it day by day. This consciousness isn't available to me every day. I suppose it is the difference between knowing something on a conscious level and feeling something on a spiritual level. It goes some way to explaining why I love churches,certain pieces of classical music, choirs and meditation. I am always hopeful for one of those cathartic experiences when I feel completely at home with myself; completely natural and fulfilled.

I write this down because these moments can be fleeting. Perhaps tomorrow I couldn't remember or explain what I can write down today. I feel sure that there is more than what we see; the real world. I know it. My sexuality is a door to the other side; to a feeling of great contentment and sustenance. It is why, no matter how old I grow, my sexuality will remain my strongest ally.

(P.S. I wrote this yesterday and I was right. I don't think I could have written it this morning. It's the reason why if you want to be a writer you must take a notebook wherever you go!)