It's time

It is said that all good things must come to an end. The time has come to stop writing in this web journal.

In the years I've been writing in this journal there have been ups and downs, of course, but there's not a moment I'd take back. I have absolutely no regrets. It is also said that it is better to have loved and lost than never to have loved at all and I have loved the experiences contained in these pages. I truly would not have missed it for the world and I remain forever grateful for the opportunities I have been given to know myself in this very special way.

I can't leave without saying a very special thank you to all the friends I have made along the way. I'd like to mention a few special people, if I may. David, my dear friend, thank you for always being there for me. cassie, Rich, Sir J, Rolly Mo, Anon, thank you all for your stimulating conversation and friendship. To my darling goodgirl, all my love.  We're friends for life. And last, but certainly not least, to the divine Mr D, thank you from the bottom of my heart. You're always welcome in my inbox and my Google chat box. I hope one day you will give me directions to that coffee shop of yours when I blow into town.

It's been exciting, joyous, uplifting; enriching. This web journal has enhanced my life in ways I never could have imagined. More than anything else it has been a great deal of fun.

Thank you for all your kindnesses and your interest.

My very best.

With love,
Vesta

Reflections, chronic fatigue

As this year starts to draw to a close, I'm aware of some turbulent thoughts and so I am going to take a few minutes here to be reflective about the past year.

On a personal level, it's been a year of achievement. I've finished five M.A. subjects, which I am pleased about. I can run further than I could at the beginning of the year and I've involved myself in more social activities. They are all positive accomplishments, I think.

In other ways, however, the year has been challenging. My husband's chronic fatigue condition has dominated the year and my opportunities to let 'cindi' out of the bag have been compromised in a number of ways.

I'm left to wonder what I am doing and where I am going. I am deeply conscious of the part of me that responds so beautifully to having a dominant and feeling that sense of strong connection and yet the opportunity for this forging of my submissiveness with a dominant force is ultimately compromised.

The love that my husband and I share seems to be unbreakable. There have been challenges for the marriage and yet neither of us has ever seriously thought of walking away. It's not just the children. It's this unbreakable union of ours; the unconditional love. We are in this together until death do us part.

On occasions I can see and feel him trying to be the man he once was to me. I know he wishes it were different. The will is there but the energy rarely is. We have little talks about how it might be, what changes we could make, what might work for him or what he might be able to manage, but the simple fact is that he has changed now. The condition only allows him so much focus and energy to draw on in a day. Whether this is permanent no-one can say.

Of course, I look up advice for the spouses of people with chronic fatigue for tips. Communication is the big piece of advice, to be patient and realistic and recognize they are doing the best they can. The other piece of advice is to not be too hard on yourself. They have lost a part of themselves but as the spouse you too have lost a part of your life.

I think what I've tried to do is hold onto that part of myself that gives me such a boost in life, that part of me that revels in submission, at the same time as I am dealing with profound loss. Of course, the two don't really go together. Deep down, I know that I am trying to chase the depressive thoughts away. I so wanted this time of our lives to be different.

On the weekend I spoke to him about how it all began for us: a spanking arrangement. I was telling him about my stats; that of all the posts I have ever written the most popular by far was the one called 'Spanking Memories'. I understand that many people would have googled those words and landed on my journal but even allowing for that there's huge interest in spanking and spanking arrangements out there. I asked him if he'd like to go back to that. I suggested a time when it might work because privacy is still very hard for us. The children come and go without notice. We would hardly ever have the house to ourselves at the same time of day and week.

He thought it a good idea; said that he felt it helped me to be spanked and I said that I thought it helped him to spank me. So far it hasn't happened. But, that's the goal for us; not a particularly grand or all encompassing goal but it's a 'something'; a 'something' that could make a big difference for both of us.

One of the aspects of myself that I don't like is that to me I can feel weak. Some people have to endure so much and here am I sorta breaking down when on the surface my life is going along all right. It's just that on the inside I feel so vulnerable and...liable to break. I feel...little, and wish that someone would pick me up and give me the most enormous bear hug. Well, I can't complain really, my youngest son gave me a lovely hug at the front door this morning and I noticed I held onto him perhaps a second longer than I should have. It's just a rather vulnerable day for Vesta.

So, enough of this self pity. I'm off to the market to see my Chinese fishmonger, my Vietnamese butcher, my Moroccan deli man. I adore my little weekly outing amongst all the nationalities of the world in the one location. I'll smile at them and they'll smile at me and all will be right with the world. 

Saying 'I love you'

In my emails this morning was a brief email from a correspondent of mine who simply wrote that it seemed like I was fading away. That message made me think. Yes, I have been quiet; reflective; contemplative. I have felt stymied as well. I have felt that any further writing here is like feeding a shark; a thief; a man who is waiting for me to put up another post to give him more material for his novel. It just feels...wrong; invasive; 'word/idea rape'.

Yet, I'm still the same person living out my life in much the same way; still very absorbed in the same thoughts; hopes; dreams. I went over to my email that is attached to my Tumblr account and there was a new follower. I noted that he was a man and that his Tumblr blog was filled with what you might expect of a virile man with a strong sexual drive; lots and lots of reblogged photos of very sexy looking naked women with big breasts and big bottoms. I scrolled through a few pages and that was pretty much it. I make no judgement. It's his account; his daydream time; his lust and desire that he chooses to document for his enjoyment and so long as he's hurting no one, that's all fine.

The little experience did, however, remind me once again that my foray into the land of power exchange, BDSM and Tumblr is different. I don't shy away from the fact that at times I have put up very graphic photos of people having sex. I've even reblogged photographs of people having sex whilst other men stood by waiting for their turn of the 'fucktoy' because I certainly have those thoughts in my mind. In a fucktoy state of mind I'm capable of having the dirtiest thoughts that match the mind of a virile man. However, for me there is so much more to my explorations than just sex or the mind of the fucktoy who rejects so little of the male state of mind.

In returning to the dashboard of my Tumblr account I came across various writings. I follow several people who offer spiritual and inspirational thoughts regularly. I reblogged a list of very big questions because in taking the time to think about an answer a great deal can be learned about your own mind. If you're interested in seeing the whole list click onto the 'Complete Cindi' link.

The question numbered 16 captured my attention particularly:

Excluding romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them. Who were they to you?

Regular readers will know that I have a friend who I refer to as a 'mentor' because I have no better word to describe our relationship. We've been friends for a good many years now and although he comes and goes in my life in rather rapid fashion these days, we've ridden through the good and the bad times together. We've remained friends in that sort of 'undying friends' way that you have with one or two people in your life.

My friend is a very dominant minded sort of man who likes to have control and to be in control whilst I am a very submissive minded sort of woman who likes to give up control and to get to a state where I feel I have no control. Our exchanges have been along this line as he's provided training and opportunity for me to experience this sort of exchange. It's only words. The Pacific Ocean is between us, however it's been very valuable and earnest. We take it very seriously.

We've become so intuitive within these exchanges that I feel sure that we both know when something is up. We can feel some sort of issue with one another and in our own way we attempt to deal with our upset feelings. Of course, our arrangement isn't perfect because of the dynamic we have agreed to and there are misunderstandings; little hurts and grievances along the way. Every now and then we come out of the dynamic for a very short time to air those grievances or to talk about an issue in our 'real' lives that may make it difficult or impossible for us to continue talking for the time being.  It's very rare but occasionally that happens.

My dear friend was explaining to me within the dynamic we share that things were not good for him at this time and I should not expect him to log on for a time. Of course, I wanted to understand why this was so because for the past month I had my worries about him which I had been unable to share and I didn't want him to walk away without some discussion about this.

I deemed it better that we come out of the dynamic and I asked permission to do so. As I said earlier, we take our agreement very, very seriously and he's the leader of our exchange. Very. much. so. He gave me permission and we discussed more openly what had led to this outcome. In a very grown up way, I thought, (and I hope he would agree) we reached mutual agreement that a 'time out' was best; that we remained "absent friends" and that when the time was right we would resume contact.

To explain my mindset I can only say that some friendships and associations are for life. I feel this very strongly. He has made mistakes with me and I have made mistakes with him but we have forgiven one another those mistakes. We recognize in one another a sense of goodness and we have a deep sense of trust and acceptance of one another. We are both good people.We both mean well. Neither one of us wants to say goodbye and so we never do (and mean it). We have made up a few times now and just moved on.

Anyway, we were winding up this final conversation for an indefinite period of time. I knew there were only seconds left and I had the strongest, strongest desire to type I love you. Hopefully, no reader would misinterpret this statement. We've never had a romantic notion towards one another and our exchanges don't bear that sentiment at all. Our exchanges are in fact quite formal in tone as pertains to our dynamic. I had the desire to type those words because I wanted him to know that I cared deeply; that I wished him well; that I accepted him for who he was regardless of actions that might have caused me hurt. Through it all, I loved him as a human being and as my friend.

I didn't type those words. Our dynamic has a number of rules and one of the rules is that we do not say such things to one another. The trust, the care, the acceptance and the endearment should already be known and felt.

Yet, in the weeks since then I have regretted that I held back. Why must it be that I can't express a sentiment that goes to the heart of our friendship? And, so I say it now, as one friend to another. I love you. Through good times and bad, you're my friend. Be well.

My journal

I'm so close to the end of the academic year that I can taste it. For the first time in nearly a year and a half I will have some spare time.What to do, what to do...

Well, first I'll play, for sure; do all the things that I have put on hold, meet up with friends, go Christmas shopping, start organizing a holiday for next year; boost up the exercise; see a play, read a book. There are limitless opportunities.

Then, with the long, hot summer ahead of me I imagine I might sit down to pursue a writing venture of my own. I've just read an article about a woman who was imprisoned for several years and whilst in prison she wrote 800,000 words in her journal. That journal became the source material for a one hour play about her journey. I've been quite fascinated at the process and  the collaboration with many others to term it into an art form.

Whilst finishing off a piece of work this afternoon I was reminded that I also have a journal of many hundreds of thousands of words that could also form the basis of a narrative. We all do, actually, my fellow bloggers and I.

One of my readers got in contact with me recently and told me that this web journal is forming the basis of the protagonist for his novel. Of course, this is the price we pay for having an online journal. The material is out there in the world for anyone to use as they wish. There really is no protection against this. He'd actually like me to fill in the dots because as he pointed out, I often spoke in mirrors, not quite spelling out what was real and what was fantasy, or what happened when and why. That, of course, was entirely intentional and my authorial prerogative.

I admit that the knowledge that this situation has eventuated leads me to reveal even less than I have done in the past. As I've said a thousand times before I'm a very private person and I'm not at all sure I want my thoughts interpreted. I am pretty darn sure that I want to be the person to play around with this material and mold it into a story. I've sat here this afternoon seriously wondering if it was time to pull the plug. Of course anything I've written is out there for good, but should I go on adding to this journal publicly? I am not sure.

I think that part of me is troubled by the fact that this material can be spun in so many directions; that what brought me much pleasure and happiness can be interpreted to be seen as anything but wise or meaningful; that there was and is a better way. Maybe so. I don't know all the angles of a power exchange. Perhaps there is a better dominant and a better way.

But, know this. I know what I feel. My instincts are very acute. I had the very best time. I learned things in the writing of this journal that gave me the thrills of a lifetime. There were moments, minutes, hours, days and weeks that filled me with enormous joy and satisfaction. I never imagined that I could be so happy; so filled with joie de vivre and excitement at a new way to live.

Every day of my life I am aroused by the erotic thoughts that play out in my head. My libido is high and my mind is on fire with the possibilities that will always be alive to me so long as I hold onto the doll inside me; that sweet l'il thing that lives to be fucked royally; to make others happy; to follow commands and to wallow in her own appetite; to always, always be hungry for the next meal.

To my husband I am 'cindi' and every time he uses that name I am reminded of the reality of my doll. She's very real to me; she's an aspect of my personality that sits just under the surface; always waiting and always ready to come out and play; to thrive in the presence of a dominant force that commands and demands that she rise up and revel in her own demise.

Nothing and no-one will ever convince me that it wasn't a good thing. Only I can make that judgement. Trust me. It has been the ride of my life.

Where has cindi gone?

Before I was introduced to 'cindi', the primal side of my personality, that part of me that revels in fun, submission, giving up control and slutty thoughts, I used to read the blog of a man who did a very similar thing with and for his wife. When with the family and friends, or out there in the big, wide world she was let's say, Helen, but when she was with him alone she was let's say, pammi. In this way he gave her an outlet to express that part of her personality that needed to remain hidden from the world at large but that was very much there.

In fact, they weren't into spanking or using implements at all. It just wasn't their thing. But, she knew that in her pammi state her role was to submit to his wishes and he gave her a wonderfully sexual time. It wasn't just in the bedroom. They had little rituals such as his calling her to say he was almost home and she would be there at the door to greet him in a certain way. She was always required to speak in a very respectful way with a respectful tone and she asked permission for things, which he readily granted because he wasn't a harsh husband or dominant. He was really into her relaxing and enjoying life; enjoying their time together, expressing her submissive self whilst he expressed his Dominant self. I'm not suggesting that they didn't have difficult times or that he was faultless. I know better than that. But, as a model, it seemed a good one to me.

So, when a friend who became a mentor suggested a similar model for me in the form of 'cindi', it wasn't a stretch for me. It seemed like a good idea and it was a good idea.

Of course, cindi isn't bright. In fact, she's decidedly not  smart. She's incredibly happy to take direction because she knows full well that she's not bright and being directed makes her feel much safer. She isn't at all unhappy about her dumdum state, just aware that she needs to be controlled and contained because that's the safe and the smart thing for dolls to be. Dollies need to know that there's someone who can tell them what to do. Sigh. cindi felt better just saying that.

Now, what if the girl couldn't get to the cindi state? What if that avenue of expression were taken away from her? What if Vesta had to submit not via cindi but via her own god given intelligence. What would that look like? Any ideas because I am not visualizing this too well. cindi wonders too when she can come out and play...

Spanking reaction

The exploration of my nature, my authentic self as some people like to call it, has been going on for a few years. I was reminded of that this morning as I responded to a comment left on a post written in 2009. Throughout that period, most of the time, it has been a rather intense situation. I've lived and breathed the exploration. There are few days when these thoughts haven't entered my consciousness.

I'm going through a patch where I'm trying not to focus on the exploration and yet, all paths lead back to here. The thoughts pervade my mind even when I will them not to exist. If one takes yesterday as an example, it was a very pleasant social day with friends and friends of friends: lovely wines, lovely food, a gorgeous sunny day in a very pleasant garden. The chit chat kept me busy and it was only on our way home that I realized that I hadn't had a kinky thought all day.

The thought that I'd managed to keep my mind busy - listening and talking - was quite pleasing. Perhaps I was becoming more like 'normal' people who could focus on real world matters pretty much all of the time.

Yet, here I am the next morning, up early to take a tablet so that my hay fever doesn't get too out of control, with my head swimming with thoughts relating to my submissive nature.

My husband and I have been happy. He took me away for a long weekend in the country last weekend and we had the opportunity to do what we wished. We'd rented a little cottage that was quite private and one evening he decided to spank me. He took off his belt after that and all in all, I was rather soundly thrashed. He told me that I'd not managed to follow his direction in relation to two matters and so there was a disciplinary component to the session; something that didn't bother me too much at the time really, if you take into account that the sex immediately thereafter was quite thrilling.

However, the next morning I felt very agitated and that was because (or I think it was because) he complained that there was an attitude in my tone, and there probably was, but at the time I thought he was being very pedantic about it.

In fact, I think I was experiencing (and in fact he pointed this out to me) 'sub drop' because it has been quite some time since we've played like that. My reaction to his chiding me was seriously overboard, but I couldn't do anything about it. I felt distressed.

I must say he handled it well; gave me a little time to settle myself down and then insisted that he was taking me out. As soon as the decision was made on my behalf I settled down and thereafter we had a very happy day. If it had been left to me, it would have been miserable because I wasn't capable of getting myself out of the stew I'd cooked. It's moment like this when someone telling me what to do is a thousand percent right.

I like to think that I can sort out my life and order my days; that I'm relatively focused and organized and forward thinking. In fact, this year has been lovely because I've pushed through that natural reserve and introversion to join groups and be with people more regularly and it's been...very nice indeed.

However, the fact remains that the expression of my submission nature soothes me and completes me. Sex, spanking, bondage, restraint - these things are very important to me. Being at one; feeling content with my husband - this matters a great deal to me. I'm still the same gal. I still sit at this lap top of mine and wallow in thoughts of lust; possession; obsession. I'm still on the adventure of my life.

Take care

With so much devastation in the aftermath of Sandy, it doesn't really feel right to focus on kinky things. True love and care for one another is what will get people through this trial.

And yet, this photo says so much. Look at the way that the girl on the left is caring for the one in the suit. And, imagine how freeing it is to have one's head emptied of worry and an overactive mind.

It's photographs like this that remind me that power exchange relationships at their best are about loving relationships.

Hang in there. There will be better days. We're thinking of you.

Internal thoughts

So, there I was at the Club having my freshly squeezed juice sitting amongst about eight other women. They were getting loud which is never a good sign for me. I like women very much but when they get  together it can be like a gaggle of geese and I can easily just switch them off and think my own thoughts instead.

I was aware of this happening and willed myself to partake in the conversation. Perhaps, if I listened closely to the conversation and tried to drown out the overall noise being created, it would be better. So, one girl had just come back from what sounded like a lovely cruise up around the coast of The Kimberleys. Good on her. She's going through a divorce and she needs a lift. One girl is the past Headmistress of a private girls' school and she was talking about decorative arts; some lecture series she attends.

They wanted to know if I was attending certain events this weekend and we talked about that for a while. There was some mention about a book that I am actually meant to be reading..how the pilates class had gone...

It was all fine except for the fact that today I felt so terribly disengaged from them and their chit chat. My head was swimming with submissive thoughts; going down dark lanes and highways of my mind; desirous of flirting with the unimaginable - long term chastity combined with arousal; bondage; discipline; challenge. I may have looked like a free bird but if they'd taken off the top of my head and rummaged about inside they would have seen that it was all lascivious thought; nothing to do with frocks or decorative arts;  nothing the least bit acceptable or proper for a woman of my age, stage or place.