Hope springs

Some of my friends have begun to move out of 'the family home' into town houses and apartments. Some of them are doing this because the children have moved out and some of them are doing that because their financial or marital status has altered. The 50s, it seems to me, judging from what I see happening about me, is a time of re-assessment of one's life and where one plans to go from here.

Yesterday, I saw a girlfriend's new 'townhouse'. It's ultra modern, with massive light but very little view; the sort of dwelling where there are lots of windows where you see the sky, but little else. In my city there is a huge amount of building going on and most of it in the inner suburbs is very smart apartment buildings. Overlooking issues have become the new norm and if one can't rectify these issues with planting as one does with houses (think: Chris and Marie's 'Neighbors Be Gone plants') then the emphasis becomes on capturing the light.

I tried to imagine my husband and I in such a set up and knew immediately that it wouldn't suit either of us. I wondered where this couple had put all their 'things' and when I came home, to the house I have shared with my husband, four children and two dogs, it started to dawn on me that I don't have as many 'things' as I had thought. I only really go upstairs to clean and to gather or deliver clothing. The entire upstairs area is devoted to my boys. My younger son, being a media/artistic type has three work stations up there all devoted to his passion and my other son, being an IT nerd keeps his IT apparatus up there in his room as well.

Downstairs, I suddenly realized that the three wicker baskets of sporting apparatus didn't belong to me or my husband, either. And, the game console next to the television wasn't mine. In fact, when push came to shove, and if my husband was prepared to let go of his treasures (think: tools, bits of wood, and crap) in the garage and go through his mountain of files and 'goodnessknowswhat' in his study, we could fit into that town house perfectly well, too.

For reasons completely unknown to us, biological reasons over which we have no control, my husband and I are both nurturers. I wanted to be a mother. I couldn't make sense of my life in any other way back then when those decisions needed to be made and I remain eternally grateful that I was given that opportunity. It did complete me as a woman.

My husband also wanted a family and he has always taken his responsibilities to us very seriously. Christmases tend to be a bit extravagant in our family because I go off and buy the gifts only to discover that my husband has also been out buying gifts. At the end of the day, we shower them with love in any number of ways and they have repaid us in spades, being remarkably loving and enjoyable people to be around.

I don't think our future lies in one of those swanky apartments. It's quite impossible to imagine grandchildren in such a set-up and it's just not us to say, "Well, it's just us now". The boys will move out in their own good time and perhaps we'll move out of here one day into a smaller place, but to a place that enables someone to stay if they want/need and a place that welcomes the grandchildren.

I think you do have to embrace change. We're a bit slower than others because we've had this big family spread out over many years and in any case, we'd have to renovate before we sell. One day, it will be right, I suppose, to think about the next step for us and to move on someplace else. But, what will always hold us back is this sense that we are still young and that we have plenty of time. There is this continuity throughout our lives; that we are just still navigating our way through life together and in no way should be thinking about winding down. I'm not saying the time won't come. It's just that I can't envisage it as yet.

As I think about the way my husband views me and I view him it would be accurate to say that what we see when we look at one another is the same person we met well over three decades ago. There's the odd stray grey hair and wrinkles around our eyes now, but in our minds we are forever young.

These days, we both stumble around trying to remember this or that. He catches me out not processing the name of something. "What is the cafe called?" he'll ask. "Give me the first letter," I'll plead. "It starts with E," he'll say. It bugs me that I can't get it and he'll make a big deal about it; that a cut of the cane would help my memory (and it does). And, I constantly have to find his keys for him or figure out where he put his glasses. Through it all, we endure with grace and love.

There have been some very hard times. As the therapist says in 'Hope Springs' "every marriage has terrible years" and we've had our share of rough times. We've made it through those rough times. Spring has sprung here and so too has my sense of well-being. I feel sure now that we'll be perfectly all right.

Trapdoor

I like to think that people can't see into me. As a schoolgirl I worried that people might have some way of seeing into my thoughts but as an adult I've worked on the basis that if I held up a very good veneer there was no way they could know what I was really thinking. I have come to realize that I haven't fooled all of the people. I've left little hints along the way, I think, less and less prepared to hide in real life all the aspects of me that I've shared in this journal. I've allowed them glimpses of me in all my complexity.

There were only two of us left at the table when a friend needed to share an aspect of her life. I listened. I'm pretty good at listening and people know that about me. Somehow in the process of telling me her little problem she turned the spotlight onto me.

"I've thought several times that you're looking for something. There are little things over time that you've said and it makes me feel that you are on some sort of journey and you are looking for something."

I smiled. I contemplated how much to say and deemed it dangerous territory.

"Yes, I am on a journey. I am looking for something," I said. Then, I allowed the silence to sit there between us.

"Well, I hope you find it," she replied.

"Thank you," I said.

She's a polite woman and knowing she'd gone as far as she could possibly go on this day the conversation reverted to another topic without a beat missed.

Of course, I know enough to be able to say here that I'm not on a journey really; that the peace and joy I seek in my life is already there within me. That's the philosophy and I try to embrace it. I really do. It's quite exhausting to always been in journey mode; to always have a pack on your back and to have to traverse one more mountain before resting for the day.

For whatever reason, I'm looking for the trapdoor. I'm looking for other station platforms. I'm not a Harry Potter fan but the very first movie thrilled me. To think that there was a secret level at the train station that no-one knew about except the Hogwarts' students. How brilliant a thought is that!? To think that you can walk into a cupboard and enter another world like the children in The Lion, The Witch and The Wardrobe is captivating to me.

Some days I wonder if I am less interested in a serious power exchange relationship and more interested in being transported to a magical place. It's no co-incidence, I think, that I took to a new bimbo language like a duck to water, or that I totally embrace losing my mind and thinking like an object.

When I first met my husband he was a young man with a vision for his life. He was going places in every way and it seemed like it would be a very exciting ride. I knew myself well enough even back then to know that without a guide I might not go places. But, with someone assuring me that I was safe, there would be nothing to hold me back.

These days, I am more curious than I have ever been in my life. I've that writer's interest in 'the story' now and I want people to feed me with their tales; their thoughts, their disappointments and hopes. I want to know it all. I want to make sense of it in some ways through my own writing. Stories teach us, heal us and encourage us to live life to the full; to know more about our selves.

In a very vital and enduring way, I haven't changed at all. At heart I am still a very little girl, wanting to be shown the trapdoor; the way into a world of wonder and enchantment.  I have been very fortunate in my life to have the 'little girl' embraced; for men to see that I may adore slutty sex but in the mix is a little girl, willing to be led, to be scolded and chastised. Within my heart and my mind the little girl endures full of faith and trust; willing to do as told, blithely led to places she has never been before; a little scared at times but completely certain she doesn't want to miss the ride; a good girl but prepared to take a risk to experience the wonders of what lies beneath the trap door.

I am very lucky to say that I've been shown what lies beneath the trap door enough times to say that it is heavenly down there; that the Dark Lord may be scary but that the fear invigorates the little girl; entices her; thrills her to the core. The journey into her own desires is one she would not miss for all the tea in China. And, that's what I can't tell my friend. It must remain our secret.

Spanking desires

In the past week or so I've read rather a lot of material about spanking and I've watched several little clips that have turned up on tumblr sites that I follow. It's a desire of mine that has returned with some gusto and is pervading my mind on a regular basis at the moment.

On Saturday I asked my husband if we could return to a more disciplinary approach in our relationship. That is, could I ask that he think about when a spanking might be in order. He was all right with that and later in the day just before we left to go out and have a bite to eat for a late lunch he called me into the bedroom. He ordered me over a chair and he spanked me.

Unfortunately, it didn't do what I hoped it would do. His mind rather quickly wandered to pleasure, which is fine of course, except that I think I've been craving the positive effects of a sound thrashing for such a long time the light spanking just didn't do the job. In fact, it frustrated me intensely.

I watched a clip, all put on for the camera of course, where the girl got a spanking over her jeans at school and then a bare bottom spanking at home for getting in trouble at school. The wooden paddle left her with bruises and one can imagine that three days later she'd have more bruising still, making sitting down rather a chore.

I want (well not want, but crave) a spanking that takes me into a sub-space sort of mode. I want the sort of spanking that leaves me clutching at the ropes in some vain attempt to unattach myself and flee. I want to feel that sense of joie de vivre I experience after a sound spanking; that feeling of love not just for my husband but for the whole world; that full body orgasm that makes me high as a kite on life. I want it to feel more than a bit uncomfortable when I sit. Do I want to experience the pain of a spanking? I actually don't. Do I crave a tear producing spanking? I really do.

Dress code

As a woman interested in fashion and an admirer of beautiful things, I acquired a relatively large wardrobe. As a woman who desired that sense of being owned to the point of adoring the object state, it wasn't going to be possible to hold onto that expansive wardrobe.

I divested myself of many articles of clothing and it felt ever so much better. But, what happened to me over the next few years is what happens to all of us if you aren't careful. Your wardrobe, your house and your life becomes uncomfortably filled with new things. I'd experience the pleasure of buying a beautiful scarf perhaps, only to feel low when I put it away with the many other beautiful scarves in my collection. Did I really need to buy another?

In fact, what had happened to me was that I had embraced the idea of having a wardrobe of clothing and accessories in good working order - not too little and not too much - but I had failed to take on part B of the dress code - that a purchase of a cardigan, say, meant that I needed to give away a cardigan I already had. To put it another way, if my cardigans were all still loved and in good working order, why was I buying another?

Sometimes, I see a bargain out there, a dress that is so well priced and flattering that I purchase it on the spare of the moment. The task in that case is to go home and find a dress to give away that this new purchase will replace. At times, this throws me into a bit of a state. I have to really search my wardrobe to locate something that is ready to be removed from the wardrobe. So far, I have always located an item because if I don't locate an item, back to the store the new dress must go. That's the rule.

Once upon a time, I would have found this dress code rule onerous and unpleasant. It would not have turned me on and I'd have felt resentful and underprivileged. Not any more. I thrive on my dress code, luxuriate in the time taken to consider an addition to the wardrobe and often discover that in the few days taken to consider the item I decide that it is an unnecessary purchase and one that I can certainly do without. If I do decide I want it and purchase the garment, it is with clear intention and understanding that the garment is needed, much loved and desired, and will be worn more or less immediately.

As time has gone  by I've realized that I honestly do thrive under control and my dress code is an important aspect of that control. It takes me deep into the object state which for me is very much desired.

Feminist theory and submission

Immersed in academia, social theories and discourse as I am at the moment there is no doubt that I can have moments when my reading has an effect on me and my submissive bent. Take, for example, my required reading on  Feminist Conflict Theory and the notion that without economic power women are at the mercy of men.

The greater women's economic power is relative to men's and the more women control their own lives, the greater their access will be to other sources of value in stratified social systems, especially honor and prestige, political power and ideological support for their rights.

For decades, the notion of pooling our funds has been comfortable for me. Well, I tell a lie. It's been relatively comfortable for me to pool the funds. I come from a line of women that were strong willed and independent. My grandmother and mother, with the support of their husbands, ran businesses and had access to their own funds without needing to ask anyone for permission. I haven't always agreed with my husband's decisions concerning finances and at times I have sincerely doubted them. But, I have always signed my name on the dotted line when he asked me to, and to this day I give him my trust and understanding that he'll do what is best for us. I want to underscore the word trust because at the end of the day this is what it all boils down to and this is what he demands.

We are in transition mode at the moment as a couple. Matters in his court have been finalized to the extent that he has more to offer me in terms of time and attention and whilst this is indeed what I want, there's a little part of my brain that says things like "You can't just switch me on and off like a tap. I'm going to need a little bit of time to get used to this" and "I don't think you've quite taken in and acknowledged in a way that I think adequate just how much I suffered through this ordeal".

He's not liking this transition and wants to move on straight away to the next era. He wants the compliant girl back; the one with generosity of spirit, a strong and indomitable sense of trust and a willingness to drive on. I'm getting there. I think I just want to be assured of his co-operation to take my requests very seriously. I. do. mean. to. have. my. renovations. I. am. not. kidding. around.

In one part of my brain I feel like a bit of a fool. I mean, I have no economic power over my own life at all. Sure, I can go and buy a dress this moment and he won't blink but I mean economic power to make bigger decisions than that. Well, actually, I do have a little nest egg, a gift, and I'm happy to give it all to the renovation process. I have said this many times. Yet, it doesn't make the process any faster. It. is. simply. not. in. my. job. description. I'm meant to wait patiently.

I'm at the tail end of my Masters program now. I'm no dummie on any level (except that I consider myself a bimbo dumdum dolli, of course) but not even a Ph.D or a Nobel Prize in Literature for that matter is going to make any difference at all. Major financial decisions in my life are made on my behalf.

I've a friend whose husband recently advised her that he was leaving the family. He's a doctor who suddenly decided he doesn't want to be an esteemed doctor any more and he doesn't want a family either. To hell with the fact that she gave up her medical career to bring up the three children due to his workaholism and that she is no longer registered to practice. He wants her off the (figurative) pay roll and wants her to get a job. My age, she's applied for well over 100 jobs since his notification of the end of their relationship and still no luck. Marriages fail. Partners move on. And yet, I live with complete faith and assurance (as did she) that my husband would never fail me. It's not what Feminist Conflict Theory would advise!

But, this is all too much thinki. We go on as we have gone on for a very long time. He's the boss and now that the business crisis has been averted he wants the dumdum dolli back; the woman who has complete faith and trust; the woman who is thrilled to be in that 'ole submissive groove; the fucktoy.  

It's completely true that what we do and the way we do it can't and won't change and nor should it, necessarily. Still, there are days when I feel I have no alternative but to turn off my academic/thinking brain and just follow my instincts, because what we do doesn't always make logical sense.

Luck

If you go back to the time when I began writing in this  journal I talked a lot about love because I believe that, for me, it's the central emotion of my life; the driver.

I've had a few discussions with people of late that make it rather clear that some Dominants are possibly less concerned with feelings of love than they are with a sense of being admired and being obeyed. I take this on advisement.

Since in our 37 years together my husband and I have both spat out rather nasty sentiments to one another about the other and are still here to tell the tale, I continue to think that it is love that has ultimately sustained us.

Let me be clear. You don't live 37 years with a person putting them on a pedestal and pretending that they are something incredibly special. We are all human and we all make mistakes. I've made my share of mistakes or missteps and so has he. We've acknowledged them. We've driven on.

Now, what do I prefer? I prefer the state of play where he makes the running. I prefer the state of play where he dominates me as per his whim (and my need) and makes love to me on a regular basis. I prefer him to be engaged and I prefer the mindset wherein I think he's the best thing since sliced bread. Sometimes I do (think he's the best thing since sliced bread) and sometimes I don't. I think he'd have a similar feeling about me, if you asked him. Sometimes, he tells me, he thinks he's got God's gift to men and sometimes he'd happily trade me in. This is life. I accept it for what it is.

You'd not be a reader here of any length if you didn't understand that the past couple of years have been tough. I didn't become a submissive woman in the last shower. I've had this state of mind for a long time, even if it wasn't as overtly expressed as it has been of more recent times. You'd also not have read much of this journal if you didn't understand that I luxuriate in the submissive mindset and that most of all I want to feel owned.

It's hard to feel owned when your owner is completely immersed in various issues separate to you and outside of you. It's hard to feel owned if your owner doesn't claim you. Yes, 37 years later I need to be claimed. I need to know categorically and on a regular basis that I am owned.

The truth is that I almost came to have acceptance of the fact that my husband had changed for good. The love and commitment was still there on some level but there was a definite disconnect. I'd express in words and actions that I felt abandoned and that I thought he was depressed, but it seemed clear he was not available to me or to my words. I simply had to do the best I could on my own. I could feel myself going through the stages of grief, revisiting over and over the state of anger. How could this happen to us?

This morning he came to me early in the day whilst I was seeing the boys off for the day to say that he was coming to the market with me. We used to do this on Tuesdays, but several months ago he stopped making himself available for this and I simply went on doing the weekly ritual on my own. He was slightly bossy about this, encouraging me to get ready quickly.

After months and months of leaving me to my own devises 99% of the time, I was a little resistant. Nonetheless, we were on the road early and as we walked through the open-air market he was making his wise-cracks, threatening this and that and generally pushing me around in his own inimitable style. Yes, I was smiling (I'm that ridiculously happy to be dominated at the worse of times...) but I told him that he couldn't just start doing what he hadn't done for months and think I'd just pick up where we left off. He assured me I was wrong and somehow I sensed within myself some hope; some flickering of the man I once knew.

When we'd bought fish, meat, bread and cheese, we stopped off at our regular Italian cafe for morning tea and we didn't leave until well into the lunch hour. We talked and talked and talked.

There's no doubt that he felt threatened by the nasty men related to a business deal and no doubt also that he refused to be intimated by them or to allow them to entirely have their way. It took precedence over his existence and it sent our marriage into a tail spin. I understand his convictions and I understood that the dilemma had made him, quite literally, sick. And yet, I missed him and the aroused husband I once knew so badly that I simply couldn't endure it indefinitely.

Whilst it isn't exactly over, he made his final decisions in the past 24 hours and it appears that it is the relief of coming to those decisions (not perfect but perfect enough in his mind to be an acceptable outcome) that allows him to get up and fight back for his marriage; to reclaim that softly spoken, sweet and submissive woman he called his own.

The desire to be an owned girl is so great that it takes little more than him expressing his ownership for me to feel a great deal better than I have in a long time. I can't deny that admiration and obedience play a role here. I don't want to just love him. I want him to be my owner. I want him to claim me in any number of ways. I want to belong to him. I want that ownership to be overtly expressed.

I've nothing more to report than this experience today. I don't know what will happen tomorrow. My experience of life is that it does not go forth making straight lines. Alas, I am familiar with the roller coaster ride of life. Yet, I felt today that there was hope that the worst may be over.

In my younger days I spent many weeks in a hospital attached to tubes and when I left a very dear nurse said to me that I'd paid my dues. I'd had my share of bad luck with my health, she said, and wouldn't see the inside of a hospital again for a very long time. It turns out she was right.

Perhaps, my luck has turned again.