Kinky sex

I've been feeling different lately, as if there is change afoot that I don't have any control over; movements in my psyche that are so subtle that I can't quite 'catch' them. It could be related to the fact that I have some seasonal hayfever and thus feel a bit 'out of it'. It could be that my days have been a bit different lately in that I have had an opportunity to catch up with life in the past week or two and so have had more time to 'think'. Or, it could be that I really am changing.

Not everything has altered. I still have all the same sorts of fantasies and daydreams as usual. I'm still remarkably helpless in them; subject to the whims of authority figures, and those people aren't getting any more leniant. Yesterday, to make sure that I understood that there was nowhere to run to, the Master in charge of the 'bimbo school' suggested to my father that he whip me soundly before my father left me there, so that I understood that what happened at that institution was at his behest. There was nobody who didn't want me well trained, and strictly disciplined. There was certainly no place to turn for some leniency.

My practices haven't altered either. In fact, they are more 'set in stone' than ever. I don't do what I do at anybody's behest. I just happen to sleep better, for one thing, with an anal plug in place. I feel more 'grounded' that way. All those sorts of practices are so ingrained that I simply handle those things myself with barely a 'dominant' word spoken at all. It's akin, I suppose, to a dominant wanting a girl to wear a corset, or to run daily. It's something that I do now without thinking about it or needing to be instructed.

Well, then, I can hear your mind asking, what has changed? Well, it is not just one thing. It didn't happen on Friday night with a bang, without some prior thought on the matter, but on Friday night I bought tickets for us to see John Turturro's Fading Gigolo and I absolutely loved it. I adored the music, a big part of the feel of the film. There was no power exchange involved. There certainly was no spanking or overt (rough) control, though there was a little kink. Sharon Stone and Sofia Vergara wanted a three-some with Fioravante, as you do.

The really sexy thing about the film is that Fioravante is such a caring, sensitive, non judgmental dude. He knows what a woman wants. He can sense it and he goes about giving it to her, whether it is wild, orgasmic sex or simply soft caresses. He's got that special antenna for a woman's needs and he knows how to make a woman feel beautiful. He provides the safety to allow her to release her fears and unleash her vulnerability. He allows her to be fully present with him, to release inhibitions and to trust him. He's quiet; contained; a little mysterious. He's just right, and I almost went to see it again alone today. He's that special.

I've been known for enjoying degradation and my demise. The fantasies tell me that nothing has changed here. I still do get great joy, pleasure and release from such situations. However, I think there is a proviso on that. Just because I love that and crave that doesn't mean that I don't want to feel beautiful, don't want to be told that I am beautiful and don't want to feel that I am cared for. Call it 'after care', perhaps. Or, consider the fact that before I can "unleash the vulnerability" I need to know that all is well in the relationship. I need to feel that special something that enables a woman to feel safe. If that's missing, so is the desire really; the desire to get lost in that space.

For a while there, I felt that I needed to be a sort of 'pin up' type of woman. I didn't always feel myself. I struggled a bit with my own look and the sort of clothing that suited my life. On one level it felt great to have something of a dress code, but more and more I've felt the desire to return to a look that is simply my own. The good part is that all those items in my wardrobe that didn't make me feel good have gone. There's nothing left that is too conservative or, on the flip side, too young for me. What's left is clothing that works for me, on any given day and for any particular event. This includes some pants.Yes, it is just a few pairs of pants that hang in my wardrobe, but they make an appearance on a winter Saturday morning when I'm on the way to watch a soccer game or to have some breakfast with family. I'm no longer trying to fit into some male image of what a woman with a healthy libido looks like. I'm just operating from my own sense of myself and what works for me in my life.

In their heart of hearts, no matter the denial that may paper over such thoughts, every woman wants to feel beautiful. Every woman wants a man to tell her she looks beautiful. It's not so much what she wears, or the number of kilos or pounds that she carries, but the love she feels in her heart; that inner glow that comes when a woman feels wonderfully engaged with a man (or a woman); when he fulfils her and adores her and wants her. Erotic experiences do this for a woman. It's deeply and profoundly sustaining to be shaken to one's core; to be reduced to a wild female beast of a woman; to be fucked. A woman simply can't wipe the smile off her face when that happens. I know when I am most happy. I am most happy when this happens. I feel most at one when this happens. The only question on my mind is, 'when can it happen again?' 'When I do get to feel this alive again?'

So...maybe it's not kink that I so very much want to be a part of. Maybe, I don't so much need to be controlled. Maybe, I just want to feel my sexiest best. Maybe, I just want to be truly fucked. Or, maybe that's too simplistic an answer for a woman as "complicated" as me. As I said, it is just a thought; not at all sure if it a passing one or if something is more permanently afoot. Time will tell.

Change

Having finished a piece of work just now, I gave myself permission to wander over to tumblr and there I read this:

"As soon as you recognize your true nature as the unchanging Awareness and confirm your position as That itself, the unchanging One, it won’t matter anymore what the psychological, personal mind is saying.
Its play and presence will become distant, like looking at the moon in full daylight. You won’t be listening to it for very long, I tell you.
It will gradually lose its influence and appeal and fall away."

It was completely relevant to the work I had been doing this morning, writing about the process of keeping a journal and how one might write about trauma in a way that doesn't frighten the reader, by use of metaphor. I noted that when I write in a journal - this one or others that I keep for other purposes - I'm aware of writing as myself but also as if I am a reader. I write things down and then I engage with what has been written in a curious way.

I haven't always known what to do with my emotions, with events and happenings, or with challenging relationships. I think, looking back, that related to a sense of powerlessness. Somehow, perhaps by writing in the various journals, or possibly in the containment that I've experienced in the past several years, or the meditative practices, or all of these things, I've learned to be my own witness; to see my self as being the Awareness rather than the myriad of emotional states in which I became fully immersed, whether it felt traumatic or joyful. I established with certainty for myself that emotional states come and go, are never constant and that they are all part of life.

I noticed yesterday that I was starting to feel swamped in the mundane, for example. Since my son is doing his final year of school, often a tedious affair, my job is to keep his spirits up, to encourage him to keep moving forward and from to time, I have the task of getting him to get on with his work. He doesn't like that but he does appreciate, after the fact, that I am prepared to talk the talk about English essays. All in all, the whole year has me working very hard on a multitude of projects, without the opportunity to get away, and from time to time I can feel sorry for myself. Another couple of loads of washing, only the 20,000th of my motherhood; another meal to cook; only the 49,000th of my motherhood.

Of course, the antedote to this is to recognize that it is not forever. It ends in November, only a few months away now. After that, no more school aged children! Or, since I have just read a most profound piece of writing from a woman who lost her baby to cot death, a piece of writing that takes us into the heart of the grief, I can rationalize that I haven't a thing to complain about. And, I don't!

This is the thing. I'm aware of the emotional states now. I'm aware of why they happen, I'm aware I'm in a particular emotional state (not necessarily ready to get out, however), and I'm aware that the state will end. That's the key thing - to be aware that it will end, because people who are going through traumatic times need to know this, that it will end and it will get better.

I used to think that it was impossible to get inside someone's traumatic mind. This theory was debunked for me when I read this piece of writing, as yet unpublished. This is the power of metaphor, I am finding. You need reference points - 'how dare the phone ring', or the sense of being a ghost on a ghost train, or the reaction to wind, or the desire to hear your little boy's voice. One wonders, how did she make it through that? But, she did, she did make it through.

Many years ago I went through a situation that was deeply stressful and hurtful to me. My mother, being on the other side of the world sent me a cutting of the poem, 'Footprints in the Sand'. You'll find it here: http://www.marypages.com/footprints.htm. For countless years I kept it on my desk, under my blotter, and it gave me a great deal of comfort; that sometimes we wonder if there is anyone who cares but, in fact, in retrospect, we realize that someone was actually carrying us through the ordeal the whole time.

Sometimes, that person is oneself. We're aware of our ordeal and we keep a watchful eye on ourselves. We endure and we, ultimately, thrive. In the same way during meditation I often have one thumb grasp the other because it is a small, discreet reminder to myself that I am my own best friend. I'm keeping a watchful, attentive and loving eye on myself.

Perhaps, it can be chalked up to 'maturity' - that sense of peace I feel right now. That too will change. All things change, all the time. I'm okay with that.

Flaws in the power dynamic

Back in the day when I had a little CBT therapy it related to my central 'problem' that the psychologist identified as my being too empathic. I'll give an example. She asked me to tell her of  a time that morning when I had been ruminating about someone close; worrying about them. So, I told her that I'd been short tempered with a son about the fact that I couldn't necessarily always take him where he needed to go without disrupting my day. He said he'd take public transport instead and then I felt out of sorts that morning feeling that I may have upset his day.

"But, you wouldn't have upset his day at all," she responded. He probably put his headphones in and was blithely listening to music the moment he left the house, and didn't give the conversation another thought."

That's mostly true. And, totally true that she would have thought that, too.

So, here I am, a self-confessed and diagnosed 'empathically loaded person'. I'm not just thinking about what I think. I'm constantly getting into the heads of other people.

It's a bit shocking to me to realize, via some conversations with other people who reveal their state of mind at times, to realize that not all people concern themselves with how the other is interpreting events, words or conversations. That two-step that I do every few seconds in a conversation, wondering what the other person is thinking in their own skin - some people don't do that.

For example, if they didn't mean to upset the other, to suddenly disappear in the midst of an important conversation and actually had Internet connection difficulties, it doesn't occur to them to put themselves in the other person's body and wonder, "Gosh, I hope she didn't think that I intentionally disappeared at that crucial moment of the conversation. I'll just send a quick note so that she doesn't worry." They didn't intend upset and so, the logic seems to go, no upset occurred.

But, it did happen. Upset did occur.

And, then I could see his point of view. Based on his usual modus operandi, this was to be seen as an anomaly of his usual behavior and thus not to be judged as something sinister. In fact, the fault could be interpreted as mine, since this being unusual behavior for him, perhaps it is I who erred by not thinking about the Internet disruption!

Well, I did! I did think about the Internet as being a possibility for the sudden departure. However, since I would have followed up on what seemed rude behavior, I assumed that if that were the case, he would too. Nope, it wasn't seen that way.

We've been friends for years, but there are gaps in the communication due to this very different way of looking out onto the world. I am, perhaps, too concerned with how others are impacted by me and he is, perhaps, not concerned enough with how others are impacted by him.

I've experienced a similar, but not identical mismatch in my marriage. When my husband has made a decision that has had a negative impact on me he has wanted me to take into account the fact that he never intended me harm. I can trust in that: that he never wanted to intend me harm. That's what my friend seemed to be saying as well - that, however behavior might be interpreted, the good will was there.

Sometimes, his comnments come across as blunt, even rude, but honesty must prevail, he says.That said, I do skirt around honesty with him because he's sensitive to honesty. My husband is sensitive to honesty too. There a rule for the goose and a rule for the gander in regards to honesty. On my good days I can smile about that and on my bad days I wish that feminism went further, faster.

So, isn't it the case that these men who may not have an abundance of the empathy gene such that they can appreciate what effect their words and behavior might have on others, require the services of a woman who has an abundance of empathy? Who else could possibly understand them? Appreciate them?

When my husband was young , in his early teens, and living in a boarding school far from home, he wrote letters home to his parents. He wasn't a big time writer at that stage of his life and being homesick he asked a lot of questions, forgetting to give them much information about life at school. A comment was made about this. It is impossible to know how the comment was made but he was very upset about it. It closed his writing efforts down for a very long time. He's very disinclined to put his emotions down on paper and he has made reference to this criticism of his letter writing many times to explain this inhibition.

Generally speaking, I find that with men it pays not to criticize them, no matter how delicately one phrases the comment. I don't know why this should be so but it is a very tricky thing to offer them feedback, unless it is positive. This must make for some incredibly unhappy relationships at work where a female boss must make reference to a piece of work not well done, or a female professor must tell a male student that he isn't expressing himself eloquently. Or, maybe, I've just been incredibly attracted to men with a flash of arrogance and narcissism, or maybe just very sensitive men who don't see my role as one of giving them feedback. Let the world do that job, they may be thinking, because your job is to raise me up!

I harken back to this sentiment of improvement and progress that I have raised before. The dynamic I share with some male friends/husband is okay, but it could be so much better. When two people know one another so intimately, know the essence of each other, surely that sort of dynamic lends itself to honesty in a more profound way. If I'm willing to hear the criticisms, then why not the other?

In some ways, the role or title of 'dominant' and 'submissive' is a misnomer and doesn't serve us well in the long term. The energy that I seek, 'the gain', comes not from rigidly played out roles but a give and take that only remains in great shape when it is possible to discuss feelings and concerns in an intimate way. 'The gain' is not always available. It comes and goes and the best policy is to understand this; that we ebb and flow. The dominance and the surrender is dependent on energy from both people. It can, in fact, thrive on artificiality, but not in the long term. Love doesn't really understand the concept of power.

Unconditional love is a wondrous thing but to grow we must all surrender to the fact that we are all flawed - both the dominant and the submissive. Acknowledging that takes us farther, lifts us higher.

Fantasy versus reality

I'm sent emails on topics related to kinky literature newly published and to be honest I am rarely interested in it. It's a very rare day when I find a story exactly to my tastes. However, the blurb about this book suggested it had promise, being incredibly dark and dire. I linked over to Amazon and read the free preview first chapter. Oh yes, it was entirely to my tastes -  18 year old girls sent off to an 'institution' to be reformed in their behavior and prepared for a suitable marriage to a very strict man.

I didn't have much time to read it. Initially I was skimming the material. However, I  found myself tracking back over some paragraphs because I'd become engaged in the story almost immediately. In the end, I slowed down and thrilled to read of Masters and Mistresses so strict from the outset that there was absolutely no doubt in the girls' minds that it was best to obey all instructions instantly. For example, it took no more than one hard, sometimes two, hard beatings with a wooden paddle for them to learn to respond to a Master at all times by addressing him as "Sir". That paddle, with the word 'OBEDIENCE' painted onto it, had reformed their mindset in no more than two minutes.

Now, in real life, I'd be devastated: devastated for them and devastated for myself, should I ever find myself in that dastardly, despairing situation. There was no way out for these girls. They were going to be going through real ordeals; a nightmare. Affection or care, let alone love, didn't seem remotely possible there. However, in storyland it 'wetted' my appetites. I've been lost ever since in that story, in my mind, and when I need a little pick-me-up for a few seconds here or there, going about my day, I think about it.

Well, more than that, I masturbated to similar images this morning, noticing that the literature had had its effects on my body's arousal, but I added on. In my mind's images, the girls' training had progressed that they knew that when told to get on their knees and the Master approached them they instantly opened their mouths wide; instantly knew their purpose was to provide that opening for his pleasure.

Like any woman, I have my sensibilities and limits. I deplore rudeness. That's why, fundamentally, the scene is a fantasy for me, because in real life, my expectations are that I will be respected. That's not to say that I wouldn't be prepared to enact that scene myself but rather that as I go about my day and my life there is an expectation that my feelings will be taken into account; that any conversations I have will have a give and take aspect to them and that a man won't leave the conversation without a proper end to it. In other words, I expect, like all women should expect, that I'll be treated well.

Yes, we women who thrive in disciplinary settings/arrangements like to leave all the niceties of modern life behind. There are not too many please and thank yous in these disciplinary scenes and conversations and nor is the girls' feelings necessarily taken into account. The man is going to take liberties and she's going to feel vulnerable; put out; angry. I get all that. But it has to be counterpointed with a different kind of dynamic and interaction at other times. That's my point. Maybe I do get off by being barked at; told to do;  disciplined and punished. What's the point of denying it? I just do.

Yet, without some tenderness, some smiles, some laughs, and a little romance, where would a girl be? I'll tell you where she'd be. She'd be at that horrible reform school 24 hours a day and there's no girl in the whole wide world that would want that.

Inertia

Being Mother's Day I spent considerable time with my family yesterday and one of the comments one of my sons made was how frustrated he was that one of his best mates had ended up with his girlfriend. His complaint is that his friend has remained juvenile in many ways and that he needs a girl that can help him to grow, whereas his girlfriend accepts him just as he is.

"I imagine Alison cooks for him..."

"Every night. It's sickening to watch."

Of course, it's comfortable. It's comfortable for them both, really, because Alison is a home body and John (if only you knew how silly it sounds to me to make up these names for real people) likes that he is looked after. But, my son is right, John isn't likely to grow much at all with her and that's a wasted opportunity.

This is one of the big points of having a D/s relationship, isn't it, to grow; to have fun and pleasure, and to grow. For reasons I don't really understand I've desperately wanted to experience, to explore and grow, and I've wanted that for people with whom I engage, not least of which is my husband.

It's not just that we've been together forever and that in that scenario you need to shake things up a bit every so often. It's that it just comes innately to me to grow; to challenge; to want to be challenged. It's not always comfortable for me but it is a lot more comfortable that being static. I thrive on momentum. It can drive my husband mad because I tend to talk about what we can do next. I'm not someone who tends to sit back and rest on my laurels. If he comes out to the garden and I've single handedly stacked the trailer with all the prunings, he might say, "You're a productive little thing, aren't you?!" I need to get stuck into things and move on.

One of the big issues in relationships is the need to cater for one another's energy levels and I think that all our energy levels fluctuate, from time to time. It's totally understandable and normal for this to happen and in the same way, arousal levels fluctuate. The desire for play fluctuates. Stressful periods of time probably mean that a person has less dominance to offer. Personally, I don't find that I have less submissive tendencies during stressful time because the submissive strategies calm my stress. However, I can say that times when I am stuck in deadlines I must put aside submissive needs. We need to be alert to the other person's needs and adjust the temperature accordingly.

However, what if the other person can't change and grow at all? What's been on my mind is that perhaps some people are intrigued and drawn to power exchange relationships because they have a certain neurological disposition that makes a certain degree of rigidity an integral part of their makeup and the way they lead their lives. Perhaps that rigidity will always be the same rigidity, year after year after year. Perhaps, there will be no growth and adjustment because it is built into the DNA that there will be no growth, no matter what.

I was talking around this issues with my son yesterday too. I was telling him about 'The Rosie Project'. The protagonist is a lovely, very intelligent man with Aspbergers who is looking for a girlfriend and I was saying that I struggle with the concept of acceptance, in part. For instance, my dog is silly. There is no two ways about it. She isn't bright and there are still moments of great frustration for me about that. I imagine having a dog who would run with me and act sensibly and although I love her, I can see the pitfalls of having a dog who just isn't that smart. I work against those feelings. I know I shouldn't have them. I can see that the children accept her quirks and I try to see it that way as well. Still.

In the process of this 'journey' of mine I've become a much stronger person, more outgoing. I still thrive when my husband takes charge of the situation, as he did this weekend. I really love being in that submissive mindset, sleeping on his chest, feeling at peace with the world after a session or two of tight containment, in whatever form that takes. Just as importantly, I love it when I feel that he's operating with some momentum; that he's moving and growing and that there is a sense of a future where we can embrace life and all that it has to offer. I love moving with him, rather than parallel to him. I'll still grow anyway, because that is so important to me to continue to grow, but when one moves in tandem with the other, that's gold. That's when I am truly in my groove.

It's been a bit of a motto of mine for many years to say that one shouldn't force friendships or have high expectations. People are as they are, and provided you've done your best, you have to accept the friendship for what it is. Friendships come in all shapes and sizes and part of friendship is not to expect too much. Intellectually, I know this. Yet, I also know myself too well to truly believe my own words. The truth is I sometimes engage in a difficult relationship because I'm intrigued; because I think it might provide growth; because I want to see it grow, on both sides. But, what if one day you wake up and smell the roses and realize that there are limitations to how much you should expect because perhaps there are neurological issues that don't allow for that growth?

What I am up against is the realization that I never accepted a poor prognosis about anything. I turned it into a winning situation because there is something inside my brain that tells me that I can. Not one to sit by and watch failure I made it right. I made it good. Maybe, I needed to deconstruct the situation and reform the situation but that's much easier, as hard as it is, than conceding defeat.

What's that old saying - God only gives you what you can handle? My third child was born with a few challenges but he never let that get on top of him. I remember talking to a boarding house Master on the sidelines of a soccer game a while back and we were talking about resilience. I was saying that that son has buckets of it and I didn't know where on earth he had got it all. What made him continue to try and try when others would have conceded defeat? "You gave that to him," he said to me. "No, it was nothing to do with me," I replied. "It's always been there."

But, today I am wondering, maybe I did give him that resilience. Maybe, I did. Maybe, as a mother I passed down to them the will to make it, whatever it means to them, to make it. Maybe, instinctively, I passed onto them the desire to stretch oneself. I'm not one to subscribe to neurological limitations; to simply accept that people can't thrive and learn, in their own way. Maybe dogs can't grow new neurons but put people in the right environments and there's something more that they can do, be, give, think and learn. Surely. A deep dislike of inertia. That's my Achilles heel.

Restoring peace strategies

I recently had reason to return to some material written years ago on this web journal and the most curious comment I came across was that someone had noted that misery was not my kink. I had written about an episode in my kinky life that implied it was a miserable situation (challenging, yes, but miserable, no) and that's what prompted the comment. She is quite right that misery is not my kink. Other people's pain affects me deeply, in fact, and perhaps it is because of the fact that I am so affected by that pain that I need to restore my sense of peace using various strategies.

If you look at the early entries I'm pretty bubbly - both in a happy bubble and full of glee, really, to be in this space at all. I made the comment to a friend in chat, says the record, "It's been a bit of a dream come true for cindi." Honestly, if it all stopped right now, or I stopped living and someone read this record, may the record show that I was happy beyond all measure to have had my time in the sun here.

This is the whole point. cindi may have moments of angst, challenge and even sadness but apart from those moments in her life, she's full of light. She shines. She glows. I try, every day, to give her a little time to herself. That's not always easy, and sometimes unachievable, but on the whole I give her permission to be in the sun routinely.

Often, that cindi time is spent alone, not because it is preferred to be alone, but circumstances don't allow a partner in the play as often as she would like. The hood comes out and gets stretched over the head. She lays there quietly breathing, taking in big gulps of air through the nostrils, her only form of oxygen, and she feels the lightness and empty headedness return. She feels free and carefree.

Or, she takes the bulbous butt plug and by her own hand pushes it into her and waits for its effect to take over her mind and her body. No longer empty, she feels far more at home; far more authentic; far more alive.

No, misery is not my kink. That's an absolutely true statement. I'll do almost anything to be uplifted; to seek the joy; to find the trapdoor. Happiness and joy: that's my kink. Definitely.