Correction

I can't help but notice that the recent post entitled Being Corrected has been read by a considerably larger number of people than usually read my posts. My little journal is for a select audience on the whole. At first, I thought it related to the fact that people might be curious as to what I was writing about these days, but each day the tally for that particular post climbs higher and I am forced to conclude that the issue of being corrected in a power exchange is of particular interest to people. So let's explore that some more.

For me, there's a fun side to correction and a very serious side at the same time. It was during the process of wanting to understand more about the process of correction and aftercare of a scene, or a longer experience, that I came across this piece of excellent writing about after care. It was fascinating to read about the situation where a woman might orgasm during rape and that this does not represent consent in any way. Clarisse Thorn and links to other women writers on the subject from her blog can give much more insight to this issue than I can, so I won't say any more about that, except to say that the body can definitely defy the brain. We can be turned on by issues that upset us or challenge us or even issues or experiences that we hate.

I've written recently about serious struggle in terms of being corrected and I don't think being corrected is ever going to be a 'piece of cake' for me. (pun intended, because is a banned substance) It doesn't strike me as being an easy thing to have someone insist that the way you've done things in the past won't be how you'll be doing them from now on. If you take food as an example, it's no small thing to train someone (be they dietitian, personal trainer, doctor or dominant) to stop eating sugar, or to eat it very rarely and only in small quantities. It isn't easy being told that you can either have a slice of cake on your birthday or something you've been wanting for quite some time. There's a choice, but there are still very strict limits imposed. Basically, at the end of the day, you can't have any cake on your birthday, is the way that game plays out.

Such situations and corrections that relate to daily regimin and rules can be challenging and even quite anger inducing. As I know dominance it's all about getting compliance which is another way of saying that it's all about achieving goals. One way or the other, goals will be achieved. It's not something that I choose to write about in detail in the journal but nasty deeds were done and clever tricks were devised to ensure my compliance on this matter (seriously limited sugar intake) and that resulted in a week where I experienced a gamut of emotions from arousal to extreme anger. Not only was I experiencing distress such that old habits were being dumped (and I choose that word with intention) but it was clear that this was arousing to both parties. I was mystified at my reaction, deep arousal at the same time as I was furious, but there it was and it could not be denied.

I think some of us can handle our kink with scenes and go about our lives until the next scene, and some of us want something more consistent than that. I've found that I enjoy and appreciate a more consistent sort of control exerted over me and this can be achieved in several ways; in some ways, the more the better.

I've been negotiating with my husband a stronger, tighter relationship. We've nearly at the end of one stage of our lives and onto another where we have more flexibility and freedom to pursue our own relationship. I have not enjoyed his absence in my personal life. It has been close to unbearable and I have expressed my needs.

It was interesting and hopeful for me to realize in our discussion that he is not entirely short of ideas at all. Something came up about my wardrobe. I think he may have said, 'Do I interfere with your purchases?' and I said, 'Well, I'd like you to be more involved, actually. I'd like you to notice things. I like it when you give me your input or choose something yourself.' And, he said, without drawing breath, 'Well, if that's what you want, you can call me and ask permission before you make a purchase. How do you like that?' It stopped me in my tracks. Did I want that? 'Or,' I responded, 'I could keep the ticket on things and I could show you a purchase and if you didn't like it, I could take it back.' There it was again, that sense of 'I like this/I don't like this'. I adore to be controlled but my instincts tell me to hold onto a bit of control too.

We have this situation, my Internet teacher and I, where, from time to time, it comes up in conversation as to whether he's too strict. If I am a bit 'sixs and sevens' he might ask if he is too strict, and I finally got up the nerve recently to type back that yes, sometimes he was. That's the part of me that wants to hold onto some control because in fact, he's not too strict at all. He's firm, yes. But, where the f**k would we be if he wasn't? If I could guarantee that I know what is good for me all the time, then he's too strict, but alas, I can't guarantee it at all.

As previously noted, after this  week long, dramatic, exhausting 'correction' I found myself exploring aftercare. Shouldn't I be getting something more than a pat on the head? Hour by hour I came to see that I was simply trying to control the 'after the correction' experience too. I had completed the correction, got some praise for it and now it was over. Oh. So, that's the way corrections go. No. Big. Deal. Part of the deal.

Let's be clear here. I long for a sense of containment and connection. Nothing brings more joy and bliss into my life than to feel the sort of emotional response where I feel love and respect for someone such that my whole body and soul resonates with the thrill of being alive and living this life. In order to achieve it I need to 'let go' and just let the control wash over me - my mind, my body, my whole life. Correction is part of the deal. It's arousing, it's confronting. It's an essential part of what I want.

Leaders

Shakespeare had that extraordinary ability to understand men - their virtues and their vices - and he didn't shy away from the Carnivalesque world. In his famous character of Falstaff we have an entry point into that fantastical world where responsibility has no place. The moment where Hal finally rejects him is said by some critics to be the saddest moment in theatrical history. Yet, he has been given so many chances, had so many warnings of what was to come if he did not reform, that we understand, and Falstaff and Hal themselves understand, that his banishment is written in the stars.

Of course, it his forbearance of Falstaff, even to the point where Falstaff is useless in battle, a total hindrance in fact, that we cannot ignore. Prince Hal offers him the honour of saying that it was he that killed Hotspur and saved the King,  reminding the audience that chivalry is not dead.

For my part, if a lie may do thee grace
I'll gild it with the happiest terms I have 

This is a successful King in the making. Courageous and strategic, with a robust understanding of the Machiavellian creed, yet not so desiring of honour that he cannot aid his friend, he has all the necessary qualities to lead.

I suppose there is something steadfast about Hotspur some might find attractive. His noble pursuit of honour at the behest of all other aspects of life has something solid about it. We know where we stand. He'll be valiant in battle. He'll do all he can. Yet, his rejection of song, of his wife's troubles, I don't think we can forgive him that; that ruthless bloody mindedness to see life only through his own eyes; to not have some kind words for Kate before his departure. We don't take kindly to that, nor should we.

It never ceases to amaze me that a man who wrote so long ago had such insight into human nature that what he wrote about then still applies today. We cannot accept Falstaff's rejection of the pursuit of honour such that we can applaud cowards and self-interested men, but nor can we put ourselves behind men like Hotspur who would lead us onto the battlefield without forethought and an all encompassing understanding of what it is to live.

Those of us with a submissive leaning recognize innately that a good leader must possess level-headedness, and a sense of honour that encompasses justice and chivalry; an understanding of the multi-dimensional concept of the word 'honour' (not to seek it for its own sake), and even some understanding of the Carnivalesque world. If they wish to be much loved and admired, well then, of course, they must be capable of loving abundantly. Innately, this is well understood whatever the era.

Masochism

If I were to expose my mind to a psychologist it would become obvious very quickly that he or she was seating opposite a masochist. I've been reluctant to make that admission, even to myself, but I have reached a point where there is no point in denying it any further.

It was clear years ago that I was aroused by being told what to do and by having someone in control of me in various ways. Yet, I didn't feel that the title of 'masochist' applied, since I didn't need or particularly want, a great deal of pain.

I did notice this: that if the control was intense and certain I could take a lot more sensation than if I felt I could manipulate a situation. This is still the case. Even in the mindset of 'toy' I can still push and test. I seem to need to know that if I push against the wall it won't cave in on me; that the wall is solid and I can't knock it down.

This is what has often gone awry with my husband and me. He sees a bit of anger and distress and figures that I have had enough or he has done the wrong thing. On the contrary, whatever distress or anger I am experiencing will soon blow over if he can hold his nerve, not easy sometimes, I am sure, but there it is.

I like the control to be such that I cannot influence or effect it. Of course, situations will call for some adjustment or negotiation at times but I need to know that there is no Plan B, simply a slight modification of Plan A on occasion and only if absolutely necessary.

It hasn't always been this way. This situation has evolved as I have become more comfortable and certain in my role. My submission is deeply affected by the certainty and intensity of the control. Some people say that masochists really want to control. I don't buy that but I do recognize that I am capable of exerting control (or giving it a go) if I don't feel there is enough control being exerted over me or if it feels that there is, at that moment, too much. I push at the wall trying to get it to convince me that I am wasting my time. I don't want to control. I want to be certain that the control over me is alive and well.

These days my masochism is well expressed and that relates to the level of sadism being exerted. I'm still a little gobsmacked to type that sadism in various guises is not the least off putting to me (even though it can initially make me very angry and rebellious). That is to say, having recognized that I appreciate sadistic games I am in no position to complain about the sadist's glee when I experience pain or discomfort. This exchange of energy, this reinforcement of position and place, is comforting, reassuring and arousing.

If the mind of the masochist is engaged there are countless ways one can control her. It's the creativity of the sadist that matters here. The meting out of pain and control works in any number of ways so long as roles have been ascribed and adhered to. It's these constant reminders of place and status that are so fulfilling to both players. It may take some time to reach this place and it's important, I believe, not to allow gains garnered to slide back to previous levels. What's best for both is when the relationship can evolve and spread its wings over time. When the dynamic is cemented that's when the explorations can really start to happen.

My point is that I need to know my place and to be held accountable for maintaining that place. It's clear even to me that this is how I feel safe and secure. As the masochist and 'bottom' I need to feel sure that the sadist/Top is comfortable and secure in his place, ready, willing and able to guide me.  To my mind the Dominant/Top/sadist is responsible for creating the road map for the journey whilst the submissive/bottom/masochist is responsible for following the directions given to her to take her to interesting places that will complete her and expand her horizons.

I can see that it is a tough situation for someone who isn't sure of the extent of another's person submissive's stance or her desire for masochism. She probably isn't sure herself how far she can go or what she is capable of, or wants. I can only emphasize once again that she will go a very long way in the journey if she feels that the leadership is there - strong, certain, unfailingly reliable and dependable. We all have our off days but I know what it is like to flap in the breeze and it's not a good  look and to be avoided at all costs.

Dirty minds

I confess. I do enjoy my Tumblr account very much and I do watch the odd little clip that gives me even more insight into a photograph such as the one above. It was in a documentary about making porn where I watched a girl in the same testing position as the girl here. Her mouth wasn't gagged and she was calling out phrases, "oh, my poor little hole, my poor little hole". Maybe she had rehearsed the line, but the words and sounds she emitted sounded authentic, the sort of whimpers and cries and pleas that any girl in a similar situation is likely to produce! Finally she said with desperation evident in her voice, "I can't take any more, I can't take any more...", but on the camera rolled, the producers waiting to see, I think, if she calmed down a little, could take a little more, pushing and prodding her mind as well as her ass.

It's an interesting thing to consider, arousal and libido and its relationship to the power of suggestion. I lived 50+ years before I ever saw such a evil contraption and yet the moment I saw it my mind was turned 'on'. That's probably because I was ready to see it. I had explored power exchange enough whereby the notion of the body of a 'toy' being trained in various ways was acceptable to me, to the point where it was arousing to my mind to observe.

In fact, I lived 50+ years before I knew very much about the range of sexual activities at all. My own rather perverse mind had gone as far as it could go without training or someone in my life actually wanting and needing me to go much further in my explorations. When I was introduced to various new ideas, some were embraced immediately and others took time to cement themselves in my mind. It's very far from a situation where I was comfortable with more extreme thoughts overnight. It was a step by step process. Objectification, humiliation play and the owning of 'property' is not suited to those in a hurry. My point is that if you plan to train a girl (or bottom) it's best to have a good supply of patience and to accept that it may be two steps forward and one step back for quite some time. There is quite a lot to take on here.

I think energy for life comes in all sorts of guises. If one puts a great deal of energy into, say, painting or writing or trading markets or model car collecting, there may not be quite as much available sexual energy in that person. The time and effort they put into those other endeavors may be compensation for, or an alternative to, the energy they might have put into exploring sex and the body. Neither is the right or wrong way to live, but to have a robust sexual life, it takes two people who share an interest in sexual exploration and challenge. To have a robust and fulfilling power dynamic it takes consistent effort on both sides.

Over time, the sexual act can become repetitive and relationships can morph into something other than what began as the union of two young libidinous souls. For some people they move on, putting their pent up energies into other pursuits (bridge, tennis, sports cars, what have you...) whilst in other cases, one or both of the members of the union decide to ram it up a bit, to try new activities, new games, and even to do a little 'mind fucking'.

Although to many people the above image seems severe and off-putting, mean and nasty stuff, to other people, such as women like me who like to imagine being put in this situation, as challenging as it is on various levels (!), it's an incredible turn on. What I have come to understand is that sometimes a woman needs to say "oh, that's gross and offensive and I hate it" before she can say one day later, or months later in time, "okay, the truth is that that is a real turn on, but I think I'm not meant to say that or think that..." It takes time and patience, just quietly and consistently penetrating a woman's mind before she'll show you just how dirty it really is.

And the feeling is good

I can view a photograph such as the one above and dwell on it extensively. I might sit and watch this image a dozen or more times, and then a day later return to it and watch it all over again. I might masturbate to the image or simply find myself thinking about it, and the extended scenarios that are conjured relating to it, whilst I am driving in the car or sitting in the audience waiting for a show to commence.

These moments can derail me. They tend to arrest my desires to be productive and I often find I have to write about it so that I can put some sort of finality to the compulsive thinking about it. I write this now in the hope that it may act as some sort of 'orgasm' allowing me to get productive fast, as is necessary.

Although we often do what we must, when we have our way we do what we want or what brings us pleasure. I think that when I see an image such as this it floods my brain with positive feelings and energy. My mind remembers the times when my husband has done something vaguely similar and I process once again the enormous sense of enrichment I felt after one of these sessions. It lifts my spirits and makes me feel whole and complete. I am immediately elevated.

I took a personality test again just before which confirmed that I am a INFP personality, which basically means that I express myself better in writing than I do in oral language and that I tend to process the world according to how I feel rather than what is logical.

It's true. I am in the 2% or so of the population that seems to be overly aware of how they feel and those feelings matter a great deal to them. I look to be happy and content with my life in my own unique way. I seek out those people who allow me to feel complete and deeply comfortable in my own skin. Inclined to dream my way through life at every possible opportunity I am well positioned to have a boss in my life who is more logical and practical; stern but fun loving; appreciative of the positive and negative aspects of my nature that is wholly ingrained.

It is said that the INFP personality is easily misunderstood. I think we types, as introverted and dreamy as we tend to be, do wonderfully well under the control of someone else if we feel understood and appreciated. Yes, we don't always function terribly well on our own, but some people don't mind that about us. Our child-like enthusiasm is attractive to some people. When that is tapped into and when we can shine in this way, I think that's when you see the best of us.

On one level I take power exchange extremely seriously. It's so much more than a game. Yet, at the same time it's the most delicious game that was ever invented. To accept the dominance that is exerted in this photograph and to provide service in that way completes my needs for taking the dynamic seriously at the same time as it provides satiation for my need for having a lot of fun.

I adore the exchange of energy. I adore the way this sort of play makes me feel. I am always chasing those feel-good moments and if I can't get them in my day to day life I'll happily search them out in my mind.  To feel adoration for someone is about as happy as I can possibly be and I adore to be led.

Compliance: the desired outcome

Although my husband is the boss of me (I'm smiling thinking of kids saying to someone that tells them what to do, "you're not the best of me!!") he and I, like so many married couples, don't partake in any sort of highly structured disciplinary relationship. We've been there, and it was incredibly hot and sexy, but I think he decided that for people living their entire adult lives together we could only take it so far. He's long held the view that there is an independent streak within me and he doesn't want to mess with it.

I think as well that a formal disciplinary aspect to the relationship goes against the natural flow of 'us' and what he feels comfortable doing and desires doing. He is fully engaged with his business life. I think for him it sounds like more work. I'm not exactly sure. I only know that whilst he enjoys his status on the top of the pile, isn't shy about letting me know when he's not happy with what I do or say, and does occasionally enjoy 'correcting' me with an implement in a semi-serious way, he's not into discipline with me, if that makes sense.

As long as there is no skin off his nose, and as long as he feels he is getting the attention, love and devotion that he deserves he's not against me engaging in a friendship conducted safely and respectfully, in a non-threatening way, where it is understood that I'm the 'student' and the other person is the 'teacher', with all the sense of authority that the word 'teacher' entails. Teachers, do sometimes, alas, find themselves in a situation where they must punish.

A few years ago a few extra kilos crept on my body in a menopausal way, out of the blue. I didn't care for it and kidded myself that I was doing something about it. I lost a few kilos and settled into a groove where the last four kilos to lose would eventually make their way off my body, somehow. I'd invariably start the day talking to myself, 'This weight has to come off!' only to find myself doing the same bad things, grabbing a piece of chocolate with my tea at night or a cookie with my coffee when I visited the Market, that sort of thing that isn't all that bad but that really doesn't allow for weight loss.

About a month ago now, I mentioned to my 'teacher' that today I was starting a new regimen of eating because I wanted to lose weight. He asked how much I wanted to lose and I said '4 kilos' which is about 10 pounds. I truly didn't expect him to bite at this. He never has before in any real way and I was surprised when he said that he could help me with this. It was a lovely favour I thought and I was pleased, very pleased; grateful.

We began the business of me sending a daily food journal and he made corrections, all sensible and necessary. I needed to include some protein with my meals, so, for example, I could have some almonds with my oatmeal in the morning. He banned cake more or less for good. Well, he said 'a month' but do I think that next month I can have cake? No. This has worked wonderfully well. I absolutely never look at, drool over or consider eating cake now. It's banned. My submissive mind gets that word.

He made other sensible suggestions - I don't eat the yolk of eggs at the moment and I do drink considerably more water, try to incorporate more fruit, vegetables and beans into my diet.

At first I was going about my usual habits, having a treat after dinner. Of course, that's not going to work when you need to limit calories and I was told rather quickly that I could have 2 sweet things a week. This was my 'sweets allowance'. More corrections were made - the size of a 'sweet' established as being minuscule in comparison to what I thought of as a reasonable portion. One punishment was meted out and I imagine he hoped that that would be the end of the matter and I'd fall into line.

However, as much as I knew the rules I was also dealing with a sugar withdrawal. I still, on some days, yearned for a lolly (piece of candy) or a piece of dark chocolate. One week I gobbled up my two sweets in less than a minute and that's not good. I was honest about this and he called it 'brave'. I had another week to go before I could eat something sugary, he reminded me.

However, one day I was at the supermarket and impulsively, like a naughty little schoolgirl, I snatched a bag of hard lollies from the shelf and chucked them into my shopping basket. Back home, they whispered to me, 'Just one. One can't hurt' and I had one and that led to two. When I was a school girl my mother sometimes would have waiting for me after school a fresh batch of cupcakes newly iced and I'd have one and then another. 'I'll stop at four, I'd say in my weakest moments. Definitely no more than four!' This is what happened to me with that evil bag of lollies. I ate four.

As I was writing up my food journal I was aware of last week's consequence; not that it was all that terrible but I had very recently been in trouble and didn't want to be in trouble again. If I said 'two', and as I understood the rules then, that would be 1 sweet treat. I already had used up the other one, the week was still ahead of me with no more treats, but I wouldn't be in trouble. If I wrote that I had eaten 4, I knew I'd be in lots of trouble. I wrote that I had eaten 2 of the blasted things, still acting like that schoolgirl who avoids being trouble at all costs.

No sooner had I sent off the email than I got an 'oh deeeeer' email back, which sounds tame but isn't in reality. Apparently, 1 hard piece of candy (it's less than an inch long and half an inch in diameter wrapped in its own little package) equalled one treat. Hence, I'd gone over my sweet rations again. It would be dealt with 'later' he said.

With time to think about this the guilt set in and the next time we chatted I fessed up. I honestly think (well, I know) that I expected to be let away with this. I was being coy, cute. Didn't you let sweet coy, cute little girls away with things? It was a few lollies, no big deal.

I was very, very mistaken. Not only had I gone over the limit two weeks in a row but I'd lied to him about it. I started to get that sick feeling in my stomach when I have to wait to read what he thinks about it all  and I tried to defend and explain myself.

'Keep digging...' came his reply. I suddenly remembered what my husband had told me. 'When you are in a hole, stop digging', but it was much too late.

He didn't yell or scream. Well, you can't actually yell or scream in chat but you can metaphorically and he didn't do that. It was more along the lines of a teacher being very, very disappointed in you. Then, he issued the punishment.

In some ways people don't change or not without a lot of effort, and I hadn't changed in my feelings about being truly punished. I hate to do the wrong thing really and I hate punishment for that reason. I had brought this on myself, had nobody to blame but myself, had given him no choice, but it still felt vile.

For several days I was on my own. I had to make my own choices. There wasn't a minute of that time that I didn't feel punished, sometimes assuring myself that I had earned it and had to suck it up, sometimes feeling hardly done by. It was hard on me, as it was meant to be. There were a few other complicating factors going on over that period of time that pushed me around too, but let's keep this simple.

When we talked again I was tentative. Perhaps it is not unlike a person within a power exchange who gets a good hiding as a punishment and the time period after that is awkward as one repairs one's dignity, as one truly takes in that one person is the authority figure and one person has the right to, and will if necessary, discipline the other.

'Did I enjoy my time away from him?' he wanted to know. This was like a red rag to a bull, I thought. Part of me wanted to laugh but the other part that was taking myself seriously wasn't ready to take it lightly. There was a comment about my being on 'pins and needles' and whilst it was absolutely true, I didn't want to admit that the punishment had got under my skin.

There was a discussion about him being 'sooooo strict' and then that followed with a back and forth as to whether he was 'tooo strict'. I refused to answer, unlike me. I know better. He insisted I did, I continued to play for time, until I'd got his back up. 'Time's up' he typed and left. Now I was really mad! I sent an email which pretty clearly showed that I had unresolved issues.

The next day we chatted. He asked me a question and then immediately typed 'Don't answer that' and then 'Here's the situation'. He typed out that I had disoebyed the rules, lied, made serious errors of judgment and that I got punished for it. What possible issue could I have? I offered that he had made fun of me. 'Mountain meet mole hill' he typed, and he was right. Whilst he had the good grace not to say it, I was having a problem taking my well deserved punishment. I simply wasn't used to being told that I couldn't do something and having disobeyed and lied, punished. I see this all very clearly now. I had to take that final step of accepting that I wasn't in control, that rules had been laid down and that failure to follow them and fibbing about any said lack of failure would incur swift retribution.

I haven't touched a lolly since. It seems sensible for me to treat them the same way I do cake. Instead, twice a week, at say, three day intervals, I'll allow myself one block of 70+ dark chocolate as a treat. That's it. He's quite right. Nothing was going to happen weight loss wise until I rid myself of that sweet tooth and listened to him. The end justifies the means. The only desired outcome: compliance. I respect that. I am learning.

Serious struggle

I can be impulsive. I'm being impulsive now. Writing in this blog is a very public thing to do. God knows where readers come from but they are fast congregating and I'm not silly, I know this blog will be read by the powers that be. My words will be dissected and probably work against me.

You see, in a very tangible and real way, I'm deeply questioning my choices. I'm all grown up. Hell, my four children are all grown up. Although I do indeed have fantasies that put me under the auspices of strict, rigid people (bastards and bitches really, let's be clear) I find myself in a situation where I must tackle these notions of control and compliance with which I have been presented. Don't I need to stop feeding these thoughts that go in a loop, constantly dragging me back into a world that can leave me really quite distraught and unable to function well, like now?

Without doubt, when it is good, it is very good. When all is going well I'm happy, but then something goes wrong, the strict (sadistic) discipline kicks in and I find myself asking, 'What are you doing? You know how debilitating this is for you. Isn't it time to let it go?'

I can hear your mind ticking over already. What has got into her? What has precipitated these feelings? I ask the same question myself. I know the answer but it is painful to share, to admit it even to myself.

I feel disrespected. I feel infantalised. I feel so profoundly uncomfortable with what has gone down in the past several days that I find myself needing to run in the opposite direction. There's a rigidity imposed and a conformity expected that I can't abide. I'm too old to be treated this way, possibly not 'doll' material after all if this sort of treatment is necessary. Bottom line, I'm just deeply, deeply upset and know that I am expected to swallow it. Can't.

I don't know whether to call it 'self respect' or 'sense of self' or 'pride' or 'ego'  but there's a hurt here that isn't likely to heal by just papering it over this time. If this sort of dominance is considered necessary (= anything goes to ensure complete compliance) I may have travelled as far into the world of someone else controlling me as it is possible for this woman to go.

Being corrected

After all this time, I still can't quite believe that I'm the sort of person that needs a boss. The evidence is indisputable, the behaviours so instinctual, and yet, it sometimes feels unbelievable to me, like a dream, like I'm talking about somebody else.

I read just before a quote on tumblr: 'The grip may be loose, but it is there, and it is a constant.' It's a very nice sentiment but it doesn't serve me that well. I once believed that it is entirely enough, maybe even too much, but it's not, for me. I do best with rules, even if I'm not always sure that I like the rules.

The truth is that I am indeed the sort of person that does well, and struggles, with tighter control than that. Erotically, psychologically, tight control is enticing. Egoistically, this same tight control that seems to be a very good fit, confounds me, because I am not, and never was, especially comfortable with the notion of correction. Oh sure, correction can be arousing but it is also deeply challenging. There's that distinct part of my brain that wants to say, 'Just who do you think you are?!'

For several days I've asked myself 'Why?' Why is it that I am so profoundly challenged by being corrected, really brought to task for something? I can only answer that I don't like making mistakes. I don't like being called on my mistakes. My sense of self demands that I do things well, but flaws, human flaws that we all have, weaknesses and limitations, prevent me from always achieving my best. This seems reasonable to me but quite unreasonable, of course, to a boss. He wants more.

Sometimes, I simply don't do my best. Sometimes, I wing it. Sometimes, I grab that little treat, even if I am not entitled to it. Or, I dilly dally. Or, I don't give a task the importance it (or someone else thinks it) deserves. To put it simply, I please myself, which is not conducive to having a boss.

I wrestle with this. I know I want a boss, but a boss corrects, which means I have to 'pull my head out of my ass' long enought to recognize that what I do, or don't do, is the problem. If I want a boss, and  I do, I have to conform, do things his way, and not my own.

This is all commonsense, BDSM 101. Still, it's fun to plant bombs under his chair, in my mind. I'm not the only one doing that, right?

The call of the simple life

I happened to find this post in my 'drafts', written a long time ago, and rather liked it. A similar feeling has just washed over me. Darn, but I am a homebody...

I'm flooded with a sense of happiness right now - feelings of love. From where do they emanate? Well, my husband and I saw the Australian Ballet over the weekend perform 'Chroma' and that was a wonderful treat, a really lovely sharing experienc for us that followed a delightful meal and wine at the Arts Centre. We'd left early enough to have no fuss or anxiety about getting there on time and we both were dazzled by the performance. It's going to be heading to New York and other cities so if you get the chance, don't miss it.

The following evening my son treated us to dinner at the city's most prestigious restaurant and we used up a voucher he was given at work. We didn't hit the hay until 2 am - a lovely, lovely evening with he and his girlfriend.

Today I had one of my rare outings to a huge shopping precint to buy them a slow cooker for their little house that they are renting together and it was fun to do that - bought my book club book, just simple things, but fun.

Is my sense of happiness to be found in those events? I doubt it. It was lovely, privileged, but it's not why I feel so darn content as I type away, I don't think.

I have the big living room/kitchen to myself right now. Both sons are in their rooms upstairs and I am about to complete making salmon patties from scratch and fry them up. My eldest son has just left with the washing I did for him because the washing machine in the new little Victorian rental broke down. I'm playing some superbly restful, peaceful guitar music. I've already done my weekly assignment...

No one thing in particular is great cause for this happiness that has washed over me. Yet, I feel so 'at one', so calm, so peaceful, so content, as if this is where I am meant to be at this moment in time; my home. I feel this tremendous welling of harmony in my life. The work surrounds me on all fronts. My son has a huge amount of work to chew off this evening. Tomorrow, I must write my heart out to get along with deadlines.

And yet, right now, the world stands still. I'm as peaceful as the clay Buddha that sits at the back wall on my desk, oblivous of all the paper and efforts that take place on this laptop. She sits in eternal peace, her half closed eyes denoting the peace within her. It is as if she has cast her spell over my mood, made me eternally grateful for this privileged life I lead, so full of love. I note the stillness around me. I observe the stillness within myself.

Sometimes I wonder why it is that when I play this guitar music of a Hobart man, that every single time it puts me into this place of peaceful surrender to the love of life. I remember him, I remember his wife and I remember thinking, they are peace, they are love. I want that slow, meaningful, peaceful life too.

Tasmania calls to me so often. I adore it there. I'm happy there. One day I will buy a little house there and the children can come and visit me and let that dear, little island make magic in their lives too.