Being my best

It made me smile to read the article Beware of These 10 Habit Loopholes as You Head to the Thanksgiving Feast because this is a big part of what my mentoring relationship is about, holding my feet to the fire, ensuring that I stick with my goals and not make silly excuses.

In essence,  a good eating plan will enable you lose weight quite easily. It's almost painless to lose weight so long as you make healthy choices and avoid all the empty calories such as cake and chocolate. It's not a fast way to lose weight, for me, but it is an effective and healthy way to lose weight without much pain.

Of course, we all enjoy our little indulgences and there are so many reasons we give ourselves to indulge. 'Tomorrow I'll be good', or 'But, it's a gluten free cookie'. Number 4 in the article, the 'lack of control' loophole made me wince because I used that excuse recently to no good effect. I received absolutely no sympathy whatsoever and the repercussions made it clear that it would be unwise to ever use it again. He works on the model that in this matter he has to be cruel to be kind, and over time, I came to see that he was right. I was using a bunch of loopholes in my thinking to justify my poor choices which kept me unable to lose the 4 kilos I wanted to lose.

When I stand on the scales and see the number slowly reducing over time, I am reminded that my thought processes have gradually adjusted to take account of good choices he insists I make. I haven't managed to get through a week without using up my sweets allowance (meagre as it is) but I have managed to stay within the allowance and that is a good thing.

Our habits do tend to define us. We drink a soda perhaps and think nothing of it. Yet, the evidence is in that being a soda drinker is as dangerous to one's health as being a smoker. Coca Cola won't tell you this and nor will the supermarkets who sell it to you. It's absolutely frightening how huge the sale of soft drinks is in Australia and I would take a guess it is worse in the United States. Unless we stop and think about what we do we are just pawns in their game. Soft drink is like drinking poison. It will take years off your life expectancy.

The mentoring process over the past few months has been a huge wake up call for me as I begin to see how mentoring, or shall we call it 'the dominant taking a stand to assist the submissive with her goals plan' can be incredibly effective. Not only can this relationship be applied to healthy food choices but could in effect be used to assist her (or him) with just about any other goal.

I rarely get to bed on time and thus often don't get enough sleep, and I can't seem to establish an effective daily writing plan which really irks me and holds me back from achieving my goals. I begin to see how profound it would be in my life to have someone devise rules for me to which I must abide. I've tended to think of myself as a relatively/reasonably disciplined person and yet I am beginning to see that there is a great deal of untapped potential in my day(s). I've considered much of my submissive mindset from an erotic perspective, but if I am honest I have to admit that I would respond to dominance in many other ways as well.

My mentor is strict but he knows he has to be strict, with me at least. I've been grumpy at times with the lengths to which he will go to ensure my co-operation but I have come to see that he has been altering my patterns, using his control to shift my thinking to a more effective path. It hasn't been easy to admit that I need some assistance with my daily life but it is crystal clear that I do well with a boss, and a strict boss at that.

Garnering more control

A few nights ago there was some lovemaking and afterwards I just could not contain my frustration. I wasn't rude but I was fairly blunt; that without feeling his control life didn't have the same positive element for me.

At first, he was a bit upset by my comments but we agreed to sleep on it and in the morning, in his arms, I explained my point of view in more detail. It's the first talk I can remember having where we were really entirely honest and open with each other, or at least the best talk. If there was one thing I said that really resonated for him it was this:

'We were both born equal. We are both well educated. When we are dealing with the outside world, we're equals. But, my nature isn't your nature. I want to be controlled. That's what makes me happy and what feels right. Think of it as a role. That's my erotic role. You want to control. You know you do. You want to influence politics, the government, business - really everybody you come across in your world to some degree. That's the way your desire for control of your world is expressed. But, you aren't eroticizing your need for control. You aren't controlling me in the ways I'd like and need, that I crave.'

I could see him really listening to that.

'I get that', he said, 'but you can try to invoke the 'get out of jail card with me' when you're due for some discipline. If you want to feel control you have to stop doing that.'

'Agreed,' I said. 'I hand over control to you. What you say, goes.'

Seconds later, I found myself in a wonderfully vulnerable situation, totally immersed in a scene where I was at his mercy, treated like a fucktoy. It's too special to post the details but it ended with him scrubbing me in the shower, not at all gently, and me adoring every heavenly moment of it. Off we went to a birthday lunch at a winery and he said I looked beautiful, that I glowed. I do look different when I'm erotically dominated. I just do.

It's up to me now to seek to maintain that momentum, to let go and just follow, in every way. Interestingly, I have been aware of his changing moods since then. It was obvious he was deeply aroused and happy to be controlling me and to hear and see my response to the control, but his need to control his world will remain. It's a big part of who he is and how he lives his life and it's important that I find a way to continue to be a part of his world and to feel some control from him without disrupting him. The control of me needs to sit comfortably amongst his desire to control his entire landscape.

Of course, this is what the mentoring has been about, particularly of more recent times. If I disobey or choose to make a mistake I've forgotten my place. My place is to follow along. My place is to be controlled. My place is to be enticing, slutti; ready for use. My place is to follow the rules established for my own good.

This is an all encompassing role. It's not just about sex. My husband, for example, bought me a box of Haigh's chocolate truffles but told me that I must gain his permission before I eat one. They sit unopened on the shelf.

'Are there any truffles left?' he asked several nights ago.

This is where we were at. He'd give a directive but if I disobeyed there would not really be a consequence. This doesn't work for me. It defeats the sense of control. I really do need to know that what he says, he means.

It's hard, he has said, to be 'Johnny on the spot'. He means, he has to live with me and within a family environment and exercising the amount of control I am asking for has seemed too hard under the circumstances. But, circumstances from now on are allowing for time alone and that's a big part of what has been the missing ingredient.

If I can't eat a chocolate without permission, then I can't eat a chocolate without permission, and if cake is banned, well, cake is banned. I was the one who asked for help losing weight after all. Anyway, I'd rather experience control than eat cake or chocolate. Put that way, the decision is easy.

I am what I am

It occurs to me that my circumstances bear a close resemblance to the person who comes to realize that he or she is gay.  I remember distinctly a gay friend saying to me, 'I didn't choose to be gay. Life would have been easier if I was straight, but I'm not. I am what I am.'

I didn't choose to be kinky and life would have been a lot easier if I was not kinky. If I had embraced my kinkiness by my late 20s I would have known to marry a kinky man. But, I hadn't embraced my kinkiness. I knew I was different, but I didn't know that I had any options. I didn't know there were other kinky people in the world and in any case I was doing everything I knew to hide my thoughts and desires, assuming they were detestable, unwanted and laughable.

It hasn't been easy for my husband, who is straight by nature, to face my relevations. He does what he can for me but it doesn't come naturally to him. He didn't seek a kinky wife. He took me at my word, how I presented myself to him, and that included being an independent woman and someone who could take care of herself.

If he had known that my heart and soul desires to submit to a man and be his 'property' and that this involves a certain amount of work and responsibility of the 'owner', would he have married me? I doubt he would have married me because it would have been very confronting and not something that made any sense to him at all. Over the years I have many times overheard him say to someone that the marriage works well because he has his interests and I have mine and we don't get in each other's way. This is what he wants, to be free to pursue his life at his own pace, such that his perfectionist personality may roam free.

I think it is worth saying that I take no issue with the long hours he wishes to work on two provisos. I want to enjoy some time with him. This really is up to me and he has always considered me to be "the social secretary", so if I'll arrange it he'll do it, generally. I understand the mechanics of this and that getting some fun into life is my responsibility.

The second proviso is that I need to experience dominance. I need to have my body 'used' and I mean that. I need to feel the physical dominance of my body. I don't know why I need this. I only know that I feel very tense and upset when this does not happen.

I seek to feel a man's desire for this outcome and to lovingly dominate me across the board - how I speak, what I achieve, what exercise I do, what I eat. I'd love to have him take an interest in these matters as part of the concept that I am his property, because in this way the whole of my life would provide opportunities to feel the (sensible) control that I crave. I do recognize, however, that this is asking for the moon given the circumstances of my life and that I must accept responsibility for these aspects of my life. For example, he's been encouraging me to get back to my writing and to establish a daily focus there, but I've been floundering around with it fairly aimlessly for the past several weeks without establishing workable routines. I know I am someone who can require  deadlines, expectations of outcomes, rules!

Since we will have more scope now to be alone and hopefully to enjoy one anothers company, there's a chance that we can rekindle the great times we had a few years ago when he seemed pretty comfortable with embracing my kinky nature into our lives in a relatively all embracing way. What has confused me is that he was so accommodating then, whereas now he seems quite removed most of the time. Perhaps 'burn out' and preoccupations are really the issue. He certainly says that it is not to do with me and that I shouldn't take it personally. Hard to do, alas.

I can keep trying to work the situation but so far there is little advance. I gave him Different Loving to read and underlined the key sentences so that he didn't need to spend too much time getting to the key factors of the relationship that I'd love him to consider, but that was months ago and he never opened it. I send him emails giving him ideas and topics to open discussion. I gave him the link to my tumblr which explains what I want through words and images. He reads there, noted to me that I am more direct in what I write there now, but still I see virtually no forward momentum on his part.

The strategies I use - the physical things I do to myself, and my rules that were devised for me, along with the rules I devised for myself - are my way of coping with my life situation. To have them removed for a two week period of time has taken me to the brink. This punishment has been so severe that it has left me with no way to cope. Intellectually, I know that the time period is almost expired, but psychologically, right now, I am fragile. The toy inside me feels frightened and confused.

Yet, I know now like I never knew ever before that I need the dominance, the rules and the rituals. They are like batteries for my soul and my mood and without those batteries I'm not functioning too well. I feel lost in limbo, aware that the vanilla world is not for me but unsure of my place in this other world now. Of one thing I am sure. I am what I am.

Bimbo vacation

Rules are rules and cindi broke a rule. Or, to be more exact she did something as if she was entitled. This isn't tolerated. It's sloppy, muddle-headed thinking and it needs to be corrected. Or, to put it another way, cindi needs to be punished. Isn't that the really authentic way of putting it? Why wrap it up in pretty paper and call it a 'correction' when it is severe discipline designed to transform the bimbo's state of mind? No props for a considerable length of time. No opportunity for her mood to be elevated in ways with which she is so familiar. No limits. No rules. Reign the hutzpah in.

She was sitting there yesterday feeling sad sack miserable, as she was meant to do, when she realized that she still had her paws. Those bimbo paws could still be manicured, even on 'vacation'. Bimbo did indeed have a way of picking herself up off the floor. This thought energized her immediately.

At the new salon, where she has only been a few times, the man took her paws in his hands and in the best English he could muster he told her her paws were beautiful. 'Beautiful nails', he said. He pointed to the woman at the far end of the room, as if to ask if she did them. 'Yes, they were a new set two weeks ago. She did a great job.' 'No cut, right?' he said and cindi immediately agreed that she didn't want them cut. Even his filing was very light, she noticed.

The woman came to watch for a time. 'Beautiful nails,' she said to the bimbo. 'You very careful. Beautiful'. She beckoned cindi to change chairs where she applied the polish and once she had put on the top layer she produced a card and put it in cindi's bag. 'You come every two weeks and I keep nails beautiful. Gel refill normally $30 but for you, $25.'

cindi did understand that she wasn't the only doll in town to be given such a card, yet she also realized that in the eyes of this couple, she had passed the test. She had earned her long nails because she had shown she could look after them and 'be careful' as she had been told when they had finally agreed to give cindi a new, longer set on the previous visit. Praise. cindi needed that.

She had earned the praise, just as she had earned the vacation. It all comes down to behaviour and choices, cindi realized. cindi simply needs to choose carefully.

The Devil

"This pain is not to make you sad, remember. Thats what people go on missing. This pain is just to make you more alert–because people become alert only when the arrow goes deep into their heart and wounds them."

Osho

 For all the light and love I've written about for years, there are days when I feel that some sorcerer has scourged my soul such that I am eternally damned to desire to dance with sadistic malevolence.

I might enjoy a movie, get sustenance in sustaining friends and family around my table, take pleasure in a walk through the well-established gardens of the east side, but I am only completely alive when I can tango with a well coiffed vampire, all the time wondering if tonight is the night when he might display his fangs.

To live on the edge, to face my fears, to walk into the arena and offer myself up, this is what thrills me. To be removed from the arena pulsates with pornicious provocation. The devil knows this. The devil uses this against me. The curse that plagues me demands challenge and defies easy. The visitation cannot be undone.

My sighs during the day that disclose the inner need for sadistic stimulation of my spirit are only put to rest when this masochist is in mutual motion with her oppressor.

I want dastardly. I want demanding. I want the devil.

The arrow is securely lodged. I surrender.

David

I received some very sad news this morning that my dear friend David from A View from the Top has passed away.

David approached me not long after I began to write in this journal some years ago now and we very quickly became firm friends. Although we were writing in cyberspace from opposite ends of the power exchange dynamic it was my friendship that David sought. A loyal and constant friend through the years he was a very steadying influence in my life, always willing to listen to me.

David was prepared to disclose himself to me from the outset. He had complete trust and faith in me as his friend. I knew his real name, where he worked, the circumstances of his private life, the details of his life. More than that, he offered me the workings of his heart and I shared with him his joys and his sorrows, his health status and some of his wide ranging interests. I have a particularly happy memory of commentating the Australian Grand Prix for him a few years ago when he was at work and was frustrated that he couldn't find the race on the Internet.

For a few years David worked the night shift a few days a week. It became a pattern of my life that I would open up the account at about 4 pm on a Sunday afternoon, and over the course of the afternoon and evening, the making of the dinner, the putting out of the garbage and the ironing of the next day's school clothing, we would share anything from the most mundane of daily events right up to in depth discussions about the meaning of life.
 
Within these discussions topics about dominance and submission would often come up and I remember one time that he chose to role play with me, him acting as my Dominant.

'You have chosen to make me responsible for your well being. So, why would you question my decision?' he asked me. The penny dropped.

He was always exceedingly kind to me, generous of his time and his counsel. Aware that I was technically useless I'd mention that I couldn't do something or other and he'd explain the 'how'of the matter in intricate detail, writing out step by step details.

'Thank you,' I'd say, 'I'll try it later.'
'Do it now while I am online to help you,' he would say, knowing that I'd probably never get to it on my own.

He was never rude or demanding but quietly asserted himself with me, guided me and steered me whilst all the time appearing not to be doing much at all. This was his way.

He once said this:

'I see my role as to keep you safe, like a ten pin bowling ball is contained between the bumpers on either side of the lane.'

No-one was more aware than David that I wrote when I was happy and I wrote when I was sad, and that my writing gyrated from one state to the other in its own constancy.

He had the patience of an angel with me, only occasionally losing his temper with me and revealing his true state of mind as to my explorations. David saw true value in a woman exploring her own needs in various capacities, but under a watchful eye.

'Are you done with this yet?' he'd asked me sometimes and I knew I had exasperated him. Then would come the one word 'Sorry'. He strongly believed that he should not interfere with my explorations but rather, like a beneficent father, indulge me, watching from on high.

Like all of us writing in this space David could be naughty. He once suggested that we open a journal together and that I write from the dominant perspective. He'd be the wise Uncle giving his nephew advice in the background from time to time as to how to dominate his love interest. That was an interesting time!

But, it was when I wrote a single post about Agnes, a pretty dark haired French girl from the country and newly arrived in Paris that he was truly inspired. Frederick spoke to him and he took great pleasure in constructing the story of Frederick's seduction of Agnes. The character of Frederick is David in so many ways; the consummate refined gentleman who quietly and gently expresses his dominant personality. I was delighted to be able to indulge him in this way.

In the past few years it became clear that David was slowing down and that his health was ailing. We grew to spend more time chatting about food or health remedies. The last email I have from him is about a dining venue in my home town that he thought I might enjoy and I was delighted to tell him that I could in fact walk to that establishment from my home. He put me onto adding a few spoonfuls of quinoa into my porridge in the mornings to get some protein, and I never let him live down the day that he ate a whole bag of marshmallows covered in chocolate. I'm sure he regretted sharing that little sin with me and would chide me to resist, or else!

No matter how difficult his health David maintained a strong desire to live and to make the best of his life. Always loyal to those he loved he kept his dominant desires in balance with the rest of his life and he encouraged me to do likewise. He never failed to ask about my husband and children, knowing them all by name. As time wore on his responses in chat became slower, his world smaller, but he never complained, always kept in good cheer and remained positive and hopeful.

Over the years I knew him a pattern emerged in our chats, wise words that would often stop me in my tracks and have me thinking over and over again, 'What a wise man is this!' I sometimes joked that I would gather all his little sayings and philosophies and write them up in a coffee table book. I said I would call it, 'David's Wise Words'.

He scoffed at the idea, of course, but I think a part of him knew that he was an observant man who had been around long enough to understand human nature. Perhaps in the throes of falling in love his judgment could be a little clouded, but he saw the world through clear eyes, knew what he could influence and what he could not. He was at peace with that. 

I will miss him. I miss him. It is so hard not to be able to tell him how much he meant to me. It is so hard not to be able to say 'goodbye'. His blog remains behind to remind us of a true gentleman in this space; an old-fashioned gentleman with impeccable manners and a strong sense of the fitness of things; a truly good man.

May you fly with the angels, dear David.

My love.
xx

Pleasure in the pain

It's the middle of final year exams here right now and there's plenty of serious study going on and also some light relief; a sort of pain/pleasure mix. We've an interesting and bizarre system here where a cohort's score can raise your score up or bring it down. This is not well understood by most students who hold onto material themselves, loathe to share their good ideas.

My son knows better. His score was reduced for a final year creative subject he took last year because his cohort didn't do well in the exam, so this year he determined that the Drama class understood this and he initiated Skype chats where they shared answers and ideas. This is great because it would be too sad for this exceptionally talented team of performers to be let down in their scores by an average examination experience. I could hear conversations taking place in his bedroom all afternoon and night as they co-operatively worked together. They've planned lunch out afterwards and I'd like to think that in some capacity they will always be friends.

With all this in place I took my son over to school just now and we hugged in our ritualistic way and I said, as I always do, 'May the force be with you'. This is my 'good luck' message to all my children when they have some mountain to climb. However, on returning home I realized he had left his water bottle, another ritual of his, to fill up his clear water bottle just before he heads off for an examination. I checked the time and decided that if I ran fast I could make it to him before they were called in.

Past the eucalytus trees I ran, the freshly mowed oval where he had played countless soccer games, the bicylce stands, the Science building, the swimming pool and around to the gymnasium where I saw boys standing around chatting. Yes! There was some chance I had made it in time. Suddenly, I saw my son's head bob up from where he had been sitting on the grass and it was clear he was confused to see me. I held up the water bottle. 'Ah, you came all the way back! Thank you'. 'Good luck,' I said to him and those gathered, and as I was running away I heard someone say, 'Your mum is awesome' and then my son said, 'She makes me a hot breakfast every morning.' Ya see! They do care about these things.

As he was eating said breakfast this morning, he turned to me and said, 'Mum, you'll like this' and he played me an audio he had saved on his phone; a conversation between two boys that had taken place in their respective homes yesterday. It was two of his mates in conversation about Maths Methods. Clearly, one was better at the subject than the other and rather than two mates in conversation, one was performing the role of teacher and one was the student, in the sense that he understood his inferior capabilities in this subject.

'So, the answer is 9y.'
'Oh, f*ck me. How could it be 9y?'
'Because x has to be a less than y if you are derivating the number.' (I'm making this up a bit. It was gobbledy gook to me, actually)
'No, that can't be. Isn't y equal to 6?'
'No. x must be less.'
'What a mother f**ker of a subject this is! I'm burning my books the minute the examination is over. I am going to take great delight in burning all this crap.'
(Snickers heard)
'I don't understand how you can burn all your work.'
'Oh, you are going to burn your books too. Don't tell me you're too good to burn your books. This subject has caused me so much pain. This shit is going to burn in hell.'
(lots more snickers)
'Moving onto question 9f...'

This is life. There is always someone better at something than us, somebody who will teach us something we don't know; somebody who has to take the lead; somebody who has to get the ball rolling.

I adore the fact that these boys pool their resources and push everybody up with them, but the fact remains that only one boy will dux the grade. It's about PBs really and having some fun in amongst all the angst.

Last weekend I sat next to a girl who I knew well at school. I haven't seen her for nearly 40 years and it was fun to catch up on her life (Well, career really. It was all about her career.)I always knew she was smarter than me and she went on to become an academic, and I think she makes a difference to the world too, in her own way. She was well above me in terms of results, but I was smart enough to go to the same university as her and in the first year of university I'd try to get her to help me with my Linguistics, which was sometimes gobbledygook to me. My brain processes creative aspects of life better than it does mathematics or linguistics, as I found it. But, she had no real interest in helping me, I soon discovered, and I find myself hoping that these days she is more generous towards her PhD students. Let's hope she was able to make that change.

We are who we are, need what we need, want what we want. We can strive to be anything our hearts can dream but there are limits to this. We can only play with the cards we are dealt; be who we are; find our own way to shine. Peace comes when we can find the generosity within ourselves to share ourselves and when we can understand and accept ourselves; know our place in this big, wide world, because we all have a place.

Arousal from spanking

Relationships adapt, change and evolve over time. My feelings about being spanked have evolved as well and that bothers me a bit. Spanking is where it all started for me. As a little girl I'd come across a disciplinary scene in a novel and I would stop breathing, dog ear the page and return to it endlessly; play it out in my mind when I was alone in my bed and the lights were out.

Spanking is how I engaged my husband in a power exchange with me. We tried a number of different techniques and I have vivid memories of some of them. He was aroused by spanking from the outset but I think he was also aroused by the happy girl that came about after the spanking. He'd often push me far beyond where I wanted to go and I'd hang onto various little phrases that my mentor used. 'It will be over soon', I'd repeat to myself and this seemed to allow me to bunker down into the spanking. Sucking and biting a ball gag or cock gag helped a great deal and being restrained was often the perfect scenario for me, allowing me to take more than I normally could and to experience that intense sense of 'letting go' and catharsis.

For some time we had a 'black book' and he wrote down any sort of behaviour of mine over the week that he didn't appreciate. I remember saying something cheeky during one disciplinary spanking and he said immediately 'five more whacks'. It was a crop he'd been using and the five fast whacks delivered produced five angry weals which instinctively had me deciding to move away. 'Did I give you permission to move?' he barked. It stopped me in my tracks and I regained my position,  not wanting any more, a little frightened to disobey, flustered but aroused by it all too, of course.

Since the break of those sorts of situations and scenarios I'm having trouble returning to the sorts of games that he wants to now play. I think he feels that I need to be spanked for my own good and for the sake of us, but something holds me back. I give myself messages to 'let go' and just accept but there is a real rebellion going on in my head.

I wonder about this rebellion. Am I sub-consciously thinking, 'You've been absent for a long time. What makes you think you can just return when it suits you?' Physically, I am not enjoying it. There is more annoyance in the smacks or the sting of the paddle, a rising of umbrage, and I can't settle into it. He hates that I can't settle into it and he tends to stop, upset with me. Maybe, some would say, he should just keep going and get it over with, but he's reluctant to cause any undue harm to my state of mind.

He's suggested we return to the 'black book' and whilst I am not someone who enjoys having my little failings documented and dealt with, maybe that's best, at least for now. It's not that I am not aroused by the thoughts of spankings, or talking about them and so on. Perhaps I don't care for the fact that he wants to make them the so called 'sexually arousing spanking', as in spank a bit and rub a bit and touch a bit. That's just not working at the moment for me.

Maybe, I have gone so far down the 'rules' path this year that the need is there to go further. I've been introduced to rules and corrected for breaking them enough times that this sort of 'person of authority' in my life who can dictate the rules for me seems perfectly natural now. Maybe he's right about the 'black book' but maybe rather than him decide arbitrarily that I did something he doesn't care for, it should be a fairly fair system where the rules are determined in advance. If 'no talking back' is a rule, then fine, I'll embrace the rule, eventually.

It's all rather new and different and I can't quite get a handle on my own thinking about it all. It's like there has a been a bit of loosening of the wires of my brain and my thinking is altering, and what arouses me is altering. It's the tighter grip that my brain is processing as arousing rather than the physical sensation of being spanked. It's as if that is now something that isn't so much foreplay for me but something delivered for other reasons. There has been arousal in both methods but somehow the arousal is the end result of this sort of power over me in my life now, something more serious and sophisticated perhaps...