Saturday, April 25, 2015


Several years ago, my husband suffered a series of misfortunes where people he knew and trusted deceived him and other associates. Ruthless men navigate the space in which he works, unfortunately. The last deception and double-crossing behavior that occurred meant that he was left financially exposed.

For most people, it would have been too much and something would have needed to be sold, perhaps the family house. It's no co-incidence in my mind that he became very unwell towards the end of the fiasco. He was dealing with overwhelming distress, disgust, disappointment and despair as to what this greedy pair of multi-millionaires had done to honest, hard-working people, including himself.

Our personal agreement some years before this, right about the time that I came to him and exposed my kinky self, was that he'd handle the money side of our lives entirely himself. He wanted full responsibility, it's true, but he also felt that it allowed me to focus on the family, on fun, on our new and evolving kinky agreement. It felt right to me too. It's a little more complicated than that, in fact, but it's all that is necessary to say in light of the point of the post.

Of course, we hoped that the situation would resolve itself as soon as possible, but it didn't work out that way. It is still to be resolved, and whilst we can't know when it will be resolved, we believe that it will happen one day in the relatively near future.

My husband did (and does) his best to create stability for me and for the family. In some measure, life has gone on as usual. We didn't move house, the children remained at their schools and universities and whilst our plans for the future had to be put on hold, life is fundamentally the same, or, similar.

Where life changed is that my husband works around the clock to ensure that "the ships stays afloat". He doesn't like to talk about financial details. In fact, I am not allowed to know the details. He gives me a broad brush idea when I ask, a few general sentences, but no more than that.

In some ways this black curtain over the situation troubles me (perhaps I imagine it to be worse than it is?) but on the other hand it does allow me to switch off from the worry in large measure and to enjoy other aspects of life. My husband has said on a number of occasions that I didn't get us into this jam and I don't need to be in the trenches fighting back. In fact, he insists that I don't do that.

When he works and worries too incessantly I tend to make two suggestions. First of all, I suggest we sell the house. 'We don't need to be here anymore in this suburb and we don't need this big house. We could sell it, pay off the debt and your worry would be gone.' But, he's not inclined to this outcome. He wants to fix the problem, and stay right where we are. He's a stubborn sort of a guy and that's what he wants.

Secondly, I suggest that we be happy. 'The miserable pair of nasty bastards would be thrilled for us to be unhappy, so let's be happy and win the game!' But, that's a female thing to say, I know, and my husband knows that winning means staying financially afloat. To win, he must, to his mind, remain financially vigilant, everpresent. To this end, every day he works hard and long to achieve this end. 'But, we can't wait for everything to be in place to be happy,' I suggest. He says he understands but the responsibility remains.  The world rests squarely on his shoulders.

Meanwhile, the lovely power exchange relationship that we shared is severely under threat. You can't put time into controlling your girl and providing wonderful containing experiences for her, or monitoring her, or surprising her with some lovely and nasty experience when you feel forced to steer the ship through massive storms. You don't make love, or feel much desire, or tie up your wife and beat her, when you have a ship to keep in one piece as it rides the gail force winds. The Captain must remain at the wheel.

As it turns out, one year led to two, to three, to four, and a wife can get pretty lonesome, pretty frustrated. 'Let's get out of the house,' I suggested this evening. 'Let's get a curry down at the Japanese restaurant. I can't even cook for the price they charge.'

We sat side by side on stools, but his mind was a hundred miles away. I wondered how I could reach him, what I could say. As we walked back to the car, I said, 'Won't it be wonderful when this is all over and you don't need to worry.' 'Oh God', he replied, 'I live for that day.' He is a profoundly well-meaning, honest, hard-working man, good man; a man devoted to his extended family, our family; to me.

It's been a very hard, painful road, but I have to believe that one day it will be over; that he will return to me, body and soul. We'll be relaxed, return to the kinky, fun and fulfilling relationship that we began 10 years ago and life will be sweet again.

Love, the strength and tenacity of our love, will win the day. Laughter will reign in this house. And if there is a God, retribution will come, in one way or another, to those who walk over the innocent and good people of this world.

Thursday, April 23, 2015

Three Green Apples in a Bowl

Notebooks scattered on her desk
Fragments of thoughts of a wife, her life
Emptying her hurried mind
of the lurid kind
Three green apples in a bowl
The Devil stole her soul
Now she wanders off to class
To pursue this farce
Not a regular girl at all
She runs to his every call.

Wednesday, April 22, 2015


I was listening to some African-Australian people talking last night about their identity. One young woman made the comment, "You try to fit into a box or you're left out of the box." That's interesting. I wrote it down immediately.

Later in the conversation one person suggested that a person ask, "What is most important to you  in the construction of your identity?" In other words, other people may construct your identity for you based on where you came from, the colour of your skin, whether your hair is curly or "relaxed", but how do you, the individual, assess it?

The gentleman on the panel suggested that once people travel abroad there is the opportunity to become citizens of the world. A young woman from the UK recently arrived in Australia provided a reality check when she said that she couldn't find the supplies she needed, like hair, so readily available in London. Happily, other Nigerians in the audience suggested she come and speak with them as to where she needed to go.

After the session my son and I explored the topic in a Malaysian restaurant nearby. That feeling of being different is felt as soon as you start living somewhere other than your home. It wasn't always fun to be an Australian living in the United States. Where do you go for your Vegemite, for Tim Tams, for good lamb? Prior to the Internet how on earth did one get news from home? What did the locals mean that they didn't know (or care) about the Australian Football League and, no, we weren't Austrian but Australian. Nope, no kangaroos running down main streets, either. Sigh

It has to be said that as Australians we know next to nothing about Africa either. That we say Africa, rather than  Nigeria or Ethiopia doesn't help. I offered to my son that he knew more than most since he'd travel for work there several times. "Nah, not really."  A fellow student living in South Sudan noted one day that the history of South Sudan will never be written since no tribal group could ever agree with the other as to the events. The more one starts talking about identity the more complicated it gets.

If I look at my own sense of identity I know that growing up in a hotel had a profound effect on me. I didn't have a house that was a home, and I didn't have much 'family time'. My own home has been very important to me, especially so since I am a natural introvert and ponderer. Wherever I have lived I have looked to create a comfortable, nurturing home; an oasis in whatever landscape.

Having a husband, being a wife, and then a mother, that was always going to be vital to me; a sense of belonging. I feel a sense of relief when I am not putting myself first. I might be pondering my own little worry when a child presents a problem and I put my whole focus on that. It's a really uncomfortable sensation to feel that I've been selfish or even self-interested. I think I may see the introversion as a huge deficit, in fact; always trying to quell and master what remains a constant, like an African girl feeling that she must 'relax' her hair.

I'm kinky, for sure, though I don't fit into any box, at least no box that I have identified. Perhaps that leaves me with no box. Am I concerned about that? Not especially concerned. It would be lovely to have people to speak with just like me, but if it is not possible, then it is not possible. Life goes on.

I'm different to the norm. This thought didn't just come upon me. One lives with that, grows up with that feeling. Perhaps it is that sense of wanting to fit into a box, to achieve a sense of identity and belonging, that leads people to chat forums like FetLife and others. Feeling different isn't comfortable, even for me. We all want to fit in somewhere.

Yet, that introversion has a very strong hold on my sensibilities. On most days, I wear my difference not with a crown of thorns but in a state of grace. The kinkiness, which I hold close to my heart, is an ever present companion. When I am closest to that truth, that my kink is all pervasive, deeply embedded, I feel most at peace.  It remains also true however that my true and complete identity will be shown to only the chosen few. This was written in the stars long ago and is an assailable truth. 

Saturday, April 18, 2015


I was late for my mammogram this time. Owing to a close family member having had breast cancer I am on a two year schedule, but in fact it was closer to three years since the last check. I felt a bit aberrant about that.

The woman took the usual group of pictures and some minutes later returned to say that the radiologist wanted one more. That led to her returning a few more minutes later again to say that she needed to take one deeper into the left breast.

I co-operated completely and quietly. But, by now, I was secretly, internally, shaken. Left in the room by myself, I had an urge to run. Remembering Eckhart Tolle's advice to simply focus on the breath I closed my eyes and did just that.

Now, another woman entered, bright and breezy; some story about how funny it had been, she and some other woman drawing straws as to who would do the last ultrasound before lunch. This sort of blithering surely had to mask bad news, I was sure.

'Is there something wrong with the mammogram?'

'No, we didn't see anything on the mammogram. The ultrasound is routine. We like to cross-check. If you could come over to the other side of the hall with me...'

She rolled her equipment around one breast at a time. She sometimes chatted away almost to herself, how I should keep the pictures safely at home for next time, and how pictures spoke in a way that words couldn't in a report, and sometimes she was silent. It was when she studied the screen intensely that I closed my eyes and began to think how to spend the rest of my life, however long I should have.

Joy. I wanted joy. Not a single thought of accomplishment, or lack thereof, came to mind. My children's faces, as they are right now, came before me, one by one. The thought of death didn't bother me. Leaving them behind without me in their lives. That did.

When I was left alone in the room again, whilst they did their comparing of information gathered, I remember thinking, 'It is what it is', such that it was an anti-climax when she bounced back into the room and said, 'That's all fine now. Here are your films and if you could just give this  invoice to the girl at the desk, we'll see you next time...'

I hadn't realized just how worked up the exercise had made me. When I mentioned it to a friend immediately thereafter, tears gushed down my face. It was a mini look into the face of death and I hadn't cared for it at all. I had to agree with Woody Allan that "my position on death remains the same. I am against it."

Although I tried hard to focus on the future in the worst moments, I have to admit a tinge of resentment crept in; that the last few years had been short of joy here at home. Back home, it led me to consider in detail this business of 'achievement' in our lives. I admit that it has not been my focus. Or, it has been my focus, but perhaps not in the usual, expected way. The happiness and wholeness of my children have been my focus; the offering to the world of four happy, well-adjusted people who understand the role of joy and laughter in their lives. (Would it not be a better world if mothers were to make this more of a focus?)

In my reading on achievement yesterday and today an example was given of a man accruing some millions of dollars in the bank. For some people such an achievement  was deeply satisfying, for this had been one of their goals. For a person whose goal was to give to others of himself, the achievement of plenty of money in the bank would not have the same power or value.

Achievement is something that only we can define for ourselves. It has to be said that the lack of achievement of our goals, whatever they may be, can make us miserable, and this is what happened here at home; to both of us, but in different ways and for different reasons. Our goals in the past several years have been different; our own individual goals that tended to push us apart.

I am absolutely fine, but, when I pushed up against my own mortality yesterday I thought not of money, or achievement in terms of a novel to my name; none of that. I thought of how I might live for the rest of my time on this earth with joy. And, I thought of my children and how I would prepare them for a life without me here with them. I was prepared, it seems, to die as I had lived; to think of achievement on my own terms.

Tuesday, April 14, 2015

Introducing Lucille

Although he did most of the work, she was the one that was ravenous afterwards. She'd showered thinking of her stomach. When they reached the bistro, would she have the Spaghetti Marinara or the Lasagna? Definitely red wine, and if he allowed it, later she'd have a spoonful, maybe two, of his Tiramasu.

She'd not had to make a decision all afternoon or evening. He'd bound her when and as he chose, fucked her in all of her holes, as it suited him. Nothing seemed to be enough for him. Just when she thought perhaps she could drift off to sleep for a while in a state of utter bliss, he produced a 'gift', a beautiful and tasteful latex maid's outfit for her to wear. Today, he wanted to be serviced in every way. He was the King of his Castle and she was to know it; physically, emotionally and spiritually. He was her King and she'd pay the appropriate homage; do his bidding; give him what he wanted and when he wanted it.

It hadn't been easy for her to stay in role; a French maid on her hands and knees checking for dust underneath the table; ensuring that his apartment was absolutely spotless. She checked herself from actually laughing, but she did smirk on occasion, such was her pleasure in these humiliating games. He debased her, made every effort for her to feel her place, but her spirit would rise up no matter what he did to her. She lived for these moments; had trouble preventing herself from lauching into his arms and hugging him until she winded him. My God, he made her happy!

At the table in the quiet restaurant, for it was now quite late, it was irksome to stay in her seat, and yet she knew she must. She wanted to reach into his face and plaster his thick lips with kisses. She wanted to stroke him, paw at him, and let anyone watching know that he was hers.

She did none of this but instead grabbed his arm and held it tight. She simply must touch him, touch his skin, somewhere.  It was against the rules. Touching in the restaurant was against the rules and he went right up to her face; brought his big, green eyes up close and personal with her deep brown eyes. They said, 'Return your arm to its rightful place', and she did.

She would do whatever he said. She would charm him. Seduce him. She would make it impossible for him to live without her.

It was working. He had never intended to enter another long term relationship; never again. But then he meant Lucille and all bets were off.

Friday, April 10, 2015

The benefits of the unyielding personality

When people are emotionally fraught, not themselves, they can say things they don't mean at all. They can behave in a way that doesn't become them. Some people do this but unfortunately don't reach a point where they recognize the behaviour as unacceptable. They don't apologize, ever. They are not sorry today, tomorrow, or next year for what they said or did; for the damage or hurt they may have caused a relationship.

There is a distant member of the family in this category and we like to say that she has 'siege' mentality. She's got it in her head that people are trying to hurt her cause when they are actually trying to aid her. It should be dealt with in concert with a psychologist/psychiatrist, but it will not be dealt with because she doesn't see that there is a problem.

There are times when I have been emotionally fraught (duh!) but the difference is that within 24 hours (at the outside) I experience an extraordinary welling of guilt. I can't wait to apologize. I can't wait to clear the air, to humble myself and to offer my deepest apologies. I know I was in the wrong. I am happy to say so, because to cause distress is an awful situation for me to be in. It is out of character and must be addressed.

Behaving badly doesn't just 'crop up' for me out of the blue. Rather, a difficult situation that goes on for some time leaves me feeling frustrated and helpless; sad. Being sad, or mad, and not knowing what to do about it leads me at times, eventually, to say things that are regrettable.

When we did talk, I think 24 hours later, I offered my apologies, but he said that apologizing didn't sweep away the things I said. I had to agree. Apologies are better than nothing, but words hang in the air causing distress. We really do have to watch our words.

My 'teacher' in any guise, he told me that instead of baiting him  I could have said something along the lines, "Joe, I am upset with you." and he could have then said something like, "Is that right, cindi? Please do tell me what is upsetting you."

Well, what do you say to that? Of course, he was completely in the right.

The words tumbled out, my distress at being such a bitch, my understanding that I had said "shitty" things; my recognition that I intended, in the moment, to wound, (because I felt wounded).

But the point I want to make is how impressive I found him to be. He was my equal in the conversation and yet he demanded my respect very soon after the conversation began.

"If there is much more of this I'll not be motivated to continue chatting with you..."

Not only had he demanded my respect but he'd made his case loud and clear. He wasn't intending to put up with bad behaviour on my part, with bombs thrown at his door. Instantaneously, I did have the greatest respect for him, because as submissive as I can be, I can forget my place too. His words pulled me up with a round turn; reinforced the fact that there is a way to converse and a way that is not acceptable to a dominant man.

Significantly, although there were tears on my part, for I was deeply upset, his putting me in my place made me feel contained and controlled immediately; better; safer; calmer. It enabled me to bare my soul and to express myself; what I was feeling; what I had held back.

I've met so few men like this; with the confidence to be this consistent; this in control of themselves and the other; this enabling. I can only wonder why.

Thursday, April 2, 2015

Decision making

Movies like 'Inception' or 'Big Eyes' consider the ethical considerations of mind control. In 'Inception' Don Cobb has the rare ability to invade people's dreams and steal secrets from their subconscious. In 'Big Eyes' we see Walter Keane convince his wife that he should claim credit for her paintings. He was the one with the talent for marketing and sales, he told her, and without him they'd not be sold at all.

Margaret is initially horrifed when she learns that her new husband has been deceiving people in this way. However, one deception quickly leads to another and before she knows it she is immersed in the deception herself. It seems she has no way out, until one day years later, and having fled from his clutches to Hawaii, she announces in a radio interview that she is the artist of all the paintings. Narcissistically driven, he keeps up the pretense until it is categorically proven that he is a liar who has used Margaret for his own advancement.

A particularly poignant scene in 'Big Eyes' is when Margaret, almost driven to distraction with the pretense, enters a church confession box for the first time in her life and confesses that she has lied to her daughter. The priest suggests that she was brought up a Methodist, her husband thus is the 'head of the household' and perhaps she should do as he says. The priest isn't aware of the details of her life, but desperate for answers, this advice keeps Margaret living the lie for considerable time thereafter.

I think in life we have two compasses that guide us. First, there are constructs, constructs like 'the man is head of the household' and then there is the gut, the little voice inside our head; that 'click' when we say to ourselves 'that doesn't feel right'.

Since constructs are devised by other people, not necessarily for our own benefit, I endeavor to rely on my instincts. As a woman that often enjoys the passenger seat the construct of having the other make the decisions can be very comfortable for me. However, as someone who isn't that far off having walked this earth for 60 years I can say that it is my 'gut' which has been the most reliable indicator and judge of what is right for me and those I love.

We are all capable of getting swept up in emotional states, in listening to advice that may be given with the best intentions, or not, with doing what someone else thinks is the 'right' thing. I've been there myself several times in my life. In good time, I come back to the core, with what *I* believe is the right thing; my moral compass; my sense of the fitness of things.

It is for this reason that I take a step away from the 'power exchange' nature of this web journal. I'll still leave my thoughts here when it feels right but I have lost a little faith in relinquishing my mind to another. Some people refer to it as retrieving 'personal power'. I don't particularly want to categorize it in this way. I think I just want to say that I've returned to myself as the best architect for the creation of my life. I'll do what I know is best. No one can ask for more than that.