The suitability of love

 I just finished the novel 'Intermezzo' by Sally Rooney. I am missing the characters already so I listened online to a few book club groups sharing their opinions, which were divided, as one would expect. 

What did appear to be consistent was a liking of Margaret, the 36-year-old woman, recently divorced from her alcoholic husband who goes to bed with Ivan, the 23-year-old "on the spectrum" chess player who she has been assigned to drive home to his Airbnb from a tournament.

The two protagonists of the novel are Ivan and his brother Peter, but we get to know Margaret from the inside, and thus, it seems to me, readers relate to Margaret, and not to Naomi and Sylvia so much, because we come to understand Margaret better. There's so much about the other women that remains a mystery. It's missing the point by the way to expect to know them better because they are Peter's girls, and if Peter can't know them better, then neither can we. It's his confusion about the two women in his life, and how they fit, or don't, that is central to the story.

One book club member was lost as to a motive for Margaret having a relationship with the much younger Ivan. Ivan has braces, isn't that sure of himself, but there's something there; a wanting, a desire, and they are both kind, humble people. The sex scenes between them are so beautifully constructed that I would have thought there was no doubt in readers minds that this is irresistibility on both sides. And kindness, which they are both needing.

I think this is either a conscious or unconscious thought on Rooney's mind all the time - that what seems 'suitable' for some people isn't suitable for other people, and maybe these choices aren't even ours, but the conditioning of forces greater than ourselves. The reader leaves the book, I would have thought, wondering about the limitations we set on ourselves about what is suitable; even what 'love' looks like.

I think for many readers it will be a stretch to think that the two women could share Peter in an ongoing way, and that's probably right. Should Peter and Naomi settle down and have a child, the opportunities to see Sylvia may begin to run down, or not. She may be incorporated into the new family in ways, a loving aunt for the child perhaps. The two women genuinely care for one another, and for Peter, and that's the glue.

Monogamy has its place, of course, but what I don't think makes sense, is that it demands that we have no care for other people of the opposite sex. Jealousy has a purpose, to be sure, but it also has this nasty demand that all loving feelings should go to one person, forever.

Honestly, I think this unwritten expectation places demands on a union that are almost unachievable; that one person has to fulfil one's needs for passion, affection, understanding, companionship and so forth, forever and ever. It's sort of bottling oneself up, kind of living in fear of spreading good will around, lest one be judged.

I don't mean that Peter's decisions, and the girls, can be a regular sort of thing, suitable for the masses. It's a particular situation, but maybe not so particular. The times they are a changing.

The hypnotist

 It's quite the task to try to describe in an online journal post the changes that have occurred in the past few weeks. All I can do is try.

I have undergone hypnosis. The first two sessions were foundational sessions where we worked on issues related to my childhood and the repercussions of things that didn't happen back then (as opposed to things that did happen).

I will try to put it as simply as I can. There was a 'part' of me that was left behind in my childhood, fragmented, not assimilated into my sense of Self. By the end of the first session, this had been completely healed. Three hours later, I was a new, much happier, lighter person. I can't begin to describe to you in words the relief I felt to have this monkey off my back.

We worked on my ability to say NO when I needed to, to love myself as much as I love others. Many things. It was a reworking of my belief systems. 

In the second session, it was about the inner child; that part of me that needed to be rescued, loved and cherished by me. She lives within me now; is praised and loved. How she flourishes with this sort of attention!

And then onto my sexual identity and sexual responses...

I am, authentically and naturally a sexually submissive woman who wants to serve, loves to serve. I radiate in praise and in being a 'good girl'. I don't need or want anything nasty in my life. But I do feel safe and loved in the submissive role led by a loving dominant man.  I want to be in a position to offer my strengths, to be of service, and to that end there is equality. We would, in an ideal scenario serve and love one another equally well.

Just to know this to the tips of my toes feels wonderful; to have clarity, to see it all clearly. This has been the greatest gift.

Worthy

It's interesting to maintain a dialog with oneself, and I think very beneficial to a person. You find yourself noting changes in mood, patterns of thought, feelings and triggers.

I think the most obvious trigger for me is anger. If I become angry I am curious about that. Since it's an experience I loathe, I want to know what instigated that feeling in my body. The answer is that I was triggered - that the thing that was said or done or seen or experienced somehow stepped on a trigger point - a wound - that still sits there deep inside and out of sight.

To put a name to this trigger point, it would be 'unworthiness'. It could be a feeling that I am unworthy of love, or unworthy of attention, or affection, or care.

It's simply not the case that any old person could touch this trigger point. I am not expecting care, or affection from someone I meet casually in the street. Although, I offer that when someone in the street is caring that's a particularly lovely experience.

So, the experience of a difficult emotion such as anger comes hand in hand with expectation, I think. There's an expectation that a few chosen people in your life will take the time and make the effort to provide a sense of attention, affection, care and love.

It's this expectation, or perhaps hope, that one will be cared for by another person that can make some romantic liaisons so sticky. If things started out so beautifully, and then drift into only random moments of care, or words of affection, the memories of the beautiful experiences can lodge into the brain and body and not allow someone to see that the landscape has changed for the good. 

Even then, the body does throw up signals that all is not as it should be - that these are painful experiences that are remarkably like those already experienced in one's youth. Unworthy of love. Unworthy of care. Unworthy of affection. Unworthy of attention.

I used to think that I should fight against these triggers - be the better person, you know? I used to think that if I tried hard enough those triggers would evaporate.

But, I found a thought coming up lately...that maybe those triggers, the anger, was there for a reason, alerting me to the fact that whatever had brought up that trigger need not be tolerated; that the emotion need not be vanquished. Maybe there were just some experiences that should be sidestepped.

So, as an experiment, I tried this side stepping of a situation that led to trigger points for me; a lot of unworthiness; a lot of wishing it was different; a lot of longing involved for something that was out of range. In summary, I took a reality check of what I could control and what I could not control, and I decided to control that which I could - to avoid the triggers.

The result has been, so far anyway, a greater sense of quiet in the body and in the mind, which I like very much.

And...an acknowledgement lodged deep in my mind...that, aside from these trigger points from childhood, there isn't really anything wrong with me at all. 

I am worthy. 

I'm just going to sit and let that thought soak in.

The need for affection and love

Back in the day, when I was in my twenties, married women who were the age that I am now often struggled with the idea that they could make a life of their own. It's not that they couldn't entertain themselves perfectly well, or find meaningful ways to engage with the world and support good causes. Rather, what they would have loved was for their husbands to come along with them in the new chapter of their lives, post-family raising; perhaps to travel the world, or simply to enjoy life in their own neighbourhood, spending some quality time together having fun. It doesn't have to be grand. My brother and his wife travel about Australia in a caravan (trailer) and have a blast.

As Anna Murdoch discovered when she tried to insist Rupert change, some things are entirely impossible. He was never going to quietly shift into a semi-retirement era of his life. Lonely, she turned to study and writing (hmmm, ring any bells??) and then later they divorced. Still beautiful and full of life, she found another man.

There are other options, of course. I had conversations with a woman in her late 50s at that time, when I was in my 20s, and she told me what a struggle it had been to accept an invitation to a cocktail party on her own. Eventually tired of declining social invitations, since her husband was so often unable to attend, she took the bold step of seeing her life in another way and started attending these occasions on her own. She would have adored for her husband to attend with her, but she reached this point where she realized that he wasn't going to come her way and thus, she didn't leave him, but she did create a life of meaning for herself in other personal and commercial pursuits. She took the next best step.

There is no doubt about the fact that I am an old-fashioned gal who very much wanted a close marriage and to raise a loving family. A little introverted, not really a party gal, for many years I was relatively happy to put much of my energies into raising a family. I did very little under my own steam, often explaining that I couldn't do this or that because of some family or wifely duty or other. For example, the next door neighbour, when we lived in the States, invited me to walk with her after dinner, but I couldn't conceive of leaving the family each evening to do the dishes on their own. (Don't skip over the last sentence. This is what many women do - little sacrifices for the happiness and convenience of others. It can quickly get out of control, so if you do this, remember to respect your own needs. Learn from me, that's the secondary reason for this blog!)

But, something happens to a woman in her 50s,  at the time that her intense mothering duties come to an end. She wants to attach herself again to her husband, or I do, and to reach more deeply into the union; to have some fun and lightness in the marriage. Still, I recognize, like Anna, that my husband is unlikely to change his ways, not in the near future and maybe not at all. I'm just starting to realize that I may have to partake some activities and fun on my own. I've booked myself into a meditation retreat later in the year and that's a huge step for me.

There's the additional factor that I am kinky. I have been shown what heaven it is to melt into the bimbo, empty-headed sexual space, and I suffer when I am not led there, or supervised there on a regular basis. Ideally, that space is far more than a sexual space. It is also a spiritually enriching experience for me; an opportunity for me to feel at home in my own skin, accepted for all that I am. But, even if I can't be entirely accepted for all that I am - my husband would never have expressed himself in this way to me, if I hadn't confessed of my kinkiness to him - I experience great succor from the sexual/sensual experience itself.

We had words recently and it is in these moments that people might reveal themselves. 'Unless you get that BDSM stuff...' There it was; a put down of my kink. This hurts more than I can say and I pull away again from having my needs met. I am happy to say that he does fulfil my needs on occasion and enjoys doing so, but it is the curse of someone who has needs out of the mainstream when their partner who can live without it speaks like that.

I had written this post up to this point when I went to my weekly group meditation. At the 50 minute point, maybe the 55 or 56 minute point, something happened; a consolidation I am sure of the reading that I have done this past week.

'I love myself' I said in my head.

I allowed the statement to be thought several more times since I have never had that happen before in a meditation and nor do I run around thinking that thought at all. This was a new thing.

Now, I have used another strategy off and on for the past few years. When I am sorely lacking in love, or feeel that way in any case, I hold one hand in the other, or allow fingertips of one hand to touch the other, and I tell myself, 'You are your own best friend. I won't ever leave you.' But, I love myself, that's a completely new thought. I definitely want to work some more with that.

Once upon a time, a good and kind correspondent of mine asked me what would be enough; how much love would be enough? It's a good question, and maybe the fact that this 'I love myself'  thought is entirely new in my late 50s speaks to this notion: How much love is indeed enough?

A month or so ago one of my sons met a girl. He didn't really want a 'relationship' with her but she got under his skin and that's what they currently have. She's been around to the house many times and last night my son asked if I had some beef casserole and brown rice for her. 'Of course,' I said. He whispered, 'She is eating crap right now.' As I passed over the bowl of food she began to tear up. 'Is it the steam?' I asked. She shook her head and moved away. My son whispered, 'She's overwhelmed at the kindness.' 'Darling, you are very welcome here,' I said. My heart wept for her.

She's had an awful start in life, a most unpleasant family life and she's trying hard to make it on her own. My son got up at the crack of dawn to take her to work because she has an injured back at the moment and he didn't want her lifting the heavy crates of milk. Apparently, the boss couldn't care less. It was at that moment I realized that my son is a carer. He likes to take care of people and it was no surprise that she wanted him as a boyfriend, sorely in need of love and care as she is.

I have zero doubt that our early experiences shape our needs and that some of us are left needing more shows of affection and love than others. At the same time, some of us are left needing to care for others more. That feels entirely right to them.

There are theories that abound about the love addict (chronic craving for romantic love) and the love avoidant (I want to care for you but don't smother me). This is important research and should be taken seriously. However, I think there is the simple scenario of some people needing to feel affection in and on their bodies due to their childhoods, and those that are particularly good about understanding this and providing it. I think of a 'Latin Lover' when I say this, someone who comes up behind his spouse/partner regularly and squeezes her, telling her that she is beautiful. It doesn't take all that much to keep such a person happy.

Following along

Holidaying in a foreign country gave my husband and I the opportunity to immerse ourselves in a bubble of bliss. We very quickly and painlessly established a comfortable dynamic whereby he instigated a plan and I followed along with that plan.

The decision to go to Japan was a joint decision. I asked if he might like an adventure, to explore Japan, and he quickly indicated he would like that. We discussed parts of Japan we'd like to get to know better and then I made the arrangements. Once there, he did the reading about that locale and determined where we would go and what we would do. This enabled me to have the experience of being led through the day and I thrived on this arrangement.

There were three small experiences where this arrangement was put to the test and the rules laid down emphatically. In the first experience we were at a Buddhist garden just outside the Bamboo Forest of Kyoto when I lost track of my husband. He was there one minute and gone the next. In a 'bimbo' mindset practically all the time on this holiday - a huge blast for me - I got it into my head that he had popped into the toilet that was close by, so I did too, only to find on emerging that he still wasn't visible. I moved on in an effort to catch up, which, of course, was the mistake. In fact, the garden was bigger than I anticipated and instead of making my way back to the Entry gate where I thought he'd go, I found myself at the Exit gate. I then decided to make my way around the garden again until I reached the point where we had started but time was going by and anxiety was building.

I spotted him by the big pond eventually, exactly where I had lost sight of him, and seeing that he was mad with me, made the next mistake of trying to explain what I was trying to achieve, instead of expressing my apology for the whole episode. I was meant to stay close, and if lost, to stay still. Very simple.

I did express my regret, of course, but not fast enough or with adequate expression of a sense of sorrow at the disruption to the day. A 'telling off' ensued. After several minutes where he chose to walk faster than me, me tagging along at a suitable distance, I asked if I could hold his hand.

'Not yet,' he said.

More expressions of regret were made on my part. We reached another place he had planned to visit. The Japanese lady came and got us when we began to embark on a tour of the garden without having our tea first (rules are rules in the Japanese mindset), and it was over tea that the ice was broken such that when I pointed out a beautiful book of the garden, he bought it for me.

The experience of losing sight of him, and his upset about it all, had me keeping extra close to him from there on. I stuck like glue to him in fact until at least a week later when I lost sight of him at 'The Great Buddha' in Nara. There was a relatively light crowd when we arrived and we were hanging out at the entrance, entranced at the scale of the statue. I walked three steps towards an example of the gold etching on the statue, when a mob of people on various tours arrived together. My husband walked straight past me without realizing it and for a good ten minutes I stood at that spot awaiting his return.

I wasn't concerned about being in trouble. I was just concerned full stop. My commonsense told me that we'd meet up in just a minute or two, but I could feel my body's response at the anxiety of being separated and all I wanted was his presence. When he returned to me, he was only mildly cross, but  somehow over the course of the holiday I'd become deeply attached to him and didn't like at all that something could have happened to him.

In the third experience, we had just exited a subway car in downtown Tokyo when he said to me, 'I had to turn around to make sure you had followed me off the train'. I replied, 'I'm watching you and you're watching me'.  It prompted him to say, 'If that had happened and you were still on the train, I'd make my way back to the hotel and wait for you.' I nodded, but something about my response registered a query in his mind.

'You've got money, right?'
'Not a note. Not a coin,' I replied.
'You mean, you haven't ever had money on the trip?'
'Nope'
'But, why didn't you ask for money?'
'Because I didn't want money. I've loved not having money.'

He looked at me, as if the reality of his wife's mindset had quite suddenly fully registered in his brain.

'You really do want an Owner, don't you? You really want me to make the decisions.'
'I do.'

He wanted to know if I had touched a note at all.

'Do you remember when I asked if I may have the notebook at the monk's stall in Koyasan, and if he could write the message of the Healing Buddha in it? The note book was 1400 yen and the message 400 yen, and you handed me a 2000 yen note to buy it? Well, that was the one time I handled a note and I remember the feeling in my hand, this note of currency, this real world, big girl note. But, as I handed it over and told the monk what I wanted, I felt very small indeed, more like a very little girl. He put in my hand a 200 yen coin as my change, and I handed it back to you. Do you remember?'

'I do remember. I remember thinking it an odd thing to do. I remember wondering why you didn't put the coin in your purse.'

'Because I didn't want one single coin in my purse. I wanted to stay in my bubble of bliss, completely reliant on you.'

The next day we visited Roppongi Hills, nowadays an upmarket part of Tokyo where the smart set hang out and purchase exquisite goods.

'Is there something that cindi would like? (He always called me 'cindi' on this holiday and I so appreciated that.) cindi should point it out to Owner if she sees something...perhaps a cocktail ring, or something else?'

But, honestly, I had what I wanted. The opportunity to melt into this dynamic with him was all I wanted, save for a few inexpensive souvenirs of these wonderful three weeks together; a little bowl or plate here and there was more than enough for cindi.

Often, he'd consult me on a purchase, but my response was nearly always the same, 'It is up to you.' One time he said to me, 'You can have  input. If you don't tell me what you are thinking, then you have to accept my decision.' I took the point, but the overarching point was that 'bimbo' was more than happy to accept his decisions. This is when bimbo is the most present and the most content, being her (it) self.

We're home now. We talked about keeping the happiness going, but he quite rightly pointed out that reality was likely to pull us back into the real world of business and endeavor at times. Perhaps, I suggested, we could go together to see a film on 'cheap ass Tuesdays', to keep the pleasure of life flowing. He agreed, we could.

I find myself asking what procedure could be put into place whereby this sense of being led might continue in my life. I can honestly say I get little pleasure in a purchase made unilaterally for myself. Should I, perhaps, engage him in conversation about a possible purchase, or show him the purchase with the tags attached, to ensure he likes what I have bought myself?

I'm incredibly happy and content and I just hope it can last. My true nature has been able to be expressed for a goodly amount of time and the last thing I want is to lose the wonderful gains we have achieved on a holiday I will never forget.

Fantasy versus reality

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Praise and affection: The essential ingredients

Dominant people want to be in control. That's their nature. At all costs, they have to prevail. If they don't prevail, much is lost for both partners, though clever types will eventually register that in any relationship there has to be some compromise and adjustments.

When a submissive is uncomfortable with a command it suggests that something has gone wrong with the delicate balance of power and energy between the two people. The Dominant takes and the submissive gives because they both want that, but that doesn't mean that something about the flow of energy between them might be unsatisfactory at some stage. Unfortunately, a remark by the submissive that she is having a problem with the command may be taken as a rebuke or a complaint.

That's a difficult situation because the Dominant might interpret this as a 'mistake' on his part and I suspect that is an even more uncomfortable thought for him than any thought that the submissive isn't co-operating or being obedient. I think sensitive people, as opposed to completely selfish people, harbor some guilt that they might have gone one step too far or been a bit greedy about how much they could fairly take from the submissive.

My strongest tendency in the submissive role is to want to make things right. I want the other to be untroubled and for there to be a smooth flow and ease of life and transactions. My biggest flaw, I think, is that I'm willing to do just about anything to enable the other to have his way and thus to be happy with me. I jog along and jog along until my sensibilities are disrupted and then I must listen to my own mind and register that all is not right. I think this is inevitable, that eventually concerned feelings rise to the surface and require expression. It's just the way the mind works.

Let's say he gives a directive. It's been a steady flow of advancement to this point and he's been forthright and determined (as well as patient), taking her onto more and more advanced levels of this training.

He's excited himself, of course. He loves to see her 'succeed' within the dominant flow of energy he provides and she's tried hard; very hard. Now he wants more - more than she thinks she can give and she expresses her doubts but goes on, endures, because he insists on that. He will prevail. She will succeed. With his steadfast determination she does succeed. Much happiness ensues. Now she's done it she has to do it again, and again, until the expectation is that she do it every day. That's enough in itself, one would have thought. But, there is more.

It becomes ho hum; everyday; not that big of a deal. Not only is she to do it every day and report on it everyday but she is to do it with no expectation of it being praised, or even discussed. It's a regimen now, one that takes her time, her focus, her endurance and that has consequences for her that aren't altogether positive or convenient, but a regimen nonetheless; part of her life.

She's tried hard to accept his demands. It is the way she is built, to try to see the best in things and to try to make things work, but eventually she is upset within herself. She's willing to do whatever makes people happy but she's no pushover, no circus dog doing tricks, and that is the way she has come to feel; that her sensibilities are disrupted.

I simply abhor this feeling myself. You might call my sensibilities, my ego, but a woman has nothing but her sensibilities/instincts/intuition to rely on in these situations. Quite unlike a circus dog doing tricks, she's a woman with an overwhelming desire to experience the surge of energy that comes from the Dominant when she gives her energy to him. That's the deal. That's what allows her to do whatever he wants of her - the attention, the affection,the praise together with the control. There isn't much she can do without those ingredients in the mix. She's can't rise without them and so the feelings falls flat.

I think this is where reliance on regimens can go awry. Is it a vanilla style regimen that I cook dinner every night? I'd say so. Is that regimen/rule going to keep a relationship ticking over nicely? Of course not. I need someone to say that they enjoy that meal if I am going to get any jubes out of cooking the meal. The same rule applies to power exchange. Attention. Affection. Praise. It's really very simple.

Knowing one's place

When I have more control than I want it's an unpleasant feeling. I like my husband to direct me and failing that I need him to make it clear who is, in fact, in charge. On Sunday morning he made an advance towards me and I expressed, in the mildest of ways, but enough to upset him, that I wasn't interested. He's not used to that sort of thing and later in the car he made it clear that he wasn't impressed.

The fact that he made it clear he wasn't impressed was good. I can tap into what is going on inside me very quickly and easily now and I felt pleased that he dressed me down. It would not have been good if he had let it slide. I felt some guilt and some displeasure with myself. Most of all, I felt more in my place and thus more content.

At the party, I slided over to him and kissed him on the lips. "You're fickle," he said, not entirely sure, I think, as to why I felt better when all he had done is dress me down. I am not entirely sure that he understands what makes me tick. He dresses me down because that is what comes to him naturally to do. I think. I doubt he does it because he thinks it would do me good. However, it does do me good.

This is what it is so important to remember: that if you are a certain type of woman, like me, you honestly do need to know your place. I know some people will misinterpret that statement. I know some women are not treated at all well. I don't mean that sort of 'knowing your place' - some sort of 'put down'; disrespect. I mean, that when one wants to belong, to have an owner, to feel owned, to be cherished and debased at one and the same time, then one simply must know one's place. To act in any other way with one's owner/husband/boyfriend/etc. is to feel terribly out of sync. There's a natural order to things if I am to feel authentically me.

Saying 'I love you'

In my emails this morning was a brief email from a correspondent of mine who simply wrote that it seemed like I was fading away. That message made me think. Yes, I have been quiet; reflective; contemplative. I have felt stymied as well. I have felt that any further writing here is like feeding a shark; a thief; a man who is waiting for me to put up another post to give him more material for his novel. It just feels...wrong; invasive; 'word/idea rape'.

Yet, I'm still the same person living out my life in much the same way; still very absorbed in the same thoughts; hopes; dreams. I went over to my email that is attached to my Tumblr account and there was a new follower. I noted that he was a man and that his Tumblr blog was filled with what you might expect of a virile man with a strong sexual drive; lots and lots of reblogged photos of very sexy looking naked women with big breasts and big bottoms. I scrolled through a few pages and that was pretty much it. I make no judgement. It's his account; his daydream time; his lust and desire that he chooses to document for his enjoyment and so long as he's hurting no one, that's all fine.

The little experience did, however, remind me once again that my foray into the land of power exchange, BDSM and Tumblr is different. I don't shy away from the fact that at times I have put up very graphic photos of people having sex. I've even reblogged photographs of people having sex whilst other men stood by waiting for their turn of the 'fucktoy' because I certainly have those thoughts in my mind. In a fucktoy state of mind I'm capable of having the dirtiest thoughts that match the mind of a virile man. However, for me there is so much more to my explorations than just sex or the mind of the fucktoy who rejects so little of the male state of mind.

In returning to the dashboard of my Tumblr account I came across various writings. I follow several people who offer spiritual and inspirational thoughts regularly. I reblogged a list of very big questions because in taking the time to think about an answer a great deal can be learned about your own mind. If you're interested in seeing the whole list click onto the 'Complete Cindi' link.

The question numbered 16 captured my attention particularly:

Excluding romantic love, when was the last time you told someone you loved them. Who were they to you?

Regular readers will know that I have a friend who I refer to as a 'mentor' because I have no better word to describe our relationship. We've been friends for a good many years now and although he comes and goes in my life in rather rapid fashion these days, we've ridden through the good and the bad times together. We've remained friends in that sort of 'undying friends' way that you have with one or two people in your life.

My friend is a very dominant minded sort of man who likes to have control and to be in control whilst I am a very submissive minded sort of woman who likes to give up control and to get to a state where I feel I have no control. Our exchanges have been along this line as he's provided training and opportunity for me to experience this sort of exchange. It's only words. The Pacific Ocean is between us, however it's been very valuable and earnest. We take it very seriously.

We've become so intuitive within these exchanges that I feel sure that we both know when something is up. We can feel some sort of issue with one another and in our own way we attempt to deal with our upset feelings. Of course, our arrangement isn't perfect because of the dynamic we have agreed to and there are misunderstandings; little hurts and grievances along the way. Every now and then we come out of the dynamic for a very short time to air those grievances or to talk about an issue in our 'real' lives that may make it difficult or impossible for us to continue talking for the time being.  It's very rare but occasionally that happens.

My dear friend was explaining to me within the dynamic we share that things were not good for him at this time and I should not expect him to log on for a time. Of course, I wanted to understand why this was so because for the past month I had my worries about him which I had been unable to share and I didn't want him to walk away without some discussion about this.

I deemed it better that we come out of the dynamic and I asked permission to do so. As I said earlier, we take our agreement very, very seriously and he's the leader of our exchange. Very. much. so. He gave me permission and we discussed more openly what had led to this outcome. In a very grown up way, I thought, (and I hope he would agree) we reached mutual agreement that a 'time out' was best; that we remained "absent friends" and that when the time was right we would resume contact.

To explain my mindset I can only say that some friendships and associations are for life. I feel this very strongly. He has made mistakes with me and I have made mistakes with him but we have forgiven one another those mistakes. We recognize in one another a sense of goodness and we have a deep sense of trust and acceptance of one another. We are both good people.We both mean well. Neither one of us wants to say goodbye and so we never do (and mean it). We have made up a few times now and just moved on.

Anyway, we were winding up this final conversation for an indefinite period of time. I knew there were only seconds left and I had the strongest, strongest desire to type I love you. Hopefully, no reader would misinterpret this statement. We've never had a romantic notion towards one another and our exchanges don't bear that sentiment at all. Our exchanges are in fact quite formal in tone as pertains to our dynamic. I had the desire to type those words because I wanted him to know that I cared deeply; that I wished him well; that I accepted him for who he was regardless of actions that might have caused me hurt. Through it all, I loved him as a human being and as my friend.

I didn't type those words. Our dynamic has a number of rules and one of the rules is that we do not say such things to one another. The trust, the care, the acceptance and the endearment should already be known and felt.

Yet, in the weeks since then I have regretted that I held back. Why must it be that I can't express a sentiment that goes to the heart of our friendship? And, so I say it now, as one friend to another. I love you. Through good times and bad, you're my friend. Be well.

Mellowing

Some mornings are stressful. We know this. This morning my son couldn't find an item that he carries with him at virtually all times and it really, really bothered him. Knowing that he was bothered, that upset me and I did what I could to find it, to no avail. Dropping him off at school, I encouraged him to "let it go" for now and perhaps once his mind was more relaxed the memory of what had happened would return. I empathize greatly because I feel very out of sorts when I don't have things in their place and I know what he goes through when he loses something too.

We talked about all this last year, the therapist and I. She said that perhaps I was putting too much stock in how distressed someone else in my life was feeling. In relation to another son she said, "While you are fretting over the exchange he's on the tram happily listening to his I Pod." Good point...I guess. It's hard for me to think about someone I care about in distress, especially if my behavior might have caused them any distress. It's what you might call being too empathic or having too strong a sense of guilt.

Later in the morning, I made myself go to Pilates class. I thought it my best shot to 'let go' of my sense of being stressed out. I know all the relaxation strategies now but with each passing day I am finding it harder and harder to be around obsessive-compulsive behavior. I want very much to just let the day come and to handle it in a calm state of mind.

People who live alone or maybe just with a partner probably have no idea what I am talking about. Unless you've been in the chaos of family life and one or more children have special needs of one kind or another you can't understand (and I wouldn't expect you to understand) how all these distractions and mini-crises trigger the senses for flight or fight, with multiple physiological responses. Of course, they are the teeniest tiniest of crises and they come and go. They are the daily grist of the mill for parents and partners of perfectionist-oriented people and the trick becomes to be aware of the tension around you, but not to let it make you tense. I keep working on this; to let it pass through me.

However, I keep moving forward to the thought that whilst I want dominance I'd prefer a rather delicate sort of dominance these days. I want the dominant to be calm; in control of himself; at peace; settled. This calm approach to life and crisis of all types would then encourage me to be settled. I want him to be a good role model for me. I want him to tell me calmly that everything will be all right in the end and if it's not all right, then it's not the end.

I've been surrounded by hot-heads and obsessive-compulsive anal retentives all my life. God bless them. It's take one to know one and I understand their complex, driven minds. However, the pleasure of a quiet man, a calm and settled person is a drawcard, I must say. It makes me think of hugs and smiles; pats on the head; someone being pleased with me; listening to gentle music; drinking soft-palette wine; nights on the porch in summer and nights by the fire in winter. It is a comforting thought for me; a gentle, wistful sort of thought which very much suits my desired state of mind. It is said that men soften with maturity; that they are gentle and compassionate with age and maturity. No wonder women enjoy the company of the older man.

A little loving

Last weekend I took my dogs over to our beautiful big gardens on the outskirt of the city. It was cold but it had been sunny all day, which was a real thrill given the grey skies lately, and I was really enjoying being out of doors amongst light-hearted people. It was still light but the light would fade fast and in half an hour there would darkness. I was walking fast to keep warm and to get around the gardens relatively fast when a man in his forties stopped me to ask some questions about my dogs. We discussed the breed for a few minutes and he got out his phone to show me photos of "my girl"  at home and eventually he said, "Well, I'll let you get on your way".

I decided to go through one of the gates to exit the gardens and then walk around the perimeter of the gardens to get back to my car when a man, late fifties, engaged me in conversation. He used the pretext of the dogs needing to socialize to begin a conversation with me and a good hour and half later we were still standing there talking. Well, I had suggested we commence walking to our cars at one point because I was starting to feel like an ice block but even when we got to my car he was still eager to share.

I saw it as a therapy session. The man desperately needed to talk about his life and I seemed a suitable candidate. He was quite a charming, well bred and well educated man. He is from a most esteemed and well-known family and the only time he seemed remotely shy about telling me his life story was when we shook hands just before I got in my car and we exchanged names. He worried that I might be a politician's wife and I assured him I wasn't. He suggested I look him up on Google and I did. The facts he had given me about his life were quite accurate. He was who he said he was.

What is significant about this man in terms of this space is his marriage. He has been married for, I'd say, 35 years to the one woman and they have had one child. She has her own business and when she's not doing that she tends to her many horses. The horses alone take up six hours of every day. They sometimes have business trips overseas, he said, but they don't go on holiday at all because of her commitment to the horses.

He talked of his many affairs and of the last affair in particular and he talked of how wonderful it is to get to know someone and feel their affection. He was in rhapsody about that.

"You sound lonely. Have you told your wife  how you feel?" I asked.

"Well, the horses are a big part of her life. I can't ask her to give them up," he replied.

There seemed no handy solution to his dilemma that I could offer and so I listened; just gave him my ear and made general comments, as seemed appropriate.

Thinking back on the conversation I offered almost nothing about myself or my personal feelings. I gave him opinions and assessments about various topics but not about me or the state of my marriage or my personal feelings. I doubt he had a clue as to whether I was feeling lonely or sad or happy and enriched. It just wasn't the point. He needed to talk and I was prepared to listen.

Is it fair to say that this man has sacrificed his happiness for his wife? I am not sure about that really because he opted not to be the breadwinner of the family. She makes the money and that gives him the opportunity to do his good deeds for the community at large, his lobbying, which provides him with much more satisfaction than a job could do. She may have sacrificed something in that marriage as well. It is awfully hard to say without knowing her side of the story as well.

He says that they are "better" now and that he's been a good boy since the last affair was exposed but he misses her (the lover) "terribly". I think he misses the affection; the conversation; the going to see a movie together; having a meal together.

"You know, when it rolls around to 8.30 pm you do say to yourself, 'Well, it would be rather nice to have dinner some time soon..."

I wondered to myself if he prepared dinner for his wife sometimes so that it was ready when she got back from the horses. I didn't ask about that. I didn't ask about hardly anything. It was all volunteered.

Perhaps this is what marriage is all about; about making compromises for one another. Yet, if one does not receive affection at home eventually one is tempted to find it in other quarters, I think. If someone offered him a happy home, a fire in the hearth and a home-cooked meal, a little affection and love, I think he'd be sorely tempted. He's not getting any younger and he is in desperate need of a little loving. We all need that.

Reinvention

I had five couples to dinner on Saturday night. It was an old fashioned dinner party with everything laid on. It wasn't out of any sort of obligation that I did that but rather a strong desire to do things very well and give everyone a good time. They were effusive in their praise at the time and I have had some lovely phone calls thanking me for such a wonderful evening.

In fact all six couples have been together since our 20s and our marriages are all very strong. Patricia (let's call her) said to me just now that my husband was "devoted" to me and it pulled me up with a round turn. She is absolutely right. He is devoted to me; still passionate, loving and turned on by me.

She is moving to Singapore with John (let's call him) and although she doesn't want to move to Singapore again we agreed she needed to think of it as an "adventure". She said to me "at our age, darling, in our 50s now, we have to reinvent our marriages." I smiled. Little did she know that I reinvented mine some years ago and have had a blast doing so, revelling in being "the slut", that object that needs use. That would be too much information so instead of telling her of my debasement, I simply agreed. As you do. Time indeed to reinvent our marriages!

My husband and I remain full of love for one another; deeply committed to one another and we look forward to the next part of our lives with a great sense of excitement and vigor. Honestly, who could ask for more?

Like sister, like brother

I only have one sibling; a younger brother. Growing up, our parents were often unavailable to us and it made us close emotionally even though we had very different interests. I would often find him cuddled up beside me in my bed when I woke up because he was afraid of the dark and would come to me. Over the years we have stayed in close touch but we don’t see each other often due to geographical issues and our form of contact these days is mostly email and Skype.

This morning he Skyped me to say that he had returned back to Australia safely and for the very first time ever in our lives somehow or other we were talking about our childhood. He made a statement that floored me. I found myself reading, “My therapist felt that Mum didn’t give me enough affection.” And then I found myself saying, “I am seeing my psychologist this afternoon.” “Really?” he asked. “I am going to call you.” A few moments later I heard my mobile ring and therein began a conversation that I think neither of us ever expected that we would have.

We were in complete agreement. We had been loved without a shadow of a doubt but we had also not been privy to anything close to a normal childhood. Our parents’ behaviour had in no way been callous but it had been neglectful and we had been forced to admit that it had left us with some scars.

In my brother’s case it had compromised his sense of belonging and in my case it had compromised my sense of safety and security. In both cases we determined, quite separately, to create our own families. We both married young and we both had a fairly big family and we both put a lot into raising our children well.

Both of our voices broke as we shared what it had been like for us – virtually no celebration of Christmas or birthdays, working on public holidays, virtually no family holidays, my brother having to mind the business whilst my parents went away, my brother being encouraged to leave school and work the family business, my desires to go to university being criticized; being brought up by one Italian woman during the day and another at night without family meals; not actually having a family home but living within the business establishment with little privacy or security.

We talked about how impossible it remains to have a sense of family – my mother continues to try to avoid Christmas celebrations, actually planning a trip this year at that time to avoid it altogether, and although she is happy to send a cheque to my children on their birthday or at Christmas, she does not see it as appropriate that she should visit them on their special day or share Christmas with them. A sporting commitment meant that she avoided attending Grandparents Day at school with my youngest son last year, a situation that cut deep with me.

My brother is at a loss as to why my mother will not call him and insists that he call her. I encourage them both to call one another but the situation remains rather tense, particularly because he feels that he can only give her good news. It is true that she finds any problems troubling and it has seemed easier to assure her over the years that everything is brilliant rather than burden her.

Yet, the love is there in spades. I know that my mother loves us very much and wants only the best for us. It is just that she is not willing to alter anything in her life to make that happen. She is generous without question but not with her time or with herself. I guess you could say that our parents desperately wanted children but not the responsibilities of bringing up children.

My brother and I agreed and were adamant about the fact that we don’t hold the slightest resentment towards our parents. We have got on with our lives, forged our sense of identity with partners and had long, successful marriages. We belong to our partners and our partners belong to us and that is our sense of belonging.

My brother explained to my why he married the girl he did. Her mother is virtually identical to my mother in how she raised her children, what she was prepared to give of herself and the environment as well. When they met, they understood one another and what they needed. I finally understood my brother and his wife and how that relationship worked. I always knew that she needed my brother to the exclusion of almost anything else. I now understood that he was prepared to have this tight bond with her because they both needed that. He is very clearly the leader, the dominant of the relationship and she his submissive. I had understood her needs but I wasn’t quite sure why he needed such a girl. Now, I do.

It is a huge thing for me to write down these statements on paper – to finally understand myself in the context of how I was raised and to understand that my only sibling who was raised right beside me has needs not dissimilar to mine.

We seek an extremely strong bond to our partner. It is how we know who we are and where we belong. It is how we feel loved and secure. We not only want a life partner but someone who completes us, who needs us, and whom we need. We need someone to envelop us, to speak a secret language that only we understand (they too have a secret language he told me), and to always be there for us; come what may.

I am happy to say that we both chose the perfect partners for us; with the mirror image of our own particular needs. His wife has a submissive nature. My husband has a dominant nature. For both of us, our partners have filled the gaps and keep us whole.

Flight of the angels

Her moments of nostalgia came when she least expected them; a sentiment from a movie; a piece of music.

She could feel his arms around her, holding her; giving her some of his strength; enough, he hoped to last her her lifetime.

She retrieved the letter; looked again at his handwriting and affection flooded her mind; warmed her heart; released the tears.

“Think noble thoughts,” he had written. And, she did.

She remembered him and his warmth for her; his belief in her; his ability to look at her and see her as perfect enough – genuine, honest, devoted; pure of heart.

“I’m sorry. I’m sorry,” she had cried one day. “I’m sorry I hurt you.”

“You are only human,” he replied.

And another day, “Remember me fondly.”

She did. When she needed it most she felt his arms envelop her, as she did right now.

The angels had released him long enough for him to return to her fleetingly and remind her once again that she was always very much loved.

Frederick and Agnes: Agnes sleeps over

It had been a long day for Agnes. She took her job seriously and wanted very much to impress her new employer. Since she had settled in Paris she had become accustomed to getting off to bed by 11 pm at the latest. When Agnes left the restaurant she felt a little out of control. She could barely keep her eyes open and she felt unsteady on her legs.

She did not want to tell Frederick that she felt a little unwell; that she was not used to drinking much alcohol and that it had an immediate effect on her. She tried to hide her unsteadiness by holding onto his arm. She was not really conscious that she also leaned on his shoulder or even that they were walking much slower than before. She was just doing her best to stay upright and appear that she had it together.

When they reached Frederick’s building, he had her go up the stairs first. She held onto the rail beside the winding staircase and at no point let go. She had grown used to these winding wooden staircases that led one upwards; little steps that were not at all uniform, especially around the corners but she was especially particular about her footing this evening, placing her foot carefully on one step before she moved upwards onto the next.

She had been there once before, of course, but she was grateful when Frederick gave her a direction as to where to go. She just wasn’t thinking straight and felt rather embarrassed when she opened the wrong door. She was aware that he had taken her by the arm rather forcibly to redirect her and she got a sense that he was unimpressed. She gave herself a little shake as if to insist that her mind not fail her. Frederick took her sweater and asked if she would like a hot chocolate.

“That sounds lovely but may I use your bathroom first, Frederick?”

He escorted her to the bathroom and turned on the light and left. She was very grateful to be alone for a few minutes. She sat on the toilet for a time and rested. The thought came to her that she should drink some water. She wiped herself and washed her hands and then she cupped them to make a makeshift glass and drank as much water as she could. She felt a little better. She was grateful to feel more alert.

She noticed that the bathroom led onto a bedroom. She wanted to go in and have a good look around but she also knew that it would be wrong to walk into Frederick’s bedroom without being invited. She put her head around the corner of the door and took it in from where she stood. It seemed an acceptable compromise in her mind.

He was without doubt a very orderly sort of man. It was a man’s bedroom; neutral tones in dark colours and everything was where it should be. The bed had been made; no clothes were in sight. Even the cushions on the upholstered chair in the corner appeared to have been fluffed. Agnes’ eyes moved about the room taking in the stack of books beside his bed, the reading glasses on top of them. She noticed an odd piece of furniture; an unusual shaped chair with a high back on one end but none on the other. Her eye was drawn to it and she found herself returning to look at it several times, trying to determine its purpose.

Agnes suddenly wondered how long she had been away. It would be dreadfully embarrassing to be caught being a ‘nosy parker’ and she moved away quickly and down the hall to find Frederick.

“May I help you?” she asked demurely.

Frederick merely gestured to her to go to the sitting area and she left him and went to take in the view of the city. Paris at night was a city like no other and she enjoyed looking at the little balconies on adjacent buildings. The buildings were so close together that she was able to look out and quite clearly observe people smoking on a balcony directly opposite them and another couple kissing.

She felt she was intruding watching them and she moved away and sat down on a couch and looked for something to glance at while she waited. All the magazines were about design and architecture and when Frederick glanced in on her she asked him about it. It delighted her to discover that he was very passionate about design; that he had many interests. She loved learning these snippets of information about him.

Agnes enjoyed Frederick’s company. She found it easy to talk to him but she was desperately sleepy too and she could feel her eyes start to close on her. She tried hard to force herself to stay awake and alert but it was almost painful to force her eyes to stay open. She tried to make her eyes go very wide as if to will them to stay open but she could feel herself starting to go under and she had no control over the feeling. She decided to just close her eyes for a moment.

When Agnes woke up, she woke in fear. She lay there, conscious of only one fact: that she was not in her own bed. She lay for several seconds trying to remember what had gone on last night and where she actually was. In a moment of relief she recalled that she was in Frederick’s apartment. He must have put the comforter over her, and a pillow under her head. She felt embarrassed that she had fallen asleep but also thought it so sweet of him to tuck her in as he had and make her more comfortable.

This experience was so novel for Agnes she had no rules to follow of what she should do. She barely knew Frederick and yet she felt so comfortable and safe with him. It really did not make any sense, even to her and she could only imagine what her father would say if he knew. And yet, she had a desperate longing to find Frederick and to be closer to him. She got up and walked to the bedroom only to discover that the room was exactly as she had seen it earlier that night. He was not there. The discovery panicked Agnes for a moment. Had he gone and left her there all alone?

But, as she left the room she was aware of a presence in the alcove to the room and she realized it was Frederick who had also gone to sleep in his clothes on the day bed. She felt a great tenderness towards him at that moment and it prompted her to retrieve the comforter with which he had covered her. She lay down beside him and covered them both. He did not awaken and she returned to slumber easily with him by her side.

When she woke in the morning and Frederick conjured the plan of them spending the whole day together she barely resisted and against all previous thoughts of diligence towards her work, quite easily told her employer a little white lie. She wanted so much to be there with him. When Frederick said in jest to tell Andre that she had been "kidnapped" she smiled, but the truth was that she was aroused. The idea of being kidnapped appealed to her more than she dare let on to him. She loved his use of the word “guidance” too. She had no idea why, but she was responding to him in ways that left her speechless; wanting; ready.

Camilla's journey to Ithaca

Camilla lay in his arms on the bed. It never failed to amaze her how such an old man could make love so well; so much better than the college boys she knew. She had asked him what was that special thing he did with her clit to make her cum so hard, but he had refused to tell her, saying that she would only reveal it to other boys and not return to him. She scoffed at the idea but he was firm and remained tight lipped.

They chatted about all sorts of topics. When she said that she was tired of her studies and wanted to get on with her life, he listened quietly, and then said,

“Darling, you are on your journey to Ithaca. No need to rush.”

“Ithaca? What do you mean?”

He looked shocked; even annoyed.

“Don’t tell me you have been educated at one of London’s finest schools and it’s most esteemed university not to know the poem ‘Ithaca’? You have never read ‘The Odyssey?”

She had sat up now and out of his arms. His words stung her. He’d done this once before; implied that she was some sort of imbecile because she didn’t know something he thought she ought to know. She felt completely out of his league; a fraud for even being in his company. She looked away from him so that he could not see the tears welling in her eyes.

“What on earth are they teaching the young people these days? It’s a crime not to know these very basic things!”

She didn’t speak. She was much too upset to speak.

“Camilla, I’ve hurt your feelings...”

“No, not at all. I’m fine.”

“Look at me, darling.”

“I’d rather not.”

“Come now; show the old man your pretty face.”

She turned back towards him and it was evident from the shattered expression in her eyes that he had cut her to the quick. He held her gently in his arms and rocked her a little from side to side and the gentleness of the movement encouraged the tears to spill onto her cheeks. When she had recovered she pulled back from him a little so that he could watch her as she talked.

“You’re right, Daniel. I am ignorant.”

“You’re no such thing. It is not my place to make you feel that way at all and I was wrong to do so. You are a bright girl who learns fast. I’m a thousand years old, darling. We old guys can be full of ourselves.”

“No, really, Daniel, I want to know the things that you know. I am fascinated really at all the things you know and I so wish you would teach me. I love it when you suddenly break out with the lines of a poem or a play. You have so much knowledge. I want to know your mind.”

“Oh sweetheart, you are such a dear, dear girl. Of course I will teach you anything you want to know.”

“Well, what about this journey to Ithaca? Why did you mention that just now?”

“You said that you were impatient to get on with your life and the poem talks of this – of the need not to be impatient on life’s journey. Would you like to read it, darling?”

“Yes, I very much would. May I?”

“Of course, you may. Come with me.”

He took her by the hand and both naked they walked along the hall way and into his library; a room with floor to ceiling bookcases. She watched amazed as within those hundreds and hundreds of books he laid his hands on the book he wanted almost immediately. He opened the book to the desired page and handed it to her.

“Read it, Camilla. Slowly. Carefully. Enjoy it. I shall make us a pot of tea and when I return we shall talk about the poem.”

She watched him leave and wondered what it was he saw in her; a lowly young girl with so much to learn about life while he was esteemed and beloved by the whole university; an icon and a truly gifted man.

She turned her attention to the poem on the page and focussed hard on the beautiful words. More than anything in life she wanted to impress him; for him to be proud and pleased.

Energy flow

A good film director knows that as well as needing to display the central heart of a movie to the audience, he/she needs to look for that heart from moment to moment. The look he gives her, the way the camera follows her eyes, or the selection of the music for that scene can all influence the outcome; the way it is perceived by the viewer.

The same is true for a D/s relationship. At the heart of the relationship is a power exchange where one has the power and the other relinquishes it. Yet, the heart of the union is really in the moments; from moment to moment. Her response determines his next decision. He may decide at this moment, her happiness is more important than his power to have his own way. It is a fluid thing and the steps of the dance must be able to adjust according to the rythmn of the music of any particular situation, mood or outcome. Rather than being something rigid as it might appear to newbies, D/s demands that the participants be flexible of mind.

I think the only fatal mistake that the dominant can make in the submissive's mind is not to demonstrate his commitment. Like children who wants to know that above all things, they are the most important person in their parents' lives, so the submissive can become jaded of talk of the dom's busyness.

Many years ago, when I was a learning to speak French, a fellow student complained that she didn't have time to learn her vocabulary. Madame turned to the girl and said

"We make time for the things that we want to do."

And, so we do. If we want to do something, we do it. The choice is ours.

It is an easy 'out' for the dom to tell his submissive to be patient; that she will have an opportunity to shine "soon"; that connection ebbs and flows. He is fooling himself.

Ebb and flow is the energy felt from one person to another; moment by moment. It does not ebb and flow by itself. Rather, the energy is created by the contact of the two people; the electricity sparked between them.

The pendulum swings, and so it stands to reason that if you give enough energy, you will get some back. Something will eventually happen. Just like dialogue spoken by those in a movie, words are spoken between the dominant and his submissive. In those words are opportunities for the exchange of energy.

Let it never be forgotten. She is not called a 'submissive' for nothing; she wants to submit . Expecting her to make the first move just doesn't many any sense.

A dominant man must engage his submissive; not just regularly but with an energy that he is prepared to exchange with her. Once she has a spark, the connection will light up automatically. There will be no need to wait for any further "flow".

It takes so little to make the day of a submissive woman. She looks not for rubies and diamonds, but rather a steady flow of affection, in whatever form that takes.

One can work one's way to the grave, and for what?

Darling, I'd love a spanking!

I was looking for a particular piece of paper on my desk this evening, and in doing so, I located a charcoal drawing one of my son’s had done some years ago now. I’d say he was in grade 3 at the time and I kept it, meaning to frame it. I will frame it actually for it has become evident that art is not really his thing and thus this interesting fox in flight is all the more special to me. He put a title on the drawing. ‘The fox is a flash in time.’ Quite right! This fox is here and then he is gone and not just the four legged kind.

My little guy has always seen the world at a slightly different angle to most people. He doesn’t say anything unless he has something to say, and when he has something to say, we all listen, because it is bound to be interesting and most likely, funny. Laughter is such a wonderful thing and even in hard times, it lightens the load.

This morning after exercising, I had coffee with several women and it was one of those times when women are very honest with one another about their lives (except me, for obvious reasons). One woman is recently divorced. For a while she was bitter and twisted, as you might expect. Her husband had met a Vietnamese girl on his travels and five minutes later she was pregnant and he had packed his things and moved out. But, several months later, she has lots of interesting stories to share with us and she certainly makes us laugh.

This weekend, she went to a club where she is a member. She was one of the last to leave, and as she did she found a man there sidling up to her to tell her she was “beautiful”. Taking the advice of a man friend, she took the initiative and said, “Would you like to go out some time?” He didn’t hesitate to exchange telephone numbers with her and hopefully it leads to good things for her.

Wanting to be supportive of her audacity, I said,

“Well, even if it just leads to having someone to go to the movies with, that’s a good thing!”

Without missing a beat, another interesting, petite and attractive women at the table said,

“Oh yes! I’m married and I’d love a man to go to the movies with!”

We all rolled about laughing before various women commented on the state of play of their marriages. Not only were few husbands interested in taking their wives to the movies, they rarely commented on their dress, even when heading out to an important event.

It’s just not good enough, is it? These are intelligent, witty, attractive women in great shape. They may not be young any more but they are feminine and soft and wanting of attention. They want their men to notice them and take them on a date.

I didn’t do it. You know me. Don’t breathe a word! But, I can tell you, I was sorely tempted to tell them about the benefits of asking to be spanked. Maybe then, their husbands might be a little more accommodating. What do you think?