Attention

 I'm aware of power dynamics where it is all, or very close to all, serious. There are lighthearted moments, I don't doubt, but it's so clearly defined that there isn't all that much wiggle room. I had a brief email exchange with one dominant man very recently who seemed to be very much like that. All good, except it's not the style of dynamic that keeps me up at night embodying the thrill of it all; in other words, getting hot and bothered.

To be sure, the fantasies are strict and exacting. It's the fastest route to orgasm, I have to say. I don't doubt that for a moment, which is why it happens that way, not just for me but for countless women. You go where you need to, to get the required result.

In real life, my mind goes to a much more nuanced dance with a dominant man. Think of Lee, in the Secretary here. Remember the last moment when she throws a bug in the bed? Hopefully, I remembered the last few moments correctly. That's the sort of thing I mean. I think of it as a game of sorts where there are rules, there are expectations, but there's also some space for a subtle and oh so erotic seduction of the power.

When I was writing up a contract which we had talked about together at length, which is yet to be looked over and signed by my husband, but will hopefully happen soon, we wanted to think up a fake rule. That is, it wasn't an important rule, what I called 'standing orders' but rather a rule that was a clear indication more power needed to be expressed, and soon.

I have always had trouble thinking up what that would be. My husband gave me a couple of thoughts and in the end, I wrote up that if I left clean laundry on his pillow at night, that was the sign. I liked this in the end because one of the standing orders is that I turn down his side of the bed, and to arrive there and find laundry on the pillow...well, you can't ignore that, can you?

The way these fake rules were explained to me, it's important to understand the cave you are walking into here, and I suppose, the bear that manages the cage you are rattling. There's no part two of the fake rule indicating the consequences of failure to abide. You take what you are given from there on. 

I must say, I do like this. I find this quite the turn on; a mix of hilarity with fear, which definitely floats my boat.

If the power dynamic were all serious, I'm not sure it would entirely suit my slightly irreverent state of mind. All seriousness somehow implies to me that I am morally, intellectually and common-sense wise inferior, which doesn't really...fit. 

It's hard to imagine a life when I didn't sometimes point out, in sweet terms and with a wry smile, that my idea might be better than his. Or, that just maybe he was being a tad too serious.

In younger years, my husband would often say, 'I'm serious'. Of course, I knew that. So, I started calling him 'Mr. Serious' in the hopes he might see a lighter side of the situation. I haven't called him that for many years and he hasn't said he was serious for many years, so maybe that worked.

Now, this is not to say I don't want him to notice any breaches in the contract. If he doesn't notice, if he doesn't give me his attention in this way, well, what's the point? I very much want to be accountable because that's where the arousal sits. There's something about being caged that is so freeing. Did I mention it's about attention for me?

I am fortunate to have had good health overall in my life and especially in the past 30 years, and so it's sort of become normal for my husband to think I have boundless energy. When I do inevitably run out of gas, he's not likely to notice. I have to explain this to him.

There's the infamous moment in Singapore many years ago when I had unbearable pain. We were in the lobby of a lovely hotel awaiting another couple, my husband's head in a newspaper and me fighting waves of period pain unlike anything I had ever experienced. I told him I was going to the pharmacy, but the tablets did nothing to assuage the pain. 

Eventually, I got his attention and told him I was about to faint with the pain. He burst to attention then and engineered my entry into a taxi that took us to our hotel where I promptly went to sleep. (If you are a woman reading this and experience intense period pain, provide yourself with a deep orgasm and this will cut the pain at least in half and allow you to sleep.)

It is with a deep sense of jealousy that I think of women in power exchange with men who can't wait to provide oodles of attention, even if that attention comes holding implements or a laying down of the law. It's attention. It's attention. The dance has begun.

I am inching my way closer to dance, literally speaking. I have found a dance studio close by. Anything somatic. Anything kinesthetic. It's flow, it's movement, it's attending to this moment of this life.

My God, I can't wait to see Nicole Kidman in Babygirl. The shorts have me totally smitten. Nicole said in one interview that playing that woman was a highlight of her life. She might have even gone further.

It's not often a woman gets the chance to submerge herself in the role of a babygirl, a slut, a bimbo, a slave, whatever floats your boat. It's so exhilarating and relaxing at the same time. It's complete authenticity in my case. For me too, it's one of the highlights of my life.

I said to my husband recently, 'I don't know why I am the way I am. I am some sort of throwback to a much more ancient civilization.' Honestly, life would have been simpler if I was not this way but there's not a thing I can do about it.

I must surely have written about the time I was taken into trance and lived, for a precious hour or so, the life of a slave girl. There wasn't a single moment when I wasn't living and loving that life. Even being in trouble, and that's not exactly an easy place for me, since I don't like to displease (and therefore get told off in no uncertain terms), is a super-hot memory.

There was, however, one second where I was ever so slightly out of trance. The hypnotist said this. "And sometimes you will be punished, but that's okay, because you will still be getting attention.'

I had one side of my head resting on an ottoman as I was listening to him telling me this story, and I smiled. He had my number.  This, dear reader, is the truth. 

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.

Acknowledging needs

It was a pleasant day yesterday, a walk and brunch with friends to celebrate one of the girl's birthdays, followed by a walk to one of the girl's houses, since she insisted I borrow a particular book. From there, I had intended to jump on the train, but the sun had come out, finally, and I was no longer cold. I decided to walk home.

It was quite a long walk. I thoroughly enjoyed it and one of the few thoughts I had whilst walking, that I can remember, is the question, 'Why hadn't I thought to take more long walks like this?'

By the time I got home, acknowledgement of my weariness began to sink in. After cleaning the kitchen I got into bed and I must have slept solidly for about two hours. Got up, got dressed, made dinner, fed one son and myself and out the door again to do a little shopping with him for his oncoming birthday.

On return home, I took in that my husband, home late and in his study, hadn't helped himself to the food I had left for him, and for another son who would return home very late.

So very weary, I just didn't have the energy to be that perfect little hostess tonight. I washed the dishes and informed my husband that there was food for him ready to eat, just to warm it up.

I had a bath. I went to sleep. I slept solidly for over 8 hours.

This morning, whilst I was still asleep, my husband made overtones out of the blue, something he does sometimes, for reasons I can't quite identify. It is as if something about his world, how he feels, isn't quite right, and this attention that he seeks, to give or to receive, is an attempt to quiet a feeling he has. He was giving me attention, and yet, I felt, instinctively, that this was him quietening his own uncomfortable feelings. It is as if, by giving me attention I'll give him attention back and things will be put back to right; whatever he is feeling will be relieved.

We do, of course, all need attention. We all need to be comforted. But, let's be truthful here, he gets the lion's share of attention. I listen to him. I feed him. I do the things he wants to do, in the way he wants them done, when he wants them done. I make it possible for him to do what he believes he needs to do, in the way he believes he needs to do them by being the support person in his life - attending to the children, the house, the food, the washing and ironing, the changing of the sheets, the cleaning of the bathroom, the one who organizes vacations and social occasions. I acknowledge his world view of everything, whether I believe it or nor, because that is what he wants.

And if he is so busy that I need to be wholly independent, I become that person. I make zero demands at the same time as I continue to be that support person - the listener, the cook, the cleaner, the organizer. I don't ever leave my family to their own devices. They know they can depend on me to have things organized and sorted, even when I am away.

As time has gone by, and most particularly this year as I have been asked to be an independent person nearly the entire time, I have noticed something. I have come to question the reasons behind someone who has distanced themselves from me quite suddenly becoming close again for a time. Are they trying to quieten some sort of discomfort within themselves?

There's the push and the pull, and either when it is too close or too far, there needs to be force in the opposite direction. It is as if they cannot be too close, or too far, before they need to turn away or towards me. It is as if I am necessary, but when they sense the necessary nature of me in their lives, they take fright and pull away, only to repeat the cycle.

When I had a night off last night, effectively choosing not to begrudgingly motor on through exhaustion, but rather choosing to do something for myself, to rest, this wasn't about anyone else but me. I was nurturing myself. But, somehow, I think, this was interpreted to be about the other, about how this made him feel.

We become used to things. We can become used to watching out for the other - their moods, their emotions, their ups and downs and the ever-present possibility that their negative feelings will be emoted in a toxic manner. We sort of 'pooper scoop' to ensure that the other is comfortable enough with the world, and with us, that this doesn't happen.  It becomes all about them and how they feel. In other words, we stop even being aware of our own needs. Everything becomes about the other, until the other notices some sort of little difference in the service and feels the need to make that right, but for us, or for them?

This is the instinctive feeling I got this morning; that I wasn't being given a little attention because I felt low. I hadn't done or said anything to suggest that I felt low. My behavior in going to sleep, not serving dinner at well past 9 pm, identified that I was tired, nothing more than that. So, if this was happening  under the banner of him wanting to feel better, or to coral me into being that person he relied on, willing and wanting to give service,  I wasn't ready to be that person. I was sleeping. I was looking after my own needs, as I had been asked to do for the lion's share of the most recent past.

I quite naturally take to the role of looking after people. Whether this is my authentic self or an adaption to my circumstances, I don't know. I know that a few night's ago my son who doesn't have a washing machine right now came around with his laundry before an overseas trip and I wanted very much to do this for him, because it's just part of the love I feel for  him. I want to help him, especially when he is so frantically busy, especially when he cares for me with such tenderness.

I want to be in a relationship, to have relationships, that truly meet my needs as well as the other. This is a fact that I have a tendency to ignore.

Attention

There was something about the feel of this particular morning that reminded me of the time when I was thinking about 'coming out' as a spanko. At that time it was a hectic life;  three children at school and one at college, and a husband who was travelling regularly, working late into the night and completely absorbed in his business endeavours. There wasn't time to scratch myself until these feelings surfaced and refused to be pushed down. The children noticed that there had been a change in me. I was quite suddenly fixated on 'research' on my laptop and dinner time was getting later and later. I seemed somewhat scattered. I remember that the older children told their Dad that, that something was going on with Mum.

There was no doubting the time was drawing near when I would say, in one form or another, 'Hey, remember me, the woman that you married a while back? I want attention and I want it in a particular way!' Actually, what I did do was go out and buy some beautiful lingerie and stockings so that when I did make my announcement I'd look particularly fetching. I was stacking the cards in my favour, definitely, and it paid off.

Fast forward to early this morning and you'd find me awake at dawn due to the whining of the dog. At such times I often turn to tumblr. I'm rather excited about my secondary blog there which covers my spiritual, as opposed to sexual journey. I have separated them out because I'm not finding that they blend together as well as they used to in my mind. Whilst cindi is the entity aiming for surrender both sexual and spiritual, I am finding I can make better sense of this with the two journeys having their own home. The real work is to be done in the spiritual domain, that's what I am discovering; an acknowledgment that, if I can control my mind, I can control everything around me, including my desire to give up control!

Of course, this doesn't sound too 'surrender' like, but it actually is. If one surrenders such that they can accept people as they are, maintain a non-judgmental approach, a peaceful mind, happiness abounds. It's not so much that we have emotions that is the problem but that we can allow negative emotions to control us. To this end, happiness is indeed a learned skill and one that we can hone. But, having said all that, understanding full well that my happiness is my responsibility, I realized this morning that I felt rather like I used to do when immersed in motherhood. I felt like I would rather enjoy some attention on me.

Of one thing I am quite sure, that I am attracted to men who aim to succeed and who work hard to achieve success in whatever arena they choose to compete, and who take their romantic relationships seriously. I remember as a child noticing the friends of my parents and I'd wonder why it was the case that some men were so doting on their wives while other men seemed to have missed that gene. I would not have called my father a doting man exactly but I do remember the day that he bought my mother a very expensive fur coat (back in the day that's what doting men did) with the monies he had saved on his weekly bets. He was a $2 punter mostly but his number system would pay off every now and again with a big win and he'd put this money aside to splurge on my mother. Somewhere in my adolescent brain, it sparked a desire for a man to dote on me, to love me enough to have me in his mind; to have my pleasure and happiness on his mind.

Years ago when we lived in the US, my husband and I were having an indulgent weekend in NYC together and we wandered into Armani, I think it was. The man there knew his trade and he had me slide into a gorgeous coat. I loved it for it made me feel very beautiful. My husband loved it too, I knew that, but the man wouldn't trade, and once a trader always a trader.

I never expected the coat in the first place, had no difficulty living without it of course, but my husband brings it up every so often, that he should have bought that coat. He knows, deep down, as such men know deep down that they aren't buying a coat. Rather, they are giving a clear signal that their wives mean everything to them and this extravagant gift is the symbol of that realization. Of course it doesn't have to be Armani. My husband bought me a hand made summer cotton hat in Nara in Japan and I felt quite adored in that moment. Still, I think you know what I mean about an 'over the top', once in a lifetime sort of gift. It's incredibly special experience in a woman's life.

In my roundabout way I am trying to convey the sense that I think it may very well be the case that submissive women are particularly partial to attention in various forms. Access to our bodies  and to our minds is part of that attention. Using our bodies and submissive state of mind to get attention is what we instinctively know to do.

Right from the beginning, back at college, my husband had his obsessions and I had mine. He'd bicycle off to check on his experiments whilst I read on into Joyce, or Virginia Woolf or Ibsen. It is the same today and then we come together to carry on with the conversation that has been endless for 40 years now - he on the markets, politics and the economy; me on literature, psychology and education. Our relationship was designed around a good dose of independence and interdependence. It was never designed for dependency on my part. He can reign in his attention on me for periods of time but he could never supervise me continually and really I couldn't handle that. Introverts like me need 'me time', introspection time; reflection time. Also he talks 100 words to my one, so I need alone time.

It was whilst reblogging posts for Cindi Surrenders that I realized something important. 'The Awakened State' said this in response to a reader's question: "What we need to acknowledge here is that when we are stuck in cycles of resistance it is because we are not letting go of what we cannot change."

Years ago, when I felt I needed a different form of loving, when I craved that, what I asked for was very clear: spank me. After that, we explored my ability to completely surrender such that I experienced these amazing highs to which I continue to aspire. The lower I got, the higher I became. It was a transformation I adored and still adore. I am fortunate that he is willing to take me on that ride, when he chooses. I have a passion for Kyoto not just because it is one of the most serene and stunning cities I have ever visited but because he was so convincingly sadistic one afternoon. My God, I loved/hated it, and my body stayed on fire for days. We can do this very well so long as he makes up his mind as to what he wants. For Pete's sake don't give me choices. cindi hasn't a clue what to do with choices.

Once these sorts of episodes are over however, I need to return to being me; absorbed in my own interests; happy to take care of myself. This is where the problem may have lain; that I wasn't doing particularly well with that. He put it eloquently to me this way: 'You need to have something to chew on because I don't want you chewing on my ass.'

He is a little bit like a 'mad professor' type. He'll basically work until I say that 'dinner is ready' or 'it's time to leave for the theatre now', or 'I need to get your okay on the apartment I want to rent in Bali'. Why, oh why, haven't I walked in to say, 'It's time for my spanking now' or 'I want to be used now please'? Well, I know why. It feels more authentic to me for him to just do it, like he did in Kyoto. But, in line with the above, that's not the way we have done so many things. Apart from big ticket items over which he has pretty much carte blanche, I do the other stuff and keep him briefed. Why not my sexual needs? (I am trying to convince myself here.)

I can't change who he is. He can't change who he is. I can't change who I am. Perhaps he could change who I am, but he has no desire to do so, particularly. Although...he does want me to take responsibility for having adequate quantities of sex; to ensure that happens. This is our sore point; that just like I have to ensure he gets to the theatre or whatever on time by calling him, I am meant to call him for sex. This strikes me as entirely unreasonable, but again, why I am resisting what I cannot change? Why don't I just initiate, get the ball rolling, because he does definitely respond to that.

At the moment I am hooked on a few auditory files of the 'hypnosis' variety. I love them all but the male on one particular file has this way of putting me to sleep that is just so dreamy. He tells me to be 'empty and obedient' and he lulls me into this erotic state of hypnosis as if he knows exactly what buttons to push, as if he knows me personally. It's hard to keep away from that file. It's hard to not have more attention. I most certainly enjoy the flashlight honed in on me. That's it in a nutshell.

Enduring kinky thoughts

I took a survey for Galen Fous which asked questions about my kinks and fantasies; when they started and what they looked like. This prompted me to think about the sort of archetypes, thoughts and images I might have been inspired by in early childhood, for my fantasies began at a very age. I had kinky thoughts as early as four or five years old. I masturbated to them most days.

That period of my life is now over 50 years ago so it’s hard to remember much detail, but I distinctly remember bath time. As my bath was running I would often bend over. To anyone who might walk in it seemed I liked to touch my toes, but what I was doing was imagining being told to bend over for a spanking. I also remember touching myself to orgasm as a very young child. When I went to bed and the lights were turned off, this seemed the ideal ‘cover’ for my fantasy life where I could masturbate to certain images and experience the pleasure of the arousal and the climax of my body. Falling to sleep was then certain and I’m sure that I sometimes fell asleep during the process. It was my relaxation time; my time to think my own nasty thoughts.

I can distinctly remember a day in primary school (elementary school) when it occurred to me that if it was possible to read minds, I was in big trouble. Could I be letting off signals of the thoughts going through my mind? I determined that day to be vigilant about ensuring that I kept my dirty secret safely guarded.

I recall becoming aroused when there would be some sort of discipline in a story. It could be in a school setting or in a home setting. I’d know on what page it had occurred in a novel and I’d return to that page over and over. If it happened in a movie or in a show I was watching I’d hold my breath as if struck dumb by a kink filled meteor. I’d take those images to bed with me that night, and all the nights after that to re-enact.

I never made myself the perpetrator of the action, but rather the person who needed to be disciplined. I’d struggle sometimes, as I do now, to come up with a real offence, since I made it my business as a young child to stay out of trouble and not to bother anybody too much. Yet, I was immediately and profoundly aroused when in my fantasies I was lectured, sent to the Master’s office,  placed in a corner to think about my behaviour, made to write lines, put over someone’s knee and spanked.

I needed to find in my mind suitable people who would naturally behave sternly and firmly. I needed to find people quite different to my parents who would not have dreamed of behaving this way. I needed to locate for these guilty pleasures images of people who were particular; particular about rules and keeping a girl in her place. I suspect I came up with the sort of people I saw in movies, men who wore suits and looked formal and strict; men who saw it as their business to keep young girls in check, for their own good. Sloppy attire, eating sweets behind closed doors, being late to class or smudging the ink were all behaviours that could be stamped out with a good, hard bare bottom spanking, and they didn’t hesitate to make these behaviour adjustments.

I didn’t confine my disciplinarians just to males. I had a soft spot in my kinky mind for the nasty House Mistress of a boarding school who would call girls into her study after school for such behaviours as not making the bed well enough, for not passing room inspection or for bringing mud into the boarding house, having not wiped their shoes at the door. Later, she was the one who gave enemas, and who delighted in informing of a whipping that would take place on Saturday morning. She’s the sort of woman who took private delight in a girl festering and squirming for a few days just thinking about what was to come; when the girl would get her ‘just desserts’.

I also explored the situation of being in a friend’s home and her father being a stern disciplinarian. Of course, to keep the matter sorted my parents would have told her parents to treat me as if I was their own child and this led to both my friend and I being spanked whenever it was deemed a necessary correction.

Later, naturally enough, I added all sorts of concepts and scenarios to my fantasies. There would be stern lovers and husbands; there would be trips to institutions where a girl was transformed into the ideal wife. I left the more innocent world of spanking to a world where roles were far less well defined. One minute a ‘Master’ would be thrashing me and the next he’d have me over a table and feast on my holes. Hold on! Aren’t I at a school where they can’t do that? Apparently, they could do anything they wanted with me. I let my fantasy take me where it wanted to go and that often led to bondage, to anal play, to use by multiple men; to being pierced and wearing heavy rings; to more whipping than I think I could possibly ever manage in real life. I was an ‘owned girl’ and the only rule now was to obey and accept.

Today, if I need a quick fantasy, or even if I don’t and one just fleets across my mind, it is of me waiting; waiting to be disciplined; shamed, lectured, beaten and/or used. If the fantasy is particularly fleeting, there might simply be a leather strap or a cane hurtling through the air on the way to a waiting bare backside. If you’d been watching me you might see me look slightly startled as I brace myself for the awaiting pain, and pleasure in the thought.

I am today not terribly different to that little girl who grew into a big girl at secondary school and a woman at University and later in the work place and home. I try not to bother anyone and to get along under my own steam. I do my work. I am responsible, reasonably quiet living; take great joy in many small things; sometimes struggle to overcome obsessive thoughts and worries; to keep my world in some sort of order.

Getting back to the survey, I don’t think I was overly burdened with archetypes of femininity or how a girl should behave (more on that next time) except to say that I was probably a good child in an effort to not be disciplined or lectured; to not be any trouble to anyone. My parents worked very hard and were largely unavailable to me so it made sense to get on with things on my own and not to cause them trouble. Also, I didn't want to be in trouble. It wasn't at all comfortable for me to be corrected.

It’s interesting that my fantasies were and are about scenarios that I try to avoid. If I do something naughty, even now, I’m not looking to get caught and be dealt with. Guilt might mean I must confess and that will probably lead to consequences. The consequences may well lead to sexual arousal somewhere down the track but I hate consequences. I hate trouble and I especially loathe getting into trouble. I am fearful waiting to hear my fate and I’m mad as hell when it is meted out.

I absolutely love attention. Since a dominant must pay attention – to the bad as well as the good – then those consequences are part of the deal that I accept. He might be meting out disciple, but if he’s doing that then he’s paying attention, which after all is, even when being undertaken by the meanest of Masters responsible for my fantasy education (of even the most debauched kind) a form of affection and care.

Did the lights just go on? I was a lonely child, responsible for myself from a very early age. There was virtually no discipline, no rules, because there didn’t need to be. As a young child I created my own rules; to do my work, to not to be a burden to anyone. So, what could be more sensible than create scenarios in my mind where I lived in an entirely different world where there were rules; where people did pay attention to me; and where thus I was subject to discipline? And, over time, why not add in sexual components; more lovely, passionate, pleasurable attention!

I am not exaggerating in the least when I say that I have fantasies every day of my life. Nor am I exaggerating when I say that my hunger for expression of my sexuality is with me as a constant companion. I can taper it down at the edges with absorption into tasks, busyness, reading, writing, cooking, walking, talking and living life. But, my dears, it never ever goes away. Without a doubt I’m your classic perverted attention sponge.

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.

Energy supply

One of the benefits of relationships is that when one is 'down' the other can be the one who is 'up'; that is, can provide the energy for the other. That's a commonly held thought.

Though, I don't think it necessarily works that way. If one person has no energy to give, it can leave the other flat too.

Yes, I think the 'submissive' can become needy of the Dominant's energy: the one who is the prescribed 'rock' of the relationship.

Though, it's often the bottom of the relationship that actually provides the energy through her willingness to be the bottom.

Energy levels rise and fall in what is probably a range of cycles: winter/summer, heat/cold, slow times of the year/fast times of the year, hard work periods/vacations, menstrual cycles, age, challenges like depression/chronic fatigue/bi-polar. A period of hard play is probably followed by a period of not much play. And, so it goes...

Top of my list of thoughts today is this: that it probably is not a good idea at all for the 'bottom' to rely on, or feel that he/she needs the energy of the Dominant. It probably is a good idea to notice that the Dominant's energy is not available to her, but it shouldn't, ideally, leave her feeling fraught.

Better for her to rely on her own resources by accepting this reality of energy levels rising and falling because even Dominant types do get weary and overwhelmed, especially if they haven't slept too well or for long enough of late.

The prevailing thought I have is that as a 'bottom' there can be a strong need to be loved. The Top provides attention for the bottom, in whatever form that comes, and that attention is interpreted as being 'loved' by so many of us. So, if the attention is lacking, it may seem logical to assume that there is a lack of love, when this 'logic' fails to supply the correct answers.

The answer seems to lie in reminding oneself that one is actually very full of love already. If you think of your reaction to a child, or a husband, or a mother, or a dog, or a baby, or two lovers kissing in the street it will become apparent to you that love is deep within you; that you are actually a bottomless pit of love.

Didn't you well up with pride when your son did that somersault, or your daughter made you a mud pie, or when your husband brought home those half dead flowers? Did it not make you go "Awwww" and laugh when the man on the screen at half time grabbed his girl and gave her a smooch on the mouth in front of the crowd at the game? You don't need to be loved. You are already 'love'.

No need to concern yourself with the temporary lack of energy. Just shine your love out into the world and feel the energy rise up in your own body and mind. That will hold you until the cycles kicks over because, fortunately, cycles do have a tendency of going round and round and round...

The power exchange dynamic

No matter how well trained we are or how disciplined we are or how accommodating we are, there are going to be moments when things don't go as well as one would like, and I think an exploration of those difficult moments enables one to gauge the dynamic and see just how it works.

In some weeks or even months now I have only had one difficult day. It happened about two weeks ago now. To set it up, it was the first day of the last term of the academic year. I was under some pressure. My husband had wanted to stay an extra day in the country, which was fine except that it put me in a situation where I had to scramble to get in an academic task by the deadline of midnight that same day, and my son was in a similar boat.

So, on the Tuesday when I awoke I was tired (we'd done a lot of physical work in the past three days) and possibly I was not emotionally prepared for the tasks ahead of me - getting sons to train/school etc. How about I got ready fast, my husband suggested as I crawled out of bed, and we'd take the boy to school and then I could drop him off to the office in town on my way to the market?

It set me off. I said something along the lines of "All you have to do is prepare yourself. I have responsibilities and I can't get ready for the day right now. I can't guarantee I will be ready by 8.15 am." Something like that. I was clearly not myself because he came out to the kitchen and offered to take the boy to the train but I declined that offer. Anyways, he can do a good job of cajoling me in such a mood and I can do a decent job of recovering from a setback and we were on our way to the city bright and early with me driving. All good.

We weren't far from home, going around the edge of a park when it was obvious I had to stop. Two enormous trucks had entered the narrow street and I couldn't pass. My husband was immediately agitated and started barking orders about what I was to do about it. I was agitated that he was barking orders. In such a situation it pays to stay very quiet but as I have explained in some detail already, I hadn't woken up in the most bimbo of moods. I didn't really understand what he wanted me to do in the dilemma until I gathered he wanted me to reverse into a driveway as he was beckoning both the truck drivers on.

So, once I could follow what he wanted me to do, and I accept that I was probably making the odd suggestion of my own which isn't something I usually do, I backed into the driveway. However, he was continuing to freak out, and I could only think that somehow, if it is really possible to do so, I was backing into the driveway wrong.

So the trucks moved, we passed, I went into silent mode biting my bottom lip in order to settle myself and he continued to rant on about what I had done wrong, how I hadn't listened and so forth. He's good at recognizing what he did later in the day these days but in the spur of the moment he can remain defensive and he continued to defend how that all had gone down. I stayed as silent as I could but he goads me to talk in these situations and ultimately I said something like "You are all grown up now. You have to learn to get control of your emotions!" Anyways, he was ready to settle down but I wasn't and when I let him out in town he wanted it all to be settled, but all I could manage was "Look, we're sweet, I really have to get out of the bus lane now."

Once I was on my own I headed to a cafe and had a strong black coffee and settled myself: sent a cajoling text, because I did recognize that there is a way to handle these situations and that wasn't it. Later in the day he sent one back and later that night he suggested that I probably haven't been spanked enough; that spankings settle me. Duh!

I've explained endlessly that I talk with someone about my submissive side and that our conversations always have a particular pattern. I'm on the bottom. On this day, I wouldn't say that I was dominant at all but I was very unsettled at the beginning, middle and end of it. I suggested that I sensed something was up with him. What a classic case of transference of which I was completely unaware!!It was me that was unsettled; me that was feeling particularly guilty.

He was slow in his responses, probably sitting there in front of his electrical device thinking "What the f...?". I must say he did a sterling job of keeping his wits about him, ensuring that I understood that he wasn't going to budge or allow me the slightest leeway in the dynamic we share. Ultimately he accused me of not following the guidelines as laid out (How does he know???) and bid me a good afternoon. The guilt was super thick now; embedded into the brain.

I sat there for a bit, wondering how the hell this day had gone so wrong. Then, I did what I know to do pretty well these days. I pulled my socks up, got back to bimbo business as I know to do, got on with my daily tasks both in and outside of the house, made dinner and prepared myself to be charming, gracious, obedient and in my place again. That worked. That suits everybody.

I thought about all this and recognized that I don't have control and nor do I want control. I'm not necessarily that nice when I have more control than suits me. My relationships don't work that way, and they certainly don't work well for me that way. I pondered. What if I'd got the upper hand in these situations that day? What if either one of them, or both of them had not prevailed? What a total mess that would be; what an unmitigated disaster!!

A great deal of my 'training' has been learning about how to interact with a dominant man and I would suggest that the best way to do that is with a great deal of intelligence, restraint, discipline and respect. Apologies are sometimes in order on either or both sides of the coin. I'm not suggesting anything different but I am noting that a dominant must ensure he prevail. Control is paramount for the good order of the relationship.

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.

cindi has no control, yay!

We settled into our roles so beautifully whilst we were on our little holiday. It didn't happen automatically. As much as I wanted it to happen automatically, there was a transition period of time where I fought letting go of all control. He really needed to take away the control from me. Once he'd done that, it all went very, very well.

My body needed a lot of use and he needed to use me voraciously for his own purposes as well. There was a lot of blind folding and sensory deprivation; a lot of touching and handling every last crevice and every last hole until I vaguely heard him at one point say, "you're just like putty". I needed that.

One early evening, he used me for hours and I found my mind had settled on the pleasure of some time to myself whilst I showered. It was not to be and when I let out a slight groan at knowing that fact, he pushed me harder. I was to keep my hands on my head if I didn't want to feel a dozen hard whacks of the leather paddle and whilst I knew that I didn't want any more of that and that I definitely would leave my hands on my head whilst he did whatever he wanted to do, I could feel my mind struggle with having to obey longer. It was that tendency to want to obey only on my own terms that he wanted to eradicate.

I loved this. I loved that he had pushed the point and taken me to a place that I always want to go but can find hard to locate.

He gave me an ultimatum going forward. He told me that it was now my responsibility to come to him and ask at least twice a week for what I wanted. I could ask for what I needed. It could be a spanking or a caning or use. I needed to, must ask, or there would be consequences.

He seems to have decided in his own mind that he has to get me more involved in my own demise. He says that is where I go wrong; that I go hide under a rock when I feel deprived and underprivileged. That's entirely right, of course. This web journal is loaded down with evidence to support that thesis!

Of course, coming home isn't easy for us. After a gorgeous morning of intense lovemaking and some final photographs of our dear holiday destination, it was time to return to family life and we needed to hit the ground running - prepare a meal, get the youngest child off to the theater and some time later we attended the concert he acted in. It was brilliant to see him having so much fun on stage but by the time I hit the bed, I was overwhelmingly tired.

A new day dawns. There's a mass of academic work to get through, my mother arrives tomorrow for a few days because I bought tickets to take her to an art exhibition, and the house needs to be cleaned...the dogs need to be groomed and have their annual shots, there's food to cook...life goes on...

This is our greatest challenge. With four (darling) children spread out over a fairly length time period, we need to find the energy (and money) for all of them whilst we try to hang onto our own personal and very important kinky relationship.

This morning, after I dropped off number 4 child at school, I headed off to the market with the dogs in the back seat and I thought to myself how manic we all are zooming about in our (often fancy) cars around my neighborhood, chasing money and status and heaven knows what else. After Tasmania, it all seemed so pointlessly restless and frantic. I had to really slow myself down too to not be annoyed at situations that weren't entirely suitable to me and my mission for the morning. How terribly egocentric we become in our cars in this modern life of ours!

I'm reminded as I sit here of the last hug my youngest son gave me last night. Understanding that I was a bit frustrated that his (brand new) tap shoes have gone missing at the theater, he said to me,

"It will all be right in the end."

I had to smile because it was so darn silly. Here was the supposed OCD kid telling his supposedly not OCD mother that it would all be right in the end, because he knows I need to hear that. I have all these balls in the air, you see, and I am terribly fussy about keeping there all up there in their rightful place. Woe betide the day that one falls down! But, so what?! Balls have a tendency to fall and I (and maybe you, dear reader) have to understand the law of gravity.  Control is entirely an illusion.

Do you see now how vital it is that control is taken away from me? I'm a control freak! 'Every post has to be a winner' is how one yoga friend puts it about me. It is a huge service for someone to put me in a position whereby they can say:

"Hmmmm....looks like cindi has no control at all..."

  

A challenge

A man and woman meet for the first time. Perhaps, they meet in a bar. It could be some other place, but in my mind, they meet in a bar. From the minute their eyes lock, he wants to control her. Why her and not some other chick in the bar? Who knows? He's working on gut instinct, I imagine, that she's hungry and that she'll respond to his positive advances. Well, maybe she won't respond right away but she'll respond.

He has to act fast. His time in the bar with her is limited and he needs to make an impression. He wants to draw a reaction from her that doesn't necessarily have to be positive. It just has to make her feel that she wants something from him. She needs to feel that he has something that she wants and in order to get it, she has to play his game.

This really isn't about trust at this point, is it? It's not about respect, or love, or affection. This is about an animal instinct to be found in both of them: that he is the aggressor and she is his prey. And, for this particular woman she wants to be his prey, but what's important here is that she does nothing to give that impression. Deep down she knows what she wants. Even closer to the surface of her psyche she knows that a very special game may have just begun and she's not missing it for the world.

Yet, it's important to be cool here. To be captured too soon is to suggest that she's an easy mark and she knows better than that. He looks the sort that will enjoy hunting her as much as she'll enjoy being hunted. Well, she hopes she will enjoy it.

He's a brazen lad, this one; full of hutzpah and she's half a mind to walk out on him. The gall! The temerity of him! One side of the brain says to take her dignity and go, the other half says to give him some more rope so that he can hang himself.

Secretly, she hopes he's got more in his bag of tricks than she has in hers. She's been waiting for a man like this for a very long time.

Their eyes lock. He makes a particularly audacious remark. She wants to look away but she doesn't want him to think he outwitted her. She can feel her anger rising. She can feel her desire mounting.

What happens next?

Vulnerability and embarrassment

I went to my group meditation class today and I was happy to get there in amongst a very complicated schedule right now. I had made it to no ‘calming’ activities last week – not yoga or Pilates or meditation and not even much walking of the dogs. So, I felt good to be there in amongst the group. I had had a good morning and nothing was standing in my way of just “letting go” and enjoying this special hour of my week.

However, about half way through the meditation hour I began to feel unwell. I was wearing a plug and I thought it might have been about that but I used the techniques I know to talk myself through that. It wasn’t my decision (well it was but I have a good imagination and anyway, I still use techniques I have been taught) and I had to let go and accept. But, just when I thought I was getting on top of the wooziness I broke out into a sweat and I realized that I needed water. It was a very hot day, the door and windows were closed and the energy from the other people had created a still, lifeless source of air.

I tried to convince myself that I was all right. An acquaintance had recently told me of being stuck in a tunnel in rural China and feeling that he couldn’t breathe and his wife had needed to talk him through that distress. So, I reminded myself that I had enough air to breathe and tried to assure myself that I was okay. Yet, with low blood pressure I know what it is to faint and it was becoming apparent that my body was refusing to co-operate with these thoughts and I was about to keel over.

I opened my eyes and could see that the rest of the people in the room were intensely into their own thing. They had no idea of my panic and trouble and I just could not disturb the meditation. I thought of trying to race out of the room to get water but I doubted I could make it without fainting. Momentarily, I thought of lying down on the floor and lying on my side. It was exactly what I wanted to do, but I was well aware participants would ‘feel’ this movement and come to my aid.

Eventually, I moved out of the chair and sat on the floor with my back to the wall and although I was far from well, the air was a little cooler down there and over a few minutes I started to feel that I could make it through to the end of the hour. Once the teacher asked people to open their eyes, I said that I was going for water. Of course, Rebecca came after me worried as to my welfare but I assured her I was okay and I returned to the room to say my ‘goodbyes’.

On reflection, the muggy, sultry, cloudy weather we have been experiencing had put my body into a severe migraine overload which began on the weekend. On Sunday, my stress maxed out and unable to process the events around me, I did manage to save myself by heading off to a coffee shop and settling down my breathing. Alas, there was not much I could do about the dreadful pain in my head, neck and shoulders. It was not until today  that I had the good sense to put myself to bed this afternoon and later at the market, to buy myself a piece of almond nougat, and now, to drink a cup of coffee. Only migraine sufferers understand such techniques.

I have been thinking about this experience of the past few days. I went close to not being able to take care of myself and this made me feel intensely vulnerable. I was extremely embarrassed that I was unwell and extremely uncomfortable at the thought that I needed to ask for help. In fact, I could have been much more unwell – say, having a heart attack – and chances are high that I would have tried to fend for myself; to get myself home or to the hospital without seeking the help of another person.

 I think this experience plays into my whole attitude about asking for things – kinky things and any number of practical things. Being vulnerable is an emotion I fear at the same time as being a doll that is vulnerable to those that play with her, turns me on. I fear the emotion of vulnerability and I crave the emotion of vulnerability; am deeply aroused by having zero control.

I cannot explain this incongruity. I cannot explain why I try so very hard to manage so much on my own at the same time as I seek to ‘let go’ and have all control taken away. I was thrilled to discover the silence in following my breath all the way to the top and the bottom of my breath; to stop controlling my breath and letting my breathing do it all by itself. That moment occurred a few weeks ago in the very room where I felt so embarrassed and vulnerable today. That the attention of the group would be drawn towards me was something I definitely did not want. I have absolutely no desire to be the centre of attention at the same time as I crave the attention of the dominant – to be his sole focus.

It is something I don’t have a handle on. I just feel incredibly grateful to have stumbled across BDSM techniques and the opportunity to explore the side of my nature that processes humiliation and vulnerability so positively.

Submission more right than ever

The past two weeks have been a very special time for me. I have loved my time in London and my daughter assures me I have seen more of London now than most Londoners. I really have done a great many things.

The past few weeks have been a burst of independence for me. Perhaps it was inevitable that by embracing this opportunity - opening my mind to all sorts of opportunities and ideas - that I might forget myself a tad. I confess that for a time a daily ritual was not adhered to.

I don't believe in giving excuses because I am responsible for the decisions I make but I do want to say that living in such close quarters with my daughter (who for now is entirely vanilla) made it difficult to behave in my usual way. Nonetheless, there is an issue of non-compliance which will no doubt be addressed in good time and I, of course, accept and expect that. If an owned girl can't comply with simple commands then there is a big problem that requires correction. Happily, I am back on track with that.

Time without his girl has most definitely set my owner's mind thinking and he has informed me that he wants to embrace our power exchange in a more complete way and that if I accept this, and of course I do, that issues such as non-compliance and poor behaviour might find me in rather uncomfortable positions. As I said to him, if he wants that, then I want that.

This has been a period of extraordinary growth for me in a great many ways. I can feel myself bursting over with ideas and thoughts, but no thought is greater in my mind than that I love being an owned girl: that I embrace my limits and containment with a song in my heart and that I am thankful to have the attention and care to which I have become so accustomed.

I revel in my submission, deplore disconnection, adore my relationships and embrace myself for who and what I am. A shot at independence has cemented in my mind just how right this life is for me. Nebr feer: da bimbo bak soon.

High maintenance doll

It has been a particularly busy few months with my husband barely at home these days and my trip away imminent. With only one adult at home, many tasks inevitably fell to me, many of which I hate to do because they are of a technical nature and I am finding it a bit like learning a foreign language. I have to keep learning the jargon to understand what people are saying to me and take my ‘best guess’ as to what sort of response I should give them.

The situation has dynamically changed because whereas my husband wanted to make these choices and decisions in the past and I would need to confer with him, now he pushes me to just get things done the best way I can.

This situation is not conducive to the dolli state of mind and I find myself going through a transition period where I am riling against being given this latitude. Suddenly, *I* have to deal with the techno heads, or the car repair people getting quotes for a silly person that banged into the back of my car, or for getting international roaming on my phone (I still don’t know if that actually went through since another sim card was declined) and it became impossible for me to hold my temper with the young man in the store and the woman on the phone who more or less just wished me luck with the situation, unable to figure what, if anything, went wrong with the long process.

As I stood in line at American Express waiting my turn to buy some English pounds, I tried my yoga deep breathing and asked myself, “Why are you so darn worked up about doing these chores yourself?”

I read a book a few months ago that spoke to the notion that we think of love in various ways. Some of us see being given things as love and others of us like me see service and time spent together as their preferred way of receiving love. When I send an email to my husband explaining that something needs to be done and he shoots back an email to me to just attend to it myself, I see that (and I know this is very irrational) as not loving me.

One email after another, one phone call after another, telling me to attend to things myself and just to go ahead without consultation with him is proving to be painful because it feels like rejection/lack of love.

At the time of reading the book, ‘The Five Love Languages” by Gary Chapman, I told my husband about the results in my case and he laughed and said that it made sense now – how much I get out of him doing a task for me and spending quality time with just me.

Both of those things are sorely lacking in my life at this time. Honestly, I don’t think he has the time to do anything about it right now, even if he remembered how this sort of thing effects me – not only doing the tasks he usually does himself or that I used to do with his consultation, but going to big events at school on my own, to dinner parties on my own, to bed on my own...

Now, I am about to travel on my own. I am thrilled at the opportunity to do so of course but I also look forward to some quality time with my husband too when we can just relax and luxuriate in each other with our phones turned off and nothing that we need to do for a few days or so. We are very overdue for that. I guess I am just at that moment in time when I wonder if all the work to get away is worth the effort.

But, it is of course very much worth the effort and especially so when I fix eyes on my darling daughter who will be waiting at Heathrow Airport to fetch me. What a ball we shall have with all of London to ourselves!

I am slightly disturbed to realize that the ‘bimbo’ tag really does apply to me in so many ways. I want an “owner” in more ways than one. Perhaps it is not meant to be so, but this dolli is ‘high maintenance’. Hmmmm. Oh well, you get what you pay for, right? If you want a very nice doll, that doesn’t come for free! (Yes, I did giggle when I wrote that.) I may be able to drop in here whilst away. Aeroplane trips do that to me. Be well. Stay safe.

Approval

It is a great pleasure to be writing the story about Lucille and her experiences at The Training School. There is not much that I enjoy in life more than sitting at the keyboard immersing myself in the lives of characters I have invented. With your indulgence, I am anticipating the story will evolve over a considerable amount of time.

As I write and think about where I want the story to go; what I want to achieve for Lucille and how Nicholas and his employees might achieve that for her, many issues arise for me. In the past day or two I have reflected on the issue of ‘approval’ for we girls, born with a submissive nature.

As a quiet, reflective sort of young girl, I think I could have done with a lot more attention from my father, or an uncle or a grandfather. I remember that I was very sensitive. I didn’t let anyone know about that sensitivity that I can recall, but I took criticism very much to heart and I savoured a compliment.

I remember my mother telling me about a comment made by my Grade 3 teacher. My report was straight As but she said that I was unlikely to achieve that level going forward. I remember being terribly confused. If she had doubts about me, then I presumed that I should have doubts about myself. It kept me working hard, through school and through university and into the next qualification. I had that monkey on my back and I was trying to prove, I think, that her doubts were wrong.

I met a woman a few years ago who went to the same school as my daughter attended and we spoke of the past Headmistress. Apparently, on a particular school day she said to my acquaintance that she would struggle to achieve her goals. She just would not get the marks she needed. The woman told me that this put a fire under her and she committed her working life to proving to the Headmistress that she was wrong about her. She is now a leading pathologist in this large city and when a surgeon needs an urgent and top notch analysis of tissue, he/she has her on call. We girls can be dogged.

A member of my parents’ staff taught me to ride a bike and I remember being very scared, but with his encouragement, his assuring me that I could do it, I did master that bike. And, it felt great! It was a very similar story a few decades later when I learned to ski. I must surely have told that story on the journal. I would never have achieved if not for the one on one, bursting with enthusiasm but rather strict ski instructor who refused to allow me to fail. I think of both men very fondly and it provides me with much evidence that I respond to attention and to a rather stern approach. If he tells me that I can do it, then I can. Lucille is rather like that. She could hide in her shell her whole life if people let her, or, with attention she can shine bright.

Attention, however, is a bit of two edged sword. Attention is a most wondrous thing. It can make you feel that you are walking on air. And as you receive attention, the sort of attention that you have craved your whole life, you find yourself wanting to please. His approval of you basks you in bright, golden light and it is an aphrodisiac; intoxicating and addictive.

But, he does not always approve of you. Sometimes, you are told off, castigated and reprimanded and as incredibly arousing as that can be (this is a very kinky mind talking), it can also be very hurtful. It is a very sad place to be, that doghouse, and I think many submissive girls will climb mountains to be returned to the dominant’s good graces. It can give a girl that push she needs to get on with it and get through her barriers. Or, it can make her retreat – into herself and potentially, away from him.

If she decides to go, it is not because she wishes that. To the contrary, she would adore staying right where she is. But, her sense of self and her sense of identity have been threatened in some way and to protect herself, she feels safest far away.


I have been thinking about this decision; a decision I too have made in the past – to walk away rather than to bear the pain of the disapproval and I offer the reader this thought. A submissive girl puts herself on the line. She offers herself up to the dominant like a tasty and nutritious meal. He can chew on her and savour her and devour her. He can pretty much do whatever he wants with her, to a point.

She will, I believe, do virtually anything he asks of her so long as she feels that he is committed to her. Not necessarily married to her or ‘til death us do part’ committed to her. It may not be a lifelong association, it may not be permanent and it may not be a primary relationship. But, whatever the association, she needs to feel that even when he is disappointed, angry, mad, disapproving or punishing, she is still 'not bad'. Even when he disapproves, he still feels some tenderness towards her. Even when she fails temporarily, she is still fundamentally worth his time and his attention and he remains fond.

When I think back to Michael, who taught me to ride my bike, to the American man who taught me to ski, they transmitted to me a sense that they believed in me. And, I received that message subliminally and that gave me the strength I needed. I felt a sort of fondness. I felt a sort of care. And, that was all I needed to achieve my goals; the goal that they had in fact set for me.

There is no getting around it or over it or under it. A girl has to go through it. She has to find the strength within herself to try – to put herself out there and fly high. And, there is no doubting that men in her life play a very special role. Girls will take the lecture or the disapproval and bounce back up, so long as they feel that they, the very soul and core of them are accepted; never rejected. They need to feel some warmth.

It is an incredibly vulnerable state to be; to recognize the need for approval in oneself. It is not at all an easy place to be and the best advice I can offer the dominant is to dwell on that thought and really consider it. If she struggles, is she perhaps struggling with these feelings that are so very uncomfortable for her? In the hands of the right man armed with knowledge of what makes the submissive woman’s mind tick, there is nothing a submissive woman cannot do.

Circle of life

There's much ado about 'Mother's Day' as just commercial hype but I like to think of it as an opportunity to feel close to those women who have brought us life.

Perhaps it relates to the fact that neither my husband nor I come from families who were partial to big celebrations, but we've always made a big deal about birthdays, Christmas, Mother's Day and Father's Day. We've gone to the effort of finding just the right gift, and that doesn't necessarily mean an expensive gift at all.

My days of receiving gifts from the Mother's Day stall at the school are, to my regret, now over. I treasure all those gifts given to me with love, all of which were bought for under $20. The pink bear from my daughter sits on the chair beside by bed. The green purse given to me by my youngest son holds my gym card, change and house key. The evening bag my middle son gave me is the one I reach for when we go to an event and each day I make use of the container my eldest son bought me which I fill with hand lotion. As I sit here typing I am surrounded by pieces of their artwork from school, all of which I cherish.

I've collected all the cards the children have given me over the years and they are housed in a special box that my husband found at a fair. Nowadays, my daughter makes up a special big card herself and she gets her brothers to write a special message in it to me. If you were to read the messages you would see just how individual my children are and how their messages all have their own unique style. Yet, they convey the same message and that is that they are grateful for the love I give them.

I write these words in this journal at the crack of dawn. It is Mother's Day now in my part of the world but it is also a day of celebration for someone else and we must travel as a family to participate in that celebration later this morning. But, before that we will meet at our favourite breakfast cafe to spend time together as a family on our own. None of us wanted the day to go by without that time together that I think we all need. For thousands of years, people have broken bread together and food continues to be the way we come together to celebrate life. Gathering as a family for dinner is an important part of our everyday and a significant factor in our sense of connection.

I'm not going to say that a gift is unnecessary. I think a mother, whatever her age, deserves a commemoration of the day; whether that be a bunch of flowers from the garden or something more elaborate, or even to remember to call home. It is sense of connection with her family that she really craves. And so, when it is light and before we leave the house for the day, of course I will call my mother and arrange to meet her this week to share time together with her and bring a small gift.

Yes, mothers can be frustrating, annoying and difficult. They can be demanding and suffocating and pains in the neck. Yet, they give their love in abundance and ask only for a small portion back in return. This is the circle of life.

May you have a very happy Mother's Day!