Getting between a woman and her shoes

In pursuit of gifts for my mother to give to her family, a task I do for her so that she is less anxious about the holiday season, I came across hardtofind.com and on that site I happened to spot a pair of sandals that seemed to fit the bill for me for summer. They are white and tan, casual, with a bit of European flair.

I've been vacillating over them for a few weeks.  On occasion I enquire as to my husband's opinion of something I see online but he's currently working extremely long hours, so I decided to ask the opinion of a male online friend. That is, I sent a link to a picture of the shoe and asked if he liked them. He has a tendency to use one word responses and the word he chose was 'Nope'. I immediately shot back, ' Why don't you like them?' He explained that the shoe had a wedge and hence he didn't like the shoe. 'No wedges,' he said. (see what I mean about the responses?)

I had to absorb this information. I rather like espadrilles. You see countless pairs on the feet of women in France and Spain and they have always conjured for me that continental feel. Of course, as I thought about it some more, it made sense that he didn't like female shoes with a wedge shape. He likes all things hyper- feminine and whilst I would argue that my espadrilles can look quite feminine, they don't have the ultra-feminine look that he admires.

Just now, this morning, as flat chat as I am, I couldn't help myself. I simply had to do a review of my shoes. Sure, probably most of my shoes would absolutely pass the 'no wedges' test, but several of them would not. Almost unknowingly I had bought over the past years several shoes and sandals with a wedge.

I can only say that there must be an awful lot of wedge style shoes about that it seemed okay to me, or perhaps I was trying to tend towards a more casual style. I've so often been accused of being 'elegant', as if I am a bit too dressed up for the modern age and I think this might have influenced me to choose wedge style shoes at times for fear of being too dressed up in other styles.

For the first half day after this conversation, this friend of mine who is so inclined to make statements as if he is Moses on the hill issuing an edict, had me really irritated. Just because he didn't go for shoes with a wedge for girls shouldn't influence me! But, here's the truth. He had me rethinking the way I wear shoes and the way I put together outfits. Was I dressing to please some sense of how I should dress according to the overall public sensibility who surely don't really give a damn about my choices, or was I dressing to please myself?

I am most authentically myself not only in dresses and skirts but also in a style that resonates with me - good quality items of a relatively dateless style and feminine footwear. When I truly assessed the situation beautiful shoes are gathering dust in my wardrobe whilst I swan about mostly in casual footwear, attempting the 'dressed down' look. (And, by the way, it's not a money thing. The 'dressed down' look can be just as, if not more, expensive than the more 'dressed up' look.)

Here's part B of the truth too. I actually love it when a man steps up and says what he likes. I am way more comfortable with an edict than no edict. I'd almost love to be able to report that I don't care what he thinks about wedges. The facts are that I know myself so much better than that. You know what I am going to say, don't you? Yep. I won't be buying those shoes at hardtofind., nor any other wedge shaped shoes from now on. (Damn, but I am so easily lead!)

Modification

The record shows that I've been anally 'trained'. It's not just about anal sex being easier. Maybe it is all about that for some people, but it's not so in my case. It's got a great deal to do with how I function best. I sometimes refer to it as an addiction, because I have come to rely on anal plugs as being an important part of my life. They are necessary for my well-being. They cannot be done without. There's no negotiation here. If you have high blood pressure you take some sort of medication for that. I use anal plugs for my own good mental health.

You'd think - my goodness, after all this time it's a reasonable damn assumption - that I wouldn't forget this; that it would not slip my mind. You'd also think, that like someone who takes lithium for a condition, you'd reconcile yourself to the fact that you must take your medication every single day.

In an ideal world, in an ideal mindset, this would be the case. I don't think a Dominant should necessarily be the one to insist that the treatment is taken routinely. But, being dumdum sometimes happens to even the smartest people. It happened to me this morning.

I semi-woke aware of there being something wrong. It can be hard to identify what is wrong in that sleepy state but I recall making the effort to go and retrieve a plug and insert it. In my haze more sleep won over my understanding of what I should do. The day got going. I dressed and did some chores, but this aggitation refused to let go of my psyche. Nothing was going quite like I'd like it to go. In my mind that was a much bigger deal than it ought to have been.

Two hours later the aggitation was still firmly in place and refusing to budge. I worked through it, in the sense that it didn't derail my plans, but the world, even with the winter sun painting a shine over the day, was annoying the hell out of me. I knew enough to know that my company was of no worth to anyone. Oh sure, I listened to the Moroccan boy wax lyrical about his new cheese, and the flower girl and I talked plant species, but inside I just wanted to put my head in my hands and be by myself.

I came home. All I could think to do was to take a 'St. John's Wort' tablet. These nerves were too close to the surface. Something needed to settle them down. And, then, the thought was there. What about plugggi?? PLUGGGI. Of course. It had been days since I had embraced plugggi.

I moved quickly, anxious for that moment when it hits home. And, there it was...

A blank mind.
Aggitation gone.
Peace.

Is it all in my mind? Has the suggestion been put into my head that I must use pluggi every day, forever? Was my mind manipulated to suit his fancy? Or, did it just happen that way - that my body accommodated pluggi and insisted thereafter that an empty hole was an unnatural state? Or, both?

Well, it is done now, written in stone. It doesn't really matter how it happened any more.  Pluggi = peace. That's just the way it is.

Correction

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Being corrected

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sadistic response

There has been talk recently, in academic circles mostly, that the sadist and the masochist are on the same side of the coin; that is, there is some sadism in the masochist and some masochism in the sadist. I've done a bit of research on this and some thinking, and whilst I don't refute the concept as out of hand, I don't think that generalisations of this order are of particularly great value when considering any particular individual.

I've searched my mind and soul for any sadistic drivers in myself and I can't really find anything to speak of. Sure, I am capable of being inconsiderate or of not understanding someone else, or of not understanding all their needs. It is entirely possible that I'm driven by my own set of neuroses and/or needs and wants and I don't necessarily see the needs of the other with clarity because they interfere with my own. But, we are all capable of this, aren't we?! Don't we all regret some behaviors at times; wish we had been more empathic, considerate and kind?

But, I'll give you this. I understand the sadist's mind better now - today - than I did yesterday. Here's why...

We used to have two dogs. One died some time back and that left the little girl alone. She was sad, as were we, and thus we jollied her along; gave her liberties. She, in kind, was quite good. Yes, she'd still pee in the house when it rained. She'll do that forever, without a doubt. She doesn't like to be wet and she'll take her chances at being in trouble about it. It freaks me out. It upsets me greatly, but since it hasn't been raining all that much, I have lived with it, even though she always pees on carpet, which is it's own nightmare.

In the past two weeks she has taken it upon herself to pee in two different places and I've been upset with her, but not overly so. I think I've been distracted and simply cleaned the mess as best I could. This morning, I woke to find my son cleaning up a large pee in a third spot, on the way up the stairs. I saw red.

I grabbed the dog, and took her to the wet spot, and asked, "Do you see that? Did you do that? DID YOU??? You're a very, very naughty girl!!" I gave her two swats on her ass and put her down. "Get out! GET OUT!"

She made for the door and I alerted the family left in the house that she was staying outside for a few hours. She knew she was in trouble and it wasn't until I got home about noon that I heard her whimpering at the laundry door to get in. I opened it and told her that I was still unhappy and I whipped a tea towel down on the ground in front of her nose to make the point more emphatically.

She made for the dog door and went outside, making her way in later in a cagey, underhanded kind of way. She didn't bother to come to me. I made no offers to accept her. Instead, she went and lay under the coffee table, grateful to be somewhat close, I think, and enjoying the feel of the carpet under her.

Honestly, I felt much as a sadist, at least, the sadist that entered my life, probably feels. I was punishing her not so much by corporal punishment (two smacks isn't that big of a deal) but by banishment. If she wants to behave like a untrained, disobedient bitch then she has to accept the consequences of that. I've been banished myself so I know just how she feels, yet I don't feel a moment's sympathy for her. She brought this on herself. I mean, my God, it hasn't even been raining lately!

She's made a few attempts to come my way, standing in front of me in the laundry a few times and getting in my way, but I don't feel inclined to her at all. If I accept her I'm accepting her behavior and she'll just go and do it again when she feels inclined. Better to have a darn good long feeling of being rejected and get it into her head that if she wants to live here - to be treated like the princess she believes herself to be - then she lives here and plays by the rules.

See, that sounds ultra Disciplinarian, doesn't it? Sadistic, even?  Maybe that is going too far, although I am punishing knowing that I am causing her some vague emotional distress in order to alter behavior. Maybe, that's sadistic...

What a pain in the ass it must be for the disciplinarian/sadist to have a person repeatedly do the wrong thing! I used to think that it would be boring to have a girl behave well all the time. I like a little chutzpah in a person and I like to test the waters myself. I like to go up to the line and mark that territory. Yet, if my little girl were to behave nicely all the time, what a relief that would be; that finally, after all this time she was well trained, well behaved; knew the rules and obeyed them. Wouldn't that be so much better than this nasty scenario? Even 'nice' people will punish, if they have to. I wonder if I learned to be this way by example...