What stirs emotion

I am sitting here in a Japanese machiya reading stories set in Ireland, marvelling at Colm Toibin's ability to write stories that lead the reader to emotions otherwise well hidden from consciousness. As he would say himself, it is a kind of poetry, and I have come to feel that this sort of writing is the most admirable of all. As one of his characters thinks, I agree that I am not at all a person of science but rather that words are what move and excite me - the power of words and what they can do - illicit emotion.

We strive for close connections in our lives and Toibin's writings often speak to our need for our mothers to have wanted us, to enjoy being with us and to approve of us. Yet as he also points out, there is this long stretch of time left for mothers to do their best work in their middle years and beyond. Sometimes, all that came before is preparation for this period of life with more contemplative pleasures.

I sit here most days and tap out a message to the children and once in a while one of them feels duty bound to dash off a response back. You put the time in early and it pays off - they are happy you are happy and let's get back to living life!

It's a funny thing but I feel a great deal of comfort within myself right now in this foreign land, totally comfortable with the notion that I am made up of a mixture of unique characteristics, of ways of moving and completing tasks; of memories and feelings; desires. I am moved deeply by a Zen garden, by a Buddhist chant. I take great pleasure in purifying myself by the washing of my hands outside a Temple.

And yet, when I read Toibin my heart sings in a very special way for it is an Irish heart,  this heart. I am sure of this. One day, perhaps not until I  am old and alone - but one day - I shall go there and confirm this.

When I'm happy

I have been noticing something about myself,  which is a good thing in itself. There is no value in going about living one's life oblivious to things. Noticing things is a good thing. I've noticed that when I feel unhappy or that something isn't right, I dwell on it and when I am feeling happy I don't dwell on that happiness, almost as if to dwell on it is to jinx it in some way, or as if I am 'entitled' to feel this way and not any other way, or as if it is my 'default' position and doesn't need to be noticed. This isn't right.

I am happy. I am happy for various reasons but most of all I am happy to be giving and receiving love in my life. I am happy to feel content with my life (regardless of the fact that things aren't 'perfect'). I'm happy to have time to myself after such a hectic festive holiday period. Time to myself is vital to my happiness. There is no way I can't 'notice' this. Time writing here is part of that private time that I covet.

I know when I am happy and in tune with my inner being. When I feel like this I settle into my husband's body in bed. Sure, "sooner or later you sleep in your own space" but I spend part of the nights locked in my husband's arms. That the true test of the pudding for me, the desire to connect; to feel 'at one'; to know where and to whom I belong.

I am happy when we are happy. That's worth noticing.

Sexual activity

I was never going to be the type of woman who would have multiple sexual partners. I don't say that for some moralistic reason.  I recognize and accept that some people do have sex with a lot of people in their lives. I find nothing intrinsically wrong with that.

The understanding of the importance of sex in my life evolved over time. Conscious of the fact that my mind gravitated to the erotic from a very early age it took a long time for me to really understand that my nature is that of a deeply sexual being; a being that longs to let go in the arms of a wanting and willing dominant. I knew what worked for me and what did not work for me early on in the process but the acceptance of my deeply desired object state took a great many years.

Once I accepted my nature and my deep and permanent desire to reside in the object state routinely, repetitively and robustly, my time in the object state was experienced as joy; respite; relief; completion. I longed for the experience time and time again.

When the opportunity for these experiences fundamentally closed down, my mind eventually considered the option of experiencing the object state in some other way. The great difficulty with that thought was that it is very difficult for me to think of sex as being a casual thing; something instigated without a very deep connection; permanence.

It's an interesting notion that a bimbo (who is often thought of as someone who sleeps around) like me requires a certain type of sex in a certain type of way; not at all a 'free for all', but a woman who seeks an object state with a man who has deep feelings for her and who will do all in his power to protect her and complete her, both physically and psychologically.

I may fantasize about gang bangs over and over; simply radiate in the thought of a line of men who 'use' me for their pleasure, and mine. In reality, I require a very deep and abiding connection, looking only to have a man call me his own; looking to belong and to serve; to belong to one another in the deepest way possible. Such is my dilemma.

Ownership

It's early in the morning. I tried to do some academic reading but my heart and concentration weren't in it and I wandered about kinky blogs and the like for a while. My head was all 'dolly'; not at all 'girl', so in the end I picked up the leads and the dogs and I headed out for a walk. It's a brisk, dull morning here but the wind has died down and it's very quiet; hardly any people out and about. A woman engaged me in conversation for a few minutes and three men and I passed one another. They all said "good morning" and were perfectly harmless but women here are a big on edge after a fatal kidnapping recently. These sorts of incidents shouldn't allow women to feel afraid, but for a while, until the memory fades, they do. We are vulnerable and that's all there is to that.

A couple of days ago, my husband engaged me in very gentle sex; lots of caressing and rubbing, hair brushing; all very nice. Yet, I must confess my heart wasn't in it. I wanted to be handled; handled roughly actually. I didn't complain but he knows me well enough to know when something is wrong and for a few minutes he left the room. I was feeling a bit sorry for myself; restless; needing something more.

He returned to the bedroom and when he did he changed direction one hundred and eighty degrees. He was firm; demanding; even rough. He reached for his cane. Well, it isn't really a cane. It's a piece of dried vine that is thick, not entirely straight. It hurts a lot; even a medium tap stings. I was too surprised to do, or say, anything about it.  He manhandled me, pulling me over the bed and he demanded that I stay bent over. He struck my bottom several times. I knew my son wasn't too far away and I tried not to squeal but that cane (for want of a better word) won't allow silence and I squawked out my protest.

"Pout it right out at me," he insisted. "I want to see your holes."

And, rather intimidated by his intense voice and the choice of words, together with the fact that he was beating my bottom, I did exactly as he said and stayed in precisely the position he had put me.

When he'd had enough of that, he pulled me by the hair over to the door frame that leads into the walk-in cupboard and he smacked my ass with his hand and told me to put my hands on my head and my nose to the wood and to stay there.

"Don't you dare move!"

I didn't.

He pushed and pulled at me in various ways, in both mind and body, until I was a little teary and eventually he said he was allowing me a few minutes alone and he left.

I had a little cry. But, it soon dawned on me that the assault on my sensibilities was extremely pleasing. I liked it.

Since then, there have been other encounters. Yesterday morning, I had just got into the shower when he walked in and said to "Get out. I want to use you." I got out and dried myself and when I walked into the bedroom he simply positioned me, entered me and had his way with me.

I liked that too.

He can see that I am happier.

Last night, I told him that I'd received an email from a friend to attend a charity event with her next Wednesday evening.

"Do you want to ask permission?" he said.

We looked at one another, and with a frisson between us, because I don't normally ask permission but rather advise in advance, I said,

"May I have permission to go with Janey to the event on Wednesday?"

"Yes, you may go."

"Thank you."

All of this doesn't come entirely naturally to him at all, but when he can be like this for me it really does make my heart sing. It's that feeling of ownership; of belonging, that is so important to me.

Naughty Samantha

A woman I know very well is gay and in the time I have known her over the decades she's had five partners. All her partners have been 'the boss'. She's been submissive to them all and what they say goes. I was sitting next to the last partner at a dinner a few years ago now, the partner before the current one, when she told me that Jan had wanted a particular painting and she had bought it for her. However, she was not permitted to hang it until she did something that she had been told to do. Since she hadn't complied with the command the picture had not been hung. Wow! I didn't think that a woman could be quite so committed to instilling obedience in a partner but it seems I was quite wrong about that. I've since come to understand that 'Mistresses' can be quite committed and severe with a submissive woman 

On a side note, Jan once called me and asked me if I'd help her at her new place of employment. She had a huge event happening over several days and she'd got clearance to pay me for a week's work. I came into the office only to find that Jan was twiddling her thumbs while Rome burned. She was sweating the most minor of details whilst very big issues that just had to be done were being left undone. It was a bit of a case of the blind leading the blind, a submissive leading a submissive, but I knew enough to know that it was now my job to give the orders.

"Okay, let's get all the tasks up on the board and prioritize them," I told her. "I'll do this while you do that..." and job by job we got to where we needed to go. Perhaps in any relationship someone has to step up to the plate and take the lead.

I came across this photograph some weeks ago and instantly, I loved it. They seem about the same age to me so I'm guessing they're in a relationship where the girls in jeans is the boss. I am not sure, of course, but I'd say the naked girl has been taken down to the basement for a good, hard paddling. But, she's not quite off the hook yet. The jean-wearing girl is still as mad as hell about her behavior and keen to teach her a lesson she won't forget - that speaking back immediately after a paddling is only asking for more punishment. So, on her knees she was told to get and she could crawl up to her bed. She could forget about dinner tonight, too!

"You just behave yourself!" she commanded as she swung her arm back to give her the hardest smack she could muster under the circumstances.

On the naked girl crawled, making her way into bed, as told.

"And when you're sitting on that bottom tomorrow maybe you can remember what earned you those bruises. You just think about that!" she said, as she turned off the light and left the room.

The naked girl felt about six years old. She didn't like being in trouble but she didn't always like having to do what she was told. That was the thing. Jen had really smacked hard tonight. Maybe it was time she started to listen.

Samantha felt humiliated but even she was willing to admit that she had been rather badly behaved and she did deserve what she had got. In fact, the more she thought about the paddling the more she came to see that it gave her a safe sort of feeling to know that when she did behave badly she was accountable to someone. Jen was prepared to punish her and although she didn't like being punished she did like the safe and secure feeling that it gave her.

In fact, now that she was in her bed naked with a hot backside she also had a very warm feeling towards Jen. She wished that they could make love but Jen never allowed that if she'd earned a spanking.

Samantha waited for Jen to come to bed. She waited until the lights were out and it was dark and still.

"Jen?"

"Yes?"

"I'm sorry I was bad."

"Well, I appreciate you saying you are sorry, Samantha."

"Jen?"

"Yes, Samantha?"

"You only call me Samantha when you are cross."

"Well, I'm not especially happy with your behaviour tonight."

"I know I was bad. Thank you for punishing me."

"Well, that's a first."

"I love you Jen."

"I love you too, Sam."

"I'll be good from now on."

"We'll see. Off to sleep now."

"Jen, can I spoon in?"

"Are you sure you've learned your lesson."

"Oh, I am completely sure."

"Spoon in then. Off to sleep now. Night night, Sam."

"Night night, Jen."

P.S. Sam really enjoyed her breakfast the next morning. Jen got up a little early and made Sam scrambled eggs and mushrooms on sourdough toast, her favorite breakfast. She felt a little sorry for her having to sit all day in the courtroom on such a very sore bottom. Still, if you do the crime... Being a prosecutor, Sam understood that.

This life

I love my husband profoundly, deeply, absolutely, eternally and with passion. I want that to be absolutely clear. I can't imagine life without him. We fit together very well in every way: our bodies, our minds, our world view, our morality; everything.

Now that I have made that clear let me say that I can't imagine anything in this world more erotic, more fulfilling or more arousing than if my husband had had the mindset of an owner from the first day that we knew one another.

In some ways, he did have the mindset of an owner. I was always his girl. We were always a team. He expected that I'd follow him and that he'd have the ultimate decision making powers. That was all in place early on.

But, the business of training a girl just wasn't on the radar. For one thing, we were young and for another he had no yearning or natural desire to lead me to that life. He displayed no sadistic yearning and since I kept my masochistic desires well within me, he had no sense that anything was missing from my life.

I am prepared to say that there have been probably three occasions, perhaps more, when I have told him of my love and devotion but that I felt in some way that there was something missing, as if there was this need within me that wasn't being addressed.

In the early years, I could give him little detail about this feeling except that I felt I needed something more intense than we had. He loved me passionately and he always tried to allay my concern. He said that we belonged together and that we would always be together. I would try to forget about the longings and get on with enjoying life, but the feeling would return that in some way a part of me was not alive.

Eventually, I told him more about what I needed and he didn't hesitate to change for me as much as he possibly could. He read material and learned about the sort of dominance that I craved and more and more, I began to feel a whole human being; someone who was living according to their nature.

The truth is that some of the desires I told him about made him feel uncomfortable; or perhaps that I wasn't sure what I really wanted; the old story that 'you think you want it but when you get it you won't like it'. It was before children on a trip to Europe and in a town on the border of Switzerland and France (Chamonix, to be exact) that I first told him some things.

I can't remember how or when I told him about my spanking craving, or perhaps I didn't tell him and he gathered that to be the case from little hints here and there. I just can't reconstruct that period of time. What I do know is that he left the hotel room and when he returned it was with a switch. I was beside myself with lust and somewhere in that love making I did call out, "Please...please...take me up the ass." He didn't think I really meant it. He couldn't imagine that I could possibly mean it and it wasn't until two decades later (at least) that I assured him that I did definitely want that.

It wouldn't work for him to be the sort of dominant that I read about and to some extent crave in my fantasies and in my ideal world within my head. Our way of life has more of an ease to it than that. Over time, I have adapted to accept him as someone who has very high expectations of my responses to him. I no longer questions his decisions on any level or even attempt to answer without a respectful response (unless it is said in jest, at times). Our relationship is much more that of an owner/owned girl in many respects. It is all a part of me and him now and how we operate together.

But, I'd be lying if I said that life didn't shortchange  me there for a little bit. I would have loved to experience the full Monty. I would have loved to have experienced the fullness of having met a man  so dominant in his nature and with a hint of sadism that he pushed me and made me grow according to his own needs. Perhaps he wanted to mark me or insist on nipple rings or a small tattoo. Or, perhaps he insisted that I wear only certain clothes of which he approved, or that he told the hairdresser how my hair was to be worn, or how long my fingernails were to be. Perhaps, he had me perform a certain ritual each day or had me call him at a certain time each day with my thoughts. Perhaps he monitored what I ate or how often I exercised or what  I did with my time. All or any of this would have been insisted upon and demanded regardless of what I had to say about it.

I imagine that he wanted to educate me. He'd have me read certain books and he'd want me to express my feelings about them to him. He'd want me to achieve something for myself in this world and to this end he'd insist that I not put myself down, that I take myself seriously and that I have the courage to go out there and try. He'd believe in me completely and insist that I make use of my god-given skills to have the pleasure of succeeding by using them. He'd be stern about that and any efforts to put myself down would be met with a stern rebuke.

He would take me and use me in line with his own desires and my connection to him would mean that I wouldn't hesitate to oblige. If this meant accepting the pain he offered, this would be part of my life and it would be an expression of our love and my acceptance of him as my owner. I know I would flourish in this life because on the occasions that my husband has done this, I've experienced a heavenly rush of endorphins; a profound sense of adoration and happiness that I have experienced in no other way.

In my life, I've met his needs of a wife and he has now met all my needs of a husband. But in an ideal world, from the very first day my life would have focused around his life in every conceivable way, thereby feeding my intensely experienced desires. I would have molded into him and accepted his training of me as the richest and most prized of gifts and never known what it felt like to feel a hole in my heart; a desperate longing for I knew not what.

Loving me as he does, he wanted me to have what I so richly craved and concessions were made to grant me the gift of experiencing that sort of training; to know what it was to have a dress code formulated; to be trained to respond as an owned girl should. He knew that I was his well enough to allow me to experience the fulfillment of this need in a safe and respectable way and with a man I trusted and who has my trust to this day. His confidence in himself and in me and in our union is abundant and made that possible.

I write in this Internet space in some respects as an interloper. I come to this life late and I come to it in as complete a way as I can but with the knowledge that I will never know the life that some girls have. I am not jealous, but I am in awe.Yet, the pleasures I have experienced are entirely whole and complete. I have never been happier than in the past five years; never believed that I might have the opportunity to be this happy. If I were to die in my sleep tonight, the truth would be that I have lived completely; happily and according to my purpose.

Like sister, like brother

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Yoozn bimbo

Cindi receefd dis lovely pikki a whyl go az a prezzi n she reeeeli luvd it. Dis pikki pleyd on da bimboz myn. She offin tinkz bowt it. Bimboz beri much dis wey inclynd. Dey alweyz lookn 2 get yoosd in new n wunderfool weyz.

Bimbo nut beri alyv dis week. Da gurl took obr n bimbo hab keep low profyl. Dis med her sad n dis morning onnir wan 2 relax da bimbo n bring her back 2 lyf.

First, bimbo n onnir talkiz beri calmly n kwietli n dis med cindi happi. It a beri gud talkiz. Onnir sey dat it tym 4 bimbo 2 get relaxd. Bimbo sey she nut sur but onnir sey dat the way it goz. He desydnn 4 hissef.

Onnir get some his rope and tie da bimboz hanz up reeeli wel. Der no wey she can moov dem sept to put da palms 2getha reeli. He gif bimbo a nys rub 2 sooth her paw tyd musselz n den he sey dat he wanna yoos da holz.

He poot a pillo unda cindiz tummi 2 rays her bit n he enter her asscunt. Dis feelz jus gr8. But, soon enuf bimbo stert 2 thinki bowtz dis beri speshel pikki n she begin 2 pull up her legs so dat dey unda her, liki da bimbo in the pikki.

“Ohhh, cindi wanna mor cocki,” sey onnir n he wayt 4 cindi 2 get in da sem posishin dis bimbo in da pikki.

Dis new posishin fantastik! The sens8shnz beri powafool n alredi da orgasmic feelinz cumin thik n fast 4 cindi. But, dis new sens8shin doin ebin mor 4 onnir n he beri beri arowzd. He grab bimboz her n hold her tite n he begin 2 bite her – l’il nips on da sholderz.

He nut jus wanna tek bimbo but he wanna gif her da fuckin of her lyf – long n hard n fast – n bimbo screeemn in2 da sheet. She asaloootli on fyr n habin da tym ob her lyf. He tek wun han n rub her pussy cunt wich neerli blowz her myn.

Finalli, afta she tinki she mey xpyr frum plezir, onnir leeef his cum in bimboz ass cunt. She profeshinel bimbo n dis pleez her mor dan she ken sey. She totelli sate8d.

B4 onnir goz 2 tek a showr he sort bimbo owt n put a pillo unda her hed and a blanki ovr her n bi da tym he bak, she fast sleeepiz bi bi. She sleep nudda 3 howrz b4 she waki gin n wen she duz finely waki, she feel beri beri happi n cumpleet n reestord. She hab beri happi dey wif onnir, nut doin ull da much but so beri foolfild.

It beri importin 2 yoos bimboz regirlee. Dis keepz dem happi n invigor8z dem. Bimbo kenna stress dis hili nuf.

Still learning

In my last post I made mention of how we have a tendency to think of our lives in story form. After all, a year begins with a sense of hope as to how things will go, there is a middle to the year, but it is not until the year is over that we can assess how things have actually gone and whether the year (the story) was a success or otherwise.

I had in my mind a thought to share my kinky notebook with you in this post and in so doing, to explore all the ways I feel I have grown over the past year. It didn’t work out so well. There is so much detail in that notebook of mine and it was getting ridiculously complicated. I hope you can take me at my word that I have definitely made lots of progress with my submissive state and as well, how I function as a complete human being.

It seems more prudent to write here in my last post of 2010 what I have yet to fully grasp in terms of being a submissive woman. This gives me a focus going into 2011 so that hopefully sometime next year I can report my issue is fully licked.

The biggest issue for me is that I have trouble getting into trouble. I find it damaging to my sense of self as a “good girl”. If I am in trouble, says my complex mind, then I am not perfect and hence I must be bad (and a huge disappointment and deserving of banishment).

This is a long, ongoing saga. I remember Rich (the man who helped me accept my submissive nature a few years ago) saying to me after I had or hadn’t done something or other, that I was a bad girl. I remember how I felt and there was nothing at all erotic about it. I felt awful.

We explored my feelings and I remember telling him that my mother used the word “bad” and still does. “Bad dog!” she will say. I remember asking her not to refer to my oldest son in that way. “You’re a bad boy!” I never get upset with my mother but at the time he was a confused two year old child and his mother was sitting in a hospital with tubes coming out of her. I was upset that I couldn’t care for my son and baby and she was upset that I was ill. She defended herself and I just went into my shell. I have always hated the thought of calling someone “bad” and I didn’t want to ever feel that I was bad. Rich tended to use the word “naughty” after that.

It is the absolute truth that I always wanted to be a good child and I was thought of as a good child. I was the good girl at school and at home and if I had revolutionary thoughts or idea or plans, I kept them to myself and quietly went about achieving my goals in a non-demanding and non-confrontational way.

I loathe being in trouble with my husband and one of my incredibly big breakthroughs is that I am able to say very easily now that “I am sorry”. It was hard to accept the blame for things; to accept my share of wrongdoing; to acknowledge that my lack of control, for example, was responsible for the argument we had.

I’ve always been relatively quick to apologize if you allow me a few minutes, hours or at most a day, depending on the circumstances. I want very much to put an end to the unpleasantness. But, in the heat of the moment, that could be very hard for me to do. On that score, the progress is truly significant.

The issue that remains is that I find myself wanting to avoid unpleasantness altogether. It has seemed to me that if I could just be strong enough to self soothe I could withstand almost any circumstance without sharing it or asking for support or forgiveness (or whatever I needed to share). If I withheld information and purported to be perfectly all right then unpleasantness would be avoided. I wouldn’t be in trouble in any way and I would not have disappointed in any way. I would not be thought of or called “bad”.

Of course, there is a price to pay for such a stand. The connection between the top and bottom is weaker, there is a sense of being a fraud and there is some resentment too that I was allowed to get away with this in the first place. The thinking goes, ‘if he paid a bit more attention, it would be patently obvious that I am not as good as I state. Nobody is that good, for Pete’s sake. Nobody is so self sufficient, least of all a submissive such as me!’

I am encouraged to “let go”. I have said in the past, “but if I let go, if I just naturally say what is on my mind, or if I tell you everything, I’ll be in trouble.” (or words to that effect) The response was quite simply, “Then, be in trouble and take the correction. Dolls learn from correction, don’t they?!”

Dolls do learn from correction, it is true. Yet the issue remains that to be transparent is to reveal myself as the flawed person that I am. I’m not nearly as strong as I’d like to be either but the thinking goes, ‘at least I can learn to be strong and stand on my own two feet, whereas to be so vulnerable, so liable to being hurt and to being rejected and thought of as a disappointment is just too painful’.

The way I tried to reconcile this problem in my mind is to be very mindful of the way that I communicate and I have found this strategy goes a long way. If I want to tell my husband something, or ask for something, or if I want peace to reign but still want to voice an opinion, I do it with a great deal of tact, with diplomacy, at an appropriate time and completely aware that it must sound and seem polite to his ears. If he chides me it takes rather a long time for me to find the courage to try again to be honest with him about my feelings, my needs or thoughts.

Be assured, over the year my life and my relationships are vastly improved. I am very happy. But, I cannot deny that I do withhold certain thoughts and feelings out of a sense that this brings peace and stability. I continue to doubt the thinking that asks the submissive to reveal all to her dominant, to get in trouble, to accept the correction, learn and drive on. I accept it in theory. However, to be considered less than perfect and to risk the abandonment or derision of the dominant is something I continue to find very difficult to do. I know this is not a good thing and somehow rectifying this flawed thinking in my mind is a high priority goal for 2011.

2010 has been a very fruitful and happy year for me. I’m an incredibly lucky girl and I know it. I have a husband I adore and who adores me. I have wonderful friends who support me, inspire me and sustain me. I have a terrific family and I have the opportunity to grow, to learn and to write. Who could ask for more?

May 2011 be a very happy, successful and loving one for you all.Happy New Year!

Home

I had been going out with my boyfriend for some time when one day he informed me that the company would be sending him to the United States for an extended period of time. We talked it over and agreed that I would go with him as his girlfriend. We were too young to marry. This news was not met with glee by the family on any level but they accepted it.

One day, the General Manager at my place of work offered me a lift home and whilst he had me as a captive listener he told me that he did not approve. It was not at all right that a young girl accompany a man across the seas unless she were his bride. Far better, he said, that we should marry before we left.

Time has a way of twisting the truth in one's mind and I suppose other people commented on the situation as well, but it is that conversation that has always stayed in my mind. Perhaps my 'boyfriend' and I discussed it some more. I don't remember. However, some time after that, he proposed and we did marry before we left to start our lives together as newlyweds on the other side of the world.

It wasn't entirely blissful in that first year. He travelled a great deal around the United States with his job and I was commuting into New York City each work day with my job - a job that paid the bills rather than fulfilled me. The land was foreign to me. It took time for me to understand how that continent worked and I missed my homeland. I felt awkward asking for tomAto on my sandwich when I so wanted to say tomuto. I found the summer stifling hot and the humidity draining. I had no understanding why people lived on wretched looking and smelling coffee. And, why were so many advertisements about heartburn? Just how did this country work?

I no longer remember quite why I went home to Australia later that year but I remember that before my journey back to the United States, I suggested that my husband not bother to come to pick me up at the airport. It would be midnight and I could catch one of those limousine taxis back to our town. He agreed.

The plane got in and I still remember being very tired but grateful to have the long journey over. I remember feeling neither here or there. Australia was no longer my home and nor was the land where we had settled. I just remember feeling displaced and rather lonely. I began to think about finding my way to the limousine taxi area.

One thing you don't know about me is that I am rather useless in a crowd. It is often just one big blob of people to me and I have trouble seeing any one person in particular. Yet, when I looked into the crowd at this moment, I could see quite clearly that there was my husband, wearing the big brown sweater that I had knitted for him.

I think that even though the details of events get a bit hazy as we age, we do still tend to remember how we feel at any moment and at that moment I felt that I had come "home". Wherever he was, that was my home. And so it is to this day.