Rethinking the Contract

 I have a question that rumbles around in my brain; held towards the back of my consciousness, but even so, consistently present. 

'How do I keep my husband in the game of a D/s dynamic?'

There is a simple fact that must be allowed for, and it is that his mind is both externally focused and also that it is extremely busy. He, for example, doesn't mean to interrupt me mid-sentence but it happens often, because when I start saying something he has a thought and that thought insists on being expressed immediately. It's just part of having ADHD and I know he means me no harm.

On that, improvement has been made. A few years back, if I mentioned that he had interrupted me, self-hatred had him projecting out his feelings on me. That's rare now. I can say, 'may I finish my sentence?' and he is quick to say, 'Yes, yes'.

The obvious answer to my above question is a Contract, an Agreement, and yet he hasn't felt he has the time, or the skill set, and frankly the inclination, to get this done. He thought he had given that task to someone we engaged to help us with that, but it never happened in a way he felt satisfied with. Thus, it remains on the extremely long 'to do' list.

Well, actually I did it myself to the best of my ability, but it truly is a two-person job, and that means we need to sit down and get it done together.

Another characteristic of ADHD is that those people with that particular type of brain find starting things and finishing things rather difficult. This is most especially the case, obviously enough, if they feel they don't have the skill set to do something.

So, I thought I would revisit this on my own and then reintroduce the Contract idea with the hope of some mutual agreement going forth.

If I were to be asked, 'what do you want most?' it wouldn't be where someone is controlling me. I don't want supervision to not smoke and the like. I have a strong sense of independence. I don't, for example, want someone saying, 'I want you to cook a meal for me.' What a waste of a statement. I have been doing that consistently for nearly 50 years. Looking after someone is my jam.

I initiate many things and advancements in our lives, especially once I realized that he secretly enjoyed me doing so. For years there was that push/pull that he wanted to control many things, didn't get them done, I initiated the thing, and that actually pleased him. Slowly, I realized I had more control to improve our lives than I had realized.

What I want is sexual satisfaction. I don't need to have this three times a week, but I do need to have it on some sort of a regular basis. I used to think it lost its meaning if I asked for this, and in some respects, I still do, since I enjoy being 'taken'.

However, I think it would be a game changer if I thought about this as a monthly thing; that is, in November, I would like to have at least one experience where I had a massive orgasm (he knows full well how to achieve this) and at least one experience where I felt the submission in a sexually charged way. This could be using the equipment he bought earlier in the year - the collar, the leash etc. Or it could be using rope to tie me for a Saturday afternoon. Whatever. I just want to know that every few weeks I can feel into that part of my personality.

So, if he agrees to give me that, and let's face it, only he can, since he would never agree to me having a play partner, what can I give him? Well, duh, whatever he wants. The problem is when I ask him what he wants he doesn't really have an answer. 

So, referencing the above strategy, I need to initiate something that he might like and that might get the ball rolling. A full body massage? For him to insert (in me) a butt plug, that size increasing over time? I have to think of something that would entice him to think of play as something that works in his favor, and that has a timeline. A month seems right to me; that's four weeks which gives lots of wiggle time but also demands that satisfaction takes place within the month, keeping everyone honest.

We did try a weekly spanking, but I didn't see that as really bringing us together in a way I had hoped. Sure, receiving a spanking is a submissive act, but pain in and of itself didn't really work for me. It didn't get into that bimbo part I wanted to dig down to; the usery and sluttiness.

When I did a meditation that was designed to heal my core feminine wound, I was asked to say (I think I have this right) 'I see you. I feel you. You are welcome here. I am sorry. Thank you'. Immediately, cindi, the bimbo slut came to mind. She deserves her time, you know? She's no small part of my psyche.

Insomnia

During a disrupted night's sleep I found myself reading and much like a dream, I can't remember what I read or where I read it exactly. However, the thought, which I think I read, has stayed with me. 

As I recall, a research project had suggested that people who use the word 'I' more than most were more inclined to anxiety. In it's simplest form this idea makes sense, since it suggests a preoccupation with oneself; maybe some self-aggrandizement or self-involvement.

If you look at the above two short paragraphs, there are already 7 'I's typed, so there's no doubt this sort of language is like a runaway train, and to some extent unavoidable. 

In my insomniac state the idea held some merit. So too did the work of Dick Schwartz, that our minds are made up of parts, some of which are less than useful to us. The two ideas were somehow blending together. 

Trying to do whatever might work to allow surrender to sleep I tried the idea of referring to myself as 'cindi' rather than 'I'. cindi isn't my birth name but I relate to it more and feel more authentic using that name. 

At my yoga studio I have noticed that there is a trend amongst teachers to suggest one give oneself a hug. It might happen towards the beginning or end of a class and it is a lovely, self-soothing thing to do. I think many modalities of healing are coming to see how important touch is to humans.

Blending these ideas together, I lay on my side with my arms wrapped around me and said to myself, 'it's okay, cindi, you're going to be all right'.

I felt something shift. In the past days, I had allowed myself to be rattled through external environmental factors. My internal state had become distressed. I had, through frustration, made comments that only someone with influence can make. I'm not sought for my opinions at home but rather as a place where ideas can be expressed and sorted through. No more than a word or two is necessary.

Yet a 'part' of me had demanded a voice. It was a part that hated conflict. It said things to my husband like, 'Do you really need this in your life? You're 65! Why can't you just choose joy?' It was a part that was refusing to acknowledge the facts of life; that my husband never wants to leave the arena of business; that this is his version of joy.

That's when I felt myself sinking back into that joyful place inside me. cindi is innately joyful; quiet; at peace. cindi never feels comfortable using 'I'. cindi is completely in tune with that bimbo entity. cindi hasn't a thought in her little head.

And, that's when I fell deeply asleep, awaking again at 10.56 am.

The 'bimbo' Part

 I've been doing some free guided meditations on Insight Timer where Dick Schwartz takes the listener on some experiences connecting in with their Parts. In one meditation we were taken on a walk and encouraged to just go alone if possible, to leave our Parts at the beginning of the trail. If you are watching yourself rather than being on the trail aware of your surroundings, then a Part has come along, so he encouraged us to ask the Part to go back and wait at the entrance of the Trail.

It didn't take me more than a few minutes, even less, to realize that when I am out in nature, or even in the city but have walked long enough in a state of peace, I am alone with my Self. No Parts are with me. How do I know? There isn't any meaningful chatter in my head. I'm not devising To Do lists. I am not immersed in memory or the future. I am in the Now, aware of the trees, the twittering of birds. I am in my body, settled, secure; needing nothing. 

In the best of times, I am completely at peace. When I was in Peru on the trail, or in Telluride walking up to Bear Falls, I experienced this profoundly. It is said that when a meditator experiences pure Awareness, all they want to do is to experience it again. Yes, I have experienced Awareness in meditation, but moreso in Yoga or on trails, or walking through the coastal town I visit, stopping to stare at the ocean at certain vantage points. 

I have also experienced a complete sense of harmony, peace and tranquillity in the 'bimbo' state. Look at the c's of Selfhood - curiosity, creativity, confidence, connection,  compassion, courage, calmness, clarity. All of these qualities have been available to me in the bimbo state.

I wrote myself a diary note this morning. I wrote this:

"I think 'bimbo' is a hurt Part. She felt it was dangerous, could easily be hurt, had been hurt - so she/it became an exile - even though I now see she is a part of the Self - creative, connected, courageous, confident.

She felt rejected, more than once , and retreated - first with a soul destroying sense of loneliness and abandonment...and then the Protector took over - don't let this ever happen to you again.

And yet, 'bimbo' was a Part of feeling confident, a sense of Awareness, happiness, embodied, in the body. And, connected. When the lack of connection happened, she lost trust."

I have tended to think of attachment injuries as those that happen to young children. But, this Part of me suffered an attachment injury and became an exile... carried the beliefs and thoughts that stuck to me, as Dick Schwartz would say, "like a virus". The Protector part was able to convince 'bimbo' that she wasn't a good thing; that she needed to stay small, safe; invisible. 

It's tricky still, in my mind, because bimbo, that sexual part of me that wants to submit and experience that type of Awareness, or maybe I should say sexual Selfhood, is reliant on the Selfhood of a partner. It actually takes two people operating from the Self, the Higher Self, for this to work.

This is a tall order and yet it feels hopeful today. I was definitely onto something.

Silliness

It would be reasonable to expect that on a meditation retreat there would be opportunities for disclosure of difficult thoughts and yet there was really only one conversation where I revealed myself a little or where anyone else dug below the surface.

We were asked to work in pairs on the final morning for a few minutes, each taking turns to talk about any shifts or revelations that had occurred over the week.

I happened to be seated next to David, a very pleasant man around my age who had been open about his thoughts on a number of subjects over the course of the week. When it came to compassion or unconditional love or forgiveness he wasn't of a mind to include psychopaths. No matter what the teacher offered to convince him that all people must be included David held strongly to the view that if you act inhumanely that makes you something other than human and hence not worthy of his forgiveness or compassion. I knew David would listen to me intently but I also knew he wouldn't hold back on his assessment of my words.

I told him I had always operated primarily in my heart space, not my mind space. I had a strong tendency to please, to keep the peace, and to live peacefully. Yet, assessment of my life made clear to me that still some more changes had to be made. Developing a sense of self love this year, I had determined I needed to "give myself permission" to open the gate and walk through to a world where my needs were heard and given some allocation, either by myself or others in my life."

When talking to someone I think there is a tendency to hold closely to the words. I noticed there was a bit of tendency for David to see himself as one up. It wasn't overt. He was polite and kind. Still, I felt one down and I don't always feel that way, hardly ever feel this way in conversation with people other than my husband.

Then, there's the matter of expression in ways other than words. I smile a lot and I giggle a great deal. I tend to offer the other person joy, because that is what I have to offer. I tend to see the quirky side of the world and I tend to have an irreverent Irish sort of humor. It's hard for me to be around people who don't smile much. David doesn't smile. Nor does a girl my age who was there who I had known all my life. It was my friend who pointed this out to me.

It's a strange sort of an observation, a bit unsettling. Here I am with this desire to have my silliness bubble up and find expression and yet I have been married to a serious person all my life. I'm not sure that has been good for me, not allowing my quirky, silly sense of humor to seek the sunshine as often as would be natural to me.

It's interesting to note that when I get with my brother we tend to collapse into laughter at the drop of a hat. We each make other laugh a lot. My mother makes people laugh all the time. Even the day before he died my Dad had the staff of the hospital smiling. 'I'm in more trouble than a pregnant nun,' he said.

Both my youngest sons have the loveliest sense of humors and many times a week they share jokes with me, U tube clips, comedians, silliness. My eldest son is a little different. It's not a daily thing for him but when he lets his hair down he is the silliest of us all.

There are numerous elements to my bimbo identity. There's the undeniable pleasure. Then, there's the arousal response, the letting go response, the satiation of my innate personality; the seeking of joy and total relaxation.

Then, there is the silliness. Before my daughter married earlier this year the happy couple got together with the marriage celebrant and she listened to them talk. At the service she said that my son in law is dependable, rational and reliable; her rock. That's definitely true. She is soft and creative and silly. That's right too. They are polar opposites and he loves that she is silly, that she is creative; emotional where he is rational. They both were attracted to what they did not see in themselves.

I think going forward I need to acknowledge more my own quirky way of operating in the world. I am capable of immense joy. I am so lucky in this way. I can feel intense happiness, peacefulness and love. My cup can runneth over. I need more of that; much more silliness. I need to allow myself expression of my natural delight in being alive. This is an important element of my authentic self.

A joyous New Year

On the morning of the last day of the year, I'm reflecting a little on this year about to end. It was a relatively quiet year for me with few major highlights. My personal highlight was my time at the retreat in New Zealand. I am so happy I took that risk and flew my wings.

On a relationship level, my mind immediately flew back to a morning in the country, mid-winter. My husband and I had rented a darling little cottage. He asked me what toys I had brought along and I told him of a ripple-y butt plug. He asked me to produce it and he had me lay on my side as he put it into position.

He told me later that the transformation had been immediate; something that he would not have believed possible if he had not seen it with his own eyes. One minute I was a girl and the next I was a toy; soft, compliant, suggestible; hungry.

There is little point in dismissing the life blood of this toy inside the girl. She's hardly a fabrication of my imagination when she rises up and is visible to others.

When this toy gets an opportunity to be fully alive, it's a wonderful time for those in her company as well. There's something about her presence that makes me, and my husband, abundantly filled with joy. I'm younger, more carefree, and what's exciting is that those benefits don't last for a minute or an hour, or two, but for days and days. Here I am writing about a morning in early June, six months ago now, feeling all the delight again of remembering the time of "simply letting go".

I listen to a CD regularly where the man talks about this: "simply letting go". "More and more" he will say in a voice that lulls one further into the trance-like state. "Deeper and deeper", he will say, and a little smile is formed because I wait for that phrase, softening a little more each time he says it throughout the meditation.

The toy (aka bimbo or cindi) and a spiritual state became blended in my mind quite some time ago. I give in to both experiences and I benefit from both experiences. In the main, I need some guidance to get to both states, but I can go solo, if necessary. I can meditate alone and that's good; beneficial, always. But the meditation in a group has a quality that I can't find in meditating alone. So it is with the toy. I can take measures to sink into the toy state; a more, mellow mind. However, it is only with the guidance of a 'top' that bimbo can really come alive. She needs someone to guide her, to play with her; to provide her with experiences that she can't provide herself.

I have a number of goals for the coming year, but none is really more important than seeing to it that the toy has more time to call it's own. She's sweet. She's giving. She's loving. Okay, she's slutty. But, her joy is infectious. More joy. That seems a perfectly acceptable new year resolution, I think.

Wishing you a joyous New Year.

'Let her go!'

There's this way we have of talking to one another. He taught it to me. He insisted upon it. I, really quite scared to do anything but follow the edicts imposed, followed along, stayed in my lane.

Very quickly, as I recall now it was no time at all, I grew to adore that speak. It gave me a chance to be free. Only bimbo spoke like that. No concerns about mistakes, or misspelt words. In fact, corrections were frowned upon. Misspelt words were encouraged.

When bimbo is very excited, completely unleashed, her language becomes wilder as her mind becomes more open and free. Love won't just be luv but luvvvvvv. Sexy won't just be sexxy but sexxxxxy. Control becomes cuntrol. Becomes becomes becumz because bimbo is uneducated, quite dumb. Simple. She's proud of that. She wouldn't have it any other way. She looks warily around for girl because she spells trouble for bimbo, always has, always will.

Girl is into correct grammar and spelling. She doesn't refer to herself as 'she'. She wouldn't do that. She says "I don't agree" or "Don't you think bimbo has some say in this?", but that's a fallacy, a lie, a deception.  Bimbo would not ask that question. She doesn't ask those sort of questions because she doesn't have those sorts of thoughts. Bimbo doesn't care to have any say. That's not bimbo asking that question. That's girl who now has control of bimbo.

So, if he gets those sorts of responses he knows immediately that bimbo has been "tossed to the side of the road".

He's no fan of the girl. He considers her a "tyrant". Brutal. If necessary, he can be brutal to girl for the simple reason that he'll always defend and protect bimbo against girl. It's happened before. Let's hope it doesn't have to happen again.

It's when he refers to himself as "I", as in "I know bimbo has been hijacked" that girl is able to see through the murky fog of her troubled thoughts and realize what she has done. She's snuffing the life and light out of bimbo. It's true. She's on a rampage to ensure bimbo doesn't see the light of day...until she comes up against bimbo's white knight who will do anything and say anything to protect the silly l'il bimbo inside of the girl.

And it's at that moment, the dreaded use of the word "I", "I know", that the girl drops her weapons, holds up the white flag and says, metaphorically of course, "If you don't shoot I'll release bimbo." And, he responds, metaphorically, "Release the bimbo and the girl can go in peace."

What  a relief for bimbo - to return to her beloved bimbo speek, her pluggiz, her dumbness and lightness, her joy and contentedness.

"Bimbo always enhances girl. Girl does nothing for bimbo."

Oh boy, that makes the girl sit up because it is so so undeniably true.

Spirituality within power exchange

My immersion into spiritual practice and my overwhelming attraction to SM practices and power exchange relationships in general collided several years ago such that it is hard for me to separate one from the other. That this might mean something tangible to the reader, I give the following example of how the two worlds mingle in my mind.

In Eckhart Tolle's Stillness Speaks he has a chapter on 'Relationships', and in that chapter he writes,

'When you get attached to objects, when you are using them to enhance your worth in your own eyes and in the eyes of others, concerns about things can easily take over your life. When there is self-identification with things you don't appreciate them for what they are because you are looking for yourself in them. When you appreciate an object for what it is, when you acknowledge its being without mental projection, you cannot not feel grateful for its existence. You may also sense that it is not really inanimate, that it only appears so to the senses. Physicists will confirm that on a molecular level it is indeed a pulsating field. Through selfless appreciation of the realm of things, the world around you will come alive in ways that you cannot even begin to comprehend with the mind.'

When I first read Tolle's words, and when I re-read them as I often do, they immediately resonated with me because of experiences I have had through a power exchange relationship. The world of the doll manifests itself in a very small and contained world and when the conditions are just right all egoic thought and concerns based on the real world drift away. The mind shuts right down and my experience is simply a physical one. I can feel the sensations of the body. I can feel arousal. On the great days, I can feel complete peace.

I can get to this sublime place through wearing a large butt plug which chokes thinking off, or I can get there through wearing a latex mask. They are quite different experiences, one not better than the other, but I've a particular partiality to the former experiences because I can maintain the connection with 'the other' better.

There have been experiences where 'bimbo' permeates me. She is inseparable to that never-changing  'I am' entity. There is no past or no future. There are no worries or thoughts; certainly no attachments to identity or worth or worldy possessions. Bimbo responds to direction, absolutely, but in the most special situations the feeling is light, warm and easy. It is understood that bimbo won't say very much because she has found herself in a world of comfort and grace; ease, peace and beauty.

I remember on one particular early morning she was in the country chatting oh so quietly on her computer. Not that much was being said because her world can often be simply peaceful with few words necessary. She was aware of the sun coming up to light the world; of the darkness making way for some light; the shapes of trees. More than anything she was aware of the stillness of this time and the stillness within her. Ever so quietly she found her attention drawn to the objects around her; a blue and white cup and a jug. She marvelled at the beauty of them as if she had never before seen a cup or a jug; the vibrancy of the colour; the very essence of these objects designed to do specific tasks. A sense of peace and pleasure welled up in her. She was living in this moment. Her cup runneth over.

There are no doubt a variety of ways to reach these peaceful moments in life, yet in my life the way towards them has often been to be led down a path where I may reach them. I have procured these peaceful moments through power exchange; perhaps not the ideal way to navigate a spiritual life, and yet many a monk has sought out help along the way.

I remain attached to people. It's not that I live through them but rather that it is still hard to imagine life without them. To date, I respond very naturally to the submissive role and thus yearn for the sort of dominance in my life where there is understanding of a spiritual life. My personal goal is to get to that spiritual dimension on my own at any time, if need be; to find respite and comfort in the 'I am' entity which never changes and to let all other worldly concerns and worries, identities or pride loosen and shake off. This is the life of the monk, the nun; those who wish to live as Buddha taught.

It cannot be denied that my interest in power exchange relationships began when the material I was reading aroused me to the core. It was entirely sexual. Every word I read at first was an aphrodisiac to my mind ready to take it all on. It didn't take on a spiritual dimension for me, something akin to subspace, until I quite simply experienced that spiritual dimension. This was the true gift. This was the opportunity I am so grateful to have seized with both hands and all my heart.

When will the Eveready Bunny's battery wear out?

I was chatting with a dominant friend yesterday and he offered his opinion that 'bimbo' needed longer claws.

 'Did he not like the length of her claws?'

'They need to be longer to keep the girl away', he said.

I didn't, and I don't, argue with the sentiment, but it did make me smile when I noticed later that he'd spent a couple of minutes reading this blog at the same time as we'd be chatting. I mean, honestly, bimbo hasn't been on these pages for several entries now. Personally, I hate that. He does too and so do you, probably.

It's not about being happy, or unhappy. It's a transition thing. For a few years now, I've been undertaking a tertiary qualification that has absorbed my mental energies. Then, I finished it. Hooray!

I got a message from a friend who'd already finished the same degree.

'Look after yourself. I fell into complete exhaustion after I finished and got a serious flu condition...didn't surface for months.'

Oh no, not me! I instinctively approached the 'dilemma' of the completion in a different way. Sure, I was tired, but I was going to beat the transition feeling, which is a rather unsettling feeling I have to tell you, by knocking myself out. I threw myself into planning a trip, reading copious extraneous material, long novels that I didn't enjoy, listening to endless podcasts. I was cramming my head with every idea available to me. Think. Think. Don't stop thinking!

Why?

Good question. My best efforts to psychoanalyze myself suggest that I had lost some element of my identity. I could no longer say I was doing an MA. I'd finished. Along came the inevitable questions. 'When is the book coming out?' 'When are we going to see that film you've been writing?' Oh goodness. I had to justify my existence with new material. I dare not rest (I haven't slept much in the past in two weeks) because there was so much to do! I was already so far behind.

Behind, you say? By whose standards? I don't know. All I knew was that I was well behind the eight ball by somebody's standards and I dare not rest until things were done, stories were written, trips were planned, people were visited, and the house looked immaculate.

Hurry. Hurry.

The reality of being me is that I am not suited to endless frenetic activity, nor to getting away from my bimbo roots. I function so much better when my head has had its brains sucked out; when my purpose in life is reduced to something so much smaller than all that. At the very least, I need plenty of 'bimbo' time in my life.

Thus, the call for longer claws. Keep the girl away, you see. Bring back bimbo.

Somewhere, sometime, someone must have told the girl that she needed to achieve real world things. So, she does achieve real world things. But, rather than luxuriate in that achievement for more than two minutes she feels an immediate internal pressure to achieve something more. On and on she goes, like an Eveready Bunny who has been left on and must run about non-stop until the battery runs out.

There comes a moment when she feels...exhausted, and just not herself.

'What's wrong?' she wonders.

Ah yes, it finally dawns on her, 'bimbo is missing in action', and that's always such a confusing, odd sort of situation to be in; unnatural.

That's when she accepts the situation for what she is. That's when she accepts her lack of self.

Finally, she can relax. Such a relief for bimbo to be back.

The place of writing in healing

Around about now, about five or so days after I have I written in this web journal, I'm ready to write something again. There's some thought that has been mulling about my head that eventually comes out in words on this page.

This isn't entirely welcome really. The part of me that is referred to as 'bimbo' - that entity that has no time or space for worrying thought - isn't the least concerned with expression through words (logical thought and the dictates of good English) and hence entries here aren't seen as positive for her.

'Bimbo' is not at all encouraged to worry. Worrying thoughts are really off limits. She'll be heard but that's it. Her worrying will be cut off at the pass. She's not to worry, she's told. She's to apply herself to bimbo thoughts. If she persists she's reminded that this is not acceptable. It's not her place to worry.

Once upon a time, I was troubled by this situation. It felt that the part of me that is not remotely bimbo, inclined to fuss and stress over other people's grief, for example, was not being validated. What I've come to see is that this strong tendency (who I am I kidding, it's a rule) to not allow me to stress out and to direct me to return to my bimbo roots, is a great blessing.

As I become more and more comfortable with embracing bimbo, the simple side of my nature that longs for someone else to take charge, to give direction and to insist that I stop worrying and being troubled by what happens to other people - their challenges, their grief, their troubled souls - I'm much more quickly able to release myself from having to feel the pain of the world as if it were my own. As this has happened, I'm sometimes lost for a topic on this web journal. It's not possible to sit and write logically about a topic when I'm perfectly happy just existing; just living; not requiring words.

I simply adore the release of 'bimbo speeki'. With no need whatsoever to spell correctly, to capitalize, or even to be grammatical, I'm released from the real world and given permission to enter 'wonderland'. I'm given the key to the trapdoor. 'Fuck this world. I'm going to wonderland.' Yes, the bimbo laughed at that and related to that.

It's magical there. It's a world where pleasure is the number one priority. There's discipline, for sure. A bimbo is subject to following instructions and sometimes those instructions are very challenging. However, in the bimbo state of mind all instructions are perfectly fine. Challenges are welcome. New ways of thinking and opportunities to draw down walls that may have held the bimbo back are torn down.

It's  not easy to explain the process whereby the bimbo is encouraged to be free at the same time as she is kept under a close eye and made to do as she is told. It is something of a contradiction, I think. Yet, this is the way that it is. Constrained quite tight she has the freedom to fly high. She's given the magic feather and there she goes; marvelously invigorated by sticking to the plan laid out for her.

No words can convey what this means to me. To think that anyone is willing to devise for me a plan that brings me such a sense of liberation and ease; that anyone is willing to be patient enough with me to wait and wait for me to reach goals that allow that sense of liberation; that's the fairy dust right there; that's the key to wonderland.

Sometimes I say, because I simply must, 'Thank you. Thank you for this' and those words are met with some degree of discomfort, because the truth, apparently, is that it's not being done just for me.

That leads me to wonder. Does anyone do anything completely selflessly? A parent may think they are selfless but deep down all relationships we have say something about us; about our needs and wants; about what fulfills us; completes us; sustains and restores us.

That I don't write here as often as I once did is a good thing. I am resolving my mind's questions and doubts in a quieter way; much more conscious that to give my mind a rest is not to write more, but to write less; that to restore my mind to a peaceful state I can empty my mind; find refuge in the bimbo state; this moment; this status and position.

Pleasing the dominant

Those of us with a creative soul need to alter and adjust people and places to suit ourselves; to give birth to something in our own image. The talented hairdresser wishes to transform a woman into someone with self confidence and flair. The fashion stylist wishes to make the woman more beautiful and alluring when she wears his or her creations. Interior designers wish to create beautiful, comfortable rooms in which people can live happily and calmly; an oasis from the busy world outside. Novelists want to create a world which the reader will find so absorbing it will be difficult to put down the book. Musicians long for those evenings when the sound they create is sublime; never mind that it is just for an hour or so. They strive for perfection. They long to play better than they ever played before.

In the world of power exchange, the dominant can wish to transform a woman's mind. In order to get there he's likely to also want to transform her body. 'Owner tags', for example, are a permanent reminder that the person is 'owned'; that her body and her mind - her whole sense of happiness and fulfillment really - are at the behest of, and under the control of, the dominant member of the relationship.

It won't matter how much interaction I have with dominants. Their words cannot suffice to explain their head space such that I can explain it in my own words. I can only imagine what they might mean; what they might want. For a long time, I saw the exchange, at its most heady, as one person giving herself over to the other. By doing this, the submissive member of the exchange was giving her trust, and her love, to the other. He might want more than she wanted, more than she ever imagined she wanted, but over time his desires would naturally - by various means of persuasion - become her desires. Together, they'd experience unimaginably erotic highs.

He'd luxuriate in her ability to 'let go' and let him lead; to experience such divine eroticism. He would have created, and transformed, an average woman into a slutti, mindless, sex craved fucktoy. They'd both be unbelievably aroused and connected in the experience; the ultimate in sexual libido at its highest and pleasure in the extreme. He could wallow in her acceptance of his appetite. In the state she is hardly in a position to challenge or berate his behavior. She's just as bad; just as naughty.  Her appetite is just as voracious. Look in the mirror. Take note of the photograph. Evidence. A slut is born. This is really as far as my mind went.

I now think I see something that I had overlooked before. Some dominants cannot and will not be satiated. That is to say, enough will never be enough. An owner's tag can be heavier. A heavier ring through the nipples can hold a heavier bell or weight. A woman can be locked away, should he choose. There are chastity belts, a constant reminder of the 'owned' state. He can lock her pussy cunt; attached rings in her pussy cunt and padlock them together. He can 'request' a tattoo marking his possession, or he might want to see her in a corset, restraining her such that her waist is adorably small.

Some dominants want full control over the submissive's hair style and color, her wardrobe, her weight, her exercise regime. Other dominants might lead a woman to a new way of life; a different course of undertaking her days. 'Dom with Pen', a perfectly sane individual as far as I can tell, doesn't shy away from the fact that he wishes his girl were a housewife and not in the teaching profession.

What I am getting at is that the dominant position isn't necessarily one whereby it is about leading a woman to express and live out her own personal, unfulfilled and perhaps unexpressed desires. He wants waaaaaaaaay more than that. He wants her to do 'it' - whatever the 'it' is this time. He wants her to do  'it' because it would be pleasing to him.

I referred a few posts ago to the fact that the dominant may not accept 'no' as an acceptable answer. It's not the sort of arrangement where she can say - "I tried. I just can't." He's not going to accept that, this dominant. She needs to try harder. She needs to train more regularly. He's not whistling dixie here. He means it. He has decreed it and she will do it.

There is a persuasion of a similar kind that goes on with vanilla folk, I think. He wants the job in London and he means to have it, whether they have to uproot and she leaves behind all that she loves, or not. He wants to grow a beard and she has no choice but to accept his decision even though she much prefers him clean shaved. For some men, their will must be done. They mean to have their way - not in a selfish way, necessarily. There is a good chance that the decision is right for both of them, ultimately. But, his will will be done.

In power exchange terms, I suppose you would say that between the couple, there are no real limits and there certainly is no safe word she intends to ever use. He controls. She does his bidding. Now, not for a minute would I suggest that this situation is intended to harm or be in any way negative. In a healthy 'all or nothing' power exchange the dominant is so incredibly responsible for the submissive that he carries the weight of the world on his shoulders. He is the 'all mighty' ruler and as such he understands he bears responsibility if something goes wrong. He needs constant and open communication with her in order to function. He'll always listen. But, he, ultimately will decide and she, ultimately, must concede to him. Never mind that these ideas are new; radical; outside of her knowledge banks, desires and wants. His wants are, inevitably, her wants. She, at the end of the day, if not before, will be enriched; praised; adored. Enticed?

A certain state of mind

I've had two glasses of white wine. I've read some things. I've had a conversation or two. It's been an indulgent late afternoon, in the main, and I find myself in a longing state.

I'm thinking of a time and  place where I am given a glass of wine and once the time for conversation has passed, being told to come to him. I am now on my knees in front of him as he continues to sit in his comfortable chair. I'm thinking of  a state where I am co-operative as he touches me gently on the lips with his lips, as he cups my breasts in his big paws, as he lifts my skirts and removes my panties. All the while I am co-operative, moving upon his direction; making it easy for him to achieve his goals.

I imagine him now laying me down on the carpet. I'm in a dreamy state already. Whatever he wants. I look up at him as he peruses me. Whatever you do, I think, for God's sake, manhandle me.

His erect and ready cock springs out from his pants and within seconds is deep inside of me. Lovely, life-giving cock. But, I'm older now; more submissive; more wanting; more demanding, if truth be known. I won't be satisfied until he has filled all my holes; until I feel like a completely used slut.

We began with polite pleasantries but we don't end until I'm nothing more than his whore; an object of desire; a hole that needs filling. That's the way it is these days.

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.

Bimboism

It came to my attention over the past several days that I am not the only bimbo on tumblr. As far as I know I'm the only bimbo that doesn't speak like a girl (but rather bimbo speeki) but who knows?! There may be dozens of us for all that I know. I'm not the least bit savvy about tumblr and I keep a very low profile.

I've received only a handful of questions since I have been on tumblr. One man wrote something that even bimbocindi found pretty gross and I simply deleted it and  he unfollowed me. That was a win:win situation in my book. I have done nothing to encourage followers in any way. If people find me, they find me, but I've thought of it as  a rather private (I know, how silly is that!?) space to conduct my own particular version of my kink.

This morning there was a question in bimbocindi's mailbox asking her what she liked about being a bimbo. I've a fairly well honed antenna for changes in the air and I wasn't entirely surprised by this question. I'd already given it some thought in anticipation of such an event and I wrote as honestly and respectfully as I could as to what bimboism meant to me.

Cindi has been bimbocindi from the outset but I must admit I've never entirely embraced the whole bimbo concept on a physical level. If you're talking about the mind - the acquiescence, the empty head, the sexual entity wanting a lot of use, the desire to please, the willingness to try new things, the slutty thoughts - I'm right there.

Yet, I am still (and always have been) challenged by the bimbo facade - the physical nature of bimboism. I happen to have medium to full sized breasts that are still perky. I'm not reacting to some sense of insecurity that my breasts are small when I say that breast enlargement is something that I have never considered. Yet, I'm completely in favor of a woman doing that which makes her feel her best.

A niece of mine had her breast size reduced to be more in line with the rest of her body and I felt happy for her that a problem in her mind was being attended to. If a woman wants very large breasts and seeks to achieve that outcome or to adjust the shape of her breasts in any way, I say, go for it. However, in my mind the size of one's breasts has nothing to do with my sense of being a 'bimbo'.

I totally respect people's choices and I know that some husbands/boyfriends encourage their gal/bimbo to make such changes to their body. That is fine so long as they both  want that because, in my mind, a particular shape and size of breasts doesn't negate one's ability to play the role of sexual object to a man.

Of course, some men like some things a great deal. I used to smile when I was pregnant because it was clear that some men really get off on the look of a pregnant woman or a woman breast feeding. If the man who loves you and owns you wants something in particular, for example, for you to be thinner or to have a more defined waist, or more well toned legs or to wear something slutty in the bedroom or to have some silicone injected into your lips - whatever - this is a very private negotiation between the two of you.

Every woman walking this earth has her own little insecurities and it's vitally important for a man to be sure to have his woman know that he loves her just the way she is but that he'd like her to consider doing this and that. A woman with a submissive nature wants to please and she'll try very hard to put her insecurities aside and aim to make herself a better version of herself to please her man.

I can't say that I encourage a woman to make physical adjustments to her body unless the man in her life requesting those changes is completely committed to her. One man's desire to have a woman's arm tattooed with his name within a heart, for example, may be the next man's turn off. So, these decisions can't be made on the tear. You have to have your wits about you before you go about making permanent physical transformations. You really do  have to use your big girl head!

I think that bimboism can be whatever you want it to be. The word carries a lot of connotations and it's a delicate subject. For me, it has been about letting go, primarily; accepting my sexuality and embracing my appetite for sex.

So, I won't ever be getting a breast change. I won't ever wear some very slutty number in public. I really think these things are impossible for me. Stockings and garters under my skirt make me feel very sexy. Taking a great deal of care to look attractive makes me feel sexy. Looking like a tart does not. You see, there's the bias right there! But, I can't help it. My sexuality is a private thing. I'm a private person.

I'm aware that some men try to break down this sort of female thinking in the bedroom by debasing or degrading a woman. In the darkest recesses of my mind, degradation is a total turn on and we've used it with some good effect. I've written over my own body, naughty statements, and my husband was instantly aroused. I do, alas, find a lot of very naughty things a very big turn on. But, the classic bimbo look...I consistently am challenged by it; consistently find myself turning away. The above photograph, in my mind, is entirely bimbo; beautiful and bimbo at the same time. That's my version of bimbo: a very female version. There's the rub; there's the hurdle to jump.

Brain lost

Desire to immerse myself in the mindset of the slutty, nut 2 smert, mindless, dumdum l'il bimbo has absolutely no relation to my ability to run my own life. In fact, the more capable I feel in the big, wide world, the more I long to be taken to that fucktoy, in-need-of-control space.

I can be going along, minding my own business, ripping through the to-do list and a host of chores when it comes over me like a wave. It goes like this...

One minute: God, this day is going well. Look at all that I have achieved so far. I am on a roll. Just about all my ducks are in a row.

Next minute: So, who cares anyway. It is mildly pleasing, but is this all there is? It's not giving me the satisfaction in life I crave. What I really desire is to feel little, helpless and unable to move without somebody giving me a direction. I want to feel the containment and I want to feel my body on fire too. Achievement is nice but it's not thrilling.

Of course, I am intimately aware of the fact that the more time I spend in that space, the more the bimbo switch is on, the more submissive I feel, the more desire I have to retreat into that mindless, ultra turned on space. My relationship with my body is very different here and my mind/body connection is very connected here. I'm a dumdum fucktoy and nothing feels as good as that.

For a girl who likes to use her brain, I am here to say that nothing ever feels as good as the days when I lose my brain. Oh dear! Where did it go?

New naylz 4 cindi

Yesserdey, cindi hab fun speriens. Wel, first ob ull, it nut so fun. Cindi broke her nail in da garden. She helpn onnir cullekt da weedz n cuttingz n wen she pik up a big pile of stuff, da thum nayl on da rite han broke. Ohhhh, deeri me. Cindi hab a broken claw n dis mek her sad.

Der jus no wey, asaloooooti no wey dat cindi ken weyt til she get bak 2 da citi n so she looki up da google 2 c if der a nayl gurl sumwhere rown her. N, ta da!! Der a gurl stertd up in her town. Hoooray!!!

cindi call n get poytmin at 6pm. Onnir wanna go 2 da beech in da aftanoon but he drop cindi off at 6 in da bote n off she wen. Dis beri speshel 4 cindi coz dis da ferst tym ebr she ken talkiz wif a nayl gurl. Ull da udderz in da past Chinese n cindi nut speeeki dat langwich et ull.

Da gur tel cindi so meni new tingz. Did da gurlz no dat ken get da naylz rebalansd??? Wel, ken. N, cindi hab her naylz rebalansd. Yayayayyay. Dey looki beri pretti. Also, did no dat ken bild up da acrilic 4 da broken claw?? Ken. Yep. No need 2 gloo on et ull. Cindi jus amazd!! N, dis gurl nut ebn esk cindi if she wanna cut dem down. Jus slite file, dat ull. She jus gr8!! Cindi so happi wif her new naylz; ull shini n pink n lung. Yayayayyayayayayyay!

cindi skeeeezn wey heeer. She beri alyv rite now. Beri much bimbo. If onli der peeepil owt der hoo ken speekiz flewn bimbo speeki. Der def wun or 2. Wish dat dey cood tawk wif cindi rite now...

Da cindi/vesta cunnektn

Sumtymz, cindi get da presshin dat summ hoooz tinki dat vesta da bed g-eye; dat she stop bimbo frum cumin owt 2 pley; dat vesta da parti poopu. Dat reeeli nut troo. Wel, nut zactli troo, enewey.

C, vesta n cindi beri rel8d wun nudda. If cindi happi, vesta happi. Dat def troo. Vesta noz, ebin if she akt liki she dunna no sumtymz, dat cindi expressin hessef beri importin 4 bof dem.

Der beri importin tingz dat need 2 hab dun 4 cindi 2 spress hessef n vesta need co-oper8 wif dat. If she stert 2 yooos da intallekt n nut lissen 2 da roooolz dat low bimbo 2 cum owt, den tingz go awri 4 bof dem.

Wen cindi ken show hessef jus bowt everidey, vesta bubblin obr wif hapines. Howebr, wen vesta akt liki she no bettr dan cindi, n akt liki she bettr dan cindi den ull betz off. In doz caysz, vesta beegin 2 struggil n bimbo left on da shef bi hesssef. It nut a happi owtcum 4 eidda dem.

Vesta noz ull bowt da "on" switch 4 cindi. She noz. She noz. She noz full wel. But, sumtymz she ken get beri full hessef. She meki owt liki she noz best; liki she noz nuttin bowt bimboz. Dis beri herd on bimbo.

It ashoooli jus az portin 4 da gurlz 2 show displin as 4 da bimboz. If gurlz undisplind den bimboz beegin feel dey ken hardli breeeef. Dey beegin dispeeeer. Dis no gud 4 enebodi - nut da onnirs, nut da bimboz n nut da gurlz.

Tingz set up 4 bimboz - dayli limits n challinjjz. Gurlz liki Vesta ken sey dat she got no speshel limits. But, dat rung. Dat ashoooli a lie. Dat onli seyin dat she fooolin hesssef - dat she ken lif happili wiffowt bimbo. Dat jus hogwash.

cindi dus wut she ken wif vesta but she reeeeei a han full. cindi sey, "y sed, vesta? vesta no bowt da on swich. Jus do it. Donna tinki bowt it. Jus do it."

Sumtymz, she jus duzznt lissen 2 bimbo n dat da hol prollim in a nutshell. Dat y bimbo wish dat sumwun hoo unnerstan how 2 motiv8 her ken get involvd sumtymz n giv bimbo a bitva hand. It tuff werk, but sumbodi gotta do it.

An update: The search for peace of mind

I have just said goodnight to my teenage son who is struggling with obsessive thoughts related to his perfectionism. He shared with me that twice this weekend his mind had locked in on a single issue related to his study that had him searching for the perfect answer relentlessly whilst precious time to attend to all the other work was lost.

We talked about that; that there is more than one way to solve a problem in most cases; that he doesn't need to feel alone when he could have asked me for help; for a friend for help; anything but sit there and worry. It is harder now because exams are just a few days away and that means the stress in his life is increasing, and the stress makes it all the more likely that he will have an urge to obsess about the fact that something or other is not perfect.

I did my best to to turn the situation into a positive outcome: better that it happened over the weekend and now he can remind himself in the exams NOT to do what he did at home; remind himself that he can move on with the exam. Once his mind is more relaxed having done more of the paper, he might well find that the missing fact that was bothering him just comes to him all on its own.

Finally, I sent him off to sleep with a meditative script that I pretty much have learned by heart now. He was instructed to think about his feet in the bed, his fingers, his head - to notice how they felt; not to judge the thought in any way but simply to notice. I find myself altering the script now and I had him focus more on his breath. I told him to let go; that there was no more worry today; that it was time to go to sleep; to let go and allow his mind to drift.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world."

I repeated that several times, gave him a hug, rubbed his head, kissed him and repeated the mantra again several times before I left the room.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world."

With a mind that can focus on worry I know what he is going through and I know too how to encourage him to "let go", in the same way that I encourage you to let go; as I encourage myself here, right now, to "let go".

This is what 'bimbohood' is all about. This is why I do what I do. The search for peace - for my own peace and for the peace of those I care about - is my purpose.

What age is 'cindi'?

On my travels my husband and I had the pleasure of sharing a glass of wine with a Dominant friend of mine and he asked a most intriguing question: how old was cindi?

I did not always understand that cindi was so child-like. It was pointed out to me by a dolli friend of mine and when I asked my mentor if he agreed that cindi was rather young, he agreed immediately. Honestly, that was a surprise at the time to me. But, I do get it. If one reads the 'bimbo speeki', the gay abandon with which she embraces new things, the way she wishes to please and the way she seeks praise, it is all the workings of a young girl. Maybe, she is about 8. It is awfully hard to pin it down but she often feels very young to me and to those who interact with her.

She can be mischievous. Recently, her owner showed her how to use the hotel safe and figuring that she could get her owner to handle that with her wiles, "Could onnir do dat 4 cindi?" she asked sweetly, he turned her over and spanked her bottom. "cindi has to listen to instructions and learn to do things for herself sometimes," he chided. And, when she got the combination wrong, she was spanked again. She sat on the bed and pouted about that. cindi always tries to get her own way, figuring that she is cute enough to achieve that, you see. Maybe that is why the 'hooz' can be rather strict with her...

It is complicated because sometimes cindi is a much bigger girl (or doll really); big enough to have and enjoy rather lurid sexual encounters. But, at the height of those encounters, when she is in a high state of arousal, she often reverts to a baby girl. She will suck her hands, her thumb, a few fingers for comfort and often she is heard to say, "Ba ba, baba baba, ba ba" as she goes back to a time when she knew nothing else but pure pleasure (or discomfort) and she depended on an adult for everything.

Whatever her age, and it varies from one experience to the other, cindi is awfully keen to impress; to receive the praise of her owner and to relish her status.

A few days ago she asked her owner why he almost always called her 'cindi', or very often just 'bimbo' these days when before he found it so hard to do. He told cindi that that is who they had become: cindi and owner; that was who they are now. Gosh, but that made her smile!

Y der cindi?

Dis da sebenth post frum cindi n foolfilz her rekwyrminz 2 riti in da jernil 4 sebin deyz bowt pluggiz. If cindi 2 speek honnistli, der mominz wen she wunderz if she gif hessef obr 2 da numba wun sadist! cindi jus a dum dum bimbo dolli but she hab 2 hab da bestist behavyor in da werld! No misteks ET ULL!

So, lettuce sey dat dis a fakt - dat cindi talkiz wif a big tym sadist. Y she do dis? Y she sept da displin wich so beri strikt? Tink bowt dat 4 few secinz...She nut lowd 2 hab da gurl arown et ull. She nut 2 yoos no no werds. She alweyz speek in 'bimbo speeki' n neber gurl langwitch. She musta beri respektfool, esk nysseli 4 da tings she wanz. She musta wer da pluggiz beri regoooorli n she musta obey cummanz. Beri importin dat she unnderstan dat she hab no cuntrol n dat she cuntrolld n she mynded regooorli dat cindi a dumdum. Cindi nut tinki n cindi nut wurri. Dat wut she told. Justa a dumdum, errhed dolli hoo duz az told. Dat her trennin.

Wel, cindi sept dis treeetmin coz she noz dat it gud 4 her - dat da bottim lyn. Onnir a risk tekr, an ontraprenooor. But, da gurl a worrreee-r n wut she prefir, sekooriti. Der no meetin of da mynz heer. Onnir sey he alweyz musta tek riskz n da gurl alweyz wurri; ebin if she ken do privytli, she still wurri.

Wen cindi presin, der no mor wurri. cindi poot her fayth n trust in onnir n dat lowz onnir 2 get on wif libin da wey ment 4 him n it lows 4 cuntenmin. Onnir lub cindi beri much n it mek him so happi wen she rown. N, cindi happi 2. She getz on wif libin her lyf n doin creatif tings n lotsa dumdum tingz 2. He nut wanna dat cindi ebr wurri. He happi 2 sept ull da wurri n respunsibiliti hissef. Dat wut he wans. He wans 2 c cindi eberi dey n hab happi tymz wif cindi. He nut wanna argoominz n he nut wanna a wurry-n gurl rown him.

Yesserdey nut a gud dey in da lyf of cindi. She argoomentatif n twys he yoos da gurlz nem in beri harsh wey. cindi HAYTZ dat coz it sey to her dat her behavyor nut et ull dolli n he beri unhappi bowt it. Da gurl jus bashin her hed genst a brik wall. Dat wut pretti dumdum if esk cindi - 2 bash her hed ginst brik wall. Wut clebr bowt dat?!?!

Onnir beri cummittd 2 hab his wey n it best dat cindi simpli njoy lyf n nebr feel temptd 2 wurri liki a gurl. It nut da wey it werksz 4 onnir n cindi. Dey eech musta pley der partz n cindi musta soft n pretti n accommod8n n nut et ull wurreeed.

So, dat so kelld sadist dat cindi talkiz 2? Well, he helpiz cindi soooooo much 2 akt liki a gud l'il bimbo: 2 obey cumanz n do az told. It her trennin. N, da pluggiz a hooooj parta da treynnin 2. It keep her in a lubeli dumdum, happi stata myn; redi 4 yoos n happi in her plays.

Dis a tuf tym 4 cindi. Der sum miscumooonic8nz (nut ull her falt eeeeda!!) n der sum meen-nes but on da hol, cindi unnerstanz dat da displin nessesseri n hab a purpooooos. Bimbo jus wanna get bak 2 da gud bookz now n lyf az uzuwel 4 cindi. Dat wut she wanz.

How 2 pluggi

Der a chenj ob plan owtsyd bimboz cuntrol. Vesta habn rest. Dat paw gurl tinki so much n wurri so much dat she need rest. Dat gud ideuh.

Happili, cindi heer n dis her chans 2 rite bowt her speriensz. Nut onli dat. She heer uuuuuuul week. Yayayayayay!

So, 2dey, cindi wanna rite bowt wut she do eberi nite. Wel, der sum eggsepinz. Wen onnir tel her nut 2 poot in her pluggi coz he wanna yoos her, den she nut. But, on ull da udder nitez (n der few udda eggsepinz 2 da rool, liki now) she pluggi.

Jus l8li, onnir tel her dat sumtymz he liki 2 poot da pluggi in 4 her. Dat nys! But, sumtymz onnir bizi or nut ebin heeer n on ull doz tymz, most tymz so far, cindi poot in her pluggi at ni ni tym.

If nut bimbo, den mebbe nut no dis proces, so dat wut cindi do 2dey - splane how she poot in her pluggi.

Heerz da prosess:

Ferst, in da ebin, afta her showr n wen she redi go bi bi, cindi get Mr. Big or Mr. Ringo. Wich wun depinz on stuf offin owta her cuntrol. But, if gotsa choys, she choos Mr. Big, coz he da perfekt nite tym pluggi - beri cumfertibl but also stil kwite strechi. If, Mr. Ringo, datsa lotsa strechi n dat beri challengn uuuuul nite - beri, beri strechi.

So, lettuce sey she gots Mr Big in her hand. He fit in her han beri nyseli. She can grab him n he fill da palm cindiz han. N, wen cindi holdz Mr. Big in her han, alredi her hed stert 2 tinki bowt da strechi. Dat prolli a bimbo ting.

Cindi tekz Mr. Big n da loob, n a towel n she layz down on da floor on da towel. She coberz Mr. Big wif loooob, uuuuuul obr him, frum top 2 bottim. Den, she lay on her syd - on her left syd - n she poots sum loooob on her asscunt 2.

Cindi tenz 2 lay on her elbo n hol up her hed wif her lef han but den da rest da body on da towel; beri relaxd. Cindi bringz up her neez n offin she fyn dat her rite leg furda bent dan her left leg. It sorta da feetal posishn. Dis beri nateril 2 her.

cindi tek pluggi n pooosh it gentli genst da asscunt, jus 2 get Mr. Big rekwayntd gin n also, it bitva teeeez.

Den, beri slowli she stert to poooosh Mr. Big in2 da asscunt - beri slowli n deliber8li n sureli. She beri stil n silent udder dan da poooosh coz she njoy feeln Mr. Big slowli enter da asscunt n stert 2 tek charj.

It prolli onli bowt twenty secunz l8r, sumtymz mebbe mor, n cindi hab da thik end Mr. Big ul da wey 2 da asscunt entrans.

Now, dis wen da reeeeeel werk beegin. Dis wen cindi stopz n reeeeeeeeli cumcentr8z. Gentli but wif determin8n, cindi poooshz on the end of da pluggi n den she hab pluggi sit der 2 c if he ready 2 go ull da wey in. Sumtym, mebbe haf minut l8r, she feelz a grab. Udder tymz, Mr Big nut kwite redi. 2 hep him, bimbo releees him n den do wun big poooooosh. Eida wey, der a momin beri soon afta dat where she feel him tek obr. She let owt a l'il kwiet groan az he tek obr da asscunt n claim it az his own. 4 a secun, it feelz liki dat it jus 2 big 4 cindi n den a secun l8r it feelz jus rite.

Wen pluggi in his plays, cindi meeeedi8li beegin skueeez - lotsa skeeeeezn coz dat how she treynd - 2 skeeeez lots n lotz. Wif fayswashr she wipe wey eni xsess looooob n den she redi go bi bi. Dis da wey ull wel treynd bimboz sweeepiz.

Erli on, cindi nut abil 2 sweeepi ull da nite. Mr Big wakiz her. He ten 2 do tingz 2 her udder holz 2 dat mek it herd 4 cindi 2 stey sweepiz. Tots invayd her myn n she tinki bowt fuckiz lots.

Now, generili, she ken sweeepiz trew da nite happili wif mr big. But, if told yoooos Mr. Ringo, dat a difrin stori. Mr Ringo beerrrriiiiii strechi stil, n cindi kenna ignor him. He get her reeeeei hot n bothrd stil. Mr. Ringo stil a chalinj 4 cindi ulll nite.

In da morni, cindi wakiz beri happili wif her pluggi. Dat a lubeli wey wakiz 4 her. Sumtymz, she nut tek pluggi owt rite wey. It such a loss sumtymz dat she keep in trew da mornin. Nut ull da tym, but sumtymz, def.

Da gole 4 cindi 2 wer pluggiz mor dan she nut. Dat wonna happin dis week...

Mey hab notissd dat Vesta ken get her nikerz in nut. Dis a sheym. cindi nebr dis wey. Her pluggi pasify bimbo n keep her happi n kerfree. A bimbo wiffowt a pluggi a sed ting coz dis da bimbo swich.

cindi beri happi l'il ting. So herd 4 her 2 unnerstan y wood wanna gurl. Herd 4 cindi 2 unnerstan Vesta sumtymz. She nys gurl az gurlz go, gess...

Hope njoyd lernin how 2 yoos pluggi. Eni kestuns? Til 2moro. Bi bi.