'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.

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.

Outcomes

In my fantasies I am often the helpless victim of those in charge of me. Sometimes, I am a willing captive. I have agreed to the union, expect to and do comply with the wishes of my husband (or who ever it is that I agreed to obey).

 Often, I am simply in a situation where other people are in charge and in control of me and what they say goes. If I am stupid enough to have issue with this, I only make matters worse on myself.

In real life, it hasn't gone this way at all. In real life I am expected to want whatever befalls me. More than that, I am expected to beg for it. It's all about training the girl to want all the things that a decent and well brought up girl wouldn't think to do or have.

It simply isn't enough to tell a girl that it is time she had a larger anal plug, for example. That is not the outcome desired at all - to have her tolerate; to have her challenged according to his dictates.  She has to be desperate for this new toy.

She has to perhaps mention that it would be very nice to have a new toy. She has to hope that the hint is taken. Of course, a mental note is made of this exchange of thoughts but a girl has to wait. It doesn't do to hurry these things. He has to be certain that she wants the new toy with all her heart.

Time goes by and the doll wonders if she will ever get her toy. She would not dare make this purchase herself. Goodness me, she isn't that dum dum. Eventually, she brings it up again. She really would love a new toy...

He tells the doll that he needs to know why she wants that. He tells her that he needs to know why she is so desperate.

He tells her he isn't sure...

She implores him. She pleads her case. She says the need is urgent. She doesn't know what she will do if she doesn't get that toy soon.

The conversation goes on and on...

Her begging becomes more and  more difficult to comprehend. Words are spilling out on top of the other and now she is completely worked up. It is now or never...

"pretti pretti pleeeeeeeeeeez"

Eventually, against his better judgement, in a moment of weakness and mercy he agrees to her request.

"Beri wel den. Da dum dum dolli mey hab da new pluggi"

"Ohhhhhh, tank u, tank u, tank u"

She wants exactly what he wanted her to have and now there are two happy campers.

Oh joy!

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...

Forever

There is something about the word 'forever' or 'never' that is just so abundantly challenging. One immediately thinks of all the days and nights to come; of the years folded out in front of one's eyes and dismisses the idea as laughable.

"What do you mean I can never...?"

But consider this: I can never read this screen in front of me again without putting on my reading glasses. Never again. I have accepted that. It is a bore and bothersome but I can either accept that limitation or not bother reading and writing here at the computer. Case closed. I accept it.

When I was being 'trained' I had to accept my limit of 'bimbo speeki' if I wanted to talk to my mentor. I knew that I could NEVER use regular language. For some weeks or even months, I found that concept an enormous struggle. Over time, the limit became like the closest of companions and I revelled in the knowledge that I never ever had to decide how to speak. I stopped railing against the limit. I embraced the limit. I LOVED the limit. I MISS the limit.

Last night, I was prepared to say that a 'forever' limit on my sexuality was out of the question. This morning I feel more open about that.

The doll

In the past few months, I’ve been participating in a special kind of training. With my husband’s consent, I’ve been open and willing to be led to a place that, perhaps, not many people go. I’ve been working with a dominant man with the goal of becoming ‘the doll’. I’ve eluded to it any number of times and a discerning reader could have filled in the dots already. I’ve talked a little of anal training, of dress codes and of my gorgeous acrylic, red slutty nails. I’ve even alluded to the ‘bimbo speeki’ which I adopt in discussions.

The vigilant reader would have noted that ‘the doll’ appeared a few months ago. It was early in the proceedings when she simply emerged in conversation. In fact, she emerged when she was given her name and she is very much her own...doll. The doll was introduced to ‘bimbo speeki’ and she embraced it quite naturally. From the outset, she referred to herself in the third person as the object that she is.

Recently, ‘the gurl’, the girl with the over-thinking brain, broke into the doll’s account and had a few things to say, but she was not made welcome and she left as quickly and unceremoniously as she arrived. ‘The gurl’ does ‘the doll’ no favours. She confuses her, tells her she is “stooopid” and if she is really worked up, she will even lock her up in the cupboard. She “kidnaps” the doll and makes her life miserable.

‘The gurl’ thinks she knows it all. She uses her brains, her intellect and her education to persuade the doll that she is “right”. ‘The gurl’ is strident and she refuses to be put in her place. She may accept that she is a ‘bottom’, and she may even say that she wants to be submissive like the doll, but when things are not to her liking, she wants to manipulate everything to her own choosing. The sweet, good natured doll doesn’t stand a chance against her passion, her emotions, her intellect and her “sensibilities”.

This training, for me, is more than a type of ‘game’. It is an opportunity to feel free and liberated; to live in harmony and at peace. The benefits to me are not at all easy to explain. Yet, I feel I want to try because if you don’t know about ‘the doll’ (I’m just not ready to tell you the doll’s name), then you don’t really have an opportunity to understand me and what I seek.

My trainer (for want of a better word) asked me recently how I feel about ‘bimbo speeki’; if I was prepared to only speak to him in that way, and my response was in the affirmative. Although he enjoys the mode himself, he has made it clear many times that he only wants to lead me where I want to go, and he checks my mindset regularly. I was explaining something to him about my weekend when he suggested that perhaps this was better explained in girl language.

In fact, ‘bimbo speeki’ was entirely appropriate for me to explain myself to him. “Why?” he wanted to know. Well, in bimbo speeki I am contained. In that mode, I am the doll and I react as the doll would. I know my place. I’m not at all bright (as one would expect of a doll) and I don’t have the capacity or the desire to argue or worry. I remain the passive, pretty dolly and I let it all wash over me.

In girl language, my emotions and upset would have got in the way. I would have felt ‘unglued’ and out of control and my ability to function would have been impaired. I’ve been there countless times before and I never ever enjoyed it, found it productive or have ever wished to return, although I did, over and over. ‘The gurl’ may worry about things, from petty to important; hold grudges, be petulant and even rage, but never once did her unglued state work in her favour. ‘The gurl’ had tried to emulate the doll perhaps, but the doll was unthinkingly being herself. ‘The gurl’ was unhappy: the doll was not.

Make no mistake. What I am doing is not easy. A doll accepts. The owner of a doll can do whatever he wants. A doll is always pretty. A doll always smiles. A doll can be put back on the shelf. On the other hand, a good owner takes care of his dolly well and enjoys playing with her with enthusiasm. She is delicate and he handles her with care (although that care might include rough play). He loves her well. He ensures her needs are met. Lucky dollies have very good owners, and I am a lucky dolly. The dolly on the shelf has a charmed life. She loves her owner and her owner loves her. Life is good.

The opportunity for me to express myself in girl language here on this site has not been discouraged. This is the site of the girl who needs to express her thoughts in the way in which she is accustomed. She is going nowhere and nor should she. But, she is not welcome on the doll’s account and she won’t go there again. Should she feel the need, she has other avenues to express what is on her mind. She has acknowledged that the doll is here to stay and she is even prepared to make some room for the doll here. Secretly, she rather admires and envies the pretty, pink, happy dolly. ‘The gurl’ deludes herself that she has the power, but has been forced to admit that it is the dolly who is powerful. She holds her owner’s heart in the palm of her hands.