How things go

It is said that it can go either way when a child's basic needs have not been met - you  can turn out an empath or you could turn out a narcissist. There are detailed arguments about why one person goes one way and one person goes the other. The more I simply observe people the more I think that narcissistic behavior is often the province of the empath who doesn't feel loved.

It is a stretch, this thought of mine. Put it this way. You can try heaping love on a narcissist and if he or she responds positively to that, you might be onto something; a way to improve the reactions and interactions.

If that doesn't work - and it might not be love that is needed so much as approval or respect, according to the relationship - then I think it's fair to say that there is narcissism involved and it may be unchangeable. It may be necessary to accept the 'isness' of that.

My brother and I had an interesting conversation yesterday. Our mother is demonstrating odd behaviors; different odd behaviors to before. We've been trying to tease out quirkiness, egocentric/selfish behavior, and behavior that could suggest a form of illness. We've had to look closely at her behaviors and do a lot of talking to sort that out.

I happened to say that I had done an experiment in relation to my mother when I returned from holiday last month. Instead of kissing her and hugging her when I next saw her in a cafe, a few days after my return, I stood by the door, watched her come in, said 'hello' and waited. She said 'hello', of course, but that's it. She made no effort whatsoever to touch me in any way. Nor did I. I told her I had a table reserved and escorted her to it. We sat down.

On the various occasions I have seen her since, it's been the same thing. Oh, I've dressed her in the hospital after a test, and held her arm as we walked and so forth, but there has been no greeting with touch. She seems absolutely fine with that.

My brother revealed that he had made the same experiment a few years back and since then there is no greeting, even when months have gone by since they saw one another. He tells me it relates to the fact that he used to kiss her on the cheek and then when he went to hug her he could feel the sentiment, 'Oh God, do we have to do this again?' from her. She made it quick, with her body well away from his.

I told my brother that I have scanned my memory banks for any touch from my mother at any time in my life, perhaps one of comfort, and I can't. I have also scanned my memory banks for memories of touch from my father and I located one memory, where he came up behind me; hugged from behind. It was in the kitchen of a hotel they owned.

There are no memories of my mother's grandmother or grandfather hugging me, and not my father's father either. My father visited his father religiously on a Sunday morning and we two children tagged along to play in the garden. But, there was no hug hello, or goodbye. He seemed a lovely man to me but I was more or less invisible to him.

I shared a long ago memory with my brother. My mother and I were in the laundry of another Hotel, a time period later in my life when I was in my mid to late teens. I think my mother must have been complaining about my attachment to Maria, an Italian woman who was with us for many years. My mother must have really angered me because I was a very quiet child who kept her feelings to herself.

'I talk to Maria,' I said to her, 'because she acts more like a mother than you do.'

It was a confession. I didn't expect my brother to necessarily support the outburst. He said to me, 'If  Maria hadn't been in my life I am sure I would be a drug addict.'

The mind is crazy. We get hurt somehow and then the mind compensates in various ways. My mother had very little education and so her business and being a business woman meant far more to her than being a mother on the ground with us. She would deny this but it is the honest to goodness truth. If she developed narcissistic traits it relates to problems in her own childhood. Nothing comes from nothing.

In my own case, I became a giver. There was no determination about this, it just happened that way. Perhaps it felt comfortable since I had been doing it all my childhood; considering the other person's feelings ahead of my own. My husband can be sexually selfish; negligent; absorbed in what interests him. I notice. I am aware. But, as good a time as we can have, people return to their default position. It is just the way it is. I can't change this.

I've been leading a meditation group and I love creating a sacred space where I can afford other people peace and quiet. I encourage effortlessness; to just Be; to just be the dark screen or the blue sky that always sits behind the most cloudy day; that essence of life that is the natural self; ease.

I take refuge from the damage that was done to me at an early age, from selfishness, in goodness, kindness; an understanding for the suffering of all mankind and an appreciation for all the many brave attempts to counteract that which is not right.

This is just the way I turned out.

Looking at what is

Over the past several years, bit by bit, I've come to understand myself and how I got to here. I've acknowledged and accepted that I was either born with an anxious and sensitive disposition, or my upbringing led me to be that way. Maybe it was a bit of both since both my parents were anxious and so it makes sense I inherited that anxiety to some degree.

I've acknowledged and accepted as well that I am attracted to men, and have always been attracted to men, who offer at least some degree of positive energy; where I can hover down under their wing. That space feels right.

Another way of saying the above is that I am an empath and as such there are some pitfalls as well as strengths of which to be aware. So, I am happy to look after the other, to be led by the other (so long as it isn't onto a landmine) and for the other to, generally speaking, have his way.

I've listened to lot of complaining in my life, to the other's story. I've cajoled, or stayed silent, or agreed, for the benefit of the other, and for peace. I've put my own needs second, or third, or fourth...

I've discovered that there are stages that an empath might go through, the first one being a fight or flight stage where the body is pumping out adrenaline. Over time he or she might wander into a so called 'resistance' stage, a chronic stage where the body is producing more cortisol than it should. From there, an empath can find herself or himself in a 'burnout' stage where the empathic skills are in a state of hibernation as the person rests mind and body.

As far as I can tell I must have been doing something right, because people whose body and mind has endured what I have tend to end up with chronic inflammatory conditions like fibromyalgia. I don't have any serious conditions like that.

I have been aware at times however that my body is in trouble. I realized at a few different junctures in my life that cardio work isn't right for the empath whose nervous system is in disarray. Many years ago I was doing a step class when I realized that if I continued I might implode. With great reluctance, I left the class. In more recent times, I found it was not possible to take my agitated nervous system out, even for a walk.

This is what led to my interest in Meditation, Yoga, Pilates, Tai Chi and QiGong. All of these types of activities calmed my nervous system. Instinctively, I knew this was right. And, once I knew how to settle my nervous system I could add in walking and a mixture of walking/jogging. All walks are now most pleasurable and I can snuff off worry at these times.

In the same way, time alone, time in the garden, time ironing and listening to music at the same time, time cooking alone in the kitchen settle me.

I love sexual situations where I can be the doll, but something about the learning of myself has meant that I need the other to keep a close eye on my pleasure or positive spirit in that mode. In the same way that I experienced burnout being the empath who endures for the other, so being in situations where I am not really enjoying or getting off on the sexual situation can be quite destructive to my state of mind.

I recognize in this burnt out phase a degree of selfishness. I think, in a sense, that's growth on my part. In my own way, probably not in the best way, but in the way I know, I am standing up for my right to (gosh, how to put this) have a calm and settled nervous system.

I have learned that an empath whose nervous system is upset can be supported with various measures. I am finding relatively high doses of magnesium and zinc to be helping. I try to sleep consistently well but don't always manage it. It's important to support good sleeping patterns with a calm nightly routine, magnesium taken before bed, perhaps a meditation immediately before, or whilst in bed.

I drink a cup of coffee a day but I think I do better when I avoid coffee. Really good food also supports my system. The idea is to have some protein with each meal and personally I find that carbohydrates, sugar and most dairy is best avoided. The exception to this rule is a small amount of natural yoghurt. Cheese, which I love, is an occasional treat.

If one is born, or develops early in life, an anxious and worrying disposition, then that's what it is. This is one of the challenges of being born that person. Once this is a conscious understanding, the 'isness' of this state, then you can decide what you want to do about it; what can be done about it.

The complicating factor, of course, is that in relationship to a more narcissistic character, that being his or her challenge that developed early in life, there is going to be agitation.  This is inevitable. The nervous system is going to be challenged, for both of you, but in different ways.

Certainly, I have discovered many strategies to counter this assault to the nervous system, but I am definitely yet to perfect all of them. I stop participating in discussions that are circulatory in nature, or that begin to morph into something lacking value, or that could considerably upset me unnecessarily. When I feel frustration brewing inside me, a stealing of my energies, I find refuge in another place. I excuse myself.

But, it is very hard to alter these life long tolerances for the other. The other is so used to stealing one's energy, so used to having an audience, so used to getting the agreement of the other, doing what suits the other. It's almost akin to Jane Fonda announcing to Ted Turner that she was a born again Christian. It must feel like a sort of abandonment. 'What do you mean you are looking after your nervous system?'

As recovery of the nervous system takes place, there's the opportunity to live, and play, in a new way. Some things can't change. I can't suddenly be a leader. I can't suddenly stop my kinky thoughts or getting pleasure in particular ways. But, I do think it is possible that I can say, even if just to myself, 'there's only so much I can tolerate without the situation becoming unhealthy for me. I know my limitations as an empath, as a person with a delicate nervous system'.

By all means let's engage with a transfer of energy, but let's play fair, both of us. See me for who I am, for a situation over which I have only so much control. Take that into account. Give me the release of pleasure by watching my responses closely and seeing what turns me on, and what does not. Being me, it doesn't always feel safe to share that in words. Being you, words that hint at criticism make you defensive.

What needs to be avoided is that I feel too often that I must protect myself from toxicity. To this end, the other must know himself well too, the situation over which he has only so much control, I understand, but a consciousness of his less fine quirks is required. Two flawed people, consciously aware, can make a perfectly fine union, assuming they both work hard to achieve it. It's about waking up to what is.

Marriage

People tend to talk about marriage failure in terms of statistics. Half of marriages, or thereabouts, fail. Yet, divorce, the failure of a union of two people, is a very personal thing.

It's not so bad, or so sad, when two people decide to go their separate ways, but when you add into the equation children, the sadness quotient escalates rapidly.

Sometimes, marriages fail very quickly. Within the year, it's determined it was a mistake; a moment of madness. That's more embarrassing than sad, I'd suggest. All that wedding planning seems so silly.

When a marriage has gone decades, when a couple have watched their children learn to walk and talk, to graduate college and begin careers, to get married themselves, there is an element of the union that seems unbreakable.

Family, neighbors, friends and acquaintances have become used to seeing them together in all types of settings, and who really thinks about what goes on behind their closed doors?

For some people there is a soul connection; a sort of stripping away of the skin and bones, the ego, such that one sees right to the core, and it's a good core; a kind-hearted soul.

Perhaps I am just being my empathetic self, demonstrating my tendency to see through the veneer and down into the body pain that can make people so demonic.

It is said that we make choices. We choose our behavior. There is nothing wrong with this statement until we consider the damage caused to individuals. Maybe they could be better, act better, be kinder, but something holds them back, something dark and deep; scarring that simply won't heal, can't heal.

What if a partner is sometimes rational, loving, kind and reasonable, but sometimes cruel, unreasonable, wilful, headstrong and committed to his own way, despite the hurt that is caused?

What then? What if all the possibilities for a better outcome - looking into oneself, committing to therapy - are simply beyond the individual, for the simple reason that he sees nothing wrong with himself - or does know there is something wrong with himself but would rather die than admit it?

Sometimes, at least in my generation, things have gone so far that one figures one might as well limp along to the finish line.

Sometimes, there is a single moment when one looks at the other raging and thinks, after all the millions of steps, he just went a step too far.

Empathy

I was born with an extra dose of empathy for the plight of others. Of this, I am certain. My early life was lived out among the downtrodden. Whether they saw themselves as such I cannot know, but I felt their emotional pain. It was incredibly difficult to live with it, hour by hour and day by day, but I had no choice in the matter.

I suspect that I was seen quite simply as a shy child, an introvert. There's truth to that. Whenever I could I stayed in my room, surrounded by books. When I did venture out of my room, except of course to go to school, I went to ballet lessons and piano lessons. My body was more nimble than my fingers and it is dancing that became my true love.

If you think about it for a moment, these are fairly solitary activities. Of course, ballets have many participants but in your body it is just you dancing in sync with others. At the piano, or any instrument, you must delve into your inner life if you are to play well.

I know this not from experiencing it, since I was not a talented piano player. I know it because when my daughter was playing her flute, which she did very well, I sat in a few times as a musicologist took her through pieces of music in intricate detail, perhaps alerting her to a string of notes relating to a caged bird. It was then that I realized that music was so much more than the notes played well. Music comes from the soul and instruments must be played with the soul.

Back to the discomfort of living with those in emotional distress. Each night when I went to the kitchen for my dinner, a dinner not prepared by or eaten with my parents, I had to pass by people, men and women who were drowning their sorrows in beer. I felt that sorrow. I'd feel it like I was feeling sorrow myself and this was very difficult. Obviously, a child does only what one can do, and thus I built a defensive wall that would keep out the sorrow as much as possible. I tried not to look. I smiled and said hello in as disengaged a manner as possible.

The day came when my family was moving on. The establishment was closed. The door bell rang and I must have gone to the door to answer it. Standing there, tall, sad looking and carrying a satchel was a patron I recognized. I told him I would fetch my mother. I returned to the door with her and I heard him give her his best wishes. He wanted to thank her for her kindness over the years.He said that he would miss us and being able to frequent the business daily. I felt his pain. I felt his loss. I still do.

This capacity to feel other people's emotions can make crowds very difficult, going to school to volunteer very difficult. It can make making the right decisions in life very difficult. I have far too much empathy. It is my heart and not my head that wins. A psychologist would definitely identify this as a problem. The heart and head don't have to operate in a 50/50 way, but too far in either direction is a problem. I know this.

Every now and again, I find myself actually saying out loud to myself words like, 'This is a test. This must be a test.' I say this because my empathy fails me in the moment and I wonder if this is some sort of fault in the empathic system. If I have such a healthy dose of it, why can't I feel anything? Why has my empathic system, my heart, shut down?

Lately, I have been very very quiet. January in Australia is slow anyway but I have done little more than read and write, walk, yoga lessons, cook, meditate and breathe deeply. I water the garden and indoor pot plants. I sometimes nap. I do the laundry and such. But, it's the smallest of lives, deliberately small for now

It's like I am saving energy for listening and noting. It is like I am being observant to hear the beating heart, my beating heart. It's some sort of shift which I am not truly aware of in the mind space. I do wonder if this soul of mine, a timeless soul, dwelling within this particular body form, is insisting that I take this time to listen to my own heart; to tend to my own heart.

Embracing new challenges

Having the nature that I do, travelling alone with my husband is what I most like to do. Time alone with him in Japan was complete bliss for me, because whilst I don't mind making the odd observation - 'that looks like a lovely place to have lunch' - I am perfectly happy to be led about the country. Sincerely, this was pure happiness for me and I didn't need anything - a most spiritual experience!

Tomorrow, I am about to embark on a purely different spiritual experience; one with much more personal challenge, for me anyway. I fly off to a retreat where I find myself, whether I like it or not, immersed in a meditative experience and learning about a much deeper meditative experience than I have known so far. I'm anticipating some moments of wonder and some moments of absolute and terrifying challenge.

Most people, day by day, don't think all that much about what they eat. I do more than most due to food intolerances that came into my life in the past few years. But, I'm not a 'lacto-vegetarian'. At this retreat there will be no wine, no caffeine, no meat or fish, no dairy, no sugar (except honey). I enter the programme relatively prepared. I've cut down on wine, having my last glass with my husband in the city yesterday as a sort of 'goodbye' lunch. I haven't had caffeine in a week and have got through the headache-y, agitated period that goes with that. I don't eat dairy and  with a vegetarian in the household I can live on a vegan diet relatively happily. I keep my sugar consumption very low, since sugary foods tend to lead to consequences for me, but I don't have a pure no sugar diet. (I'm currently eating a piece of gluten free toast covered in jam as a last hoorah to sugar.) I'll pack some ginseng tea (the only non caffeine tea I actually enjoy over the long haul) and a block of 85% dark chocolate so that if push comes to shove, I'll have something to fall back on. Still, it's a change and a challenge.

Unless the single room comes through, and I suspect they are just playing me along, I'll be sleeping in a room with other people.  For someone who needs private time every single day this is going to be perhaps my greatest challenge, acting like I am enjoying their company in my private space.

The programme itself has its special requirements - up for a 7 am first meditation of the day before breakfast. And, it goes on and on from there. I believe that discussions ensue after dinner that last until about 9.50 pm - 9.30 pm officially, but I'm told that people often can't pull themselves away. For a girl that always has an exit plan out of social occasions - 'I really must get home to the dog and feed her' - it's all quite,quite challenging.

Still, I'm excited! There is no doubt about it. When I discovered the world of D/s and submitting to the will of another, I could not have been more excited. Well, look at that, mid way into my life I had discovered the key to Pandora's Box, a host of fun and thrills; something so very much more exciting than parties or cocktail parties or the usual fun of reality as it had been presented to me.

Then, over time, the spiritual side of life called me. It was a brilliant discovery to learn that I had control over my own mind whenever I wanted. I learnt that I could turn a negative thought into a positive thought; that gratitude, positivity and an increase in empathic responses - a recognition that we are all connected regardless of religion, race or gender - made a significant difference to the quality of my life and those who shared my life. I found myself, mostly, able to notice my thoughts and to understand what may have triggered a feeling of rejection or abandonment. I learnt to see feelings as not mine - my soul -  but rather that feelings would come and go. Only the quiet and stillness within me remained constant. My favourite thought right now is this - that when the soul and the mind are at one, then there is happiness and peace. It's so very true.

Of course, it would be absurd to suggest that I have an A+ in all of this new material. I get anxious. I worry. I can stress out.  I can fear. I'm with Brene Brown  and those folks that connect fear to all negative emotions. Addiction is fear. Overeating is fear. Anxiety is fear. I am still a person who fears some of the time. Hence, the meditation retreat. I want to go further on this quest for personal knowledge.

In the D/s side of my life, I discovered that certain strategies enhance my life; free me from the everyday world which can sometimes get me down. It will be interesting to see if any questions are asked at the airport about the nipple tags and the heavy plug that are both important parts of my person and must make the journey with me. Certain things in life became as integral to my day as brushing my teeth or eating a meal - a meditation cushion, yoga stretches, pluggiz. These are permanent changes just as I aim for a calm mindset, for a non-anxious mind to be a permanent change. Coming back a little thinner is a given. Hopefully, I will also be so serene, I'll shine.

Perhaps, a little too far this time...

In The Sex Diaries Bettina Arndt discusses the impact on couples whose sexual desire and appetite differ markedly. There are categories of women in the book and I'm a "ripe tomato", a woman whose appetite for sex hasn't dimmed at all with age and who desires a steady supply of sex with her partner. Bettina outlines in her book how sad it can be for such women when their partners are no longer, or never were, as robustly interested in a sexual/physical relationship as them.

Although she may feel she has offered an answer for such women, unfortunately, there really is no sustainable  solution offered for this dilemma. Sure, men can go and discuss with their doctors if they might get an injection of testosterone into their systems, should they be short of that hormone, but if that isn't the problem, then there is little else on offer. In short, the woman goes without. "It's just age," doctors tend to suggest, as if a woman is really too greedy to be asking for sustenance for her mind and body after the age of 55 or so. It strikes me as cruel to even speak these words.

When a woman is in this position, in an otherwise loving marriage, she must rely on other means to satisfy her appetite, which is simply there, whether she likes it or not. I have always masturbated, since the earliest of ages, but masturbation has been strikingly important to me in latter years. Without some sort of release via an orgasm that I provide for myself, by hook or by crook, I think I might implode. I'm referring to my mind and my body here. I need that satiation as much as I need water, sleep, and air.

Somehow, for some reason, my mentor decided that it was fitting that I be challenged in new ways. It all started some months ago, that I edge six times a day. As with all new challenges I did it, not sure what it was all about, where it would go or how long it would last. I just did it. 'Bimbo' is like that. She just does things.

As time went by the appetite was voracious. I didn't need an order to do this activity. I had to do it. My body and my mind compelled me to touch and the really sadistic thing about all of this is that even if I decided that I would cum, disobey and have an orgasm, the simple fact was that I could no longer orgasm no matter how hard I tried. My body was now wired to want more and more but to be unable to climax.

Over that period of time I was given two opportunities to orgasm, if I did something in particular at the same time (sorry, you can't have every last detail of my life) - tantamount to orgasm on command. Of course, I did it. Who knew if or when I'd be released from this ordeal again?!

Here's the confession. Gulp. One day, alone in the house on my own, and sure I would surely go mad if I didn't get some physical relief I threw everything at my own satiation, inserting anal beads, filling myself utterly and touching, until, in a pool of sweat and almost passing out with the effort required, I climaxed. It was life or death. I had to be relieved of that ever-pressing desire for physical release. It only happened once but I still feel guilty about it, at the same time as I know that I would do it all over again. There simply was no choice.

Weeks after this situation, a full month later, my body was screaming out for release again. To explain, sex does take place but my body is only ramped up by certain sexual interludes and seeks the second round. If sex with my husband happens, say, once in the month, there is no real profound release of the appetite, but, the opposite situation - the need for an intense orgasm is ramped further up. I asked my mentor if I could forgo my regimen for one day - for release of the voracious appetite hopefully, but also to restore my sanity which seemed to be failing me. I felt nothing more or less than a bitch on heat, a one track mind, a sexual object at the mercy of a sadist.

Of course, he said "no". I tried to assuage him and he said "no" again. I thought I took the decree calmly. I don't recall being particularly upset at the time, but later that day I was so exhausted, my body so changed, my mind so desperate, I looked up, per chance over masturbation and started to see what was happening to me. Worse, the literature suggested that my mitochondrial system may have been weakened.

I freaked. I rebelled. I took myself to a health store and bought a product designed to restore the energy of the body and to heal the mitochondrial system. I reduced my masturbation regime. I could not have stopped if I tried. But, after a few days I could sense my body recovering. My mind seemed less busy and challenged and my body had feeling again. In those few days, I came, twice. Thank the Lord.

Of course, I am currently in the process of being punished and it's hard to justify any other outcome. I disobeyed - blatantly disobeyed - and I showed disrespect. Guilty. I plead Guilty.

But, in my defense, did I do those things, or was it the horny, voracious slut which I had been transformed into that did those things? Was she not driven to despair? (Think Dana as Zuul and you get the idea...)

It's most unlikely to ever be viewed this way. You can spin 'logic' around to make the world look upside down, if you want. But, there's a case to be made for this: 'Whoooops, may have pushed her toooooo far this time...'

That's okay. I don't need to hear the words. That's what this blog is for.

Change

Having finished a piece of work just now, I gave myself permission to wander over to tumblr and there I read this:

"As soon as you recognize your true nature as the unchanging Awareness and confirm your position as That itself, the unchanging One, it won’t matter anymore what the psychological, personal mind is saying.
Its play and presence will become distant, like looking at the moon in full daylight. You won’t be listening to it for very long, I tell you.
It will gradually lose its influence and appeal and fall away."

It was completely relevant to the work I had been doing this morning, writing about the process of keeping a journal and how one might write about trauma in a way that doesn't frighten the reader, by use of metaphor. I noted that when I write in a journal - this one or others that I keep for other purposes - I'm aware of writing as myself but also as if I am a reader. I write things down and then I engage with what has been written in a curious way.

I haven't always known what to do with my emotions, with events and happenings, or with challenging relationships. I think, looking back, that related to a sense of powerlessness. Somehow, perhaps by writing in the various journals, or possibly in the containment that I've experienced in the past several years, or the meditative practices, or all of these things, I've learned to be my own witness; to see my self as being the Awareness rather than the myriad of emotional states in which I became fully immersed, whether it felt traumatic or joyful. I established with certainty for myself that emotional states come and go, are never constant and that they are all part of life.

I noticed yesterday that I was starting to feel swamped in the mundane, for example. Since my son is doing his final year of school, often a tedious affair, my job is to keep his spirits up, to encourage him to keep moving forward and from to time, I have the task of getting him to get on with his work. He doesn't like that but he does appreciate, after the fact, that I am prepared to talk the talk about English essays. All in all, the whole year has me working very hard on a multitude of projects, without the opportunity to get away, and from time to time I can feel sorry for myself. Another couple of loads of washing, only the 20,000th of my motherhood; another meal to cook; only the 49,000th of my motherhood.

Of course, the antedote to this is to recognize that it is not forever. It ends in November, only a few months away now. After that, no more school aged children! Or, since I have just read a most profound piece of writing from a woman who lost her baby to cot death, a piece of writing that takes us into the heart of the grief, I can rationalize that I haven't a thing to complain about. And, I don't!

This is the thing. I'm aware of the emotional states now. I'm aware of why they happen, I'm aware I'm in a particular emotional state (not necessarily ready to get out, however), and I'm aware that the state will end. That's the key thing - to be aware that it will end, because people who are going through traumatic times need to know this, that it will end and it will get better.

I used to think that it was impossible to get inside someone's traumatic mind. This theory was debunked for me when I read this piece of writing, as yet unpublished. This is the power of metaphor, I am finding. You need reference points - 'how dare the phone ring', or the sense of being a ghost on a ghost train, or the reaction to wind, or the desire to hear your little boy's voice. One wonders, how did she make it through that? But, she did, she did make it through.

Many years ago I went through a situation that was deeply stressful and hurtful to me. My mother, being on the other side of the world sent me a cutting of the poem, 'Footprints in the Sand'. You'll find it here: http://www.marypages.com/footprints.htm. For countless years I kept it on my desk, under my blotter, and it gave me a great deal of comfort; that sometimes we wonder if there is anyone who cares but, in fact, in retrospect, we realize that someone was actually carrying us through the ordeal the whole time.

Sometimes, that person is oneself. We're aware of our ordeal and we keep a watchful eye on ourselves. We endure and we, ultimately, thrive. In the same way during meditation I often have one thumb grasp the other because it is a small, discreet reminder to myself that I am my own best friend. I'm keeping a watchful, attentive and loving eye on myself.

Perhaps, it can be chalked up to 'maturity' - that sense of peace I feel right now. That too will change. All things change, all the time. I'm okay with that.

Challenge

For the past twenty or so years, my husband and I have shared working space, in the sense that although he has an office in the city he much prefers to work from his study at home. There reached a point some years ago when I found that situation overwhelming. There seemed no peace from his deep (read: loud and penetrating) voice issuing instructions over the phone and the sanctity of the home seemed, to me, invaded.

That's when he got the city office, actually. I remember my brother-in-law asking me if I was enjoying the peace and I replied that it was a 'God send'. He laughed, but I think he understood. It is not lost on him that his younger brother is intense. There were four children here at the time and a husband who worked from home day and night. It wasn't easy for a girl who is perfectly happy in her own company and who thrives in a sense of calm!

Anyways, it didn't last all that long because he likes it here at home much, much more than he does training it into the city and he goes in there as little as possible. I continue to work on holding onto a sense of peace, order and productivity amongst all the ups and downs of his days that relate to issues completely outside of my control and jurisdiction. Some days are better than others in terms of my ability to do that, let me tell you.

Now, out of the blue a new challenge has arisen. We were at the holiday house early in the month when for a day or two he didn't shave. He mentioned the obvious and enjoying the fact that he seemed so relaxed I said that it didn't matter. There was no need to shave down here if he didn't want to. He didn't shave and that was fine. He looked rugged, but so what? It was just for a few days and I wasn't worried.

We returned to the city and I remember registering surprise when the next day he didn't shave. The whiskers were getting really long now and I neither liked the feel nor the look. I suggested he shave. He said he wasn't ready. I suggested he trim it and he said he wanted to grow it. I was privately shocked. Was he really serious??

A few more days went by and the beard was getting long. It made him look much older. He's a man who all his adult life has managed to look 10 years younger than his age. Not any more. The beard is predominately grey!

I had no choice. I told him I hated it with a passion. He told me he wasn't ready to let it go. Truly, I couldn't believe my ears.  Over the next week I reiterated several times my opinion. If he wanted to trim it right down, fine, but as a longer beard, I truly, absolutely and most definitely found it not to my liking. He said he was keeping it; that he'd probably be done with it by the end of February. I repeat: the end of February. That happens to be four weeks away. And, we are talking about the same man who put up a portable table to use as a desk to do his tax 18 years ago. I begged him not to do it. Please, I said, let's go out and buy a lovely new antique desk for the room. He deserved it. He assured me the horrible portable piece of junk would be gone within 6 weeks. I repeat, that's 18 years ago and he's still using it as his desk!!

If I were to no longer put highlights in my hair, or if I were to have my acrylic fingernails cut off, or if I were to sit around and eat chocolate cake and become overweight, he'd complain. He'd make it very clear he didn't approve and I'd listen to that. I'd respond. Is this just another example of the challenges one faces when married to a stubborn man and under the circumstances what is one supposed to do?

My boss, the boss I had when I was a Personal Assistant, once went through a rough patch in business and was faced with a series of debacles affecting the organization, through no fault of his own. He rode it through and came out the other side with a strong, growing organization in good financial shape. A journalist interviewed him about the situation he'd been through and asked if he felt it was character building, a phrase he'd often use himself in times of adversity. So, it was interesting to hear his response; that he felt he had enough character now. Me too. I have enough character now. You can give the challenges a little bit of a rest.

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?

They will be done

For some dominants there is simply no negotiation. They determine what they want the submissive to achieve and there is no alternative but to bunker down and accept the situation. Of course, these situations are rarely easy; designed with struggle in mind; never achieved without intense challenge and commitment.

The dominant is inclined to cajole; a version of the carrot and stick approach; plenty of applause when there is improvement and progress but expressed disappointment and upset when the challenge is not embraced and accepted; when there is a lack of success.

The complacent submissive needs a correction. Complacency is not acceptable; most of all because the dominant can feel that he has failed the submissive in guiding her towards the success of the situation. No dominant wants to feel that sense of failure - if she fails then so does he - and hence drastic measures must finally be undertaken, because failure is just not on.

Realistically, day by day, people say, "I'm sorry. I just couldn't do it" and the other says, "That's okay. I know you tried." But, this is not the power exchange I know. What I know is that the dominant will simply go to more extreme measures to achieve satisfactory outcomes. The goal has been orchestrated and determined and not without careful thought; that's that.

The submissive has few alternatives available to him or her. Once a dominant says the way thing are going to be, in my experience, there's no reprieve. Sure, they'll discuss it somewhat but only to ultimately say that there will be no discussion about this, that the matter has been decided - a version of the argument 'I'm happy to discuss it and then we'll do it my way'.

The submissive isn't happy. She feels that the determination is harsh. She bristles at being corrected. She knows the next period of time is going to be filled with angst, sorrow, anger, frustration; feeling hardly done by; regret; change and transformation. Yet, she recognizes his responsibility to her; the fact that she should have done better; could have done better. He isn't inclined to relent. If she knows anything by now, she knows that. Success will happen.

What she had has been removed for a time; time for her to recommit to his insistence that his will is done; her inner understanding that this is what works for her; his control; his non-negotiating will; that she can do this; that their dynamic is such that she will do this and that there is no alternative but to succeed; not to "fail". The bottom line is this: thy will be done. Seriously, she respects this. She wouldn't want it any other way.
 

Thoughts on the word 'constancy'

Another 'daily writing task' wherein I attempt to allow the words to flow through me - whatever comes (that is, no changes or corrections; my 'stream of writing' consciousness typed.):

'Life is a bit like being a forest. When one is in the forest it is hard to see any sort of shape or pattern; a beginning or an end. Things happen,things change. We don't necessarily know why that is so or when things will change again. It is only when we get to walk out of the forest - to take time to pause and think - that we begin to see what it was all about. There was a flow to events; change happened to us as naturally as the river bends and twists as it goes along. Life rarely runs in a straight line. There is little constancy.

Yet, in an uncertain and dynamic landscape such as encountered on Earth we can crave constancy. We want a continuity and commitment to love. We strive to feel safe; loved. We seek devotion; commitment;  a constancy of purpose in both ourselves and those around us.

For those people who are passionate about achieving their goals, no matter how difficult they may be, there is a certain level of constancy required. It's truly a fine line between being obsessively compulsively driven (disordered?) and being passionately driven to achieving a goal. How does a person get their movie made, become a top tennis player, write and publish a novel, build a house, transform a life, transform someone else's life without some constancy of purpose; without being driven to succeed?

I think you may have to dream it first. I think you have conjure up what you want and in doing so those positive mental images will aid you to make something happen. Somehow, we have to have the drive and courage to take it out of the realm of daydream and turn it into reality.

Life wasn't meant to be easy. So said Malcolm Fraser, a statement for which he is still famous. Life needs to be balanced of course but there must be purpose. We have to prove ourselves to ourselves. There must be challenge and there must be constancy of purpose. Life doesn't stay the same but some things must.'

Dominating another woman: Jean's challenge

When I wake in the middle of the night and can't get back to sleep I find I have to break the impasse, so I get up, have a little tub of lactose-free vanilla yoghurt and sit down and write myself a smutty tale. After that, I wander back to bed, encase myself in my husband's body and sleep a wonderfully deep sleep. Highly recommended for all perverted insomniacs out there. And, don't worry about the quality of your tale. Really, anything very smutty will do the trick!

 Jean bathed herself and applied her make-up carefully; put on the long looped silver ear-rings and the solid silver necklace around her neck. She applied a little perfume to the back of each ear and a slight spray to one wrist. As Jean rubbed her wrists together she allowed herself a fleeting moment of apprehension about the requirements of the day. It was not her way to move too far ahead in her mind. It was her way of controlling nerves that could too easily run a muck. Instead, she checked the time and noted that she was running according to schedule.

Jean picked up the printed out email again and checked the dress instructions one last time. She put on black panties, the black suspender belt and attached sheer black stockings to the loops; slipped her feet into the black suede, high heels pumps. Jean reached for the quarter-cut bra now and put the item around her breasts. She checked her reflection in the mirror and took in the fact that she was scantily and titillatingly dressed. Not permitted a dress, she put her coat over her undergarments, checked that her hair was in order, collected her keys, printed email and handbag, and went down to her car. 

It was a half hour drive to her destination, she had predicted. On this day, in a house she did not know, Jon would be waiting. If she were off to meet him alone her only real concern would be that she may become lost; that her car should break down and someone would learn of her state of dress below the coat. Jon wasn't always tender with her, thankfully, but he was a known quantity. She trusted him.

Today, Jon had told her in the email, would be a new experience. Today, another girl had been invited to play with them and Jean understood that she would be challenged. She would need to quash her jealousy, perhaps. To see Jon's hands on another woman would not be easy. Under his careful direction and choreography, Jean was confident that she could abide by his desires of her; allow this other woman to test and tease her; to touch her in a way that no woman had ever touched her before. 

Jean's mind had played with the thought since the email arrived in her in box three days ago and she was opening herself to the thought that she might enjoy it; might melt into the touch of womanly hands; womanly lips; soft, gentle embraces. She hadn't quite managed to embrace the thought that the woman may not be tender at all; that she may be in the company of a bitch. Jean decided to expunge the thought before it took hold of her nerves because the thought truly terrified her.

 

Breathing deeply and calm again, Jean's mind roamed over past conversations with Jon and for reasons she did not know it rested on a particular conversation at the Supper Club a few weeks ago. He had asked a question softly, almost absentmindedly; as if it were of no importance at all; a passing fancy. 'Do you ever imagine controlling a woman; providing her with pain?' he asked. Jean had shaken her head immediately. No, she had never thought about that, could never do that, she told him. He changed the subject and the matter was closed.

Driving along the coastal highway, with the vision of the ocean soothing and settling her mind, the potential implications of the casual statement suddenly settled in Jean's brain and her mouth registered a silent 'Oooooo'. Anything, but that.  Jean couldn't do that. No sooner had the silent sound reverberated in her mind when another thought took over. Jon was not someone to be denied. Ever. She'd tried that before, a long time ago now and never would again. Whatever her resistance at this moment, it needed to be overcome.

As the car made its way down the Peninsula Jean allowed images of dominating another woman to enter her consciousness. In an effort to spur herself on she imagined that the woman had whipped her and gained pleasure from the experience. She'd laughed while Jean cried. No man had ever done that to her. She was right to be suspicious of women after all.

As she lay across a bench breathing heavily, tears rolling down her face and trying to recover her composure, she imagined Jon's whisper in her ear. "Now, it's your turn, darlin'. Show that tart what you think of her." Something in Jean stirred at the thought. She imagined the woman's prone buttocks at her mercy now and she imagined the feel of the whip in her hands.

The trip had been faster than she expected and without incident. His instructions had been straightforward and easy to follow. Jean turned off the ignition, locked the car and walked tall to the front door of the white wooden house. She was ready to be good, or bad; to do whatever she was told, as always. 

(to be continued, maybe)

 

Loving two men

What fascinates me is how life keeps changing and we keep changing but that fundamentally we don't change. We can gain great insight, but at the core we simply do not change. I think that for quite some time I fought against that and to some extent I always will.

I happen to be one of those people, perhaps caught up in the mix of a difficult personal dilemma, that wanted to explore and understand what was happening to her inside. I think Jane Fonda did something similar. Conscious that she didn't feel "whole", that she wasn't able to bring "her whole self" to the table in her marriage with Ted Turner, she left a man she loved and decided to build a new life for herself. That's no small thing. It takes a lot of courage to do that.

I listen to TED talks regularly and in her talk about vulnerability Brene Brown talked about her research and how "wholehearted people" have the courage to be imperfect, to tell who they are with their whole heart; be compassionate with themselves and with others.

I think I've embraced vulnerability in this web journal. I think I've talked about myself with my whole heart. I've explored what I do wrong and I what I do right. I've be open to growing and exploring. I've been open to changing. I did change. I learned a great deal, not just about myself but how to be a better person. Most of all I learned to accept. But, the very core of me; what I'd love to have, experience and feel - that's just the same. That didn't change. That won't change.

Here's what I know. I married very young. I was only 24 years old and I really didn't know enough about myself to be choosing a partner for the rest of my life. It's the lucky 24 year old that does manage to do that. Yet, in so many ways we have been very well suited. There must have been some good and natural instincts that were aiding me and I married a good man; a kind man. We both wanted children and to be part of a family and we really were, as much as anyone can be, good parents. There is an enormous amount of love going around our family. Most important of all, all the children feel that they are 'good enough'. All the children believe that they are worthy of love and belonging, and as Brene Brown says, that is the real job of parents.

I'm someone who thrives on sexual and physical attention; the sort of romantic love where I feel someone is leading the way. The fucktoy 'cindi' wasn't created for me. It was simply brought out with higher definition. It's always been this way. I radiate with that sort of sexual attention and I suffer when I feel that the relationship has, in my eyes, dwindled down to a more vanilla style marriage. Even in a vanilla style marriage, he leads the way. I don't interfere, nor really ask at all about finances, because he doesn't want me to and I abide by that.

Even in a vanilla marriage I've learned to be calm, patient, to repeat what I say endlessly; to be respectful; kind, caring; giving; loving. I maintain my standards. He can be overbearing (he's really very dominant in that he wants things his way) and I use breathing techniques if I find myself too upset. If I need to approach him with my distress, I do so in a calm and considered way. I've learned a lot of communication techniques along the way.

Most of all, I give him the private and personal time he needs. I aim now never to complain about his screen and working time that can have him up until the middle of the night many nights in a row, leading him to wear himself out. I take my opportunities to remind him of good daily practices: exercise and sleep. I encourage him to keep his worrying to specified times.  I encourage him to walk with me; to have breakfast out with me; to go to the movies with me. I continue to suggest and he'll take me up on these ideas. I keep trying to forge a connection in any way I can without it impinging too much on my life. I'm  not good at sitting on the couch each evening, for example. I admit I'd rather do something else; read a book; satiate my BDSM desires by reading online.

There are times when he can thrill me. I'm not sure if these are times when he makes a big effort for me or if a moment has come when he has a desire himself to be darker. Either way, I get enormous benefit from these times. My love for him is deeper; stronger. My love of my life escalates and my spirits rise. They are the times when I write with positive spirit here in the journal. Know that any time I am happy here I have been roughly and rudely fucked.

The times in between those times can be very hard. I make every effort to live each moment with joy; to make the most of my days and to really live life. I can and always have taken great joy in a great many things and I was blessed with a sense of the ridiculous. I love to giggle and to be silly. But, I cannot deny that if I knew then, at 24 years old, what I know now I would need to take into my account my nature; the nature that persistently asks for a dominant man; the nature that asks in every bone of my being for a man to lead the way, not just in a financial sense or a father of the family sense, but in terms of a dominant man leading a submissive woman, in the bedroom and out.

The truth is that I want to feel the fucktoy at all times, whatever I am doing. I want demands made of me. I want to feel that dominant presence in my life; for the person who I know myself to be to be present; desired; relevant.

Here I am, almost wishing that age would eliminate my deep desires. But, I'm here to tell you that no matter how old you grow, they don't go away. They only increase in demand. And, here I am still loving the man I married 33 years ago; still trying to come to terms with the dilemma.

(Here's the link to the Brene Brown talk: http://www.ted.com/talks/brene_brown_on_vulnerability.html)

More challenge

Having been 'offered' a new challenge lately and finding it extremely difficult I was searching around the Internet for inspiration when I found myself wondering if I might have written about challenge before. Indeed I had written about challenge before. I read the words and everything I felt but was finding hard to process and express were in that post. Hmmm. I'm not as dumdum as I thought.

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.

With Ringo

It is not often that I write in a particular state but since I am sitting at my desk in that particular state, I'll document my thoughts. I'm aware of the big pluggi stretching me out. It's not really possible to focus on anything else. When I squeeze my muscles around the plug, or when they involuntarily squeeze themselves, as they regularly do, I'm aware of the plug controlling me.

A large anal plug is challenging and the mind wrestles with itself. One could go and take it out and experience a degree of comfort and relief but is that what I really want?  I've been here before, of course. Each size plug, from the smallest I've worn to the very large one I am wearing as I type these words has been a challenge. Each time, I have needed to wrestle with my mind and my resolve. I've had to learn to accept that I don't (if I am to be true to my desires and my natural state of living) have a choice; that I am controlled and that I crave that control and very much want it.

I've had times with no plug; times with no control and I can say, without a shadow of a doubt, that I am less than half of what I am capable of being with considerable control over me; when the choices are taken away; when I experience the sense of dominance and acquiesce to it.. I am more sexually inclined, more content with life and more at peace with my life when I experience a very deliberate and quite intense control.

Control comes in various forms. I've experienced anal training of course and I've experienced the giving of regular pain; sometimes for discipline in order to correct, but much more often because it has seemed I'd do well to receive it.. I rally to either form of physical control over me and I rally even more when I have both forms of control. I'm not adverse, however, to more subtle forms of control. I prefer to narrow my choices of wardrobe, for example. I prefer less to more.

The intellectual side of my brain may attempt to take control because that is what the intellectual side of my brain is designed to do. Do I want to win? Oh, that would be a diabolical result. No side of my brain would be at all happy with that outcome. I've experienced that and believe me, it's a Pyrrhic victory. Me without a sense of control is a sad thing. I'm here, but just. I just don't feel at all right. I've had plenty of time to think about this and I assure you it's not a desired goal for this woman. 

The thing about the doll state is that even though there is minor resistance when presented with a new challenge, dolls understand they are dolls. There is no sense of jealousy that they're not girls with clever thinking brains. Dolls actually understand that being a girl isn't a life that is going to work for them. They've seen the holy grail and why would they drink from any other cup when the one they have is filled with the elixir of life?

(Of course, sometimes I need to think, but time is allowed for thinking and doing. There is no harm done; in fact a lot of good to come out of allowing me to think intellectually, but for limited times and in limited ways. The more time as doll the more doll is present throughout the day, at any time of the day.)

I haven't the tiniest clue what made me this way. All I can say is that it makes me extraordinary happy to have the opportunity to feel this completely certain that  this is how it was always meant to be. 

You're submissive?!

I strongly encourage you to nurture your very old friendships. Knowing someone for decades is a lovely, lovely friendship to have in your life. Every week or perhaps a fortnight, my oldest friend and I go walking the dogs and after that we have a bite of lunch in the open air. All the while, we chat. We've been good friends for over fifty years now and in all those years we've never had a fight.

So we were walking back to our cars this week when I asked her what she was reading at the moment. She mentioned an autobiography she'd finished and then she mentioned that she read, for free, the first 90 pages of 50 Shades of Grey.

What a load of rubbish that was, she said. The writing was dreadful and there was this simple, naive character who was being led up the back lane by this older perverted man...

"Oh really?"

"Yes,  and when a dominatrix turned up well I said to myself, this is definitely not for me."

"A dominatrix?"

I was laughing now.

"Well, for God's sake, what sort of a stupid, young girl is going to get hooked up with a man wanting to do those things to her?"

Now I was laughing very hard.

"But, all jokes aside, Ves, it's not a good role model for young women to be reading this stuff..."

"But, it's not just young woman reading it, it's middle aged women."

"Well, I can't understand it at all. All this submissive bullshit..."

I thought about her on the way home, and again later in the day. She's an earthy girl. She lost her virginity earlier than me. She was more buxom and more comfortable around boys than I was as a girl. As a woman, she's been constant and reliable. She brought up her children with devotion and she's been a very steady wife, empathic towards her husband's moods and needs, if not a tad frustrated. But, who hasn't been frustrated at times?

She's been very willing to play the game; very happy to hang onto her husband's shirt tails and play her role in the marriage but it's very true that she has not been submissive to him. She's insisted at times on them doing things and she's got her way. As she says, she has influence over him and he does listen to her. I've seen him pat her tail. He's quite fond of doing that and she knows not to cross him. They've had a few real rows and the odd one has really upset her. She likes peace and constancy. I think she's had a happy life because she has a positive state of mind. She's short of confidence which keeps her life relatively unchallenged but she's come to enjoy that there are few challenges. She's not frustrated by that as I was for a time.

Our natures were set from very early ages. She challenged the authority of school mistresses and masters. I eventually pulled her aside and told her she needed to play the game, graduate and move on. She took that advice and she credits me for it often. She was a rough and tumble gal as a child, whilst I was the ballerina and pianist and book worm. We could not have been more different. Whilst she was out playing hockey I was alone with my thoughts, perverted even way back then, my constant fear being that my mind could be read.

If she knew me as I am she'd be pretty devastated, I think. How could Ves, that quiet but confident, studious and innocent girl want to be submissive?! She had the brains to be what she wanted to be, so why want to be submissive; to be told what to do; to be contained and controlled?!

I wouldn't know where to begin to explain my thinking, quite honestly, after 50 years... I imagine that all I could really say to her would be that in my moments of submission I've had some of the best experiences of my life. She would not understand that at all. I can only hope that it would not derail the longest and most enduring friendship of my life.