The final bow

As has been well chronicled, cindi has had a lot of encouragement to be the one and true identity. Goodness, my mentor was unhappy about this blog years ago. But, I held onto it and returned to it repeatedly feeling that it was a matter of survival really; that I'd be swamped without this blog to return to, to state my case, free of influence; free to say what was on my mind.

Something very profound happened nearly a week ago now. I had a session with a mind/body practitioner. You see, my emotional distress had become physical distress and my body was hurting so much - the left side of my body: my neck, shoulders, back and hip - that I couldn't walk up stairs without being in agony. I was never free of pain. And, the negative chatter in my head, that was relentless.

This practitioner is not a stranger to me. I met him over two years ago and I began to do some group work with him a few months ago. I was becoming aware of the mind/body connection and when I was in real trouble I sought him out, rather than, say, a physiotherapist. I knew I needed more.

He sat me down in front of him, face to face. He poured me a cup of Nature's Garden tea. He reminded me that the pain in my body was related to my emotions. I can't reconstruct how he managed to get me to spill all, but I did. I told him about cindi, about my true identity, my submissive mindset.

Actually, he used words to describe me, 'an obedient pet', I remember that now. He may have meant my role in my marriage, I'm not sure, but they were the words that opened the flood gates.

'You don't like me using those words, do you?'

'I can be that. I can play in those spaces. I love to play in those spaces.'

He took that in, nodded slightly, and that's when it all tumbled out.


He asked me if I was interested in having my face read. I don't enjoy having photos taken of me usually but I agreed and soon thereafter he sat me down again and showed me the face that people see and the interior me. He showed me cindi.

I was blown away. cindi isn't present on this blog. That's the exterior me.

cindi is profoudly, deeply vulnerable. She is more than submissive. I'd call her a slave. She lives in a small space. She is the embodiment of empathy and love. She needs a lot of love. She is crying out for it.

It was hard for me to look at cindi. Truly, I wished I could look away. She is that vulnerable. Still, I did continue to look at her, and as I looked at her, I accepted her as the real me.

'When you look out into the world ask, what does CINDI see? How would cindi respond to this person?'

Of course. Of course. The movement between the one persona and the other was hurting me.  I could see that now. I had to embrace cindi as my one and true entity. I had to live true to cindi.

It was time to heal my body and heal it he did. It was very painful at times but I have gone from excruciating pain on Monday to walking my dog within the Botanical Gardens on Friday afternoon virtually pain free.

The chatter has gone. The dreadful negative chatter that was filling my mind has gone. As cindi, true to myself, I am making decisions with clarity. My problems are not mysteriously and suddenly all gone, but I feel freer. I regularly check in with myself and this allows me to put what happens into a particular context. I can give out positive energy but I am not taking in negative energy. I am simply very content in my own skin.

It's been a long journey from the inception of this blog to now. It's often been a great comfort to write here and to receive some of the lovely comments I have received over time. They warmed my heart and reminded me that I was not alone. We are never truly alone, part of one big consciousness, but we must wrestle with our minds alone. We must find the strength and clarity to be true to ourselves. I urge you to do that.

Vesta bows and slips away; slips away peacefully. Be well.

Restoring peace strategies

I recently had reason to return to some material written years ago on this web journal and the most curious comment I came across was that someone had noted that misery was not my kink. I had written about an episode in my kinky life that implied it was a miserable situation (challenging, yes, but miserable, no) and that's what prompted the comment. She is quite right that misery is not my kink. Other people's pain affects me deeply, in fact, and perhaps it is because of the fact that I am so affected by that pain that I need to restore my sense of peace using various strategies.

If you look at the early entries I'm pretty bubbly - both in a happy bubble and full of glee, really, to be in this space at all. I made the comment to a friend in chat, says the record, "It's been a bit of a dream come true for cindi." Honestly, if it all stopped right now, or I stopped living and someone read this record, may the record show that I was happy beyond all measure to have had my time in the sun here.

This is the whole point. cindi may have moments of angst, challenge and even sadness but apart from those moments in her life, she's full of light. She shines. She glows. I try, every day, to give her a little time to herself. That's not always easy, and sometimes unachievable, but on the whole I give her permission to be in the sun routinely.

Often, that cindi time is spent alone, not because it is preferred to be alone, but circumstances don't allow a partner in the play as often as she would like. The hood comes out and gets stretched over the head. She lays there quietly breathing, taking in big gulps of air through the nostrils, her only form of oxygen, and she feels the lightness and empty headedness return. She feels free and carefree.

Or, she takes the bulbous butt plug and by her own hand pushes it into her and waits for its effect to take over her mind and her body. No longer empty, she feels far more at home; far more authentic; far more alive.

No, misery is not my kink. That's an absolutely true statement. I'll do almost anything to be uplifted; to seek the joy; to find the trapdoor. Happiness and joy: that's my kink. Definitely.

me

It's been one of those perfect days. Apart from a few errands mid-morning (like ordering the corsage for my youngest son's girl to worn on her wrist to the formal school dance, which i delighted in doing for him) i've been in writerly mode all day, completely alone.

A few of my fellow students have been commenting on my writing lately. One fellow student said that i write in a stream of consciousness way but remain logical and ordered in my thinking. Another student said today that my passion for writing was apparent and that she felt I was writing in a new way.

i thought about that. This is academic writing we're talking about. i'm aware i have to follow guidelines and criteria and i'm aware that i prefer to inject something of myself into any type of writing i do, but i wasn't aware of writing in a stream of consciousness way for school and i wasn't aware that it was anything new.

Now, here, on this web journal, that's not important. What is important is the analogy i draw between my style of writing and my style of submission, or, the way i think about myself in terms of my desire to be dominated.

For a long time now there's been the girl, Vesta, if you will, and cindi, the bimbo. When my mind is filled with worry and things to do, the girl has won over the bimbo. It's rational (or irrational, if you like) thought and it's not particularly sexually arousing for me or anyone around me.

Then, there's the bimbo who hasn't a care in the world; who wants use and plenty of it; who caves in at the slightest sign of the dominant's displeasure; who has a dirty, whore-like mind.

It's been like living on a see-saw. When bimbo reigns, it's all up. It's all good. It all works. When the girl has her way and poor bimbo has to hide, there's a whole other mindset. It's mostly down; mostly a pining for better, smaller, teeny tiny days when the bimbo knows her place at the bottom. Thinking and writing can completely absorb me. i know i must write. Yet, when the day is done, i must also return to a part of me that is waiting to play; to shine; to impress; to be saved all over again.

i've been mulling over this idea, as if it were some sort of revelation when in fact it is quite obvious to the observer, i am sure, that the girl and the bimbo are both me. Duh.

Well, of course i knew that on one level but, trust me, if you were in my head you'd see that it is easy to forget that. When cindi isn't expressed she feels a million miles away from me. It's like a twin. If she is not well and content, then neither are you. You just...pine away.

It occurred to me today that just as i am learning that my style of writing is a stream of consciousness writing that simply requires craft to be altered for circumstances, so my true identity is cindi. Now, sometimes she needs to be expressed in a way that is more suitable for the academy, or the establishment or the real world. But, cindi, i am, at all times.

People learn when they learn. It's taken ages for me to really get this simple fact. But, I've got it now. Hooray!  This isn't just about my mindset. This is pertinent to everything: the way i think, the way i go through my days; my body; what i wear; how i feel; my sense of self; my happiness.

The true me is a vessel. i need to be filled in all sorts of ways. i radiate in dominant energy and i provide submissive support in a very natural way that brings pleasure all round. i can write. i can plan. i can lead a full life. But, i'm always bimbo; always cindi; always at peace with myself, so long as i can remember this.

My journal

I'm so close to the end of the academic year that I can taste it. For the first time in nearly a year and a half I will have some spare time.What to do, what to do...

Well, first I'll play, for sure; do all the things that I have put on hold, meet up with friends, go Christmas shopping, start organizing a holiday for next year; boost up the exercise; see a play, read a book. There are limitless opportunities.

Then, with the long, hot summer ahead of me I imagine I might sit down to pursue a writing venture of my own. I've just read an article about a woman who was imprisoned for several years and whilst in prison she wrote 800,000 words in her journal. That journal became the source material for a one hour play about her journey. I've been quite fascinated at the process and  the collaboration with many others to term it into an art form.

Whilst finishing off a piece of work this afternoon I was reminded that I also have a journal of many hundreds of thousands of words that could also form the basis of a narrative. We all do, actually, my fellow bloggers and I.

One of my readers got in contact with me recently and told me that this web journal is forming the basis of the protagonist for his novel. Of course, this is the price we pay for having an online journal. The material is out there in the world for anyone to use as they wish. There really is no protection against this. He'd actually like me to fill in the dots because as he pointed out, I often spoke in mirrors, not quite spelling out what was real and what was fantasy, or what happened when and why. That, of course, was entirely intentional and my authorial prerogative.

I admit that the knowledge that this situation has eventuated leads me to reveal even less than I have done in the past. As I've said a thousand times before I'm a very private person and I'm not at all sure I want my thoughts interpreted. I am pretty darn sure that I want to be the person to play around with this material and mold it into a story. I've sat here this afternoon seriously wondering if it was time to pull the plug. Of course anything I've written is out there for good, but should I go on adding to this journal publicly? I am not sure.

I think that part of me is troubled by the fact that this material can be spun in so many directions; that what brought me much pleasure and happiness can be interpreted to be seen as anything but wise or meaningful; that there was and is a better way. Maybe so. I don't know all the angles of a power exchange. Perhaps there is a better dominant and a better way.

But, know this. I know what I feel. My instincts are very acute. I had the very best time. I learned things in the writing of this journal that gave me the thrills of a lifetime. There were moments, minutes, hours, days and weeks that filled me with enormous joy and satisfaction. I never imagined that I could be so happy; so filled with joie de vivre and excitement at a new way to live.

Every day of my life I am aroused by the erotic thoughts that play out in my head. My libido is high and my mind is on fire with the possibilities that will always be alive to me so long as I hold onto the doll inside me; that sweet l'il thing that lives to be fucked royally; to make others happy; to follow commands and to wallow in her own appetite; to always, always be hungry for the next meal.

To my husband I am 'cindi' and every time he uses that name I am reminded of the reality of my doll. She's very real to me; she's an aspect of my personality that sits just under the surface; always waiting and always ready to come out and play; to thrive in the presence of a dominant force that commands and demands that she rise up and revel in her own demise.

Nothing and no-one will ever convince me that it wasn't a good thing. Only I can make that judgement. Trust me. It has been the ride of my life.

Where has cindi gone?

Before I was introduced to 'cindi', the primal side of my personality, that part of me that revels in fun, submission, giving up control and slutty thoughts, I used to read the blog of a man who did a very similar thing with and for his wife. When with the family and friends, or out there in the big, wide world she was let's say, Helen, but when she was with him alone she was let's say, pammi. In this way he gave her an outlet to express that part of her personality that needed to remain hidden from the world at large but that was very much there.

In fact, they weren't into spanking or using implements at all. It just wasn't their thing. But, she knew that in her pammi state her role was to submit to his wishes and he gave her a wonderfully sexual time. It wasn't just in the bedroom. They had little rituals such as his calling her to say he was almost home and she would be there at the door to greet him in a certain way. She was always required to speak in a very respectful way with a respectful tone and she asked permission for things, which he readily granted because he wasn't a harsh husband or dominant. He was really into her relaxing and enjoying life; enjoying their time together, expressing her submissive self whilst he expressed his Dominant self. I'm not suggesting that they didn't have difficult times or that he was faultless. I know better than that. But, as a model, it seemed a good one to me.

So, when a friend who became a mentor suggested a similar model for me in the form of 'cindi', it wasn't a stretch for me. It seemed like a good idea and it was a good idea.

Of course, cindi isn't bright. In fact, she's decidedly not  smart. She's incredibly happy to take direction because she knows full well that she's not bright and being directed makes her feel much safer. She isn't at all unhappy about her dumdum state, just aware that she needs to be controlled and contained because that's the safe and the smart thing for dolls to be. Dollies need to know that there's someone who can tell them what to do. Sigh. cindi felt better just saying that.

Now, what if the girl couldn't get to the cindi state? What if that avenue of expression were taken away from her? What if Vesta had to submit not via cindi but via her own god given intelligence. What would that look like? Any ideas because I am not visualizing this too well. cindi wonders too when she can come out and play...

Tumblr account

Thank you to the several people who have sent messages of support. I will respond to you as soon as I am able. I am perfectly fine but real life has become very busy right now and I need to attend to a number of issues before I can return to writing here. I will do so as soon as I am able to carve out some time for this.

In the meantime, if it would please you, you might like to take a look at my tumblr account: http://bimbocindi.tumblr.com/.  You will find a link to the account under 'Blogs I Read'.

I call it Carefree Cindi now because the account these days relates to my reduced bimbo/doll state which I adore, but also to thoughts and images that arouse the fully grown woman that I am. I am updating there quite regularly. It's quick and it gives me little boosts through out my days to get in touch with that side of me and provides me with carefree moments.

Back asap.

Voice dialogue

As a woman who has explored an inner voice - the voice of the uninhibited and wanting woman within me, known as cindi - I pricked up my ears when a new friend began to tell me about 'Voice dialogue'. This is a kind of therapy where the therapist asks to speak to any other parts of oneself. Typically, the therapist asks four questions. This is an opportunity for another aspect of one's personality to be given voice.

I take the information I was given with full seriousness and I intend to write more about 'voice dialogue' but there is a part of me that finds it amusing as well. I imagined my therapist of last year asking,

Who or what are you?

If cindi had felt safe with her to answer (and she most certainly did not feel safe to do so) she would have said something like,

"I'm a what, not a who. I'm just an object; a fuck toy; a play thing. I love sex and I like to be used as often as possible. I don't have any control because I love to be controlled and the hoos like to control me, so everybody gets what they want. Wheeeeee."

How are you feeling right now?

Very good. Happy. Ditzy. Ready for fun. Waiting quietly here for someone to come along and play with me. I don't have any worries and I don't have any other thoughts. My head is pretty empty actually. Objects are like that.

What caused you to feel that way?

Well, when cindi was given life, it made  everyone very happy. Before cindi arrived the girl was a worrier and she thought too much. cindi brought joy, peace and happiness. cindi is true to her needs and wants.

How can I help you?

Well, just njoy cindi and welcome her because is she fun loving, and a happi l'il thing. Hi hi therapist.

Do you think the therapist might have replied: "Hi hi, cindi!"

We can but dream.

She is me

Reflective this morning,
remembering a time when cindi ruled these pages.

"Which is more real?" I was once asked
 I ask myself that question right now.

At times, I want to kill her off
like a character in a novel that has to go.

Owner says I'm being silly -
that there is nothing I can do to erase cindi.

She was always there.
She is still here.
She  will be here as long as I live because
She is me.

 
 

And while I am on a roll...

I've just finished the first subject of the writing course; as in, just posted my last module and responded to other responses from classmates. One of the gals noted that Bart and I seemed made for one another - had moved onto the next stage of writing, which is to use one another to make editorial changes; to respectfully convince one another that the other needs to make changes/improvements.   I responded that I had set my sights on Bart from the get go. Okay, Bart was the only male, but that is not the only reason. Bart is irreverent. Bart loves to tell jokes and most important of all, Bart likes to laugh and have FUN!

Having fun in a D/s relationship is probably the most important thing of all. Having fun in LIFE is probably the most important thing of all. It is why I watch the 'Big Bang Theory' most nights with my boys; because Sheldon makes me laugh.

cindi can be really silli; dumdum; an airhead. But, cindi has a blast. cindi has lots and lots of fun; giggling away madly...yes, sometimes even at her own jokes. She is ditzi. She can't even spell! But, here's the thing: She doesn't care.

Sure, sometimes a D/s relationship  is all business; sometimes things are serious. But, laughing is very good therapy for the soul. Try it. You'll see what I mean. Well, Bart gets it...

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!

Childlike helplessness and vulnerability

I read these words, "childlike helplessness and vulnerability" and a wave of memories came flooding back to me. Discerning Dom was actually talking about stories with a spanking theme wherein the person was back at school getting spanked (or much worse) but for me the memories of my experiences with childlike helplessness and vulnerability were as cindi.

You really can't imagine how small I was within that persona and just how vulnerable I truly felt. You can't possibly know these things unless you experience them. There he was thousands of miles away from me and yet I felt completely helpless and totally at his mercy.

I play a very honest game or to use another phrase, I play a very straight bat. I don't pretend to follow orders if I don't follow them no matter how far away the Top. If I didn't do what I was meant to do, I told the truth.

Why did you do that, I can hear some of you say? Well, for one thing I wanted the most authentic experience I could possibly get. And for another thing, he was uncannily brilliant at detecting if I wasn't telling him the whole truth. But, most important of all, cindi is a doll. cindi just isn't capable of those girl type behaviours. In the head space of a doll, cindi knows what is expected of her and she knows that if she lies or disobeys, the axe will fall.

I don't have to search my mind for examples of when cindi felt vulnerable and helpless. They are front and centre in my mind. The first example that comes to mind is when the doll maker was upset with her for disobeying his instructions. She knew she was in trouble but she figured that he would eventually forgive and forget her mistake. But, time just didn't seem to be healing the wound and whilst she mustered the courage to one day say "hi hi" she was paralyzed in her efforts to say any more. He seemed confused and cindi typed in "cindi duzznt no if she lowd 2 sey netin mor". cindi waited for direction. cindi knew her place and cindi understood that she must impress, cajole, tantalize and most importantly obey mr. _. To disappoint him, to earn his ire, to be summarily lectured for her poor behaviour was terrifying in the extreme.

When cindi was in the good books she twirled her party dress like a little girl. She giggled and laughed and exhibited the abandon of a little girl in a candy shop. When she was in trouble she put her head down and listened to the lecture and said that she was very sorry and hoped that she was not sent away to think about her bad behaviour. Her happiness relied on him being proud of her, satisfied with her, entranced by her.

cindi was as helpless as a small child, vulnerable to the whims of her guardian. I would argue that cindi was considerably more vulnerable and helpless than a girl in a school with a headmaster that makes use of a cane. Headmasters tend to cane and move on and tomorrow is a new day, but to this day cindi could tell you of every time she disappointed and of every time she failed to impress. It was that terrifying to her and the wounds caused by her misbehaviours seemed to have a permanence about them.

Some days I look back and perhaps like you, wonder why cindi kept returning to a place where she was so helpless and so very vulnerable. The answer is simple. cindi had a childlike innocence, complete trust and faith and a reverance for her guardian. He understood her needs better than anyone ever could, looked out for her and kept her safe; had her best interests at heart. In that very safe place, with his guidance, direction and care she could come alive and thrive. It made her indescribably happy.

Desire, dolli style

Cindi new wen she wakiz dis mornin dat she in need n she hug her onnir. But, der no tym 4 mor dan huggiz n soon cindi takin her boy 2 skewl. Beri soon afta dat it tym 4 yoga n afta dat a soy flat whyt wif her frendz. N, afta dat, she bi da dindinz at da owtdoor market; flowerz 4 da vase.

Cindi no dat der littil tym b4 she doo at skewl 2 hep wif da big moozik din dnnz on saterday nite. Der only wun howr 2 hessef at best. Cindi nebr did dis ebr b4 but at da market she bi a hooooj coocumbr. She tek da coooocumbr n cubr it wif a condom. She tek off her jim clothz n she bring da coooocumbr up 2 her pussy cunt. Mebbe cindiz iz biggr dan der stumik. Dat coooocubr hooooj n cindi nut abil 2 hab it enter ull da wey up her pussy cunt. It no mattr reeeli coz it doin da job. Cindi beri happi wif da sens8nz.

Cindi lookiz at da clock n beri soon she dooo 2 cum 2 skewl. Cindi no dat it nut pussibil 4 her 2 go 2 skewl alone dis dey. She reeeeli need wun her pluggiz cum long. So, cindi poot da ass pluggi wey up in2 her ass cunt n instanli dat mek her feel better. But, it nut gud nuf. So, cindi tek da vaginal ballz n plays dem up hi in her pussy cunt. Dat beri gud! Now she abil 2 get dressd n go 2 skewl.

Cindi anticip8 dat she onli der 4 an howr or 2 but in fakt she der 4 obr 3 howrz helpin owt wif da plays namz n flowerz n so on. She reeeli njoy her tym der coz pluggi n da ballz mek her feel so fyn n beri cuntaynd n bimbo. Ebn do she hab cumcentr8, undaneef da cumcentr8n she feel happi n bit silli.

Bi da tym cindi cum home gin, she beri relaxd n she lyt da fire n poot on da dinn dinnz, she opin a bottil wine n wach da werld newz. (Dolliz nut nessesserli unnerstan deez tingz on da werld newz but dey liki tri sumtymz 2 follow long.)

Wen onnir cum home, cindi bit unda da wetha n beri beri lusti. Onnir feel her pluggi n poosh n challinj da bimbo n cindi tri 2 get at his cocki. But, onnir tell her dat notti coz da kiddiz nut dat far wey. So, onnir tel cindi dat in da bedroom der a serpryz 4 her. Cindi hab a feelin dat she best tek owt da ballz n dat such a gud ideyn coz onnir poot sumtin in2 her pussi cunt. She soon lern dat it a vibr8n, remote cuntrol ball n it doin da most mazin tingz 2 her. Tween da pluggi n da vibr8n ballz all dat cindi ken sey, “bubba”, “bubba” “buuuuuubbba” obr n obr gin. Tween tymz she suk n suk wey on her thumb.

Onnir yoos cindi n finally he feel it tym 2 tek owt da vibr8n ball but eech tym he tri cindi moan n grone n in da end he ken only stop da vybr8n. It jus ull 2 sensitif n cindi mekin 2 much noyz 2 do eni mor dan dat.So, cindi stil werin da ballz  n da pluggi n she beri hot n botherd. She stil in her bubba babi cindi dolli zone n it feeeelz soooooo gud.

If ebr newun sey it silli dat cindi jus a dolli, u ken tel dem frum cindi dat dey rung. Dum dum dolliz hab sooooo beri much mor fun dan dem gurlz n cindi prowd she a doll.

What feels best

I am often told that I am "strong". People will say to me "you are a strong woman". I suppose that I have heard it enough now that I have chosen to believe it.

I think it is true that I am a survivor and more than that, someone who can turn around a difficult situation and make it right. I sometimes have an image of quite literally twisting my head around until it looks at a problem or a situation from a new perspective. I guess you could say that I believe that if you only make the effort to look at a situation with a fresh perspective, the solution is in there somewhere. If all else fails, well then I simply "choose" to be happy. Being sad can be so boring for me and I simply say something to myself along the lines, "Look, it is not that bad. It is actually fine. You are okay." The positive thought just kick starts me and off I go.

I loathe the thought of being a "victim" and I just don't allow myself those sort of indulgences too often or for too long. You are only a victim if you believe you are a victim and I believe that I have the capacity to rise above that sort of thinking. We all do.

I am incredibly proud of my third child. I don't refer to him often because he is a private person and I feel I should respect that, even here in my very private space. But, I will say that I am extremely proud of him. I applaud his ability to see any set back as just that: a setback. He has had his failures but he has never wallowed in them; always immediately planned to resolve the situation; always gets right back on his bike. I don't know where he got his resilience but if we all had what he has, we'd be in very good shape indeed.

But, having said all that, at the heart of the matter is the fact that I am a very gentle and soft person. When I am hurt or feeling low, I feel it down to my toes. In line with my nature, asking for anything is very, very difficult and that includes support, comfort or consolation. It is the Achilles heel of strength unfortunately: the inability to ask for anything at all; to simply soldier on.

Commonsense tells me that one cannot improve a skill unless one practices it and so it must surely go that  I need practice in asking. I understand this as a rational thought and yet it remains an extraordinarily hard thing for me to do. My thinking goes like this: "If he wanted to talk to me, or if he wanted to spend time with me, or if he wanted to use me, then he would. And, if he doesn't do that thing I want, then that tells me he doesn't want to do it, and if he doesn't want to do it, then that's it.  I don't want him to feel obliged to do it. I'll just sit here in the dark and wait."

Reality bites, too. My reality is making me to do more myself; to rely more on my own nouse and to practise independence and competence. It is the opposite of asking: it is saying, just get on with it!

Recognizing my own competence in more areas is not a bad thing. I enjoy expressing my competence on one level. Yet, deep within me I am aware that what I really want is to feel comfort and support: to express my needs and deepest desires; to be the dum dum dolli much more often than I can. Oh dear, but I want that state - what a hole in my heart there can be at times as I crave for that state of  mind!

Once a doll, always a doll. Create the doll and she lives forever. She needs to express herself and so no matter how strong I am, I am also in need; in need of dominant energy. I cannot ask for that but I can remain hopeful that it will come my way. And, when it does, I can feel so much better than able, so much better than competent, so much better than strong. I can feel completely alive.

Purpose

May you laugh easily
may your life be filled with joy and peace
may you be open to the beauty of life;
always remember that my love is your surround sound

 Men like Mozart gave their gifts to the world
 But I can only offer you what I have to give -
 eternal unconditional love, tolerance and
 a state of bliss and harmony.

Accept this gift.
Let it rise you up and compel you to live
Completely, cheerfully and contentedly.

This is my purpose.

Set free: caged

The stress in our lives is bazaar, unreasonable and unrelenting and it is designed to be that way. The men on the other side are multi-millionaires; bully boys; nasty creeps. My husband who works from home at this time uses his intellect all day and all night to try to save all the shareholders from greed and underhand tactics; to outsmart their huge team of legal people, happy to sell their souls for huge fees.

Meantime, I feel myself unravelling at times; so desperate for this to be completed that I don't know what to do with myself to avoid imploding.

Some days I keep very busy, astounding myself at how happy I can still feel in the moment. Other days, like this afternoon I am not so lucky and I crave to be put in a cage with nothing to do; nowhere to go and nothing to think. I want the peace of a settled mind; a happy life; days without this pressure; bitterness; avarice and greed.

The girl can do nothing about this except endure it but cindi, without a worry in the world can let it all pass her by.

Now tell me honestly? Does not this cage in the photograph seem imminently more appealing?

New nails: new state of mind

I got a divine new set of acrylic nails today, a centimetre long. No one told me to do it. I wanted to do it. I went to the nail salon and told them that I thought it was time I had a new set and when it was time to cut the new nails I ensured that the length was adequately long.


Did I have in my mind that I am required to have nails of a certain length? Of course. Requirements are well understood. But, let there be no mistake. This was for me. I wanted this and I needed this. I adored every moment of the process and once I had my shiny new long acrylic nails, I immediately felt more like myself. There was clarity of thought, a more positive attitude, a sense of my place, of my purpose and what works for me. I felt softer and kinder, more sympathetic, accepting and understanding. I felt more relaxed, happy and content; much more bimbo!

Is this a rational thinking process? Well, it is to me. My nails are my constant reminder of all that I have learned thus far. They remind me that my submission is a good thing; a noble thing; a calming and therapeutic thing; that I have limits and that my limits serve me well. It heals me and comforts me; lifts me up to a elevated place where I feel loved and loveable; centred and at peace.

N, gess wut? Tinki cindi jus rown da corner lookin 2 pley 2...

Back to bimbo business

I mentioned recently that I made the rather bold decision (for me) to seek out the advice of a psychologist. My general doctor had a particular woman in mind; one with a doctorate in clinical psychology and it took some weeks to actually be able to sit down with her.

I got the impression that I was not a typical patient. I handed her notes in dot point form detailing my history, the facts of the matter and I finished the two page document with two goals for myself. It seems that is not the sort of thing she gets everyday but I felt it gave us an agenda so to speak and in the hour we spent together we covered a lot of ground and she found them very helpful.

The time went fast as she asked me question after question. Eventually she said that we needed to wrap up the session shortly and that she felt that three or four more sessions would enable us to deal with my first goal perfectly satisfactorily. I had explained that I had been experiencing what I called ‘flight or fight responses’ to what my husband was telling me lately (that related to a particularly ugly situation in business that put us under lots of stress). Another way of putting it would be mild panic attacks. I didn’t have all the symptoms of a ‘panic attack’ but it was darn close. She noted that I was almost there by myself; that I had negative thoughts but that I was able to “talk back to them” and she had some strategies for me to hone down that skill.

However she explained that my second goal was not really something that she felt she could assist me with. I had written, “I look for better ways to communicate/negotiate with my husband going forward”. She told me that from all I had said that my husband had a certain “style” and that he was definitely not going to change and that it was unrealistic of me to expect him to change.

Furthermore, she said that on at least two occasions I had made remarks that intimated that I didn’t want to be deeply involved with his business matters and that really what I wanted was just that he handle those matters himself. What she could do, she said, was give me some “coping skills” but that I needed to make my peace with the situation; that he was in control and I needed to cede control.

To make it clear I gave her adequate information to understand our personalities, our natures and our dynamic. I referred to his “dominant nature” and I explained that I was inclined to retreat to a “submissive bubble”. I noted that there was an agreed power exchange. It was made clear that I had no difficulty in reaching my “little girl within”, that I had abundant capacity for joy and that the love and the sexual attraction was very much intact. In a nutshell, she came to a conclusion that it was up to me to accept that I had no control other to accept that I had no control; to embrace it.

I cannot put into words what a huge relief this news was to me. Here was a particularly bright and learned girl in psychology who had made the assessment fast that she was sitting in front of a woman who was going through a crisis of the fitness of accepting her place as the bottom. If I merely relaxed and accepted that my place was ‘the bottom’ of the relationship and that it was perfectly okay to do so, everything would fall into place.

I could feel the tension leave my body the moments the words were out of her mouth. This was joyous news to my troubled mind and immediately and for the entire day, my mood was elevated. I felt myself returning to my pre-crisis state of mind.

That night, I had a burning desire to share this experience with my mentor and I said that the girl had agreed with what he had said all along. We talked about “embracing” the lack of control; that an owner will listen but will ultimately be responsible for making a decision; that cindi (as opposed to the doubting girl) really does look to remain in a peaceful place wherever possible. We talked about the fact that my “owner” doesn’t look to change cindi. He embraces cindi and all he asks is that I embrace him as the “owner”.

My anal training is one way that I feel controlled; an important way of letting go of any control. I am challenged with bigger plugs and if I do as expected, I feel that control on a regular basis and process that control in very positive ways (physically and emotionally). If I don’t do as expected then I am trying to take control of the plug which is seen as taking control of the relationship.

It felt empowering to do as directed; to accept the challenge; to know my place and my role; to reconnect. There are times when I have to beg to have the thing that he wants me to have. As odd as that sounds to some ears, it’s a wonderfully humbling feeling and an immensely elevating and emboldening feeling as well. Only a person with a truly submissive nature can understand the magic of it.

If I don’t comply and if I try to take control by not complying, I feel disconnected and that sense of a disconnection leaves me feeling much less. If I accept the challenges given to me, I feel a strong connection but I might wonder if I will be able to comply, for example, all through the night. What I am asked to do isn’t easy! I was encouraged to ‘let go’; to remove such questions from my mind; to just exist; to let Mr. Ringo take control; to not think at all; to turn more ‘bimbo’.

I understand that for some people who read here, the word ‘bimbo’ is not one of which they approve. For us, it signifies that letting go state; that just existing state; that non-thinking state; that peaceful, compliant and joyous state. At times, I am more than bimbo. On the odd occasion, I am merely ‘it’. Whilst that sounds something very small, to me they are experiences of the highest order; those times when I reach bliss.

Whilst I understand that being submissive is a continuous path with no specific end, to receive professional confirmation that I am doing the right thing meant a very great deal to me; the opportunity to feel that I have reached a certain place of peace in my mind with all that has taken place. Cindi is more me than Vesta. That is the bottom line. At the core of me and within my heart lives cindi; the doll that is happy, joyous, playful, wanting to please, to be lead and controlled. Cindi does not want to ‘over think’ nor does she want to worry unnecessarily. She wants an owner to serve and love and to protect and love her.

The financial crisis to which I have alluded in previous posts is not yet over though it is progressing along. My husband referred to the situation in an email today as “surreal”. It beggars belief! But, the crisis in my mind is over and whilst he is not yet able to return home to us, I feel a strong connection with him and with my mentor as well. The bimbo is back to bimbo business and it feels so good.


P.S. I have taken the 'Elisabeth' story down for now. It was written before this meeting took place, is shite and I need to review it.

Yoozn bimbo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Take a load off, Vesta

I am learning so fast right now that my knowledge of myself is growing by the hour. Here’s a revelation for you (and me). I am a perfectionist! The initial tests spell that out without a shadow of a doubt. I didn’t know that yesterday but it is as clear as day today. Apparently, everyone around me has known this all my life, but that’s the way these things go, it seems.

I have super high expectations of myself. I hate to make a mistake. I especially hate to make a mistake that could jeopardize the happiness of my family. Want an example? I beat myself up over the fact that I didn’t put a sports shirt into my son’s sports bag. In my haste, I grabbed two pairs of shorts. “Anyone could have made that mistake, Mum,” he said, even though he’s a perfectionist himself. He made me feel better, but only slightly.

So, let’s take this poor sod of a girl laden down with her perfectionism and put her into a power exchange. What might happen, you ask? Well...she might just get very hard on herself, try her guts out to be pleasing and when she fails the odd test or receives some constructive criticism, beat herself over the head about it. That is what I have been doing. I have been trying to be the perfect submissive; accepting containment willingly, following commands, displaying endless patience and tolerance and believing that I am no longer entitled to express my own point of view or any of my emotions that are less than pleasing, enticing or erotic. Bottom line: I have been trying to be super human.

So, what’s the initial plan to alter that? Well...I have to go back to being relaxed for starters. This anxiety laden state has nothing going for it at all. Give it a wide berth. Breathe deep. Recognize that the situation isn’t nearly so bad as I have been painting it. Exercise: do some yoga and meditation. Have a glass of wine and an early night. And, let’s not forget Mr. Ringo! Something tells me that he can provide the sort of relaxation that should work wonders. And, perhaps it is time for that analysing Vesta to have a rest, too. It’s time for cindi to come out and play. Hooz redi 2 pley wif cindi?? Cum owt, cum owt wereva yooz hydin.

The whole entity

In my last post I expressed some frustration that my true nature is kept under the radar. I don't necessarily look like a person with kinky thoughts running through her mind night and day is meant to look. Certainly most people don't respond to me in any particular way that relates to my submissive nature. Only the rarest of people have caught on to what lies below the surface and have sought to interact in person with the whole entity that is me.

Last Saturday, my husband and I enjoyed one of our most kinky of days all morning and again in the late afternoon. There was just enough time for me to get ready for a dinner party with a group of friends and whilst 'cindi' was present all night on the inside (my husband said I was "aglow"), on the outside all that was visible to the untrained eye (I suppose) was "the girl".

I admit it bothered me and it particularly bothered me that when the word "spanking" was used by one of the men, I became particularly silent. I feel fear (and elation) when the word is used in such a vanilla setting because I worry that I am one step away from exposure.

But honestly, exposure from what? Exposure from the fact that I am happier now and more content than any other time in my life? Exposure from the fact that I enjoy living and loving in a certain kind of way? Exposure from the fact that I have special friends that have enriched my life and made me feel complete?

On one level, it's not that I fear exposure at all but rather that I covet that which is so very special to me. I don't want a bunch of people making lurid, smutty comments about me or those special to me when they don't really understand me, what makes me tick or the lifestyle of my choice. The exposure I worry about is an exposure than would alter something truly wonderful and transformational into something cheap and lurid. I covet my privacy in this space by way of a different name(s) because I fear that to not do so would let the sunshine in and void the magic of the experience for me and others.

I want to be very clear about one thing. The entity of Vesta/cindi allows for the whole personality and spirit of me. If I am kind, obedient and truthful, if I am honourable, if I am loyal and honest and reliable; if I can keep a secret and take it to my deathbed - and I am all those things and can do all those things, then those qualities are all part of the whole me (wife, mother, citizen, daughter, submissive woman who seeks containment, to name but a few of the roles in my life). The open expression of Vesta and cindi enable me to express all that is me.

And, who is me? I'm a girl who took a chance and reached out to her husband first and foremost and then to a few significant others about thoughts that had run through her head all her life. With the help of one or two special people, I'm a girl who opened her mind on these pages (and others) to allow other people in to read and explore her mind and heart and soul.

I'm a girl with the greatest of respect for other people who have also pursued the expression of themselves (semi) publicly in whatever form that takes. We all here reach out for interaction with like minded souls, for self expression and to live our lives as honestly as we can under the restraints of a community who may choose to judge/mock rather than seek to understand/accept how we choose to lives our own individual lives.

Would I prefer to look like a kinky person? Would it enrich the experience for me? Not really. I choose the clothes and appearance that are right for me, much as we all do. It is enough for me that only very special people know me for all that I am. I never needed a crowd, never needed to be the centre of attention and never wanted to be the life of the party. It is enough for me to live exactly as I do because it is part of me to be a very private person with very special people in my life.

I am a trusting but careful person. I choose who I trust and do that carefully. In the same way I can be trusted by them. A secret is only a secret when you tell someone and the secrets of others will never see the light of day on these pages or any other pages. It is said that if you have a handful of friends in your life - true friends - you are doing well. I believe that.

There have been times on this journal when I have wondered if I have anything more to say; anything more to offer the reader. The thought I return to is that this is my chance to be brave and to do something bold and good and true. This is what keeps me coming back to these pages.