Dating apps

 A couple of months ago I dated an older man. We had eight dates until, frustrated, I explained that I didn't think we had a romantic future together. He was an extremely polite and respectful person, and on one level I enjoyed his company and conversation, but it was impossible to not notice that his greeting and goodbye kiss was more like a peck. 

I think it was the third date when he asked me if I liked to hold hands and we started doing that. However, it got weird. Not only did he want to hold hands at times when it was comfortable to do so, but pretty much all the time. What this seemed to do was act as a shield against further intimacy. You can't go in for a hug or to wrap yourself around someone on the couch if you are sitting side by side holding hands. I would think in my head about what to do in moments, but nothing felt like it would be generously received. It felt like we were two islands and the mass of water between us would keep us that way.

I was sure that he wasn't sure about me because when I tried to bring up my needs as a woman, to be in the presence of a man who liked to assert control for our mutual benefit, he completely closed down. This was definitely off putting to him. An academic all his life, I think he was living almost entirely in his head. 

It gets worse. His wife had died suddenly 14 years ago, and he was devoted to her memory. She had most certainly achieved sainthood in his mind. After that, he married and that failed and he almost married but lived with another woman, and she left. My nail lady told me to run. It was impossible to compete with a dead wife who had died young.

All well and good. However, he wanted very much to stay friends and at the time it seemed a harmless request. For the last two months, he would wish me good morning and sometimes say something that prompted a little conversation. That seemed fine.

I had met him on a platform where I could see he often went, even when he was dating me, so I recently said 'goodbye' on that platform. He asked why I did that. Well, I explained, we text.

Then, he started to tell me about this new "lady" he was seeing for coffee and gallery dates, like we used to do. And then it felt weird. He was trying to set up a time to see a play together or have lunch as friends and supposedly he would tell me about this new lady and so on.

A little alarm bell went off. I don't mean to downplay all the horrors that are happening to people right now, but I haven't had wonderful things happen in my life lately and I have a responsibility to take care of myself. This friendship wasn't doing me any favours.

I suggested via text that he allowed this new relationship to blossom and that our friendship was secondary to that, but he argued for his continuance. I really didn't want that. I am trying here to do things that are right for me rather than right for someone else. I am trying not to let abundant empathy stand in the way of good sense. I wrestled with the thoughts for at least a minute until I texted, 'Why don't you check in in a couple of weeks?' This, I felt, was better than his reliance on me to interact on a daily basis.

So, what's this all about, I ask myself. He makes me feel weird. He makes me feel like there is something wrong with me that I want intimacy, that I would like to feel some (gentle and not so gentle) control. 

I think I have been on the wrong dating app. If that's your proclivity that app is not where you are going to go looking for a submissive. Yes, I have strong tendencies towards independence but in the hands of a dominant man, that tends to take a back seat. I want that.

Grief

 Grief, as we now know has various stages, not necessarily linear. When I first heard the news D had died, there was no 'I can't believe it' stage for me. I think that came a day or two later, when I wrote those words to his sister, 'I still can't quite believe it.' No, immediately, I knew it was absolutely true. I was gutted; quietly emotional; reduced to a flood of tears.

Of course, like so many other thousands of people who are or have been in grief, I played the 'if only' game with myself. If only I had been in touch on chat in the last few months; if only I had been more persistent, more loving. I finally realized that I don't have and never did have that sort of control. This sort of thinking and feeling is like the bargaining stage.

There was a bit of anger in the mix. Why couldn't he have taken better care of himself? I had tried in any number of ways to achieve that goal. Grief has a component of desire for something to happen, so I wasn't without some desire, but protected from that physical expectation that usually associates grief.

What I didn't have to contend with, as his partner now has to do, is the expectation that he would walk through the door sometime soon. I only had to contend with the fact that he would never answer my final email to him; that our chats were now over forever.

Depression is another stage of grief and I suppose my waking at odd times in the night is associated with that stage. I think it's all part of the acceptance stage and trying to make sense of these things that happen. In the right circumstances he had another fifty years to live, to love, and to achieve more great things for the communities he had served to date.

Although it hasn't been a long time since his death, I have in large part accepted what happened. I think I had some time to prepare for this knowing what I knew for some time. I think, and I am trying to pry open the door of my subconscious here, it is why I didn't communicate so often in these past few months; I expected it and found it too painful to watch too closely. I wanted to believe the song I had been sung; that all was well and I could do that better with some distance.

So, my grieving is also about giving myself some self-compassion. I tried valiantly to protect and I failed. But, I did try and I did care. I find myself with profound compassion for those professional people who work with people who have experienced terrible things.

A final stage of grief has been added to the model of the five stages of grief and that is meaning. There is no meaning in his death but there was great meaning in his life. He loved and was loved by a great many people. He was frustrating at times, bloody stubborn in moments, but he was a very lovable character who vehemently worked to make the world a better place. His time on this Earth had great meaning for many, many people, including me.

He was someone who was tolerant of difference and deeply caring of people; particularly those underprivileged. I once told him it seemed he was trying to carry the weight of the world and maybe he needed to take a rest. No, no, he said, there was too much work to do. The world had to be made a better place.

As his mother wrote, he was overcome by beautiful women. It wasn't easy for him to see the entirety of a woman because he was besotted with love; not necessarily romantic love, but the deep caring a compassionate woman could provide. Mostly, I think he felt safe with a caring woman of any age.

We both appreciated Ricky Gervais's 'After Life' and discussed it one day this year in quite a lot of detail. He wrote to me, 'Do you know the female character that sits with him (Tony) in the graveyard?' Yes, I did. 'She reminds me of you.' 'Oh?', I replied, though I had a fair idea what he was meaning. 'She listens to him and she cares about him. But she calls him on his bullshit too.'

Of course, I smiled. It meant a lot to me. My more strident comments didn't appear to be well received and I didn't make them often,but I carried on when I felt the need. This was his acknowledgment of them as a form of my care and it felt good to be seen in that way.

All he ever really wanted was peace. When I would ask him what he wanted, and I must have asked a half dozen times over the years, it was always the same; just the one word, 'peace'.

May his ashes fertilize the landscape where he grew up. May he find the peace he so richly deserves

An anti-BDSM story?

There was such a build up to going on vacation - the plans, things to be sorted, the finishing up of my M.A. - but now that we have returned and things have been put away, there's a pleasant freedom to my days that I have not known before. Hayfever symptoms have sometimes forced me to nap during the day, and I've kept to a schedule, of course - meal making, daily exercise, and so on - but I have been able, over the last week or so, to have some latitude in my day which is very pleasant indeed.

Being early for an appointment with a new nail salon in the city, I ventured into an 'All books $10' store and bought three books, one of which was Nicki Gemmell's I Take You. I began to read the story even whilst waiting for my train. I wondered why I felt no erotic pleasure in the scene where Connie, the heroine, is 'padlocked' in front of a group of strangers when it soon became clear that Gemmell wanted this reaction from her readers; had engineered this reaction.

The story is set up that she and her invalid husband conspire to a M/s situation where she has sex with other men, as it takes Connie's husband's fancy, but I was never convinced of the desire in this arrangement on her part. Sure, it was better than nothing, a life of abstinence, but Connie was never attracted to Cliff, not really. It was all a trade off for an insanely decadent lifestyle with a man who had no real idea of happiness in its pure form. Rather than be turned on by the 'erotic' offering, I was quite turned off. (I was aroused on another level. My body was aroused as it turns out, but my mind was not, making it all the more confusing to me that I can be physically aroused when emotionally I am not aroused at all. Masochistically, perhaps?)

Connie doesn't need any more 'Type A' banker types in her life and those familiar with Lady Chatterley's Lover would predict that Connie is deeply attracted to the gardener who recognizes instantly what she needs; a real, honest-to-goodness earthy, hairy man.

They make love in the garden. They dance about naked amongst the trees and celebrate all that makes us who we are: the fluids, the holes, the sweat, the pubic hair. Anything mildly associated with BDSM is shun from the scene (although on second thought, anal sex is very much a part of their love making and I do recall some slaps on the ass. This guy is no wallflower...). Mel makes Connie promise she will never allow a man to do these things to her again, to scar her labia with piercings, and they both revel in her natural state when her pubic hair grows back. He loves to cover her with dirt.

Much is made of the weather. England suggests to the reader a place where a natural response is stifled, but Australia, a possible destination for Mel and Connie, suggests openness and of course, a fresh start. It's a place, for the writer and her characters, to feel unrepressed; where they won't be judged, "where nature presses close" and where she sleeps soundly, "for her man strong beside her is like a cool trickle of water upon her soul".

Connie has decreed that she won't let a man dictate her life again, at the same time as she understands that her happiness emanates from the fact that she now lives with a man who wants her just as she is, a free spirit; earthy; sexual; no longer judged in an Australia that embraces all people and gives everyone 'a fair go' (well, that's not exactly correct but nearly everyone lives harmoniously in our multicultural society).

I'm a little confused about the message of the book. Is it really an anti BDSM book, or is it a book that notes how hollow a partnership can be with a person who is rude, callous, introspective, and wanting to control merely for his own jubes? Is it a cautionary tale for any woman, perhaps, who sells her soul for an easy lifestyle loaded with money but short on love and tenderness?

For me, it was one more reminder that what we do we must do honestly; that there is no connection at all unless love is truly felt and shared. Perhaps Connie couldn't experience Mel until she experienced life with Cliff. Maybe, that was part of her journey to find out what truly mattered to her. At least, I choose not to think about it as one more anti-BDSM book, much like 50 Shades of Grey in that sense. There will always be people who hurt and make use of other people. Without love, no relationship has much substance. I think that is all that is going on here.

Drilling down

First of all, I want to record that I am happy. There are reasons for this sense of happiness, although I see it more of a 'welling' of happiness, something with its own internal logic and not necessarily related to external factors. But, since I'm trying to be 'aware' of this new felt sense of happiness and how that came to pass, let's drill down.

First thing that comes to mind: I've little pressure in my life at this time, especially today. I'm typing away here at my desk, but I've precious little that really needs to be done. I'll go and explore the world a little once I've tapped away on these keys and have myself a little adventure. Love adventures!

Second thought: In this moment, my whole family seems settled and happy. Gosh, that's a fabulous feeling. My eldest son had his 30th birthday in the past week - a great party, just the way he wanted it - and I got to meet/meet up with all his closest friends.  It's fabulous to see how much he is loved and embraced, especially by his girlfriend's family. It was very good karma at that party and at dinner at home one night this week I could see that he had 'lifted'. He's happy.

My daughter has started her second year of teaching, a job she adores. She and her boyfriend have moved into their first house together. They adore one another; very, very connected. My third child has come right of his shell, sewing some wild oats now, fully immersed in a job he loves and so much more social and responsible; all good things. And, my youngest child, my baby, is doing just fine travelling around other countries with his mate. He's registered at his institution of choice and it's all good for him too - he's maturely fabulously.

Third thought: It's no co-incidence that once the family were fully ensconced in their lives that this automatically made way for my husband and me. We've been...happy...together lately, planning things and doing things and very much on the same page. Knowing I had to be out of the house by 10 am yesterday he woke me with some pampering and then a lovely breakfast on a tray in bed. It felt so...loving and tender. The kiss 'good morning' was sweet. We've watched the tennis most nights whilst partaking in a late dinner and although he's popped into his office to check his screens, it's been fine. It's been very...settled...around here this week in all these ways. My mother seemed much better yesterday and happy I agreed to go to a concert with her next week. This gives her something to look forward to and it makes me happy to make her happy. All these things are good. I love seeing the people in my life happy. That makes me happy.

Fourth thought: Schedules and routines begin next week. February brings with it routine, which I appreciate, but until January is done and dusted I'm loving the lack of routine. I'm sorting through the decade of paper on my desk, going through the storage space downstairs, sorting out and altering spaces. It's 'me and my house' time and I love that. I've a relationship with this house too, just as I do people.

Fifth thought: The 'power exchange' side of things hasn't been nearly so intact and yet it hasn't felt...bad. I've felt rebellious lately which I attribute to several factors, not least of which is the reading I've been doing; important articles that have opened my eyes to issues that may have led me down the path of considerable unhappiness in the past. I've been working privately and internally with confronting my fears, standing up for myself and being assertive, which, on the surface, looks like it doesn't meld well with accepting that I don't have any real control. Inside myself, I know there is progress going on, but I'm not ready to express that in words just yet.

I am pondering, however, if the Crystal Bowls Meditation that I did recently has indeed had an effect on me. I noticed I choked a bit during that meditation and thought that strange since that had never happened before, and was later told that the meditation was attuned to the throat chakra. Since the meditation it has felt that I have had to clear my throat several times and that's most unusual for me as well. The throat chakra is the chakra related to speaking one's truth. Speaking out has to be a bit of a shock for any dominant man used to talking to an agreeable, compliant bimbo who asks few questions about the reasons for and desired outcomes of her tasks, but the thoughts that have been held back are rising up and finding expression. Personally, I don't necessarily think that's a bad thing. I think it opens the door for a closer, stronger connection, but the jury is still out and I'm certainly not the judge in session.

I suppose you could say that bimbo took things waaaaay too far when she had a go at usurping control. I can't imagine what she was thinking (that this behaviour would end well? that she'd actually get away with it? that she wanted to get away with it??) except to say that sometimes bimbo doesn't look that far down the track...

I know this much. When push comes to shove...when all factors are considered...when we reach the bottom line...whether she's right or wrong...whether the grievance is handled in a way that is satisfying to her, or not...she's grateful that the dominance remains intact and that she is shown her place. This outcome is deeply satisfying to such an extent that she can bunker down into consequences. She doesn't have to like the consequences to respect them.

Here's the honest truth: Today (and admittedly probably not tomorrow...and the day after...and so forth) she's loving the freedom; revelling in the fact that she's a bimbo on the loose with a whole afternoon in front of her to frolic freely. Yes, she's taking the credit card with her but promises to be judicious with it. Wonder where bimbo can get a slice of gluten free orange cake...(PS Relax, that was a joke, she didn't go near cake. As if...!)

The first step

There are advantages to being more 'aware' of the emotions within and encircling a person. As awareness grows so too does the ability to analyze what is going on in a logical way. Less than a week ago I asked my husband if he would be prepared to take some steps to make our marriage more of a formal power exchange dynamic. I saw this as a very positive first step to a potentially wonderful future together.

Whilst we don't have the perfect life in his eyes, since he hasn't experienced the level of financial success he would have liked to achieve by now, we have a good life, live in a great country and have a wonderful, close family. The setting and stage of our lives seemed right for taking this step towards a closer and more fulfilling personal relationship that I hoped would set us up nicely to be happy in an ongoing and everpresent way.

I wrote to him about this matter and I did it via email. To date, there is no response. These plans were put into action at a time when the future seemed so promising. He was relaxed having been on vacation at our holiday house. Although our time together wasn't as personally fulfilling as it could have been from my perspective since we were often surrounded by children in a house where noise travels, I was filled with hope.

We've been back in the city  only a few short days and the rot has set in. He has had several explosions of his emotions, unable to contain his distress and anxiety related to several issues that either spun out of his control or that frustrated him. He's been rude, a reaction to his internal distress at external factors, and although he usually offers an apology, it's distressing to me.

There is not a doubt in my mind that he would benefit by seeing a psychologist who could use some cognitive behaviour techniques to help him deal with this perturbation. I'd love to see him get some relief from these distressing feelings that he experiences, but also so that we can have a more mutually respectful and anxious-free environment at home, from where he mostly works.

I know to take care of myself in various ways, such as to find a quiet place in the house, or to leave the house and settle my own internal upset. But, this issue has been a constant throughout the marriage, only altering in intensity as befits his own internal stresses and the external environment; in other words, how life goes for him from minute to minute. 

I can train myself to be the perfectly submissive wife, to handle my own anxiety privately and to show him due care and consideration, but this does nothing in providing him with strategies to cope with his own anxiety. As his wife I am in no position to help him here. He needs a professional for that task, but unfortunately has resisted all my pleas over several years. He's a proud man, a stubborn man and he is in denial.

Since writing the letter the idea of a more formal and established power exchange dynamic with him seems less do-able and, frankly, less attractive. I don't think that you can have a power exchange dynamic with a person who assumes the dominant role but who exhibits anxiety quite regularly.  Can you? The anxiety ridden person is so preoccupied with his own distress, what has he left to offer his submissive? Of course, some dominants find playing with their submissive an instant remedy for anxious feelings, but unfortunately my husband is not one of them. He tends to want to brood over his concerns.

I think the first step has to be to fix the anxiety; for him to learn strategies as to how to soothe himself. If the anxiety can come under control he is better placed to live his life - his business life - in a state of control and positivism which can then allow him to take on the power dynamic with me formally, in a way that is achievable. In a state of high anxiety I don't think we can really make progression in achieving the kind of relationship that I seek.

Empathy shouldn't lead to stress

I discovered a blog per chance recently, written by an intelligent, clear-headed American male who is sexually dominant. He calls it BDSM: Things You Need to Know and over the past couple of weeks reading there I have enjoyed it immensely. Unfortunately, he hasn't updated the blog in the past several months, although he does respond still to the odd comment left for him. I'm hoping he'll come back to writing there because it is most insightful reading.

In response to one of his posts a commenter made the point that she experienced anxiety when her dom was "upset" and Will responded to it as follows:

'Hi Jennifer, your anxious response to his "upset" state of mind could be due to your natural empathy, or previous experience (in childhood or adulthood) of someone close to you not dealing well with their own burdens, or an unrealistic sense of duty towards your partner. Asking yourself "what is the origin of this anxiety; what do I fear might happen" whenever it occurs might help you get clarity on that.

How he feels and behaves is of course his responsibility, and although you can lift him by your devotion, you cannot shift that obligation from him. Empathy is beneficial in that it gives you insight into his feelings without him having to describe them. But not to the point of stress on your part — you need to remain at peace in order to be completely present for both of you. As for latent fears you might have, see Assuaging a Sub's Fear of Abandonment.'

Will's comments resonated with me for a couple of reasons. First of all, I can most certainly experience an anxious response to an authority figure being upset. Whether it was a boss from the past, or my husband or my mentor, I've been anxious when I have displeased any one of them.

Will responded to Jennifer that her feelings of upset could be her natural empathy and this is certainly the case with me. I can very easily put myself in the shoes of another person and feel their anger, or their pain, or their distress or their 'upset'. I absorb this upset and it becomes my own distress. This came up in the therapy I had a few years ago, my tendency to hold onto someones distress, and I was encouraged to give back that upset to the person who owned it. It wasn't mine to take, she said. Yet, it's one thing to say something like that and another thing to make such a huge change in one's thinking. I remain profoundly empathic.

Will also suggests that Jennifer may feel an unrealistic sense of duty towards her partner and I do that too. When I feel bound to someone in some way my sense of duty towards them, to make them happy, and happy with me, is notable. It is something of a crusade for me, to see it as my responsibility to keep the peace and to be pleasing. To not be pleasing to such a person is to fill me up with an uncomfortable level of guilt. I'm really quite eager to take the blame and to analyze how I may have done wrong, regardless of their own personality traits that may make it difficult to always be pleasing in the first place. I tend to nearly always feel that I could have done better and to see it as my responsibility to please.

The really huge statement that Will made in my opinion is that empathy is useful, but not to the point of causing distress, because it works best if a submissive is at peace and present for both of them. As someone who has traversed the road seeking consistent peace of mind it made complete sense that my anxiety was in fact a lose:lose situation. My goal going forward was clear: to limit or even eliminate anxiety in terms of taking on other's people's distress and calling it my own.

When you've lived with someone for decades, known them since they entered University, you get to understand that people are fundamentally 'cooked' at any early age. Yes, people can change if they are motivated to do so, but a great deal doesn't change. My husband, for example, needs to express his distress and he usually needs to express it to me. This has been a constant for over 35 years.  In general, once he has blown off enough steam, he gets over what it was that distressed him, but in the meantime I am in a position where I must listen to the distress, acknowledge it, sometimes over and over, but not allow it to lodge inside my body or my mind. So, I demonstrate my usual levels of empathy, hold onto any opinions that wouldn't be helpful in such a situation, and I endeavor to distance myself from the anxiety such that I don't own it or accept it as my own anxiety. This is the theory, not always obtainable in practice usually because I am pushed to my elastic limit over time.

In terms of a power exchange dynamic things don't always go perfectly in spite of the best laid plans. In the rush towards Christmas, for example, I didn't take the time to fully understand a directive and I did it wrong. This was very far from my intention and no-one could have been harder on me than I was on myself. We're all human, doms and subs alike, and disappointment can tend to sit like an unwelcome visitor, making everyone uncomfortable.

Will asks Jennifer to consider what is the origin of her anxiety. I asked a similar question of myself and find it very hard to answer. I think my anxiety stems from finding myself in a situation where I have displeased and not being sure what to do about it. I think it is the uncertainty that is so anxiety-ridden for me, because if I was told to repeat the exercise properly, I'd do it and the anxiety would simply melt away. It's the 'I'm not sure what you want me to do now' feeling that makes for such anxiety, almost as if holding me in an anxious state is the punishment and the way I am meant to learn. Certainly an anxiety-ridden state means that I'll do everything humanly possible to avoid landing myself in that state again, but it also means I'm operating on the basis of fear, and I'm not sure this is a good thing, for me or for anybody. Whether fear is intended is something it is impossible for me to judge, but I know I do feel fear, fear of having displeased and what that means to my inner landscape.

Even as I felt uncomfortable about it, quite foolish for making such a silly mistake, I was trying hard to not absorb the negative feelings. It was my mistake, absolutely, but it was just that, a mistake. Should I allow the mistake or the negative vibes I felt were coming my way to interfere with my effectiveness such that other people would be disappointed in my performance, or that my state of mind would be compromised such that I didn't enjoy Christmas?

It was in these moments of conscious decision making about my response to the unhappy situation  that I decided it was time that I recognize that my empathy could not be allowed to spill over into distress. The mistake had happened in spite of my best intentions. I'd made my apology, was not in a position to rectify the situation to satisfy immediately and thus must recognize that there was no value in going over it in my mind, in distressing myself. I was choosing not be distressed.

Maybe this doesn't sound like a big deal. For people without a particularly empathic soul I don't think it is a big deal. However, for a deeply empathic soul, one who gets off and finds peace in being pleasing, it's huge. The message I have taken from Will's blog, one of the many messages there, is that a submissive's job is to be present. The dominant may say something out of turn (dominants tend to be full of themselves, let's face it, and hence blurt out something that is upsetting to hear), but it's helpful if this doesn't trigger a submissive too often, that's she resilient and cognisant of the fact that his distress isn't hers; that being submissive doesn't extend to owning and wearing his emotions.

In the same way, Will (and I'm still thinking about this) doesn't wear his submissive's emotions and makes the point that to get too involved in her emotions is to make it difficult to control her. In essence, the message is that we are both responsible for owning and controlling our own emotions; very grown up stuff indeed.

Garnering more control

A few nights ago there was some lovemaking and afterwards I just could not contain my frustration. I wasn't rude but I was fairly blunt; that without feeling his control life didn't have the same positive element for me.

At first, he was a bit upset by my comments but we agreed to sleep on it and in the morning, in his arms, I explained my point of view in more detail. It's the first talk I can remember having where we were really entirely honest and open with each other, or at least the best talk. If there was one thing I said that really resonated for him it was this:

'We were both born equal. We are both well educated. When we are dealing with the outside world, we're equals. But, my nature isn't your nature. I want to be controlled. That's what makes me happy and what feels right. Think of it as a role. That's my erotic role. You want to control. You know you do. You want to influence politics, the government, business - really everybody you come across in your world to some degree. That's the way your desire for control of your world is expressed. But, you aren't eroticizing your need for control. You aren't controlling me in the ways I'd like and need, that I crave.'

I could see him really listening to that.

'I get that', he said, 'but you can try to invoke the 'get out of jail card with me' when you're due for some discipline. If you want to feel control you have to stop doing that.'

'Agreed,' I said. 'I hand over control to you. What you say, goes.'

Seconds later, I found myself in a wonderfully vulnerable situation, totally immersed in a scene where I was at his mercy, treated like a fucktoy. It's too special to post the details but it ended with him scrubbing me in the shower, not at all gently, and me adoring every heavenly moment of it. Off we went to a birthday lunch at a winery and he said I looked beautiful, that I glowed. I do look different when I'm erotically dominated. I just do.

It's up to me now to seek to maintain that momentum, to let go and just follow, in every way. Interestingly, I have been aware of his changing moods since then. It was obvious he was deeply aroused and happy to be controlling me and to hear and see my response to the control, but his need to control his world will remain. It's a big part of who he is and how he lives his life and it's important that I find a way to continue to be a part of his world and to feel some control from him without disrupting him. The control of me needs to sit comfortably amongst his desire to control his entire landscape.

Of course, this is what the mentoring has been about, particularly of more recent times. If I disobey or choose to make a mistake I've forgotten my place. My place is to follow along. My place is to be controlled. My place is to be enticing, slutti; ready for use. My place is to follow the rules established for my own good.

This is an all encompassing role. It's not just about sex. My husband, for example, bought me a box of Haigh's chocolate truffles but told me that I must gain his permission before I eat one. They sit unopened on the shelf.

'Are there any truffles left?' he asked several nights ago.

This is where we were at. He'd give a directive but if I disobeyed there would not really be a consequence. This doesn't work for me. It defeats the sense of control. I really do need to know that what he says, he means.

It's hard, he has said, to be 'Johnny on the spot'. He means, he has to live with me and within a family environment and exercising the amount of control I am asking for has seemed too hard under the circumstances. But, circumstances from now on are allowing for time alone and that's a big part of what has been the missing ingredient.

If I can't eat a chocolate without permission, then I can't eat a chocolate without permission, and if cake is banned, well, cake is banned. I was the one who asked for help losing weight after all. Anyway, I'd rather experience control than eat cake or chocolate. Put that way, the decision is easy.

Kinky sex

I've been feeling different lately, as if there is change afoot that I don't have any control over; movements in my psyche that are so subtle that I can't quite 'catch' them. It could be related to the fact that I have some seasonal hayfever and thus feel a bit 'out of it'. It could be that my days have been a bit different lately in that I have had an opportunity to catch up with life in the past week or two and so have had more time to 'think'. Or, it could be that I really am changing.

Not everything has altered. I still have all the same sorts of fantasies and daydreams as usual. I'm still remarkably helpless in them; subject to the whims of authority figures, and those people aren't getting any more leniant. Yesterday, to make sure that I understood that there was nowhere to run to, the Master in charge of the 'bimbo school' suggested to my father that he whip me soundly before my father left me there, so that I understood that what happened at that institution was at his behest. There was nobody who didn't want me well trained, and strictly disciplined. There was certainly no place to turn for some leniency.

My practices haven't altered either. In fact, they are more 'set in stone' than ever. I don't do what I do at anybody's behest. I just happen to sleep better, for one thing, with an anal plug in place. I feel more 'grounded' that way. All those sorts of practices are so ingrained that I simply handle those things myself with barely a 'dominant' word spoken at all. It's akin, I suppose, to a dominant wanting a girl to wear a corset, or to run daily. It's something that I do now without thinking about it or needing to be instructed.

Well, then, I can hear your mind asking, what has changed? Well, it is not just one thing. It didn't happen on Friday night with a bang, without some prior thought on the matter, but on Friday night I bought tickets for us to see John Turturro's Fading Gigolo and I absolutely loved it. I adored the music, a big part of the feel of the film. There was no power exchange involved. There certainly was no spanking or overt (rough) control, though there was a little kink. Sharon Stone and Sofia Vergara wanted a three-some with Fioravante, as you do.

The really sexy thing about the film is that Fioravante is such a caring, sensitive, non judgmental dude. He knows what a woman wants. He can sense it and he goes about giving it to her, whether it is wild, orgasmic sex or simply soft caresses. He's got that special antenna for a woman's needs and he knows how to make a woman feel beautiful. He provides the safety to allow her to release her fears and unleash her vulnerability. He allows her to be fully present with him, to release inhibitions and to trust him. He's quiet; contained; a little mysterious. He's just right, and I almost went to see it again alone today. He's that special.

I've been known for enjoying degradation and my demise. The fantasies tell me that nothing has changed here. I still do get great joy, pleasure and release from such situations. However, I think there is a proviso on that. Just because I love that and crave that doesn't mean that I don't want to feel beautiful, don't want to be told that I am beautiful and don't want to feel that I am cared for. Call it 'after care', perhaps. Or, consider the fact that before I can "unleash the vulnerability" I need to know that all is well in the relationship. I need to feel that special something that enables a woman to feel safe. If that's missing, so is the desire really; the desire to get lost in that space.

For a while there, I felt that I needed to be a sort of 'pin up' type of woman. I didn't always feel myself. I struggled a bit with my own look and the sort of clothing that suited my life. On one level it felt great to have something of a dress code, but more and more I've felt the desire to return to a look that is simply my own. The good part is that all those items in my wardrobe that didn't make me feel good have gone. There's nothing left that is too conservative or, on the flip side, too young for me. What's left is clothing that works for me, on any given day and for any particular event. This includes some pants.Yes, it is just a few pairs of pants that hang in my wardrobe, but they make an appearance on a winter Saturday morning when I'm on the way to watch a soccer game or to have some breakfast with family. I'm no longer trying to fit into some male image of what a woman with a healthy libido looks like. I'm just operating from my own sense of myself and what works for me in my life.

In their heart of hearts, no matter the denial that may paper over such thoughts, every woman wants to feel beautiful. Every woman wants a man to tell her she looks beautiful. It's not so much what she wears, or the number of kilos or pounds that she carries, but the love she feels in her heart; that inner glow that comes when a woman feels wonderfully engaged with a man (or a woman); when he fulfils her and adores her and wants her. Erotic experiences do this for a woman. It's deeply and profoundly sustaining to be shaken to one's core; to be reduced to a wild female beast of a woman; to be fucked. A woman simply can't wipe the smile off her face when that happens. I know when I am most happy. I am most happy when this happens. I feel most at one when this happens. The only question on my mind is, 'when can it happen again?' 'When I do get to feel this alive again?'

So...maybe it's not kink that I so very much want to be a part of. Maybe, I don't so much need to be controlled. Maybe, I just want to feel my sexiest best. Maybe, I just want to be truly fucked. Or, maybe that's too simplistic an answer for a woman as "complicated" as me. As I said, it is just a thought; not at all sure if it a passing one or if something is more permanently afoot. Time will tell.

Thoughts about 'Le Weekend'

I listened to Hanif Hareishi speak on the radio recently. Immediately, I was itching to see the film he had written which has just been released here - 'Le Weekend'. Nick and Meg, a couple from London, around 60 years old I'd say, have decided to celebrate their 30th wedding anniversary in Paris.

We're given endless visual clues as to their relationship before they have exchanged words.  On the Eurostar it is clear they are very much a couple, able to predict what the other is thinking. There's closeness there, for sure, but there is also an unnerving frustration with one another. When Nick starts to feel around his body Meg assures him he has the Euros, in an exasperated 'I knew you would do that' sort of way. When Meg catches a glimpse of the hotel Nick has booked (she did say she wanted to return to the hotel they'd stayed at many years ago) her disappointment is clear.

When Nick is unable to secure a room that is not "beige" she simply hails a taxi, leaving Nick scampering after her before she sails off in the taxi without him. One immediately gets the feeling that Nick is trying to satisfy Meg, but it is no easy task.  One also gets the feeling that Nick's best years are (he's a Professor who has not published...) behind him. "Ohhh, Meg, don't do this," he calls out after her. The thing about their relationship is that it is always on the knife's edge. We just don't know, and they just don't know, which way it is going to go.

It's this understanding of 'opposites' in the writing that makes it so watchable as a movie I think. Love can turn to hate and back to love within seconds. Frustration is just a hair's breath away from enthusiasm. Their emotions, the atmosphere and the course of this weekend changes direction endlessly. One example that springs to mind is their choice of a restaurant for their first lunch.

It's abundantly clear that Nick will be happy with anything that makes Meg happy and as they go about their search,  a passing parade of restaurants, Meg announces what is wrong with them. "Too modern" On they walk. "Too empty" On they walk. "Too touristy." On they walk, and so on, until Meg announces that they have found the right one. I recall Hareishi stating in the interview that he wanted to explore various topics, like intimacy, but he wanted to make it light; for it to be funny. I saw many moments such as these very funny, more funny than the audience at large, but maybe that's because my husband and I have done similar things; searched for the perfect restaurant overseas in a similar way. Haven't all couples done similar things?

What is also interesting about the writing is what happens when a third character is introduced. Morgan is a media-star academic from the States who has looked up to Nick as something of a mentor. They meet on the street by chance at a moment when Nick and Meg are being very affectionate. Morgan (played by Jeff Goldblum) invites them to dinner the following evening to celebrate the publishing of his new book. Morgan has plenty of money, a beautiful apartment and a lovely new wife who is pregnant.

When Nick and Meg take their first glance of the chic living room filled with 'the beautiful people' (academics and publishers) I mistakenly think they are enthralled at the possibilities of what the evening might bestow. Every guest has a major achievement of one kind or another to his name. In fact, they are both profoundly uncomfortable and seek out independently the most private corners of the apartment they can find.

It's when Nick is befriend by Morgan's young adult son in his bedroom that we learn that all is not entirely perfect in Morgan's world. His former wife tried to kill herself when her husband left them and although Morgan buys his son airline tickets to visit he is uncomfortable when they are in the same room. When Nick discusses with Morgan how he felt about leaving his wife he glosses over.  "She adores me," he says of the new wife. "Doesn't everyone want to be adored?" And moments later, "but she will see through me eventually." Wow. Such insecurity and vulnerability on display. There's a superficiality on display as well that makes Meg and Nick's relationship, their durability, seem wholesome and right by comparison, in spite of all the cracks.

At the end there's some kind of vague coming together, if you will. It allows you to leave the cinema without a sense of doom. There's hope for a future together without so much angst and "fury", as Meg puts it. Yet, I can't quite reconcile the sexual side of things. A comment by Nick about Meg's vagina makes it clear she hasn't wanted to be touched in years and although there is the odd stray kiss and rub, their sexuality is frozen. Nick only wants and has only ever wanted one woman, his wife, but Meg seeks more - to do things she hasn't done, whether that is to take up tango dancing and leave her teaching job, to have the thrill of leaving the restaurant by the back without paying the bill, or whatever pleases her. In fact, she has gone slightly mad in this process, buying items and meals she can't afford and putting them "on the room". "Its my mantra," she says to the sales assistant in the clothing store at the hotel.

In some senses, the whole situation is an aberration. She has major flaws and so does he. Life isn't ideal for either of them but they are deeply bonded, not just by history and their children, but by some deep mechanism that no other man or woman can put asunder. No-one else has a real chance of breaking their union, now or ever, because they both have strong doses of empathy for one another, and they both have a sense of humor about life and about one another. You just know they won't part.

Personally, watching their relationship unfold on the screen left me a little depressed. I deplore with every bone in my body the thought of aging without a sense of sensuality and sexuality in my life. Meg's "fury" relates to that, in my opinion. She wants a sexual relationship. She's simply allowed  and Nick has also allowed things to get in their way. They argue over whether they should allow their adult son to return to the family home with the wife and baby when this should be their time.  If Nick really wants Meg, then why would he allow it, her mind seems to be asking. Is she also asking herself, I wonder, if he really wants me then why isn't he more forceful about it??

If you really think about this film (if you do see it) Nick doesn't enable a situation where Meg can follow his lead and Meg doesn't allow Nick the opportunity to lead. Meg chooses the restaurants, places to go, exploits they get up to and the sexual tension or lack thereof. She says she is nodding off to sleep when he suggests sex. She attempts a scene where he is on his knees and looking up her skirt, only to walk away and thus humiliating him. She buys all the goods and services they can't afford and he just goes along. Though, he does do the damage to the hotel wall. This is indeed his stunt and she voices no alarm about it.

It's only when she hurts him by mistake and draws blood that he tells her in a deep, no-nonsense voice to show him her breasts. She complies immediately. She looked to me like she liked that instruction and enjoyed the tinge of fear in the air when he was cross with her. But, they didn't explore this dynamic further; were too comfortable in their frustration with one another to do that.

Ultimately though the third party allows Nick and Meg to join forces again. When all seems lost and it seems we can't go any lower she remembers and shares something - a conversation on the phone with Nick recently when she was laughing and engaged and her friend thought it must be a lover, certainly not her husband. She saves the day this time just as he saves the day at other moments. In this way, the relationship is wonderfully balanced.

In a sense, the frustration is directed not so much at one another as at life. When did they grow old? When did they use up their youth? Why can't they have fun; laugh; be frivolous; ridiculous; irresponsible? As they have shared life's journey so too will they share old age; sometimes angry; sometimes frustrated; sometimes empathic; sometimes loving one another and sometimes hating one another. It will go on. There is no other alternative for their love. Wonderful writing and fabulous acting throughout the movie. If only such a film for grown ups were not such a rarity.

Pervert to pervert

The three couples had agreed to meet and when Veronica and her husband arrived the other two couples were ensconced on the veranda of the Club, overlooking the immaculate tennis courts and gardens. It was a beautiful, balmy evening, not in the least crowded, unexpectedly, and there was a sense of privilege in the air. As she walked up the back steps leading to the verandah she heard Marcus's deep, booming voice and knew immediately where her friends were seated. She and her husband walked directly to them.

"Did you bring The Herald?" he asked them, a stab at their being late.

They gave their apologies, as was appropriate, and Marcus offered his acceptance of the excuse by way of a remark.

"Come here, gorgeous, sit by me."

It was evident to her that he was in a playful mood, and she was happy to concur; to feed him.

Conversation ensued; the type of conversation that happens amongst three couples that know one another well, but not well enough to talk on topics other than the superficial. The conversation rambled easily from topic to topic, never staying too long on any one topic; nothing meaty or consequential; as anticipated.

A restaurant was mentioned and Marcus noted that he wouldn't go back. It was okay; the food was fine but the restaurant was too loud, he said.

The irony was too much for her. Whilst the others changed topic, yet again, she turned her body and looked directly into his eyes.

"It was too loud for you?"

"Yes."

"It was too loud for you?"

"Yes."


"As I walked up the stairs just now, I knew exactly where you were seated because I could hear your voice so very clearly above all the other voices, but the restaurant was too loud for you?"

Their eyes met. She was enjoying herself.

"You are very cheeky. You have always been very cheeky."

She started to giggle. Appetizer had arrived. Thank God, for she was starving.

"You're naughty. You're a very naughty girl. I can tell."

She was loving this and she giggled her head off.

"How can you tell?"

"It's that glint in your eye. I know a naughty girl when I see one."

"Ohhhh, really??"

The restraint he was using was palpable to her.

"I have such a strong desire to spank you. I'd love to put you over my knee right here, right now."

"You do?"

She was being provocative. She was loving the threat, but she was also weighing up the slight possibility that he was bolshy enough to do it; praying that his wife's presence would stop him dead.

"I'd love to spank your bottom. I know you'd love it."

"I would?"

"You know you would, you little tart. You don't fool me."

She was a mass of giggles, amazed that they'd shared this dynamic without the slightest clue that the others cared a dolt. Whatever they were talking about, it mattered not to them that the two of them were engrossed in a tete a tete.

That they would engage in a sexual dalliance was completely out of the question. It was never going to happen. That they knew one another's natures and enjoyed this game was something they both understood. To know a pervert you have to be a pervert and they were certainly both that.

Power exchange perfection

Arousal is a very personal thing and what I have discovered about myself is that I am profoundly aroused by having a relationship such that my compliance is under absolutely no doubt. It's more than an agreement that we'll both be happy in a power exchange arrangement. My arousal comes from the man wanting and taking from me what pleases him.

Of course, whatever is decided is a negotiation, of sorts, but negotiations are such a turn on for me, that push and pull, that I'm never sure if what I've agreed to is what I really want or what I want because the other wants it. It's a desire to please, yes. It's a challenge, which I love. But, that the other has declared his hand and demanded something of me, for himself and his own pleasure (even if it revolves around my own ultimate pleasure) is so delicious for me. I adore the deviousness of it. I revel in the exchange of power, but more importantly in him taking charge. To enjoy the bitter, there must be sweet, of course, but I really like a bit of evil in a man; that arrogance to insist on having what he wants regardless of what I think.

There are two aspects of power exchange, I think - the everyday and the erotic. My husband is loving but firm. If we have cross words (meaning: if he growls at me) it is because he feels I have forgotten my place. "You forget yourself" is the expression he will use. Or, "If you want to make the decisions, you're with the wrong man." He's firm and demanding and whilst it is incredibly frustrating to find myself in trouble for the simplest misspeaking of words, I do recognize how our marriage works well and also that I have no chance of changing it. There's a certain arousal for me in this arrangement. I do appreciate a strong man in my life. He provides me with challenge; maybe too much challenge at times because I have so often had to bend to his will and to look at the world through his eyes. Sometimes, it just seems easier to keep some of my thoughts to myself, and I do. Still, as I go about my life I know where I stand. There's no negotiation here. I bend to his will or we're both unhappy. That's the everyday aspect of power exchange - how things go minute by minute.

Even on the everyday level, I see opportunities for a more interesting and arousing life. Yes, I keep him happy doing things his way and providing him with what he wants. But, I think the everyday can provoke arousal with compliance of a different sort. I'd actually love it if he were, for example, to tell me he wants me in bed with the lights out by, say, midnight at the latest. Not only that, I'd love it if he saw to it that I complied. I don't think these are the sorts of things he wants to do. He certainly doesn't do them, which is a shame because I think it would bring us closer.

When I think about my ideal power exchange  relationship I think of a model of loving dominance. I want to be absolutely clear about who leads just as I have always been clear about that, but as well I'd love it if the dominant made it clear about rules and rituals he wants. A bedtime makes sense to me (I'm often overtired from lack of sleep since there is no flexibility in the time I must get up most days) and I'd like some supervision about a few other things as well - an exercise regime, for example or some expression of interest as to the way I dress, or what color he prefers. I'd love to have things picked out for me or just for him to express his desires.

I'd like to feel that my dominant was there to guide me as to what is good for me but also according to his wants. Perhaps he wants to be kissed good morning or kissed good evening in a certain way, or perhaps he wants some other specific thing to which I could attend. When you feel loving and are just adoring your submissive role you want to fuss over the other a bit - whatever would make them happy. It's such a natural thing for me to do - to help others and make them happy - that providing this sort of service for the dominant and giving him pleasure makes me very happy.  Somehow, I see this service as incorporated within the erotic components of the power exchange because if there is no or very little eroticism, my pleasure in these daily acts of kindness and compliance is much, much less. In fact, they become more like chores, and I hate that feeling. It's the feeling that you are being taken for granted and no-one likes that feeling.

With regards to the erotic component of power exchange my very strong preference is to have no say in the matter whatsoever. I like for all such decisions to be made for me. Whilst it isn't erotic per se yesterday morning my husband was waking me after a long sleep (for me) asking if I'd like to go out for breakfast. I mumbled I would. I was delighted he had taken the initiative. From there he started asking me would I like things - would I like a spanking before we left, for example.This simply throws me into confusion. Why do I have to decide these things? He saw the dilemma via my silence. "You really do hate being given choices, don't you," he said. Yes, I do. If you want to spank me, then go ahead. If you don't, then I'll do without, but please don't expect me to make these sort of decisions myself. That's how I feel about it.

Thus it is with all erotic/sexual/sensual decisions. Sure, consultation is much appreciated but Dominants have a way of leading you to their wants and decisions anyway so it's obvious I am going to agree. From there, it's all about compliance and the firmer the demand to comply, the more I sense the non-negotiability of the situation, the more aroused I am, the safer I am, the happier I am. What is difficult about this to understand? I. do. not. want. any. control.

I wonder, are there any men out there who like the sound of this? Is it too much? Is my desire to give up control and to put control in the hands of a dominant too much? Is it too much to expect to serve sexually regularly, to be dominated with the best of intentions; for me to interpret that dominance as care; to be adored for wanting this? In my ideal world my man would shower me with kisses on a daily basis for being the woman that I am. Wouldn't that be divine!

Wanting no control

When I am immersed in activities of the mind, using every ounce of intellect I have to create a piece of writing that appeals to academics, I can hunger for some time when I must make absolutely no decisions. When the opportunity comes I grab onto it, luxuriating in the experience of simply following instructions - instructions that are designed for my pleasure (and challenge).

What is hard becomes easy. It doesn't matter what the expectation is for whatever it is I go about filling it. The instruction doesn't pass through my mind but rather 'the bimbo' hears the instruction and immediately, without any thought at all, fulfills it.

Maybe, I know that I can be delivered from excruciatingly boring thought; or from my own expectations of excellence, or from having to climb one more intellectual mountain. Maybe, my mind has been trained to obey. Maybe, I equate challenge and obedience with pleasure.

It's so wonderful to feel myself for these times; to let go of societal expectations to be a certain way. How ironic, it seems to me that the 'postmodern' society paints us into boxes that it is meant to free us from. If I want to be controlled; to give up control; to let go of the role of 'emancipated female' then why  can't I?

It drives me up the wall that it is I that is seen as old-fashioned or behind the times when I am simply arguing for the right to express myself and my desires; to be myself. They aren't other people's desires; simply my own. I ask no-one to change. I ask for respect of my desire to give up control rather than have more.  Who knew the 'postmodern' society could be so constricting?
 

The power exchange dynamic

No matter how well trained we are or how disciplined we are or how accommodating we are, there are going to be moments when things don't go as well as one would like, and I think an exploration of those difficult moments enables one to gauge the dynamic and see just how it works.

In some weeks or even months now I have only had one difficult day. It happened about two weeks ago now. To set it up, it was the first day of the last term of the academic year. I was under some pressure. My husband had wanted to stay an extra day in the country, which was fine except that it put me in a situation where I had to scramble to get in an academic task by the deadline of midnight that same day, and my son was in a similar boat.

So, on the Tuesday when I awoke I was tired (we'd done a lot of physical work in the past three days) and possibly I was not emotionally prepared for the tasks ahead of me - getting sons to train/school etc. How about I got ready fast, my husband suggested as I crawled out of bed, and we'd take the boy to school and then I could drop him off to the office in town on my way to the market?

It set me off. I said something along the lines of "All you have to do is prepare yourself. I have responsibilities and I can't get ready for the day right now. I can't guarantee I will be ready by 8.15 am." Something like that. I was clearly not myself because he came out to the kitchen and offered to take the boy to the train but I declined that offer. Anyways, he can do a good job of cajoling me in such a mood and I can do a decent job of recovering from a setback and we were on our way to the city bright and early with me driving. All good.

We weren't far from home, going around the edge of a park when it was obvious I had to stop. Two enormous trucks had entered the narrow street and I couldn't pass. My husband was immediately agitated and started barking orders about what I was to do about it. I was agitated that he was barking orders. In such a situation it pays to stay very quiet but as I have explained in some detail already, I hadn't woken up in the most bimbo of moods. I didn't really understand what he wanted me to do in the dilemma until I gathered he wanted me to reverse into a driveway as he was beckoning both the truck drivers on.

So, once I could follow what he wanted me to do, and I accept that I was probably making the odd suggestion of my own which isn't something I usually do, I backed into the driveway. However, he was continuing to freak out, and I could only think that somehow, if it is really possible to do so, I was backing into the driveway wrong.

So the trucks moved, we passed, I went into silent mode biting my bottom lip in order to settle myself and he continued to rant on about what I had done wrong, how I hadn't listened and so forth. He's good at recognizing what he did later in the day these days but in the spur of the moment he can remain defensive and he continued to defend how that all had gone down. I stayed as silent as I could but he goads me to talk in these situations and ultimately I said something like "You are all grown up now. You have to learn to get control of your emotions!" Anyways, he was ready to settle down but I wasn't and when I let him out in town he wanted it all to be settled, but all I could manage was "Look, we're sweet, I really have to get out of the bus lane now."

Once I was on my own I headed to a cafe and had a strong black coffee and settled myself: sent a cajoling text, because I did recognize that there is a way to handle these situations and that wasn't it. Later in the day he sent one back and later that night he suggested that I probably haven't been spanked enough; that spankings settle me. Duh!

I've explained endlessly that I talk with someone about my submissive side and that our conversations always have a particular pattern. I'm on the bottom. On this day, I wouldn't say that I was dominant at all but I was very unsettled at the beginning, middle and end of it. I suggested that I sensed something was up with him. What a classic case of transference of which I was completely unaware!!It was me that was unsettled; me that was feeling particularly guilty.

He was slow in his responses, probably sitting there in front of his electrical device thinking "What the f...?". I must say he did a sterling job of keeping his wits about him, ensuring that I understood that he wasn't going to budge or allow me the slightest leeway in the dynamic we share. Ultimately he accused me of not following the guidelines as laid out (How does he know???) and bid me a good afternoon. The guilt was super thick now; embedded into the brain.

I sat there for a bit, wondering how the hell this day had gone so wrong. Then, I did what I know to do pretty well these days. I pulled my socks up, got back to bimbo business as I know to do, got on with my daily tasks both in and outside of the house, made dinner and prepared myself to be charming, gracious, obedient and in my place again. That worked. That suits everybody.

I thought about all this and recognized that I don't have control and nor do I want control. I'm not necessarily that nice when I have more control than suits me. My relationships don't work that way, and they certainly don't work well for me that way. I pondered. What if I'd got the upper hand in these situations that day? What if either one of them, or both of them had not prevailed? What a total mess that would be; what an unmitigated disaster!!

A great deal of my 'training' has been learning about how to interact with a dominant man and I would suggest that the best way to do that is with a great deal of intelligence, restraint, discipline and respect. Apologies are sometimes in order on either or both sides of the coin. I'm not suggesting anything different but I am noting that a dominant must ensure he prevail. Control is paramount for the good order of the relationship.

Writing to learn what we have to say

My grandmother on my mother's side had eight children. She lost two of them - one to a road accident and the other to cancer. I have a strong memory of hearing her say that her dream would be to live in a lighthouse. I imagined she meant that people weren't likely to travel to the lighthouse and climb all those stairs and thus she'd be able to spend some time on her own.

I had a very strong relationship with her. She tried to teach me about Catholicism. She'd put my hair in rags to create a head of curls. When I stayed with her in the city where she ran a business she'd take me to the best department store and tell the woman in charge of the handkerchief counter that her grand daughter required a dozen new handkerchiefs. I'm not sure if she meant to but she trained me to have a discerning eye for quality items.  Most of all, she was available to talk to me and to a  child that is worth gold.

I've been required to write a short story and I chose to write about my parents before they got married. Interestingly, I included my grandfather into the story but there is no mention of my grandmother. Well, she was not integral to the story plot, you see. It was not an easy story to write but ultimately the theme of the story took shape. I explore the notion that those who have had some sort of a similar experience in earlier life may be well suited to harmonious matrimony.

As well, I wanted to say something about education in that era. I wanted to demonstrate how there were (are?) so many other ways to have a happy and successful life than to be educated and to have a professional life. I wanted particularly to say something about doing things well - that no matter what a person does, the important thing is to do it well and to the best of one's ability. I didn't know that was what I wanted to say until the story finally took shape. This is the writing process sometimes. We write to find out what we want and need to write.

To return to where I began in this writing moment of mine, I desperately need time alone, just like my grandmother. As I sit here on Monday morning at the end of the dining table the dull and dreary weekend has been overtaken by life-giving sunshine streaming down onto the papers beside me, casting shadows on the keys over which I spread my fingers.

My troubled mind is settling. I'm not exactly 'at peace' but I feel calm. I ask myself what set me off. What rattled me so?  My needs are not dissipating with age. My lust remains strong. My desire for connection is as strong as it has ever been. I yearn for physicality. I use my plugs because I must. They provide me a strong and immediate source of comfort. My body and mind were designed for use. I was meant to be submissive to a loving dominant. I desire guidance and support. I long for someone to maintain my sense of stability with his assurances that all is under control regardless of which way the winds blow. I look to rise up. I want to percolate up in a bubble of pleasure and joy - delighted to be alive on this day with this man.

In my marriage vows I said "for better, for worse". This is what we as people do. We marry with hope in our hearts that we will go on loving and being loved until the last day. My determination to honor my vows are currently at odds with my spirit's need to rise up and to seek succor; serenity. It is all boiling down, it seems to me, to my husband's ability to join me in seeking the sun. I cannot remain in some Scottish lair; the bog. I wither there. My spirit is trapped there. I must rise up and smell the roses. He is welcome to come with me but he must know, categorically so, that it is simply not possible for me to sit in the mud any more. If necessary, I will save myself.

Setting the scene

I'm trying to evoke the essence of a power dynamic between a couple for the screen. I'm trying to explain how at first the man has the power in the relationship but that when he has a setback the balance of power moves to her. Whilst at first it was fun to have him all to herself the gloss of that wears off. She's not happy and neither is he.

He recognizes that things are amiss between them and within him and he decides that he can't wait for the doctors to get him off his lithium or to reduce the dose. So, he takes matters into his own hands and plays with the dosage himself.

It works. His libido is back; big time, and more than that, he's asked his girl what she wants, she's told him and now he is pushing the point.

Suddenly, she has information that he's not going to stop when she demands it, necessarily. He's going to take over, force her to admit what she really wants and do what he wants after that. There's that between them now, even if it never happens again. The power has shifted back.

The sex is great. They're both ravenous. It's happening in every room, on every surface; multiple times a day.

He is struggling to stay on top of his condition without the full dosage.  The change in dosage is causing him to finish people's sentences. He's becoming just a little bit manic. But, hey, the sex is great and that's what is important. They're marvelously happy.

They marry and already on the honeymoon there's an incident and the facts must be faced. He's mentally ill, needs his full dose and depression kicks in.

She wants them to get on with their lives. That's what young people do, right - get on with their lives?  She wants a nice apartment in New York City, even if he can't afford it; even if her parents mostly pay.

He starts to feel more like the wife than the husband, he tells her. It's not going to work. And, so he finds the courage to end it - to leave her and allow them both the freedom to move on with their lives in their own ways.

You might say that this story is about all sorts of things but I see it through the lens of power and what the illness does to the subtle balance of that power; what the relationship can't withstand; what it might have withstood if the girl had been willing to hand over more power to a man who had a condition that had to be managed; that left him with limited arousal, but who was a natural leader with perhaps permanent incapacity to lead.

She wanted the healthy and virile husband but felt forced to provide some forward momentum when he was stuck. In fact, she wanted the life she had anticipated whilst he came to understand that his life wasn't going to go that way; he wasn't going to measure up in her eyes, or in his eyes, either. He needed to find a new way to live and that meant going solo.

What I am finding is that I don't have a lot of words to describe this when we are talking about a screen script. I've got to say, by using dialogue and setting up scenes, how that power exchange between them ebbs and flows and why it is so imperative to the success or failure of the relationship. I'm really reaching into the pits of my limited talents to achieve this...

Control

In the past several days I've been observing my husband; watching him and thinking about him; looking for patterns; when he is most and least comfortable; what pleases him; what makes him anxious; what frustrates him.

I thought about his life as a whole. We were born in the same year and I found myself thinking about my childhood in comparison with his childhood. He grew up on a farm and he said to me as recently as this weekend how much he loved his young childhood, especially before he went away to school. He loved everything about it, really. He loved the machinery and the motor bikes; the herding of cattle and sheep; being with his father to do a chore outside or with his mother in the kitchen while they made scones or cakes or whatever was on the menu for that day.

My husband had a firm foot in both arenas of the farm. He is, at heart, an outdoor boy who revels in the countryside but at the same time, he loved his mother very, very dearly and his time with her was very precious to him. She took the children to horse shows on the weekends and we still have to this day the wad of ribbons that they won there. I think his father was demanding on a young lad who probably needed to take his time developing. As bright as he is, with a MBA from a prestigious learning institution, his early years at school were not particularly happy.

He lost his mother far too early in life to cancer and from there the issues only grew. He was forced to deal with a stepmother immediately; a lovely woman but no substitute for his mother, and very quickly he had step brothers and sisters who demanded the attention of their parents. He was forced to grow up very quickly and accept responsibility for himself, which he did.

We met at university; in college, where we were both boarding. He claims that I seemed a bit arrogant but I think he quickly realized that it wasn't arrogance; it was shyness and introversion. Anyway, he seemed different to the other boys I had ever met and I liked that he was assertive and that he could make plans for us as well as settle me down if I was upset or insecure.

From the absolute very beginning of our relationship he worried about the farm, his father, his marriage, their children and what would become of them and when, in final year, he decided on a career, he chose a path that would enable him, all going well, to make good money. He took responsibility for them very seriously and long after we married and had children of our own he continued to worry, to consult with them and to support them.

We were both very open with one another that we wanted a family. Having only one sibling two children seemed right to me but my husband wanted four children and that is, in fact, (surprise, surprise!) what happened.

We grew up in an era where two parents going out to work was a choice that not everybody made. When we had our first child there was precious little spare cash, but when push came to shove, I couldn't leave my son. I tried Early Childhood Learning Centers, of course, but it was all so hopeless. He'd cry when I'd leave and I told my boss that I couldn't do it. He wasn't a fan of mothers of young children working, and we agreed it wasn't worth it; not for the money; not for the stress and guilt.

Another child was on the way soon after that, we moved overseas, another child came along, we moved back home and then the last was born here. If I had wanted to go out to work (and some days I truly did!) I couldn't. There was so much work and so many people who needed to be attended to. It was best, we felt, for him to attend to creating money while I attended to keeping us all happy, well and thriving.

There's absolutely no doubt that he shouldered the responsibilities of creating wealth. A large family is a very expensive proposition these days and he wanted them to have the education we had; at private schools; the best. It doesn't come cheap, especially not in the past decade.

Added to his responsibilities, towards his extended family and to us, came a deep need to prove himself. When things happen early on and a doubt is seeded in the mind, there is a need to prove yourself and my husband yearned for success for more reasons than procuring cash. He's not an indulged person and nor does he need that much. He does need to be immersed in exciting ventures and ideas and he needs success as an indicator to his family and himself that he has overcome the battles.

My husband often talks about being passionate; that to achieve you need to have passion; to immerse yourself in something with a never-say-die approach. He believes that obstacles can be overcome and even if you aren't good at something that shouldn't stop you. He believes that people should do things not necessarily because they enjoy them but because they need to be done. He has a strong work ethic and when engaged, my husband puts 100% of himself into the task.

I confess what my husband is passionate about often leaves me cold. I can be frustrated at a decision by the Government but he almost takes it personally. One night last week, we happened, the children and I, to raise our protest at language being used by other political leaders to describe the Prime Minister and therein ensued a debate so lively that I shudder to think what the sweet mathematics tutor in the next room thought of our behaviour. He is passionate about life; he has strong opinions, to the point where I said to our our oldest son as he and I  washed up, "No more politics now. That's out as a topic of family conversation!" and he agreed.

With this much sense of responsibility; this much passion for life, science, medicine, politics; what have you; of wanting to achieve and have success;  I wonder if I must accept that my husband, whilst loving me dearly, doesn't need to find and express his passion in me.

Of course, he sometimes does. There are cycles and he returns to me, but the thought of topping me regularly, or organizing me or giving me rules or even playing with me regularly is, I think, another responsibility that is one too much in his life, and in his head.

It is important to remember where we started. When we started our lives together, he was much the same as he is now. He hasn't changed. Nor, have I changed. It was lonely for me from the outset. I always knew that something was missing, that my needs weren't being met, but I didn't know how to put them into words that he understood. He would praise me to others, explaining how I had my own interests and how we didn't encroach on one another. He seemed so content with the arrangement whereas I was just confused.

Well, eventually, as you may know by now, I explained myself in its entirety to him and he certainly enjoyed the path that I took him on and on occasions, when the cycle comes around, he still does. But, he'll never be one to give me rules or ensure that rules are followed or aid my submissive nature that way. He can give me wonderful experiences but he can't give me that owned feeling, day by day.

Now, I have lost much sleep over this dilemma because as I allowed my submissive nature air and expressed my needs, over which I have little control, the desire for more and more control grew. For me, it's not something that I can express from time to time and thrive. My nature is with me around the clock. I needed to think very carefully about what to do; I needed some resolution of the dilemma in my mind.

Let me say, without a shadow of a doubt, leaving my marriage is out of the question. We are life partners and neither of us has any wish to bring to a close a partnership that has been a happy and fulfilling one.

Nor can I accept that I be put in the situation of asking each and every time I feel the need for some act of Dominance from him. I can't see how that is a functional suggestion and believe me, I have tried to take it on. In my opinion, either his desire to provide some form of control is there or it is not and if it is not, I see no point in manipulating that lack of desire or asking him to artificially turn it on on my behalf.

Rather, it seems to me, it is better to accept my husband with the nature that God and circumstances gave him and to trust that the wheel will turn; that we will again, as we have thousands of times before, have experiences that feed my submissive soul.

In an ideal world, given what I know now about myself, yes, of course, I'd be with a man who relishes controlling me, but few of us live in an ideal world and I can't waste my life wishing for something that I can't have. Nor, can I have any assurance that this outcome isn't what it was always meant to be. How can I know for sure that if I had waited long enough to marry to know my true self that I hadn't fallen into the hands of someone who ultimately did me harm? How can I know that this is not the path that was intended for me in this life?

Along the way, I learned strategies that aid me, day by day, enormously. The bimbo mindset, the anal training, the communion with my self all soothe my soul. I still have moments of divine peace and fulfillment. I still am happily married. I enjoy my life. I have wonderful friends. I'm lucky that way.

Dracula and his victim

In  a power exchange there is the possibility for an infinite amount of control; an infinite amount of transformation. Once the trust is established and secured there is endless opportunity to explore the energy created from giving to another and taking from another.

An article I read recently about Dracula referred to "an uncanny collaboration between vampire and female victims" and those words spoke to me because it isn't true that one person takes and the other gives in some neat formula. The word "collaboration" is what is important here.

When I first read about submission I took umbrage at the word 'service'. I'd been serving my family's needs for quite some time on an hour by hour basis so I didn't feel that my innate desire to express my submissive nature related to wanting to serve. To the contrary, my inclinations were to receive: to receive love, attention, affection. I'm not adverse to being spoiled.

I think I missed an important factor in the power dynamic there. When you burrow deep down into a sense of comfort in the dynamic the desire to serve, to please, to impress and to make happy abounds. It is simply there. This desire compounds and grows as the dynamic shifts into a smooth running gear; when the resistance is very low and one's place well understood, accepted and enjoyed.

This sense of wanting to please the other opens pathways previously unconsidered. I want to show that pathway and yet it is so difficult to demonstrate the process on a web journal page. The '"victim" discovers, to her surprise, that what the "vampire" wants is what she wants as well but I can't express that in any other way, I strongly suspect, other than with dialogue. Only the dialogue can express the perfect synergy of the vampire and his victim; the mutual feeding taking place.

The connection between them is so great that the two minds merge. The "victim" is reliant on the energy of the vampire and gives of herself freely. The giving of herself is, in fact, more than a gift; a sacrifice. She gives happily; readily; consistently. She gets off on giving not because she is the good submissive (although hopefully she has become that too) but because his darkest urges and desires have become her darkest urges and desires.

This is to imply that "Dracula" is dark (bad) and the "female victim" the light (good) - that one entity has influence over the other and undue influence at that. I've not a doubt that "Dracula" has powers of persuasion difficult for the female victim to ignore or deflect. She is drawn to him; helplessly. Yet, I'm not convinced that hidden below the surface of the "victim" is the not the already present desire to be fed off; the desire to be made to do Dracula's bidding. Perhaps it is possible that "the victim" lured Dracula to do his worst.  What would the feminist readings of this story make of that, I wonder. 

Doll dives deeper

It is a few years now since I was introduced to the notion that there was, perhaps, a dolly inside the girl; inside me. The notion immediately excited me, although I didn't necessarily understand exactly what that meant. But, I gravitated to it immediately and with the emergence and expression of each little new aspect of the doll, as I grew closer and closer to the feelings of the doll, I became happier. I have learned that there really isn't any aspect of embracing the doll into my life that I don't love. It makes me softer, more patient and understanding, more alive and very definitely, much more happy to feel my 'dollness' ever present in my life.

One aspect of the doll that I hadn't quite understood in a full and encompassing way until recently was that the doll is really always switched on, under the right regime. I'd understood that she understands that she was always to be ready for use, bur I hadn't fully understood that she may always be switched on herself (itself?); that she isn't necessarily ever in 'girl' mode; that the doll has to learn and understand that she (it?) has no choice but to accept the state of arousal 24/7 and to learn to work with that arousal; to work through it and to sleep through it; not at all an easy thing but a required thing and something that the doll eventually accepts as her way of life. I've learned that you can't fight it; you have to simply 'let go'.

The girl has to do real life girl things and there is no getting around that. But, the doll may be ever present in the girl's life and the mind of the girl may be aware of the doll inside her; aware of her sexuality, of her desire for control, of her acquiescence and of her constant readiness in mind and body to be taken.

I've been working away at incorporating this mindset into my life, at pushing the boundaries of my mind and my body and I find it a profoundly uplifting experience; one that makes my spirits soar. The more confined the doll feels, the more this woman floats. I think it must be that accepting myself for who I am has sustained me and allowed me to reach deep into my subconscious and embrace myself for all that I am. I have certainly never experienced such a coming together of my mind, body and spirit in any other way.

A friend yesterday told me of her sense of a lack of purpose in life at this time now that she is not working. I was sympathetic, of course, but the doll knows her purpose without a shadow of a doubt. Feeling myself and being able to express that entity, finding the deep sense of relaxation that that knowledge brings to my life is a priceless gift that I will always cherish.

I've no way of knowing how many dolls there are out there. I've come across only a handful of other examples in my life of this incredibly happy place for a woman in complete surrender; this deep deep need for use and for control. No doubt there are many others out there and yet it's clear I'm in a category all of my own with this web journal. I don't fit at all neatly into any category out there; not the spanking community, or DD or HoH. I've plenty of readers still and maybe they too are looking for a way into their doll, or perhaps they are doll makers who have a doll or want a doll.

The word 'objectification' doesn't terrify them or make them squirm for they know already, consciously or subconsciously, that this is how they want to feel too. One or two of these people have corresponded with me over time and it is always brilliant to read how two slightly odd (I know I am slightly odd!) people have come together to make a perfect fit. It always delights me. Dreams really can come true, if you are open to them.

Re-emergence

My husband went to see a doctor to whom he had been referred, a sort of "wellness" expert and he had a lot to say, apparently, about the brain being the "engine of the body" and how when we have worries, we need to empty the brain. We can do this is various ways, he said. It pays to have at least two people with whom to unload and it pays to journal. He wants people to write it all down and then, probably throw it away. In other words, a lot of garbled emotions are bound to come out, not suitable for the consumption of others and so, write it and then chuck it.

I haven't thought about my writing in this way. I have used the air waves to try to modulate what comes out of my mind via my fingers; to use the fact that others will read it to try to be clear headed and to try to not allow my emotions to get away with me.

Interestingly, lately I haven't felt that I can share my thoughts in quite the same way as I have done in the past. It's been a very tough year for me at home. My husband has been very unwell, but I see that, for the meantime at least, he's really much better. The emotional pain was better left alone; better that I handle it in my very personal way, which is fundamentally, to retreat into myself and to find my strength to live my life as best I could in the new way that presented itself to me. Without an "owner" at hand, I've just done the best I could on my own.

My husband has, quite suddenly, sprung to life. He wants to re-engage and he said to me this morning that I seem a bit removed. I don't mean for that to be the case. I guess it is my mind trying to process the new situation.

I enjoy being controlled. I've missed the dynamic between us a great deal.It's been harder than I dare put into words to not have that in my life and I had to retreat to a place in my mind where it was less painful for me; to live out my life nearly all this year as if our love was platonic. I understand that this isn't necessarily representative of the reality as it might be seen by him. He was ill and probably didn't see it as I saw it. But, for me it was a petit mal. I was in some sort of grief state and words spilled out onto the Internet, I decided, were not going to help.

If he is ready to re-connect with me in this way, obviously, I'm more than delighted. I tend to take a while to come right out of the burrow in trying times; never quite sure when the danger has passed. If it has passed, and he tells me this morning in clear language that it has passed, then I'm grateful and ready for the doll to come back down off the shelf and lose herself in the pleasure and joy of feeling all that lovely control. That has always been where I am happiest and most authentically myself.

Correction

Alas, there's still more assignments to be done. However, after 50 weeks straight of my academic course, I am getting close to a point where I get a bit of a rest. I come here to give myself some kinky inspiration to see me through a lot of rather verbose writing over the next few days. I really do need to connect with that part of me that must remain hidden to the rest of the world every day. Hence, I offer this photograph.

Here's what I love about it:

-  She's not completely naked. It somehow adds to the vulnerability and humiliation.
-  He has his shirt sleeves rolled up.
-  He's fully and formally dressed.
-  He's concentrating so hard.
-  He's got his whole body involved with the swing.
-  She's wincing already knowing what is to come.
-  The man reminds me of a young Al Pacino.
-   He's got her on her elbows so that her bottom is nice and high.

I'll leave you good folks to conjure up the scene this time but my money is on the fact that she'd been a little too cheeky and before he takes her out to the restaurant he needs to remind her of her place. A few stripes on her backside will ensure a much more enjoyable evening for him. It's really as simple as that.

 And so I return to the land of cultural theories. Whilst you are having your perverted fun, perhaps you'd be kind enough to spare a thought for me.