The next chapter of my life

 In my new life on my own, it's busy and involved, but I have made time to explore what my future might look like. I have a plan to simplify life so that I can engage as much as I would like with my family and take up opportunities as they come my way. I am not there yet, very much in the interim stage of sorting that out, but that's the plan. 

I am also committed not to wait for that day on the other side of this work to be happy. I make space every day for what some call 'a pocketful of happiness'. I am rarely triggered and seem to be jogging along in a relatively peaceful place the vast majority of the time.

I am aware of the advice of Peter Crone that we don't know what the future will bring. Will I ever have unconditional love again? Some other form of love again? Something else entirely? I don't know the answer to these questions and there's liberation in letting go of knowing. In other words, I do my best to dwell in the 'now'. I have no idea how I will manage to pull off all that has to be done, it's a truckload of responsibility I have never had before on my own, but I am kind of amazed at my ability to stay strong and centred through this storm.

In terms of embracing my erotic authenticity I have grown in leaps and bounds. It was pointed out to me that there is no specific time to consider a new partner or maybe just an erotic partner. It's not the easiest venture for me but nor is it impossible. I have embraced the fact that I have assets to offer in term of what I can bring to someone's life and that sort of inner confidence feels good.

It's a whole other way to view life. I have had my children; I have been married. I don't need to do that again and that offers up possibilities never thought of before. I am going slow, of course, but it's a nice thought that I might have a 'friend' to explore my inner passions. As I said, it's baby steps for now.

Sexual liberation

I went to a session recently where there was a panel of erotic/porn writers talking about their work. In their discussion there was talk of the institution of marriage and it was made clear that it was passe (imagine a mark above the e) to have female characters remain in, or return to, their marriages. Notions of women's sexuality had gone beyond that idea, they said. It almost felt wrong to remain committed to a relationship that was average when there was so much untapped potential out there, at least in terms of telling a story that involved women's sexuality.

Even Elizabeth Strout, author of The Burgess Boys, a self-confessed conservative woman from Connecticut, had some concerns about her character Helen, also a conservative woman from Connecticut whose husband has been unfaithful, accepting Jim back. Part of her, she said, wanted Helen to go out and grow.

Helen is very interesting actually because there's a paragraph in the book that alludes to Helen feeling uncomfortable about some other person having been found to have whips and rope and nipple clamps in their house. She's not being judgmental about them here. She's jealous, because thoughts have crossed her mind but she's put them aside; certainly not discussed them with Jim. And, here the exploration of Helen's sexuality remains; locked.

It's an important next stage of women's rights to live a full life, I think, this exploration of their abundant potential for sexual fulfillment. I cast no blame per se, for there is nothing to be gained by blaming anyone, but many the married woman has had a tepid sex life and that's no longer something that is seen as being acceptable or necessary.

This is all very personally interesting to me because if I allow my protagonist to go off and satiate her appetites (such as Emma in The Secret Lives of Emma), does she have an incentive to return to her marriage? Naturally, love, commitment, duty, family, a long past together and so on are important factors, but if she is sexually fulfilled in very new ways 'out there' can she return to what she already knows? Logic tells me that she can only return if what she is returning to has also grown; enlarged; transformed. Is it possible for both people in a marriage to grow such as they can complete one another again together? Is there acceptance of the notion that it is just as much about the two individuals as it as about the union of the two individuals? Are husbands ready to accept that?

As I see it, this generation is more savvy and more gun shy about marriage. They still want a lifetime partner, eventually. The desire for a mate seems to be hardwired into us, but they are in no rush and they seem to want to try out a lot of partners. You can say that the boys are in relentless pursuit of the next catch, but lots of girls want to play in this way. They aren't in a rush to settle down either, until they are, and then they want a man to commit to them, because that's the way life works on the whole. We understand the importance of family.

I do wonder and that's all it is, wondering, if men are struggling to keep abreast of the changes in thinking on relationships. If women are less prepared to put up with things, what then? I know that I'm very close to my elastic limit on the limitations I have put on myself - to put everybody else's needs ahead of my own; to be the 'support company' of the cadet unit, to be the reliable one who sends everybody else off fully equipped for a wonderfully fulfilling time. The support company is an essential part of the unit, of course, but where's the fun for them?

I'm smiling as I write this for I just remembered something. I was in my late 20s. My boss was twice my age and I was complaining that I got to stay in the office and mind the shop whilst he got to travel and have fun. "Well you go off with Kevin (the Chairman) to Sydney, then," he said. "Let's see how you  like that!" Of course, he knew I couldn't think of anything worse. The other side of the fence isn't necessarily as green as you might think, was his point.

Another time I said that it was all right for him. He was sitting on his side of the desk! "Well, let's change spots," he said, and he came and took my chair and I took his. He pretended to be me, always good for a bit of acting, was he, while I laughed away sitting in his big chair. Nope! I wasn't meant for that chair at all. He had made his point.

I don't want to manage the money, or make the trades, or wear the pants. That's not what I mean. I just don't always want to have to wait until every other member of the family has all their needs met before I can do what I want to do. I want for my wants to be as important as their wants. When I explore this thought with my husband I can see his mind processing the danger. "She's getting feisty as she ages," I can hear him thinking.

But, when you are surrounded by thoughts that women have rights - and not just to vote but to live a full and satisfying life in every way - it's impossible to not hear the call.  "Move over," we seem to be saying to men collectively. "Make some space!" "Listen to my fantasies, because I have a plentiful store and let's get on with the business of satisfying them!"

In my opinion, this is the tip of the iceberg and there is no going back. A woman has a bountiful libido; a rich and very naughty mental file of fantasies. This is the new message. The woman who wants to have her goals taken seriously has been with us for while. I have just been slow in insisting that mine be taken seriously.  But, the sexually liberated woman has arrived and look out, because she is not going away.

Curve ball

There's a strong erotic component to a power exchange; at least, there is for me. Without the erotic component firmly in place, the attraction for a power exchange relationship is not nearly as strong as it would otherwise be.  I mentioned a few posts ago that the idea of a professor who supported my efforts was attractive. The fantasy would be much more appealing however if he were deeply attracted and aroused by me and couldn't wait to bed me. I am perfectly happy to move from a professional stance to an erotic stance and back again and I can certainly handle both components in a fantasy, or in real life for that matter.

Sometimes, life isn't particularly erotic. People get sick and develop complaints that mean that their energy supplies may be zapped. They may feel achy and have muscle pain and their minds may not operate as sharply as they once did. There are all sorts of conditions where this may be the case: chronic fatigue syndrome to name just one such condition. When such a condition occurs there is no easy solution and life changes for a period of time.

When you are in a committed relationship such as I am, an honest to goodness 'for better or worse, in sickness and in health' relationship, the only question that needs to be answered is 'how do I help him best?'. One's own needs and desires must be put aside and somehow the power exchange that one entered into has to be modified. The boss is always the boss but how he operates may have to change for a time.

I don't know for sure if this is what is in the cards for me. It may be so and I am speculating how to best manage this period of my life if that were to be the case. I'm not a natural nurse. I like my family to be fighting fit. I like to be fighting fit. I need to find a state of mind wherein life may be slower and little may be achieved by him; a life wherein more responsibility must be born on my shoulders but with even more empathy and sensitivity than usually required on any regular given day.

Decision making is a potential area of great difficulty. Decisions are often his domain but if he didn't feel he wanted to make a decision on any given day, is there to be no decision or would he be willing to give some power to me? I can't imagine him doing so with any ease. Giving up control is something he wouldn't like no matter what the circumstances...

I've done a little reading to prepare myself. It's what I do. I like to be prepared. I've spend the past few weeks making a lot of suggestions and it seems that if there is no easy solution to the situation I have to stop doing that and instead ask how he is traveling today; accept that some days will be much better than others; find my peace with it.

I've actually committed to a big academic workload for the next three months but how interesting my instincts were that I didn't arrange an overseas holiday this year, although we talked about it. We do have planned a little sojourn but it is an easy thing; no pressure and any amount of rest as is required. My instincts were good there. I'll have to be extra organized but some exercise every day and getting to my desk early in the day should enable me to keep ahead of the workload and keep myself well.

This period of time is not about me. It is about him. Yes, he's the boss and I'm the submissive but I have no choice but to step up to the plate and nurture him; to dig deep and find my inner strength; to put aside my own needs at this time. I'm not sure how to play that out right now but I'll work on that; be open to moderating things as we go.

I was fortunate to read an article about Michael J Fox yesterday whilst out and about and I liked what he had to say; that his focus is on 'acceptance' and not on 'expectation'; that the more he can achieve this state of mind, the better the day goes. It resonated. I look forward to seeing him speak when he comes to Australia later this year. He noted that his wife is appalled when people say how good she is to have stayed with him. "Huh? He is my husband!" she replies.

That's the point. In a life together some shit is going to happen. But, life is what you make it and we'll be fine.

Spanking stories

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Silence

And, the news is good. My son sent me a text message a few hours ago that he was sitting on a Qantas flight bound for Brisbane.

Yayayayayayayayayayayayay!

It was pretty torrid there, I have to say and as an Internet friend very rightly pointed out, we will have to watch for post-traumatic stress. But, he's a particularly solid and sensible young man and I know he will be all right.

I stayed up late watching Fox News (as you do) listening for any reports that I could find about the conditions over there and by bed time I felt reasonably satisfied that his area was all right. (In fact, they had a great many tornadoes in his area but not huge ones.)

Just before I got into bed he got a text message through to me. "I'm safe. Weather conditions are settling." Just what his mother was waiting to hear. Now, I could sleep!

I sent back one telling him I had booked two seats for Saturday's lunch at his favourite restaurant. I thought it might lift his spirits and he wrote back. "Can't wait."

And so in my family, life goes on. We are one of the lucky ones. I know this and as my brother said when he was so close to the floods earlier in the year, but unaffected, "I feel guilty for surviving."

Life throws up things. My mother has complained her head off lately about the driving of a friend of hers and yesterday was the day they were involved in what could have easily been a fatal accident but was in fact an accident where they walked away unscathed. You just never know, I guess.

Perhaps it was my need to escape for a little from the real world or perhaps a little hormone therapy kicked in. It tends to do that on day 3 to 5 and oh boy, have things changed in that department! For the first time in many months I felt inspired to write a kinky story.

So, here's where readers come in. He has told her that she may not speak for the whole day. Not a word! Absolute silence. Has that ever happened to you? How did it go? And, why did it happen in the first place? I so want to finish this kinky story but I need a plausible reason why he would insist on this and I need a sense of just how challenging this is.

I do have some experience in this but the time frame is much shorter - four hours. I absolutely loved it! It is one of my favourite BDSM experiences and I remember that afterwards I felt beautiful; loved, lovable; totally cared for!

Please share your experiences with me and maybe I can share the story!

Yoozn bimbo

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Perception

A few days ago, as part of the preparation for the holidays, I had my nails refilled. This event takes place every two to three weeks and I go to the same nail salon with the same Chinese girls. I sat down and put out my hands, as you do. She gasped.

"So long."

"Yep"

I've been through this so many times now I am almost oblivious to their reactions. They do a little shrug, maybe a few words about how I must "be careful" and then go ahead and do the refill. But, there have been times when I have been intimidated by these girls. Their 'encouragement' to "make shorter" my nails has had me agreeing to take off some length. I seem to be an anomaly to them, that I should want nails longer than the other clients, but I have learned to stand my ground.

It was more than irritating therefore when a young woman, about fifteen years younger than me, blew into the salon saying that she needed a new set of nails and could it be done immediately. They were frantically busy but squeezed her in - the woman with the very long dyed hair with a part in the middle of her head. I was curious about her and gobsmacked when I looked at the length of her new nails. Not a single word of concern or negativity had been raised about the length of her nails - almost twice as long as mine! She wasn't encouraged to "be careful" and nor did they shake their heads at the length she had instructed her girl to cut them. Quietly and without fanfare she was getting the longest set of acrylic nails I had ever seen, apart from photographs!

I have to think that my appearance led them to feel a certain way about me, whereas her appearance and her whole persona (I wondered if she might be a domme/switch) led them to feel an entirely different way about her. I really have no idea as to where the truth lies and can only speculate.

All my online friends are the most regular looking of people, really. There would be no reason at all for a passerby to feel that he or she is in the midst of kink. I think we are virtually undetectable. Yes, the wearing of a corset perhaps says something. Possibly, a few tattoos give a clue. A certain kind of shoe might suggest something. But I don't think anybody could be sure about any of the people I know, including me. There is nothing to suggest the thoughts that are racing through our minds; our desires for a certain kind of handling. People might wonder but they can't know anything by our appearance.

In the same way, I may be barking up the wrong tree entirely to call this girl with the very long nails a domme/switch, or into kink at all. She may, quite simply, love very long nails. Who is to say? Yet, I sense I am right about her; feel almost sure that she has a secret and that made her very interesting to me.

Here's what I think: The man of her life, a very dominant man indeed, has instructed her to get a set of nails of an inch in length and for them to be done by the end of the day. It was a work day for her and immediately collecting her child from school (she had a rather naughty little boy with her who she was having trouble controlling, which made it all the more interesting to me that she might be a domme/switch) she drove fast to the nail salon and without an appointment used her assertive style to get their co-operation. They sensed she was unlike their other clients and didn't bother to try to control her, rather fitting her in and doing what they were told. Upon leaving the salon, she would scoop up the naughty little boy and race home to tidy up the house, prepare dinner and await her man, who would be delighted to see the claws at the end of her fingers. Her top appeased, they would settle into a night of lovely debauchery.

Now, who in the salon would think that scenario of me? Who would ever believe that my instruction to them to have my nails a certain length came to me as a command? Who would ever think that I was going home to a night of slutty, kinky play? Who would ever look at me and think, 'There's a slut if ever I saw one!"

It has made people watching all the more fun for me. I look at the most regular of people and try to guess what is going on in their very private minds. Could they be thinking what I am thinking? What sluts!

Hard werk keepn up wif a bimbo

Cindi in a beri beri slutti frame of mind rite now. She nut sur y zactli but her totz beri slutti ndeed. She beri calm, reeeelaxd n she hab meni tots bowt yoos.

Cindi receeevd a beri notti moovn pikki az a prezzi n dat bimbo hab ull da holz yoosd at wuns. Der a man in front hoo hold her hed stil, n a man unda her n a man at bak her n da bimbo looki beri beri satisfyd. Dat reeeli did sumtin 2 dis bimbo n she alredi looki it sebril tyms dis morning n tot bowt it 2, whyl she Christmas shoppin.

Bimboz beri free, n feel beri liber8d 2 speriens ull sortsa tots. Of cors, dis bimbo only intimit wif her onnir but dat nut meen she nut hab beri slutti tots.

Now, y da bimbo feel so free, so calm n so happi rite now? Well, mebbe she jus progresd 2 sum new level of satisfakshin after lotsa hard werk. N also, her onnir njoyn yoosn her lots, n pluggiz njoy her 2 n dat make her mynd n her bodi beri redi 4ebin mor yoos n ebin mor slutti tots. Bimboz beri hungry lil tingz.

It beri inerestin 2 cindi dat ebin tho her tots so streeemli slutti, she consentraytn radda well n gettn trew all the tings on her ‘2 do’ list. Dat soooo pleeeezn 2 cindi – dat she reeechd da poynt wher she hav beri notti tots but she stil abel do her werkiz az wel.

Da kestun 4 cindi – wil da notti moovn pikki she sent ebr leef her myn? She strongli dowts it. But, def feeel bit sorri 4 da men sumtymz. Looki dis wun in da pikki abuv. He looki just exhaustd! Nut ez 4 onnirs n da men in da bimboz myn keepi up wif her. Oh wel! Spoz dat da prys dey pay 4 habin bimboz!

Eroticizing submission

It has been pointed out to me by a dear friend with my best interests at heart, that I tend to "eroticize" my submission. I can't disagree with that. I do find the act of submission incredibly erotic on so many levels that my mind is (eventually) able to eroticize just about anything related to domination and submission; at least, as it has been presented to me thus far. Now, if someone were just straight out horrible or abusive or inattentive that would not be erotic but even being told off or dismissed, which in the moment is not remotely pleasant to me, is ultimately erotic to me. It is just the way my mind processes it all and what keeps me humming along. I get a great deal of enjoyment out of it all, so long as the connection remain strong.

I find this photograph incredibly erotic: a total turn on, and stunningly beautiful. I imagine it is a dominant man's great joy to have his submissive dressed in such a way. She is available to him at a moment's notice; whenever he pleases. He can stroke her, or feel her or spank her, according to his whim, or if she should provoke him in some way: perhaps by merely existing! There are no panties to soak up her juices or to distract her from the fact that she is all woman or her true purpose. And, she revels in the knowledge that she may be found enticing by him; his play thing. She may go about her duties suitably attired but ready for him: at his beck and call.

We can see that she has already been spanked quite soundly and been told to kneel to remind her of her place. Perhaps he did it himself, or perhaps he called for his stocky Scottish house maid to attend to the task before he spoke with her himself. Some may say that she is now suitably chastened and repentant. Perhaps, she is hopeful he will dismiss her soon to go about completing her duties. Surely the Master of the house will have mercy on her and send her on her way.

Oh no! Not at all! Her mind is awash with pleasure, her juices (and her creative juices) are flowing and she sits in silent waiting, forever hopeful that he will be unable to hold himself back from touching her, caressing her, feeling her and fucking her.

Lucky l'il thin!

Spanking memories

When I was young my parents were very busy running a business. I did not see a lot of them. They employed two wonderful Italian women, one that was there by day and one by night and they were surrogate mothers in many ways. I became good friends with one of their daughters, in particular, and I was often over at her house or at the ‘coffee lounge’ her father ran.

In my home life and early school life, there was no spanking. There really was not even discipline. I did my homework and music practice without being asked. I got myself ready for school. I did my chores. I truly was very (and pathetically) good.

In the life of my friend, however, there was spanking and discipline. My friend’s mother was not always there with us when I was at their home and it always intrigued/appalled me that there was this rather odd and creepy neighbour who was in charge of us.

One day, my friend suggested we pull up some cucumbers from the garden and just eat them; right there, just like that. She devoured hers but I was not all that keen on cucumber without it being sliced. Anyway, maybe we did something else other than eat the cucumbers. It is a long time ago now. But, this neighbour had a fit, in Italian. I didn’t know what he was saying but it seems we were in big trouble. I was scared out of my wits.

He took my friend inside and soon thereafter, I could hear him strapping her hands with his belt. It was totally surreal to me. I had never seen or heard anything like this and I did not like hearing my friend being hurt. I expected to be next but it seems that I was just that Aussie kid from down the street and untouchable. I was spared the strap. He growled at her in Italian and I think the idea was for her to tell me later in English what it was all about but she did not want to talk about it.

There was another Italian man; dark, quiet; mysterious. When I looked out my bedroom window I often saw him standing on the corner, resting on a cane. I found him terribly creepy for reasons I can’t explain and I asked my parents about him. It seems that he said that he had hurt his back and whilst waiting for the compensation case to be settled he hung out where people could see him, using the cane to walk. (When the case was finalized and he received his payment he threw away the cane and was able to walk perfectly well. It was quite a co-incidence.) If I put myself back in my girlhood, I can still feel the same foreboding sense when around him. I travelled a long way out of my way to avoid him and felt sick whenever I saw him. I simply cannot explain that.

My mother was friends with a woman and her son was a good friend of my brother. Once, the family of four took me with them on a trip to the country. I can’t remember why they took me but I remember the conversation in the car. We were probably being a bit naughty in the back seat. Well, probably the sons were being naughty. I’m not kidding here. I truly was very, very good back then.

In an ominous voice the father said,

“If you keep doing that John, you know what will happen when we get home, don’t you?”

John was very agitated when he said that and he replied,

“You’ll take off your belt and beat me.”

I was in shock. I was living a truly sheltered life as far as these things were concerned.

“That’s right,” said the father.

I felt I had been given to vagabonds for the day. Who talked like this?


One day, a girlfriend and I went for a walk around the neighbourhood and to the sea. We were passing a house when we heard,

“Oh, no! Please father, no more! Pleeeeeese, no more.”

We could distinctly hear the sound of leather coming down on bare skin. We looked at each other in silent dismay. Could this really be happening to this poor boy?!

A few years later, my family moved to the country and for the first time in my life I went to school with girls and boys. They were a rather naughty lot of scallywags, the boys, but I liked them. One boy was always in trouble. There was this very mean teacher at that school and I guess he was in charge of discipline because one could often hear the strap being used liberally from his office. I don’t think I ever said a single word within 50 metres of that office. I was not giving him reason to strap my hands.

On this particular day, a young, innocent lass fresh out of university was conducting her History class when this nasty teacher strode by and saw her unable to control the class. He instructed the red haired, naughty boy to come with him and right outside the classroom, in our line of vision, he strapped his hands. I can still hear the piece of leather coming down. I can still see his outstretched hand. I can still see his reddened hands when he showed the other boys later. I honestly felt that I was in an asylum. Who did these things to children?

Is my kink, my desire to be controlled and spanked and whipped, anything at all to do with these memories? Have I in some way eroticized those awful images? I have no idea. All I can say is that I have wanted to be spanked from the age of five or so. Whilst waiting for the bath to draw I would bend over and touch my toes and imagine what it would be like to have someone behind me wielding an implement over my soft, white cheeks. So, if those images are responsible for my kink, I guess some of those sorts of images occurred at a very young age. I have no way of knowing when I first observed one of these horrid events.

I have always loathed the thought of someone else being hurt. I hated those movies about ‘Tom Brown’s School days’ when they caned a boy for whistling or whatever, at the same time as I held my breath, overcome with a desire so overwhelming that I did not know what to make of my own reactions. In bed that night, I would transpose what had happened to the small, dear little schoolboy onto me. I was no longer appalled. I was wet with desire. (Picture me on an overseas flight in my thirties with Roald Dahl's 'Boy' as my entertainment - appalled and burning with desire at the very same moment...)

And, so it goes. I would move mountains to defend my children from some situation where they were to be beaten at the same time as I crave it for myself; day dream about it; write about it; hope.

The only difference with my daydreams these days is that when the nasty, nasty man puts down his cane or his belt or his whip after punishing me, he takes down his pants and plunders me, not once but three times. I guess that makes me not only kinky but perverted. Oh well!