Being oneself

In the early period of writing in this web journal I noted the fact that I masturbated at a very early age. It seemed to be part and parcel of being a kinky girl, since so many other kinky girls had written about this as well.

I don't reject the thought that kinky girls masturbate early but what I also now know is that if a child's emotional needs are not met in childhood they use two tools to soothe themselves: masturbation and food. It stands to reason that this was the primary reason for my nightly activity between the sheets.

It's really very hard to say for sure what were the first images in my head. I was so young; maybe four or five when I started to self stimulate every night, once the lights were off and the covers enclosed me. So, I can't with confidence say that I imagined this or that image as I masturbated at that young age. However, I do know that I have many memories of images where I was being disciplined and humiliated. It was about a school environment, masters and mistresses. Considerably later, it moved into domestic environments, and even later, it became debauched; multiple use; orgies, the whole gamut of the sexual experience on the big screen in my head.

School, at first, my real school that is, was a frightening place for me. For two years it all felt foggy, wobbly. I think what happened, though I have no proof to offer, is that the teachers were making me write with my right hand when I am most certainly a left handed person. I remember having to write on the board and looking back on what I had written. It seemed indecipherable. My reports for the first two years of school, which I still have, make clear that I was unsettled and unfocused. I needed to "try harder". If you then read the report for Second Grade you'd swear this was the report of a different child. It is glowing; a high achiever, focused, motivated and self disciplined.

Of course, when I was a child there was no ADHD diagnosis, no panic attack or anxiety diagnosis; no assistance for a child that entered school life feeling foggy and wobbly. The only other difference between the first few years and Second Grade that I can ascertain, apart from the possible demand that I use my right hand, is the Second Grade Teacher. She was a tough Irish woman who brooked no nonsense and, as I recall, demanded performance from me. I was her mission and I think it is fair to say that one way or the other she got me going at school, even though I feared her and thought her a mean person. I think I just responded to the attention she gave me, even if it was not always pleasant.

At about the same time as I became this model student my ballet years were settling into place. I started ballet early at age 4, I think it was, and the first few years there were wobbly too. My ballet master was extremely strict and not afraid to criticize. I somehow found myself thriving in a strictly controlled environment where excellence was demanded of me. If you didn't get it right the first time you just kept doing it until you got it right. This was all fodder for my nights, when I masturbated myself to sleep to images of this sort of containment, including corporal discipline; something which I never received at home at any age. It wasn't the real life people in my imaginations but rather faceless sorts of people who performed roles; disciplinary roles.

For those who did in fact get a paddling or a spanking when little I don't have any doubt that most of them find this a most galling memory. If it happened to me I suppose I'd feel the same way. But, left to my own devices to more or less bring myself up, it strikes me as caring, assuming it was about care and not about abuse. In my fantasies someone cared enough to monitor, to create expectations, to discipline when there was wrong doing. These images of being disciplined were soothing to me, you see. There was a fear factor, definitely, but it was under the auspices of it being for my own good too.

I do have a couple of memories of the Third and Fourth Grades. By third grade I'd developed a fear of making a mistake such that my anxiety made it difficult for me to focus on the meaning of words at times. I imagine that, using today's understanding of what can happen to children I was having a panic attack, not unlike the way my youngest child had panic attacks in the classroom in Grade 7 when we got him some therapy for this debilitating situation. But, I got the results somehow or other and navigated my way through to the end of school frustrating most teachers because my exam results were rarely up to the expectations they had of me given my standard of work through the year in class. I lived a certain kind of hell during exams since my brain would freeze and I'd only remember snippets here and there.

If you fast forward to when I was having my first child, I undertook a Diploma of Education wherein there was a subject 'Educational Psychology'. Between the baby's naps I prepared for the final exam. I still have a vivid image of sitting in the Philosophy Room of my University and seeing the paper for the first time. It was complete gobbledy gook. I knew nothing. I managed to settle myself down with this thought: that I must know something.

Bit by bit, I began to see that I did know something here and there on the paper and over the course of the two hours, more and more knowledge returned to me. I thought perhaps that I might just pass. With trepidation two weeks later I went to the Notice Board and looked up my academic number to discover that I had got 17/20. I was really pleased. I looked down the notice then to see what sort of other marks were recorded and discovered that 17 was indeed the highest mark.

What I have suffered from all my life is not an ability issue and that's not to have tickets on myself. I was just born with some strengths in that department. Where I am very weak is in self esteem and self confidence. I can struggle to have confidence as to my ability to complete a task well, a perfectionism that can hold me back. And, I can have very weak self-esteem, an inability to believe that I am good enough as I am; that I have inherent worth as I came into the world.

It is an undeniable fact that my issues are greatly improved when I accept that I am a woman who needs a dominant man in her life. I really would hate to be that person. Honestly. I'm not easy to keep in line. My head can reject that need. Other women around me don't need that sort of supervision and containment. But, I do. I do. I do. I do. That's just a simple fact.

I've spoken to a number of dominant men in my life, mostly via this blog, but via other routes as well, and I know that each man has his own approach. These approaches rarely resonate with me. I am not sure why this is. Sometimes I think, well, I can't actually be 'submissive' since simply being obedient or serving doesn't do it for me.

What happened to me is that one day I began to correspond and then chat with this one person, and something therein clicked for me. It was something about an element of care that I felt. He was definitely getting something out of it for himself to have these chats. Why else would he or anyone else keep chatting? But in his case it felt that he had somehow got to the core of my needs; needs that I didn't understand myself. But, he did.

He talks about me needing to be "anchored" and interestingly I think my ground chakra is by far the weakest. I am much too often in my head. I live up there when I need to feel the ground under my feet.

Pia Mellody talks and writes about self esteem being made up of values, power and abundance notions in our heads. Self esteem is in tact when we say to ourselves that we matter as we are, when we have self control and self containment, and good self care.

There's a part of me that feels that I should be able to get to this place of healthy self esteem all on my own. I don't feel that I should be leaning on someone else to get me through this. Yet, it is hard to dispute the facts as I know them to be. I've a certain 'bimbo' sort of disposition. I do best when certain methods are used; methods for which I have a love/hate relationship. I feel, on certain days, that I am weak to need this, and yet, I rise up when those methods are in place. I am indeed anchored.

There is no one 'right' way for all of us. We do all have certain human emotional needs, of course. There are wonderful tools available for the recovery process useful for all who have need of them. I am glad to have them at my disposal. I am also relieved to have kinkiness at my disposal. It's when I accept all of me that I really thrive.

Expectations

There was an inspiring story on Australia's 60 Minutes last night explaining how PTSD sufferers had a real chance of moving on with their lives after they'd completed a gruelling 3 day bicycle ride which  makes up part of the Tour de France. I noted a couple of things in particular:

First of all, those most able to walk in another person's shoes were most likely to suffer from Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, probably putting the submissive profile most at risk of this condition.

Secondly, the punishing exercise and the sense of achievement gained from completing the course seemed to reset their minds to a sense of a positive future. Of course, it didn't hurt that they had the wonderful Cadel Evans, winner of the Tour de France and the ever funny Hamish Blake there riding with them, but it says something about how crucial exercise is to a healthy and positive state of mind.

I'm only a few days into committing to beginning my days with exercise in the park but I am already astounded at my improved state of mind, my sense of positivism and my daily output.

I've always felt that you do a submissive person like me a favour when you give them an expectation that they'll exercise regularly. We so like to please and for there to be expectations of us to which we can aspire. If we get fit and happy as a result, where's the downside of including fitness into the regimen?

Fantasy Dominant

I wondered recently what it might be like for a dominant to meet me as I am right now and for the first time, (assuming of course that I'm available and single, which I am not). I wondered what it is that they might like to do to me; that is, how they might like to alter me; what their plan might look like.

If they were to meet me for the first time now, as I am today, they'd find a woman comfortable in the bedroom. They wouldn't need to introduce me to gags, toys, or anal plugs, or even a full covered (other than nostril holes for breathing) latex hood, should that be their inclination, because I've experienced all of that and embraced it.

I'm extremely content with being the submissive in the bedroom, to be taken by surprise and to be dominated in any number of ways. I would happily consider such new Dominant my Owner and that my body belongs to him. I'd happily think of myself as an object for his pleasure because that is the way I've been trained and I take no issue with the training. It's part and parcel of my arousal and mode of thought. The more objectified I am, the stronger and deeper the experience for me.

If the Dominant liked to make considerable marks and bruises in a play session, they'd need to work on that with me, because although I enjoy being challenged with various implements (not necessarily physically but certainly emotionally) I am not accustomed to intense whipping or beating. If that's what they wanted, there'd be considerable work to do in that domain. They'd need to be committed to their goal and they'd probably need to ignore my childlike pleas for mercy as they pushed out my limits. I feel sure there is only so far I would want or could go and a fantasy Dominant would need to accept that. Pushing out my limits regarding pain is a frightening thought for me and an arousing one, in equal measure.

This leads me to say that it is quite possible that a Dominant that met me today may well have to deal with the fact that my history has meant that I have had to learn many strategies for my own self improvement. I am well aware that a D/s relationship could aid me in my path to a better me, but the man in question would not be dealing with a young, easy to mould filly, but rather more of a mare who has developed her own habits, some of them not particularly good or productive.

I'm aware that I have some habits that bother the people with whom I live. In the scheme of things I like to think that they are incidental and that we all have our quirks, but that said, I expect that this fantasy Dominant would want to eradicate them to the extent that is possible. Apparently, not drying off one's back isn't a good thing and nor does my husband enjoy me leaving the bathroom mat before my body is dry. He refers to me as a 'duck' that makes 'puddles' but he's inclinced to exaggeration, of course. It's also not a good thing, it seems, to leave the washing up water in the kitchen sink for any time after the dishes have been done. My eldest son refers to it as a 'chick' thing. Yeah. We know someone's bound to come along any moment now with dishes from another part of the house!

In terms of productivity, I could do with more routine in my life and that's something that I am working towards on my own. I'm prone to procrastination, I know that, especially as it pertains to making phone calls. I'm a little 'phone phobic' and tend to store them up sometimes until it feels more comfortable to make them all in one go. I'm not quite sure how you work with someone with phone phobia but probably getting me to the point of making them right away is the key to the problem because once I've made them I feel so much relief.

There are a number of issues that He could assist me with on a day to day level. My intentions are good about getting to bed well before midnight but often don't come off and I'd certainly like to commit more to a sustained exercise programme and a writing time everyday. On that score I could do with help, although I know that it is nobodies responsibility but mine to sort it.

Over the past years I've gained so much from meditation that if this fantasy Dominant were to insist that I go to my meditation cushion for an hour a day I know he'd turn around my life. Nearly everyone who learns meditative practice can't seem to commit to daily practice but the benefits would be so huge that the thought of someone ensuring I do so is a huge turn on for me, an act of love if ever there was one. I include this in many fantasies and it's not at all uncommon in those fantasies to be sent there with a really sore bottom either, which is a particularly enticing fantasy for me.

I think said fantasy Dominant would put some further work into respect. Whilst I acknowledge his rights over me I do have my own opinions and when silenced on them can find myself becoming somewhat feisty. I am not at all sure that holding in thoughts for long periods is wise for me and fantasy Dom would probably do best to encourage me to air them but in the most respectful and tactful of manners, accepting that his word is final. I am well aware that frustration can lead me to blurt and I've not met a dominant yet who enjoys my blurting, oddly enough. (Added note: I did a Crystal Bowls Playing Meditation last night with emphasis on opening up the heart chakra and experienced great insight last night, which I'll explain at a later time.)

Someone firm, someone who laid down expectations and demanded that they be followed, allowing for some natural reticence on my part to always be told what to do (it's a hard balancing act, I know...) would work best. I am smiling at the memory of my husband saying to me recently after we had had words, 'You'd have steamrollered a weak man within the week'. Okay, that's probably true.

This whole piece of writing was prompted by a little video I saw this week. It wasn't easy to gauge for sure if this was a husband/wife scenario or not but for my purposes I made it so. She was bent over the edge of the bed bottom bared, her knees resting on a wooden bench at the end of the bed. He took off his belt saying something to her that I did not quite get but after about four whacks with it, and whilst she whimpered, he said, 'It makes my point quite clearly, I think.' 'Yes, Sir,' she said. He began to whip her again and as he did, she reached a point where her elbows came off the bed and she raised up a little.

'Keep your elbows on the bed. Don't make me have to start over again,' he said. It wasn't what he said that impressed me but that his tone of voice didn't change. He continued to talk to her in a conversational way, as if they were talking about what to do with their Saturday afternoon over a sandwich at the kitchen table. But, she knew he was a man of his word. She did, later in the video take her elbows off the bed, but just for a fraction of a second and quite instinctively, returning them immediately to their rightful position.

When her punishment was over, he returned the belt between the keepers of his trousers, and had her 'take a seat' on the wooden bench. She's a model, I know, paid to do this, but it seemed pretty obvious to me that she was holding her bottom slightly off the seat by putting some pressure into her hands. It really did hurt. He proceeded to talk to her conversationally in a low tone.

'What will happen if you don't do as told?'
'I'll be spanked, Sir'
'Spanked often and soundly', he remarked, perfectly calmly.
'Yes, Sir'
'I'm expecting 90% or higher on your next assignment. I won't tolerate low grades. Is that clear?'
'Yes, Sir.'
'Any lower than that and there will be a much harder spanking next week.'
'Yes, Sir'

When he left the room she lay down on the bed and it then became clear what a very sound spanking she'd taken. Something told me that if this were real life she'd study her little pants off that week to avoid another trip over the edge of the bed.

My head tells me that it is each adults personal  responsibility to motivate themselves towards self directed behaviour. We are all capable, with adequate will and intent to change anything about our behaviour that isn't working well. But, it remains an exciting thought for me that a Dominant would assist in this way.

The Dominant in the video didn't rant and scream, didn't do anything but quietly and assuredly reminded her that he was there to administer the motivation she required any time that it was needed. He didn't hug or administer 'after care' either. He had assumed the role of her Disciplinarian for the moment and he wasn't shirking at his task. Whilst there was no evidence of love per se, he would be the same man (and I'm assuming this because I want to assume it) that would make tender love to her that night in the same bed as was her 'whipping post' earlier in the day.

My fantasy Dominant would pretty quickly work out that would work for me too, when there would  become a settled period where I achieved my goals. That's the theory, anyway.

Wanting everything

On  a practical level, it's impossible to separate myself from the woman who is a wife, a mother, a daughter, a sister, a friend, the owner of dogs. It takes a lot of time out of my life to fulfill my responsibilities because it is important to me and to them that I fulfill those responsibilities well. If the people in your life don't matter enough to you to give them a good deal of your time, then it's hard to know what else could matter more. At least, that's the way I see it and the way I live my life. My strong tendency is to sort all that out and when everybody seems relatively comfortable about all that, I can do my own work.

Now that I'm doing a writing course which at times really stretches my knowledge banks, I've had to, at times, explain that I can't do any more at this time; that I really must sit down and absorb myself in my reading and writing. To put it in perspective, for the last year or so I've done 62 weekly assignments without even one week's break. I have been asked to learn something quite new to me and to demonstrate that learning by handing in an assignment complete with references to prove that I have indeed done the reading and absorbed the new material and now have new skills.

I've also completed 5 major assignments all of which have taken considerable research, planning and writing. There really is never a day or even hardly an hour when at the back of my mind is not the thought that, like a good little circus dog I have to jump through a hoop; have to face my demons of feeling inadequate and come up with the goods to impress a Professor yet again.

The current subject is daunting for me, at least, at the moment. Here I am trying to write my very first adaptation, barely knowing what an adaptation is whilst students in my group talk of having "shot" an adaptation last Sunday and knowing this and that producer. I read something like that and think 'Oh. My. God. What am I doing here? What am I trying to prove?'

Yet, I really love learning and I love making myself face my demons. I work with my insecurities, insisting of myself that I put one foot in front of the other and just keep moving forward. Some days are brilliant and I feel 'on fire' with it and some days like now (can you tell?) I am cloaked in dismay of what I don't know and how old I am to be attempting this in the first place. If I walked away (and I don't intend to do that) no-one would be bothered about it particularly. No-one is relying on me to bring home the bacon from this new knowledge and when I enrolled into the course the idea was that I get some intellectual stimulation from it; nothing much more than that really was thought necessary in order to validate the exercise.

There is no necessity that I get Distinctions and High Distinctions, yet I can't stop that being my goal (a goal I have so far achieved). Would a Credit or a Pass be a disaster? Of course not. "Ps get degrees" my oldest's son's closest friend advised me. And, I actually put stock in his counsel. He's a young man who has impressed me with his ability to make every post a winner. My son tells me he is onto his second "project" (I call them his 'transformations') and I knew right then that I was talking to a Dominant in the making (something I had always suspected anyway). We warmed to one another immediately and I immediately recognized his nature. We chat sometimes online and every interaction has been 'spot on'; dripping with dominant qualities and a specific sense of humor. But, I digress.

My husband was playing with me earlier today, as he likes to do on a Sunday morning. I was perfectly compliant and enjoying myself on one level. Yet, I couldn't turn off the chatter in my mind, of all that I had to do; of how I was starting to feel that I was already getting behind in this subject and how the activities all week had kept me distracted from my reading.

My husband came up to me just now and said, "If the children weren't here I would tie you to the desk and you wouldn't be able to move until all your work was done." Yes, that's the sort of thing that I think would work. I'd feel contained at the same time as I got my work done. A command that I do my work is probably what I need right now. (Oh, so you noticed, I'm writing this post instead of doing my reading!!?)

I want very much to incorporate a doll state of  mind into my every day but that competes with the need to do well in this course. My thinking  brain competes with my desire to be a domestic goddess of sorts; for the food to be delicious and the flowers beautifully arranged; for my body to be switched on and my brain hungry for use. Yes. Yes. Yes. I want everything. What's wrong with that!?

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.

Anxiety

Anxiety is an insidious thing; a silent sort of condition in many cases. It can mask a great deal of other behaviours and I came to know this first hand very recently when I finally managed to put the puzzle pieces together and determine that my youngest child was overly stressed.

It is well known that he is a very bright and capable young man and we were told that he would achieve at a very high level so long as he learned the skills of completing tests and exams within the time period. I knew that this was a problem for him and we put this down, over time, to his perfectionist state of mind. A capable educator worked with him when he entered senior school and together they developed strategies to overcome his perfectionist traits and he was sent on his way.

Mid way through this year, alarm bells rang for me. Together, he and I attended the parent-teacher interviews before the mid year exams and his History teacher, as an example, was excited about his recent essay and she suggested that he review his notes well so that he could attain the A+ he deserved in the exam. However, when his exam was returned the result was confusing. He had indeed attained full marks for the essay but many other simple questions were left completely unanswered.

His report again noted that he needed to finish tests and exams in the required time but there was no plan made. It was clear to me that this capable student had slipped under the radar. He was capable and he would be all right in the end, seemed to be the thinking.

I contacted the school and asked that the same woman work again with my son one and one and give me her opinion. She called me at home after a few more one on one sessions and began to make some comments and finally, I saw the whole picture.

"Do you think these are OCD type behaviours...?" I asked.

Realizing she was speaking to a parent who was open to the truth, she said, "Oh, I definitely do."

Within two hours I had located a highly capable psychologist in cognitive behaviour therapy for obsessive compulsive behaviours and my son has now had two sessions with her. We've already seen some remarkable progress. He has accepted that he suffers from anxiety. He recognizes that he is a perfectionist.  He is beginning to see that he had made many rules for himself; rules which were counter-productive to his happy functioning in the world.

We understand that relieving his body of cortisol and replacing it with endorphins is important and a few nights ago we took the dogs for a walk together. He was having trouble "letting go" of a little annoyance he experienced before we left the house and together at dusk in the park we breathed quietly together, registered all the noises of trains and cars but tried to locate the quiet centre within ourselves. We acknowledged that he was tense and troubled by not finding it easy to let go, but that it would get easier the more he learned to relax and breathe through the anxiety. We hugged tight; a hug he initiated. "Thank you," he said to me later that night. We were on the same team.

This week, we are working on "shoulds" and "musts". He has been asked to locate all the "rules" he has made for himself.  In the spirit of co-operation and in recognition of the fact that I am not entirely free from such obsessive-compulsive thoughts myself, I offered that I find it hard to leave home without the kitchen all neat and tidy and my bed made but that this meant I often kept Daddy waiting. It was a "should" that didn't always work in my favour. He was beginning to see what he had been asked to do: not easy but an extremely valuable exercise.

We are doing what we can to take the stress off too in terms of choices. He will drop one language next year and already this thought is calming him, it would seem. He said he was suddenly enjoying Chinese a lot more knowing that it was the one language he would be carrying through to next year.

And, his electives for next year are all fun stuff - subjects he is biting at the bit to do; studio arts, drama, computing and film and media. He is one of the fortunate boys who will be doing what he is passionate about - at school and beyond.

We are not out of the woods yet but we are certainly well on our way to the transformation of a worried young boy into a relaxed and joyous and highly productive young man because we have recognized and accepted that his behaviour was due to anxiety.

I am beginning to think that much aberrant, defiant behaviour in children (and adults) could well just be the mask and that behind that behaviour is a great deal of anxiety about how they fit into this world and how they will live up to expectations; perhaps others' expectations or perhaps their own. It bodes thought.

The Training School - chapter 4

On the way out to the garden, the girls went by a wall to wall bookcase and Lucille stopped to look.

“We are allowed to borrow the books,” Pammi told her. “as long as we return them to their same position. Nicholas has them all in a special order.”

An avid reader, Lucille was grateful to have something to divert her mind and she selected two books and took them out to the garden. The other girls seemed more interested in the magazines they had brought down with them from the bedroom. Lucille quickly became absorbed in re-reading ‘Anna Karenina’, one of her favourite books at university.

In the middle of the afternoon, completely absorbed in the story, she was oblivious when Nicholas stood at the double door leading out the garden quietly observing them. He coughed to announce his presence and she immediately looked up.

He should have been pleased with what he saw. In front of his eyes were three quiet girls, sitting as they had been instructed, with their bare bottoms directly on the garden seats. He came towards them and instinctively all three girls straightened themselves up as if to project the best image of themselves for him that they could. There was something about Nicholas that people responded to; not just the girls that were sent to him but all the people who entered his orbit. His high standards were projected in everything he said and did. People tended to react to this by behaving in a way that was pleasing to him.

“Girls, Susan has arrived. Please follow me to the study now.”

When the three girls entered the study their first sight was of a rather tall, lean girl, with long, wavy, red hair cascading down her back. She was standing in the corner closest to Nicholas’ desk with her face to the wall and her hands on the back of her head. The hem of her skirt had been hitched up into the waist band of her skirt and her round, bare bottom showed signs of having recently been soundly smacked.

“Sit,” he said to the three of them, and they sat down on the upholstered seats as they knew to do, all looking sorry for the girl who could not see them. It amazed Lucille how in a matter of hours, this new and incredibly humiliating way of sitting down was already beginning to feel almost natural to her. It was strangely stirring to her, though she would deny it of course if quizzed about it.

When they were all settled, Nicholas said to the girl in the corner, “Susan, are you ready to behave?”

There was no answer but Lucille knew she was very angry. She could clearly here her laboured breathing and the air she snorted through her nostrils, not to mention the fact that her shoulders and neck moved up and down in concert with her breathing.

The three girls watched as Nicholas walked to an umbrella stand by his desk and took from it a black riding crop. He lifted it into the air and brought it down on the chair closest to Susan, as if the chair’s seat were a substitute for her bottom. If she had any sense at all, Lucille thought, the girl would start co-operating around about now.

“Susan, are you ready to behave?” he asked her again as calmly as he had the first time.

“Yes, Sir.”

She sounded completely contrite; a different person.

“Turn around.”

Susan turned around, her hands still on her head. It was a deeply embarrassing moment for her, of course and Lucille tried not to look at her so as not to make it any more difficult.

“Have you anything to say, Susan?”

“I am sorry I was rude, Sir.”

She was a feisty one. Lucille could clearly see that. But, all girls were the same really. Their self-preservation skills kicked in when confronted with a nasty black riding crop in the hand of a man with resolve.

“Very well. You may take you hands down from your head and come and meet the other girls.”

Susan came towards them, her skirt still hitched into her waist band.

“Susan, I would like you to meet Lucille, Sherri and Pammi.

The girls said hello to Susan and she said hello back.

“Sit down, Susan, as you know to do.”

It seemed that Susan was well aware of what Nicholas wanted and she performed the move well. Perhaps they had already gone over this when alone and this was what the trouble had been about. Lucille could only hazard a guess.

“Very well,” Nicholas began. “Listen carefully, girls. I will only say this once. Whilst you are here at my school you are to follow my instructions. Listen carefully for commands and respond immediately.”

He paused, allowing them to drink in his words.

“You must always be honest with me. I will listen to what you have to say, so long as you say it politely. I have no interest in disagreeable girls and your best manners are always expected. Is that understood?”

Nicholas looked at each of them individually and one by one they said, “Yes, Sir.”

“Your owners have provided me with a list of goals for you and whilst there are daily routines that you will all do together, I will often be working with one girl separately. At those times, the rest of you will have chores to do and tasks to perform. You may ask questions so long as you do so politely. Now, are there any questions?”

Lucille had a burning desire to understand what on earth she was doing here. It had all been so sudden and it still felt surreal to her; that at any moment she would wake up and discover the day had simply been a figment of her imagination. She needed something very tangible to hold onto; something that would make sense to her.

“Sir, may I ask...could you please tell me...why are we here? What is the purpose of our time here?”

“Training, Lucille. You are here to be trained. That is what your owner wants – for you to be well trained before you return to him.”

She wanted to say, “but, trained how and for what purpose?” but she was worried this might come out as sounding impolite and so she simply said, “I see.”

“Any other questions?”

The girls shook their heads quietly.

“Very well. Now, Lucille, you will stay here with me for a tutorial. Sherri, Pammi and Susan, the three of you are to report to Mrs. MacNeice in the kitchen. You will be assisting her with food preparation and any other chores she has for you. Off you go and make yourselves useful. ”

The three girls left the room silently whilst Lucille watched them go, Susan's bare spanked bottom being the last sight she had of them. In one sense, the thought of preparing dinner never seemed quite as appealing as it did right at that moment and yet she was incredibly curious as to what this man could teach her.

The Training School - chapter 3

In spite of the issue at the commencement of lunch, Lucille enjoyed her meal. Nicholas was correct in saying that Mrs MacNeice provided great food. The roast lamb was the best she had ever tasted. There were no potatoes, but there was any other vegetable she could have wanted and plenty of string beans. No dessert was offered but there was a bowl of fresh fruit which was sent around the table after the main course dishes were taken away. Nicholas encouraged them to indulge in the fruits of the season – apricots, nectarines and peaches, fresh from the trees in the garden.

Nicholas was an excellent conversationalist once he got going on topics that interested him, she discovered and she found herself absorbed in his stories about country life and farming in particular. Nicholas, it turned out was the owner of a large holding of land on which there were hundreds of sheep. He had a Manager to run the day to day running of the farm whilst he oversaw the overall operations of it, along with other investments. It was easy to forget momentarily the reason why she was here. Under other circumstances, she would have admired him as a caring and engaging host. She had to keep reminding herself of his other side lest words fly out of her mouth before she had considered them carefully, which she had a tendency to do.

Pammi and Sherri both seemed very sweet girls if not a little lacking in confidence, she thought. They were particularly careful to be courteous, she noted, and twice Nicholas praised them on their manners. She took that to mean that there had been improvement over the week. Certainly, Nicholas’ attention to detail was punctilious and he observed them all closely. Sherri, a girl who was really a little too thin, Lucille thought, picked at her food until Nicholas said,

“Sherri, I want your food all eaten up. You won’t leave the table until your plate is clean.”

She ate with more relish after that. All in all, it reminded Lucille of the times she had been with her father to horse racing meetings and they had gone for afternoon tea in the members’ dining room. Everybody was careful to attend to the needs of everybody else at the table and there was a lovely congenial atmosphere, much as she imagined it was in the generation before her when life was more genteel and civil.

Over a cup of tea at the end of the meal, Nicholas asked Lucille how she felt about horses and she told him about the horse racing meetings which had been on her mind only minutes ago. She said it was unfortunate that she had not learned how to ride herself but she feared horses up close.

“We have six horses on this property that we use, mostly for rounding up the sheep and checking the boundaries. Most of them are gentle. I’d like to get you riding while you are here. There is no need to be afraid of them once you know how to handle them. I believe you could do that.”

“Oh no, I couldn...”

“Excuse me?”

In mid sentence, Lucille remembered what Nicholas had said – that if he said she could do something, she could do it. And, it stopped her cold. She didn’t want a lecture again and in some way, his insistence that she could do things that she had never done before was appealing to her. She could not imagine how he could make possible something she had never been able to do before, yet his blind faith in her to accomplish new skills gave her a shot of confidence that perhaps she could.

“Nothing, Sir. I will try, Sir.”

“That’s the way, girl."

Then, Nicholas referred his comments to all the girls.

“Now, our last girl, her name is Susan, will be arriving shortly. Sherri, Pammi, take Lucille up to the bedroom and show her where she will sleep. Then please show her the garden. I shall call for you later this afternoon when we will go over the rules and protocols all together. Dismissed.”

Lucille watched the other two girls for clues as to what she should do and followed their lead. In fact, both of the other girls were a few years younger than Lucille but they had a whole five days of knowledge here over her and that, for now, gave them seniority. In fact, they did nothing special but simply left the room quietly and orderly whilst Nicholas poured himself another cup of tea.

Once outside of the dining room, Sherri put her finger to her mouth to gesture not to talk and so Lucille, who was burning with desire to fire questions at the girls, simply followed them as they made their way upstairs.

Pammi opened the door to a large and really beautiful room, the walls a soft blue and the trim, shiny white. Lucille loved the architecture of these old farm houses with their big rooms, high ceilings and large windows and she noticed these features first. Then, her eyes went to the four single beds, two on one side of the room and two on the other. All four beds were exactly the same. The frame was of wrought iron with vertical bars leading to a horizontal bar at the top of the frame, ending at the height of Lucille’s waist. She had no idea why but the little beds spoke to her and she was lost for words.

The girls showed her where everything was and as Nicholas had said, the contents of her suitcase had been unpacked and put away. Everything in the room was exceptionally neat and ordered and the bathroom had obviously been remodelled in recent times with the long vanity unit having four sinks, one for each girl, two toilets and two showers. Four pure white fluffy towels hung on four individual towel racks.

As orderly as the space was, it was not without its creature comforts. There was a stylish glass vase filled with white roses at a round table at one end of the room, closest to the window, and next to the vase were some recent magazines: Vogue, Cosmopolitan and Madison. The drapes were beautiful; blue and white cotton in a small floral design which matched the colour of the walls perfectly. Lucille was impressed.

Now that she was alone with the girls she was anxious for them to tell her everything they knew and she began to ask them questions: what had happened and what should she know? Pammi, it seemed, had chosen to make herself their spokesperson.


“Lucille, we cannot talk about it. Nicholas told us both that we are not to talk amongst ourselves about what happens here and especially what happens in private, when we are alone with him or ...other people. He says that we will be punished if we do.”

“But, no one is here with us. What they don’t know won’t hurt them, for heaven sakes.”

“I am sorry. I can’t talk about it. But, I will give you some advice. Just obey. Things will go much better for you if you do. Don’t try to buck the system and don’t think that arguing will get you anywhere. Just be polite and obedient.”


Lucille had trouble processing Pammi’s statement. She anticipated that she could win the girls over and that together they could manoeuvre things to their satisfaction. She looked over at Sherri who was nodding her head in agreement.

“Are you two...frightened of something?”

In silence, Sherri walked to the round table and beckoned Lucille to follow her. She opened the drawer of the table to reveal three wooden backed hairbrushes of various shapes and sizes.

Sherri looked at Lucille and Lucille looked back at Sherry. The way their eyes met said it all.

“Ohhhhh.”

“More like ‘ouch’.”

“Let’s go out to the garden,” suggested Pammi, who seemed to want to put an end to this turn of events. “It’s a very pretty garden and we can take some reading out there and wait to be called.”

Together, the three girls left the room and made their way down the stairs again and out to the garden in silence. They were all lost in their individual thoughts.

Communication styles

In many ways, a power exchange is an alternative form of communication. Fundamentally, I developed interest in the power exchange dynamic because I was exploring a way to communicate with my husband that was suited to his personality and to mine.

I do most sincerely hope that I have not painted an incorrect picture of my husband. He has a very soft side, is generous to a fault when he can be, is loving and sweet natured much of the time. His Achilles heel is most definitely his temper and a sense of frustration when things don't go his way. My Achilles heel is that I become really upset internally when I feel that someone has acted unfairly towards me. The power dynamic, I hoped, would take these two factors into account and allow us to better communicate with one another.

In spite of the many challenges of the past eighteen months in our lives, I feel certain that the power exchange has improved the way we communicate. Unfortunately, we still do trip ourselves up. I am happy to say, however, that these situations are more and more rare. When I think about these occurrences, there truly is no point in considering "fault". Yes, perhaps he was unreasonable in ways and I was unable to recover quickly enough, so perhaps I am at fault there. The best way I know how to deal with these occurrences is to reflect on them when I am totally calm and try to use them as learning situations. So, with that said, allow me to consider one of those more recent situations.

We were away last week, my youngest son and I accompanying my husband on a business trip. One day, he told us he had a meeting at lunchtime and he thought we could take a walk down on the boardwalk by the river before that. That sounded nice. I got ready but he was still not dressed. As he and my son ate their breakfast and mindlessly watched something or other on the television, I sorted out the apartment and when he still wasn't ready, I took my book out to the balcony to read. (Yes, that was a sort of protest. I can admit that now.)

Quite suddenly, I think he realized that time had flown by and he became irritated. Was I ready? Why did he always have to wait for me? Why had I taken both the keys? (He found his key a few minutes later.) He completely lost his temper and became, as far as I was concerned, totally unreasonable and unfair.

Perhaps, he thought that I would hurry him along. Perhaps, he thought I would remind him of the fact that we had left precious little time to take the walk? Perhaps, he expected me to stand waiting at the front door for him to be ready. We have had this conversation over and over – that I can’t just stand by him for what could be hours for him to be ready to leave; that I have plenty to do and will do tasks whilst he does what he needs to do until he informs me he is ready.

As he became more offensive with his accusations I lost all desire to take a walk with him and told him so. I think at that moment deep down he registered that he had done it again, but when people are upset they aren’t inclined to admit it, and he followed me out to the balcony and lectured me, telling me that my ego was in play again. I really was far too upset to acknowledge that or to accompany him and he left with our son for the walk, which was fine by me.

I can’t really explain on paper the internal distress I experience at such moments. It is not unknown for me to crawl up into a ball but I wanted to heal that day. I needed to find my equilibrium and find my peace. The previous day I noted that the city had a famous Cathedral and I picked up my handbag and went in search of it. On my way, I passed a pretty church and I decided to go inside. It was heavenly to sit in the quiet church and as ten minutes or so went by I could begin to feel myself settle down.

In fact, I found myself shortly thereafter in the midst of a Catholic service and although I could not make out a lot of the priest’s words, I knelt when others knelt and so on. At a certain point he must have given a directive and the next thing I knew a girl who had come in after me and sat in the pew in front of me turned to me, smiled beautifully, held out her hand and said, “Peace be with you.” I shook her hand and repeated the phrase and then again with another girl beside her.

I felt an extraordinary sense of happiness. My whole body buzzed with a sense of love and when I knelt shortly thereafter, I found that tears had formed in my eyes and were rolling down my cheeks. I gathered myself and left shortly thereafter, incredibly moved by the whole experience.

I left the church, rang my son and collected him a few minutes later from the hotel and we went to the Botanical Gardens and along the board walk and he showed me what he had seen with his Dad. I suggested we call to see if my husband would like to join us for a late bite and when he arrived we kissed and he gave me one of his puppy dog looks – the one that means he knows he was being difficult. We had a lovely afternoon together, the three of us.

The only other mention we made of the incident was just when we were about to walk into the apartment again later that day and I said, “You can be really difficult” and he said, “Yes, I can.”

It would make me extraordinarily happy if we never had such an exchange ever again. We are both upset by them and I think they hurt us. But, neither of us is perfect and I don’t imagine that we will ever be perfect. But, I think the power exchange we engage in is allowing for a much faster repair time.

I recognize my role in the relationship. As well, I recognize the need to go away sometimes and heal myself; to cleanse myself; to self-soothe. Instead of asking him for what he cannot give me, I have developed strategies to cope better and I think that is entirely legitimate. Demanding that he apologize, waiting for him to apologize or taking full blame for the situation are all strategies that don’t work.

On the other hand, I do accept my part of the blame. In my marriage, I will always be the ‘Personal Assistant’ – the one who takes note of the time, who needs to be ready on his time frame, the one who keeps the show on the road. And, sitting idly reading my book and not managing the situation was a red rag to a bull. He expects more.

I do not believe that a power exchange dynamic provides all the answer to issues between people in a marriage. However, for us, it greases the wheels and makes for a smoother ride, and that is indeed, a good thing.

A good thing

It is such a booootifooool day. Spring has sprung here and finally the long, cold and wet winter seems to be drawing to a close. Surprisingly for me, the winter has dogged me with various viruses but I woke this morning feeling completely energized and ready to rip into life again. Boy, that's a relief! I had such an interesting experience last night that I feel I want to share it here, although the relevance may not be immediately apparent.

It was a parent teacher evening for my son and he and I went to that together. My other three children gave me reason to not look forward to parent teacher nights. I knew that I was likely to hear several "if only he/she would put in a full effort", and so on. I knew this would be different and went there ready to enjoy myself.

What really struck me about the experience was the enormous variance in styles in the teachers. Each one of them was most definitely a committed teacher who liked my son and had very nice things to say but each one was in fact offering him, as a growing person, something very different. I'm going to narrow down my comments to three teachers because what they said applies to the dominant/submissive roles we speak of - what a dominant might be striving for and what a submissive might hope to achieve from the experience.

The Chinese teacher is a fine boned, softly spoken genteel Chinese man. He spoke of my son's "consistent effort", his "attention", his "dedication" and "respect". He expressed pleasure that he had chosen to go on with Chinese and highly recommended he pursue it throughout school. He talked of the benefits in later life - that he never knew where he would travel and what he might do and it would be useful to him. But, this conference for him was not about Chinese. He used the time to teach my son about life. He said that nothing in life has value unless you put in effort and he told him that he will need to always look for challenges - to challenge himself; not to do the easy things but to look to do difficult things. "Nothing comes for free J."

Then, the English teacher. I have known this man for many years and I have a respect for his intellect. It was apparent from the word go that he was going to be good for J and we had an amazing 10 minutes together. He took him through a piece of work. He was forceful in his approach, putting J on the spot and then commending his answers and insisting that he wanted to see that sort of evidence from the film in his next essay. He tutored him through presentation, making it very clear that presentation mattered. "I don't want an examiner to see a paper of yours and mark you down for an immature presentation, J. It gets attended to now and you are to go into the new year with it completely resolved. Do you understand me?"

His bark is much worse than his bite, but he comes across as the dominant of all dominants. I know that I would do things exactly as he said and certainly J got the message too. "He's a good lad, an honest boy, very intelligent and he has a wonderful future in this school," he ended. I was incredibly impressed by him and what he has achieved with J and I thanked him for his attention to detail and I said that it had been what he needed. He asked if we were going to the play, and thank God I had been diligent and bought the tickets. J said that he had been in a couple of plays but not this one. "Well, you will want to be in another play before you are finished here, J. Got that?" "Yes, Dr. C." Ahhhh, my kind of man!

I thought we were heading for the hills (going home) when J asked if he could see his Geography teacher. Since he isn't going on with it next year, I was ambivalent but not letting on, we sat and waited until he was free. We talked briefly about geography but the teacher had other things on his mind. How did he think it was going sitting next to Michael? "Yes, going fine; challenging but fine,"J said. Michael is a gifted boy but a complete introvert and I wondered where he was going with his comments until he let the cat out of the bag.

"Michael has really come out of his shell this year, J. We had him work closely with you, partnering him with you in many situations because we thought you might be able to help. You are in no small measure responsible for his progress as a well rounded person."

J really is a wonderful boy and we all delight in his company. It is extremely pleasing seeing him get the results he deserves. He has had his challenges, too. But, it was this last comment that opened my eyes to his potential value to the world - his ability to make a true difference in the lives of the people who will surround him.

And so, in one evening we had on display all that is best of the power exchange dynamic: a strong bond between teacher and student; respect, diligence, hard work, consistent effort, correction, adjustment of focus, attention, interplay between the two parties, motivation, a desire to achieve and a desire to teach. Perhaps most importantly of all was clear evidence of the capacity and the will to make a difference in another person's life.

A few years ago now my daughter was selected to make up a special orchestra for a week. A well known conductor came over from the United States and in one week taught them an amazing repertoire and they performed it in the Town Hall on the Friday evening. When she introduced the performance she said this (or thereabouts):

"There are a lot of bad things happening in the world. But, what you see on stage here - the effort and passion and love for their music that you will see in these children - this is all good."

I know I have a rosy way of looking at a power exchange but at its best it encompasses all that is good about people. This is the attraction for me.

My image

Although we talk about 'dominants' and 'submissives' in a very general sort of way much of the time, I wonder if we don't have an image in our heads that defines our sense of submission or domination. For me there was one scenario that I carried around in my head from an early age. This scenario goes to the heart of my kink. By the time I had left school it was firmly cemented in my mind, even though I didn't tell anyone about it.

I am not sure when I wrote the first story about submitting to another's will. In the same way that I didn't talk about my fantasies, I didn't tell people about the stories I penned and I certainly didn't show them to anyone. It was a secret just for myself. But, it went like this...

I was a single girl. I was educated. I was capable. I took a job. The details of the job in the fantasy changed from time to time, but usually I worked within the realm of the English department of a university. I was not a senior person but I was responsible to a senior person - the Head of the Faculty.

He was considerably older than me; much more experienced and definitely more learned. He took a shine to me. He recognized that underneath that quiet, controlled and neat exterior lay a girl who was in need of guidance and that if he could guide me, I would be a great aid to him; even a comfort to him.

He decided to put me in charge of special projects and he began by having me research various details for the paper he was writing. I loved that I had a special task and that he had chosen me to help him. I tried very hard to impress him and worked hard on the research.

Sometimes, I let myself down. He was a perfectionist and occasionally I did not go the extra mile to see that all the details were correct. In my youthful thought process I failed to see how he could ever know this.

Inevitably, he would call me into his office to ask a variety of questions and he would point out that some topic needed more work. Had I checked this or that file? Had I read the analysis of this or that poem?

Perhaps once, I fibbed a bit but never again after that. He made it very clear that he didn't care for sloppy work and he had no time for a girl who lied. After that, my approach to the work was incredibly diligent. I just wanted to impress him; to hear that he was pleased. He could be quite harsh; much harsher on me than on any other girl in his faculty and one day I asked him why that was so.

"I don't care about them. I care about you," he said. "I want you to be the best you can be."

Finally, I understood the dynamic between us; what I meant to him and how important he was to me. Our relationship was not at all sexual, at least to this point, but he demanded my best and I gave it to him. I bathed in his praise of me and my work and I occasionally suffered the brunt of his disapproval and vowed to do better.

I revelled in his care and although he never said, I knew that he looked forward to seeing me each day and that I lit up his day, as he did mine. I felt incredibly honoured to be the one he had chosen to work extra hard, to obsess over detail and to make him his tea. I cared about him and for him and he watched over me.

Occasionally, he would invite me for a brandy at the end of the working day, and as we sat side by side in the comfortable chairs where he received visitors, chatting a little and reading the evening's papers, I would consider myself the luckiest girl in the university to be under the tutelage of this sage and sophisticated man who knew so much more of the world than me. There was no place I'd rather be than right here, sitting contained beside him.

This image lives on in my mind and has shaped the woman I have become but as the years go by the image has altered perhaps in line with what now is and is not possible...

I no longer have a strong interest in a career of my own but I continue to want to be a help mate to a strong and successful man. I support him, care for him and assist him in all and any ways I can. I want to be improved - to be the model of perfection in his eyes. However, being proud, self assured and sometimes even bold, I recognize that correction will inevitably come my way. As much as he tries (and he does try hard) , efforts to annihilate that streak of independence in me prove to be difficult. I hold onto that part of me that is just for me.

He recognizes he needs help and a few times a year I am sent away for training. This yields results as my ego chips away to reveal a core desire and need to submit to this man's will and to experience great pleasure and peace. I am coming to understand that 'choice' is not a word appropriate for me but rather that I submit to his demands and commands. I am subjected to various humiliations as part of my training and yet secretly I enjoy them and even revel in them.

I progress. I alter and transform and one day I find that I have let go of that secret place inside of me. I relinquish my ego and give it away in full trust that it is of no further use to me. He leads me where he wants me to go and I do whatever he wants. I experience peace; joy and complete fulfilment.

Perhaps you can see significance in the story and the way that it has altered over time. For me, the notion of being pleasing and wanting to please is central to my state of mind, no matter what my age. So too is the image of a rather strict man in my life with exacting standards and high expectations of me.

At all ages, I have had a notion of love being given to me through discipline. It was never in my mind that love would be given to me by spoiling me or being soft with me or letting me away with things. My best was always demanded as an expression of the love he felt for me and in return I loved him by being disciplined and giving him by best.

Who knows why I conjured this image. I don't really know except to say that I learned ballet from the age of four. My teacher was a very strict Russian man who would scream at us if we made a mistake, yet I never felt put down by him, always trying hard. I doubt I was very good but I never gave up and eventually I think I was quite good. He rewarded me with the occasional prize or piece of praise - for example, a book about the Russian ballet which I coveted for many years. One day, when I was about 14 or 15 he saw me in a department store and beamed. I had grown to be a beautiful girl, he said. It was high praise indeed from a man who had so little praise to give, perfectionist that he was.

I realized at that moment, all those years after I had begun learning from him that he was actually very fond of me and I think that feeling stayed with me - that sense of basking in his glow. Perhaps there is something else locked away in my memory banks to explain it more. I honestly don't know.

All I can really say for sure is that the image in my mind of wanting to please a rather strict man who quietly cares for me is almost as old as me. It never fades. It never goes away. It just alters a little bit and then gets even more intense. It is the essence of who I am and why I write here.

Masochism

For various reasons, I have 'masochism' and 'perfection' on my mind at this time and it seems they are integrally linked. I have spent a good deal of time asserting that I am not a masochist, when it fact, it seems that I am. This may not be a revelation to the reader. I rather doubt that it is a revelation. There is probably more proof in this journal that I am a masochist than that I am not. Still, it is a major revelation to me.

I have always conceded that I enjoy to be spanked. Gosh, that's how this whole experience in my life got started. But, I just wasn't willing to wear the masochistic label. I didn't care to be thrashed after all. I like not too little and not too much: just enough. Surely that meant, I figured, that I was in a whole category of my own.

Of all the conversations I have had with other people in this space, I have never really been challenged about this. I haven't had a comment about it here and no one has had the temerity to say, "Cut the crap! You're a masochist if ever I saw one." So, on I went, blithely believing my own take on the world, oblivious to my own misconceptions. Then, two things happened:

First of all, after reading my web journal of recent times, my husband decided to take the bull by the horns. If I felt I wasn't being dealt with in a manner that satisfied me, he would attend to that. I was sitting in this very chair several days ago, when he came and gave me a kiss on the cheek and asked me to come to the bedroom, whereupon I found a cane strategically placed in the middle of the bed.

Did I feel fear? I really can't say I did. Was I pleased to see it there? Ohhhh, yes I was. He undressed me and then he tied me securely to the four poster bed with my arms out front. I was not going anywhere. Of course, I hadn't been caned, really caned for ages, and it hurt. I was being very vocal. So, in the red ball went and with my mouth filled, I found that I could take quite the whipping. Was I just a little disappointed when he put the cane down? Well, just a little, yes. Hmmmmm. Why is this so?

Now, fast forward, to several days later, a noted transgression of my duties and the requisite scolding. And, a poignant question: Could it be that I rather enjoyed the scolding? Could it be that I resisted being perfect in order to receive the scolding due to perverse, masochistic tendencies? Boy, this was getting rather close to the bone! Yes...perhaps...that might be the case...

I've given all this quite a lot of thought and searched my mind for answers. It is hard for me to admit, even in this anonymous space, that I am one kinky girl. I like to feel control in any manner of ways. I adore the dance; every style, every move.

Yet, I also understand that I am being asked for as close to perfection as one can get. And perhaps my masochism is getting in the way. I'm capable of perfection, or so it is thought, if I can just find satisfaction in the attaining of that perfection, and mend my naughty ways. (And, if I can't, well let the sky fall and see how I like that!!)

I bask in praise. It's well known and probably used against me. There isn't much I won't do for high praise: the perfect meal, the perfect outfit, the perfect behaviour; the perfect speech or essay. If it leads to praise, I'll work hard to get there. Quite honestly, nobody's standards are higher than my own when I buy into the competition.

But, there is good reason, I think, to give a masochist what she craves on a regular basis; to put some distance between her masochistic needs and the pursuit of excellence/perfection; to ensure that she does not attempt to intefere with the control. And, to this end there is value, I think, in the concept of a weekly 'correction', or call it what you will; a time devoted just to attending to the masochistic need for some 'stimulus' that enables her to feel satisfied and without any desire to interfere with the steady flow of the dominant's control.

Hiatus

It has been said that I write here on this web journal either when I am joyful or upset. I haven't taken the time to look for exceptions to this hypothesis (and hopefully I could find a good few if I bothered) but I am willing to concede that this may be the truth. I have experienced such happiness in a power dynamic and such disappointment when it is not present, that my writing gyrates from one extreme to the other a lot of the time.

The comment was timely for it seems to me that I am faced with the challenge of finding my own stability and a level of independence (self-soothing?) at a time when my husband has chosen (for reasons he can't articulate right now) to not participate in the dynamic with me. Don't get me wrong. He still wants a well behaved girl, a supportive partner and one who knows what her responsibilities are on any given day. He still wants a loving relationship and to know that I am willing and wanting whenever he chooses to have me. He still expects that I will mind my words and be right behind all the decision he makes on my behalf. All this is a constant in our lives. Nothing alters on that score.

However, he is not really in the mindset for play. He isn't inclined to the delicious little games we have played in the past few years - keeping close/within "cunt reach", returning from the bathroom at a restaurant and handing him my panties, referring to one another as cindi/owner when out and about, etc. He shows next to no interest in spanking me or whipping me and so on and he is more interested in me showing control of myself throughout this situation than him actually overtly controlling me. (Or, should I look on that as controlling me in a positive way too?)

I imagine this happens to many power exchange relationships - when one person,for one reason or another,opts out. Of course, this is when 'communication' is meant to come to the fore, or so I would have thought, but he isn't inclined to discuss it at this time, either.

It is said that at the heart of every power exchange relationship must lay a good relationship first. Certainly, we were married long before we transformed it (so very much for the better, I thought) into a power exchange relationship and come what may, it is our marriage (the core relationship)that much endure.

I am not going to pretend that I have not found this situation painful. It has been confronting, confusing, disappointing and yes, very painful. But, the love, friendship, loyalty and care endures on both sides of this relationship.

After much reflection, I feel that all I can do is to hold onto all that I have learned in this amazing and most wondrous forum. I shall continue to live according to my nature - that of a well trained submissive girl. And, one day soon he may just once again come my way.

The Golden Rule

The Ten Commandments offer us a code of conduct by which we may live our lives, but it is the ‘Golden Rule’, ‘Do unto others as you would have them do unto you’ that I have always taken to heart. As a mother one finds oneself saying quite often over the years statements such as, “Well, how would you like it if you didn’t receive a call thanking you for the gift you gave her?” and so on. It just always seemed to me that whatever our faith it was a maxim by which to live life.

In the past few days, I have been doing some reading about the Golden Rule and discovered that in all times and in virtually all religions there has been and still is one form of the Golden Rule or another. Forever, it has been written down that we should treat others in a manner than we would want to be treated.

Yet, there are critics of the Golden Rule because they take it further than an ethical or a moral stand. When put it into practice, the Golden Rule can fail. It is said that economically we cannot always live by this notion, for we are competitors and the rule of survival insists that we do not always treat others as we would wish to be treated. And, of course, in war, the theory falls down, although most nations have, at least in theory, honoured the code that prisoners of war are not tortured.

As it applies on these pages about domination and submission, the Golden Rule can be troubling. It was in fact George Bernard Shaw who once said that "The golden rule is that there are no golden rules". Shaw said, "Do not do unto others as you would expect they should do unto you because their tastes may not be the same." Hence, a masochist and a sadist would not want to be treated in the same way since their tastes are not aligned.

Of course, as practitioners and observers of the power exchange dynamic we know that this is a bit trite. In fact, we do all want to be treated in much the same way; dominant or submissive. We all want the other to be honest, to be caring and/or loving, to trust and to be trustworthy. Yes, one leads and the other follows but that does not mean that the same ethical standards do not apply to both persons.

A lovely woman wrote to me a while ago of her hurt when her mentor suddenly disappeared from her life. He had been kind and good and helped her a great deal and suddenly he was gone. She thought I might understand how she felt. And, I did. I did understand. We all have certain expectations, I think, and one of those expectations is that people say their ‘goodbyes’, if they must. We find our host at the end of the evening to offer our thanks for a lovely party. We say goodbye to a parent or child before we leave the house, even if there has been a quarrel. We say goodnight to our spouse, regardless of what has gone on that day. We do these things because it is the right thing to do and we know that, deep in our souls, if no other place.

I knew he should have said goodbye to her and she knew that I knew that he should have said goodbye to her. Still, the merciful side of me felt obliged to suggest that perhaps he could not say goodbye. Perhaps he felt a sense of guilt or some other negative emotion that did not allow him to do what he knew, no doubt, he should do. Or, perhaps he just didn't think how he would have felt if she had done that to him. I try hard to find the good in people, to recognize their limitations and to work with that, to the extent possible. None of us is perfect and there is most surely a place for forgiveness; to give forgiveness and to ask for it.

Whatever our religion or our upbringing or the country or community in which we were raised, there is a sense of decency that applies to us all. We really do know the right thing to do. We just slip in our standards. We get sloppy.

At this time of the year, many of us will be reflecting on our faith and considering ways in which we may be a better person; cleansing our souls, perhaps. I hold to the long held notion that if we treat others as we would like to be treated; if civility and manners and a code of conduct were uppermost in our minds, we would all be the benefactors of a better world. I am proud to be in a power exchange dynamic that holds both participants to the highest standards.

Transforming

I don't write here as often as I used to and whilst that can be attributed to a few factors, I think the most significant reason is that I have changed and I don't feel as comfortable here as I used to do. Regular readers know that I am being mentored and the goals of the mentoring are not in line with the original goal of this blog, which is interesting in itself for the idea of having the blog in the first place was really his. But that was then and this is now. Before the blog, I was just a gal who enjoyed writing stories about submission in her free time and he was someone who was willing to read the odd story and give me a comment.

Mentoring is a topic of D/s that I find very interesting. I've commented over on another blog about that recently and I have a couple of correspondents that I keep in touch with in relation to that topic. I have had two mentors myself and of course, a friend with more experience than another can be a mentor of sorts, too. There is no reason why a man exploring his dominance can't be aided by a dominant with more experience, either.

You might have noted that I didn't say "older" dominant in that last sentence and I did that with intention. A mentor or guide or a person who companions another need not be older at all. As Mr. Cross pointed out, age does not have much to do with mentoring a girl per se and so it is that a mentor not need be older.

I never mention my mentor by name. My previous mentor was mentioned by name but that was one we made up to preserve his anonymity. My current mentor could not care a hoot if I mentioned him by name but I don't because, well...I just don't. I'd rather be discreet. Yet, I do feel the desire to talk a little bit about the mentoring and where we are because it might help to explain why this blog can be a bit tricky for me now.

I'm not going to go into the details of the mentoring because it is highly specific to my needs and preferences and I don't feel the need for approval or comment, or to share the specifics of the mentoring. I think it should suffice to say here that the mentoring and the results of the mentoring give me great satisfaction and contentment. Rather, what I thought to share was my observations of what makes a great mentor.

A mentor needs to be able to give a little time on a fairly regular basis in the same way that a girl needs to put aside some time for the mentoring. Of course, my mentor is on the Internet, so in this case, I'm referring to online time.

He (or she) needs to ask lots of questions. He needs to know the person he is mentoring rather well. What does their life look like? What do they want? Of course, what they want can be an evolving thing so he needs to be ever vigilant about that.Let's face it, a submissive girl isn't necessarily going to share everything unless he asks very specific questions.

I think a mentor needs to be strict. Naturally, each mentor has his own style, but the respect has to be there (both ways) and when the gal (in my case) agrees to do something, then it is right that his expectation is that she carry through on the task. I've managed to sweet talk myself out of trouble over time and my mentor just isn't the type to fall for that. Whilst I loathe being in trouble at the time, I look back on those moments and realize he had no alternative. I like to think that it was a bit hard on him to be hard on me but either way, I'm grateful for the high expectations.

Since a good mentor is more than willing to scold (did I mention how much I hate that?) he needs to be able to give praise when expectations are met and on this score I give my mentor a ten out of ten. His enthusiastic giving of praise for my accomplishments is really a secret and essential ingredient, as far as I am concerned.

A good mentor must not only be willing to lead the horse to water but insist that she/it drink. Various strategies come into play with this but in my experience it is high expectations that is significant. Keeping a promise, telling the truth, obeying a command are all critical in getting a girl to the next level and knocking down her limits to reveal more of her true desires. Without high expectations on his part, she can't get there. She may be highly motivated but the value and strength of a mentor is really 'companioning' her on her own journey. I've lost count of the number of times I needed a push to do something I wanted to do before I experienced success.

Mentors must have goals in mind and it seems to me that the girl need not necessarily know what comes next or how a goal is to be achieved. A good mentor keeps a girl on her toes and slightly off balance; at least in this space.

Trust is key. A mentor has to be able to trust his girl and for this reason, I've been up front with my failings. When I'm being corrected I curse myself for being so honest but I don't think we'd be as far down the track without my honesty. Similarly, a girl must trust her mentor. There just isn't one single thing that my mentor has ever done to question my trust in him, even when I have been confused or disenchanted. The issue was always mine and not his and luckily, I had the good sense to recognize that...eventually.

Above and beyond all those very significant factors a mentor and the girl being mentored needs to have a relationship, I believe, where they are teacher and student. And, on this point I would like to share an example with you of what I mean. It related to language reduction - removing words from my vocabulary. On this particular day, I was making mistake after mistake. I didn't mean to make the mistakes but I was unfocused and in a way that made clear that I was failing. If I had been in the right state of mind, I would not have failed. He had had enough and set a punishment to be done "right now". It was tedious and laborious (although erotic) as it was meant to be, and at the end of the task he asked me not to think but to write down my first thought. Can you imagine my mortification when I immediately made a mistake?

"Oh the shame," I wrote, because I was really dreadfully ashamed.

But, here's the thing. So was he. His student had failed and he was upset about that.

What's my point? A mentor and girl need to be engaged with the process. This is not just for kicks. There is a serious side to the mentoring with goals to set and achieve. Nothing less than transformation of mindset is good enough. When you understand this about the mentoring process, you understand everything.

I consider myself one of the lucky ones. I'm a lucky, lucky girl to have a mentor in this space of the highest caliber. I suspect they don't come along very often but when they do, they are gold. I get a great deal out of it and I can only hope that he does too; that I am worth the effort. A good teacher is not made. A good teacher is born.

So, you see, writing here is not easy. I would never say "I" in my messages to him. I would never say "I am..." This is so perfectly natural to me now that writing in the way I must on this blog seems rather...foreign. I continue to mull on how to deal with the anomaly and I thank you for your forbearance.

What's love got to do with it?

This post is a re post. I took it down a day or two after writing it, with a niggling concern that something about it was not right. But, I have just re-read it and I stand by every word. But, perhaps I can add this...

My youngest son has an English teacher this year at school with a Dr. in front of his name. He is earnest, intense, brooks no argument with boys as to how something is to be done and has high expectations. He is not afraid to be sarcastic, or to push a boy hard to get the best out of him. My younger son is one of the 'good boys'. He doesn't want any trouble and I was concerned he might feel intimidated, so I checked in with him. Was Dr. C. working out all right?

"He's okay, Mum. He's a good teacher. He just has really high expectations."

And, so it is. To push someone to be their best...well, that's a kind of love. Isn't it?!



Here's the original post:

For a few years now, I have had a fascination with the dominant mindset. I know oodles about the submissive mindset but the dominant mindset is still something of an enigma. Having said that, I definitely know more about the way their minds work now than I ever have before.

It is over a year since I wrote a series of short stories. There are at least 50,000 words about Edward there and the way he goes about his power exchange with Elizabeth. Every day of my life since I finished it and put it down, I find reasons not to go through the editing phase. I do wonder if I think that tomorrow I may understand Edward better and that is why I wait.

Ages ago now, I asked four different dominant men to read parts of it, as well as my husband, and in that process I got five different responses to Edward. One dominant man thought him much too hard, whilst another thought him much too easy. The other three thought him fair and reasonable and a sensible sort of chap but they would want to alter this a bit here and that a bit there. Let’s just say that there was no real consensus.

It was just too complicated and I put it aside. But, this morning, in the early light of a hot day, I think I may finally have some clarity about Edward. He is flawed as a dominant man but it is the way it must be. You see, he was once a major force to be reckoned with: scary, unrelenting, black and white. But, he has fallen head long in love with Elizabeth and his control over her softens over time. He does not walk away from his duties. If there is a lesson to be learned, he teaches her. And, if he must punish her, he does, but he does so at a price to himself these days. It is not easy to punish the girl he wakes up to; who makes his heart beat that little faster; who lights his life.

In the beginning of this new stage of our lives, my husband and I were really just spankos. It is all I knew and all we wanted to know at that time. We had the most marvellous time and I wish I knew the secret to bottling that time. It was joyous and fun and wildly fulfilling in a ‘new lease of life’ sort of way. When he became more of a dominant and me more like his sub, we lost something, really. Sometimes, he has the energy and motivation for it and sometimes he does not. Often, the love gets in the way. Sometimes as a dominant, I think you have to be very hard to do your job, and rare is the day when he wants to be that ‘hard as flint’ man in my life.

It does happen. I don’t wish to mislead you. And, when it happens, it comes very naturally to him. If he wants an apology and I don’t want to give him one because I cannot see the error of my ways, he will devote hours to retrieving it from me. But, as a general rule we live in harmony, accepting one another’s flaws and failings and working around them. I know what he wants and what will please him and although there are still some kinks to work out in this new arrangement of ours, we get by.

If he doesn’t like something I do, I hear about it, loud and clear, and I do my best to improve. On the other hand, if I become overwhelmed by the way he is doing things I tend to eventually break down and tell him that I just can’t cope and he does what he can to accommodate me. We have known one another so very long, it was impossible for the marriage to alter in some profound way where our roles were totally black and white. He’s the boss. He’s always been the boss. The D/s arrangement was the icing on the cake, long baked.

In my mentoring, I have had the opportunity to experience a very different situation. I hope that my mentor has some fondness for me but we have never met nor even seen a photo of one another. We don’t know the sound of one another’s voices. He has no way of knowing whether my day has been happy or sad, whether the doctor’s appointment I have been to brought good news or bad. He can’t know a myriad of things about my life and I know precious little of his.

Rather, he knows what he wants to achieve. He knows whether I achieved it or whether I did not. I could take lessons in lying I suppose, but short of that, I give him the truth and he works with that. If he is satisfied with the progress or the outcome, I receive the warmest praise. If he is unhappy with the progress or the outcome, I receive his ire. There is no ‘love’ component to deal with here, no giving slack because of the way my head lilts to one side, or the look of my eyes when they fill with tears. There is no end to the scolding because I look so crestfallen that the scolding is replaced with a hug and a gentle reminder that this is the sixth time I have been reminded to do something or other. If my mentor has to be austerely cold to achieve a good outcome, then so be it.

The bottom line is that I have met my match. I’m being dominated in a way that I never thought possible: with extraordinary resolve, with unrelenting determination and with a willingness to shame me and discipline me such that I am left in no doubt as to his non-negotiable expectations. Was it Clint Eastwood who said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”? Those words have new meaning to me.

What’s love got to do with it? Well, it depends on the definition, doesn’t it? We can love in so many ways. But, I rather think that to alter the behaviour and mindset of someone in such a profound way as is occurring to me, perhaps there must be a little something akin to love between two people. It does not have to be romantic love to be love in my book. It is the connection of two souls at work here, regardless of what one calls it. It is the disconnection that hurts so deeply. Whatever word one uses, it is profound.

Compassion

The changes in me over the past three or so years are quite profound. Back then, I very much wanted change in my marriage and I realized that the best chance of acquiring change was to focus on my own behaviour. I have long believed that whilst we can’t necessarily change the behaviour of others, we can do something about our own behaviour. Even then, change is not easy. One has to accept that and be very committed to following through with one’s goals.

A huge benefit of growing and improving and acknowledging faulty patterns of thought is that a husband/partner/boyfriend/owner will notice the change and feel disposed to that change in his girl. When a girl is trying her heart out to change, alter and grow it is very heartening and pleasing to watch, I think. When, for example, a girl works hard to lose those stubborn few kilos sitting on her hips, the best part of that change is the pleasure in his voice when he holds those hips down with his outstretched hands and makes note of the change. Who needs that biscuit after all?

So it is with changes in behaviour as well. Something I have had to learn to do is to acknowledge the error of my ways rather than to make excuses. My husband hated that. All he wanted to hear was that I was sorry and I would try harder next time but at times, the more he insisted the more I dug in my toes and it was not getting us anywhere. It was up to me to change since he did not intend dropping that expectation of me any time in his lifetime. At times, when he is demanding and irate, it still is not easy for me to do, but I recognize that it is the only way forward.

In my quest for change and improvement I have learned a thing or two and several years down the track, I felt the need to pass some of that information onto my daughter. I’ve watched her relationship with her boyfriend develop over the past few years and whilst I have tried to remain impartial, she knows that I hope that he is not the man she commits herself to for a lifetime (i.e. marry). At the end of the day I think she would do best with a man a little older than herself and with a strong interest or appreciation of culture. I think she needs someone who can accept and understand her rather dramatic soul rather than find it intimidating.

Even so, I’ve watched this dynamic between them play out long enough for me to understand several things. In spite of her complaints of his behaviour, he seems somewhat unable to change to her satisfaction. He has given it a good shot lately, in fact, but ultimately I think he just got sad and disheartened. He was ready to give up. Did she not think that a good idea, I asked? She seemed so piqued with him. No! No! No! She still wanted him. She is a very pretty and engaging girl and is often asked out, but she still wanted him. It was finally time for Vesta to speak her mind and in a way that she knew would shock her daughter.

“Then it is you who has to change. He has tried to do things your way but it is never good enough for you. You complain no matter what he does.”

She looked at me in disbelief. This was her mother talking; the woman who was always on her side.

“Well, he was late to come over because he was at a barbeque with his friends.”

“So, why weren’t you with him?”

“Well, he invited me but I don’t like his friends.”

“Darlin, you have to stop making that excuse. Have you tried talking to them one on one? You can win anyone over if you choose to. You should have gone and made an effort to enjoy yourself.”

On the conversation went, with her doing her best to see my argument whereby it was her who needed to transform this time. In an extraordinary moment when she was struggling to accept these words she said to me,

“Are you saying that I have to just pretend that everything is fine when it is not?”

I smiled, although I tried hard not to.

“Of course not! You have a right to express your opinion, but not on every last little thing. That is called ‘nagging’. Save your complaints for important things and try to hold back on your negative emotions. Does he really have to know every last time you are annoyed by him?”

She was taking it in. She could choose to get on with him. She could choose for him to feel that he was acceptable to her and then work towards effecting some changes in him that were important to her.

I’ve no idea if I have done the right thing by her or not, but I do know that if she chooses him, and she does, time and time again, she has to be the sort of girlfriend that he can enjoy if the relationship has any future.

I wonder. If change is looked at from this perspective – that two people in a relationship expect and deserve to enjoy one another- is, perhaps, change easier? There is a lot of emphasis on the individual at this time but perhaps there are benefits to the individual when one puts the other first. So, he’s swamped with work and does not have any time for you. Maybe, that is a time to come over and give him a sweet kiss and bring him a cup of tea. (Some would say it is a time to offer oneself underneath his desk...) She’s immersed with the children, is busy helping with a project and doesn’t have time for you. Maybe if you ran her a bath after the children were in bed?

It is easy to be angry; harder to show compassion and understanding at times. Ultimately, it is the favour you do yourself.