The effect of the erect nipple

Good times aren't necessarily shared in journals. I think a journal keeper can be too busy being content to necessarily take the time to record that state. This absence of content skews the reader's perception, naturally enough. It's probably a mistake to read the diary of someone long dead and conclude that they had a miserable life. Who of us rushes in from a day at the beach to record that the sun was shining, the waves were perfect for surfing and we felt radiantly happy as we walked by the shore with the hard, wet sand providing the perfect comfort for our feet?

I feel this way. It's a bit of an effort to sit and record that I am feeling so much better than I have for some time, but in the interests of balanced representation I shall try to explain. I'd mentioned to my husband a week ago an art exhibition in the country that I'd like to see, and as this weekend took hold I mentioned it again. Did he think he could fit it in? On Saturday morning he informed me that we were going shortly and to get ready.  I love this; his deciding.

We both enjoyed the exhibition of Australian painters of the past 50 years set in a stunning contemporary building on a gorgeous property. When we'd seen it all we headed into the nearby town for a vegan lunch; that is to say we chose to go to a sort of hippie place rather than a upmarket restaurant because, well, that's us. We love those sort of environments. It would have been better if the singer recognized that he was not giving a concert but rather providing background music for a cafe, but, hey, that's just my opinion.

Anyways, the interesting thing about the experience is that I was wearing some stretchy jeans and suede boots, and I had put on a lace see through  bra under a creme cashmere jumper. There was an open leather jacket over that and a scarf around my neck. Now, when I sat down at the vegan cafe, and the air was quite cold, my nipples were evident, apparently. I smile to write that after 40 years of being together this little circumstance aroused my husband profoundly.

When we got home he wanted to make love. He came hard inside me for the first time in a rather long time. As he showered, for we had precious little time to get to a birthday dinner, I wondered, could it really have been a nipple evident through my sweater that flipped his switch?

Somewhere in the course of lovemaking he had asked if I'd like to wear my corset that night and after my shower I asked him if he would help to lace me. The truth is that although I have had my corset for a few years I've never worn it to dinner.

I loved how it felt. I immediately loved the contained feeling. Of course, it could have been tighter but there seemed no need to push the point the first time I wore it out. It was a very happy night and what I remember about it is that I was very 'in the moment' all night. I've come to understand that at this point in my life I need to be touched in various ways. The corset was like a hug. My body embraced the firm, uncompromising embrace.

I've had some experiences recently which remind me with new found clarity that everything I have ever wanted to experience via BDSM relates to experiencing more love, never less. If a SM experience or bondage situation or a D/s situation doesn't provide closer connection or deeper love or affection, I question its worth. Again, that is my perception; how I want to experience it. I can't remove myself from my truth that my husband and I both have an independent streak and that interdependency is our ideal scenario.

At some point when we were on the bed on Saturday afternoon I made comments along the lines of the above paragraph. I asked him if he'd be prepared to entertain the notion that we are, in fact, two independent people who do enjoy playing power exchange games; take on roles for the course of the play time. So, he might ask me to wear my corset out to dinner, or he may take on the dominant role and lead in sexual experiences, but it was understood that I would behave and live out my life as an independent entity at other times. Yes, he liked that idea very much. In other words, I was removing from him any expectation on my part that he behave in a way other than what came naturally to him but also asking that we engage in practices that brought me (and us) joy.

But, let's not get carried away here. I won't be calling the builder to come and do the renovations according to my timetable and budget. He calls the shots. He makes the decisions. I convince, persuade, encourage, entice. Come hell or high water, nothing will change on that account.

Restraint

Somewhere in my reading last week, I read of one woman who was told that she may not touch herself for a week. She was doing remarkably well when on the sixth day she succumbed and had a most pleasurable orgasm. Her thinking was along the lines of, "I need this today. I'll worry about the consequences tomorrow."

Well, first of all, I think being told not to touch yourself for a week is asking a great deal so I give her full credit for lasting six days! Delayed gratification is something I can find difficult, although I also find difficult the consequences too really. I'm not fond of people being very cross with me and on more than one occasion I've berated myself for not just doing as I was asked. However, I can certainly empathize with the thought process that six out of seven ain't bad.

I've been sleeping on my own for the past week and my sleep has been quite disrupted because there has been too much opportunity to let my hands stray. On one night I considered tying my wrists together so that I could get a good night's rest. Fortunately, my husband returned home last evening and whilst I woke up in a similar way in the early morning I mentally acknowledged the desire but also mentally told myself that it was a darn good thing that I couldn't succumb to my desires. I folded my hands together as in prayer, a testament to my resolve, and duly went back to sleep for a couple of well needed hours of sleep.

There's a big part of me that very much likes the idea of orgasm control. Chastity belts come up in my thoughts regularly and I love photographs of a woman restrained into a chastity belt. I read once that a Dominant kept his submissive in a chastity belt (apart from cleaning and so on) for a six month period and that was not a dreadful thought for me; not at all. I feed off such thoughts.

I like the challenge of seven days without touching myself. I can't imagine my mind thinking of a darn thing other than my own desire for pleasure. Perhaps the need fades as time goes on. I very much doubt this myself. On the seventh day, I can imagine myself counting down the minutes. Maybe I'd get on with writing assignments and put pleasure out of my mind, or, maybe I wouldn't be able to write a thing so muddle-headed with the desire for pleasure I couldn't think straight.

Of course, the fact that I've been told that I can't have or do something is a truly enticing notion. I'd like to think I've progressed enough where the verbal instruction would be enough and I could exhibit restraint. On one level, it would be absolute torture but on another, deeply arousing. It would be an extraordinary act of grace to have my hands tied at bedtime and just give me a hand (by taking away my hands) but I do understand the idea is to use one's mind alone to show resolve sometimes.

When the woman in question told her Dominant of her transgression the whole time period started all over again. It lasted until they saw one another again which, I think, made it even a bit longer than seven days and I think she was starting to wonder if her life was truly worth living if orgasms were to be spaced out in this way. I so get that. On the other hand, what was he do? Well, I think he removed his Dominance from her, as I recall, and that's when the penny dropped. (Oh my, do I get this part...) She suddenly realized that delayed gratification was much, much easier than the removal of his services and I think it is this knowledge that allows her to move forward into this new time period of no touching.

I'm in a particularly desirous mindset; a desire to prove my mettle and to enjoy succeeding. I'm keen to get back in the hunt, out with pack and on with the game. I'm feeling decidedly playful and ready for challenge and I truly do think that I might be able to follow such a command, should be it ordered. I do little tests on myself, actually and I tell myself I can't do this or that for a couple of days and see what happens. Well, I can follow my own instructions with some degree of success but then again, I've never said to myself, "This time it is seven days" because I just couldn't do that to myself.

Challenge

The submissive woman is not easily satisfied. On one hand, she yearns for the safety, security and sense of ease that comes with understanding herself as she truly is; that of a woman with a submissive nature. She enjoys the peace of mind that this 'knowing' brings to her day and she feels 'whole'. She walks lightly through her days.

On the other hand, the submissive woman wants more. Along with the 'knowing', the sense of satisfaction, the peace of mind, and the happiness, there is an understanding that her dominant must be unpredictable and somewhat demanding. Whilst she wants to be his 'good girl'; to receive his praise and his admiration; she does not mind at all if he should care to show a little of the devious side of his nature. Peace and tranquillity is very nice, but where is the man who can have her breathing hard; incensed even?

The submissive woman may not take at all kindly to his demands and reprimands. She may spit fire and brimstone at the things he whispers into her ear; at the instructions he leaves on a note beside her bed; but her anger is in conflict with her state, should he feel between her legs.

The submissive woman is never more alive than in those moments when her kindly and loving dominant man should challenge her. She has disappointed and there is a price to pay for that. She may not enjoy the penalty, but then, why is she darn hot? Or better yet, she has done nothing wrong at all. He just feels like asking her to do something and watching her reaction.

The submissive woman may be hard to please, but I am not at all sure that the dominant man wants her any other way.

Let's annoy the big girl!

As regular readers would know, I have children - boys as well as a girl. They are all lovely people. I am not just saying that. They really are delightful people and I feel very fortunate to be able to say that they get on really well. They are all good friends, highly supportive and generous to one another. I thinks that is really saying something because each child is highly individual and no two children have interests that align at all.

Having said that, I must now say that they have had their fair share of tussles growing up. The eldest loved nothing more than to annoy the hell out of his sister. She rarely took the situation laying down and she did what she could to get back at him. I remember taking them to see a play and as we left the theatre I had to get in the middle of them, one on either side of me, each holding one of my hands. Somehow, they still managed to try to kick one another's shins across me. They could be terrors.

One day, my eldest son must have been laying into her about something. She was, perhaps, four years old. She knew, quite instinctively, that physically speaking, she had no chance of winning. That did not deter her. She had other means at her disposal. She simply screamed at the top of her lungs. She screamed at such a high pitch that my son had no alternative but to let go of her to cover his ears. I know that I should have been horrified at all this but I saw the funny side. Here was a little girl doing what she knew to do.

Let me go further back. My eldest son was about 15 months old. He had been at a day care centre for a few hours and I was returning to pick him up. He was sitting on his bottom, happily, next to a girl of the same age. He was holding a toy. All was well. Suddenly, the little girl grabbed it from him. He looked at her calmly, seemingly a little taken aback at her aberrant behaviour. Knowing that my child was perfect (!) I was pleased to see him take this in his stride. However, a moment later, he calmly grabbed it from her back. What did the little girl do? She cried her head off and her mother came running to protect her from the nasty little boy who had grabbed the toy away from her! Some mothers!

Some dominant men love to bother their girl. They like to see how far they can go before she does something; reacts. Let's pull her nipple rings, they think. She didn't react. Well, that was disappointing! Well then, let's pull them a little more. Sometimes, the girl rather enjoys the game. A little bit of a struggle can be rather delicious, of course.

Let's pretend that we are going to put the strawberry in her mouth. She opens wide. But, no. He's had second thoughts. He's enjoying the look on her face. Well then, let's give her the strawberry. "Open wide", he says. But, oops, no, not yet! Is she enjoying the dance? It could be. It could be not.

He's got her to the brink of an orgasm. She really needs this. At the last minute, he denies her permission. He has decided against it. Is she having fun? Possibly. Or, is she about to let loose with her feelings about all this? You, poor dom, have picked the wrong day to mess with her and she is letting you know just what she thinks of this situation.

Are you still enjoying yourself? Well, it just could be that you are. You've got her where you want her. All steamed up! Remember how it felt to annoy the little girls in elementary school? Remember how much fun that was? Well, you've got your own big girl to bother now, and you're loving it.

Go ahead. Try to deny it!

Still doing something right

My husband and I had the loveliest of days. In spite of the fact that he has so very much to do at this time, he wanted to spend our special day somewhere lovely with me. Like a good scout, I was prepared, having already got advice from a friend as to the perfect restaurant at a winery in our wine area, a valley less than an hour's drive away.

It was divine. We loved the ambiance of the restaurant, a bit like a beautiful French country house. The food was sensational and the Pinot Noir, lovely. The service was excellent and we enjoyed too the birthday party taking place next to us at a big table, perhaps the girl's 28th, at a guess. Her guests were an eclectic group and all beautiful and interesting in their own way.

We exchanged gifts. I had a pair of Ray Ban's for him which he loved and he had bought for me the special bracelet we saw while on holiday. He was enraptured at how well it went with the two silver bracelets I was already wearing. You see, I had been looking for something to wear on my wrist for some time. My dear submissive girlfriend had told me of the ribbon she wore on her wrist to remind her that her hands did not belong to her, and from that moment I knew that I needed some sort of bracelet to wear on my wrist. When my husband and I saw it when we were window shopping one evening at the town where we were staying, we knew we had found the perfect item. I won't describe it in detail for obvious reasons, but I will tell you that it has three silver charms - a key, a lock and a heart. It is the first charm bracelet I have ever worn and I love it. You can probably guess what I will be trying to avoid by looking at it on my wrist. I doubt I have to spell that out for you!

So, after we had shared dessert (and by the way, I didn't touch my spoon or fork), I went to the bathroom, as girls do. We had been talking over lunch of the "puss in boots". I had admired her boots and pointed them out to my husband. Whilst away,this girl had come close to him, to see the beautiful vegetable garden just outside the window by us. Of course, he couldn't help himself. He does so love to play:

"Excuse me, young lady, but I've been admiring your lovely boots."
"Oh, thank you."
"They're the kind of boots that could get a young lady into lots of trouble."
Giggle, giggle, giggle.
"I suppose that is why you wear them."
More full body, giggly gyrations.
"So, what is the occasion?"
"Well, actually, it is my birthday!"
"Happy Birthday. Is it a bit forward to ask for a kiss?"
More full body giggling.
"You'll need to get in line. The Italian waiter has been flirting with me all afternoon."
They both giggle and she proceeds back to her chair.

You just can't leave some doms alone for a minute!

We had a lovely, lovely day together, enjoying our games, and I'd like to particularly thank two of my readers, dear friends, for their lovely messages. I appreciated that a great deal. I feel very privileged to know you!

As the beautiful birthday "puss in boots" said to my husband, after wedded for this many years, "you must be doing something right!" And, so he is!

You have how many winter jackets??!!

Depending on how well you read between the lines I write here, you might or might not know that I am rather smitten with the idea of having a 'dress code'. I just love the idea that a man is interested enough to get involved. And, I rather like the idea, too, that a wardrobe has a bit of order to it.

I already have a tendency to hang winter clothes together and summer clothes separate. I rather like all the winter skirts to hang side by side, and the summer tops to be in the one area; that sort of thing.

But, I have got a bit lazy about it all, I must confess. Life is busy and I have a tendency to grab outfits that I know will work quickly and easily, most of the time. Perfectly good and interesting items must wonder 'when is it my turn?'

Finally, I am taking the time to do something about this sorry state of affairs. I am making out an inventory of my wardrobe. At first, the task was just so daunting, but I am finally in a place where I am seeing progress. I have a list of winter skirts, and winter jackets and I am getting through the knitted items, too. It is coming together.

Now before you come down on me, you should know that I have the most ridiculous wardrobe situation in the world. My wardrobe is made of many doors and the area behind each door fits very few items in the allotted space. To make a list of winter skirts, I have had to check in all the doors. Then, to make a list of winter jackets, I have had to repeat the process all over again. Some days, it felt easier to simply climb Mount Everest and be done with it!

A few months ago, my dear Janus tried to get behind those doors. He loves dressing dolls, he tells me and he thought it was time he knew what I was buying. I said that I didn't think that was all that good of an idea. He disagreed. He thought we could do a 'Price is Right' sort of game.

I would present to my husband a new garment, one not worn yet and he would guess the price. If, in fact, I had paid more than I should have, according to his guess of what I should have paid, then he got to give me that many swats. So, if I had paid $50 too much, 50 swats. Got the idea?
Isn't he a funny guy!

Anyways...in a few short days from now, the inventory will be done. I suspect that a time of negotiation and discussion will then ensue and one of these days, I will have a dress code.

Then, it will all have been worth it! I think!