Tolerance

I'm a person who has considerable ability to endure. That's a relative statement, of course. I was saying to my son in the car this morning that I'd have died long before Hugh Glass (The Reverant), right about the time the bear mauled Glass. That I wouldn't have thought to eat a fish live, or the inwards of a bison, or sleep inside the carcass of a horse would be quite immaterial since I'd already be dead. But, relatively speaking, I can endure difficult situations. That my husband has wanted to live in a way that isn't in my comfort zone, well, I endure it. I tolerate it. (Note: Perhaps I should explain that the word 'tolerate' is one of my favourite words lately, in honour of a comedian who did a hilarious routine telling people with food intolerances to "tolerate it".)

Of course, when we hold in frustration, it comes out at the most unexpected moments. We were sitting outside in the gardens of the National Gallery sipping on a coffee when my husband made the statement, 'You don't want to make any decisions about business'. I went quiet. When he tried to engage me in discussion later I said, 'Of course I want a voice, why wouldn't I want a voice? You don't want me to have a voice.' Over the weekend we got into this a bit further, and guess what was the outcome? No change. Like always, no change.

Years ago, I said to my boss one day when he wanted to do something his way as per usual, 'Well why bother expressing an opinion since I don't have a vote.' And he replied, 'No. No. I want to discuss it with you at length. (Pause) And then we'll do it my way.' (Another note: Then, he smirked, loving the fact that he could have this repartee with me without me chuckling a wobbly.)

My eldest son who is up there at the Partner level of his firm made a similar statement to me one day, that he recognizes that people need to have their say, to feel listened to, and once he very respectfully does that listening, he explains that as good as their ideas are, things are going to happen the way he has determined them.

A friend of mine tried, genuinely and empathically, to convince her partner for a more rounded relationship. When the discussions completely faltered, in other words when he made the declaration that he wanted things his way and only his way, she called an end to the relationship, but misses him dearly, and I think from all accounts, he misses her. I imagine there is the possibility that things could be reignited but only if she can accept that nothing will have changed or even can change. He needs to have his way.

I've a close friend who keeps our relationship tightly managed, according to his dictates. Every now and again I freak out and explain that it's too bloody tight for me. Shove over and give me some room, some space, some allowances. But, there must be an insane side of me because as Einstein said, only an insane person does something over and over again and expects a different result.

From time to time I forget about the rigid nature of some individuals and think to myself, 'Surely this is just belligerence, and if I point it out logically and calmly, the other will see that they are being belligerent and bend.' But, this is to forget the rigidity of the rigid personality. They don't change because they can't change. They are who they are: committed to what they want. It is their nature.

Of course, no-one has just one facet to their personality. My eldest son, for example, on so many levels, is a relaxed and carefree individual. I heard him say a few days ago when a brother said he'd enjoyed wearing his jacket that he'd borrowed, 'Keep it.' Possessions aren't that important to him. He's happy to do something impulsively, last minute, if he can, and he can go with the flow in a number of ways. But at work, projects need to be done completely accurately and proficiently, meals need to be interesting and well contrived, girlfriends need to understand his desire for order and efficiency and get ready for the comments if he opens a cupboard here and discovers it is stacked with useless takeaway containers. He needs things to be a certain way and he's never going to change. He's not being churlish, he's just being himself.

I'm not at all unaware of the fact that there are rigid elements of my personality. Sometimes when I am trying to entice my husband to do a project around the house or garden and I don't get any traction I might say, 'If you think I am going to change and be the sort of person that doesn't care about the state of things at home you'll be waiting a very long time.' I am me and some things about me won't ever change. Having said that, is it not the submissively natured people of the world who are most likely to change enough to tolerate the rigidity in the Other? Sure, I blow up, but then I blow off and everything goes back to normal, me in the passanger seat.

I must surely have mentioned that I do Sound Healing Meditations and one time late last year I coughed. Bear in mind that we were laying down flat on the floor and when certain sounds were made with the Tibetan bowls I coughed, choked really. Later, the session convenor spoke to me about it and said that my voice chakra was blocked. I didn't think too much about it but in the last session a couple of weeks ago, it happened again. I mention this because in the two weeks after this I found myself voicing what I had held in; in one case, what I had held in for three years. I found myself saying what I had never properly said before; simply had not been able to find the words to stand up for myself.

Whilst it is remarkably onerous, futile really, to alter the dynamic of an exchange between certain people, finding one's voice is a whole other matter.  I wasn't asking, in that case particularly, for a change in the dynamic but I was stating absolutely categorically what was not on the table. I hadn't expressed my boundaries until then; hadn't spoken of what I had found to be utterly unacceptable. I'd just tried and tried to make it work, even though I knew it never would. And, why was that? Because what I was being asked to do was something that went against my personality, my sense of the fitness of things; my understanding of the role I play in this world; what I can do and what I can't. Because the dynamic worked I figured that I didn't have a voice; could not have a limit.

Of course, people have limits that are negotiated every day. But, dolls don't and in that particular dynamic I was 'the doll'. I can't begin to explain how vulnerable I am in that role. I enter that persona much as Leonardo became Hugh Glass - completely and persuasively. Do objects, dolls, fucktoyz have opinions, limits, boundaries? How could they when they don't even compute those big words!

It's captivating play: freeing, uplifting, mesmorizing, addictive; joyful. I do feel, however, that it is important to check in with 'the girl' at times. 'Is everything good?' you might ask a bimbo/doll and being in that slutty/object state of mind, what isn't good? Very important then to give the gal a voice from time to time. Rigid natures she can handle without complaint. Obedience is second nature to her. Holding her tongue is what she does best. But, does the girl who embodies the doll feel the same way, about every last command? It's important to ask the right persona particularly poignant questions about her life.

Regardless of a very naturally submissive nature, I do feel that everyone needs to feel in some sort of control in life; over their own behaviour, their own needs; for a sense of safety and security. It's a divine thought for me to think that a person can give their whole self over to another but it's a bit of an impossibility. We can stop our brains from thinking some of the time but we can't stop thinking all of the time. Our survival instinct demands that we use our minds. An animal, for example, may rely on an Owner for food but if the Owner is caught somewhere and cannot attend to the animal will not a smart animal do what is necessary to survive? So it is with humans. We think.

I think that we grade our relationships; grade those relationships where rigidity abounds and we assess whether the frustrations and the downsides are worth the upsides. Knowing as we eventually do that nothing is going to change and the rigidity will endure, we determine if we can tolerate it. I think there is a lot of love in this type of dynamic; empathy; tolerance; acceptance. It is a vital component.

Sensibilities

I've read all sorts of posts and information about limits (I actually refer to 'sensibilities') over the years but somehow I never thought it applied to me. I'd never been put into a situation where I needed to think about it too much.

I have now finished reading 50 Shades of Grey and there are many scenes devoted to Ana and Grey discussing a contract - what she was prepared to do and what she wasn't prepared to do. I suppose that must happen but in my experience I find that being open to new experiences works best. I often experience some internal resistance (not necessarily expressed) at some new idea but over the next seconds, minutes, hours or days the thought plays on my mind and I find myself wanting that new experience. Obviously, I have no way of knowing if this is a typical submissive response but it is certainly mine. Introduce me to it, let it simmer away in my mind, suggest it again, and by then I'm pretty receptive.

I do feel that if someone is giving you something precious - their time, their energy, their expertise, their affection, love and so on - that you want to give them back something precious. On a non-BDSM level, last year my husband was wonderful in allowing me time in little Italian towns where we did what I love to do - to soak up the atmosphere and wander the little lanes and take our time.

So, when we got to Rome I understood that I needed to give back. I spent six hours looking at ruins and then immediately thereafter two hours in the Colosseum. This was his day, to spend as he wished. Yet, I have to admit, I, eventually, had pushed myself too far. When he didn't want to stop off at a Church for a service on the walk home (I was desperate for a quiet space and time) I lost the plot and said something sarcastic and in typical form he got mad at me for doing so.

I had simply pushed myself too far. In all his pleasure of being in Rome he had refused to take in that the day had been grueling for me. He was having too much fun to notice that and I was spending too much time being stoic to think of another plan. In fact, we've now agreed that next overseas holiday I might go to a yoga class or a church service while he visits an ancient site on occasion. We've agreed to accommodate one another's needs.

My submissive tendencies, my desire to please, to follow and to accommodate have always been with me and I find it painful not to please. In other words, it's hard to say "no". However, I do know internally when I am being pushed too far because I get a physiological response that tells me that there is trouble brewing. The sensations are so strong that it is very hard to ignore them and if I want to give in to the other person and give them what they want, I have to walk over, stomp down, all those signals that are telling me that it will end badly.

Of course, I am human and certainly not always right and so I must make account for that truth. Maybe, the other person is right and I just need to let go and try. Maybe it will be all right if I can just let go of the fear and the worry I feel that I can't do this or that. I know that at times my husband has wanted to do something intense and I've gone with the flow only to discover that my need to talk first was just too demanding and I've had to say, "I can't do this right now. Right now, I need to talk to you." Guys talk together, about women needing to talk, and as frustrating as it must be at times, he knows and the guys he talks to know that when a woman says this, it's best not to fight it. Let them verbalize; allay their fears and they are good to go.

A woman with strong submissive tendencies who has great respect for her Dominant won't find it at all easy to express the fact that she has doubts about what he wants her to achieve and saying "no" hurts her. She never wants to say "no". I loathe it. Yet, I think it is vital that she express her insecurities and not try to just be brave. If she goes ahead, against all the signals of her mind and body telling her that she is in peril, or that no good will come of this, I think she will weaken the relationship. The hurt she holds onto inside herself will result in damage.

I am open to the fact that this may be simply a stumbling stock and that the Dominant may wish to pursue his goals for her. Resistance can, of course, be overcome. However, for it to be successful, I think all the cards have to be on the table as to the potential pitfalls. And, when the situation becomes difficult and the submissive has great difficulty he must be there for her - to assure her he's happy that she tried at least, that he isn't upset, that all is still well. This is vitally important because when a woman is asked to walk where she never thought she ever would or could, the Dominant must hold her hand tight and be prepared for tears because the outcome is far from certain.

My feeling is that the relationship between Top and submissive is a deeply personal one. Some friendships are deeply personal. The closeness that two people can develop is quite extraordinary. It can be profoundly special; each one unique and to be treasured. When one experiences this sort of closeness on this Earth it must be nurtured and protected. It must be acknowledged for what it is: a rare gift. For such people we go the extra mile. It's all about give and take; about wanting to please and nurturing the other. Anything is possible.

Forever

There is something about the word 'forever' or 'never' that is just so abundantly challenging. One immediately thinks of all the days and nights to come; of the years folded out in front of one's eyes and dismisses the idea as laughable.

"What do you mean I can never...?"

But consider this: I can never read this screen in front of me again without putting on my reading glasses. Never again. I have accepted that. It is a bore and bothersome but I can either accept that limitation or not bother reading and writing here at the computer. Case closed. I accept it.

When I was being 'trained' I had to accept my limit of 'bimbo speeki' if I wanted to talk to my mentor. I knew that I could NEVER use regular language. For some weeks or even months, I found that concept an enormous struggle. Over time, the limit became like the closest of companions and I revelled in the knowledge that I never ever had to decide how to speak. I stopped railing against the limit. I embraced the limit. I LOVED the limit. I MISS the limit.

Last night, I was prepared to say that a 'forever' limit on my sexuality was out of the question. This morning I feel more open about that.

Conflict

In some ways, taking control of someone is a bit like the crux of a story. In a story there must be conflict and presumably if someone wants to be controlled, there is conflict within her (or him).

A top needs material with which to work. He must decide what he wants to do with this person and what he hopes to achieve. If he is to set limits, and they all do, then he must decide what are the appropriate reasons to set those limits. There must be something about this person he aims to alter.

Some people may disagree with this notion of mine. They may say that the dominant person can do as he pleases. All she need to do is please him but I find that far too simplistic and not at all sustaining. If he cares for her as a human being, possibly even loving her (hopefully so, in my opinion) then he wants to make her better. Even if she is already good, she could be better. This is his over riding thought.

To this end, I find all sorts of limits perfectly appropriate. If he wants to stop her eating french fries, or smoking cigarettes or limit her to 3 glasses of wine a week, all of that is perfectly okay, as far as I am concerned. Perhaps he wants to tone her body, or help her to live longer or get her tryglicerides down. Why not? If she is under his control, she should be delighted he cares. (I love being controversial sometimes. Have you noticed?)

I'm not entirely sure why a Top would want to put a girl on orgasm control really. Maybe that just suits my purposes. I consider that something bordering on 'non negotiable' but if I am to be entirely honest, I think it would do me the world of good to have a Top demand this. It goes to my wanting to be controlled and wanting to hold onto that part of my life at the very same time, which probably isn't a good thing.

There remains conflict within me. There is still a wealth of material about me with which to work. I was probably a pretty decent person to begin with. I am vastly better now but there is still improvement to be made. Folks, the story ain't over yet.

Obedience (2)

It should not have been a rough day today. Technically, it should have been a very good day. After weeks of disconnection and upset (at least on my side) my mentor (for want of a better word) and I had reconnected, so to speak. To put it simply, he'd been hurt by my lack of obedience in London and felt that he didn't want to engage. My husband does a similar thing if he is sufficiently unhappy with me and I imagine they both have similar things in mind. I imagine that they are sufficiently disappointed and irritated and just hurt and upset by me to feel that I am the last person they want to engage with. I just seem to illicit that sort of response every now and again. I refer you to my Obedience post to help explain what I mean.

Thank the Lord, it doesn't happen often. If they are rattled by me, I can assure you I am even more rattled by them. "I'm not happy with you," my husband will bark at me every blue moon and he says it in such a way as to put the fear of God in me. Not physical fear because even if he decided that a sore bottom is what I need, I wouldn't fear that so much. The fear I refer to is the fear of rejection; of having illicited this sort of response in him. He can raise his voice any day of the week, passionate soul that he is, but when he reaches that very deep and angry voice with me, I do fear that I have pushed him into a zone where I hate to see him go.

In this case, with the mentor and me, he ultimately issued a punishment/assignment (depending on how you see these things). cindi wrote every day for a week but at the end of the week, it was clear he wasn't satisfied. (He might refute this. I am giving my interpretation of events here). I think he just wasn't satisfied that the week of denial of using my plugs had had a sufficient effect on me. I seemed "just fine".

I may have been defensive about that. I may have been a bit strident in my responses.If he wanted to experience me as a complete wreck he was welcome, I thought, but he wouldn't exactly like it once he actually got it! He didn't complain about the exchange per se but I am willing to concede that I was none too humble and he wasn't really satisfied with me all round. Privately, I was angry with myself that I managed to keep myself in trouble.

When I went to bed (and here it is best to know I have a wicked cold) I felt miserable and whilst I got a little sleep, it was intermittent and disturbed. I just felt that this discipline/lesson was going on a bloody long time and I wanted it to end. Now, I know full well that I don't have the right to want any such thing, but surely it is human to want to be returned to grace, and that's what I wanted. As it stood, it was another day without permission to plug and another day in disfavor. I so hate that.

Ultimately, my discomfort in all capacities led me to the kitchen to take 2 panadol and a glass of water. I sat down at my desk and whilst I had promised myself not to, I entered my google password and offered my usual introductory greeting to my mentor. When I am feeling upset, I so need to talk! Before I knew what I was doing I was weeping and telling him that this was all too hard; that I was too soft for the likes of him. He sent me back to bed; told me to get some rest; that this conversation could wait another day and fortunately I had enough sense to do that much.

But the long time in Coventry (longer than i have been in Coventry ever before) was unravelling me and by last night I was what I refer to as "dim" - lacking all abilities to save myself. Fortunately, he was of the frame of mind to save me instead but not without a grave warning. He needed me to understand one, simple message. He was the boss and not me and if I felt differently then it was time to go our separate ways.

I gave myself a moment or two, but no more to register the enormity of the message before I sent my acknowledgment that I understood and agreed with that. For several minutes neither of us said another word until I asked if may go to sleep and we said our goodbyes.I had been put in my place and where I wanted to be now was alone.

My ego is still strong; still shining bright and my ego needed to lick its wounds and bunker down in bed. It was very uncomfortable and unnerving to feel that way but dare I say, strangely erotic and arousing. It is moments like this when I realize just how perverted I am!

I have written these words in bursts. Not so long ago I took hot food to my son at school since he will rehearse in a play now for several hours this evening and for some reason as I saw the children at the school my mind returned to a day in my early childhood.

We were perhaps 8 years old and forbidden from playing games in the little cottage where we changed for sport, but we did it anyway. On this particular day, a Mistress caught us at it and she told the girls off in a certain area of the room. She was sending them to face the wall and I hated the sound of that.

I could see an opportunity. Goody goodies are almost always believed and since I was one of those and rarely ever misbehaved if at all, I approached the Mistress and said that I had simply been washing my hands. Did I need to do that too? "No, dear, of course not," came the reply. It was just assumed that I would never disobey rules and so I used that to get away with the odd naughty thing.

Now, I tell this story against myself (probably quite stupidly) because I am willing to admit (to myself too) that there is a pattern here. Most of the time I am good. One or two percent of the time I am bad, but it has always seemed to me that if I am good most of the time, surely those percentages are awfully good! So what if I manage to get away with the odd bad thing!?

I think this thought has really held me back in terms of this lifestyle. I did think I would get away without getting my nails done to the longer length. I did think that I could agree to things in London knowing that it would be difficult if not impossible to comply. Instead of discussing those issues, I did choose for myself.

And, as I think about other times in my life, although I was a committed Personal Assistant I did do the odd disobedient thing just like this. I would promise to mail letters on the Friday night only to rush out on a Sunday afternoon to get the task done. It was another case of deciding for myself what was important in the same way that directives from my husband not to touch myself have been disobeyed. It seemed such a little thing at the time and I couldn't see the harm. It is that 'little girl' tendency to get away with the odd trick or disobedient behaviour or choosing for myself that I haven't been entirely able to let go.

My boss was sweet but when challenged, tough.My husband is sweet but when challenged, tough. My mentor is sweet but when challenged, tough. Are you seeing a pattern here? Meanwhile, I dance around them thinking it my right to be forgiven quickly, when they have felt that they aren't inclined to do that over and over again, even if I am good most of the time.

It has been a hard, hard lesson, this 'obedience' thing. In the back of my mind at times is this thought that I can get away with the odd naughty thing whilst the dominant types that I associate(d) with have all felt that such behaviour is completely unsatisfactory even once, let alone repeatedly.

Of course, I knew this down to my boots a long time ago. I remember my boss's wife threatening to do something her own way one time and I remember him saying to me, "If she goes ahead, she won't get my blessing". I remember him being utterly ticked off about it. If she had gone about it in another way she would have got what she wanted and his blessing and that was the lesson I learned this week. If I had got what I now know to be "prior approval" I could have avoided this whole fiasco.

A lot of learning went on this week over here. Most important of all, I believe, was the importance of communication: of explaining the situation and asking for a variation if that is what is needed. All too often in life, I have tried to keep everybody happy only to lose the plot when I can't actually do it all. I have to learn to be honest and explain my limitations and constraints and explain when I can't do what is expected of me.

I am growing; growing all the time and that's why I am still here. When I hit a limit - feel the sting of disapproval, of correction and discipline, of being brought down to size - I want to run and hide and lick my wounds. But, the desire to grow; the understanding that this is oh so good for me brings me back from that dark corner to leap over that limit and get back into the line.

"I am afraid of making another mistake," I said to him last night and it is true. Being called to task is something I avoid like the plague but it seems unlikely that I won't ever make a blue again. It is the law of averages, I think.It is what troubles me the most - that I could fall from my perch again. I'm sure there are still lessons to learn about that but right now I just want to focus on being good and putting such thoughts well back in my mind.

The afternoon has ended well. I feel strong and much better for having written this all out. Isn't it the oddest thing that being put in your place can feel so darn uplifting! I think that might be the litmus test right there. There is no doubting that my nature, although a tad feisty, is truly submissive.

Doll heaven

Entering into the dolli headspace has been an extremely liberating thing for me in many ways and brought me much happiness and contentment. I understand that that is a very confronting statement for many people to read. I hope that you can be happy for me and not judge me too harshly in the same way that I don’t judge anyone else harshly for their choices. I do appreciate it is not for everyone (or hardly anyone). As well as being liberating it is very challenging and even for me at times, confusing and even baffling. I think my last post was an attempt to express some confusion – to try to put into words some thoughts that were troubling me a little. On reflection, I don’t think I did a good job of trying to express those thoughts.

When something doesn’t sit right for me in my life I deal with this in one of two ways. Either I give my poor addled head a complete rest and go do something that absorbs my mind and body in other ways or else I immerse myself in my troubled thoughts and don’t let go of them until I have a solution. You, my poor readers have suffered so as I go about demanding a solution and I want to thank you for your perseverance. I know (well I’ve been told anyway) that I can be a tad intense.

The benefits of the dolli headspace for me are immense. I can feel a wonderful sense of satisfaction with life and with my place in it. I can have a tremendously strong bond with my husband and we can both flourish with all the play that abounds in our life. I can benefit from the structure and expectations and even the communication style can be very rewarding. On my best days, I am quite simply, the doll. I am not just the dolli in the bedroom or when my husband approaches me in the kitchen in a certain way but I am also the dolli in my interactions in the outside world. She talks in a certain way. She interacts in a certain way. She abounds joy and transfers joy in a certain way. I can feel her taking over bringing me peace and contentment and I give thanks for the day, eighteen months ago now when she rose up and refused to be put back down.

Of course, the dolli operates in a confined space in many ways. She is contained and when that containment becomes too easy, she is challenged yet again. Dollies need challenges; to be pushed and pulled. Nothing is surer.

At the same time, I am old enough and wise enough to understand that the most important aspect of my life is my relationships. All sorts of other things have importance but nothing means more to me than connecting with other people. Finding soul mates, having one on one conversations with other people whereby they feel safe to reveal themselves to me and I feel safe to reveal myself to them is what matters to me.

I remind myself regularly that there are many types of friendship. I have a friend and we’ve been friends since we began nursery school at the age of four. We’ve never had an argument but at the same time I’ve never felt that I could talk to her about the real me. I sometimes wonder if she can talk to me about the real her. The truth is, I believe, that what I see, I get. I am seeing the real her whereas it is I that am the secretive one. It will never come to pass that I tell her about all that I tell you, because that sort of exposure would put me at great risk. It would be too titillating. The temptation to tell mutual friends would be too high. And, I say this holding onto a secret of hers through the years. I can do that perfectly well but many people cannot.

I crave intimacy. I don’t mean sexual intimacy although I do crave that big time with my husband. I crave intimacy with a special few people. I hope that my special relationships evolve such that intimacy, and then even more intimacy abounds. I look to meet soul to soul. I put great stock in this; work towards this; hope. You cannot make anyone open up but you can provide the environment that enables them to open up to you, if they wish; if they feel safe.

There are moments when I worry that as the doll I won’t have the opportunity to experience this sort of intimacy. Dollies have so many rules and protocols; so many limits. They are so contained. Yet, in my more positive moments I can see quite clearly that it is entirely possible to achieve intimacy; to meet with someone else on a soul to soul basis; for the trust to operate on a two way basis. This outcome is what I call ‘doll heaven’.

Training the doll

It occurred to me recently that I have never really written directly about what my time in training as ‘the doll’ has been like. I’ve written as ‘cindi’ so you know something about what I experience. However, I don’t think I have said much at all about what the training has meant to me. It has meant a great deal; changed and altered me in ways I could never have imagined at the outset. It sustains me; fulfils me; consoles and comforts me; allows me to sink into my alter ego in a way that provides me with sustenance and energy. It has been the greatest of gifts in my life and this post is my attempt to explain that process.

From the outset, I was given limits and boundaries; contained. I was told that the only appropriate way for a doll to talk was in the third person. This seemed relatively natural to me from the outset and very soon, completely natural. Over time, words such as “are” ,” is” and “am” were denied. It took a few days for me to get the hang of it but I never for a moment rejected the idea. At least, I have no memory whatsoever of a rebellious thought towards the limit imposed.

There is one day when the limit was new that stands out in my memory where I was making mistake after mistake and eventually he had had enough of it. I earned myself 100 lines and was told immediately after completing the lines that I was to type the first thing that entered my head. I was truly ashamed to discover that I had made another mistake and that sense of shame stayed with me for a long time. I vowed never to do it again, and whilst I must surely have made the odd error over the next few weeks, I accepted my limit into my heart and embraced it as the way I would always speak with him.

There have been fleeting moments, I admit, when I have thought how wonderfully bold it would be to write across the page, “IS IS IS IS IS IS” but I know in my heart that this word is not for the doll, and the victory would be so short, and the consequences so uncomfortable for me, that I have never done this and never will do this. I speak the language of the doll happily.

As well as speaking in the third person and without the words associated with identity (for example, “I am”), I speak not English but ‘bimbo speeki'. I don’t use the spelling of the English language but rather the spelling that comes (cumz) naturally if one had never been schooled. I am free to express myself in a way such that the rules of language and spelling had never been imposed on me.

All put together, my form of communication is very liberating and immediately places me in my dolly headspace. It is anything but a chore; anything but an imposition; anything but insulting to me. It is the language I use to enable me to feel free; liberated. It is my window into the soul of a sexual, hungry, single minded being whose desire is to please and serve; to express her sexual energy and her understanding of her role; her purpose; her place.

My desire to live more as ‘the doll’ and to experience the mindset of the doll was made more possible with physical limits. I was instructed to get a set of acrylic French nails. Eventually, I was told to make them longer – one centimetre. I initially failed to comply and found myself staring straight into his resolve to be obeyed. Unless I complied there was nothing else to talk about. I returned to the salon and started again from scratch.

I adore my nails and on the odd occasion when one is broken (usually due to my loss of focus on the limits of a doll) I feel wretched until it is fixed. The nails contain me in a number of ways. Most importantly, they slow me down. I must cautiously open a drawer to get out a pot, for example. I must consider how I might attend to a chore or if I can pick up something heavy with one hand or two. I must take my nails into consideration at all times. I hear the clickety clack of them as I type right now. I notice them as I gesture to talk to someone or as I move in Pilates class and place them carefully on the floor as I bend. They are as natural to me as if I was born with them and I simply cannot consider living without them. They are the hands of the doll.

The attire of the doll was considered. I have always been a fairly conventional girl. As I look back on my working life in an office, pants were never for me. As a PA, I considered it my role to look a certain way and skirts and dresses were always my choice. But, away from a corporate role, I had wandered into dressing casually in jeans and pants more than was necessary.

In my headspace as a doll, pants felt no more right to me than they did in the office and my choice is nearly always a dress or a skirt and top/shirt. There are times when pants are worn. I don’t deny that. But, those days are very rare and they have a purpose to them. New items of clothing are carefully considered and the question in my mind is ‘Does this outfit make me feel like the doll?’

The doll is not overindulged and thus a great many items in my wardrobe were given away. They needed to be appropriate and pretty. There was no reason for the doll to have a wardrobe overflowing with garments and I learned to appreciate the value of less items, well organized. This pleases me enormously and keeps the doll ever present.

Whilst the limits of language, nails and dress were vital, I think the most significant lesson and limit of all for the doll has been behaviour modification. I don’t say this lightly for it has also been the hardest limit to embrace.

I am, generally speaking, a polite individual. I treat people with respect when I speak to them and I am a ‘live and let live’ sort of person, but my behaviour required modification to reach the high standards required of a doll. Most importantly, I allowed my emotions to get the better of me. Hurt feelings, anger, a sense that I was being put down, all played into inappropriate responses.

To give an example or two of this, one time I was hurt by a comment and before I knew what had happened I responded with sarcasm. I was told to go away and think about my response and I remember an acute sense of confusion that I should be abandoned at a time when I felt hurt. On another occasion, I was stung by words that I thought related to me and I fired off an email expressing my hurt feelings and confusion.

It took time for me to learn to slow my responses down; to think about them and try to deal with them myself and make sense of them; to not allow my emotions to bleed all over the page. I learned to ask to speak to him to clarify a statement. I learned to open my mind to see matters from his perspective. I learned to trust. I learned to give over control and to stop trying to control (though that lesson is an ongoing one, for sure).

Of course, much of this training occurred by way of a special limit. I was introduced to anal training almost from the outset and discovered its benefits almost immediately. But eventually, the directive was to use my plug more than I did not – every night and part of every day. This was a limit I found that pushed me to the brink of rebellion and sometimes headlong into war. Yes, the benefits were undeniable and the doll present, but the command challenged my ego profoundly. ("Cindi tinki she 2 speshel 4 dis rule.") I would comply for long stretches only to use some excuse or other to take liberties for a day; sometimes longer. I would eventually confess. The aberration would be discussed; often punished by way of denial. For a doll, this has great meaning.

Over time, I would come to see that this way of life was right for me; that it brought me peace, fulfilment and sexual pleasure and that the need to rebel had become redundant. In fact, the doll required bigger, more challenging plugs. Over time, it became apparent that the doll and I were interchangeable and that to deny what helped and nurtured was to be stubborn and appear to self-harm. Ultimately I accepted that for as often as possible, to live as the doll was to live in harmony with my true nature.

Are there moments when I wish I could discuss with him something relating to my everyday life? Of course! We were friends before I was the doll and he, the trainer. Yet, I have come to see that this time when I may only speak with him as the doll is the greatest of gifts and much more significant and valuable than any other conversation could ever be.

In any case, I have learned that as the doll, I may ask questions or ask to discuss a topic that might be bothering me in ways that allow free expression of a sort. Good behaviour, politeness and a show of care, kindness and consideration are all rewarded in their own way. Most importantly, there is a sense of continuity, of trust, of deep and abiding friendship and respect for one another’s lives as individuals and as partners of two highly (and separate) successful marriages that is extraordinarily rare, I think; perhaps unique.

My training as a doll has brought and continues to bring me great happiness, fulfilment and succour. It has relieved me of bad habits and behaviour which held me back in my marriage to a darling but demanding man and given me limits and boundaries which keep me feeling safe and nurtured. It has encouraged kindness and in return provided me with the kindness of others. It has shown me how to live according to my nature and my needs and has fulfilled and transformed me in ways I could never have imagined. My marriage is better; my life is richer; I am softer and much more fulfilled; content.

I look forward to new challenges. Dolls need challenges. Complacency is not for them and so the road will never be entirely easy but nor will it ever be (God willing) without the care, consideration and thoughtfulness of a dominant man. The doll’s trust, obedience and kindness makes for the completion of the dynamic that is a special kind of love; a spiritual connection that goes to the heart of all that is good. Dreams really do come true for good dolls.

Ego

When I have made errors in relation to being submissive it has been caused by my ego. We established that much. I have always had ego in mind; always was travelling towards a point where I felt I had myself completely under control but still, I made mistakes and let myself down.

The weekend did not have a happy beginning and in my mind I felt completely confused. I was almost as restless as I have ever been. I got on with life and did my best but I was not at all happy. On Saturday evening, my husband and I talked; about what I was trying to achieve, about the mentoring and about me and my traits. At bedtime, sleep was elusive. I had printed out something to read earlier in the day – quite a long document - and I found a quiet corner in the house and proceeded to read it in total silence.

By the end of the article, my life had changed and I knew that I would never feel lost again; never suffer the agonies of such confusion and despair as I had felt in the previous day or so. I wish that I could describe exactly what happened. All I can really say is that when I began to read the article I was deeply upset and sometime towards the end of the article, I felt a glow about me; a deep sense of warmth and peace; of clarity and pure thought. I no longer felt profoundly vulnerable, privy to being hurt by someone else. I no longer feared. I felt strong and capable.

I returned to our bed. I nestled into my husband and felt very warm towards him. And, in the morning we made love; sometimes sweet and tender, sometimes dominating and rough, but all much enjoyed and desired. We enjoyed an incredibly happy and connected day together with our children and I noticed that in all his comments, he was respectful, calm and loving. It seemed that my new outlook and understanding had shed its warmth all over him, as well.

So, what happened? The previous week was a time of great uncertainty and confusion for me – what the article referred to as “a chaos”. It said this,

“And remember, there is going to be an interim period, an interval, where the ego will be shattered, when you will not know who you are, when you will not know where you are going, when all boundaries will melt.”

Exactly right. That was just how I had been and was feeling.

“Because of this chaos, you are afraid to lose the ego. But it has to be so. One has to pass through the chaos before one attains to the real centre.”

I was ready to listen and learn and move forward.

“...if you don’t fall back to the ego and you go on and on, there is a hidden center within you that you have been carrying for many lives. That is your soul, the self.”

Now, came the moment of vision for me...

“Have you ever noticed that all types of miseries enter through the ego (the false center)? It cannot make you blissful: it can only make you miserable. Ego is hell.”

It made perfect sense to me. I could feel the wretched misery running away as if I had let the plug out from the bath.

“A man who attains to the self is never in any clash. Others may come and clash with him, but he is never in clash with anybody.”

It was his use of the word “attention” that spoke to me; a submissive woman who thrives on attention:

“The ego lives on attention...A real beggar is one who asks for and demands attention. And a real emperor is one who lives in himself; he has a center of his own, he doesn’t depend on anyone else.”

It opened my eyes to loss and how I feel about that. I’ve spent considerable time and energy wondering what might happen to me when and if my husband dies. How could I live without him? How do you go from a power exchange to nothing: just yourself, alone? But, letting go of ego now, and instead reaching to the ‘self’ – that we come with when we are born – provides the inner strength and courage for all adversity.

When we expect something and it does not happen, our ego is shaken and it makes us unhappy. We look to causes outside of us when the cause of the problem is inside of us. We make ourselves miserable. What a revelation! I had control over my own feelings!

The article says that we should not try to “drop the ego”. Rather, one day when you see that it is the ego that is the cause of despair, it simply disappears.

“The very understanding is the disappearance of the ego.”

I understood right there and then. And, my ego quite simply, drained away.

As I write this, I cannot say that I fully understand what this clarity of thought means to my feelings of submission. I can say that all desire/need to rebel or protest against the limitations of my submission has gone. I am currently in a position where I am not being asked about my tasks and yet, I do what I have been told, silently and without fanfare. There is no praise to receive and yet I feel empowered to follow on with the tasks as prescribed. She doth not protest.

Mid way in the article is this:

“This is how people become dependent on others. It is a deep slavery. Ego HAS to be a slave. It depends on others. And only a person who has no ego is for the first time a master; he is no longer a slave.”

I do feel liberated. I do feel a master of my own fate. Yet, it is my nature to be submissive; to look to care for others and to put them first; to want them to be happy and to receive my own happiness through them; their love for me and my love for them. I continue to strive to have the closest of connections with people and find purpose in my life through giving to them. Nothing has changed here.

What has changed is that I feel empowered to take responsibility for my own self; to recognize that when I am miserable it is my ego at play. I know now how to just let it fall away. It is my fervent wish and hope that this will enable me to thrive within the power exchange dynamic already in play. We shall see.

Limits

As a girl who realized very early in life that her thoughts were unacceptable for the world at large to hear, but her behaviour beyond reproach, my circumstances were not ideal for practising submission. My Dad was loving and proud and not in the least bossy. The simple and very true situation is that I was a ‘good girl’ in all ways, except my thoughts. There was just no reason to be cross with me, to second guess my behaviour, to lead me down a more correct path. I was already pretty perfect as far as a Dad was concerned. I did not have an older brother or an uncle who might boss me around and my teachers considered me the perfect student. Basically, I ran my own show.

It was not until I was in my very late teens that my husband (then boyfriend) showed up and very quickly began to tell me what to do. His temper flared about day 2. (Okay, that’s a slight exaggeration.) We were at the family farm at the time and he was irate that his girl didn’t even know how to drive a tractor correctly. Whilst I sobbed in the bedroom, his Dad reminded him that I was a city slicker. How in the hell was she supposed to just ‘know’ how to drive a tractor?

I was always a bit cheeky around boys but had never been called on it before. It was quite a shock to discover on that first visit ‘home’ that his older brother didn’t appreciate my sense of humour, at his expense. I got a good ‘dressing down’ for my quip. Boy! I was learning fast that certain boys had different expectations of ‘good behaviour’ than fathers or teachers.

If you said that I know how to get around my husband on most matters, you’d be pretty right. I certainly don’t always get my way; not at all. But, if he is really cross, tears can have him consoling me. And, if I look forlorn, as girls tend to do when they have been ‘told off’ I can usually extract a hug from him. Yesterday, the dear man brought me home flowers after a bit of a lecture he felt compelled to send my way. I truly do think of myself as a ‘good girl’ and so, when I am in trouble, I am truly shocked. Me? In trouble? But, I am a ‘good girl’!!

When a rule or a limit is set in place within the D/s dynamic, most of me wants to comply absolutely. But, a small part of me wants to see if I can negotiate, too. Perhaps, it is the intellectual challenge of the exercise. Perhaps, it is just what submissive women do. They see a gate and they just have to bang up against it to see if it might open, just a little. I do not confess to this being a conscious thought. It is not a conscious thought. I am merely trying to come up with some explanation as to why submissive women like me do what they do. Perhaps, no matter how much one yearns to be dominated, one has to be made to do certain things.

I was set a limit; one that I freely and excitedly agreed to accept. And, I’ve enjoyed that limit to the hilt. However, there came a day recently, when I wasn’t so sure about that limit. Perhaps, it could be given a bit of a push to extend the walls out a bit and give me a bit more room to move.

I am not so silly as to think that my plea would be met with jubilation and fanfare. I made it, more or less closing my eyes in anticipation of the less than enthusiastic response I expected it would engender. As anticipated, my challenge was met with a stony resistance and a good deal of disappointment and anger that I should even try this stunt. In for a penny in for a pound, I held my ground and argued my case. He dug in his heels and repeated his argument.

Well, blow me down, Vesta wasn’t winning this one! The limit remained. If she wanted to register a complaint, she could do it in a formal way. She could send an email through appropriate channels airing her grievances there. Of course, she was never going to do that. The girl had no jurisdiction in his court. Her case would be thrown out; judged as frivolous. They both knew that.

What’s that you ask? Oh come on! If you are expecting me to say that the girl is secretly pleased to not get her way, you are expecting too much. Girls don’t admit stuff like that. You’ll just have to take your best guess!