Home

I had been going out with my boyfriend for some time when one day he informed me that the company would be sending him to the United States for an extended period of time. We talked it over and agreed that I would go with him as his girlfriend. We were too young to marry. This news was not met with glee by the family on any level but they accepted it.

One day, the General Manager at my place of work offered me a lift home and whilst he had me as a captive listener he told me that he did not approve. It was not at all right that a young girl accompany a man across the seas unless she were his bride. Far better, he said, that we should marry before we left.

Time has a way of twisting the truth in one's mind and I suppose other people commented on the situation as well, but it is that conversation that has always stayed in my mind. Perhaps my 'boyfriend' and I discussed it some more. I don't remember. However, some time after that, he proposed and we did marry before we left to start our lives together as newlyweds on the other side of the world.

It wasn't entirely blissful in that first year. He travelled a great deal around the United States with his job and I was commuting into New York City each work day with my job - a job that paid the bills rather than fulfilled me. The land was foreign to me. It took time for me to understand how that continent worked and I missed my homeland. I felt awkward asking for tomAto on my sandwich when I so wanted to say tomuto. I found the summer stifling hot and the humidity draining. I had no understanding why people lived on wretched looking and smelling coffee. And, why were so many advertisements about heartburn? Just how did this country work?

I no longer remember quite why I went home to Australia later that year but I remember that before my journey back to the United States, I suggested that my husband not bother to come to pick me up at the airport. It would be midnight and I could catch one of those limousine taxis back to our town. He agreed.

The plane got in and I still remember being very tired but grateful to have the long journey over. I remember feeling neither here or there. Australia was no longer my home and nor was the land where we had settled. I just remember feeling displaced and rather lonely. I began to think about finding my way to the limousine taxi area.

One thing you don't know about me is that I am rather useless in a crowd. It is often just one big blob of people to me and I have trouble seeing any one person in particular. Yet, when I looked into the crowd at this moment, I could see quite clearly that there was my husband, wearing the big brown sweater that I had knitted for him.

I think that even though the details of events get a bit hazy as we age, we do still tend to remember how we feel at any moment and at that moment I felt that I had come "home". Wherever he was, that was my home. And so it is to this day.

Home

As one friend noted, my web journal morphed into a travel blog there for a while but I like to finish what I begin and hence, herewith is the last instalment of my travels in Europe...

Paris provided us with great highs and a few lows. The high for me was, in fact, the day of our wedding anniversary. It truly is immensing comforting to be known as well as my husband knows me. That morning he hugged me close in our bed. and whispered,
"It is just another day, cindi. Everything is all right."

Special days are often tough for me for reasons I simply cannot explain. But, his acknowledgement relaxed me immediatelely. We walked endlessly that day - over the bridge to Saint-Germaine, onto the Tuileries Gardens, to the Latin Quarter, Ille de St. Louis, past Notre Dame and back home to the Louvre district. Half an hour later we were in a taxi to the Bastille district for a special dinner to cap off a truly wonderful day together.

As fate would have it, the very next day was to prove challenging. I awoke with a very sore throat and depleted of energy but in the afternoon we headed down to Montmartre and before we wandered back down to the Metro, we had cocktails at a nearby bar. When we found ourselves crushed into the carriage, my defenses were down and whilst I mentally noted the young gypsy girl beside me and was aware I was in danger, I remained unaware that I had been pick pocketed until the following day when I reached for our passports at Gare du Nord to present to the British officer there.

There is no other way to say this. The gypsies are running amuck in Paris and a girl like me with blond hair and looking unlike most other travellers on the Metro is in danger. It was not the only incident and I was often watched intently at close range and followed. Without my husband there right beside me, God knows what would have happened to me. But, I remain impressed by the manners of the French. The handsome and gallant Phillipe at Gare du Nord assured me that we could exchange our tickets once we had replacement passports and he did everything for us that he could as did the Consulate official in Paris.

I must say that this is where our D/s relationship really shined. My infamous 'sensibilities' had been rather put to the test and I was in a fragile state. My husband took the situation over completely and arranged everything. We only had one final test to pass and that was to convince the Consulate to do in two hours what they normally do in two days. I worded up my husband, knowing the state of mind of Consulate people like the back of my hand that he must make them like us. It was critical.

He was doing well but the woman in charge had been busy all aternoon and she told him to call her at 4.15 pm to see if they were ready, but she doubted it. We would probably have to come back tomorrow. He tried a couple of strategies and nothing worked. I smiled at the girl, expressing my understanding at how overworked she was, but would it be all right if we waited at the Consulate, just in case? It did the trick. At 4.45 pm we had the emergency passports in hand and we were back in business. My husband is excellent in an emergency but I was able to offer the crowning jewel in our defense. I thought we had made a good team. (By the way, the thing to know in such a situation should such similar bad luck befall you is to remain at the Consulate. Never leave. If they can't see you, they can't sympathize with you. You need to stay and look a bit pathetic and in need of saving.)

I enjoy very much the civilities of the French. I thrive on all the "Bonjours" and "Au Revoirs" and "bon vacation" and so forth. Each time we stopped for food we seemed to make a new, albeit short term friend and that was fun. I noticed and enjoyed these exchanges in the streets, particularly in Toulouse. Toulouse is a darling town to visit and I am delighted to say that I was nearly picked up there. For a woman of a certain age, being picked up is always loads of fun.

Needless to say, as a girl with Welsh and Irish blood running through her veins, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the United Kingdom. We spent what precious little time we had there in the -Cotswolds and the city of Bath and I found the small towns enchanting. Moreton -in- Marsh was my favourite town, but all the towns were fabulous.

It was time to come home. We were ready to unpack, to sleep in our own bed, to see the children and to return to our regularly scheduled programming. Watch this space.

CARE

Bettina Arndt, well know sex therapist and writer, has recently published, 'The Sex Diaries: Why Women Go Off Sex and Other Bedroom Battles'.

In an article she wrote for 'The Age' Good Weekend magazine, she notes that "researchers from Germany found that, four years into a relationship, less than half of 30-year old women wanted regular sex." She says that "women know their loss of sexual drive is a huge issue in their relationships."

So, Bettina had 98 couples keep a sex diary and to feel free to write whatever they wished. She writes, "With my sex diaries, it was the men's stories that really set me back on my heels. It is so rare that men talk openly about such personal issues, but the diaries gave them permission to let loose...Many feel duped, disappointed, in despair at finding themselves spending their lives begging for sex from their loved partners."

Now, Bettina is not a woman afraid to stir the pot and get people to really think, and she comes up with a very interesting notion:

"It was one of the outstanding achievements of the women's movement to outlaw rape in marriage and teach women to resist unwanted advances. But it simply hasn't worked to have a couple's sex life hinge on the fragile, feeble female libido."

Needless to say, some of the female members of her audiences at the moment are not feeling kindly towards her and her ideas.

But, I think she might have a point. What she is not saying is 'Do it for England!' What she is saying is that if a women made an effort to engage in sex with her partner, she might find that she actually enjoys it herself.

When Bettina originally asked for volunteers for people to keep sex diaries for her she received a letter from Sam. Sam is twice married, 54, whose first marriage fell apart over battles about sex. His first wife regularly refused his requests for sex, and when she sometimes begrudgingly complied, it made him feel like a thief.

Then he married Rose. He writes about Rose, who has a demanding job as a manager:

"She has never used the headache defence, never been too tired. Always, she makes sex a gift if she is not in the mood herself. Often she finds herself enjoying the moment. She does this because she cares about me, about my feelings and my needs. In my case, I'm sure you can guess the outcomes. If I notice Rose is run down and tired, seldom will I reach for her other than to give her a cuddle...I am far from the perfect husband, but I do love and care for her, not because I am a wonderful bloke, but because her so very obvious caring for me can lead to little else other than reciprocity."

It was the word care that resonated with me.

I do think that people in a power exchange relationship have an advantage here. The relationship is built around care. The sub tends to quite naturally want to care for him, in the bedroom and out, and the care he provides her, in the bedroom and out, makes her feel special, thus promoting the care for him. It's a bit of a circle.

It is often said that the sub seeks attention, but I think that is only half of the equation. The dom ensures, in every conceivable way, that the sub demonstrates that she is willing to attend to his needs, too.

Now, things do go wrong in power exchange relationships, too. It tends to be the other way around though, I think. A woman who is finally expressing her submission tends to have a very high libido and perhaps it is the dom who sometimes feigns a headache! He may wonder, 'When is enough, enough?"

And, a power exchange relationship can be delicate. She gives, (and gives in) to the Dom, in the expectation, surely, that she can rely on him to attend to her. She adores the focus, so it is not enough to give her some amazing 'scenes', I think. She wants to know that he is watching; when she is good and even when she is bad. She wants his attention and she wants it regularly. Both team players have responsibilities. I just don't prescribe to the notion that it is all about the dom's pleasure. Long term that just doesn't sound workable to me.

I believe that vanilla partnerships have much to learn from the power exchange relationship. All partners need to talk about what is going to work for them, but if care for one another is high on the agenda, I think that could be the missing ingredient.

Perhaps we can have Bettina interview 98 of us! The results would be fascinating.