The ideal man

Consider the ideal partner for a woman (like me). This is the sort of man that you find in romance novels. He's refined, for sure. He's well-dressed. He cares about his appearance and he is disciplined about his health. He exercises. He eats well and he speaks well. He is kind to animals - all that sort of sweet stuff.

He's attentive. He enjoys your attention. He really wants to be with you in all sorts of situations. More than that, he wants to know your mind - all of it. He wants the dirty thoughts as well.

He likes things to be relatively organized (he certainly doesn't have to be a neat freak!) and his life is balanced. There is room for work, play, the family, the guys and sport/fitness. He fits it all in because it is important to him to do so. It keeps him on a even keel. It keeps him content and an ideal man is definitely content.

Okay. So you have this very cool guy who is suave, sophisticated and especially delightful company.

Now, what?

Well, to be the ideal partner he needs to be naughty and he definitely demands to direct. It is not enough that he is respectful, kind, considerate yadda yadda. He needs to have 'a bit of the bastard' thrown in. He needs to have expectations, to be a bit unpredictable and to throw out a bit of a challenge here and there. He can't just be a good guy. A beautiful piece of jewellery as a gift every now and then is just brilliant and breakfast in bed is bountifully blissful.  But, so is a dare; a demand; declaration of the desire of a dastardly deed.

Keep that in mind, chaps.

An update: The search for peace of mind

I have just said goodnight to my teenage son who is struggling with obsessive thoughts related to his perfectionism. He shared with me that twice this weekend his mind had locked in on a single issue related to his study that had him searching for the perfect answer relentlessly whilst precious time to attend to all the other work was lost.

We talked about that; that there is more than one way to solve a problem in most cases; that he doesn't need to feel alone when he could have asked me for help; for a friend for help; anything but sit there and worry. It is harder now because exams are just a few days away and that means the stress in his life is increasing, and the stress makes it all the more likely that he will have an urge to obsess about the fact that something or other is not perfect.

I did my best to to turn the situation into a positive outcome: better that it happened over the weekend and now he can remind himself in the exams NOT to do what he did at home; remind himself that he can move on with the exam. Once his mind is more relaxed having done more of the paper, he might well find that the missing fact that was bothering him just comes to him all on its own.

Finally, I sent him off to sleep with a meditative script that I pretty much have learned by heart now. He was instructed to think about his feet in the bed, his fingers, his head - to notice how they felt; not to judge the thought in any way but simply to notice. I find myself altering the script now and I had him focus more on his breath. I told him to let go; that there was no more worry today; that it was time to go to sleep; to let go and allow his mind to drift.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world."

I repeated that several times, gave him a hug, rubbed his head, kissed him and repeated the mantra again several times before I left the room.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world."

With a mind that can focus on worry I know what he is going through and I know too how to encourage him to "let go", in the same way that I encourage you to let go; as I encourage myself here, right now, to "let go".

This is what 'bimbohood' is all about. This is why I do what I do. The search for peace - for my own peace and for the peace of those I care about - is my purpose.

Roots in the ground

I always knew that I was going to have to hit the ground running. There was the fact that three weeks washing was awaiting me (yes, I did show him how to use the washing machine), that one son had been ill and still needed attention, that the school term had already begun, that I was late with a big writing assignment, that two suitcases needed to be unpacked and so on and so on...

At first, I recognize that I have a mountain to climb and I just put one foot in front of the other and climb. But, by day three, I feel rattled. I want my house (and my life) in order. I want some time to myself to get things done. I want some sleep and I want to go to the nail salon and get a new set of nails.

I wouldn't exactly call this perfectionism. Would you? I just want my ducks in a row, that's all. Is that a tinge of OCD? Whatever you call it, I want it.

There is where the submission comes  in because I know I need to submit to the chaos; to accept it; nay, even embrace it and recognize that instead of letting it derail me internally, I can simply continue to chip away at it and one day soon, I will look around and most things will be in their place. I will be in my place. And, all will be right in my world.

"Right here, right now, all is well in my world. Huuuuummmmm. Huuuuuuuum." My meditation teacher is a "recovering perfectionist" and every lesson, this is what she says.

When things get hectic and when there is this sense that you don't know in what direction to go because there is work in all directions, the trick is to stand still for a minute or two and register that this is just a little thing. Really, nothing is wrong at all.

Life is so often a state of mind. Turn your thinking around and turn your life around.Take a deep breath; let the stress go.

Keep in mind the root chakra; imagine those roots that exist in your body and make their way down into the earth, grounding you; supporting you.

I asked my meditation teacher before I went on holiday what I might do to ease migraine headaches which I felt was related to certain types of cloudy light.

"Remember, your root chakra," she said. The more you are supported by your roots, the less migraine headaches you will have."

I do that now. If I feel a little head achy I stop and feel the support of the earth under my feet and when I open my eyes, my head feels clear.

So much of what we feel, good or bad, relates to our thoughts and perceptions rather than what life is dishing up. I am in an untidy state and I don't like it. But, it won't last forever and it won't exactly kill me to deal with it. Everything will be entirely all right. Everything is just fine.

(P.S. If you were wondering if this is for you, my dear, you are entirely correct.)

Obsession

If any one of my friends knew of me as I express myself here or in 'bimboland' it would distress them, I think. It wouldn't just be a shock, it would be disorienting and confusing and enough for them to wonder if they should continue to associate with me.

I agree it is an obsession. I think about sex, humiliating scenes and extreme containment rather a lot. I venture to say I think about it every day and sometimes many times in a day. Whilst I don't really know why I am fixated on these topics I do know that it has something to do with finding a sense of peace within myself - stripping myself down to the bare minimum; the primal me.

I am at a bit of a loss why this sort of preoccupation is not a lot more prevalent; why I should be the aberration. Is it so strange to want to be tied up, beaten, used and objectified?! Oh, yes, I see. I suppose it is.

But honestly, I am not doing anyone harm and nor am I doing myself any harm here. I find it abundantly relaxing and invigorating to think these thoughts and to experience these states. My body fills with 'feel good' endorphins and enables me to return to the real world and give.

My son and I have divided perfectionism up into two categories - the perfectionism that works for you and the perfectionism that works against you. You can have an obsession to draw marvellously and keep trying to hone your craft. That is perfectionism that works for you.Whereas you can feel that your drawing is never good enough and you crumple up each one and throw the drawings away and that is a perfectionism that is working against you. Having an obsession/craving/strong desire to be a wonderful drawer is perfectly healthy so long as it is kept in balance. We must do more than draw.

This obsession of mine brings me closer to the 'inner me'; brings me closer to my husband; to a sense of the Divine in all things and within me. It softens me, reduces me, relaxes me and comforts me. It allows me to feel that I am living as I want to live; as I am meant to live. It makes me happy. It is a solace; a quiet place in a very loud world. It is a source of light and a source of good.  It is not all of me but it is the essence of me; something that can't be separated from me.

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.

Take a load off, Vesta

I am learning so fast right now that my knowledge of myself is growing by the hour. Here’s a revelation for you (and me). I am a perfectionist! The initial tests spell that out without a shadow of a doubt. I didn’t know that yesterday but it is as clear as day today. Apparently, everyone around me has known this all my life, but that’s the way these things go, it seems.

I have super high expectations of myself. I hate to make a mistake. I especially hate to make a mistake that could jeopardize the happiness of my family. Want an example? I beat myself up over the fact that I didn’t put a sports shirt into my son’s sports bag. In my haste, I grabbed two pairs of shorts. “Anyone could have made that mistake, Mum,” he said, even though he’s a perfectionist himself. He made me feel better, but only slightly.

So, let’s take this poor sod of a girl laden down with her perfectionism and put her into a power exchange. What might happen, you ask? Well...she might just get very hard on herself, try her guts out to be pleasing and when she fails the odd test or receives some constructive criticism, beat herself over the head about it. That is what I have been doing. I have been trying to be the perfect submissive; accepting containment willingly, following commands, displaying endless patience and tolerance and believing that I am no longer entitled to express my own point of view or any of my emotions that are less than pleasing, enticing or erotic. Bottom line: I have been trying to be super human.

So, what’s the initial plan to alter that? Well...I have to go back to being relaxed for starters. This anxiety laden state has nothing going for it at all. Give it a wide berth. Breathe deep. Recognize that the situation isn’t nearly so bad as I have been painting it. Exercise: do some yoga and meditation. Have a glass of wine and an early night. And, let’s not forget Mr. Ringo! Something tells me that he can provide the sort of relaxation that should work wonders. And, perhaps it is time for that analysing Vesta to have a rest, too. It’s time for cindi to come out and play. Hooz redi 2 pley wif cindi?? Cum owt, cum owt wereva yooz hydin.

Still learning

In my last post I made mention of how we have a tendency to think of our lives in story form. After all, a year begins with a sense of hope as to how things will go, there is a middle to the year, but it is not until the year is over that we can assess how things have actually gone and whether the year (the story) was a success or otherwise.

I had in my mind a thought to share my kinky notebook with you in this post and in so doing, to explore all the ways I feel I have grown over the past year. It didn’t work out so well. There is so much detail in that notebook of mine and it was getting ridiculously complicated. I hope you can take me at my word that I have definitely made lots of progress with my submissive state and as well, how I function as a complete human being.

It seems more prudent to write here in my last post of 2010 what I have yet to fully grasp in terms of being a submissive woman. This gives me a focus going into 2011 so that hopefully sometime next year I can report my issue is fully licked.

The biggest issue for me is that I have trouble getting into trouble. I find it damaging to my sense of self as a “good girl”. If I am in trouble, says my complex mind, then I am not perfect and hence I must be bad (and a huge disappointment and deserving of banishment).

This is a long, ongoing saga. I remember Rich (the man who helped me accept my submissive nature a few years ago) saying to me after I had or hadn’t done something or other, that I was a bad girl. I remember how I felt and there was nothing at all erotic about it. I felt awful.

We explored my feelings and I remember telling him that my mother used the word “bad” and still does. “Bad dog!” she will say. I remember asking her not to refer to my oldest son in that way. “You’re a bad boy!” I never get upset with my mother but at the time he was a confused two year old child and his mother was sitting in a hospital with tubes coming out of her. I was upset that I couldn’t care for my son and baby and she was upset that I was ill. She defended herself and I just went into my shell. I have always hated the thought of calling someone “bad” and I didn’t want to ever feel that I was bad. Rich tended to use the word “naughty” after that.

It is the absolute truth that I always wanted to be a good child and I was thought of as a good child. I was the good girl at school and at home and if I had revolutionary thoughts or idea or plans, I kept them to myself and quietly went about achieving my goals in a non-demanding and non-confrontational way.

I loathe being in trouble with my husband and one of my incredibly big breakthroughs is that I am able to say very easily now that “I am sorry”. It was hard to accept the blame for things; to accept my share of wrongdoing; to acknowledge that my lack of control, for example, was responsible for the argument we had.

I’ve always been relatively quick to apologize if you allow me a few minutes, hours or at most a day, depending on the circumstances. I want very much to put an end to the unpleasantness. But, in the heat of the moment, that could be very hard for me to do. On that score, the progress is truly significant.

The issue that remains is that I find myself wanting to avoid unpleasantness altogether. It has seemed to me that if I could just be strong enough to self soothe I could withstand almost any circumstance without sharing it or asking for support or forgiveness (or whatever I needed to share). If I withheld information and purported to be perfectly all right then unpleasantness would be avoided. I wouldn’t be in trouble in any way and I would not have disappointed in any way. I would not be thought of or called “bad”.

Of course, there is a price to pay for such a stand. The connection between the top and bottom is weaker, there is a sense of being a fraud and there is some resentment too that I was allowed to get away with this in the first place. The thinking goes, ‘if he paid a bit more attention, it would be patently obvious that I am not as good as I state. Nobody is that good, for Pete’s sake. Nobody is so self sufficient, least of all a submissive such as me!’

I am encouraged to “let go”. I have said in the past, “but if I let go, if I just naturally say what is on my mind, or if I tell you everything, I’ll be in trouble.” (or words to that effect) The response was quite simply, “Then, be in trouble and take the correction. Dolls learn from correction, don’t they?!”

Dolls do learn from correction, it is true. Yet the issue remains that to be transparent is to reveal myself as the flawed person that I am. I’m not nearly as strong as I’d like to be either but the thinking goes, ‘at least I can learn to be strong and stand on my own two feet, whereas to be so vulnerable, so liable to being hurt and to being rejected and thought of as a disappointment is just too painful’.

The way I tried to reconcile this problem in my mind is to be very mindful of the way that I communicate and I have found this strategy goes a long way. If I want to tell my husband something, or ask for something, or if I want peace to reign but still want to voice an opinion, I do it with a great deal of tact, with diplomacy, at an appropriate time and completely aware that it must sound and seem polite to his ears. If he chides me it takes rather a long time for me to find the courage to try again to be honest with him about my feelings, my needs or thoughts.

Be assured, over the year my life and my relationships are vastly improved. I am very happy. But, I cannot deny that I do withhold certain thoughts and feelings out of a sense that this brings peace and stability. I continue to doubt the thinking that asks the submissive to reveal all to her dominant, to get in trouble, to accept the correction, learn and drive on. I accept it in theory. However, to be considered less than perfect and to risk the abandonment or derision of the dominant is something I continue to find very difficult to do. I know this is not a good thing and somehow rectifying this flawed thinking in my mind is a high priority goal for 2011.

2010 has been a very fruitful and happy year for me. I’m an incredibly lucky girl and I know it. I have a husband I adore and who adores me. I have wonderful friends who support me, inspire me and sustain me. I have a terrific family and I have the opportunity to grow, to learn and to write. Who could ask for more?

May 2011 be a very happy, successful and loving one for you all.Happy New Year!

Hypocrisy

From a child's point of view, there is hypocrisy going on in our lives. There are two standards of behaviour - one for him and one for me - and they don't entirely approve. I think I manage to keep the mood light often enough that they figure I am resilient and so they don't fester about it, but they do take note.

It is family folk lore now - one of those stories that gets repeated over and over - and it has reached a point where even my husband laughs along, so totally outnumbered is he, and it goes like this:

We were on our way up North in the 4 wheel drive - me, my husband, the four kids and my daughter's best friend. (Don't worry - we are never doing that again!) and I think it is time to turn off the highway to a new road. So, I say so. I have, after all, been assigned the role of navigator and map reader:

"Don't tell me to turn off. I know what I'm doing. Don't distract me."

So, we go a bit further along the road into a new situation and my husband figures that he must have missed the turn he wanted. I've been told not to say anything, so I don't.

"That was our turn. Look, you have to tell me when to turn. You're the navigator."

All five children groaned in one "I don't believe it!" moment. And, the rest is history.

I confess that I do struggle with these mood changes; with the very high expectations of me. No matter how out of control he is, how controlling, moody or exasperating, just one incident when I behave badly can set him into a spin. It seems to be a need that I am perfect: perfectly patient, perfectly understanding, perfectly under control, and perfectly willing to accept control.

As we move further along the path of power exchange, he has insisted on more and more control, not just in relation to me but in relation to making decisions. As I tried to explain to him this morning, we now have a situation where all decisions must be approved at the top: not decisions about what I buy in relation to small ticket items such as food or clothing and the like, but everything else.

It can be torture to stand by and watch, for example, our holiday house garden going to rack and ruin because he can't make a decision about a new gardening plan. With authority required at the top, and left to await a decision for long periods of time, huge wads of patience and tolerance are required. The alternative is to try not to let it worry me - to let the garden go to seed rather than rattle his cage. It is sometimes the choice I make but not without a great deal of internal frustration on my part.

And I wonder this: as I come to terms with my own personal needs for control, for containment and peace; as I become more and more the perfect female to go through life with, is a single incident of inability to remain in control of myself, no matter how much he pushes me, being whipped up out of perspective? It certainly seems to me that misbehaviour, such as losing my patience, is now completely unacceptable.

I spoke with an old and trusted friend about my concerns and he wondered if I should try to negotiate: perhaps a punishment to end the matter rather than a more drawn out saga of him feeling angry with me and me suffering a sense of banishment and having displeased. I think that makes sense except for the fact that a man who suffers this sense of displacement when his submissive fails him, even once in the bluest of moons, is not ready to make his peace. It is a deep sense of, at a guess, disloyalty in his mind and he needs time and space.

In fact, my husband explained it rather well to me when he said that he cannot accept the aggression towards him. When he responds to me in the way he does, he does not feel he is being aggressive, yet when I do the same thing, it seems I am. I don't understand that but I am trying to understand it.

My friend said that it is not hypocrisy because my husband is his person and I am mine. It is not hypocritical that I am being held to a higher standard because I asked to be held to a higher standard and if I was not, I would quickly feel short changed.

I don't dispute that I am being held to a higher standard than others at my own request. I certainly can't dispute the upset I cause when I am less than perfect, even if I have been perfect for hundreds of times before that and will be perfect for hundreds of times after that. I don't dispute that my role is to be the most modulated, patient, understanding and caring person that I can possibly be, no matter how prodded and poked and challenged I am in that role. I accept the role. I usually flourish in the role and I have no desire to change the role.

I only ask that the dominant stop and pause for a moment. I ask that he consider the enormous effort his submissive puts in to make his world comfortable, safe and beautiful. She recognizes the importance in his mind that she demonstrate, day after day, her loyalty, faith and love for him in the way she expresses herself and the tasks she does, just as he would wish.

On the rarest of occasions, she will falter. She will make a mistake. The world has not ended. She simply demonstrated that she is made of the same stuff of every other woman on this earth: not Mary Magdalen after all, but a woman of flesh and blood doing her best. It was just a moment - a slip of the tongue; a release of frustration. Your world is still safe. She still respects, reveres and adores you. She will recover and so will you.

Analyzing the analysis

I used to talk about analysing the analysis, right back at the inception of this blog. So, I don't imagine there is any surprise here when I say that one of the few television shows that I enjoy at this time is In Treatment. I'm quite addicted to it actually. When one episode finishes, the announcer will sometimes say, 'Don't get off the couch. Your session with the doctor isn't over yet'. Oh, goody! Another show to come and I stay right where I am.

I haven't spoken to other fans of the show but I just bet many would agree that even better than his sessions with patients are his sessions with his own psychotherapist, Gina (played by Dianne Wiest). She is the model of consistency with him and last night I got the feeling that he left his session with her almost healed. Yes, his father had not behaved well towards him but his father had loved him and Paul did love him, too. It seemed to quell the angry little boy inside him, at least for now. It thrilled me to see a preview of the next session when Gina finally blows her top at him, "You know Paul, you can really be an asshole!" Oh wow! I'm going to enjoy that episode.

I've been skeptical about analysis because I saw a family member in therapy for years and she never changed one bit. They seemed to talk a lot about her childhood in those sessions and hardly at all about the modes of behaviour that were causing her so much damage now. It all seemed such a waste of time if she was not going to learn to make better choices for herself.

But, in essence I've been in self therapy here for over a year now so I have some proof that it has value to put oneself on the couch, so long as the requisite changes in mindset are made to make for a better life for oneself and those others in our lives.

Paul really was in a great deal of pain about his father. He wanted his time and attention, seeing him as a very interesting person and he remained angry with his father, even after his death that he did not give him this time. When he settles down later in the session with Gina he looks at her and asks, "Did you have the kind of father you needed?" First, she nods tentatively, and then she shakes her head. "No, I didn't. I am a therapist, Paul!!"

It was a lovely soft touch alluding to the fact that it is those who have things to work out that are interested in psychology, and judging by the people I see choosing psychology courses, I really think that does bear out. And so, we are flawed in this analysis, therapist and patient, just as all people are flawed. Yet, one leads the other; one gives the other the security of being lead and of having that safety net.

I have heard dominant men say that they enjoy the process of providing that security, leadership and control for a submissive and I don't doubt that for a second. But, Paul is often beside himself about his patients, about the limits of his control over their lives beyond the therapy session; of his doubts that he is of any real use to them at all. It is a burden to him in some ways because although he desperately wishes to help them, he hurts too. He needs love, affection and tenderness as do we all and he also needs to throw the odd hissy fit himself; to act like a petulant little boy rather than the statesman that he is capable of being.

In the case of a power exchange relationship even those of us who long to be daddy's little girl; to cede control and curl up on the couch in his lap recognize that no man is perfect, even though there may be moments when we forget to take off the rose coloured glasses and believe it is so. But, I think at the end of the day that is what is really lovely about a power exchange.

Somewhere, some man wrote that each submissive he had been with had changed him in some way. This is the reality. We are who we are and we crave that which completes us: the dominant wants a submissive and the submissive a dominant. But, no person is perfect and nor should they be expected to be perfect.

It is not about perfection but rather the pursuit of perfection. I think perhaps this is what analysis is all about, why I gravitate towards it and why I enjoy the show.

In so many ways I have been taught to let go of analysis; to let go completely and let the dominant catch me. I adore this more than I could ever say. But, in the dustiest corner of my mind is always a faint reminder of what lies behind one of the most wonderful experiences of my life: people who truly do recognize that neither is perfect but that both strive to be the very best that they can be.

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.