Resistance

 Brett, my friend on death row, wrote in a recent letter that he has been enjoying watching the sun rise and the sunsets; that they are some of the prettiest he has ever seen.

My son, who befriended a mature aged man who was in his Animation Course and finally finished the course after a number of years, made the effort yesterday to attend his graduation, a very special day for him.

My painter, a refugee from Afghanistan who came here on a Humanitarian Visa, noted to me that he had been enjoying my stash of camomile tea.

Volodymyr Zelenskyy noted to David Letterman in an interview that he had been enjoying the mornings; another day in which he had woken up alive.

A guest of Andrew Huberman who visited the Ukraine recently said to him that the people were still making delicious food; prided themselves on doing so.

The guest noted also that while it is thought democracy is at threat in the United States, when one visits the Ukraine, there is the realization that life in the United States is fundamentally stable.

When I am in the enclosed trampoline with my grandsons, that sits in their garden, they want me to bounce them, and jump with them, but my right knee sometimes tells me that it's a bit too much. So I sit in the middle and let them run about me. There's still plenty of movement but I'm not adding to it, or trying to stop it. I'm secure and know that eventually it will stop.

My youngest son, the one who still lives with us, sees that life lived with a worrier, a compulsive person like his Dad, is not easy. He has a quirky sense of humor, as do I.

'Mum, you do good work," he said pointing at me from the far side of the room just before he departed.

'You do good work', I said, pointing back at him.

We both laughed.

In a tough situation, laughter works. Zelenskyy agreed. He still likes to crack jokes.

When Deity died, but I was still unaware of his passing, there was a very still moment for me, complete peace, and somehow, don't ask me how, I knew his spirit was free.

All these little moments. The present moment.

As the world spins around us, chaos, even madness seemingly winning the day, we still have at our disposal the pleasure, and the acceptance of the present moment.

As one of my favourite meditation teachers likes to say, 'Everything that peace touches becomes peaceful.' 

I fulfilled a request by my painter from Afghanistan yesterday to construct a letter to ask about his sisters' application for a humanitarian visa to join him here in Australia. The streets of Tehran are very dangerous and even going onto the streets to buy food puts them at risk of being jailed should they be deemed a protester.

We sat looking out onto a lush garden as we talked of them on the streets of Tehran in possible danger.

It's been a wild, wild ride this year.

As a friend said to me via email just now, if I try to go against the spinning tree, it will throw me off, but if I let it stop of it's own accord, it will. 

Don't resist.

Ah yes, that special phrase of Carl Jung comes to mind, 'What you resist, persists.' 

'It is what it is.' Indeed.

And the most profound of all? Lennon's 'Let it Be'.

Obedience

It took me considerable time to learn how integral obedience is to the power exchange relationship. It's obvious that it is vital to the smooth running of such a relationship, I get that, but knowing that intellectually and knowing that in your bones is two different things.

I had a number of erroneous thoughts about the place of obedience. Mostly, I would disobey because my emotions were upside down and when my emotions are upside down I can act or speak irrationally. On other occasions I'd convince myself that it would be all right, that I'd be forgiven soon anyway, that I wouldn't be punished, that I didn't care if I was punished; that I was in the right; that it surely didn't matter all that much anyway. It did.

I hadn't realized how important it is to the Dominant to be in control all the time and thus on occasion I drove a sword through the arrangement, only to feel an intense sense of guilt and regret very soon thereafter.

Eventually, it dawned on me that obeying was a far easier option than disobeying. Possibly, I am a slow learner on this matter, or maybe the older you are the more difficult it might be to break down the ego and the sense of self will.

Most of all I think it was a matter of not communicating well. Instead of asking for something, or explaining my upset; holding my upset in for as long as I could, I'd eventually 'chuck a wobbly'. Having learned eventually to communicate any feelings of distress, when I asked for something and got the answer 'no', I'd feeling really hardly done by and that's when I might act out.

Little did I know that the training process is a wild and glorious ride, filled with ups and downs, but that eventually the emotions subside and the message is understood down to your core that you can run up and down the main street ranting, but nothing changes the fact that you've signed on to obey, and obey you shall.

There was a time when I crossed a line because I was curious as to what would happen, or excited about what would happen. or was too worked up to care what would happen. There were moments when I masochistically did enjoy the correction, on one level or another, but I don't think I ever did NOT regret a correction. I hated being in trouble. I hated the disconnection. I'd take every one of those situations back if I could, but back then I didn't know any better. I was simply doing the best I could.

I can still be a flighty person. I've yet to reach some nirvana state where I am always angelic, kind, empathic, reasonable, patient, accepting; obedient. But, I get that that is the goal. I get that obedience is the natural state if you want an authority figure in your life. I've given up fighting that fact, finally.

Perhaps, a little too far this time...

In The Sex Diaries Bettina Arndt discusses the impact on couples whose sexual desire and appetite differ markedly. There are categories of women in the book and I'm a "ripe tomato", a woman whose appetite for sex hasn't dimmed at all with age and who desires a steady supply of sex with her partner. Bettina outlines in her book how sad it can be for such women when their partners are no longer, or never were, as robustly interested in a sexual/physical relationship as them.

Although she may feel she has offered an answer for such women, unfortunately, there really is no sustainable  solution offered for this dilemma. Sure, men can go and discuss with their doctors if they might get an injection of testosterone into their systems, should they be short of that hormone, but if that isn't the problem, then there is little else on offer. In short, the woman goes without. "It's just age," doctors tend to suggest, as if a woman is really too greedy to be asking for sustenance for her mind and body after the age of 55 or so. It strikes me as cruel to even speak these words.

When a woman is in this position, in an otherwise loving marriage, she must rely on other means to satisfy her appetite, which is simply there, whether she likes it or not. I have always masturbated, since the earliest of ages, but masturbation has been strikingly important to me in latter years. Without some sort of release via an orgasm that I provide for myself, by hook or by crook, I think I might implode. I'm referring to my mind and my body here. I need that satiation as much as I need water, sleep, and air.

Somehow, for some reason, my mentor decided that it was fitting that I be challenged in new ways. It all started some months ago, that I edge six times a day. As with all new challenges I did it, not sure what it was all about, where it would go or how long it would last. I just did it. 'Bimbo' is like that. She just does things.

As time went by the appetite was voracious. I didn't need an order to do this activity. I had to do it. My body and my mind compelled me to touch and the really sadistic thing about all of this is that even if I decided that I would cum, disobey and have an orgasm, the simple fact was that I could no longer orgasm no matter how hard I tried. My body was now wired to want more and more but to be unable to climax.

Over that period of time I was given two opportunities to orgasm, if I did something in particular at the same time (sorry, you can't have every last detail of my life) - tantamount to orgasm on command. Of course, I did it. Who knew if or when I'd be released from this ordeal again?!

Here's the confession. Gulp. One day, alone in the house on my own, and sure I would surely go mad if I didn't get some physical relief I threw everything at my own satiation, inserting anal beads, filling myself utterly and touching, until, in a pool of sweat and almost passing out with the effort required, I climaxed. It was life or death. I had to be relieved of that ever-pressing desire for physical release. It only happened once but I still feel guilty about it, at the same time as I know that I would do it all over again. There simply was no choice.

Weeks after this situation, a full month later, my body was screaming out for release again. To explain, sex does take place but my body is only ramped up by certain sexual interludes and seeks the second round. If sex with my husband happens, say, once in the month, there is no real profound release of the appetite, but, the opposite situation - the need for an intense orgasm is ramped further up. I asked my mentor if I could forgo my regimen for one day - for release of the voracious appetite hopefully, but also to restore my sanity which seemed to be failing me. I felt nothing more or less than a bitch on heat, a one track mind, a sexual object at the mercy of a sadist.

Of course, he said "no". I tried to assuage him and he said "no" again. I thought I took the decree calmly. I don't recall being particularly upset at the time, but later that day I was so exhausted, my body so changed, my mind so desperate, I looked up, per chance over masturbation and started to see what was happening to me. Worse, the literature suggested that my mitochondrial system may have been weakened.

I freaked. I rebelled. I took myself to a health store and bought a product designed to restore the energy of the body and to heal the mitochondrial system. I reduced my masturbation regime. I could not have stopped if I tried. But, after a few days I could sense my body recovering. My mind seemed less busy and challenged and my body had feeling again. In those few days, I came, twice. Thank the Lord.

Of course, I am currently in the process of being punished and it's hard to justify any other outcome. I disobeyed - blatantly disobeyed - and I showed disrespect. Guilty. I plead Guilty.

But, in my defense, did I do those things, or was it the horny, voracious slut which I had been transformed into that did those things? Was she not driven to despair? (Think Dana as Zuul and you get the idea...)

It's most unlikely to ever be viewed this way. You can spin 'logic' around to make the world look upside down, if you want. But, there's a case to be made for this: 'Whoooops, may have pushed her toooooo far this time...'

That's okay. I don't need to hear the words. That's what this blog is for.

Bimboism

It came to my attention over the past several days that I am not the only bimbo on tumblr. As far as I know I'm the only bimbo that doesn't speak like a girl (but rather bimbo speeki) but who knows?! There may be dozens of us for all that I know. I'm not the least bit savvy about tumblr and I keep a very low profile.

I've received only a handful of questions since I have been on tumblr. One man wrote something that even bimbocindi found pretty gross and I simply deleted it and  he unfollowed me. That was a win:win situation in my book. I have done nothing to encourage followers in any way. If people find me, they find me, but I've thought of it as  a rather private (I know, how silly is that!?) space to conduct my own particular version of my kink.

This morning there was a question in bimbocindi's mailbox asking her what she liked about being a bimbo. I've a fairly well honed antenna for changes in the air and I wasn't entirely surprised by this question. I'd already given it some thought in anticipation of such an event and I wrote as honestly and respectfully as I could as to what bimboism meant to me.

Cindi has been bimbocindi from the outset but I must admit I've never entirely embraced the whole bimbo concept on a physical level. If you're talking about the mind - the acquiescence, the empty head, the sexual entity wanting a lot of use, the desire to please, the willingness to try new things, the slutty thoughts - I'm right there.

Yet, I am still (and always have been) challenged by the bimbo facade - the physical nature of bimboism. I happen to have medium to full sized breasts that are still perky. I'm not reacting to some sense of insecurity that my breasts are small when I say that breast enlargement is something that I have never considered. Yet, I'm completely in favor of a woman doing that which makes her feel her best.

A niece of mine had her breast size reduced to be more in line with the rest of her body and I felt happy for her that a problem in her mind was being attended to. If a woman wants very large breasts and seeks to achieve that outcome or to adjust the shape of her breasts in any way, I say, go for it. However, in my mind the size of one's breasts has nothing to do with my sense of being a 'bimbo'.

I totally respect people's choices and I know that some husbands/boyfriends encourage their gal/bimbo to make such changes to their body. That is fine so long as they both  want that because, in my mind, a particular shape and size of breasts doesn't negate one's ability to play the role of sexual object to a man.

Of course, some men like some things a great deal. I used to smile when I was pregnant because it was clear that some men really get off on the look of a pregnant woman or a woman breast feeding. If the man who loves you and owns you wants something in particular, for example, for you to be thinner or to have a more defined waist, or more well toned legs or to wear something slutty in the bedroom or to have some silicone injected into your lips - whatever - this is a very private negotiation between the two of you.

Every woman walking this earth has her own little insecurities and it's vitally important for a man to be sure to have his woman know that he loves her just the way she is but that he'd like her to consider doing this and that. A woman with a submissive nature wants to please and she'll try very hard to put her insecurities aside and aim to make herself a better version of herself to please her man.

I can't say that I encourage a woman to make physical adjustments to her body unless the man in her life requesting those changes is completely committed to her. One man's desire to have a woman's arm tattooed with his name within a heart, for example, may be the next man's turn off. So, these decisions can't be made on the tear. You have to have your wits about you before you go about making permanent physical transformations. You really do  have to use your big girl head!

I think that bimboism can be whatever you want it to be. The word carries a lot of connotations and it's a delicate subject. For me, it has been about letting go, primarily; accepting my sexuality and embracing my appetite for sex.

So, I won't ever be getting a breast change. I won't ever wear some very slutty number in public. I really think these things are impossible for me. Stockings and garters under my skirt make me feel very sexy. Taking a great deal of care to look attractive makes me feel sexy. Looking like a tart does not. You see, there's the bias right there! But, I can't help it. My sexuality is a private thing. I'm a private person.

I'm aware that some men try to break down this sort of female thinking in the bedroom by debasing or degrading a woman. In the darkest recesses of my mind, degradation is a total turn on and we've used it with some good effect. I've written over my own body, naughty statements, and my husband was instantly aroused. I do, alas, find a lot of very naughty things a very big turn on. But, the classic bimbo look...I consistently am challenged by it; consistently find myself turning away. The above photograph, in my mind, is entirely bimbo; beautiful and bimbo at the same time. That's my version of bimbo: a very female version. There's the rub; there's the hurdle to jump.

Shake, baby, shake

My husband has been unwell for a few months now but ill health is not unknown to him. He's suffered a myriad of  relatively minor (to major) but unpleasant conditions over a long period of time.

He tends to tell his doctor what is wrong with him rather than the other way around and somehow or other he manages to get his doctor to do what he wants him to do. Over the past several weeks, I've listened tirelessly to my husband give his version of what he has and what needs to be done about it. Meanwhile, he has no referral, and hence no appointment, to a see a specialist about chronic fatigue syndrome.

How does one know when one is to be tipped over the edge and fall down into the pit of impatience? One doesn't. All I can tell you for sure is that today was the day.

I have done my own research for chronic fatigue and guess what? My husband's state ticks all the boxes. Not only did he suffer childhood stress but he has been under considerable financial and general stress for years and years. He sleeps the least amount possible but now finds that he must sleep in most mornings. He has extreme fatigue worsened by physical exertion. As well, he has severe muscle pain, food sensitivities, frequent urination, dry mouth, and brain fog. He is in a bad way.

Yet, he still won't come to bed at night; still has trouble accepting that there is a stress component to this condition; that he is an anxious person; a perfectionist with some obsessive and driven behaviours.

As his submissive, I've gone the track of listening and being patient. I've agreed with him, even when I didn't agree, knowing that he'd get cross if I offered an opinion different to him.

On the weekend, I suggested that maybe 5% of his condition has a psychological component - that is, his tendency towards anxiety generally and the fact that he has gravitated towards stressful and difficult situations, only to be even more stressed when they didn't go the way he expected.

He got really, really mad. It was "bio-chemical", he insisted and nothing more or less than that.

What is a submissive to do? Well, today I told him that I couldn't sit back and just agree with him any more. He needed to respect that I didn't hold the same opinion as him and that I was voicing my opinion because I cared about him. I just couldn't sit back and watch this happen any longer. I wanted him to see an expert in chronic fatigue. He could seek any and all other remedies he wished but I wanted him to get the referral to a guy who knew something about this condition.

And, I wanted him to start taking care of himself. How about some sleep???

Well, it didn't go well. I guess you're not surprised about that. But, my husband has often spoken about the fact that to get past inertia you have to shake things up and I have shaken. It's a start.

What's my kink?

I always enjoying reading Remittance Girl’s thoughts and she left me a wonderfully thought provoking comment on my most recent post. I tried twice to leave a long comment and the publishing of that comment failed, so I figured an explanation/response in the form of a post might be in order. Remittance Girl wrote:

Hello Vesta,
I'm glad you're feeling better. I have to own up to the fact that this is not a part of D/s I can really grasp emotionally. I get it intellectually, but that's the extent of it. And I respect your choices.

Okay, now that I've said all the correct things, I'm going to get opinionated. :P

This kind of misery over the length of a set of nails seems either an over-reaction or only half the story. Yes, I know it *isn't* about the nails, but obedience, but I just think that taking it to this edge over this particular issue is odd. And that concerns me, because I know that misery is not your kink (it is mine).

Remittance Girl is completely correct in saying that misery is not my kink. I think that is perfectly clear. I have entered into BDSM experiences in the hope of reaching the sun. I love to smile, to giggle, to feel light and happy. If I can get closer to the heavens and to a peaceful, contented and fulfilled state of mind, I want to go there by whatever means will take me there.

RG mentioned the nails situation in my ‘Obedience’ post. This is a situation that took place 18 months ago but I am happy to revisit my state of mind.

What I experienced was not what I regard “misery” but certainly there was angst. I understood what I needed to do to be in compliance but I baulked when I met resistance at the nail salon. I was embarrassed because I knew that what I was asking for was “slutty” and that it would identify me as a particular kind of woman. It was revealing. I was willing to be revealed if they made it easy but they chose to question me in front of other women and I hid myself again and gave into them.

When I met the iron hand of the dominant the next time we talked, I definitely felt angst, like any person who has not done the right thing and is told that unless they do, there will be severe consequences.

I was wrestling with the fact that what I wanted to do (baulk) and what I needed to do (comply) were two different things. Uppermost in my mind was that I definitely didn’t want to fail and I had to overcome my own internal resistance to do what I found hard to do.

As dramatic as the ‘Obedience’ post must read, I felt that my determination to forge ahead with the assignment and to have my new nails cut from my nail bed and replaced with longer nails was extremely significant. I had given over any complacency, any sense of embarrassment, any sense of humiliation or free will to someone else. I had finally come to grips with what a submissive woman does when she allows herself to cede all control. I wrote the post as I did because it was a momentous day in my life and one of which I am proud. This may sound odd, but it meant a huge amount to me to experience this sort of submission: to put my faith and trust in another human being to take me to a place that I did indeed ask to go.

My kink definitely is not misery and I am not particularly fond of angst, although I understand that there will be moments of angst and even misery as I wrestle my submissive demons. If I could use one word to describe my kink it is ‘care’. I want to serve another for sure; to care for another. But, I also want to experience care. It may not always look like it, but I feel confident in saying that my challenges (what I am told to do) are a form of care and I remain extremely grateful for these experiences and opportunities. I hope the above sheds some light as to my state of mind. Thank you again RG for such a thought provoking question.

Restrictions

Heer da ting: Cindi took a l'il break from her pluggiz n wen dat situ8shin reveeld, cindi had her pluggiz taken wey. If cindi nut appreshe8 dem n decide 4 hessef nut 2 yooos dem, den she ken hab l'il rest n nut eben tuchi dem 4 5 deys.

At ferst, dat nut such a bed ting 4 cindi. It neba comfirtibl dat she in da bed books, but she beri bizi n 4 few deyz she nut mynd. She nut reeeli miss dem. She wer at certin speshel momins in da dey dat normilli she wood poot pluggi in at dis tym, n it feel odd, but she funshinin ull rite so far. Or, so she tot. Onnir wood nut gree wif cindi bowt dat. She ashoooli aktin silli n ovareaktin n jus emoshinel. As eeach day wor on, she missin her pluggiz mor n mor.

Dis mornin, da restrikshinz ova. Tanki gudness! But, cindi nut hab chans 2 poot in pluggi as yet n wen reeeli evalu8 da situation, it a hol 9 deys since she pluggi. Dat far far far 2 lung! Wen onnir talkiz wif cindi dis mornin she nut behayd well n he nut et ull impressd. He tyrd of cindi n go wey 2 da jim n tel cindi 2 stop dis bed behavyor meed8li!

Wen onnir get bak he c dat cindi hab dat certin look in her iz - dat gilti, notti l'il bimbo look she gets - and he pick up da wide, flat wooden spatula n tek cindi bi da hand 2 da bedroom. He tek off her kimono n he now poot nakid cindi ova da bed n tie her hanz 2 da posts of the bed. She well stretched owt. N he tel cindi it tym she remynded of how she expekted 2 beehayv.

Cindi sey, "Pweeeeeeeez!!", but onnir def 2 her pleees. He thwack da horribl wooden tingi on2 cindiz bottom beri hard n she hooooowwwwwwl 2 da moon. Boy, duz dat sting! N den he do it nudder 5 tymz. Eech tym cindi hooooowwwwl n pull on da ropz, but she nut goin enewhere - nut eben ken mooov an inch. Her paw bottum beri red n stingi.

"Am gettin trew to cindi?"

"Yessiiii, def gettin trew."

"Sure? Nut need ene mor paddlin?"

"Noooo tanki."

"Well, it tym da bimbo yoooosd. Tinki best yoooosd in da ass cunt. Cindi gree?"

"Wuteva onnir wans."

"Gud cindi."

Cindi gotsa plenti yooos n she beri gr8fool, of cors. Bimboz liki dat.

"Cindi redi now 2 hab gud dey?"

"Beri redi."

"Wut cindi sey?"

"Tanki onnir, 4 da currekshin n 4 da yooos."

"Gud bimbo; in2 da showr n onnir wash his bimbo."

Der a morel 2 dis stori: Bimboz need der pluggiz n if nut get da yooos from da pluggiz, dey ken get owta cuntrol. Wen owta cuntrol, dey stert aktin silli n get bit miserabil. It jus nut a gud ideuh.

So, tankfooooooli, cindi bek 2 pluggeen eberi singel dey. Dat best. C, it liki dis. Pluggi da sem 2 a bimbo wut a secoooriti blanki liki 2 a babi. Unfortoon8li, it nut until it taken wey from bimbo ocasinli dat she ken c dat pluggi essenshil. She unastandz dat now n so happi 2 haf her pluggiz gin. She alredi stertin 2 feeel gr8 n she hab beri fun dey!

Sumtymz u donna no wut u got til it gone.

Push and pull

I have been having a rough time lately (and cindi has too). As much as I have loved my experiences of burrowing further down into a submissive place, I have struggled with it, too. There have been many moments when I feel there is a tug of war going on in my mind and I have no real idea who is going to win - the part of me that feels that her worth as a loving, intelligent being has been put into question in some way and the part of me that is never happier when I am in my sweet spot of total obedience and submission. I have had something of a dream run lately and so this hump in the road has been felt with all associated discomfort.

So, I walk. I keep busy. I exercise. I try not to allow my mind to dwell too much on the dilemma. The answer will come, I figure. It will come in its own sweet time and I need to try to just relax about it all. I go to the gym and I do an advanced Pilates class. You can't think and focus in there when the going gets really tough and that suits me fine. I allow my mind to drift in the relaxation time at the end of the class and nothing especially profound comes to me today. I debate whether to stop for coffee and since I've run to the gym, I decide that a cup of coffee would be a nice treat before I run back. I order the coffee and pick up the daily paper. I see Mary.

"Do you want to go on reading the paper?" I ask.

"I'm going to the weights class," she says, but makes no move to go. I sit down and the nice boy behind the counter brings me my coffee.

Mary launches into a tirade about what she is reading. The election is a mess. Neither party is up to addressing the needs of the nation. Nobody has the information to address the challenges of the environment, she says. As I listen quietly, she moves quite naturally into the topic that is closest to her heart and I am delighted she has done so and I hang on every word.

I've known Mary for several months now and I felt right away that she was going to be important in my life. But, our conversations are really just sandwiched into the conversation of a group of women and this was the first time that I had her all to myself.

She met her husband at 20 and they married eight weeks later having fallen in love at first sight. They raised four children until he went for a bike ride and never returned, having had a heart attack. She was devastated. He was the love of her life. But, she's strong, Mary, and she continued with her work and brought up the children on her own and did a very fine job of that.

Inside, she was just heart broken and in her quest to survive this experience of loss she learned about meditation and she says that it saved her. Over time, she began to read about religion in general, as opposed to specific religious beliefs and she went looking for what is common in religion. Ultimately, she has chosen to believe that we all evolve; that we are reincarnated many times and that if we are evolving well, as she believes we both are, we are probably in our 30th life.

She believes that she has a guide that goes with her through her life and helps her with her hardest decisions. And, she believes that she does not make hard decisions alone but that her guide brings those correct decisions to her. She cited many examples (and never did get to her exercise class, by the way).

I am sure you can imagine that I was spellbound. I said nothing, fearing that I would stop her in her tracks. I wanted to hear every last word of what she had to say. My own mentor had opened the door some months ago to me getting closer to Mary and here was the opportunity. I was seizing it. Finally, it seemed the right time to ask some questions:

"Mary, I know you loved David passionately. But, did you ever fight?"

"Often. We fought long and hard but we always made up."

"Us too."

"I have learned through my reading and spiritual leader that it is preferable if there is push and pull between two people; two passionate people in love."

"Yet, there is often a dominant partner in a marriage..."

"Yes, there is. There was..."

"But, it is okay to have arguments with a partner, from a spiritual point of view?"

"It is more than okay. It is preferred. The push and pull of a passionate relationship is what keeps it strong and nurtured and alive."

"That's nice to know."

"Yes, it was for me, too."

We talked a little longer. We truly are kindred spirits just on the cusp of opening up to each other but I can't tell you what this conversation meant to me. I felt like my 'guardian angel', that spirit that walks with me had led me into the room to find Mary there alone, ready to aid me.

I think in so many ways in this journey I've wanted to be the most submissive, the most obedient I could be, finding fault in myself every time I felt that need to push or pull. I did not want and I don't want to win. But, I do need sometimes to push and to express myself and to challenge the call. I feel that keenly. And, spiritually speaking, in a passionate and loving and enduring relationship, that is perfectly all right.

I'm still processing what this means to me. I've not found the dominant man especially comfortable with my need to push or pull at his commands at all. But, that in some deeply spiritual way this is how it is actually meant to be, soothes my weary soul.

Anal training

Dolliz receive lotsa treynin and one of da important aspectz of treynin 4 a dolli: anal treynin. Dolliz go frum yoosin small pluggiz 2 yoosin big pluggiz, eventually. Anal treynin nut jus sumtin dat happenz haphazardli. It sumtin dat part of a dolliz lyf, day by day. It rel8z 2 da stretchiness coz da mor strechi da more dolli.

Wun ting about dolliz dat mebbe nut dat wel understood, dey nut necessarili abel 2 haf da self displin 2 do dis on der own. Sumtimz, dolliz sey 2 demseffz, "Hmmmm, mebbe 2nite cindi tek a break from da pluggi n go sleepiz ull on her own." Or, "Hmmmm, mebbe nut da beri big pluggi 2nite but da medium size pluggi".

Sumtimz, dolliz 4get sumtin beri beri importin n dat da reezun 4 ull da treynin; da point of ull da treynin.

So, cindi esked an important question:

"If given choice, witch pluggi wood da dolli chooz?"

Cindi just a dolli but reederz should nut confooz da dolli wif a total airhead. She no dat sumtin up wif dat question. She on high alert, if reederz ken follow her drift. She sey dat sumtimz she wood liki choose da medium size pluggi as an option.

"N y dat nut an opshin? she asked.

Hmmmmm. Time 4 cindi 2 use eberi last bit of brain power left.

"Wel, cindiz ass cunt in treynn n da mor strechi n da mor offen strechi da mor treynn 4 da asscunt."

Now she asked da question again, "Which pluggi cindi chooz?"

"Wel heer da ting; cindi tinki dat dis moot poynt coz she hab no choys."

Again she asked, "Which pluggi cindi chooz?"

It at dis poynt dat cindi can reeeeeeli feel da reziztenz. Dont maki da mistek of tinkin da dolliz nut feel rezizitenz. Dey beri wel behavd, naturelli, but dey ken still feel da rezizistens 2 cummandz jus liki da non-dolliz, n dat 4 sure. But, cindi no full well der only wun ansser dat get a mark. She no wot she must say:

"She chooz da big pluggi."

"Beri gud cindi. Go pluggi."

Of course, once cindi ull pluggi wif da big pluggi, she beri prowd of hersef n beri happi bout everetin.

Dat da wey it goes wif dolliz.

Who needs to change?

Five years ago, on that evening when I asked my husband to spank me for the first time I had no notion of ‘submission’. I didn’t know what a ‘submissive’ was and nor did I have any real desire to live the life of a submissive. Certainly, I knew at that time that I wanted a certain ‘feeling’ in my life; something that I had tasted and found very much to my liking. But, not even knowing that there was a ‘lifestyle’, I could have no sense back then, of what was possible or even if it would work for us.

I recall the first time I seriously wondered about it all as it pertained to me. Abel, my email buddy from England asked me if I was a “submissive”. I didn’t think so, I said, for I didn’t know to what he referred. From that moment I began to read, and the rest of the story, or at least the parts I have shared, can be found on this web journal.

Being married to a dominant man is not easy, or at least that is my experience. It was not easy before I explored and acknowledged my nature, and it is not easy now. And, I think it is important to say that; that there is nothing especially easy about living with a man who wants to do things a certain way; when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them, and if he wants to do them. As much as I might on any one day think I have it licked, something happens to fill me with confusion and upset, and I find myself doubting our agreement. It passes. I believe that is the good news and it is what I hold onto in my darkest moments, but it would be wrong of me, on a web journal where young people or interested people may read, to not acknowledge that there are some very difficult moments.

As my husband has grown older, he has become more and more dominant. As a young man, he always knew what he wanted and how he wanted to go about things. I was never, even in our twenties, able to convince him to do something that he did not want to do. It did not matter if I begged, or cajoled, or was upset, or cried, or sweet talked him, he only did something that he wanted to do, when he wanted to do it. I cannot say for certain if that is just him, or if that is the nature of a dominant man, but he has always been assertive and sure of how he wanted to go about things.

He tells me that I was a candidate for marriage because I had a sweet nature and was “soft and kind”. He came to see, he also tells me, that I was more “committed” than he anticipated.

“Sometimes, you just won’t let the bone go!” he says to me.

We have had the most extraordinary weekend. Away from one another for the week, he clearly wanted to show me a good time. We spent a good deal of the weekend together, and I was dominated in the bedroom in all sorts of delicious ways for hours on end. I felt wonderful and savoured every moment of it, from the hard spanking to pay off the “black marks” I have earned to the use of my body in all sorts of devilish ways. As we set off for our walk with the dogs mid Sunday afternoon, I felt totally dreamy and delighted to have my ‘oh so dominant’ man back in my life.

My husband tells me, and he is probably right, that after I have been sexually dominated, I can get “full of myself”. He warned me of this right after we got dressed.

“Now, you just watch your manners! You can get full of yourself after you’ve been shown a good time, and I won’t tolerate any misbehaviour. Do you understand?”

I understood. I had no intention of misbehaving.

Later on, back home, I began to do some gardening. I was tiring and wanting to complete tasks, but not able to do them by myself, I became frustrated. My training is that I should ask for help (nicely, of course) when I need it. Thus, I decided to go and search out my husband and ask for a few moments of his time to lift the heavy bins of garden waste and carry them to the garage for me.

I know full well that it is imperative that I not express any frustration in my voice when I ask my husband for something. He loathes to be made to feel guilty and he feels that it is my role to ask, in a sweet voice, for his assistance. If he can help me at that time, he will. If he can’t, he won’t and I will just have to wait for another time. I am expected to be patient – to be patient for years and years, if necessary.

I am. I am a patient person. And, I have shown patience for years. I have learned to be patient, tolerant and understanding and I think even he would admit that I have given him all the space he needs to do things in his own way, at his own pace, how and when he wants to do them.

But, for some stupid reason, when I asked him if he would please help me with the heavy bins, there was some slight frustration in my voice which he picked up. I got told off for that.

“This evening, or in the morning, I will teach you how to ask for help.”

Well, it was my mistake! I know him well enough that I must ask for help in the right way. So, I took my spanking this morning with good grace.

Or, so I thought. Somewhere deep inside me, there must have been a little bit of rebellion because when he was through, shortly thereafter, I heard myself say

“When is your appointment with the doctor?”

It was a red rag to the bull. He knew he was overdue to see him, that I wanted him to see him, and he considered this an effort on my part to bully him into making an appointment.

So, I got it in the neck!

“When are you going to learn that the more you ask me to do something, the longer it will take for me to do it?”

When my husband really upsets me, I don’t talk back. I go silent. I am just too upset to talk. Nothing upsets him more. The more I don’t talk, the more he will have to say to me about my “behaviour”, and the more silent I get. We reach a point where he feels I am completely to blame and I reach a point where his raised voice and tone becomes the issue in my mind. I can’t settle my mind to acknowledge my wrong doing. It is the classic ‘catch 22’.

Of course, we have lived with one another for over 30 years now and it doesn’t take long for me to realize that I am the one who must change. He cannot change and he won’t change. He is completely right. He will do things when he wants to do them, how he wants to do them and if he wants to do them. I must adjust to him; not the other way round.

I have a submissive nature and he has been wonderful in acknowledging it and recognizing my needs. But, make no mistake. A non-submissive girl would never have ‘cut the mustard’ with him. And, that, my friends, is the bottom line.

Distress

For a brief, shining moment we had in our midst a therapist who not only had an intense interest in dominance and submission but who was keen to write about BDSM experiences and the various psychological implications of such experiences. It is such a pity that his personal life no longer enabled him to maintain his blog because there was no finer resource for people who were concerned about issues in relation to a power exchange.

We became friends who exchanged emails and some time back when my limits were being pushed and I felt considerable resistance and worried I may be doing harm to myself, I made contact with him again for some advice. He assured me that it was all right for my edges to be pushed but that if I felt that my psyche was being tampered with such that I felt ongoing stress, it may be too much. I should trust myself to know the difference. He felt sure that I would know if I had reached that point.

Perhaps the knowledge that he trusted me to trust my own abilities in the matter was enough for me because I settled down about whatever issue it was at the time, and as usual, trusted my instincts to guide me through my inner turmoil and to a place where joy in the power exchange experience returned to my life.

I feel a very strong sense of responsibility to those who read here not to trivialize the BDSM experience or to paint it in such glowing terms as for it to appear that it comes without its problems and concerns. With so little professional advice to be offered to practitioners I can only repeat the professional advice that was offered to me and suggest to readers that they pay heed to their own mind and stop to make note of any response where one is agitated and overly emotional. I don’t think ‘upset’ necessarily means that the situation is unresolvable at all, but it does mean perhaps that the mind has thrown up an issue to be addressed.

The submissive response is so often to be the peace maker, to make things right, and in so doing a submissive can be inclined to hold onto issues found perturbing. She may be lonely or not reconciled with a decision or reverting back to long held ‘truths’ such as to express her obedience no matter how she feels. She makes the most of a situation, stays positive, accepts her lot and trusts that this will be enough as it has been enough before. Nine times out of ten, all is well and her concern evaporates much as her monthly cycle first brought her stress but then the stress was released. A woman has deep emotions and they ebb and flow within her almost beyond her control at times.

Sometimes, the upset spills over. Obedience, patience, self-control and sense of calm, be damned, she expresses herself in all her glory and her bile spills out, spewing forth her upset and inner turmoil. I don’t think it does the submissive good to run about wildly at such times. She is likely to feel even more scattered and unsafe should that take place. But, I think it essential that she be allowed to express herself and expunge her distress until her energy is dissipated. This is the soul demanding to be heard. Later, when she is quiet and subdued and reflective, her dominant will, we can but hope, talk with her calmly about what brought matters in her mind to a head and with due care put the situation back to right.

A doctor friend of mine with an interest in adolescent health said to me once that the family who expresses its emotion makes for healthy adolescents, and I think we can satisfactorily transfer this theory to the dominant submissive relationship.

Even the submissives of us who are strongly encouraged to unpack our minds on a regular basis may hold onto unresolved issues, and when they are ready to be expressed, it seems to me the dominant must listen carefully. If the submissive happens to unpack her mind with gusto and bravado once every blue moon, so be it. She did her best. Nobody’s perfect and this is an excellent time, once she is calm, to make the necessary adjustments to set her life back to right. The expression of negative emotions is not necessarily a bad thing at all. An argument can be cleansing. A submissive will return to type. She will want to reconcile and repair and ensure that the relationship is returned to status quo. She will look to her dominant to guide her through that abyss and back to safety, containment, satisfaction and ultimately, joy.

This is a time when the dominant must stand up and take the lead; calmly, responsibly, empathically. It is his girl who is upset, and it is his responsibility to ensure that she is heard. All will be well soon.

Vesta 101

I was the perfect baby.
I was a quiet, easy-going, contained child.
I was a good student.
I won prizes.
I arranged my own childhood. I brought myself up.

I was always busy; reading, dancing, music.
I was a little mother to my brother.
I did well at university.
I dreamed of being a mother and a wife; having my own home.

I lack confidence in my own ability,
to the point of absurdity.

I chose a man who wants his own way with everything.

I like things to be under control.
I like things to be organized.
I like a clean, minimalist house.

My children tell me I am inclined to interfere
(but that's not true).
They know I love them with ferocity.
My friends know that I am different in some way
but are sweet and kind to me anyway.

I am law abiding
and hate trouble of any kind.

I avoid conflict.

I want harmony with all relationships
And struggle to understand cruel, unkind and selfish behaviour.

I occasionally lose it and at the weirdest moments.
I am always overcome with guilt at the consequences; that I hurt someone.

I have a huge capacity for joy that can express itself in the simplest moments.

I crave success at relinquishing control,
even though every nerve in my being can resist.

I am an enigma to myself.

There must be a shrink out there reading this dribble.

Why is this so?

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!

What a difference a day makes

What a pity it is that there is no official association for people such as us, who can keep statistics and so on in relation to what we do, how we feel about it and so on! The government gives out grants for all sort of useless activities and yet they never seem to get around to some analysis of doms and subs.

I am doing my best to set the record straight. You do want me to be analytical, don't you?

Okay, good! I thought so. So, here is what I have been thinking...

It is not at all easy for a submissive woman to hold onto her upset. At the time of the explosion/implosion, at the time she shoots up to the stars like a "bottle rocket", it might seem to the poor Dom looking on, wondering what the hell just happened, that she is down for the count. He won't be doing any more BDSM activities with this lass! She is clearly not into this whole power exchange routine at all!

But, twenty-four hours later, she can barely remember what the upset was about. She remembers being distressed but she can't for the life of her, remember why!

This must be terribly confusing to the poor man, who looks on in wonderment. How can she be so light and breezy, such desirable company today, when she was a blithering, crying mess yesterday?

Well, I hate to disappoint you, but I actually don't have the answer. The simple fact is that a submissive woman, as far as I can tell, just has that happy knack of being positive a good deal of the time. After an upset, the next day, she has no interest in the blame game and instead, she is most contrite. Whoever started it, whoever said what to whom, is of no further interest to her. She has had her say and she wants to get back to where things were. She wants to get to the place where she belongs: the bottom.

It is, therefore, the easiest thing in the world for her to be contrite. She is sorry for her part in the little break in proceedings. She tells her man that she loves him. She asks, demurely, if he loves her. In fact, he does! And, life is back to normal.

Consider exhibit number one: an email exchange the morning after a fracas:

"Sir
I have your phone. It was left in my car. Thank you for a lovely morning.
Love
girl
XO"

"Thank you girl for the lovely morning also. What a difference a day makes. Perhaps you might remind yourself of that when you feel like you are about to blow/go off!
Thanks re phone.
Love Sir"

Yeah. Yeah. I skipped over the punishment thing. But, this is my blog, and you didn't want to hear about that. Or,did you?

Patience

I have been giving thought to the trajectory of the submissive woman and her progress. Let's say that she has become aware over time of her nature. She understands that the dominant male does something for her and to her that she just can't ignore any more. She wants to experience it all. She wants to know what it is to submit full time. She has a sense that it could be the road straight to heaven, for her.

There are many women who think this out there, I am sure, yet their circumstances must be so different. In my case, I was already married and didn't have to go any further than to my husband who was right beside me. And, I wasn't brushed aside, either. This was clearly something I wanted very much and he didn't hesitate to do his best to make it happen for me. It is a relationship built on deep and long lasting love, and this new component could be added on; not without difficulty, but with hard work and love.

Some women must first find a man to submit to. Some partners may even decide to find a man to help train his girl. I imagine each particular situation has a unique quality to it and I can't even begin to imagine all the scenarios of all my readers, although I certainly do try.

But, my interest today is not so much in what is different about us but what may be expected or anticipated behaviour; common behaviour. I've talked before about experiences such as grief where experts can tell us what to expect. It is normal they will say to lie in bed for a few days without the desire or will to move on with life just yet; or whatever the case may be.

As far as I know, there has been very little work, if any, done on the anticipated or expected behaviours of women who choose to submit. One of the most amazing things to me is that a dominant man with experience in the task, can do more for a woman with a submissive nature than any university qualified 'expert' could ever do. They are an 'expert' in the woman with a submissive nature, and I listen carefully to what such men can tell me. They have observed women go through the motions and grades of learning to accept their natures, and in my opinion, they provide a special and unique service; free of charge and with no guarantees, but with their heartfelt desire to help (and enjoy).

I'm not particularly technical or scientific, yet I would so love to plot the progress or lack thereof. If one were able to do that, I think that what one would find is that the graph is all over the place. I think that there would be spiky ups and downs for quite some time before the graph started to take off, much like a jet leaving the ground for higher realms.

I say this because that is the way it was for me, and if that is the way it was for me, then maybe that is the way it was or will be for you, too. Submissive women are not robots. Submissive women are simply women with minds, souls, feelings and emotions. They may say that they want to submit, but when it starts happening, they may find the going very tough. They may find the words used to be too much. They may feel that their psyches are at risk of being damaged or that they have made a mistake. They may be angry and decide that they will disobey to express their anger. They may tell the dom to get 'dog knotted'!!

It may be swings and slides for quite some time. Some doms may give up. She is just too hard work. He wants someone who will just do as they are told. But, what if, tomorrow, she can? Tomorrow, she will be able to do as she is told. Just, not today! She isn't quite ready, through no fault of her own.

The dom requires a great deal of patience with certain girls. The dom required a great deal of patience with me. I've changed so much in the past few weeks that I can barely remember all the details. Let's just say that I reacted negatively to expectations of me and I called a halt to proceedings. And then, soon after, I had second thoughts. Perhaps, the dom in such cases is entitled to walk away and write her off to experience. That could easily have happened to me. But, in my case, I was taught a lesson that I won't soon forget; that I am much more when I submit than when I do not; that submission is definitely right for me.

By having a patient dom, perhaps even one who believed in me, and who felt that he had to try everything before he would ever give up, I was the winner. I needed that sort of dominance; the sort of dominance that could endure all the ups and downs of my personal graph before he began to see up upward and smooth trajectory of which he could be proud.

Perhaps, any good dom just knows instinctively what to do with his girl and how long it is likely to take. Since I work on instinct myself, I have respect for that. But, patience is sometimes simply a necessary tool for the dom. Too rigid a rule and he risks losing what could have otherwise been a huge success story.

Let's annoy the big girl!

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Go ahead. Try to deny it!

My Stable

I know what they are up to. Inch by inch, they are containing me in the stable. It’s a nice stable, they tell me. Even though it looks a bit small, it’s got a cosy feel , they say, and there is everything inside that I will need. I know that they are right, of course. I was the one that said I wanted to be in the stable, after all.

So, why do I resist staying in the stable? If it’s so cosy and appealing, and I’m sure that I am suited to life in the stable, why do I resist?

For every poor choice, for all bad behaviour, I am told, there is a consequence.

Well I know that! I don’t need anybody to tell me that. I was the model student at school. Not in the least interested in unpleasant consequences, I did my work, paid attention, was polite and co-operative as a child. I saw the consequences, and they were not in the least appealing. I was so good it was sickening.

But, their training is another story altogether. The lessons are much harder, this time. Sure, I see the consequences. They are spelled out to me in black and white. I can hardly miss them. But, their lessons eat into my ‘sensibilities’. And when a girl’s sensibilities are at stake, she’ll resist like there is no tomorrow. (I’m told that people may miss my jokes. You can tell I’m having fun writing this, right?)

But, with every new message, I see exactly what is happening. Like a horse being led back into the stable, ultimately, I have no choice.

“Fillies need handling,” my husband once said, as I stood there in the corner, seething. “They need the stones taken out of their hooves,” he said, as he picked up one foot and massaged between my toes.

Janus once said that I must not go out on the meadow alone, again. When I was ready, he’d take me there, with my lead on, he said. I think it was meant to be a joke, but I got the point.

I like the stable they have made for me. And, as far as they are concerned, I am going into the stable and they are putting the bolt on the door!

They haven’t said, but they might as well have said, “We can do it the easy way or we can do it the hard way. “

So, knowing all that, as I do, why do I so often pick the hard way? Well, it’s back to the sensibilities again. You see, I want to be told what to do, but I don’t much like it sometimes when I have to do what they tell me. Go figure!

A dom friend of mine told me just the other day (and you know who you are!) that it’s best to get them when they are young. You can train them your way then, he said. Of course, I laughed. I love it when men just say what they think. But, I didn’t come down in the last shower. I am at an age where some might call me a “challenge”.

So why, when I was ready to buck my rider off and go galloping through the woods, one time not so long ago, did the words, “You are a great sub” have me come to a firm halt? Why did I so instantaneously allow them to put my bridle back on, attach my lead, and lead me back to the stable?

Well, because that is what I want to be; a great sub. I have so much to learn, but I am willing. Even though I have all the woods around me, and a very nice meadow in which to play, I want that stable! So, open the door please, I’m on my way. And, thank you, too, for your patience, which you have in spades. I appreciate you both more than I can say.