Resolve

It has been the loveliest of summers. We've been at the holiday house little more than a week and yet it feels like we have been here all summer. If we open the front doors, and we do, we get lovely breezes from the water and we've not yet had a day that has made life uncomfortable. If it gets too hot we simply get in the old boat and fish out in the middle of the lake, which is much cooler, or we go for a swim in the lake.

We've had company with us the whole time. The last person left a mere hour ago. There has been barely any time to think let alone write, although I've let my mind wander as I've held a lure to catch fish, and caught some, I did!

I have done a little reading: Wayne Dyer's Your Sacred Self, and the novel The Dry. I love Dyer's positivism and the simple statements and suggestions he makes to turn thinking around. I'm smitten too by Jane Harper's ability to create atmosphere and character by using just the right verb. It's inspiring how easily writing can improve for the reader when the writer lets go of adverbs and concentrates on finding the right word to describe the action in the scene. If you are ever looking for a book to describe the Australian countryside in drought, look no futher.

I've not had time to write in this space but nor have I had something worth saying. I did try one day and the attempt is saved in drafts, but it so annoyed me how the writing was inspired by a feeling of anger and that's so last year, that feeling. I don't want that feeling to be part of my new year, so I abandoned it and waited for a feeling that did in fact have an invitation into my life.

Of course, I am going through a 'process' right now, a process that I understood at the outset had long term positives but would have some shaky moments. I'm working on getting closer towards the centre. I'm looking to abandon unhealthy codependence traits and becoming closer to the middle of the range, or to put it another way, a more healthy codependence. I have no goal to alter my innate functioning. That is, I take care of people. I care about people. I'm the follower. That's not going to change. I can't and don't want to will myself to suddenly desire a job at the top of the corporate ladder, for example. I don't seek power, or limelight, although between you and me, I happily daydream of attending (my own) book launch and soaking up my time on the stage!!

It's been lovely lately to note that as I ask for a bit of assistance here and there, or when people ask me what they can do to help, this all seems to flow better. I offer them a job, or ask if they would mind doing something for me, and that's all gone smoothly. It's made my life a dream in that I am no longer feeling that I am slogging through the work, and I no longer feel secretly resentful that they don't do more.

One of the biggest tests of this process that I am in is that the codependent will feel her sense of  inner loneliness return; those same sort of feelings that she felt as a child; the sort of feelings that contributed to making her a codependent desiring to dance with her polar opposite in the first place. For a long time, my sub-conscious held onto the feeling that any behaviour of the other was acceptable, so long as I kept the inner loneliness at bay. The feeling is that strong and frightening; must not be felt at any cost. It took a great deal of research and inner investigation to realize that I could withstand it; that I had to go to the heart of that feeling.

This process, this first part of it, at least, should be done with the aid of a therapist. However, I don't feel I can do that. I feel, and I am bucking the best psychological advice here, that I have to do this alone. Having said that, I do have advice via books and Utube talks that I refer to in order to bolster my resolve. Dyer's book noted above helps me right now. You don't have to fear a lack of approval, he says, because you have a comfort in your own skin that you are on your own spiritual path.

For the first few weeks into the process I think I was probably private and somewhat withdrawn. I think I may have felt that I needed to try as much as I could to concentrate on holding onto my resolve. I wanted to let cindi run free but at the same time I feared what might happen if I did. Like, cindi has no resolve. But, yesterday morning my husband pinned by arms to either side of me while I lay on the bed and bit at my nipple jewellery. I could feel her rise. She has a life of her own that little thing, and my body responded to the force. Oh yes, she was enjoying herself. She liked being taken and used.

I am, in moments, still a little shaky. There is no doubt about that. Rome was not built in a day and one doesn't heal overnight. However, I do feel abundantly healthy right now. Nature has played its part, the lifestyle here, but I do feel better able to calculate what is and is not acceptable; or more aptly, what I will and won't tolerate. cindi is alive, no doubt about it, but she's not so helpless that she can't look out for herself. That's the difference. She won't again choose to dismiss her gut reactions or to rationalize her physiological reactions.

The point, for those struggling to understand what I am on about here, is that the closer you get to the middle of the behavioral spectrum the less inclined you are to going to be to accept, and even desire, the behaviour of those on the highest end of the spectrum, someone operating from self-interest and using various manipulative strategies to get his own way. It's not going to stop you, if you have a disposition such as mine to enjoy interacting with a respectful and polite person who operates on the opposite side of the spectrum, the dominantly inclined. However, your heckles will rise when you are not being treated with respect and civility; kindness; care. A doll's disposition doesn't mean that the requirements of human interaction go out the window; quite the opposite, I would have thought. It's critical, in my experience, to feel a sense of safety in those situations. How else one can let go and be less?

The vulnerability remains. The resolve is well in place. I think that resolve could be equated to self-respect/self esteem. There is a place for ego. It's fine to 'let go', desired in fact, but it's also okay to let self-respect define the limits of that letting go. Anyone who rejects your request for respectful behaviour is simply trying to manipulate your mind.

Discipline

I think I have wanted a power exchange relationship my whole adult life. I'm excited by the oddest things - some sort of statement that something is not my decision, a commitment that something is done as told; an 'in your face' declaration that a task is given for "discipline" and to enforce control.

I accept such statements in a two-forked way. First, there is the intellectual sense where the words are challenging to me. Somewhere in the mix, that response is there within my mind. What usurps my responding to that feeling with some sort of expressed rebellion is the fact that these sort of arrogant statements of fact really turn me on. I get off on arrogance. I get off on the reminder that it is my role to do someone else's bidding; that my role is to please and satisfy.

When confronted with a task, day by day, day after day, 99 times out of 100 I do it uncomplainingly because I know I must 'face the music'. If I don't face the music and do it, then ultimately I face the music in another way, because there is no defense for non compliance. Do it. Don't do it. The music must be faced either way. I'm "evaluated". Could there be a more challenging (arousing?) declaration than that?

Still, the intellectual side of my brain, or some might say the willful side of my brain, insists every now and then on trying it on; complaining. I imagine this is to be expected. I imagine it to be not at all difficult as to how to respond. Only one person can be in control.

It's a test of the dominant's will and strength of resolve, but not one that I plan. I don't look for trouble, but trouble sometimes looks for me. My intellectual brain sometimes interferes with my pleasure.

Discipline prevails, as it should. For reasons I may never fully understand the disciplined life works for me supremely well.

Happy New Year

I thought of reviewing the past year - the ups, the downs, the highs and lows. I thought of saying something affirming about 2012 being the best one yet and all those sorts of things that people tend to like to say on December 31st. But then, something happened.

I'd said goodbye to three people, my husband and son had gone off to do some errands in town and I was quite suddenly alone. I stripped the beds, washed the sheets and pegged all the sheets on the clothesline outside (it's an antiquated notion, I know, but it does so please me to dry sheets in a gentle breeze) and it suddenly occurred to me that I could play any music I wanted.Yayayayay!

I started with Andrea Bucelli and a few songs into that CD I found myself with a desire to lay down. It was a gorgeous sunny but not hot afternoon and I cuddled into the couch and very quickly, I think, fell asleep. The old 'music machine' was on 6 CDs that repeat over and over and when I woke it was to Michael Buble singing his heart out. In that dazy state when you are neither awake nor asleep, I heard Michael singing 'That's Life' and I found myself intently listening to the words of an old favourite song of mine.:

That's life
That's what all the people say
You're riding high in April
You're shot down in May
I know I'm gonna change that tune
When I'm back on top in June

I say that's life
& as funny as it may seem
Some people get their kicks
Stompin' on your dreams
But I don't let it, let it get me down
'Cause this fine ol' world keeps spinning 'round

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn & a king
I've been up & down & over & out
But I know one thing
Each time I find myself, flat on this face
I pick myself up & get back in the race

That's life
I can't deny it
I thought of quitting, baby
This heart wasn't gonna buy it
And if I didn't think it was worth one single try
I'd jump right on a big bird & then I'd fly

I've been a puppet, a pauper, a pirate,
A poet, a pawn & a king
I've been up & down & over & out
And I know one thing
Each time I find myself flat on my face
I pick myself up & get back in the race

That's life
That's life & I can't deny it
Many times I thought of cutting out
But my heart won't buy it
But if there's nothing shakin' come this here July
I'm gonna roll
I'm gonna roll
I'm gonna roll myself up in a big ball & die
Can't deny it
That's life

Dean Kay and Kelly Gordon, who wrote the song for Frank Sinatra could not have expressed my 2011 better than I could myself and so, I'm going to leave it at that. There have been good days and bad days. But, we all pick ourselves up, dust ourselves off  and get back in the race because, that's life!

Of course 2012 will be a great year because that is what we intend! And when things don't go to plan, well, we'll deal with that and take it one step at a time.

I'm providing a link to Michael singing 'That's Life' on 'The Today Show'. I chose this particuar one because it seemed like a party and it has a great feel about it.

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q1UN-DYYehc

Have a very happy New Year's Eve and a wonderful 2012.

My best.

Knowledge

There have been times when I have felt fragile. I sometimes wished that I was more assertive; more committed to a career; more able to stand on my own two feet. I have at times resented my nature, seeing it as somehow less than those who appeared so strong; whole; resilient.

I have come to understand matters more completely. I am resilient. I am strong. I am whole. I have in abundance compassion and the ability to love. I was given all the resources I required to endure and thrive. I did not know that then but I know that now.

Training the doll

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

What's love got to do with it?

This post is a re post. I took it down a day or two after writing it, with a niggling concern that something about it was not right. But, I have just re-read it and I stand by every word. But, perhaps I can add this...

My youngest son has an English teacher this year at school with a Dr. in front of his name. He is earnest, intense, brooks no argument with boys as to how something is to be done and has high expectations. He is not afraid to be sarcastic, or to push a boy hard to get the best out of him. My younger son is one of the 'good boys'. He doesn't want any trouble and I was concerned he might feel intimidated, so I checked in with him. Was Dr. C. working out all right?

"He's okay, Mum. He's a good teacher. He just has really high expectations."

And, so it is. To push someone to be their best...well, that's a kind of love. Isn't it?!



Here's the original post:

For a few years now, I have had a fascination with the dominant mindset. I know oodles about the submissive mindset but the dominant mindset is still something of an enigma. Having said that, I definitely know more about the way their minds work now than I ever have before.

It is over a year since I wrote a series of short stories. There are at least 50,000 words about Edward there and the way he goes about his power exchange with Elizabeth. Every day of my life since I finished it and put it down, I find reasons not to go through the editing phase. I do wonder if I think that tomorrow I may understand Edward better and that is why I wait.

Ages ago now, I asked four different dominant men to read parts of it, as well as my husband, and in that process I got five different responses to Edward. One dominant man thought him much too hard, whilst another thought him much too easy. The other three thought him fair and reasonable and a sensible sort of chap but they would want to alter this a bit here and that a bit there. Let’s just say that there was no real consensus.

It was just too complicated and I put it aside. But, this morning, in the early light of a hot day, I think I may finally have some clarity about Edward. He is flawed as a dominant man but it is the way it must be. You see, he was once a major force to be reckoned with: scary, unrelenting, black and white. But, he has fallen head long in love with Elizabeth and his control over her softens over time. He does not walk away from his duties. If there is a lesson to be learned, he teaches her. And, if he must punish her, he does, but he does so at a price to himself these days. It is not easy to punish the girl he wakes up to; who makes his heart beat that little faster; who lights his life.

In the beginning of this new stage of our lives, my husband and I were really just spankos. It is all I knew and all we wanted to know at that time. We had the most marvellous time and I wish I knew the secret to bottling that time. It was joyous and fun and wildly fulfilling in a ‘new lease of life’ sort of way. When he became more of a dominant and me more like his sub, we lost something, really. Sometimes, he has the energy and motivation for it and sometimes he does not. Often, the love gets in the way. Sometimes as a dominant, I think you have to be very hard to do your job, and rare is the day when he wants to be that ‘hard as flint’ man in my life.

It does happen. I don’t wish to mislead you. And, when it happens, it comes very naturally to him. If he wants an apology and I don’t want to give him one because I cannot see the error of my ways, he will devote hours to retrieving it from me. But, as a general rule we live in harmony, accepting one another’s flaws and failings and working around them. I know what he wants and what will please him and although there are still some kinks to work out in this new arrangement of ours, we get by.

If he doesn’t like something I do, I hear about it, loud and clear, and I do my best to improve. On the other hand, if I become overwhelmed by the way he is doing things I tend to eventually break down and tell him that I just can’t cope and he does what he can to accommodate me. We have known one another so very long, it was impossible for the marriage to alter in some profound way where our roles were totally black and white. He’s the boss. He’s always been the boss. The D/s arrangement was the icing on the cake, long baked.

In my mentoring, I have had the opportunity to experience a very different situation. I hope that my mentor has some fondness for me but we have never met nor even seen a photo of one another. We don’t know the sound of one another’s voices. He has no way of knowing whether my day has been happy or sad, whether the doctor’s appointment I have been to brought good news or bad. He can’t know a myriad of things about my life and I know precious little of his.

Rather, he knows what he wants to achieve. He knows whether I achieved it or whether I did not. I could take lessons in lying I suppose, but short of that, I give him the truth and he works with that. If he is satisfied with the progress or the outcome, I receive the warmest praise. If he is unhappy with the progress or the outcome, I receive his ire. There is no ‘love’ component to deal with here, no giving slack because of the way my head lilts to one side, or the look of my eyes when they fill with tears. There is no end to the scolding because I look so crestfallen that the scolding is replaced with a hug and a gentle reminder that this is the sixth time I have been reminded to do something or other. If my mentor has to be austerely cold to achieve a good outcome, then so be it.

The bottom line is that I have met my match. I’m being dominated in a way that I never thought possible: with extraordinary resolve, with unrelenting determination and with a willingness to shame me and discipline me such that I am left in no doubt as to his non-negotiable expectations. Was it Clint Eastwood who said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”? Those words have new meaning to me.

What’s love got to do with it? Well, it depends on the definition, doesn’t it? We can love in so many ways. But, I rather think that to alter the behaviour and mindset of someone in such a profound way as is occurring to me, perhaps there must be a little something akin to love between two people. It does not have to be romantic love to be love in my book. It is the connection of two souls at work here, regardless of what one calls it. It is the disconnection that hurts so deeply. Whatever word one uses, it is profound.