Sexual disparities

 I have been reading a little on a site for people who are partnered with, and for people who identify as, asexual. There are really sad cases there where someone is married to a person who fulfills them in various ways - intellectually, for example - but does not fulfil them in a sexual way because that person has very little interest in a sexual life. In some cases, the married couple hadn't had sex for many years.

In all the cases I read through on the site, it was the women who were incredibly sad about this situation and the men who felt pressure to have sex. Obviously, this is only anecdotal and not evidence based.

My thoughts about asexuality are only just now formulating as I read on the subject. I used to think that it might be depression that led someone to feel that sex was an undesirable thing. Maybe, it was a body image problem, or anxiety or feeling overloaded or called upon to have sex when maybe they really wanted to explore some other interest; maybe they wanted to cycle or to work longer hours.

I am starting to wonder if just in the same way a person's sexual orientation is to be attracted to the opposite sex or the same sex, or to want to be in a monogamous situation or a polyamory situation, some people may want intense sexual experiences as part of their dynamic and some people would be happy to have sex, say, a couple of times a year.

Maybe, some people are content to have sex utilizing maybe three different positions and some people continue to explore different ways to have sex for a lifetime.

Maybe, quite naturally, some people want to have sex as 'equals' whereas others want to feel in control, whilst others again want to cede control to the other.

In my own case, my sexuality has been constant in terms of my fantasy life and what turns me on. The difference as I grow older is that the thoughts relate to ownership in a wholly comprehensive way. There's precious little I wouldn't do to express the ownership and in return I want to be that cherished and adored 'slave' who gets to feel owned by virtue of the instructions of an 'obedience is required' 'owner'.

There's a great deal of adoration in these scenarios that goes both ways. He's fulfilling my deepest desires, and I am fulfilling his deepest desires. There is symmetry.

That's the point. No matter what comes completely naturally to a person as the way to live, there does need to be symmetry or at the least a willingness to meet in the middle.

Let's say a couple have sex. This, for the man, ticks a 'to do' off his list. For the woman, it's a delicious aperitif, but she is still hungry. The problem arises when he feels they are 'good' for, say, at least a few months.

I have always wondered just a little about polyamory; not such that I would want to live in a combined household or to have a complicated life. But I do wonder if mismatches in desire can be reconciled if there is an understanding between the couple who love one another but who have very different desires for sexual expression, to compromise. What if someone who matched her needs was willing to meet, even once a month? 

Could jealousy be overcome? Could this sort of arrangement be seen as a gift; something far more satisfying than a piece of jewelry could ever be?

I only have the Internet at my disposal, popular culture such as movies to watch, to assess the lay of the land, but I am getting the sense that people are coming to their senses and being grown-ups about these disparities. If you love someone, don't you want them to be happy?

Contract awaits

 I await the Contract. No, it's not a legal contract and no lawyers are involved. Nevertheless, it seems like a lot of thought is going into the document, in spite of the fact that various iterations are expected to get it just right.

I made a small contribution. I was asked if I had any requests or ideas, and I made a note of them. I wanted to express what I saw as my role and the characteristics that make up that role in my mind. I wanted to express what I saw as his role. It's what the hypnotist refers to as the Keystone statement. 

I didn't have any deal breakers since we've been together quite long enough, I would say (48 years!), to trust that nothing is going to be a dealbreaker at this stage of the game.

I mentioned, very broadly, maybe there's a few things I could have at my disposal to key him in to me wanting attention without breaking the tenor of the Contract...

Maybe there's a list of 'go to' activities that he can know are welcome. Maybe not. I think they think that's not the way to go; maybe, apart from the obvious no-go zones, everything is a green sign. 

I thought a nighttime ritual would be cool, and the hynotist responded to that with an idea I like very much.

In other words, it's all up in the air, and it's kind of like some old show I used to watch where the owners of the house leave and the designers come in and make over your house. 

Not quite. It's a sort of a negotiation. I think.

Most of the time I can be patient about this, like a girl awaiting a proposal of marriage, maybe. You sort of know it will happen sometime soon, but you can't be sure. Is it tonight, or in three months? So, you just sort of await the other in some sort of suspended animation.

Half a week ago the hypnotist and I had a brief chat around the Contract, extending out the conversation to traverse the relationship that would result from it. I happened to mention that my submissive appetite was waaaaaay up and he said something rather surprising to me.

He said that a passionate force (me, I guess) required a strong hand, clear boundaries and high standards.

 I interpreted this as strictness, maybe because I was wayward. I tend to think that this sort of statement is directed towards someone who needs to be kept in her lane. David, my friend who died some years ago and was sort of like a father to me, said to me that he kept me in my lane, but that there were bumpers on the lane. So, I rolled like a ball from the left to the right but stayed in my lane. Never forgot that. I felt it was said endearingly.

No, no, no, the hypnotist assured me. It was not a derisive comment at all. His explanation is really worth reading carefully.

He said that there are three motivations for a person to want to express his or her submission. It could be devotional (love), positional (a desire to do things well) or transactional. I tended towards 40% for the first two and 20% for the third.  (He may have said 50% for the first two and zero for the last category. I know my husband thinks there is a negotiation side of me.) I remembered as he explained this that I knew this material from a podcast of his and we had even briefly discussed it months ago when we were first getting to know each other.

He made me an audio message and said that I was a person who wanted to do things well, that that mattered to me and so to "win" at my submission I needed a 'strong hand, clear boundaries and high standards'.

When he put it like that it was far more palatable. I didn't need to feel like I was 'bad' which is an insufferable thought or feeling for me. He was committed to explaining all this to me because he was not in any way criticizing me. That was comforting.

Since writing the last post and this post I have had wonderful sex and although I have no quarrel with the explanations above, I think really great sex goes an awfully long way to a girl being more than happy to follow the rules as laid out. I may be smiling as I write this, but we both know it's true. 

Sexual appetite

Sexual appetite is awakened by some display of taking charge; perhaps a blindfold, feeling rope on the body. As the rope criss-crosses the body, across and under my breasts, either side of my pussy lips and firmly on my asscunt, I can feel my mind awaken to the tight control, like a flip has been switched 'on'. On this occasion, he pulled back the bed covers and told me to sleep. It's been a stressful few days with the ill health of one of the children to deal with and the rope aided me to sleep within seconds.

Upon waking, it felt like someone had lit a furnace deep within me. My body desired use. I don't mean intercourse exactly. My desire was to meet with an appetite that matched mine. I didn't really want a 'husband' but rather something more akin to a 'beast'. Grunts, groans, slaps; moving me around with vigour; getting at me and doing with me what a beast does with his prey.

The appetite is deep within my psyche. I not only want to be fucked. I want to feel at the mercy of the lascivious predator. I want to feel fear at the back of my throat. I want to be submerged in a gnawing hunger.

When this happens a sense of completion and satisfaction overtakes my being such that it feels like I am on a high; a levitation of sorts which allows me to float through the rest of the day or the following day, depending on the time this has taken place. It is wise not to leave me in charge of money on this day because my head is mush. Mistakes have been made on this day that have been costly!

For the next few days, the furnace will restart all over again and all on its own. I'll awaken from sleep with a burning need to reach orgasm again. This will happen over and over until the embers slowly begin to burn out and I'll start to think of something else; stop fixating on the feeling between my legs and the thoughts running through my head.

The argument could be made that the problem is that I am greedy because, alas, loving 'intercourse' will never be enough. I really do need to express the whore that resides in me.

Sexual activity

I was never going to be the type of woman who would have multiple sexual partners. I don't say that for some moralistic reason.  I recognize and accept that some people do have sex with a lot of people in their lives. I find nothing intrinsically wrong with that.

The understanding of the importance of sex in my life evolved over time. Conscious of the fact that my mind gravitated to the erotic from a very early age it took a long time for me to really understand that my nature is that of a deeply sexual being; a being that longs to let go in the arms of a wanting and willing dominant. I knew what worked for me and what did not work for me early on in the process but the acceptance of my deeply desired object state took a great many years.

Once I accepted my nature and my deep and permanent desire to reside in the object state routinely, repetitively and robustly, my time in the object state was experienced as joy; respite; relief; completion. I longed for the experience time and time again.

When the opportunity for these experiences fundamentally closed down, my mind eventually considered the option of experiencing the object state in some other way. The great difficulty with that thought was that it is very difficult for me to think of sex as being a casual thing; something instigated without a very deep connection; permanence.

It's an interesting notion that a bimbo (who is often thought of as someone who sleeps around) like me requires a certain type of sex in a certain type of way; not at all a 'free for all', but a woman who seeks an object state with a man who has deep feelings for her and who will do all in his power to protect her and complete her, both physically and psychologically.

I may fantasize about gang bangs over and over; simply radiate in the thought of a line of men who 'use' me for their pleasure, and mine. In reality, I require a very deep and abiding connection, looking only to have a man call me his own; looking to belong and to serve; to belong to one another in the deepest way possible. Such is my dilemma.

The philosophy behind IT

Since my research of BDSM encompassed all sorts of philosophies and mindsets it took me quite a while to figure out where I fit. I was particularly unsure about the differences between 'submissives' and 'slaves' and I'd read the definitions over and over trying to get it straight as to what or who I was. However, I don't think my mind ever really strayed from the notion that I definitely wanted more than to be submissive in a sexual way; only in the bedroom, so to speak. I'd read that category and feel immediately that this was not going to be enough for me.Within the training and the acceptance of all things 'doll' I found what I had been looking for; the philosophy of living out my life that made sense for me.

Instinctively, I understood that I wanted to be 'owned'. I honestly don't recall any degree of resistance or negative reaction to that word at all. I may have forgotten it if I did. When I agreed to be 'trained' I had a bit of 'hair trigger' anger going on and I do distinctly remember being darn mad about the comment that I needed to be tethered when I was angry. I remember saying that a person who was angry needed to vent and he responded that he agreed; that an angry woman should vent all she wished but that for her safety she needed to be tethered whilst doing so. I could feel the bile rising when I read that. Speaking of barking dogs needing to be tethered for their safety (an analogy he used) I wanted to tell him to get 'dog knotted'. Instead, I said that I needed to go. Even at the beginning of training I was aware on one level that it wouldn't pay to let my anger get too out of hand with him.

Over time, I learned that I needed to do much more than not express my anger in inappropriate ways. I needed to walk the tightrope of being honest and open at the same time as I kept a hold of my anger. I came to appreciate that there is a marvelous sense of satisfaction for a man in seeing that a woman is trapped. She understands that it is her duty and her place to accept and obey commands. Even though she may be reveling in her capture, in spite of some discomfort potentially, she has mixed emotions about the fact that the man is radiating in her mixed state of mind. How much fun to have control of a doll, so perverted that she revels in her own demise; that she knows full well that displaying a peak of anger will result in correction she does not want! What a devilishly dirty trick to say things to the doll that she knows she must not respond to, if she has a healthy respect for her fate.

"Wuts da dolli goin 2 do bowt it?" is the sort of question that she might be asked; caught, captured, bound. There's a little bit of resistance going on here but the game is enticing; intoxicating for her too. You must trust me on this. It's the sort of moment that dolls live for. Oh, I think I've digressed.

I can't speak for younger women but I think that older women, born in a different culture to the one today in so many ways, understand that marriage was for a reason. A woman, back then anyway, instinctively understood the benefits of ownership and it wasn't a particularly negative term in her mind. If you were his wife, then he was your husband, you see. Of course, generalizations are useless but with less equality back then, this was one area where there seemed to be mutual benefit. If I look after him, then he'll look after me. How that notion looked to each couple I cannot say but in my mind was the understanding that marriage was something that I wanted. So, being 'owned' wasn't a stretch for me. I wanted to feel owned and I wanted to serve.

The creation of the 'fucktoy' takes us much further in philosophy; much, much deeper, but not necessarily problematically. First, there must be the understanding that one's body belongs to the owner; that the holes are for his use. If the training is done well, the object realizes that although it is about the owner's happiness, use is what the doll wants; needs; requires. The whole idea is to entice the owner to use her; to keep her well oiled and serviced. There was nothing about this idea I didn't like. The new terminology - pussycunt, asscunt and mouthcunt - turned me on. I loved (and love) to use those words. I love to be used; to sink down in my mind to a place that arouses my body and provides great pleasure for us both.

The idea of permanent changes to the body really excited me although I went slow, reticent about how my owner would feel about this sort of thing, probably needlessly. Somehow or other I never managed to get 'owner tags' (nipple rings) but I intend to. Removal of some pubic hair, long fingernails, anal training, longer hair - all these changes turned me on. I love to feel like a fucktoy and to think like a fucktoy.

So, to return to my opening remarks, feeling like a fuck toy (or doll) 24/7 is really my goal. Most importantly, I don't want difficult times, times of academic pressure and long work hours to interfere with this mindset. I want to hold onto the doll state of mind no matter what is happening in my life.

Whatever rules I live by I live by for this reason  - to have one all consuming and all abiding philosophy with which to live my life - that I am owned, that I must do that which entices my owner; that I must obey commands and live according to my nature. It is not for everyone but it absolutely turns me on. Living with a turned on, happy and peaceful woman, it turns out, is exactly the all consuming philosophy that suits my 'owner'  as well.

On a day to day level, it is resisting the impetus to put all my focus into my work and family during peak times of activity that is the goal I have yet to master. Accepting with all my heart and mind that I do best in the doll state, even when tackling difficult tasks or coping with time limits and deadlines as well as the demands of family life is my Achilles heel, sometimes.  Being a doll is not something that you pick up and put down as life alters but rather a state of mind (and body) that one lives with 24/7. Some concessions can be made (asked for, at least) according to the needs of the doll but removing oneself from the dolly state of mind altogether for periods of time is a slippery slope and one that leads to grazed knees. I know this but at times I still do falter. But, I'm getting there...inching closer to an ideal state, thank goodness.

Hungry

The desire to be overcome can be so intense that I experience it like an ache; like a hole in the heart; like a lack of oxygen; or a sense that I am so desperate for manhandling I need to conjure images and thoughts of great intensity to try to satisfy that longing; to try to put the fires out.

One experience simply opens the door in my mind and my soul for another experience. Enough will never be enough because the desire to feel I belong; to have my heart beat with love and fulfilment; to feel contained; adored; enriched; devoured; swallowed almost whole; completely taken and ravished is that great.

I want to feel a manly presence in my life regularly. I want to bask in my femaleness; in my femininity; my need and desire for the male presence close to me.

I want to be captured and I want to remain a captive.

There is not a thing I can do about it. It is what I want from the bottom of my soul.

If you haven't noticed, I have awoken hungry this morning.

Curve ball

There's a strong erotic component to a power exchange; at least, there is for me. Without the erotic component firmly in place, the attraction for a power exchange relationship is not nearly as strong as it would otherwise be.  I mentioned a few posts ago that the idea of a professor who supported my efforts was attractive. The fantasy would be much more appealing however if he were deeply attracted and aroused by me and couldn't wait to bed me. I am perfectly happy to move from a professional stance to an erotic stance and back again and I can certainly handle both components in a fantasy, or in real life for that matter.

Sometimes, life isn't particularly erotic. People get sick and develop complaints that mean that their energy supplies may be zapped. They may feel achy and have muscle pain and their minds may not operate as sharply as they once did. There are all sorts of conditions where this may be the case: chronic fatigue syndrome to name just one such condition. When such a condition occurs there is no easy solution and life changes for a period of time.

When you are in a committed relationship such as I am, an honest to goodness 'for better or worse, in sickness and in health' relationship, the only question that needs to be answered is 'how do I help him best?'. One's own needs and desires must be put aside and somehow the power exchange that one entered into has to be modified. The boss is always the boss but how he operates may have to change for a time.

I don't know for sure if this is what is in the cards for me. It may be so and I am speculating how to best manage this period of my life if that were to be the case. I'm not a natural nurse. I like my family to be fighting fit. I like to be fighting fit. I need to find a state of mind wherein life may be slower and little may be achieved by him; a life wherein more responsibility must be born on my shoulders but with even more empathy and sensitivity than usually required on any regular given day.

Decision making is a potential area of great difficulty. Decisions are often his domain but if he didn't feel he wanted to make a decision on any given day, is there to be no decision or would he be willing to give some power to me? I can't imagine him doing so with any ease. Giving up control is something he wouldn't like no matter what the circumstances...

I've done a little reading to prepare myself. It's what I do. I like to be prepared. I've spend the past few weeks making a lot of suggestions and it seems that if there is no easy solution to the situation I have to stop doing that and instead ask how he is traveling today; accept that some days will be much better than others; find my peace with it.

I've actually committed to a big academic workload for the next three months but how interesting my instincts were that I didn't arrange an overseas holiday this year, although we talked about it. We do have planned a little sojourn but it is an easy thing; no pressure and any amount of rest as is required. My instincts were good there. I'll have to be extra organized but some exercise every day and getting to my desk early in the day should enable me to keep ahead of the workload and keep myself well.

This period of time is not about me. It is about him. Yes, he's the boss and I'm the submissive but I have no choice but to step up to the plate and nurture him; to dig deep and find my inner strength; to put aside my own needs at this time. I'm not sure how to play that out right now but I'll work on that; be open to moderating things as we go.

I was fortunate to read an article about Michael J Fox yesterday whilst out and about and I liked what he had to say; that his focus is on 'acceptance' and not on 'expectation'; that the more he can achieve this state of mind, the better the day goes. It resonated. I look forward to seeing him speak when he comes to Australia later this year. He noted that his wife is appalled when people say how good she is to have stayed with him. "Huh? He is my husband!" she replies.

That's the point. In a life together some shit is going to happen. But, life is what you make it and we'll be fine.

In three days

Menopause can be unkind. A woman can find that without hormone replacement therapy she lacks vitality and her sexuality can wane. A blood test can easily establish the status of hormones in a woman's body, fortunately, and the matter can be sorted and balance restored.

Personally, I have not needed to go down that road but it was established that there is one hormone that my body can no longer make in adequate quantities. Twice a year an implant is put underneath my skin and within days I am very aware that my body and my mind are reacting  in ways that bring my sexuality front and forward.

One of the students in my tutorial, a young bi-sexual man mentioned in the discussion board recently that he has abandoned the idea of writing about his sexuality (opting instead to writing about gaming) because his sexuality wasn't really all that much a part of his day. He went to work and came home again and slept and ate and saw friends. When he sat down to write about his sexuality nothing really came to the surface, he said.

If you've had more than a few minutes reading this web journal you know that I don't have all that much trouble writing about my sexuality and that it is an important element in my life. I know when testosterone is very low in my body. The sexual thoughts still come regularly; too regularly some might say. However, it is more through a bit of a foggy environment. They aren't crystal clear as they will be in about three days. (I go to collect my implant and have it put in shortly.) With adequate amounts of the hormone in my blood stream, my thoughts will return to rather lewd and even crude images and my body will respond with the desire to be satisfied. It will all take on the urgency with which I am now so familiar.

It's odd. I have running through my tumblr site any number of very graphic photographs. Sometimes, all you can see are body parts being penetrated. I doubt I have an ounce of testosterone left in my body as I write these words and I still find a certain peace in looking at those images. They still mean something to me. They remind me that my body is something I wish to be used; that my mind can find a stillness and a sense of well-being that I seek; that all is right in my world.

Yet, in three days (or close thereto) the hunger will return and a more appropriate word than 'hungry' would be 'ravenous'. The urgency will come again and my desire to be taken and ravaged will return to the forefront of my mind. In some ways, I'll become a burden again, too.

As I write these words first thing in the morning before the busy days of my life start up again and I settle my sons for their exams today, making them a nutritious breakfast and taking them to their places of examination, I confess I have felt a certain consolation in not having so great a need for a time. I've focused on making my mother's 80th birthday lunch special and it was very special; a great success. I've organized myself and the coming new semester. I've tried hard to settle myself and find my peace with a new phase of life; a new way of living.

Yet, I cannot deny that in three days I know that I will feel truly alive again. My sexual self is my true self. I'm very grateful that science will enable me to feel my true self for a very long to come.

Vampire loving

When all is said and done, and if I am to be completely honest here, I must state the very simple fact that without expression of the very real and raw part of me that needs to receive dominant energy and to be overwhelmed by that energy, I am but a shadow of myself. Sure, I provide for my family and function in society. Society and family sees the surface of me and that is a functional and relatively happy woman. Underneath, what they don't see, if the dominant energy is unavailable to me, is the real me who can feel a hunger that goes to the pit of her being.

"I am terribly sorry but I am so desperately thirsty."

These are the words (as best I remember them) that Johnny Depp's character, Barnabus Collins, says to the man whose blood he is about to drink when he is released from the coffin after two centuries. Whilst watching Dark Shadows yesterday, when I should have winced, I smiled, because I knew exactly how he felt.

To be this kinky is sometimes an awful burden. We want what we want and we want it with such greediness it can overcome us. It is as if we have tasted the best cake in the world and now that cake has been put behind glass. We can see it, smell it and imagine the taste. It obsesses us and try as we might to distract ourselves, we want another piece of that cake!  

For years and years, I didn't understand and wouldn't watch a vampire movie if you paid me. But, Johnny fed me a little yesterday and for that I am eternally grateful. 

Motivation to write web journals

A fascinating discussion begun by Remittance Girl about the definition of pornography had me asking a similar question to her: Why do I write here? It was once suggested to me that I have such an inclination for "use" that I don't mind being used by total strangers and perverts (I'm sure the phrase was used in the nicest of ways).

It is true that if I wrote with no readers it wouldn't feel the same. Even if there are no comments at all, I can see from the stat counter that people are reading and it means something - though I don't really know what it means. I'm not at all an exhibitionist. I'm much more inclined to wear the outfit that allows me to blend in with the crowd. I'd like to think that I get a few admiring glances but I don't want people ogling me. I don't want that sort of attention.

I am willing to concede I may be a bit of a voyeur. I do so enjoy finding Tumblr photographs that turn me on. I enjoy artwork that has an erotic effect; words that have an erotic effect. I very much enjoy certain movies like 'Nine and half weeks' and 'Secretary' and 'Eyes Wide Shut' and even some songs can lull me into a sense of happiness; fulfilment, joy, arousal. So, if anything I am a voyeur of life and not at all an exhibitionist. Except for this darn web journal which keeps pulling me in.

I do write naughty things elsewhere now quite regularly and I don't have any desire to share that; just the writings here. And, you may or may not have noticed but I am being a bit more discriminating about what I post here. There is some sort of movement away from the need to share as much as I once did. I don't quite know what that is about since we're having a lot of fun in that bedroom of ours and my husband is very much more into  taking control right now, which is incredibly satisfying.

Perhaps, I am more settled. Yet, the desire to write here hasn't stopped at all. I write regularly, even if the content is a bit different.

Could it possibly be that this web journal is a desire to hold onto this part of my personality...this little segment of me that actually enjoys titillating and engaging with others in a slightly decadent way...this little fragment of myself that is exhibitionist; that can imagine myself being amongst a roomful of men with me as the central object of their desire?? Could I really be that naughty inside my head???

And yet, I really don't like blatant comments. I don't want to hear dirty talk from just anyone. I am deeply discriminating about that. I may want to tittilate you but I don't really want you to tittilate me back. I have always been ultra fussy and I can count on my left hand the men over my life who have been allowed into my mind. I think there would be a finger or two left over, actually. I'm not looking for cyberspace lovers or anything remotely like that. If you like to read and you like me that is enough for me.

Am I and people like me nothing more than shameless hussies, in the intellectual sense...within the confines of our minds? And what do you call that? Erotica, pornography or simply taking the opportunity to express a part of ourselves which society is unsure about: full blooded women with huge appetites?

Feeding time

She could feel the hunger. She could sense the voracious appetite in his choice of words; his responses.

 Her reaction was instantaneous. Not a thought flickered through her head before she moved away to appease him. There was no slowing down the action here. No flirting with intention; desire; want. There would be no appertif tonight.

.

Here was a meat and potatoes man. He needed to feed; to bite into that bloody steak and swallow it; to have it fill his gut.

When he began to fill, he slowed down just enough to look up and into her eyes to see for himself if she also had been sustained. It was rarely his style to eat alone.  Although he fed off her, he needed to know that she was nourished in presentation of the plate.

Her pleasure was abundant.. His wants were her wants; or the other way round.  Who could say now which came first.

She served. He fed. Both left the table completely satisfied.  

Feet on the ground

For reasons I can't quite tap into, I haven't had a great desire to talk about our holiday. But, the simple fact is that it was divine - three whole weeks to spend with just my husband: no kids, no responsibilities, no house to keep, no extra curricula activities. We made love over and over and there was  one particularly memorable morning where it seems that my moans and groans that spanned an hour and half were overheard. The Canadian husband shared that information with us over dinner once he realized that it was we who occupied the apartment closest to the pool. Oh well!

Of course, it is not always that easy to put one's feet on the ground - to get on with the business of daily living: school runs and messy kitchens and needing to put everybody else's needs in front of your own. I do understand the process of accepting the mundane again after such a dreamy, ideal time. Having said that, I find myself particularly out of kilter this morning and I don't like that feeling one little bit.

What I do know is that when I feel that way, I need to put my house in order and I mean that quite literally. I need to make it appear orderly and in that way, I feel more in control.  So, I have done that but the restless feeling remains. Right now I should be having a late breakfast, or an espresso and a little bun in Radda, or Castellina in Chianti or in Sienna or Rome... Or, I should be being used, just wallowing in the glory of being used; fucked and fucked and fucked.

I think my body became used to daily use and not just for a few minutes but for hours. I think I became used to a little life with just my husband and me and the strangers we met. I think my taste buds became acquainted with crusty, thick Italian bread and ripe tomatoes and mozzarella cheese and wine. Lots of wine.

We are both feeling the loss; both talking about the next trip; both wondering why we have to work; to think. He's missing his rented Mercedes and zooming around all those corners. He asked for prosciutto when I went to the market yesterday. I'm missing the Tuscan hills; the sounds of guns in the still morning air and I am missing the changing of colour of the trees that must surely be taking place now. In my mind's eye I see the monastery we visited and  already the leaves on the grape vines must surely be witness to reds and oranges. How lovely it would have been to have seen that.

Of course, I am fiddling here while Rome burns. I simply must start that assignment. But, what a bore it is to be so responsible! Exactly how old do you have to be to be reckless and carefree and do as you please?

I know. I know. This feeling will pass. But, when?

The Brute

Lana felt the desire to be handled by a strong, virile man like an ache. It kept her awake at nights. The need for that sort of physical presence would come over her as a desperate longing. She wanted to feel strong hands around her throat making her gasp for air. She wanted to feel his hands all over her body - tweaking her nipples, grabbing her ass, feeling the wetness emanating not just between her legs but from the centre of her being.

More than anything else, Lana wanted to be handled roughly. She wanted no say in the matter. She hoped that she would not need to express that which would come easily to her lips - that he could do with her, whatever he wanted. She hoped he was the kind of man that did not need to ask such a question. 

Lana wanted to be fucked - to be vigorously fucked. She wanted to feel like putty. She wanted to feel like a piece of meat, so pliable and compliant that he could throw her into any position he chose and fuck her at will. She wanted him to pound into her so hard that at the end her whole body would shake in shock. 

It was Lana's hope that this brute of a man would desire her in all her holes - perhaps not all at once, but throughout the day and night. She wanted to worship his manhood on her knees with his cum dripping down her throat but even more than that, her fervent hope was that he would turn her over to lie on her stomach with a bolster under her hips and ease his way into her ass. She could almost feel the bliss of sinking into that surrendered state just thinking about it; the sense of having been taken; of being owned, if only for that night. 

Lana knew in her heart that she would never allow just any man to have his way with her; that he would need to be worthy and she would need to feel his presence as one soul talking to  another soul. She feared looking into his eyes and seeing nothing there but temporary and transient lust. She would need to feel a connection. Yet, she could not deny that at this moment alone in her bed, in the dead of the night, her need for the brute superseded all rational thought. The desire to be fucked long and hard was that urgent.

SEX

So, what it is all about, folks? Well, there are a number of factors but very high on the list is great sex. And, why is sex so important? I can't speak for you. I can only speak for me. It fills me with 'feel good' endorphins. It makes me feel that all is right in my world. It makes me glow. It makes my eyes bright and my lips form a smile and it makes me feel warm and tender to all that I meet in my path through life. It weaves its spell over me for at least 24 hours.

I feel completely alive.
I feel a woman.
I luxuriate in my femininity.

And, I think how I might engineer it that we can do it all over again, at the earliest opportunity!

Primal thoughts

‘We are the prisoners of our genes.’ I have heard this statement many times since it was a favourite statement of someone I knew rather well. It is true. Some things about us are set in stone; preordained. We have a childhood and that adds a whole new layer of complexity. By the time we have become adults we are extraordinarily complex. Those people who blog and read here are particularly complex people, I suspect.

I love complex people. I was not a big game or crossword puzzle sort of child but now that I’m as grown up as I’m likely to be, I love games and I love puzzles. It is quite extraordinary how clever we are in keeping ourselves safe and well. As people who give and receive love in a slightly different way to the norm we try hard to make sense of what comes naturally to us but seems unnatural to others. We seek to understand.

We are in need of translating our thoughts. We tend to be people with a strong connection to thoughts that are primal; thoughts that occur within us in spite of civilization. If it is true that a man’s primal thought is to penetrate women; to capture them, then maybe it is true that a woman’s primal thought is to be taken by men; captured.

We grow up in systems: school, family, religious and community systems where we accept or reject a number of values and beliefs that may make our primal thoughts unacceptable to us. We must adapt. We adapt by translating our thoughts into some new schema that makes it possible for us to function with a sense that we are being true to ourselves and acceptable to society and our own values.

In this way, I find complex people such as you find here on the blogs very clever. Innately we know at some point in our lives that we have no choice but to accept ourselves and be true to ourselves and we do what we can to achieve that end. If the unconscious mind does not fit societal norms what can we do? We sublimate our thoughts. We find a conceptual substitute. This is highly adaptive. This is the survival instinct at work.

As clever as it may be, it is frightening too. Unlike those whose conscious mind and unconscious mind are a good fit, some of us may struggle with these variances. We want to be good. We don’t mean to cause anyone any trouble.

For many generations people similar to us must have been very torn, keeping these thoughts to themselves. Without the sorts of opportunities we have to find new schemas, perhaps on the Internet, they may well have lived their lives beseeched by the demons in their mind. Perhaps some of these people are responsible for the greatest writing:the poems and the novels we so admire. Their chosen schema was their writing. I wonder about this.

For some of us the sexual impulse is strong and for some of us the sexual impulse is almost overwhelming. Perhaps the strength of the primal urge dictates the translation and various obsessions. In any case, such translations and obsessions seem to me a healthy way to experience the feelings we have in a relatively safe way.

From personal experience, I know that one can feel guilty even about the translation let alone the primal thoughts. Even the translation can be out of line with societal expectation: the good mother, the good wife. At such times I must forcibly remind myself this is why I have made the translation: so that I can be everything to everyone, including myself. This requires diligence and good management. At heart and in practise, it is a good thing.

Frederick and Agnes: The nightcap

Agnes followed where Frederick led her. She felt a little as if she were being led in a dance. Thinking of the dance and the music playing in her head, she began to hum. It was something she did instinctively and even without consciousness. Suddenly, he turned a corner into a darkish alley and she pulled on his arm and enquired where he was taking her. When he informed her that they were to have an after dinner drink, she was secretly delighted. It seemed such a grown up thing to do.

Frederick took Agnes by the wrist and they made their way through the bar, closely passing by people sitting at tables and on couches. She made note of the fact that several people spoke to Frederick and that once they had greeted him, their eyes went to her. She always felt self conscious when she was watched and particularly this evening. Agnes tried not to make contact with their eyes directly but it was clear that a few of the men were taking her in from head to foot. It reminded her of being at the zoo and being watched by a tiger. If Frederick were not there, she would be their prey. She drew closer to him for comfort and protection. She tried to ignore the potent smell of cigarette smoke in the air.

Frederick had her sit at a rather worn, red velvet couch but to her surprise and a little disappointment he sat down on a black leather chair at a 90 degree angle to her. It would have been so lovely to have him right by her side and be able to whisper comments about the patrons into his ear. Frederick ordered them both sifters of B & B. She had never had this before but was perfectly prepared to drink it, regardless of the taste. She would never think of letting on at her ignorance of such things. She wanted to appear as sophisticated as she could, especially here in this bar and in the presence of women whose style of dress seemed so chic in comparison to her simple clothing.

As Agnes looked around the bar, she took in so many things new to her. Whilst she was aware of her own innocence in such a bar, she was also revelling in the new experience and grateful for the opportunity. This was the sort of experience that she had hoped to have in Paris. Agnes observed the waitress come towards them again with their drinks and as well, she noticed Frederick watch the waitress’s breasts as she bent down to put the drinks on the low table.

It was not lost on her that Frederick was most likely one of those men her father had warned her about – one of the “lascivious men” he had said would take advantage of her. Frederick turned towards her at that instant and caught her watching him.

“Gretchen is an old friend.”

Agnes was momentarily wounded that Frederick must have had many women in his life. It was a pang of jealousy combined with a sense of insecurity that made her retort,

“She doesn’t look very old.”

Frederick ignored her comment and asked if she liked the bar. This gave her an opportunity to recover from her strange feeling and she responded that whilst she hadn’t been anywhere quite like this before, she liked it and was enjoying the music. He wanted to know where she went with her friends when she went out and she replied they met at local bistros and there they drank the local wine. She considered that even to her ears her response was one of a naive and sheltered girl.

Agnes watched as Gretchen returned and placed an elaborately carved wooden box on the tray and a glass appliance that looked something like a kerosene lamp. She had never seen this before but she immediately felt insecure about it. She turned to Frederick in the hope he would give her some sort of explanation and he answered, "Water pipe, hashish”. She asked him if he ordered it and seemed relieved when he said he had not and that he would have it removed.

By now, Agnes had taken several sips of her drink and having drunk the wine with her meal she was a beginning to feel slightly light headed and a bit sleepy. When Frederick began to ask her several questions about her dating habits, she answered them compliantly but she chose her words carefully. There were matters she did not wish to share with him. Her weekend dating habits were innocent enough in the main when she would join friends for a meal or a movie. She had nothing to hide on that account and she was happy to tell him about this.

If Frederick was at all like her father or her uncles, he would anticipate that Agnes was an innocent young woman who had yet to fully understand the appetites of men. He would never guess, and would be bothered, she suspected, if he knew that she had once had an encounter with a teacher at her school. She had a crush on Mr. Jacques, the drama teacher that had led to her going for a drive with him after school. In the woods just out of town he had kissed her, had her take his penis in her mouth and used his tongue to stimulate her pussy. He had not tried to fuck her.

This first sexual encounter with the handsome Mr. Jacques was a memory she held dear. She was disappointed when Mr. Jacques told her next day that they could not meet privately again. The images remained vividly in her mind. It was her secret and not for Frederick’s consumption; at least not yet. Although unworldly, she prided herself on being sensible and astute.

When Frederick said it was time to head for home, she was happy he had said so. She remained very quiet and followed along without comment.

Fear

I want something and I want it right now. I want to be asked a series of questions; badgered with a set of queries that lead me down a drainpipe with no way to ascend.

I want to be interrogated until I let something slip - some small detail that I had never intended to disclose, yet now have no choice but to reveal.

I want to feel the uncertainty and consternation of not knowing what he will say next.

I want the thrill of fear.

I want to experience the exhilaration of knowing that the next step is not mine.

I want to feel the control of the other and to be aware that I have no control at all.

I want to be reminded that I have no will of my own and that my only "choice" is to accept that I have no choice.

I want to dig deep into that dolli state of mind.

Fiendish folly; fearsome fright; fully fortified.

Hard werk keepn up wif a bimbo

Cindi in a beri beri slutti frame of mind rite now. She nut sur y zactli but her totz beri slutti ndeed. She beri calm, reeeelaxd n she hab meni tots bowt yoos.

Cindi receeevd a beri notti moovn pikki az a prezzi n dat bimbo hab ull da holz yoosd at wuns. Der a man in front hoo hold her hed stil, n a man unda her n a man at bak her n da bimbo looki beri beri satisfyd. Dat reeeli did sumtin 2 dis bimbo n she alredi looki it sebril tyms dis morning n tot bowt it 2, whyl she Christmas shoppin.

Bimboz beri free, n feel beri liber8d 2 speriens ull sortsa tots. Of cors, dis bimbo only intimit wif her onnir but dat nut meen she nut hab beri slutti tots.

Now, y da bimbo feel so free, so calm n so happi rite now? Well, mebbe she jus progresd 2 sum new level of satisfakshin after lotsa hard werk. N also, her onnir njoyn yoosn her lots, n pluggiz njoy her 2 n dat make her mynd n her bodi beri redi 4ebin mor yoos n ebin mor slutti tots. Bimboz beri hungry lil tingz.

It beri inerestin 2 cindi dat ebin tho her tots so streeemli slutti, she consentraytn radda well n gettn trew all the tings on her ‘2 do’ list. Dat soooo pleeeezn 2 cindi – dat she reeechd da poynt wher she hav beri notti tots but she stil abel do her werkiz az wel.

Da kestun 4 cindi – wil da notti moovn pikki she sent ebr leef her myn? She strongli dowts it. But, def feeel bit sorri 4 da men sumtymz. Looki dis wun in da pikki abuv. He looki just exhaustd! Nut ez 4 onnirs n da men in da bimboz myn keepi up wif her. Oh wel! Spoz dat da prys dey pay 4 habin bimboz!

The Other Side of Agnes

You may wish to read here first.

“For dinner? Oh, I was planning to have dinner at home...”

“A baguette?”

“The baguette is for breakfast in the morning. I had thought to open a can of soup; some bread...a smidgeon of cheese...”

“That is not a satisfactory dinner, girl. You need some protein: some meat or fish.”

“Yes, I suppose you are right.”

“Suppose?”

“You are right.”

“Of course I am right. Do you enjoy seafood, Agnes?”

“I love seafood.”

“Then, it is time I introduced you to the best seafood restaurant in Paris: nearby and their fish is incredibly fresh. The meals are reliably delicious.”

“I’d...I’d love that, Frederick. That sounds wonderful.”

“Then, give me your croissant and I’ll put it with my things. We can pick them up later.”

She watched him as he retrieved the packaged croissant from her basket and put the items through the register. He beckoned to her to come along. Again, he was off at a fast pace. Agnes was really more a stroller than a speedster and she had to concentrate to keep up with him.

Two blocks later when the light turned green for them, he took Agnes’ arm and wrapped it around his arm. This prompted her to walk at the same pace as him.

“Ah, that’s better. You just need some leadership.”

“Is that what I need?”

“Certainly.”

“I see.”

“I doubt you do.”

Agnes didn’t know what to make of him. She knew it felt wonderful to be in his company but she was a little unnerved. He gave her the sense that she could at any moment make a mistake, or reveal something that she wished to hide. The uncertainty silenced her and she said nothing for the remainder of the journey which was really only another five minutes.

“Here we are.”

He opened the door for her and she was immediately enchanted with the cafe. There were red and white check tablecloths on the tables and each table had a candle lit in the middle of the table. It had the sort of bohemian flavour that she adored: not stuffy at all but comfortable and enchanting. They knew him here and they were quickly led to a table by the window overlooking the street and all the people walking by. Two glasses of red wine were on the table in a matter of moments and they raised their glasses to Frederick’s words.

“To a balanced meal.”

Agnes smiled.

“To a balanced meal.”

She knew he was joking around with her a little and she enjoyed it; not in the least offended.

When they had taken a sip of the wine a need to explain herself came over Agnes but she stumbled, trying to find the right words.

“I hope that I didn’t offend you...my running off that day you took me to your apartment. My father was very clear with me that I should not trust strange men.”

“Your father is right.”

“He is?”

“Goodness, yes. A lovely girl such as you must be careful with strangers.”

“But, Frederick, you were a stranger to me...”

“Was I? Well, yes I was. Am I still a stranger to you?”

“You are playing with me!”

“Perhaps a little, but I am no threat... just a quiet living Parisian who enjoys the company of lovely young women.”

“Whatever you say, Frederick.”

“Ah, the girl is trainable.”

“I’m sorry. What did you say?”

He ignored her question.

“Are you still in love with Paris, Agnes? Not yearning for a quieter, simpler town life?”

“I miss my family a little sometimes, of course, but I was very ready to move. There was nothing to keep me there eventually.”

“I think you could have found a photographer who would have taken you on. I suspect you have a very good eye.”

“Perhaps, but advancing in my profession was only one reason to move. I had a couple of boyfriends in the past but I always felt a bit...awkward. I...I felt...well, I felt so out of place there.”

“Oh?”

“The boys seemed so immature. I don’t know what it was exactly. It just didn’t work out. They were nice boys but they made me feel that I was doing something wrong. I don’t really know why I am telling you this...I have never said it to another living soul...not even my sister...but coming to Paris was an escape for me.”

“You wanted to get away from someone in particular?”

“No, not really. I wanted to get away from the sense of myself that I was a misfit; that I wanted something unattainable.”

“Agnes, I know we don’t know one another well, but I can assure you that you are not a misfit here.”

“You really think so?”

“Definitely.”

“Well, that is nice to know.”

The waiter brought the menus but Frederick waved them away and told him that they would both have the salmon, but that instead of the potatoes they would have green beans. Agnes took note but she said nothing. She rather enjoyed him taking charge. It gave her a chance to sink into her favourite persona, that of observer, rather than participator.

She found him very appealing. She liked the way he wore his clothes – his crisp white shirt and his dark blue linen suit – no tie. She was attracted to the fact that all his movements had a self assurance about them, be that buttering bread or gesturing to the waiter when their glasses were empty. She enjoyed watching every move he made. But, he wasn’t giving away much; merely asking her question after question. She felt it only polite to respond to them and it was not until they were half way through their meal that she had a chance to ask him a question.

“Do you live alone, Frederick?”

“Yes, I do now. I was married but it didn’t work out.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Nicole and I are still the best of friends but we grew apart. We wanted different things.”

“Do you have children?”

“No children. I think that was best under the circumstances.”

“Do you get lonely living alone?”

“Not really. I have a great many friends...people with similar interests to me.”

“May I ask what you do?”

“You may. I am a banker.”

“Oh...so you arrange mortgages...that sort of thing?”

He smiled at her simplistic response.

“Not quite. I am in takeovers and acquisitions.”

“Wow. I am afraid I don’t know too much about finance.”

“There is no need, Agnes.”

“Well, father says...”

“I am sure your father guided you well; that is plain to see by how you have turned out. But, you are a grown girl and you need guidance in the here and now.”

Something in Agnes opened up; some private drawer in her mind that had been jammed shut loosened itself and burst open. She knew this wasn’t what she was meant to do, but she was giving herself to Frederick as if it were the most natural thing in the world. She neither corrected him nor made the slightest pretence towards suggesting that he was taking unwanted liberties. To the contrary, she revelled in the notion that he was taking charge of her; leading her to some dark place that had been inside her since she was a small child.

Agnes desperately wished that he would cancel the coffee and the crème brulee he had ordered for them to share. She was hungry now for something else...she knew not what it was exactly but she sensed that Frederick could offer it to her. She was in a rush now; a rush to sample anything that she had waited all these years to taste. But, Frederick was taking his time; sipping his coffee, commenting on the smoothness and delicacy of flavour of the crème brulee until she feared that she would lose self control.

At last, he had the waiter bring the bill; rejected her offer to pay half and at a maddeningly slow pace, uncharacteristic of him, walked her back to the supermarket to collect their parcel.

“I shall walk you home.”

She felt her heart drop. There must be something wrong with her, after all, she determined. She became silent; withdrawn; lost in her insecure thoughts and sense of frustration.

He stopped and turned towards her.

“Agnes? Is something wrong?”

“Frederick, I don’t really want to go home.”

“Where do you want to go, Agnes?”

She remained silent.

“Where do you want to go, Agnes?”

“With you.”

He said nothing: merely changed direction. She breathed a sigh of relief.

The Training School - prelude

For as much as I do say here on these pages, there is so much that I can't say. How on earth can I type into this blank space for you all to read, the machinations of my kinky mind?

You surely would not be interested to know about the training school in my mind. How devilishly dirty you would think my mind if I were to detail what happens there.

As much as it will disgust you, I am prepared to reveal that what happens to me there is not at the hands of just one man. Not by a long shot! There are many men who train me at the school and in fact, this is an essential ingredient of the success of the training school. When my body is prepared for my owner, so too is my mind. My mind must become that of a fucktoy and so it is critical that the men have me understand that I may object to nothing.

I don't. I don't object to anything at all because I see what happens to other girls who object and I don't want that to happen to me. To be perfectly honest, I also don't object to my treatment because I have no reason to object. The men keep me in a state of readiness and desire that demands I receive a great deal of attention and it is beyond the scope of one man to fulfil my current needs once they have tapped into my hidden desires.

Sordid, despicable, dark and dirty things happen at the training school and all at the behest of my owner who has provided the men with a long list of requirements before I should be sent home.

Try not to think ill of me. I shall not share with you the demands made of me at the training school. Unless, of course, you want that.