Did I ever tell you that my husband and I are completely opposite in every way? I did? Well then, let me tell you again...
When my husband wakes in the middle of the night, for whatever reason, he reacts to stimuli in the same way as he does as if it were the middle of the day: with gusto. Should he stub his toe (as he did the night before last) he makes enough noise that I can hear it. (Am meant to hear it?!) I, on the other hand, when the occasion has arisen, contain my pain within my own body to ensure that nobody hears it.
Should my husband find a son doing gymnastics in the living room at 4 a.m. (as he did this night), he tells him loudly that it is unacceptable and he needs to go to bed. I, on the other hand, creep through the dark and quietly whisper "Are you nuts?! Go to bed!" and quietly tip toe back to bed in the hope I might get back to sleep.
I know enough tricks by now to keep myself asleep through all sorts of activities within the house, but tonight, after I lay there awake for an hour listening to his restlessness, I said,
"I give up. I'm off to my desk."
A minute later, he arrived.
"I'm sorry I woke you, but..."
"Shhhhhhh"
"Okay, would you like a crumpet?"
"Noooooo, thank you."
He ate his crumpet.
"Okay, I am going back to bed. Enjoy your writing!"
"I'll be sure to."
Love him as I do, the man can be so frustrating!
In the same vein, my daughter mentioned something to me that she had read. When a man sneezes, he makes a great, big noise - the louder the better. People invariably stop and wonder what has happened when a man sneezes. It is so explosive! When a woman sneezes, she turns her head to one side, and, as quietly as she possibly can, she sneezes into her hand, apologizing to no one in particular. You might like to observe this for yourself. It is rather a hoot once you are switched into the different styles.
Once upon a time, when I wore high heels on a surface that made a noise, I would try to walk on tiptoes, to avoid disturbing people. I have seen other women do the same thing. I mentioned this to...well he knows who he is...and he said that had to stop. I needed to make my entrance on those high heels. Rather than not want to make a noise, my goal was to have heads turn. And, I do that now. I thrive on making that noise with my heels.
Sometimes, I really do wonder if I might launch out of my submissive mindset and be a bit more loud. Put my needs first and make a good old hallabaloo about things.
"Feed me!"
"Play with me!"
"Put me first!"
Think that would work for me?
Ugh! This game is rigged!
Monday, June 21, 2010
Sunday, June 20, 2010
For her own good
My husband and I arrived home late on a Thursday evening and this has been rather wonderful timing because we have had time to lull about at home and get over our jet lag and exhaustion. Even better, my cough is virtually gone and I feel kind of cheeky again, which means I feel like my old self. Good news, right?!Believe it or not, I spent most of Saturday fast asleep which is some kind of miracle. But, in and out of sleep I must have been, because in my thoughts I was constantly being spanked, in one scenario or the other.
Sometimes, I was back at school. It was a very strict school (what a surprise!) and on my first day my parents and I were taken in to see the Headmaster. He wanted to confirm with my parents that they understood that he believed strongly in the benefits of the cane for his girls. My parents assured him that they were in total agreement.
Then, he wanted to check that I had not brought to his school any panties. Girls in his school, he said, were forbidden from wearing panties because they were inconvenient for Masters and gave a girl the impression that she had rights, which she did not. Again, my parents assured the Headmaster that they agreed and that no such panties were in my suitcase nor on my body. When my parents had waved us goodbye, the Headmaster escorted me back to his study to initiate me in his ways. Better, he said, to begin where he meant to end.
Whilst the idea of receiving discipline from a woman in real life holds zero appeal for me, in my dreams there is often a very strict Matron who works in conjunction with the Headmaster, and so it was yesterday. Whilst the Headmaster handled issues of a serious nature, it was Matron who dealt with minor matters, such as girls giggling in the hallway, or talking after lights out. She had one of those expensive Mason Pearson hairbrushes I saw all round Europe in pharmacies and she used it liberally. Being stout, she had no problem in taking a girl over her knee and it was her way to issue a sentence of so many minutes; say, two minutes of hard spanking with the brush for not making one's bed with the specified corners.
It didn't end there. The Headmaster had all sorts of rituals for his girls and one such ritual was a monthly enema, which he considered good for "our health", followed by an inspection of our "holes". Once a week, we were given a class on our "true purpose" and we needed to get good grades in this subject, along with all our subjects.
No girl was allowed to do poorly and when a girl received a low grade, she was given a second chance. True to form, Masters at the school dealt with poor grades in a traditional way. A girl was soundly whipped and once that was completed, she was given time to review the lesson, after which she was allowed to re-sit the test. It was with pride that Masters noted that all girls performed to a most satisfactory standard when given this personal attention. The school maintained an exemplary academic standard and as well, graduates of the school were considered to make outstanding wives. It makes sense, doesn't it?!
I was beaten consistently all Saturday - all for my own good. Such a lovely way to spend a Saturday!
Friday, June 18, 2010
The contents
What does she want?
She wants what he wants her to want. His wants become her wants.
It is not that she didn't have a dirty mind before. Far from it.
But, she didn't know then what she knows now. She might never have known if he had not told her.
She is trapped inside herself now; a plaything.
At his beck and call.
Without choice.
Or, is the doll just responding to the echoes of her own impulses and deep desires?
All she knows for sure is that she just opened that big box, took fright and closed it again.
And yet...
She can't wipe the image of its contents from her mind.
She's caught in his web.
Right where she wants to be.
She wants what he wants her to want. His wants become her wants.
It is not that she didn't have a dirty mind before. Far from it.
But, she didn't know then what she knows now. She might never have known if he had not told her.
She is trapped inside herself now; a plaything.
At his beck and call.
Without choice.
Or, is the doll just responding to the echoes of her own impulses and deep desires?
All she knows for sure is that she just opened that big box, took fright and closed it again.
And yet...
She can't wipe the image of its contents from her mind.
She's caught in his web.
Right where she wants to be.
Thursday, June 17, 2010
Home
As one friend noted, my web journal morphed into a travel blog there for a while but I like to finish what I begin and hence, herewith is the last instalment of my travels in Europe...
Paris provided us with great highs and a few lows. The high for me was, in fact, the day of our wedding anniversary. It truly is immensing comforting to be known as well as my husband knows me. That morning he hugged me close in our bed. and whispered,
"It is just another day, cindi. Everything is all right."
Special days are often tough for me for reasons I simply cannot explain. But, his acknowledgement relaxed me immediatelely. We walked endlessly that day - over the bridge to Saint-Germaine, onto the Tuileries Gardens, to the Latin Quarter, Ille de St. Louis, past Notre Dame and back home to the Louvre district. Half an hour later we were in a taxi to the Bastille district for a special dinner to cap off a truly wonderful day together.
As fate would have it, the very next day was to prove challenging. I awoke with a very sore throat and depleted of energy but in the afternoon we headed down to Montmartre and before we wandered back down to the Metro, we had cocktails at a nearby bar. When we found ourselves crushed into the carriage, my defenses were down and whilst I mentally noted the young gypsy girl beside me and was aware I was in danger, I remained unaware that I had been pick pocketed until the following day when I reached for our passports at Gare du Nord to present to the British officer there.
There is no other way to say this. The gypsies are running amuck in Paris and a girl like me with blond hair and looking unlike most other travellers on the Metro is in danger. It was not the only incident and I was often watched intently at close range and followed. Without my husband there right beside me, God knows what would have happened to me. But, I remain impressed by the manners of the French. The handsome and gallant Phillipe at Gare du Nord assured me that we could exchange our tickets once we had replacement passports and he did everything for us that he could as did the Consulate official in Paris.
I must say that this is where our D/s relationship really shined. My infamous 'sensibilities' had been rather put to the test and I was in a fragile state. My husband took the situation over completely and arranged everything. We only had one final test to pass and that was to convince the Consulate to do in two hours what they normally do in two days. I worded up my husband, knowing the state of mind of Consulate people like the back of my hand that he must make them like us. It was critical.
He was doing well but the woman in charge had been busy all aternoon and she told him to call her at 4.15 pm to see if they were ready, but she doubted it. We would probably have to come back tomorrow. He tried a couple of strategies and nothing worked. I smiled at the girl, expressing my understanding at how overworked she was, but would it be all right if we waited at the Consulate, just in case? It did the trick. At 4.45 pm we had the emergency passports in hand and we were back in business. My husband is excellent in an emergency but I was able to offer the crowning jewel in our defense. I thought we had made a good team. (By the way, the thing to know in such a situation should such similar bad luck befall you is to remain at the Consulate. Never leave. If they can't see you, they can't sympathize with you. You need to stay and look a bit pathetic and in need of saving.)
I enjoy very much the civilities of the French. I thrive on all the "Bonjours" and "Au Revoirs" and "bon vacation" and so forth. Each time we stopped for food we seemed to make a new, albeit short term friend and that was fun. I noticed and enjoyed these exchanges in the streets, particularly in Toulouse. Toulouse is a darling town to visit and I am delighted to say that I was nearly picked up there. For a woman of a certain age, being picked up is always loads of fun.
Needless to say, as a girl with Welsh and Irish blood running through her veins, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the United Kingdom. We spent what precious little time we had there in the -Cotswolds and the city of Bath and I found the small towns enchanting. Moreton -in- Marsh was my favourite town, but all the towns were fabulous.
It was time to come home. We were ready to unpack, to sleep in our own bed, to see the children and to return to our regularly scheduled programming. Watch this space.
Paris provided us with great highs and a few lows. The high for me was, in fact, the day of our wedding anniversary. It truly is immensing comforting to be known as well as my husband knows me. That morning he hugged me close in our bed. and whispered,
"It is just another day, cindi. Everything is all right."
Special days are often tough for me for reasons I simply cannot explain. But, his acknowledgement relaxed me immediatelely. We walked endlessly that day - over the bridge to Saint-Germaine, onto the Tuileries Gardens, to the Latin Quarter, Ille de St. Louis, past Notre Dame and back home to the Louvre district. Half an hour later we were in a taxi to the Bastille district for a special dinner to cap off a truly wonderful day together.
As fate would have it, the very next day was to prove challenging. I awoke with a very sore throat and depleted of energy but in the afternoon we headed down to Montmartre and before we wandered back down to the Metro, we had cocktails at a nearby bar. When we found ourselves crushed into the carriage, my defenses were down and whilst I mentally noted the young gypsy girl beside me and was aware I was in danger, I remained unaware that I had been pick pocketed until the following day when I reached for our passports at Gare du Nord to present to the British officer there.
There is no other way to say this. The gypsies are running amuck in Paris and a girl like me with blond hair and looking unlike most other travellers on the Metro is in danger. It was not the only incident and I was often watched intently at close range and followed. Without my husband there right beside me, God knows what would have happened to me. But, I remain impressed by the manners of the French. The handsome and gallant Phillipe at Gare du Nord assured me that we could exchange our tickets once we had replacement passports and he did everything for us that he could as did the Consulate official in Paris.
I must say that this is where our D/s relationship really shined. My infamous 'sensibilities' had been rather put to the test and I was in a fragile state. My husband took the situation over completely and arranged everything. We only had one final test to pass and that was to convince the Consulate to do in two hours what they normally do in two days. I worded up my husband, knowing the state of mind of Consulate people like the back of my hand that he must make them like us. It was critical.
He was doing well but the woman in charge had been busy all aternoon and she told him to call her at 4.15 pm to see if they were ready, but she doubted it. We would probably have to come back tomorrow. He tried a couple of strategies and nothing worked. I smiled at the girl, expressing my understanding at how overworked she was, but would it be all right if we waited at the Consulate, just in case? It did the trick. At 4.45 pm we had the emergency passports in hand and we were back in business. My husband is excellent in an emergency but I was able to offer the crowning jewel in our defense. I thought we had made a good team. (By the way, the thing to know in such a situation should such similar bad luck befall you is to remain at the Consulate. Never leave. If they can't see you, they can't sympathize with you. You need to stay and look a bit pathetic and in need of saving.)
I enjoy very much the civilities of the French. I thrive on all the "Bonjours" and "Au Revoirs" and "bon vacation" and so forth. Each time we stopped for food we seemed to make a new, albeit short term friend and that was fun. I noticed and enjoyed these exchanges in the streets, particularly in Toulouse. Toulouse is a darling town to visit and I am delighted to say that I was nearly picked up there. For a woman of a certain age, being picked up is always loads of fun.
Needless to say, as a girl with Welsh and Irish blood running through her veins, I thoroughly enjoyed my time in the United Kingdom. We spent what precious little time we had there in the -Cotswolds and the city of Bath and I found the small towns enchanting. Moreton -in- Marsh was my favourite town, but all the towns were fabulous.
It was time to come home. We were ready to unpack, to sleep in our own bed, to see the children and to return to our regularly scheduled programming. Watch this space.
Tuesday, June 15, 2010
Again
She felt adrift. That old feeling of uncertainty and insecurity had returned to invade her mind and she knew what that was all about. She longed for his direction. She had no use for raised voices or an angry tone. She had no desire for trouble or strife.
But, she wanted his direction.
Sure.
Purposeful.
Intentional.
Not to be disobeyed.
No please. No thank you.
She just wanted to be told what to do.
Then, she could be feel light and bright again. Sustained by his energy. Replete.
Confident
Coquettish
Contained
Complete.
Make no mistake. She knew what to do. But, she needed him to tell her.
Again.
Again.
Again.
But, she wanted his direction.
Sure.
Purposeful.
Intentional.
Not to be disobeyed.
No please. No thank you.
She just wanted to be told what to do.
Then, she could be feel light and bright again. Sustained by his energy. Replete.
Confident
Coquettish
Contained
Complete.
Make no mistake. She knew what to do. But, she needed him to tell her.
Again.
Again.
Again.
Monday, June 7, 2010
Our dynamic
With some reluctance we left our dear little Spanish abode and headed over the Pyrenees mountains. A submissive acting as a navigator for her Dominant is always a challenging situation but surprisingly, we found our way to the small village of our destination, requiring only the assistance of three French farmers to find our way within the village to the little hamlet. Many handshakes and kisses later, we wandered down the laneway leading to our Australian friends who had decided on a French country lifestyle.
Of course, we were given a tour of the farm and we sang the praises of all they had achieved. They have worked very hard and with such positive spirit to build a live for themselves on the other side of the world and they deserved every compliment we sent their way. A most convivial couple with a very colorful past, frankly they drank us under the table and we left for Paris with the notion of 'drying out'. I don't think we have drunk so much alcohol in our lives.
Their dynamic actually deserves comment on these pages. The husband is, in fact, ten years younger than his wife and whilst they are a very romantic couple, there is an element of mothering here. She looks after him wonderfully well, much as she might one of her boys, whilst at the same time referring to him as "the leader" and at other times, "the boss".
He'd mucked up the barbeque and in the end, she had to put the meat in a pan to get it cooked enough. When we finally ate at 11.30 pm (it's the french way?!) she was a little cheeky and he asked, "Caroline, do you want to have your bottom smacked?" "Yes, please. Yes, I do, I do."
Ah ha! I was amongst like minded people on some level.
Yet, it is a dynamic most unlike ours. He's very tender towards her and she's very caring of him but it is very much a 'live and let live' approach. My husband wouldn't tolerate all that 'advice' she gives him for a minute and I'd be referred to my "place" smartly if I gave all that direction. Yet , they get on marvellously well, each incredibly tolerant of the other. If I showed any sign of drinking large amounts of alcohol, I'd be given a directive to reduce my intake, but he just pours her another glass. It is something, to be honest, I don't understand, but there it is. Having said that, they are extremely connected and loving and it works brilliantly for them.
Having lived in close quarters with another couple for over four days, needless to say, when we reached our Paris apartment, we dropped our bags at the door and made love all afternoon. We went for a walk around Paris after dinner and my husband said,
"Can you believe it, cindi? We've been together officially for 30 years."
"Are you sick of me yet owner? Would you like a new girl?"
"Now where would I find another cindi?" he wanted to know.
Life without each other is something we don't wish to contemplate.
My husband has mentioned a number of ideas to celebrate our anniversary. If I understand correctly, and I will need to confirm, I was given permission to get nipple rings. I'm not entirely sure if that was a mad moment or not when he said that. He also said that if I wish, our first museum visit tomorrow could be to Musee de l'Erotisme. Yayayayay! Aren't wedding anniversaries fun?!
Of course, we were given a tour of the farm and we sang the praises of all they had achieved. They have worked very hard and with such positive spirit to build a live for themselves on the other side of the world and they deserved every compliment we sent their way. A most convivial couple with a very colorful past, frankly they drank us under the table and we left for Paris with the notion of 'drying out'. I don't think we have drunk so much alcohol in our lives.
Their dynamic actually deserves comment on these pages. The husband is, in fact, ten years younger than his wife and whilst they are a very romantic couple, there is an element of mothering here. She looks after him wonderfully well, much as she might one of her boys, whilst at the same time referring to him as "the leader" and at other times, "the boss".
He'd mucked up the barbeque and in the end, she had to put the meat in a pan to get it cooked enough. When we finally ate at 11.30 pm (it's the french way?!) she was a little cheeky and he asked, "Caroline, do you want to have your bottom smacked?" "Yes, please. Yes, I do, I do."
Ah ha! I was amongst like minded people on some level.
Yet, it is a dynamic most unlike ours. He's very tender towards her and she's very caring of him but it is very much a 'live and let live' approach. My husband wouldn't tolerate all that 'advice' she gives him for a minute and I'd be referred to my "place" smartly if I gave all that direction. Yet , they get on marvellously well, each incredibly tolerant of the other. If I showed any sign of drinking large amounts of alcohol, I'd be given a directive to reduce my intake, but he just pours her another glass. It is something, to be honest, I don't understand, but there it is. Having said that, they are extremely connected and loving and it works brilliantly for them.
Having lived in close quarters with another couple for over four days, needless to say, when we reached our Paris apartment, we dropped our bags at the door and made love all afternoon. We went for a walk around Paris after dinner and my husband said,
"Can you believe it, cindi? We've been together officially for 30 years."
"Are you sick of me yet owner? Would you like a new girl?"
"Now where would I find another cindi?" he wanted to know.
Life without each other is something we don't wish to contemplate.
My husband has mentioned a number of ideas to celebrate our anniversary. If I understand correctly, and I will need to confirm, I was given permission to get nipple rings. I'm not entirely sure if that was a mad moment or not when he said that. He also said that if I wish, our first museum visit tomorrow could be to Musee de l'Erotisme. Yayayayay! Aren't wedding anniversaries fun?!
Tuesday, June 1, 2010
Room at the table
We met a wonderfully colorful character in a clothing store yesterday and since I loved his clothes and he wanted to speak English to my husband we were in there for ages. In a nutshell, he told us of his philosophy of life and at times he had me in stitches. A handsome, charismatic and stylish man, he had worked in New York City for many years in fashion photography and publishing and had returned to a more relaxed style of European living here.
He talked of the cultures of the world, of immigration, of "hot blooded" people and "calm, zen type" people and what happens when people of various cultures all live together. He talked of people he had worked with in Europe who had fixed ideas of what was in and what was out. His French associates, for example, had no idea why he should want to travel to Morocco let alone enjoy his time there, whilst he had loved his travels there. He considered them "snobs".
I'm up early. The way of life here means that the garbage truck comes by every morning very early and at that point I take note of the church bell that dings every 15 minutes. My mind wandered to my recent kinky conversation with a friend and the conversation with our acquaintance yesterday, and then the two events gelled together in my mind.
The D/s space is not unlike the cultures of the world. There are so many different ways to live, all under the banner of D/s. Some people feel that their way is the real way; the right way of doing what we do. That's okay. 'Each to his own' has always made a lot of sense to me.
One of my greatest breaks in life is that I found myself mentored by a person who understands me; the essence of me. I wanted to experience life in a "zen" kind of way. I seek calm via control. I crave peace of mind. He heard that through my words and he began work to take me there via a philosophy and state of mind that works brilliantly for me.
It is not for everyone, but it is for me and in my view, no less or more significant, no more or less valuable than any other form of D/s. I'm not playing around and nor is he, although we do acknowlede my playful side. What I have learned is as much part of my real life as it is for those who incorporate D/s into their lives in the most traditional of ways.
I like to think that we can all learn something from one another. More than that, I feel sure that we can learn from one another, if we keep our minds and hearts open to that. I think, at the end of the day, we just need to be true to ourselves and very conscious of what we truly need and what works best for us as individuals. Once you have found what you want, as the saying goes, stick to it.
There is room for us all in this space, surely. Respect for one another, an open mind and clarity of thought as to our own personal needs should allow us to sit at the table and engage with one another in a pleasurable and fulfilling way.
He talked of the cultures of the world, of immigration, of "hot blooded" people and "calm, zen type" people and what happens when people of various cultures all live together. He talked of people he had worked with in Europe who had fixed ideas of what was in and what was out. His French associates, for example, had no idea why he should want to travel to Morocco let alone enjoy his time there, whilst he had loved his travels there. He considered them "snobs".
I'm up early. The way of life here means that the garbage truck comes by every morning very early and at that point I take note of the church bell that dings every 15 minutes. My mind wandered to my recent kinky conversation with a friend and the conversation with our acquaintance yesterday, and then the two events gelled together in my mind.
The D/s space is not unlike the cultures of the world. There are so many different ways to live, all under the banner of D/s. Some people feel that their way is the real way; the right way of doing what we do. That's okay. 'Each to his own' has always made a lot of sense to me.
One of my greatest breaks in life is that I found myself mentored by a person who understands me; the essence of me. I wanted to experience life in a "zen" kind of way. I seek calm via control. I crave peace of mind. He heard that through my words and he began work to take me there via a philosophy and state of mind that works brilliantly for me.
It is not for everyone, but it is for me and in my view, no less or more significant, no more or less valuable than any other form of D/s. I'm not playing around and nor is he, although we do acknowlede my playful side. What I have learned is as much part of my real life as it is for those who incorporate D/s into their lives in the most traditional of ways.
I like to think that we can all learn something from one another. More than that, I feel sure that we can learn from one another, if we keep our minds and hearts open to that. I think, at the end of the day, we just need to be true to ourselves and very conscious of what we truly need and what works best for us as individuals. Once you have found what you want, as the saying goes, stick to it.
There is room for us all in this space, surely. Respect for one another, an open mind and clarity of thought as to our own personal needs should allow us to sit at the table and engage with one another in a pleasurable and fulfilling way.
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