Compliance: the desired outcome

Although my husband is the boss of me (I'm smiling thinking of kids saying to someone that tells them what to do, "you're not the best of me!!") he and I, like so many married couples, don't partake in any sort of highly structured disciplinary relationship. We've been there, and it was incredibly hot and sexy, but I think he decided that for people living their entire adult lives together we could only take it so far. He's long held the view that there is an independent streak within me and he doesn't want to mess with it.

I think as well that a formal disciplinary aspect to the relationship goes against the natural flow of 'us' and what he feels comfortable doing and desires doing. He is fully engaged with his business life. I think for him it sounds like more work. I'm not exactly sure. I only know that whilst he enjoys his status on the top of the pile, isn't shy about letting me know when he's not happy with what I do or say, and does occasionally enjoy 'correcting' me with an implement in a semi-serious way, he's not into discipline with me, if that makes sense.

As long as there is no skin off his nose, and as long as he feels he is getting the attention, love and devotion that he deserves he's not against me engaging in a friendship conducted safely and respectfully, in a non-threatening way, where it is understood that I'm the 'student' and the other person is the 'teacher', with all the sense of authority that the word 'teacher' entails. Teachers, do sometimes, alas, find themselves in a situation where they must punish.

A few years ago a few extra kilos crept on my body in a menopausal way, out of the blue. I didn't care for it and kidded myself that I was doing something about it. I lost a few kilos and settled into a groove where the last four kilos to lose would eventually make their way off my body, somehow. I'd invariably start the day talking to myself, 'This weight has to come off!' only to find myself doing the same bad things, grabbing a piece of chocolate with my tea at night or a cookie with my coffee when I visited the Market, that sort of thing that isn't all that bad but that really doesn't allow for weight loss.

About a month ago now, I mentioned to my 'teacher' that today I was starting a new regimen of eating because I wanted to lose weight. He asked how much I wanted to lose and I said '4 kilos' which is about 10 pounds. I truly didn't expect him to bite at this. He never has before in any real way and I was surprised when he said that he could help me with this. It was a lovely favour I thought and I was pleased, very pleased; grateful.

We began the business of me sending a daily food journal and he made corrections, all sensible and necessary. I needed to include some protein with my meals, so, for example, I could have some almonds with my oatmeal in the morning. He banned cake more or less for good. Well, he said 'a month' but do I think that next month I can have cake? No. This has worked wonderfully well. I absolutely never look at, drool over or consider eating cake now. It's banned. My submissive mind gets that word.

He made other sensible suggestions - I don't eat the yolk of eggs at the moment and I do drink considerably more water, try to incorporate more fruit, vegetables and beans into my diet.

At first I was going about my usual habits, having a treat after dinner. Of course, that's not going to work when you need to limit calories and I was told rather quickly that I could have 2 sweet things a week. This was my 'sweets allowance'. More corrections were made - the size of a 'sweet' established as being minuscule in comparison to what I thought of as a reasonable portion. One punishment was meted out and I imagine he hoped that that would be the end of the matter and I'd fall into line.

However, as much as I knew the rules I was also dealing with a sugar withdrawal. I still, on some days, yearned for a lolly (piece of candy) or a piece of dark chocolate. One week I gobbled up my two sweets in less than a minute and that's not good. I was honest about this and he called it 'brave'. I had another week to go before I could eat something sugary, he reminded me.

However, one day I was at the supermarket and impulsively, like a naughty little schoolgirl, I snatched a bag of hard lollies from the shelf and chucked them into my shopping basket. Back home, they whispered to me, 'Just one. One can't hurt' and I had one and that led to two. When I was a school girl my mother sometimes would have waiting for me after school a fresh batch of cupcakes newly iced and I'd have one and then another. 'I'll stop at four, I'd say in my weakest moments. Definitely no more than four!' This is what happened to me with that evil bag of lollies. I ate four.

As I was writing up my food journal I was aware of last week's consequence; not that it was all that terrible but I had very recently been in trouble and didn't want to be in trouble again. If I said 'two', and as I understood the rules then, that would be 1 sweet treat. I already had used up the other one, the week was still ahead of me with no more treats, but I wouldn't be in trouble. If I wrote that I had eaten 4, I knew I'd be in lots of trouble. I wrote that I had eaten 2 of the blasted things, still acting like that schoolgirl who avoids being trouble at all costs.

No sooner had I sent off the email than I got an 'oh deeeeer' email back, which sounds tame but isn't in reality. Apparently, 1 hard piece of candy (it's less than an inch long and half an inch in diameter wrapped in its own little package) equalled one treat. Hence, I'd gone over my sweet rations again. It would be dealt with 'later' he said.

With time to think about this the guilt set in and the next time we chatted I fessed up. I honestly think (well, I know) that I expected to be let away with this. I was being coy, cute. Didn't you let sweet coy, cute little girls away with things? It was a few lollies, no big deal.

I was very, very mistaken. Not only had I gone over the limit two weeks in a row but I'd lied to him about it. I started to get that sick feeling in my stomach when I have to wait to read what he thinks about it all  and I tried to defend and explain myself.

'Keep digging...' came his reply. I suddenly remembered what my husband had told me. 'When you are in a hole, stop digging', but it was much too late.

He didn't yell or scream. Well, you can't actually yell or scream in chat but you can metaphorically and he didn't do that. It was more along the lines of a teacher being very, very disappointed in you. Then, he issued the punishment.

In some ways people don't change or not without a lot of effort, and I hadn't changed in my feelings about being truly punished. I hate to do the wrong thing really and I hate punishment for that reason. I had brought this on myself, had nobody to blame but myself, had given him no choice, but it still felt vile.

For several days I was on my own. I had to make my own choices. There wasn't a minute of that time that I didn't feel punished, sometimes assuring myself that I had earned it and had to suck it up, sometimes feeling hardly done by. It was hard on me, as it was meant to be. There were a few other complicating factors going on over that period of time that pushed me around too, but let's keep this simple.

When we talked again I was tentative. Perhaps it is not unlike a person within a power exchange who gets a good hiding as a punishment and the time period after that is awkward as one repairs one's dignity, as one truly takes in that one person is the authority figure and one person has the right to, and will if necessary, discipline the other.

'Did I enjoy my time away from him?' he wanted to know. This was like a red rag to a bull, I thought. Part of me wanted to laugh but the other part that was taking myself seriously wasn't ready to take it lightly. There was a comment about my being on 'pins and needles' and whilst it was absolutely true, I didn't want to admit that the punishment had got under my skin.

There was a discussion about him being 'sooooo strict' and then that followed with a back and forth as to whether he was 'tooo strict'. I refused to answer, unlike me. I know better. He insisted I did, I continued to play for time, until I'd got his back up. 'Time's up' he typed and left. Now I was really mad! I sent an email which pretty clearly showed that I had unresolved issues.

The next day we chatted. He asked me a question and then immediately typed 'Don't answer that' and then 'Here's the situation'. He typed out that I had disoebyed the rules, lied, made serious errors of judgment and that I got punished for it. What possible issue could I have? I offered that he had made fun of me. 'Mountain meet mole hill' he typed, and he was right. Whilst he had the good grace not to say it, I was having a problem taking my well deserved punishment. I simply wasn't used to being told that I couldn't do something and having disobeyed and lied, punished. I see this all very clearly now. I had to take that final step of accepting that I wasn't in control, that rules had been laid down and that failure to follow them and fibbing about any said lack of failure would incur swift retribution.

I haven't touched a lolly since. It seems sensible for me to treat them the same way I do cake. Instead, twice a week, at say, three day intervals, I'll allow myself one block of 70+ dark chocolate as a treat. That's it. He's quite right. Nothing was going to happen weight loss wise until I rid myself of that sweet tooth and listened to him. The end justifies the means. The only desired outcome: compliance. I respect that. I am learning.

Serious struggle

I can be impulsive. I'm being impulsive now. Writing in this blog is a very public thing to do. God knows where readers come from but they are fast congregating and I'm not silly, I know this blog will be read by the powers that be. My words will be dissected and probably work against me.

You see, in a very tangible and real way, I'm deeply questioning my choices. I'm all grown up. Hell, my four children are all grown up. Although I do indeed have fantasies that put me under the auspices of strict, rigid people (bastards and bitches really, let's be clear) I find myself in a situation where I must tackle these notions of control and compliance with which I have been presented. Don't I need to stop feeding these thoughts that go in a loop, constantly dragging me back into a world that can leave me really quite distraught and unable to function well, like now?

Without doubt, when it is good, it is very good. When all is going well I'm happy, but then something goes wrong, the strict (sadistic) discipline kicks in and I find myself asking, 'What are you doing? You know how debilitating this is for you. Isn't it time to let it go?'

I can hear your mind ticking over already. What has got into her? What has precipitated these feelings? I ask the same question myself. I know the answer but it is painful to share, to admit it even to myself.

I feel disrespected. I feel infantalised. I feel so profoundly uncomfortable with what has gone down in the past several days that I find myself needing to run in the opposite direction. There's a rigidity imposed and a conformity expected that I can't abide. I'm too old to be treated this way, possibly not 'doll' material after all if this sort of treatment is necessary. Bottom line, I'm just deeply, deeply upset and know that I am expected to swallow it. Can't.

I don't know whether to call it 'self respect' or 'sense of self' or 'pride' or 'ego'  but there's a hurt here that isn't likely to heal by just papering it over this time. If this sort of dominance is considered necessary (= anything goes to ensure complete compliance) I may have travelled as far into the world of someone else controlling me as it is possible for this woman to go.

Being corrected

After all this time, I still can't quite believe that I'm the sort of person that needs a boss. The evidence is indisputable, the behaviours so instinctual, and yet, it sometimes feels unbelievable to me, like a dream, like I'm talking about somebody else.

I read just before a quote on tumblr: 'The grip may be loose, but it is there, and it is a constant.' It's a very nice sentiment but it doesn't serve me that well. I once believed that it is entirely enough, maybe even too much, but it's not, for me. I do best with rules, even if I'm not always sure that I like the rules.

The truth is that I am indeed the sort of person that does well, and struggles, with tighter control than that. Erotically, psychologically, tight control is enticing. Egoistically, this same tight control that seems to be a very good fit, confounds me, because I am not, and never was, especially comfortable with the notion of correction. Oh sure, correction can be arousing but it is also deeply challenging. There's that distinct part of my brain that wants to say, 'Just who do you think you are?!'

For several days I've asked myself 'Why?' Why is it that I am so profoundly challenged by being corrected, really brought to task for something? I can only answer that I don't like making mistakes. I don't like being called on my mistakes. My sense of self demands that I do things well, but flaws, human flaws that we all have, weaknesses and limitations, prevent me from always achieving my best. This seems reasonable to me but quite unreasonable, of course, to a boss. He wants more.

Sometimes, I simply don't do my best. Sometimes, I wing it. Sometimes, I grab that little treat, even if I am not entitled to it. Or, I dilly dally. Or, I don't give a task the importance it (or someone else thinks it) deserves. To put it simply, I please myself, which is not conducive to having a boss.

I wrestle with this. I know I want a boss, but a boss corrects, which means I have to 'pull my head out of my ass' long enought to recognize that what I do, or don't do, is the problem. If I want a boss, and  I do, I have to conform, do things his way, and not my own.

This is all commonsense, BDSM 101. Still, it's fun to plant bombs under his chair, in my mind. I'm not the only one doing that, right?

The call of the simple life

I happened to find this post in my 'drafts', written a long time ago, and rather liked it. A similar feeling has just washed over me. Darn, but I am a homebody...

I'm flooded with a sense of happiness right now - feelings of love. From where do they emanate? Well, my husband and I saw the Australian Ballet over the weekend perform 'Chroma' and that was a wonderful treat, a really lovely sharing experienc for us that followed a delightful meal and wine at the Arts Centre. We'd left early enough to have no fuss or anxiety about getting there on time and we both were dazzled by the performance. It's going to be heading to New York and other cities so if you get the chance, don't miss it.

The following evening my son treated us to dinner at the city's most prestigious restaurant and we used up a voucher he was given at work. We didn't hit the hay until 2 am - a lovely, lovely evening with he and his girlfriend.

Today I had one of my rare outings to a huge shopping precint to buy them a slow cooker for their little house that they are renting together and it was fun to do that - bought my book club book, just simple things, but fun.

Is my sense of happiness to be found in those events? I doubt it. It was lovely, privileged, but it's not why I feel so darn content as I type away, I don't think.

I have the big living room/kitchen to myself right now. Both sons are in their rooms upstairs and I am about to complete making salmon patties from scratch and fry them up. My eldest son has just left with the washing I did for him because the washing machine in the new little Victorian rental broke down. I'm playing some superbly restful, peaceful guitar music. I've already done my weekly assignment...

No one thing in particular is great cause for this happiness that has washed over me. Yet, I feel so 'at one', so calm, so peaceful, so content, as if this is where I am meant to be at this moment in time; my home. I feel this tremendous welling of harmony in my life. The work surrounds me on all fronts. My son has a huge amount of work to chew off this evening. Tomorrow, I must write my heart out to get along with deadlines.

And yet, right now, the world stands still. I'm as peaceful as the clay Buddha that sits at the back wall on my desk, oblivous of all the paper and efforts that take place on this laptop. She sits in eternal peace, her half closed eyes denoting the peace within her. It is as if she has cast her spell over my mood, made me eternally grateful for this privileged life I lead, so full of love. I note the stillness around me. I observe the stillness within myself.

Sometimes I wonder why it is that when I play this guitar music of a Hobart man, that every single time it puts me into this place of peaceful surrender to the love of life. I remember him, I remember his wife and I remember thinking, they are peace, they are love. I want that slow, meaningful, peaceful life too.

Tasmania calls to me so often. I adore it there. I'm happy there. One day I will buy a little house there and the children can come and visit me and let that dear, little island make magic in their lives too.

Endings

Endings are difficult. Where does one end a story, a play, a novel, a blog? Often, one ends a story with the protagonist in much the same place as they were at the beginning of the story, but changed in some important way. I've been writing in the power exchange arena since late 2008 but in many ways I am still living the life I led when I began writing on these pages.

Yet, I've changed. I'm a great fan of Brene Brown and her research into vulnerability and shame. Over time, I  think I was responding to some negative feelings of shame and vulnerability, feelings that I wanted to shake off.

As Brene says, if courage is your value then you have to walk through vulnerability. You have to embrace that feeling in even the hardest moments.

I've talked about looking and finding joy in my life and like Brene I believe that joy comes into your life when you practice love and gratitude. Look for moments of gratitude in your day and you'll start to feel joy.

One of Brene Brown's big statements, one that Oprah likes too is "when we lose our tolerance to be vulnerable joy becomes foreboding". We just have to accept, as human beings living on this planet that vulnerability is part of the package. To be 'the man standing in the arena' is what is important, to demonstrate courage.

To find my courage. This has been my big life lesson and one that being 'overseen' assisted. I've certainly no regrets about exploring life through power exchange relationships because that arrangement helped me to acknowledge my true, best self. It has brought me great joy.

It's time for me to move on to other endeavors. It's been a wonderful experience for me to have had the opportunity to write in this web journal but it is, quite simply, time to move on. I'll keep the journal up for a time but no further entries will be made. There's time to interact with me if you choose to do so, but about the end of the month, I'll close this journal to public readership.

Thank you for reading. Be well.

Bondage

Sometimes, when nothing in particular is going on, it can seem that there is no opportunity for submission, or no expression of submission, or that one feels uncomfortably free. I know that feeling and can feel restless in that feeling.However, what is easily forgotten is that a sense of one's place, of feeling 'whole' in one's skin is actually often already there. We just may not be processing it correctly. Certainly, waiting is a form of bondage. We're in a position such as the one above according to a thought process inside our own heads. (It blows your mind when you really think about it this way.)

I've been denied doing what I am usually expected to do, and while at times I've processed that as being set uncomfortably free, it is an incorrect thought, because I'm never really more bound than being told that I can't do something that I am usually expected to do. Unless you've experienced this subtle form of correction you won't know what I mean. By the last day, desperation sets in to get back on track, trust me. The ties are even stronger in those situations because I'm in a sort of 'reverse bondage', just keen to get it over with and return to being pleasing. The bond hasn't diminished, just the feelings associated with being bound (or not).

On a day to day basis, I'm strongly bound by my efforts to be patient, understanding, tactful and good natured. I feel that strongly. There is, quite simply, no other way to live life happily in my own life but to be aware of my bondage in this way. I'm often challenged as I go about exhibiting tolerance and self-control, and should I err the sense of bondage is felt when I am immediately corrected. It's my place and my role to demonstrate these qualities. It's my particular daily bondage.

Whether one feels that being bound is a happy situation or an irksome one relates to how one processes these experiences and what one wants. I continue to feel my whole self when I feel quite tightly bound to another human being. It could be my desire for a sense of identity and belonging. It could relate to the fact that much thought about this matter assures me that I am most happy when I feel this sense of bondage quite mindfully, when it is ever-present.

Much of what a man wants of a woman when he is into being the leader and she is into following comes innately. It just happens. Other times, a man provides experiences for the woman to immerse herself in that feeling. That's a more erotic and loving kind of situation but both bound the woman. I've thought lately that one can't have one without the other, or I can't. I'm happy to be kept in my place through words if I can also experience the sort of bondage that makes my heart sing. Even erotic bondage on its own is not enough for me. That's a gorgeous sort of topping but I'm aware that if there were no restraints to my behavior I'd be inclined to test repeatedly. I want to feel a sense of bondage in every sense of the word. I think I process bondage as being safe, secure, stress free and sensual. It's the happy place in my mind.

There's happiness in the little things

Happiness doesn't have to be complicated. It can, in fact, happen at any moment of the day. It's worth remembering that. Here are a few of my happy moments:

1. Getting everyone off to their day - to work and to school. Coming back to the house and letting the emptiness of the house sink into my being. This house and I have a certain relationship and I like it best in these moments of solitude. I make myself breakfast, enjoy eating my porridge, made just the way I like it, with texture.

2. Listening to an interview on the radio, especially of an author or someone in the literary world.

3. Catching a STUDIO interview on the television.

4. Going to the movies, most particularly, on my own. It seems more decadent that way.

5. A sale of a good designer of women's clothes or boots/shoes. I love good quality items but also love to get them at bargain prices. It's something of a talent of mine.

6. When the people around me are happy, I'm happy. Happiness for me can be as simple as that.

7. Having the time to have a coffee at the market, to read the paper and enjoy that mid-morning on the other side of town. It's less possible right now and I miss it.

8. Sound healing. Only happens once a month but it is the best hour and half of the month. Sheer bliss.

9. When I take the dog for a walk and she actually stays with me, runs with me, doesn't stop a hundred times for silly reasons.

10. Going down to see my Mum for lunch and finding her in good form. She's someone who can find happiness all over the place.

11. When I'm immersed in ideas and the writing flows. When I'm totally in my head.

12. When someone wins money on the radio or on a game show on the tv. I usually end up crying over their happiness. "My husband hurt his back and he's been out of work and it's been really hard..," the last one said, just after she won $10,000.

13. When I manage to find a home for something we don't need any more.

14. When the scales tell me that I've lost a little weight.

15. When I open a bottle of wine and am pleased with it.

16. Making a meal that pleases.

17. Visiting somewhere I haven't been before, or not for some time. It's like a little adventure for me to go to a suburb I haven't been for years and discover it all over again. Or, to find a new laneway in the city, or to pop into the  city Library for a free talk at lunchtime.

18. When everything is in its place.

19. When workmen come to fix/renovate something.

20. When I am objectified; totally.

Just had a thought. I don't need to rush around this morning. I'm going to take my time at the market, pop my reading glasses into my handbag and luxuriate over coffee and the newspaper at the market. The meditation group will go on without my presence today. Hello happiness.