For a brief, shining moment we had in our midst a therapist who not only had an intense interest in dominance and submission but who was keen to write about BDSM experiences and the various psychological implications of such experiences. It is such a pity that his personal life no longer enabled him to maintain his blog because there was no finer resource for people who were concerned about issues in relation to a power exchange.
We became friends who exchanged emails and some time back when my limits were being pushed and I felt considerable resistance and worried I may be doing harm to myself, I made contact with him again for some advice. He assured me that it was all right for my edges to be pushed but that if I felt that my psyche was being tampered with such that I felt ongoing stress, it may be too much. I should trust myself to know the difference. He felt sure that I would know if I had reached that point.
Perhaps the knowledge that he trusted me to trust my own abilities in the matter was enough for me because I settled down about whatever issue it was at the time, and as usual, trusted my instincts to guide me through my inner turmoil and to a place where joy in the power exchange experience returned to my life.
I feel a very strong sense of responsibility to those who read here not to trivialize the BDSM experience or to paint it in such glowing terms as for it to appear that it comes without its problems and concerns. With so little professional advice to be offered to practitioners I can only repeat the professional advice that was offered to me and suggest to readers that they pay heed to their own mind and stop to make note of any response where one is agitated and overly emotional. I don’t think ‘upset’ necessarily means that the situation is unresolvable at all, but it does mean perhaps that the mind has thrown up an issue to be addressed.
The submissive response is so often to be the peace maker, to make things right, and in so doing a submissive can be inclined to hold onto issues found perturbing. She may be lonely or not reconciled with a decision or reverting back to long held ‘truths’ such as to express her obedience no matter how she feels. She makes the most of a situation, stays positive, accepts her lot and trusts that this will be enough as it has been enough before. Nine times out of ten, all is well and her concern evaporates much as her monthly cycle first brought her stress but then the stress was released. A woman has deep emotions and they ebb and flow within her almost beyond her control at times.
Sometimes, the upset spills over. Obedience, patience, self-control and sense of calm, be damned, she expresses herself in all her glory and her bile spills out, spewing forth her upset and inner turmoil. I don’t think it does the submissive good to run about wildly at such times. She is likely to feel even more scattered and unsafe should that take place. But, I think it essential that she be allowed to express herself and expunge her distress until her energy is dissipated. This is the soul demanding to be heard. Later, when she is quiet and subdued and reflective, her dominant will, we can but hope, talk with her calmly about what brought matters in her mind to a head and with due care put the situation back to right.
A doctor friend of mine with an interest in adolescent health said to me once that the family who expresses its emotion makes for healthy adolescents, and I think we can satisfactorily transfer this theory to the dominant submissive relationship.
Even the submissives of us who are strongly encouraged to unpack our minds on a regular basis may hold onto unresolved issues, and when they are ready to be expressed, it seems to me the dominant must listen carefully. If the submissive happens to unpack her mind with gusto and bravado once every blue moon, so be it. She did her best. Nobody’s perfect and this is an excellent time, once she is calm, to make the necessary adjustments to set her life back to right. The expression of negative emotions is not necessarily a bad thing at all. An argument can be cleansing. A submissive will return to type. She will want to reconcile and repair and ensure that the relationship is returned to status quo. She will look to her dominant to guide her through that abyss and back to safety, containment, satisfaction and ultimately, joy.
This is a time when the dominant must stand up and take the lead; calmly, responsibly, empathically. It is his girl who is upset, and it is his responsibility to ensure that she is heard. All will be well soon.
Sunday, February 28, 2010
Thursday, February 25, 2010
Too much thinki
Expatriates eventually come up against the ultimate question: do we stay here or take the children home? As our eldest son ventured into lacrosse and the ice hockey arena instead of the ritualistic games of our homeland such as cricket and football, the decision was becoming more crucial with every passing day.
We packed up and journeyed home. The call had gone into my husband’s old school to inform them that three places would be required and as an “old boy”, our request was duly granted at short notice.
We met with the Headmaster of the Junior School, and although there was no doubt whatsoever about the outcome, for my husband had not even considered another school for the boys, I expressed some doubt about the rigid approach spoken by this man.
We have a new Headmaster now and one of whom I wholeheartedly approve. He is a fabulous man, modern but understanding of the importance of ritual at this old, revered school. He accepts that the boy’s marks are important but doesn’t want to dwell on that fact. Rather, he talks of each boy’s journey through the school and his expectations for each one of them.
I had the great pleasure to listen to him one evening this week. Nowadays, I always carry pencil and paper with me and I felt compelled to write down what he said.
He was clear that the most important thing each boy must do was to “interact with staff”. They were a motivated, well educated team of professionals and the more they interacted, the better the outcome.
But, what really resonated with me was what he wanted to achieve. Rather than shooting for the highest marks (although essential if considering medicine or law or the like) he wanted each boy “to be able to think for themselves” and “to stand true to their own convictions”.
I applauded such a sentiment. It was inclusive, it was positive and it meant that each boy was important and each boy as he reached adulthood would be prepared to face his future with confidence. I feel particularly pleased about the outcome for my last little one as he worked his way through the senior school.
I confess it gave me pause to question myself. Had I reached adulthood satisfactorily, after all? So often lately I had listened to statements and questions such as “Is this up to cindi?” “”Better that dolls don't thinki 2 much”.
Last night I dozed off in bed with the laptop in front of me. My husband came along and asked,
“Do you want this closed?”
“Yes please.”
Yet, I could hear that he hadn’t closed it properly.
“It isn’t closed properly,” I said, half asleep.
“Don’t tell me how to suck eggs,” he admonished. “It is closed.”
I just went to sleep.
This morning, I opened the lid of the laptop to find it still functioning. The first words of the morning had been his to say sorry he was cranky but our arrangement is such that I accept that I do not think for myself. Or rather, that I think enough to think that I should not think for myself (unless he wants me too!) Some days, I am truly challenged.
This morning was a challenge. My husband maintained his domly presence in the car until I was profoundly challenged. On no level was I enjoying his company. Ultimately, I had had enough and I got out of the car and started walking. About a hundred yards up the street, I felt him grab my hand.
“No. You can’t do that.”
“You are driving me crazy,” I said as I cried on his shoulder.
We talked back and forth but he maintained his stance. He was the dom and I had to submit and that was all there was to that.
“Now, you just have to get over it. You don’t have an option. Understand?”
I could see he meant it. There was no ‘out’. I put my arm in his, as he insisted and together we did the marketing together; something we enjoy a great deal usually but something we haven’t done together for a few months now.
The time arrived for our morning coffee and together we talked. I had settled myself perfectly well by then, but only because he had refused to allow me to run off the rails. I was calm because he had insisted upon it.
I don’t know. Here I am thrilled to the back teeth that my sons and daughter have been educated to think for themselves whilst I revel in achieving the ability of not thinking for myself.
Do you think...do you think...that on some level I can justify that by saying I am standing true to my convictions? Or, is that too much thinki?
We packed up and journeyed home. The call had gone into my husband’s old school to inform them that three places would be required and as an “old boy”, our request was duly granted at short notice.
We met with the Headmaster of the Junior School, and although there was no doubt whatsoever about the outcome, for my husband had not even considered another school for the boys, I expressed some doubt about the rigid approach spoken by this man.
We have a new Headmaster now and one of whom I wholeheartedly approve. He is a fabulous man, modern but understanding of the importance of ritual at this old, revered school. He accepts that the boy’s marks are important but doesn’t want to dwell on that fact. Rather, he talks of each boy’s journey through the school and his expectations for each one of them.
I had the great pleasure to listen to him one evening this week. Nowadays, I always carry pencil and paper with me and I felt compelled to write down what he said.
He was clear that the most important thing each boy must do was to “interact with staff”. They were a motivated, well educated team of professionals and the more they interacted, the better the outcome.
But, what really resonated with me was what he wanted to achieve. Rather than shooting for the highest marks (although essential if considering medicine or law or the like) he wanted each boy “to be able to think for themselves” and “to stand true to their own convictions”.
I applauded such a sentiment. It was inclusive, it was positive and it meant that each boy was important and each boy as he reached adulthood would be prepared to face his future with confidence. I feel particularly pleased about the outcome for my last little one as he worked his way through the senior school.
I confess it gave me pause to question myself. Had I reached adulthood satisfactorily, after all? So often lately I had listened to statements and questions such as “Is this up to cindi?” “”Better that dolls don't thinki 2 much”.
Last night I dozed off in bed with the laptop in front of me. My husband came along and asked,
“Do you want this closed?”
“Yes please.”
Yet, I could hear that he hadn’t closed it properly.
“It isn’t closed properly,” I said, half asleep.
“Don’t tell me how to suck eggs,” he admonished. “It is closed.”
I just went to sleep.
This morning, I opened the lid of the laptop to find it still functioning. The first words of the morning had been his to say sorry he was cranky but our arrangement is such that I accept that I do not think for myself. Or rather, that I think enough to think that I should not think for myself (unless he wants me too!) Some days, I am truly challenged.
This morning was a challenge. My husband maintained his domly presence in the car until I was profoundly challenged. On no level was I enjoying his company. Ultimately, I had had enough and I got out of the car and started walking. About a hundred yards up the street, I felt him grab my hand.
“No. You can’t do that.”
“You are driving me crazy,” I said as I cried on his shoulder.
We talked back and forth but he maintained his stance. He was the dom and I had to submit and that was all there was to that.
“Now, you just have to get over it. You don’t have an option. Understand?”
I could see he meant it. There was no ‘out’. I put my arm in his, as he insisted and together we did the marketing together; something we enjoy a great deal usually but something we haven’t done together for a few months now.
The time arrived for our morning coffee and together we talked. I had settled myself perfectly well by then, but only because he had refused to allow me to run off the rails. I was calm because he had insisted upon it.
I don’t know. Here I am thrilled to the back teeth that my sons and daughter have been educated to think for themselves whilst I revel in achieving the ability of not thinking for myself.
Do you think...do you think...that on some level I can justify that by saying I am standing true to my convictions? Or, is that too much thinki?
Wednesday, February 24, 2010
What's love got to do with it?
This post is a re post. I took it down a day or two after writing it, with a niggling concern that something about it was not right. But, I have just re-read it and I stand by every word. But, perhaps I can add this...
My youngest son has an English teacher this year at school with a Dr. in front of his name. He is earnest, intense, brooks no argument with boys as to how something is to be done and has high expectations. He is not afraid to be sarcastic, or to push a boy hard to get the best out of him. My younger son is one of the 'good boys'. He doesn't want any trouble and I was concerned he might feel intimidated, so I checked in with him. Was Dr. C. working out all right?
"He's okay, Mum. He's a good teacher. He just has really high expectations."
And, so it is. To push someone to be their best...well, that's a kind of love. Isn't it?!
Here's the original post:
For a few years now, I have had a fascination with the dominant mindset. I know oodles about the submissive mindset but the dominant mindset is still something of an enigma. Having said that, I definitely know more about the way their minds work now than I ever have before.
It is over a year since I wrote a series of short stories. There are at least 50,000 words about Edward there and the way he goes about his power exchange with Elizabeth. Every day of my life since I finished it and put it down, I find reasons not to go through the editing phase. I do wonder if I think that tomorrow I may understand Edward better and that is why I wait.
Ages ago now, I asked four different dominant men to read parts of it, as well as my husband, and in that process I got five different responses to Edward. One dominant man thought him much too hard, whilst another thought him much too easy. The other three thought him fair and reasonable and a sensible sort of chap but they would want to alter this a bit here and that a bit there. Let’s just say that there was no real consensus.
It was just too complicated and I put it aside. But, this morning, in the early light of a hot day, I think I may finally have some clarity about Edward. He is flawed as a dominant man but it is the way it must be. You see, he was once a major force to be reckoned with: scary, unrelenting, black and white. But, he has fallen head long in love with Elizabeth and his control over her softens over time. He does not walk away from his duties. If there is a lesson to be learned, he teaches her. And, if he must punish her, he does, but he does so at a price to himself these days. It is not easy to punish the girl he wakes up to; who makes his heart beat that little faster; who lights his life.
In the beginning of this new stage of our lives, my husband and I were really just spankos. It is all I knew and all we wanted to know at that time. We had the most marvellous time and I wish I knew the secret to bottling that time. It was joyous and fun and wildly fulfilling in a ‘new lease of life’ sort of way. When he became more of a dominant and me more like his sub, we lost something, really. Sometimes, he has the energy and motivation for it and sometimes he does not. Often, the love gets in the way. Sometimes as a dominant, I think you have to be very hard to do your job, and rare is the day when he wants to be that ‘hard as flint’ man in my life.
It does happen. I don’t wish to mislead you. And, when it happens, it comes very naturally to him. If he wants an apology and I don’t want to give him one because I cannot see the error of my ways, he will devote hours to retrieving it from me. But, as a general rule we live in harmony, accepting one another’s flaws and failings and working around them. I know what he wants and what will please him and although there are still some kinks to work out in this new arrangement of ours, we get by.
If he doesn’t like something I do, I hear about it, loud and clear, and I do my best to improve. On the other hand, if I become overwhelmed by the way he is doing things I tend to eventually break down and tell him that I just can’t cope and he does what he can to accommodate me. We have known one another so very long, it was impossible for the marriage to alter in some profound way where our roles were totally black and white. He’s the boss. He’s always been the boss. The D/s arrangement was the icing on the cake, long baked.
In my mentoring, I have had the opportunity to experience a very different situation. I hope that my mentor has some fondness for me but we have never met nor even seen a photo of one another. We don’t know the sound of one another’s voices. He has no way of knowing whether my day has been happy or sad, whether the doctor’s appointment I have been to brought good news or bad. He can’t know a myriad of things about my life and I know precious little of his.
Rather, he knows what he wants to achieve. He knows whether I achieved it or whether I did not. I could take lessons in lying I suppose, but short of that, I give him the truth and he works with that. If he is satisfied with the progress or the outcome, I receive the warmest praise. If he is unhappy with the progress or the outcome, I receive his ire. There is no ‘love’ component to deal with here, no giving slack because of the way my head lilts to one side, or the look of my eyes when they fill with tears. There is no end to the scolding because I look so crestfallen that the scolding is replaced with a hug and a gentle reminder that this is the sixth time I have been reminded to do something or other. If my mentor has to be austerely cold to achieve a good outcome, then so be it.
The bottom line is that I have met my match. I’m being dominated in a way that I never thought possible: with extraordinary resolve, with unrelenting determination and with a willingness to shame me and discipline me such that I am left in no doubt as to his non-negotiable expectations. Was it Clint Eastwood who said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”? Those words have new meaning to me.
What’s love got to do with it? Well, it depends on the definition, doesn’t it? We can love in so many ways. But, I rather think that to alter the behaviour and mindset of someone in such a profound way as is occurring to me, perhaps there must be a little something akin to love between two people. It does not have to be romantic love to be love in my book. It is the connection of two souls at work here, regardless of what one calls it. It is the disconnection that hurts so deeply. Whatever word one uses, it is profound.
My youngest son has an English teacher this year at school with a Dr. in front of his name. He is earnest, intense, brooks no argument with boys as to how something is to be done and has high expectations. He is not afraid to be sarcastic, or to push a boy hard to get the best out of him. My younger son is one of the 'good boys'. He doesn't want any trouble and I was concerned he might feel intimidated, so I checked in with him. Was Dr. C. working out all right?
"He's okay, Mum. He's a good teacher. He just has really high expectations."
And, so it is. To push someone to be their best...well, that's a kind of love. Isn't it?!
Here's the original post:
For a few years now, I have had a fascination with the dominant mindset. I know oodles about the submissive mindset but the dominant mindset is still something of an enigma. Having said that, I definitely know more about the way their minds work now than I ever have before.
It is over a year since I wrote a series of short stories. There are at least 50,000 words about Edward there and the way he goes about his power exchange with Elizabeth. Every day of my life since I finished it and put it down, I find reasons not to go through the editing phase. I do wonder if I think that tomorrow I may understand Edward better and that is why I wait.
Ages ago now, I asked four different dominant men to read parts of it, as well as my husband, and in that process I got five different responses to Edward. One dominant man thought him much too hard, whilst another thought him much too easy. The other three thought him fair and reasonable and a sensible sort of chap but they would want to alter this a bit here and that a bit there. Let’s just say that there was no real consensus.
It was just too complicated and I put it aside. But, this morning, in the early light of a hot day, I think I may finally have some clarity about Edward. He is flawed as a dominant man but it is the way it must be. You see, he was once a major force to be reckoned with: scary, unrelenting, black and white. But, he has fallen head long in love with Elizabeth and his control over her softens over time. He does not walk away from his duties. If there is a lesson to be learned, he teaches her. And, if he must punish her, he does, but he does so at a price to himself these days. It is not easy to punish the girl he wakes up to; who makes his heart beat that little faster; who lights his life.
In the beginning of this new stage of our lives, my husband and I were really just spankos. It is all I knew and all we wanted to know at that time. We had the most marvellous time and I wish I knew the secret to bottling that time. It was joyous and fun and wildly fulfilling in a ‘new lease of life’ sort of way. When he became more of a dominant and me more like his sub, we lost something, really. Sometimes, he has the energy and motivation for it and sometimes he does not. Often, the love gets in the way. Sometimes as a dominant, I think you have to be very hard to do your job, and rare is the day when he wants to be that ‘hard as flint’ man in my life.
It does happen. I don’t wish to mislead you. And, when it happens, it comes very naturally to him. If he wants an apology and I don’t want to give him one because I cannot see the error of my ways, he will devote hours to retrieving it from me. But, as a general rule we live in harmony, accepting one another’s flaws and failings and working around them. I know what he wants and what will please him and although there are still some kinks to work out in this new arrangement of ours, we get by.
If he doesn’t like something I do, I hear about it, loud and clear, and I do my best to improve. On the other hand, if I become overwhelmed by the way he is doing things I tend to eventually break down and tell him that I just can’t cope and he does what he can to accommodate me. We have known one another so very long, it was impossible for the marriage to alter in some profound way where our roles were totally black and white. He’s the boss. He’s always been the boss. The D/s arrangement was the icing on the cake, long baked.
In my mentoring, I have had the opportunity to experience a very different situation. I hope that my mentor has some fondness for me but we have never met nor even seen a photo of one another. We don’t know the sound of one another’s voices. He has no way of knowing whether my day has been happy or sad, whether the doctor’s appointment I have been to brought good news or bad. He can’t know a myriad of things about my life and I know precious little of his.
Rather, he knows what he wants to achieve. He knows whether I achieved it or whether I did not. I could take lessons in lying I suppose, but short of that, I give him the truth and he works with that. If he is satisfied with the progress or the outcome, I receive the warmest praise. If he is unhappy with the progress or the outcome, I receive his ire. There is no ‘love’ component to deal with here, no giving slack because of the way my head lilts to one side, or the look of my eyes when they fill with tears. There is no end to the scolding because I look so crestfallen that the scolding is replaced with a hug and a gentle reminder that this is the sixth time I have been reminded to do something or other. If my mentor has to be austerely cold to achieve a good outcome, then so be it.
The bottom line is that I have met my match. I’m being dominated in a way that I never thought possible: with extraordinary resolve, with unrelenting determination and with a willingness to shame me and discipline me such that I am left in no doubt as to his non-negotiable expectations. Was it Clint Eastwood who said, “We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”? Those words have new meaning to me.
What’s love got to do with it? Well, it depends on the definition, doesn’t it? We can love in so many ways. But, I rather think that to alter the behaviour and mindset of someone in such a profound way as is occurring to me, perhaps there must be a little something akin to love between two people. It does not have to be romantic love to be love in my book. It is the connection of two souls at work here, regardless of what one calls it. It is the disconnection that hurts so deeply. Whatever word one uses, it is profound.
Monday, February 22, 2010
Vesta 101
I was the perfect baby.
I was a quiet, easy-going, contained child.
I was a good student.
I won prizes.
I arranged my own childhood. I brought myself up.
I was always busy; reading, dancing, music.
I was a little mother to my brother.
I did well at university.
I dreamed of being a mother and a wife; having my own home.
I lack confidence in my own ability,
to the point of absurdity.
I chose a man who wants his own way with everything.
I like things to be under control.
I like things to be organized.
I like a clean, minimalist house.
My children tell me I am inclined to interfere
(but that's not true).
They know I love them with ferocity.
My friends know that I am different in some way
but are sweet and kind to me anyway.
I am law abiding
and hate trouble of any kind.
I avoid conflict.
I want harmony with all relationships
And struggle to understand cruel, unkind and selfish behaviour.
I occasionally lose it and at the weirdest moments.
I am always overcome with guilt at the consequences; that I hurt someone.
I have a huge capacity for joy that can express itself in the simplest moments.
I crave success at relinquishing control,
even though every nerve in my being can resist.
I am an enigma to myself.
There must be a shrink out there reading this dribble.
Why is this so?
I was a quiet, easy-going, contained child.
I was a good student.
I won prizes.
I arranged my own childhood. I brought myself up.
I was always busy; reading, dancing, music.
I was a little mother to my brother.
I did well at university.
I dreamed of being a mother and a wife; having my own home.
I lack confidence in my own ability,
to the point of absurdity.
I chose a man who wants his own way with everything.
I like things to be under control.
I like things to be organized.
I like a clean, minimalist house.
My children tell me I am inclined to interfere
(but that's not true).
They know I love them with ferocity.
My friends know that I am different in some way
but are sweet and kind to me anyway.
I am law abiding
and hate trouble of any kind.
I avoid conflict.
I want harmony with all relationships
And struggle to understand cruel, unkind and selfish behaviour.
I occasionally lose it and at the weirdest moments.
I am always overcome with guilt at the consequences; that I hurt someone.
I have a huge capacity for joy that can express itself in the simplest moments.
I crave success at relinquishing control,
even though every nerve in my being can resist.
I am an enigma to myself.
There must be a shrink out there reading this dribble.
Why is this so?
Friday, February 19, 2010
Living the dream
Today is the day when a very special friend of mine is having a very special day, so it is important to me that on my blog (which she will read!) all the serious topics are put aside for this day. My dear friend has taught me so much about submission. She has never once judged me, even though I feel sure she has had her doubts. She has kept an eye on me, worries about me and gently encourages me to do better; try harder; be stronger. I am the richer for knowing her and one of these days, before the year is out, we’ll be very naughty together and drink wine and shop til we drop, and more. Can’t wait!!
She tells me that I have taught her something, too. That’s a nice thing to say because she’s been a submissive much longer than me. She tells me that I taught her to have fun! Of course, like the bright girl that she is, she has turned my words on me several times over now and reminded me that without fun, submission is missing a vital ingredient. And, so it is.
As in so many aspects of BDSM, the word ‘play’ has an alternative meaning. We tell our children to “play nice” but in our sort of ‘play’ we rather enjoy being grabbed, pulled, bent and bruised. We experience an elevation of spirits that is a mutual gift of one to the other. Our hearts and our spirits soar and we feel for a brief time that we can walk on water. Play as a child was never this much fun!
My friend takes her submission seriously. This is not something she does but something she is. It is how she expresses who she is. Yet, really, she plays all day long; day in and day out. Say what she will in the heat of the moment (Yes, we girls do vent!!) she adores being a submissive girl: from the dress code, to the play sessions when she orgasms so powerfully, to the restrictions of her life which are many, to the deep love she feels for Master. Whether she is making a lasagne (for him, of course), or packing his bag and locating his keys, or bringing up their children so well, she is living the dream. ‘Living the dream’ is a little joke of ours, but you can be certain of this: she would not have it any other way.
So, darling girl, let me raise my glass to you and wish you the happiest of birthdays and many, many more happy birthdays to come.
And to Master: You have the most magnificent slave a man could ever wish to have. We slaves and bimbos don’t need much; just buckets and buckets of love. Do you think you can wrap that? Look after my girl well, wont you?!
Have fun, sweetheart!! Happy Birthday!!
P.S. Cindi sends her love and birthday greetings, too!
She tells me that I have taught her something, too. That’s a nice thing to say because she’s been a submissive much longer than me. She tells me that I taught her to have fun! Of course, like the bright girl that she is, she has turned my words on me several times over now and reminded me that without fun, submission is missing a vital ingredient. And, so it is.
As in so many aspects of BDSM, the word ‘play’ has an alternative meaning. We tell our children to “play nice” but in our sort of ‘play’ we rather enjoy being grabbed, pulled, bent and bruised. We experience an elevation of spirits that is a mutual gift of one to the other. Our hearts and our spirits soar and we feel for a brief time that we can walk on water. Play as a child was never this much fun!
My friend takes her submission seriously. This is not something she does but something she is. It is how she expresses who she is. Yet, really, she plays all day long; day in and day out. Say what she will in the heat of the moment (Yes, we girls do vent!!) she adores being a submissive girl: from the dress code, to the play sessions when she orgasms so powerfully, to the restrictions of her life which are many, to the deep love she feels for Master. Whether she is making a lasagne (for him, of course), or packing his bag and locating his keys, or bringing up their children so well, she is living the dream. ‘Living the dream’ is a little joke of ours, but you can be certain of this: she would not have it any other way.
So, darling girl, let me raise my glass to you and wish you the happiest of birthdays and many, many more happy birthdays to come.
And to Master: You have the most magnificent slave a man could ever wish to have. We slaves and bimbos don’t need much; just buckets and buckets of love. Do you think you can wrap that? Look after my girl well, wont you?!
Have fun, sweetheart!! Happy Birthday!!
P.S. Cindi sends her love and birthday greetings, too!
Tuesday, February 16, 2010
On being still
A baby's cry
A mother's sigh
A hug, a rub
Two lovers; snug
The sound of water
The smile of a daughter
Coming together
We can't live forever
No need to think
Just sink.
Thoughts may emerge
The soul can still serge
Into the light
As high as a kite.
Confusion derails us
In spite of our status
Is there care,
Or just a dare?
In the silence she reflects
of her life and all the trecks
She can only do her best
For now, she must rest.
A mother's sigh
A hug, a rub
Two lovers; snug
The sound of water
The smile of a daughter
Coming together
We can't live forever
No need to think
Just sink.
Thoughts may emerge
The soul can still serge
Into the light
As high as a kite.
Confusion derails us
In spite of our status
Is there care,
Or just a dare?
In the silence she reflects
of her life and all the trecks
She can only do her best
For now, she must rest.
Monday, February 15, 2010
The Meal
The dominant man and his submissive come together to share a meal. They take their place at the table. He will ask the submissive to do something that she, secretly, is dying to do. She does it, and they are both happy; a delicious start. But, the good dom has a voracious appetite and he is not likely to walk away from the table having only tasted the appetizer. In fact, it is not particularly fulfilling for either of them if that is all there is to the meal.
Sooner or later, he will ask his submissive to do something that she does not want to do at all. The dom finds nourishment from observing the battle of wills between he and his submissive. What he has commanded is not easy physically. To do something routinely, to incorporate it into one's life, moment by moment, is no small challenge. This is the main course; the meat and three vegetables.
Even more significant is the challenge his commands offer to the girl's mind. Her life, her day, her everyday is suddenly no longer hers. By virtue of the command she is reminded constantly, when in compliance and even when not in compliance, of who (or what) she is, of who is in control and who (or what) has no control. She no longer complies because she tells herself this is what she wants, too. Rather, it is made clear to her that what she wants is of little concern. It is his desire that determines her behaviour. The dom is satiated not just by compliance but by an adjustment of her attitude. This is dessert; decadence.
The submissive's mindset is altered permanently. She does his bidding without complaint; whatever he wants. This is the coffee served with a mint; assuming he allows her to eat it.
Bon appetit.
Sooner or later, he will ask his submissive to do something that she does not want to do at all. The dom finds nourishment from observing the battle of wills between he and his submissive. What he has commanded is not easy physically. To do something routinely, to incorporate it into one's life, moment by moment, is no small challenge. This is the main course; the meat and three vegetables.
Even more significant is the challenge his commands offer to the girl's mind. Her life, her day, her everyday is suddenly no longer hers. By virtue of the command she is reminded constantly, when in compliance and even when not in compliance, of who (or what) she is, of who is in control and who (or what) has no control. She no longer complies because she tells herself this is what she wants, too. Rather, it is made clear to her that what she wants is of little concern. It is his desire that determines her behaviour. The dom is satiated not just by compliance but by an adjustment of her attitude. This is dessert; decadence.
The submissive's mindset is altered permanently. She does his bidding without complaint; whatever he wants. This is the coffee served with a mint; assuming he allows her to eat it.
Bon appetit.
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