Thank you

Some readers will be aware that recently I was unsure as to whether to continue writing here and that I made a determination to keep writing. As one reader rightly pointed out,  I would stop writing when the need to write here went away. Of course, there is no knowing about the timing of such things in advance. It happens when it happens.

Some readers may also be aware that the anniversary of my birth day is a difficult day for me. I have never really come to terms with this. I can offer no plausible explanation. I have just come to accept it as a fact.

Today is my birthday. Today, I am fifty five years old. Curiously, I have written 555 posts here. For reasons I can't fully explain, today is the day I have decided to write my last post here on Vesta.

It seems only fair to offer those readers who have read here over time and come to know me through these pages, some sort of explanation. Generally speaking, I feel that "Vesta" has said all that she should say. For a long time, I worked on the basis that I could combine Vesta and cindi into one entity: thus they are both on these pages. I was wrong. They are really two quite separate entities and the entity that needs a voice from now on is not Vesta but cindi. I am most happy and most myself when cindi  is at the forefront of my mind.

For a long time, I held onto independence of thought (Vesta) at the same time as I craved (and continue to crave) that state of grace that is cindi. I am most happy when I have a very deep connection; when I accept my nature; my place and the limitations and advantages of that place. Both my heart and my head tell me that this place of grace is most easily attained in a quiet place; that as long as I hold onto the position of hosting this site I won't reach the place that I seek.

I want you to know that I leave here in excellent shape. I have just returned from having lunch with my husband in the city. I lost count of the times he told me how beautiful I looked; how "hot" I still am; how lucky he is to have me; how happy I have made him; how much he has revelled in the places I have taken him on this journey (and whilst journeys have no end if you are a wanderer, the lucky ones do reach moments when they feel they have arrived).

I am rich in love. A loving husband, the soul mate of my life and four handsome, intelligent and loving children have made my life abundantly rich.

I don't discount either the great feelings of warmth I have felt here. I felt truly wrapped in your care a few weeks ago when you wrote in to speak with me. I had thought perhaps I no longer resonated with you.

Although he will forever be anonymous, I give huge credit to my mentor of the past few years. I don't know how he did it but he tapped into my soul, my heart and the very essence of me to truly transform my mind. Words cannot convey my gratitude. Words cannot convey how sorry I am for the times I disappointed him.

For me, submission is synonymous with connection: a connection between people that is felt in one's heart, one's soul and the deepest recesses of the mind. It is not for everyone but it is very much for me. Whilst I no longer will write here, nothing has really changed. I still believe in love. I still believe in being true to one's nature. I will still live as I was meant to live.

The blog will remain. You are welcome to read here as it pleases you, whenever it pleases you. I wish you all the very best and shall think of you fondly. Thank you for having me and for taking such good care of me. You were very kind.

With love,
Vesta
xo

Forever

There is something about the word 'forever' or 'never' that is just so abundantly challenging. One immediately thinks of all the days and nights to come; of the years folded out in front of one's eyes and dismisses the idea as laughable.

"What do you mean I can never...?"

But consider this: I can never read this screen in front of me again without putting on my reading glasses. Never again. I have accepted that. It is a bore and bothersome but I can either accept that limitation or not bother reading and writing here at the computer. Case closed. I accept it.

When I was being 'trained' I had to accept my limit of 'bimbo speeki' if I wanted to talk to my mentor. I knew that I could NEVER use regular language. For some weeks or even months, I found that concept an enormous struggle. Over time, the limit became like the closest of companions and I revelled in the knowledge that I never ever had to decide how to speak. I stopped railing against the limit. I embraced the limit. I LOVED the limit. I MISS the limit.

Last night, I was prepared to say that a 'forever' limit on my sexuality was out of the question. This morning I feel more open about that.

Fear

One of my greatest pleasures over the past several years since I have explored the power exchange arrangement is that I get to experience fear. Not in my childhood I don't think, at least I don't remember a situation right now, but since I have been an adult I have so enjoyed being a little frightened.

I don't enjoy the sort of fear where I truly fear for my life or safety, of course, but I adore feeling the sort of fear where I get a tickle in my throat and my heart skips a beat; where the world stands still for a moment or two and I realize that I am in one of those moments where the Dominant has pulled me up with a round turn.

I have a love/hate relationship with those moments. On the one hand, I never feel more alive than in such a moment but on the other hand, I know I will pay. Big time.

I try to distract. I beg for forgiveness. I express my sorrow to the extent I can. Fear pulls me over to the side of the ledger where I try to expunge myself from consequences.

If I am not let off the hook, not only do I get to experience fear but I get to experience force. That is, I am forced to push through the fear and experience it completely.

There is no education quite like the lesson of fear pursued in its entirety. The Dom will have his way and I will accept my place of subservience.

What a thrill.

Age

Bart's currently writing a critique of a story of mine. He hasn't finished because he really  is flat chat with his life. I don't know how he manages to do what he does and I know he'll pull through. I'm not worried, even though I have to write a report on the effect of his critique on me and how I felt about being 'critical friends' in a pretty short space of time. Quietly and privately we are probably both freaking out, but in our messages to one another we say things like, "No worries" That's cool" "The story is in desperate need of a woman's point of view or "I know the story should probably be 50,000 and not 3,000. I'm completely open to critical analysis."

We are, in fact, both noobie writers, trying our hearts out; wanting to hold onto what is core in ourselves but knowing that we have so much to learn. We both love the course. We both love our lives. And we are both happily married. It is a great partnership.

Bart and I have incredibly different styles of writing; write in completely different genres. Whilst he couldn't send through a finished product he sent what he had done so far  this morning and how fascinating it is to read the thoughts of a young man (I'm sorry but for me 30 is only just starting out in life) and how he relates to the thoughts of a woman who dreams of control and of submitting to a man.

I must say he has not wilted from the task and I am very proud of him for that. But, his age (and my age) did show through when he wrote that I used "antiquated" language for the woman which forced him to think of her as having a "staid world view" as opposed to her "violent" fantasy world. He was referring to words like "bottom" and "hospital corners" (when making a bed). I had to stop and digest that; that my choice of words was giving me away. I suppose young men always say "ass" these days, do they? Hmmmm My female yoga teacher always refers to the "bottom" and she is 29. He certainly has a point. As a contemporary young male, he noticed these things and so he should.

What really had me sit up was when he said that the young woman in question associated the man she met who did eventually control her, seduce her and bed her with the Headmaster in her dreams. He made that leap in his mind. Well, I had not intended that. I didn't mean for a reader to think that she wanted the Headmaster. I intended that the fantasies of tight control meant to tell the reader that she was open to tight control; but not with the Headmaster. The Headmaster is gruff; inflexible; shows no mercy and no affection of any kind. He just dishes out discipline because that is what gets results. If girls know they will get the cane then they will obey. It suits him. It works. But, that is all it is. Nothing else. She doesn't want that at all! She wants to be loved; to be kissed and cuddled. Sure, some days may have her thinking he is a bit of nasty old Headmaster. But, she doesn't want the Headmaster!

Something got lost in the translation; probably the best reason so far to expand this story into a much longer story where I can really explain and explore this woman's state of mind. You have to feel a little sorry for Bart. I mean, what are the chances that he would get the kinky woman writer? How often must one come along - perhaps one every five years? Perhaps the next story could be a simple murder mystery. I saw a production of Sweeney Todd recently. A little murder might be nice... Honestly, I really can't imagine it. Poor Bart will just have to do his best with that sweet little lady who talks about hospital corners and bondage and discipline all on the same page. Ohhhhh dear.

The greatest thing...

I saw my psychologist for the last time this week . We hadn't had a session since August but she wanted to know that I was all right before we went our separate ways. And, you know how I like to please people... So, we did that and she asked how I felt and I answered her questions.

Then, she told me how well I had done; how hard I had worked and how well it had all gone and feeling the need to reciprocate (that's what well mannered people do after all) I thanked her for her assistance and she said it was entirely her pleasure...she photocopied something she wanted to give me...I wrote her the cheque, she gave me the receipt and we were drawing things to a close. She wanted me to know that it was never entirely over between us...that if I ever wanted an emergency session to ring her mobile...that if I wanted to talk over something next year that she would be here. Very sweet; very reassuring. Very caring and kind.

I felt moved to ask her something about her life. I asked if she was still very busy and she said it was hectic; that before Medicare changed the rules people had come to her for the classic problems - anxiety and depression. But, now that Medicare paid the bulk of 12 (now 10 sessions) people presented with other issues.

"What sort of issues are they," I asked
"Existential issues."
"Like, what is the meaning of life?"
"Yes."
"Oh dear."
"I hate it. I don't have the answers."
"No. Do you think people are placing too much emphasis on performance? Forgetting that at the end of the day all that matters is the connections we make?"
"Yes. Connections is all that really matters. Nobody dies worried about much else than if they loved and were loved adequately."

How about that! All that time I was seeing Michelle I was not sure we were enough alike and it turns out we were entirely the same.

Limbo

I have received some lovely and very helpful comments to my last post and I do intend to respond to each one of them. If you put them together they tell a story - little fragments of me as you have come to know me. I just put up Jake's comment. He made me laugh. Ah, Jake, if you only knew how little self-control I have. Of course, I would peak at it! It would be like saying, "See that New York cheesecake on your desk? Well, you are not to touch it! Now, honestly what are the chances that I would be able to walk away?? So it is with the Vesta/cindi blog.

Anyways, heaven only knows why thoughts are gushing out of me at this time but that's what is happening. So, for now I am just going to keep putting the thoughts down here and see if I can read the tea leaves. Part of me hates that Sir J is right; that I am not ready to put this thing down. It makes me so desperately want to put it down...that I have this need still...but he is right. I feel there are things that have to be expressed or I will explode.

I don't know how to say it any other way. What happened to me over the past two years was a true transformation. It wasn't something I expected to go away and it didn't go away. If anything, things got more intense in the past few months and cindi became a much bigger part of my life. My husband calls me cindi almost exclusively. He has become adept in taking me to that mindset and keeping me there. It is a completely freeing, 'out of body' experience and afterwards, I don't hit the ground for many hours. I float in a bubble of satisfaction. You simply can't take the smile off my face. For opening "Pandora's box", I will be forever grateful.

But, there are emotions going on within me and for some weeks now that are not so attractive - a sense of sadness mixed in with a sense of waste and even some anger and disappointment. He tried his best, I think, to prepare me and encourage me and help me to understand his decision but cindi never really did understand. She said to him several times comments like, "But how dis ebin pussibl. Wood leef babi lone? How ken leef cindi lone n nebr chek in on her?" One of the last things he said to cindi was that it was "ber sitin"and that cindi "hab lots trennin". That is true. She did have lots of training and maybe it was time for her to venture out into the world all on her own.

I am not proud to say that I cannot overcome my feelings of "abandonment". I want to overcome them and on certain days I convince myself that I have overcome those feelings. But, honestly they never go away. And, in amongst those feelings is the sense of waste. "Such a waste" someone used to say regularly and that is how I feel. What arbitrary measure is being used here to deny cindi?

Of course, I'm aware enough of the real world and its limitations to acknowledge that there are good reasons for caution and restraint. I do understand. But, cindi does not really understand at all. Her sense of faith and trust and loyalty and smallness doesn't allow her to understand such a grown up notion as that someone is there, alive, well and breathing but not able to speak to her; absent for an unknown length of time; quite probably forever.

And, she wonders, would it have been better to say "bi bi" without hope rather than "c u l8r" and be left wondering forever if he might return to give her some energy some day? Is she stuck in the land of limbo, poor bimbo, unable to accept?

There is no regret here. It is a far, far better thing to have had this thing and lost it than never to have had it at all.I will never feel differently about it. I feel ultra confident about that statement. And, cindi is not just sitting on the shelf pining either. She is getting on with life, is cindi. It is just that she lost her friend and that is rather sad.

Crossroads

I am just going to write the thoughts as they come...

I was having a shower last night when a thought demanded my attention...maybe I should close the Vesta blog...go and close it right this instant. The thought was strong and as I let it wash over me, I realized that the thought was about the sense I had been having that "Vesta" or "cindi" or a combination of both those entities was making it difficult for me to move on. I had been at this writing course for a couple of months now and still all the thoughts and all the ideas led back to sex and kinky sex at that. If I closed the blog and shut off that avenue to express all that, maybe my mind could free itself to think about other things to write.

I willed myself to go to sleep but by 5 am I was awake again and the thought returned. But, how would I do that? Leave the blog there but take away my reading list (thus making it more difficult for me to read other blogs)? What of my friends? If I close the blog do I cut myself off from the email address(es) from where I communicate with them? Do I give a select few my real life address instead? I just didn't have all the answers - wasn't sure what to do about the details - worried that I would pine without this outlet...so many details to consider. What of my tumblr account? I love my tumblr account (which was a gift to me) and the opportunity to record a photograph that turns me on. But, how do I keep that account open if the rest is closed?

In some curious way, it feels that my sexuality has taken over my life. I am not at all sure you are meant to feel this way in your mid 50s. Aren't you meant to move onto other concerns and interests by now? Aren't you meant to write about social issues and the world at large and all the thoughts that go through regular (non-kinky) peoples' heads?

Rather than settle down, my sexuality is stronger than ever. My fantasies are rich and detailed and full of containment and power over me...all sorts of restraint and and taking control of me. My body responds to those thoughts; continually and repeatedly looks for touch and use; hungers for it.

I correspond with a girl not unlike me and I just read her latest entry. It is so apparent why we were hooked up with each other (put in contact, I mean). We are so alike; fixated really on sex and control. I've lived a quieter life than she has but our minds relate to one another in a way few other minds do.

Yes, I go about my life and I achieve and function. But, this has been an obsession for sure and maybe the outlet of this blog is merely feeding that obsession. Maybe if I stopped writing here I could simply focus on my writing assignments and start a little novel and just be like a regular 50+ year old woman.

This year has been so full - of travel, of change, of loss and of love. I am blessed as a woman and a human being; incredibly fortunate to be surrounded by love and family; thrilled to have learned what I have and to have the opportunity to learn to write well via this course. It is a stroke of luck to have Bart who was a bit surprised but not shocked by the short story of lust and control that I sent him - who was willing to see it as a first draft with potential just as I saw the potential in the first draft he sent me.

But, it can't continue like this, can it? Such characters are so vastly in the minority. I am so vastly in the minority. I think my thoughts and my characters and my plots have to deal more with the other 99.9% of people in the world.

I have long held the view that these wants and needs of mine (and presumably yours) live in many more people than are willing to admit to them. But, even Bart called it "racy" and Lord knows what the faculty people will think of it.

Part of me says the solution lies in letting the short story format go...in creating stories about lust and desire and  love and conflict and struggle that evolve over many more thousands of words; that that might provide the opportunity to show how these things come to pass; what makes us tick in a more convincing and acceptable way.

If I close the blog, will my thoughts move on to other subjects or will I simply frustrate myself losing the opportunity to say here what is more likely to receive a sympathetic audience?

I feel that I have reached some sort of crossroad in my life and development and I honestly don't know which path to take. Has anyone any thoughts? Thank you.