Change

Change is inevitable. We alter when we least expect it, or even want it. There is a tide that flows within us below the surface such that our actions may seem random when in fact they are the outcome of a kaleidoscope of thoughts, actions and reactions. Days turn into months and we realize that we may not be able to return to that person we were back then. We have become another version of ourselves.

The power exchange relationship ideally travels along a continuum where there are rituals and rules that accord with the foundation of the agreement, with more rituals or symbols added as time goes by. It feels comfortable and right; more of the same, but more tight and more intense.  Control.

If one can depend on nothing else in this world there is the assurance for the Dominant that the submissive will follow where he leads. There's growth; the kind of growth where the obedience is ever more relied upon; deeper; darker. For some people it works this way. The conditioning makes for this outcome. The very survival of what they have together depends on this outcome.

I think for some of us, however, the level of submission, and even the submissive response itself is not nearly as steady as this. There are moments, passages of time in a person's life, when what one has done until now almost makes no sense. It's a daunting and confusing experience because we've come to rely on that response as being an important part of us and then, suddenly, it can feel like it has vanished.

I strongly doubt that such an important and enduring component of a personality can actually vanish but it can, I am sure, look like it. What has actually happened is that the response is temporarily dormant for reasons that seem, at first blush, incomprehensible.

I could, if I felt so inclined, take the necessary measures to fixate again on my own lascivious lust. I've done it before and thus I can say with authority, it's not hard. But, the motivation is not there. It's just not there and I don't feel inclined to force my hand just for the sake of feeling better or putting things right if it comes at the expense of exploring this current lack of motivation towards the submissive response; letting it be and seeing where it leads. The impulse is to just live rather than question it's right to exist; allow it rather than force it down below the surface.

It's not entirely gone, of course. That's the thing about a submissive response. My husband tied my wrists over the weekend just before I went to sleep and I loved that feeling all through the night; loved the sense of being wholly alive that I felt between my legs the next day.

It's something to do with variety. This thought came to me this morning as I woke. I've been doing the same thing, admittedly very successfully, for about 6 or 7 years, and my mind seems to be demanding change. How could anyone, I asked myself, continue to do the same things forever? Why would it be important for a dominant to insist upon that, when the one thing we do know is that we are forever changing? It's curious that a doll can live forever being a doll, no change for objects, but a woman does change; matures and evolves. This is to be expected and ideally, desired.

Change scares me but so too does complacency and complete stability; tedium. As disconcerting as it is to be beyond the barriers, there is simply no other choice right now. I'm not looking necessarily to see if there is another way to do this. I'm looking to see if there is another way to commute with the world. I'm looking for conversation that allows me to feel closer to the nub of what it is to be human rather than what it is to be 'toy'. I'm reaching out rather than looking in.

I'm saying that this blog was set up to support a specific state of mind and being; as if control or lack of control was the only way to express oneself; one is submissive or one is dominant. I'm not doubting that I am submissive in nature but my mind is doubting if this is the only way to express my entity in the world. I feel like a child that loves his childhood home and will wish to return from time to time but instinctively knows it is time to venture further.

I'm not concerned that this space doesn't allow for my love of gardens, or fashion, or literature or film. I'm concerned, and putting it into words is so difficult, that I can't tolerate being split into two any more: girl here and toy there; silenced in a way where only the toy's impulses are welcomed. What I find that I must give exploration to is the idea, the right of most human beings, that I am a whole human being and that to cut off parts of me, to only want part of me, isn't really what I want. To be pleasing is a very natural way to live and yet there is something driving me to put myself first this time; to answer for myself the question, without prejudice: What do I want?

Update

I thought it was time that I recorded something in this journal. Frankly, it can feel so self-indulgent, all those 'I' statements that one inevitably writes in a journal such as this one. There are three already! It was my husband that asked about the journal and it was his thought that writing again here wasn't a bad thing. I really didn't think he read here. One never knows.

It's been about a month since I wrote and somewhere in there I drifted into a sort of 'depression'. I'd noticed that my mind was chattering away at such a constant and demanding rate that I took the positive step of buying a book about depression, How to lift depression [...fast]. I find it a wonderful aid and I've been working my way through it marking it up so that I can remind myself of the messages whenever I need to do that.

The primary message of the book is that 'depression is always secondary to another problem'. The authors speak in detail of the 'human givens', those elements that all human beings must have  in their lives, and they encourage the reader to do an audit of their lives. First, a depressed person must be calmed and whilst there are various techniques for this I find focusing on the breath in a 5/9 pattern works wonderfully well. So, I inhale to the count of five and exhale to the count of nine.

I was aware before buying the book that I had developed a sleep issue. I was waking far too early in the mornings regardless of when I went to bed and I was aware I was dreaming; lots and lots of mental activity going on in my sleep. The authors explained that a depressed person who inevitably ruminates on issues during the day, deeply in an emotional state and not a rational one, has disrupted sleeping patterns, specifically related to REM dreaming.

If someone dreams excessively to work through the day's upsetting thoughts, they can wake up exhausted. Such people may wake early and find they can't get back to sleep because 'their brains are unable to 'take' any more emotional discharge by dreaming'. This made complete sense to me. I had suspected this. After reading the book, one morning I used the 5/9 pattern and managed to get back to sleep and stay asleep for a couple of hours. Hallelujah, it was working!

The audit of my life is something that I am in the process of doing. I'm in a transitional period of my life and some tweaking of my life and how I live it needs to considered. I might work a couple of days a week, or volunteer for an organisation weekly, or something else new. I might take myself to the library for several long stints of writing each week to make progress on my writing project. Getting the next stage of my life sorted to my satisfaction is a work in progress, but it's not what had me thinking dark thoughts.

One of the human givens is 'volition: a sense of autonomy and control over our lives'. Really, all my married life I've not had that much autonomy. Once I started having babies my husband was happy for me to be with the children and he took virtually full control of our finances. He decided if we went on vacation or did up a home or what we invested in. Yes, I have made suggestions and he's not unsupportive of my suggestions, depending on whether or not he feels that he can manage something. He's generous when he feels that he can be generous.

The situation has often demanded that I display a good deal of patience and I think this is when the lack of autonomy has been felt the most. I'm so much more someone who would prefer to stay away from high risk, whereas high risk is his game. Just lately we talked about this in a very honest way and he listened to me and said that he had been thinking along similar lines, to break down the risk by taking a particular action.There are not my decisions, but he is doing something soon that will enable me to feel much more comfortable. I already feel more comfortable knowing that this is in the pipeline.

I suddenly realized, having re-read what I have written so far that it is so important that I explain that I am not the sort of depressed person that can't get out of bed, or go to the gym or the theatre, or for a walk, or make a meal, or see friends, or visit my mother. I am fully engaged with life whilst at the same time knowing within myself that I am not operating at full speed. My batteries are still operational but delicate, as if at short notice they won't work for a time, and then they do again. I can still enjoy a film, a piece of music, a passage from a book, the birds singing, a conversation, cooking, writing, the light when the sun hits the trees in a certain way in the morning, dressing up, a meal; the business of living. I really do love life and all that it has to offer but I hate my mind when it won't leave me be.

This morning I had an urge to wear pink and realising that I didn't have a lipstick pink anything, went in search of such an item on the Internet. The exact colour I want to wear was not to be found but I shall keep my eye out for it. Depressed people probably aren't nearly so concerned about finding the perfect pink top or dress. I suspect not. It's not that I don't have happy thoughts but simply that I have too many thoughts and some of them aren't that pretty. That's what upsets me, that I can't control that.

Returning to the 'human givens' one such vital category is 'attention: receiving it from others but also giving it.' From a few comments my husband has been making lately it is clear that I don't give him enough attention. In the foggy thinking that makes up depression, that tendency to say 'woe is me', I'd forgotten that he needs to receive attention just as much as I need to receive attention. Four children later, all adults now, he wants his share. I've been remiss here. I really have. Intent on service of a dominant kind I've been a taker more than a giver. I dropped the ball when it comes to pleasing him and making this right has been a great aid in bringing us closer and in getting that chattering mind of mine to take a hike. I can explain this further some other time for this post is already long.

Griffin and Tyrrell write 'What helps is getting the depressed person to stop worrying and get their basic physical and emotional needs met, stop brain exhaustion and rebuild their energy levels and self confidence. We call this the human givens approach to therapy'. They are convinced that depression is not a biological illness and I agree. They believe however that 'there is a biological element to depression' and that depressed people have low levels of serotonin, a consequence of depression.

It is now 10 years since I asked my husband to spank me for the first time. I have come to know myself well such that I know what can give me an enormous boost; make my life feel that I have abundant riches. Taking me into that realm such that I can be a sexual slut is unbelievably enriching, though slightly scary since once bimbocindi is out of the box it's hard to put her back in for some time. There's a greedy, slutti, demanding, voracious side to her, and a childlike, stamp her foot side too. 'I want...' she can ultimately demand when thoroughly discombobulated (though never in scene) when she doesn't get her way, sounding more desperate than she cares to admit. It's embarrassing, truly embarrassing to see her like this. I am not always especially impressed to know her and yet she is a part of me.

In all my experiences in the past ten years it remains the case that to be beaten is the most uplifting of all experiences. To get to that total sexual surrender such as I did on Saturday is gorgeous, but the next day when my husband bent me over and spanked me as he wanted, it put me into a tail spin. I wanted the serotonin (or whatever it is ) that is released after a proper beating. I desperately wanted that, not anything else. I wanted to walk on air. I wanted my drug. I wanted to be satiated such that I no longer wanted.

This is the sort of attention that I want, and need. Yes, I need it. I need to be tied up, tight; a gag in my mouth. No way out. And then, over a period of time, beginning with a warm up, beaten harder and faster, until I am absolutely spent. Then, the serotonin kicks in. My love for him explodes. My world is set right. I am deliriously happy. (Footnote: Re-reading this I've not made mention of the other way to get serotonin in my life, a daily kinky ritual that went somewhat unattended during the depressive cycle and is likely the culprit as well, but that's another story for another day.)

My intellect tells me that to get someone to do something you want them to do it is necessary to make it appealing for them. Of course, some people have a predilection to spank as much as some people like me have a predilection to want to be spanked. Failing that, how does one get to a point where it is a desire on both parts for this interaction? I have no definite answer, but possibly it is part and parcel of him seeing me happy immediately afterwards and for days later. Since it rarely happens in a comprehensive way, how can I entice him to partake, not just this time, but in a more regular way? This is what I am working on and thinking about. 

Does this mean that I have an obsession? Sure. Of course it's an obsession. A need. It's addictive. But, it's not like heroine or some other drug. I've never taken a drug in my life, so I'm surmising a bit here, but the point is that kinky happenings won't kill me.  To be restrained and to receive adequate sensory stimulation is my medicine.

We're talking about this which is a good thing, better than not talking. Perhaps he will read about my feelings here too. God knows I don't go to the rack willingly. You do know these sorts of beatings hurt like hell, right? But, the fact remains I need it. I really do think that if I could just be taken to the rack in a somewhat consistent way, with full understanding of the enormous benefits of this practice to me, that as a human being I'd have all that I could possibly want. Isn't it the strangest thing that someone who is so devoted to me in so many other ways can't understand this.

Praise

I try to imagine what life would be like for me if my husband were the type of 'Owner' where he wanted complete control of me. In some ways, he has complete control, but in other ways he does not, because he doesn't desire control in those areas.

I think I'm the type of woman that probably would do best if my man did want more control of me. I'm not saying that it would be easy or immediate. I remember myelf as a woman in my twenties - that time when you can probably most mould a person to be what you want them to be, before they develop too many opinions of the world and themselves - having opinions and feeling that I had a right to an equal say.

I learned, particularly through my role at work as a Personal Assistant to a Managing Director, that there was a dynamic at hand and that I was the one to defer. The deferment didn't necessarily come entirely easily or even naturally. For example, at that time my intellect was shooting higher. Quite honestly, I was capable of doing more than I was doing and on a few occasions I requested transferal to a different job. On one occasion I suggested being transferred to the Training Division. I did, after all, have a qualification in teaching high school, so why not put that knowledge and skill into effect?

My boss simply couldn't understand my thinking. Why would I want to limit myself in this way when I could be a part of every last strategic decision made by the organisation? Naturally enough, I reminded him that I didn't make those decisions and had no effect on those decisions in any way. To the contrary, he insisted, he may not have acknowledged too many of my suggestions, but he had in fact listened and a number of those decisions had been taken up.

One day, when he was safely ensconced on an overseas holiday, Dan the advertising man came to me and asked if I would be in an advertising campaign. It sounded like fun and off we went to shoot the photographs. (I didn't advise the boss of this because I had a feeling he'd put the kabosh on the idea.) I was quite pumped about it until he arrived home and berated Dan about taking me out of his office. I took it very personally, though I never let on, and felt that he felt that I wasn't good enough. I came to realize over time that I wasn't going anywhere in that organization. He had the Personal Assistant he wanted; had trained her to suit his purposes and disposition, and he wasn't losing her to some training division or advertising studio.

If you've been reading for years, God help you, you'd know that he wanted control over me and that included my style of clothing, whether I bought something new or not (he wasn't into excess and if he caught me in stores around town at lunchtime when he was returning from a luncheon, he'd let me know about it), and my weight. When I joined his employ I was straight out of two years in the USA and I'd put on a little weight eating one or two too many hamburgers and fries, I suspect. He wasn't (completely) rude about it but he made it clear that the 10 pounds had to go, and they did. It wasn't so much a huge change in diet that did the trick. I was simply using up a lot of energy making sure he was satisfied and that I wasn't going to get another 'rounds of the kitchen'.

He also made it clear that I needed to eat more vegetables and to be sure that I did he'd often drop a box of vegetables from his garden in the country on my front door on a Sunday evening. He thought it senseless that women eat their way into a middle age spread and he loathed women eating in public on the streets. I can still feel the guilt in my throat when he spotted me one day in the street returning to the office at the end of the lunch hour eating an apple. 'But it was just an apple,' I argued. He was unconvinced.

I remember one day expressing my discontent about something in a way that wasn't entirely diplomatic. 'Don't you show your temper to me!' he stated. As a woman living through the stirrings of female liberation, he challenged me to the core. But, he did teach me many things: about men who insisted on control; about diplomacy; loyalty. It was the first stirrings and experiences getting to know my nature. If he was happy with my work, or my decision making on his behalf, or taking action to watch his back, he praised me and I cherished that. I bathed in the glow of his pride and perhaps it is this feeling that has stayed with me.

It may be interesting to know that I don't say much, nothing really, when I receive these warm feelings of having 'done good'. You'd have to look to my expression; the mellowness that is probably evident in my eyes that drop down that may suggest that I am a tad embarrassed, and the slight but unmistakable smile that widens my lips. On the page, you will need to trust me that I am most content.

A man who wanted total control of me would indeed need to train and condition me to his ways. It's only late in my life that I have wanted, myself, piercings or to wear latex. That is when I was introduced to those ideas. At first blush, I'd be most reluctant, I'm sure. But, I know in my heart that if he wanted that and made it clear that he wanted that, and it would strengthen the dynamic we shared, I'd follow along. I'm so very much into wanting a tight, strong, intense relationship that his desire for something in particular is all that would be needed. When I feel the energy coming forth, I meet that energy with abundant energy of my own. I respond to the dominance with a very natural and enjoyed submission.

In all the years that we've been together, my husband has very rarely not liked a piece of clothing I have bought, or at least he hasn't expressed that. But, one day he told me that he didn't like a pair of pants I had bought. They were pink vertical stripes. I thought they looked quite all right for weekends but he made it clear he didn't care for them. Out they went without a glace backwards.

I've an electric toothbrush. On occasion I forget to dry the base before I put it back on the base and he simply hates that, as he hates it when I don't dry my back completely, or when I make a big mess in the kitchen rather than clean up as I go. There are no consequences for these things other than 'getting it in the neck' as I like to put it, or in other words, getting told off. Maybe I'm not so much doing things the way he likes them to please him as I am doing it to avoid another telling off, but the point is, I do do it his way. Is that conditioning? Is it a natural drive to please? I wonder, if he praised me for a clean kitchen just before I served dinner once in a while, might that not be the biggest incentive of all to do things his way?

Truthfully, if I had an 'Owner' that wanted my nipples pierced, as an example, of course I'd oblige. The praise that this agreement would engender would be adequate compensation for overcoming my fear. Anyways, we'd be together. He'd lead me there so it wouldn't be that hard at all.

My husband wants, and will want going forward, to live in this big house. So, we live in this big house. We will live in this big house long after all the children have moved out. My husband wants us to do the garden ourselves, even the removal of huge tree trumps and so it is done this way, with me as the second gardener, of course. Just now I asked if I may use the ladder to do an outside task and he said 'no'. There are many tasks I'm not allowed to do because he wants control of them and isn't sure that they'll be done to his specification (which isn't at all true since I am perfectly capable of this task really). Still, I have to live with that.

Sure, I make suggestions and sometimes they are taken up. Often, they are not. We live according to his decisions. If he wanted me to live in latex for hours each week, needless to say, I'd be living in latex for hours every week. Why not, for heavens sake? It's become a dream of mine anyway, so why would I hesitate? If he bought it and demanded it, what a THRILL would that be!

Yes, at times it is hard buckling under to his version of the world, but kinky demands? And, I do mean demands. Insistence. These days? Well, I think that would be about as hard as eating New York baked cheesecake.

Sexual appetite

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

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

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

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

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

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

2015: Reflections

One of my Facebook friends asked the question, 'How would you sum up your 2015 in one word?' and this got me thinking. I asked my oldest son for his word and he immediately answered 'confronting'. When I asked why it was confronting he reminded me that one of his dearest school chums had died of an overdose in 2015. His grandfather, with whom he had developed a strong bond over the past years had become sick towards the end of the year and he'd visited him in the hospital almost every day until his death; spoken at his funeral; watched him return to the earth. His two best mates had moved overseas during the year and he'd broken up with his girlfriend with whom he was living late in the year as well.

From a career perspective or a business perspective, 2015 wasn't remotely 'confronting'; rather fast moving and successful. At work, he's the rising star. Like me, he immediately thought to base his one word to describe 2015 on his own personal feelings. It was internally, within himself,  where he'd been 'confronted' by life as it played out in the past year.

I've tried a few times to look back on my own 2015 and feel a bit lost for a single word to describe the past year in my life. I read over a few posts that I wrote here but they only prove that you can't judge what is happening to a person by the posts they publish on the Internet, any more than you can judge a young man by the image he projects in a well cut suit who is routinely getting on and off internationally bound airplanes  .

I can point to highlights of the year. We saw one of our sons graduate with his university degree. He has been challenged in his life by a condition that made school harder for him than it is for most young men but he excelled in the final year of his degree, proving yet again that you should never write a child off and that you should almost always allow a child to do that which turns them on.

Our daughter and her partner bought a house together and I am very proud to say that they did a wonderful job in the past year transforming it into a lovely home. I was a little shocked when I first saw it. It was a gloomy sort of place at first sight and thus they proved, yet again, that nearly anything can be made beautiful with tender, loving care and a lot of paint.

I managed to get my husband away to Japan and we thrived over there alone together. It showed me, if I needed any further convincing, that I do well in the 'help-mate' role being led; that play sessions where I submit to authority are transformational for me; that we make a good team, and that everybody needs some fun and adventure in their lives.

I graduated with my Master of Arts in front of all my family, except the son travelling, and I was very happy to have obtained this goal. I've earned by 'colours' and now it's up to me to do something with the qualification in this new year.

In the final days of the year I was beginning to drift off to sleep one hot night and as I looked about the room my eye settled on the chair in the corner of the room. I can tell you a fact about the chair; that we had seen it in a furniture shop together some years ago now and I'd expressed the fact that I thought it was a lovely chair. I can tell you that one day, several weeks later, I'd walked into the bedroom and there was the chair, a surprise he'd devised. But, it doesn't tell you anything about my feelings as my eye settled on the chair late that night at the end of 2015. Rather, I looked at the chair and thought out of nowhere, 'I'm happy in my life. Here. With him. I'm glad I stayed. What a relief I didn't succumb; that I stayed true.'

In truth, the word for my 2015 is 'challenging'. Towards the middle of the year I began to take 'selfies' of myself. I felt so flummoxed and at sea that I barely recognized myself when I looked in the mirror. The photographs showed me in no uncertain terms that I was deeply troubled. I'd look at them and wonder where I had gone; that person that had so often been referred to as 'ethereal' in the past. Yet, the photographs taken in Japan - and that's September/October - point to a transformation of my earlier troubled soul. I was happy, so happy, and it was evident; irrefutable.

Those readers who have been willing to continue reading here; to withstand my ups and downs through the years, may remember me writing about listening to a monk one Friday night. I'd taken my husband to hear him and together we listened as he told us that the purpose of life is to be happy; that everything flows from that.

I think the trick of life is to understand that nothing, good or bad, lasts forever. Life may be short but it's a long road and we will experience many ebbs and flows along the way. Holding onto what is authentic in our lives is key; listening to that voice, that deep down wisdom that we hold within each and every one of us about what is right and what is wrong.

Follow that voice. It won't lead you astray. Happy New Year.

Shared fantasies

Boxing Day. A leisurely start to the day. He kissed me in several places and then he pulled the night gown over my head. He returned to his position of laying down with his head resting on two pillows.

He asked me of the morning rule and rather than answer in words I went between his legs and sucked his cock until it was very hard. After a minute or two of that he had me sit up on his chest and he held me tight against him.

I'm not entirely sure I heard every word correctly, for it was quite shocking in its own way, but what I heard was, 'I wish I had a close male friend that I could talk to about this. Imagine being used by someone else in this position.'

I did. I did think about that instantly. I arched my hips such that I was presenting myself to the absent second male; that close friend of my husband.

I felt an instant and intense arousal at the thought. I admit that. I imagined my husband holding me tight, just as he was doing, and at his command another man, perhaps a man I would never see, or a man who understood that he was secondary to a union he could never tear assunder, quietly taking his pleasure in my back hole.

This was more than fantasy. This was a fantasy I was sharing with my husband and we both got off on it. That's when I realized that shared fantasies are hot.

Spirituality within power exchange

My immersion into spiritual practice and my overwhelming attraction to SM practices and power exchange relationships in general collided several years ago such that it is hard for me to separate one from the other. That this might mean something tangible to the reader, I give the following example of how the two worlds mingle in my mind.

In Eckhart Tolle's Stillness Speaks he has a chapter on 'Relationships', and in that chapter he writes,

'When you get attached to objects, when you are using them to enhance your worth in your own eyes and in the eyes of others, concerns about things can easily take over your life. When there is self-identification with things you don't appreciate them for what they are because you are looking for yourself in them. When you appreciate an object for what it is, when you acknowledge its being without mental projection, you cannot not feel grateful for its existence. You may also sense that it is not really inanimate, that it only appears so to the senses. Physicists will confirm that on a molecular level it is indeed a pulsating field. Through selfless appreciation of the realm of things, the world around you will come alive in ways that you cannot even begin to comprehend with the mind.'

When I first read Tolle's words, and when I re-read them as I often do, they immediately resonated with me because of experiences I have had through a power exchange relationship. The world of the doll manifests itself in a very small and contained world and when the conditions are just right all egoic thought and concerns based on the real world drift away. The mind shuts right down and my experience is simply a physical one. I can feel the sensations of the body. I can feel arousal. On the great days, I can feel complete peace.

I can get to this sublime place through wearing a large butt plug which chokes thinking off, or I can get there through wearing a latex mask. They are quite different experiences, one not better than the other, but I've a particular partiality to the former experiences because I can maintain the connection with 'the other' better.

There have been experiences where 'bimbo' permeates me. She is inseparable to that never-changing  'I am' entity. There is no past or no future. There are no worries or thoughts; certainly no attachments to identity or worth or worldy possessions. Bimbo responds to direction, absolutely, but in the most special situations the feeling is light, warm and easy. It is understood that bimbo won't say very much because she has found herself in a world of comfort and grace; ease, peace and beauty.

I remember on one particular early morning she was in the country chatting oh so quietly on her computer. Not that much was being said because her world can often be simply peaceful with few words necessary. She was aware of the sun coming up to light the world; of the darkness making way for some light; the shapes of trees. More than anything she was aware of the stillness of this time and the stillness within her. Ever so quietly she found her attention drawn to the objects around her; a blue and white cup and a jug. She marvelled at the beauty of them as if she had never before seen a cup or a jug; the vibrancy of the colour; the very essence of these objects designed to do specific tasks. A sense of peace and pleasure welled up in her. She was living in this moment. Her cup runneth over.

There are no doubt a variety of ways to reach these peaceful moments in life, yet in my life the way towards them has often been to be led down a path where I may reach them. I have procured these peaceful moments through power exchange; perhaps not the ideal way to navigate a spiritual life, and yet many a monk has sought out help along the way.

I remain attached to people. It's not that I live through them but rather that it is still hard to imagine life without them. To date, I respond very naturally to the submissive role and thus yearn for the sort of dominance in my life where there is understanding of a spiritual life. My personal goal is to get to that spiritual dimension on my own at any time, if need be; to find respite and comfort in the 'I am' entity which never changes and to let all other worldly concerns and worries, identities or pride loosen and shake off. This is the life of the monk, the nun; those who wish to live as Buddha taught.

It cannot be denied that my interest in power exchange relationships began when the material I was reading aroused me to the core. It was entirely sexual. Every word I read at first was an aphrodisiac to my mind ready to take it all on. It didn't take on a spiritual dimension for me, something akin to subspace, until I quite simply experienced that spiritual dimension. This was the true gift. This was the opportunity I am so grateful to have seized with both hands and all my heart.