Adult content warning!

Adult content warning!

This blog includes texts which are not suitable for minors. So, if you are under the age of 18 or if my entries might offend you, please leave immediately.


Shoo! Shoo!

Thursday, January 30, 2014

Don't put thoughts of yours into my words, dear...

If you have ever heard something like this warning from your loving husband, then welcome to the club. You did something that I have trouble stopping. How can you stop that? I have tried for years and yes, I believe I have become better all in all, but if I do not tell myself 'no, listen, what are his words?' I start doing more than understand the words. I immediately look for additional information of the non-verbal kind.

When you listen to your (female) friends, this kind of problem simply doesn't exist. Well, at least I have never experienced any of this with one of mine and they haven't either. So, here we are again, back to the problems of ... male and female communication. Sorry, if you have been waiting for another description of me being whacked. Not all of my life is about BDSM, but I'll surely come back to writing down such experiences later on because I love that topic as much as you do.

 Here come the bees

 I have written about how different men and women are more than once here. But sometimes a certain scene just triggers something in  me. When one of my friends had her baby last summer, we (female friends) went there to see mom and daughter, meet, enjoy the moment and show how much we felt for her. Imagine that, a sunny day, we had tea, a bit of cake, a typical women's kaffeeklatsch. Talk and enjoyment in the afternoon. And everybody who reads this, absolutely knows what happened with the little babygirl and women. Yep, the adult bees swarmed all around the little babybee. We held her, smelled her, cuddled, counted her toes and played with her hands and meanwhile we all were close together. I mean not only because we had a fantastic connection in that moment, this was also physical. We were physically a bit like a crowd at times, took the baby, hugged happy mum and were physically and emotionally close to each other.

Here come the drones 

When we all went into the yard later on, mummy bee and babybee included, some of the husbands were chatting together and we bees all went over to participate. You could assume that nothing extraordinary would happen. We'd talk a little and then promenade before we'd leave for home. But there was a visible difference: only daddydrone took his little babybee and kissed mummy bee. There were some more hugs and kisses between some of the couples, of course. But what about babybee? We women had cuddled and held the little baby excessively and it was a lovely experience. And I mean each woman in the house had her and enjoyed that a lot. But from the men's side only her dad wanted to hold her. None of the men asked to have her for a moment. 
I asked hubby later on about it and he said why should he? She's a baby like any other and not his. Hello, anybody home??? I did not know what to make out of it and still don't know. If I ask such a question, I have to be willing to live with the answer, I have learned that much. And that babies are a sensitive issue for the two of us, is no real secret, but we are working on it. Often and with pleasure :)

Still, the difference was too obvious, the men did not try to come close and have her, whereas all women who were present did. I'd bet that some of you have seen something like that going on too, wherever you are.

Body language / behaviour

You can also go and look into the differences of how we communicate non-verbally. Same day, same occasion. When we women met, we also went for physical contact. We hugged and kissed, later on we sat down and talked. When we sat next to each other and talked, we touched each other's arms, it is an automatism that happens, e.g. when you want to emphasize or when you want to get additional attention. This is not meant sexually in any way, it is just an additional way to connect. So, it just happens and feels good to do! Besides, we know each other's eye colour well. Guess why this happens to be. Yes, because we actually look i n t o the eyes of the one we talk to. We do not need to look at the level below (the assessment of other women happens quickly and is over before even a single word has been uttered). That's what the other sex does at close range. And at long range. How could you not be offended, if the one you talk to, looks elsewhere most of the time. Maybe even the gras is more interesting than what I have to say? Is that why you look there? Thank you very much. I think this is rude, because it shows that the other one is not interested.

And now for the different thinking and misunderstood communication

A while ago, I have already published a classic example of what might happen between men and women if they follow their typical and different ways of communicating. You find that example here.
Since I still tend to do these things, put more thoughts into hubby's words,  these misunderstandings  happen  now and then.  If it were only funny, no problem. But hubby and I were  really vexed repeatedly because of them. And this is not my fault ! :) No, of course not, it is ours. If I look for understanding and empathy, hubby has to notice that I do need comfort and connection. He is really good at that, but sometimes, err, ehm, he fails. I never do, of course. But what I have to keep in mind is that hubby often speaks facts only. I guess it is a male language, women can only learn that if they forget about meta communication, i.e. the message behind the message. Then again, why do I have the feeling that men are more often ironic than women? Strange.

Anyway, let's have a night out in a restaurant. We love that and although hubby could, he does not always decide where we go to. Instead he asks me and that's sort of complicated then at times. I'd maybe say something like 'I don't know' as a starter. That's the first problem, because I don't want to decide that issue, I'd like to negotiate where we could go to, so that both have a say. Well, sometimes I know the answer and just don't give it away, because hubby should know what I think then. :)))) Yes, I know what you think now.

So, hubby's answer would be a suggestion, the name of a restaurant. I mean, if he really asks, we should negotiate, shouldn't we? Then, my next move would be 'Maybe another one, I did not like the fish there.' Hubby would come up with an alternative. He'd soon ask me what I'd like to eat and I'd still be vague in my answer. ... We could play this game for a longer time, but he would not allow that. Finally hubby would decide and in doing that, I could end up a little bit upset or feel misunderstood and consider him selfish for not asking what I actually wanted. The example could be more complicated than this, and hubby always has nice ways out of such traps, but it could happen, because he talks fact and I talk meta.

Honey, I think the trash needs to be taken out
I'll give you two more, because I like these examples and they are so typical. One of my all time favourites I have heard in our family, in the non-DD and non-D/s branch of them. It is about overflowing dustbins. :) She used indirect language: 'Honey, I think the trash needs to be taken out.' Can you guess what he would do? He simply said 'Yes, right' and went on minding his own business. She was frustrated and I did it, because otherwise she would have done it. HE just did not get the message. There was too much metamessage in it.
This last one is not from hubby and me, but I heard it more than once. He criticises her, because she did not do something connected to childcare that she should have done, 'because a good mother would do this'. Her reaction would naturally be something like 'Why do you say that I am a bad mother?!' Since men can use metamessages, of course, a lot would depend on the situation and his real intentions. He could just have been a typical man and had not even intended to express what she understood. But he could also have been a really mean blockhead.

Men are strange 
I have always wanted to write that, and now I even did it in bold letters. But probably I have only been stating the very obvious, ... men are different and strange. :) <--I do enjoy this conclusion. Uhm, women are strange, too, sometimes maybe.  But I really love that men and women talk differently, because  it creates a sort of endless excitement; forget about the increased chance of frustration for a minute. It would be somehow boring if men and women were too similar, still, sometimes I wished that I really had a good dictionary man-woman / woman-man, because even though hubby and I communicate a lot and in the most satisfying ways, simple misunderstandings still happen now and then. They are the ordinary kind, hubby processes information and comes up with his solution and I feel misunderstood because I wanted him to relate only or to show sympathy. It happens to everybody, therefore I recommend: man say more than yep or nope and woman read less between the lines when talking with a man.
Oh, and sometimes talking less actually is more... I know, according to how long my entries here have become lately, I should better listen to my own advice. :)

Tuesday, January 28, 2014

13 things that I have allegedly said

It wouldn't be nice to post hubby's quotes but leave out the things that I have said ... allegedly, according to hubby.
And this is more fun than the last two posts, so I squeezed it quickly in here!

1. I won't chase you like a little girl to get my knickers. I am a big girl, so give me my big girl knickers. (Everybody can imagine where this started)

2. Every word that started with an 'a' was true. (->... I am all done with the cleaning)

3. I am Erica. I will return home any minute. No reason to worry. (I love 'Being Erica',  it still is my favourite, though I might replace it with Downton Abbey soon)

4. I am not spoiled. I just like good quality.

5. Choooocolaaaate ! (walking towards it, like a mummy, arms forward)

6. Where am I?

7. You're not going to use that on me, are you? Oh, you are?!

8. What do you mean, I could have asked? I didn't know I had that option.

9. If I were you, I'd rather be me, too.

10. It's only a little dent. It's not worth mentioning. (This does not work at all as an excuse! Believe me, I tried three times)

11. How could I know they put a lamppost there?!

12. No, my bottom does not flirt with disaster. Oh, it does?

13. I, driving car: Don't be afraid, live your life to the full!
Hubby: Yeah, who wants to live forever?!

Need a present idea?
If you still have time, until you need the next present for your love, take paper and pen, start collecting the strange and funny things he or she says. Keep it secret, so that your love will not find you out, because it is meant to be a surprise.
Hubby and I did that independently from each other in different years. It was great fun and you'll be surprised what strange things you or your partner really say. We wrote down the date and situation, took pictures and turned everything into two nice books.
This is still one of the favourite presents I got and made. But you really need a little discipline for it.

Sunday, January 26, 2014

When I think about the 3rd of March...

  Warning: The following might appear rather disturbing for some. It contains descriptions of violence and should not be read by minors (like most of my texts here) or those who have experienced sexual assault in their past. 

Please wait for another text then , I’ll write about more positive things again next time.

Every third of March I have the same thought, again and again. I have had it since I was 15 years old. What it all boils down to is ’What did I do wrong’ and ‘Why me’.

The school cafeteria was crowded as usual and I looked around, bored, while I waited for my friend Amy. As soon as she was there, we talked about tonight’s niners’ party, where we would be among friends and dance and have fun. The most important topic was what would happen between René and me. He was from class ten, but would be here tonight and we discussed if there was anything meant to happen at all. He was cute, sure, but more than kissing would be out of the question and I told Amy - again. I’d wear my favourite pair of jeans with a nice red and white blouse with stitched flowers on it. I loved that blouse because it gave me this bit of folk-fashion-look that some of the upper school girls wore. Skirt or dress was out of the question. It was the wrong place (school), the wrong moment (only kissing) and it was still cold outside (March, Hamburg).
Amy would wear something similar to impress her boyfriend. They had been together for half a year by now, whereas I had only had a few dates with René and felt awkward in this situation, because I felt as if I had no idea about anything with him and he appeared so experienced and that was something I liked.
So, we went to the party, and in the dancing crowd, I lost Amy and her boyfriend out of sight. Maybe they had found a place to be on their own for a while, which I found rather romantic and hoped for. I’d love to hear their story in the morning.  So, all was ok for the moment, because I had René. He behaved like a gentleman, was attentive and looked great. A good time later we went out, because he wanted to smoke and meet some of his friends outside.
“Come on, it is too crowded here. Too many teachers too, they’ll only stop us if we start anything here.” I thought about it for a moment. There were eight here out with me. Some barely hid bottles of beer and thought they were cool. If I wanted anything from René, it was alone with him, not with his friends. I did not even know them, because most were not from our school or they were from class ten. They must have been soccer club mates. And I did not like them. They were scary, because they were older and looked as if they knew something I did not. I shook my head and René drew me closer and petted my cheek “It’s ok, we don’t go far, it’s only down the road  in our club house.” He beamed a smile at me “You’ll be back in no time and no one will ever find out that you left this boring party.” He really made it difficult for me, because I didn’t want to appear boring . But I had a feeling that I should not go with them. It was not René, it was because of the others.

“No, I don’t want to go away from here. Let’s get back inside.” “Ah no, don’t be such a spoilsport. Let’s go.” René turned me away from the entrance and some others were right behind us and shoved me forward, further away.” What about Amy? I have to tell her where I am. She’ll worry if I don’t.” I was almost agitated, because the whole situation was out of control for me. René looked at me while we walked on “It’s all managed. I have told her that we’d go elsewhere and have fun there. She thought it was a great idea!” Really? "Are you serious? She said that?" He nodded. She never had said anything like that before. Amy knew it was too early for me and I would only kiss him. We had discussed how far I should go this evening. I was not even sure if I’d let him touch my breasts, but definitely n o t between my legs. I had no intention of ending up with the reputation of the next school slut. I did not feel good with these guys around me, but then again, if René knew them, nothing would happen. With him I’d be safe. I wanted to believe him. But deep inside I heard myself say “No, don’t!” I should have stopped this in time, I really should have and that's where I see my fault in the whole affair.

We went a short while and stopped at the entrance of a soccer club house. One, Finn, opened the door. He had the keys and switched on the light inside. The pitch was all dark, just like the whole area around us was. I felt scared and turned around. “NO, I don’t like that place, René, bring me back, please.” Right then, some brute called Mark made an angry sound from behind me and simply pushed me inside. I tried to reach the door again, but they all started pushing me around and deeper into the building. I could see that Finn locked the door again and I started to panic. I tried to get into one of the other rooms, so that I’d have a chance to escape through a window, but the group would not let that happen. I cried for help but the whole area was deserted. Who could hear me here? Nobody!  They laughed maliciously and I heard the sniggering as they made contemptuous comments about me, while René still tried to get my attention by cooing that all was ok and other idiotic things like that. All the while they pressed me towards a door in the back of the hall. I knew that I did not want to get in there. This is what the mouse must feel like before the cat eats it; they were still playing with me. I stood no chance. They simply assaulted me and carried me into an old kind of office. I screamed like hell and could get free, not really long enough to run, but long enough to grab a lamp from the desk and throw it through one of the windows. That made them all only angrier and I got beaten in the face until I passed out for a second. “What the…” I felt someone’s hands all over me and started screaming again. And then I realized that I was held on the desk by several hands. They’d only have to get rid of my jeans now and I could not do     a n y t h i n g.
Two of them held me by my arms and shoulders, as René almost tore my shoes from my feet. They were breathing heavily, it sounded awful. I was kept on the desk and could do nothing but struggle. It was useless. I could see in their eyes that they wanted me, and they would simply take what they wanted from me.
I tried to kick René, but the two others held my legs and unbuttoned my jeans. I was in complete panic. I tried to kick, to get an arm free or a leg, but nothing. They all held me and René laughed and grinned at me “You’ll like it! Don’t struggle, it will hurt, if you do.” He held my jeans in his hands by now and I tried to scream, but was hit immediately and I think my screaming simply turned into sobbing. If you could ever hear despair, it was in that moment. Mark and Finn tore my knickers down my legs where René took them and threw them somewhere. I could hear the others around, but did not really look away from those holding me.  I tried to escape again, struggled like frantic and heard them laugh and make derogatory comments while they looked at me. Everything appeared so unreal, as if I had a nightmare and still I knew that it was no dream. I remember the shade of the bluish cold light, the smell of those around me, like wet clothes, I can hear the rustling sound of one of the jackets next to me up to this day. And I saw them laugh.
 René made a step up and touched me between my legs. It was awful, I wanted to die in that most horrible moment of my life.  Inside I went all numb. I felt so hopelessly trapped, completely helpless and felt his cold hands groping my breasts. 
This was when I had the picture of the dark abyss in my head for the first time ever. I felt I stood at the edge and would fall into this pitch dark place any moment. This is the only place I’d never in my life want to be in, because you are all alone in it and your only companions there are sorrow, despair and hopelessness. You are lost in that place, because everything pleasant remains outside. I have always been one who visualizes everything very colourful, in the brightest colours possible and I love colours. They are a wonderful part of my life. And the abyss is only black.

They tore my blouse open and I heard the distinct sound of my buttons falling down on the floor. "NO!" I think I screamed that but it could also just have been a whisper. One pushed my bra up so that it felt as if the straps cut into me. I was virtually naked in front of them and felt so full of shame about it. I struggled again, but got hit in the face immediately. Once, twice, a third time. I think I was conscious all the time, but the following moments I do not recall. I have no memory of these seconds, and all I remember is that I tried struggling again in a final effort to get away. That came unexpected, for them and for me. It was as if I had almost drowned and tried to breathe a last time. I kicked out again and hit René, who had already opened his jeans and stood there with his private parts on display. I did not want to see any of it. I wanted to be away.
I did not manage to hit him there, but I had hit him somewhere and they were all so surprised, that the two on my left let me go and I fell from the desk. It was all chaos in that moment. I screamed and screamed “Help me! Anybody, help!” before I got a kick in the stomach and face and almost lost my senses. It hurt, but that did not matter, no, but the feeling that I’d give up was there and that mattered. I did not resist any longer, I just could not and tried to detach from the outside and find a hiding place inside me. 
Feet were shuffling around me, someone spoke, and a second later I heard loud, deep calls and something like commands from the corridor. They let go of me and turned away, they tried to escape from whoever was there. I grabbed my jacket and hid in it, tried to cover my body and crouched into one of the corners, away from them and so that no one would see me. I did not want to be seen by anybody. I felt shaking all over and only wanted to get away, to disappear. I was still more naked than anything else and those monsters had seen me, touched me and only a second later they would have done the worst I could imagine.
When the police arrived, they immediately brought a blanket, I recall that. It was warm. I also remember clearly the look in my dad’s eyes, when they brought me out. He was crying and looked as if he had seen his personal nightmare come true. I know that he talked to me, to comfort me, but I have no idea what he said and there are blank spots in my memory from the moment the police arrived to the moment when the doctor came to examine me in hospital. I had to answer questions, if possible. I hated the examination, although the doctor really did her best and was friendly and supporting from the start. It is strange that I still recall everything unpleasant and horrible, but the moments of comfort are gone, for the major part. I don’t know why and would have wished it were the other way round.

Later, I learned that Amy had called my parents because I was nowhere to be found and my dad had been on his way to the school building, to see if I was somewhere around. He had found some who knew the house where we had gone to and since he could not get into the building, he had called the police. At the time when they arrived, it had been clear that something was wrong inside and they had broken the door to find us quickly. Just in time.

The aftermath of it felt like a plethora of embarrassment and shame for me. I stayed home for a few days only because I knew that it would only be worse if I did not show up. Some knew what had happened and more so had heard rumours. You can imagine how easy it is to turn the victim into the culprit, based on rumours. I went to see the psychologists for months and talking about it helped.
I had seen more police than I ever wanted to, the boys were charged with sexual assault and according to the rumours some of the boys thought that it would be a good idea to let me tell everything all over again, because they seriously tried to state that I had consented to sexual activities with them. 
When I heard that I was so upset that I felt the abyss come closer again. I missed a few days at school again, went to therapy, hid from everybody but my best friend. She was there when I really needed her and since I was a complete mess at that time, it was difficult for her to be with me, too. I know how much she suffered because of me and I tried to show her how much that meant to me. The haematomas, the buttons of my blouse, my mental state when they had found me and the descriptions given by the doctors who had examined me closely, proved what had happened. Of course, the judge spared me from repeating all that had happened. I should not have listened to rumours in the first place.

They were all sentenced to prison and therapy. As I only learned far later, after I had finished school, I was not the first.

The drawer with the secrets
Now, twenty years later, the 3rd  March is only a distant memory. But the thought comes back, every year. The pictures come back. Now and then they are like a nightmare, when I perceive glimpses of me struggling, remember the sounds and their faces. I can push these pictures away now, I have learned that, just as I have learned that I am never ever going to be a victim again. I think I’d rather die than let that happen to me. The description of this event  is personal and revealing. Still, I do not put all I feel into words, I never do that when I blog. 

There will always be a little bit left just for my husband and me. It is easy to write about how to spank, describe a scene, a punishment, ramble about whatever. But I have a little drawer with my personal belongings, just like everybody has it – or should have. Not everything is meant for the public eye. I can open this little drawer and put some secrets in, or take them out. Just like I had the story about the 3rd of March in it and took it out.
I think I have done that because it has grown again, due to my blogging. When you start writing so much about all the things that you do, see and feel, you expose yourself. It is not only that others see you. It is like a new mirror, with a different point of view. And I see a lot from a different angle lately. 
Some I like, some I don’t like. It doesn’t matter, but this new mirror brought the 3rd of March back to me. I can still push the pictures away, but they linger in the back, longer and with more influence on me than they have had for a long time. Don't worry, I for one think I am not more mental than you are.
Sorry if I sound so melodramatic, but this event has shaken me a lot when it happened and  I actually have a little white chest of drawers which I love a lot and have always thought that’s where my drawer with the secrets should be in. It looks like one built in the times of Louis-Quatorze, You can see some traces of former times in it, but I love that it is not perfect and I love the little imperfections, where the colour has turned into light grey. Hubby would say it has character. :)  

A few weeks ago I realized how these old events escaped my little drawer with the secrets. It happened when I mentioned them online and stated that they were only a past memory. That was when the drawer opened and the memory came out again and it has been part of my thoughts every day for these last weeks. They are familiar thoughts, but usually I can forget them, for another year, after 3rd March has passed. 

I think this year everything was just aggravated by the loss of a loved friend who I miss a lot because I had expected her to be well again sooner or later and the opposite happened. In addition, a few days later another friend of our family passed away, which I never mentioned here, because the story behind it is another truly dramatic tragedy. So, as a result, this last December was a rotten one for us and we tried –successfully- to brighten up our lives with love and affection. 

I'd also like to apologize to one I spoke to in the D&L chat one Sunday night, early in January. I used that phrase with the rotten December there when everybody else was light-hearted and I believe I caused some embarrassment or irritation in that moment, which was not what I had wanted to. I just broke a basic rule of conversation unwittingly when something like 'How are you' comes up because in that very moment some of this last December came up again. Sorry for that.
Now it is January and I have thought back to the 3rd March all the time. ‘What did I do wrong’? I did not do anything wrong. I know that, but try to tell the subconscious. These things happen to many girls or women and I know that I am among the very lucky ones, because the baddies were stopped right in time. I am very grateful for that and I have moved on from this past event. 

I only wish that I could return and warn myself or help the fifteen year old girl a little earlier. I think I already wrote somewhere in my blog that I am huge fan of ‘Being Erica’. Well, you can probably see one (small)  reason for it in what I described here.
But the truth is, dreary as this sad event was, I do consider myself lucky and I have not only learned to live with it, I have accepted it and can put it aside. I can close the little drawer of secrets, but sometimes I need to push a bit harder to do so, I guess.


For the sake of anonymity, I changed all names or left them out. Even theirs.


I don’t think that I’ll be here often this week, because I still have to prepare a lot for our trip home in February and therefore won’t have enough time to write. If I do find time, I’ll write more cheerful entries again because I have written more than I wanted to about negative events now, so that I am craving positive thoughts more than ever. ;) 

Saturday, January 25, 2014

The underground incident

“It’s pretty late, maybe I should have ordered a taxi, instead of going by underground? No, I’ll enjoy the ride”
The wagon was almost empty. At first there were still a few passengers boarding the train, but the longer the ride was, the less they became. We were heading  into the outskirts, in the darkest time of the year, late November. Nobody wanted to be outside, not around eleven pm in cold damp weather. Maybe I should have reconsidered before I entered the train. Nobody, especially not a woman, should be out here at night, almost alone.
I looked around, two people were there. One was a middle-aged man who looked as if he had worked overtime and he could not even keep his head up, as tired as he was. He was not dangerous, he would rather need help, in case of a mugging. Who was sitting over there? A few meters away,  at the other end of the wagon, a little woman sat. Where could she have been from? She sat there with a stoic expression, trying not to attract any attention. She wore this empty stare like a coat that was meant to protect her from harm. Where from? Turkey?  I’d assume the skin would be a little lighter than hers was? Who am I to know?! Anyway, if she had not had this empty stare, her eyes would have been most beautiful.

The dark grey coat covered most of her silhouette. The next moment I followed the lines of her pitch black hair with some grey streaks in it to see what hairstyle she wore. She had it all in a tight bun, but one streak had come out of it and fell to the side. This little streak made her look younger, almost like a student. How old could she be? I observed her, tried to see the lines in her face. There were few, and the lines around her mouth and eyes were not from age. It was sorrow, or frustration. At least it looked like it. Suddenly she looked puzzled. Oh, look, there was life in her eyes. They were dark brown and now they were marvelous. She had big doe eyes and for a short moment her eyes gave her away. Her thoughts were about a very pleasant moment. Her eyes grew soft and mild and at the same time, her mouth almost flashed a smile. The moment was over as quickly as it had come. Her eyes moved around, to check if anybody had seen her smile. I looked away, tried to see anything outside the wagon windows. She could be of Afghan or Pakistani origin. James had some stories to tell about that. Those stories were always exciting. They were tragedies or comedies. And if there were women in them, he described them like her.

There was nothing but darkness, the wagon rolled from the left to the right in endless monotony. I closed my eyes and slowly started to drift away. But I was still aware of the train movement, as it decelerated and finally stopped. Lurching steps. The tired man left the train. We moved again.  There was nothing  but the monotonous sound of the train. Four more stations to go and then a short walk home before I’d be with James  again. I thought back to our talk during lunch. ‘When will you be back? Don’t walk alone. Get a taxi, it is safer. I know you are a big girl. I want you safe. Promise.’ Well, here I was. Not in a taxi, but then again, this was a safe part of town. I could worry about the promise later. Nothing dangerous would happen here.

The train stopped again and I saw people in the lights of the station. The door opened and five young men entered. They were drunk. They were loud. They were rude. They were trouble. When you  see  such guys, you immediately know what they are. Even I do know that and James had warned me repeatedly. I remained calm. Looked into the darkness. “Hey you stupid whore!” They were real trouble. They were racists. The group of five had gathered around the only other passenger left, the little woman who I had assumed was from Pakistan or Afghanistan. I could see her, staring down, trying to hide from those louts. She never looked up or said a word. They were ridiculing her. Her skin, her language, though she never spoke. They poked her, started to harass her, touched her chest. She did not react and that was wrong. I could see those bastards triumphing over their helpless victim. It was unfair. They were five. They were strong. They were idiots and I hate idiots. And they harassed her and I knew how that felt. “Leave her alone! Leave her or I’ll call the police!” I heard myself shout. I stood up and did not know what to do now. Attention attention, the girl who talks first and thinks second is there again. I had not called the police yet and they would not give me that chance now.
The moment I stood up, there was complete silence. At least it felt like it. The train moved. They all turned into my direction. Even the little woman did. She showed relief for a moment, before her stare went blank again. She went into hiding from those brutes, as before. I felt as if I was alone with those guys now. Maybe that was true. “Eyh, that’s none of your business, c***!” Yes, I had their attention. “What are you, a f****** P**** whore friend?! I am gonna smash your face! F**** you, get lost or I’ll ****** you” What was that, now? They turned away from me? They really thought they had intimidated me. They had turned towards the little woman again and I took out my mobile and called the police as quietly as I could. Those guys were all around her and I could see that she was mortally afraid. “Stop that you bastards! I have called the police and they’ll be here any minute!”

I went closer. I did not feel anything I had expected to.  No hate, no fear, no worry. But I was no robot either. I thought about James. Now out of all moments, he was in my thoughts and I almost smiled, because he always had some proverb or motto at hand. Once he had said “Stand your ground” and it never left me again. This was all I needed. Those brutes did not know me and I’d be smashed to pieces in a minute, but I would not let them have their way with the little woman. I went to them and pushed my way through to her. They did not stop me, but pushed back and there was a lot of swearing from their side. I turned towards them again. Heard new disgusting insults and could smell this revolting mix of alcohol, cigarettes and sweat. Those critters were close to losing control completely. Five guys and two women. No way out, no help near. The police would not be here in time and we all knew that.  Those ruffians became louder and were already in a rage. It had not turned out the way they had wanted it to be. I had interfered and now I had fallen silent again and they’d bully the two of us or worse.

Suddenly there was one who swore and pushed me back, so that I fell onto my only friend in here. She froze in her seat, I could feel it, she was unable to cope with the situation. While I was so close to her, I could smell Jasmine. It was only a light scent, but I thought ‘It would be nice If that was her name.’ In all that noise around me, this was what I thought about. I never understood what the ruffians shouted at us, but I stood again and pushed back and became louder. “You bloody Nazi racists, is that all you can do?! Only out for the weak?! You are cowards. You don’t have the guts to choose one your size! Even my little sister is braver than you poor wimps. Go get yourself a life and don’t bother those who can’t defend. You are the most embarrassing…” Where did I get these words from?! At first it had worked. They had stopped, but only a second, before they started insulting me again. Maybe I should consider a career as a firestarter. It definitely worked here and I had heated up the situation more than ever. Really clever!
“Go for the f****** whore c****!” The next I felt was that I was pushed back again by some Mike, Michael or Mica, and he tried to poke into my breasts and pushed me back down. Back onto the little woman. She was still in shock. I cursed and came up again from the seat with her in it. “Stop that you asshole!” I pushed his hands away, tried to hit them, but he was too fast for that. They were cursing, because I was no victim like the other one and they pushed me back again. I swore at them, and grabbed the woman behind me, to get her up, into the direction of the door

‘We must get away! But where to?’ I thought. She followed, as I tried to push through the guys, but they would not let us pass. They made jokes, because we could not get away. I never want to be in situations where I have to fight physically, but I knew that I would have started a fight any second to get us out of this wagon. The guys were aggressive and harassed us, because I, as a single woman, had opposed them and told them what they were. And I could feel my frustration grow as I realized that I was not strong enough to push through those idiots and my little Jasmin behind me was no help either. Each of them was far taller than the two of us. Each of them looked as if they had all their brains in their arms and fists only. Each of them was out to play with us before they’d finally do worse than just harass us. I had my fists clenched. ‘Whatever will be will be; let me hit them at least once before they can knock me down.’ I felt the train become slower and slower. It was now or never. ‘I am not going to be the victim you idiots want me to be.’ I thought and was ready to strike, as suddenly the little woman pushed to the side, towards the door and pulled me away. As I turned, I pushed into the same direction. I only felt something hit me in the back, like fists and I staggered into my friend, thank god that had sent me into the direction of the door. It had not hurt too much, so I turned around and saw them laughing, drinking and heard the insults again. The door opened and we almost fell out of the wagon and went away from it. Our attackers remained inside, though they still tried to hit us with half emptied beer cans.  They had no intention to follow us and a short moment later the door closed, as we moved away from the platform. We went to the entrance and since there was a taxi-rank, I pulled her with me and we went into the last taxi that was left.

Her name was not Jasmine, too bad. She was grateful that I had tried to help her, although my actions had not helped her and maybe even made the situation worse. I don’t know. I was grateful that she was there and helped me, because things might have become worse than what we had experienced. We only had a short ride in the taxi and after she had left, I was driven home. James was already waiting and was not amused when he heard what had happened. I had been late, which was no problem, because I had returned home in one piece and uninjured. I had to make another call to the police and a good time later a police patrol came and had me report everything again.
I did not tell them what I had said to those five, because I am not proud of that. But I had seen no other way than being rude myself in that moment. Actually I had not thought about what insults left my mouth. I did not want to show weakness towards those five. And I still believe their reactions would have been worse if I had. Besides even though I felt shaken once it was over, there was nothing like panic when we were in the wagon and I am a little proud of that. It’s a personal success for me, just to know that I stood my ground.

Once the officers were gone again, I turned around to hubby, because I was fully aware of the fact that I had not done what he had told me to. ’If only I could be better when it counts’. Hubby took my hands and went upstairs with me. I knew I was in for it. No taxi, but underground. No safety, but a brawl. In the bedroom I was told to undress, though not in that strict and demanding way he’d use for punishment. He took me by my hand again and put me right into the bed. Not for punishment. “I am happy that you are here again, alive and unharmed.” Wow, that’s unexpected. We cuddled. “Forget the taxi. You know it was a mistake, I know it was a mistake. Never do that again, or else….” By the looks in his face, I wouldn’t sit for a year, if I ever pulled that stunt again. “I am very proud of you. You did the right thing, luv.” This was the moment where I could not  do anything but cry. I did not get a punishment and instead James had said that I had done the right thing. He was proud. I loved him so much because he had said that and I felt so much relief. All my pent up emotions had waited for this moment only. I could not stop crying for a long time, James was there for me and  held me, showed how much he cared. I could virtually see all sorts of feelings parade through my body and leave me behind relaxed and relieved. I could virtually see frustration, anger, fear, insecurity, doubts, helplessness, guilt, shame and many more, before finally joy was almost the only feeling I had, once all others were gone.
What we did next does not matter now, but it felt fantastic and the following evening we had a nice dinner in one my favourite restaurants.

None of these five louts got caught. They were gone before the police had been there. I have seen ‘Jasmine’ one more time on a train but we have had no further contact otherwise.

(James: I changed hubby’s name, when I think about him, I do so in connection with his first name or Master most  times
Sorry for the rude language. I really had thought about using *** all the time, but it really looked silly. Besides, those guys used these expressions and many more on us and I think I have already reduced the number of these to a minimum)

Thursday, January 23, 2014

DD in the vanilla world - a well meant warning

Compared to my last post about communication between men and women, this one will be dead serious. The place we live in is favourable for our way of life. We have a house, a garden and no nosy neighbours within earshot, at least we can keep everything unobtrusive if we close the window. ... And that's exactly what we do.
We would never recommend to tell anybody about ttwd. Even less so, if you are just like Joe Bloggs. The idea behind this is avoiding unnecessary trouble which can threaten more than just your reputation. Once you've lost your reputation, you have nothing left to lose? I wouldn't bet on that. Being a social outcast can be a burden. Maybe this could be solved if you left the area and moved elsewhere. But what about friends? Not everybody you want to be friends with, is able to understand that whacking your wife is nice, can be a fulfilling and thrilling experience and does not demean her the least, but shows your affection towards her. In other cases, once she is known as a sexslave, some men might try to harass her, or worse. Again, not everybody is able or willing to understand that the agreement of safe, sane and consensual between two people was meant to enhance the relationship of those  two, and none of that was meant as an invitation for others.

What about your job? Are you a freelancer where stories of your amorous adventures might increase your income? Well, perfect, go on, whip your willing sexslave right in your office, listen to the sound of your cash register and enjoy. But, if the major part of your income is based on your blameless reputation, well, close the window, shut the door, don't let anybody know how much you enjoy beating the bottom of your loving and very willing wife. She'll get rid of the money you earned with your job, later, don't worry about that. :) Discretion is the key. Since hubby  deals with people who look closely at their business partners and whether they have an unblemished reputation, anything but keeping a low profile would cause problems for him. Ok, so commonsense tells us, to do ttwd without others knowing.

Nevertheless, there is this urge to communicate about ttwd. Admittedly, it is more my urge than hubby's. But I have only told a few friends after asking hubby first. We have discussed it and he could simply have forbidden it and nobody would have known anything. But since we are talking about those friends who have heard worse from me than that we do ttwd, the risk was acceptable. Besides, I started out by testing them, to see their reactions and found out some juicy details I had not been told about before, as well.
But there have been others, where we could not reckon what the outcome would be, so we never lost a single word about what we do - and never will. Those trusted few know that this is the kind of information you cannot pass on. They would not, anything else would be an unexpected and very unpleasant surprise.

Did we tell the family? Yes and no. Some know, more from hubby's family than from mine. Is it a topic that we discuss much with them? I have never heard hubby discuss it with his brothers, but his sisters-in-law know a bit about us and told a bit from their personal experience. I would never discuss that with his brothers, but with the sils who also do ttwd, I have done so (only DD, nothing beyond that). Would I tell my parents or wish they ever found out any of it? No way, José. They would simply not understand and a lot of problems could result from them knowing.

Before telling anybody anything about DD as part of your life, test those you want to inform first. You'll be surprised, how intolerant people might suddenly appear to you, if you start talking about DD. Many are simply uninformed and unwilling, most are prejudiced. Therefore, I would not advise telling anybody about it at all. If you have this urge, try to make sure that you really chose someone who you can trust absolutely and who will not end their friendship with you, or who will start attacking your partner, or call the police. Accordingly, you should not let your wish of telling somebody interfere with the sober assessment of the pros and cons. And don't decide against your partner's wishes, that's probably the worst you could do.

Wednesday, January 22, 2014

If I could only keep my big mouth shut

... at least sometimes. It all started with good intentions. I wanted to tidy up the office and so I did. Not without rearranging some of the books and items that hubby needs every day. I put some of that into a lower shelf than where it used to be.
 This is where the trouble began. Tidying up is one of my chores, I keep everything in the house neat and clean, so there was no problem from that side, I thought. Well, this does not exactly include rearranging things that are needed and have to be at hand immediately. I simply did not think about it.
Actually, my first thoughts were that hubby/Master would like it, because everything was so neat
Later, when hubby came home, I told him that I had tidied up the office. He liked the idea, of course, but did not know yet what I meant with that. As I was to find out soon, our ideas on tidying up the office were different ones this day. First, at dinner, all was fine. Afterwards, while I went to the kitchen, hubby entered the office. It only took about ten seconds before he called me. I went there immediately, still thinking I had done a good job.
Hubby stood in front of the shelves and looked up and down to see where his things were. Ok, not exactly the kind of reaction I had hoped for, in the first place. Hubby was not angry or annoyed. I explained what I had done and hoped to get the recognition I thought I deserved. Instead he told me to put the things of his back to the place I had taken them from.
Now it turned into a critical moment. I could have asked why and could have tried to understand the reasons for hubby's rejection. Indeed I did ask 'why'? But, as is a bad habit of mine, I was not inclined to listen and think. Hubby's main reasons were two, which I can understand fully now, after a good night.

First, I had not asked about putting his things in his office elsewhere. Ok, I could understand that, but I did not want to accept that. Bad girl.

Second, hubby is almost one head taller than I. His things were close to the bottom of the shelves now. I could still reach them, but since he is one head taller than I, it was a problem for him.
Yep, size matters :) 

And then I started arguing ....  . Sometimes, when I look back, I feel so bad and I am embarrassed about myself because of my silly reactions. I felt criticised, did not want to admit that the mistake was all mine and I could have put everything back without a fuss. Hubby had acknowledged my good intentions and tried to keep the whole situation out of the critical zone, by being relaxed, by giving me (admittedly, valid) reasons to do as he had said and I kept talking back, did not listen, was agitated.
Hubby even warned me to stop arguing before it would be too late and I just did  not. Somehow I could not stop and felt unable to listen. I still have no real idea why it went this way from my side, because the whole incident was only a minor one, but I turned it into something far bigger than it deserved to be and all I can say is that I felt disappointed and a bit hurt at that time. Hubby had seen parts of that coming, I think, because I had turned from someone who wanted to be praised for a good job into someone completely upset. I felt like losing ground in that moment, and it hit me unexpectedly.

Once my first fit was over, I could already see and accept that I had blundered. Not with my actions in the office, but with my reactions even after hubby had shown so much understanding which was brought forward with all patience and good-will that you could wish for.

The result of it all was a sound spanking and I accepted that gladly because it felt more than right once I could think clearly again. When the spanking started, it only took a short time until I cried and that felt like I could let out a huge burden. The whole situation had created so much frustration inside me that I had not had any way of letting it go in time. Then I would not have been spanked at all. Instead, I got a moderate spanking only, but that was more than enough for me.
It was less about punishing me, though that was part of it. It was more for giving me the chance to let go and recover from a situation I had taken so badly. Afterwards, hubby spared me from cornertime, instead he took me to bed, where we spent some time together, -talking- and hugging, before I finally fell asleep, happy, relaxed, feeling loved and cared for and dead tired.