Disciplined Gardening

I will be very honest and say that I will never, ever, appear on one of those unbearably cheerful television shows, kitted out in the most horrendous dress and waving around a garden fork in a gloved hand while spewing out the Latin names of plants.

Well, okay - you are not even going to get the English plant names out of me. Nor I am going to stand there with ruddy sunburnt cheeks telling you what you should or should not plant, simply because I can barely distinguish a rose from a daffodil.

And that brings me to my current prediction. I have met a wonderful Dom and as our friendship is growing, I have recently been asking him quite a lot of questions about general stuff that I still need to find my way around. Sadly, sometimes, I do not think before I speak - or write in this instance.

So, I approached C, after we had some wonderful weather, lamenting my now extremely overgrown garden and my total lack of talent in the horticulture sector. 

I explained the garden's layout, going into detail about the willow tree that seems to be on steroids and the weeds underneath it trying to outgrow it. I raised my concern around the three bamboo bushes that appear to multiply by the day and the creeper that I think had the starring role in The Little Shop of Horrors. 

Now he has given me some great advice to do a little bit of work, but often, however, I still do not think a flamethrower or dynamite would be the correct solution for the creeper. However,  out of all my garden issues, what did C fixate on? Not my dire fear of being chased and consumed by the descendants of the Triffids in my back garden, or the fact that I might be carried away by the slugs and spiders.

Although he finds my fear of death by plants and bugs quite amusing, C zoned in with the deadly accuracy of a sniper on the fact that there are three bamboo bushes and a willow tree. In my garden. Belonging to me. 

His target range estimation between my bottom and these four plants are according to him, spot on with an imminent execution. He is gleefully talking about willow switches and the fact that I can even go and cut my own, to hand over to him. I often hear similar sentiments about the bamboo bushes. 

What!!?? 

To make matters worse, I am being asked every day how the little but often gardening regime is going. So far, I have managed for this past week to come up with very good excuses but the reality is that I am thinking about it often but have done little. Until today that is. 

I was gently informed that garden inspection time is coming up, with the necessary direction and correction if results are not satisfactory. Oh, and that I do not need to be concerned about the form of device that will be used for the modification of behaviour. He is looking forward to us together inspecting the willow tree in depth!

There goes my restful weekend, as I will now, of course, have to dedicate it asking around and looking for flamethrowers and dynamite...

Communication 101

As I have recently decided to slowly inch my way back into the world of kink again, I took the decision to update my profile on a kink website with some minor details. I am fully aware that this is a kink site, however, kink or no kink, I have received some messages that absolutely test the limit of my patience, tolerance and sense of humour.

"The man who does not read, has no advantage over the man who cannot read" (Mark Twain)

My profile clearly states I am submissive only. I am at a loss whether there is any other way that I can state this or whether I should insert the definition as one would find in a dictionary. I am uncertain though whether it will stop the various invites, of which some are very graphic and to the point, requesting my talents as a Mistress or Dominatrix. Those type of messages only get one response: Please read my profile and consult dictionary if so required.

My profile also nowhere states that I am into swinging, well apart from the swings in a park which perhaps I will still consider to attempt. Funny that  - I never received another invite.

And for those who send me the " Hi, are you busy this weekend, I feel like a quick f**k"...I will remain busy until hell freezes over - refer to your left or right hand.

"What do you take me for? A fourteen karat sucker?" (Stanley Kubrick)

Following the above, please believe me that I do read the profiles of people that send me messages. In one such instance, the person on his profile professed to be quite the academic, stating that he is a well versed individual and world traveller. I do not expect essays, however, six words, two sentences? With spelling mistakes? Seriously? And for the last bloody time, Africa is a continent, South Africa is at the bottom of the continent - one of many countries in Africa!!!

"Men read maps better than women because only men can understand the concept of an inch equalling a hundred miles" (Roseanne Barr)

Finally, I think that my absolute pet hate is the messages that I receive from senders proudly referring me to their profile photo/s that are displaying their dangly bits with no other actual message. Now some will be a clear attempt to reflect that they proudly possess a meter long king kong dong and others will proudly proclaim their ability to stand to attention. I am not quite sure what I must do with this visual information? Should I be impressed, grateful that a great honour is bestowed upon me or perhaps build an altar where I can bow down in eternal supplication? 

I am sometimes at a loss for words, which I may add, takes quite a bit. The fact that I am part of a kink site does not mean that I automatically will not be offended. If people choose to display photos of themselves in which ever way,  I have absolutely no issue with it. Each to his own - but it does not mean that an assumption can be made that I will find it acceptable to receive a message only referring to said body parts. Nor do I have to accept messages from people that misrepresent themselves, or who does not even bother reading or trying to understand what I am saying in my profile. 

Having said all of this, I do know that there are some good folk on the website as I have recently discovered again (thank you Charlie!). To these people, a huge thank you - it is a place where I do feel more at home and can have interaction with like minded people.

A Dragon's Song

He did not say anything when she arrived, but stood quietly, waiting patiently until she had removed all her clothes. It was not only the act of removing her garments; it was a removal of her defences, her protection, leaving only an offering - naked, open and in his hands. When the last piece of clothing sagged onto the floor, he turned away, not looking back as he walked into the house, knowing that she will follow. In the large room with the clock and dark furniture, he had prepared for her - an altar of his choice, only waiting for her. 

 

As she took in the sight of what awaits, her nipples hardened, and she knew that he was aware, but yet, even as he bound her, not a word was exchanged. He carefully ensured that the cane was left in her sight during this time, a dragon cane. She could see the terribleness, the loveliness in the smooth, thick bamboo, she could imagine the hard promises of its fiery kisses, and a heat started burning inside her. He gently placed the cane over the back of her knees and walked away, his footsteps muffled by the thick carpet. 

 

In her open, displayed nakedness, air was gently folding over her, softly caressing her, her body responding without qualms, she was swollen and moist. As she made a small movement, she could feel the crackling leather underneath her knees, but no allowance would be given to her now - she was bound to her situation, her choice, her needs, and her desire. She could feel the cane as it was resting on her legs and she was yearning to feel the burn, leaving hot, warm stripes of exquisite pain across her sensitive flesh.

 

She could smell the heavy oversweet scent of the dark shining mahogany. The polished grooves were cool against her skin where her hips touched it. The uncompromising cold embrace of the metal around her wrists kept her hands together in the small of her back, her palms open in what could be interpreted as a near entreating gesture. The alternating sensations of coldness were in concert and maybe, with slight sympathy, small whispers of goose bumps were raised over and over on her skin, spiralling into heat and moistness between her legs. The heat was amplified with her desire, her wish for his return, and her anguish at waiting for him.

 

The deep silence in the room was only broken by the tick of the grandfather clock and out of the corner of her eye she could see the pendulum slowly swinging from side to side, counting down the seconds. She has lost track of time, not that it mattered anymore, as she has forsaken her identity, her being, for this moment, this infinite moment of acquiescence. She knew he will return, she knew he will gently feel her heat, her wetness - test her readiness and if she was, he will remove the cane from the back of her legs. For then, he will create her desire, a song, a dragon’s song...

My gratitude to China Hamilton for allowing the use of his images.

 

A bit of advice

Another long period of time that "Raven believes that blogs update themselves" has gone past!

 

Erm...yes, Uncle Nick, save the sarcasm...SIGH!

 

I have finally arrived in the UK after frantically finishing off all my responsibilities and duties with my previous employer. I would rather want to forget about the packing and unpacking of my personal belongings. I soon realised that with the airline's baggage weight restrictions, whilst trying to fit everything in, also meant that I should have budgeted another two days or so trying to make things weigh lighter.

 

Not that it quite worked...the damn luggage was still over the required weight, but thank the gods above for a ground crew member irritated with her boss. Her massive sulk combined with my strategically well placed sympathy saved me quite a bit of money! It is now three weeks later, and I am still pinching myself, not quite believing that this time I do not have to get on a plane soon to leave again.

 

Taking into account that with rather being occupied in other areas for the past couple of months, my bottom has been reasonably well protected, but my arrival in the UK, coupled with being around Uncle Nick meant that sooner or later (and trust me...it was the sooner bit that came first), I would start gravitating towards the “I think I need to be spanked” thoughts. However, I am a realist - the nice tingly thoughts of wanting to be spanked continuously did get confronted by the cold (hot would be more apt) reality that when Uncle Nick gets hold of your bottom, you definitely know it. I swear his hand is harder than a rock!

 

Believe it or not, I am also quite a “good girl” most of the time, and for the rest, I tread carefully - I really do try and stay out of trouble. All of this only resulted in days of trying to decide whether I really do want to be spanked (Yes!!) taking into account the hardness of the hand that will be doing the spanking (No!!) whilst knowing that my carefully controlled good behaviour would mean that I actually will have to ask for the spanking...which started the circle of contemplation all over again.

 

At least the issue has now been resolved, although not quite in the manner than I anticipated. All I have to say -  do NOT go and sit on a cold wall and when all feeling have left your derriere, go up to a spanker and turn around lifting your skirt telling him to feel how cold your bottom is...

 

Some clarity required?

Perhaps the question was not clearly understood, but this is the short version of a conversation after it was established that the “available” Dominant male might NOT be so available:

“Does your girlfriend know about your alternative interests and actions?”

“Yes, but we do not discuss it”

“I am not prepared, nor want to be, the cause of any issues between the two of you”

“Do not worry, you will not be”

Let us now proceed to the phase where actions such as composing and sending text messages that openly and graphically declare kink intent of a certain kind to a third party, whilst at the same time leaving the mobile phone in range of said girlfriend, are simply beyond my comprehension. Clearly the expression about the cat and curiosity was never clearly explained to this particular individual.

Then...the cherry on the top of this delicious recipe for disaster...a frantic text message:

“Do not call me until I call you” with a total and utter shutdown in communication thereafter.

Later that day...another text message received from an unknown number which notified me of my level of perversion, her thoughts about my level of perversion, well, suffice to say, said level was a couple of feet below ground with a clear indication that evil little red men with horns and forks must be my only friends. Oh, and some fervent hopes and wishes that I should die a horrible death.

My opinions?

Her:

I fully understood her anger and rage – I would be just as angry, because clearly she did not know anything about his desire to dominate, control and punish. In fact, I would be angrier – because this person that professed wanting to marry me (information included in text message), did not have the openness or courage to even attempt to discuss or explain what BDSM was about. Great way to build a relationship...

Him:

I am not sure when the “until I call you” bit is going to happen – seeing that it has now been over three months, I rather do suspect that it is never, not that I mind though – I have low tolerance for cowards and assholes in general. Yes, I know – bad language...naughty, naughty girl I am...so spank me, be assured, at least I will not lie about it!

The whole debacle:

I know and realise that I am most probably in a “better” position than most. I am not in a relationship where I might have to hide things, but on the other hand, I have never been a person to hide crucial details that I think another should know. I am in a consensual relationship where my desires to be submissive and to be spanked/punished are clearly understood, as it is also accepted without prejudice that it is an integral part of my sexual being.

I truly appreciate that not all people can or is willing to disclose what they perceive as their “darker side” to another. I have also come to the realisation that for me, this is who I am, and I have accepted the fact that I will never be able to be fully happy within a vanilla relationship. However, for some, whatever the kink might be, it is a fantasy, something to get the sexual juices all fired up and they might or might not get involved with some play, but once it is all over, they go back to their vanilla lives.

 My message for those individuals that do hide little secrets away from their dear ones and do not want the kink to infringe on their vanilla lifes, please belief me when I say that I do understand, BUT, if you do want to play and are playing – please do me this small little favour – at the least, have some respect for the person that you are playing with and have the damn courage to be honest about yourself and your lies.

Oh, and one last thing – utilise those brain cells –when the urge overcomes you to compose text messages to other parties detailing your kinky desires, every mobile phone does have a delete function...it is highly recommended that you should familiarise yourself with it.

Intentions

It was never my intention to land up in a situation where my blog no longer featured in my daily rituals, but somehow I quite nicely manage to do just that. My somewhat disastrous adventures into the local BDSM scene, coupled with volunteering for a “twenty-week that lasted for twenty six weeks” project at work in addition to everything else I was busy with resulted in a complete stop in activities that in hindsight would have rather be the more preferred options.

Every now and again, obviously without a hint of sarcasm in his voice (yeah right!), Uncle Nick had to make this statement about “certain” people that think blogs update themselves. To be fair, although I would receive a lecture quite on a regular basis about taking on things that I never should have in the first place, Uncle Nick had been remarkably patient with me. It is rather concerning though that the question when last I saw HH, seems to be on an increased and regular repeat pattern lately.

As for HH, he is rather more down to the point regarding his demands about the blog. Taking into consideration that our regular chats also had diminished behind the evil wall of work, the “Get back to your blog!!” message was rather hard to miss on these occasions. Oh, and for some reason I am apparently instrumental in the current decline of his cane’s wellbeing. He does rather stress his concerns about it being covered in cobwebs, and although I am still of the opinion that it will do the cane no harm, I do get the message.

So, with the project finally over, and my life seemingly returning to a more normal routine, I can finally pay some attention to my blog again....and well, seeing that I no longer have any valid excuses for tantrums, sulking or unavailability to present my rear-end for cobweb prevention (previously, successfully blamed on project commitments) I suppose HH will be most eager and delighted to return his attention to my rather neglected bottom, with Uncle Nick on the sidelines, grinning in glee...awaiting my moans and groans about a red and tender backside.

Made in China

"Sweetums? Come up here for a second, please". I remembered my fingers becoming motionless over the computer keyboard, where up to then; I was happily researching the place that he was going to take me to for the day. The voice might have been sweet and inviting in its request, but the gods above has abundantly blessed me with self preservation instinct. While frantically wondering what I could have done wrong, I did manage a calm voice when sweetly asking him if he was in need of something downstairs, but then spoiling the attempt and presentation of innocence and calmness when panic overrode all common sense, and the "What have I done?" was blurted out immediately afterwards.

Uncle Nick at this stage had been on the odd occasion making noises about a spanking that was required, but up till then, the effect of sentences that contained "spank, bottom, standing for a week" had an amazing reigning in effect on my quick tongue and well, behaviour in general. I was quite relieved when his reply came that he was only looking for socks or something to that effect, and as such, I happily climbed the stairs to go and help search for whatever he was looking for. This happened about four weeks into the two month visit, and up and until that fateful morning, I have made sure that whenever I was done with brushing my hair, my hairbrush would disappear into a suitcase.

When I laughingly said to him that I really thought I was up for a close and personal encounter of the spanking kind, it did not cross my mind that perhaps before I make any references to spanking, I should scan the room for any bottom harming implements that might have not been put away. I watched him with a sinking heart when he sauntered over to my side of the bed and gleefully held up my hairbrush. I could feel my whole body stiffen whilst listening to him singing the potential praises of his discovery, but we were late, and thank the gods, no spanking was forthcoming. As he placed  the brush back, I was eyeing it - wondering whether I could get it away from him without being caught, but as I glanced at him, I realised that every thought must have been written on my face. Although his, “Do not even think about it!" resounded in the room, it was too late - I lunged to grab  the offending article in question.

As he caught me around the waist, and I grabbed the brush triumphantly, we looked at each other, and then collapsed in laughter - although I will frankly admit, mine was tinged with a bit of pure nerves. He tilted my head back and softly warned me of consequences if the brush did not stay out in the open.  As  I firmly believed, and still do, that my bottom, Uncle Nick and a cane should not occupy the same space, the hairbrush were for the rest of my visit, no longer exposed to deep and dark suitcases.

For the record - Uncle Nick did attempt to start a spanking off with the hairbrush about two weeks later but after the first smack, the brush broke in two. Must admit, I would have loved to see his face when he was left only holding the plastic handle, but unfortunately I was quite pre-occupied with his hand coming down on my bottom after the handle was flung into some corner of the room. Oh, and personally - I will NEVER EVER complain about anything again that boldly states: “Made in China".

Maybe...

Maybe after a month of self-imposed silence, a blog posting fuelled by the assistance of some cocktail named after the sunset and sunrise in one, is not the best idea - but then, on the other hand, alcohol does tend to lend courage where it is lacking at times. It has now been two weeks since I have returned to South Africa, and apart from this dreadful sorrow inside me, I continuously feel as if I am looking in from the outside, watching a person that resembles me, drudgingly making it through day after day.

She seems to keep her head up most of the times, but is quick to drop it - for tears seem to form at any given time. She smiles when requires to do so, but she has heard from more than one person that the smile is not touching her eyes. She feels lost, out of place, not sure where to go anymore. Things that use to pleasure her, no longer does, her heart belongs in a place very far away from where she is. She avoids people, barely making contact with anyone, because her sorrow seems to spill over when she really does not want people to see that side of her.

I know that I should be pulling myself together, to re-adjust, to put the smile back on my face but more importantly back into my heart – but for time being, I shamefully admit, I cannot. I know that the aggression, the resentment is building, I know that the anger is somewhere lurking, and I know that sooner than later I will have to present myself...but I am not quite ready... for it will not be Uncle Nick who pulls me over his lap...and that is what I want more than anything else in the world.

Best behaviour...

It has been a couple of days since I have last posted, but I have been a full time tourist...to poor Uncle Nick's frustration. Tomorrow we are off to the munch somewhere in the middle of London. Now taking into consideration that my feet and legs hurt, and that I urgently require to be able to sit down...I am in the process of trying very hard to stay out of trouble from this moment onwards. There will be no " insolence", arguments or attitude from my side...really...

Avoidance

I have to confess that I have been avoiding my blog. The last week in South Africa before my flight to the UK was filled with seemingly non-stop last minute arrangements and meetings, and I never had a chance to even think about the blog, never mind write or post some images. The reality that I was finally on my way to the UK, only really set in when I was walking through the Frankfurt airport on my way to board the connecting flight.

Even with the excitement bubbling, a dreadful sadness settled over me. Seven weeks to spend with someone I deeply care about, the desperate attempts to slow time down, fill the days with as much as what is possible - but yet, knowing every day that time is limited. Three weeks have already flown past - I have met people and am still due to meet some more. I have seen and experienced places with so many more that I want to see. I have been folded into his arms, held as he promised me he would when we see each other again. I have been on the receiving side of his lectures and some of my offerings of “valid reasons" had resulted in him laughing from the bottom of his toes.

I have been pulled over his lap, a rebellion instantly quelled by his hand bruising my bottom. I have confirmed once again that for my bottom's welfare, the cane he has stashed in his closet should be destroyed. The tawse he so lovingly nurtures - well, words escape me. He has left it out - where I can see it every day, and I have had wonderful ideas about accidental mishaps that could befall that piece of leather...but must admit the courage to follow through is sorely lacking.

In all this time I did not want to blog. The blog reminds me of the escape it offers from being separated from him, being in another country - the tool to use to calm and soothe the hurt. The blog reminds me that the time will soon come again...my hurt, my frustration and sorrow growing as everyday go past, building to that moment where life seems to lose its vibrancy and colours again. I understand world economics, immigration policies, and the difficulties currently experienced in this wonderful country, but as I living my life in this country with him for the couple of days given to us, I also know that I have always been optimistic about life...yet, now, I am only praying for some miracle.

I am no longer sure whether I can survive the sorrow that I know will be arriving soon, or will be able to fight off the bleakness and loneliness that builds every day with the longing and missing. I do not know how much pieces of my life I will have to lose again as I wish it away until I can board a plane again for a bit of time with him...returning to a blog to fill that void and soothe the pain within my soul.

It might take a while but...

Trust a South African girl to go one step furher than the girl in white whose bottom became the focus of everyone, especially Uncle Nick after a certain wedding...



South African model, Candice Boucher made very sure that full attention was paid when stepping onto the red carpet in Cannes...

And I can now go to bed nursing my rather tender bottom, but it is with a smile...

Finally!!

It is finally over. A couple of loose ends to tie off, but it is done. I have been classified as a workaholic in the past, and it had never bothered me, but for this past month and a half, a financial year-end was nothing more than a seemingly endless nightmare. I missed reading the blogs, and my blog postings were done sometimes in so much haste, that I would wonder afterwards if I really did put a post out. As time moved on, and my personal time became less and less, I became withdrawn and sad. I was missing a part of me, not so newly discovered anymore, but so important to me.

Nevertheless, here I am, actually feeling nervous and like a new blogger. Not quite sure what to write, but knowing that there is so much I want to say. Yesterday, Uncle Nick was the first to hear the change in my voice, the lightness returning and my joy shining through. He was also the first to know that for once, I was at home and not at the office where I have been constantly, especially over the past three weeks.

For all you that has left comments on my blog, that sent me mails, and still read what I did at times manage to post, a huge thank you. I have some serious catching up to do, to see what has happened to friends, to say hello and that I have missed them. I have however decided, that if I am still in South Africa for the next financial year-end, I am SO going to pull up a "to do list", delegate it afterwards, and go on extended leave. What the hell, if they are not happy with it, they can join the queue to spank me!

 

My sincere apologies

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Guest Post: HH on his Weight Loss Plan

A year or two ago, I published a Blog on my thoughts regarding a weight loss plan. Having struggled with my weight over the years, I have attended Weighless Meetings and attempted to stick to their plan – which sadly does not allow Whisky, Beer and all the other delicacies that make a man’s life pleasurable.

Whisky and naked innocent, not to paddled bottoms perhaps?

The way it works is that you pay over a hefty membership fee to access their largely lettuce and tomato diet (both of which I despise!!) and get to attend a weekly meeting. Everyone attending the meeting is publicly weighed. Now this is fine if you have lost weight. You get a polite round of applause if you have lost. There is, however, a rather stony silence if you have either maintained or gained from the previous week. A tad embarrassing, but that is it!

Was really the ONLY picture I could find...promise!

Now what if there was a real incentive?

Something like this HH?
Oh...you are talking about me.
She does rather have a nice knife there...

I have absolutely no doubt that a full confession as to why you have not lost weight in the previous week followed by a bare bottom spanking in front of the assembly, would do the trick. Somewhere, Raven had a similar idea. Needing to shed a few pounds, she enlisted the help of a spanker to provide her with some real incentive. The only problem was that he does not always have the time as he is away on business quite often.

Becoming very familiar - this position
(Photo: Pink Report)

Some three weeks ago, she enlisted my help. The deal is that she reports to me every Friday morning as to her progress. Her target is 1 Kg per week – certainly an achievable and realistic target. Failure to reach target means six with the paddle. Of all of the implements at my disposal, the one that Raven fears the most is my paddle. So, I believed we had a good plan in place to provide her with the necessary support to lose weight.

Somehow our plans do not seem to be aligned...
Food wise and bottom wise...
(Photo: The Pink Report)

Well the first report was fine and she achieved target. The same in the second week, but sadly not so in the third week. She also failed to report in on time. Unfortunately, I was away and unable to deliver the required incentive to ensure that she had the necessary motivation to eat sensibly. Needless to say, it seems that the Easter Bunny had overloaded her and she had yet again failed to meet target.

Not MY fault that the Easter Bunny brought so many Hot Cross buns...
(There was no need to turn my bottom into antoher one, though!)

On my return, we discussed her progress, or rather lack thereof, and agreed that some real motivation was necessary. Wednesday evening she arrived to settle her account. Assuming her usual position, bent over my chair, she had a look of horror when I produced the paddle. This miniature cricket bat is a rather special object. It is autographed by two of the giants of modern cricket – Graeme Smith and Ricky Ponting – and will in time, I am sure, become a family heirloom. It also doubles as a damn fine paddle!!

What comes to mind?
Matches, petrol and a big fire...

It certainly did some damage to Raven’s Bottom on Wednesday evening! After 12 strokes (6 for not achieving target and 6 for reporting in late) her bottom was in rather a sorry state. I know it stings like a thousand hornets and despite the fact that her feet were enclosed in rather snazzy boots, there was a great deal of foot movement. A sure sign of her anguish!

Hoping for guilt here...lots of it...

I hope she has no long meetings scheduled, as I have no doubt she will have difficulty in sitting still for protracted periods. I am equally convinced that the message I receive on Friday will be far more positive than the last one!! Good luck Raven, I am holding thumbs for you.

Me too, HH...me too...

We draw near

As this music was written for the voice to be nothing more than an instrument

That the listener is not distracted and only hears the harmonised sound,

My soul reaches out for you,

In search for my own melody,

The song that sets me free from my own boundaries.

Deep in the night, when silence folds around me,

I close my eyes, and remember.

The tips of my fingers feeling the heat of your body,

In my memories, I am tracing your face

And I feel your feather light kiss against my palm.

I feel your arm underneath my hand as I we walk together,

I marvel at the strength within.

I can smell you, as I bury my head against your chest,

My tears staining your shirt,

Yet you never let go.

I feel the imprint of your hand against my skin,

The pain, the redness, the desire for you

My breath catches as my body shudders

Caught between defiance and submission,

 I surrender my soul to you, over and over again.

As I hear the rich timbre of your voice,

The sternness, the lightness, the laughter

In this stillness of an African autumn night,

My soul reaches out for you, the distance of no consequence,

For it is nothing more than Adiemus...we will draw near...

 

 (Music: Adiemus, Karl Jenkins)

Done and Dusted

 My day? Nerves, lots and lots of nerves. Add Uncle Nick to the recipe - terrorising me literally every hour, informing me out of the kindness of his heart how fast time to seem be going...

Finally driving to my doom through Johannesburg, in peak hour, the weather grey, and cold and just to add to my misery - raining. I had to take some very deep breaths, before pressing the button on the intercom, and nearly made a u-turn when his voice said "Come up"

I do not think HH has ever seen me so meek and mild in his life, and I really had a battle to look him in the eyes tonight. When asking him what it was that really had upset him so much with our conversation, he only gave me this slight smile and said, "Cannot remember, I forgot the moment I accepted your apology". This in effect means that I will have to watch my step very carefully in the future...TOP logic I suppose.

At least there was an upside to it all, he did state that I can be perkier next time...well, that was after he had gotten hold of my bottom, I have to add! Twelve with the cane, and thank all the gods in the heavens above, my fervently said prayers of the day were heard - the paddle made no appearance.

It seems that all is forgiven, but a lesson was learned for sure...all that my quick temper and even quicker mouth brought me in the end, was a very warm and tender bottom. I am going to stop writing now; one protesting part of my anatomy is quite insisting that I should seriously consider avoiding any sitting position for a while.

Honesty

In my early twenties, I met a man with whom I fell passionately in love with, he was everything I wanted and more, and I could not quite believe my luck that he seemed to be just as in love with me. However, it was only a fairy tale that ended in such tragedy, not only for me - but also for another girl that was pulled into the web of deceit. He was a fraudster in all the ways you can think of, and for her, her willingness and eagerness to do things out of love, in the end resulted in her taking her own life. He was convicted and sentenced to go to prison, all the glamour and status that everyone had attached to him, stripped away in a blink of an eye. Me?

 

In the days that were to come, I heard from many voices that were dealing with the chaos he left in his wake, that even he admitted, that even after two years of trying, he was unable to move me in the direction of assisting him in his activities. I was chosen not for me, but for the position, I had held in a company. Moreover, like the fool I was, I was totally oblivious to all this. In the aftermath, a lot of attention was paid to the dealings of people within the company, and during this period, two people were going out of their way to spread the nastiest of rumours about me.

I do not remember much of the days that did follow, I was broken on so many levels that I could barely function. One day, I was called into a manager's office, where I was informed that the investigations were over. The two people that were so active in smearing my name were found to be involved in their own little money making scams, however, no wrongdoing could be found in anything that I did - and taken the circumstances they would like to award me for my honesty. That was the day when I finally broke down.

I did nothing out of the ordinary where my work was concerned, I did what was expected of me, and I did it well. I was oblivious to the attempts that he did make to alter my work ethics, and yes, in hindsight I could remember the incidents - how I laughed at him about certain statements, how I refused to discuss procedures that were deemed as confidential. However, nothing could take away the knowledge that I was nothing more than a fool, a fool that was left with her heart broken in small bitter pieces.

The reason for telling this non-spanking story on a Sunday morning? I have been receiving mails from a girl that used to be on the Facebook pages. She is in trouble, and she needs professional help, but part of the damage that has been done to her, was through the lies and deceit that people now so easily spread through the internet. I have become the focus of her delusions, but at the same time, my heart is breaking for her.

The dangers of the internet are known – there are those who deliberately set out to deceive, defraud and commit crimes. Nevertheless, the internet also offers anonymity, a place where you can talk freely about your dreams, your fantasies, and your life. Here I am known as Raven Red, which obviously is not my real name. However, this I do know - everything that I have written down or wrote about is based on the truth, and is the truth. Where it is not, and is a tale, I will say that it is.

It had taken years to recover from something that happened to me when I was barely twenty-four, and therefore I know how important it is to be honest in everything I do. I know what it feels like to be on the receiving end of deliberate deceit and lies - and no one should be left, (normally alone) bewildered and hurt beyond comprehension to pick up the pieces of their lives.