Searching for a better song to sing..

I’m all right with you, here in this room; but when I saw those people you were with I couldn’t come in. I would have seized up. Because I’m a freak. I can’t talk to the people I live with any more. An’ I can’t talk to the likes of them on Saturday, or them out there, because I can’t learn the language. I’m a half-caste.

I went back to the pub where Denny was, an’ me mother, an’ our Sandra, an’ her mates. I’d decided I wasn’t comin’ here again. I went into the pub an’ they were singin’, all of them singin’ some song they’d learnt from the juke-box. An’ I stood in that pub an’ thought just what the frig am I trying to do? Why don’t I just pack it in an’ stay with them, an’ join in the singin’? …

Well I did join in with the singin’, I didn’t ask any questions, I just went along with it. But when I looked round, me mother had stopped singin’, an’ she was cryin’, but no one could get it out of her why she was cryin’. Everyone just said she was pissed an’ we should get her home. So we did an’ on the way I asked her why. I said, “Why are y’ cryin’, mother?” She said, “Because — because we could sing better songs than those.” Ten minutes later, Denny had her laughing and singing again, pretending she hadn’t said it. But she had. And that’s why I came back. And that’s why I’m staying.

—Willy Russell
Speech by Rita in Educating Rita

I find my self thinking about this point in Willy Russell’s screenplay for the film Educating Rita with Michael Caine and Julie Walters more often than I intend to and it often puzzles me that it has resonated so much that I remember it all of these years later.

A recent tweet by one of the lovely people I follow drew me back to this thought once more as I read (I paraphrase) this person expressing difficult feelings over being judged for her lifestyle choices. She also was conveying the sense of loss of an easy intimacy – of being unable to be completely honest in future with the person who had somehow conveyed that her choices had disappointed them. From the twitter thread that followed I was struck that I have lost a great deal of the certainty I had around what kind of relationships constituted “good” or “healthy” ones and how, for me those certainties had been replaced by a desire to be open and accepting about other people’s choices even when they might not be ones that I would want for myself. But I also resonated with the loss of easy intimacy and the sense of having disappointed someone I cared about. I understand the unease about feeling that I have somehow lowered myself in another’s opinion, especially if that person is very dear to me.

My own ideas about what constitutes a good relationship, what love looks like and what makes a good person have undergone a radical overhaul in the last five years. As that overhaul was taking place I realised I had been living with a set of rules and beliefs about those things that had come from my religious beliefs, which whilst I no longer held them, were still influencing my thinking and my sense of myself much more deeply than I was aware. It also became apparent as I shed them that there is a security in those received beliefs.

They create a shared world view with others of the same faith and this is an easy shorthand for decision making and interaction with others. As a consequence this is a shared world view of a very small world since unless those beliefs are tailored around acceptance and not judgement, or avoidance of punishment in the afterlife, and control, as was the case in my own life, they will necessarily discourage experimentation and exploration.

Changing my beliefs after I had violated some of them was actually the only way I could move on from the internal sense of shame and guilt I had after ending my second marriage and moving out into the world on my own. That shame and guilt threatened my mental health in a way I had never experienced before. It created an environment where I accepted the financial punishment and the ostracisation I suffered as being a just consequence of my behaviour instead of generating the sense of injustice that I would have had for others in the same situation. For a while it threatened to overwhelm me, that it didn’t is, in the main, because of the support I received from some key people in my life and I will be forever grateful to them.

In those moment I felt I had gone beyond the pale – which when I look up the definition of this phrase speaks to me of the sense of going beyond the safe territory of shared beliefs and out into the wider world where we can decide for ourselves what is right and good and proper for us and that this can be so solidly lodged in us that we no longer accept another’s judgement of us or what we do with our bodies, no matter how dear they are.

It seems to me that we all must go through this sense of going beyond the pale if we are to grow as people, but it never fails to be a difficult and lonely journey when we do. To bring this back to my original quote in the film – Rita is being told that she should be having children not bothering about books. Her friends and family are all in the pub singing the same song about how happy they are and she is faced, yet again with the fact that she is no longer home here, but is also not at home in her new environment. Rita has gone beyond the pale, and her mother’s tears and comments about a better song to sing, which she laughs off later, become Rita’s watchword as she searches for her own song in the wild world beyond the working class one she has been born into.

I recognise myself in Rita, her grafting, her discomfort at the middle class parties and privilege, her sense of not being one thing or another anymore and her will to keep searching until she can find her place again.

I suppose what I am doing here, what I remain committed to, in-spite of feeling uncomfortable, and often not at home or at ease, is finding my own better song to sing.

I wish all fellow journeyers fair weather and good wind as we travel.

Feet in sea

#SinfulSunday – diptych – entwined

Missy and eye - dipytch - entwined

I look forward to prompt weeks and often find that the constraint of having a concept or word to work with activates my creativity in a way that having free range to do what I want doesn’t.

As in art, also in life.

This month I had something even more delightful to play with – namely a set of images that @Mistress34f and I created when she came for a visit earlier this month.

I hope that this image conveys the sense of easy fun and intimacy that was present when we took this image and the one that Missy has posted this weekend.

This is a new pleasure to me – like most women I was brought up to regard other women as potential threats and my previous relationship was one in which the concept of being intimate with others (even in terms of sharing happy times, emotions or close connection) was regarded as an infidelity.

So, although I have found it challenging to open up to this wonderful possibility; because of my conditioning and also my quite understandable, but ultimately unhelpful fear of vulnerability.

I am so glad that I have.

I love the glimpse of Missy’s gorgeous right breast and the sight of the briefest of slivers of my kimono which she had borrowed and which I am wearing as I type this now whilst grinning at the memories it is evoking for me.

Don’t forget to click on the lips below and see who else is being sinful this week!

Sinful Sunday

#SinfulSunday – royal noon time

Legs in midsummer sun
After the May time and after the June time
Rare with blossoms and perfume sweet,
Cometh the round world’s royal noon time,
The red midsummer of blazing heat,
When the sun, like an eye that never closes,
Bends on the earth its fervid gaze,
And the winds are still, and the crimson roses
Droop and wither and die in its rays.
Unto my heart has come this season,
O, my lady, my worshiped one,

Ella Wheeler Wilcox

Don’t forget to click on the lips to see who else is being sinful this Sunday

Sinful Sunday



I have had such ennui since we came back. Everything had paled into grey and I could see no way out to a colourful world that seemed no longer to be anything to do with me. I was lost.

I was ungrounded after a week of being connected to you. My world grew small enough to cover me and I stopped.

I just stopped.

After a day of emails, and sorting things, and a return to a home I felt absent from you sent me a message:

Bath night for eye, speak later. Oh and 4…

It immediately opened up a passage way out of this darkness and I rushed to put on my favourite red silk nightie. As I spread my legs, raising one to the level of my work desk – a formica table pressed into service and loved for its willing utilitarianism, its wings extended as if to fly, my foot steadied itself on the left-hand wing, braced and arched and I noted its pleasing shape.

My wand is required. I cannot use my fingers. As I press it to my unshaven mound my scent wafts around me and I remember her. Her fragrance, her taste, her sparkling blue eyes and that delicious grin.

1 … I remember the curling up around me, hand teasing the silk of my nightgown and my initial reticence

2 … I remember my decision to kiss her, to hold her in my arms and I wondered is this how it has felt when I have been with men? Something autonomous stirred in me, something new.

3 … I remember the glass dildo, the sound as it moved in and out of me, the gathering pace and her knowledgeable fingers.

4 … I remember her tongue, so skilled and so persistent, ravishing me over and over as I twined my fingers in her hair and laughed so softly with the joy of it all.

Then later that evening when I told Him what has happened, He laughed and said that anyone could tell that was going to happen and I blush to have been so seen and understood and fall in love with Him just a little more.

Yes Master, I message back, thank you.

Harder than most

As I write this I am sitting on the edge of a friend’s spare bed, around 45 minutes from you instead of the usual nearly 3 hours and my heart hurts. It hurts to open it so much to you, to be re-acquainted with how you smell of that aftershave and how my hand fits in the dip in your chest and for you not to be here and yet to be so comparatively close.

I cried in the plane on the way home, you knew it and passed your hanky and so soppy was I that I was happy you were taking some of me home with you. Nothing more than my tears and a faint smudge of lipstick but me nonetheless.

Long distance relationships are tough and ours is a boundaried one that has other considerations in it and I love that, I do really, but our hellos have the seeds of my tears in them and sometimes it hurts more than I know what to do with.

To love is to risk loss and hurt in the pursuit of connection and the joy of being seen and loved in return. My sense of loss today has brought all the other losses back. I remind myself that I have a good life, that any relationship needs to add to my 100% and that I do not need another to be complete..

It is all true, but what is also true is that I feel like I have lost an arm and I truly cannot imagine sleeping without your arm draped across me or my toes outstretched to yours.

The gap we leave needs a bridge built from more than I have today. Today I will look across the expanse and wait until I can feel the road back to us beginning again. Today that’s harder than most.


We played for the first time in a long time, as the sounds of the Santorinian family Sunday afternoon drifted in through the open shutters and mingled with the murmering of the waves pulling in and out over the black sand in front of our window. In stark contrast He made no sound as He pulled my hair to gain leverage to push Himself into me.

The sound of His belt being pulled through the loops on His shorts had sent an immediate request for lubrication to my cunt. My eyes widened, their pupils dilated as I waited for His requirements to become clear. I instinctively lowered my gaze and noticed my focus had become narrowed only to this room, to this us. He pinched my nipple hard and grinned in satisfaction as my yelp was followed by my offering Him its pair.

I would be lying if I didn’t admit to relief at the immediacy of my responses. I had wondered how the expansion of our us from its foundation in D/s to include plans for the future would affect this vital source of energy and connection. It caused me to wonder what happens to relationships when age, illness or disability interrupts the pattern of relating. If we couldn’t do this, or even aspects of this what could we call on to refresh and revitalise us?

Where would the centre of us live if not here?

I had always considered myself a trusting person, this was mostly when comparing myself to exes who were less immediate than me in their own leaping in. What I saw then in myself as trusting (and somehow superior if I am truly honest), I regard now as a kind of recklessness with my own heart and with the things I loved most such as my children and my home. In mistaking co-dependency for love I leapt in because of the immediacy of connection that happens when their teeth fit your wound.

It felt right, how could it be wrong?I

Which eventually, sadly becomes why does something that felt so right now hurt so much?

In our us with the man I call Master I have had the opportunity to learn what it is to truly trust. The shared roles, rules and responsibilities we agreed taught me not to be reckless with my heart, and also the beauty of flying when you know there is always an arm waiting for you to perch on when you return.

Beyond this I also now know that whilst we none of us can truly foretell the future, what we can stand on however, is the firm foundation we have built in trust and love.

When He says He’s got us I know He has, that’s us. That’s love regardless of what it looks like from the outside.