Friday 1st May.

 

Today is my 35th birthday. Today I begin a new journal. It has been a while, maybe six months, since the original one was stolen: I have missed - so much! the release of writing down all my thoughts, wishes, desires and fantasies. Any sensible person would have begun a new one immediately; not me, I had to wait, to grieve, the mourn the loss of 20 years of scribbling - even if I never re-read any of it! And to worry about the person reading my words ...

Forget it! Today is the first day of the rest of my life: trite expression, good enough for a new journal. So, where to start?

With the truth. Journals, diaries, call them what you will, should always contain the truth, the whole truth and nothing but the truth.

I long for a man who is my equal but with a strong enough character to control my life. My knees go weak at the thought of totally submitting myself to my man. To relinquish all the responsibility I shoulder every day. I will never give up the responsibility or control of my business: the power I wield is stronger than any aphrodisiac and I love the way businessmen surrender to my intellect and position. Away from business, though, I yearn to be owned and pray that one day the reality will equal my dreams.

Every time I meet a new boyfriend my hopes are raised, then dashed as they crumble under my seemingly strong character and they flee, or are happy to leave me to take the lead until I tire of them and send them packing.

 

Tuesday 5th May.

 

I am so excited! A phone call at work today. A woman with a very haughty voice claimed to know who had my journal and asked if I was interested in knowing more.

ďOf course!Ē I shouted.

ďThen you will await your instructions.Ē Her manner changed, she developed a most authoritative tone. ďYouíve documented your thoughts and pleasures most thoroughly. Iím sure you will appreciate that disobedience will not be very sensible.Ē

I began asking who she was but she hung up. I sat trembling, my mind whirling in all directions. I was excited about the journal, delighted it had been found, but now it had, scared of the cost of its return, if indeed it is to come back to me. Who is this woman? Common sense said I should report to the police, but what could I say? An opportunist burglar took my video, tv and journal - I told them about the video and tv, but kept quiet about the journal. It had no value, except to me. Oh the voice! Iíd longed for such authority, but now it had come, and my wetness tells me it has, to find itís a woman is a shock. Can I go with it? Dare I not go with it?

Oh journal, you cannot begin to appreciate the speed questions raced into my brain, all to remain unanswered in my growing confusion. So many differing emotions!

It was about then Lisa came in to discuss the reorganising of our transport systems. Lisaís my logistics manager, only twenty-five, but very attractive and very, very bright. An up and coming yuppie, champagne ideas on Mildmay money, but she has her worth. Trouble is, I was still flustered and my face burned, I thought. I could only splutter that I was unwell and Iíd see her tomorrow. Iím sure her plans will be good. But tomorrowís another day and Iíve more important things to consider. If I donít rationalise the phone call, Iíll not be able to concentrate on business and I never, ever allow my personal life to interfere with my performance in the office. Take that whatever way you will, journal!

 

Wednesday 6th May

 

Bad night last night. Kept replaying the phone call; imaginings growing more and more extravagant, picturing a tall imperious woman, her voice so commanding as she lectured me, used me and punished me when I failed her expectations. First time Iíd considered the prospect of a woman controlling me, but the power in her voice made it seem so natural. Several times I woke from dozing to find my fingers between my legs, relieving the excitement created in my dreams.

Breakfast was a laborious affair. The eager anticipation of the postmanís steps made my mouth dry and swallowing difficult. The coffee percolator, with its rich aroma and incessant gurgling, took an age. The minute hand on the clock seemed not to have moved each time I glanced at it until, at last, I heard the measured steps on the garden path. By the time the letterbox rattled, I was there - waiting. Excitement turned to disappointment: the promised instructions had not arrived and I had to focus on the dayís work ahead.

The traffic and early heat of what promised to be another sweltering day made the journey more of a grind than usual. The prospect of the instructions being sent to the office turned from hopeful anticipation to dread. Andrea opens the mail. Sheís reliable but - itís better she knows nothing about secret journals.

By the time I reached the office I was in a high state of agitation. Visiting the ladies was as much to settle nerves as to tidy up, ready for the day. Iím worried that, in a few short words, an unknown woman could so disrupt my normal calm and create such compelling excitement.

I neednít have fretted over my instructions being found. They were not with the mail, although the relief was tinged with disappointment.

The meeting with Lisa was as informative and interesting as I expected. She wants to solve the problem of our transport by bringing it in-house. Sheís very excited about it but itís a complete change of direction, so Iíve told her Iíll think about it. Certainly the service weíre getting from carriers could be better. Theyíre generally acceptably quick with deliveries, but thereís a damage and shortages problem. Iím still not convinced that bringing the operation in-house is the right solution, though. It goes against market trend and the initial cost will be huge. The advantages are having total control from the manufacture right through to the finished product being delivered to the customerís door, which will make quality control and customer service easier to monitor and maintain. Business talk in a journal, no less, but I need - yes! desperately need - to Ďtalkí this out. The ultimate decisionís mine, after all.