Monday, November 30, 2009

Ghosts of Christmas Presents

Christmas is coming up soon. And between now and then, I've got some things to think about. Daddy asked me the other day what I'd like for Christmas. I thought it was sweet that he asked. Christmas isn't his holiday.

I really hadn't expected gifts of any sort this year so I hadn't really thought about it much. I've usually taken more pleasure in watching others open the gifts I bought for them. I have fun choosing things that I know they'll like, things they've mentioned in passing when they thought I wasn't paying attention. I have fun wrapping and keeping a little secret to myself for a few weeks.

I think my favorite part of Christmas was always my stocking. I loved waking up on Christmas morning, drinking my coffee sitting in the light of the tree, and finding things that didn't cost very much, but were always useful. Nailpolish, socks, a pair of earrings, my favorite candy, some new pens or markers or some hair combs or barrettes. Just the kind of stuff that I use all year long and always seem to run short of or lose somehow. It was always fun opening a pez or chomping down on a pack of bubble gum. Yeah, I know. Lame.

But when Daddy mentioned it to me, it started me thinking about what I'd really like. Over the past couple of days, I'd remembered him joking about my needing a microwave. But that's kind of ridiculous just for cooking popcorn. I've lived without one for a while and I can truly say that I don't miss it.

I'd thought about shoes (of course) and realized that I'm very picky when it comes to my heels. Jewelry? I've got more than I could wear in a year now and I hardly ever wear more than a few different favorite pieces as it is. Hobby stuff? I've got so many paints, brushes, and assorted hobby items that it's getting difficult to find places to store them. I don't "collect" things anymore. I don't have time to read much, and I was fast running out of ideas.

So I sat down and made a list. It's my "fantasy" list for things I'd really love to have in my life. It started off with the usual: a ferrari, a trip to London, my own shoe store. And after I'd gone down that road, I really started to think about what I'd like this year.

I'd like more time to be with those I love (especially daddy). I'd like to be able to take away some of his worries so that we can have time together free from stress. I'd like to be able to sleep when he's not with me. I'd like to feel something other than sad. I'd like to make everyone that I know have one day where everything works exactly perfect. Just so that they can see how that feels.

Unfortunately, most of those are also on the "fantasy" list.

And then I really thought about what would make me happiest this year. It's something that I really hadn't thought about in a while. But it's also something that I think will also remain on the fantasy list for a while. We've got some talking to do before that becomes a reality.

In any case, the thing that makes me happiest is Daddy. That's all I want for Christmas this year. So I think actually, I've already received my present. And that's more than I'd ever fantasized about last year.

Sunday, November 29, 2009

Words Are Like Knives

I can't sleep.

I know that this is a temporary situation and I'll eventually be forced into something that resembles sleep, but I don't know when that will happen. My brain is in overdrive at the moment and the road is winding along at high speed.

I went to a party tonight. Daddy didn't take me because he had plans with the boy. I really shouldn't go to parties alone anymore. Everyone just asks the same question all the time. And hearing "where's daddy tonight, you're here alone?" just makes me miss him even more.

We had a few good days together. There were some tough things to get through- the ornament thing with the ex was definitely made much easier because Daddy was here to hold me afterwards. And I'm sure that his meeting the family wasn't easy for him. But one of the things that happened touched on an area that I'm singularly not particularly fond of. OK, I really can't handle it. It's never worked with me, and about the nicest thing I can say about it now is that I no longer punch someone who does it to me. I can't imagine punching Daddy in the nose. The thing that can get me worked up so much so that it's a hard limit for me.

Verbal humiliation.

Words are very important in our relationship. One of the things that intrigued me first about Daddy (besides his ass and smelling nice) was that he talked with me. And we've spent 11 months talking with each other....and many times his words alone bring me out of the doldrums or turn me into a quivering bowl of goo. We love talking. He loves words and I love hearing him.

It seems odd to me sometimes that as a kinky woman, I have no problem with him calling me his slut, bitch or whore. Hell, very often when he calls me one of those things, I'm all too happy to live up to his expectations. But there are words that strike some hidden feeling of worthlessness. Of not being good enough. Of having to listen to the person you love tell you exactly what he really thinks of you. In. Every. Horrific. Detail.

We were talking about rope and the fact that he'd wanted to try something with the rope. I made a joke and asked "with me?". And he used a word that brought back a memory and set off a chain reaction. And when it did, I tried something new for me. I tried to take a moment, gather my thoughts, and tell Daddy that I had a problem. Apparently, trying to tell him I was trying to "parse being that word", didn't quite make the impression I was hoping for.

He of course didn't mean that I was that. We were joking and playing around after all. And there was no way for either of us to know that particular word cut to my heart. It was just a word. Right?

We talked for a while about it, and I told him that I was being unfair and I knew it. I listen to him, his words mean everything to me, and because I'm his, how he speaks to me leaves a lasting impression. I hold him to a high standard with words because when he speaks, I take my cues from that. I fell in love with him through words and as unfair as it is, when called something unexpected, that is one time that my heart goes from A to Z in a beat.

I asked him if anyone had every called him names and if so, how did it make him feel. I also explained that this one was like the difference between calling him a "silly daddy" and calling him an "idiot". One is said with love and meant to be a way of saying that he made me giggle....the other is never said with anything other than with loathing. No matter if it's said with a smile. It's the word that has the meaning and the word alone says a lot.

He finally explained that with us, words sometimes are like knife play. Dangerous. Prone to little accidents. When using the edge, things are able to be kept under control. It's the tips that cause the damage if you're not careful. And he asked if I trusted him enough to know that he'd never purposefully hurt me, and that any little mistakes were just that. And that he'd always be there to put the bandaids on. But that if I wanted to play with knives, sometimes the tips are gonna slip. If I wanted to hold him to a high standard, I'd have to be willing to allow the slips once in a while and forgive him the mistake. He's there to fix things up....but I have to be able to tell him that I've been stung.

Words can be wonderful things or they can cut someone into pieces. The difference is in knowing when the cut is a bad one needing stitches or when it's just a little nick because I laughed. With Daddy, I have to remember that it's always the latter.

Saturday, November 28, 2009

Ghosts of Christmas Past

Yesterday was one of those no good, very bad days.

I got a call from the ex while I was at lunch with daddy. The ex said that he was putting up the Christmas tree and other assorted decorations and did I want to come by and get anything? I'd been dreading this day for nearly a year and now that the time had come to divide twenty years of family memories, I couldn't face doing it.

I ended up going after daddy said that it would make me feel better to just get it done. It didn't make me feel better exactly, and now I'm faced with several boxes of those memories and the even larger task of trying to come up with a new set of traditions for me and the cat.

It's too quiet in the house and since I've got really no reason to make gingerbread or sugar cookies short of expanding my own waistline, I'm not really in the mood to do either of those. The tree isn't even worth really putting up. I took the smallest one because I thought that would be easiest to store, but I'm regretting that I didn't take one of the larger ones which would let me at least have a project to do for the next few hours. This one looks too much like a Charley Brown tree which is depressing.

I'm glad daddy was here when I'd brought all the ornaments back. He thought it was funny how much I'd brought in, while I thought it was funny how much I'd left behind. We'd counted all the ornaments several years ago after my son's girlfriend made a comment about the tree sagging under the weight of them (and before we'd lost a few when the cat decided that some of the birds looked all too real). There were over 7,000 pieces of my Christmas memories on those trees. I think I took about 200 of them home with me yesterday.

But I don't know if my ennui right now comes from not having the other 6,800, or from looking at the 200 I have and wondering what the hell I'm supposed to do now?

Daddy said that maybe I needed to choose to be happy. That's funny considering everything. But he's right I suppose. For every ending, there's another beginning. I just need to find a beginning for myself that feels right.

And damn...sugar cookies and gingerbread DO taste good for breakfast :)

Friday, November 27, 2009

World, Meet Universe

Thanksgiving brought both pieces of my world together in one place for the first time. The worlds didn't exactly collide, they just sort of bounced off each other as a first pass.

I brought daddy home for Thanksgiving this year. He met my kids and my parents...along with other assorted relatives and friends. He and I were both nervous as hell. My nervousness stemmed from how my kids would react to someone not their father in my life; while his stemmed from just meeting everyone for the first time. I know that was unfair of me to do that, but I figured the more people around, the less likely it would be that he'd have to be the center of their attention. This is one time that I thought that he'd be quite alright without that.

The day went pretty well. Nobody was too tweaked. They seem to have liked him. I didn't receive any phone calls. And the highest praise came from my son, who said that daddy was "cool". (because he watches StarGate)

I smiled and thought "yeah, I think he's cool, too".

Tuesday, November 24, 2009

Another Day in Dropsville

There was a conversation that happened on twitter (I refuse to capitalize this until they give me back the ability to block people) yesterday. It was about dom/sub drop. A friend thought that one way to help get through a drop was to have some sort of ritual--a parting ritual-- a phrase or something to take away so that the connection can be maintained and hopefully make the drop less worse (notice I did not say "better"). I mentioned collar rituals as a starting point for ideas. Mr. Google has tons of those around....and maybe they work for some people.

Daddy said something in the tweetstream that made me smile. He said that we have our own ritual which includes lingering over parting and that we both feel like crap until Wednesday. But we do each now have something of the others' to remind us. But having those things doesn't make the drop any easier.

I've had relationships where Mondays weren't like this. They came and went without notice, and without missing anyone. I cared about the people I was involved with, but I really didn't think too much about a drop and I for sure don't remember feeling emotionally drained and yet oddly peaceful. Maybe though, that's just an unanticipated benefit or side effect of bottoming, rather than submitting.

I do know that this happens, heck...we both do by now. We can plan, prepare, and help each other through it, but it's not just a dom/sub drop. If it were just that, it'd be easier. No, I don't think that it's just a typical drop. We get the same feeling whether or not we've done any kinky activity during the weekend.

What it is, is just purely missing someone who means so much to you. Missing the companionship, the quiet comfort we give to each other, the laughter shared by two people over a game of cribbage, the interesting discussion over a meal being shared with someone, and the peaceful sleep we both find now when we're with each other. No, I think what we miss when we're not together in the same place, even if we're not doing anything with each other, is simply not being alone.

We don't drop from losing the connection when we leave each other and we don't need symbols or rituals to try to make it easier. It never will be. We drop because the things we are together are just missed too much when we're apart. We drop because we've gotten used to weekends being together as a couple and to go through the week without those things is sometimes unbearable. We don't lose the connection on Sunday nights. We drop because the connection is always there.

It's just that we can't do a damned thing about it until Wednesday.

Monday, November 23, 2009

Musings on Decisions and Regrets

I've been reading over some of my blog posts from the past few months....the ones I don't publish. Yeah. There are some of those. Things too personal to tell anyone about. But as I read over those, one thing is becoming clear. I've broken a couple of my own rules about relationships.

I'm not truly upset that I've done that, because even I know that things won't always be perfect. No, what upsets me I think is that I don't know if I'm going to live to regret the decisions I'm making right now.

Regret is a funny thing. You never regret the good things that happen. Unless it's winning the lottery and buying that bridge in London. It's not the winning the lottery they regret's the result of a poor choice of how the money was spent.

Every decision we make brings some sort of regret. Don't believe me? Try this:

You wake up in the morning fifteen minutes before your alarm goes off. Are you happy that you're up early or do you wish for that fifteen minutes of snooze time back?

You decide what to wear for the day after listening to the weather report and when you get to the office, you find out the heat is broken and it's about 100 degrees in your office. Do you wish you hadn't worn that sweater?

You drive home from work and although you've got several different ways to go, you decide that you'll take the road that you normally do, but there's a traffic backup that will last for hours. Do you wish you'd taken a different path?

Regrets are like that. You make what you think is a good choice, a good decision, and something outside of your control makes the result something that causes you to then wish that you'd done it differently. If you'd only known the could have changed the outcome right?

But there's also opposing influences at work that you won't ever know about.

Let's take my examples again. You woke up fifteen minutes early and regret that you lost that snooze time. But because you woke up early, you had time to spend fifteen extra minutes talking to a friend. And later that day, your friend is in an accident and doesn't survive. Do you still regret that fifteen minutes? Or does it become something that you're now glad you had?

You decide what to wear and it turns out to be wrong for the inside temperature. But despite the heat, you look wonderful in that sweater, you feel good wearing it, and everyone at work wants the same sweater. You feel wonderful inside, while maybe sweating your ass off on the outside...but the decision you made doesn't make one better than the other....just that not both of them worked out perfectly.

You choose a usual path to drive home and you run into traffic. You're stuck for an hour or more and when you're finally free you realize that you just spent an hour listening to that podcast you'd been putting off, you've talked to your mother on the phone and have made her happy for this month, or even yet...if you'd have taken the OTHER'd have gotten two flat tires due to the roofing truck that was in front of you.

It's not the "bad" decisions we's the results of all those "good" decisions that just seem bad. We'll never know if the decision we didn't make would have made the results better or worse. And we'll never know if what we wish for as a "better" result, is actually the worst one of all.

Or look at it another way.....sometimes the best we can hope for is unanswered prayers.

Sunday, November 22, 2009

10 (+2) Things I Wish Somebody Told Me About Submission

I've been thinking a lot about something that Daddy mentioned to me a few times. He asked me what I'd tell a new submissive if one came to me for advice. I thought about that and wondered if I had anything that would make sense. I also wondered if my advice is just something that worked for me and maybe submissives need to learn from their own mistakes. I haven't figured that one out.

But since I'm a bossy, chatty and opinionated woman, here's 10 things that I would tell someone exploring their submissive desires for the first time.

My advice for new submissives:

1. Nobody is submissive all the time- including you. If you were submissive all the time, imagine how hard it would be to even walk out the door in the morning, deal with a job, kids, family...the IRS. And sometimes the big girl panties have to be firmly in place in order to help your dominant. They're only human too.

2. Only the rarest few dominants actually want you to always sit quietly, look away from them, and not engage in conversation. Believe it or not..most actually want you to talk with them, engage with them and be like-you-know..a real person and not a book one.

3. Be clear about what you're seeking. Kinky sex? A good beating? Someone to hold your leash? If you're looking for one thing and the dominant that attracts you is looking for something else...well...Just because they're a "D" and you're an "s" doesn't mean that they'll work together right.

4. If you want a relationship, look for compatibility in that first. If the underlying relationship is worth anything, the D/s aspect will be easier to integrate because of the rest.

5. Do not give over all your control, sense, and ability to make your own decisions to any dominant right away. It takes time to learn about what a dominant actually wants to control, and whether you're ready to take the next step. Any submissive who gives up everything right away is just asking to be taken advantage of. And believe me...there's plenty of people (not just dominants) that will only be too glad to help you.

6. Being a submissive does not mean that your needs need to be ignored. Anyone whose done this before should tell you that to not have those needs fulfilled, just means that you're fooling yourself. The best sex on earth won't take the place of a shoulder to cry on or a cuddle when you're down if that's what you need to be happy.

7. Do not look to a dominant to fulfill you. You have to be a whole person before you can submit to anyone. It is a conscious choice, not a forced falsity.

8. Pick your battles. When in any D/s relationship, don't waste a battle with either your dominant or yourself on things that in the long run just don't matter. If you choose wisely, your dominant will know they're important because you've spoken up about them.

9. Don't expect a dominant to fix you. Yes, many can and do take great delight in helping submissives overcome their fears and challenges, but they don't want clingy, messed up, problems on their hands.

10. Don't make D/s the reason for entering into a relationship. Yes, you might want that IN your relationship, but very few work long term with ONLY D/s in common. After a time, the submissive usually ends up feeling unappreciated while the dominant feels like they've always got to be coming up with rules, punishments and expectations. It's hard on both of you to constantly try to be perfect.

Above all, be honest with yourself about what you are and aren't willing to do. Things will be in flux during a relationship and as it progresses, things that weren't something you'd thought you'd want, might be something that you'd at least like to try.

And my last piece of advice is stay away from the damned Sleeping Beauty books. Believe sub can kneel for 20 hours and hang by her wrists for days. It's an unrealistic goal. Instead, find a submissive who is already in a relationship with a dominant and watch how they behave with each other. If it's a style that you might like...ask if he or she would be willing to let you bounce questions off of them. Not every submissive experience is going to be the same.

But the mistakes always are.

[Daddy has offered to write a corresponding post geared for new dominants. I'll post it as soon as he's done]

Thursday, November 19, 2009

Fucked Like a Porn Star?

Sometimes the funniest things happen when you least expect it.

Last night, Daddy came up after work. I'd started to cook dinner, when he decided that I'd seemed so mopey lately, that I needed a really good fucking. He had that devilish little look in his eye that told me that it was gonna be really goooood...and just when we'd started, the dinner that I'd forgotten about...started burning and set off the smoke alarm. I couldn't stop giggling and said to myself as I was standing on a chair holding a towel over the alarm (bare-assed and horny as all hell) that I'd remember this one for a long, long time.

He also joked afterwards that he was in such a hurry, that he'd forgotten to take his socks off. Then when he said that he'd just fucked me like a real porn star...I was off in a fit of laughter again!

Sometimes he says the cutest things.

We ate dinner and then we just sort of lounged around, chatting a bit, and I finally fell asleep on the couch. He gave me a while, and then put me to bed....curled around him of course.

And this morning, when we woke up..I still had a smile on my face and I just knew that it would be a great day. Not because of the socks or the smoke alarm...but because I woke up still curled in Daddy's arms.

I really wish that would be enough for the both of us sometimes. But this is one time when too much is never enough.

Sunday, November 15, 2009

I Can't Believe I Forgot To Tell Him This

A friend of mine said something to me this weekend that at first, I thought "how nice". After leaving daddy again tonight, I'm now thinking...and that's what makes this the hardest thing on earth.

My friend is interested in exploring for himself, what daddy and I have together. He's written about it on his blog We're trying to help him meet normal people, who aren't damaged, needy or crazy and who practice this thing we call "WIITWD", and by doing so, hopefully he'll be able to meet someone who can help him experience what he wants...or at least find some more friends who understand how he feels so that he can explore those things on his own.

But one of the most important things I've forgotten to tell my friend in all our conversations, is that the feelings he's having, what he sees between daddy and me, the need as he calls also one of the hardest things to deal with when you have to finally come back to the reality of life.

When daddy and I are together, things are usually pretty damned wonderful. That time is filled with togetherness, closeness, sharing, laughter, and intensity. We play in public because we enjoy ourselves. People who see us together might think that it comes easy for us. We play at play...and even during those times when it gets a little intense, we're still enjoying each other enormously. We've spent about 11 months together and it still amazes me that every time I leave him, just how horrible that feeling is. For the both of us.

The very intensity of emotion, the closeness that we share, the comfort that we find with each other is also what causes a huge drop in both of us on Sunday nights. It really hasn't gotten any easier over time because as we get closer to each other, the harder it is to leave when we have to. Trying to get through the worst feelings is made all that much harder when you've just spent a couple of days experiencing the best.

I'm still learning how to deal with my daddy drop. Some weekends are easier than others. Weekends like this are very bad. It'll be Wednesday or so before I start to feel happy and normal again. In the meantime, I'll wander through in a sort of foggy memory of this weekend, and an anticipation of the next. Somewhere between the two, I'll finally hit on a combination of things that will make it bearable.

So to my friend....I wouldn't dream of saying anything to you to lessen your excitement, damper your search, or deter you from your experience. But I wanted to tell you that when you find what your looking for....that's when it's really going to get hard. Finding what you seek can bring the greatest pleasure.....and can also bring the most devastating lows when you have to return to the real world.

But even knowing this and experiencing it....I wouldn't change a damned thing.

Wednesday, November 11, 2009

Questions for the Day

Questions from cruising Fetlife today:

Why do subs forget that they're a person first and think that just because they're submissive that every dominant is going to be a perfect fit every time just because the D and the s parts are supposed to work that way?

Why do people in general need to win an online argument with someone they've never met, will likely never want to meet, and forget that there's a vast difference between fantasy, opinion and fact?

Why do subs read "those books" and then try to model their search upon them? Why can't they just remember that "those books" were fantasy or opinion?

Why are there people who think that they have all the answers when it comes to bdsm? When someone finally admits that they're just as confused by all the rhetoric, theory, and "one twue way" (which always means that you're doing it wrong) THAT is the person I really want to have a conversation with.

And why do some people forget that if you're reading something you don't like, if someone's opinion makes your blood boil, if their fantasies and fetishes are just too creepy for you to think about....why can't they just find that darned back button?

Carry on.

Tuesday, November 10, 2009

How to Bore a Rope Bottom

I’ve made no secret of that fact that I’ve been having an on again/off again love affair with rope. Sometimes I love it, and others I’d love nothing better than to burn it from both ends.

Daddy and I have had a few discussions of rope. One of them is a leftover from the Grue we attended a few weeks ago in Connecticut.

One of the things I like to do is talk to people. Every once in a while, I find a group of people with nothing on their agendas but a few minutes to chat. At the Grue, I was lucky enough to find several of these groups over the course of the day. I thought that since it was a pretty much a rope centric day, I’d ask the question that I’d had in the back of my head for a while.

And that question was: am I the only one who gets annoyed by rope?

The group of women I was speaking with consisted of mostly bottoms. The few tops that were there had a lot to say about this as well. And what I found was interesting enough that I really want to figure out a way to explore this aspect of rope more. I’m just not sure how to do it yet.

From the bottoms’ point of view, one of the things that I kept hearing over and over again was that rope very often was boring. Many complained of their tops spending more time getting the look “just right” than they did relating to their bottoms. Most also said that only the rarest few could maintain a full takatekote for the length of time that many novice suspension riggers took to complete the tie and get their bottoms into the suspension. All of them said that at least at one time, they were disappointed that a rope scene needed to be halted because of an unsafe tie, muscle cramps, or pain. And all of those said that they sometimes stayed in rope too long because they were afraid of disappointing their top. Overall, the feeling I got was that for many bottoms, they felt like they were an extraneous piece of the “coolest, latest, must-have” skill that their tops were just having to try this week. And for many, the disappointment with rope colors their outlook completely. It has become a drag, a bore, and something that they’d just rather skip altogether.

To be fair, there were a few bottoms who loved rope so much, were flexible and young enough that they weren’t quite always cognizant of long term damage that badly done rope could do, and just really wanted to fly and get the photographs taken. They just wanted to be suspended and look good while doing it.

I think that for many rope bottoms, there’s a combination of both of those extremes. We’d like to play with it more, but rope is a building process. To get a body ready for rope takes time and effort. At least as much as it takes for tops to finish a length of hemp properly and whip the ends. Taking a long time to get the rope looking perfectly, to get every knot even, every length placed “just right” defeats the imagination of even the most creative ropebottoms. Boredom creates tension (and not in a good way), and removes the focus of the bottom from actively participating in the scene. It’s really hard to make yummy noises while yawning.

When I’d told Daddy what I’d heard, we talked about rope for a bit, and he made a joke about “maybe ropebottoms just expect too much”. He said it with a wink so I know he was joking. But I also don’t think we do. We expect to be engaged, part of the process and not just rope on a girl, and we expect that ropetops who want to do intricate ties, suspensions and other really cool rope tricks be as skilled in their craft before asking us to “play” with rope as we’d expect a person who picked up a whip or flogger. Skills classes and lessons are the times to learn. Bottoms understand that, and as a general group, are more than willing to be the uncomfortable and secondary part of a learning experience. We’re not so willing to let that same experimentation work when a really cool guy we’d love to play with asks us “if we want to fly”.

Daddy also said that maybe the answer was two-fold. Either learn to tie fast, or tie “interestingly”. I told you he was smart. Those are exactly what needs to happen to keep bottoms from having a full on rebellion against ropetops that just don’t see anything except the pretty rope on a girl.

Tying fast is self-explanatory. Sometimes the best rope scenes in the world are done with nothing except double or single column ties and a chest harness. Twisted Monk called it dynamic rope...being able to change the rope when it gets uncomfortable for the bottom extends play time. It doesn’t need to be fancy, have a lot of intricate knots, or even be truly inescapable (for the record, unless it’s an unsafe by definition tie, it IS escapable). What it has to be is fast, movable, and remembering that the rope is NOT the goal (unless of course, it is). The goal is what you’re going to do to your bottom once they’re tied up.

Tying interestingly is not so self-explanatory. Interesting does not necessarily mean complicated. It means using the rope AS the scene. Wraping, pulling, feeling each other through the rope. The hottest rope scenes I’ve seen in the past six months involved never leaving the ground! Lee Harrington’s rope scene at the Bound in Boston was so hot I could barely breathe and Amy never left the floor. It was fast, dynamic, and interesting.

No, I don’t expect too much from my rope tops. I only expect them to be honest about their skills, not try to make me into a 19 year old gumby flexible rope model, and understand that the best part of the rope IS the connection. And not to bore me. Because if you’d better be one heck of a rigger....otherwise you’ll find yourself all alone in a room with your rope wondering where the girl went to. (FYI: I’ll be shoe shopping)

Friends Can Say the Darndest Things

A friend of mine sent me a message this morning. Since he is a friend, and since I was in a very good mood after spending the night sleeping cuddled next to daddy, I tried to answer him in 140 characters or less. The questions he asked made me smile, and since my answers were less than full given the nature of twitter, I thought I’d take the opportunity here to give my view on the subject.

And as you might have guessed, that subject is Daddy/lilgirl relationships.

I’m not sure why this friend came to me to help him with this subject. I’d like to think it’s because he saw something that spoke to him when seeing Daddy and me together this past weekend. It could also be that I make no secret of the fact that Sir IS my daddy. I call him daddy when we’re together and, except for this morning when he called me something that brought a smile to my face and will probably keep me laughing for months, he usually calls me either princess or babydoll.

But since my friend did come to me, here’s my answer to his question about what defines the difference between a Sir/Master/whatever and a daddy. I hope this helps him.

To me, there is no difference. They are all names for the dominant in a D/s relationship. For every permutation of relationship, there are words that we use to define the other person...and in doing so...also define ourselves and our position within it. I personally use Sir and Daddy most of the time. Sir for when he’s being the lovely sadist that makes me fly....and Daddy when he’s being the wonderful man who is always there for me when I need him. He pinches, whips, flogs, mindfucks, and drives me as Sir. He snuggles, laughs and shares his feelings with me when as Daddy. Both can act silly, both can be strict, and both take a delight in proving that, although I may think I’m the center of the universe....he’s the one that has the universe in the palm of his hand.

I told my friend that the differences aren’t that obvious. Mostly it’s a way of relating to each other that creates a daddy. I think it’s a connection, a caring, a way of him saying that he wants me to experience HIM. He finds a happiness in my pleasure, my accomplishments, and my needs because he is the catalyst for my pleasure, I accomplish more because I want to make him proud, and he has become my need. Which isn’t to say that Doms or Sirs don’t like those things...but after having lived for the last several months within this kind of seems to me that Sirs like to create an atmosphere where they’re powerful over their submissive. Daddys like to create an atmosphere where they’re all-encompassing within her life.

A personal example of the difference that might be easiest to explain is that Sir wouldn’t think twice about waking me up at 3:00 am, shoving my face into his cock, getting a blow job and then rolling over and going back to sleep. I like that sometimes. I like that feeling of being his, being used for his pleasure and being the one he turns to fulfill his needs.

Daddy on the other hand, wouldn’t dream of waking me up at 3:00 am for anything except a snuggle and kiss to let me know he’s there. He knows that I need my sleep if I’m to function in the world the next day. And although I’d really love to give him that blow job just then....Daddy balances his needs with my own.

My friend wanted to know if it was possible to be a Daddy and not end up with a long term relationship. He said that he worried that his partners were getting more attached to him than he was to them. He said also that he had a hard time maintaining boundaries.

While I think that this kind of relationship is very possible, and would work out very well if those involved understood that the caring, nurturing aspects of a Daddy were situation specific, without being able to maintain boundaries, things get fuzzy.

Being a daddy in general looks a lot like just having a really nice, caring, attentive, boyfriend around. One who likes to have fun, laugh, experiment, and explore. One who takes joy in their partner. Daddys look a lot like those guys who give everything to their partner without expecting much in return. It would be really easy for a lilgirl to take advantage of a Daddy’s benevolence and kindness. This is why boundaries need to be established and maintained. If you’ve ever seen an out of control, spoiled, petulant, bratty child, you’d have no problem understanding why boundaries are necessary. A little girl may not like them...but without them it’s like you’ve sent a very open, loving, and free child out into the world without giving them a place to retreat. Discipline is not an anathema of a Daddy. Rules, structure and discipline are necessary so that you don’t end up with a spoiled brat of a partner.

Sir has the power to look at me and make me weak in the knees. He only says one word and I’m kneeling at his feet, with my face ready to be slapped, my ass in the air for a belt, or my neck on the floor under his shoe. He rules my world.

Daddy has the power to let me look at him and know that he cherishes not just my submission...but all of me. And only a daddy can look at me and make me feel as if I could rule the world....but doing it while he’s holding my hand.

Monday, November 9, 2009

New York State of Mind

We spent the weekend in NYC. The main reason we'd gone was to meet some of our twitter friends who were having their calendar release party. The NYCSexBlog Calendar party held at Fontana's. I got to meet Mr. Njoy (and I got to tell him how much I loved him... er...his toys) along with many of the bloggers that I love to read. And we got to have a little fun with Twisted Monk and rope. But it was a strange weekend and several things happened that have made me wonder.

The party was amazing, but it was really crowded.

I'd told Daddy before that I was actually quite shy. It has become obvious that some of the things I tell him, especially those that don't mesh with how I appear to be around him, don't make much of an impact. This is important for me to I act sometimes is NOT how I feel and what he sees doesn't always mirror who I am.

It has also become patently obvious that sometimes I need to think less about him and more about me. I just don't know how to do that.

In large crowds of people, I'm not always at my best. I frequently feel out of place. I'm too wary of people to truly feel comfortable around them, and I tend to watch more than participate. I prefer smaller groups where I can watch from around the edges and then when I've gotten the feel of the group, to decide which part of me needs to come out. I've always had this problem in large groups of people I don't know. I can't stand it when people look at me. Which, considering how I dress and act usually, I'm sure that Daddy doesn't understand that one either.

There came a point at the party where I knew Daddy was just as uncomfortable, but instead of being able to tell him that I was out of my element and figure out that we had to rely on each other, I instead focused on him. It was a way I think of not having to look at my failings again. But this time, he'd taken my concern about him as my thinking something was wrong with him.

I was surprised at how sharply he said it. I was hurt that he'd thought my concern looked like...I don't know..disdain? That I'd somehow fucked things up again. And he's seen how that plays out. I just had to get the hell out of dodge and find a way to get some air, take some deep breaths, and attack the problem from a different direction. But he hates when I leave. He thinks it's going to be forever, when all I really need is a few minutes to find my equilibrium again. When he's angry, hurt, or disappointed, it goes right into the bottom of my stomach and sits there. It feels a lot like I've been sucker punched.

I didn't sleep very well last night because it's far easier to know that things are ok when I'm curled up next to him. Being awake at 3 am gives me time to think though. And what I thought about was the one thing that I kept hearing over and over again.

And that is, that he doesn't trust me. My actions of walking away from a fight, of running away when he's angry, of self-preservation when I'm upset, have caused him not to trust me. As much as we love each other, I'm not sure that this is something that we'll ever be able to figure out given our own baggage. As much as I love him, I don't know how to stop myself from running when I've been a disappointment; and as much as he loves me, he'll never see me as anyone except a woman who has the potential to abandon him and hurt him.

We'd repaired some of the damage by Sunday night. And then he said that times like those is when he wished he'd had me on a leash so that I could only run a few feet and he'd know where I was. I couldn't say the words to him that were in my head: there will be no leashes, because a collar would also be required to attach it to. And since collars to me mean forever, even if I know they sometimes don't end up that way, and since I'm not firmly convinced that what we have between us will ever be enough to overcome ourselves, there will be no collars or leashes. I finally get that now.

And despite two more days in NY that went nicely, my NY state of mind about that frankly sucks. I went home last night thinking that while we ended up having nice weekend after all, I just couldn't help wondering if we'd also started that downslide into ending things. I can't help myself from those bad habits of a lifetime; even knowing how I am, he won't help me learn how to adapt them, and I'm afraid that the result will always be me feeling his disappointment, and him wondering if I'll be back.

And I don't know how we'll ever be able to fix this when neither of us can find a way to move on.

Friday, November 6, 2009


The amazing thing about this dynamic is that it’s not as fragile as you’d think. Maybe because it’s so intensive and so concentrated it’s a lot harder to rock this foundation. It’s not easy for a Daddy to fall from grace so to speak. There is an infallible way that a little girl looks at her Daddy. Even when he makes mistakes or fails at something, she never sees it that way. There is nothing that he could ever do outside of her that would ever make her look at him as anything less than a hero. She fights to hold onto that image of her Daddy just as diligently as he fights to maintain it.

I was reading some older Fetlife threads the other night and I ran across a posting by babygirlpoet. Now I have to say that I don't generally like what I find being posted about D/lg relationships. They're either much too esoteric or much too age-play. This is a dynamic that is very often misunderstood to mean diapers, binkies, and potty training. Either that or some sort of sick twisted incest fantasy thing.

But the above quote is one I keep coming back to. It was part of a larger (more esoteric) post about Daddy/lilgirl relationships. And it was something that I'd been thinking about especially considering Sir's current mind milieu (I had to use that word, sorry). I think I'd tried to put that feeling into words before, but this seemed to just do it in a way that was so simple. That's a lot of my problem...I'm complicated. Sometimes simple works best. Yet another rope metaphor!

And I think this is something that Daddy needs to hear right now. There's nothing he could do, say, or think that would make me think of him as anything less than the Daddy I love. As bad as things get, as fucked up as both our lives can be apart, the one thing that won't happen is that he'll ever be anything less than perfect.

Thursday, November 5, 2009

Sometimes You Have to Remember How to Be Happy

First Wednesday of the month. Bondage club last night, but Daddy and I decided to stay home. And it was the first time I can remember when I was happy to miss seeing my friends. Not only happy, but relieved.

It’s been a tough few weeks for the both of us. Although he’s something of a minor hermit when it comes to staying at his house (and hates my bed), I think that sometimes he needs to get out of his house and get away from his own reminders. Sometimes I try to convince him to spend the night at my house...and sometimes he’s so close to my house that not to do it just doesn’t make sense.

He says that my apartment is “me”. Full of color, pattern and girly things. I think what he means is that my place has sort of an eclectic feeling, where my hobbies and personality hang out. It’s comfortable, cheerful, and interesting. Plus, you know, I always make sure I have oreos and seltzer for Daddy. He has to do nothing but that which he wants to do, and I have so many things to do that I don’t stare at the walls wondering.

Last night after work, he came over. He looked exhausted when he got there. He scarfed down a few oreos while dinner was cooking, I massaged his leg and feet, and I showed him the pumpkin pie I’d gotten for dessert. He had that Cheshire-cat smile that he has when he’s content and started to get a little relaxed. We ate dinner, and he relaxed in his chair and made a phone call while I cleaned up.

Then he brought out the rope.

Now, we’d played with rope a bit at the Grue, and we’d played at Domino’s party, and we’d spent some time working on the jiai shibari at the BRAG meeting. But over the past few months, the combination of my injury and both of our apathy towards rope had left us each not giving it much of a thought. In fact, we’d probably both thought that rope, other than for teaching, just wasn’t going to figure too heavily into our life for a while.

We probably should have remembered though, that one of the easiest ways for us to connect with each other, to lose ourselves in the rope, to be together in the with rope. For him, thinking about how to tie, the knotting, the symmetry helps take his mind off everything else if only for a little while. And for me, the really nice space that I can find now, even when half staying with him during it, makes me relaxed and lets my brain fly. And those endorphins are something I need to feel normalish. I’m too used to them now I suppose.

We played with rope for a while, trying some new things, and figuring out that I have a lot of work to do to get my arms back in shape for rope. We were away from it for far too long. Like a lot of things that end up always being really worthwhile....rope is one of those things that you have to work at to keep up with. Rope may be one of those things that needs to be continually worked at so that the body keeps up, the mind frees, and the people remember that happy is possible even when you have to work at it.

Wednesday, November 4, 2009

My Dom, My Cat

I’ve been having a bit of an argument with my kitty.

Trouble seems to think that he’s something of a four-legged furry dom. He hogs the bed, growls when he’s hungry, he pushes me around, scratches me when he wants attention, needs copious amounts of sleep and time to do cat things, he loves rope, and demands tummy rubs, cuddles, and assorted playtime fun upon demand. I’ve giggled over the thought that doms and cats have so much in common when I’d started to think about it!

I’d worried about how the two of them would get along. Daddy likes long as they’re other people’s pets; and Trouble is something of an attention whore. Plus, Trouble really likes chasing Daddy’s rope which sometimes leaves Trouble in the doghouse and Daddy with a nasty scratch. I’ve tried to mediate that one at least, but both kind of have an affinity for rope.....just that one likes to chase the tails, while the other likes to tie the girl with them. They reached somewhat of an understanding about that one though. Daddy hissed louder and Trouble tucked tail and now watches Daddy with narrow eyes and a serious quiver in his tail.

Trouble sleeps with me when Daddy isn’t there. He’s cuddly and comforting and his purr lulls me to sleep on those nights that I just can’t find sleep on my own. The downside is that he often spoons me, smacks my eyelids when I’m asleep, and wakes up at the crack of dawn berating me because he hasn’t eaten in like two and a half hours. That, and he has a serious issue in chasing imaginary beings around the house at full throttle, and at top voice.

I really like having Trouble around. He reminds me of a smaller, louder, and furrier version of Daddy. Trouble misses me when I'm with Daddy.

But matter WHAT that cat thinks...I am not owned by him!