He Wasn’t a Daddy When I Met Him, But He Was a Daddy All Along

I saw a post this morning that broke my heart a little.  The thing is, it wasn’t the first time I had seen someone lately feeling sad that what they were looking for in a partner was so elusive.  I have some thoughts.

You see, I didn’t find what was looking for either.

I know, I know.  It sounds crazy.  I mean, Father Christmas and I are adorable.  Everybody says so, which means it must be true.

Except He wasn’t what I was looking for.  I was looking for a friend to go to movies with.  Maybe even a FWB who’d give me a little rough dicking after watching Spiderman die in the most excruciatingly sad way ever… but I digress.  And use ellipses.

I found something else entirely.  I found a man who had never been called Daddy in a relationship.  I found a man who brought out the tenderness and neediness I had never expressed before, and in return I seem to have inspired protectiveness and nurturing which nicely compliments his physically sadistic nature.

It was a crazy random happenstance, and I don’t think I could have found it on purpose if I had tried.  How could I when He hadn’t found that part of Himself yet and I didn’t know I was looking for it?  The moment I awkwardly called Him Daddy we both knew we had discovered something a little magical, powerful.

I wish I could clone Him and send Him out to all of the lonely littles, middles and babygirls who haven’t found their Daddies.  I suspect, however, that while it might suffice for a time, it would not last.


Life experiences.  Hopes and dreams.  Shared interest.  Physical attraction, chemistry and shared kink desires.  Without those things, the moment of Daddy never would have happened in the perfect storm of our encounter.

Maybe instead of looking for Daddies, maybe, just maybe, try to find friends.  It seems as good of a way as any to proceed.  Though, who knows?  There isn’t only one way to find love, that’s for sure.

Oh.  And YMMV.  😘


I Am So Bad at Talking Dirty

With a final fantastic moan of satisfaction, He opened His eyes and gazed down at me, contorted beneath Him.  He smiled gently, in complete contrast to the serious and firm aggression of just moments ago.

We lay in bed nuggled up.  The conversation turned to the night before.

“I thought You were going to put Your cock in my ass, Daddy,” I said playfully.

“I thought about it,” He said with an intense expression.  “I think you could have handled it but you were so close to orgasm.”

I nestled in closer.  We have had a lot of trouble in that area.  He is six feet and proportional.  I’m 5’2″ and also proportional.  Large peg A has some difficulty fitting into small, tight slut B, particularly when maneuvering a rear entry.

“I want You to be able to use me for your pleasure however You want, Daddy.”

He rubbed a hand along my body and hummed in appreciation.  “You made me hard again, baby.”

I wiggled happily.  “Fuck me real quick, then, Daddy.”

“I have to shower,” He said.

“It’ll be fast!” I exclaimed, then intoned, “I want You to put Your cock in me.”

He burst out laughing and my face immediately looked sad.  Super sad.

“You know,” He observed, “talking dirty works better if you don’t say it in your normal tone of voice and with a deadpan expression.”

So I tried again, whispering in a breathy voice,  “I want you to stick your cock in me and put come on or around my body.”  I gestured in a vauge circle around my torso.

His laughing got louder.

“Daddy!” I said emphatically, “You need to fuck me so I can take care of Your erection!”

“Oh, you most definitely already did,” He laughed as He climbed out of bed and headed for the shower.


Friday, September 14th, 2018

This One Time…I Was the Asshole

So once upon a time, way back in 19-*cough* *cough*, I was an asshole.

I was also virgin.

Man, did that suck.  It was the sexually enlightened 1990’s and here I was with the one condition which seemed guaranteed to scare off the guys I wanted to fix the problem.

I’d tried little of this, a little of that, and man, I was ready to get this done!

By *this*, I meant my vagina, to clarify.

But I wasn’t easy!  It couldn’t just be some random dude.  So I dated a couple of guys and they got scared off by the whole Issue of V thing, until I finally landed a nice guy who had done it before.  I was hoping he’d take the plunge.

We’re making out, pretty hot and heavy.  I’d done the “I’m at Brenda’s house” bit and was covered for the night.  Suddenly I hear the ultimate lady bone killer.

“I just want to wait until you’re ready.”

Bitch, please.  I done been ready, now get to it!!!

Yet somehow I left his house the next morning with my somewhat questionable purity still intact.

*Strike One.*

Two weeks later we skip the football game to go back to his place.  I’m expecting my own version of necessary roughness.

Ugh.  *Strike Two.*

So I organize a sleepover with my girls.  He’s going to swing by and get me for the night.  He chickened out.

*Strike Three.*  He was definitely out.

So I dumped him.

Yes, I’m *that* asshole.


Thursday, September 13th, 2018


Does Kink Make it Harder to Find Sir Right?

I should write a generic blanket intro that begins something like this:  So, Father Christmas and I were staring into each other’s eyes and being adorable, talking about whatever came to mind, which then inspired me to expand on those thoughts and write this.

Also, obviously I will discuss this as it relates to me, but despite my annoying insistance that I use my own gender match, I genuinely believe it applies across the board.

This particular conversation started when we were laughing about how the most common adjective people use to describe us is “adorable.”  I mean, He got bored at a party, bent me over a seating area, yanked my jeans down to my knees, and flogged me until he felt entertained enough to join the others again.

Adorable, right?

Dating is tough.  I mean, just vanilla dating, particularly vanilla dating online.  In fact, studies have been done about how difficult it is.  I’ve had relatives who spent 20 or more years trying to find someone who fit, and that’s dealing with a lot fewer specifications than we have in the Kink Community.

Think about it.

It isn’t enough to generically say any kinky person could match with any other kinky person.  Dear lord, no.  I tried that and my first marriage was the disastrous result of that failed experiement.

So now what we’ve introduced is a whole new way to be incompatible with each other.  A harsh sadistic master dating a little or kitten who doesn’t enjoy pain probably won’t be the long term partner of the other’s dreams.

It isn’t just in the big categories that we find areas to mismatch, either.  Sadism and masochism come in many flavors.  I think of myself as kind of a wimp when it comes to pain, but I’ve met people who seem to think I can take a decent amount.  That’s pretty much relative, isn’t it?  Even the level pain a pair want to inflict / receive may be dramatically mismatched.

I think it may be why we see so many Play Partner relationships form and dissolve in our communities.  We want a taste of the things we crave, even if we can’t find exactly the right person we would be willing to long-term pair bond with.  Assuming someone wants a long-term pair bond.

Maybe that’s why people think Father Christmas and I are adorable. Well, us and some of the other happy couples I see in the online community, since I’m pretty sure I’ve heard that tossed at others, too.

We hit the luck jackpot and found partners who are vanilla compatible AND all of the myriad of kink categories compatible.

I count my blessings every day.  I’m one of the gooey ones who hopes everyone finds their happily ever after, whatever it looks like to them.  ❤


Wednesday, September 12th, 2018

What’s Next When You’ve Gotten What You’ve Always Dreamed Of?

This past year and a half has been a whirlwind of things I swore I wouldn’t do and things I’ve always dreamed of in a hyper-swirl just bordering on overwhelming.

I got a second divorce – even though I’d sworn I wouldn’t.

I started participating in D/s and BDSM-related activities again – which I had also sworn off.

I began healing some wounds I hadn’t even begun to acknowledge.

I found a love I had never dared believe existed and a level of communication bordering on telepathy.

I got married again – even though it was also on my ‘Never Again’ list.  The wedding was all I ever could have dreamed it could be.

I had an opportunity to fulfil some once-in-a-lifetime career-related goals.  One of those was in a management capacity, the other as a performer.

It was quite literally the only role I’ve every actually dreamed of performing, since 1995, to be precise.  That’s a long time to work towards a dream.

I had a moment of vertigo after the last show as I stepped off of the stage.

> Is very strange. I have been in the revenge business so long, now that it’s over, I don’t know what to do with the rest of my life.  – Inigo Montoya

I suddenly realized I had no more big goals.  Have you ever felt truly rudderless?  I mean, to clarify, I adore my life.  I have an amazing relationship and I have a good reputation in my professional areas, so please don’t mistake lack of concrete goals with dissatisfaction.

It just feels a little oddly empty to no longer carry this goal which has been part of me for more than half of my life.

So what do you do when you get everything you want?

I guess I need to find some new goals.


Monday, September 10th, 2018


Needs Are Liquid, Not Solid

Okay, yes, that sounds like it might be a bit naughty.  It actually sprung from yet another conversation with Father Christmas.  I really love having a partner who will talk through all of my Deep Thoughts by Jack Handy.

Anyhow, we were discussing the concept of having needs met within the context of a relationship.  We decided it would be too simplistic to unequivocally state a need and assume it remains static.  Instead, we have to accept that needs fluxuate in the manner of liquids which seep into cracks and fill crevices rather than as an unchanging solid.

My needs have definitely changed since our relationship began.  I needed a lot of attention and support at first.  I had some pretty severe unexamined abandonment issues which needed to be brought into the light, and those unresolved shadows had their effects.  Fortunately, Daddy helped me identify them and then patiently supported me while I worked through some self-help books and did a mountain of journaling to augment my rather painful studies.

As I have changed, blossoming and flourishing under His emotional tending, cutting unhealthy things and dying offshoots back here and there, allowing healthy growth to continue unimpeded, the need for such constant attention has dwindled.  It has been replaced by more assurance than anxiety.  I do still need His touch, His attention, and a little more of His touch (because apparently physical intimacy is a reassuance for me), but it has lost the urgency of its previous state.

As much as it shames me to admit it, as I would have prefered to be someone who does not require symbols or gestures to feel secure in a relationship, I do believe I have found a comfort and sense of permanence in Father Christmas’ marriage proposal and our subsequently insane whirlwind marriage.

Still, just as my needs have fluctuated in regards to Him, so, too, has my need for female companionship, which I have been blessed to find in droves in this community, as if the universe is making up for my lack of close female friends for most of my life by supplying me with it all at once.

The moral of the story?  Communication shouldn’t just be a one-time deal in an ongoing kink relationship.  Depth of sharing should be ongoing because people change.  Sometimes they change over time, sometimes one of them has a rough week at work and needs a little extra flogging or TLC, or whatever.  The moments when we express those things clearly to our partners help our foundation continue to strengthen, whatever flavor the relationship may be.


Saturday, September 8th, 2018

Defining Vanilla

I ran across a Perverted Podcast discussion a couple of days ago.  I honestly felt like I had too many thoughts to articulately post in their thread, so instead of writing them a book, I pounded my thoughts out separately.

Their post talked about defining the word ‘vanilla’ as we tend to use it in the Kink Community.  So I figured I ought to start by looking it up.  Thanks, Google. All definitions were found searching vanilla or vanilla sex, and came from urban dictionary, Wikipedia and a couple of other places.

adjective, informal
* having no special or extra features; ordinary or standard.
* The opposite of kinky. Not in any way involved with BDSM.
* Preferring an activity or thing in its basic and unmodified state. Refers to vanilla ice cream. Used when expressing a preference for having something the traditional way.
* Unexciting, normal, conventional, boring.
* A member of the boring sexual majority, that has no idea of the raging sexual party of fetishes and swapping that whirls around them.
* Straight down the line, boring sex, with as little foreplay as possible, the kind of sex that the Catholic Church (proud sponsors of this year’s Republican party) want you to have, if you have to have sex at all, and if you’re married.
* A description of what a culture regards as standard or conventional sexual practice. Often, it is interpreted as sex which does not involve elements such as, BDSM, kink, or fetish activities. Usually defined as boring, plain sex. But, a vanilla lover would regard it as making-love, passionate sex.
* Among heterosexual couples in the Western world, vanilla sex often refers to the missionary position.
* Among homosexual couples, it sometimes implies that the activity is non-insertive (i.e. intercrural sex, frottage etc.)
* Sexual behavior that is within the range of normalityfor a culture or subculture, and typically involves sex which does not include elements of BDSM, kink, or fetishism.
* What is regarded as conventional sex depends on cultural and subcultural norms. Among heterosexual couples in the Western world, for example, conventional sex often refers to sexual intercourse in the missionary position. It can also describe penetrative sexwhich does not have any element of BDSM, kink or fetish.
* The term vanilla in “vanilla sex” derives from the use of vanilla extract as the basic flavoring for ice cream, and by extension, meaning plain or conventional. In relationships where only one partner enjoys less conventional forms of sexual expression, the partner who does not enjoy such activities as much as the other is often referred to as the vanilla partner. As such, it is easy for them to be erroneously branded unadventurous in sexual matters. Through exploration with their partner, it may be possible for a more vanilla-minded person to discover new facets of their sexuality. As with any sexually active person, they may find their preferences on the commonly termed “vanilla-kink spectrum” are sufficient for their full satisfaction.

Most of these definitions seem to be along one or two lines of thought.

The first is that the word merely describes, with somewhat innocent intent, the thought that vanilla is the basic flavor, without adornment.  Vanilla is still a tasty flavor, done right, some people just prefer a different flavor spectrum.

Others see or use “vanilla” as an insult, as if to be classified as vanilla is to lack something.  I ran across one notable post wherein the author carried emotional trauma from being referenced in that fashion by a former partner.

I’ve always thought of vanilla as more gentle.  I like rough sex, so for me, my idea of vanilla has always felt like a less satisfying version of sex.  That is, of course, not to insult those who enjoy it, I just prefer my sex to have higher levels of physical stimulation. I have used descriptors such as Vanilla Word to reference regular life outside of the online and physical Kink Community, merely as a way to separate it.

So what does vanilla mean to everyone else?

THE Definitive Guide to Accidently Yakking on a Cock During Blow Jobs

  • Pre-Blow Job Bonus Tip: Eat something that tastes the same coming up as it does going down. Excellent pre-yak treats include mint chocolate chip ice cream and grapes.
  • Be on a new medication which makes your stomach a bit touchy.
  • When deep throating, be sure to run the cock back and forth across your soft palate multiple times, priming your gag reflex.

Once you can feel it coming, if you have the ability to choke it back down and continue, obviously that is ideal.

If not, the choose-your-own adventure path splits slightly here.

  • If blarfing on his cock occurs prior to him spewing le jizz hot, grab the nearest towel, clean it up, and continue. If aforementioned yackage occurs after / during the addition of extra fluid to your mouth, you may omit the continue portion (unless he is your D-type and you are ordered to continue.)
  • Try very hard not to laugh as you apologize no fewer than 10 times over the next hour.

You’re welcome.

Touching Away the Fights

Nothing makes me feel more small and alone than a disagreement with Daddy.  It doesn’t happen often, and they always seem so ridiculous when they do occur.

Most of the time, we have excellent communication.  We talk about everything and even when one of us is bothered by something the other did, we are good at finding peace and common ground.

Except when it comes to text messages.

Fucking text messages.

If we’re going to have a misunderstanding, that’s how it’s going to happen.  Maybe it will be because He reads passive aggression into my text tone that I genuinely didn’t intend.  Maybe it is because I tried to express a slightly differing opinion and got my occasionally eloqent words tangled up in the very large feet I tend to stuff in my mouth in real life.  Perhaps it is because I feel the responsibility for the times others upset Him.

We generally get along so well that disagreements come as an unwelcome relative dropping in, a large, unexpected road hump on an otherwise smooth surface.

However they come, they do drop in, not caring how amazing the rest of the relationship is.

My first instinct is always to hide in on myself, to avoid touching Him, to find a place where the darkness will surround me and hold me in its comforting arms.  He has found me curled in corners covered in stuffies, tucked in crannies in closets, and in the front seat of the car in the garage, to name a few.  I have tried to get better about it, but this is one of those leftover pieces of self-preservation instinct I have to really fight.

At first He didn’t know how lost I was in fear and pain in those hiding places, or how very long it would take for me to creep out of hiding, the fear turned to anger.  We learned it goes better when He comes and finds me before the emotions pull me under.

Even better than that is when He touches me.  Something about His touch diffuses whatever fear I feel. It is hard to hold on to anger, confusion, and pain while sitting close to someone and touching them lovingly. Sitting side by side, thighs pressed skin to skin, His hand in my hair, mine on His knee, talking through our disagreements becomes magical.

In those moments I can really believe He means the word forever, and that we really can make this work until death do us part.


Thursday, August 30th, 2018