I never thought I’d feel certain things again. My relationship with my Daddy has been new in every sense. My feelings snuck up slowly and glowed with warmth instead of burning with fire. I was leery of him for so many reasons – previous relationships, fear of pain, fear of rejection, lack of trust in strange men, and a million other reasons.
I took my time accepting that what I felt was even real. No relationship had ever felt this way. I wasn’t consumed completely by my feelings and desires. I simply drifted along on the currents of my emotions, relaxed and comfortable. I acknowledged that I wanted him, wanted what he offered, wanted to offer myself to him, but I wasn’t willing to submit completely for many months.
For all my doubts, insecurities, and lack of trust, some things have happened that were driven by instinct alone. Our first visit in March, the next in May, followed by July, August, September, and finally in October were amazing and yet filled with aspects of “real life” instead of lust-filled fantasy. Every visit, but one, I allowed him around my children. I wanted them to know this man – he is the first man I’ve known since my divorce that my children have met. By the second visit, I blew everyone’s mind when I told my children that they were expected to listen and obey him as they would me, and that I had given him “full authority” – no one knew what that really meant, including me. They’re good boys, and the most anyone has to do is raise their voice or issue a time-out (usually). But the dynamic changed – Daddy and I were a unit, a team, where my boys were involved.
With each visit, we charted new territory of what our relationship meant. I remember the first time I called him “Daddy,” fearful he would reject the name. I remember the first time I knelt at his feet, feeling total peace, my mind finally quiet and still. I remember the first time I sat on his face and nearly drowned him (true story). I remember cooking for him. I remember each cup of coffee I’ve made for him. I remember handing over my car keys, trusting him with something I can’t afford to replace.
Our play is often rough and tumble BDSM, not exactly what anyone would think of in the stereotypical Daddy Dom/little girl dynamic. This last visit, he called me “pet” – a name my first Sir used for me. For once, old memories did not threaten to overwhelm. Instead, I preened against his leg, kneeling before him, feeling every inch his pet.
I don’t often gush over my feelings in this space. I learned hard lessons the first time. I have not revealed who he is, although I’m sure several of you have figured him out. For a long time, I thought this lack of effusive outpouring of emotions meant that what I felt was somehow less than real or not genuine. I was wrong.
Our physical interactions, from sex to simply sharing the couch, have felt natural from the first time together. As natural as breathing. There is no thought (on my part) of what it means – “it” being everything from my love of the smell of his soap to why I am willing to wake up a few minutes early to start his coffee. If anything, I worry that this can’t possibly last. I worry that, eventually, we’ll take one another for granted and resentment will ensue. Even with those worries, we slowly move forward.
He’ll spend Thanksgiving with me and possibly Christmas – with me and my family. I wonder what that will feel like, introducing him to my mom and stepfather. I wonder how he’ll react to them, how they’ll react to him. My mother is mentally prepared to want to like him – hell, she was polite to my ex-husband who is a certified dumbass. When I mentioned Christmas, she discussed making sure he had gifts under the tree (cat’s out of the bag on that one, Daddy – and there’s no changing her mind).
Knowing all of this, and more, I was still caught off guard by my feelings after he left last weekend. I was quiet and sad on the ride to the airport but I held myself together. Well, until my youngest cried when he realized we were saying good-bye. That’s when I cried. My home felt empty without him when I returned home. Yes, I got my bedroom and my routine back, but I would trade those things in a heartbeat for his warmth and his presence. I was exhausted that night, but I avoided going to bed because I didn’t want to sleep alone. When I finally laid down in bed, I sobbed. I called him, knowing he was already asleep, but needing him more than I’d ever needed him before. We spoke, and his voice made me feel better.
Think what you will of Dominants and submissives, Daddies and babygirls, but at the end of the day, we’re simply people in relationships. Do I think D/s adds a level to a relationship that most (not all) vanilla relationships will never understand? Yes. But this isn’t about the kink or the lifestyle. This is about pure emotions that must be navigated in a mine field of past experiences and hurts. We each bring our own share of baggage into this. For whatever reason, in whatever way, Daddy went from acknowledging my baggage sitting in the corner to finally helping me unpack it and put it all away. I adore him, love him, desire him, want him, and ache to submit to him. He’s my Daddy, my Sir, and above all, my partner. I don’t know what the future holds, but I hope we’ll navigate it together.