My reputation has been maligned. My honor questioned. My own Daddy has shared with the world something he considers ‘questionable’ in our bedroom.
It’s a question of consent. (To understand the full story, stop now. Click this link. Then come back – otherwise this isn’t going to make a lick of sense.)
My position is this…
I have permission to touch my Daddy at will, whenever I choose. By his decree, by the way. Some parts of him I touch more often than others. A caress on his cheek. A warm hand on his neck. Pinchy fingers on his butt (followed by silly noises). Grasping hands on his cock.
His belly button is fair game. And is often neglected. Poor thing. Poor little forgotten belly button. (Don’t you feel sorry for his belly button? I know I do.)
So there I was, in the middle of the night, playing Big Spoon to Daddy’s ‘Little Spoon’ with my arm draped around his waist, my hand laying peacefully over his stomach. His belly button was close – and, dare I say, lonely.
I allowed my fingers to circle and stroke his belly button for a moment. Hearing no protect (or giggles), I continued. The belly button didn’t pull away, didn’t cringe, and gave no indication through body language, sound, or expression that it did not consent to my sweet touches.
The next morning, as the consent/nonconsent debate raged in our house, I requested a test. Now that Daddy was awake, I would reproduce the sweet, tender touches from the night before on a fully aware belly button.
Daddy presented his belly button for the test. With one finger (didn’t want to get too extreme in broad daylight, ya know), I stroked and swirled, circled and poked. At no point was I told to stop nor did the belly button pull away. The only sound from this test? Big Daddy giggles (yes, giggles).
I say that the belly button not only consented but loved the attention it received.
I rest my case.
Yes, we know we’re silly. Yes, we know we’re cute. For the record, we laugh a LOT in our house. We’re still laughing over this one.