I have a Daddy again. Or if I’m being honest, for the first time ever. I have gone through the horrible process of trusting someone carte blanche so many times, thinking that just because they have a certain title, that they are who they say they are.
It took me awhile to ask Gentleman Friend if he would be my Daddy. I thought he knew I was a baby girl when we started dating. I wasn’t looking for a Dom anymore–I had given up on that–but the way he treated me suggested that he knew. He liked to make the decisions, but always keeping me in mind. When I’d get indecisive and he’d tell me what to do, I flushed with good feelings I swore he could feel. And then he started calling me Little One, and I was sure–he knew.
I didn’t mention anything about it on my dating profile, but his Wifey knew Sugar Daddy, so I thought maybe the info had been passed through the grapevine. Turns out, it hadn’t.
We talked about it somewhere around a month in. I was really nervous to have the conversation, but it needed to happen. I kept wanting to call him “Daddy”, and biting back the words because he said he wasn’t a Dom. I wanted him to be him–I thought he was perfect the way he was, and didn’t want to pressure him or make him feel like he had to change in any way. So I very gingerly broached the topic of baby girls. He knew quite a bit about it and said he’d like to try to meet that need for me, but I proceeded with caution. I was prepared to scrap that entire aspect of our relationship if it seemed, for even an instant, that he wasn’t being true to himself. What we have is precious–I did not want to ruin it.
He has been slowly embracing his dominant side more and more, but today he let his Papa Bear out. In the past, if he hasn’t wanted me to do something (like see Sugar Daddy), he would give me his opinion but tell me that it was my choice. Which made me believe that it didn’t really matter. And invariably I would give in. Recently he asked me to promise him I wouldn’t see Sugar Daddy anymore. And just like that, the decision was made and it was like a huge weight was lifted off my shoulders, because going back to him is not an option. I promised.
But then my addict wanted out again. I felt completely powerless–weak in the knees at the idea of some thought-erasing, adrenaline inducing, meaningless, anonymous sex. I asked Daddy for help, because I desperately needed it. I told him I was thinking about having random sex again, and asked him if I could. And he told me no.
He told me to look at him, and I did. His expression was one of total love and acceptance. And he told me no. And I felt, instantly, like my world was back in balance. I can do the things I need to do. I can work on myself, on having the relationships I want to have, and being the person I want to be, without even considering throwing myself back into a self-destructive cycle that could end in utter disaster. Because he told me no.
I am impulsive, and indecisive, and spontaneous and insatiable and passionate and prone to addiction. It is hard for me to reign it in and make the best choice unless I have a solid, immediate reason. I am a master of rationalization and ignoring the signs, of acting now and paying for it later.
I need structure and guidance. I need to be told no. I need a Daddy.
And that’s what I have.
I’m in a crisis. It could turn out to be a crisis of epic proportions, it could be a catalyst for greater things, or it could just be a hiccup. Time will tell, but as we all know, I hate waiting. I was devastated and in a total panic a couple of days ago, and Gentleman Friend left work early to come sit on the couch with hubby and I and talk it through. He took a family emergency day. He is amazing.
Things have been downright domestic lately. Backyard fires, relaxing in bed watching movies (well, porn, haha), me playing paintball with him and his friends. We’ve been hanging out in the living room with his wife and her boyfriend, antique shopping in the afternoon, going to work events with his family (me as “the friend”). I love what we have and I love what we do, but this crisis has triggered something that has been itching below the surface.
I have dreamt of a poly family since I started this. It was this article, about a polyfidelitous triad, that made me realize that this was something I wanted. I had just given up on the dream, thinking I would never have that, when in strolls the Gentleman Friend with his daughter and his wife and his cat, and takes me as his. They welcomed me in.
But (and of course there is a “but”), as much as I am a baby girl who needs security and to be protected and nurtured, I am also a wild child who needs to let loose. I am feeling this urge particularly strongly right now, in the face what happened a few days ago.
I miss the kink scene. I haven’t been a part of it since I moved, and I miss it. I miss dirty, sexy, wild parties with everyone spanking and fucking and walking around naked. I miss dressing outrageously and dirty dancing in a club on fetish night. I miss the total abandon, the absolute shamelessness, the complete and utter distraction.
I know I want to run, and I know I want to hide. I know that’s part of what this is. But even before things got scary for me a couple days ago, I had been missing it.
I’m not seeing Sugar Daddy anymore. He invited me to a Halloween hotel party hosted by a sex club, and then sprung Jailbait on me after the tickets had been purchased. I was not amused. Up until the night before, he tried and tried to get me to go with both of them, but I wasn’t having it. There was just no way. So they went without me.
It was rough. I went out with Gentleman Friend that night, but I really really miss just letting my deviant out. I haven’t found a safe person to attend these kinds of events with so I am abstaining, but it sucks. Gentleman Friend has mentioned hitting a sex club, but it hasn’t happened yet. I am going to talk to him about it, but as much as I care for and enjoy him, I’m not sure its his scene. Not everyone is an exhibitionist.
I wonder if I should start looking again. He says I have his blessing. He was thinking I need an NSA fuck-machine to replace Sugar Daddy, but what I’d love is someone to go to kinky events with once a month or so. The thought of putting myself out there again scares me, but its something I want to do. I think I should wait until the dust settles to see if this desire is in my bones, or just a knee-jerk response to the stress I am under right now.
But damn if I don’t miss my wild side.
“Wear a dress or a skirt. I want to put my fingers inside you in the car.”
This is the first such exchange between us. We are dating. Getting to know each other. Feeling our way.
But he has been watching me. He sees how I respond when he takes control–not just in the bedroom, but anywhere. He occasionally calls me “little one.”
But I have avoided titles. “Daddy” means “I love you.”
It is more than whatever I happen to feel. It means I am giving you my heart, with all its chips and cracks, and trusting you not to add any new ones.
It has yet to be seen whether or not I have a new Daddy. . .whether or not I ever will.
For now, I am going to go put on a skirt or a dress (with knee socks). Someone wants to finger me in the car.
3 hours and change until Dark Daddy arrives at his hotel room and eventually summons me.
Body hair? Shaved and shaved again, just to make sure.
Lavender bath? Taken.
Clothing? Strewn all over my bed, with zero idea of what I am wearing.
Lingerie? Chosen, with a little help from the man himself (and he picked the retro set with polka dots–which is also my favourite–and which shocked the heck out of me since I was sure he would have picked something sluttier).
Hair? In progress.
DIY sugar/honey/coconut oil lip treatment? Completed.
Nerves? In check.
Somewhere around the 10th message I received with photos of him fucking the 18 year old who is here for the weekend, I turned off my phone.
Then I did a shot of chocolate cake vodka and got out my crocheting needle and a giant ball of yarn. Because crocheting is the new smoking.
I am watching Gossip Girl and tearing up because I have a brand new bottle of wine chilling in the fridge but I can’t find our cork screw. And I’m out of shots. Though we may have whiskey…
I think the text messages are his way of including me. I think they are his way of titillating me for when I join them tomorrow afternoon and stay through Sunday morning. I think he invited me for the whole weekend but I couldn’t make it happen.
I think if he does not stop rubbing it in I will stab him in the eye with my crab fork the next time we go out for seafood.
I think I am not cut out for this.
I think I am desperate.
I think I am pissed that he tied HER up but he has yet to tie me up. I think I am pissed that she is staying over there tonight and will have had her first sleepover with him before I get to. And I think the fact that my first time spending the night with him, will include some stranger from a sex site who came into town specifically to fuck him, bugs the shit out of me.
I think I should be happy that he wants to sleep beside me and spoon and fuck me all night. I think it angers me that he is spooning and fucking HER all night, right now!
I think if my husband had not said No to me tonight when I asked him for sex, I would be less upset.
I know that, as much as it is about sex for Daddy, he is training her. She is not allowed to use his name, look him in the eye, wear clothes or speak unless spoken to. She is a submissive, period, and he is training her for the weekend, period.
That does not, however, negate the fact that I can’t do this. I don’t even have sex with my husband, so basically this is the only guy I’m sleeping with. I can’t have this. The ONLY way I can not get emotionally involved is if I have more than one fuck partner at once. So, yeah, that’s happening. Because it has to. Because I want to be with him, but I don’t want to feel like this.
Technically I am not allowed. I mean, I am allowed to “seize opportunities” with other men, but not so much with the searching them out.
I think going to a bar in a short skirt and siting by myself is an opportunity. I
I even promise I will not approach any of them first.
And as for women, I am allowed to do whatever I want. Which suits me just fine because hey, Yoga Girl (Daddy’s other lover) is poly and sounds like she’s just my type, and Daddy is poly too, so he should be all about sharing the love.
Of course, her husband will not allow her to have threesomes WITH Daddy, but she sure is allowed to play with other women all by herself.
I think we should be friends.
I’m not sure if my true intentions are coming through in any of this, because I’m a little fuzzy from the vodka and I refuse to use emoticons in my posts, but suffice it to say, I’m feeling evil.
This past weekend Daddy set up a threesome for us. When we’d discussed it in the past, I told him I trusted him to pick out someone for us. When he showed me her picture, though, I have to admit I was turned off. She wasn’t my type at ALL, but Daddy thought she was yummy.
I didn’t know what the rules were. I kind of hinted at my hesitancy, but obviously wasn’t clear enough. I asked him about her personality–I thought I could tell what she’d be like from the photos she posted, but I was hoping I was wrong. When I hook up with someone from online, I don’t choose strictly on their looks. I pick someone who looks like my type of person (Daddy’s profile picture is a marathon photo, for instance), and if the person can banter, seems to be easy-going and like someone I think I’d enjoy hanging out with, then I move forward.
When I asked him about her messages though, he said she sounded “just fine.” Looking through some of her texts I had some misgivings, but I wasn’t sure how to broach it with him because he’d already made plans with her. I avoided commenting on her appearance (frankly, she looked over the top, loud and tacky), but gushed over the photos of another woman we are supposed to be hooking up with soon. I figured he’d pick up on the fact that I wasn’t so into this particular woman, but no dice.
The day before we were supposed to hook up I wasn’t feeling great. I texted Daddy that my stomach hurt, and he said that I needed to do whatever I could to feel better by Saturday because we are “meeting a new friend and need to make a good impression.” Right, then.
I was really nervous leading up to it, but was hoping that she would back out. Before she arrived at Daddy’s condo, he and I went out to dinner. He took me to this great restaurant that serves creole food and we had a really nice time. We talked a bit more about The Girlfriend and Yoga Girl, and all of our insecurities about the situation. I told him my fear that The Girlfriend may want me to be strictly for sex, and that she may not want him to care for me. He said that wasn’t up to her–she has to deal with the fact that he cares about me, and she has to deal with the fact that she cares about Yoga Girl, and if she doesn’t like it then obviously the two of them “are not forever.”
He took me home and we opened a bottle of wine while we waited for the other woman. We didn’t have sex because he wanted to make sure we were both horny as hell when she got there. I crossed my fingers that she would flake, but despite being late, she did show up.
She was even less my type in person than in her pictures. I tried not to let it show but I definitely would have never considered being with her in any other situation–you know when you’re not just not attracted, you’re actually UN-attracted? Yeah, that’s where I was.
So to force myself to be okay with the situation, I just kept drinking.
It was a bad situation all around.
We started fooling around on the couch, and eventually the three of us moved it to the bedroom. I licked her pussy and she licked mine. I licked and fingered her until she had a screaming orgasm, and then Daddy fucked me, and then fucked her from behind while she moaned and gasped and came again. After a long while he told her that he was not even close to coming, so she breathlessly asked if they could take a break.
She asked me if I had a cigarette, which I did. Daddy has me down to two a day and I’d already had my allotment for the day, but he allowed me to have another one with her out on the patio. Then I got on my knees outside and blew him. Blurred Lines came on the stereo and I started dancing with his cock still in my mouth, and then said “Wait, what happened, it’s over?” when the song ended. She burst out laughing and then I started giggling and then Daddy said if I was going to be laughing then that was the end of the blow job.
We went back inside and I pounded another glass of wine without permission.
Daddy was not impressed.
The other girl gave Daddy a blowjob of her own (a very impressive looking one, I might add!), while I got on my knees behind him and rimmed him.
“That’s a surprising development,” he said. He had asked me before whether I do that, but I’d told him it was a soft limit. Apparently all the alcohol did the trick because I did it with no issue and actually kind of liked it.
Annnd, everything after that is a blur.
Apparently there was more drinking of contraband wine, more smuggling of un-authorized cigarettes, much drunken stumbling about and many instances of disobedience and rudeness.
I told Daddy I loved him a bunch of times, even though I had promised myself I would wait to say it. At least he said it back.
I told him I wasn’t being loud, and then proceeded to scream, on purpose.
I bit Daddy’s ass hard–he later told me I was lucky he hadn’t responded by yanking me up by my hair and slapping me.
I wandered out onto the patio and tried to curl up and go to sleep under a towel.
I was so hammered that after the other girl left, Daddy put me to bed and set the alarm for two hours later. He said I was in no condition to get into a cab until I’d had some sleep. When he woke me up, I was still totally drunk, but in slightly better condition. He put me in a cab as I apologized profusely, and he just kept saying we’d talk about it in the morning.
He told me to text him when I got home safely, and by some miracle I managed to do that. He responded with “Sleep well, Baby Doll.” Swoon.
The next day we had a confusing and heated discussion via text.
He said I had acted like a drunken teenager.
I told him I only did that because he made it clear I was to fully participate and it was the only way I could make myself fuck someone I wasn’t remotely attracted to.
He said he’d had no idea I wasn’t attracted to her.
I asked him what he would like me to do next time instead, and he said “Not get hammered and act out? I expect better from you.”
I felt bereft. I felt sick all day and cried on and off. I went back and forth between being upset that I’d embarrassed and disappointed him, and feeling enraged that I’d been put in this situation in the first place. I texted him later and asked when he could talk. He said the next day (today). We squabbled a bit more and then, realizing that this conversation needed to be had in person in order for it to be at all productive, decided to leave it.
Tonight after work I went to Daddy’s condo. I was late because we were short staffed so I had to close. I texted Daddy that I would be there as soon as I could, and he responded with “sigh.”
I felt so nervous waiting for him to come to the door and let me in. I couldn’t look him in the eye and followed him back to his unit like a chastised puppy trailing behind its master.
Daddy shook his head. “Well, while we have this conversation you might as well be naked,” he said.
I obediently undressed and stood in the living room with my hands behind my back–a modified version of the submissive position.
“Bad Girl” by Madonna was playing. Despite my genuine heart-sickness over being in so much trouble, I had to stifle a giggle. It was clearly atmospheric. He made me stand there and listen to the entire song while he moved around in the kitchen.
When he came out he handed me a glass. I expected it to be just straight Coke–a message of some sort about how my drinking days were over–but to my surprise it had rum in it.
Daddy sat on the couch and I continued to stand. I held my drink in my hand and kept the other behind my back.
I stood there naked while he detailed my transgressions from Saturday night.
“It will never happen again,” he said when he was done. “What do you think is going to happen if you ever behave that way again?”
I shook my head. I couldn’t speak.
“You probably don’t want to know what is going to happen.”
“No, Sir, I don’t,” he said, but the message was crystal clear–I would lose him.
“Now,” he said. “You are not obligated to sleep with anyone if you don’t want to. Ideally, you would have told me you weren’t into her when I showed you her photo so I could have cancelled.”
“I tried to tell you Sir, but you made it clear I was expected to go through with it.”
“You didn’t tell me you weren’t into her–you just said you were nervous. You need to be more clear about that. Next time you choose the girl.”
“But what if we like their picture but we meet up and I can’t stand them?” I asked.
“Then we need a signal–say you have cramps or something.”
“Well,” he said. “At least there were a couple of good things to come out of Saturday night. One, we know you lick ass.”
“Two, it was very nice getting to cuddle with you for a couple of hours while you were passed out snoring like an asthmatic old man.”
Daddy’s girls are all out of sorts.
Yoga Girl, Daddy’s lover, is concerned that it has now gone from her two times a week and The Girlfriend once a month, plus assorted randoms, to three women all living in the same city, loving the same man.
The Girlfriend is concerned that we might try to usurp her place as Daddy’s primary relationship.
And I am (less now, but still) worried that he will not have time for me.
Poor Daddy. He has told Yoga Girl that at least now there will be no more random sex–he has his hands more than full with the three of us. He has assured The Girlfriend that Yoga Girl and I are both married with children and are not looking for a primary partner. And for me, he just keeps telling/showing me how much he cares for me.
“You know I don’t enjoy whipping you with the riding crop more than once or twice,” he said. “After that, it’s just punishment. You asked me to help you quit smoking. Trust me, as much as getting whipped hurts, it’s not as bad as cancer.”
And then later that night:
“You know I really do care about you, right?”
“I know, Daddy.”
“I want you to have a happy home life, and I want you to have a happy slut-life.”
“Thank you, Sir.”
I imagine Daddy is under a lot of stress. I told him tonight, after him giving me advice on how to help my husband break into Daddy’s industry, as well as promising to make some calls to industry friends in the morning on Hubby’s behalf, that I wanted to be friends with his other girls.
“I just think we should be friends,” I said. “As naive as this might be, they’re my sister wives. We should all get to know each other.”
Daddy agreed. The Girlfriend is hesitant but willing–she says she just needs to be eased into it. Yoga Girl wants to meet–whether we play together or not, she feels the way I do. I am trying not to get my hopes up too high. I have no idea what either of these other women are like. But we all love Daddy and Daddy loves us (though they are not his baby girls–we all have unique roles in his life), and I would love to at least try to see if we can be friends. Part of me–the young, hopeful part, buried deep down inside–feels like this could be the start of the poly family I’ve always wanted. Whether I become sexually involved with the other two or not, we should at least all be able to spend time together.