Good afternoon, readers!
Goodness, it seems like almost all of a sudden, my blog has exploded! Every morning I wake up and check my phone and discover that I’ve acquired at least one new follow over night. Every time I put my phone down, it seems like someone else is reading me and is inspired by my posts or story. It really is wonderful and I thank you from the bottom of my heart for taking the time to read me!
I had no intentions to write today, I have to be honest with you. It’s a glorious day here in the UK and I thought “hey, I really, really need to do some gardening today.” I know, the horror, right? A kinkster, gardening, abandoning her BDSM blog and doing something so… vanilla. String her up!
Anyway, it’s a scorching day here and I decided that, before I go and utilise my wireless tools (the hedge trimmer and the strimmer, you perverts) I really wanted to find something to pass time until the midday sun passes over. It’sexpected to reach about 31 degrees Celsius here in the south and I don’t want to use something with a lithium-ion battery in that heat, heaven forbid it explodes and I lose my arm, or something!
What to do? Well Elena, you could do the dishes, but, well, dishes are boring, so let’s write.
Today I wanted to talk about something really personal to me. It’s something that I’m having a huge struggle with at the moment (for a myriad of reasons) and I hoped that, by sharing my story, I can also reach out to people who are maybe feeling like I do and who are, perhaps, feeling in a similar way to what I do, so here I am.
You see, one of my biggest challenges lately has been that my Sir feels like my Daddy, but I have a tough ol’ time calling him my Daddy.
Let me explain part one of that story.
A few years ago, we started toying around with the name “Daddy”. He’d been my Master for a while and one day my mind just decided that it liked “Daddy”, so, being the good little submissive that I can be, I told him. Of course, I hid under a cushion, fearing a monumental backlash and disgust, but actually, he too really liked it, so Daddy Wolfie he became!
Much of the time, he was just “Daddy” to me. Anytime we were alone, he was Daddy. In sex or play, he was Daddy, if I wanted something, Daddy. The only time he was ever just Wolfie was when we had company, because we we were all too aware of the social stigmas of calling your partner “Daddy”- and we definitely didn’t want that discussion with the family!
Give myself a pat on the back here, for all of about 4 years of using it, I never once called my husband “Daddy” in front of family. If it was just the two of us alone in a room together, then we’d play a silly game of saying “Daddy” or “kitten” as many times as we could before company returned, but besides that, it’d never happen. Sometimes I’d also tease him, but asides that, I never once slipped.
Around October last year, we went on vacation with my family. It was a tradition that meant we got a fortnight away from it all, and even in spite of their now-somewhat-forgiven transgressions, we were still all able to go on vacation together and have a nice time. We’d stay in separate accommodation, so although we were together as a group, we also had enough privacy not to be on each other’s toes, and not impede on each other’s relationships.
While we were on vacation, my husband noticed one day that I was visibly “off”. Pulling me to one side, he asked me what was wrong.
“I don’t want to do it anymore”, I explained.
“Do what?” he asked.
I looked at him. Really?
“Daddy?” he mouthed. He knew this had been a problem for a while.
I nodded, hugged him and cried.
Each time “I uttered “Daddy”, thoughts of my father appeared in my mind. It wasn’t that I had any kind of sexual involvement with my Dad, but we had an incredibly strong, untarnished relationship that I almost felt as though I was tainting it. “Dad” had never involved anything sex for me, and I wanted it kept that way.
For a while, it crept back. Confused as ever, I would call him Daddy, feel bad and then I would cry.
“Just let it happen if it wants to happen, love”, he said. So I did.
In March this year, my dear Dad, my dear, sweet beloved Dad, passed away at the age of 60 from plasma cell leukemia. At that point, everything that I know to be true went on hold. My life was upended and kink and BDSM were the last thing I wanted to know. I existed, I functioned. But I was hardly alive.
Very slowly, things started to reappear like spring flowers after a long, dark winter. I’d want sex, I’d want to play rough, I’d flirt. Very, very slowly, the old me would re-emerge.
But there was one caveat – I was absolutely not prepared to use Daddy, ever again. That would have to go now. It felt disrespectful to my late Dad, almost as though I was replacing him. Yet, in a way, I almost was.
You see, my Dad can never be replaced. Yet, in having my husband now, my father can know that it’s okay. It’s okay to go, to be wherever he needs to be in the spiritual world. I am loved, I am cared for, I am safe – and that was all he ever wanted. In an odd way, I believe that I was meant to find my husband (and my Dad was supposed to love him, which he did) so that when this time did come, I had someone who could love me, would protect me and would understand me, someone to fill that extremely large and very deep void in my heart and love me like my Dad did. Not to be my Dad, but to be pretty darn close. To love, me, protect me and make me laugh like he would.
Since my Dad’s passing, “Daddy” has never been used, not once. The only two times it has come up is when our beloved Jack Russell has been staring at us, snuggled up on the couch.
“He’s my Daddy!” I’d exclaim, then correct myself”.
“I mean, he’s not my Daddy, he’s your Daddy and my husband and I paid to marry him”. There. Kinda.
Disclaimer: The next part of this post contains some controversial views and opinions of DDLG (Daddy Dom Little Girl) dynamics. Please understand that these are my experiences and thoughts and are absolute not a reflection of my feelings to my viewers or DDLG relationships on the whole.
One of the other things that really put me off of “Daddy” and DDLG is a lot of the stereotypical behaviours that are sort of expected of Little girls. For example:
- Loves Disney (and has probably watched The Lion King at least once)
- Loves pink
- Loves fluffy animals
- Loves Kawaii
- Loves cute, girly clothes
- Loves candy/cute snacks
- May or may not have a “paci”
- Loves cartoons
- Loves colouring/glitter/stickers
- May or may not baby talk
- May engage in age play/diapers
- Dotes on her Daddy
Now meet me:-
- Definitely not a “Disnerd” – Prefers Pixar movies and has never even watched The Lion King
- Hates pink, prefers (dark) purple
- Loves bats, platypuses and dogs
- Hates kawaii, prefers Gothic art (Anne Stokes ❤ )
- Total Tomboy, wears jeans and a black t-shirt nearly everyday (though I do wear pigtails if it will tease my Sir)
- Has an affinity chicken nuggets (ahem.. “nugs”) and quality chocolates
- Has a water bottle (that may or may not be referred to my “juicie”)
- Hates cartoons, prefers watching bad guys get busted in cop programmes with a big bowl of ice cream on her lap
- Hates colouring, thinks glitter is an environmental disaster and would probably end up putting stickers on Sir and Sir’s belongings (*suddenly realises she really, really needs to buy stickers at this point*). Absolutely loves playing with water, bubbles and generally being a science nerd
- Cannot stand baby talk
Is 30 years old, period
- Always, always in trouble for something or other. Sassy, independent, and won’t do what she’s told without good reason. Definitely in some way responsible for about 90% of Sir’s out-of-work headaches
So as you can see, I sort of fail to fit the mould.
In my opinion, DDLG has sort of come away from what I know to be “true” DDLG. I call it, because it is in many ways, the “Tumblr generation”. From these posts, I have seen a narrative of what is and what is not supposed to be DDLG, and if, as Little girl, you don’t love all thinks pink and fluffy, then you sort of don’t fit the mould.
The sad truth is that we seem to risk losing sight of what DDLG really is. DDLG is a subset of BDSM, first and foremost, and it’s as much about being in Daddy’s arms as it is about Daddy’s rules. Being a Little is not always mean getting treats, gifts and attention from Daddy. A little girl is his submissive first and needs to learn to remember that, always. I have seen posts advocating using tear drops in place of real tears for seeking out Daddy’s attention or throwing child-like tantrums for candy and treats. That’s not DDLG, that’s manipulation and I won’t be part of that. It’s different if a Daddy Dom wants to buy his little girl gifts, but manipulating anyone for any reason (unless they are about to cause harm to themselves or someone else, of course) is wrong.
For me, DDLG does absolutely not need to involve kawaii or fluffy things or pink or baby animals to count. Each dynamic different and each little girl is individual. DDLG is, stripped back to basics, a caring, nurturing and fun-filled BDSM dynamic between a Dominant and his submissive with rules that care for and protect her. While my Sir is, in every way, a Daddy Dom and I am, in many ways, his little girl, for long as I am being told what “most” Littles are into or how to manipulate him with eye drops, I won’t be having any part in that.
What are your thoughts? Let me know in the comments