Friday, April 22, 2016

Of Daddy Doms

This last week or so I've had these pictures in my head, these little clips of life. The kind but stern Daddy Dom, who spoils but is not above disciplining when need be. He knows when to be strict, but he also knows when to let things slide. Maybe he doesn't revel in a sadistic side, but is a Service Top for those with a masochistic side. Someone who rules the kitchen, making food for everyone who enter his house the way that a Jewish grandmother does. Someone who knows when to push you to do better but who also knows went to make you slow down. He is the head of the household and the ultimate decision-maker, though he is always striving to make the best possible decisions for everyone in the household.

I have a hard day and I'm just exhausted when I come home. It isn't like he doesn't have a hard day at work either, but he's found a way to balance having me take care of him with taking care of me as well. When I get home he makes me my favorite meal. He tells me to let the dishes wait. Maybe he'll even do them this one night, give me a little break from one of my regular chores. He sets my sitting /kneeling pillow down next to the couch, so I can sit at his feet, but he also puts my favorite blankets down there, so I can cuddle up and be warm. He has me dress up in something that I find sexy, because he knows that looking sexy makes me feel good. If I was some other girl in this situation, he would have me put on my flannel pajama pants and a tank top, because that would be what would make her feel good.

We have sex how I would like it. He would take me roughly and fuck me thoroughly. Then I pet him until he fell asleep. He is not bothered by my snoring. He thinks it is funny and cute. He sleeps with me all through the night. But maybe I can't get to sleep that night. Something at work is bothering me, or something in my family life, or maybe I just have a touch of insomnia at that point. I get up to wander the house for a bit, maybe watch a little more TV or read a book in the living room. Maybe my crazy is bothering me. As I sit alone in the living room all of my fears and doubts and insecurities start to play upon me. But I know that I can crawl into bed, wake him up, and ask him to comfort me. Even if I have done this a million times to him, even if he needs to get up early in the morning, he will still comfort me, hear my fears, and talk me down.

When I first met the Professor and Ginger I had not really heard of Daddy Dom and babygirl relationships. I didn't really understand it either. I knew about Dom/sub relationships and I knew a little about Master/slave relationships. But this was something a little bit new. I think that in my mind I associated it with the adult age play, the people who like to completely revert to infants, complete with diapers. And some do. But there were all these things I didn't quite understand.

I had come from a time in my life where I was in control of how my life went, but my life itself was not in control. I had a lot of laziness, a lot of depression, a lot of not engaging in my own life because I was too much in my head. For me, when I submitted, I was forced to get out of my head and to act, to do what the other person wanted me to do to please them. That is what I wanted. But I could understand intellectually how comforting it would be for someone to be in the babygirl side of the relationship, especially someone who worked as hard as Ginger did. I could also understand it from a point of how she grew up, wanting to be able to be young and play again, to enter a time before anything sucked or was crazy. The spring before I became pregnant I even talked to a more Daddy Dom type, though that was more for the 'holding me accountable' side of things than the 'pamper me' side. Maybe this has sprung up more because he is the latest in a string of exes and people I'd tried to date who have popped up in the last few months.

The last couple of days I have just been exhausted. We are all spread so thin both physically and emotionally. It is difficult to even do anything that doesn't have to be done immediately, much less do things that aren't absolutely essential. This is not any one person, this is all of us. Since the baby has been born especially, I have felt like I am always taking care of something. It is not that the other people don't do things, just that I do so much more even than I used to. I am spending so much time taking care of so much and trying to find time for others to take care of themselves, with varying degrees of success. I never or hardly ever find or make time to take care of myself. My self care has been completely lost in the shuffle. So Monday night and Tuesday night when I wanted to cry because I was so exhausted and I just wanted someone to take care of me and comfort me, all of these images of being subsumed in a Daddy Dom /babygirl relationship became very enticing.

Then last night as I was sitting there in my bra and jeans, as I am supposed to do when it is just the Professor and I, he turned to me and smiles, saying, "I love that you're such a hardcore chick but you also like cute things, like pink coats and pink bras with black polka dots on them." Even if I had not realized before that moment, it would have cemented it for me, that as enticing as that fantasy may be, if given a day to play I would still rather pick my sadistic Dom, who sometimes will make me eggs in a basket, over a full-time Daddy Dom who isn't him. I'd still rather him slap my ass or my mouth when I'm smart than to get a stern look and a warning. I appreciate the times he takes care of me, like when he make sure to set aside food for me from dinner and reminds me to eat when I get home from work, or like today where he sacrificed his sleep to let me sleep in. But I chose my collar and I spent months, maybe a full two years actually, working to get to where I earned this collar, and where he earned the slave girl I had become. I'd rather be his hardcore, masochistic, 'run the household for my Master' little slave girl every day. 

Saturday, April 16, 2016

Emotions =/= Weakness

I refuse to accept that being emotional necessarily means I am weak and can't handle things.

I am working hard not to expect people to have the same emotions as I do or the same intensity of emotions as I do, nor to judge them for it. Not having the same emotions, the same amount of emotions,  the same intensity of emotions does not make them weak. They are just different. I may feel that difference is too much to be able to have certain kinds of relationships with them. I may love TyRoy on many levels and we have a wide and deep friendship but that difference is too great for a romance. I might choose to not have someone in my life who I had less in common with and less of a history with, not because they are bad or weak or how they experience emotion and react to it is bad or weak. Just an amount of difference I am not willing to work to bridge right now, which might be best for all involved.

But I also refuse to believe that having lots of emotions and intense emotions makes me weak. Yes, i would like to not be as emotionally reactive and I keep working on that. But i am still doing better than I was. My worst day recently is still better than my mid-grade days ten  or fifteen years ago. Even after my worst nights, i still sleep, still get up, still go to work, still take care of my kid. Most of the time, I still take care of my house, still wash dishes and pick up.

Some of this may always be here because it is my personality at this point. I will always probably just feel more intensely and be more emotionally reactive than other people in my life. On the other hand, they will always feel less intensely and be less emotionally reactive than I may like. Neither side is necessarily weaker or worse for those things.

Wednesday, April 06, 2016

Wanting What He Wants

We are at a stalemate.

Our needs are incompatible and non-negotiable.

I want security and she wants freedom.

I want joint decisions and she doesn't want anyone to tell her what to do.

I want honest discussions where I can have reactions and she needs to know how what she says will b taken before she says it.

I want my house to be my safe harbor, where I can exclude the world, and she wants it to be a place where she can share her world and have those people welcomed unconditionally.

Her crazy is driving me crazy and mine is driving her crazy.

"No one has asked what I want!" he yelled at me in my bedroom. And he was right.

The next weekend: "You're going to leave. Even if you didn't, we couldn't live on our own together because we'd kill each other. So you're going to leave. Then she's going to move him in and I won't last with them, so I'll leave. So just shut up and let me pretend like nothing is wrong so I can enjoy my family being together while I can."

I didn't think my heart could break more but it did.

Later, I knelt by his chair, with tears in my eyes. "I don't want you to not have your family. So I'll just try to do what you want. What you decide, I will try my best to live with."

I'm trying.