I recall when I came into the community and heard a woman call a man “Daddy”, I rolled my eyes. I thought inside “Daddy? Really? Someone have Daddy issues?” Yeah, I went there. It was a concept I didn’t understand – and internally, we are all a bit more judgemental than what may come out of our mouths. I made the internal comment – and sort of moved on. I didn’t get it. Not my kink. To each her/his own.
Then, I had a moment in a scene where I was being beaten and all – but the top was so nurturing and caring about it that I got it. That’s what Daddy was – right there.
But still, I never thought I needed a Daddy. I mean, I’m this strong woman who supports her family, does it all, and is used to wielding a degree of control most would not understand or want. And I like it. Am I really the type who “needs a Daddy”?
Then I found a person who was just Daddy. He took care of me as much as I wanted to take care of him. When I was sick unexpectedly one of our first overnight dates together, he brought me medicine and water and tucked me into bed, then wrapped himself around me, pulling me into his chest, and holding me tight. In that moment, I felt safe, I felt protected, I felt like I was where I needed to be. I could be vulnerable and sick and not worry about anything because Daddy was going to take care of me.
Over and over again, I have no question that he is my daddy. He gives me what I need – even if it is a hard beating with fucking clover clamps on my nipples tightened to the point where I cannot move without causing myself more pain. Even if he’s got that whippy bitch of a cane that feels like it’s cutting into my flesh – or that fucking paddles I’ve named Fucking Fred. He knows – in that moment – that I need all of it – no matter how much I buck and cry and moan and act like I want it to stop. He keeps going because Daddy knows what I need – and he gives it to me – then pours me into bed after a big glass of water, and cuddles me until my tears are dried and my smile returns.
Whether it be pain or pleasure or an ear or encouraging words or kisses or cuddles or a good meal – Daddy takes care of me. And I, in turn, try to take care of him even if it is simply just cooking him a good meal or sleeping on his pillow so it smells like me when I am gone.
Having a Daddy does not mean I’m a little – it means I have a man in my life that let’s me be out of control for a while – who nurtures me. That’s all.
Though, not just anyone could be the Daddy I need. I am just beyond lucky that I found a man who is the Daddy I need. And for that – and a variety of other reasons – I love him muchly.