Sometimes you just need a white knight

Daddies are as much for protection as they are about serving.

Yesterday I was out with my family, and I had decided that, instead of them driving me home, I would just take the train home. After I had decided this, of course, I started getting brainshocks, and I realised that I had forgotten to take my medication the previous night. I texted Daddy this, Daddy offered to pick me up from the nearest station.

Then I got into the city, and the trains were in all manner of mess and confusion. After half an hour, I gave up and asked Daddy to pick me up from the city instead, which he happily said he'd do. Alas, there was all manner of construction works and tramworks outside the station (that I'd been unaware of), which meant that he couldn't quite get to the station to pick me up! And seeing as a driver has limited means of communication, there was the inevitable stress of not knowing what's happening where.

But we finally managed, and Daddy picked me up. But the stress of seeing my family, as well as my emotions going haywire after missing my dose, meant that I was a total mess. Daddy decided to treat me to chicken, and he was there as I just broke down.

Sometimes, you forget that the Daddy/boy relationship isn't just one-way. A boy job, yes, is to serve his Daddy, and make his life easier, but a Daddy's job is to take care of his Boy, to be there if he is in trouble, and needs help. Yesterday was a very real reminder that yes, my Daddy does do that job for me, that when I need him, when I can't deal with the world, he's there with a shoulder to cry on, and chicken to form a safe space (it's a long story), because that's what Daddies do.

A New Member of the Family

So, over the last couple of weeks, Daddy has been talking to a new girl, with a view to her becoming a slave. It's been interesting for me, but not for the reasons you'd think - it's been interesting mostly because of how uninteresting my reaction has been so far.

Last post I talked about I tended to expect emotions to be hard and complex, especially about my Daddy's breakup, but it turned out that they're not that complex at all, and I think that the New Girl's arrival has caused similarly simple emotions as well. I feel, in no real order, happy that my Daddy may finally be getting the slave that he has been craving, excited that a new person is entering our lives, happy when I see the two together (Compersion, I has it!). There's not a lot of other feelings swooshing about, frankly.

One would think that there'd be a certain degree of jealousy, but regular readers would be aware that I really don't work that way. When Daddy is playing with other people, I know that it's not because our relationship is terrible, and that he's about to break up with me - I've been with my Daddy for a while, and frankly, the likelihood of him breaking up with me over someone else? Remote to non-existent.

I mean, sure, there's always that crazy voice in the back of your head, wondering if Daddy's time is going to be taken up by his new slave, but considering how slowly he's taking this, I don't see that happening, and if it does, I know how to communicate about that sort of thing.

So really, I've just been sitting back and enjoying the journey here. I'm here to support my Daddy no matter what direction this goes, because I've got my place on my Daddy's side.

Romanticising Suffering

Todays Psych session was oddly relevant today, to my BDSM stuff.

We were talking about my Daddy's breakup, and while I thought I'd have some serious conflicts about it, it turns out that my emotions are actually nice and straightforward - I'm sad that my Daddy is sad, and I'm sad that I likely won't be seeing a person I liked very often from this point. But that's about it, really - I have no real conflicts about the whole kibosh.

But it brought up a more interesting question - why I thought there would be more complex emotions involved. He pointed out to me an odd phenomenon which comes up a lot in my mind - the fact that I almost strive for suffering, like it's a good thing.

Now, don't get me wrong - to suffer at the hands of your dominant is not necessarily a bad thing. But I have this view in my head that I must suffer - that I always take the hard road, always do things by the least efficient method, that I don't feel I've accomplished anything if I didn't suffer through it. Really, I've put this romantic spin on suffering, and I think part of that is that the suffering that I've been through in life has lead me to the person I am now, with all it's kindness, compassion, and willingness to listen.

But the fact is, I don't need suffering to learn things. I don't need to suffer through everyday life to learn things in life, I can just, you know, learn stuff by looking around. There's no need to complicate things by pushing myself to inflict pain and woe upon me just because it builds character.

Rocking on

A couple of days ago, Daddy's girlfriend broke up with him.

There are times where Daddy takes care of me, and there are times, like this, when I need to take care of him. It's part of the D/s relationship that not a lot of people get to see, but the fact is, part of my role as my Daddy's boy is to take care of him.

No, actually, I take that back. It's not part of my role as a boy, but part of my role as a partner. Even if we weren't in the relationship we were in, I'd still consider it vital to take care of Daddy doing times of sadness and trauma. But people forget that, sometimes, in a D/s relationship. That sometimes, the greatest service you can give is just to be there, with hugs and pats, to be willing to sit there and help your partner talk through the mess of emotions, and make sense of what the hell just happened.

And it's a service I willingly, and happily, give.

My Daddy, when talking to me last night, said how grateful he was at how stable and secure I was. That he'd never felt secure before, and that I was the one who kept him that way. I was his rock, something he could hold on to when the rest of the world changed and shifted.

It was one of the greatest compliments I've ever received. So I'll keep rocking on for my Daddy. I like being a rock.

Why I Love Rope

I was asked today at my psych why I enjoyed rope, why I enjoy being confined. For once, I actually came up with an answer, so I'm writing it here for posterity.

Sensorily, I love the feeling of rope. I love feeling it's constriction around me, I love the feel of rope, I love testing the boundaries of rope around me.

But it's not just the sensation. I could get that feeling just from tight clothes.

I love rope because being tied up feels safe. It takes me back to games with my brothers, where we would wrap each other in blankets and rugs, like big burritos. We'd inch around like worms, laugh, sometimes we'd even put two of us in the same rug. Being confined with rope takes me back to that place in my mind. When I'm wrapped in rope, I feel like the little rugworm again, unable to anything but inch around. I guess unlike a lot of people, being tied up never had bad connotations for me. When I was teased as a kid, I was never held, never forced down. The attacks on me were always social and psychological, never physical, so physical restraint just doesn't have a negative colour to me. So, being physically restrained always brings me in mind of childhood games, and all the positive feelings of play.

I get the same feeling when I'm caged. When I was little, my favourite places to hide from the world were always little "caves". Either the cave made from the beds in me and my brother's bedrooms, or a little hole in the hedge where my mum played netball, or the hidden little walkway at the basketball stadium, or the boot of a car, I've always had positive associations with small, hidden spaces, and cages bring that feeling into mind, because my cave is the place where the rest of the world isn't. It's where I can be, and I don't have to deal with the world while I'm there.

And then, there's Daddy. My Daddy is possibly the world's most responsible Dom. If he ties me up, or puts me in a cage, he doesn't just leave me there, and walk away. When I'm wrapped up, or in the cage, I know that Daddy is always somewhere giving me attention, keeping me supervised, making sure that I am safe, that nothing will go wrong. I know that when I'm confined, I have my Daddy's attention, and while I know he'll give me attention if I ask it of him, it's just one other thing that makes me feel good inside, to know that when I'm confined, Daddy's always there.

Not gonna be a bro

A few months ago, Daddy had a rant to me about how much people raised as women are dealt a whole lot more restrictions about interaction, and "being on best behaviour". I'd just come back from the family Christmas lunch, with my very, very straight and non-queer family.

As my Daddy pointed out to me, at family gatherings, men aren't expected, really, to do any of the cleaning, or hosting, etc. Now, I used to buck that rule a lot, and you'd often find me in the kitchen with the women helping to prepare the meals, or working to help clean up the house. But the last few months have seen me stop that, and become a lot more slack at gatherings.

And as we talked about this, I realised more and more that this was not the kind of person I wanted to be. I don't want to be on the couch while the wimmin do everything. That's not who I am, and not really who I was raised to be.

It lead to a new little slogan, which I am now trying to incorporate into my life: "I don't wanna be a bro". The term "Bro" is often used with all the man-child connotations, with all the lack of responsibility that men are given because they just don't know any better. Well screw that. I am not a bro, I refuse to be a bro, I will not be a bro. Not the least because it goes against everything the Leather culture teaches, but it also goes against the submission that I strive for. I am there to serve, and while only me Daddy gets the right to be served, my service is a gift that I wish to bless the world with. I will not be a man who just lets the world serve him, I will not be a boy who lets his parents clean up for him.

I will not be a bro. I will be a Boy.

Songs of Aspirations

Sometimes we hear songs that don't exactly describe who we are, but do describe what we want to be. Songs which call to the higher parts of our soul, and focus our mind back to what we could be, what we desire most in our lives. A lot of times songs make us feel by connecting with our flaws, sometimes, despite themselves, a song will connect with the dreams we wish we were embodying.

The song that made me write this post is a song by Tim Minchin, called "Not Perfect". It's a song about the world around and within us. Most importantly, it's a song about accepting ownership of your world, accepting that, despite it's flaws, it's where you live, and even if you work to improve it, to love it, warts and all.



It's a beautiful (if long) song, but it's been haunting me this morning, and I wanted to spread it to everyone out there.

Touch

I am a beast of touch.

Touch rules my life in a lot of different ways. I have noted several times that I'm a big sensation slut, but it goes further than that, I think.

I'm generally an anxious person, and many of the ways that I deal with my anxiety is by engaging my sense of touch. Either by poking a bruise, by biting the inside of my cheek, by licking my teeth, by feeling underneath my fingernails, by hugging myself, etc. When I'm really anxious, all it takes is a hug from my Daddy to start calming me down. When I see someone in emotional distress, my first instinct is to hug them, to place a hand on their shoulder, etc. The language of my intimacy is in my sense of touch, much to my Daddy's displeasure, as it often means that I talk far less than he'd like.

I like massage, but massage to me is an intensely intimate experience. I have discovered that I can't go to shopping centre masseurs, because I feel extremely odd getting a massage from them. It seems that only my partners can use massage to help me relax.

When I see animals and pets, one of the first impulses is always to pat and touch them, and this is probably why I tend to get along with dogs and cats so often, because we both enjoy touch a lot.

Simply, my skin is my preferred method of contact with the world, especially doing so intimately. Hugs, pats, sensual touch, are all definitely my favourite things!

On This Day

Five Years Ago, me and Daddy decided to become a couple.

Around Two and a Half Years ago, Me and Daddy realised that we were a Daddy/boy couple, and chose to Embrace it.

Two Years, Two months ago, I was collared by my Daddy.

Today, I feel nothing but gratitude for my Daddy, and all that he has done for me, and all he has allowed me to do for him. Without him... I don't know what I'd do without him.

Happy Anniversary, Daddy!

Why can't I just be automatically good?

In the last week or so, Daddy has decided that I'm going to be taught proper dinner table manners, as he feels that mine are somewhat inadequate. He's given me an etiquette book to read (which I have been, dutifully), but this week he's decided to actually make me practice my table manners. Of course, he's been doing this slowly, and he decided that this week he's focusing on a single thing - how I hold my fork.

Of course, the way I hold a fork is very similar to how you would hold a spoon, as I'm very much a shoveller. As a result, I'm entirely unfamiliar with how to hold a fork properly. For the last couple of times I've been eating I've been railing against it, almost angrily against this stupid "proper" way of holding a fork that seems entirely in appropriate for a how a fork is designed, and designed to entirely prevent you from actually eating anything that's even slightly squidgey. Last night it pretty much came to a head, when I was pretty much throwing my hands up in frustration at how stupid the whole thing seemed.

Daddy was looking at my slightly dumbfounded at exactly how badly I was taking this whole etiquette thing, and being slightly hurt at how vigorously I was attacking it. And even I had to admit, my reaction seemed wholly out of proportion to the entire thing.

And then, I realised why I was railing against it so much - I sucked at it.

Like so many gifted kids in school, the kind of praise that I was given was based on how well I did at things. So, in a perfectly obvious turn of events, if I didn't do well at something, I would stop doing it. After all, you don't get praise at something if you don't do well, so why bother doing it? In many ways, this has been part of a lot of my behaviours throughout my life - I don't get the idea of training yourself until you're good at it. It frustrates me to fail, and the idea of sucking a whole lot to get good at something is a horrible idea to me.

And the thing about the etiquette thing was that the discomfort of using the fork a different way, and Daddy constantly correcting me, were constant reminders of how bad I was at the task. I didn't have the option of giving up, since Daddy wouldn't let me, so obviously I started lashing out at the task. Venting my frustration became hating the task, thinking it was stupid, etc.

And this was just one little task! I can only imagine what my reaction would have been if Daddy (or someone else) had been deciding to train me in a big skillset entirely that I had no experience and no natural skill at. I could very well have exploded, and done a lot of damage.

I will need to start paying attention to this, methinks. If I'm to be a good boy, I need to start learning how not to be frustrated at my own shortcomings, and learn how to be a good student when I'm not already good at something.