The Fine Print

In the beginning there was a contract. Daddy wrote it when he proposed the power exchange. I can't really remember everything it said, but I clearly remember there being a contract. Somewhere along the way it was replaced with an unspoken agreement and a bracelet that locks around my wrist, but I know there once was that contract.

You see, I had a little bit of sub frenzy when Daddy gave me that contract. And I think I forgot to read some of the fine print.

Oh, I have so much to learn.

Like when it comes to gift giving. Daddy is beyond generous with gifts. Like out of this world thoughtfully generous. Like all my friends now think he's some super gift giving hero, and when I post on Facebook how great my husband is, they don't ask 'Did you get hacked?'. Instead they ask 'What did he get you?'.

I should be super happy about this -- right?

Well I am. And I'm thankful too. And grateful. And very very lucky. But I'm also super annoyed. Because now they want to know what I'm getting him.

Well...uh...um...

Daddy controls all the money. All the money. I have to ask to spend any of it -- even a dollar. And while, he's generous here too and rarely denies me what I want and need, when I ask to buy him something he's tightens up fast. Oh, I can get money out of him for the kids to shop with, but me...uh...nope.

He's a happy man, he'll say. He has everything he wants. And if he doesn't, he'll go out and buy it himself. 

This year he really outdid himself and when I whined to my writer friends that I had no money to get him anything, they offered up their suggestions.

A blowjob?

Uh...check


Member to the blow job club for a month?

He already has the lifetime membership.


VIP membership - no line, no cover, and no reciprocation?

Well I stopped there because I didn't want to admit he already has that too.

I guess I'll keep looking for that contract in hopes there was a loophole somewhere. I've still got a week til christmas.

What If?

What if I’d never sent you that e-mail? You know…THE E-MAIL. The one that changed everything.

What if I’d never clicked ‘send’. What if I’d just deleted it, trashed it, never written it?

What if it had been just a little cooler that night, or the air conditioning had worked? What if I’d been able to sleep? Would I have written it at all?

What if I’d never gotten picked for that contest? You know... THAT CONTEST. The one where my words were splayed all over the internet to be analyzed and judged. What if they hadn’t picked me? Maybe I wouldn’t have been walking around that week in a fog needing the escape my fantasies brought. Maybe T wouldn’t have sent me that link to distract me – THE LINK that led to the story that inspired that e-mail.

What if? What if we were still sleeping…never knowing…never touching…never this happy?

What if I’d never gone up north with you that weekend five years ago? You know…THE WEEKEND. The one where we never left our hotel room. The one where I started to open up and try new things with you. The one that gave you hope and me courage and turned our marriage around.

What if I’d just stayed home, in bed like I had been for the three days prior? What if I’d just let the tears keep falling? I was dying inside – dying to give you what I know you needed and I couldn’t. What if you hadn’t walked in the room asking for the letters to take with you? What if you hadn’t been there searching for a reason to stay?

What if I hadn’t given it to you? What if I hadn’t asked you to take me too?

What if I’d left during that fall? You know... THE FALL. The one where you grew distant from us. The one where you talked more to strangers than your family. You weren’t happy with yourself back then – you’ve admitted that. But I didn’t know what to do. I had two little girls looking up to me, and I needed to take care of them.

So I nearly walked out the door.

What if I had? What if you’d let me go?

What if you weren’t waiting for me at the end of that aisle that hot July day nearly fifteen years ago? What if you walked away when I handed you the EPT?

What if you had left for the service? What if I had gone for that guy at the bookstore?

What if you never waited for me that summer? You know…THE SUMMER. What if you washed your hands of me and the immature drama and just walked away from it all? What if you never gave me that ‘third chance’?

What if you’d never responded to that message board post? You said you nearly didn’t – that you were already talking to enough girls and it was way too much money as it was. And what if J had never come home over college break? What if she'd never shown me e-mail and Prodigy and how you can talk to people through a computer?

What if you hadn’t sent that message? What if you'd passed right on by my post?

What if I never met you?

Feeling A 'Little' Lost

When we started TTWD in 2012, it was as Master/slave dynamic. Daddy was called 'Sir' for the most part and my mind/headspace was constantly on pleasing him.

There was an exquisite joy in making his breakfast, doing his laundry, sucking his cock. I loved loved loved sitting at his feet. Our rituals held more significance -- I feel like I was striving harder and more focused on him. This slave part of me existed just for him.

Then this summer came and we delved into some really deep stuff. Dark and dirty secrets I'd withheld for so long came out. And the more they came out and the more Daddy accepted and loved me, the more my trust in him grew until he drew out this vulnerable 'little girl' side of me. Suddenly things were shifting -- I needed him to tuck me in at night. My happy place moved from the floor to curled up on his chest.

Daddy told me in September he thought I had a 'little' side. I freaked out. I realized DD/lg relationships aren't very well understood and are judged even in the kink community. It scares me to think of myself like this - I mean I'm in my late thirties.

Daddy has been encouraging me to explore this side though. He thinks it's always been there since way back in the beginning of our dating years. He says there's always been this innocent playful side to me that he's had this overwhelming need to protect since the day he met me (which is why he's held on through all the crap I put him through).

So we've been exploring it, and it's been both freeing and healing. I know it's a hard dynamic to understand and even harder to explain. For us, it's not an age-play, run around in pig-tails and short skirts and diapers thing. It's not a pedophile thing either -- I am still very much an adult. It's mostly about this safe place he's given me that allows me to be myself -- vulnerabilities and all.

The problem lately though is I feel like the 'little side' is taking over. She requires a lot more 'care' I think than the 'slave' side of me, and I don't like feeling like I'm high maintenance all the time. And although this part of me loves to make Daddy happy, it doesn't enjoy the 'service' side of things as much as that 'slave side'.

Daddy is very much a Daddy Dom. Even before I called him 'Daddy' he nurtured more than demanded. He says he identifies more as a Daddy Dom. So I know this is what he wants. And I'm very happy in the safety and comfort being his 'little girl' brings.

Daddy also still says I'm his 'slave'. I still do a lot of things for him on a daily basis. But to be honest lately I'd rather be cuddling than pleasing him. I'd rather be in his arms than on the floor. My pain tolerance has dropped. Even on this blog it shows -- I know my posts sound like an ten-year-old girl, but I know that's because that 'little' part just leaks out when I write about us.

I'm afraid I lost that 'slave headspace'. And I really, really miss her.

We've been talking about this lately-- he wants me to think about what and why I'm feeling like this. And any possible ideas that I think would help me.

I don't know...I keep running through new rituals or different names that might help. Then I stop and wonder if I'm really missing those 'slave' feelings or just insecure about the 'little girl' part of me. Then I realize that yeah, I do miss it very much. But if Daddy's right and this part has always been there then it was there when I was in that 'slave mindset' last year. So I bang my head against the wall and wonder why can't I get those feelings back? Ouch, that hurts.

I'm always his submissive, that hasn't changed. He leads, I follow. But why can't I seem to do it as both his 'little girl' and his 'slave'?

Positives

It's Monday again, and once again I'm scrambling with what to write. Eeeek.

Daddy likes to give me 'assignments'. When I was struggling with 'feeling his dominance' he had me spend the week making a list of every time I did feel it (which helped me focus on what he was doing instead of what I thought was missing). He's had me work on getting over my issues with writing sex by assigning 'fantasy writing assignments'. Last week my assignment was to finish and post my blog on 'sex and shame'. It had been sitting there as a draft for quite a while and without his push it probably would've stayed there for good.

An ongoing assignment I have everyday is to come up with 'Positives' every morning. Daddy seems to think I have an issue with only seeing the negative sometimes. He'll point out that I could get dozens of comments gushing about one of my novels, but it would be the lone one that tells me how 'horrid' it is that would make me want to throw it away and give up writing forever. So yeah, he's probably right.

So to help me have a more 'positive outlook', I have to come up with five positive things each weekday morning. Sometimes this is really easy. I mean Fridays I kind of get a freebie since one of my positives is always 'It's Friday.' Mondays are always the hardest. Today's even harder because this past weekend was kind of 'blah' thanks to not feeling so hot and crappy weather. It's made even worse because we've been having a lot of 'blah' weekends thanks to the craziness of the holidays and we are about to have even more. Not a lot of 'Daddy D/s' time. Plus I'm not one for much 'holiday spirit' thanks to my very dysfunctional family.

So I thought I'd try to cure some of my 'subby blues' and list five positive things for the upcoming week and multitask by blogging them. Hoping Daddy will count this as extra credit :)

1. Last week's assignment to post about the 'sex and shame' had me nearly in tears. I was like 'Nooooo. I like everyone who comes to my blog, I don't want to scare them off'. But it drives Daddy crazy when I worry too much about what people think, and he was right that I shouldn't worry so much. Thank you to those who left such nice comments, and a big thanks to everyone for not running away.

2. I wrote last week about my friend Brittney and the way she was treated for not being afraid to be so open about sex. What I didn't write about was the two decades afterwards where she was constantly getting her heart broken over by men who would use her and discard her. How she was often told she 'wasn't the type of girl you bring home'. And how all she desperately wanted was a 'husband and kids and white picket fence' to call her own. A few years ago she met a really really nice guy who makes her very happy and this past weekend he proposed. I am so thrilled for her.

 3. Daddy didn't write a post this weekend, but he re-designed the blog. And it's pink and black (two of my favorite colors). He won't let me do our bedroom in these colors (boo), but I love them on the blog. So thanks Daddy.

4. Despite a 'blah' weekend, I did get lots of spankings on Friday. And once again, felt a lot better on Saturday.

5. I'm very excited about Daddy's new assignment this week. This upcoming weekend is our last weekend before out-of-town family will be traipsing in for a while so it's really our last chance for fun in 2013. And Daddy said my assignment is to 'look forward to it'. Ooooh....yay! Now nobody around here better get sick or anything....

The Pain I Don't Want

I know being a slave means you're supposed to serve him, but sometimes lots of times it's Daddy taking care of me. Several weeks ago, I woke up one Saturday morning in major pain. Daddy dumped me in the bathtub and then put me back to bed. He went out and got movies and snacks and we spent the entire day cuddled up in bed.

Sadly this isn't the first time.

I have fibromyalgia. I know lots of women are in the same leaky boat, and all I can really say is that it really really sucks sometimes. I've been suffering from the painful 'flare-ups' off and on for the past eight years and have tried several different drugs along with physical therapy. But either it makes me feel goofy in the head or quits working, so for the most part I manage the pain with ibuprofen and wine.

Most days I'm okay - especially if I mange to eat healthy and exercise, avoid stress, not experience any major weather changes, and not be in those final days leading to my not so favorite time of month. And since starting TTWD though I've discovered another 'fibro management' trick for me. That night a few weeks ago -- he spanked me pretty darn good and I felt worlds better on Sunday.

Unfortunately the aching is back this week and I'm miserable. It's been days of snow and cold and PMS.

Hoping that means lots of spanking tonight....

Sex, Shame, and My Inner Slut

Okay this post was hard to write - so please forgive me if I'm long and rambly.

This need of mine -- to submit-- has been a part of me for as long as I can remember. The fantasies about being tied up, being controlled, being enslaved started back in my childhood. I was drawn to my mom's romances about the pirates who would kidnap the girl and half her bosom would be hanging out on the front cover. The pictures of the chains wrapped around the ankles and wrists of the slaves in the story of Moses in my Bible called to me in very kinky ways (oh, please don't send me to hell for that one). And oh yeah there was that scene in Return of the Jedi with Princess Leia.  Heck, I even accidentally figured out how to give myself an orgasm around the time I learned to ride a bike. I say accidentally because I had no idea what it was at the time -- just that it was fun.

But at the same time as this was happening, I was growing up super-involved in a Christian church. We were there practically everyday of the week. I attended their school during the day. So pretty much every day faith, religion, and the idea that sex was some an extremely sacred act was being shoved down my throat. We were taught sex was something that happened in the confines of marriage and that things such as masturbation and fantasies were wrong and a way of 'cheating on your future spouse'. Those dirty little fantasies of mine --  I became deeply ashamed of them. I learned to bury them so deep so that nobody would ever know. I hid behind the façade that I was a good, sweet, innocent Aurora.

But in the back of my head I always felt God knew about them. And I think this made me even more ashamed of them.

About the time I hit junior high, my family moved to another state. My parents quit going to church and enrolled me in a public school. Going from the private school I grew up in to the public school at the time was like jumping in a lake when it's fifty degrees below zero.

Huge shock.

One of my very first friendships began with a girl I'm going to call Brittney (she would love that if she knew). Brittney was loud (what some would define as obnoxious), gutsy, and not afraid to speak her mind. About anything. She also had quite the kinky side and wasn't afraid to show it -- the majority of everything I learned about sex and kinky sex, I owe to her.

I was drawn to Brittney because she was everything I was not. Extroverted. Confident. Brave. But the closer we grew as friends, the more she let me in on her own insecurities. Brittney ran on the fringes of all those normal junior/high school cliques, never really quite fitting in anywhere. She was excluded because of her boldness. Constantly called names by the girls...expected to 'put out' by the boys.

If my religious background wasn't enough to shame me into hiding behind my 'good Aurora' image, being an observer to the constant slut-shaming Brittney experienced throughout her teen years pretty much sealed the deal. I became so good at hiding 'kinky me' that even Brittney (who I'm still friends with today) would never believe me if I told her about some of the stuff Daddy and I do now.

I ended up losing my virginity to my first boyfriend because I was tired of being that 'good Aurora'. I figured maybe it would help shed some of that image. Unfortunately though, the whole experience brought back a lot of that 'religious guilt' to the point that I got it in my head I could never be with anybody else now so I'd have to marry that particular boyfriend. (yes, I seriously thought this way). This was a disaster that ended one night with a bottle of peppermint schnapps and another guy who wouldn't take 'no' for an answer. It's odd...looking back I can clearly see it as rape. But it was also an ending to this boyfriend being my 'one and only'.

This is what Daddy got when he got me. I was messed up -- so much shame and guilt over what I had done. I was in therapy for an eating disorder and to deal with lingering issues over a babysitter who had molested me when I was five. I had hacked off my hair, weighed less than 90 lbs, and was smoking terrible things. And I was still so ashamed of sex that I hated it.

Yeah, I was a real catch -- I really still have no clue what Daddy saw in me. Maybe he thought I'd be good in bed...ha!

I was both a terrible girlfriend and wife when it came to sex. Daddy likes to say that I gave up control to him in everything but the bedroom, and that makes sense. I didn't think about sex much. I didn't want it. I only did it for him, and I wasn't very good at hiding that fact. I preferred it lights out, missionary, quick, and without any cuddling. And please oh please don't try to give me an orgasm. Poor Daddy -- it kills me to think how much I hurt him throughout the years. I struggle with so much guilt over this.

Daddy will be the first to remind me that he's far from perfect. That he's made lots of mistakes and there were many times he hurt me deeply. And that it's not quite the sexual desert I remember it as. There were some good times where I actually was into it. Times where that dirty side slipped out, and he began to suspect that there was a kinky side to me. He remembers that the first time he ever brought me to an orgasm was when he handcuffed me to the bed. I asked him why he just didn't make me his slave right there and then (and saved him all that crazy heartache) and he'll tell me that I wasn't ready yet.

I've always been a slow learner. I guess I'm just lucky that Daddy's super patient. He could've...maybe should've...given up on me so long ago. But he didn't. He waited for me...he waited for that inner slut of mine to break loose.

And when she finally did, it was crazy. I think we had sex for the first month straight. Or at least it felt that way. It was freeing to finally be free from all the shame.

Once Daddy stopped spinning though, he took the control and slowed things down a little bit. I began to learn that being Daddy's slut isn't just about the sex. Oh that part's great -- very great. So great that I weep for all those lost years. But being Daddy's slut means that I've finally been able to open up, to let him in, to love him with everything inside of me. To stop hiding and let him see everything.

I've come a long way, but I still struggle with this shame sometimes. It slips out. I get insecure. I find myself getting embarrassed. I struggle with writing sex or about sex. I have trouble being naked. I still feel the shame whenever I share a new fantasy with him.

When the insecurities come, so does that 'good Aurora' shell that I perfected all those years ago.But Daddy doesn't let it stay. He fought too hard to break that shell, he's not about to let it come back.

It's a day to day thing sometimes -- but I trust him.

No more 'good Aurora'.

Online Limits

Daddy controls the time I spend online. Usually when he's home, it's his time and family time. No blogging, surfing the web, or hanging out with my writer friends on Facebook. There's more time and flexibility for that during the weekdays and sometimes even during the evenings. But weekends are different. There's shopping, cleaning, and church. Daddy and I have a 'date night'. Any sewing I do happens on the weekend. Sometimes I get time to glance at my phone, but never for too long or else Daddy will take it away.

It's a good thing to be semi-unplugged. I enjoy being there in the moment with him and our girls. But I'm also supposed to blog on Mondays, Wednesdays and Fridays, so it's a bad thing for Monday mornings if I don't have blog post already written and scheduled before the weekend.

Like I didn't do last Friday. Eeeeep.

Daddy not only limits my time online, but he also limits (somewhat) what I can do. He moderates this blog and the comments. He tracks where I go online. And he controls what I can do when I'm online too.

I have a habit of googling everything. Sometimes this a very helpful and useful habit. It's research for my writing. It's helped fix the garbage disposal. It makes a great spell check. But every time I get a weird symptom, I also google it. And before you know it I've diagnosed myself with cancer or am convinced I'm having a heart attack. And I know I'm not the only one out there who does this...

This drives Daddy crazy. So much so, that now he's banned WebMD and googling 'health related' topics. Not only that, apparently he's blocked the site too.

He says he would prefer I'd be diagnosed by a real doctor instead of Dr. Aurora.

On Being His Slave

When Daddy first proposed the whole Master/slave dynamic, I had visions of 24/7 nakedness while on my knees. Thank goodness it's nothing like that! We have kids after all and we live in a place that gets very cold in the winter. My knees are getting older and not really up to lots of kneeling.

Daddy's a pretty laid back guy. So even though I'm his slave, we don't do a lot of the high protocol stuff. He doesn't care if I sit on the furniture. I don't have to ask permission to use the bathroom. He doesn't tell me what to wear everyday.

That's not to say he doesn't control things. I do have to ask permission to eat certain foods or leave the house. I'm not allowed to spend money without asking. He tells me when bedtime is. And even though he doesn't choose my clothes, he has his input there--he likes me to dress like 'very girly' which to him means skirts and dresses everyday. 

And I do end up at his feet naked every night as part of our bedtime ritual. But it's not an all day thing and usually by then I'm in my very happy subby place.

As we go along, Daddy has added more and more. I do like his control -- everything he adds just makes me feel safer and more secure. Like he's put me in this little box that grows tighter and tighter with his control.

But sometimes I wonder if I'll someday end up being that 24/7 naked, kneeling slave who has to ask to pee.

And as much as I love his control, sometimes I kinda hope that's not where we're headed. Because I'm a freeze baby with the world's weakest bladder. Lol.

But I also know that ultimately, that's really not up to me.

Don't Deserve You

Today's an anniversary of sorts. Not really one people celebrate, but I'm sort of celebrating it anyways.

November 22, 1993 was the beginning of the only other significant relationship I've had in my life besides Daddy.

I'm not really sure I should be calling it significant. It was short-lived and began for all the wrong reasons. I went out with him to get back at a friend -- it was very juvenile and stupid and full of drama. It was doomed from the start.

He was out of my life within two years. And if you add up all the time I was together with this guy (there was a lot of on and off periods), we were together for barely a year. I'm closing in on 40 now -- one year is nothing. Nothing.

Our relationship was intense though. In some ways I feel like that I lived twenty years in just that one year. He filled up a lot of my 'firsts'. I turned my back on friends and family to be with him. And it ended badly. Very badly. Because of this, I think it took me years to fully let go of him. Years in which I was with Daddy...married to Daddy.

It wasn't just the fallout that hurt Daddy. Daddy walked into my life in the midst of that 'intense year'. He ended up being one of those 'friends' I turned my back on. I broke his heart, his trust, and played horrible games with the love he gave me.

I know I'm very lucky he game me a second chance (actually he'd probably say it was a third). Extremely lucky that he waited for me to get my head on straight. Blessed that he's stayed beside with me in the years since as my protector, my best friend, my everything.

This summer we had the opportunity to really talk about that time of our life. There were mistakes Daddy made as well and it was a chance for us to be completely honest, to forgive, to let go. I spent a lot of time regretting, but Daddy spent even more time pointing out that although it would be nice to change things, changing one thing could risk changing everything. There are so many ways that relationship not only brought me to Daddy, but helped me to realize how lucky I was. And maybe if we hadn't made the mistakes we made, we wouldn't be here together today.

So to Daddy -- I know how much pain this date and everything it means has brought you. But it's still important to me. Not for the obvious reasons, but because twenty years ago today I made a choice that would ultimately lead me to you. This song's for you....Don't Deserve You - Plumb

Harder Than It Ought To Be

This past month has been a busy one for us. Daddy got a new job. I had some unexpected things happen at mine. We had to go out of town to my grandma's funeral. Daddy and our oldest went away hunting for a weekend. There has been a lot going on and Daddy has been very tired.

I know Daddy puts a lot of work into us. It's tiring enough to run your own life, and to add somebody else's on top of that. Plus he's learning a new, very different, much busier job. Lots going on with him, and I know this is a time where he needs me to be patient. But when I get stressed and overwhelmed, that's when I need Daddy's dominance the most. 

 

Last Wednesday was one of those days. It was a stressful day, and I got some bad news that I wasn't dealing with so well. Plus it was that time of month where my emotions run away from me so I was not in a good place. 

Daddy's number one rule is honesty. He's not a fan of brattiness. I'm supposed to tell him how I'm feeling at all times. Sometimes I'm good at this. Other times...not so much. And last Wednesday was not one of those 'good times'. Daddy had a stressful day too and had some last minute stuff dumped on him that he needed to worry about getting done the next morning.

 

So I was feeling guilty for needing him so much. I could tell he was tired and distracted, and instead of telling him how I was feeling, I thought maybe I'd just sleep things off and feel better about everything the next morning.

 

Usually we have some kind of playtime and spanking every night. But because he was tired and I told him I was too, we skipped it that night and went to bed early. Daddy had to be in the office super early the next morning and although I usually get up and make him breakfast, this morning he let me sleep in.

I don't like waking up alone. And even worse, I woke up still stressed and anxious. Everything seemed a thousand times worse and I couldn't shut off my thoughts. It's hard for me to keep my feelings from Daddy long, and he tends to pick up on it anyways. So they did all eventually come out over Thursday and Friday -- in very messy, emotional, and somewhat explosive ways.

 

I read a blog post by lil at Submissive Sanctuary about feeling like work. Gosh I love it when I read a post that puts into words exactly what I've been feeling (and can't). I hate the idea that I could be more work for Daddy. That after his hard day, he has to fix mine too.

 

I told him this and he reminded me that things are a lot less work when we do them 'his way'. If I had just been honest in the first place, we'd have had a lot easier Thursday and Friday.

 

Oy. I do sometimes have a bad habit of making things harder than they ought to be.

Daddy

I wasn’t going to call him Daddy. 

Master, Sir, Boss, Lord, Duke, Earl, King, Grand Poobah …whatever he wanted, I would call him. Just not Daddy. 

Not that he was asking me too. When we first began, we had a few conversations about this, but he really never had any deep opinion on what he should be called. To him, names really didn’t matter. I could call him whatever I wanted as long as I remembered he was the one in charge…well maybe not whatever I wanted.

I really had no feelings on this either. I just knew I wasn’t calling him daddy. We have girls – he’s their daddy, not mine. My relationship with my own father isn’t the greatest. I have childhood sexual abuse in my history. Calling him daddy would make me a cliché or certainly warrant a trip to the nearest therapist. Wouldn’t it?

So I tried Sir for a while, but it never felt right. It was awkward. Without emotion. For me, it just didn’t carry the amount of feelings I had for him. I went round and round with this name thing. Sometimes, I would beg him to tell me what he wanted to be called to no avail.

Then last year, Daddy became part of my vocabulary. It sort of was already there – it was much easier when talking with the kids to refer to him as Daddy then his name anyways. And to ease my frustration with names, Daddy decided that should be what I refer to him outside of the bedroom.

The more I said it, the more it fit. The more it fit, the more I said it. He became Daddy to me all the time. Not just in speaking, but in my thoughts too. Soon, I was even saying it inside the bedroom too. Daddy started referring to himself this way too. It’s become very natural for us.

I’ve been thinking a lot lately about why that is. I’ve been to therapists several times over the last few decades regarding my issues. I’ve done the talking and the programs and the meds. I feel like the last several years of my life, I’ve been in a really good place. Is this really some deep buried ‘daddy issue’?

I don’t think so.

I think calling him Daddy has to do with the kind of boyfriend and husband he has been over our nineteen year relationship. We were very young when I got pregnant with my oldest. Barely out of high school. Having a baby meant getting our crap together and growing up fast. He never hesitated – he was just as much the leader back then as he is now. Finding a better job and health benefits. Finding a place for us to live. Taking care of the bills. Taking care of a very pregnant me. And throughout the years after, I seem cursed with health issues. Through several surgeries, a heartbreaking miscarriage, a rough pregnancy with our second child…Daddy is always taking care of me. He’s always guiding me too. Whether it’s a new diet or hobby or career change. Or chasing a lifelong dream. Daddy’s always been there to support me in every imaginable way.

Early in our marriage, I collected lighthouses. Somebody asked why once and I was surprised when I found myself telling her it was because they reminded me of Daddy. He was my ‘lighthouse’, always watching over me and guiding me in life.

Now that we’ve moved into this dynamic, this has become magnified. Where before he would support or encourage me in my endeavors, now he issues orders. Now taking care of me means taking a massive amount of control of my life.

He’s still that lighthouse though. Always guiding, always protecting, always knowing what I need. Sometimes I think he knows me better than myself. Proof of this came last weekend. My grandmother’s death was hard and I was still reeling from it when Daddy decided to implement a new rule. I haven’t been good about going to church lately, so he wants me at church every Sunday. Now this probably doesn’t seem like a huge thing, but for Daddy it is. See, Daddy’s not a Christian. And Daddy is not a fan of the church I usually go to.

I grew up super-involved with a huge church and developed a deep faith at a young age. Daddy knows this – has always known this. Daddy, however, has never really shared that faith. I wouldn’t call him an atheist or anything…he’s just really nothing. Maybe slightly agnostic, but not a fan of religion at all.

Daddy’s always been super respectful of my faith though. He’s never had any issues with the kids and I attending or becoming involved. He’s even gone with us on the occasional Christmas or Easter although he often says he doesn’t like the church and finds himself getting angry whenever he goes.

When we moved into this dynamic, I was so swept up in that beginning ‘frenzy’ feeling, that I never thought much what it might mean for the differences in our faith. Afterwards, when I started calming down, I started wondering if faith and church were something Daddy would take away from me. I mean he certainly could – it really wasn’t some kind of hard limit we ever agreed on or anything.

But the thing is the dynamic didn’t change Daddy. He was still the same accepting guy as he was before. He told me that he would never ask me to do something that went against my faith and that was an automatic hard limit. 

And now he’s making me go to church. Something he doesn’t believe in. Something he doesn’t care for. Yet, he recognizes what it means to me and that I need it.

So once again, he’s my lighthouse. Always shining that light…even in my darkest nights. And because he demonstrates this time after time, I’ve come to trust him more than I’ve ever trusted anybody in my entire life.

This is why I call him Daddy.

Where We've Been, Where We're Going

Although Daddy and I are very new to the whole M/s dynamic, we've always had sort of a 'unofficial' power exchange of sorts throughout our relationship.

He thinks for him it's because of how he grew up. His dad was always the one in charge, and his mom went along with it. For me, I think it's because of how I grew up too -- I learned early on I did not want my parent's mess of a marriage. Instead I hoped to be more like my grandparents, who had what I think of as an old-fashioned marriage.

Daddy really reminded me of my grandpa. He had to be in the driver's seat -- both literally and figuratively (although he did once let me drive from one exit to the next during a road trip). He held the remote, monitored the bank account and budget, paid the bills, and handled the outside chores. We tended to watch the TV shows he likes, eat at the restaurants he preferred, and shopped where he wanted to shop.

That's the way it's always been for us. Even back to the beginning of our marriage. Even on some really minor things. Like spaghetti noodles. I grew up with my mom breaking them before cooking them. His mom didn't break them. So we don't break the spaghetti noodles.

And before I start making Daddy sound like controlling or something, I should say it wasn't like that. There were no barking orders or harsh words. He's an introvert, very laid back, and generous to a fault. Throughout our marriage, most of his decisions have been about making me happy. For a guy, he's one of the most thoughtful gift givers I know. He's also had an uncanny way of knowing what I was thinking and feeling before I do. He likes to say it's because he's been studying me for 18 plus years.

Not to say we didn't have power struggles--because we did (and still do). Not to say I didn't get annoyed with things always having to go 'his way'. Not to say he didn't 'give in' a lot too.

But this is how it was for us...outside of the bedroom anyways.

So when we went M/s, I figured it would mostly be about fixing the sexual side of things. The only real change would be about having more sex---especially since I had so many years to make up for. I mean, we already had this 'he leads, I follow' thing down. Easy, breezy, right?

Wrong.

It seems like since we began this journey over a year ago, we're always changing. We'll get to right where I think we're supposed to be, where he wants us to be, and then something will happen and we're shifting again. Sometimes we're moving forward, deeper. Sometimes it's like it's all blowing up in our faces and we're taking a step or two back.

This past summer was a big time of moving forward for us. For the first time in our marriage, we had a month with no kids -- just us. And while yes the sex was a lot of fun, the best part of our time together was how much we talked and talked and talked. About everything. One weekend Daddy declared it a 'trip to the past' where we opened up about any questions we've always had or things we may have kept from each other. It was a chance to really clear any walls between us and although it brought a few painful moments, it brought us closer to each other than we've ever been.

After our month together, we went away on vacation and were joined by our kids. It was a nice break and we were in a really good place. I was worried about coming home, though. The summer was nearly over and there would be school and jobs. How would they affect this new bond we had formed?

But Daddy had a plan -- he always seems to have a plan. And although our time is less and we've been dealing with this 'limbo', I feel just as close to him as ever. Maybe it's because of all those walls we destroyed.

However over the past few weeks or so, we've been shifting again. New feelings, new realizations, new healing that came out of clearing out the past. Stuff I'm not quite able to put into words yet, but I hope to. Daddy sees a new path for us, one he wants to take. He asked me if I'm ready, since he's not about to drag me down it, and I think I am. But I'm also a little bit scared to leave this good place we found.

I've been feeling so vulnerable lately. Mostly in a good way--like I'm growing and moving forward. But still very vulnerable.

And it's funny to me that I once thought this was just going to be about the sex.

Free to Be Me

There's a friend of mine who's been in my life since I was 12 years old. She's an extravert -- bold, fearless, and not afraid to speak her mind. Yet I'm convinced that if she weren't vanilla, she'd be a submissive.

Oh, I don't know for sure. I don't even know if she's vanilla (although it wouldn't surprise me if she wasn't considering she's responsible for the majority of my sexual education during junior high). But anyways, over the years, I've watched her bold personality melt into someone more eager-to-please whenever her current love interest was around.

I've heard this isn't uncommon. That there are lots of strong, vibrant women who'd you never guess as being submissive.

I am not one of them.

Spend a few minutes with me in real life--maybe even less--and you'll know I'm submissive. I have an extremely passive personality. I'm kinda like a classic doormat. I've always been this way since I can remember. Quiet, shy, afraid of conflict. Never wanting to offend people. Always wanting to make others happy. I followed rules, colored within the lines, and submitted to anyone who gave off a hint of authority.

But I had a not-in-a-good-way controlling father, overbearing mother, and friends who always put me in the middle of their fights. I learned quickly that it's hard to please everybody.

So, I learned to hate this part of myself. Really, really hate it. Not that I could escape it.

The need to please has overwhelmed me through the years. My parents, friends, in-laws, co-workers...  I could never say no. I would resent it, hate it, rage internally, but I couldn't say no.  And time and time again, I became a doormat.

But not by Philip.


Since 'officially' submitting to him, he reminds me often that the only person I need to please is him. He's given me a place where this 'need' I have is not only filled, but accepted, loved, cherished, and needed by him too.

And he's not letting me be a doormat. In my job, with my friends, with my writing. Even with commenting and blogging here in blogland. I've been lurking in the shadows for over a year, and Philip decided it was time I stepped out of the corner.

He's teaching me to not only accept that part of myself, but love it as well.

For the first time in my life, I'm finding the freedom to finally be me.

Land Mines

For us, moving deeper into a TTWD relationship has meant digging through the past. Uncovering the hurt we've buried throughout the years so we can heal from them has brought us closer together in ways I never dreamed were possible.

And we have a lot of these 'buried hurts'. Maybe it's because we've been together for a while or we because we had so much drama in the beginning or because I have a bad habit of preferring to run from my feelings rather than face them. Or maybe others have a lot too...I don't know.

Usually they're like empty graves. When we uncover one, there's sometimes a momentary 'heart tug' (as Philip likes to call it). Then we talk (and talk and talk). We ask any questions, discuss any lingering feelings and relish that yet another thing between us is gone.

Usually this is done in a few hours or less. Without tears or screaming or drama.

Usually.

Sometimes we seem to uncover a land mine. Everything, including TTWD, explodes around us and we're fighting like we used to fight. He gets angry and pulls away. I get emotional and pull away. We say things we really don't mean. (Well..at least I hope we don't mean them).

On Friday, we hit one of these so-called land mines. We had been looking forward to the weekend, partly because this month has been crazy busy with the kids getting back to school and some job issues we've been having. Also because Saturday was a special day for us.

Philip had planned a surprise, but when I discovered what it was I reacted badly. Well...more like flipped out. It was something new for us. Something new, but.hardly extreme. It's probably something a lot of vanilla couples do or have done, and I've done way more kinkier stuff in the past year and a half.

In fact it was something I'd done before, with somebody else.

So the last thing Philip expected was me flipping out. I did have my reasons -- reasons I hadn't yet shared with him (it was a grave we hadn't dug up yet), but since he didn't know that he took my reaction as a rejection. So feeling hurt, he pulled away. And feeling hurt that he pulled away, I pulled away. And boom. Everything exploded.

Once things settled down, we did start to communicate. Our day was busy, so most of it was done through e-mail, but later that evening I curled up in his arms and we talked and talked and cried (well I cried). But despite all the talking and his reassurances that this wasn't my fault, and that we were going to keep talking and work through this, I couldn't help but feel like I had failed...miserably.

Why did I react that way? Why didn't I just submit? Why did I have to go and ruin our special weekend by my little freak out?

We did end up having an amazing weekend. Even without Philip's surprise, it was sweet, sentimental, fun, kinky, and perfect. But I still can't help feel a little shaky. Like I'm waiting to see if this is something that's brought us closer together or set us back. Or if it's just another reminder that things worth having don't come easy.

Gosh I hate those land mines.