I pride myself on being a particularly sexual person. An adventurer, a group sex lover, and an agile performer who gets wet at the thought of outdoor sex where other people might see me. The only hang up I have around sex is when a male partner wants me to call him Daddy.
I was being blissfully fingered and getting my toes sucked with a powerful vibrator on my clit one night. I couldn’t separate myself from my body, pleasure ran through me connecting flesh to thought. He could tell I was close by the waves of my hips and the tightening of my pussy. He took my toes out his mouth and said,
“Are you gonna cum? Are you gonna cum for Daddy?” It was hot but it also kind of slowed down my momentum.
I said, “Yes” all heavy breathy, still pleasure fueled. He went on to say, “Tell me, tell me you’re gonna cum for Daddy” to which I replied, “I’m gonna come for you” and put my foot back in his mouth.
Logically I know there’s no difference between calling someone baby or Daddy.
I call people baby all the time, so why the uneasiness with Daddy? Upon careful consideration and reflection, I came to the conclusion that since I’ve never called my real father “Daddy” for some reason it feels wrong to call any other man that. Maybe some part of my twenty-something year old self is still holding out hope that I will call him that one day.
But it’s just a freaking word! And I’m a writer, supposedly a master of words, so why is this one so heavy on my tongue? That night, I did not call my lover Daddy, nor did I do it in the following weeks.
When and where I finally did it was a couple months later at a nudist/swingers resort called Hedonism II in Jamaica…
*Artwork by Instaphazed*