Hello, Kitty by Giselle Renarde

I'm not sure who started it.  Maybe it began organically.  Maybe it started with Lexi Wood, the sock puppet who lives in my night table and writes stepdaddy smut.  Or maybe it started before that.  Hard to say.

Maybe it started with a spanking.

In fact, yes, it probably did.

Was that spanking my idea or hers? Can a spanking be a mutually spontaneous idea?  If it can, then it was.  She'd never spanked anyone.  I'd never been spanked.  But from the very first smack, we were hooked.

It grew from there.  We'd both mentioned, in passing, that roleplay wasn't an interest.  We weren't lying.  When we said those words, they were true.  And yet, somehow, things evolved.  Spankings altered the power dynamic. In bed, I grew younger, she grew more... authoritative.

When she bought me the hot pink Hello Kitty panties, she became my Daddy.  I became her little girl.

Now, there are complications here.  Complications beyond the taboo nature of a Daddy/daughter ageplay scene.  We've got insecurities, yes we do. And many of our primary insecurities are around gender.

Lesbian Daddies have been around since the dinosaurs. There's a long history there, but for an older trans woman who's led a shockingly vanilla life (until she met me), that seems like a different world. I've never called Sweet "Daddy" out loud, and I'm not even sure I'd want to. I think it might squick me bad and throw her into a not-so-sexy abyss of gender dysphoria.

But wouldn't you think I'd fall into that same abyss when my girlfriend calls me her little girl?  I am genderqueer, after all. My gender seems constantly in flux and it's hardly a binary entity. When people use strongly gendered terms with me in day to day life, it fucks me up.  For me, gender dysphoria feels like... I don't know, vertigo? What does vertigo feel like?  Makes me dizzy, anyway.  Sometimes all the way to that pre-fainting feeling where you know you're going to black out but you're trying really hard not to.

Is that how I feel when my girlfriend calls me her little girl?

Nope.

It's titillating. And it suits me, physically. I've got this tiny body.  Some of my clothes are children's clothes because that's what fits. But when I'm out in the world, do I want to be treated like a little girl?  Nope on the "little" and nope on the "girl".

In the bedroom is a whole other matter.  I put on my hot pink Hello Kitty panties and I get to be this person I would never be in public. I get to be that person in a safe space with a woman I trust more than anyone in the world.

She's bigger, I'm smaller.  She's older, I'm younger.  These are elements that can become very distressing in a relationship if you try to sweep them under the rug. It's no good to dismiss the ways in which being older/younger and bigger/smaller impact the power dynamic in the relationship as a whole. If you don't acknowledge these factors, they can fester--been there, done that.  It's not pretty.

We can add an element beyond bigger/smaller, older/younger.  Of course we can.  In fact, we can add two, because what's an ice cream sundae without a big banana and a cherry on top?  So let's add the fact that my girlfriend is actually actively a father.  She's not out with her kids.  She might not be their Daddy but she's certainly their dad. And me? I never discuss my gender identity with my family. Just doesn't seem necessary at this stage.  Or I'm scared. Point is, won't I always be my parents' little girl?

These are topics that can be uncomfortable to discuss and tricky to work through.  I think the organic roleplay that's eased its way into our sex life has helped us to address some of our anxieties around size, age and gender.

Maybe some day I'll be ready to call my girlfriend Daddy. Maybe some day she'll be eager to hear it.

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Not Pretending to Be Naughty

by Annabeth Leong

I feel like most people won't believe me when I say I never deliberately misbehaved as a child, but it's true. I was that terrified of displeasing others. To this day, there is nothing worse to me than the I'm-Disappointed-In-You tone of voice. I have always believed I would be caught.

I was fascinated by stories about naughty children—I used to beg my mother to tell me about "times when she was bad"—but these stories were entirely fiction to me. I could not dream of misbehaving myself.

Even as a teenager, when I did manage to rebel, I often did so in contradictory and guilt-ridden ways. Once a friend and I played anagrams with a religious sign in a churchyard, altering the letters from a typically anodyne Christmas message to a lewd phrase. I laughed with my friend and kept half the letters for myself—but a week later I slipped them into an envelope, typed a letter of apology, and snuck back onto church grounds alone to slip this package under the office door.

I have read enough BDSM fiction to know where this is supposed to go. I am supposed to have found freedom in BDSM play, to have become able to enact a drama of naughtiness, disappointment, love, and acceptance that heals this lifelong fear of behaving in any way deemed less than perfect.

That's not the story for me, though. I tried those games when I started practicing BDSM as an adult and they are potent for me, as in arousing and emotional. But they are also dangerous. In the years I've been exploring these things, I've learned that there are types of injuries I can get from BDSM besides bruises and blood. It takes me weeks to put myself back together after roleplaying about naughtiness and punishment. It's absolutely edge play for me, and most of the time I can't afford to play like that.

Considering how often naughtiness enters BDSM play ("Do you need a spanking, naughty girl?"), it took me a long time to figure out how to separate it from the sensation play I really enjoy. But what I do now is focus on the sensation. I don't like to roleplay. I don't like to imagine excuses for why someone might hurt me. Sometimes, a lover asks if I need a spanking and I just say yes.

I like best to do it as if why doesn't even exist. I lean forward across the bed and this wonderful person begins to administer pain. I know this is a hard job—physically demanding, emotionally taxing, requiring skill, requiring care for me, requiring self-care, requiring wisdom. I often tell them how great they are while they beat me.

I don't like to use safe words, by which I mean I don't like to use code words. I can't remember or manage code when I go to that place, just like I can't handle roleplay. Reality seeps through. I need to stay in reality. So I talk about what I like and don't like. I talk about pain I hate and pain I love and how I sometimes want both anyway. I do not submit, I bottom—when I ask them to wait, or when I say no, I expect them to listen to me. I praise my top and my top praises me. We are being brave and bold together, and we both recognize that fact.

And I can't pretend it has anything to do with naughtiness, anything to do with punishment. It's about trust and love, and for me it has to be that way at every level or I am getting hurt in a way I don't enjoy.

(I am out of town at the moment and not really able to get on the Internet regularly, so I'm still scarce with comments and replies. I love you all, though, and look forward to catching up soon!)