I’ve discovered something… something I wasn’t even aware of until a few days ago…

I’m trusting you in ways I haven’t trusted others before.

Trusting you with my body is easy for me. My body gets hurt, it heals, recovers and shows little or no sign of the wound.

But my heart…. still has guards… I find myself thinking more and more in terms of trust with you. Slowly those walls have fissures that are leading to cracks.

I find it simultaneously terrifying and comforting.

I find my fears are not as loud. My thoughts are not as hesitant. I find comfort in the thought of you I didn’t find before. I find myself seeking your counsel in areas I didn’t anticipate.

Fear is still a strong part of me- not specifically toward you- just the general fear I’ve lived with since I was a child. Knowing there would be no one to help pick up the pieces. No one to hold my hand on dark nights. No one to stop his hand on me. No one that would choose to protect me.

But that’s not true anymore… and it’s slowly sinking in. I’m slowly beginning to believe there is someone that wants to do those things.

That’s because of you.

You’ve been an exceedingly patient man with me.

I pray you will always think I’m worth the wait.

I love you,



The Blindside

Yesterday was a horrible day.

It was the anniversary of a death in my world. One I still struggle with. Someone I miss dearly.

Most days she flitters through my heart with a laugh and a smile, but on this day… I think of everything she’s missing… that we are missing without her. The things I can’t share with her. And my heart breaks.

Last night Daddy’s heart was broken too. We’ve all been focused on the ill one, no one looked to her counterpart. And quite suddenly, in the span of three days, a vital part of our world’s… was gone. Unexpectedly… from the blindside.

Our world is a little smaller, a little duller. And as much as we don’t like it… life moves on, the earth still spins.

September 22 is a day I wish I could remove from the calendar. There’s just too much in it.

This song was released about the same time as her death. It’s always been her song.

On My Skin

I want to feel your hands on my skin today.

Feel your touch glide along the planes of my body.

I want to feel your bare chest against my back, your fingers at my throat.

I want to feel you press into my fingers, as they trail down your hip.

I want to feel your fingers tangled in my hair, as I slide your hard cock down into my throat.

I want to feel your thighs tighten as you edge closer to release, feel you slide out as I suck you in.

I … want… oh

How I want….


Daddy and I had a fight yesterday.

Daddy was ten blocks from ground zero on 9/11… watching the buildings come down. Covered in heat and ash and dust and the panicked screams of helpless people.

It’s a day that haunts him. Profoundly. He was upset and angry and disturbed and unsettled. I was trying to have a conversation about getting understanding over the meaning of words…. and it escalated… quickly… and I hung up on him.

I have some understanding of what that day was like for him. I lived close to a terrorist attack location shortly after college. People I knew were in that building, and the surrounding ones. I watched as the lives of friends crumbled in the aftermath. My experience wasn’t the same magnitude… but I have a taste of what He saw and felt and experienced. There’s a memorial built there now…. I’ve never been. I can’t bring myself to do it. I want my kids to know and understand what war is and what it does…. and yet I can’t manage to face that demon myself.

I called Daddy back once I had cooled off. But he hadn’t. And wouldn’t speak to me.

I detest fighting with him. Loath it. I find myself not only walking through the issue of the argument but walking through the relationship’s pitfalls and trials. I struggle with the abandonment issues I find so engrained. And I have to intentionally tell myself to breathe.

I recognize part of that is the function of the distance… and part of that are the lessons I learned early in life… people leave. Even when they don’t want to, people leave. So I fight panic in these moments.

As those moments progressed, and I found my breath, I called his mom to check on her. She’s a delightful lady. Someone I’ve come to cherish, to rely on. Where my own mother is stuck at age 16, his mother frequently espouses wisdom. As we chatted she said, ” I want to share something with you. Something Daddy said to his Dad a few days ago. He said, ‘ Dad, I had happiness. I’ve known happiness. But now I know joy.’ You brought that to him Babygirl. And I want to thank you for it.”

I wept. Everything seemed so insignificant in the face of that.

I know Daddy loves me beyond measure. And these fights are merely the result of two headstrong stubborn people. When we can step back and breathe, go back to the heart of us… it all seems so insignificant.

We did manage to talk later, reset ourselves and start the day anew. I do so despise fighting with him. It leaves me in tears long after all is resolved while my heart finds its footing again. I’m not an emotional masochist. I avoid those feelings as much as possible.

But in the after there’s a new tenderness that grows between us. Freshly toiled earth to plant more of us into. Watered with the shed tears and attitudes and the forgiveness that abounds. My only regret is that I don’t get to touch him in the aftermath, and water that earth with results of the tender couplings that happen after a fight…. sigh… it will have to wait for Christmas… so much to do and say when I see him again. So much to make up for.

That Damn Distance…

My job requires me to be conscious, coherent, intelligent and vivacious at ungodly hours of the morning. As such my sleep schedule is crazy. Throw in the time difference and… you’ve got a recipe for ten minute conversations.

Daddy won’t call if he thinks I’m sleeping, because I don’t get enough and live in a state of semi-permanent exhaustion.

But he called last night, knowing I was in bed, asleep.

And for the first time ever I heard him cry.

He was told he’s going to loose someone dear to him, a major influence in his world, because there is not treatment, there is no cure, there is no surgery, there is no help for this now.

And I’m here. And he’s there. And I don’t know how much longer that will be. All I want is to hold him. All I can do is cradle a phone, and listen, and speaking lovingly. And tell him he’s loved.

And Our World Turns Again…

Several months ago Daddy received some world shattering news.

Yesterday, that news continued to waterfall on us. He’s only getting bits and pieces right now. But the time frames we thought we had… we don’t… and the relationships we thought we would build together once I got to be with him… we most likely won’t…

… and again… I can’t be there to hold his hand. I can’t drive down four hours to slip my arms around him sand distract him- even for a few moments.

…again he does this alone. And the distance wins….


Yesterday morning I read a post by Kisungura Restacking Me. I just recently started following her blog… and couldn’t tell you how I came across it. I dug through older posts and liked the way she used words, her imagery, her story… so I followed.

I’ve had an emotional week: A disappointment with Daddy, a revelation ( or three) regarding my ex, children deciding respect is unnecessary in our world, an episode with heat exhaustion, technical difficulties at work resulting in lost clients, my kids starting school today, the modem frying ( making online school impossible), my vehicle needs work- again, and the list just continues….Several times this week I simply wanted to fall apart, but there was no one with whom to fall apart. So I push back my tears, wash my face, straighten my crown, pick up the cloak of responsibility all single moms wear, and press on.

But in the pressing on, I’m letting go of a piece of me. I’m shoving my Little aside, telling her her tears are pointless and less important than the tears of my children. I’m squelching her cries for help… because Daddy is 1600 miles away and there’s no one else here to hold her. I’m ignoring her screams because I need to focus on the adult world that is in constant need of mending to keep us safe and protected. In the process I was letting her go.

Reading Kisungura’s words today all I could hear were her sobs, “THIS! … this…”. In neglecting her, I’m neglecting me. What my in-control Adult sees as being responsible, she perceived as yet another grown up telling her she unimportant. But now, instead of the molesting uncle tossing her away, or one of the many Father figures deciding she’s not worth his time, instead of a family member telling her she’s always in the way… it’s me telling me… to be quiet the kids are more important. It’s me shoving me aside because grown up life must be attended to. It’s me ignoring me because there simply isn’t anyone here to draw comfort from… so there’s no point in needing it.

Realizing how I had set her aside was hard. Daddy tells me to take care of me, but it didn’t occur to me that I was intentionally hurting me.

I don’t know where to go from here. I’m not certain how to help her, but knowing what I’ve done is a start.

I wish I could say when the tears started to fall tonight, I didn’t push them back… but I did… because life is happening and the escape artist dog doesn’t care that I need a good long cry. The heart wrenching cries of my youngest watching our youngest pup scramble out from under the tires of a moving car- unscathed- do seem more important.

But now I know I need it. It’s not a moment of weakness, it’s a need. And maybe I can find a way to let my Little have a bit of time to deal with all the trials life has handed us in the last few years. Maybe I can create a moment to let her breathe.

The Anniversary : Part 2

In the nine months of separation, a milestone passed for us. The Anniversary of our dinner that launched all of this. That night filled with questions unspoken and desires, touches unmade, caresses unattended…. thinking about that night, the way he looked at me, the way I still felt with him..his embrace, his lips on my cheek as he said goodnight. All of these things I revisited alone, because Daddy was on business trip. We spoke, but I didn’t get to share with him and touch him and do those things I wanted to that night.

This night happened to be the month later… so it became The Anniversary Night.

The drive home was comfortably quiet. He had handed me back my panties, requesting I put them back on. Neither of us remember much of the drive back. It’s a blur, really. Various pieces of inconsequential conversation. Dinner had been exactly what we needed and the drive to the cabin was the perfect time to focus on him, and all I wanted to share with him.

He had been clear throughout the weekend that he had plans for me this night. He informed me he was going to video our playtime, and take pictures. While not against this, I did have apprehensions. I requested no faces, no names. He agreed.

Once inside he instructed me to get Sting ( the crop). I did and presented Sting to him. He stood me in the middle of the room, told me how lovely I looked. He sent me upstairs again to get The Purple Pussy Eater and a toy of my choosing. The Purple Pussy Eater is a purple vibrator, covered in a soft silicone that has ZERO flexibility. While I was there I realized we had not yet played with another toy, Rainbow Bright. One of his favorites. (Both pictured at the bottom). I took them both to him. He smiled when I said I brought one he hadn’t played with yet. He knew which one.

He began to walked around me, praising me. Telling me how gorgeous I am, Telling me how pleasing I am to him. How proud he is of me. What a good girl I am. How he finds me beautiful and desirable. He took a moment and arranged his camera phone.

Returning his attention to me, turning me to face the ottoman and the couch. He instructed me to kneel on the ottoman. I remember him standing behind me, his hands tracing my body, then withdrawing. I realized he was taking pictures of me.

Quite suddenly he pushed me down into the couch, catching myself on my hands, I dropped to my elbows. I was struggling to stay focused, and that contact scrambled my brain. I couldn’t think. He continued to take pictures of my ass covered by the dress, which was now stretched over me and translucent. He peeled my dress up over my hips, took more pictures. He spoke to me saying how pretty my pussy is, commenting on enjoying the way the panty of the g-string framed me just right. His voice thick and husky with need. His hands over my hip, inspecting me (oh how I enjoy that!).

I heard him take another picture. He stepped back, inspecting me with the crop, tracing my body, tracing my thighs, tracing my pussy. By this point I was shaking. Quivering beyond my control. My thoughts were focused on his movement, his next touch. Suddenly String struck me. Not hard. Catching me off guard just enough to focus my attention to the point of contact. Again on my thigh… my ass… my thigh… my cheek… trailing from my clit to the back of my pussy. And the Sting again.

I don’t remember much of my responses to him. He said I was vocal, my usual staccato sounds, mixed with deep guttural moans of need and pleasure. He has never heard that from me before. That my responses were different, seeming to take pleasure in the pain, more trusting. He said the swats grew in intensity… I didn’t notice. My ass was a bright rosy pink, he was happy with it, setting the crop to the side. Daddy says, “Cheeks are made for blushing.”

He picked up Purple, sliding “him” against the lips of my pussy to get him wet. Then twisting and working him into my pussyhole. Half way in, he turned it on. I shook, with deep low guttural moan escaping me. Purple has a special feature… when clamped down on or squeezed in certain areas of the shaft, it kicks up a gear or two, depending on the location of the squeeze and the intensity of it. Purple went into high gear, immediately. He fucked my pussy with Purple for a few minutes. Enjoying the responses and noises of his toy. Watching my need building. I do enjoy the sensations and the stimulation of Purple in my pussy.

He set purple down and repeated with Rainbow. Sliding the bulbs against my lips to moisten it. He slid Rainbow into my ass, just the upper bulb…. ohhhh… but I am an anal slut!! I don’t remember, but I doubt I was still for that. He played with me, again, watching my reactions and responses, listening the noises of him toy fucking my ass, of me trying to contain myself. At some point he decided adding Purple in would illicit even better noises from me. He began sliding it in. However… as tall as I am… I’m tiny inside… I don’t have a great deal of space for multiple items. As soon as he placed Purple burying the tip inside me, it felt as though Purple was ripping thru the barriers of my girl parts. I desperately tried to crawl away, as he removed the offending items.

At that point Daddy said he just had to have me. I was solidly in the lower levels of subspace and he was in and out of Domspace. He said knowing he was videoing kept him from getting lost in the sensations of me.

It wasn’t the first time this weekend we had been intimate, but it felt that way… as he slid into my dripping pussy, that first thrust… always takes my breath. This time it took his too. Nine months of a lack of touch created a deep need in both of us. Nothing was enough or too much. His hands on my hips, his hips pushing his cock into me, further, burrowing inside me. The sound of his sigh, his sheer pleasure of simply being inside me. I told him I wanted him in my ass, he complied. This.. this pushed me further into subspace. I remember very little of the order of the next few things. I remember the deep seated hunger his entering my ass released. I felt it down in the lower parts of my chest. My body responded on its own and clamped down around him. But it wasn’t just the sphincter, it was my whole body tightening up. He said this was when the deepest moans came. I started to move on his cock, fucking him, needing him, needing him to release inside me. I needed him to fill me. I needed him. The sensation I felt was new and surprising. It was pleasurable, but not satisfying. I could feel an orgasm building, he told me to play with myself. But as soon as I touched my clit, that disappeared. It was all still enjoyable, but I knew I wasn’t going to cum. And that was ok. There was so much else happening inside me, I don’t know that I could have taken that emotionally. Once my body clamped down on Daddy’s cock, it did not take long for him to cum. He came hard… and long…He collapsed onto my back, as I continued to squeeze down on him. I asked him not to pull out just yet. I always do. I always have. Then and Now. This moment, when he’s spent, this moment is when he is the most vulnerable with me. These moments of shear pleasure, of the joy of having had him, of having him close. Having him completely spent because of me. I cherish that moment. I prolong it as much as I can.

After a few moments, coming back to our senses, he sent me up to shower… as he had made a mess of me!! He cleaned up the puddles on couch and the ottoman, and joined me.

And I found myself, again, under the hot watery fingers of the shower… Daddy’s hands on me… and I was instantly lost in him. In his touch. Neither of us spoke. I have no idea how long that lasted, I could have stayed there forever. In that moment, completely surrendered to him. He said, ” I love the way you have no control over your body when I touch you like that. You couldn’t have stopped me if you tried. Not that you wanted to. It was such complete evidence of my ownership of you. Evidence that you are my property. ”

He’s right. In those moments he could have anything of me. That scares me a bit. To know his simple touch, can create such submission in me, a will to give him complete control.

As he started to end our shower, he asked , ” Baby? Are you there?”

Oh… yes… Daddy… I’m here… and I’m yours… completely and utterly… Yours. Even in the distance.