My life has become an erotic novel.
This morning, still full dark, the first thing I feel is a hand rubbing my back, then grabbing my breast. My husband pulls me close to his warmth, then whispers to me that he wants me to kiss and suck and lick his body all over. Which I do, without question. He is my dominant, I am his submissive, and I will do anything he asks. Anything.
I run my tongue over him, tell him he is delicious. He tells me I am Daddy’s good girl. And there is that word again, “Daddy.” I cannot help but notice it still portends silliness to me. I don’t know how he is saying it with a straight face. Yet as we linger in bed, light starting to fill the windows, I find myself more and more happy to hear it, because I melt, I melt. And when he says, “Daddy is going to slide inside you now,” I am grateful, yes Daddy, yes.
I keep saying the word in my mind as he fucks me, and somehow I feel myself connecting with my younger more innocent self. A girl. Yes, I feel like a treasured girl being taken care of by her powerful Daddy, and I feel joy bubble up in me, and I wrap my legs around him in delight. This is new instinct for me, have I ever wrapped my legs so playfully around him during sex? I don’t think so, but now I cling, a girl safe in her Daddy’s arms while he gives her thrusts of pleasure. He holds me still, hand on my neck and I feel so taken, so transported. Sex isn’t just sex anymore, it is a journey somehow, a journey through different layers of love.
Afterward, we lie together for a long while, he holds me so close, so gently, whispering I am good girl, he will always take care of me, and I feel as if I am being enfolded into some kind of cosmic protection. I have always felt loved by Michael, hugely, but this Daddy dimension gives the love a new heft and shape and sweetness. A new sense of safety that is palpable – it wraps blanket-like around me, holds me, shields me. Finally, I can drop my guard and just be.
All at once, I understand the nature of the difficulty I’ve felt in seeing him in the role of “Daddy,” even as I’ve been craving him to be that for me. I had assumed it was because I was so accustomed to seeing him as Michael, my romantic partner, lover, boyfriend, new husband. I’d thought it too difficult to reconfigure my image of him, or the way I relate to him. But now I see it is less how I look at him than how I look at myself. Or rather, it is about how I feel inside myself. When I feel tired and middle-aged and guarded, looking out from cynical eyes, I cannot get in touch with the “girl” inside me, and thus, cannot relate to a Daddy figure. But when I let go, drop my preconceptions of myself, step out from behind my defenses, then I am open, easy, just me-in-the-moment. (I’m pretty sure this is what Buddhists call “beginner’s mind.”) The barrier to seeing him as sweet Daddy dissolves away. The word slips more easily out of my mouth.
From this different mindset, I am no longer a guarded woman carefully managing a relationship with a man, continually analyzing my feelings in reaction to his behavior, continually judging how the relationship going. I am instead a carefree girl who effortlessly accepts her Daddy’s love as a given. I get out of my head and into my body. I laugh more easily. I love more easily.
Hypnotic Love Dream
Later, after we have settled into the big easy chairs by the front window in the living room with mugs of coffee, I ask him to tell me how seeing himself as Daddy changes how he relates to me.
He tells me it is very powerful to feel protective over me. He tells me that when I am curled up next to him, he loves the feeling that he has a cherished girl to take care of and please and show deep love for. I smile and try to describe how it adds to the dimension of safety to me, how I feel like a carefree girl again…
Suddenly I become choked up, in tears. It occurs to me this might be the first time in all my life I have known what a carefree girl feels like. When I was young, I did not have a father around, my parents divorced when I was two. My mother worked, she was an actress, and the house was full of people, actors and musicians and druggies, and it was all so unpredictable, I did not always feel safe. I was known as a “serious” child, internally guarded, and I often remember feeling hard and cold and cut off from what was happening around me. But now here is a Daddy for me, all love and warmth and protection, and I am overwhelmed at the gift he is giving me, the way he is opening the door to healing the child I was.
He sees me crying, says, “Come sit on my lap.”
I get up, and cross over to his chair, and for a moment I again feel the absurdity of a too-big middle-aged me plopping on his lap and being girlish. But the moment is brief, banished by his sweetness, his tenderness. I have never felt more exposed, and we look into each other’s eyes and kiss and kiss and feel so close.
He says, “Oh babygirl, you’re getting me excited. You need to get on your knees and suck me.”
I laugh, and squirm off his lap to kneel in front of him. The submissive position triggers that lovely trance, that liberating trance, that allows me to be fully in the moment. I take him into my mouth and it is wonderful, my mouth full of his hard smoothness, I am crazy for this, in love with this. I want his cock as far back in my throat as possible. I kiss him everywhere, cuddle up to his pulsing cock as if it my favorite toy, feeling it hard and hot against my neck. I worship him, and we are giddy.
Afterward he tells me he feels like he is living in a dream. He is completely present, aware of everything. We have no barrier between us anymore, I say, nothing between us, completely open and honest, everything revealed, allowed, safe. The feeling of acceptance is extraordinary, hot, and so sexually charged.
For the next hour, as he cooks us omelets for breakfast, we cannot look away from each other. We find ourselves just standing staring at each other, walking around the kitchen, eyes caught. My chest feels swollen with warmth, with love.
We go for a walk by the lake, the water is deep blue in the sun, the hills around are eye-watering green. We go down a trail through an idyllic countryside on this cool sunny day. Butterflies flit ahead in the path, delicate yellow and purple wildflowers bloom alongside.
“This is the land of milk and honey,” he says.
We stop in the dappled shade of a tree to kiss, and kiss, mouths wide open, licking each other’s tongues. I lean against him, head tilted back, everything glows. This connection we are feeling, we are sure no one else in the world has ever experienced it.
“Can you see the hunger in my eyes for you?” he asks.
“Yes,” I say. “Can you see the adoration in mine?”
He smiles. “I can’t help but see it.”
I turn to keep walking, and look back and he is standing, not moving, eyes closed. “I’m soaking you in,” he says.
Later, we have a picnic on our back patio under the bare, kinked branches of the oaks. Cheese and crackers and grapes. He leans to stick a grape in my mouth, then slides his finger past my lips after it. I sit on the patio, sucking on his finger to the beat of the throbbing between my legs.
I am living in an erotic novel.