You know what they say about saying never. Well, I swore I would never call a man Daddy. For the majority of my relationships that felt right to me.
“Who’s your Daddy?”
Was met with my standard response which never failed to amuse me:
When Santa and I opened up our relationship to kinky play and it subsequently evolved into a (then) bedroom only D/s relationship, I queried him as to his preferred title. He didn’t have one in particular he demanded, so he gave me a few choices. Daddy was on the list, and I passed that by without a second thought. I’m not one of those littles I read about. That’s not for me. Master was right out, at least then. I had some seriously negative associations there. The only logical choice was Sir, as far as I was concerned, so that’s where it landed.
I didn’t count on the way our relationship stripped me bare of pretense, forced me to be honest with myself above all else, and passed that straight on to him. Journaling. Seriously the best tool, which I have definitely said many a time before.
We had been playing with some bondage and impact. His teeth marked me as he nipped at shoulders, arms, breasts and I felt the delicious wash of sensation of his variance of pressure that never fails to excite me.
“Do you like that?” He growled at me in that sex voice he has.
“Harder, please,” mine got all breathy, as it does.
“Harder, what?” He said with an eyebrow up.
“Harder, please, Sir,” I responded properly.
But it didn’t fit. It didn’t fit how I thought of him, how we were together. He nurtures me, protects me, cares for me, defends me. He values my emotional and physical well being. While those things can definitely be characteristics of regular D types, Sir just wasn’t feeling right. He felt it, too.
“Try Daddy,” He encouraged.
I looked at him shyly. I did a lot of things shyly then. “Harder please, Daddy,” my voice dropped to almost a whisper by the end, but it came out.
Have you ever been working on a 5000 piece puzzle and gotten stuck on a certain piece? It might be a little oddly shaped and might have colors that don’t seem to match any one section. You try it everywhere there is an obvious hole, and it doesn’t fit. Over and over, across that puzzle it doesn’t fit anywhere. Then you see a hole that it clearly doesn’t fit into but you’re running out of places to put it and the damn thing has to go somewhere. So you try it anyhow, and somehow, like puzzle magic, it fits, connecting those huge chunks that were floating about needing anchoring. Once it’s in, if looks like it has always belonged there, and the strange wash of colors suddenly make sense in a way they hadn’t before.
That was how this moment felt for me. For us, really. It is one of those defining moments that will stay with me.
He looked at me intensely, eyes almost glowing with love and desire, and He kissed me the same way. He kissed me passionately, with a single-minded focus, pinning me beneath him to join our bodies.
It took a little time to realize that was how our relationship had truly evolved, and that I needed to accept and embrace some things about myself which had always been present. This is who we are.
I call him Daddy.
But the thing is, that isn’t his only name.
When we are alone, or at a kink friendly event, he can be Daddy without reservation for me. When he gives me a command I need to acknowlege, I have enough Southern in me for him to be Sir. When it is an order I definitely am not excited about, I remind myself that this is the path I chose, and the good outweighs the bad. Those moments, I address him as Master, as I need the reminder. And when I call out to him in public or refer to him in conversation, he is Santa, as it has become a term of respect, and his title, as odd as that may seem to others.
Yet I am not the only one who calls him an honorific. Others have called him Sir, and Daddy, and definitely Santa, though none have called him Master, that I know of. Another partner addressing him by his title, even when used as a form of affection, gives me zero pause. I actually find it cute when other women address him that way. I know many submissives who have difficulties with their D-types being called Sir or Daddy by others, and I can understand the concern. For some, it is akin to having a pet name, a deeply intimate connection with a partner be used by an outsider. I just can’t view it that way. His name is his name is his name. How someone else addresses him has no effect on the relationship I have with him.
Much like any form of address, we’re all looking to make those verbal connections, and I cannot fault his other partners for seeking those things. What I call him is a term of respect and affection. I’ve learned instead that the real sticking point for me is what he calls them in return.
labels and names do matter despite what the younger generation says