testarosa_sub
Virgin
- Joined
- Mar 27, 2015
- Posts
- 25
It isn’t the clothes she wears when she’s feeling like a baby. That only enhances their play. It triggers the head-space.
Life gets in the way, and they need to be pulled back into their own world with a gentle reminder: a brightly coloured room, playful food, a pacifier, a baby-bottle.
She could wear anything, or nothing, for that matter, and she’d still be his little girl.
When she goes to him distressed and he holds her in her lap, he anchors her to reality in this time of fear. He keeps her from the terror of feeling alone in her time of need. Some people never quite grow up, you see, and they’re always reaching out for something to cling to: daddy. Imagine if she went through life feeling so little and helpless and alone with no daddy to hold her?
It’s the way she keeps her eye on him in a room full of people–he’s the safe harbour from which she can explore the room and the world at large.
It’s not about the perverted, twisted little-girl and big-girl games they like to play. Not really. Those are just games: they end, and life goes on. He doesn’t stop being her daddy when they’re over. It’s about the fact that they can hold their perverseness out to one another in vulnerability without fear of judgment. And perhaps some relief.
It’s about the way her shoulders relax when he comes close.
It’s about her head on his shoulder as he rocks her to sleep after she’s cried.
It’s about the effort and the time he puts into their relationship in order to earn the title of ‘daddy’, and then to hear it from her lips, day in and out. It’s about that.
It’s about belonging, finally, somewhere. Some place. Having some person of their own.
A dominant claims, but daddies are claimed. What’s more possessive? A grown person claiming something? Perhaps they’ve got a better grip, but the depth of that possession holds no candle to a needy little childlike being holding her daddy’s hand and saying: “Mine.”
If this speaks to you, message me
Life gets in the way, and they need to be pulled back into their own world with a gentle reminder: a brightly coloured room, playful food, a pacifier, a baby-bottle.
She could wear anything, or nothing, for that matter, and she’d still be his little girl.
When she goes to him distressed and he holds her in her lap, he anchors her to reality in this time of fear. He keeps her from the terror of feeling alone in her time of need. Some people never quite grow up, you see, and they’re always reaching out for something to cling to: daddy. Imagine if she went through life feeling so little and helpless and alone with no daddy to hold her?
It’s the way she keeps her eye on him in a room full of people–he’s the safe harbour from which she can explore the room and the world at large.
It’s not about the perverted, twisted little-girl and big-girl games they like to play. Not really. Those are just games: they end, and life goes on. He doesn’t stop being her daddy when they’re over. It’s about the fact that they can hold their perverseness out to one another in vulnerability without fear of judgment. And perhaps some relief.
It’s about the way her shoulders relax when he comes close.
It’s about her head on his shoulder as he rocks her to sleep after she’s cried.
It’s about the effort and the time he puts into their relationship in order to earn the title of ‘daddy’, and then to hear it from her lips, day in and out. It’s about that.
It’s about belonging, finally, somewhere. Some place. Having some person of their own.
A dominant claims, but daddies are claimed. What’s more possessive? A grown person claiming something? Perhaps they’ve got a better grip, but the depth of that possession holds no candle to a needy little childlike being holding her daddy’s hand and saying: “Mine.”
If this speaks to you, message me
