Let’s preface this writing by letting you know that I am in my (very early) 30’s, and Daddy is in His late 50’s. For me, His age has never been an issue. For Him, it was only an issue insofar as He had to get used to the nasty stares people would give us out in public, and when He had decided He was really in this for the long haul, He had to let go of the guilt that He was, barring some freak accident, going to leave this earth many years before I am.
Lots of people look at us, and immediately draw this conclusion: ‘Oh, she must be a gold digger.’ It’s shitty because, those nasty stares I mentioned to you earlier…well I’ve gotten them when I wearing a wife-beater and jean skirt, and I’ve also gotten them when I was wearing a smart dress, tights, a trench coat, and glasses. You see, people look at us, and they just assume. Also, there’s this thing called confirmation bias in psychology. It means if you assume something to be true, your brain will then look for details to corroborate that scenario. There are some fascinating studies- I encourage you to look them up. I digress…
Anyhow, a couple of weeks ago, Daddy and I were out at a party. There was a couple there we met, and one of the first sentences uttered was “How did you get one so young?” Now, there are a million snarky comments Daddy could have lobbed back, but instead He just chose “Well, as I’ve already been told tonight, I’m a lucky mother-fucker!” This broke whatever tension the question may have caused, and the night went on without a hitch.
Daddy kept coming back to it after that night, though. He was hurt, and couldn’t wrap His mind around why someone would ask him such a question. Thinking about it with some perspective, this person was only asking what many others would have just thought about, drawn their own conclusions, and shot us dirty looks…but they didn’t…at least they asked.
Anyone who knows me now, knows what a badass I am. I pay my bills (on time), I take pride in the way my house looks, I balance my college classes and homework with chauffeuring two bunheads to three ballet classes a week, and still manage to occasionally find the time to cook healthy meals, exercise, and keep a long-term DD/lg (Daddy Dom/little girl) dynamic alive and well. Maybe it sounds boastful, but it’s true. Daddy jokes with me, whenever I get a bit too arrogant, and says I’m on my ‘haughty horse,’ to which I reply with my best horsey-whinny.
Now, you may be wondering what the hell this has to do with the story, but bear with me…I’m painting a picture.
Now that you are thoroughly convinced of how awesome I am, let’s go in the way-back-machine, and take a look at me almost four years ago, shall we? When Daddy and I met, I was on my way out of an abusive marriage. My ex was addicted to drugs, and cheated on me repeatedly, despite me agreeing to an open marriage, with my only stipulations being that he tell me where he was going, and that he used protection. I guess those requests were too hefty, because he clearly couldn’t tolerate them. I was trying to get my life together, but failing quite miserably. I drank regularly, in an attempt to try and escape my stress, smoked like a damn chimney, and was generally a sad sack. I at one point had even enrolled in college, but failed my second semester, after allowing myself to be pulled into using drugs again with my ex….that was really a turning point for me, actually, because I said I would never allow drugs in general, and this one in particular, to be a part of my life…that I wouldn’t allow them to ruin my children’s lives the way I had let them ruin my own.
Even after that decision was made though, and after I met Daddy, I continued to flounder. Daddy became concerned when every two days I was asking him to pick me up another 750 mL bottle of Crown Royal. Not being a drinker Himself, He couldn’t understand how I was consuming so much alcohol- He thought I was having parties after He was gone. What He would later realize, is that I had been drinking so long and so heavily, that this was really my main form of caloric consumption. When we met, I was 108 pounds, medically underweight for my frame. I barely ate when we were together, and sometimes, if I did manage to eat, I would get sick afterword- not intentionally, mind you….my body was just riddled with so much anxiety and alcohol that it couldn’t even process the nourishment it was getting. After Daddy had visited my apartment a few times, He asked me what the stack of envelopes sitting on the desk in living room were for. “They’re bills,” I said, matter-of-factly. “Why aren’t any of them opened?” He inquired. “Why bother opening bills that you can’t pay?” was my reply.
Are you starting to get the picture? I was a wreck. This is only scraping the surface too, I haven’t even went into the other crazy ex I had, or his psychotic stalker girlfriend, or the other drama that seemed to be constantly swirling around me like a tornado, ready to swallow me up whole at any second.
Daddy knew me then. Daddy loved me then.
Whenever I screamed, and criticized, and pushed Him away, because I had no idea what real love was…He stood by me. Whenever I got trashed, and made poor decisions, and told Him things about my past He probably would have been better off not knowing…He didn’t leave. Whenever I fell, over, and over, AND OVER, He gently picked me up, dusted me off, and told me how much He believed in me. He stuck it out through a thousand mile long-distance move, through me quitting smoking, quitting drinking…through every single stumble and triumph. He quite literally has had a front row seat in watching me become the magnificent woman I am today. The kind of love He has shown me is awe-inspiring and life-changing. Even more credit is due Him, because it’s not like He loved this wonderful girl who hit a rough patch…I was in the midst of fighting for my life when we met. He somehow saw through all the pain, the drunken debauchery, and failed plans…and He saw my potential. He quite literally loved it out of me.
I am not saying Daddy is a saint. I realize He too is human, and has His faults. We quarrel. We have turned our relationship into an emotional roller-coaster more times than I would care to admit. But my point is this: Our relationship was never built on the basis of His money, or my age…our relationship was borne and sustained because of this man’s incredible gift to see past my chaos and understand my potential, and my realization of what true love looks like, and the infinitely enlightened decision to hold on to it, come what may…