I accept your Soul
In this moment
In this journey,
You don’t need me to tell you
* Photos by Andrew Thomas Clifton
After the children have gone down,
And she can finally undress to herself,
she sits topless by the window
and stares into her reflection.
Teacher. Doctor. Lawyer.
Slave. Pet. Baby Girl.
Hiding and yet
In plain sight.
The world sees her and yet
Doesn’t see her.
What she has to give.
But each day she strives
And never falters
Next week I will be turning thirty.
And looking back on the last ten years of my life is a strange and beautiful thing.
I’ve had the gift of life given to me but also of laughter and love and yeah, even Dominance.
When I was twenty, I didn’t know what I do now.
You could say I was Dominant, but I was coarse and unrefined.
I could dominate – and I did – but it wasn’t with any sort of awareness of the bigger picture. I was playing chess one square at a time rather than the whole board.
Unknowingly, I had formed D/s relationships but neither me nor the lady I was with knew that. All I knew was that I had gone from being a loner to suddenly an attractive man – well, in the eyes of others anyway. At 20 I was insecure with myself in a way that I’m not now.
My twenties were spent outside of anything BDSM related. There were flickers of it: The degradation that came out in my teens also came out in the bedroom. But I didn’t know terms, dynamics, things I wanted. I was coarse and unrefined and in a strictly vanilla relationship.
It was around the time of my mid-twenties when something inside me awoke. Suddenly I wanted to learn.
I was afraid to learn – there were times in the middle of the night where I woke from a dream to an ache I had ignored due to some of that catholic guilt I was raised with coming out – but I still had that desire.
My long-term girlfriend at the time was not interested in the slightest. Not even after me trying to introduce to her some things I wanted to try. We simply were not compatible, though we hung onto each other long anyway.
Her dismissal led me to blogs and sites and that’s where I discovered Fetlife. That’s where I discovered apps like Whisper.
Suddenly I was finding that education I was so scared about. I deleted and signed up to Fetlife numerous times before I created the profile that exists today.
Through whisper, I met a bubbly young lady. She was eighteen. I was 26 at the time.
Blonde hair, blue eyes, piercings over her face and nipples.
I did not have an affair with her, if that’s what you’re thinking. As I write this now, I can see that this was the origin of my Daddy side.
You see, she came from a broken home. She was constantly in a state of distress. And over the weeks, we would talk and I would help in any way I can – because…well, because she felt like a little sister to me.
The universe is a strange thing. It brings people together, it pulls people apart. And I guess, in that time, the universe gave me someone to talk to who was just as much seeking answers as I was.
We would talk about our interests, mainly though, we would talk shit. And it was pleasant.
I don’t know where she is now, but looking back, I think that was instrumental in forging my Daddy side. My caring side. My nurture side.
EVENTUALLY my long term relationship with my girlfriend fell apart. We stopped being friends, we hung out in different rooms after work. We simply weren’t compatible.
At the time, I wanted to fight. I felt that was what I wanted to do – fight for her. But when she showed no interest in fighting back, I decided to drop my compulsion to fix things or solve things and just…let her go.
In the months after, I sought to explore myself. I moved in with my parents for a while, Iogged back into Fetlife. I took nude selfies despite my lingering guilt post-relationship. I wrote songs too. Really on-the-nose songs, with titles like ‘Penultimate’ and ‘Signposts’. It was my way to heal.
Through Fetlife – through people, really – I learnt what I was once too scared to learn. I spoke to women I befriended. Some I was drawn to on a really primal level. They helped point out what I was feeling.
I had plenty of fascinating conversations about minds and life just staying in the intimate space of my childhood bedroom. In a lot of ways I was doing a loop, folding over back into my childhood town. Adulthood is weird.
But I learned I was a primal. I learned I was a Daddy. I had a six hour edging session – and I’m not exaggerating to prove something, I spent the majority of that day in bed pushing my limits. I was done crying, I was going to edge damnit.
So you see, life is strange. Why we don’t accept our minds and our sexuality is stranger. I could lament and wonder why it wasn’t sooner that I had this life affirming epiphany, but you can’t go back. Only forward.
If you have any questions regarding this post, always feel free to write me at my email. I’m more than happy to help you with your own journey.
Sometimes I feel like I could tear out the jugular of any man that hits on my lady. On what’s mine.
Sometimes there is a flash behind my eyes – and I can see an alternate reality where I have taken a baseball bat to the creeper’s grim grinning face.
I’m not a violent man. I don’t like confrontations. I know this is just the primal aspect in me. The animal part that protects his property. But I have the thought all the same.
And maybe that’s just a product of the human mind. Cats knead their favourite bedding material because of their ancestors, maybe my need to defend and protect my lady from discomfort is because of my ancestors and their violent ways.
OR it’s just 2-32am and I’m thinking way too much into things. And I’m just a dastardly violent and handsome man.
I told my kitten my thoughts on this and she smiled shyly. It was the smile that says ‘I can’t find the words to express my thoughts on that, so I’ll smile’. She’s always been that way, shy at expressing her desire and interest in me. I’m the same. My mother was terribly shy and I get it from her.
In the end, there is a freedom to learning the behavioural aspects of the primal mindset. There’s beauty there, raw and unfiltered.
I have been researching and pursuing it since I started out in this lifestyle and am still learning.
You know the one. The one that continually expresses concern, long after the person says, perhaps with an eye roll, ‘Dad, I’m fine’.
Maybe, in the absence of not having children, my mind, the part that is biologically ready to break out into fatherhood, was just assimilated by my Daddy Dominant state of mind.
If you’re wondering if I’ve gone mad, you’re probably not wrong. But the psychological state of affairs when it comes to BDSM and the relationship it has with my mind will fascinate me endlessly.
If I had to analyse right here right now, I would say my personality, the one that got the rug pulled out from under him in regards to how people can deceive or manipulate, the one that developed an anxiety disorder, now lays everything out on the table with people. I’m honest because I expect that in return. How they respond is their choice – but me? I want to be pure. I don’t want deceit or manipulation or fear.
And the older I get, and the more confident or used to who I am and my place in the world, my personality has kind of matured into this Father Figure. And BECAUSE of what I experienced through friendship and relationships, I’m overbearing in my caring.
It happens with my lady – I’ll send her to bed if I notice her eyes falling out of her head. It happens to my friend, when I ask if she’s happy where she is in life. And it happens to people who write in sometimes, where I try to create as safe a place as possible for them to feel at ease if they want to ask what they feel is a silly question.
Not everybody wants to chat in a prolonged state, sure. But more often then not, I can sense when there’s a sentence on the tip of someone’s tongue and they either don’t want to burden me – this stranger – or they feel – well, pick one. Silly. Strange. Ashamed. Pathetic.
So now I try to combat that, albeit gently, by creating a safe space to each and every one. And if that’s annoying, I’ll take the blame of being this overbearing, slightly strict father figure or Daddy Dominant.
Just know I’m aware of this aspect and ease it when I sense it! After all, who wants a lame Dad?
But on a tangent, on a stream of consciousness, I want to add something that I’ve always, personally, taken away from the song.
“I see the girls walk by dressed in their summer clothes. I have to turn my head until my darkness goes”
Every time I heard that part, I would always think of something animalistic.
Kind of like a Dr. Jekyll / Mr. Hyde duality happening. The primal. The animal. That thing that wants to ravage these, well, poor young women.
And so, will you kindly step over the threshold and into my mind? Do watch your step and don’t wander off. Things may grab you and take you.
That lyric makes me think of a man. A single father, if you will. A painter. Or at least, he is painting his home when his daughter, a pretty little thing of 18, comes home with her best friend.
This daughter, raven hair, blue eyes, no make up, effortlessly pretty, slinks off to the shower, leaving her best friend, freckles, red hair, eyes like ice, with this single father.
Now…I’m a fan of magic. I’m also very tired, it’s 5 – no, 6-38am upon reading this and despite my best interests, I’m writing. I don’t know why. Forgive me if this is garbage and feel free to write so in the comments below. I trust you to.
But I’m a fan of magic with my stories. Hence sea creatures and cults and demons invading bedrooms. And this scenario? Say the paint fumes affect this best friend. Say this single father, this awkward, lanky, but charming dark haired man, despite his best intentions, gives in to the part of him that flirts a look at this younger lady.
What if…with one hand, he grabs her and pushes her against the wet wall, tears off her stockings, rips down her girly panties, something cute like tinker bell light blue panties. And tinker bell’s face is right where this girl’s slit is, yeah. Starting to be soaked.
What if this best friend doesn’t stand a chance against this father. And while her head shakes off the paint fumes, she’s getting her clothes torn off.
The single father, he’ll throw her down along the ground, a tarp softening her blow. And I see a pale ass. A freckle is on her right cheek. And it’s utterly delightful. This freckle is like a highlight. As her lightly trimmed cunt that can be seen as she falls to the ground, defenceless. But also weirdly aroused.
And while she squirms, maybe groans and cries – cries drowned out by the daughter’s shower – this single father grabs her by the legs and drags her back to him. And you know, I can feel the floor on my stomach drag as he drags her. It’s like I feel her. And see her. Weird.
I did, only once, witness a dream come to reality. I dreamt of two elements and then the next day, those two elements appeared in my life. Right where I was in that exact moment. I was travelling overseas so the chances of these elements appearing were slim. Maybe there’s a minute part of me that is psychic? Hm. But I do feel her. Just as I see her.
And this single father, maybe he grabs a paint brush, dips it in the nearest point and he’ll paint her black.
Maybe he’ll paint all of her black. Her arms, breasts, ass, stomach. He’ll mark her. And she’ll squirm at the coldness. And she’ll feel repulsed but aroused. She’a being claimed in an aggressive animalistic fashion.
And then, once he’s done marking her, randomly I might add – he doesn’t want her to asphyxiate – he’ll take her by her blackened hips and fuck her from behind. And he will find that she is so aroused that he slips right into her. And she’ll be caught off by it because there’s a tickle in her stomach that says this is wrong. And she secretly likes said tickle.
They’ll fuck until she comes first, at which point this single father will slip outside of her to come on a nearby cloth that he had been using to wipe his sweat from his brow.
What happens then is up to you. Not me. I’ve already painted the image, now it’s your interpretation.
I wore clothes to bed for the first time in a while.
It was a particularly cold night in this here middle of winter Australian season. I thought to myself, I’ll just rug up. Sleeping nude can sometimes leave a chill and the last thing I want is to catch a cold.
So I compromised. I took off my pants and left my shirt on. I figure keeping my chest warm was more important than my legs.
For the first moments in bed, I was restless. My body screamed. An itch would snake its way up my back, under my right shoulder blade. Around and around in circles it slithered, knowing full well it was beyond the grasp of my arms as I tried to ease the itch.
I tossed and turned, turned and tossed. I could feel the shirt construct me. Could feel the heat off my skin cooking underneath. Something didn’t feel good. Something didn’t feel right.
And the more I rolled left and right, the more my t shirt twisted beneath me, limiting my movements further.
Enough was enough – I sat up and tore off my shirt and threw it to the space beside my side of the bed.
The feeling of peeling off the t shirt. Revealing bare skin, the cool middle of the night air skimming every surface of my body, the fact that I was naked…
My mind was instantly transported back to my youth. I had snuck away from the house, deep into the bush where I would undress. And run through the shrubs, feeling the wind on my body and a sense of freedom. I would masturbate there after a run. Feel my bare cock grow beneath my hands.
In that moment, I wondered how other people, those who enjoy nakedness, felt when they peeled off the last layer of clothing and felt completely and utterly naked in the world.
In that moment, I thought of how it might felt for a woman to unclasp her bra and feel her breasts freed? The gentle breeze on a nipple, the feeling of them swaying as they are released. How a man might feel the air on his bare cock, how it might feel to touch that.
I was reminded of a moment in time again: I had put a winter jumper on my pug. Moments later, I returned to the back yard to see she had removed it. She didn’t want it.
I, too, am the animal. Wild at heart, wanting not to be bound by clothes. Wanting to feel the world around on my skin.
And I have learnt my lesson – always sleep nude.