It's Thunder and It's Lightning (Find You, Find Daddy)
A wise and patient mentor/teacher with whom I've recently become acquainted expressed an interest in what I truly enjoy; what satisfies me in the deepest way, sexually, perversely-- what my kinks are. Words and phrases occurred as thoughts developed, as usual for me. As I continued to free-associate and add more, it dawned on me that the seeds of my contentment were planted with my first sexual experiences. Only one person has heard this story and this is the first time I've written it down. This is for you, my inspiring new friend. Thank you. Everyone else, I hope this helps you (Daddies and their Good Girls) get to the core of your and your partners' kinks, too.
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First Time: Start of a journey in search of a permanent Daddy
Our fatherless house (he was gone by the time I was three) was packed for the High Holy Days one year. My cousin (distant, by marriage of his grandmother to a sibling of my grandfather) was sleeping in the twin bed across from mine in my room, and this thrilled me because I had a mad crush on him. In my inexperienced head he was Davy Jones. He, of course, was oblivious to my crush, though he did treat me sweetly, just... well, as you would a cousin you'd known since birth and thought was a pretty good girl.
I woke up late one night to the kind of Louisiana thunder and lightning and crashes that sounded... instead of foisting some fraught simile on you, I'll just tell you that thunder and lightning frightened me for a brief period early on in my life, and so I leapt into his bed, startling the crap out of him in the process. I clung to him like Velcro and he stroked my back and whispered inconsequential, comforting sounds and words into my hair and onto my face and neck. He was lovely and tender, as one would be with an irrationally frightened girl. He was also strong and reassuring-- his touches confident and protective (and completely paternal in the moment).
Feeling him hardening under me as I rocked on him, I was completely unaware of why he would be. I'm certain, now, that his physical response was at first involuntary. In a cotton nightgown and panties, I'd thrown myself onto him, straddling him with my face buried in his neck, my hands grasping and arms wrapping as best I could around him, and I'd been slowly, subtly rocking up and down, forward and backward. He wore shorts and an LSU t-shirt, so there was little between my body and his. And, perhaps he'd already been semi-hard. Most of the men I've slept with become tumescent during their sleep, off and on throughout the night. Anyway...
The awareness that my little pussy was resting and rubbing slightly off-center on his hardness grew in my fevered head as the fear started subsiding. The rocking was making me feel so surprisingly good, I shifted a bit so that the hard thing was between my little lips, and then intensified my movements. His big, strong hands tightened on my body where they rested; his warm, sweet breath quickening and washing over me in bigger waves; his words lost in soft, unintelligible whispered moans.
Suddenly, I felt his arms tense up in a different way, as if he were going to push me away and in instinctive reaction, I clung tighter to him, moving faster and harder against him to make the pleasure come more acutely for me. I didn't understand what was happening, but I did not want this to end, nor did I understand why he was thinking about moving me off of him or what he might be feeling.
His hands moved down to my buttocks and he began sliding me vertically with more pressure, elongating my movements, pulling and pushing me along his hardness. The new, intense sensations became almost excruciating for me in their perfect, delicious pitch. His voice, whispering familiar words and words I'd never heard before; the subtle scent of his cologne; his smoky sweet breath on my hair and face; the warmth of his lithe body and sheen of sweat... God, just writing about it, now pulls me under and I'm drowning in the heat.
My first orgasm spread out of the center of me, suddenly, unexpectedly, shockingly, oh so sweetly right there on his hard cock (I now knew what the word meant). Overwhelmed with sensation and emotion, tears flowing down my face, I didn't realize what it was he was experiencing in the moment, but he followed shortly, his fingers in my mouth, his hand holding my head so he could see my eyes, his soft moans whispering my name, breath washing over my face, and filling my mouth, nose and lungs. I saw what I at first thought was fear, and maybe some of it was... and then a kind of sneering joy (he smiled, but the way his lips curled, it looked like a sneer, but his eyes were so joyful and ecstatic)... and then the release, as if someone let him up from under water and I was his little life raft.
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Still, to this day, I prefer this kind of sex-- regardless of position, I love to feel my lover's cock between my lips, but not inside of me, though I do love that too. I'm that girl in those moments. Yet, I have no desire to revert or to pretend or to babytalk or to be that girl. I just am, inside. Sometimes older, sometimes just the age that I am. But always, that me in utter ecstasy or arousal... on the inside of the inside. And, still, to this day, I return to this memory (and others of him) often, when I masturbate.
So much of everything I am is wrapped up in my relationship with him. For example, the reason music and sex are so deeply intertwined for me is that he owned a record store downtown and would bring me cutouts and new records he thought I'd like or that he wanted me to like. He spoke with me about music the way one would speak with a peer. He's the reason I discovered Creem and Rolling Stone, and the reason I later owned two music magazines, my own label and booking/management company. And, still many of my friends are musicians or are in the music industry.
Our sexual relationship (friction, masturbation and oral sex, only) ended about 3 years later when he married. He was adorable, really. He lifted me up onto a table and explained to me how things were going to change, but that he would always love his "little old lady."
With him, I'd always felt safe, secure, protected and cherished, which in turn made me feel brave, strong and that I could do anything-- be anything. He treated me always with affection and kindness, and I realize now that I wanted to please him in every way-- even when he wasn't around-- in return for his love and attention.
I was devastated and heartbroken by the loss of him, when he finally returned from his honeymoon. It was only then that I realized he would never be alone with me, again. Subsequently, I began running away from home, hitchhiking to New Orleans and back and then around the country-- never knowing for what precisely it was I was searching, but experiencing adventures that most people never experience in three lifetimes.
With retrospect, these experiences and this ever-evolving long journey eventually helped me know that I need a Daddy. Learning where my desires began is helping me define exactly what I require from a man, should he step up-- and more importantly, to be able to recognize him, when he does.
XOXOX,
Rain
PS: The title is pilfered from We Were Promised Jetpacks.
