Mr. D has a gift with words. In the heat of the moment, in the darkness of his control, in the hot sticky motions of our rutting, he is my Shakespeare. Every time I write, I spend time and do all I may to make my language match the intensity of our trysts. I work my paltry words on the page to give you the mental images and the depths of emotions I feel in those private moments. But each time I write, I know I’m not doing him justice. His evocative words in those heated times are so raw and so beautiful. They touch me in a way I’ve never experienced.

Something about this man, my Daddy, is so deep and so eloquent. He puts words to our connection. He puts my words on screen to shame. I felt that I needed to say this today. No matter if I’ve written just after our joining or weeks later, I’ll never capture the fullness of his gift. His touch, his love, his protection, his heat, his grittiness and his words all combine in a man I’m addicted to entirely. He is my drug. He is my equal and yet I kneel to him for he is always and wholly worthy of my worship.