Hotel Sex

Yes, we had it on vacation.  In between hanging with family, meeting new people, dancing, eating, getting dressed up and all the rest of the debauchery of Vegas; we enjoyed each other.  

Since moving in together our sexual schedule has changed.  When we lived apart sex was a scheduled thing in many respects.  My son’s time with his dad predominantly governed the time I had free to spend with Daddy.  Our sex revolved around our limited time. All our pent up needs would wait and then when we saw each other we would have all that energy stored up like a wound rubberband. 

After moving in our schedule began to change.  I see Daddy every day now.  My son lives with us most of the time in a little house with very little separation of spaces.  Initially, I felt like I was on the same sexual schedule.  As the days without my son in the house would approach, I would get wound up.  Time with Daddy is coming! My body would tense up as my mind would do the happy dance that precursed our play times.  But as life would have it, things would get in the way.  Work was hard for one of us that day, family would be over, something got in the way of our tryst and I would get dejected. 

We’ve started having sex as husband and wife do, when the time and opportunity arise.  Sometimes hurried, sometimes being as quiet as mice because the child is home, but generally no longer on a ‘dating’ schedule. 

Sex in a hotel before this vacation wasn’t any different than sex at home together.  We were our same uninhibited selves.  This time though, it felt more free, more wild.  The child was in another state entirely.  I had my voice back.  I intermittenly wondered if the people in neighboring rooms could hear me. I didn’t care.  

Eye of the Beholder

I had a suspicion but yesterday it hit me full force.  I am more beautiful for Daddy.  It goes deeper than me trying harder to please him.  Daddy loves girly girls.  I want to please him so I am always aware in my choice of dress such that I please him and dress femininely.

Deeper than that though, I am Daddy’s type.  When he ogles other women or points out curvy women to me they are usually typed very near to how I look.  If a girl has ample breasts, a tiny waist with a full round ass and hips then I know Daddy will like her.  I love seeing him admire them.  I love knowing deep down to his core that he desires me exactly as I am.

My first husband told me I was beautiful every day.  I believed he thought so on some level.  He loved that I always made an effort, always dressed nicely, always took care of the details.  I know he thought my face beautiful. But, and here’s the big difference, he hated that I was fat. He told me in a thousand different unspoken little ways how much he wished I was thin again.  Whether he was sober or drunk, verbal or non-verbal, I was sensitive to it and I read the cues.

My Ex told me once that it was a shame that he was a leg man and I was made for boob men.  Later, he told me I converted him but sadly I never truly believed him.  But when Mr. D tears off my shirt simply because he wants to watch my tits bounce and roll as he fucks me…I know, I don’t have to wonder or ask, he loves them.  His eyes caress and fondle my breasts all the time.  I feel him and I feel sexual.

I live in and own my sexual being with Mr. D.  I notice that when he takes my picture, I look more beautiful and more sexual in those pictures.  In the pictures he takes, I look like I feel in those moments.  I am sexual and I can see the heat and passion and love for him in those images.  

Yesterday, a really close friend sent me a picture of myself.  He is a graphic designer and a professional photographer.  You’d think his photos of me would be fabulous.  Once in a great while they are.  They do always show my joy of life and my happiness, I will say that.  But in almost all the photos he’s taken of me I look awful in some physical way.  In his photos, my double chin looks hugely apparent or my hair is fuzzy, or some other flaw is highlighted. There is usually something wrong.  The only thing I can correlate it to is our connection and his view of me.  He is a generally critical person and he sees all those flaws.  It makes him a great designer but loses something of the magic of life, I think. Photography is so much more in the eye of the beholder than I ever thought possible. 

So, for another of the countless times a day or a week, I am truly thankful for Daddy and how he sees me.  I love being his sexual beast and love how he brings out the true and beautiful me.

Being a Little

 
I really have no experience with this part of being a baby girl.  The concept of being a Little is understandable but I became an adult very young and it is ingrained in me now.  

I had to care for my mother and brother very early in life.  She was overly sensitive and emotional.  She just wasn’t up to being a single parent.  She was strong but simply too vulnerable. She relied on me from very early in life.  From 12 years old on, I cooked the meals, did a lot of the shopping and cared for my brother most of the time.  I was also her shoulder to cry on.

After spending my life caring for a mother and then a husband who needed my care, I am in a new place.  I still have the serving and caring genes well cemented in my psyche but now I have a different outlet as well.  Daddy came along and began to care for me.  His desire to be Daddy and care for his girl is changing me, allowing me to be vulnerable myself.

For the first time in a very long time, it is okay to feel, to let go and experience my emotions. It is okay to be his little girl.  I have dressed as his little girl a couple times and I loved it.  Pigtails and lace for my Daddy, it was so hot and also freeing.  I could be another me who is more pouty, more vocal and oh so eager to please Big Daddy.