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Confessions of a Psycho Girl: Playing Daddy

Author: Trixie Bedlam
Posted: 05 Jan 2005

Okay, in all fairness, I was the one who started it. It is 4:30 in the morning and I am at the end of what has been perhaps the best first date of my life. I had met up with Matthew towards the end of game four of the World Series, at a local bar that he frequented. We had spent the night engaged in fascinating conversation, arguing about music, and playing pool, while Matthew gallantly tried to fend off the constant stream of way older men hitting on me. Then we had gone to the best karaoke bar ever, where I sang "You Might Think" by the Cars, and Matthew dedicated the Neil Diamond song of my same name to me. All in all, it was just a fantastic night. I really should have left well enough alone, but if history has taught me anything, it's that I never do.

So we walked, hand in hand, back to Matthew's place, with plans to do the crossword puzzle naked in bed. He pulled out a cigarette. "Me too, me too, Dada," I said. I happened to be quoting Willow, which is my most frequently missed movie reference, but Matthew took it quite another way. He broke stride and gave me a sidelong glance. Just as I started to explain that I didn't have some sort of Daddy complex, and was simply quoting one of George Lucas's master works, Matthew broke in, "We could do that later..."

It's impressive how many things you can shrug off when you've had enough PBR. I ended up back at Matthew's, where I was eventually distracted from the crossword puzzle. And then it happened. "So...do you want to play now?"

"Play what?"

"Play Daddy."

"...Okay..."

Let it never be said that I am one to avoid new experiences, however Freudian. So we began. "Daddy" asked questions about my day, I tapped into my 13-year-old memory and started telling him about an English test, the big soccer game, a fight I had with my friend Kimberly. I even talked in a girly little voice. At the back of my mind I was thinking that if I was actually going to act like a 13-year-old I would tell "Daddy" he was a total dork, my life was none of his business, and then go to another room and listen to really loud music he hated. But Matthew seemed to be enjoying himself a lot, so I continued. Then the conversation shifted. "Daddy" asked me if my mother had talked to me about the changes in my body that I was experiencing. I said nothing, mystified. "Say 'no,'" Matthew prompted me in a sotto voice. "No," I said, but I was beginning to feel a little wary.

Up until this point, the whole thing had sort of been like an acting exercise to me, but by now I was in character. As "Daddy" began to fondle me and tell me about various things that the onset of puberty would bring, I became increasingly uncomfortable. In my sex life, I'm into a fair amount of kinky shit, but I am of the firm belief that sex and family don't mix well, even in a fantasy realm. It was like when you have one of those dreams where you have sex with a parent or something. I called for a time out.

"You're really good at this," Matthew breathed. "Yeah..." I said, "I think I'm a little too good, 'cause I'm kinda feeling molested." He paused, "I'm not a pedophile," he said, "I just like to role-play. We can play something else if you want." The disappointment was heavy on his voice.

"Here's the thing, I don't really think this is first date material," I said.

"Well, we could have some other, more standard kind of sex," he said, "but then it would set a precedent, and it would be hard to get back to this stuff. I just don't want to even begin a relationship if role-playing can't be a part of it." I got up and started to get dressed.

"Three things," I said, "One ­ I don't think that there's anything wrong with role-playing, in fact I think it's hot, but I'm never going to want to play 'Daddy.' Two ­ men who use the word 'relationship' on the first date are always trying to fuck you, and not to be trusted. I don't have anything against cheap sex, but I hate being manipulated, and I find that shit condescending. Three ­ in order for me to get to place where I can be comfortable with live fantasy, I need to trust you, and that takes time. If you're not willing to invest that, then it's not going to happen."

We continued talking as I gathered my things, and as I left I promised to call him, entirely unsure whether or not I actually would. I walked home in the rising morning light. People appeared, opening stores or heading for work, and it seemed to me that I was walking through the preamble to a big crowd number in a Broadway musical. I was sure that, at any moment, a group of street sweepers were going to break into a little dance, and this thought eased away my apprehension about what I had just experienced.

I started thinking seriously about Matthew. He was handsome, smart, funny, and a gentleman. He was only the second guy I had seriously considered sleeping with since I moved to New York, almost a year ago. I had really enjoyed spending time with him. He took the disappointment pretty gracefully, and at no point tried to press an advantage with me. Sure, he had a few kinks, but that's what makes things interesting. On the one hand, I could see myself with him. On the other hand, "playing Daddy" really bothered me. I guess I can understand wanting to be the Daddy, but I really can't conceive of someone getting off on being molested by their father. Whether or not he was a pedophile, there was still something going on there. Was this a common thing? When did my life become an episode of Sex and the City?

Since I've moved to New York, I've become a lot more cautious about my sex life. Before this I lived in a small, costal California town, and fucking a blue streak through it didn't seem like quite as risky a business. But I was also younger, and constantly stoned, which leads to irresponsible sexual choices, according to television anti-drug ads on TV. Thinking back, I can see times that I might have gone along with sexual scenarios that I wasn't completely comfortable with. So whether or not I do end up with Matthew, I'm glad I stuck up for myself. Daddy's little girl is growing up.

To read more stuff by Trixie, head on over to bitchingandmoaning.org.

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