|—||George Orwell, Nineteen Eighty-Four|
I’ve avoided talking about this because of the negative stereotypes associated with “littles” and because it skeevs even a lot of kinksters out. Before I talk about why this doesn’t work for me, I just want to say that if it works for you—great! Have fun with your Daddy and be happy.
Ageplay is one of my few hard limits. Calling me babygirl or little one puts me in a negative headspace (“worthless cunt” is actually better). I’m a capable adult woman and if you don’t view me that way then we won’t be having sex. For awhile in my last M/s relationship we also had a Daddy/babygirl dynamic going on. It makes my skin crawl remembering it.
We fell into it because I thought I could trust a Daddy figure not to abuse me. It wasn’t incest roleplay, but it allowed me—allowed us both—to compartmentalize abusive partner and loving authority figure. It softened the blow. It let me be innocent, naive, and very trusting. It also encouraged dependence. Even now, I can feel myself wanting to run back into that old mindset. “I’m just a little girl, I don’t have anything to worry about, I need my Daddy.”
A temptation I can very easily resist because, y’know, fuck that. He wanted me to be a twelve year-old—to dress me like one and treat me like one, to get annoyed with me when I fell into a childish way of thinking—because he had an attraction to young teenagers.
So if you message me about ageplay, don’t expect a kind reply. I’m never again going to look to someone to fix my problems because of some slavish devotion to Daddy. I never again want to create a separate, loving persona to avoid dealing with my partner’s dark passenger. It’s something I’ll never seek out again, that I recognize is unhealthy for me.
I’m 22 years old and I don’t want to retreat into coloring books and pacifiers and being infantilized. I love my adult responsibilities and the stress that comes with them.
Beat me until I cry, hang me upside down with the thinnest rope you have, use my ass without lube, but incorporate ageplay into our scene in any way and I’ll safeword immediately.
|—||Sarah Kay and Phil Kaye, An Origin Story|
I like being on the receiving end of emotional sadism. I welcome a skilled partner who can add another level to play by manipulating my emotions. Emotional sadism to me means the purposeful pushing of someone’s buttons. It means getting under my skin, knowing what makes me tick, and exploiting that to forcefully produce a reaction. It means using targeted personal insults to lower my emotional walls. It means a slow, deliberate attack that brings me to a level of self-awareness that I’m too weak to reach on my own.
Emotional sadism to me means poking little holes in my psyche to promote self-improvement and growth. Emotional sadism is cold, calculating, intelligent. It’s more involved than your typical casual playdate. It’s a buildup from almost playful taunts to deliberately inflicting psychological wounds. To do so without lasting damage requires a good bit of trust, communication, and aftercare. This kind of sadism has a goal; it isn’t an excuse to be a dick or a crutch for abusive behavior. Being an abusive bag of dicks then claiming you’re an emotional sadist doesn’t make you any less an abusive bag of dicks. Force me to acknowledge the demons in my past, the areas I really could use some shaping up in, and so forth.
It is so much more than just “being mean.” Talking about why this appeals to me invites an interesting feeling of dread and anticipation. I love a good mindfuck—and though I can get that from a David Lynch film any day of the week, I’d much rather talk with an actual person to incorporate such a mindfuck in play.
believing the entire planet should accept you and embrace you no matter what, any time, all the time, might be the most toxic privilege of all
The Wire, Season 4, Episode 4
|—||Vargus, Archie’s Final Project|
|—||Elay Neal Moses|