Frequently Asked Questions About Daddy Dom/Little Girl Kink

Kate Sloan

Daddy Dom/little girl kink – i.e. “DD/lg” – is maybe my biggest kink. It feels weird to say that, seeing as it’s only been on my radar for 2-3 years, but it’s true. In the time since coming into and owning up to this kink, I’ve received countless questions about it – so I’ve put together this little FAQ to answer some of the common ones. Hope this helps demystify my foremost perversion for ya!

What is DD/lg?

I’m sure everyone who’s involved in this kink has their own definition, but here’s mine. A DD/lg dynamic is a dominant/submissive dynamic where the style of dominance is more nurturing, benevolent, and supportive than the typical media model that paints dominance as vicious, punitive, or humiliating. There is also an element of ageplay, where the submissive inhabits a psychologically small/young role and the dominant may inhabit a role close to their own age or older than themselves.

What makes someone a Daddy Dom?

If you enjoy playing a dominant role in D/s dynamics but would rather your scenes be about supporting, uplifting, guiding, and nurturing your submissive than humiliating them, hurting them, etc., then you might be a Daddy Dom. That said, this type of dominance can also involve some discipline, pain, and so on, so you don’t have to rule that stuff out completely. Self-identified Daddy Doms are also usually drawn to the ageplay element of this kink, whether they eroticize feeling older/wiser/bigger than their partner, or their partner acting smaller/younger than them, or both.

If you’re curious about this identity but unsure how you feel about it, here’s a Twitter thread where Daddy Doms explained how they first became aware of and comfortable with that identity for themselves. There are some cute anecdotes in it!

How do you know if you’re a little?

I can’t speak for everyone with this kink, but I know how I knew. When I went into a submissive headspace during scenes, I often felt smaller and younger than I did in my everyday life, and found myself slipping into a “little voice” to match (higher-pitched, gigglier, sentences constructed in a more juvenile way). I eroticized feeling younger than many of my dominant partners, even when they were my age or younger. I also noticed that I liked pain and roughness during sex but preferred to view it not as a punishment but instead as something I was enduring to prove myself to my dominant, or even as a reward. My preferred flavor of dominance is one that’s more interested in building me up than cutting me down.

Some littles get even more intensely into the role of a younger person, and may incorporate elements like stuffed animals, coloring books, and pacifiers into their play. I have never been interested in those more overt symbols of ageplay, but for those who are, a DD/lg dynamic (or something similar) could be a way to use those interests.

What’s up with the gendered language?

Anyone can be a Daddy Dom or a “little girl,” regardless of their gender or genitalia. There are also “Mommy Doms,” “little boys,” non-binary versions of either role, etc. As with any kink, there may be more common ways of playing it out but that doesn’t mean you’re limited to those avenues; you can make it yours in whatever way makes sense for you and your partner(s). As for me, I’m a submissive woman who mostly dates dominant men, so the DD/lg dynamic is the specific version of this type of relationship that I’ve played with most often and am currently involved in.

Do you have to use the word “Daddy”?

Nope! Some people hate that word, find it gross/upsetting/triggering, or just don’t particularly connect with it, and that’s totally fine. You can still play with a nurturing style of D/s even if you use different words for it. For example, “Sir” is a word I’ve commonly subbed in for “Daddy” in situations where the latter just didn’t feel quite right for whatever reason. You and your partner(s) can choose whichever honorific(s) you prefer. That goes for any names the submissive wants to go by, as well.

How did you, personally, discover you were into this kink?

I’ve always had crushes on older men, especially those in positions of authority over me, like professors. I used to think this was only because I’ve been a precocious old soul my whole life, but in retrospect, I think there’s also always been a kink element at play. I’m drawn to dominant masculine types who project an easy confidence and a touching level of concern about me and my well-being.

My first DD/lg fantasies surfaced during a class at journalism school that was taught by a hot older lawyer from whom I craved a firm over-the-knee spanking. Not too long after that, I listened to the ageplay episode of Why Are People Into That?, which gave some language to these concepts I had been considering. I started exploring DD/lg dynamics in my relationships, mostly by calling dominant partners “Sir” while wishing I was brave enough to call them “Daddy.” Last summer, I dated my first self-identified Daddy Dom, and while that relationship didn’t work out, it showed me that this dynamic was indeed something I wanted/needed in my life. Now I’m dating another Daddy and I’m so happy!

How does this kink manifest during sex?

I can’t and won’t speak for other DD/lg kinksters, because I’m sure their sex lives vastly vary from person to person. For me, sex with a Daddy Dom usually involves some combination of: Daddy controlling the action of the scene and deciding what we do and when; Daddy “making” me take pain (e.g. spanking, scratching, face-slapping) and/or other difficult sensations (e.g. fisting, forced orgasm play) “for my own good” or for his amusement/gratification; Daddy requesting or demanding service (e.g. blowjobs, handjobs) for his pleasure; Daddy training/instructing me in certain sexual activities (e.g. how to blow him exactly the way he likes it, how to take his whole fist inside me); Daddy giving me pleasure and orgasms, especially as rewards I’ve earned and/or as a treat I have to ask/beg for; Daddy pushing me to my emotionally cathartic limits via intense sensation (e.g. spanking, face-slapping), again, “for my own good;” and Daddy giving me hella good aftercare to make me feel safe and supported once we’re done playing.

How does this kink manifest outside the bedroom?

The DD/lg dynamic doesn’t have to extend outside of sex, but for many folks with this kink, it does. Personally, my Daddy gives me some structure and discipline I relish, like when he sends me a reward (e.g. a video of him winking) for finishing a big work project, or gives me an incentive (e.g. a good long phone-sex session at the end of the day) to take better care of myself. He guides and advises me, within negotiated limits, on both professional and personal matters. Sometimes he gives me tasks or instructions designed to expand my horizons and improve my life, like when he instructs me to go to a restaurant I’ve never been to before or talk to someone I’ve been crushing on. He holds me accountable, making me want to finish all my work and accomplish great things so he’ll be proud of me. His love and support make me feel safe and motivated.

I asked my Daddy what he gets out of the nonsexual parts of our dynamic, and here’s what he said:

“Being able to guide, support, motivate, protect you makes me feel competent and trusted. It makes me feel bigger, like if I can help take care of this other person, I must know what I’m doing somewhat. It makes me feel closer to you when I can anticipate your needs and wants. It makes me feel like you’re fully trusting me when you let me tell you what I think is best for you, let me pick your clothes, and let me give you guidance on career stuff. I get this huge hit of pride when something I guide you toward works out. And even when it doesn’t perfectly, I learn more about my little girl.

It’s also nice sometimes ’cause it lets me do things I want to do, like carrying your stuff, without feeling like I’m taking away any agency or putting you down. Because it’s consensual and for a good reason. Same for picking your drinks.”

Does this have anything to do with actual incest?

Nooo! Or at least, not in the literal sense. I’ve never, to my knowledge, met a DD/lg kinkster who had sexual feelings about their actual parent or child. And I certainly have never had sexual feelings about my actual father.

What’s hot to me about the DD/lg dynamic is the power imbalance, the nurturing quality, and the taboo of it. Those qualities could all exist just as easily in a professor/student dynamic, doctor/patient, step-dad/step-daughter, and various others. I’m not married to the idea of my kink dynamics implying familial relations.

That said, for some people, incest itself is a kink. They may enjoy the taboo of that dynamic. However, from what I’ve gathered in talking to some of those kinksters, even their proclivities aren’t about literally wanting to fuck members of their own actual family. It’s a roleplay, a fantasy, a series of archetypes.

How did you get over shame and self-judgment about this kink?

I am fortunate that a lot of my kinks have come into vogue recently, so they’re more societally accepted than they would’ve been a few years ago. Calling partners “Daddy” is a relatively normal thing now, for example (hotly debated sometimes, yes, but normalized nonetheless). Full-on DD/lg dynamics obviously take this further than your typical “Fuck me harder, Daddy” thrown into occasional dirty-talk, but many people at least have a touchstone now for what could make this kink hot, so I’m less ashamed about this interest than I used to be.

A big part of my shame centered on the names and words themselves, actually, especially the word “Daddy.” For a long time I had trouble saying it out loud; it made me cringe and blush, which I figured meant I just wasn’t that into it. But the more that I practiced saying it and thinking it, the easier it got. Sometimes I would practice while masturbating. Sometimes I would murmur it in a partner’s ear if I was too shy to look into their eyes when I said it. Sometimes I would just think it until I felt brave enough to say it. It was a process.

It’s also helped me a lot to only date/fuck people who are sex-positive, kink-positive, open-minded and non-judgmental. Which is easier said than done, sadly.

Does the Daddy Dom have to be older/bigger/stronger than the submissive?

Nope! I know people whose Daddies are younger than them. My last Daddy was 5 inches shorter than me. My current Daddy is just over a year older than me. Age and size aren’t nearly as important to me as how the person makes me feel. As long as I feel small, safe, and submissive in their presence, all those other factors are superfluous.

Granted, some people have an easier time getting into a submissive headspace when their partner is bigger, older, and/or stronger than them, or when their partner holds more real-world power than they do (privilege, financial capital, etc.) – and if you’re one of those people, then that’s a good thing to know about yourself so you can find what you’re looking for.

How does punishment work in this dynamic?

I think this must differ a lot from person to person, depending on what’s helpful to them psychologically, what turns them on sexually, what they do or don’t conceptualize as a punishment, and what past traumas they may or may not have related to the idea of punishment.

Personally, I don’t do well with traditional punishments. They make me feel like a massive failure and like my partner is actually mad at me, which can lead me into an anxious or depressive spiral. I function much better with positive reinforcement, and don’t get much out of punishment psychologically or sexually.

That said, my Daddy and I have come up with some punishments for me that don’t totally break my brain. Being told to clean my room, wash all my sex toys, or go to an event (because I’m a dyed-in-the-wool introvert) are all things I don’t find especially fun but that are ultimately productive and positive, so they can function as a punishment without making me miserable.

How does this kink interact with non-monogamy?

I would be interested in hearing other DD/lg kinksters’ answers to this, because my experience is that I don’t think I could have multiple Daddies at once, and I certainly haven’t dealt well with the thought of my Daddies having other “little girls.” This dynamic can make me jealous and possessive in a way I don’t feel as much anymore with more traditional D/s dynamics or vanilla relationships. Part of my enjoyment hinges on being not only his little girl but his favorite little girl, his precious perfect only little girl, and maybe some people would say that’s “bad poly,” but right now that’s how I feel.

The DD/lg dynamic requires deep vulnerability and trust (for me and many folks I know, at least), and I find it difficult to go into that vulnerable space when I’m also grappling with jealous feelings. I’ve dealt with this by establishing “DD/lg exclusivity” both of the times I’ve dated a Daddy Dom: we were able to date and fuck other people as per usual, but we reserved names like “Daddy” and “little one” just for each other, and didn’t explore that particular D/s style with others. These boundaries helped me – and continue to help me – feel emotionally safe enough to go deep into our DD/lg connection.

I asked my Daddy for his thoughts on this, as someone more experienced with non-monogamy than I am but who had never done the DD/lg thing before meeting me, and here’s what he said:

Because this is new to me, I’m not sure how my jealousy/compersion feelings would have worked. When you tell me that I’m your Daddy, that already feels very singular and special to me, and I think it’d be hard for my brain to conceptualize two or more. Also once I started viewing you as my little girl, I didn’t want that with anyone else/think it’d be hard for me to have this dynamic with two people at once, because it’s so intense and emotional.

 

What other questions do you have about DD/lg? Leave ’em in the comments!

 

Heads up: This post contains a sponsored link. As always, all writing and opinions are my own.

Why Everyone Should Give (and Get) More Massages (+ 3 Quick Massage Tips)

Kate Sloan

Hey, can we talk about massages for a sec? They are a more powerful sexual and relational tool than most people realize.

“Massage porn” was one of Pornhub’s top-ten search terms last year. Journalist Maureen O’Connor posits that this is because “massage recipients look comfortable, which, for women in porn, is not always a given… The genre’s conventions simplify the viewing experience. All that remains is the dedicated depiction of successful female arousal and pleasure.”

I find massage soothing in porn for these reasons too, and they translate to my real-life enjoyment of massages as well. In a world which frames sex as a one-way escalator to orgasm, and which dismisses all other trajectories as sexual failures or not really sex at all, it’s soothing to touch or be touched in a way that is explicitly not designed to elicit orgasm.

Of course, there are lots of erotic massage types, and some of them do end in orgasm, or at least can. (I’ve had one such professional massage before, as you may recall!) But sometimes, specifically setting the boundary that a particular massage will be non-erotic, or non-orgasmic, can take massive pressure off both people.

Massage is a way to familiarize yourself with your partner’s body, or your own sensual responses. Too often, once we learn what gets our partner off, we over-focus on that to the exclusion of other fun things, and forget to keep exploring. Sex educator and Girl Sex 101 author Allison Moon recommends “research and development” nights – sex sessions specifically designated for traversing each other’s bodies and learning new ways to make each other feel good, free from the sometimes-burdensome expectation of orgasm – and massage can be like that, too. You can find that one spot behind their knee that makes them moan. You can unravel the tension from their thighs, their shoulders, their back. You can rediscover what it felt like to learn each other’s hotspots from scratch at the beginning.

Some of these benefits are accessible to you even if you don’t have a partner, or your partner is unwilling or unable to massage or be massaged by you. Getting a professional massage somewhere like Tantric Massage London can teach you a lot about your body, what it likes, and what it needs. And you’ll pick up new tricks that you can use when massaging future partners down the road.

With all that in mind, here are 3 quick tips for better sexy massages:

1. Lube, lube, lube. A good, slow, sensual massage typically requires some form of lubrication. Many people go with coconut oil, almond oil, and other natural oils, since they’re effective and usually non-irritating. Keep in mind, though, that if the massage descends into genital-town, you can’t rely on latex barriers for contraception or STI protection thereafter because the oil will break down the latex.

Silicone-based lube can work well if you want a product you can use for both massage and sexytimes, but a) it’s expensive, so you may not want to use it all over the body, and b) it won’t sink into skin, so you’ll need to shower afterward. Overall, probably your best bet is to use a standard massage oil for the massage itself and then switch to a lubricant designed for sex if things go in that direction.

2. Leave your expectations at the door. As the giving partner, you might want to see visible signs of your partner’s enjoyment: sighing, moaning, smiling, melting into the bed, getting turned on/wet/hard, etc. But that largely defeats the purpose of a relaxing massage. You should be prepared for any reactions you might get from your partner, including “none,” and you should let them know they’re free to relax and respond however their body wants to.

Likewise, as someone receiving a massage, try not to get in your head about how you “should” respond to it. It’s okay if you don’t get turned on, or if you do. It’s okay that all the attention is on you for a while: that’s the point! It’s okay if you can’t silence your mind in a Zen manner immediately; that shit takes practice. It’s okay if you get emotional, or if you feel nothing in particular. Try not to judge yourself; just focus on what you’re feeling, to the best of your ability.

3. Massages can be kinky. I’ve often likened rhythmic, thuddy spankings to massages, because they give me the same feeling of endorphin-y bliss via exertion. If the receiving partner of a massage is into pain, perhaps the giving partner could ask for permission in advance to work that proclivity into their massage. Spanking, punching, scratching, and pinching can all be fun additions to a standard massage.

This post was sponsored by the folks at Xmassage – Erotic Massage Directory UK. As always, all writing and opinions are my own!

Introducing… My New Tattoo!

Kate Sloan

Kate in a pink shirt, showing off an upper arm tattoo that says "Do No Harm, But Take No Shit" and has pink tulips, blue daisies, and white roses

I’ve gotten enough tattoos now to know whether an idea for new ink is right when it hits me. My red heart felt singularly perfect when it occurred to me, and felt ever moreso with each passing day before my appointment. My pink “good girl” bows made me vibrate with excitement when I first pictured them, and I’ve continued to love them every day I’ve had them. My “this too shall pass” wrist tattoos were more impulsive, but I’d loved that phrase for a long, long time and knew with certainty that I wanted it on my body.

And when I saw Tender Ghost’s “Do No Harm” patch, I immediately thought: I want that tattooed on me.

It took me over a year to finally get around to it, which is good. You should think something over before you put it on your body, or at least, I prefer to. In the interim, I emailed the artist to get permission (they said, “Yes, that is no problem! Just so you are aware, I do not own the phrase but I did create the designs”), bought the patch, and displayed it prominently on my desk so I would have to stare at it every day. I continued to love it. I continued to want it on my body.

What clinched it was when I remembered a song I wrote in 2008 called “Flowers.” The song and the patch’s slogan touch on a similar theme: caring about how you make people feel, but trying to balance that care with your own self-preservation. It’s an important notion to me – figuring out how to be good to others while also being good to oneself. I think that’s one of the major things we have to learn in this life, and it’s something I’m always working on. As with all my other tattoos, I wanted this one to serve as a reminder of something that matters to me.

So I emailed Laura Blaney, who did my thigh tattoos, to set up a consultation. One of her specialties as an artist is gorgeous, realistic flowers, so I knew she’d be a good choice for this tender-hearted floral tattoo. I showed her the patch, and told her I wanted the flowers in the middle to be white roses, pink tulips, and blue daisies – the specific blooms referenced in that 2008 song of mine. (The song and lyrics are below, if you’d like to listen/read!)

Laura drew up a couple different designs, I picked my fave on the day of, she showed me some different blues and pinks for me to choose from, we laid down the stencil in the spot I wanted it, and then she got to work. I read a kinky novel throughout the ~2.5-hour-long inking session, blissed out and floating in my own world. The pain was enough to trigger a subspacey endorphin rush but not so bad that I couldn’t take it. Getting tattooed is a trip!

I’m really thrilled with the result; it is exactly what I wanted. I was nervous at first about getting such a big tattoo in such a visible place, but it’s so gorgeous that all I want to do is show it off. Many thanks to Laura for doing such lovely work, and to Grace at Tender Ghost for making such inspirational art!

“Flowers”

you’re looking sad
to think that I had
the chance to cheer you up

you dance like a bat out of hell
and I know you too well now
to let that go

so I’m going out to find you some flowers
I’m going out to find you some flowers
I’m going out to find you some flowers
white white white white white white white white roses

you’re happier, maybe
but it’s not my fault
and I find myself wishing you’d hold me responsible

all of this time, you were always alone
but I’m here now, I’m here now, I’m here
I’m here now, I’m here now, I’m here

and I’m going out to find you some flowers
I’m going out to find you some flowers
I’m going out to find you some flowers
pink pink pink pink pink pink pink pink tulips

you’ve gotten too serious; I see it too
you’re wounded and hoping I’m thinking of you
of course I am, always am, now I am lately
dreaming of days with you where it’s shady

and I’m going out to find you some flowers
I’m going out to find you some flowers
I’m going out to find you some flowers
blue blue blue blue blue blue blue blue daisies

the stems and the petals remind you of me
the stems and the petals remind you of me
the stems and the petals remind you of me
see you tomorrow under the tree

Hypnowink: That Time I Got Tranced Accidentally

Kate Sloan

As I’ve mentioned before, my Sir is into hypnokink. The first time he ever tranced me was an accident, and practically as soon as it happened, I thought, That’d make a great story to tell at Tell Me Something Good!

So I was excited when I got called up to close out the show at the Playground Conference edition of TMSG. I knew my story would be one of the weirder ones told that night, especially since it didn’t actually contain any sex, but I was excited to tell it to a room full of sex nerds anyhow.

Here’s an audio file of me telling the story, and a transcription of what I said. Enjoy!

Content note: hypnosis, winking, and long-distance D/s.

Okay, so, I have a new long-distance partner. He’s my boyfriend; he’s my Sir. And one of the things that’s interesting and new to me about that is finding ways to bridge the gap, intimacy-wise, so we’ve spent many many hours on the phone together.

And one of the things that he does for me that makes me feel closer to him is he sends me videos of him winking, because I have a winking kink. I’m the only person I’ve ever met who has that. There’s fewer than 50 of them on Fetlife. We call each other “winksters.” Or, I do.

So, first of all, don’t come up to me and wink at me, ’cause it actually is a sexual thing for me and gives me weird non-consent-y feelings when strangers wink at me, so don’t do that. Ask first! You know.

But so, my partner would send me videos of him winking. He has a really good wink. He’ll optimize it to my preferences. It’s very nice.

So, one night I had done something that was kind of scary and difficult, and I wanted to watch a video of him winking as a reward, and I was going through all the videos that he’s sent me of him winking. We were on the phone. This was fairly early in our relationship, so he was like, “How many of those videos have I sent you?” and I counted and there was four. There’s many more now! There’s an archive of winks.

And when I told him there was four, I was like: What if I open them all up in QuickTime, and tile them all next to each other, and loop them all, so there’s just this chorus of winking angels in perpetuity? Just, like, asynchronous winking forever.

When he winks at me, I have this giggle reaction, and he’s listening to me on the phone watching these looping winks for like half an hour, and I’m just like: “The great thing about this is, this is useless to anyone but us. Like, no one else would appreciate this. There’s nothing else you could do with this. I could maybe set it as my screensaver. I could maybe watch it after a hard day. You could strap me down and I could watch it until I couldn’t take it anymore.”

And then I said something which, as soon as I said it, I was like, “Oh! He likes this!” I was like, “You could hypnotize me using these winks.” ‘Cause I should mention that my partner’s biggest kink is hypnosis, and he’s very good at it. He’s usually a top; sometimes he switches. So we had been negotiating some hypno stuff we wanted to do the next time we saw each other in person, so I had said I was down to do it, but we had not done any of it yet, and I was really excited.

So he got really excited when I said that, and he was like, “Yeah, I could tell you that with every wink, you were going a little bit deeper into trance for me, so if you didn’t drop on the first wink, you would drop really hard on the second one, and if you didn’t drop on the second one, you would drop on the third one, and eventually, one of their eyes would close and your eyes would fall closed, and you’d be in a nice, warm, relaxing trance for me.” And I realized that I had fallen into trance. Whoops!

This had never happened to me before, so I didn’t know what that would feel like, but my entire body felt really heavy, and I felt really focused and warm, and my eyes fell closed. And we were on the phone, so he couldn’t see me, so I needed to communicate this to him. So I was like, “Uh, Sir, something’s happening! Something’s happening to me, Sir.” And he, fortunately, is experienced and he knew what that meant. We hadn’t negotiated how long I would stay under, ’cause this was an accident, but he wanted to leave me under for a few seconds so I would get a sense of it, and then bring me out. So he told me about how nice and relaxing it is to not have to move your body, and to just focus on his words. And then he said, “I’m gonna count to five, and when I count to five, you’re gonna feel awake, alert, and totally normal.”

He counted up to five, and he said, “Hi, little one!” and I said, “Hi, Sir!” and he said, “How do you feel?” and I said, “I feel really good!”

I did feel really good. And what I felt, too, was that I never had known what this winking kink was supposed to be. Like, I never really knew how to play with it. It was sort of awkward, like, “Do you just wink at me during sex? I don’t really know how to use this…” It was like our two kinks had come together and made this cute little scene that neither of us had ever known could exist because we didn’t know that the other person existed and had these interesting kinks.

And the other thing I felt was that I really wanted him to trance me again a whole bunch, which he has done a whole bunch since then, and it’s really nice!

Little Girl Blue

Kate Sloan

We met on an app with a blue icon. It seems too saccharine to say, too obvious to point out, but there it is. I saw him first as a blue-eyed boy in my Twitter DMs.

“Is to be in love with blue, then, to be in love with a disturbance? Or is the love itself the disturbance?” -Maggie Nelson, Bluets

Five minutes before our planned first date (that neither of us was sure was a date) in a midtown coffee shop, he DMed me, “Just got here and snagged us a table! Wearing a blue button-down shirt.” I knew immediately that I was doomed.

A blue-eyed boy in a blue button-down is a crush catastrophe waiting to happen. A periwinkle-edged bomb threatening to spark into smithereens. I wasn’t nervous, until the moment I read that message at the 5th Avenue intersection and preemptive desire bloomed in my belly.

My smile was too big when I walked through the door. His shirt was as promised; his eyes were so blue. He kept staring at me hard as I spun stories for him, like he was trying to X-ray through my irises straight to my corneas. “I feel like you’re really listening to me,” I said, breathless, the third time his gaze passed through me so razor-sharp that I lost my train of thought mid-sentence.

“I am,” he said, brow furrowed, like: of fucking course I am. I wanted to kiss him already. I knew all that blue would doom me.

“So what would it be a symptom of, to start seeing colors – or, more oddly, just one color – more acutely? Mania? Monomania? Hypomania? Shock? Love? Grief?”

Two days after I got back from the New York trip when I met him, he texted me: “Oh, by the way, keep an eye on the mail tomorrow.”

Hunched over my laptop in a café window and already caffeine-hyped as hell, I breathed slow to try to still my heart. But I couldn’t keep myself from tapping out: “…??? The physical mail?”

He wrote, “Yeah.” I wrote, “……?????” He was, as usual, calm. I was, as usual, very not.

The next day, I waited by the door with a cup of tea, thrilling, swooning, wondering. When the package arrived, I clawed it from the box with an agitated grin, then tore it open unthinkingly. A copy of Maggie Nelson’s Bluets fell into my lap, and I made a sound like a mama lion protecting her cub.

Bluets had been on my Amazon wishlist since the month previous, when Rachel Syme – whose writing I adore – had recommended it. She called it “the very best book about a color and a breakup and obsession and melancholy and rare facts about pigmentation,” so, obviously, I wanted to read it. And now, as I opened it up, a gift note fell out with this impossibly handsome boy’s name inked under the Amazon letterhead. “Kate, I love this book, and when I saw it on your wishlist, I didn’t want anyone else to get it for you first,” he’d written. “I hope you love it too.” I bit my lip hard and wondered – anxiously, irrationally – if this meant he maybe, kinda, sorta, possibly liked me.

“Did you open it?” he asked me via text, and I spilled thank-yous and exclamations onto him. But he merely replied, “Did you ask first?” No. No, I had not.

“You know better. I’ll probably have to punish you,” he wrote. I could almost see the devious, teasing smile emanating from his punctuation. “You should bring it to New York after you’ve read it, and I’ll hit you with it. That’ll be your punishment for getting a little too excited and opening it without asking first.”

I choked on my tea. “Okay, Sir,” I said. “I can do that.” And I did.

“Some things do change, however. A membrane can simply rip off your life, like a skin of congealed paint torn off the top of a can.”

I read Bluets slowly, savoring it, because every sentence was so packed with meaning and pain that I had to pause several times a page just to breathe and think. It is a book about Maggie Nelson’s obsession with the color blue, during her recovery from a break-up, and it resonated deeply with me. I’d had inexplicable obsessions of my own, in the months since the recent break-up that had speared through my heart.

One day, Sir – I was calling him Sir by then – sent me to a local coffee shop he’d chosen for me because I needed caffeine and food and felt overwhelmed by the world. I sat on a church pew in the sunny café, sipping a latte, munching the specific croissant he’d told me to get, and paging through Bluets with biblical reverence.

“This book is like if Didion was a philosopher,” I texted him, and he replied, “God, you’re brilliant. Fuck. I need you.” I blushed a little and slid further down into my seat, made smaller by his words, made heavier and more meaningful by Maggie Nelson’s.

Twenty minutes and several pages later, I texted him, “lol I’m getting too emotional, I think I should go back to bed,” and he responded, “Welp, saw that coming.” He knew my heart so well already. I trudged through the snow, tears spilling down my cheeks for no reason except that I was so happy about my new relationship and the safety and fulfilment I felt therein, there was nowhere else for my feelings to leak but up and out. I cried in my building’s lobby. I cried in the elevator. I cried in the hallway. I cried as I unlocked the door and weaved toward my bedroom and collapsed onto my big, blue bed.

“Thank you for not thinking my feelings are excessive,” I texted Sir, tears splashing on my touchscreen.

“I am not at all worried about your feelings being excessive,” he replied immediately. “Not even 1%. Not at all.” I cried some more. My periwinkle pillowcases turned navy, in broad, damp patches.

“Eventually I confess to a friend some details about my weeping – its intensity, its frequency. She says (kindly) that she thinks we sometimes weep in front of a mirror not to inflame self-pity, but because we want to feel witnessed in our despair.”

One day I asked him if he’d like to pick the hex code that would represent him in my sex spreadsheet, and he was exactly as excited about it as I’d hoped he would be.

Nine minutes elapsed. I could hear him thinking and Googling and eye-dropper’ing from 500 miles away. I read a few pages of Bluets in the interim. My phone beeped. “Can you see how #5FC2EA would look for me, baby? It’s from the cover of Bluets, so I think it fits.”

Weeks later, we laid in a hotel bed side-by-side after sex and I pulled up my spreadsheet on my computer. Just a couple of naked nerds. I opened the custom colors menu in Google Sheets. I sleuthed out the hex code in my messages app. I typed it carefully into my browser. I applied it to the cells bearing Sir’s name. As those rows flooded with brilliant blue, we both moaned.

“It’s perfect,” he said, awed.

“Yeah. It is.”

“One of the men asks, Why blue? People ask me this question often. I never know how to respond. We don’t get to choose what or whom we love, I want to say. We just don’t get to choose.”

We were only on our second date when we discussed him collaring me, but by that point we’d talked on the phone for dozens of hours, so it only felt a little ridiculous.

“It has to be blue, right? There are some blue chainmaille collars on Etsy that I like, with heart-shaped padlocks, and there’s Tarina Tarantino heart necklaces,” I rambled over tortelloni at a stunning, stately restaurant he’d taken me to. “Or, the company that makes my turquoise collar also makes a royal blue one.”

“I know,” he said, immediately, piercing my hazel eyes with his blue ones like pinning a bug to a corkboard. “I know that.” Gooseflesh overtook my whole body as I indulged in imagining why he knew that: him trawling the L’Amour-Propre website late at night, face bathed in laptop light, breath catching as his eyes fixed on that electric blue.

Weeks later, we revisited the conversation. It became clear there was no other collar for us. “It’s just… perfect,” I murmured, peering at it in my browser in Toronto while he eyed it from his in New York. “Yeah,” he replied. I heard the pivotal click of “Add to Cart.”

“And so I fell in love with a color – in this case, the color blue – as if falling under a spell, a spell I fought to stay under and get out from under, in turns.”

One afternoon in February, we checked into a Brooklyn hotel. Cool blue sunlight streamed in the big windows and lit up the white queen-sized bed that would house our passion for two days to come. I still felt breathless around him, plagued with stage-fright, terrified I’d fuck something up.

“I brought you something,” he said, pulling a ridiculous oversized chocolate bar from his suitcase for me, and I laughed. “And something else,” he added, and this time he produced a black leather case, which, when he opened it, contained that stunning piece of cobalt suede. Time stood still in my body, like I’d hit “pause” on my heart and lungs. Oh. Wow.

“Do you like it?” I think he said. I don’t exactly remember, because I liked it so much.

He had me kneel in front of him on the floor, and I stared out the window at the birds and cerulean sky and bare tree branches as he pushed my hair to one side and pulled the suede close against my throat. I’d known this moment would stir my emotions but I didn’t know quite how much. Now, feeling his warmth against my back and his clever fingers doing up the buckle at the nape of my neck, I blinked to spill the tears I felt welling in my eyes. I sobbed a little, a soft sound in the sunlit silence.

We went to look in the bathroom mirror together, and I cried more there, struck suddenly by the blue against my throat and the kind-hearted man standing beside me in my reflection. He held me tight and we looked at each other, at ourselves, slightly disbelieving but wanting to believe. I felt overtaken by blue, and also I didn’t feel blue at all.

“If I were today on my deathbed, I would name my love of the color blue and making love with you as two of the sweetest sensations I knew on this earth.”