A BDSM Letter to my daughter upon reaching the age of Leatherly Consent

First – this letter is going nowhere, until my daughter (and probably an edit for my son) reaches the age of leatherly consent.   Ie, when she’s an adult and I’m no longer freaking out about every boy she looks at.  (Thank God that only entails Justin Bieber, Thor and Superman right now.  Although she’s eyeing up Rainbow Dash, so maybe it’s a bi thing.  I would be okay with a human Rainbow Dash.   Just please God, not Rarity.) 

This is a letter that’s going to take me at least a decade to edit and get right.   So first draft, no?  

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My dearest girlie,

Daddy was a rebel kinkster too.    Daddy dyed his hair, Daddy wore chaps, and Daddy pierced things.   Daddy even rebelled against “the man”, raged against “the machine”, and protested to “take back the night”.   All of the things that your current mother and I roll our eyes over now - we did when we were your age.   Your new friends didn't invent them.   They inherited them.  

Okay, maybe I did them more than your mother did.   She was the kind of girl you’ve never been darling girl – plain, obedient, and “nice”.    (Until Daddy corrupted her.  You aren't old enough for that story yet.  Maybe when you're 30.)   

Not being a "nice girl" isn't a bad thing.   You were never going to turn out like she did – different parents, different parenting – and like Daddy, you’re a headstrong Taurus.  We have to learn through scars – that’s just how our side of the family is. 

Being a rebel is an important phase of your life.   You learn how the other side lives, and how they think, and what they believe.   You gain an appreciation for the futility of the struggle, and the passion that fuels it even when it's failing.   It’s always important to see other peoples’ perspectives and understand how they got there.   First hand knowledge helps.   

That said…rebellion is a /phase/ of life, not a way of life.   You outgrow it, if you ever grow up at all.   You start to see that yelling and cursing won’t change anyone.   And sometimes, the things you were trying to change, didn’t actually need changing.    You come to a deeper understanding of why the “bad things” are generally compromises to salvage the good. 

That said (again)…there is no reason for you to repeat our stupidity.  We made a LOT of mistakes.   I made a lot of mistakes.  Sometimes I was dumb as rocks, and learned through scars and pain.   Stand on our shoulders, and learn from our lessons.

I have a few things I want you to meditate upon, now that you’re old enough to go to play parties.     They’re things I pray you already know (because if you do, it’s a sign I raised you well).   If you don’t, and these are dusty irritating old “Daddy things”, then for the love of God at least give them lip service. 

“Play Parties.”    When you go to a play party?   Go with friends.   Stay with them.   If a cute Top or bottom wants to play with you?   Have someone go with you.  In other words, dear, have a witness.   In the BDSM world, there are sharks in the waters – and there are crazies waiting for a heroic lifeguard to come along and drown with them.   Involve a condom, demand STD tests, be on birth control, have a witness, use a safety call, sterilize the toys, and for the love of God, plan for the worst while you're busy fantasizing about the best.  

“Pretty People”.    Pretty people rarely are, when the makeup and spotlights are off.  Even less when you get past the skin.   In our lifestyle it’s the nice people who matter.    The “Pretty” people are fads, and they’ll pass out of your life and leave nothing but drama.   Daddy’s been there – Daddy’s dated a LOT of models.   (Daddy was one once.   Ick, right?)   

Your mother never would have made a supermodel – but she was the best mother you and your brother ever had, and a better slave than I deserve.   Stick with the nice people.   They’re beautiful in a much more real way.   And that kind of beauty lasts. 

“D/s.”   D/s is about relationships.  It is the power structure of an Authority Figure, and an obedient figure, once you’ve stripped away all the dress up and play time.    It’s about being happy with who you are with, and making a relationship work through responsibility and compromise….not through giving random orders or sleeping around and fucking everyone who’ll hold still.   And if someone demands you call them Master or Mistress from word one (or calls you Master or Mistress from word two), then run far and run fast by word three.    If someone answers to ‘slave’ from your first meeting – run faster.  

“M/s.”   If you are reading this and I’m still breathing without a tube?   You aren’t old enough for it.  Period.   This is one of those times to trust your Daddy – M/s is for couples who are settled and mature.   ‘Lifetime’ kind of settled, and 401k kind of mature.   I remember when wouldn’t make your own bed.   And some people in their 40’s think taking the blame for their own mess is ‘unfair’.    M/s = Maturity*Responsibility.   Do the math.  

“Sex.”    By the time you read this, I’ve given you the talk.   I doubt it went well, and it probably involved a lot of ranting.   If the word “fisting” came up, it probably involved pleas to become a Nun.   (A real nun like your teachers in school, not the kind you’ll see at the parties.)    Let’s just leave it at – do it safely, with someone you trust.   Because STD’s/STI’s  don’t show up on most health check reports until well after the person is already contagious.   And “papers” from STD clinics?   Those take about five minutes to fake on MS Publisher.

“ Rape.”   It happens.   The numbers are still appallingly high as of this writing – and the scene is host to all manner of predators.   More than our fair share.   Where better for a shark to hide, than in a group of women and men wearing shark skin?   (Yes, Women AND Men.  Both rape and abuse, no matter what your “rebel” friends will tell you, is an equal opportunity crime.)  

If it does happen, know that your mother and I are here for you.  We don’t judge.   We don’t shame.   We’re just…here, for you.    We’ll always keep your bedroom ready for you.   And we have guns.   Oh dear God, do we have guns.   That’s the nice thing about Mommy and Daddy being Republicans, dear.   We always have more guns.  

“Alpha Males/Superior Females.”   Just…don’t go there.   If someone has to tell you they’re superior, they aren’t.   The confident man moves in silence, so I understand why they make so much noise.   Your grandfather believed he was a simple man, and when he died we found boxes and boxes full of humanitarian awards, multiple college degrees, plaques, engraved swords and academic honors in his basement.  In his basement, baby girl.   He cared more about his responsibilities to lead your grandmother, and love us (and you), than about things.     Real men move in silence.   Real women work without applause.   

“Partners”.    You’ll find one someday.   A real one, not someone you just have the hots for.   (Given our family record, it will be your second or third marriage.)   Look for someone who is kind to others when they don’t think you’re watching.   If they’re a Dominant, look for them to take responsibility for their own messes and to laugh at themselves.   If they are submissive, look for them to talk back to you when you’re doing something they don’t like.

There’s so much more you need to know – and I hope you know you can always come to your mother and I for answers.   Just know that we love you.

And that there’s no such thing as too much JLube.