=The Daddy-Thing=

Let me interject here a few sentences concerning the whole “Daddy-Thing.”

Many sissies have one. Who knows how that works exactly? A little boy is born a sissy, develops a crush on his Daddy. If he were a little girl, no biggie, right? Everyone understands; it’s universal. But, because he’s supposed to be a boy, what would be fairly common, even normal, and oh-so-cute in a little girl becomes a complicated, thorny psychosexual problem in the case of a sissy. What’s not to get about a Daddy’s girl? It’s simply charming, if it doesn’t go on too long. Doesn’t get too overtly sexual. But a Daddy’s boy? What the hell? There’s never anything right about that!

It must be confusing as hell to be a little sissy with a crush on your Daddy and no socially acceptable way to express it or have it acknowledged.  No wonder why sissies grow up so fucked up and reach adulthood with a mind still stuck in pre-adolescence. These are just my theories, you understand, based not on any particular psychological expertise, nor systematic peer-based research. I wasn’t schooled as a psychiatrist or a psychologist, you understand. I’m just reporting my observations from the field. My anecdotal research, you might say, as a sexual predator whose special prey is sissies. I might not have a Ph.D., but, man, let me tell you, I sure could write a book about sissies and their need for a Daddy figure.

The way I see it, as long as society doesn’t recognize and accept the existence of sissies like my little Kimmee, the longer these little orphans will be vulnerable to the likes of big bad wolfish “Daddies” like me. Outcast from a society that won’t recognize them, accept them, nurture them, give them a place and a function, a society that decries and denies their very being, that won’t acknowledge their right to dream and desire to be who and what they are, so long as this is the law of the land, these lost sheep will always be vulnerable, always potential victims.

Feel guilty?

No?

Neither do I.

—a relatively sane analytical excerpt from my extreme porn-novel-in-progress "Sissy Babygirl," which is turning into one sick, twisted piece of shit that's disturbing & depressing even for me to read even as i write it because i've come to understand that on some level i want this psychopathic "daddy" fuck to do to me what he's doing to Kimmee in the story, which is basically murder her by slow degrees. It's suicide by infantilization. 

For the first time, it occurred to me that this is what is at the heart of the extreme infantilization fantasy, at least for me (and i'm fairly sure for some others as well): the conscious—or subconscious—longing for death, to be "nurtured" and "babied" to death, because adulthood, because life itself,  is just too overwhelming, too horrible, too sad & too painful to (teddy) bear. 

Take away my mind, my memories, my sex, all of which torture me, take away my independence, because, in fact, I can't utilize it in any functional way, & when you take away all that, finally, snuff out my life. It'll be easy. Just hold my head under the water. Put a pillow over my face. I'll have no strength to fight it just as i have virtually no will to fight it either. 

I can't wait to finish this novel so i can put it behind me once and for all. Then, i'm afraid, i have another sick one to write. After that, i hope i'm done with getting this twisted shit out of my system once & for all. I find i can't really write simple porn anymore. It often bores me. I have to add some theory, autobiography, personal reflection etc in order to keep me engaged with it. I have to make it serious, exaggerating situations to the darkest extreme to make obvious the stealthy undercurrents running through taboo desires, societal hypocrisy and repression, the everyday cruelty between people and the existential crisis that is often displayed ritualistically in such practices as BDSM. 

As a result, I run the risk that readers will think that I really get turned on by the things I describe. Often I do. Or that I approve or endorse them. I don't. Except in fantasy, where it's no use pretending it's not what turns you on. At the same time I'm perfectly aware how dysfunctional it is—and how tragic. What I'm trying to do is tease out "why" these things are a turn-on rather than just being the helpless subject blown to and fro by these dark desires. 

In other words, I wish I were constituted otherwise, but I'm not and I have to learn to deal with it. This is familiar territory to me, constituted as I was in what I feel was the wrong body to begin with, in the wrong society, in the wrong world…essentially in the wrong life. I take as my motto the words of Terrance, "nothing human is alien to me." Not because I'm human, mind you. But because I am the alien.