I am a “little”.
I’ve written some about it here for GoTN. I’ve talked a small amount about it through out my blog, mostly as fiction.
But I am a little.
What that means is there are times I feel small and want cared for by my Dominant, DomSigns. Incidentally, for those who are new here, I do call him Daddy. This is a consensual, adult relationship. Both of us are of age, neither of us is related, and this is my kink.
I don’t age play in the ways that people expect. I don’t do diapers, pacifiers, onesies, or being treated like child. I don’t do those things because I am not a child. No one is getting confused about that, you’ve seen my Sinful Sunday photos.
It’s about the care he provides, the direction he provides, the affectionate love he provides. It’s more of a mental state I fall into of being a little child-like in that I know I’m cared for and don’t have to worry. So when I say I’m little, that’s more what I’m talking about.
But I do have one little thing that I seem to have developed over time.
I love stuffed animals.
When I was a kid, I’d get the occasional Barbie or doll, but I wasn’t really a stuffed animal type. I didn’t have a bear I slept with or anything of that sort.
As my submissive self has shown the “little” side, I’ve found a real fondness for plushies/stuffies. I started thinking about this when I was packing my belongings to move (again) and had to figure out which of my growing collection of stuffed animals I had to leave behind. It wasn’t feasible to bring the whole tote because I wasn’t going to be gone as long as usual and my bed wasn’t big enough for everyone.
I had a bit of a crisis that went something like this:
“Should I bring cinnamon roll? I was sleeping with him too and I’d hate to leave him.”
“Do you see yourself being able to do without cinnamon roll?”
“Yes? I don’t know…”
It made me realize how much I’ve come to need them for some degree of comfort.
It started with a sock monkey. I’m sure he was meant to be a gift for a kid, and I even said it probably was when I saw it sitting in my mom’s garage. I had to have him. I wasn’t leaving her house without him.
He found his way on my bed and he was alone for a long time until I returned from my very first visit with Michael and got soooo sick.
One stuffie I had gotten at a recent comic con was a very fuzzy stuffed pizza. It reminded me of the feel of Michael’s chest hair. He told me to snuggle it and think of him, and now I can’t sleep without pizza beside me.
My best friend has started pointing out and buying me stuffed animals. I just got a stuffed cat for Christmas and it has found its way into my very narrow bed.
They’ve started to mean comfort to me in the same way a hug from Michael can be comforting. When my bed is big enough, they all snuggle together on the other pillow. I like seeing them there.
I wish I could explain this way better. Why leaving some behind bothered me. I’m a thirty-something year old woman who has a lot of stuffed animals and I’m not ashamed of that.
They’re just a small aspect of what makes up little me.
That’s pizza before I loved him into his current state. And boobies because you always need boobies.
