She calls me Daddy. Or ~ Congratulations! It’s a Girl! Originally published 8/28/18

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Photo by Designecologist on

Just when you thought it couldn’t get any more complicated…

Dear reader, it can. and it will. But finally I’d like to offer you something a little sweeter and more light hearted.

Early on when all of this started I knew a lot about what I was getting into before she even hit my doorstep. I knew about play style, interests, likes and dislikes. Sexual history. Things that got the green light and things that were a hard no. I knew about her alter, Ronin. There was something pretty significant though that I didn’t know – at least not the full extent of; until sometime later.

I had been chatting with a local guy online that I was interested in getting to know and possibly play with and we’d been having some pretty intense smut chat via messenger. During these conversations he would start calling me Mommy and I was half intrigued, half completely freaked out. I had decided I wasn’t interested in pursuing anything and told Muse so. Why she asked? The whole age play thing just really squicks me. Why? She asked again. I don’t know, because I’m a Mom? Well why would that bother you? She kept gently pushing.

Well, shit. What are you not telling me?

She hesitantly told me about her little, Nixie. Nixie is seven years old. Mischievous. Playful. Bratty. She is innocence and she is extremely naughty. She is the coping mechanism that developed as a result of muse being trans and never having the opportunity to be a little girl. Initially my heart sunk because on top of EVERYTHING else in this little bag of tricks now I’d been thrown a curve ball. Something that in all my years of being in the lifestyle I was in no way prepared for and to be perfectly honest; was uncomfortable with.

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Photo by Matheus Bertelli on

I knew I had to meet her. Turns out I already had, I just didn’t realize it at the time.

When Muse gets particularly mouthy and rambunctious, that’s Nixie. When she’s bouncing all over the place in an out of control fashion, that’s Nixie.

What the ever loving fuck did I get myself into?

I asked to meet her and she nervously agreed. The next time I went to Orlando we all retreated into their bedroom and muse laid on the floor and closed her eyes while Osha started speaking to the girl. Like Ronin, Nixie has a different voice. Her face changes slightly. She is a part of Muse that most people don’t realize exists. And at that point in time, she was scared of me and referred to me as The Snake Lady.

We sat and talked with Nixie for a while and I was honestly fascinated. After the conversation muse was somber as the guilt and shame had set in from revealing that side of herself to me because it wasn’t something she readily shared and she was afraid I’d leave her. I assured her I was approaching things with an open mind but as I had no exposure to or experience with this I would need a minute to wrap my head around it. I wasn’t bolting like I would have previously. It definitely wasn’t something I’d be interested in playing with on a daily as my kids are grown and these days I’m more of a “Get off my porch!” type, but I’d be willing to make space for Nixie upon occasion and whomever else may surface.

Since then she’s popped in here and there, and like everything else we do I find I’ve enjoyed her presence as long as it’s in a limited capacity and have even bought her a couple of cute tops and frilly panties to show her that I accept her as well. As a side note approximately thirty years ago I was walking down St. Marks Place in Greenwich Village and had walked a half a block or so ahead of my boyfriend at the time. As I was walking past a table set up on the sidewalk one of the two women sitting there asked me “Who’s Michael?” I stopped in my tracks. Not Mike. Not Mikey. Michael. I looked around and my boyfriend was nowhere to be found. I sat down for a reading and she told me I’d have three children. Lately I can’t help but be reminded of that medium and what she told me so long ago. I have grown twin boys and I chuckle to myself because now I have a little girl named Nixie. And she’s six feet tall. And she’s WAY girlier with her pink and interest in Hello Kitty than I ever was. Somehow I don’t think this is exactly what the medium had in mind.


This weekend she came in after being gone for ten weeks, and we played extremely hard. She wanted/needed to be pushed way past her comfort level to the point of being able to release the tension/anger/fear/helplessness/rage that had been building since we’d last seen each other.

I shackled her to my bed with the vintage shackles I’d acquired since the last time she was in. I’d cuffed her ankles and tied them through two iron rings I had bolted into my door frame. I went after her with multiple implements and at times straddled her body and punished her with deep, bruising bites and whispery kisses as she cried out in agony.

She fought until she was in a blind rage and somehow ripped one of the iron rings off of the wall. Luckily I’m fully aware of her capabilities and she was still attached by one ring and the shackles attached behind her head. While her eyes were rapidly scanning the room I knew she couldn’t “see” anything as she mumbled to herself while desperately trying to pull free. I wrapped myself around her and held on tightly, talking to her and telling her I was with her and she was safe. It was over. She’d done well and I was very, very proud.

Once I was sure she was no longer a danger to herself or to me I released the shackles and she collapsed from exhaustion. We’d been at it for over an hour and a half and it had been a long time. She had nothing left to give and it was time to rest. Just this past week I’d had a binky customized for her with the words “Daddy’s Girl” on it, and she popped it into her mouth and laid on my shoulder and immediately fell into a deep sleep. She’s been calling me Daddy for quite some time and I must admit: I find it freaking adorable.


It’s amazing to me that after all of these years of having a pretty solid idea of what I can and cannot accept in a relationship that the lines have become so blurry, and I honestly wouldn’t want it any other way. It’s nice to know that I’m still capable of learning and loving and accepting even when I’ve been scared or reluctant. After hiding such a significant part of herself for many years, the girl has one less person she has to hide from. Shame is a powerful, crippling emotion and I’m happy to be able to work through this with her and find a way where we can all coexist harmoniously.

It’s certainly been a wild ride, but a very diverse and entertaining one, indeed.

Thank goodness my girl child hasn’t asked for a pony.

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