The first time I called someone “Mommy” in an erotic context, it was hard to get the word out of my mouth.
I didn’t want to say it. Because I was embarrassed? Because it felt dirty? I dunno, but the word didn’t want to come out.
Until very recently, there was a lot of stigma around the term, even within the context of kink and/or BDSM. Daddy is hot, Mommy is weird.
Obviously, I don’t agree.
I absolutely think attitudes are changing (something something “the proliferation of calling people ’mother’”), but it’s a slower shift.
Anyway, I quickly got comfortable with saying it, living it, craving it, etc and for a couple years, I was a devoted Mommy’s girl.
My gender has always been a bit of a struggle for me to understand, but one thing I do know about it is the femme aspects of it are learned behavior. And the idea of being taught how to behave by an authority on the subject enthusiastically engaged in high-femme antics is one of the hottest things I can possibly imagine.
Mommy can mean a lot of things to a lot of people but for me, it oozes a sexual energy— heightened by the sharp edge of danger. Mommy wants to take care of you, but Mommy also wants to devour you. Mommy feeds on your innocent, youthful energy, wringing out every drop with claws, with teeth, with tools, with hands.
And you take it all for Mommy.
I love the world of archetypes within the erotic. Daddies and Mommies, boi/ys and girls, Dolls and dolls, Pets, Creatures, things, holes… the puzzle pieces of our identities are embodied in the roles we occupy. There is a beautiful dance played out in the way these roles intersect with the ones played by our lovers, friends, partners, and counterparts.
And the way Mommies play with dollies works for me.
Maybe it’s because there are fewer Mommies out there than Daddies, but something about being chosen by Mommy feels extra special too. Perhaps it’s just my own mommy issues (BORING), but I’m never a better girl than when I’m trying to please Mommy.
For a while, I wasn’t sure I was ever going to call anyone Mommy ever again.
It’s hard when a connection comes to its end, and sometimes the parts of us that were most embodied by that connection need a break to recalibrate.
I’m trying to not make this yet another musing on my breakup so I’ll just say that part of what draws me to relationships with Mommies, Daddies, [insert other Caretaker archetypes], is the aspect of care/safety/structure/stability that one often finds in those dynamics, and not finding that can make you leery of stepping into that dynamic again.
I wanted to find a way back to being a Mommy’s girl that felt safer than ripping open my chest up and offering up my heart to someone. So I turned to the professionals.
In addition to being a fucking adorable dolly, an insatiable bottom, and devoted Mommy’s girl— I am also a prolific Reply Guy. I wouldn’t call myself quite “terminally online” but, I spend enough time on Instagram and Twitter to know what “skibidi” means (nothing).
A large number of the people I follow online are SWers, specifically dommes, even more specifically Mommy Dom/mes— Ageplay, Leather, Gendernonconforming, Mean, Gentle… whatever kind of Mommy, I’m for it. Follow + like.
That’s how I found my way to the incomparable Cat Gold, a Leather Mommy and certified smokeshow. I knew through friends that Cat was an experienced Leatherdyke with the skills I seek in a top, and I knew from my eyes that Cat was Hotter than July.
I wish it were more common for people to seek these particular pathways to pleasure, and I think that’s why I’m talking about it.
If you know what you want, and know that there are people out there who have the skills to give it to you, why wouldn’t you take advantage of that? It’s not weird, it’s not a lesser form of connection (if you’re doing it right), and there’s no reason it can’t be part of a robust and thriving sexual landscape.
There’s a pro out there for you, go and find them.
But getting back to Mommy…
In addition to lingering fears, I knew it would take me a while to “organically” build the sort of connection that would have me calling anyone Mommy any time soon. But the hunger was real.
And if I didn’t find a way to safely step into that desire, I’d probably find myself making some hasty choices in hopes of finding it.
So I took the plunge and reader, it was worth it. Twice in one week kind of worth it. “Can I do your boots too Mommy?” kind of worth it. “Here Mommy, I made you this bouquet” kind of worth it.
Suffice it to say, babygirl is back. I am confident there are Mommies out there just waiting for a dolly like me and when I find them, I’ll be ready.