I have maintained for quite a long time, that kinky people, be they weekend dabblers, munch-only attendees or dyed-in-the-leather lifestyle-rs are some of the most well-adjusted, happy and cordial folk I have ever been around. Sure, these folks are as screwed-up as anybody else, they have mortgages they have to pay, are suffering through jobs, surfing the high waters of relationships. But from what I have encountered, most kinky folks recognize the sure line between the fantasy and the real of life, and understand better than mostly anybody else the concept of age-play.
People into wearing diapers; ‘littles’ populating a corner space at a dungeon, women wanting to be called “mommy” or conversely “little girl,” or men wanting to be called “daddy” or scolded for being a “bad little boy”; either gender dressing in onesies or a plaid school-girl skirt; the entire umbrella that opens wide to encompass role play where folks act an age or familial role that they might not otherwise be, is good clean fun, indulged in by plenty of people—not just kinksters—and, by no means, NO MEANS AT ALL, AT ALL, indicates that the people playing want to play sexually with children.
This is what I mean about kinksters being well-adjusted. People playing this way understand that everybody playing is an adult, all consenting and considering well what they are doing.
The word ‘play’ in role-play is the key here…and even more key-er is that it’s adults playing!
From The Master’s ‘Little Girl’, published by the Sizzler Editions imprint of Renaissance E Books (R. Greco – Sizzler Editions)
“So, he landed back home, ok?” she said, chuckling so deep she nearly spilled her wine.
“Yeah, I miss him already.”
A bon mot like that would give Mary enough to chew for the rest of the meal, and truth be told, I missed Jon terribly.
“He is definitely cute as all fuck,” ok, maybe I could stand her through lunch. “Cute little buns on him too.”
I wasn’t going to argue, seeing as I had seen it naked plenty.
I couldn’t be sure if she was simply trying to butter me up, if the wine was getting to her-we were on our second half a glass-or if my best friend was sincere.
“So, you guys had a purty hot week?” she chirped, digging into her salad.
“Yeah, pretty wild, and you know with me, that’s saying a lot.”
Into my own salad, I dove. I didn’t have to look up to see Mary’s mental wheels spinning. Hell, she had asked, and I was tickled pink to taunt her. Sure, I felt slightly sad it had come to this point between us and thought to seriously blow the doors off of Mary’s staid, suburban-style but decided instead of spitting out details my last act of kindness for this, what would probably the last time she and I would manage lunch like this, I’d give her just enough.
“I mean, you wouldn’t know it to meet him, he’s not sporting a whip or putting me into a collar or anything like that, but Jon is quite the dominant daddy.”
“Oh, Kay!” Mary tittered, literally bouncing in her seat.
Would I tell her that I couldn’t do the same because of the healing, yet still pink crisscross welts I wore right then across my wide ass, given to me by Jon the last night he was here because I couldn’t stop masturbating every time he walked into the room?