I swore a vow recently to protect someone. That I will honour and keep in all aspects except this one. Because it directly affects me and my journey.
I’ve always wondered why I have an ‘older guy’ thing going on. I’ve always been into older men but in the last three years I have had them raging from 51 right up to 62. I had rationalised it in my mind that after a cunning escape from a 28 year old with an anal fixation (why ARE men so fixated by that?), that going older meant that they are have more emotional maturity, are more stable, settled in their careers. More experienced sexually too.
I found the best men to be the ones who had children themselves. There is something about the act of being a father which knocks the edges off a man. Makes them softer, more caring. That’s just my opinion.
And there. I’ve said it. I’ve said the magic word ‘father’.
‘Nope, nope, it’s not a father thing’, I would trill whenever I was asked why older?
But of course, that was precisely what it was and I was lying to myself. Now why would do that?
Because the truth of why I wanted a ‘pseudo’ father was too hideous for my own mind to comprehend. But the answers to that question where to be given by two different men.
Man #1 helped with the first realisation that my brother and I were abused as children. That my own father was not the man I thought he was. That there were essential things missing from our childhoods. I idolised my father; I was a proper little Daddy’s girl. I worshipped him and would have done anything to please him. When the realisation finally dawned that my own father lay at the root of the many self-esteem issues I had; my world shattered. I had lost my Daddy.
And therefore the root of my wanting someone older was to replace the father I never had. This Daddy would be kind. He would look after me. I could look up to him. I wanted someone new to worship and please. Enter man #2. This was his gift, bringing sense to why older.
I have had a raging father fixation. This also meant something very profound about me; I was actually a little. Or rather, a middle.
With man#2, we entered into a DD/lg. At first I was scared. I had opened myself up to that once before and had been rejected. For very good reasons I might add. I tried to pull away. What if I lost this one too and he pulled away. That would be two fathers gone in a year and my mind could not comprehend it.
But slowly it started. And it was good. Her name was Angel.
But the tension between us about other things finally led to the whole thing exploding in a very, sorry mess. So he’s gone too.
That means Angel has now gone back into her little box. I am not sure if she will ever come out again. It’s one thing to have your heart broken and an entirely different matter to have part of your psyche scarred.
Time to heal and repair the damage. Goodbye Angel.