My Papa

by Charlotte Marie

My Precious Papa Tall and Strong
Talks with me all day long.
I sometimes try and and hide
When You are here beside

You tell me how much you love
My heart beat flutters like a dove.
Does that mean its true?
Do I really belong to you?

I love to tease and pry
as long as I don’t have to cry.
Crying is not what I like to do
I think I’d rather tie my shoes.

You love me through and through
You tell me daily that you do.
You made me believe I’m beautiful
Some days that’s hard to believe
but I promise that I will try to achieve.


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The Punishment

The following story contains scenes of consensual BDSM activity between consenting adults. There is no sex, no titillation, no bumping of things best left unbumped. There is a description of a caring, loving relationship between two human beings, a deep emotional connection, and a cathartic release of pent up frustrations and negativity. If any of this offends you, please go in peace and perfect love

I walk in the door of the party, and you make a beeline for me, grabbing on and holding me tight, saying how much you have missed me, and how badly you need me tonight. I look down and see you small and sad, beat down by the world of big people. You believe that although you have not failed in any specific task, you have failed to excel, and so have let me down. We hold each other in the doorway for a moment, then into the small den where it is still quiet. I take you in my lap and hold you close, feeling your sobs, and then as you calm we talk, a private conversation carried on in whispers even though there are no others in the room. As I hold and reassure you, I realize that in your state you need more than words to comfort you, and so I send you for your blanket, stuffie and a sippy cup of water for you, and a bottle of water for me. When you have everything gathered up, I pick up my case we make out way upstairs. With each step you shed your outside identity and become my niece, the darling 10 year old girl I love and protect. We step into the small room off the stairs and into a fantasy, a room dedicated to us and our needs.

“Come here, girl,” I say, and in a flash you are before me, eyes downcast and fidgeting with your shirt tail as you regress to that pre-teen state. I wait, and finally you look up.

“Yes, Uncle Wes?” you ask, and even though you know, you still ask “what do you want?”

You are so cute and vulnerable standing there that my resolve almost wavers, but then I remember that what is about to happen isn’t because I am unhappy with you, it is because you brought me a problem that you cannot solve for yourself, and trust me to give you what you need. “You know the drill, young lady. On the spanking bench with you and quickly.” Your hands went to the snap of your pants and you paused, looking up at me. “Right down to the panties” I directed, “I only spank girl, not clothes.” Your feet are already bare, and in seconds you are stepping out of your jeans as they hit the floor, and stripping off your tee shirt in a single smooth, practiced motion. As you pull your bra around so you can unhook it more easily, I flip a large towel over the cool vinyl and give it a pat, and up you go, assuming the position with the ease and familiarity.

Once you are on the bench I lightly run my hands across your back, checking your skin, feeling for bump or scrapes, sliding down across your ass to check the backs of your thighs and calves, then back up. I fold the top of your plain white cotton panties under until they stop right at the top of your crack, and gather the sides in leaving your ass completely exposed but still protecting your little girl modesty. My hands make another circuit of your back, this time pressing more firmly, testing the muscles and searching for knots. “Is there anything new since your last spanking?” I asked. It didn’t matter of I used my hands on your bare ass or beat you from the tops of your shoulders to your ankles with a flogger, when you are in this head space they were always spankings.

“No Sir,” you said in your little girl voice, just what we talked about.”

“Okay,” I replied, as I finished my inspection, “Do you know understand you are here?” I knew in her little girl place she could not understand the real reason, but for now her child like explanation would do.

“Because even though I got my work done, I didn’t do my best,” you answered.

“That’s right, sweetie. I will never ask more from you that the best that you are able to do, but I also will never accept less.” I paused, then continued, “Settle yourself, it is time to begin.” I started on her buttocks, light swats with my hand alternating between sides until your ass began to pink, then working down your thighs and back up until you were glowing from your knees to your tailbone. I picked up a soft leather slapper and continued, ranging more widely, covering the backs of your claves with slaps before switching to first your outer thighs, and then the inner. Two more circuits and I changed again, this time to a light flogger finding my rhythm a working you over from head to toe. After 10 minutes of the light flogger I stepped up to a heavier version, and continued, watching the hue get deeper and richer with each strike. We had been going for a little over half an hour, when I looked to the sidelines and said “a sip of water?”

By now several of your friends had gathered to watch, and one of them held the sippy cup to your mouth for you to take a drink. You sucked the water greedily for a few seconds until I put my hand on your back and said “That’s enough, sweetie, it’s time to begin.” The endorphins were flowing through your system and you were flying.

“Yes Sir, how many?” you asked.

“Six” was my response.

“With what?” your voice tiny now.

“Six with the paddle or three with the cane, you choose,” I said. You laid there for a long moment, and I was just about to see if you had drifted when you answered “the paddle, Sir.”

I shrugged, not surprised, given an option you had never chosen a cane, and so I selected the implement and took my place. The paddle I used for this was a high density plastic cutting board. It has a handle that is a good fit for my hand, and packs quite a wallop. “What are the rules?” I asked.

“I am to count each swat, and thank you or it, then ask for the next, Sir.”

“That is correct. What happens if you continue to ask for swats after you have received six?”

“Sir, you will give me as many swats as I need to forgive myself, but the minimum is six, Sir.”

“That is correct.” I raised the paddle and swung it forward, landing squarely on her ass and holding the paddle tight against the smarting flesh.

She hissed in pain, then choked out “One sir, thank-you sir, and may I have another?”

I didn’t wait, just pulled the paddle back and landed another firm blow overlapping the first by about an inch.

Another hiss, and “Two sir, thank-you sir, and may I have another?”

Again the paddle rose and fell, her response changing to a pained grunt as I landed on more of the back of the thighs.

“Three sir, thank-you sir, may I have another?”

When number four landed it hit square on the left cheek, and left a white patch in its wake that quickly began to bruise, and she finally let loose a wail, it took a couple of seconds for her to count, “Four sir, thank-you sir, may I have another?” and as she said the final “Sir” the paddle landed again on the right cheek, eliciting another scream. It was almost a minute before she replied an a shaky voice “Five sir, thank-you sir, may I have another?”, and this sway landed in the middle, hitting hard enough to leave two thin, vertical bruises from the force of her ass cheeks colliding under the impact, and she let loose with a piercing scream. I moved towards the aftercare supplies, but then I heard her call out to me “Six Sir, thank-you Sir, may I have another?”

I gave her a moment to catch her breath, and then squatted in front of her. Her minimal make-up was ruined, tears and mascara running down her flushed face, and she was still sobbing. I looked into her eyes, and behind the tears I saw a look of quiet determination. She nodded at me and I stood up, and gripped the paddle, and swung again, landing low on the left cheek. When she screamed out “Seven Sir, thank-you Sir, may I have another?” I swung again hitting the opposite cheek, and this time she just screamed, deep wracking sobs shaking her small frame. I grabbed your blanket and lifted you down from the horse and sat down with you in my lap, and as I tucked Duckie, your favorite stuffie into your arms and wrapped the blanket around us you cried “Eight Sir, Thank you Sir… Eight Sir, Thank you Sir… Eight Sir, Thank you Sir.”

“We are finished,” I whispered into her ear, “and you are forgiven.” You quieted and I continued, “As I forgive you, you must forgive yourself. This is over, and will never be brought up again, but while you are forgiven, do not forget. If you forget you cannot learn, and if you have not learned then all this was a waste, the lesson lost.” I continued to hold you, stroking your hair and telling you what a good girl you are, and how proud of you I am, and other silly nonsense talk, really just comforting noise. Gradually you came back, first to your ten year old self, then gradually back to your full self, and eventually kissed my cheek and got up. I stood and hugged you, and thanked you for trusting me this way, but the moment passed and we were once again ourselves. I watched you dress, cherishing the memory, and at the same time I mourned the return to our mundane selves, my only comfort the knowledge that when you needed me again you would come and once again we would share the bond.




Filed under Bedtime stories, Pilosophy

The Big Race

Wow, what a great day! We had been playing all morning, it was great because Uncle Wes had lots of space to run around and chase and play, and we could be as noisy as we wanted without anyone getting mad or anything! For lunch Uncle Wes had set up a make your own sandwich table, but it wasn’t really make your own because some of the other mommies and stuff made the sandwiches for us, but we did get to say what we wanted, and after we all helped clean up our messes and washed our hands and faces before we went inside for story time.

Uncle Wes never made us take naps, but he did say we had to be still and quiet and listen to a story. I knew the little kids would fall asleep, but us big kids would listen to the story and after the story there would be a special treat for the big kids like me!

Uncle Wes told us a story about a pretty princess and a bear, but it was a girl story and since I’m a boy I wasn’t really listening because I was thinking about the new movie I wanted to see. I saw the preview Uncle Wes took me and Meari to see the “Bears” movie, it was really good and there was a momma bear named sly, and two baby bears, one was named Amber and she was girl bear and she always wanted to stay right with Sky – that was the mother bears name – and never run around and have fun or anything and the other was a boy named scout and he was like me and liked to run around and explore and do stuff and have fun. It was a really good movie but what made it the best was that I got to go with Uncle Wes, we even got to go get ice cream after, except Meari had to go home so she didn’t get any. I got to remember to tell Uncle Wes we need to get her some ice cream too cause even if she is a girl she is okay.

Wow, where am I? Everything looks funny, like a cartoon!

Suddenly there was an announcement. “Welcome to the try-outs for the first annual Trimotor Relay Race” All contestants need to go to the registration desk to pick up their packets and find out when they are racing.”

“Come on Dash, we are going to be late!” I turned around to see a huge pickup truck racing up to me pulling a speed boat on a trailer. It was the boat that was calling me! I couldn’t believe it, a talking boat!

“Yeah Dash, we need to get registered so we can get out slot,” the truck added, “get a move on!”

“Uhhh, what race?” I asked, this was getting weird!

“Duh, only the biggest race of the year, that we have spent the last three months been practicing for,” the boat said.

About that time I saw myself in the reflection of the trucks window, except I didn’t recognize what I saw. Instead of the boy that normally looked back at me from the mirror there was a plane, and not just any old plane, a big, 4 engine turbo prop painted in blue camouflage!

“Wh…what do you mean?” I asked, feeling a little funny.

The truck looked back over its bed and said “See Sandy, I told you that Dash getting a software upgrade right before the race was a mistake!”

Dash? Why did that name sound so familiar, and Sandy, yeah, that was the boat’s name, and the truck was Stomper, and I was Dash, and we were going to be late if I didn’t get my prop a spinning! “Well then, what are you guys waiting for?” I asked, as I taxied up the ramp towards the hanger where a large sign said “registration.” Dash Dustoff, Sandy Beach, and Stomper McRoughstuff reporting for registration and briefing! There were three other teams, each with a plane, truck and boat, and they

They heard a deep rumble from inside the hanger, and a strange looking vehicle emerged in a cloud of diesel smoke. He had eight wheels, a low sloping body, and wore a Khaki flat hat with gold braid on the bill, and had a silver eagle on each front side door.

“Listen up, I’m the Colonel, and you guys are in for a challenge! We have a difficult course for you, there is no need for you to make it harder by fighting among yourselves. There are 3 legs to the competition. Leg one is the water leg, from here to Port Texaco, so put the boats in the water, load the cargo, and start your preps for getting underway this leg is about 240 nautical miles, and we estimate it will take you four to six hours. While that is going on, we need to load the trucks into the planes so we can get them in place for the second leg. After loading the cargo from the boats, they will proceed overland from Port Texaco to OK City, which us a good eight hour haul across the Rambler Mountains. At OK City you will meet the airplanes and transfer the cargo to them for the final leg, a 1350 mile race with touch and go landings at three airports en route. There will also be points assigned for other part of the race, you will not know what is being graded and what is not, so I recommend you keep everything ship shape.” The Colonel paused, looking over the assembled vehicles. “Let’s have a good clean race, and may the best team win!”

Stomper rushed off for the boat ramp, Sandy in tow, and was the first one in the water. He used his powerful winch to lover the cargo into Sandy’s cockpit, and then Sandy was off with a roar and soon she was motoring up the coast on her way to Port Breakaway, dancing across the waves while the other teams were still struggling to get their cargo aboard. As Stomper made the short run back to the runway where I waited, he was happy to have his friend well on her way, knowing that his winch had been key in getting her on her way quickly. As he turned onto the runway he saw that my cargo ramp was already down and he rolled right inside without even slowing down until he hit the ramp. As he screeched to a halt, clamps from the floor grabbed the wheels holding him and the trailer steady, as soon as the clamps came up I started my roll, and in nothing flat I was in the air. I followed the coast line and soon saw Sandy racing along, and told her the good news, the next boat was just getting underway as I was lifting off, which meant nearly a thirty minute lead!

“Great work, guys,” Sandy crowed, shooting smoothly across the waves, we are off to a great start!”

“Wow Sandy, you look beautiful down there, it’s like you are skipping along having fun, not running a race!” Stomper said.

“Well, silly, I am skipping along having fun,” Sandy replied, “after all, if we aren’t having fun, why are we doing it?”

I waggled my wings in agreement, then pushed on towards Port Breakaway, leaving Sandy to continue on. Just over an hour later I got a call on the radio from Port Breakaway airport giving me landing instructions, and fifteen minutes later we were on the ground. When we got there a ground crew tractor rushed out with a message.

From: The Colonel
To: Race Teams
Subj: Surprise Challenge

    1. All Trucks will remain in Port Breakaway until their boat makes port and transfer’s cargo, and then take the trailered boat in tow or for the next leg of the journey.
    2. No Trucks will depart until 0800 on day two of the competition, the first truck will leave promptly at 0800, and each team will depart at the same interval they arrived and unloaded their cargo. Time will be determined by when the cargo is landed in the trucks bed.
    3. Good luck!

The Colonel

As soon as they read the message they started to giggle. Stomper recovered first, and said “I sure am glad we decided to not cut back on the weight by disconnecting the trailer and leaving it at the starting point.”

“Yeah” Stomper replied, “That decision that the time was more important turned out to be a good one. Besides, the trailer isn’t enough weight to make a difference, is it?”

“Not really, now you, big guy, are a different story, and Sandy may be slim and trim, but she is no light weight either!”

“Hey there, you need to turn off the radio if you are going to talk about a lady’s weight!”

“Oops!” I had completely forgotten that the radio was still on. “Hey Sandy, you must be getting close if we can talk.”

“I’m still at least 2 hours out, the radios are just working really well I guess. I can’t run flat out in these waves, but the guys behind me are having a worse time than I am, there is weather chasing me, just be ready to make the switch fast and get on the road if you don’t want those fancy tires to get wet big boy.”

The next two hours were spent listening to Sandy’s updates, topping off fuel and studying maps. The finally heard Sandy’s whoop as she headed towards the dock, and Stomper fired up and headed out to meet his friend. Moving the cargo went even smoother this time, and as the load hit Stomper’s bed the official started a stopwatch so the next morning`s departures could be properly timed. They quickly filled Sandy in on the surprise change the Colonel had thrown into the race, and soon she was snuggled safe on her trailer, lashed down and ready for take-off bright and early the next morning.,

By fifteen minutes to eight the next morning all of the competitors were at the starting point ready to go. Stomper would be off first, the next truck would not be allowed to leave for forty-two minutes! Sandy had put us well in the lead, and Stomper wanted to keep it that way. The problem was Stomper was very strong, but the other trucks were at least as fast, and maybe faster. Having to tow the boats put them on more even ground, especially since Stomper’s size and stability would help him in the corners, but it would still be a close race.

At exactly eight o’clock the Colonel fired a flare, and Stomper pulled out with Sandy in tow, but I wasn’t there to cheer them on. We had said those the night before after our planning session, and as my friends settled down for some pre-race rest I quietly taxied out to the runway and headed for Vector City. I had a stop to make on the way, and I wanted to be sure to get there in time to get some rest myself. The flight went well. My stop was textbook perfect, I took on several pallets of freight, and continued on to Vector City. Once I had landed and taxied up to my hanger, I had the ground crew unload the cargo I had picked up, and use the equipment to get me ready for my leg of the race. 1000 miles would take 3 hours, a little less if the weather cooperated, a little more if it didn’t. The big question was where the route, having to do the three landings , even if they were just touch and goes took away the big Jets main advantage. They couldn’t fly high at their best cruise speeds, which would help, but they still had a lot of speed, and that was going to be a problem.

I started by unloading everything except a little over half of my fuel. Then it as time for the ground crew to get to work. Special 6 bladed propellers came out of one of the containers I had picked up which increased my top speed by 70 knots, up to 425 nautical miles per hour. That helped. Next they unloaded the rest of my surprise. JATO units. These were an unusual item to find anymore, but I figured they would give me the edge I needed against the jets. I would be at full airspeed in under a minute, and at altitude in half the time as the jets. I had 24 units, enough for three full power take-offs, and I just hoped it would be enough.

As I finished hanging the first set of JATOs, and stowed the rest in the racks that were specially designed for them, a staff car pulled into the hanger and handed off another packet from the colonel.

From:     The Colonel
To:     Race Teams
Subj:     Surprise Challenge #2

1.    All team members must be delivered to Lost Vega International Airport for the team to be scored as finishing.

2.    Planes may depart on the final leg as soon as they have their cargo on board.

3.    Team members may receive no transportation from any vehicle not on their team.

4.    All planes will at least do touch and go landings at Mid Continent, Mile High, and Salty Lake City airports

5.    Good luck!


The Colonel

So this was it. I rested for a few hours, until I heard Stomper call me on the radio. “Hey Dash, we’ll be there in fifteen, and I’m still in front by almost half an hour. Everyone else had to stop for fuel, but with these big tanks we made it straight through!”

“That’s great, Stomper, bring it on!” I said, checking to make sure everything was ready. The ground crew led me to the transfer point, and I sat there aimed at the runway with my ramp down. “Tower, this is Dash, I’ll need clearance to depart as soon as my vehicles are aboard.”

I heard a rumble, and then the shouts and horns of my fans as Stomper rolled into view. This time her slowed down before he hit the ramp, but as soon as her was on I started to roll, and as the ramp closed my radio squawked. “Dash Dustoff, the referees have scored you and you are cleared for takeoff on runway 2.” I pushed my engines to the max, and as I hit the runway I fired the rockets, leaping into the air in less than 500 feet instead of the 2000 feet it normally required, and was at my max speed as well.

30 minutes head start. I didn’t know if it would be enough, but Sandy and Stomper had done their part, and now it was my turn. With Sandy and Stomper on board to help navigate I could pay attention to the weather and flying. Sure enough, I found a good tail wind, but it was lower than the big jets would ever consider flying. They would be up where the air was thin, battling a headwind, sure that they could out fly any prop job no matter who it was.

After an hour I lined up for my touch and go at Mid Continent, the home of the Flying Pipers. Sure enough, there was a row of the sturdy planes watching carefully to ensure I touched down, and I was sure they were judging my technique and style too. That was okay with me, I had plenty of style to share! As I felt my landing gear flex from the touchdown I fired the second set of rockets to boost me back up to cruising speed and altitude, and turned my nose towards Mile High. The mandatory touch and go here would be trickier because the air was thinner and colder, and the winds faster and trickier. It was just over an hour until I had to pay attention, so I set all of the controls and listened to Sandy and Stomper brag about their runs. This was as good as it gets, flying with my buddies, and I wanted to make them proud.

When I got Mile High control on the radio they told me my lead had been cut down to 20 minutes. I put that out of my mind and focused on my flying. This time the rockets weren’t just for showing off, I’d need those rockets to help me get back up to my safe altitude and tail winds, the more time I spent out of them the farther behind I fell! I lined up on the tiny field, thinking about how much I preferred the big runways on the nearby Air Force base, and called the tower for clearance for my touch and go. This time there was no clout of small planes watching. Instead, it was the Director of the airport, backed up by his crash and rescue crew! “Okay dash, time to earn your jet fuel,” I mumbled to myself. The descent was a little bumpy, but as soon as my tires touched the concrete I fired my next to last set of rockets and took off like a space shuttle, and started to do the math. My competition was catching up. There was nothing I could do, they were faster, and at the rate things were going we would all get to Lost Vega at about the same time. I spent a few minutes tuning up each engine for max power, then shared the news with the others. I expected to hear groans, but instead I heard how much fun we were having, what a great team we were, and that what really mattered wasn’t whether we won or not, it was if we did our best and had fun!

It felt like I was a thousand pounds lighter! Sandy and Stomper were right. We had done everything we could do, all that was left was to pay attention and fly right, and that was what I’d do. The last touch and go was at Salty Lake City. The problem here was the heat. I racked up the last set of rockets, but set them up to fire in pairs. I only planned to use half of the rockets on this touch and go, and a I approached I radioed ahead and got clearance to fly over the military bases, if the others didn’t think about that it might be just enough to make the difference between the planes speeds. After all, it was about having fun and doing our best, but think how much more fun our best would be if we won!

Salty Lake City came up soon enough. By now I was ready to get the touch and go over with. I lined up the runway, and this time instead of cutting back on power I dove down towards the tarmac, flaring and dropping my wheels just long enough to get a bounce back into the sky. My bounce was perfect, I didn’t even fire the rockets to get back to altitude, but as I settled onto the final course that would take us to Lost Vega I heard Henry, the 7777 that was my closest competition calling in for clearance. I ran the number again, pushed my throttles to the notch, and then past 10 % to 110, and told the guys in back to buckle in and hold on, we were going for broke. I was on the slope, everything was humming along like a well-oiled machine, and just as I called the control tower to get permission the land, I heard Henry call too, telling them they needed at least two runways, and maybe three because Bertha was right behind him.

I had one chance. Henry and the others had to slow way down to land, and that meant they had to start farther back as well. I had one set of rockets left, and remembered they could be set to slow me down too! There it was, the two minute I was looking for. It would be close, but we still had a chance. We lined up on the runway the big jets passing me then slowing down as I kept my throttles to the wall. “Tower, this is Dustoff, and we will be doing a combat short field landing, please warn the spectators to stay well clear of the runways!” I was neck and neck with Henry, he looked a little worried as I passed him again at full speed. He would need the whole five thousand feet to stop safely, but I only needed five hundred.

Suddenly I felt a shake, and a funny noise! I looked across the panel, trying to find the problem when I felt another shake, and now the noise made since.

“Come on, SJ, it’s time to get up. You need to get ready, your mommy will be here soon to pick you up.”





Author’s note: The vehicles in the story are all based on real world vehicles, and some, but not all of the characters are based on people in my life. That said, none of the vehicles can do all of the things in the story and none of characters are exactly like the people I know, in both cases they are jumping off points for a work of fiction, and many of the things the vehicles can do in the story (like talk!) don’t happen in real life. The people know who they are; the list of vehicles follows:

Dash Dustoff – Lockheed Martin C-130J Super Hercules

Sandy Beach – Cigarette 38′ Top Gun

Stomper McRoughstuff – F900 Superduty

The Colonel – Lockheed Martin LAV-C3

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What I want for you

I want for you to be happy. Not just the lack of being sad thing that is often mistaken for being happy. What I want for you is that deep, delirious, infectious, bubbly happiness that overflows and spills out into the lives of those around you.

I want for you to be healthy. Not just “not sick,” but glowing and vibrant with health, healthy physically, mentally and emotionally. I want you ready to seize the day, strong and vibrant, and to know that whatever comes your way you are ready.

I want for you to be fulfilled. To dream big and dream often, and then go out and live those dreams, and to live every day to the fullest.

I want you to know love. The trusting love of a child for their parent, and the deep, abiding love of a parent for a child. The boisterous love of friendship, the intoxication of romantic love, the deep bonds of fraternal love. Above all, I want you to know that I love you, and that I will do my best to be here for you now and forever.

I want you to be safe, but not at the cost of being happy, healthy, and fulfilled. All of life is full of risks, I want you to learn how to judge them, to see when the prize is worth the possibility of losing, and understand that even when you don’t win, it doesn’t always mean that you have lost.

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Filed under Pilosophy

Charlotte’s Story

“Uncle Wes, tell us a story, pleeeeeeease?”

“Okay, but I want everyone to promise to be still and quiet, or no story for nap time today, okay?”

The nieces and nephews all considered gravely before agreeing, after all, making a promise was a very serious thing when you are 6.

“Okay, do you want me to read you a story from the book?”

The book was a collection of children’s stories, and was one of the perennial favorites, but Lottie blurted out “Can you tell us one of your stories, Uncle Wes, the ones that start out ‘Once upon a time’, and end with ‘they all lived happily ever after?’”

“Hmmm, I suppose I could come up with something, is that okay with everyone?”

Sounds of agreement filled the air, normally I didn’t make up stories for nap or bed time, because the old familiar stories were much better suited for helping little eyes close and little minds drift off the sleep. For some reason I was feeling indulgent today. As the littles all snuggled down to listen, I closed my eyes and began. “Once upon a time, there was a beautiful little princess…

Her name was Princess Charlotte, and she was a very happy princess indeed. Every morning she woke up to the birds singing and the slow gurgling of the river that ran below her window. She wore pretty dresses, and spent each morning singing and dancing, and every afternoon she sat with one of her father advisors or her tutors learning all of the things she would one day need to be queen. She had lots of friends who would visit her and they played and laughed and had tiny cakes with lemon and honey, and sweet juice which they would pretend was tea, or wine like the grown-ups had with their meals, and the children were all happy and healthy and filled with happiness.

Princess Charlotte had one friend who was more special than any other, a princess like herself who understood all of her secrets, who was always happy to listen to whatever her friend had to say, and whose heart beat strong and true with the rhythm of friendship. Her momma, the Queen, and her papa, the King, had brought Princess Sassy to live with Charlotte when she was just a little girl. Of course, being grown-ups they thought she was just a stuffed bear, but Charlotte knew better, and they had been inseparable ever since.

Princess Sassy was a very shy, and spoke in whispers that only a very special little girl could hear. If Charlotte was happy she would laugh and smile, if sad she would sing and tell silly jokes until smiles and laughter returned. She was truly everything a princess could desire in a best friend, and both were very happy that out of all the girls, and all the bears they had found each other.

One morning the princess woke up and felt something was wrong. She looked around and saw she was in her bed, in her room. She could smell the cooks fixing her breakfast, and heard the birds and the river, all of the things that made this room hers, but something was missing. Suddenly she gasped and searched for Sassy, but there she was, cuddled safely under the covers where she liked to sleep. She hugged her friend tightly and then realized what had changed, her friend was silent, her heart beat was gone!

Alarmed, Charlotte checked her friend carefully, and then hesitantly asked her “how do you feel?”

“I feel fine,” Sassy replied, “why do you ask?”

“Because I can’t hear you heart beating, and that cannot be good.” Charlotte said.

“Perhaps bears don’t need hearts, because I feel like having some of those delicious pancakes I smell.”

Charlotte was worried, because being a very smart girl she had listened to her tutors and advisors and thought that everyone needed a heart. Later that morning, she asked her teacher what happened if your heart stopped beating, and although she was a bit flustered she confirmed what the princess had feared; every creature needed its beating heart!

This news made Princess Charlotte sad, she didn’t want her friend to die, she wasn’t sure she really understood what that was, but she was sure that it wouldn’t be good! At lunch the king and queen noticed that she was being very quiet, and after a few questions they thought they understood.

“My dear, sweet Charlotte,” her father said, “you don’t need to be sad, Sassy isn’t alive in the way you and I are, and she will be fine.” Papa always spoke like he was addressing the kingdom. “After all, you have hundreds of other animals and dolls, you can just play with one of them.”

Princess Charlotte was horrified. Abandoning her best friend was unthinkable, how could papa even have such a thought. Her mama saw the fear and confusion on the girls face, gave the king a look that would have cost anyone else their head, and gathered her into her arms, smoothing her hair in that way that mothers do, and softly told her that it would be fine, and that Sassy would get the finest care in the kingdom! This helped the princess feel better, because even though it sometimes hurt, her mama and papa never lied to her so she knew it would all be okay.

“Don’t cry my darling,” her father said, “I will search out the best experts in the land to care for your friend.” He thought back to his own childhood, and of a very well used bear, and swore his little girl would have her friend for as long as she was wanted, and that he would move heaven and earth to make it happen.

Even though she knew it was going to be okay, she was still just a little worried, so after lunch she went to her room to wait with Sassy so she would not be afraid. As they waited they talked and snuggled, and soon there was a quiet knock on the door. The princess stood, smoothed her skirts, and opened the door to see her mother waiting there with a tall man in a long white robe. “Charlotte, this is Dr. Gustav, he is the Royal Surgeon or best friends and broken hearts, and he has come to help us.” Dr. Gustav bowed, and Charlotte curtseyed as she had been taught, and then took a good look at Dr. Gustav, who looked strangely like the same man who made her fancy ball gowns. She shook her head and decided that they must be twin brothers, because who ever heard of a Doctor making dresses!

In only moments the Doctor had examined Sassy, and then he turned to the Princess. “Your highness,” he said, “You were right to bring this to your parents attention. She will need to come with me for her treatment, but I’m happy to tell you that your friend will be as good as new by this very evening. I think the best thing now is to give Sassy a big hug, and at least two big kisses, and then let her come to my office so we can get her back to normal.”

Charlotte had her doubts, but she decided to be brave for her friend, and gave her two big hugs, six kisses and then another hug for luck before letting Dr. Gustav take her. “Mama, could you set with me for a while?” she asked, “I don’t want to be alone, and I don’t want to worry my friends, I was brave for Sassy, but this is very scary and I need a hug.”

In a flash her mother had gathered her up in her arms again, and held her precious child close to her heart, comforting and soothing her, singing silly songs and smoothing her hair, making the special calming sounds that only someone who truly loves you can make, and as her fears were calmed she drifted off to sleep.

When she woke up she found she was in her bed, and he mama sat in the chair beside the bed. In her arms lay Princess Sassy, wearing a beautiful new dress that looked just like the dress she was to wear to the ball that very evening, and when she held her ear to Sassy’s chest, she heard the steady thump, thump, thump of her heart, and knew everything was better, and she ran and thanked her mama for being so wise, and thanked Dr. Gustav, who still looked just like her dressmaker for being so smart, and her papa, because even when he didn’t understand he still did whatever it took to make her feel safe and loved, and with that, they all lived, happily ever after.

I looked at my small charges, all sleeping peacefully, and looked forward to when they woke up, because the tale would have to be repeated so they could hear the end, better slip over to the computer while it’s still fresh in my mind.

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I am Sophie’s Uncle

This post has beImage of Man holding a little girl and her teddy bearen a long time in writing.  These things needed saying a long time ago, but for some reason, my normal, vocal self kept running out of words, and made up excuses not to post the ones that came.  I’ve hemmed and hawed and put this off, telling myself it isn’t ready, that it needs more polish, or that I need to come up with a better way to say it, and I’m done with that behavior.

I am Sophie’s Uncle.  I’m SJ’s and Meari’s Uncle too.  Hear that world, I’m a Big, and damn it, I’ll not apologize nor regret it.  There wonderful people feed a part of me that the rest of my life does not, and I’m tired of being hungry.

My beautiful niece wrote the post that broke the dam that has been holding this back, if you want to see it it you can see it at Sophie’s Summer Space, while I understand that we are all ultimately responsible for our own happiness, part of being a Big is being responsible for our littles, particularly while they are in little space.  It hurt a part of me deep inside when I read her post, because her happiness is important to me, and as one of the Bigs in her life I should have known and made it better.

While I won’t apologize, I will explain what this means, and as importantly, what it does not. this is important, because even a lot of the littles out there do not really understand what it means to be Big, they assume that Big is just what they are when they are dealing with their adult responsibilities, or that “Big” is just a suit that the bad people wear to allow them to get close.  I get where both of those thoughts come from, but it isn’t what being Big means, at least not to me.

What Big means to me is that I will set up a safe space for my littles to express themselves, where they can play and be child like, where they can let their happiness bubble out infectiously, where they can simply be who and what they are. Just as important is what Big does not mean. It does not mean that I am a pedophile. My flavor of big has no sexual desire for my littles, particularly while they are in little space.  It does not mean I had issues as a child, or that I was molested, or that I am a molester, because none of that is the case. I’m sure I’ll add more that this, but that is a start, the truth is that I am still figuring a lot of this out for myself.

Sophie talked about the problems she faces being accepted by other littles, and I get that too. It’s even worse for Bigs, not only are we without any sort of network, if we show up at a littles munch or event without a little we are treated the same way we taught our children to react to random adult strangers trying to engage them. I suppose I can understand the rational, but it doesn’t do much to meet the needs of all of those who are seeking mommies and daddies, especially since those without the security of a trusted Big are most likely to react negatively to an advance from an interested Big!

We need to find a way to come together as Bigs, both to help and support each other, and to show the rest of those in the lifestyle that our interests are as valid as theirs. We owe it to our littles and to ourselves to stand up and take our places, who is with me?

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Hello world!

This is where I intend to let my “big” out to play with the littles.  Things you need to know about me:

  • First, my interactions with littles are strictly non-sexual.
  • I prefer to be addressed as “Uncle Wes,” I make exceptions to that on a case by case basis if needed, but it is what seems to work best for me.
  • I am not looking for a little to be a daddy to, my needs are being satisfied; I simply don’t have enough time to devote to an additional relationship right now.
  • I love to snuggle, cuddle, and hug!
  • I am a good listener, and have been told that I give good advice.
  • I never ask that a little do more than their age appropriate best, and I will accept nothing less,
  • I expect my nieces and nephews to be polite, courteous, and respectful of me, each other and all of the people we interact with.
  • When required, I am an effective disciplinarian. I will discuss limits with Mommies and Daddies, or other adult before we get together.
  • I am engage in role play as a Victorian Boarding School Headmaster, and am always on the lookout for new students.
  • I also conduct workshops on being a big in a little world, and effective parenting upon request.

I hope this is of interest, and gives you a little background about me.  If you are interested in further discussion, please feel free to contact me.

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