I’m a little needy, and a needy little

Photo by Ike louie Natividad

Seven years ago, R., running on no sleep and experimental drugs, just up and said,

“T.—let’s both stop being stupid! Immediately! I am tumultuous and strange, and you are needy and wonderful (don’t disagree—you are), you deserve all the good things in your life that you can get your hands on. My heart is always breaking—and I think we are the same—but that’s okay.

T., it’s okay to want and need—from all the way across the world, you sent energy that pulled me out—I hope you know that—if my life has been tumult, it is because I am finding the way I truly want and not accepting anything else. The self persists—”

I am thinking about that now, as I sit here, craving and lonely and wondering what to do with myself who waits. For that is always the way isn’t it—you need, and you wait.

The fear that comes when using your voice

There are many littles out there who feel the same the way I do—should I tell Daddy that I need him? What if he thinks it’s too much? How can I low-key let him know that I want to burn through the whole universe until I arrive by his side, so he can pet me and give me kisses?

There’s always that fear—that I don’t have a right to ask for my needs to be met. And mostly I would say this stems from having been rejected before—and being rebuked for even asking.

With my previous Daddy, it was very intense for us in the beginning of our relationship. He would call me all the time, and would want me to do the same. He feels a thrill whenever I text him that I miss him while he’s at work, and he was very conscious of keeping in contact at different times within the day—asking me what I’m doing, if I’m eating, if I’m doing my tasks, etc.

But then it started to peter off, that caregiving. Suddenly he’s become very busy. I understood that, and I’ve never deviated from my behaviour—but then I began getting quips like, “I have a life, too, outside this.”

And I felt like—the more I let myself show him my vulnerability, the more he seemed to…resent it somehow? Or perhaps resent me…or my much-ness. I spent a lot of time questioning myself and my feelings, if it was wrong to be that—myself—and how, and why.

It was as if my need encroached on his life and he didn’t seem to want that eventually. He said he wants me to need him all the time and to always run to him, but whenever I do, he makes me feel like I’m an interloper.

Anytime I needed him (and especially when I am in little space) and I can’t find my words and the language to describe it all, over time I just taught myself to temper what I feel, because he wouldn’t be receptive to it. It feels very much like self-harm.

So yeah—I totally understand the anxiety of having to tell your Daddy that you need.

Defining expectations and boundaries

“Littles are supposed to be needy. They need love, and cuddles, and structure, and discipline, and lots of things. Saying you found a needy little is like saying you found a pretty flower.”

— u/ObjectiveProgram, from this Reddit thread

I crave companionship—both as an adult me and as a little. And it’s not even one-sided at all. I want Daddy’s attention—more than he can give me sometimes—but when he does give it, I am enrapt, nothing exists outside this moment. I have him, and he has me, for as long as this space allows.

Yes, I get sad when he’s working, and I happen to be dilly-dallying and don’t want to work myself, and we can’t talk because he’s Being An Adult and I’m…me. Sometimes I just want to sit beside him while we do separate things, touching each other’s skin from time to time—his hand in my hair, my hand under his shirt.

Sometimes I just want him to carry me in his pocket so I can witness the day as he does, so I can see the world as he does, so I can feel close to him in a way that is curious and hungry for more.

It is important then that Daddy and I sit down and talk about our expectations from each other. For example—if I have a panic attack, does he want to know about it while it was happening? Or after, when I’ve managed it? I let him know because he’s my Daddy and he should know these things, but it should be without any expectation on my end of an immediate response, especially if he’s not there.

It will not make me feel bad in any way because we have talked about it, and he will also not feel bad for not being there—and then we both take strength and comfort in the knowledge that I have prepared for incidents like this, like having a group of friends to turn to help me see through it.

I also struggle with feeling like I’m a burden and/or an inconvenience—and I want to believe that a good Daddy wants me to need him. That he appreciates it more if I’m honest about what I need, and that he respects me enough to say when he’s unavailable (due to an unforeseen circumstance), instead of leaving me wondering what to do, if I’ve been abandoned (which is inevitably what happened in my previous relationship).

Looking after myself

That being said, I have been taking care of myself for a long time. Like I told Y. the other night—adult me is the gatekeeper. It’s fucking hard to do, but I have, on occasions, managed to lock up my little for awhile. Because, say, in a dangerous abusive situation in the past, if I let little me take over when I’m scared, then I’m well and truly fucked.

I have survived this far because I only let little me come out and play for a certain period before calling her back—and it is absolutely the worst feeling sometimes.

Nevertheless, I know it is important that I also have other people in my life to help me grow as a person. Daddy is everything, but he can’t be everywhere. So—friends, yes, to keep me company, and to remind me that I am loved.

Keeping busy is another good way to pass the time (why do you even suppose I’m here writing right now? Hah.) Having tasks keeps me connected to my Dom, and wearing his collar, too. Among many other things.

Yes—I want my Daddy all the time, to cherish and ravish, both. If that’s what makes me needy, well—fuck it, I guess.

As R. says, this time half-asleep and half-drunk and excitable and irritable:

“I feel like nobody is anything. They just do things—the names come after.”

T. xx

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