fat girl sex: be your own daddy

Fat Girl Sex is a bi-weekly sex column devoted to the celebration of the sexual empowerment of women, body- and sex-positivity, featuring personal meandering about all the nasty things we do in the dark.

I used to think sex was about appeasing men. I used to be really stupid. It only took me a year in New York City to realize that a good portion of the orgasms gap was my own damn fault. That so many men want nothing more than to make you cum over and over again. And those who don’t are easily replaced by ones who do.

Last summer, when I first started writing this column, I was also just developing what I would now consider my unshakeable sexual autonomy. I had — and still have — a submissive who eats me until I cry, and expects zero reciprocation. It’s fucking fabulous. And in-between these “encounters,” I was supplementing my appetite with a respectable parade of silly men. A majority of who insisted on being called “Daddy”  with zero of the wherewithal an actual Daddy Dominate might posses. It’s…tragic.

Maybe it’s my Big Dick Energy or my sexual candor, but everywhere I turn there’s some man begging me to dog walk him. Less in the Cardi B sense, more in the literal sense. Collar, leash, commands, and treats. And, I admit, the offers to control, dominate, and abuse men tickle me in a deep-down place. But it doesn’t turn me on. Not in the way it is presented to me, at least.

For a long time, I felt guilty for wanting too much during sex. As a young woman with love handles and chubby thighs, I will share that I felt lucky just to be sexually objectified, let alone feel like someone worthy of selfish pleasure. Society had me fucked up. I was trapped in this evil, misogynistic, self-sacrificing cycle that made sex performative instead of natural and pleasurable.

All of that was before I realized that I was looking for “daddy” in all the wrong places. In fact, I was Daddy. And I exerted enough power all on my own to define sex on my terms, however that looks.  Instead of waiting for somebody’s son to tell or show me how to derive pleasure, I put myself in charge. I’m Daddy and these little boys are my sons.

So, for now, sex on my terms looks a lot like a throng of eager young and older men who express their unyielding devotion to my clitoris, and anywhere else I deem in need of attention. My body, my rules.