CONSCIENTIOUS OBJECTOR
Daddy dearest
(reprinted, with permission, from Everybody's News, Issue 546, March 5, 1999)
by Michael Blankenship
Your long hair's been cut short, you're past the dancing on the speakers phase, and your wardrobe of muscle shirts is wearing thin. But you're not yet the beer belly leatherman type, or are you? When is the transition made from "boy" to "daddy?"
I've been hearing this word directed at me more often lately, and I've been at some confusion as to how to take it. What does it mean when someone calls you a "daddy?" Considering there's not much chance of my ever becoming a genetic "daddy," I suppose I'd have to settle for the psychological model. And role playing is what it all comes down to, after all. But I haven't yet identified my personal "daddy" role model. Some people (my two best friends among them) cringe at the idea. To them a "daddy" is the husky, hairy, beer-belly-in-leather found on a Friday night at Spurs. They do not have a favorable image of a "daddy," but then again, their taste in men tends to run toward cradle robbing. They tend to stick to "boys."
I find myself rapidly tiring of "boys." They're pleasing to look at, sure, but murder to talk with; there are just too many distractions for them. And I'm not really drawn to the husky, hairy, beer-belly-in-leather type, either (technically, these would be termed "bears"), since I never was a "boy" in that strict, submissive, pleasure-provider sense, and I don't fall immediately into the "daddy" role now that I've hit my 30s. I'm kinda stuck somewhere in the middle, with no clear identification of my peers.
My social friends in the bars don't make things any clearer, either. My own images and perceptions are always being surprised. My friend Kevin is 36, yet he still essentially plays the role of "boy." His partner, Scott, is older, the beer belly leatherman of the pair. In this case Kevin can act as boy bait for the two of them. But my tastes are more mature. I don't really want to bait "boys." Can daddys date daddys? This is the crux of the matter.
One "boy" took a particular shine to me about this time last year, and I was amazed to discover that he was in fact only a couple years younger, but he had also just come out, so he had plenty of "boy" years to catch up on, and all of those wild oats to sow. But despite his obvious attraction, it seems I wasn't of sufficient "daddyness" for him, he wanted a strict disciplinarian, someone who would really boss him around, a serious s/m "daddy." And though I no doubt posses the strong personality for such a figure, there's enough drama in my life as it is, and I don't feel like turning my bedroom into a stage. I'd prefer my home to be a place free from performance anxiety.
In such times of confusion in the laws of queer sex and relationships, I often turn to my friend Troy. Troy defines "daddy" as a more mature man, with a definite masculine overtone. Other attributes may be responsibility, a take-charge attitude, confidence in experience, and security, a.k.a. a job. "Daddy" should be a good provider.
In this context, "daddy" is a compliment, a mature, responsible, sexy man. "Daddy" can have facial and body hair, but he's not a "bear" unless he's big and hairy. (Some might say unless he's fat, big and hairy.) "Daddy" can wear leather without being a strict sadomasochist. "Daddy" can be any age, as his maturity is judged by his actions. Probably most important in this concept of the role, however, is the idea that "daddy" is consistent. No "daddy" would be the type who wears a butch exterior to hide a mincing disposition or an effeminate voice. Hmmm, just what is my level of butchness, anyway?
Can I live up to these characteristics? Do I really want to? I may posses the maturity, in terms of years, but there's some question on the issue of responsibility. I'm not locked into any specific style of facial hair, it changes like the moon, but I have taken to keeping my pecs mowed to an even quarter inch clip. I enjoy leather, but it's a fetish I can't afford. And as for consistency, well I have been known to show up on occasion in a `60s green checked off-the-shoulder party dress, or a Catholic schoolgirl's plaid jumper. I like to surprise folks with the unexpected mix of muscular flesh with skirts and combat boots. And I wear it well, if I may say so myself.
But I guess the least masculine thing about me right now is my income. This "daddy" is just not a good provider. There's an adorable young punk that I met last year, who I have learned is getting ready to return to the city. I understand he's been thinking a lot about me lately, and I'm not surprised. But he remembers my house, my truck, and my job. It's those things he's been thinking about. And while I might be able to pull-off the role of "daddy," the role of "sugar daddy" is not in my repertoire.
