I’ve been exchanging emails with Dad about the upcoming trip this week. He’s very excited to see us. I asked if any of his other kids will be there (he has other scene daughters and two biological children) and he said it is just us this year.

That makes me think he is probably pretty glad to have us coming. Sure, he can always find somewhere to go. He has lots of friends. But I’m willing to bet that by his stage of life it feels pretty good that your “kids” and grandkids want to come see you just because they love you.

I’ve been thinking about my biological father. I kind of wish he was rotting in prison so I could ask him why? What happened to you?

Instead I will go see someone who adopted me when I was an adult after my father was dead.

I met my Dad when I was 18. I was at the Power Exchange in San Francisco for the second time. This time I had shiny pvc clothes from Hot Topic and I was ready to go. Dad was one of the first people to talk to me from behind “the fence” where the players hung out. He saw me watching him and the other dirty old men and he hollered, “Hey you! Come here. We need bottoms.” Then he laughed. I did not go inside the gate with them. I sneered instead.

I met him again at a private party a few weeks later. He apologized. We still didn’t really talk because I thought he was old, slimy, and gross.

I ran into him at munch after munch after munch after that. Back then the leather community was a lot smaller. It was harder to avoid people who were geographically close to you.

After a while he started giving me bossy advice I mostly didn’t listen to. I started sarcastically calling him “Dad” as a way of saying, “Alright Dad I’ll jump right on doing what you tell me to. Not.” I had a few issues with authority. Maybe one or two.

But one day I was sitting in my Owners house alone and I was talking to people on IRC and Dad was one of them. I was talking about how sick I was. People were trying to talk me into visiting a hospital because I didn’t sound so good. I said that I didn’t want to drive. I was sure I wouldn’t die.

Dad volunteered to take me to the hospital. He stayed with me while I got IV fluids (turns out I had a nasty bacterial infection and I was severely dehydrated and I probably was on the road to serious issues if I hadn’t gone in) and medication. He held my hand and made jokes with me.

It was the first time in my life that someone was nice to me when I was sick. Usually I was screamed at for lying or for being inconvenient.

After that Dad and I played a few times. He is very good with a single tail and that’s not a skill everyone has. I enjoy a good single tail. If you do it right you can make me orgasm. So Dad and I had fun playing. Eventually we even had sex. That didn’t go so good. I’m not a big fan of penis piercings. They hurt.

And more than thirteen years later we don’t play or have sex but I still love him and he loves me. He wants to see me. He wants to get to know my children. I believe he will be appropriate with my children because I know Dad’s biological children. He was a very good father to them. He was very appropriate. They think it is kind of weird and surprising that he has this whole community of freaks because they didn’t know that part of him. But they are nice to his friends anyway.

They think it is a little weird that I call him Dad but not as weird as the live-on girlfriend who screamed “Oh Daddy” during sex. They understand that he and I are not boyfriend girlfriend and never have been. They have been ridiculously nice to me every time I have ever been in the room with them.

I’m nearing the end of Outrunning. How do you forgive yourself for making bad decisions? How do you learn how to stop hurting yourself? How do you figure out what is good and what is bad for you?

Everyone is different. Everyone has different needs. Not everyone needs an adopted Dad who is a flaming pervert. I do. I need him very badly. I need to feel like he wants me and loves me and accepts me. I need him to welcome me into his home and ask me what kind of cereal to get for my kids.

I need to feel like *I* am wanted. Mostly I don’t. Mostly outside of Noah and my kids I feel like it would be better for the whole world if I was lit on fire. That’s not even hyperbole from me. When your brother lights himself on fire you can’t ever use the phrase just for effect. You have to be dead serious or not say it at all.

I’m really grateful that I have a Dad now.