Artistic Discipline

So there I was, minding my own business as an artist in my late twenties, when out of nowhere this wild little muse came crashing into my life. Yeah, let's be clear, it wasn't a muse at all, but rather a young adult woman who fancied herself a submissive and found some twisted comfort in calling me 'Daddy.' I've never been much for labels or pretenses, but if you're into this sort of thing and need a code word for the internet, well, there ya go. It started as an experiment, me thinking it'd be like any other artistic collaboration, with her providing inspiration. Instead, she wanted more, turning every casual encounter into some kind of twisted performance art piece. We talked about setting limits, but somehow I ended up in this weird headspace where I was actually disciplining her over the most trivial of things, like when she left a dirty dish on the counter or forgot to send me a text at noon. Now, don't get me wrong; it wasn't all bad. There were moments of genuine intimacy and connection that made my heart race in ways I hadn’t felt since... well, since before I ever started this nonsense. But mostly it was just exhausting, confusing, and oddly reminiscent of a college drama class gone too far. In the end, we agreed to take a break. She said she needed time to sort out her feelings, but deep down, I think both of us knew it wasn't about me not being into it, it's more that neither of us could quite figure out where to draw the line between art and reality.