It was my first time going over the border and I was going through the usual questioning from customs. But, I was prepared. I’d memorized the address, I had my passport out and ready, I had my return ticket at hand in case he needed to see it.

“Have you been to Canada before?” he asked, checking my passport. 

I shook my head. “No, I haven’t.”

“So, how do you know your friend, then?" 

The long of it is that she was my very first follower the night I started my tumblr back in 2011 and I had no idea what I wanted from just about anything in my life. In particular, the kink stuff all had suddenly rushed into my life, coagulated into something completely indecipherable. I was starting to understand the idea that I didn’t have to hide and that I could get what I wanted, but both concepts overwhelmed me pretty equally.

And so when I found tumblrs like hers – of people off doing the things I’d thought were totally unreasonable and impossible and just functioning – I thought I’d throw myself into the fray and see what came of it. I followed a bunch of the blogs I’d been lurking around. And she followed me back.

For the better part of a week, she was my only follower, generously liking stuff while I awkwardly tried to negotiate being able to vocalize my sexuality. We exchanged asks, which turned into emails, which turned into detailed exchanges about the things we didn’t feel we wanted to elaborate about on our blogs. 

And weirdly, she started taking on the caregiver/Daddy role without either of us realizing it. She listened when stuff got bad or weird or just plain old disastrous. When I was too shy to post pictures of myself, I sent them to her first to try to practice being brave. After she’d encouraged me, I’d post them up. 

And, yeah, I had a high-functioning crush on her. But, more than that, I’d developed an honest friendship with a really admirable, open person who was on a pretty similar adventure.

Fast forward to this past summer, when I was in a tinychat with her and the topic of femme Daddies came up. Or maybe it was the fact that I wanted a Daddy? But there was some joking that had turned into a series of "but, really"s that turned into a dynamic we’d been unconsciously pantomiming already. 

I looked up at the customs officer and blushed. ”…Internet.“

He smirked. "Okay, move along.”