Page 1 of Matteo's Mettle
Chapter One – Matteo
Just under two years ago, I reached the lowest point of my life. I’d turned forty-three and my Daddy, a man I’d been with for almost a decade, sat me down and told me that our relationship wasn’t working for him anymore. Heartbroken didn’t quite cover how I felt.
I’d given that man the prime years of my life and he was ending it without any warning. Hell, the night before had been just like any other. We’d had sex, exchanging words of affection as always, and then we’d gone through my little night-time routine. Bath time, diapering, a bedtime story, and a bottle as I snuggled up alongside him. It was the same routine he had set when we first got together, when I was new to the world of BDSM and kink play.
I was a late bloomer, I guess. Imagine being in your thirties and discovering sides of yourself you’d never known were there.
Ladies and gentlemen, I give you Matteo Brightman: dense as fuck.
So, yeah. Daddy had sat me down three weeks after my forty-third birthday and ended our relationship. Just like that. He’d been clinical and impassive about it, hinting that I wasn’t the kind of little he wanted anymore. Not as I inched towards my mid-forties. Not with my bulky build and tattooed skin – changes I’d made over the course of the decade which he had been wholly supportive of at the time. I understood. I was graying at the temples, and I was physically too big and ‘masculine’ to fit the ‘little’ stereotype. Still, surely ten years of togetherness should have meantsomethingto him?
Spoiler alert: it did not.
Unfortunately, nothing I said moved him. He hadn’t reacted to my tears, either. That had cemented the whole breakup for me. If Daddy was impassive in the face of my tears, things really were over.
The only friends I had were all his to start with; people in the lifestyle he had introduced me to. None had been willing to ‘get in the middle’ of our breakup by allowing me to couch surf. I spent one night at a colleague’s place, then called my dad and arranged to move back in with him until I could sort my shit out. The only issue with that was moving halfway across the country.
I’d seen it as a win, though. A fresh start away from the reminder of my shattered heart and ruined life. As an electrical engineer, finding another job near Dad’s place wasn’t too difficult. Starting my whole life over again at forty-three? That turned out to be much harder.
Especially when Dad died from a sudden heart attack three months after I moved in.
The only thing that consoled me in my grief was that I’d had those three months with him. If Trent -my Daddy- hadn’t dumped me when he did, I would never have moved back home. In some ways, I was glad that the end of my relationship had given me those last few months with my father.
Following Dad’s death, I threw myself into work. I’d inherited his house (the one I’d grown up in) and, when I wasn’t working, I was doing small renovations. It was both rewarding and necessary. I had needed to make the space my own as part of my grieving process. Close to three months following his death, I discovered The Grove.
It had happened by complete accident. One of the guys at work had mentioned it under his breath. The Grove had hired our company to update their high-tech monitoring systems and the teams working on the project had all had to sign hefty non-disclosure agreements. Craig, a younger, kind of arrogant engineer, had been in the employee break room with another member of their team, muttering derisively about ‘fetishists’ and ‘kinky freaks’ under his breath while I’d been waiting for my lunch to heat up in the microwave.
My ears had perked up immediately, my stomach swooping with hope.
It had been six months since I had truly indulged my kinky urges. Before Dad had died, I’d tried a couple of BDSM clubs in the city, but my experiences had not been positive. It turned out Trent wasn’t the only Daddy who thought I was too big and too old to be a little. I’d been beginning to wonder if maybe they were right.
Unfortunately, though, my heart (and dick) weren’t giving up on my interests or my needs. This was who I was always going to be. A little. I had an inherent need to be cherished and cared for and, yeah,babied…for lack of a better word.
I loved having a Daddy to play with me, bathe me, diaper and dress me. I loved having my decisions -when I wasn’t at work- taken care of for me. My food chosen and cut up for me, my entertainment arranged by someone else. It made the maelstrom of stressful thoughts in my head cease.
And the fact that I enjoyed the sexual aspect of the Daddy/little boy dynamic? That was the cherry on top.
Well, it had been in my thirties. Before I’d bulked up. Trent had been a gym rat and, with nothing else to do but follow along, I’d discovered that I enjoyed weight training, too. He had supported it. Had even said that he loved how big and strong I was becoming. He’d always had a thing for buff men. He hadn’t ever complained that it made it more difficult to find onesies and little clothes that fit properly, or that I was beginning to look ridiculous wearing them.
Not until he dumped my sorry ass, anyway.
So heading back out into the community into a new city where I didn’t know anybody else involved the lifestyle was rough. Most Daddies aren’t into a boy who could bench press them, or who ‘looks like a sad reject fromSons of Anarchy’ if the guy I’d met at my first club’s assessment was to be believed. I felt lost and alone, and indulging in cartoons at home in a diaper I’d put on myself was a cold comfort at best.
Would The Grove be able to offer anything that the other clubs had not? It had sounded like it was a more professional establishment, if the NDAs our company had needed to sign were any indication, but I was wary.
Still, I reached out to them anyway. Meg, one of the three women who manned the front desk, had been so sweet and helpful. She’d answered all my questions and invited me to the next dedicated Littles’ Night where they would open the doors to non-members (after a vetting process) to check out the space and interact with other caregivers and littles. The club would also organize a variety of fun activities for the evening as part of the themed event. I signed up on the spot.
Even though I didn’t meet any potential Daddies that night, I made a connection with another buff little. Josh Walker. When I’m little, I’m painfully shy, but that hadn’t stopped the guy from plopping down beside me at the pottery station and chatting my ears off. By the end of the night, I’d left with a smile on my face and a new friend’s contact number in my phone.
However, while Josh introduced me to his brother and his friends in kink community, I still longed to find a Daddy of my own.
Hell, eighteen months on from that and I’m still lonely as fuck.
Maybe it’s just time to hang up my onesies and settle for a vanilla relationship. As much as I hate that idea, I hate the idea of being alone forever even more.
“Earth to Matt,” my friend and fellow little, Ash, waves his hand in my face. I’m at the house he shares with his Daddy and fiancé, Charlie, and we’ve been playing with blocks in the lounge room.
These playdates have been happening ever since Josh introduced me to the guys. Charlie also happens to be Josh’s older brother, and they have a close-knit social circle of kinky friends. Even now, I’m still amazed that they invited me to be a part of it.
