Page 3 of Matteo's Mettle
My voice breaks, and my throat clogs with tears. The truth is, I can’t handle constantly being told what I know deep in my bones: I’m not a desirable little. And it stings all the more that I’m about to have this breakdown on the shoulder of aperfectlittle. I shouldn’t resent him for his youth or his slimmer frame, but some part of me does, and that makes me feel like an incredibly shitty friend on top of everything else.
It’s bad enough that I’m jealous of the relationship he and Charlie have, but being envious of his appearance? What am I, twelve? I give myself a mental shake and go back to the issue at hand.
The clientele at The Grove are certainly of a higher caliber than at the other clubs in the city, but the rejection there has been hurtful all the same. Even at The Grove, or in the online groups Josh and Ash suggested I join, the Daddies are looking for cute, sweet littles.Littles like Ash.They’re usually kind about turning down my advances, but I don’t have it in me to try anymore.
“I’m done.” I say into the silence that has once again descended. My voice is shaky, and I can feel my heart breaking, already grieving the life I’ve decided to say goodbye to. “I’m giving up age play.”
Ash gasps, and out of the corner of my eye I watch his hand fly to his mouth.
Across the kitchen island, Charlie’s voice is low and equally surprised. “Matt…”
Forcing myself to look up, I steel my jaw. Looking between them, I shake my head. “I’ve been thinking about this for a while. I need to walk away from it.”
I’m surprised by how convinced I sound to my own ears.
If only my heart would get with the program.
Chapter Two – London
“You are a life saver,” my best friend, Cherie, tells me as she lets me in through the front door of her apartment. She looks harried, with dark circles under her brown eyes, and wisps of her honey blonde hair escaping from the messy bun on top of her head.
I pin her with a firm stare. “You need to find a new job.”
She’s currently working as a PA for a local politician and, as far as I am concerned, the guy is an epic douchebag. He calls her at all hours with outrageous demands, and because she can’t afford not to work right now she jumps at his every beck and call. He’s taking advantage, and I hate him.
Abject misery washes over her face. “I know. I’ve started applying.”
“Thank fuck for that.”
“London, language,” she scolds, launching into what I call her ‘Mommy mode’.
I chuckle and shake my head. “That might work on your cute little wife, Cher, but not on me.”
Which brings us back to why I’m here at all. Cherie promised her wife, Kate, that she would take her to this month’s Littles’ Night at The Grove (which is happening tonight) and, naturally, her dickwad boss has jumped up and down with a last-minute emergency that Cherie needs to fix immediately. When she called me an hour ago, she sounded close to tears.
Never one to cope well with anyone being upset, let alone my best friend, I told her I’d happily take Kate. Being ‘cool Uncle London’ has always been fun, and it’s about time I checked out the club that my girls are so fond of.
Cherie pins me with an intense stare. “Are you sure you’re okay with this? It’s one thing to be around Kate when she’s little, but something completely different to go to a kink club for a themed night.”
“Hey, you know me,” I shrug. “I’m easy. Am I particularly kinky? No.” Well, not that she’s aware. My penchant for lace underwear is a secret nobody knows about. Not even my exes, and certainly not my best friend. It’s something I indulge in in private. “But do I yuck other peoples’ yum? Also no.” My lips curl upwards into my standard winning grin. “Besides, Kate said it’s Disney night tonight. I’m not missing that. My girl and I are going to get our Disney on together.”
Cherie still doesn’t look convinced. “I’m serious,” she insists. “It can be a bit full-on. And I know you’re good with our lifestyle, but you’re still so young and-”
“Whoa,” I hold up my index finger to silence her, then point it at her. “Since when has my age ever bothered you?” She’s in her mid-thirties, while I’m twenty-six.
We met at college, where she was auditing one of my classes, and exchanged sarcastic barbs about the professor of the class while seated next to each other in the back row of the lecture hall. From there a friendship was born, with the two of us bonding over both being a part of the LGBTQ+ community in addition to loathing lazy college professors who read directly from the textbook.
I was the first person she introduced Kate to, the first person with whom they publicly explored their Mommy/girl relationship, and her Best Man at their wedding last year. As far as I’m aware, my age has never made a difference to her.
Hell, Kate’s only two years older than me anyway.
As if Cherie can read all of these thoughts on my face, her own falls and she appears stricken at the words that left her own lips. She scrubs her perfectly manicured hand over her face. “I know, I know; I’m sorry. I don’t even know why I said that.”
I can’t even stay mad at her. Pulling her into a hug, I justify it for her. “You’re tired. Overworked. Overwhelmed. Stressed as fuck. And you feel guilty because you can’t take your girl to the one thing she’s been looking forward to for weeks.”
Cherie allows herself one broken sob against me before she pulls back and puts herself back together. That shit’s not healthy, either, but I’m not telling her that. She has to work tonight, after all.
Even if I was going to say something, the chance is broken by the loud squeal of my name from just down the hallway. “Uncle London!”
