Page 7 of Matteo's Mettle
Happy birthday to me, indeed.
After scanning the space around me and not finding any more familiar faces, I decide to throw in the towel. It hasn’t been a bad night, but once again I’m heading home alone. Even a one-night stand would be welcome at this point, but it seems like I’m not even good enough for that anymore, either.
There’s an ache in my chest that won’t go away, and my vision blurs as I push to my feet and trudge towards the door on the far end of the room.
With my gaze directed to the floor, I’m so lost in my woeful thoughts that I bump into someone. “Damn, sorry.” Mortification burns beneath my skin as I look up to properly apologize.
I don’t recognize the Daddy I’ve bumped into, but I can read his expression very well as he looks me over and clearly finds me wanting. “Where’s your Daddy?” he asks. His tone isn’t particularly friendly.
Part of me wants to wave my wrist at him and tell him to learn the flags, because mine make it clear that I’m unattached, but I hold my tongue. I’m in the wrong here, after all. I wasn’t looking, and I walked into him.
“I was just leaving. Sorry for bumping into you.” Attempting to step around him, I’m surprised when he grabs my wrist.
I’m bigger than him, but I’m also pretty non-confrontational. Especially when I’m still coming out of my little headspace and am admittedly already emotional.
“Someone needs to teach you to apologize properly,” he says.
I blink, then give myself a little shake. “Look, dude, I’m not in little space right now. I’m actually just heading home and-”
“Too bad, boy. We’re going to talk about this.”
Is this guy for real? I stare back at him, taking him in. He looks to be in his mid to late thirties. He’s got slicked back, almost greasy looking blonde hair and pale skin, and his eyes are a cold blue color. He’s at least half a foot shorter than me, and probably forty pounds lighter, but his grip on my wrist suggests that he’s stronger than he looks.
I don’t want to cause a scene, so I try again to defuse the situation. “Look, I’m sorry I wasn’t paying attention and that I ran into you. Please let me go.”
“Are you trying to tell me you’re turning me down, boy?” He looks me over again, his lips curling. His Southern accent twangs with a sharpness that sours it for me, even though I’m normally all over a good, old-fashioned drawl. “You’re, what, fifty? And huge. Littles like you don’t get many prospects, andyou’returningmedown?”
Even though this guy is an absolute jackass, the appraisal hurts the same way it always does, and I was already emotional before this unexpected confrontation. My throat tightens, my eyes sting, and my skin burns as the humiliation rolls over me. “Please,” I beg, my voice thick with unshed tears, “just…let me go.”
The guy laughs in my face. My gut churns. “You gonna cry, boy? You think that’s going to make you more appealing as a little?”
“Red light,” I croak, trying to step back, but he follows my movement, caging me in.
“We’re not playing right now,” he dismisses. “There’s nothing to safe word out of.”
He’s making me feel small in all the wrong ways. I should be able to stand up for myself. I should be able to use my larger body to rear up and intimidate him. But he’s pressed all the right buttons to make me forget that I’m capable of it.
My hands shake as tears finally spill down my cheeks, and I close my eyes and beg for the ground to just open up and take me now.
“Back off,” a new voice interjects, sounding beyond pissed off.
I open my eyes to watch as Hot Young Daddy slips himself neatly between my aggressor and me. It startles the other guy enough that he drops my wrist and I take an immediate step back, adding more distance.
“What the hell does this have to do with you?” my would-be tormentor demands.
Hot Young Daddy’s shoulders are tense, but I can’t see his face because he’s facing the other guy and his back is to me. He still sounds furious as he answers, “He asked you to stop. He used his safe words. You need to back the fuck off.”
Jackass -my new name for the asshole- scoffs and gestures at me over Hot Young Daddy’s shoulder. “Just look at him. He wants the attention.”
“He safe worded.” My rescuer repeats, beyond seething now. “Fuck off. Or do I need to use the house safe word and get the moderator involved?”
My eyes widen. That’s not necessary at all. We don’t need to make an even bigger scene here. I couldn’t take the additional attention, and I certainly don’t want to ruin anyone else’s night. Using the house safe word is not a trivial thing. I should know: my company engineered the monitoring system.
“Pfft,” Jackass leans around Hot Young Daddy and gives me another degrading glance over, “he ain’t worth it.” Then he turns on his heel and heads off into the crowd on the other side of the room.
My heart is hammering in my chest and I clench my hands into fists at my sides, willing them to stop shaking. I look at the ground again. I feel so stupid. How can I be this physically imposing, as no Daddy ever fails to remind me, and yet still need to be rescued? And I just let the asshole wander off where he might upset someone else. I’m a coward. Absolutely pathetic.
“Hey,” Hot Young Daddy’s voice is gentle now. Warm, if tentative. It’s also much closer than I anticipated.
