Page 12 of Ted's Temerity
That’s not what I want to dwell on now.
Besides, through therapy, I eventually worked through all the old pain and regrets and came to love being a Daddy and being involved in the lifestyle in a healthier way. I still want to nurture and care for my boys, but not because I feel like I have anything to prove. It’s for my enjoyment as much as it is for the Littles. I like to be someone’s rock. I like to provide for them and make sure they’re looked after and can live their lives joyfully. If anyone has the means, it’s me. And it makes me feel good to make them feel good.
But it’s not often that I’m taken off balance with a boy. Over the years, I’ve found that the interactions I have with most littles are all similar. There are the shy ones, the bratty ones, the sweet ones, the clingy ones…but Zephyr? He’s unlike most boys I’ve spent time with in the last few years. He’s an enigma to me.
He’s certainly one of the most brazen littles I’ve had the pleasure to meet. Oozing with confidence and sensuality, he’s feisty and challenging and funny. If I had to label him, I’d say he’s more Middle than Little, but there are moments where the bravado melts away and I catch glimpses of his more innocent side.
In the week we’ve spent exchanging texts and talking on the phone, I’ve picked up clues which lead me to believe that, as confident as he is as a little, Zephyr hasn’t had as much experience with an ongoing relationship with a Daddy. His life until recently hasn’t allowed for it, so what experience he has had has been scene play at best.
I’ve made it clear that I’m more interested in an exclusive, long-term relationship. I know that’s new to him. I don’t want to rush him but, at the same time, all I want to do is wrap him in my arms and refuse to let him go. It’s not normal for me to feel this way. I don’t usually get so invested so soon.
It could be that I’m just rattled by other things going on in my life. It’s coming up on thirty years since…
No. Nope. Not going there.
Instead, I lose myself in the kiss I’ve just initiated. Our second. I wanted to respect his wishes to take things slowly, but his flirting threw all my restraint right out the window.
He tastes sweet against my tongue, not a surprise given that he’s confessed he has an epic sweet tooth. His body is firm, lean, and pliable under my hands as I slowly explore the plains of his hips and back and shoulders. At thirty-three, he’s in the prime of his life, his body perfect for his career in dance. He’s already teased me over the phone, taunting me about howbendyhe is, and I want so badly to put the naughty thoughts that information inspired to the test.
We’re flush against each other and my cock twitches when he mewls against my lips. Unconsciously, I grind against his abdomen, seeking friction.
“Mister Masters,” he separates our mouths to breathe with exaggerated scandal, his breath ghosting over my lips as if daring me to capture his mouth all over again, “dinner first, remember?”
I want nothing more than to turn him around, bend him over the tub and plunge inside him, but the playful lilt of his voice reminds me that tonight is a test. A test for our compatibility and chemistry (which I’m certain we’ve passed with flying colors, if I do say so myself). But also a test of whether there is a possibility for something deeper and more real to develop between us. Making everything about sex won’t help prove that we can hold more than simple conversations.
Still, I nip at his lips again before I withdraw and adjust my aching cock, much to his amusement. “I did promise dinner, yes.”
His gaze lingers on the bulge in my jeans, and he makes a show of adjusting himself as well, which I shouldn’t find as much of a relief as I do. I suppose it’s good to know that he’s just as affected as I am, that’s all.
Leading him back downstairs to the kitchen, he slides onto one of the tall bar stools in front of the long kitchen counter and watches as I pull out my pre-prepared veggies and ingredients for the simple stir-fry I’m cooking tonight.
“Were you a boy scout as a kid?” he asks playfully, gesturing to the cling-film covered bowls I’ve set out in order next to the stove.
“Actually, I was,” I laugh. “My parents were…” I search for the right word and settle on, “traditional, I guess.”
They were also devout Catholics who did everything they could to try and steer their obviously gay son towards ‘manly’ activities, but I don’t mention that. My childhood wasn’t miserable, just tense at times. Then, when I left for college with a full-ride scholarship and officially came out of the closet, it became a moot point completely.
Zephyr seems to pick up on some of what I very carefully did not say, because his expression softens and he makes a movement as though he’s trying to reach for me across the bench top. His hands fall back into his lap, and he rallies. “Well, mine were anything but. They put me in dance classes of all sorts and, when it looked like I enjoyed Ballroom the best, they set me on the competition circuit. And, when I wasn’t doing that, I was being hauled to different sports try-outs, baking classes, ‘Mommy and me’ yoga sessions…” He shakes his head, his love for his parents paired with fond exasperation. “They wanted to give me a slice of everything.”
They sound like everything my parents were not. But there’s likely a generation between them, I’m guessing, so it’s hardly astonishing that their values and experiences would be different.
“They sound like wonderful people,” I tell him honestly, and start tossing ingredients into the wok I’ve oiled and heated. The meat and veggies sizzle enticingly. “Mine…well, they meant well. Mostly.” I shrug. “It was a different time, and they were older when they had me, too.”
I’d been a surprise to them, actually. After years of trying for children, they’d given up. Then, in their mid forties, along I’d come. It was a pity they felt I’d been more disappointing than miraculous in the end.
Once again, I realize that I’ve brought the mood down and I fight the urge to pinch the bridge of my nose.
What the hell is wrong with me?
“Are they…I mean…have they…no, that’s not an appropriate date question. Forget I said anything.” Zephyr winces and looks away.
If anything, the gaffe makes me chuckle. “They’ve both passed, yes.” I answer lightly, lifting and dropping my shoulders as though it’s no big deal. “We weren’t close. We pretty much lost touch after I left home for college and, as callous as it sounds, it was for the best for all of us.”
When they didn’t even reach out during the worst year of my life, even after I told them what had happened at the time, I wrote them off completely.
“I’m still sorry for your loss, Ted.”
“Thank you.”
