Page 1 of Chance's Choice
Chapter One – Chance
“So that’s a yes?” My long-time friend Charlie grins at me from across the gleaming countertop of the swanky new bar where we arranged to meet.
Charlie has changed a lot in the last few years. Finding his Forever Boy, ending his career as a cop, and starting a safe haven community center for members of the BDSM/kink community have all played a part in that. He used to be far more serious, less jovial, but now he’s quicker to laugh and joke around. Not that he was a stick in the mud before, mind you, but he’s more easy going these days. Unless he gets stuck into a new project. A project like the one he has spent months trying to convince me to participate in.
Closing my eyes and giving myself one last opportunity to back out, I sigh. It’s a sound of resignation, but I still smile (if somewhat ruefully) at him when I exhale, “Yeah.”
Charlie whoops and pumps a fist in the air. “You’re the best, man! Thank you!”
“I’m not, like, the only Daddy you’ve signed up for this thing, right?”Thatthought makes me nervous. This thing I’ve agreed to? A fundraising auction, where I’m going to be standing up on a stage and (hopefully) having people bid on me. Or, more specifically, on a day of Daddy time. With me.
Now, I’ll be the first to admit that I love being a Daddy. Like Charlie and the rest of our social circle, I enjoy the emotional connection between a Daddy and a Little. I like being needed. Nurturing and caring for someone else makes me feel valuable. Even if it’s just for the odd scene at The Grove, our local premium BDSM club, I feelgoodafter taking care of a Little.
But what Charlie (and, by association, some of my other friends) have been bugging me to agree to seems a bit more daunting.
For one, I’m not going to meet the Little who ‘buys’ my time until after the fact. Sure, Charlie made sure to ask our lawyer friend, Ted, to write contracts that emphasize the importance of consent for both parties, with a clause that if either me or the winner of the auction are uncomfortable once we meet, a different ‘prize’ will be arranged by The Center commensurate with the value paid for my time…but it still feels like a lot of pressure on me to make it work, regardless.
Secondly, I might be a Daddy, but I don’t consider myself an overly outgoing guy. Standing up on a stage, beingjudgedandbid onterrifies me. I mean, what if there aren’t any Littles in the audience who are into a bearded ginger with a dad bod? I can’t imagine I’ll feel very good if I don’t bring in any money at all. But, on the other hand, what happens if I bring in a ton of cash for The Center? Then we go back to my first concern that there’ll be additional pressure on me to make the experience worthwhile.
“No,” Charlie answers my question with a shake of his head and an earnest smile, his blue eyes shining brightly with his excitement, “a few other Grove members have volunteered, too. But the more people that volunteer, the better. And,” he leans forward conspiratorially, even though the din of chatter around us makes this a private conversation anyway, “you’re my favorite to bring in the big bucks.”
I snort at that. I can’t help it.
“Me?” I ask, my voice pitching higher with incredulity. “How slim are the pickings at The Grove these days, anyhow?”
Charlie’s jovial expression fades into consternation. “Chance, come on. You’re a catch.”
“Uh huh. That’s why all you hot Daddies have boys and I’m still painfully single.” I keep my tone light, even if the words themselves are bitter. I can’t help it. My social group is kind of aesthetically intimidating to an average Joe like me. Even limiting my assessment tojustthe Daddies in our group, I know I’m the odd man out.
To start with, there’s Charlie. He’s tall and broad and muscular, not an ounce of fat on him, with biceps that broadcast the fact that he’s spent far too long in the gym. He’s got one of those generic Hollywood pretty boy faces: an angular jawline topped with neatly trimmed dark stubble, piercing blue eyes and one of thoseThe Bachelorstyle ‘more on top’ haircuts to his dark brown head of thick hair.
Then there’s Ted. Rich, suave, sophisticated Theodore Masters – a silver fox if ever I’ve seen one. He might be nearing fifty, but his salt and pepper hair only adds to his charm. He’s also handsome and lean, and I’d seen many a twink throw themselves at him before his boy, Zephyr, caught his attention.
Next we have young London, a relative newbie to our group and to the world of Daddy/Little dynamics as a whole. He’s stocky, but just as broad as Charlie (if a little bit shorter), with lush black hair he keeps coiffed in a rockabilly style, and a square jaw I’d kill for.
Finally, there’s Spencer. My closest friend in the group, and probably the next likely to consider himself ‘average’, though his height and his voice are superior to mine in every way. The latter isn’t really a surprise, considering his chosen career is as a voice actor and audiobook narrator. He’s tall and lean and charismatic in ways I can only dream of being.
All in all, I’ve always felt like I’ve been riding these guys’ coattails. They’re the cool kids on the playground and they’ve been kind enough to let me sit with them, but I know I’m out of place.
“Chance,” Charlie repeats my name, sounding a little horrified now. He reaches across the narrow counter that separates us, closing his wrist over mine. His blue eyes feel like they are searching my soul, and he frowns as though he’s just read my mind. “Do you really feel that way?”
Of all the guys in the group, Charlie’s not the one I thought I’d ever share this sort of deep and meaningful conversation with, but here we are.
I shrug and play dumb. “What way?”
“Like you’re not one of the hot Daddies, for one.” The phrase ‘hot Daddies’ sounds ridiculously silly coming from him, especially with that serious frown marring his handsome face, but I don’t laugh.
“I know who I am, Charlie,” I answer reasonably, “and I’m a realist. You put me in a line up with the rest of you and-”
“And you’re just as hot as any of us.”
I scoff at that.
“I’m serious,” he insists.
“I’m not looking for sympathy or fishing for compliments,” I respond calmly as I take a deep drag from my beer and then smack my lips together once I’ve swallowed. “I’m just saying, I know I’m…average in comparison. Plain. Boring. Whatever. And that’s okay. I don’twantto work for abs like you and Josh do, or go running like Spence does, or…y’know, anything like that. I’m comfortable with who I am. I just know it’s not as…uh…cover model-y as the rest of you. And sometimes I get irrationally jealous of that.”
Charlie’s still looking at me like I’ve kicked his puppy or something. “I don’t like that, man.” He scratches the back of his neck, discomfort etched all over his face. “I never realized you thought of yourself like that, and I don’t know what to say to fix it.”
