Page 4 of Lost Little Boy
So far, I’d come up empty, though I’d met several Daddies and littles I’d become friends with. It was a place I could be myself, and the idea of moving to the DC area and starting over to find new friends was the last damn thing I wanted to do.
I was going to be thirty-six in the not-so-distant future and part of me thought about settling down, but never in the way Nance and her husband, Adam, had done with their school parties, neighborhood association meetings and block parties. I wasn’t ready to be a father and wondered if I ever would be.
I was fine being a Daddy to the right boy, but he hadn’t come along. I kept hope alive that I’d find him some day. Unfortunately, the third Thursday night of April wasn’t that day.
There were a lot of boys and girls in the play areas, but none of those who were alone appealed to me. I didn’t know what I was looking for exactly. I wanted a boy with a little fire, but not some overindulged brat whose previous Daddy had decided they were too hard to handle and dumped them.
And it wasn’t a boy who wanted to make me a sugar daddy, either. Was it too much to ask for a sweet boy who was looking for a Daddy to offer him some guidance and nurturing that would allow the boy to fly?
I went to the bar in the middle of the warehouse that wasn’t associated with any of the smaller clubs. Oscar was sitting at the end with his laptop and a rocks glass of Jameson,neat. His usual.
“Mind if I join you?” I pulled out the stool next to him, not waiting for an answer.
“No little for the night, Wex? Are you only into guys, or do you like girls, too? I saw a cute little with blond curls and a sweet smile in the art area who might interest you.” Oscar gave me a sideways glance as he played online poker on his computer.
“Strictly dickly, but thanks. What about you? I don’t see you perusing the offerings.” The bartender walked over, and I pointed to Ossie’s drink and held up two fingers. They nodded and walked away.
“You know, a Daddy/little relationship doesn’t have to be sexual. If you enjoy the job of taking care of a little, you can be satisfied with a platonic relationship.” Ossie smirked at me.
I raised my right eyebrow. “How about you? You have a lot of platonic little relationships?”
Ossie laughed and held up his left hand. “I’m a one man’s man. And, as many married Daddies have said, I was never in control of the relationship, and now even less so. We’ve been married for five years—”
A small hand touched Ossie’s shoulder. “Careful, I’ll turn you overmyknee.”
We all laughed. “Carmine, it’s good to see you. How’ve you been?”
Carmine, his husband, shook my hand. He was a petite guy with dark curly hair and big brown eyes. His Italian heritage was strong. “I’m good. How about you?”
That was easy. “Fighting with my father over moving down to DC. I’m not excited about the prospect.”
Carmine laughed. “I’ve lived in that area before I met Daddy Ossie. It was a different culture, really. I liked living in Baltimore better.”
Popping him on the ass, Ossie said, “Yes, well, you went to orgies every weekend in Baltimore, which is why I don’t let you go back without me.”
Ossie looked at me. “Why are you so opposed to moving to DC? Can’t you go down during the week and come back to New York for the weekends?”
While a good idea in theory, the pushback from my father when I’d suggested it was bigger than I’d expected. “Not according to my father. He wants me…”
Who the hell had I suddenly become? The New York Times, broadcasting my business to friendly acquaintances?
“It’s a never-ending saga, but enough of that. How’s business?” I took a gulp of my drink, getting ready to leave.
“We’re thinking about reworking Feathers. Lingerie fetishists have slowed down on the scene over the winter. Carmie suggested we revamp it as a dance club and flood it with foam on the weekends for jock nights. I’m not thrilledwith the idea of making it a big washing machine on Saturday and Sunday nights, only to have to scrub it down on Mondays.” Ossie kissed Carmine’s temple, which was sweet.
I finished my drink, threw money on the bar and stood. “Good luck with the foam. Let me know where you get your bubbles so I can invest.”
Carmine gave me a hug, and Ossie shook my hand before I left. I caught a cab outside, and I was tucked into my lonely bed by nine. What a fucking night.
I landed at Reagan Washington National Airport at seven thirty on Friday evening. My flight had been two hours late, but that was because a nasty thunderstorm had come through DC, delaying takeoff from LaGuardia.
I deplaned, carry-on in hand, only bringing clothes for two days. I was leaving on Sunday evening to return to New York to exchange bags and leave on Monday morning for Vietnam on a buying trip. Mom would be happy to see me, but my father would be pissed because I was late.
It didn’t seem that I could ever win with Junior. Regardless of the reason I was late, my father wouldask why I didn’t plan for bad weather and take an earlier flight. He was always right, or so he’d told me every time he criticized me.
I hurried out of the terminal to grab a cab, dodging puddles. Once I had a taxi, I let out a sigh of relief. “I’m going to Arlington’s Courthouse area. Twenty-two hundred Clarendon Boulevard, please.”
The driver chuckled. “Okay, but I can’t guarantee we’ll be there anytime soon. That storm caused a few accidents, but I’ll get you there as quick as I can.”
