Page 43 of Icebreaker
“What is it?”
“Would you let me try feeding you dinner?”
“Are you sure you want to? I just worry.”
Daddy B pulled me in for another cuddle and asked, “What are you worried about, baby?”
“I don’t want it to be too much. I know you said you wanted to be a Daddy, but here you’ve got me living with you. Oh my gosh, I don’t even know what I’m trying to say.”
“Yeah, it has been different, but it’s a good different, and I fucking love it. I had no idea what it would feel like to take care of someone when they are as perfect as you.”
“Daddy, that’s not true.”
“It is true. You’re funny, you’re smart, you’re sexy as hell.”
“See, now I know you’re being ridiculous.” Daddy’s eyes suddenly clouded over and his expression became firmer than it had been before
“Baby boy, remember what I said would happen if you talked shit about yourself?”
“You said I’d get a punishment.”
“Yeah, that’s a nonnegotiable for me. So I need you to go grab your journal and write in there ten times:I will not talk bad about myself because I’m amazing.”
“Is it talking bad about myself if it’s the truth?”
“It’s not though. The truth is that you are fucking wonderful and I’m so goddamn lucky that I stumbled in on you when you were in the locker room. And in case you’re wondering, you will be doing your punishment at the kitchen table, and it is not negotiable unless you’re pulling your safeword.”
“I’m not safewording about writing sentences.” I knew I sounded petulant, but I didn’t care.
“Then you better get to it.”
I grabbed my journal from the desk in my room and settled myself at the kitchen table. With pen in hand, physically writing the words became an insurmountable task. To put on paper that I was amazing felt like a monumental lie. My grip on the pencil was tight enough to bend it a little, but I couldn’t make myselfwrite the words. Daddy B, who’d been watching me, strode purposefully across the room and crouched next to my chair.
“Kiddo, what’s wrong?” Daddy’s hands landed on my thighs as he waited for me to speak.
As hard as it was to put the words on paper, I definitely couldn’t speak them aloud. There was nothing awesome about me. I was a nondescript guy doing a nondescript job and leading a nondescript life. There was nothing fucking awesome about me. But if I put that down on paper, it would be a lie. However, if I admitted there wasn’t anything great about me, then I would sound like a pathetic loser to Brennen Tate, goalie of our hockey team, whom everybody thought was really fucking awesome.
“I just don’t think I can do this. It’s not that I don’t want to. It’s that I can’t.” This was so embarrassing. I should’ve just written it down. It wasn’t like it really mattered anyway, but I had to make a big deal out of it for no reason other than… I didn’t even know why.
“Why do you say that?” Daddy B didn’t press me for an answer or list off a bunch of alternatives it could’ve been. Instead, he stayed right next to me, crouched down, and let me formulate an answer in my head before I forced myself to speak.
“I just don’t think I’m fucking awesome. I’m basic. My family isn’t rich. I’m terrible at sports. There’s no one who’s going to go weak in the knees because I smile at them. I’m not dumb, but I’m not a super genius either. Writing down a sentence that says I’m awesome feels like more of a joke on me than anything.”
If my goal was to ruin whatever amount of attraction Daddy B felt toward me, this was the perfect way to go. There was nothing like laying all my insecurities bare. If I didn’t already feel like such a joke, I would’ve laughed at myself. I could tell Daddy B was choosing his words carefully. He was thinking hard about them before he spoke.
“How about we table this for now, and you come take a walk with me? I think we could both use some fresh air.”
“You’re not mad, Daddy B?”
“Not at all, kiddo. Come on, let’s go get your shoes on and then we’ll go.” Daddy B took my hand and led me into the living room, where my shoes were next to the couch. He helped me put them on and then tied them tight. The apartment was only a block or two from the city park, so we headed over there at a brisk pace. The Pacific Northwest in the spring wasn’t exactly warm, but at least the rain had let up for a couple of hours. Even though it was soggy, everything smelled fresh and new.
At the entrance to the park, Daddy veered us off to the right, which led to an undeveloped path along a creek bed. I stopped to read the sign that said it was a salmon spawning creek, but it was too early to see any fish. The farther we ventured down the trail, the more rustic it became until it felt like a path cut through the woods. In about five minutes, a clearing opened up, and we arrived near a shallow creek bed. There were a few benches and picnic tables set up along the pebbled creek edge.
“How do you even know about this place?”
“I grew up in this neighborhood, and we used to come down here as kids to play war or whatever. When I got older and needed to think, I’d come down here too. Skipping rocks clears my head. When I told my parents my major, I spent a lot of time down here.”
“Why?”
