Page 15 of Daddy's Muse
I didn’t think he noticed me. I didn’t expect him to. But just as I passed near the entrance, his eyes lifted. They were a gorgeous pale blue, like the sky on a foggy early morning, and they settled on me with a stillness that made my breath hitch.
Then, he smiled. Soft. Brief. Like a secret only I got to see.
I offered a shy smile back before I could overthink it.
He didn’t say anything. Neither did I. He just returned to his book, and I kept walking toward the doors, cheeks flushed, heart doing this weird fluttery thing that made no sense at all.
Was he a grad student?He had to be, right? He looked too old to be an undergrad—late twenties, maybe even thirties? I wondered what he studied. Philosophy, maybe. Or literature. Something heavy and thoughtful. I couldn’t picture someone like him rushing to a stats lecture or squeezing into a crowded chem lab.
No, he would be better suited to deep, insightful conversations on Plato or Dante’s Inferno. Oh, maybe he was a professor?
The cold hit me as I stepped outside, but I barely felt it.
For the first time all day, something like curiosity nudged aside the heaviness in my chest.
Who was he?
And why did I kind of wish I’d said something?
He would be a good Daddy,my stupid brain unhelpfully supplied. I shook the thought away. Stupid, stupid brain.
I didn’t even know the man. We’d barely shared more than a handful of words. And yeah, he’d been polite when speakingwith me, but that didn’t really say much. He could be an awful person!
But… it was hard to imagine that. It was much easier to imagine him picking me up and settling me in his lap, brushing his hand through my hair, murmuring soothing niceties and promises in my ear as I drifted off to sleep.
If I remembered right, he had the perfect voice for bedtime stories.
My insides squirmed as I walked back to the dorm.
I had discovered the world of caregivers and littles and middles and all that it entailed in late high school.
I’d never played in real life—well, with another person. I did a lot of little stuff on my own.
It seemed pretty implausible that I would ever have a Daddy.
Firstly, I’d have to find someone attracted to me.
Strike one.
Then, I’d have to see if they were okay with Daddy kink.
Second strike.
And lastly, I’d have to explain that I wasn’t just a regular boy, but a little who liked feeling small and playing with stuffies, and that it leaned more into the lifestyle territory than just a kink I wanted to indulge in from time to time.
Third strike—you’re out.
I couldn’t remember when the last time I had gone into littlespace was. It must have been before the start of the school year, at my grandparents’ house. Now that I was sharing a dorm room with Bryan, there was nowhere for me to relax. I’d made such a mistake even bringing my blankie with me. If I’d have just left it at home…
I held back my tears.
I just… wanted someone to take care of me.
…someone to say,“You’re safe now. I’ve got you.”
Someone to hold me and mean it.
But people likehim—men who looked like they’d stepped out of a fantastical dream, who probably had important jobs and houses and five-year plans—didn’t end up with people likeme.
