Page 13 of Dear Daddy, Please Want Me

So Santa, if you want to help a good little Jew boy out, how about a hot Daddy to watch cheesy movies with?

And since I’ve been so good this year, maybe make him a nice Jewish man that I can bring home to my family on Passover? (Don’t worry, I wouldn’t tell them all the depraved things he does to me in bed.)

Love and kisses,

Levi

He clicked a few random boxes and checked the matches. No PerfectDaddy to be found and a 61% match.

Alright, maybe it was time to track it through the matching algorithm. I.e., his worst nightmare.

He started tracing through each of the features line by line, setting the program to spit out a step-through log for each module that he checked. He had to admit that the code was well-documented, but the whole thing was held together by bubblegum and duct tape. The legacy code never got thrown out and the modules had baby modules with little tiny yippy dog modules that should have just been put together in the first place.

It was kind of interesting reading them sometimes. Someone had put a lot of thought into matching switches up correctly, for example, since they might be interested in different things while acting as Doms than subs.

Someone had apparently put an equal amount of thought into putting categories of kinks together which served no real purpose that he could see. It was something like, if you liked shibari and general bondage and spankings you’d be in a different category than if you liked shibari and sensory play and edging, which could put you in a match category of people who liked some of those same things but also different ones... What the hell did that even mean? Wasn’t the whole point of the checklist to just check the things you wanted to do with someone else? Why match someone to a person who didn’t actually check the same things?

Well, the initials on whoever commented the code weren’t ones he knew, so apparently they didn’t work here any more.

He looked back and saw that the weight of the weird category module in the overall match was so low as to be almost irrelevant. Apparently this had turned out to be a stupid idea, which he could have told them in the first place.

This was why he didn’t like the matching algorithm.

It did make him realize that he should probably look at the modules with more weight first. He dove into another module, but soon felt his eyes glazing over. Reading through large quantities of other people’s code sucked. Reading output logs sucked. It wasn’t the creative, energizing programming that he loved or even the satisfaction he got out of doing a more routine job efficiently.

Ugh.

He hated to do it, but maybe it was time to call Christy.

4

Levi

Levi was about to hang up when Christy picked up the phone.

“Hello?” she whispered. “Levi?” She sounded wretched.

“Hey Christy, I think I should go. I was going to ask your advice on something, but it sounds like you’re pretty sick. You should get some sleep.”

“Hang on.” There was a long pause and then she came back, speaking at a normal volume. “How’s it going?”

“I’m fine. I mean, I’m working on the weekend, but how are you?”

“Much better now. I’m at my sister’s house and we all got food poisoning last night. I’m pretty much over the worst of it. My sister’s kids are sleeping it off in the living room, except the youngest one who thought shrimp were yucky. He’s been climbing the walls since no one else is well enough to play with him. It’s been quite the weekend. So here’s my advice to the world: just say no to shrimp."

“Ugh. That sounds horrible, but I’m glad you’re feeling better. And fortunately, I never eat shrimp anyway.”

“Really? But they’re so tasty!” As soon as she said it she groaned and they laughed together.

“I’ve seriously never tried one. They’re treyf. Those ancient rabbis must have known there was something unclean about the little critters. I mean, they have so many skittery little legs! And, you know, food poisoning.”

“You don’t eat the legs. Now crab legs, those are tasty…”

“Treyf, treyf, treyf!” he spoke over her. He really did have a visceral reaction to food that he’d been taught his whole life was “dirty.” When your religious rules said you couldn’t even eat food that had touched it indirectly through an object that had been washed—you kind of developed an instinctive shudder.

“Alright,” Christy snapped back to business. “What are you calling about?”

“Did Saul tell you anything earlier?”