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She sighs, gently placing the microphone on the small table, and turns to me. “Dean, my darling, and I say this with love…Jerad doesn’t want you in their way. You’ve given them a full rundown of our operations, provided them an in-depth tour, and spent two days prepping for tonight.”
“I hear you. But—”
“Nope. Stop.” She lifts her delicate hand in the air to ward off my rebuttal. “They need to run security without our staff’s involvement to ensure everything they want to put in place works properly. Now let it go.”
“Fine,” I snap.
Madam pats my arm. “I know you’re not thrilled with my roping you into the event tonight. Think of it as a favor—even if it’s for your own good—and perhaps you’ll find yourself a little less resistant.”
It would be unbecoming of a Daddy Dom to cross his arms and pout, right? I settle for a quick glare and lean against the wall. Madam rolls her eyes and continues getting ready for the event to start in a few minutes, leaving me to stew in my irritation.
I don’t understand why this woman can’t let me be. I’ve lived all forty-ish years of this life without her guidance—or opinion. I am perfectly content as I am. Just because my dominance prefers the role of a Daddy doesn’t mean I need a permanent boy of my own.
I don’t have some traumatic dating history, a lineage of broken hearts, or poor examples of healthy relationships in my formative years. I’ve done the whole dating thing in the past and never found someone who just…fit. Eventually, I stopped trying tomakesomeone fit, content to be single and indulge my kink through one-night stands and the occasional vanilla hookup.
After all these years, I am more than fine with how I choose to engage in my kink, regardless of whether or not I’m currently in thelongestdry spell in the history of ever. It’s almost an irrelevant point these days.
Not that there’s a lack of boys to choose from at The Garden. Hell, I’m fairly certain the sub to Dom ratio of our members is five-to-one. It’s about quality, not quantity.
I’m too scary for the type of boys I actually want. You don’t often find sweet littles who have any interest beyond morbid curiosity or outright fear when faced with a six-foot-seven man covered in tattoos from head to toe. No matter how soft I truly am as a Dom, littles can’t ever seem to get past my physical exterior.
And the submissive boys attracted to me, yeah, not my thing. I have less than zero interest in being a brat tamer. After all these years, I know myself well enough to understand that heavy-impact play is not my thing.
There’s nothing wrong with choosing celibacy over incompatibility.
My kinks were developed at a rather young age. Back in college, my then-boyfriend Scott and I were two warm-blooded boys exploring a hearty sex drive as most young twenty-somethings do. We spent our afternoons or evenings outside of classes or parties wrapped in naked limbs, unequally proportioned amounts of lube, and a nonstop stream of porn as background noise.
On more than one occasion, porn was an inspiration. As our curiosity—and frankly, our horniness—grew, we found ourselves looking into other categories of interest. A few videos here, a random munch there, and we began exploring a BDSM dynamic.
It was easy for us at the start. Scott had a subservient nature about him. Even outside the bedroom, he deferred to me without a second thought. Seeking guidance or permission was as natural as breathing. It wasn’t until he began researching BDSM that he finally had a name for all those feelings he’d built up for so long.
For me, it was much the same. I’d finally found an explanation for why I enjoyed ordering for him at dinner or why it was such a turn-on when I’d scold him for pushing off his studies and he’d apologize. It gave me a clear understanding of why the first time I held his wrists between my hands and pinned him to the mattress, I came harder than I had in my life.
We learned this world, this community, slowly and together. We developed our kinks over time, coming to terms with our needs and desires. Unfortunately, all thatunderstandingandacceptanceis what finally drove us apart.
I developed my dominance quickly, knowing control was what I needed, what I thrived with. Yet, even with all the control in the world, giving pain wasn’t something I could ever grow comfortable with. I wanted more of the tender aspects of domination. Scott was the opposite.
The further he grew into his submissive role, the more he wanted to explore. I was fine with the spankings, even if they weren’t my favorite. It’s when Scott asked for more pain, not only the physical variety. He wanted much more than welts and bruises from toys. He wanted to be humiliated, degraded, and once asked to take a test drive with knives.
I tried for him.Anything once. That’s what we’d agreed to.
Where I struggled and faltered as a sadist, he found passion and surrender in masochism. I found a voracious need to be soft and tender, to spoil and cherish—the aftercare wasn’t enough for me.
The longer we immersed ourselves in the scene, the more we gained insight into how we could never be what one another needed.
I loved Scott. He was my first, and for four years, he was my everything. But we were young. People grow up, but they also grow apart. Our relationship ended mutually, and I helped Scott find a Dom who could serve all aspects of his needs. He’s been happily married to Paul for six years now. Paul is also the person who introduced me to the Daddy aspect of domination.
It was everything I didn’t realize I had been missing. Then the final puzzle piece clicked when Paul and Scott invited me to an event night at their club back in Tennessee. It was there I had my first interaction with age play.
Accidentally walking into the club’s playroom, I found a man wearing a diaper and a cropped T-shirt cuddling up next to another man who was reading to him from a children’s book. I was struck, frozen, unable to stop my awkward and extremely inappropriate gawking.
They were perfect. Such love and adoration poured out between them. It was an innocent moment, no doubt. I watched as the Daddy tended to his boy’s every unspoken need. He never stopped the story’s steady cadence while covering his boy with a blanket when a small chill ran through him, passing off a sippy cup, and kissing his forehead softly when his eyes drooped.
Paul found me then, slapped my shoulder with a hearty laugh, and said, “Looks like you found what you’ve been looking for, Dean. Want to chat about it?”
I’ve had a few boys over the years, but none who stuck the way Paul and Scott have. The few littles who’ve managed to get past my exterior and learn about the Daddy in me never became more than a few playdates.
Thunderous cheers and Madam Eve’s voice cheerfully booming over the speakers break me from the unintended trip down memory lane. “I hope you are all excited to see our Daddies!” Madam Eve’s exuberant comment is met with whoops of excitement. “Let the bidding begin!”
