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“Fifty-five. The world was different thirty years ago. Especially in law enforcement.”
“I can see that there’s a lot of toxic masculinity involved in certain professions. I’ll tell you a secret.”
“Do tell, baby boy.” His lashes fluttered, and he dropped his gaze to the table. “You’re adorable when you do that.”
“Forty-three-year-old men aren’t adorable.”
“Who says? You definitely are. I thought so the minute I saw you. You’re one of the reasons I showed back up so quickly. I wanted to see you again.”
“You don’t have to say that.”
“I typically go with honesty. It gets rid of the chance of miscommunication. I’m not a teenager or a closeted twenty-something anymore. What’s your secret?”
“This is my first date. Well, you’re the first person I’ve been drawn to in three years.”
“I feel honored. Beautiful younger man is interested in the old man.”
“You’re not old.” As he whispered, he rolled his eyes at me. “You’re just fishing for compliments.”
“Maybe.” It hurt my pride how much my ex leaving me had made me question myself, everything from how much I must’ve sucked as a husband and how much older I looked since I’d realized I wanted to try to romance the beautiful boy across from me. “Tell me about your life. Don’t leave out a detail.”
“There’s not much to say. I’m a widower. I’m a therapist who specializes in trauma.”
“Is there a reason for your specialty?”
He opened his mouth several times without anything coming out, and then he let out the heaviest little sigh. “I grew up in an abusive home. I couldn’t get out of this city fast enough. All the schools I’d applied to were nowhere near here. I committed to the one the farthest away and never looked back.”
“Was it everything you thought it would be?”
A soft smile appeared on his handsome face. “It was more. Even before I met my husband, I knew I’d made the best decision of my life. I felt like I finally found myself.”
“I get that. I’m proud of you for recognizing what was best for you and going for it. Beautiful and smart.”
“Does flattery just come naturally for you?”
“If you don’t let someone know how you feel about them, how are you supposed to develop intimacy?”
“In-intimacy?”
“Intimacy has nothing to do with sex, well, it does, but true intimacy begins with open communication and trust between two people who are interested in each other. It’s sharing our lives, ideals…hopes, and dreams. Then if that goes well, there’s physical intimacy, that’s taking pleasure in someone’s physical presence. Touching and kissing”—I let my gaze fall to his mouth—“and in some dynamics, trust is very important.”
“Dynamics?”
“Do you want me to explain what a Daddy does for his boy in public?” I asked, and his pretty face went up in flames.
“You’re awfully open about that part of yourself.”
“As I said, honest communication is key, but being a Daddy for me is as part of me as the color of my eyes and my prematurely silver hair. Denying that wouldn’t be true to myself.”
“Could I ask questions?”
“Of course, ask whatever you want.”
“How did you learn that was something you needed?”
“I was briefly someone’s boy once.” Fuck, I hadn’t thought about that in years. It was a confusing year of self-discovery. My Dominant had taught me everything I needed to know. We hadn’t been in a romantic relationship. Being in the closet, I’d hid a lot of myself. One night after an age regression scene, we’d sat down to have something to drink and eat. He’d asked me if I truly liked being taken care of. My answer had been yes, but I’d felt more of a kinship with the Daddy. I’d watched him with countless submissives and Littles, and I was envious of the trust they’d placed in his hands.
“You?”
