Chapter Five

Spoiler—he didn't call.

I called Billy, who hadn't heard anything from him, and said his Dom hadn't either. He had a million questions for me about how it went, but I tried to dodge them. I didn't think Michael would want me to talk about it. He had my number, so I hoped he might text again, but I didn't hear from him. Every time the phone dinged over the next few days I ran to check it, but it was never him.

And that, as they say, was that.

Fast forward six months and Billy quit the restaurant to live with his boyfriend full time. As people do, we promised to keep in touch, but we didn't. I left school at the end of that semester. I lost my job at Gio's when they hired a new manager who thought I looked young and asked for my birth certificate. Since I was too young to work as a bartender, I just went home "to get it" and never went back.

But I was out of money, and I hated the idea of taking out more student loans. I had bounced around way too much, trying first one major and then another, and I discovered there wasn't much I could do with my credits at that point. I'd have to stay in school another two years before I could graduate, but I was so deeply in debt I couldn't. I was tired of it all, so I finally gave up and decided to just get a full-time job and start my life.

I was sick of school to be honest. My friends told me I'd never go back if I quit. My friends told me I should never have skipped around taking all those unrelated classes. My friends were just full of advice, it seemed, but none of it helped one damn bit.

I decided to ignore all of them and follow my own plan—to work a while and maybe earn enough to put a few dollars away for things like tuition later on. I'd developed the really bad habit of eating regularly too, so I had to find a job pretty quickly. I wanted a job I'd enjoy and that I didn't dread going to every day if I could find one. And I made the decision to do all that near a beach somewhere, if at all possible, because that was my favorite place in the world, and if I had to work anyway, I might as well work in paradise.

I got a job for the next few months in a grocery store, just enough to barely get by. Finally, my birthday rolled around and I decided to make my move.

It wasn't that major a move, really, since I already lived in Florida. I went online on various websites to search for jobs in south Florida, where my favorite beaches were, and luckily, I found just the kind of job I was looking for, tending bar in a nightclub in Ft. Lauderdale. I quickly applied, and the manager who contacted me through Zoom for an interview told me the salary, which was good, and the tips, which were great. He told me straight up that they'd had some trouble finding experienced bartenders and then keeping them in the position in the past.

The reason may have been the kind of bar it was . Lucifer's Den in Ft. Lauderdale was an impressive place on the inside and out, but it was also a gay nightclub and had multiple floors—the job I was specifically interviewing for was in the huge basement that was set up like a dungeon.

It was strictly a BDSM club. There were lots of gays in South Florida, but I could see why the management might have had trouble finding just the right person in the current political climate all over the state. The managers didn't want any sightseers or people who might be there for the wrong reasons. That's what the bar manager told me anyway.

The club was quiet on the day I went for my in-person interview. I had pulled the plug and loaded up my stuff in my buddy's car and paid him to drive me to Ft. Lauderdale. I figured I'd fully commit to this and hope the universe saw it my way.

I found a cheap motel that you paid for by the week well off the beach and took the bus to the club. The club was right across the street from the water, and it was really upscale and nice. I took a deep breath and went in. The interior of Lucifer's Den was dark and decadent and definitely modern. The first thing I noticed on the day I went there was that people in the Den were already in various stages of undress and it was only late afternoon. There was a lot of bondage gear and leather shorts that were barely even worthy of the name. And if that was how it was at this time of day. I thought it must get a little wild later on, after dark.

The manager came out to greet me when I arrived and showed me around. At the very front of the club was a small reception area where guests were checked in, and anyone who wasn't a member of the club was limited in their ability to see what was happening inside the main room. The bar itself had tables and chairs, as well as lounging areas out in front so people could sit and talk, and it was totally separated from the "play areas" which had all the BDSM equipment you could ever imagine. There were also private dungeon rooms, with dungeon masters in charge, monitoring various screens to make sure everything going on inside the rooms was safe and consensual.

As to what that might be, it generally depended on the theme for that night. There was even a large loft area that had an entrance off the reception area and belonged strictly to the Littles. It had solid walls to protect privacy, and no one could see into it unless you climbed the stairs. There was a large window overlooking the floor below that had curtains you could pull. Eventually, the manager told me, someone always came over to pull the curtains over the glass on the front door too. I was fascinated by that room.

The manager at the club believed in cross training where possible, though no one but experienced Doms were allowed to fill the Dungeon Master positions. People like me, though, were asked to work an occasional shift at the front desk, checking people in, or in the other rooms, keeping them straightened up after someone had been using them. I might even be expected to valet park some evenings. All that was fine with me, and the bar supervisor, Toby, seemed to like the way I looked. He told me I'd probably do pretty well in tips.

He showed me around and took me inside the Littles room, which was empty—he made sure before he let me in—and it was large and spacious, with plenty of soft lighting and big sofas and cushy chairs scattered around. There were rugs on the floor near some toy boxes and even a large screen TV. Off the main room was a smaller one with a couple of big, padded tables and some lockers against the walls. I assumed it was the changing room, maybe even literally. I was curious about it, but it made me a little uncomfortable to be in there. Maybe it was too close to home.

It wasn't the idea of Littles. I had my own kinks when it came to that. But I kept mine strictly private. I think it could have been that some aspects of what went on in that room seemed way too appealing. The dressing up and the toys and the coloring looked peaceful and soothing. And having a Daddy taking care of you…that was everything. I also knew it was something that would never happen for me, so I just tried not to dwell on it.

As for the other BDSM sections of the club, I didn't mind them, though I didn't have any interest . Despite my one experience with Michael—something I still thought about from time to time—I didn't think that lifestyle was my scene. Michael had been the big draw for me that night and not what he'd done to me. I still didn't like pain.

Anyway, it was a well-run club from what I'd seen, and I thought the job would work out great for me. Not only did I really need the extra cash from the tips, but I was also as gay as a pride parade. Not kinky, or not in the same way, but at least I'd tried to be once. And I admit I was still fascinated by a lot of it.

I spoke to the bartender who was working, and he said that some guys stopped in after work for a drink or just to have dinner. As for the bartender himself, he wore dark pants with the club logo on the front pockets. No shirt, but I didn't mind that. It was an extra incentive for me to keep eating healthy and keep my tan going.

The manager gave me the job and I was thrilled. I thought maybe I would finally be able to get my life going.

Over the next week or so, I found a tiny, cheap apartment a few blocks from the beach, and started work at the Den . I loved it from the start.

I spent a lot of my free time during the day and my days off in the sun. Every morning, I ran on the beach and then went for a swim in the ocean and let the sun dry me off. It was like living in paradise, just like I'd thought it would be.

If you didn't mind the sketchy section of town my apartment was in, it had its perks. It was small, so I didn't have a lot to do at home. It was on the bus line, and considering I didn't know the streets all that well, and I sure wasn't used to the high volume of traffic, I used the bus to get back and forth to my job every day and saved money on a car.

I was a little lonely, but then again, my interests had always been pretty much a secret from my friends, requiring me to maintain a little distance.

After I'd been working at Lucifer's a few months, I came to realize that people liked all kinds of things I'd never even imagined, and that was okay. My kink didn't have to be somebody else's, and vice versa. But still, I couldn't shake the idea that my particular quirk was a little out there on the fringe, and I was embarrassed by it. Then one night I had to go upstairs with a mop to clean up a spill in the Littles room and I discovered that what I had thought of as so weird was actually kind of mild in the Littles world.

There were guys there wearing diapers and drinking out of bottles. There were also guys I could identify with more, who wore pajamas like the ones I'd ordered off Amazon and had teddy bears and were playing with toys.

What bothered me the most was that the room appealed to me so much.

Nobody was doing anything special that evening I went up there to clean up a sticky juice spill. A few Doms—or I should say Daddies—were sitting around on the sofas, watching their boys, who weren't doing much of anything either, but just playing with the toys or sitting next to their Daddies or in their laps. Some had pacifiers in their mouths, and some were sucking their thumbs. A few had sippy cups, and some had bottles. I tried my best not to react in any way or even look at them.

Have you ever tried not to look at something? It just made you think about it even more and I almost strained my neck in an effort not to stare. Not because of anything they were doing, but because they were so open about it. So free to act the way they wanted, with no judgement coming from anyone.

Nothing sexual was going on—this didn't seem to be the place for that. For one moment, I wished I could be there with them, with my own Daddy.

It was funny how Doms and submissives were often stereotyped, even in a club like Lucifer's Den with some people thinking Doms were tougher with their beards and tattoos and that subs were smaller and weaker somehow. I'd already learned that both of them came in all types and body shapes and sizes, and you definitely couldn't tell just by looking.

Most people took one look at me, for example, and if they judged only by my looks, they might assume I was a young Dom. I liked to work out, so I had some muscles, and when I was extremely drunk my sophomore year in college, I'd gotten a tattoo on my shoulder. It was pretty awful, because it was so cheap—I should have known better. I finally had to save the money up to get it fixed by a good tattoo artist, and he did a little more than I'd intended him to. He'd said he'd had to in order to cover it up. Anyway, I liked the way it looked, so eventually, I saved up and got a whole sleeve, and a few more too, because it became kind of addictive.

I'd met a lot of the submissives in the club by now, and they didn't fit any kind of mold that I could see either. Some were as muscular as me and even more so. Some had beards and tattoos and piercings…there was a whole range of types. It was only the Littles that I'd met that sometimes seemed a bit more delicate, but that could have just been my perception. And probably wishful thinking on my part. It helped me to be able to look at myself in the mirror and think, "Okay, you may like the idea of it, but there's no way you're like them. You wouldn't fit in and that's why you can't join them."

And then there was the fact I didn't have a Daddy.

I did try doing a scene or two with a couple of different Doms over the next few months after work, though, as I settled into the new job, just to see—and to stop them from asking all the time. Neither of them had really worked for me.

I didn't mind kneeling for them. I enjoyed that part, honestly. It was easy for me to sink into a place where my mind quieted down, and I could relax and take a deep breath. It was the one thing I really enjoyed. One of the Doms who helped me had taught me how to rise and lower myself at least semi- gracefully, and how to stay on my knees for a long time if the Dom wanted me to and how to properly respond with respect when spoken to by a Dom. All that was easy enough, though I didn't really feel the respect for those guys, so in some ways that part was just a lie.

What I really wanted? I wanted someone strong enough to make me do what they told me to do. Not physically or in a harsh way, but by the strength of their personality. I liked the idea of a stern Daddy who was also caring and kind. I thought a lot about Michael and how understanding he'd been that one and only night we'd spent together. I wanted someone like him, only with no need to inflict spankings on me, for pleasure or otherwise. Someone who could give me rules and make me stick to them whether I wanted to or not, though. Who could tell me what to do, and with one look, I'd feel the need to comply. Because he made me want to and not just because he'd told me to. Because he was my Daddy.

It was a big order to fill, I guess.

What I really wanted was someone to look out for me and help me when things got too hard and stressful, like the times when I felt some of the old panicky feelings coming back that I'd had since I was a child. I wanted the comfort and the feeling of security I could only get from sinking into that safe space in my head.

I still remembered the feeling I'd had that first night with my first foster mother. She held me in her lap that night, because I wouldn't stop crying. I missed my mama, because it didn't matter if she ignored me most of the time—she was still all I knew and all I had. The foster mother gave me a pacifier and a stuffed toy to soothe me and reassured me I was going to be okay. I remember being on her lap as she rocked me. All the noise in my head quieted down, and I was finally able to fall asleep.

Since that time, I knew what to do to shut off my brain for a little while. I never forgot it. I tried to hide the pacifier under my mattress, once my foster mother thought I was too old for it anymore. But she found it and threw it away. That night, when I got really desperate, I found out my thumb was a pretty good substitute. I kept my teddy bear under my pillow and didn't take it out until everyone else was asleep. Even then I kept him hidden under the covers. It was my secret, and I knew the others would tease me and call me a baby if they saw me. So, I learned to hide to protect myself.

And sometimes, all alone in my apartment, I'd put on my special clothes, like my little t-shirt or pajama pants with little cartoon figures on them and maybe some warm socks or big fuzzy slippers. All my comfort clothes. I even had a few stuffed toys I liked to hold while I stuck my thumb in my mouth and watched mindless TV shows and just didn't think about anything.

I knew it was wrong, or I felt like it was. Embarrassing and shameful. I felt like something was wrong inside my brain. And if I sometimes wished I had someone who would understand that part of me regardless of all that and take care of me when I was feeling little…who would make all the adult decisions for me and just tell me what to do then that was my problem and nobody else's.

I knew it would never happen. None of those dreams would ever come true for me. But I also didn't want anyone to know my secrets and then feel sorry for me and think of me as weird and ridiculous and laugh at me. Some things were just better off kept secret, the way they'd always been. I promised myself I'd never tell anyone.

Then one evening, after I'd been working at Lucifer's Den for almost a year, and on what started out as a typical Saturday night at the club, everything in my life changed.