Chapter 5

I expected that being done with finals would feel like a huge relief. It had been for the last two years, and I mean… I guessed it was. I'd definitely felt relieved, along with an almost giddy sense of freedom, when Tyler and I had gone out for pizza after our last test today.

But then I'd sent Daddy that picture of my salad, and I couldn't even be embarrassed about how much I'd looked forward to him telling me he was proud of me, or that I was a "good boy," just like he always did when I showed him that I was following one of his "rules" and taking care of myself, because…

Ugh.

I tossed my phone aside, giving up on scrolling through cute cat videos on TikTok since it wasn't helping me turn my brain off, and grabbed my pillow, hugging it to my chest.

"What is wrong with me?" I whispered, feeling stupid for saying it out loud, because who was I asking? The air?

No, I felt stupid because what I really wanted was to ask Daddy these types of things.

It was crazy how he'd become the person I wanted to tell everything to lately, and the one I trusted to have the answers when I needed them. Because I didn't really know him, did I?

This morning, I would have said I did, but now I could see that my, um, friendship with him had just sort of existed in a bubble. One I'd never poked at all that much, because…

Well, I didn't really know why.

I just knew that him offering to come in person to look at the hot water heater was freaking me out. It was almost like I'd never really let myself think too much about how he was a real, live, flesh-and-blood person. Which sounded dumb, but I mean, I didn't even know what he looked like, and I'd sort-of-on-purpose-without-letting-myself-think-about-it-too-much also made sure to never include selfies when I sent him my daily proof of eating vegetables pictures.

"Oh my God, I don't even know his name," I said… out loud again like a big dork, but holy shit. How? How had he become the most important person in my life and I didn't even know him?

It wasn't like we even chatted on an app where I could, like, look at his profile or anything.

We texted. With phone numbers. Like I did with my parents.

My stomach did a weird squirming thing. I didn't like thinking of the idea of Daddy and my actual dad having anything in common. I mean, they didn't, other than their names.

Ugh. Not their names. But calling Daddy Daddy didn't feel like calling my dad "Dad," not at all. Daddy may have been super, like, supportive and wonderful and kind, which I supposed could have been parental? Except my parents weren't always like that, and Daddy didn't feel like a parent, and…

And just…

"Ugh," I screamed, mashing the pillow over my face.

I had to stop obsessing over this, because honestly, I didn't even know what it was that I was obsessing about. It wasn't like anything had changed just because suddenly I might actually meet Daddy in real life someday if there was ever an emergency, or the water heater started to leak again or something.

A heavy, ugly feeling settled over my chest, making it hard to breathe, and I blinked away a sudden hot sting in my eyes.

Maybe that was it. Daddy could have met me at any time if he'd wanted to, if he'd just said so. And sure, it would have felt weird right in the beginning when we didn't know each other well, but I talked to him every single day. I told him pretty much everything. I felt, well, things. Almost like he was my best friend, except maybe something a little different than that, too.

I'd never had anyone who I actually felt like I could tell everything to before, or who would always be there when I needed him. And, like, obviously, it wasn't a bad thing that he'd offered to come over to help if stuff around the house broke again. It was… great.

I just didn't understand why, if he was willing to do that, he didn't want to just, like, meet up for coffee, or maybe meet up in the dog park or go to a movie or come out with us to pizza or something.

"God, probably because he's an entire grown-ass man who doesn't want to hang out with college kids, Owen. Jesus," I hissed to myself, needing a reality check.

Nothing had changed.

We were fine.

He was still the nicest person I knew and obviously cared enough about me to want to help me out, and that was… it was fine.

I was lucky.

How many people had someone like that in their lives, who was so great all the time and made every day feel hopeful and the bad stuff not so bad and who also seemed to like me, too? No one I knew.

"Owen."

I jumped, letting out an embarrassing squeak when Jacob suddenly started pounding on my bedroom door.

"Uh, yeah?" I asked, scrambling off the bed and rushing over to open it.

His hair was dripping into his face, and he was wearing nothing but a towel. "Were you doing something with the water?"

"What?"

"Like, I don't know, fucking with it?"

"Um, no?"

He grunted, gave me one more cranky look, then turned to walk away.

I leaned out of my doorway. "Hey! Wait! What happened?"

He shrugged. "The temperature kept jumping around when I was in the shower even though I wasn't touching it. And the water was looking orange again. Tyler and Ryan are out, so I figured it was you."

"Oh. Okay. Um, but no? Sorry about that, though."

He waved away my apology and shut the door on his bedroom.

I hesitated for a second, but then headed down to the basement. I didn't want to find another leak in there, but I really didn't think rusty pipes or whatever it was were enough to justify me bothering Daddy to come over.

And there was no leak. Not that I could see. So… okay. No reason to call him. And I wasn't disappointed, because obviously it was better if things were actually working instead of breaking down.

Even though I really, really thought the whole, like, system needed to be checked and maybe upgraded?

That was what all my Googling plus some of the things Daddy had said seemed to point to, anyway. But even though I had the guys paying their rent mostly on time now, there were still a bunch of other expenses to keep on top of, and there never seemed to be enough money left over to hire a plumber.

I'd tried telling my parents that they should just put some extra money into the house account, but they'd said figuring out how to cover it all out of the rental funds was basically, like, my job. A "learning experience" or something, to prepare me for the real world. More sink or swim stuff.

And so far, I guessed I was swimming?

Or at least… treading water.

But I was pretty sure that if I hadn't had Daddy to lean on these last few months, I'd have been sinking for sure.

I still wasn't entirely sure why he was willing to take so much time with me. I knew what I got out of our, um, friendship, but he didn't seem to get much for himself. Nothing, really, other than having to put up with all my clinginess.

Clearly, he wasn't interested in anything more than… than helping me out, since he didn't even want to meet up unless something breaks or goes wrong over here. And why anyone would volunteer to do more work on top of all the work he had to do all the time just for his job was a total mystery. Unless maybe it was a "Daddy" thing?

Back when we'd first started messaging each other, I'd done about ten seconds of Googling the term "gay daddy." I'd wanted to, um, well, I wasn't sure what. Make sure it was okay? Because at the time, it had still felt weird to call him Daddy, even though now I can't really imagine calling him anything else even if I did know his real name.

Bob?

Jared?

Monty?

Harlow?

"Ugh," I whispered to myself, heading back up to my room. "Just… no."

Obviously, he must have a name, but nothing seemed to fit him except "Daddy." Even though maybe it was weird to feel that way, because when I'd looked it up, all I'd found was a bunch of porn—which I'd shut down fast because wow, um, yikes?—and a few other things that had seemed a little too weird for me.

But before I'd bleached my internet search history, I had seen some stuff about how "Daddies" often get off on "caretaking," and I guessed that was what he must like about being friends with me?

Because he did take care of me.

Um, not that he was getting off to it, of course.

I mean, was he?

"God, of course not," I mumbled, shutting my bedroom door and then staring at myself in the full-length mirror I'd hung on the back of it.

Like, what did gay Daddies who were into their "boys" like that even look for? Because it probably wasn't me.

Which was obviously fine. I wasn't even gay. Plus, I may not have the art of adulting down perfectly, but I was an actual man now—even if I was probably on the less-than-impressive end of the manly scale with my scrawny body and inability to grow facial hair to save my life.

But still… man. Not boy.

Not that I particularly minded it when Daddy called me "baby boy" or "sweet boy" of "good boy" sometimes. And by "not particularly minding it," I kind of meant that I really liked it.

Was that normal?

God. Maybe something really was wrong with me.

I ruffled my hair, staring at it hard. It was so blah. Brown, but not like, an amazing brown. Not really dark, but not light either. And not straight, but also not curly? It was just… there. Like dirt. But boring dirt, not grow-country-fair-sized-zucchinis dirt.

And my eyes were brown, too. Sort of too pale to be properly brown, though. Almost yellow, but not? Khaki. That was what they reminded me of. Could a person have khaki-colored eyes?

I leaned in close, staring into them.

Pretty? Mysterious? Soulful?

No. At least, I was pretty sure they were none of those things. They were just sort of… eye-shaped. Not really impressive at all. And my eyebrows were sort of unruly, which wasn't something I'd ever even known to look out for before Hannah had complained about it a few times.

But didn't gay guys do, like, facials and eyebrow plucking and stuff?

Not that it mattered since I wasn't one, but still. I imagined that gay Daddies who actually wanted to, you know, be with their boys, the way I'd seen online, probably weren't into unruly eyebrows.

Or chubby round cheeks.

Or super pale skin that turned fluorescent whenever I—I mean, whenever anyone who had skin like that—got embarrassed and blushed.

I spun away from the mirror, feeling somehow worse now than I had when I'd been having a stupid emotional meltdown for no good reason on my bed earlier.

My phone chirruped, buried somewhere in my bedding. It was my nine o'clock "get ready for bed" alarm, but now that finals were done, did it matter if I went to bed early?

My first impulse was to message Daddy and ask, but I suddenly felt weird about that. Too… needy. Almost like I would just be using it for an excuse to reach out to him. And even though he always said I wasn't a bother, wasn't I? Like, by definition?

But I wasn't quite sure if I could manage to just fall asleep, either.

Maybe Jacob would want to hang out?

I pictured his irritated face about the water thing, and decided not to ask. Not that it was my fault exactly?—

Well, actually, I guessed it was. Wasn't that what my parents were always harping on me about? Taking responsibility and growing up and all that?

So maybe I should spend some time watching more YouTube videos about plumbing and see if there was more I could do myself… and not let myself get distracted by cats being startled by toasters again, since I was pretty sure I'd lost a whole hour to that the last time I went down the rabbit hole.

My alarm chirruped again since I hadn't made it quit, reminding me that I should get ready for bed. And even if I didn't think I could sleep, even if I just got in bed and watched YouTube videos for a while, somehow having the alarm—having a clear direction, one of Daddy's rules to follow—relaxed me.

I silenced it, then set aside all my weirdly jumbled thoughts for a few minutes, got into my pajamas—which, um, were basically just an old pair of cut-off sweats and a holey t-shirt from an animal shelter I used to volunteer at back in Wisconsin—and went down the hall to the bathroom to do my whole nightly brushing teeth and getting ready routine.

Jacob popped his head in while I was rummaging through the medicine cabinet, smirking a little as he looked me up and down.

"Staying in?"

"Uh, yeah? I mean, it's Monday night."

"Yeah, but classes are over, thank fuck. Don't you want to go out?"

"Um…." I really, really didn't, but I also didn't want to be rude since clearly he was planning to and it was nice of him to maybe think of including me?

But my guess was that he'd be heading to a club since he was wearing the shirt that clung to his pecs, the one he always put on when he wanted to pick someone up, and had enough cologne on that I had to breathe through my mouth for a minute. And that, uh, did not sound fun. At all.

Jacob laughed, smacking the door frame. "I'm gonna guess that's a no, so I'll head out."

"Okay! Have fun."

He smirked at me again. "You, too."

"Oh, wait!" I said when he started to turn away. "Do you know if we have any tweezers?"

"Tweezers?"

"You know, like…" I pinched my fingers together a few times.

His forehead crinkled. "For what? A splinter?"

"Um, yeah," I lied, my face heating up and no doubt turning cherry red.

He lifted his eyebrows, then shrugged. "No clue. Maybe try, uh, ice? Is that a thing? Or like, baking soda?"

"What?"

He shrugged. "Google it, bruh. I know there are other ways to get a splinter out."

"Oh, okay. Thanks."

He grinned, patted the doorframe, then left.

I turned back to the mirror. I guessed it wasn't really a problem not to have any tweezers, since I wouldn't exactly know how to use them to make my eyebrows look gay anyway. Or, um, not unruly. Obviously I didn't need to make myself look gay for anything.

Did Daddy have unruly eyebrows, though?

Just curious.

I finished up in the bathroom and went back to my room, wondering if I should still send the good night text that I usually did.

Well, not "usually." Always. I was pretty sure I hadn't missed a night in a really long time. And there was no reason to not do it tonight, either. Like, I was genuinely being super, super weird when nothing, nothing had happened.

So I didn't understand why my throat closed up when I went ahead and sent it, or why I felt so anxious as I waited to see if he'd reply like usual.

MONDAY 10:08 PM

Good night, Daddy.

MONDAY 10:12 PM

Good night, sweetheart -xo

A breath I hadn't realized I was holding rushed out of me in a big whoosh when he did, and I rubbed my finger over the little -xo he always ended it with, wondering if…

I mean, I knew what that meant when Hannah used to send it sometimes, but it probably meant something different to gay guys, right?

Maybe I should Google it.

I grabbed my phone and typed in "gay daddy xo," but of course, like, all the top results were porn. Which should totally squick me out. Not that there was anything wrong with gay people or guys having sex with other guys, obviously. It was just that I wasn't even all that big on regular porn. Uh, straight porn? Was calling it "regular" derogatory?

Probably.

I should Google it to make sure I wasn't accidentally being offensive, not that I planned on talking to anyone about porn, gay or straight. I mean, who would I even bring that up with?

Well, actually, I'm sure Tyler would jump all over a conversation like that, but I wasn't sure I was ready for his take on porn. And the person I instinctively wanted to talk to about it—I mean, that I would want to talk to about it, not that I did want to, because that would definitely be weird—was Daddy.

Which was obviously a no-go.

Did he watch gay porn, though?

Gay Daddy porn, like the thumbnails I was staring at right now?

Because he had said from the beginning that he liked to be called Daddy, and that first time he'd also said, well, alluded to, having someone call him Daddy while sucking on… on his dick.

A hot flush rocked through me, and I dropped my phone.

I should not be thinking about Daddy's dick. That was definitely weird. We were friends. Sort of. And I wouldn't think about Tyler's dick, or Jacob's, or Ryan's. And I definitely didn't want any of them thinking about mine.

Did Daddy ever think about mine?

"Oh. My. God," I muttered, grabbing my pillow and squishing it over my face. "What is wrong with me?"

Of course he didn't think about my dick. But ugh, now I was. Kind of a lot. And not that I hadn't helped myself fall asleep a time or two—okay, a lot—by jerking off before bed, but it felt weird to do it now, after where my mind had just gone.

But actually, maybe being weirdly horny was a good thing? Because, um, all the Daddy porn had felt like way, way too much when it had suddenly popped up the first time I'd ever Googled gay Daddies a few months ago, but now I actually had a gay Daddy in my own life, even if he wasn't exactly my gay Daddy, not like that. But if I wanted to, uh, understand him better, like, be a better… friend, shouldn't I watch some? Just so I could make sure I didn't do something wrong, like calling straight porn "regular," if that was actually a bad thing?

I sort of felt like there might be a flaw in my reasoning somewhere in there, but I was pretty sure I could figure it out later. Right now, the more I thought about this plan, the more it seemed like the smart thing to do. Especially since, for some reason, my dick was really hard now.

I dropped my pillow and found my phone, then glanced at the door.

Should I lock it?

I wouldn't bother if I was about to jerk off like normal, because no one was even home, but if they were, we all knocked first.

For some reason this was different though, so I scrambled up and went over to lock it, then got back in bed and shoved my shorts down, wrapping a hand around my dick.

"Oh God," I moaned, pushing up through my hand. I didn't know why it suddenly felt so good, but it did.

I fumbled for my phone, then clicked on the first thumbnail. And, uh, wow, it jumped right to the action. Not just porn or even just gay porn, this was definitely gay Daddy porn. A guy getting his dick sucked who looked, well, like a Daddy. I mean, older and hot but also sort of… commanding? And the guy on his knees looked kind of like me.

I mean, not like me. He was way more good-looking than me, objectively speaking. Even as a straight guy I could tell that. But he was scrawny like me. A lot smaller than the Daddy, who kept calling him a good boy, just like mine did, and praising him, and sort of tugging on his hair and…

"Oh God, oh God, oh God," I gasped, dropping my head back as I shoved up through my hand, over and over, while heat raced down my spine. "Daddy."

I froze, my dick throbbing and my balls hot and tight as the guys onscreen kept going at it, their hot, slick, almost obscene-sounding sex noises pulsing through my blood like some kind of drug.

But I shouldn't have said that.

I didn't even know why I had.

But God, I really, really needed to come now, and hearing the porn-Daddy praise his boy was fucking with my head and making me turned on in a way that I definitely shouldn't be, right? Like it was somehow hotter and more urgent and more… better, just better, than anything I'd ever done before, even actual sex. With, obviously, a girl.

Well, with Hannah. She was the only one I'd ever slept with.

But I didn't want to think about her right now. I didn't want to think about anything. I almost wished I had one of Daddy's rules to follow, his clear direction that just let me do the thing without worrying or making excuses or getting all twisted up in my head.

But I could pretend, right? Just to get off? It wouldn't hurt anyone, and I might feel guilty about it later—okay, I almost definitely would—but no one ever had to know and I… I think I needed it.

Needed Daddy to tell me I had to finish. It was a rule. I had to stroke myself long and slow, and then faster, curling my palm over the tip the way that always felt so good. I had to be good. For him. And get myself off so I could sleep.

I had to… had to fuck my hand and… and maybe touch my balls, too. Squeeze them a little. And go faster. Faster.

He wanted me to.

He told me to.

I'd never heard his voice, but I could hear it… oh, hear Porn Daddy. He was saying it, but it could have been my Daddy, and it was fine to pretend because that was what porn was for, and I was already right there, I was going to come anyway, my muscles all clenching tight as I made hot, gasping noises that almost drowned out the porn.

But then it wasn't up to me. It was up to Daddy. He said, "Come, baby boy. Come for me right now," and I did. I came so hard that it almost felt like a seizure, but like, a super blissed-out pleasure seizure, my whole body wracked by wave after wave of it until I just slumped down like I was boneless.

Boneless and filthy.

Boneless and a total mess.

Covered in my own cum, but too happy and relaxed to really care, even though I knew I had to clean up or I'd regret it in the morning.

In a minute, though.

That had been the best orgasm of my whole life, and my brain was finally quiet enough to go to sleep… which meant it was almost too quiet, too calm and relaxed, to really care if all the cum dried on me tonight. So maybe I'd just sleep?

I fumbled for my phone and turned the video off, then let my eyes drift closed, snuggling down under my blankets, glad I'd taken the time to, um, try to understand things better. Because even if it hadn't been real, I sort of got the gay Daddy thing now. Because it really was better.

The best.

So good that it was… well, it was kind of sad, actually, that I wasn't really gay and couldn't have a gay Daddy of my own. Like, a real one. Who was into me, too.

But I didn't want to be sad, not when I was feeling so good. So I pretended that Daddy had made a rule that I couldn't think about that stuff, not any of the confusing things, or any of the feelings that made me feel kind of achy inside, right around my heart, and pulled my extra pillow close, hugging it to my chest, and let sleep pull me under.