2. Rafa

Chapter 2

Rafa

‘Keep fucking going, you’ve got this,’ I roar, making sure to be ready to help my client push out the final two reps of his super-heavy set. ‘You’ve got two more left in you. Keep going…. keep going… hell yeah!’

I take the heavy barbell from my client and re-rack it.

The private apartment block gym is among the nicest I’ve been in.

And that’s saying something seeing as I work as a personal trainer to plenty of super-wealthy people from all walks of life here in the city.

Housewives, businesspeople, actors, and models too.

If someone wants to get in shape, I’m the trainer for them.

I might only be twenty-eight, but I’ve already lived out my dream career as a tennis pro.

I was good too, a real baller.

Like, seriously good.

Top twenty ranked in the world at my peak and won a few major titles kinda good.

But all good things come to an end.

And when my knee went nuclear for the fourth time in two seasons, I knew it was time to think of moving on.

Being a personal trainer has its ups and downs, but seeing a client achieve a new personal best or successfully achieve a longer-term goal is one hell of a feeling, pretty much the best thing in the world.

Is it better than sex? Maybe not.

Is it better than paddling a peachy little butt? No – but then what in the name of New York City is?

But all I can say is that when a client is happy with their progress, it gives me one hell of a kick.

Sadly, not all clients are easy to work with. And this client is one of the less appealing clients that I come across...

‘I should be lifting heavier,’ the guy says, already uploading a photo of himself posing in the mirror of his private gym onto Instagram. ‘You need to increase my progress.’

Jeez .

I should tell this client to go to hell, but I’ll keep it at a quick eyeroll instead.

Some people are never happy.

I’ve taken this cocky twenty-two-year-old male model from a super-slim, could barely lift his own arm kinda vibe and transformed him into a pretty impressively lean athletic looking guy.

And he’s still not ready to acknowledge my work or even say thank you at the end of a session.

Whatever.

Maybe I’ll have to magically discover my schedule is too full to see him again. See how he likes that.

‘Hey, are you even listening?’ the arrogant young boy says. ‘I said I want to be ripped like a young Brad Pitt. And you need to get me there ready for Summer season.’

‘Hey, sure, I’ll work on a plan,’ I say, mentally making my mind up that this is the last time I’ll be working with this asshole. ‘I need to bounce now. More clients to see.’

I don’t stick around to hear any more whining from the boy.

I shut the heavy oak door behind me, safe in the knowledge that I won’t be back here again. He’ll find another personal trainer to treat like crap, but it sure as hell won’t be me.

The difficult clients always tend to be the younger ones.

Maybe it’s the arrogance of youth?

Or maybe they haven’t experienced enough of life to know that if you want something, you have to be patient a lot of the time.

Whatever it is, I’m thinking about only seeing clients who are at least thirty from now on. Maybe even thirty-five.

As I stand in the elevator and wait for it to make its way down from the penthouse level to the ground floor, I catch a glimpse of myself in the gold-plated mirror.

With my dark brown eyes and matching hair, I can see why they media used to call me the Rafa Soleil: The Dark Destroyer. On court I was aggressive as hell and loved nothing more than taking complete control over my opponent, pushing him physically and mentally to places that no other player could.

Maybe they should have called me The Dominant Daddy instead.

But I always kept my private life totally private. Not everyone is cool with the whole Daddy and baby boy thing. Corporate sponsors and media outlets aren’t exactly known for being chill when it comes to anyone who dares to stray from the accepted norm.

I definitely had lots of Daddy fun off court but kept it private.

Dominating on the court was one thing, but now I want to dominate in my romantic life too.

The only problem then, and it’s just as true now, is that the kind of boy I want just doesn’t seem to be in my world.

I need a different kind of boy to the ones I encounter on the daily.

PING!

Great, I’m at the ground floor. Now it’s time to bounce and get to my next client…

And by ‘next client’ what I really mean is my buddy Kyle Chaser.

It’s time to sink a couple of cold ones and shoot some good, old-fashioned shit with the best God damn Daddy buddy in the city.

‘Okay is it me or are you even later than usual?’ Kyle says, flashing me his perfect sports anchor smile as I walk into the bar.

Kyle and I might be millionaires, but this old dive bar is our kind of place. We can hang out and be ourselves without the risk of being bothered by celebrity chasers or assholes looking to film a conversation to try and gain clout for their own profile.

The bar might be nothing more than an old bar and a few beat-up old booths, but we love it. The jukebox ain’t bad either, especially when it’s me doing the selecting.

‘Screw you, I’m on time,’ I reply, not willing to accept Kyle’s bullshit call. ‘Not my fault you’ve got nothing better to do than hang out with a washed-up tennis star like me…’

Kyle laughs and we embrace.

Four cold bottles of the finest Czech lager are already at our corner booth and I’m ready to have some fun.

Kyle and I go way back.

In fact, Kyle’s very first interview on Sports Network TV happened to be with me.

Kyle might be a year older at twenty-nine, but he was a raw twenty-year-old sports reporter when he first fired me some hardball questions on live TV.

The interview went viral – well as viral as things went back in the day.

It turned out that Kyle hadn’t been banking on coming up against a fellow Daddy in an interview.

We might both have been young, but our Daddy Dom instincts were already fine-tuning themselves. As we went back and forth, neither one of us willing to back down it felt like something was happening between us.

There was chemistry.

But it was a platonic kind of admiration.

Nothing sexual, not really.

Every now and then the interview goes viral again on Twitter or TikTok, and plenty of people have gossiped and speculated that we’re actually an item. Or at least that we were fucking at the time.

But the reality is that Kyle and I have never once put our hands on each other in a sexual sense- or any other body parts for that matter!

We’re Daddy friends for life.

And we’re both now at the point where finding a baby boy is what’s on our agenda.

‘Rafa, here me out,’ Kyle says as he gulps down his drink and instantly reloads with afresh bottle. ‘You ever heard of YoungDaddies.com?’

‘Please tell me this isn’t porn?’ I laugh, honestly thinking it could be.

‘Hell no,’ Kyle replied, smiling from ear to ear as he shows me his cellphone. ‘It’s dating. But with a difference. The whole set- up has been designed to match younger Daddies with older Littles. I think this could be the one for us.’

I grin like a cat who’s just about to get the cream.

This does sound good.

‘Okay, I’m in,’ I laugh. ‘What’s the worst that could happen? I fall in love?’

‘I still get a kick out of a quick hookup, but it’s not quite as fun as it used to be,’ Kyle says. ‘I’ve got a career. I’ve got money. I want… more . And all these younger boys are just too bratty.’

‘Trust me, I know what you mean,’ I reply. ‘My last asshole of a client just sent me a nude. I mean, he’s cute but I’m not into it. I need someone older. Someone… bigger. You know?’

‘I certainly do,’ Kyle replied, a knowing smile on his face. ‘I want cheeks that clap for days. Big, round, spankable buns. A tummy I can tickle and flesh I can squeeze.’

‘Shit, you better stop or you might need to visit the bathroom for some relief,’ I laugh, actually beginning to feel turned on myself at this point. ‘YoungDaddies.com might just be the making of us, my friend.’

We toast one another.

This might be nothing, or it could be the beginning of something special.

Either way, it feels like the perfect moment to reload the drinks and let the good times continue to flow.

‘Twenty-four… twenty-five… twenty-six,’ I say, counting the door numbers and walking down the corridor of the smart, well maintained eighth floor of the Regal Rose Apartment block. ‘And here we are.’

Before knocking, I pause and whip my cell phone out of my pocket.

I know, I know, social media addiction is a terrible thing.

But YoungDaddies.com isn’t exactly the same as scrolling through endless TikToks or Instagram stories. In fact, it couldn’t be much more different if it tried.

In the week since downloading the app with Kyle and signing up for an account, I’ve been having plenty of flirty fun.

And one older boy in particular has been especially forthcoming.

I like to flirt, but this baby boy has been giving as good as he’s got from me and then a whole heap on top of that too.

And now I’m opening my messages and seeing another cute photo of his butt in some banana print briefs over the top of a fluffy diaper.

I’m getting hard right before I see a new client.

This isn’t good. It’s time to put away the cell phone and get my head in the game.

But I can’t get this boy out of my mind.

I just need to see his face now. I get that he’s shy, and I never send nudes or compromising photos with my face in either, I don’t blame him at all for that.

‘Rafa, control yourself,’ I say, breaking my mind out of its boy obsessed thoughts and back into reality.

Within seconds of knocking and the door is opening up to reveal a real cutie pie. He’s in his forties, chubby, and has the kind of nervous sweet smile that puts my Daddy energy on high alert.

‘Hi, I’m Aaron,’ he says, his tight t-shirt clinging to his soft, curvy body. ‘Please, come in.’

I follow Aaron inside and the apartment doesn’t disappoint.

Aaron’s got good taste.

And unless I’m very much mistaken he’s also got a stuffie lying on the couch.

‘Oh, um, that’s just my… um… that’s my,’ Aaron says, looking like he’s about to die of total embarrassment.’

‘Hey, relax, it’s good,’ I say, finding his shyness totally adorable. ‘Every boy needs his stuffie, right?’

Aaron doesn’t respond but I can tell that he likes the way I’m talking to him.

Aaron wants to submit.

Aaron wants me to control him, to tease him, to play with him like he’s my little pet.

‘Get into a squat position,’ I say, watching as Aaron bashfully squats his ample booty down to the floor. ‘Hold it until I tell you. Then spring up and thrust those hips forward.’

‘Y-y-yes, sir,’ Aaron says, blurting out the words and blushing like a red berry.

If I didn’t know any better, I’d say the bulge at the front of his silky-smooth shorts was getting bigger.

This is wild.

But it’s not just Aaron who’s turned on.

I don’t normally catch feelings for someone like this.

But there’s something about Aaron that makes me want to fuck him hard and then take care of him for the rest of the night.

I want to pull his workout shorts down and paddle his naughty buns all night before giving him the most loving, tender aftercare that’s ever been delivered.

More than anything perhaps, I want to cradle his tender body and cuddle him until he feels like the most appreciated baby boy in the whole city.

But Aaron didn’t pay me to come over here for that.

We’ve only just met too.

And I wouldn’t be doing my job as a personal trainer if I didn’t put him through his paces on our introductory session.

It’s time for me to see just how flexible and strong this cuddly baby is.

And if I make it through that without developing the erection to end all erections then I’ll be one shocked Daddy…