Hot Daddies

Look, I swear I’m not some sort of crazy hippie. I believe in the laws of physics, and the theory of evolution and in washing my hair. But I really, really love talking about astrology. Like, my last lover? He was a Libra. I am never doing that again. Scorpios I’ll hook up with, but that’s about it. And don’t even talk to me about an Aries.

I never used to believe in this stuff, but one day a customer came up to me while I was at work and said, “So. You’re a Gemini, aren’t you.”

“I could just tell,” she said. “The way you’re standing, the way you hold yourself. How quickly you talk. How young you look. I analyze people’s charts for a living, you know, and you just give off this…glow that only Geminis have.”

I smiled, absurdly proud of myself for being born in June. I’m still less than half-convinced that this stuff is true, but Geminis are the Twins, right? Multifaceted, two-faced, double trouble in every way. So it should be no surprise that I have two lovers, and that they are as different from each other as shadow and sunlight.

I met my Daddy Howard first. He’s forty-five, older than me by about fifteen years. He’s a Taurus, and even looks like a bull; medium height, compact build, salt-and-pepper hair, wise brown eyes and a rare but warm smile. He’s a leatherman of the old school, with his keys and black hankie always in his left pocket. I was intimidated by him at first but quickly discovered the humble, generous, kind-hearted spirit beneath his gruff exterior.

We love each other very much. Sometimes he takes me to hard places, scary places, where my demons come out to trip me up and pull me down. He’s flogged me until I’ve cried and caned me until I bruised, confined me in a rubber sleepsack and handcuffed me to his belt. But he always takes me back afterward, kisses me and tells me that I’m his good boy, makes me proud to wear his marks. Enveloped in his arms or curled up against his chest, I feel safe and warm and content.

I was interested in leather and sadomasochism before I met him, and I had even played around with it a bit, but he took my passing interest and turned it into a lifestyle, awoke in me a passion and a joy that I had never dreamed possible. He taught me how to go deep within myself, how to find my inner strength and power and wrap it around myself like a cloak. Through leather, I found my self.

He’s younger than me, but only by a year. And he’s a small one—he’s a Gemini, too, and we always look younger than our years. Scott is a full head shorter than me, with tousled blond hair and full lips. He’s beautiful, in an ethereal way, and at first I was afraid to handle him too roughly. But I loved taking care of him, buying him trinkets, holding him in my arms on lazy Sunday mornings.

Scott and I started out as vanilla boyfriends. He was fine with me having a Daddy, and even expressed some interest in the scene himself. Excited about the prospect of introducing him to my world, I suggested that he, Howard and I all go out to dinner together.

It seemed like a good idea at the time, but the week leading up to our Friday night engagement was nerve-wracking for me. I wasn’t so worried about Scott and Howard liking each other—they were both educated, urbane men with similar politics, and I was sure we’d find something to talk about. No, I was worried about who I was going to be around the both of them.

Laugh all you want, but I spent a lot of energy deciding what I was going to wear. See, Daddy likes his boy to be a cute little leather punk. I always wear my combat boots with green laces, raggedy jeans and either a fresh white A-frame or an old T-shirt with some band’s name on it. Sometimes I’ll spike my hair or throw on a leather vest. When I’m with Daddy I’m brimming with youthful energy, but I’m also paying close attention to him, ready to light his cigarette or fetch him a beer without him having to say a word.

That’s a side of me Scott has never seen. When we’re together I’m very much a grown-up. While I’m still casual, when we go out in public I’m usually in a freshly ironed shirt, or if I’m feeling particularly preppy a tie and sweater-vest combo. We have a strong intellectual connection, and we’re always talking about the latest controversial film screening or art exhibit we’ve attended.

So I wasn’t sure how to behave when I was with the two of them. Should I be Daddy’s sharp-tongued scamp or Scott’s clean-cut boyfriend? Who should I sit next to? How was I going to serve Daddy without making Scott feel neglected? How was I going to talk to Scott without making Daddy feel ignored?

We had decided on a new Thai place none of us had been to yet in the gayborhood, within walking distance of all of our apartments. The night of our triple date I put on the outfit I had decided on a few days earlier—boots, nice jeans and a plain black T-shirt; respectable enough for Scott, casual enough for Daddy.

I was so nervous that I left the house with half an hour to spare and got to the restaurant fifteen minutes early. A quick glance inside confirmed that there were several empty tables, so I leaned up against the doorjamb and waited. It was a perfect spring night, with a warm breeze and a few clouds scudding across the sky, the smell of rain from the storm a few hours earlier: all my senses were wide awake and my nerves were tingling.

Scott got there first. I recognized his gait from a block away, and noticed with pride the many men that did a double take as he walked past.

“No, no,” I lied. I recanted immediately. “Okay, yes, I’m nervous. I’m worried that—I’m just, I don’t know, just freaked out a bit, is all, the two of you meeting each other. But I’m sure it will be fine.”

I jumped in before they could make me blush. “Hey, hey, there will be plenty of time to embarrass me over dessert. I’m starving, can we go in already?”

They agreed, laughing, and we ducked inside. The waitress sat us against the window, separated from the rest of the restaurant. Scott and Daddy faced each other, and I sat in between. The three of us ordered beers, and soon the two of them were chatting away like old friends.

Scott swallowed a bite of duck spring roll and nodded. “That’s right. I mean, I’ve always liked it rough”—he winked at me, and I blushed slightly,—“but I don’t know anything about, like, official S and M.”

“I guess I don’t have any specific questions, exactly. I learn a lot from the conversations we have,” he said, gesturing at me, “but I just want to find out what it’s really like. I’ve read some books, but that’s not a substitute.”

I choked on my mouthful and started to cough. After a glass of water and a not-so-gentle pounding on the back, I regained my voice. “What do you mean, ‘my excuse’?” I asked.

“Enough. You’re babbling.” His tone was stern, but there was a smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. I chanced a look at Scott. He was sitting quietly, head cocked, eyes narrowed. I knew that meant he was thinking hard about something.

“All right,” he acquiesced, and at just that moment the waitress came to our table with the entrees. Scott started to tell a funny story about one of his clients at work, and soon we were all laughing as I stole bites off of both their plates.

The rest of the meal went smoothly. At one point I had to run to the bathroom. When I got back the two of them were smiling mischievously at each other, but I didn’t think too much of it. When the check came Daddy picked it up quietly, and Scott and I thanked him. We left the restaurant and milled about on the corner, debating what to do next.

I pulled out my BlackBerry. “Well, there’s Julie’s birthday party tonight at Bar Crow, that’s not too far from here. Or there’s that benefit auction for the gay men’s health center uptown. Ooh, or we could go to—”

Scott was nodding. “Yeah. Come on, sweetheart, we go out all the time. Let’s take this one night to…get to know each other better.”

I knew better than to argue with the both of them. Daddy led the way, and Scott and I tagged along behind, holding hands without speaking. We were almost at his doorstep before I realized where we were going, and I started to get nervous all over again.

When we got inside Daddy sat down in his big chair and gestured at his boots. Without thinking twice I knelt and started unlacing his right one. To my surprise Scott got on his knees next to me and started unlacing Daddy’s other boot. Hmm, I thought. This could be interesting.

When Daddy’s boots were off he leaned forward and grabbed me by the collar of my shirt. He pulled me into a standing position and kissed me hard.

“Tonight,” he growled, “that boy is yours. But you, boy, are still mine.” I nodded silently. Daddy pointed me toward his chair and I sat, my first time on that piece of furniture. Then Scott proceeded to take of my boots. When he started to rub my feet I marveled at the feeling of being serviced. Daddy caressed the back of my neck with his hand while my eyelids drooped with pleasure.

After what felt like long minutes but was probably a few short seconds, Daddy tapped me on the shoulder, indicating that I should stand.

“Look up,” said Daddy, pointing at Scott. I got hard at the sight of his big blue eyes staring at us. “Tonight, both of you will travel to a new place inside yourselves. I hope you’re ready.”

With that pronouncement he grabbed Scott by his upper arm and hauled him into the playroom. Standing him up against the St. Andrew’s cross, Daddy shot a look at me. At first I was unsure of what to do, but then I remembered how many of our scenes started, and I lifted Scott’s right wrist and put it into the soft leather cuffs already hanging from the bolts in the wood. I tightened the strap. “Too much?” I asked, and he shook his head. I went to the other side and trussed his left wrist and then stood in front of him. Instinct took over and I gripped his hair tight, leaning in for a kiss.

Usually our kisses were sweet and tender, but this time I ravaged his mouth with a passion I’d only ever experienced from the other side, and he let me, opening his lips to my loving assault. He whimpered softly, and I looked down to see his erection tenting his tight jeans. I gave his dick a brief squeeze, then pulled away and went around behind him.

I looked at Daddy and mouthed, Now what? He pulled a selection of floggers off the wall behind us and handed me one with thick, soft strands of leather and a stiff, braided handle.

I had never flogged someone before, but I had certainly received my share of whippings. Experience had taught me what felt like a good beating, pain and pleasure interspersed, and what was being delivered by some incompetent striking me as if I were a side of beef. I had even practiced swinging a flogger, many times in fact, and knew that my aim was true. So it was with trepidation and excitement that I took the tool from his hands and draped it over my shoulder.

Daddy moved so that he was standing in front of Scott and began gently playing with his nipples. I knew that Scott’s nipples were directly connected to his dick, and the moans and gasps Daddy was achieving told him as much. I began stroking Scott’s back, feeling him in a whole new way. I gently palpated his flesh, massaging him, warming up the muscles and reacquainting myself with their position; the way they moved beneath his skin, how my fingerprints stood out red against his pale complexion.

When I judged that he was in a state of relaxation and submission, helped by Daddy’s ministrations, I grasped the flogger and began swinging it in a gentle figure eight. I started away from his body and took small steps forward until the tips of the flogger were just barely striking him. His breathing changed slightly, in a way that I recognized as preparation for the sensations to come.

After several minutes of warm-up I started striking him harder, hitting him more with the heavy body of the flogger instead of just the stinging tips. His back began to turn red, and I paid close attention as his muscles tensed and relaxed, as his breath moved in and out of his body. Daddy was paying attention too, stroking his chest, playing with his nipples, sometimes kissing him or biting at his lips. More than a few times I caught Daddy’s eye as I worked, and I felt a jolt of electricity between us and knew that Scott was the conduit of that energy.

I’ve asked tops before what they get out of a flogging and never received an answer to my satisfaction. But as I got more and more involved, felt the rhythm of my arm and shoulder steady, grew hypnotized by the steady beat of leather against flesh, I began to understand. Watching Scott’s body respond to me was an unspoken kind of conversation, and I fell in love with him in a whole new way. I was telling, or rather showing him, how much he could experience, all the different ways his body could process feelings. I heard him gasp and sometimes cry out; I could see his shoulders rise and fall as he took deep, cleansing breaths.

I didn’t get an erection, but I was opening up, physically and emotionally, in a new way. I had never identified as dominant before and never felt like a top, but as I flogged Scott I found myself telling him to take it for me, to take the pain I was giving him and give it back to me. Daddy caught my eye and gave me an encouraging smile, obviously reminded of all the times he had told me the same things.

Talking to Scott that way showed me what I had been missing. I was a boy, yes, and a good one, but there was also a Daddy in me, a man who wanted to hurt but also comfort, who wanted to bring a boy to tears and then lick them away. I felt strong, powerful, yet also honored that this beautiful, brilliant man was giving this gift to me, was letting me take control of him and trusting me to give back that power.

Alas, my stint as a top was coming to a close. A novice bottom, Scott seemed to have a hard time relaxing, and his breath was coming in short, sharp gasps that were edging into sobs. I slowed and then stopped and went up to him, putting my hands gently on his back, feeling the warmth and grinning despite myself at the beautiful swollen flesh that I had created.

He nodded slowly. Scott was never one to skimp on words so I knew he must have gone deep inside himself, into that place where bottoms go when we’re taken into a submissive state of mind. Daddy moved away and beckoned me to come around to the front of the cross. When I did I saw tear tracks down my younger boyfriend’s cheeks and a soft smile on his face.

I leaned in and kissed him gently. He looked at me trustingly as I took his hands out of the restraints, and when I was done he spontaneously went down on his knees and kissed my feet. Daddy started massaging my shoulders and I leaned back into his hands.