I never planned to be a Daddy. I was always the cute short guy. Hell, even my very, very straight, dyed-in-the-wool Italian Catholic CEO called me cute.
Now, twenty years later, when some guy purrs “Daddy,” it’s like music to my ears. Running their fingers through my chest hairs doesn’t hurt either. Here in the autumn of my life – my gay life – I’m sought after by guys who are old enough to be my biological sons. Should I complain?
After all, I’m near perfect Daddy material if I say so myself. No, I’m not big or tall, but I got a nice muscular body, am pretty damn hairy, masculine, intelligent, assertive, confident, financially comfortable. And I know how to keep my men happy in bed. Plus I love role playing and fantasizing – with a man next to me, not a pc screen.
But enough about me. What do I look for in a Boy? More than most Daddies I think who are content with just the guy’s youth. The best way to explain it is to tell you about a few of the “sons” that came into my life quite by happenstance. I get hits almost every day from guys in their thirties, twenties, even late teens (sorry, no jailbait please) looking for a quick daddy dump. But I’ve also had a few “sons” along the way who were no ten minute wonders, but guys I could fall for – and who apparently fell for me.
First let me tell you about Tim, 42, who I encountered on Bear411 one summer while I was at my vacation home in Pennsylvania. He lives in Jacksonville and our first game plan was to find a middle of the road point on Florida’s East Coast and rendezvous sometime in the fall. But since I passed through Jax on my way home from PA to my home in Lauderdale, I asked if it might be possible to see him then. He agreed with open arms, offering to put me up for the night.
It was instant chemistry. My height, lightly furry, Italian, bearded, nice compact body, with boyish looks that belied his age, a stable, steady-as-you-go demeanor and a quiet, understated masculinity. Before we could finish our conversation about the golden oak furniture we both collected, we were in his secluded backyard hot tub and the rest as they say is for the history books or my next gay novel. His PA was a particularly nice surprise. But his fuzzy manly back and butt were to die for for this Dad and we got into the Father/Son act even before we hit the bedroom.
A few weeks later he came down and spent a weekend at my place, and while he was the curious tourist and loved hitting our gay beaches and the bars (apparently Jax has almost no scene), we went at it for six hours straight on his first day and got into a few more “training sessions” where “Papa,” as he called me, promised to make him a man before the weekend was done. A generation my junior, he applauded me for my stamina.
We even played Truck Stop Buddies where he was my rebel boy, both of us in baseball caps and workboots and nothing else, him spread eagle on the bed, that manly furry butt all mine.
Then there’s Jack, 36, half a country away who, like Tim, I met on Bear411, this time when I was planning a long weekend in Chicago. While he was very receptive when we chatted on line, he sounded somewhat hesitant when I called him on my arrival to see if our meeting would become real, and even when we met at the coffee shop across the street from my guesthouse on Halsted, (he lived 40 minutes away in the rural burbs). As we strolled over to a Middle Eastern café a few blocks away and had a quick dinner, I still wasn’t sure if our conversation about politics and The Life was just a form of delay tactics before he told me nicely that it wasn’t going to work out.
Back in my guesthouse room, however, everything changed as he teasingly pawed all over me telling me that I was the fantasy Dad of his coming out days. At 5-9, he actually got turned on by mature guys shorter than him and had had a bodybuilder dad for thirteen years before the guy died of liver failure in his thirties, tragically the result of years of juicing up.
Jack owed his husky build and luxurious black body hair to his dynamic combo of ancestry – Italian, Greek and Egyptian – and he sported elaborate tats on his chest, back and legs that only added to his boyish mystique. We spent that Friday night together and that Sunday afternoon, the day before I was return to Lauderdale, Jack eager to hear what the leather scene had been back in the eighties and nineties, a time I sensed he wished he had been a part of now, in these waning days of the leather scene in America. We parted with his invite for me to be his Dad at next year’s IML event held in Chicago each Memorial Day. While that didn’t materialize, he still has an open offer to visit me in the Land of Endless Summer.
The latest to join Daddy Ray’s “family” and one of the youngest guys I’ve ever bedded down with is David, who just turned 27 when I met him vacationing here in Lauderdale this past spring. He’s a chemist for one of the mega pharmaceutical companies back in Boston. A smooth red-haired boyish “ginger” jock who came from a family of jocks, David won a hockey scholarship to one of the East’s major universities and still plays in his spare time. That is when his furry butt, about the only hair on his swimmers build bod, isn’t getting fucked by his dads.
But you know what excited me most about my boys? Surprisingly, their maturity. After encountering so much shit back in Lauderdale where I run into fifty year old party boys with absolutely nothing, Tim, Jack and Dave were breaths of fresh air. Tim had a solid job at a top communications firm, owned his own home and had just purchased a four unit apartment house in downtown Jax which he was renovating almost totally on his own for use as an income property. Jack had built his log cabin in the sticks on which he had almost paid off the mortgage, had no credit card debt, and was moving up to a new, better paying job in bank finance. And Dave plans to start buying up cheap real estate here in South Florida as an investment so that someday he can retire early like his favorite Florida dad, Furry Daddy Ray.
Hell, adopt them? I want them to adopt me!