Please Daddy Please

I knew he was the one I wanted as soon as he walked into the bar. Clean cut; maybe mid-to-late thirties; business suit; hiding behind sun glasses in the dimly lit bar; hesitant at the door; picking out a table back in the corner, one with a full sweep of the room. I moved a little to my right at the bar, under a light, well within his vision.

I called Chuck, the bartender, over, and we went into the routine he'd always been agreeable to. Chuck and me got along real good. He'd do me maybe once a week back in the bar's storage room and then he'd help me the rest of the week.

"No beer for you, kid. Whatcha' doin' in here, anyway?" Chuck asked me, raising his voice high enough for the mark to hear and knowing full well that I was of legal age. I looked over toward the corner with my peripheral vision to make sure he'd heard. If he hadn't, Chuck and me would have to do it again. But he'd heard. I saw him sit up in his chair, tensed.

"Geez. Am I gonna have to show ID till I'm thirty," I groused back. I pulled out my wallet and laid it on the counter. Flipped out my driver's license and put it under Chuck's nose.

"Those things is a dime a dozen, kid." Chuck puffed out his chin for effect. I brought my other hand up a bit, so's Chuck could move his attention there. I had a greenback clutched in my fist, enough showing for both Chuck and the mark to see.

"Well, OK," Chuck said, noticeably palming the money. "But don't plan on getting' drunk in here or causin' trouble. A beer and then move on, OK?"

The guy at the back table was trying to act like he wasn't looking, but I knew he was. And I knew I was well on my way to hooking him. Size and looks had always been my disadvantage in high school. But I was turning them to my benefit these days. My friends were out workin' the street corners, rain and all, havin' no more than a couple of minutes to size their marks up before gettin' into their cars. Thanks to my size and appearance, I could stay inside, in bars like this, pretending I might just not be legal, which really turned some guys on, and decide who was worth pursuing—and I made about twice the money on half the men that my friends out on the street did.

I hadn't grown much, if at all, since I was fifteen. The doctors had told my folks just to give it time. Now it could take all the time it wanted. My size and young looks were keepin' me alive and ahead of debt. And it told me just exactly the kind of man to go after. Saved a lot of time and energy, and thus far I've picked well enough to avoid a lot of fuss as well. That's because I've picked guys like that one over in the corner. I knew what he wanted—what he really wanted. I could give him the next best thing. And whatever happened afterward, he couldn't squeal about to the cops.

"Hey, guy, you want a drink? The tables are for customers." Chuck was calling past me, over at the guy I'd marked. Chuck and me had this down pat. This type was a runner just as likely as a buyer.

"Umm, yes . . . please. A beer I guess. Whatever you have on tap." Kind of a wavering voice. I knew he was close to bolting. But he hadn't. Sometimes they left at this point. But if we got them this far and we were positioned this way, Chuck and I had worked out the closin' of the trap door.

"Comin' up," Chuck sang out. "And stay put. I'll deliver."

While we were workin' this out, Chuck had sometimes screwed it up by saying either I would bring the drink to the mark or just that it would be brought to him. As long as he didn't have to think about me, Tim, comin' to his table, comin' closer to him—temptation actually approaching—he'd stay put for the drink.

He panicked, as I knew he would, as I started walkin' toward him, both of our drinks in hand. But I did a little maneuvering around the tables, looking natural but putting me between him and the exit. So he stayed put at the table.

"Here ya' go," I said. "Don't mind if I sit, do you?"

Of course he didn't mind/of course he minded.

"Cause' it's just, just that you look sorta' like my dad—just not mean like him. Is it OK if I just sit a while?"

"Yes, yes, of course, sit," he replied. His breath was ragged. I could feel him torn between runnin' and movin' deeper into what he'd come here for—maybe, just maybe, taking a step across the fantasy/reality divide. And it was just talk. Nothing needed to actually happen.

"Hi, I'm Timmy," I said, giving him a smile and extending my hand out after I'd set the two beers down and sank into the chair next to him, where he'd turn away from the bar area to be talkin' to me. "But you could call me Tim, if you wanted to."

"Hi, Timmy," he said and then "My name is Joe . . . Joe Clifton." I knew that was a fake name, of course. But I hadn't missed the preference for "Timmy." That was a good sign.

"I don't usually come into places like this," I said.

"Neither do I," Joe quickly agreed.

"But I wasn't feelin' well, and when I get like this, I start thinkin' about my family—my dad and all—and I need a drink or somethin' to keep me solid."

"Not feeling well?" He was following along just like I wanted him to.

"No. I get these weak sessions. Can't move too well. The doctors tell me just to stay in my room then. But it's almost spot on the time last year that dad left me, and I couldn't just stay cooped up thinkin' about that and all."

"That's really too . . ." he said in a low, sympathetic voice.

"And then I saw you," I interrupted, workin' to keep him with me and not doin' too much thinking on his own. "And you reminded me of Dad. Sort of. The dad as I liked to think of him, and . . . oh . . . excuse me. I feel a little faint."

"You OK?" Joe asked, his voice full of concern. He'd laid his hand on my arm as I swayed just a bit, and I could feel the heat and tremble in his touch.

"Uhh, yes. Just a passing spell. Do you have family, Joe?"

"Yes, yes, I do," Joe said. And then I drew it out of him. His wife and two daughters and his son Johnny. I heard the extra clutch in his voice when he talked about Johnny. I knew as much as he did what that really meant to him. I knew exactly what he was struggling with. Why he'd come here today. What he'd put himself up against the edge to try to satisfy. I was banking on bein' the scratch for that itch. Which I figured would be a service to him—and his son.

Then I told him about my family and how I worshiped my dad but that he'd turned away from me when he found I had this strange sickness. Didn't stick with me. I spun quite a story but left out the part about the nice suburban home and my mother's Escalade. A lot to swallow, of course, but these guys always believed just what they wanted to believe.

I'd gotten the beer down by the end of the story, and then I went back into the faint routine.

"Here, here, steady, Timmy," Joe said, now holding me up with both hands. "Maybe we should get something more to drink and eat into you."

"No, no," I answered. "Not here. The bartender said I was only welcome for one drink. Maybe you could just help me home. All I need do is lay down for a bit. It's not far."

"Of course," Joe said. Hooked.

"Home" wasn't really home, of course. It was just a room in a gay fleabag nearby that I rented by the half day on working days.

"Hot, so hot," I muttered when Joe had helped me to the bed and I laid down. Taking the hint, he stripped my T-shirt over my head. I knew my hairless, Twink torso turned him on. He was sitting on the bed beside me, and I could see his basket tent right up inside his tailored trousers.

I gave him that dreamy, "I'm ever so grateful" expression as I whispered, "Please, Daddy, Please. Don't leave me."

I drew his face down to mine, and despite the shocked expression on his face, he didn't resist me.

His kiss was warm and increasingly passionate. I opened two of the buttons on his shirt and ran my hand in and pinched at his nipples. He was sobbin' and groanin'. Making sounds like we should stop, but not being able to stop. I made sure of that.

Holding the kiss, I twisted down around him and off the bed and down on my knees between his thighs. His kiss became more possessive, more insistent as I unzipped his pants and pulled his half-engorged cock out.

Then we were no longer kissing, I was kissing and licking his cock. Sucking at the head of it. He was panting hard, his breath rasping. I didn't want him to catch his breath. I didn't want him backing away from this. As I sucked, I pulled his unzipped trousers and his briefs over his hips, him raisin' his butt off the bed at the right moment for that, and cleared them away. He was stripping off his suit jacket and tearing at his dress shirt. Within moments all he was wearin' was a tie and socks—and a big hard on.

He was in good shape, nicely muscled, a nice-sized cock. I was going to enjoy this.

When he was stripped down and trembling under my touch, I looked up into his face, and whispered, "Please, Daddy, please. I want your love."

Joe shuddered. "We can't . . . I didn't . . . we musn't . . ."

I smiled, searched on the floor under the edge of the bedspread, and pulled out the condom packet I had hidden there, among others, earlier, and showed it to him. "Please, Daddy, please."

There was a deep rumbling in Joe's throat, and he sat immobilized, slipping irrevocably over into reality from fantasy as I stood and stripped off my pants, straddled him, and held his cock up and steady while I rolled the condom on it and then descended my ass on it. A growl started up from far down inside him as I slowly pumped up and down on his engorged cock, pulling him farther inside me with each descent.

Then he was freed, a wild man, a daddy in full control, taking his pleasure. He came up off the bed, carrying me with him, and stood in the center of the room, crouched slightly, bent at the knees, lapping me, his palms on my buttocks as I locked my fists behind his neck and he pounded me up and down on his cock, endlessly, until his lust was released deep inside me.

I wasn't at all surprised that he was crying out, "Johnny, Johnny, Johnny," as he fucked me in his primeval frenzy. I have no idea, though, if he realized what name he was calling out. If he did, he didn't let on.

Spent and starting to regain control of himself, he turned and gently laid me down on the bed. He was red-faced, nearly overtaken by embarrassment and remorse. I tugged on his arm, bringing him down onto the bed, and, following my guidance, he stretched out beside me. His face was buried in the hollow of my neck and he was sobbing. His body was trembling all over. I took his hand and guided it down to my pert cock and made him fist me. I put my hand over his and guided him in stroking my cock till he was doin' that with his own rhythm. Then I left him to it and moaned and sighed for him. I took his head in my hands and moved his lips to mine, and we kissed. When he melted to me there, I moved his lips down to my nipples and arched my back and moaned deeply for him—and ejaculated for him too. He shuddered then, as if the struggle inside him was over, as if all his secrets were stripped away.

"Please, Timmy. Please . . . I want you again," he murmured in a halting voice.

That's when I told him how worried I was—that I couldn't become involved. That I didn't want to be hurt. That I could barely make ends meet. That I planned to move on to another town where there might be work for me. A hint of him having taken advantage of me—in my weakness. Of how big and powerful his cock was. Of how I melted to havin' him inside me. But, no, that I didn't think I could risk it again. All of the time I was stroking his cock and moving my body against his.

"I have money," Joe croaked. "Lots of it. I'll take care of you. I won't abandon you like your father did."

"Shush, Daddy," I whispered. Then I pretended to realize for the first time that he had a finger at my hole again and was slow-fucking me with it.

"Oh, oh, OH!" I cried out and ground my ass against the palm of his hand. "Please, Daddy, Please. Fuck me again. Now!"

Joe lost control again and rolled me onto my stomach on the bed, pulled my belly up with the palm of his hand as he straddled my hips and crouched over my ass cheeks and thrust inside me. Fucking me hard now. Just as I wanted. And I moaned and groaned for my daddy.

Hours later, when he had left me, I looked over at the nightstand and saw several more twenties than I had imagined I would end up with. Quite satisfying. And a service, I told myself. Joe would be back. And as long as he—and the others like him—came back to me, I would be financially solvent and his Johnny would be safe.

Or so I told myself.