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Category: dad/Son (Page 1 of 5)

Dad dates (My perfect dad 52)

Buzzwords, the city’s trendy local cafe frequented by university students and business executives alike, was always busy on Sunday mornings. The rush of early-morning errand runners had already come through, and with the after-church crowds now pouring in seeking coffee and brunch, free tables were scarce. Theo snagged one of the last remaining two tops by the front door and fidgeted nervously, awaiting his date’s arrival. 

The faint scent of starch emanated from his crisp, white, button-down shirt, and his caged junk twitched in his dark gray trousers as he scanned the room, wondering whether any of the men already here was his date. Each time the cafe doors opened, the April wind whirled around him, making him grateful for the open-necked shirt collar. The last thing he needed was to spend the date subduing a necktie determined to flap around in the breeze. 

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The pageant, part 2 (My perfect dad 50)

Read part 1 to get caught up…

As the evening started, Patrick perched on the edge of his barstool, his heart thumping with perturbation and disbelief. The air buzzed with an energy he barely recognized, charged with surreal, disquieting novelty. Mr. Leather Evergreen, the local fetish pageant he had followed religiously and whose title he clinched last year, had been turned on its head. The familiar program of events was gone, and each had been replaced with a bizarre suburban analog.  

Instead of showing off their leather craftsmanship skills, the contestants were each handed a pair of shears and tasked with trimming a small patch of lawn to perfection. The stop clock ticked its final seconds, and Patrick watched in bewilderment as a dozen portly, middle-aged men sweated and fretted over every blade of grass on their miniature plots of turf. The winner, a guy Patrick recalled from the old Hideaway days, high fived the entire panel of judges when they revealed he’d trimmed his grass uniformly to one-quarter inch in height, exactly what the HOA prescribed.  

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The pageant, part 1 (My perfect dad 49)

What a difference a year makes. 

Patrick walked across the parking lot from his SUV to the venue, feeling like a stranger in a strange land. His leather jacket and pants creaked with each step, and his right hand formed an apprehensive fist in its tight, shiny glove. The Muir cap in his left hand had become a relic of a bygone era, and despite being clad head to toe in custom leather gear, Patrick was reluctant to don the cap. 

“Hang in there, Sir,” Patrick’s boyfriend Vince said as he jogged to keep up with Patrick’s purposeful gait. “It’ll be over soon.” 

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DadMan, part 2 (My perfect dad 48)

Read part 1 of “DadMan” to get caught up

Buzzwords was a trendy coffee shop near the university campus, full of tweedy young professors waxing dialectic, shy college students hunched over chessboards, and aging hipsters with a veritable prism of hair colors. It wasn’t where I’d have chosen to meet for a first date, but Frank, the beefy accounting executive of my dreams, lived in one of the medium-rise condos nearby and suggested meeting there. As I walked from my car to the cafe, I wondered which building he lived in. Whichever it was, my modest suburban townhome paled in comparison.  

I arrived first, ordered a coffee, and claimed a table by the windows to catch Frank’s arrival. I didn’t have to wait long. I hadn’t been seated for two minutes before he rounded the corner with a bounce in his step and a casual grin on his face. He was dressed in a navy blue two-piece suit that so accentuated his build that it must’ve been made to measure. Each step he took up the sidewalk drew my attention to a different part of his body: his big thighs, his broad shoulders, the way his belly strained at the buttons of his dress shirt. He caught me staring through the windows as he made his final approach and smiled wide. I stood to greet him, and we shook hands when he arrived at my table.  

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DadMan, part 1 (My perfect dad 47)

I had sworn off dating as my New Year’s resolution. Between my busy day job at the advertising agency and my secret side hustle that was becoming harder and harder to keep secret, I just didn’t have the time or patience for the snake pit of dating apps. My decade-long relationship ended last summer, and at 45, I wasn’t old, but I wasn’t young anymore, either. Out of practice and wanting something more than a one-night stand, I felt like re-entering the city’s dating scene was the romantic equivalent of a polar bear plunge. The more I tried to adapt to the culture of swiping, sexting, unmatching, and ghosting, the older, less relevant, and less desirable I felt. 

And then I met Frank. The attraction was instantaneous; I couldn’t remember the last time I had felt sparks upon meeting a guy. Frank had recently transferred from his accounting firm’s HQ in Boston to run a field office in the same building as my ad agency. About the same age as me, he radiated the refreshing confidence of someone who no longer needed to prove himself. He cut an impressive figure in a suit and tie, too. Just a whisper taller than my six feet, Frank had the build of an ex-college athlete who’d gotten quite comfortable in the C-suite. The way his belly pushed against his belt buckle, making it rest atop the ample bulge in his slacks, drove me wild. His thick, chestnut hair had more than a touch of gray at the temples, and while he was cleanshaven when I first met him, he’d let his salt-and-pepper beard grow in, much to my delight. Frank was a welcome change from the guys who cluttered up all the dating apps and prowled the back rooms at Buddies, our city’s local bear bar. Mature, easygoing, and drop-dead sexy, he was just my type.  

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Countdown to midnight (My perfect dad 46)

It was getting late. Empty beer bottles and pizza boxes littered the living room. The TV screensaver stopped looping and plainly asked, Are you still watching? Zach and I lay sprawled out on the couches, lethargic from too much food and even more alcohol. A pack of cards rested on the coffee table between us. It was still in the plastic, evidence of my underwhelming party-planning skills.  

“Thanks for hanging out, Trev,” he murmured. “You don’t have to wait up with me until midnight.”  

I looked at my watch. It was 11:53 p.m. “Not much longer to go,” I said. “Besides, I’m as curious as you are.”  

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Black Friday (My perfect dad 45)

Every store in the Commonwealth trotted out their old, unshifted merchandise on Black Friday. As a date on the calendar, it was a quaint holdover from the pre-Reform, back when people sold you stuff you didn’t need just because you had money, and they could convince you to spend it. It was harmless cultural theater, like those recreations of historic villages with actors churning butter and feigning shock at your zippers. 

My best friend Adrian and I ventured into the old commercial sector this year for some Black Friday window shopping. Our dads tried to talk us out of it, saying it was rude to waste a shopkeeper’s time if we had no intention of buying anything. Typical dadNet programming, trying to guilt us into staying home. We went anyway and had a great time trying on boots and coloring in mood panels with hand gestures while our dads remained docked at home. We had just left a home appliances warehouse and were about to break for lunch when I saw him standing in the window. 

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Thanksgiving in a box (My perfect dad 44)

The box showed up on our doorstep a week before Thanksgiving. We were confused. It couldn’t possibly have been the prep-by-step Thanksgiving dinner we ordered. It was way too early, and the box wasn’t nearly heavy enough.  

“Do you think we got scammed?” I asked my boyfriend Paul.  

“What do you mean we, Mr. Subscription Delivery Service Addict?” he said with a smirk. “I’m not the one who ordered it. I told you I’d be happy with pizza and beer.”  

We’d done pizza and beer for two consecutive lockdown Thanksgivings. I was ready for something special, but neither of us was a great cook. I wanted premeasured ingredients and a simple chart to follow. Thanksgiving-in-a-box was the answer, or so I thought.  

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Proud dads (My perfect dad 41)

Norman parked his gray SUV in front of the rundown storefront and then lifted his sunglasses to get a better look at the surroundings. A feeling of unease rose in his gut. It occurred to him that this whole thing could have been a setup, but it was impossible to tell. The building’s windows were all papered over, and aside from an old camper that looked like it had been abandoned for months, the parking lot was empty. 

“Are you sure this is right, Dave?” he asked, turning to the passenger riding with him. “This place looks deserted. Check the group text again.” 

Stylized image of an abandoned strip mall.
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A Son for the Weekend (excerpt)

The following excerpt is from A Son for the Weekend: A Gay Taboo/Age Gap Story, which is available exclusively for purchase on Kindle.

The five-hour drive to Bearden’s lake house got off to an uneventful start. As soon as they piled into Ted’s SUV, Matteo put his earbuds in and leaned his seat back. The younger hunk was asleep and snoring before they even got onto the highway. As relieved as Ted had been when Matteo agreed to come along, he grew more and more anxious with each passing mile. After an hour on the road, he was even questioning the wisdom of his decision. The lie had gotten so far out of hand that Ted was bringing a stranger to a weekend at his boss’ house, and despite Matteo’s initial acceptance of Ted’s offer, there was no guarantee that he would agree to also play the role of Ted’s son for the next three days. 

It didn’t help Ted’s anxiety that Matteo was mind-numbingly hot. More than once, Ted’s attention wandered from the road ahead to the sleeping stud next to him, especially once he stretched out in the passenger’s seat and put his ripped body on full display. Even if Matteo played along, would Ted be able to? He would have to be on his best behavior, lest his boss catch him stealing glances at the hot younger guy who would be masquerading as his son. 

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