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My Kind Of Man: An M/M age-play romance by AG Silver (1)

Michael

I’m here. I’ve made the final step. I’ve filled in the forms, had the interview and the tour, and paid my fees. Today is the start of becoming me, the me I really am. My desires and needs have been hidden, neglected or, at worse, abused for too long. I know what I want, and this is the place to get it.

I want a daddy.

Walking through the softly lit and beautifully decorated room to the bar, I try not to look too self-conscious. I’m dressed the way I think will explain what I’m after. My tight pants have an elastic waist—not something an adult would normally wear—and my royal blue T-shirt is tight. It’s shorter than my usual T’s, but how else do I look ‘little’? I decided against a fun one. I didn’t know if it was dumb or not.

At the bar, I order an orange juice. The bartender smiles as he hands it to me before placing two, bright-colored bendy straws in it.

“Enjoy.” He winks before moving off to serve someone else.

Sitting on one of the high stools at the bar, I like that my feet can’t reach the floor. It gives me the chance to swing my legs a little. Cautiously, I scan the room, trying not to stare but needing to see what is happening around me. Is it a daddy night, or have I made a mistake?

In the right corner, a young man wears little red shorts, held up by suspenders, and a T-shirt with a cute teddy bear emblazoned on it. So, cartoons are okay, I muse. He sits on the lap of a much larger man, his head tucked under the man’s chin. The man—I assume he is the smaller man’s daddy—strokes his boy’s bottom while the little one sucks on a binky. The edge of a diaper shows at the waistband of his shorts, making me wish I had been brave enough to wear mine. Instead, I settled for some adult-sized pull-ups, not as bulky as a diaper but still giving the soft touch of cotton on my cock. I know I really want my daddy to put on my diaper. The thought of being laid out on a changing mat or table as my daddy tucks the soft cotton under my bottom before smoothing it over my cock has me squirming on the stool as my dick plumps up uncomfortably in the tautly stretched confines of my pants.

A man approaches me, but I immediately see he’s not the man I’m looking for. His stance is too rigid, too fierce, for me. Shaking my head as he gets closer, I am relieved when he smiles and walks past me. After another couple of minutes, I feel a hand on my shoulder.

“Can I get you a refill, boy?” the man asks politely, but I decline.

“No, thank you, I’m good.” I look at him, and he narrows his eyes. Yep, another no-go.

Simply because this is what I crave, doesn’t mean I have to jump straight in with the first man to pay me any attention. I’ve been there and done that, and it failed. I know what I’m looking for and what I want. I want to be nurtured, taken care of, and have my every need looked after. The problem is, I want to live the lifestyle every day, and that is not what either of those two men is looking for. They only want to play.

I work from home as the behind-the-scenes, admin sort of guy in the business I started with some college friends. At least, we became friends after we had been placed together. I was the nerd, and they were the cool kids who needed to pick up their grades. Even Jeremy! I snort. It’s something I’m good at and being successful has given me a very comfortable lifestyle. Yet it’s not enough to have the nice house if there’s no one to share it with me. That is why I’m here tonight.

Picking up my juice, I suck slowly on the straws and continue to look around the room. Suddenly, I see him. My perfect daddy. He looks like everything I’ve imagined and fantasized about.

Guessing, I’d say he’s about forty. He looks tall, though I won’t know for sure until he stands up, and his chest is broad, the outline of his muscled pecs visible through the light blue, fitted, button-down shirt. With short, dark brown hair—styled without too much effort and preparation—he looks easy-going, relaxed, as if he doesn’t spend hours on his appearance. He looks happy with who he is. His black slacks hug his long and strong legs. Yep, he’s what I’m looking for.

Catching me observing him, he raises an eyebrow, a small smile gracing his perfect lips as he looks me over. He turns back to talk to his companion, effectively dismissing me.

Disappointed, I swing the stool around to survey a different part of the room. There are couples making out, nothing too risqué but still not something I want to watch.

Maybe I was stupid, and the sultry man is laughing at me with his friend? God, I’m such an idiot! Why would anyone as perfect as him be interested in me? I’m nothing special to look at, not necessarily unattractive, but my looks scream normal, boring, safe. It’s something I’ve been told all my life.

My grandmother raised me after my parents were killed in a car accident. It was a loving home, and she never questioned my sexuality but would kindly laugh at me. “Michael, sweetie, not everyone is born to be a model. You’re a good boy, a nice boy, and that’s enough. Work hard and be happy with what you have.”

That’s what I’ve done, more so after she died. I kept her words in my head, never brave enough to break the mold she had cast me in. Even after she understood my sexuality, she only ever wanted me to be content. And what good has it done me? I’m lonely and unhappy. My urges, as I have always thought of them, are unusual, and the men I have encountered were only after a couple of hours of play. Acting out a fantasy they had locked in their heads before going back to their normal lives. The last man, Keith, talked the talk, saying all the right things to me. We dated a few times before we were ready to take it further. Then, that night, as we were playing around, he got a call. From his wife. Yeah, that was a shocker. I’ve never seen anyone run so fast.

No one else catches my eye, so I finish my drink. Another wasted evening. Maybe I’m just not what men want in a little one. Placing my glass on the bar, I swivel back to the main room, resigned to go home. There, standing only a couple of feet away, is the hot daddy. He watches me intently, his dark brown eyes roaming my body.

“I hope you’re not leaving,” he states as he gets closer.

I swallow hard and instinctively lower my eyes. “Um…yes, Sir, I was about to,” I stammer, sounding like a complete dork.

“That’s a shame.” He shakes his head. “I was about to offer you a drink.”

“O…Oh, I…I guess I can stay.” I stumble over my words but manage to smile shyly.

“Excellent. Would you like to join me at my table? My companion has left and I, too, am alone.” When he holds out his hand, I let him clasp mine. Fireworks shooting up my arm make me gasp as my eyes catch his. I choke at the sensation, and my face floods with heat as I blush.

“What would you like to drink?” he asks as he contemplates my reactions to him. “Or would you rather I choose for you?” A simple question, but it seems to imply so much more.

“I’ll let you decide,” I answer quietly.

I wait as he speaks to the bartender who nods and smiles.

“Come along. He’ll have them brought over.” His hand releases mine, only to move to my back. With a soft, but firm hand, he touches the inch of bare skin between my pants and my T-shirt, setting the nerves in my body alight. Will he feel what else I’m wearing? Will he like it? Then his hand travels farther south, onto my bottom. He hesitates for a fraction of a second and then pats it gently. I know he’s happy with what he felt.

We sink down on a dark red, plush velvet seat. It’s a good thing I’m small. There is no way we would’ve fit otherwise. The image of me sitting on his knee flashes in my head, and it’s so real I stifle a moan of need. Turning to face me, his eyes blazing as he acknowledges the slight sound, he takes hold of my hand again.

“My name is Callum. What’s yours?” he asks gently. I think he’s trying not to frighten me off.

“Um, Michael.” My voice is soft, breathless, as he looks me over. Flushing again, I duck my head.

“It’s lovely to meet you, Michael. I don’t think I’ve seen you here before.”

“No, this is my first time.”

“And you came alone? That’s very brave of you.” His thumb strokes mine, the sensation making it difficult to concentrate.

“I don’t have anyone I could’ve asked to come with me.”

“No friends who would understand?”

“Not really.” I wish I could stop turning red every time I need to speak.

“I see,” he murmurs thoughtfully. “Well, I’m very happy you came tonight.” He smiles brightly. It lights up his whole face. Gone is the sensible look he had when he first spoke. Now, I see laughter and mischief.

I feel a presence at my side and shift as a waiter stands with our drinks. My eyes widen in surprise when he sets the tray down on the table. There is a glass of white wine for Callum, I assume, because next to it is a glass of milk, but that’s not what surprises me. It’s the empty, bright blue, sippy cup that has me shocked. Tears build up in my eyes when I realize how much of me he has recognized and reacted to.

“I wasn’t sure which you would prefer,” Callum speaks quietly. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

Tearing my gaze from the table, I look at him. Nervously chewing my bottom lip—unsure how I’m supposed to find my voice, let alone answer him—I shake my head. Then, taking a deep breath, I reply, “No, it’s fine.” I shake my head again, wanting him to know how much this means to me.

“Which would you prefer? Or shall I decide for you?”

Nodding, I close my eyes, afraid to look in case he makes the wrong decision.

He tugs me to him and onto his lap. Unable to stop myself, I lean into him and inhale his divine scent. It’s woodsy but with a citrus freshness to it. Whatever it is, it’s intoxicating.

He hands me my drink, and I sigh when I notice he made the right choice: my milk is in the sippy cup. I grip the handles but am afraid to lift it to my mouth. For now, it feels enough to simply hold on to it. It feels like everyone in the room has stopped what they are doing to stare at me.

“No one is looking, Mikey,” he murmurs into my hair. “You can have your milk.”

My heart beats faster at my nickname. No one has ever called me that, but I like it. Tentatively, I lift the cup to my mouth and take a long drink. When I gaze up at Callum, he studies me in wonder.

“You look beautiful with your cup, Mikey. What a good boy you are. You have made me very happy.”

I smile and take another drink, my eyes fixed on him as he caresses my bottom again.

Callum

The Day Before

“Hey, Daniel, I haven’t heard from you in a while. What’s up?” I answer my friend’s call.

“I just thought I’d catch up. I haven’t seen you at the club for a while and wondered if you were okay,” he answers, but I can tell there’s more to come.

“You heard about me and Christopher, I suppose,” I mutter, still annoyed at his deception. It’s been months since he’d left me for another man—and definitely not a daddy.

“I have, and I’m sorry that didn’t work out for you. Are you taking a break from the scene?”

“I haven’t been in the right headspace for it. You know the lifestyle I want, and I don’t imagine there’s anyone out there that will suit it.” I know what I want: a full-time little, a boy who will let me take care of him.

“We’re having a Daddies night tomorrow and have had a few new members join. You might find the right person this time.” Daniel seems to be telling me more than he’s allowed.

“Are you telling me there’s a new little?”

“You know I can’t divulge any particulars. I’m merely saying it’s been a while since you’ve been here. You may be surprised by what you find.” He laughs.

“You are incorrigible. Look, I’ll consider it, okay? That’s all I can promise you.”

“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow.” He laughs again and ends the call.

I look at my computer screen and try to concentrate on the new campaign my team is working on, but my mind is focused on the thought of having a new partner. A man who will let me look after him, a little who wants to play with the toys I have at home and sleep in the nursery. I thought I had it with Christopher but realized he wasn’t into the lifestyle as much as I imagined. He merely wanted someone to do everything for him. He was lazy and selfish and, by the time he left, all we did was argue.

Getting up from my desk, I wander to the breakroom and make a coffee as I run through the conversation with Daniel and what he was trying to tell me.

Do I really want to put myself out there again? I should have settled down by now. I’m forty, and I want a partner, someone to spend my evenings and nights with, and who’ll spend the day letting me look after him. I don’t know what I’ve being doing wrong in the past. Am I too pushy? Do I expect more from a boy than I should? I don’t believe so. I believe I have everything to offer: a nice home and a decent income, which gives me a comfortable life. I’m a good guy, and I take care of myself, going to the gym regularly. I don’t smoke or drink, apart from an occasional glass of wine. What have I done wrong?

The advertising company I worked with for nearly fifteen years decided to relocate to the other side of the country. I didn’t want to go with them, so happily took the severance pay and set up by myself, carrying with me a good client base. Taking my coffee back to my office, I concentrate and get on with my work, managing to put Daniel’s comments out of my mind for the rest of the day.

* * *

“What are you up to tonight?” I ask my friend Nate. He’s in the lifestyle but doesn’t want to take it to the extreme I do. He has a partner every few months, both knowing it’s not a forever arrangement. It works for him, and he’s happy.

“Nothing. I’ve had a crazy busy week, and I was just gonna chill out with a couple of beers. Why? You want something?”

“Daniel called me yesterday to tell me there’s a Daddies night at the club tonight. He wondered if I was interested.” I try to sound nonchalant, but the thought of meeting someone new, someone Daniel thinks would suit me, has been buzzing around my head since yesterday. Not that I’m going to share that with Nate.

“Oh, did he? That was kind of him.” Nate laughs heartily. “Is he trying to set you up?”

“He was being as indiscreet as he is allowed to be. The man is a nuisance.” I chuckle. “But there’s no harm in looking, I guess.”

“You hate being alone, don’t you, Cal?”

“I do, but I’d rather be alone than be with the wrong person. But I’m beginning to feel I’m running out of time. I’ll soon just be a creepy old man.”

Nate’s bark of laughter makes me pull the phone away from my ear. “We can’t have that, so, yes, I will be your wingman tonight. What time?”

We arrange to meet at nine. It’s nearly six, so I’ve got enough time to have something to eat and make myself look presentable. Deciding on a stir-fry, I chop some vegetables before cooking them with strips of chicken. As I sit down after about twenty minutes, my mind is locked on what or who I could find tonight. Who has joined that has Daniel excited enough to invite me along?

I know what I’m looking for. My ideal little would be about five foot eight, lean, but a runner rather than a gym addict. Blond or dirty blond curly hair, maybe a little bit long so that the curls spring back under my touch when I wash it. He would be quiet but have a good sense of humor and be easy to talk to. He would want me to care for him, make his decisions, allow me to treat him like my best boy and still have the sexual attraction we would want outside of being a daddy and a little. I laugh dryly to myself. Yeah, that’s why you’re alone. You’re looking for the unicorn of all littles.

I take a last look in the full-length mirror in my bedroom. I’ve opted for black slacks and a pale blue, button-down shirt, not too stuffy or old-mannish but smart-casual. I check my pockets for my cell and my wallet before leaving.

The drive to the club takes about thirty minutes with light traffic for a Friday night, setting me in a good mood.

The doorman smiles as I approach. “Good evening, Mr. Peverell, how nice to see you again.”

“Thank you, Coby.” I smile and walk past him into the large foyer and the reception area. Handing over my ID and cell phone, I sign the members’ book.

“Have a good evening, sir.”

“Thank you.” I had forgotten how welcoming everyone is here. It has been too long, and, maybe, it’s time for me to be here again.

When I enter the bar, I immediately spot Nate at one of the best tables in the room. I scan the elegantly decorated room—it looks more like a drawing room in a gentlemen’s club than an exclusive BDSM, men-only club. I’m sure anyone’s first thoughts would be black walls and whips and chains. There are rooms focusing on exactly that, but this is a meeting room: a place to socialize and be seen.

I sit next to Nate and give him a shoulder pat in greeting. “How long have you been here? I hope I haven’t kept you waiting.” I accept the glass of wine he hands me.

“No, just a few minutes.” He raises his glass to me. “Cheers, Callum, here’s to new beginnings.”

“I fancy you might be expecting a bit too much,” I joke but tap his glass in salute.

“I wouldn’t be so sure about that. Wait until you see the reason Daniel called you,” Nate says with a wry smile.

“What are you talking about? Who?…What are you talking about?” I ask, bewildered by his positivity.

“Him.” Nate nods in the direction of a young man sitting nervously on one of the bar stools. His legs sway slightly, as if he’s enjoying the feeling of them not touching the floor.

“Oh my!” My thoughts run wild. There is my perfect man. Sucking orange juice nervously through a straw as he looks around the room. He tries not to stare, but I watch as his eyes settle on Lyle and Peter. He looks wistfully as Peter snuggles into his daddy, a binky in his mouth. I’m guessing they’ve done a scene earlier and are coming down from their high. To a novice, it simply looks like a sweet, tender moment.

I tear my eyes away, utilizing every piece of self-control not to go over and gather him up and treat him the same way Peter is tending to Lyle. My interest piques as he turns down two men, both good guys who know how to make a little feel good. But they are only interested in playing, not in having a relationship.

Then I feel his eyes on me. I know not to look yet, but it feels as if he’s drinking me in. When I turn my gaze to him, he blushes, and I return my attention to Nate.

“Jesus, Nate, that boy is perfect. What the hell am I going to do?” I feel like a schoolboy, all nervous and fumbling.

“Sheesh, relax, Cal. Yes, he is perfect for you, so don’t sit here like a fool. Go and say hi. I’m going to shoot off. You don’t need me anymore. Go get him, Cal, before someone else does. He’s divine.”

“Hell, Nate, you saw him first. Do you want to go and talk to him?” I feel like I might kill him if he says yes.

“Nooo, I’m not into someone like him. I like my men to go home after I’ve made them come. He has ‘forever’ written all over him.” Nate winks and leaves.

I sit and contemplate him, realizing he’s made up his mind to go. I make my way over, stopping when he’s about to jump down from his stool. His reaction is perfect. He seems as interested as I am but so incredibly shy—another check in the yes box for me.

After agreeing to a drink, I see him falter as to what to have. Or, I muse, it’s more like it’s a decision he doesn’t want to make. Stepping up to the bar, I call the bartender over. “Can I have another glass of Sauvignon and a glass of milk? But can you add a sippy cup to the tray, too?”

“Certainly, sir, I’ll have them brought over to your table. On your account, sir?”

“Yes, please.” It’s easier for the club to bill me than to have to handle cash, and I always feel it cheapens the interaction with the other man.

We make polite small talk until the server arrives. I find out his name is Michael, which I like, but sense an abbreviation for when he’s a little would be better. Mikey will suit him perfectly.

I’m eager to discover more. As we walked over, I tentatively stroked his backside, and I know he’s wearing something other than briefs. My dick stirs at the thought of Mikey on my changing table as I clean him up and put a diaper on.

The server arrives, and this is crunch time. How is he going to react? I watch as his eyes widen and another blush spreads over his soft cheeks. He’s not too young, but he has hardly any facial hair. It is another check for me.

“I wasn’t sure which you would prefer,” I say quietly. “I hope I haven’t offended you.”

Shaking his head, he looks at me. Seeing the glistening moisture of unshed tears, I don’t comment. I don’t want to embarrass him. He reassures me it’s okay but still seems unable to make a decision. Looking at the server, I nod to the cup. If I’m reading the boy right, I know that is the one he would choose for himself.

Another moment passes, and I decide to take action. I pull him onto my knee, expecting him to protest or be shocked, but he does the opposite, settling in immediately. Calming down, he leans in and draws a deep breath. An almost silent moan escapes him as he settles deeper into my lap. I hand over his cup. He looks at it like it’s the Holy Grail, but he’s worried. I guess it feels like all eyes are on him, and I pull him closer.

“No one is looking, Mikey. You can have your milk.”

A short time later, I hold my breath as he lifts the cup to his mouth and takes a long drink. I’m so proud of him. We don’t even know each other, yet I know I’ve found my boy.

I praise him like a good daddy should. “You look beautiful with your cup, Mikey. What a good boy you are. You have made me very happy.” Running my hand over his perfect bottom, I pat him again.

When his cup is empty, he rests it in his lap and fidgets. I have a feeling I know what he wants, but there is no way he is ready to share that part of him with me. Soon, I hope, but not yet.

“Do you need the restroom, Mikey?” I whisper, but he shakes his head.

“No, I’m okay. I think I should be heading home soon. I can wait until then,” he mumbles.

“I can take you, if you wish. They have individual stalls, Mikey. No one will know.” I make a move to encourage him to stand. “Come on, baby.”

He looks at me, his eyes full of questions, but he nods and so very quietly whispers, “Yes, Daddy.”

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