Dirty Daddies: 2020 Anniversary Anthology

by Maren Smith

  “Ry, baby, breakfast is ready.” Until Malcolm called my name, I’d forgotten all about breakfast, but now that he said something, my stomach did feel rather empty. Looking up, I found him closer than I’d expected. He was nearly right behind me, examining what I’d been doing with a smile on his face. “You can come back to your toys later. Your tummy needs food first.”

  My nose twitched, the smell of sweet, bready goodness filled the air “Pancakes?” I scrambled to my knees and hurried to get up.

  “What else would I feed my boy?”

  I scrunched up my nose. “Green smoothies.”

  Malcolm threw his head back and laughed. “I feed my husband green smoothies for breakfast, I might even feed my naughty boy green smoothies for breakfast, but my good boy gets pancakes.”

  I shuddered. I’d be good. I had zero desire to end up having to eat one of the spinach and kale smoothies he loved so much and Shay insisted were healthy.

  “That’s what I thought. Now come on. Let’s go eat.” He held out his hand and taking it felt natural. I felt his fingers wrap around mine, and I didn’t even have to worry about where we were going. He’d direct me. There was something freeing about having the decision taken out of my hands. I liked it. I felt safe with Malcolm leading the way.

  Instead of sitting at the island like we normally did, two plates were on the small kitchen table. It took nothing more than a quick glance at the table to see which plate was mine. Malcolm’s looked exactly like it always did—a stack of pancakes, a pat of butter, fresh fruit, and a small drizzle of syrup. He had a cup of coffee, and a glass of water. The setting at my place was unlike anything I’d seen at our table. A brightly colored plate sat at my spot, my pancakes were cut into perfect bite-sized pieces, and my syrup was off to the side in a little well on the side of the plate. The same fruit on top of Malcolm’s pancakes were on my plate, but the strawberries had been quartered and were neatly inside a different divided section. Most notably, a cup of coffee was missing from my place setting. My spot had a big red sippy cup covered in cartoon cars. I couldn’t see through the heavy plastic and the bright patterns, but I was certain it wouldn’t contain coffee.

  Malcolm didn’t hesitate as he walked me to the table and pulled out the chair. “Can you keep your clothes clean, or should I put a bib on you?”

  My cheeks heated instantly. There wasn’t a bib at the table, and there had never been a bib in our house, then again, there had never been toys or this place setting here before that morning. Who knew what else he had up his sleeve. “I’ll be good, Daddy.”

  Yeah, that word coming out of my mouth shouldn’t have made my cock stir in my pants, but it did. And judging by the way Malcolm tried to inconspicuously adjust himself, the word had the same effect on him. Interesting.

  I took a seat and tried to ignore my half chub in my tight briefs. At least Malcolm didn’t seem to be wearing underwear under his light gray sweatpants. He had plenty of room.

  Twenty-nine years of feeding myself had me trained to grab my fork when I sat down to eat. When my hand wrapped around a chunky plastic handle, I looked down to see what I was holding. It probably shouldn’t have surprised me that the fork matched my place setting and was the same bright red as the cup and rim of the plate, but it did. It felt awkward in my hand. I could wrap my hand around a football and palm a basketball with only one hand, so the small fork felt strange and was barely visible above the webbing of my thumb.

  “Eat, Ry.” Malcolm’s reminder of why we were at the table should have been needless, but I’d forgotten all about my breakfast.

  “Excessive?” I questioned as I stabbed a pancake with the blunt tines. I had to scoop the bite more than spear it but managed to get it to stick on my fork long enough to dip it into the syrup.

  Malcolm shrugged a shoulder as he cut into the pancakes with the side of his fork. “I figure the best way for us to see what does and doesn’t work is to jump in with both feet.”

  It made sense, which was why he was the Daddy and not me. I’d have tried one thing at a time and probably gotten myself more confused or been afraid to take it further at a certain point.

  Pancakes usually disappeared from my plate so fast I felt like I hadn’t tasted them. With the little fork, it was taking forever. I was struggling to stab them, they kept falling off into the syrup, and then would fall apart when I tried to get them out. Frustration welled up. I was hungry, I wanted my breakfast, but the fork was too small and blunt to be of help.

  “Whoa, Ry. Let Daddy help.” Malcolm’s voice was soothing in my ears. He had noticed I was frustrated, and he had a solution. My stomach rumbled loudly, letting him know I wanted more breakfast. Long tines of one of our normal forks stabbed a bite of my pancake, expertly dipped the edge in the syrup, and brought it to my mouth.

  Too stunned to do anything else, I opened up and the bite slipped in. “Good boy.” The praise should have had me embarrassed, but it didn’t; it felt good. I’d made Malcolm happy. This was easy—eat pancake, get praise. I liked it. I opened my mouth for the next bite as soon as I’d swallowed the first.

  I had no idea how long it took to finish my pancakes, without my phone or an easy view of the clocks in the kitchen, all I had to go by was how many pancakes were on my plate. They seemed to disappear at an alarming rate. Finally, a piece of strawberry was brought to my lips. I might not have loved the vegetable smoothies Malcolm made, but I had no problems downing an entire quart of strawberries while watching TV, finding myself frustrated when I didn’t have more.

  Malcolm laughed at my pout when the strawberries vanished from my plate. “More, Daddy?” I wasn’t even surprised when Daddy slipped out that time. At some point while he’d fed me breakfast, Malcolm my husband had been replaced with Malcolm my Daddy. I couldn’t explain the change if I had to, I just knew it had happened.

  He’d noticed how easily Daddy had slipped from my tongue—he knew I’d really seen him as Daddy and not Malcolm—and the smile that spread across his lips was genuine. “You’ve had plenty to eat. Drink your milk while I clean up our dishes, then we can go watch cartoons.”

  I wondered what cartoons were on at this hour, but it didn’t much matter. That was a decision Daddy could make. I grabbed the sippy cup and put it to my lips. That perfect, content haze that I’d been feeling since Daddy had sat down to help me eat lifted briefly while I decided if I could drink from my special cup. As I put the cup to my lips, I remembered that Daddy had told me to drink. I could do this. He liked me listening to him, he liked when I did things he wanted me to do. I played with my toys and he smiled. I ate my breakfast and he was happy. I’d called him Daddy and he’d beamed with pride. All those reactions made me feel good. I could do this.

  I sucked and felt the cool liquid hit my tongue. Daddy had said it was milk, he’d failed to mention it was chocolate. I swallowed quickly and pulled at it again. Just like promised the night before, I’d been his good boy, so I got chocolate milk. A smile tugged at my lips, I was his boy, his good boy. Good boys got chocolate milk. The thought filled my stomach with warmth despite the cold drink.

  Daddy returned with a washcloth, and it only took me a second to realize that it was meant for me. He took my free hand and cleaned it with the warm rag, then placed it against my cup, encouraging me to grab it with that hand before he took my other hand to wash it. “You stayed very clean. Nothing’s even on your shirt.”

  All the cheeky responses about how any messes would have been his fault or that I was an adult and had fed myself for over a quarter century had been drowned out with my drink and the smile that spread across my lips at the praise.

  With Daddy satisfied that I was clean enough, he tossed the cloth toward the sink. “Come on, Ry, you’ve earned some cartoon time.”

  Chapter Nine

  Malcolm

  Something was different with Ryder, but I couldn’t quite put my finger on it. He seemed ot be slipping between himself and possibly little space all morning, but as
we finished breakfast, I got the distinct impression that I wasn’t looking at my husband trying to figure out how to be my boy but my boy.

  In the previous weeks when I’d tried to imagine Ryder little, I saw him one of two ways: hyper and inquisitive or quiet and focused. So far, Ryder seemed to be quiet and focused on everything. I’d watched him play with his cars, and for a few minutes, I’d thought I’d seen the stressors of the real world slip away, but as soon as I got his attention, concerns crossed his face. The same had happened when he sat down for lunch. It wasn’t until I’d gotten halfway through feeding him his pancakes that I noticed Ryder looked lighter. His shoulders were down, his head was up, his eyes were bright, and most importantly to me, he was smiling. Then he’d called me Daddy. There hadn’t even been a flicker of uncertainty in his eyes. Using the cup hadn’t been as easy, but when he discovered the chocolate milk, even my washing his hands hadn’t been worth putting it down.

  Now we were heading to the living room. Ryder holding my hand and looking around with wide eyes. I scooped the blanket and stuffed cars off the ground, then grabbed the remote before settling onto the couch. As expected, Ryder didn’t hesitate to lie down with me. “What’re we watching?”

  I had already found the movie with the characters on his plate, cup, and silverware, and had it ready to go when I flicked the TV on. “We’ll see what’s on.” I draped the blanket over his exposed legs; the air conditioner in the house made it a little cool to be in just a pair of cotton shorts. As I adjusted the blanket over him, I remembered the pacifier I’d stuck in his pocket as we’d left the bedroom. I hadn’t seen him use it while he’d played earlier, so I suspected it was still there. A quick pat of his pocket told me it was there, and I pulled it out, offering it to my snuggly boy.

  Ryder’s mouth opened automatically, the embarrassment of me seeing him with it completely gone after two weeks. In the last week, he’d even begun bringing it out of our room, though not frequently. When I handed him the stuffed cars, Ryder pulled the race car to his chest and then the large Bug got shoved between my thigh and his head like a giant pillow.

  The movie started to play, and Ryder tensed slightly. At first, I thought he was nervous, but when he pointed at the TV and spoke around the pacifier, I knew it was excitement. “Daddy, it’s the same characters that are on my plate!”

  Carding my hands through his hair, I couldn’t help the smile that spread on my face. “Yes, Ry, same characters. Watch your movie.”

  For nearly an hour, Ryder laid with his head on me, his arm draped around the big car and playing with the fabric of my pants. He giggled when the characters did something funny. In all the years we’d been together, I’d never heard Ryder giggle. It was a purely joyful sound, and I’d known then that he’d sunken fully into his little side. Toward the end of the movie, Ryder’s breathing evened out, and eventually became deep with little snoring sounds.

  When the movie was done, Ryder didn’t even notice. I could have taken him upstairs, but we were both comfortable, and I decided to let him sleep while I read some more blogs on my tablet.

  This had been unlike any preseason I’d ever had before. I hadn’t taken this much time not thinking about football in August since before middle school. Ryder was more important than studying film during my time off. Making sure his needs were met and learning more about him had to take priority. Thinking about it, I couldn’t imagine a time when I’d been happier. He was worth it.

  Ryder began to wake up slowly nearly an hour after the movie ended. At first it was just his pacifier moving more frequently as he worked it between his lips. Then he stretched and pulled his car closer to his body. A few minutes later he finally stretched and yawned wide enough that his pacifier fell from his mouth.

  “Hey, sleepy head.”

  Ryder’s voice was scratchy with sleep when he responded. “How long have I been out?”

  I looked at the clock on my tablet. “About ninety minutes. Maybe a little more.”

  Ryder wiggled himself so he was sitting up. The giant car was in his lap, but he wasn’t holding it. From the set of his shoulders and the way he ran his hand through his hair nervously, I knew my husband was back. All-in-all, I felt like the nearly three hours he’d been my boy that morning and early afternoon had been a great start.

  “How are you feeling?” I asked, trying to keep my tone neutral in case I had misread his body cues and he was still little. I didn’t want to pull him out of that headspace too quickly.

  Ryder chuckled dryly. “Kind of ridiculous right now, actually.”

  He was definitely back to adult Ryder. “Why do you feel that way?”

  Ryder held up the car he’d been snuggling for the last few hours and shook it. Then used the stuffed car to gesture to the rug and toys. “All of it. I spent the morning playing… with toys. You fed me my breakfast.” His face flushed at the memory. “I took a nap while watching cartoons.”

  I shrugged. I hadn’t been bothered by any of it, but maybe Ryder was seeing it differently than me. “Was any of that a problem for you?” I’d enjoyed spending the morning with my boy. I’d enjoyed his giggles while watching cartoons. I’d enjoyed watching his imagination at work while he built his little city. I’d even enjoyed getting to feed him his breakfast when he’d gotten frustrated with the small fork. The memory of him calling me Daddy had my dick stirring to life.

  Ryder answered with his own shrug and nibble of his lip. “No. It wasn’t. It felt nice. Which is what makes it so weird.”

  “Why is that bad?”

  He threw his hand up, but with it came the car, nearly smacking me in the face. “We should have gone over the game from last night. That’s what we always do the day after a game. I should have started painting the guest room. We’re running out of free time until January, early February with any luck, and I just spent hours playing with toys.”

  I gestured to the city spread across the rug. “Is that how you felt while you played with your cars?”

  Ryder shook his head.

  “Is that how you felt while you ate breakfast?”

  That time he laughed. “Hell no, I got pancakes with syrup, and chocolate milk! I never get that during the season.”

  “Did you even think about any of those things while you watched your movie?”

  Ryder shook his head again, but that time he blew out a frustrated huff at the same time. “No. I didn’t. I actually enjoyed it. Don’t you think that’s weird?”

  I rubbed his arm. “Nope. Not at all. I didn’t think about work either. Even when you were napping, I read some blogs that had nothing to do with football. The closest I came to it was marveling at how much I didn’t miss my world revolving around it.”

  “You didn’t mind?”

  “My sweet boy, of course I didn’t mind. You are so much more important than football. Hell, we are more important than football. The two of us will be together long after our football careers are over.”

  Ryder sighed, a content, happy sound that told me I’d said the right thing. “How’d you enjoy the morning?”

  “Do you want honesty?”

  Ryder nodded, his lip slipping between his teeth. I picked his pacifier up and slipped it in his mouth. “No gnawing on your lip.” He took the offer without hesitation, but his eyes were full of questions.

  “I loved it. I could see us spending downtime as Daddy and boy, but I can also see how this could help you on the road or after a game. Not everything has to be complete submersion into your role. It’s not an all or nothing lifestyle. Even if you just want to bring a pair of pajamas, your pacifier, and a toy, or a blanket on the road, it would be fine. That’s enough that you can be my boy for a few minutes before bed or when we wake up.”

  “What do you get out of it though?” Ryder scrubbed his hand over his face and pulled the pacifier out. “I’ll admit I felt good. It took some time, but I liked the cars, and my mind kind of cleared of everything as I played. Breakfast made me feel really special. You
went out of your way to make sure I had everything I needed. As ridiculous as it felt when you sat beside me to feed me, I felt safe and cared for. But you’re doing all this work, and then you have to sit there while I watch TV or nap. That can’t be fun.”

  How did I explain to him that it was one of the most enjoyable mornings I’d had in years? “I like doing things for you, Ryder. I always have. I keep telling you that. I like making meals for you. I like making you smile. I like seeing you relaxed. Knowing that what I’m doing, however directly or indirectly, is making you happy or allowing you to have fun is enjoyable for me.” I looked up at the ceiling, trying to get my thoughts straight. “Being your Daddy is better than birthday or Christmas gifts. When you call me Daddy, I feel special because I am the only one who can give you that. I don’t think I could ever be bored being your Daddy.”

  Ryder sighed and flopped down onto my lap, his head back on the Bug and his arm coming to rest on my stomach. It was then he noticed how hard I’d become through our conversation.

  Big green eyes stared up at me in surprise. “You’re turned on.”

  Chapter Ten

  Ryder

  Malcolm’s voice turned deep, the same voice he got when he was ready to pounce on me and fuck me to the point we’d be ordering takeout so neither of us had to move. “My boy is very sexy.”

  I’d seen him adjust himself at the table during breakfast and I’d been a bit surprised. After our conversation and seeing his reaction, I was beginning to suspect he was telling the truth. He was just as attracted to little Ryder as he was to adult Ryder. I took in his body, his scruff that was just beginning to show signs of gray, his hard chest and abs straining against the too-small shirt he was wearing, and the tent in his gray sweatpants where his cock was straining against his pants. I was married to one sexy man.