Daddy Issues

by Seth King

  Daddy Issues

  Seth King

  Copyright © 2018 by Seth King

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.

  For my firestarter

  “But love is love. It makes you do terribly stupid things…”

  -Paula McLain

  ~

  “You must be the best judge of your own happiness.”

  -Jane Austen, Emma

  Eliot Prince is falling hard for someone…

  His former stepfather.

  Their bond is forbidden. Their relationship could upend lives. But their love? It’s a force of nature…

  Ten years ago, a desperate and confused Robert Glazer briefly married a woman before confronting his sexuality and starting his life as an out gay man. They divorced and lost contact – until now.

  Today, a sudden family death throws Robert and his ex-wife back together for the first time. That’s where Robert meets her son Eliot, who was raised with his own father and is now a gorgeous – and openly gay – adult. And to Robert and Eliot’s surprise, sparks fly.

  Passion ignites, then threatens to explode. Soon Eliot knows three things. One: Robert is not his father figure, and never was – in fact, he barely remembers him. Two: news of their union would still rock his whole world. And three: he craves Robert more than anything he has ever wanted. And as suspicions arise, their attraction only grows…

  daddy issues – (noun)

  A slang term referring to an adult who has developed unhealthy relationship habits due to a poor (or nonexistent) relationship with their father figure during childhood

  Prologue

  “Mary Kate, this marriage isn’t working.”

  My wife of two years sucks in a deep breath. Tonight’s argument started out like any other argument: since we’re living apart these days, we met for a moderately-fancy dinner downtown, and she started picking at me. One thing led to another, and I snapped.

  But this time, it’s different.

  I can’t do this anymore. This secret has been smoldering inside me for months, maybe forever, but now it’s about to burst inside my chest. We had two bottles of wine at dinner, I’m feeling reckless and free, and this could be the moment. I can’t hold it in anymore. I have to say this. It might be now or never.

  She finally meets my eyes. “Wait…what?”

  Pity moves into me. I lean a little closer. “Honey. We haven’t even lived together in a year.”

  “Because we couldn’t be around each other without wanting to kill each other...”

  “Uh…yes. Exactly.”

  “So – what are you saying?”

  I swallow. “The thing is…well, you deserve honesty, and...”

  “Honesty?” she asks, not quite getting it. I rearrange my legs and fortify myself for what I am about to do.

  “Mary Kate. The truth is, the thing I don’t know how to tell you, the thing that’s burning a hole into my tongue…is…is…”

  “I knew it,” she says, wiping her lips and leaning back. “I knew it. My sister was right. You’re cheating. There’s some other woman. Some other bitch.”

  I pause and cringe. “What?”

  “Oh, I’m not stupid, Robert. I’ve seen the signs. You’re dressing…differently. Better. You’re working out all the time. Your hair is better, too. You have all these expensive face creams in your bathroom, the foamy kinds from the fancy stores. Admit it, buster. You’ve been caught.”

  Oh, God, I think to myself. She’s noticed all the signs, indeed – she’s just doing the wrong math and coming to the totally wrong conclusion. I’m not cheating, I’m just a big ole’ homo. And nobody knows it but me.

  Finally I decide I can’t take the charade anymore. I am living a lie, and I can’t put her through it anymore. No more evasions, no more drama.

  So I glance up at the ceiling and say a quick prayer. Help me, Jesus and Madonna – the pop star, I mean. I’m gonna need help from every single gay god with this one…

  Then I look back at my wife as my stomach turns over on itself. The light of freedom on my face and the fear of God in my throat, I gather a breath and say it in a shaky voice: “No, Mary Kate. I am not seeing another woman. The truth is…well, the thing is, I’m actually gay.”

  Ten Years Later

  Part I

  Spark

  Eliot Prince

  “Eliot, you remember Robert, right? He’s in town for the funeral...”

  A shiver runs up my spine as I meet Robert’s eyes from across the table and then look away just as quickly.

  “Mhmm,” I tell my Aunt Susan, who smiles and continues her introductions down the buffet line, leaving me alone with Robert. I try to ignore the glitter exploding in my chest and the passion blooming in my blood, but my face is now the color of the tomatoes in the Caprese salad below me. Because there is a problem. A big one.

  To fully answer my Aunt Susan’s question: yes, by now, I have fully deduced the identity of the man she just introduced. And I am horrified.

  I first felt my eyes get stuck on this sexy, bearded gentleman from across the banquet room about ten minutes ago. Although I couldn’t immediately place his face or recall where I knew him from, the reaction between us was immediate. My hair stood up, my chest got numb, my face went white – the whole nine yards. He seemed a bit older, but in a sexy, distinguished way, with a full, dark beard and some silver around his temples. And I was hooked.

  I’ve felt insta-lust for guys at the gym or in an airport or whatever, but this was especially strong. Supernatural, even. We kept stealing glances and investigating from afar, and slowly, his identity started to dawn on me. And by the time Aunt Susan approached, it was too late to walk away.

  Oh my God, I’ve been lusting after my former stepfather.

  Twelve years ago, a man married my mom for two short, chaotic years before realizing he was gay, coming out of the closet, and divorcing her. Their marriage never worked, there was always an emotional distance, and soon he realized why: he was gay all along, and had been brainwashed as a child by his hardliner parents into praying it would simply go away. Obviously it didn’t go away, and never would. My mom wished him well, then cut him off. Since I lived with my own dad at the time, I barely knew my then-stepfather, and I haven’t seen him or heard from him since. He became a stranger to me, in many ways.

  Until now. Because the man I’ve been eye-fucking for ten minutes is that same man – my mom’s gay ex-husband. Robert Glazer is here, he’s queer, and suddenly I am thirsting after my own former stepfather – if you can even call him that.

  I swear I didn’t even really know who was staring at me in the beginning. He clearly didn’t, either, as his expression became more and more confused alongside my own. But the Robert from before wasn’t this person in front of me – in fact, this new version is almost a different person. I know I’ve transformed since I came out of the closet three years ago, myself, but it was nothing like this. The Robert I would occasionally encounter back then was puny and quiet and nervous, but this Robert is muscled and bearded and a little smug – and also sexier than anyone I have seen in recent memory.

  I’m not kidding: he’s the kind of guy who can make forks stop midair, the kind with a 100% “swipe yes” rate on any dating app. Anyone would stop and stare, including me. And that’s precisely the problem: this is beyond inappropriate to admit, but I am craving him to a degree I cannot recall experiencing in my life. And it’s not going away.
>
  I do the math in my head: I’m almost twenty-three now, which means he’s...forty-one, I think? That’s not too old at all. I look old for my age, myself, and Robert looks a decade younger than what he must be, too. My good friend Nick is dating a guy who is fifty, and they seem totally happy. They just aren’t former family members, of course...

  Finally I glance up again. Robert is staring at me, his face unreadable, but his mouth slightly open. That feeling hits me again, that whoosh like I’m being raked over hot coals and falling through the sky at the same time. So I think about this a little more. On some level, this is clearly wrong – my mom would be mortified if she knew about my attraction. My family would be confused, too.

  But on another level, we are two adult men, fully capable of making our own decisions. Robert was never anything close to a father figure to me – I barely knew him, and I didn’t even live in his house. And if he’s here for the full length of the family retreat my Grandma Sara planned around her funeral, that means we’re about to be stuck in her mansion in the mountains for over a week together.

  Regardless of the rest, I haven’t felt like this since I was a teeny bopper. A brief thought shoots through my head and makes me giggle at myself: everyone used to tease my friend Nick about having “daddy issues” for dating an older man, but now it seems I have some real-life “daddy issues” – just in the literal sense.

  I study him. I can tell he’s gay from the way that he just looks slightly better than every other man here – straight men are too proud to take care of themselves, because all that stuff is considered “too girly,” whereas gays don’t have that problem. We’re allowed to look good. So his hair is perfect, his skin is tight, and his teeth are California bright. Most of all, though, he just looks confident and happy with himself for the first time, which makes someone even more attractive. No, the best part is his beard, full and dark and luxurious. I’ve never been a beard person before, but Jesus. If I saw him in a club and didn’t know who he was, I’d probably hit on him.

  No, I’d probably invite him home, and then sit on his dick…

  Okay, stop, Eliot Prince. This is crazy. I can’t be thinking about my mom’s former husband like that. That’s gross, right?

  Even though he and my mom haven’t had any real ties in years…and even though he never had any real family ties with me at all…and even though he means nothing to my life now…and even though he’s basically just a hot guy on vacation with me…and even though we’re both grown adults on a luxury mountain getaway…

  Obviously I’ve gone on my own sexual identity journey since my childhood days. I used to look around the classroom and feel totally isolated, totally alone. I knew I was different, and I knew there was something that separated me from the other kids, especially the boys. We just didn’t operate on the same frequency, and whatever charger cords their souls used, that cord just didn’t fit into my ports. When I started watching gay porn in middle school in the darkness of my bedroom, I discovered what that “something” was: I was a queen.

  I came out when I was about nineteen. My mom was (mostly) okay with it, my friends shrugged and asked me if I was still coming to the beach weekend in a few days; my stepdad was quietly confused/horrified in the way that older male figures often are, but acted polite and supportive nonetheless. I’ve dated two guys now, and I’m about to graduate college and head back into grad school. But before that, before I start the next leg of my life, I’ve got this family retreat to slug through.

  But after seeing Robert, something tells me things just got even more interesting…

  I swallow hard and try to keep my thoughts pure. My family came here under the strict directions of my Grandma Sara, who died two weeks ago. Instead of a real funeral, our matriarch wanted us all to come to her massive lake house in the mountains of North Carolina for a little over a week before we scattered her ashes in the lake. Grandma Sara’s “mountain cabin” is actually a rambling four-story mansion in the gated town of Linville Ridge, North Carolina, which is basically the Hollywood Hills of the South. The rich people here just decorate their mansions here with rustic touches to fool themselves into thinking they’re living casually, but this house still probably has a dozen bedrooms. It looks out on her own personal lake that she owned, which has its own two-story dock house, canoes, a boat for skiing, and everything else that comes with this level of money.

  Grandma Sara told us to drink, eat, party, and swim, and then have a ceremony where we release her ashes into the lake. She wanted no tears, no eulogies, no sorrow – just fun. I was hesitant about taking this much time until I remembered coming to this massive place as a child, and realized that if you’re ever invited to a place like this, you make the time. Especially considering it’s the last time we’ll ever be here before the estate’s trustees sell it off for cash.

  Robert glances my way again. All over again, I am sucked into visually worshipping him. God, his ass – I could just bury my face in it. And his arms – they’re just the right amount of big without making him look like he’s doing something illegal to get the muscle tone. He’s the kind of man who drives men crazy, and drives women even crazier because they can’t have him. Even from afar, he just has a certain physicality, an exotic energy to his stride. God, no wonder my mom married him…

  I turn for the drink table. And speaking of tall drinks of water who also used to be my stepdad: oh, fuck. He’s following me.

  Robert stops a few feet away. I feel him down to the core of me, and suddenly I forget how to use my lungs.

  But what must he think of this?

  Robert Glazer

  I stop at the buffet table near Eliot and then nod at him, pretending I want a cocktail wiener – but really we all know what kind of wiener I suddenly want.

  And it’s probably the most confusing thing I’ve ever felt.

  I try to look calm, but inside, I am collapsing and exploding at the same time. Something isn’t making sense. I am looking at what is obviously Eliot Prince, but at the same time it’s not Eliot at all. This person is an adult, a full-fledged man – actually, he is anyone I would usually flirt with at a bar or a restaurant. And he is my ex-wife’s son.

  Fuck, this is weird. I can admit that. But it’s also extremely powerful. I can’t remember ever reacting to someone like this. He is taking off my clothes with his eyes, and I am welcoming it. But…I shouldn’t be. I shouldn’t even be entertaining this feeling, whatever it is, no matter the intensity.

  Right?

  On second thought…this may be crazy to even consider, but…how wrong is this attraction, really? I was only married to Mary Kate for two years. Two years. We were separated for one of those years. When we met, I was going through the deepest homosexual panic of my life, and looking back, I put her through hell with my distance and my coldness. But I didn’t know what was “wrong” with me, and I didn’t know how to fix it. I thought my sexuality was something that would just go away if you ignored it long enough, like a weird smell in your kitchen that you’re too lazy to investigate until morning. I thought forcing myself to ignore my feelings would cure me, but really it just made me more miserable by the day. My soul wasn’t breathing, and I noticed it with every second. So did she. Mary Kate knew she wasn’t wanted, not in the way most husbands wanted their wives. But neither of us knew what to do about it.

  This was all before legal gay marriage, before Lady Gaga, before anything. Coming out wasn’t a death sentence or anything, but it sure as hell wasn’t anything like it is today, where kids change a status on their Facebook profiles and get patted on the back. My journey was hard, rough, and scary, but I’m finally here. For the first time in my adult life I don’t hate myself. I’ve climbed the money ladder, I’ve got a condo in downtown Atlanta, and apparently I also want to plow the brains out of a guy whose mother I used to be married to. Isn’t that grand?!

  Eliot has gotten fucking hot. I can say that. He’s probably five eleven, with grown-out copper-blonde hair and
freckled skin and lips thicker than a Jolie. Yes, he’s an authentic ginger, the kind you only really see in movies and books. His skin is slightly pinkish and ruddy, too, in that peaches-and-cream way that makes gingers so enticing. There’s something androgynous about his look, sort of like how all the biggest female supermodels are somewhat strong in the face, too. All the sexiest people are a bit androgynous to me. He’s got an average build, but his biceps are noticeable, and the hair on his arms is bright white for some reason. He’s hot, and I can’t ignore it. At the end of the day, I am still a man, with feelings…

  I try to think back to what I knew of him before, which…wasn’t much. I never paid two seconds’ worth of notice when I saw him before, because…well, for obvious reasons. He was just a kid, and since he already had a father, I never tried to step in and be that figure for him. I wasn’t even around him enough to do that, if I wanted to. He definitely seemed like he didn’t want me getting any closer, either. He was fine. From what I remember, we mostly just tolerated each other whenever we’d cross paths. There was no bad blood, per se, he just seemed occupied with other things.

  But now…

  God. I heard from Mary Kate that he came out of the closet at about nineteen – in a conversation they had inside his own closet in his dorm, ironically – but that’s all I really know.

  He looks back at me, his lips slightly open. We’re playing that peek-at-me game, and it’s only getting more intense. That’s when my cock jumps in my pants. I know penises don’t “jump,” but that’s honestly what it feels like. Then my face gets numb. I haven’t felt like this in years.

  I’ve never been the swoony type before, actually. Calm and collected are my middle names. Sure, I’ll ogle a hot guy in a bar as he walks by, but insta-obsessions have never been my thing. But this, whatever it is, is undeniable. As I watch him, I wonder what his lips would look like around my tip, I wonder what that bubble butt would look like bouncing up and down on top of me, I wonder what those big arms would like wrapped around me after we switch roles and I let him fuck me…