“That I love him. Because I do,” he whispers.
“He’s easy to love, right?” I kiss the words into his hair, and he squirms contentedly.
“Yeah… You’re easy, too, Mitch. For a long time, I just didn’t allow myself to love you.” He wraps his arms around my shoulders as he looks up at me, his eyes locking on to mine. “I never really hated you, Mitch. You know that, right? I was just hurt. Lost, I guess.”
“I know, kid. I know.”
“It feels good to not be lost anymore. It feels safe,” he smiles, his eyes all watery.
“I know,” I croak, as I feel tears gather at the corners of my eyes. “That’s all I ever wanted for you. To feel safe and loved. Cherished. To know your worth.”
“Don’t cry, Daddy,” he whispers, releasing his arms from around me and reaching for my face. His fingertips dance along my skin, brushing at my tears. “If you cry, I’ll cry.It’ll be anarchy,” he mimics Judd Nelson’s legendary sentence. “And Idofeel it when I’m with you and Cal. Like I matter. Like you’d be sad if I weren’t here. Bree too,” he says, closing the gap between us and kissing my lips tenderly.
“We would,” I speak against his lips. “I don't think any of us would ever recover.”
“Good thing I’m not going anywhere then, Mitchy.” His tongue dips to my lower lip, licking at it teasingly.
“Oh, yeah?” I chase his lips.
“Yes, you're stuck with me now, Daddy. Forever and ever.”
“That ain't no hardship, baby,” I smile, before smacking his ass through the fluffy blanket. “Now go get dressed. You’ve got a pumpkin family to make.”
Chapter Twenty-Five
Tyler
It’s the day before Thanksgiving, and I’ve been summoned by the King of Bel Air himself. In all the time that I’ve been doing my community service, I haven’t seen or spoken to my mom. There’s nothing strange about that, really. We’re not close, not anymore. It still hurts, though, and although I’m two seconds from fainting with nervousness about stepping into their mansion again, I’m also looking forward to getting this over with. To get through what I’m sure will be another stilted dinner affair followed by a thorough interrogation by Dale the Dipshit. Because unlike all the other times when I’ve been weighed and found lacking by his majesty and ignored by my mom, I have absolutely zero fucks to give this time. Because at home—yes,Mitch and Cal’s house feels like home now—I’ve got my two Daddies waiting for me.
Since Cal dropped me off on the way toWalmarta few minutes ago, I’ve been staring at the doorbell like it’s going to bite me. He laughed at me with an evil glimmer in his eyes the entire drive here because I was squirming in my seat like my butthole was on fire. And it is. On fire. I’m already regretting wearing tight jeans because I know I’ll be spinning in my seat all night and I can already hear the loathing edge to Dale’s voice when he tells me to‘Stop fidgeting, Tyler.’I know I’ll be tempted to just tell him I can’t stop fidgeting because my butthole is aching from being fuckedsooogood by both my Daddies last night.
Fuck, they wrecked my hole last night. We’d gotten tested when we started fucking around, and yesterday, we got the results back from the clinic. All clear and all aboard the fuck boat! Cal went first. We’d barely made it inside the front door before he had me bent over the couch, ass up and pants down. He jammed his cock so far inside me that I swear my one crooked front tooth is now straight. My head was spinning with euphoria, my dick squeezed in between my stomach and the couch, so I couldn’t get my hands on it. To make it even worse, Mitch was massaging my balls with his tongue. It was pure torture. Once Cal had his fill, filling me up with his yummy Daddy cum, Mitch rimmed me for what felt like hours, sucking Cal’s cum out of me, while I imitated a sperm whale, singing his praises. Best Wednesday night I’ve ever had.
So, it’s pretty anticlimactic to be spending this afternoon and evening in the company of Dale the Downer while my mom is popping downers like Skittles. At least I’m spending Thanksgiving with my Daddies. And boy, do I have a surprise for them. You won’t believe what you can find oneBaywhen you search forThanksgiving+sex toys.
Everything happens in a blur from the moment I ring the doorbell to when I sit down at the exquisitely decorated dining table across from my impeccably dressed and made-up mother, while Dale, of course, sits in a throne-like chair at the end of the table. It’s like I’m moving, nodding, talking on autopilot. I’m nothing like the bratty, carefree boy that I am when I’m with my Daddies and Bree. I’m like a deflated balloon, a discarded chew toy. I’m…nothing. I feel it so deeply in my very core, and all my good intentions of not letting it get to me go right out the window. That feeling of being nothing, of amounting to nothing, returns. I hate it. I hate this version of myself.
“I’m surprised, to say the least, we haven’t been contacted by the Parole Office that you’ve been flunking your community service,” Dale spits as he snorts down another oyster. Yuck. “Since you’ve made a habit of flunking everything in life so far.” I want to tell him you can’t exactly flunk community service and that I kind of have an advantage since I’m fucking both my parole officer and his husband. I want to scream at him how he can choke on that pathetic oyster of his because my throat is still deliciously raw from the blow jobs I dished out over breakfast this morning. I want to drown him in that thousand-dollar champagne of his and tell him he can go fuck himself because there ain’t no fucking champagne on this planet that tastes better than my Daddies’ juices.
But I don’t. Because I can’t. Because she sits right there, like a precious China doll, nibbling at a piece of lettuce. My mother. Mitch’s ex-wife. Mitch, whom I love. And no matter how disappointed I am with my mother, I would never intentionally hurt her. So I just shrink further into my chair while Dale drones on and on. About the looks he still gets at the golf club for being associated with a loser like me. About the pricey spa resort he had to send my mother to because she was devastated by mylatest stunt. About how he’s fighting tooth and nail to restore his previously impeccable reputation in the LA real estate business.
When dessert finally comes around, I’m close to crying. Not because thetarte tatinis so miniature that you need a magnifying glass to see it. No, because when you’ve been doted on for weeks, treated like a human being, told you matter, and how people miss you when you’re not around, it’s hard to withstand Dale’s verbal abuse. It was much easier when I still believed that I was a worthless piece of shit. That I was Tyler the Destroyer and was only barely tolerated because of my mother. But I don’t believe it anymore. And I guess that’s why Dale’s words and my mother’s deafening silence hurt more than they ever have before.
When Dale stands to pour himself a whiskey from the cabinet and my mother lights one of her posh French cigarettes, I excuse myself and go to one of their gazillion bathrooms upstairs. I lie down on the cool marble floor, the surface hard against my cheek, not at all anything like the soft hairy chests of my Daddies. It smells sterile, of nothing but cleanliness, and I wish I had my face buried deeply in a sweaty Daddy pit instead. I miss them so much, it’s like my insides are screaming at me to just go. Go, go, go. But I can’t. I’m frozen.
It’s not until my phone pings with a text, then another, that I regain my composure. Sitting up slowly, I pull my phone from my jeans and open my texts. The first one is from Mitch, and just seeing his name in writing makes my heart ache.
Mitchy:
Hey baby boy. How you holding up? Remember that you are loved and that Dale’s a slimeball.
I can’t help snorting.Slimeball. Jeez, my Daddy is so old-school sometimes. The other text is from Cal, sent right after, soI bet they’re either lounging on the deck next to each other or on the couch, Bree at their feet. Fuck. Tears sting my eyes as I read Cal’s text.
Cal-Bear:
Everything Mitch said. How’s your ass, baby? I bought you some miracle oil.
That’s when I start ugly crying, still sitting on Dale’s ridiculous marble floor, with tears and snot spilling down my face. They are just so fucking amazing. With trembling fingers, I send my reply to both of them.
