“Isn’t that right, Goldie?” I giggle, turning my head for a moment and looking at the sight of my most cherished stuffy Goldie, his head peeking out of my backpack.
I’ve had Goldie ever since I was a kid. He’s a proud golden lion with a mischievous side who has been there for me through the ups and downs of my life, never wavering for even a second. I’ve loved Goldie since way before I knew that I was a Little, and our bond has only got stronger since I’ve been on my Little journey this last year.
Maybe one day I could find a Daddy who would look after me and Goldie too. That would truly complete the package. But I’min no rush. Right now, I’m just about to get my career on track and the last thing I need is any dating drama or super-serious emotional stuff.
Nah, I’ll give all that a pass.
As far as I’m concerned, I’m happy going to the occasional party night with Robbie and maybe even having a fun no-strings attached spanking, but that’s about it. My early days in the city taught me that going out all night and being wild isn’t exactly the best way to focus on building a career. I mean, no one wants to get up and sculpt when they’re hungover and didn’t get home until the early hours of the morning, right?
For now at least, I’m cool with living the life of a single and career focused boy.
And the best bit about sculpting is that I get to create anything I like. It’s all in my hands. With a Daddy, it’s all about them bossing the Little around and having to do what they say…
Nope!
That’s just not me.
But, hey, no one said I couldn’t sculpt my own private stash of Daddy dicks from time to time…
I look around the gallery space, my eyes flashing from the whitewashed walls to the exposed metal work on the ceiling and back down again. The polished concrete floor looks great too.
But there’s something missing.
Well, a few things actually…
“So, we’re going to bring your work in later this afternoon,” Milo says, placing his hand on my shoulder and smiling. “And of course I want your input in how we arrange it.”
“Great,” I say. “I was thinking?—”
“When I say input,” Milo interrupts, “what I mean is that I will arrange it. It will look fabulous. And then you can give me your thoughts.”
“Right,” I say, a little perturbed but knowing full well that Milo holds the cards here.
This is my first show, I don’t have much leverage, and I definitely need Milo more than he needs me. Milo is a nice guy, but he definitely likes things done his own way. He’s in his late forties, made his money in finance in his twenties, and since then has been building his name as a gallery owner and general man about town.
Robbie is absolutely convinced that Milo is a Daddy, but I’m not sure. And to be honest, I don’t really care either. Milo might be handsome as hell with his dark hair, hazel eyes, and perfectly stubbly jawline, but he’s just too much of a showoff for my liking.
If—and it’s a bigif—I was looking for a Daddy, he’d need to be someone who’d rather go undetected, far less concerned with flashy cars, expensive watches, and whatever other extravagancies that Milo loves to indulge in and tell everyone about.
Anyway.
Whether or not Milo is indeed a Daddy is pretty much the last thing on my mind right now. All I’m thinking about is how my sculptures are going to look once they’re on the gallery floor.
But before I can really start to convince Milo that I need to be involved in the setup, I see that I’ve got a new message…
Robbie: Hey! You forgot your sketchpad at the café. Stop by on your way home to pick it up. I’m working a double late shift (again!), maybe we can go for a play after work?
Damn. I had some cool ideas down in the sketchpad. I think I can remember them, but the last thing I need when I’m explaining to Milo is for me to get confused and end up sounding like a ditzy Little.
No, I need to be confident.
These are my ideas, my vision for the show, and no one knows my art better than me. Sketchpad or not, I’m going to explain to Milo exactly what and the arrogant maybe-Daddy can listen!
First though, I need to message Robbie back…
Eddie: Cool, I’ll pick it up. And as for the playdate… I think that sounds like a great idea. But only if I’m back home by eight. There’s no way I’m letting this turn into some crazy all-nighter. You might be able to live off three hours sleep, but that’s definitely not me! As you well know! This Little needs his full ten hours!
With that, I put my phone back in my pocket and make a beeline toward Milo. But as I approach him, I see that he’s talking to someone…
