Peter drove me home after dinner. He didn’t mention the video again, except to say sorry for the twentieth time as he drove. I waited for him to pull up before I leaned over and gave him a kiss. “Can you call me when you get home?” I asked.

He looked at the steering wheel, resigned. “If you don’t want to see me anymore, you can just tell me.”

“What?”

“After tonight―”

“After you helped me because I freaked out after seeing some random post on the internet?”

He tilted his head, his eyebrows knit together. “After I gave you material to watch that was harmful.”

“I could have easily looked that up on my own and freaked out by myself. But you were there and talked me down. I want you to call me because it helps me fall asleep.”

He smiled now, still a little sadly, though, and that made my heart hurt. “And tomorrow?”

“Are we still going to watch Shakespeare in the Park? I’d really love to see it.”

“Anything you want.”

I leaned over and kissed him again. “I want to spend the day with you. Well, after laundry duty.”

He smiled more genuinely now. “Okay.”

* * *

Jordan and I took our usual trip to the laundromat after breakfast, though this time Skylar came too. And the more I saw them together, the more I was convinced that I was witnessing the budding of something beautiful.

If Jordan was like me, then Skylar was like Peter.

She gave Jordan a safe place to be herself, a place of understanding and comfort, and Jordan’s smiles were becoming more and more frequent.

They asked me how things with Peter were going, and I told them all about last night. I explained how I’d wanted to know more about the daddy/son relationships and he offered me some websites. They were more about couples, and I wasn’t even embarrassed to admit there was some porn. “Most of it was gentle and loving, but there was one that wasn’t. And I totally freaked out.”

Jordan put her hand on my arm. “God. Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. He totally talked me through it and calmed me down.”

“Oh, God,” Skylar said, concerned. “How awful.”

“Yeah, the video was pretty graphic, and a bit too real. If you know what I mean…” I frowned, remembering. “He blames himself for me seeing it.”

“You really like him, don’t you?” Jordan asked.

I nodded. “I do.” I fought a smile. “He’s kinda great.”

Skylar and Jordan both smiled at me, and we finished our laundry talking happily about school and friends and what our plans for the week were. We headed home and hadn’t been there long when Peter arrived. I welcomed him with a kiss, he came in, and I continued my conversation with Jordan and Skylar about dinner and recipes, and Peter slotted in easily. There was nothing false, nothing forced, just a simple chat between friends.

Then there was a knock at the door. “It’s me, George. I forgot my keys.”

“I’ll get it,” I said, frowning. That wasn’t like him. I opened the door and he came in, his dark hair a curtain over his face. He looked at the floor.

He spoke to the floor. “Thanks.”

He made for the stairs, but I stopped him. “George, wait?” He stopped but wouldn’t look up. “Everything okay?” I waited for him to raise his face, and I half expected to see a black eye or a cut lip. Old habits, I guess.

But he wasn’t hurt. He was crying. His mascara ran in lines down his cheeks.

I held his arm. “God, what happened?”

He took a sharp breath, and I thought he was going to dismiss me and race upstairs, but he let out a sob. “Ajit… He introduced me to his family.” He shook his head. “But they said no.”

Oh no.

“I’m not Sri Lankan enough apparently.” He snorted through his tears. “Or at all, really? But can you believe that? It’s not bad enough I get disowned by my own family for not being the right sexuality, and now I’m thrown out of his because I’m not the right nationality. Now being gay is fine!” He threw up his hands. “But I’m still not good enough!”

By this time, Jordan and Skylar were both standing behind me, and Peter was standing behind them.

George scrubbed at his face and let his head fall back. He groaned at the ceiling. “Fuck them!”

“Come and sit with us,” I urged. “Don’t be alone right now.”

He allowed himself to be led to the sofa, and we all sat down. George told us how he’d been so excited to meet Ajit’s family. They’d been doing so well. They were together six months and things were good between them. Ajit understood him, he said. He thought they were long-term. “Ajit was nervous. He said his mother might not be too happy, but she’d deal, ya know? I even cut back on the eyeliner, took one ring out.” He tongued his lip. “I wanted them to like me.”

No one spoke for a moment because we’d all been there. We’d all experienced the disappointment and heartbreak of not having unconditional love from our families. Peter had his hand low on my back, his thumb reassuring me that he was hearing what wasn’t being said.

“Where’s Ajit now?” Skylar asked.

George frowned. “He was in a screaming match with his mother, and I had to bail. I couldn’t be there.” He looked at each of us, his eyes red, sadness etched on his face. “I won’t be the reason he loses them. I can’t… I won’t let him go through what I went through.”

It was then I noticed that Skylar and Jordan were sitting very closely on the sofa together, just as there was a knock on the door.

We all looked at each other, wondering who it could be. “I’ll get it,” Peter said, standing up.

He opened the front door, and I heard a quiet mumble before Ajit appeared in the doorway, Peter behind him. Poor Ajit looked a wreck. He was a wild mess; his eyes were puffy and his hair looked like he’d run the whole way here.

George slowly stood up.

“I’m sorry for what happened,” Ajit said, his eyes watering. “If they say they can accept me, they can accept all of me. And that includes you.”

George shook his head. “You can’t lose your parents.”

“I won’t. I’m as stubborn as my mother. Dad was already okay when I left, and I know he’ll talk her ’round,” he said quickly. “George, I love you.”

George crossed the floor and hugged Ajit in a crushing embrace, both of them crying.

“Awwww,” Skylar said, wiping her eyes with her sleeve. “Goddammit.”

George and Ajit broke apart with a bit of a laugh, embarrassed they’d had an audience for the whole thing. “Thanks, guys,” George said, looking at us. “But we might—” He looked up the stairs and at Ajit, whose hands were fisted in George’s shirt, and giggled. “We ah, we need to talk about stuff…” And they raced upstairs.

“Talk about stuff?” I snorted. “Is that what they’re calling it these days?”

Jordan laughed. “That was so sweet!”

“It really was,” Skylar agreed.

Peter was standing back a bit, but he was smiling sweetly. “That was a privilege to witness.”

I walked over to him and slid my hand around his waist, sinking into half a hug. That instant contented feeling washed over me. I hummed at the contact, not caring that Jordan and Skylar were watching.

Peter breathed in deep like my touch soothed him too. “Did you want to go to the outdoor theater or stay here?”

I looked up at him. “The theater. Do we still have time?”

He gave a nod. “But we’d better go soon.”

“I’m ready to go.” I broke away and turned to face our audience. Jordan and Skylar were both watching, smiling. “I won’t be home too late.”

Jordan gave me a smile. “Have fun.”

Skylar grinned. “Not too much fun.” She gave me a wink, and I stuck my tongue out at her. I grabbed my keys and they were already discussing what they were going to cook for dinner as we left.

The outdoor theater was incredible. It was basically a massive picnic in front of a small stage with curtained wings. Everyone had blankets laid out, some fold-up chairs toward the back, and Peter found us a lovely spot to the side. Of course he’d come prepared. A blanket for us to sit on, a picnic basket full of crackers, grapes, cheese, and figs.

“Wow,” I said, duly impressed. “You spoil me.”

“I aim to, yes.”

The stage director announced the play was about to start, and we sat shoulder to shoulder with our legs outstretched. We ate our picnic and sipped on sparkling water and watched the first act of The Merchant of Venice.

It was incredible.

For the second act, I maneuvered myself to sit between his legs, leaning against his chest. “You all right now?” he asked, his smile was the eye-crinkling kind.

“I am now.”

His deep chuckle vibrated on my back. And it turned into one of the best afternoons of my life. The play was perfection, the company even more so. When the last curtain call was done, other people were packing up, but I didn’t want to move.

“Ah, Yanni. Did you want to get up?”

“No, actually. I’d rather stay just here.”

Peter laughed and kissed the side of my head. “I’m not terribly opposed to staying like this either, but maybe we should do it at home instead.”

People were eyeing us as they walked past, but I somehow didn’t mind. After one particularly nosey woman walked past, staring, I waited until she’d gone, then said, “I think they’re trying to guess if we’re related or if we’re a couple.”

I left the daddy and son aspect unsaid.

“Let them guess.” Peter shifted underneath me. “My butt’s gone to sleep.”

“Oh.” I got up and held out my hand, helping him to his feet. “Poor Daddy. Are you all right to drive, or should we walk it off for a while?”

Smiling, Peter rolled his eyes. “Help me pack up.”

When we got everything packed away and we got into the car, I took Peter’s hand and rested it on my knee and entwined our fingers. I had no intention of letting it go. “I’ve had the very best afternoon, thank you.”

“It was great, wasn’t it? And the play was fantastic.”

“We should make that our new thing,” I said. “Given our Chaplin movies are running out, we should do this on a Sunday instead.”

Peter seemed very happy with that idea.

He was also very happy with my idea of cozying up on the couch when we got back to his place. In my defense, we had started to watch TV, but it was some stupid reality show and I was much more interested in my own reality. I was snuggled in under his arm and he was warm and smelled really good, and we still had so much to work out. I know I’d said I needed to take things slow, but it was also killing me. So, plucking up the courage, I lifted his arm off my shoulder, swung my leg around, and straddled him. He was obviously surprised but smiling, so I assumed it was okay. I kissed him softly. “Can we talk about what happened yesterday?”

We hadn’t discussed yesterday’s freak out today at all, and I thought we should.

“I really am sorry you saw that. I should have screened the first few pages―”

“No.” I shook my head. “I want to talk about the photos and videos I watched before that one.”

“Oh.” His eyebrows knit together. “Did you have questions? I should have asked, sorry.”

“I needed some time to process it.” That was very true. I’d thought about everything I’d seen and read, and when I was in bed this morning, I searched the site with the forums and read a lot of the posts where other young guys had asked questions about their older partners. It was a very insightful look into the daddy/son dynamics. Sure, there were questions and some posts were a bit too bizarre for me, but the majority of sons just wanted to make their daddy happy. They yearned to please him, the satisfaction coming from someplace deep within, and the more I read, the more I related.

No, I didn’t fully understand it. But I identified with it.

“I’m sure I’ll have questions at some point, but I think it’s more a case of us finding our feet as we go along. But the photos I saw, I liked very much. The few videos I watched, I liked very much.” I wriggled on his lap, grinding down a little, just to prove my point.

He let his head fall onto the back of the sofa and he laughed. “Oh, if you were unclear at all, about the fox and rabbit analogy I used to describe you, you should know this is definitely a fox moment.”

I kissed him with smiling lips. “And I can’t promise when the next rabbit moment will be, but I’m definitely feeling the fox moment.” I kissed him again, harder and deeper, and rolled my hips into him.

We kissed like that until I was rubbing on him shamelessly. It felt so damn good. He kept his hands gentle, holding my hips, my back, my thighs. And when he cupped my face and slowed the kiss to a stop, he held me still while he caught his breath. I could feel his erection when I rubbed against him, and I was so incredibly turned on.

“God, Yanni. You’re killing me.” He closed his eyes. “Just give me a second.”

I climbed off him, and lying back, I slowly pulled him with me. To his credit, he kept his weight off me, our faces just a few inches apart. “This is not helping.”

“I want to feel your body on top of mine,” I told him. “I want to take these next steps. I can’t guarantee I won’t ask you to stop, though.”

“If you tell me to stop, I will stop.” He looked at me with such honesty in his eyes. “I promise.”

“I want to feel how strong and safe you are.”

He crushed his mouth to mine, and ever so slowly, he lowered himself onto me. And sweet Mary, mother of God, it felt good.

He slid his arms under my shoulders, holding me while devouring me with his kiss. I spread my legs as wide as the sofa allowed, and Peter fit snug and perfect. I could feel how turned on he was. He could no doubt feel my erection too. I ground my hips against his and a shudder rolled through him.

He pulled his mouth from mine, only to kiss my ear. “Is this okay?”

“Yes.”

Then down my neck. “Is this okay?”

“God yes.”

The truth was, it all felt good. Everything Peter did felt right. He was nothing like my ex. If I was waiting for bad memories to pummel me if Peter touched me a certain way, it never happened.

I bucked my hips, searching for that elusive pleasure that was building and building. With my hands on Peter’s face, I brought his lips back to mine. “I need to… I want you to…” God, I thought I’d die if I had to say this out loud.

Still with his arm under my shoulders, his warm hands cupped my face. His eyes were the darkest blue, an ocean of lust and worry, his lips red and wet. “Do you want to stop?”

“No.”

“Then tell me,” he urged gently. “What do you want?”

“I’m close, and I want you to not stop.”

“Do you want to come like this? Or do you want me to touch you?”

Oh God.

“Touch me.”

He kissed me first, soft and open-mouthed, gentle. Then he leaned off me, making room, and he watched my eyes as he lowered his hand, down, down. He expertly popped my jeans button with one hand, kissing tenderly and still watching my every reaction. Then he undid my fly, and I thought I might die if he didn’t move any faster.

Then he palmed me, over my briefs, and I bucked into his touch. “Oh my God.”

“Feel good?”

“So good.”

He kissed me deeper at that, slowly slid his fingers beneath my briefs, and wrapped his fingers around my cock. He watched my eyes, waiting for any flicker of doubt or fear.

There wasn’t any.

I closed my eyes and let bliss take me. I gave myself away to the feel of his hand, to the pleasure coiled tight and the heat pooling in my belly. “God, Peter.”

“Oh, Yanni, you’re so beautiful,” he murmured against my lips while he gently pumped my cock.

And with that, I came. My orgasm barreled through me, arching and trembling with ecstasy. My cock surged and spilled onto my stomach and shirt, but I couldn’t bring myself to care.

There was nothing in that moment but Peter.

He crushed his mouth back to mine in a searing kiss and he fumbled with his jeans button, quickly shoving his hand down his pants.

I wasn’t in any coherent state to help or to even act really, but a few strokes of his hand and he came as well. He was a glorious sight; the way his neck corded and how his whole body shook was proof of his restraint.

I was pretty sure he would’ve preferred something more than masturbating, but his only concern was for me.

“Oh, Jesus.” He sagged on me. “I’m sorry. God, that was intense and came from nowhere, and I only meant to get you off, but then you came, and holy hell, Yanni, it was the most beautiful thing I’ve ever seen…”

I was going to say something profound, but he pretty much nailed it. “Ditto.”

He frowned. “Are you okay?”

“I’m so much better than okay.”

“You sure? Because that didn’t quite go to plan. I got carried away and that was reckless.”

“I’m sure. I’m sure. And it wasn’t reckless. It was hot. I wasn’t expecting to want to… you know, finish. But everything felt so right.”

“No regrets?”

“None. Well, except the fact that I just did laundry today and now this whole outfit needs washing.”

Peter chuckled. “I can fix that. A quick wash and a tumble dry.”

“For me or my clothes?”

His smile made his eyes glisten. “Both, if you want.”

“I want.” I put my hand to his face. “Thank you for getting me past this first hurdle. It’s a pretty big step for me.”

He searched my eyes and touched my face like I was the most precious thing he’d ever seen. “Anything for you.” Then he peeled himself off me and got to his feet. “Come on, let’s get cleaned up.”

* * *

“No, we had separate showers and he gave me some sleep pants and a T-shirt to wear while my clothes got clean and dry.”

“He was very much a gentleman,” Patrice added.

“Yes.”

I’d just told her everything that had happened in the last week. Everything. Including my first sexual encounter since… well, since him.

“And you were comfortable with everything?”

“Uh, more than comfortable.”

She smiled. “That’s good, Yanni.”

“I think talking about it, before and after, helped a lot. For both of us.”

“What did you talk about afterward?”

“After we’d showered and were dressed, we made salad for dinner and we basically sat on the sofa and discussed limits. He wanted to know what was a no-go for me. I think he worries he’s going to do the wrong thing. Like when we were… well, he kept asking me if I was okay with what he was doing.”

“What did you tell him?”

“Not to ever tie me up. I can’t be restrained like that. Not to even hold my hands down, and never to hit me. That was it. Just those two.”

“And he was fine with that?”

“Yes, of course. He looked horrified as to why or how I even knew what being restrained and beaten was like. I think it shocks him every time I say something like that.”

“And what did he tell you were his limits?”

“No sharing, no cheating. No lying. Basically all things I probably should have added to my list. Oh, and I also told him no punishment. When I’d read those forums and watched those videos, there were some guys who wanted their daddy to punish them. I said no way.”

“And what did he say?”

“That if he had any issues with anything I’d done, that we’d sit down and talk it out like adults.”

This seemed to please her a great deal, and so she changed subjects. “What have you got on at school this week? How are you handling the pressure of assignments with work?”

“Ugh. I have two assessments due in the next three weeks. They’re quite in-depth, and I want to ace them. I don’t want to let Mr Landon down.”

“You’ll need to find a balance between work and Peter. I know everything’s very exciting with him right now, and time with him is important. But so is school.”

“I know.” And truly, I did. “I might have to take my books to his place on the weekend.”

And that’s exactly what I did.

For the next three weeks, I spent my Saturdays and Sunday afternoons at Peter’s, on his couch with my theory assessments spread out all around me. Peter would sit on the chaise with a book or his laptop. He’d cook me dinner, and when I couldn’t deal with the history of theater anymore, I’d toss my homework aside and go pounce on him. It always started with laughing and making out and ended with mutual orgasms. He never pushed for more. He said what we had was perfect. But I couldn’t help but think he was just telling me what I needed to hear.

I kept thinking about what he needed.

The sites he’d shown me definitely featured sex. He’d once told me, in the very beginning, that he enjoyed sex, but he wasn’t ready. Well, surely he was ready now. The question was, was I?

The next Friday night, after our exams were done, I was invited to go out with a group of my classmates. They were all excited to celebrate, and I wanted to be part of it with them, so after work, instead of going to Peter’s, I was going out.

For the first time in a long time, I was going out to a bar, where there would be crowds, drinking, loud music, and men. I would undoubtedly get jostled and pushed in the crowds of dancers, and there would definitely be people in my personal space. But I was ready for this.

And yes, the music was so loud I couldn’t hear myself think, and the crowds were bumping and a little overwhelming. My friends all drank until assessments and exams were well and truly forgotten, though I stuck to soda. I laughed with them, told stories, and it felt good to be social…

But it wasn’t what I craved.

I wanted to be on Peter’s sofa with our legs curled up, watching reruns of BBC Shakespearean plays. I wanted peace and quiet and warm kisses, and I wanted more.

If surviving a pumping nightclub, drunk guys, shouting, and jostling was a test of how far I’d come, then surely I passed. Surely I was ready for more…

I said goodbye to my friends, leaving them to their shots of tequila, and making my way outside the club, I called Peter.

“Yanni?” He sounded alarmed. “Oh my God, is everything okay?”

I checked my phone to find it was almost two a.m. Shit. “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was so late.”

“Are you okay?”

“Yeah, I’m fine. Can I come over?”

“I’ll come get you. Where are you?”

“No, I can Uber it. Stay in bed. Keep it warm for when I get there.”

“Are you sure you’re okay?”

I smiled. “Yes, Daddy.”

Silence.

I wondered if I’d overstepped. I scrambled for something else to say, but he cleared his throat and made a humming sound that made my stomach clench. Yeah, I was really ready for more. “See you when you get here,” he said gruffly.

Twenty minutes later, and after a slightly terrifying Uber ride at warp speed, I walked up Peter’s steps. He opened the door before I could knock and pulled me inside. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, I’m more than fine. I don’t know if that driver was trying to break land speed records, or if it just seemed like it because there’s no traffic at half past two in the morning, but—” I leaned in and kissed him. “—I wanted to be here.”

“Did you not have a good night with your friends?”

“I did. It was great, actually, but it’s not where I belong.”

Peter’s eyes darkened. “Where do you belong?”

“Here with you.”

He put his hand to my cheek and brought his lips to almost touch mine. “I like the sound of that.”

I said the words before I lost my nerve. “I want you to take me to bed. I want you to have me, Peter.”

He put his forehead to mine. “Oh, Yanni. My sweet boy.”

Oh God. He was going to say no. “I’m ready.” Then it dawned on me that maybe he wasn’t. “Are you? Do you want that with me?”

He kept my face cradled in his hands and he kissed my forehead, my eyelids. “I want it, but only when you’re ready.”

“I’m ready. It’s all I’ve thought about.”

He grimaced like he was pained. “I don’t think you are, and I don’t want to rush you.”

“Please, Peter.”

With that, he took my hand and led me to his room. He took total control, and I gladly let him. He undressed me with tender hands and soft kisses, then he was naked and he laid me on the bed. I’d never been fully naked with him before this. He crawled over me, his weight, his erection…

It’s okay, I told myself. It’s Peter. This is Peter. I want this.

He was between my legs, gentle as ever, but fear and panic struck me like a sledgehammer.

No, it’s Peter. It’s not Lance. Peter would never hurt me. Not like Lance did.

Lance.

Fear gripped my heart, and I froze. I tried to speak, I tried to say stop, but I was stuck. I was screaming in my head, but no sound would come out of my mouth. Anxiety slithered over me like a hundred cold snakes holding me down. I couldn’t breathe.

I couldn’t breathe.

Peter seemed to realize what was going on because he was then off me. “Jesus, Yanni,” he mumbled. And the next thing I knew, I was wrapped up in his bed covers, in his arms, being rocked. He kept one hand on my head, holding me to his chest. “I got you. You’re safe. Breathe for me, love.”

Yes, breathing. Breathing would be good. I took in the deepest breath I could manage, then another and another. The pounding in my ears dulled to a roar, followed by shame, grief, and rage, all in the form of tears.

I couldn’t stop them. I cried and Peter held me, gently rocking and soothing me, and my endless tears fell.

“I’m not ready. I thought I could be,” I sobbed. “I wanted to be. But I thought of him. Lance. I thought his name and I couldn’t breathe.”

Peter kissed my head and rocked me some more.

“I’m so sorry. I’m so sorry.” It was all I could seem to say.

“Don’t apologize, love.” He stroked my hair for a while. “Do you want to take a shower or just sleep?”

I was exhausted, but a hot shower sounded really good. “Shower.”

Peter slid out and disappeared. I heard the water start a moment later, and then he was back. He sat me up, unwrapped me from his comforter, and took my hand. He’d put on his pajama bottoms, though I was still naked. He never looked at my body; he never took advantage. He simply led me to the bathroom where the water was steaming.

I stepped under the spray and felt my fright from earlier wash away. It certainly wasn’t a fix, but it sure was a good start. When I shut the water off and stepped out, Peter had put a neatly folded pile of clothes on the bathroom counter for me. I put on the pair of sleep pants and T-shirt and found Peter sitting on the end of his bed.

He’d quickly remade the bed like nothing had happened.

But it certainly had.

He stood up and walked to me, sliding his hand along my jaw and pulling me into his arms. “I’m so sorry,” I mumbled.

“Apology accepted,” he whispered. I guess he’d learned telling me not to be sorry wasn’t going to work. He rubbed my back. “Did you want to sleep in here or in the guest room?”

If I was being brutally honest, I wanted to crawl into a hole. But I knew I wouldn’t be able to sleep in the guest room. I answered with a shrug. “With you.”

He took my hand and we crawled into bed. He immediately pulled me against him, my head on his chest, his arm tight around me. I was so exhausted, my aching heart felt almost too heavy to bear.

I had so much to say, so much to apologize for, but my words fell in the form of silent tears instead.