Daddy Issues

Gary lay stiffly on top of the borrowed sheets, staring at the ceiling's faint glow as the hallway light clicked off. Wyatt's footsteps receded, leaving him alone again in the small spare room.

Holy shit.

He dragged both hands over his face.

She'd posted it!

Right then, somewhere in the world, someone was watching Gary acting like a camgirl on whatever site Wyatt had chosen. Sure, the whole 'stream content to make money' idea had been his, but things were moving so fast! Where had Wyatt posted it? What were the terms? Was it monetized?

Would everyone think that he's a slut?!

He kept replaying the moment he'd zoned out in front of the camera. It had only taken a second of lost concentration. The complicated feelings he'd been having about Wyatt hadn't helped, distracting him from what he was doing, luring him into his imagination. That seemed to be where much of the problem lay: his imagination. Gary wondered if he would be able to avoid daydreaming, ignore the temptation to fantasize, in order to avoid losing control over his life.

With Wyatt in the picture, it would be difficult.

But the damage had already been done. Gary felt humiliated, having bent over for the camera, showing the world almost everything he had. His face grew hot at the thought of the video. He could still see it in his mind's eye, his tiny black panties, his penis bulging in the front, his ass wagging as if he were looking for a four-legged mate.

It was humiliating. No, it was worse than humiliating. It was shameful.

And yet, Gary had to admit, it was exactly what they would need if they were going to get themselves out of their situation. If the rest of the world saw him the way Chet did, the way the boys at school did, money would begin to flow with this type of content. And having it come out of him as an automatic response, something unplanned, was, in a lot of ways, the best case scenario.

Not that Gary liked it.

But still, the way Wyatt had looked at him, her cheeks flushed, her breath coming in short bursts... unless Gary was misinterpreting things, Wyatt was way beyond just being into him. Her eyes had betrayed her overwhelming lust. And what she'd said on her way out, asking for space, saying she had a date with the video...

Wyatt was masturbating!

The very idea made Gary's penis begin to engorge.

Two could play that game.

He sat up and pulled the emerald green minidress over his head, tossing it into the corner of the room. Then, wearing nothing but his black lace panties, Gary lay back on the bed and wrapped his fingers around his hot, stiff erection. Unbidden, a small moan escaped his painted lips as he began to rub up and down the length of his penis, using the softness of his panties instead of lubrication. It felt exhilarating and dirty at the same time, but Gary was far too overwhelmed with the overwhelming feelings of arousal to notice the nuance of the experience. He was chasing release, and he was close.

Flashes of Wyatt's body appeared in Gary's mind's eye. He was careful to not allow the images turn into fantasy, staying present in the moment. The last thing he needed was to lose himself, lose control, when he was so close to relief. Faster, harder, it was almost there. His breathing became quick.

And then he came. In a torrent of pleasure, his body shook, his back arched, and he filled his panties with hot, sticky sperm. He had found pleasure in his hand countless times before, but somehow that night it was more intense. Maybe it was the sexually charged nature of his new life, maybe it was the feel of the women's underwear, but whatever it was, if it was like that from then on, Gary had finally found a small perk in the universe's glitch.

And then he was done. Taking stock, it was only then, laying on the bed, panties soaked but libido sated, that he realized that he was still wearing his heels. Why hadn't he taken them off? Why hadn't he noticed? Even in that moment, riding the post-orgasmic bliss, he felt completely comfortable wearing those shoes, as if they were the most natural things in the world to have on his feet.

Shaking his head, he swung his feet off the bed, unbuckled his ankles, and kicked them off. Then he stood up and slid the ruined undergarment down his legs. Looking around, he could find nothing to clean himself up with, so he grabbed a baby blue blouse from the clothes he had packed and wiped himself off, adding it to his dirty clothes pile. Gary hated dressing in these clothes, but they were his only option, so he would have to come up with a better clean-up strategy for the next night, because he fully intended to repeat his performance.

Then, naked and relaxed, Gary lay himself down on the warm bed and was finally able to drift off to sleep.

The dream that took him wasn't jarring, wasn't obvious. It simply arrived, slipping over Gary like warm water, dissolving the memory of the spare room until he was standing under a soft gold streetlamp outside a restaurant he vaguely recognized from TV. The kind of place where waiters wore suits and the menu didn't list prices because if you had to ask, you didn't belong.

Wind danced over his legs—bare legs.

He looked down.

He was wearing a short pink skirt, and a ruffled lavender top that he had pulled the sleeves down, exposing his shoulders to the evening. His legs were smooth, impossibly so, catching the light like polished skin. His shoes were high heels—cute ones, he realized with approval. Block-heeled, glossy, a shade of pink that felt familiar.

Of course. These were the clothes he'd chosen that night, weren't they? There had been a brief moment of confusion, not understanding why he would dress that way, but how else would he dress? It was, after all, a special occasion.

Wasn't it?

The restaurant door opened.

And Wyatt stepped out.

And Gary's heart threatened to flutter straight out of his chest.

Her hair was softly curled, cascading over bare shoulders. She wore a black mesh top that showed off her lace bra without apology, paired with shorts that looked like they were one dare away from being tossed aside. Her lipstick was dark and glossy, her lips curled at the corners with mischief.

"Lisa," Wyatt's voice was a melody of seduction, "you look absolutely delicious tonight."

Gary couldn't help but blush. Wyatt was so good looking! And she thought that he was pretty? It had just begun, and this was already a great date!

"Thank you, um..." he paused, looking down at the ground. For some reason his tongue felt tied. Wyatt. That was her date's name, right? Then why didn't it feel right to say? Was he pronouncing it wrong? Then it hit him, like a lightbulb turning on. Of course. He had been about to say it wrong! He was so glad that he'd caught it before he embarrassed himself.

"Thank you, Daddy," he said with a grin, putting one leg behind the other, dropping to a slight curtsey.

"Shall we?" Daddy put her arm out for Gary to hook into, which he did.

As he was led into the restaurant, the air smelled warm and rich. A hostess in a tight black outfit smiled at the couple, and asked them to follow. She brought them to the back of the establishment, a small table with a short candle burning and two chairs. One for him, and one for his Daddy.

"Ma'am?" the hostess was holding a chair out for Gary, which he slipped into with gratitude.

"You're such a pretty girl tonight," Daddy said, her finger tracing the lace along the top of her cleavage. "I hope you're not nervous. I've been looking forward to this all day."

He blushed so hard his ears burned. "I— I'm not— I don't—"

"Good," Daddy cooed, the toe of her high-heeled shoe rubbing Gary's calf under the table. "I want my baby girl to feel comfortable with me."

Daddy's perfume curled around him, smoky-sweet, intoxicating. Her hand slid across the table and Gary, following suit, did the same. Soon their fingers laced together as they gazed into each other's eyes. Restaurant staff walked by, other patrons enjoyed their meals, but all Gary could see was her. The restaurant took on a hazy, blurry quality, almost fading from existence. Sounds became distant. Details evaporated.

Wyatt leaned in, lowering her voice to a whisper. "Lisa, baby, are you going to be a good girl tonight?"

"Daddy..." he whispered back, the dream wrapping him tighter. The pair were sitting closer together, the table now gone. Closer and closer, their knees now touching. Gary wanted to lean forward, open his lips, press them against Daddy's. A desire to lay down and give himself to her, to lose any identity he held aside from how Daddy saw him, rewriting himself in the image of his Daddy's desire.

Something was wrong.

Not with Daddy. Not with the pair of them. But with the world. It was darker. Darker? Was there a shadow? A presence?

Daddy's free hand began to slide up Gary's thigh, but he hardly noticed. There was someone there. Something there.

The world began to feel distant. Daddy began to disappear.

He blinked.

The warmth of her hand in his was gone.

Something moved above him.

Yes, there was someone there.

His eyes snapped open fully.

"Wy—?"

His voice sounded strange. Small. Uncertain. There, just above him, was the face of an incredibly beautiful woman. The name Daddy slid through his mind, though he didn't know why.

"Wyatt!"

Her eyes shot open too. Had she been sleeping?

Her arms locked on either side of Gary, holding her body suspended just inches from his. Her breath came in soft, panicked rushes against his cheek.

Their noses nearly touched.

He half-sat, half-froze, staring up at her in raw shock.

She looked just as stunned.

"Wyatt," he gasped, voice pitching embarrassingly high, "what are you—!? How did you—??"

The confusion hit her like a physical impact.

Her elbows buckled.

She fell forward.

And her lips met his.