by Laurie Lochs
My jaw dropped. Okay, this was seriously the cutest boy I’d seen in a long time. Like maybe even my entire life. His voice was mysteriously soft, equal parts innocent and teasing. And his words lit a supple flame in my spine that wouldn’t stop burning until I released.
I glanced around the room. Had anyone else noticed this beautiful boy? Why didn’t they appreciate his cute stammer or the way he brushed his fingers through his coffee hair when he spoke like I did? Why was no one staring at the boy like me?
I sipped my Manhattan as the boy settled onto the piano bench. For a second, I almost thought he looked right at me. But a second later, he whipped his head away and sunk his fingers into the keys. He opened his mouth to sing.
Except... Nothing came out.
Oh no, sweet boy. You can do it. Just open your little lips and sing for Daddy.
He was dead bolted to the bench. He couldn’t open his mouth if he wanted to. Sweating profusely, I gripped my drink tight enough to shatter the glass. He was going to embarrass himself in front of everyone. This horrible thought triggered something paternal in me. Suddenly, I wanted to throw my Manhattan to the floor and take him in my arms.
But a second later, the most beautiful sound emanated from the piano. I knew he’d found the courage to go on.
“Sing, sweet angel,” I whispered, my jaw on the floor. “Sing for Daddy.”
He burst into song. My eyes flitted around the audience. I refused to believe I was the only man in the gay club so moved. Yet this appeared to be so. People were talking and joking amongst themselves, paying as much attention to the boy as my ex had paid to me. Which was to say none at all.
I drank my Manhattan greedily and stared at him as he sang. The lyrics to his original composition sounded straight out of my high school days. Immediately, he transported me far away from the shitty nightclub to Lake Elmwood High where I attended high school. It was no longer Friday night. It was first period, and I was staring at the silky haired boy I’d had a crush on at 17 who held the key to my dreams.
My fantasies were shattered a second later when Trevor stopped singing and took his fingers off the keys. The song was over. I set my drink on the table in front of me and clapped vigorously. The crowd smiled and burst into applause. He smiled sheepishly at the audience and slowly tip-toed away from the stage.
Without thinking, I yanked out my phone to text Matt. Thanks for the heads up. He’s fucking perfect for Asteria.
Matt sent me a laughing emoji in response. Just make sure you get him before he leaves. He didn’t look like he wanted to stay long.
I tore my eyes away from the phone and searched for him in the crowd. Sure enough, he was standing far away from the stage, putting on a light summer coat. He flipped his hair back and straightened his jacket. My heart seized. He was getting ready to leave.
Hurry, Ash. You’ll miss your chance.
I heaved myself up from the chair and rushed to the side of the club. When I arrived, he was zipping his light rain jacket and breathing slowly to calm his nerves.
“Hey. That was an incredible performance.”
The boy jumped. I’d startled him. Trevor, I reminded myself, his name is Trevor. And up close, “Trevor” was a sight to behold. Baby-soft cheeks without a hint of down. Pointy nose that recalled the noblest moments of Athenian sculpture. Red lips that begged to be kissed by Daddy.
Holy fucking shit. You need to control your thoughts. You’re trying to get him to perform, not be his date to prom.
“Thank you,” Trevor whispered at last. He flitted his tongue over his upper lip and brought his gaze to mine.
My heart fluttered. “Your performance took me back to my high school days. I felt like I was sitting in social studies again.”
The boy laughed like I was the first person to ever say that to him or complement him in any way. “Hopefully, you weren’t daydreaming about your teacher.”
I grinned. No, I wasn’t. I’d never been into older guys. I’d mostly been thinking about this gorgeous sophomore who stared at me during passing time.
“I’m Ash,” I said, extending my hand.
The boy shook it weakly. “It’s nice to meet you, Ash. Thank you for the kind words.”
“Before you leave, I had something I wanted to give you. It’s my business card. I run a club called Asteria in the watershed district. We host monthly talent nights and I’d love for you to perform.”
The boy’s eyes shot open. “W-Wait. You’re joking.”
“Not at all. We pay a $300 performance fee. Your song would be perfect for our club.”
Trevor’s cheek turned bright red. “T-This is incredible. Thank you so much.”
I slid the card into his hand. “Call me as soon as you can. I’ll run it by my business partner Stephen to make sure we can squeeze you in. But I’m telling you right now. You’d be perfect for the club.”
“T-This is insane. I’d love to perform. I-If your business partner allows it.”
It was my turn to grin. “I’m sure I can get him on board. Thank you for your performance.”
“I’ll definitely give you a call,” Trevor whispered. He stared at me one last time with dazzling emerald eyes. Then, he spun around and turned into the night.
I was left standing by the coat rack, clutching my warm Manhattan and wondering how I got so lucky to actually speak to this dream boy face-to-face. He was fucking perfect and adorable as hell. He was everything I’d ever wanted, perfect in every way. For a second, I imagined what he’d look like in a diaper, sucking a bottle and falling asleep in my arms. “Trevor,” I’d whisper, kissing his soft forehead and running my fingers over his body. “Time for your midnight milk.”
“What’s midnight milk, Daddy?”
“Oh, sweet boy. You’ll just have to wait and see.”
I forced myself out of fantasy land. I had to nip these Daddy/boy thoughts in the bud before they grew leaves. Especially if he was going to be working for me. After setting my glass on a coaster, I thanked the bartender and commenced the drive back to Asteria to hopefully knock out a quick release.
Chapter 3
Trevor
Later that night
* * *
Beautiful, burly man. Kind eyes. A smile that lit up his face like stars.
I gulped air as I let myself into my aunt’s home. Though I’d biked faster than ever, it wasn’t enough to force the kind man from my mind. That he’d complimented me like he actually enjoyed my performance was something I couldn’t wrap my mind around. I stepped into the home and came face-to-face with my aunt, smoking a cigarette in the kitchen.
“Boy.” She took a hit of her cigarette and stared at me with dead eyes. “Where were you?”
My heart stopped. She was usually fast asleep at this time. I didn’t think she’d be up. “Oh, auntie… I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you. I was performing.”
She barked out a laugh. “You? Performing? One of your shitty songs?”
“Y-Yes.”
“I’m guessing it was one of your gay songs.”
I said nothing because… Well, she wasn’t exactly wrong. Suddenly, she rose from her seat and I knew it wasn’t a good situation. She’d clearly been drinking in addition to the cigarette. I grabbed my backpack and sprinted to my room, locking the door behind me. I dove into the rough blanket and forced my aunt from my mind.
I did this by thinking of the man at the nightclub.
Ash.
I couldn’t believe Ash complemented me. He was so fucking adorable, one of the cutest men I'd ever seen. Though most people would've passed right over him because he didn't check the boxes of an "attractive" male, I saw something in his eyes that transcended the superficial and pulled me into great bodies of warmth that one couldn't access through biceps alone. Though his belly was big enough to fall over his waistline, his eyes twinkled like he held a deep secret within them that he was dying to share with me and me alone. And his smile? Jesus Christ, his smile was to die for. He'd frozen m
e dead on the stage before my performance, with the shitty keyboard in front of me and all. I almost knocked the keyboard from its place just because he’d turned my limbs into jelly. And when I’d taken his card, I nearly stumbled into his warm, thick, Daddy-bear arms and lost myself forever.
It's just a man, Trevor. He's one of millions. For all you know, he could be a creep.
And yet… Well, fuck, this man didn't seem like a creep at all. In fact, he seemed like he could be any regular dad in the neighborhood, with a beautiful child, a white picket fence, and a dog that he played catch with at the local park in between tennis lessons. He seemed like one of the most normal guys I’d ever run across in my life, as if after coming home he kicked up his feet on the coffee table and put on ESPN. I had no idea whether or not he was into sports, but he seemed like the type who would be.
You’re projecting what you want onto him. Which is wrong.
I sighed and pulled the covers up. The blankets scratched my chin. Was it was really so wrong to project my innermost desires on the stranger? Because he certainly looked like a protector. A real one. Not one of those men who claim they want to protect you and keep you safe who only abuses you in the end. No — If the soft smile on his face was any indication, this was a man who was genuinely kind and who would treat me well. This was something I wanted, even if I'd never speak to him again.
I reached into my pants pocket and pulled out the card. I hadn't had the chance to observe it at the nightclub and I hadn't even looked at it on the bike ride home. In the dim lights of the nightclub, I'd thought I'd seen some bizarre logo that resembled a pacifier, but I assumed this was only a trick of the light. I pulled the card out from my pocket again and observed it in the light of the lamp on my bedside table.
I’d done little more than run my fingers over the glossy print when it suddenly hit me. "Oh, my God," I whispered, my eyes shooting open. I studied the words to see if I'd read them wrong. I hadn't. The man who'd said I'd had an incredible voice worked at… A BDSM club?
I groaned and closed my eyes. Of-fucking-course he did. The man I'd thought was a regular guy, no different than your ordinary Dad, worked at Asteria: The Place Where Fetish and Lifestyle Come Together. Which of course meant he was probably into all sorts of depraved shit, things that I would never give a second thought to my life. I didn't want to know this man, or figure out just what the hell went on at his BDSM club. I'd heard horrible stories about similar clubs in other parts of the country — stories I read online — and knew enough not to get involved. I didn't care if he complimented me or told me I had the voice of an angel. I didn't even care if he played fetch with his dog in the park.
The man worked at a fucking BDSM club. He was a sicko, a creep, a perve.
Likewise, the irony wasn’t lost on me that Asteria was the Greek word for “star.” Hadn’t I promised myself I’d never rely “on the stars” again after my botched talent show performance when I was so small and 16? I mean, I knew that performing at a BDSM club wasn’t exactly the same thing as the stars in the sky, but… Well, shit. Even if he wasn’t a creep, it was a bad sign. Better to throw the card in the waste bin and forget beautiful Ash ever stepped foot into my life.
In the middle of the night, I woke up in a panic from a horrible dream. I'd been in a BDSM club surrounded by a bunch of puppies and leathers doing things I never dreamt of in my life. In one corner, a boy no older than me was tied up in ropes and hanging suspended from the ceiling. A group of silver haired foxes were whipping him violently, running knives up and down his belly and making him scream. Just before I woke, they'd stopped and turned to me.
I'd been jolted awake with my heart racing. "This is why you shouldn't accept business cards from strangers," I whispered to myself. “Just go to sleep, Trevor… It will be better in the morning.”
I laid trembling in the bed. But I couldn’t go to sleep, not after my nightmare. Instead of closing my eyes, I grabbed the business card from the bedside table and studied it again, just to let myself know I'd made the right decision by throwing it out.
Except I couldn’t push the thoughts of the scary club from my mind. I had to figure out what went on so I could be positive I made the right decision. I grabbed my phone and Googled Asteria just to see what kind of depraved shit really went on. I was going to prove myself right once and for all that I would never rely on a stranger to give me a job, because that would only let me down or maybe even put me in danger.
I flicked open Safari and entered the relevant information into Google. I was expecting to find pages and pages of sick shit where young boys without families got tied up, beaten and abused by ravenous men. But to my surprise, I simply came across a relatively modern website with pictures of people smiling and taking part in the kinks they enjoyed.
Hmm. This doesn't seem like my dream at all.
I scrolled through the website. In bright blue font, I saw something called the Safe Check program. Apparently, the “Dungeon Monitor” at Asteria did it every night to make sure everyone was safe and having a good time. The website read:
The Safe Check program ensures our Subs and Doms are engaging in consensual sex the entire night. If anyone feels uncomfortable at any time and does not want to let their immediate partner know, they can send a discreet signal to the DM who will immediately de-escalate the situation. Asteria prides itself on fully consensual relationships between all participants.
I bit my lip. It clearly wasn’t like my dream at all. Had I simply gotten intimidated by the word kink?
My mind raced through all the times I'd tried on diapers growing up in various foster homes with Blakely and Kyle. I knew wearing diapers was technically a kink, but when I was doing it, it felt so much more innocent and cute, like I was a kid. In my mind the word “kink” was dirty and contaminated. Wearing diapers wasn’t as fucked up as what I thought a BDSM club made it out to be. But I’d never thought that a club such as this — probably because I'd only heard horror stories on the Internet — was simply a place where people like me and those who might perhaps be into different things could congregate and do what they loved most without judgment.
At the bottom of the website, I stumbled across something called Sin and Songs! It read:
The Asteria Club differs in respect to other BDSM clubs in that we seek to provide a full-scale entertainment venue with a open bar and everything you need to have an incredible time. Once a month, we bring in entertainment from some of the most exciting new acts around the Twin Cities.
In this section, there were pictures of drag queens singing on stage. I opened one of the private YouTube videos they had on display and saw that they were singing classical music, like opera. This time, I couldn't help but fully laugh. Never in my life had I heard of drag queens singing anything other than Lady Gaga. This club was defying all of my expectations.
Expectations is the wrong word, Trevor. They’re breaking your “stereotypes” of the kink community, of which you are a part. You have very wrong notions of this community and that is something you need to work on.
I mulled it over. I’d been very wrong and was beginning to see the error of my ways.
At the bottom of the page, I stumbled across a button that said Apply Here! To my surprise, it was to apply to perform in the “Dungeon.” The pay was $300 and you only had to be there for less than a few hours, which was exactly what Ash had said. But my heart stopped when I read the fine print.
To perform at Asteria, you must dress up in a kink of your choice. It can be anything of you want. But if you don't choose one, we are not the venue for you.
My heart stopped. Wait… Was this what the man who handed me the business card — Ash, I reminded myself, his name was Ash — was talking about? He wanted me to dress up in "BDSM gear of my choice” and perform like these drag queens?
Oh hell no.
There was no fucking way I was going to make a fool of myself in front of a room full of people in puppy gear or diapers. Fuck that. I tossed the ca
rd back into the trash by my bedside table and turned over on the bed.
Better to never think of beautiful Ash ever again.
Chapter 4
Ash
Sunlight bled through the curtains as I desperately tried to block out the world with my pillow. My head throbbed. I glanced at the alarm clock and moaned. Despite having 5 Manhattans the night before, I’d risen 3 hours before my alarm. Which could only mean something was on my mind.
No doubt it was the boy from last night. Who would've thought such a cute boy could wreak such havoc on my mental health? Sitting on the stage, his mouth so close to the mic, his fingers on the keys. He was more a creature of my dreams than a real-life boy. And in such a dingy part of town.
Poor little Daniel wandered into the lion’s den.
The venue where he sang was one of the worst gay clubs I'd ever been to. Matt had neglected to mention just how bad the neighborhood was. A group of men broke into my car as I walked back. Luckily, I’d been able to chase away the pair of malefactors before they broke any windows on my Mercedes C class. But not before they scratched my door handle. You’d think my old friend would've had the foresight to let me know to drive a different car.
But Jesus, was I glad I’d taken Matt up on his offer. He was exceptionally right about the talent.
Well, mostly. The majority of the singers had been your average pop singers. An occasional dabbler in bedroom music production, I’d been in the studio enough times to know they didn't have what it took to deliver on a song. There had been a blonde girl who struggled to maintain her pitch halfway through a Mariah Carey piece and who faltered at the end. The crowd, drunk, still burst into applause. But that wasn't enough to convince me she’d work at Asteria. Likewise, another man — a bear I’d sometimes seen at the Gay 90s, Minneapolis's premier LGBT nightclub — had sung an excellent rendition of Michael Cowans’ Hallelujah. But he didn't have that “it” factor I needed to draw in clientele. If I wanted to draw big crowds at Asteria, I needed top-notch talent.