Page 5 of Finding His Silver Fox Daddy

Task completed, I crawled back to the camera, my large-screen monitor beside it, and prepared to end the stream. “Thank you all for coming tonight and for your interactions with me. I love having every single one of you here!” After giving them the time and date of my next planned live stream and reminding them one last time to check out my affiliate link to the toy in the description, I winked, waved through my signature sign-off—“stay kinky and proud, friends”—and cut the feed.

I stilled, letting the silence wash over me. I always needed a little time to come down after a show, so I rested for a minute or two before pulling off my wig, grabbing my silky baby-pink robe, and climbing off the bed.

My computer dinged with a new DM from the cam site when I got back from a quick clean-up in the bathroom. I didn’t usually get follow-up messages after a show, but there was a first time for everything.

My heart started racing when I saw the handle. MrFox43 had DMed me. Great job tonight, sweet boy. You were so good for Daddy.

I smiled to the empty room, pulling the message up on my phone to type a response. Thank you, Daddy.

Then I signed off, headed to the kitchen for a glass of water, and went to bed with the biggest smile I might’ve ever had in my life on my face.

***

I woke the next morning to the sun shining in my tall window and my sheets tangled in my regrettably empty bed. Blinking away the haze of sleep, I twisted until I sat up, my feet on the hardwood floor.

I didn’t have a huge place, but it had great vibes. A developer had converted a factory into condos decades ago, and the exposed brick, crown molding, transom windows, and hardwood floors throughout oozed charm. It was decorated well, thanks to my mother’s interior designer who’d set it up before I moved in, and I kept it clean.

Thankfully, my parents had put this condo in my name a couple of years before they’d discovered what I did for a living and cut me off.

Just before my twenty-fourth birthday—which was only a few weeks before Christmas—a friend of theirs divulged that they’d found my cam site and recognized my room. The hypocrisy of me getting in trouble for doing cam work, an honest profession these days, and my parents never questioning why their friend—who, I found out later, was apparently the realtor who’d sold them the place—was on the site in the first place would have been laughable if it wasn’t so contemptible.

Bastards.

My parents had stopped by, invading my personal space by storming into my bedroom before I had time to put any of my equipment away. After my mom clutched at her imaginary pearls, she and my dad had sat me down in my living room for a stern talking to which ended in them threatening to cut me out of the will unless I stopped “selling my body for profit.”

I could only imagine what they’d do if they found out I was gay. Pearls would’ve gone flying across the room, I suspected.

When I’d turned them down, my dad had immediately pulled out his phone and transferred all the money in my account—with joint access from my high school days—and left me with nothing.

Or so they thought. Because, thank my lucky stars, I’d had the foresight to deposit all my cam site earnings into a separate account I’d set up as soon as I’d started, you know, “selling my body for profit.” The extra financial cushion had been nice, but I didn’t need it.

I barely blinked as they told me not to call until I quit then walked out my front door and out of my life.

Sure, it wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows. They’d had my car repossessed, the one thing I’d forgotten to transfer into my name, which was a hassle. But I discovered I didn’t really need one, anyway, and I got to save the environment a little by using Seattle’s largely electric-powered public transportation. Saving the earth, saving money, and saving myself the headache of dealing with my parents? Win, win all around.

I worked from home, anyway. And wasn’t that just a big “fuck you”?

Okay, I didn’t hate my parents. Much. They were just bigoted assholes. I didn’t even get the chance to come out to them—though if their realtor friend divulged even a little bit of the nature of my content with them, they’d probably have figured it out.

But honestly, it wasn’t like I’d planned on bringing a guy home . . . well, ever. When I craved more than just self-given orgasms on camera, fuck ‘em and leave ‘em worked for me. My philosophy kept my life simple and easy: Have a little fun, then go out and live your life without someone always wanting something from you.

Lately, though, my bed was starting to feel a little empty. I’d lost the will to find a hookup on the Daddy’s Boy app weeks ago—though I got the best of the algorithm thanks to the fee I paid to run a premium cam site—and my intermittent nights out were with friends, no benefits. I was a boy, for sure, and maybe someday I could consider getting myself a Daddy, but for now . . .

Who the hell was I kidding? Life had gotten boring.

I shook off that thought and pushed up from the bed. As I pulled on my boxer briefs and headed into the bathroom to take care of my biological business, I started to map out my next live stream. Thoughts of what Heavenly Toys might send me to try next buoyed me, vastly improving my mood. Would it be a vibrator, a cock ring, a dildo, something else? I was into toys, the kinkier the better, and I’d gotten lucky with Heavenly Toys as a sponsor. I loved the hell out of their stuff. No pun intended.

As I lathered my curly head of hair in the shower, I pictured last night’s stream, remembering how hot MrFox had been. I smiled as I rinsed the shampoo out and applied conditioner. I smirked as I recalled that incredible orgasm while I washed up. I swooned at the way he’d called me a good boy, a sweet boy, as I dried off.

But as I ate my breakfast and started my day, I definitely didn’t think about how my life had gotten so goddamn lonely.

Chapter three

Henry

Mid-July

“Here’s to almost fifty!” my shithead best friend announced to the entire restaurant, tumbler in the air.