Someone once told me I give daddy issues a bad name.
I laughed at the time, but since I found myself living with my dad's best friend, Stuart Wiseman, it doesn't feel all that funny anymore. Living with him is a nightmare. He's super pedantic about everything. He takes one look at me and decides I need help with adulting, and he seems absolutely positive he's the man for the job. He's hellbent on improving me, scolding me about this and correcting me on that. Obviously, I don't take it lying down. I give as good as I get. Things come to a head one night, and I find myself staring down the barrel of a thick, angry index finger pointed close to my face. "You're playing with fire, boy, and you're headed for leather." Every schema I've ever used to make sense of the world implodes. I'm furious. I hate it. Fully hate it. Hate every single thing about it. Except that I don't—and that makes it worse. Way worse. Some stupid part of me loves it. Some even stupider part craves it. Lucky for me, Stuart knows a daddy's boy when he sees one. He offers to discipline and take care of me, to do the hard parts of adulting for me until I get back on my feet. Obviously, it isn't a relationship. He's literally old enough to be my father. So, no, it's not a relationship. Get your mind out of the gutter. It's an arrangement… a daddy arrangement. And that's all it will ever be. Right? The Daddy Arrangement does not include age play.
