Page 1 of Daddy's Little Dreamer

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“Star light, star bright. First star I see tonight. I wish I may, I wish I might. Have this wish I wish tonight.” I thought really, really hard and hoped that if I got the words just right, my wish would finally come true.

For the thousandth time…

Okay, here goes.

“Star light, can I please have a daddy of my own? One who loves me for who I am. Faults, creepy kinks, and all.”

And my faults were plenty and, sadly, there were more than enough kink shamers in the forms of fake daddies out there to point that out and say my kinks weren’t “normal.” That much I’d learned the hard way.

Or so I’d been told…

“Thought I’d find you out here.” Mom slipped through the open window in my room and joined me out on fire escape. “What are we wishing for tonight, Trevor?”

For as long as I could remember, Mom and I wished for things that never came. From the first moment she taught me the silly nursery rhyme and said, “Hold your breath and wish really hard,” we’d been doing it. Though the older I got, and then became of working age, the less these bonding moments happened.

“My Prince Charming.”

“That’s a wonderful wish, my love.” Mom kissed the top of my head. “But it’s getting chilly and if we don’t slip back inside we’ll be wishing for cold medicine. Besides, we have an early morning tomorrow.”

“’K, Mom, just one more minute.”

She left me to my thoughts and as I stared up at the shiny stars I silently wished again before I slid inside and closed the window. With Bumble in hand, a bumble bee stuffie I’d had since forever, I popped my binky in and curled up in bed.

In my opinion, Sundays always went by way too fast.

Though that was partially the fault of my body which refused to sleep for an entire eight-hour period. Maybe I’d hit eight over two or three nights in a row, but I’d never been much of a sleeper. Thankfully I wasn’t a troublemaker either, though it scared the bejesus out of mom the first time she heard the TV come on in the middle of night. There I sat, about eighteen months, old flipping through the channels. She fell asleep on the couch beside me that night. I don’t know how she made it all these years dealing with me, but the woman was truly a saint.

One of many things most daddies couldn’t seem to handle when “dealing” with me was the excess energy.Dealing with me. Such a negative connotation, but it fit given they weren’t very niceto me. None of them ever tried to figure out a way to calm me down.

Was I destined to grow old alone?

Living with mom was always an option, and not a bad one either.

We kept no secrets from each other, except for one.

I felt awful about that, but given the fact the men I’d been with called me a freak when I latched onto their nipples for too long, it was the one secret I would have to take to my grave.

Let’s not forget about the guy I fell asleep on while sucking his winky. That did not go over well at all. We definitely had different views of happy endings for sure. The fact that I was jarred awake when he yanked my hair and came all over my face, and then proceeded to tell me to get the fuck out, was a lesson learned the hard way.

And now once again here I was, still beating myself up as memory after memory resurfaced until the morning alarm went off.

L.O.S.E.R.

That was me in a twenty-year-old nutshell.

“Rise and shine, Bumble.” I slid out of bed and tucked him back in, then grabbed my clothes and headed across the hall into the bathroom. Mom and I only had the one, but she got up before me and did her thing first. Then we had breakfast together and we’d be off to another fun-filled day at Sunrise Elementary School.

“Morning, Mom.”

“Good morning, love. Breakfast is almost ready.”

I poured a cup of coffee and took a seat at the small two-person dining table in our apartment. For all my life it had been me and Mom against the world. She never spoke of my father, and I never asked, and to the best of my knowledge she had never dated.

Mom was my biggest cheerleader, never a negative word was said to me, and she encouraged me to be myself. She still hung the pictures I made on the fridge and never batted an eye when I colored her a new one. When I came out to her a few years back she squealed and hugged me and said, “I’m so proud of you, Trevor.”

“Proud of me?” I was stunned, not only at her easy acceptance, which on my part wasn’t bright, but by her words.

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