Total pages in book: 25
Estimated words: 22969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 22969 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 115(@200wpm)___ 92(@250wpm)___ 77(@300wpm)
I wondered if it had anything to do with his bisexuality; if he was drawn to the feminine clothes, but enjoyed them on my masculine body. It didn’t really matter; he liked what he liked, I liked what I liked, and we accepted each other as we were.
That was definitely a new thing for me. My whole life, no one had ever been totally satisfied with me. When every relationship inevitably came to an end, I’d hear reasons like, “I’m just not comfortable with you dressed like that in public,” or, “I don’t appreciate your attitude,” or my personal favorite, “You’re just too much for me to handle.”
At least I could say that the men of my past were honest, but if they couldn’t handle me, I wished they had just left me the fuck alone. Because each rejection added another layer of self doubt and insecurity.
But I didn’t feel either of those things around Ford. When I first saw him sitting at the club, I was immediately drawn to him because he looked so different from anyone else there; he was dressed casually in flannel and boots, looking handsome and down to earth. He appeared welcoming, and when I finally spoke to him, I learned I was right.
But ‘welcoming’ only scratched the surface of what Ford had to offer. He was also insightful and understanding. He put me at ease, and gave me peace, which was something I hadn’t felt in a long time.
I smiled at Ford’s home as I walked towards the porch. It was a cute and quaint place, white in color with a pretty blue door. It was cozy and inviting, which was exactly as I expected. Everything about Ford was inviting.
I lifted my hand to knock, but the front door swung open before my knuckles touched the wood. Ford stood there waiting, wearing a blue and black checked plaid shirt over his thick frame. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, showing sturdy arms that promised warm hugs. It was paired with dark jeans, boots, and a dazzling smile. His skin folded at the corners of his baby blue eyes, and his salt and pepper hair and beard made him look mature and friendly. Everything about him was stunning.
“Hey there, darlin’,” he greeted in his deep, honey-smooth voice. “You look beautiful.”
I couldn’t stop my grin from bursting across my cheeks. “Hey, Daddy.” When I first said the name the night before, it was an accident. Ford made everything feel so natural that it slipped out, but I was glad for it. He was everything I could ask for in a Daddy. “You look amazing, too.”
I stepped closer, and he wrapped me in a hug. I was right; it was warm, but also protective, supportive, comforting, and soft. In a word, it was perfect.
“Come on in.” He pulled me inside and closed the door behind me. “I’ll give you the grand tour.”
Ford showed me around his home, which was clean and comfortable. He smiled as he pointed out pictures of his son hanging on the beige colored walls. Henley was cute. The best thing about him was that he had his father’s pretty eyes.
Daddy took me through the kitchen and living room. He showed me his bedroom and the bathroom attached to it, along with the smaller bathroom in the hallway. Everything was decorated simply, in muted earth tones, reflecting his natural, easy style.
“But something tells me this room is going to be your favorite,” Ford told me with a wink as he pushed open a door. He touched his hand to my lower back as he led me inside. He stepped in close to me, and my eyes widened as I took everything in.
Besides the beige-colored paint on the walls, this room looked nothing like the rest of Ford’s home. Tucked in the corner was a twin sized bed, dressed in a fuzzy pink blanket. It also held many soft pillows, all in different shades of pink.
Along the wall were several book shelves, which all held a wide assortment of toys. There were little metal cars and trains, as well as Barbie dolls, makeup kits, and all kinds of stuffed animals. The last thing I noticed on the bottom shelf was a set of blocks. But they weren’t made of wood or plastic; they were large cubes crafted from soft fabric.
It looked as if the room was handmade for me, and my heart skipped a beat at the possibility that maybe it was. Ford was new to all of this, so it didn’t make sense for him to have a decked out playroom. Even if he did keep a space for his son to play in when he visited, I knew from our conversations that Henley was into cars, trucks, and police items.
I looked at Ford, whose hopeful, slightly nervous expression threatened to burst my heart wide open. My voice trembled when I asked, “Did…did you do all of this for me?”