Page 2 of More, Daddy (Bluebell Bruisers #3)
While everyone is at the away game, I will be at home talking to a stranger on Veiled , the most recent anonymous online community I joined .
Years ago I quit using online dating services and hookup apps. Absolutely fucking refused. Mr. New to Town and Freshly Divorced had to prove to himself that he wasn’t the problem.
I wanted to prove to myself that my ex-wife wasn’t right about me.
I gave it two full years. But after seven hundred and thirty days and not more than two actual dates, I stopped fucking around with algorithm-based dating sites and apps. Besides, I never wanted to be a guy whose marriage begins with swiping a certain direction on my cell phone.
I didn’t want to define myself in a handful of sentences, hoping that five photos I uploaded would speak all the right things about me. I didn’t want to believe my soulmate found me with a computer.
I didn’t have to worry about those things, though, because for the life of me, I couldn’t make those sites work. Not a single one of them.
First there was Fish in the Sea . Fucking bust. They only matched me with younger women, women that were wearing diapers when I was having my first wet dream. No fucking way. My first rule: I only date women my own age. I left the Sea fast.
Then there was Flickering Flame . God, even the name of that one made vomit creep up my throat, I swear.
Then again, the app was probably developed by a bunch of twenty-year-olds that didn’t have to worry about being single because twenty is the age where being single is fun and kind of sexy.
At my age, people start to wonder what’s wrong with me.
Why am I single if I’m employed and middle aged?
Not that I consider myself middle aged. Thirty-six is not the middle of my life—fuck that.
Anyway, the matched profiles the Flame had suggested did the same thing as the last service—matched me with women I said I was not interested in.
Most of them too young, some of them in locations undesirable to me (I’m not leaving Bluebell), and some of them had NO KINKS written clear as day in their profiles.
I never used to think of myself as kinky. Or at least, I never did until I divulged it to my ex-wife. Her reaction to my needs opened my eyes and it turns out, I am kinky , and my thing? It’s not for everyone.
A “NO KINKS” banner is a red flag for me.
After leaving Flickering Flame , I downloaded and made a profile with Saddles ‘n Sparks . That app had potential. It said there were women in Bluebell with registered profiles. What it didn’t tell me—until after signing up and creating a profile—was that the women who signed up were seniors .
And Saddles ‘n Sparks ? A senior dating service , completely and mistakenly mis-marketed.
I am not that fucking old.
It was after that conundrum that I threw in my proverbial towel and decided to pause the hunt for my soul mate. According to Dean, you never find her when you’re on a hunt anyway. She’s gotta just come to you. Fall into your lap or some shit. I don’t know.
I don’t necessarily believe in that either, so after my year hiatus, I joined a new app. Veiled . One that requires far less of me. No profile photos, no bio, no voice memo, just a user name and a simple set of rules: no exchanging real names or addresses—chat is AI monitored for user safety.
The purpose of the app is finding someone anonymously with your kink. You can chat, send photos, have a good time, but no information is stored, and you’ll be banned from the app if you try to connect with the person outside of Veiled .
I found the concept of discretion and kink to be greatly appealing, so I signed up. I had very little hope of finding someone to chat with, even for a night, much less for any long duration of time.
The first few messages I received were met with silence when the time came to swap kinks. Though kinks are selected and then shown in each user’s profile, and mine was out there clear as day, finding a woman who actually enjoyed my thing proved challenging… even for a kink app.
After the forth consecutive “ what the fuck? ” I was just about to delete my profile and toss Veiled in the trash along with all the other letdowns.
But I got a message, and the username made my throat go dry.
DaddysGirl
Hey - I saw your username pop up on the kinks list. Wanna chat?
The kinks list. I minimized the chat and scoured the still-unfamiliar user interface of Veiled until I realized that people on the app were organized by what they chose as their interests, put into bubbles on the main page titled “ Veiled Users Online You Share Interests With.”
There we were. Right there. Sharing a kinky bubble.
That was going on two months ago, and I’ve been absolutely addicted to chatting with her every single night since. I even called out of school one day, played hooky, just to talk to her.
Tonight I’m missing our first away game so I can talk to her, and while I know I should feel guilty, I really don’t.
I’m too fucking excited.
What will DaddysGirl say tonight? What morsel of information about her life will she drop and let me pick up and lick from my greedy fingertips?
Will she be talkative? Will the conversation finally veer into a flirty space where we can discuss the one thing bringing us together? What if she isn’t online?
That last one always makes me fucking angry. And a little sick. Thinking of logging on and not seeing her active spins me out if I really let myself think about it.
I get why they set the app up this way, to protect people who want a casual and fleeting thing. But it’s also so dangerous, too. Because if she isn’t online, and never came back online, I would have no way of finding her.
That terrifies me.
At home, I toss my dinner into the microwave to reheat and plug my laptop in for some extra juice while I get cleaned up. After a hot shower and a cold beer, I slide onto my couch in nothing but a pair of sweats and open my laptop.
I lick my lips, and shove a hand through my hair, still damp. Reaching for my beer, I take a pull, enjoying the cold sting of booze against my jumpy nerves. We’ve talked for nearly two months and without knowing her name, what she does or where she is, I’m obsessed.
I log into Veiled using my very cringy username—Suede0989 since my favorite hat is suede and, yep , that’s the month and year I was born—I am greeted by the welcome screen.
Welcome to Veiled.
An anonymous chat service designed for the times you’re in between serious things.
As my screen populates, desire flares uncomfortably amidst the unease. I want to know who DaddysGirl is, and I want to meet her because we talk so easily, it has to be proof of a deeper, far more meaningful connection.
But on the other hand, not knowing who she is means not having to worry about reality, about making a future work— it lets me breathe and enjoy my time online.
Not having to worry if the whole thing is going to be a waste of time because she doesn’t like what I like is nice.
And not projecting my life’s hopes and dreams onto her is nice, too.
Casual is good. It's what the app is designed for.
I hadn’t realized how much I was repressing from spending time on all those other dating sites. On Veiled , with DaddysGirl , it feels so different.
Heat bubbles up along the back of my neck, sweeping down my spine, and settling in my groin as she comes online.
I lick my lips and drop my eyes to the body of the message, which pops up just moments after she logs on. She wastes no time getting to me, and that has more of an effect on me than it should.
DaddysGirl
I realized I never asked you about your username.
Another message directly below the first.
If your username is suede because you dress in head to toe blue suede, or you’re an Elvis impersonator obsessed with Blue Suede Shoes, you should save us both some heartache and disclose that.
I like suede, just not a full outfit. And not blue. And not in relation to an Elvis obsession.
Unless… Wait.
Assless suede chaps?
Wearing a smirk, I sink into the couch and find myself replying.
Suede0989
My favorite hat is suede, but now I’m wondering what you’ve got against Elvis impersonators.
The next thing I know, it’s two in the morning.