Daddy Dearest [some boyxboy]

One

Daddy Dearest by DocMartensAndCoffee (Jasmine Blackwell) 

Copyright (c) : All Rights Reserved. 

This is my property. If you read it anywhere else it's been nicked and that person is barred for life. 

This contains some homosexual male activity, references to underage sex, young parenthood, substance abuse, references to domestic violence, strippers, hookers, sexual references and strong innuendo. You have been warned :)

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I groaned as somebody small jumped on me, tearing me from sleep.

“Daddy!” Jacob said, energetically. “Daddy, Daddy! It's time to get up, Daddy!”  

“Mm, Daddy's still sleepy,” I mumbled, rolling over. He jabbed me very hard in the shoulder.

“Well I'm not,” he protested, sliding under the covers with me and tickling my tummy. I giggled and moved away, squirming and wriggling. 

“Okay, okay, Daddy's up,” I mumbled sitting up and rubbing my head. “What time is it?”

“Seven o'clock,” he told me. “Look, I got dressed.” He was wearing his favourite denim dungarees with a little striped top underneath – back to front. I smiled fondly.  

“Right. Well, Daddy's going to get the quickest wash and change ever, then we'll get you sorted and off to nursery,” I said. He pouted.

“I don't want to go to nursery, though,” he said. “I want to come to work with you.” 

“I've told you, pal, you're not allowed to come to work with Daddy. I wish more than anything I could take you with me, but I can't,” I said . 

“I hate nursery,” he mumbled. “The other children won't play with me.”  

“Well then – you play with them,” I suggested.

“I can't, they don't like me,” he said.

“I'm sure they do,” I said. “How could anyone not like my gorgeous boy?”

“They're all mean to me,” he told me. “They laugh at me because I'm the littlest one there and I don't have the same toys that they do.”  

“Well, bud, the best things come in small packages – and why not just show the others that your toys are every bit as good as theirs, eh?”

“Okay,” he sighed. I made him some cereal and sat him down to eat it.  

I felt awful. I knew Jakey got picked on at nursery school, and I knew he hated it. But there wasn't a lot I could do. I'd once complained to Maria, the girl who ran the nursery. Then I'd gotten yelled at by the other parents for calling their kids bullies. Parents were part of the reason I hated sending him there, actually. I knew they all spoke about me when I wasn't there, but that didn't faze me, really. It was the way they acted when I was there. The way they looked at me and Jakey – they were all employed, well-dressed people with kids in clean clothes who had all the brand new toys. I was jobless and skinny with usually unwashed hair and clothes I got in charity shops. Jakey was similar – cheap clothes, cheap toys, and supermarket value packed lunches. They only disapproved, of course, because I was Jakey's dad. I remembered for a short time there'd been a girl in a similar state to me bringing her son to the nursery. I'd set out to befriend her, thinking she and I would have the rejection in common. No such luck. The mothers all felt sorry for her, and cooed over her, taking her under their wing.