Not a Boy, Not Yet a Daddy
Or am I?
I’ve never understood the reluctance that gay men have with being addressed as Daddy. I’ve been making boys call me Daddy since I was in my 20s. Daddy is a state of mind. It’s less of an I’m older than you thing, and more of an… wait, this is the type of content I’m reserving for Tomik’s Diary. Subscribe below.
I’m 41 today. It’s an unremarkable age that no one cares about. Even I don’t care about it. I had a cute party last year, and this year, I haven’t even told anyone. Today, I’m going to a 24-hour party that started last night. Many of my friends who will be there will have carried on from whatever carry they attended last night. I’m showing up deeply rested, deeply moisturized, and with a solid ten minutes of stretches that were done before diving in. Maybe that’s what 41 is.
I’ll tell you what it’s not.
It’s not fucking carrying like I used to.
It’s definitely not eating whatever the fuck I want without needing to go to the gym.
41 is…
…still turning a look while embarking on a sensible twirl.
…looking at the top 10 of the Billboard Hot 100 and being like, Who the fuck are these people?
…my lowest age filter on Grindr being THIRTY, and my highest one being 45 because 50 still feels so much older than me.
I didn’t plan on writing anything today, so there’s no painting to accompany this post. Softness, remember? Instead you get a photo of me in my 41-year-old body. Do I have dad bod? Don’t answer that; I can’t concern myself with homosexual body dysmorphia today.
Anyway, if you want to give me a gift, I would love it if you made a donation to BaBEC. We have some super-exciting things planned for this summer. Announcements start this week!
I love you all. I love some of you. I love a few of you. Who am I kidding? I fucking hate everybody.
Text me if you want to come dance. 💋