I’ve been truly blessed in life. Professionally, I have a job I enjoy, and which also pays the bills and then some. Personally, I have the best son anyone could ask for.

But Henley is grown now, and though he’ll always need his dad, he has found the most incredible partner in his Daddy, Amir. I couldn’t be happier for the pair, but I also can’t deny the void I feel when watching their interactions. The love and care between them make my heart ache with desire.

If it weren’t for witnessing his and Amir’s relationship, I may have thought my desire was to father another child. But I felt way too fucking old for that. I was forty three and the thought of starting over with a made my head ache.

Besides, I now understood I didn’t want to be a father again. What I actually wanted was to be a Daddy. I wanted to care for my special someone in a special way; to meet their needs how only a Daddy could. I wanted to give snuggles and advice. I wanted to prepare dinners and warm baths, and buy fun toys for playtime.

Once the realization sunk in, it was relentless. It became a persistent thought that demanded attention; an itch that desperately needed to be scratched. One evening when Henley and Amir were visiting, my son fell asleep on the couch. Amir and I were sharing random conversations when I looked him in the eyes and blurted out, “I think I’m a Daddy.”

The words surprised me; not just because of the way they flew out of my mouth, but the fact I said I am instead of I want to be. Maybe deep down and subconsciously I already knew. The words didn’t seem to shock Amir, though; he simply smiled and nodded.

Amir did appear somewhat surprised when I told him about my sexuality. I’d been “out” as bisexual for over a decade. It wasn’t something I tried to hide, but it also wasn’t something that came up in conversation often. When it came to my ideal little, gender didn’t matter to me. What I craved was connection. I wanted to guide and care. And I needed to be needed.