Chapter 4 Benji
BENJI
The only thing worse than an impossible crush was having your impossible crush squirt milk down your throat in the middle of a packed club, and then, after you’d just about creamed yourself and lost any dignity you ever had, he handed you a business card and told you to call the Lactin Brotherhood office if you want more.
I’d never been more humiliated in my life.
Stevie insisted there was no reason to be embarrassed.
It wasn’t like I’d asked him on a date and he laughed in my face.
Cain was nothing but kind and polite…and caring.
But he also sent me packing the second we were done.
Just like he did with everyone else I saw leave his lap.
I wasn’t special or chosen the way my mind had been telling me while he cradled me against his chest and whispered encouraging words.
That was just part of the job he was hired to do.
And I was just another client.
At first, that felt almost like a betrayal. Like the fantasy relationship I’d built up in my head had been destroyed in a moment of cruelty. But then I remembered that I was a complete stranger and it was okay that he thought of me as just another client. Because that was exactly who I was.
A stranger he was paid to entertain.
It had been five days and I was still replaying every moment of that night in my head. The way he held my head and guided me to his chest and the gentle encouragement to go at my own pace was every man’s wet dream. In fact, I might have come close to having a few of those since meeting Cain.
And that was okay. I was a healthy man with a healthy libido that didn’t get much attention, so if my mind went a little crazy when a hot man gave me some attention, that was completely reasonable. At least, that was what I’d been trying to convince myself all day.
Cain was a professional. When it came to being a paid Daddy, he knew exactly what to say and do to get the deal…
or future deal, as the case may be. In my case, he probably figured I’d be up for private sessions.
And after a few days of contemplation from an adult headspace, I was actually considering that.
I wasn’t above paying for attention.
Truthfully, I’d never considered it before because I didn’t have a reason to. But now that I knew men like Cain were out there and willing to spend time with me for the evening, I was starting to come around to the idea.
The fact that Cain did his job exceptionally well wasn’t a bad thing. I couldn’t fault him for that. In fact, I should have profusely thanked him and left a fat tip for being so good to me. I hadn’t felt so safe in…ever.
Flirting for dollars was a legitimate business model, one that I’d employed myself on a regular basis.
And with a few days of reflection and obsessing over MilkTok videos, I decided I was going to take Cain’s advice and call in a professional.
I could be an adult and experience time with someone I was paying to be around me. Nothing sad or pathetic or desperate about that.
The rest of my week was busy briefing the customer success team on what they needed to do for my new client so I could keep myself distracted at work. But the second I got in my car for the drive home, my thirst for Cain made itself the center of my world.
I’d started to fill out the new client interest form from The Lactin Brotherhood ten times and closed the window before they could cache my name. Maybe that wasn’t actually a thing, but it probably was, so I had to be smarter about my semi-stalking.
Besides, the chances of me getting paired up with Cain were slim. He probably didn’t even take clients and that was why he was so quick to push me to the website.
Other guys would probably be fine. Milk was milk.
I had a standing call with my mom on Thursday nights, and she always asked if I was dating anyone interesting.
Usually, I made a dumb joke about not having time to add someone into my rich and fulfilling life.
Obviously, we both knew that was a lie, but now I wasn’t sure I could even say it with a straight face.
Because all I’d been thinking about was adding someone to my life to make it rich and fulfilling.
Stevie texted every day, but I didn’t want to hear him ask if I’d pulled the trigger yet, so I left him on read.
And then he showed up at my door.
“So you are alive.” He pushed his way inside my house and went straight to my wine rack. “Good thing I didn’t call the police to do a welfare check. Because I really considered it.”
“Please come in and help yourself to my…” I reached for the bottle and took a look at the label. “Chateau Lafite Rothschild Pauillac. Such a refined palate.”
Stevie shrugged. “Is that expensive or something?” Neither of us were big wine drinkers, but I got expensive gifts all the time.
“Probably, but have at it. It all tastes the same to me.” I handed him a bottle opener and a glass. “Sorry I didn’t get back to you yet.”
He pulled the cork and filled half a glass. “Have you called him yet?”
I laughed and shook my head when he reached for a second glass. “No. And even if I call, I’m just gonna get the office and they’ll connect me with some rando. It’s not like I can order up Cain for a midnight snack.”
“You absolutely can!” He grabbed my hand and dragged me to the sofa. “That’s why he gave you his number. He wants you to call.”
If only. “He didn’t give me his number. He gave me a card for his company. He probably gets a commission from every new client he refers.” The more I thought about it, the more it made sense. “Actually, he’s basically a drug dealer. First drink’s free and then you gotta buy your own pint.”
“Dramatic much?” Stevie finished his glass and poured another. “Turn on some music or something. It’s like a funeral in here.”
“Now who’s being dramatic?” I pulled out my phone and scanned my playlists. “You want big or Little?”
Stevie cocked his head in excitement. “Whad’ya got for Little?”
“My bathtime playlist.” I turned it on, and we immediately started dancing around the living room, singing the silly songs at the top of our lungs.
After the tense week I’d had, I was grateful for the distraction, even if it only lasted another hour before Stevie got comfy across my couch and passed out to Bluey.
On Saturday morning, a calendar reminder triggered me to start thinking about holiday decorations.
I used to get the house all decked out on Black Friday, but the old guy across the street who I was in a secret competition with passed away, so the motivation to get out there on a cold weekend morning just wasn’t there anymore.
At minimum, I’d throw a light net around my shrubs and put a little tree in my front window. It would help me get into the Christmas spirit and maybe feel better about ordering a special present for myself instead of feeling guilty about it.
There was a tree lot near the university that had a Charlie Brown tree section in the back with scraggly saplings that nobody else wanted.
The Little in me could relate to the loneliness of being one of those trees, so I decided to head over after lunch to grab something to put my fake presents under.
Not fake, as in gifts I bought for myself to open on Christmas morning.
But literal fake presents. One of the flagship stores at the mall closed right after Christmas last year and sold all their decorations before the end of the year.
Knowing I’d never have that many presents under a tree of my own, I took the opportunity to grab all the beautifully wrapped packages they kept under their tree.
They were empty boxes, of course. But having a dinky tree leaning over a mountain of gifts made me feel happy. And melancholy.
The dichotomy of elegant versus sparse.
Beautiful versus pathetic.
Grown up versus childlike.
In other words, me.