5. Vinnie
5
VINNIE
I couldn’t believe I told him what it was. At first he thought it was raw milk, and that was such an easy out. I could have said, “Yeah, I’m into farm-fresh goodness. I heard it helps with...” and made up something, and all would have been good.
But no. No, I had to go and tell him exactly what it was. And once that was out there, it was there. No taking it back.
There was something about Emory—about the way he squatted down to be face to face with me, the way he helped me clean up, the way he didn’t rush me—that made him safe and had me spilling my guts. I was lucky I didn’t call him Daddy, because goodness knows, there were a few times I almost did.
He saw right through me. It was on the tip of my tongue to ask him if he was a Daddy or if he was just really into lactation. I knew for some people, that was a thing. And if you had the goods, why not?
When I found out he lactated—suddenly, there was a shift. I couldn’t quite pinpoint whether it was good or not yet, but there was no going back.
We were connected now, no longer simply neighbors who sometimes passed each other.
So when he offered me some milk, I said yes. I needed it. There was no pretending otherwise, not when he saw me sobbing. He witnessed it firsthand.
The day had been far too stressful not to have it. It was bad enough that I didn’t have it on my trip, which just made me exponentially more tired.
Taking my first sip hadn’t been the difficult part. I latched on, circling his nipple first, loving the way his breath hitched. And then I took one long pull and then another, until I was happily sucking away. He didn’t need to let down, his milk flowing easily from the first pull.
It had been a long time since I’d had milk directly from the chest. I was a bottle guy normally. But now that I’d had Emory’s milk as fresh as could be, I might need to rethink that. Only, I couldn't exactly take Emory to bed with me… could I?
“Thanks.” I looked down at my knees, unsure what to do now that I was no longer actively drinking from him. “That was what I needed.”
“You didn’t have your stuffie.” He pulled his shirt back on. “I should’ve thought of that. How about you tell me about your stuffie?”
“Well, my favorite one—the one I even bring with me when I travel, even though I shouldn’t, because it could get lost—and I didn’t even get to use him last time because?—”
He placed his hand on my shoulder.
“Deep breath. You don’t need to tell me anything. If it’s private, that is legitimate.”
I nodded, not wanting to blurt out a bunch of words again.
“Can I get him?”
“Of course.” Things were already awkward, and what did I do? Add to that by asking to bring my toy with me.
I ran next door, dug through my suitcase, and pulled out my stuffed tiger. Not that most people could tell he was supposed to be a tiger anymore. His fur was faded, worn in spots, the whiskers long gone.
But he was my tiger and the most beautiful tiger in the world, by default.
“Oh, he looks like he’s very loved.” Emory smiled wide as I walked in the door holding the toy out in front of me for him to see.
“I’ve had him a long time.” I’d actually only had him since high school graduation, which was weird given how worn out he was. As Emory said, he was well loved.
He came with a little graduation cap that said the name of my class and a backpack. The cap was long gone, but I’d been so proud of the accomplishment. And it was an easy toy one to bring to college because no one argued with you having a memento of your graduation.
“What’s his name?” Emory leaned forward, giving me his undivided attention. How long had it been since I felt this listened to?
“He... his name is Gur.”
“Gur?”
“Yeah, because tigers don’t really roar like lions do. It’s kind of like a grr sound.” At the time it made perfect sense, but sharing his name origin story as an adult, it seemed silly. Only looking at Emory, you’d never know he felt that way. He looked extremely interested, and maybe he was.
“I think he’s adorable.” He placed both his hands on my shoulders. “Thank you for sharing him with me.”
“Thank you for sharing your milk with me.” I hugged Gur close. “It helped a lot.”
“I’m glad. I can pump more, if you like.”
I hesitated. The polite thing would be to decline. He’d already done so much. Instead, I said, “Maybe a little bit before bed. I promise not to spill it.”
“No need to be sorry. I’m an overproducer. There’s plenty. Have you ever had your milk directly from the person before?”
I explained to him that I had, from both men and women, and he had a flash of confusion across his face before he managed to school it. And fair enough. There was a whole lot to unpack there, and I wasn’t sure we were close enough to go there.
But I did. Apparently, keeping my mouth closed until I could think about my word choices wasn't a thing I did around Emory.
“I had a Mommy once, but it didn’t work out. I prefer Daddies.”
Great, because of my inability to think around my hot neighbor, I managed to completely overshare. Not only did I let him know I was Little, but also indicated I was bi—which, for a lot of men, unfortunately, was a deal breaker. Not that he’d said he was interested in me. He hadn’t. For all I knew he wasn’t into men at all.
Gods, I wanted him to be into men.
“They were lucky to have a Little like you.” Which was sweet, but I didn’t know exactly what it meant for us. Was he a Daddy? Did he like men? Or more importantly, did he get hard thinking about me the way I did about him?
“I’ll get you that milk.” He walked into the kitchen, and ten minutes later, I was walking out of his apartment with a glass of fresh milk.
If second-guessing the events of tonight were in the Olympics, I’d have a gold medal. And by the time I was inside and had poured the milk into my bottle, I felt guilty for not being thankful enough. At least I didn’t think I had been.
I put the flashlight on my phone and shined it on the counter, took out a piece of a note card, and thanked him for the milk before sneaking over to his place and sliding it under his door.
There. I did a good thing. Now maybe he’d forget about how awkward it had been. Or I made it worse.
I didn’t bother with the shower—the hot water tank was connected to my electricity and nobody wanted a cold shower. Instead, I climbed into bed with my bottle and fell sound asleep with Gur in my arms.
When I woke up the next day, I had a message from the maintenance team in my inbox. They needed my door unchained and would be here within the hour. When I went to make sure the door was ready for them, there was a note back from Emory.
Anytime, Vinnie. You can come have a drink or I can pump for you again. I hope you and Gur got a good night’s sleep.
“He wrote me back.” I felt like I was back in middle school when we all passed notes around.
I got ready for work, his note playing over and over again in my mind.