6. Emory
6
EMORY
I'd been checking my phone, watch, and computer clock all afternoon, unable to concentrate. That was so unlike me. I had vice-like concentration, blocking everything else out while I worked.
Not today, though.
At five on the dot, I logged out of my account and turned off the computer. After tidying the room and making sure everything was in its place, I closed the door.
I had more milk orders than usual this evening, and as Vinnie wasn’t home, I pumped, wanting to get that out of the way so I could concentrate on what was most important: letting my next-door neighbor know I’d like to take our relationship one step further.
When the pumping was finished and the mason jars in the fridge, I showered, and dressed in my new shirt and pants. Dinner was leftovers from last night, but I angled my body toward the door while I ate, anxious to hear when Vinnie slammed his front door.
He always did, a habit that I’d like to change.
I tensed as someone strode along the corridor. Mrs. Jenkins didn’t stride, and it was about the time when Vinnie usually arrived.
Now I had to wait until he showered, and what about dinner? He rarely bought takeout, and I’d wrongly assumed he was trying to eat healthy, reducing oil, sugar, and salt, but he was struggling with money.
I allowed one hour, during which my clients arrived. It was almost as if they knew I needed to go next door and came earlier than usual. After the last one left, thanking me profusely for the milk, I closed my door and knocked on Vinnie’s.
Nothing. Had he gone to bed or was he peering through the peephole and avoiding me?
I raised my hand to knock again when a small voice from inside asked, “Who is it?”
Hoping he wasn’t ill, I said, “It’s Emory, your next-door neighbor.” There was only silence, and I plowed on. “I’d like to talk to you if you’re free.”
“Okay.” He didn’t sound certain, and I had to strain to hear.
But the door unlocked and Vinnie appeared, dressed for bed. Not in his adult PJs but footie ones emblazoned with bunnies. He was holding his stuffie in one hand and a paci in the other.
Awww, he was Little, and he was so adorable. My cock swelled, but he wouldn’t have been able to see it because the light at the entrance wasn’t bright.
“May I come in?” He nodded and closed the door behind me. “Have you had dinner?”
“Yes, sort of.”
That didn’t sound as if he'd eaten a proper meal, and the remains of a sandwich were on the table.
I slipped into Daddy mode. “If you want to be big and strong, you have to eat some protein, plus vegetables and fruit.” Worried he didn’t have money for food, I told him to sit at the table and I’d be back in a minute.
Returning with one of the batch-cooked meals I’d taken out of the freezer this morning, plus fruit and a dessert, I placed the meal in the microwave and opened kitchen cupboards and drawers, looking for a plate, cutlery, and a napkin.
“What do we do before eating?”
He hesitated, possibly confused, and I wriggled my hands.
“Oh, we always wash our hands.”
“And your tiger can sit on the other chair. You don’t want him to get dirty.”
He got up, and I made sure he used soap and washed his hands thoroughly.
“Do you have a bib?”
“Hanging on the wall.”
I grabbed it and placed it around his neck before removing the paci and washing it with soap, avoiding the dishes piled in the sink.
“Thank you, D— ummm, thank you.”
How I longed for him to call me Daddy, but we had to reach an agreement before that could happen.
The microwave dinged, and I brought out the chicken, rice, and vegetables. It was a tad spicy which I had forgotten about. I’d have to make a supply of more bland meals in case his palate wasn’t used to spice.
“Thank you.” His eyes were so big as he tucked into the meal. I poured him a glass of water, though when needing to tamp down chili, milk was better.
“This is so yummy.”
“Glad you like it.” He was good with more than a pinch of heat.
I sat opposite him and glanced around the kitchen and living area. The place needed tidying and a mop run over the floor, but we could come up with a cleaning schedule and place it on the fridge—if we were going to be in one another’s lives.
I was itching to pick up the dirty clothes strewn over the sofa, but it wasn’t my place to remove them, and Vinnie would be justified in getting annoyed if I did.
Vinnie’s lips were smeared with homemade tomato sauce, and I tapped my mouth, a reminder he had to use a napkin.
When he was done, he pushed the plate away. “I’ll cut up some fruit and give you a cupcake, once you’ve rinsed your dishes.”
He did as I asked but didn’t put them in the dishwasher. That was fine for tonight.
Vinnie wriggled on the chair while I sliced the fruit, and the chair rattled back and forth over the floor.
“Do you need to go pee-pee?”
He screwed up his face. “Yes, I’m about to burst.”
I removed the bib and offered him my hand. He led me to the bathroom, and I waited at the door. He peed, aiming in the toilet, and I reminded him to flush.
“Good boy.” Vinnie pulled up his PJs, but not before I got a glimpse of his cock. My dick stirred as he washed his hands and scampered back to the table.
“May I have my cupcake now, please?”
“You asked nicely, so you may.” I replaced his bib and brought over the plate of fruit and a cupcake.
“Chocolate. My favorite.”
He picked up the cupcake and went to shove the whole thing in his mouth. But he caught my raised brow and took a small bite instead, licking frosting from his lips.
He chugged down half a glass of water, and it dribbled over his chin. But he remembered to use his napkin.
“Have you had enough to eat?” I didn’t want him going to bed hungry.
“Yes, thank you.” He eyed his stuffie. “But before I go to sleep, I like to drink milk.”
That was a signal for the letdown. Milk dribbled from my teats.
“May I have some… Daddy?”
Officially I wasn’t his Daddy, I wasn’t anyone’s. His thumb edged toward his mouth, and he sucked on it.
“You may, but we have to have a ‘Big’ talk first.”
His sucking was more frantic, and I asked him to remove his thumb.
“Okay.” He reached for his stuffie with crumbs on his fingers, but retracted his hands and raced to the sink.
“Did I do a good job?” He showed me both sides of his hands.
“A very good job. What a good boy you are.”
He grinned and puffed out his chest. “Thank you, Daddy.”