7. Vinnie
7
VINNIE
After I excused myself, I went to change my clothes. I wanted to have a pretty serious conversation with Emory, and doing so while I was still partially in Little space was a wretched idea. Not that I’d been fully there, but I had been close, which was shocking, given how our time together began and how little we still knew about each other.
It had been nice having him take care of me—making me eat, nice knowing I didn’t have to think about anything, not even when it was time to pee. It was nice. So much nice, and I knew it could never get past that point until we had a real conversation about what each of us wanted and needed.
I hadn’t had this kind of caregiving in a long time, and it would have been easy to just continue on, maybe ask him to watch some cartoons with me to keep the night going. But if we were going to do this relationship with him in any real capacity, we needed to actually have a conversation. I learned a long time ago that it was better to have it right from the beginning than to let it wait. No one wanted to be a couple of months into a relationship before they discovered that the object of their affection was on a very different page then they were—heck, in some cases, they were in different books.
Once I changed and was in completely different clothes than before, I washed my face. That was all it took to get fully Big again. I didn’t love it. Staying Little had so much more appeal in that moment, but I’d be kicking myself later if I didn’t do this now. Adulting sucked.
When I stepped out of the bathroom, there was Emory doing the dishes—by hand.
“You don’t have to do that.” It was very appreciated, but I had two hands too. I also had a dishwasher. I rarely used it, but it existed and worked just fine.
“You’ll learn very quickly, Vinnie, I don’t do things I don’t want to do. Let me do this for you, okay?”
“Sure, if I can dry,” I offered, grabbing the dish towel and starting to dry the few dishes he’d already washed. Three dishes in, I finally had the courage to blurt out, “We have things we need to talk about, don’t we? You said a ‘Big’ talk.” Letting it sit there unspoken was only making me more worried. Best to get it over with.
He turned off the kitchen sink and tilted his head so he could see me. “I did say that, but tell me, sweet boy, what do you think our Big talk should be about?”
“Well… I called you Daddy.” And I freaking loved doing it. Nothing had felt more right.
“You did,” he said, “and you didn’t correct yourself, like you did the first night.”
And that was something I didn’t think he’d noticed. But then again, the more time I spent with Emory, the more I realized that he pretty much saw everything, and I meant everything. They say Santa knows all the things. They were wrong, it was Emory.
“No, I didn’t.” Should I have?
“Which means…?” He wiped his hands on his towel, set the one I was holding on the counter, and pulled me flush against him.
“I forget.” And if I stayed like this with him for long, I was going to forget everything but the feeling of being in his arms.
“It feels like there is more you want to say.” His warmth against me felt amazing.
“It’s just… I called you Daddy.”
“We’ve established that.”
“I know, but what does that mean?” Because every single fiber in me wanted it to mean he was mine and I was his and we were going to see where this led. But I didn’t want to be pushy and needy. This had to be two-sided or it wasn’t worth pursuing.
“Well, that’s a different story altogether. It can mean whatever we want it to.” So not helping.
“And what do you want it to be, Daddy?” And back into his court I threw it.
“I want it to mean you’ll let me take care of you. I want it to mean you can find comfort in me. I want it to mean we’re together… neither of us with anyone else.”
Wow. He just put it all out there with such ease. How I wished I could do that. But no, I had to get all nervous and anxious.
“That sounds good to me.”
We went back and forth, hashing out things that were important to us. I didn’t like someone assigning punishments—I didn’t think it was necessary. And honestly, it made me behave worse, because the you can’t tell me what to do vibe was strong in me.
Emory, on the other hand, was big into making sure his Littles ate well, which was something I was not very good at. Our needs were different, but they meshed pretty perfectly, and I was already feeling a thousand times better about us.
Everything left was just tiny details—things that would help us navigate this budding relationship better as we explored what worked for us.
“And I have one more rule,” Emory said, looking at me, waiting until our eyes locked.
“What’s that?” There was nothing he could ask for that I wouldn’t move heaven and earth to try and make happen.
“If we’re together, I want all your milk to come from me. I don’t want you spending money on other people’s when you have a whole supply next door.”
“But… that’s how you make your money.” Taking his income from him so that I got free milk wasn’t something I’d ever feel comfortable with.
“No, that’s how I get rid of my milk. The money is just extra and fine, but I’ve been known to donate considerable quantities when the need arose. And trust me, I have so much supply I can fulfill your needs and still provide for other people.”
“Well… if you’re sure, Daddy, I would love that.” I already wanted another taste. It was so stinking good.
“So now what?” I shoved my hands in my pockets and leaned against him.
“Now, we need to go on some dates—some Big dates, some Little dates, all kinds of dates.” That sounded like absolute bliss.
“I can’t tell you the last time I went on a date.” It wasn’t with the last two people I attempted a relationship with, that was for sure.
“Well, then, I’ll be happy to remind you just how wonderful they can be.”
But what Daddy didn’t realize was that, as long as he was there, it was wonderful. Full stop.