Chapter Twelve
Me
Hey, I know we’re not, like, friend-friends or anything, but I don’t know who else to talk to and I need advice.
Sending the message has me biting my lip and blinking away traitorous tears.
Yesterday afternoon kind of wrecked me, but in the best possible way. I’ve never experienced a scene so extended, or as intense, as the one I participated in with Kris. I loved every second of it, and I can’t believe how amazing it felt to be so out of control of my own body.
I’m obviously more than used to the feeling of wetting myself, but there was a whole new dimension to the feeling when it happened without me choosing when and where.
That added to the embarrassment like tenfold.
And, fuck, that made me so fucking excited.
Not to mention how much Kris seemed to enjoy being peed on.
That was unexpected —even though he had said he loves watersports— and it made me feel powerful even while I felt humiliated and vulnerable.
The whole thing was addictive.
The epic orgasm that followed didn’t hurt, either.
Neither did Kris’s amazing aftercare. Once we came down from, well, coming all over each other, he took me into the shower and washed every inch of me with even more care and gentleness than the first time.
After that, we cuddled on the couch with snacks and bottles of water, and we talked about the parts of the scene that we had loved and what we both thought could have been done differently to make it even better.
(Honestly, with my brain all melted, I couldn’t think of anything that could have made yesterday’s session better. I still can’t.)
But now, almost an entire day later, without having seen Kris at all today, I’m feeling a bit down.
My phone lights up with a reply to my text.
Anson
That sounds serious. What’s up?
With sweaty palms, I consider how to explain my situation to my colleague and fellow Little.
The first time Anson recognized me at The Grove, he told me never to talk to him about our mutual interests.
I think he was afraid I’d let it slip at work, even though that would mean confirming that we both have the same secret.
It stung a bit, because there was still a pathetic part of me that had hoped maybe this would be the time I made a real friend…
only to realize he didn’t trust me and just saw me as his annoying colleague, even after learning how similar our interests are.
But I got over it, and eventually even got to the point where Anson and I would say hello at The Grove or occasionally even play together in headspace for a few minutes.
It wasn’t a close friendship, but it was all I had.
Licking my lips, I type, delete, then retype my story. It’s probably way too much information to just dump on him, but I don’t know what else to do at this point. I don’t feel like myself, on the verge of tears and desperate for another afternoon cocooned in Daddy’s arms.
Finally, after sending way too many paragraphs over a clump of jittery messages, I send one more.
Me
I’ve NEVER felt like this before, especially not as late as a day after a scene.
Anson’s ellipsis bubbles for a bit. I can’t tear my gaze away from my phone screen. I’m anxious and sad and weirdly itchy under my skin.
Finally, a short message appears, followed quickly by two more.
Anson
Shit. That sounds like a drop to me, Ben.
Daddy says you should go find Kris and talk to him.
I think he’s right.
None of the above is what I wanted to hear. Or, I guess, read.
As if sensing that, Anson sends another barrage of short messages.
Anson
When Daddy and I first got together, I made the mistake of not telling him when I needed him.
I felt like crap then.
But I get feeling confused about it when you’re not even looking for a Daddy of your own.
Asher at The Little Community Center convinced me to talk to Daddy, though.
And now I’m living my HEA.
Not that you have to have a permanent Daddy for your HEA.
Sounds like he might be a good one, though.
With my lower lip quivering, I nod and sniffle a little. “I think so, too,” I mutter out loud, the confession quiet even though nobody else can hear me.
The thing is, this is a vacation fling. I’m not delusional enough to think it could be more than this.
And, like all vacation flings, the illusion of what could be is always going to be more appealing than reality.
Kristian and I are being the best versions of ourselves right now: relaxed and without any external pressures distracting us from enjoying our mutual kinks.
In addition to that, we’re in the middle of bumfuck nowhere and the people visiting this camp have come from all over the country.
I don’t even know where Kristian lives! It would be just my luck to go and get attached to the perfect Daddy for me, only for him to live way too far away to justify more than this short vacation fling.
So, yeah. Dating him —being his Boy for more than just a few scenes here at camp— is probably impossible. I need to get a grip and treat this the same way I treat any of my random hook-ups at The Grove.
Sighing, I type my reply.
Me
He is a good guy. I’ll talk to him, but I don’t think there’s anything long-term in store for us. But thank you for letting me vent about it. I do feel a bit better now.
It’s a lie, of course. I don’t feel much better at all. If anything, I just feel a bit more hopeless.