Chapter Sixteen #2
I toss my phone and keys into my duffel bag and pull the combination padlock that lives in the side pocket out, locking my valuables into the locker for the evening. As soon as the padlock clicks shut, I feel lighter.
I practically skip out of the locker room, following the hallway around to the large, grandiose staircase which leads up to the next level. There are two elevators flanking the stairs, but I like the climb up, always feeling like I’m entering a fancy hotel instead of a kink club.
Sure enough, as I reach the top of the stairs, the noise from downstairs fades away, and I’m faced with the two parallel hallways that honestly look like they’ve been modeled on a swanky hotel.
The doors lining these halls all lead to the various theme rooms, but it is the large room at the end of the halls and spanning the entire width of the warehouse that is calling to me.
The Playroom.
Inside, the space is age play heaven. It’s got a sunken play space on one end of the room, lined by couches and beanbags where caregivers can socialize while their Littles and Middles play, and on the other end of the space is a bouncy castle large enough for two or three adults to entertain themselves at any given time.
There are large-scale train sets, blocks, plush toys and car racing tracks, and tables and chairs with coloring stations set up in the middle of each.
There’s also a section near the end of the sunken play area with small TVs and gaming consoles, too, and a selection of board games and puzzles as well.
The space is brightly painted, but the lighting is dimmed, warm and yellow. There’s some gentle music playing from the speakers, but it’s low enough that you can hold private conversations over the top of it without having to yell.
Most times that I have come here, I’ve wound up in one of the attached scene-play rooms with a Daddy, bratting in whatever way we’ve negotiated and getting each other off, and I’ve enjoyed that. But tonight, I think I want to actually play for a while.
I feel almost rusty when I sit down at one of the coloring tables, reaching for a printed coloring sheet of tropical fish and a selection of brightly colored markers.
This is a simple activity to ease my brain into headspace, but I still feel awkward in my own skin as I begin, more than aware that I am a grown man in an arguably ridiculous (though very cute, if I do say so myself) outfit.
It doesn’t help that I’m sitting here on my own, either.
Around the room, there are a few other people milling about.
The room moderator is currently sitting on one of the couches overlooking the Littles play pit, dressed in formfitting black jeans and a sexy lace-up corset.
They’re watching the room with a gentle smile tugging at their painted red lips, smokey eye makeup crinkling at the corners of their eyes when they land on me.
Ordinarily, I’d probably wink and suck on the end of the marker suggestively, but I’m not feeling up to flirting right now.
Plus, they’re the moderator —they’re wearing the bright yellow flags on both their wrists— so they’re not here to play.
Which is a pity on both fronts: their arms are deliciously muscular, and I can see a hint of silvery chest hair peeking out from under the corset, teasing me even at this distance.
Maybe I’ll keep an eye out for them another day, when they’re here to play instead of work. That could be fun.
Decided, I look back down at my un-colored page of fishies.
The first one is practically begging to match my outfit, so I think I’ll color it pink with purple polka dots.
The motion of carefully shading between the lines of the fish’s black outlined shape is relaxing, and by the time I am moving on to fishy number two —a round bodied animal that I think will look amazing in bright orange— the awkwardness I felt earlier is starting to fade.
“Fancy seeing you here,” a familiar voice greets me as a large body drops into the seat next to mine. I look up from my coloring to find Anson grinning at me, seemingly well on his way to regressing himself.
He’s dressed in a short-legged blue romper decorated with little white stars all over it. His biceps strain the short sleeves as he reaches for a coloring sheet and some markers of his own.
“Hi,” I offer him a tentative smile, not used to him being quite so friendly in this setting. We usually just nod at each other and keep our distance.
“I thought I might see you here,” he babbles in a voice higher pitched than his usual speaking voice. It’s cute. “You’ve been working too much.”
I shrug, trying to coerce my shoulders back down from where they’ve taken up residence around my ears.
“I like my job.” Reaching for a yellow marker, I focus on coloring the fins on my orange fish, poking the tip of my tongue out of the corner of my mouth as I concentrate on staying within the smaller space of the lines.
“Mmm,” Anson doesn’t sound convinced. He grabs a green marker and starts slashing at his page with it chaotically, making me cringe.
“But you’ve seemed…um…” Little Anson’s vocabulary is not as extensive as Adult Anson.
He tilts his head from side to side, then settles on a garbled sound. “Ggghbbrerrrggh. Y’know?”
“Anxious,” a low, gentle voice supplies from behind us, making me jump in my seat. I look over my shoulder to find Anson’s Daddy, Drake, smiling sheepishly. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you. But Anson was saying you’ve been on edge. Anxious.”
Big me will feel a bit disconcerted that Anson’s been talking about me with his (hot. So hot) Daddy, but right now I think it’s sweet that the bear of a man has stepped in to translate for his Little.
I still shrug again. “I’m good.”
“Is this your first time here since the camp?” Anson asks me bluntly, right as I’m pressing the purple marker on the page again.
My hand jerks with my surprise, and I stare in dismay at the ugly purple line across the page.
“It’s okay,” he says before my lower lip even has a chance to quiver, “you can turn that into coral.” To demonstrate, he grabs a red marker and draws his interpretation of ‘coral’ on his mess of green scribbling. “See?”
I am so not Little enough for this yet.
Still, the coral thing is a good idea. I start to draw a bumpy mass of purple and then Anson prods, “So, is it?”
I frown at my drawing. “Is it what?”
“Your first time back since camp? ‘Cos you texted about that Daddy and then you came back all…” he looks to his Daddy for assistance.
Drake repeats, “On edge.”
Anson nods, turning big, blue, imploring eyes on me.
This is weird.
This whole situation is weird.
I mean, I know I texted him for advice, but that was weeks ago, and it’s not like he ever followed up on how it went…
I didn’t exactly reach out to him again, either.
Was I supposed to?
Ugh.
I don’t understand how these interactions are supposed to work. We’re not close. I should never have texted him in the first place.
And is he asking me now because he wants closure on the story? Does he want gossip material? Or does he just want to make sure his colleague isn’t going to lose it at work?
It’s not like he really cares, right?
Why is this so confusing?
Shame creeps up my back and paints my cheeks pink as I stare down at my half-colored fishies.
“I didn’t talk to Kris.” There’s silence following my declaration, making me squirm in my seat.
The rest of the confession bubbles up, if only to make the silence less oppressive.
“I ran away. Left camp early.” My throat goes tight. “I didn’t like it. Didn’t feel wanted.”
I never really feel wanted.
“Oh, Benji,” the empathy in Anson’s voice is too much. I hate it. It’s too close to pity. I hate being pitied.
“No. It’s fine.” I practically bark the words at him, scowling. It’s easier to give in to the frustration than to feel sorry for myself. “I am fine.”
“It’s okay not to be okay,” Drake’s voice is back to that low, lulling Daddy tone. He waits a beat before he asks, “Is this your first time regressing since the camp?”
Why the fuck are my eyes stinging?
I nod.
“Do you need someone to scene with?”
Usually, I would flirt. Ask him if he’s offering, even though his Boy is right there. Stir them both up a bit. But I don’t have it in me today. Instead, I swallow and shrug. “Maybe.” The word comes out shakily. I hate it. “I don’t know. I don’t know what I want.”
I want Daddy Kris.
The traitorous thought only makes me regret my choices more.
But he seemed to know what I needed when I couldn’t put words to it. He knew the kinds of things I would enjoy even though I’d never tried them before. He knew just how far he could push me until I came undone.
Why the ever-loving fuck did I run away from that?
I was scared of getting too attached, I’m not dumb enough that I can’t admit that to myself. But hindsight is a funny thing, and now I wish I had enjoyed what little chance I had to spend time with that perfect-for-me Daddy instead of running away to save myself potential heartache later.
Because newsflash: I’m still feeling it.
God, why am I such a fuckup?
“Okay, okay, shhh,” Drake pulls me out of my chair and into his lap on the floor, rubbing my back as I sob my regrets all over him. Anson is also down on the carpet with us, I dimly realize, feeling his arms wrapping around me, too.
I’m too wrung-out to think about this bizarre shift in our dynamic. In fact, it’s kind of nice. It kind of feels like I have friends, if only for this strange, out-of-character moment in time.
And, oddly, the crying jag makes it easier to finally slip into headspace.
This feels a lot like coming home. The tension leaves my body as I’m rocked and shushed and told that it’s going to be okay.
I still miss Kris. Still regret leaving the camp without taking Anson’s advice and talking to him. But I don’t feel as much self-loathing when I’m Little. Littles make mistakes. That’s why they want Daddies and Mommies to make Big choices for them.
It’s hard to make Big choices when you don’t have an adultier adult to help.
I don’t know how long I cry for, but when I finally calm down, both Anson and Drake ask if I feel better for letting it all out.
Biting my lip, I nod. “Yeah.” I’m feeling quite small and vulnerable, but not in a bad way. “Thank you.”
Tomorrow, I will probably feel really embarrassed about all of this.
Anson seems to know where my thoughts have headed because he shakes his head. “You’re my friend. Nothing to feel ’barrassed about.” He holds out one of his large hands. “Wanna come play cars?”
It takes a moment for the question to compute.
Nobody’s invited me to play before. Well, nobody other than Tess back at camp.
“You sure?” I’ve never heard my own voice sound so timid. “I get bossy when I play.”
Anson’s lip quirks upwards knowingly. “I think me ’n Daddy can handle you.”
“Even if I’m naughty?”
Anson’s smile stretches wider across his handsome face. He leans forward, then, in a stage-whisper, says “Tell you a secret?” When I nod eagerly, he admits, “I like being naughty sometimes, too.”
In the back of my brain, I’m not really surprised to hear it, but Little Me gasps dramatically. “Really?”
“Uh huh. But Daddy’s punishments are mean and no fun.”
“That’s the point of a punishment, sunshine,” Drake tells him, but he’s giving Anson one of those fond smiles that make my insides twist with jealousy.
I’ve spent years fighting that feeling. I don’t need a relationship. I don’t need a Daddy of my own. Scenes are fine. They scratch the itch.
Except my meltdown tonight suggests otherwise.
I had a taste of what it could be like if I found the right kind of Daddy for me and now I’m afraid I won’t ever experience that again, and I have nobody to blame for that but myself.
Story of my life, really.