Chapter Eighteen
It turns out having friends does actually make a difference to how much I enjoy regression time outside of scene play.
Anson has made it his mission to include me at The Grove whenever we’re there at the same time, and to invite me to play dates at his house where I meet some of his other friends, regulars I’ve also seen at The Grove from time to time.
At first, I’m just waiting for the other shoe to drop.
I force myself to be on my best behavior.
To not be annoying or too bratty. To stay quiet and watch as Anson, Ash, and Bear play together, joining in only when they explicitly pass me toys or ask me questions.
But, after a few weeks, I forget myself.
It starts with accidentally sassing back. We’re at The Grove, and Anson teases me about being a bitch at work, and I immediately tell him that someone has to keep his and the other doctors’ egos in check.
There’s a moment of stunned silence before Bear snorts and playfully agrees, “Yeah, Anson and Daddy totally think they’re always super important.” Then he pokes his tongue out of the side of his mouth and concentrates on placing the next piece of his jigsaw puzzle in its correct spot.
Anson lets out an exaggerated gasp. “I’m telling Vince you said that.”
Bear just widens his big, blue eyes and bats his pretty, reddish-brown eyelashes. “But I’m a good boy,” he says, sweet-as-pie. “I don’t think Daddy would believe you. Not when he knows that you like to cause trouble.”
Anson’s jaw drops and he looks my way for support, waving his hand in Bear’s direction. “Are you hearing this? I’m being framed!”
None of us are particularly Little in terms of headspace tonight, which I like.
From what I’ve gathered, Bear’s a lifestyle Little whose headspace isn’t usually very little, while Anson tends to enjoy being little Little when he does regress, but tonight we’re all regressing in much the same way.
I don’t think it’s been a deliberate choice on anyone’s part; more like an unspoken agreement that we’re going to hang out and chat for now.
When Asher gets here that might change the dynamic, seeing as he generally prefers to get little like Anson.
Feeling bold, I smirk back at Anson and shrug. “I didn’t hear anything.”
Bear giggles delightedly, while Anson splutters, “You’re such a brat, Benji!”
Anson’s declaration isn’t laced with the irritation I’m used to hearing from people when they say that, though. It’s full of laughter and even a hint of fondness. My heart races for a moment, my eyes burning with the sudden realization that this must be what real acceptance feels like.
I blink rapidly to get rid of the uncomfortable feeling.
“Maybe we should find you a Daddy to tame some of that attitude,” Anson continues, making a show of looking around the room. It’s a Saturday evening, and while it isn’t a themed night or even Littles Night, The Playroom is getting quite busy.
I bite my lip. “Nah, I’m good.”
In the couple of months since I left the camp, I’ve been tempted to seek out a Daddy, but never quite able to pull the trigger on the urge.
I just know that I will compare whoever I end up doing a scene with to Kris and that’s not fair on any unsuspecting Daddy.
Not until I take Daddy Kris down off the pedestal I’ve built in my memories.
He probably wasn’t even as amazing as I’m remembering, I think to myself, trying not to pout. I’ve romanticized it, or whatever.
That is the only explanation I have for why I am still so hung up on the two —seriously, it was only two— scenes we shared.
Yes, they were longer than my usual kink play, and yes, Kris introduced me to sides of myself I hadn’t known existed, but it was still only two scenes in the grand scheme of my entire sexual and kinky history.
I’ve got to get a grip. Fixating on how good it was and how wonderful he was isn’t going to help me going forward.
Anson raises his eyebrow knowingly. “Uh huh. And I’m a great Daddy.”
“From what I hear, you weren’t the worst Daddy,” Bear offers, making me blink.
“Wait, what?”
Anson waves Bear’s confusing as fuck statement off as though it doesn’t necessitate an actual backstory.
“What I’m saying,” he clarifies, “is that Benji’s whole ‘I’m good’ mantra is bullshi—um, shirt.
Bullshirt. Hi, Daddy.” He grins up at Drake beatifically, batting his lashes to complete the effect, while Drake just snorts.
“Good save,” he acknowledges, shaking his head. “Time for a potty break?”
Anson considers his options while I squirm where I sit, reminded that I haven’t been in a while, either. Unlike Anson, I’m not diapered.
Drake catches my movement and cocks his head. “Do you want a Daddy’s help, Benji?”
I scrunch my nose at his gentle offer. “No, thanks.” I don’t particularly want to explain how it all ties in with my sexual kinks. “But I should go pee.”
I get to my feet, the shift in position making me realize that my bladder is probably on the wrong side of ignored by this stage.
Clenching up and hustling towards the attached bathrooms makes my cheeks get all warm.
I can’t help but remember the last time I tried to hold on like this…
which takes me right back to thinking of Kris again.
That only makes the ache in the vicinity of my bladder even more pronounced, like thinking of him when I am desperate to pee elicits some kind of weird Pavlovian response to open the flood gates.
“No, no, no,” I mutter to myself as I reach the bathroom door, an embarrassing dampness forming in my underwear, “not today. Not like this.”
It’s one thing to deliberately wet for the embarrassment kink. Another to play the desperation/holding game with a partner. But to have a legitimate actual accident in public? I am not that regressed…am I?
My heart thumps rapidly in my chest the closer I get to the wall of toilets that are all painted to look like oversized potties within their stalls.
I know I’m blushing madly and possibly even hyperventilating a little by the time I reach an open stall and burst inside, slamming the door shut, my fingers trembling as I turn the lock to read ‘occupied’.
I’m leaking in my pants despite my best efforts and that’s terrifying right now.
“Shit.”
Spinning back to face the potty, I clumsily pull at the front of my shorts before—
“Oh no!”
It’s too late.
Mortification washes over me as my fumbling leads to my body letting go before I can get my shorts and underwear down.
The hissing sound seems to echo in this small space, as does the splatter of liquid hitting porcelain and tile. A puddle forms over the seat of the potty and on the floor between my feet.
I stare down at the mess in disbelief and horror, my lower lip wobbling dangerously. My throat tightens up, and I try to swallow. Try to breathe. Try to make sense of what just happened.
This has never happened before.
Ever.
Not unless I wanted it to.
Not unless I planned for it.
Not unless it felt safe and controlled, even under the guise of losing that control.
This…
What the fuck is this?
I can’t leave this stall now. Because my pants are soaked and I smell like pee and I’m here with a group and they’ll know and I wasn’t trying to be bratty or get in trouble or feel this small and humiliated and—
“Benji, are you okay in there?”
That’s Drake’s voice.
Curling in on myself, I try to hide the fact that I’m in here at all…only to realize that I’m crying and not particularly quietly.
“Benji?” Drake’s voice is soft, but much closer now. “Can you open the door?”
“No!”
I do not want Anson’s Daddy seeing me like this. As it is, they’re all going to know that I had an actual accident and they’re going to judge me or not want me to hang out with them anymore and I might as well just move to a whole new city and start over again.
“Benji, it’s okay. Please open the door.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No.”
“Benji—”
“I said no!” And now I sound hysterical even to my own ears. Great.
That’s me. Benjamin Slater: the master of how to alienate friends and humiliate yourself without even trying.
“Okay, okay.” Drake replies with the same kind of tone one uses with a skittish animal.
His footsteps retreat from the stall door.
“I understand that you don’t want my help,” he says, channeling those Daddy vibes that really work for him, “but I’m going to get a different Daddy, okay?
A stranger, so it doesn’t feel as weird. And a change of clothes.”
I don’t think a stranger is going to help fix the fact that everyone that matters will know what’s happening, but it is less confronting than the idea of Drake seeing me in this state.