I couldn't help but giggle. Five minutes later, every stuffie I had was sitting on the couch ready to listen to Santa, and I sat on the floor right at his feet, the nearly empty bottle of his milk in my hand as he opened his sack and pulled out his first book. Mr. Whiskers stood in the doorway, unsure whether he wanted to participate in the activities or not.
"This is one of my favorite books," he said. "It's not really a Christmas book, but it's about a frog who's about to go play in the snow."
I‘d never seen the book before, but it was one of the funniest I had ever heard, and I found myself laughing and laughing as he read. From there, he went to a more traditional book,The Night Before Christmas, because how could you not? And this time, as he read to me, I drank from the bottle until it was all gone.
Then, just when everything was perfect and wonderful and I was about to offer him cookies, Santa's phone alarm went off.
"It seems my hour is up, Dakota." He ruffled my hair, and I didn't know what came over me. Between the milk and feelingLittle for the first time in so long, and the overwhelming sense of acceptance, when he told me he had to leave, I was sad, and tears started to flow.
"Don't be sad. Santa can come back." He said it with such sincerity, but he was Santa right now, not Niko, so I didn’t dare accept his words as fact. They were pretend, and I could pretend, too.
"I know...I'm just... I haven't slept since I moved here. I couldn't find any milkies, and now that I have some, I just..."
"Oh, sweet boy. When did you move here?"
I told him, and I told him about how I was on all the waitlists. "I'm not doing that to make you choose me to be the only buyer." I’d heard that was a real problem on the app. Some people tried to pull at your heartstrings to get the milk, and it was gross, especially when it was made up…something that apparently happened often.
"Oh, sweet boy, this is not a negotiation over our sales. This is Santa, and you know what Santa does best?" He rubbed his thumbs under my eyes, wiping away the tears.
"Delivering packages?"
“You were so close. What Santa does best is making good little boys and girls happy by giving them presents. And right now, I think the present you need is some more milk and someone to tuck you into bed so you can sleep."
"Really, Santa?"
"Really. Would you be okay with that?" He wasn’t pushing. He was offering.
I held out the bottle. It was empty.There was no way I was turning that offer down.
"Did you want me to take it from the jar, or did you want to have it straight from Santa?"
This could not be happening.
Everything I wished for was coming true.
Santa might not be my Daddy, but there was everything "Daddy" about being a Santa, and he was offering me milk straight from the tap and to tuck me into bed. If I'd met him any other way, I'd probably have been concerned. Wasn't this how serial killer movies started? But I met him at the animal shelter, and he had a cat, based on the cat condo he won. Plus, all the workers there seemed to know him. He was safe. And I really needed this.
"Thank you, Santa."
We went to my room, and he had me climb into bed under the covers. He sat above the covers on the other side, opening up his suit. "Here you go. Snuggle in however you like best."
"Can you lie down, Santa?" I nearly called him Daddy. I wanted to call him Daddy.
“Of course.” He lay flat on his back, and I brought my lips to his chest. I licked a circle around his nipple and then latched on for a long pull. A sweet river of milk pooled in my mouth. As amazing as it tasted from my bottle, it was nothing compared to this. I didn't remember switching sides, or if I even did. After a few more draws of milk, the world went black as I fell asleep, not waking up until the next morning.
I was sad that Santa wasn't there when I woke up. But what did I expect? He wasn't my Daddy. He was just a nice guy taking careof me because I needed it. Nothing more. At least, that was what I tried to tell myself so I didn't get too excited that I might’ve just found a Daddy.
6
NIKO
It was hard leaving Dakota there, sleeping so sweetly. I went back and forth on whether I should do so or not. Was he the type of Little who woke up scared if their caretaker wasn't there, or would he have been more freaked out if some random stranger was still lying in his bed? He hadn't said the words that he was Little. But more than once, I caught him starting to say "Daddy" and switching over to "Santa."
Not to mention the stuffies, the clothes, and the bottle all shouted that he was.
Dakota was trusting…so very trusting, too trusting. If I were his Daddy, I would’ve told him he had to be more careful. I offered him milk, and he not only accepted, but he curled into bed with me and fell sound asleep. So vulnerable. I'd never do anything to harm him, but I wasn't the only person out there. Just like that, my Daddy instincts were kicking in and moving full steam ahead.
I wanted to protect the sweet boy.
