That seems like a fair compromise. Regression and rewards.
Good thinking, Benji.
The door on the side of the warehouse-esque building is nondescript, save for the tasteful logo embossed into the steel. I always feel a sense of calm wash over me at the sight of thesimple gilded circle and the olive tree within it, the words ‘Dare To Explore’ making something at the back of my brain light up with excitement.
Like a brat needs to be dared to do anything.
Pulling the door open, I blink against the bright whiteness of the small reception space, smiling at Meg at the concierge desk once my eyes acclimatize to the light.
“Benji,” she greets me with genuine warmth, her black spandex leotard clinging to her hourglass figure as she cocks her hip out, “haven’t seen you in a while.”
“I’ve been around,” I reply coyly, stepping up to sign the standard waivers and extend my wrist, “the usual flags. Available for play, interested in men, Middle—no; Little today, please.” I might as well aim to go all the way into headspace to shake off this funk.
Meg pulls out three paper wristbands of varying colors and patterns and attaches them to my wrists.
“What’s the house safe word?” she asks.
“Turmeric,” I answer dutifully.
I’ve never heard anyone here use it, but I know that there’s some kind of fancy alarm system that will shut the whole club down —bringing up the house lights, stopping music, etcetera etcetera— in cases of emergencies. In standard scenes and play, we’re encouraged to use other safe words or the traffic light system.
Meg grins and nods. “You’re good to go on through. Enjoy your night.”
I thank her and then open the doors that lead to the main club space. Immediately, I’m hit with the wall of sound coming from the nightclub area. Pulsing bass and nineties techno vibrates through my veins. There aren’t a lot of people milling about down here,but it’s not dead, either. I wave to a couple of familiar faces seated in nearby booths, but I bypass the nightclub, walking down the hallway on the lefthand side of the building until I reach the locker rooms.
Inside, I claim an empty locker and change out of my jeans and t-shirt into a pair of soft, pink cotton play shorts that reach mid-thigh, and a cute cropped purple tee with a picture of a bunny dressed in a pleather getup not unlike Meg’s spandex bodysuit displayed proudly on the front. I am not being subtle today.
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. Whichis 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.
