But, look, even though I’m letting my emotions do most of the heavy lifting here, I don’t necessarily think this all means we should leap into a serious relationship or anything. The timing still sucks while I’m finding my footing at work and in my new place, and Benji’s clearly working through some shit, too. However, now that I know we live in the same city, there’s certainly room for us to besomething. More than there was when we were strangers at the camp.
I want to explore our options, at the very least. That’s all. Only if Benji wants the same thing, mind you.
But he called me Daddy.
So, yeah. I’m pretty sure he might like to keep in touch after this, too.
As long as I don’t fuck this up.
I can’t help but work under the impression that Benji hasn’t spent a lot of time enjoying non-sexual age play time with a Daddy, and I’m determined to make this the best possible aftercare-slash-snuggle session he’s ever had. Especially with his headspace being as Little as it is right now, and with the self-deprecating things he’s said tonight. Those are at the forefront of my thoughts.
Obviously, I barely know Benji, but with every conversation we have, he unwittingly feeds me little pieces of a depressing backstory. It sounds like he’s never had close friends, and has felt out of place more often than not. It sounds like his direct nature and his penchant for bratting tend to land him in hot water with people, too. And it sounds like he’s never known what it’s like to spend extended time with a Daddy, either.
I’m no psychologist, but even I can see that his self-esteem, for all that he acts feisty and brazen, is shot to shit. He’s desperate for approval and affection but substitutes those things with attention from his attention-seeking behaviors. He acts tough and aloof because he’s probably come to think that it’s easier to push people away than to be rejected over and over again.
On top of all that, the kinds of scenes he’s been chasing in the clubs have only solidified the confirmation bias for all of his fears and self-esteem issues.
And, okay, now I am starting to sound like my therapist.
But that doesn’t make any of my observations less true.
Long story short, Benji is a Little/Middle who, deep down, just wants people to love him for who he is. Now, love might be a fair way away from us, or it might not be on the cards at all, but I certainly feel affection for him. I just need him to realize that it’s genuine and that he’s worth it.
Which takes me right back to not wanting to fuck this experience up for him.
I hold his hand as we bypass the sunken playroom floor, nodding and waving at his friends —and some of mine— as I lead him to an adjacent room divided into quiet spaces. The lighting here is softer, the carpet plush beneath our feet. There are four stalls, each containing some kind of large, comfortable chair, a small bookshelf brimming with a variety of stories, and even a soft space for a Little to curl up and nap on, should they so choose. There’s also a refrigerator in this small foyer space, and when I open it I find sealed bottles of water, juice, and milk. I select a bottle of water before scoping out our room options.
Two of the stalls are taken. Their doors are closed, and muffled, gentle conversation is barely audible through the partition walls, so I choose the stall that has a comfy-looking two-seater couch instead of the one with the large rocking chair, and I usher Benji inside.
“I’m going to choose a book to read,” I tell him, keeping my voice low and soothing. He settles on the couch and nods, chewing his bottom lip as I drop the plastic bag containing his wet clothes by the door and then make my way to the bookshelf.
I pick a book at random before dropping onto the seat beside Benji, turning sideways and gesturing for him to come closer. “Come cuddle,” I insist patiently, smiling when he scoots over and settles half in my lap, curled up with his ear pressed to my chest. The bottle of water has a sports cap, so once I crack the seal over the plastic cover and toss it aside (making a mental note to clean up after myself later), I pull the cap open and raise the bottle to Benji’s lips. “Drink up, sweetheart. Staying hydrated is still important.”
Especially after your accident and all those tears.
As if he can read my mind, his cheeks turn pink, but he suckles at the nozzle as we get comfy.
I hold the book where we can both see the pictures, and I start to read the story in my best Daddy voice, making up silly voices for all the characters as I go. Benji giggles at first, the sound warped around the bottle in his mouth, but soon he goes lax and quiet in my lap. The water bottle slips from his hold but it lands on his chest and rolls against mine, upright enough that it doesn’t spill.
Closing the book, I drop it onto the floor with the plastic lid, and I lift the water bottle and press the cap back down into its closed position, dropping it down beside the couch, too. Then I take a few seconds to just enjoy this moment for what it is: a cute Little putting all his trust in me as he naps off the exhaustion of accidental regression and the intense, unplanned scenes that followed.
Benji’s breaths come out as soft puffs of air, slow and even. I can’t help but tilt him back until I’m practically cradling him, watching as he turns into me and curls up against me completely. His blond hair has fallen into his eyes and, with my free hand, I carefully brush it back behind his exposed ear, ignoring the way my heart skips a beat at how precious he looks like this. His cheeks still have a tiny hint of pink about them, brought into contrast with his long, dirty-blond eyelashes where they dust the curve of the rosy skin.
He’s so pretty.
It’s not the first time I’ve had this thought, but this time it makes my heart ache with a wanting that I can’t properly put words to.
No, I remind myself, trying to be the voice of reason with my own subconscious,I’m not looking for a serious relationship.
Only twenty minutes ago, I was still confident in that conviction.
‘We can just keep in touch,’I told myself, as if this connection between us could just be a casual thing.
And for a stronger man, it probably could be.
I’ve never been all that strong.
But Benji might not want a full-time Daddy.
