Kris
You’re not whining, you’re processing. Healing, even.
Me
Ugh. Boring.
Kris
I thought you liked your therapist?
Me
Just because Roberto is hot doesn’t mean I like cryingin front of him.
Even if he does give Daddy vibes.
Or maybe that’s just wishful thinking.
Isend the last text with a winking emoji.
It’s been three months since Kris and I reconnected. Three months of getting to know each other over text messages and coffee catchups. Three months of being friends without even a hint of kinky sexy fun times.
Three months of regretting turning him down at The Grove that night.
Well, no, that’s not true. I had a proper revelation that night. I wanted him to be my Daddy so badly…but I knew that if I gave in to that desire without facing all of my hangups, I’d just keep repeating history. I’d just keep freaking out that he would eventually leave, or I’d keep pushing until he did.
I’m not an idiot. I never have been.
When I finally stopped and let myself see the pattern forming in all of my relationships, I could see that, yeah, I tended to run away as soon as I liked someone a bit too much. That’s why the scene play used to appeal to me: it was never about connection. There was no risk of becoming attached.
Of course being at the camp changed that for me. How could itnot? Instead of only regressing for short bursts with the intention to hook up and part ways, I was regressing for myself, and that small crack in my routine is what opened the floodgates for the real me to start pouring out. The me who likes regressing without getting off. Who likes playing with other Littles and Middles. Who wants a Daddy for emotional connection as well as kinky fun sex.
And that terrified me. It still kind of does, honestly.
I’m stillsuperinto all the same kinky things I was before I went to camp, but now I also need more out of my regression time. I can’t just rock up to The Grove to brat and jerk off with someone. I need to relax into my headspace, which still fluctuates between Middle and Little depending on just how stressful my week has been.
And I’m still a brat.
Case in point: I can’t help poking the bear that is Daddy Kris.
I’ve been pretty well behaved for the past three months. I haven’t been able to keep myself from flirting completely, but I haven’t said “Fuck it” and demanded that he be my Daddy after all, either. But that second part? That’s getting harder and harder not to do.
Kind of like my dick.
I’m pretty sure my dick is sick of the sight of my hand at this point. Working on my mental health has meant making the voluntary choice not to hook up withanyDaddies, not just Kris. And, honestly, at this point I am happy to admit that I don’t want any other Daddies, either.
But Idowant Kris.
I just don’t know how to tell him that I want him, seeing as I’m the one who told him I couldn’t be the Boy he wanted. I turned him down. He respected that. (That was fucking hot, by the way.) But now if I tell him I do want to be his Boy…will he feel like I’m just messing with him? I’d probably feel that way in his shoes.
Kris’s reply to my deliberately taunting message comes through after a few more minutes.
Kris
I don’t think it’s a good idea to call your therapist Daddy, Benjamin.
A full-body shiver runs through me.
