Page 12 of Soothing Little Sylmen

I will accept that. But you know I can’t talk and can’t call you Daddy. Is that okay?

I released my grip on his chin and stood to my full height. Our difference in size was noticeable. It made me feel like a protective Daddy. He was not tiny, but I was much bigger. I always had been a big guy.

I made a motion with my hand that he watched intently. My hand was open, as if to give a high five, then I tapped my thumb against my forehead.

When his brow scrunched, I decided to help him out. “This is sign language for Daddy. It’s very noticeable, and if you want, you can use it to get my attention.”

He hummed, and getting a sound from him felt like a victory. I would never regret the fact that he couldn’t speak. It wasn’t a problem for me. I had partnered in scenes with Littles of all shapes and sizes—most of them purely platonic and not sexual. I had more than one who used sign language to communicate. We’d made adjustments together and I knew enough to be able to assist.

Seeing as how Sylmen didn’t use any type of signing, I wondered just what his world was like back where he lived. Had the people around him not taken the time to make accommodations for him, or was it something he’d never asked for or thought to ask for?

This sweet precious boy before me needed help. He needed a Daddy.

I was more than willing to fill the role. In fact, I was eager to do so.

Sylmen slowly lifted his hand up and did the motion. My smile grew even wider until my cheeks hurt. “Yes, that’s it. Perfect. You’re welcome to use that whenever you want. You also don’t have to call me Daddy at all.”

Sylmen gave me a shy grin, then repeated the motion before dropping his hands.

Amelia took the moment of silence between us to step into our little bubble. “If you want, Sylmen, I can show you where the books I think you would like are.”

He nodded at her, then trailed after her through the stacks. I brought up the rear, happy to watch the interaction. The way his body loosened the deeper we moved into the aisles. The way his eyes scanned over them, taking them in quickly but not losing Amelia’s pace.

When we reached the section she wanted to show him, Amelia went over various ones she thought he’d like. Sylmen looked them over for a moment before picking out three. Then he turned to me, his eyes pleading, yearning.

I was obsessed. Could you fall in love in an instant? Could you know you were exactly where you were meant to be? I felt like I had. Like my world began and ended with this young man. That there would be a before the Ranch and an after it.

While Amelia loved to give me grief about waiting so long to take her up on this offer, I now knew that it was fate’s way of aligning my timing to match Sylmen’s. I would never regret it.

Amelia left us to go back to the front after she heard the sound of the door opening. I took the books and followed partially back through the way she came until I found the section where there were some couches and chairs positioned as if for a story time. I sat down on the couch, then patted the space beside me for Sylmen to sit.

He eyed it carefully, like he wasn’t sure. When he didn’t immediately drop down, I set the books beside me and said, “You can sit wherever you want, sweet boy.”

His cheeks lit up pink with the endearment. I loved it. Loved knowing that he was affected in some way, that I could make him feel something even if it was shy. It was better than nothing.

I was shocked once more when instead of dropping down into the chair beside me or one of the empty chairs, he turned around and backed up, easing himself onto my knees. I immediately wrapped my arms around him to keep him steady. It was also an attempt to make sure he didn’t leave.

“Are you sure?” I asked him.

He nodded, then leaned back so that he was against my chest. His hand reached out, tapping the top book. It was one of those old gold-spine children’s books, the kind with the cardboard cover, so his tapping echoed around us in the otherwise silent library. I picked the book up and read off the title to him. Then I opened it and started in on the story.

It was a familiar one, a fairy tale that everyone knew, but I treated it as if it were brand new. Like it had never been shared with him. I did voices and noises to the point that he shook with laughter. I felt alive. I was absolutely the coolest person in the world.

The end of the book came too soon in my opinion. I needed to slow down, needed to savor this connection we had. But I also knew that dragging it out wouldn’t help. I needed to encourage my boy that we could read more, that we could do whatever he wanted.

I kept the same pace through the next two books, and when we were done, I noticed Sylmen had curled himself even more into me, his feet moving up on the couch and his knees into my side. It wasn’t uncomfortable in any way. In fact, I could have sat that way for hours without a care.

But Sylmen rose from the position, uncurling himself and stretching. He took the books and set them on one of the carts labeled returns, then pointed for me to stay where I was. I smiled. “I’ll be right here.”

As he skipped off, I could hear him moving around since it was so quiet, and I wondered just what he would come back with. I choked on a laugh when he rounded the corner, his arms laden down with a stack of books. There had to be twenty or more. He eased them down onto the couch, then curled right back up.

I took a moment to bury my nose against the crown of his head. I took a deep breath, inhaling his scent, noting the different pieces that made it up. I wanted to duplicate it, to bottle it, to keep it on me at all times. For now, I would accept his closeness, the proximity making my heart swell.

“I guess I’ve got some reading to do,” I said as I picked up the first book on the stack.

Settling in to read all of his wishes, I allowed myself to plan for a future that wasn’t certain—a future in which Sylmen got to be mine for longer than this trip, where he would sign Daddy to me in the comfort of our home, our shared space. Only time would tell if it was a dream, or if reality could mimic what I wished for.

Chapter Seven