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For some reason, my attempts fall flat—I play, but I’m not present. Or at least, I’m not enjoying it.
It’s like my inner Little wants nothing to do with playtime anymore. He’s convinced he’s doing it "wrong."
It’s all because Daddy Thomas didn’t want me to meet his family. He came from a long line of kinksters, and he told me that because I sometimes sucked my thumb when I played, he was embarrassed to introduce me to them. I thought he was cruel and close-minded—I didn’t tell him that, but I let him know he was being irrational.
No use. Daddy Thomas told me that unless I’d stop, I was a lost cause.
My Little doesn’t want to come out now.
I shake my head. "Thanks, but no thanks."
"There’s a new Daddy stopping by tonight. You might want to meet him."
I lift my head—then blink back tears. Oh, why is this so hard? No Daddy will want me when they find out my problem. And—even if they play with me, they’ll never commit to anything serious. They’ll never take me to meet their family like a real partner.
I shrug. "If he wants to speak to me, he can. I can’t bear being rejected."
Arlo cuffs my shoulder. "Keep your chin up. He’ll love you."
Leaf
"Welcome to the—"
The words are barely out of my friend Constantine’s mouth when I see him. The Little by the wall. He’s chatting with Constantine’s boy, Arlo, and looking glum as hell.
"Who’s that?"
Constantine furrows his brow. "The boy talking to Arlo?"
"Yes."
"Cory’s one of Arlo’s buddies. He’s swung by the club a few times, but he hasn’t had much luck."
I’ll be damned.
Never in my life—ever—have I laid eyes on such a beautiful boy. He wears a cotton-white onesie with palm tree prints, and holds a green alien stuffy. His precious feet are protected by cozy slippers, ones that appear as warm as my heart is just looking at him. Thick, free-flowing floppy brown hair swoops across his forehead, coming to a rest above his eyebrows.
But under his blue eyes, black bags have formed. Oh—those aren’t good. For some reason, this beautiful angel looks tired. Exhausted.
I can't believe he hasn’t had much luck finding a protector.
I place my hand on Constantine’s shoulder. "I’m good from here."
After accepting a glass of champagne from Constantine, I head toward Cory.
"Hey, boy."
Cory doesn’t register my presence at first. He’s too busy squeezing the alien stuffy, and staring at an interesting spot on the floor.
When he finally lifts his head, to my sheer horror, I see that he’s crying.
I drop to my knees at once. "No, no. Don't cry, pretty boy."
Cory turns his soft, downy head away from me. "W-Who are you?"
"My name is Leaf. My friend Constantine invited me to this club tonight—I spotted you the second I walked in."
Cory slumps against the wall. "Probably because I’m so pathetic, right?" He gestures to his onesie. "This stupid palm tree onesie isn’t helping things. You don't have to tell me."
