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I’ve been to the Vatican. I’ve walked the halls of the Louvre. Nothing—not even the statues in Florence—are as precious as my angel.
Cory nods. "Very much so, Daddy."
"Come on, Cory." Connor taps his foot. "All good boys must change into their onesies before they play. That’s a playroom rule."
Cory’s cheeks flush pink. "I forgot my palm tree onesie at home."
Connor winks at me. "Okay—you can play in your coveralls today only. Consider it a welcome treat."
Cory melts into my chest as he hugs me. "I love this place already."
In seconds, Cory and I take off toward the stuffy pit. Now, the other principal rule of Little Land is that Daddies aren’t allowed to play with their boys. There are separate areas for Daddies where they can sit with espresso, read the paper, or handle business as they watch their special boys play out of the corner of their eyes.
Today? I received special permission from Connor to play with Cory. Yes—I made sure that I could be by his side.
I like to play as much as any other Little. What a silly rule that Daddies can't play.
Removing my shoes and donning the special Little socks Connor hands me, I leap into the stuffy pit after Cory.
Splash.
Waves of stuffies rocket to the sides of the pit, some spilling over the edge. Cory pops his head up, then lobs a heart plushie at me.
"Got you, Daddy!"
I can’t help but snatch it out of the air. "No stuffy wars, baby boy. That’s the rule of the stuffy pit."
Connor nods. "Thank you for preemptively enforcing that one. I hate blowing my whistle."
Cory retrieves the plushie he tossed at me. "Oopsie."
Cory’s so cute. Gah. I wish I could maul him with hugs.
If I were a stronger man, I'd let that desire stay in the optative mood—the one where desire is never fulfilled.
Because I’m a weak, weak Daddy, I rush toward him and wrap my arms around him.
"Baby Cory looks so cute," I groan, squeezing him tight. "Daddy can’t help but give him a big bear hug while he plays with stuffies."
Cory squeals with laughter, resting his head on my chest. "Oh—what a welcome surprise."
We play for a bit in the stuffy pit. I teach Cory how to juggle teddy bears—the glossy look in his eyes lets me know he loves it.
When we finish, we head toward the dance floor. Shedding all reservations, we boogie to stellar pop music, belting out song lyrics like our lives depend on it.
Then, we beeline toward the hot tub. Now, the key regulation that guides tub activity is that bathers must enter without clothes. In the buff, or nada.
Luckily, neither Cory nor I have an issue with that. We strip each other off, then leap in.
Connor dumps duckies in the tub that Cory can play with—but what he doesn’t know is that I want to play with them, too.
"Daddy." Cory makes a buzzing sound as he zooms a rubber ducky toward me. "I love that you play."
"It’s a shame that people think Daddies can’t enjoy playtime as much as Littles."
Connor crooks a brow at me. "I’ve never seen a Daddy play with duckies before, but knock yourself out."
"I guess my Daddy tendencies aren’t strictly Daddy-ish," I explain. "I enjoy comforting and taking care of a Little—but sometimes, I enjoy being taken care of, too. Not in quite the same way—I'd never want a Little to brush my teeth. But in terms of emotional support? And not judging me while I play? I like that."
