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It’s been far too long since I’ve had a boy of my own. It’s tough to find the time when you’re a successful, rich entrepreneur, and the truth is, most boys I run into aren’t my type. All my life, I’ve gravitated toward petite ones. Age isn’t as important as size. I've dated all across the age spectrum, from college boys to Littles who are older than me. I even tried being a senior citizen's Daddy once after this cute grandpa who showed up to the Club one night barely came up to my sternum. I like ones that complement my jumbo-sized frame, boys who damn near fit into the palm of my big hand.
BJ fits the bill to a T. I think that’s one of the reasons he annoyed me so much when he first began flirting with me. I felt he was too good to be true, and I almost thought I was being set up.
I let out a sigh. "I tell you what, boy. I know you want to see a real construction site, but my men need to focus on work today. And besides, I don't want you wandering around construction sites with your little toy hard hat. It’s adorable and sweet, but if a brick fell on you, it’d split you right down the middle."
BJ adjusts his hard hat self-consciously. "I like my hard hat."
"What you and I need to do is figure out a plan so we can explore your Little construction-loving side together. I’ve got to get to work today, but this Friday night, why don't you come to the Hug Club? We’ll step into the cuddle room, draw up a game plan, and figure out how you can accompany me to some job sites."
I can already picture the decorations I’ll hang in the cuddle room. Building pictures, work sites, dump trucks, and toy tools galore.
"I can’t believe you’d do that for me."
I try to ignore what’s happening, but it’s too hard. BJ’s left eye quivers. He looks down, blinking hard to fend off his tears, except he can’t.
A roly-poly tear trickles down his cheek, curving around his nose before lingering on the corner of his red lips.
Scrunching his face together, he tries to shake it off, but he accidentally lets loose a second tear, this time from his right eye. It gets stuck on his precious cheekbone, and then even more tears spring out of his left eye, so many that it turns his face into a floodplain.
"There, there." I lean in, brushing the tears away with my thumb. Oh, sweet mercy, I must be gentle with this boy, yes I’d better be. Swipe too hard and he’d wind up in the ER with a fractured skull. That’s why I must be extra careful. "Don't cry, sweet boy. We’ll figure out how to get you around some diggers, yes we will."
"No one’s ever been this kind to me." BJ thrusts his arms around me. He squeezes me tight, burying his little head in my belly. "I’m so excited to go to the cuddle room with you. Maybe you’ll even agree to be my Daddy."
"I think that’s a strong possibility, beautiful BJ."
TWO
BJ
I rub my palms on my coveralls as I step into the Hug Club, no idea of what the night holds.
I’ve been looking forward to this meeting with Bryce all week. Though I’ve tried to focus on my college assignments, all I can think about is cuddling up in his strong, cozy arms, arms that could squeeze me like an anaconda if he’s not careful. I want his approval to walk some construction sites.
I bounce on the balls of my feet, trying my hardest to focus. It’s hard. So very hard.
I don't want to act all crazy. That’s kinda what I’m known for at the Hug Club—I’m the boy who can’t sit still for more than a minute, who is always adding diggers to other games with the Littles, and dreaming about construction.
Tonight, I must prove that I’m mature. Capable of getting Bryce’s stamp of approval.
Maybe if I’m a good boy, Bryce will even agree to be my Daddy. Oh, that’d be the best thing that could happen to me.
Since I turned eighteen, I’ve wanted a Daddy. My relationships never seem to work out because I think I’m too loco for most men. I mean, my entire world revolves around my construction side.
Most Littles are able to separate their Little space from their big boy space, but not me. I’m always two seconds away from being Little, no matter what I’m doing. Don't mention diggers if I’m buying groceries or soaping up in the tub in the morning. I’ll break out in the Bob the Builder theme song and shout to the entire grocery store, "Yes I can!"
"You’ve got this, BJ. Act normal. Don't be yourself."
Don’t be myself. What an absurd proposition.
When Bryce chastised me earlier this year for always coming onto him, I forced myself to tone down the looniness, plaster a polite, well-behaved smile on my face, and appear as kind and normal as possible.
Inside, I was bubbling with happiness every time I laid eyes on Bryce. He’s so big, protective, and strong. Everything about him screams Perfect Daddy. Yes, he’s the type of man who could bury me in his fluffy body, and protect me from the storms of life, all right. A man who’d hug me tight and never let me go.
I push open the door to the cuddle room… and forget how to breathe. "Bryce?"
Bryce smiles beside a motorized toy dump truck that’s big enough for me to sit in. "There you are, BJ. I was worried you wouldn’t show."
I try to glance around the room. I really, really do. It’s decorated in the most beautiful fashion, the walls brimming with pictures of construction sites, the shelves lined with yellow hard hats and toy hammers. Construction tape is rolled around the edges of the room, and orange signs saying Working Guys Only are hung up next to cute construction stuffies.
