Not unless I wanted it to.
Not unless I planned for it.
Not unless it felt safe and controlled, even under the guise of losing that control.
This…
What the fuck is this?
I can’t leave this stall now. Because my pants are soaked and I smell like pee and I’m here with a group and they’llknowand I wasn’t trying to be bratty or get in trouble or feel this small and humiliated and—
“Benji, are you okay in there?”
That’s Drake’s voice.
Curling in on myself, I try to hide the fact that I’m in here at all…only to realize that I’m crying and not particularly quietly.
“Benji?” Drake’s voice is soft, but much closer now. “Can you open the door?”
“No!”
I do not want Anson’s Daddy seeing me like this. As it is, they’re all going to know that I had an actual accident and they’re going to judge me or not want me to hang out with them anymore and I might as well just move to a whole new city and start over again.
“Benji, it’s okay. Please open the door.”
I shake my head, even though he can’t see me. “No.”
“Benji—”
“I said no!” And now I sound hysterical even to my own ears. Great.
That’s me. Benjamin Slater: the master of how to alienate friends and humiliate yourself without even trying.
“Okay, okay.” Drake replies with the same kind of tone one uses with a skittish animal. His footsteps retreat from the stall door. “I understand that you don’t want my help,” he says, channeling those Daddy vibes that really work for him, “but I’m going to get a different Daddy, okay? A stranger, so it doesn’t feel as weird. And a change of clothes.”
I don’t think a stranger is going to help fix the fact that everyone that matters will know what’s happening, but it is less confronting than the idea of Drake seeing me in this state.
Chapter Nineteen
Saturday nights at The Grove are extremely busy. Entering The Playroom tonight is a far cry from the quieter midweek visits I've had so far. Tonight, the room is packed full of Littles, Middles and Caregivers, all milling around in bright colors, playing together in the sunken space in the middle of the room. The couches lining the walls are all taken up by people chatting animatedly, and the vibe in the air is happy. It's loud, though. Not raucous, but the kind of wall of sound created by a large number of people all involved in multiple conversations in a closed space. It makes my brain buzz with anticipation.
This is the kind of night where I'm more likely to meet a Little or two for some fun scenes. Not necessarily sex, though I'd be down for that, but the kind of scenes that scratch the itch to take care of someone for a short while. To be important to them. To make them happy. To be Daddy.
It's been months now since anyone last called me Daddy and I'm getting to the point where I need to hear it. I'm not lonely, as such. Not with my new group of friends and the hectic group chat I've landed in. But I am missingsomething.
Somethingbeing Daddy time.
"Kris," Charlie, one of Chance's friends and the founder of The Little Community Center, calls to me from where he and a cluster of other Caregivers are seated near the coloring tables, "come join us."
I met Charlie and his Little husband, Asher, a few weeks ago when Chance and Ted encouraged me to visit the Center with them. I hadn't needed much convincing to visit yet another space where I could meet and hang out with likeminded people, and I'd been blown away by the services Charlie and Ash were offering people.
While they helped people from all walks of life, The Little Community Center started as a way to help people in the kink community who found themselves misplaced from home or in need of additional support. Over the years, it has apparently partnered with The Grove to extend its resources, and is now a thriving space offering shelter, pro bono legal services, meals, and meeting places to the community as a whole, as well as continuing with educating the community on safe kink practices and so on.
I fell in love with the idea and the place as a whole, which seemed to really cement my place with my newfound circle of kinky friends.
Grinning, I head over to fistbump Charlie in greeting. "You just can't get rid of me, huh?" I tell him.
Beneath his artfully trimmed dark stubble, he smirks back. "Like I'd want to get rid of anyone who volunteers to help us on weekends. You still up for learning the ropes tomorrow?"
