It felt like a no-brainer to offer my time to the Center during my tour of the place. I like feeling useful, and the idea of helping people in need really speaks to me. I put that down to my Daddy instincts again.
Nodding enthusiastically, I reply, "I'm looking forward to it. I think what you're doing there is something really special."
"Thanks," he smiles softly, eyes seeking out his husband who is currently settling himself at a table next to a tall, handsome blond Little and a shorter, adorable red-haired Boy. "It means a lot to both of us."
I'm about to comment about their personal story —how Ash and Charlie met as a homeless Boy and a then-cop, respectively— when another man strides over purposefully. He makes a beeline for Charlie in particular, not stopping to greet anyone on his way. He's a big, broad bear of a man with a kind face currently set into a serious expression.
"Sorry to interrupt," he says as he comes to stand in front of Charlie, making me step aside slightly, "but I know you probably know everyone in this room better than anyone at this point."
Charlie sits up straighter, the smile slipping from his face as he seems to go into business mode. He glances around, pressing his lips together thoughtfully, then nods. "Yeah, I know most everyone here by now. Why?"
"Who's the best Daddy to help out a distressed Little in the bathroom? He's one of Anson's friends. I'm pretty sure he had an accident, but he's too embarrassed or upset to open the door for me." The bear sighs. "I think I'm too close to him, maybe? Or because I'm Anson's Daddy it's weird for him? I don't know, but Benji's really upset and—"
"Benji?" I ask, cutting him off in surprise.
There's no way...
He turns to look at me, eyes narrowed. "Yeah. You know him?"
"I...I don't know." I swallow, my heart racing despite all logic telling me it's practically impossible odds. "I metaBenji a whileago at an age play camp, though, so even though he left an impression, it's not likely that he's the same Boy, really. But I am a Daddy and I'd be happy to help, anyway." My lips quirk. "You could even say that accidents are in my wheelhouse."
The guy's eyes widen with surprise. "Sorry, did you say at a camp?" I nod. He looks to the ceiling and mutters, "What are the chances?" Then he glances back at me, then at my wrist to check out my flags, then back at my face, his dark eyes searching. "If you tell me your name is Kris, I'm going to tell Benji to buy himself a damn lottery ticket."
***
Having borrowed spare shorts from Asher's bag, courtesy of Charlie, I slip into the bathroom attached to The Playroom and make my way to the only closed toilet stall, swinging by one of the adult-sized change tables in one of the larger stalls and grabbing a diaper and a handful of wipes along the way. Tapping on the door gently, I clear my throat and ask, "Benji?"
There's quiet sniffling on the other side of the thin plywood and a long moment of hesitation before his familiar voice replies, "Go 'way."
My heart clenches. He sounds a lot littler than he did at camp. I imagine the stress of the situation has forced him to regress deeper, considering how much he relishes his control. From the very brief rundown I just got from Drake (the bear Daddy) and his Boy, Anson, I get the feeling he hasn’t really allowed himself to regress since camp. It definitely sounds like he hasn’t been looking for Daddies to do scenes with, and that worries me.
I didn’t know him for long, or very well, but even I could see that bratting with a Daddy and indulging in his own brand of watersports in the form of deliberate wetting was his go-to form of stress relief. Anson also said that Benji has seemed pent-up and anxious at work, which tracks as well. It’s been months since we played together at camp; a long time to go without his favorite kind of escapism if he hasn’t attempted any since then.
“I can’t do that, Benji,” I answer his plaintive whine. Licking my lips, I add, “It’s Kris, honey. I want to help you.”
There’s a short, sharp gasp and a quiet, introspective “What the fuck?” before the lock turns and the ‘occupied’ sign shifts to ‘vacant’. The door swings inwards just a crack, and a single reddened, puffy, bloodshot eye becomes visible in the small space. It widens almost comically.
I can’t help but smile. “What a coincidence, huh?”
“Daddy!” He swings the door open wide and makes grabby hands towards me while simultaneously bursting into tears.
“Oh, Benji,” I practically coo, wrapping him in a hug despite the wet patch down his crotch and the inseams of his shorts. There’s a pile of soggy toilet paper on the floor of the stall where it looks like he’s tried to clean up after himself, and some of it trails after him, stuck to the bottom of his shoe. “It’s okay,” I soothe, “We’ll get all cleaned up and then talk, all right?”
“But…but…” he sobs against me, his pretty face pressed into my chest, “I…I didn’t…this wasn’t s’posed to happen.”
“I know, honey. You had an accident.”
“I wasn’t little!” He stomps his foot half-heartedly. “I was Middle.” He pauses. “I think.” Taking another shuddering breath, he adds, “An’ even when Iamlittle, I don’t have accidents. Notrealaccidents.”
“Hmmm, I know,” I rub his back as I acknowledge his words, “but Anson says you haven’t been playing with any Daddies lately, and I know that’s how you usually work all your stress and tension out. So maybe your body decided that if you weren’t going to choose to do it, it would make the choice for you, including letting you sink a bit deeper into Littlespace than you normally do. Maybe some part of your subconscious needed to let go completely, especially knowing how much you usually like having accidents.” I press a kiss to the top of his head, continuing, “And I know it’s probably really scary having your brain and body do things out of your control, but you’re safe here, Benji. We can ride it out together, okay? If you’re comfortable with me helping you.”
I don’t love going into any kind of kink interactions without pre-negotiation, but I also hate the idea of this sudden, unexpectedly deeper regression being a traumatic experience for him. It wasn’t a deliberate choice on his part, but it’s obviously something that he needs right now, with whatever stressors have him so overwhelmed that he’s slid into this headspace without thought or effort.
“I like when you help me,” he admits quietly. “I’m sorry I didn’t hold it.”
“Uh-uh, baby,” my tone lifts into something lighter and more playful in the hopes it will make him smile, “I think we both know that I really like it when you can’t hold it.”
He giggles and turns pink, pressing his face into my shirt to hide the reaction. It’s so sweet, and so cute.Littlelittle Benji is fucking adorable.
