Page 4 of Just a Little in Love

Abigail tipped her head to the side as if she was trying to puzzle things out. “What does that mean?”

Rowan lowered his voice so the Daddies couldn’t hear. “Like the parties when we dress up,” Rowan said.

“But that’s just a party,” Abigail said slowly. “Pretend for an hour.”

Rowan nearly rolled his eyes. “Which is what you do every weekend, Abbie.”

Abigail giggled because she knew it was true. She neatly split her life between being a little and being a renowned surgeon, and Rowan had absolutely no idea how she did it. If he had a choice, he’d want to be like Dash. Dash was lucky and got to be a little all the time.

Then he thought about what he’d said. Being a little wasn’t pretend. Sometimes he pretended to enjoy what his friends liked because they were his friends, but he knew that being little fulfilled a need in a lot of them, and that wasn’t pretend at all. He just didn’t know what that meant for him.

Charlie gazed at him. “Do you know what being a puppy means?”

“Not everything,” Rowan said, a little defensively. “But I have a few days to decide and do some research.” The main thing was Master Dennison didn’t want to hurt him. Puppies got spoiled, right? They curled up at their master’s feet. So maybe if he lost a pound or two this week, he might find it easier to curl up. Which should be easy at his mother’s. She was very strict about what he ate, which was usually why he stuffed himself on the weekend as Father didn’t care.

He'd even seen a master with a kitten once. It had been nearly two years ago, when Rowan had first joined, but the kitten had been beautiful. She’d wound herself around her master’s legs and made this purring sound, even as he had talked to other masters. Then he’d gotten his cock out and made her suck it while he finished talking. He’d told the other masters she needed her milk to settle her, but all the time he was involved in that conversation, her master constantly touched her. Stroking her back and playing with her furry ears. She’d looked at him like he’d hung the moon, but it had been shared. It had been obvious her master loved her just as much.

And that’s what Rowan craved. And if he had to wear furry ears to get that, what did it matter?

**

The following Monday, Rowan obediently rested his fork next to his not-quite-empty plate of grilled chicken and broccoli. He knew how to behave. He always had to leave some to show that food didn’t control him. That was one of the lessons Mother was so strict about, and he had no intention of ever making the mistake of finishing his meal. He knew better, and if her disapproving looks didn’t remind him, then her harsh words certainly would.

“We have an appointment tomorrow.” She dabbed at her lips with the napkin and fixed Rowan with her steely gaze. The one that always made him want to disappear.

“Yes, Mother?” Because he knew an answer was required.

“It’s your annual check-up.”

Rowan kept breathing, just.

“You know what happens. A scan. Make sure you take a spare pad, of course, because I won’t be humiliated.”

He nodded obediently.

“And I think we should visit the dietician.”

His heart sank. Because of course, why just stick to making him feel disgusting because he needed to wear pads. Why not have all the humiliation in one day and have someone else tell him he was fat. “Yes, Mother.”

His mother nodded and he let out a breath. He seemed to have pleased her with his ready agreement. Not always a given. Sometimes he was in trouble because he’d said yes too easily. Rowan started clearing the table as soon as his mother left the room, and his thoughts turned to last weekend as always. Mother had a new boyfriend, and he was biding his time to suggest he go to his father’s house on Thursday so they would have privacy. He had to be careful and not appear too eager or she would say no. Then it would be a huge thing.

He went to his room as soon as he had finished clearing up, grateful as always that Mother seemed to think that imposing an eight o’clock bedtime on a twenty-one-year-old adult was acceptable. Of all the things she did do, not having to suffer her company a minute longer than that was something he was thankful for every day.

Chapter three

Rowan kept his head down as the specialist droned on. He’d been hearing the same spiel since he was thirteen. Since the day that had just about ended his life. He knew prostate cancer was really rare in children and practically unheard of at thirteen.

He’d been at school and wet his pants. His father and mother had been called, of course, to take him home, and he’d existed in a bubble of shame for about a week until their divorce fights had taken precedence once more. Mother had insisted he wasn’t behaving in a healthy fashion, and forced him to drink copious amounts of water, but it never seemed to occur to either of them to take him to the doctor, even when he’d tried to say it often hurt to pee.

Another month later, it had happened again.

This time he hadn’t been exerting himself jogging around the cross-country course, he’d simply gotten up from his desk. He knew he wanted to go to the bathroom and had been granted that request when he’d politely asked.

He’d wanted to die. If a lightning bolt could have ended everything there and then he would have happily taken it. The gym embarrassment had been quickly hidden by his instructor, but this time every single child in his twenty-six-strong classroom had seen him pee as he stood. And while he’d been dragged to a doctor and then a specialist, no one had helped or even tried to intervene in the bullying that had followed.

And no one had ever cared. He’d existed in a cloud of misery as everything soon became his fault, as his mother and father divorced, and lawyers decided who he should love and when. His mother was deemed the parent who should ensure his education, as his father travelled for business, and for a reason Rowan could only deduce as simple spite, his father insisted that Rowan stay with him every weekend. He hadn’t known then it would be the only thing that kept him sane as he grew up.

Curing the cancer had cured his incontinence on the whole, but he’d been unlucky enough to experience one of the possible after-effects of radiation. He leaked. He wasn’t even aware of it, and so he had to wear a pad all the time. Sometimes it was barely a dribble, and a small pad would have done; sometimes it was more, and so he was stuck because he could never anticipate it and stress could make it worse. Since he lived in a constant state of stress, he hated his body even more. He wore pull-ups designed for...he wanted to say older men, but while that age-group was the most affected, it was by no means exclusive. And for far too long he’d had to wear actual diapers until a nurse saw how tight they were and suggested pull-ups to mother. And of course that was his fault because if he’d been slim they would have fitted fine.

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