Page 9 of Little Boy Toy

Zale wasn’t a daddy, so he might not appreciate it, but who knew? I told myself I didn’t care if he liked my outfit or not because I’d tried to change to please daddies in the past and that never worked.

I started out browsing the books. There were a lot. People donated them all the time to the playroom, so the shelves were full and new books came in monthly.

I picked out five that looked fun and interesting, and headed to the little nook. The corner wasn’t as cozy as I’d have liked, but it was away from the chaos of the more rambunctious boys. I sat down in my usual chair, books in my lap, and waited.

A daddy who I didn’t know came up to me, told me I was cute as a bug, and asked me if I needed anything. I told him no. He asked if I would like to come sit with him.

“I’m waiting for someone,” I said.

He wandered off.

It was odd to be able to tell the truth for once. I really was waiting for someone. Normally, I used that line to chase away the more eager daddies who were not my types. Or any daddy, for that matter, since often I was in the mood to remain alone and just watch the room and read. I liked the social feeling of being in a kink room with others, but I didn’t always like the actual socializing part. And the sex rooms, which I’d wandered into a few times, got boring fast. I was curious, and not a virgin, and I didn’t mind a naked male body at all, but I preferred less mindless lust and more actual little space. Plus, I got propositioned a lot when I left the little room, and though that was flattering, it made me feel awkward and out of place. The little room had just a few lonely daddies. They were easy to handle. Most of the daddies were spoken for, as were most of the littles.

I stuck my legs out in front of me and crossed my ankles, showing off my shiny shoes. I watched the littles and boys play, nervously rubbing my hands together in my lap.

Finally, the door to the playroom opened. Zale walked in and the breath left my lungs in relief.

He looked handsome in his leather jacket and tight black jeans. He didn’t have an ounce of fat on him, but had thick arms and thighs, and broad shoulders, and he was so tall I thought I might be able to actually climb him like a tree.

Beneath one arm, he carried two large pillows. Pink and blue. Furry and soft. I sat up straighter as he headed straight toward me.

“Hi, Kendry.”

“Hi.” My cheeks heated for no reason.

Zale held the pillows out in front of him. “I brought these pillows because these damn chairs are just too hard.”

It was true. The chairs would’ve been nicer for visits if they were padded just a bit.

Zale continued. “One for me. One for you. What color do you want?”

“For me?” I pointed to my chest.

“Yep. For you.”

I hesitated. A gift meant there might be strings attached. I studied his face. It looked open and kind, the muscles around his eyes softer than the rest of him, his half-grown bangs swinging forward to brush the sides of his cheeks. He didn’t have any of that feral look some men got when they just want to hook up, to fuck. Instead, he seemed super calm. And he smelled good again.

“Pink, please.”

He handed it over and I got up and placed it in my chair. When I sat back down, the pillow cushioned my backside just right. It made the nook cozy the way it should have been in the first place.

Zale put his pillow in the short chair he’d been using. He never complained, never went to get a bigger chair from the other side of the room. He sat, sinking into the blue pillow, and stretching out his big body as he sighed and tilted his head back.

I watched his entire frame relax second by second, the muscles caught in his tight jeans loosening, his arms sagging downward, his shoulders slightly slumped. He turned and looked at me.

“What do we have for tonight?”

I held up the first book in my lap. “Turtles.”

“Good. I like turtles. Let’s find out what they’re up to.”

I began to read.

For two weeks we met every night except Tuesday when the club was closed. I kept waiting for Zale to ask me out. He never did.

Was it up to me? But I was the little and he was—well—I didn’t know. All I knew for sure was he had said he wasn’t a daddy. That made things difficult. I didn’t know what to do. If he wasn’t a daddy, then he might not like me. Not in any way more than just friendship.

But then why did he keep asking me if I was coming back the next night, and the next?

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