Page 21 of Little Boy Toy

“I wasn’t attached to him, so it wasn’t that.”

“He hurt you physically?”

Kendry sat very still, not answering.

“You don’t have to tell me,” I encouraged.

“He—he liked to put his fingers around my throat. I’m not into that sort of play and I told him, but he didn’t hear me. And he seemed to forget I was there, just calling me boy toy and much worse. I don’t mind words, but I don’t like being pressed on or roughly pushed and pulled.”

His confession was a big one.

“That wasn’t nice at all,” I said.

“Nope. I walked out and didn’t care that he called me bad names or ruined my favorite bear, Clovis. And the daddies before that just got bored. I like being little a lot, like all the time sometimes. But they didn’t like being daddies that way. I’m a little confused, I guess.”

“What about?”

“If daddies are what I want, then I don’t know. Maybe I thought being a daddy was something else?”

“I think everyone is different and you maybe met a few who weren’t compatible.”

“Maybe.” He squeezed my hand again. “Did you think I was shy?”

“I suppose. I thought you might be an ace little.”

“Ace? I’m not sure. I’ve heard of it but I’m foggy on what it actually means.”

I didn’t want to tell him I’d overheard two daddies talking about him and saying that word.

“It means you don’t always want sex in a relationship, if at all.”

“Oh, well, I’m not that. But sometimes I don’t want it. Does that make me that word?”

“I would say no.”

“In the club, the guys move really fast. I know why. I know the club is about kink and sex usually comes along for the ride. I thought something was wrong with me when I wanted different stuff.”

“Different like how?”

“Like playing. Like, you know.”

“Can you be more specific?” I asked.

“Like reading and playing games and stuff. The daddies I met would play, but it was sexual play like ninety percent of the time. It makes me feel like I’m not one of them, like not a real guy if I don’t want the same all the time. I feel fake. Not a fake little, but not a real boy, either.”

I listened, entranced. Finally, Kendry was opening up.

“I found a corner in the room,” he continued. “I wanted to come to the club. I liked that I could be little and not get strange looks. It does feel like my crowd. But also, at the same time, not. I know probably none of this is making any sense, is it?” He looked up at me the way I’d grown to love, big eyes with long lashes.

“It makes perfect sense. You go where you can be yourself and feel comfortable. That does not require you to have sex with every man you meet.”

“Do you?”

I frowned a question. “Do I what?”

“Have sex with every man you meet?”

“Well—”

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