Page 9 of A Little Spilled Milk

It had been a long time since I’d had milk directly from the chest. I was a bottle guy normally. But now that I’d had Emory’s milk as fresh as could be, I might need to rethink that. Only, I couldn't exactly take Emory to bed with me… could I?

“Thanks.” I looked down at my knees, unsure what to do now that I was no longer actively drinking from him. “That was what I needed.”

“You didn’t have your stuffie.” He pulled his shirt back on. “I should’ve thought of that. How about you tell me about your stuffie?”

“Well, my favorite one—the one I even bring with me when I travel, even though I shouldn’t, because it could get lost—and I didn’t even get to use him last time because?—”

He placed his hand on my shoulder.

“Deep breath. You don’t need to tell me anything. If it’s private, that is legitimate.”

I nodded, not wanting to blurt out a bunch of words again.

“Can I get him?”

“Of course.” Things were already awkward, and what did I do? Add to that by asking to bring my toy with me.

I ran next door, dug through my suitcase, and pulled out my stuffed tiger. Not that most people could tell he was supposed to be a tiger anymore. His fur was faded, worn in spots, the whiskers long gone.

But he wasmytiger and the most beautiful tiger in the world, by default.

“Oh, he looks like he’s very loved.” Emory smiled wide as I walked in the door holding the toy out in front of me for him to see.

“I’ve had him a long time.” I’d actually only had him since high school graduation, which was weird given how worn out he was. As Emory said, he was well loved.

He came with a little graduation cap that said the name of my class and a backpack. The cap was long gone, but I’d been so proud of the accomplishment. And it was an easy toy one to bring to college because no one argued with you having a memento of your graduation.

“What’s his name?” Emory leaned forward, giving me his undivided attention. How long had it been since I felt this listened to?

“He... his name is Gur.”

“Gur?”

“Yeah, because tigers don’t really roar like lions do. It’s kind of like a grr sound.” At the time it made perfect sense, but sharing his name origin story as an adult, it seemed silly. Only looking at Emory, you’d never know he felt that way. He looked extremely interested, and maybe he was.

“I think he’s adorable.” He placed both his hands on my shoulders. “Thank you for sharing him with me.”

“Thank you for sharing your milk with me.” I hugged Gur close. “It helped a lot.”

“I’m glad. I can pump more, if you like.”

I hesitated. The polite thing would be to decline. He’d already done so much. Instead, I said, “Maybe a little bit before bed. I promise not to spill it.”

“No need to be sorry. I’m an overproducer. There’s plenty. Have you ever had your milk directly from the person before?”

I explained to him that I had, from both men and women, and he had a flash of confusion across his face before he managed to school it. And fair enough. There was a whole lot to unpack there, and I wasn’t sure we were close enough to go there.

But I did. Apparently, keeping my mouth closed until I could think about my word choices wasn't a thing I did around Emory.

“I had a Mommy once, but it didn’t work out. I prefer Daddies.”

Great, because of my inability to think around my hot neighbor, I managed to completely overshare. Not only did I let him know I was Little, but also indicated I was bi—which, for a lot of men, unfortunately, was a deal breaker. Not that he’d said he wasinterested in me. He hadn’t. For all I knew he wasn’t into men at all.

Gods, I wanted him to be into men.

“They were lucky to have a Little like you.” Which was sweet, but I didn’t know exactly what it meant for us. Was he a Daddy? Did he like men? Or more importantly, did he get hard thinking about me the way I did about him?

“I’ll get you that milk.” He walked into the kitchen, and ten minutes later, I was walking out of his apartment with a glass of fresh milk.

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