Page 31 of Stabby Little

She was the person who convinced me to rim boys. Something about the carnal act of me eating out a boy made her wet. She called me Adonis while I licked boys' channel walls and penetrated her with my cock.

A server approaches me with a silver tray that contains a mask. "You must put this on."

I retrieve the mask and slide it over my face. "Thank you."

As I help myself to a complimentary glass of champagne, I can't help but question my motives.

Why am I here?

I haven't stepped foot in the Little Bunny Club in years.

This is an impulsive, rash decision.

I don't know if it'll pay off.

Will this boy even turn me on?

Constantine swore he was my type but there's one problem.

I don't know my type.

I used to with Linda—I liked men on the younger side—but what if that's changed in recent years?

What if I like bears?

What if I want an otter?

What if a skinny twenty-one-year-old twink doesn't do it for me like in the past?

A second server grips my arm. "Follow me."

We exit the main floor and head to the basement. The basement is for softer kinks. A lushly carpeted hallway offshoots into a playroom packed with Little gear. Racecars, stuffies, and pacifiers sit in colored bins with rattle designs, awaiting the eager boys. An adult playpen rests next to a crib big enough to fit a grown man, brimming with fluffy blankets and enough pillows to build ten forts. A mobile with pastel flamingos, ducks, and dinosaurs hangs overhead, releasing a comforting lullaby concerto when you press the pinkonbutton.

On blue shelves, rows of diapers and baby powder congregate next to oil and bibs. Constantine's informed me that not every Little enjoys being diapered, but the club caters to all. Arlo doesn't wear diapers, but some of his Little friends he's met at the club use them. Some are twenty-four-hour Littles—boys who rarely exit Little space—whereas others use diapers for stress relief. Some soil their diapers, but others simply enjoy the padding on their skin.

What I love about the club is that they welcome everyone and don't kink shame. Other venues in Manhattan forbid age play to avoid scrutiny. Those outside the lifestyle don't understand why a man or woman would act like a Little girl or Little boy. They mistakenly equate it to childhood trauma and, while that may occur, many simply enjoy age play as a kink. There's nothing more freeing than surrendering control to your Daddy who'll take care of your needs.

Linda never came to the basement. She stayed away from Littles and made judgmental comments about them behind their backs. Constantine never would've permitted her to come to the club if he'd known, which is why she waited until we arrived home to unleash her vitriol. I cringed every time she spouted off nonsense, and it took everything in me not to smack the rudeness out of her.

It was the same attitude she adopted when she questioned me over still being upset by Ollie's disappearance. She said no forty-one-year-old man in their right mind would ever care that much about their son's friend. She told me to give up because if the FBI couldn't find him, why did I think I could?

After a while, I learned to not fight back. That's what Linda wanted—fights. Conflict whirled around her like a hurricane. I shut up and did my research in peace.

A firm hand grips my shoulder. "It's not bad, huh?"

I recognize his voice at once. Adjusting my mask, I turn to Constantine. "It could be worse."

"The boys will arrive any moment." Constantine beckons a server to refill my champagne. "Keep your mask on."

Constantine and I talk for a bit. We continue our discussion about his extended family. He shares that Benedetto's partner met a friend at a local ice cream shop that a friend of his family started. Like always, we don't share specifics to keep ourselves safe.

On cue, a stairwell door opens and boys enter. I take in the crowd. Young men of every ethnicity brush past me. Stunning black men in skin-tight leather pants walk on high heels that add inches to their frames. Asians in ball gowns glisten under the club lights as they apply lipstick to their plush lips. White boys in pink frocks and onesies step into the room like ballerina princesses, ready to conquer the Daddies they meet.

One boy in a pink dress approaches me. "Hi, Daddy." He drags his manicured nails down my chest. "You're cute."

Underneath his garments, his body is muscular and toned. His bulge protrudes from a pair of dark panties, eluding to the package he conceals. I lift my eyes from his waist and study his mouth, the curl of his lips. His evening mask conceals his expression, but I can already tell he's not what I want. He's a little…tootoned.

"Not interested."

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