Page 91 of Just A Little Fling

His silliness sent me into a fit of giggles, and I felt lighter. It felt like forever and ever since I’d smiled, let alone giggled. Even playing with the cats this afternoon, I felt sad on the inside. Babbo stripped me out of my clothes and then helped me into the bathtub. “Gonna get in?”

“No, sweetheart, not this time.” Instead, he pushed up the sleeves of his rugby shirt and propelled a tugboat through the bubbles to join mine. My bottom ached, but I secretly hoped the water would keep me pink there longer. Babbo took a quick break to wash me all over, including my hair. We chased each other through the water until my yawns came one after the other and the water faded to lukewarm.

“It’s time to get out because I’m not sure if sleeping boys can float.”

“I can swim, Babbo. I do a good job floating.”

“Sorry, Sweet Boy. I’m not risking it.”

“No, Babbo. I don’t wanna.” The water was warm enough, and I really could swim. And most of all, I just didn’t want to get out. I drew my legs up under my chin and shook my head. Babbo sighed and muttered something to the ceiling.

“Little boy, we are not doing this again. You can get out of this bathtub, get into some comfy PJs, snuggle your stuffies, listen to a story, and take a nap, or you can do things the hard way. Your call, but when I count to three, I need an answer.”

I remained mute and obstinate. The water really didn’t feel good anymore, and I kinda sorta wanted out, but I didn’t want to admit it since I’d already said no.

“One.”

Nada.

“Two.”

Nope.

“Three. What’s your choice?”

I stood but groaned when I did it because now the ache didn’t feel nearly as good.

“Thank you, baby.” Babbo wrapped a towel around me that I twirled two times into. He kissed my forehead with each twirl. He grabbed another towel and scrubbed the water from my hair so it didn’t drip everywhere. “Where are your clothes?” Babbo looked around the bathroom and moved towels on the counter.

“Oh no, I forgot all my clothes and my babies at my house.” Now that I was out of the bathtub, I wanted the story and cuddle Babbo promised if I listened like a good boy. And I did. Mostly.

“I grabbed your things before we left your house. Hold on a sec.” Babbo left me standing on the mat while he went to fetch them from the other room. He was back in a few minutes, clothes in hand, for me to get dressed. He knew me well enough to know my favorite undies had big digging machines on them and my pajamas matched.

“Thank you, Babbo,” I said, then laid my hand on his shoulder so I could kiss his cheek.

“You’re very welcome,” he answered softly. “Let’s get you fixed up and into bed.” I nodded as yet another yawn took control. He led me to the bed and pulled back the covers.

Wormie and Saffy were already waiting for me when we stepped into the bedroom. Babbo had placed them under the covers, propped up on the pillows, and laying across their laps was a storybook.

“All right, sunshine, climb in and scoot over so I can sit next to you.”

I remembered I was supposed to be arguing with him about something, but I couldn’t remember what it was, so I followed his instructions instead.

“What’s the story about, Babbo?”

“It’s about a digger who wants to do everything by himself, but he can’t do everything by himself, and that makes him sad.”

“Why does he want to do everything by himself?’

“I don’t know. I guess we’re gonna have to read the story and find out.”

And we did. The digger, Doug, thought that to be a big machine, he didn’t need to ask any of the other machines for help, so he tried to dig up the garden all by himself. But Doug made a mess because he couldn’t get all the places he needed to go, so he tore things up accidentally. But when he asked his friends, who’d told him they wanted to help, that he couldn’t do it by himself, they all had a party and came to the garden to help.

“Doug is a naughty digger.”

“You think so? Why do you say that?”

“He didn’t ask his friends for help. They wanted to help him, and he wouldn’t let them.”

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