Page 29 of Spencer's Satisfaction
“I was just thinking that these last couple of weeks have been so good,” his fingers pluck at a loose thread on the grey plaid blanket between our thighs. He fiddles when he’s anxious, I’ve learned that much about him. He keeps explaining his thought process, “And things this good are usually too good to be true. So I don’t understand why you were single when we met.”
I sigh. He knows I’m bi, that I’ve been in relationships with both men and women before him, but until now I haven’t had to talk about Emma. However, he deserves an honest answer…and, to be fair on him, I really should tell him my stance on children now before we get too invested in each other anyway.
I ignore the little voice in my head that says it’s too late. That I’m already too invested. That it will hurt if this conversation goes pear shaped and it turns out he desperately wants kids.
It’s my own fault for leaving it for so long, I know.
“My last relationship ended…badly,” I eventually answer him, resolved to do this properly.
Tony tenses and then tentatively squeezes my thigh. “I’m sorry. You don’t have to-“
“I do,” I interrupt him softly. “It’s important that you know.”
“Oh,” he says, but I can’t read his tone.
I guess my words could be interpreted in a number of ways, so I hurry to put the whole story out there. “When Emma and I got together, we agreed neither of us wanted kids. I…I like being a kinky Daddy. I don’t want to be a parent.”
Tony’s tension starts to melt away as he rests against me, and that helps me to relax as well.
“Did she…” he starts to ask and then stops himself.
“Change her mind?” I hazard a guess at his question. He bobs his head, then I do the same. “Yeah. And we fought about it. Nasty things were said, I got all in my head about it…” I shrug. “It took me a while to come to terms with the fact that it’s okay to not want kidsandto want to be in a Daddy/Little relationship.”
When Tony tenses again, I realize that I’ve inadvertently put pressure on him with that confession.
With my arm wrapped around his shoulders, I give him what I hope is a reassuring squeeze. “But I also meant it when I told you that I am happy with the dynamic we have without age play. Emma just…she got in my head, you know? It messed me up for longer than I wanted to admit to even myself.”
Tony stays silent as he processes my words. I don’t push him. I’ve learned that he needs time to think things through before he reacts.
While he thinks, I try not to worry that my admission might mean the end for us. I focus instead on the gentle quacking of the few ducks floating on the murky brown water’s surface.
“I don’t want kids either,” Tony eventually tells me. His voice is soft, but the statement is firm and decisive. “I can barely take care of myself, let alone a small human.”
Relief washes over me and I’m squeezing him closer to my side again before I know what I’m doing. “You’re not just saying that, right?” I’m being uncharacteristically insecure, but once bitten twice shy and all that jazz. “I’m not going to be upset if it’s something you really do want. But…” I don’t want to say the words.
Winding his fingers into the cotton of my t-shirt and gripping tightly, Tony says them for me. “But it’s non-negotiable for you, so we’d probably have to break up.”
“Yeah,” my throat is tight.
But he doesn’t immediately respond to that.
“Is Emma the reason you don’t like sex during Little time?”
Tony’s question is direct, which I appreciate, and I can follow the logic that led him to it. He deserves an honest answer here, too.
The thing is, it’s a complicated question with a complicated answer.
“Kind of?” I offer, knowing that it’s not nearly enough. I’m not usually the guy who fumbles for words, so I try to think about what I’m saying before I make a mess of this. “I wasn’t really big on it before Emma,” I clarify, “and when we were together, we tried it a couple of times and I just couldn’t get into it. I felt like I was failing her, you know? But…” taking a deep breath, I admit my real issue, “it wasn’t her. Not really. Some part of me gets hung up on the idea that it’s skirting a moral line? Even though I know it’s not,” I rush to add. This is my issue, and mine alone. The one thing where my rational side knows what’s up but my emotional one is an idiot. “But I feel it in myself. I hold back. I don’t know why, exactly, just that I do. And that’s not fair on my partner at the time. So I just generally steer clear of trying anymore.”
While he quietly considers my words, I itch to make promises that I don’t know I can keep. I want to tell him that I’d try it again for him if he wanted to, but would that just be setting ourselves up for failure?
“I think I understand,” he says softly, toying with the fabric of my shirt. “It’s hard to try again when you get a mental block about something.” There’s something far away in his tone now, a wistfulness that makes me wonder what it is he’s relating my experience to. I won’t push, though. He’ll share the information when -if- he’s comfortable enough. “But that’s also why safe words exist, too, right?”
Well, damn.
He’s got me there. I can’t help smiling. “Yeah, it is.”
“Okay.” He concludes, effectively closing the subject as abruptly as it started. “I just wanted to know.”
