Page 30 of Spencer's Satisfaction
“You deserved to know,” I assure him. I’m starting to think that it’s possible I might not have tried with the right partners, because the concept doesn’t feel as awkward when I picture it with Tony. “Maybe one day…”
Tony shakes his head. “Don’t push yourself out of your comfort zone, Spence. Not unless you’re really ready. It’s not something I’m desperate to try right now, and if I ever am, we can talk about it then.”
It’s funny how the advice that I’ve given him sounds completely different when it is directed back at me.
“But, Spencer,” Tony sits himself up straighter, pushing away from my side so he can look me in the eye. He only really does that with Tanya for any prolonged amount of time, so I take it as yet another sign that he’s feeling more comfortable and confident with me. “I really don’t want kids.” His lips quirk now that he has circled back to the original topic of discussion. “Frank’s enough for me.”
Those words do things to my insides which I’m definitely not ready to examine too closely.
“He’s enough for me, too,” I agree, then we go back to watching the ducks in companionable silence.
Chapter Twelve – Tony
My cheeks burn when, after a couple of weeks of dating (and one night of impulsive online shopping), I carry a large, but otherwise innocuous, brown box into my room. It arrived earlier today and I just collected it from the building’s mail room, where all large deliveries are received. Even though there’s no way for anyone to tell what’s nestled inside the package, I was flustered about being seen with it. But, safe in the confines of my bedroom with the door locked safely behind me, I can breathe again.
I set it gingerly on the bed, then scold myself for being so silly. It’s justthings. There’s nothing inside the box that can hurt me.
They could probably embarrass me if the wrong people saw that I had them, but I’ve kept this purchase tightly under wraps. Not even Daddy knows.
And that’s another thing: I don’t hesitate even the slightest over calling Spencer ‘Daddy’ anymore. Not in my head, not out loud, not even around Tanya. I know he loves it, and that makes it even easier for me to do it. And the fact that I’ve been reading and listening to nothing but Daddy/little stories in the past couple of weeks hasn’t hurt, either.
But that’s probably also what inspired me to order the things I did.
I got curious.
Like, super curious.
I was listening to a new book -one sadly not narrated by my amazingly talented boyfriend- and, by three-quarters in, I was deeply invested in what was happening between the characters. I even found myself closing my eyes and imagining myself in place of one of the main characters during a bottle-feeding scene, of all things.
And it felt good. Freeing.Right.
At that point, I hadn’t wanted to wait: I wanted to try some of those thingsimmediately.
Unfortunately, not having access to any of the necessary paraphernalia, I’d resolved myself to two potential resolutions: calling Daddy and asking him to bring some items over for me so I could experiment with age regression, or buying my own and waiting.
The first optionhadbeen tempting. But I’d chickened out. I know he probably would have driven here breaking all sorts of land speed records, but that was also part of the problem.
I didn’t want to get his hopes up.
What if I put on a diaper and hated it? What if I suckled on a bottle and didn’t get any of the warm, tingly, excited feelings that listening to the book had inspired?
What if it turned out my fantasy was just that: a fantasy? Then Daddy would be sad, and I didn’t want to be the one to do that to him.
So option two, even though it meant delaying my experimentation, was the way I chose to go.
But now the box is here and I’m suddenly shy. In my own room. Alone.
Grow up, Anthony, I tell myself, but then another voice in my head tells me how wrong those words are. The new voice sounds a lot like Daddy. It reminds me that to grow up would be counterproductive to the age regression I want to try out. It also says that I’m allowed to be nervous, and that I’m allowed to freak out and stop at any time. It’s comforting, and it provides the impetus for me to reach out a trembling hand and tug at the brown packing tape securing the contents shut.
Peeling back the four panels of cardboard that form the ‘lid’ of the box, I inhale sharply at the item nestled securely on top.
A package of diapers.
I’d even splurged for ones with cute animal print on them and extra padding. YOLO, right?
The package is sunshine yellow and there’s a picture on the front of a young guy built very similarly to me. He’s dressed in nothing but a diaper, a blue bonnet, and short, matching blue socks capped with white frill around the ankle. He’s beaming up at me, and I find myself unconsciously smiling back.
The plastic packet is kind of squishy to the touch when I lift it out of the box, and I enjoy squeezing it for a moment before carefully setting it aside on my bright orange comforter. It looks strangely at home there, the colors complementing each other perfectly.
