Page 8 of Spencer's Satisfaction
The silence between us is short-lived.
“So, do you think he might be a Boy?” Honestly, as much as I love my friends, they’re all like dogs with bones, never letting a subject go. Chance, being the guy I’m closest to, is the worst of the lot. Or, at least he is with me. He can be a bit more reserved in group settings, and positively shy in large groups of strangers, but with the people he’s close to, he has zero reservations.
I stifle a groan. “Does it matter?”
This time he’s the one who stops walking, staring at me slack jawed when I crane my neck around to question what the hell he’s doing.
“What?” I ask him.
“Does it matter?” He repeats incredulously, as though he can’t believe I even asked the question. “Spence, you’re a Daddy. Are you honestly trying to tell me that you’d be down for a vanilla relationship? ‘Cos I don’t give a flying fuck how cute a guy is; if I can’t share my kinks with him, I’m not interested.”
“That’s you, man, and that’s totally your prerogative. But-”
“Seriously?” He doesn’t even let me finish, guessing (albeit correctly) that I was about to tell him I didn’thaveto find a Little in order to be happy. He jogs forward on the pavement suddenly, staring me down with intensity. “Spencer. Just because you can manage being single for fuck knows how long it’s been since Emma, it doesn’t mean that you’re not going to want to indulge your Daddy instincts when youareback in a relationship again.”
“Because looking for a Little has worked out so well for me these last couple of years.” The bitter, sarcasm-laced words escape me before I can stop them. I cringe and try to reel back my frustration.
This is an issue I have any time my ex-girlfriend is brought up: I get snappish.
Chance is the only one of the guys who knows the full story behind my breakup. I almost let it slip a few weeks ago, back when Ted’s whole tragic past came to light, but I managed to bite my tongue. Everyone was, understandably, too busy supporting Ted (while simultaneously pretending that we weren’t, because he’s one of those ridiculous men who ‘doesn’t need sympathy’ and thinks he needs to suffer in silence) and then…well, I guess I didn’t want to accidentally trigger Ted myself, I guess.
I mean, how do you tell a guy who lost a child that the reason your girlfriend left you is because, as much as you enjoy playing the role of Daddy in a kinky lifestyle, you categorically refuse to have actual children?
Emma had known it from the start, by the way. It’s one of those huge, important topics that everyone should cover when casual dating starts turning into ‘are we seeing if there’s a future here?’ or whatever. And she’d agreed! ‘Why would I want a baby when I prefer to pretend to be one myself?’ she’d even asked me.
Then, over time, I guess her feelings changed.
Mine, on the other hand, did not.
We had a huge blowout fight over it, the both of us crying and yelling about promises and people changing, and then she’d packed her bags and left. Last I heard, she’d moved across the country to be closer to her family again.
I can admit now that losing her hurt. A lot. But, at the time, I was too angry to admit it.
So now, whenever she’s mentioned, it’s like someone poking at a scab. There’s still pain there. Healing, but not yet gone. And it itches something in my psyche, making me defensive and irritable. Chance knows this, of course, but it doesn’t stop him from bringing her up.
Hell, maybe the easy rise he’s guaranteed to get out of me is exactly why he does it.
Chance raises both his eyebrows and folds his arms expectantly. Silence, broken only by the distant sounds of traffic on the nearby highway, falls between us. After a long moment, he licks his lips and surprises me with how serious his next words are. “I think you’ve been punishing yourself, Spencer. And it needs to stop.”
“I…” I blink. “What?”
I watch as he rubs a hand down his face, smoothing his scruffy beard while he carefully considers how to explain what he just said. “You didn’t want to be a dad, but you love being a Daddy. And whatever the fuck Emma said to you when she left…well, I think it’s made you feel guilty about that. So you’re depriving yourself-”
“Now, hang on…”
“You’re depriving yourself,” he continues as though I didn’t interrupt him, “of the enjoyment of being a Daddy because…” Chance throws his hands in the air and looks around, as though the words he’s searching for might spontaneously appear. “Shit, I don’t know. Because some twisted part of you feels like it’s wrong now? Except we both know that being a Daddy to a Little iscompletelydifferent to wanting to be a dad, even if some of the fundamental behaviors and instincts are the same. But that girl of yours got in your head and you haven’t been the same since.”
I’m too stunned to speak. Chance isn’t usually the psychoanalyzing type. Of our social group, that’s more Ted’s forte, or even Charlie’s. Maybe even Zephyr’s, too. The fact that Chance might have stumbled onto a kernel of truth in all of his ranting is even more surprising.
Ididspend weeks (months, even) thinking over everything Emma cried at me the night we broke up.
How was it possible that I so enjoyed taking care of her as a Little, but had zero interest in taking care of a real child? Was I really so selfish that I couldn’t see the similarities? Would it really be such a bad thing to put those same instincts to love and nurture to use in a more traditional, socially acceptable way?
But, as I had told her, being Daddy to an adult Little and role-playing is something I indulge in to complement my romantic and sexual relationships. There’s nothing wrong with enjoying that while simultaneously not wanting children.
Real parenting goes beyond the fun of being a Daddy. You can’t safe word out of parenting. You can’t step away and take a break or relax into adult time with a real toddler running around. I’ve seen my siblings’ kids in action. I have also seen the way my brothers’ relationships with their wives have changed in unappealing ways, and I’m content being a (mostly distant these days) uncle. I don’t need to spend more time than is absolutely necessary with children.
The scenes I explore with my Littles are to enhance intimacy and trust between two consenting adults. Looking after real kids is obviously a different kettle of fish: it involves thankless years of commitment to a person whose welfare and upbringing you are responsible for. It involves sacrificing your own needs and desires to put theirs first. It involves sleep deprivation in completely unsexy ways. It’s…well, it’s just not for me.
