Page 32 of Rowan's Renewal
My brain feels like mush. I can’t really form words. “Mmm,” I hum and nuzzle my face into him more.
After a beat, he asks, “Is talking hard right now?”
I nod, making another “Mmhmm” sound.
“Huh.” His chest rises and falls quickly, and at the back of my brain, I register the light puff of air through my hair as a huff of dry amusement. “You feeling Little, baby?”
“Mmm,” I nod again.
“And sleepy?”
My eyesdofeel quite heavy. I’m drained, but the floatiness that I spent all week trying to fight off in Australia is more intense than ever. I force another nod. “Mmm.”
“Okay,” he brushes his lips over the top of my head, then jostles me before holding up a picture of a traffic light, illuminated on his phone screen. I squint at it, wanting to close my eyes and drift off, but Daddy has other ideas. “Because words are too difficult right now, I need you to point to your color, sweetheart.”
Clumsily, I stab my index finger at the green circle.
“Good boy,” Daddy praises softly, then adds, “and what’s your color if I want to check your diaper and change you, honey?”
Another swat at the green circle, followed by a discontented whine when he makes me stand up. I was comfortable sitting in his lap!
Gently guiding me through his apartment, Daddy leads me into the nursery he told me about. I take it in drowsily, smiling at the gaming station he has set up on one side of the room —which I know he installed this week, because his ex was into stuffiesand race cars and I’m not— and then the adult-sized changing table on the other side of the room, which is where he takes me.
There’s a series of steps built against the side, so I can climb up easily. Once I’m settled on my back on the padded, plastic-covered surface, Daddy stands at the foot of the table, his hand splayed over my crotch.
Even through the thick denim, I’m sure he can feel the squish of the wet protection I’m wearing, but I don’t feel even the slightest hint of embarrassment at having been caught in a wet diaper during the day. I’m still feeling that strange sense of detachment, where it actually feels kind of good to be in a diaper. To know that I can let go and that Daddy is looking after me. It cements thatsmallnessin my head, but in a pleasant way.
“You’re being so good for me right now, Ro,” Daddy says, unbuttoning my jeans and lowering my zipper. “Can you lift your hips for me?”
I do as he says, then relax back as he launches into the routine I got so used to during our week at the resort. The further into it we get, the more light and floaty my head feels. I can’t even focus on the adult thoughts about how this table is the perfect height for him to rut his cock against mine for more than a brief moment before my eyelids are drooping shut as the comforting weight of a dry, padded night-time diaper is closed over my crotch and taped snuggly against my hips.
“I’m not big and strong enough to carry you to bed, sweetheart,” Daddy laments, rousing me from my near nap, “so climb down carefully and walk with me, okay? We still need to get you into comfy jammies, too.”
Idolike the sound of comfy pajamas.
With limbs feeling like lead, I let him guide me down from the table and I waddle-walk into the bedroom across the hallway. It’s a larger room, with a wide window looking out over the parkland and college grounds and the sprawling cityscapebeyond, but I’m drawn to the plush-looking king-sized bed, and the even softer-looking blue pajamas emblazoned with sharks spread out on top of the comforter.
“Do you like them?” Daddy asks as I reach out to feel the soft fabric between my fingers. They’re going to be warm, but not too thick and constrictive in the climate-controlled apartment.
I nod. “Mmm.”
When I turn to face him, there’s a soft, affectionate smile on his face. “Let’s get you dressed, then.”
I stand, loose and pliant, as he helps me out of my jeans, jacket and long-sleeved t-shirt. It’s a lot more work than at the resort, because of the extra layers, but he doesn’t seem to mind. Then, once I’ve climbed into the soft, long pajama pants and have the matching long-sleeved top buttoned, Daddy gestures for me to climb into bed, and then he joins me, spooning against my side with a satisfied sigh.
“I’ve missed this,” he says, while I press my cheek to his chest, tucked in under his chin. Under my ear, I can hear his heart thumping away at a steady rhythm. My eyes finally slide shut while I enjoy the ministrations of his fingers carding through my hair. “My sweet Boy,” he coos. “Have a sleep, sweetheart. I’ll still be here when you wake up. Then we can have a late dinner and talk.”
For the first time in a week, I feel fully relaxed and so I drift off without any further encouragement.
Chapter Sixteen
Once again, Rowan has surprised me. Cuddling him while he naps, I can’t help thinking about his unexpected deep regression right now, to the point of being nonverbal. I know part of that comes from the shock to his system, having gone from a week of twenty-four-seven Daddy care to a week of forced adulting with only texts and phone calls to fill in the void our forced separation left. But it also shows how deeply he trusts me, and how comfortable he is getting with the idea of our dynamic as Daddy and Boy.
And what a dynamic it is turning out to be! He’s unlike any other Little I’ve played with before. The juxtaposition of the diapers and now the nonverbal regression, coupled with his generally more adolescent headspace is going to keep me on my toes, but in the best ways imaginable.
I assume that, even with him being unable to muster words, he didn’t regress into a toddler kind of headspace. He’s already expressed his disinterest in other ‘baby’ play —no sippy cups, no stuffies, no blocks or cars or other ‘younger’ toys— and I doubt that will have changed just because he found it difficult to formwords. Obviously, I won’t know for sure until we can talk about it, and about how he feels about these new developments, but I’ve been around enough Littles in my time to have developed a sixth sense when it comes to the things they enjoy in headspace.
Fate really has dropped the perfect man for me right into my lap, hasn’t it?
