Page 3 of Soothed By Daddy
“I know you’re trying to be nice, but it’s nothing like that. I’m just having a bad night.” That admission caused a fresh wave of tears to well up in his eyes. He glanced behind him, vaguely motioning toward the kitchen area. “I’d been saving a treat all week, then dropped it. So now, no treat for me. My arms feel like they’re falling off, my legs should be chopped off, and this stupidclient keeps changing their mind so I have to start their file over every single time. They won’t admit it’s their fault, but I’m going to miss the deadline. It’s just… a really, really bad day.”
George looked forlorn in his dino costume. His head hung low, and somehow even his tail was droopy, like it had given up on the day too. I glanced behind him to see what kind of treat it was or how much of a mess he had made, but I couldn’t see past him.
“I work construction, so I get it.” That was a partially true statement. Yes, my muscles were sore, but that wasn’t my biggest pain right now. All of his tears had triggered my hormones, and I was in serious danger of leaking through my shirt. I might be the next one in tears. “What was the treat? Can I go get you another one at the store?”
“They didn’t have any,” he said, eyes wide and tragic. “I only get one a week, and it was today. I earned it. Now there’s no milk.” George attempted to get himself under control. He took a deep breath and added, “Thank you for asking.”
“What is it? Maybe we can get you a substitute. I know it wouldn’t be the same thing, but it might make it a little better. I don’t mind going to get it for you.”
“You can’t.” Again, tears flowed, and it seemed like he didn’t even notice them anymore because he had stopped trying to wipe them away. “No milk for me, and now I sad.”Whoa. That statement wasn’t like anything I’d heard George say in the past. It was almost like a much younger version of himself had taken over. But for some reason, I couldn’t let it go. If he wanted milk, then by god, I wanted to get him the fucking milk.
My insistence on helping him, whether he asked for it or not, made no real sense. I mean, he was a fantastic landlord, but itstill seemed a little over the top to demand that he let me help him. Even that realization didn’t make me step back.
“Is it like goat milk or sheep milk or, I don’t know, yak milk?”
“Yak milk? Never had it. Gotta find a yak first.”
“Tell me what kind of milk it is. That’s all I want to know.”
“Get it from a chest.” He wailed, setting off a fresh round of tears, but this time his shoulders were wracked from the strength of his sobs, which I suspected had more to do with embarrassment than anything else at this point.
Oh, fuck me. When he’d said chest, I felt the imminent letdown of my milk.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
When I started lactating a few years ago, my ex, Jared, had insisted I go to the doctor about it. They’d said it was one of those things that sometimes happened, and there wasn’t anything to do about it other than express myself or take medication to stop the flow. She’d warned me the medication side effects were unpleasant. Pump and dump worked fine for me.
But I never actually had anyone feed off me. Jared wanted to know as little as possible about the process, so I never bothered to talk about it with him. Most of the time, I turned on the pump while sitting on my couch at night and watched a game. Tonight, I could go home, express, and then bring it back to him. But, given how close I was, most of it would be lost before it could be collected. And then the words I never imagined I’d say to another person popped into my head. They came out of my mouth before I had a chance to second guess myself.
“I could feed you.”
“Not from the freezer,” George said sadly. “Gotta be ordered.”
“I know what you meant. I can feed you.”
George stared at me in wonder as the words sank in. It wasn’t on my Bingo card, but, like the song says, there’s nothing wrong with helping a buddy out. George wasn’t exactly that, but we were friendly acquaintances. What’s the worst that could happen? It was unlikely he’d kick me out of my apartment because then he’d have to explain why.
“You got milk?”
“Uh, yeah, I have chestmilk.”
George took a break from crying long enough to give me a speculative look through hiccups and attempts to gulp air back into his lungs. It felt like a shitty time to notice that his tears made the fringe of his eyelashes striking.
“You wanna share?”
He sounded so dubious that I had to work to keep the chuckle out of my voice when I answered. “Wanted to” was an overstatement, but “willing to” was within the vicinity.
“Yeah, I want to share if you want some. I mean, you don’t have to. I don’t wanna make you uncomfortable, but maybe it’ll salvage your night.”
I knew I was generally stone-faced, but I hoped this was one of those times when it was especially true. The last thing I wanted was for George to see how nervous my offer had made me. I’d never done anything like this. Hell, I’d never even considered it, but I already felt a vague sense of disappointment if he said no.
Rather than answer, George stepped back and opened the door wider. Holy shit, this place was a mess. Since my section of the Victorian was so nice, I hadn’t expected this. In my professional opinion, it was barely livable. In what was probably supposed to be the living room, there was a threadbare sofa set up in front of a TV. I could see a movie was cued to play, but I couldn’t tell which one.
I followed him inside. Standing up while he fed would be incredibly awkward, so the only real options were the sofa or a bed somewhere. We’d barely exchanged ten words since I’d moved in, so the bed wasn’t an option at all.
“How about if I sit on the couch and then you can access my…ummm…me?”
George looked nervous but interested. It would’ve been hard for him to make the first move, so I decided to bite the bullet and make things easier for both of us. I strode over to the sofa with as much confidence as I could muster and sat at the far end. I snagged a throw pillow and arranged it against my knee.
