Chapter Three: Anson

Y eah, this was definitely a mistake.

Why did I ever think that hanging out with Drake for Christmas would be any better than hanging out with Vince and Bear? Sure, Drake doesn’t have a Little at the moment, something he lamented over when we were discussing our mutual lack of festive season plans, but he’s still got his shit together.

I clearly do not.

You’d think that being a successful pediatrician would mean I’d have my head screwed on straight, but nope. At work, I’m cool, calm and collected. But in my private life? I’m a mess.

I thought I was on the right track with this whole age play/pet play/BDSM lifestyle exploration thing, but I’m feeling just as confused as when I started. Maybe even more so. To hear Vince, or Drake, or any of the other guys tell it, they just felt right in their roles.

I’ve enjoyed playing, but I can’t say it’s been overwhelmingly lifechanging. There are parts of it that have given me thrills of excitement, though. Like playing cars or blocks with my Little scene partners, or giving belly rubs to my Kittens and Pups. But the other stuff? Meting out spankings or other forms of discipline, having to make all their decisions for them, taking on their stresses and worries…I’ve had to work hard at that, and I haven’t really liked it.

And, yeah, I understand that relationships are hard work, but Vince says he loves being able to take away Bear’s stresses. I’ve always just resented having to take on additional worries anytime I’ve done it. Like…why can’t I give mine up, too, you know?

So, maybe I’m not really that kinky after all. Maybe I just enjoy the porn. Kink is a spectrum for a reason, right?

I’m still morosely mulling this over as Drake leads me towards the cabin’s only bathroom. He gives me a brief tour along the way, pointing out the few rooms as we go. The whole building reminds me of every stereotypical hunting cabin in the movies, only I know Drake doesn’t hunt. But the walls are all timber, and it’s cozy and open-planned, with a large central living-room dominated by a massive stone fireplace, a kitchen/dining space, two bedrooms, and the bathroom.

Even though it’s also all timber, the bathroom feels modern and generous. It has a toilet, a large claw-footed tub, a separate shower, and a single sink set into a white vanity.

“I’ll get you a towel and grab some clothes from your bag,” Drake says, gesturing for me to head into the bathroom. “You’re shivering like crazy.”

I can feel my lips quirking despite my melancholy earlier musing. If this cabin is the stereotype of any well-appointed hunting cabin, Drake is the stereotype of a lumberjack Daddy.

He’s big and broad, with a rounded dad-bod belly and a sexy-as-fuck smile under his copper-colored beard. The hair on top of his head is more brown than it is copper, almost like he’s got some sort of ombre effect going from the top of his head to the ends of his beard. His skin is a light tan color, but he’s got a smattering of freckles and age spots over his nose and cheeks, and also on his arms, which are visible now since he took his big, padded jacket off and pushed up his sleeves when we came in from the cold. I make a mental note to tell him to make sure he gets his skin checked at least once a year, especially if he’s the outdoorsy type. (The existence of this cabin tells me that he is.)

Refraining from mentioning what a natural Daddy he is, I nod and thank him, stepping into the middle of the bathroom to begin to peel off my freezing, soaked clothes.

I’ve gotten down to my jeans when Drake’s hesitant “Uh, Anson?” breaks my focus. I look up, but he’s not in the doorway, so I make my way into the guest bedroom next door. He’s got my black duffel open on top of the navy comforter, and he’s staring down at it with confusion.

“What’s up?” I ask, stepping up to his side.

I’m not oblivious to his double-take when he registers my state of undress, nor the way his gaze sweeps over my chest and flat belly. Then he seems to give himself a shake and points at my bag. “I, uh, I went to grab you an outfit, but…”

“But?” I prompt, leaning towards my bag, preparing myself for more bad news as I look in it. “Don’t tell me it got wet in the sn—oh, fuck.”

This isn’t my bag.

Well, no, that’s a lie. It is my bag, but it’s not my bag. It’s a bag I packed for Tanner when I thought we might go away a couple of weekends back, only he dumped my sorry ass and I never took the bag out of my car. I just tossed my other bag —one that matches this one— in with it.

With a shaking hand, I reach in and pull out the soft, powder-blue footed onesie with the rubber duckies printed over it.

I open my mouth to explain what has happened, but a bubble of near-hysterical laughter escapes me instead. I sound manic, and I feel like I’m officially at my breaking point. “Of fucking course,” I mutter when I get my bitter laughter under control. “This is what I get for not unpacking my car weeks ago.”

“Hey, it’s okay,” Drake tries to reassure me, reaching for the onesie, but I snatch it back against my chest. He holds his hands up in the universal sign of surrender, and his eyes are kind when he says, “you can borrow some of my clothes for tonight. I’m guessing you have another bag in the car? We can go back and get it in the morning.”

I glance out the window and frown. “If we’re not completely snowed in by then.”

“If that’s the case, we’ll work something else out,” he responds.

I shake my head. “I can’t wear your clothes. No offence, but they’ll be way too big.”

He shrugs. “It’s just us here.”

Grimacing, I admit, “I have some sensory issues. I can’t…I don’t like wearing ill-fitting clothes.” I glance down at the onesie and sigh. “At least Tanner and I were the same size.” I lean back over the open bag to inspect its contents and groan. “Damn it.”

“What’s wrong?”

I can feel my cheeks heating up. “Tanner. He, um, he hates wearing big boy underwear when he’s in Little space, so I, uh…” I reach into the bag and pull out a thick diaper. “I only packed these in his Little bag.”

“Do you think you could go without underwear for the night?”

It’s a practical answer, but I shake my head, cursing my pale complexion as my cheeks burn hot all over again. “It’s part of the sensory thing. I hate the way it feels. I could sleep naked, but that’s not going to help with walking around the cabin.”

Drake swallows roughly, and I wonder if he’s imagining me walking around naked. Then I remind myself that even if he does find me attractive, there’s no way he’d want me. I’m not a Little. Hell, I’m not even a Boy. And I know he’s a lifestyle Daddy. It’s not just about kinky scenes for him. He wants someone he can be Daddy for all the time, whether they’re Big or Little.

He clears his throat. “What, um, what are you going to do, then? How can I help?”

“Well,” now that my panic is receding, I’m starting to see the humor in this situation, “I guess I’m going to see what it’s like on the other side of the fence, aren’t I?”

Drake makes a slightly strangled sound in the back of his throat. “What?”

“It’s kind of like when you’re training to be a Dom. You’re supposed to experience the various techniques you’re learning from the Sub side, right?” He nods slowly, but I don’t know if he’s following my logic. I wave the folded plastic-cotton item in my hand around in the air between us. “This can be kind of like that for me. I’ll see what wearing Little stuff feels like for the night.”

In fact, I can’t honestly say that I haven’t been curious about it. Everyone in the age play lifestyle must have at some point wondered, right? Especially about diapers. Like, that’s the first thing anyone ever asks about when you mention age play. It’s immediately ‘so you wear diapers? What’s that like?’

Notwithstanding the fact that not all age play enthusiasts are into ABDL, I have to admit that there’s a part of me which has wanted to try it for myself. Just once. Just to see if it helps me connect with my Littles better.

Now here’s my chance.

“You don’t have to do this,” Drake says, but his gaze is locked firmly on the clothing in my hands. I’d give anything to know what he’s thinking. Has he ever been curious, too? “I can…I can see if any of my last Boy’s things are still here. He wasn’t into diapers, so…maybe?”

I can’t decipher his tone. I don’t know if he thinks it’s weird that I’m suddenly okay with wearing a diaper and a onesie for the night, or if he wishes his last Boy had been into ABDL or what, but I’m not asking.

“If you want to look while I’m in the shower…” I begin, then cringe and facepalm. “I mean, look for clothes, not look at me.”

Drake laughs and the weird mood is broken. He winks at me. “Why can’t I do both?”

Despite the fact that I’m still freezing, warmth seems to spread all over me. I’m probably blushing from head to toe at this point. God, I wish we were actually compatible, because flirting with him is fun. “You’re gonna have to work a little harder to see me naked.”

I grin at his dumbfounded expression and sashay my way back into the bathroom, feeling like maybe Christmas is salvageable after all.