Chapter One

Forrest

I grabbed the box labeled Fun from the top shelf in my closet and plopped it on the bed. I still had boxes everywhere in my apartment. When my new company offered to give me two weeks' paid time for my move, I told them I only needed one, excited to get right into the job. I'd also been foolish. Between setting up utilities, buying necessities such as groceries, and cleaning, I'd accomplished nowhere near as much as I'd planned to in that time. One week was not enough to finish all my unpacking.

Adjusting to the new job in an unfamiliar city took more out of me than I'd expected. Work was taking up all my time. It wouldn't always be that way. I needed to push through it and then things would smooth out.

A brand-new position, doing what I had always done but for twice the salary, in the city I'd always wanted to live in. Taking the job seemed like an amazing idea at the time. And it had been. Grumpiness never made anything better.

I tore the tape off my little box and pulled out the contents. My everyday little clothes, my pajamas that I slept in if I had a really rough day, or the onesies I liked to wear while watching cartoons on a Saturday, just chilling were among the first things I unpacked, followed by my fancier things, for special occasions or club visits. Chained was the local club, and I hadn't explored it yet, but I heard it was amazing. A sister to my old club, Collared, they did not require much paperwork. But going in to transfer my membership was something I'd put off until I "had time." As I was learning quickly, I wasn't ever going to have time until I made it.

I laid the contents out in a somewhat organized manner—the onesies in one pile, the shorts in another, the knee-high socks in another. My hats, because I just loved little hats, required two piles. On and on and on I went. Then I came to the bottom of the box where my Christmas outfits lived, and I wondered, not for the first time, if maybe, just maybe, I made a bad decision moving so close to the holidays.

Christmas had always been my favorite time of year, both being big and, especially when little. Collared had special parties just for people like me. We would make ornaments and visit Santa, and they had a retreat for those fully into the season. It was me, their target on that one, and the event was wonderful.

But it wasn't just club time that was fun. My friend Allen always did a decorating party at his house, which was less of a house and more of a mansion. We'd all go and decorate the trees he set up in practically every room. We'd hang garland and wreaths and lights, both inside and out. The past few years, we'd included some inflatables to create entire stories on his front lawn.

The first year he invited me, I thought he was looking for free labor, but I didn't care. Decorating was the most fun. I soon realized, that, for Allen, it was about togetherness and Christmas cheer. I was going to miss it a lot this year and considered taking off to go and help, but, of course, the dates conflicted with a huge work event, one I got the impression wasn't optional.

Maybe next year.

Every yuletide, I decorated my apartment, too, but apartments weren't the same. You didn't have the ability to create a winter wonderland people could step into from the sidewalk. I always had a small tree and wrapped my pictures on the wall like presents and strung lights around the windows. If I could get everything unpacked, I was going to do the same this year.

No. I needed to make it a priority. Same with visiting Chained.

I glanced down at the Santa hat and remembered the festival where I got it. There had been sleigh rides, hot cocoa, and a cookie walk. It even snowed that day. So many memories with that silly hat. I shoved it on the bottom of the pile, not wanting to dwell on my grumpiness.

There was nothing I didn't love about Christmas, and here I was putting a shadow over this year. I needed to stop. Sure, Christmas Day wasn't always the ideal holiday—because that's not how holidays work—but the magic of Christmas, the seasonal joy, was standard. And I freaking loved it.

The last thing in the box was a little treasure chest where I stored small things that were important to me, sort of like a scrapbook without the book. Invitations to parties, including my very first little party. Some crafts I'd done over the years, those small enough to keep. As I lifted one out, a shower of glitter from those crafts fell into the chest. Stickers, ribbon, and even a couple of gift tags that were on presents that had mattered to me—most with sparkly glitter. I set the box on my bookshelf.

Not one to hide who I was, I didn't keep all my little stuff hidden away, like some did. If I didn't trust you enough with that side of me, you just weren't invited over. I learned a long time ago that hiding any part of myself like that tainted it. It made it somehow dirty, and I didn't want that. I was proud of who I was in all areas, from work to when I had little rattles on my socks. All of that made me who I was.

The next ten minutes were spent bringing everything over to my dresser and putting them in the drawer designated for my little clothes.

I left out a onesie that a mommy I used to do scenes with had given me. It had an embroidered sweater on it. I didn't know why I loved it so much—it was one of the least "little" designs on my onesies—but it reminded me we were deep into fall, and Christmas was coming.

After a quick shower, I put it on with a pair of sweatpants. Not really wanting to be too little, but more snuggly and warm, just like the sweater on it. I ordered food delivery from my favorite fast-food place, getting not one but two kids' meals for dinner, along with a salad for tomorrow. They were featuring toys from one of my favorite shows, and I wanted to collect as many of them as I could. It used to be that when you ordered them, all of the people got the same ones the same day, but now everything was in blind bags, so I never did know for sure. I might get two of the same, but I could get two different. Wouldn't that be fun?

Placing the order already had me letting go some of my grumpiness. I needed to do better about giving myself some time to simply be, so I didn't get so overworked and stressed. Not having a daddy or mommy meant that was on me.

I made a plan to finish unpacking this weekend. I'd been delaying it long enough. And then maybe I'd check out Chained. I wasn't sure if I was ready to go by myself yet. How silly. Nothing would happen to me. I liked Collared was because they worked hard to make it as safe a place as possible. There was no reason to believe Chained wouldn't be the same.

But I had been through so many changes. My fear wasn't that mommies or daddies were gonna be awful, or that I'd be pressured to do things I didn't want to, or that there would be a lot of drinking or abuse—none of the stereotypical negatives people pulled out of their ass when it came to clubs. No. I was afraid that I might not like it. And I wasn't sure what I'd do in that case because I needed to find my community.

Being little by myself was fine, for a while. But a while was almost up.