Chapter 1

1

Kit

C arl had his face scrunched up in full concentration as he clutched his red crayon. The pad of paper in front of him was filled with letters. He was writing a Dear Santa letter.

I sat facing him, tossing my stupid felt stocking on the table.

He glanced up. “Hi, Kit.”

“Hi, Carl.”

“What’s that?”

“The third stocking full of coal I’ve gotten this week. The daddy who gave it to me just now out in the hall laughed and laughed, then leered in a really creepy way. Like I’m gonna date that ass.”

“Ugh. Well, you’re the only person I know who’s been banned from the club for any length of time. You are bad.”

“Well, you’re a butthead,” I shot back. “What’s that? A letter to Santa?”

He covered the page with his arm. “Yeah. No peeking.”

“You know Santa’s fake anyway.”

He puffed out his cheeks at me. “Just because you’re mad, and single for the holidays, don’t take it out on me.”

“It just seems like there’s no one right for me. I come to this club twice a week and keep hoping, but it’s mostly the same old dudes wanting a hook up and moving on. I’m tired of that. Is it too much to ask for something more?”

“Nope.” Carl started to write again. “Actually, it’s quite romantic.”

“Yeah.” I shoved the stocking away from me. “A lot of good that does for me.”

“If you want that something more, you gotta get a little romantic.”

“I do want more.”

“This can be a very romantic place for some.”

He was right. I knew a lot of littles and boys who’d found their husbands here, including the owner of Club 99, Mr. Winterbourne himself. Plus, the club’s head bouncer, Colin, had snapped up a new boy named Maddy this year. Maybe I needed to look harder at staff despite the rule of no fraternization with the workers.

Or maybe I needed to completely start over somewhere where no one knew me and my misbehaving reputation. But that sounded like such hard work. Especially around the holidays.

I needed to change my approach.

I sauntered off to a corner bean bag chair with a book. While I pretended to read, I began to formulate a plan to transform my image.

The earliest of several Christmas parties at the club was being held in two days. I decided I would go. But should I be sweet and cute, or maybe the elegant type of little who was a bit nerdy and dressed in formal boy shorts and a bowtie? Or should I resort to my flamboyant elf costume that hugged my ass just right?

What would a real daddy who wanted more than a hookup be most attracted by?

Just then, Carl walked by with his letter to Santa all tied up in a red ribbon. He waved it in front of my nose.

“Stop trying to be what you think others want and be yourself,” he lectured. “That’s the key. You’re too pent up. Too stiff.”

I glared up at him. “Who asked you?”

“It’s not a criticism. And you asked me if it was too much to ask for more. So I’m telling you. It’s not.”

Easy for him to say. He’d had the same daddy for six months now and they looked disgustingly happy.

Carl continued. “You have the body. You have the looks. But it’s about more than that. I know that sounds funny to say in a kink club where monogamy is the last thing on most people’s minds, but I mean it. It’s like you’re not having fun anymore and people can sense it.”

I slammed the book shut. “Fine. I guess I’ll just flip a switch and rework my entire personality.”

“You don’t get it,” he said. “It’s the other way around. Just be you instead of trying too hard to impress the daddies. You don’t need to rework your personality. You just need to show what you already have.”

I frowned. Was that a weird compliment? Did I even have a personality?

For a little who liked to wear diapers, Carl was kind of wise.

I rolled my eyes at him. “I don’t know if I know how.”

He smiled. “Of course you do.” He waved the Santa letter again. “See you at the Christmas party?”

I huffed, shifting in the bean bag until it crunched. “Yeah. I’ll be there.”

“Okay, good. See ya.” He turned abruptly, then shouted, “Daddy! Daddy!”

His daddy looked up from the far couch where he’d been sitting, waiting for Carl to finish playing. “What is it?”

“Look!” He ran up to his boyfriend and shouted. “I wrote a letter to Santa.”

His daddy took him onto his lap and said, “That’s wonderful. Shall we send it to the North Pole together?”

“Yeah!”

I looked down at my lap. What would it feel like to have someone accept me for just me? Fucking fantastic, I was sure.

I stood in front of my floor to ceiling mirror. First, I tried on the elf costume. It looked great. The striped tights with the tight green shorts certainly accentuated my assets. But I already knew the types of guys who would be coming onto me in that outfit. They would see the sexy elf. They wouldn’t see me.

Next, I tried on my fancy boy shorts with the knee socks and bowtie. Cute, but something about the outfit just wasn’t my mood.

I was a little who was about five years old. I didn’t wear diapers, but I still liked baby things. Stuffies, blocks, crayons and trikes. Sometimes I craved a pacifier. I definitely needed a daddy. I wanted to be pampered by someone who would pick my outfits, wash me, dress me. Eating star-shaped chicken nuggets wasn’t the same when I made them myself.

Bottom line: I was lonely. I wanted a lover who was into me as much as he was into my kink. It wasn’t just about sex. It was about waking up in the morning smelling coffee brewing, knowing at long last I wasn’t alone.

The five-year-old inside me really wanted to wear scuffed jeans with holes in the knees and a little red shirt with a collar. He wanted shoes that lit up when he ran, a big plastic fire engine under one arm, his teddy under the other.

I had all those things. The clothes created little sparks inside me whenever I wore them, and the toys made me feel like a real little boy.

I had avoided all that, though. At the club, I wanted to fit in with the others. I wore rainbow unicorn t-shirts and dinosaur pajama pants and glitter bubble necklaces. At times, I even put on diapers to see what that would get me.

Everything remained shallow—it wasn’t me.

I wanted baby stuff, but I wanted it to be more boyish. At the club, it seemed like everyone was more flamboyant and I had to be that, too.

“Just be you,” Carl had said.

What would it hurt to give it a try?

I put on my boy clothes, combed my hair into my eyes, and grabbed my favorite toys. This was a Christmas party, but I didn’t do anything special for that. I was going to show up as the real me at my core and see what happened.

I parked and walked across the street where Colin opened the door and let me in.

“Hey, Kit,” he said.

“Hey. How’s Maddy?”

“He’s great. He’s here for the party. He thinks Santa will come.”

“I’m hoping, too, even though I don’t believe in him.”

“What?” Colin put a hand to his chest. “Santa isn’t real? Say it’s not so.”

I laughed.

The doorman made me tap my pass on his tablet.

I checked my coat and scarf at the counter but kept my teddy and fire engine scrunched under one arm and went inside.

When I came around the corner my mouth dropped open to see a huge Christmas tree decorated with erotic ornaments and condom garlands. The strings of lights flashed in spirals up and down the tree.

Someone had taken a lot of time decorating it. I couldn’t stop staring.

Club 99 never failed to put on great parties.

Christmas EDM tunes were playing, and the dance floor was already full. There were leather guys wearing Santa hats, guys in light-up t-shirts and even an ugly Christmas sweater or two cut at the neck and arms to look somewhat sexy.

The bar sported Christmas garlands and lights flashing. Every table and booth had little miniature trees next to candles in deep glass bowls.

I recognized some guys in the crowd and longed to join in the fun, but I was hesitant. I began to wonder why I had come. I’d vowed to myself: no more coal stockings. No more grinning, leering daddies.

I might not look it, but I was twenty-four now and still I’d never had a real relationship. It was time. Somewhere in this kink club there had to be the right daddy for me.