Chapter 3

Kendry

The book had watercolor paintings of sea monsters and lighthouses. It was scary until I read the poems and stories on the white pages. Some were funny. Some were quite dark for a kid's book. One was about a sea monster who thought his friend, the lighthouse, was stuck on the rocky shore and needed rescuing.

The noise in the playroom faded as I sank into pure little space and read the rhyming story to myself.

Even as I read, my mind could still pick out certain sounds to peripherally focus on. I heard the big, windowed door open and close, admitting a new person to the playroom.

Yet another leather daddy, obviously, this one in a jacket instead of harness and chaps, but still, those types were all the same, blending together in a sort of fog. They were looking for boy toys. That wasn't me.

I paid little attention, flicking my gaze back to my book where the sea monster sang to his lighthouse friend. It was a good story. Maybe my new favorite. I got lost in the picture of the rolling sea and all the little things in it underneath the monster, like starfish and flowers with tentacles for petals.

"Juice box?"

I glanced up, startled. I hadn't heard a sound. I looked him up and down, my heart pounding. Too much leather. Too much muscle. He was so tall he could probably touch the ceiling if he lifted his hand over his head. But instead, it was held out to me, a juice box balanced on the upturned palm.

I didn't want to be bothered, but I remembered my manners. "Thank you, sir, but I'm not thirsty."

"All right." He opened it, peeled off the straw and stuck it in the top. Then he sucked.

Apple juice. I smelled it as soon as he opened it. My favorite.

The man motioned to a chair nearby, one for small littles, although we came in all sizes. "May I sit with you while you read?"

My eyes widened. "You'll never fit in that."

"Won't I?" He had blue eyes, the color bright and searing through messy dark bangs.

He walked over to the chair, lifted it as if it weighed next to nothing, and brought it over to my side. He then got to his knees, stuck his butt up a little, and wiggled it into the chair. He legs were a tangle on that low seat, so he stuck them straight out in front of him. They stretched forever, it seemed. He crossed his feet at the ankles, then looked at me.

"It isn't the most comfortable chair in the room," he confessed.

"You look silly."

"Do I?"

I nodded, my fingers petting the page of my book as I itched to get back to it. This man was weird.

"I don't care if I look silly." He tossed his head back, his bangs falling back to reveal a high, smooth forehead. "You can laugh at me. I won't mind."

"Have you always been so big?"

He jerked his head to me, eyebrows narrowing. "Yes, I was born this way."

"Not possible."

"If you know better, why did you ask?"

I wasn't sure. Maybe I was just being mean. It wasn't like me to be rude. But this man was intruding on my story time. He was the rude one.

"Self-defense," I said.

"That answer makes no sense."

I didn't feel like explaining myself, so I kept quiet.

The man looked like he was thinking hard. Then he said, "Oh. I understand. You wanted to fight."

"No. I don't fight."

"You're defensive. It's a style of fighting."

I gulped.

"Do you think I'm rude?" the man asked.

"You're interrupting my reading time."

"Am I?"

I nodded.

"May I remind you of where you are?"

"I'm in the reading corner," I replied.

"Yes." He glanced about the room. "The reading corner in a gay club. A gay kink club."

"So?"

"I'm only pointing out that you have chosen to go to a place where you quite literally cannot be alone."

"This is my social time." I realized how stupid that sounded only after I said it.

The man did not laugh. "Hmm. All right. I can be quiet. Go back to your reading. But is it okay if I just sit here a little while longer?"

I studied him for a few seconds. He was so big. Like a mountain compared to me. Beneath the leather jacket, he had on a white button up shirt and blue jeans that looked very clean. At least he didn't stink like some of the leather daddies. And he didn't have hair on the backs of his hands.

In truth, he could sit wherever he wanted. "I guess."

I went back to reading but now everything felt different. Weird.

I found my place and started to read again. The sea monster's sound was like the rush of waves, and he sang about the moonlight rippling on water. He sang of salt and mermaids, lost ships and drowned sailors. It was sad and beautiful at the same time.

I could see the man out of the corner of my eye. He had his hands folded over his stomach and his head slightly back. He looked like he was staring at the ceiling. He had to be uncomfortable in that tiny chair, but he made no sound.

For some unknown reason, I decided to start reading out loud. I held the book open wide and low on my lap so the man could see the pictures if he wanted to. I read just above a whisper.

Soon, the man turned his head and looked down at my lap. The book was a barrier between us, so I felt safe. He was interested in the book. It distracted him.

I read to him. The sea monster wrapped itself around the lighthouse. Its tentacles had suckers on them, and they stuck to the lighthouse's windows and walls. Its song of comfort sounded like the sea crashing against the rocks.

The lighthouse started to come loose and tilt against the water.

"'Come with me,' the monster said." My voice wavered. "'Into the deeps where we can be safe and live together.' The lighthouse broke from its perch and sank with the monster under the swells and the white foam to live forever at the bottom of the sea. The end."

Before I could turn the page, the man said, "I'm not sure that's a happy ending."

"Of course, it is. They're together now."

"But the lighthouse was a trick. He thought it was alive."

"Do you think the sea monster didn't know they were different?"

The man lifted his shoulder. "Do you think the sea monster did know?"

"Yes. This sea monster was very intelligent." The painting showed the sea monster hugging the lighthouse. It knew what it was doing.

"Well, I suppose it got what it wanted," the man said. "Read me another one."

We sat in the reading corner for another hour.

Usually, daddies read to their little ones. This was different because I was reading to the daddy. Slowly, all my muscles began to relax. I hadn't realized how tense I was when he walked up, and how tired I'd gotten of turning down propositions. I expected a proposition to come from this man, but it never did. He just wanted the stories.

It wasn't extremely late. The kittycat clock on the wall said eleven-ten. But the man got up and said, "I'm off to find my friend. Thank you for a lovely time."

I blinked up at him. He was back to being so tall again, stretching up to almost touch the ceiling. All I could think to say was, "You're welcome."

I waited for him to ask if he could see me again. Or at least tell me his name. He didn't do either. His jacket shifted on his broad shoulders, and he slowly walked away.

I let my breath out, unaware I'd been holding it.