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Eventually, I grab the washcloth and clean our bodies again, before shutting off the shower and reaching for both the towelsfrom under the basin. I wrap mine around my waist and use the other to dry Benji off from head to toe, quietly reveling in how pliant and soft he seems post-orgasm.

“Want to cuddle and watch cartoons for a bit?” I ask once he’s dressed, and he blinks back at me.

“You don’t have to stay.”

It’s hard not to frown. Outside of the fact that I want to stay, has this Boy never heard of aftercare? “I want to,” I tell him, adding, “if you’re comfortable with that.”

Benji sits on the edge of the bed and, for half a second, I think he’s going to tell me that he wants me to leave, but then he nods cautiously and says, “I think I’d like it.”

Something inside me loosens, and I didn’t realize that I’d tensed up at all until it does. Smiling, I reply, “Good.” Then I tug on my boxer briefs and my t-shirt, leaving my shorts discarded in the pile of soiled laundry to deal with later.

After grabbing a couple of bottles of water from the bar fridge in the kitchenette, I climb onto the bed, leaning against the headboard beside Benji with our legs stretched out in front of us. A moment later, I lift the tv remote from the bedside table. The wall-mounted tv is only small, but it’s enough for the room, and when I press the power button, the screen opens to the all-hours kid’s channel. I don’t recognize the show, but it doesn’t matter, it’s not for me.

I stretch my arm out in invitation as I settle back against the pillows and headboard and Benji snuggles into my side, letting out a soft, satisfied sigh.

On the tv, cartoon animals are preparing for a birthday party, and I listen to their high-pitched voices debating cake flavors while I process this afternoon’s events. They were unexpected, unplanned, and under negotiated, but I personally feel so much better for having indulged in the impromptu play. It’s been a while since I’ve felt challenged by a Boy, and being sassed and having my boundaries pushed kind of feels like working old muscles that haven’t seen much use lately.

“Thank you for today,” I eventually find myself saying, around about the point the animals start to hand out party hats on screen. “I hadn’t realized how badly I needed a scene like that.” After a beat, I ask, “How do you feel after everything?”

I’ve only known him for a few hours, but even I can see that the Boy cuddled up to my side is much more mellow than the one who sauntered into my painting activity. He picks uphis bottle of water, cracks the lid and takes a sip, then hisses happily before putting the bottle back on his bedside table. Then he answers, “Still kind of floaty, honestly. I’m not used to the scene lasting so long, I guess.”

“Is it okay that it did? Or do you prefer shorter scenes?”

“It’s not usually something I’ve controlled, I guess. But I really liked it.”

It’s hard for me to ask my follow-up questions diplomatically, because I can’t help feeling like his experiences haven’t been completely fair to him. Any Daddy worth his salt should be making sure that their Little or Middle’s needs are the focus of any scene play. But then, I obviously can’t know how he and the Daddies he’s played with before have negotiated their scenes.

So, instead of pushing on the topic, I just say, “I’m glad you did.”

It feels unsatisfactory to leave it like that, though.

A few seconds later, because I can’t help myself after all, I blurt, “Would you want to do longer scenes more often if you had the chance?”

Benji hums thoughtfully. His fingers toy with the fabric of my shirt, playing over my soft pecs, but I don’t think he realizes he’s doing it. It’s cute. “If there was a Daddy who wanted more than a quick bratting scene, yeah.”

What? What does that mean?

“Can you explain that to me? Like…how do you know they only want quick scenes?”

He shrugs and I look down to find him studiously staring at the tv, the bright colors reflecting off his irises. “Because I’m kind of…I don’t know…stuck between being Little and Middle, most Daddies I’ve met up with are kind of into one or the other, and, well, I think I just scratch an itch for a scene or two, y’know? It’s hard to explain. I just…” He lets out a short, exasperated breath. Something inside me twists at the sound. “I don’t really click with them, maybe. So, we agree to short, specific scenes to get the bare basics of what we need and that’s that.”

Oh, honey.

I don’t say the words aloud, but I do cuddle him just a bit tighter. “If that’s working for you, that’s great, but…and I might be overstepping here, so tell me if I am…I get the feeling you’re not being fair to yourself and what you need, and there’s nothing wrong with asking for what you need, Benji. A Daddy who cares will give you that.”

He snorts. “I go to kink clubs, Kris.” The sudden use of my name without any playful title alongside it is jarring, but he continues and I force myself to listen. “Sure, there are some people going to these clubs looking fora connection” —I don’t need to look at him to see the eyeroll— “but most guys just want to get off. Have a good time. No strings attached. Hell, most of the time, I am one of those guys.”

I don’t know that I believe him, but I can see his walls coming back up, and I feel bad for having pushed the topic, even if gently. He seemed so sweet and soft in his post-scene headspace, after all.

But I’m not his Daddy. I, like the guys from the clubs, am just a once-off scene partner. I need to trust that he knows what he wants and what he is comfortable with.

So, I smile and offer him a light laugh. “Yeah, okay, fair enough. I guess I’m still in my Daddy feels right now. Sorry.”

He softens again at that. Just a little. His shoulders loosen back up and he says, “Don’t be.”

And that seems to be the end of the matter.

I should probably let it go, but later, when I’m sprawled out on top of the bed in my own cabin, I have to be honest with myself: I don’t think it’s going to be quite that simple.