Page 4 of Their Little House Boston (Five Little Roommates #3)
Boston
When Ray told me the room for rent was in a large house, I formed a vision of something far smaller than what I walked up to. In its day, the building had probably been a boarding house or some city official home back in the day. The place was absolutely gorgeous and huge.
My initial concern had been that the rooms would be too small to accommodate multiple roommates. Taking in the architecture, I doubted it. The entire neighborhood was dotted with homes from a similar time period but none quite as large as this one.
I took out my phone and snapped a few pictures, thinking that maybe I might research the history. I’d always been fascinated by older buildings and, even if this hadn’t been a potential new place for me, it would’ve caught my eye. Something about the place intrigued me.
I walked up and knocked on the door, skipping the bell, which felt far too modern for the carved masterpiece that was the entrance.
As I waited, my imagination took off, and I envisioned the door being opened by a butler dressed in an old suit from years gone by.
All the stories a building like this could tell.
But instead of the regal employee ready to announce my arrival to the owner of the home, a man about my age opened the door wearing jeans and a random T-shirt from a local restaurant. Far more relatable but not quite as fun.
“You must be Boston.”
I nodded. “I am. Are you the person I’m meeting?”
“Yeah, I’m Monroe. I own this place—well, the bank owns…you know what I mean.”
As he led me inside, he told me about how he inherited the home but had to borrow a lot of money to fix it up. Having roommates was a way to keep the building while not going bankrupt.
“And it’s fun to have people to play with.” He clicked the door behind us and gave me a minute to soak in the atmosphere.
It instantly felt like a home when I walked inside. Maybe not my home but one nonetheless. There was no apartment-complex vibe, so similar to a hotel. People lived here. It wasn’t just a place to sleep.
He toured me through the grand living room and the kitchen that might as well be an entire restaurant compared to what I’d been used to. And then we went upstairs. “This is where you’ll be if you decide to stick around.”
The room was almost as large as my current apartment, if I included the en suite. I could easily set up a workstation, along with my bedroom set and possibly even a couch. Hardly mammoth, but compared to the places I’d been living since I graduated, close enough.
“All the rooms are different in configuration, but to keep things simple, we all pay the same rent. Even me.”
That was interesting. Why would he pay rent to himself? To keep it fair, I supposed. It was nice to know he wasn’t a slumlord—so many of them were sketchy as could be.
“We can go over the rules when we go downstairs. As far as visitors in your room, obviously, we want to keep this safe for everyone, so no one should feel uncomfortable in their own home.”
I agreed with that. I might not be a huge fan of mega-rules, but also—when you lived together, you made compromises.
“Now, I’m sure you’re waiting to see the playroom, so let’s go.”
He hadn’t come across as a big nerd type, where there would be lots of video games or movies to the point they needed their own room, but I was fine checking it out.
I was shocked when he opened the door.
When he said “playroom,” he didn’t mean videogames or Lego. He meant basically something that looked like a nursery from a community center or a church. There were areas of toys, short chairs with tables. It was very much not what I expected.
I nearly asked if there were a lot of single parents who lived here. Thankfully, he cut me off before I put my foot in my mouth.
“You’re allowed to play here whenever you want.
If you want to dress little or dress in your normal clothes while you play, it doesn’t matter.
But there is a schedule in the kitchen if you want to have a daddy or a mommy come play with you.
We really try to limit those times, again so people feel comfortable. ”
It took me a second to process—this wasn’t a playroom for children. This was a playroom for people who were into kink. Specifically age-play kink.
I didn’t know a lot about it, but it seemed pretty harmless as far as preferences went. I never yucked on anyone’s yum, but I’d be lying if I said I was comfortable with blood or air play around me. Age play? Definitely not a deal-breaker.
“Do a lot of people use this area?”
“Of course. And if someone’s in here, feel free to join. Part of the reason we only rent to littles is so that everyone feels comfortable.”
Wait—they only rented to littles? Was that who Ray thought I was when he said there were “people like me”? Did he think I was little?
I wasn’t. And I wasn’t sure why he thought that. It didn’t offend me or anything, but it was a bit confusing.
The right thing to do would be to leave. Tell him I was sorry I made a mistake and go.
But I had two days to vacate my apartment, and I was a safe person. I’d never be cruel or unkind about anything that happened here, and I for sure wouldn’t tell anybody.
Maybe sticking around until I could get my own place wasn’t the worst idea. There was no rule that said I had to be playing in this room. At least, not that I’d gotten indication of yet. I could come home, stay in my room, mind my business, and then, when it was time to move on, move on.
It was far from ideal, but I already loved this house, and I could see myself being friends with Monroe.
Although…are you really friends if you lie about who you are?
Crap. This was a harder decision than I thought it would be.
“Let’s go downstairs and review the rules.”
“Sounds good.”
Maybe the rules would hold the answers I needed and let me know if I could do this…or if it was time to find one of those long-stay motels. The kind where you had to jimmy a chair under the door handle in the hopes of keeping safe at night. I hoped it was option A. I really liked this place.