What happens in Little House, stays in Little House.
When I moved here, I grabbed the first available room in the city…one that was available, thanks to a nasty breakup. The room was fine, the rent reasonable, and my roommate and I got along while allowing me to save up for an apartment of my own. I thought I’d hit the jackpot, until, before I had enough, his ex came crawling back and pushed me out.
To assuage his guilt, my roommate gave me a lead for a room in an older home, one where all the renters were “just like you.” I assumed they meant bi, but after falling in love with the place and giving my deposit, I discovered what they really meant—this was a house full of littles and me? I wasn’t even sure what that meant, not really.
I have two choices, confess or cross my fingers that no one figures it out. I choose the latter. It’s not like I would ever betray their trust or try to ruin their good time. I knew what it was like to be the one not accepted and I wouldn’t wish that on anyone. And besides, the longer I’m here, the more I wonder if maybe I am little after all.
