Act Your Age: Worse Than A Hangover

Simon, a directionless 20 year old living with his parents and attending community college, is sitting on his porch one lazy day when he spots Grant a new next door neighbor.  Grant is handsome, older, and successful.  Simon is attracted to the older man, wants to start a relationship but Grant has just gotten out of a long-term relationship with a man and isn’t ready for commitment.  

Worse, he sees Simon as too young, too impulsive, and misbehaved, but when Simon won’t give up Grant challenges him to a little discipline.

I woke up to the feeling of being mostly naked, face down, and in a stranger’s bedroom.  For a moment I thought I had crashed in a bedroom at the party or else someone from the party had taken me home.  I shifted and something felt strange down there, on my crotch and on my ass.  It felt like briefs but tighter and thicker.  I rolled onto my back and sat up against the wall.  I looked to my crotch where I saw to my utter humiliation that I was wearing a diaper.  I poked it.  I ran my finger around its edges.

At first I thought it was some kind of prank or hazing joke but then I looked around the room and saw that it was not a young person’s room.  It was more like a guest room.  That was when I remembered calling Grant.  He had to have put me in the diaper.  That meant he had seen me naked.  I felt myself shift in the diaper.  I reached inside to find that I had been powdered. 

Not just diapered but wiped down and powdered.  I thought about him looking at my pink asshole, holding up my legs by my ankles.  I thought about my flaccid cock.  It was average, nothing to be embarrassed about but there was a knot in my stomach that wasn’t from the alcohol or the hangover because I knew this was no simple punishment.

I looked around for my clothes but I didn’t see them so I got out of bed and rubbed at my head as I made my way out of the room and down the hallway.  I was in Grant’s house and mostly naked, well a diaper, and he had seen me naked after all.  But I was unconscious, I told myself.  It was a mixture of feeling like I had never felt before and I rubbed at my tummy to try and ease the feeling there.

The house felt empty, too quiet.  I went to the living room first, to his office, then finally looked out the side window to where I should have been able to see his car but it wasn’t there.  I wanted something to drink.  I headed to the refrigerator where I saw the note.  It was like so many notes my parents had left for me, written out in blue ink on lined paper and stuck there with clear tape.

I went to the store to get some groceries and run some errands.  Your clothes are in the dryer.  You made quite a mess last night and we need to talk.  - Grant

I opened the refrigerator door and saw a bottle of lime soda with only a little left inside as well as a box of pizza.  I took both and walked over to the couch where I sat.  I opened the box, took out one of the last two pieces and had a bite before putting it back in the box.  Sitting back I chewed away as I adjusted myself inside my diaper.  How long would he be gone?  Would I have enough time to get dressed?  I thought about getting my clothes but I wasn’t sure how dry they would be.  I leaned forward and took hold of the bottle.

Everything I was doing felt rude and arrogant but there was little else for me to do.  I’d clean up, I told myself.  I drank straight from the bottle and leaned back against the couch, setting it between my thighs which felt kind of weird.  I scratched at myself and burped.  I was getting comfortable.  I wanted to crawl up there under a blanket and take a nap.  I was about to find something, go back to the bedroom if I needed, when his car pulled into the driveway and parked in its usual spot.  I thought about taking everything back to the refrigerator but it was too late.  I had been caught.

I heard him on the porch, at the front door, and finally his key as he unlocked it.  He opened the door and stood there with a bag of groceries in his hands.  They were from the gourmet store.  He set them on the coffee table, shook his head before he headed back out.  I got up and walked to the doorway.  I thought about going out to help him but the diaper was too much.  Maybe if I had a shirt, I told myself.  He came back carrying two bags and I moved out of his way, back to the couch where I looked inside the bag he had previously set down.  I found a box of cookies on top.  They were chocolate chips and already open.  I smiled as I took them out and got a few.  I sat down and listened.

“Would you bring the bag in here?”

I grunted and sighed as I got up and grabbed the bag.  I carried it to him, set it on the counter but he didn’t look at me and instead focused on putting everything away.  I watched him, moved to the small table there, leaned against it slightly.  I wanted to apologize.  I wanted to say that I would clean everything up, replace anything that had been ruined but I thought about the chair in his car which was not easy to do.  I needed another way out and I thought about our agreement.  He was going to punish me.  It wasn’t my decision to make about what would be a good recompense.

“You screwed up pretty bad last night,” he said.  “I think you should be commended for calling me to come pick you up but I didn’t think I would ever find you the way you were.  You weren’t just drunk.  You were sick.”

He finished by placing the spaghetti noodles in the cupboard and turned to me, leaned against the counter.  He crossed his arms.  I could tell, I felt, that it was more than anger and sadness.  He was disappointed.  My shoulder tensed at knowing what he felt.  I had pissed myself.  I had pissed myself in his car while he was driving me home.  I felt the diaper on me and it felt a million times larger.  I felt as if I was shrinking.  I wanted to shrink.

“I had too much,” I said.

“Well, that’s going to be the last time for a long time.  No more drinking.”

“Okay,” I said.

“No video games, you’re limited on television hours, and internet privileges.  We’ll figure out hours and schedule later.  And you should be punished.”

There was a knot in my stomach and another in my throat.  I swallowed to try and make them go away.  I had never been through several punishments before.  I had been spanked, had a time out, grounded, but all at once.  I lifted my foot and scratched at my other leg.  He stared at me.

“I agree,” I said.

“Good,” he said.  “Come to the guest room after you clean up your mess in the living room.”

He walked past me, walked away, out through the house.  I wanted to follow after him right away, plead with him, and not give him time to get ready.  But he had had the whole night and morning to think about my punishment while I was sleeping.  I decided to do what he said.  I cleaned up the living room, then I headed to the bedroom.  He had drawn back the curtains to let in the light.  I looked to see if I could see anything outside, if anyone could see me through the window.

He signaled for me to come to him.  I walked to him, sat where he pointed, leaned back until my legs were in the air.  He unfastened the diaper and I felt like I was the most vulnerable I had ever been with him.  He wiped away the powder and any oil with a moist towelette, dried me. 
He retrieved a wooden paddle from the desk.  Eight, maybe ten inches in length, three or maybe four inches in width, and about a quarter of an inch thick.  I had seen it around but he hadn’t ever used it on me previously.  He held up my legs and I knew from my reading that this was rated as the most painful spanking position.

“Don’t worry about saying anything.  I’m not going to lecture you.  I have another punishment for you.”

I gulped.  He swung and hit me.  I felt it and barely had time to recover when he struck me again.  My hole was exposed, my balls and dick against my belly, he tilted me a little more.  Two more strikes in quick succession and I let out a howl.  I knew from my previous punishments that I could be pretty loud without getting the attention of neighbors but I always tried to restrain myself.  I hated the idea of explaining myself to cops.  He struck me but it didn’t feel as painful.  I thought the worst was over.  Then he struck me in a new spot.  I grunted.  He continued to work over my ass, my thighs, back and forth until I began to sob and he stopped.

“Alright young man get up,” he said.

He released my ankles and my feet fell to the floor.  I had a chubby.  I wanted to play with myself.  I was tempted to rub it a little as I sat up but I didn’t have time because he grabbed me by the ear and pulled me from the bed.  He led me to the desk where I spotted the hard wooden chair.  I thought he wanted me in a new position.

“Sit,” he said.

I tried to look at him but he had my ear.

“Please,” I said.

“Sit,” he ordered.

I sat.  The chair was hard, flat.  It pressed against my skin in all the wrong places, or maybe the right places.  He let go of my ear and I looked to where he set down the paddle.  Just in front of it was lined paper and a pen.

“I want you to write lines, fifty times, and then you’re going to compose a paragraph apologizing to me for getting so drunk, but remember I am proud you called, happy you made it home safe, and I don’t want you to think you can’t ever call me again.  It’s just that, well, what you did was very dangerous.”

I shifted on the seat which was already sticking to me.  My skin tingled in new places.  I moved forward a little, my thighs separated and my balls hung free.  There wasn’t as much contact area with my skin but I could feel the chair cutting across my thighs in a vicious line.

“Pick up the pen and get ready to write,” he said.

I did.

“Write ‘I will never binge drink again.  I will be responsible when I drink.’ Now write that forty-nine more times.  Don’t forget the paragraph afterwards.  When you’re done come find me because I want you to read it to me.”

I looked up to him.  I squinted through the pain and my hangover.  I was in pain.  It was a kind of pain no one my age would have voluntarily endured, no one my age would have thought they would feel.  It was a special pain.  It was my pain.  I was going to endure it.  I was going to sit there and do just what he said.  Maybe there was a lesson for me to learn after all.

Amateur Doesn't Mean New (Excerpt)

After a few hours more guys were on the bench with me than waiting to wrestle but I didn’t talk to them much.  Just a comment here and there until one guy stepped up to wrestle Chester, an oafish looking guy clearly above his weight class I thought Chester would lose easily but his speed and strength were too much for the larger man.  I found myself laughing harder at the situation until finally Chester was literally running circles around the guy, teasing him by slapping his ass and back.

The other guys thought it was funny but at some point Chester and I locked eyes and he signaled for me to quiet down but I couldn’t.  I found myself wanting to be defiant so I started making wise cracks to the other guys not just about the guys ability but his size and that was when Chester stopped the match and came over to where I sat.

“I didn’t see you out there all night.  What about it?  Are you man enough?  I know you got the balls, I can see that clearly but maybe those are just for show.”

I swallowed hard and looked him in the eye.  I wanted to bash him right there.  I wanted to jump him, get on top of him, and start hitting him but I stopped myself from acting.  It wasn’t just that he was a great wrestler and maybe, probably could have sent me to the floor, or that he was right because I hadn’t wrestled anyone the whole night, but what he said reached all the way back to my childhood.

“So what about it?  Did you wear that uniform just to show off your big dick or are you going to get out here and wrestle someone?”

I smiled, opened my mouth to speak, and leaned back.  I looked round to the other guys who looked back at me seriously, too seriously.

“I’m not, I mean, I would but you know.  Everyone else seemed to have a partner and it was... I don’t know.”

“You’re making excuses.  How many of you were new tonight?”

I felt motion around me, looked to see five guys all with their hands in the air.  I felt my face warm.  I wanted to walk away, get my stuff and leave but I felt the shoes on my feet, the material around my thighs, pulling at my shoulders, the way air hit my ribs and sides.  I had worn this, come here for a purpose.

Okay, I thought, he’s challenging me.  I thought about how he had been with all the other guys then I thought about how he might be tired, the size of him.  Maybe I would get lucky, maybe he would go easy on me, or maybe I could challenge someone else.

“Who?” I asked.

“Me,” he answered.

I shook my head.

“Come on, get out here or else you’ll be a chicken.  Maybe we should tar and feather you, march you around campus.”

“Come on,” I said.  He was joking.  Wasn’t he?

They laughed but he got serious and then I heard someone point out his change in demeanor then laugh harder.  I stood.  They started to howl and cheer, clap, hands patted me on the back, my ass.

“Go get ‘em tiger,” Ed said in my ear.

I stepped down from the bleachers and Chester turned with me, directed me out to the empty mat, followed me.  Everyone got down and formed a ring around us as we moved together to the center of the mat.  He smiled a little and I smiled back but his face got serious again.  He had the best poker face I had seen in years.  This wasn’t just a regular match.  This was personal somehow.

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