After he shared his secret with me it was like we both had the same secret. And he started wearing diapers everyday. A nod or a wink to me when we were together and we’d just smile. His frat brothers would roll their eyes and Kevin would just grunt in frustration but it was for us, we knew. That’s when we really started to go everywhere together and he dragged me to a few of his pick-up basketball games. My favorite was knowing under the thin fabric of his shorts was a diaper, a diaper I had put on him. I could tell he was conscious of it, especially when it was shirts vs. skins. I held my breath during those games as I’m sure he did a little himself.
It’s difficult to explain that type of connection between two people, you just feel it. We didn’t talk about the future much. We didn’t talk about our past lives. We lived to be together, to explore together. We became so familiar around each other that our bodies seemed to melt into each other just being in the same room. We’d sit next to each other and think nothing about an affirming touch, an arm around the shoulders as we sat on the couch, a hand on the thigh. We were in love.
There are two types of people we all share secrets with, strangers and close loved ones. To share a secret with a stranger is an unremarkable thing. That’s the power of Confession in a Catholic Church, a dark closet area with a confidant able to hear you but not exactly see you. Sometimes it’s someone on an airplane or bus we will never see again because of the way life works, space and time, the geography of where we live, where we are going, two lives that momentarily intersect.
Sharing a secret with a loved one, well that’s more difficult, because a person intends to keep that loved one close, wants to build a relationship, a future with that person. And so many of our relationships are created for other reasons. My parents got married because my mother got pregnant, so they had many secrets. My grandparents got married because my grandmother wanted out of her life at home taking care of her younger siblings, many more secrets.
I was quite conscious of this as we continued to date, to hang around each other, have certain expectations of each other about fulfilling roles. We became like a balancing act offering encouragement for each other when the other was feeling down, calming each other if one of us got angry. Often we’d just end up in bed, me in my underwear and him in a diaper, and we’d just cuddle together under the blankets. We’d kiss and stroke at each other until we built up some kind of reserve of energy, a reserve of self-esteem that helped us face any challenge.
So even after all that we had been through together, the familiarity of our bodies and touch, the need to be held and affirmed, it was still quite the surprise when one day Brad said he had something he wanted to talk with me about and I knew it was something he was embarrassed about, something he was ashamed to say. It didn’t help that he said this in the morning before we parted ways to go to class. All day I thought just about every thought from him wanting to break up with me to him proposing marriage. He didn’t propose. And we didn’t break up. But I considered each.
By the time we met up in my dorm room after dinner together in the cafeteria I was nervous about what he was going to say. Thankfully my roommate was gone for the weekend. As soon as we entered I wanted to hear it. I wanted to hear what he had to say but it, whatever it was, didn’t seem to be on his mind, so we stripped down and got into bed, pulled a sheet over us. We made small talk about our day, teased each other. I’d pull on his nipple. He’d kiss my hands. I’d rub at the bulge between his legs, familiar now with the feel of the diaper covering his dick. He’d kiss me on the cheek. He put one hand inside my underwear to feel my dick and I wrapped my arm around his side to reach between his cheeks and feel his hole with a probing finger.
We had gotten intimate without achieving orgasm or even the possibility of orgasm when I could tell he wanted to talk. That barrier of shame and embarrassment had been lowered again. He rolled onto his back away from me so I propped myself up on one elbow and looked into his eyes. The room was mostly dark because it was evening and I always kept the drapes closed. He stretched his arms up above his shoulders and put his hands under his head so that I could see the entirety of him, the way his chest rose and fell with each breath. I touched his belly with my free hand, played with his belly button, traced the hairs down to the waist band of his diaper then back up to his ribs. He let out a laugh.
“What’s on your mind?” I asked.
“I don’t know,” he said.
He knew. He knew that I knew he was thinking about something. This would be one of those moments, more dangerous now for all the ways we had become familiar with each other. When we had sex that was one thing. When I dared him to wear a diaper that was another. When we went out on a date that ended with him pissing himself that was even more. If we broke up now it would mean days, weeks, possibly months of mourning the end of our relationship.
“You can tell me,” I said.
I wasn’t sure if I was really ready for it. It was kind of a dare to him and myself. How bad could it be? He was scared of what I might say and do but I wanted to be there for him in all the ways I possibly could, that I knew for sure. He took a deep breath and I saw him wince as if he were about to cry so I knew it was personal and dangerous to confess. I leaned into him, kissed at his chest, kissed at his arm pit until he writhed from being tickled and started to laugh.
“I want to try it, with you,” he said through his laughter, “I want to try losing control, like really losing control.”
I pulled away and looked him in the eye. He stared back and I knew this big jock boy in bed next to me was really afraid. He could explain sex to himself and to others. He could possibly explain the diaper as some kind of experiment. But losing control, giving control over to someone else, that was a powerful thing. In an instant I felt as if I were the one who was going to cry. He trusted me, like really trusted me, and he loved me and I loved him too. I gave him my best coy smile and he smiled back.
“Are we talking about chains and whips here or something else?”
“Something else,” he replied.
“So like, are we talking about you being my sex slave?”
I moved my two fingers up his belly as if my hand was walking up his chest. He giggled a little and I moved my hand over to his armpit as I pressed into him. He grinned and contorted with my touch.
“How about just a personal slave to do my laundry? I really hate picking up after myself. You could do the dishes and sweep the floor.”
“No, you know,” he replied.
“I think I do but I want to hear you say it.”
“I want to like, you know, I can’t say it.”
I kissed and licked at him, got both hands into his armpits and began to tickle him, tickle his sides as I pushed my body over his until my knees were on either side of him, our chests pressed together I kissed at his neck. He squirmed and giggled under me, I felt his knees shifting around.
“Stop it, I have to pee,” he said.
“Oh really,” I replied.
I could feel my hard dick in my underwear pressed against his dick trapped inside his diaper. He pulled his hands out from under his head and tried to grab at my wrists but I had the leverage and I felt like he really didn’t want to stop me. He could have stopped me, by telling me to stop, by forcibly grabbing my arms or pushing at my chest. He outweighed me by about forty pounds of muscle. He had been a wrestler and played basketball regularly. He had all of the advantage physically, but he let me keep winning as I tickled him. His laughter got louder when I found the sweet spots and he twisted under me so that he was on his side then on his chest. His feet fluttered behind me and I grabbed one, tickled it, then grabbed the other and tickled it.
“I’m going to pee,” he said.
I grabbed at his sides, forced my fingers into his pits. He began to breath so heavily, his face smashed into the pillow he turned to one side then the other for air. I kept at him until it finally happened. He pissed himself. The laughter stopped and he suddenly wasn’t so ticklish. I tapped him on the shoulder and motioned for him to roll onto his back so he did. He looked up to me with his big, brown eyes, a single tear rolled down his cheek.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“I’m great,” he said.
“Good, because I’m not done with you,” I replied.
“No?”
“No,” I affirmed.
“What are you going to do to me next?”
I remembered something I had read online a long time ago. It was one of those posts that come up in social media. It might just be perfect for this type of thing.
“Well, with your permission, I’m going to help you feel and understand what it means to really lose control.”
“What are you going to do to me?”
“There’s something I read about on the internet that I wanted to try,” I said.
“What?”
“It involves bananas, a suppository, and a butt plug.”
“Is it going to hurt?”
“I don’t know. You can read about it while I get the supplies,” I said.
He looked up to me with hope and fear in his eyes. I leaned down into him, one hand at the back of his head, fingers in his hair, to pull him into a kiss, my other hand strayed down to his diaper.
“It looks like someone had an accident,” I said between kisses.
“Please,” he said, “I really want this.”
I pulled away from him and looked him in the eye.
“I really want this too,” I said. “I want to do this for you, to you. I can’t explain it but it’s like you’re giving me this power and I’m terrified of screwing it up.”
“We’ll do this together,” he said.
“I’m not sticking a banana up my ass,” I said with a wry smile.
“No, I mean, be there for each other,” he said.
We hugged, then of course he rolled me onto my side and as if just to prove some point he got on top of me and paused for a moment. I could feel the full weight of him as he kissed me and held me down, then he stepped off me and off the bed and walked to the shared bathroom. I looked over to his padded butt, his narrow waist, and muscled back. It wasn’t just his body. I trusted him and I believed he trusted me.
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