Trading Post

February: Cupid 1. Honestly, I feel that I’m warming up to Starbright University. The class sizes seem good, the professors seem knowledgeable and attentive, and the campus itself has a lot of resources, without feeling too spread out or overwhelming.  All things considered, I’m feeling optimistic for a change. It’s a little too soon to say that I’m feeling good, but this is about as good as I’ll let myself feel for the time being. Sure, I’m currently living out of the female dorms with a cute new female roommate–and I have yet to fully wrap my head around that conundrum, but on most days it’s easy to keep it ‘out of sight, out of mind,’ while I distract myself with schoolwork. When I am in the dorm, Billie and I seem to get along pretty well. We like to tease each other a lot–well, she likes to tease me, and I just laugh it off, but it’s a system that works for us. I spend most of my time at the campus library, both for research purposes and just as a place to escape to while Billie’s watching god-knows-what on her phone or laptop. Plus, I just like books. I like learning and reading–it’s my comfort zone. I even have a favorite table in the study area–it has a nice view out of the west-facing window, down a hill to Lake Apricot, which the campus borders on one side. This is my happy place. Which is why, on a miserable, snowy Tuesday afternoon, I let out a disgusted groan after I’ve trudged across campus in my heavy boots and thick jacket, only to find someone else sitting at my table. It’s the sort of thing that I can’t really be mad about–there’s plenty of tables here to choose from–all of them vacant on account of the day’s weather–with a few of them even offering the same view out the west-facing window. But that’s beside the point. Of all the tables this interloper could’ve picked, they chose that table? My table? I may not be confrontational enough to storm over to the table and give this stranger a piece of my mind–not that they deserve any of my scorn–but I’m feeling bratty enough that I’m not especially subtle as I stomp my way over to a nearby table and make a big production of taking of my jacket, scarf, gloves, and hat and tossing them on the table’s surface. By the time I finally sit down with a book cracked open, I’m feeling a little silly. There probably wasn’t any need for me to get so huffy about a stupid table. “It is a good seat, I’ll give you that,” a voice to my left says. I turn towards it, finding that it belongs to the young man sitting in my seat. He has dark, messy hair that’s swept to the side, and the faintest amount of dark stubble on his face. He’s wearing an impossibly tight sweater that almost looks like it’s painted on his body. I’ve never been all that interested in men before–not like that–though I get the feeling that he’s someone the world at large would consider to be quite attractive. That smile? Those big blue eyes? Charming, for sure. “So, then, you know that I usually sit there?” I ask, my tone a little snottier than I’d like. He laughs. “Afraid so. Truth be told, I’m a little embarrassed to have been caught. I was thinking that on a day like today, you wouldn’t show up, and that this seat would be mine for the taking.” I shrug. “A little snow isn’t going to keep me away from the library.” “Lesson learned,” he says, smiling again. “You’ve…seen me here before, have you?” I ask. “Mm.” He nods. “I’m here just as often as you are. Though I suppose you don’t see me because you’re here before I am. By the time I arrive, you’ve got your face in a book, or you’re gazing out the window. See, I usually sit over there…” He points to a table closer to the center of the room. “It’s nothing special, but I kind of like a more centralized location. Closer to everything, you know?” “I guess,” I say. “Though I think I’d still prefer a seat with a view.” “I figured,” he says, adding in a little chuckle. “That’s why I decided to sit here today when I saw the seat was vacant. I wanted to see what you liked so much about it.” “And?” I ask. “What do you think?” “Hard to say on a snowy day like this,” he says, rubbing his chin. “I may need to sit here on a day with nicer weather.” “Right, well, you’ll just have to beat me to the table, then,” I say. “Because now I’m definitely going to make sure to get here even earlier, every day.” “You know,” he says, his fingers drumming on the table now, “we could just share the table.” “With all these other vacant tables around? Seems impractical. I like my space.” “Ah, yes. I have noticed that you seem to like spreading out.” My eyes narrow. “Do you come here to study for school? Or do you come here to study me?” “Ooh, good question,” he says. “How flustered would you get if I said that I’m studying you?” I ponder this question for a moment. I’ve never had anyone ask me something like this before, especially not another man. “M-maybe I could nip whatever’s happening here in the bud by just letting you know that I don’t swing that way?” He let out a laugh, a joyous and song-like “Ha ha!” as he leaned back in his chair, lifting the front two legs of it off the floor. “And what way do you think it is that I swing?” “You’re…hitting on me,” I say. “Right?” It occurs to me that I’m way out of my element. “Actually, I have no idea what’s happening right now.” “See? Flustered. And I hate to break it to you, but it’s a cute look for you.” “So you’re gay?” “I’m a lot of things,” he says, shrugging. “I never really liked ‘gay,’ myself. Feels too hindered by societal expectations, you know what I mean?” “Not really.” “I’m not hitting on you,” he says. “I’m just curious about you, that’s all.” “Curious? Me? Why?” He shrugs again. “You ever see someone and you just think: Gosh, I wish I knew what that person’s deal is?” “Not really.” “Well I do that from time to time. And you–you caught my eye. My name is Patrick, by the way. And you are…? Uh, wait, hold up. Let me guess.” I sigh, already annoyed about how this conversation’s going to go. “You don’t have to do that. I can just tell you that my name is…” “No, no. Give me three guesses.” “Fine.” “Jack.” I shake my head. “Do you really think I look like a Jack?” “Jacks are tricky,” he says. “Some names have a look, you know? But I’ve never met two Jacks that share similar qualities.” I struggle to think of more than one Jack I’ve ever met in my life, and as best as I can recall, he seemed to personify a ‘Jack.’ “Try again.” “Next guess: Alfie.” I roll my eyes. “You’re not even trying. That’s a ridiculous name.” “Hey,” he says. “Someone out there is named ‘Alfie,’ right?” “Well, it’s certainly not me. You have one more guess, and then I’m just going to tell you. And after that, I should probably get to studying.” “Right,” he says. “One more guess. Now, let me get a good look at you here…”  He turns his body towards me more and stares at me for a few moments, really seeming to drink me in. It’s hard to take him seriously while he appears to be analyzing me like he is, but I give him his moment. Strangely, it’s slightly flattering to have this attention from a stranger. This sort of thing never happens to me.  “Alright,” he finally says. “I think I got it.” I sigh, already bracing myself for how wrong it’s going to be. “Sure, sure. And what did you come up with?” “Courtney, right?” My heart sinks and my mouth hangs open for a moment. “How the fuck…?” He bursts into laughter, going so far as to slap his knee. “Oh man. You should’ve seen the look on your face!” “Wh-what do you mean? I don’t get it.” He reaches into his own bookbag on the table, rifling around in it before he pulls out a piece of paper and hands it to me. It’s a letter from the school administration, talking about credits that were transferred to this school from my last one. It’s a letter I received and read a week ago, but had forgotten about since. “I watched you drop this from out of your bag the other day while you were here. You didn’t notice and just left, so I went and grabbed it. I figured I’d see you again, and I’d just give it to you then. And, here we are.” I sighed, wagging a finger at him. I’m annoyed, but I’m also kind of amused. I’m also a little relieved that it was just a piece of paper that had fallen out of my bag and not the diaper I keep in there for emergencies. “You…you’re a real son of a bitch, you know that?  “I get that a lot,” he says, shrugging.  “And, uh, it’s just Court,” I say.  “Just Court,” he repeats. “Noted. And I’m Just Patrick. A pleasure to meet you.” He extends a hand towards me and I shake it.  2. Back in Maple Hall, on the third floor en route to my room, I pass by Zoey in the hallway. Given the direction she’s walking, her blushing cheeks, her sheepish smile, and her messy hair, I’m going to go ahead and guess that I just barely missed catching her and Billie in the act of canoodling. One would think, by now, that the two of them would be a little more careful about not letting themselves be caught with their pants down, since they know I’m liable to walk through the door at any moment. And yet, at least twice a week, I open the door to find them coiled around each other in a state of undress–prompting them to scramble to find their clothes and quickly reassemble themselves. When I walk into the dorm room today, I find Billie sitting on her bed, fully dressed, with her legs crossed and a book in her hands like she’s reading it. Of course, she’s not fooling me–her cheeks are still bright red, her lipstick is smeared, her hair is as messy as Zoey’s was, and the book she’s holding is upside down. “Oh hey,” she says. “How was the library? That’s where you were, right? Everything’s cool here. I was just…reading.” “I passed by Zoey in the hallway,” I say, smirking at her. “And do you even know what book you’re ‘reading’?” She looks at the book in her hands, letting out a little laugh as she turns it around. “Whoops.” “The two of you have a good time?” Billie ditches the book and gives a cloying shrug. “Oh, you know…we were just studying…” “Bullshit.” “Studying…each other’s bodies.” “When are you going to make an honest woman out of Zoey and marry her?” She snorts and shakes her head. “No labels. We’re adamant about that. We just want to have fun.” I look towards my bed, seeing a pink sock dangling from the end of it. “Is that yours or Zoey’s?” “Hm. Well…I wasn’t wearing socks today, so…” “You guys weren’t, like, on my bed today, were you?” “Briefly,” Billie says. “I swear…just for, like, a second.” “Do I need to wash the sheets or anything?” “No! What do you think we were doing? Expressing our anal glands on your bed like we were dogs?” I wrinkled my nose at this and shook my head. “That’s a mental image I never need in my head again.” “So, for reals,” she says, “how was your day?” Classic Billie, trying to change the subject when she feels embarrassed about talking about her own hijinks. “I made a friend, I think,” finally peeling off all my layers. “A friend? Who?” “His name is Patrick. Met him at the library.” “I think I know a Patrick,” she says, mostly to herself. “Is he cute?” “That’s usually not really my department…” “Oh come on, don’t be like that.” “It’s not important! I don’t judge my friends on their comeliness!” “Okay but, like, pretend you’re me. Do you think I’d want to…cum-liness all over–” “Stop,” I say, sighing. “Besides, I’m pretty sure he’s not your type. I think he’s gay.” I’m reminded of the fact that Patrick specifically said that he didn’t like ‘gay,’ but I still think it’s safe to say that the guy isn’t straight. Billie lets out an excited little squeak. “You should invite him to the party!” “What…party?” “Did I not tell you? Some people I know are throwing a Valentine’s Day party on Friday at their apartment off campus and we’re going!” “When you say…we…” “Oh, come on, Court. You have to go with me. I don’t want to go by myself!” “What about Zoey?” “Can’t make it–she’s going to see her folks this weekend. Hence why we have to get all our kissing out of our system now.” “Right,” I sigh. “But…that’s bold of you to think that I would want to go to a party full of strangers.” “A stranger is just a friend you haven’t made yet.” I roll my eyes. “Please, Court? Please? I hardly ever ask for anything…” “That’s not true at all! You asked me to stay here and be your roommate and not switch rooms with Carmen! Just this morning you asked me to scratch your butt with a pencil because you couldn’t get the right angle with your finger.” “And you were a good friend for doing that. But…please, Court. I need a wingman. A sidekick. An accomplice.” “I don’t know…” “Besides…I have this idea…” I nervously swallow, already sure that I won’t like whatever it is. “What kind of idea?” “Well…what if I asked you to lend me one of your…diapers?” “Lend? Why on earth would you need one of those?” “Okay, hear me out–how fucking adorable would it be if I went to the party…get this…dressed like fucking Cupid?” “Are you being serious right now? I honestly can’t tell if this is a bit or not.” “I’m being serious! Zoey’s got these little angel wings you strap on your back from some Halloween costume, so I figure I’ll wear those and one of your diapers and then, like, some little dress or something, I don’t know, and–” “Wait. Did you tell Zoey that you were going to wear a diaper?” “Of course. And she totally agrees–she thinks it’s going to be the cutest thing ever.” “Right, right. But, uh, did you tell her where you were getting the diaper from? Like…you didn’t say that I was going to give you a diaper, did you?” “Oh,” she says, as if the thought had never occurred to her now. “No…I don’t think so.” “You don’t think so?” She shrugs. “I mean, it didn’t come up. But I know I didn’t say anything like: “Oh, by the way, I’m totally going to wear one of Court’s diapers.”” “You’re sure about that? Because…I’d really rather not have Zoey–or anyone else know…” “Trust me,” she says. “She doesn’t know. Besides, she’s even more air-headed than I am. She’s not thinking about where I’m getting a diaper from.” “Sure…” “So? Can I have one of your diapers?” “I…I don’t know.” “Please? Pretty please? I promise that nobody will ever know that it’s one of your diapers. They’ll just see me as the cutest little Cupid who ever lived. I’ll steal the show, you know?” I sigh, throwing my hands up in the air. “Yeah, I guess. If that’s what you really want.” “Oh you’re the best!”  Before I can stop her, she’s running at me, throwing her arms around me to give me a tight hug. Maybe I ought to lend people my diapers more often? Still, I find it kind of funny that I’m always so paranoid about anyone seeing my diapers, or even knowing about them–and here she is, excited to proudly flaunt one in public. At a party. In front of countless strangers.  I think she’s insane. But also? I can’t deny it–the idea of her in a diaper is every bit as adorable as she claims it’ll be. So cute, in fact, that I think I’m actually excited to go to this shindig–if only to see this outfit in action. Maybe even, I tell myself, it’ll be good to see how others react to seeing someone wearing a diaper. Call it science. 3. Somewhere along the way, in the years that I’ve been relegated to diapers at night, I stumbled into the online world of ‘adult babies’ and ‘diaper lovers’–things I never would’ve guessed existed before I tried searching for other people suffering from the same problems that I had. At first, I was kind of offended by the very concept of people getting off on the thing that shamed me the most. These people were clueless on how isolating it could sometimes feel to have this powderkeg of a secret that could blow up at any moment and destroy whatever social standing you had. I’m not sure which came first, the desire to make something fun and exciting out of my secret, or my attraction to cute women clad in diapers and baby attire–but I slowly came around on the whole thing. Never once have I considered myself to be an ‘adult baby,’ though I found it kinda hot, conceptually. Maybe someday, if I met the right person, I’d let them ‘baby’ me while I kicked my little feet in the air and called them ‘Mommy.’ For the time being, my interests were relegated to a carefully curated list of bookmarks on my laptop, and a semi-hidden folder of saved images and stories. It was an interest that’s always felt contained and controlled.  And then Billie had to come along with her whole ‘Cupid’ idea–sounding genuinely committed to the idea of traipsing around in public in a diaper. Now? That’s the only goddamned thing I can think about.  I hear her over there in her bed, in these dark early morning hours, gently snoring. She sometimes talks in her sleep too, I’ve learned. Never full-on conversations, usually just an incoherent stream of babble, or just a word or two. It’s kind of cute, the way she’ll just suddenly say “frogs!” before going back to her calmer sleeping sounds. I was tempted to bring it to her attention once, but I opted not to, figuring it’d be better if I didn’t make her feel bad or self-conscious about it. I think I’d want her to do the same for me if she caught me doing something embarrassing while I slept. Alas, as I’m quite sure she’s sleeping, I slowly slide a hand down the front of my diaper and grasp my erection. I have as many blankets piled on top of me as I can to help muffle the sound of my crinkling diaper, which I have to assume is doing the trick because I can’t hear anything myself. While this isn’t the first time I’ve jerked off in my diaper while Billie sleeps a few feet from me, this would be the first time I’ve done it while thinking about her, specifically. It feels creepy and wrong–like I’m somehow violating her with my thought-crime. I try to reason with myself, breaking it down to see if I can find a reason why this is actually a bad thing to do, but I can’t come up with a reason good enough to stop. Of course, there’s a good chance I’m biased towards just wanting to keep going. Billie. In a diaper. Oh that’s good stuff. Billie, sucking her thumb. Billie, playfully biting her bottom lip while she blushes. Billie, dropping down to her hands and knees and crawling towards me. Billie, looking up at me, big-eyed and lips trembling. “Daddy,” she says, “I think I went pee-pee in my diapy.” Fuck. This scenario only works in my fantasies, I think. For one, even if Billie wants to wear a diaper, I just don’t see her as the type to act all pathetic and needy. Also, I just don’t think I’d be a very good ‘daddy.’ I’m not the caregiver type–I’m the one who needs to be cared for. But whatever. Right now, with my eyes closed and my hand stroking myself, this mental image is doing a lot of work. Enough work that I manage to shoot my load into my padding–and all over my hand, which I’m less thrilled with, but I’ll deal with it. Even if I wake up tomorrow in a soggy diaper, I think, it’ll be nice to be reminded that it’s also holding the climax I had thinking about Billie like this. A few minutes later, as I finally drift to sleep, my last thoughts are of whether or not Billie has ever masturbated while thinking about me. I highly doubt it, but I kind of hope she has–if only as to even the metaphoric battlefield. 4. At the library on Wednesday, my table is vacant and I take it. While I do get a good amount of reading and working in, I spend more time than I’d care to admit looking around for Patrick. I’m not sure if it’s actually because I want to talk to him again, or if it’s just because I want to know if he’s out there, watching me study.  I still haven’t seen him by the time I’m packing up my bag to leave for the day. You can be sure that I check around my area to make sure that I haven’t dropped anything, like pieces of paper with my name on it or diapers.  I think I’m a little disappointed that I haven’t seen him, though I can’t be certain why that is. Maybe there’s a part of me that just likes being so interesting to someone else that they spend their time watching what I do. As I walk out of the library, seeing a placard on the wall stating that the library was founded in 1919, a shudder runs down my skin. I imagine that, one day, I go up to one of the librarians and ask if they’ve seen someone around that matches Patrick’s description–at which time they’d laugh and say that it sounds like I’m describing a boy who had died on campus 40 years ago. 5. “You’re absolutely, positively certain that you want to do this?” I ask. “For the bajillionth time, yes,” Billie sighs. “Gimme the damn diaper!” I pull out the folded up padding from behind my back and present it to her. Even though she’s the one who wants to wear the diaper, everything about this moment embarrasses me and makes my cheeks warm. It’s my diaper she’s taking, and I have to hold it in my hand. I have to watch her take it and then hold it in her own hands. I have to watch her eyes grow large as she inspects it–no doubt she’s amazed by how big and thick it is. I can just tell that she wants to make a comment about it, but is biting her tongue. “Thank you,” she says at last. “Now then, are you going to help me put it on?” “Wh-what? That wasn’t part of the deal…” “Oh, come on now,” she says, laughing. “You’re telling me that you don’t want to see me on my back with my pants down?” I laugh nervously, instinctively taking a small step away from her. Thank god I was already blushing from handling my diaper in front of her. “I don’t think you want that either.” “Calm down, I’m just teasing,” she says, shrugging. “I’ll get Zoey to do it. She used to babysit little kids, you know? I know she knows her way around a diaper. I don’t know if I totally buy that she was just joking–I wonder what she would’ve said if I agreed. Probably best that we’ll never know now. “Look, if you’re going to get Zoey involved…” “I know, I know,” she sighs. “I promise that I won’t tell her where I got the diaper from. If she asks, I’ll say I…stole it from a retirement home.” “Billie…” “Look, I don’t know anything about diapers. Where does someone even buy something like this? The store?” “That kind of diaper? You’d have to order them online.” “Is that where you get yours?” “My, uhm, Mom does, yeah.” The smirk on her face before she opens her mouth suggests that she has something real snarky to say, but she seems to bail on that plan at the last moment. “Alright, well, I’ll think of something. Don’t worry, you’re in the clear.” Tonight’s looming party had me on edge in just about every way possible. I’d never really been to a ‘college party’ before. Hell, outside of family gatherings, I’d never really been to any parties before. If those sorts of things were happening while I was in high school, nobody ever told me about it. It didn’t have to be a ‘party’ to make me nervous, it was the idea of going out and doing anything social at all. The idea of meeting new people and needing to sell myself to them kind of terrified me.  Then, on top of that, there was the Billie component. She was adamant about this whole Cupid-in-diapers thing, and I was already embarrassed on her behalf. If this didn’t go well–if everyone just mocked and laughed at her–I’d take that personally, as if they were actually laughing at me. I badly wanted to shake her and say: “Why can’t you just go to my first party dressed like a normal human being?” Alas, there was no way that was happening, so all I could do was nervously wait and see if this train crCourted or not. A few minutes later, Zoey arrived at our room, her red hair pulled back into a ponytail and wearing a thick flannel shirt and some black leggings. She’s holding a pair of costume angel wings–white feathers stuck to a plastic and metal frame. “Love this look,” Billie says, leaning in to kiss Zoey’s cheek. “My sexy little lumberjack.” “It’s too cold to wear anything else,” Zoey says. “You sure you’re going through with this whole ‘Cupid’ thing? You’re going to freeze your diaper off.” “I’ll be fine,” Billie says. “I have a jacket for when we’re outside. And, like, it’s the winter–there’s no way this apartment isn’t going to have the heat on. Plus, you know how these parties get, they’re always hot from all the bodies standing around.” “I guess,” Zoey says, glancing at me as if hoping I’ll back her up. “Don’t look at me,” I say. “Billie’s got her mind made up and I don’t think anyone’s going to convince her otherwise at this point.” Billie lets out a confident “Hmph!” and then: “Thank you, Court. Now then–something I never thought I’d have to say to you, Zoey. Diaper me, please.” Zoey laughs and shrugs, her face the cartoonish expression of someone thinking “Well, I guess that’s what I’m doing now.” “I should go,” I say. “You probably want some privacy…” “Don’t be silly,” Billie says. “Just stay, this won’t take long. And if you don’t want to look…just don’t look!” “Am I, like, putting this diaper on over your panties?” Zoey asks. “Uh…hmm,” Billie says, thinking about it. “No, better not. I think it’ll be too hot with both on.” “Okay,” Zoey says, shrugging again. “If you say so. C’mon, pants off.” I turn away from the two of them, thankful that they can’t see my face turning beet red, and busy myself with a book that I’m pretending to read. I can’t see what’s going on behind me, I can only hear it. “Christ, where’d you even get a diaper this big?” “I had to order it online.” “You ordered a diaper online? You couldn’t just, like, go to the store?” “I liked the way this diaper looked, okay?” “You cared that much about a diaper you were wearing for a gag costume?” “What’s with all the questions, Matlock? Are you going to put this diaper on me or not?” “Yes, yes. C’mon, get on the bed.” “Make sure it’s tight, alright? I don’t want this thing falling off in the middle of the party and everyone seeing my Cupid-butt.” “If I make it too tight, you won’t be able to get the thing off when you have to pee.” “It’s a diaper, Zo. I’ll just…” “No, absolutely not. Don’t you dare pee your pants tonight. That’s gross and nobody’s going to want to see that!” My face is at max-blush right now. “Fine, fine. Make it tight enough that it won’t fall down, but loose enough that I can pull it down if I have to.” “I’ll try, I guess. But I don’t have a lot of experience with diapers like this…” I hear the sound of crinkling and giggling. Both of them giggle their way through the whole process, and my imagination runs wild as I try and imagine what the scene behind me looks like. “I hate to say it, Bill, but you’re kinda cute in a diaper.” “Yeah? Wanna play ‘house’ later? You can be my Mommy and I’ll be your sexy little baby?” Jesus. I swallow hard, already knowing that those words are going to be replayed in my head over and over tonight while I lie in bed with a hand down my diaper.  “Ooh, that kinda sounds fun. Maybe if you’re a naughty girl, I’ll have to put you over my knees and…” “I wish,” Zoey says with a disappointed sigh. “I’ve got to be on the road in, like, twenty minutes if I want to make it back to my parents before midnight. But maybe save that diaper and maybe when I’m back…” I clear my throat. “Are, uh, you gals about done?” Billie laughs. “Are we making you uncomfortable, roomie?” “I’m sure there’s a better time and place for you two to be having this conversation.” Ideally, that ‘better time and place’ would be after the party, right in front of me, while I watched–but there was no way that I was going to say that. 6. Movies would have me believe that parties at college were crowded with hundreds of people–most of them either dancing or making out with each other–while loud music blasted and there was a seemingly endless supply of alcohol. Imagine my surprise, then, when I was one of 30-ish people crammed inside of a small apartment while jangly rock music streamed from a TV while everyone just stood in little clusters and talked quietly. There was a fridge full of beer, I’ll give it that, but I took one bottle–just to be polite–but found the taste of it repulsive enough that I was just pretending to sip on it so as to not look like a total dweeb. Billie was, of course, the smash hit of the party. Everyone thought she was ballsy and outrageous for showing up in just a thick disposable diaper, a white top, and some angel wings. She even had a little plastic toy bow-and-arrow that she bought at the dollar store earlier in the week. I recall her saying, in her initial pitch to get one of my diapers, that she’d wear a little dress as part of this ensemble, though I guess that plan must’ve changed. Absolutely nothing hid her thick diaper from everyone’s eyes. “Cupid’s here,” she announced, “to help everyone make some Valentine’s Day connections!” And with that, she fired a plastic suction-cup-tipped arrow into a group of people. Without even bothering to look at who, or what, she might have hit, she fired off another one. The second one rebounded off a wall and hit me right in the head. “Ow.” “Ooh, looks like someone’s getting lucky tonight,” Billie says to me. “Let’s see who else got hit by Cupid’s arrow.” The small group that the first arrow was shot into parts to the side, and a guy with messy hair, brushed to the side, and a thick green sweater holds the other arrow.  I recognize him, and he recognizes me. “Well, well, well,” Patrick says to me, handing Billie back her arrow as he strolls past her and towards me. “Isn’t this amusing? Hello, Just Court.” “Just Patrick,” I say. “I had a theory today that you were actually a ghost and not real,” “Ooh, pretty fun,” he says. “Pretty sure I’m both real and alive though.” “You weren’t at the library today.” I sound a little accusatory, though I don’t know why. He laughs and shrugs. “I had to get ready for the party.” “Oh, uh…” “This is my apartment,” he says. “This is my party. Welcome!” I point over to Billie, who is currently shooting arrows at other guests. “You know her?” “Never seen her before, with or without the diaper,” he says. “But that’s how these parties usually go. I invite five or six people and then they each invite five or six people themselves. Do you know diaper-girl?” It’s strange, hearing him refer to her as ‘diaper-girl’ as if Billie’s whole personality is defined by diapers. He has no idea that I’m much more of a ‘diaper-boy’ myself. “She’s my roommate.” I forget how crazy that sounds until the words are out of my mouth. “On campus?” he asks. “The school allows that?” “It’s a long story,” I sigh. I keep waiting for the day when someone from the administration tells us that they’ve found a new room for me and this strange episode in our lives is over, but it hasn’t happened yet. Billie’s theory is that they just forgot about us, and I’m pretty sure she’s right. “She always this fun?” he asks. “You think she’s fun?” “The diaper? The bow? Those wings? Yeah, she’s a real hoot.” “She’s something,” I mutter. “What are you drinking?” he asks. I hold up my beer, only a quarter depleted. I feel my cheeks blushing a little. “Whatever this is.” He leans a little closer, seeming to know this is a sensitive question: “Do you like it?” “Not especially,” I say, my voice also a little hushed. “What’s more your speed?” “I’m not really a, uh, drinking guy…” “You like soda, right?” “Well, sure.” “Perfect. I’ll get you a glass of Coke. You stay there.” The moment that Patrick trots away, taking my bottle of beer with him, is the moment that Cupid herself slides up to me. “So, who is that?” “You should know,” I laugh. “This is his party.” She shrugs and laughs at herself. “Never met him. He’s a friend of yours?” “The friend,” I say. “The one I met the other day at the library.” “The gay one?” I shrug. “Maybe he’s gay? I don’t really know.” “Well, Cupid’s arrows never lie,” Billie says. “True love has been forecasted.” “Cupid might just have bad aim, ever think of that?” She shrugs. “Look, it’s not the best bow, okay?” From somewhere else, we hear someone say: “There, that’s Cupid! Come on, we’ve got to get our pictures taken with her.” “It would seem that I’m needed,” she says to me. “I’ll see you later.” “Sure.” She wanders towards her adoring friends at the exact moment that Patrick returns with a clear plastic cup of dark liquid. I take it from him, taking a big swig of it. Sugary perfection. 7. It’s midway through my second cup of Coke that I realize that it’s not just cola that I’m drinking. “Is this…uh…spiked?” Patrick laughs and slaps me on the back playfully. “My bad. I probably shouldn’t have assumed. When my friends and I talk about getting some soda at a party, it’s usually assumed that we’re adding some booze to it.” “It’s really okay,” I say. I can’t tell now if I’m actually feeling a little tipsy, or if I just think I am now that I know I’ve been drinking alcohol. “Wh-what am I drinking here, anyway? Besides soda.” “A little vodka,” he says, shrugging.  “It’s good,” I say. “Everything’s better with vodka.” He holds up his own cup, filled with something more clear. I lift mine up to meet his, and they tap together. We’ve been at this party for a while now. Two hours? Maybe more. Time seems to go by a little faster when there’s fun to be had, and tonight’s been much more fun than I anticipated. Patrick’s been an all-star tonight, keeping me engaged and introducing me to his friends while Lil Miss Cupid keeps everyone else entertained. The conversations are good–Patrick’s a pretty funny guy who knows how to keep the momentum rolling, but if I’m being honest, the most fun I have is when I get the chance to watch Billie. I see now why she wanted to pull this little Cupid stunt with this group–she knew she could get away with it. At a frat party? At a place with the campus’s more socially elite? They probably wouldn’t be as amused by her. These are her people, though. My people, even. The well-read nerds, music obsessives, and cinema fanatics that Patrick introduces me to. The geeky underbelly of Starlight. She rules the room, making everyone laugh and blush. Earlier I watched as she stuck a plastic arrow on her face and the other on the bald head of a guy in a White Zombie t-shirt, demanding that he kiss her on the cheek. She’s flirted with just about everyone in the room since. Watching her now, and missing any context, I spot her bending over–diapered ass jutting up in the air–so that a curvy woman with dyed-pink hair can give her a little spanking. “Moving forward,” Patrick says, watching the same thing I am, “she’s going to be the first person I invite to my parties.” “That’s probably a good idea.” “And you, of course, will be obligated to join her,” he adds, shrugging. “If you insist.” “I do. I’d like to see more of you, Just Court.” Either the boozy drinks have me a little more loose-tongued than usual, or I’m feeling a little uplifted by Patrick’s friendliness and Billie’s playful demeanor. “Are you hitting on me?” He laughs into his wrist, his cheeks glowing a little. It’s the first time I’ve seen him look even the slightest bit flustered. “You’ve already established that you’re not playing for that team. If I was hitting on you, I think you’d know it. No, I’m just saying that I like you–as a friend. Can’t two guys just hang out” I laugh and nod. “Fair enough. S-sorry. I guess…it’s been a long time since I’ve made friends with another guy. Not since my recess days, you know?” “You don’t have a lot of male friends?” he asks, genuine concern on his face. “I don’t have many friends at all,” I say. I could elaborate and say that I’ve just never been very good at initiating conversations with folks I don’t know, but I feel like I’ve already whined enough. “Well look at that,” he says, wrapping an arm around my shoulder and pulling me into him. “We’re officially friends now. I do declare it.” 8. Patrick has introduced me to Izzy, Tig and Jackie–a throuple, apparently–and the four of us are having a conversation about Wonder Woman. Or, more accurately, I’m listening as they tell some very unexpected tidbits about the past of Wonder Woman’s creator. I feel a little tug on my shirt sleeve, and when I turn around, I see Billie standing there. She looks exhausted. “Hey,” she says. “Can I, uh…talk to you for a minute?” I politely excuse myself from the conversation and take a few steps away with Billie so that she can tell me what’s up. “How would you feel about heading back to the dorm soon?” she asks. I never thought she’d be the one asking me this. I imagined I’d be the first to want to bail. “Yeah, of course. Everything okay?” “Yeah,” she sighs. “It’s just… Maybe the diaper’s a little tighter than it needs to be. I can’t get the damn thing pulled down. And I could untape it, but they feel like they’re on there pretty good so if I pulled them up…” From personal experience, I know where she’s going with this: “...you wouldn’t be able to wear it anymore.” “And someone didn’t think to bring a fucking pair of panties or pants with them so…this is all I’ve got.” “Wait, why would you even want to take the diaper off in the first place?” She gives me a “Oh, come on and use your noodle” look. “Right, right,” I say. “Gotta pee, huh?” She nods. “I know I joked about using the diaper before. But…” “No, don’t do that. It’s all fun and games until someone has a dirty diaper. Come on, let’s get out of here.” We say our goodbyes in a hurry, and I assure Patrick that we’ll be in touch.  “Do you still have that paper?” he asks me. “The one of yours I found at the library?” “Yeah…I think so. What about it?” “Well, I wrote my phone number on it. I guess you didn’t see that?” I laugh, my cheeks warming a little. “I…I guess not. Sorry, I’m kind of oblivious to things like that.” He shrugs and pats me on the shoulder. “One of the things I like about you. Thanks for coming, Just Court.” “Thanks for having me, Just Patrick.” “Make sure your Cupid doesn’t freeze to death on the walk home, alright?” “No promises.” 9. We’re somewhere between Patrick’s apartment in town and Maple Hall, Billie’s pace slows considerably. Despite being bundled up in a puffy coat, her bare legs must be freezing. “If you go any slower you’re going to turn into an ice cube,” I say. “I can’t hold it anymore,” she says. “I’m just going to go.” “What do you…?” There’s a split second when I’m not sure what she means by that. Then: “Oh. Well…we’re not that far from campus, so…” “You can’t see my diaper when my coat is on, right?” she asks. “You can’t, no.” She chuckles to herself. “Excellent. The perfect crime.” “Are you really going to…” My question is cut off by the sound of her releasing a long moaning sigh. “Oh godddd… That feels fucking amazing.” “You…you’re really…” “Wetting myself as we speak,” she says, her cheeks good and rosy now. I stare at her for a few beats, taking in her slight squat and the vacant look on her eyes as she concentrates on emptying her bladder. I’d kill for a little more quiet around here, so that I might just hear the sound of her stream flooding the padding. I can’t see the diaper itself, but I don’t need to know that it’s getting warmer. Heavier. That it’s going to start sagging between her legs a little.  There are absolutely sinful things running through my head right now. I want to touch her diaper. I want to get closer and take a little sniff of it, to see if her wet diapers smell like my wet diapers. I want her to sit in my lap while wearing it. I want her to sit on my fucking face with that thing on. Okay, I say to myself, take a fucking breath and chill out.  I look away, moments before she pops up at my side again. “All done!” “Feel better?” I ask. “Honestly,” she says, “I really do.” “Come on, let’s get back so you can put some actual clothes on.” We walk a few blocks without saying much to each other. But as soon as we pass through the gates that divide town from campus, she turns to me again, her cheeks still bright pink. “Okay, confession time.” “Let’s hear it.” “I kinda like the way this thing feels on me.” “Y-you don’t mean that,” I say. “I really do! It’s all..warm and squishy and…” “Well, sure,” I say. “It feels good now, while we’re walking around outside while you don’t have any pants on. But it doesn’t stay that warm for very long.” “Court, can I ask you a question?” “Uh, go for it.” “Do you ever…like wearing diapers?” It’d be so easy for me to just tell her ‘no.’ It’s a very uncomplicated answer that doesn’t create more questions. It’d also be a less embarrassing answer to give. But I don’t know if it’s just my excitement over having witnessed Billie pissing herself, or if it’s the vestiges of Patrick’s vodka running through me, but that’s just not the answer I want to give. “Yes,” I say. “Sometimes I do.” I expect her to tease me or hit me with a barrage of questions. But to my relief, she simply says “Huh. Pretty cool,” and leaves it at that. 10. Once we’re back in the dorm room, and after we’re cleaned up, changed, and ready for bed, I think about the big plans I have to stay up as late as I can–waiting until Billie is fast asleep–so that I can have some one-on-one time with myself while I think Billie’s wet diaper. It would seem that I don't have that sort of stamina in me tonight, though, and I fall asleep soon after my head hits the pillow. I do wake up though, somewhere in the middle of the night, to the sound of Billie making some noise in her bed. At first, I think she’s just talking to herself–that cute little mumble she does sometimes–though this does sound a little different. She’s not mumbling, she’s–moaning. And there’s another sound too, the slick sound of something wet being manipulated. My heart seizes and I just about gasp. She’s over in her bed right now, touching herself.  “Oh,” she says softly. I don’t dare move a muscle, terrified that the slightest crinkle of my diaper–my slightly damp diaper, from the feel of it–would spook her and cause her to stop. And so I just listen as she slowly takes care of herself.  Her breathy moans and sighs slowly get longer and more intense sounding. The wet sounds grow quicker. God, I just want to know what she’s thinking about right now. What’s got her so worked up? Was it wetting the diaper? Wetting the diaper in front of me? Maybe having so many people watching her twirl around while she wore one? I mean, sure, it could be something non-diaper related that was getting her off, but I wanted to believe that this was the diaper’s handiwork. Her little adventure ends with a muffled series of gasps and squeaks. I suppose she’s got a pillow or blanket over her face to silence herself.  That’s hot. Hot. Hot. Hot. I tell myself that I don’t care how long I have to stay up–I’m waiting until I know she’s asleep, because then it’s my turn for some self-love.

For those of you that wear them... What is your real world experience on how many wettings they will really take? Stay padded my friends, MicerOp

So I recently got a bag of ATNs. I forgot that they don't hold much. So I have been doubling them to make them work a little more. I thought (without scientifically measuring) that they don't wick well, but asorb very quickly, being mostly SAP.  So I wonder if they could be better as a doubler on the outside (if you use more than 1 brand) as it would more quickly soak up leaks... Just thinking... Stay padded my friends, MixerOp

Doubled up ATNs. I'm about to get out of them, but there holding 2 good wettings.    Stay padded my friends, MixerOp

Awesome birthday party hahaha, although I was really hoping Laura would be in attendance, I bet she would have gotten the perfect gift for the little birthday girl