I have to get home. This is the only opportunity I'll have in like a month, so I don't want to miss it. With the guys out of the house, I can finally indulge in my desire that has been lying dormant inside me like a volcano, but today is my chance. We've lived in Fresno for three months and we are already accommodated. Stan and Adam got jobs and we are able to support the house we live in. It's small, affordable, and for three guys, it works.
I make haste to my car and drive fast, but carefully, to our home. Fresno is a nice place and we have no problem calling it a home. It really feels that way. I've never really felt this way in my old hometown, which, I guess, means it never was a home. You can live somewhere for a long time and call it a home, but home has a whole different meaning then what is perceived in the media. What they what you to call home is not what I call a home. It's far from it.
My car gently enters and settles in our baron driveway. Adam is working and Stan, who is usually home at this time, is at the doctor's office getting a check-up. He thinks he injured his wrist, but I think it's something minor. He is, however, paranoid about screwing up his drumming career on something like this. I exited my car, which I just brought from home after I left it there with some of my other stuff until I was sure this was permanent. I didn't want to take it all with me then have to take it back if things didn't go to plan. I'm glad it is.
As I walked up the small path, I peered around the neighborhood to see if anyone was around. There was a small few, but nobody to worry about. I wanted privacy, which is something that was hard to come by in this world. I stumbled with the key, unlocked the door and entered a still, messing house. The dining room, or what was supposed to be a dining room, was now home to a table filled with papers about nothing. I carefully walk past it and entered our living room/bedroom. This humble area is where we live and sleep. Stan and Adam both sleep on this couch thing called a sectional that we bought and I sleep on this inflatable mattress that Stan brought with him. Our reason for not using the bedroom for it's purposes and intentions is because it was our new practice area. We all have to make sacrifices for success, and if I have to sleep on a blue inflatable mattress, well so be it.
I walked past the mattress and to the hall closet, where I keep a box of my belongings. When opening the box, all someone will notice is a bunch of t-shirts, a few folders of various stuff and a clear, cylinder case of blank CDs. Underneath it are my desires. A box of fluffy white diapers. I've been hiding these things from my roommates ever since I brought it along with my car and my laptop about a month ago, and with my roommates gone for at least an hour and a half, I could enjoy it. I entered our bathroom, which is right next to our practice room in the back of the house, removed a diaper and unfolded it on the floor. After double checking the lock on the door, I removed my pants and underwear and laid my naked bottom onto the diaper. I fastened the seal like I've done many times before and stood up. I looked at it in the mirror and admire it's beauty. How something so simple could bring me so much joy is beyond me, but right now is about enjoying it, not wondering why I enjoy it.
I exited the bathroom and put the remaining diapers away safely in my box of belongings. The rustling of the diaper was like music, filling the quiet air like rain on a cloudy day. I sifted through my bags of belongings and located my laptop. We have yet to acquire an internet connection, but the guy next door has a wireless connection, so I use that and delete my browsing history. I don't know if that really works, but what is he going to do about it. I reentered the bathroom and sat down criss-cross on the floor with the door locked. This is not only the most private place, but the guy’s internet connection works best in this area too. My hands unfolded the laptop and I start it up. Several minutes go by as I wait. I suddenly feel what was making me move in haste to get here. I rarely do this, but when I do, I intend to make sure I can enjoy it and have time to clean up afterwards. I am talking about, or course, messing in my diaper. For some reason, the feeling of my fecal matter exiting my body gives me an emotional and sexual explosion. An indescribable feeling that only the soft touch of a woman can compare. There are times where I feel like there is something seriously wrong with me, and then there are time where I just say "fuck the world and your social conformity".
My computer finally boots up and I log onto a social diaper website called "Diaper buddies". It's one of many that I have. I go on every now and check my messages, then go and eye the beautiful girl, which is what I'm doing now. I quickly go through my friends list and friend her profile. My hand move feverishly as I want to make every second count. Finally, her face pops up and I click on her picture. Her picture speaks so much to me, it's almost as if she is not real, which sometimes sends me into a slump. The way her hair glistens from the camera flash and her blue eyes covered by glasses stare into mine, it's almost as if she is in the room. At the very bottom of the picture, a small glimpse of her diaper comes into it. In one part of my mind, it's real, as real as anything could be, but in the other part, my mind tells me cloud nine is closed and entry is only by waiting in a long line. Just standing in line, waiting for my chance to feel that feeling that the movies are always shoving in my face, is not how I want to live my life, but do I have a choice?
I feel my bottom swell with pain as my body knows it is in a diaper and is used to the feeling of going without a toilet. I have a fear of one day losing control and maybe even having to wear everyday, which may seem glamorous to some, but is not as glamorous to me. I forced my body to hold it back with everything I have as not to let my body lose control, but finally, it comes. The pain soon dissolves and I feel a warm sensation over my bottom. I feel the emotional and sexual explosion just then. All the forces of the universe and my soul collide into a cascade of colorful music playing in my mind and inside my eyelids. Everything suddenly matters, then nothing matters. Everything is at peace, yet war ravages my mind like one man against an army of thousands. Yet, there is no fear in his eyes. He knows the answers to everything and he knows where it will all end for him, for them, and for all of us.
In the slew of things running through my mind, I look at the laptop and her beautiful face. I feel my hand come off my body and onto the keyboard. The mouse scrolls over the message bar with such ease, it's almost like it's doing it by itself. The bar is clicked and the box appears. Words from my mind, heart and soul pour onto the keyboard like it's the only thing that matters. The words say everything, but from the wrong the eyes it will mean nothing. Please, let her eyes be the right eyes.
The waterfall of hopes and dreams slowly dries and I clean myself up. I shower, wrap up the dirty diaper and dress myself in clean cloths. I exited the bathroom to a still silent house, and I locate the clock on the wall. It reads 4:30. Stan should be home any minute now. I exited the back door, opened the trash receptacle, lifted up a trash bag and put the diaper underneath. No one will ever know. I reentered the house and light some incense. I find it very calming and it clears my mind of all the things that should matter, but doesn't right now. It also helps clear the smell. I sat on the couch with my guitar and let the feelings that were just felt rub off onto my guitar. Simple strumming turns into a solo. My fingers move along the fret broad, making noise that sound like love, anarchy, and hope. The sound of wheels moving against the pavement come up and slowly stop. A car door slams shut and footsteps approach the house. The door opens and Stan pops his head in. Before any formal greeting happens, a phrase I enjoy hearing leaves his mouth. "You were right." He flashes a brace on his wrist and quickly puts it back to his side.
"I told you. And you were all worried."
"It's just a minor ache that will go away in a week. I just need to lay off drumming for a bit." He tells me as he sits down on the couch.
"Yeah, me and Adam can work on some guitar stuff I got in my mind."
"Really, can I hear."
"Sure." I lift my guitar and play the rhythm for him. His eyes widen as I am only half-way through. When the final note is plucked, I turn to him as his overjoyed expression explodes everywhere. "That was badass! You wrote that?" He say in excitement
"Yeah. What do you think?"
"Dude, it sounds like a mix of like, punk, metal, reggae rock. Dude, that was awesome. What were listening to?"
"Nothing."
"Are you high? Did you take some mind-altering drugs while I was away?"
"No."
"We have go to use that in a song."
"You got any ideas?"
"I got a slow, surf beat you can put that to. Add some distortion, speed it up, we got a song." He looks at his wrist and suddenly realized he will have to wait a week before we can start working again. His hands slam against his head as he exclaims his dissatisfaction. "Fuck!"
"Hey, you wanted to see the doctor." I told him. His head leaves his hands and stares at me.
"Fuck you."
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