When an accident happens it’s a strange thing because it’s easy to take life’s mundane predictability for granted, Walter thought, but then something happens, you were on your way somewhere and wham, you get hit from behind. That was what happened to Darrell who sat a few feet away from him nursing a soda and slowly eating a sandwich.
Walter bit at the skin of his thumb as he thought about the phone call and the way they all went to the hospital for him, gathered around his bed, and promised to help him. He had been silent then, even though he wanted to say something. He wanted to promise but it just all felt like too much and the words got stuck in his throat. It didn’t matter, he told himself, because actions are better than words.
Being a college student he had the most free time, somehow the responsibility had fallen to him, for some reason he volunteered for it. Mostly it meant sitting around with him watching television, which was fine by Walter, especially since Darrell didn’t mind when he wore a diaper and a onesie, but dealing with the medication made him nervous, and helping him exercise was even worse.
He was happy Darrell could get to the toilet alone and take care of himself in the bathroom. Walter hated the idea of having to do any of those things for him. Cooking and cleaning, watching television, and keeping track of the medication was more than enough.
Walter looked to the clock on the wall and sighed. Darrell was due for an exercise period. Luckily Walter had missed the one in the morning. He debated on letting it go but then he thought about the consequences and forced himself to tell Darrell who begrudgingly agreed before trying to push himself up. Walter moved to help him down to the floor and onto his back. Walter moved to his feet that were bare and took hold of his ankles. He looked down to see Darrell was in a pair of shorts instead of his usual sweat pants.
He worked one leg, then the other, in extended motions before pressing each up to Darrell’s chest and pulling it back out. He worked it in all the ways Triston had showed him. He pushed down on Darrell’s leg one last time to hold the knee to his chest before he pulled out and up to stretch it. His shorts to fell down into his crotch revealing his briefs. Walter’s face turned red and Darrell coughed.
“Sorry,” Darrell said.
“Don’t worry about it,” Walter replied.
“It’s not, I mean you, it’s just.”
“Don’t worry about it this doesn’t even feel remotely sexual,” Walter said.
“I wasn’t thinking,” Darrell said. “It’s because it’s warm in here and I didn’t have anything else.”
Walter shrugged his shoulders.
“There’s times I’m in just a diaper,” he said.
“It’s different,” Darrell said.
“Well, trust me, I’m not getting anything out of this,” Walter said.
Darrell rolled his eyes and promised himself that next time he’d make sure to wear long pants. Walter continued with the exercise until he had done everything he could remember to do, then he helped Darrell back up to his chair. He helped Darrell get adjusted, made sure everything was how he liked it and asked him if he wanted some ice cream. Darrell refused but Walter said he was going to get some for himself.
He went into the kitchen and made himself a banana split with hot fudge and caramel toppings, a sprinkle of nuts, and a cherry on top. He was satisfied by the completion of his snack and was about to head back into the living room when there was a knock at the door. Walter set down his dish and went to answer it. He opened the door to find a delivery man in the hallway.
At first he looked surprised, but then he smiled, amused somehow, and finally he cleared his throat and became more serious as he handed over the tablet that Walter took and signed. He handed the tablet back and took the package, watched as the delivery man turned and walked away, shook his head.
Walter felt his stomach tighten. That man would make him the butt of jokes. He wouldn’t just be another faggot but one dressed like a child, an immature one at that. He closed the door, set the package on the counter, and got his banana split. He walked into the living room where Darrell sat with his head against his fist contemplating something. It was probably a drink, Walter thought.
He took a deep breath and puffed up his chest. That delivery man was just another stranger, his judgment was just his inability to deal with other people’s differences. The diaper suddenly felt odd against his body and yet he wasn’t going to take it off or give it up. This is who I am and life is short, he told himself. He looked to Darrell, and we never know what is going to happen next.
Monday, April 28, 2014
Monday, April 21, 2014
Ch 27 Wet Underwear
The Unicorn was crowded. Everyone was there for the wet underwear contest. Sitting at a table in the front of the audience was Spencer, Triston, Vincent, and Josh. Vincent and Triston sat next to each other with their fingers intertwined, across from them was Spencer and Josh a foot apart. Spencer had his arms crossed. Josh looked away in boredom.
“I can’t believe they’re going to do it. Doesn’t this feel wrong?” Spencer asked.
“It’s just a contest,” Triston replied. He turned to the table. “Besides, Bobby is a dancer here. It’s no big deal for him.”
“It still feels wrong. I mean I avoid the place when I know he’s working.”
“You’ve seen him naked plenty of times,” Triston said.
“Yeah but this different,” Spencer replied.
His concern, their conversation, got the attention of Vincent and Josh who both leaned in to the table.
“Think of it like a dance contest.”
“This isn’t the ballet. Walter and Bobby are going to be grinding on each other.”
“What are they doing?” Vincent asked.
“Yeah, what are they doing?” Josh asked.
“It’s a dance routine. It’s from these two movies from the Philippines, Macho Dancer and um... what’s the other one?”
“Midnight Dancers,” Spencer said.
“I’ve never seen them,” Vincent said.
Josh shook his head.
“These Philippine guys dance with each other, some of them are supposed to be straight, but they have this whole routine where they use water and soap and pour it on each other as they stand in this tub. Usually they wear white briefs but sometimes they’re naked.”
“White briefs?” Josh asked. “Give me a pair of Andrew Christian, that would be hot.”
“Andrew Christian is the black panties of gay men. You only wear them when you want to get laid.”
“No way, they’re an everyday thing. Why wouldn’t you want to feel sexy?”
“I don’t know if I could focus on anything,” Vincent said.
“My everyday wear has to be more ordinary,” Spencer said.
Triston was about to add his opinion when he saw Darrell stepping to their table still dressed in his work clothes. He watched as the man sat heavily in his chair and leaned onto the table and decided to try and distract him.
“We need you to settle an argument. Spencer here is saying that Andrew Christian underwear is the black panties of gay men's fashion whereas Josh believes they can be an everyday item.”
“Not everyday,” Darrell replied. “They’re too form fitting for that.”
“See, that’s what I was thinking,” Vincent replied.
“I wouldn’t want to think about working at my office wearing them,” Spencer said.
“Okay, if Andrew Christian is the black panties then white briefs are definitely the grannie panty. They have form, they have function, and they have utility,” Josh said.
“You just think that because your generation is obsessed with boxers which are the most nonsexual of all undergarments. They’re flat, generally shapeless, and most common thing for actors on TV who don’t want to show a little.”
“Okay, the jock is definitely a Friday night kind of wear but the regular ones... white briefs are cheap and only to be worn under clothes, not to be seen in the light of day.”
The rest of the group looked to Josh who raised his eyebrows as he sipped from his beer. They laughed and turned away, looked up to the stage. Some of the tension between them was broken and when the host, a tall drag queen in a blue sparkled dress, stepped onto the stage they were focused on something else.
“All right everyone, welcome to the Unicorn’s fifth annual wet underwear contest, now just remember no cameras, security will be standing by to help anyone who uses one. They’ll show you how to use the delete button and then kick your ass to the curb.”
The crowd booed.
“It’s not my policy. It’s just some of the amateur dancers are a little shy and don’t want their faces out there while showing their goods. But I’d show you everything and we can take all the pictures you want, just see me after the show.”
The crowd laughed.
One by one the host introduced each of the contestants who stepped on stage in a pair of briefs, different brands and different colors except Walter and Bobby who stood in identical white Calvin Klein briefs. Their bodies were very different. Bobby was muscled and Walter was skinny, though slightly athletic.
The host moved them through the paces, eventually each pair danced together until it got to Bobby and Walter who carried out a metal tub and several pitchers of water. The dance music started to play and they moved to each other still nervous to be seen, to touch each other, especially in front of a crowd, but they were committed.
They became comfortable with each other as they danced chest to chest, grabbed hold of each other. They had practiced wearing exercise clothes. Bobby turned Walter and moved him the tub where they stepped inside. Bobby picked up the pitcher of water and began to slowly pour it over Walter’s chest. The crowd cheered. Spencer whistled.
They were grinding on each other for a long moment before they switched places. Bobby was almost completely dry. Walter poured the water along his chest and shoulders causing it to highlight the definition of his muscles. The crowd went wild. Walter scooped up more and poured it over Bobby’s chest, down his abs, and over his briefs that once wet clung to the young man’s form and became translucent.
Bobby turned and they nuzzled with each other as they continued to dance. Spencer, Triston, Vincent, and Josh were on their feet with the rest of the crowd who cheered and yelled, whistled and screamed.
Spencer moved to Josh and whispered in his ear, “What do you think now? Still think they shouldn’t be seen in the light of day?”
“I can’t believe they’re going to do it. Doesn’t this feel wrong?” Spencer asked.
“It’s just a contest,” Triston replied. He turned to the table. “Besides, Bobby is a dancer here. It’s no big deal for him.”
“It still feels wrong. I mean I avoid the place when I know he’s working.”
“You’ve seen him naked plenty of times,” Triston said.
“Yeah but this different,” Spencer replied.
His concern, their conversation, got the attention of Vincent and Josh who both leaned in to the table.
“Think of it like a dance contest.”
“This isn’t the ballet. Walter and Bobby are going to be grinding on each other.”
“What are they doing?” Vincent asked.
“Yeah, what are they doing?” Josh asked.
“It’s a dance routine. It’s from these two movies from the Philippines, Macho Dancer and um... what’s the other one?”
“Midnight Dancers,” Spencer said.
“I’ve never seen them,” Vincent said.
Josh shook his head.
“These Philippine guys dance with each other, some of them are supposed to be straight, but they have this whole routine where they use water and soap and pour it on each other as they stand in this tub. Usually they wear white briefs but sometimes they’re naked.”
“White briefs?” Josh asked. “Give me a pair of Andrew Christian, that would be hot.”
“Andrew Christian is the black panties of gay men. You only wear them when you want to get laid.”
“No way, they’re an everyday thing. Why wouldn’t you want to feel sexy?”
“I don’t know if I could focus on anything,” Vincent said.
“My everyday wear has to be more ordinary,” Spencer said.
Triston was about to add his opinion when he saw Darrell stepping to their table still dressed in his work clothes. He watched as the man sat heavily in his chair and leaned onto the table and decided to try and distract him.
“We need you to settle an argument. Spencer here is saying that Andrew Christian underwear is the black panties of gay men's fashion whereas Josh believes they can be an everyday item.”
“Not everyday,” Darrell replied. “They’re too form fitting for that.”
“See, that’s what I was thinking,” Vincent replied.
“I wouldn’t want to think about working at my office wearing them,” Spencer said.
“Okay, if Andrew Christian is the black panties then white briefs are definitely the grannie panty. They have form, they have function, and they have utility,” Josh said.
“You just think that because your generation is obsessed with boxers which are the most nonsexual of all undergarments. They’re flat, generally shapeless, and most common thing for actors on TV who don’t want to show a little.”
“Okay, the jock is definitely a Friday night kind of wear but the regular ones... white briefs are cheap and only to be worn under clothes, not to be seen in the light of day.”
The rest of the group looked to Josh who raised his eyebrows as he sipped from his beer. They laughed and turned away, looked up to the stage. Some of the tension between them was broken and when the host, a tall drag queen in a blue sparkled dress, stepped onto the stage they were focused on something else.
“All right everyone, welcome to the Unicorn’s fifth annual wet underwear contest, now just remember no cameras, security will be standing by to help anyone who uses one. They’ll show you how to use the delete button and then kick your ass to the curb.”
The crowd booed.
“It’s not my policy. It’s just some of the amateur dancers are a little shy and don’t want their faces out there while showing their goods. But I’d show you everything and we can take all the pictures you want, just see me after the show.”
The crowd laughed.
One by one the host introduced each of the contestants who stepped on stage in a pair of briefs, different brands and different colors except Walter and Bobby who stood in identical white Calvin Klein briefs. Their bodies were very different. Bobby was muscled and Walter was skinny, though slightly athletic.
The host moved them through the paces, eventually each pair danced together until it got to Bobby and Walter who carried out a metal tub and several pitchers of water. The dance music started to play and they moved to each other still nervous to be seen, to touch each other, especially in front of a crowd, but they were committed.
They became comfortable with each other as they danced chest to chest, grabbed hold of each other. They had practiced wearing exercise clothes. Bobby turned Walter and moved him the tub where they stepped inside. Bobby picked up the pitcher of water and began to slowly pour it over Walter’s chest. The crowd cheered. Spencer whistled.
They were grinding on each other for a long moment before they switched places. Bobby was almost completely dry. Walter poured the water along his chest and shoulders causing it to highlight the definition of his muscles. The crowd went wild. Walter scooped up more and poured it over Bobby’s chest, down his abs, and over his briefs that once wet clung to the young man’s form and became translucent.
Bobby turned and they nuzzled with each other as they continued to dance. Spencer, Triston, Vincent, and Josh were on their feet with the rest of the crowd who cheered and yelled, whistled and screamed.
Spencer moved to Josh and whispered in his ear, “What do you think now? Still think they shouldn’t be seen in the light of day?”
Monday, April 14, 2014
Ch 26 Tattoos and Scars
Triston sat at the sales counter for his job quietly staring into a cup of coffee as he thought about his two friends Spencer and Josh. They had each related to him their accounts for their argument at different times.
Spencer:
“Look I know what I did was wrong and I apologized for it but I’m just so tired of guys like him thinking I’m not their type. It’s the classic thing right? Nice guys finish last. Well, I’m a nice guy, most of the time, and it’s not fair. I mean I did all of that for him. I let him move into my apartment. You know how much I hate sharing an apartment with someone and then I take him to the group session and practically hold his hand to get him there and I was there for him afterwards. I’m not saying I deserve something like sex or a relationship but it wasn’t easy. And I thought we had this connection. I thought, you know, we were getting close.”
Josh:
“Look he took me in and everything and I’m used to having arguments with people, he just kind of surprised me by professing his love one moment and then snapping on me the next whenever I start talking about my ex. What kind of person does that? I love you and now I hate you. He apologized and I told him I forgave him but I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d use it against me like that. He said some really mean things.”
He picked up his coffee and took a sip before putting it down and walking away from the counter and through the store looking for something to do, but the floors were clean, everything was arranged properly. He made his way to the back room where Cheryl sat at her desk writing out her presentation. He leaned against the doorway.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“I don’t know why I keep thinking about it,” Triston said.
“Do you want to be any more vague?”
“My two friends, you know Spencer and this new guys Josh. One fell for the other but it’s not reciprocal and now it’s become a problem. Why do people have to be so worried about long term commitment or the perfect relationship?
“Look, I’m not saying they use each other but what’s wrong with them each getting something out of it? I mean what if they only date for a few months, maybe year, and they both become better people for having known each other but then they separate and go their own way.”
She stared at him for a moment as she organized her thoughts. Her silence made him uncomfortable.
“Life doesn’t work that way honey. Each relationship is like having a tattoo or a scar, some are beautiful and some you regret.”
Spencer:
“Look I know what I did was wrong and I apologized for it but I’m just so tired of guys like him thinking I’m not their type. It’s the classic thing right? Nice guys finish last. Well, I’m a nice guy, most of the time, and it’s not fair. I mean I did all of that for him. I let him move into my apartment. You know how much I hate sharing an apartment with someone and then I take him to the group session and practically hold his hand to get him there and I was there for him afterwards. I’m not saying I deserve something like sex or a relationship but it wasn’t easy. And I thought we had this connection. I thought, you know, we were getting close.”
Josh:
“Look he took me in and everything and I’m used to having arguments with people, he just kind of surprised me by professing his love one moment and then snapping on me the next whenever I start talking about my ex. What kind of person does that? I love you and now I hate you. He apologized and I told him I forgave him but I don’t know. I didn’t think he’d use it against me like that. He said some really mean things.”
He picked up his coffee and took a sip before putting it down and walking away from the counter and through the store looking for something to do, but the floors were clean, everything was arranged properly. He made his way to the back room where Cheryl sat at her desk writing out her presentation. He leaned against the doorway.
“What’s the problem?” she asked.
“I don’t know why I keep thinking about it,” Triston said.
“Do you want to be any more vague?”
“My two friends, you know Spencer and this new guys Josh. One fell for the other but it’s not reciprocal and now it’s become a problem. Why do people have to be so worried about long term commitment or the perfect relationship?
“Look, I’m not saying they use each other but what’s wrong with them each getting something out of it? I mean what if they only date for a few months, maybe year, and they both become better people for having known each other but then they separate and go their own way.”
She stared at him for a moment as she organized her thoughts. Her silence made him uncomfortable.
“Life doesn’t work that way honey. Each relationship is like having a tattoo or a scar, some are beautiful and some you regret.”
Monday, April 7, 2014
Ch 25 The Journey
Was love at first sight possible? How different would he feel tomorrow?
Triston looked his new friend Vincent in the eye as they sat at the bar having a post orgasm drink. They had met hours before at a dinner party, fooled around in the bedroom against the back of the door, and finally made it to the bar for some kind of celebration.
He often thought that dating was like two particles of an opposite charge trying to find each other in a crowded field. Each particle was pulled in different directions and yet when they got close enough there was something between them. He had felt it before, had many good relationships out of that attraction, some became friends, others he might not see again, but when there is a bond it is hard to deny.
It wasn’t just that Vincent was handsome because he was. It wasn’t just that they were about the same age or that Vincent seemed to have a good job, dress well, and had an easy confidence. It wasn’t just the warmth of his hands or the size of his dick.
Just being apart a few feet to use the restroom, entertain a friend in another room, or when they were leaving felt wrong. They had so much in common. Vincent wasn’t like anyone else. He wasn’t like Walter who had decided he needed to explore on his own. Triston had thought that relationship was doomed from the start. Not doomed, but finite, as if it only had one meaning. He was there to help Walter experiment and find comfort, to be accepted, and it was time for them both to move on to something, someone, else.
“We’ve been having such a good time but there’s something I have to tell you. I don’t want to ruin this.”
The words stole the breath from Triston’s lungs and he had to close his eyes for a moment to focus on the present without imagining the future. He had an immediate suspicion about what was going to be said. There was only one thing to be said when two men were about to be more intimate.
“I have AIDS,” Vincent said.
“That’s okay,” Triston replied.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you? No,” Triston said with a shake of his head.
Vincent looked at him trying to figure out some tell, some way to know he was lying.
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of the disease. I’m afraid of catching it depending on what we do but there’s protection for that. I’m afraid of getting it, having it.” Triston took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that it will make you sick. I’m afraid that you will die young, before I’m ready to let you go. I’m afraid I’ll get old without you.”
“We barely know each other,” Vincent said.
“I feel like I’ve known you before, maybe in a previous life.”
“You’re kind of a hippie aren’t you?”
“I’d like to think I’m okay with uncertainty. I’m a pragmatist.”
“Well, we have have one thing in common.”
“I’ve dated guys with it before, it’s not easy but we had a lot of fun.”
“But you don’t have it?”
Triston shook his head.
“Do you want to go back to my place then?”
Triston touched the side of Vincent’s head, ran his fingers around his ear and through his hair to his jawline where he grazed the bone and pulled him into a kiss. He got to his feet and grabbed hold of Vincent’s side, felt the warmth of him. Their tongues tickled each other until he felt too many people were staring in their direction. They were in a straight bar after all. It didn’t matter at the time they entered because they were there for a drink. They pulled apart.
Everyone looked away, including the bartender. Triston took hold of Vincent’s hand and pulled him from the barstool to his feet. Hand in hand they walked from the bar and out into the rain and back to Vincent’s car.
He tried to not think of the goal as a measure of success even though it felt like it should be. He blamed his typical American upbringing for that. No, to keep living he always tried to put it in different terms and reframe the narrative. To only think of the goal was being dismissive of everything he experienced to get there.
Triston looked his new friend Vincent in the eye as they sat at the bar having a post orgasm drink. They had met hours before at a dinner party, fooled around in the bedroom against the back of the door, and finally made it to the bar for some kind of celebration.
He often thought that dating was like two particles of an opposite charge trying to find each other in a crowded field. Each particle was pulled in different directions and yet when they got close enough there was something between them. He had felt it before, had many good relationships out of that attraction, some became friends, others he might not see again, but when there is a bond it is hard to deny.
It wasn’t just that Vincent was handsome because he was. It wasn’t just that they were about the same age or that Vincent seemed to have a good job, dress well, and had an easy confidence. It wasn’t just the warmth of his hands or the size of his dick.
Just being apart a few feet to use the restroom, entertain a friend in another room, or when they were leaving felt wrong. They had so much in common. Vincent wasn’t like anyone else. He wasn’t like Walter who had decided he needed to explore on his own. Triston had thought that relationship was doomed from the start. Not doomed, but finite, as if it only had one meaning. He was there to help Walter experiment and find comfort, to be accepted, and it was time for them both to move on to something, someone, else.
“We’ve been having such a good time but there’s something I have to tell you. I don’t want to ruin this.”
The words stole the breath from Triston’s lungs and he had to close his eyes for a moment to focus on the present without imagining the future. He had an immediate suspicion about what was going to be said. There was only one thing to be said when two men were about to be more intimate.
“I have AIDS,” Vincent said.
“That’s okay,” Triston replied.
“You’re not afraid of me?”
“Afraid of you? No,” Triston said with a shake of his head.
Vincent looked at him trying to figure out some tell, some way to know he was lying.
“I’m not afraid of you. I’m afraid of the disease. I’m afraid of catching it depending on what we do but there’s protection for that. I’m afraid of getting it, having it.” Triston took a deep breath. “I’m afraid that it will make you sick. I’m afraid that you will die young, before I’m ready to let you go. I’m afraid I’ll get old without you.”
“We barely know each other,” Vincent said.
“I feel like I’ve known you before, maybe in a previous life.”
“You’re kind of a hippie aren’t you?”
“I’d like to think I’m okay with uncertainty. I’m a pragmatist.”
“Well, we have have one thing in common.”
“I’ve dated guys with it before, it’s not easy but we had a lot of fun.”
“But you don’t have it?”
Triston shook his head.
“Do you want to go back to my place then?”
Triston touched the side of Vincent’s head, ran his fingers around his ear and through his hair to his jawline where he grazed the bone and pulled him into a kiss. He got to his feet and grabbed hold of Vincent’s side, felt the warmth of him. Their tongues tickled each other until he felt too many people were staring in their direction. They were in a straight bar after all. It didn’t matter at the time they entered because they were there for a drink. They pulled apart.
Everyone looked away, including the bartender. Triston took hold of Vincent’s hand and pulled him from the barstool to his feet. Hand in hand they walked from the bar and out into the rain and back to Vincent’s car.
He tried to not think of the goal as a measure of success even though it felt like it should be. He blamed his typical American upbringing for that. No, to keep living he always tried to put it in different terms and reframe the narrative. To only think of the goal was being dismissive of everything he experienced to get there.
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