WARNING: This blog entry is rated NC-17. Graphic sex scenes contained herein. If you are under 18, easily offended, or just don't like sex/masturbation when it comes to ABDL, stop reading now. Click here instead.
If you're a regular reader of my blog, you know I talk about diapering dozens and dozens of people.
Sometimes it probably seems like a braggart.
In some ways, I probably am.
For anyone who's limited yourself to diapering people in the ABDL community, you probably know how difficult setting up one meet can be.
If you're in a small town or rural area, the problems start there: you may actually be the only one. When this all started I was the only person listed in my area under 50. The next college-aged ABDL was more than an hour away.
If you're in a bigger area, you may have run into the closet cases, the guilt-ridden abies, or the fakers. Any of these three can make meeting in person difficult or impossible.
Even in big cities you can find the local scene disagreeable. You may be exposed to pedophiles, creepers, or the people who associate with them. And there will be people who don't agree with your tastes; you may be an aby, while those around you are abyfurs. Or vice versa.
So meeting someone hot, and putting a Pamper on them... something worth bragging about.
I remember how excited I was after my first diaper-for-dough experience. This is easy! I thought. I'm going to do this over and over!
When I got to number ten I realized I'd been counting. I felt guilty; these experiences were more than just a number to me, weren't they? Another notch in the bedpost! Not my style. And yet I couldn't stop counting.
I lost count, officially, around 60. I'm wanting to say it's been more than 70, now. And many of those were two-timers. Or three, four, five, six or more-timers.
In short, I've had a lot of experiences.
Almost all of them have been good ones.
I once was robbed at knifepoint. And I'll tell that story in a future blog.
Once I had someone try to take the money and run. And I'll tell that story in a future blog.
But, mostly, the experiences were good.
Most were awesome.
One was especially awesome.
His name was Scotty.
I met Scotty in my first year of diapering for dough.
I haven't changed his name for his protection. (But, truthfully, who knows if his name was really even Scotty).
Scotty was a resident of the city I was living in at the time. He was 20, and in college. And he was a regular on the Party Line.
Scotty was a constant respondent to my messages. I'd say Who Wants To Wear A Diaper For Dough! and wait for responses; often I'd get messages from Scotty.
Many, many messages from Scotty.
He'd ask questions. He'd want more information. And, in the end, he'd disappear.
My last response of the day to him would go unanswered, and I'd settle on someone else.
I started to think Scotty was a faker. Or mildly retarded. Or, perhaps, just turned on by the idea of wearing Pampers for pay, and jerking off to my descriptions as so many ABDLs have.
Why on earth would he ask the same questions on every call, and then hang up?
Was he a cop, maybe?
Possibly, I thought. But paying someone to model disposable diapers isn't illegal. And, for that reason, I never got into anything else on the phone.
"What else am I going to have to do?" I'd get asked.
"You certainly won't be asked to do anything sexual!" I'd say for the tape recorder, if it was running.
And, most of the time, the person wouldn't be asked to do anything sexual.
They'd be asked to lay on their stomach, looking adorable in their diaper, while I humped.
(Yea, I hump. Sorry if that's T.M.I.!)
Or they might be asked to drink a bottle, color, crawl around... you get the idea.
If anything sexual occurred, it would be because they asked.
(Makes it legal!)
And yea... they asked. A lot.
More on that in yet another future blog.
About my dozenteenth time talking with Scotty he gave me an intersection.
That was way further than I'd gotten with him before.
Usually, he quizzed me on what would go down.
How I had diapers that would fit him.
How long it would take.
You get the idea.
Today he asked if I'd be willing to come to the corner of James and Ellison.
Sure, bro.
"Cool. That's not where I live, but it's near it. If you look cool, and I look cool to you, we can go back to my place. I'll just walk back and you can follow me."
Hmm.
The idea of driving slowly behind someone walking to their house didn't excite me. I could see the nosy old lady on the corner calling 9-1-1. "There's a stalker on my street!" she'd say. "I see he has old-people diapers in his car!"
And the game would be up.
I took control.
"Okay, Scotty. We can meet there. If I'm cool to you, and you're cool to me, I'll pick you up."
He consented, then asked the usual questions. I answered them all - again. And Scotty, seeming satisified with each, didn't hang up.
We got through to the questions about time.
Today at 3.
He wanted to know what he needed to have.
Nothing.
No diapers? Nothing else?
I got it all, bro.
It was agreed.
I had a cell phone. Scotty didn't. I was on mine, and it would take me twenty minutes to drive into downtown. Scotty would have to hang up. He'd meet me at the corner.
I could tell he sounded nervous. And, truthfully, I was too.
He'd asked a lot of questions, a lot of times.
And this was finally it.
Was was about to go down?
I drove down James Street, looking for Ellison. I wasn't familiar with it, and this was before the GPS days. We didn't even have Google Maps on our cell phones. I had to drive around until I found it!
So I did.
I drove up and down James Street, looking at street signs as I drove underneath stoplights.
I got to the end of the road and realized that Ellison wasn't a major street; not an intersection, anyway. Must be a little side street.
So I drove back.
I was a few miles in the other direction when I spotted someone with a hoodie walking towards me.
I had no way to know it was Scotty.
It was just a kid in a hoodie.
Scotty sounded pretty damn prep to me. I wasn't picturing a thug. And I remember thinking as I passed the little wanksta - and glanced at his hot ass - too bad I couldn't have found that dude on the party line!
A few more blocks and Ellison was on my left. I wasn't sure how I'd missed it. It was right on the damn corner! There was a Wilson Farms convenience store right there. How on earth hadn't I seen it?
I pulled in to the Wilson Farms, backed into a parking spot, and waited. My Mustang was low to the ground, and I put my seat back lower. Between that and the tinted windows I figured I'd be able to see Scotty before he could see me. If he wasn't what I was looking for I'd merc, and apologize on the party line later, with some excuse like "My car broke down!" You get the idea.
After a minute or two the thug I'd passed walked up to the pay phone at the corner. He got on and made a call, and I sat back and enjoyed watching his ass as he leaned and shifted on the pay phone.
(I'm an ass guy. So for all y'all posting diaper pictures... don't forget some cute bum shots! But, I digress...)
I continued watching for other people.
I saw a black guy in his early 30s walk to the corner and wait. Please, no... I thought; not my style. Then the bus pulled up and he got on. Whew!
Still just the thug kid.
A few girls walked by, and then another guy. Mid-20s, long hair, greasy. Please... why me? He also stood on the corner, and I considered whether this would be worth my time. False alarm, again; a construction truck rolled up and he hopped in the back.
Again, just me and the thug kid.
I noticed that he was looking around. He looked squarely at me a few times. What is this kid's fucking problem? I thought. I wondered if he couldn't see me leaned back in the car, and was invisioning himself stealing it. Might be worth letting him try, I thought... get a closer look at that adorable ass.
Scotty was supposed to be wearing grey shorts and an A&F shirt. Nobody who looked like him appeared and, after thirty minutes, I thought for sure I'd been stood up.
My first time. Grr!
I pulled out, drove about a mile, and turned right onto the street my brother lived on. I figured since I was in the area I might pay him a visit. He was home, and I went in and let him treat me to a soda and show me pictures from a recent trip to the Indian reservation casino. He was excited, but I was bummed... I'd been stood up! I had money in my pocket, a diaper bag in my car, and time on my hands. Grr.
I told my brother why I seemed irritated and he laughed. He offered to call a few friends and see who wanted to diaper up for dollars; my willingness to drop $40 on a few hours was well-known at that time, and he had friends who worked sporadically who were always willing to do anything for cash. I politely declined, choosing instead to get back on the Party Line as we chilled. I left my message offering diapers for dough, put my messages on hold, and continued to hang. And, started to relax...
After fifteen minutes or so I took my messages off hold and listened.
The first message was from Scotty.
"I was there for fifteen minutes," he said, sounding annoyed. "I didn't see anyone who looked like a Party Liner."
I didn't see you either, bro.
I sent him a message back, asking if he wanted to try one more time. He did. I had him confirm the intersection, which had been correct. I told him I'd be in a Mustang - something I usually didn't share before meeting someone - and he sent a message back. "Okayyyyy," he said, like I'd just answered some question. Whatever that meant. "I'll be there in fifteen minutes." He described his outfit - the same as before - and I sent one more message confirming before I hung up.
I said goodbye to my brother and got back in the car. I drove back to the Wilson Farms, backed into the same spot, and waited.
A few minutes later, along came the same thug.
He got on the phone, and I again marveled at his hot ass. He was wearing shorts, now, and his ass was very visible beneath them. As long as I gotta wait, at least I have something to look at, I reasoned. I waited. And waited. And...
At one point the thug turned toward me and looked straight at me. Again.
This time he kept looking.
I saw his face.
Damn. This dude was some sort of ugly.
Hot ass. Ugly face.
How could God be so cruel?
I got the idea of diapering this formerly-hot thug out of my head, and continued to wait. After a few more minutes it became clear Scotty was truly a no-show, so I started my car and pulled up to the road, then pulled out.
I put the top down as I waited at the light. As I did the thug on the payphone yelled something in my direction.
"Ayo!"
I looked back at him in my mirror.
What's this kid want?
"Ayo!" Again with the ayo!
He flipped his hood off and hung up the phone, walking out to the road. I looked again. The ugly kid was looking straight at me now. And he was wearing... grey shorts.
I'd been so busy staring at his ass that I hadn't noticed that he'd been wearing grey shorts. Scotty was supposed to be wearing... grey shorts. Was this... Scotty?
And, if so, why the fuck had he kept me waiting for thirty minutes?
I backed up, ignoring horn honking, and pulled up to the curb.
The thug walked up to my car.
"Chris?"
I was irritated now, and I had to ask.
"Why... thirty minutes, bro. Why?"
His answer almost made me laugh.
"I was... scared, I guess."
Scotty sat down in the car and directed me to turn right. He flipped his hood off. I looked over at him and was stunned. Whatever I'd thought I'd seen under that hood had been something masked by the shadows of the hoodie. This kid wasn't ugly. At all. In fact, my first reaction was Is this the cutest guy I've ever seen?
Scotty had said he'd be wearing an Abercrombie shirt, not a hoodie. I asked him about it. Without answering he unzipped the hoodie. There it was... the Abercrombie shirt.
"I was sort of... expecting to be able to see it," I said. "That was sort of the point of my asking."
He looked confused for a second. And then, as if he'd had a sudden realization, blurted out "Oh, yea!"
Duh.
We drove to an apartment building on the corner - actually a large house with a number of units. James Street is known for having old mansions long ago converted to multi-unit housing. Scotty lived on the third floor, and we walked up flights of steps to his apartment. Scotty walked first and I followed. You know what I was looking at the whole way.
We walked into the apartment and Scotty had a confession: it had taken him thirty minutes to get his nerve up to identify himself.
"I thought it was you when I first saw you," he said. "Who sits in the parking lot and they're not waiting for someone to come out of the store?" I felt compelled to answer the question - nobody, I guess, so what the fuck bro? - and he continued. "I almost let you drive away. I didn't know if I could do this."
"Can you?" I asked. He nodded.
"Then let's do this."
Scotty was standing in his grey basketball shorts and t-shirt now, and it was clear to me that this was no thug. The hoodie had been a disguise. He was tall, thin, and built like a swimmer. Jock, I thought. Just as good...
I was used to diapering thugs. This would be my first jock. And this was, by far, the hottest guy I'd ever prepared to Pamper.
I couldn't believe my luck.
And I'd thought he was ugly. And not Scotty. I'd almost driven away. From this?!?
"Lay down," I directed, and Scotty complied.
He was on his back, and his face was redder than anyone I'd ever seen.
"You gonna be able to do this?" I asked. He nodded.
"Okay, bro... here we go..."
I tugged on Scotty's basketball shorts, and they slid off with ease. His legs were smooth, with just the right amount of blond hair on his calves. He was wearing A&F briefs, too, and they were hot.
Without being asked Scotty did a half-crunch and pulled his shirt off, in one fluid motion. I had to stop and admire; not only was Scotty the most attractive guy I'd ever diapered, he was the first with an eight-pack.
An eight-pack.
Did this kid just like Abercrombie & Fitch, or did he model for their catalog?
Damn.
"Close your eyes," I ordered. He did, his face still just as red.
"You seem embarassed," I said, waiting for a response. He was flustered, at first, stuttering over his words. He tried to reassure me that he was just fine, probably afraid that I'd not go through with it and he'd lose out on the cash. I reassured him that we'd be continuing, but called his bluff: "Your face is as red as fucking Kool-Aid, bro." He laughed and acknowledged that he was actually really embarassed.
"I've never had another guy see me naked," he said. I wondered if that was really it. The idea of being in diapers in a matter of minutes wasn't a cause for embarassment? I don't know about that. I had to ask.
"Nah," he told me. "I've worn Speedos for years... how is a diaper different than a Speedo?"
Scotty was about to find out.
I admired his hot-ass abs for a few more minutes, so long that he opened his eyes once to investigate the hold-up and I had to redirect him to close them. I was going to get my money's worth!
I finally reached down and put my fingers in the waistband of his A&Fs, pulling them down slowly. His cock, short and fat, sort of coke can shaped, flopped out; it wasn't hard, but it wasn't exactly soft, either. He had a happy trail that made me downright giddy - I love those - and everything under the undies wasn't any more disappointing than the rest of the package.
"Lift your feet."
Scotty obeyed, and suddenly I was getting a look at that ass up close.
Whoa.
Scotty was the hottest guy I'd ever seen. He had an eight-pack, and a dope-as-FUCK happy trail. And now it was becoming clear: God had blessed this one kid with all of the 10s. How was this fair to the rest of us?
I couldn't continue. Without turning Scotty over onto his stomach.
I usually just diaper. In this case, however, I was willing to make an exception.
"Turn over."
Scotty lay on his stomach, his beautiful bottom - a near-perfect bubble, with just the right amount of blond hair on his cheeks - and I lay beside him. I put my hand on his ass and began to rub it. His ass tensed up, but I started to relax.
I struck up a conversation as I rubbed, and I could feel Scotty begin to relax, as well. His asscheeks went soft after a minute or two, and I continued to rub, working his back, shoulders, and calves into the mix, feeling my hands begin to warm from the friction against his skin.
We started talking. I learned that Scotty was a swimmer - as I had been - and spent a lot of time practicing. Thus the eight-pack and the beautiful body.
He was planning to take scuba lessons - his goal was to eventually be an oil rig diver, and he wanted to start learning before he finished college - but the classes he'd need to take would be self-pay, since he'd been shut out of the ones at school.
"You're on the Party Line doing this almost every week," he said. "If you like me, I was thinking I maybe could do this regularly. I gotta pay every week to stay in the classes. Scuba is expensive!"
My budget wasn't exorbinant, but this sounded like a deal I'd be able to live with.
And, a diaperer's dream come true.
"Who's that in the pictures with you?" I asked.
Scotty looked at the photos in question. He was posing with a gorgeous woman in one; they were kissing in another.
"That's my girlfriend," he admitted.
I hadn't asked for his orientation on the phone, and the fact that he was hetero was surprising to me. Perhaps that accounts for the hesitation, I thought to myself.
"She isn't going to come back while we're doing this is she?" I asked, half-joking.
"She knows I was thinking about doing this," he told me. I doubted that, but there was no way I wasn't continuing.
"Turn over," I directed, and Scotty did.
He seemed very relaxed, now - probably the result of a twenty-minute rubdown - and had grown quite talkative. I heard about what classes he was in, his former roommate who'd stuck him with both halves of their monthly rent, and his landlord who was on his ass about the second half.
"Feet up."
Scotty lifted his feet, again, and I noticed that even they, too, were beautiful. I'm no foot fetishist, but if I was, Scotty would be my foot model. How did this one kid get every single fucking physical benefit available? I thought. No fair!
Scotty voluntarily pulled his feet near to his head, and I marveled at his sculpture-perfect bottom. If Michaelangelo had sculpted David in 1998, instead of 1498, it would have been named Scotty. I was sure of it.
I grabbed my diaper bag off of the floor and set it up on the bed. Scotty was curious, and I ordered him to close his eyes. He did, and started snickering, shaking his head.
"You're not gonna pull out handcuffs and cuff me to the bed, are you?" he asked. "I've seen Misery."
I laughed; I'd recently seen it too.
"Just the diapers in here, bro," I told him. "You don't have your own, do you?"
More laughter.
"I sure don't."
I pulled out diapers, wipes, and powder, setting them down one by one, and tossing the bag onto the floor. I popped the box of wipes open, grabbed one, and reached down, applying it to Scotty's bum. He instantly opened his eyes, looking alarmed.
"I do wipe my ass, Chris," he said. His face had turned red again.
"Just be chill, Scotty," I told him. "I always do this. You don't put a diaper on someone without hitting them with a baby wipe first, do you?" He seemed to reflect on this, and it must have satisfied him, because he closed his eyes again and relaxed. "I never do," he joked, and we were both laughing now. I continued to wipe, covering that crack, both cheeks, and his penis. I went through a few wipes and, when I was finished, said "Okay!" to further reassure him.
"I think you missed the two centimeters right at the end of my cock," he said sarcastically, sort of giggling. I picked up the wipe and wrapped it around his penis, giving it a good shake.
"That get it?" I asked, and he nodded, laughing.
"This is crazy, dude!"
I put my hand across his bottom and pushed it into the air. I usually place my hand on the diaperee's feet and push them towards the head - which results in a lifting of the ass - but in this case I wanted an excuse to touch Scotty's butt again. I couldn't help myself.
I slowly slide a Depend under him, then released my grip, grapping his left foot with my left hand and his right foot with my right; I slowly brought his feet down until they were on the bed. The sight of this hot-ass jock, the picture of perfection, now resting his sculptured ass on a disposable diaper - I was hard as hell. This might have been the cutest thing I'd ever seen.
I applied baby powder liberally, and Scotty started to laugh. "We use that at swim practice in our caps," he told me. "I smell it all the time. Now every time I smell baby powder I'm going to associate it with me being in a diaper."
I laughed. "Lucky you!" I joked. He shook his head.
"I'm scarred for life!"
I pulled the Depend between Scotty's legs and across his stomach and fastened the tapes. This diaper was tight, and the outline of the Coke can was prominent against the plastic - just the way I like it. I wished I had something better, but local stores had recently stopped carrying Attends, and I was stuck. Still, on Scotty, a garbage bag diaper would have looked hot. I stood back, enjoying the visual treat, wishing I'd brought a camera. I would have begged for a picture of this.
I diapered myself and put all of the extras back into the diaper bag. In case the girl comes by, I told myself. I was diapered, and I was ready...
"Turn over."
As mentioned previously, I like to hump. I've put more than fifty wiggers face-down and enjoyed a view of their diapered asses as I do my thing. Sure, I love to watch baby thugs crawl around in their Pampers... and I enjoy watching them sip from sippy cups, drink from bottles, and beg to be let out of playpens. But, in the end, the DL side of me comes out; I just love looking at hot diapered thugs, and doing some rubbing as I "bust".
Scotty turned over, and his perfect-10 bottom was instantly in the air - the result of it being bubble-shaped and covered with a disposable. I lay down next to him, rubbing his bum for a little bit. After a few minutes I gently pushed him up toward the top of the bed, pushed his legs apart, and took my position between them, resting my head on his bottom.
The perfect pillow.
I like to hump, again, and as I do it I usually feel every inch of the diaper I've just put on someone. Scotty was no exception; I had already let my fingers do more walking than normal, and he hadn't even been diapered yet. Now he was, and I was ready to explore.
I slowly moved my own ass up and down as I felt every inch of his. I rested my chin between his cheeks and moved my hands toward the front of the diaper, rubbing vigorously. His Coke-can shaped penis instantly took the shape of a Coke bottle - still fat at the bottom, but now elongated, lol - and he started to move his rear up and down a little.
Is he enjoying this? I wondered.
I pushed my chin directly into his ass, and felt him get harder. Rock hard, now. I continued to hump, and Scotty started to, as well. My hands were working every inch of his diaper, and it was clear that he was sexually charged... his asscheeks were clenched and his cock was pressed right up against the Depend.
As I humped I looked around. Scotty's apartment was set up like a frat house, with empty beer bottles filling one garbage bag and empty beer cans in another.
I continued rubbing and humping, and - although I usually don't encourage talking - listening to Scotty. He was telling me about his classes, now, and working his own diaper pretty hard, seeming determined to come, too.
"I gotta ask," I told him. "Wouldn't you have more money for Scuba if you drank less?"
Scotty laughed. "Those aren't ones I drank," he said. "I'm twenty, remember?" I couldn't tell if he was kidding or serious. "I pick up the cans and bottles," he explained. "I take them back for the five cents, it goes towards my scuba and rent."
I continued rubbing, pulling the diaper up in the front and up in the back until the outline of Scotty's asscrack was clearly visible in the imprint of the diaper. I rested my head on his ass, closing my eyes. "Stop for a second," I told him.
He did, and I did, too. I had to enjoy the moment, and I lay there, silently, still, enjoying one of the most beautiful views I'd ever been fortunate enough to experience, and taking in the glorious aroma of baby powder and ass.
I started humping again, becoming hard, and as I did Scotty began to go soft. I pushed my fingers into his diaper, pushing the diaper as far into his ass as possible, and felt him go hard again.
Mmmmmmmmm, he hummed.
He started moving his ass up and down again, and I put my chin squarely on his diaper, tilting my head to the side, enjoying it.
I noticed a hand-drawn calendar on the wall, and as I worked him I started to laugh. Tuesdays were marked "No More Puking On Tuesdays." I had to ask.
"Puke a lot on Tuesdays?"
He stopped humping.
"How... did you... know that?" he asked, sounding concerned.
Oops.
"Your calendar," I said. And he instantly relaxed, started laughing, and began humping again.
"I have a tendency to overeat Chinese," he told me. I tried to picture this model-looking dude with a swimmer's build and perfect everything overeating anything, but I couldn't. "I usually puke after we order out, so my friends made it my goal: no more puking."
I had to laugh.
I was hard, and ready to come. I untaped the top two tapes of Scotty's Depend. "You mind?" I asked, and he shook his head. I finished untaping and pulled the back of his diaper down, giving myself a clear view of his ass.
"You like my ass, huh?" he asked, giggling again. Caught! I admitted that I did, and he pushed it up so it was directly in my face.
"You're lucky," he said. "There's a few guys on the swim team who'd like to put their faces in my ass, I bet. But money talks, and shit walks..."
I pushed my lips against his scrotum, rubbing it with my chin, and my nose naturally inserted itself into his asscrack. I could feel the baby powder sticking to my face, and I inadvertantly inhaled some, but there was no way I was stopping now.
"I do feel lucky," I murmered. "You're hot as hell." And I told him about how I'd gotten a glimpse of him under his hoodie and thought, for a moment, that he was hideous.
"Ha, ha!" he said. "My girlfriend won't let me wear that... she says it makes me look scary." Scotty had missed the point... which, I think, was that my eyes suck or I'm an idiot... but it was all good.
He admitted that he, too, had almost not gone through with it.
"I knew it was you the whole time, but I was so scared, dude!" he told me. "When you were driving away the second time I was relieved, and then I thought about Scuba!" I had to laugh. I wasn't even irritated anymore; the wait had been way more than worth it.
I continued to breath in baby powder and bottom, and felt pre-come start. "Just be quiet for a second," I said - I need silence for ejaculation, don't ask haha.
"Almost done, bro."
"Me, too," he said, and I wondered if he was joking. I'd been rubbing his cock for the last five minutes, and it was hard as hell... maybe... hmm. Usually I did all the coming, and the other person jerked off at the end - if they wanted to come at all...
"Bottom up," I told him, and he obediently stuck his ass further in my face. I went straight for his ass, humping hard, and rubbing him like a genie's lamp. He continued to push his ass in my face, trying to hump against my hand, his diaper crinkling with every flex of his asscheeks.
After two straight minutes I began to come.
I've jerked off in diapers sooooooooo mannnnnny tiiiiiiiiiiiiiiiimes.
And each time is a "wheeeeeeeeee!" experience.
But for some reason, when I have a hot ass in my face, it's twice as wheeeeee.
It's like... more. Longer. And it feels way better.
Like my brain knows I'm luckier than usual, and somehow communicates that to my penis.
So I squirted. A lot. And, as I did, I felt Scotty go soft.
Hmm.
"Thanks, bro," I told him.
"Yea, thanks to you too," he said. "I'm going to need another one of those wipes, please."
Whoa!!!
I'd made a straightboy come in his diaper, without directly touching his dick... SCORE!!!
I've diapered a lot of hot straight thugs - and a few jocks - since. And I'm quite sure none have been as cute as Scotty.
(My apologies to all of you reading this who I've diapered. You are cute, don't get me wrong. But Scotty was... perfect.)
Scotty had asked to be a regular, and just the though of diapering that gorgeous ass was enough to make me want to come again and again. (It didn't hurt that he was funny, sociable, and just generally awesome).
A few Mondays went by and I hadn't seen Scotty on the Party Line. As I'd left he'd said "Yo, come by to chill any time," and I finally decided, after diapering a few people with lesser asses (and lesser personalities), to take Scotty up on his offer.
I rolled up into the apartment building's driveway, parked, and started walking upstairs. My diaper bag was in the car, at the ready, in case Scotty came to the door and invited me inside. I probably won't be that lucky, I thought. But I missed the kid, and if I had to go to the door to get him to connect...
As I made my way up an elderly man was making his way down. He looked startled to see someone walking upstairs.
"Can I help you with something?" he asked me.
"Just looking for a friend," I told him.
He shook his head.
"Your friend couldn't afford the rent," he said. "Roommate up and left him stuck with the whole deal. I had to move him out two weeks ago."
I won't lie. Every time I went on the party line after my experience with Scotty I hoped he'd be there. Each time he wasn't I was disappointed.
He was dope as fuck.
Everyone after him, no matter how hot, no matter how fun, was a little bit of a disappointment.
Because they weren't Scotty.
As I think back on it I can't think of one thing about Scotty that wasn't perfect.
He was like a work of art. In a disposable diaper, hehe.
Once you've had perfection in Pampers...
The Party Line shut down once MySpace took over. I never got Scotty's last name, so searches on the social networking sites were pointless. And, eventually, I moved to another state. The chances of meeting/diapering Scotty again went from excellent to good to poor to zero.
To this day I laugh at how close we came to missing each other.
He was afraid to let me know who he was.
I was tired of waiting and somehow - somehow - had gotten the idea that the thug on the phone wasn't what I was looking for.
Instead, he left me looking for him in every diaper experience that I'd ever have again.
