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CWIS'S NOTE: If you haven't read the first part of this saga, read up.
Road Trip: New York - Summer 2011
Mikey and Me - Part IX
Mikey and I had spent a lot of time on the lake during his visit. We'd gone kayaking, and canoeing, and we'd gone onto my sailboat for a day or two. It showed in his face - he'd gotten quite the sunburn. He'd come to New York during some of the hottest days in years, and we'd been amazingly lucky with the weather - it hadn't rained once, in days.
"You know, Cwis - I think I'm all laked out," he finally told me."Can we just chill inside the cottage for a little while? I want to work on my music."
I'd brought two laptops with me, and Mikey had been talking about updating his blog and recording a new song. I agreed. We closed the sliding glass doors, turned up the A/C, and connected to WiFi.
"I need to be changed," Mikey reminded me. I took him into the bedroom and put him in an SDK. It rode up kind of high on his bum, but the fit seemed perfect, and I couldn't help but smile.
"You just wasted a good diaper," Mikey told me, seeming kind of smug.
"How do you figure?" I asked him.
"Tonight is the night I get my spanking," he said. "You're gonna have to take this off me in an hour or two..."
Oh, yea.
From that point Mikey became this focused, driven person that I hadn't yet seen. With the exception of being dressed only in a disposable diaper, it was almost like watching someone at work: in a matter of an hour he had designed a banner for his blogsite, uploaded a bunch of pictures to Facebook, and begun to put the finishing touches on a song.
I just lay on the couch, looking out at the lake and, alternately, at Mikey's amazing SDK'd ass.
Mikey looked like a cross between Dave Franco and Channing Tatum. Adorable face, hard body, and a smile that would make your heart melt. To this day, even when I see his smiling face on a Facetime chat or a Snapchat video, I can't help but smile, too. I could tell that he was honestly, legitimately happy. Sitting in his chair, in his diaper, creating some graphic effects - he seemed like he was in his element. I couldn't help but sit back and enjoy every minute of it.
I felt so relaxed, and a week of nonstop fun had tired me out. I thought I might doze off. But I realized that this wouldn't last forever - in a few days Mikey would be back on the bus, on his way out west, and I'd be laying on the couch, still padded, remembering the amazing sight of his sitting in his chair, thickly padded, being creative.
I didn't want to miss a second of this, so I kept my eyes open and took it all in.
Mikey was silent, with the exception of occasional talking to himself as he wrote some lyrics. The crinkling of his diaper was the only sound I could hear; from time to time Mikey would kind of flex his ass, and the crinkling sound would fill the room. He seemed oblivious to it, but the sounds, and sights, were making me hard AF.
Finally, after more than an hour, Mikey spoke up.
"It's difficult to network and record when you're living in a homeless shelter, bro."
"I'm sure it is, Michael," I said. I've never lived in a homeless shelter, but from the narrative he painted on the times he'd called me from it, it sounded like it was hard to even take a shower and watch your stuff at the same time. I couldn't imagine trying to record...
"I mean... I've been into music forever. You
know this."
Pause...
"And... you've been behind me for a long time."
I nodded along, wondering where this was going.
"Meanwhile, I've been fucking up. Repeatedly. Fucking. Up."
I couldn't disagree. I struggled to think of something to say, but Mikey wasn't done.
"When I found a laptop for cheap enough to actually buy, you loaned me the money for it. And that was gonna be my ticket back to making music. I wasn't faking being excited about that, bro - I was honestly excited."
I nodded...
"And then I logged on, and all of my friends who like to get high with me logged on and found me, and I was getting high within a few days."
I remembered. I nodded. This was a confession, of sorts, and I didn't want to interrupt him - this was the most truthful he'd been with me up until this point.
"At all these different points in my life, you've motivated me to make music. And then the people I surround myself with have pulled me off track, away from music, and gotten me back to the same old shit. My manager - fakest manager ever. My friends who are supposed to be musicians, too. These are the people who are supposed to be trying to keep me
on music. And they just want to keep me on heroin, and weed, and everything else. And then there's you..."
More nodding...
"When I'm at rock bottom, realizing how low my life has gotten, every single time there's one person who's still there, trying to find out if everything is okay with me."
He didn't need to say who it was.
"When I was in the LA Men's County Jail I got a letter from you and it made me cry," he continued. "Right there in front of the other inmates. That's the #1 rule in jail, don't let anyone see you cry. But I cried, bro. Like a baby." He pointed to his diaper and shook his head, as though the irony would have been lost on me. "I thought that nobody even knew I was locked up. I didn't know any numbers to call. And then... I got that letter."
"You got out a couple of days later, right?" I asked. He nodded.
"That's not the point, bro," he told me. "My so-called manager Jeff lives right in Los Angeles. He could have stopped in to visit. Nothing. No visit. No letter. Nothing. For two weeks."
I didn't want to tell him, but I'd talked to Jeff during that time, asking where Mikey was. He'd told me the only thing he knew was how Mikey wasn't worth the effort. I'd wanted to fly to LA and knock his ass out - he was the one who'd gotten Mikey using drugs to begin with. Instead I called a few ER's, and a jail, until I found him.
"So this whole time I've known that, if there's one person in my life who's like a 'big brother', it's you. You are like my family. I should have never left Orlando, bro..."
It was true: Mikey had left Orlando and, before long, gotten back into drugs in LA. At the time I told myself it was better he be hooked on drugs in LA than in Orlando - as if I need any more of that shit in my life. But now he had me wondering... if we'd continued to see each other on a regular basis, would he have fallen off?
"I wanted to talk to you about maybe me coming back to Orlando," he told me. "Maybe after this trip..."
"We can talk about it," I replied. I was hesitant. As well-behaved as Mikey had been the whole time he'd been with me in New York, I knew his life could be pretty chaotic. Still, this week had been so... fucking...
dope. I started to explain that, but he interrupted me.
"This week has been amazing. It's been the most relaxed I've been in a few years, Cwis. I've felt like such a little kid. Like, I totally understand now why you're into this. I couldn't
be any more relaxed than I am right now..."
Me too, Mikey. Me, too.
"Before we even talk about it, I have a spanking to take. But I wanted to make sure you knew that I appreciate everything you've done for me. I hope that I've worn diapers enough to show you that. I know diapers are for you what music is to me..."
Interesting analogy. And probably true.
I let Mikey know how much I appreciated him telling me all of this. And, how much I appreciated his not just wearing diapers with me, but making it feel like such a normal, natural thing.
"I worry that you're going to leave here and have regrets," I admitted.
"The only thing I regret is that I didn't open up to you a long time ago," he told me. "You accidentally texted me from your diaper number once, and I saw the name of your blog. I've been reading it for a year or two, man. I like it. The stories..."
Mikey then shared a few of my favorite stories from the blog - turns out they were his favorites, too. We bantered back and forth, talking about diapers, and humping, and diapers, and spanking. Mikey was most interested in babysitting sessions. He pointed out a few stories I hadn't completed, mostly about babysitting, and then he started giggling, got up out of his chair, picked up his pacifier, and walked over to me.
"Finish the story, Cwis!" he told me, that big adorable smile back on his face.
"Which one?" I asked. He told me he wanted to hear the rest of the Mustang-for-diapers story. So I told it. A story that might take you me a few hours to blog, and someone ten minutes to read, I told Mikey right there, in person. As I talked he closed his eyes, sucked happily on his pacifier, and grinned a little. I rubbed his tummy as I talked, and it was almost as though I could hear him purring.
"Now tell me the rest of the cottage story," he demanded when I'd finished.
"Which one?"
"Oh yea, there's a ton. The one about you and your best friend, when you were 17..."
"I finished that one in a single entry," I pointed out.
"Don't care, Cwis. Tell it from the beginning."
So I did. Mikey lay there with his head on my lap, and I told that story, and then another, and then another. It was getting dark outside and I was still telling diaper stories. And Mikey was enjoying every minute of it.
Finally, he spoke up.
"The one thing I have been wanting to read is, the story the college kid said he was going to write about how he babysat
you."
"He never wrote that one," I told Mikey.
"Why not? Is it true? Did he babysit you?"
"Yep," I confirmed. "He just sucks at finishing stories."
"You do too," Mikey giggled. "Although getting to hear them in person is a treat. So how bout someone else who's babysat you? Why don't you have
them write something?"
"If there was someone, I would," I replied. Mikey looked surprised.
"So what... you
always babysit other people, nobody abysits you?"
The way he was using the terms interchangeably was cute. I nodded.
"Why? I
know you like feeling like a baby. Why are you always the one toddlerizing others?"
I explained how it's easy for me to babysit, but hard for me to let someone else take control. I figured out a long time ago that it goes back to trust issues, and explained this.
"I get it. You need to really trust someone in order to let them take control of things."
I nodded.
"Otherwise it just winds up feeling fake."
"Okay," Mikey nodded. I could tell he was genuinely interested. And then he got this huge, dopey grin across his face. "Oh! That gives me an idea..."
"What's that?" I asked.
"I'll tell you tomorrow," he replied. "Let's get this spanking out of the way."
It was hard to go from total relaxation to spank mode. I almost wanted to let Mikey out of it tonight, but he only had one more day in New York, and I didn't want to end it with memories of getting his ass whooped. After a whole week in diapers I was tempted to let him out of it altogether. But it was kind of like he was reading my mind...
"This is your only chance to 'bust my ass', so you'd better make it worthwhile," he said. "Don't give me a couple of light little taps just because I've been wearing diapers for you."
"I don't think you know what you're asking for," I told him.
Mikey rolled his eyes.
"I don't think you realize how tough this ass is, bro."
We'd soon find out.
I walked into the bedroom, and Mikey dutifully followed. I pointed to the bed and told him to put his hands on it. He did, and I walked around to my suitcase, grabbing my paddle. It was a white, plastic cutting board. It had seen some use before, and was guaranteed to bring the heat. I walked back to the bed and put it in Mikey's hand.
"Hold this for me."
Mikey looked at it and began laughing.
"I thought you'd break out the big guns for
this ass," he told me. "Like a big-ass fraternity paddle or something. Wow, that looks... weak sauce."
"We'll see," I told him. I could see him rolling his eyes.
"First, some rules," I told him. "First, forearms on the mattress the entire time. You remove your arms, the spanking doesn't count."
"Got it."
"Second, no swearing. At all."
"Got it," Mikey repeated.
"What's this?" I asked him, poking the paddle into the crack of his butt.
"My
ass?" he said, sounding confused.
"Try again. Rule # 2."
"My...
bottom?"
I had to chuckle, and Mikey started laughing, too.
"Swear and I add an extra. Third rule: do not try to move your bottom to avoid the spanking. Understood?"
"Yes, sir," Mikey replied.
"I like that," I admitted. "Rule four: in between spankings, what should I hear?"
"Um... silence?"
No.
"Hmm... sniffling?"
"I'm sure I will, yes. But no... I'll just tell you. Thank you - "
"
Thank you sir may I have another!" Mikey blurted out.
"Exactly," I told him. "Final rule: it's okay to cry."
Upon hearing that, Mikey started laughing.
"I can promise
that won't happen. But okay, sir."
"How many swats do you think I should give you?" I asked. As I did, I pulled Mikey's diaper down around his ankles, lifting his feet to remove it altogether.
"I'm not sure, I figured you'd tell me."
"Hmm. How much was that laptop?"
He answered.
"And how much did you repay me so far?"
He shook his head and remained silent.
"How many times did I have to call hospitals and ERs?"
"A dozen?" Mikey said.
"No, I don't think it was that many. Maybe five or six."
"No," he corrected me. "A dozen swats. I think I deserve twelve."
"Well, then, you've apparently never gotten
one," I interrupted. "You don't realize how much these hurt. I was thinking - "
"Bro, I keep
telling you... this ass can
take it!'
A second later, I could see the look of panic come across his face.
"Shoot! I mean bottom!" he blurted out.
"Thirteen it is."
With that I pushed Mikey's chest down on the bed, stepped back, straddled my feet, and let the paddle fly...
BOOM.
TO BE CONTINUED...
