During the weeks that followed, I spent most of my time hanging around with Mark and Sean. Aside from seeing Sean in his GoodNites on the occasional sleepover and seeing Mark in those Tena® diapers, pretty much all the time, I didn’t have any other encounters. Having the two of them around to placate my diaper lusts should have been enough, but it wasn’t, and I was starting to think that I wouldn’t ever see another older boy in diapers, GoodNites or wet pants again. But then I had three encounters in as many days and all were with the same little beast of a boy.
The first of the three encounters occurred when I was outside picking up sticks and twigs that the storm had blown out of our trees the previous night. The boy was maybe seven or eight years old and was riding his bike up and down the sidewalk from one end of the block to the other. He went past twice before stopping to ask what I was doing.
I’d never seen the boy around the neighborhood and after talking with him, I learned his name. Right hand to God, his name was Damien and he said that he was staying with his grandparents for two-weeks while his mom and dad were on an Alaskan cruise. Though I didn’t ask him, I assumed he was part Mexican; at least he looked like he might be with his olive brown skin, dark eyes and jet black hair. He was also missing his two front teeth so when he talked, he lisped. At first, I thought this was cute, but it was just another one of his little ways of disguising his true wicked side.
He flipped the kickstand down on his bike and dismounted, “Want some help?”
“Sure,” I said surprised and grateful to have the help.
“Did you see the tree over on the next street?” Damien asked as he bent over and picked up a stick.
“No. What happened?” I asked.
“It fell over last night, right in the middle of the street!” Damien said enthusiastically.
I bent down to pick up a small twig as I asked, “No way, did it crush any cars or houses or anything?”
I was maybe two feet from Damien when I caught a whiff of stale pee. Instantly I looked up at Damien’s butt, which he had up in the air while he bent to pick up more sticks. It didn’t look like he was wearing a diaper by the way his pants curved into his butt-crack, but I was fairly sure that he wasn’t wearing anything more than underwear.
When we were done picking up the sticks and twigs from the yard, we walked them around to the back of the house and deposited them behind the garage. Dad likes to use them as kindling in the fireplace in the winter, but he doesn’t like them just tossed back there. Instead he makes me tie them together with a bit of string that is kept on a nail on the back fence. However, as luck had it, the spool of string had run out, and though I had told dad twice that it was gone, he’d not replaced it yet.
“Man, dad’s still not got more string.” I complained.
“Wow, that’s a lot of wood!” Damien commented when he saw the stack of wood just beyond the bundles of kindling.
“Maybe there’s some in the garage.” I said and dropped my arm load on the ground. Damien did the same before following me back around the garage.
Inside the garage, Damien saw my brother’s motorcycle and got excited. He wanted to get on it but I told him that my brother would kill us if he found out. It took some looking before I located more string. It wasn’t the same sort of string but I didn’t really care. I was about to leave the garage when I saw that Damien had climbed onto my brother’s motorcycle despite warning him not too.
I raced over and snatched him off the bike. He fussed and punched me in the face before I finally let him go. You little… On second thought, I better not say what I wanted to call him. Just in case! Anyway, when I let him go, I figured he would run out of the garage and I’d never see him again, but that’s not what he did. Instead he kicked me in both of my shins and punched me right in the beanbag. He did an end run around me and tried to get back on the motorcycle.
My cheek was stinging where he had punched me, my balls and my shins were screaming and I decided that I’d had enough of him at this point. I reached out, took hold of his shirt and with a firm yank, pulled him backwards into me. He spun around, tried to kick me but I was expecting it and moved quicker. In hindsight, I probably shouldn’t have done it, but the kid made me mad. I caught hold of one of his arms, scooped him into the air with his head behind me and his backside was right in front of me. I gave his bare butt a firm swat and received a splash of pee in my face.
My first thought was, “Oh how gross!” and my second though was “Oh my god this kid wet his pants!” and my third thought was, “When?”
I looked over at my brother’s motorcycle and sure enough, the suede leather seat was wet.
“You little monster!” I growled and despite his squirming, flailing and yelling, he couldn’t get away. I gave him seven more really hard swats and dropped him with no gentleness at all. He ran from the garage crying and screaming while I rubbed my aching hand.
I looked at the seat of my brother’s motorcycle and sighed, “He’s going to kill me!”
While I was tying the twigs and sticks together, I had time to think about Damien and I began to worry that Damien was probably arriving home right then and telling his grandparents what I’d done to him. I fully expected to be getting a visit from them very soon. However, the rest of the day passed without any sign of Damien or his grandparents.
