He was the coolest grown-up to pay attention to me. I was 10. He was in his early 30’ I had to guess. He taught the group of kids I was in to swim, but paid special attention to me. I didn’t know why at the time, since I wasn’t a particularly better swimmer than the others, but I wasn’t complaining either. He thought I was cool too. He said so. I was a runt of a kid; skinny, short and sandy blond hair. I was quiet, polite, obedient…and lonely. He had this awesome red jeep, only this one had the big tires and no doors or roof. When it came time to go to the lake for swim lessons, all the other kids piled into the bus, but I got to ride with him in his jeep. I remember how cool it was to see the road whiz by my side with just the seat belt holding me in. After a few lessons, he invite me to his house “so we can work on it some more.” He told me all about his in-ground pool with diving board and a slide. What boy could refuse that?! The next day (it was summer vacation) he picked me up after I rode my bike into town and off we went. As we got to his house he showed me to the pool deck, and my excitement was obvious. I wanted to get in immediately. He managed to calm me down enough to sit in one of the chairs while he made lunch, pb & j (weird how one remembers little details). After I finished my sandwich is where the relationship began to change from mentor/mentee to pedophile/boy.
***TRIGGERING starts here***
Once I was done with lunch I begged him to let me get in the pool. He asked to see my swim suit. I didn’t have one; besides, everywhere else I always swam in whatever shorts I had on, or in my underpants. He said he wanted to see my (physical) form in the water, but also wanted to see it before I got in. I took my shirt off and he ran his hands over me making verbal notes, then he pushed my shorts down which startled me. I wasn’t scared, just a little embarrassed. He felt my legs, and then he told me to take my underpants off. I didn’t move. He told me no one else would see, just him, and he needed to see my whole body to help me swim better. I complied, as I always do. He put his hands on my butt and inner thighs, then plain fondled my front, and my penis betrayed me by getting erect. He gave me a soft smack on the butt and told me I could jump in. I must have swam for at least an hour and a half, more playing in the water and jumping off the diving board, and using the slide, than actual formal swimming. He had a towel ready for me when I finally did get out and wrapped me up, telling me how well I can swim, and how I was gonna be really good with more practice. I asked if I should put my stuff back on, but he I didn’t need them and lead me into his house. He sat me on the edge of his bed, took the towel away, and somehow talked me into taking his penis into my mouth and giving him oral. I didn’t once feel scared, just confused, like “why does he wanna put that in my mouth?” I did what he told me, and told me what was going to happen soon. When he did ejaculate, it still surprised me even though he told me. After that he wiped my face off and told me what a good boy I was, how I was his special boy, and asked me if I liked it. I told him I did. I don’t know why or how, but now I think I never wanted to disappoint him by saying it tasted funny, or it was hard to get his penis all the way in my mouth. He picked me up and gave me a big hug, and kissed me on the lips, which no one ever did to me before. I seemed weird getting kissed by a man and I laughed when he did. Shortly after that he took me home.
Over the next few days, he and I arranged to meet again, and the same process took place. I went to his house, went skinny dipping while he watched, then gave him a blowjob after. After maybe 4-5 times of doing that, he took the next step. After I got out of the pool, I started giving him oral, but he stopped me before he came. He told me to get on the bed and put my head down and my butt up. It seemed like a game he was playing, so I went along. He used Vaseline; I remember seeing the tub of it. As he pushed, I started to pull away, but he held me firm. I remember screaming into the bedding, and crying. I still trusted him, but it was SO CONFUSING! I didn’t know what he was even doing, just that it hurt. Cries turned to whimpers as he kept going for what seemed like an hour. He finally came, and by now I was flat on my stomach, exhausted. The whole time he kept calling me “baby boy,” how good I was doing, how good I was making him feel etc etc. He laid down next to me and told me everything was ok, that it’s ok to cry, and it won’t hurt so much the next time. I didn’t know what to do. I was so lost, both in pain, and in emotion. When I finally was able to ask him what he did, he told me it was something only a man and a special boy can do. He inflated my self worth to a point that he could pound me in the ass and I’d feel good about it. After he dropped me off, I remember pushing my bike home because I couldn’t sit on the seat because of the tenderness.
Within a day or so is when I started losing control of my bowels, and sometimes wetting myself. Was it physical damage? Maybe. I happen to think (as does my T) that it was a subconscious cry for help. Unfortunately, the cry wasn’t recognized. As I continued to ruin one pair of underpants after another, then disposing of them or trying to wash them myself, the weekly tally of Tommy’s underpants in the laundry dropped off. When confronted, all I could say was “I don’t know.” Then after some of my soiled underpants were found, I was told how lazy I was, and how I need to wipe better. I can think of about a dozen other responses that would’ve been more appropriate than calling me lazy. After that point, I did my best to keep myself clean, using the hose in the backyard to hose myself off, then hose out my underpants. The day I was to meet him again started with me having another accident, and I met him with a face full of tears, explaining ambiguously that “I had an accident.” He assumed I had a bike accident, and I told him not that kind of accident. He pulled the back of my shorts down and looked, then gave me a big hug, and told me that he wasn’t mad, it was ok, and he knew what to do. He lifted me into his jeep and put my bike in the back. On the way to his house I explained how my family reacted, and he stopped at the K-Mart on the way. After he got me a pack of undies, some t-shirts, and some soccer shorts, he also got two packs of diapers. I knew they were for me, obviously, and I told him I didn’t want them, they were for babies. With his silver tongue he talked me into staying calm, and handed me a pack to carry. When we got to his house, he gave me a bath, and I cooperated as he put a diaper on me. He said it was to keep me clean, and so I don’t get embarrassed when I have another accident. How ironic; he was the cause, and miraculously he has a solution. He handed me some new clothes to put on and I immediately became alarmed. I didn’t wanna go out with a diaper on, even if I had shorts on over it. They made a ton of noise, and visually it was quite obvious I was wearing a diaper, even with shorts on. He told me it was our secret, and no one will say anything, but if they did, that person would have to deal with him. He made me feel safe, and held my hand everywhere we went: McDonalds, the ice cream shop, and then fed some ducks. He kept mussing my hair and patting my butt, and made it seem like no big deal that a 10yo was wearing a diaper. When we got back to his house, I asked him if I could change, but he said no, but to take off the shorts and shirt. I felt, in a word, silly, going around in just a diaper. I didn’t have an accident before it was time for him to take me home, and he changed me into a new pair of underpants, and back into the clothes he picked me up in. I asked him if he wanted a blowjob, but he said no. That’s when the trust was built. He “helped” me when I needed him, and he didn’t even want a BJ in return. I thought this guy really really cared about me. The accidents continued for several weeks, but the diapers continued much much longer. He used them as containment for whatever ran out of my butt after anal, and on nights when I slept over, in case I wet my bed.
When I returned to his house the next time (still having accidents), he diapered me and took me to a movie. I had to pee after the movie, and asked him to take me to the bathroom. He replied “you’re wearing it, do it in your diaper.” I now realize that was ultimate control for him. He determined when and where I pee’d. We got home and he began to change me, but stopped once I was clean and opened his pants. I guess I was trained now and waited with an open mouth. He came in my mouth, and then said he had a surprise for me. He led me to a room I hadn’t been in before, and inside was “my room.” He had a small dresser, and nightstand, and a bed complete with Batman sheets, which covered a noisy plastic mattress protector underneath. That was my bed for when I stayed the night, as well as for him to screw me on when he felt like it. He put my new clothes from before, as well as some even newer ones, in the drawers, and on top he stacked all my diapers. He wasn’t done with the surprises. He took me into the bathroom and showed me the enema hose and nozzle, the kind that hooked up at the shower head. He explained that “we” were gonna use this from now on before he put his penis up my butt, cause it was going to clean me out and make room, and it would feel better that way. Not knowing what an enema was, I was again quite confused as I lay across his lap and he inserted the nozzle. The cramps hurt, but not as bad as the first time his penis went up there, so I took it. I told him I had to go bad, but when he pulled the nozzle out, he pushed a plug in, which didn’t feel too good. He said that was there to make sure I didn’t go before it had time to work. He led me out of the bathroom and we watched tv while it had time to “work.” He finally took me back to the bathroom and let me expel everything, and from there it was to my room where he had me climb on my bed, get on my back and pull my legs up towards my head. He said this way I could watch, and he could watch my face. How conveniently for him he stocked my nightstand with Vaseline. I watch through wincing eyes as he pushed the whole thing in, and then as it went out, over, and over, and over. He started doing it a lot faster than the first time and harder too. My butt cheeks started to hurt from his hips as he slammed into me. He called me those names again, told me what a good little f**k I was, and how I had the tightest little bottom. Sadly, those words made me feel good, because compliments weren’t common to me, and I think I was so desperate for praise, it didn’t matter where it came from. He came in me, then cuddled me briefly, before on went the diaper. I was really sore again, but I didn’t scream once, just cried softly, and that was something he appreciated I guess. He fed me, waited for me to use my diaper, then cleaned me up and brought me back to town. Not once did he threaten me, beat me, tease me. He seemed to love me, and I totally believed that. I know better now. I will spare the times in between and will write of when he left my life another time. I have to say, I’m proud of myself for being able to put this to text and post it here. Thanks. -Tommy
Inside all of us there's a wild thing.
-My favorite book.