Across the Lawn [Tier 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

I know who he is, but I don’t know him.

I guess you could say I’m a little intrigued by him. I’m kind of intrigued by everyone in the neighborhood these days. That’s how you know I’ve been working from home for too long. I binged all the TV shows, I’ve read all my books and I’ve attempted to cook all the food. There’s not much left to do besides watching to see what the neighbors do.

Take Ms. McCormick, our next door neighbor. I think she used to be married, but I haven’t seen the guy, or his truck, in a while. Yet sure enough, every other night there’s a different car in her driveway. If I’m lucky, I’ll catch the man-of-the-evening as they arrive. 40-somethings, usually with facial hair and baseball hats. She has a type.

The Lenils, our neighbors on the other side, have twin daughters, maybe 10 or so years old. Cute kids, but they are always making noise. Whether they’re inside, outside, eating, playing, sleeping or coloring, I feel like I can hear everything they are saying and doing. They only have one way of communicating and it’s through screaming. I’ve been tempted to leave a pair of earplugs on their welcome mat for June, but I don’t know if she’d be amused or insulted.

Then there’s the Boltons, in the house across the street from ours. They had a kid, but I guess he went off to college or something. Good for him. They all seem nice enough, if not incredibly boring. Mrs. Bolton has an NPR bumper sticker on her Volvo, and I’ve long maintained that this was all I needed to know about her.

It’s the house behind ours that is the most curious to me. Their backyard meets our backyard, with the lawns being connected by only a fence. I don’t know their names - they are a young couple, maybe our age. My husband, Ken, says he’s talked to the guy a few times over the fence while they were both out doing lawn work at the same time. But, of course, he’s terrible at gossip.

“What was his name?” I’d ask.

“I don’t know.” He’d say.

“What did you guys talk about?”

“Oh, you know, just like...lawn stuff.”

“Lawn stuff? What does ‘lawn stuff’ even mean?”

Then he’d shrug and go get a beer or whatever it is Ken does.

I’ve been hesitant to pick a permanent location in our house to call my workspace while I work from home. Partly because it’s hard to choose an area that will forever be tainted by the foulness of work. But, too, because I need to rotate around the house to keep an eye on the neighborhood. I want to be there when Ms. McCormick’s date shows up. I want to see the silhouette of June Lenil bounce back and forth in her windows as she tries to herd her kids. I want to see when Mrs. Bolton gets home from the grocery store with her reusable linen shopping bags from museums and libraries.

But mostly, I want to keep my eye on this guy in the house behind us.

He wears diapers.

Not, as best as I could initially tell, for medical reasons. I supposed that was possible. But...I’ve seen enough to suggest that it’s something else.

The first time I witnessed this, I was drinking coffee in the master bedroom, with my laptop sitting on the little table in our ‘reading nook’ - a little corner of the bedroom with a bookshelf that we once had this really cute bout of ambition for. “It’ll be so fun! A little area just to read and hang out!” That never happened. That morning might have been the first time either of us had used it since the first week we assembled said nook.

But the chairs had a nice view out the back window, allowing us to see clear across our backyard, over the wooden fence, across the neighbors yard, and then right into their house. Someone ought to have told them to invest in more curtains and blinds - though I was glad that they hadn’t.

There, in a room that faced our house from their second story, through a conveniently large, clear, and unobstructed window, I could see Mr. Neighbor trotting around almost entirely nude - save for some sort of undergarment. I mean, that would certainly be enough of a sight. Yet, the more I studied the situation, the less sense it made to me. Why were his underpants so...thick? Bulky? Strangely bloated? And while I couldn’t make out the designs on them, I could see some sort of colorful print spanning across the front of it.

It’s his house, I told myself. He can do whatever he wants and wear whatever he wants. I didn’t want to judge him and I was trying not to. But there was something about that thing he was wearing that I just didn’t get and it was bothering me.

It stuck with me all evening long. It wasn’t always at the forefront of my mind, but it was always something that seemed to tease me from my mental periphery. I cooked dinner. What were those weird pants? I put some clothes in the dryer. Am I thinking too much into this? Maybe it was just a bad angle or bad lighting and they were regular ol’ underpants. I swept the kitchen floor. No...they were definitely bulky. Padded.

Ken had the television on while I folded laundry. I was barely paying attention. Part of me was just in auto-pilot as I folded Ken’s jeans. Part of me was picking at the little riddle that was floating about my noggin.

A piece of a commercial caught my attention, though: “...and now with 3 times more absorbing power than other leading diaper brands, Softees are the #1 choice for parents.”

“Diapers!” I said aloud.

“What about ‘em?” asked Ken.

I didn’t want to tell him the truth. Maybe I didn’t want to let Ken think that our neighbor was wearing diapers if he wasn’t - though I doubted I was wrong. Or if he had some sort of medical dependency on them. Besides, I liked that it was only me who knew about it. It was a secret between just my neighbor and I. And not even he realized that I was in on it.

“Just...feels like it’s the only thing you see commercials for anymore,” I said with a shrug. I wasn’t sure if that was a good enough bluff or not.

“Yeah, sure, I guess,” he said with a shrug, continuing to stare at the TV.

It was clearly good enough.

From that moment on, I knew.

I began working from that little reading nook almost every day. And it wouldn’t be every day that I’d see him through his bedroom window in diapers, but it happened enough. A few weeks went by like this. He’d suddenly appear in his bedroom and he’d quickly shed his clothes. Sometimes he was already wearing his diaper, while others he was completely naked and he’d lie on either the ground or his bed to change into one.

Everything about it fascinated me. Why did he like them? To what ends? Was he...using them?

Sometimes he’d just waddle around in his diapers, while other times he’d crawl about on the floor before rolling around playfully. Sometimes he’d just stop and squat for a few moments before sitting down in his diaper and proceed to play with himself.

I was never disgusted. It was, I suppose, ‘disgusting’ on some level, but not in a way that offended me. It was like a show that only I was privy to, and I lacked the full context to fully comprehend it, despite my desire to.

When I finally decided to do a search online for diaper fetishes, I was floored by the size of the community that had developed for such a thing. Young ladies selling photos of themselves sitting in high-chairs. Men unabashedly filling their pants for short videos that are put out into the world without a care in the world. Message boards. Meetups. Conventions. Stories. Storefronts that sold infantile items sized up for adults. It was a bizarre new world to me, and the more I watched, the hungrier I became. I wanted more. I wanted to see it all.

I was falling down a very strange rabbit hole.

I wondered if his wife knew. I wondered if she participated. Maybe she was the one who put him in that position? Many stories and videos seemed to suggest that was a common scenario. Or, at least, a common fantasy.

And then, one day, it happened.

I was watching him from our bedroom, as I was doing most workdays. He had waddled into his bedroom, quickly kicking off all of his clothes to reveal a thick diaper - this time a baby blue color. He crawled around for a bit before finding himself in front of the full length mirror mounted on their closet door. He admired himself for a bit, running his hands over his plump diaper over and over again. When he was ready, he was on his feet again, but squatting. He held that position for a bit.

I wished I knew what he was doing. I could speculate, but there was no way to know if I was right or not. I stood up, hoping to get a better view of what he was doing.

This may have been the thing that changed everything. Maybe he saw my body’s shape rise through my window. Maybe he caught the movement in his mirror. Regardless, his head spun so fast to face my house. He was looking right at me.

I couldn’t see the details well, but I knew the body language of fear when I saw it. He practically dove at his curtains to close them, cutting me off the sights I had grown accustomed to.

The curtains stayed that way in the days that followed.

I was torn. My initial feeling was that this was probably a good and healthy thing for me to have been cut off. He needed his space and privacy, and perhaps I had crossed a line by watching him everyday without his consent.

But...after having seen the things that I had, I wanted more. I wasn’t just falling down the rabbit hole of adult babies out of curiosity - even if it had started that way. I was invested. I was interested.

To be honest, I wasn’t sure what I wanted. The idea of wearing a diaper myself seemed completely alien. It was possible, but could I actually do it? It seemed unlikely.

But I wanted to see more. I wanted to see him in his diaper. I wanted to see what he did in it and how he moved around in it.

I kept telling myself it wasn’t maternal, but maybe it was. Kenneth and I weren’t going to have kids. We couldn’t - or so the doctor said when it came to Ken’s little swimmers. We talked about adoption, but then we got busy with work instead. Now, maybe the opportunity had passed us by. Most days we weren’t too upset about it. More time and money to blow on things like fire pits and trips to Athens.

But…

Did he need a mommy? That’s all I really wanted to ask.

I thought about going over there and knocking on the front door. It was a terrible idea, of course. Nobody wanted that. I couldn’t even imagine the feeling of answering your doorbell, only to find the neighbor who caught you in diapers asking you questions about your private life.

I let it go for as long as I could.

A month had passed since the day the curtains closed. The Day the Curtains Closed - a moment in my life that seemed to have as much emotional weight as the day my father had died, or the day I married Ken.

However, It was a perfect storm of coincidences that signaled to me that this adventure wasn’t over yet. On the same day that Ken had gone out of town for a week to see his brother, I found a piece of mail in my mailbox that was sent to the wrong address. I considered just leaving it in the box for the postal worker to find the next day and re-deliver, but I realized that this address was on the other side of my block.

The diaper-man’s house. Sean Gladstone.

It felt like fate, or a cosmic sign of some sort. How could it not be? Of all the possibilities of mis-delivered mail, a letter to that neighbor seemed like the most unlikely.

I curled my hair. Put on a little makeup. Picked out a pretty, but casual, light green sundress. With the letter in my hand, I decided to venture over to his house and hand-deliver it.

If fate had wanted this to happen, then it wouldn’t stop my luck now. I didn’t know what I wanted to happen, but I figured I’d know it when I saw it.

I rang his doorbell. There was silence for a moment or two before I heard footsteps approaching the door. My heart froze. This moment would either be nothing or everything.

“Hello?” he said, opening the door. I could see it in his face. He immediately recognized me as not only his neighbor - but the neighbor who had spotted him in his bedroom.

“Hi. I’m so sorry to bother you,” I said. “I just...I got something in my mailbox. I think it was for...you?”

“Oh… You did?”

I held up the envelope and waved it back and forth.

“Wow, they certainly had the wrong address then,” he said with a laugh. He plucked the envelope from my hands. I wished I had held it tighter - I was afraid he was just going to close the door and that’d be the end of it.

“Yeah, seemed like a strange mistake to me,” I said.

“I, uh, really appreciate you bringing it over to me,” he said. “I’m glad I have this…” he looked at the envelope. “...bank statement.”

And that felt like it was the end of it. Despite the strange push from fate, this moment seemed like it was fizzling out. There was nothing left to say. Nothing left to do.

“I’m sorry I watched you,” I blurted out. I didn’t want to say anything - let alone that - but it just came all at once. I immediately sighed, feeling stupid for having practically shouted that at him.

“It’s...it’s okay,” he said with a shrug. He opened his mouth and I knew he wanted to say more, but perhaps he was having his own internal conflict about what he should or shouldn’t say.

“Maybe I should get going,” I said.

“Are you busy?” he asked.

“Busy? Now?”

“Well...I was going to put some tea on. Maybe...you’d want some?”

If he had offered me a cup of swamp water, I likely would’ve stayed.

“Okay, yeah.”

He held the front door open for me and I followed him inside his home. It wasn’t that different from how Ken and I lived - the life of 30-somethings without kids. No toys or food wrappers, just curated art and decorations, while glimpses of their hobbies were scattered about. Some books. A magazine about skiing. Hiking poles and a backpack in the corner.

No diapers, though. I guess I didn’t expect that.

“My name is Stacy,” I said as I followed him through his dining room and into his kitchen. He filled the kettle with water and put it on the stove to boil.

“It’s nice to meet you, Stacy,” he said. “I’m Sean - though I suppose you had already figured that out.”

“I guessed,” I said. “And your wife?”

“Aimee. She’s at the shore this weekend with her ‘gal pals,’” he said with a laugh.

Another thread of fate had revealed itself.

“I think I’ve met your husband before,” he continued. “Ken?”

I nodded and smiled. “That’s him. Also away for a few days. Must be the season for spouses to take off on their own.”

He laughed and shrugged. “Maybe. If I’m being honest, Aimee and I don’t spend as much time together these days.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.” I wanted to ask why, but I also didn’t want to pry.

“It’s not the worst thing,” he said. “Maybe we need a little distance. Absence makes the heart grow fonder, as they say.”

There was a diapered elephant in the room, but if he wasn’t bringing it up, then neither was I.

“I need to confess something,” he said, his face taken on a serious look.

“Okay?”

“I...wanted to talk to you,” he said. “About the things you saw that day. Or...other days? I suspect that it wasn’t the first time.”

I shook my head. There was no point in lying now. “I’ve seen you in your room before that. Often.”

His cheeks turned red. “I thought so. But...you kept looking? Watching?”

I shrugged. “I guess so, yeah.”

“I’m not…” his voice trailed off for a moment as he sought the right words. “I’m not a creep, you know? I’m not hurting anyone.”

“You don’t have to defend yourself to me,” I said.

He nodded. “Thank you.”

“Wait, but you said you have something to..confess?”

“Ah, right. Well… Like I said, I wanted to talk to you - I wanted to, I guess, make sure that you weren’t going to paint me as some sort of perverted weirdo in the neighborhood. But I wasn’t sure how to initiate that conversation…”

“So you put your mail in my mailbox,” I said with a nod. It made sense now. Fate didn’t have as much of a hand in this as I had thought.

“It was still a gamble,” he said with a laugh. “For all I knew, you’d have thrown away the mail or given it back to the postman. Maybe your husband would’ve brought the mail over and met my wife.”

“Well it sounds like you got what you wanted, then,” I said.

“So...where do we stand on you running around town calling me a pervert?” he asked.

“Let me have my tea first,” I joked. “Then I’ll decide.”

We both laughed.

“Finding your mail seemed serendipitous to me,” I said. “I wanted to talk to you too, but I don’t think I would’ve ever made the first move.”

“Is that so?” he asked, his eyebrows raised high.

“The things that I saw you doing up in your room - they triggered some part of me that I never knew existed.”

“The diapers?” he asked. It felt good to hear him say the d-word. I needed to hear it, and I needed him to be the one to say it first. It felt like validation of everything I had been feeling since I first thought I identified what he had been wearing.

I nodded.

“I didn’t know I was putting on a show for you,” he said. “And had I known sooner I probably would’ve closed the curtains sooner.”

The validation felt reinforcing. I realized that I had nothing to lose. I wasn’t the one to be embarrassed here - it was only him, and it always had been. He was right, even if he had just been trying to make a joke: With ease, I could spread rumors across the neighborhood of what I had seen.

I moved to the offensive. “Why do you wear diapers?”

The bluntness of my question caught him off guard. “I...I’m sorry?”

“Do you just like the feeling of diapers?” I asked. “Or do you want to be a baby?”

His face had turned pale, save for his rosy cheeks. He hemmed and hawed for a moment, trying his best to figure out how he wanted to answer that. But there was only one way for him to proceed - and it was to take the path that I already had: honest bluntness.

“I don’t want to be a baby,” he said. “Yes...I want to act like one. But not by choice.”

“So you want to be forced?”

He nodded.

“Does your wife know?”

He started to shake his head, paused, and sighed. “She knows, I guess. She knew. We’ve talked about it before. But she’s not interested in playing. I don’t think she found it gross, I think it was just beyond anything she was willing to participate in.”

“So you wear when she’s not here?”

“Mostly.”

“Do you use your diapers?”

“I mean...uh...do you really want to know that?”

“I’ve seen you,” I said. “Squatting in your bedroom in between crawling around and whatever else it is you do. I assume that you do.”

The tea kettle began to whistle. He rushed to the stove, turning the burner off and pulling the kettle from it. Two cups with tea bags in them were waiting, and he poured steaming water into each.

“I do,” he said while his back was turned to me. I imagined that he didn’t want to see my face when he said that.

Despite having already guessed what his answer would be, I found the actual answer to be further empowering.

“And I imagine that you do more than wet yourself, yes?”

He let out a frustrated gasp as he put the kettle back down on his stove, carrying over the two cups to the kitchen’s island.

“You...really want to know everything, huh?”

“Like I said, I think seeing you struck a nerve with me. I went online, and I started seeing videos. I started reading stories. I started looking at photos.”

“And?”

I laughed. “I’m quite fond of it now.”

He looked nervous. I hoped I hadn’t come off as intimidating, but I was also liking the little power trip I was experiencing. Likewise, I don’t think he was exactly upset that his female neighbor was grilling him on his diaper-wearing habits. This had to have played into some sort of fantasy of his. I wondered if it was a fantasy scenario he had imagined while planting his mail in my mailbox.

“I do more than just wet my diapers, yes,” he said.

“Are you wearing a diaper now?”

He exhaled through his nose as it wrinkled a little. He both did and did not want to answer that question.

“Yes,” he finally said.

“I want to see?”

“Here?”

“Why not? We’re the only ones here, right? Though you might want to make sure your curtains are closed this time, of course.”

He took a look around the room, assessing the windows. He seemed confident enough in what he saw that he began to unbuckle his belt.

I tried to remember the last time I had been so excited about what I’d see in a man’s pants as they took them off. Maybe it had been back when I was a naive teenager - long before Ken had established the act of taking off his pants as just a preparation for lounging around the house in his boxer shorts. But I felt honest excitement. He was going to show his diaper to me. Because I asked him too.

His pants fell to his ankles, and there it was. When I had seen it across the lawn and through his bedroom window, my mind had filled in the gaps for the details I couldn’t see. But now, in person, I realized that I hadn’t been that far off at all. It was every bit as thick and padded as I thought it was. The brilliant white of the outer plastic was only interrupted by the blue and yellow lines running through the middle of it. It took me a moment to realize what their purpose was - and this revelation came to me from spotting the saturated yellow at the bottom of his diaper, which had blended the lines into a green color.

“So you’ve already been using this one, I see.”

“Yes…”

I felt unprepared. Really, how could I be? A few weeks ago, I had no idea that I had any desire for this whatsoever. Everything that I’ve seen and read since has been research, at best.

I decided to just listen to my heart.

“So you were just a naughty little baby who decided to go and piddle in your diapers?”

He seemed to be in disbelief - perhaps in as much disbelief as I felt for having said that, though I thought I was doing a pretty good job of holding it together.

“I...well…”

“Just tell me what you did,” I said. I commanded it.

“I wet myself.”

“How much did you wet yourself? Because it looks like you flooded your little baby pants.” I took a victorious sip of tea - extra loud and slurping.

“Quite a bit…”

“That’s what I thought,” I said. “That’s what it looks like. Now, tell me. If I hadn’t come over here tonight - though I’m sure you hoped that I would - do you think you’d have done more in your diaper?”

“Oh...maybe?”

“Be straight with me, Sean.”

He nodded. “Yes. Eventually.”

“I have nowhere else to be tonight,” I said with a smile. “And it doesn’t sound like you do either. I’ve got time to wait.”

“You want to see me go and…”

I nodded. “I don’t know for sure, but I feel pretty confident that I’ve seen you do it before. You’ll waddle around in your room and then squat. You’ll hold that position for a minute or two and I can just make out the look of determination on your face.”

His fate turned an even darker shade of red.

“Yes,” I said, “that’s the color of your face when you do it too!”

The look on his face was priceless. The diapered man had come face to face with the realization that all the secret kinky things he had done were being watched by someone else. Things he had no intention of showing other people.

“And what did you do after that?” I asked.

He looked up at me from the floor, but he didn’t answer.

“I’ll tell you,” I said. “I watched it happen. You sat down on the ground. You sat down in your dirty diaper. On purpose. Am I correct?”

He exhaled through his nose and then nodded.

“And then? You reached into your diaper and started to play with yourself.”

“You weren’t supposed to see that,” he finally said. “Any of that.”

“I wasn’t. And I know that. But that’s also why I watched.”

He paused while he considered everything we had both said. I imagined he was weighing his options.

He could’ve told me to just leave - I would’ve respected that request. If at any point he said that he didn’t want this encounter to continue, I would’ve turned and walked out the door and that would’ve been the end of it.

I don’t think he wanted me to leave. He had, after all, more or less invited me.

“I don’t want anyone to know about this,” he said. “Any of it.”

“Over the last few weeks, I’ve had a very private show of the most secret show on Earth,” I said. “Selfishly, I don’t want anyone else to know either.”

With no further comment, Sean leaned forward a little and began to squat, right in front of me. It was the position. The one I had watched from my reading nook.

“Wait...now? You’re actually going to poop yourself?”

He laughed a little. “If it’s not now, it'll be later. And I think I can make it happen now.”

“Then by all means. Fill your diaper for me.”

This was likely the best case scenario that Sean had in mind when he put his letter in my mailbox. Of all the likely possibilities, I imagined that this one was the one he had hoped for the most - despite being the least likely.

He grunted to himself as his face grew red. I wondered if it was always like this, or if there were times where barely any effort was needed at all. Was it me? Was my presence making it harder to perform?

“Everything okay? You don’t have to push yourself too hard if you don’t want to.”

“I...I just...I just need to get it started. This happens sometimes,” he said.

I had watched a video online a night or two ago. The big diapered man had been ordered to make a mess in his diapers by his mommy, and while he worked on making that happen, she had alternated between rubbing his belly and rubbing his diaper for him. Maybe it hadn’t actually done anything to make the man use his diaper any faster, but he had clearly enjoyed the extra attention in that moment.

Poor Sean, I wondered if he could benefit from something similar.

I stepped closer to him, reaching under him slowly and patting his padded bottom.

“How’s it going in there?” I cooed. “Did the big baby make a big mess for me yet?”

This wasn’t the time to get his feedback on what was or wasn’t working for him, but clearly something was. A little tent was showing in the front of his diaper, while another grunt yielded a soft toot from his diaper.

Things were moving now.

“I...I’m going to…”

“Yes? Tell me what you’re about to do.”

“I’m going to p...:”

“You can say it,” I assured him. “Go on.”

“I’m going to poop my diaper.”

“For me?”

For you.”

I kept my hand on the bottom of this diaper. I never expected that I would’ve seen this so closely, let alone with my hand at ground zero. I expected him to shoo my hand away, but he didn’t. He probably liked the feeling as much as I was enjoying it.

“Go on,” I said one last time.

One last grunt, and everything rushed from his bowels with a loud ripple that echoed into his diaper. The back of it expanded into my hand. It was warm and firm. Most of it had come almost immediately, but a second round came soon after to top it off. It was so much. I guess I never thought about just how much one person could push out of their bottom while sitting on a toilet - it was never something I had to think about. But feeling the weight and size of his mess in my hand now, as the bottom of his diaper drooped into it, I was impressed.

I hadn’t thought about the smell before. It seemed like such an obvious thing to consider too. But when the wall of stench slapped me in the face, it was startling. I kept it together. It wasn’t disgusting, per se. It wasn’t pleasant. But it represented a lot of things - his shame, his role, his obedience to a stranger.

I could almost convince myself that it was a good smell.

When he looked at me again, I saw both shame and a need for reassurance that this hadn’t been a mistake.

“What a good boy,” I said. The words and the tone had no prior residence in my mind, but I was proud of myself for finding them now. “Did you do all that just for me?”

His lips slowly curved into a smile and he exhaled in relief. He looked so incredibly relieved that I was still here, and still seemingly onboard for his strange little world.

“I...yes,” he said, bashfully.

“I’ve seen what you’ve done before after filling your diapers like that,” I reminded him. “Is it bad that I want to see it again? Up close this time?”

“Do you mean, like...sitting down?”

“That’s right. Don’t you want to? Don’t you want to sit in your filth? I know you like to.”

He looked conflicted, and it wouldn’t be hard to guess what the conflict was. He wanted to. Both because it was exactly what he liked to do, and because I asked him to. But it was a lot to show anyone, let alone his neighbor.

“I don’t know…”

“I’m not going to beg you to sit in your dirty diaper,” I said. “But I wouldn’t be upset if you did.”

He was debating it with himself, as he was now his only obstacle. He nodded finally, indicating that he had made up his mind.

I could tell that he was waiting for me to ask him what he was going to do before he proceeded. I was tempted to, but I bit my tongue. If he knew what he wanted to do, he was just going to have to do it.

The message was sent and he exhaled quickly while his nostrils flared. It was almost as if he believed his hands were tied. Given the choice, his face seemed to say, I’d rather not do this. But you’ve given me no choice.

It started as a squat, but he kept lowering himself to the ground, and once his palms positioned themselves on the floor, it was clear that he was going through with this.

I had assumed that there wouldn’t be much for me to directly see. Most of the action would be taking in place inside his diaper - the stinky bulk that it was - as he sat down. I’d be left just watching his face and imagining what was happening within his garment.

What I witnessed, however, was far more visceral than I had imagined it would be. The expression on his face changed drastically in the moment that his diaper just barely touched the ground. It was so full that even the slightest amount of pressure on it caused its contents to shift against his skin.

But he didn’t stop, aside from that slight pause. He continued to lower himself down. His massive mess in his diaper was looking for new places to go as it was sandwiched between the floor and his ass.

I was wrong - it was more than just seeing the expression on his face change. Yes, there was plenty of that, and I relished the mix of pleasure and disgust wash over his face. But, too, I could see the thinner parts of the diaper near his leg bands turning brown as his mess was pushed against it. I could hear the plastic of the diaper crinkling and ruffling under him. I could actually hear the messy sounds of the wet load squelching as it was displaced in his diaper. I could smell the entirely new, and stronger, pungent wave as it wafted across the room at me.

And when it was completed, there he was, the baby sitting in his own filth. And he looked absolutely entranced by it. I wondered what the world looked like from his perspective. Was I even in the room anymore?

He seemed to have lost any of the hesitancy he had shown earlier. He no longer needed, nor wanted, to be led. He knew what he wanted, and he had been pushed to the point where he couldn’t stop himself even if he wanted to.

For a moment, he hopelessly pawed at the front of his diaper, trying to get into it. When he finally did, he grasped his stiffened manhood - rock hard at the sensation of sitting in his dirty diaper in front of me, no doubt - and pulled it out so that he could begin stroking it furiously.

It was both more than I had ever expected to see on this trip, and exactly what I had hoped for in my most secret fantasies.

“Do you like that?” I asked. I allowed my voice to get as soft and maternal as I could. I had never been a mother myself - it was an inherent voice that I knew was in me somewhere, but had never needed to reach for before. “Do you like touching yourself in that vile little diaper of yours?”

He grunted to confirm, but had little attention to give me. I didn’t take offense to this, as it gave me the opportunity to practice my newfound mommy-tone.

“That’s it,” I cooed. “Keep stroking yourself just like that. It must feel so incredibly naughty, yes?”

Another little whimper - but it was hard to tell if he was responding or if the timing was just coincidental.

“Well you certainly smell naughty. I can only imagine what it must feel like.”

“I...I…”

I didn’t know what he was trying to say, but it wasn’t really my concern. He’d find the words if it was important enough.

“That’s a nasty little trick, if you ask me,” I continued. “You tricked me into coming to your house so that you could make me watch you poop your pants and play around in it? What a nasty little boy. Why, I bet if your wife knew, she’d be very upset about it. You’re certainly owed a punishment, right? Maybe some slaps across your filthy bottom will help teach a lesson.”

This seemed to push him over whatever edge he had been perilously close to.

“I...I’m going to…”

The poor baby never had a chance to finish that sentence. His shaft erupted, and his thick milky come oozed down his hand and onto the front of his diaper.

I had seen enough. It wasn’t that I was offended - far from it, really. But this mess, and his comedown, would be entirely his to deal with. I saw what I wanted to, and it was time to move on.

“W...wait,” he pleaded as I turned to leave.

“Yes?”

“Are you...are we...will we ever do this again?”

“You keep playing your games in the bedroom,” I said. “Leave the curtains open.”

He nodded.

“Maybe I’ll stop by again sometime.”

He nodded again.

“Thank you,” I said finally, before leaving his house and walking back to my own.

I had done a great job, I thought, of hiding the fact that I was actually a bundle of nerves. It felt like there was electricity in my body and I could barely focus as I made my way around the block. My research and curiosity had not prepared me for just how exciting it was to have actually seen.

I had questions now - questions for myself, really. What was it that I liked about what I had seen? What did I want more of? What did any of that mean?

I was going to go home, pour myself a large glass of wine, let my hand slip into my panties, and think about what I had just seen.

And then I’d spend some more time at the reading nook. I’d watch his window again - and maybe I’d watch the windows of some of the other homes a little more closely.

What else was I missing?