"Hi, my name is Derrin."

Derrin...

Derrin. He was beautiful. Smooth, delicate face, sweet puffy lips, that light, caramel skin.

Hi, my name is Derrin. Such life in his eyes. It echoes in my mind, in my heart: My name is Derrin, the moment my life changed.

He'd seen my chart, I guess. He knew I had no speech. He knew I'd been helpless since birth, these 15 years, unable to control my limbs, unable to form words. Unable to control much but my eyes and some of my face.

Hi, my name is Derrin. The beauty of him. The sweet smile. The lips. My name is Derrin.

"You might as well try to pee the rest, before I change you, sweetie." Sweetie! Sweetie! My name is Derrin... Sweetie.

No. Nope. No pee. No pee. Hard! Dickie Hard! My name is Derrin. My need so great.

"Gaa!" I need you, "UnggGaa!" Touch me, touch my desperate dickie. He undoes my dydee, and my dickie springs up. My dickie, that I have never touched. My dickie that torments me, that obsesses me, every waking moment.

He looks, smiles gently. "So, are you gay? straight? not fussy?"

I let out a long vocalization: One. One is for 'Yes.' Two would be 'No.'

"I like boys," he said, "Is that okay?"

One! Oh, one for sure.

"I'll bet you get horny in there," he smiled, "I know I do. If there's anything..."

"Aghaaa!" I hooted, almost a rattling sound, "Haaa!"

"Let's get you washed up," he says, adjusting the spray on the changing table. He directs the spray at my flaring boner, directs it at my taut scrotum: cold, then hot, then cold. I tremble and ejaculate. Yes! This! This is my sex life, the entirety of it, at 15. He watches me make my cream. Gentle, patient.

Not really the entirety. In my situation, you have a lot of sex -- in your mind. I'm pretty good at it. I cum every day, at least once. The first time, when I first wake up, is the best. Real strong and good. It's later in the day, when the desire sets in, but the flesh is not as hair-trigger ready, that's the worst. Horny, but no way to get off with just mental-sex. I make a lot of the clear stuff all day. I can feel my penis sliding in it, as it hardens and softens.

The bus pulls up to our communal home. The short bus. My life is the short bus. I don't mind. We need the short bus, like we need our dydees, like we need people like Derrin, able people. Gentle and kind or cold and abrupt, we need them. Our feelings... Our? My feelings are complex: dependency, love, envy, hatred, worship, shame... desire. The daily humiliation of having another person see you, know you, attend to your most personal places, your least appealing functions. See you there. Fuck, at least I don't get periods.

Derrin! Derrin's here! Sweet Derrin. He collects me, takes me to be changed. I look in his eyes, his gentle eyes, at his lips.

"Hey there! How's the state of the condition of things, this afternoon? Better?"

I hoot twice, three, five times, almost bawling, as he opens my dydee and sees my sorry state, sees me oozing, hard and bobbing, reaching, sees my boy-need.

"Did you want some help?" he asks, sympathy in his eyes. Kind eyes. Those soft lips.

I let out a long, plaintive utterance. One.

His soft face, his kind eyes. He reaches, reaches, reaches... time slows and he reaches, forever, for the urgency of me... reaches across a vast distance, the pain-space of my need... for the urgency of me. Reaches, reaches, Touches. Touches!

The soft face of him, the soft soul of him. He reaches. He touches.

It's real, it's Real! Solid. Not a picture in my mind, not gossamer, not diaphanous. Real. Solid. A fact. The hugeness if it, the ruthless solidity, the physicality, slams through me: joy so solid it aches.

The fire of ecstacy rises to engulf my body, invades my brain, rises to immolate me in something absolute, solid, good beyond my imagining.

Beyond imagining...

Imagining is all I have ever done, except for the water spray. Imagining and shooting my cream: into its own softness, into its own sweet stickiness in my dydee, in my secret, hidden, babysex orgy place. All I have ever done.

But this is so SOLID.

Derrin! Derrin! It takes me away, to a place that fixes everything, that fixes everything, that gives me fulfillment and release and blissful completion, pulsing, pulsing, pulsing into my own puddle of cream. Nourished.

"Hey," he says softly, "You've been asleep. Guess it was good, eh?"

My single hoot almost a sob. My single hoot a confession, an oath. His nimble hands tender, as he wipes my foamy drool and does me up. My lover. My savior, at 15.

Derrin says he needs to check my skin. It's a legitimate concern for those of us who live in diapers. He hoses me off quickly, in lukewarm water, and then picks me up. Understand that, never having walked, my muscle mass is pretty slight. He puts his big, soft hands under my buttocks and picks up my hips, looking intently at my boner and balls, now drawn up in delight at his attention. He turns me a little to each side, looking at my thighs, then pulls my buttocks apart a little, tugging on my hole. The feeling is wonderful, dreamy. My anus pulses with wanting to be touched. I've never seen my anus. Oh, I hope it's pretty. He puts me down and lifts my scrotum away from my thigh, grasping and tugging the skin lightly to each side. My balls are practically purring from his attentions. Touching me, he's helping me celebrate boyness, which affects me deeply. I exult in exhibiting myself on purpose, showing my boy parts to Derrin, on purpose. Another gay teen. He's seen me cum. He's made me cum. I'm displaying myself, pressing myself out, sexually. Making him see me. See my Dickie! The thrill of it reverberates, deep inside me.

He shifts to holding my taut bag in one tender hand, wraps his big, soft fingers around my begging boner. I descend into burning, cumming, jerking madness and delight. He smiles tenderly, watching me, as I finish creaming. He's watching. He watches my goosebumps come and go.

"Looks like you're okay," he says, closing up 'shop.'

He's there again the next day, smiling into my eyes, changing and rinsing me.

"You want powder today?" he asks, avoiding my eyes a little.

I give him a 'Yes.'

He begins smoothing the creamy talcum on my thighs and then my bag, moving with languid, hypnotic strokes. His eyes are soft, unfocused, his mouth a little agape. His soft hands caress me with the silky powder. Back behind my balls, alongside. I'm teetering on the edge. I can feel him trembling, see he's nervous. He looks into my eyes, licks his lips.

"Do you want me to cum on you?" he asks. I can see his desire. "Do you want my load?"

I pause a moment in shock and delight. I can do something for him, something for Derrin. Yesssssss... my heart whispers. Oh yes! Oh God, yes! I hoot one long, low note, sealing our pact.

He pulls his scrubs down below his thighs, revealing a smooth, tawny beauty, sitting fat atop generous nuts. His pubic hair is very short and tightly curly, like his head hair. He lifts my hand and gently brings it to touch his fat perfection. The warmth and softness of it... He stops and takes it away, when he hears me start making the sounds that always come out when I'm getting ready to cum. He begins stroking, his big lovely dick swelling, darkening, his pee-lips parting to let his viscous clear joy fluid well out. It stands there, beckoning. Looking at it, I can feel my insides beginning to contract.

"Close your eyes, sweetie," he says, speeding up. I'm reluctant, I hesitate. "Just for a sec," he coaxes. "Here comes, close your eyes." He moans, soft and long and trembly.

Across my cheek and lips it falls, warm and heavy, wet. Again, again, sending a shock of delight to the heart of me. This was cool, dirty sex. Better than I could have hoped. A lovely, dirty thing. I had been inducted into grown-up sex. I wasn't a dydee baby anymore; I was a kinky teenage fag, depraved in my secret heart. He'd baptized me Queer, in his hot, heavy spunk.

I could smell it, heavy and musky. My tongue managed to reach and harvest some of it, bring it home to momma, to be tasted and breathed and savored, to mark my heart forever with intoxicating deviance.

I came deep and hard, but kind of different: more about the kinkiness than the physical. But I came, and he finished me off with his fingers, so it was solid and complete. I came in Derrin's hand.

"Did you just have dirty, kinky sex? Was it good?"

I hooted a low moan of rapture. He saw my shining eyes.

"You're such a dirty boy," he smiled, crooned. "I love it. Put that thing back in your pants and you leave it alone 'till I tell you it's okay for you to cum." He closed my fresh diaper, soft around my pervy teen cock. Dick. 'Richard,' to you.

"Behave, and don't make me punish you," he smirked.

I giggled. I can do that.

Next morning -- the whole next day at school -- I suffered. My sweet cream tickled huge inside me, deep behind my boner. I had such good mental-sex material now, but I didn't want to take the edge off, not before being with Derrin. Besides, he ordered me to save my cream for him. I sat and oozed, electrified, awaiting his permission. When I get home, I will cream for him.