The following story is a complete work of fiction.

Any similarity to actual persons living or dead is completely unintentional...

not to mention I will also be so incredibly jealous too.

 

 

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Close Encounters

by Danny

 

 

 

~ Nineteenth Encounter ~

 

My next encounter happened at a new restaurant that opened outside of town. The restaurant was called, ‘The Flying Tiger Griller’ and it was absolutely enormous. They turned an old airplane hangar into an aerospace themed family steakhouse with dining booths made from sections of old planes. In the back was a large banquet room that was made up so that you feel like you are sitting inside a futuristic space shuttle and eating your dinner in outer space.

So here is how it happened... My brother had turned 21-years-old that day and our parents wanted to do something special for him. My whole family piled into the car as well as my brothers’ girlfriend and my two best friends, Sean and Mark, and we drove out to The Flying Tiger Griller to celebrate my brother’s birthday. We were packed into the car like sardines, and to fit everyone in, we had to pile a few of us on top of each other. In the back seat, my brother’s girlfriend was sitting on his lap, Sean was sitting on my lap and Mark was squished in the middle of us. Of course mom and dad sat up front with my sister in-between them and by the time we arrived in the parking lot of ‘The Flying Tiger Griller’, my legs were numb, having gone to sleep under Sean’s weight.

Mark and Sean were just as excited as I was to get inside to see all the model airplanes, rocket ships and other aerospace memorabilia, but they stood by the car waiting for my legs to awaken while the rest of my family and my brother’s girlfriend went to get in line to enter.

Even though the place had only been open for about a week, everyone for miles around knew about its opening and the place was always packed. Thankfully, on this day, the line to get in didn’t look to be very long.

“On the way back, I’m sitting on you!” I teased Sean.

Sean laughed, “No, you can sit on Mark and I’ll sit on both of you.”

I was sitting inside the car with my legs hanging out the door while Sean leaned on the open door, and Mark stood gawking at the inviting entrance to the restaurant. Mark turned excitedly and bumped the car door, which barely touched my leg, but that was enough to ignite the pins and needles within my legs.

“Whoa yeah! They’re waking up now!” I groaned.

Mark bent down and started to rub my calves, “Come on, we’re missing everything!”

“PLEASE, OH YOU’RE KILLING ME, STOOOOP!” I cried out half laughing and half dying inside.

It only took a minute or two before I was ready to go in. Of course Sean and Mark took full advantage of teasing me, but I got in a few zingers of my own too. Dad had given me the keys with the remote for the door locks. I pushed the door closed, pressed the button and the doors clicked, then the three of us turned from the car only to stop dead in our tracks.

I’m not sure who saw the guys first, maybe we all saw them at the same time, but none of us could believe our eyes. No less than ten guys were climbing out of a School bus, and not a one of them were wearing clothes save for a cloth diaper, bib, baby-booties, a blue bonnet. The whole lot of them were sucking on pacifiers. They all looked to be about my brother’s age, maybe a little younger. Some of the guys were nicely tanned while others were pale-shinned and the second to the last guy off the bus looked like he hadn’t missed very many meals; he was the funniest looking of them all... I mean if you could pick out just one.

They all looked beet-red with embarrassment and completely miserable. Each of the overgrown babies had a different number painted onto their chests and backs and each was holding three helium filled balloons on strings. The balloons also had numbers on them that matched the number on the baby that was holding its string. I did a quick scan and saw that the highest number was twelve.

“Wow, there are twelve of them!” I commented.

Then from around the front of the bus came several other guys dressed in full football gear, helmets and all. There were too many of them to count but it looked like there were more of them than there were of the babies. The footballers began shouting at the babies, “COME ON YOU CRYBABIES! LET’S GET THOSE DIAPERED BUTTS MOVING! MOVE IT, MOVE IT, MOVE IT!”

“I think it’s some sort of initiation?” Mark observed, making it sound as though he was just thinking out loud.

The line of people waiting to get in to eat, exploded with laughter, cheers and clapping as they saw the oversized babies running toward them.

Mark fell on the pavement laughing. Sean was staring open mouthed at the spectacle. I think I was drooling, but none of us saw until it was too late that one of the babies had broken away from the bunch and ran right toward the three of us. When I finally did see him running at us, I stumbled backward and fell on my butt.

Sean didn’t move, not an inch, so he was the first of us to get a balloon. Yep, those babies were taking the balloons, tying the string to people’s wrists and chanting the same thing to each receiver.

“I am a North Middleton Freshman! Please accept this gift on behalf of the North Middleton Bulldogs. BULLDOGS RULE! WOOF! WOOF! WOOF!”

The baby that had given the three of us his balloons was the first back to his bus, and I am sure he was overjoyed to have spotted the three of us standing so close. Mark couldn’t stop rolling on the ground and laughing through the event. The poor baby had a heck of a time getting that balloon tied to Mark’s wrist, but he finally managed it and took off as quickly as he’d come.

Once the three of us found mom and dad in the line, the rest of the day progressed normally, except for the topic of conversation at everyone’s tables seemed to be about the twelve oversized babies.

 

~ Twentieth Encounter ~

 

I’m not sure I can call this next one a true encounter. It happened about a month after my brother’s birthday. I was riding on the back of my brother’s motorcycle, which is something that scared the ever-loving-life out of me. He drives it like he has a death-wish and even more so when I’m on it. I had my arms wrapped around my brother in a bear hug fashion with my fingers locked together and my right ear planted firmly between his shoulder blades. We live in one of the few states that wearing a helmet is optional. Normally, our parents insist that we wear helmets but on this particular day, my brother had picked me up at the library and didn’t have his spare helmet with him. This was another part of the reason I was hunkered down and tightly cling to my brother. With the wind whipping through my hair and past my ears, it was zapping away all of my body heat.

We had pulled up to a red light and he was revving the engine when a black pickup truck pulled up next to us. At first, I didn’t pay too much attention to the truck until the light turned green and it started to pull slightly ahead of us. I saw that there was a grown woman and a boy of maybe five or six, sitting in the bed of the truck. The woman had very long hair and the wind was whipping it around so much that I couldn’t see her face. The little boy was standing up, leaning partially into the cab of the truck through the small back window. Then I noticed that the boy was not wearing pants. He had on a long sleeved green and blue wide horizontally stripped shirt and what I can only guess might have been yellow plastic pants. I only got a quick glimpse and I suppose that it is entirely possible that the boy was wearing some sort of Speedo, but it wasn’t really swimming season, so I have my doubts about that.

 

~ Twenty-Firsts Encounter ~

 

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.

 

If you are enjoying this story, please send me a short (or even a long) email to let me know at m12@thedoghousemail.com. You’re kind words are like fuel to my creative self!