Page 11 of Asher's Answer
Those gorgeous hazel eyes light up with excitement. “Oh, that’s clever! Can I use that?”
I can’t stop myself from leaning over and kissing him gently. “Of course.”
He beams and then turns back to his laptop. While he’s researching, I’m shopping. I’m buying him new clothes -big and little both- and toiletries and toys. I’ve ordered extra diapers and wipes and bottles, because his curiosity is rapidly turning to enthusiasm and I want to be prepared for him. Additional groceries follow, because even if he’s not officially my boy, he’s living here now, and I’m going to care for and provide for him.
“So…the diaper thing,” he queries softly, not long after I’ve placed the last of my orders.
I turn to him, trying to keep my expression neutral. It’s not a surprise that he’s gone there. It’s one of the bigger concerns for most people new to exploring age regression. “Yeah?”
He squirms in his seat. “Is it…I mean…do people actually…”
“Wet them?”
Just the words send another delicious flush of embarrassment over Ash’s skin and I have the urge to cuddle him and never let him go. He’s such a sweet boy.
He coughs. “Uh…yeah. That.”
“They do, yeah.” I say it as though it’s not a big deal, because for me, it’s not. “But that’s not an immediate thing, or even expected. Some people are content to wear them purely for aesthetics. Others start that way and work their way up to being comfortable enough to lose themselves entirely in their little headspace.”
“Entirely?” He questions and then scrunches his nose. “Oh, no, sorry,eww. Poop is a hard limit.” He gags exaggeratedly.
I can’t help the burst of laughter at his horrified expression. “That’s fair, baby. Totally fair.” But then I can’t help teasing a little, cocking an eyebrow at him, “But wetting’s okay?”
“Charlie!” The blush which had faded comes back with a vengeance.
Still, he doesn’t say no. I didn’t expect him to. He’s already admitted that he’s curious about it, and my guess is he might one day genuinely enjoy the freedom that comes with letting go that way…once he trusts himself and his Daddy wholeheartedly.
I smother a pang of yearning to be that Daddy. To earn that much trust from this skittish man.
Too fast, Charlie.
I blame my mother for how quickly my investment in this potential relationship has bloomed. She’s notorious for her hyperactivity, too.
When Ash yawns, I glance at my watch and decide it’s probably past the bedtime I’d usually set for him. But we’ve covered a lot of ground over the past couple of hours and have gotten to know each other better. After he shyly agreed that he’s just as interested in an ‘us’ as I am, we moved onto negotiations.
We’ve agreed on basic rules: honesty with each other being the most significant, watching his language as a little, following my instructions as a little, treating each other as equals and partners the whole way.
We went over the concept of consequences for breaking the rules, and I was clear that, in my world, spanking is a ‘funishment’ and part of game play only. Actual consequences might range anywhere from being stood in a corner to writing lines to being grounded. He agreed with it all.
I send him off to use the bathroom and brush his teeth, and when he comes back out of the bathroom and into his bedroom, he blinks at the new pajamas I hold out to him, complete with a brand new pair of training pants.
“Uh…” he says, looking from the clothing to me and back again.
“How long have you been cycling through the same pair of jeans with different shirts?” I ask gently. “I’d like to throw them in the wash.”
“Okay,” he acknowledges after another moment’s thought. Then he swallows. “Will you, um, help me get dressed?”
He’s big right now, but the step towards the relationship I so badly want to cultivate with him squeezes my heart. I can see his own longing reflected in his hazel eyes, and that convinces me that he’s not just doing this because he knows I want it. He wants it, too. I’m proud of him for voicing the request. “I would love that, baby.”
In his room, I help pull his plain gray T-shirt over his head, then push his jeans and underwear down over his hips and down his legs. I learn that his blush travels down his neck and over his chest, and I want to kiss every spot it touches, but I don’t push my luck. This is only day one. We have time.
We have forever, says a traitorously hopeful voice at the back of my head.
I ignore that voice in preference of pulling the training pants up his long legs, ignoring his semi-hard cock. I’ve already pushed those boundaries further than I’m comfortable with for one night. Ash scrunches his nose adorably and wriggles.
“They’re tight,” he complains lightly, glancing down at the spaceship print over his bulge. Then a small smile tugs at his lips. “But…I think I like them.”
I’m sure my smile makes me look goofy as fuck, but I couldn’t care less. “It makes me happy to hear that.” I’m making an effort to talk to him like I would if he was little. The routine is important for both of us and will make the transition easier for him.
