Page 14 of Rowan's Renewal
Aaron guides me into my room and sits me down on the edge of the bed. “Are you okay with me helping with this? I usually rely on the traffic light system with my partners: green for all clear, yellow to pause and discuss hesitancy or any concerns, and red for stop completely. Does that work for you?”
“Yeah,” I lick my lips, with the situation suddenly feeling very real. As he hovers over my suitcase, which is on its side on the carpet in the corner, my heart hammers. “And, um, green light. I’m okay with this.”
“Just red light if you change your mind, sweetheart, okay?”
He lifts the top lid of my suitcase and zeros in on the packages I reserve for night use only. Grabbing a diaper and a stuffer, he also pulls out a pair of thin pajama pants and a t-shirt for me, too.
“Do you use a barrier cream?” he asks as he sets it all down in a neat pile at my hip.
I know my face is on fire, but I force myself to answer. “Yeah. It’s in my toiletries bag. I left it in the bathroom. Sorry, I’ll go—”
“Stay put, sweetheart. Daddy’s got it.”
A thrill of something undefinable shoots through me at his words and I do as he says, sitting quietly as he disappears and returns in less than thirty seconds.
“Okay, lay back for me.”
I do as he says, closing my eyes against the intense wave of anticipation and embarrassment that hits me.
But my towel remains in place, even as I feel the gentle brush of his fingers at the knot above my hips.
“Traffic light?” he prompts softly.
It takes me a moment to find my voice. “Green.”
The towel is pried open, my body exposed as I recline on the hotel bed. The cool air from the AC is almost like a shock to my sensitive system, but Aaron smooths a warm palm over my left thigh. “Shh,” he soothes, “you’re doing so well, Ro. You’re being a good boy. Thank you for trusting me.”
The praise and sweet words go straight to my head, bringing back the light, floaty feeling from earlier. I relax into his touch as he continues to rub over my thighs, and when I hear him fluff out the diaper, I lift my hips without needing to be told.
“That’s it,” I can hear a smile in his voice, but it sounds encouraging instead of mocking, “good job. You can drop back down now.” I do, and I can feel the familiar padding, emphasized by the additional stuffer, under my ass. “I’m going to put the cream on now, baby. Remember your safe words. I’ll stop if you want me to.”
“Mmmhmm,” I agree, though I have no intention of telling him to stop. Not with how gentle he’s being. How reverent.
Nobody has ever touched me like this. Like I’m precious.
And that is exactly how it feels as the thick white cream is applied to my skin. Aaron’s touch isn’t hesitant, but it doesn’t feel clinical or rushed, either. It feels like every stroke over my skin is filled with care, like he wants me to know that he understands how important this is to me, and like the whole activity of diapering me is something we should enjoy, rather than just something I have to do.
I almost whine when he stops, but I feel him wiping his hand on the towel before the front of the diaper is held snugly over my sadly flaccid dick. I wish it would spring to life more often, that it would show Aaron just how much I really did enjoy his attention just now. But it’s just as defective as my bladder and only works on its own schedule.
By the time he’s taped down both sides, I feel more secure in my nighttime protection than I have in decades.
I jolt at the soft press of lips to the inside of my left thigh.
“All done,” Aaron says, with a discernible rasp to his voice that was not there earlier.
I feel boneless right now, like I’ve melded with the mattress, and it’s an effort to force my eyes open. But, when I do, I’m rewarded with a sweet smile.
“You did really well, sweetheart,” he tells me. “How do you feel?”
My head feels soupy, probably from the exhaustion of the day finally taking over, but I make myself answer. “Good,” I manage. “Nice. Sleepy.”
He chuckles. “Well, you’re not dressed for bed yet, Ro. We still have to get your jammies on.”
Jammies.
For all that I said I’m not interested in baby talk or dressing like one, I kind of like these childlike words. They make me feel a bit giggly and bubbly inside, and bring out a more youthful side of me, too.
“Mm’kay,” I tell him. “You gonna help?”
