We All Have Secrets

As an escort, I am given a good look into people’s secret lives and secret selves. It is something that I am very grateful for, and, as a writer, it is really cool to be able to see such a variety of lives.

After leaving the coke-head client on Friday, I was sent to a private apartment. The booking girl called me and gave me a head’s up. “This call is a special request. He is an adult baby.”

For a moment, I panicked. Fucking boys in the ass, tying them up and putting clothespins on their balls, beating them and calling them names and dressing them in women’s clothes I could handle. I had no idea what to do with a baby.

“I, I don’t have any supplies for that sort of thing…”

“You don’t need anything.”

“Ok. I’ll figure it out,” I said, laughing nervously. Graham dropped me off at the building. I went up and buzzed and went up to the room. I was greeted by a young, slender, attractive man in his early twenties. He was shirtless and had a pair of plaid pajama bottoms on. “Hi,” I said. “I’m Jade.”

“I’m Brandon,” he said, and shook my hand. I asked him how his night was going, and we made some general small talk while I took off my boots and jacket. His apartment was a bit messy, disorganized, but not dirty. Kind of like my place on an off-week. He had a microphone in the corner, and a piano. It was much like the set up of an old boyfriend’s place, a composer of electronic music. The memory of our long friendship that was ruined by a two-week fling during which he violated my boundaries sexually and betrayed my trust, passed briefly through my mind. Funny, now, I mostly remembered the good times, before we had sex. The friendship that could not recover.

“I’ve never done this before,” I said. “But I am really open-minded and creative, and willing to learn. Why don’t we sit down and talk for a minute about what you’d like to do. Then we can settle up the business and get to the fun.”

“Ok. So basically, I don’t want anything sexual. I just want to be treated like I’m a lot younger.”

“Ok, I can do that.”

After we’d settled my fee, he excused himself for a moment. There was a blanket lying on the living room floor, which I finally connected in my mind to the play when he returned wearing nothing but a big diaper with a pacifier in his mouth. He crawled around, and I talked to him in baby talk, telling him what a sweet little boy he was and kissing him on the top of the head. I felt pretty out of my element. Anyone who knows me knows that, although I adore children when they belong to somebody else, I have never had much in the way of maternal urges. In fact, I have never once changed a diaper in my life. And, while two of my former lovers have expressed an interest in this type of play, I was never able to completely get on board and experiment with it before. I think the main reason for this is that I have always wanted to be independent, and the idea of ever having been a baby and needing help with diapers is a humiliating thought that I’d rather avoid at all cost. The idea of someone wanting to return to that sort of helpless dependence is alien to me.

“I have to go to the bathroom,” he whined in a baby voice.

“Ok, sweetie,” I said, adopting my best soothing-mama voice. “Do you need mama to change your diaper?”

He nodded.

“Did you go pee?”

“Yeah.”

I laid him down on his back and rummaged through his gym bag. It was full of diapers, wet wipes, and baby powder. “I have to wear three at a time,” He said in his grown-up voice. “Ok,” I said.

I took off the diaper, talking in soothing baby-talk the whole time. Did I mention I hate baby-talk? Well, I do. I was very grateful that he only peed in his diaper. I think I would have demanded a higher price for my time if it involved poop.

I cleaned him up with the wet wipes, wiping his ass, cleaning around his cock and balls. I started to put on the diaper when he stopped me. “You forgot the baby powder.”

“Oh, sorry sweetie. I’m new at this.” I powdered his nether regions and started applying the diapers. When I was done, he crawled around for a while with a big grin on his face. Then I hugged him and sang him a lullaby.

“Can I sit in your lap?” He asked.

“Of course you can, sweetie.” I went and sat down on the couch. He came over and sat, like a gentleman, with the bulk of his weight on a pillow next to me, creating the illusion of sitting in my lap. “You’re so pretty,” he said, still in his baby voice.

“Thanks sweetie.” I got him a bottle filled with water at his request, and held it up to his mouth.

“Guess how old I am,” he said when he was finished with the bottle.

Oh shit, I thought. I don’t know a damn thing about babies. How old are they when they start to crawl and talk? But still shit and piss in diapers? How should I know? Having a functional uterus does not make me a bloody expert on childcare and child development, ok! A seasoned mafioso would probably know more about babies than I do!

“I dunno. One?”

He smiled and nodded. “I mean for real.”

“Oh,” I laughed. “22?”

“24.”

“Cool.”

“Do you think I’m a freak for being into this stuff?”

“No,” I said, and I meant every word. “I mean, it’s an unusual interest, but you’re hardly the only person to be into this sort of play. You’re not hurting anyone by exploring this kink. And besides, everyone is into something. I like watching men dress up in ladies lingerie and parade around for me, so I guess I must be a bit of a freak too.”

He got up. “I dressed in drag for my acting class! I’ll show you a picture!”

He came back with his phone and started showing my photos from his class. We talked a bit about acting. He told me about his school, his family, and I told him about my brief time in an improv theatre troupe.

“I always preferred to play the bad guys,” I said. “Because I spend my life being nice to people, and sometimes it’s so liberating to just be like ‘fuck you, bitches!'”

He laughed. “Yeah, I get that.”

Eventually, the subject went back to his baby fetish.

“How long have you been into this stuff?” I asked.

“As long as I can remember,” he said. “But I don’t talk about it.”

“That must be hard. You know, there are other people out there who are interested in this. You’re a sweet guy, and good looking and smart. I’m sure you’ll be able to find someone compatible. It might be harder than if you were just into regular sex, but it’s far from impossible.”

“Yeah, regular sex has never interested me,” he said. “I just really like being treated like I’m younger.”

“What is the appeal of that? Is it comfort, or freedom to let go?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Have you ever gone on Fetlife? I know there are people on there who are into this as well.”

“No. I’m scared.”

“Why?”

“I’m scared that my friends will find out.”

“Yeah, that is scary. Fetlife is anonymous, and you don’t have to post any identifying photos, but I do understand that it is scary.”

“Could you rub my tummy?” He asked in his child voice.

“Of course, sweetie.” I stood up and let him sprawl out on the couch. I rubbed his tummy. “I have a tummy ache,” he whined.

“Poor baby.”

“I have a lot of bad habits,” he said in his grown-up voice.

“Oh yeah?”

“I drink too much. I do cocaine. I drank a lot tonight.”

“Yeah, that’s hard on the system,” I said. I got up and filled his bottle with water. “Here, drink this, it’ll help.”

He drank, and the water did seem to help. When I sensed he was in better spirits, I started tickling his tummy. “Coochy coo,” and he giggled like a little boy.

“Would you tuck me in?” he asked.

“Of course, sweetie.” I tucked him in and kissed him on the forehead. Then I said goodnight and went back outside to meet the driver.

All in all, the experience was pleasant. I felt honoured that I had been trusted with such a secret and vulnerable part of another human being, even if the experience was a bit outside of my comfort zone. I hoped that my insight and suggestions helped him to be a bit more comfortable with who he is and what turns him on.

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