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Cory thrusts his arms around me. "I’m glad you said that. It shows me that you’re gentle and sweet—not merely focused on sex like so many Daddies."
"Not that there’s anything wrong with that," Cory adds hastily. "People can do whatever they like—live and let live."
I tousle his hair. "Let’s keep playing."
Cory and I play a silly game called Ducky Quack. We make our ducks quack, quack, quack, as they paddle around the tub. There’s no specific point to it and no way to win—that’s okay.
When you and your boy are playing, you’re both winners.
After we wrap up our game, Cory and I head toward a new station.
"We received a request to add a changing station to the facility," Connor explains, guiding us toward the plastic table in the center of the room where everyone, even people just walking in, can see. "After much internal debate, we decided that this was the optimal location."
Cory rests his head against my shoulder. "It’s been a while since I’ve been diapered."
Turning to him, I tick his head up. My eyes plumb his depths, determined to discover whether this, this would be something he’d like to try today.
"Truth be told, boy." My voice is firm. "It’s been a while since I’ve diapered a boy. Damien wasn’t into wetting—he thought it was too Little."
Cory scowls. "Damien is a jerk."
You can say that again.
I trail my right thumb across his cheek. "Would you like Daddy to diaper you today? All you need to do is say yes or no—Daddy will do what you wish."
Cory shakes his head. "That’s not how it works. You need to consent, too—if you don't want to diaper me, I’m not going to force you to."
I remember that Cory’s ex-Daddy also had issues with him being too Little. It’s like our ex-partners shared a joint membership to the terrible boyfriend club.
I nod. "I want to. I might take a little longer than usual—Daddy needs to remember what to do."
"It’s easy." Cory rubs his nose on mine. "Like riding a bike."
We stare into each other’s eyes for a beat too long. We don't immediately head to the changing table, not yet—our eye contact prepares us for what we’ll do.
Then, I hug Cory. He sinks his head into my chest, sighing contentedly. The weight of the world seems to fall from his shoulders, and as I inhale his fruity scent, I can’t help but think that, after I diaper him, we’ll have jumped over the sacred border wall that separates conventional Daddy relationships from paradise.
"Let’s go, boy." I rub his chin. "The clock’s ticking."
Cory and I make our way to the table. After I help him onto the plastic mat, I spread his legs, powder his bits, and pump his shaft a few times for good measure.
He moans, squirming, then scrunches his face. "I won’t fit into my diaper if I’m hard."
"Yes, you will." Have a little faith, Cory.
I select a diaper from a nearby stack. This one is fluffy, soft, and has palm trees and monkeys on it. Thank Christ—I can’t imagine Cory wearing a diaper with any other design. It’s a damn shame we both forgot his palm tree onesie at home, but luckily, this diaper will give him the dose of tropical goodness he needs.
Sliding it under his ass, I try to remember how to fasten it. Hmmm. The straps on the side aren’t as stretchy as I remember. Will it fit?
"Like this, Daddy." Cory takes my right hand and guides it where it needs to go. "Attach it here."
Oh. God. We’re doing it together—joining forces. This is the way it should be. Somehow, this is more special than if I were doing it all alone.
I do as Cory says. It’s tough fitting the diaper around his dick, but I manage. When I finish, I lift Cory and give him a sucker.
"You did it."
Cory sucks the candy, then dazzles me with a thankful look. He opens his mouth—then thinks better of it.
