Broken Leg

When I was younger, in July, I had the whole summer ahead of me. I fell off my bicycle and broke my left leg severely. After two weeks in the hospital, I came home on crutches. A relapse sent me back to bed and I was miserable; I was hot and mad because my summer was ruined and I couldn't go out and play with the guys. My step-mom insisted on "protection" because I was not good at using the urinal. Yes, she put me back in diapers. She cleaned me and wiped me down when putting clean diapers on me. As she was handling me, I got excited. She kept on talking like nothing was happening, telling me I was her good boy and everything would turn out okay, and that I'd get better; all the while she was pleasuring me. Not every diaper change, but maybe every other day she repeated her actions. She rubbed my bottom also. I would lie on my back and spread my legs, which was hard because of the cast. This kept on until I was able to get a walking cast and use crutches. I wanted repeats from my step-mom, but to no avail. I suggested I needed to wear diapers, she said I could make it to the bathroom. It was like a switch was flipped; no more rubbings. Now, I am sixty-two years old and that's about all I can think about. My wife thinks I attach too much importance to it.

— Donald, 62