This story is written by Les Lea
A little while ago I was acting as a security guard at a pop concert at the local arena. I’ll not tell you who the boyband were but they are constantly in the charts and seem very successful. They’d won one of those TV talent shows in the UK but had since become a bit of an International musical phenomenon. Their songs were catchy, the videos inventive and there seemed to be someone to appeal to everyone in their line-up.
Not my type of music really but the job paid okay and the extra cash was always useful. Not that their tunes bothered me as I was guarding their dressing room, which was quite a hike away from the stage.
I suppose, I was posted outside the dressing room door because of my bodybuilder physique I look threatening enough to dissuade any potential fan from trying to gain access.
Anyhow, there was some kind of rumpus in the dressing room, which ended up that I had to escort one of the band members back to the tour bus to collect something. It was a job keeping up with him as he stalked off with a great deal of determination.
Judging by the tiny-tot fan-base that filled the auditorium ready for the concert, most didn’t appear to be over ten years old, but Christ, what a noise they made. Even in the distance the din they made in anticipation of seeing their heroes was unbelievable.
Once inside the huge bus, and whilst he angrily fished around, wriggling into tight places searching for whatever it was, his low-slung jeans revealed a secret. His tight little ass, covered in a diaper and plastic pants, was waving in the air as he bent over trying to find whatever it was he wanted.
I smirked to myself. Now there’s a secret that somebody in the press would pay good money to know.
However, from experience I knew there were probably a bunch of pre-pubescent fans in the audience who still wore that type of ‘underwear’ though I was astonished to see a teenage member of this British band dressed in such a manner. I could imagine that this particular little (or should that have been ‘wittle’?) star had more in common with those kids than the four other, slightly older, members of the band.
Whilst the rest were the noisy, boyish and confident play-makers, he was the quiet, unassuming fifth member who never pushed himself forward. He was the one that every ten year-old girl wanted as a boyfriend… as well as to mother. His floppy blond hair and baby blue eyes stared down from a multitude of bedroom walls right across the world. He looked like he was the baby of the bunch and his soft, juvenile features didn’t help alter that image.
My two girls are grown up now but I definitely remember, not so many years ago, their bedrooms festooned with the latest pop sensation (not unlike this particular boy) and the concerts I had to attend to keep them happy. Thank god these days they can look after themselves but I guess, even they would be excited that I was working (or in the presence at least) of one of today’s major pop idols.
To be honest, I wasn’t being particularly fair to him as I’d more or less dismissed this set of musical imports as nothing more than a flash in the pan. All I had to do was make sure he got to the bus and returned without anyone trying to get to him. However, and I’m not sure why, there was something about the way he acted during the short period of time I was with him that drew my compassion.
As he searched for whatever he needed his jeans tightened around his cute teenybop bum and the outline of his padding became more apparent. Not only that but the top of a pair of milky white, slinky vinyl pants became obvious and I could hear the soft ‘rustling’ sound as he moved, which I remembered so well from when my own kids were toddlers – except, he wasn’t a toddler.
It was such a startling revelation but I have to say I was enjoying the little spectacle as he crawled around the floor desperately rummaging for who knows what? He was unconscious of what I could see and I’m sad to say, my opinion became that of a stereotypical spoilt UK youth. Not that I knew any British kids other than those on TV, but my opinion on the matter was very low… I thought they were all a bit ‘delicate’.
As he struggled in his hunt, more and more of the back of his protection was revealed. I offered to help but he just said “No thank you Mister” (at least the boy had been brought up to have manners) but I could tell from the way he said it he was frustrated.
“If you tell me what it is… maybe, four eyes rather than two might find it quicker.” I suggested.
He turned and looked at me and I could see pure anguish on his beautiful, unblemished teenage face.
He thought for a moment.
“I can’t go on without him,” he sobbed.
I’ve never been able to help myself as I just hate to see kids upset. I couldn’t stand it with my own and this sad looking little fella seemed in need of some consideration.
“Okay, okay… tell me what we’re looking for and let’s see if we can’t track it down.” I offered with a smile.
With all his manic searching and wriggling under things his jeans had slid further off his hips and there was more of his padding on show than he necessarily wanted anyone to see. However, he was so worried about what he’d lost that he seemed unconcerned that so much thick protection was now in view.
“He’s, he’s about this big.”
He stretched his right thumb and forefinger to reveal that it was about three inches long.
“… and is a small furry teddy bear on a keyring.”
Although this sounded to me like I’d been set up for a prank, I could tell from little Da*** (sorry still can’t say his name) eyes that he was deadly serious about finding this ‘charm’ of some description.
“I can’t go on without Benny. I had him at my first audition and he’s always brought me… luck…”
He stumbled over his words and cried a little.
“I know I’ll fail if I… huh… don’t have himmmm.”
He drew out the final word, desperation in his voice, and began to look around with more intensity, anxious to retrieve the object from wherever it had gone.
I knew from my own experience with my girls that no amount of sweet words and positive encouragement would help the situation. The only thing to do was start looking and hope the little teddy bear would soon be found.
In the distance I could hear the build-up in the auditorium continuing and had been surprised that their tour manager had let him leave the dressing room so near to performance time. But judging by the initial hullabaloo I’d heard, perhaps he had been creating so much in there they simply had to let him go.
The leader of the band had indeed been gloating over Benny’s disappearance and as always continued to mock their youngest member because right before a show he’d get so nervous he often pissed his pants. Then there had been a few other occasions where he’d actually pissed himself on stage, so action needed to be taken.
The solution had been obvious, wrap him up in a nappy and send him back on stage. The only problem with that was the lack of sympathy from the other members of the band and the continual reference to him as ‘wittle baby’.
Although outwardly, and as far as the fans were concerned, all was fun and friendship, in reality there was a growing chasm. The others were quickly growing tired of their teenybop reputation, even if it was earning them millions each year.
However, the name-calling and general piss-taking had gotten past a joke as his problem got worse and he needed nappies almost full time.
They also resented him for other reasons which I was soon to find out.
“They all hate me,” he whined. “They think I’m treated differently because my doll outsold all theirs put together.”
He didn’t say this with any amount of hubris just with a cute, resigned sigh.
“The press made a big deal of it so…”
There was nothing about this boy that wasn’t sweet and innocent (well that’s what I took away from our short meeting) and I felt sorry that he wasn’t as worldly as the others. However, I suppose that was his appeal, and probably why he shifted more dolls than the rest of the group.
I remember Christmas that year the ‘must have’ toy for girls of a certain age had been to collect the band in doll form. People were going ballistic in the toy stores grabbing and fighting to make sure their little one received that special figure under the tree.
The bands album, single and DVD all topped their respective charts during that period, as I think they still were when this concert took place. They were massive and the eight thousand plus screaming kids in the arena were making sure that another million or so would be added to their coffers.
“They know I need Benny… my little good luck teddy bear… I’ve had him since I was a baby. I feel I can do anything when he’s with me, when he’s not I feel lonely, a bit scared and my confidence goes completely.”
There was a pause. “Silly aren’t I?”
He looked up at me with his sad but revealing eyes, almost begging me not to mock the fact that a boy his age should still be concerned about something as trivial as a key ring. But as I say, I had daughters and knew that being dismissive of such attachments was not very productive and could lead to resentment.
There was also a look of complete panic just brewing under the surface and I saw him fidget and rub the front of his diaper. I remember that action very well; it usually meant that when my daughters did it they had just wet their pants, though of course I couldn’t be certain it was the case this time.
For a moment I forgot my place and just thought I was speaking to one of my girls whenever one of them got in such a state.
“Let’s see where we can find Benny.”
The tour bus was quite a big affair as it had sleeping quarters for the band and staff, who I’d expect to be doing this job instead of me. Alas, I learned, such was the tantrum he’d generated in the dressing room he’d insisted that only he would go and look for it as he no longer trusted anyone else. I think I was an afterthought when the manager realised they couldn’t let such a valuable asset venture off on his own. So I was sent to make sure he returned.
He couldn’t find Benny and was getting into a much worse state, the tears and panic making his search that much more difficult.
Then I had a brainwave.
“Where do you keep your diapers?”
The look on his face changed to anxiety that his secret had been exposed. I pointed to his visible plastic pants.
“Ohhh, please, pwease don’t tell anyone… I have to wear nappies.”
He started hyperventilating and it took a few deep breaths to help calm him down.
It took me a minute to remember that nappies were a British thing but diapers were the same… although it was obvious he needed some reassurance.
“Look buddy, I’m not here to reveal your secrets. I signed a confidentiality agreement before I was allowed to work here. I just want to help and, if I know what boys are like, they’ll have either thrown your charm away…”
A look of sheer horror crossed his face.
“Or… or…” I tried to placate him, “…they will have hidden him in what they regard as the most embarrassing place for you.”
He seemed to nod in understanding and toddled over to his bunk.
Actually it was more of a waddle because his disposable diaper had expanded so much. It was the sag that was weighing his diaper down so I guessed he’d wet on more than one occasion. That boy most really flood when he gets nervous.
His vinyl pants now appeared stretched and shiny and if he’d been my responsibility I would have taken him to the changing bench and urgently got him into something nice and dry.
He grappled for a few seconds under his bunk for whatever he was reaching for and as he pulled it into view I heard a little yelp of happy surprise come from his lips. He turned, and there, dangling from between his thumb and forefinger, was his prized possession. The look of relief was palpable and the tears that fell were of relief and happiness now Benny was back in his custody.
Meanwhile, I couldn’t help but stare at the large box of juvenile patterned disposables he’d also brought into full view.
He rushed over and threw his arms around my waist and gave me a grateful hug.
“Thank you, thank you so much mister… I’d never have thought of looking there.”
I’d never particularly liked the British accent before but this grateful crush and sweet, unaffected joyful response to finding his bear was very charming. His appreciations at getting Benny back
muffled by that intense squeeze as his face pressed into my taut belly.
I was surprised at his spontaneous, affectionate action and patted his padded bum quite by accident.
I could feel in that hug just how much it had meant to him to be holding his good-luck charm and I began to wonder if he’d ever let me go.
“Shouldn’t you be getting back now?” I gently offered.
He suddenly appeared to realise that he had work to do.
“Oh, erm, yes, of course.”
He didn’t appear to know what his next course of action should be because he started once again to rub the front of his protection so I think at least another spurt of pee had filled his diaper.
For a moment he was confused and wasn’t sure what to do.
Look, I know I was in no way responsible to the lad but I just thought that at that particular moment he needed a guiding and helping hand.
“Do you need time to, er, change first?” I offered.
He looked quizzically up at me unable to even form the words for ‘Yes’ or ‘No’. The poor little guy was very distressed and really needed assistance he couldn’t possibly go on stage in the state he was in. Had he returned to the dressing room with such a sagging diaper he risked further humiliation from everyone.
He seemed locked in indecision and fear.
“Would you like me to help you?”
It was an offer I was reluctant to give but he seemed desperate and trapped. I knew it wouldn’t be long before he was needed on stage so something had to be done.
“I am a father and have changed my daughters many times over the years. I think you’ll be in safe hands.”
Loads of thoughts filled my head all at the same time.
Would he think I was being too forward?
Worse, would he think I was some kind of pervert?
I just remembered my daughters often leaving an excited but damp puddle on the back seat of the car when they’d got anxious or over-excited about something. I needed to offer some solution to his expansive protection.
He eventually nodded.
A look of shy relief flushed his face as he pulled out a fresh, clean disposable from the box.
His jeans were already halfway off so, unbuttoned the top and let them fall to the ground.
I asked if there were any wipes and he directed me to the bus’s bathroom where, for such a small space, there were all manner of lotions and potions, oils and sprays, powders and tissues, I grabbed what I thought I needed and returned fully armed.
Meanwhile, he’d shuffled out of his plastic pants and pulled at the tapes. His colourful disposable was swollen with urine and certainly wouldn’t have lasted much longer. I offered to take control from there on and he seemed content in letting me get on with it.
I removed his bulging diaper, wiped his rather small but resting penis and pale pubic area, which had less hair than I would have expected, and rubbed in some lotion. He giggled, actually giggled, when I sprinkled the powder and I couldn’t help but sort of lecture him about older boys and bullies.
As I spoke I unfurled the fresh disposable and it was covered in cute little cartoon animal characters, very childish but they seemed the correct size for him. It brought back memories of my girls and the pleasure I took in making sure they were all clean, dry and tidy before they went off to play.
As I fastened the tapes and returned his plastic pants into position I tried to make him realise that having such a charm would lead to continued bullying. They would always be able to use his reliance on it as a way of getting at him. He seemed to appreciate my words and nodded but I could tell from the way he gripped Benny that this was one contact with his childhood he wasn’t ready to dispense with just yet.
He pulled up his jeans, fastened the little bear to one of his belt-loops and was ready to return. The outline of the fresh padding barely showed under his jeans. So, I guess the public wouldn’t know of his secret from today’s performance, which was just as well because at that moment the manager threw open the door with a pained expression on his face.
“We can’t keep them waiting any longer… we need to get on stage.”
Da***, (sorry still can’t say) nodded and turned his handsome face to me.
“Thank you very much mister for your help… and in finding Benny… I really appreciate all you’ve done.”
“C’mon, c’mon the crowd are getting restless.” The manager urged.
So, as he followed his manager, I heard that wonderful rustling sound I’d loved once my own kids had been cleaned, changed and slipped into a pair of plastic pants. Then suddenly I was on my own and left to lock up the tour bus and return to my station outside the dressing room.
Even from where I was standing, which was miles away from performance area, I could hear the scream as the boys took the stage. For the next couple of hours that noise never stopped and, despite my total lack of interest in their music, I wanted to see my new found friend (?) perform.
Still, even though I couldn’t watch them, in my head I was watching his cute little padded bottom send the girls and boys in the audience into raptures. It was nice looking after a teenage toddler, I doubt our paths will ever cross again but I won’t forget that particular meeting in a hurry.
He seemed a nice, unaffected, polite teenage boy in a diaper and as long as he had little Benny, I suspect he’d be okay.
This story is written by Les Lea
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