Date: Wed, 22 Aug 2012 01:22:48 -0400
From: JR <jetsrussel@gmail.com>
Subject: Meeting Malik

DISCLAIMER:

The following story describes explicit sexual acts performed by young
males.  If it is illegal to view these works in your jurisdiction, move
somewhere else or stop reading this story.  As well, this story is purely a
work of fantasy.  Furthermore, it is subject to an
Attribution-NonCommercial-NoDerivs Creative Commons License.  This means
you may not sell this story, print it without my name, or change it and
print it in any way.  Also, Nifty retains its requested, pertinent licenses
for this story.  Comments or questions are welcome at the above address.


MEETING MALIK
by JETS Russel


I carried in my left hand a yellow nylon duffle-bag, and tucked in the arc
of my right arm, an old sleeping bag emblazoned with the logo of Kraft
foods, maker of blue-boxed macaroni, dinner staple of ghetto, white trash
boys like me.  You bought these sleeping bags with box tops.  When the
boxes of mac-and-cheese themselves were bought on the government dime,
these corporate rewards, hard-earned emblems of devoted consumership, were
virtually free.  At twelve years old, I took it on as my hobby, my
devotion, to collect and collate these box tops, to fill out vouchers
snipped from the walls of boxes, to send them out into the world and reap
there endless rewards.

This sleeping bag was old though, at least ten years, and had known
countless sleepovers, the bodies of at least ten children, at times as many
as three at once in its warm, red throat.  A family heirloom.  This
evening, it made the journey with me across the street to my little
cousin's house.  My cousin's name was Douglas.  At nine, almost half my
age, he was not a boy I would readily agree to spend a night with.  But he
could be lots of fun if I was in a good mood, and he was my cousin.  They
say you don't have to like your family--only love them, but if you live
across the street from them, it helps to them, too.

My feet felt blindly there way up the stairs to his attic bedroom.  The
carpet, clean and plush, added a spring to every step.  It was his new
bedroom, and a new carpet.  He'd just had a baby sister, and it was only a
two bedroom house.  His parents had renovated the attic gloriously.  But I
hope he turns out short, like me, because the low ceilings won't be much
fun when he's a teenager if he turns out tall like his dad.

I was not expecting an immediate welcome.  My cousin was one who valued
grand entrances.  Once, I got him to watch a black and white movie called
The Many Faces of Eve.  Tossed a small football between his hands through
the opening credits, his gaze going back and forth between the screen and
the quick arcs the little red ball made as it swirled across the family
room.  Then Bette Davis came on, an extreme, vaseline-smoothed close-up.
"How does she do that?" my cousin asked.  Then he squeezed the football in
one hand.  There was a little whoosh as air vacated the foam.

I knew what he meant.  It was the way her eyes get so big.  You could see
the whole world in there.  "With her eyes?" I asked.  Yes, he said.  I
didn't say anything.

I got to the top of the steps, dropped my things, and stood in front of the
big closet.  The only light in the room was a thin strip stretching the
length of the folding doors.  I sat on my bag, stretched my legs.  Then a
bunch of things happened, almost all at once.

First, the closet doors, squeaking with newness burst open and Douglas
stumbled out, a navy blue sheet wrapped around his shoulders.  As he caught
my eye and parted his lips to offer me a sweeping, well rehearsed welcome
(he was costumed, after-all) he got caught up on the ends of his shawl and
keeled right over, smacking my bare feet with his face, his body stretched
out before me like an exclamation point.  Then, as light from the closet
flooded the room and my pupils shrank to a more comfortable size, I saw the
biggest flying squirrel in recorded history.  Well, maybe it was just a kid
in costume, but it was a good imitation, and anyway I'd never seen this kid
before.  He stood spread-eagle, arms and legs at wide angles, hands and
feet stretching taut the elastic on a fitted sheet.  If he jumped out a
window, I'm sure he could have soared.

"Who are you?" I asked.  The kid just stared; he looked my cousin's age.
And besides the fact that they were both wearing bed-sheets, they had
matching cartoon PJs on, tight pants and shirts that ended in bright red
cuffs around the wrists, neck, and ankles.  That's where the similarities
ended I guess.  His hair was done up in three tight braids that ran down to
his shoulders, his skin was the color of the foam you slurp from the top of
a soda can.

"That's Malik," my cousin mumbled into my toes.  "He's gonna spend the
night too."  My aunt and uncle, oddly, had neglected to mention there would
be two boys to watch tonight.  Since I only lived across the street, they
hadn't bothered to wait for me to come over before leaving that night to
drive the four hours away to a wedding the next morning.  They did take the
baby with them, though.  You can trust a fourteen year old to watch a
nine-year-old for a night, especially if his mom is across the street, but
I'd have been bewildered if the baby was there, too.  I guessed this
sleepover had been a last minute thing for all parties involved.  I'll
never know any of the details, it's best not to think about them.  Suspend
your disbelief.

But I tried to work out all the details in my head as they were
happening--it's hard to suspend disbelief when you're right there and
things are happening.  Douglas said Malik was a friend, and Malik was
spending the night.  What mother would send her kid on a sleepover when the
kid's parents were gone?  What mother would allow a kid to sleepover when
she wasn't gonna be there?  Then I thought about giraffes for some reason,
and then I stopped thinking about tit.

I rolled my cousin off my feet and went to shake Malik's hand.  I was a
little weary.  My cousin's slumber parties were laced throughout with
debauchery, cartoons and casual nudity, naughty games.  Would Malik be
down?  Malik smiled, slipped the sheet off his shoulders and sat down,
indian style.  "Let's play Truth or Dare." If Malik wanted to play Truth or
Dare, maybe he was just as naughty as my little cousin.

"Me first!" yelled Douglas.  He crawled into the big walk-in closet; I
followed him, then he closed the door behind us.  He pulled the chain
hanging beside the bare lightbulb, and darkness bloomed as he sat with us.
In the middle of our circle I placed a couple of half-licked votive candles
from bag and flicked the red lighter I'd nicked from my dad to light them.
There was, of course, no need for such secrecy, to confine ourselves to a
closet.  His parents would be gone a whole night and day, but little kids
like hiding places--secret forts and clubhouses.  And even more than that,
they liked fire.  My cousin loved when I baby-sat.

"You're allowed to have a lighter?" Malik asked.  His eyes were wide.

"He's a teenager," Douglas said, "he even smokes drugs!"

"Just pot," I told him.

"Doesn't it make you go crazy?"

"No, it just makes you really happy for a couple hours.  It makes things
more fun."  I wasn't trying to sell them on the stuff; these kids were too
young for that.  But I wasn't gonna lie to them.  Hell, I was pretty stoned
right then.  And I had a fat joint stashed in the box of cigarettes in my
pocket.  Maybe I wasn't so different from these little kids; part of the
reason I liked smoking was because I did it in secret, like how these
little boys played dress-up with bedsheets in a closet.

"Me first," said Douglas.  He was looking at me, "truth or dare?"

"Dare," I said, knowing what was coming next.  Sometimes, Truth or Dare
games with Douglas might go on for hours, but he always liked to start off
the same way.  He was gonna tell me to take off my clothes.

"I dare you to put on a Goodnite!"

"What's that? I asked.  Malik started to giggle.  He must have been in on
this.  Malik got up, elf the closet for a minute, and came back with a
Harry Potter backpack.  It was cheap plastic-looking and had a picture of
Harry on his broomstick, reaching for the Snitch.  Out of it he produced
what must have been a goodnite, a plump pair of papery-looking underpants
covered front to back with little guys on ATVs.  Some kind of diaper, I
thought.  Douglas didn't wear those.  I thought maybe I'd seen a commercial
for those on TV.  "So you wet the bed?" I asked him.  Malik giggled some
more and pulled down the front of his PJs, and sure enough he was wearing
one; they looked dry and made a crinkling sound as the back of his hand
brushed against them.

"Not when I wear Goodnites," Malik said.  "I have to wear them all the
time, my doctor says.  Sometimes I don't make it to the bathroom in time."

I guess I should have felt bad for the kid, but it was kinda funny.  Ten
minutes, two dares later we were all half-naked, sitting cross legged by
candle light on a closet floor wearing diapers, mine considerably tighter
then theirs, pressing my sweaty balls tight to my body.  They itched like
fuck, too.  I guess that was the hairs I was getting on my balls.  They
didn't have to worry about that.  But we'd all gone outside the closet to
put them on, away from prying eyes.  It was funnier like that--something
was happening, but you couldn't see it.The mood was light and giggly, like
these kids had caught a contact high.  "Truth or dare," asked Malik.  Dare,
I said.  "I dare you to show us your thing."

Malik was just a precocious as my cousin then, just as prone to giggles.
Douglas liked to look at my hairs.  He must have told Malik about them.  He
liked to tug on them, like seeing if they were real.  I'd had them for
almost a year now.  The first time Douglas had seen them was while I was
giving him a bath months ago.  He said he'd seen his dad's secret
magazines, and that all the girls were hairy down there.  I said guys were,
too, and he said, "Proove it."

I pulled down the front of my Goodnite and my cock, half-hard, plopped out
like the groundhog on Groundhog Day.

"It's so big," said Malik.

"It gets bigger," Douglas told him.

Then, far away, the doorbell rung, ending round one of the game.  "Pizza,"
I said, tucking my dick away.  I stood and loosed a wad of bills from the
pocket of my jeans before I put them on.

"No," Malik snatched the money from hand and started out of the closet in
only his diaper.  Douglas and I shared a look of confusion and followed
after him down to the living room.

Downstairs, Douglas and I hid in the kitchen, peering around a wall to
watch Malik answering the door half-naked.  The pizza guy was a little
older than me.  Tall and lanky, bad skin, but kinda cute.  He looked
confused.  I guess it wasn't often in this neighborhood that a little black
kid in a diaper answered the door.  Malik just smiled.  He offered the
money, told the guy to keep the change.  He came into the kitchen with the
pizza and a wide smiled that showed all of his teeth, which wasn't too
many.  Half of his baby ones were gone.  "You got balls," I told him.

"Duh," he said.  Douglas laughed.

We all watched TV while we ate, that show with the twins who live in the
hotel.  "How can you be identical twins if one of you is fat," Malik asked.
Douglas looked angry.  He liked this show.  "You think the fat one steals
all the other kid's food?"  I laughed.  The twins were doing a hula number
in grass skirts and flowery shirts.  Douglas shushed us both.

Douglas was sprawled out on the floor, engrossed in the Suite Life, but
Malik was sitting with me on the couch, my arm around his shoulders, his
hair tickling my armpit, my hand resting comfortably on the crotch of his
diaper; it was beginning to swell.  "Truth or dare," he whispered.

I wasn't sure what answer he was expecting.  I gave his diaper a squeeze
and chanced it, "dare."

"I dare you to change my diaper," he whispered.  Douglas hadn't heard.
Malik curled a finger into the waistband of my Goodnite and led me out of
the room.

"We'll be right back," I said, but Douglas didn't even look.  He waved us
out with one hand.  The other was picking at his butt under the diaper as
on screen the Sprouse twins, fat and thin, covered each other in silly
string and canned laughter abounded..

Malik let go of me in front of the bathroom and ran off, "Be right back,"
he called.  I pulled forward the front of my Goodnites and looked down at
my cock.  I'd forgotten what diapers felt like.  I couldn't remember ever
having worn of, though of course I must have.  I never wet the bed after I
was two or three at most.  But when in Rome, I figured, and let go of the
waste band so it snapped back against me with a satisfying noise, and I
started to piss.

The sensation was one of a quick spreading warmth, like I was dipping my
body into warm bath.  I was still high--that must have had something to do
with it--as I felt the damp settle into my skin, the feeling, a pleasant
tingling.  I stopped pissing when Malik got back.  He had his Harry Potter
backpack.  What magic did it hold?  He squeezed my sodden crotch, smiled,
and shoved the bag into my arms.  I followed him in to the bathroom and I
shut the door.

The room was cramped, and lying down on a round red rug, his head between
the sink and a trash can overflowing with tissues wadded into lotus
blossoms, Malik took up most of the space. I huddled in a corner, pressed
the vinyl of his backpack to my chest.  "Don't just stand there," he said.
He propped himself up on one elbow.

"What do I do first?"

"You take the old one off."  He pressed his knees together.  I squatted
over him, my legs splayed, enfolding his.  The sides of the diaper were
held together by tightly crimped ridges.  It took deft tugs to get the
teeth to separate, each time with a noise like a knife sawing paper.  He
lifted his butt and I pulled the diaper away.  His little cut dick flopped
around, but his balls were totally pulled up into his body.  It looked like
he didn't have any at all.  Then they slipped back into their tight sack
and his dick stirred, but still soft.  It landed in straight line down from
his belly button.  It couldn't have been more than an inch long.  THe head
was slightly purple.  The wrinkly flesh where he'd been cut was still
brown, but almost pink.  I reached down and gave his little cock a squeeze.
He smiled.  With one finger and my thumb I went up and down, and it pricked
up, two inches staring straight at the ceiling.  Then the eye at its tip
widened, he laughed, and then a shallow arc of piss erupted.  Most of it
pooled in his belly button, but a little spilled down down his torso.  He
giggled again.  "Now you clean it up," he said.  WIthout thinking, I leaned
in and liked the piss from his navel.  The taste was like salty lemons.
The only noise was the sound of my own diaper crinkling as I leaned in.

Malik put his hands on the top of my head, then he started to push down.
My lips hit the top of his hard little dick.  I took it and as he continued
to push and I swallowed all of him.  As my bottom lip grazed his balls,
Malik shuddered, and I recoiled.

"Didn't you like it?" he asked.  He looked hurt.  I did, I said, and he
grabbed me by the hair and drove my face into his crotch again.  I slurped,
sucked, and noticed on my tongue that he was going soft again.  Another
spurt of watery piss erupted in my mouth.  I didn't swallow, but held it in
my mouth as I went up and down on his dick, the liquid dripping from the
corners of my lips to curve around his scrotum and the streams to join
again as they met in the crevice of his butt before they soaked the shaggy
red rug.

He pulled away and flipped over on his belly, the mounds of his ass cheeks
greeting me like overripe cantaloupes in the supermarket, reduced for quick
sale.  I descended, parting his coffee-colored cheeks to inhale the warm
dampness of his ass, the pinkish, wrinkled whirl of his hole like the
inverse of a peach pit. It all smelled vaguely of roast beef, roasted
vegetables.  Potatoes, carrots, and most of all, whitecap mushrooms.  "Now
you clean it up," his voice reverberated in my head.

I did not go tentatively, like a lady dipping her toes into the county pool
to test its warmth, but leapt in as man from a cliff into uncertain depths,
licking, sucking, as the thirsty beast sucks drips from lichen in caves
unnamed and uncharted.  The noise Malik made was an inhuman yawp.  Then a
knock on the bathroom door. "Wait," Malik said, and we stared at each other
in those seconds which lasted hours.

I slipped the clean diaper over his feet, his calves, his thighs.  He
adjusted the angle of his dick in the tight briefs.  I saw the ATV rider
jump as Malik's boner leaped beneath the graphic.  Then the pocket door
slid open.

"I'm ready for my close-up," Douglas said, framed like a washed-up starlet
in the doorway.  his half-assed tweaks of my pubic hair were nothing
anymore.  I wanted smells and tastes, feelings.  I wanted Malik.  Malik
giggled, again.  I looked at Douglas.  I looked into the startling face of
the fluorescent light beaming down on to the two of us and thought Douglas
in the shadow, and then I wished myself a different boy.  One with a cousin
named Malik.

I thought, let this body so close to me be something coming closer,
something like a comet, something like family.  Malik laughed, Douglas did
nothing, and I hoped, I wished.  I wished Malik was my cousin instead.  Not
someone teasing to tweak at my pubic hairs, but a heaving soul to welcome
me at times into the crevice of his being.  If only there was a god.