by Becca Little
“Jillian, can you believe he broke out of prison?” My coworker Patty walked over with a cup of coffee and shook her head as she stared at the television.
“That guy? I don’t really know anything about him.” I shrugged. Patty liked to talk a lot, and I didn’t have time to listen—I wanted to get home at a decent hour and avoid spending my Friday night working until it was too late to enjoy the nice bottle of wine sitting in my fridge.
“He’s a rapist. He was midway through a twenty year sentence. They’ll probably lock him up for the rest of his life when they catch him.” Jillian sipped her coffee and watched the news intently. “He is pretty attractive though; there is a group of people online referring to him as Johnny Hottie.”
“He wasn’t really a rapist. You know that, Patty.” Another coworker, a pudgy blonde named Paula who was the office know-it-all walked over and stood on the other side of my desk. I really didn’t want my workstation to become the office water cooler, but the fact I was right by the coffee pot didn’t help.
“That is what they convicted him of.” Patty stared at the television and I saw a grin creeping over her face when they showed his mugshot again. I couldn’t deny how well the mugshot made him look. He had a chiseled jaw, speckled gray hair, and ice blue eyes that almost stared right through you.
“It was a tragedy, and his lawyer was an idiot.” Paula poured herself a cup of coffee, and as much as I hated it, I felt drawn into their conversation.
“What’s the story? Why did they convict him if he was innocent?” I shouldn’t have opened Pandora’s Box, but they had successfully enticed me and peaked my curiosity to the point I wanted to know more about the story I was forced to watch all day.
“His girlfriend was young. It was completely consensual, and everyone knew they were in love, but her parents didn’t approve. When her father caught them—you know—he had Johnny arrested and charged with rape. It should have been statutory rape, but the parents threatened to lock the girl up in a mental hospital if she didn’t say what they wanted.” Paula quickly fired off her story, and I could tell from the way she said it that she was firmly in the corner of Johnny’s ice blue stare.
“Well maybe he shouldn’t have been messing around with a young girl.” Patty shook her head, and it appeared she wasn’t quite in the corner with Paula.
“She was old enough to consent in most states. I really don’t know how the age of consent can be so different…” Paula shook her head.
“Why do they keep running the story over and over? Isn’t once an hour enough…” I tried to get back to work, but the numbers weren’t crunching with them in my ear.
“…That’s right. This happened before you moved here.” Paula sipped her coffee.
“Wait, this happened here?” Things actually started to click then.
“Oh yeah, this was a huge story when it happened.” Patty nodded and for once they seemed to agree on something. “I still see the girl’s family from time to time at church. I don’t remember where she went though. She moved away the second she turned eighteen. I think she tried to get the district attorney to let her recant her testimony, or at least that is what the rumors say, but they threatened her with purgatory.”
“The American legal system at work!” Paula shook her head.
“Wow that is crazy... You don’t think he’ll show up here? I mean…” I felt a little worry in the pit of my stomach.
“No way… I’m sure he wants to stay as far away from here as possible.” Paula stated it as if it was a foregone conclusion and Patty agreed with her. They were well on their way to being best friends if they kept on agreeing with each other.
“Alright, thank you for the history lesson, but I have to work.” I waved towards them hoping they would leave.
“Want to go out for drinks after work?” Paula asked.
“Not this weekend… I’m going to relax tonight, and then catch up on some stuff tomorrow.” I smiled and shrugged.
“I’ll go.” Patty wrapped her fingers around her coffee cup and looked at Paula.
“I wasn’t asking you.” Paula and Patty went their separate ways. So much for the budding friendship...
The rest of the work day was uneventful. Knowing that John Wayne Williams or Johnny Hottie as they seemed to be calling him in the office was actually from the town I lived in was a little disturbing, but I put those thoughts to the side and focused on getting my work done. When the rest of the office left, I was mostly done, and after an extra thirty minutes, I felt like I could leave without being in a hole. I stopped for some fast food and went home where the wine was waiting. After a glass, I was well on my way to forgetting all about everything I had heard that day. I found a movie on Netflix and settled in for the evening. It was nice to let my mind waste away for a couple of hours, even if it was some cheesy romantic comedy. Things were so easy in movies—everyone found their perfect match. Things were a little more complicated for me, and one of the reasons I moved away from the town I grew up in was the dark secret waiting for me at the top of the stairs. I finally had enough wine in me to explore my secret fantasy, so I stripped naked and went up to my secret room.
My secret room was one I created, and one that nobody else in the world would ever see. It was painted pink and decorated with everything I should have loved as a little girl. My childhood wasn’t as easy as most, and I never actually had a proper one. My grandparents raised me because my father left my mother, and she just couldn’t handle raising a child alone. My grandparents were minimalists and a generation behind the fancy things I craved when I saw them on television. I grew up in their bland guest room, which they would not allow me to alter in any way. They didn’t think children should play with toys, and they wanted me to learn the value of hard work. Instead of sitting in my room and playing with Barbie dolls, I was given a broom and a dust rag. My grandmother ordered me around like a slave, and I kept everything spotless or I got punished. After a few years with them, I understood why my mother left home at an early age, and I hated her for subjecting me to the same life she ran from. Even school was a far cry from the wonderful television sitcom versions. They enrolled me a strict private school where the only focus was education. Sure, it gave me a good foundation and got me into a great college, but there was no fun to be had.
My obsession with building the room began while I was in college. I bought my first stuffed animal at eighteen and I snuggled it every night. My craziness grew out of control, and by the time I left college, I had a full collection of Disney movies that I watched on a weekly basis and more stuffed animals than a normal person should have—even a child. I actually had a nice offer from a local company in the town I grew up in, but the idea of subjecting my life to the constant supervision of my grandparents was too much. I moved away and took a lower paying job just so I could live alone. With every paycheck, my room got more and more decorations. I actually converted the master bedroom into my secret special place, and when I wasn’t in the mood to stay in there, I usually slept on the couch. I knew from the beginning that it wasn’t healthy, but there was something magical about retreating into the life I never had. I felt like my childhood had been robbed from me, so I rationalized it with my secret obsession. Every weekend, and several nights a week, I was a little girl—my perfect version of a princess.
In time, I regressed even further into my fantasy. The beautiful dresses and baby dolls weren’t enough. I started buying adult diapers, pacifiers, and letting myself become seduced in the fantasy of being an adult baby. Of course, that meant dating wasn’t going to happen. I did find one man, who was into the same things I was into, but he didn’t have any interest in taking care of me or letting me explore it in a safe environment. He liked the punishment side of it, and although I was okay with some occasional punishment for being naughty, it was a daily ritual for him, whether I did anything wrong or not. I liked being naughty and then being punished for it, not being punished for nothing at all. I had a special conn
ection to my role, and it was more of a sexual release for him. Our incompatibility quickly crushed the relationship and I decided it would be better if I just spent my life alone—at least until I was ready to grow up and move on. I knew that day would come, but until it did, I was content to explore my fantasy in secret.
With the wine in me, and the diaper around my waist, I started to feel that familiar tingle between my legs. There was something so innocent and alluring about touching myself with the diaper on. I crawled into the bed and spread my legs. There would be plenty of time for playing with my teddy bears later. I pushed open the drawer beside the table and pulled out my secret vibrator. I kept it hidden, just like a little girl would, even though there was never a single person other than myself in the house. It wasn’t even a real vibrator; it was just a vibrating razor I picked up at the grocery store. I created a story about finding it in my Daddy’s bathroom and stealing it. I knew if he ever found out, my bottom would be bright red, but it was a risk I was willing to take. In my secret life, I had a fake Mommy and Daddy who were always in the other room. Everything I had were gifts from them, and they spoiled their little princess rotten. I rubbed my clitoris in a circle while I pushed the handle of the vibrating razor up and down my labia. It caused me to tingle even more, even though it was just on the outside of the diaper.
I loved the feeling of touching myself through the diaper. It created a taboo feeling I really couldn’t explain, and was often more intense than simply taking the diaper off and playing with my bald pussy. Even with the protective layer on, I could feel my clitoris hard underneath it. I made circles around it with my finger while I moaned and pushed the vibrating razor blade up and down the diaper until I had a really good motion going on. The diaper created a barrier which made the experience last so much longer, and I had no reason to rush it. I brought myself to the edge dozens of times, then stopped and let my body adjust. My whole upper torso was rocked with pleasure and my legs were almost like jelly as I continued to do it over and over until I couldn’t stand it. I finally started to circle my clitoris faster, moving across it a few times as I did, and pushed the vibration against my pussy to the point it would have been inside me if the diaper wasn’t there. It only took a few minutes once I set my mind to it, and when I felt the orgasm coming, I started moaning to myself until it rushed down the walls of my vagina and saturated the diaper with my pleasure. I let the vibration there for a few minutes as I had several smaller orgasms. Once it was all done, I pushed the razor back into my hiding place and dug in the drawer again for my other naughty secret—cigarettes.
I wasn’t brave enough to smoke in public. The stigma and danger attached to it was definitely something I was aware of, but I had picked up the habit when I was dating the only man who was comfortable with my secret life. I only smoked after sex with him, and now that I was single, I only smoked when I was done touching myself. They made me feel extra naughty and I often imagined myself getting caught by my imaginary Mommy and Daddy. If it was my Mommy, I went over her knee for a session with the thick wooden hairbrush laying on my end table. If it was my Daddy, then his belt came off and the diaper followed suit. He was always a lot harder on me than my Mommy, and I imagined myself a ball of tears as he punished me. There were times when that fantasy was enough to get me back in the mood, and that night was no different. I slipped a finger into my diaper and rubbed myself while I smoked, just dreaming of getting caught. The second time required a lot more direct stimulation and the cigarette was long gone when my body orgasmed again. I was absolutely exhausted, and as I lay there in bed, the wine really started to take hold. I rarely peed in the diaper, but I was so tired I didn’t want to get up, so I used it with a smile on my face. I certainly couldn’t sleep in it, but it would prolong the need to walk on my jelly legs.
My head spun from the nicotine and the pleasure I had given myself. I found myself getting drowsy and I knew I needed to get up. I had a new pair of Disney princess pajamas I wanted to wear to bed on top of a clean diaper, and if I fell asleep in the one I was wearing, I would wake up raw and sore. That had happened a few times, and I absolutely hated it. There wasn’t enough baby powder to make Monday morning tolerable with my entire groin covered in blistered flesh. I fought the battle between sleeping and getting up until a creak bolted me straight up to a sitting position. I knew my house, and I knew that creak wasn’t settling. A few seconds later it was followed by what were definitely footsteps. I quickly fell into a panic. Did I leave the garage door unlocked? Shit! I always forgot that one. I didn’t set the alarm, and my cell phone was downstairs. I quietly cursed myself for getting rid of my land line in an effort to save money. The upstairs had nothing I could use to defend myself, and there was definitely someone in my house. The windows were too far from the ground, which meant I had to confront whoever it was, or just try to hide.
In my crazed state, I developed a plan which wasn’t the best, but it was better than getting cut up by some random serial killer. I definitely needed to lay off the Dexter marathons, because the show was so vivid in my mind that it was all I could think about. I grabbed a robe and threw it around myself before quietly moving to the door and opening it just wide enough to slip through, but not wide enough for the hinges to creak. All I had to do was make it to the bottom of the stairs and then it would be three steps to my front door. I knew it was locked, but one twist of the deadbolt would open it. I had enough nosy neighbors that the sight of me running from my house screaming would summon every form of law enforcement they could call. I started creeping down the stairs on my bare feet with my eyes peeled for any sight of an intruder. It actually looked as dead as I left it, and I started to wonder if I imagined it. I was nearly asleep after all. I pressed myself against the wall of the stairs and listened—then I heard the sound of my fridge opening and I bolted without thinking. I ran straight to the door and reached for the deadbolt, but my hands were trembling. My legs didn’t want to work. A second later, I felt an arm around my waist and a hand over my mouth.
“Stay quiet. I’m not going to hurt you.” The voice sounded like a growl.
I froze, but I tried to nod against his grip. He took me into the living room and pulled the cords off my curtains. I thought I was going to hyperventilate as he pulled a chair from the dining room and started tying me to it. The room was too dark and I couldn’t see anything but the top of his head until he stood up. I recognized those eyes from television. It was Johnny Hottie—er—John Wayne Williams! The hyperventilation got out of control and tears filled my eyes. I started sobbing right there on the spot. I had left the door unlocked, and the man they said would never come back to the town he lived in, was standing in my damn living room. I shook my head back and forth. I wanted to beg for my life, but I didn’t know what to say. He put his finger to his lips and shushed me. I felt compelled to obey. The man in front of me was a hardened criminal; maybe he wasn’t that way ten years before, but he didn’t look much like his photograph. His gray hair was a big longer, his face was covered in a speckled beard, and I could see various tattoos along his powerful looking arms. He took a step back, grabbed another chair, and sat down in front of me.
“What’s your name?” He studied my face as I struggled to speak.
“Ji..Jillian.” My stomach felt like it was going to export the imported wine within a few seconds if I didn’t calm down.
“Do you know who I am?” He stared directly into my eyes and I nodded.
“I saw you on TV.” I admitted quickly.
“Good. That will make this a lot easier. I promise that I’m not going to hurt you. I have some unfinished business in town, and I just need a place to lay low for a couple of hours. You really shouldn’t leave your door unlocked. There are people out there who wouldn’t hesitate to hurt you, Jillian.” I couldn’t believe I was getting a lecture from a convict who broke into my house, unlocked door or not! He stood up and went back into the kitchen. He returned with a bottle of wine that was already uncor
ked.
“What are you going to do? Everyone thinks you’re far away from here by now…” I figured he had seen the news, so it wasn’t exactly a secret. They were blaring it on the radio when I finally had a chance to listen to the whole story on the way home.
“I just need to talk to someone.” He said with a bit of anger. He sipped the wine and reached into his pocket, pulling out a pack of cigarettes. He lit one up and the smoke drifted towards me; it was a lot harsher than the light version of that brand upstairs in my night stand.
“The girl you raped? She doesn’t even live here anymore…” I hoped that would be enough to make him go away.
“Oh I know that. I don’t need to see her; I need to see her parents.” He took a deep drag from the cigarette and blew the smoke away from my face. At least he was a considerate home invader. “…and I didn’t rape her, regardless of what the television says.”
I really wasn’t on the side of Patty or Paula; I was quite indifferent to the whole matter. All I knew was that the justice system had decided he belonged behind bars, and that was enough for me. The formalities were best left for the judge and the jury—I just wanted him out of my house. He stood up and sat down repeatedly, walking to the windows and peeking out while he drank my wine and chain smoked. I could tell he was paranoid and I probably would have been as well in that situation. After sitting there for an hour, the diaper I was wearing underneath my robe was quite uncomfortable. The wetness was squishing between my thighs, and the fact I was sweating from fear didn’t help it at all. I wished I had thought to remove it before running downstairs, but I was trapped in it for the time being. His constantly movements around my living room were making me extremely annoyed so I tried to engage him in some form of conversation, hoping he would calm down.
