I knew my roommate was into some strange things, but I didn't know what to make of the over-sized diaper I found in her drawer one afternoon when I was looking for a shirt she'd borrowed from me. Cara was like that; she never returned anything, and I've always thought it rather childish, but not diaper-wearing childish. I figured it must be some kind of joke, so I asked her about it when she came home from her philosophy class. But when I saw how red she got when I asked, I knew it wasn't a joke.
She demanded to know what I was doing in her drawers, and when I didn't answer, she pouted moodily, folding her arms over her breasts and turning her toes inward. Her black hair was mussed from her bike ride home, and I could smell that strange sweetness of her sweat. Sometimes when I smelled this I felt a strange hollowness at the pit of my stomach, something I only felt when I was excited or scared. Sometimes when I smelled Cara and she was close to me, I felt both. I'm no lesbian, but Cara and I have been close ever since I met her a few years ago, and often I think of how beautiful it would be to hold her in my arms, lie beside her, lick her behind the ears and make her smile. I wonder if I could ever make her wet, the way I was this very instant as I stared at her pouting.
I have always envied Cara a little. She dated the boys I wanted to have, and she always looked so cute and perfect and adorable. I could never pull that off if I tried; I have always been lanky and thin, angular, without any of that softness boys seem to like. So often I have wished I could be Cara, to be able to look down and pout a little bit and have the boys at my beck and call. She was wearing the short-pleated skirt and the black patent-leather Mary Jane shoes that made her look like she was still in high school, and she had clumsily applied blush to her cheeks as well, which made her seem so young and naΓ―ve. "Dana," she said, in her slight, squeaky voice, "I don't know what to say. I'm a little embarrassed." She lowered her head bashfully, and pointed her toes further in. I'd seen her do this before when she was stressed out; I'd see her regress before my eyes into a little girl, her voice becoming higher and thinner and her lips pouting more and more. The best thing to do when she started to act like this was to take command and give her orders. She was usually quite compliant. So I told her sternly to settle down and go to her room.
I followed her there, tingling a bit from my assertiveness. Secretly I relished when Cara would break down; I loved taking charge of her. Usually it was a matter of telling her to clean up after herself or to start working on a paper she had been putting off, but this could prove to be something different. Finding that bizarre diaper had suddenly shifted us onto new terrain, one where secrets were suddenly coming out into the open. My nipples were stiffening underneath my bra; I glanced down and I could see them poking out against my T-shirt. I hoped Cara wouldn't notice, but I always hoped she would.
In her room, Cara was sitting stock still on her bed as if she were waiting for me. "I'm sorry, Dana," she said. "I didn't want you to know about it." I asked her about what, and she cooed, "My little secret." I demanded that she tell me more about it, my pulse racing even as I tried to maintain a stern demeanor. Suddenly I was soaking wet; if I had been wearing a skirt I would have been dripping.
Cara had her hands squeezed between her knees, and she was biting her lip. "I don't wanna," she said all bratty, so I commanded her.
"Cara."
"What?" she whimpered in her girlish little voice.
"Tell me more," I said. My nipples were completely hard now, and I was warm all over, buzzing. I thought I might pass out, but I knew I had to keep up my tough faΓ§ade. I caught a glimpse of myself in the full-length mirror Cara dressed herself in. I straightened my glasses and took a deep breath. I wanted so badly to rush to my room and bury my fingers in cunt, as I had done so many times before when Cara had wound me up.