by Tara Tingle
“Full of what?” I didn't know what he was talking about.
“It's wet and it's heavy and... uhm... I don't think it can absorb any more... uhm... fluid...”
Oh.
Urine.
So that's what he was referring to.
“I need to change,” he added, his voice brimming with embarrassment. “Father, can you... uhm... you see... I can't get up, so I might need some help. Can you get a new diaper for me? There should be one on the floor somewhere.”
I knew where the unused diapers were. I cleaned this room up a few hours ago. I immediately went to the other side of the bed where the table was and where I placed the nappies earlier. I grabbed one and went back to Xavier.
“T-Thanks, Father,” he said as he extended the hand, expecting me to hand over the new pair.
I didn't.
“Father?” he called my attention, hoping that I'd give him what he asked me to get.
Still, I didn't.
“A-Are you going to give another sermon, this time about me being too old for that kind of thing?” he asked. “Perhaps we can save that for later, Father. I really do need a change.”
“No,” I answered. “Your body's too weak.”
“W-What do you mean?”
I placed my hand over his nape, with my other hand gently pushing his chest so that he'd lie down on the bed. “You won't be able to change your diaper in your current state,” I told him. “I'll do that for you.”
Gasps are supposed to be silent, but the one he unleashed resounded like thunder.
4
The Fragile Conviction
Being the youngest of five children, I didn't have to suffer the burden of expectations that my siblings had to endure.
My eldest sister, Joanna, for example, was groomed by our parents to be a lawyer since she was a child. She did end up going to, and graduating from, law school. But she never took the bar. She never found the courage to take the exam. The legal profession never really appealed to her, apparently. Now, she's operating her own salon at Delaware. She seemed content the last time I saw her.
Javier, my eldest brother, always proclaimed that he wanted to be an engineer. That made my parents happy. He took up Civil Engineering in college. Two years in and he shifted to English Lit. It turned out that he never really wanted to be an engineer. He just thought that it was a career that would make our parents proud.
Janina’s the sibling who preceded me. She was terrible with numbers. She always felt like she'd have a panic attack if she didn't bring a calculator to class – in grade school. So it was quite a surprise for all of us when she chose to pursue an accounting degree. She talked about going to one of the big firms - the Deloittes, the Ernst & Youngs, the McGladreys & Associates... she practically named them all – after she graduated. She did pass the licensure exam. She became a CPA. But she never practiced her craft. Now, she's the co-owner of an art gallery in Oakland. Apparently, she was just pressured to take up a high profile course back then, when Joanna and Javier were still trying to be a doctor and an engineer, respectively.
Johannes, surprisingly, was the only one who became a professional. She's now a doctor at a big hospital in Los Angeles. Maybe it's because she's truly the smartest of our brood. Or perhaps, it's because everyone was just so happy when she recovered from her drug addiction that my parents just let her become whoever she wanted to be.
Me?
By the time I was old enough to decide on what I wanted in life, my parents were unexpectedly very supportive. It was either because I was the youngest and they were used to treating me with less restrictions and more luxuries, or because they were just too tired witnessing how my three other siblings turned out to be.
When I told them that I wanted to be a priest, they were incredibly elated. We were already blessed with five wonderful children, I remember my mother say, and it would be a great honor to surrender one to our Lord.
They didn't impose their will on me. They didn't nag me with stories about how this career was more prominent than others. They didn't pressure me with their own dreams about my future.
No.
They just allowed me to be me.
And I did.
I became a priest.
I was able to practice the one thing that I found most fulfilling in this world: serving others.
Whether it's God or the members of my parish or the people in the community who needed some support, I was able to help them with the avenues and the means that my position provided.
Service.
It's what always made me feel happy, what always made me feel contented, what always made me feel complete – to serve those in need.
And now...
Now, Xavier needed me.
He's weak and tormented and lost.
How could I not serve him?
“F-Father? What are you doing?” he anxiously asked as I spread his legs and unclasped the velcro on the sides of his nappy.
“I told you, I'll change your diaper for you,” I repeated what I earlier said, my attention fully focused on the task at hand.
“Y-You... You don't have to do that,” he replied. I felt that he wanted to resist, but he was too stupefied to even wiggle out of the position we were in.
“Nonsense, Xavi,” I answered as I carefully unfolded the fluffy wrapper.
I've never changed anyone's diaper before, more so one that was worn by a fully grown man. I was surprised, however, at how easy it actually was. Everything seemed so intuitive.
I pulled his diaper down, belatedly noticing that by doing so, I exposed him in all his naked glory. I tried not to look at his crotch, but even as I turned away, his private area didn't escape my peripheral vision.
And what I saw left me breathless.
For a man of his physique – of medium height and slender – he was truly well endowed.
Well endowed...
I swallowed some air when I realized that something wasn't normal with what I was seeing.
Xavier's... thing... it was hard and upright, like a handbrake that's lifted up in a forty-five degree angle.
He had an erection.
A clearly massive erection!
But why?
Was it because his condition had a sexual layer that he did not previously divulge? A kind of erotic gratification tightly interwoven with the satisfaction of being cared for? A symbiosis of emotions that confounded the affection of benevolence with the intimacy of earthly desires?
Or was it because being naked in front of another man aroused him greatly? In which case, wouldn't that mean that he, too, was-
“T-This is quite embarrassing, Father,” he interrupted my thoughts. He sounded rattled by ignominy. His hands hovered near his engorged penis, unsure whether he should cover it or not. “I... I'm sorry...”
“I'm sure it's an involuntary response,” I scoffed, providing an excuse that wouldn't cause him further humiliation. “One's pow pow does get hard when the bladder is full, and even a few minutes after it's emptied.”
“W-What did you say?” he asked, seemingly astonished.
“I said that it's an involuntary response,” I repeated.
“No, not that, Father. You said pow pow. Is that what you call it?”
“Your penis, you mean? Yes. Pow pow.” I didn't understand why he found that startling. I've always referred to that part of a man's anatomy with that term. It's what we called it in the household where I was raised. All my life, I believed that we weren't the only ones who used that nomenclature.
Xavier smiled, momentarily forgetting how ashamed he was feeling. “That's cute,” he remarked, amused.
“I never thought of it that way,” I casually replied as I slid my hand under his buttocks and lifted it up. I then inserted the new diaper underneath before lowering his midsection back to the bed.
“I like it,” he said. “I like how it sounds. It makes me feel... happy.”
“It does?” I wondered aloud.
&
nbsp; “Yes. I know that sounds strange, Father, but certain words – especially the really weird ones – make me feel giddy and warm inside.”
“Like what words?”
“Words used in baby talks, usually. Like coochi coochi coo. Or twinky winky. Or little munchkin. Also, weird words repeated in nursery rhymes. But pow pow... that's my new favorite now. It's way up there, next to...” he bit his lip as if he was forcing himself to stop talking before he said something that he wasn't supposed to say.
“Next to?” I was curious enough to ask.
“Uhm... next to my child,” he finished timorously.
I smiled, remembering what he told me during his most recent confession – that he loved the way I said those words. “Well, pow pow does seem like an odd fit in your selection of happy words,” I commented.
“No complaints here,” he responded with a grin of his own.
I folded the diaper to cover his still hardened phallus and fastened the sides with their velcros. “There. All done,” I informed him as I gently patted his thigh.
“Thanks, Father,” he expressed his appreciation, his face blushing with resurgent reticence.
Aside from the shame he was once again feeling, he seemed okay. I was confident that he'd be able to overcome the heartbreak he was enduring and come out of the experience a better person.
So, I stood up and straightened my robes as I prepared to say goodbye.
But Xavier's face quickly writhed with sudden anxiety.
“A-Are you leaving, Father?” he asked with much concern.
“Yes, Xavi,” I said. “I came here because I was worried about you. But I can tell that you're alright now. You're a bit weak, but it's nothing that a good night's sleep won't remedy.”
“But... I... I'm afraid, Father...” he tried to reason out.
“Afraid of what?”
“The... bad feelings. The bad thoughts. What if they come back?”
“They surely will,” I cautioned him of that sad truth. “But you're a strong man, Xavi. Stronger than how you think you are. You'll get though this. You'll persevere. You have your best days ahead of you. Tomorrow, you'll wake up to a brand new day, fully aware of the promising possibilities that your life has in store for you. You'll see.”
“Yeah. Tomorrow, I might. But what about tonight, Father? What if I falter once more? What if I succumb to my sorrows again?”
He was making a compelling point, but in the years I've spent counseling people who were downtrodden with terrible sadness, I've come to know that the best approach was always to provide comfort to alleviate their anguish and to teach them how to face their troubles on their own. Being by their side for too long would only make them dependent on someone other than themselves, and that was counter-efficient. The adage ‘give a man a fish and you'll feed him for day but teach a man how to fish and you'll feed him for a lifetime’ comes to mind.
Honestly, I didn't want to leave Xavier. Not this soon. Probably, not ever, if I'd follow my desire.
But I had his best interest in mind, and that meant that I should bid him farewell so that he'd learn how to deal with his demons with the strength of his own spirit.
“Tonight, you will sleep, Xavi,” I firmly said. “Tomorrow, when your body has recovered, you can come to church and I'll be there for you in the event that you'll still need someone to talk to.”
He realized that it was futile to continue with his pleas.
“Okay,” he mumbled with so much dolefulness that was hard for me to hear.
But I had to be steadfast. I had to stay resolute. For his own good.
“Rest well, my child,” I said as I began to walk towards the door.
But before I could reach the exit, however, I heard a sound that I didn't immediately recognize.
A soft roar.
A low rumble.
I turned around to determine the source of that quiet noise. I was greeted by the strange expression on Xavi's face – constrained eyes and a bashful pout – and the continuous bellow that was seemingly emanating from his tummy.
Indeed, the sound was coming from his stomach. It was was grumbling. He was hungry.
He was hungry and he was physically incapable of preparing his own food.
I sighed and began to walk back to where he was.
He smiled as I approached.
“I guess I have to stay for a little bit longer, eh?” I groaned.
He nodded. “Maybe until the delivery arrives, Father,” he said. “My phone's somewhere here. If you can help me find it, I can just order a pizza.”
“No,” I told him.
“No?” he asked, bewildered by what I said.
“No,” I repeated once more.
The events of the day echoed in my head. Xavier went through a horrifying ordeal, one that revealed a side of him that I never knew was there...
A side of him that I wanted to explore even further so that I'd know...
I'd know if it would affect my feelings for him...
Feelings which I have long tried to deny because of my faith...
Feelings which only proved themselves to be powerful enough to make me question my calling...
Feelings that I had to determine, with all certainty, if they were true and if they were worth fighting for.
I had to know.
And there was only one way to do that.
“I will feed you, my child,” I informed him. “I will feed you until you're full and content. Allow me that opportunity, please. Let me take care of you.”
“F-Father?” he muttered incredulously.
“No, don't call me that,” I ordered. “Don't call me Father. Call me daddy.”
His mouth opened but no words came out from it. He looked at me with shock.
“Call me daddy,” I said once more. “And from now until the night is over, show me what you really are.”
5
The Other Side
Why did you become a priest?
This is a question that I've been asked so many times in the past eight years that I'd actually be surprised if I'd encounter someone who wouldn't bring it up eventually.
The answer is the same – for me and my colleagues.
It's because we received the Calling. All of us. No exceptions.
I could only describe this Calling as something like a very deep desire... a great need... an overpowering impetus... to completely devote one's life as a Man of God. Each priest, and even most of those who are preparing themselves for priesthood, have received this Calling at some point in their lives. The circumstances that preceded it vary from person to person. Some encountered it during what should've been the happiest moments of their existence when such period was marred by a feeling of emptiness. Some experienced it during a tragic episode when he'd question if there's more to this world than being a slave to the cycle of life and death. For most, however, this Calling just came to them – without stimulus, without drama, without fanfare.
I received my calling when I was eleven, in sixth grade, one humid August morning during homeroom. The teacher, Mrs. Sarmiento, asked us to go in front and tell our classmates what we wanted to be when we'd grow up and why.
One by one, my fellow students did their thing. Doctors, lawyers, businessmen, actresses, firemen, video game designers... all of these were mentioned. Jones Jones, a guy so memorable because his first and last names were the same, stole the show when he declared to everyone that he wanted to be just like his father. Mrs. Sarmiento asked him what his father did for a living. Jones Jones answered that his dad spent the whole day on the Lazy Boy, watching TV and drinking beer and never having to do any homework for school. That made everyone laugh.
At that time, I thought I wanted to be a policeman, just like my father.
I knew what I'd say in front of the class when it was my turn to speak.
Mrs. Sarmiento called my name.
I went in front and smiled. I was confident about what I'd tell them.
A di
fferent word, however, came out of my mouth. I didn't utter my father's profession. Instead, I said the word priest, much to everyone's surprise – myself included.
I've thought about that moment for years and have come to the conclusion that it was when the Holy Spirit entered my heart and planted the seed of this noble vocation in my soul. And when I began to accept what it was, my confusion transformed into an unwavering passion to pursue what I then realized was my Calling.
I went to college and took up Psychology. Upon graduation, I didn't even consider a doctorate degree. I went straight to seminary. That paved the way for my eventual ordination.
And I became a priest and fulfilled my heart's desire.
For years I was happy. For years I was content. I couldn't ask for anything more.
But things changed.
Certain events made me question the tenets that were supposed to guide us.
As the rules of the church prevented me from even considering choices that I knew I needed to make, I began to impugn my commitment.
As my feelings towards particular matters intensified, I began to dispute the very teachings I was supposed to share with my flock.
And when I started to hear Xavier's confessions, when his constant presence provided the steadiness that I needed in the rough seas that troubled everything that I thought were true, I felt that my faith began to shatter.
Do I still believe that I've been called to become a Servant of the Lord?
Honestly, I don’t know.
But I wanted to know.
Hence, I needed this...
I needed this time with Xavier...
I needed to determine which mattered most in my life...
I needed to know how far I wanted to go with the young man who has captured my fascination, and possibly my affection, for the past five months.
Xavier was beyond shocked when I told him my request. He asked me what I meant by that I reiterated that I wanted him to be what he said he was – an adult baby. He asked why. I said that I needed to see him like that, to experience him as he truly was, so that I could find answers for the questions that have been haunting my thoughts.