All three of us were in diapers under our jeans. I’d changed the boys before we set off for the railway station and as a precaution against the toilets being blocked and locked, I’d also fastened myself into a neat adult diaper, just in case. I had spares in our small suitcase too. I tell myself I don’t really need a diaper and I could wear tight cotton briefs, or even sexy lace ones, if I wanted. Greg was about to use his diaper: my sixth sense told me a while ago that he was ‘retaining,’ and now I could tell by the way he stood still and stared into space that the pressure was too much for him to bear. Not that the boys ever made much effort to retain. Usually I can hear the trickle of Greg’s urine into the absorbent paper but on the platform there was too much noise for me to hear his hot liquid flow. I smiled at him as his expression told me that he was comfortable now and there was a warm wet patch in the lower front of the diaper, held in place by the elastic and the silky patterned plastic and clinging to the little cock and balls. I wanted to kiss Greg’s sweet lips but there were bright lights and people about. One thing to kiss a child on the cheek in greeting, quite another to kiss him on the lips as a lover, for pure pleasure. I licked my lips slowly and Greg blew me a kiss, understanding exactly what I was watching in my mind’s eye.

‘Another ten minutes,’ said a man in a peaked railway cap and a high visibility tabard, ‘we’ll get you to Durham tonight, no trouble.’

We sat on a bench. Timmy, always in want of a hug, sat on my left and Greg sat next to Timmy. I felt my diaper crinkling and folding as I sat down, and I imagined what Timmy and Greg felt as their diapers folded with their movements. I heard their diapers rustling, tightening at the rear and creasing at the front.

A short way along the platform a man in his forties was staring at the boys. As soon as I looked at him, he looked away. He was the attractive older type: taller than me, slim, long limbs, short black hair, Burberry raincoat and even a trilby. Twenty years ago he would have been smoking a cigarette. He could have been Dennis’s Dad in Dennis the Menace. I waited until he looked back in our direction, and I mouthed ‘Hi!’ to him.

‘Oh, sorry,’ he said.
I beckoned him closer. ‘Why are you sorry?’
‘I was staring at them.’

I wondered, as I often do, why men feel ashamed for looking at cute boys.

‘They’re beautiful, aren’t they,’ I said, leading him on a bit. ‘This is Timmy, that one’s Greg.’
Both boys nodded and said, ‘Hi.’
‘Hi,’ he said, looking rather shyly at the boys, ‘they certainly are cute. And I’m Philip.’
‘Are you travelling alone?’
‘Yes,’ he said, ‘I shall be. Nobody I know would be mad enough to travel this late at night.’
‘You could sit with us on the train,’ I said, ‘if you wanted to. The boys like meeting new people.’

Philip squeezed onto the bench beside Greg, who moved along to make room and then turned towards him and snuggled close. Greg shifted on his seat enough to make the paper disposable diaper rustle quietly.

‘Is that a paper diaper you’re wearing under those tight jeans?’ Philip asked him.
Greg nodded, feigning shame. ‘On long journeys I wet my pants.’
‘I used to do that,’ Philip told him quietly. ‘It’s nothing to upset yourself about.’
‘I already wet these,’ Greg confessed. ‘There’s a wet patch here.’ Greg pointed to it, knowing how it would excite his new male friend. ‘I weed five minutes ago. It’s still warm.’

Philip put one arm around Greg’s waist and pulled him close, as if to console him. He looked at me for permission and reassurance.

‘He’s so sexy when he blushes,’ Philip told me. ‘He is gorgeous. Red cheeks, little clusters of fawn freckles, big brown eyes, long lashes, sweet lips, straight teeth.’
‘Do you want to kiss him?’ I asked.
‘Well, if it, if you…’
‘You can kiss him, if he lets you,’ I whispered, ‘he likes kissing.’

Gently, Philip pressed his lips onto Greg’s. Greg turned his face to one side and opened his mouth wide to take a French kiss. They pressed their mouths together for fully two minutes. Greg was panting as they moved apart, a sure sign of arousal.

‘Wow,’ said Philip as their mouths parted, ‘I didn’t think that you felt like that about me.’
‘I love anyone who loves me,’ said Greg, ‘why waste an opportunity to enjoy a man’s love?’

Amid the noise from its diesel engines that made any further conversation impossible, the train finally pulled into the platform. The four of us stood up and noticed that the lights in one of the carriages were not working, and the carriage was in darkness. While every other passenger — there might have been twelve other passengers on the platform — made for the lighted carriages on either side of it, we picked our way onto the darkened carriage. The seats were nearly all empty, and the people sitting in the occupied seats were slumped and asleep.

‘The lights don’t work in that carriage,’ said the man in the tabard, unnecessarily.
‘That’s exactly what we need,’ I replied to him, ‘the boys need some sleep.’ And something else, I thought.

As we boarded the train I said quietly to Philip, ‘You can do anything you want to show affection to the boys, and I mean anything.’

There were no lights in the carriage, and while the lamps on the platform threw some light through the windows, once the train was moving we were in complete darkness. We found a bay of four seats. Timmy and I sat in one double seat while Philip sat beside Greg in the other.

I leaned close to Timmy and asked him about the state of his diaper. ‘Have you wet it, or is it still dry?’
‘Still dry,’ said Timmy.

I felt a bit cheated since I would have enjoyed changing Timmy and checking the wet patches, rubbing on zinc oxide ointment and feeling what happened as I smeared the ointment onto him. By the stray light of a nearby house I caught a glimpse of Philip and Greg. They were still kissing, and Philip’s right hand was laid on the diaper, clamped just over Greg’s navel. I could see the little bulge where Greg was responding to Philip’s gentle touches. Philip’s hand was two inches, maybe a little more, above its target, so that his little finger could reach the tip of it. I said nothing but I hoped Greg wouldn’t have to put up with too much teasing. The light from the house faded as we passed it. I put my hand on little Timmy’s cock, making it swell and harden with lust.

I heard Greg say to Philip, ‘Why don’t you put me onto your lap?’ I heard Philip lift him. Then I heard a heavy belt with a metal buckle jingle as it too hit the floor. Philip had taken his trousers off and perhaps his underpants too: I couldn’t see. Greg is five stone and quite heavy to lift. Once Greg was placed in his lap, he could control Philip by wriggling, shifting and pressing Philip’s erect cock. Men’s cocks jump when a five stone boy sits in their lap and shifts his weight.

‘How big is it?’ I asked.
Greg said ‘Four inches’ and Philip said ‘Seven inches,’ both at the same instant. I giggled. Maybe I would soon get a chance to find out.
‘You haven’t had sex for a while, have you?’ Greg asked Philip, as if innocently.
‘No. How can you tell?’
‘It’s all written here, for anyone to read.’ Greg wriggled. ‘My mom taught me how to tell if a man’s not had any for a while.’ Then in a stage whisper, which he knew I would hear, ‘My diaper is wet. Why don’t you take it off? It’s dark. Nobody will see you do it.’

I heard the adhesive tabs snap apart and the diaper fall onto the floor. For a few seconds the perfume of Greg’s strong urine filled the air. I had learned to love the scent.

‘That’s quite strong,’ said Philip, appreciatively and not as a complaint.
‘Confucius say strong boy, strong piss, will be strong man,’ I laughed back.

Timmy took my hand and held it against the firm bulge in his diaper. I had been neglecting him. I ran my hand along the length of his penis, squeezing the shaft to make him come more easily. As I stimulated Timmy I heard Greg suddenly cry out, ‘Yes!’ and the quieter sound of a French kiss.

I leaned over to Greg. I was so close that I could hear his heart thumping, racing. ‘Was that a hand job?’ I whispered.
‘No,’Greg hissed back, ‘guess again.‘
‘Mouth job, then,’ I guessed.
‘He fucked me up the bum. It feels marvellous.’
I turned to Philip. ‘Did you… really fuck my son up the backside?’
‘Well, er…’ Philip hesitated, so I tried to reassure him.
‘It’s all right, you can fuck him as often as you like, Timmy too and me as well if you want. I just wondered what you did to him. As long as Greg enjoyed it, there’s nothing to worry about.’
‘In that case,’ said Philip, ‘could we swap boys? Timmy’s bottom looks delicious.’

He was right. Timmy’s buttocks were so firm, rounded and slightly over size that he should have been born a girl. With much lifting and lowering and losing sight of things we managed to put Timmy onto Philip’s lap while Greg, still bare from the waist to the ankles, sat on mine. I could make out that Philip had arranged Timmy into the spanking position, over his knees, with Philip’s right hand caressing and fingering Timmy’s perfect buttocks. This time Philip did not hesitate but shot straight for goal, slipping his left hand under Timmy’s hips and into the leg elastic of the diaper, cupping the balls and the cock. I knew I had done a good and thorough job of stroking and teasing Timmy’s cock. He was hard and straight but not about to orgasm.

‘Piss your diaper, Timmy,’ he said, insistently. ‘Your bladder sphinctre can’t take any more pressure. It’s starting to hurt. Your bladder is full, tight, stretched, aching to piss… Ah! A little drop of heaven just ran over my fingertips.’
‘Squeeze my balls harder,’ said Timmy, then, ‘Ow! Not that hard. Oh, oh!’

I could tell that Timmy had been trying to retain and Philip’s superb technique had overcome him. Timmy’s little hosepipe pissed a stream of sweet gold urine into the diaper. It ran down his legs, onto the seat, and soaked the floor. ‘Good boy,’ Philip reassured him, and pushed his hand further inside the diaper, holding the little penis.

‘You’ve gone limp again,’ Philip laughed kindly at Timmy in the darkness.
My right hand found Greg’s balls and held them, rubbing the B Spot, the nerve cross at the top, at the rear of a little boy’s scrotum. ‘Nice?’ I asked him.
‘Very,’ said Greg, his cock extending to its full two inch length.

A rustling from Philip’s seat announced that Timmy’s diaper was off and on the floor. I expected to hear the sound of spanking, but when I heard silence from Philip and a low moaning from Timmy, I guessed what they were doing.

‘Is he used to prostate massage?’ Philip whispered, exactly on cue.
‘He will be, in time’ I said, ‘but that’s his first, that you’re giving him.’
Timmy groaned loudly, then he cried out as his orgasm shot through his balls, ‘Wow! Aaaah! Oh, wow!’

His body was suddenly limp and tired as the little boy orgasm, intense waves of pleasure but no milk, flooded through him and left him with his heart beating fast over Philip’s knees. Philip withdraw the two skilful fingers that had imparted the orgasm.

‘How hard do you do that?’ I asked Philip. I had heard of prostate massage but never been privileged to almost see one in the darkness.
‘Very gently. Don’t squeeze, just tease.’

I made a mental note in big mental letters to start administering prostate massages to both children.

I was preparing myself to slide two fingers between Greg’s tight buttocks I heard the voice of the railwayman in the tabard shouting to the carriage, ‘I’m going to try to fix the lights for you. It’s only the circuit breaker, I think. Ten minutes to Durham.’

So ended our lovemaking. We had a few seconds to manoeuvre the bottomless boys into more innocent positions. Timmy yawned, obviously exhausted by the intense orgasm that Philip had given him with the prostate massage. Philip hastily pulled up his underpants and trousers. He was closing the zip when the bright carriage lights came back on. We blinked.

I reached up to the luggage rack for my suitcase and handed out dry diapers, which the boys slipped into. Greg’s jeans were wet at the front, giving him an enticing dark patch. Timmy’s jeans were spotless. I reflected that I would have loved to have two boys in urine-sodden jeans to take to their relatives. The inviting damp patches would have put a horn on them a foot long.