Off the Record (Gay/Diapers)
At 24, Miles was trying to find his voice as a songwriter. The Norwegian arctic fox traveled to the states to not only study in college, but to succeed as an aspiring musician in a country where anything was possible.
Miles was interested in studying philosophy as a major so he could have a finer understanding of the world and a better comprehension of philosophical subjects commonly recited in songs, such as, "What is love?" and "Why do we exist?" At this point in his life, Miles was looking to expand his social consciousness one song at a time. However, he couldn't do it alone. At times, Miles was stricken with acrimony because he wanted to be in a relationship with someone shortly after he arrived in the United States, but being alone made the transition to American life much more difficult. He wanted a romantic relationship so he could no longer suffer the pain of being alone in the world. Emigrating to a new country expanded his perception of the world, and stimulated his desire to find someone.
Miles felt that he was merely an apparition: a ghostly figure that wandered the campus halls, looking for someone to network with. Hoping to find more social acceptance, Miles spent a considerable amount of time anonymously promoting his album, titled "Real Love," online once he moved to the states. But once he started feeling cheap about peddling his music, Miles ultimately decided to focus on his studies. Nobody was going to care about the album on campus, he thought. He couldn't imagine people, in the highest social circles of college, listening to his album and appreciating it simultaneously.
This agitated him. He promptly surrendered his ambitions to be a songwriter, and focused instead on his academic life. Desiring to be successful in his studies, at least, he befriended a few classmates -- Jack Perry and Robert Sinclair -- who helped him form a study group that met regularly in the spacious college library. The occasion was the only solace that the arctic fox could find since he moved to the states, and he was determined to not take the opportunity for granted. He even made strides to hide his Norwegian accent in the event that he would venture to attempt to speak to his studying partners. For the most part, the only thing vocal about Miles was the subtle crinkling noise that rustled around his waist. He was also concerned about people mocking him for being a "foreigner," so he tried so desperately to integrate himself into American culture, and -- in his mind -- increase his chances of being accepted.
Miles' new friends encouraged him to be more exuberant and outgoing, but they would be greeted with a rigid clearing of the throat, and a very polite, "No, thank you."
"Why not?" asked Jack, who was also a fox.
Miles adjusted his eyeglasses nervously. "It's not my thing," he spoke softly.
"Come on, Miles. Everybody's going to the party tomorrow night. Live a little," Robert snapped at his coy friend. Just ten feet away from the group, The librarian overheard Robert's exasperated tone and raised a paw to her lips, followed by a "shhhhhh."
Jack squinted his eyes, and glared at the boisterous tiger. "Rob, keep your voice down," he whispered.
"But I don't think it's gonna hurt you if you go. Think of the girls who will be there," Robert said in a more restrained, whispered tone. He looked at Miles, who sighed when he heard the word "girls."
Miles feigned passion for women, but over the years, he grew impatient over being asked by relatives, "Where's your girlfriend?" He'd constantly look for a branch of sufficient excuses, which could help pass the time. He often protested to his family that he tried looking to date a female, but he was often disappointed with the women he was previously interested in. That was a lie. He never attempted to date a female. He recognized females as acquaintences, but he was cautious to not go any further than that -- and wind up having to justify his excuses with more detail. Miles did not have the gallantry to honestly form a sexual attraction with females. Miles grew tired of self-censoring his personal desires, and moving thousands of miles away from the ones he loved would prove to be a daunting, but liberating experience that allowed him to freely wander for a man to call his own. Still he winced every time he was coaxed into the idea of being with a woman.
"Look, I want to study, not to party. There is no need for me to be there, but I kindly thank you for the invitation," said Miles with a nod as he stood up from their table, pushed in his chair, and started to walk out of the library.
"Come on, Miles. Who knows, man? They might play your CD..." Jack teased.
The arctic fox stood in the doorway leading out of the hallway, and bit his lip. He marched back to the table and sat back down in his seat. He tilted his head and bent his ear toward Jack. "How do you know about my music?" he asked, trying his hardest to hold back his smile.
Jack and Robert looked at each other and shrugged. "We've known for a while. It's pretty cool, man," Robert admitted.
Miles crossed his arms and smirked. "'Pretty cool,' you say?" He wanted to hear the compliment again.
"So are you interested in the party now? It's going down at the Phi Kappa Kappa tomorrow night. And by the way, the chicks love musicians. I can definitely see you hooking up with someone there," said Robert, who wiggled his eyebrows suggestively. Miles chuckled.
"Tempting. I'll think about it," said Miles, coyly.
Nearly a mile away from the library, Elias Bryon, a music columnist for the college newspaper, worked on his laptop. The horse sat upright in his single bed, and typed a review for Miles' album after finding out the arctic fox was actually a student at campus. Elias wrote the words, "vivid and exquisite" to describe the lyrics he heard on Miles' album. He looked around his dorm room while he thought about additional words he could use to describe an album that roared with emotion and tenderness that filled the air like a musical fragrance that aroused his soul. The handsome, young critic, who perhaps was not the most impartial of critics, wanted to know more about the great Miles Baxxter: who is he, and why is he so damn good?
"A gentle singer-songwriter with a strong message" -- that was the message that Elias wanted to convey. As he wrote the article, Elias slipped on his earphones and listened to Miles' songs, which were stored on his portable MP3 player. The way he wrote the article was akin to stating things as a matter of fact, not as an opinion. The brown horse considered opinions to be inadequate and disposable. Every now and then, he came across an album or a song that had a distinct, ethereal quality that was helplessly addicting. He felt that he could "understand" the music enough to justify his wildly complimentative reviews if he met the artist. Elias was unsure where to look since Miles was secretive, therefore difficult to access. Miles' personal information was not yet added to campus records. The only thing he knew was his name, and his face, which appeared on his social networking pages.
In those photos, Miles' looked happy. His fur was conspicuously bright and fluffy. He wore eyeglasses, which helped showcase his hypnotic, navy blue eyes. Not once did the arctic fox look inadequate or shy. Instead, he looked jubilant with his acoustic guitar, and bristling with confidence: a stark contrast with the present. "Well, I guess he is kinda cute," Elias said to himself as he clicked through Miles' photos on his Facebook profile.
Elias was tall and masculine with long, curly black hair and he looked a lot older for his age -- in short, at 22 years young, the gay equine was attractive. The mystique surrounding his true sexuality incurred the admiration of females who knew him, and fueled speculation by some gay men who lusted for him. He was a very popular figure on campus not only because he habitually handsome, but he was also a musician. Elias earned popularity after he formed a band with his roommates, and performed around campus and nearby bars for tips.
Elias could perform a live show at a bar, get intoxicated, and still be able to walk home, arrive back at his dorm, and finish his article without stumbling. But when it came to thinking about love, he was distracted by his overwhelming desire to love and to be loved. He often found himself lost in the dream of being in love with another male without the taboo overhead. The dream gnawed at his existence, and it made him as timid as someone who feared losing everything.
Gradually the need to socialize overwhelmed his personal desires and whims. On the night he was working on his article about Miles' album, Elias received an e-mail from the college newspaper editor that mentioned a party at one of the fraternity houses. The editor asked Elias if he was interested in "having a few drinks and a few laughs" to which the horse quickly replied, "Of course!" He moistened his lips with his tongue in anticipation of the party, and he hoped to simply have a good time. Observing any more progressive expectations increased his chances of being soul-crushingly disappointed.
The party was located at a 2,400 square-foot fraternity house a couple of blocks off campus. The house had blushing red-colored walls on the outside with bright outdoor porch lights that lit the stairs leading to the entrance. Inside the house was a large living room with bright, beige walls, posters of iconic celebrities, musicians, and notable fraternity alumni. To the left of the entrance was a roomy, stainless steel kitchen with a fridge full of beer and an eclectic array of hard liquor. Standing in the kitchen was Elias, who helped himself to a beer while talking to party guests.
To the opposite of the kitchen was a pair of leather sofas facing a large, widescreen 50" television that backed against the wall. Most of the party patrons on the first floor of the house gathered in the area. Tables were hastily arranged to dress the corners of the room and free up space in the middle. The music was blaring. The bass caused the wooden floor to rattle at times. Miles sat quietly on the sofa and closed his eyes as he tried to block out the bass, which massaged his footpaws on the floor. He paid no attention to the idle chatter of the party, the arctic fox kept his head down, and waited patiently for his friends from the study group to arrive. They were late, which Miles thought was unexpected.
In Miles' paws was a CD of his album, complete with 12 tracks full of joy, acceptance, heartbreak, and regret. He toiled with the songs enough to make sure he was completely comfortable with his music being listened to by the masses -- so he was confident in his product. He wasn't as confident when it came to getting any recognition. Shortly after arriving at the party, Miles attempted to hand his CD to the party hosts, but they declined to play the album, and give him airplay. Miles conceded defeat and lowered his ears, thinking, "Nobody really cares about what I do after all." The hosts suggested to Miles that he should send his album to the college newspaper for review, or "get lost." Having already submitted his album to the college newspaper and not hearing a reply from them, Miles was overcome with hopelessness. He hung his head, and sat quietly on the sofa -- briefly losing his motivation to walk out of the party.
As time passed, the sinking feeling in Miles' stomach steadily grew to the point that he wanted to leave, but he couldn't. It felt like his footpaws were planted firmly on the floor, and if he were to leave, he would somehow regret throwing away the opportunity to be heard as if the opportunity had yet to present itself. He felt the sweat dripping down his neck, and soaking his black shirt as everyone else enjoyed the party. He looked to his left and right, and saw people who laid on the couch beside him. One female, who was clearly inebriated, leaned on Miles' shoulder while mumbling something about an ex-boyfriend who jilted her. The female lioness' head slipped down to his crotch, which invoked a muffled but crinkly thud that only Miles could hear. The arctic fox swallowed nervously, and kindly moved her head away from his crotch. On the other side of him, a talkative white labrador male ranted about the decline of western civilization. He talked about a book he was writing, and that he felt a grand sense of entitlement to change the world in accordance to his liberal views. Miles' ears were ringing loudly from the pretentiousness in the room.
"I'm going to have some wine or something," muttered Miles to himself as he wandered to the kitchen. Suddenly, he bumped into Elias, who didn't mind the bump much because he was captivated by the person who bumped into him. The horse's eyes opened wide. For a moment, he was breathless, and words escaped from his racing mind. Peering through Elias' consciousness was the name "Baxxter."
"Are you Baxxter, er -- Miles Baxxter by any chance?" Elias stuttered while choking the beer bottle to submission with his right hand.
Miles wagged his tail. "Yes, yes I am." The fox extended his paw. "Nice to meet you..."
Elias shook his paw. "I'm Elias Bryon of The Daily Beat. What are the odds of meeting you here?"
Miles raised an eyebrow and tilted his head. "Do you... know me from somewhere?"
Elias withdrew from the handshake. "Oh, sorry. I was just reviewing your album for the paper, and --"
"My album?" Miles chuckled in disbelief. "Are you serious?"
"Yeah. The editor -- he's right behind me -- told me to check out your Facebook and the album. Then he was like, 'This guy is also a student here,' and I was assigned to write a review. I downloaded a copy."
"Pirate," the fox chimed in with a toothy grin.
"No, no. Piracy? No, it was for reviewing purposes. Anyway, I have to say, Miles, that I really like it." Elias could barely hear himself talk with all the noise being generated from the party. "You mind if we step outside for a bit?"
"What?"
Elias spoke louder. "Can we go outside and talk?"
"Oh yeah, sure."
So, with their backs facing the party, Miles and Elias walked outside. Miles streched his arms, and Elias continued drinking his beer. The laughter, the shouting, and the cheering took a toll on both of the men's hearing. They could hear ringing in their ears, and the loud music continued to resonate in their war-torn eardrums. They walked away from the party to the point where they could only hear muffled chatter. The spirit of the party remained kindling in their hearts as they wandered through the nightly breeze. The critic -- whose obligation was, eventually, to interview the musician -- drifted into pleasant conversation.
"I think my favorite song on 'Real Love' was, 'With You.' It was so nicely done," said Elias.
"Thank you. I appreciate that a lot. You know, I moved to this country from Norway, and I was concerned that people wouldn't care about my work, but --"
"They do," the horse asserted. "I mean, the editor loved your music, and mentioned it to his friends, and his friends to their friends. We like good music. It's not, you know, the hard rock -- heavy metal, heavy stuff. That's what most of the students, here, are into. Me? I like the folk, guitar and voice. The basics. It doesn't take much to please me."
"I totally agree." Miles warmed up to Elias as his heart was beating in a wild frenzy. "I feel happy that people enjoy the kind of work I put out there. I like the encouragement." The fox raised his paw to his forehead once he absorbed the fact that his music was spreading around campus. He quickly assessed the situation, and thought, "Oh my God, people are actually listening to me. Now what do I do?" His disposition dramatically changed from the feeling of being unwanted to not fully comprehending how many people are interested in his music. Miles tried to stay reserved so that he didn't come across as overtly eager for attention. Miles appreciated the horse's openness without the necessity to exchange pleasantries and formalities first. Elias, on the other hand, appreciated Miles' willingness to listen to him, and to show interest. Within a relatively short period of time, Miles and Elias began talking to each other like old friends.
The humbled musician was inspired by the conversation, but despite relishing in the recognition that he spent months looking for, he noticed something peculiar about Elias. The horse walked closely beside him. There was a closeness that he could not describe in words, but it felt assuring. He felt at ease, but he couldn't understand why at first. The horse walked alongside him like there was an invisible layer of glue that kept them together, and that connectivity felt remarkably natural. Miles put his paws in his black pant pockets and walked slowly around the neighborhood. He ultimately decided to let the feeling of closeness unravel itself without confronting it.
"So, where are you from?" asked Elias.
"Bum, Norway," Miles replied.
"Must be pretty cold there. I can visualize a whole bunch of vikings in large icecubes."
Miles laughed. "It's not that bad, really." The arctic fox drifted into his native accent, and Elias didn't notice.
"What got you into music?"
"Wait, am I being interviewed now?"
"No, no. Just curious," said Elias, shaking his head and hands dismissively.
"I got into music, I guess, when I was about 15 or 16. I started writing words on any piece of paper I could find around the house. I was depressed, and I wanted to explain why. My older brother told me I should turn what I was writing into songs, so I bought a guitar. I played, and played, and played -- and it was like playing without knowing how to play. Eventually, I read about chords and notes. And out of the blue one day, I tried to sing. It sounded good, so I fooled around, you know? I fooled around, and wrote songs with music. My friends liked it, and encouraged me to do an album. So I did."
Elias looked down at him and smiled. "Did your friends like the album?"
"I think so. I mean, they were surprised that I took the effort to release it. Yeah, they liked it." Miles shrugged. "But I think they were more into the viking thing. It's kind of a big deal in Norway," he joked. "So, what about you?"
"Wait, who's being interviewed here?" said Elias, giggling. "Ah, well... I write for the college paper. You know that already. I don't know what to major in, but while I'm still trying to figure that out, I play music."
"What do you play?"
"Guitar, piano, and maybe some tamborines. I play with a band sometimes."
Miles nodded. "You don't sing at all, Elias?"
"I sing in the shower mostly."
"Any songs in particular?"
The horse's reply would pleasantly surprise Miles. "Recently, I've been singing this one song..." He softly sang, "If I close my eyes, I reach out with my lips. I touch yours, and my heart eclipses. And even though you were someone I hardly knew, I knew right then that I wanted to be with you."
"With you," sang Miles in unison with Elias. Both men stopped, and exchanged glances. It was like time stopped for both of them. A very cathartic bolt of lightning shocked the both of them into thinking only romantic thoughts about each other. It was a remarkable feeling with no earthly description that would sufficiently describe their syncronization of harmony. Though the night was getting colder, blood flowing through their bodies was getting warmer, and thicker with desire.
Elias taught himself restraint, which was something he initially had problems with. He practiced by telling himself that not every attractive male he meets is gay; that is a statistical impossibility. The horse was facing a predicament that was unlike any other: he liked Miles, and enjoyed his company. The attraction wasn't strictly sexual. Rather, the horse was attracted to Miles' personality and his ideas. Musically, they had similar interests. You wonder where the conversation is taking them. Both of the males detected an underlying connection that was a little more than platonic. Both men were inspired to hang on each other's words, looking for affirmation that something is there -- but who would break the ice first?
"One of my favorite quotes is from a lyricist who goes by the name of E.Y. Harburg. He said: 'Words make you think a thought. Music makes you feel a feeling. A song makes you feel a thought.' What thoughts did you feel when you listened to 'With You'?" Miles asked.
"Hey, I'm a journalist. You're supposed to be answering questions, not asking them!" joked Elias. Both laughed. "You really want to know, Miles?"
"Yeah, I do." Miles smiled.
"Ah, well... Here goes nothing," said Elias as he inhaled, gave a long-drawn pause, and exhaled thoroughly. "Maybe what you meant to write about is different than how I interpreted the song -- and if that's the case, great -- but I felt that the song touched on the idea that it doesn't matter who you are or what you believe in. You will always be able to love someone, and love will transcend petty differences and prejudices that we have in life. You can have someone who is gay, for instance, but you don't care if they're gay. If they're in love, that's what matters, right?"
Miles stopped walking and looked up at Elias. "You're speaking hypothetically with that example, I assume. It's not like you're speaking from personal experience or anything." The arctic fox grinned. Elias turned around and saw the clever fox. The horse blushed, and snorted heavily through his dilated nostrils. It felt like he was breathing fire. In the end, he realized that soft-spoken musician knew his secret.
"You could say the song touched me personally in such a way, yes," Elias admitted, and laughed at his own admission.
"Don't be shy about it. I assume you're in love with someone, or you're with someone now?"
"No, actually. I'm single," said Elias.
"Really? You're... pretty cute too. And single? Why are you single? That's ridiculous!"
The horse blushed. "What can I say? I play hard to get. And what about you?"
"I'm single too. That's not a bad thing, is it?" asked Miles with a playful smile.
"Oh, not at all, Miles." Elias laughed and placed his hand on the fox's shoulder.
In this exchange, there were a series of dialects. There was dialect of the nervous and shy; there was the ordinary and proper dialect, and there was a dialect that can only be spoken by two lovers who universally acknowledged a familiar truth about each other. The two men acknowledged that they were gay, and that they were comfortable with that aspect. Neither of them felt it was necessary to say, "I'm gay." The attraction was so well-fixed in their psyche as they walked out of the party together. Between them was a peculiar mixture of love at first sight and spontaneity. Miles had finally found someone who not only recognized his passion as a singer-songwriter, but he found someone who was particularly interested in him. Elias was able to properly decode the message behind his song, which was a call for unconditional love and intimacy. He finally found the recipient of his message.
Elias was among the privileged few to appreciate Miles. He always intended to review his album, "Real Love," and listen to his music, though he never once thought about falling in love with the arctic fox until now. Circumspectly observing Miles, Elias looked down at him with admiration. To his astonishment, Miles tilted his head toward the horse's muzzle and kissed him on the lips. It was clear that Miles transcended from his daily anxiety and annoyances once he became acquainted with the horse. The arctic fox wanted to make amends for Elias' affection -- and what better way to do that than a passionate kiss on his lips?
The rest of the kiss was returned with Elias' tongue, which playfully tickled the roof of Miles' maw. It was a sufficient display of affection that kept the night alive. They stood under a street light, which shined on them like a dramatic spotlight in a Shakespearean play. It was nearing the end of the first act, but the characters had already reached their epiphanies. They fondled each other indiscriminately as thoughts of greater intimacy danced around their heads. Nothing could have been more alluring except for the loud crinkling noise that reemerged. Elias moved his hand around the fox's tail, and felt something thick that wrapped around his waist. Miles blushed when he felt his waist being grabbed, and looked somewhat entertained. Elias slowly moved his hand away, and looked at Miles with bewilderment.
"What is that?" asked Elias.
Miles turned away from the horse. "Oh... I..."
"Is it what I think it is?"
"Probably."
Miles took a deep breath, and exhaled. Miles closed his eyes for a few seconds, and entertained the idea of trust. "Can I trust a newspaper columnist with the truth?" he thought to himself. Miles was obliged to tell the truth. Consequently, he risked his embarrassing little secret to public exposure. Once he opened his eyes, he told the horse that "everything is now off the record."
"Elias, I just wanted to say, first, I'm sorry. Second, I'm also an infantilist."
"I don't mean to be rude, but why are you wearing a diaper. And what is an 'infantilist'?" prodded Elias.
Miles slowly paced around Elias. "An infantilist is someone who finds comfort from getting in touch with their infant side. It is my philosophy that we can appreciate life for looking and cherishing life in its most simplest form before we knew that the world was round; before we knew that the world can be a cold place; before we knew about the intricacies of adulthood. Oh, and about the diaper? It's a simple reminder of me to acknowledge this philosophy in my daily life."
"And you don't like using public toilets..."
"That too."
Elias had soon acquainted himself with the "infantilist" philosophy: regression as a reinforcement of personal security. The horse appeared to be amiable despite making this unusual discovery, but he did not pity Miles. Instead, he wanted to find out more about him.
The confession made sense to Elias, but he wasn't unsure about accepting it. He had to touch Miles and make sure that the fox wasn't joking. He felt the back of Miles pants and came across the crinkly texture of the fox's disposable, white diaper, which was thick and soft. This did not deter Elias from concluding that Miles was good-looking, but it sullied the fox's reputation as a gentleman with a noble countenance. It was strange, indeed, but this only piqued the horse's curiosity. There was no physical or psychological deterrent. Because of the scarcity of normalcy in their interaction, he openly entertained the "infantilist" idea. The night couldn't get any stranger.
"I wouldn't mind babysitting a cute fox like you," Elias admitted.
"Is that so?" Miles rubbed his stomach as it grumbled with pressure and mild apprehension.
"Why not? It might prove to be interesting. Sure, it might be weird, but... I don't know. I could give it the old college try. Frat boys do stranger things with initiations."
Elias realized that his friends at the party might be looking for him. He felt obliged to take out his wallet, and hand Miles his business card, which had his cell phone number on it. "I wanted to give you this. This is my number," said Elias, pointing to his card. "I got a pen in my back pocket. Can I get your number too? Thanks!"
Elias took out a pen from his pocket, and handed it to Miles, who subsequently wrote his phone number on the back of the business card given to him. "The beer must be helping you digest all of this information," Miles joked.
"Oh, no. I think I can accept this sober or not. I'd like to get to know you better, Miles."
"For sure!"
Miles said he had already memorized the horse's phone number, and also knew he could contact the newspaper in case he forgot it. After taking the pen from Miles, Elias gave his new musician friend a warm embrace and rubbed his headfur before telling him, "See you soon!" Elias walked back toward the party. As Elias faded into the darkness of the night, Miles could feel his heart beating and fluttering with absolute bliss. Miles was overjoyed because Elias remained cordial after knowing the fact that he was a infantilist. Tonight, he felt accomplished, but there was a lingering feeling that bubbled in his stomach. It was the inconvenient call of nature that had fortunately appeared when nobody else was around. Miles walked away a few feet from the towering street light, and stood quietly. He stuck his thumb in his maw, and sighed. He relieved himself uncontrollably like a baby, but a baby that could distill innocent pleasure from the experience.
The baby soiled himself, and developed a full seat. After he stopped sucking on his thumb, he rubbed the back of his diaper and marveled at the mess like an accomplishment. Miles was in good spirits, and felt wholly relieved until he felt a tap on his shoulder from behind. He turned around and saw Elias. Instead of the evening ending pleasantly, there was an overwhelming sense of embarrassment that washed over his face. He blushed, and bit his lip while he looked down at the ground. Elias detected the odor, but he knew that Miles obtained a great deal of pleasure from his "accident." Regardless of his friend thoroughly soiling his diaper, Elias was bursting with compassion, and felt fortunate for meeting someone that was so soft-spoken, gentle, intelligent, and so spontaneous. Elias could not help but gravitate toward the arctic fox's addictive personality and intimacy. There was tremendous curiosity that was mutually shared between the two men. It couldn't be ignored.
"I noticed that I had the wrong number on my card, and -- I see you were busy," Elias joked.
"Not anymore."
"Awwww, look at you," said Elias as he turned Miles around. "You're blushing!"
The fox lowered his ears and gave a faint whimper. "I am not!" he protested playfully.
"Someone needs their diaper changed. You're coming with me."
Elias wrapped his long arm around Miles' shoulder and walked him toward the direction of the party.
"I'm not going back to the party like this!" Miles muttered to Elias.
"Oh, right... Well, want to head back to your place then?"
"Sure! Have you ever changed someone's diaper before?" asked Miles.
"No, but I'll figure it out."