Arthur Sterling was a man of precise measurements. At thirty-two, he oversaw a real estate empire that commanded the skyline of the city, and his reputation was as sharp as the crease in his charcoal trousers. To the board of directors, he was a titan of industry—cold, calculating, and untouchable.
But as Arthur stood before the floor-to-ceiling mirror in his penthouse suite, the image in the glass told a more complex story.
He adjusted his silk tie, the last piece of a carefully constructed facade. Beneath the bespoke Italian wool of his suit, the reality was much softer. The faint, rhythmic crinkle of heavy plastic accompanied his every move—a sound he had learned to mask with the confident stride of a man who owned the room. Today, he had chosen a delicate lace camisole under his dress shirt; it was a secret weight against his skin, a reminder of the side of him that felt utterly incompatible with the world of high-stakes litigation and hostile takeovers.
The Weight of Silence
Arthur lived in a state of perpetual high-wire balance. He was a virgin in a world that celebrated conquest, a man who sought the security of a diaper while managing billions in assets. He had never known the touch of another person in an intimate way, mostly because the sheer logistics of his private life made the idea of vulnerability terrifying.
That was, until Elena returned to his life.
The Catalyst
She had been his first and only crush—a memory from a university library that had never faded. Now, she was his lead architect, and every meeting they shared was a slow burn of agony and adoration.
"Arthur? The car is waiting," his assistant buzzed over the intercom.
He took a deep breath, feeling the familiar, reassuring bulk of his padding settle against him. He checked his reflection one last time. There was no visible outline; the tailoring was perfect. He looked like a man who had everything under control.
But as he stepped toward the door, his heart hammered against the lace hidden beneath his ribs. Today was the final walkthrough of the Heights Project with Elena. Today, he wouldn't be behind a mahogany desk. He would be with her, in the close quarters of a construction elevator, smelling her perfume, and wondering how much longer he could keep his two worlds from colliding.
The air at the Heights Project was thick with the scent of sawdust and raw concrete—a stark contrast to the sterile luxury of Arthur's office. He stepped out of the elevator on the 42nd floor, his pulse quickening as he saw Elena. She was leaning over a blueprint table, her hair tucked into a hardhat, looking every bit the brilliant architect he had admired from afar for a decade.
The Closer We Get
"You're late, Arthur," Elena said, a playful smirk dancing on her lips as she looked up. "I thought time was money for a man like you."
"Traffic was... uncooperative," Arthur replied, his voice a fraction higher than usual.
As they walked through the skeletal frame of the penthouse, the proximity was dizzying. Because the site was still under construction, the floors were uneven. At one point, Elena stumbled over a coil of wire, and instinctively, Arthur caught her. For a split second, she was pressed firmly against his chest.
His heart thundered. He was terrified she would feel the unnatural thickness of his padding or the texture of the lace camisole beneath his shirt. He stepped back quickly, smoothing his suit jacket with trembling hands.
"You're very... formal, even on a construction site," Elena observed, her eyes lingering on his waistline. She noticed the way he moved—stiffly, almost protectively. "You know, you're always so guarded. It's like you're wearing a suit of armor."
A Crack in the Armor
"I just prefer to be prepared," Arthur managed to say, his face flushing a deep crimson.
Elena stepped closer, stepping into his personal space in a way that made his head spin. She reached out, playfully tugging at the hem of his jacket. "We've known each other since college, Arthur. But I feel like I don't know the real you at all. You're so shy for a guy who runs half the city."
She leaned in, her voice dropping to a whisper that sent shivers down his spine. "What are you so afraid of me seeing?"
The question hung in the air, heavy and dangerous. Arthur looked away, unable to meet her gaze. He felt the familiar, comforting pressure of his diaper, a stark reminder of the secret that defined him. To her, he was a mystery to be solved; to himself, he was a ticking time bomb of embarrassment.
The Invitation
"I'm not afraid," he lied, though his voice lacked conviction.
"Good," Elena said, her eyes twinkling with a sudden, bold intent. "Because the board meeting is over, the blueprints are signed, and I think it's time we grabbed a drink. My place. No suits, no business, just... us."
Arthur swallowed hard. This was the moment he had dreamt of and dreaded in equal measure. The invitation to intimacy was an invitation to exposure.