All Activity

grasshopper

Being in a wheelchair during a two week wheelchair challenge.I was held in the wheelchair by a restraining belt that my wife put on me so I would no cheat and get out while she was at work,I was diapered.I was hoping to hold it in until my wife got home so she would release me to use the toilet to poop that was part of the deal we made no pooping in diapers.Well it did not end that way I could not hold it and it came out very soft and mushy and it spread all the way up the back and the front over my balls and dick<my diaper at that stage was quite wet already from using it since the morning.It was simply one of my best experiances pooping in my diapers<would love to do something like that again.

Peculiar Chageling are you merely trying to pose as Canadian by including Timmies in your story? I only ask because I have never heard someone say a "Hortons run" in my life. It has always been a "Timmies run" 🤣

This is the third of fourth thread asking this question. Without getting into the weeds, the first contact we have with the word comes from real life and is used as an insult aimed at boys who are not as "boyish" as their peers would like, usually in the 8-13 age range. The "girlishness" is just a presumed trait based on on the absense of traits associated with a "red-blooded boy", with "sissy" coming from "sister" ans in the more adult insult "weak sister" and there is also the description of doing something un-"manly" beign done "like a little girl". My first encounter with the term used in the sense it is done here comes from 1982 in CAROLYN'S KIDS catalog, ti was a single page headed "Be a Sissy!" with 3 items; a pair of "sissy pants" which I knew as a female undergarment from 1962, a long-line "sissy pants" and a petticoat of medium fullness. Then, in Y2K I found Mrs Silk's site, since it whas generally feminine, I took it to be something I could like. It was there that I first encountered the current iteration of "sissy". While the email was useful, it was nothing like me. This was before I discovered GirlTalk later GirlTalkl To. Then I saw some references to "sissy" by LG's and finally found the "Sissy Room" here. When I got here, there was no Little Girls Playhous so we kind of gathered here Ther question here is "who cares and why". Now, here is the importance of labels, Supposing you went somewhere for a doctor's appointment, or some place where you had to know where you are, yet there were no street signs and no GPS. How would you nevigate? Or suppose you went into a grocery store looking for a box of pasta and a can of sauce. Everything was in opaque packaging with no labels and everything was self-serve. What then? If you were a member of DPF and if you look at profiles that were moderately filled out, You notice "I am a..." and "Age: play age...". Why; and why do you fill that out? As I said earlier , this is the tird of fourth thread about this question. Since we do things, we seek to know what we are doing. Unlike "Little Girl", which is about 90% clearly articulated: Do you have any doubts about me?, "sissy" seems to have no firm definition We do get lists of preferences from self-proclaimed sissies such as humiliation along gender and sexual lines, forced feminization, cockold, henpecked in extremis and the like so that the "feminiztion" is not authentic or natural femininity, but emasculation and effeminacy. We get these in overwhelming amounts, up to 80-85% of self-decrition. Since I have no clearly stated ideas, in fact, I find contradictory claims made. The only thing I can do is define inductively, that is from what I see in the overwhelming number of self-decriptions and I have to use some form of logic to filter out things. For instance, whey should a femile who dresses in an exaggeratedly feminine manner not be just labelled as "overdoing it" rahter than "sissy"? and since most "sissy" thing would be in line with her "gender" how could a female even be considered a sissly? Also, most dresses I see on Ebay that are lebelled "sissy" would be just every so scrumptious LG dresses Another thing that makes this so hard to deal with is the idea of a lifestyle based on such total self-abnegation being a thing other than a massive joke. and being that the characteristics being abnegated are 99% masculine via forced feminization, cuckholding and henbecking. I conclude its roots are in FemDom, which appears to be a branch of BESM, with any AB or LG being just strapped on, not an essential element Since there are 3 or 4 thrieas asking this question, and since I did not start them, it follows that I am not the only one looking for solid ground here

I was up at my normal time --- had to go to work. It's also "Big Diaper Friday" ---- so what "big diaper" do you have on tonight? I haven't decided that yet since I only got home about 30 minutes ago.

Galileo.... galileo.

I'm sure this isn't an issue for most of us!

Let's just say it doesn't work the same way for everyone. Take my brother, for example: when he was under pressure, he gave it his all, while i, on the other hand, if i was under pressure, i would crumble, and to give my best, i needed to feel supported and receive affection.

I believe the caregiver gene would be activated for me in this world, given my nature and my enormous paternal instinct.

Well that’s the intention at least. Like the spankings, they’re trying to snap her out of it and realize how she’s acting. If it’s just accidents and she says, “I think I’m gonna wear diapers to be safe”, that’s fine, she can wear them maturely if she behaves maturely. Doesn’t sound like the Cara I know though…

Yeppers ❤️

Na na na @LilRugrat I win

I make myself cry with my own writing way too often....

Am wondering if Carly has shoes like Stacy had with hidden knives.

I eventually settled down as i suck my thumb causing my chin to get all wet as i drool since i have no teeth at all. I sit on the ground as i try to get comfortable and color for a bit as i kept pooh bear close to me.

Evelyn knew her daughter had difficulty asking for help perhaps the stool was a bad idea, but she also remembered how her daughter tried to climb the bookshelf when she first arrived. Maybe it would be better to buy a two shelf bookcase instead of three, after checking to see if she was okay Evelyn 's sat Valeria on the ground and gave her, her coloring book and a pack of crayons.

Twenty-Nine: Hundreds of Needy Hands “I know that we don’t get to see each other as often as we’d like,” Mother says from the platform. Her voice is crisp and clear–every single word sounding like she’s speaking directly into my ear while she stands next to me. “But that doesn’t mean that I’ve been ignorant of you. I watch over all of you. Both with my own eyes, and through my trusted companions.” She sweeps her arm in the direction of Mirabelle and the women in white, standing off to the side of the platform now. She continues: “I’m so proud of you. You’ve accomplished so much this year.” She’s talking to everyone. But she’s also talking to me. My body is still trembling, as I struggle to contain the raw energy that I don’t know what to do with. My diaper sags. I’m simultaneously in a state of post-orgasmic bliss, and wanting–needing–even more pleasure yet. The whimpers and moans sounding around me suggest that I’m not the only one feeling this way. The air is ripe with a combination of scents–dirty diapers, baby powder, sweat, wet earth, pine. I take a deep breath of it, letting the air sit in my lungs for a few moments before expelling it. I squeeze my thighs together, feeling the moist padding squish beneath them. I spot Saturn from the corner of my eye, and they have their thumb lodged in their mouth. It’s not a bad idea, honestly. “Tonight begins our Rebirth Festival,” Mother says, bringing my attention back to her body again. Her voice is calm and steady. Elegant and poised. It’s a voice you want to listen to. Standing on the platform, her upper body rises above the crowd. She looks at us, just as she looks over us. She’s a goddess. If she began to levitate, and fly into the air, I wouldn’t bat an eye. I firmly believe that she can do anything. “Rejoice. Be glad. Share your joy with those around you, just as you would let their joy wash over you.” Someone grabs my right hand and holds it tight. It might be Saturn. It might be someone else altogether. I squeeze the hand back. “Will you drink my milk tonight?” she asks. “Each and every one of you? Will you join me in celebrating what our community is, and what it shall be?” The response is overwhelmingly positive, but it’s not the same kind of commotion that was made when we were reacting to Mirabelle’s words earlier. It’s not so much cheering and applauding as it is a collective clamouring–the sound of everyone coming together at once to merge their pathetic and needy moans into a single cry for her caregiving. “I look out among you tonight and I see that you’re all showing me who you truly are. I don’t see the adults you pretend to be when you’re outside of these walls. All I see are infants. Children. My children. Your diapers and your onesies. Your pacifiers and pigtails. I see you. I hear you.” She smirks. “I smell you.” My eyes, having been locked on Mother, have missed what was happening off to the side of the platform. I see the white robes moving now, and when I turn to see what’s happening, I see that a line of men and women, all clad in white, are standing in the passageway now. Something has been wheeled out from the farmhouse–a big tank of some sort on a cart. I’m reminded of the giant coolers that sit on the sidelines at sporting events–the ones that get dumped over winning coaches at the Super Bowl, maybe. They’re pouring something from it into cups. Each cup is passed down the line of white-clad individuals. At the end of the line, the cup is passed into the crowd. “Everyone will get theirs,” Mother says. “Pass them back. Pass them around. Before you take one for yourself, you must make sure your brothers and sisters next to you have one as well. And only when I say, will we all drink together.” I bite my bottom lip nervously as I see the little cups dispersing through the crowd. I know what the milk does to me. I know how it obliterates any of my inhibitions and reduces me to a helpless baby. And I’d bet it does the same to just about everyone else here. I’m so excited to see what’s going to happen when we all drink the milk together, but I’m also a little scared of it. I think things are going to get crazy. I realize I’m still holding someone’s hand when they squeeze it again. I glance down, following the hand to the arm to the shoulder to the face that it belongs to. A young woman, short with dark hair. I’ve never seen her before. I see that her other hand is in someone else’s. Saturn’s, actually. And so I let my left hand venture outwards, seeing if I can find a hand to hold. It grazes someone’s soft arm. The young guy it belongs to, with his cherubic blonde curly hair, smiles at me and takes me up on my offer, clutching my hand in his. I can’t help but imagine what a scene like this must look like to the outside world. Here’s the cult. Here’s the kool-aid. You can guess what happens next. But I don’t think that’s what's happening here. But maybe this is how you find out? No, this isn’t that. I’m sure of it. I wait as patiently as I can for the milk to start making its way closer to us. My heart thuds in my chest as I watch around me. Not too far from where I stand, I see the small cups of milk being passed along. Everyone is so incredibly careful, trying not to spill a single drop of the liquid gold. You can tell the areas of the crowd where everyone already has their cup, because they’re calmer and more subdued–doing everything they can to keep the milk in their cup and until the word is given for us to all imbibe together. I do, for just a moment, wonder where all this milk comes from. Was it produced in a single day? That hardly seems possible. How much, then, does she produce in a day? Over how long was this particular batch collected. But then I laugh. What a silly thing to care about. None of the answers to those questions would matter. I know where the milk comes from, and I know what it does. That’s all that matters. The hand at my right releases, and I see it’s because the dark-haired woman has been passed a cup. She passes it to me. I pass it to the cherubic young man to my left. He passes it onwards. Another cup is passed to me from the other side. I take it and pass it to my right now. The cups come more frequently now, signaling to me that most of the areas around me already have theirs. Finally, I go to pass a cup along to someone else, but see that they already have one. And so does everyone else near me. This cup is mine. And we wait. === “I see you,” Mother says again. “I see you for who you are. I see you as babies.” It seems clear at this point that everyone has their milk. We’re just waiting for her to give the word. I’m honestly impressed at the self control we all have. As far as I can tell, nobody has just guzzled theirs. Nobody has stolen someone else’s. Nobody’s holding two or three cups at once. Or, maybe they are and I just don’t see them. But I don’t think so. “I want you to see me,” Mother says. “I want you to see me as Mother. As your protector. As the one has given you your rebirth. See me for who I am.” With a single pull of her hand, she removes the sheer robe-like garment from her body, revealing that she’s wearing nothing beneath it. Every square inch of her body is exposed. Her smooth tan skin. Her perfect breasts. Round, shapely bottom. Toned arms and thighs. Her dark and curly hair. The light shimmers on her skin, and there are moments when it looks like she is made of fire herself. I can’t help but imagine what it’s like for someone standing nearest the platform. Eye-level with Mother’s hairless midsection. Are they staring into it like a forbidden gem–one they so badly want, but feel they cannot touch? That’s how I think I would feel, were I closer. I want to look away. Do I even deserve to see such beauty? But I can’t bring myself to stop staring. For a moment, I think about Anders’ emails, the ones where he explained the history of how he met Mirabelle–and, perhaps, the history of The Cradle itself. I think of Maya, the young woman that Anders briefly romanced in Chicago. I think of her disastrous trip after she and Anders had consumed the milk he brought from California. How, without any sort of supervision whatsoever, they were simply helpless infants with all of their needs unfulfilled. Please don’t let this be like that, I think to myself. But Mother is here. Freya, Marta, and the others. I’d like to think we’ll be okay. I’m reminded of something else from Anders’ emails: the name ‘Harriet.’ Why was that important? Right, right. That was the name the woman in the white place had. But that was also the name of the woman who had breastfed Anders. And, well, it’s hard to say right now–but I can almost see a similarity in the nude woman on the platform, and the mysterious woman I’ve talked to when everything goes white. That feels like something, but I can’t begin to parse its meaning. Mother raises her arms into the sky, open palms pointed towards the heavens, like she’s about to summon something down from them. “My children. Drink the milks of my bosom. Drink and be reborn. Drink and be one with me.” Here we go. The cup tilts back and the milk spills into my mouth and down my throat. It's like doing a shot, and it seems easiest just to take it all in at once. Almost immediately, the dark night sky seems to get darker. The stars get brighter. The torches’ flames grow taller. I moan and look up into the night, closing my eyes as a breeze rushes past my face, carrying with it the scent of regressed men and women. The dark-haired woman to my right grips my hand again, though this time I think it’s because she needs someone to help keep her upright. I turn towards her, using both of my hands to try and steady her, only to find that it’s suddenly hard to keep my own balance. I drop to my knees, and I can’t tell if I’m pulling the woman down with me, or if she just so happens to be falling at the same time. I open my mouth to apologize to her, but there’s a large smile on her face and a distant, vacant look in her eyes. She moans softly, running her hands over the front of her diaper. Perhaps she’s wetting herself? I don’t think she requires an apology from me. Around me, I don’t see anyone standing. They’re on their knees, or they are crawling, or they’re just laying on the ground altogether. As best as I can tell, most of the ground is still wet from the recent rains. We’re not exactly rolling around in the mud here, but I suspect there’ll be a lot of babies needing some cleaning up later. There’s a chorus of moans, heavy breathing, and whimpers as everyone begins to settle into their infantile places. I feel a warm hand on my back. I turn, and see that Freya is there, her white robe billowing in the breeze. “Are you okay?” she asks. I nod. I try to speak too, but the sound I make doesn’t sound like an actual word. Elsewhere, I see others in white slowly sliding through the masses of babies, checking in and making their presence known. We’re not alone. This is okay. I see Mother. She’s not on the platform now. Her nude body is on the ground again, her bare feet stepping on the grass as she checks on her children. My cup is on the ground. I think everyone’s cups are on the ground–the white paper cups scattered about almost look like a reflection of the stars above us. I briefly think about how someone’s going to have to clean all of this up, but the notion is gone a moment later. There’s far too many other things to be thinking about. I let out a little whine, like a needy child beckoning their mother. Fitting, I guess, seeing as how I am a needy child. And she is Mother. With every moment that passes, I feel even smaller. There’s so much I want to focus on, but it’s all becoming a blur. Mother. Freya. My own diaper. The diaper of the dark-haired girl next to me, as I realize it’s just inches from me. It’s stained yellow and squishing under her hand as she continues to grope at it. Her breathing becomes more strained and desperate sounding as her eyes clench shut and she points her face upwards. “Unh! Unh!” she cries out. I think she likes what she’s doing, but I get the impression that it’s too big a task for one little girl. I push myself along the grass to get a little closer to her. She seems to sense that I’m in her space, and opens her eyes again. We both try to talk, but it’s clear that we’re not going to have an especially deep conversation with our babble. I bite my bottom lip, gesturing towards her diaper. She moans in response, a pleading look in her eyes. “Excuse ma’am,” I attempt to say with my stare. “Is this something I can assist with?” “That would be lovely,” her squeaky grunt says back. “I sure could use a hand with this.” I extend a hand to her diaper, pressing my fingertips into the warm squishy padding. “Ohhhh,” she says, her mouth forming an almost perfect ‘o’ shape. I’m mildly aware of how I have a pretty limited skill set at the moment. And with every moment that passes, everything seems to get just a little harder to do. Still, between me pressing my hand into her diaper, and her rubbing her diaper against my hand, it feels like we’re onto something that works. Behind me, I feel something pressing against my padded bottom. I glance over my shoulder to see a tuft of green hair. I know them, I think, but the name suddenly escapes me. It’s good to see them, though. “Baa-bee,” they say to me, their voice high and adorably whiney. I try to nod, though with my current state of coordination it feels like my head is just flopping forwards and backwards. “Ohhhhhhhh,” the dark-haired girl says, reminding me that she’s still rubbing herself against my hand. By the time I’m looking back in her direction, she’s rolled away from me, her body writhing and twisting as she makes nonsensical noises at the stars. With my hands free now, I slide them down to the bottom of my onesie, pulling at the cloth in an effort to liberate the diaper being held hostage beneath. Green-hair sees my struggle and tries to help me, just as I had just lent a hand to dark-haired girl a moment ago. Between the two of us, we manage to pull at the garment enough so that we hear the satisfying ‘pop’ of the first snap. The others only seem easier with our new momentum. I’m distracted for a moment by the sight of the cherubic boy, now on his hands and knees and with his ass thrust out into the air behind him. Over the sound of all the moaning and whining babies, I hear the loud rippling of sputtering of his bottom as he empties his bowels into his diaper. Another woman, darker skin and with thick braids, gleefully plunges her face right into the cherub’s diaper. If there’s a look of sadness on green-hair’s face now, I suspect it’s because they wanted to do that themselves. Staring at them, I rub my exposed diaper, letting my hand slide all the way down as far as I can. I’m realizing that I don’t feel the squishy bulge of a mess. Perhaps I didn’t mess myself after all. Green-hair seems to get the message I’m sending: “If you need your face in a diaper, I think I can help you out with that.” They crawl forward, their face passing by my diaper. Soon, their face is near my face, our bodies pressed close to each other. Then, I’m on my back and they’re on top of me. Their diaper is pressed against mine. I blink my eyes, and suddenly they are on their back and I’m the one on top of them. Moments bleed into each other and I lose all sense of time. I have no bearings, and it’s hard to keep track of what I’m even doing at any possible moment. Green-hair is gone, and a pretty girl with bright blue eyes has her hand on the side of my face, pulling me near hers. She licks my face, and I love that. I’m reminded of a thing I used to do when I wasn’t so small–how I would press my lips against someone else’s. For a moment, I think of Maxine. I wish she was here. I lick the blue-eyed girl’s face in return. She moans, running her hand down my chest and to my diaper. Her hand slips into my diaper. She’s grasping at my cock, her fingers trying as hard as they can to get a grip. But my diaper is wet, and so is my shaft. And the milk has greatly dulled our motor skills. But she tries, and the trying feels very good for what it is. I blink my eyes and her hand is no longer in my diaper. I think I see her off to my side, rolling around now with a plump and curvy girl who seems to be having trouble keeping her diaper up where it should be. I’m not troubled by this. Everywhere I look, there’s another baby looking back at me. Everytime I move, I’m touching another baby–or one is touching me. I feel completely free of the last of my inhibitions now. With reckless abandon, I throw myself towards someone else, my hands landing on the soft skin of their belly. Their hands are in my hair, their fingers twirling and stroking my scalp. There’s a hand–someone else’s–on my diaper again, feeling through the soggy padding for whatever might be inside. I moan loudly, letting my hands wander down to the diaper of whoever’s belly I’m touching. I want to rub my face against this diaper, I decide. I don’t know whose diaper it is, and I don’t think it matters. I want to feel the smooth warm plastic rub against the skin above my lip and below my nose. I want to breathe in the scents of whatever’s inside it. But just as I begin to lower my head, I see something approaching me. Legs. They’re out of place, as they belong to someone walking upright–they’re not down in the wet ground like everyone else’s. My eyes follow the slender, tan legs up and I realize I’m looking right into the gap between Mother’s thighs. There’s a small patch of perfectly manicured hair there–the look of a woman, an adult, who takes care of such things. Mother stares down at me. “Hello, little one,” she says. Her voice cuts through all the white noise. Is she talking to me? “I’m talking to you,” she says. “Mah…” I want to say her name, but it's too hard. “Are you well, Alfie?” she asks, slowly lowering herself into a squatting position near me. She extends a hand towards me, lightly caressing my cheek with the back of her hand. It sends shockwaves through my body as a little gasp escapes my mouth. I see her breasts, and even through my foggy vision, I swear I can see beads of white forming at the nipples. Little trails of wasted milk running down her chest and onto her belly. “Are you not satiated?” she asks, smiling as her eyes meet my gaze. “Do you need more?” More? If she’s offering, well, I have to take her up on that. It’s not even a choice–my body is deciding for me that I need to get my mouth closer to her nipple. “Ah, but I’m offering you other sweets,” she says. I pause, waiting for her to explain what she means. I’m not even close to being in a state where I can read between the lines. Her thighs spread apart, and the flickering orange light catches moisture between her legs. It shimmers, almost immediately hypnotizing. “Come,” she says. “Come closer. Come taste.” I crawl between her open thighs, her skin rubbing against my cheeks. My mouth is open and my tongue is hanging out. I’m practically panting like a desperate puppy. Her gentle hands find the back of my head and she helps guide me to my destination. I can’t see where I’m going anymore, not that it matters much. My mouth finds her vulva, and I run my tongue across it. Does it actually taste sweet, or am I just thinking of what she said? I taste honey. She says something to me, but I can’t hear it. I taste her again, this my tongue slipping inside of her. I feel another warm burst of pee in my diaper. Maybe I’m only there for a single moment. Or maybe she’s held my head there for an hour. A day. Three years. All I know is that when her hands finally pull my face out from her thighs–her juices still on my lips and dripping down my chin–it hasn’t been long enough. Later, I’ll crave the taste of this too. “Thank you for being here, Alfie,” she says to me. I coo at her, offering her some sort of infantile squeak as if it was a good argument as to why she should stay and let me lick at her womanhood for a little longer. And…wasn’t there something else I wanted to say to her? The word ‘Harriet’ comes to mind, but its meaning is lost on me now. It’s just a sound. She’s standing up and she’s moving on. There are other babies for her to touch. Other babies who might be so lucky as to taste other parts of her body. I watch her saunter away from me, just as she had come towards me. I want her to come back so badly. I need her. I need to touch her. I need to feel her voice. I need her to take care of me. I need for her to make me cum. My cock is throbbing in my diaper. Mother deserves the most blame for this, but it’s certainly more than just her. It’s being out here, exposed amongst all these strangers, while we feel at and grope each other’s diapers. It’s this unreal energy. It’s the milk. If I had my wits about me, maybe I’d wonder if Mother’s pussy somehow has magical qualities as her milk does. Who could say? All I know is that I’m insatiably horny and infinitely small. I need someone to rub my diaper so badly. Ask and ye shall receive. The bodies of babies have filled into the space where Mother had been just a moment ago. Green-hair is there, and they look just as frustrated as I feel. They need release, just like I do. Suddenly, we’re picking up where we left off a little bit ago. We’re embracing on the sodden soil, the swampy ground caking to our skin and soiling the little clothing we have. Our diapers are pressed against each other and our pathetic little bodies demand we start grinding our pelvises. Beads of moisture roll down my thighs–dirty water from the ground, or is it my diaper leaking? I don’t care much either way. I grab onto the back of their diaper, pulling them tightly against me. I feel their diaper squishing too, but it's a different sort of squish. It’s not just wet padding–there’s something massive and messy in the back of their diaper. “Unh,” they moan into my ear. “Errhhh,” I respond. It’s like we’re doing this for our very survival. We can’t stop now–we have to see this through to the end. And I can feel the end is coming. I feel my toes twitching and a lightness in my chest. My moaning intensifies, as does theirs. And when we cum–at almost the same moment–we grip each other’s bodies and hold on tight. We moan in unison–a deep moan that feels like it’s expelling part of our souls. But then, everything seems to start fading away. I open and close my eyes a few times, trying to see if there’s maybe just something in my eye. But everything only seems to fade further. I know what this is–I’ve experienced this before. It’s the white. The white that slowly envelopes everything around me and seems to take me somewhere else. I’m no longer in the small field near the farmhouse. There’s no starry sky. No torches. No wriggling mass of diapered babies greedily humping each other as they get drunk on milk. “Alfie,” a familiar voice says. “You’re back.” === Her voice is familiar because I’ve been here before–in the white. I’ve spoken to her before. But it’s also familiar because I just heard it a few minutes ago. I heard it when Mother spoke to me. And when I look at the nude figure standing before me now, I see Mother. Her breasts may not have milk dripping down them–but those are her breasts. Her trimmed pubic hair may not be glistening in the light of the fire–but that is Mother’s crotch. Mother stands before me, but I also don’t think it is Mother. I’m nude as well. I suppose I could try and cover myself up with my hands, but I’m so consumed with confusion that it just doesn’t seem like it's as much of a priority. “I don’t understand,” I say. I’m surprised that I can speak. Moments ago, I could only make babbling infant noises. “You’re back again,” she says. “Harriet?” She nods, seemingly happy that I remembered her name. “Are you okay?” “I just…my face was, uhm, in your…” She tilts her head quizzically, clearly unsure of what I’m referring to. “Mother,” I say. “Should that mean something to me?” she asks. “There’s a woman in the real world,” I say. But I remember that the last time I was here, this Harriet told me this place was ‘real’ too. “Well, uh, the world I come from, right? She looks like you. Sounds like you. A-and I think her name might be Harriet too?” It all sounds even sillier when I say it aloud. “You’ve met…her? You’ve met…me?” I laugh–the absurdity of this conversation is almost too much to bear. “I don’t know what is happening. I’m tripping. I had too much milk, and I’ve gone insane. That’s what all this is.” “You mentioned milk last time too,” the woman–who may or may not be Harriet–says. From my past experiences here, I know I don’t have much time. Sooner or later, this white will fade away and I’ll wake up back on Earth again. Maybe. Or I’ll be mixed up in some other milk-induced fever dream. But while I’m here, maybe I ought to just spit it all out and see if any of it makes sense to whoever I’m talking to now. I open my mouth and start vomiting words: “There’s a place in California where people go to drink the breastmilk of someone who looks a hell of a lot like you. When we drink the milk we go all loopy and start believing we’re babies. And I mean, like, all the way into babies. Peeing and pooping our pants, right? They put us in diapers. We’re living in this, uh, community. But, I mean, if we’re being honest, it’s kind of a cult. A weird diaper cult in the woods. And so, like, whenever I drink this milk and start getting all babyish, if I somehow, like, uh…have an orgasm, right? It sends me here. To you. In this white space. Where you look like the woman we’re all trying to suckle the tit of.” For a moment, the woman doesn’t respond. She just sort of stares at me. Or maybe she’s not looking at me at all–she’s just staring past me into space. She asks: “You say she looks like me? Sounds like me?” “Yeah, that’s right.” “That…might be me.” I roll my eyes and shake my head. “Well I don’t know what the hell that means either, so I don’t think that helps.” “That used to be me,” she says, looking away from me. “That doesn’t help me,” I say. “Alfie, I won’t pretend that I understand anything of what you just said to me–I don’t know anything about, uhm, milk. Or diapers. But I think that there is something I can tell you.” The world around me–the endless expanse of white–feels unstable. I can already feel that my time here is limited. Soon, this will all fade away again, and I’ll be…somewhere else. Maybe back in the pile of babies by the farmhouse–hundreds of needy hands grabbing at me and my diaper–or maybe I’ll be in some other dream-like state. “Hurry and tell me,” I say. “I might not be here much longer.” “That woman? The one who looks like me? You can’t trust her.” “Wh-what?” That makes absolutely no sense to me. “I…I think you’re wrong about that. She’s the best thing that’s happened to me in a long time. She’s the best thing that’s happened to a lot of people in a long time.” She looks down, and when she speaks her voice is soft and shaky. She sounds frightened. “Alfie, you need to get away from her. If there are others, you need to get them away from her too.” I laugh. As if I was even capable of doing something like that. As if I would even want to do something like that. But there’s a part of me that feels like I should be paying attention. The seemingly unnatural effects of milk. The seemingly unnatural presence of Mother herself. This all-white place here, and the woman standing in front of me who looks and sounds like Mother, despite somehow not being her. There are too many unknowns to just write off her words as hooey. Just because I don’t want to believe it doesn’t mean there isn’t some truth to it. “I need more,” I say. I’m feeling things around me fading now. I won’t be here much longer. I talk quicker: “I can’t just take your word for it. Give me something else. Something tangible that would back up what you’re saying.” “My name is Harriet Tuller,” she says. “When you, uhm, go back–or whatever it is that happens–look for me.” “But I’ve already found you,” I say, laughing. “M-my face was just in your…” Maybe it’s better not to mention that right now. The white is diminishing and darkness creeps in from all sides of me, threatening to swallow me whole. “Find me,” she says, her voice faint and echoing now, as if very far away from me. === I see the orange light of the torches. I smell someone’s foul diaper. No… I think this time, it really is my own diaper. My consciousness flickers, and I feel myself tuning in and out of the world around me. I’m lying in the wet ground, sucking my thumb. Then I’m crawling. Then I’m lying there again. Then my hand is on someone else. Then they’re gone. “Stinky little baby,” a voice says to me. I turn and see that Maxine is here, her body towering above me. I don’t think that’s real. The blue-eyed girl from earlier is near me, and her eyes are closed as she happily mumbles to herself. Drool leaks out from the corner of her mouth. I close my eyes, and when I open them again, it’s not her face that I see, but Anders’. It’s a little strange seeing his face attached to this otherwise feminine form. I’m frightened. I’m overwhelmed. I close my eyes and keep them shut. And it’s at about that exact moment that I feel a blanket being draped over me. Freya is smiling at me. “Come on, baby. Let’s get you cleaned up.” Somewhere in the back of my mind, I remember the name ‘Harriet Tuller.’ I remember something being said about Mother. Something bad, I think. Maybe, hopefully, that’ll come back to me later. Interlude 4: Maxine Thinks She Needs a Baby It’s funny, Maxine thinks. She went to high school with kids that had stubble on their face. Jimmy Hartman practically had a beard by the time they graduated. Louis McConnell was practically balding in their senior year. But then here she is, sitting across the table from a guy–another student on her college campus–who claims to be a few months older than she is, and yet he looks like he’s 12. His angelic blonde hair. That smooth, hairless face. That goofy, naive smile he has. Everytime she looks at him, she’s reminded of Alfie. Not that they look all that much alike–it’s just that youthful energy. In her mind, Alfie is as ‘youthful’ as it gets. So youthful that he's a diaper-wearing toddler. “Uhm, did you hear me?” he asks. His name is Zach–which, frankly, just feels like a child’s name to her. Even worse, she’s heard people call him ‘Zachy.’ Are you fucking kidding me? “Hrm, what was that?” “I asked if you were going to the show tonight. The one on campus?” “Oh, probably,” she says. She has no idea who any of the bands are that are playing, but those have always been her favorite kind of shows. The flyers–posted to just about every bulletin board on campus–certainly drew her in. Black and white, with lettering that looks like someone haphazardly scrawled the words with just a permanent marker. A photo of a curvaceous woman on a stage, her big hair blowing behind her as she screams into a microphone. The band was called Snowball Fight–which was the most delightfully college-rock band name she’d ever heard. She was completely sold on seeing whoever this was. Almost as an afterthought, she adds: “Are you?” “Well, I might,” he shrugs. “But if you’re going, maybe you and I could meet up? Go together?” “Yeah, that’d be cool.” But she’s not sure that she actually believes her own words. If she was being honest with herself, she would probably rather go alone. It’s nothing personal–but she’s just arrived on campus and she wants a chance to explore it for herself. She doesn’t want to feel like she also has to be thinking about 'Zachy’s’ needs and whether or not she’s paying enough attention to him. Well, maybe it’s a little personal. She’s already begun to wonder if he’s a little bit of a barnacle. The co-dependent type who needs to latch onto someone who can make all the decisions for them. Sometimes she doesn’t mind this–who doesn’t like having a little puppy? But she fears that he’s just going to get in the way. He’s cute though, she thinks. Cute like Alfie is cute. Cute like she wants to pinch his cheeks so hard that she might accidentally tear his face off. She met ‘Zachy’ about ten minutes into campus living. No sooner than her parents had driven away, leaving her alone, she stumbled into him at the steps near the big fountain at the center of campus. “Nice shirt,” he had said, pointing at her faded Stop Making Sense Talking Heads shirt. Music was almost always the way to her heart. “You a fan?” she asked. “Oh yeah. I only brought a few records with me to my dorm room, and I think half of them feature David Byrne on them somewhere.” “I left my turntable at home. I was afraid it’d be too hard to drag it here and set up.” “Well if you ever need one,” he shrugged, “come borrow mine.” Bam. They’ve been friends since–even if ‘since’ was only about a week. For the first few days, Maxine kept wondering when Zach was going to put the moves on her–when he’d drop his nice boy facade and awkwardly ask something stupid like if he could touch her breast or kiss her. She was mostly relieved that he still hadn’t asked for those things, though there was a part of her that kept hoping he would. It’d be nice if he was just a little more exciting. A little more playful. A little more…naughty. Now, looking at him across the table, she wonders if she could change that. She wonders if she could put ‘bad’ ideas into his head. At night, she lies in bed and waits until she hears her roommate snoring, and then she slips a hand into her panties. She plays with her clit while thinking about Alfie in his diapers. Maybe, she thinks, she could somehow get Zach into a diaper. She has diapers with her. They’re hidden in a compartment of the suitcase she used to bring her clothes to campus. Right now, it was tucked under her bed. The diapers were Alfie’s–part of the stash that she had bought for him. She doesn’t remember when she took them anymore, but it happened somewhere after she had learned that he was going back to California. She wasn’t even sure what she was going to do with them. Save them for a rainy day and slip into one herself? Or maybe she was just hoping she’d find some nice boy–or girl–on campus who needed a little regression in their life. Maybe that was Zach. Zachy. She looked across the table at him and she could easily imagine him sucking his thumb or a pacifier. He practically looked like a baby already. She imagined his pale cheeks filling with pink as he squatted and pushed, trying his hardest to fill a diaper for her. Hell. He might even be the type who would do it for her just to make her happy, even if he didn’t actually like it. Realistically, this was ‘bad,’ she knew. But fantastically? Yeah, that was a little hot–forcing this doofus into babydom for her entertainment. She realizes that she’s been tuned out from whatever conversation she was supposed to be having with him. He’s staring at her curiously. Right. It was her turn to talk, wasn’t it? “Sorry,” she says, blushing a little as she runs a hand through her hair. “I was just thinking about something.” He laughs. “Well, you did look deep in thought. Hope they were good thoughts.” She smiles. “Oh yes. Very good. Er…Where were we?” “I asked what time you’d want to meet up tonight,” he says. “I think the show starts at 7:30. I don’t know how busy these things get, but we could meet at the doors around…7? I bet we could get some good spots.” First, she had no recollection of him asking about when they’d be meeting tonight. Oops. Second, she was never really the ‘early’ type. She was barely the ‘on time’ type, for that matter. She liked to be at the places she needed to be around the time she had to be there. Usually a little later, when she could get away with it. College was a place, she suspected, she couldn’t get away with it. She’d probably have to try a little harder when it came to making it to classes on time. But this just meant that she’d try even less when it came to being on time to anything else. “I’ll get there when I get there,” she says. “But I’ll try to get there at 7.” “Sounds good,” he says. Does he look a little disappointed? It’s hard to say. “Well, what are you doing after this?” A barnacle, she thinks. She pokes at the last few crinkle-cut fries on her paper plate that came with the club sandwich she got for lunch. She’s rarely that conscious of what she eats, but she’s found herself being a little more critical of herself since coming to college. Maybe she’s comparing herself to the other beautiful women walking around. Maybe she just thinks she needs to lose a few pounds before the college boys start noticing her. Though it seems she already has the attention of Zach. Does this mean that she can eat the fries? She pushes them away from her. “I didn’t have anything planned,” she shrugs. “Maybe just go hang out in my dorm or something? What about you?” She briefly debates on whether or not to just invite him over, but she’s not sure she’s ready to just commit to that yet. “Oh, uh, yeah, same,” he says–the tone of someone trying to sound casual, despite not feeling casual. He clearly wants to ask if they can extend their time spent together. She’s not entirely opposed to it, but she worries that it’s for the wrong reasons. She’s thinking about those diapers in her suitcase. About how sometimes she feels like she just needs to have a baby. She’s thinking about ‘Zachy’s’ babyface and how adorable he’d probably look in some thick padding. Could she actually pull that off? Get a boy–mostly a stranger to her–into a pair of diapers within her first week of being on campus? What a fucking entrance that would be. “Hey, if you want to come over…” she shrugs, trying to sound casual herself. She’d like to think that she sounds far more natural than he does. “Yeah?” He sounds eager. Too eager? She’s willing to roll the dice. Maybe, she thinks, if he’s eager enough, it’d be easy to get him to do anything she wants. === “Oh, woah,” Zach says when he enters Maxine’s dorm room. The room is probably as clean as it’ll ever be. A week from now, Maxine’s things will be everywhere. Clothes will be spilling out of the hamper and drawers and the closet. She’ll be pushing things aside on her bed so that she can have some space to sleep. And, from the sounds of it, her roommate June (who prefers to go by the intriguingly childish moniker of ‘Juju’) has admitted to being just as messy and disorganized. It’s a miracle that they’ve managed to keep it as clean as they have for the last few days. “This isn’t that different from your dorm, is it?” she asks. He laughs and shakes his head. “You guys have, like, posters and pictures up on the walls. And those strands of lights? It looks like you guys actually live here. My roommate doesn’t have a single personal effect up. I have, like, one poster.” “Okay, but what poster?” she asks. He blushes a little. “It’s for the movie Trainspotting.” That sounds like something someone her mother’s age would’ve put up in their dorm room. “Oh wow. Nothing like a poster for a 20-something year old movie about drug abuse to really inspire you to do your best at college.” “I know, I know,” he chuckles. “It seemed like a good idea at the time.” There’s no way this actually would’ve happened–but she wishes that he had instead said he had a poster of something like The Rugrats, or maybe Paw Patrol. Something that just gives her an obvious signal that she can whip out the diapers. “Am I supposed to offer you something to drink?” she asks, laughing to herself as she walks to the mini-fridge that she and Juju share. “Hosting company in my dorm room is new to me.” “I don’t need anything to drink,” he says. Just sitting in silence doesn’t, making awkward small talk, doesn’t sound all that fun. At the very least, there should be some background noise. She opens her laptop and navigates to her music app. Briefly, she considers putting on something childish–some playlist made for little kids or something like that. The sound of “Old McDonald” would fill the room. He’d blush. She’d ask: “What’s wrong? Is this one of your favorite songs?” She sighs, opting for Talking Heads instead. Seems like an obvious choice, but it's one of the few known shared interests they have. But she avoids an obvious pick like, say, Speaking in Tongues and instead goes for Fear of Music–a choice that would probably earn her a few points, if that was the sort of thing that Zach tracked in his head. It is, for a little while, just awkward small talk. She feels like she could take the lead and help the conversation along–she’s never been all that shy with new people–but finds herself matching Zach’s energy, and he’s clearly not as gregarious. She wonders if he’s ever been in a girl’s room before, just him and the girl. She wonders if he’s a good kisser. Or any good at fucking. Or if he’s ever eaten pussy before. Is he a virgin? They talk about their course load for the semester. They talk about where they came from. He’s from Maryland, though it doesn’t sound like it’s one of the interesting parts like Ocean City or Baltimore. Just some rural area out in the middle of nowhere. “Do you like this dress?” she asks abruptly, perhaps even shutting down whatever mundane thing they were talking about already. This was a little trick that always worked when she was first trying to woo Alfie–she’d try to get him to talk about her. It always seemed to work nicely for wrapping him around her finger a little. “Oh, uh, yeah,” he nods. “It’s cute.” It’s the first time she’s wearing it, just a little black thing she picked up while buying things to get ready for school. Thank you, father, for your credit card. “I worry that it makes me look too…mature,” she shrugs. “I feel like I’m someone’s mother.” “N-no, I don’t think that at all,” he says. “I mean…unless you want to feel like a mom.” She giggles. “That wasn’t the look I was going for, but…if someone wants to call me ‘mommy,’ I won’t be mad about it.” This was not a bit she had planned in advance, but it works so well that she makes a mental note of it in case she ever needs to try something like this again. He swallows so hard that she can hear the ‘gulp’ in his throat. “Mommy, huh? I didn’t think girls would like that.” “Certain girls,” she shrugs. “I wouldn’t recommend you start saying that to every woman you meet though. Not unless you have a thing for getting punched in the eye.” “Uh, no…I don’t.” He pauses for a moment, thinking something over. “So, like, if I called you ‘mommy’ right now…” She laughs, trying as hard as she can to will her body not to blush or show any signs of interest. “Context is important, Zachy.” She suddenly realizes she likes the way ‘Zachy’ rolls off her tongue. “The moment has to be right. And don’t ask me what that moment would look like, because I think you’d know it if you saw it.” But truthfully, she could feel some wetness between her thighs. Just talking about being called ‘mommy’ was doing something to her. Zach shrugs. “I guess I kind of get it.” “Hm?” “Like, not from your perspective–but from the one of a guy who wants to call you Mommy. This desire to have someone else who takes care of everything. Who makes you feel safe and comfortable. But then, like, there’s this feeling of taboo too, because you’re not supposed to be doing, uhm, sexual things with your mother. And, uh, a mother isn’t just someone who provides comfort, they’re a disciplinarian too.” “That about sums it up,” she says, smiling. This conversation seems to be going well. She’s picking up a vibe. With a little more pushing, she thinks she might be able to get this kid into a diaper. Maybe as soon as today. Maybe a few weeks from now. But he’s on that track now. “Was your mother a disciplinarian?” “Uh, not so much,” he laughs. “My parents were divorced. My dad has had a new girlfriend every month for the last 18 years. And my mom has always wanted to prove that she’s, like, the ‘coolest and best’ mom who’s ever lived, so she let me get away with anything.” Maxine laughs a little. “No offense, Zachy. But you don’t strike me as the kid who gets away with anything.” “Funny, ain’t it?” he laughs. “All that freedom, and all I ever wanted to do was read books and play around with computers. Talk about a waste.” “So what I’m hearing you say is that you wish you had a disciplinarian?” He laughs, his cheeks turning bright red. “Never really thought about it much before. But…maybe now I’m going to start.” Maxine bites her lip a little. She knows she shouldn’t rush these sorts of things. But everytime she looks at this kid’s face, she sees Alfie. She thinks of diapers. She thinks of that naughty thrill that ran through her body when she was playing along with life in that kinky little space. She craves it so much that it’s hard to ignore. It’s probably affecting her reason. She’s a little worried that she’s going to fuck something up, but she also doesn’t know how to stop herself. “Well, just saying,” she shrugs. “If you ever think you’ve been a bad boy and you need a spanking, maybe, uhm, let Mommy know?” Her heart thuds hard in her chest. Did she say too much? Push things too far? She’s almost trembling as she waits to see how he’ll react to this. He’s smiling, but it’s an awkward smile. He’s feeling something, and it’s clear that he doesn’t know what to do with that. “You don’t mean that,” he says sheepishly. “Zachy, I can assure you that I don’t say things I don’t mean.” She’s very happy that there are no fact-checkers in the room, as she’s sure that this can easily be disproven. He doesn’t know this, of course. “I’m, uh, gonna remember you said that,” he says. “Maybe someday…” “Whenever you need one,” she says. He scratches his head. “Okay, but what if…” “Yes?” she asks, after a beat passes without him finishing that thought. She can think of a hundred ways he could finish that sentence in a way that would make her very happy. “Okay,” he says, sighing. “Let’s say that, like, I was kinda curious about that, right? And, you know…you and I are both here right now and…” She smiles. “Zachy? Are you asking me to spank you?” “I-I dunno.” He sucks at his teeth and grimaces a little–the look of someone who suddenly regrets something they’ve said. She extends an arm towards him, putting her hand on his shoulder. “I’m not judging. I just want to know what you’re thinking.” He laughs. “I must look so stupid right now.” “No! Not at all. I’m the one who offered, remember? I wouldn’t offer if I didn’t mean it.” “But, like…now?” “Well…” She thinks about the fact that Juju is unaccounted for. She has no idea where her roommate is and when she’ll be back. Any moment, she could be coming through that door–and if it happened to be when she was smacking Zach’s ass, that might be a little weird. The kind of weird that would permeate their relationship for the rest of the semester. Still, it’s a gamble she thinks she might be willing to take. If Zach wants his bottom spanked, she doesn’t think she would refuse him. That’s just getting him one step closer to diapers, she thinks. “Does the little boy need Mommy to spank him?” she asks, her voice drenched in a particular type of condescension that she can only ever remember using with Alfie, when he was crawling around in his diapers. Zach’s eyes widen and he looks a little overwhelmed. He probably can’t believe something like this is happening. Maybe, and this is just speculation on her part, this is as close to being ‘intimate’ with a girl that he’s ever been. “I…well…” She’s going to have to take the lead on this, she thinks. Which is fine–such things are expected when it comes to dealing with little boys. Not that she’s an expert, but she certainly feels like one right now. She pats her lap. “Come over here. Come a little closer.” He slides off the side of her bed and cautiously moves towards her. There’s a rather obvious bulge in the front of his light-blue jeans. He seems more than a little self-conscious about it, adjusting his pants in an effort to somehow conceal it. It doesn’t work. She wants him to throw himself over her lap–the classic Parental Spanking Position–but she doesn’t think he’ll go for that. That’s fine. She reminds herself that this is about taking baby steps. Pun, possibly, intended. He parks himself in front of her, his body in profile so that she’s looking at his side. She suspects this is as close to her as he’s going to get. “How many do you think you need?” she asks playfully. “Five? Six? Twenty?” “Uh…” “How about this?” she asks. “I’ll just start, and you tell me when you've had enough.” “Y-yeah. That sounds good.” As much as she’d want him to lower his pants, she also knows that’d be asking a lot. Baby steps, she reminds herself again. “Who’s been a bad boy?” she coos, winding her hand back behind his ass. “M-me,” he says. “Do you need Mommy to spank you?” “Yes. Please.” “I dunno. I don’t think I’m convinced that you want this. That you need this.” She’s prepared to just tell him what she wants to hear, but to her relief, he seems to have gotten the message. His voice so quiet that he can barely be heard, he says: “Please spank me, Mommy.” Smack! She delivers a swift blow to his ass with her open hand. The sound of the smack itself is a little disappointing–it’s got the wrong sound when it’s not making contact with bare skin, she thinks. But there’s another sound–one that she wasn’t expecting. Zach’s eyes shut tightly as he groaned up at the ceiling. A guttural moan that seemed far beyond any noise he wanted to make in front of me. “Wow,” she says, smiling. “That’s your reaction to just one spank? We’re going to have fun.” “Erm…” Her eyes catch something–a new discoloration in the front of his pants that she doesn’t remember seeing before. It’s getting bigger. Is he…peeing? No, that’s not it. Her eyes grow as she realizes what’s happening. “D-did you just cum?” “I, uhm…” His face turns bright red, and his hands swoop to the front of his pants to conceal the wet spot. “I’m really sorry, but I should probably get going.” His mouth stays open for a moment, and there’s probably something else he wants to say. Whatever it is, he thinks better of it and trots towards the door. “Hey,” she says, “I…I hope I didn’t do anything wrong.” “No,” he says, shaking his head. “It’s not you. It’s me. I just, uhm…” But he doesn’t bother finishing that thought. A second later, he’s out the door, closing it behind him. What an awkward walk home that’s going to be, she thinks, imagining him walking across campus with his hands in front of his crotch to cover up the spot where his cum had just soaked through the fabric. === Maxine collapses backwards on her bed, staring up at the ceiling as she replays what just happened. She’s a little disappointed, but not as much as she thought she’d be. It was still fun to play with him like that. Too, it was nice to know that she had that sort of power. She’s curious if she’ll ever see poor little Zachy again. If she doesn’t, she’d chalk it up to him being so embarrassed and ashamed that he’d just want to forget the whole thing ever happened. But if he was to come back to her later, she’d know that he’d want more. And if he wants more, she’d have a lot to give. First thing’s first, she’d give him a more thorough spanking, insisting that he actually lay over her lap this time. His pants would have to be pulled down. “This is for you jizzing in your pants like an immature little boy,” she’d say, before laying into his ass with a flurry of swats. Then, she could say something like: “And if you ask me, it seems like you need some help keeping your pants dry around me. I may have just the thing for you.” Voila. Instant baby. She unfastens the button on her pants and slides a hand into them, burrowing it under her panties. She’s nice and wet now. Poor little Zachy. Had he been able to help himself from cumming so soon, or had he just stuck around a little longer, he’d have learned how wet she was herself. There’s a wet spot in her panties. She could’ve said: “Look! You and I aren’t so different.” Her fingertips found her clit, and she slowly skated around it as she closed her eyes and thought of Alfie. She often feels a pang of regret for how she left things with him. That whole ‘friends with benefits’ spiel. It made sense at the time–and maybe it still does–but she worries she threw out something good. Alfie had his share of issues, but he had always been sweet to her. He never seemed to fetishize her for being a little younger. Not like the way other older men seemed to when they looked at her. If anything, she sometimes felt like Alfie was disappointed that she wasn’t older. He talked to her like an adult. Hell, he sometimes treated her like she was older and wiser than he was. Of course, he was never especially wise. It was part of his charm, maybe. God. The way he looked in a diaper. What a cute little idiot. She pictured his diaper forming a wet spot of its own. A blossom of yellow in a white diaper, slowly spreading out in every direction. “Are you wetting your diaper for me?” she’d ask. “Are you a good boy who pees his diaper for Mommy?” She groaned as her fingers picked up speed on her clit. Somewhere in California right now, Alfie was probably sitting in a wet diaper. Or a messy one. And he was probably loving it. “Fuck,” she muttered, her fingers pressing into herself more firmly. “Fuck, fuck, fuck.” If Zachy came back–if he walked through that door right now–she’d jump on him. She’d pin him on the ground and take his pants off. She’d put him in a diaper and make him piss himself. She might just piss in the damn thing herself and make him wear it. She’d sit on his face and ride him for an hour while he groped at his dick through his soggy diaper. “Call me ‘Mommy,’” she’d say. “Say it right into my pussy.” When she cums, she has to roll over and scream into her pillow, terrified that she’d otherwise alert every other student in the building as to what was happening. === The Student Commons building sticks out like a sore thumb. Almost every other building on campus has an ancient institutional feel to it. Maybe there’s something kind of neat about that, but there’s a drab sameness about everything that Maxine’s not especially fond of. But the Student Commons building, a new-ish building, she’s learned, feels like it’s from another planet altogether, with its curvy steel frame and excessive use of glass panelling. She checks her watch. 7:05. A little late, but a lot earlier than she thought she’d be. She looks around for Zach. She hasn’t heard from him since he fled her room earlier, and she’s been curious to see if he was still going to show up tonight. She kind of thought–or at least hoped–that he’d be here. But no. He doesn’t seem to be around. She waits another ten minutes, watching a few other students amble through the area. It’s not like there’s a crowd here or anything–if he was here, she’d see him. And because she doesn’t, she’s pretty sure that he’s just not coming. And so, finally, she gives up and just goes inside, following a few other students into the room–a small-ish assembly area with a stage at the far end. She’s heard that there’s frequent concerts here–mostly small bands from campus or in town. This is exciting to her–she’s going to miss the local music scene from back home, but it’s nice that there’ll be a new one for her to get involved with. “Hey,” a dark haired boy with light brown skin says, sidling up to her as she stands and stares at the stage. His goatee isn’t working for him, but he’s still got a cute look to him. “Hey,” she says back. “You a freshman?” “Mmhmm,” she nods. “You?” “Sophomore,” he shrugs. “Welcome to college life. Is it treating you alright so far?” “Can’t complain,” she says. “You ever see this band before?” “Nah,” he says, shaking his head. “I think this is their first show, actually. Should be kind of interesting.” She laughs. “Think it’s going to be bad?” “I can’t speak for the rest of the band, but the lead singer’s pretty cool. Uh, Ash, I think? She was in a band last year called Tater. I definitely thought they were one of the best bands I ever saw play here.” “Tater,” she repeats, loving how stupid of a band name that was. “I’m Ned,” he says. “And you’re…?” Uninterested, she thinks. He’s cute–minus the goatee–and he seems nice. And he obviously likes music, which is a plus. But she can already tell that this isn’t the kind of guy who she can see in a diaper. He’s not the kind of guy who will look up at her while on his knees, sucking his thumb and pissing himself. “I’m Maxine,” she says. “Oh yeah? That’s a pretty name.” She can’t help but be a little flattered. Maybe she’s not going to spank this guy silly, but she might at least talk to him a little bit. === If Maxine’s being honest, there really isn’t anything all that special about Snowball Fight. None of the songs are all that memorable, and the band itself hardly does anything that sounds unique. But that singer. Ash. She’s on a whole other level from the rest of the group. She has energy. Spunk. She’s got an attitude. She’s not performing for a crowd of 100, she’s performing for a crowd of 10,000. When Ash spits on the stage, Maxine wants to throw herself into the small pool of saliva and rub it on her skin. Fuck, she thinks. This girl can put me in a diaper. === After the set is over, and the lights of the room are restored, Maxine spots Zach across the room. He sees her too, offering a bashful little wave. She waves back, and is almost interested in going to check in on him, but she’s already committed herself to a new plan: She’s going to go talk to Ash instead. “What’d you think of the show?” Ned asks. “It was pretty good,” she says, already on the move towards the stage. She leaves him in her dust. Up on the stage, Ash is helping to pick up some wires from the ground, coiling them around her hand and elbow. “Hey,” Maxine says to her. Ash looks down and smiles. “Hey.” “You were fucking incredible up there.” “Yeah?” Ash’s cheeks blush a little. “You think?” “You looked fucking hot on stage.” Ash laughs. “I’m digging your review so far. Go on.” “If you want to hear the rest of it, maybe we, uh, go get some coffee or something when you’re done packing up?” Maxine’s not sure she’s ever been this bold with a stranger before, and she certainly can’t remember a time when she tried to pick up another girl. But she’s proud of herself for not sounding too awkward. She sounds like the most confident person she’s ever been. “Yeah?” Ash looks over to the bass player, a guy with long stringy hair who’s probably heard the entire conversation so far. “What do you think, Other Mike?” “We ain’t doing anything after the show,” Other Mike says. Maxine thinks there’s probably some funny story about that name. Maybe she’ll get that out of Ash later. “Go have fun. Hell, me and Buck can take care of all this if you wanna get going now.” “You sure?” Ash asks. “Get out of here,” Other Mike says. === Coffee on their breaths, Ash has Maxine pinned against a brick wall somewhere on campus. Maxine’s not even completely sure where they are right now–this is just where their little walk has taken them. Ash’s lips are pressed against hers, and their tongues slide against each other’s. Maxine’s panties are feeling a little damp again. For the first time in a while, she’s nothing thinking about Alfie. And then she surprises herself when Ash’s mouth pulls away long enough for her to say something: “Give me more, Mommy.” Ash moans with delight and presses her mouth against Maxine’s again. Maybe she doesn’t actually need a baby right now.

In bed especially in winter when it is to cold to get up to use the toilet< but also in summer I sleep better when diapered.

Busy day at work so it’s taken most of the day to read this. Definitely worth the effort. 😃 At least they know what’s going on with Reila. Now the question is, are they too late to help her? It would certainly help if they could prove that it was Aiden that switched her test. I would honestly like to see Aiden regressed for what he has been doing. But then he might only be following the directions of someone else. I am getting the feeling that the Dean might be behind all of this now. She is definitely out to get the Littles and looks like the Tweeners as well. I’m a bit surprised that the University would be at all tolerant of this kind of treatment of littles. Considering the fallout from the latest protests. That tells me the Dean has some leverage somewhere. I loved the chapter and can’t wait to read more.

Me too, let me know if you find one

Parent/Teacher meetings will be interesting,lol

Oh, my goodness, y'all. I had the most amazing time last weekend!! Thursday night I drove over to a friend's place. We've been planning a Little's retreat for a month or so. We all ordered dips, bottles, pacis, and other little things and brought them. It was just me and another friend who's both a little and a caregiver, and we were both padded the whole time! It was life-changing! I watched Bluey for the first time, we colored, and she changed my diaper every time I needed it. I regressed harder than I ever have before. I giggled with absolute bubbling-over glee so much. I've been trying to figure out how I feel about diapers for years now, and I finally feel like I have a proper hold on what I want. I love wearing all day, and getting changed. I like wetting a lot, and messing isn't as bad as I made it out to be! It's been an incredible thing to experience after all these years. I'm so, so thankful for my friend for giving me a space to be little and padded for a good few days. I regressed harder than I ever have before. When I was changed by my friend, I would hide myself and giggle and squirm like I was being held down and tickled, but I was only being praised and changed. I got some new baby toys that I absolutely adore, and watched Bluey and She-ra for the first time. I got to babble and giggle and go nonverbal and it was encouraged and nurtured. I have so many feelings about wearing diapers for so many reasons. As a trans woman, it's gender affirming to "need" diapers from a small bladder. As an autistic person, I love the sensations of the padding, the crinkling, the warm swelling, and the firm mushes. As someone with an anxious tummy and without a gallbladder, security in being able to mess and know that it's contained and that I don't have to rush or clench. I think I want to wear 24/7. I've been fascinated with the idea for years, and the weekend was an example that it is possible, and I genuinely enjoy it. I'm still scared, but I'm so much more excited and determined to find where diapers fit in my life.

Considering she has about 50 chapters to go compared to what she's released so far, I think so: 1. there's a lot more to come 2. we will definitely have a 4th birthday with this book.

Daniel was a 13 years old little. He has just broken a winery window and he had dropped a rope to into the house, the window was rather narrow but it was easy for him to go through it thanks his small size; being a little had some advantage after all. He didn’t know if someone was into home but in that case he had taken some countermeasures: He had a gun; It was a toy gun and pressing the trigger a flag with the word “bang” would have come out from the barrel; He had some firecrackers: he pretended some gun shots if it were necessary, Some stadium smoke: that would be useful to cover an escape. They were cheap tricks but in the past they worked then he was very confident about them and his ability. He dropped with rope until the floor, and climbed the stairs of the winery getting to the door that opened easily accessing to the living room. He searched small objects that can be carried easily: he finded a silver frame with the photo a smiling old man on the small table. He removed and rested it on the table putting the frame in his backpack. Then he decided to take a ride around the house to see if there are something interesting: he opened a door seeing a giant nursery in the room. “I hope it’s not for a little” he said going to the next room, where he found a laptop on a big double bed. He had to climb hardly to reached it and put in the bag. Then he approached the bedside table and found a next generation smartphone, “today is my lucky day!” he said smiling and putting it in his bag, then opening every drawer where he found some cash. He went to the biggest drawers and with more difficulty opened the first drawer finding some jewelry “it’s fantastic!” he said putting everything in his bag. He decided to do another tour of the house to see if there was something else interesting but he heared the noise of the principal door that closed. But he didn't know that the house he had decided to rob belonged to a policewoman who was returning home at the time.

I was startled as it did scare me that i almost fell as you start to think maybe i wasn't ready to have a stool to use to get stuff down on my own just yet as i had alot to learn about needing to be more careful as that was something i was still learning. I get a bit fussy as you try to settle me down.