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[It is already implied in the story, but for explicit clarity all characters herein are adults over 21 years of age.] [EDIT: This is just to give potential new readers an idea of what to expect. This story presents a variety of (primarily ABDL) themes, and more keep appearing as it gets longer, but infantilism is a reoccurring one, as is sexual tension between the characters and peeing/pooping diapers. If that combination turns you off, probably not a good fit. Otherwise, and especially if you enjoy a variety of themes and situations rather than a story that focuses on just one, I hope you'll give it a try. There IS a proper story here too, I promise, and actual character development, but it's taking me a few chapters to really get it going. I need to go back and edit the first chapters for stylistic and voice consistency, but I haven't gotten there yet. But problems aside, I hope you'll enjoy my humble first attempt at writing for others to see:] [EDITED FROM THE ORIGINAL POST: UPDATED TO SECOND DRAFT] The Wild North CHAPTER ONE (MACADAMIA) Only frozen foothills lay behind. Only towering rock and a fool's death lay ahead. This was a barren, sharply-sloping land of white. It was broken, only occasionally, by harsh black stone upthrusts. Plants did not grow here. It was not a place for life and living things. It was a land of sleeping giants and the black wings of carrion eaters soaring across the muted gray heavens. A giant hand of unforgiving granite blocked the entire horizon in the distance ahead, thrusting up towards the heavens with a sheer vertical face that might have been carved by the gods themselves, and for the specific purpose of thwarting the curious, and crushing the spirits of the brave. Yet in between what came before and what stood ahead were two curious figures, tiny by comparison and huddled against the blowing wind beneath an overhang of rock. Both were wearing light, draping furs over tunics, with thick wool covering their legs and vanishing beneath the lower folds of their tunics. A young woman, her posture bold and unbent, stared forward from beneath the meager shelter, her gaze sizing up the mountains before them as if judging an upstart adversary rather than a force of nature, her unrestrained shoulder-length dark hair dancing freely in the breeze. Behind her, huddling bent against the rock wall as if to become a part of it, a young man with short-cropped sandy hair followed. Macadamia, the young woman was called back home, for she was hard -it was said- like the nut. No one would ever see the woman beneath the shell, they would whisper. She had never been bothered by it. She even embraced the nickname, and no longer went by any other. She was not antisocial exactly, for she saw no value in unkindness, and she was free enough with smiles and a kind greetings, it was simply that people had never been one of her interests. She spent years, long after passing the age of adulthood, gobbling up every story she had come across, written or oral. She worked her family’s farm during the day, but spent zero time courting a suitor, or other such things that were expected of a woman her age. It had earned her the enmity of more than one man who, having spent years admiring her somewhat petite but athletic figure develop into the curves of womanhood, had no-doubt looked forward with longing for the day they might win her heart. Occasionally a man would still try. “I want to love you forever,” a handsome young man had once said to her. “We’ll… raise sheep and be happy!” She only smiled at the clumsy but well-meaning attempt. “No one should live forever,” she had replied quite matter-of-factly. A couple of women had tried as well, hoping her reasons for rejecting men was the one they wanted. Unfortunately for them all, any such feelings rode in the back of the wagon while she steered her life elsewhere, towards fantasies and books, far away places and mysteries unsolved. Each time she found a trader with a new book it was all she cared about until it was read, and read again, only to be forgotten by the next one that came along. She followed her whimsy like the northern star. There was another reason as well. She knew that few would truly want her once they knew everything about her, and she felt no need to invite stories to spread. Against all odds she did one day find a man around whom she wanted to spend time. He too had passed into adulthood but refused to play the game. With his body more graceful than muscular, and his golden skin smooth rather than worn, he was handsome to be sure - but not in the way that so many women wanted. He had no accomplishments about which to boast, would never emerge victorious in a contest of strength, had no interest in winning fame through tournaments or distant wars, and was a stalwart recluse. What interest women might show went unrequited. He was quiet and shy and had -to the best of everyone's knowledge- never actually started a conversation other than to ask a necessary question or make a purchase at the market. Yet one day he had done the unthinkable – and with Macadamia of all people. It seemed they shared an interest in history and lore, and after overhearing one of her inquiries to a book dealer he had approached her with open, unprovoked questions. The two talked, and were friends thereafter. It was only later that she discovered the poor man's father was a monster. Though seldom home, he had taken to beating his family when he was. When the father was home the son was never seen. Macadamia had met the family’s matriarch but felt only sadness for the woman with the empty eyes and forced smiles. The town frowned on the whole unhappy business, but their disapproval meant nothing to the brute of a father. Not the inflated prices from the merchants, not the cold looks or quiet stares, could draw a reaction from him. No one dared challenge him openly; the man was a mountain on two legs - so unlike his son in every way. In fact, many rumors had spread over the years about alternate leanages for the boy. Some were as fanciful and ludicrous as an affair with a visiting prince in disguise. To Macadamia he seemed nothing more, or less, than an ordinary young man who had secrets, and she understood perfectly well having secrets. She did not fancy him out of pity, but for his mind and -if she was being honest- perhaps his sculpted body just a bit as well. When she finally embarked on a worthy adventure, she knew she could not leave him behind. Not to go from day to day hiding his bruises, ever sinking into sadness in a world that did not appreciate him. Not while she was alive. His name was Elm. It was not a nickname, his mother had simply found elm trees beautiful. The irony of naming a boy 'Elm' amidst the bows of deep, green, fir-covered evergreen forests was apparently lost on the woman. Or perhaps her mind simply took comfort in imagining places far away. Macadamia and Elm had spent many nights gazing at maps and books, scribbling by candlelight and sharing ideas, to the point that rumors had spread about Macadamia taking a man after all, but refusing to claim him. The truth would have bored them all to tears. The two met for only a couple hours here and there, usually in a neutral but private setting, and frequently as the sun was waning and the affairs of the day were done. They studied obscure legends. One in particular stuck and became a lasting shared interest: a legend of a gateway, strangely persistent in its retelling across spans of history. It purported to be a path to a land without sorrow. One without poverty or hunger or hardship. A land of eternal summer. The two talked of books, shared research, did absolutely nothing romantic or sordid as the townsfolk imagined, and then went home. Until the day they did not. It was dawn when they looked back on home for the last time. They turned their gazes to the horizon as the orange rays of the morning sun kissed the dew with gentle hews. The market was closed that day. They were alone as they sat before their maps, spread out on one of the old wooden tables. The dew made its surface slick, shiny, and cold but neither took notice. They had finally uncovered what they believed to be the path to the fabled gateway, their breath coming out in puffs amidst the cool morning air, their voices hushed but excited. They considered provisions with glances and short yeses and nos. They had never properly agreed to go at all, it simply happened that they both fell silent, having said their peace, met each other’s eyes, packed up their things, and walked away. She wondered if their respective families would ever come looking for them, though she doubted it. Such sudden departures were not unheard-of. Sometimes lovers would run away, or those unhappy with the harsh northern life would spend their meager coin to leave on a trader’s cart. Sometimes entire families would have a bad harvest or lose their animals to disease and hardship, then pick up and leave one day without a word. Guilt nagged at her thoughts, for she held no resentment towards her family and knew they would worry about her, but she pushed it aside. If all went well they would return with stories of their own to tell, and discoveries that would open doors for them far away from their home of gossipers and dark secrets. There would be plenty of time for apologies then, after the worthiness of their quest could not be denied. They would be scholars, she would think whimsically, a soft smile warming her features. They could write books of their own. In her wildest moments of fancy, she wondered if they should return at all. What if there really could be such a land, and they could live there? They both knew the quest would not be an easy one. Not even leaving in the early spring as they were. Not even if their most optimistic theories were correct. It would be a long, hard journey. They had agreed. Somehow that knowledge failed to alleviate her aches and pains. It seemed that facts would forever fail to prepare her for experience. The ground had gotten steadily steeper as they neared the great cliffs. Although the snow had relented, a spiteful wind tapped the existing drifts and blew the weaponized ice crystals into her eyes like coarse sand. Their clothing had proven thoroughly inadequate for the pernicious winter weather. Apparently no one had informed the mountains that it was now spring. At least the exercise of lugging her heavy pack up the slopes kept the cold from causing more than discomfort. She glanced over her shoulder to make sure Elm was still standing, then frowned; he looked likely to fall over at any moment. Concern gripped her heart and she pulled him further into the meager shelter of their shallow cave. "Elm," she chided gently after worming her way out of her pack’s clingy straps, "why didn't you say something? Here-" She dug out the thick fur she had brought along for sleeping and tossed it around his shoulders, then kneeled, and pulled him down to her until he was sitting on her lap. "We'll wait here until the wind calms," she assured him, rubbing his arms briskly. Would the wind calm? Who knew, but it seemed best not to voice that worry. Nor the other worries creeping up from the shadows of her mind, such as the one that said this whole plan might have been a tad misguided. Especially not that one. He nodded. "I'm fine," he insisted despite his tacit agreement to delay. "I won't hold you back." "I know you won't." She kept to her most reassuring tone, then said nothing as he pushed himself more closely to her, his bottom now resting firmly on her thighs as they both pulled the blanket as tightly around them as it would go. Her taller frame accommodated the posture, as if their bodies were meant to fit together, with his head coming to rest comfortably on her left shoulder. She could feel the warmth of his body, so close now, and realized she had never been this close to a man. This wasn't how she imagined it. The story books left out the part where the prince and princess were more interested in not freezing to death than dancing with endearing chipmunks and getting lost in each other's eyes. Even so, she felt as if the heat of her own body had grown just a bit too. Just two bodies close together in a warm blanket, she decided firmly, nothing more. His shivering began to subside and she felt a wash of relief, which then turned to surprise as he started... snoring? He had fallen asleep in her arms. Clearly the journey was taking a great toll on him. She mentally shrugged and let him sleep; there didn’t seem to be any harm in taking a couple of hours to nap. It had not been nearly that long when a new sensation kindled her surprise - a sudden, intense heat was spreading out across her thighs. Her heart fluttered in a brief panic. Had she..? Surreptitiously as she could manage, she tilted her head and looked down, but his round, innocent eyes were still closed in slumber. Her left arm was underneath the furs, and she nervously used it to explore. In the northern lands of her home, it was a common style of dress for both sexes to wear leggings that stopped at the mid thigh. They were usually made form-fitting and with rigid ornamentation throughout, the purpose of which -beyond vanity of course- was to force them to retain their shape rather than sliding down and bunching up at the knees. It was a strange custom for a land so cold, but proud northerners embraced it conspicuously, showing off glimpses of skin as if to prove how little the climate affected them. What they did not volunteer is that the fabric of the leggings was thick and warm, and that most people wore equally thick, warm underwear underneath their thigh-length tunics, never mind their thick fur cloaks with hoods. Northerners, it seemed, were just as vulnerable to the cold as anyone - but only the unwise would be caught leaking that secret to a southerner. Her hand explored the increasingly wet fabric of her leggings, and upwards towards her crotch. She reached inside the thick puffiness of her own undergarment, holding a tense breath, but found that it was dry. Relief warred with confusion. Her hand explored -ever so gently so as not to wake him- Elm's underwear. The frontal regions were already soaking, and the warm moisture was spreading steadily outward around the sides and bottom. Without her conscious direction her hand moved forward to the source of the flow. The bulge of his dormant manhood was like a hot spring in the cold winter air as his underwear absorbed all that it could and was forced to let the rest flow freely around her fingers and onto her lap. For a few moments she sat, unsure what to do in this situation, as the flow soaked more of her leggings, and it was during her hesitation that he blinked awake - her hand still resting on the front of his underwear. He blinked. She blinked. "What's going..?" His eyes shot wide open. "I'm afraid you're peeing yourself," she explained unnecessarily. Some dormant instinct took over and she felt a cool confidence. "But it's nothing to lose sleep over," she said soothingly, dismissing the situational irony with a frown. "Don't worry, alright?" "I can't believe this is happening," he said miserably, lowering his head to avoid meeting her gaze. "Father would..." His voice had drifted off, but her own anger suddenly flared to life, like an open fire doused with grease. "Is this why your father always acts so ashamed of you? Why he always treats you poorly and keeps you out of sight? Because you... have accidents?" "I... I kept wetting the bed," he said in the voice of one resigned to a cruel but well deserved fate. "Father used to humiliate me for it... you know, to try and get me to stop. But it only made things worse and I started having accidents during the day. But I thought... I thought..." His voice was growing even more miserable. He had omitted the beatings, though the whole village knew about them. "It's alright," she kept repeating softly. The smell of pee and wet fabric started to waft out from underneath the thick fur in which they were huddled, while she pretended not to notice. He did not seem able to stop. The odor was strong, but strangely not unpleasant. It smelled uniquely of him. The gusting wind subsided, and in the sudden quiet she could hear the hiss of his stream penetrating the fabric of his underwear before finally running out. The sudden lack of hot pee washing over her fingers made her realize where her hand still sat, and she hastily relocated it. "There now. I know you feel better. It really is alright." He grew quiet for a time, and when he spoke again his voice sounded closer to its normal even tones. "I've been getting better since I met you. I thought... I thought I could control it. Now I know I shouldn't have come..." "Don't you dare say that," she scolded him gently, "I..." She stumbled over how to reassure him, and went with the simple truth. "I wouldn't have made this journey without you anyway, and I'm so glad you came! I don't want you to worry about this at all." When she continued to hold him and he didn’t pull away, she was struck by a feeling of rightness to the situation – of caring for him and reassuring him. She had been doing it almost instinctively since they had met, she now realized, and the instinct was only becoming stronger. The cold weather and blowing moisture prowled only feet away as the wind resumed its hunt. Wet clothing would only make its bite stronger, but their warm northern wool would provide some protection even when wet, and she saw no more reason to depart right now than she had before. She said as much and gently persuaded him to get some rest. When her persuasions failed she tried something new: she started humming a soft, gentle tune just as her mother had always done for her. It felt strange to share experiences so innocent and yet so intimate with a man who was close to her own age, but his youthful manner and appearance might have allowed him to pass for a younger brother. Did she want to think of him that way, as a boy? Or did she prefer the man? Perhaps all men had a dual nature, a vulnerable child still hiding within. She leaned back against the rock, unable to completely deny her own exhaustion. Did she really mind so much if that were true? Maybe his strange innocence was something she liked about him. Nothing wrong with that. Was there? Sleep took her by surprise after several minutes of stroking his coarse, sandy hair, still humming that same, mellow tune. A voice whispered in her dreams. It said that they would soon need to find their legs, and their courage. It said that far more than wind and weather awaited them out here, in the wild north.

Suzie Applegate was wetting her diaper. Let’s just get right to it, shall we? ‘Why’, you ask. ‘What kind of story starts with that?’ ‘Are we done here then,’ you might even ask? But I assure you there is a reason. You see, for Suzie that was not the story. That was nothing new. She was a woman in her thirties with what she adamantly called a 'budding' career. It just so happened that she had also worn adult diapers her whole life. What made this particular day a story she would remember was instead the inevitable, mischievous hand of fate, without which I believe none of us would have a story at all. But fate, as we know, is not always kind, and fear not: we’ll come back to the diapers soon as well. As you know, Fate has been known to use elevators for its machinations. Yes, this is another trapped-in-an elevator story, and no one would blame you for clicking away right now, but then you would never know the fate of poor Suzie, for no amount of button pressing would rescue her from her predicament. Even the emergency call button would prove to be dysfunctional. Their elevator simply stopped with a violent lurch of utter finality and in so doing had apparently made its final transition then and there (should there turn out to be an afterlife for elevators). The building, now that was moving; at least it did so briefly. It started about the same time as the elevator stopped and the lights went out (save the garish emergency lighting with its bright rays and harsh shadows) but it stopped as well -to the relief of our passengers- less than a minute later. This is where our story truly begins for poor Suzie and the other soon-to-be tormented passengers, and if you, Dear Reader, have any interest in finding out where it goes from here, you need only keep reading. I will tell you by way of introduction that Suzie was not a quiet, reserved woman. She was known for her quirky outbursts, but also for getting the job done. Her male coworkers would have me add that she was an attractive woman, but not the type to flaunt it. She had a natural beauty, starting from her undyed, fiery-red, flowing hair (which she kept tied back in a shoulder-length pony-tail) to her smooth skin and heart-shaped face, and finally to her slim arms, shapely legs, delicate hands, and... Well you get the idea. The only thing she lacked, according to the men’s room gossip, was a larger cup size, more risque clothing, and a ‘better personality’. She on the other hand felt quite strongly that the only things she lacked were her own corner office (like the one her supervisor Dick had) and a healthy raise. What does any of this have to do with the elevator, you ask? Well, elevators are like dinner gatherings; if you really want to know how people feel about each other, have them all over for a good roast and see who gets thrown in the oven. (Sadly, yes, that may be my best line, but let’s not dwell on that and instead get back to our story…) “Did anyone feel that?” Dick demanded, looking up at the ceiling with that same unflinching seriousness that his blue, hooded eyes always held at meetings over copy machine policy. His muscular body, braced against a corner of the elevator, belied his role as ‘the guy who never left his desk’. Suzie was still pulling herself up from the floor where she had been tossed by the abrupt halt, and was now helping Joe, or simply ‘the IT guy’ as he was known, do the same. She exhaled loudly and shot her boss a level gaze. “Felt what, Dick? What with it being such a smooth ride today, do you suppose we’re there yet?” He cleared his throat but otherwise seemed immune to the barb. His gaze belatedly surveyed the room. “Is everyone all right?” Liza, Dick’s secretary, was a petite and reserved woman with blond hair and dark eyes. She had been thrown against a different corner, but was still standing. “I’m okay… I think.” “I’m good- oof,” Joe said as he lost his balance trying to get up and fell to one knee. Suzie was bent over him, still trying to help him up, and did not notice the man’s knee pinning the very edge of her sundress to the floor. “Good,” Dick said quickly in his baritone voice. “Now, I feel that under the circumstances, I need to call an emergency meeting to address our situation. As we’re all in attendance, I’ll begin by-” “A meeting?” Suzie said incredulously, releasing Joe and abruptly straightening herself as she turned to Dick and took a step forward. The rest of the objection died on her lips as the sound of ripping fabric distracted them all, and she felt a sudden draft on her legs. She was now only wearing half a dress, and was exposed from the waste down. She noted this inconvenience by a downward glance at the ripped fabric, a pursed frown, and narrowed eyes. (It was an expression that might have said ‘we’ll have a talk about this later’ to a petulant child). Then she resumed glaring at Dick. “Is that what this is? Is everything a meeting to you? Would you-” she shushed Joe with a dismissive wave, “-have a meeting to discuss the building burning down around us too?” “Actually,” he replied in a steady monotone, “one of the things I think we should discuss is that-” She raised her voice to cut Dick off. “This is exactly why I can’t talk with you about anything: you always have to control the conversation and you talk like we’re at some fancy, corporate meeting-” “Miss Applegate,” Liza tried quietly, but everyone ignored her. “You know there are only five of us in the entire division, right?” Suzie continued. “Counting you and your secretary. So your illustrious ‘meetings’ could fit around a card table, and- Yes… You… Mr. IT-Guy, whatever your name is…” she blurted suddenly as Joe tried once more to speak up, “I know my freaking dress ripped! And you know what?” Her voice became mockingly cheerful. “Since we’re all here, why don’t we just have a meeting about that too!” Finally Joe got to speak. “But, your underwear is, umm…” He pushed his glasses further up the bridge of his nose absently in a nervous gesture. “...showing a little.” Suzie did not so much as glance down, though her puffy Abena M4 disposable diaper was indeed on full display - there was no ‘little’ about it. In the quiet of the stopped elevator or any quiet room, its plastic exterior made a soft but audible crinkle when she moved. Even so, she had always preferred it for an all-day diaper on account of it did not sag or leak as easily as the ones that had the cloth-like backing. No one had ever given a sign that they knew, despite her wearing them around the office day after day. In meetings, at the coffee station chatting, or making phone calls in her cubicle, nature would take its course when it deemed proper and she would let it. She wore loose clothing so that it was never apparent. In this case, their work day had been interrupted by the events of this story early on and so she was only a little wet - enough to begin to discolor the diaper’s blue ink (wetness indicator) in the area between her legs, and to make a little yellowish spot. “Haven’t you ever seen a woman in diapers before-” she started to retort defensively. The floor lurched suddenly beneath them and silenced her, and she was thrown off-balance and right into the arms of Dick, who caught her on instinct and used the walls behind him for support. Unfortunately for her, just as the elevator’s harsh full-stop at the beginning of our story had interrupted her stream, this event served to restart it. She felt herself releasing as he stubbornly clung to her. “You can let me go now,” she protested. While the elevator was now sloping towards Dick and the closed door, it was not so severe that she could not stand. “Are you sure you’re alright?” the man replied with an obnoxious helpfulness which presently earned him no points. “I’m fine, alright, I umm…” She exhaled softly with relief as the pressure she had been ignoring in her bladder was steadily evacuated at the same time as her diaper was increasing in weight. She realized after a couple of moments that her pause made it easier for everyone in the cramped space to hear the steady hissing of her pee hitting the diaper. A familiar warmth against her groin was spreading outward once more. Normally she would not have cared too much, but then normally it would have been one more quiet sound in a noisy office - and normally she would not be so exposed. “I’m perfectly fine!” she finished hotly, pulling away from him with unnecessary force. Liza had looked away politely at some point, but she noted Joe staring with wide eyes and open fascination as she finished peeing, the steady hiss finally fading. It did no good to glare at the man; he wasn’t looking at her face. Dick’s chiseled jaw worked quietly for a moment without words as he formulated what he apparently felt was a perfectly coherent and appropriate response. “To get us back on track: in regards to the office dress code…” The others all groaned. “... I believe it would be prudent to add an addendum concerning the sturdiness of fabrics worn as the sole layer of clothing-” “I got it at Penny’s bargain rack, alright! Not all of us have a cushy paycheck and a private, corner office with a view…” “But there is no ‘Penny’s’ anymore, is there?” Joe wondered aloud. “There’s still one left!” Suzie defended. Dick droned on while they argued. “Second, and in regards to a point I was trying to make earlier...” "No, but umm,” Joe persisted in his characteristically self-conscious tone, ignoring Dick as they all were, “I think that’s now… Isn’t that a, umm…” “Whatever! It used to be a Penny’s, alright? They have clothes... at reasonable prices!” She glared at him to discourage a further response. For once it worked, and the argument died. “...fire,” finished Dick, the word loud in the sudden silence. She gave him a slow blink, a pointed exhale, and a tight grimace. “What was that?” “Yes, to recap,” he repeated calmly, placing his hand on one of the elevator’s walls and pulling it away quickly for emphasis, “I believe there is a fire in the building.” Sure enough, a hint of smoke began to waft from the crack between the elevator doors just as he said that. “The coffee shop,” Suzie said quietly to herself while Dick began saying something maddeningly useless about fire routes and office evacuation policy. “I should have just taken the job at the coffee shop.”

My Mommy (wife) has her BFF Stephanie bathe me and change my wet diapers. Mommy and Aunt Stephanie have changed my diapers in the presence of their adult lady friends. They have all been caring and very supportive so I don't feel ashamed.

A short story from my Patreon. Thought I'd share it with you guys to show you that I can do original stuff too. Party Girl: A petite young lady in her late teens sat upon her bed, furiously taping away on her IPhone. She had just been dumped by her boyfriend and, like many girls her age, was experiencing a cocktail of volatile emotions. Anger, rejection and a "fuck the world" mindset consumed her. Her latest text was peppered with profanity and colorful phrases which would make a sailor proud. The silver haired vixen hit the send button with vigor as she tossed her phone onto the bed in a slight rage. "Fucking pushy prick!" She hollered at the ceiling of her small dorm room as she entered the bathroom. "I'm not going to stop being who I am!" She stared at her reflection in the mirror after her latest outburst. Even though she was still hungover from the previous night of partying, her youthful appearance was rich with a positively radiant glow. Her breasts were modest in size, but still enough for any guy to enjoy and play with once she got him where she wanted him. Tiny in stature at around five feet tall, she liked to think of herself as fun sized. Perfect for a quick bang on a changing table in a public restroom or in the back seat of an expensive car. Studying her appearance, she realized that she would have to lose the jeans and pink t-shirt and wear her sexiest outfit: a latex blue tube top and a mini skirt which was the same shade of cerulean. It was that stunning combo that won her many a horny college man. She stripped down to just her birthday suit and walked into her shower. Fiddling with the knobs yielded her a nice, warm steady stream of water which cascaded down upon her firm breasts and toned body while she stood under the shower head. Her shapely legs and ass were soon soaped up as she moved away from the lower portion of her body and started to pour some shampoo into her hands. Quickly she lathered her flowing silver hair which had blue colored tips. A scene girl or emo was a label she was familiar with since it was commonly attributed to her manner of fashion sense and hair. However, she hated such misconceptions. A party girl was the only title that she felt truly personified who she is. Always on the hunt for a good high and a quick fuck. This latest hiccup in her life was just that, a deviation from her usual routine. She currently lamented on the loss of her longest relationship to date while she washed out the suds from her luxurious locks. Yes, he was a nice guy and the best sex she ever had, but commitment to one man had proved to be very difficult for the young woman. Never had she been with anyone for more than a week until this one guy managed to snag her. Immature and reckless were common phrases which emanated any time the couple got into an argument. He constantly fell back to those terms to describe her faults in the midst of most fights they had. The pint sized gal would admit that she was reckless at times, but that word: immature. That word made her blood boil as she recanted it while turning off the water and hopping out of the shower. "Fucking immature?!" She questioned the reflection which greeted her in the mirror as she grabbed a near by towel. "I'm a full grown woman for crying out loud!" The towel vigorously scrubbed her body and journeyed down to her shaved and bare cunt. Ever since her first pubic hair, she waxed, shaved and groomed her slit religiously. She never appreciated that gift which womanhood bestowed upon her during her grade school years. An epiphany stopped her from drying the rest of her body. "Fucker probably likes a massive bush. Immature my ass!" She grinned as she resumed her after shower ritual. That was certainly the most logical conclusion she could reach. 'He hates my grooming does he? Well, fuck him! I'm getting laid tonight and blitzed out of my dome!' Waltzing back into her bedroom butt naked, she heard her phone buzz rapidly on the bed. Quickly, she ran over to the device and read her latest text. "Fuck yeah! Party on the west side of town!" To be continued... Want to see the entire story? Check out my Patreon. For just a dollar you can see numerous stories that won't be seen anywhere else. Check it out! https://www.patreon.com/user?u=6660213

The day began as it usually did, with the peeling of sweaty sheets off of his chiseled upper body. This time, not only was the bed drenched in sweat, it was also soaked with a good dose of urine, making him gag in disgust. Oliver wasn't usually the type to piss the bed, but he'd been getting so wasted lately that it was hard not to. Humiliated and annoyed that he'd have to sneak out again to both get his piss-soaked sheets and undergarments washed but to also do so without alerting anyone in the house, he dragged himself out of his room. The air, thick with the reek of something mingled with sweat and piss, made him want to vomit, but he choked down last nights'

My, my... Hello everyone, I have been ageplaying for a long time, and actually have a bit of an obsession with it in that it pours over into my real life. It's about time I came to terms with who I am. I've always used babytalk around my grandmother for example, and still whine and talk like that around her, because she raised me like a mother. I do the same around my real mother but my real mother is more like a friend because I don't really know her...:C I always get the urge to cuddle with people, but it usually gets me in trouble because no one wants to cuddle a 19 year old girl, it's supposedly like flirting. My name is Katie, I am a real woman, not transexual, not sissy here, I really am a woman. I have no problem with trans or sissies, but so far I've been worried that I'm one of the few AB's who are actually women. I am 19 years old. Bisexual. In a relationship, but so far my little AB secret has been kept in the closet. My boyfriend enjoys ageplaying with me online, but I don't think he realizes the full extent of it, that I like to ageplay in real life too. I have never 'truly' ageplayed with a partner in real life yet, but I am sure I would love to and look forward to it. I do not wear diapers except as punishment, and I do not enjoy scat. I may enjoy a little watersports, and may wear plastic pants but not if I have to sit in it wet! Gross. I mostly like to be a child, but since I was a real little girl I've always wanted children of my own to baby so I can play the part of the Mommy too. There are several reasons "Why" I am what I am, but I don't feel the need to go into it unless asked. My personalities: 1) Moonchild, or Katie, age 5 to 16 (most often, usually 6 to 10) 2) Mommy, age 35 to 42 (sometimes) 3) Little/Big Sister (sometimes) 4) Babysitter (rarely) I'm looking forward to telling my boyfriend one day, and that he will accept it and sometimes play the role of my Daddy for me. Because 'Daddy and his Little Girl' is my favorite kind of playship. Sometimes Moon will dress up real glitzy and girly, other times, she's a total tomboy. I roleplay online a ton, and I expect top grammar, writing, as well as commitment from anyone who roleplays with me or wants to adopt me. Sorry, but it's the way it is. :/ The only exception is if I were to play the part of Mommy and adopt a little one. In that case, baby talk is okay. I am an artist, writer, and game maker. I am a furry and love anime, games, and reading. I love adorable little girl clothes and the colors black, white, red and gray. Aaaand, that's it from me I guess. Now, a word from Moon! Hello everyone! My name is Moon, and I just know that I'm going to love it here soooo much. Big sister Katie told me that she looked around here for awhile and that everyone seemed so nice and fun that she just had to join! As for me, well, hehe, I just go where she goes! Heeehee. I hope you all are as nice as she says you are! : O Because I'd love people to play with me! Hmmm....I like my sippy cup a lot cause it has a unicorn on it and Big Sister always fills it up with the most yummy juice! Yummmmmmyyyy. I also like my stuffed animals, especially my stuffed sheep Bob. Bob. I love you Bob! *nuzzles her sheep* Hehe. My favorite color is blue and I really like horsies. My favorite thing to play with is My Little Ponies : D Ooooh...uh oh, looks like big sister says I'm talking too much! Time for me to go now, it was nice to meet you! *giggles* -Moonchild And from Mommy: Well, my name isn't really Mommy, it's Caitlin. Haha. It's very nice to meet you all. I've always wanted to baby things since I was a little girl myself. I don't particularly enjoy changing diapers, but if my little sweety needs it I guess I have to! Most of all, I like holding my little ones in my arms and rocking them back and forth. Sometimes, I'll rest my head on top of theirs and sing them a little song. I would never hurt my child, but if they do something wrong they'll be told so. Children are my specialty, and any child of my own would be treated with the utmost care. Just hearing them tell me "I love you, Mommy," or seeing them look up at me with their big eyes is enough to warm my heart for a long time. -Mommy