Diaper Lovers

Just add a fan, and a big empty space.    

Great chapter as always, sorry to hear about how much life is pressuring you right now.  I know how that goes sometime(though not for a while now) so try to get a little me time in there.  I don't see to  much problem with Carly not wearing her uniform for the date, but the shopping trip might be a different story, Like what Lilly said about not getting arrested if someone tries something.😀

Seventy-Nine It took a day or two for things to get back to ‘normal’–whatever that was–in the wake of my mother’s visit. Her visit hadn’t actually been that long overall–she stayed overnight at a local hotel and I got breakfast with her the next day before she went back home. But her brief presence had left a mark. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust Mommy anymore–I couldn’t hold it against her that my mother could be quite insistent, and Mommy had probably made the right decision in getting the both of us in the same room at the same time. Still, I was a little sore that I had been blindsided like that, and had unconsciously begun giving Mommy the cold shoulder. She reacted to this by giving me the space I needed–which was probably the best thing she could’ve done. I decided to use this quiet time to myself to reflect on where I was and what my goals were. My meeting with my mother had actually worked out to be a good thing, as it felt like something I could cross off of a mental list. Previously, its presence on the list was a dark spot–one of the highest hurdles I’d need to jump, and because it felt so insurmountable, it made the actual process of ‘growing up’ feel like a fool’s errand in the end. But…it had happened. I talked to her. We had a good talk. Did my mother know that I wore diapers and was treated like a baby by my boss? Well…my mother certainly knew something, though she had mostly avoided admitting how much she knew. Also, she refrained from passing judgment. I was sure she had lots of thoughts about the situation–but she was able to keep them to herself. Which, at the end of the day, was probably the best I could hope for. With that done and out of the way, the future suddenly seemed a little easier.  I was feeling good. Things were happening. I was getting out and socializing. I had a job again. I didn’t have to think about the awkward conversation with my mother anymore. I could see a path before me, and I was excited about adult things again. Paychecks, and grocery shopping, and using ATMs, and cooking dinner for myself, and reading a book, and… I started to wet my diaper, and the thick padding warmed and swelled between my thighs. This wasn’t the first time I involuntarily used my diaper while thinking about the future, though I could never be certain if it was just coincidental timing, or if planning ahead too much just caused my body to expel itself. For most of my time at Mommy’s, I never really needed to think about when, or if, I needed a diaper change. That was up to Mommy–or whoever was handling me on behalf of Mommy. There were still times that I waddled about without any care for the condition of my diaper, though they were getting fewer and fewer. This diaper, though, felt uncomfortable. The way it sagged. The feeling of the moist padding pressed against my skin. I needed out of it. “Mommy?” She was in the kitchen, chopping up some vegetables. There was a time when she didn’t cook very much. So rarely, in fact, I just assumed that she either didn’t like to, or didn’t know how. More recently, she had started to use her kitchen more often–and for more than just making coffee or chilling her wine. As it turned out, she seemed to be a pretty great chef.  “Baby,” she answered with a smile, looking up from the cutting board.  “I’m, uhm…wet.” She snickered and set down the knife. “I’m not surprised by that. I am a little surprised you wanted to tell me, though.” “I just…” I actually wasn’t sure what to say. I knew how I felt, but I didn’t know how to express it. “Are you uncomfortable in your wet diaper?” she asked. I nodded. “I was reading an article about potty training recently,” Mommy said. “It was talking about the signs that your toddler might be ready to start using the potty. One of the signs was a toddler’s sudden disinterest in staying in their dirty diaper.” I felt myself blushing, equally amazed and humiliated how easily I could be seen as an authentic toddler interested in potty training. “Do you think you’re ready for the potty, big boy?” “I…well, I think I could use it, if I had to.” Mommy let out a loud “Ha!” as she walked past me, grabbing my hand so that she could lead me to the nursery. Soon, I was in a spot I knew better than almost any other space on the planet–on my back, on my changing table. Much like the way that beds and couches would slowly form little grooves and depressions from where you sat on them often, I had a groove in the plush padding of the changing table. My body just kind of snapped in place, and it was always a source of comfort to me. Like: This is my spot. It was meant for me, and this is where I belong. The spot still felt good to me–I was sure that it would always feel good–but I just wasn’t as interested in wiggling myself into the grooves as perfectly as I usually did.  Mommy pulled the tapes up and opened the diaper. “Pretty wet, but I’ve seen wetter.” “D-do you think I should’ve waited?” “Nope,” she smiled. “I trust you when you say you need to be changed. I mean…I thought that was my job but…” She shrugged and pulled a moist wipe from the container so that she could slide it across my skin. It was hard to read her. She didn’t sound upset, but I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t completely overjoyed.  I imagined that it was hard for her to see me ‘growing up.’ I wondered if it was all that different from how my actual mother felt when I was getting older. They’re happy for their child, but sad that an era was slowly coming to an end. I was reminded, again, of the conversation I overheard her having on the phone a bit ago–the one where she confessed to not knowing what to do with herself after I moved on. I had spent a lot of time thinking about what she had said–wondering if the best move was to just stay a baby for the rest of my life. No, that probably wasn’t going to work. It’d stop being cute eventually–like when I was old enough to need a routine colonoscopy. Was Mommy’s happiness after I left my responsibility? She interrupted my thinking: “So? Should we start thinking about taking potty training seriously?” “Maybe?”  It occurred to me that I was kind of scared of potty training. It wasn’t the fear of the toilet itself–it was the fear of leaving behind something that had been such a big part of my life. It felt like my entire personality–my entire existence–was tied to diapers.  “As much as it pains me to admit it,” Mommy said, “I think it’s a good idea.” It seemed that we were on the same page about that, then. “Do you, uhm, think it’ll be hard?” She laughed and shrugged. “We’re entering new territory for me, Clarky. I imagine it won’t be all that hard…I assume you had a few good years of experience in using a toilet already.” “Uh, yeah,” I said. “Man…that feels like a long time ago, though.” “It’ll be fun,” she said, bundling up the soggy diaper and tossing it into the bin.  “Fun?” “I’m thinking we’ll make you a little potty-training chart,” she said. “It’s important to keep track of your successes and failures.” I remembered back when we were in the old office–just before Thomas Pritchard blew everything up, actually–when Mommy showed me the spreadsheets she used to track my diaper use. I wondered if she still did anything like that now that I lived with her, but maybe it didn’t matter. Seeing a potty-training chart mounted on the wall of the nursery, however–that mattered. I was blushing just thinking about it. “I…I don’t want to give up diapers forever, though,” I said to Mommy, thinking of Ava. “I just…” “You don’t want to be dependent on them,” Mommy nodded. “I understand. But, no, I doubt you’ll ever be done with your diapers. Once a baby–always a baby.” “So…how do we do this?” I asked. “How do I…get potty trained again?” It felt like a silly question to ask as she was unfurling a giant diaper and tucking it under my bottom, but that’s just the way things were. “I’ll work on that,” Mommy said, shaking a bottle of powder over my caged cock. She even gave the metal cage a little poke. “If you can show me that you can use the potty reliably…maybe I could be convinced to unlock you.” If anything was going to motivate me to start using a toilet again–that was probably it. Especially now that…” “So,” Mommy said, as if reading my mind. “How are things with that girl you’ve been talking to? Paige?” “She’s…good.”  We had been consistently texting with one another, but I’d been a little hesitant to make plans with her. I wanted to see her again–but that felt risky. I had no doubt that Paige wanted to get inside of my diaper–just as I’d have liked to get into hers. But it felt complicated. There would be discussions needed about my diaper. About Mommy, maybe. And top of that…well, I was still pining for Ava. “You’ve got that look on your face,” Mommy said as she taped my diaper into position. “It’s funny, because you make a similar expression when you’re troubled by something as you do when you’re pooping. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell which it is.” She leaned in a little closer to my fresh diaper and gave it an exaggerated sniff. “I’m pretty sure you’re not pooping.” “It’s just hard,” I sighed. “It’s hard to just be, like, a normal guy with Paige. I’m afraid to spend time with her, because all I can think of is how the more she knows about me–the more of a freak she’ll think that I am.” I hoped for Mommy to offer some advice, but instead she just nodded. For a moment, that seemed like all I was going to get–though she eventually opened her mouth. “I’m not sure what to say, Baby,” she said, taking me by the hands and pulling me up into a sitting position on the changing table. “I think you need to do what’s best for you. Just know that whatever you want to do–I’ve got your back.” “Thank you, Mommy.” I’d spend a good part of the afternoon thinking about Paige, and what my next move was. What I needed was an excuse to see her–but in a setting where things couldn’t get out of control. Something social. In public. Something like a double-date, with another couple–just as Lyndie had suggested a few days before. It was starting to make sense to me–an opportunity to spend more time with Paige, while not putting myself in a position where I’d have to expose too much of myself. Maybe–assuming I could get all parties to agree to it–this would buy me some more time with Paige until I was less dependent on diapers…and my chastity. I pulled out my phone and texted Lyndie: That probably should’ve seemed obvious, but my social skills were still a little lacking–and maybe they had never been that great to begin with. I would reach Ava, but there was a more important step that needed to be taken care of first–I’d need to make sure Paige was onboard with the idea of going on a double-date with me and my friend. It was a lie–which I wasn’t especially proud of, but it felt like a much more reasonable way to throw the idea out there instead of the truth: “So, I’m terrified of spending time alone with you, so I’m going to wrangle my friends up and use them as a temporary buffer.” The worst she could say was no–and I told myself that I wouldn’t panic about it until she actually responded to me. It was flattering that she thought I was cool enough to have cool friends, but I wasn’t really sure how to answer that. Yes, Ava was very cool. So cool that I wanted to make out with her. But that’s not something I could say to Paige. That seemed easy enough–and now the hard part was out of the way. All that was left was to propose the idea to Ava–who, from the sounds of it, was already onboard with it. Elsewhere in the house, there were curious sounds. Amidst the texting and waiting for responses, Mommy mentioned that she had to run some errands and would be back in a little bit. It sounded as if she had returned, and was tearing open some packaging–a cardboard box from the sounds of it. Intriguing, but unless she was calling for me, I doubted it had anything to do with me. She had recently mentioned wanting to get a new lamp from the foyer, and so I just assumed she had finally picked one up. I’m sure she’d show me later. I hesitated over the text I was going to send to Ava for a bit. I’d write a few words, change my mind about them, and then start over. I wanted to sound excited about the idea, but not so excited that it sounded like I just wanted to show Paige off to Ava. I wanted it to sound like I was just as–if not more–excited to see Ava than I was to introduce her to Paige. I might as well just tell her that I’m in love with her. Instead, I sent this: “Hey! Lyndie recently mentioned that you and Caleb might be interested in going on a double-date sometime. It’d be nice to see you, and I’d love to introduce you to my friend Paige.” And…sent. I immediately had doubts about introducing the concept of Paige as my ‘friend,’ though it wasn’t like I had any other way to describe her. My friend-who-also-seems-into-diapers? My not-quite-girlfriend-but-maybe-later-after-I-get-my-chastity-removed? ‘Friend’ seemed just fine. I decided to go downstairs to see what Mommy was up to. I was walking now–which usually didn’t seem like something worth pointing out, except that I had only recently decided to start walking at home more often. Usually, I just crawled. I kept waiting for Mommy to ask me to get down on my hands and knees again–or to, at the very least, ask why I wasn’t crawling–but she hadn’t said a word about it. In the meantime, I just found that I needed to be a little more conscious of my steps as I walked. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. I almost toppled over on the steps. It was a silly thing–just one step moving ahead of the other a little too quickly–and something I was able to correct before a disaster occurred, but it was a little reminder that I still had some adjusting to do before I fully gave up the baby life. “Hello, sweetie,” Mommy cooed from the living room. “Come here. I want to show you something.” I swallowed nervously and slowly waddled down the hall to the opening of the living room. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. “I was originally thinking I’d just put this in the nursery,” she said, pointing to an object on the floor. “But the beauty of this thing is that I can put it anywhere I want.” At first, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking at. It was a plastic…something. A toy?  It dawned on me, at last, as to what it might be. It was…a child’s potty chair. A purple plastic seat that sat low to the ground, with a little well in it where one would deposit their…well, whatever it was they needed a potty for. As best as I could recall, I had never seen one in person–and if my mother used one with me when I was that age, I would have no memory of it. “What do you think?” she asked. “Y-you…got that for me?” “Mmmhmm,” she nodded. “I figure that if we’re going to do potty training, we need to do it right.” “I mean…I know how to sit on an actual toilet,” I said. “Sure. But this is cute.” I couldn’t argue with that. Just looking at the tiny little piece of plastic made my cheeks darken. And it wasn’t hard to see where Mommy was going with this–she wanted to have as much fun with potty training as she did with keeping me in diapers.  “So…how do you see this working?” I asked. “Do I just…use that instead of the toilet?” “Well, I’ve been reading about potty training toddlers, and they say that you should sit your child on the potty chair regularly–every two hours or so. The idea is to acclimate them to not only using the potty, but to get them in the habit of holding it until they are sitting on the potty.” “That’s actually kind of smart,” I shrugged. “I mean…if I was a toddler.” “Are you not?” “I…uhm…” Since I just changed your diaper a little bit ago, I won’t make you sit on it now. But, soon enough you and Ms. Potty here are going to be very well acquainted.” “Ms. Potty?” “A cute name, right?” “I guess…” I stared down at the purple potty, trying to imagine myself sitting on it. I supposed it was possible–the potty’s seat didn’t have any sides that I’d have to stuff myself into. I would just look completely ridiculous sitting on it–probably more so when I actually used it. And I already knew that she’d be making me use it. “I think it pairs nicely with this,” Mommy said, holding up the next new purchase. The packaging read: ‘Potty Training Chart with Stickers!’ “Oh.” “See? It’s got all these little stickers in it, and we can keep track of your progress with it. See? A sticker in this column means you asked to use the potty. A sticker in this column means you made your pee-pees or poo-poos in the potty instead of your diaper. There’s also a column we can mark if you were able to wipe yourself, instead of having Mommy do it for you.  And a sticker in this column over here means that you even washed your hands when you were finished using the potty–a very important step.” “I…I know how to wipe,” I said, my cheeks feeling even warmer now. “And I always wash my hands.” “I suppose we’ll see what the chart says after a week or two, huh?” Mommy shrugged. “Let’s not get too cocky yet.” I sighed, nodding my head like the obedient boy I was. “You don’t think it’s…too small?” “No,” she said, looking down at the potty while shaking her head. “I think you’ll fit on there just fine. In fact…let me just see something.” She unfastened the drawstring of her tight pants and, without any hesitation, pushed her pants and panties down her legs, past her knees. Then, she slowly and carefully lowered her ass down onto the potty chair.  “Oh wow,” she said once her buttocks finally made contact with the plastic seat. “It’s even lower than you think it’s going to be. But look–it’s supporting me just fine. I fit right on it. I’m sure you’ll fit on it even better than me.” I couldn’t help but gawk at what I was seeing–I loved seeing Mommy being playful like this. I still daydreamed about the day we crawled around her house together while we both wore diapers. “Well,” she continued. “Since I’m here, I might as well take care of some business.” I almost asked her to elaborate, but I quickly realized what she meant. And, if I didn’t figure it out for myself then, it probably would’ve come to me once I heard the telltale sound of water trickling and puddling inside the potty chair. She was using it. I was staring down at her as she nonchalantly pissed into the tiny potty. “Ah,” she said. “Much better. Yes, I’ll think this’ll be good for you. Now, can you be a dear and go fetch Mommy something to wipe herself with?” “Of course,” I said. I ran to the bathroom, grabbed a wad of toilet paper, and waddled back. “Good boy,” she cooed. “Now, do you think you can be trusted to wipe Mommy clean?” “Y-yes. I can do that, Mommy.” “Good. Here you go, then.”  She lifted her body up–not entirely standing, but squatting above the potty chair. I reached beneath her with the paper, carefully dabbing her with it at first, but then moving to a wiping motion–pulling the wad towards me as I hugged the curve of her body. “I think that’ll do it,” she said, stepping forward from the potty chair and pulling her pants and panties back into place. “You can throw that toilet tissue for Mommy, yes?” I nodded. “Yes. And what about the, uh, potty chair? Do you need me to, like, empty that and clean it out?” “Hmm. Good point, Clarky. Something should be done about this little puddle I made, huh?” I started to reach down to grab the potty chair. I had no idea what I was going to do with it once I had it. Dump it into the toilet, maybe. Though…I would be lying if I didn’t admit that there was a small part of me that wanted to hold the plastic container up to my nose to take a big sniff of her fresh piss. She stopped me before I could grab it. “I’ll take care of the cleanup for this,” she said. “I know just where to put it.” “Oh, where were you thinking?” The answer was actually pretty obvious, I just needed another second to think about it. As soon as I saw the mischievous smile on her face, I knew exactly where she’d be dumping that pee. “Stand still, Baby.” She reached down to the potty chair, and was able to detach the little bucket inside of it from the rest of the chair–a feature that probably made cleanup a lot easier. Now, it just looked like she was holding a plastic bowl of pee in her hands. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I offered no resistance as she pulled down my pants and opened the waistband of my diaper just enough so that she could tilt the bowl into it. Steadily and carefully, she spilled its contents into my diaper, watching to make sure that not a single drop was spilled. I could immediately feel the warm liquid rush past my cock and gather between my thighs–causing all the padding along the way to swell. It soaked the diaper in way that was a little different from when I’d wet it–causing the weight of it to feel dispersed differently.  I would’ve given anything in that moment to not be locked in a cage. “There we go,” she said, pulling my pants back up. She thrust the bowl into my hands. “When you have a chance, give that a good washing. Then you can put it back into the potty chair for later.” “Yes, Mommy.” And with that, I waddled away–a more pronounced waddle, given the need to adjust to the way Mommy’s piss sat in the diaper–ready to wash out the potty chair’s bowl that I’d only be dirtying myself later anyway.

Mommy picks him up and takes him to the changing table, taking off his wet diaper to start the change process   "Did you have a good nap, Benny?" She asks him 

AUTHOR'S NOTE: When it is released, readers following both stories should jump to AARDVARK, scene 9 (DESTINY'S CHILD).