Mommies and Daddies

Hilarious. Loved the weekend and the roadtrip down to Milano. It seems like an entertaining trip. Police check and all 🤭. Great interaction with Adam, and finding Sally’s newfound hobby: road trips? Theresa is back - almost - and Sally is in Milano. Looking forward to Tuscany.    Loved the behind the scenes. Airport VIP lounge?

Fascinating back and forth between Ian and Francine.  He is in soldier mode, and like Sarah she thinks of him as an overgrown baby.  So Sarah and Francine are reinforcing each other's fantasies.  When one of them starts lactating, he's in for it.

Sunday, Sunday, Sunday, fapday, fapday, fapday! My story is really detailed, but have you guys checked out Meeseeks88's "A Summer With Cristina"? Really great, less ridiculously detailed and just a 11/10 story. Love it and I'm only half way through. Are we making it to Amanda's today? Hmmm...   Chapter 22 The automatic doors sighed shut behind them, and the parking lot heat folded over Jacob like a damp towel. Despite the fresh air, his body couldn’t shake the claustrophobic feeling of wishing he was so small he couldn’t be seen, despite the many moments of giving in to the inevitable stares of thoughts that if he dwelled upon, such humiliation could send him spiraling out of his mind. The shortalls' denim rubbed against the insides of his thighs with every step, the fresh diaper underneath crinkling loud enough that he was sure it echoed off the parked cars. He could still feel Kayla's eyes on him from somewhere behind, imagined or real, it didn't matter anymore. Everything was imagined. Everything was real. The bulk between his legs forced his gait into that waddle he couldn't correct no matter how hard he tried — he'd tried, God, he'd tried in the fitting room mirror until Lana had laughed at him — and the crinkle-crackle-shush of the padding played a constant soundtrack under every footstep. Lana walked beside him with her keys swinging on one finger, sunglasses perched on her nose, utterly serene. "You know," she said, her voice carrying that warm, lazy tone she used when she was about to say something that would make his stomach drop, "Kayla was such a nice girl. Didn't you think so, sweetpea?" *Jacob kept his eyes on the pavement, counting the yellow parking lines. Seven. Eight. Nine.* "And I saw the way she was looking at you," Lana continued, clicking her key fob. The SUV's lights blinked in the distance, a patient gray beast waiting between a minivan and a landscaping truck. "I think she thought you were just a little cutie in your new shortalls. She was being very professional about it, but a mommy notices these things." *Ridiculous. She wasn’t. Kayla was just doing her job. People don't — nobody thinks a grown man in shortalls and a diaper is a — a cutie. That's not a thing that happens. She made that up to get inside my head.* Except the head it was in was his, and it lived there now, and the word *cutie* bounced around his skull like a marble in a bathtub and the look on her face engraved in his mind. They reached the SUV. Lana pressed her thumb against the trunk release, then paused, keys dangling, and looked at him over the rim of her sunglasses with a small, delighted smile. "You know what else I noticed?" she said. "All the people’s expressions seeing my cute boy this morning. The man at the coffee stand. Those two girls who kept popping up everywhere. The lady with the stroller — she actually smiled right at you, baby, then right back me —  just two mommies acknowledging each other and their little *cuties*." Something inside Jacob — some load-bearing wall that had been cracked since well before the fitting room, since Kayla's giggle and knowing glance — finally gave way. Lana opened the backseat door and turned to help him in, and Jacob stopped dead on the asphalt, and the dam broke. "I — I can't — M-Mommy, I—" The words came out mangled, half-swallowed, his voice pitching up into a register he didn't recognize as his own. His eyes burned and then blurred and then spilled over, hot tears sliding down his cheeks, and his lower lip shoved out in an enormous, helpless pout, entirely against his will, entirely like a toddler. The pacifier slipped from his mouth, bounced off his chin, and clattered onto the blacktop, rolling a slow half-circle by his sneaker. He stood there in the parking lot, a grown man in a bulging diaper and brand-new shortalls, crying in mall parking lot. *I'm crying. People can see me bawling. There's a women coming with her cart fullp. Oh God. Oh God. Stop. Stop it. Stop—* But the sobs kept coming, hiccuppy and wet, his shoulders jerking with each one. "P-please," he managed, the word dissolving into a moan, "please, I don't — I don't wanna—" Lana looked at him for a long moment. And here was the thing that made Jacob cry harder, the thing that hollowed him out completely: she didn't sigh. She didn't get flustered. She didn't tell him to pull himself together, because that would have meant admitting he was something other than what he appeared to be. She simply crouched, picked up the pacifier with two fingers, pulled a wipe from the diaper bag slung on her shoulder, and cleaned it off with the unhurried, practiced motions of a mother who had done this a thousand times and would do it a thousand more. Her expression was calm. Almost fond. As if his crying were as ordinary and as manageable as a spilled juice box. "There, there," she said softly, in the exact cooing register she used for everything — the register that stripped him of every adult year in one syllable. "I know, I know, sweetheart. It's been a big morning, hasn't it? So many people. Your new clothes. Needing your diaper changed. It's all just so much for a little baby." *Stop calling me — stop — I'm not — * But the protests never made it out of his mouth. The words felt trapped since last night. They just piled up behind his teeth like snow against a door. Lana guided him toward his seat with a hand on his shoulder — gentle, inexorable — and bent him through as he followed her motion. "Up we go, upsy-daisy, there we are." He sank into the seat, the diaper squishing audibly beneath him, and she reached across him, pulling the seatbelt strap over his chest with brisk efficiency, clicking the buckle home with a firm *snap*. Like he couldn't do it himself. Like he'd never done it himself, his whole life. She straightened, fished a tissue from her bag, and dabbed at his cheeks — under his left eye, under his right, catching the tears at his jaw where they gathered and dripped. Her touch was maddeningly tender. Jacob sobbed harder. "Shhh. Shhh now." She held the cleaned pacifier up between them, letting him look at it. "Binkie time, baby boy, for more reasons than one. Open up for Mommy." Jacob clamped his mouth shut and turned his face toward the window, a last flickering act of rebellion, tears still leaking steadily down his face. It was reflex more than resistance. His body's final, twitching protest. Lana didn't scold. She simply pressed the silicone nipple against his sealed lips and waited, her other hand coming up to rest flat against his chest, feeling his hiccupping breaths. Then, with the same steady patience she used for everything, she pushed. The pacifier deformed against his lips, pressed, pressed — and popped past them, settling onto his tongue. Jacob gagged softly on a sob, and Lana held it there, her palm warm over his mouth, keeping it in. "There we go. There's a good boy," she murmured, her voice dropping into a low, rocking-chair lullaby. "You don't need to cry, sweetheart. You don't need to cry at all. Big tears, such big tears for such a little baby. Shhh. Mommy's got you. You're safe. You're buckled in. You have your pacifier. Nothing to cry about, baby boy. Shhh." *She's not letting go. She's not letting go until I — until I —* Twenty seconds crawled past. Her palm stayed firm. Her eyes, behind the sunglasses, stayed kind and unmoving. His eyes fixated on her open chest as she leaned down and forward. A woman walked past the SUV with a shopping bag, glanced in, glanced away. Jacob only heard her steps and rustling shopping bags. His sobs hiccupped down to shudders, the shudders down to wet, hiccupping sniffles, and somewhere in there — without deciding to, which was the worst part — his mouth closed around the nipple and began to suck. "There he is," Lana whispered, easing her hand away inch by inch, watching for any backslide. "There's my good boy. Such a brave little man. All done crying." She smoothed his hair back from his damp forehead with two strokes. "All done his little moment." She closed his door with a padded thunk, loaded the shopping bags into the trunk with a series of rustles and thumps, and settled into the driver's seat. The engine turned over. The air conditioning breathed cold across his tear-streaked face. They pulled out of the lot in near silence. The only sounds were the tires, the vents, and the soft, rhythmic *sht-sht-sht* of Jacob sucking his pacifier, his eyes red and swollen, staring out the window at the storefronts sliding past. Every so often a sniffle escaped him, small and involuntary, and he would wipe his nose with the back of his wrist like a child, and Lana's eyes would flick up to the rearview mirror. "You know," she said after the third mile, in a tone of pleasant, speculative wonder, "I really can't believe it. I genuinely cannot *believe* what a sulky, whiny baby you are this morning. Crying in a parking lot! Your waddling and silly expressions, looking down all morning. Shuffling beside the cart." She tsked softly, shaking her head, merging onto the road toward Amanda's neighborhood. "Babies like you are just so *emotional*. It's a good thing Mommy doesn't mind. It's a good thing Mommy thinks it's absolutely precious when her wittle baby bawls his eyes out with his binkie in." *Precious. Precious. She's going to tell Amanda. She's going to tell Amanda everything. She's going to tell Amanda I cried and Amanda's going to — she’s going to see me just as everyone else did* Jacob sucked harder on the pacifier, cheeks hollowing, and turned his burning face toward the window. And that was when his body, with timing so cruel it had to be intentional on the universe's part, made its announcement. It started as a warmth low in his belly — the familiar pressure from this morning, back from its polite retreat, and this time it had brought reinforcements. A heavy, insistent fullness low in his bowels that made him shift against the seat, the diaper's padding compressing under his weight. He squeezed his thighs together beneath the shortalls. The crinkle answered him, loud in the quiet car. *No. No, not now. Not in the car. Not twenty minutes from Amanda's house. I can hold it. I can hold it, I can — I'm an adult, adults hold it — they won’t want me to do this. They won’t want to change this — that's the one thing last hope that I — * The pressure doubled down. His bladder throbbed, a full, urgent ache, and his stomach cramped with a slow, rolling squeeze that left no ambiguity about its timeline. Jacob's hands curled into fists on his knees. His breath went shallow through his nose. He glanced at Lana in the mirror — she was humming now, tapping the wheel, the picture of a woman with nowhere urgent to be. He could say something. He could say *Mommy, I need you to stop.* He could take the pacifier out and ask like an adult for a restroom, and she would say — she would say *what do babies need restrooms for?* — and every mile that ticked past made the asking harder and the holding worse. His bladder gave first. He clenched against it and felt the pee escape anyway, a hot involuntary trickle that bloomed against the padding and then, once it started, refused to stop, spreading in a slow warm flood across the front of the diaper, the padding drinking it in, swelling thicker between his legs. He whimpered around the pacifier — a thin, high *nnnh, nnnh* — and Lana's eyes found him in the mirror. "Uh oh," she sang, delighted. "I know that look. I know that look *exactly*. Is somebody going potty in his diapee? Is that what's happening back there? Is my wittle baby going pee-pee in his pants like a toddler?" *Stop. Stop watching. Stop watching me do this.* But the flood kept coming, and there was nothing to do but sit in it, the heat pooling under him, the seatbelt holding him snugly in his own spreading warmth. And his bowels — his bowels were not waiting for an answer. The cramp came again, deeper, heavier, a point of no return that his body announced by simply relaxing the muscles he'd been clenching. Jacob's eyes went wide. He gripped the seatbelt strap. And the urge crested so hard and so total that fighting it felt like trying to hold a door against a tide. "Mmm — nnn — mmph—" The grunts started escaping around the pacifier before he could stop them, small, straining, unmistakable, each one jerking his shoulders forward against the belt. And then the dashboard chirped. A bright notification flashed on the screen, beeping cheerfully, and Jacob — mid-push, mid-grunt, face crimson — read it upside down and sideways in horrifying clarity: **AMANDA: Hey! Everything's ready and you won't believe it!!** *No. No no no. Not now. She's — she's texting — everyone — I'm sitting in the back of a car soiling myself while Amanda texts about — ready — ready for WHAT — * His brain, already drowning, bifurcated into two screaming channels: the relentless, unavoidable pushing happening below, and the absolute mortification raining down from the dashboard. He was double-exposed. Passing cars on his left. His own body betraying him from within. Amanda's enthusiasm waiting at the end of the drive like a party he'd never agreed to attend. Lana glanced at the screen, then at the mirror, then back at the road, and laughed — a light, easy laugh. She thumbed a quick reply at a red light. **LANA: I know your skills but shhh, we're in the car, be there in less than half hour.** The phone chirped again almost instantly. **AMANDA: Okay, can't wait!** *Skills. What skills. What can’t she — she can't wait for — * Jacob's thoughts smeared into static as the next wave hit, and there was no room left for Amanda, no room for anything but the immense, grinding effort of what his body was doing. He pushed. He couldn't not push. The mess emerged slowly, thick and warm and relentless, packing into the back of the diaper, spreading against the seat beneath him, the padding ballooning outward and pressing up between his legs as he bore down, again, again — his grunts coming louder now, open-mouthed around the pacifier, *unnh — nnnh — hnnnh* — each push seating him lower into his own mess, the shortalls' snug crotch straining outward against the swelling bulk. "Oh, *sweetheart*," Lana crooned, and Jacob could hear the grin in it, could hear her adjusting the mirror to watch. "Listen to those grunts! Such a busy little boy. Such big pushes! You're really going, aren't you, baby? Filling up your diapee like a good boy while Mommy drives you to Amanda's house. And here I thought you were going to be shy about it in front of me — nope! Not my wittle man. Not my brave stinky soldier. Go on, keep pushing, honey. Mommy's watching. Mommy's *so* proud." *Proud. She said proud. She's watching me — she's watching me poop myself and she's — nnnh — proud —* The word *proud* did something unspeakable to the wires in his chest, crossed humiliation with something warm and horrible, and Jacob pushed again just to make the moment end faster, which of course only prolonged it, which of course she knew. It went on for the better part of five minutes. Waves of it, his body taking its time, the diaper swelling into an enormous warm saddle beneath him, the smell rising gradually — earthy, unmistakable, filling the backseat with the plain fact of what he'd done. His grunts softened into whimpers. His whimpers cracked into sniffles. And then, as the last of it passed and he sagged into the seatbelt, spent and sitting in the bulging, heavy aftermath, the tears came back all at once — big, silent ones first, then the hiccupping sobs, his shoulders shuddering, his face pressed against the cool window glass. The crying, this time, wasn't about Kayla. It wasn't about the shortalls or the changeroom girl or the ridiculous baby treatment and babytalk her was mercilessly and constantly subject to. It was something older and simpler: he was sitting in his own mess. Not just sitting in it. He was in the back of the car, sucking a pacifier, on his way to a neighbor's house, and there was nothing — nothing at all — that he was going to do about any of it. Lana drove on for a moment, letting him cry, the mirror fixed on him. Then, with a mother's unbothered efficiency, she pressed the button for the front windows, then reached over to the back controls and cracked the rear windows a few inches as well. The rushing wind threaded through the car, stirring the smell away in thin ribbons. She caught his red, swollen eyes in the mirror and gave him a look of such exaggerated, theatrical pity that Jacob sobbed harder. "Oh, stinky baby," she cooed, shaking her head slowly. "Stinky, stinky little boy. Look at you. All those tears and all that grunting and now Mommy has to open the windows, and we're almost to Amanda's house." She let that land, watching his face crumple in the mirror. "It looks like you've got a surprise for Amanda as well, stinky-bum. Something big and heavy in your diapee, wrapped up like a present! I wonder — *I wonder* — what Amanda is going to think about what her big stinky guest did on the ride over." The sulk was a vortex. The rest of the ride was purgatory. Jacob’s thoughts were few. *Suck-suck-suck* on his pacifier. Radio barely loud enough to hear above the sounds of the world around them, white noise up and down from red light to red light, until Stop signs appeared. She turned onto Amanda's street, the houses ticking past, one of them — with the garden flags and the welcoming porch — rapidly approaching, and Lana pulled smoothly past their own house and into Amanda's empty driveway, shifted into park, and turned all the way around in her seat to look at him properly. “Let’s go, poopy-pants."

Yes a deep regression sometimes can be disorienting for sure, I’ve had few of those

Soon the mascot bear talked about the importance of nature, what trees did and what certain insects looked like from a round the world and poisonous insects that have to be avoided. How to doing the presentation and making a few bad jokes and puns I got the kids to laugh, he even went around and gave a little gifts to the kids like a ranger hat or a pair of stylish binoculars with cartoon characters on them After that Ada said, "Thank you Ranger Roybear, now kids it's lunch time but when you get back home please write a report about what you found and what you learned from Ranger Roybear." Soon the kids parents or caregivers took out lunch boxes and opened up for their little ones Camilla did the same for Madison before checking her phone for any messages.