Cloth Diapers & Panties

I’m in Kingstree.

Hi, 👋 I'm new too. I'm southwest UK 😊

Wow, an 18 year necro post? You may not know this, but google translate works wonders. You can paste in your German and copy out the English translation for then pasting it here. It's a common courtesy thing for an English based forum to all be in English. It will only take you a minite, and it saves everyone else from having to spend a minute each, to translate it over and over again. Or otherwise saves someone else from having to fix your post by translating it for everyone else.  This is by no means a rule or requirement, and I'm simply asking you to consider making your posts so everyone else can read them too. Speaking for myself, I'm just going to keep ignoring what you're actually trying to say. 

Oh, woah, we're almost at the very end of the story. Good news if you hate this story! Bad news if you wish it went on forever! But next week I'll be sharing the last two chapters. And after that? Somethin' new (and 100% less wacky alternate dimension hijinks, I swear).   Sixty-Nine: Mother and I The world, the universe, reality as a whole, is in complete disarray.  That’s my fault. Me–the collective me. Hundreds or thousands of Alfies, converged into the giant, stupid baby that broke everything. I’ve since unbonded with the other Alfies, though I haven’t a clue what happened to them. Like everything else, I imagine they’re scattered across space and time–just more casualties of my recklessness. Looking at the madness around me–buildings colliding with each other in mid-air; new moons and suns hanging in the sky above us; giant women clashing with giant robots that look straight out of some 80s anime; mountains splintering into pieces; entire bodies of water lifting into the air and twisting around in strange shapes–I can’t help but think of my loved ones. Sam. Maxine. Nikki. Anders. Celia. Tommy. Sloane. Has this chaos reached them? Are they safe? I’ve been beating myself up a little, dwelling on the fact that I had foolishly allowed myself to cause so much chaos throughout reality. But it’s such an absurd amount of chaos that I can’t properly grasp it. In a way, I’m reminded of the guilt I felt when I was a child, and had carelessly broken something like a lamp or a vase of my mother’s while playing. My mother and I both knew that I didn’t mean to do it, but it could’ve been prevented if I was a little more careful–or if I just didn’t play in that area at all. But, well, a vase and all of reality are two very different things. I just just don’t know how to feel guilt over mass destruction on a cosmic scale. The longer I sit with these thoughts, the deeper I delve into what I’ve done–the worse I feel.  “Alfie,” I hear Mother’s voice saying. It’s all around me. It’s in my head. As always, I never really know where it’s coming from. We haven’t spoken in a while–not since she said something about how Mother wanted me as the price for helping to fix everything. Whatever that means. “Mother,” I say in response. My voice is low, though I still suspect she can hear me. “Are you ready to talk?” she asks. No, not really. I’ve never really been ‘ready’ for any of this. I don’t think I’ve ever been ‘ready’ for anything in my entire life. I wasn’t ready for the Cradle. I wasn’t ready for diapers. I wasn’t ready for this surrealistic trip through the diapered-multiverse. I’m not ready to have a ‘talk’ with Mother now about my own fate, as well as the fate of everything else.  But I guess that’s never really mattered, has it? I’ve always adapted. Acclimated. Made peace with things changing. Would this be any different? I sigh and shrug. “As ready as I’ll ever be.” “Perhaps we need a change of scenery…” she says. “Uh, whatever.” It’s hard to care, honestly. I feel guilty and stupid. In a moment, everything around me is gone, replaced by Mother’s trademark white, empty space. === “We need to remove ourselves from all those distractions if we want to have a meaningful conversation,” she says. We’re surrounded by the bleak whiteness for a few moments before walls, a floor, and a ceiling are instantaneously summoned around us. It’s a nondescript room–the walls are just as white as what I would see if they weren’t there–but there’s a little bit of comfort to be found here in this simple space. With its singular door, and humming fluorescent lights hung above us, it feels real without commanding all of my attention. She’s here with me too, clad in her loose robes. ‘She.’ An avatar of her–a manifestation, a representation. Her pawn on the board game. It’s nice to have a physical presence to talk to, but I’m no longer buying this version of her–the one that looks and talks like Harriet. It’s a stolen body–a stolen life.  “How am I supposed to take anything you say seriously when you can’t even be bothered to show me the real you?” I ask. She laughs. “Alfie, there is no ‘real’ me, don’t you understand? I’m not like you. I don’t have a defined shape. There’s no ‘real me’ to see. I’m not an…individual like you. You have to stop thinking of me like another human. Because I’m not one of you.” The secret of the universe, I remind myself, is that some things will never be fully understood or explained.  It’s best not to harp on the things I can’t fully grasp, and to instead concentrate on the more pressing matters. “You said that you could help me fix everything?” “I can,” she says. “My first question is: Why would you want to?” I’m realizing now that I’m standing here, in this white space naked. No, not completely naked…I’m in a diaper. Did I do that? Or did she? Or is this just my cosmic default now? “As I mentioned earlier,” she says, stepping closer to me. “It doesn’t benefit either one of us if the multiverse is kept in this state. Things need to be put back where they belong.” “You can do that?” “I’ve never had to before,” she says. “Perhaps. But…” It’s rare that I hear a note of doubt in her tone. “But?” “I’m not sure that I could do it alone.” I let out a laugh. “Surely you’re not suggesting that you’d need my help. I’m an anomaly, remember? A freak. A mistake.” Upon saying this, I feel a ripple of something–an energy that’s still alien to me–coursing through my body. At times, this energy almost seems to beg for release, or to be utilized. It makes my heart race and limbs feel restless. “I never called you a ‘mistake,’ Alfie. An anomaly isn’t a bad thing–it’s just an unexpected thing. You’ve done things that nobody else has ever done. Things I’ve never seen myself. I think it hints at a power greater than you even know.” “Oh,” I say softly. “Weird.” I guess I believe that, or at least I’m willing to take her word for it. “Together,” she says, “we could do anything we wanted. We could fix the damage you’ve done. Or we could start over–rebuild a better universe. The possibilities are endless.” “I…I’m not God.” She laughs at this. “You humans are so amusing.” “You really think we could do that?” I ask. “You think we could fix everything? Uh, reset it? Put it back to the way it was before?” She nods. “I do.” “And then what?” “What do you mean?” “What happens after that?” “Well…” But I don’t let her finish that thought. “We go back to whatever you think of ‘business as usual?’ You continue to, uh, feed off of my world and all those other ones? You trick people into being giant babies? You selfishly consume without any thought for the lives you’re affecting?” “That’s not how I was going to put it.” “And what about me?” I ask. “What happens to me after we do…whatever it is we’re going to do together.” “You and I will bond together,” she says. “We’ll become something new. DIfferent. Something better, you see? Something unlike anything that’s ever been known before. Who knows, maybe the end result is something that’s better for everyone.” “And if I don’t want that?” I ask. “Well…then the state of the universe, as it is now, is all we’ll ever have, moving forward. It’s not a pretty sight, is it? Unsustainable. It’ll probably collapse eventually. And then, there’ll be nothing at all.” “So, this is kind of an ultimatum, huh? Join you and fix everything, or…cease to exist?” “It would seem that way. I laugh and throw my hands up into the air. “I mean…obviously I’m not so selfish that I’m going to let everything just, uh, get obliterated. I’ll do whatever it takes. I mean…no, I don’t really want to bond with you. I don’t want to become something new. I just want to be me. I just want my life back. I just want things to be the way they used to be. I want my stupid drama with my lovelife. I want to go back to the time when nothing made me angrier than my dad dating my ex-girlfriend. I just want to wear a diaper and play some videogames. I want to see Nikki and…I want to kiss Nikki right on the goddamn lips.” “I…understand,” Mother says. I sigh again. “No you don’t.” “No…maybe I’ll never grasp humanity quite like you have. But I’m envious of you–all of you humans, and your small lives.” “Hey…” “No,” she says, shaking her head. “I mean no disrespect by that. It’s a good thing. So much of my existence is…big. Everything is on a macro-scale–levels beyond what you could perceive.” I roll my eyes. It kind of sounds like she’s bragging. She continues: “But in observing you humans–in interacting with you and learning everything that I can about you–I’ve grown jealous of the relationships you have and the lives you lead. Families. Friendships. Partners. The dramatic moments and the celebrations. The seemingly insignificant things you obsess over–music, woodworking, sports, cooking. It’s fascinating.” “Yeah,” I say, nodding my head. “Those are the things I miss too. Maybe not, uh, woodworking. But…yeah.” “I don’t like many things,” Mother says. “I don’t get attached. But I’ve grown fond of you, Alfie.” “Me?” She laughs. “Across all of the universes, you’re one of my favorite humans I’ve ever observed.” I laugh at this, an honest-to-goodness cackle. “You’re just making shit up now. I’m not interesting. Or special.” “Perhaps, from your perspective, you see being ‘interesting’ as having wealth. Or skills and talents. An abundance of friends and lovers. The ability to travel often. But from my own perspective, I find your life more interesting–more indicative of the actual human experience. Messy relationships. Directionless and struggling. Self doubts. Your life is littered with imperfections.” “Gee, thanks…” “And yet you get out of bed every morning,” she continues. “You live your life. Everyday, the story of your life continues, and you make the best of it. Sometimes you strive harder than others, and sometimes you’re rewarded for that. Sometimes you’re set back. And what do you do then? You adapt. You move on.” I swallow, feeling my face getting hot. I suppose she has described my life. But isn’t that the life of so many others too? Or maybe that’s the point–that my life was so indicative of the average human experience. I’m somehow both an anomaly and a representative of the status quo. I ask: “Well…that’s really nice to hear, I guess. But I don’t know what to do with that.” “Perhaps I could benefit from your humanity, Alfie. Join me. I think I need that just as much as I need your help in correcting everything that’s gone wrong.” I sigh–that was probably exactly what I needed to hear. What other choice do I have? “This isn’t a trick?” I ask. “A hoax? A scam? You’re not going to take my body and become some evil multi-dimensional terror?” Well, she might already be exactly that, but it seems impolite to point that out now. “It’d be just as much your body as mine,” she says.  “So…let’s say I want to do that. What do we do then?” “Come here, Alfie,” she says, an outstretched hand beckoning me to come closer to her. “I’ll show you.” === I’m going to guess that Mother has never done this before–she’s never combined her form with another’s to become something new. I could be wrong about that, of course–but I just get the impression that this is new territory for her as well. I take a few steps closer towards her, my thick diaper crinkling between my thighs as I do. I almost forgot about that, and when I hear it, I can’t help but smile. It just feels right, even now. I’m reminded of the very first time that we met each other, all that time ago–back at The Cradle. I was led into a dark room, illuminated by candles, and there she was–glowing like a goddess in front of me. As if responding to my memories, the room grows a little darker. It gets harder to see the walls. Little splotches of warm light begin to spring up around the room, as candles appear where they weren’t before. Soon enough, they are the only source of light here. Now, it feels almost exactly as it did when I first met her. It occurs to me that I might have just changed the ambience here myself–I was able to warp reality to match what I’m imagining. She lifts her hand and gently strokes my cheek with her fingers. “This was how it all started, wasn’t it?” I nod my head. “And perhaps this will be how it ends too.” I have questions. I want to ask her how she thinks we’ll do this, or how she knows that her plan–whatever it is–will work. Yet, somewhere deep in my mind, I feel that I already know the answers. She was right–something has awoken in me. There’s a thrumming in my chest and my nerves feel like sparking wires. With a little more concentration, I feel like I could do almost anything. Yes, we could merge our bodies, I think. I just know this to be true. It would be like it was earlier, when I absorbed the other Alfies.  “Do you miss the taste of the milk?” she asks. Her voice is low and sultry. She’s talking directly into my ear. “I do,” I say.  “Do you wish to taste it again?” “Could I? Here? Now?” It might ask like I’m asking permission, but the reality is that I’m asking if it’s even possible. I suspect she knows what I mean, though, and she nods her head slowly. “Taste it again.” It’s a command, not a request. I like that. As we’re both standing, I place my hands on her sides to support myself. I lower my body, just a little–just enough so that my face is level with her chest. In a moment, the robes are pulled aside, though I’m not sure that either one of us pulled the fabric aside. No matter. And there they are, those perfect breasts. The soft skin, the exquisite shape, that lovely little bounce and wiggle they have when her body shifts slightly. The dark flesh of her nipples call to me, almost literally, with fine beads of white milk budding at their tips. It’s an invitation, and my body responds with a watering mouth, wide eyes, and a rock-hard cock inside of my large diaper. I don’t need her to give me any further instruction. I lean forward and swallow one of them whole, taking it in my mouth and forming a tight seal around it with my lips. “Yes,” she says. “Suckle.” I do exactly that. Without even thinking about it, my mouth knows just what to do. Almost immediately, I form a rhythm in my sucking. I draw a shot of her milk into my mouth. Savor it. Swallow it. Repeat. Over and over again. It’s sweet on my tongue. As sweet as I remember it being. Maybe even sweeter. A taste to which I have little to compare it to.  Mother moans, her hands gently cupping the back of my head now, holding me in place and encouraging me to continue. I do wonder, albeit with a voice that’s very quiet and mostly obscured by everything else going on right now, if she is actually feeling pleasure or if she’s just doing this for my benefit. Can the greater entity of Mother feel pleasure?  A familiar haze washes over me–it’s similar to the one I’ve always felt while guzzling her precious milk. But this is different. No part of me feels my agency being stripped away from me. I don’t seem to be regressing. I’m not slipping into some infantile stupor. No, it almost seems to be having the exact opposite effect on me. It’s empowering me. Activating every single part of my body and mind.  She moans again, and it prompts me to also release a passionate, albeit muffled, note into her soft flesh as I suckle from her.  “Such a good little boy, Alfie,” she says. “You’ve always been.” There’s no end to her delicious bounty, nor do I think there’s a limit to my appetite. I feel like I could do this for hours. Days. Eons, if given the chance. “My little boy,” she coos. “My Alfie. Fill yourself with me.” But new wants are slowly revealing themselves to me. I want–no, need–more.  I try and pull my mouth away from her tit, just enough so that I can flex my lips and speak. “M-Mother…” “Yes?” she asks, her voice calm and musical. “More…” “Oh yes, well you’ll need more if we’re going to finish what we started.” Started? Have we actually begun this…bonding process? “Are you full?” she asks. “Have you had enough?” “Y-yes.” My face is wet and slick. Strings of saliva and milk connect my lips to her breast. My tongue emerges from my mouth, and I let a drop or two roll off her nipple onto the tip of it. No, I don’t think I’ll ever have had ‘enough,’ though I do stand before her now with a belly full of her milk. She smiles at me, staring deep into my eyes. But I only know this because I’m staring into her eyes just as hard. I can see into her. I can see beyond the facade she’s created to interact with me. I can see her. Mother, the true version of Mother. Amorphous and vast, she truly is unlike anything that humans should be able to comprehend. But in a strange way, she’s also quite beautiful. Suddenly, I feel myself wetting my diaper. I don’t think, in a place like this, I truly ‘have’ to pee. But I’m so lost in the sight of her true form–in the awe of just her presence and this moment–that my body has run out of ways to express itself. This is all I have left–using my diaper like a baby. Oh fuck. It’s a damn good piss, too. It’s one of those–the pisses where you might have been holding it for much longer than you should have, and it’s a miracle that you haven’t released it sooner. One of those pees where you feel like your eyes might roll into the back of your head as you let out a moan and hope that nobody else can hear it.  “You’re always such a little baby, aren’t you?” she asks, her voice quiet. “Uh… Ahh…” “I understand,” she says. “And, well, you’re so good at it. Why shouldn’t you be?” “It…it’s an homage to you,” I say. “I made this diaper for you.” “Mm. For me?” One of her hands leaves my face, and a moment later, I feel it pressing into my diaper. She cups the bottom of it, feeling the newly added heft. She runs her fingers up the front of it, exploring the segue between the sagging padding and the bulge of my throbbing cock. Another long moan erupts from my mouth. “Such a good little baby,” she repeats. “My little baby.” “Y-your…little baby…” I say. “All mine. Mother and son.” “M-mother and…son.” The words just sort of tumble out of my mouth. “I think it’s time,” she says.  “Time?” “Join me, Alfie.” Both of her hands are on my diaper now, reaching around my body so that they cradle my fluffy, padded ass. The heavy sog in the garment’s front hasn’t quite reached back there yet. Maybe it will in time. I can’t help but briefly imagine what it might be like to mess at this very moment. I could if I wanted to. I could choose to just suddenly push a soft and mushy load into the back of my diapers, while her hands are back there–giving her the chance to feel the new lumps and bulges grow. I don’t, though. That sort of restraint is hard for me. She pulls me in closer to her. My diaper–more specifically, the firm tent in the front of my diaper–is the first thing to press against her. Then, her chest presses against mine. Her belly against my belly. Her thighs are pressed against my thighs. Her skin is soft and warm. I want to curl up in a little ball and sleep on her, she feels so good pressed against me. She no longer looks like Harriet, but I can’t say for sure who she looks like anymore. Feminine and beautiful, yes, but her face has an almost liquid-quality to it–constantly shifting and morphing in subtle ways. Sometimes, I can almost see a recognizable face. Maxine. Celia. Mirabelle. And sometimes–most of the time–it’s faces I’ve never seen before. Maybe they aren’t anyone.  I’m tempted to ask her what it is I’m supposed to do, but I think I might already know.  I wrap my arms around her now. Her robe is gone. My diaper–and everything I deposited into it–is gone. I know what I want to do, and I feel certain that it’s the same thing as what I have to do.  We might be horizontal now. She might be on her back and I might be on top of her. But it’s just as possible that there’s no longer any such thing as ‘vertical’ and ‘horizontal.’ The candles, the walls, even the floor–those things no longer seem to exist. We might just be floating, or maybe we’re on some sort of surface that we just can’t see. Honestly, it doesn’t really matter–I don’t really care about where we are. I don’t care about how any of this is possible. It just is, and that’s all I need to know right now. Her body is below mine (or maybe it’s on top of mine?). We gaze into each other’s eyes. It’s not ‘love,’ I don’t think. There’s a fire between us, but it feels different, separate, from the concept of true love. We’re pieces of an absurd puzzle that nobody’s ever been able to put together before now, about to snap together to achieve completion.  I open my mouth, ready to fall into my old habit of trying to verbally confirm what’s about to happen. “So…you want me to, uh, put it in ya, huh?” But, for perhaps the first time in my life, I feel like I don’t actually have to say anything. I just inherently know what has to be done, and what my part in it is.  She spreads her legs. I don’t want to take my eyes off her face, but I also wish that I could watch as her thighs part, revealing the glory of what’s between them. But I can still feel with my hand. Smooth, soft skin. Slick with wetness. I’m a little startled at how human she feels, but I’m also well aware that she created this body to feel that way. I moan. She moans. It’s a new language that we invent on the spot to communicate with each other, and it’s like we both immediately understand it. Not that we have that much we need to say, honestly. The conversation is essentially: “Okay, well, I’ve got my cock in my hand,” which is responded to with: “Okay, you know what to do with that, right?” Of course I do.  I start sliding myself inside of her, slow and with extreme caution–though I feel this is as much for my sake as hers. It might look and feel like a vagina, but do I actually know what I’m actually sticking myself into? Oh yeah…this is different. I’ve had sex before. Good sex. Bad sex. But this…I don’t know how to categorize it. Oh, it’s sex, don’t get me wrong. But the usual things I feel–the nerves that are activated and even how my entire body absorbs that pleasure–are unlike anything I’ve experienced. It’s a gratification that I feel more in the core of my being than just contained within my cock as it slips in and out from her. My body is the cock, I tell myself, though I’m not sure I understand what that actually means. What follows next is a sensation that is a little familiar to me, though just as strange as when I experienced it the last time: the feeling that there is no longer a boundary between where my body ends and Mother’s begins. It’s not completely dissimilar from when I had absorbed all of the other Alfies–the feeling of my body somehow expanding and absorbing another lifeform into it. Though this is certainly different, as it feels like she’s absorbing me just as much as I’m absorbing her. Somewhere, deep in the back of my mind–in the last bastion of rational thought that I have–I’m worried that this is a bad idea. Can I really trust Mother? What if she’s playing a very advanced game, one whose rules I’d never come close to comprehending? Mother’s body–the avatar, the pawn, the physical manifestation representing a greater and unknowable entity–seems to be unraveling before me. But, for that matter, so is my own. I mean this quite literally–our bodies seem to be falling apart. I look down at my arms and see that they’re stretched and taught in a way that shouldn’t be possible. My fingers are no longer fingers, they’re segments of garden hoses that just sort of flap around. For a moment, I think of one of those inflatable noodle-men that you see in front of car dealerships and new mattress stores. But it’s a fleeting thought, and one of the last that I can be sure is entirely my own. Our bodies are spiraling together now, like we’re caught in a whirlpool being sucked down into the depths. My body is no longer, well, my body. Now, there’s no uncertainty about it–we’re merging together. We’re becoming something new. Different.  I can sense her thoughts now, just as I’m sure that she can sense mine. And while most of what’s coursing through her mind is absolutely alien and strange to me, I can still grasp the very basic emotions she’s feeling. Confusion, worry, doubt. Just like me. How about that? She might be more human than she thinks. And this is at about the point where I, Alfie as I know myself, ceases to exist. I am no more. Mother, for as much or as little as I knew what she was before, is no more. Now, we are something new, Mother and I.  === What happens next is, in a way, unknowable. Because I, Alfie, am not there to witness it.. Yes, technically, I suppose I am, considering that I am now half of the entity that Mother and I have become. But that entity has their own consciousness–a network of knowledge, wisdom, ideas, emotions, beliefs, desires, frustrations, and needs–that is unique to both Mother and I. If ‘Alfie’ or ‘Mother’ exist, it’s only as scattered memories and concepts, lost in the abyss of this new thing that’s taken our place. I’m not fully privy to what transpires at this time.  Later, little details and minutia–the bits that my human brain can parse, at least–will dance across my mind when I’m least expecting it. They’re not memories, per se, they’re more like…vibes. Half-thoughts and foggy notions about Mother and I’s time bonded together, giving me the slightest bit of insight as to what happened when ‘Alfie’ was no longer there. Sharing these glimpses now is the best that I can do. ‘We’–the best I can do at naming the result of our union–is aware of why Mother and I wanted to bond together in the first place, and what we were hoping to achieve. ‘We’ take stock of who it is that we are now. While there is a physical component to our body, it doesn’t seem as important as the rest of our existence–which is bound to a more ethereal plane. To describe what we look like now would be impossible. Not only is our shape fluid and rapidly morphing and changing, but there’s no precedent for this appearance. It is something that’s never been seen before, and may never be seen again after this. But the state of our body is among the least significant matters right now.  ‘We,’ carefully surveying the state of the universe, quickly come to the same conclusion that Mother and I had: Things have gone cataclysmically bad. Someone or something has to fix that. ‘We’ consider whether or not it’s possible to do anything. ‘We’ come to the conclusion that, yes, ‘we’ have the ability to fix this.  ‘We,’ through a thoughtful analysis of what our new form is capable of, develop a plan as to how we can achieve ‘fixing’ everything.  ‘We’ see that there’s only one solution–the same that I had proposed previously. A reboot, of sorts, is in order. ‘We’ shall restore the multiverse back to a point before everything fell to pieces. ‘We’ can do that now, we’re certain of it. But what then? ‘We’ are concerned that simply ‘resetting’ the timeline isn’t a sufficient solution, as all of this could just occur again. No, ‘We’ need to not only go backwards in time, but be able to alter some aspect of the events that transpire to prevent this from becoming an issue again. And, for that matter, ‘We’ have to consider when in the timeline it’s most appropriate to set things back to. Yes, ‘We’ suppose we have the power to reset time before some of the greatest calamities, travesties, tragedies, mistakes, wars, and crises that living beings have ever experienced. But if we could avoid those things from happening, aren’t we invalidating the decisions that mortal beings have made? Invalidating the good and bad consequences that came as a result of those decisions?  Who are ‘We’ to judge what was ever ‘right’ or ‘wrong?’ No, ‘We’ do not see ourselves as a god. We don’t want to rewrite history. ‘We’ simply want to correct the mistake that ‘We’ made. That I made.  The obvious solution, then, is to reset time to the latest possible moment–just before things spiraled out of control. ‘We’ believe we’ve found just the right moment. And all that’s left is the question of what we do to prevent this from happening again. And to answer that question, we first must answer the question of: What was the problem in the first place? The answer is surprisingly obvious: Mother. Her existence is alien to every world in the multiverse. She’s an element of chaos that inevitably brings chaos to the complex systems of order that each world has slowly cultivated since they were first born. ‘We’ then have to ponder: What is to be done with Mother? Eliminate her? That…seems harsh and unfair. She, too, is a living thing–just doing the thing that comes naturally to her. But ‘We’ see another path. Rifling through the memories and thoughts of Mother, ‘We’ sense that she, too, has grown weary of her path. She’s been jealous of humanity for quite some time now. On many occasions, she’s had the thought: “If I could, I’d be human too, just like them.” ‘We’ ask ourself: “Is she sure that’s what she wants? Would she truly be happy with that?” Yes, ‘We’ think that she would. The path forward becomes obvious, then. ‘We’ reset time at the latest possible point, across all worlds in the multiverse. This alone would cost us most of our power, as this is as great of an undertaking as it sounds. Then, after, ‘We’ use the last of our strength to separate once more. Alfie and Mother. Except Mother is given her own, mortal, body. And just like how every world has its own Aflie, every world would have its own Mother–albeit, human just like the rest of us. That would be it. The end of ‘We.’ The end of Mother. The end of Alfie, the anomaly. ‘We’ are sure that we can achieve this. It’s just a matter of doing, so long as ‘We’ want to.  ‘We’ do want this, right? Yes. === Somewhere–everyhwere–things are changing. The universe is being put back together again. Everything is returning to where it came from originally, in the place that it belongs. And it comes at the cost, as ‘We’ knew it would, of us. Our body is breaking down; disintegrating.  There is light and loudness. It’s chaos, but a different kind of chaos from the type that ruined everything in the first place. Amidst this chaos, I begin to find my own voice again. My own thoughts. Alfie lives once more–and I sense that Mother’s thoughts and memories are fading from my mind. “Alfie,” Mother says. I cannot ‘see’ her, nor can she see me, I don’t think. For the moment, we’re just consciousnesses intertwined with each other. “Mother.” Before she can say anything else, I feel compelled to say: “I’m sorry.” “Sorry? For what.” “Well…if I hadn’t ruined everything, we wouldn’t have to fix it. And if we didn’t have to fix everything, you could still be…you.” “Alfie…” There’s a long pause. “You did the right thing. Regardless of your intentions, you forced me to…change.” “Hmm?” When she speaks next, there’s something new in her tone that I don’t know I’ve ever heard so clearly as I do now: humor? “Life is a diaper, remember? And sometimes, whether we want to or not, it’s time to change ourselves.” I don’t know that I can physically smile right now, but I have a, sorta, emotional smile now. She really was right about that. Life is a diaper. I ask: “Are you scared about what’s going to happen next? About…being human?” “I’ve never truly experienced fear before,” she says. “I’m excited about that, honestly.” Maybe there’s more to say, or more we’d like to say, but our time is up. Our consciousnesses are now fully unraveling from each other. The chaos is subsiding. Reality is slowly coming into focus. Everything is entirely white again, but just for the slightest moment before everything becomes a more familiar black. The black I see when my eyes are closed.  And so I open my eyes. The very first thing I see is Nikki. And her fist is headed right towards my face. Seventy: Dispelled Nikki’s Story, Continued (picking up right where she left off in Chapter 45) The one they call ‘Mother’ says: “Come closer, Nikki. Just once, allow yourself to let go of everything.” And I take a small step towards her.  I honestly have no idea if I want to take her up on her offer, or if she’s making me think that I am. “Alfie,” I say, as if calling out to him for help. A silly gesture, I know–but it’s the only thing I can think to do as Mother’s milky breast seems to get closer and closer to my face. “Nikki,” a voice mutters softly.  Is that… It is. That’s Alfie’s voice. I spin around, seeing the body in that giant crib starting to sit up. “Alfie!” I’ve snapped out of whatever brief haze I felt myself slipping into. “Nikki,” he says. “Y-you… You have to…” I rush to the side of the crib. “What? What is it, Alfie?” “You have to…drink the milk.” Suddenly I know, deep in my soul, that this is not Alfie. Not the Alfie I know, at least. “Fuck,” I mutter under my breath, feeling stuck between Mother and ‘Alfie’ in the crib. Coming to California. All this planning and plotting. Building these relationships. Was it all so that I would just end up here–falling into the same trap that Alfie might have?  I can’t help but think that I was a fool to have come here.  Alfie’s hands slowly emerge through the bars of the crib, grabbing at a latch that keeps him contained within it. With a flip of his fingers, he manages to activate it, allowing the side of the crib to slide down, and with that, he’s free.  It’s…confusing. I’m happy to see Alfie, and happy to see that he’s awake and functioning. But something is wrong with him right now, and I feel like I can’t trust him.  I take a step backwards, attempting to put some space between myself, Mother, and Alfie. But here, in the confined space of this little shed-like structure, there’s not a lot of places to go. Mother remains standing stationary–she seems to be waiting for me to approach her. I think she expects that, eventually, I’ll do exactly that. She assumes that I’ll be out of options. That I’ll have finally given up and given in. She assumes that she’ll have worn me down and that I’ll conform just like the rest of her little pet ‘babies.’ I don’t think she knows me very well. “Nikki,” Alfie says, slowly lumbering towards me like a diapered zombie–his face half-sleepy and dazed. “Drink the milk. Join us.” I draw in a long breath, shake my head, and let out the longest sigh I can ever remember sighing. “Don’t come any closer, Alfie,” I say. “Or whoever the hell you are now.” “Nikki,” he says. “Drink the–” But he doesn’t get to finish that thought. I hate that I have to resort to this, but he’s getting too close to me, and I just don’t trust whatever kind of bad-Mother-magic is going on here. I let my instincts take over, and my instincts say that I need to keep him away from me by whatever means possible. So my hands lash out.  And, well, I punch Alfie in the face. Right in his eye. With a surprised “Guh!” he stumbles back a step before falling backwards entirely. There’s a moment, just a fraction of a second, where his body seems to be completely airborne, followed by him landing on his back, sounding like a diapered sack of meat being dropped on the floor. I feel bad about it, and I hope that I eventually get the chance to apologize to him, but I don’t regret what I did.  I turn towards Mother now, my fists raised in front of me like I’m ready for another sparring match. I’m tempted to challenge her to try the same shit, but I keep my mouth shut. I’m sure she’s well aware of how much I’d like to punch her face next. “You’re proving to be quite difficult,” Mother says to me. She opens her mouth to say something else, but just before she can speak, her head tilts in a curious way and her mouth just hangs open. She seems…dumbfounded. Distracted? I’m reminded of the way my boss–back at the very first bar I ever worked for–would occasionally trail off and look off into space while he was talking. I can’t say I know Mother very well, but this does seem rather un-Mother-like. I don’t know why, but I stand there for a moment or two, just staring at her and waiting for her to say something again. It finally dawns on me that I should be taking advantage of the fact that she seems to be, I don’t know, suffering from a stroke? I rush over to Alfie’s body and crouch down next to it, shaking him to see if he’s conscious. I don’t really want to deal with whatever zombified version of him I just had to punch, but I do feel obligated to make sure he’s physically okay. He stinks–this whole place smells like the diaper I had watched him mess in his sleep a few minutes earlier–but he’s still breathing. That’s something. I glance back at Mother again, expecting to see her recovering from whatever’s gone wrong with her and suddenly ready to pounce on me like an angry cat, but she still seems frozen in place, mouth hanging open as she stares off into nothing. Something is clearly wrong with her, but the hell if I know what it is. And given everything going on, I don’t really think it’s my duty to care. Someone else can deal with the short-circuiting body of Mother. Alfie’s eyes are shut–and there’s already a bruise developing around the eye that I punched earlier–but he groans and writhes on the ground. I hear a hissing noise, and quickly find the source to be his diaper, which grows even soggier and more discolored before more eyes. Classic Alfie. “Can you get up?” I ask. “Can you move?” He lets out a groan, but otherwise gives no answer to my questions. I turn and take one more look at Mother. I don’t want to, but I just don’t trust her presence behind me–any moment she’s going to snap out of whatever funk she’s in. I’d love to know what the hell is going on with her, but I know when to use chaos like this to my advantage. I grab Alfie’s body and throw him over my shoulder–thanking myself for all the time I’ve spent in the gym the last few years. “We’re getting out of here,” I say–maybe to Alfie, but more likely to myself. And with that, I trot right past Mother–still in some sort of daze–and carry Alfie back outside and into the sunlight. “N-Nikki?” “Alfie?” I ask, continuing to carry him on my shoulder as I try to put some more distance between me and the farmhouse. “Wh-what’s going on?” he asks. “And, uh, why does my face hurt?” He sounds weak and tired, but he also sounds much more like Alfie than he did a few moments ago. Gone is the zombie-like hitch in his voice that I heard earlier. “We’re getting the hell out of here,” I say. “Right now, that’s all that matters.” “Was that a dream?” he asks, so softly that I have to assume he’s talking to himself. “Was what a dream?” I ask. “Mother. Her, uh, true form. The Onion. Pisstopia. Alfie-Prime. Audry. Omni-Alfie. Merging with Mother…” None of that means anything to me. “What are you talking about? Who the hell is Audry?” “She…she’s me,” he says. I roll my eyes. He’s not making any sense right now. Probably still milk-drunk, or maybe I clobbered him a little harder than I meant to. “Nikki, wait,” he says. I pause for a moment, but I don’t think I want to stand still for too long–it’s mostly been adrenaline that has allowed for me to carry Alfie and his filthy diaper this far, and I’m afraid that if I stop now I won’t be able to move like this again. “What?” I ask. “W-we have to go back.” “Back?” “To Mother,” he says. I snort and roll my eyes. “You want to go back there? Alfie, I’m trying to get you away from her.” He laughs a little. “God, I’ve missed you, Nikki. You and your snorts.” “I’m not taking you back to her.” “N-no…you have to. I have to see something...” “I’m going to have to decline that request,” I say, continuing to walk forward, still holding him up over my shoulder. But he surprises me with a sudden burst of strength that he didn’t seem to have earlier. He wriggles hard enough that I can barely hold onto him. “Fine, you win,” I say, sighing. “You can walk on your own now.” I carefully lower myself into a squatting position and ease Alfie’s body off of my shoulder and into the grass. Whatever strength I had seems gone now. But if I have to, I’ll grab him by the wrist and drag him to the gates of The Cradle. “I’m not going back there, just so you know.” “I…I’m sorry,” he says, slowly rising to his feet. “But I have to do something. It’s, uh, kind of important.” “Important?” I ask. “You know how it is,” he says, his legs wobbling beneath him–his soggy diaper flapping between his thighs–as he attempts to stand straight up, “I, uh, gotta make sure I just saved the world.” All I can do is snort again. === Alfie’s Story, continued I… I’m overwhelmed. Like, absolutely, completely, 100%, no-joking, overloaded. My brain feels like it’s about to pop.  I can hardly believe where I am now, and for that matter, I can hardly believe where I was just moments ago. Just a few short breaths ago, Mother and I were repairing a fractured multiverse, our consciousnesses untangling as we finished what we started.  Now, I seem to be…home. Well, not my literal home, but when I see Nikki I know that it’s my Nikki in a split-second. Which means I’m back at where I started. I’m in my own world…at least I think that I am. No, I’m sure that I am. It’s just a feeling I have. It’s a sensation of rightness in my very being that I haven’t felt in a long time.  My eye is killing me–a pain that’s radiating through my face and slowly working its way across my entire head. Nikki punched me in the face, I think–though why she did this is still unclear to me. I have a feeling there’s a lot of things I missed while I was away. I turn towards Nikki, and seeing her face fills me with joy. That smug smile. The way her arms are crossed in front of her chest. The slight shake of her head as she stares back at me. “I…I’m sorry,” I say, steadying myself as best as I can. “But I have to do something. It’s, uh, kind of important.” “Important?” she asks. I don't even know how to begin explaining everything to her right now. Maybe, someday, we’ll get the chance to have a very long conversation about it. “You know how it is,” I say, “I, uh, gotta make sure I just saved the world.” It’s the corniest damn thing I’ve ever said, but that doesn’t diminish how true it is. Nikki snorts,  and that joyful sound only further empowers me. The closer to the shed I get, the more my body seems to attune to ‘reality’ again. I feel the soft wind on my exposed skin and rustling my already-messy hair. I feel the heft of my diaper swaying between my thighs–in fact, it’s just occurring to me now that I’m wearing a heavy, messy diaper. But there’s something else: It’s not just what I feel, it’s how I feel. There’s a clarity to my senses that I don’t think I’ve felt in a long time–the sort of clarity that I didn’t know I was missing until now. It’s like a fog has lifted. A curse broken. A spell…dispelled.  Ahead of me, in the shed, I can hear something stirring. There’s a voice: “Uh…hello?” I put a little extra pep in my step and trot forward, through the open door. And there’s Mother–or, at least, the woman I knew to be Mother–on her hands and knees on the floor.  Except that’s not Mother. I know this in an instant. The poise, the body language, the way she carries herself–even in this moment of weakness and confusion–is different. The woman before me now is far more human than Mother has ever been. It isn’t Mother, but I do know who it is.  “Harriet?” She looks up at me, disbelief in her eyes. Her expression is saying a lot–telling the whole story of someone who thought that isolation and hopelessness was all she ever had to look forward to. She doesn’t yet know where she is, and she certainly doesn’t know how she got here.  “Hey…it’s okay,” I say, stooping down beside her. To my surprise, she recoils a little, skittering backwards to put a few more inches between us. Regardless of who she is right now, it’s wild to see this body showing any sort of uncertainty. Mother was as stoic as they came. “Wh-where…?” Her voice trails off before she can finish the question, though it’s pretty obvious what she wants to know. “Home,” I say. “Well…Earth. Our Earth.” I wonder if that makes sense to her. I add: “You’re someplace real.” That probably sounds like the most ridiculous thing to say to someone, but if there’s anyone who will appreciate it, I think it’s Harriet. “Real,” she repeats softly. I extend a hand towards her, and this time, she doesn’t draw away from me. Instead, she takes it, and accepts my help in getting her back to her feet again. “Alfie,” she says. “What happened to…” She runs a hand through her hair and sighs. “Mother?” “She’s…” But I realize that I don’t know the answer to her question. If she isn’t Mother, then…I have no idea where Mother is, or if there even is a ‘Mother’ now. “She’s not here.” I’m thinking about this new sense of clarity I’m experiencing, and I can’t help but wonder if it has anything to do with the absence of Mother herself. The milk. It no longer has a hold on me. And, I’m willing to bet, that it had a far greater hold on me, and everyone else here in The Cradle, than we’ll ever really know. “So, wait,” Harriet says, her hand on my shoulder to steady herself. “Where, exactly, are we?” “Welcome to beautiful California,” I say. It’s at this moment that I sense someone behind me, in the doorway of the shed and blocking some of the natural light that was helping to illuminate this space. I expect it to be Nikki, but when I turn around, I’m surprised–and a little concerned–to see that it’s Mirabelle. Mirabelle with a big frown on her face. “What the hell is going on here?” she demands. “Uh, well…” Not that I have any idea how to begin explaining my multiversal adventures to anyone, but Mirabelle doesn’t even give me a chance to try. “Something’s wrong here. I feel…” She stammers and narrows her eyes, clearly trying to search for the right words. I attempt to help her out, because I have a feeling that she’s experiencing the same thing that I am. The same thing that everyone here at The Cradle is probably experiencing right now. “You feel different, don’t you? Like a veil has been lifted?” She scoffs. “I don’t… Er, wait…maybe?” “Mother is gone,” I say. “What do you mean, gone?” Mirabelle barks, her hands on her hips. “You tell me what the hell is going on here right now.”  She sounds more irritated than I’ve ever heard her sound before, but I kind of get it. She’s confused, and maybe a little lost right now. Like Harriet, everything she thought she knew and understood seems to have changed in a moment. Who knows how much control Mother exerted over Mirabelle. Who knows how long it's been since Mirabelle has actually been Mirabelle. She’s experiencing a crisis of self. And I suspect she’s not the only one dealing with this right now. “Mother’s gone,” I repeat. “Or at least…Mother as we knew her.” My memory is kind of a mess right now. I remember the bullet points of my time with Mother as we repaired the multiverse–as we bonded together in the hopes of saving everything–but there are details that I just don’t have. Maybe they were never my own memories–they were memories of the entity that Mother and I became, and just as that union has ended, so too are those memories. But the bullet points give me hints. I knew, in our final moments together, what Mother really wanted. She wanted to live as I do. She wanted to experience everyday hardships. Heartbreak. She wanted to prove herself to others. She wanted to build relationships. She wanted to experience crying–whether it was from laughing or sadness.  She wanted to be a human. And I’m certain that, somehow, she got that wish in the end–just as I got my wish to come back home. Where is she, though? That I can’t say. “The milk…” Mirabelle says. “I don’t think it’s affecting us anymore,” I say. That is what this new sense of clarity is. From outside of the shed, I hear Nikki’s voice calling to me: “Hey. You should probably come and see this.” I can’t even begin to imagine what it is that she’s referring to. After seeing everything that I’ve seen–in all the worlds I’ve seen them in–I brace myself, expecting the worst. Did Mother and I still manage to fuck something up? Are there dinosaurs in our world now? Flesh-eating zombies? Orange clouds that hang from the sky? Two suns? I hear something. People. Lots of people. Their voices are getting louder as they get closer. I can’t make out their words, but in an instant I feel that I understand the basic emotions in their communal tone–they’re confused and lost. I sigh and look from Harriet to Mirabelle. “Here comes The Cradle. I suspect they’re going to want answers.” “Yeah, well, I’d like some answers too,” Mirabelle says. I don’t have to read too deep between the lines to know that she’s also saying that she has no interest in addressing everyone.  “Alright,” I say, sighing. “I’ll, uh, try talking to everyone.” I hate public speaking, but I guess someone has to say something. === It’s not as big of a crowd as I thought it’d be. I guess I imagined that every single baby here at The Cradle would’ve suddenly dropped what they were doing and made their way to the farmhouse, where they expected that their de facto leader Mirabelle would have some answers. There are, maybe, 30-some people out here, all milling about in a confused stupor–asking each other questions that nobody seems to know the answer to. But I have a feeling that more will be here soon.  There are some familiar faces in this group. I recognize Tess right away, as does Nikki, who spent some time working on the farm with her. I see Patricia, one of the members of the Maternal Council and who, no doubt, changed my diaper countless times. Timothy and Holden–two of my bunkmates–are also here. I missed them, I realize; or I at least miss that part of my adventure where there was a sense of ‘normalcy’ about living here at The Cradle. And there, too, is Birdie Dowell–the singer/songwriter I had met once a long time ago, in another life. I bet she’ll have some crazy new songs to write after this. “Uh, hey…if I could get everyone’s attention here,” I say, waving an arm in the air.  There’s barely any response to this, though this doesn’t surprise me. I was never a ‘leader’ here. In their eyes, I’m just one of them. What answers could I possibly have? What would I have to say to all these distressed individuals that they’d want to hear? And, well, what authority does a man in a messy diaper have? But then Nikki is standing at my side, and her fingers are in her mouth as she emits a high-pitched whistling noise that manages to cut through the hubbub of the gathering crowd. They all stop what they’re doing and turn to face us. I finally have their attention. I open my mouth to speak, but first, I have to take a look at their individual faces. It’s a lot to take in. There’s a lot of confusion, but I see sadness too. For some of them, I have no doubt that their life here at The Cradle was a bliss they’d never known in their past. Having it stripped away all of a sudden, and without explanation, probably hurts a lot. It’s a pain that I suspect I’ll eventually have to deal with myself. “So, uh, some of you might know me already,” I say. “But if you don’t, my name is Alfie and, uh…” “Look, man,” someone says–a tall orange-haired guy says, “what we need right now are answers. No offense, but I don’t think you’ve got any.” I know I’ve seen this guy around The Cradle before, but I just can’t think of his name. “Well, actually,” I say, “I think I might be able to help explain…” “Where’s Mirabelle?” Holden asks. “Where’s Mother?” shouts someone else from the back of the crowd. I sigh, glancing at Nikki. This is going to be harder than I thought. Maybe even impossible. There’s a part of me that thinks I shouldn’t even bother trying. There’s nothing I can say that’s going to provide satisfying answers. Everyone’s lives–no doubt already upended by their coming to The Cradle in the first place–have been upended again. And how do you tell them that this is all because of a cosmic entity that feeds on emotional energy and the wacky crusade across the multiverse I had to take in order to stop it? Nikki looks back at me. No, she’s not looking at me. She’s looking past me, at something on the other side of me. I turn my head and see that is Harriet is now standing on my other side. I can read Nikki’s expression quite clearly: “Can we trust her?” “Nikki,” I say, “I’d like for you to meet Harriet. Harriet, this is Nikki.” “Harriet,” Nikki says with a nod, sounding like, perhaps, she knows exactly who that is. Now everyone’s giving us their full attention. In the distance, I see more people approaching. Most of them, like many of those in the crowd that are already here, are still clad in their diapers–either fully exposed, or bulging out of the infantile clothes they’re wearing. “I’ll never be able to explain what actually happened,” I say in a voice low enough so that only the three women at my sides can hear. “Not to you and especially not to them.” “We need to say something to them,” Mirabelle says, suddenly standing next to Nikki, her voice finally calm and composed. I don’t know how much of the current situation she actually understands, but I have to respect that she still cares about her flock that’s gathering before us. “They need to hear it from me,” Harriet says. “Or, I guess, whoever it is that they think I am.” “Gather everyone,” Mirabelle says loudly to the crowd. “Get everyone here. Find your friends. Tell them to come here. We have some very important things to discuss, and I think it’d be best if we only had to do it once.” To our collective relief, the crowd immediately begins to disperse, with many of them heading right back the way they came from to do exactly as they’d been asked. “What are we even going to say?” I ask her. Mirabelle sighs and shakes her head. “I…don’t know. But this at least gives us a little time to figure it out.” === While Nikki and Mirabelle handle crowd control as The Cradle’s residents converge in front of the farmhouse–in the same place we all converged during the Rebirth Festival–Harriet and I retreat to discuss what it is that she’ll actually say to the masses. But her very first question for me is already a doozy: “So, who was Mother?” “Jeez. Well, uh…” “Like, what was she like? What are people going to be expecting from me if I go out there and pretend that I’m her.” “Stoic. Radiant, I guess.” Harriet grimaces at this. Maybe she doesn’t have faith in herself for pulling off ‘radiant?’ But I continue: “She had this effortless way of wrapping people around her fingers, you know?” “Yeah…I don’t think I can pull that off,” she says. She sighs and shakes her head. “Maybe this is all a mistake. Alfie, I need to get out of here. I need to go home.” “Home,” I say, nodding. “Yeah. I want to go home too.” “God,” she mutters to herself. “Does anyone back home even know I’m still alive? Do they just assume I died? Quit my job and moved away?” “Uh, well…” She shrugs, laughing now. “Who am I kidding? I bet nobody noticed. Or cared.” I don’t consider myself any kind of expert when it comes to saying comforting things or giving pep talks, but I feel like I need to say something. And, maybe, some of her fears aren’t all that different from my own. I, too, worry about going home to New Jersey and finding that life has moved on without me. Maxine will be deep into her college experience, possibly with that new girlfriend the alternate-universe version of her had when I met her. Sam and Anders might have worked through their little tiff and are enjoying married life again. My father and Julie-fucking-Ross… And what about me? What about my job? What about my editor, Bennie, who probably assumed I just quietly quit my writing gig because I never got back to him with my story. Maybe I don’t have a life to go back to either. Shit. I force myself to say something–for my benefit just as much as hers: “There’s a ‘home’ for all of us. We might not know what it looks like yet, but we’re going to figure it out.” When she speaks again, I don’t know if she’s replying to what I just said, or if it’s just another thought she had to get off her chest: “I don’t have friends. Or family. Or…” “That’s not true,” I say. “I’m your friend.” She scoffs, though she’s smiling a little. “Oh, come on. You barely even know me.” “I said you’re my friend, and I meant that.” Her smile is growing. There’s some extra color in her cheeks. She nods and lets out a long breath from her nose. “Yeah. You’re right, and I’m your friend too.” “Good. Glad we figured that out. That’s how we’re going to figure everything out: one thing at a time.” Her face a little pinker, and with a single finger outstretched at my midsection, she says: “So…at which step should we address your, uhm…diaper?”  I look down and am reminded of my swampy and sopping-wet diaper, still hanging between my thighs. It reeks–a smell that I’ve probably grown accustomed to, though the expression on Harriet’s face suggests it's an odor she’d never be complacent with. “Ah, yeah…maybe I should change into another…” I spot some spare diapers, a package of wipes, and some other bottles of various creams and powders sitting on a shelf. For the very first time, I’m realizing what had become of my physical body while my mind was catapulted elsewhere. My unconscious body was hidden away here in this little structure–away from the prying eyes of everyone else in The Cradle. And, for the first time, I see the crib I had been ‘resting’ in–a large wooden one that looked like the ones kept in Daycare. How long had it been since Mother overloaded me with her milk–sending me on a trip that started at the white space with Harriet, and ending with Mother and I joining together? Weeks? Months?  But an even more bone-chilling thought creeps into my mind. What if everything that happened after Mother knocked me out didn’t actually happen? What if it was all a dream? I mean…that seems unlikely, given Harriet’s reclamation of her own body, and the milk’s spell being broken across The Cradle. Something happened to cause that. Still, the slightest amount of doubt lingers in my head, and I have a feeling it’s going to be there for a long time. I walk over to the shelf and pull a fresh adult diaper from it. This thick padding–the way it crinkles and fills my hand with the right amount of bulk–still hasn’t lost any of its appeal to me. Harriet giggles a little. “Are you really going to change yourself right now?” “Heh. Well…” Now that I think of it, maybe I would’ve just automatically flopped myself down on the crib’s mattress and went about changing my diaper if she hadn’t said something.  But I’m realizing now that I probably don’t have to do that. If the milk isn’t affecting me like it used to…maybe there’s no need for diapers anymore. Part of me is excited by this. Part of me is sad. “Maybe I, uh, shouldn’t go out there like this again,” I say, looking down at my current diaper again. “I’d wear some pants if there were pants in here…but maybe a clean diaper is better than this.” “Go on then, change yourself,” she says. “I won’t watch.” A woman of her word, she turns her back to me, looking out the door as I lower myself onto the mattress and begin peeling up the tapes. Someone–probably Mirabelle–had done an excellent job of diapering me earlier. It’s nice and snug. It almost feels like a crime to have to undo this work. “What do you think they need to hear right now?” Harriet asks. “The people out there. The people who thought this was a haven for them.” I’m tempted to say that I don’t actually know, but that’s not true. I’m one of them, after all. Sure, maybe I’ve seen more behind the curtains than they have–way behind the curtains–but I came to this place for the same reasons that they did. Curiosity. Excitement. A sense of belonging that was hard to get anywhere else. What would I want someone to say to me right now, if I were out there and waiting for some answers? “While I don’t want to lie to them,” I say, “I don’t think it’d do much good to tell them the whole truth. About, like, who Mother actually was. Or…is.” Harriet laughs. “Well…considering I know very little about that, it won’t be hard for me to avoid those talking points.” There’s a little delay in my responding, as I find myself on my back with my legs spread wide open as I attempt to wick away the filthy mess I’ve made with the wipes. I doubt I’ll be perfectly clean by the end of this, but I’m doing the best that I can. “I don’t want anyone to regret coming here,” I finally say–my hands now rolling up the heavy used diaper and setting it aside. “I don’t want anyone to think that they’ve been used or manipulated. This was still a community, you know? And that was important to every single person out there, regardless of why they came here in the first place.” “Right,” Harriet said, nodding her head. “Things are different here now, that’s all,” I continue. “Maybe something about how the magic that made all this possible is gone now. We don’t know how, and we don’t know why…but maybe that makes sense, considering that we never knew how it started in the first place.” “I thought you said you didn’t want to lie to them,” she says. She at least sounds humored as she says this. Spreading the fresh diaper out between my open legs, I laugh. “I know, I know. But…maybe a little white lying isn’t the worst thing? Isn’t it best that people leave this experience feeling good about themselves? I don’t want anyone here to feel stupid, you know? I don’t want anyone to have any regrets.” “You’re a good guy, Alfie,” she says. “Maybe you’re right. Maybe it’s best if we protect everyone’s dignity.” It’s never been easy for me to diaper myself. I’ve done it plenty of times, of course, and I’ve probably gotten better at it over time. But it’s still not quite the same as when someone else does it for me. When I do it, it’s never tight enough. It never fits perfectly. It always feels just a little bit off in a way that’s hard to explain.  But maybe I don’t have to worry about things like that anymore. Maybe this is the end of my diaper era. This could very well be my last diaper.  “There’s so many of them out there,” Harriet says, still looking out the door. “I…I had no idea. So many people came here. I guess, on some level, I still don’t really get it. They all wanted to be…babies?” I pull the front of the new diaper through my thighs and smooth it out over flaccid manhood, getting ready for the final step of sealing myself into it.  “Maybe you had to experience it for yourself,” I say. “I mean, there was a time when I saw a bunch of people running around in dirty diapers and I didn’t get it either. But then…I joined them.” Yeah, because Mother brainwashed me into thinking that I wanted this. But I resist that thought a little. Yes, it’s true that we might not ever know the extent to Mother’s manipulations. But I can’t deny the place in my heart I’ve made for diapers and being treated like a baby again. That’s a part of me now, and I’ll carry it with me for a long time.  I pull the taped tabs into place, securing my new diaper around my body as best as I can. I expect this feeling to hit a little differently now with my newfound clarity of mind that has come with the dissipation of the milk’s effects on me–like, maybe it won’t actually feel as good as I remember it feeling. But, no, a thick wad of padding between my thighs is exactly what I want and need right now. I feel a little more at peace. “I…I’m nervous to say anything to them at all,” Harriet says, kicking the tip of her foot into the floor. “I mean, I was never much of a public speaker before, and that certainly hasn’t changed now. People make me…anxious. And it’s not like I know them. I don’t know who it is that they see when they look at me.” Hence, being a bit of a loner?  “Hmm,” I say, standing up from the open crib’s mattress. She makes a very good point. Yes, the masses would want to hear from the ‘leader.’ But that ‘leader’ isn’t here anymore, and it doesn’t really seem fair to make Harriet–still recovering from her own experiences–play that role. “You’re right. We’ll, uh, figure something else out. Maybe I’ll go and talk to everyone.” For a moment, Harriet seems almost content with this, nodding a little. But then her head tilts as she turns towards me. “Will they listen to you?” I have to laugh at that. I don’t know if I’ve ever really been the type that people want to listen to. And to the members of The Cradle, I’m no different than them. So many of them have been here longer than I have, in fact. I don’t know that anyone would see me as an authority on anything. Still, I’ve made up my mind–I can’t make Harriet go out there and talk to everyone.  “You stay here,” I say. “I’ll take care of this.” “A-are you sure?” she asks.  “I am,” I say. I even manage to smile. “You’re free now. Enjoy reality.” And with that, I walk past her–my padded ass grazing against her as I exit the shed–and head back towards where Nikki and Mirabelle are doing their best to keep the growing crowd calm. === “Oh, good, you managed to change your diaper,” Nikki says, rolling her eyes and laughing to herself as she sees me approaching.  Her remark immediately makes my face feel warm, and I’m sure my cheeks are good and red. “Well, uh, it’s not like there was a pair of pants and shirt in there for me to change into.” Mirabelle jumps in, not giving Nikki the chance to tease me any further: “Where is, uh…” Her voice trails off, and it occurs to me that she probably doesn’t know who ‘Mother’ is now.  “I told Harriet to stay back,” I say.  “Harriet,” Mirabelle repeats softly, like it’s the first time she’s hearing that name. I doubt that it is, but maybe those memories are fuzzy–maybe even nonexistent–now that Mother’s presence is gone from her head. “Do you think they’ll listen if I talk to them?” I ask, motioning with my hand towards all  Mirabelle shrugs, motioning behind her towards the crowd.. “I think they just want to know what’s going on. They’d probably listen to anyone at this point.” I take a deep breath, stepping ahead of Mirabelle and Nikki. I don’t like that addressing the residents of The Cradle falls on me, but it doesn’t seem wise to further postpone saying anything at all. If I were in their shoes, I’d want to know what was going on too. “Uh, hey everyone,” I say, raising my voice a little and doing my best to broadcast it over the horde of diapered people that stand before me. “If I could just have your attention for just a second…” “What’s going on?” someone shouts at me. “I…I feel…normal,” someone else says. The statement almost makes me laugh–as if feeling ‘normal’ is the worst way that one could possibly feel. “Look, I know you all have a lot of questions,” I say. “And I can’t promise that I have all the answers, but…” “Well who, then, has all the answers?” someone interjects. “Yeah,” another says. “Where’s Mother?” “Mother!” another shouts. “We want Mother!” “Now wait just a second,” I say, already seeing where this might be going. “Give me a chance to explain things for a second before you…” But it’s already begun: a chant emanating from somewhere deep within the crowd. “We want Mother! We want Mother!” With every utterance of the phrase, more people seem to be joining in. It gets louder and more powerful with every repetition.  “We want Mother!” “We want Mother!” “We want Mother!” “Mother is, uh, not able to make a statement right now,” I say, trying to get the words in quickly between the chants. “But if we all just calm down for a moment, I can at least start to explain what’s going on around here.” Of course, I still have no idea what that explanation looks like, though they don’t know that. Alas, my attempts at commanding the crowd are unsuccessful. “We want Mother!” “We want Mother!” “We want Mother!” I sigh and look back towards Nikki and Mirabelle, hoping that one of them has a better idea than I do on what to do now. But they’re looking right back at me, as if they’re expecting me to just figure it out. “Please,” I say to everyone. “I know we’re all feeling a bit, uh, elevated right now. But if you just give me a moment to speak here…” “We want Mother!” “We want…” And the strangest thing happens–the chant abruptly stops. Everyone is settling down and they’re all staring at me. Did I finally get through to them? Did they finally realize that getting information from me was better than getting no information at all?  “Hello,” a voice behind me says. I realize, now, what’s happened. They’re not looking at me. They still don’t care about me or anything that I have to say. Harriet–who they all still believe is Mother–is standing right behind me. A hush falls over the crowd, and the quiet is almost disconcerting. If I close my eyes, it’s almost as if there isn’t a large gathering here at all. I look back at Mother. I want to say something to her about how she doesn’t have to do or say anything–that this isn’t her responsibility. But I’m taken aback by the Harriet that I see–standing up tall and stoic, her shoulder broad. She might not be Mother, but she’s doing a damn good job of playing the part. She steps forward, past me and towards everyone who is waiting for her to speak. “My children. You are no doubt distressed by the sudden, uh…” Her voice wavers for a moment–something that would’ve never happened to Mother. But nobody seems to take notice of this. “...change in energy around here.” Change in energy? That’s probably not what I would’ve said, but I guess it works. Still, looking out at everyone, they all continue to stare ahead–unflinching and still attentive. They’re not picking up on the signs that I am that Harriet isn’t the same as Mother. It occurs to me: Nobody actually knew Mother. Nobody spent an extensive amount of time around her, save for Mirabelle–who was probably possessed by Mother anyway. Nobody here knows who Harriet is. To them, this is Mother.  “The time has come for me to leave you,” Harriet announces, her voice loud and direct. “It’s not because I don’t want to be here, or because I don’t think you deserve me or the, uh…milk. It’s that…” But Harriet doesn’t know how to finish that thought, I can tell. She looks at me and our eyes meet. She’s taking me in. I feel her eyes on my mostly-nude body. On my diaper. She’s studying me. Absorbing me. Trying to make sense of a world that she was a major part of, despite not actually being in.  And then, I practically see a lightbulb appearing over her head and lighting up–as if, by just staring at me, she realizes what she wants to say. “Rebirth,” Harriet says, turning back towards the crowd. “Embracing babyhood again. That’s…been very important to you all, hasn’t it?” There are some nods as well as verbal confirmations. “It’s a common thought–one we’ve all had in our lives,” Harriet continues. “We dream about what we’d do differently if we could go back and start over again. And, well, here you are. You’ve gotten that wish. You’ve been reborn. You’re fresh and new again.” Her voice sounds like Mother’s, but the delivery isn’t quite the same. I keep worrying that the crowd is going to realize this and turn on her. And yet…they never do. They continue to listen intently, seemingly willing to hang on every word she says. Harriet clears her throat. “But, well, it’s important to remember that starting over again doesn’t actually mean anything if you don’t, then, allow yourself to, uhm…grow up.” She’s silent for a beat or two as she scans her audience. I’m doing the same thing. There are some confused expressions out there, for sure, but everyone is still waiting to hear more. They want to know where she’s going with this. “Did you learn something in your time here?” Harriet asks. “Did you learn something about yourself? Who you are, and who you want to be?” Those are actually very good questions, and I find myself looking for my own answers to them. Maybe I have learned a few things about myself–about how far I’m willing to go for the people I love. About how important ‘home’ is to me–not just the place, but the concept.  “I can only do so much,” Harriet says. “I’ve allowed you all to be reborn. I’ve given you the chance to go back and relive your earliest days, in the hopes that–now free from the obligations and demands of adult life–you’d have the chance to rediscover who you actually are when everything else is stripped away.” This is, of course, not what Mother had intended when she first let her milk fill everyone’s mouths. But Harriet’s words still sound true. I find myself wishing that this really was Mother’s intent the whole time. Maybe, someday, I’ll tell myself that this really was what Mother wanted. “I wish I could’ve given you more warning that our time together was coming to an end,” Harriet continues. “But…well, that’s life, isn’t it? Things change, and they usually change when you’re not ready. And it’s time for you to decide what happens next.” “A-are you leaving?” someone from the crowd asks. Another voice pipes in: “But what about–” But the tail end of that question gets lost in the shouts from others. “I…I’m not ready to grow up…,” someone says. “Please don’t go!” another shouts. “It’s time for me to move on,” Harriet says calmly, and with a nod of her head. “I love you all–I want you to know that.” Mother would’ve never said anything like that. But, then again, this is exactly what everyone needed to hear Mother say. There are continued whispers and mutterings throughout the crowd. Not everyone is happy with her little announcement–as to be expected. But despite the obvious disappointment, I’m also sensing a little bit of…acceptance. Maybe they simply have too much reverence for Mother–they’ve built her up to be a goddess, of sorts, and they still believe that they can’t question anything she says. Harriet doesn’t say anything else. She turns away from them, and walks away. At first, she walks back towards the shed that she came from, though Mirabelle quickly points her in the direction of the farmhouse instead.  When Mirabelle returns, she finally addresses the crowd herself. It seems obvious to me that she’s been a little inspired by the guts it took for Harriet to speak to everyone. “I know there’s a lot of questions and confusion right now. There’s obviously a lot that we all have to discuss. But I think it’s important for all of us to remember that this–The Cradle–is still a community. We’re all still here for each other. Whatever is happening right now is happening to all of us. We are in this together–every single one of us. For now, let’s go back to our cabins. Back to our duties. Back to our life here on The Cradle. And when the time is right to talk about what’s next, we’re going to figure that out together.” === When the last of the crowd has begrudgingly dispersed, all that remains is Nikki and I, sitting on a bench on the front porch of the old farmhouse. Somewhere inside, Mirabelle and Harriet are talking–though about what, I haven’t a clue. “What actually happened?” Nikki asks. “Like…what happened to Mother?” I laugh and shake my head. “It’s either the craziest story you’ll ever hear, or I just had a really wild dream while something else happened.” Realizing that this doesn’t actually answer her question, though, I try again: “It’s a long story. I want to tell you everything, but…” We both scooch closer to each other on the bench so that our legs are touching now. I place my open hand down on her thigh, palm up, and she immediately puts her hand in mine so that I can close my fingers around it.  “I’ve missed you so much,” I say. “You missed me?” she asks. “I flew across the country and tried to join a diaper cult just so that I could see you again.” I laugh, remembering how wild it is that she’s even here. It’s one of the details that’s been easy to overlook in spite of everything else that’s been going on. “You came all this way…for me?” She snorts. “Goddammit, Alfie. Don’t make me say it.” “Say what?”  She rolls her eyes. “I, uh, love you, Alfie.” My grip on her hand gets tighter. “I love you too, Nikki.” “No. I mean, like, I love you. Not like a friend. Not like a brother. Like…” It’s rare that I see her blush like this. “I know,” I say, sparing her from having to further explain herself. “I love you too.” We don’t say anything else for a little bit. Maybe there’s too much to say, or maybe we’ve just said all we really needed to say. But it’s fine, I like just sitting with her–her hand in mine.  This? This is home. This is what I had been trying to get back to. This is what I needed more than anything. “So,” Nikki finally says.  “So?” “Diapers, huh? You think they’re going to, uh, stick around after this?” I blush, looking down at my crotch and realizing that I’m still wearing only a diaper. It’s funny how easy it is to forget about that–how standardized the presence of diapers in my life has become. Of course, it’s rare for me to have worn a diaper this long without it getting wet or messy. I guess things really have changed. “I guess I should grow up too, huh?” I ask. She shrugs. “Do you want to give up your diapers?” “Uh…” She lets out an uncharacteristically girlish giggle and shakes her head. “I guess I’m just preparing myself for continuing to see you in a diaper.” “You should try one,” I say. “Maybe you’d be surprised.” Again, her cheeks are reddening and she looks away from me for a moment. “You…wore one, didn’t you?” I ask. “I had to,” she says. “I had to, you know, blend in. I was, uh…playing the game.” I laugh. “Holy cow.” “It was Tommy’s idea.” “Tommy!” I exclaim. “Wh-where is he right now?” I’m realizing I didn’t see him in the crowd before–though with so many faces, I could’ve easily missed him. “I’m sure he’s around somewhere,” she says. “You know…he worked just as hard as I did to find you. He’s been a really good friend–to you and to me.” “I’m going to thank him when I see him,” I say. “Just like I’m going to thank you right now.” I open my mouth, planning to literally say ‘thank you’ to her, but by the time my mouth is ready, my body seems to have changed its mind. Suddenly, I’m leaning into her, just as she’s leaning into me, and our mouths connect. We’re kissing, our lips grinding against each other as our tongues dance. When we pause for a moment, and she pulls away from me slightly, she says: “You probably shouldn’t thank Tommy like this.” “That’s fair,” I say. I’m overwhelmed with emotion. I can’t believe Nikki is here. I can’t believe she embedded herself in The Cradle to find me. I can’t believe she wore diapers. I can’t believe she befriended Tommy–someone who had clearly annoyed her in every interaction I had ever seen between the two of them previously. I can’t believe I’m kissing her right now, and that it feels as good as it does.  Why hadn’t we tried to do this sooner? Maybe, as Harriet had said to the masses earlier, we had to learn a few things about ourselves first. Her hand is on the front of my diaper, and in a moment, my cock feels awakened.  “Nikki,” I say, my voice low and breathy. I don’t know what it is I actually want to say to her. “You do look cute in a diaper,” she says, her hand stroking the new bulge in my padding. “It’s very…you.” “Yeah…I’ve heard that before,” I sigh. “But, uhm…” She pulls away from me again, her head tilted. “Yeah?” “Maybe…whatever we’re going to do–we shouldn’t do it, like, here.” There’s nobody here watching us, as best as I can tell. But we’re not far from other people. Through the trees–and even further down the paths that lead to the farmhouse–I can see the shapes of people milling about. Confused people talking to each other and doing their best to make sense of things.  “Fine,” Nikki says, her head steering towards the little shed off to the side of the farmhouse. “I know a place…” I scoff. “Are you serious?” “Come on. Why not?” Maybe something in me has changed, because it actually seems like a good idea to me. We both stand at once, and hand-in-hand, we walk to the little structure together. This little shack–this little prison–still baffles me. Who built it? Whose idea was it? Why was this created instead of just hiding me away in one of the other buildings around on The Cradle? But with Mother gone, and with Mirabelle now seeming just as out of the loop as everyone else, maybe we’ll never have those answers. Inside, the place smells just as it did earlier–baby powder battling with the stench of the messy diaper I had woken up in. In fact, that soiled diaper remains on the floor now, besides the open crib I had been trapped in for who-knows how long. The stink does make this seem like an unlikely place for Nikki and I to canoodle, and I’m just about to suggest that we find yet another place to go–only to feel her hand on my shoulder. She pulls me closer, and spins me around. Our lips meet again. Our hands immediately begin to grasp at each other’s bodies. A moment later, and I find myself tumbling backwards–through the open panel of the crib and onto my back on the mattress. Nikki’s on top of me, straddling my diaper as she peels her shirt off. Her heavy breasts sway in their bra, and as delightfully hypnotic as that is to watch, I think I need more. I reach up with both my hands, fumbling with the clasps behind her back, until there’s a sudden slack in the fabric as her tits are freed from their prison as the bra falls away. “Shit,” I say. “Are we…doing this? Here? Now?” “Shut up, Alfie,” she says. That’s exactly what I need to hear. I do her one better, reaching up with my mouth this time, and taking one of her nipples into my mouth. No milk. Not this time. And that’s…honestly pretty refreshing. This is just flesh–just Nikki’s perfect and slightly sweaty flesh. I want it more than I’ve ever realized before. We’ve opened a door together, and I wonder if we’ll ever be able to close it again. She grinds her crotch over the bulge in my diaper as I suckle her tit. We get a good rhythm going–the crinkle of my padding fitting right into our groove like just another part of the orchestra–though it’s clear that we both need more than this. “I’m going to have to take off that diaper,” she says. “Bet you never thought you’d have to say that to me, huh?” I ask, pulling away from her breast long enough to offer her a big grin. “Shut up, Alfie,” she says again. “Yeah, fair enough.” Unlike the way in which my diaper is normally removed by anyone who’s ever had to change me–and it’s staggering to consider just how many different hands have been on my diaper over the last few months–Nikki goes for a more primal, animalistic approach. She doesn’t carefully pull up each tab, one at a time. Instead, her hand plunges downward, gripping the front waistband of the padding tightly. With a single , forceful yank, her hand juts upwards again, tearing the diaper open in one fell swoop. All of the tapes are immediately torn open at once, tearing away pieces of plastic along with it.  I’m inside of her. It barely registers with me as to how it happened–I think that memory is immediately overwritten by the sensation of actually being deep within Nikki. This, of course, isn’t the first time this has ever happened. We had tried this once before–a long time ago, when we were curious if we were more than friends or not. At that time, we considered the experiment a flop. I had dislocated my shoulder. Nikki was–perhaps still is–a rather rough lover.  But this feels different, almost immediately. We feel in sync–more in sync than I think we’ve ever felt before. This feels right, and this feels good. Yes, there’s a ‘roughness’ about her, reckless fire within her that throws some caution to the wind, but I think I’m ready for it this time. It’s a passion that I’m ready to reciprocate.  “Fuck me,” she says.  I’m ready to respond “I am” but decide that a long grunt is a better response. Our bodies shift around. Suddenly she’s bent over, face down on the crib’s mattress as her ass hangs juts out towards me. I’m standing behind her, piloting myself into her once more. She’s so wet, and I’m so hard, that there’s barely any effort required. I don’t even know where my diaper is now. It’s gone–maybe on the floor or maybe beneath her. In a way, the mystery only adds to the thrill. Hell, everything about this moment is striking nerves. Some of those nerves are ones that have never been struck at all, while others are just being struck in a way that they haven’t before. I push into her, we both groan. I slide out and push in again. Groan. Grunt. Moan. Repeat. Repeat. Repeat. Is this the best sex I’ve ever had in my life?  Well, right now, it’s hard to think of a time where it’s been any better than this. But didn’t I have sex with a, uh, alien god-like entity? Maybe. Sort of? I still think this might be better.  A blur of images whirls through my head as I fuck Nikki–an encapsulation of everything that’s happened between the moment I first arrived in California and now. Meeting Mother for the first time and drinking her milk. My first diaper. My first diaper change. Having to tell Maxine about the diapers. Returning to The Cradle. The new friends I met, and the new lifestyle that enveloped my life. Splashing around in mud puddles. Stolen milk and confronting some literal clowns. Harriet. White spaces. Giant women. PISSTOPIA. Robot nannies. Alife-Prime. Audry. Absorbing the other Alfies and destroying the multiverse. Bonding with Mother to save it all. What a fucking trip. And look what it’s led to… “H-harder…” Nikki says to me. I have no issues with that request. My moment of reflection through, I’m ready to fully commit myself to the moment at hand. I can feel it building inside of me. It. There’s still a part of me that’s a little nervous about an orgasm. It makes sense, considering how they’ve caused so much chaos for the last chapter of my life. What if this climax has strange ramifications? What if I’m sent off to some strange place again? What if Nikki is sent off instead? What if shooting my load somehow brings about the apocalypse? That seems like a silly thought, but I’d argue that stranger things have already happened. “Come on,” she says to me, looking over her shoulder. “I…unh…know you wanna cum. I can feel it.” “But…” My body continues to ram into hers–with every plunge I feel myself closer to the finish line. “Cum for me, Alfie,” she says. And no amount of fear or hesitation in myself can stop me from following that order, as given to me by her. Here we go, I think. Let’s see what kind of world I’m fucking my way towards now.

That's incredibly cool of you, but alas I am a L/XL big kid!