Rainbow Diapers

Tbh I'm not so much disappointed the author vanished as I am worried. She's trans woman with a Hispanic username living in the US.  Scary times over here. 

Hi. Well, here we are at the end, folks. Look, I get it - this was a weird one and maybe it wasn't for everyone. But sometimes you gotta swing for it, you know? Thank you so much for reading along, liking my posts, leaving comments, and being good baby-pals. I'll be sharing a new story with you very soon. (Or...you could always take a look at my Ream Stories page and subscribe to see all kinds of stories. Just sayin'...) Seventy-One: The Friends We’ve Met Along the Way Tommy looks like a million bucks.  I mean, sure, his cowboy-esque ensemble still dances on the line between fashionable and cosplaying, but there’s a good smile on his face, his hair is neatly combed, and he carries himself with more confidence than I’ve seen before.  If I’m being honest, I was worried about him more than anyone else in the post-Mother world. Even if he had plenty of doubts about Mother and the machinations of this world, he was still a guy who had given all of himself to The Cradle. He had made mistakes in his past, or so he said, and he had come here to find himself again. Through the milk, it seemed like he had found it, too. But in a world without milk, who was Tommy now? I clap him on the shoulder. “How are you doing, man?” “Honestly?” he says, hoisting a suitcase into the back of the old pickup truck. “I feel pretty damn good.” “You sure?” I ask.  He nods and laughs. “Dude, I promise. I’m good. Good as gold.” I don’t often stare at other men’s asses, but my eyes are fixed on his rear as he turns away from me. I’m a little surprised by what I see–or, rather, what I don’t see. For the first time since I’ve first met Tommy, I can’t help but observe the lack of the tell-tale diaper bulge in the back of his tight jeans. Not only that, I notice a change in his walk. Not that I ever thought he walked strangely before, but there’s a subtle difference in his stride now--it seems more natural, like there’s not an extra mass between his legs that he has to compensate for.  I almost don’t say anything to him about it at all, but I figure if there’s anyone I can have this conversation with, it’s Tommy. “So… Not rocking the diaper anymore, huh?” He laughs, his cheeks getting a little redder. “You can tell?” I shrug. “I think I’ve just spent so much time around padded people that it’s somehow weird when I see someone who isn’t.” “I’m, uh, giving them a little break, I guess,” he says.  “If I’m being honest, I kind of figured you’d be one of the folks sticking with diapers at the end of this whole thing.” As I say this, I squeeze my thighs together a little bit, pushing in on the thick wad of padding beneath my pants. I certainly don’t need diapers anymore, but I haven’t yet been able to completely remove them from my life. I tell myself they’re just comfortable, but I think it’s something else–like they’re somehow a wearable security blanket. He laughs again, nodding his head. “Oh, I don’t think diapers are completely gone from my life. I just…” He thinks about it for a moment. “Diapers seem to have been a big part of my life for the last chunk of my life–for better or for worse. I’m thinking it might be nice to take a little break from them for a while, you know? Get back to who I was when I was just a guy wearing regular underwear.” I chuckle softly. That’s a strange thing to hear someone say, but it also makes a lot of sense to me. “So you’re leaving? Not coming back?” “Oh, I’m sure I’ll come back to visit eventually. I just…” “You need a break,” I say. “I get it.” “Yeah.” “So, where are you going?” “Back to my mom’s place,” Tommy says, rolling his eyes a little as he says this. He says a lot without actually saying it. For one, he doesn’t call it ‘home,’ nor does he seem ecstatic about living with his mother again. And yet he’d still prefer whatever discomfort this move brings than staying at The Cradle. Maybe he just needs a change in his life that badly. I understand that too, I think. “This place isn’t going to be the same without you,” I say. He smiles, then shrugs. “This place has already changed.” I open my mouth to respond, but I’m not quite sure how to respond to that. “It’s a good thing,” Tommy assures me, nodding. “I wish everyone here the best, I really do. I just think that for me, personally, I need to be somewhere else for a while.” Again, I completely understand what he means. It’s more or less what I’ve been feeling myself. A few minutes later, and the truck is packed and ready to go–it’s not just his stuff, but mine too. Soon, we’ll be on the road together–one last little trip through the wilds of California. Then, when we reach the airport, our paths will split. I’ll be, finally, headed back to New Jersey. He’ll continue on his own, driving towards his mother’s place.  Nikki’s already gone. She got a ride back to the city a few days ago, and is already back at our apartment. I was kind of hoping she’d stick around a little longer and make the trip back with me, but I can’t blame her for wanting to get out of here as soon as possible. There may have been aspects of The Cradle that she liked, but this was never a ‘home’ for her, and she’d had enough adventure to last a while.  I’m pleased to report that my orgasm–and the many that followed–didn’t cause any harm to myself, Nikki, or the world at large. No dimensional teleportation. No white spaces. No hijinks of any sort–just good ol’ fashioned fucking. And there’s more where that came from, waiting for me back in New Jersey. My emotions are all over the place at the moment, and it’s hard to hold on to any one feeling for too long. I’m elated and relieved to be going back home. But I’m also a little sad to be leaving not only The Cradle, but to be officially closing the craziest chapter of my life thus far. Right now, I’m feeling pretty good about it all–but I also feel like I'm moments away from needing to curl up in a ball and start crying like a… Well, you know. “I guess that’s it, then,” Tommy says. “We’re ready to go whenever.” “We’ve got a little time,” I say, checking the time on my phone. “You need to say some goodbyes?” he asks. “There’s a few folks I’d like to see one more time,” I say. “What about you?” He shrugs. “I think I’ve said everything I’ve had to say to everyone I’ve wanted to say something to.” “But you don’t mind if I…” “No,” he says, shaking his head. “Not at all. Take all the time you need, man.” Of course, I can’t take all the time. Eventually I need to get on a plane. But I’ve got enough time, I think, that I can pay some visits to the people I want to see. Mirabelle “...and we’re obviously not going to need as many eggs now,” Mirabelle is saying to the head-chef Shara in the dining hall’s kitchen while staring down at a clipboard in her hands. “But how many do you think we’d still need to order?” Shara considers the question for a moment. “Maybe…half of what we were using before? Let’s start there and adjust as needed.” Mirabelle nods at this, making a note on her clipboard. I see her mouth bend into a smile as she catches sight of me in her periphery, and she immediately turns to look at me. Whereas it looked like a world of stress had been lifted from Tommy’s shoulders in the last few days, Mirabelle is looking a little more stressed than usual. In fact, her looking stressed at all is something that I’m not used to seeing. However, I’m not convinced this is a bad thing. She seems more ‘human’ to me now than she has in the entire time I’ve known her. Not only that, but she seems to be striving, despite the stress–as if she does her best work when she’s under the gun. “So you’re really doing this, huh?” she asks, walking towards me. “You’re leaving?” I shrug, not really sure what else to say. “No, no, I don’t want to make you feel bad about leaving,” she says. “You have to do what’s right for you. I just…” Her voice trails off. I lift my eyebrows a little. “Hm?” “Well, if you ever decide to come back,” she says, “you’d be welcome. I could put you in charge of some things. I could use a guy like you.” I smirk a little. A ‘guy like me?’ I’m not completely sure who the guy I’m like is, but I still see it as a compliment that makes my cheeks redden a little.  “I’ll keep that under consideration,” I say. I have a feeling that this isn’t the last I’ll ever see of The Cradle, though I don’t see myself coming back in a permanent capacity. “But I could ask you the same thing, Mirabelle: You’re really doing this? You’re staying?” She laughs and shrugs. She’s walking. I’m walking with her. We leave the kitchen out one of the side doors and we’re outside, where the sun is shining and there’s barely a cloud in the sky. We walk down one of the paths together–each of us following the other, and it’s clear that we have no exact destination in mind. The milk is gone. Well, it’s not gone–there’s still milk. But the milk doesn’t do anything anymore. No mind-altering powers that make grown adults decide to become little babies. And without that, you’d think a place like this would cease to exist.  And yet, there’s still people here. We see them walking around. They wave to us as we walk past them and we wave back. And what more? Most of those people are still wearing diapers. “I don’t really have a home to go back to,” she says to me. “Or…I don’t have a home that I want to go back to. This place feels more like home than anywhere else I’ve ever been. I want to be here. And all these other people? They want to be here too. We might not have the milk anymore, but there’s still a Cradle.” “And, uh, the diapers and all that?” I ask. She laughs a little, nodding her head. “We’re keeping our diapers. Isn’t it a lovely idea? A secret colony of big babies, hiding in the Californian wilderness? I think so, and so does everyone else who is choosing to stay.” It does sound nice. Really nice, in fact. It sounds like the place I thought this was way back when I first came here under the pretense of ‘rescuing’ Anders. There’s a part of me that doesn’t want to leave. Maybe I could just stay here, forever–living out my days in thick diapers without feeling any shame whatsoever. “What about, like, funding?” I ask. “I mean…does this place have all the resources it needs to stay afloat?” She shrugs. “I mean, we lost some of our more generous benefactors. But I don’t think it was a vindictive thing, in most cases–they just found that post-milk clarity and decided it was time to leave. But…” She points to a man sitting on a picnic bench, clad in lime-green onesie and talking with a group of other diapered folks. “We’ve still got some friends with deep pockets.” I recognize the man, as I did the first time I ever saw him–back when I first came to The Cradle: Senator Everett Tiltan.  “Things are going to be different around here,” she says. “Probably in ways that we don’t even realize yet. But things are going to be good, I promise you that. The core of this community, I think, is stronger than it's ever been. For a lot of our residents, they’re realizing that it’s never been about the milk itself–this place is about freedom and liberation from a world they don’t want to be a part of. This is a place where they can be their true selves, you know?” I nod. “I get that. I really do.” “I want to throw a big party,” she says. “You know, once everything settles a little bit. A, uh, Rebirth Festival. You’d have to at least come back for that.” I laugh, feeling my cheeks warm. “Is it going to be like the last one? Like a, er, orgy…” She’s blushing a little too, shaking her head. “No, no. Or, well…I mean, I’m not going to plan for it to be like that. I just want to throw a big party. A celebration of what this place is now, and everyone’s commitment to it. That is what I want it to be.” “Yeah,” I say. “That actually sounds really nice.” We walk a little longer together, neither of us saying anything for a while. It feels good to just walk around, taking in the splendor of this little private sanctuary. It’s been a while since I took it all in like this, and it’s a good reminder of how I got sucked into this world in the first place. There’s a question on the tip of my tongue, and I dawdle on whether or not I’m going to ask it. I think I know the answer–or at least I hope that I do. But the idea of leaving The Cradle without asking it already fills me with a sense of regret.  So, I just have to ask: “Are you good?” She pauses midstep, her head tilting towards me like she’s not sure what I mean. “Are you…okay?” I ask, as if this mild rephrasing would make more sense. I try to elaborate a little more: “I know that Mother had some, uh…influence on you. And with her gone now…” “I’m okay,” she says, her voice a little quieter now. “Thank you for asking. You’re the only one who has, actually. But…that’s probably because you’re the one of the few who understand what happened to me.” “You’re sure you’re okay?” I ask. She nods. “I mean, there’s blank spots in my memory–voids where I’m sure Mother was more in control of me than myself. I can’t say I love that, you know? But…I’m feeling better now. Really.” “If you say that you are, I believe you,” I say. “You know what’s funny?” she asks. “I think I’m going to like The Cradle a lot more without the milk. Now, when we say that we’re being the truest version of ourselves…we’ll actually mean that.” “I wish you all the best,” I say. “Truly. I hope The Cradle, and the community here, flourishes.” “Thank you, Alfie. That means a lot to me. And you will come visit, right?” “Oh, I’m sure,” I say. She titters a little behind her hand. “So…how’s that diaper of yours doing?” “I…I’m not…” But there’s probably no reason to lie to her about a silly thing. “You can tell, huh?” She shrugs but doesn’t say anything. “It’s…dry. Haven’t really brought myself to actually use it. But I like the feeling of wearing it still. I guess I’m not ready to give that up just yet.” “You should go ahead and fill it up,” she says, playfully elbowing me in the side. “You know, we’ve still got a staff that would love to take care of you one more time before you go.” Freya Mirabelle’s advice was quite sound, and after we split ways, I find her suggestion is still rolling around in my head. A diaper is made to be used, after all.  But… It’s different now. Without the milk–without Mother’s figurative whispering in my ear–it’s an actual choice that I have to make. No more ‘accidents.’ No more surprises. If I want to use my diaper, I have to want it. I have to… I’ve been tempted to use my diaper for the last few days, but I just haven’t brought myself to go through with it. And, well, it’s been kind of fun and novel to use a toilet again–Mirabelle had no problem with me using the farmhouse’s bathroom as I pleased. But I seem to be in the extreme minority. Most everyone else seems to have no problem using their diapers just as much as they did as when the enchanted milk was a staple of their diet.  But a gurgle in my abdomen alerts me to the slow-building pressure that’s been in my bowels for longer than I’ve realized. Sigh. This is usually the part where I run towards the farmhouse. I’d be a fool if I went back home without one last diaper change, I think.  What’s my hesitation, anyway? Am I afraid that I’d look–that I’d feel–like a crazy person, purposefully flooding a diaper like a baby? Or is it, perhaps, that the sensation of a heavy diaper would remind me of the strange days I’d been a part of–days that I’m relieved to have some distance from? “Alright, alright,” I say quietly, talking to my bowels just as much as I’m talking to myself. I can do this.  I should do this. I want to do this. But how do I… I can’t help but laugh aloud again. I’m being silly and I know it. It’s not hard to just…let go. To make myself do the thing I’d done countless times before. I cautiously glance around, making sure there’s nobody else around. Once upon a time, in the prime of the milk-soaked days of The Cradle, it was sometimes challenging to find a place that was completely free of others. Things are a little different around here now, with many people deciding that their time at The Cradle had come to an end and it was time to go home. Privacy was a little easier to obtain now, it seemed. Biting my lower lip, I drop into a slight squatting position. Milk or no milk, my body still seems trained on what to do in a moment like this. I barely even have to think about it and suddenly there’s a hot stream flooding the front of my diaper. “Ohhh,” I say, closing my eyes as I let the sensation of wetting myself take over my senses. The spreading warmth. The growing heaviness of the diaper. The sense of ‘naughtiness’ that still manages to persist as I use my diaper–regardless of how many times I’ve done it before, and despite the fact that I’m in a place where it’s completely safe to do this. I’ll never tire of this. It’ll never not thrill me. I…love diapers. Quite possibly the craziest admission I could ever make to myself. Wetting the diaper makes the next part seem even easier. I no longer have any hesitations or doubts. Once a baby, always a baby. I let out a long, satisfied grunting noise as I feel my bottom opening. There’s no stopping things now. Almost immediately, I feel a new presence in my diaper–a sticky, semi-soft mass that slowly fills the seat of my padding. The whole thing probably happens in the span of a minute, but it feels like a long, blissful eternity. A slow glacier of sinful slop that has has no care or concern for its containment. It flows where it can, filling every nook and cranny along the way. A thick and decadent wave of earthy stink wafts past my nose, further confirming the dreadful act that’s consumed my entire body.  The only sound I’m capable of making with my mouth is another extended moan that tapers off into silence after either a few seconds or a few centuries—though I can’t be sure which it is.  Only naughty little boys mess themselves like this, I think. Dirty little babies who are never, ever, going to be fully potty trained. Helpless little dummies who will always be on the cusp of humiliating themselves.  That’s me. Oh yes.  It's an old familiar feeling, much like putting on a pair of favorite socks or re-reading one of your favorite books. And yet…there’s still a spark in this that strikes as new to me. It’s the lack of the milk’s effects, I’d wager. Before, while drunk on Mother’s milk, there was always a component of this that felt slightly…out of my grasp. As if I was somehow an observer to the things going on in my own body. But this–this is nothing like that. I have complete control. Autonomy. Agency. This squishy load in my diaper was put there by me purposefully, and there isn’t a single iota of myself that doesn’t feel involved with this success.  This is my mess. I made this. Because I wanted to. I stand up straight again, feeling the diaper shift between my legs and the heavy mess sliding about as well. I exhale through my nose, savoring the feeling of the new nerve endings being activated by the movement of my messy bottom. The pleasure is enough to make me reconsider my decision to leave The Cradle. What if I stayed? What if I felt like this…all the time? It’s a nice little fantasy, alas one that I know won’t stick when I’m of a more sound–and less stinky–headspace. Buttspace? But right now, I don’t mind sinking into that daydream a little more. The Cradle is a good home for a big baby with a dirty bottom. Maybe I should get someone to change me. For old time’s sake, yes. But also–those would be some nice memories to have when I’m back in the ‘real world.’  I meander further down the path, not completely sure where I’m headed yet until I see the entrance to Daycare, and I can’t help but wonder if I had subconsciously guided myself here, or if it’s simply a pleasant coincidence.  When I burst through the door, I find the place seeming…a little quiet. I’m used to seeing The Mommies–or the Maternal Council–bustling around and aiding the babies being kept in cribs. The cribs are still here, now, but they’re all empty. And I don’t see any signs of life at first. Kind of a depressing sight. “H-hello?” I say, calling out into the void. Maybe I came to the wrong place to have my diaper changed. “Alfie, I didn’t think you were still here,” a voice says from somewhere. I know that voice immediately. “Freya,” I say, my voice full of excitement. Of all the women who I could’ve run into here, she was who I was hoping for most. She steps into view, looking like she just appeared from out of a dark corner. In reality, I think she was just in another room. “I knew it was you,” she says, a little smirk on her face. “I swear, I could smell you coming and I just had a feeling it might be you.” My face is blushing–which is a surprise to me, because I figured I was already blushing. Blush on blush. I’m bright red. I probably look like a cherry. A cherry in a diaper. “I, uhm…” “I think I can guess what you want,” she says, brushing her red hair over her shoulder. It looks longer than I remember it being the last time we really spent time with each other. How long ago was that? Months now? “I think I can guess what you need.” I nod my head. “I…” There’s probably no point in telling her what I did, but that’s kind of a key component in the game we play, isn’t it? She grins. “Go on, Alfie. Tell me what you did. Tell me what you’re hoping I can do for you.” “M-my diaper…” “What about it?” I love that knowing smile on her face. The all-knowing mother, older sister, aunt, or babysitter.  I take a deep breath, doing my best to banish any remaining insecurities. Say what you will about the milk, but it sure did make the ‘being a baby’ part pretty easy.  “I…went in my diaper.” She lets out a little faux-gasp, clapping her hand over her mouth. “But what was it you did in your diaper, sweetheart?” “I went…poopy in my diaper,” I say. It's actually easier to say this in a mock-juvenile way than I think it’ll be. “Oh, is that what that smell is?” I nod my head slowly.  “Come with me, Alfie. We need to get you changed into a new diaper right away.” And between that moment and the next that I see clearly, is a blur of being escorted to a large changing table and being disrobed. When I have my wits about me again, I find that I’m in a place that feels incredibly familiar–given the number of times I’ve been here. I’m on my back on the changing table, my legs spread and lifted in the air as Freya stands at the edge of the table, slowing peeling back the tapes keeping my diaper closed. “Woo-wee,” she exclaims, waving a hand in front of her face as if the smell emanating from my soiled (oh, that word…) diaper is assaulting her. “That’s quite a load you’ve got there, Alfie.” My face, likely already bright red, is an inferno now. There’s something about hearing my name in the same sentence as an analysis of the mess I’ve made that absolutely ruins me. In a good way, of course. For as badly as I want to get out of California and go back home, there are things I know that I’ll be leaving behind that I wish I didn’t have to. A diaper change–maybe even, more specifically, a diaper change at the hands of the gorgeous Freya–would be near the top of that list. There’s just something about her presence at the end of the changing table–the way she touches me, the way she looks at me, the way she giggles as she stares down my filthy diaper–that all but ensures she’ll be embedded in my fantasies for the rest of my life. I don’t have to say anything for her to know how I feel about this situation. There, rising up from the polluted and ruined open diaper, like a flagpole on a scarred battlefield, is my stiff cock. Freya seems more aware of this than I do, her fingertips dancing up my shaft as she releases another playful giggle. “But, then, you’ve never really seemed to mind making such heavy diapers, have you?” I clear my throat like I’m going to say something, but it takes a moment to actually get the words out of my mouth. To my own surprise, I’m…changing the subject? “So, how have you been?” She titters at this inquiry, narrowing her eyes as her hands pause in place above me. “Fine?” “I mean, like…with everything going on around here,” I say. “Like, how are you handling things now? I assume you’re, like, sticking around The Cradle for a while?” She draws in a deep breath, and while her smile doesn’t completely disappear, it at least diminishes an iota. “You know…nobody’s asked me that yet.” I’m not sure how to respond to that, so I just nod. “I mean, I get it,” she continues. “Everyone’s concerned with themselves and where they stand. I am too. I don’t know if I’ve asked anyone else how they’re handling things either.” She pauses for a moment, maybe thinking about how she actually wants to answer my questions. “I’m good. I mean, we’re all entering a new world together, I guess, so at least I can say that we’re all in this together. That helps.” “You’re staying here?” I ask again. “Mm,” she nods. “For now. This is home for me. This is where I want to be.” Home. It’s a word that’s coming up a lot right now, and one that seems to be stuck in my thoughts as a result. The closer I get to that final ride out of here with Tommy, the more jittery I feel. There’s some things I want to do here yet, but I’m still ready to get the hell off the west coast. “How about the other Mommies?” I ask. “The rest of the Maternal Council?” She shrugs. “Just like everyone else, some are leaving. Some are staying.” “Marta?” “She’s sticking around. The flower ship in town that she's been working at has been doing well, as I understand it.” “Do you think this place will be the same without the, uh, milk?” Saying ‘milk’ almost feels like a curse word, though I can’t put my finger on why that is. Maybe it’s starting to really sink into me just how tightly we were all wrapped around Mother’s figurative finger. And for that same reason, it surprises me a little that there’s still a community here. That everyone still wants to make this work. I think it’s great. Not so great that I want to stay here myself…but I’ll definitely be coming back.  “No,” she says with an immediacy that suggests she’s already considered this question for herself. “But I think, in time, it’s going to become even better. An actual retreat–a sanctuary–for the big babies who need a place like this. A place where we can all just be the truest versions of ourselves–not because some milk makes us think that way, but because we truly want it and purposefully make it happen.” “Yeah,” I nod. “That does sound pretty good.” “Well then,” she says, looking back down at the mess in my open diaper. Her nose wrinkles a little and she waves a hand in front of her face one more time. “Let’s get this taken care of, huh?” “Y-yeah…” “But first…” Her hand is slowly wrapping around my erect shaft. “Freya…you don’t have to…” “Don’t be silly, Alfie-Baby. This has always been my favorite part of changing your diaper. I can’t send you home without doing it one last time.” “Well…” “I mean, I’ll stop if you want me to.” “N-no,” I say sheepishly. “Go on.” Her hand slowly glides up and my cock, the pressure increasing as she reaches the head. Then, the whole thing plays in reverse, with her hand sliding back down to the base. Slowly. Firmly. Her other hand reveals a bottle of baby oil–I don’t even know where she pulled it from. She shoots a few drops into her open hand before continuing–her palm feeling smoother and more lubricated. I feel the oil being absorbed into my skin, and I can’t deny how fantastic it feels. And the scent of it–it’s that soft infantile scent I associate with baby powder, except even richer and more potent. It doesn’t quite overpower the scent of my loaded diaper, instead seeming to merge into it. The two scents–each feeling like they’re on opposite ends of a scale from ‘disgusting’ to ‘blissful’–should contrast, but they make something magical together. This, I think, is the pure essence of being ‘baby.’  Which is to say that the scent is getting me off just as much as the work of her very talented hand. In the span of just a minute, she’s already got me on the brink of blowing my stack. “I…I…I’m going to…” Freya giggles again and nods her head. “Yeah? So soon? Did that stinky diaper get you all worked up, little boy? Or was it my hand? Or was it…” I’ll never know what else she was going to suggest, because it’s at that moment when my cock explodes–blasting a stream of white goo up an inch or two before rolling over Freya’s fingers and down my hard shaft. “There we go,” she says with a smile. “Good thing I had to clean you up anyway, hmm? How about we get that taken care of now?” I nod slowly, a little fatigue crawling through my body. It’s another diaper change. No different than the million that came before it, I think, though I think this’ll be the one I remember best for the rest of my days–as it’s the first that feels completely removed from Mother’s direct influence. And now that I’m thinking about Mother, I feel that I know who I ought to visit next. Harriet Freya insisted on me leaving her changing table with a fresh, and well-powdered, diaper, and I’m still listening to myself crinkle with every step as I reach the farmhouse. Harriet’s been staying here, as I understand. I’ve visited once or twice in the last few days, though with everything else going on, I feel like I’ve been a little neglectful. Harriet’s outside, sitting on a rocking chair on the farmhouse’s porch, and she sees me before I see her. “Hello, Alfie.” I wave back. “Hey!” “Today’s the big day, I hear,” she says. “You’re leaving?” I’m a little surprised that the gossip has reached her ears. While The Cradle–Mirabelle in particular–has been very good about giving Harriet a place to stay and anything she might need, the truth is that Harriet is very much an outsider to this community. I’ve never seen her wander away far from the farmhouse, and I don’t think she interacts with many folks. I’ve been meaning to talk to her about leaving The Cradle. In fact, in one of our last conversations, I had mentioned that I would eventually be headed back east–I just don’t know if I’ve mentioned how soon before that happens. Her question has me feeling a little guilty, and I wonder if I’m abandoning her. Harriet, who knows little about the world of adult babies and giant diapers, is only here because her body had been a pawn in a much bigger, stranger game.  “I, uh, meant to come talk to you about that sooner…” I start. She waves a hand in front of her as I continue to approach the porch. “I’m happy you’re leaving, Alfie. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I love your company. But I think you have to do what’s best for you. And it sounds like you know what’s best.” “I do,” I say, nodding as I grab another chair on the porch and drag it closer to where she’s sitting. I place it down next to hers and take a seat. “But don’t worry, I’m not going to be away from this place forever. I’ll come back.” “Well, who’s to say that I’ll still be here?” she asks, smiling. “Ah, fair.” Come to think of it, I really don’t have any idea what her plans are. “Are you…staying?” “I don’t think so,” she says. “But I don’t know when I’m leaving yet, either. Or where I’m going, for that matter. I suppose I should figure that out first, huh?” “You don’t want to go back home?” I ask. She scoffs. “What even is ‘home?’” I have answers to that question, but I’m sure she meant that in a more rhetorical sense so I let it be. She continues: “I was in a rut before all this happened. Maybe I knew it, maybe I didn’t. Either way, I had convinced myself that I was comfortable in that rut. But I don’t think I was. If nothing else, this whole experience helped me to realize that there’s still time left to, y’know, try to make my life more meaningful.” “And how…” But she has an answer before I can even finish asking how she plans on doing that: “That’s what I’m working on. Who is Harriet? I know who I used to be. I’ve had a few glimpses into who others thought I was when, uh, ‘Mother’ was inside of me. But who am I now? Who will I be? That’s what I’d like to figure out now.” “Makes sense,” I say, nodding. “Mirabelle’s made it clear I can stay here for as long as I want,” she says. “And that every need of mine is to be met while I’m here. That…helps. It gives me time to think about what’s next.” It sounds, to me, like Mirabelle attempting to apologize to Harriet. Not that Mirabelle, herself, did anything wrong–but it’s easy to imagine her carrying around some guilt for being ‘in charge’ while Harriet’s life was taken from her. “In a way, that’s kind of exciting,” I say to her. I mean that, too. It’s almost relatable–I’ve been seeing this experience as a sort of rebirth for myself as well. “I think so too,” she says. “Scary. But exciting.” “Well, if you ever need a change of scenery, you’re more than welcome to come to New Jersey,” I say.  She laughs. “You’re going to let me crash at your place?” I shrug. “My couch could be your couch. Or, you know, I’ll help you find a place.” “Do you mean that?” I nod. “I really do. Whatever I can do for you, Harriet, I’m happy to.”  Maybe I have a little bit of my own guilt. Or, it’s just clear that Harriet’s had a rough go of it for a while now, and it’s just the right thing to do to help her find herself again, however I can. “You know, The Cradle is shaping up to be something special,” I say, as if to remind her that life here, for the time being, isn’t so bad either. “Something better than it ever was.”  “I think you’re right,” she says. “But it’s not my home. And when the people here see me, they don’t see me. They see her. And I’m not her.” “Yeah, that’s fair.” “But do you know what I believe, Alfie?” “Hmm?” “I don’t think I’ve ever believed this before, but I’m convinced of it now: Everything’s going to work out in the end. Someday, we’ll look back at all of this, and we’ll laugh.” “Honestly, I already think this whole thing was pretty funny.” “You’re right,” she says. And then we both start to laugh. Very hard, and for a good long time. Harper’s Bell Our things packed into the pick-up, it’s time to head out. We’re leaving The Cradle. There’s a few last goodbyes to say–some handshakes and phone number exchanges with some of the friends I had met here, some final words for Mirabelle and Harriet, and I’m sure to take one more walk around the grounds–taking in all the fresh air, sunshine, and blissful quiet that I can. Things like that are in shorter supply back home. The pick-up, as I understand it, is a ‘gift’ to Tommy from Mirabelle. It did belong to The Cradle, technically. But seeing as how Tommy was the only one who used it, and we needed a ride out of here anyway, Mirabelle seemed happy to just declare it as Tommy’s. Tommy seems happy about this, though–and as we slowly drive towards The Cradle’s main gate, he rattles off a list of improvements to the truck that he’s planning on making at some point in the future. There’s no guard stationed at the entrance anymore. I’m not sure what that means, if anything at all. But I kind of like it, and I imagine it’s a better first-impression for someone coming to visit this place for the first time. The long road between The Cradle and Harper’s Bell gives me plenty of time to reflect on things further. I can still remember, vividly, the first trip down this road that Nikki and I took when we came to California for the first time.  We knew so little, back then. We had absolutely no idea of what lay ahead for us.  Maybe we still don’t. “Remember that thing with the clowns?” I ask Tommy, staring out the passenger side window as I recall driving their box truck down this very road–my heart thudding in my chest because I had just stolen back the milk they stole from The Cradle. He laughs. “Crazy shit. What do you think ever happened to them?” I shrug. In fact, I can’t help but laugh. I almost wish they had gotten away with the milk during their little heist. It’d all be worthless now–though maybe that’d be the problem of whoever was going to buy it off of them. I am curious as to who that was–but I guess there’s no way of really knowing that now.  And, well, I have an easier time allowing questions to just not have answers, I’m finding. That’s the rule of the universe, isn’t it? Not every question has an answer. “Remember that time you were, like, playing around in the rain and the mud?” Tommy asks. We’re opening the doors on our memories of The Cradle, it seems. “And you were with that woman? Uh…Gwendolyn?” “Gwendolyn O’Neil,” I say, nodding my head. “I remember. She was, like, a CEO or something.” “Not just a CEO, but the CEO of a pharmaceutical company,” he says. “Yeah, that’s right.” I had some thoughts back then, of what her motivation was for coming to The Cradle. Yes, there were–and still are–rich and powerful members of this community, but her company affiliation made me suspicious of what she was ultimately hoping to get out of her stay with us. “Whatever happened to her?” “Left after the festival, as best as I remember,” Tommy says. “But, uh, I don’t think she liked me as much. She didn’t let me drive her out of here.” It feels like another side road this story could’ve taken. Maybe on another world–one of the doors I could’ve blundered through on The Onion–Gwendolyn’s interest in the milk got her company involved. Maybe they would’ve attempted to sell it. Recreate it. Make something new from it.  I hope, wherever she is, Gwendolyn O’Neil is doing well. I hope that she looks back at her time at The Cradle fondly. I hope our little romp in the mud helped her in the long run. Ideally, it would’ve helped her rediscover a more playful side of herself. “Speaking of the festival,” I say. “Wasn’t there a young woman you met there? You seemed kind of smitten with her at the time. You said something about the two of you, uh, licking each other?” He laughs. “Well, remember, we were drunk off our asses on milk…” “Did you ever find her?” He shakes his head. “I still can’t remember who she was. Maybe she was just a guest. Or maybe I just misremember what I thought she looked like.” “That sucks.” “Trust me,” he says, “I’m not mad about it. I have some very good memories of that night. I’m not even sure that all the things I remember actually happened. But I kind of like that. It’s a night that feels, like, too big. Too epic. Just…cosmically large.” Cosmically large. It makes me think of the multiverse. Of Mother’s true form. Of the wild adventures I had that nobody on this planet now–save for, maybe, Harriet–will ever truly understand. And that makes me think about Audry. We didn’t even get a chance to say a proper goodbye. I have to assume she made it back to her homeworld too. I have to assume that she’s on a very familiar path as I am right now–about to head back home, where she has a brother named Sam instead of a sister named Sam. I hope she thinks about me too, wherever she is. ‘NOW ENTERING HARPER’S BELL,’ the worn wooden sign reads as the dense forest finally begins to clear away and the small town comes into view. Harper’s Bell has never seemed like ‘home’ to me–I still feel like just a visitor or a tourist when we drive through it–but it at least feels familiar to me now. I feel like I have a fundamental understanding of this place–the way the people here see the rest of the world–now. Though I’m curious–do these folks have any idea of the things that have changed at The Cradle? Would they care? Will things be different in the town moving forward as a result? Things may subtly shift after this–less people traveling through en route to The Cradle, perhaps–and it could affect every person here. It’ll be interesting, I think, to come back here in a few years and to see what’s come of this place. It might be exactly the same, though I have a feeling it’ll be very different. I might not even recognize it. “What do you think?” Tommy says with a smug smile on his face as he gestures out the window towards the only restaurant in town: Harper’s Dinner Bell. “Wanna go grab one last bite to eat?” “We could…” I say. “Though I don’t think Celia’s working today, so I was thinking that maybe we should swing over to her place before we leave town.” “Good call,” he says, nodding. Celia and Sloane When I look at Celia, for a moment, I see one of those Not-Celia’s I encountered in my multiversal adventure. Those Mother-infested traps, laid out for me in an attempt to stop me from messing up things. There’s a very small part of me that thinks I need to be cautious around her, though I know better.  Sloane is still staying with Celia, and as best as I can tell, they’re getting along pretty well. They’re like old friends–sisters, maybe–who seem to know what the other is thinking without anything being said.  “You should have a decent meal before you go,” Sloane says to us as we all sit in the living room. “But let me take care of that,” Celia says. “Don’t go to the diner.” “Look, if you want to make lunch for us,” Tommy says, “nobody’s going to be mad about that.” “I’ll see what I’ve got in the kitchen,” she says, smiling as she turns and walks toward the kitchen. I like that she doesn’t ask us what we want–she’s going to make us something, and whatever it is, we’ll just have to eat that. I’ve made enough decisions recently–it’s good someone else can occasionally take the reins. “Are you staying here for a while?” I ask Sloane when it’s just the three of us. “Maybe,” she says. “It’s been really nice, the two of us living together. I think…” Her voice trails off as she peers around a corner to make sure that Celia isn’t standing right there, listening in. When she seems sure that the coast is clear, she says, quieter: “I think both her and I thought we were the independent-types, you know? But…I think we’ve both loved having someone else around.” I’m nervous about changing the subject–especially to the one I’m about to bring up, but I find myself thinking about the circumstances that brought Sloane into my life in the first place. “How is Esme?”  She looks a little surprised. “You remember my sister’s name?” “Of course.” “She’s…well,” Sloane says. There’s a little hesitation in her voice, and she avoids eye contact with me when she says it. “But?” I ask, assuming there must be more to that very brief synopsis. “Well, there’s no ‘but,’ per se…” “Did she ever get IVF?” I ask. Sloane shakes her head. “I’m sorry to hear that. I mean, I know it’s expensive and stuff, but I’m sure that someday she’ll be able to…” “She’s going to adopt, I think,” Sloane says. “She even seems happier about that option.” “Well that’s good too, isn’t it?” Sloane nods her head. “Esme seems very happy with this idea, and so of course I’m happy for her…” I have to ask it again: “But?” “But, well, I still feel like I let her down. I set out to help get the money for her for the IVF, you know? And I failed at that.” From the other room, I smell…bacon? Hoo boy.  “But even if that whole scheme had worked out,” Tommy says, “would you have felt good about where the money came from?” “No,” Sloane says. “Not at all. But I wish I tried something different. Instead of working with those damn clowns, maybe I could’ve kept trying for a better job, you know? I just…I guess it’s why I’m still here. I’m nervous about going home again and having to face my sister after everything that’s happened. I feel like a failure.” I’m not always an expert on things like this, but I can still speak from the heart. “If I were your sister–and I was thinking about adopting a child–I know I’d want my sister around to help me. She’d never see her supportive sister as a failure.” “I know that,” she quickly says. But then she considers this a little longer and adds: “Well…I think I still needed to hear someone else say that. Thanks.” A few minutes later, the smell of bacon is overwhelming to the point where I have to excuse myself and venture into the kitchen, where I find Celia frying some bacon on a pan–just as I hoped and expected. She hears me entering the kitchen and turns to smile at me.  “Hello, hello,” she says. “Or is it now, ‘goodbye goodbye?’”  “It’s not ‘goodbye’ forever,” I respond, shrugging. “And you and I are going to stay in touch, of course. I’ll come visit you. And, likewise, you can come visit me.” She laughs and shakes her head. “I know this, silly. I’m excited for you, honestly. Go! Get out of here.” “What about you?” I ask. “What about me?” she answers. “What’s next for you?” She snickers a little, turning her attention back to the bacon. “I didn’t have the adventures that you and all your baby friends had back on that farm, Alfie. My life is still mostly the same as it was when you first showed up in my life. I mean, yes, Sloane’s been staying here, but otherwise? Life goes on.” “You’re sticking around Harper’s Bell?” I ask. She shrugs. “Maybe.” For a moment, that seems like all she has to say on the topic, but then she finally adds: “But maybe not. I find myself thinking more and more about getting out of here someday, sooner or later.” I’m tempted to ask her where she’d want to go, or what she’d want to do. But if she knew, maybe she’d already have gone there and done it. Still, it’s nice to see that she’s thinking about a future that involves broadening her horizons a little. She backs away from the stove, coming closer to me with a little smirk on her face as she playfully bites her bottom lip. “So…still in diapers, huh?” “Oh, uh… You can tell?”  “I can smell all that baby powder,” she says. “Strong stuff.” “I think she used a lot of it,” I mutter to myself, referring to Freya–not that Celia knows who that is. “I thought you said that all that milk-stuff was over,” she says–referring to a conversation we had a few days ago. “Ah, well…” “So, I guess I’m left having to assume that you just want to wear a diaper now?” I feel my face warming. “Guilty.” “Well, if you need a hand with getting changed before you leave, make sure you give me a holler.” My blushing intensifies and I shrug. I don’t have any plans to ruin this diaper anytime soon–but it means a lot to me that she’d even offer another change. “You’ve been a really good friend, Celia,” I say. “Thank you. And thank you for helping Tommy and Nikki when I was, uh, off the grid. And thank you for…” “You’re welcome,” she says, sparing me from having to rattle off the rest of the things I’m thankful of her for. “You’ve been a good friend too. And that’s just the sort of stuff friends do for each other.” I crack a smile. “Changing diapers?” “Well, only if your friend is a big baby.” She playfully elbows my midsection before returning to the stove to check on the food.  I’m going to miss having her and Sloane around as readily as they are here, but I’m also delighted to know that we’re all still going to be friends after this. Tommy A little later, our stomachs full, Tommy and I are back in the truck and making our way out of town. The next stop–though we’re still a long way from it–is the airport, where I’ll be boarding a plane bound for New Jersey. Home. It’s been a long time since I’ve been this close to it. “So what about you?” Tommy asks. The truck had fallen silent for a few minutes as we drove, so the question comes out of nowhere.  “What about me?” I ask in response. “What are you doing with yourself when you get home? I know you’ve been asking everyone else that question–but I don’t think I’ve heard you tell anyone your own plans.” “Well, I think I’ve got to get a job,” I say. “That’s the first order of business. I think I kinda burned the bridges at the website I used to work at when I fell off the face of the Earth for a while.” “You don’t think you can explain to them how…” “I don’t think there’s any way I can try and explain to my editor, with a straight face, about even a smidgen of the things I’ve experienced here. I don’t think there’s many people at all I can tell this story to.” “Yeah,” he says, nodding his head. “Fair.” “I mean, I’m going to try,” I say, shrugging. “You’re going to try…telling the story?” “Maybe I’ll write it all down,” I say. Every wild word of it. Somebody, somewhere, would want to read that. Someday.” He laughs. “Hell, I’d love to read it.” “You’ll be the first person I send a copy to, bud.” He smiles, his cheeks blushing a little. “Shit, I don’t want to sound corny or anything. But, uh, I’m glad I met you, man.” “Likewise,” I say. “You’re a good friend.” “I’m going to miss you, Alfie.” “I’m going to miss you too, Tommy.” “I mean…not that this is a forever goodbye.” “Right, right. Things are just going to be different now.” “Different is good,” he says. “...right?” “I think so,” I say, shrugging. “I hope so.” “So you and Nikki, huh?” he asks. “You guys are, like…a thing? A couple?” “We haven’t given it a name,” I say. And knowing Nikki, she probably wants to keep it that way for a little longer. “But, we’re, uh…exploring something. And I think it’s a very real, overdue, thing.” “Good,” he says, laughing a little as he claps me on the shoulder with his right hand. “You know, when you were under Mother’s, uh, little spell or whatever it was, and Nikki came here looking for you?” “Yeah?” “Well, she and I had our little adventures. She’s a good friend.” “One of the absolute best,” I say. He laughs again, shaking his head. “You know, there was a minute there where I thought she and I had a little bit of chemistry.” I laugh and playfully slap his upper arm. “Get the hell out of here. There’s no way.” He shrugs and continues staring straight ahead. I think I know Nikki well enough to know what her type is, and I don’t think Tommy is it at all. But then again…neither am I. Maybe I ought to ask Nikki about that later. I bet I could get her to blush pretty brightly if it's true. “We got a long drive ahead of us,” he says. “You feeling good about it?” “I’m feeling great about it,” I say.  The truck tears down the old worn roads, with every mile we clear bringing me just a little closer to home. Maura I’m sitting on a bench in the airport as I wait the hour or so I still have before my plane to board, and I’m scrolling through the news on my phone–attempting to catch up with the real world following the weeks and months where it feels like my entire life revolved around diapers, Mother, and The Cradle–when an article just barely catches my eye. In fact, I almost scroll right past it, save for catching sight of the words ‘Harpers Bell’ in the article preview.  The headline of the article reads: Discovered Infant Remains Unidentified.  Curious. I click the article and pour through the text. It would seem that, a few weeks ago–at probably around the same time that Mother’s milk stopped infantilizing people, and that I woke up from my deep trip into other worlds–an actual, and living, baby girl had been found in, or near, Harpers Bell. She’s since been transferred to a hospital a town or two away, where she’s been cared for by a number of doctors who all state that she’s in good shape.  Of course, there’s a lot of mysteries concerning where she came from or whose baby she might be. Nobody recalls seeing any babies, or even pregnant women, in the vicinity as of late.  The brief article ends by saying that, for now, the baby has been named ‘Maura’ by the staff, and they all remain committed to making sure she’s well cared for. Funny, I think. Could that be… I laugh out loud a little. I shouldn’t jump to conclusions. But…isn’t that all Mother wanted?  To be…human? To have the chance to experience the mortal life I did? I save the article on my phone, hoping that someday I remember to follow up on it and see if anything else has come out of this story.  Oh little Maura, I say to myself. I wish you all the luck in this crazy world. Seventy-Two: Bring it On My eyes water and I bite my bottom lip. I’m on the verge of crying. Not just a little cry, I think–but a full-on sob, complete with heavy breathing and clenched fists. It’d be a joyous sob, though. An act of relief. But this–the airplane that’s finally beginning to let travelers disembark into the terminal–isn’t the place for such celebration. I close my eyes and will myself to hold it together for just a little longer. Later, when I’m alone, maybe I’ll finally allow myself to break down.  “Is everything okay, sir?” a flight attendant asks, her head tilted as she stares at me and the tears I’ve pushed out of my watery eyes that now spill down my cheeks. I laugh and shrug. “It’s just…really good to be here.” She laughs, though it's an uncertain laugh–like she just heard the punchline of a joke, and she knows that she’s supposed to laugh, but doesn’t quite get what it means. “I’m not sure I’ve ever seen someone so happy to be in New Jersey before.” I compose myself long enough that I can get off the plane and into the terminal. Having only been to the airport a handful of times in my life, I can’t say I ‘know’ this place all too well. Still, just being here–being on the ground on the East Coast–has me buzzing and giddy. I take in a deep breath of the air, attempting to convince myself that it’s somehow different than the air I breathed in California. If there’s any difference, I couldn’t tell you what it is. As I walk, I feel my thick diaper–the same one I was wearing when I left California–squish and crinkle between my thighs. The temptation was very strong to go ahead and use my diaper while flying across the country, but I’m kind of glad I fought that urge now. Of course, now I’m left doing a little potty dance when I stand idly for too long–I’m going to need this diaper or a toilet soon enough. I fire off a text to Nikki, who is waiting outside in the car, as I wait at the baggage carousel: “Just waiting for my suitcase. But…I’m here!” Nikki, never much of a texter or one to talk about how excited she is, responds with a simple thumbs up emoji. Our recent upgrade to our relationship still has me all fired up, and even that most basic of communications has me blushing a little–my little heart pitter-pattering at the thought of being able to see her in a few minutes. Waiting at the luggage carousel turns out to be the pause I need so that I can collect myself. As ecstatic as I am over my return, it’s hard to dwell on it too much without being reminded of all the people I need to see and the conversations that need to happen. Both my mother and my father think I’ve been avoiding them for the last few months. I still haven’t listened to all the passive aggressive voicemails my mother’s left for me, nor have I read my father’s rambling text messages about ‘just checking in.’ And, well, I don’t have any idea how I’m going to explain my absence. The best I’ve come up with is that I’ve been on a work assignment, and I ended up staying at a place that’s ‘off the grid.’ Which, sure, is kind of true–but I think my parents will find some easy holes to poke in that story. I can already hear my mother asking: “You’re telling me that you couldn’t get away from this place even once to give your mother a call to let her know that you’re still alive?” And to that, I’d have no good response. At least I don’t have to conjure as wild of an excuse for my sister. Thanks to Anders, I suspect she has a pretty basic understanding of what The Cradle is. But does that get me off the hook for not communicating with her as often? I doubt it, and I’m sure she’ll have plenty to say about that. And I’ll have to take it. Maxine’s in town too, or so her recent texts have indicated. She’s on a break from school at the moment. I mentioned I was coming home, and she says she wants to see me. In a way, I think I’m more nervous about seeing her than I am seeing my parents. Our relationship has had such a strange trajectory since my adventures in California began, and now I worry that we don’t know each other at all. Who is the Maxine that goes to college? Does she have a girlfriend–like the version of Maxine I met somewhere in the multiverse? Do we even have anything in common now?  I let out a long sigh as I stare at the baggage carousel’s conveyor belt–waiting for it to begin moving and to deliver my bag so I can get out of here. “Everything alright?” an older woman standing near me asks with her head cocked to the side. I must’ve sighed even louder than I realized. I laugh a little and shrug. “Sorry, I, uh…I guess I was just lost in thought for a minute there.” She chuckles and nods her head. “Yeah, I do that too sometimes. I’ll get myself all worked up about the things I have to do, you know?” “Exactly,” I say, wagging a finger at her. “That’s exactly what I’m dealing with right now. So much to do. So much to say. So many people to see. It’s all so…overwhelming.” “Well, you know what I always say?” she asks. Of course I do not. I’ve never seen this woman in my life. Still, I humor her: “Hmm?” “I just say: ‘It is what it is.’” I’m tempted to think that this is the most useless advice that anyone’s ever offered me. But the longer that phrase rattles around in my head, the more I find myself warming up to it.  Yeah. It is what it is.  That’s kind of like the rule of the cosmos, isn’t it? That not all questions have answers. Some things just…are. And there are no answers as to why. There’s no changing it. You just accept it and move on. Maybe I ought to stop worrying about all these conversations and I should just, y’know, have them. If anyone’s disappointed in me, or is upset with my lack of contact, let them be. I have the rest of my life to make it up to them.  I turn towards where she was standing to thank her for the reminder, but she’s gone. As it turns out, our luggage is making its way down the conveyor belt now, and while I was spaced out in thought, she grabbed hers and made her way towards the exit. I should probably stop doing my little potty dance and do the same. I’m totally going to ruin this diaper on the drive home. Dad In the hours leading up to my arrival at my Dad’s house, I got myself a little worked up while thinking about Julie-fucking-Ross and the fact that she was still a part of his life. Either it  never occurred to my father that it would bother me that he was now seeing my ex-girlfried, or he knew that it bothered me and he did it anyway. Both options–and it had to be one of them–anger me.  Maybe, I think, today is going to be the day that I tell him that. But by the time I’ve opened the door to his house, and he and I are embracing, I’ve found myself easing away from those frustrated thoughts. It is what it is. I’m no longer dating Julie, and I consider myself better off for it. I could give a list of reasons why my father probably shouldn’t date her either, but he is–and that’s on him and Julie.  I wouldn’t say I’ve ‘made peace’ with it, but I’m at least willing to admit that I'd be better off by not letting their relationship take up as much real estate in my head.  “I’ve been worried about you,” Dad says, handing me a cold bottle of beer as we sit down on the couch together. He’s a funny guy when it comes to beer. He rarely ever drinks by himself. But get another guy in the same room? He’ll make sure both you and him always have a bottle or can in hand. “Sam’s been telling me that you were fine, just really busy with one of your writing assignments. Is that true?” Gods bless you, Sam. I’m overjoyed that she’s had my back in my absence–even if she’s probably worried sick about me herself. “That’s the short version of the story,” I say, nodding my head. “I’m real sorry I hadn’t been in touch. I guess things just…got away from me.” “Must’ve been a helluva story you’ve been working on, huh?” I’m not even sure how to respond to that. There was no writing assignment. There is no story–at least not one that I think I could share with my father. And I have, in fact, lost my writing job. ‘Job abandonment’ was the official reason. And I can’t even argue with that. I thought about going back to my editor, Bennie, and begging him for another chance–maybe even offering him a small glimpse into the world of the diapered cult I’d been hanging out with for the last few months to see if his mouth watered for an exclusive story.  But…do I even want that job? I was never all that happy with it before, and I doubt I’d be any happier with it now. Maybe it’s a good thing that I’m in the position of needing to look for a new job. It’s a much-needed opportunity to shake up my own life a little. “It was a hell of a story,” I say finally, nodding my head.  “I’m looking forward to reading that someday,” he says. I almost scoff, though I bite my tongue. For now, I just nod my head, buying myself some time to figure out how I can further prolong ever having to tell him about where I was and what I was doing while there. “Well, I’m glad you’re home safe, Alfie,” he says. “I missed you.” “I missed you too, Dad.” His mouth hangs open for a moment, and it looks like he has something to say, but doesn’t quite know how to get the words out. Then he turns to look at me, and sees that I’ve been watching him. Now his cheeks are turning pink. “Was there…something else you wanted to say?” I ask. He clears his throat. “Well, uh…I suppose I have a little bit of news to share with you.” My eyes widen. “Oh yeah?” He chuckles a little. “I haven’t told anyone else this yet, so maybe, uh…keep this close to the chest for a little bit?” Now my curiosity is quite piqued. “Lay it on me.” My imagination is firing on all cylinders. Maybe he’s about to give me some very good news? What if he and Julie broke up?  Holy fuck, that would be so incredible. My heart races as I lean forward, beer bottle tightly gripped in my hand as I wait for the big reveal. “So…you know how Julie and I have been seeing each other for a while?” “Yes, of course,” I say, fighting the desire to roll my eyes. Yes, I’m well aware of the fact that you’ve been dating my ex-girlfriend, Dad. He swallows hard, his skin suddenly looking a little sweaty. “Well…in about six and half months, you’re going to be…” My brain stops working. I’m hearing the words, but there’s a delay in my processing of them. “...a big brother!” For a few moments, I just stare at him–no emotion on my face at all.  Finally, as the words begin to register with me, I let out: “I’m sorry…what did you just say?” “Julie is, er, pregnant. Believe me, we weren’t planning on having this happen. But she’s actually quite excited about motherhood and I’m thinking, y’know, maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to experience fatherhood again. So…you’re going to have a little brother or sister soon enough.” “A, uh, baby?” I ask, as if the concept of pregnancy was somehow entirely new to me. He laughs. “That’s right.” “You and Julie are having a baby,” I say. It might have been a statement. It might have been a question. “That’s what I’m saying.” It is what it is. All I can do is laugh. I laugh really hard, and for longer than I probably should.  “Is it really that funny?” he asks. “Oh, no,” I say, shaking my head. “It’s just…interesting, I guess. Very interesting.” I’m tempted to add that this would just be another wild chapter of my wild life, but it seems in poor taste to make this news all about me.  “Well, look,” he says. “It’d mean the world to me if we had your support.” “You’re not asking me to change diapers or anything like that, are you?” I ask, smiling more than I mean to. It just doesn’t seem right to expect me to do that when I’m still wearing diapers myself. “All I’m asking is that you love your new sibling,” he says. That, I think I can manage.  But I have to ask: “So…you haven’t told Sam about this?” His nervousness returns and he shakes his head. “No.” I laugh again. “Good luck with that.” Sam and Anders There’s tears in Sam’s eyes as she tightly wraps her arms around me, pressing me against her chest. She’s always been the more affectionate of the two of us, though this level of affection is still a little surprising. Her emotions are all over the place. One moment she seems grateful and relieved to have me back home. The next, she seems frustrated with me for being away for so long and not being in enough contact with her. She even breaks out the question that I assumed my mother was going to ask: “Would it have been so hard to reach out to me more often?” I wish I could explain how I was ‘indisposed’ for a time–how I was zonked out in some sort makeshift shed while my consciousness was propelled to a series of other worlds as I tried to make sense of a strange cosmic entity–but I doubt that would go over very well. To date, I haven’t explained that part of my story to anyone.  So, I concede: “I should’ve reached out more.” “It’d have been nice if you reached out at all,” she rebukes. “Yes, you’re right,” I say, nodding. “I’m really sorry about that.” I can see it on her face, she’s not done being mad at me about this. But she’s already said what she’s had to say. For now, I can see that she just wants to be happy that I’m here. I’m tempted–very, very, tempted–to spill the beans about Dad and Julie having a baby together, if only because I know I won’t get to be there when that news actually does drop, but it’s probably best I let my father handle that himself. Besides, I figure once that news does break, Sam will be on the warpath–it’s probably best to enjoy the peaceful time I have with Sam now, before things get absolutely crazy around here. Little has changed about Sam and Anders’s house, though this doesn’t surprise me much. There’s this level of stasis you often reach as ‘an adult’–something I haven’t been in a while–which they’ve probably met long before I went to California in the first place.  Anders, himself, merrily greets me and chimes in once in a while with a word or two, but it’s mostly the Sam Show for a while. I give her the very truncated version of my time in California–leaving out many details and subplots–and then give her all the time she needs to grief me for not being in contact more often. When she finally excuses herself to work on making dinner for us, I’m finally left alone with Anders, who lights up like a Christmas tree the second she’s out of the room. “So?” Anders asks, leaning forward in his seat. “What did you really think of The Cradle?” I laugh and shrug. I have no idea how to actually answer that question. There were times where it was the best experience of my entire life. I met so many amazing people, experienced so many amazing things. And diapers…where do I start in proclaiming my love of diapers, of all fucking things? There was a sense of community there on a level I’d never seen anywhere else. There were stretches of time there where I might have agreed with someone if they said it was the closest thing Earth had to a ‘utopia.’ But then there was Mother, and milk, and the manipulation. The secrets. Chasing clowns into the night. Being thrust into the confusing, and often nightmarish, world of the multiverse. How the hell does one sum all of that up? “It was alright,” I say, nodding my head. Anders laughs. “I heard that, uh…things have changed there now?” “You heard that? Where did you hear that from?” “I’m subscribed to the email newsletter,” he says with a shrug. I didn’t know that was a thing… “The, uh…milk is gone?” he asks, his voice lowering as he leans closer towards me. “Mother’s gone? What the hell happened? I feel like I missed everything.” I stare at him blankly for a moment, my eyes blinking a few times. Where do I even begin in explaining everything that happened since Anders left The Cradle? Still, he seems to know some of the story beats. I shouldn’t be surprised he’s at least a little in the loop–he’s probably got some friends back at The Cradle who send him updates from time to time. Hell, he might even be in contact with Mirabelle herself still, given their history. “Well,” I finally say, scratching my head, “things got a little crazy there for a while.” He laughs and shakes his head. “I’m not saying it’s all your fault or anything, but isn’t it kind of funny that all the drama happened after I invited you there?” “Y-yeah, I guess…” “Maybe I should’ve never told you about it,” he says, shrugging in a breezy way to suggest that he’s still (mostly) kidding around. “Maybe then, everything would still be the same.” I have to admit that that’s an interesting thought. I do wonder what would’ve happened if I never went to The Cradle in the first place. Was I truly the catalyst for everything going haywire? Or was this always fated to happen, but with someone else in my place? I’d like to lean towards the latter option, but the word ‘anomaly’ continues to roll around in my head. Mother had told me that I was an anomaly–a one-of-a-kind distortion in the fabric of time and space, and exactly what she was looking for.  And, well, I sometimes wondered just how deep Mother’s manipulations were rooted into my own life. Had she known about my potential, even before my first trip to The Cradle? Had she aligned everything so that I’d end up there no matter what? I suppose I’ll never know. On that note, I think about little Maura–the recently found Californian baby with seemingly no parents. I can’t help but wonder if, someday, I’d be able to talk to her. I wonder if she’d remember anything about who she used to be–if she is who I think she is in the first place. Would she remember me? Would she have any answers for me? “Hey, you still with me?” Anders asks, likely seeing that I’m getting lost in my thoughts. “Oh, uh, sorry. I was just…” “I was kidding,” he says. “Look, I don’t actually think you ruined The Cradle. Hell, it sounds like the place is kind of thriving right now. A community of people just choosing to live their best diapered lives together in the middle of nowhere? Sounds like heaven to me.” “You think you’ll ever go back?” I ask. He blushes a little, checking towards the doorway to see if Sam is there or not. “I’d like to. I think Sam’s still a little, uh, bitter about the whole thing.” “Is she mad that you went to Baby Camp?” I ask. “Or is she mad that you lied to her and then refused to come home when she expected?” He sighs and leans back in his seat. “Yeah…okay, that’s pretty fair.” “How are you two doing?” I ask. “We’re okay,” he says. “Things are getting better, I think. You know…she asked me the other day if I wanted her to, uhm…diaper me?” “Oh yeah?” I ask. “And what did you say?” “Well, obviously I said…” But I cut him off quickly, waving my hand in front of me to signal that he shouldn’t continue. “Nevermind. Sam’s my sister, dude. I don’t think I want to know about what you two do together in the bedroom. I’ll just say… I hope everything works out for you there.” He laughs and nods. “Fair enough.” When dinner is served, and we sit around the dining room table to eat, it feels like nothing has ever changed. We joke around and tell each other stories–some new, some the same old stories we’ve told a hundred times before. We laugh. We drink wine. We poke fun at our parents, and I fight all of my urges to spill the beans about our new sibling on the horizon. Home. It feels good to be back here. It’s so easy to take ‘home’ for granted, as it’s part of your everyday, but when you’re away from it for a while, you realize just how vital it is. I tell myself that I’ll never forget this, and that I’ll always hold moments like these as sacred. But…I’m sure I’ll fall into some sort of groove again, soon enough, and I’ll start taking days like these for granted again. I’ll sigh and complain about having to go to Sam’s for dinner, or having to return my mother’s phone calls. That’s just the way life is. For now, and for as long as I can, I’m going to relish these moments.  Later, in the kitchen, I help Sam to put away the leftover food and wash the dishes. I don’t always do this when I come over to see her and Anders, but doing so now reminds me of when we were kids, and we would do chores together like this all the time. “I was really worried about you,” Sam says.  “I know.” “I’m glad you’re safe.” I chuckle a little. “Yeah…I’m glad about that too.” Of course, I wasn’t always safe, but maybe Sam doesn’t need to know about that. “So, like, I know you were there to work on some sort of story,” she says. “But…you were there for an awfully long time.” “I know,” I say again, feeling a lump forming in my throat. I’m a little nervous about where she’s going with this. “Tell me the truth,” she says. “Did you, like, fall in with them? Get attached? Become one of those, uh, big babies?” “Uh…” I’m not sure how to answer that, and I’m tempted to tell her ‘no’–but I think there are already too many things I’m keeping from her, between the actual events that transpired at The Cradle, and my father’s upcoming bombshell. “Yeah, I guess I did.” She thinks about this for a moment. “Did you like that? Being treated like a…baby?” My face is getting warmer. “I suppose I did.” She sighs. “Yeah…that’s what I thought. I mean, no disrespect or anything. It’s still very weird to me, but I can almost see what someone might like about, y’know, allowing yourself to regress like that.” “It’s nice,” I say, shrugging. “Though it’s an easy thing to get lost in.” “I’m coming around on it,” she says. “A little. I’m not going to pretend that I get it, but I can at least acknowledge that it’s something you and Anders seem to get a lot out of.” I don’t actually need her approval, I think. I’ve made peace with my newfound love of diapers. But? It’s certainly not a bad thing if one of the most important people in my life isn’t going to judge me for it. “But Alfie?” she says. “Yeah?” “I just want to make it clear to you right now, that I’m not going to be changing your diapers.” I’m about to tell her that I never would’ve asked that of her, but as soon as my mouth is open, she begins to laugh. I suppose I can expect some teasing like this from her moving forward. That’s fine. I can deal with that. Though, it gets me thinking…it really would be nice if I could get someone to change my diapers from time to time. The Apartment Home is a concept, yes. It’s also a broad area–a state, or the opposite coast of the country from where I had been previously. But it’s also a very specific place in a nondescript apartment building.  I’ve never been all that attached to this apartment before. It’s as fine of a place as any, I guess, but it’s always kind of felt a little temporary. It’s not the place I’d grow old in, nor have I ever thought it would be the place I’d get married in or have children in. Funny, then, that despite me considering it as ‘temporary,’ I’ve lived here for as many years as I have. It’s the kind of place that I always assumed would one day just be relegated to the background of stories I told. “Oh yeah, that happened back when Nikki and I lived in that one apartment together…” But since my return to the East Coast, this small, unassuming apartment feels a little different to me now. It’s a personal sanctuary. It’s the escape hatch from the rest of the world. It’s my place (and Nikki’s, though I don’t mind sharing it with her), and it feels good just to have a place I can say that about. Almost nothing has changed since I went to California. Sure, I imagine the bananas on the counter are different bananas than the ones that were there months ago. There’s a new jade plant by the window too, which I don’t remember being there before. But otherwise? It’s the same old place it’s always been. My DVDs and Blu-Rays are still on the same shelf, in the same order. The same blanket draped over the back of the couch. The same rug beneath the coffee table with the same subtle stain from the time I dropped spaghetti on it.  The only big change around here has been in the people who live in this space. For better or for worse, I’m not the same Alfie who used to live here. I haven’t yet figured out how my time in The Cradle has changed me, but I’m sure that it has–just in ways I haven’t been able to articulate yet. And, of course, the most obvious change being that the two residents here are now in some sort of relationship. Nikki and I, forever cursed to be less socially-savvy than anyone else in the world, have yet to commit to labels like ‘boyfriend’ or ‘girlfriend.’ But we’re certainly doing something. We’re sleeping in the same bed at night now (usually hers, but sometimes mine). We make out with each other. We have wild, often physically exhausting, sex.  We each said ‘I love you,’ to the other when we were at The Cradle, though we haven’t said it since. I know that it’s still true, it’s just something that hasn’t yet become a part of our daily vernacular. Knowing how Nikki thinks, I suspect she’s of the mindset that she’s said it once, and so she doesn’t have to keep repeating it. But I’ll say it to her again, soon enough, and I’m sure that she’ll say it again then too.  We’re doing well, though. And while our relationship is still in its infancy–a word that still makes my cheeks warm a little when it comes up–I already get the sense that our foundation is strong and sturdy. It doesn’t feel like any relationship I’ve ever had before, and maybe that’s why I’m so certain that it’s good. “Alfie,” she says to me late one night, her breathing finally steadying itself as we cuddle following an intense session of fornication. “Y-yes?” I say, still a little out of breath as my mind races with the recent memory of her bouncing up and down on top of my cock.  She snorts–one of my favorite sounds in the world. “I’ve been thinking about something…” “Oh?” Already, I’m a little surprised. There’s a slight hesitation in her tone, like this is a topic she’s been putting off discussing for a while, but has run out of time. “Diapers,” she says.  Honestly, it’s the last thing I expected her to mention right now. Since coming home, I’ve thought a lot about diapers, myself, but haven’t committed as much time to them as I thought I would’ve. Maybe I did need a little break from them, after all. Or, maybe it’s just that I haven’t yet figured out how to integrate them into my new everyday life with Nikki, I think that mostly stems from the fact that I just don’t know where Nikki stands with diapers. I don’t ever see her as the caregiver type, though there’s also a part of me that knows I shouldn’t make assumptions like that without talking to her first. Maybe this is that conversation? “Diapers?” I ask. “What about them?” “Well, I know that whole thing is important to you…” ‘That whole thing,’ cracks me up a little.  “Just because it’s important to me doesn’t mean that it has to be important to–” But her hand covers my mouth, stopping me from completing that thought. She says: “I want you to do whatever makes you happy, Alfie. I want you to be happy. If diapers make you happy, then wear diapers.” “Okay, but…” Her hand is on my mouth again. “The diapers don’t bother me. Knock yourself out. Wear them around the house. Suck your thumb. Pee your pants. It’s fine with me, okay?” I try to respond, but her hand now remains on my mouth, preventing me from doing so. “But here’s the thing,” she says. “I don’t know if I’m, like, a ‘diaper person.’ Not yet. I mean…maybe someday? I want to be able to participate in that part of your life, but I just… It’s a little outside of my comfort zone, I guess. For now. But I’m willing to learn, okay? I want you to know that.” Using my own hands, I pry hers off of my face so that I can finally respond. “Hey, Nik, I never asked you to be my, uh, ‘mommy’ or anything. You don’t have to do anything.” Still, I can’t deny how happy it’s made me that she’s broken the ice on this subject. It means the world to me that she’s willing to be understanding of my own interests and needs, even if she’s not yet ready to involve herself. Honestly, I never would’ve demanded she involve herself at all–and so it means a lot to me that she at least considers a future where she’s warmed up to it. “Ah, well,” Nikki says, her breath catching a little, “I was just thinking…” “Hmm?” “It probably would be nice for you if you had someone you could, like, play with, right?” “I mean…sure. But it’d also be nice to have a yacht, you know? I don’t expect to get everything I want.” Even though the room is fairly dark, I swear I can still see her rolling her eyes to the side of me. “Alfie, what I’m trying to say is that I think it’d be good for you if you had someone else you could ‘play’ with from time to time.” “Are you…breaking up with me? Are you telling me to find greener pastures?” She snorts again. “Alfie, no. That’s not what I’m saying at all. What I’m trying to say is that, y’know, in addition to what you and I have here…” Is she really suggesting what I think she’s about to? “Yeah?” “If you want to…spend time with someone who you can do your baby-things with… Well, that’d be okay with me.” I laugh, clutching her hand in mine. “Nikki, that’s an incredibly sweet thing to offer, but…” “No ‘buts,’ Alfie. I think it’d be good for you. I want you to have that.” “Look, this is all very nice and all. But do you have any idea how hard it is to find a, uh…playmate? They don’t just grow on trees, you know.”  “Well, actually…” She snorts, squeezing my hand in return. “I might have arranged a little playdate for you already.” “A playdate?” I ask. “With…who? How? When did you…?” “When you were gone for all that time,” she says, “I had a lot of people reaching out to me to see if I knew anything about where you were or why you weren’t calling them back. And there was one person, in particular, who I ended up staying in touch with…” My heart–having only just finally settled after our very recent physical activities–begins beating faster in my chest. Is she talking about who I think she’s talking about? “Who?” I ask. She snorts. “Oh, you probably know exactly who I’m referring to.” “Maxine,” I say. I mean to pose this as a question, but it comes out as a statement. “Yep.” “Y-you’re telling me that you and Maxine have been in touch? That you’ve been talking to each other about…me? About me and, uh, diapers?” “It shouldn’t be as surprising as you think,” she says. “Maxine seems just as horny for diapers as you do.” I still can’t begin to fathom the conversations Nikki and Maxine have been having. “Wait…you said there’d be a…playdate?” “You should get some sleep, Alfie,” she says playfully. “You’ve got a big day coming up tomorrow.” Maxine Somehow, Maxine’s promised visit is not the first thing that comes to my mind the next morning, nor is it even the third or fourth. It takes a good hour or two for the memory to resurface, and when it does, I’m sitting at the desk in my bedroom, mindlessly scrolling through job postings online that I’m not especially interested in. “Wait…” I mutter to myself, my eyes blinking in disbelief. “Did Nikki say that Maxine was coming over? Today?” I take a panicked look around myself. Should I clean my room? Take a shower? What should I wear? But Maxine wasn’t just coming over to visit. In fact, Nikki was very specific with the word she had used: playdate. “Nik?” I called out into the apartment, hoping she was around so that she could answer some of these questions for me. “Nikki, you around?” There’s no answer. I peel myself off my chair and venture into the living room, my head pivoting every which way as I continue my search for Nikki. “Yo, Nik. Did you go somewhere?” If she had, I suppose, she wouldn’t be answering that question. In my search for signs of where she might have gone, I spot a square of paper on the kitchen counter–purposefully placed in the center of it like it was meant to be found. A note? I realize I walked past it multiple times this morning without considering what it was. Maybe I’m just not used to Nikki leaving any kind of note for me. I scurry over to it, clutching it in my hands so that I can read it. Nikki had always been ashamed of her handwriting, stating that it was too big and loopy–too ‘girly.’ I would try to counter with a reminder that she is a girl, but she never appreciated that. She rarely wrote notes–rarely wrote much of anything. It’s a shame, honestly, because I find her penmanship to be rather pretty.  “Hey Alfie, went out to the gym, and then I’m going to go to work a little earlier today. Don’t forget that Maxine is coming over to see you today, around 10 or so, I think she said? Look, don’t get all in your head about it. Maybe I oversold things when I said ‘playdate.’ I just want you to have an outlet for that side of yourself and…it kinda seems like she needs the same thing. Just talk about it together, alright? Have fun. Don’t be weird. Or weirder than usual.” At the bottom of the note was a crude drawing of a heart with the letter ‘N’ inside of it.  “Aw, Nikki,” I say softly. “You’re adorable.” But the note said she’d be here around 10, and…it was already a few minutes after 10. I stared at the front door, as if expecting a knock to come at the door at this exact second. It didn’t, nor did it come while I spent the next three or four minutes standing there like a statue, my gaze still fixed on the door. It wasn’t until I gave up and started walking to my room–with the intention of doing some last-minute tidying–that the sound of the doorbell echoed through the apartment. Play it cool, I told myself. Remember what Nikki said: Don’t be weird. Or weirder than usual. When I opened the door, there she was. Maxine. ‘My’ Maxine, in the sense that she was the Maxine from my own world–not that she ever was a possession of mine. She somehow looked exactly the same as she always had…and also a little different. There was still a youthful glow about her–maybe not so much ‘juvenile’ and instead more 'rebellious.’ She seemed unconcerned about her windblown hair, and instead stared ahead at me, a giant smile on her face. Her hands are on her hips. She’s wearing a chunky black, buttoned up, cardigan and a dark red skirt that ends just short of her knees, where my eyes follow her pale legs to her black sneakers. I catch the faintest whiff of a cherry scent, and I wonder if it’s the same lip gloss she wore back when we were an item. “Alfie,” she says. “Maxine,” I say to her. She doesn’t run into the apartment so much as she seems to fall through the door. I catch her, and our arms wrap around each other so that we can tightly embrace one another. “I can’t believe it’s actually…you,” I say. She laughs a little, pulling away from my arms a little with her head tilted to the side. “Of course it’s me. Who else would it be? I don’t think there’s a way to explain what I meant. I don’t see how I could make her understand the multiverse, and the infinite versions of Maxine there are–or for that matter, the infinite versions of myself–and that it’s genuinely great to see ‘my’ Maxine standing before me now. “I’m just happy to see you,” I say. She accepts this, sliding back into our hug again. “I’m happy to see you too.” It almost feels like the way it used to be. Almost. We don’t kiss. Our hands stay in relatively ‘safe’ zones. There’s a ceiling here where there isn’t one before–an invisible one that I think we’re both contributing to. “Tell me everything that happened.” We both say that at the exact same time. We laugh. It quickly becomes apparent, to me at least, that something has changed between us. I don’t necessarily think it’s a bad thing, though I can’t put my finger on what it is. ‘Maturity’ is the word that comes to mind first, though I’m hesitant to just accept that that’s the explanation I’m seeking. It doesn’t seem too far off though.  It’s my love for Nikki, and a respect for whatever Maxine has going on in her life now. It’s having good memories of what Maxine and I used to be, but also knowing that we might not be the same people anymore. “You have a girlfriend now?” I ask, both of us sitting down on the couch. She laughs. “Did I tell you that? I don’t remember saying anything to you about it…” “Oh, uh…” I run a hand through my hair. “I must’ve just…heard that.” She seems a little skeptical, and I can sense that she’s trying to recall who knows about this that might’ve been capable of leaking the story to me. Maybe she had been apprehensive about telling me this news–nervous about how I was going to take it. And now I’ve gone and frazzled her by nonchalantly asking her about it before she could mention it herself. She sighs and shrugs, as if giving up on worrying about how it is I know this. “I do. Her name is Ash. She’s in a band.” I think I knew this too–another version of Maxine had told me a similar story–but I keep that to myself. “Oh yeah? What’s the band called?” She snickers at this. “You would ask about the band before you ask any questions about Ash.” I grimace a little and shrug.  “Well, right now, the band is called Pet House. But the name has changed before, and I have a feeling it’ll probably change again at some point.” “Are you, like, in the band now?” I ask. “No,” she says, shaking her head in an exaggerated manner. “I think it’s best for everyone that I never step near an instrument or microphone.” I laugh and shrug again. It used to be funnier to me when Maxine was a little self-deprecating, but now I just want to assure her that she’s probably not as bad as she thinks she is. I doubt she wants to hear that, though, so I leave it alone. “Alright, I’ll bite,” I say instead. “Tell me about Ash.” “Mmm,” Maxine moans, closing her eyes a little. “She’s…big.” “Big?” “Like…she’s got a big presence. She takes over a room when she’s in it. She’s got an abundance of personality, you know? When she gives you any of her attention, she makes you feel like the most important person on the face of the Earth.” “Wow,” I say, nodding my head. “So, I guess that means you’ve, like, changed sides? You’re all about the ladies now?” She laughs. “I don’t know what I’m ‘about.’ Maybe I just like who I like? Or maybe I’ve always had a thing for ladies and you were the anomaly.” The anomaly. The word hits me harder than I expect and for a moment I’m staring off into space as I remember Mother, Harriet, Audry, Maura, and the confusing spectacle of my body merging with Mother’s at what could’ve been the end of the universe as we know it. “You…alright?” Maxine says. I snap out of it, smiling again. “Oh, sorry. I just was, uh…” I have no idea how to finish that thought. “And what about you?”Maxine asks. “You and Nikki, huh? That’s officially a thing now?” “Officially?” I ask. “Were we…unofficial before?” Maxine shrugs. “Maybe not. But I think I always just kind of assumed that the two of you would one day end up together.” I laugh a little, my face warming. “You did not think that.” “I did! I’ve never seen two people compliment each other the way you two do. The yin and the yang. The peanut butter and the jelly.” “Which am I?” I ask. “Oh, the peanut butter,” she says. “Without a doubt.” She offers no elaboration, nor do I ask her to. I kind of get why she’d say that, but I also don’t. I grab us some drinks and we plop ourselves down on the couch. I quickly forget about the state of the apartment, or how unprepared I was for her arrival this morning. It’s nice to just chat with her again, and I sense she feels the same way. We fall into a rhythm of sharing stories with each other. She tells me about her classes in college, and the people she’s met, and the funny observations she’s made. I tell her about The Cradle, and its residents. I try to steer away from the truly bizarre parts of my adventure–but there’s still plenty that’s strange about magical milk and a community of diaper-wearers. “So…diapers,” Ash says at last. I laugh, my face still a little warm. “Yeah, what about ‘em?” “Are you, like, sick of them now? Never want to see or wear one again?” “N-no,” I say, my blushing coming back in full force. “I wouldn’t say that.”  “Can I tell you something funny?” she asks. “Of course.” “Well, I don’t know if you’ll find this funny or not,” she says. “I find it funny.” “Just…tell me.” “When I first got to campus, I was looking for…you. Not literally you–I know that you weren’t on campus. But I wanted to find someone…kind of like you? Maybe not even ‘like’ you so much as someone…uhm…” She laughs and shrugs. “This is going to sound really terrible, but, uh, I wanted to find a guy I could convince to wear diapers.” My first reaction is to just laugh. “I had no idea that my diapers had taken that much of a hold on you.” “I didn’t either,” she says. “But there I was–daydreaming of changing a big boy’s pampers.” “So…did you find a lucky little baby?” “Not so much,” she says. “But then something else happened…” “Oh?” “Well, I guess you could say that my daydreams started to meander a little bit. I wasn’t thinking about babying other men anymore so much as I was thinking about other people…babying me instead.” “Ah,” I say. I think once, quite some time ago, I had some pretty vivid daydreams of my own about Maxine in a pair of diapers. “And so did you…wear a diaper?” She laughs and her cheeks turn a bright shade of red. “Eventually, yes. And Ash…she seems rather fond of them too.” “Oh, wait… So she, uh…” “She likes to play ‘mommy’ on occasion,” Maxine says. “Wow.” I genuinely mean that too. I was not expecting any of this from her. And to be honest, I’m a little jealous.  “But, uhm…here’s the thing,” Maxine says. “I really like being treated like a baby. But I think there’s still a part of me that wants to baby…you.” My eyes open wide as I stare at her, but I don’t say anything. “And I was talking to Nikki–” “Which is still kind of weird to me,” I say. She smirks, but continues: “Nikki mentioned that she really wasn’t ready to step into the ‘mommy’ role just yet, but thought you could use that sort of attention. So, y’know, I kind of…volunteered?” My face keeps getting warmer and warmer. I suppose I kind of expected this from the little that Nikki told me about the ‘playdate,’ but it’s still blowing my mind that Nikki and Maxine had a conversation I wasn’t privy to–about getting me in diapers. “Wh-what about, uh, Ash?” I ask. “Oh please,” Maxine cooed. “When I brought this up to her, she was practically begging me to come along. She wanted to see this for herself.” “Really?” “I mean…I did promise I’d send her some pictures. If that’s okay with you, of course.” It should’ve been obvious to me a lot sooner than this, but I think I’ve been so stuck in the moment that I haven’t fully processed what’s happening. “Wait, like…now? You want to do this…today?” She laughs. “I mean…that was kind of the point of this whole thing. C’mon, baby boy. Where are your diapers? I can tell you aren’t wearing one now and you really should be. Wouldn’t want to have an accident in your pants, would you?” I continue to stare at her blankly. “Well?” she asks. “Are you going to go and get a diaper for me? Or should I go into your room and get one myself?” “I, uh…I’ll be right back,” I say, slowly standing up. My heart is beating hard. My hands feel clammy. I’ve been diapered a million times, by what sometimes feels like a million different people. No part of this should get me all worked up anymore.  But it’s Maxine. With Nikki’s approval. In my own home. Maybe diapers, and getting babied, were easier to accept in California, because I was so far removed from my own ecosystem?  In my bedroom, I go to my closet, where I still have diapers left from when Maxine ordered some for me, once upon a time. They’re still in the box they were shipped here in. Bottoms Up, the company’s name on the label says. I wonder what that place is like. I pluck out a diaper and turn to walk back out to the living room, only to find that Maxine is already here in the room with me. “Come on,” she says, a big smile on her face. “Let’s not dawdle. We gotta get you into those diapers.” I blink my eyes, and it’s like she’s teleported across the room. She stands in front of me now, her hands on the waistband of my shorts, pulling them and my underpants down my legs. They fall past my knees and land on the ground in a little cloth puddle.  “On the bed now,” she says, pointing to it. “On your back.” It’s funny how Maxine–and everyone else who’s ever changed me–always feels the need to tell me to get on my back. Do they think I don’t know? Do they think I haven’t had my diaper changed before? Oh, they know. They tell me to do that because they see how it gets my cheeks all red. They see how it causes me to bite my bottom lip. A moment later, I’m on my back. She doesn’t even have to tell me what to do next–my legs just automatically know the position they need to be in, spreading and lifting into the air to give her unrestricted access to my most intimate areas. “Oh look at you,” Maxine coos. “You know just what to do during changie-time, huh?” I open my mouth, though I’m not sure how I’ll respond just yet. It probably doesn’t matter, because no sooner than my lips are separated, she’s pressing a pacifier into my mouth. I don’t even know where she found that. Maybe she brought the pacifier with her? “You suck on that and let me take care of the rest,” she says. I have no problem following that instruction. Multitudes It’s funny how unimportant everything else suddenly becomes. Not just unimportant, but nonexistent. I no longer care about the fact that I don’t have a job and that I have to find one. I no longer care about Harriet, or where she’ll go or what she’ll do with herself now that she’s got agency over herself once more. I no longer care about my father and Julie-fucking-Ross having a baby together, nor do I care about the chaos that the official announcement of this news is going to bring to our family. I no longer care about the new and haphazard politics of both Nikki and Maxine having a place in my life.  Right now, all I care about is the thick diaper being slid under my bottom, and the smiling face looking at me through my open legs.  “You never look as comfortable as you do when you’re getting diapered,” Maxine says softly. I moan softly, feeling her fold the front of the diaper up through my legs so that she can press it over my mostly-flaccid manhood. Of course, the feeling of her hand through the diaper, flattening the padding over my unit, seems to activate me. I feel myself stiffening a little. For a moment, I worry that this will somehow offend Maxine. But no. She playfully runs her hands up and down the bulge of the padding a few times, working me up even more. “Baby really does love his pampers, huh?” I moan again. I feel her tugging on the side of the diapers, doing her best to align everything together perfectly so that she can adhere the tapes and make it fit snugly. I wish I could be fully present for this moment, but I feel myself drifting away a little.  I’m not just experiencing this diaper change, but every diaper change I’ve had along the way. I think about the very first diaper I ever wore–applied by Freya and Marta after the first time I suckled milk from Mother’s tit.  Now I’m thinking about the milk itself. The way it felt rolling down my throat for the very first time. It’s taste–both shockingly ordinary and uniquely complex. I think about the way that a single taste of it seemed to rewire my brain in just moments.  I miss it, and I think I’ll always miss it. And yet, I feel like I can still taste it–if I think about it hard enough. I can practically feel Mother’s tit brushing against my lips now… No… That’s Maxine’s tit. She’s next to me on the bed, her cardigan is opened, the shirt underneath is lifted, and she’s pressing her breast against my face. I don’t question this, I simply open my mouth and let her nipple in. My lips close again, forming a seal around her, and I begin to suckle–like it’s the most natural, normal thing in the world.  We moan in unison. I can taste the milk again. It’s as if it’s a part of me now–hidden deep within myself and only surfacing when I find myself in just the right moment. A moment such as this. Maybe I’m just imagining things. Or perhaps…  I can’t help but wonder if this was a little parting gift from Mother herself, back when our bodies split apart after we repaired everything that was broken. A little ‘thank you’ that she hid deep inside of me–a little easter egg to experience in the event that I found myself in the throes of babydom again. I feel myself becoming smaller and smaller. Not physically, I don’t think–not literally. But I feel pathetic and helpless. Needy and selfish. Overstimulated and yet somehow craving more. Either I’m only just now realizing that Maxine’s been stroking the lump in my diaper, or she’s just begun to do it. I feel a wave of pleasure pass through my body, ending in my feet where my toes wiggle in the air. Somewhere–in a place that might as well be a different planet–I can hear Maxine giggling about this. When I open my eyes, steering them to my side, I’m surprised by what I see. I see…me. I see a million of me, in fact. A billion. An infinite number of me, all laying on their backs on beds similar to mine, one after another in a long line that stretches beyond my sight. The other Alfies, from other worlds. They all have their mouths attached to a tit and are suckling just as I am. Somewhere in that long line, I swear I spot Audry, and she’s looking back at me with a satisfied smile on her face. This might be a hallucination, or just my imagination showing me what I want to see–but there’s a part of me that’s pretty sure I really am peering through the multiverse. Just a little glimpse, though. The image fades just as quickly as it had arrived. Smaller and smaller. I am a baby again. A stupid little baby. A helpless little diaper-soaker in need of a succulent breast and some confident hands. Maxine’s hand, still on my diaper, brings me closer and closer to orgasm.  I’ve cum since the whole Mother debacle. I no longer fear climaxing my way into another dimension.  But… This does feel a little different. The ghostly presence of Mother’s milk is in me now, casting its spell on me all over again. I’ve not felt this small in a while. And so I have to wonder: What’s going to happen when I cum? Anything? Somewhere very far away, I can hear Maxine cooing to me: “Yeah, baby? You want to make stickies in your diaper? I think you should. Go ahead and make a big mess for me.” I’m not scared, I decide I’ve experienced the weirdest things imaginable, and I’ve lived to tell the tale. Whether I just launch a sticky stream into my padding and find myself back on my bed again with Maxine, or blast off to some weird alien world, I’m ready for anything. Bring it on. Maxine’s hand seems to quicken on my diaper. My heart, already beating as fast as it ever has, seems to reach mach speed. Bring it on. Nothing in my life will ever be normal again, and that delights me to my very core. Bring it…

Camila agreed and guided Alice on how to properly spank Emily, giving her the paddle and telling her how to use it and where to use it. Thankfully Alice didn't need that much instruction as she was use to give her dolly a spanking so it was generally the same principle. Emily couldn't believe that Alice a girl she used to bottle feed in daycare was giving her a spanking, after was over Emily was hopping from foot to foot rubbing her sore bottom before being made to fit on the Time Out Chair and what was worse was the fact that a strap was put around Emily's legs keeping her pin to the chair. Alice was practically over the moon and went to her mommy and asked if she did a good job as Emily cried in the background.

That's weird. From what I hear of people's experience with Goodnites I do think there is the occasional defective batch. It could be that the different designs are different production runs or something. I wouldn't think it's a design change since I'm pretty sure they just hit the shelves in CVS recently. I think I remember something about changes like this often happening in March and September.

If they want to have a social life, Frat guys who wet the bed can't afford to be too picky.  Randy is on the right track, but Beau needs a reality check.