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By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
GHOSTLY RAPPING. By Alec Leamus. The Marston house rested on the edge of town It was only a short drive from the highway but after turning off route 94 the road became lonely and desolate. The country road wrapped through sharp turns and past menacing trees. Even in the harsh reality of the sun the tree limbs seemed to be reaching for every passing car. The entire property had once been a historic landmark. It was comprised of two parts: the Marston School for Girls, a boring brick building and the Marston House, a three-story Georgian Colonial. But due to an unsanctioned fence removal and lack of approval from the Historic Commission the Marston home had been removed from the National Registry. This delighted Angela Baker whose real estate career was less than ethical. She was lovingly referred to as the “Dragon Lady”. At thirty-two years old she ruled the West Side and all other elite properties in the county. The injustice was her climb to the top had been a gift. She literally inherited the business from her late father. And as it is with so many land deals there were a several skeletons in many secret closets. A fact Angela exploited often. This illusion of well-earned respect only fostered further uninitiated clients. The cycle was a vicious one and it frustrated her competition. So, when the seventeen-room home on ten acres became separated from its historic standing Angela leaped on the available property with a cash deposit. A tax loophole allowed her to place a temporary hold on the land preventing anyone from moving on it. The profit from the eventual sale would be retirement worthy. Of course, there were rumors of misconduct. Documents lost and misfiled which led to the property falling away from the historic school. But to Angela’s mind this was immaterial when such a windfall was possible. As she maneuvered through the turns, she mentally compiled her list of recipients of cash filled envelopes. Angela was so excited to view her potential gold mine she drove in heavy rain along the dangerous route to the Marston mansion. It had been several months since she had laid eyes on the house. Her recent viewings had been relegated to photos only. Angela had been incredibly careful to keep any awareness of the property on her part minimal. Attention from her might have stalled the deal or ended in a bidding war. But the right money and a cursory knowledge of tax laws had served her well. She tried a few times to hire out of town photographers to document the interior and see its current condition. But the rumors of the house being haunted made it difficult to book anyone. It was without incident that Angela arrived at the impressive Georgian Colonial. It was magnificent. A deliciously wicked smile spread across her face when it appeared in view. She had bent the rules, but she planned to close so fast it wouldn’t matter. She would soon be in St. Croix earning percentages. There were already three extremely interested buyers. A Canadian newspaper woman, a Japanese billionaire and a cyber security specialist from Los Angeles. Unfortunately, the rain had not ceased. It continued to beat down relentlessly. It sounded as if hundreds of tiny tennis balls were bouncing off her roof. Angela’s view was deeply impaired but even past the sheets of water she could see the beauty of the house. The tall green lamp near the entrance spilled generously into the courtyard illuminating the grand structure. The Marston House was three stories. It was originally built in 1867 but it had retained most of its charm though renovations in 1923 and 1952. Angela chuckled. It was easy to see why people thought the house was haunted. The wrought iron gate that surrounded the property was not inviting. And the house was old and worn. It brooded from its hilltop. She reached and adjusted her seat warmer. She hoped it would clear but the rain showed no signs of letting up. She desperately wanted to inspect and photograph the interior. Her buyers were waiting, and time was a factor. Angela strained to see past the downpour and plotted her path through the paved courtyard to the porch. She calculated even with an umbrella she would be drenched within five feet. Franklin was waiting at the club. He was probably already there in costume anxiously tapping his foot by the bar. But even the alure of drinks and costumed aggressive sex struggled against Angela’s financial career building. Angela imagined her grand entrance into the club. She had ironically chosen a sexy pirate captain costume. It was a knowing nod to her critics. Angela was aware of she was perceived and decided to dress the part. She couldn’t risk viewing the property by day. She was too recognizable. There were weekend historical tours, ghost tours, surveyors, assessors and a whole host of miscellaneous nobodies that all felt they had a stake in the wellbeing of the Marston House. In the future they could focus their attention on the school building. Angela shivered as she contemplated her impending liquid journey to the front door. She would make a quick sweep through the property, take some photographs, change and make her grand entrance to the Halloween party. Angela readied herself and said a quiet prayer but there was no forgiveness from the heavens. She scrambled out of her car and quickly navigated past the gate, the hedge and the crumbling stone gnome who seemed to be smiling at her. She was almost at the porch! But suddenly she felt both feet lift skyward. Angela went backwards and planted directly into a generous deep puddle. Then as she emerged, her body shifted left into the thick mud. Angela struggled onto the porch. She attempted to examine the extent of her damage, but it was difficult. The only illumination emanated from a single dim porch light. It didn’t matter. She could feel her whole left side. It was covered in wet sticky mud and her bottom and lower back were soaking and her hair was drenched. Angela cursed loudly at her bent umbrella as it bobbed mockingly in the puddle. Lopsided by the absence of her left shoe, presumably lost in the mud, Angela focused her attention on the brass doorknob. With a twisted shiver Angela turned the ill-gotten key in the lock and stepped into the quiet tomb of the foyer. Although the rain maintained its rant outside the silence inside was deafening. The only sound was the ticking of the grandfather clock. The darkness stared grimly back at her. Angela fumbled for the nearby push button switch and revealed the room’s stately grandeur. A glimpse into an era long forgotten. Richly stained wood furnishings adorned with brass stood silently behind velvet ropes and silver stanchions. Display cases of a collectibles from over one hundred years of education. She was grateful to be out the rain, but the damp air was not comforting. Angela shivered again and knew she had to change her clothes. Before her was the staircase and beyond was the kitchen and the salon. On her left the music room and to her right the Parlor. Angela admitted internally that standing inside the quiet mansion at such a late hour created an uneasy sensation. She felt as if she was being watched and more than once Angela peered into the dark corners for movement. She cocked her head to one side and listened intently. Suddenly her silence was interrupted by succession of sneezes followed by a short cough. “Oh hell, no!” Angela thought. “There is no way I’m getting sick!” As if by mentally denying it would drive away the microscopic attack. Angela needed something warm and dry. A maintenance jumpsuit, a costume cloak or even a blanket would serve. Angela desperately searched the kitchen pantries and drawers but found nothing suitable except a few hand towels and a Docent vest. With a disappointed sighed Angela shuffled out of the kitchen and into the hallway. She paused to give her head another vigorous rub with the kitchen towel. It was then a glint of light caught her attention. On the wall opposite, partially hidden by the stairs, was an entire collection which documented the history of the Marston School. Plaques, certificates, and photographs surrounded the case. But it was the object inside the large three-foot-tall display case which drew Angela’s eye. It was a full Marston School uniform. It was old but everything was there. The skirt, blouse, jacket and even socks and shoes. Angela stepped close to the glass and surveyed its contents. There were vintage class photos, some letters and resting ominously in the corner of the case a solid wooden paddle. Angela smirked at the old-fashioned solutions for school discipline. In Angela’s drenched and frozen state it only took her three minutes to silence her conscience. This was a matter of survival she reminded herself and thus ended Angela’s internal debate. She retrieved a knife from the kitchen and forced the small round lock open. She pushed firmly on the glass and slid it to one side. It resisted. It bumped and groaned along the gritty track until there was enough space. Then Angela reached in and plucked the uniform from its perch and scurried away. Sequestered in a dim corner of the parlor and far from the windows; Angela carefully peeled off her wet clothing behind a chair. First her muddy blazer, then her skirt and blouse. She paused and glanced around the empty room. Angela was by no means shy. Photographic evidence from Lake Havasu was proof. But it felt strange to be practically nude in the historic home. Her bra and panties were soaked and clung to her. She quickly removed her bra and dropped it into the large plastic bag from the kitchen. She slid her panties down her smooth legs and added it to the rest of the wet clothing. The extreme rush of cool damp air attacked her nude body and produced an involuntary shudder. Angela made quick use of the kitchen towel and dried her body. There were no undergarments, so Angela proceeded with the starched white blouse. It was thick and pressed against her round breasts. She felt encased. Angela lifted the tartan skirt and studied it. It was an old- fashioned woolen skirt. Definitely not a sexy schoolgirl costume. Although I could turn a few heads in this get up with no panties.” Angela mused. This was the real deal. Angela struggled the skirt over her hips. “Obviously made for a girl.” she thought. “And not a woman.” She zipped up skirt and released the woolen fabric. The absence of panties made her feel slightly exposed, but the skirt was gratefully long. Angela felt silly but there was no way she was going to risk her health. She would FedEx the antique uniform back in few days after it was cleaned. It would be a mystery. She laughed at her little joke and picked up the socks. The fabric was thin, and Angela feared she may put her foot through as she guided her toes down. The elastic was quickly becoming a memory, but Angela didn’t care. She was grateful to be in dry clothes. Life had handed her an opportunity and she had grabbed it. A less scrupulous person would have remained dirty and wet. She mentally applauded her ingenuity and grabbed the saddle shoes. Remarkably, they were oversized and not too small. Angela tied them and hoped they would remain on her feet. She rubbed her hair again and massaged the towel over her face which removed most of her makeup. She knew she probably looked ridiculous. Angela rummaged through her purse and retrieve an elastic band and hairbrush. She quickly brushed her medium brown hair and pulled it back into a ponytail. Finally, Angela slipped on the woolen coat with the old school’s insignia. The sleeves were too long but Angela was dressed. She began to feel some warmth creep back into her core. Satisfied she focused on her mission. She would photograph the downstairs interior rooms and then proceed upstairs. She reached for her cell phone. “Damn, it’s 8:26pm.” she exclaimed. “Okay, time to get to work.” There was still time to make the party, but she really didn’t care. This was infinitely more important. Angela walked to the front door and placed her purse and bag of wet things near it. She disliked the idea she tracked mud onto the Persian rugs. Hopefully, the cleaning crew wouldn’t notice too much. Angela stepped back and took in the magnificent mahogany woodwork. Pleased with the view Angela raised her phone. But before she could capture an image she jumped and almost dropped her phone. A new sound knocked at her brain. A sound she did not want to hear. She cocked her head to the right. Then it happened again. This time there was no mistaking the sound. The floor had creaked! And somewhere near her ear a wisping sound of faint whispers. Angela strained past the sound of the grandfather clock and struggled to separate the cacophony of noises. The wind and rain diluted her audio perception. Was it voices? Angela’s expression became one of firm determination. No trespasser was going to spoil her plans. She knew the dangers of ignoring squatters. Angela was not easily startled but a third rather loud distinctive creak from above made her jump. She admonished herself for reacting and took a deep breath. “Hello?” she called. Years in the real estate business had taught her to deal with various potential dangers. Silence followed. Then there was another gentle creak of wood. “Okay. You need to come down now. You’re trespassing on private property. I’ve already called the police.” Angela shouted upward. Silence. Then something unimaginable happened. It invaded Angela swiftly and created ripples of fine fear all over her skin. It was simple but unmistakable in its dark intent. The result sent Angela scrambling frantically at the doorknob and out into the waterfall of rain. The disembodied words echoed though her head repeatedly manifesting as uncontrollable shivers. The voice had answered. “Angela, come here!” The downpour that greeted Angela halted her departure from the porch. If it hadn’t been raining, she would have been halfway down the road. She was visibly shaking. Angela backed up slowly, her eyes glued to the door. She stopped at the edge of the porch just out of reach of the rusted gutter’s generous liquid gift. Several minutes passed. Angela struggled to control her breathing. Then a wave of foolishness washed over. It was a prank! She cursed her gullibility. Franklin had planned it. Her assistant knew where she was going, and they had conspired. God, how she hated Halloween! Angela continued to watch the front door carefully as she texted Franklin. As expected, he was already waiting at the club. A brief exchange dismissed her suspicions of Franklin. He was innocent. This left her with only one suspect, her assistant. But Caroline lacked imagination. She couldn’t orchestrate such a rouse. Angela had watched Caroline’s round form plod around the office as Angela launched snide remarks at her. Caroline never complained and handled it all with quiet subservience. It wasn’t Caroline either. Unfortunately for her nerves, this placed her back at her original surmise. The person in the house was a trespasser. There was nothing supernatural here. Maybe the voice had seen one of her many bus stop signs and recognized her? If it were simply a homeless person, she would talk with them. She would persuade them to leave after the rain. She would offer him money and promise them more if they departed. If they were unreasonable, she would reluctantly call the police. And if any threats materialized, she would ready her pepper spray. There was no way she could ignore the situation. They could start a fire or worse. Whoever was inside was going to be confronted. Fear was not part of the equation and the previous name calling had become too faint to hear. -
My wife of 17 years is incredible as a partner and mom to our kids. She is undoubtedly the love of my life. She considers herself fairly kinky because we have tried anal a few times, but her mostly vanilla self would probably have a stroke if she saw me diapered. I have not openly discussed my want for diapers, and the couple times it came up at all didn’t exactly get a warm response. Personally, at this point it isn’t worth upsetting the apple cart, but I’ve felt how I do about diapers as long as I can remember so that isn’t going away. We have two teenagers so I’m gonna give it a few more years and maybe capitalize on that empty nest feeling lol. She would accept it, because we both know we are with the right person, but at best I think she would look the other way. We have always allowed each other space for individuality. I feel like an idiot on here. First day, seeking community support I guess, or just to see that there are other real people with these situations. Of course I want to share this with her, but it feels selfish and unnecessary right now… and for the last 17 years. SMH. -
By rusty pins · Posted
LOL! I used to call it that too sometimes! I also call Taco Bell "Taco Smell". -
By Goodnitesboi · Posted
CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE Peter had never really thought that Alex like diapers. Nor did he think that Alex was the one who took the diaper when Nick came over a few years ago and Peter remembered that incident very well. No one every admitted to it or admitted how it got into the trash can so his mom just dropped it. Peter had been tempted to take a diaper that day too but his nerves got to him and hie didn’t do it. Peter got up and walked into his closet. He needed to slow it down on using the pull ups. He didn’t want to go through all of the pull ups this weekend. He moved the pull ups to a spot at the back of his closet. Peter sat back down on his beanbag chair. After dinner he would take a shower and change out of the pull up and back into regular underwear. He really needed to make sure he made the pull ups last longer than this weekend and it was a three day weekend. Peter sighed and then picked up his book, dinner would be here in about an hour and he was definitely gonna wear a pull up to dinner. As Peter sat on his beanbag chair, reading his book he started to think about his own interest in diapers. He’d told Alex he’d always liked diapers and that was true but he started to search deep down into his mind. Why had he always liked diapers? What was the first time he realized he like diapers? What was his first experience with wanting to wear diapers again? Eventually he remembered. He was six and he was at a friends house and the two were exploring the house when they walked into his friends younger brother who was then 2 nursery. And his friend dared him to put on one of his brothers diaper and Peter had dared his friend to do the same thing. The put diapers on, on top of their pants and wore them for a few minutes before taking them off and throwing them under his friends brothers crib. Peter remembered wanting to get the diapers and take them home with him but he didn’t taken them before his dad picked him up. Peter also remembered being jealous of another friend who had to wear pull ups for bedwetting when he was seven. He also remembered having a sleepover at his house and taking a pull up and wearing and wetting it. Peter had changed out of it and thrown it away before his friend could realize that he taken and worn one. Peter hadn’t thought about those incidents in years but reflecting on them he began to think that first one when he was six was where his interest in diapers began. Peter paused for a moment and then went back to reading his book. -
By rusty pins · Posted
I am getting so sick of people being clueless, not paying attention or not listening to what people say to them! We've all experienced getting our orders wrong at fast food places because the person taking the order wasn't paying attention or just too dumb to know their simple job. Or the 3rd shift worker that has a sign by the doorbell that says, "Day Sleeper - Do Not Knock Or Ring The Bell" and someone rings the doorbell and pounds on the door anyway. Likewise when you call IT and tell them your computer is down, won't even boot up and they tell you to "go to the start menu and..." I'm always joking about being home Saturday relaxing in just my diaper, plastic pants and a t-shirt "waiting for the Jehovah's Witnesses to show up at my door". That actually happened to me about 3 or so weeks ago, not a very comfortable situation! Later the next week I had one guy show up at the door wanting to see if I wanted them to spray for pest control as they were down the block spraying for insects at a neighbor's house (mind you, just a month earlier I had someone out to spray for a carpenter ant problem). Fortunately, this time I was fully dressed normally in jeans and a shirt. The very next day I had another guy come to the door wanting to give an estimate on installing new windows (again, they were working down the street at a neighbor's house). I just had all new windows installed last fall replacing the original windows that were installed when the house was built in 1979. I have a small sign about 2 X 6 inches that says "NO SOLICITING" with a red hand palm up attached on the garage where you had to pass it to get to our porch steps. Apparently no one paid any attention to it! I decided I had to get a bigger sign, so I ordered this one from EBAY Metal Sign - No Soliciting No Exceptions Aluminum 8" X 12" | eBay It's 8 X 12 inches, bright, explicit and very obvious. I mounted it where the old sign was, and you can't miss it walking up the driveway. Sure enough, about an hour ago a snotty nosed guy that looked to be about 19 years old came up to my door with a hand full of forms wanting to know if I was interested in gutter cleaning! Again, I was fully clothed in jeans and t-shirt, no diaper, but I looked at him and said, "Did you read the sign next to the garage door when you came up the driveway?" He got quiet and said, "No..." I said, "Walk back, right now, and look at it!" He did, said "Sorry" and walked away. Are people that totally oblivious of everything around them? NO WAY could anyone miss seeing that sign! You can see it clearly from the street before even walking up the driveway! I don't understand how these people don't get hit by cars, walk into posts or trip over curbs! Unbelievable! Thanks for listening to my rant, and how many of you have similar situations where people come to your door either when you are relaxing in just diapers or you are fully dressed, especially if you have "No Soliciting" signs in plain sight? I'd love to hear your similar experiences dealing with people like this, especially if you were in the middle of enjoying some diaper time.
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