Sissy Room

You'd think so, but people don't exactly scale up as they age. The body shape of a baby is quite different from an adult. They actually need more of a rectangular shaped padding, where as adults need a contoured shape.   You got that right. Baby diaper manufactures has a massive economy of scale. Their R&D budgets makes sure they can have ther perfect ballance between technology, cost, and efficiency.  The problem we have is baby diapers don't exactly scale up. Simply because we people don't exactly scale up.

Chpped Steak, Green beans, Mased Potatoes

Chapter 1   Even from the couch, I could see it. The bland brown cardboard corner peeking out from my bedroom door. Taunting me. Fuck you too, box. I was so excited to open you, and this is how you repay me? It’s not my fault my stupid roommate - scratch that, soon-to-be-ex-roommate - literally can’t get her shit together.   I groan audibly and flop my arms and head over the arm of the couch in a full bout of melodrama. My dark burgundy hair falls over my face, covering my eyes completely. I need a haircut so badly. Add it to the seemingly never ending list of shit I need to do. Is this what being an adult is? Just constantly having a giant list of random bullshit you never seem to get through completely?    To be fair, I can’t really peg my first two months after graduating as being super productive. Sure, I’ve had some interviews, I’ve gotten some emails, but it seems like it’s all just kind of been a blur of existential dread, doomscrolling, and blowing through the last of my scholarship money on takeout. Like. A lot of takeout.    But I was at least supposed to get the whole damn apartment to myself for the entire damn month of August. Sarah decided to move back to her parents early, even though we had the rent paid through the end of the lease. I let out a sigh, grabbing my hair, slipping the scrunchie off my wrist and quickly using it to tie my hair back in the world’s sloppiest ponytail. I flip onto my back and slide back onto the couch, looking around the mostly barren walls of my darkened living room. The rain patters gently on the window behind me. I should probably turn a stupid light on.    We’d lived together for so long that I just sort of forgot just how much Sarah had put into decorating the place. My singular contribution to the space, a small impressionist painting of a tulip I picked up for $3 at the local thrift store, now hung in solitude on the blank white wall opposite me, like a single flower breaking through the ground after a freakishly late April snowstorm.   I take out my phone, the pale glow of the screen illuminating my slightly oversized deathcore band t-shirt I got from the last UNMASK THE OBSCENE show I went to. I still don’t understand why my tits look so good in this shirt, but hey, I’ll take it.   With a few clicks I pull up my texts from Sarah. I had gotten this two days ago, literally the same day the box was out for delivery:   SARAH  Hey Erica! Just wanted to let ya know I’m gonna be dropping by the apartment sometime this week. This bitch forgot, like, LITERALLY all of the clothes in her closet.   When I first read the text, I couldn’t help but scream into my pillow. This was supposed to be one final hoorah, one glorious month all to myself before I inevitably had to move back home or find a place with two to four just-graduated and equally desperate randos.   Then, I replied:   ME No worries girly! Just let me know when you’re heading over!   No reply for days. No updated ETA. No semblance of communication. Just another limbo to be stuck in, all while that god damn box silently taunted me from my room in all its beige hubris. I begin to type into my phone:   BITCH COME GET YOUR SHIT   Before mashing the delete button frantically. My chest tightens when I almost hit the send button in my haste. Fuck, those buttons are WAY TOO CLOSE TO EACH OTHER.   I pause and try again:   Heyyyyyy girly do you know what day you’re gonna swing on over? Just need to know in case I’m busy that day so I can say hi! Have a bunch of interviews and stuff this week so just let me   Nope nope nope. Too pushy, too much. I press the delete button again, but only once this time aaaand hold. Less cathartic but much safer.    Aaaand again:   Hey girl! Any idea on your eta? If ya want I can pack those last few things in your closet for ya and leave it out in the living room! 😃   Noooooope sounds too desperate, she’ll know I’m annoyed. Dammit. Delete delete delete.   I stare at the text for another few minutes. Ya know what? She’ll text me when she knows. I’m sure she’s busy. Or, ya know, she’ll pop in randomly after completely forgetting to text me like the fucking space cadet she is.   Whatever. Let’s check emails instead. I’m still waiting to hear back from a few places about interviews, and I’d take any kind of news as a distraction right now.    But first, maybe some coffee. Light would be cool, too. With another heavy sigh, I sit up for the first time since getting out of bed about an hour ago. I walk to the kitchen, just a few steps away to the right, flipping on the light switch nearby as I continue my micro journey. I let out an obnoxious yawn and polish my right eyelid with my free hand as I open the email app on my phone. My gaze shoots up from my phone for a second, once again jarred by how empty the room in front of me is. At least the french press is mine; I couldn’t imagine how much more of a shitshow I’d be right now without quick and easy access to that bitter, delicious nectar of the gods.   I click on the already half-full electric kettle in my coffee corner. I should probably clean that, but hey, I’m boiling the water, so it’s fine, right? I hum a melody from a stupid synthpop song that’s been stuck in my head for days as I grind the beans for my morning cup. When everything is set and brewing I lean against the fridge, smiling at the relief of the cool surface pressing against my back as I turn my attention back to my phone.   A few useless social media updates in, I see something that definitely makes my eyes go wide:   Interview Confirmation: 08/09, 11:00 AM @ The Daily Grind   Oh fuck. I almost completely forgot. The interview for that weird school. Is that seriously tomorrow? I’m definitely losing it. Get your shit together, Erica.   I click open the email.   —— Hi Erica,   Just wanted to confirm our meeting for tomorrow at 11 at the Daily Grind! I’m so excited to meet you and tell you all about Evergreen. From everything I’ve read, you really do seem like the perfect addition to our 2040 class.   Warm Regards,   Sally Torrence Admissions Director ——   I reply faster than I can think.   —— Hi Sally!   I’ll definitely be there tomorrow! Thanks so much for taking the time to meet with me, I’m so excited to hear more about your program! See you tomorrow at 11!   -Erica ——   ‘Excited’ might be a bit strong, but I send it anyway. I’d say my feelings are closer to maddening curiosity more than anything, but I definitely want to make a good early impression regardless.    The letter from Evergreen showed up in my mailbox two weeks ago. Apparently I had been accepted into their graduate program despite having never applied to the school (or even having heard of it, for that matter). Not that that was entirely out of ordinary in the year of our lord 2038. Most schools have AI running the majority of their admin and admissions work these days, and plenty of schools pre-screened and pre-accepted students based on their academic performance, social media score, and god knows what other information they were able to scrape up from the internet about you.    What WAS weird about Evergreen was the overall vagueness of their…well, everything. The letter was vague, other than describing themselves as a transformative liberal arts school. Their website wasn’t much help other than offering some vague mission statements about discovering your passions and even vaguer-yet-glowing alumni testimonies. Their social media presence was suspiciously minimal, and talk about the school from basically any other source was non-existent.    I hadn’t given much thought to grad school, but I’m sure I can’t afford Evergreen, and I’m even more sure my parents wouldn’t find the venture “practical”. Still, I love a good mystery, and Mom said I should take any interview I’m offered for practice, even if I know I don’t want whatever they’re offering.   The timer beeps on my phone. Coffee’s ready. Thank god. I pour the dark, steaming liquid into my waiting mug, the retro cat meme and the “I can haz coffee” text thoroughly faded from years of dishwasher-related abuse.    I wrap both of my hands firmly around the ceramic mug, the heat spreading comfortably through my palms as I lift it gently towards my face.    My eyes close as the steam rises from the cup, the warmth rolling past my lips, the vapors tenderly caressing my cheeks.    I inhale slowly, deeply. The dark, bold earthiness of the coffee hits first, a sharp undercut of cherry piercing through just after. I hold my breath for a moment, reveling in it.   My shoulders drop. Completely involuntary.   I let the ceramic rim of the mug rest against my bottom lip for just a moment, tendrils of warmth brushing past my lips, into my waiting mouth. I tip the cup back ever so gently, and in an instant, it’s there…the bold, rich, bitter liquid quickly blooming across my tongue.    A euphoric rush emanates deep from within my chest before the liquid even slides down my throat. When it finally does, the warmth follows it down, spreading slowly through my chest, down through my stomach, settling somewhere deep within my core. My whole body softens around it. For one long moment there is nothing on the to-do list. No empty walls. No stacks of pizza boxes. Just this.   A tiny moan escapes me. It makes me blush for a moment before I remember that no one else is here.   Fuck, I love coffee.   My phone gives a soft ding. A random social media ad that pulls me back to reality. I sigh and take a second sip of coffee. Still amazingly warming, but nothing hits like that first sip of the morning.   Back to emails.   I scroll by a few ads that should’ve probably been caught by the spam filter before coming across another subject line that makes my heart race.    —— LFB Logistics - Final Interview   Hello Erica,   I’m pleased to inform you that you’ve officially been selected to move on to our final interview screening with our HR team. Congratulations.    Please let us know when you are available on either 08/11, 08/13, 08/14, or 8/28 between the hours of 1 PM and 3:45 PM and we can schedule our meeting. Thank you and we hope to hear back from you soon.   Margaret Smith Human Relations Specialist LFB Logistics ——   Well shit. I should be excited. Ecstatic, even. If I’m onto the final interview with HR, it basically means I got the job. And only two months out of school. Not bad, Erica, not bad.   Of course, it’d be working a mind-numbing HR assistant position at a logistics company. I’m pretty good at feigning excitement, but pretending to be deeply passionate about logistics and shipping during my first interview was definitely a performance that should’ve landed me an Oscar nomination.    I look up and stare blankly at my kitchen ceiling as I continue to drink my coffee. A dust bunny desperately clings to the edge of the rotating ceiling fan, spinning around and around. It’s oddly calming.    I should text Mom about this, maybe she can be excited enough for the both of us.   ME Hey Mom! Guess who just got a final interview offer for the HR position at the logistics company?! 🥳🥳🥳   I hesitate for a moment before pressing send. Too much? Nah, probably not for Mom. I press down on the little blue arrow.    I still have no idea when Sarah’s dropping by, but I should probably clean up a little for whenever she does decide to.    I’m in the middle of breaking down the stack of pizza boxes when I hear a telltale ding on my phone again.   Mom !!! That’s great to hear, jellybean!! I’m so proud of you! I knew you could do it! See, my interview advice worked out after all, didn’t it? 🥰   I bite the right side of my lip, habitually tonguing at the small hole where my lip ring used to be. Fuck, it’s been weeks since I took it out and that’s still so jarring. I wonder how long it’ll take for me to shake the presence of my phantom jewelry. I feel a dark pit in my chest, small but deep.    ME Yessssss you’re the best, Madre. Thanks again so much for everything ❤️❤️   And I should be grateful. Two months out of college with a big girl job to show for it. No way I'd have pulled that off if my parents hadn't convinced me to switch majors junior year. I could always just pursue my creative writing as a hobby, right? Maybe finally post those…very specific interest short stories someday soon?   I shudder at the thought.   I take my last swig of coffee before piling my mug in with the rest of the dirty dishes in the sink. Not quite a mountain yet, but certainly a molehill. I’ll take care of that soon.   For now, back to some good old-fashioned couch rot, albeit with slightly better lighting.   Before I close my email app to resume doom scrolling, I scroll back up for a moment to the interview confirmation from Evergreen. Somewhere deep within me, a little spark of hope flickers. A tiny fire on the beach, warming me as I look out at a grey horizon that promises…nothing. No storms. No shipwrecks. No adventure. Just safe, simple nothing.   The box in my room catches the corner of my eye once again. Wait, that reminds me…I think there’s a new chapter up of the book I’m currently obsessed with. I form a tiny smile without even realizing it, my heart fluttering just a beat as I close out of my emails and go to my browser, my muscle memory typing in the url for the boards before my brain can even catch up.    I pause for a second, looking to the left towards my front door. I still have no idea when Sarah will be back. I roll my eyes to no one and jump up from the couch, scratching the back of my head as I make my way towards my bedroom. I give a nasty side-eye to the box as I quickly shut the door behind me. I pause again, then swiftly lock it for good measure.   I roll onto my bed, pushing the messy, unmade covers away to give myself some room. I bring my phone closer to my face, my fingers on autopilot, navigating to the exact thread where the newest chapter of the story lives. My smile widens just a bit as I see the NEW POST flag from the story directory, and I click in frantically.   The page loads with the story and chapter title in large, bold font:   Back to Daycare, Back to Diapers: An Adult Forced Regression Tale Chapter 17: A Wet and Restless Naptime   I blush deeply. So stupid. But it’s so fucking hot that I can easily excuse the lack of subtlety. The hairs raise on the back of my neck as I begin the first few lines of the story, biting at my lip ring…no, at the quickly-healing hole where it used to be. Whatever.   I feel myself squirming, a soft rustling audible as the nylon leggings covering both of my thighs collide and slowly drag against each other. My right hand reaches for the drawer of my nightstand, pulling it open and grabbing onto the wand contained within without ever needing to glance away from the words on my screen. I’m transfixed. Lost. Hungry. I slowly, gently set my wand down, just to the right of my right thigh, snuggling right up against my nylons. Not needed yet. Not quite yet. But there, waiting patiently.   The box catches my periphery once again. It steals my attention away for a moment…from this angle, in the soft glow of the dimmed lamplight, it seems…softer, brighter…almost inviting. This time, it’s not taunting me. No, it’s calling.    I roll onto my stomach, slowly inching my way towards the edge of the bed, the words of the story still fresh in my memory. My left hand drifts silently, slowly to my leggings…I can feel the slickness between my legs as I change positions. I gasp lightly as my hand finally finds its destination, the area between my legs warming my hand even through the nylon…through the thin cotton underneath that.   My face reaches the end of the bed. The box is easily within reach. I could grab it right now, tear it open, finally indulge in what’s inside, what’s calling me…what’s been calling me for so, so long. I’m finally alone, I can finally…   I hear the wind howl outside. It jars me out of my lustful haze for just a moment, my whole body tensing. But it’s enough to bring me back to reality. Sarah could still walk through that front door at any moment.    I glance up at my locked bedroom door. This is fucking stupid. Who cares if she comes back now? That’s what bedroom doors are for. That’s what locks are for…   No, but she’ll know I’m home. She’ll want to say hi. The wand I could hide in a second’s notice. What’s in the box? Once it’s wrapped me in its embrace?   An image flashes of the hypothetical crisis scenario…a door slamming, the soft, bubbly tone in Sarah’s voice announcing she’s home, slow, menacing clicks of her shoes against the wooden floor. Closer. Closer.   My whole body goes rigid. Sweat prickles on my lower back.   I roll back to the center of the bed. Close my eyes. Take a few deep breaths. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four.   I take a look at my phone again. At least for now I can escape back into the story. Fantasize about what might be. What could be. Lose myself in the escape of another world.   I glance back to the box for just another moment.   Soon. Someday. Soon.     Chapter 2   I pause for a moment in front of the coffee shop window. The weather’s definitely much nicer today, and the sun’s full shine has turned the window into a perfect full-length mirror. I use the opportunity to quadruple check my face, my makeup, my hair, my outfit. My go-to interview outfit definitely kills it: a posh, light blue Marco Jacobi blouse, simple black pencil skirt, even simpler short black heels. Understated makeup with some slightly brighter red lipstick to make everything pop, hair pulled back in a high ponytail. I look closer at the window and pull back a handful of tiny flyaways. I really need a haircut.   Satisfied as I’ll ever be, I walk to the front door. The familiar scent of brewing coffee and pine finish hits me like a warm, emotional truck. I’ve spent a lot of time at The Daily Grind over my four years at school here. Study sessions, writing marathons, relaxing with friends, extremely hit-and-miss open mics, equally mixed-measure first dates, or just a place for some peace and quiet every now and again. This place has been my safe haven for almost a half decade, and it suddenly hits me that this may be one of the last times I ever step through its doors.   The sudden weight on my chest is lifted when Mark waves to me from behind the counter. He’s a Computer Science major who’s been working here for the past year or so, and one of maybe three employees who stay at campus over the summer to keep working. His shaggy brown hair and thick-rimmed glasses perfectly highlight his chiseled jawline. It’s absurd how well he pulls off the stupid-hot-indie-sleaze-nerd aesthetic.   “Yooooo Erica! How’s your final summer going? You want your usual?”   I smile warmly and giggle like a schoolgirl. I’m so fucking embarrassing.   “Not today, Mark,” I respond, not entirely sure if my makeup is covering up my lightly flushing cheeks. “Well, not yet anyway. I’m actually here to meet someone for a grad-school interview.”   “Ohhhhhh right on right on, that must be the business lady over in the corner,” he says to me with an equally warm smile spreading across his face. “That’s sick, homie. You’re totally gonna crush it, you got thiiiiis.” He holds his fist out to me for a bump. Such a fucking dork. I can’t leave him hanging, of course.   “Thanks, dude,” I say, gently fisting him. Jesus Christ, Erica. Mind out of the gutter. What the fuck is wrong with you?   I give a small wave and a smile over to Sally as I approach her from across the room. My heart is racing, my chest is tight. Shit, I should’ve probably checked my hair in the mirror again. Dammit, I need a haircut. Is this skirt too long? Fuck.   She gets up from her seat in a way that’s calm and graceful. She’s strikingly beautiful. Her green eyes are gentle with the slightest hint of stress lines surrounding them, practically the only hint that she’s somewhere past fifty. She stands at least four inches above me, her own straight, golden blonde hair fixed up in a ponytail rather similar to mine, an ornate clip with subtle pearl inlays holding it back. Her blazer, blouse, and pants are all perfectly tailored. Is everyone extra hot today, or am I still just extra wound up from last night?   Focus, you dumb bitch.   “Hi Sally! It’s so nice to finally meet you in person,” I begin, extending my hand out to shake hers. “Thank you again so so much for coming out to meet me. I know it’s a bit of a drive from Westchester to New Paltz, I really appreciate you.”   She grabs my hand with both of hers for a moment, gentle but firm. I wasn’t exactly expecting the politician handshake from her, but I do my best not to be visibly jarred from it.   “The pleasure is all mine, Miss Fairport. It’s so great to meet you.” She pulls away slowly and gestures for me to sit in the booth. I gladly comply as she continues.   “And please, this is a stone’s throw away for me, and these interviews might be my favorite part of my job. I’ve traveled MUCH farther to meet prospective new students, which isn’t so bad considering we only accept a small handful each year.”   I smile, doing my best to hide my surprise. Is Evergreen really that exclusive? If so, what on god’s green earth do they want with me? My interest is piqued even more.   “But before we really dive in, let’s get something ordered, shall we? I know this is one of your regular haunts…what are some of your favorites here?”   I give a gentle, measured laugh. Did I mention that to her in one of my emails? I must have, why else would she have picked this place?    “Absolutely!” I answer. “Everyone absolutely looooves the Dubai latte, and this is THE number one breakfast sandwich in town, hands down.”   Sally’s eyes soften a bit, her smile widening just a smidge. “I appreciate the information, Erica, but that’s not what I asked. I asked what YOUR favorites are.”   I let out a small laugh that I’m hoping doesn’t read as nervous. Oh my god, did I seriously just blow the first question of the interview before the ACTUAL interview even started?! I look back briefly into Sally’s striking eyes. There’s a softness there that puts me at ease. She’s clearly not annoyed or upset. It’s fine, just breathe.   “That’s fair! So sorry, force of habit. I’ve brought a lot of people here over the years,” I say, pausing for a moment in feigned contemplation despite having a clear answer. “I would saaaay the Apple Bacon Brie Panini is the winner for me. It’s dressed with local honey and is absolutely to die for.”   “As for drinks, I always get the house blend. This place and that blend are what turned me into the coffee snob I am today.”   Sally’s eyes and smile perk up again at my answer.    “Those both sound absolutely delightful,” she says as she looks just behind me, nodding lightly.   I tilt my head just a tad in confusion as I twist my body to see what Sally is glancing at. I jump slightly when I realize that Mark is standing directly behind me, probably waiting for a lull to take our order like the over-polite dork he is. I laugh, my heart still racing.   “Dude! Are you trying to kill me in front of this nice lady?”   He returns a smile and laughs nervously, a hint of concern under his jolly demeanor. “So sorry about that! So sorry! Just wanted to see if you two were ready to order.”   “No need to apologize, young man,” Sally says in her same warm and collected tone. “We’ll just have two of the Apple Bacon Brie Paninis and two house blends, if you’ll be so kind.”   Mark perks back up. “Sure thing! I’ll get that right out for you two!” He shoots me a quick glance and a smile before doing a full 180 spin and speed walking back to his counter.   “Sorry about that,” I say, turning back to Sally. “Just a little jumpy before I have my coffee, oddly enough.”   “That’s quite alright dear, I’m sure I would have been just as startled if I were in your shoes,” she chuckles sympathetically. “Now, why don’t you tell me a little about yourself, Erica? The ten-thousand foot view of Miss Erica Fairport, if you will.”   I tilt my head playfully, looking up and tapping my right index finger to my cheek, again in performed contemplation. The classic interview opener, the answer to which I’ve got absolutely nailed down to a science in these past couple of months.   “Well…I’m a recent graduate from New Paltz University with a degree in Business Administration, concentration in organizational management. I really gravitated toward the operations side of things while studying. I love finding ways to make systems run smoother, especially the people side of systems. I was treasurer of two student orgs, including the university’s radio station and our Student Entertainment Services, which taught me a ton about balancing stakeholder needs. I also did a summer internship in vendor relations that really confirmed I wanted to work somewhere at the intersection of logistics and people. People have always described me as reliable, motivated, and easy to work with!”   Nailed it. Hats off again to Gustav for that one…exceptionally bland with all of the right corporate bullshit buzzwords peppered throughout with perfect precision. Such a good little boring-ass AI agent, Gustav, yes you are!   Sally has leaned herself ever so slightly into the table, her right elbow resting in front of her, her index and middle finger raised to her chin and covering a small portion of her mouth. I can see her soft smile beyond her hand as she periodically nods along to my generic personal sales pitch.   “Very impressive indeed, Miss Fairport. And what about outside of your studies and extracurriculars? What is it that you love to do in your free time?”   This one I’m a little thrown off by. Not that I haven’t heard the question before in other interviews, but when I do, it tends to fall on the back end of the meeting. It’s not just that, though…when I get this question from an interviewer, it’s usually painfully disingenuous, like they just threw it in there when the person asked ChatBot how to sound less like a ChatBot when interviewing a potential candidate. No…something in Sally’s tone and demeanor makes her seem genuinely interested in what makes me tick beyond what’s on my resume.   Mark shows up perfectly on cue, quickly dropping off two small mugs of the house blend before smiling and sauntering back off to help other customers. I smile widely, closing my eyes as I lean over to take a slow, deep inhale of the steaming cup in front of me. My entire chest relaxes, losing myself for a moment before snapping back to the meeting at hand.   “Well, as you can see, I’m a huge coffee enthusiast, like I mentioned before,” I say, twirling my ponytail for a moment before catching myself, opting to reach for my mug instead.   I take the cup and lift it slowly to my lips, taking a small sip. God yes, that’s so good. I’m really going to miss this place.   “I also love live music, and just all sorts of music in general, hence why I decided to join the radio station and SES. We’re pretty lucky to get a good number of acts passing through for being such a small college town kind of in the middle of nowhere…at one point I was going to at least one show a week, and it was almost always the highlight of my week.”   “Beyond that, I’m an EXTREMELY avid reader and a slightly less avid writer,” I say with a small laugh. “If I have any sort of free time, it’s almost always spent reading something new, and I’ll read just about anything…fiction, non-fiction, horror, biographies, fantasy, history, romance…” I pause for a moment and catch myself, clearing my throat to cover the lull. Almost a little too honest there.   Sally tilts her head to me, gazing at me with a spark of tenderness as she clasps her hands together, resting them gently on her right cheekbone. “That’s right, I actually saw on your transcript that you were originally a creative writing major before changing courses in your junior year,” she says, causing me to swallow involuntarily, her words cutting a bit deeper than I thought they might. “Can you tell me why the switch? It sounds like you’re still writing in your free time, what made you decide not to pursue that passion as a career?”   I force a smile to cover the lightly billowing sorrow in the pit of my stomach. I really thought that would’ve stopped hurting so much two years later, especially since it hasn’t been an uncommon question in interviews. I’ve got another well practiced answer for this one.   “Well, it was certainly a hard decision. I do love writing, but the tough reality of today’s world is that it’s really hard to make a living on art alone. Not only that, but just because I don’t make a career out of my writing doesn’t mean I can’t still enjoy it in my spare time.”    And now for the killer closer.   “Passions and professions can exist in their own worlds simultaneously in a way that doesn’t diminish the importance of either.”   The best line I’ve written in two years, and it’s about me quitting.   I feel my hand drift towards my ponytail again but catch myself, redirecting again to my mug of coffee still steaming on the table. I take another small sip through my feigned contentment.   Sally looks up from her own mug, which she’s just taken a sip from, to meet my gaze.   “That’s a very…measured take, Miss Fairport.” Her tone is kind, sympathetic…so much so that it takes me a second to realize she saw right through my bullshit answer. That’s a first…but for some reason, that doesn’t cause me to panic, either.   “But let me ask you this,” she continues. “In an absolutely perfect world, a world where you could live comfortably no matter what you chose to do, what would you pursue a career in?”   I pause for quite some time, but not as part of some contemplative performance. I know what my answer is, but is that the answer she wants to hear?    Wait. No. She wouldn’t have even asked it, especially not like that, if she didn’t want an honest answer. Plus, what do I have to lose in telling her the truth?    “I would write,” I answer her decisively. “I’ve always been drawn to writing fiction, mostly short stories…I would write every day if I had the time and energy. I never got sick of it, even in those first two years of school, even when I had to constantly write about things I could care less about. Storytelling has always just been something that’s come naturally to me, even as a little kid, and my love for it has never waned for a second.”   My chest tightens for a moment when I realize how much I overshared in the moment. That was definitely too much, right?   Luckily, I see Sally’s demeanor brighten almost immediately at my answer. My whole body relaxes in a wave of relief.    “I could tell that about you from your writing alone,” she tells me. “Your transcript is certainly impressive, Miss Fairport, but I have to say, I’m much more impressed with the few pieces I’ve been able to pull by you. Your voice is unique, your prose is colorful without being pretentious…you have a real talent that I would hate to see you squander.”   My cheeks flush hot before I even register why, and I have to break her gaze, a stupid smile spreading across my face that I couldn’t fight down if I tried. I find myself stroking my ponytail with alternating hands, slowly, gently. Something warm and unfamiliar blooms just under my sternum. I’m not amazing at taking compliments, and that's the nicest thing anyone has said about me in…god, years.    “That’s the whole reason I’m here, Erica,” she continues, warmth glowing from her voice. “We see your passion, your talent, your drive shining through even as you’re trying to dim it from the world. It’s remarkable, honestly, how much effort you put into hiding the things you love most.”   She takes a slow sip of her coffee, completely unhurried. For some reason, my heart flutters.   “In my experience, people don’t abandon their passions. They just… relocate them. Push them somewhere private, somewhere safe, visit them in secret…and then they spend an enormous amount of energy holding that door shut. Energy that could have gone into the passion itself…into finding their whole, authentic selves.”    She sets her coffee down gracefully. “Evergreen exists for exactly that. We find remarkable women who have learned to want things quietly, and we give them a place where they don’t have to. Where the answer to ‘What do you actually want?’ isn’t a performance. Where indulging the things that make you feel most yourself isn’t something you schedule around anyone else’s comfort.”   She smiles at me, her expression soft and inviting.   “Our students spend their whole lives asking permission, Erica. We simply stop making them ask.”   Something in her words resonates through every part of me. My head feels light and airy. A warm glow starts in my chest before spreading lower…lower still. My posture relaxes just a touch, allowing me to sink deeper into the padded seat of the booth.    That was…one hell of a sales pitch. Damn she’s good.   I let out a small laugh as I grab onto my mug again, straightening myself up just a tad as I do so.   “I won’t lie, that sounds like an absolute dream. But…if I’m being honest, I have no idea how I’d be able to afford grad school.”    I break my gaze again, looking down at the table as I bring myself back down to reality.   “I was lucky enough to get a partial scholarship for my undergrad, but the math barely worked out for the loans I had to get to cover the rest. Your program sounds amazing, and what I’ve seen of your campus looks beautiful, but I can’t imagine it costs less than a state school…”   “Oh, my apologies, I really should have led with this,” Sally politely interrupts me. “What we're offering you is the same thing we offer each of the small handful of students we accept every year: tuition, room, board, and supplies all covered in full.”   My brain stutters, my eyes going wide. What? Wait, is she serious right now? Nothing in her expression or tone says otherwise. Holy shit, am I dreaming?    The awkward pause caused by my shock is mercifully interrupted by the light clatter of two plates hitting our table. I look up at Mark, who’s staring at me with a shit-eating grin. I can’t help but chuckle at him in spite of everything.   “Thanks babe, you’re the best,” I say, my tone and posture relaxing for the moment.   “Sure thing. Hope you ladies enjoy!” He gives me a sly wink and strides away.   Thankfully Sally takes a bite of her sandwich quickly, breaking the dead air before I’m able to collect my thoughts.   “Mmm, my goodness, this is delicious,” Sally says in a bout of genuine delight. “See? I’m so glad I got this instead of the breakfast sandwich. You have great taste, Erica. You should really trust your instincts more often.”   I can’t help but blush and break her gaze again, though I’m able to recover a bit quicker from the praise this time.   “I really appreciate that. It really is so good, right?” I take a bite of my own sandwich, the mix of sweet, tart, and savory flavors creating a symphony in my mouth. I can’t help but roll my eyes back for just a moment.   “And I really appreciate the offer,” I continue, setting my sandwich back on the plate. “It’s…EXTREMELY generous. But I have to ask…why me? I know you said you loved my work, but I mean, come on…there have to be so many other candidates out there that are more talented than me, have a more impressive record than me, who actually finished their full undergrad in writing, who actually APPLIED to your school in the first place…why me? Specifically, why seek ME out?”   Sally pauses for a moment, darting her eyes past my shoulder, then to the other corners of the room, as if quickly scanning the perimeter of the cafe. She folds her hands in front of her on the table, retaining her warm smile, but I can sense her expression tightening just a bit.   “Well, while you certainly shouldn’t downplay your creative or academic achievements, I understand your skepticism. In honesty, neither of those pieces paints the full picture of the candidates we seek out for admission into Evergreen.”   Sally leans in just a touch closer as she continues, her voice brought down just a decibel or so. “We certainly wouldn’t have reached out if we didn’t find you academically excellent, Erica, but beyond that, all of our students share another common thread. One a bit more…personal in nature, regarding a specific set of shared interests…”   I tilt my head, confusion spreading visibly across my face. Wait, she couldn’t mean…   But she breaks the silence before I can finish my thought, the expression on my face clearly prompting her to clarify.   “Erica, dear…all of our students are ABDL.”       Chapter 3     Wait. What?   Did she just say…what the fuck?!   My eyes go wide. The edges of my vision go dark. A soft hum begins to ring in my ears. Louder. Louder.   WHAT THE FUCK.   I feel my whole body tense. My chest tightens. Impossibly heavy. Sinking.   It’s not possible. I’ve never told ANYONE. Never posted a single thing online. Not even anonymously.    “How…how could you…”   Breathe, Erica. You can’t lose it here. Not where everyone can see you.    Keep it together. BREATHE.    I try to re-focus on the woman across the table from me. I can see Sally’s expression has softened again. Her eyes are full of concern, but her smile is still soft…sympathetic, reassuring.   She slowly moves her right hand to the middle of the table, turning it upwards, opening her palm in an inviting manner.    “It’s ok, dear. Just take a moment. Take a few moments, if you need. This part is never easy.”   Her tone is soothing, patient, unhurried. I feel myself reaching out to grab her waiting hand.    Wait, what the fuck? I can’t trust her! How does she…   But it’s too late. I’m already gripping her hand with mine, and probably a little too tightly.   A wave of relief washes over my body. Warmth blooms slowly up my arm from where I’m grabbing her hand. My breath slows. My vision clears.   Wait, what? Why is this helping? This shouldn’t be helping.   I take a moment to collect myself again, staring at my hand in disbelief. I bite at my lip ring…FUCK, no, it’s gone, remember? What the fuck am I doing?   I calmly, slowly relax my grip, pulling my hand back, nervously smoothing out my skirt underneath the table.   Is there any point in denying it? I mean, I still don’t know how Evergreen could know, but her confidence in the information, her lack of judgement in the words, her effortless, calm, comforting demeanor…   “I…I don’t understand,” I’m finally able to begin. “How…how could you possibly know something like that?”   Sally straightens her posture, taking another calm, slow sip from her mug.   “For what it’s worth, the people in Evergreen’s admissions department are most likely the only individuals on the planet that DO know this about you, and I can assure you that the entire department is run by sympathetic and like-minded individuals, if you understand my meaning…”   She gives me a gentle smile and wink as she sets her mug back down.    “As you may know, accredited universities have access to each other's full academic records, data, and networks. That’s exactly how most universities are able to pre-select candidates for admissions these days: by using modern AI tools to scan this integrated higher education network. This not only looks into direct online activity, but for consistent patterns of network activity tied to individual students. Someone who visits certain websites on a regular basis is flagged by our system. We then trace the activity to a student’s records, and if that student’s academic credentials match our standards, they’re sent to be reviewed manually by our admissions department.”   My anxiety quickly starts turning to anger. I knew we were living in a post-privacy age, but for fuck’s sake, this is insane! This feels like such a violation…and aren’t there supposed to be laws to prevent this kind of thing?!   “Woah woah woah,” I interrupt, doing my best to stay somewhat collected despite the hot pit that’s boiling in my stomach. “Doesn’t that kind of thing violate the Digital Information Privacy Act? I thought employers and schools weren’t able to collect or store digital information from potential candidates...shouldn’t that have been caught before your school’s AI infrastructure was approved?”   I expect Sally to be taken aback, but instead I get another calm smile from her, almost as if she’s…impressed?   “I’m glad to see you’re fairly well informed on your digital rights. That’s a very important trait to hold in this day and age.” She pauses to take a small bite of her sandwich again, clearly unbothered by my line of questioning.   “For the most part, you’re correct, but there is a caveat to those laws…you see, Evergreen and other schools are not allowed to collect or use any information on applicants for the purpose of EXCLUDING them from our programs.”   She sets her sandwich down once more, folding her hands over each other on the table in front of her.   “However, the law doesn’t prevent us from using these tools to filter information on potential students that we would attribute as being POSITIVE. That’s why I said no other school should have this information about you. To the best of our knowledge, we’re the only university on the continent that actively seeks out ABDL students as part of our criteria for admissions.”   God dammit. There’s always a loophole. Privacy really IS an illusion nowadays, isn’t it? Still, I’m almost impressed at the legal ninjitsu of it all.    But I also hate the fact that I’m impressed.   “On top of that,” Sally continues, “I can assure you we have some of the strongest privacy protections for our students of any university in the country. The NDAs covering the identities of our students, applicants, and staff are ironclad. Not only that, but the only individuals with access to that information are those who share your interests.”   So anyone trying to leak info would be sued into oblivion AND outed at the same time. Again, I’m annoyed at how much sense that makes.   “It’s also the reason there’s very little information about the school online. We don’t allow any information to be shared about the…peculiarities of our academic program. Not by students, not by staff, ESPECIALLY not by any sort of third party.”   Sally leans in closer once again. Despite everything, I can’t help but find her presence calming…disarmingly so. She really is amazing at her job.    “Look, I completely understand your skepticism,” she continues, “I’ve done hundreds of these interviews, and your reaction is both justified and normal. If you choose not to attend, we won’t be offended in any way, and beyond the two of us, no one will ever know you sat in this booth for this particular interview for this particular school.   But Erica, I promise you that the students that do attend our school find themselves living an experience most never thought possible. Our mission is to bring together like-minded individuals who are truly the best at what they do. We painstakingly cater our program to each and every student so that they can truly bring out the best version of themselves; not just academically and professionally, but personally, as well. To unlock and explore all aspects of their true, authentic selves.   And I truly believe that Evergreen could do that for you, Erica. Aren’t you exhausted by trying to be the person everyone else wants you to be? Evergreen sees what an amazing writer and person you could be if you simply opened yourself up fully…not just to the world, but to yourself.”   It takes a moment for Sally’s words to really sink in. She seems…genuine, unintimidating.    But this is so fucked. How could I even be considering this? What the hell is wrong with me?   I take another sip from my coffee, my mind racing too quickly to even register the motion or the flavor. I look back up to Sally.   “So…what exactly is so unique about your program?” I ask. “You keep mentioning that it caters very specifically to each student but…what does that mean, exactly?”   “That…is a question best answered in a more private setting…” Sally replies, eyes glancing around the room once again. I glance back, noticing a handful of newcomers to the cafe. Point taken.   “That being said, I certainly don’t expect any kind of decision or answer from you today, and I’m sure you have many, many more questions.”    Sally picks up the napkin next to her, gently brushing the sides of her lips before gracefully reaching down to her purse in the seat beside her. She reaches halfway across the table, a sleek black business card in hand adorned with fine gold inlaid lettering.   “So please, if you decide you’d like any more information before making your decision, don’t hesitate to call me, day or night.”   My hand twitches. I hesitate for just half a second.    Then I reach out and accept the card from her.   She smiles at me, eyes warmer, more inviting than ever. She stands from the booth, purse on her arm.   “I do have to run now, but I want to thank you again for coming out to meet me, for hearing me out…I understand that this is a lot to process. I’ve already taken care of the bill, so take all the time you need here, and all the time you need to reach back out.”   Sally pauses as she passes next to me. Just for a moment. Then her hand rests gently on my shoulder. She meets my gaze. One final smile.   “I really hope to hear from you soon, Erica. I really do think you would be an amazing addition to Evergreen.”   With that, I smile back at her. I try to thank her for her time, but I’m unable to form words. She squeezes my shoulder for just a moment, and then she walks away from me. I don’t even look back. My eyes are just glued to the business card. My mind is blank, sparring thoughts racing at equal speed and volume, clashing in the center of my mind to create a wall of indistinguishable white noise.   Fuck. ________________   My head is spinning on my drive home from the cafe. I can’t help but glance over at Sally’s business card, jutting clumsily out of the side pocket of my purse on the passenger’s seat beside me.   My thoughts have slowed, quieted a bit, but that’s almost worse. Now I’m just cycling through thoughts, emotions, fears, hypotheticals…all at a breakneck pace, one after the other.   I can’t believe someone found out. I’ve never told anyone. Not partners, not best friends, not random individuals online…hell, I’ve never even posted a comment on any of the boards I frequent. I’ve CERTAINLY never posted any of the stories I’ve written on the subject. Those are all safely tucked away in my…   Wait. Fuck. Wouldn’t Evergreen have access to my cloud drive, too? Was Sally referring to my god-awful private smut when she was talking about some of my work?!   My stomach clenches. I feel like I’m gonna puke.   I grip my steering wheel in anger, my knuckles turning white. I want to fucking scream.   I quickly click over to a metalcore playlist on my car’s center console. I turn the volume up way too loud.   The wall of distorted, downtuned guitars crashes over me like a wave. I breathe deeply.    They can say whatever bullshit sales pitch they want, try to convince me they’re just like me. Fuck them. How do they not understand how deeply unsettling it is to have your privacy violated like that? Your deepest secrets.   This is my fucking nightmare.   I pull hastily into the parking spot next to my apartment complex. I close my eyes, letting the heavy music wash over me. Pure, cathartic rage.    I glance at the business card again. A fresh image of Sally at the cafe table flashes in my mind.    Even in the memory, I notice it again. Sally’s demeanor. Her expression. Her eyes. It gives me pause.   My brain has obviously played out an endless number of anxiety-driven nightmare loops about finally being outed, about someone finding out my deepest secret. A search bar auto-populating to something wildly inappropriate, my phone screen being frozen on a board as someone looks over my shoulder, an audio file I was just listening to auto-playing in class with the volume on full blast…   But never in my near-infinite iterations of the worst case scenario could I have imagined a reaction like Sally’s. Calming. Sweet. Sympathetic. So…accepting.   I let out a single, full sob.    I jolt upright. Music still blaring in my car. I spin my head around, glancing in every direction.   Thank god. No one saw me break down like that.   I feel like I’m barely holding it together as I walk back to my apartment. I take out my phone quickly for a distraction. I see a notification in my texts, realizing just now that I haven’t looked at my phone since before the interview.   I open the text in an anxious haste.   SARAH Hey girly! Just stopped by the apartment for that stuff I was talking about. So sorry I missed you, babe! Text and let me know how you’re doing, let’s get lunch or something soon ❤️   Even in my current state, I can’t help but let out a huge sigh of relief. One less thing to worry about. I feel my shoulders drop, like a weight’s been lifted from my whole body.   Fucking finally.    I unlock my front door and step through. I immediately catch a small shimmer in my periphery, turning my head to spot Sarah’s keys sprawled lazily on the small end table we…no, I, have set up right next to the shoe rack.   I inhale deeply. Serenity. Calm.   For just a little while, it’s all mine.   I spin around dramatically as I slam my front door, quickly undoing the buttons on my blouse. I throw the top onto my dining room table on the way into my living room. I drop my purse on my coffee table as I let myself fall back onto my couch, quickly unzipping my skirt and letting it fall unceremoniously into a heap on my floor.   I catch a glimpse of Sally’s business card sticking out of my purse. My mind starts to race again.   Nope, fuck that. For the next five minutes, I’m not doing or thinking a god damn thing.   I lie there, staring at my blank white ceiling. I breathe. I take it in.    And then, for the next little while, I do just that: not a single god damn thing. I just lie there on my couch in my underwear, existing for the sake of existing.   Unfortunately, my zen is broken by a sound emanating from my purse. Is that…the imperial march?   Oh shit, right. I quickly reach over to my purse and pull my phone out. A reminder flashes across the screen from an alarm I set yesterday:   SEND FINAL INTERVIEW CONFIRMATION LFB   I stare at it for a second as the ominous horns continue to play, my phone vibrating rhythmically in my hand. I laugh embarrassingly loudly at my own stupid joke.   Then I cancel the alarm, putting my phone on my chest as I settle back into the couch.   I close my eyes. I see that same metaphorical beach in my mind. The same grey, endless horizon. The bland, metallic hull of SS LFB sailing slowly towards me. A small pit of existential dread forms in my stomach once again.   But then, I see it. A small break in the clouds, bright blue sky breaking through off in the distance.   A full fucking ride to an exclusive grad school. A chance to pursue the thing I ACTUALLY want to do with my life. I would have to be stupid to turn that down for some dumpster fire corporate gig, right?   Is Evergreen sketchy? Does my privacy still feel undeniably violated? Is the prospect of exploring that hidden part of me absolutely fucking terrifying? Yes, yes, and oh god yes.    I exhale dramatically, glancing back over to my purse, to the business card sticking out of it. Another image of Sally’s face flashes in my mind. Those striking, inviting, soft eyes. Even the memory sends a wave of calm through my body.   That’s when I spot it again: past my purse, peeking out of the corner of my bedroom door.   The box.   My heart flutters, pounds. I feel my breath going shallow. I swallow involuntarily as the hairs on my arms rise.   I jump up from the couch without giving it a second thought, grabbing my purse from the coffee table as I do so, phone in my other hand as I make my way to my bedroom, more and more of the box revealing itself as I take each step.   As I step through the door frame, my hand gravitates towards the handle before I catch myself.    No need to shut the door behind me. No need.   I place my phone and purse onto my nightstand before lowering myself to my knees, kneeling in front of the box. This is the closest I’ve been to it since I picked it up from my porch and threw it in my room in a bout of frustration. I gently graze the cardboard with the tips of my fingers, a quiet rustling forming as I run them across the top, then down across the side.   I’m on auto-pilot at this point. I dig my index fingernail into the tape on the side, tearing through it with ease as I begin to drag my hand in the opposite direction, cutting a small slit in the tape over and across.   The closer half of the box’s top pops gently open as I slit the last bit of tape holding it shut. The back half quickly follows suit.   I can already see the transparent plastic handle of the contents poking out from the mess of brown paper that obscures the rest. I reach for the handle slowly, gripping it, pulling gently. The paper rustles loudly as it falls to the side of the bag and back into the box.   My breath grows shallower still. My heart beats faster. I grab the side of the plastic packaging with my free hand, quiet and smooth against my palm. I let my other hand fall to the opposite side of the package.    I’m staring directly at the bag’s label, just inches from my face. A brownish-green backdrop, an illustrated rendering of the package’s contents gazing directly back at me. Just above it, words, in the same shade of bright white as the illustration:   SUNKISS MASTERPIECE   I shudder involuntarily as my eyes move down the package. A small, transparent window in the package reveals the contents within. Clean, silky-white plastic.   My hands move quickly to the top of the package, the serrated top tearing with ease. My right hand jolts to reach in before pausing for a beat.   It takes me a moment to notice how much I’m squirming, how fast my heart is beating. Not from anxiety. Something deeper. Calmer. Hungrier.   I reach in, my hand clasping around one of the diapers. The smooth, soft plastic brushing against my fingers sends electricity through my whole body.   I pull the diaper out slowly, the soft rustling of plastic against plastic breaking the dead silence of the room. I set the package down, taking the diaper in both hands.   I stroke at it gently with the back of my right hand. The sound of the gentle crinkle, the impossibly soft texture brushing against my skin…it snaps something within me. Every hair on my body is standing on end. My whole body feels like it’s glowing… humming softly, contentedly.   I twist involuntarily on the floor. I gasp as the action accidentally causes my panties to snag ever so slightly, brushing the soft cotton gently across my clit, into the folds of my pussy.   I should be ashamed at how wet I already am. I’m not.   I slowly make my way over to my bed, the diaper gripped gently in my hands. I roll onto my back and let my hands explore further. I unfold it, twist it, examine every detail…the back unfolds from the side, revealing two white-over-blue tapes on either side. I thumb at one gently, causing the edge to fold ever so slightly before snapping back.    I fold the diaper back into the original flat rectangle it came out of the package in, continuing to rhythmically graze my hand across the soft outer plastic shell as I do so. I bring it in closer to my body, holding it closely against my upper chest. It hugs my breasts, barely grazing my hardened nipples through my bralette, covering the area between my chest and the bottom of my chin.    I close my eyes, softly embracing the object of my unwarranted, secret, lifelong obsession. Everything slows down. Pure calm. Blissful zen.   I open my eyes again, dragging the diaper to a slightly lower place on my abdomen, between my chest and stomach.   I pull my left hand away, reaching for my phone.   Then I reach for Sally’s business card, still peeking invitingly from the side pocket of my purse.   I dial the number on the front of her card. My left hand clutches the diaper softly. My fingers stroke and graze the plastic rhythmically, involuntarily…the soft crinkling filling the quiet corners of the room, causing a warm, pleasant shiver to ripple through my entire body.   It rings once, twice, before a soft,   “Hello, this is Sally.”   I don’t hesitate.   “Hi Sally, this is Erica. Tell me more about Evergreen.”       Chapter 4     The beat drops as I pull into the entrance of the mall, and I can’t help but totally lose myself in the music. I roll my head to the rhythm, moving my shoulders in time to the syncopated, stabbing synth line as the bass resonates through my chest.   I know people are all about the third-wave dance punk bands that have blown up in the past few years, but it’s hard to beat the classics. I let the song keep playing as I park the car, give a quick glance around to make sure there’s no one watching, and then proceed to dance myself clean in my tiny cube on wheels.   The beat calms down again for the outro. I take my phone out, still dancing in my seat but in a slightly more collected manner. A notification has popped up from my email app:   LFB Logistics - Final Interview Received 4 days ago Reply now?   Crap. I guess I should probably break the bad news to them, huh?   Am I really going through with this, though? This must be the fifth time I’ve asked myself that in the last two days.   But I know the answer. It’s always the same answer.    I think back again to the phone call I had with Sally…   “I must say, I wasn’t expecting to hear back from you so soon,” she began. “I’m still driving back down to the campus now. I’m sure you have plenty of questions, but let me just run over some of the basics with you to start off.”   I nodded along for a moment before realizing she couldn’t actually see me. “Yes, of course,” I replied as quickly as possible.   “With Labor Day being so late this year, classes don’t actually start until September 7th,” she continued. “However, we require first semester students to be here by 11 AM the Friday prior, on the 3rd of the month.”   I remember doing the mental math, thinking, Shit, is that really only two and a half weeks away?   “You’ll have to give your photo ID at the front gate to be let in,” Sally resumed. “The guard working there will direct you where to park and enter for your initial intake. There, you’ll be given a brief examination, as well as a quick personal orientation with one of our school’s physicians.”   I cringed a bit at the thought, the mix of anxiety, anticipation and leftover arousal still stirring in my brain, taking my imagination in all manner of directions.   “I’ll go ahead and send over the final admission paperwork to your email now.” Sally’s quick shift in topics had re-focused my wandering mind. “Please take some time to review all of the material…sit with it for another moment before sending it back to me. Please just know that if you do decide to join us at Evergreen that we’ll need your e-signature sent back on the documents by this Friday before 5 PM…oh, that’s the 13th, isn’t it?” Sally let out a small chuckle. “Maybe by the 12th, just to be safe,” she jested. And for once, I didn’t procrastinate. I sat with the paperwork like she asked. I read every page twice. And then I signed it last night, a full day ahead of the deadline. I was done.   I glance back at my phone. My fingers begin typing.   __________________   Dear Margaret,   Thank you so much for giving me the opportunity to meet with you, but I’ve chosen to pursue a different path that’s been offered to me.   Thank you again so much for your time.   Sincerely, Erica __________________   I hit send. I sit back in the seat of my car and close my eyes. I can see the hulking, rusting monstrosity of the SS LFB disappear over the horizon.   Thank god.   I grab my purse from the passenger seat and sling it over my right shoulder before grabbing the still-steaming cup of coffee from the cup holder, opening the door, stepping out, hip-checking it back closed, and finally hitting the button on the door handle to lock it.   I walk through the automatic doors at the mall’s entrance, a wave of cool air washing over me as I enter the large department store. I shake my head lightly to the side to flick my ponytail away from my face, a few small strands landing in front of my oversized sunglasses as I do so. I push them away with the back of my left hand, then move the sunglasses off my face, onto the top of my head.   As I walk towards the women’s department, my mind goes back to the email I just sent. To the conversation with Sally. To the paperwork I sent back last night.    That’s it, I’m locked in.   Well, metaphorically.   “So…about that NDA you mentioned before…” I asked. “What exactly does that entail on my end?”   “Well, it IS rather restrictive, but for good reason, as you can imagine.” Sally’s tone remained calm and warm. “While attending the school, you won’t be allowed to share any specifics about the school, your classes, the students and staff you meet there, or the activities you involve yourself in while attending.   “To further protect everyone’s privacy, cellular network traffic is blocked on the school grounds. Access to the school’s wireless network is free for all of your devices, but traffic on our network is heavily monitored, especially in regards to communications and social media.”   It made sense. I certainly wouldn’t want one of my classmates taking a picture of me anywhere in the school and posting it to her gram.   “Once graduated, you’re obviously free to tell others that you attended and received your masters at Evergreen, but information you share must be limited to your degree, GPA, and time attended. Most graduates are able to stay vague about their time by letting others know that the NDAs exist due to highly sensitive research that takes place at the school…which isn’t untrue, to be fair.”   That one gave me pause, but again, not uncommon in the post-privacy age of AI. I should still probably look into the specifics of that more.   “However,” Sally continued, “We have a very strict policy regarding continued attendance in our program. We do not allow students to take semesters off, to leave and finish their degree at a later time…if you choose to leave Evergreen’s program, you are forbidden from returning to the campus, and the NDA strictly forbids you from mentioning your partial attendance, point blank.”   I paused a moment before responding, a burning question in my mind. “How often do students end up dropping out of your school?”     “It certainly happens on occasion,” Sally was quick to respond. “As you can imagine, adjustment to the lifestyle Evergreen helps its students cultivate can be quite overwhelming, especially at first. We try our absolute best to help our students feel as comfortable as possible as we work with them on their personal growth, but sometimes it’s just too much for some girls to handle.”   I’m in the dressing room of the department store. I hold out the dress I’m about to try on in front of me, examining it closely in the mirror. I love the medium-low, sleeveless cut of the top, the slightly thick straps with subtle inlays definitely being my style. The knee-length skirt of the dress, on the other hand, is decidedly not.    I exhale dramatically. It’s still not bad, and it should, in theory, do exactly what I need it to do. Still reasonably fashionable with the function intact.   I glance over to the bench to the right of me that contains the fairly large pile of clothes I still need to try on. Practically a whole new wardrobe, and for good reason.   I think of the reason again. I shudder. I can feel the hair rise on the back of my neck. Tiny beads of sweat form on my back.   “The biggest adjustment, of course, is to our one golden rule shared by all new students, and the vast majority of returning ones,” Sally had continued.    I remember my whole body clenching as a wave of…something…washed over me. Anxiety there, for sure, but also something deeper, just under the surface, something I couldn’t quite name. Something I’m STILL not sure I can, even as it starts to grip me while I stand there in the dressing room.   “Like I was saying, our mission is to help our students grow to accept themselves for who they truly are. The path to self-realization means learning to push yourself higher and further than you thought you could ever go, but the hardest step on that path to take is the first.   “To that end, we’ve found that requiring our new students to fully immerse themselves in a key aspect of the lifestyle we encourage them to pursue not only provides that initial push from the starting line, it also connects our students through an initial unified thread of self-discovery.”   My heartbeat quickened as she delved further into the pitch. It was a lot of flowery corporate bullshit; an overly decorated, aesthetically palatable pathway that ultimately led to a jarring destination…one I could already spot over the rose-laden hedges.    “All of our students, Erica, must wear and use diapers. At all times.”   The dressing room is dead silent. It takes me a moment to snap back to reality. I’m gripping the dress so tightly that it’s crumpling in my fists. My cheeks are on fire, and a quick glance in the mirror confirms how flushed my face has become…burning just as red, just as hot as when Sally spoke the words to me over the phone that afternoon. I take a moment to breathe. In for four. Hold for four. Out for four. Hold for four. I pull the dress over my head and slip the hem down. I look into the mirror and make a few small adjustments, smoothing out the wrinkles I inflicted. Seems right. Slightly too big on the hips and ass…that’s what I’m going for, right? Fuck, I honestly have no idea. I’m going to have to try these on at home with the…proper underwear to know if it’s actually going to work. So annoying. I’ll probably have to return a bunch of shit in the end. It would’ve been great if I could have just gotten it together and worn one to the store, saved myself a trip… I shake my head involuntarily, shivering at the thought. I haven’t even been able to get myself to wear one at home. My mind flashes to what Sally said later in our conversation. “We find the landing is much softer for our students if they allow themselves to…pre-acclimate to the lifestyle they’ll be immersed in upon arriving at Evergreen.” My phone vibrates, clattering loudly against the hard wooden bench I’ve placed it on. I jump slightly. I shake my head again and pick my phone up. A useless ad of a ping, but it does make me realize that I’m actually running a bit behind schedule. Shit. Whatever. I have to try these all on at home now anyway. I’ll just buy everything so I can make my hair appointment on time. I hastily slip the dress back off, going back to the bench to dig out my slightly-buried t-shirt and denim shorts. I throw them on at a similar pace, gather up the large pile of maybes and walk briskly to the checkout counter. I check the clock on my phone one more time. Should be able to make the appointment. Time management has never been my strongest suit. Good thing I’ll have a watch soon…that I’ll have to wear at all times, too. “The smart watches we provide are also a vital part of our program,” Sally had explained. “Yours will function as your student ID and primary organizational device, but it also tracks how you’re adjusting to life at Evergreen, both emotionally and physiologically. It’s how we’re able to tailor the program to each individual student.” Of course, no surprises there. At least they were upfront about what kind of data they were collecting instead of burying it in the fine print like most smart devices did in their terms of service. I glance at the total that’s been rung up at the front counter and cringe. Fucking oof. Thank god I’ve got some extra cushion from the security deposit fund I apparently won’t be needing anymore. I tap my phone to the card machine as the cashier despondently bags my mountain of items. I can’t blame her…I lasted just over two months last summer in a similar retail hell. And anyway, I’m barely paying attention, either. My mind is still wandering back. “I do have a question about that, specifically,” I had asked Sally. “You’ve mentioned quite a few times how ‘personalized’ your program is for each student…but what does that mean, exactly?” “A great question,” Sally replied. “Your academic curriculum is set quite early, based on your focus of study…in your case, it will involve a lot of one-on-one work with the head of our English department, Doctor Buckley.” My brain flashed back even further to the interview in the cafe… The few pieces I’ve been able to pull by you… God dammit. I needed to know. I wanted to ask her. But I couldn’t bring myself to bring it up. She continued before I could make a second attempt. “But that’s only half of the picture. The other half is your PGP…sorry, your Personal Growth Plan. That’s the part that’s deeply individualized to each student, and what makes our program so successful. “You’ll have a Personal Growth Advisor who works with you directly throughout your entire time at Evergreen. Each week, you’ll meet to review everything outside your academics…how you’re adjusting, what you’re discovering about yourself and your desires, and any concerns you may have along the way.” I walk through the mall exit, the heat from the muggy August air hitting me like I had just opened an oven set to broil. The sudden brightness causes me to wince, and I let out a single sneeze before placing my sunglasses back over my eyes. Such a strange phenomenon, the whole ‘people with blue eyes sneezing at bright lights’ thing. I start my car remotely as I walk briskly towards it, hoping the AC kicks on fully before I make it there. I dump the bags in my back seat, then collapse dramatically into the driver’s seat. I sigh in contentment and take a moment to enjoy the cool air blowing on my face. “Okay…but what exactly IS a…Personal Growth Plan?” I had asked next. “And how exactly does all this data you’re collecting on me tie into it?” “In practical terms, adjustments to your PGP come in the form of additional rules you agree to follow while at Evergreen,” Sally explained. “Each new rule is designed to push you a little further along…to help you explore the parts of yourself you may be consciously or subconsciously curious about. “Understand, though, that students must fully consent to any rule added to their PGP, as well as the respective punishments for breaking specific rules.” There it was again. A tiny flicker from somewhere deep. The words reach through time. I squirm in my car seat. “Nothing is permanent,” Sally continued. “Your plan can be reviewed with your advisor at any time, and any rule rescinded at your discretion.” “I…I’m curious…what are some examples of some of these…additional rules that I would have to follow?” I had asked.   “Unfortunately I’m not really at liberty to discuss that,” Sally replied quickly. “Rules applied as part of individual students’ PGPs really are done on a case-by-case basis, and are therefore protected under our NDA. There are a handful of commonplace rules that many of our students eventually add to their PGPs for at least some amount of time, but those will be reviewed during your orientation. Just keep in mind that even those common rules aren’t guaranteed and must be applied with each student’s consent.”   Another somewhat evasive answer, but excusably so. I’m probably still just overthinking it.    I’m pulling my car into the hair salon’s parking lot now. Sweeping guitar melodies fill the air around me, the soaring, high-register clean vocals of my favorite post-hardcore vocalist sending warm shivers down my spine. It’s a shame how hard he was canceled, I would’ve loved to see them live. I feel slightly guilty about providing them stream revenue, but god, I can’t help but love this band. The few pieces I’ve been able to pull by you… You’re just overthinking it.   __________________     I look so fucking good.   I’m elated, examining my new hair in the full-length mirror of my bedroom. I shake my head back and forth slowly, dramatically, watching the layers move in tiny waves. Left. Right. Left.   It’s shorter than I’ve gone in years, barely grazing my shoulders instead of covering my upper back. It’s almost shaggy, all choppy layers and texture…like it has a personality all its own.    The stylist called it “effortless” when we were going over different options, and the demo picture grabbed me immediately. Funny, the amount of work it takes to get something to look effortless…I swear she took two hours to get down the layers alone.   And my fucking baaaaangs. Your bitch got bangs! Wispy curtain bangs, asymmetrical, skewed to the left, parted loose so they frame everything spectacularly.   I shake my head again. The burgundy looks darker at this length, richer, catching the light with every small movement.   I look fucking awesome.   I bite the right side of my lip out of habit, tonguing gently at the little hole there. But I don’t feel that tiny pit of dread when I do.   Instead I feel hope.   And then I spot the pack again, sitting on the floor on the opposite side of my bed. The one piece I’ve taken out sits, still folded, on the nightstand right next to it.    I’ve picked it up a few times in the last few days, but I still haven’t been able to put it on. To be fair, the last couple days have been pretty chaotic. Turns out making a major life decision on a whim tends to throw things into a bit of a whirlwind.   I think back again to what Sally said at the end of our phone call. We find the landing is much softer for our students if they allow themselves to…pre-acclimate to the lifestyle they’ll be immersed in upon arriving at Evergreen. I know exactly what she was getting at. And she’s right. I need to dip my toe in before I get thrown in the deep end. I take a deep breath and unbutton my denim shorts, sliding them down in one fell swoop with my panties in tow, letting them both fall lazily to the floor. I toss my shirt off in an equally hasty fashion. Then my bralette.  I roll onto my bed, onto my back, and reach for the folded white rectangle on my nightstand before I give my brain a chance to catch up. I stare at it for a moment. Hesitating. The bright sheen of the transparent landing strip reflecting the lamplight from behind, dancing, shifting across the surface with every small movement I make. My fingers, softly gripping the back of the folded white rectangle, are running small circles across the smooth plastic. A tiny crinkling noise rises from where they make contact, a slightly louder squeak breaking through rhythmically with each rotation.    Fucking do it already.   I flip the rectangle upside down. Unfold the front, then the back, the quilted cotton interior now fully visible. I lift my hips to raise my back just a few inches off the bed. I move my hands to reposition the back half of the…diaper…underneath me.   As I do, the silky white exterior drags gently down the bottom of my stomach. It grazes against my clit for just a brief moment on its journey downward.   It’s still enough for me to gasp, close my eyes, involuntarily bite my lip.   Holy shit.   My hands begin to move faster. I let the diaper drop onto the bed, then position my hands underneath me to grab it, dragging it under my butt and lower back, unfolding the two back wings as I do so.   I lower myself onto it.   My eyes shut again, mouth just slightly agape as I feel my skin slowly press into the waiting cotton lining. Another small crinkle as my weight settles into it. The warmth. The impossible softness.   I can’t help but reach over with my right hand and touch myself. Even the lightest pressure against my clit and I’m squirming. It’s a good thing I have this padding under me or I would’ve already made a small wet spot on the bed.   I feel my cheeks flush, face burning red at the thought.   I return to the task at hand, looking down as I adjust the back wings, ensuring they’re splayed evenly to the sides of my hips.   I reach down between my legs, pull the front of the diaper towards me. The soft lining…so impossibly soft…makes contact with my inner thighs. My mound. Then right up against my slit. My pulsing clit.   Pure electricity crashing through me. My hips buck, increasing the friction between my pussy and the diaper ever so slightly.   Holy fuck.   I have to catch my breath a second before I can keep going. So close.    I unfold the front wings as I pull the front panel up and against my lower torso. I twist gently to my right first, left hand on the front, pulling the wing into my hip. Right hand grasping at the bottom tape of the back panel, pulling in the opposite direction. The now-opened tape makes contact with the front panel, the materials adhering to each other with ease.   I switch sides. Lower left tape. Hands shaking in anticipation. Top left. Top right.   And just like that, the diaper has me sealed in its warm, velvety, crinkly embrace. I writhe uncontrollably. Hips bucking, rocking. Thighs pressing together…not quite able to touch as they compress the thick padding.   I lift my feet, letting them dangle a few inches from the bed, lifting my thighs towards my hips. The movement causes the diaper to hug tighter against my ass, against my pussy. I can feel myself dripping, gravity creating a slow river of my juices towards my anus, spreading slowly in between my cheeks.   My right hand presses against the front of my diaper. I moan. A chorus of sensations. The soft plastic against my palm. The loud crinkle of the disturbed diaper. The increased pressure of the quilted lining right up against my dripping pussy.   I pause. Draw my hand back.    No. Don’t dive deeper yet. Stay. Right here. Remember this moment. Every feeling. Every sensation.    Perfect stillness.    Silence.    Pure bliss.          Chapter 5     Nineteen days til Evergreen I wake up to a mess of hair and silk pressed directly against my face. I yawn as I pull myself away from my pillow just a few inches. A tiny strand of something wet catches my lip. I notice a small dark spot on the pillowcase right where my mouth just was.  Classy. I bury my face back into my pillow, slightly to the left of the drool puddle. My body stretches involuntarily as I begin to wake. A loud crinkling noise emanates from beneath the sheets. My eyes shoot wide and my cheeks grow warm. I completely forgot. I must have passed out last night after putting it on. I squirm my hips and legs, the rustling plastic growing louder in turn. The soft, thick cotton brushes lightly around my most intimate areas as I do so. I squirm more at the heavenly sensation. A sensual feedback loop, quickly amplifying. I turn my head to the left, towards my bedroom window. The sun is already bright in the sky. Shit, how long was I out for? However long it was, I feel amazing…muscles loose, head light and hazy…I could just lie here like this for hours. But then I notice another sensation. Pressure, somewhere low. Oh fuck. I need to pee. BADLY. I start to get out of bed, getting to my knees and turning to the right towards my bedroom door. The cacophony of crinkles causes me to freeze. I look down at myself, the crimped plastic of the diaper’s waistband meeting my stomach just below my belly button. Like bright white accordion folds.  No. No way. I just tried putting one on for the first time last night. I couldn’t possibly… I hesitate. The pressure on my bladder is severe from what I’m assuming was ten plus hours of sleeping. I really need to go. Now. I look back up. Get to the bathroom, start moving your feet. You can’t do this, not yet. What if it gets all over the bed? I’m sure I didn’t put it on right. Did it get looser overnight? What if… ...Wait. No. None of that will matter in a few weeks. There won’t be a door to run to. No decision to be made. But I can still make a decision now. I can still move towards the door. Just move! But I don’t move. My legs are frozen, keeping me kneeling on my mattress. Pressure growing.  It’s funny how much harder it is to hold it when you know that relief is so close. So simple. Like your subconscious is already relaxing the muscles before you’re ready to release. I hesitate long enough for my body to make the decision for me. I feel it go. No, not a decision. Not even a choice, really… just a muscle I’ve been holding closed for ten hours finally, gratefully, letting itself open. Like sitting down for the first time after watching five opening bands, the full headlining set and an encore. There’s a half-second of nothing. Just the release itself, that deep internal unclenching, my whole lower body going soft with relief before anything else registers. A lovely, comforting heat spreading slowly. Oh my god. I’m doing it. I’m peeing. No…I’m…wetting my diaper. My face is red hot.  My hand drifts down to gently grip where the warmth is spreading. I feel the padding covering my pussy swelling, expanding…the padding around it following suit as the cotton interior absorbs every drop. I can’t believe…I can’t believe I just did that. That I’m STILL doing it. Without even meaning to. One second, on the bed, struggling internally, weighing my options. And then my body did its own thing. I look down. I’m still going. Holy shit. A dull yellow spot has stained the previously pristine ivory front of my diaper, expanding outward, downward…the material starting to droop and sag lower against my thighs.  Did I just have an…accident? Or was my subconscious making the call for me?  Wearing them was one thing, but actually USING a diaper… I grip a little tighter, electricity shooting from where the now squishy material makes contact with my clit. I feel the warm stream exiting me decelerate, the hissing quickly quieting, and then…silence once again. My hand drifts down further, down the smoothed, hot, soft plastic lining. Down so much further than it had been just a minute ago. I press my thighs towards each other, the expanded, sodden padding between them now stiffer, holding them even further apart. I feel the squish. Hear the crinkle. Holy fuck. I close my eyes, slowly lowering myself back onto my bed as my hand continues to explore my wet diaper. I squirm as I feel my weight settling into the seat of my diaper…the once-soft padding now enveloping the bottom of my cheeks in a warm, squishy embrace as I feel the liquid redistribute slightly higher up the back. The diaper feels SO different now that it’s wet. Still so warm. Still so soft, inside and out. But heavier now…tighter between my thighs. What a disgusting thing to do. It feels fucking amazing. My hand slowly drags back up the velvety plastic. I increase the pressure against the diaper slightly, feeling the material part ever so gently. I squirm more, eyes closed as I bite my lip. The squish of the wet diaper pressing down hard against my pussy, up and up. I can feel myself dripping into the already wet diaper, clit aching in anticipation.  My hand caresses the sodden plastic slowly, upwards, gently… BBBBBZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZZ My erotic zen is broken by the deafening rattle of my vibrating phone against my wooden nightstand.  Infuriated, I grab the phone off my nightstand with the full intent of yeeting it through my bedroom door. Luckily I glance at the front screen for just a moment before I do so. 11:03 AM MOM CALLING Oh FUCK. I slept even later than I thought. The call with Mom I scheduled to give her the news. SHIT. I flip onto my stomach and scream into my pillow. I take a breath before flipping back over. It’s fine. I’m calm. Everything’s fine. I quickly tap on the DECLINE & MESSAGE option. Hey mom! Give me just one minute. It’s just an audio call, but I need to throw some clothes on. God forbid I accidentally hit the FaceTime button and…yeah, no, let’s not risk that one. I jump out of bed and grab the first pieces of clothes I see: the shirt I was wearing yesterday and a nearby pair of sweatpants. As I pull the sweatpants up in haste, I feel a quick increase in pressure once again of the warm, heavenly squish against my mound, against my ass…I whine loudly, taking another deep breath, wishing I had a bucket of ice water to dunk my head in right now. I settle back onto my bed slowly. I take my phone again, my finger hovering over the button to call Mom back. I close my eyes for a moment to fully collect myself. I press down on the screen. “Hiiiiiii jellybean! How are yoouuuuu?” Ow. Too loud. Too much enthusiasm. Too early for this. “Hiiiii mom! I’m doing good! How’ve you been? What’re you up to?” “I’m doing just peachy!” she answers, a hint of lecture already dripping from her voice. “I just wish you were home already! I know you have the apartment until the end of the month but you know you’d just save so much money on food if you had come home after school!” I roll my eyes. Thank god she didn’t want to FaceTime, I don’t think I would’ve been able to stuff that one down. “I know, Mom, but someone had to be here to do the final walkthrough with the landlord, and it feels like I paid the last couple months of rent for nothing if no one was gonna be here.” She sighs dramatically. At least I know where I got that from. “I knooowwww I know, I just miss my baby! Plus you’re not gonna be able to see Mary before she heads back off to school. Your sister misses you, too, we all do!” Blech. I think Mary will be just fine. She’s got her fancy private college friends to get back to, anyway. Little miss perfect princess needs not for the company of the common rabble. “I know, I know! Tell her I say hi and that I miss her too!” “I will when I see her, jellybean. She’s run off somewhere, I don’t know. But what’s going on, buttercup? Did your last interview go well? Is my little girl starting her first real job?!” The elation in her voice is unreal. It’s cool, you can sell this. Gotta put that undergrad to SOME good use, right? “Sooooooo here’s the crazy thing, Mom. I actually got a WAY better offer in a different interview earlier this week! You’re not gonna believe this, but they actually sought me out and sent someone up to New Paltz to interview me!” “Wooowww, that’s so great to hear, sweetie!” I hear the surprise poorly hidden behind her regular, jolly demeanor. “You didn’t tell me about this one at all! What’s the company? What’s the position? When do you start?” I cringe. Exactly one of those questions has a real answer, at least. “Well, my official start date is gonna be September 3rd!” I pause and take a breath, bracing myself for the oncoming sound of a mother’s hopes and dreams being crushed by her oldest daughter. “But here’s the thing. The offer I got was actually for an extremely exclusive grad school down in Westchester called Evergreen! They only accept a handful of new students every year, and I got offered a full ride!” A deafening two full seconds of silence. “Woooooowww honey! That’s…that’s amazing! Congratulations on the offer!” I can tell she’s trying hard to sound excited. She’s never been the best actor. “I don’t think you ever mentioned wanting to go for your masters, but that’s great! A free ride is certainly a big deal. What’s your business concentration going to be? What was the name of the school again?” I take another breath. “It’s Evergreen, Mom. And they actually accepted me into their creative writing program. They said they were really, really impressed with my work from before I switched…it’s the whole reason they gave me a free ride,” I half-lied. “Oh! I see.” The thin veil of supportiveness in her voice is quickly fading. “Well jellybean, I thought we had already decided that wasn’t really the most practical path to pursue. I know how much you love to write, but it’s getting tougher and tougher out there for everyone.” We is a bit strong.  It’s fine. You’ve got the closing pitch, let’s knock her dead. “For sure, Mom, but Evergreen sought me out very specifically for their creative writing program, and I can’t think of a single employer that would consider a bachelor’s to have a greater value than pretty much ANY master’s, especially when my undergrad was in business admin.” God, I sound like a robot. I wonder if she was able to tell that I’ve been practicing that one in the shower for the past two days. Another pause from her end, followed by a sigh.  “Well, Erica, it’s hard to argue with that. But I still really think you should think about it a little more, this is a big decision and seems very sudden.” I crack a wicked smile. Fuck yeah! Got herrrr. Of course, she doesn’t need to know that I’ve already made the decision, that the paperwork’s already signed, that I’m already on that path. “Of course, Mom! The paperwork is due back soon but I’ll be sure to mull it over again.” “Alright honey, well I certainly trust you to make the right decision,” she lied, “Just let me know, jellybean.” “I will, Mom. I have a hair appointment, so I’ve gotta head out,” I lied right back, “I love you though! Talk to you soon!” “I love you too sweetie! Stay safe! Call your mother more!” I let the phone collapse onto the pillow and exhale everything I’ve been holding since I scheduled that stupid call. I look to the right, out my bedroom door. Flattened boxes stacked in my living room. I still have a ton of cleaning and packing to do. I should probably get started on that. With a sigh, I start sitting up.  I gasp and moan as I feel my soggy diaper press and squish against my bottom. Fuuuuuuuuuuccckkk. Ok. No. There’s absolutely no way I can function like this. Every tiny movement I make reminds me of the wet, crinkly prison I’m trapped in. I barely sat up and the symphony of sensations already has me absolutely dripping. My entire pussy is aching…BEGGING for release. I have to do something to take care of this NOW. There’s no way I can get anything else done unless I do. I collapse back onto my bed, the springs of my mattress squeaking lightly. I practically flail to get my shirt and sweatpants back off. I’m in nothing but my wet diaper once again, and my hands go to caress the soft plastic instantly. My soaking wet diaper…it feels so fucking good. I moan. I writhe. My right hand reaches for the wand in my nightstand drawer without needing to look. I stare at the toy for a moment, then look back down to my diaper. I pull my other hand away from it, using it instead to slowly caress my left breast. I bite my lip, still squirming impatiently. In a single, fluid motion, I turn my wand onto the lowest setting and press it directly into the front of my diaper, right where my clit lies under the thick, damp padding. Electricity shoots through my whole body. My back arches involuntarily, both hands now gripping the wand as I increase the pressure, a soft squelch accompanying the amplified buzzing of rubber against plastic. “Ooohhhhhhhhhh fuuuuuucckk…” I’m panting like some sort of feral beast. I feel like I should savor this. Take my time, explore all the sensations. I’ve been waiting for this moment not just since last night, but for what feels like my entire fucking life. But I can already feel it building. Quickly building pressure where my wand is pressing. I feel beads of sweat forming on my torso, my brow. I’m grinding without control into the toy. Fuck it. I flip my thumb with practiced ease to quickly increase the power of the wand. I let out an animalistic moan. “OH FUCK.” The chorus of sounds is truly obscene, and so fucking hot. My panting, soft moans breaking through. The vibrations of the wand resonating against the plastic shell of the diaper. A soft, synchronized crackling and squelching as I grind my padded pussy greedily into my toy. The pressure is building quickly. So fucking quickly. And then an explosion. Unlike anything I’ve ever felt. My entire body rocks and convulses as my back arches. I scream, my voice cracking. Spasms of pure ecstasy rock my entire pussy, inside and out. The waves of pleasure ripple through my entire abdomen. Fuck, my entire body. I pull the wand away as I continue to cum. I can feel myself squirting, adding more to the contents of my diaper. It’s almost too much. I let out a long, low moan, my body still writhing, slower and slower. Holy. Fucking. Shit. I’m tempted to keep going. Maybe in a little bit I’ll go for another round. But for now, I set my wand to my side. That was...wow. Is this what I’ve been missing by shoving everything down for all these years? Is this what it feels like to be truly free of your own bullshit, even if just for three minutes?  I should probably shower. This diaper is gross, and I’m grosser.  I should start making those boxes, packing up the handful of things in my kitchen. But no. I think I’ll sit here for a minute. Just a minute.

Jambalaya 

Thanks to @tuffy for donating $25!