Other Fetishes

The lights were lower now, melting into that soft, amber glow that made everything—from the brick archways to the stray glitter on the girls’ cheeks—look a little more magical than it had any right to. It was the kind of glow that made people speak in softer voices without realizing it, as though loudness might break the spell. Families drifted out in small clusters, their footsteps fading into the warm night air. Somewhere farther down the path, a dad called out, “Don’t forget your sweater!” and his daughter groaned back in the dramatic way only teenagers can. The whole campus had that dreamy, end‑of‑a‑big‑night hush, like the world was winding down but didn’t quite want to yet—caught in the warm middle space between celebration and reflection. The girls lingered at the front steps, unwilling to let the moment dissolve. None of them were ready for bed, or even for the night to stop being what it was. It felt too full, too rare. Libby was the first to abandon ceremony; she kicked off her heels with a dramatic sigh, dangling them from one hand as she flopped onto the stone bench. She let her head roll back, eyes closed, chest rising and falling in long breaths as if she were still coming down from the rush of performing. "I don’t care what my mom says," she announced, still breathless from the show, "I’m sleeping until noon. Minimum. Maybe two." Her bare toes flexed against the cool stone, stretching as though they were exhausted from carrying her confidence all night. Rachel sat beside her with her usual quiet grace, smoothing the skirt of her dress even though it didn’t need smoothing. Her hair had loosened from its pins and framed her face in soft waves. "We’re doing brunch tomorrow. I think my dad made reservations." She lowered her voice as if sharing a state secret. "But… I might fake a headache so I can sleep in instead. Or maybe claim vocal rest. That’s a thing, right?" Libby nudged her with a lazy grin. "Bold. Reckless. I approve. I’ll even write the note." Dana dropped into the spot beside them with such flair that the entire bench rattled. Her curls bounced like springs, and she tossed them dramatically, eyes sparkling. "Girls, my aunt is in town and insists—INSISTS—on taking us all out for crêpes. She’s allergic to silence, so please pray for me. I’m going to need strength. And possibly subtitles." The three of them laughed—the exhausted, punch‑drunk kind of laugh that only shows up after adrenaline has finally let go of its grip. Their shoulders sagged toward one another, three silhouettes glowing in the soft yellow light spilling out from the building behind them. A few steps away, Alyssa had pulled Dylan aside, turning him so they faced each other in a tiny pocket of quiet. He still looked flushed and dazed—the kind of dazed that came from too many emotions and not enough space inside him to hold them all. His tie hung loosely, one end slightly twisted, and a wrinkle sliced across his shirt from where someone had tugged him into a dance spin. Alyssa reached up, smoothing the front of his shirt with careful fingers before her hand slipped lower to give a small, playful pat over the front of his diaper. "You looked incredible tonight," she said softly, her voice warm and full of something deeper than pride. He ducked his head, the tips of his ears going pink. "Thanks. I still… I still can’t believe any of it happened." His voice cracked slightly, like he wasn’t sure if he should laugh or swallow hard. She hooked her pinky with his, tugging lightly. "Believe it. Because now you’re mine, and you’re famous. You survived three songs, two dances, and Dana dipping you like a prom queen. You’re unstoppable." He let out a breathy, disbelieving laugh, and Alyssa’s smile deepened. For a moment, neither of them spoke—the silence between them soft and alive, filled with unsaid things they each felt too much to articulate. Back on the bench, Dana lifted her head again. "Okay but seriously—when are we all seeing each other again? And if anyone says ‘after family brunch,’ I’m fighting you. I mean it. Punches thrown. Hair pulled." Rachel’s smile warmed, soft and sleepy. "My parents are staying until Sunday afternoon. After that, I’m free. I think." She shrugged in a way that made the ruffles on her dress flutter. Libby raised her hand in a lazy half‑salute. "Same. We should do a girls’ trip. Or… you know… mostly girls. Dylan can be our pack mule." All three girls turned in perfect synchronization to look at Dylan. He held up his hands in surrender. "I’ll carry the bags. And the snacks. And whatever else. Just don’t make me wear heels." Dana grinned—a wicked, affectionate grin. "Good. We’ll hold you to that, baby boy. And yeah… definitely no heels. They’re not your color." Across the courtyard, Beth lingered with Libby’s mom, the two of them deep in quiet conversation about the night, the school, and the remarkable ways the kids had changed. The soft light from the building wrapped around Beth like a halo—glinting off the edge of her necklace, softening the fine lines near her eyes in a way that made her seem younger and older all at once. Dylan watched her for a long moment, unable to pull his gaze away. She looked proud—truly proud—in that rare, fragile way he had only seen a handful of times in his life. Usually at milestones he barely remembered. But this was different. She wasn’t proud of a grade or a trophy. She was proud of him. Just him. Something inside him tugged loose. He stepped away from Alyssa with a quiet, steady breath and crossed the courtyard toward his mom. His fingers, almost on instinct, tugged gently at her sleeve—a childhood habit he thought he’d outgrown. Beth turned. Surprise flickered in her expression first, then melted into something achingly soft when she saw his face. "Thanks for coming tonight," he said, but his voice sounded thicker than he meant it to. There was more inside that sentence than he could shape—gratitude, disbelief, affection, fear, pride. All tangled. Before she could answer, he hugged her. Really hugged her. Not the awkward, sideways, one‑armed thing he defaulted to now that he was older and trying to be casual about everything. This was full—arms wrapping around her, head pressed into her shoulder, breath catching as if he’d been holding it tight all night. She was warm and familiar, and he realized how much he had missed hugging her like this. Beth let out a tiny sound that was half laugh, half sob. She folded her arms around him like she’d been waiting—hoping—for this moment. Her cheek rested against his hair as she closed her eyes. Her hand slid up his back in a slow, soothing arc, the same way she used to when he was small. "Oh, sweetheart," she whispered, her voice cracking at the edges. "You were… you were wonderful. I’m so proud of you. I’m proud of how brave you are." She exhaled shakily, as if letting go of something she’d been carrying for weeks. He clung a little harder, his fingers curling into the fabric of her dress the way a child might, even though he wasn’t a child anymore. "Love you, Mom," he whispered, trying not to let his voice break. She pulled back just enough to cup his face between her palms. Her thumb brushed beneath his eye—not to wipe away a tear, but simply to feel closer to him. "I love you too," she murmured, her smile unsteady and shining all at once. "More than you know." Behind them, the girls laughed again—Dana loudest, Rachel softest, Libby still barefoot and dramatic. Someone squealed about brunch outfits. Someone else complained about sore feet. A parent called out a reminder to take pictures before they left. But in that moment, none of it reached Dylan. All he felt were her hands on his cheeks. And all she saw was her boy—standing taller, softer, and more himself than he had ever been. The night had given them all something: a stage, a spotlight, a moment, and each other. And now, wrapped in the warm, drifting quiet of the courtyard, the next chapter waited—soft at the edges, glowing with possibility, ready for all of them to step into together.

A bit obvious in the seat, from the bulk and shape. i don't think it is obvious in the front, but the backside is marginal. i submitted the attached photo of myself several years ago for just the same question, and got feedback that it was not obvious. But i am in doubled-up trainers, not diapers, and the trainers are basically briefs underpants padded with thick foam. They have only the effect of making it appear i have a plump butt in my Levis 501s, which are my standard uniform. Diapers are much thicker than trainers in the rear. i am mindful of the writers who say that it is not a good thing to make our interest obvious to unconsenting strangers.

Not necessarily.  A lot of this has to do with Dr. Rivers (mother) breaking Gabby to a point where she just gives up. We are getting very close to all the questions being answered.  I would say by the next three or four chapters, everything will make sense.... 😀

Doubled-up Rearz trainers size small with a generic size medium pair of whitsh vinyl pants over them. This is my routine 24/7 setup, with the trainers always wet. The double layer of trainers is enough --- barely --- to hold 12 hours of wee wee, as i am allowed to change them out every 12 hours. The reason my Husband likes to keep me wet 24/7 is as a reminder of my submission to Him.

So, I take it that the milk the Gab Gab drank was the same brand and type the mom's giving to Abby?