Baby Talk

I can do it, though writing my be a problem until when being diapered. I also like to pre-diapering introduction so it feels bit more.  

Considering how weak she's been in the last two chapters- collapsing just outside her bedroom, and needing help to simply move around her hospital room, I think the muscle weakness includes her sphincter muscles! 

Hopefully you all will go to it in the theater.  It doesn't matter that it might be bad; any scale and type of movie deserves to be viewed in the theater, or we won't have theaters anymore.  I've been trying to stay away from exact descriptions and reviews, but I've spotted a couple mentions, and as long as it's got at least something diaper related that doesn't involve only male actors, that's exciting enough for me from a fetish perspective.  The AB stuff isn't for me, but if diapers are involved in any way, yes.  

Chapter 7 My stomach clenched.  No. Nope. Fuck this. This is not happening. It was like a fuse popped in my head: humiliation capacity reached and exceeded.  Hope waved. "Oh! There they are! You looked so disappointed about not getting lunch with them, I thought—" I snapped my head toward her. “Nice of you to ask me first.” It came out quieter than I meant. Not a shout, not a joke. She kept smiling like she didn’t hear it. Amanda’s eyes landed on the bag. Her brow lifted—just slightly—then smoothed again. I almost took a step back. Almost turned and bolted like a startled deer. But there’d been enough of that lately. Instead, I rolled my shoulders back and walked toward them like I owned the damn sidewalk. “Yo!” I called. I lifted the bag a little, casual-like. “Dan, you ever been in that place? Killer deals on bulk butt rags. Real game-changer.” Dan blinked. Amanda gave a small, startled smile. The kind people give when they’re trying to figure out if you’re joking or deranged.  I smirked wider. Forced it to reach my eyes. “Hope’s dragging me into this donation project for the church. You know—serving the Lord one absorbent undergarment at a time.” Dan chuckled. “Uh…cool?” I felt Hope’s eyes on me. She’d have that guilt-trippy, manipulative little frown of hers on display. The ‘why did you let yourself and the lord down by acting like that?’ frown. She could frown all she wanted as long as she didn’t call me out for the lie.  “Thomas,” she began.  “So,” I said to Amanda and Dan, “what’s this? Lunch crew plus one? Love it. I’m starving.” Amanda tilted her head, curious. Dan shrugged. “Yeah, um. Hope texted and said you had to run an errand. Said maybe we could all grab lunch?”  “Hell yeah,” I said.  “That good with you too, Amanda?” Her eyes flicked from my face to the bag again. A beat. Then she smiled, a touch wider. “Sounds good.” “Perfect. Let’s get greasy.”  Hope cleared her throat. “Perhaps we should put stuff in the car before we eat?” I handed her the bag. “Great. Why don’t you do that? I’ll grab us a table.”  Hope gave me the evil eye. “I really need your help, Thomas.” I gritted my teeth and told Dan and Amanda I’d catch up in a few. Amanda hesitated, then followed Dan toward the restaurant.  Hope popped the trunk, set down a few boxes, and turned to face me. Hands on her hips. Shoulders squared. Her lips pressed into that tight, practiced line—the one she wore when the nursery was messy or someone tracked mud into the sanctuary. “I just don’t understand why you’d lie like that,” she said, voice soft. But not warm. Not forgiving. The kind of soft that meant judgment, not grace. “After all I’ve done. After everything I’ve tried to help you with.” She wasn’t yelling. Wasn’t even scolding. Just that disappointed calm, like I was the one who’d broken something. Did she know? Not just about the “accident.” Not just the lie. The truth. That sometimes—when she hovered, when she fussed over me, when her fingers brushed the waistband of my jeans or her eyes scanned my diaper for that sog, that tinge of yellow—I didn’t hate it. The heat crawling up my neck wasn’t from the sun. It was the sudden, searing certainty that she saw it all.  She watched me—arms crossed now, her head tilted ever so slightly. Not angry. Not pushing. Just waiting for the excuse. The confession. The crack in my voice that would tell her she’d won. I met her eyes. Held her gaze. “Rejoice with those who rejoice, weep with those who weep,” I said. “Romans twelve, fifteen.” Her head tilted, expression softening. “It’s hard enough dealing with this stuff,” I continued. “I thought you, of all people, might understand how embarrassing it is. Why I wouldn’t want anyone to know.” It was a lie. But it was also true. And more than anything, it was a test: I watched her reaction like a hawk. Her eyes filled with something that looked like sympathy. “I do understand,” she said gently. “But that doesn’t make lying okay.” I couldn’t read her. Not entirely. She might believe me. Or maybe she was pretending to believe me so she could keep playing the role she liked best: the caregiver. The keeper of secrets. The one in charge. And now, what if I ended it? What if I told her I didn’t need her help anymore? There’d be anger. Threats. Disappointment. But what hit me first wasn’t fear. It was loss. I’d miss the attention. The way she looked at me when I got something right on the piano. The way it made me feel—wanted. Needed. Controlled. Safe. And sometimes, yeah, I’d miss the other thing too. The hot, shame-drenched spark that came when her hands were on my hips. Wiping me. Powdering me. When I was the center of her attention. I could keep it all. This warped little secret. Hope in my back pocket. Amanda on the horizon.  I just had to play smarter. I let my shoulders sink. Lowered my gaze like I meant it. “I’m sorry,” I said.  Hope nodded, brushing imaginary lint off her sleeve. “You need to be more honest moving forward. Not just with me, but with others too. With Amanda.” She gave me a look—pointed, meaningful. “Secrets don’t stay secrets forever.” I smiled, all teeth. “You’re right. I’ll try to be more forthright.”  Lie number one thousand twenty-three.  I walked into Smashburger with Hope beside me. The place smelled like scorched beef and fryer oil, with a sugary undercurrent of milkshake syrup and artificial vanilla. Pop music pulsed overhead—something electronic and hollow, all thump and auto-tuned optimism. Somewhere near the drink machines, a toddler shrieked with delight or fury. Hard to tell which. I hear you, bro.  I scanned the tables, already half-prepping my approach, checking for who might overhear what, how many eyes were on us. Amanda and Dan sat on the same side of a booth in the corner, shoulders angled in, like a couple on a date. Amanda tossed her head back and laughed at something Dan said, touching his arm lightly before pulling her hand away. My stomach tightened. Just a little. But I wasn’t going to let it get to me. I had bigger priorities. I needed to get Amanda alone. Get ahead of whatever idea was forming in her head.  I made my way over and slid into the booth across from them, putting myself directly across from Amanda. “Hey,” I said, trying to keep it light. “What’d I miss?” Her smile dimmed a little when she looked at me. Something tight in the corners of her eyes. Not angry. Just… off. “What were you two laughing about?” I asked, flashing a grin. “Don’t keep me out of the loop.” Dan scratched the back of his neck and chuckled, avoiding my eyes. Amanda glanced at him, then back at me. “It was nothing,” she said. Hope dropped into the seat beside me, far too close for coincidence. “This place is so…modern,” she said, glancing around with mild awe. “Do you think they have gluten-free buns?” Amanda gave a polite smile. “They do. It’s on the menu board.” “Oh, that’s good,” Hope said, nodding like she’d just been reassured about the safety of her flock. I leaned forward. “Why don’t you and Dan go order? I’ll pay. That way we won’t lose the table.” Dan snorted. “Place is half empty, dude.” “Exactly,” Hope chimed in. “No need for all that.” I forced a laugh and stood. “Then we’ll all go. It’ll be a party. A grand old time. Come on.” I didn’t look back to see if Amanda followed right away. I was too busy trying to figure out what the hell Dan had said that made her laugh like that.  We walked up to the line to order. Hope glanced toward the register and shook her head slightly. "It's a shame they're understaffed. Just one employee?" Amanda gestured casually toward a nearby touchscreen. "Actually, we usually just order from the electronic kiosks." Hope blinked, feigning mild confusion. "Oh goodness, ordering food from a machine? Next thing you know, they'll have robots flipping burgers. Can't we just do things the old-fashioned way?" She laughed lightly, giving me an expectant glance as though I'd surely agree with her. Amanda smiled politely. "So, do you two come here a lot?" "No, absolutely not," I said quickly, perhaps a bit too forcefully. "I mean, this is literally the first time we've been here together." Hope sidled closer. “Perhaps we should come again sometime. Maybe after our next piano lesson? You deserve a treat now and then for all that hard work." I clenched my teeth, fighting back a retort. Just then, one of the kiosks beeped cheerfully. Available at last. I spun quickly toward Dan, eager to thin the herd. "Hey, Dan, there's your chance." Dan shrugged good-naturedly, seemingly happy just to be here. "Sure thing," he said, already tapping away at the screen. One down, one to go. Hope eyed Amanda and me carefully, a calculating sparkle in her eyes. "What do you usually get here, Thomas?" "A bacon smash with everything. Fries. Shake."  She frowned delicately. "Hmm, sounds like a lot of grease. Maybe you could help me pick something better out when a kiosk opens up?" Out of her sightline, I rolled my eyes at Amanda, silently pleading for her to see Hope's meddling for what it was.  Hope continued, placing a gentle hand on my forearm. "Your body is a temple of God, you know." I felt a wave of heat sweep over me, my fists tightening. Anger surged and simmered beneath my skin. But I clamped it down—barely. A second kiosk finally beeped. "Hope, you're up," I said, nodding toward it. Hope hesitated, her smile faltering for just a heartbeat. "Will you be able to help me?" As if she were five years old. Or ninety.  "I'll be right over," I lied. Hope's lips pressed together, but she nodded and moved off toward the kiosk, shooting a look over her shoulder at us. I turned quickly to Amanda, nerves jittery beneath my calm facade. I opened my mouth, ready to dispel any confusion—to tell her clearly that I wasn't dating Hope, wasn't interested in her, and in fact would love to do something like this again, just the two of us. But before I could get a word out, Amanda leaned in. "What was the deal with those diapers anyway?" she whispered sharply. My face ignited, hot shame burning my cheeks.  She winced. “Sorry. Are we supposed to call them ‘briefs’ or something?” My mouth opened and closed, useless as a broken door hinge. Then, without warning, warmth bloomed between my legs, spreading quickly through my diaper. A soft hiss of pee against plastic filled my ears, muffled by my clothes and the background noise of the restaurant, but deafening to me. I felt the heavy warmth pool and sag the padding beneath my jeans. Amanda stared at me expectantly. "I... uh, it's not..." My voice was a dry whisper. Amanda’s eyes widened, confusion deepening into something closer to concern. Maybe suspicion. "Hey guys, mine's free now if you want it," Dan called cheerily from his kiosk. I turned back to Amanda, fumbling through a response. "Look, it was just—it's a long story. I was at the store because... well, it's complicated, and—" "Uh, one of you taking that kiosk or what?" came an impatient voice from behind me. A harried father stood there, glancing pointedly at the screen. I flushed even hotter, desperate to escape this moment. "I'll explain everything, okay? Just—give me a sec." I turned and hurried toward the kiosk, mind spinning. As I reached it, I looked over to see Hope, frowning from her own station. Oh. Right. I'd promised I'd help her. Just perfect.  As I approached Hope, her lips pressed into a tight, impatient smile. "I thought you were going to help me," she said, clearly annoyed but managing to keep her tone pleasant enough to seem innocuous.  "Sorry," I mumbled. My cheeks burned from Amanda's question, and the damp warmth filling the thick padding between my legs only intensified my shame. "Are you alright?" Hope asked.  "I'm fine," I said sharply. I glanced back at Amanda. Her eyes were still fixed on me, confusion mingling with curiosity. I turned quickly back to the kiosk.  Hope leaned close. "Do you need me to pick something wholesome for you? Remember, healthy body, healthy spirit," she purred softly. "I can handle it," I snapped, forcing a shaky breath through my nose. I selected my usual, barely looking at the screen. From behind us, Dan laughed at something Amanda said, his goofy chuckle piercing through my anxiety. I glanced over, noticing Amanda smiling politely, clearly distracted by something Dan was saying. Dan leaned in a bit closer than necessary to show her something on his phone. Amanda didn’t pull away. I quickly finished placing my order and stepped aside. I couldn't help but steal another glance at Amanda. Her eyes flicked toward me again, just for a second. Her expression softened, a question lingering there. "All set!" Hope chirped. "Uh-huh," I said dryly, edging away slightly, needing space. I moved toward Amanda, determined to reclaim control of the situation, or at least salvage some dignity. Amanda looked up as I approached, her smile hesitant but welcoming. "Everything okay?" "Yeah," I said, forcing confidence I didn't feel.  "Good. Because I was thinking…maybe next time, we can grab Smashburger, just us?" Her voice dropped slightly, softer, more intimate. "You know, without the, uh…confusion." Relief flooded me. "I'd like that.” “Or somewhere else,” Amanda said. “Doesn’t have to be here.”  Dan cleared his throat, oblivious. "So, uh, what now?" His eyes darted eagerly between Amanda and me, the cheerful optimism of someone unaware he'd just missed something important. “I can bless the food,” Hope interjected.  We settled into our seats with trays of steaming burgers, crispy fries, and cups slick with condensation. My diaper felt swollen and uncomfortably heavy between my legs, the padding thick and damp, pressing awkwardly into me every time I shifted. Still, somehow, I didn’t mind as much as I should’ve—Amanda had just agreed to go on a date, and even a sopping wet diaper couldn’t spoil that. Hope said her little prayer, then we started eating. Dan made dumb jokes, and Amanda laughed at each one, more out of kindness than genuine amusement. Hope chimed in occasionally, stiff as ever, dropping little references to piano lessons and church functions. Every now and then Amanda’s gaze caught mine, sending a little electric thrill racing through me. Finally, Dan crumpled up his napkin and pushed his empty tray away. "Bathroom break," he said, hopping up from his seat. "Actually, I need to go as well," Hope said primly, smoothing her skirt. She gave me an unreadable glance before she rose to follow Dan toward the restrooms. I blinked in surprise. After all Hope’s scheming, it seemed weird that she’d suddenly leave Amanda and me alone. Maybe she’d finally chilled out? "So," Amanda said, lips curving into a smile once we were alone. "You think Dan's jokes have always been this bad, or is he working extra hard today?" "He's in rare form today. Might be inspired." She raised an eyebrow. "Inspired by...?" I leaned a little closer. "Oh, who knows? Maybe he’s trying to impress a certain someone." Amanda smiled, twirling a french fry between her fingers. "Hmm. Maybe he’s not the only one." Just as I opened my mouth to respond, a gentle hand touched my shoulder. Hope leaned in close, breath warm on my ear as she whispered, "I almost forgot. Do you need help with a diaper change?" My heart lurched into my throat.  Amanda's eyes sharpened—had she heard? I scanned her face for clues, but she only looked puzzled. I shook my head sharply. "No. Uh, thanks for the offer, but I don’t think I need another shake." Hope angled around so I could see her face clearly, eyebrows raised in an "are you lying?" expression. Her gaze dropped pointedly to my crotch, lingering long enough to make my stomach knot. She walked off. Amanda leaned forward, lowering her voice slightly. "Did... Hope just ask you if you needed a diaper change?" I laughed—forced and brittle. "What? That's ridiculous." Amanda tilted her head, skeptical. "I mean... I did see you guys buying diapers together." I shook my head emphatically. "No way. Seriously, Amanda. Those were to donate." She raised her hands placatingly. "Hey, it's totally fine if you need them." She hesitated, eyes flickering uncertainly. "Though...it’d be pretty weird if Hope was helping you out with that." I laughed again, anxiety making it sound shriller, unhinged. "Ha, right? That’d be crazy." Her expression softened, and she exhaled, visibly relaxing. "Okay, good. Because honestly, that’s kind of a relief. It’d be super icky if you actually wore diapers." My stomach twisted. "Totally," I said weakly. "Super icky."

Fantastic!