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Here's a question to end all questions. Which would you consider worse? The fact that I was currently lying in a giant crib in a wet diaper at six in the morning; or the fact that I am quite possibly far better off here than where I was not even a full month ago?
How is either choice even possible, you may ask? Well it's easy. My parents were scum of the earth. Simple as that. They never really wanted me, and said as much on every occasion they could legitimately think to say so. And even did so for absolutely no reason whatsoever. They weren't abusive. Not in the physical sense, anyway. However, from the moment I could walk I was more a servant than a daughter. Something had to be done, it was my job. House a mess? Call Cady. Grocery shopping need doing? Call Cady. Mom and dad get drunk and vomit all over something they shouldn't have? Call Cady.
That was my life. My only refuge was school, which I threw myself into as much as I could. Extracurricular activities, a sport or two, causing a bit of trouble to once in a while land in detention, but not too often that the faculty would feel obliged to call home. Anything to keep me from having to go home for as long as possible. As soon as I was old enough, I got myself a part-time job flipping burgers to earn money. The logic was that I could build up the cash to eventually leave the folks' house and get out there solo. I hadn't thought far enough ahead to consider college or more work or what. At that moment my top priority was simply "get the hell out of that house."
I kept the job all through high school and made it full time after graduation. It was shortly after graduation, a month and a half ago, in fact, that I had finally decided I had enough to leave. I would have been fine, were it not for one major problem. Actually, make that two major problems.
With my folks being what they were, I was, of course, smart enough not to keep my money hidden inside our apartment. I opened a savings account and kept it there with only a small emergency fund of cash kept in my locker at work. I was a minor at the time and needed parental permission for the account. Fortunately I had managed to slip the proper forms to them using the old trick of having them think they were signing a permission slip (they never paid attention, so it wasn't difficult). However, I made the mistake of underestimating them. One night they had come across my purse and rifled through it, seeking a few extra booze bucks stumbled upon my debit card.
It's no great feat to guess what happened next. Next time I check my account, what should it say except zero dollars and zero cents. They took me for everything I had, which was actually quite a bit. It was mostly my own damn fault, though. Because I had never had my account updated after turning eighteen, they had full access. All they had to do was go to the bank and there it was, enough money to keep them drunk for a solid week. When I confronted them, they didn't even attempt to deny it.
Finally fed up, I put in my two weeks' notice and, when it ran up, took my emergency fund as well as the money I had earned in the two weeks, and just high-tailed it out of that town. I didn't even go home that day after work. I took nothing with me except the money in my purse and the clothes on my back. I don't know how long it took them to realize I was gone and I didn't really care at the time.
In hindsight, I probably should've gone home at least for some extra clothes.
Regardless, that's how I eventually wound up at their house. Well... more accurately, and sadly, their dumpster. I had been out on the streets on my own for three weeks, and I was near starving. I had stretched out my emergency fund as long as I could while I job hunted. However, the basic necessities, such as food, clothing and shelter (in the form of fast food, second-hand stuff, and a beat-up Bates motel wanna-be) added up. By that time, who wouldn't be looking wherever they could for whatever they could get.
He had come out first. He wasn't armed or anything, he'd later tell me he thought I was a raccoon and that he'd planned to just shoo me away. But as soon as he saw I wasn't a raccoon he called out to another person, who I later learned was his wife. My instinct was to bolt and get the hell out of there before they called the police or something. But when they offered a hot meal I couldn't refuse. I didn't know it then, but going into that house would change my life forever.
At first, I didn't care about anything except chowing down on the food that was offered. The whole "don't take food from strangers" rule adults that actually weren't my parents had hammered into me growing up was completely gone from my mind. It wasn't until after I'd eaten that I began to wonder if eating the food was a good idea. But nothing felt wrong, so I guess I was okay. I sincerely thanked the couple and got up to leave when they pushed me back into the chair. They insisted I at least stay the night.
"No, I couldn't possibly impose any more." I insisted. I was worrying just a little now. But, as nobody had made any overtly hostile movement, I tried not to let it show.
"You don't have a home, do you?" the man asked. He sounded as though he already knew the answer.
"Um... no..." I said, blushing and suddenly admiring the floor.
"Or money?" the woman asked.
"Nope." I answered. I noticed the couple share an odd look and nod to one another.
"What's your name, dear?" the man asked.
"Cady." I replied.
"Cady, we have a proposal for you. If you follow through, it might solve both your problems, and ours."
"Yours?" I wondered.
"Yes, we need some help concerning our son." the woman told me.
"Whoa!" I said, suddenly sensing where this is headed, "I'm not marrying anybody or anything like that!"
The two looked a bit surprised, but they kept their cool.
"That isn't what we need from you." the man explained.
"Though you might have the same reaction when we tell you what we do want." the woman warned.
That was ominous. Despite that, I was curious. I agreed to at least hear them out.
"We and our son have been estranged for just over two years now." the man began, "The reason for this is that we had a hard time accepting something he told us back then."
"He had a very, um, unusual hobby." said the woman, "He'd done a good job of keeping it secret. We honestly never suspected a thing while he lived with us. One day, for some reason, he decided to stop keeping the secret. He sat us down, and told us what it was he was keeping."
"We didn't take it very well at all." The man continued, "We called him all sorts of horrible things. Freak being the least of it."
"Ouch..." I blurted out, "What possessed you to act that way? Granted, I just met you, but you seem nice enough people."
"Yes, well, we'd always had high expectations of our boy." the woman said, "That might have been part of what caused it."
"Caused what exactly? Was he gay or something?" I asked. I have a curious nature, and all this skirting the issue was whetting it nicely.
"If only..." the lady muttered, "Perhaps its best if we just show you."
With that the two led me to a room in the house's upstairs. The opened the door and led me inside. I was shocked silent when he turned on the light and I got a good look inside. My mouth hung open as I stared at the sight.
Inside the soft-carpeted room, next to pastel blue wall straight accross from her, was a baby's crib bigger than any I'd ever seen. To my left, up against the wall there was a large desk. Though it unusually low to the floor and lacked any space to put a chair under and instead was lined with shelves containing...
"Woah..." I muttered as I saw what was stored in what I now knew was no desk.
It was lined with diapers, both cloth and disposable. Adult sized diapers, both cloth and disposables. I also saw, for the cloth diapers, large plastic pants. It was an adult-sized changing table! In a corner between the table and the crib was a normal sized rocking chair with what looked like a baby bottle warmer on the nightstand next to it. In a nearby electric socket there was a nightlight in one and a child-proof socket cover in the other. On the third wall I saw a good sized toy chest as well as other playthings scattered around it. Every single one of them was clearly intended for a very small child.
I was stunned, to say the least. Surprisingly, only one question really stuck out in my mind.
"How in the hell did he keep this a secret?!"
"He didn't." the father answered, "Everything here is our doing. We had it custom built and modeled his old bedroom into a nursery."
"He's an adult baby." the mother answered, "A grown man who enjoys acting and being treated like a baby."
Wow. I'd heard of some odd stuff, but this definitely took the cake. to think that somebody would live in a room like this willingly. By choice, even! With a sudden sinking of my gut, I had a thought about what this couple wanted from me.
"Just how to do you expect me to help you with your problem?"
"Well," the father replied, "We've tried for the past two years to understand this... liking of his. This room was part of that. We tried diapers ourselves, but we just couldn't get what he enjoyed about it."
I was suddenly hit with the image of these two middle-aged folk running around diapered. Weird, but almost cute.
"What we hope you can help us with," the mother continued, "is to try and understand what we cannot."
"You mean, you want me to wear diapers?"
"And act like a baby?"
"And be treated like a baby?"
"Wouldn't it make more sense to talk to someone who already likes this stuff?"
They shook their heads. The mother answered.
"We considered it. Talking to another adult baby after we so cruelly disowned our own son, it felt like a betrayal. We couldn't bring ourselves to do it. Instead, we came up with another idea. Have someone who had no interest beforehand to live as an adult baby. If they liked it, maybe they could understand just what it was he loved. Once we can understand that, maybe we can really reconcile with our baby."
"Cady," the father said, "if you agree to this, you will become a baby of this household for approximately one month. We will be Mommy and Daddy, and you will be considered a child no older than three years of age. In exchange for this, we will be forever in your debt. We'll gladly provide you with a good sum of money that should allow you to start a life in just any place you wish. Cady, are you willing?"
Was I willing?! I think the better question was "Am I so desperate for a little food, clothing, and shelter (in the form of toddler meals, diapers, and a nursery) that I would actually agree to two total strangers' request to relive my toddler-hood?"
Aw, who was I kidding?
"I am!" I proclaimed.
Mommy and Daddy looked at one another and smiled.
After you've finished reading, you might want to return to the DailyDiapers Story Index