im in mattoon

lol. Didn’t even notice him!

Thanks for another wonderful story Les Lea. I was right is was Diane and the baby monitor. Maly.

I've been experimenting with AI writing, and I attempted a diaper story with this tool. I came up with the premise, plot and character, but the AI wrote the story for me. I think it turned out well. The premise of the story is that he lost his job and was evicted, and is moving in with a woman who is renting out a room, the AI decided not to include that detail in the story.   Chapter 1   Linda's home was a cosy cottage nestled in the heart of the small rural town. Ian stood at her doorstep, feeling a mix of anxiety and gratitude as she welcomed him inside. The warm light of the living room enveloped them as Linda guided him to a plush armchair. "Make yourself at home, Ian," Linda hummed cheerfully, her demeanour motherly and inviting. As the night wore on, Ian drifted off to sleep, only to awaken to the embarrassing realisation that he had wet the bed. Panic rose in his chest as he glanced around the unfamiliar room. Linda, sensing his distress, approached him with a reassuring smile. "No need to worry, dear. From now on, you'll wear these thick diapers," she said gently, holding up a bundle of soft fabric. Ian's cheeks flushed with embarrassment, but he found himself complying with Linda's instructions, too timid to refuse. The crinkle of the diaper as she secured it around his waist echoed in the quiet room, a constant reminder of his new vulnerability. In the days that followed, Linda's care for Ian took on a peculiar form. She bathed him with gentle hands, treating him like a fragile infant. Ian's protests were met with soothing words and a knowing smile, leaving him feeling like a powerless child. "Time for your feeding," Linda cooed, spoon-feeding him pureed baby food in a high chair, her laughter bubbling like a melody in the air. Ian's cheeks burned with humiliation, but he couldn't bring himself to resist her maternal ministrations. And so, Ian found himself in a surreal existence, stripped of his independence and clad in nothing but thick diapers, his every need tended to by Linda's firm, loving hand. The once timid man now felt like a mere puppet in her whimsical world, a world where he was slowly losing himself to the comforting rhythms of babyhood.   Chapter 2   Linda twirled around Ian; her eyes gleaming with satisfaction. "Look at all the adorable baby clothes I made for you, Ian!" She pulled out buster suits, rompers, sailor suits, and shortalls, all in pastel colours with cute patterns. "And don't forget these matching bonnets, mittens, and booties! You're going to look so precious." Ian fidgeted, feeling a flush of embarrassment creeping up his neck. He knew he should say something, stand up for himself, but every time he opened his mouth, the words caught in his throat. He couldn't bring himself to resist Linda's overpowering presence. As Linda dressed him in a red and white gingham romper, trimmed with lace and bows, Ian tried to ignore the stares of passersby as they walked down the main street of the small town. The outfit was completed with a white broderie anglaise bonnet, matching mittens, knee-high socks, and white Mary Jane shoes. Linda secured a baby harness around him, complete with a leash, before leading him along like a pet. The humiliation burned in Ian's cheeks, but he kept his eyes fixed on the ground, unable to meet the curious glances of the townsfolk. It felt like the whole world was laughing at him. Once they returned home, Linda cooed, "Oh, Ian, you look just adorable in your baby clothes. Such a cute little boy you are!" She smiled, her eyes twinkling with delight at Ian's discomfort. Ian let out a small, involuntary moan, feeling trapped in this bizarre situation. He longed to break free from Linda's control, but every time he tried, his courage failed him. The fear of being alone, homeless, kept him tethered to this strange new life. Days turned into weeks, and Ian found himself fully immersed in Linda's babying routine. His diet consisted solely of baby food, which Linda fed him in a high chair, occasionally interspersing spoonfuls with bottles of formula. She even breastfed him, a bizarre experience that left Ian feeling a mix of confusion and unease. At night, he was tucked into a crib, surrounded by plush toys and colourful mobiles spinning above his head. He had no choice but to play with the baby toys in the playpen, while Linda watched, a satisfied smile playing on her lips. The routine became a twisted dance of dependence and humiliation, with Linda at the centre, orchestrating every move. Ian's resistance had crumbled under the weight of his own insecurities, leaving him a shell of his former self. One afternoon, Linda took Ian for a walk in his stroller, the sun warm on their backs as they made their way through the quiet streets. The gentle hum of the wheels against the pavement was interrupted by the occasional scream of a delighted child in a nearby playground. Ian closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound, the reality of his situation weighing heavily on him. He knew he had to find a way out, but the fear of the unknown held him back, keeping him rooted in the safety of Linda's care.   Chapter 3   Linda's cottage now echoed with the sounds of babyhood. The clinking of plastic spoons against ceramic bowls mingled with the soft hum of the nursery mobile above Ian's crib. Through the open window drifted the chirping of crickets, the lullaby of the countryside. Ian sat in his high chair, eyes downcast, as Linda spoon-fed him strained peas, making airplane noises to coax him to eat. "Here comes the choo-choo train," she cooed, mimicking the sounds to make him smile. But Ian's cheeks burned with embarrassment, the baby food in his mouth tasting like shame. After the meal, Linda gently lifted him and carried him to the nursery. The pastel walls were adorned with cartoon characters, a soft glow emanating from the nightlight in the shape of a moon. Ian's crib stood in the corner, adorned with stuffed animals that watched over him as he slept. The scent of baby powder lingered in the air as she laid him down, tucking him in with a tenderness that belied her domineering nature. In the playpen, colourful toys beckoned to Ian, their bright hues a stark contrast to his inner turmoil. He picked up a plush teddy bear, its button eyes seeming to judge him for his compliance. He forced a smile, attempting to drown out the moans of despair that threatened to escape his lips. Once playtime was over, Linda led him to the changing table, where she efficiently removed his wet diaper and replaced it with a fresh one. The crinkle of the plastic material seemed to mock him, a constant reminder of his regression. Ian closed his eyes, trying to block out the sound of the tapes being secured in place. Every afternoon, Linda would wheel him outside in a stroller, the wheels rolling over gravel with a soft crunch. The sun beat down on them, casting long shadows on the path they followed. Ian's cheeks burned with humiliation as passersby glanced at him, their whispers a symphony of judgment. He longed to scream, to break free from this facade, but his voice was lost in the cacophony of the outside world. As they returned home, the door creaked open, revealing the sanctuary of Linda's cottage. The scent of fresh-baked cookies wafted from the kitchen, mingling with the aroma of baby powder. Ian's heart ached with longing for a life he once knew, for a reality where he was more than just a puppet in Linda's hands. That night, as Linda rocked him to sleep in the nursery rocking chair, Ian's tears mingled with her gentle hums. The moonlight bathed them in a silvery glow, casting shadows that danced on the walls like spectres of his lost masculinity. And as he drifted off to sleep, the weight of his submission bore down on him, suffocating him in a nursery rhyme gone wrong.   Chapter 4   Linda's heart raced as she dialled the number she found for Ian's father, John. She had been waiting for this moment, hoping it would be a turning point for Ian. The doorbell rang, and Linda's pulse quickened when she opened the door to find a bald, stern-looking man standing before her. "John, come in," Linda greeted him, her voice tense. John entered the cosy cottage, looking around sceptically. His eyes fell upon Ian, dressed in a pastel blue onesie, yellow shortalls, a baby bonnet, booties, and mittens, sitting on the floor playing with baby blocks. "What is this?" John exclaimed with a mixture of shock and amusement. "He's changed," Linda said softly, leading John to a small table where they sat down. John shook his head, unable to comprehend the scene before him. "He was always so...weak," John muttered, a hint of disappointment in his voice. "He needed this," Linda insisted, her tone firm. "He needed care, not harsh words." John let out a disbelieving laugh. "So, you turned him into a baby?" "He's happy. He's at peace," Linda defended, her voice unwavering. Ian looked up from his toys, his eyes meeting John's for the first time in years. A mix of fear and longing flickered in his gaze. "You took away his manhood," John accused, his voice rising. "I gave him a chance to be himself," Linda countered, her eyes blazing with conviction. John stood up abruptly, his face red with a mixture of anger and embarrassment. "I don't need to see any more of this. He's not my son anymore," John spat out, storming towards the door, leaving the cottage with a slam of the door. Ian's heart raced as he watched his father leave, a mix of relief and sadness washing over him. Memories of his father's harsh words and unattainable expectations flooded back, contrasting sharply with Linda's nurturing presence. Linda knelt beside Ian; her eyes full of understanding. "You don't need those things anymore, Ian. You have a new life now, a life where you can be who you truly are." Ian let out a shaky breath, his shoulders relaxing as he looked up at Linda with newfound trust. "Thank you," he whispered, his voice barely audible. As the sun set outside, casting a warm glow over the cottage, Linda gently lifted Ian into her arms, cradling him like a newborn. She carried him to the nursery, where she changed his diaper and dressed him in fresh baby clothes. Sitting down in the rocking chair, she held Ian close, humming a soft melody as she breastfed him. Ian closed his eyes, feeling a sense of peace wash over him. In Linda's arms, he finally felt whole, accepted for who he was. The sound of his contented sigh filled the room, a quiet moment of acceptance and love in the midst of a tumultuous journey.  

I'm in Springfield if anyone wants to talk