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Millie stood alone at a poorly lit bus stop near the school she attended classes in. It was a late hour, most of the people who would be out and about right now were at home, comfy in their beds, or snuggled up to their loved ones watching netflix, with a few lucky ones doing other activities with their loved ones. Some were in clubs and bars, dancing or drinking the night into morning. Then there were the people like Millie, standing at a bus stop deep into the late hours of the night. Some of these standers were just waiting to get home from a long grinding day, others on their way to begin their day, and then their those like Millie. She had stayed late because one of her professors asked for help. She had not expected the project he needed help with was to see one of his best students naked, and then to stick his penis into her. Her curly red hair, the emerald green a-line dress, both showed some of the signs of her resistance. Her wool gray coat hid the rips to the dress, while also protecting her from the cold of the night. She didn't need to wait here, she was a gifted student, and could just as easily blink to her apartment, something she would of done any other night, but tonight, the young woman was afraid of a trace, or an intercept. She brushed one of her curls out of her face, which drew her attention to the crack in her glasses. She took the round glasses off, the silver frames were in good condition, which would make it hard to believe that they had been in her family for nearly 100 years. Her grandfather had worn them when he studied the hidden world of Japan, the first western magician to do so, with an invitation at least. The frames had absorbed some of the ghost magic of those regions, and had become valuable to Millie's family. The problem with them was that you needed to actually need glasses in order for them to work, which lead Millie to being a master of "life" as they liked to call the discipline, but was forced to keep the crappy eyes she was born with. The young woman popped the lens out of the frame, and held it up to the moon, then uttered a few short syllables, not words per say, but sounds that had been discovered the resonated with magical energies, and called forth the energies she then shaped with a few well practiced hand motions. The crack in the round lens was gone, and soon the glasses were all one piece, and returned to her freckled face, providing a thin glass barrier between her steel blue eyes and the world around her. The ghost sight, as her ancestor had called it, did not reveal ghosts as one might expect, instead it tapped into a realm in which the near future, present, and past, all blended, and with a skilled, and honed mind, someone who was always tapped into that realm could move forward and backward in brief snippets. That is what had saved her from her professor, he had successful fired his memory charm, but he had not accounted for the fact that Millie's mind, thanks to her glasses, was not completely in the present, but split between the present past and future. The charm was quickly broken, and Millie performed a simple gesture that send the professor flying into his own wall. Millie left before the professor got up from that. Which led her to standing here, in the cold, her feet dry only by the grace of knee high leather boots, and a ruined dress. What annoyed her most was that she had realized 10 minutes ago that their would be no more buses tonight, but she also realized that it didn't matter because she had no idea how to get from a back water town in Maine, to her home outside Boston with the public transit system anyways. That was the problem with magic, Millie decided. You get so used to the conveniences of it, that you forget how to function. She wished she could be like the blind, the normal people who never uttered their first chime, magic word, whatever you wanted to call it. She could've been one of those people, but she had to be born to a long line of magicians, ones that could point at legends and make a reasonable claim that that legend was about one of their ancestors. Nope, she didn't get to be a normal person. She never had a chance. With a sigh, Millie finally resigned herself to a quick blink. It was unlikely anyone was to follow her anyways, most magicians avoided shadow and phase magic at all costs. They were too new, and were not even a product of magical study, but a mistake made by blind scientists who had no idea what they were tapping into with their quantum physical studies. The Shadow in particular, a bad name for the practice of shifting gravitational forces in ways current science could not understand, to create spaces within spaces, was dangerous to most minds. It was Millie's ghost sight training that gave her the ability to maintain her sanity there. Of course, blinking was not shadow magic, just simple phase magic, a dimensional jaunt where she picked a point in another reality of this earth, one as close to the one she was in now, but her current location in that world would be her apartment, then it was like plucking a rubber band, pull the other reality into this one for just a moment, let it snap back, and then she just lets go before crosses over, and when things normalize, she is standing in her apartments living room. Sure sometimes she brings a gremlin, or a weird other-dimensional thing with her, but they rarely last more than a few minutes out of phase with their own reality. She took her coat off, and tossed it onto the couch in her living room, the lights detecting her movement and slowly turning themselves on. That was not a trick of magic, just simple technology. The same technology that turned her music on, turned her tea kettle on, and started reading the news headlines to her, all as she stripped her dress off, boots off, leggings off, and shook her hair out of its messy pony tail. In just a plain white bra, and equally plain white panties, she walked into her kitchen, her back marked with tattoos of a geometric shape, in which all the designs linked back to what looked like an Escher design tattooed into the small of her back. The tattoo itself was extremely colorful, and seemed to gradually shift, colors, shape, even position. In truth, it was always shifting because it was Millie's anchor into this reality, a complex magical structure she applied to herself allowing her to travel in and out of this reality, and not lose herself, nor lose the way back home. It was what got her into the school she currently attends. The Danford Academy of the Magical Sciences was one of the best places to study and perfect magic in the world. It was also one of the most dangerous places in the world, due to the whole learn by doing mentality the school took. This night was probably her last night there. Even though defending herself was justified, the spell she used was probably a mistake. If the professor even woke up from it, his mind would be schismed across multiple pocket dimensions that Millie had created on the fly. It wasn't that he didn't deserve that, but that the nature of the spell could of had serious repercussions, one of which being a collapse of reality in the area, or has physicists like to call it, a thermonuclear event. To be fair, Millie would be lucky if they just expelled her. The woman just poured herself a cup of tea from the kettle, and walked over to her glass kitchen table, her feet squishing into the thick, soft, wet carpet. Of course, her carpet was not supposed to be wet, but it still took her a moment to realize that something was off, and once she did, she realized her legs, and her panties were also wet. "Damn it, fucking bleedthrough," she muttered to herself, writing off the problem. In her mind, it was obvious, she flew to close to herself in another reality, and the two were bleeding through. Other reality Millie had just gone to the bathroom, and so this reality Millie peed her panties. Annoyed, Millie cast a small spell that wiped out the other Millie's bodily control, and than sealed her reality away, to prevent bleedthrough from continuing. *************************************** "Mills!," Christa shouted, seeing her red headed friend come out of the bathroom, then waved for Millie to come over to her. Christa was out hunting tonight, and the short hemline, and deep plunging neckline of her dress broadcasted that fact far and wide, although despite the blonde blue eyes, skinny body, and hooker dress, Christa was just striking out. Part of the problem was that the skinny body was not result of diet, but of intense exercise and personal fitness, and it turns out guys get turned off by girls with more visible muscle tone than they possess themselves. To Millie's credit, she was similarly built and toned, although she naturally carried her body fat in such away that she would never achieve those washboard abs, or perfect thighs, not without reducing the fat in her body into unhealthy extremes. "Any luck?" Millie said, plopping her purse on the table, pushing away the drink she had ordered before she left for the bathroom. She'd have to get another one now. "None at all," Christa replied, a little defeat in her eyes. "Maybe challenging them to an arm wrestling competition is the wrong approach?" she added, laughing at her own joke as she finished saying it. "Maybe tell them you are gymnast? That makes the guys jump after the girls in movies?" Millie said, a mirthful little smile on her freckled face. "By the time they figure out you are a champion Kung Fu master, it will be to late!" Christa gave her friend a sharp look, "Its Taakwondo, and you know that miss green belt." "Karata, kung fu... tomato tomato..." Millie continued on, still smiling, "I need to get a new drink Daniel-san, I will be right back." Millie grabbed her purse, and walked towards the bar before Christa could come up with a good comeback. Once Millie got the bar, she risked a glance back to Christa, who was staring daggers her direction. Millie just giggled, and told the bartender, "Sprite please, in a tumbler." "Trying to convince your friend you are drinking?" the bartender asked. "No, trying to convince these idiots," Millie responded, gesturing to the men in the bar, "That I am so that they will come hit on me and I can redirect them to my friend." "How is that working out for you?" the bartender said, filling the tumbler with sprite. "About as well as you would expect a sitcom set up to work in reality," Millie said, flashing the bartender a smile, and putting a ten dollar bill on the counter, before walking back to Christa, "Got a come back yet?" "Shut up," Christa said, then started to laugh, her blue eyes lighting up with mirth. Millie soon caved in and started laughing herself. "Ok, I am driving," Millie said, as Christa stumbled out of the bar, "Where are your keys?" Millie asked, as she searched through her friends purse. "Psh, you are as drunk as me," Christa said, "More drunk! I havn't pissed me pants yet!" she continued on, pointing to the growing puddle under Millie. Millie had felt herself start peeing, but she was far more concerned with something else that was happening in that moment, and she was very happy, and unhappy, that she had worn bicycle shorts under her dress. At least the mess was contained. She tried to stop it, pinch it off, but the more she tried, the more it seemed to push its way out, and when the smell finally hit Christa, Millie was already in tears. "Did you just..." Christa started to ask, and Millie just nodded. "It just... I don't know... I had nothing but sprite," Millie answered, now doing a waddle walk towards Christa's car, trying not to spread the mess around more. Christa sighed and tried to comfort her friend, "Maybe someone managed to slip something in your drink? There are a lot of weird fucks out there that would like to torture women? Did you ever lose track of one of your drinks?" Millie shook her head as they got to the Jeep that Christa drove around everywhere, despite complaining about its gas mileage, "Just the one from when I went to the bathroom, and I didn't touch that one." Christa shrugged, "Maybe just bad food then," then opened her side door, and pulled a towel out of the back of the jeep, tossing it to Millie, "Come on, put that down, and drive us home, we can get you cleaned up and some pepto, I am probably to drunk to remember this tomorrow, so shiny, right?" "You're not that drunk," Millie said, realizing that once she sits down, the mess is going to get a lot worse. "But thanks for the sentiment." Christa just nodded and climbed into the Jeep.

Preamble My name now is Samantha Smith; could you think of a less inspired name to give someone living in the suburbs? I mean seriously, what were they thinking? It was not the name I was born with, but it was the name I was given when I came to this country in 1996. Prior to that I was Biserka Kasun. Now, I am Sam. I don’t like to remember my life prior to living here, it makes me sad; and I remember bad things. I choose not to remember as often as I can, but sometimes the memories are like water in a cup, they runneth over and I can’t help but remember, and that makes me sad. My Mum is very good at helping me with my memories, we have all sorts of techniques to drive them and the ghosts they summon away. We use a method called memory substitution, which means that when I begin to remember the bad times, I actively steer my brain into remembering something else. My doctor says that it is like driving a car; and swerving to avoid a hazard in the road. It works okay, but sometimes I can’t, and I remember. Maybe someday, I will be able to remember with out being sad, but now it is easier to avoid it. What I am about to write today is as much for me as it is for you, I am going to tell you about myself as much as I feel comfortable doing. Hopefully it will tell you about what I am able to do, and what I am able to overcome. I came to this country in 1996, I was a broken creature, I didn’t speak English, and I was scared. I was adopted by my Mum, Doreen Smith. She moved Heaven and earth to bring me here, and although I was not grateful then, I am more than grateful now. I was adopted out of a Red Cross orphanage when I was 14 years old. It was 1996 and the war had just ended. It was awful, my world as I had known it was shattered. I woke up in hospital, I didn’t know what happened to my family, I didn’t know where my village was, I didn’t know where I was. All I did know is that I was lost, and I was alone. Chapter 1 I awoke to babble, complete and total nonsensical babble, later I was to learn this babble, but for now it was babble. There were people walking around, people shouting, people crying, it looked like utter chaos. After what seemed like an eternity, a woman walked up to my bed and spoke to me in a language I understood. “Како се осећаш?" How are you feeling? In fairness I hadn’t been giving that any attention, now that I thought about it, I hurt. It was an everything all-over hurt. The kind you get when you combine years of living rough, not enough food, and an explosion. There was kindness in her eyes, but I had seen kind eyes turn to razors before, I did not trust her. “Добро...” Okay… (For ease of writing I am now going to switch over entirely to English) She appeared surprised by my calm answer, she pressed on. “Do you hurt anywhere? You very hurt when you were brought in to us, we had to fight to keep you alive.” “What…what happened?” “There was an explosion, you were caught in the blast and you must’ve hit your head, you have been in and out of consciousness for a week, we had to do emergency surgery when you were brought in, you had severe internal injuries, and have several broken bones.” I remember the explosion, or rather I remember the moment of the explosion, we were celebrating a victory. “Where am I?” She was speaking, but not like a native, like someone who learned how to speak, as an adult, her phrasing was clumsy, although her words were correct, they were wrong at the same time. “You are at the Red Cross hospital in Sarajevo” Sarajevo!? This was the land of the enemy, of the hated Bosnian. I guess I was starting to look agitated, because the woman was telling me to calm down. I decided to obey, I needed to plan my escape back, to continue the fight. I needed to heal, and make good my escape, playing a docile patient seemed like a good way. “Okay” I said as meek as you please, “I’ll calm down”. “Good, now I have some questions for you, if you feel up to it.” I didn’t, but playing along would help me build trust. “Okay” She started out simple, name (I lied), place of birth (I lied) age… “I am 13” “Your family?” “They are all gone” “Oh… everyone?” “Yes” I turned on the waterworks a bit here to sink the point home. She stopped her questioning at my tears, and looked at me. I looked back, she was looking at me like she knew something, something about me. We held this standoff until she finally broke the stillness. “We are well aware of who you are Biserka, we know where you came from, and we know what you have done.” It was at this point I realised that I must have hit my head harder than I thought, because we were not speaking Serbian my native tounge, we were speaking Bosnian. I must have had a stunned look on my bruised face, I mean I followed the steps I was trained to follow, I told them the lies I recited, I followed my training exactly! It was not enough. I moved my right arm, and noticed that I was attached to the bed, I was in handcuffs, the game was over. My name is Biserka Kasun, I am 13 years old and I am a war criminal. Prior to this, I was a successful soldier, my doe eyes, small figure, and skills with language made me a skilled infiltrator. I spoke Bosnian, I spoke Croation, and of course I spoke Serbian. I would walk around, and look at stuff. Sometime I would leave them a grenade. It depended on the day. That was when I was a child. Now that I am older, I am given more responsibility. I was given training on how to shoot, and shoot I did. But not the UN men at first, first it was just the dirty Bosnians. They were not people, they were less. I had been taught this, and I was a very good student. So, I shoot. Men mostly, sometimes women, sometimes children. It doesn’t matter, what does matter is that I am doing a good job, and that my Papa is proud of me. Then it all changed. The UN men were advancing, the Bosians were advancing, we Serbs, we proud Serbs were retreating. We made them pay for the ground with blood. They payed us back, with mortars. Sometime during our long retreat I became famous, my name was known and spoken of with equal parts fear and disgust. I was able to stay, stay behind and hold ground to cover the retreat of my Papa and his men. I fired upon the column of UN men. Their blue hats sure are easy to spot. Some of them fall by my hand. Then warmth a warmth blossomed in front of me and blackness surrounds. I awoke to babble. Chapter Two After a positive identity had been made of me, things started to move rather quickly. I was going to be in recovery for some time. The extent of my internal damage was not yet totally known. They knew that they had stopped the haemorrhaging, but they were unsure of any long-term prognosis. What was known for certain, is that I was going to remain in custody. I was wanted by the Hague, and they are not an organization that hold or releases people on a whim. It takes some serious doing to get any traction with them. So, that is that. I am in custody, and I am still recovering. The Red Cross doctors and nurses, will have my undying gratitude. Yes, I was a war criminal, but to their credit, I was like any of the scores of wounded people around me. Just a person needing care. I am not going to bore you with the details of my care under the Red Cross. Suffice to say, that they took care of me and helped me heal. What I will talk about is what happened after I was discharged from hospital and taken for questioning. Once again the U.N. forces are to be commended on my treatment, I was not abused, even though as a de-facto terrorist, I had no legitimate legal standing under the Geneva convention. I was well treated, my ongoing medical needs were met promptly, I had access to facilities to bathe, I had (for the first time in many, many years) a bed. It was like Heaven. I am not trying to make it sound like it was all sunshine and rainbows, I was still a detainee after all. I was handcuffed for transports, I was supervised at all times, but it was a very comfy detainment. During this time, I was healing, I was being (as I would later learn) deprogrammed from the doctrine of hate. Hate that had been drilled into me by my Father and all his cronies. I learned that I was the monster, I was the subhuman, not because of my race or my religion, but because of my actions. It was a terrifying conclusion to reach about myself. It was the true beginning of my mental healing. Several months after being wounded, I am left with several grim reminders of the war and the explosion that ended my war. I have some scarring on my ribs from shrapnel, a milky weal of a burn on my upper arm, some lash marks between my shoulder blades (my Father gave me those), and a bullet scar under my right collar bone (I don’t know where that came from, but it is there). Not to mention the scars from the surgeries -which are extensive- but not as fun to talk about. The only lingering side-effects from being blown up are all minor, all save one. I have post concussion disorder, means I get wicked bad headaches from time to time. They can be triggered by bright lights, or sustained high Hz noises. I have some minor nerve damage which causes me to have a pronounced limp. The big one, the one that is not at all a gentle minor reminder of my dance with an exothermic reaction is that I am incontinent. For those of you who are not aware of that incontinence is let me explain. Incontinence is the inability of one to control the flow of urine or faeces. Put in the crudest terms I can think of: I piss and shit myself on the regular. It sucks. I mean, I am not missing a limb (which is more debilitating in my mind), but needing to wear diapers again carries with it a stigma, a shame. I am unable to feel myself urinating, it just happens. The only hint I get that I have peed is I feel the blossoming of warmth in my diaper. Messing is a bit different, I can’t control it, but I at least know that it is coming. It is unpleasant, but it is a reality that I have learned to cope with. But back to the story: I was a detainee, it sucked learning about my conditions, and the limitations that they imposed on me, but I was alive. I was questioned, frequently, over and over, again and again. One day the interviewer said something that will forever stick in my mind. “What are you doing still playing defence for your Father, if he truly cared about you and your well-being, he would never had subjected you to such rigorous indoctrination. Your Father is a monster, he took his daughter, and created a weapon in her place.” Maybe I was worn down after all the interviews, maybe I was being manipulated yet again, what ever it was his statement struck a chord in me. He was right, after all of the deprogramming, I had to come to grips with the fact that I was alone, and I was a prisoner. He had left me there, left me there to hold the line so he could make good his escape. It was at that moment I decided to tell all. No more stonewalling, no more deflecting, no more bullshit. I told. The results from my tell-all were revolutionary to the interviewer. I told them everything, from tactics (which they knew anyway), to weapons caches, to what I new of future plans. Suffice to say it was earth shattering for the intelligence people to have such knowledge come from a broken damaged little girl. When the time for my tribunal was upon me, I was nervous. Here I am, a 13 year-old girl in diapers, on trial for war crimes. My defence counsel was on my side the whole way, I cooperated with authorities, and the information I had given up led to seizures, arrests and a reduction in harm to all concerned parties. A deal was struck, and I was released. Now released is a bit of a misnomer in this case, I was still a minor, what to do with me? There was talk of repatriation, but that was swiftly shut down. I had informed. If my Father or any of his ilk were to gain knowledge of my whereabouts, I was dead. It was decided that I would be adopted out to a Western family. That was a hard sell, I am damaged goods, plus I wanted to stay. My opinion was to let me go and be done with me, but as a minor my words on my future were given very little weight. Then my rescuer appeared, she was a Red Cross nurse who had worked in the refugee camps. She spoke my language, and she spoke English. A story was concocted that I was an orphan from said camps, and the she took pity on me and decided to take me home with her. Blah blah, emotional tripe. Summed up, she adopted me and brought me with her back to Canada. A country I had no heard of before, to a town I had not heard of, speaking a language I did not know. At the time I hated her, I wanted to go home. Many years later, I now feel gratitude and appreciation for what she did. Chapter 3 I arrived in what was to be my new country feeling a feeling that I had long thought lost to me; fear. I was not alone, my new mother Doreen was with me. In the orphanage, I had turned 14. Although I was now a teenager good and proper, I felt like a scared little girl. The flight was my first experience on a plane, my first airport, my first time going anywhere outside of my country (at least while conscious). I had been practicing my English, and although I was not fluent, I was able to make my needs known. Thankfully Doreen spoke Serbian, and we mainly conversed in my mother tongue. Deplaning, we made our way out into the concourse, while walking Doreen asked me in English. “How are you doing?” I, misunderstanding her question answered in a flurry of Serbian. “How should I be doing?? I have been taken from my home into a country that is not my own, with a person who is no kin to me, authored by an organization that I do not trust? Really you dare ask me that!?” Her eyes got sad, and she answered in English. “That is not what I was talking about.” Switching to Serbian “I was trying to be discreet, but how is your diaper? Do you need to change?” I am sure I blushed a million shades of red at that point. Truth be known, I was not sure how my diaper was, being unaware of when I go does not make me a good arbiter of the state of my diapers. I gave my crotch a cup, in a very unladylike fashion I must say. “I am pretty wet, I think. I should change.” The method I used to check my diaper was not at all subtle and had people been looking at me I am sure would have caused a scene. But Doreen to her credit did not chide me for my obvious diaper check, she just nodded and led me by the hand to the lady’s washroom. “Do you need a hand, or do you think you can manage it on your own?” The words slipped from her mouth, and I am very glad that they were not said in English, all the same I am sure I blushed beetroot. “I can manage it, I think.” I walked into the open stall and closed the door behind me. Lowering my pants, I assessed the extent of the damage. My diaper was swollen, and after unsnapping the onesie I wore, it sagged pretty much down to my knees. I looked at my diaper, and I was saddened that this had become my life. But, this was no time to reflect on my situation, I got down to the business of changing. There are certain noises that wearing and changing a diaper makes, rustling, etc. The worst sound, the sound that announces to the entire world what I am doing is the sound of tapes being removed, and replaced. Any women who has changed a diaper can recognize that sound from a mile off. I removed my sodden diaper, grateful that it was only wet. That will change soon enough I guess, but as it is a public change, I am just glad that I didn’t stink. Having done that I wiped myself down, and got my new underwear ready to go. A few well-placed Serbian curses later, I was changed, and feeling dry. I balled up the old diaper, and replaced my pants. Exiting the stall, I saw a woman about the same age as Doreen give me a funny look. I just looked back at her, hard. It is none of her business what I was doing, and she should not concern herself with it. It is an attitude I cultivated in the orphanage, and it is the attitude I practice to this day. Yes, I was changing my diaper, and no I am not ashamed by that. It keeps me as positive as I can be about the whole situation. Leaving the bathroom, I spot Doreen and I rejoin her, we make our way out of the terminal, and get into a taxi. Soon we are on our way to Doreen’s (and now my) house. Arriving at a rural road crossing we get out of the cab at Doreen’s suggestion to walk the rest of the way. I acquiesce, after all this sitting it will be nice to stretch my legs.

I guess I will have to go out on a limb here. The pooping feels so good and warm and it fills the void . Try running a rag under cold water, and then rubbing your private area. It does absolutely nothing. Now try the same thing with medium to hot water. See the difference ... I enjoy pooping because it is a sexual thing for me and has been since I hit puberty. Enjoy it don't try to figure it out. Diapers are fun for that reason !

Friday afternoon I followed Lexie home from school. She was wearing one of her usual cute dresses, and I had a short set on. “How are you holding up?” she asked. “Are you talking about Tony dying or just things in general?” I asked. “Either one.” “Well, Tony’s gone. The guys were all friends of mine, and I feel sad, but they pretty much abandoned me of late, so I guess it’s less worrisome. As for the other thing, yeah, I get into a funk from time to time wondering why I’m going through this. Of course, one thing I also thought about was that since I’m going through this, I wasn’t in the car the other day.” “Yeah, that’s a mixed bag. I still get depressed, too. Especially when sitting in a poopy diaper. I can take most everything else.” We got to her house, and Lexie’s mom took us right up to her room for changes. Lexie got on the table first. She was wearing the pink pony diapers. I looked away while Lexie was naked but turned back as she was hopping off the table. She hadn’t put her diaper cover back on, so the pink diapers were nicely exposed. I got up next, and Lexie’s mom pulled off my shorts. She removed my plain white diaper and cleaned me up. This was a bit odd as this was the first time someone other than my mom had changed me. She reached down and then paused. “I don’t suppose you want a pink diaper.” I shook my head. “These will look cute on you.” She pulled out a diaper that had little teddy bears all over it. Something to reinforce that these things were intended to make me look like a baby. Lexie leaned over and whispered, “I think they look cute on you.” I didn’t get my shorts back either. We went down to the basement rec room to play. It was full of stuffed animals and other toys but it did include a video game system, and we set down to play that. I kept stealing glances at Lexie in her pink diaper. It wasn’t helping my gameplay. “If you’re just going to ogle me instead of the TV, let’s play catch or something,” she smiled. I blushed. She picked up a large ball from the corner and bounced it toward me. He had “a ball” playing with that for a while. At least I had a reason to keep looking in her direction. Dinner was announced, and we went upstairs. My high chair was next to Lexie’s, part of the stuff my Mom had dropped off, no doubt. We were bibbed, and Lexie’s mother dropped plates of chicken nuggets and sauce in front of us. This was cool, some of the most adult food other than PBJ sandwiches I’d had in a long time. Lexie picked up a nugget, dunked it in the sauce, and pushed it towards my mouth. She intentionally missed, smearing sauce on my face. I picked one up off my plate and reciprocated. By the time we had finished, we had sauce all over our faces and hands. Lexie’s mother returned and shook her head. She got some wipes and cleaned us up. She let us down from the chair and headed for the living room. Lexie followed along behind her, so I followed Lexie. Her mother sat down on the sofa and Lexie positioned herself on her lap. Her mother opened her shirt and exposed a breast that Lexie quickly took in her mouth and started to suck. I was floored. I mean, I knew babies were breastfed, and I knew that many of us Madison High babies got the full treatment. I watched for a few minutes and then she got up. Lexie’s mom reached out for me. “Go on,” Lexie said. “It’s OK.” I got on the sofa, and Lexie’s mom maneuvered me to her other breast. I paused but then took the nipple in my mouth and started to suck. It took me a minute to get the position right, but then I was rewarded with the warm, sweet liquid. This was different than the cow’s milk I had gotten in the bottle, even when it had been warmed. After feeding, Lexie and I were left alone. “How did you like that?” she asked me. “It was different,” I kind of hemmed. “I like it. I feel so much closer to Mom now. It sorta makes up for the trauma of going through all this.” I just nodded at that. Perhaps it would. A few minutes later, Lexie’s mom took us up and stripped us out of our clothes and took us to the bathroom. The tub was drawn with lots of bubbles. “Bubbles!” Lexie cried. “Yes, Jakie’s mother sent the bubble bath over with his stuff,” Lexie’s mother explained. I guess this was something Lexie didn’t have. We got into the tub together. At this point I had been trying to avoid staring at Lexie. I mean, I had always loved looking at her legs and lately at the pink diaper. I even stole glimpses while she was changing, but I’d never seen her completely naked. She had cute breasts, too. I got quick thought of sucking on one like I’d done her mother’s, but put that quickly out of mind. I was also happy to be sitting obscured in the bubbles. My penis was as erect as it possibly could be and I was a little embarrassed by it. We spent time splashing each other while Lexie’s mother attempted to make sure we washed. She got me out of the tub and dried me off. I was wrapped in my towel and then she proceeded to dry off Lexie. I got a full view of the wet naked girl during this process, again happy to be obscured by the towel. We were led back to the bedroom. I got my cloth diaper and plastic pants put on and then was helped into my normal full-length sleeper. Lexie also got a cloth diaper. Her mother helped her into her nightwear. It was a satin onesie like thing but without crotch snaps. She looked beautiful as ever. I was happy her legs were still exposed. We went over to the crib. Oliver was there along with one of Lexie’s bears. We climbed inside, and Lexie’s mom reached in and kissed us each goodnight. She shut off the light and left the room. I was holding on the Oliver throughout this process, but suddenly he was snatched away from me. Lexie threw him and her bear over the side. “It’s too crowded in here with both of us and both of them. Oliver and Max will have to sleep on the floor.” She giggled, and I joined in. I wished there had been more light in the room. I would have loved to stare more at Lexie in her nightie. She however compensated by snuggling close up against me. I put my arms around her and felt the smooth fabric of her outfit. I moved my hands down her back and over the diaper area feeling the bulk of that. I moved down and touched the inside of her leg. This was the first time I’d ever had my hands on her bare skin. It was so incredibly soft. She snuggled tighter as I idly moved over her. I reached a finger under the hem of the leg hole. She giggled, “Naughty!” she scolded. I pulled back. “No, it’s OK,” she admitted. I guess Mom feels these diapers and sleepers are enough of a chastity belt to keep us out of trouble. We both giggled. We snuggled some more. “Jakie,” she finally said. “Yes.” “I’ve been watching you for a long time. Even before you were a baby. I had this insane idea that you were interested in me even though I was a baby.” “It’s not insane. I was interested in you. I thought you had the cutest legs.” “I’ll have to confess that I was happy when you got turned into a baby. It gave me hope.” “Well, I was just happy that if I had to be a baby, that you were there.” At this point we kissed. It was short but electrifying. Then we kissed again. Longer this time. After a while we drifted off to sleep in each other’s arms.

I wear leggings alot and when binging diapers I do eventually leak. At first, I go to the bathroom to change, but sit on the toilet first to soak my diaper!! And, then start the cycle over. Once I've leaked a little, I love letting go, especially in my maroon leggings that turn a darker shade. I love wetting my panties, but that doesn't happen as often. Same with my one piece bathing suit - that, with or without a diaper is a thrill. I have videos of both on xtube. Making vids - or live video chats - makes me super horny.

Takuya closed his eyes and smiled widely as he hugged Mr. Puffybun, rocking back and forth on his padded bottom in his crib as the twinkling music of the mobile combined with the whisperes from his bonnet sank deep into his subconscious; upon waking up from his nap, he had found that he was both dry and clean, diaper-wise, which was... okay, he guessed. Truthfully, he no longer cared about the state of his own diaper so long as rash or general discomfort didn't set in. Why would I care about my diapee at all? Mommy—er, Ranamon will change me anyw—um, is she my mommy? No, my mommy was human... wasn't she? The confusion had given him a small amount of stress, causing him to reach for Mr. Puffybun; the instant he felt the soft plush fur against his skin, a wave of mindless bliss came over him. While he hugged and snuggled and rocked back and forth, he thought absolutely nothing—nothing but how fluffy and comfy Mr. Puffybun was and how snuggle-time was his favorite thing ever. A turning point had been reached in his brainwashing since his visit to Cherubimon; he was still at least partly aware of his true age and his human origin, and a part of him still tried to resist. Now that part was the weaker half of his mind, while the half that was Widdle Baby Takuyamon gained more dominance every day. Even his human self had to admit that being a baby felt good, and some days he even thought about giving up entirely—and only the few lingering memories of his human family and friends kept those thoughts from winning. Falling onto his back while hugging Mr. Puffybun and sticking the stuffed antylamon's ear in his mouth like a pacifier to suck on it, he turned and saw himself in the mirror on the side of his crib. Teehee! I look soo silly and little! My skin is almost all blue and I think my hair is almost all gone now, too... I look more like mommy every day... He turned to look at his feet, flexing his toes. I got weird skin between my fingies and tootsies, too. I wonder what will happen when mommy gives me boobie milk today? Will I get a tail? Or something else? His worry about losing his humanity was almost gone in spite of what little resistance remained. No resistance remained at all with regards to being breastfed—in fact, he now thought of it as one of the most wonderful things ever, and was excited to think of what mommy's wonderful milkies might do to him next. “Aww, is my widdle baby Takuyamon feeling aaall snuggly?” He looked up to see Ranamon's smiling face as she summoned up water with a snap of her fingers to carry him into her arms; he still had Mr. Puffybun's ear in his mouth and was still sucking on it, and he nearly whimpered a bit when he thought she might take it out. He gave no reaction when she checked his diaper, until she started talking in the omega-syrupy-sweet tone he now loved to hear. “Well, someone's actually a clean babymon,” she said, carrying him to the rocking chair and cradling him on his back. “We can't have that, can we? Noooo~! No we can't have my widdle baby being a clean big boy when he can just be a siiiiiiiiilly wiiiiiiiidle weeeeetsy meeeeessy BABY!!!” She drew out the words with the most mind-bogglingly babyish tone she could muster, slowly leaning in to kiss him on the noze at the end before happily shouting the last one as she started tickling him mercilessly. “AHAHAHAHAHAHAAAA!” Takuya giggled and squealed with delight as he squirmed under her touch. So much fun! “Mama's gonna make you wetsy~! Yes she is! Yes she is gonna make her widdle baby boy go wetsy-wetsy-tinkle-winkle AAAAAALLL over himself like the widdle baby he is!” “Gahahahahaa! M-maAAAAAke a w-weetsyyyYYYHEEHEEHEE!” Takuya shouted with glee as he continued squealing and giggling, fully aware that he had just soaked his diaper and not caring one tiny bit. Ranamon noticed, and continued her tickling assault and babifying words. “Whooooooo's just a widdle wetsy baby digimon? Whooooooo's mommy's widdle wetsy baby digimon?” “Hahahaheehee! I-I-IYIYIYIIIIIIIAHAHAHAHA!! I aaaaamAHAHEEHEE!” “Is it you? Is it yooooooouu? Are YOOOOOOOU my itsy-bitsy-teeny-tiny-widdle-bitty-wetsy-wetsy-babymon?” “Wahahahahaheheheheehohaha!” I wet so much! Mommy made me wetsy! I love mommy! “Uh-huh! Takuyamon mommy's wetsy baaaayyYYAHAHAHAHA!!!” The ticklefest finally ended, leaving Takuya panting and smiling for a few minutes before Ranamon put the pacifier in his mouth, carrying him over to the bouncer. The sight of the television woke up the small spark of resistance from his human mind, which tried to brace itself only for the happy and wet feelings to decide he wanted to see the pretty colors, happy faces, comfy diapers, and snuggly stuffies. The human memories weren't going down without a fight, though; in spite of what Cherubimon had said, he did remember a number of times where his human family were kind to him, and he held on to those like a drowning man clinging to a piece of driftwood. As the program began, he felt his intelligence start to drain away... but unlike the last few times, he remained self-aware rather than zonking out into a blissful trance; the wonderful euphoric feelings brought on by the images were there, but his awake mind remained. Half of him thought this might make it easier to resist whatever it had planned for him; the other half just thought that it meant he could enjoy the colors and images even more. To his shock, the colors now appeared to make visual sense—mostly in shades of soft yellows, cyans, teals, blues and greens with the occasional flash of red, he realized that these colors all appeared either on his babyish clothes or on Ranamon's (and now his) body; the smiling faces were in fact his own, grinning an open toothless smile with drool coming out the corner, not a care in the world. Is that what I look like when I'm losing it...? That's not good, I look so sill—uh, I mean, stupid. But I have to admit, it's fun being stupid-dumb-dumb-silly! Heehee! The images of diapers flew past his vision, the plastic disposable ones crinkling while the cloth ones showing off the wonderfully soft material before wrapping around the waist of an image of himself—an image that squealed with delight at being diapered, shouting the words “Biiiig hug!” It really does feel like I'm wearing a big hug all the time! Why did I ever want to wear big boy pants? Big boy pants are stupid! I wanna wear diapees forever and ever! They're so comfy and they make me look so cute! Stuffed teddy bears, duckies, and other creatures sailed by before giving way to a giant stuffed version of Mr. Puffybun, which smiled warmly at him and told him that he was a cute helpless little baby digimon who wanted to hug Mr. Puffybun all day long. I am! I do! I wanna hug him forever! The scenes then started over again from the beginning before finally ending with a chorus of Takuyamons and stuffies surrounding the giant Antylamon, shouting one phrase in joyful unison: “Now you're a baby! Just a happy baby! A helpless happy widdle baby!” Now I'm a baby! Just a happy baby! A helpless happy widdle baby! The program ended, and the boy snapped out of the reverie... but what he had thought and seen during the experience remained, shaming the small part of him that was still human... a part that was seconds from vanishing forever. He tried to think back—tried to remember his human family—and that was when he realized what was taken from him. It was the most horrifying theft yet. One he never thought possible. He no longer remembered what they looked or sounded like, what their names were, where they lived... what his own last name was. All that remained were blurry first-person images with blank spaces where someone used to be. Takuya sniffled in spite of himself. He knew he wasn't really a digimon, he knew he really belonged in the human world with his human mommy—mother? Mommy? The images were blurry, but he remembered what he believed to be the last thing he did in the human world; his mommy gave him a diapie change and— No! That's not right... is it? Wasn't I always little? No, I remember I had friends... a number of them, I think... we were trying to do something... Unbeknownst to Takuya, he had also lost all memory of his friends' names and identities—but it was only unknown because Ranamon had a plan to fill in the new blanks, picking him out of the bouncer and strapping him into his stroller. “Wh-where we going, mommy?” “I'm taking you to play with your friends, silly baby! They're waiting for you at the Primary Village with Nanny Gekomon!” Primary Village? Nanny Gekomon? He vaguely recalled that a primary village was where digi-eggs were hatched and digi-mommies and digi-daddies took their little ones to play with other baby digimon... or something. As for “Nanny Gekomon”, he knew full well who that was—the nice digimon who played happy music for him every time Ranamon took him outside. What he did not know, and could not know, was that this primary village was the origin of the plan he was a victim of: it began as a “re-education camp” where rebellious digimon were regressed to their rookie forms, brainwashed into being baby digimon, then re-educated to be loyal servants of Cherubimon. Only after the first successful generation had entered new lives as willing subjects of their dark master had the thought occurred to test it on the digidestined. Upon arrival, Takuyamon saw five baby bouncers, four of them containing occupants; among them were a Veemon, a Gatomon, an Agumon, and a Terriermon. All wore thick diapers, babyish clothes, and bonnets on their heads, and held stuffed antylamons of their own—though each stuffie had a slightly different appearance and color scheme. As Takuya was removed from his stroller and placed into the empty bouncer, the Gekomon spoke up and gestured to him. “Look everyone, here's your friend! He's here!” A bit of mild confusion came over the captive digimon and Takuya... Wait, do I know them? I don't think they're the friends I had, and I'm sure I've never met these guys bef— ...until a few notes were played on Gekomon's horn, causing all of them to erupt in happy giggles. I'm such a silly-billy! Of course I know them! I've known them all since I was hatched from my digi-egg! Of course they're my friends! Takuya smiled in thought; where once there were memories of himself as a human fighting alongside Koji, Junpei, Izumi and Tomoki, and transforming into the powerful warrior of fire known as Agunimon to save the Digital World from the evil Cherubimon, there were now memories of himself as baby Takuyamon crawling and babbling happily alongside Veemon, Gatomon, Agumon and Terriermon—memories of big group hugs, of happily announcing to each other every time they wet themselves, and of snuggling up to each other for naptime. Happily bouncing up and down in the bouncer alongside the others, he listened as Gekomon—now firmly established in his mind as simply “nanny”—began to speak. “Okay, widdle babies, it's time to play a special game! I'm going to say something, and you're all going to repeat it! Won't that be fun?” A blow of the horn had the entire group giggling and shouting their excitement. “Alright, now repeat after me: Hail Cherubimon!” “Haiw Chewubimon!” A couple of notes on the horn followed the response, sending waves of joy through the diapered audience. “Very good! Repeat after me: Cherubimon is my pa-pa!” “Chewubimon is my pa-pa!” The horn melody was a little longer and more complex this time, resulting in the blissful feeling being even stronger. “Oh, you're all doing sooo well! Repeat after me: I love to obey Cherubimon!” “I wuv to obey Chewubimon!” The melody was even longer and the happy feelings seemed to swell even further than before. “Yes, that's right! Such good obedient widdle babies! Repeat after me: I want to obey Cherubimon forever and ever!” “I wanna obey Chewubimon fowevew an' evew!” The horn played almost a full passage now, and the sheer joy Takuya felt seemed to fill him almost to bursting. “One last thing and you all get a very special reward: Say everything you just said in a row!” Takuya smiled. “Haiw Chewubimon!” Cherubimon is the best ever! Mommy serves him, and I wanna serve him just like my mommy! “Chewubimon is my pa-pa!” Cherubimon is my pa-pa and I love him and he loves me because I'm his widdle grandbabymon! “I wuv to obey Chewubimon!” It feels soooo good to be an obedient widdle bitty baby diaper digimon for mommy and pa-pa! Obeying is so much fun! “I wanna obey Chewubimon fowevew an' evew!” The horn melody that followed was a veritable symphony, grand and wonderful; Takuya felt a near-ocean of utter joy fill him up, causing him to laugh so hard he wet himself—and wet, and wet, and wet, and laugh, and laugh, and laugh! Every fear or doubt was banished forever, along with what little remained of his human mind. Widdle Takuyamon was here to stay, and widdle Takuyamon would never leave. “Abababagah! A-pbbbbbbt! Bububagabooooobuababa! Wuv Chewubimon, wuv mommy! Widdle baaaaaaybee! Gagagabooboo! Wetsy-wetsy bagaababa!” Takuyamon was lifted out of his bouncer and onto a soft surface that seemed to be a thick baby blanket that covered an area the size of a large playground; crawling over to his friends, the group of babies hugged happily. Then he saw Ranamon standing over him with a smile, and a thought crossed his mind. He wanted mommy's boobie! He held his arms out towards her breasts, asking to be picked up; his heart soared further as she complied, exposing her breast to him as he suckled happily. I'm so glad everyone can see me getting my booby-milk in a wet diapee like a good obedient widdle baby digimon! I love mommy so much and I love being mommy's widdle babymon and I wanna obey Cherubimon forever! As he drank his fill, Ranamon gently removed his bonnet, brushing the last remains of human hair off his head and shushing him. Nothing human about him remained to be recognizable; he was now truly her widdle baby digimon. True, the original idea was to just use this to re-educate him and the other digidestined... but Ranamon decided that someone else could just as easily take care of widdle Takuyamon's former friends. She didn't want this little angel ever growing up—and from that day until eternity, he never would. Takuyamon stayed a happy giggly baby digimon for all time. THE END

Did you ever try on a shorty leotard, looks like a brief at the bottom . I have about six leotards and they are great for cycling and in house sports. They fit tight and no bunching of material at crotch and under arms. Also a great item to sleep in. these are mens leotards not womens andAmazon and e bay carry them.

Please continue this story, this has been a great and captivating story with a nice steady place that shows a lot of feelings between the two characters.

If you have to ask "why" when I inform you that I feel like the lucky one in my relationship...then I feel sorry for you.

Lots of folks find it gets better to pull up roots and make a clean start elsewhere. It's a tough thing to do but it can help. It's not going to change your tendencies, only give you a fresh chance to address them without outside influence keeping you down. Much of what you note here are common characteristics of Clinical Depression which is a physical disease as much as a mental one, and there can be help with that. I think that you'd do well to speak with a Therapist to help you sort out what you should be doing to make life better. They can help you find direction and help you keep from feeling so overwhelmed. Life can be good but that always takes work to make it that way, so you really need to start addressing your issues in a better way which is exactly what Therapy does for you. Bettypooh

What I've found is easy to find- generally news reports and articles which had the backing of well known institutions. I didn't go looking for any of it nor am I going to. It doesn't much matter to me personally anyway. Nobody can offer conclusive proof with the matter so why argue it? And it seems by your references that you're reading something political into this which is a BS approach- the people you cite are politicians who are no more qualified than you or me to state something as fact, so it's all just opinion at this point and those will always differ. Politics has nothing to do with this until someone can come up with solid verifiable and incontestable proof which at best is still years away if it can ever be done. The truth is that right now nobody knows for sure what is going to happen and to what level we have and can influence it. Even the most respected scientists are all over the map with this and neither you or I can do any better than them. Bettypooh

I found the wading pants for about $15 on Amazon several years ago, and it is a really fun play thing, I just turn them inside out so the smooth plastic is on the inside, some of them ore not as smooth, I got lucky

Whilst I've never wet in my bed yet. I do get regular dreams when i'm peeing and then I wake up pee in my diaper and go back to sleep. I imagine your recent interest in being diaper may have triggered off some dreams??

Interesting theory Sent from my iPhone using Tapatalk

Speaking at least for myself, my interest in wearing diapers began long before puberty kicked in. I believe that for most people, loving diapers started before they had any sexual feeling as a result of wearing. It's more about reliving a childhood where everything is taken care of for you. Diapers provide a feeling of comfort and security that you can't get any other way as an adult in an adult world. Once puberty kicks in. it is obviously centered around the "diaper area" and creates a new kind of arousal from wearing diapers. And for guys, a wet dream is almost the equivalent of wetting your pants uncontrollably. That is the point I believe diaper-wearing becomes sexual because prior to puberty, sex is not an issue. Oddly enough, people who claim to have had a bad childhood might use diapers as a way to heal and make up for some bad experiences while others who had a good childhood, strive to relive those pleasant feelings. (My childhood was really quite pleasant for the most part). So it can be either to fill in some missing blanks or to hang onto the more enjoyable aspects of your life.

Nothing beats the excitement of buying diapers ina store, knowing I'll be wearing soon!

I am part of the newer generation of IC folks who don't care. You folks here were so kind and understanding to me years ago when my incon first came on. You answered my questions, and made no judgments about me. That was very helpful. You were also more informative than the incon forums I am also a part of. They call it "TMI", I didn't agree. They also were not judging of me, but they did want me to immediately jump to their lessons learned and I just wasn't ready for full time diaper wear at that point. Well, I'm still involved in these other "true incon" sites, and most folks there don't care either. However, there are some who get very offended if they so much as see the letters ABDL. There was a recent rant at one site about how Northshore added those more colorful daytime diapers and how it offended this one person so much...

I always take a kylie or washable bed pad where ever I go.

My adult kid is probably 5 or 6 and simply doesn't want to be potty trained. I want to be diapered and disciplined/spanked. I really do not have much desire to play with toys, I could watch cartoons, play in the woods, go fishing, ride a bike, other things boys do, just still in a diaper.

I think an adult kid discribes most of us, because unlike being an adult baby we like to do things like we used to when were like in grade school.