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Pull ups are for accidents, for when you can't reach toilet. If you don't intend to even try to reach toilet, then its diapers.

Took Mom to the doctor's today (routine, she's fine) and there was a longer than usual wait, and another wait at the pharmacy. By the time we got home my pull-up was just starting to fail with wet spots on my pants. Should have been a diaper day I guess!

Chapter Seven Ai woke up to a dark room. She had to pee. She didn't remember the last thing she ate or the last thing she drank, but even if she did it might not have actually been the last thing they fed to her. She rolled over and tried to fall back asleep. An hour later, she woke up again. This time, the need to pee was a little more than she could handle. She looked up at the ceiling - where tiny plastic stars glowed, like a child's bedroom - and spoke to herself. "I shouldn't bother... there's no exit. There's no way to get this diaper off. Why am I..." It wasn't the completion of the query that she remembered next, it was the warmth of her diaper swelling against her as it started to soak up her pee. Had she given up voluntarily, or had her body just lost the ability to hold it? "I..." The stars above her were as pretty as anything she could remember. She could feel herself peeing, and she knew she could stop, but why? Why bother? She'd only go through hours of discomfort, and then have to do it anyway. At least if she did it now, her Nana might... Ai bit her lip. Ai shook her head in shame and felt fresh tears in her eyes. She rested her head on the pillow again and started to cry. What the fuck had happened to her? What had she become? It took hours to fall back asleep. The diaper between her legs was clammy and cold, and the onesie pulled it tight into her skin. But the next time she woke up, she hadn't done it on her own. Nana was leaning down over her, with a finger in the legband of her diaper. "Ahh, what a good girl! Your nighttime wetting is coming along splendidly." "Shut up..." Ai sleepily slapped at Nana, but her words had no venom. If anything, she sounded embarrassed. "Oh, I know dear, you're embarrassed that you're behind the curve on your sleep-time-messing. But every Candy develops at their own pace - you'll get there." Ai wondered if it was possible for her cheeks to burst into flames. Combust. She didn't think it was, but maybe they took that fact from her. "I know you're excited for class, dear. Have you got your mantra memorized for the pledge today? Do you need Nana to help? You could recite it while Nana gets you changed and dressed for the day. I'm sure your new friend Baby will be very impressed if you get it right today." "I don't like this," Ai muttered, but it wasn't like the day before. A part of her had surrendered to this place as an inevitability, and Nana made quick work of her. She turned Ai in place and unsnapped the onesie. Then she... Ai quickly looked up, watching as Nana pulled at the tapes. Each came off so easily, to Ai it seemed like magic. Those little tabs? If she pulled on those, then the diaper would come off? Nana pulled the soggy diaper out from under her charge and wiped her clean with a warm wipe. Then she balled the diaper up and set it aside. Another diaper was ready and waiting, the same designs as the first. "I don't want that today," Ai tried. "Please, I can be a good girl. I'll do anything you say, just don't make me wear it..." They wanted obedience, right? Ai could sell that for her pride. "I know you'll be a good girl today, dear. And as a good girl, you know that using your diaper is one of the most important things in the whole wide world to a Candy. Wearing your diaper shows devotion and obedience. Using your diaper is a sure way to get Nana's attention and affection and praise. If you're ever sad or lonely or scared, you know that all you need to do is obey and be a helpless little baby girl, fill your diaper, and Nana will be there." Ai tried to keep her head above the water for that torrential onslaught of words that rang in her head like bright and bold bells, but her thumb had already wound up in her mouth. Nana diapered Ai all the same, then dressed her in nothing but a t-shirt. The sleeves were fluffy and pink and the rest of the shirt was decorated with stenciled words. Baby Princess. How was she letting this happen to her? "Come now, breakfast time," Nana said happily, sitting herself in the large chair. She had a small box in her hands, like an opaque Tupperware container. Ai stared sourly at her and then down at her shirt. Did she have a choice? Every single motion and action was a metric of measurement here; how long did Ai pause? How many times did she need to be asked? How quickly did she get into place? What was the look on her face? Ai didn't want this. She knew she didn't. Maybe if she presented a practical issue... "Nana... if I eat that now, I might..." How could I give the illusion that she was losing without actually losing? How could she phrase it, so that Nana wouldn’t suspect something? "I might have an accident in class." "Like good girls do," Nana said happily. "You want to be a good girl, don't you?" That was a complicated question. A pang in Ai's chest demanded that she be a good girl, but the practical side of things was a little less certain. Whatever the reason, the pause in Ai's answer took a bit longer than Nana wanted. "How about," Nana said brightly, "if you're a good girl and eat your breakfast, I let you take Flopsity to class with you?" Ai looked from her caregiver to the stuffed bunny in her arms. With a moment of contemplation, she nodded her head. "Okay..." "There's a good girl. Come on up here, sit on Nana's lap, and cuddle your Flopsity close as can be. The sooner you eat up, the sooner we can get you dressed for class." Ai didn't understand how things had happened so quickly - that she'd just bargained away so simply the most humiliating act she could possibly imagine. That they'd normalized it. That she was normalizing it. She swallowed and sucked her thumb firmly, crawling up onto her Nana's lap. Nana fed her two jars of baby food. They didn't taste so bad, and neither of them were the pink food that Baby had warned her about. Afterward, Ai actually felt a little bit better. Maybe she was just hungry; that was the problem! Nana brushed Ai's hair into two fresh pigtails and put more of that pink lip gloss on her lips. This time, Ai was careful not to lick any of it, even though it made her lips tingle. But why shouldn't she lick it? She would fall into that weird trance like last time. She would stupidly follow every order and do everything she was told. She wouldn't even have to think about it. On the other hand... was this really so bad? Embarrassing, sure. Totally humiliating! But no one else was here; just other Candies. They were in the same boat! No one could judge her, not really. Why was she even fighting it? In fact, if she were to be completely honest, it seemed like the Candies who were the best behaved got the most attention. The ones who rebelled got punished, humiliated, left alone in their rooms for so so so long without any contact at all. Baby had told Ai that they took things away from Candies to make them behave. If she just behaved, they wouldn't have to take anything away. Maybe they'd even give things back... Nana dropped Ai off at the classroom and Ai wiped off her lip gloss onto her sleeve. It didn't even stain, since they were both pink. Then she took a seat in the center of the room and picked up a toy train. If she had to wait here until class started, why not play? And Flopsity could help her plan the city. "Hi. Um." The boy tilted his head and crawled across the floor toward Ai. It took a moment for her to remember him, like maybe it wasn't yesterday that they met but a week ago. He was the one that gave the speech on why obedience was important. "Can I play trains wif you?" he asked with starry eyes. If it wasn't for the very thick diaper between his legs and the almost feminine shirt, he might actually have been pretty attractive. "Okay," Ai nodded, curiously looking around the room. Baby wasn't there yet. "I'm Joey," the boy introduced himself cheerfully and adjusted his posture. He seemed to be sitting in such a way that his diaper rested on his heels - maybe he knew something that Ai didn't? "I like trains, mostly um... the steamy ones?" His voice was lispy and airy, like an actual child. "I'm Ai," she said. She fished around for a train with the smoke stack and passed it to him. "I like your bunny," he said. "Where did joo get it?" "I, uh..." Ai paused a moment and looked down at Flopsity, a big brown stuffed bunny with pink ears on the inside. She knew she had her during breakfast, and probably when she woke up. Or did she have her yesterday too? Yesterday felt like so long ago... the first time she messed her diaper, the first time she went to class, and all the escape attempts. "Is okay," Joey interrupted Ai's thought process. "Dun gotta think about it. Juss be a good girl an a good boy, right?" "Uh huh..." Ai nodded. Don't think about it. Be a good girl. Ai emptied her head of the thought and went back to playing with trains. "Wha's their name?" Joey asked, after a few minutes more of silently playing with the train he'd been handed. "I don't got a stuffie, but lotsa my friends here do. Stuffies help you not think so much, but I don't think so much anyway cause I'm a good boy." "Her name is Flopsity," Ai said with a smile. "She's the cutest bunny and I love her and she's my best friend! I got another friend somewhere, but she's not here yet." Ai connected two of the train tracks together and tried to make a circle. For some reason, she was having trouble. Was it the tracks? Did they not go in circles? Or was this an Ai problem? She bit her lip nervously. "Hey, um. Joey. Why do you think—" Ai paused and looked blankly at her new friend. "I don't think, silly. Thinking is for People and we're not People: we're Candies." His response had a little bit of panic and a little bit of automatic reflex, but Ai didn't seem to catch any of it because - much like the train in her hand - her thoughts had momentarily derailed. "Huh..." Ai mumbled, when her focus came back into clarity. What was she saying? Ai looked down at the train set, but she wasn't playing with the trains anymore. She was thinking. She didn't want to be thinking! She wanted to just play trains and be a good girl! But the thought continued to linger. Why? What was the point of all this? But when Baby was dropped off in the classroom, Ai's thoughts were put on hold.

@DiaperboyEddie12 thank you for your kind words! It makes me feel good to know that someone does understand that sometimes you have to be detailed in your responses. It is not my intention ever to be so long-winded that I get boring. As I said I have 30 years of experience of online communication, so it comes naturally that I would find ways to try to help someone reduce conflict and problems on the server. Sometimes when you are dealing with individuals, or are you are posting information that you feel is relevant you can get a little bit too long winded. I have had several of these types of posts, where someone is asking a particular question, and I have to get really really specific about things, or explain something that sometimes makes it seem like the post is long-winded. I have also 20 years of online form experience so I understand that as well. When you want to post information sometimes you can get long-winded, and sometimes the information could sound boring and repetitive. When I post a response, I always try to make it relevant to what we are talking about, and always try to give people my honest opinion, or my honest review of a product. I will always give my honest opinion. @littlecait thank you for your kind words! I do have a kind heart, and people have said that I am a “sweetheart“. DD is my home now, and it is my responsibility to try to help as many of you as I can, with relevant and current information. I am who I am, and I am glad I am who I am. This will not change I’m always the type of guy who wants to help as many people as possible, and sometimes, someone may think that what I am saying may not make sense to them, or that they feel like I am writing the Gutenberg Bible. This is not my intent. As I stated before my intent is to try to help as many people as I can. I feel good when I’m able to help someone. Because of my experience as an IRC chat operator, I can give the type of advice that I have given because I have seen many people and talk to many people and I have to deal with many peoples reaction. It all depends on the situation that you find yourself in, but as has been stated above no one should be messaging anybody without permission, and if you have friends that you have said that you can message anytime, then I would do that without hesitation. you are all awesome people, and I salute you all! Many people do not understand the links that our admin team go through to keep this place safe playground for everyone to play, Post, and Chat. I have a unique perspective, because I have been on the user side, and I have also been on the administrative side where I I had to make decisions similar to those of our admin team as to what happens to individuals that break the rules. You have to make the best decision that you think is in the best interest of your user base or those that you serve online. I was always taught from the beginning, that when you are online you are not a cop, not a jailer, not an enforcer, but a tool: one who will help the user who is online as much as you can. There are always individuals who try to be jackasses, but you always try to let that roll off your back, and do the best for your home. When I post information like this, I am indeed giving advice that I have been given over the years, and it works! to be clear: I don’t like to be that heavy, or a person who is trying to discipline anyone unless it is necessary. On very few occasions I have responded to posts were someone I believe is dead wrong. People have to realize that the staff that are here are The ones that make the decisions, and we must support them. We may not agree with them all the time, but we must support them. Being an enforcer is hard work, because you have to decide how to handle a situation and then act. Failure to act, could look like you are wishy-washy or weak, and I don’tlike to be in that position. On DD, I am not an admin, I am not a chat mod, but I am a user, and sometimes my training snaps back into force, and I use my skills to try to solve problems, rather than to throw the ban hammer. Brian

Wishing you the very best Mikey. Hope everything goes to your liking.

Wish you well @DailyDi!

Many participants are turds when it comes to females on the board. They feel entitled and the no PM rule is one of the ways to stop a lot of this abuse. I've seen it first hand when my girlfriend ventured into the early ABDL chat rooms.

i used to be a lot like you back some 20 years ago.. They are right.. no one seems to notice unless you are making obvious. wear looser fitting pants and don't make your diapers super thick.. people are just to self-absorbed to notice you.. I now wear 24/7 and im very comfortable in doing so.. Lots of luck and in time you will be more comfortable.. hugs and stuff from an baby..lol

Scene 121 I am so many kinds of fun it’s not even funny, and I should get some credit for that the next time someone accuses me of being a grumpy goose. I mean, I play along with all kinds of stuff, so people should play along with me. For goodness’s sake, it was a play date! We’ll get to that, but first … Who wanted to have a play date? Jane. I was very happy to have Jane over, and it’s not like she sprung it on me. She texted and said, “Can we have a play date?” I texted back, “Like a ‘play date’ play date?” “Yeah, I want some little time. Be little with me?” I can recognize a cry (text) for help when I hear (read) one. Did I suspect Mary’s hand at the virtual keyboard? Nope. Jane doesn’t need Mary’s instigation to want a play date. Still, I asked Mary about it (and no, I didn’t ask if I could have my friend over. I’m not a little girl). “What’s up, buttercup,” Mary asked me as I sat down on the couch next to her. She put her arm around my shoulder. I think she likes touching me and stuff? Anyway, anytime she calls me buttercup, it means she’s in a silly mood. I like that she gets into silly moods. Some people want their domme to be all serious all the time, and I don’t think that’s fair (dommes are people, not characters) or fun (I live with this person; who wants to be with someone who never feels silly?). “Jane wants to have a play date.” “Like a ‘play date’ play date?” “Heh. That’s what I asked. She asked me to be little with her.” “And what did you say?” “Nothing yet. It was just a second ago … I’m not a little.” “I know.” “Jane should know too. Like, pretty sure I’ve said that a few hundred times in the last forever years.” Minor, but only minor, exaggeration. “I think she does know. Maybe she didn’t mean it that way.” “How many ways are there to mean it? I don’t mind her coming over and being little. She does that sometimes anyway, or she did before the pandemic. And sometimes when we play at her house, she’ll be little and I won’t.” Because I’m not, again, for clarity. I thought very carefully about what I said next. “I … she could be little, and I could be her babysitter.” I wasn’t looking at Mary, but if I was, I’m so positive I would’ve seen a smirk that it’s not even funny. Ya know what that woman said? Well, I’ll tell you what she said: “But Daffy, you’re too little to babysit.” Me? I didn’t dignify that with a (verbal) response. “Hey,” that woman exclaimed. “What have I told you about hitting,” she said as she rubbed her arm where I gave her the tiniest love tap. Such a wuss! “Do it whenever I feel like,” I said back. “Such a sarcastic squirrel,” she said like that’s even a thing. “That’s not even a thing … I just don’t know what she wants me to do.” “You can just tell her no.” “But she … She’s never asked me to be little with her. She wouldn’t be asking if she didn’t really need some little time.” Saying no to playing with a little, if you’re not totally hands down not into it, is like saying no to an actual little kid. ‘No, small child who looks up to me, I won’t play with you cuz I’m a monster.’ Who does that? Monsters, that’s who. I play with her when she’s little; I’m just not little also. “You still get to say no. You can hang out with her and not play. Just tell her you’re not comfortable playing that way.” “I’m okay with her being little while she’s here.” Her cry for help aside, I was getting a little miffed she asked me that. Had she just asked to play and not specifically asked me be little with her, no problem. “I just don’t … I’m not a little. I wouldn’t even know what to do. Ya know, that’s what I’m gonna tell her. If she wants to be little, she can be and I’ll have fun with her, but I’m not going to try to be little. It’s just not my thing. I don’t wanna even try.” “What will you do with her,” Mary asked. I shrugged. “Whatever she wants. I’ll offer to be her sitter for the day. We can do whatever she wants. If she wants to play little games, that’s fine. I’ll play along. I’m just … it’s not my thing. I don’t have that headspace.” True story. Really. “We can both play with her. We’ll make it a fun day for her.” “I hope so. Why do you think she’s asking? She gets to be little with Lisa whenever she wants. Have you talked to her lately?” “Not in a week or two. Nothing is going on that I know of.” “Then maybe she really does want time with a little,” I reasoned. She gets to be little on her own all the time. “So … I can play with her. I just can’t be in that headspace.” “Daffy,” my very reasonable wife said, “just tell her no. If you don’t want to …” “It’s not just that I don’t. It’s that I can’t. I’m not a little. I don’t do the whole headspace thing … And I don’t really wanna try to fake it. It’s … It’s just not fun for me. It’s boring.” Mary gave me one of her why-are-you-overthinking-this looks. “Why are you overthinking this?” See? “I’m not.” “Yes you are. Just tell her she can come over and play but that you aren’t going to be little. You’ll play with her, but not as a little.” “But that’s not what she asked.” Ya know what? I was overthinking this. “So eager to please. You know you can’t be that way.” “Just trying to do something nice for her. She is my second best friend ya know.” “Who’s you’re first?” “You.” She knew I was gonna say that and gave me a smooch and a squeeze anyway. “I like that you want to do nice things for your friends. You’ll both have a good time, and I’m sure you’ll think of something to make it even more fun. Text her back right now.” So I texted her, “Sure! You can come over and have little time. I’ll play with you, but not as a little. But we’ll have fun! I’ll think of some fun things, and we can do whatever you want. Mary says she’ll play too.” Jane was either staring at her phone anyway or was waiting for me to text her back cuz she responded right away and said yes. There was a smiley face, so whether she was disappointed or not, she didn’t say and I couldn’t tell. “All set,” Mary asked me. “Yep.” “Good. We’ll have fun. Go get your shoesies on.” Ugh, with the baby babble. “Where are we going?” “Not sure yet. We’ll figure it out when we get on the road, but we hafta deal with your behavior.” What the fernopter fruhlinhoffer? “What behavior?!? I didn’t do anything!” In case she didn’t notice, I was just sitting there talking to her trying to figure out how to do a nice thing for our friend. There’s no way I could’ve misbehaved! And I should know because I was there! “Daphne Ann,” she said in her I-have-the-authority voice, “you do not hit.” “I didn’t! What are you even talking about? I didn’t hit anyone.” “You hit me right on the shoulder, little girl.” “But but but but … that was a love tap! It was playful! You were teasing me!” “Doesn’t matter. You do not hit.” “That doesn’t even count as hitting! I never hit anyone.” The one time I tried to top someone else, I ended up crying and they ended up comforting me. I’m not a hitter. I don’t hit. I don’t I don’t I don’t! “I decide what counts, and not only do little girls not hit, they never, ever hit their dommes. It’s disrespectful.” Well, that put a slightly different twist on it that had a little more validity, but still, “Bullcrap!” “Daphne Ann, I’m going to count to three, and if you’re not putting your shoes on by the time I’m finished …” Why the heck does she think counting scares me? I’m not five! I’m not a little girl! Really!!! “Count til you’re hoarse for all I care!” And the thing is, if there had been a mirror in front of me, I’d have been able to look in it and see the line I’d just crossed right behind me. “Um, what I meant is woah! Mary, no!” SPANK SPANK SPANK! “You (SPANK). Do (SPANK). Not (SPANK). Hit (SPANK). “Can we at least stop and appreciate the irony!?! Ow ow ow! Marrry!” “And (SMACK). You (SPANK). Do (SWAT). As (SPANK). You’re (SPANK). Told (SPANK SPANK SMACK SPANK!). Are you ready to put your shoes on?” “Or what? You’ll spank me some more! Eep! Ow ow ouch!” So … that would be a yes. She coulda just said yes. “Do I need to take your pants down?” More irony - she spanks me for not getting dressed, and her solution is to take off more of my clothes. Must be nice being a domme and being freed from the need to be logical, like, at all. “No! I’ll put my shoes on. Geez!” SPANK!!!! “OUCH!! Marrry, be gentle! I have a very delicate bottom.” She scortled at that. “No you don’t. Up. Get your shoes.” I slid off her lap, not that I’m even sure how I got there in the first place, and almost but not quite dodged the swat I knew she was gonna send me off with. “Why are we leaving the house? Can’t you just punish me here?” Because reasons, like I didn’t want to get spanked in public. The only time that ever happens is when we’re already in public, and not exactly a fan. And about the irony - submitting to her to stop the spanking … so she can spank me somewhere else. I need less irony in my life, or it could take a less painful form. “First off, i never punish you. I give you consequences for your bad choices. Second, ya know how when you misbehave away from home, you get spanked at home? New rule: misbehave at home, and I’ll spank your bottom in public,” she said like she was so darn proud of herself and her stupid innovation that is so stupid but also kinda like woah and maybe a little titillating. But before it was titillating, which actually it isn’t and never has been and is just mean and cruel and unfair, her new rule stopped me in my tracks, one shoe on. “What the heck kind of crapping nonsense is that with your smug smirk right now and (dolphin chatter) and friggin (howler monkeys fighting) and (slamming of piano lid), Mary!” “Who makes the rules?” “Marrry…” “Who. Makes. The. Rules, little girl?” Dammit! “Stop calling me that! I’m not a little girl!” “Daphne Ann Taylor, you are throwing a tantrum like one. Who makes the rules?” A tantrum is the cry of the oppressed, so even if I were throwing a tantrum, and I wasn’t because I don’t do that, it would be justified. But, sigh … “You make the rules. But, what, we’re gonna leave the house every time you wanna spank me?” “Daffy, you know I don’t spank you because I want to.” O my god such lies! Lies and wickedness! “I spank you because you need spankings.” Truth, but let’s not focus on that. “And no, we’re not going to leave the house every time you need your bottom warmed.” “But you just said!” “I know what I just said, but I think I’m going to unmake that rule later today.” Blink-blink, my eyes went. All I heard was the sound of blood rushing through my ears. “Put your other shoe on, unless you need help.” “I’ll give you some help, you mumble mumble murmur,” I mumbled and murmured. “What was that?” “There. My shoe’s on. Where are you gonna do this mean thing to me?” “If you don’t take your consequence like the good girl I know you are, I won’t buy you lunch.” Ooo, my wife knows I’m a good girl. Heehee! “You will, too,” I called her bluff. She tilted her head a little. “Yeah, I will, but I’ll make you eat asparagus.” “Ew.” “Come along,” she said and took my hand to lead me toward the garage. “Just need to get my purse and your diaper bag.” “Awww, really?” “Really.” If Jane ever fully understood what playing with Mary could mean - not that we’re playing; this is how we are - I’m not sure she’d wanna come within a mile of our house. As for Mary, it’s a good thing I like her and stuff. Like, all the stuff. Even the mean (actually kinda nice) bits. Really.

This is a sequel to "Fair is Fair" Marion Thompson didn’t believe in Maturosis. She didn’t think that Littles had some rare genetic defect that made it so that one day out of the blue they started acting like babies. That was just some fad pseudoscience meant to dress up a fact of life. Littles NEEDED to be diapered and disciplined and treated like the babies they were both for their own good and for the good of society as a whole. No one questioned why it was best to keep cats indoors with a litter box: If you didn’t they’d end up shitting everywhere, having kittens with no regard for the ecosystem, and murdering birds. It’s just what cats did. The same was true for Littles...except for maybe the bird murder part. The point is, it’s just what was done and needed to be done to keep everyone coexisting happily and healthily. If a cat resisted it’s treatment and cried and begged to be treated like something it wasn’t, vets didn’t invent a new term and talk about how their “Caturosis” hadn’t kicked in yet. Granted, it was more complex where Littles were concerned. There were enough genetic similarities between Amazons and them that they could breed with each other; a thoroughly disturbing idea but Tweeners had to originate from somewhere. The point being, Marion knew, was that some people just needed to be treated as their True Age instead of their Chronological Age and those people were overwhelmingly Littles. Marion had gotten her start in a daycare for Littles when she’d been a teenager. There she’d earned a living changing the diapers of and bottle feeding people who were a quarter her size and twice her age. The new ones were always so rebellious; so fussy; but that only proved that they needed to be treated like toddlers or less. Eventually, usually within a month or two of enrollment, she’d break them into happy Little babies, calling her Mrs. Thompson or Nanny. The right kind of rewards. The right kind of punishments. A few special cartoons just in case, and they’d be good Little boys and girls, babbling, filling their pants and generally being cute. But they never thanked her; usually because most of their True Ages were pre-talking. Mrs. Thompson wasn’t one to cosset, but there was still a decided emotional drain that came with having to deal with the same squalling brats who were completely ungrateful for the gifts they were being given. Even if you were good at taming feral cats, you could only get scratched by them so many times before you started resenting it; even if scratching and hissing is just what feral cats did. It’s why after decades of working in Little care, she’d left New Beginnings and moved out of Oakshire to start her own business. Setting up and running her own small business wasn’t that different than running a daycare. Like a daycare, so much of the hard work was in preparation, maintenance, and maintaining essential supplies. A few years ago, she’d been the heir apparent in terms of chain of command, and had taken all of those skills with her. What was better about running a coffeehouse is that she had the ability to kick troublesome customers out on their ass at the first sign of trouble. Not that she’d had many of those in the last few years. Coffee was just as commonplace as daycares, if not more so, and as long as it was a pleasant and positive experience for her customers and her prices reasonable, they kept coming back: Every morning before work, ordering minor bakery items through their lunch break or working on their never-to-be-published novels, and getting that last caffeine rush to go before an all nighter study session. If anything, her experience at managing tots that would never grow up helped her keep her employees in line: No shiftless layabouts playing on their phones every spare second. No old failures just waiting out the clock until retirement. The people who worked for her cared about their jobs and took pride in it. Motivating employees was just as easy as the tools she used to manage her former charges. Carrots, sticks, vague promises that needn’t come to fruition, rewards and competition; all the same stuff in principle. It was just a matter of making unpleasant employees work unpleasant hours until they straightened up and dangling minor raises and promotions instead of leaving them in messy diapers or promising addictive sweets. Different actions, same principle, identical effects. No. Marion Thompson didn’t cosset. She didn’t miss working in the daycare industry either. Her own small business was enough. And then Gwenny had pooped herself… The Amazon girl laid half in Marion’s lap on the floor, sucking on Marion’s tits. Marion felt the milk coming out of her and into the girl’s mouth. The pills she’d taken had done their job, and Gwenny was such an enthusiastic feeder, that Marion’s breasts produced more than enough milk to keep up with the demand. She probably didn’t need to take them anymore. Probably. Gwenny squirmed in quiet agony. She was completely naked save for the sopping wet diaper she’d worn since last night, and her hair was a brown and tangled bedhead mess. Mrs. Thompson had been completely clothed and her blonde hair perfectly coiffed before she’d entered Gwenny’s room. She looked around the makeshift nursery approvingly, as she unclasped the other cup of her nursing bra and switched Gwenny over to her other breast. Gwenny continued to moan, her hands itching at playing with herself. She’d needed welted knuckles and duct taped oven mitts to finally break the habit. No cumming with Mommy’s permission. It wasn’t quite a proper nursery, Marion knew. The crib was a modified hospital cot for the infirm and senile. The changing table was a second hand massage table. The diapers were FAR too big for a baby, and not nearly cute enough. But the bunny themed wall border was appropriate. The toy box and its contents were real. The air smelled wonderfully of baby powder with just a hint of ammonia and the sheets on the crib and changing table were tastefully pink. A couple packs of stickers from the dollar store would do the job of decorating her diapers, besides. Come to think of it, there might be some cute stencils that with a fabric marker might “Little up” the sheets. Gwenny would do it all of course. One of her chores. “For Mommy.” The poor, wonderful girl would do anything “for Mommy”. She’d debase herself. Humiliate herself. Be teased relentlessly by people who should be her immature inferiors. All Littles were babies. But not all babies were Littles. What was Gwenny? Gwenny was special. Speaking of special; time for Gwenny’s special treat. Leaning back a bit, Mrs. Thompson reached under Gwenny’s crib. “Does baby girl want her zoom zoom?” She dangled the massage wand over her charge’s head. Another carrot. Gwenny’s eyes leered up from her Mommy’s breasts, hungry for release. “Mmmhmm!” She knew better than to take the tit out of her mouth. Good girl. Very good girl. She adjusted Gwenny so the girl was more on her back. More comfortable. Gwenny deserved a little bit of comfort from this. But not too comfortable. “If you’re all done drinking milk before you finish,” Marion said. “I’m taking it away and you’ll have to wait till we get back home to try again.” The younger Amazon took the wand, switched it on and started grinding against the buzzing stick with all her might through the soggy padding. She didn’t close her eyes. She looked up lovingly, at her Mommy. Her Mommy looked back with equal adoration. Thirty seconds later, Gwenny stopped moaning and was gasping for breath, panting in ecstasy. “Thank you,” she said. “Thank you, Mommy. Thank you so much…” That. That made this all the more special. Regular babies Gwenny’s age could do everything she’d just done. But they’d never thank her. Marion gave her girl a soft smile and guided her up into a sitting position. She patted her back just long enough to get a single burp out of her and then looked at the hoot owl clock on the nursery wall. Time to get moving. “Up we go, little girl.” She guided Gwenny to her feet. The diaper, now worn for about ten hours, wet, and mashed all to heck, hung from the Amazon girl’s hips like a garbage back. She led her over to the repurposed massage table. “Time to get you changed.” Gwenny boosted herself onto the padded mat and held her breath, waiting for the inevitable relief. Marion obliged her and quickly undid all four tapes. She’d have preferred to take her time, but they were in danger of being late. She’d have to start earlier tomorrow. Marion didn’t have a bathtub in her home, and she valued her own privacy from time to time, so she let the girl bathe herself, provided she submitted for inspection immediately after toweling off. The only time Gwenny wasn’t wearing a diaper was between changes and while bathing (as it should be). “Someone’s a very wet girl,” she cooed down at Gwenny. “Such a soggy bottom! But Mommy will take care of that.” Gwenny blushed, her light and likely embarrassed giggles muted slightly by her thumb. “Up we go,” she said. This was a game as well as a command. Her big baby obeyed and lifted her legs and hips. “Hmmm...no poopies,” Mrs. Thompson said, giving the girl’s backside a wipe. A second pass, and then the old diaper was balled up and gone; tossed into the lidded trash can beside the changing table. The new diaper quickly followed, and Gwenny tried to put her legs down. “Ah-ah-ah!” “Phorry Mommy,” Gwenny said. “That’s okay, baby,” her Mommy replied. She grabbed the tub of rash cream next to the stack of diapers and started spreading it thick and quick on Gwenny’s cheeks. Better a lot of cream than even a little rash. Some extra baby powder masked the scent well enough. “Okay, baby.” Gwenny lowered her hips and sighed as Marion She’d give Gwenny some of her own “special syrup” for lunch if she hadn’t gone number two by then. The liquid training chocolate, even in small doses, could potentially cause bowel incontinence in Littles. She’d used it plenty of time to trick stubborn Littles into liking their diapers and gave them the stuff even after their paper mache adulthood crumbled off their faces. It could very well have the same long term effects on Gwenny too, but the big baby girl probably wasn’t potty trained anymore anyways. A constipated baby was a fussy baby. Couldn’t have that. Like she’d been trained, Gwenny sat up after the diaper change and gave her Mommy a hug. “Thank you, Mommy.” “You’re welcome, Gwenny.” She gave her girl a kiss on the forehead. “Can I dress myself for wor...I mean chores?” Marion looked at the clock. Despite the intimacy, it’d be for the best in terms of efficiency. “You may, dear.” Gwenny waddled off to her closet and began dressing herself for the day. It was a shame, Marion mused, that they didn’t make true baby clothes in Amazon sizes. Gwenny’s padded tush would look absolutely gorgeous. So far she’d made do with tiny t-shirts and frilly nighties at home. Marion was still in the process of finding a tailor to hem some Lolita style dresses she’d found that covered too much of the diaper. Gwenny’s diaper was never completely uncovered, even at work. Gwenny came back out wearing a bra and t-shirt, and a denim skirt that made it so that the younger Amazon would have to be very careful about bending over...or not. “Is this okay, Mommy?” “That will do,” Marion replied. She quickly grabbed a thick brush and dragged it across Gwenny’s head. “Let me help with your hair.” Just like her mother had taught her, Marion quickly and efficiently got the tangles out in rapid and small strokes, patch by patch. “Get some diapers for your bag.” “Already packed my diaper bag, Mommy.” Gwenny was beaming. “Did it before you tucked me into my crib. A bit of genuine pride filled Mrs. Thompson’s breast. “Such a good girl. Now let’s hurry. We can’t keep Samantha waiting.” “Yes, Mommy.” ************************************************************************************* The lights to the shop were already on when Marion unlocked the door and stepped inside. Samantha’s head just barely cleared the countertop, but she waved nonetheless. “Good morning, Mrs. Thompson!” then she added slyly, “Hiii Gwenny.” “Good morning, Samantha.” Mrs. Thompsons replied, warmly enough. She shot a look at Gwenny. “Monin’ Samantha…” Gwenny blushed and looked away from the Tweener. A few months ago, Gwenny would have been attempting to intimidate her co-worker, combined with veiled threats of diapering or tiny jabs at how immature Samantha was. The changing tables had turned, however. “How are you, baby Gwenny?” Samantha asked. “Ready to work today?” “Mmhmmm…” Gwenny mumbled, still not quite used to taking orders from the shorter woman. “Speak up,” Gwenny said. “You know our customers don’t like it when you mumble. Use your words.” Approvingly, Mrs. Thompson watched a bit of extra blush creeped into Gwenny’s cheeks. “Yes, Samantha.” If it weren’t for her height, the girl might’ve made a spectacular Amazon. She was a far better adult than Gwenny, anyways. It stood to reason, though. If ALL Littles were babies and MOST Amazons were adults, then at least SOME Tweeners should have the maturity to make it in the world without a bigger wiser person needing to hold their hand every step of the way. In that regard Samantha was sort of special, too, Marion supposed. “Oh, Gwenny,” Samantha gushed. “You sure do look pretty today, young lady.” “Thank y-” Gwenny was interrupted with an audible sniff? “But are you soggy, already? Poopy?” The big baby started to pale, in part because she might not have completely known. The faintest hint of a smile, just the barest hint of a threat came across the owner’s countenance. “Why do you ask, Samantha? Would you like to check?” Samantha didn’t miss a beat. “Only if you’d like me to, ma’am.” It came so quickly, so automatically. Good. Certain boundaries still had to be respected. Gwenny was a big baby, but she was Mrs. Marion Thompson’s baby. Samantha was clever, especially for a Tweener, but she wasn’t just a Tweener. “I’ll think she’ll hold up till her lunch break,” Marion said. She looked to Gwenny. “What do you think, Gwenny?” Fun fact, not really a question. “Yes, Mommy.” “Good girl.” Marion started walking back to the little room that served as her office. “Ready your station, sweetie. Samantha?” “Yes, Ma’am?” “With me, please.” The Tweener fell quickly into line behind her. “I’ve been going over the books.” “Yes, ma’am?” “We’ve had a steady growth in business the last few months.” This was fact. “Yes, ma’am.” “Even after all the extra highchairs we ordered.“ Another fact. The uptick in their business, not coincidentally she knew, came primarily from parents of Littles, though there was another new form of clientele as well. The parents needed more seats to place permanently padded bottoms. Assuming the shop’s recent momentum stayed constant, the new furniture would be a worthwhile investment. “Correct.” Hmmm...not a ‘Yes, ma’am’. Interesting. Marion walked into the little room that served as her office and took a seat behind her desk. Smartly, Samantha stayed standing with her hands clasped behind her back, waiting to be invited to sit. Marion wasn’t going to invite her to sit; not out of discourtesy but the practical fact that this meeting wasn’t going to be taking long. She opened her ledger where she had left it the night before and looked at her notes. “I see you’ve put in more requests for cream and milk.” It wasn’t a question. “We’re running through a lot more than we used to.” Marion gave her subordinate a look that made it clear that more than ‘Yes, ma’am’ would be required this time. “We’ve been selling milk and cream.” Samantha swallowed, clearly choosing her words carefully. “So that the Littles have something to drink too. In their bottles. Makes their Mommy’s and Daddy’s more comfortable sitting and sipping with them.” Marion kept her face straight. “And Gwenny’s special ingredient? The chocolate training syrup?” She could have sworn she saw the slightest flinch in the Tweener’s mask. Samantha regained her composure so quickly that Marion doubted herself. “I never charge extra for it. And only give it to good Little boys and girls who are behaving.” Ah. So that’s what that mother had meant the other day thanking her in passing for the ‘Special Treat’. “Does the rest of the staff know about this?” “Yes ma’am.” “Even on your days off?” “It helps our tips.” Not what Marion had asked, but good to know. An answer without an affirmative. Marion closed her ledger and stared down the Tweener still standing across from her. “Whose idea was it?” The first real pause. Then Samantha finally said. “Mine.” Accountability. Good. She might learn from this yet. “Put it on the menu.” “Ma’am?” “Put the milk for Littles on the menu. Complimentary still, but let our customers know about it.” She took a moment to let her employee take a relieved breath. “Keep the special add-in strictly under the table.” “Yes, ma’am.” Samantha nodded. She seemed intrigued by the idea, as if she hadn’t thought of the benefits of good advertising before. “You can have Gwenny put it up on the board high where she can reach.” A slight grin pulled at the right corner of her mouth. She pictured Gwenny having to get on a stool to put it on the menu board above the barista counter. No way to hide what she was wearing like that. The same thought must have crossed Samantha’s mind. Why else would she be grinning? “Yes, Ma’am.” She waited until Marion waved her off and then turned around to leave. “Oh, and Samantha?” The Tweener froze. “Make sure that any and all of the syrup we give away goes into Little tummies, and Little tummies only. Is that understood?” A single bead of sweat. “Yes Ma’am.” And with that she was gone up front. Samantha had likely been hoping that her boss didn’t suspect her. There was no suspect. Security cameras had confirmed enough. Gwenny had tried to outwit a Little that was going through an adult phase, and the Little and Samantha had turned the tables on her. Marion didn’t have a problem with this. Served Gwenny right, back then. Try and argue or match wits with a child and it shows how childish you really are when they beat you. It just wouldn’t do for Samantha, any of her employees, to get too ambitious. *********************************************************************************** “Mrs. Thompson?” Samantha’s voice rang in. She sounded slightly rushed and not in the usual way. “We kind of need you out here.” Marion looked up from her desk. It was unusual for anyone to barge in without knocking. She looked at her desk and thought she had her explanation. They were in the middle of the lunch rush. Yuppy interns and twenty somethings were streaming in to get their caffeine rush and some pre-packaged croissants since they were too overworked, time crunched, and cash strapped to get anything more filling. Marion got up and took her own personal apron off a coat rack by the door. “Did Ramon not come in on time? Is Marissa trying to take another break?” “It’s not that,” Samantha shook her head. “It’s Gwenny. She needs you. Badly. Leak. Blow out.” Marion inhaled but didn’t let herself seem bothered, even as every instinct in her told her to rush out. Though often in haste, she must never seem hurried. She finished tying the apron- she’d need it anyways- and grabbed Gwenny’s diaper bag from off the adjoining hook. “Get a mop.” “Marissa is already on it,” Samantha reported. “ Ramon’s holding Gwenny’s hand to stop her from fussing too much.” Then she added. “I came to get you because I had the easiest time maneuvering through the crowd.” So there was a crowd. No matter. Better than no matter; good even. While changing a diaper was never pleasant- an adult sized one that had been ruined beyond capacity acting as a multiplier on said unpleasantness-.the crowd would bring with it certain benefits. Combined with a certain feeling- maybe it was practicality; maybe it was the last vestiges of a proper maternal instinct - and Marion genuinely wanted to change Gwenny. She would have preferred to wait till after the lunch rush to do it, but if such accidents could be predicted, diapers would be largely unnecessary. The crowd hushed as Marion’s heels clicked on the hard floor, signalling her approach. Only the whimpering of one or two fussy Littles not in daycare registered when she came into sight. The dining room was packed. Not quite standing room only, but no one was sitting down. Everyone wanted a view of what was about to happen. Like courtiers in the presence of a queen, they parted for her. By everything holy she loved this part. If she had known that “adopting” a young Amazon woman would get her this level of satisfaction, she’d have done it much sooner. Ramon, who was either a very tall Tweener or an Amazon that could do with a few inches stood holding Gwenny’s hand, patting the back of it in an act of condescending comfort. Marissa was busy behind the counter scrubbing Gwenny’s “spill”. It very likely wasn’t THAT bad, but the optics of seeing someone scrubbing the site were just as important as the actual cleaning itself. People wanted to see certain things; to know that proper action was being taken for them. People wanted justice. And Marion wasn’t just thinking about cleaning up messes. The smell of Gwenny’s backside hit Marions nose over the coffee beans just as she stepped into the girl’s bubble. Marion didn’t flinch. She’d smelled worse. As a responsible adult, she’d started heavily regulating her girl’s diet to lessen constipation as well as odor. Besides, she was used to it. “Gwenny?” The Amazon girl didn’t look up. “Gwenny did you have an accident?” Gwenny nodded, sullenly, but didn’t say anything. “Gwenny I need an answer.” “Yes, Mommy.” The girl’s voice sounded choked, her throat tight. Marion tilted her chin up with her forefinger. “Do big girls have accidents in their panties?” She saw Gwenny blanch and drew a slight thrill from the fact that she could still make the girl wince after all this time. “No, Mommy.” “But you’re not wearing panties, are you?” Gwenny knew how the script went from here. “No, Mommy.” “Why not?” “Because I can’t be trusted.” “To…?” “Because I can’t be trusted to wear big girl panties…” “Because…?” A pause. “Because I’m just a big baby.” There was no applause this time, but she knew the audience behind her were almost universally nodding in agreement with her. She heard a few Mommy’s whispering to their Littles how Gwenny was just like them. “Do you want me to change your diaper?” “No.” A gasp from the crowd. Marion felt a brief jolt but contained her temper. There was no hint of defiance from Gwenny. Neither her tone, nor posture indicated rebellion. No glint of insincerity either; as so many Littles failed to conceal after they learned that direct defiance got them a spanking. “I don’t WANT you to change my diaper, Mommy. I just wanna keep working and making coffee. But I NEED you to change my diaper. And as a baby, I NEED you to take care of me, because I don’t know how to take care of myself. So if you say I need a diaper change, then I need a diaper change.” A chorus of “Awwww” punctuated Gwenny’s statement. The assembled crowd. Were she not the pillar of strength that she was, Marion might have melted right then and there. In her own, bizarre way, Gwenny was showing a kind of maturity that she’d lacked in a previous life. If only Littles were capable of this kind of introspection. She gently took the young woman’s hand from Ramon and started leading her towards the ladies’ room. “Here let me help you, Mrs. Thompson,” a customer said, holding the door open for them. “Thank you.” Marion said. She pointed to a wooden wedge right by the inside door. “Would you mind?” “Not at all.” The pine triangle was jammed underneath the door, letting everyone who wanted a peek inside simply need to crane their neck. Certain edicts from the Health Department discouraged if not outright prevented Marion from laying Gwenny down and changing her diaper right then and there in front of everyone, but that was okay. She didn’t want anyone thinking it was okay to change their babies on her nice clean floor or her otherwise pristine tables, either. Lead by example, and all that. But she didn’t want to change Gwenny in private always, either. Babies had no right to modesty. More importantly, Amazons being permanently diapered was a rare enough occurrence that the business woman in Marion worried that Gwenny might be seen as an actor. Actors slipped fake things into prop diapers and then and “got changed” in private dressing rooms. The local food service industry was cutthroat enough that competitors might say or do anything to discredit each other. What she could do, however, was set up other adult sized changing table in the bathrooms in clear view of the doorway, and leave the door open so that if anyone happened to glance in, they’d see the act of maternal care easily. None of the stalls or safeguards ensuring adult privacy had been compromised, and no one objected otherwise, so there was nothing any government official had to say on the matter. Gwenny walked into the restroom as she had close to a hundred times by now, and hopped up on the makeshift changing table. This one was a particularly strong and sturdy table, padded with multiple repurposed nap mats; the kind marketed for Kindergarteners and Littles trustworthy enough to not need cribs at daycare. The poor thing’s eye twitched a bit as she felt her own mess squish out beneath her. A few of the onlookers pressed certain societal advantages. “Oh, somebody else needs a change,” one of the Mommies said to their Little. “Might as well get in line.” Clever. Anyone else wanting to use the restroom would be expected to find a stall and excuse themselves. A few did, anyways. During one of Gwenny’s changes last week, a woman decided to “go potty” right then and constantly be talking about how great it felt to be an adult. A bit tacky, if you asked Marion, but it wasn’t hurting anyone, least of all Gwenny. The men folk were just out of luck. “Let’s get those shoes off.” Marion instructed. She slipped the sneakers off easily and then honed in on Gwenny’s skirt. She quickly yanked it down off of Gwenny’s legs and inspected it. “Awww, poor baby,” she said. “You leaked on your skirt.” The skirt’s edges were darkened with wet patches and brown stain near the hem. Such stains might have been caused by her laying down on the changing table just now. “We might have to invest in some plastic panties for you.” Hmmm..thinking of the plastic pants, if she could find some adult sized that were colored, she might not need stickers to decorate her baby’s diapers. The main reason diapers had cartoons on them is because adults had to look at them too. Marion gingerly folded up the skirt and shoved it into a large ziplock bag she kept in a spare compartment for just such emergencies. ‘Unfortunately’ for Gwenny, she hadn’t thought to pack her diaper bag with any extra skirts. In the meantime, Gwenny soothed herself by sucking on her thumb. Were there even pacifiers big enough for an Amazon? Marion supposed that the silencing soothers- the kind with the inflatable bulbs so Littles couldn’t spit them out - could work. Would a pacifier clip be too gauche? Something to consider for later. The diaper change went very much like any other. “Someone’s tummy finally caught up to her.” Marion teased. “It’s a good thing Mommy put that cream on your bum-bum this morning or you might have a rash.” Gwenny just sucked her thumb and averted her eyes. “She’s all done growing up too,” the Mommy behind Marion said. “But she still needs her Mommy to take care of her.” There are no whispers in a room tiled with linoleum. Marion paid it no mind, instead focusing on every nook and cranny of Gwenny’s lower body to wipe down and sanitize. This really was quite a load and she didn’t want to risk infection. “You made Mommy a big present, didn’t you baby?” This was true in more than just the obvious. Gwenny had put the coffee shop on the map. With the invention of Maturosis, fewer and fewer people without Little DNA in their blood were being thought to be immature despite all other conflicting data. Tweeners were getting off lighter. Amazons were bulletproof not because they deserved it but because people were starting to think it impossible that their behavior might warrant the proper treatment. It was a slippery slope from there. Babies like Gwenny were proof and a reminder: Proof that Amazon society cared and corrected for individuals in need of care and correction, regardless of size. That Amazons weren’t the crazy tyrants hidden in shades of pleasant pastel that Littles and their allies painted them to be. Gwenny and her societal demotion, besides being the best thing for her, was a reminder to society that Amazons as a whole were nothing if not equal opportunity. Amazon love was tough, but fair. That reminder had been the catalyst for increasing business and profit margins. The store had been doing more and more business as word had spread around the neighborhood and throughout the city that there was a diapered Amazon who worked full time at a coffee shop. A diapered Amazon that was cooed at and teased by a Tweener with near impunity. An Amazon who sucked her thumb and was changed in near-public by her employer/Mommy, and whose face lit up when random strangers thanked her for their coffee by calling her a good girl and leaving notes about it in the tip jar. Mommies with rambunctious Littles would come to prove a point to themselves and their forever children about the world and their own actions. Others came to remind themselves that some people still practiced what they preached. Some people? Some people might have just liked watching. If they gave her money, she didn’t care what their motivations were. “Much more cream this time,” Marion said after she’d wiped away the mess. She said it loud enough that those in the back would be able to hear. “Just in case.” Slightly overstimulated, Gwenny hid her face behind her hands, as Marion caked on the next layer of rash cream. There wasn’t enough powder in a bottle to completely cover up the smell this time. Out of courtesy, she still gave Gwenny a thorough dusting before wiping her hands and taping on the fresh nappy. The diaper went on and like a good girl, Gwenny reached up so that Marion could pull her up to a sitting position. The sneakers went back on. “Ready to go back to work? Gwenny looked down at her diaper and gave it a poke. It was only now just occurring to her that no replacement bottom would be coming “Can I still have an apron on?” “Of course you can.” It wouldn’t stop anyone from seeing the truth when she turned around. At all. “I love you, Mommy.” “I love you too, baby girl.” The two hugged and Gwenny started waddling to the bathroom entrance. Marion didn’t move. “Samantha!” The Tweener’s frame was in the doorway before her name had finished echoing. She already had a full Amazon apron folded like a towel in her hands. Dang, that girl was good. Definitely management material. “Yes, Mrs. Thompson?” “Give Gwenny some chocolate milk for being so good during her diaper change.” The fact that the milk would more than ensure the next change needn’t be spoken. Samantha frowned. “I’m sorry, Ma’am, but I thought…” Marion beat her subordinate to the punch. “Gwenny’s special, Samantha. It’s okay.” It didn’t matter if exposure to the stuff risked incontinence. Gwenny wasn’t ever going to need those big girl panties again; not if Marion had a say in it. “Yes, ma’am.” Samantha said. Then she smartly added. “Better safe than sorry is all.” “Of course.” Marion saw Samantha hand the apron to Gwenny. Gwenny draped it over her shoulders, and Samantha busied herself tying it in the back for her. “Gwenny, aren’t you gonna thank your Mommy for the yummy milk she said you could have?” Gwenny went stiff in the legs. “Yes. I’m sorry.” She turned and looked back to Marion. “Thank you Mommy. For the...treat.” More awwws from the lookie-loos. That. That was when Samantha earned the managerial position. The Tweener had a killer instinct about her. Her worker bees left the restroom and continued to ring up orders. Marion stayed. She pivoted toward the mother and her Little. A blonde bald boy in shortalls that bulged from the inside from all the swelling in his diaper. “Would you like me to change him?” “Oh...um...well sure, if you don’t mind.” The mother replied. The Little looked to his mother as if he’d been betrayed, but didn’t say anything. The soother between his lips prevented him from doing so. “It’s okay,” Marion said. “I used to help manage a daycare. I know how to help babies of all sizes.” The words ‘all sizes’ echoed to emphasize her point. The kid was soaked, but not leaking. Marion was fast and professional, not nearly as sensual or slow as she was with Gwenny. Though she did constantly reinforce what a cute baby he was and how he was nowhere near potty training and how much he needed his Mommy based on the state of his diaper. Just like Gwenny, the Little hid his face behind his hands. So cute, no matter the size. Due to speed and scale, the change was much faster paced, but Marion knew her job wasn’t done yet. While she buttoned snaps on the shortalls up over the fresh Wuvs, Marion’s ears picked up the sounds of quarters rattling down a vending machine coin slot. Another customer. “Here you go. Good as new.” She handed the Little back to his mother. “If you think he’s earned it, make sure to ask my Tweener employee for a milk. On the house. You can make it chocolate if he needs a special treat.” Marion didn’t need to emphasize anything or nudge or wink. “Thank you,” the woman said. “Come on Philly, let’s go get some chocky milk.” The Little gurgled with happiness behind the pacifier. At least it sounded like happiness to Marion. “Excuse me.” A new voice said. Marion turned and looked down but didn’t have to look far. The sound was coming from another Amazon, an inch or so taller than Gwenny by Marion’s estimation. She was dressed very professionally, with wire rim glasses and her hair back in a bun. She looked very smart in her blazer and knee length skirt. All the same, she was still young, twenty-one at most. An intern. A woman-child dressed to look older, more grown-up than she really was on the inside. “What can I do for you, sweetie?” Through her glasses, Marion made out red, cried out eyes and fresh humiliation. Her lips were dry. The mary jane shoes and frilly socks were another hint at what might be going on. The difference between pantyhose that a professional woman might wear and a little girl in tights were subtle, but obvious to anyone who knew to look. The young lady shifted subtly from one foot to another, and clutched an adult diaper in her hands. The protective undergarment in her grasp wasn’t the source of the crinkle everytime she nervously swayed her hips. Even used to it and almost smellblind to the scent of old ammonia, methane and baby powder, Marion guessed that the faint odor she was breathing in wasn’t coming from the lidded garbage can. “My name is Rebeccah, and I was very bad at my work.” She admitted. “I took longer breaks than were mandated by company policy, and blamed it on being in the bathroom.” This had a rote quality to it. A naughty child reciting their lessons. “My supervisor is correcting this problem and has brought me here on my lunch break.” She held out the diaper like it was a shield, or perhaps a steak for a hungry lion. “Would you please change me?” This was the other reason business had ticked up. When young Amazons stepped out of line, her shop was becoming a proper place to give them a much needed dose of humility. Marion looked past the girl and saw a woman about her age standing back with her arms crossed; the corporate mother hen making sure her bratty child did right by her punishment and responsibilities. The two older women locked eyes and nodded. “And why do you need changing?” The intern sniffed and gulped, her eyes begging for not having to be said out loud.. If she was looking for Mercy, Mrs. Thompson was not the person to ask for it. “I...I...I pooped myself.” “YOU WENT POOPIE IN YOUR DIAPER!” Just in case anyone in the back missed it. The young Amazon bowed her head and whispered. “Yes ma’am…” That was enough. Better to bend than snap them immediately. “Of course, sweetie,” Marion beamed. Hop on up, and I’ll be happy to get you all nice and clean, just like Gwenny.” The shudder from the younger lady was subtle, but she might as well have been openly weeping for Marion. She helped the newcomer lift her skirt and shimmy down her tights. “Oh these white tights are so cute on your legs. I bet you wish you could wear something just as adorable every day.” “No, ma’am.” She hopped up, cringing as the mess in her pants squished against her. This clearly wasn’t something she was used to. Marion untapped the diaper. “Oh wow, you really do need a change. You must’ve really needed to go potty.” “Yes, ma’am.” She quickly wiped the twenty-something down. “Good thing you were wearing a diaper. I bet you could be so much more efficient at your job without those icky potty breaks.” The girl didn’t blink, but her cheeks turned a peculiar shade of crimson. “I think I could manage my time just as effectively, ma’am.” She hastily included. “After I’ve earned it, I mean.” Marion decided not to include powder or cream for this one and just slid the new diaper from the vending machine under the girl once she lifted her hips. “That’s very mature.” “Thank you, ma’am.” Rebecca held up her skirt, properly chastised. “Will you please help me get my tights up.” “Of course, dear.” She shimmied it up the young lady’s hips, and considered checking ballet websites to find tights for Gwenny. Other baby girls got to take ballet in their cute tights and tutus. Why not hers? “Thank you, ma’am.” The intern hastened out of the bathroom. While the girl did her level best to disappear into the cafe’s assembled crowd, her supervisor met Marion halfway out. “Thank you very much,” the Amazon closer to Marion’s age said. “You have no idea how effective this is.” Marion searched her memory and thought of a handful of other Amazons she’d changed in the last few weeks. She thought she’d seen the supervisor before, too. “I think I might have an idea.” “If this continues on, it might become company policy.” The other woman winked at her. “Sending them here, I mean.” That made Marion smile. Good. More business. No complaints. “I’m very happy to help guide today’s youth.” She looked out the bathroom. “Of all ages and sizes.” Youth was subjective after all. “May she have some milk?” The woman asked politely. “If you think she’s earned it.” “I think she’s earned two whole bottles of chocolate milk.” “I said milk. Not chocolate milk.” The other woman cocked an eyebrow. “Why not chocolate milk?” Marion pointed out into the crowd to the still blushing woman. “Do you plan to keep...Rebeccah in diapers forever and make her your baby Becky?” The supervisor opened her mouth to scoff and then stopped. Her face took on a less smug and more contemplative look. “That remains to be seen for the moment.” “Then whether or not she gets chocolate milk remains to be seen as well.” “Ah.” The point had been made and taken. ******************************************************************************* A day or two later... “Mommy?” It was getting late. Closing time. The shop was closed and all the java junkies were being quietly persuaded to leave and go out to the places that they would be from. They didn’t have to go home, but they couldn’t stay here, and that was good enough for Marion. Marion was just finishing up the day’s accounting. “I’ll change you in a second, dear.” She didn’t look up, more than capable of multitasking. “No, it’s not that, I-?” “You don’t need changing?” “No, I mean I do, but I-” This time she looked up, feeling the slightest tinge of exasperation. “Are you leaking again?” If so she’d get changed, but then Marion would have to seriously reevaluate what kind of diapers she was using. “No, Mommy. But-” Marion waved her in. “Come in sweetie. Come sit in Mommy’s lap.” Being a full grown Amazon woman, it might become uncomfortable for Gwenny to be on her lap for more than a few minutes, but such bonding was important. Obediently, Gwenny did. Marion only needed to shift her leg and bob the girl a bit to feel just how thoroughly she’d used the diaper. She did need a change. She’d wait, though. “Mommy, I need ta tell you something.” One arm wrapped to steady her, Marion gave a quick kiss to her baby and looked down at her ledger. If only there was a way to further monetize these public changes. Sell tickets? Seek an official contract from the office building that was sending it’s slackers to her for public shaming? Nah. Too risky. “Yes, Gwenny, what is it now?” “Someone just came in, saying they wanted to talk to you.” “Mmmhmmm…” Marion replied. “Why didn’t Samantha come and get me? She’s the manager.” “The lady said it would be best if I did, an’ you say ‘the customer is always right’.” Gwenny lowered her voice to a conspiratorial stage whisper. “That and I think she scares Samantha.” That was something. Samantha didn’t scare easily. She might be short but she easily had more Amazon in her than Little. “Oh really?” Marion remarked. Gwenny might be stretching the truth, however. “And did you ask for this person’s name?” Gwenny seemed uncomfortable, and it had nothing to do with what was going on in her pants. “She told me that I should call her...Gramma.” The cafe’s owner looked up from her work in disbelief. “Gramma?” “Hello, Marion.” The form that filled the door was Marion’s equal in size and shape. Both had the same broad shoulders, wide hips, and buxom breasts. Her full head of hair billowing past her shoulders had lost most of its color, but a few rogue strands still had that golden sheen. Strands of treasure in a blanket of snow. If there was a mirror that showed what Marion would look like in twenty-five years, it might show her. “Mother…” Marion did her best to hide her shock, and her distaste. Her mother had been another reason why she’d gotten out of the Daycare business. It was very difficult to be your own person, even in your mid forties, when you were forever ‘Miriam Thompson’s daughter’. “Please, come in.” Her inflection had none of the geniality that her words did. She shifted Gwenny off her lap and gave her a little pat on the butt, a kind of silent code for ‘go play.” Gwenny made herself quiet in the corner of the office. A pink picnic blanket and some tinker toys were left there for when she got bored or would otherwise be in the way. Now was an excellent example of why such an investment was necessary. Mother walked in and sat down in the chair across from Marion’s desk without being invited. The power move did not go unnoticed. Still...family was family. “What can I do for you?” Marion asked. “I just heard some rumors,” Mother said casually. “And I wanted to see if they were true.” “What kind of rumors?” Oh to ask a question, even when one knew what the answer would be. Such was life. “That your coffee shop was booming, and that some of the more traditional family values were being promoted here.” She stole a glance behind her towards Gwenny. “Congratulations. I’m proud of you.” That caught Marion off guard. If she’d gotten more of that, she might still be working in daycare. “Thank you, Mother.” “Does your employee need changing?” Mother asked. “I can smell her from here. Go ahead. I don’t mind waiting.” The owner felt her jaw click into place. There it was. The same passive aggressive bullshit. “Her diaper will hold up just fine until we’re done. Gwenny is happy playing.” If she did change Gwenny in front of her mother, Marion could expect pointers or how she missed a spot or used too much cream or not enough powder, or perhaps the tapes weren’t going on at a correct angle. It was always something with Mother. “Or she could go change herself,” Mother pressed. “There aren’t any customers, so there’d be nothing stopping her from finding an empty stall and seeing to her own needs.” Mother couldn’t see it, but Gwenny’s head popped up as if it had been just suggested that she be abducted and probed by aliens. “That’s not likely,” Marion said. “Gwenny’s not mature enough to change her own diapers. She’s just a baby, after all.” “Aha!” A finger leveld itself at Marion’s face. “I knew it! You have adopted! You went and adopted without telling me!” Behind closed lids, Marion rolled her eyes and massaged her temples. “It’s not a secret, Mother. I’m Gwenny’s Mommy and she’s realized just where she needs to belong to be happy.” “Yes,” Mother said, “but you could have told me before you did it. We could have had a baby shower. Gotten proper furniture, clothes, the works. Thrown a party for her, for both of you.” She stopped and took another good look at Gwenny. “Granted, some items might be harder to procure than others give her size…” “I doubt you would’ve had time to make it,” Marion said. “Doesn’t New Beginnings still keep Littles overnight? I’m surprised you found the time to trek all the way here.” Mother started ticking items off on her fingers. “One, only the ones most in need. Two, the overnight services are completely automated, now. Three, I’m nearing retirement. Four, I’m allowed time off. You’d know all of that if you just read my emails. Now stop trying to change the subject. Why didn’t you tell me?” For fear of losing her temper, Marion looked past her mother and to her baby girl. It let her heart soften just a bit so as not to turn this into a screaming match. “It’s not something that was planned, Mother. It’s something that just...happened...and became its whole thing. It was just the stars aligning and I...I...did what came most naturally.” Mother leaned back in her chair. “That is love, isn’t it?” She had seemed to relax. “What so few Amazons understand is you don’t find the right baby by going out and looking to adopt one, it’s that the right one finds you and then you give them all your love through adoption. “You taught me well.” Marion didn’t exactly mean it, but figured the compliment couldn’t hurt. “That I did,” Mother agreed. “And you’ve been an exceptional student.” Damn, Marion wished such talk didn’t feel good. Whether it was Little, Tweener, or even the might Amazon, everyone had Mommy issues. “So…” Mother asked after her praise had sunk in. “When are you enrolling her?” “Enrolling her?” “At New Beginnings.” Gwenny’s head snapped up so quickly she might have cracked her neck. “WHAT?!” Neither woman reacted. “To finish up her education,” Mother said. “Teach her how to be a proper baby. Get her a few playmates, too, closer to her own maturity. I think it’d do everyone a world of good. No more having to bring her here to do busy work.. There’s a waiting list, but I could get her past the admissions department. We’re family, after all. “ “But I like-” Mother pressed on. “And it’d do the other babies there a world of good too. So many insist that the only reason they’re enrolled is because of their size and not their immaturity.” She laughed lightly to herself. “At first anyways. Then all the talkies go bye-bye. Having your Gwenny as a role model might smooth out the process.” “But…” “That’s very nice of you to suggest, Mother.” Marion said. “But Gwenny is already serving that function, and not just for your troupe of troubled toddlers all the way in Oakshire.” “But I…” “If it’s the drive you’re worried about,” Mother interrupted, “I’d be happy to help you, Marion. I don’t mind making the drive. It’s a sacrifice I’m willing to make for my granddaughter.” “Mommy…” “That’s not the point,” Marion growled. “And you know it.” “Then what is the point, darling?” “BUT I LIKE WORKING HERE!” Gwenny exploded. “Not now, sweetie. Grown-ups are talking.” Both women said the phrase in unison. It came as automatically as a slight kick when one’s knee was hammered in the right place. That didn’t stop Marion from taking exception. “Excuse me,” she said after their voices had rang out in unison. “That’s my baby you’re talking to, Mother.” A sneaky smirk. “And you’re mine, Mary-wary.” Fire ignited behind Marion’s eyes. “That’s not my name, Leery-Miri.” Childish pet names and watercooler snickers came flooding back into both women’s brains. “You’ll always be MY baby girl.” Back in the corner, Gwenny started to whimper, not quite knowing what was going on, but not liking it one bit. The scene was interrupted by the timeline arrival of a certain Tweener Manager. “Um...Mrs. Thompson?” “Yes, Samantha?” “Everything is put away and clean and stocked for tomorrow? See you in the morning?” “Good night, Samantha. Get some rest.” Samantha didn’t need another hint to leave as fast as her legs would carry her. Her retreat was swift and completely silent save for the slight jingling of the door opening and closing. “Mrs.Thompson?” Mother said, darkly. “Since when were you Mrs. Thompson? Did I miss a wedding, too?” “A necessary affectation.” Marion sat up straighter, her spine stiffening. Married, even widowed, women got more respect, or so the reasoning went. “Have you been fibbing?” Mother challenged. “Does Mommy need to teach her little girl a lesson? Do you need to go over my knee?” “You can certainly try, Mirriam.” She didn’t. She got up, turned around, and walked away without looking back. “Mommy?” Gwenny asked after Mother hand showed herself out. “Is that really my Gramma?” “Unfortunately, yes dear.” “Am I going to have to go to daycare? With the Little babies?” “No, baby girl. I prefer that you stay with me.” “Can you change me, now?” “Mommy’s a little flustered right now, Gwenny.” Marion admitted. “We’ll get you sorted out when we get home.” Gwenny grimaced. “Right after we play with your buzz-buzz wand.” she promised. That seemed to make Gwenny perk up. ************************************************************************************************ Almost a week had passed since the most unpleasant meeting between Marion and her mother. That night had been restless. The next day tense, and if Marion Thompson were a more introspective and emotionally honest sort, she’d admit that she’d been more than a little harsh on her employees that particular day. But the day after that was better. And the following one was fine. And now that tense and ridiculous “conversation” was little more than an annoying anecdote filed away in the back of Marion’s mind. When Hurricane Mirriam came blowing in, the only thing to do was to buckle down and ride it out until she blew herself out. She’d run out of strength, and then go back to tormenting people who were smaller and weaker willed than her, until usually around the same time the next year. Sometimes she’d skip a year between landfalls. That’s how Hurricane season worked sometimes. Hurricane season. That was a funny idea. Marion felt particularly clever at having thought it and laughed a bit to herself on the drive home. So proud of her own cleverness was she, that that she didn’t see evidence that the storm had gone back into the ocean and built up strength until it was too late. “Mommy?” Gwenny said from the back seat. “Whose car is that?” Marion cursed under her breath. The navy blue car in her driveway signaled Mother’s approach. “That’s your Gramma’s car,” she said. “We have unexpected company.” She parked the car. “Does that mean I can’t get out of my work clothes yet?” Gwenny asked. Mrs. Thompson thought about that for a second. It’d be quite the flex to make Mother wait while she got her baby girl into my comfortable clothes. Yes. Let’s do that. “I don’t think you need to worry about that, honey.” Her heart started to pick up a tick when she got out of the car and realized that Mother wasn’t in hers. “Come on, Gwenny. Chop chop. Mommy needs to go inside. Now.” “Yes, Mommy.” Mother was sitting on the couch, sipping a glass of red from out of Marion’s wine cabinet. “Hello, dear,” she said. “Surprised to see me?” “Just a second, Mother.” Marion said, barely looking. “I’ve got to get Gwenny sorted out.” She wasn’t going to ask how her mother got in. Never ask questions you didn’t want answers to. She just knew that a call to a locksmith was in her near future. “Don’t you want to know why I’m here?” Mother asked, her voice dryer than the wine in her hand. Marion did not, in fact, want to know. “I brought presents.” Presents. Gifts. Reinforcers. Mirriam’s back up ammo when scorn and passive aggressive praise failed to land. The sugar that tricked you into swallowing her bitter pills. Marion bit her tongue to stop from growling and gave Gwenny a pat on the bum. “Go pick out something to wear. Mommy will dress you up in just a second.” “Or Gramma!” Mother called out as the big baby toddled off to her room. Gwenny did not look back. Good girl. She knew who was in charge. They both waited until the crinkling had faded to the background. “What do you want, Mother?” Mother put the wine glass down on the coffee table. She was decent enough to use a coaster. “Can’t a grandmother spoil her new baby granddaughter? Buy her a few presents?” Marion thought about her own childhood. “I very much doubt you have anything she could want.” The squeal that rang out from Gwenny’s nursery put lie to that. Marion went running. What now? When she got to Gwenny’s room, Marion wanted to scream, too. She wanted to open her mouth and howl so that the whole neighborhood could hear her. The worst part was it was exactly in the same spirit as Gwenny’s shriek. No ironic juxtaposition at all. A new coat of pink paint had been put on the walls and the carpet freshly cleaned. The makeshift crib and changing tables had been removed, in their place were scaled up and intricately crafted variations of the real deal. Wooden drop rails encased Nora the Discoverer bedsheets and a pile of stuffed animals. Where the massage table had been, was now a real sized multi shelved changing table; exactly like the kinds in New Beginnings but scaled up to fit an Amazon. The retractable safety railing and safety strap were largely unnecessary given Gwenny’s behavior but a nice touch to the aesthetic. The toy box that had been in the corner of the room had been added to with so many infantile trinkets that they spilled out of the open lid. Chances were slim-to-none that the lid could even be closed. A playmat had been laid down with alphabet letters and corresponding animals in the middle of the floor. There no rocking chair, and if there had been one it still wouldn’t seat two grown Amazons comfortably. Yet Marion couldn’t help but notice a rather large pillow that had the shape of a chair back. It’d be very easy for her to prop herself up on the floor with that during Gwenny’s morning and nightly breastfeedings. Very comfortable. Very intimate. Damn it. This was...this was perfect. Her mother had just given her baby girl a true-to-life baby’s room despite her adult size. And Marion hated her for it. “Mommy! Mommy!” Gwenny squealed, grabbing a diaper from beneath the changing table. “Look at my diapers!” No medical wetness indicator or ugly medical name brand anywhere on the diaper. “It took some searching online, but I finally found a supplier of...Amazon sized incontinence products.” Mother said proudly. No cartoons on them, but I think a plain white diaper can be very cute and babyish too. They’re like bigger versions of what you wore.” There was a pause. “Before you grew up.” “I love them!” Gwenny said, because of course she did. “If she really wants them to look cute,” Mother added “we can put stickers on them one afternoon. A few packs from a dollar store will go a long way.” “Uh-huh!” Gwenny nodded excitedly. She was practically bouncing. Marion just silently fumed at how perfect this all was. “Mommy, can you change me into one of these? Pleeeease.” “Go pick out your outfit, first,” Mother said, pointing to the closet. “No sense in getting changed if you’re staying in that silly looking big girl costume you’re wearing.” It’s exactly the sort of thing Marion would have said in Mother’s place. Damn her. A second squeal punctated the air from inside Gwenny’s closet. What now? “Mommy! Look! Look! Loooooook!” Gwenny came running out with two plain T-shirts. It took a solid two seconds before Marion connected the dots and noticed the snaps at the bottom. Those weren’t T-shirts. “Onesies?” Marion wondered. “In Gwenny’s size?” “I had to pull a few strings with some tailor friends of mine,” Mother bragged. “Same with a carpenter or three. But I felt that my granddaughter deserved something more...appropriate to wear. No more big girl costumes for you!” Gwenny charged and gave Miriam a ball fisted hug. “Thank you Gammy! Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” “Gammy?” Mother remarked. “I think I like that.” She gave Marion a wink. Marion had the sudden urge to turn her mother into a cyclops. “Come on. Hop up on the changing table and Gammy will help you try on some of your new outfits.” Marion just stood there, slowly shaking her head at her mother’s gall while her baby cooed and squealed while she was being changed. “Oh my, my Gwenny is so wet! I think she let out a little more pee-pee when she saw her brand new clothes. Now she’s gonna look so much prettier! So many nice new diapers, and onesies, and pretty dresses and tights!” Mother tickled Gwenny, and a spurt of urine actually leaked out onto the fresh diaper. “Woopsie! Baby Gwenny definitely isn’t ready for big girl clothes, si she? Let’s try again!” Her mother had a lot of stones, that was for sure. Marion excused herself and walked out. She needed more than a glass of wine, and felt the need to check the rest of the house. There was the very distinct possibility that Mother might have tried to convert one of the other rooms. She might be trying to move in….or take over and make Gwenny and Marion ‘sisters’. That wasn’t likely, but Marion wouldn’t have put it past the older woman. The good news was that the coast was clear. Gwenny’s room had been the only thing that had been changed. The bad news was that Mother was in full on smoke when she and Gwenny came back out to the living room. “So, what do you think?” Mother asked. Gwenny crawled, actually crawled behind her. “It’s very nice, Mother.” Marion quipped. “A babyshower that only had one uninvited guest.” Mother was unphased. “And now she’ll fit in with the other kids.” “Not this, again.” This time Marion didn’t bother to close her eyes before rolling them. “Is Gwenny a big girl or a baby?” Mother pressed. “You don’t want her getting confused working in that coffee shop, do you?” “That coffee shop is where I found Gwenny, Mother.” “Even more the reason to take her out of the environment. You HAVE to remove them from as much of their old adult life as possible. If not they might get it into their heads that they’re just a grown-up in diapers instead of the baby they’re supposed to be.” “I’m well aware of the New Beginnings creed,” Marion spat. “I added a few things to it, if you’ll recall.” “But there’s so much more, these days” Mother added. “We’ve got some very special cartoons that will completely get rid of that naughty sex drive.” Gwenny blushed. “Naughty...?” “Yes dear,” Mother patted the girl condescendingly on the head. “Gammy found your grown up buzz-buzz toy. Real babies don’t need that kind of thing, do they? No they don’t. No they don’t.” It was stupid, but Marion saw her baby girl’s face droop and felt sorry for her. “It’s just a masturbation toy, Mother.” “An ADULT toy. She’s not an adult is she? Or maybe it really is an act…” Marion refused to rise to the bait. “It’s a form of stimulus and positive reinforcement, mother. No different than dangling plastic keys. Or should I take her to the dentist and have all her teeth removed too since they’re not her ‘baby teeth’?” Gwenny gasped. clapped her hand over her mouth. “I’m just saying, what’s the point?” “What’s the harm?” “She could get confused.” “She won’t get confused.” Time to throw down the gauntlet. “I’m her Mommy, and I know what’s best for her.” “Then why won’t you do what’s best for your daughter and enroll her?” “What’s best is that she comes and works with me!” Marion didn’t even realize she was standing until a few seconds up on her feet. “Mommy…” Mother crossed her arms. “You just want it both ways. A baby you don’t ACTUALLY have to take care of. One that can see to herself and start being an adult the moment doing so becomes inconvenient.” “Gammy…” No point in refuting it. It wasn’t true. “You just can’t accept that you and your views are outdated, and that not everything can fit neatly into your Little mold. You don’t know the difference between a baby and a coma patient! It’s all the same to you as long as they’re quiet and mess themselves in their sleep!” “Mommy?! Gammy?!” Mother was rolling up her sleeves. “You watch your tone, ‘Mrs.’ Thompson! You’re daughter isn’t too big for diapers, and neither is mine!” Actually rolling up her sleeves. Marion curled up her fists. “In My house? At My age?” she scoffed. “No. Fuck that. At YOUR age? You really think you can try that bullshit on me at YOUR age?” “WATCH YOUR LANGUAGE IN FRONT OF THE BA-!” “GUYS!” All three Amazons- two grown-women and a grown-baby were on their feet. “STOP!” “SWEETIE NOW NOT NOW! GROWN-UPS ARE TAL-” “THEN AAAAAAAAACT LIIIIIIIIKE IIIIIIIIT!” Gwenny stomped her feet and slapped her thighs, her anger threatening to balloon into a full blown tantrum. Tears started flowing down her cheeks, and both ‘Gammy’ and ‘Mommy’ sympathetically clutched at their chests. There was a silence that followed. It didn’t last a minute, but it was uncomfortable for all of them. What to do? Continue the tantrum? Punish the brat for interrupting? Or console the baby because the grown-ups were fighting in front of her. It was Gwenny of all people who acted first. “Mommy,” she said. “Gammy got me some really pretty clothes, and I love them. They make me feel...right. They make me look on the outside like I feel on the inside. And I wanna wear them all the time. No more big girl clothes.” Mother shot the nastiest look at Marion. “Thank you, dear.” “Gammy, I don’t wanna go to any daycare. I don’t like Li….other kids very much.” “That’s nice dear but you’ll make lots of new fri-” “Mommy was nice enough to let me finish,” Gwenny interrupted. “Why can’t you?” Mother looked positively gobsmacked. Marion felt absolute pride in that moment. This. This is why you didn’t try to match wits with children. You deserved what you got when you lost. “I’m a baby,” Gwenny continued. “I was a baby before Mommy found me. I was a baby before I pooped my big girl panties. Working for Mommy just helped me learn it. And I like working for her. But if I’m a baby, then that means anything I do is gonna be babyish. Doing chores for Mommy isn’t gonna or…” she paused and bit her lip. “Playing with a grown-up toy when Mommy gives me permission isn’t gonna make me any more grown-up than I already am.” She stopped and then looked down at the floor before finishing. “I’m really sorry that I yelled.” “Damn it.” Mother hissed. “You’re right.” “Language, Gammy” Marion prodded. “Not in front of the baby. Or do you need to go back in diapers and be given a bar of mouth soap?” “How dare-” “Mommy? Gammy?” Both women froze. “We’re sorry, Gwenny.” “Wisdom from the mouth of babes, eh?” Mother conceded. “She has a point.” “As long as we’re both happy,” Marion said. “It doesn’t matter how I raise her.” “And as long it’s obvious to all that she’s a baby,” Mother added. “But yes. You’re right. Age and size doesn’t matter as much as your love and her needs.” Inspiration and a smile came to Marion simultaneously. “And I think I know how to do that.” ********************************************************************************** “Here’s your coffee, Gammy...I mean, ma’am.” The Amazon girl gave her customer her order. “Thank you, baby girl,” Mrs. Thompson the elder replied, taking a sip of the coffee with satisfaction. Of course Gwenny was called a ‘baby girl’, there was no mistaking her for anything else. The yellow dress she was wearing puffed up at the sleeves and flared out at the waist, and even though there was more than enough padding in the chest for decency’s sake, Gwenny wasn’t wearing a bra, either. Without even a glance, anyone could tell she was wearing a puffy white diaper beneath the crisp white tights. Clicking away in black mary janes, she looked like a giant Little. The pig-tails helped, too. Gwenny no longer wore big girl clothes. She never would again. But that didn’t mean she couldn’t help out around her Mommy’s shop. Good thing, too Customers were now coming in at all times of day to have a cup of coffee carefully delivered by the tiny shops one and only ‘waitress’. Everyone wanted to tease and pat and the fallen Amazon on the behind; to gush over her and tell her what a baby she was. She was lower on the social scale than even the punished secretaries and interns that were ushered in, forced to wear medical diapers beneath baggy pants and skirts, blushing and hemming and hawing at having to be changed by Mrs. Thompson. For some Gwenny was a warning to others. That Amazon maternalism could strike and demote anyone who got in their way. For others she was a symbol of fairness. It really was a matter of who you were on the inside that mattered, and if you were a baby that meant you deserved to be treated as one in front of anyone and everyone; whether you liked it or not, (though if you were honest with yourself, you’d like it). For her, her Mommy, and her Gammy who occasionally visited? The nametag that she wore said it all: “Special Helper.” Gwenny liked it. She didn’t have to think so much about her old life before Mommy, and she could leave the tag. In Mommy’s office before they went home and put it on just before work. More time to play with Mommy. Prettier clothes from Gammy to wear, too. (The End).

Hello. This is a new story that I'll be publishing chapters of weekly here. I welcome any feedback you may have. I do have a Patreon, and so if you like this story - I'd lightly encourage you to check you to check it out. I'm posting chapters of this story there in advance - so they're currently reading Chapter 5. Not to mention that I post new stories there every week. That said, your patronage is certainly not required for this story. Pull up a blanket, get a bottle of milk, and enjoy the story. One. Who is this girl? Very few times in my life have I seen someone so beautiful, so captivating, that I dropped everything I’m doing so that I can divert all my attention to them. It just so happens that in this particular time I was with my wife, and she watched as my lusty gaze reached this mystery. “You ought to take a picture,” Veronica said. “Maybe it’d be something to actually excite you in bed.” Per usual, it was difficult to determine where Veronica’s humor ended and her honest observations began. Still, she wasn’t wrong about us being in a bit of a lull in the bedroom lately. I blushed and looked away, hoping the young woman I had been targeting didn’t overhear her. We had just left the apartment and had gotten off the elevator in the lobby when we encountered her. She had just left the building herself. I was already wondering if she lived here, as I had never seen her before. “She’s new here,” Veronica said, showcasing her remarkable knack for reading my mind at the most inopportune times. “Her name is Ashley, if you can believe it.” Again, Veronica knew me far too well. A spot-on observation that a pretty name like that, attached to a pretty face like hers, was like catnip to me. “You know her?” I asked as we left the building. I scanned the surrounding area for another glimpse of her, but she seemed to be gone. “I don’t know her,” she said. “I’ve met her. In the lobby, checking her mail. Just yesterday, in fact. She’s new to the building.” For a moment, that seemed like all she had to say, but with a sigh, she added: “I was going to bring it up yesterday, but I had a bad feeling about you getting all...hormonal.” I scoffed at this, shaking my head. “Come on now, Vee. She’s got to be, what, 10 years younger than us? Not to mention that I’m, you know, married?” “So?” “Don’t go assuming that everytime I see another pretty girl, it means I’m going to leave you.” She laughed. “Jaime, dear, I would love it if you did. I just don’t think you’re her type.” “Her type? And what do you mean by that? I’m good looking! I’m smart! Just last week you told me I could pass for a young Josh Brolin.” “You could literally be Josh Brolin and I don’t think it’d help you much.” “And what makes you say that?” I asked. She shrugged and smiled innocently. “Oh come on. Just say it. Why don’t you think I could have a chance with a girl like that, hmm?” She laughed again and shook her head. “Look, I don’t know. I’m just speculating,” she said. “But I’m rarely wrong about these sorts of things. And I can tell with a good amount of certainty that she’s…” “What?” I interrupted. “Into tall guys? Into men her own age? Into men with beards?” “...not into men at all.” My eyes widened in surprise and I stopped walking for a moment. Realizing that Veronica had kept going, I quickly jogged back up to her side again. “Y-you’re sure about that?” I asked. “Pretty sure. Sorry to break it to you, loverboy,” she said, playfully swatting my chest. -- If asked, I doubt either of us would say our marriage was terrible. We still slept in the same bed. We still made it a point to eat most of our meals together. We still held conversations and made plans to do things with each other. But whatever spark was supposed to be there had seemingly been snuffed out a while ago. There were times when we could deal with that, and there were times we couldn’t. It was guilt, I imagine, that kept us together some days. For a long time, we had done a decent enough job keeping up with a long distance relationship - emailing and calling often and taking the train to see each other every other weekend or so. Then she floated the idea of me moving to the city with her. She had her eyes on a gorgeous apartment that was just out of range of her salary. But with two salaries? She, now, felt guilt for having dragged me to the city and for having me, essentially, reboot my life. I felt guilty that I had agreed to such a plunge, only to fail her as the husband she expected. Something had to give, and it perpetually felt like something was about to. It would be another week until I saw Ashley again. Once again in the lobby, at the mailboxes, as we serendipitously checked ours at the same time. “Oh, hey,” I said, tempering my emotions the best I could. ‘You’re...new here?” “Yeah,” she replied with a casual toss of her straightened auburn hair over her shoulder. “Just last month. I’m Ashley!” “I’m Jaime,” I said, sticking my hand out between us. She grasped it and gave it a gentle shake. “It’s nice to meet you.” “Likewise! Where-abouts do you live in the building?” “Third floor,” I said. “312, to be specific.” “Get the hell out of here,” she said with a smile. “I’m on the fourth floor. 412!” “Right above us...how about that.” “Married?” she said, shifting her head to spy the ring on my finger. It broke my heart to have to establish this so soon. I would’ve killed for the chance to have feigned singlehood for a few more minutes. “Indeed. Veronica - you might have met her?” “That name is familiar,” she said with a smile. “I’ve met so many people recently, I apologize. It’s hard keeping everyone straight.” “Of course, of course. What about… you? Husbands? Boyfriends?” “Oh...no,” she said, blushing a little. “Just the single life for me.” “Are you new to the city?” She nodded. “Well that’s good in a way,” I said. “It’s an open market out there for you.” She laughed and shrugged. “It’d be nice to meet someone, I suppose. But I’ve been so busy unpacking and cleaning. And work…” She sighed. “It’s good just getting time for myself.” I probably shouldn’t have said anything else. I should’ve just walked away. She could continue floating about my daydreams while I spotted her from time to time in the building. It wouldn’t be perfect, but it would’ve been good enough. But I had to open my mouth again. “Well, look. You’re new in town, and I know that’s a lot. Veronica and I would love to have you over for dinner sometime. If nothing else, you get to make two new friends. Two new friends who live incredibly close by.” “Are you sure?” she asked, a genuine smile stretching across her face. “I...I have to admit that I’d actually like that. I could use that.” “Yeah? Okay, perfect. What if we said...Friday night? Seven?” “I could do that! And you’re sure that Veronica would be okay with that?” “It was practically her idea,” I said with a shrug. -- “What the hell were you thinking?” asked Veronica, hands on her hips. “Well, I just…” “I mean, I could certainly guess,” she continued. “But if you were truly dying to bone our cute new neighbor, I can’t see how inviting her to dinner with your wife was going to achieve that.” “Has it occurred to you that maybe I’m just a nice person and I wanted to reach out to someone who is new in town and might be needing some friends?” She shrugged, scoffing. “No, that did not occur to me. When given the choice between thinking with your heart and thinking with your dick...well, I think we both know which you’d go with.” It hadn’t been the first time she had levied such an accusation at me. For good reason, perhaps. While I hadn’t ever been caught with my pants down, our short-lived foray into having an open relationship fell apart after she found herself wanting the same romantic attention I seemed to afford everyone but her. “I have no ulterior motive,” I assured her. “Just you and me and her, eating dinner and talking. We always say we could use more friends, right?” She sighed. “I’ll play along with your little charade,” she said. “But I’m telling you right now - if I see so much as a wink in her direction, you’re going to have to ask her if you can sleep at her place.” Admittedly, I was a little nervous. I didn’t think I was actually going to be able to flirt my way into Ashley’s heart, nor did I think she would let me. But so little thought had gone into my little dinner invitation that I wasn’t sure what we were actually going to do. Would Veronica and I actually be able to entertain her? Would we have anything in common at all? A disastrous night could result in lord-knows how many years of awkward interactions in the lobby as we said polite “hellos” and “good-byes.” -- When I greeted her at our door that night, I just about bit off and swallowed my tongue when I saw her. It was the cutest dress I had ever seen - cream colored with pastel pink accents. Maryjanes? A fucking bow in her hair? I swore - I was positive - that Veronica had put her up to this. She had to have. This was all an elaborate prank. Worse, it was somehow a sting operation to prove that I was an unfaithful sleazebag. “You look lovely,” I said. “Aw, thank you,” she said with an innocent shrug. “I just kind of, you know, threw on whatever I had lying around.” There was a brief enough pause to have me suspect that it wasn’t completely sincere when she said: “I like your tie!” “Ashley!” Veronica’s sing-song greeting rang through the entire apartment as she swooped in from the kitchen to greet our visitor as well. “I’m so glad you made it! Gosh, that is an absolutely adorable dress. Don’t you think so, Jaime?” “Mmhm,” I said. “Very much so.” She knew what she was doing. She always did. “Thank you so much. You look terrific as well,” Ashley said. The two met for a brief friendly hug. “I love your home! It’s so nice! So...mature. Unlike my place...it feels like I’m living in a box fort.” “Well thank you,” Veronica said. “One of us has a little addiction to the pottery barn.” She proceeded to point to herself. “For what it’s worth,” I said, “I think living in a box fort would be pretty fun.” The women offered polite laughs, but it seemed a little forced. Not every joke is going to land, I told myself. Just make sure the next one is better. “Why don’t you join me in the kitchen,” Veronica said to Ashley. “Dinner’s almost ready, and I could use some company while I get things out of the oven.” “Is there anything I can help with?” asked Ashley. “I’ll need you to take the glass of wine that I give you. And I’ll need you to enjoy it.” “Oh gosh, I hope I’m up to the task,” Ashley said with a giggle. The two went to the kitchen, leaving me behind. For a moment, I stood there, dumbstruck by what just happened. Was...Veronica flirting with her? Had Ashley been flirting back? -- Once upon a time, I asked Veronica for something. It had been a little idea; a scenario that had been rolling around in my head for long enough. The sort of thing that I should’ve workshopped more on my own time, but I instead thought I’d say out loud for the first time as I pitched it to Veronica. She let me down gently. She simply wasn’t interested in putting me in a diaper, watching me crawl around, and feeding me a bottle. She had assured me that she harbored no resentment towards me for having those thoughts. “People like all sorts of strange things,” she said. But she didn’t want to experience those particular things. Not even as a favor to me. To her credit, it never came up again. In the years since - in all the arguments and misunderstandings we had weathered - never once had it been thrown back at me. She never called me a freak. She never made me feel like I was disgusting for wanting such a thing. It simply was never mentioned. Somedays I even wondered if we had had that conversation at all, or if I just imagined it. The fantasy, as one could imagine, never went away. Those sorts of desires never really do. They linger and they imbed themselves somewhere in your mind. Weeks could go by without thinking about it. Then, one day while you’re at the gym or while you’re cutting an onion - BAM - you’re daydreaming about crawling around in a diaper. I had no evidence to support this, and Veronica had even gone out of her way to try and convince me that I hadn’t caused any harm to our relationship by making my request, but I’ve always seen that moment as the start of our relationship’s downward turn. The moment where, if nothing else, we both realized that we wanted different things in life and that there were firm lines that we wouldn’t be willing to cross for each other. It was probably also the moment that she began to incessantly tease me for my adoration of all things “cute.” -- “...and so I looked him in the eye, and told him that he absolutely, under no circumstances, could ‘taste the cat.’” We all laughed. A genuine heartfelt laugh - even me. It was one of Veronica’s best stories, and no matter how many times I heard it, it never failed to get a good reaction out of me. Ashley, of course, was absolutely tickled. “This food…” Ashley said, finishing a forkful, “...is so good. Veronica, are you a professional chef?” “Ten years of the best culinary school there is,” she responded proudly. “She means YouTube,” I said. “Incredible. I’m a complete klutz in the kitchen. Like, completely helpless. It doesn’t help that I eat like a toddler. I swear, I eat chicken tenders so often that I’m amazed I haven’t somehow turned into a chicken.” Veronica gave a playful chuckle and turned to me. That smile. You liked that, didn’t you, it seemed to say. When I wasn’t speaking during dinner, I was daydreaming about taking her by the hand and leading her to the bedroom where we’d roll around the bed together for a few hours. No doubt Veronica’s marital-telepathy was well aware of that. “So you’ve just moved here. Tell us about that,” Veronica said, twirling her fork in some pasta. “What brings you here?” “Work, of course,” she said with a shrug. “It was one of those job offers I couldn’t turn down - graphic design for a pretty big online retailer. Even if they only keep me for a month, I’ll be happy to have it on my resume.” “I didn’t know designers were paid so well,” I said. Veronica shot me a frustrated glance. As she should have - I was being a little snotty, perhaps on account of feeling like the third wheel for a night that I had arranged. “Oh...like the apartment?” Ashley replied. Her tone seemed innocent - thankfully she hadn’t picked up on my snark. “I lucked out there. When my father found out I got a job in the city, he helped find me this place. I...hope that it doesn’t make me look too spoiled.” We were reminded that we were a decade older than cute little Ashley. There was an obvious innocence and naivete about her that was almost too charming. “Not at all,” Veronica said. “A girl has to eat, yes?” Ashley nodded enthusiastically, downing some more wine. I could see it playing out right before my eyes. The young and curious Ashley getting swept under the wing of the experienced picture of womanhood that was Veronica. I shouldn’t have been annoyed - I should be happy for both of them. Yet I was absolutely green. The night felt like a series of errors on my part. I failed to chime in enough during the conversations at the dinner table. I failed to keep up with their wine drinking. I offered to clear the table and clean the dishes, while they spent more time talking and giggling together in the living room. In a desperate, and foolish, attempt at quickly catching up with the women, I quickly downed some scotch just after finishing the dishes. I sauntered out to the living room, finding them already deep in a conversation I had no context for. “...and you can just see it in his eyes, you know?” Ashley said with exaggerated hand waves. “Ugh, disgusting,” Veronica said, seemingly engaged and invested in whatever story this was. “You probably want to trust him. You want this guy - this leader - to be the role model. But…” “He’s a creep,” Ashley said with a nod. “Exactly. And I’m thinking - hoping - that I’m just imagining things. This guy is supposed to be my advisor, you know? The last thing I want is this awkward energy in the room. But - no. While sitting across the desk from me, I’m literally watching his hand slide into his pants…” “No! No, he did not!” Ashley nodded, while Veronica shot another furrowed brow in my direction. Was that supposed to be a poignant lesson for me? Something about not being a creepy older man? I was annoyed. Worse, I had accidentally overstepped in my quest to get tipsy and had moved straight ahead to just being drunk. I was always a tired drunk. I interjected and contributed when I could, but I was getting less and less relevant to the conversation. No matter how hard I tried to put my best foot forward with Ashley - even though I had no idea to what ends I was even making this effort - she and Veronica had power-bonded in an incredibly short time. There was little else to do but...slowly...fall...asleep. I began to stir a little later, still sitting in the recliner in the living room. My senses were slowly coming back to me, and everything seemed fuzzy and blurred. I was still inebriated. I heard a sound in the kitchen. It was soft and strangely...harmonious? I tried to think of what it could be. The fridge certainly never made that noise. Neither Veronica or Ashley were on the couch anymore. I opened my mouth to call out for them, but I resisted. I had likely already made a fool of myself by falling asleep on the chair - I probably didn’t need to start calling out their names like a lost child. Instead, I got up and walked closer to the kitchen in an effort to investigate the noise. My foggy brain tried to translate the sounds, but to no avail. They started. They stopped. The tone changed. It was only as I almost neared the doorway into the kitchen that it suddenly occurred to me what it was. The sound of passion. No wonder it seemed so foreign to me. I crept along the wall to the door, listening carefully. Little moans and groans mingling with the sound of wet lips smacking against each other. I poked my head around the corner, finding that Veronica had Ashley pinned in the corner of the counters, their arms slowly caressing each other's bodies as they made out. “You’re such a good girl,” Veronica said. It was a tender tone that I wasn’t sure I had ever heard before. “I want to be a good girl,” Ashley answered. “The best girl.” “I can tell.” “Thank you for having me over, Veronica.” “No need to thank me,” Veronica cooed. “Now, why don’t you call me Mommy.” “Yes, Mommy,” Ashley said before planting her lips on Veronica’s again.

I've looked on amazon multiple times to see if they're restocked but amazon doesnt even list them anymore. Anyone having trouble finding them as well?

No worries! I don't want anyone over extending themselves to donate. I appreciate the thought!

Good luck Mikey

That's great news Mikey boy!?? Praying that your appointment goes well.? And wishing you a very healthy back!? *BIG HUGS*?❤️? Buddy! Also, I love Back to Future! I've seen all 3 movies. My local theater was actually having "Back to the Future" Day! It's when they would play all 3 movies in a row back to back for the price of one. It was on the 30th anniversary of the movies actually, back in 2015! It was so much fun! I saw it with a bunch of friends. I'll never forget that!? Michael J. Fox is amazing! We had such a good time! That was actually my first time seeing all 3 movies too!☺️????❤️??

my favorite for a long time is/was the total-dry ultimate boost-up. it's contoured, long, and holds over a liter! only reason i stopped using them is no where i've found that takes fsa has them. some more digging is needed. currently their website lists them at $63.44 for a case of 104 for a total of $.61 each... so not too bad. i still have about 2 dozen of them, but i do want to get more since they are so good. my current favorite is the northshore XXL contoured booster. it holds about a liter, too, but it's just a much bigger booster. the total-dry is a strip that fits within the leak guards, the northshore is basically a diaper without the sides, waterproof shell and tapes lol it's big! but it's incredibly comfortable!! the padding is all over so you don't get weird feeling bumps or spots or anything, and they wick pretty well too. i use them for my weekend overnight diapers, but also for anytime i feel the need for more bulk. price isn't terrible, either. they're $106 for case of 120, or just $.88 each. my current stock is still good at over 100 right now lol

I think Brian is an institution around here and that's just his way. He means well and has a kind-heart so we can't really ask for much more?

The Seni Super Plus diaper is cheaper and has greater capacity, Mike. You should consider them.

This thread is amazing! I keep reading it each time I see it popup though this I believe will be my first comment. I am not 24/7 as of yet though I still dream of it. @Little Sherri @diaperedboilerman @oznl @BabyJilly_S

Welcome to the world of incontinence. It’s a good thing you find this sort of thing enjoyable and I hope it stays that way for you. To a large extent it is still very enjoyable for me to know I need to be diapered. And for what it’s worth I LOVE reading updates like this these. However keep in mind that incontinence doesn’t stop… EVER. No matter what. Like this morning I was mildly miffed because I had changed diapers over night (I woke up in the middle of the night soaked). I woke up A few hours later dry but a full bladder. I needed to shower and so I had ostensibly planned to take off my diaper and put it back on right after showering. Unfortunately I couldn’t hold it long enough to get to the shower and I soaked the diaper. That accident cost me $2. Grrr.

@littlecait this is the best policy. If you speak to them and tell them that you are not allowed to private message someone without permission, and you tell them how you are able to get that permission, and they refused to do so the way you’re supposed to, the way you deal with this is to block them from sending messages to you directly. Then, you end up sending a message to an admin online and let them know exactly what happened. @spoonchickenor another admin will deal with this situation, as he stated in the thread earlier. Because there are people who do not seem to understand what you are saying above, I have seen users disable their personal messenger, and post a status to that effect. People need to understand that users are unique, and they have their own way of dealing with situations, I would hope that it is not necessary to disable personal messenger for a good many of us, but sometimes that is a way to stem the tide of personal messages that are sent unsolicited. It’s always a good idea to read someone’s about page, and any other information that may be listed in their signature file, because there can be information that is pertinent within it. Brian

Yeah, looks like baby Mikey isn't ready for big boy pull-ups yet, since he can't keep his pull-up dry. So it's back to diapers we go!? I bet mommy really likes that!? Looks like baby Mikey's gonna need some pretty thick diapers to keep all the soggyness inside!??❤️????❤️

Not even a ransom note?? ?

I have had it happen several times since I joined but to be fair most do follow the rules. I just remind them of the rule or ignore them. One woman and one guy seemed to get a bit pissy when I ignored them but most either leave me alone then or apologise. I also put on my profile description that I wasn't interested in men who wore diapers seeming as the main culprits were men- not sure if these guys even read that but thought it added a layer of protection! Think some of these men are so desperate to find a mummy that they don't take into account clues like "little" in your username! Just report, ignore, copy or paste the rules and even block if they persist.

Apparently a lot of rich people in this community, that can afford these diapers.

Nope, can't keep your pull up dry, then back to diapers you go!!!!?? (Like you would fight that!!! Lol)

I'm being bad tonight?? found some tortilla chips in sale, AND some salsa....on sale!!! So thats what I am munching on....also bought an apple, and some club soda..... So I dont drink "regular" soda... ........ Yeah, I'm weird.... ??

https://www.amazon.com/dp/B09721SLKL/?coliid=I2FUI9HA9246WE&colid=3NPQQZW0KVIP7&psc=0&ref_=lv_ov_lig_dp_it out of stock

Just sent MikeyD a message telling him not to do it again "or else". Please inform the Admin team promptly if it happens again. ?

I have reported many. @MikeyD is one.

Haha maybe. But the chances of me finishing the entire part over winter break is very remote. For your sake I'm not going to release half the part and go "sorry haven't written any more yet." ?

EVERYONE is literally having trouble getting trest..

Yep. I've stayed here a few times; https://www.melia.com/en/hotels/united-kingdom/london/me-london/index.htm - I have asked in advance and they are happy to offer extra mattress protection.

Shane McMahon! One of the most underrated wrestlers!????? ?HERE COMES THE MONEY!!!! HERE COMES THE MONEY! MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY MONEY, MONEY!!!!!??????????????

My ideal is the firm, banana shaped kind, the kind you you squish between your butt cheeks. These are a little easier to clean up, I think.

Chapter 8: 2 Months Later So that night I looked into Evie’s personality, her code. And I found absolutely nothing wrong with her, which surprised me. No bugs, no glitches... nothing. She was apparently working perfectly. Despite her eyes turning green occasionally. So I kept a close eye on her every time I activated her. And with Sadie gone so often, I was using her a lot. Which I don’t think Sadie liked, she’d often get a bit jealous of her and start telling me to stop activating her so often. But I couldn’t help it, whilst Sadie was a fantastic Mummy... she just... she wasn’t around. Whereas Evie was. It wasn’t like Evie was replacing Sadie, it was just... she was filling in for her whilst she wasn’t around. Thankfully that changed a month later, as Sadie told me no more business trips for a month, so I had her around the whole time. No more dashing off just as I was enjoying littlespace, no more leaving for days at a time. Just Sadie and I... together. Mummy and Baby. And for that second month, everything was going great. She’d be Mummy most of the time, keeping me in littlespace as often as possible. It was nice getting to forget all my adult worries for so long, but it often got a bit boring because she doesn’t let me go into my workshop if I’m little. She’d always use the line “but babies can’t work with adult tools, you’re much too little.” I understood why, but I just got... bored? Like... I wanted both little and big time. And it didn’t take me long to realise that in the few months we’d been together... we hadn’t done all that much actual relationship stuff. I never met her parents, we hadn’t been on a date since the first month... it was mostly just her babying me. Which don’t get me wrong, I love it, but I wanted more from our relationship. I wanted to go out on dates with her, to have me wrap my arms around hers, for her to show everyone that I belong to her. I’m very submissive in a relationship, and I like to feel... owned. Sure, we got to do some kinkier stuff; she liked pushing my limits often with BDSM. She pushed my limits a bit with spankings after hearing that Evie had given me one. I never did tell her the details about her malfunctioning though... But still... I didn’t feel owned. I felt like a toy. Played with when she felt like it, but put on the shelf when I wasn’t being used. I didn’t like when she pushed my limits, but she always said she was doing what was best for me, making me feel more little and happy and all that stuff. And because I’m a submissive with a need to please, I let her go along with it. And if Evie was active, she’d try to defend me, which just made Sadie more upset, often telling me to shut her down. Eventually she told me to shut her down whenever she was home, so for the past couple of weeks, Evie has been dormant. But I have to say, since that incident whilst my friends were over... she’s not malfunctioned. No problems, no odd behaviour, always following commands. The only issue was the eye colour changing occasionally. I figured it was just a glitch or something, I couldn’t find any problem in her code though. “So babygirl... I was thinking we’d have a fun little day in.” Sadie turned to face me. “Can’t we just snuggle up on the sofa and watch TV? Maybe get some market stall food?” I wasn’t really in the mood, so I came up with alternatives. “Oh sweetie. But I was wanting my babygirl today!” “I... okay then.” “That’s better. You wait here in bed, I’ll go open the blinds and clear your apartment a bit.” “Why not just get Evie to do that?” “Because I like doing it myself. Now you be quiet and I’ll be back soon. No getting out of bed, no talking, no touching your nappy!” she said as she swiftly popped a dummy into my mouth, effectively silencing me. I nodded, defeated. “Good girl.” She said as she wandered over to the window. Pressing a button, the shutters raised to reveal the dark, moody weather plaguing the city lately. The murky fog hid most of the features of the classic buildings surrounding my apartment, the tall skyscrapers that towered over the slums below us. However, through the thick fog, the bright neon lights of the ad boards that hung from the sides of the towers still managed to push their products. No matter the weather, they’d remind you of the countless products the big corporations were trying to push on you. It was depressing. Not only the weather, but the state of the country. It had become like one of those old dystopian novels. Corrupt governments, corporations taking over and controlling everything, corrupt law enforcement, we had the lot. It’s part of the reason why I just don’t go out often. If I don’t go out, I can’t get into trouble for doing nothing. Too many people have been arrested for petty offences. I was lucky because whilst I lived in a rough neighbourhood, I was in a nice-ish apartment complex. So I wasn’t roughing it in the slums, I was in a nice-ish building that was pretty much left alone by the cops. I hated visiting the markets at night, you’d often see corrupt cops bullying people and extorting them for money. We didn’t have gangs, the police saw to that. Other floating cities have gangs, our gang is the police. Sadie was well off. I’m still surprised she’s even interested in someone like me. Sure, I’m clever, witty, funny, and I make enough money to not have to worry about being thrown on the street, but she’s way out of my league. I guess with this kink community there weren’t many options. It’s not like there are a large number of adult babies around to choose from. She lives in one of the nicer neighbourhoods, one where they don’t have to worry about cops or anything. So she didn’t understand, and I didn’t appreciate some of the comments she’d make about where I live. Thankfully, today was a day she kept her mouth shut as she stared out the window, looking at the dreary day. “Ugh, horrible weather. We’ll definitely stay in babygirl. Right, you stay, I’ll be right back.” She left my bedroom, leaving me alone in bed, in desperate need of a change. As time passed, the warm, wet nappy quickly went cold and started to feel uncomfortable. It was at that point that I figured I should say something. So building up my confidence, I called out to my girlfriend. “M... Mummy?” I yelled to the other room. “What is it sweetie?” She said, quickly popping her head into the room. “I... I need a change. It’s icky.” “Can you wait 2 more minutes? I’ve nearly finished cleaning the kitchen.” “I... otay.” I waited another two minutes, and thankfully she walked in, sweat dripping down her forehead. “Oh sweetpea, I’m sorry I took so long. Let’s get you changed shall we? Into a nice, dry, thick nappy. But hey, your kitchen is clean now! And we didn’t need Evie’s help!” She smiled at me so I smiled back as she quickly grabbed the wipes and powder and a clean nappy from a brand new pack. I honestly loved the designs of the packs of nappies. They took the basic design of baby nappies, but instead of a baby, they had some popular adult baby from the city of New York. Blonde hair, blue eyes, gorgeous body, perfectly cute padded bum, you know the sort... perfect for a nappy model. “Right, here we go.” She pulled the duvet off me, revealing my wet nappy and bare legs. “Oh sweetie, you really do need a change. Sorry I took so long. Mummy gets distracted sometimes.” Her smile made everything better as she quickly went about removing my cold, soggy nappy and throwing it in the nearby bin we used as a nappy pail. Unfolding a clean nappy, she lifted my legs up and slid it under me. She was a pro at this; she could effortlessly keep me little whilst also changing my nappy in record time. Before I knew it, she had already powdered me and taped the nappy up, patting it and grabbing my hands. Lifting me up, she pulled me off the bed and on to my feet. “That’s better. Is that okay sweetheart?” she asked. “Yes Mummy. Fank yoo.” I said from behind my dummy. “Now, come into the living room. I’ve set you up a little play area in front of the TV. I’ll feed you some baby food for lunch soon, and then we can snuggle up and watch some cartoons. How does that sound?” “Great... except for the baby food part.” “I know you don’t like it, but it makes you feel more little, right?” “I guess...” “That’s why I do it babygirl. I want you feeling as little as possible. And babies don’t decide what they eat. Mummy decides that. So you’ll have baby food for lunch. If you don’t complain too much, I’ll order takeaway... that kind you really like.” My eyes lit up at the sound of that. “Deal!” I grinned from ear to ear. “Come on then baby... let’s go get you set up with your toys." The rest of the day was like any other day. Baby time, lots of snuggles... no adulting. Which was nice, but it started to drag on towards the end of the day. The baby food was disgusting too, but thankfully she made up for that by ordering one of those stupidly greasy burgers from this place a few streets over. She prepared her own food in my kitchen, stating that she refused to eat from somewhere like that. Whilst we were eating, Sadie’s phone went off. “Oh sorry baby, work is calling. I’m just going to take this in your workshop okay?” I nodded and took another large bite of my burger, the sauce dripping down onto the bib Sadie had put on me just before we started eating. ‘Good thinking Mummy!’ I thought to myself as I watched the sauce soak into the bib. Sadie got up and walked into my workshop. I ignored it and carried on watching cartoons whilst I sat on the sofa, eating my ridiculously unhealthy food. Staring at Sadie’s plate, I couldn’t help but think that if I ate what she was having, I’d be miserable. But ah well, she’s free to eat whatever she wants. Just... it pushed the thoughts I’ve been having for a while now back to the surface. That we were two very different people. She was trying very hard to get me more like her, or more like whatever she wanted me to be... but I just wasn’t that person. I was a messy person, often covered in oil and grease, eating unhealthy food and occasionally tidying up my very mediocre apartment. Whereas she was this well off, high standards kind of gal, who I felt was always looking down at me. But then I thought about the options I had for Mummies... A Mummy in this city was rare. With the already limited ABDL community, most were littles, a lot were Daddies, and only a couple of them were Mummies. At least that I knew of anyway. And all of them were taken. One of them by me. Sure, I could date someone vanilla. I could date someone not into this kink in particular but maybe someone who was a Domme. I had Evie now; she could fulfil the Mummy role if I needed it. And I’m not saying I don’t have feelings for Sadie, because I do. I fell for her hard. I... I... I’m just worried she’s going to realise we’re too different and find someone better for her. “Sorry sweetpea.” I quickly turned around to see Sadie with a sad look on her face. “What’s up Mummy?” “Work called. They’ve got this big new deal going on in New York. I’m going to have to catch the next boat out.” “How long will you be gone?” “That’s the bad news kiddo, I’ll be gone a month this time.” “A MONTH?” I yelled. “Shhhh. Inside voice babygirl.” “Sowwy... but... a month? Why?” “It’s a massive merger between our company and one in New York. Which means I’ll need to find a place to live there for a month. I’m so sorry sweetie, but I can’t miss this or I’ll lose my job.” “Oh... okay then.” “Don’t worry, you’ll have Evie to take care of you whilst I’m gone. Just... don’t use her too much. I don’t want my babygirl forgetting about her Mummy!” “I could never do that Mummy!” “Good. Now, don’t worry, I won’t need to go for a few more days, so we’ll get a bit more babying in before then. So how about I spoon feed you some chocolate cake?” She grinned, pulling out a small box of cake from behind her back.” “Cake? You got cake?” “Mummy likes making her baby feel good. So of course she got cake.” I clapped my hands excitedly at the thought of being fed this rare treat. “But you need to be a good girl and let Mummy play with you in bed later..." “Deal!” I said, blowing her a kiss. ========================================================== I hope everyone enjoyed this chapter! Please leave likes and comments and all that fun stuff, I love reading them! Thank you to all my patrons for their support! Don't forget, the next 4 chapters are available on my Patreon, which can be found here if you go for the second tier. You get two weeks early access to chapters of Witch in Training and Glitch in Nanny. The first tier is purely for supporting my writing. Access to my Discord server is included with both tiers, where people can discuss early access chapters, although it seems most of them use it just to tease me ? New chapters every Monday/Friday!

We shuffled several buildings over to another building. Here, one by one, we gave our names, last name first, to a clerk. He handed me a box with my name on it, and on top was a chain with my dog tags. “Get undressed and put everything in the box. You can keep your panties on, for now, boys and girls, but everything else needs to go in the box. That includes watches, jewelry, earrings, and anything else you might have pierced. I wanna see nothing but your panties and dog tags coming out of this room.” I did as I was told. I dumped my shoes and socks in the box, followed by my pants and shirt. I was standing there in my boxers and put the dog tags around my neck. I did one quick check and noticed I was still wearing my watch. I quickly filed out of the room. The sergeant and a couple of assistants were checking us as we left to make sure we had fully complied. I passed that inspection. I passed over the box with my clothes in the next room and followed the line of recruits to a person presiding over a scale. I was weighed and had my height measured. Next, another man took several measurements: waist, chest, even shoe size. I was handed a folder and pushed along. At a following station, a stony-faced man in scrubs came at me with a tongue depressor and looked in my mouth and ears. He produced a stethoscope and listened to my chest and back. He took my folder, made some scribbles on the paper inside. I went next to the next station. “Shorts off,” the doctor there said. I dropped mine to the floor. “Turn your head and cough,” he said while holding my balls. I did. He had me turn, and I felt my butt cheeks spread for a second. He plucked the folder from my hands and made his notes. “Pick up your shorts,” he said, handing me back the folder. At a last station, a man sitting at a desk took my folder, and to my surprise, my shorts. He started looking through the folder. I was looking ahead and could see lines of recruits picking up their uniforms from more clerks. It looked like the examination was over. I looked back a the man at the desk. He was now looking carefully at my shorts. He then did some more writing in my folder and then wrote a big red T on the outside of the folder. He threw my shorts into a large bin behind him and directed me on. I could see now that all the recruits ahead of me were now completely naked. Our clothes other than our shorts were in the box. Our underwear had been tossed into what I presumed was the trash. We were being issued new clothes. Army olive drag green from the skin out, it would appear. I took a few steps toward the line heading to the issuance of clothing when the sergeant called to me. “This way, baby.” He was pointing toward a different, yet shorter line. “What?” “See that big red T on your folder? It seems that you’re going to need some lessons in shitting after all.” I had no idea what he was on about, but I had learned it was best not to rock the boat at this point. “Yes, drill sergeant,” I replied and did as directed. I made my way to the head of the line and was directed to a small booth. A woman I presumed to be a nurse led me onto an examining table and had me lie down on my back. She wasn’t bad looking though she had her hair cropped short in a tight military cut. She turned away to get something, and I realized my penis was coming to attention. She turned back and noticed immediately. “You new guys are such letches.” She reached under the table and brought up something, and touched it to my cock. It felt like a million volts went through me. My member immediately went limp. “Good. At least you didn’t pee on me.” She started wiping my rear end down roughly. She then squeezed some goo on her gloved hands and started applying it to my crotch. The smell was vaguely familiar. “Is that Desitin?” I asked, putting it in context. “We don’t want baby to get a diaper rash,” she said with a smile. She then grabbed a green piece of cloth from behind her and slid it underneath me. “Tushie up,” she said as she pulled it under my rear. “Down,” she said, and I dropped down. She brought the thing up through my legs and pinned it together. I now realized what it was, a diaper. “A diaper?” I said, out loud. “Of course,” she said pulling a pair of plastic pants up my legs. I raised my rear so she could slide that all the way up. She dropped the folder on my chest and told me “Next station.” I walked over to a counter where a clerk took my paperwork. He handed me a T-shirt and shoes, again olive green, and told me to put them on. I pulled the shirt over my head. I looked at the shoes. They were soft, gathered around the ankles, with no ties. I slipped them on my bare feet. I looked down. GI baby booties is what they were. The clerk pushed across a stack of more clothes and a back pack. “Put everything in the pack,” he told me. I did as I was instructed. “One last thing. He reached forward and clipped something to the chain holding my dog tags. I was about to inspect it to see what it was when he pushed it in my mouth. I felt the rubber bulb sit over my tongue. A pacifier. “Keep that in unless your drill instructor asks you a question.” I nodded. I walked out and found a bunch of similarly attired recruits standing there. We were all wearing uniform t-shirts, plastic pants, and booties. I could see through the translucence of the plastic pants, that we were all wearing the same olive drab diapers.

Hey bud! I was just reading your "about me page" on your profile and really liked what I saw. You and me have a lot in common, as I too use to read stories about diaper wearing and baby regression. I liked forced regression also, although I was more into baby stories with regression that had magic in them and they would get turned into babies that way and slowly begin to like it and never give the diapered lifestyle up.?☺️?????❤️ Unfortunately at the time there wasn't a lot of stories like that when I was reading them. I read stories like that back in my late teens. I did read others stories though, with different themes but they usually were too real lifey for me although I did enjoy them. Just not as much as the other ones I would find. They would always involve diapers though. I would stay up late at night reading baby stories because back then it made me feel like I was experiencing what that character was experiencing. I know, sounds weird right?? I'm glad you're very much into diapers and being babyed. I would definitely like to chat it up with you sometime! I bet you like babas too, as much as I do!????❤️???☺️???❤️ also I think you and me are the same age, but I don't think you've had your birthday yet.??? I don't know!?

In my experience your better off getting higher quality diapers then just bulk cheap diapers. I normally wear about 3 diapers a day and basically never use the potty anymore. It’s normaly megamax to work, i’l change into something after work then change before bed also. It’s normally less then $4 a day in diapers

As I get older, I often wonder about the effects of ageing. I don't get raging erections like I did when I was 20. And putting on a diaper doesn't produce the instant hard-on it once did. But there is still something sexual about wetting and messing a diaper. So I don't think it will ever become normal or boring. The other aspect that keeps diaper boredom away is that I only wear once in a while, when I have the house to myself for a day or two.

I've been good, and have not had the desired cheesesteak. Mom made chicken Florentine which was very good.

Chapter 37: Saturday Morning Insight I sat there on the plush carpet of Janet’s living room, wearing nothing but a diaper. A bottle filled with apple juice sloshing in my hands. At least she told me it was apple juice. My paranoid brain nagged at me that there might be something more swirling around beneath the rubber nipple. It was the first day since my official “adoption”, and I was quietly dreading what torments Janet had prepared for me. Yesterday had been enough; almost too much. The fact that my prison cell was now decorated as a boy’s nursery gave me little comfort. The closet now had empty hangers; with dozens of pink and frilly dresses boxed and hauled away. No new clothes yet; hence just the diaper. I hoped that meant that I was being kept inside today. A day of quiet, private indignation might be nice for a change. Either that or she might trot me out in public one bad tape away from being starkers. Show the whole town what a “baby” I was now. For all I knew, she’d get off on that kind of thing. For all I knew, I barely knew the woman at all. Every Amazon seems to have a bucket list of “Mommy” stuff that they can’t wait to jump into as soon as they manage snatch up some unfortunate Little: Forced breastfeeding; enemas and suppositories; hypnotism, and at least half a dozen different unnecessary surgeries. Amazons love that kind of stuff. I’d been saved from a new batch of freckles yesterday only because my skin was too raw to tattoo. My luck wouldn’t hold out that long. Same thing went for my clothing situation. Sooner or later, I’d have to get more clothes than just the solitary white onesie I’d been trapped in yesterday. My first day back...as a student...was Monday. Ugh...school. That was going to be hard. It was like death. You know it’s going to happen someday, you know it’s coming, but you do your best not to think about it.. A LOT of my thought processes have reverted to that lately. Don’t think about the next thing. Or the next. Or the next. It wasn’t going to be good. Just try to be in the now; even if the now wasn’t very good, either. Because it was only going to get worse. It was the only way I could keep myself from going into a total raging panic breakdown. Color me surprised when after my morning change and surprisingly tolerable high-chair cereal breakfast, I was unbuckled, plopped on the carpet, and given a bottle of juice. “Here ya go, Clarky.” Great...she was trying out nicknames. “I don’t want you getting dehydrated.” From my spot on the carpet, I swished the bottle and I eyed her wearily. “What are we doing now?” “Yesterday was a really hectic day,” she said. “For both of us.” She reached over my head and grabbed a remote. “I figure we could just spend the morning together and watch a little T.V.” An electric shock wormed its way into my nervous system. Had I any body hair left, the little bits on the back of my neck would have been standing on end. Was this how my mind died? Eyelids pried open and my adulthood seeping out into hypnotic animation. “Cartoons...?” I asked. Janet chuckled, as if there had been hope in my voice (there hadn’t been). “Maybe later, hon, but I was thinking something a little less frantic.” She turned on the television, and I reflexively slammed my eyes closed. “It’s a beautiful day in this neighborhood, A beautiful day for a neighbor, Would you be mine? Could you be mine?” I opened my eyes, more confused than anything. I knew this show. I’d watched it for years when I was an actual child. It was one of the few bits of local children’s programming that Little parents allowed their kids to watch. There was no animation for high grade hypnotics, the sound quality was serviceable, but there wasn’t a trace of subliminal messaging, and most importantly the message was unbiased towards race, creed, sexuality, gender, or size. From my spot on the carpet, I looked up at Janet. “Mr. Frederick?” This time my voice did have something similar to hope. “You watch this show?” Again, Janet smiled as if what I’d said was adorable. “Not for a long while,” she said, “but I’d love it if we watched it together.” My head on a swivel, I scanned the living room- couch, coffee table, T.V. set; everything. Amazons were just as susceptible to their brainwashing methods as a Little, but they often used devices to filter the unwanted stimulus out. I squinted looking for any signs of ear plugs or glasses laying around. I stood up, tried to look in her eyes. Hypnosis resistant contacts weren’t a thing? Were they? Not that I’d read about.... “Together?” She nodded. “Yeah. Do you wanna sit on Mommy’s lap?” I bristled at Janet calling herself “Mommy”, but held my temper. I’d only encouraged it yesterday when I called out in the courthouse. Now I was kicking myself for it. If you’d asked me even a week prior whether I’d call an Amazon “Mommy” or “Daddy” or any other stupid cutesie thing, I would have steadfastly denied it. I would say that I would have gone catatonic first. Keep my mouth shut and endure it to the bitter end. Give your enemy nothing; not love or hate or fear or pain; and especially not satisfaction. Such was my pride. Pride’s a funny thing. Not only does it come before the fall, but it’s also one of the first things to up and leave when it’s not convenient. “No thank you,” I told her. “I’ll stay here.” Her nostrils flared as she exhaled, but she kept her smile. “Okie dokie. I’ll be on the couch if you change your mind.” I’d settled on a middle ground for the time being. Resolved that I would avoid pushing that particular button unless I felt I really needed to; and instead stopped verbally referring to her as anything at all. She’d get “yes, ma’am” and “no, ma’am”, and I’d be polite enough. Avoid calling her by her first name to her face…. But she wouldn’t get “Mommy” either. I doubted I could keep that promise for long. Janet wasn’t stupid, and noticed the absence of the big M word from my vocabulary. She’d likely try and turn up the heat in some way. Yet it felt empowering all the same that I could make it to myself. I needed to do that. “Won’t you please, won’t you please, Please won’t you be my neighbor?” And so I sat there, on the carpet, my guard fully up, ready to slam my eyes shut, cover my ears and scream out whatever programming that was going to be beamed into my brain. But the moment didn’t come. All that came was an old Amazon man talking about feeding his fish and a puppet show. Instead of turning into a drooling dolt, I breathed a sigh of relief and watched the show, stealing occasional glances at Janet. Sometimes she didn’t see me, instead glancing down at her phone or texting something. Other times she did, and she gave me a friendly little wave. “Hi!” she’d say. “Mommy’s right here!” Poor deluded Janet. She told herself I was a lost cub looking for its Mama bear. Emotionally though, I was a mouse in a cobra cage, checking to make sure that it was still coiled up on the other side. The show ended uneventfully, and then, right on its heels, came another old favorite from long ago. “It’s time to sing all the songs, it’s time to laugh and play, it’s time to get things started on the Muffet Show Today.” Kremit, Miss Puggy, and Fuzzy all danced across the stage as Gongzo wound up his giant mallet- which would inevitably backfire when he tried to hit the giant gong at the end of the theme song. Astonished, I whirled my head around and gawked at Janet. “This channel has the Muffets?!” For the first time since snatching me, Janet smiled with something besides mothering condescension, or madness. Once again, I saw flashes of my old friend. “Of course this channel has the Muffets! It’s how I found out about this channel in the first place! It has re-runs of all these great old shows from when we were kids!” She slipped! She slipped and I couldn’t help but feel a glimmer of victory. A Little victory. “Do you wanna watch it?” I knew that I was giving her what she wanted, that I was feeding her madness. Still, this felt like a nice gesture, all things being equal. I completely let my guard down and watched one of my favorite shows; a comfort from another lifetime. Once again, thank goodness for small mercies. The entire broadcast, I’d forget myself, up until I’d slouch or shift my weight and I’d hear the tiny crinkle of my diaper. The awareness of my diaper at least let me tell myself that I wasn’t being brainwashed just then. There were Littles in the world who started tinkling their trousers the second the hypnotic theme song of their “favorite” show came on. The thing is, objectively speaking, Dr. Milton had been right. Wearing a diaper wasn’t that bad. It was comfortable enough, and as long as I didn’t consciously try to squeeze my legs together, or think about what I’d inevitably use it for, it wasn’t bothersome. It was clothing. Underwear...kind of. It was bizarre just how much it didn’t bother me, too. The Muffet show went to commercial and I closed my eyes and went back inside my own head. Even going so far as to pull my knees up to my chest. This was wrong. This was so wrong. Sitting in a diaper, with a bottle, watching the Muffet Show on T.V., with a mother figure watching me watch T.V. In a weird way it all seemed so plain...so ordinary...so normal. Long ago, I mused, I very well may have been in this exact scenario. Only I would have needed the diapers, then. I would have actually been a baby, not a prisoner and in my thirties. The pleasant memory erased by the bizarre present, I felt a twinge in my bladder and shifted uncomfortably, crinkling more. My bladder wasn’t particularly full, but knowing that my toilet was wrapped around my waist had made me more self-conscious about it. Diapers were actually making me pay more attention to how much I needed to pee. Ironic considering the flimsy justifications used to keep me in them. “You okay, hon?” I was still looking straight ahead, avoiding eye contact. “Uh-huh.” The waistband of my diaper was pulled back. Damn, Janet was fast! Her hand snuck around and squeezed my crotch, eliciting a dry rustle. “Still clean,” she said, (as if I didn’t know). “Don’t forget your juice.” Inwardly, I groaned. Typical Amazon. I looked at the bottle I’d been holding suspiciously. Get them incontinent: That’s the first thing Amazons did to Littles that they’d captured. Made it harder for them to escape; harder to go back to a normal life. Easiest way to do that was to pump them so full of liquids that their bladders were revolving doors instead of waiting rooms. I’d already gotten a taste of that treatment. Then of course, were any number of unnaturally strong laxatives and diuretics, to help things along. I’d already been poisoned once. That’s how I ended up in this mess- had to be. And even though Janet hadn’t been the one that had slipped something into my coffee, (she never had the opportunity), would my “Mommy” really have any qualms about “helping” me get over my potty training now that I was all padded up for her? Bottle still in hand, I shimmed around on the carpet to face her, again texting on her phone. “So...” My voice came out as just above a whisper, drowned out by the Muffets rerun. “I was wondering...” Still nothing. I shook the bottle. “Hello?” The only thing I managed to do was catch a glimpse of my ring finger. Not even a tan line; zapped right off with every other major marker of my life past age two. Cassie forgive me, I thought. I’m not giving up. Just lying. So much for promises to myself. “Mommy?” Janet’s ears twitched, and she looked up; hopeful and maybe even a little bit surprised. “Yes, sweetie?” I picked myself up and waddled over to the couch. “Would you like some apple juice?” I offered the bottle. Easiest check for poison. If Janet wouldn’t drink it, then the amber liquid was spiked. I did my best to make my eyes seem wide and innocent; a stupid silly Little doll who just wanted to share. “No thank you. Grown-ups don’t like sweet stuff very much. That’s very nice of you to want to share, though.” I suppressed a growl. Grown-ups didn’t have a predisposition to bitter and spicy foods. Amazons did. I must have let some sign of my anger show; let my facade slip, because I immediately found myself cradled in her lap. “No need to be cranky about it. Some things are just for Mommies.” A giant finger booped me on the nose. “And some things are just for babies. Here, let me help.” The bottle was out of my grip in an instant, my jailer too strong and too quick for me to resist. My gasp of surprise became all the opening needed for the rubber nipple to find its way between my lips. I wriggled frantically; instinctually; somewhere in between clawing at my naked thighs and wanting to thrash until I drew blood. Here we were again; and I was no closer to getting used to any of it. I bit down on the nipple, stemming the flow of poison so that only a few sweet drops landed on my tongue. I made eye contact with Janet. The smile was still there, but it was put in place and didn’t reach her eyes. Her eyes. Those big blue beautiful eyes. The warning was all there. “Be good,” they said. “Be good or else.” Either she’d get what she wanted in this moment, or she’d give me something to be afraid of. Typical Amazon. I thought about my teeth clamping down on the rubber nipple. I’d seen captured Littles with only gums lining their mouths. They hadn’t looked old enough to merit it, but their “Parents” had thought it looked “cuter”. Things could be a lot worse. The warning of her eyes was all I needed, just then. So much for pride. I unclamped. I let the sweet liquid dribble into my mouth, neither nursing in earnest, nor resisting the flow of the bottle. The juice didn’t taste like it’d been tampered with, at least. Pop Science would have us believe that Little taste buds are more sensitive than Amazons’; that we can more keenly taste the hints of diuretics, laxatives, alcohol, and other drugs put in our beverages. That’s why so many Littles’ close call stories end with switching drinks only for an embarrassed giant to run shrieking to the toilet. A lot of good that precise palate did me. Cradled in her lap, and unable to more than glance at the television, I looked past my nose and through the amber colored concoction, to the only piece of clothing that had been made available to me. It wasn’t the diaper I woke up in, and it wasn’t the diaper I’d go to bed in, either. Drugged or not, this bottle would end up making its way through my stomach and end up splashing against my privates before too long. The only choice left to me was how much dignity and control could I wrest out of the situation. A life of compromise. It wasn’t fair. With a sigh of resignation, I started draining the bottle, actively tugging on the nipple with my lips and pulling the apple juice into my mouth. I felt, more than heard, the tension exhale from out of Janet. Looking back up at her, her eyes had softened, I noticed; changed in some indefinable way. Looking at us right then, you’d never have guessed that a few months ago she’d been crying her eyes out, telling me about her nasty divorce; that she was wanting to cry on my shoulder instead of burping me over hers. You wouldn’t have thought that she’d help me get a diaper off, and not just so that a clean one would go on. You might have thought we were friends, if not equals. That friendship was dead now, and from its corpse had sprung this scenario. I had no desire to watch the Muffets, just then, but closing my eyes only made me more aware of every other sensation: The juice on my tongue and rubber on my lips. The body heat radiating out from Janet. The slow but steady ache of my bladder. The canned laughter from the T.V. My own terrified and anxiety riddled thoughts. Instead I stared up at the only other things left to me. Janet’s eyes had shifted again, staring down intently at me. I reached up to try and grab the bottle, only to have my hands lightly brushed away. “No, no, sweetie. Mommy’s got it. Let Mommy do it. Please?” That last word got my attention. There was a hint of desperation in that word. In her own way, she was asking for my consent. We just looked at each other while the television droned on in the background. Trying to guess what the other might be thinking. Where had I seen that look before? I had seen Amazons stare at Littles in a million intricate ways, but this wasn’t one of them. Not quite. I’d seen a kind of greed when one saw a Little they thought was particularly cute; been witness to a kind of hunger, waiting for an opportunity to present itself to snatch one up. The giants had a kind of petulant snottiness about them when the rare circumstance allowed a Little or an In-Betweener to upstage them, and a psychotic rage when they thought they were being defied. Naturally there were also the flashes of manic, gleeful condescension- smug superiority- whenever they spoke to a dolled-up diapered Little; flashes I knew would become constant spotlights on me for the foreseeable future. This wasn’t it, though. What it was, I didn’t know. It didn’t match the tired weariness or jaded bitterness of Little eyes; eyes like I’d seen more than my fair share of yesterday, (nevermind the eyes in the mirror). Janet’s were nothing like Cassie’s intense “fuck me or fight me” stares. I’d never seen anything like it. Whatever it was, it was madness. All Amazons were at least a little crazy. The quiet slurping sounds were replaced with quiet as I sucked air, and Janet readjusted me to an upright position on her lap, gently patting my bare back. “It’s just apple juice,” I said. “I don’t need to be-” a loud belch rumbled out of me before I could finish my sentence. Damnit. “Good baby!” Before I could protest any further, the Muffet Show had rolled its credits, and a new show had replaced it. “Muffet Littles, we make our dreams come true. Muffet Littles, we’ll do the same for you.” Still keeping me in her lap, Janet rotated me around to see the cartoon. A cartoon...fuck. “If you like the Muffets, you’ll love this. It’s like the Muffets, but they’re cartoons.” I looked back up at Janet, purposefully avoiding the screen’s gaze. “I know what this is.” Only I didn’t, exactly. The only cartoons we were allowed to watch at my house growing up were from imported shows from Little majority countries. We hadn’t gotten quite as careless as Michelle and her children. No Pennycade. No SeaBenedict Cucumberbatch For my fifth birthday, my Grandmother had gotten me one of the few safe cartoons. It was called “Muffet Babies”. Such a rare cartoon; a treasure from a foreign land! I’d watched and re-watched that tape and it’s handful of episodes until I could lip sync along from start to finish. “Muffet, Muffet, Muffet, Muffet! Littles, Littles, Littles- The Muffet Littles!” Still looking at Janet, I heard the show behind me. If I hadn’t heard the title of the show moments before, I might’ve sworn I was listening to my old DVD. “Muffet Littles?” My bladder ached with even more urgency as Janet lightly bobbed me on her lap. “Yeah. It’s like the Muffets, but they’re Littles.” I closed my eyes, turned my head to the screen, and listened. Nope. That was the Muffet Babies, alright. Word for word and beat for beat. “You mean babies,” I corrected her. “It’s the Muffets but they’re babies.” “Sure.” It was the placating assurance of someone agreeing because they didn’t care enough to argue. “Just watch.” She might as well have said ‘Just hold still while I bite you’. I couldn’t help it, though. I just couldn’t. Curiosity finally overcame me. I opened my eyes. I immediately wished I hadn’t. If it wasn’t hypnotism, it was something worse. Much worse. Cartoon Fuzzy was in his red romper and beanie. Cartoon Puggy was in her puffy blue party dress. Cartoon Gongzo wore green shortalls with the little smiley face on the bib; just like the Muffet Babies. But there was something off. Their legs were too long. They weren’t as round. They were still cartoony, and still definitely Muffets, but they didn’t read as “babies” to me. And unlike the Muffet Babies, you could definitely notice a certain padded bulge between their legs. (Ralph the piano playing rat was still in nothing but a bib and diaper, but that had always been part of the character design.) I let out a small, startled gasp. “They’re Littles.” “Yeah. It’s like you said.” I glared up angrily at Janet. Not that she noticed, her eyes now fully watching the T.V. “I said Muffet Babies.” “Exactly. They’re Muffets, but Littles.” “BABIES!” Janet stared back down at me. She blinked. She opened her mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again. “Clark….” the warning faded before she’d spoken it. “Clark…” She nudged me off her lap and turned me around so that we could properly stare at each other. She seemed to work something out in her head before speaking again. ”Most non-Little babies can’t talk that well. Can they?” I opened my mouth. Then shut it. Then opened it again. They were supposed to be the Muffet Babies, weren’t they? I went through every line of dialogue that I had unconsciously memorized decades ago. The recording from my childhood had said they were “The Muffet Babies”, but nowhere in the script had they ever referred to themselves as babies. They’d never even said their ages. I stood there, staring at Janet; still listening to Muffet Littles break out into song about how words could hurt. Was it possible that the only difference between the two cartoons was the animation? Was it really so purposefully vague? Why? DING-DONG! Janet stood up from the couch, instantly forgetting our micro-confrontation. “Company!”

Making a mess can be loads of fun LOL.

I would say definitely yes. This "fascination" arose within me long before I was a sexual being; I recall being drawn to diapers and other vestiges of babyhood when I was as young as four or five years old. Indeed, I have practically no memories of those times, EXCEPT for some vague memories relating to wearing diapers, or being around others who wore diapers, which is an indication of the psychological weight that the topic carried for me, even then. So, the love/hate relationship and social anxiety I had over wearing diapers existed in me way before puberty, but, once puberty hit, wearing diapers, and/or fantasizing about wearing them, became a big turn-on for sure. I later repressed that side of me for a really long time - over 20 years - so, diapers were not part of my adolescent or adult sexual experiences with girlfriends or my wife. Once I rediscovered them, though, they became both a turn on, and also a source of deep, contented relaxation for me, but those two aspects of the experience were sometimes in conflict. I wanted to be able to relax and just "be" in diapers sometimes, to enjoy the Zen of it, to truly live life that way, and one isn't relaxed or striving for a long-term experience when one is preoccupied with the lustier aspects of the indulgence. I think part of my mission in going 24/7 was to normalize wearing diapers to the point that it wasn't a turn-on anymore, or at least, not all the time. I have achieved that. It's impossible to be turned-on all the time, but what comes afterwards is perhaps a deeper satisfaction.

It's funny, but for me so far, the greatest point of resistance from my spouse has probably been co-opting space in the house. Which is funny because, first of all, she has a LOT of stuff - her business involves staging rooms for photography sometimes, so we have duplicates of a lot of furniture - side tables and lamps and chairs and plastic plants (almost said "plastic pants"...) etc. And I also have hobbies that involve equipment that takes up space, none of which has ever been an issue. And yet when I add another case of diapers to the basement storage area, she'll comment about my needing yet more space for "my Pampers". She thinks I should have one, maybe two cases going, whereas I feel like I need four, minimum, and, right now I'm up to eight, only because of a restock. She sees them like they're cases of paper towels, whereas I look at them the way she looks at purses or shoes - the right diaper for one activity is not necessarily the right diaper for all activities. I need options, and variety is the spice of life. Speaking of variety, and getting back to what made me start this thread, last night, I donned my first Rearz Lil' Bella. I ordered a sample bag of them. The print on them is very cute, but I was more intrigued by the scent they are purported to be impregnated with. I love the smell of Pampers in particular - it takes me back in time in an instant, even though I'm pretty sure the Pampers I wore as a kid weren't scented (it was the 1980's). But the ones that I pined for in the years after I outgrew them were scented, and I loved that baby powder smell. The Lil' Bella's don't smell like baby powder - I'm not sure if maybe Pampers has a patent on that. These smell a bit like cotton candy, or like a candy store. It's a pleasant scent, and not overpowering, but scent preferences are very specific, so, these don't tick "that box" for me. Which is fine - I have baby powder-scented diaper cream and actual baby powder. But, having bought these diapers, now I have to use them. Last night at about 10:30, I stood in our bathroom, contemplating the plain white Prevail that I had come in wearing - a sad, damp, thing, wetness indicator all lit up, that I had put on as a stop-gap while doing some sweaty yard work. I knew I would be showering afterwards, so I didn't want to put on an 8-hour diaper for a 3-hour shift. But there was hardly going to be a bigger contrast available than my walking past my wife in that thing, taking a shower, and then reemerging wearing what was waiting for me on the counter... a big plastic diaper adorned with purple and pink ponies, rainbows, stars, ice cream cones, and multi-coloured butterflies. I was going from a nursing home theme, straight to the nursery. Per the theme of this thread, I'm not sure why these things still get my blood pressure up, but, once I put on my juvenile diaper, I had to take a deep breath before emerging from the bathroom. Crunch-crunch-crunch... I walked out and past my wife. I had laundry piled on my side of the bed, so I couldn't seek immediate refuge under the covers... I had to distribute the items throughout my drawers. There was a stack of my onesies in a pile. My pacifier was sitting on my night table. I felt my cheeks redden. I don't know why, but I felt like I was under a spotlight and that I looked ridiculous. However, my wife was oblivious to all this. She started talking to me about appliances she wants to buy, as I walked back and forth in that cutesy diaper, avoiding eye contact, and gradually, I got over myself, eventually clambering onto the bed to look at a brochure of absurdly expensive fridges, and then settling down to read my book. The stress dissipated. The air held a delicate candy floss scent. Eventually, pacifier in place, I fell asleep. Although it does not escape my notice that she seems to want to talk about buying expensive things, whenever my diaper is particularly childish. I think she knows that my ability to mount cogent, vigorous arguments is heavily suppressed under such circumstances.

Chapter 36: A “Special” Place. It was approximately three o’clock when I wet my pants in public for the first time. I’m not counting being trapped in a crib in the middle of the night. The relative privacy of the carseat didn’t count either. If I had been smarter and less prideful I might have been able to maintain that relative privacy…. No, I’m not counting the accident I’d had that Thursday; and I never will…it’s complicated. But it was at around three in the afternoon when my bladder gave out and I helplessly pissed myself in front of complete strangers for the first time since I was two years old. Thirty years. Not bad for a Little all things considered… The doctor’s office had been followed up with a stop through a drive through pharmacy. Janet got a bag of pills and powder that she’d undoubtedly spike my food with...stuff that would inevitably weaken my bladder and bowels. That might be why I chose to hold it as much as I did; a man about to fall to his death will desperately cling to the last branch, even though he knows it's about to snap. I recalled Dr. Milton saying something about oxytocin, too. So I was likely going to get doped up on cuddle hormones, too. That might be why I was so determined to stay angry and ornery. Correction: I was angry because I was being infantilized, literally, and having all of my basic freedoms and dignities stripped away- literally. The idea that my own discontent might be chemically whisked away was just the bitter icing on the bastard cake. Lunch was barely worth mentioning, save for the fact that I convinced Janet to share her burger with me instead of getting me my own Little’s Meal. THAT had been a mistake. An Am-Mac: “Two all beef patties, special sauce, lettuce, cheese, pickles, onions on a sesame seed bun.” What they don’t say is that sauce is sweet chili based, that the pickles are actually pickled peppers, and the cheese is ghost pepper-jack. They don’t tell you that because Amazons love spicy food and the world automatically caters to them. My mouth was ablaze. I managed three mouthfuls before giving into the pain and deciding I wasn’t hungry. Janet was happy to give me all of the electrolyte boosted sports drink in a baby bottle that I wanted after that. I was stupid enough to take it. After lunch, it was a long quiet car ride. Too long. I didn’t ask where we were going, but I could tell it was out of town I might’ve dozed off save for the fact that my bladder was starting to kill me, and I had the paranoid but very real fear that Janet might be driving me to Misty Brook. Janet had mentioned we were going someplace “special”. Why not the biggest group of free Littles within driving distance? If Beouf knew about Cassie, Janet might very well know where my in-laws lived. Mayhap she wanted to adopt another Little, or more likely wanted to show me off to my fellows to let them know I wasn’t “grown-up” anymore. That would have been a “special” kind of maliciousness that I hadn’t thought Janet capable of; but I never thought I would have been caught and “adopted” either. At this point “reasonable” was out the passenger side window. I let out a sigh of relief, as Janet kept driving past the first turn off to get to Misty Brook. That relief only served to remind me of other reliefs that my body was demanding; reliefs that my mind wanted to postpone for as long as possible. I tried catching her eye in the mirror. She was watching me, of course, but she was unreadable. She was either too focused on the road to give me any more obsessive baby-crazy stares, or she was as deep in her own head about something as I was. All the same I tried not to squirm too much. I didn’t want to give her the satisfaction. Countryside gave way again to more developed areas again, and the tangled forests by the roadside were replaced by orderly rows of planted trees. We were slowing down and turning off the main road. Angled as I was, I couldn’t get a decent look at any road signs or addresses to figure out where we were. “We’re heeeeeere!” Janet sang, as she parked the car. I got one last look at the time before she cut the engine: Two thirty-four. School would have been out by now. Give or take, I would have held it all day including lunch; and that was without a mad giant stuffing drinks down my gullet. So yay? New personal best? Half a minute later, I was on Janet’s hip again, with the diaper bag slung over her other shoulder. I couldn’t be sure, but from the bounce in her step she was even more excited for this part than for the stylist and doctor’s appointment. Directly in front of us was a large brick building. Bricks painted white; large glass doors out in front; very official looking. Beside the walkway to said building was a statue of a blind Amazon holding scales in one hand, and cradling a baby in the other. Beneath the statue were the words “Nutricor. Castigo. Protego.” Roughly translated, “To Nurture. To Punish. To Protect.” The so-called basis of Amazonian law and culture. That’s when everything clicked into place: I was at the County Courthouse. I was at where Adulthood came to die. Oakshire was still too small to need it’s own courthouse; small towns rarely did. Anything more complicated than a trip to the D.M.V. had to be taken to the next city over, and that included adoptions. Of course that’s what Janet had been focusing on. Of course she would think this place was “special”. Here, she would be officially recognized as a mother instead of a kidnapper. Janet wasn’t the only one, either. The line into the courthouse extended out the door, three out of every four Amazons had a captured Little with them. Friday must have been a busy day for Little adoptions. It made sense, in a sick way. Snatch a Little and adopt them on a Friday; have the whole weekend to break them and get used to their screams before plopping them in a daycare. That was a bad thought. Such thoughts, things that had come so easily to me took on a completely different tone when I was the one in a onesie. As Janet took a spot in the back of the line, I felt the corner of my lips tug downward toward the pavement. So many Littles. So many people like me. And none of us were dressed like an adult. Not one. No Tweeners, either. If someone from another world had peered in on the scene from above, it would have been easy to presume that it was a congregation of adults tending to their children. There was no screaming. No pleas for help, like in the restaurant. There would be no sympathy in this place; and sympathy wouldn’t help us; wouldn’t keep sympathetic eyes from looking the other way, or sympathetic mouths from scowling and gossiping. Sympathetic hands wouldn’t reach out to snatch us from our so-called Mommies and Daddies. Those of us who wanted to scream most were likely the ones with inflatable pacifier gags shoved in their mouths. Near the steps to the courthouse, further along in the line, there had been a double stroller. Two Little girls sat trapped in baby blue dresses and matching bonnets. They could have been twins, sisters, strangers, or even mother and daughter for all I could tell. It was so hard to tell when we were all so dolled up. Their stroller shaked as they screamed; their pacifiers turning their shrieks into pleasant sounding moans. I might not have noticed if their Amazon hadn’t loudly told them to “get it all out”. She might have been talking about their screams, but I doubted it. Or maybe I was just miserable enough to relate everyone to my own plight. Sooner or later; probably sooner; I was going to have to wet my pants. Janet wasn’t going to let me have any other option. Typical. The line was moving at a snail’s pace. Whatever kangaroo court this was, it was a slow one. I tried to make it a game. No, not a game, a contest. A contest of will. My willpower versus my body. I was going to wet my pants; I didn’t have any other choice. But I would wait until after we got back into the car and were well on the way back to Janet’s house. That way I would still have some measure of privacy. Wetting my pants in the back of a car while she babbled incessantly and drove, was close to being alone. In front of me, a Little girl stood by her Mommy. Her smock of a dress barely covered the top of her wet diaper. She was connected to the Amazon by only a toddler leash. Her face was wet with tears, but she’d long since given up trying to yank her hem down to cover her shame. She was looking at me, I felt, only because I was behind her, and what was behind her was better than what lay ahead. I would wet my pants, but I would wait until we had exited the courthouse; even if I didn’t make it all the way into the parking lot, or let loose just beyond the stairs. That way I will have gotten through the entire thing with some measure of my adulthood and dignity intact. An Amazon man got in line behind us. His own Little was bundled up like a newborn. The Little boy was asleep, somehow, likely drugged into unconsciousness. “NO! PLEASE NO! I’M NOT A BABY! I’M NOT A BABY!” The next Little girl being dragged into line was naked save for her diaper; still pristine. She must have just gotten snatched up. Her hair wasn’t even done up in any cutesy curls or pigtails. I would wet my pants, but I would wait until the adoption paperwork was finished. That way I could at least say that I was grown-up as possible, despite all the claims to the contrary. If this was to be the official end of my adulthood, I’d at least keep my pants dry until the very end. The swaddled Little’s eyes popped right open. There was the distinct look of confusion, and even a hint of panic. He worked the pacifier in his mouth. No gag as far as I could tell, but that didn’t mean the motion was entirely voluntary. The nearly naked girl wasn’t done. “PLEASE DON’T DO THIS TO ME! PLEASE DON’T ADOPT ME!” The “newborn” moved. He seemed confused as his kicking and stretching were reduced to tiny wiggles in his mummy’s blanket. He probably hadn’t gone to sleep swaddled. I would wet my pants, but I would wait until I was right in front of whatever clerk or judge or Amazon bureaucrat was officiating this farce. That way I could imagine I was pissing on them and this entire fucking system. Wetting my pants would be an act of rebellion. “PLEEEEEEEASE!” Some struggles were more evident than others, still. The man behind Janet looked down at his swaddled prisoner. “Hey baby,” he cooed. “Did you have a nice nap? I bet you did! You slept through your entire dentist appointment all the way here.” Dentist?! I shuddered in a way that had nothing to do with my bladder. I was suddenly more living proof that Littles didn’t wet out of fear. “Don’t worry, though. You’ll never have to go to the dentist again. Daddy made sure of it.” “I’M NOT A-” Finally, the screaming Little was silenced when her captor jammed a pacifier into her mouth. I saw giant fingers twist the knob, inflating the bulb. No way to spit it out. The first Amazon regarded the silenced Little, then looked down at his own prize. “Sounds like somebody needs some cartoons,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “Speaking of which…” I watched in horror as he punched something into his phone, and placed earbuds in the Little’s ears. “Janet,” I whispered into her ear. “Janet...he’s hypnotizing that Little behind us!” “Don’t be silly, Clark.” Janet bounced me a bit. “That’s illegal. No one would be doing something like that this close to a courthouse.” Typical Amazon. Blind to the truth even when it was right in front of her; so long as she could get her own personal baby-fix. We had to have been in line at least half an hour before the man with his mind fucked pseudo-newborn and the woman with her fresh catch, got in line. And even more were still wandering in. I would wet my pants, but I’d do it once the line had moved inside. That way I could pretend that I was going to the bathroom instead. I’d just close my eyes and imagine that the hum of the air conditioning was representative of the bathroom. The Little “newborn” stopped struggling. He just became very still. Very doll-like. His Daddy whispered something to him and gave him a kiss on the forehead. Poor bastard was all the way gone. Whoever he’d been had now just been well and properly erased. Inside, I prayed. At least let me wet my pants in doors. Let me pretend that I was going in doors the same way I always would. Let me close my eyes and pretend to be alone. It was ludicrous, I realized, but I was desperate to feel like I had some control over what was happening to my body. Only babies just wet their pants whenever they needed to go with no concern at all for their surroundings; that’s why they wore diapers to begin with… More bad thoughts. I chided myself for even thinking such things. In trying to keep myself sane I was literally whispering Amazon propaganda to myself. I was an adult, and it had nothing to do with what was taped around my waist or where and when my body relieved itse- Truths- logical, rational truths- didn’t seem quite so true as my bladder finally gave up and I felt the rush of hot pee soak into the front of my diaper, splashing off the front and back onto me at first before dripping down into the core; the wetness spreading from my public area down to my taint. My breathing became irregular as I fought for control. Fight for control? Why fight for control? If I clamped down mid-stream, it’d just come out later. Wet was wet. Being slightly less wet wouldn’t improve my situation or make me feel any better about myself. Why be in pain right now? Face it, Clark, I told myself, you’ve lost this round. You’ve lost. Even pretending that I was peeing on Janet didn’t make me feel any better. Babies peed on their grown-ups all the time... Janet didn’t check my diaper. She already knew that I’d wet myself. She’d had to. My ass was literally in her hand and if my crotch were any closer to body, I’d be dry humping her. Dry humping...another poor choice of words. I saw the little gimmer and hint of a smile. I was sure I was giving off unconscious signals of relief and defeat. If Janet couldn’t feel the heat between my legs, I was sure she felt the heat from my face. She didn’t check my diaper because she didn’t need to. A few minutes later, long enough to make it seem like she wasn’t immediately reacting to me, Janet started to rub my back. Petting me. Trying to comfort me. “It’s okay,” she said quietly. “You don’t need to be embarrassed. Nobody’s looking. Nobody knows. And if they do, nobody cares.” Looking back on it, these were exactly the right words for her to say and the worst possible words I could hear. She didn’t say anything about babies or how it was natural. She didn’t even rub it in by mentioning how wet I was or that I needed a change or coo at me or call herself Mommy… There wasn’t much I could do to argue with her, even internally. Technically, everything she said was correct. It was very likely that no one else knew or cared about the state of my diaper. The Amazons likely assumed I needed the soggy padding I was sitting in, and my fellow Littles had their own problems to worry about. None of us were Cassie on the bus, wondering what that mother-turned-baby in the restaurant did to merit getting taken from her real family. We were all in the restaurant, being dragged away from any semblance of our old lives. The way Janet comforted me in that moment was unsettling too. I heard, or at least imagined flashes of the old Janet; the one who had been my friend, not the baby crazy giant that held me in her arms. As she rubbed my back, and told me that everything was okay, I didn’t hear the manic, desperate edge of a mad Amazon who wanted to be a mother so badly it hurt her. She sounded more like my friend who had comforted me when she’d found me stripped and diapered on a bathroom changing table by one of my students’ parents. She sounded like my friend; and that made me feel a different kind of hurt. Maybe, I thought, the Janet Grange who had become my friend, and the one who wanted to be my Mommy weren’t so far apart. All I could do was lay my head on her shoulder, and try to hide from the world as I stewed in my misery. Janet just rubbed my back as step by step we moved closer to the steps that led us inside. It didn’t give me much comfort. Every minute I stayed in that diaper was another moment of failure. I went back to my old game; my old contest. I’d already lost and wet my pants, but I would not appear in front of whatever official that was going to strip me of my rights in a wet diaper. I’d already had my pride drowned today, multiple times in fact. Time to swallow it.“Janet…?” I said in her ear. “Could you…” I gulped. “Could you change me?” “Sorry, Clark,” Janet had the decency to whisper back. “We’ve got to wait to change you.” I pulled back. The look on my face must’ve said enough. “If I change you, I’ll lose our place in line.” I jumped and. “And you’re a soggy bum, but I don’t think you’re going to leak just yet.” I couldn’t help but flush a little more. Then she added, “Now if you’d needed changing at the salon, or the doctor’s, or anyplace before…” she let the little jab trail off. There it was. Bye old friend, hello new tormentor. Typical. “Hm?” Shit! I must’ve said that last one out loud! “Nothing…” I saw her look over to the diaper bag. “I could probably change you on the grass and they’d let us keep our spot. Would you like me to do that?” My heart stopped for a second. “No…” I said. The image of my lower half flying free (so to speak) in front of every other Little and their jailer made me tense up. “I’m fine.” “Then a wet diaper can’t be that bad.” I got a light pinch on my cheek for my trouble. She looked back over to the bag. “Do you want your lion?” “No…” I repeated. I buried my head back into her shoulder, and let her rub my back some more; soothing me like some sort a fussy toddler. It was the closest thing I was getting to hiding; less a gopher burrowing into its hole and more an ostrich burying its head in the sand. Ineffective, but at least the ostrich got to pretend for a time. Finally, (finally), I stopped ostriching, when I heard the hum of the air conditioner and felt the artificial breeze on my skin. The insides of my diaper had cooled down to room temp by then. I hadn’t even been close to achieving my goal. The deck had stacked against me from the beginning. “Almost there,” Janet said. If my tongue weren’t more resilient, I may have well bitten it off that day. There was no “good news” for me in a situation like this. Being inside the courthouse was about as good as an inmate doing that last walk to the electric chair. The “good news” was that at least I was cooler and at least my waiting for the inevitable was almost over. It turned out that the part of the courthouse dedicated to Little adoptions was the very first door inside the building. The only reason that the line extended outside was because if it hadn’t, the Amazons trying to argue traffic citations or show up for small claims or whatever wouldn’t have been able to navigate. “Come along, Diandra.” The Little in front of me got a tug on her leash, and she waddled along through the entryway, the door closing behind her. I was next. “Won’t be long now,” Janet said. She was right. We just had completely different feelings on this. It was at least another five minutes of waiting before the door opened again. Out toddled the girl, holding a stuffed butterfly. She gave it a shake and the thing jingled. She gave out a little gasp of surprise. “Do you like you new toy, Diandra?” I heard the Amazon ask. The diapered woman looked up at me and down to the butterfly and blushed. Something told me that that was no ordinary stuffie… Two and a half Amazon sized strides, and Janet and I were by the newly minted Mommy/baby pairing and in the lion’s den ourselves. It was everything that I’d seen on T.V., but ironically in miniature. A bailiff- a word here which means old man in a security uniform- closed the door behind us. A Tweener woman in a grey pantsuit-a stenographer or secretary or both; clacked on a desktop off to the side. A dark skinned man in a robe sat behind a large podium. There were no seats. No witness stands. No jury box. Just a judge’s bench, a clerk’s desk, and a guard by the door. That made sense to me, in a bitter cynical way. I’d already been convicted and sentenced, yesterday. This was just an execution chamber made to look like a courtroom. “Come on up,” the judge motioned over. Like Dr. Milton, his voice was deep and friendly; his age nearly inscrutable, but the opposite of most Littles. He was perpetually “older” but never “old”. L’enfant Magnifique and it’s kin would ensure that I had a permanent case of babyface. “Yes, Your Honor,” Janet replied. That got a chuckle out of the judge. “No need to be so formal here, Miss. This is a happy time! You’re expanding your family and giving your love and home to someone who needs it.” “Thank you!” Janet sounded completely relieved as she stepped forward. She’d just entered a church and was told she had a guaranteed ticket into Heaven. “Who do I give these files to?” She held out the brand new folder that had been assembled during my I.E.P. meeting. The judge reached out and took the folder, and set them down before looking at me. “Hello there, Little boy! What’s your name?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t bother glaring or sneering. I was in an Amazon’s arms, dressed how I was, and had already been put through this particularly torture twice today. I wasn’t defiant...just emotionally exhausted by this point. Was this how they wore us down? “Can he talk, still?” the judge asked Janet. Janet nodded.“Mm-hmm. He’s just tired. Maybe feeling shy. He’s had a big day, today.” “Oh I’m sure,” the judge agreed. “Very big day!” He opened the file. “Hmm...Clark...Gibson. Yes?” “That’s right, sir.” Janet wasn’t even waiting for me to talk, now. “Name change to...Grange…?” The judge looked at Janet and back down to the file. “Miss, if I’m reading this correctly, you’re divorced. Are you sure you want his name to match your ex-husband’s?” “I’m sure,” Janet said. “I married young. I think of it as my last name now.” She paused a beat. “I don’t want to go through all the paperwork to change it back.” “Fair enough. If only we could change our names as easily as they change theirs.” He indicated me. They both had a good laugh at that. Ha-ha-ha...it only takes a form and a kangaroo court to get my last name changed. Har-dee-fuckin’-har. The judge ran a finger down the paperwork. “Reason for adoption is Maturosis, correct?” “That’s correct, sir.” Janet said. “He’s already enrolled in the Developmental Plateau and Maturosis class over at Oakshire Elementary.” The judge gave a light chuckle. “Maturosis, huh?” He shook his head, knowingly. “Back in my day, we just called it ‘being too Little and immature’.” Some dark and angry part of me liked this man, now. Guy was an asshole, but at least he was somewhat honest about it. “Terms change as our understanding changes,” Janet replied. A flash of the teacher I admired was buried in that sentence. A flash of Beouf’s and Little Voice’s influence, too, no doubt. “Fair enough,” the judge chuckled. “Fair enough. My daughter is forty, going on three! Is that still a term?” Both of them laughed. I didn’t. The old bailiff was smiling good naturedly but otherwise shaking his head. The secretary/clerk/whatever was barely paying attention. No doubt the judge used that line a lot. The judge flipped through the papers. “Everything seems to be in order. It says here that you’re applying for Twenty-two thirty-five status…?“ A lifetime of scrounging through Amazon propaganda and secrets and I’d never heard of that one. It was either new, secret, or something no Little had been able to escape from long enough to tell the rest of us about it. “Yes, sir.” I sat up a little more in Janet’s arms and threw a questioning look at her. The heck was a twenty-two thirty-five? “It means that you’ll be issued a new social security number,” Janet explained with a smile. “Your old one will be retired. You’ll keep your same birthdate, but all your records will start fresh. Doctor’s, dental, education, employment history. Legally, you’ll be a new person. A fresh start!” She sounded like she was doing me a favor. There was love in her voice. Love and madness. I did some calculations in my head. That also meant that if I ever escaped I could never get a job that required a social security number. I could never leave the country with my own passport. I could never use the name “Clark Gibson”. In some far off imaginary future, everything I’d do would have to be strictly under the table, deep net, and black market. If I ran away, I’d never be on grid; never stop looking over my shoulder. This was almost as bad as if they’d injected a tracking chip in me. Worse in some ways. I could imagine digging a tracking chip out of my skin. This? This would really follow me. Janet was taking away more than my adulthood; she was taking away my literal identity. “Legally, I’ll be dead.” My voice came out as barely a squeak. This place was an execution chamber. I, Clark Gibson, had come here to die. “It also means,” the judge said to Janet, “that you won’t be entitled to any benefits he might receive with your power of attorney. That bit of unemployment they get when they lose their big boy jobs can still buy a lot of diapers.” That was something that had never occurred to me before. If adopted Littles still had some rights or property as adults; there might be an entire market towards kidnapping them and getting compensated through unemployment or inheritance or insurance. If only I could make it back to my bedroom, my real one, and tell Cassie about it as we searched MistuhGwiffin.web. That wasn’t an option anymore, though. “I know,” Janet said. Her gaze hadn’t left me. “But my Clark deserves a fresh start and I want to give it to him.” “Fair enough.” The judge grabbed his gavel. “Then by the power vested in me, I now pronounce you mother and child! You are now his legal guardian and control nothing of the estate of Clark Gibson.” He pointed the gavel to me. “And you are now Clark Grange.” The gavel slammed down, sealing my fate. I was brought over to the clerk’s desk, and Janet handed the files over. My hand was pressed on a scanner right next to the clerk’s computer. My feet too. Within moments, a certificate was printed, my hand, finger, and footprints now fully in the system; with a new certificate verifying who I was, and a sample Social Security Number that was completely different from the one I’d long ago memorized. The “real” one, it was mentioned, would be mailed to Janet in a few days. Clark Grange. My name is Clark Grange. I’ve got the same birthday as Clark Gibson. Same fingerprints, too. Same DNA and blood type. Same everything. But legally, I’ve never had a parent other than Janet. I’ve never been married. I’ve never had work experience or a job or taxable income. I’ve never even had a formal education beyond what Littles experience in a daycare setting. Technically according to my I.E.P. I’ve never even been potty trained. I told you at the beginning that this was complicated. On the other side of the clerk’s computer was a pile of stuffies. The judge came from behind the desk and picked one up. “Would your new son like one?” He picked up a stuffed bumble bee and gave it a shake in my face. I heard the cling clanging of a bell and almost swallowed my tongue. I felt a rush not dissimilar from a shot of vodka. That was no ordinary stuffie! “NO THANK YOU!” I blurted out. “I have a lion! I like lions!” I didn’t wait for the other Amazon to offer again. “Mommy, can I have my lion?” Mommy. Magic words. The lion was out of the diaper bag and squished against my chest in an instant. “Awwww!” the secretary remarked. “What an adorable lion! He looks just like you!” I looked at the stuffie; come to think of it, it’s hair was a similar shade of red to my own. More brownish than ginger, but close enough. “What’s his name?” I scrambled for a name. Shit! What did lions name themselves? Ferdinand? Richard? Aslan? Lambert? The fuck was I thinking?! Lions didn’t name themselves! Lions didn’t have names; not really. “Lion,” I finally said. “His name is Lion.” Janet started laughing as though she thought that it was both the funniest and the cutest thing in the entire world. All the other giants joined in. “An entire vocabulary full of names,” she said, “and you name your lion Lion. Typical Clark.” I looked at Janet like I’d been slapped. I felt my forehead start to boil with rage. Typical was MY word for people like her! Not the other way around! “HEY!” I yelled out. I was ignored. “That’s a Little for you,” the judge cut me off. “My daughter’s the same way. Typical Little.” All the giants, the old bailiff at the other end of the room chuckled in agreement. “Can I take a selfie with you two? It’s kind of a tradition of mine. I like to get a picture with every new family I have a hand in officiating.” He showed his phone and flipped through a few pictures. The last one was the people who had come before us. “Sure!” Janet agreed for me. The judge held out his phone and leaned in next to Janet. “Say Family!” “FAMILEEEEE!” I hid my face behind Lion. The picture would hide my scowl, with only my eyes peeking out. Better I appear “shy” than pouty and have to take the photo again. “Thank you so much,” the judge said to Janet. “I hope you have a wonderful life together, and if you ever adopt another, maybe we’ll see each other.” “Thank you so much!” Janet said. Then she looked at me. “Come on Clark. Let’s go get you changed.” I tensed at what was going on in my pants being talked about so openly again. That...that was something I was going to have to get used to, sadly. I buried my face in Lion to hide my shame. Better him than Janet. Better him than some messed up bumble bee that had more going on than a simple jangly bell. The bailiff opened the door and Janet passed the man with the completely mind fucked Little “newborn” before he went in. Just before we got to the restrooms, Janet was stopped. “Excuse me,” the Amazon said. “I have to use the restroom, but I don’t want to leave my daughter unattended.” It was the same woman who had her Little girl on a leash. “Oh my gosh,” Janet said. “Same! I’ve been holding it all day! I’ll watch yours if you watch mine?” “Deal,” the Amazon said, handing her Little’s leash over to Janet, before trotting into the restroom. Janet set me down, finally letting me stand on my own two feet for the first time all day. The tile felt cool on my bare feel. I also really felt the weight of my diaper. Even with the onesie on, I could feel the diaper sag more now that I wasn’t effectively sitting down. It was an odd sensation at first, the feeling that something was sagging down and being full of something, not to mention knowing what it was full of and why. The fact that it felt full, but no longer, wet was a little disconcerting too. These Monkeez really did their job. “Hi,” Janet chirped to the Little girl, “What’s your name?” She was still crouching after setting me down. “Diandra…” the Little girl said. Her pacifier had been removed, but was still dangling from her collar. “Now, anyways. My...my Mommy changed it for me…” We were in the same boat, this Diandra and me. She was nervous and scared: Scared of saying the wrong thing or the wrong term or nervous to say it in the wrong way. Afraid of what Janet might tell her Mommy. “Do you love your Mommy?” The girl hugged the toy butterfly as tightly as I clutched onto Lion. “Yes ma’am.” Right answer. Not likely a truthful one, but it was the right one. It was what the Amazon wanted to hear. “Good,” Janet approved. “Your Mommy loves you, too. No matter what.” Janet wasn’t just talking to the girl. It wasn’t nearly as comforting as she thought. “Yes ma’am.” She shifted and another jangle from the stuffie’s bell came out. I saw the girl’s eyes and nostril’s flare with a kind of excitement. She gave it another shake. This time it was loud enough that I felt a strange buzz in the back of my brain. A guy could get to like that buzzing… that was a bad thing. I managed a half step back. “I wouldn’t,” I said to the diapered woman. “Clark,” Janet said in a warning tone. “It’s her toy and she can play with it how she wants, just like how you can play with Lion.” She repeated, “Lion” with a grin, still swooning that I’d opted to give my toy the simplest (and therefore in her mind the “Littlest” and most “babyish”) name possible. Diandra’s (I knew her by no other name) Mommy came out of the bathroom and traded spots with Janet, taking hold of her Little’s leash, and grabbing me by the hand for good measure. I was not trusted to not to run, even though I had nowhere to run to. This lady didn’t ask questions. Instead she explained the obvious. “Grown-ups like Mommy can’t just go potty in their diapers whenever they want. They have to hold on until they can get to a restroom.” I started nuzzling Lion as a way to avoid her seeing my eyes roll. “Why don’t you just wear a diaper, then?” I dared to ask. I got a look of panic from my fellow prisoner. The Amazon seemed unfazed. “Because,” she cooed. “I’m not a baby. Only babies get to have grown-ups take care of them and change them and feed them and buy them pretty clothes and toys.” My punishment was her privilege. Damn that worked on so many different levels. Typical. “Being a grown-up is so hard and sometimes it’s no fun at all!” she lectured. “Babies get to play and don’t have to worry about anything! Aren’t you two lucky to get to be babies and not have to worry about all that yucky grown-up stuff?” I exchanged looks with the other Little. That last sentence wasn’t really a question. “Yes, ma’am.” I said. “Yes, Mommy,” her voice overlapped with mine. Janet came back out and picked me up. Diandra’s captor followed suit. “I saw there were three changing stations in there.” “I saw that too.” “Their turn?” “Their turn.” A few more giant strides and I was on my back, a strap over my chest, and my onesie being unsnapped from the bottom. Janet and her fellow Amazon got all the privacy they wanted, even going so far as taking turns. Me and the Little girl got our clothes hiked up and our diapers changed in tandem. The sounds of tapes being ripped off of plastic blasting in stereo. I pretended to be deeply fascinated in Lion, pressing his synthetic fur and cotton filled corpse onto my face as baby wipes were dragged over my half naked form. I was both trying to rebury my head in the proverbial sand as well as give the other Little some measure of modesty. It wasn’t much, but it was what I could do. Little things. Janet and the other woman made small talk while we were being changed. They talked about how friendly the judge was and how excited they were to be officially and legally mothers, all while balling up two wet diapers and wipes and tossing them in the garbage can. “There’s so much I can’t wait to do!” the other Amazon said as I felt the new diaper slipped under me. “Play dates! Mommy daughter days!” Janet was busy dusting my backside. “Mmmhmm! I’m personally hoping that his nursery and furniture is replaced and repainted by the time we get back to Oakshire.” I looked up at her just as the front ends of the diaper were being tucked in so that the back sides could be tugged up and taped on. “Surprise!” she winked at me. “You live all the way in Oakshire?” the other Amazon said. “That’s a shame, I was hoping you might know some good local daycares.” “Sorry,” Janet said while she finished the last tape and started rebuttonning me. The Little girl was back on the ground, her change finished slightly before mine, her pink toddler leash still firmly in her captor’s grasp. “I don’t know about daycares in Oakshire,” Janet’s new bathroom buddy said, “but if you give me your email I can forward you to some links that contain Little based attractions here in the city. Might be good for a weekend trip or something.” “Oh that’d be great. There’s not a lot to do back home. We had to come all the way out here just to finalize Clark’s adoption.” “Yes, but I can see the appeal for a quiet, less busy life to raise a Little child in.” The two talked all the way out of the courthouse and into the parking lot, gabbing like old friends, or new parents who were just ready to jump into the room. The other Little- who had had even her first name stolen from her- exchanged quiet looks of commiseration. She’d stopped shaking her butterfly, too. I think my warning clued her in. We were our Mommies’ dark mirrors in so many ways. They were powerful. We were helpless. They got to lead. We had to follow. They were getting everything they’d ever wanted. We had a life of, at best, compromise to look forward to. They were defined now in so many ways because they had chosen us. We were going to be defined by being forced with them. And most importantly, in the eyes of the law and society at large, they’d be looked at and be seen by so many as so many things. Janet was a woman, a divorcee, a mother, a teacher, a neighbor and member of a community; possibly a potential lover. Me? All I got to be was her baby and maybe a cautionary tale to Littles who saw me. As I was being buckled back into the carseat for the long ride home, I saw that the line of new “parents” and their Littles still stretched out. It had grown if anything. Plenty of Amazons had decided to adopt after work, I guessed. These thoughts stuck with me the rest of the day, my first full day as a babied Little. I had only my simple but harmless stuffed animal to give me comfort, and occasionally Janet when I could make myself forget that it was her fault I was stuck like this. Janet hadn’t lied. This place was “special”. But “special” wasn’t the same thing as “good”.

You sure "Chocolate" wouldn't be more appropriate?

I must say I don’t want to see people wondering around in just big peoples undies and a t-shirt so I’m sure they don’t want to see me in just my diaper and a t-shirt.

Hello I'm in Bristol if anybody wants to chat and meet up in diapers

Adjustment Chapter 5 Sal dressed Pat in pale yellow overalls for day group. The overalls were new, and Sal had bought them a size too small for him, but as she thought, they now fitted him, if still a little snug around his diapered bottom. Without most of his 'junk', he was quite smooth in front now, with the swell of his diaper over his lower tummy giving him a lovely rounded profile down there. Sal wondered how small Pat would get. He was already smaller than most of the other boys at his day group. Sal had visions of Pat in a stroller, or even on her hip, like the way her friend Mary carried her boy now that he was small enough. The boy, her husband, objected to being hoisted on his wife's hip, as many boys objected to their diapers and so on. Like Pat complaining about wearing his 'baby diapers'. Thank God for the NDBC, she thought, recalling the new 'Women know best' ads. Sal decided to wear yoga pants, and was just as pleased with the bulge between her own legs, and the lump about the size of her little finger protruding in the centre. She liked the look. It made her feel authoritative in a way, not that she wasn't already. Pat seemed to have accepted his diapers, and chatted on the way to day group about the activities there. When they arrived at the centre, the woman in charge, Jenny, was herding the boys as they arrived away from the brightly coloured climbing equipment on the lawn towards the artwork covered glass doors of the main building. Sal greeted Jenny and briefly told her that Pat was now in daytime diapers. 'No problem, Sal,' replied Jenny. 'Most of the boys here are in diapers now. And that includes you, Mr Poopypsnts,' she added to a small boy who was tugging at her skirt and plaintively saying 'Jen!' as Pat trotted happily into the centre. Sal recognised in the softened features of the youngster Jenny's father Mikey. He'd started changing quite early, at the very start of the changes. He'd owned and managed a manufacturing business, which his wife now ran. He'd been well known in the town, and Sal remembered seeing him at various functions. He'd been over six feet tall, but was now the size of a largish toddler, tugging at the long print skirt of his statuesque 16 year old daughter. His change had been the impetus for Jenny to get into boy care. She'd been responsible for him at home while his wife attended to the company, and it had been easy to switch to institutional boy care, taking Mikey with her. Like quite a few of the smaller boys, Jenny's father had no control over his bladder or bowels, and Sal saw that his overalls had snaps inside the legs. Sal smiled as she saw the scruffy blue bear in the boy's free hand. She'd never seen him without it. Seeing her smiling at him, the boy shyly tried to hide behind his daughter. 'In a minute, Mikey,' said Jenny, and rolled her eyes at Sal. 'I only changed him 15 minutes ago,' she added. 'Want milk,' said Mikey. 'That's a relief,' said Jenny to Sal. She turned to look down at Mikey. 'In a minute, honey. Jenny's talking,' she told him. Mikey stood patiently, still clinging to his daughter's skirt. Sal noted Mikey's simplified vocabulary. She'd noticed Pat having trouble with big words too. It was quite endearing. She squatted and smiled at Mikey. 'Hullo, Mikey,' she said. 'I'm Sally. How are you?' Mikey managed to put his thumb in his mouth without letting go of his bear. 'Want milk,' he repeated around his thumb, moving even closer to Jenny. Sal stood up again with a laugh. 'He's adorable,' she said to Jenny. 'Well, yes,' said Jenny, 'Apart from the poopy diapers. Mum's been breastfeeding him, and all he wants now is milk. And I'm not really set up for that yet,' she said, putting a hand to one of her moderately sized breasts. 'Do you breastfeed?' she asked Sal, looking at the large breasts beneath Sal's sweater. 'No,' said Sal with a laugh. 'But I've been thinking of it.' 'Mum loves it,' said Jenny. 'Johnny, you know, my boyfriend, is quite small too and has become very oral. She feeds him too.' A woman arrived towing two noisy boys in thick diapers. One was crying. 'Oh, last two,' said Jenny. 'I'd better go, Sal, and I've got this one to look after as well,' she added, prising Mikey's fingers from her skirt and taking his hand. 'OK,' said Sal. 'I'm off too. Say goodbye to Pat for me,' she added with a laugh. 'I will,' said Jenny. 'Come on Mikey.' To be continued.