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Part 5: Weak One Chapter 41: My First Day At School “There must be some kind of mistake,” The Principal peered at me over the top of her desk. “Enrollment is open, but classes don’t begin for another week.” The receptionist, a Miss Raine Forrest, held my hand and looked to the administrator. “That’s what I tried to tell him, Mr. Mann. But he insists he’s a new hire. A teacher.” I stood there, silently, hoping my deodorant would hold up under the pressure. Tucking my notebook under my free arm, praying that it would somehow make a difference. The only thing I wanted to be sweaty was my palm, a good way to safely and politely wriggle out of the receptionists grip. The giant couldn’t possibly think I needed a diaper because of moist hands, could she? Then again, she was an Amazon. Amazons would use any reason they could get, no matter how implausible. Typical. Cassie told me I shouldn’t have come here. Even on my shiny new scooter, fancy notebook, perfectly combed hair, trimmed goatee, and pressed suit, I wouldn’t look “grown-up” enough for this crowd. I should have stuck with the plan and relegated myself to an online setting, where I could teach Littles around the world; or at least work with Amazons where they couldn’t lay their mitts on me. And yet… The Principal walked around from his desk. An old man with jowls that made him look like a bulldog and a patch of white hair rounding his otherwise bald dome. Guy could have played Scrooge in the Oakshire Christmas Pageant. I never liked that story, though; too much emphasis on Scrooge reforming all because of Little Liam. Another example of an Amazon being their best only when they had an opportunity to “take care” of someone smaller than them. “What did his Mommy or Daddy say?” He didn’t look at me, just to the receptionist. “That was the weird thing,” Forrest said. “He didn’t have anyone.” She looked down at me and smiled. “Though I wouldn’t mind…” She let the thought just float into the air, leaving it unsaid. “That’s very kind of you,” I lied. “But I’m not here to enroll, I’m here to report for work.” I was tempted to say that I was very mature, but I knew that would be a trap. Cassie and I had run through several mock interrogations last night. “Never bring up things like maturity or how good you are at taking care of yourself.” She told me. “Don’t let it even come into their heads. That’s like chumming shark infested waters.” Principal Mann took a knee and looked me in the eye. He waved the woman off and she let go of my hand, though she didn’t move. I was released but still trapped. “What did you say your name was, Little Boy?” I shifted the notebook into my left hand and held it over my now free right one like it was a shield. “Clark Gibson, sir,” I nodded politely and put on my most placid smile. Never seem afraid. Amazons who saw a fearful Little would think he had something to be afraid of. This was true enough, but your typical Amazon never stopped to think that they might be the cause of such stress. I wouldn’t give him a sweaty handshake, either. Bad etiquette. “You interviewed me over the phone. Preschool teacher.” I did my best to not put any hint of a question in that sentence. Never give them a reason to doubt. The Principal narrowed his eyes. “Gibson? Yes. I did, didn’t?” I remained quiet. Patient. Serene. I wasn’t in any danger. This was just a tiny mixup. “I didn’t know you were a Little.” “You never asked,” I said as calmly as I could. I hoped my smile added to the facade. In truth he didn’t ask because he wasn’t allowed to ask. Legally speaking, no one was allowed to be denied employment based on their age, race, gender, sexual orientation, religion, or size. Amazons liked to try though. His lips twisted. I’d say he’d just sucked on a major sour ball, but Amazons hated candy by and large. “You seemed very articulate over the phone. Very mature.” “Thank you, sir.” I said. Fuck you too, old man. I saw him sniff the air, lightly. I looked up and saw the other Amazon do the same. They were sniffing the air. Sniffing for me. Seeing if they could detect a whiff of baby powder, or the faint scent of ammonia or methane. If I so much as farted now, the sharks would frenzy. What would I do if one of them tried to check my pants? To grope me to see if I was wearing a diaper or pull open the back of my pants to see if I’d pooped them? I honestly didn’t know how I’d react to that. Would I freak out and lose my temper? Would I freeze and lose my ability to speak? Would I...would I wet myself? No. No. No. Just breathe, Clark. Just breathe. In and out. In and out. Don’t let them see you sweat; literally or figuratively. This was okay. This was okay. This was going to be okay. Any minute now the Amazons would see their mistake and escort me into my classroom; my classroom; that I was in charge of. This was the dream. The dream that I was teetering on the edge of achieving but if I teetered the wrong way I’d end up in my worst nightmare. Why had I gone for an elementary school position?! I had gotten certifications all the way through highschool, but this was the first brick and mortar school where I’d applied. Why?! If I had gone for that ninth grade remedial calculus position like Cassie had suggested, there would at least be some distance the Amazons would have to carry me before I got to a nursery; more time to escape. This place had one on campus! “You wanted to see me, Mr. Mann?” A new giantess stepped into the Principal’s Office, closing the door behind her. She was at least twenty years my senior, early to mid forties. Her curly auburn hair had some dark greys at the roots in need of dyeing, but her glasses weren’t too terribly thick; reading glasses worn out of habit most likely. Her jeans and faded t-shirt stood apart from my extremely professional attire, but school was not yet in session. Everyone, I would learn, tended to dress more casually when students weren’t around; especially when they had heavy classroom furniture to move around. Being an Amazon, she had that luxury. Her normal attire would still lean closer to business casual most days; as the “Littles’ Teacher” she was required to dress more practically; something she could get dirty or get on the floor to soothe a “tantruming” prisoner, or chase after an “antsy” inmate that had somehow made it out of their crib during naptime. The receptionist took this as her cue to leave. She slipped and slithered away, giving me more than a passing glance before she finally closed the door. The Principal stood up. “Mrs. Beouf, good to see you. How was your summer?” He offered out his hand. She took it. “Good,” the new woman said. “Got to spend lots of time with my daughter.” Fuck! She already had a Little girl! Please don’t want twins, please don’t want twins, please don’t want twins! “How old is she now? Is she in highschool, yet?” Mrs. Beouf shook her head. “Not yet. One more year before we have to go through all of that.” The two shared a chuckle. “Enjoy it while you can. They grow up so fast.” “They really do.” Okay...a mother, not a so-called Mommy. I wasn’t out of the woods. I’d heard about more than one Amazon deciding that their bio-kids really were growing up too fast so they snatched up a new child that would never grow up. The fact that this one was literally old enough to be my mother made it more likely in my mind. I was so tempted to see if I could find a way to sneak out. No such luck. The giant woman stared down at me. “Oh,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to interrupt you two.” She was looking at me, but the Principal felt she was addressing him, and why shouldn’t he? “Oh, it’s no trouble at all. This is someone I actually wanted you to meet. Mrs. Beouf, meet Clark Gibson.” Her hand reached down. “Pleasure to meet you, Clark. Melony Beouf.” “Nice to meet you, Mrs. Beouf.” I had no choice. I reached up and shook her hand. Amazingly, she let it go after only a second or so. “Please,” she said. “Call me Melony.” My entire brain buzzed with a hornet’s nest of anxiety. “Thank you for the privilege, Mrs. Beouf, but I’m just old fashioned.” When you’re twenty-two, everyone over thirty seems like a Mister or a Miss. When you’re a Little everyone who has more than a foot on you gets the same treatment, lest you get an unwanted and unending lesson in manners. The giantess seemed to consider this for a moment. “Fair enough, Mr….Gibson..?” I nodded. Yes. She’d gotten it right. She’d gotten it right and called me by my last name- for all intents and purposes my adult name- and I didn’t even need to ask her to. The fuck was happening? “I thought you liked your students to call you Mrs. B,” the old Principal said. “I do,” Beouf said, “but my co-workers can call me whatever makes them the most comfortable.” “Yes, about that…” Mann started. “There seems to have been a mista-” “Hold that thought, sir.” Without crouching down, the Amazon looked at me. “Mr. Gibson, are you a union member?” I dry swallowed. “Um...this is my first job. So-” “Would you like to be?” “Yes!” I almost yelped. “Good,” Mrs. Beouf smiled. “Do you have a dollar?” The bit of my pocket change that I’d brought for a vending machine lunch couldn’t go into her palm fast enough. I’d go hungry for a day if it meant I could go home with my original underwear on. “I’ll have some forms for you to sign later, but the rest of your dues will come out of your paycheck. I’ll write you a receipt, too.” She slipped the dollar into her pocket and looked at the Principal. “You were saying, sir?” “Yes, I think there’s been a mistake,” the Principal continued. “This Little Boy thinks he’s going to be our new Pre-Kindergarten teacher. I really think he’d be a better fit in your room, if you understand what I’m saying.” I understood what he was saying. I understood very well. But what would this new stranger think? “Are you asking me as a Union Representative, or as the Maturosis and Developmental Plateau teacher?” I cocked an eyebrow. Maturosis? Developmental Plateau? The hell was that? “As a teacher, of course.” Mr. Mann said. “You do such a great job with the Littles under your care, I thought one more wouldn’t be any trouble at all.” Beouf adjusted her glasses. “What does his I.E.P. say?” “He doesn’t have one.” The principal replied, curtly. “Does he have a Maturosis diagnosis?” Mann frowned. “A what?” At least I wasn’t the only one who didn’t know what the lady was talking about. “What data do you have to support that he needs care beyond what his same aged peers require?” The old bulldog looked like he’d just been asked to justify chasing cats and biting mailmen. “He’s a Little...and we have a classroom...specifically for Littles.” “Only Littles who need it.” She looked to me and nodded. “Now let me speak as his Union Representative. Have you hired him, yet?” “Well...I…” I shot my hand up and spoke up as loud as I could. “Yes, sir.” I said. “I signed and faxed the papers back to you two weeks ago.” I opened up the notebook and flashed my copy of the employment contract plus all of the hoops the personnel department had made me jump through. I’d crossed every t and dotted every i. I wasn’t going to be denied this job on a technicality. Mrs. Beouf reached down and took a look at my paperwork. “Everything seems to be in order. Same contract that all the new hires sign.” “Mrs. Beouf…” There was a line of warning in his voice. “Yes, Mr. Mann?” She held my copy of the contract. The shield was in her hands. Now she was shielding me. Her tone was placid, but had its own quiet edge to it. I had representation, apparently. If I didn’t get this job, I might actually get to sue. The man went behind his desk and sat down, rubbing his temples. “Whatever,” he grumbled. “I’m retiring at the end of this year anyway. Show him to the Preschool room.” “Of course, sir.” She looked down at me. “Right this way, Mr. Gibson.” On a kind of half-instinct, I reached my hand up, expecting to be led. Mrs. Beouf ignored it and walked right off without me. I had to break out into a jog just to keep up. When we were out on the campus, I’d caught up and had slowed my breathing and pace to more of a power walk compared to the other teacher’s relatively leisurely stroll. Long legs and all that. (Other teacher...damn that felt good to even think. This was it. I really was becoming a teacher.) “Don’t worry, Mr. Gibson,” Mrs. Beouf said once she’d seen that I’d caught up. “Mann is on his way out. He’s all talk, too.” I nodded, saying nothing. Still not a good idea to badmouth an Amazon to another Amazon. “Now the Assistant Principal, Brollish, you better watch out for her. She’s a real witch.” We came to a classroom. She opened the door to me. “We’re gonna have to figure out some kind of pulley system or something,” she said. “Make it so you can reach your own door.” She made a gesture. “After you.” I felt the slightest bit of trepidation. But if I was going to be snatched up, I told myself, it wouldn’t be here. “Thank you.” The place was barren, just a few kidney tables and an overly heavy looking oak desk in the corner. Nothing that might indicate it to be a preschool classroom; or a classroom at all. It looked closer to a storage closet. “Last teacher took all her junk and ran,” Beouf said, shaking her head. “I don’t even think some of it was hers.” I nodded, noncommittally. “No big deal.” No use in whining and crying over milk you never had. “If you’d like,” Beouf said, “I can loan you some of my excess stuff. Help you spruce up the place a little bit. Old stuffies for a play center. Some toys. Extra chairs. That kind of thing.” “That’d be nice,” I said. I was starting to feel more relaxed around this woman. She’d gone to bat for me, faced off an asshole Principal that would have literally seen me adopted before employed, and was now offering to help me arrange and decorate your classroom. Even more impressive she wasn’t assuming that I had children’s toys of my own. “Thank you.” “Don’t worry about it,” Beouf said. “Everybody starts out as the new guy. Follow me. We’re neighbors.” I did. I gasped upon entering her room. It was literally what I’d imagined my own room to eventually look like. Bright colors. Activity centers. Neatly organized toy bins. A visual schedule so that children who couldn’t tell time could still develop a sense of predictable routine. It was bigger than my room too; even had another room attached to it. I peeked in and saw the cribs. That’s when it hit me. “Oh yeah.” I’d almost forgotten. “You’re the uh...Littles’ teacher.” I’d been so overjoyed at surviving my own brush with infancy that I’d forgotten I was being lead around by the Grand Dame of Diapering, herself. “A lot of my toys aren’t developmentally appropriate for your students,” she said, completely ignoring the reluctance in my voice. “But there’s a couple things that I think will help get you started. Until you build your own stockpile,” she added. “Uh-huh…” This...all of this was used to baby Littles. Just thinking about it made me feel kind of gross. I was winning though. I was winning. I’d be going home to Cassie tonight. And what was that saying? Know Thy Enemy? That’s what I told myself anyhow. “I can also show you how to order your own stuff from the county.” Beouf went on. She went to a steaming pot of coffee, high on a counter so that no child (or Little) could reach it by themselves. “You can get your room cubbies, desks, a changing table,” she took a sip. I took the moment to interrupt up. “No changing tables,” I said. Beouf put her mug down. “Not every preschooler comes to class potty-trained you know.” I nodded. “Yeah, but I don’t have a problem with potty training.” That had a double meaning and I meant it. “Part of the job description is getting them ready for Kindergarten. That includes toileting.” Beouf took another sip. “Good point. Force of habit, I guess. Though trust me, you’re going to want wipes for your classroom. Kids that size tend to get..sticky.” She laughed at her own joke. I chuckled politely. She looked at me, and then to her mug. “Oh, forgive my manners. Coffee?” “Yes, please.” Coffee? Coffee?! Why was I accepting coffee? “It’s probably poisoned!” I heard Cassie’s voice belting in my brain. “She’s probably just built up some kind of immunity to it. It’s a trick! It’s a trick!” Nevertheless, I accepted the giant steaming mug handed to me. I took a gulp of the stuff...and nearly bit my tongue off trying not to grimace. “Thank...you…” The bluff didn’t take. “Heh-heh-heh. I make it a little strong, don’t I?” “Yup…” “I’ll have to bring in some cream and sugar next time.” Next time?! “No, no, no,” I said. “I’ll bring my own. From home.” That...was kind of a lie. I didn’t actually have coffee at home. Cassie would be ordering an express delivery from the grocery store tonight. “I’ll bring my own pot too!” “Okay,” Beouf said. “We’ll take turns.” I blinked up at her. “Take turns?” “Sure. I’ll make coffee for you today. Tomorrow you can brew a pot.” My poker face failed me again. “Or I can show you a few tricks first. You can just bring your stuff in whenever you’re ready.” “Yeah?” “Yeah.” “I’d like that.” That part wasn’t a lie. And so was the start of a beautiful friendship. One that lasted for nearly ten years. I’d be lying to you if I told you that this is exactly what I dreamt about, stuck in Janet’s crib that Sunday night. With rare exceptions I don’t tend to remember my dreams; the good ones least of all. But I’d like to think I did. I was certainly thinking about it that morning as Janet changed me, dressed me and put me in that car seat before the sun had even come up. There would have been something nice, poetic even, about having such a dream. Something fair.

Scene #130 It was sorta unspoken that with me not working I’d be taking on a larger share of the housework. I mean, I gotta pull my weight around here, dainty as I am. Gotta pull on my big girl pants and … clean up after myself cuz I have a habit of not doing that. Sure, the occasional dish goes missing and turns up in Mary’s office (plates and bowls and glasses, not hot little ol’ me), but the general clutter in other rooms of the house is majority-owned by me. Take the bedroom: I’m content to live out of the laundry basket. Wear the clean clothes in the basket, discard the dirty ones in a pile next to the basket, re-wears to go on top of the dresser. Not folded neatly on the dresser; more haphazardly strewn, but I prefer to think of it less as haphazard and more as candid, like an unposed photo. Except pants and shorts, which I hang up on a coat hook behind the door. Not on a hanger; just through a belt loop. When Mary discovered that in my bachelorette pad, she said (get this!) that it was the kind of thing she expected in a boy’s dorm room. As if! Really. Self-awareness being one of my many stellar attributes, it’s not like I’m unaware that I make messes and clean them up belatedly - which is the proper way to think of it and not, as mary says, ‘never.’ I’ve been meaning to get around to fixing this personal flaw. Mary, bless her heart, had a fun reminder waiting for me when I descended to the kitchen to find a note waiting for me. Morning, Daffodil, I had an early call and already made myself breakfast. I have an activity for you: a treasure hunt! There’s a clue in each room, but to find it, you’re probably going to have to clean up. Aw, don’t be sad! Look high, look low, look under things. Make yourself a nice breakfast (with protein!). The first clue is in the kitchen. I’m not sure, but I think I married a smartass. But takes one to know one, or something, I guess. A smartass who really looks after me. She cares more about me getting enough protein than I do, and I know from painful experience that peanut butter and cream cheese don’t count (which I’ll grudgingly agree with since the main macronutrient in both of those is fat, which is why you should never read labels and just pretend everything that tastes good is phenomenal for you). An egg and an English muffin later, and I set about the treasure hunt. Let us first consider that whatever the providence of the English muffin, no it’s not. And then let us move on to how sweet Mary is: calls me Daffodil, she wants me to be strong and healthy and full of protein, and she makes treasure hunts for me even though she’s working. It takes a lot of creativity to come up with clues for a treasure hunt. She could’ve just asked me to do some cleaning, but she wanted to make it fun. She’s such a softie! When she isn’t being a (delectable) hardass. I wiped down the counters; I swept the floor (cuz I wiped everything onto the floor); I sprayed the stuff that kills the orange stuff in the space between the sink and counter that is the stupidest design ever which is why it’s always wet which is why there’s orange stuff; I did the dishes; I wiped down the sink; and I unloaded the dishwasher, which contained both dishes and a clue (heck I’m good at treasure hunts! But what else would you expect of me, a paragon of ingenuity?). And the clue said, Living room. Don’t forget to get up high. Huh. That’s less a clue than instructions. So what if Mary didn’t spend time thinking up clues so much as putting instructions on post-its? That’s still sweet of her. I mean, there’s still treasure at the end of the hunt. I skipped to the high parts, which required me to get the stepladder. Know when the last time someone dusted on top of our bookshelves was? I think maybe never. Lo and behold, a clue fell down. I pocketed it. Time enough for that after I wiped off the tables; flipped the sofa cushions; thought better of flipping them when I saw all the crap under them; decided what the hey and took everything off the bookshelves to dust and wipe both the things and the shelves; wiped off the TV (before buying a new TV, maybe just windex it first?); and vacuumed the sofa, the loveseat, and the carpet. I took out the note and read, Downstairs bathroom. Well, that was just curt. But no matter. I went and got the headphones I’d suffered for, turned on cleaning music, and vacuum-danced down the hall to the bathroom because hallways, ladies and gentlemen, get dirty, too. It was my idea to keep all the bathroom cleaning supplies under the sink under the theory that I’d use them more often if they were right there ready to go. Turns out, not so much. But what can ya do (besides actually use them … really, I’m asking if there’s an alternative to actually using them … please?). And Mary must’ve lost her mojo cuz the next “clue” was “hidden” in plain sight on top the sink. That sent me upstairs. I did a good job cleaning. I wouldn’t call it a deep clean because we still do that together on the second Saturday of every month, but I gave everything more than a once over. Know what we never deep clean though? The basement, where the last clue took me. We have all kinds of fun stuff in the basement. We could turn it into a museum of our kinky fun times if we unpacked some of the boxes and put some of the outfits and things on display. What sorts of things? Never you mind what sorts of things. Just stuff … and things. And somewhere, I think, she hid the virtual reality headset I got my tail whacked for. Maybe she’d feel differently about it if I explained there’s this thing called virtual reality porn. The cleaner the basement got, the dirtier I got. Sweaty and dusty from moving boxes so I could sweep behind them. We got maybe too much stuff. Of course, a lot of it is Christmas stuff and just seeing the boxes made me want to carry it all upstairs and decorate, but that would be premature … under normal circumstances. Maybe there’s no such thing as premature on the tail-end of a pandemic that’s messing with everyone’s perception of time anyway. That decorating is only mostly fun without Mary is the only reason why I didn’t. And at last I came to the far corner of the basement, having swept my way there, and o my how many dead bugs we own. Blech! On that far side of the basement lay a box where no other boxes were. There’s the box side of the basement and gym side of the basement, and this box did not belong. But it was less that than the post-it on top that peaked my curiosity: DO NOT OPEN!!! BRING UPSTAIRS WHEN YOU’RE DONE CLEANING. Sensing a trap and avoiding a trap are not the same thing. Besides, I reasoned, if she really didn’t want me to open it she would’ve taped it shut. It was just folded shut. Could it be a present for being a good cleaner? Could it be a present for being me (which deserves praise and tribute, dammit!)? Could it be (squeee!) an early Christmas present? Could it be my VR headset cuz Mary’s a softie and wouldn’t make me wait for four months after all? Mary was working. I doubted very much she rigged the thing with an alarm (she’s not that devious; that’s my job), and it’s not like we have cameras in the basement. And it wasn’t taped, so I could just open it and fold it closed again and she’d be none the wiser. Also, I am too a good rule follower! Really. Just, um … shut up. And what delightful treasure did I find inside? Jewels? Bearer bonds? Panties from the grownup section of a department store? Nope. Course not. Dammit … I found the hairbrush, a diaper, and a note: Such a naughty girl! Now you’ve earned yourself a bare bottom trip over my knee for a spanking on your naughty bottom. Tsk tsk tsk. But I know at heart you’re a good girl (maybe even the best, as you’re probably grumbling to yourself right now), so I know you’ll fess up and bring the box upstairs still open to show me how naughty your choice was. Well, crap. She’s lucky I am the best girl or I’d have given her an earful about her crummy clues and chore list disguised as the crappiest treasure hunt ever. And I barely even stomped up the stairs, so good on me for that too. “Mary,” I called out. “I found your stupid treasure.” And no I did not have an attitude. Really. “I take it from your tone and choice of adjective you didn’t follow directions,” she said as she emerged from her office. “Daffy,” she chuckled upon seeing me, “you are a mess.” “It’s dusty down there,” I said as I surveyed myself. I was gross. “I’m not putting you over my knee like that.” “Well good because your treasure hunt sucked.” That just made her chuckle more. “You haven’t even seen the treasure yet, have you?” “Um, hello,” I said and shook the box. “So what’s the treasure,” she asked. “A spanking and a diaper.” “Then you didn’t find the treasure.” “Is it better or worse?” “Better,” she said. She took the box from me, tsking as she did. “Curiosity may prove fatal to cats, but for little girls it just results in spanked butts.” She put the hairbrush on the table and took out the diaper. “The treasure is inside.” She unfolded the diaper and revealed a piece of paper. “Wanna guess?” “A certificate for a free spanking?” “I’m saving that for your birthday.” “Another trip?” “Think much smaller.” “What?” She unfolded it. “Tickets to the new Bond movie.” “(Gasp!) Really? We can go?” She wouldn’t let me near a confined space for almost the past two years! “Yes, and it starts in an hour and we have a lot to do.” “Like what?” She scoffed. “You need a bath, I have to spank your bottom, and we gotta get you into your movie diapie.” O. “Well, what if I take too long in the bath? Can we skip the last two?” “Guess I’ll have to give you that bath myself.” “Well, that helps.” She does this thing with her hands when she gives me baths called rubbing soap all over methat I like lots. “And since you were a good girl and didn’t try to hide what you did, I’ll even dry your bottom off before I spank it.” “How … sweet of you.” “Let’s go.” She swatted my butt. “Scoot.” “Thanks for the present.” “You’re welcome.”

Hi this is just a personal update, though I imagine it applies to others who have been in my shoes. Recently I read several places that after so many years of unpotty training, it’s irreversible. (User Kali-is-an-abdl on Tumblr has a post about it.) I’m at 5 years. Originally I was skeptical of this claim. Though after much consideration I have to admit that I don’t think I can successfully repotty train at this point. My bladder control is shot; I feel too scared to go without diapers and I would probably subconsciously undermine any efforts so I could stay in diapers. Even though I want to be in diapers the rest of my life… the permanency of my actions are just now sinking in. It’s weird to think that I no longer have much of a say in it. Here are some of the things I’m thinking about: - There is no longer any point in testing my level of continence. If my bladder control worsens, I’m still going to be in diapers. Even if it turns out that I have more control than I thought, it’s not good enough to be out of diapers. - Similarly, I still have some bladder control. Even though it’s not nearly enough to be of practical use, it’s a source of frustration for me. However it occurred to me that if I really am stuck in diapers, which seems to be the case, then it doesn’t matter if I could have made it to the toilet or not. - I don’t have to decide if I want to achieve bowel incontinence or not. Regardless of the answer I’m still in diapers. - It doesn’t really matter what others such as health care professionals, or family, or whoever thinks of me being in diapers. I mean I want to be accepted just as much as anyone else. But I don’t really have a choice in the matter any more. Anyways where I’m at with things. It’s still kind of trippy to think of myself as stuck in diapers. But I’m not exactly complaining about it! ❤️❤️❤️

Yes, very pleasant feeling laying on my back in bed and letting it just flow to the back of my diaper. Sometimes I even make sure my diaper is not very tight up between my legs and point down so nothing hits the crotch of my diaper - it runs right down my butt cheeks to the back of my diaper. But then, I always enjoy any first wetting in a dry diaper, feeling the warm wetness flowing out into my diaper and around my crotch and privets.

Great flashback chapter to read before his new first day at school. Beouf really was an ally right from the get-go. Clarks ego shone through strongly, even at that early stage to make him take such a position. Literally asking for trouble. I agree with @Moon3ye This makes me think that in this DD iteration Maturosis is the real deal. What else would have turned Beouf so quickly? From her perspective this would have been mercy and a kindness to do with her being negligent if she didn't.

@oznl that’s a great question! Though I doubt I’ll have an answer without doing urodynamic testing. In my experience daytime incontinence is insidious. It doesn’t feel like anything. I feel the exact same as I felt my whole life. I can can close off my sphincter muscle just as well as I could 20 years ago. It’s just that 9/10 times when I try to hold it in, my bladder just sort of gives up. If anything it feels like I’m being lazy in the sense that if I tried just a little harder I would’ve made it. A lot of times I feel like I either gave up and intentionally, or waited too long to the bathroom. Though over and over and over again I pee myself. I suppose that’s why it took so long for me to “accept” myself as incontinent. And yes there are potentially serious consequences of long term incontinence. For starters there’s the risk of developing urinary retention if the bladder stops voiding completely. That can be harmful to the kidneys if it gets severe enough. Also, decades from now when I’m older and more prone to infections and less able to change myself, there’s a real and serious risk of skin breakdown and infections. Though I decided I would rather live the next 3-4 decades as happily incontinent and risk a serious infection towards the end of my life over being miserable and toilet trained and living slightly longer.

It ABSOLUTELY is what I wanted. But it’s weird to think that it doesn’t really matter any more.

Five. Veronica didn’t come home that night. When I woke at 4 AM, still dozing on the couch with a soaked diaper on under my pants, I carefully made my way to the bedroom to see if Veronica was already tucked in. It was empty. By 9 AM, as I scrambled an egg for myself, there was still no sign of her. No text messages. No phone calls. I couldn’t decide which was worse: that I hadn’t heard from her, or that I wasn’t especially bothered by her absence. I looked up at the ceiling. On the other side of it would be Ashley’s apartment. I knew exactly where Veronica was. But that was all that I knew. What had bothered me more was the lack of response to the picture I had sent Ashley. Somewhere around 10:30 PM I had wet myself pretty heavily. Then, in the hour or so that I sat around in my diaper working up the courage to send her a picture of it, I managed to wet myself a second time. It was close to midnight when I finally hit “send” on a picture of my legs opened wide, the bottom of my soaked diaper sagging between them. I had taken close to 50 pictures, and picking the right one had proven itself to be almost more difficult than actually sending it. Hours later, as I prepared breakfast, I wasn’t completely sure what I had been thinking when I sent the photo I did. Of all the photos I sent, that one was one of the more humiliating angles. But she hadn’t responded. I wasn’t even sure if she had seen the photo or not. My mind automatically went to the worst case scenario: Somewhere, in between getting drunk together and fucking each other, they were laughing at my picture. Look at this pathetic toddler of a man! It was a little irrational to truly believe that was the case, I knew this. Ashley had made it clear that she was curious about the diapers - and she was certainly willing to show Veronica how little she could be. Yet, the longer it went without a response, the more I dwelled on the worst possibilities. When I heard my phone buzz from across the kitchen, I just about fell on my ass trying to rush to it. Would it be Ashley, finally responding to my photo? Veronica, telling me where she was? It turned out to be neither. It was a message from one of the dating apps. The “adult friend” app. Her name was Lucy, or so her profile said. My age. She was somewhere in the city. She had two pictures. One showcased her voluminous light brown hair and equally plump lips - coated in a delectable red lipstick. The other was of her ass, or an ass. Round and perfectly curved, I could feel myself springing to life in my pants just staring at it. The cynic in me didn’t believe that any of this was real - as much as I wanted it to be. But that face? And that ass? I call myself a switch, her profile read. But, if I’m being honest, it’s only to cast a wide net. My comfort zone is on top, looking down at you. I’m open minded, but I hope that you are too. Slappable butt cheeks, foot-worshippers, and big babies to the front of the line. I closed the app. It was too good to be true. I liked the concept of Lucy. Loved, even. It was too much for me at that moment, though. Who was I fooling? The idea of finding someone else was a poor one - especially now that I was slowly finding myself sliding into some bizarre triangle here at home. Another cup of coffee. I stared at my phone, hoping that through sheer willpower alone, I’d manage to summon communication from either my wife or my neighbor. Instead, the front door opened and Veronica walked in. She was obviously wearing the same clothes she had gone out in. I expected a look of shame or embarrassment - but the smug smile on her face suggested the exact opposite. “Good morning,” she said. “Where did you two get drinks? The moon?” She scoffed and casually shrugged, putting down her purse and kicking off her shoes. She sauntered to the coffee maker and poured herself a cup. She began to drink it - black. She never did that. “Long night?” I asked. “Don’t get your boyhood all twisted,” she said. “We simply drank too much and I opted to crash at her place.” I was the one to scoff now. There’d be no convincing me that that was all that happened. “Not buying it?” she asked. “Well, you tell me then. What do you think happened?” There was no way that I was ever going to be able to say aloud the things I imagined the two of them doing. I’d probably end up turning myself on just getting the words out. “I have no idea,” I said. It was a concession. She had won, yet again. “I’m going to take a shower,” she said. “Maybe take a nap after.” Going to wash all the sex off? “Alright. See you later.” I wasn’t sure if I had felt better or worse after that exchange. There was no doubt in my mind that Veronica would’ve rubbed it in my face if she had seen the photo I had sent Ashley, so there was a little relief there. I daydreamed about Lucy - or perhaps I was just assigning aspects of her dating profile to the current iteration of The Coolest Woman Who Ever Lived that resided in my imagination. -- “Hello, handsome boy. In need of a change, are you?” she’d ask. “Not yet,” I said to her. “Well, best not to keep me waiting. Why don’t you squat down and put something in that diaper for me?” “I’d be happy to.” “But you’re going to have to fill it. And I mean really fill it. Up to the brim. I don’t care if it takes you all day. I’m not changing you until you absolutely need to be.” “Then I should get to work…” -- Opening my eyes was a mistake. It was just our apartment. No Lucy. No diaper. Only the faint sound of the shower running in the bathroom. My phone vibrated again. Finally, a response from Ashley. There was no acknowledgment of how long she had kept me waiting, but maybe it was for the best. I’d much rather see this reaction than an apology. Yes, that was probably bad. The water was still running. This was probably going to be my best opportunity to get her a diaper, as soon Veronica would be back in the bedroom, and it’d be unlikely that I could fish a diaper out of the closet while she was in there. It felt more like a covert operation than it should have. One ear was kept on the sound of the shower at all times while I rummaged through the closet. I plucked a diaper from my pack just as I heard the water shut off. I closed the closet door and quickly scrambled from the bedroom. I grabbed a paper bag from a cabinet and slid the thick diaper into it. It was almost a perfect fit, with just enough room at the top to fold it closed. I wanted to write something cute on the bag, but everything I could think of pretty much rendered the bag useless. I quickly darted from the apartment and took the stairs up a level and jogged over to her door, laying it on the ground in front of it. I remembered what she had said to me the night before and decided to repeat it to her: A pang of lust and excitement ran through my body. I needed to get out of there before I busted down her door. Back at the apartment, I found Veronica on the couch in a bathrobe instead of in bed. “Where were you?” “Checking the mail,” I said. I had almost phrased it as a question. “And did we get any?” “No…” I quickly added: “But maybe it just didn’t get here yet.” My phone vibrated in my pocket. I glanced to see who it was. “What’s your plan for the weekend,” Veronica asked, staring ahead at the TV. “No plans,” I said. “Laundry, I guess? There’s that new brewery downtown. Maybe I’ll go check that out?” “Exciting,” she said. I wondered how much of what I said she had paid attention to. “What about you?” I stepped back a little from Veronica so that I wasn’t in her field of vision. “I’m not sure,” Veronica said. “Ashley and I might go out again tomorrow. If that’s okay with you.” Her tone didn’t sound especially snarky, but I didn’t believe she actually cared about my feelings on the matter. “You certainly don't need my permission,” I said. “I was trying to be polite,” Veronica said. “I know things have gotten...weird lately. Weirder even. But I don’t want to be an asshole to you.” “You’re not an asshole,” I said. I truly believed that, though I knew there were some times when I was probably on the fence. “But I think you’re right. Things have gotten strange.” “What are we going to do about that?” I shrugged, though I knew she couldn’t see that. “I guess the question is...do we want to do something about that?” “Sometimes,” Veronica said. Her response didn’t make sense to me. I wondered if I had tuned out something she said while reading Ashley’s texts. “What do you mean?” “I mean...sometimes I think I want to do something about that.” “And what about the other times?” I asked. She just shrugged. Veronica sighed. “Is it possible, you think, for us to live together and be civil with each other - friends, even - while taking a minute or two to live for ourselves?” I felt like we had already had this conversation. Or maybe I had just assumed that was what we were already doing. My phone vibrated again. I glanced at it quickly, seeing that it was a photo from Ashley. I couldn’t even bring myself to look at it right now. “I can be civil if you can,” I said. “Even if I keep seeing Ashley?” Veronica asked. I considered - for the briefest of moments - mentioning my own tryst with Ashley, but I thought better of it. Not only would it likely not be received well, but I barely knew what it was myself yet. There was the distinct possibility that Ashley was just using me. “Yes,” I said. I couldn’t help myself, I looked at the photo Ashley had sent. Sure enough - there she was, posing in the mirror in just a diaper and a gray top that barely concealed her belly. The diaper was just a little too big for her, though she had made it work. But it only served to make the diaper seem thicker and more bulging on her. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck. “I meant what I said before,” Veronica said. “Find someone. Get out there and meet people. Maybe this is a good opportunity for us, you know? Maybe we see other people and it helps us not to take each other for granted.” “Or maybe we end up worse off than we are now,” I said. I could’ve kicked myself. I was being honest - and it was a valid concern - but I was shooting myself in the foot when I was being handed the opportunity to see other people without repercussions. If, of course, I believed what she said. If Veronica believed what she said herself. “It’s a risk I’m willing to take,” Veronica said. I reached down and adjusted my stiffening manhood in my pants - still grateful that Veronica couldn’t see me. “Okay,” I said to Veronica. “Okay?” “Okay. Me too. It’s a risk I’m willing to take as well.” “So we’re on the same page?” “I think so,” I said. I slipped my phone into my pocket as Veronica stood up. The timing was either a complete coincidence or I had unconsciously predicted that this would be the case. “I think I’m going to take that nap,” she said. “Thank you.” “For what?” “Talking with me, I guess. Or humoring me.” “I’m still your husband,” I said. “Some husbands throw their wives off of cliffs.” “That’s too much work for me,” I said. She laughed. It was the first time in a while that she had given me any sort of genuine smile. This was the Veronica I missed. As Veronica went into the bedroom and closed the door behind her, I could feel my phone vibrating in my pocket. This time I was in no rush to check it. It almost felt like it would spoil the small moment I had just shared with Veronica. Besides, I had some things to think about. I sat down on the couch, propped my feet up, and tried to just zone out for a bit. My phone vibrated again. Maybe Ashley was working up the courage to use her diaper for the first time. Another vibration. Maybe she actually went ahead and used it. Another vibration. And another. What have I gotten myself into?

Author's note. This is a sequel to Middle Management It was difficult being an Amazon; more so than the Tweeners or Littles could possibly understand. Amazons were the standard. The norm. The default. It’s why they were Amazons, and why everyone else was described in relation to them. Littles got to be irresponsible and immature, and Tweeners could dip their toes into either pool as long as they kept their noses and bottoms clean, but Amazons? Amazons were made of sterner and stronger stuff. Always. The smaller people thought that Amazons cosseted Littles and disciplined Tweeners out of some bizarre genetic defect; an overpowering nurturing instinct, perhaps due to a declining birthrate and fertility. Rubbish. The fact that there were always more Amazons around was proof that such norms were so much more than the last gasp of a dying race. If anything, Littles and Tweeners were the genetic throwbacks. Weaker and more capricious; needing infinitely more care and guidance to live quality lives. Others among the peanut gallery thought their treatment might be something similar to a twisted and soft form of control. In that regard they might be closer to the truth, if Jessica was being honest with herself. As justifications went, however, it didn’t stick in her mind. Fair was not the same as equal. You didn’t ask a goldfish to climb a tree, so why ask a Little to act like a true adult? You didn’t. The fact that Littles and Tweeners who couldn’t cut the mustard were whisked away to lives of padded underpants and doting daycares was almost a kind of accommodation; a luxury even. Amazons got no such accommodations; not as far as Jessica understood it. Diapers and such were a white badge of shame around wide enough hips. It was simply the way things were meant to be. Amazons were the standard. They were strong. They were adult. Not just physically, but socially, too. Strong like a top of the line vehicle right off the assembly line. There might be different paint jobs and some different bells and whistles; one might have a spoiler while the other a hood ornament; but under the hood it was always the same high performance vehicle. If only there wasn’t something wrong with Jessica’s engine. Hmm...poor analogy. More like her navigation system was off compared to adult models. For you see, Jessica, an Amazon in her early forties, liked to wear diapers. Wear AND use them for their intended purpose- number one and number two. She wasn’t incontinent; there was nothing physically wrong with her. She just got a certain kind of thrill when she filled her pants. One therapist suggested it was because she’d been toilet trained too early. Another too late. A third had literally written her a prescription for enrollment at a daycare and if not for her being on equal footing with the staff that prescription could have become highly involuntarily. “I don’t want to be a baby,” she’d told the fourth; an older Tweener she could easily overpower if the fiasco repeated itself. “I don’t think of myself that way.” The fact that that’s what so many of the shorter folk said too was irrelevant. “I hate the idea of being cooed at or fussed over.” Her nose wrinkled up a bit. “Don’t even get me started on Little fashion. Onesies and skirts that don’t work? My hair tied up in ribbons? No thank you. Same for furniture. No cribs or highchairs. No toys. None of that.” “But you find something attractive about the sensory aspect?” The counselor asked. “The feeling and texture? Perhaps the juxtaposition between clean, dirty, and clean again? Maybe even just the idea of breaking a societal norm yet otherwise retaining your independence?” “Yes, yes, yes!” Jessica had the distinct feeling that the smaller man had been reading her mind. The fellow removed his glasses and cleaned them gingerly with a handkerchief. “It seems to me, Ms. Stoneman, that you have a fetish.” A fetish? A dirty sounding word. Most mental diseases were dirty. “For whatever reason, your mind has latched onto these sensations and associated emotions with them and inflated their importance to your well being.” “How do I cure it?” Jessica had asked. “Hypnosis? Conditioning? How much therapy would I need to make these feelings go away?” The therapist put the glasses back on his head. “Quite simply,” he had told her, “you don’t. Psychologically speaking, those methods are ethically dubious at best, and I don’t think you’d truly be happy with the results.” “Then what do I do with-?” “You live with it,” the Tweener said plainly. “You either learn to live with it and accept it as one of your basic psychological needs and incorporate it into your lifestyle, you go overboard with it and make it a dominant characteristic of your personality and neglect other parts about yourself, or you hide it from yourself and others and learn to live with being unhappy.” “But what about sex?” Jessica had asked bluntly. “Do you realize how-? How do I-? Do I explain…?”” She didn’t quite have the words for it, but in general it was an unspoken fact that people confined to going potty in their pants did not tend to find the kind of love- romantic or sexual-that true adults were privy to. “You’ll just have to find someone that you trust not to take advantage of you or misrepresent the situation.” Jessica had paid the man double his usual rate that day. The first half for his admittedly valuable insight; the second half for his discretion and to make up for the fact that the first session would most certainly be the last. She had known what she’d had to do, and the Tweener couldn’t give her any extra help it seemed, so all there was left to do was fix it herself. She was an Amazon after all That had been over a decade ago. Her girlfriend at the time had been less than understanding. Breaking up with her because she didn’t want to make love to a diaper wearing baby. Her next boyfriend had seen it as an opportunity to discipline and correct, and lovingly pulled her over his knee to spank her regularly until she’d decided to grow up. It hadn’t corrected the problem. If anything it had made it worse. A part of her reveled in the shame and the endorphin rush from her bottom getting smacked was like a runner’s high. Great. Now she had two fetishes. He’d ruined it when he’d suggested feeding her in a highchair he’d ordered special just for her. Damn. So close. Yet so far away. Had to cut it off before she got tricked into being adopted. Better a free freak than a regressed one. That relationship was five years ago. Going on six. Jessica had since resigned herself to a life of being an old maid. Perhaps by the end of the year she’d complete it and adopt a shit ton of cats. Milling’s Medical Supply was a good place to work for her purposes, too. Quiet most of the time. Good hours. Decent pay. The clientele tended to lean away from the babying sort. They either cared for the adult but infirm, or were infirm themselves. The shelves were stocked with bandages, bedpans, shower chairs, canes, colostomy bags and the like. Diapers were present, too, but none of the tiny cutesy stuff that babies and Littles needed. Nothing with cartoons on the crotch and what have you. Just good performance medical supplies. Best of all, she got an employee discount, and the owner genuinely didn’t give a toss who said adult diapers were going to as long as the money was all there and accounted for. Milling’s used to have a jar full of lollipops for the odd man or woman who brought their child gauze shopping. Said jar was always placed under the counter and out of sight when Jessica was on duty. No need to reinforce return visits from certain people. Of course, with so many baby Littles out there, the old fashioned Mommying Amazon with more cosseting urges than common sense was inevitable. DING-A-LING! Jessica looked up from her phone and saw the Tweener power walk in. Based on the bright lime green shirt, matching shorts and sneakers, Jessica wasn’t surprised when she caught a glimpse of a Pull-Up peaking out. The girl looked around just long enough to catch sight of the restroom signs, and then honed in and skidded to a halt at the threshold holding herself like a three year old might. The clerk didn’t even bother to greet her. Any true adult that might need such protection would go to much greater lengths to conceal such a need. No juvenile clothes. Baggier pants that concealed any tell tale bulk or pulpiness. The baggy cargo pants, belt, and tucked in top that Jessica was wearing spoke to such precautions. The real power was likely just behind the girl... DING-A-LING! “Hello,” Jessica said before one foot was in the door. “Welcome to Milling’s!” The woman who stepped through was exactly what Jessica expected. Early to mid forties, around Jessica’s age. Flecks of gray in her hair that she could politely joke was stress from permanently raising a child. A tasteful but conservative floral patterned dress that hid any middle aged tummy that might exist and somehow accentuated her breasts. Well worn navy blue flats that had seen much use, and a diaper bag which likely doubled as a purse. And like most Amazons who adopted even a Tweener, the woman had an air of power; likely an empty nester who couldn’t let go of that feeling, or someone building their first nest later in life. The bright pink leash, likely attached to a Little who was deciding to brat it up right then confirmed any and all biases Jessica might have had. “Excuse me,” the woman asked, still only half way in, “where is-?” Jessica didn’t wait, pointing to the naughty Tweener. “Thank you.” That’s when Jessica’s world went on its ear. The woman stepped in and dragged her permanent baby girl in, but when Jessica couldn’t see the top of the girl’s head, her breath retreated from her. The girl was dressed like a Little, but she wasn’t little at all. She was younger than her Mommy, perhaps with an age gap wide enough to imply biological relationship -maybe an errant college student being shown that she wasn’t too grown-up- but Jessica didn’t see it. What Jessica could see was the bulging white disposable peeking out from beneath the fully embroidered and frilly dress that perfectly complemented the bows in her hair. Based on the droop it was well used to boot. The dress was well washed and slightly faded from use, but ironed and well cared for. Definitely not something made recently to humiliate. This was the kind of thing that got hung up in a closet and taken down regularly. Incredible. Jessica had heard of such things, mostly on the internet and always happening elsewhere, but she’d never expected to see it with her own eyes. An AB; an Amazon Baby. The baby girl made brief eye contact with Jessica and her cheeks flashed crimson, meaning she wasn’t completely regressed from too many cartoons. Something in her posture and body language, though, and the hints of a smile creeping at the corners of her mouth. She was enjoying this, being out in the open. A therapy appointment buried under a decade’s worth of baggage since jumped up and down in Jessica’s brain. A...a...fetish? Is that what was going on? “Samantha! What did I tell you about-?” “I’m sorry Mommy, but you said I could use the bathroo...I mean potty and I really gotta gooooo!” The Tweener was dancing around on the balls of her feet like a pre-kindergartener with timing issues. “I...I…!-” She stopped and gasped. “Never mind…” She slumped and looked down at her shoes. The woman rolled her eyes at her daughter. She looked to Jessica for a sympathetic nod and her expression reeked of ‘Kids! Amiright?’ Naturally, Jessica shrugged and tilted her head to one side as if to signal ‘I know, right?’. “You see, Samantha?” The woman said. “This is what you get when you don’t wait. If you’d waited for me to unbuckle Gwenny and then fasten her harness like I told you to, then we wouldn’t have had to have this conversation and I could have put you on the potty in time.” Defeated, the Tweener sighed. “Yes, Mommy. I’m sorry, Mommy.” “Nothing to be done about it, now,” the Mommy replied. She reached for the restroom door knob. “We’ll just have to sit you down, and hope that you…” The woman looked inside the bathroom and blinked away confusion. “Sorry,” Jessica apologized. She walked from behind the counter, making sure to talk as she walked and use the sound of her voice to cover up her own crinkle. “The bathrooms aren’t very big.” Milling’s didn’t have a whole lot of frequent foot traffic. The customer base was steady, but never more than two to three people at any given time and they didn’t tend to linger. Large bathrooms to accommodate multiple people weren’t a concern. They had restrooms, but they were closer to stalls in size. Each one had enough room for a single toilet, a sink, a garbage can and the requisite wiping and drying paper, but not much else. No changing stations either. A body could change a baby Amazon or a Little Baby on the floor, but they’d have to do so on their knees. Changing or a Tweener or another Amazon? Honestly, Jessica had never considered. Jessica had enough caution and sense to show up to work fresh, not mess while at work, and to have a heavy duty enough diaper where leaking wasn’t going to be a threat. Changing while at work was something she’d never had or wanted to do. She supposed it could be done. “I’m sorry to impose,” the woman said to Jessica. “But would you mind looking after one of my daughters while I sort the other out?” She was already handing the leash over to Jessica before she’d finished the sentence. Out of habit, Jessica took it. “Not at all, ma’am. It would be my pleasure.” No further transaction was needed. “Come on, Samantha,” she said to the sulking Tweener. “Maybe we can get some poopies out of you.” The Tweener in soggy trainers looked over her shoulder. Not at Jessica, but at her ‘sister’. “Gwenny’s wet, too. Can I-?” “Not this time, young lady.” The door closed, and Jessica was left alone holding the big baby’s leash. Just not for long. The girl took a few nervous half steps backward. The poor clumsy thing wasn’t looking where she was going and bumped hard into a shelf, almost knocking it down. Jessica ran to catch it and righted the shelf before it reached critical unbalance. “Ooops!” the girl yelped, as packets and packets of colostomy bags and bandages fluttered down like fall leaves. She froze up, and just stared at the ground helplessly, like a Little. “You’re going to pick that all up, right?” Jessica asked. “Me?” the big baby replied. “But I’m, I’m...I’m…” she really seemed gob smacked at the notion of accountability. “I…” “You made a mess,” Jessica countered. “Now be a good girl and clean it up.” The girl opened up her mouth to reply but before she could, Jessica jammed in. “Or don’t you pick up your toys at home?” Something clicked behind the girl’s eyes. A kind of desire, or hunger. Strange yet familiar. “Yes, Ma’am.” With Jessica behind her, holding the leash, the big baby shuffled and waddled down the aisle she’d almost ruined and started picking up the mess, bending over and squatting down; picking up packages by armful and hastily putting them on the shelves. It was a sloppy job and Jessica would have to tidy up more after they’d left, but it was good enough in the short term. The fact that she was reading the shelf labels signaled that the twenty something still knew how to read. Jessica got a nice peek at the girl’s wet and padded bottom every time she knelt or bent, too. Admittedly, it was a nice view. She even knew the brand. Had some in the store, for the rare adult incontinent that was neither adopted nor bedridden and could change themselves. Jessica was wearing her own pair just then; good thing the girl couldn’t hear the crinkling over her own. “Very good, Gwenny!” Jessica jumped a bit, startled. She hadn’t heard the girl’s Mommy or the Tweener in trainers come out of the bathroom. Didn’t stop them coming. “Here you are, ma’am,” Jessica handed back the toddler leash. “Thank you very much,” the woman said. She looked at her Tweener daughter, and then to the girl, Gwenny. “Thank you for looking after my baby. Would you mind if…?” Jessica grabbed the Tweener by the hand. “Not at all.” That’s all it took to send the two Amazons back into the restroom. An uncomfortable half a minute later, the sounds of tapes coming off a plastic landing zone sounded off through the quiet store. Minus the other accoutrements, Jessica found herself ever so jealous of the odd not-so-Little duck getting changed. A dejected sigh; this one from the Tweener. Jessica looked down and cocked an eyebrow. She suspected the shorter girl resented having her hand held, but in the half instant before the girl made her expression go unreadable, Jessica caught a glimpse of something familiar. Hunger. The kind of hunger that had gnawed in Jessica’s brain for untold years. Jealousy. The kind that had just panged against her right now. Tweener girl had an almost identical expression. Intuition whispered to Jessica that the Tweener wasn’t secretly wishing that was her on the floor getting wiped, however. Different craving...same hunger. “Want me to help organize the shelves?” the Tweener asked. Jessica looked straight ahead. It was still a mess. Ironically enough, it really did look like an eighteen month old had restocked the shelves. “No.” A cocked eyebrow. “I can do it, you know. Just because I’m shorter doesn’t mean I’m-” “I know,” Jessica interrupted before the Tweener could ramp up into a full blown whine fest. “But you didn’t make the mess, so you don’t have to clean it up.” The girl seemed a tad surprised. “That’s...a really nice way to look at it. Thank you.” “You’re welcome.” Jessica resisted the urge to call the adoptee something condescending like ‘sweetie’ or ‘honey’. Even in someone who didn’t particularly want kids, cosseting was still a thing. “Samantha, right?” Samantha nodded. “Right.” Her gaze traveled down Jessica’s arm. “You don’t have to hold my hand if you don’t want to. I can be good.” A light and quiet chuckle came out of Jessica. “I have no doubt, young lady. I don’t know if your Mommy would approve right now. Especially because you just disobeyed her and ended up wetting your pants for it.” The girl responded by looking away. Not beaten. Perhaps encouraged? Different flavors, same hunger? Yes. Jessica was beginning to think so. “Your um...baby sister.” Jessica started. “Gwenny.” “Yes, Gwenny. How did she…?” How did Jessica even ask something like this? That was the real question. Samantha shrugged and smiled. “It’s...complicated.” “And you?” The smile wilted slightly. A resigned sigh hid a shudder of ecstacy. “That’s VERY complicated.” Girl still had her mind, too. Same for her pride. Jessica opted not to pry. “Alrighty then,” and Jessica decided not to say anymore. Samantha wasn’t done yet. “You know I can help anyways. I don’t mind. I’m a manager at Mommy’s coffee shop.” Poor thing wanted her hand free. Poor thing wasn’t gonna get it till her Mommy came out. Jessica was in no mood for a tongue lashing from the sort of woman who very likely called managers on the regular. “Mmmhmm…” Jessica looked straight ahead, hoping the big baby changing would be over. At least the woman wasn’t cooing loudly or baby talking. The sound would have bled through the door if she had. At least the semi-child was smart enough not to press her luck. Jessica shifted in the quiet. And immediately regretted it. The Tweener’s ears wiggled and she turned her head towards the bathroom. Uh oh. When the bathroom didn’t open, she looked down at herself. She worked her knees trying to replicate the same crinkle that she’d heard seconds ago. Oh no. When that failed to produce the exact results, the Tweener followed her gaze up Jessica’s arm...and then down to her waist. “Are you…?” “All done!” The Mommy and her big baby came out of the bathroom. “What do we say, Gwenny?” “Thank you…” the baby said. “For?” “For letting me use your bathroom to get changed in.” “And?” “Also for letting me clean up the mess I made out here.” She got a quiet pat on her head for it. More hunger. Different flavor. Whether it was chocolate, strawberry, or vanilla, an ice cream lover was an ice cream lover, (and to further muddy the metaphor none of them were Littles). The adult of the trio took her Tweener child by one hand and held the leash for the other. “I’m so sorry for how my children came in and how they behaved themselves.” “Nonsense,” Jessica waved the apology off. “Kids will be kids. No harm done.” Talking about fully grown people as if they weren’t; otherwise known as small talk among two dominant Amazons. That kind of patter was far easier for Jessica than interacting with the Tweener who had potty accidents. “You’re very gracious to say so,” the Mommy replied. “Marion Thompson,” she introduced herself. For obvious reasons she did not offer a hand out. “Jessica,” the clerk replied. “Stoneman.” “Miss Stoneman,” the woman said. “Is there anything we can buy to compensate you for your time and effort?” When Jessica gave her a polite but slightly confused expression. “If someone were to come into my shop and use the restroom, I’d at least want them to buy a cup of plain black coffee.” The look on Samantha’s mug was very proud. As if any admittal that her Mommy ran a coffee shop was the same thing as crediting her with running the place. “I think we have some diapers in your daughter’s size that are plain and white.” “Which daughter?” Mrs. Thompson asked. “Samantha wears extra protection at bedtime.” Samantha threw a pleading look to Jessica. Jessica ignored it. “I meant Gwenny, but I think we have some in stock that would fit Samantha just fine as well.” The expression on Samantha’s face looked like she’d just been slapped. Sorry kid. A job was a job. Bagging the two packs of diapers, one adult and one Tweener, Jessica smiled contentedly on the inside. What an afternoon this had shaped up to be. Something to share over dinner with close friends or cats (if she had any). The big baby, Gwenny, looked all around the ceiling as if the tiles were clouds, lost in her own thoughts. Samantha crossed her arms and huffed quietly through her mouth. Not quite pouting, but using it as a way to self soothe. The girl seemed adjusted enough to pull-ups, but obviously dreaded the thought of being diapered, how appropriate to her heritage. What an interesting...family. In a way, Jessica was a little sad that they were about to take the incontinence supplies and walk out of Milling’s and her life. Perhaps fate had other plans. “Before we go,” Marion Thompson asked, “You don’t happen to babysit, do you?” Jessica blanched. “What?” “Everyone is so keen on Littles these days. There are very few people I’ve come across that interact with my children as appropriately as you have.” She paused to look at Jessica’s beffudIement. “The doors are very thin. I heard you talking with them and liked what I heard. You’re a natural. A way with children regardless of size. You could be a teacher.” “Sorry,” Jessica apologized. “I’m not a teacher.” A card found it’s way sliding across the counter. On one side was a phone number. “Then just be their nanny for a night.” On the card’s flip side, she wrote another number. “I can make it worth your while.” She looked in Mrs. Thompson’s eyes...and for the first time in several years, felt a different kind of hunger. ******************************************************************************************** “You’re not my Mommy, you know,” Samantha said. The Tweener was in full pout mode tonight. Admittedly, it was still a refreshing change from the average adoptee’s behavior, swearing that they were really an adult despite the state of their dress. The girl at least had the good sense not to try that. Though by the average Amazon’s standards, Samantha’s underwear was still more mature than Jessica’s, for now at least. “It’s just a diaper,” Jessica coaxed. “Just a bit of nighttime protection. Doesn’t mean you’re not a big girl, it’s just so that you don’t have to get up and go potty.” The sun had gone down. She’d just gotten Gwenny changed and put into pink Jammies that she had no hope of escaping before morning. The girl had been unusually quiet, but her face gave away all the intimate feelings she was experiencing while Jessica had powdered her and rubbed soothing lotion all over her body. She’d even dared to pop a pacifier into the big baby girl’s mouth and plant a kiss on her forehead before saying goodnight. Seconds after closing the door Jessica had heard rustling and a crinkling that she was willing to bet was more than just the average tossing and turning of someone trying to get to sleep. Jessica had heard that kind of crinkling before in her own bed, and the vibrator on the bottom shelf of the changing table had not gone unnoticed. Now it was half an hour later and time for ‘bigger’ of the two sisters to be put down. Samantha wasn’t going full brat, but she was putting up slightly more than the token resistance. “But I know how to go…” Samantha stopped herself, flustered. “I just, it’s just...” Jessica took pity on her. “Your Mommy locks the door and won’t let you out at night, will she?” The pull-up wearing woman stared in disbelief as if Jessica had shared a great but unspoken truth with her. “Yeah…” They might be bigger than most people their age who end up in diapers, but Marion Thompson’s children still had a great deal in common with the Littles: Most of this wasn’t really their idea to begin with. Jessica held the diaper and lightly clapped it against her open palm; almost fanning herself. “We both know that your Mommy wants you to wear this, though. I heard her say as much yesterday. If you’re not wearing a wet one of these tomorrow, I won’t be babysitting you again, but you’ll be the one getting in trouble.” That hit home. Reluctantly, Samantha looked over her shoulder, toward the hallway that led to the shared nursery both adult children were forced to share. Slowly she dug her fingers into the waistband of her shorts, and Jessica wasn’t sure if she’d hike them up harder or pull them down like a good girl. Thinking quickly, Jessica walked to the front door and dug the changing mat out of Gwenny’s diaper bag. “I can help you get dressed here so we don’t wake Gwenny.” She was already laying the mat out on the floor and unfolding the diaper. Samantha seemed confused, and her fingers clutched on the waistband of her shorts and disposable panties even tighter. “Huh...?” “It’s simple,” Jessica said. “You’re the big sister. That means that you have certain privileges. You might get to see the baby get changed, but the baby never gets to see you.” The pants came down. Jessica guessed right. Point: Stoneman. Another hurdle presented itself just as quickly. “I can put it on myself…?” “I don’t think that’s a good idea, Sammy,” Jessica took a chance at a cuter nickname. “These things are hard to put on by yourself. You could leak.” Samantha didn’t object, though a second later Jessica wished she’d had. It would have been a better distraction. “How would you know?” Jessica shouldn’t have worn that night. Wearing the diaper was stupid. Even with the baggy pants and a layer of granny panties to try and muffle and restrict the crinkling sound. Wetting it while feeding the girls dinner had been even dumber. If Mrs. Thompson caught her she’d already proven herself to be the type that didn’t make exceptions based on size... Thankfully the older Amazon was mentally quick on her feet. “I work for a medical supply company, honey,” she said. “Most of my regular customers are nurses or nursing home attendees. People talk. Need I say more?” This seemed to satisfy the girl’s curiosity. Reluctantly she sat down on the open diaper and laid back. “Can you at least skip the powder, please?” she asked. “I don’t want to smell like a baby.” “Suit yourself,” Jessica shrugged, already pulling the diaper up and taping it on. “But don’t come crying to me if you get all hot and chafing.” Jessica had a feeling that Samantha wouldn’t mind that much at all. True to her word, she put the Tweener down in the big toddler bed and tucked her in. Then woke Gwenny up just long enough to change her in her crib with the railing down. Wet, but not soaked. Jessica made sure to say a lot about how tiny and babyish Gwenny seemed, unable to make it even an hour without wetting. Soon after she closed the door, Jessica heard two sources of rushed crinkling... ************************************************************************************* “So,” Mrs. Thompson asked when she returned. “How was it? How were they?” “They were good,” Jessica reported. “We’re still in the honeymoon stage, but I think they were trying to find where the line was and if they could cross it with me.” Marion Thompson seemed interested. “How so?” How to explain this tactfully? The girls honestly were very good. As adults, there had been hints of challenges throughout the early evening. Judged on the merits of children, they were very close to being perfect angels with only minor and understandable missteps. “Oh Gwenny was being very passive whenever it came time to pick something up or get changed. I think she was hoping I wouldn’t notice something or forget.” “That sounds a lot like Gwenny,” the Mommy conceded. “I think she likes the attention of getting noticed.” “Me too.” “What about Samantha?” “A little more bratty,” Jessica conceded. “Nothing deserving of time out or a spanking. Just not immediate or enthusiastic cooperation.” Mrs. Thompson sighed. “Yes. I think she’s going through a phase. She used to be much more careful in how she spoke. I think she sees her new place as a demotion of sorts, poor thing.” The tone of the woman’s voice signaled that she thought nothing could be further from the truth. “Sammy’s a good kid,” Jessica agreed. “She just wants to feel like certain things are her idea.” The lady of the house cocked an eyebrow. “Sammy?” The babysitter’s lips retreated back over her teeth. “Sorry. I tried the nickname on for size and she didn’t object.” “Interesting,” Mrs. Thompson’ tilted her chin up. “Very interesting. You have a good point though. I don’t think she’ll ever be truly ready for big girl panties ever again, but that doesn’t mean she needs to be babied as much as her sister. Thank you for the insight.” “How was your dinner, by the way?” Jessica asked. She didn’t really care, but it was polite to inquire. That and some part of her just wasn’t ready to go home yet. This strange yet oddly conventional family was some kind of beautiful trainwreck in her psyche. Not wanting to look away, but not entirely because of how awful it was. Living art? The smile on the lady's face became thinner, and retreated from her eyes. “It was fine,” she said. Just nice to get out of the house and have a quiet breather. You know how it is.” She didn’t. “I do, indeed.” Everything was a quiet breather. “Sometimes it’s just good to gather your thoughts and reflect…” “Thank you again,” Mrs. Thompson repeated the sentiment. She started digging into her purse when her nose twitched. “Before you go, however.” “Yes?” Jessica asked. Mrs. Thompson’s eyes flitted over to Gwenny’s changing pad, still there on the living room floor. “Why don’t you lay down?” “Lay down?” Jessica’s heart started pounding. “You’re wet, dear. I can’t very well let you go home soggy. It would be irresponsible of me.” Run! Run! Jessica’s brain was screaming at her to run. She knew! Somehow she knew! Despite the bagginess of her pants. Despite the extra layers to hide the crinkle. Despite wearing the max odor control brand, another Amazon knew she was wearing a diaper! If she laid down on that changing mat, there’d be a third occupant of that nursery by the end of the night. Mrs. Thompson’s hands launched out and gently cupped Jessica’s cheek. “It’s okay,” she whispered. “You don’t have to panic.” The words had the opposite effect and Jessica felt herself starting to hyperventilate. “I...I...I...I…!” “Shhh-shh-shh-shhh-shh.” The other woman’s voice was calm and reassuring, but not cooing or condescending. “It’s okay. I know all about it already.” “You do?” Jessica’s voice was almost a whisper itself. “Of course I do. The baggy pants? The light crinkle? I figured it out the other day. Samantha, too.” “I need to...I should…” “You should lay down and let me do you the kindness,” the beautiful lady said sensually. “Then you should take your pay, and my phone number, and go home.” Jessica laid down the mat. It was big enough for Gwenny, so it was big enough for her. She didn’t remember, stepping over to it, but she must have been guided that way as she was being talked down. “Okay…” Mrs. Thompson shuffled over to the Amazon sized diaper bag and took out the plain white diaper. “I’m guessing you didn’t bring your own, “ she said. “You’re much too careful for that.” Hearing it made Jessica feel good and tingly. “You’re very lucky,” Mrs. Thompson continued. “All of the diapers under Gwenny’s changing table already have cute colorful stickers put on them.” “I noticed…” Jessica blushed. “That wouldn’t do anything for you, though.” This was stated as fact. Good thing, because it was a fact. “Pants down please.” “Oh, yeah.” Her blush deepened and she planted her feet and boosted her hips so she could shimmy all the barriers out of the way and down past her knees. “An extra layer to muffle things,” the other adult noted. “Clever.” “Thanks…” Thompson kneeled down beside her. “You needn’t bother with it next time.” “Next time?” In reply the tapes ripped off and Jessica sucked in her breath. Oh goodness this was amazing! She’d been toilet trained so long ago that she’d forgotten what it was like to have another pair of hands reach down and pull open the front of a soaked diaper. It felt so strange to have someone else calmly take a wet wipe and caress her most delicate of areas and sensitive parts. Even more amazing was that there was no accompanying baby talk or motherese. Jessica had never known an Amazon to not talk to their Littles and babies during a diaper change; it’s like they had to rub it in the smaller one’s face about how babyish they were. Jessica wasn’t a baby, though. Yet she was not-so-secretly loving this. Her eyes dared not close, but she kept herself calm and allowed herself the chance to enjoy this as she stared up blankly at the ceiling. The leisurely pace and the gentle instructions of “Hips up, please. Okay, now down,” gave Jessica the hint that this was more than just a bit of friendly business. Or perhaps that was just wishful thinking... “No powder, please.” “It’s alright,” Mrs. Thompson assured her. “This is my own bottle. Powdered cornstarch without the scent.” “Your own?” Thompson must have known what Jessica was thinking. “I don’t wear anything like that, but it makes for good deodorant and prevents makeup from smearing without smelling like a Little.” Jessica wasn’t sure how to feel about that. “Don’t tell Sammy, though,” she winked. The slight hiccup of a giggle that escaped Jessica made the other woman’s eyes light up. The part where she drew the fresh diaper up and taped it up came too soon. For both of them. “All done.” She reached down and offered Jessica her hand. Jessica took it and stood back up. “Next time,” Mrs. Thompson said. “Leave the concealer panties at home.” She went back to her purse, and took a large amount of money.from a clip. Jessica finished tugging her pants back up her hips. “Next time?” “Of course,” Mrs. Thompson replied. She handed a wad of bills to the clerk playing sitter. “You’re the first sitter I’ve had that’s managed to get both girls down to bed without screaming or yelling at them.” “How did-?” “The live nanny cams I have don’t record sound, but I’m very good at reading body language.” The woman replied confidently. “Including when someone is unconsciously yanking at the waistline of her pants during feeding time. A nice flowing dress might serve you better in the future.” Jessica would have been offended had she not busied her eyes counting the money. “This is more than we agreed upon!” Jessica gasped. “Much more!” “A tip for a job well done.” “I can’t accept this!” In reply, the other woman bent over and picked up the balled up used diaper. She turned around and walked off to the nearest garbage can in the kitchen. “If you think it’s too much, you can give it back to me...” Her back was turned as Jessica peeled off a few bills and put them in her pocket, determined to give the rest back. “...by taking us out to dinner…” “Dinner?” Jessica echoed dumbly. “Us?” The diaper went in with an audible thunk. “If you’d like. You. Me. And the girls.” “Like a...a...date?” “Do you think it’d count as a date even if there was a baby and a potty trainer along for the ride?” “Yes!” The swiftness and enthusiasm with which she replied, surprised even Jessica. “Then yes.” Mrs. Thompson said. “Let’s call it a date.” “And will we do,” she felt herself huffing, “this again?” A trickster’s smile and a goddess’s glare. “Probably not in the restaurant,” Mrs. Thompsons said. “Definitely not in front of my daughters. They need to still see you as an adult. But I’ll never let you go home wet.” Jessica dry swallowed and closed her eyes. “What about...messy?” The owner of the house led her to the door and gave her a kiss on the lips. “Goodnight, Miss Stoneman.” *********************************************************************************** Two months. Two glorious months. Had it really been that long? It seemed like just yesterday the Thompsons had stumbled into Milling’s and she’d taken the babysitting job on the whim. Now so much more than a whim. Two months. Only two months? Was it really only so short? She felt like she’d known Marion and the girls forever and that lonely sad woman in desperate need of either friendship or cats was another person entirely. It certainly felt like she was talking about a time long ago. She looked up at the coffee shop’s entrance and admired the sign. “Le Grand Bebe Cafe,” she liked the way the words rolled out of her mouth. The renaming of the place had been her idea. She’d been thrilled when Marion agreed to it. “It’s what we’ve become known for,” Marion agreed. “Might as well snatch up the name and embrace it before the imitators turn into competition.” Wow! She was thinking of her girlfriend as Marion, instead of Mrs. Thompsons. Double wow! She was thinking of Marion as her girlfriend! It’s amazing what things one took for granted. Nervously, she smoothed out the pleats in her ankle length skirt. Today might be the day. Correction: It would be the day, just the day of what, Jessica wasn’t sure. Was self-sabotaging as nervous as proposing? It definitely felt like it. “Good morning, Jessica,” Samantha called from the counter as Jessica walked in. The girls were working today. On work days, Samantha wore adult clothes over her Pull-Up and acted as the front’s Manager, ignoring the snickers and sneers from the bigger employees. If someone in Pull-Ups was bossing them around, what did that make them? “Good morning, Samantha.” Jessica returned the greeting. A bit of a mechanism that Jessica had thought to introduce to the dynamic: on the clock, she was Samantha. Off the clock, she was Sammy. It wasn’t quite an adult courtesy; more of a desire not to make the poor girl’s life any harder. It had the added bonus of acting as a warning system to the girl when she was getting overconfident. Being called “Sammy” at work warned her that if she wanted to remain at work she’d mind her manners while a full blown “Samantha”’ off the clock signaled that she might be acting a bit too big for her britches. Samantha had adapted well to the signals and no formal explanation had been required; the girl was quite intuitive after all. She also seemed to accept Jessica’s place in their lives. Having another trusted adult around made it so that she had someone else she could ask to take her potty and avoid wetting her pants. Gwenny waddled out in her skimpy dress and drooping diaper, handing coffee to a customer. “Good morning, Jessica!” Jessica blanched almost comically. “Jessica?” “Sorry!” Gwenny said, looking abashed. “I mean, Good Morning Auntie J!” Sammy didn’t have to use the infantilized term of address no matter what. Gwenny did. The difference between pre-kindergarteners who could behave themselves and babies who didn’t know any better. Jessica suspected that Gwenny messed the moniker up on purpose, enjoying the feeling of being corrected. The giggling whispers of patrons who witnessed the exchange signaled that at least someone was enjoying it. “Mommy’s in the back.” Jessica looked over to the Tweener for confirmation. “She’s right,” Samantha said. “Our Mommy is in the back. I think it has something to do with rebranding and advertising?” Whenever possible, Gwenny always said ‘Mommy’ and Samantha said ‘My Mommy’ or ‘Our Mommy’. A name versus a title. Oh, the nuance! Nuance was something Jessica deeply craved. The past sixty days or so had been wonderful. Just not perfect… “Uh ohhhh!” One of the customers practically shouted. Jessica glanced away from the counter to witness Gwenny; knees starting to bend, fists beginning to clench, and the first hints of that far away look. “I know what that look meeeeans!” Everyone with two mature brain cells to rub together knew what it meant. Gwenny’s morning coffee had caught up to her and she was pushing a load into her pants. Overlapping choruses of “Awwwwww,” mixed with giggling “Peee-yoooos,” as Gwenny defecated and desecrated herself. Despite her size, everyone wanted a baby just like her. They wanted her. Not Jessica, though. She already had Gwenny (or at least borrowed her for a few hours a week) so she wasn’t staring from a form of wanting the girl; but out of jealousy of wanting to be her. She didn’t want the pacifiers or furniture, or cute clothes, or lack of agency. But the freedom she had? The freedom to just fill her pants in front of everyone, humiliated and on full display, only so that Marion would lovingly change and rediaper her? That was hot. It was also the one thing that Marion hadn’t given her...yet. Jessica kept hinting that it was something she’d like to try, but her girlfriend kept missing the hints. Not quite, actually; more like ignoring the hints. Marion was uncannily perceptive. She had to know that Jessica wanted more. When Jessica had pressed the issue, her girlfriend had replied, “I already change one messy diaper. I’m not terribly interested in another.” Yet, here she was at this crossroads, ready to see where things landed if rubber met the road. “Good baby, Gwenny!” She gave the baby a pat on the head. “I’m sure your big sister will change you just after her potty break.” “Yes, Auntie J,” Gwenny replied submissively. Jessica took the box of training chocolates and removed the lid. “Open up.” The baby did so and she popped one of the numbing yet bowel irritating candies into the girl’s mouth; rather like a trained seal. It was something that Jessica had been experimenting with. If she was going to do this, she wanted to have an excuse, and Gwenny was a fantastic test subject to figure out how much an adult sized Amazon could take without being properly and irreversibly incontinent. The other advantage to drawing this out was that neither Gwenny nor Samantha had a good opportunity to count how many of the drugged chocolates were missing. Jessica hoped the half chocolate that she’d bitten into would be enough. It wouldn’t be the same if she couldn’t feel it coming out! She wanted to enjoy it. The slight rumbling in her gut informed her that time might be running short if she wanted the right person to see it. “See you in a minute, girls,” Jessica called back as her skirt elegantly swished behind her. This was going to be so hot. Marion would be flabbergasted to the point of infatuation when she saw this. In the fantasies leading up to this, she always pictured Marion being so overcome that she’d take Jessica right over her desk. “Hello, honey!” Jessica said as she popped in. Marion didn’t look up from her ledger. “Hello, dear.” Her faint smile and near monotone belied the way her eyes subtly lit up when the two were alone together. “How has your day been?” “Oh, it’s been…” Jessica froze. It was happening. Her cheeks were spreading. Her guts were pushing. “Ooooh….” she moaned. “What’s happening?” She knew what, but to make this work she wanted to make it look like an accident. A look of concerned.measure from Marion. “Hmmm?” The burbling and disgusting noises coming out her backside came in reply. “Ooooooooooh!” Jessica tried to sound distressed and disgusted as the first wave of mush exited her and started to fill the back of her already wet adult diaper. This was particularly difficult because of how much she was turning herself on. So intense! So sudden! Almost like an orgasm. Watching Marion take it all in made it all worse in the best possible way. Jessica had to clutch her stomach, not out of pain, but.out of necessity. Feeling the mess pour out of her and into her diaper and it spreading around against the back as she was...if she didn’t do SOMETHING with her hands she’d give the game away and start masturbating right there on the spot. Feeling weak, her knees started to buckle, and she collapsed on the ground. “Jessica!” Marion moved to catch her. Too late. “Mmmmmmm!” The feeling of sitting in the dirty diaper: having it break her fall and the contents travel down down down between her legs and smoosh up between her cheeks all while sliding and oozing up towards the crack of her ass and out and around her lower cheeks, threatening to coat her hips. It was too much. It was all too much! She’d done this at home, alone, but just having the woman she loved there witnessing it caused her to hum in something besides feigned fatigue and anguish. Her ruse came to an abrupt end as her bowels emptied and her first climax approached. Jessica hadn’t meant to, but two whispered words escaped her lips. “Ooooooh….yyyyyyeah…” “.....” She laid there on the ground, panting. The sound of her own heart thundering in her ears drowned what Marion was saying “...et ….p!” “GET UP! GET UP, GET UP, GET UP YOU STUPID GIRL! GET UP!” Marion yanked her up by the roots of her hair. “Ow! Ow! Ow! Ow!” One hand on Jessica’s hair, the other one roughly yanked down her skirt, leaving her fully loaded backside out and obvious for any employee who happened to walk in. “My desk! Now!” In short, hurried breaths, Jessica tried to lift her leg and swing her hips over Marion Thompson’s desk; to use it like a makeshift changing table. That’s not what her lover had in mind. “Grab the other side, Jessica!” she barked. “Bend over!” Marion sounded much less like her lover right then. She sounded furious; a howling hurricane ready to bring down the wrath of an angry irrational goddess. Terrified, yet thrilled, Jessica bent over. The slight scraping of the long, thick wooden paddle against the floor was the only warning she got before it thundered against her messy bottom. THOCK! “FUUUUUUU-!” THOCK! The second swing cut her off and knocked the wind out of Jessica before she could finish swearing. THOCK! Words, even swear ones, left Jessica and her body produced instead a series of wails when she had enough lung capacity to scream and muffled grunts when she didn’t. THOCK! THOCK! THOCK! Marion let up just enough to ask a question. “Is this it? Is this what you wanted?” “YES!” Jessica gasped. THOCK! “What?!” “YES, MARION!” THOCK! “Excuse me?” “YES, MA’AM!” THOCK! “Come again?” She was about to! “Yes! Yes Mm... M...Mah…….” No. Jessica couldn’t do it. She just couldn’t call the woman who she was desperately in love with ‘Mommy’ “Yes, Marion.” The sigh that flapped in Jessica’s ear was one of utter disgust. “I can’t believe this is happening again,” she heard Marion mutter. “Lay down. Now.” Jessica oozed down to the floor, feeling too weak to reach it any other way. The room was spinning. Her vision was blurry. To top it all off, Jessica was just close enough to a second orgasm to be in a special kind of frustrated agony. The sound of ripping tapes as someone else peeled them from the landing strip was no longer foreign to Jessica. Marion had given her that gift long ago. She luxuriated as once again, her beloved started cleaning up her shame. Something felt different about it though. Less sensual. More business. It was probably just the adrenaline numbing her. “Thank you,” she whispered and got no reply. She’d make this up to Marion, she promised herself. Later on tonight, when the children were bedded she’d fuck Marion’s brains out. Or do that thing she liked so much with her tongue. Marion had earned it. “There we go,” Marion sighed, hiking the front of the fresh diaper up over Jessica’s pelvis. Something was off in her voice. “Baby’s all fresh and clean.” Baby?! Jessica looked down past her breasts. It wasn’t a plain white diaper taped on. It was a baby diaper; or as close as one of Gwenny’s sticker decorated nappies could get. “Huh?” Jessica frowned “Marion? Baby, what’s-?” “Baby?” Marion interrupted. “I’m not the one wearing a diaper. I’m not the one who just got changed out of my messy Monkeez.” Jessica’s attempts to stand up were cut off with Marion cornering her and pulling her shirt right off of her. Somehow, her girlfriend managed to unhook Jessica’s bra, too. Nipples turning rock hard, Jessica found herself in the middle of the floor, naked save for the fresh and infantile undergarment she’d just been put into. Only then, looking at herself, did the forty something Amazon realize that she may have gone too far. “Marion, please! This is a mis-” “I’m not misunderstanding anything, baby girl.” Again, Marion cut her off. “Just because I had an accident doesn’t mean I’m a baby. I’m not a Little.” “Oh, I’m aware of that.” She reached into Gwenny’s diaper bag and pulled out a rattle. Jessica felt stupid when she was handed it. “It wasn’t an accident. I wished for you to restrain yourself, and you didn’t. THAT’s what makes you a baby in my eyes.” “Honey I-” “Mommy,” Marion corrected her. “It’s Mommy now. Or do you need another spanking?” Jessica opened her mouth, and felt genuinely unsure of what she should say. Dare she try another dose of pain and see how far down the rabbit hole she could go? Did she really want to make Marion angrier? She was already risking adoption, as ludicrous as it sounded. Dumped would be better… The door opened behind her. “Mommy,” Samantha called in. “The supply truck is running late and we’re almost out of WHOAH!” Jessica knew she was being looked at. “WHAT in the…?!” The clerk’s body heated up despite the air conditioner being on full blast. This time it wasn’t nearly as pleasant. “Samantha,” Marion said, flatly. “Meet your new baby sister.” “Oh…” It was the only thing out of Samantha’s mouth. The girl sounded just as confused and shocked as Jessica felt. “She’s decided with her actions that she’d be a better baby then a babysitter.” “Oh…did she poop?” The fact that the girl so easily predicted what happened stung more than the paddle, and not in a good way. “I think she’s going to be even more of a LIttle than Gwenny. Perhaps kept in just swaddling, I haven’t decided yet. She’ll be coming home with us tonight and missing her job tomorrow.” A pause. Samantha’s snotty frown infiltrated her very words. “Is she gonna be in our room?” “Perhaps I can rig something up so she stays in my room. A bassinet of sorts.” “Okay…” They were talking over her; talking like she didn’t have any say in her fate. Did she? An Amazon in any kind of diaper was pretty damning evidence. If she couldn’t do the run of shame out the door... “Actually come to think of it, I think she will be a newborn,” Marion changed her tone. There was now a cruel playfulness in her voice. “Samantha, go up to the counter and get the special chocolate milk. If little Jessica wants to just fill her diaper with mush again and again, the best thing we can do is help give her what she wants.” Samantha’s voice likewise mutated. “Do I get to help change her, too? Since I’m big enough.” “Yes,” Marion agreed. “If you’re good.” “NO!” Jessica leapt to her feet. She didn’t care that her tits were bouncing. The rattle clattered to the floor and she turned around. “Samantha,” she said, mustering all the dignity that she could. “Your mother and I need to talk. We need to be alone, please” “You’re not my, Mommy.” Of course Samantha took the opportunity to say that. Marion shooed her away before Samantha had a chance to redirect. “Go manage the front, big girl. I’ll deal with this. Keep everyone out until I say so.” “Yes, Mommy.” The door creaked closed and they were alone. Marion had her hands on her hips and was staring Jessica down. Jessica mimicked her, not caring as if she was naked. They’d already seen each other naked before. “If you’re going to say something, you better say it,” Marion spat. “You need help,” Jessica said plainly. “Lots of it.” The owner of Le Grand Bebe Cafe scoffed. “Says the woman in a diaper.” “Says the woman who just put me in one,” Jessica clapped back. “You’ve got a problem.” Marion actually seemed taken aback. “I’ve got a problem? I’ve got a problem?!” The words sounded unnatural and foreign coming out of her girlfriend’s mouth. “You were wearing diapers like a...like a...sicko before I even met you.” “And you’re a total control freak, even by our standards,” Jessica countered. “And that’s saying something!” Her girlfriend blanched. “Control? Control?! You started today by pretending to be a two year old who got caught behind the couch! And you were getting off on it, too! I could tell!” Jessica stepped forward unafraid. “And you’re so determined to make everyone who gets the least bit close to you to call you Mommy that you try to mold and force everyone into a role that they wouldn’t have otherwise filled! If Gwenny had any other employer she would have been punished or fired! Not adopted! Same with Samantha. I might have just shit myself, but you’re the one who is well and completely ANAL!” “No one talks to me that way…” Marion rubbed her jaw as if she’d been socked in the kisser. “Face it, hun,” Jessica said. “You have a control fetish. Maybe even a Mommy fetish. A cosseting fetish if that’s even a thing.” Hearing those words come out of her mouth seemed...odd. Bitter tasting. Like she was suddenly channeling the psychologist from a decade ago. “No…” Marion didn’t seem too convinced herself. “I don’t. I’m not.” .“And I’ve got a fetish for…” Jessica’s tongue felt cracked and dry. “...for occasionally losing control. And that’s okay.” “What about the girls?” “We’re not talking about the girls,” she half-lied. “We’re talking about us right now.” “What do you want to do about it?” The strangest, most bitter laugh came out from the diapered clerk’s mouth. Then she said, “I want to quit dancing around the subject for once like we’re supposed to, and to just talk about it. Like adults!” “You went against my wishes,” Marion steeled herself back up. “How was I supposed to react?” “You were refusing to meet all of my needs when I was meeting yours. What should I have done?” Marion Thompson tried to say something, but no words seemed to come out. So Jessica took the opening. “I think I’m falling in love with you,” Jessica said plainly. “You make me feel strange wonderful things that I don’t remember ever getting to feel with someone else.” The barest hint of a blush.haunted the owner. “I may have that talent.” “I want to be part of your life,” Jessica pleaded. “But I want to be a part of it on my terms. As an adult.” “Adults don’t wear diapers….” “You lost that offense the moment after you came home from my first time sitting.” Marion’s lips twisted sideways. “True enough. But I can’t have you just shitting yourself to get your jollies off. It will confuse the girls.” “So what? If I indulge you’ll dump me?” Jessica was on the edge of pure incredulity. A glint in the other woman’s eye. ‘No dear,” she said. “But I WILL punish you.” “You’ll…?” The gears slid into place. Even in her anger and fury, Marion Thompson was nothing if not observant, if slightly manipulative. “Oh…” She pursed her lips. “Oh…punishment how?” The throbbing sensation inside of her was beginning to get good again. “Oh I think you just got a taste of what that punishment will be.” Marion picked the paddle back up from her desk and swatted it lightly in the palm of her hand. “Diaper rash will be the least of your worries with regards to your seat.” “Deal!” Jessica realized she sounded a bit too excited. Part of the fun of it for her, she was realizing, was the taboo aspect of it all. Earning a punishment felt so much better than asking for one; even if by the developing rules she’d be literally asking to get her ass paddled. Perhaps that’s why Marion was like she was... “But,” Mrs. Thompson held up her finger. “If you have a poopy accident again and you’re not the one to tell me first, you’ll get worse than just the spanking. It will be back to the nursery for you.” “For how long?” Miss Stoneman asked. Marion slumped a bit and leaned against her desk. Jessica had seen through the oncoming loophole and instead of flinching had called her girlfriend’s bluff. “The day,” Marion said. “Just the day. Or when I need someone to do that trick with their tongue. Whichever comes first, I suppose…” Jessica didn’t hesitate to wrap her arms around the other woman. “I love you!” “I love you too.”The clerk bent over to pick up her bra and her blouse. “Just what do you think you’re doing?” Marion asked. “I’m getting dressed...” “Ah-ah-ah!” Marion wagged. “You still owe me the day. It’s Gwenny’s play blanket for you, remember.” A gasp of indignation. “That agreement was not retroactive!” Marion wasn’ flinching however. “Fine...but only because I owe you. Doing that right in front of you without warning was rude.” “And the tongue thing?” Jessica waddled over to the blanket and sat down as well as she could. “And the tongue thing,” she promised. The end of one story, but not of a relationship… (Fin)

They have Wet Ones wipes, so they are half way there!

Nothing like laying in bed on a cold, wet, rainy day when you're in a dry diaper and wetting it for the first time. Or wetting a soggy diaper, but there's just something about a new, dry diaper. Preferably with a little baby powder in it. I think it's the feeling of going from dry to wet. When you're already wet and getting wetter, that's nice too but it's just not the same.

@BabySpiderBoy and @Kif thanks for the kind words. I enjoyed making this time lapse series as much as I enjoyed sharing it. Though as you can imagine its hard to find other people who appreciate it! Hahahaha. Hugs!!!

I legit love them! So tiny, but so real. If I had money and space I'd be setting up a market lol But then I don't think bodega cats play well with tiny groceries.

I totally agree. Lying down diapered and just relaxing and letting it flow is amazing. I do like it when the pee trickles between bum cheeks to the back of the nappy/diaper. ???

My mom always called them "rubber pants" as well, and I probably actually wore some rubber ones as a baby, but I mostly remember wearing the Gerber vinyl pants over my cloth diapers. I was a bedwetter until almost 6 and remember cringing when sitting in the shopping cart at the grocery store and my mom turning down the aisle where the baby food (and vinyl Gerber pants) were. That aisle also had the soup, dog food and baking stuff so I never knew if she meant to get any of those items when turning down that aisle, but once in a while she stopped the cart in front of the baby stuff. It was at that time I knew she was going to put one of those small blue boxes of toddler size vinyl pants in the cart. What was more embarrassing was my older cousin (about 15 years older) worked as a cashier and we always went through her line. Small mom and pop store with 3 registers, usually only 2 open at one time. Obviously my cousin knew just who those vinyl pants were for! Later when I turned 19 I worked for that store myself, and yes, it was exactly the same! Same aisle with the dog food, baby pants and soup! I think age has a lot to do with it. Even in the 1950's and 1960's kids who wore cloth diapers had mothers who referred to the waterproof pants as "rubber pants" because that was pretty much what they were called when they were growing up and as young mothers. In the 40's and even 50's plastics weren't as good as they are now. Anyone remember the old 78 records? They cracked and shattered along with the old Bakelite plastic they used back then. Once vinyl pants became the norm mothers were used to calling everything "rubber pants" and that stuck. Then within about 10 years or so Pampers hit the market big time and the newer mothers who used disposable diapers didn't need the waterproof pants anymore, so no need to really use the terms "rubber pants" or even "vinyl or waterproof pants" much. I'd go as far as saying most mothers who raised a kid in cloth diapers in the 1950's through 1960's referred to all waterproof pants as "rubber pants".

Well, good buddy! I'm happy to hear that. And yeah I get what you mean. It's surreal having to get used to wearing diapers again and losing control of all your ability to go pee-pee and poo-poo whenever you want to, like when you were a baby. But in time that will fade away and it will just become a part of everyday life. Diapers all day, everyday equals yay!!!!?????❤️ And on the bright side, no more POTTY TRAINING!!!!! Take that parents!???? *Giggles* nothing's gonna stop you now!??☺️?❤️?❤️?? I'm so happy for you buddy! Congratulations!?? ?"You're a little kid now!"?

Might be more comfortable with a foley catheter.

So the initiation of a pee remains voluntary (assuming you are not disregarding an urge)? I know my ability to stop a pee (once it has started) is now severely diminished, I may be able to pause it for a second or so but it will restart, but nevertheless the decision to start it in the first place remains mine. Or, at least I imagine it is... Many have spoken about involuntary leakage outside of any specific pee urge. Have you seen anything like that (outside of bed wetting of course).

I could imagine two situations as far as the treatment is concerned. The Amazon who wanted him will coddle him like a baby because she gets into the baby fiber without noticing that he is actually an adult. While the nurse treats him like an annoying little pest. Which could endanger her relationship with her wife, the one with the baby fever. The other variant is that the nurse does what is necessary to please her wife, still the same initial situation, as much as possible. I don't know what would be more interesting since both could bring exciting and entertaining chapters.

Welcome to the community!

I apologize for the delay; I've just been doing a thousand different things while also hitting writer's block. I finally have a way forward, and expect more in the coming days! XI TWO WEEKS LATER Things had been moving pretty well, I’d settled into a routine and I really couldn’t complain about anything. I’d get changed by Beth once at night, wake up, change myself, go to work, we’d come home to swim, dinner, watch baseball, and I’d get changed for bed again. One morning though, I woke up to find Beth coming in as white as a ghost. “Hon, I’ve got some really bad news to tell you,” she told me, “It’s your parents, they’ve been killed in a car accident.” I was really taken aback. “What? How?” “Apparently, it happened a month ago, they’ve already had the funeral and everything. They didn’t know where to find you at, and it took your friend Alanna calling me up last night after you’d gone to bed to tell me what had happened. I’m so very sorry hon, I’m so very sorry.” I was in total shock. Sure, we weren’t that close, but I never really wanted anything terrible to happen to them, either. I always thought I’d be able to go back home and visit, even if it wasn’t this summer. I was looking forward to the holidays, or some other occasion. What was I going to do? I really didn’t have closure; they’d already had the funeral, and everything was probably gone from their house, and well, I just didn’t know. I did what I thought was natural. I just sat and cried. I had no idea what I’d do next. The days following the grim news from Beth really sent me into a tail spin, and really, I had absolutely no closure from it at all. I’d gotten some property out of the whole thing, but it wasn’t anything that I really wanted, and was held up in a trust. In real ways, I was very depressed. Things just seemed to get worse and worse. I wasn’t making any progress in the potty training department, and if anything, things had just spun backwards. My work was suffering from my lost mindset. Finally, Beth had enough (and really who could blame her?). At the end of one day, while she helped me put on a diaper for bed, she broached the subject. She’d given me some space up until that point, but I guess everyone has a breaking point when they feel like they have to do something, at least say something. As she taped the diaper up, she began to speak in that sultry drawl of hers. “Hon, we really need to get you some help, it’s normal to go through grief, but you’re really taking this hard. I hope you didn’t mind, but I’ve gone ahead and made you an appointment with a therapist.” I was a bit taken aback, if we were being completely honest, but I guess not altogether surprised. The time had become a blur of sadness and listlessness. I never really was especially close with my parents, but I guess I took them a little for granted, and now that they were gone, well, I was really lost from the whole thing. “Uh ok,” was all that I could respond. “I’m going to bring you over there tomorrow, let’s hope that we can help you feel better,” she told me, before patting my bottom and pulling the blanket up. “G’night hon,” she told me as she left the room, turning out the light. I drifted off into a somewhat listless haze, really unsure of what was going to come next. We drove off to a fairly non-descript midrise office building on the south end of town. There was a distinct line of signs that almost exclusively gave away the aura of some sort of office building housing professionals. If it wasn’t counselors or psychologists, it was an attorney or a dentist; well, you get the point. The building was one of these; it was a typical midrise of the time. There was a dearth of windows on the inside, and the air smelled of a decaying carcass mixed with some cheap dollar store perfume. The carpet was faded, as if calling back to spruced-up prior occasions that may have permeated that particular instance the universe called back on itself. In any case, it was a building. There was a counselor inside that Beth had made me an appointment with. I was really nervous; what if this person went and aired my dirty laundry out with everyone who wanted to know? What if my life was that twisted that I found myself here. We walked up the stairs a few flights, and finally got to a hallway, as we walked down, the floor was dotted with some office buildings that generally looked to be either more counseling services, or college outreach offices. The same smell from the lobby was permeating this area too. I guess there wasn’t much I could actually do about that, I was still nervous about the trip to this office though. Finally, after what seemed forever, but was probably actually just a few dozen feet, we got to an office behind iced glass. Beth opened the door, holding it open for me, before following me in. There was a cowbell on the door as if to signify to the office holder that there were people in this waiting room. The room had a very relaxed ambiance, with warm-colored paints on the walls. There was incense on a table in the corner, which also featured a dimly colored lamp that lit the room. There was a nice selection of National Geographics on the table, one of which I took a feigned interest in. Beth sat next to me, patting me on the knee the whole time. “Do you need to change your pants before you go in?” she asked, patting her purse as if to suggest me changing my diaper. I blushed, “Um, no, I don’t.” As strange as this would have been to me a few weeks ago, with the recent funk I’d found myself in after hearing about my parents, it had become more and more commonplace. I’d been wetting my pull-ups more frequently than I’d have hoped, but I thought I was keeping that fairly discreet from Beth. She had been buying them though, so either she noticed in the trash, or noticed when it came time to restock. In any case, she’d found it a bit concerning, and told me to make sure and mention it to the therapist. After a bit of time had passed, I heard the door knob begin to turn and open up. Emerging from the office was an Amazon of a woman, clothed in very professional dress except for a jean jacket that signified some sort of rebellion against something, I surmised. She had very bright eyes and a very warm, welcoming smile. She took her hand out and offered it to me, “Hi there, I’m Denise,” she told me, “and you must be….Chase?” “That’s me,” I told her, “and this is Beth,” I added. “Oh we spoke on the phone, it’s always nice to put a face to a voice,” she told Beth. “Likewise,” said Beth. “Well shall we go in?” Denise asked, motioning in the door. “Sounds good,” I followed her in. Beth waited outside. The actual space itself was pretty cozy. There was a couch, two chairs, and a desk with a computer at it, with a giant window on one side opening out and looking at the rest of the town. I sat down and took a seat; Denise offered me a bottle of water, which I accepted, and then sat down on a chair opposite of me. “Shall we get started?” she asked. So we did. It was an hour that went by entirely too fast. In that first hour, I did a few things with Denise. First, I kind of explained why I was here in the office, sitting in this chair. I had problems, real emotional problems that I was having trouble getting over. I talked a little about my (lack of) bathroom habits, and worried that it had tied into stress. I mentioned the diapers, too, of course, as the method I was using to work on them. It wasn’t a long discussion, but it was a bit of a poignant one. Next, I briefly touched on a few of the things that had gone on in my life. There was the strange times growing up where I really never fit in, nor did I feel like I was ever really a part of my family. I really wanted to get to more, but with the time allotted, I could only briefly make it out of just an early part of my knowledge on life. My really somewhat distanced relationship with my now-deceased parents, my lack of a support system. Before I knew it, the time was up. In many ways, though, I felt relieved. At the end of our conversation that day, Denise stood up, and suggested that we talk more. She made another appointment for the next week. I walked outside to find Beth waiting in the lobby. “Shall we go?” she asked. I nodded. We walked out to her car, and as I sat down in the front seat, I started crying. They were a mix of tears of sadness, but also tears of joy. I felt a little liberated that day. “What’s wrong hon?” Beth asked. “Well, I, um, well, I just want to tell you, thank you, thank you for taking me in, thank you for supporting me, and thank you for not judging me, and thank you for getting me some help,” I blubbered, almost incoherently. She said nothing, but reached over and held me for what seemed like a long time, but was probably just a few seconds. “Hon, it’s my pleasure, you always struck me, even from some of our first interactions, as someone who was searching, and who just needed someone,” she told me, “I’m more than happy to get you all the help you need, and I’ll always be here, even when you go back to school, you don’t have to worry about me leaving your life.” It was almost reassuring, I felt like I’d finally made a genuine connection for the first time in my life. Summer was running out, and would be over soon, I thought. I really didn’t want to leave, but all good things would have to come to an end, but it was still about a month away, I wanted to be able to take it all in. Beth put the car into gear and we drove home. The night was rather non-existent. We had some takeout, Beth worked on some stuff, and I watched a little TV. Nothing too crazy had happened. That night when it was time for bed, and Beth had finished changing me into my night-time diaper, she smiled at me, kissing me on the forehead. “Hon, I love you, and I hope that you’ll be in my life for a long time. I don’t know what else to say, but it feels like you’re almost a second child to me at this point. I’ll always be an advocate, and always will be a support system for you when you need it.” She pulled up my blanket over me, before throwing my wet pull-up away, and turned out the light before closing the door. I sat there, and for the first time in a long time, I smiled. At least I had someone who cared, even as strange as this situation almost lent itself to being. The next few weeks went by pretty fast. I had a juggle of a time with work, counseling appointments, and everything in-between. It was almost a blur, but I guess it wasn’t like anything terrible had happened. My counseling sessions were really helping me out of my shell, and for that, I was really grateful. I had a lot of unexplored issues that I’d always really thought about, but had never had anyone to really talk to about. There was the wetting of course, but I had a lot of issues with things in my own life, things I’d hidden away from a lot of people, and really, a lot of stuff that more or less led me to being a broken individual inside. I managed to keep it together well, of course, but I was a lot of things that I just always kind of repressed. One of the things was the fact that I felt like I’d never been attached to a parent, and that most of my childhood had passed me by without hitting any real milestones, or experiencing things like my peers did. I always felt left out or jealous when I’d see my friends doing things with their family taking an interest in them. Mine never did. Another one of them was, well, my gender identity. Talking to Denise about it was the first time that I’d told anyone about it, other than typing it out on a computer to myself, just to make sure I wasn’t crazy. Part of never fitting in was the fact that I was, really uncomfortable in my own shell. Growing up in a rural place as a male, it was hard. I had all of these expectations. To play sports, to be an adrenaline junkie, to drink hard amounts of nasty liquor like whiskey, and all sorts of stuff in between. Outside of the adrenaline part, none of it really fit me. Growing up, I liked, well, girly things, but I could never talk about them with anyone, because I’d get castigated and have a bunch of nasty names tossed my way. I’d always wished that I was actually born a girl, and would listen intently when my parents would talk about what they had planned on naming me had I been born a girl. Generally it was a passing thought, but I clung to it for dear life when I would hear it, and would then try to not be conspicuous, always looking for some sort of opening to bring it back up. I wanted the dresses, the Barbies, everything about it, but well, I never could, and if I ever brought It up to anyone I was “close” to, I’d either be laughed at, or shouted down. It wasn’t a good situation. This time though, was different. This was a venue where I actually finally felt comfortable talking about those feelings, and even then, I had to actually build on my trust issues in order to actually sharing these sorts of things; I was finally getting at some real center of me that had remained unrevealed for basically the entirety of my life. It was liberating. I often spoke of these thoughts, and would talk about what I was going through. Denise brought up terms like “transition,” “reassignment surgery,” “hormones,” and stuff like that, things I’d honestly never heard of to that point. It was a different thing for me, but a good different. I felt like I was really getting the help that I needed. We’d talk about Beth, and my relationship with her. I considered her a sort of a surrogate mother at this point, who had taken me in, me who was basically an orphan. I felt like I owed a lot to her, and if anything, she had become a rock to me over the course of this summer. I could never really bring myself to sharing with her what I’d talked to Denise about in these sessions, only that I’d felt better after talking with her, and that things were moving in a great pace. No use in burdening her with my own issues, I’d always thought. A lot of this was all pouring out like words into a paper cup, like the lyrics in Across the Universe. I was going across my own universe during these sessions, and I really felt the better for them. At the latest time, after another in-depth discussion with Denise, she looked at me and told me that she’d been thinking about my case. “Chase, I really have an idea for you, and it might sound a little unorthodox,” she told me. “What is it?” I asked, somewhat curiously. “Well, it’s something that’s called regression therapy, but not in the usual sense,” she told me before continuing, “It’s basically being able to re-experience things again, or maybe in your case, actually experiencing things that you may have missed out on.” “It’s different, but I’ve been working on it with a colleague of mine for some time now, and you seem like the perfect candidate for it. Since I think that it would almost be too daunting to put you as an in-patient, it’s something that we’d need to bring someone in on, like Beth, for instance,” she told me. “Can’t you just call her and talk to her about it?” I asked, almost incredulously. “Well, no, not really, it’s something that you’d have to discuss with her, I actually can’t, because of patient confidentiality,” she continued. “Well, I um, I don’t know the particulars, and I’ll be honest, I’d be a little scared talking to her about it,” I told Denise. “Ok, well look, would you want me to tlak to her about it? She’s right out in the lobby isn’t she? She always brings you here, right?” “Yeah, she’s out there.” “If you really want to do the therapy, and you want me to bring her in on it, well, you’d need to sign a consent form allowing me to talk about all the particulars with it. Is there anything else you’d like me to tell her?” “Everything. Just tell her everything.” “Ok, then, so you’ll do the therapy?” “Yes. Yes. I’ll do it. If you think it’ll help, I’ll do it.” I told her. “Alrighty then, I’ll need you to sign a consent form, and we’ll get this ball rolling,” Denise told me in a warm tone. As I sat there signing my name, there were a bunch of things rolling through my head, impactful things, but also impactful things that were almost fleeting. Regression Therapy. I guess that didn’t sound half bad; my life had hit a real dead end. Other than my internship, what did I really have to look forward to? Alanna had a boyfriend, my parents were both dead. Did I really have anything to look forward to, as in, at all? Or was it just a desperate exercise in pretending that I actually mattered, and actually was cared about by someone? Who knew, if you’re keeping score at home. What was it going to entail? Was it something that I really wanted? Should I at least think through any potential consequences? I could just go back to the islands and pretend this all never happened, that might be great, right? I made up my mind, I knew at that moment what I was going to do. I went and signed a consent form allowing Denise to share what she and I had talked about with Beth. Once I signed my name away, I handed it back to Denise, who barely gave me a glance. In a clinical manner, Denise wrote a few things down, “Ok then, let me go and grab Beth. Do you want to be here when I talk to her?” “No, I’ll just wait outside,” I told her. I walked out, and Beth was waiting there. “Beth,” I started, “I’ve decided to get some real help, and well, Denise needs to talk to you about it. “That’s wonderful hon, I’ll go inside and talk to her, if you don’t mind waiting outside in one of these chairs,” she told me gently. “No, I don’t mind, she’s going to share a lot about what she and I have been talking about, and she thinks it’ll be really helpful,” I told her. I went and plopped down in one of the comfy chairs outside while Beth went into the room I’d just emerged out of. Sitting outside in the chair, I have to admit that I found this all to be a bit odd, that I really didn’t know what I was doing, but that was almost fleeting; I guess I didn’t think much about it. The gravity of the situation started to hit me a bit, but it didn’t seem that real to me. I wondered just what I’d agreed to, and to what ends it would actually be accomplished. The door opened, revealing Beth, who motioned me in. “C’mon in hon, we have a lot to discuss,” she told me. I obediently followed. As I would find out in the coming days, things were going to get to be really different, and there were going to be some drastic changes ahead.

Long time lurker decided to try writing one myself. Feel free to give any feedback or constructive criticism. The Fight Daniel Walker was just leaving the bar, just after midnight, trying to refocus after everything that happened the last month. At 25 years old with blonde hair, blue eyes and muscular physique wearing a plain black tee shirt and jeans didn’t look out of place with the college students that had taken over the bar minus that he wasn’t smiling. Daniel at 25 was trying to become a professional MMA fighter and everything was going his way until his last fight. Daniel was a former division 1 collegiate wrestler at heavyweight and transitioned to MMA after college. He was 7-0-0, he had been gaining sponsorships, he had a hot girlfriend, and it looks like he was going to get opportunities to fight with companies with national television deals all he had to do he beat Xavier Harris, an aging fighter who at his peak was top ten in the world at the weight, but now had been on decline. Daniel wanted the TKO or submission victory to make a statement and that was his downfall. In the first round he was too aggressive, and Xavier used that to get a few takedowns and score points with the judges early. Daniel had a great second round including a kimura locked in when time expired. The third round was very close as both fighters were exhausted at that point, and his coach seemed to believe he won but when he heard split decision Daniel was scared and he lost 27-29, 29-28, 28-29. From there everything seemed to go wrong. While his coach and majority of his sponsors stayed because they still believed in him, he would now need to win a few more for the promotions who had come to scout him to take a chance on him which meant years more until he could make a steady living just fighting and had to continue working packing trucks. His girlfriend turned out to be a gold digger and saw the writing on the wall and left him. He had been training hard, but he felt desperate and had started drinking more against his coach’s advice. Walking home though would be the biggest change to his life, however. He was about 3 blocks away from his apartment when he heard someone scream. He ran towards the scream into a nearby alley and saw three men, in their late teens or early twenties, surrounding an older man with a cane demanding that they give them his wallet, keys, and phone or else. Daniel did not see any weapons and yelled at them to leave the man alone. One of the men approached him. “Why don’t you mind your own business if you know what is good for you,” the man sneered. Daniel replied, “why don’t you three mind your own business instead of bothering him.” The man was about 6 feet tall and around 175 lbs. The two other men were around the same size. Daniel as a heavyweight MMA fighter was 6’4” 260lbs and was not afraid of them. The man confronting Daniel then says “Leave now or else,” and pushed Daniel but Daniel didn’t move, he tried to push Daniel again but Daniel decided enough was enough he put in a reverse key lock, which is illegal in every combat sport because it puts the pressure on the arm in such a way that it can quickly snap a man’s forearm, and that is exactly what happened. The man went down screaming in agony and the other two were shocked. Daniel however was smarter and quickly yelled to the older man to run. He couldn’t really run but was moving as fast as he could, and the two men eventually got out of the shock of seeing how easily Daniel was able to snap their friend’s arm and started chasing. Daniel was able to cut them off. Now that he between the two muggers and the older man. He waited for one of them to throw the first punch to protect himself from the unlike scenario of criminal charges. When the one did, he was able to duck it and land a quick strike himself which dazed the man and a second punch knocked him to the ground. The second man came charging at him, but he used the man own momentum against him and used it for a basic take down. The first man was back up and went after him again landing a punch that hurt but wasn’t anything Danny wasn’t used to. Danny responded with a kick to the leg and a strong punch which knocked him to the ground. Danny took this time to run in the opposite direction of the old man, towards his own apartment building. He knew fighting 2 on one was asking for trouble and didn’t want to do it any longer than necessary. Unfortunately, the two men caught up with him as he was forced to wait for a car to pass. He was easily dominating the one man until he felt a sharp pain on the back of his knee. The second man had found a piece of wood and took out his knee, then the other man pushed him to the ground and started stomping on the leg while his fellow attacked used the piece of wood. Instincts took over at Daniel grabbed the leg on the man with the piece of wood and took him to the ground then turned so the man was on top of him and went into a full guard trying to prevent both men from attacking unfortunately the other man delivered a big kick to the side of the head and Daniel passed out. Luckily for Daniel the old man who the men had originally been after found a police car and told his story to the officers. The officers went searching and found the two men attacking Daniel who at this point was a bloody mess clinging to life. The officers quickly subdued the two men and got an ambulance to take Daniel to the nearby hospital. The doctor saw the condition Daniel was in and knew there was nothing he could do to save him as the head injury was so severe. However, one of the nurses remembered hearing from the new portal tour company that came from another dimension that belonged to giants with much more advanced technology and convinced the doctor to allow her to go there and make contact to see if they could save him. The portal officer immediately got her in contact with someone from that dimension. The amazon on the other side of the portal heard the story and said he would check with doctors on his side. Truthfully, the Amazon knew this was possible, but an issue still existed. These long-standing portals, used for tours, gave off a ton of radiation that did not affect a person but made nanite treatments less effective. They had portals that could take Daniel that gave off less radiation, but these had been used to kidnap littles for years before their government had made more regulations. The amazon’s government still deny the existence of these portals but allowed them to be used only to save a life. That is why the amazon portal officer needed to know what to do next and informed his superiors. The eventual decision was to send Daniel through the main portals and tell the hospital to do everything they can. The hospital on Earth meanwhile was just controlling the bleeding the best they could. The fighter was now in the hardest and most important fight of his life Daniel had not regained conciseness and any surgery to try to save him was deemed too risky due to possible nervous system damage. They quickly transferred him and saving his life although it would be a vastly different life than he currently has. -------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Meanwhile the call just came in to Riesen State Hospital. Once notified of the little coming into the hospital Dr. Mitchell instantly got to work prepping. She knew this would not be easy as the radiation from the portals would slowly degrade the nanites so they could only do so much but being the ER head doctor was a difficult job every day was a new challenge. Dr. Mitchell found saving littles from other dimension as one of the most rewarding parts of the job. Unfortunately, the nurse that would be assisting her would not agree. Ashley Ericson had been an ER nurse for 4 years now and despite her cheerful acting absolutely hated it. All the death and pain she had to be around had taken its toll on her mentally, yet her workaholic attitude meant she kept coming back. Ashley found cases like this to be especially ridiculous as she came from a gated communities where littles were banned due to being viewed as an annoyance but now, she had to deal with a portal little who got hurt so bad in his own dimension that they were sending him here and making her life more difficult with this surgery which was going to take several hours. Ashley could not wait to finish the workday and go home to her wife, Angela. The two had meet in college where Ashley was pre-med, and Angela was a journalism major. The two quickly got together despite completely different personalities. Ashley was 28 years old and 11 feet tall had short black hair and a very serious nature. Angela was a year younger and a little shorter at 10 ½ feet tall with long blonde hair and was the wild and outgoing of the two. Shortly after graduation the two married and Angela took Ashley’s last name in keeping with the culture of the shorter partner taking their larger partners name regardless of age or gender. Both quickly found success in their careers. Ashley quickly became a nurse at the top hospital in the state while Angela now worked from home as an editor for the state’s largest newspaper. Angela especially enjoyed doing the comics and the columns on little care. Ashley tended to ignore littles while Angela always seemed to gravitate towards them fussing and cooing every chance she got. Angela would try to get Ashley to agree to adopt a little, but every time Ashley found an excuse not to whether it was in college or now, she was too busy at work despite half of the staff having their own littles. Currently Ashley would come home, eat, and go to sleep and even on her off days never wanted to do anything though occasionally Angela convinced her to do something, but she would always find herself thinking about work. Luckily, she thought to herself, she was good at faking it and Angela had no idea. She didn’t need Angela worrying about her. She told herself she was strong enough to do this job as she went into this surgery. Dr. Mitchell and Ashley went to work on Daniel. Normally, Dr. Mitchell would only have to inject nanites once into an injured area of the body but because of the radiation damaging the nanites she would have to do it regularly normally with them only having time to do a single task which slowed down the process. What would normally take 15 minutes were taking hours. Dr. Mitchell made the decision to go with outdated methods such as stiches over nanites for a few injuries because of the nanites issues. Luckily, she was able to stabilize Daniel within about 20 minutes but there was still a long way to go. --------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------While the surgery was going on however Angela was at home waiting for Ashley. She loved Ashley but recently was getting increasingly worried about her. Ashley never wanted to talk about her work or her feelings. Angela knew something was wrong but did not know how to help and now an hour after when she should have been home, she hadn’t even called. Finally, Angela called one of the receptionists and found out about the difficult surgery. She quickly made a plate of dinner and practically ran the little over a mile to the hospital. When Angela arrived, she briefly talked to the receptionist before being allowed into the waiting room and finding an orderly Trevor who she had met when Ashley first started at the hospital. “Hello Trevor,” Angela said. “Hello Angela waiting for your wife I assume,” Trevor responded. “Yeah, heard she got stuck in a long surgery.” “Yes, all because the dimension of littles decided to send an injured little in the wrong type of portal,” Trevor seemed annoyed but continued. “He was a cute little but of all the rescued portal littles this is probably the worst I have seen in my 10 years of working here, hopefully I never have to see anything like that injured again.” Angela could not believe as Trevor went through all the gruesome details of the injuries done to the little. Angela responded, “How could that happen.” “Apparently, a couple other littles attacked him, that dimension really needs to fix itself or we should go there and straighten it for them. I know a lot more diapered bottoms but better than having to save all these portal littles. Anyways I need to get back to work, have a good day” “You too, thank you Trevor,” Angela stated as she sat down and waited for her wife. After 4 ½ hours Dr. Mitchell finally told Ashley that they were done but hospital policy said both must stay at least 2 hours to watch for complications. Ashley exited the operating room and saw Angela waiting for her. “Hey baby sorry didn’t realize I would be so late,” Ashley said to her wife. “Do not worry just eat after what Trevor told me you need it,” Angela replied. “I am fine just another surgery with a few complications.” Dr. Mitchell then spoke up as she enters the room, “just another surgery,” she laughed, “not to me probably the most difficult one I have ever done but at least he’s okay.” Angela responded, “Good hopefully he finds some good parents who can treat him properly.” Ashley knew the tone in her wife’s voice and quickly tried to defuse the situation, “He will be sent to one of the local orphanages who will match him to the best home possible.” “Not quite” Responded a man who walked into the room, the hospital director, Hugo Brady “None of the local orphanages will take him in the shape he is in, our adoption department is still discussing possible options for the little guy until then move him to Room 105 we will transfer him to pediatrics once we are sure no complications will occur.” With that Trevor returned and began moving Daniel, now dressed in nothing but a diaper and a little hospital gown with farm animals all over it, his head was shaved completely so they could assess the damage to the skull and an IV in his arm but upon seeing him Angela couldn’t help herself from commenting “Aw he is so cute.” Dr. Mitchell quickly agreed with Angela but the little still asleep started to whine and Angela could not help herself from going over and whispering in Daniel’s ear “It’s alright little guy your safe nothing bad is going to happen to you everything going to be ok” and the little stopped whining and went back to deep sleep. Ashley cursed in her head as she saw Angela calm the little down and the look in her eyes, she had already started falling in love with this little and she knew the next words out of Angela’s mouth were doing to be but instead it was Director Brady who spoke up “You seem really good with him, are you and Ashley looking to adopt?” Before Ashley could say no Angela quickly responded, “We have been discussing it but have been waiting for the right situation.” Dr. Mitchell then got involved, “I think you found the right situation,” and Trevor nodded in approval. Director Brady then said, “If you want to adopt him, our adoption center would be more than happy to help you do the paperwork, honestly it will save everyone here a lot of headaches.” Not me Ashley thought. Angela had a huge smile on her face as she asked, “I would be glad to adopt him if Ashley willing.” Ashley wanted to say no but felt she couldn’t this time like she had before. First, she knew how upset her wife would be if she said no and her boss and multiple coworkers believed she should as well so she gave in and said, “We can adopt him.” Angela could not have been happier she finally had what she had wanted since the day they got married.

Chapter 1 I lay on the ground, wet padding beneath my butt. A tap from my mother-in-law and I raise up, the soggy diaper replaced by a fresh new one. Having been changed, it’s straight into a white/pink lacey onesie with the words “Daddy’s Princess” stenciled across the front before being laid in my crib and given a bottle of warm milk. No doubt my wife, who was on a date with one of my co-workers was having the time of her life. If all went well for her, she’d bring him back here to sleep with him in our marital bed where my crib sat at the foot of later this evening. And just two weeks ago, my life was normal. We’d been fooling around like most newlywed couples do. Her mouth teasing me to the point I wasn’t sure what was happening anymore, all I wanted was sweet release. Apparently, that’s when she brought it up, her desire to dominate, though I don’t remember it I do recall saying that I’d do anything for my rapture. One thing we had agreed upon in this relationship is that when you promise something, you live up to it; and I had agreed to do whatever she said, hence my current predicament. It had started small, the first morning she had reminded me of our pact, and she suggested that I wear her silky panties to work. No big deal really, I mean who checks what underwear you have on when you get to the office? That night, she forbid me to use the bathroom from 6pm to 6am. How could I not have had an accident after that? And that’s when she introduced the diapers. A bit hesitant at first I went along with it on the promise of phenomenal sex later that day, and to her credit it surpassed my wildest dreams. From then on I was required to wear a diaper if I even wanted the chance to have sex that day. A week later and many great orgasms later I decided it wasn’t so bad, really. They crinkled a bit, but I was getting used to the feeling of warmth around my crotch midday. That’s when she forbid me to change myself. She, or someone she trusted, would have to tend to my needs and for the first couple of days she was more than eager to provide a happy return each time she untaped my sodden underwear. Since I didn’t have to mess myself, I decided I could live with it. And that’s how I got to be in my current predicament. Two days ago she invited her mother over for dinner, after which she instructed me to remove my pants and watched as her mom wiped the urine from my body before taping another diaper to my waist. Laughing, my wife went out leaving me at the mercy of my mother-in-law who sent me to bed long before the sun went down. By the next morning I couldn’t hold it anymore and deposited the first load into my pants. When my wife changed me that morning, she decided that if I had the control of a baby perhaps I should sleep in the bed of one too. My co-worker, who happens to be a recreational woodworker came over that afternoon to build my new bed spending more time flirting with my wife then assembling my crib. After laughing as he watched my soggy pants get changed he was more than happy to satisfy my wife’s needs as I lay locked in the wooden fortress he constructed for me. I tried desperately to bring myself to bliss at the sounds of my wife cumming but the thick padding around my waist foiled my efforts. The next day my co-worker was the one to provide a new diaper at lunch with the added benefit of a hollow plug in my bottom so I wouldn’t be able to control my poop. Humiliated but aroused, he drove us both to my house where he picked up my wife and I was left in the care of her mother which brings us back to the beginning of this story. Laying in my crib, nipple of my bottle between my lips I couldn’t help but wonder what my life had come to. I had tried resisting once, my ass still stung from the paddling I’d gotten, just the thought of it made me slink back down to my blankie. No matter what happened from here on out, without question, my wife was my superior and I her diaper slave.

Over the years, I've read a lot of personal accounts on these boards about dating and relationships. Having an unusual kink can certainly complicate a relationship, especially if your partner is vanilla. Perhaps there is no one piece of advice that will be applicable to every relationship but I'd like to think my advice below applies the the vast majority of romantic relationships. I think this advice will be especially important for young people who have less experience with dating. Dr. Seuss once wrote, "Sometimes the questions are complicated and the answers are simple." 1. If you are in a romantic relationship, be honest and tell your partner about your ABDL fetish. Coming 'out of the closet' to your partner will usually not be easy and its probably not an ideal conversation on the first or second date. But if things are getting serious and you plan on having a long term, romantic relationship; TELL YOUR PARTNER. 2. Do not stay in a relationship with a romantic partner that does not accept you for who you are. Some people will not want to participate in your ABDL lifestyle. Thats understandable. Some people will be disgusted by diapers, urine, or feces. That too is absolutely understandable. But if your partner cannot accept that you have an ABDL fetish - and that the fetish is not going to disappear - then END THE RELATIONSHIP. - I know it will be difficult for some people to make these decisions but your life will be better in the long run. I'm really shocked that there are people who would WANT to be in a sexual, emotionally intimate relationship while simultaneously keeping a huge secret from their partner. It will be extremely unpleasant and confusing if your partner/spouse randomly discovers that you've been keeping a huge secret from them for months or years. Finding adult baby paraphernalia hidden in a closet or an attic will likely be much worse for your loved one than simply having an honest conversation. George Washington famously said, "It is better to be alone than in bad company." I cannot begin to fathom why anyone would want to be in a committed relationship with someone who believed that their very sexual identity was disgusting or offensive. People need to have some self-esteem. Like I said earlier, it is understandable if a person does not want to participate in this particular fetish. Everyone has their own sexual boundaries and their own comfort zone. But your romantic partner needs to accept that this is a part of you and its not something you can simply 'quit' or erase from your mind. Its the year 2021. The world is full of open minded, vanilla people who will accept your ABDL fetish. Not only that but there are some vanilla people out there who will actually PARTICIPATE in your fetish with you! Do you want someone to change your diaper? There's a non-judgmental vanilla person out there that will do that for the person they love! I have met several of in my life: open minded, attractive women happy to snuggle with me while I'm wearing a diaper! You don't have to trap yourself in a relationship built on lies and deception. And you don't have to trap yourself in a relationship with someone who cannot accept you and finds you revolting.

So when I go run errands these days I usually diaper up. I'd rather wear my own bathroom than have to deal with public ones. So I just get back home after shopping and checking the mail and as soon as I get out of my car....my bowels just let loose. No real warning....just let it fly into my Abena L4. At least I was in my driveway and not in the middle of the grocery store when it happened. Not sure what happened.....my stomach is feels a bit upset....but not overly so. So glad I wore diapers today.

I feel called out??

Hahaha!??? That's SO cool buddy!????❤️ I think you would definitely have a lot of fun with that!?☺️❤️?❤️☺️?

You look good buddy!???❤️ *BIG HUGS!*???????❤️?❤️? Also, thanks for posting this! I loved it a lot buddy! Keep up the good work!??☺️❤️?❤️?????❤️

Another advantage of not wearing belts is it makes you feel little. So that’s like a double-pro in my book!

You would think this would be an easy question to answer. Though exactly how much, and what exactly is leaking is hard to decipher. Often times I will feel dampness inside my diaper but the lines are yellow. I did a time lapse a few months ago where I went without a diaper for a few hours. I genuinely tried to hold it in at first but it clearly didn’t work out. ?‍♂️ Anyways you can see in the first two videos that there are tiny wet spots. The reason why the 15 and 30 min look about the same is because in between spots would form and dry. But yeah I guess I do dribble!! ?. These days there would probably be even more spots forming and drying.

Thanks!!! ? And for what it’s worth I love reading your updates and it sounds like you’re making nice progress.

Good start I love these types of stories. How shorter did he get after going through the portal? I can see how bad this will be that one Amazon wanted a baby and the other do not.

Looks like someone needs better diapers to sleep in!

Ah yes the "good" old slap therapy. (Attention not meant seriously). My grandpa thought he could beat my ADHD out of me with a belt. Stupid for him that I have a different sense perception by my ADHD and could take him away from the belt and threw out the window. When he then began to yell at me, my father came in. I have never seen before or since my father yelling at someone the way he yelled at my grandpa at that moment.

I’d be interested to see what a urologist makes of your current state. I’m genuinely curious to see if there is actually a physiological condition. If there is, I’d imagine that would throw light on whether it might be reversible. At the back of my mind has been the idea that if I should reach a point where I am regularly daytime incontinent, I should bite the bullet and consult with a practitioner to make sure that whatever condition had arisen was not of itself dangerous. My acquisition of bed wetting doesn’t meet this threshold requirement in my mind. I’m quite convinced it is 100% behavioural and that with behavior modification therapy, it could be recovered (I’m thinking a simple bedwetting alarm). Daytime incontinence is a different kettle of fish. Question though: looking back, what were the first hints/symptoms you saw to suggest that something like actual waking incontinence was arising? I’m trying to work out of some minor stuff going on might be the thin end of a wedge or just my active imagination at play.

I hope it's what you wanted. Congratulations buddy!? If it's not, then you should've really considered that, because there's no going back after this. It's too late now. Personally I hope you're happy with your decision. I know I would be!??☺️ Maybe for some people being stuck in diapies would take the fun out of it, but not for me. I would love to be, just not now for various reasons in my life. Anyway I'm glad you love your situation buddy!❤️ Just be careful what you wish for, because you just might get it!???????❤️

I get what @DamionDiapered is saying, but I also 100% concur with @DailyDi's take. The first experience that I can recall, regarding reacting to someone else in diapers, occurred when I was very young, like 4 or 5 years old, when neighbours of ours starting sending their younger daughter, who was around my age, outside in just a diaper and a t-shirt. There's a longer story to it, but basically they started doing that because she used to take her diaper off and hide it in common areas in the building if she was sent out to play with anything on over it, and they got yelled at by the superintendent & landlord a bunch of times. I essentially became her best friend - I was glued to her side whenever she was around. Everyone said I had a crush on her. I was completely fascinated by her, and by her predicament. I was wearing diapers to bed at the time, but my parents never sent me out in just a diaper. I could not articulate what I was feeling, but, in some ways, I wanted to BE her, while at the same time, I was also terrified of the idea - wearing a diaper around anyone other than my immediate family caused a lot of anxiety in me as a kid. So, those feelings arose within me way, way before the genesis of anything approaching a sexual identity. I believe that this is probably the case for a lot of people here. At the same time, as an adult, and a parent, there is an ethical firewall that has to be in place, with respect to one's recreational fascination with diapers, or with revisiting "little feelings", or using them as an antidote to the pressures of being an adult, versus allowing those interests to influence one's behaviour with anyone vulnerable who actually wears diapers, be they children, the elderly, the disabled, or whomever.

Good beginning

Disclaimer on the author: My education did not go past high school and I got through English with a C-, so I apologize for all the issues such as long paragraphs run-on sentences, change of tenses, not enough semicolons, too many commas, sentence structure, and the other things that may annoy the more educated that I do not notice. Anyone is welcome to send me a version that is easier to read, and I will update the story. Because I am not a writer this is taking me a very long time to write, and very slow coming. I consider this story open for anyone to use how they wish, the only thing I request is keep all characters as legal adults. If you don't like the name Candi and think your sissy name is better, then change the name. If you don't like the style of clothes, then change that as well. Delete the things you don't like, add things you think are missing. Rewrite this story for yourselves to fit your fantasies. I am not going to care if I see someone else's improved version of my story on this site or any other site. You don't have to credit me or this story if you do so. Day 14 Saturday (Part I) I woke up in my overly soaked diaper. It is certainly much heavier than it was when I went to sleep last night. I somewhat remember waking up a little bit in the middle of the night needing to pee and just letting go as I drifted back to sleep. I had gone through almost two of the bottles that Kim left in here. I wondered if Kim’s guy was still here or if he had already left. My question was soon answered when I could hear the faint sounds of Kim moaning. It was much fainter than before, they must have gone to her bedroom last night. I pressed my ear to the wall to hear better. I wondered what position she was in with those moans. I’ll bet it was something like reverse cowgirl or doggie style. Getting horny again, feeling the cage press up against my thick soaked diaper, I found myself rubbing the front of the diaper while humping my hand a little. I took my pillow again and started humping it again. Thinking of her on all fours while getting fucked from behind, her tits bouncing back and forth, as she feels every inch of each thrust. It was feeling so good, the problem was because she was in her room this time, the sounds were too faint to hear over the squeaking of the futon. I cracked it a little bit to let more sound come in. With Kim’s moans much louder I went back to humping my pillow on the futon. It was feeling really good, if only I could be unlocked I could have such an intense orgasam. Her moans were speeding up and getting faster, I pictured her now on her back with her legs up behind her head getting fucked deep and hard as she was moaning in pleasure. The squeeks of the futon got faster and louder as I was picturing what it would be like to be the one fucking her now. I know my hard dick in her wet pussy will feel a lot better than my locked dick straining to get hard in a wet diaper. As my mind was swirling with the idea of fucking her, with the sounds of her moans, and the squeeking, without warning there was a loud crashing sound as one side of the futon suddenly drop to the ground and my head fell forward, and my butt sticking high in the air. I froze there, the sounds of Kim getting fucked stopped, not sure what happened, freaking out inside of what might happen. What if he comes in and checks on the noise and he sees me? Before my mind could race too far, the door opened and Kim came in wearing a black silk robe. “What the fuck is going on in here?” she asked in a hushed tone as she saw that a leg of the futon broke causing it to fall over with me on the futon angled with the futon, my diapered butt in the air, with my pillow between my legs. Looking over at her still frozen, she sighed and said, “Nevermind, I’ll deal with this later. I told him it was the cat and I would check real quick. So stay quiet in here, in fact don’t fucking move from that position, until I get back in here. I am going to go back to my date, and when I get back in here you had better be in this exact position or you are going to be in far more trouble than you already are in. She left the room, and I sighed in relief that he did not come in to check it out. As I did I felt pee fill in this already saturated diaper. Because I was angled down with my butt in the air I could feel the pee come up to the top front of the diaper, feeling it also fall on to my taint and my ass. The extra diaper that Kim put me in last night was apparently not enough, as I was also feeling the pillow between my legs start to get damp. I wanted to jump up and try to do something to stop this diaper from leaking, but with Kim’s stern warning fresh in my mind I did not dare to move. Now only able to hear the faint sounds of Kim moaning as she went back to getting fucked, it was getting me a little horny and I wanted to hump my pillow again, but I was a little more worried about what she was going to do to me now that I broke her futon. After what was most likely hours later, I heard the front door close, seconds later the door to my room opened. Kim now wearing blue pajama shorts with a matching shirt, I still had not moved from the position I was in. Feeling the cold wet pillow and sheets on my legs from this leaking diaper, she calmly asked, “Would you like to tell me what happened here?” What should I tell her? I was so worried about my punishment, why did I not think she would ask me this question? Should I tell her I was jumping on the bed and it broke and I fell in this position? Would that be believable? But why was I jumping on the bed? I couldn’t tell her what I was really doing. With her looking down at me, I shrugged my shoulders and said “I mmm mmmm,” mumbling instead of saying the words. “You don’t know,” she responded, putting her hands on her hips, “I suppose you also don’t know why the door was cracked open when I came in here?” What could I possibly even say to explain that? I responded again with the same, “I mmm mmmm,” and turned my head away. With a stern voice, “Candi, look at me when I am talking to you.” It was the same tone and firmness as a mother talking to their child. I slowly turned my head to face her again. “Now, you are telling me that you have no idea why I was interrupted with my date by a loud crashing sound, to see the door cracked open, and find my futon broken, your diapered ass in the air, with a pillow between your legs.” My face was burning red in embarrassment, I muffled out “I was horny.” “You were horny? Is that what you said?” I nodded my head up and down slowly, closing my eyes, too embarrassed to look at her. “Open your eyes and look at me when I am talking to you.” I opened them to her harsh stare, “so, you were humping in your diaper to the sounds of me fucking someone? Is that what you were doing?” I nodded my head again. “What a pervert, let’s get you out of that soaked diaper.” I rolled off of the broken futon and laid on my back while she got a fresh diaper. As she was putting me in a fresh diaper she said, “You know, he wanted to come check on the sound instead of me, thinking someone was breaking in. You are lucky I was able to come up with some bullshit excuse to keep him at ease. What would you have done if it was him that came in and saw you? Uh? Your big diapered butt in the air dressed in these adorable clothes. Would you have wanted him to see you like that? I sure didn’t want to try and explain why I have this pathetic sissy living with me. I told it was the cat I was watching for a friend.” At this point in the change she was putting a fresh diaper on me. It felt good to be out of that soaked diaper. “Speaking of why I have a pathetic sissy living with me. How has your job search been going? You have been like this for two weeks now. I am sure in all that time you would have some progress.” Thinking I realized I hadn’t really done a lot. I mean so much of this time I felt like I was being punished or recovering from a punishment. I looked away, not sure how to answer. “Why am I not surprised?” she said as she put powder on me. “I would have thought this little thing of your locked away would do something to motivate you. Maybe you are enjoying this. Is this fun for you, being a pathetic little sissy loser. I mean you have spent the last two weeks crawling around in diapers and dresses like a little sissy baby. Little babies aren’t expected to work because they’re babies, but I would have thought you would want to be a big boy.” She finished taping up my diaper with a final, “pathetic loser.”

But not Spanglish. ?

Engrish is the best language for the warnings.

I find that when diapered I go in waves and never really fully empty. So really it might just be how you are. sometimes i think i am done put on a new diaper and 10 mins later i am wet again.

Well, I see he is listed as a Diaper Lover not an Adult Baby. Not all of us who wear diapers are adult babies. I would like to experience having someone change my diaper but it would have to be in the right situation and the right person. I too am a Diaper Lover with no interest in the Adult Baby part of it and would most likely also feel some embarrassment which would be the reason it would need to be the right situation with the right person, perhaps a woman who was also DL and wore diapers herself (and I would be willing to reciprocate and change her diapers as well).

Four. Neither of us said anything for a moment or two. I had contemplated trying to backtrack - maybe pretending that I had said something else or that I was just kidding. But I said what I said, and no amount of talking my way out of it would ever purge that from her memory. “Just for the record...that’s not what we’re doing,” she finally said. “I know,” I said. And I did know that. At least I thought I had known that. “Like...I call her Mommy. She treats me like a little girl. It’s cute and it’s fun, I don’t know. Diapers? Is that something she’s into? Is she going to make me wear…” “No,” I said. “That was only what I had proposed to her. She wasn’t interested.” More awkward silence. “Is that something you like?” she asked. She stared straight ahead at the wall of liquors instead of facing me. Maybe it was best for both of us that we didn’t make eye contact right now. There really wasn’t much I could do to spin it or sugarcoat it. “Yeah. I suppose I do.” I looked at her profile, and I wished I hadn’t. Once again, I saw the adorable young woman I first saw in the lobby of our building. My heart fluttered a little. This was all I had ever wanted since that first encounter - getting some time with her, one on one. Except now she knew I was a diaper-loving weirdo. “I’m not going to judge you,” she said. “And I won’t tell anyone else either.” It was nice of her to say, though I wasn’t sure who she’d tell. Our only mutual connection was already well aware. “Thank you.” I watched her open her mouth, but close it again with a sigh. I was torn on whether or not I should encourage her to say whatever she was going to say. But, really, did I have anything to lose? “Did you have more you wanted to say? Ask?” “Yeah? You wouldn’t mind if I asked a question or two?” See? This is why you don’t provoke conversations you don’t want to have. “Of course not. Go ahead.” “So...do you wear them?” She looked around the bar carefully, making sure everyone was out of listening range before adding: “Diapers?” I sighed. Here we were, jumping right into it. “Yes. Well...sometimes.” I wasn’t sure if my correction made a difference or not. If I wore them just once a year, ‘yes’ still sufficed as an answer to her question. “Does she know?” “I’m sure she does. We don’t talk about it. I hide the evidence well, or at least I try to. If she knows, I don’t think she cares.” I knew she had questions. Probably a million of them, too. But I had some too. “Do you like being a...little girl?” I asked, unsure if I was using the right phrasing. She smiled and blushed a little. I wanted to put her in my pocket and keep her there forever. Had anyone ever been so cute before? “I never really thought about what I am,” she said. “My tastes just run...more juvenile. Immature. If I can get away with being the spoiled princess, I’m probably going to want that.” I felt even stupider for saying the d-word now. She continued: “Veronica - she just has a knack for making me feel - I don’t know - soft? Small? Dependent?” I wish I knew that version of my wife. “Let’s...not tell her that we had this conversation,” I said. “No?” “I don’t want to jeopardize whatever it is you and her have going on. I’m not saying she’d abandon it if she knew we were talking...but I’m sure she’d be annoyed. Just…” I trailed off a little. I wanted to find something profound to say to summarize this encounter, but the best I could come up with was: “Keep doing what you’re doing.” She seemed to sigh in relief. “Are you sure? You’re okay with that?” I shrugged. “As good as I’m going to be.” Maybe the bar wasn’t the best move. WIth my second stiff drink emptied, it seemed time to head home and stroke myself silly - no doubt while thinking of the woman who was currently sitting next to me. “I should get going,” I said. “Me too,” she replied, almost immediately. “Maybe we walk back together?” “That sounds nice,” I said with a smile. -- The front door to her apartment crashed open, rebounding off the wall with a loud clang. Both of our bodies tumbled in through the door - arms wrapped around each other while our lips and tongues mingled sloppily and passionately. I’m not even sure what happened - or when it happened. We left the bar together and we chatted with each other until we reached the lobby. There was a moment where it looked like we were going to go in different directions but, instead, something else happened. I had put no thought or consideration into this. But I knew it was a bad idea. “I didn’t think you were into guys,” I managed to say in between kisses. “I never said that.” Fair enough. It took longer than it should’ve for me to realize what was going to happen. In fact, I realized it just as we reached the point of no return - her hands slowly sliding down my back. I couldn’t stop her. I wanted to, but I couldn’t. I was in the throes of lust, and it had shut down just about every other part of my brain that was capable of acting logically. Her hands found my ass. She gave it a playful squeeze. “Oh…” she said. It sounded like genuine surprise. “Are you…?” My cheeks felt like they were on fire. I nodded. “Really? This whole night?” “Well...I certainly didn’t change while we were at the bar.” “Oh-ho-ho,” she laughed. “This is naughty. You have to show me.” “Wh-what? No I don’t…” Her lips pressed against mine again. I could smell her. I wasn’t even sure what I was smelling. Lemon? Some sort of citrus? Floral? It was heavenly. Intoxicating. She could make me do absolutely anything she wanted, and I suspected that she had already figured that out. “I want to see,” she said. “Show me.” I took a step back from her to start unbuckling my belt, but she descended upon my pants first. She wasn’t going to wait for me, nor was she going to ask permission. Which was fine by me. She hastily tore open my belt and unbuttoned my pants. One firm tug was all it took to bring my pants down to my knees, leaving my diaper completely exposed for her to see. She was the first person who had ever seen me in a diaper before. I certainly hadn’t seen this coming when I first encountered her in the lobby. “Fuck,” she said. I was worried that it was a disappointment. “I’m sorry...is this too much?” “No, not at all. It’s just so much cuter than I thought it’d be.” She shook her head and repeated: “Fuck.” Her hand reached down, feeling the front of the diaper. Feeling my erection - a near-constant presence since running into her tonight - through the thick padding. “Do you use it?” I nodded. “Do you make your little pee-pees in it?” Her tone had managed to carefully walk the line between sincere curiosity and mocking. “Yes…” I prayed that there wasn’t a follow up question to that. She opened her mouth, but then just laughed and shook her head. Finally: “Do you have more?” “More...diapers?” “Yes,” she nodded. “I do.” “I’d like to borrow one. Try it out?” “Well...if you’re going to borrow one, you might as well keep it,” I said with a laugh. From Ashley’s purse, which had been haphazardly tossed onto the couch earlier, there was a chime. “Ah, I should check that,” she said, slowly sliding from me. In the time it took for her to move the three feet to her purse, I found myself missing her touch. My phone vibrated in my pocket - at that moment, located somewhere around my knees. I fished it out and found a text from Veronica: On my way home. Going out again though. I looked up to Ashley. “That was Veronica,” she said. “She’s on her way back. She wants to go get a drink with me.” I sighed. Not that I was too surprised, but it did burn a little for her to have texted Ashley first. “I guess I should let you go,” I said. She pressed herself up against me one last time, her warm lips swallowing mine. When she was done, she stepped back and straightened up her clothes and hair. “I should redo my hair,” she said. “Put some more lipstick on.” “What was this?” I asked. I hated the question almost as soon as I asked it. “Who cares,” she said. It was an answer I was thankful for. “I want to do it again sometime.” “But Veronica…” “I really like Veronica, and I like what I have going with her. But, I dunno. I like this too. Can’t a girl have both?” I ran a hand through my hair and sighed. This was trouble. This wasn’t sustainable. This was a recipe for disaster. One day, this would be drama on a level that was beyond any that I could handle. But that would only be a problem later. “Of course,” I said. She leaned forward and kissed me again. “Keep your pampers dry. And don’t be upset if I’m all over your wife later. I’m all worked up now.” She was gone. I pulled up my pants and collapsed on the couch in a huff. For a brief moment, I had absolutely everything I wanted tonight - maybe everything I wanted period - and now she too was gone. To spend time with my wife, no less. Still, this was an interesting new wrinkle. “Is this what you do with yourself on a Friday night?” I hadn’t even heard Veronica walk through the door. I realized I must have been pretty lost in thought.. “Just...relaxing,” I said. “I’m going out with Ashley.” “I…” I stopped myself from telling her that I already knew this. “I see. What are you two up to?” “Getting drinks, I hope,” she said. “Is this your plan? Sitting around and staring into space?” “No. I’ll...be putting a movie on or something.” “Well don’t wait up. And, please, try not to get all butthurt about the fact that me and my good friend Ashley are spending more time together.” She was trying to get a rise out of me, and it likely would’ve worked if I hadn’t just spent some time of my own with Ashley. My own strange time that almost felt like it hadn’t happened at all the further removed from it I got from it. I wondered what Veronica’s reaction would’ve been if I told her what had transpired earlier. Would she have been more upset that I finally got to stick my tongue in Ashley’s mouth? Or that Ashey’s hand was on my diaper, of all things? I put the TV on while Veronica got changed and readied herself. I did my best not to dwell on these things too much. It was hard not to. Ashley is playing both of us. For the next ten or so minutes, I just stared at the glow of the TV, completely unaware of what was on it. Until there was a knock at the door. “Can you get that?” Veronica called out to me. “I told Ashley to meet me here. Tell her I’ll be right out.” Are you fucking serious right now? I opened the door, and there was Ashley again. She had just left here not that long ago, and in the time since she had seemingly only fixed her hair. She walked past me into the apartment. “Good evening, Jaime. A pleasure to see you.” I got a whiff of her as she drifted past. That same floral/citrus scent, except now it was tied to the memory of being so close to her as she felt up my exposed diaper. I felt myself growing a little stiff. “She’ll be right out,” I said. “She’s still getting ready.” “Still in your diaper?” she asked. “Shush. You can’t say that too loud!” She smiled, playfully poking me in the chest. “You didn’t answer my question.” “Yes.” “I’m going to want to see it again.” “My…” “Your diaper,” she said. I bit my tongue before I asked her to be careful with how she talked to me. I knew she knew this already. She was teasing me. Like Veronica, she seemingly only wanted to get me flustered. “I can’t show you right now.” “I know this. But when?” “I don’t know.” I looked towards our bedroom, seeing that the door was still mostly shut as Veronica continued to get ready. “Here,” she said, handing me a neatly folded piece of paper from her purse. “I wrote down my phone number for you.” “Th-thanks,” I said, unsure of what else to say. This small gesture felt like it was a commitment. A promise. There’d be more of this - and thus, more danger. Still, it wasn’t going to stop me from just taking it. “Can you do me a favor?” she asked. I’d do anything for you. “I suppose.” “If you end up, uh, using your diaper later? Send me a pic?” “What? You want to see...that?” “I’m just curious,” she replied. “I mean, truth be told, I’d rather just watch you use it. This is the next best thing.” “I mean, I can. I...I’ve never shown that to anyone before.” “Ooh,” she said with a little squeal. “So I get to be first? I like that.” My eyes kept wandering back to the bedroom door, waiting for the moment when Veronica would return and cut the conversation short. “I can do that,” I said. “It’s research,” she said with a shrug. “For me.” “Do you still want one?” “Not now. But...probably?” I saw the shadows of Veronica’s feet at the base of the bedroom door. I stepped away from Ashley without even thinking about it. I did my best to not have a guilty look on my face, but that was a challenge when I felt absolutely wrought with guilt. What was I doing? To what end? “Ashley,” Veronica purred as she emerged. “I hope Jaime didn’t bore you too much while you waited.” “Oh, never,” Ashley said. A big goofy smile was plastered on her face. I’d like to think it was for me and the conversation we just shared - but it was likely actually directed towards Veronica. I couldn’t blame her - in her slim black dress and heels - Veronica looked hot. “I need to get some drinks in my belly,” Veronica said. She drifted past Ashley, staring right into her eyes as she did. I could just see Ashley melting before my eyes. I could see we were well past the point of either of them being subtle about how they felt for each other. Soon after, they departed and I found myself pressed against the door, listening to the diminishing sound of their giggles and flirtatious tones as they got further down the hallway away from the apartment. I checked my dating apps again. No new messages. It was 10:00 PM on a Friday and I was already thinking about going to bed. But first, I had a diaper to soak.

Scene #94 Just because I’m the bottom doesn’t mean misbehavior is exclusively my domain. Mary is more adventurous than me. If I had my way, I never would have, say, gotten my panties taken down in a Macy’s dressing room and paddled in full hearing of who the heck knows. That’s courting some serious consequences (like court), and it’s partly just luck that we’ve never gotten caught. At first, Mary would tell me that once she explained my transgression to the whomever, they’d just tell her she was right to spank me and to not wait until we got home, but of course that was just her being a smartmouth. At a certain point, and we’re aware of this, we’re gonna hafta stop playing like that in public. But not yet! And also, some of those (most of them) were not play. They were me getting my bottoms dropped in public restrooms and getting spanked like a person who earned a spanking (which I usually had). That doesn’t mean, though, that we can’t play in public places, and Mary being Mary (i.e. always have to be in control) decided that’s what we’d do with our Sunday without, ya know, telling me. We hiked all over creation, or so it seemed to me. If we walked any further, we wouldn’t be in the same park anymore. Mary declared “This is the spot,” and we sat down to eat our backpack-temperature lunch. Growing up, Mom thought I was too skinny and obsessed over me not eating lunch at school sometimes. Back and forth we went on it until I explained that as much as I loved her, her healthy choice turkey on white bread with miracle whip was even more tasteless after it had been in my locker all morning. I was, like, fourteen before I found out about real mayonnaise, which is ironic given I grew up in Wisconsin with ranch dressing everything. “Thanks for packing lunch,” Mary said to me as we set our meagre feast before us on our picnic blanket. “You’re welcome. Thanks for getting me out of the house … We should go camping.” “I thought you didn’t like it.” “I don’t like being stuck in our house even more, and I could give it another shot. It would be better this time of year. We shouldn’t have gone in the summer.” “You didn’t mind the skinny dipping part,” my predator of a wife reminisced while being all smiley and eating a strawberry. Pretty woman eating strawberries … subby drool noises. “That’s something we should do – plan our next adventure for when the pandemic is over. Where are we going,” I asked. “Where do you wanna go?” “I asked first.” “What if we went to Europe again?” “Which part?” “Maybe do a few countries. I could take a couple weeks off, and we could see a few places. Eat too much gelato. Drink all the wine.” “I think we should go back to Germany.” “Why there?” “Dirndls.” Mary rolled her eyes at me in a nice way. “You have the cutest fetishes.” “I’m just the bodice ripping type. How’s the hummus,” I ask while sliding my foot toward hers for some footsie. “It’s good. What if we did a whole alpine thing? We could start in Germany and go to Austria, Switzerland, and Italy?” We planned our trip in our heads, and lord know when we’ll get to take it. Hopefully a year from now, though maybe sooner. I wouldn’t mind taking an alpine trip in the winter. There are so many mountains I haven’t slid down on my ass shouting for the other skiers to get out of the way. It’s not that I’m not athletic. It’s just that I’m not so much with the coordination on slippery surfaces. Surely I’m not the only lesbian with that problem. This one time in college … Anyhoo, I bet it would be just as fun to toboggan. I’m good at that. I grew up in Wisconsin after all. I even know how to ice fish. What you do, see, is dress in layers and drink schnapps in an ice shack. You may even catch a fish if you remember to put your line in the water. We finished our lunch, put our things away, made out like freshman, and just when I thought we were going to gold up the blanket, Mary said to me, “Hold on.” “Why?” I was kinda eager to get back and we had a long walk ahead of us. “Before we go, I wanna deal with your attitude.” “What attitude,” I asked with a boatload of attitude. “On the way here you asked ‘how much further.’ I think we should just nip that kind of bad attitude in the butt.” “It’s ‘bud’ and I was complaining. I was just asking.” “And now we have this whole other problem to deal with,” she said with her I-can-keep-doing-this-for-as-long-as-I-want smile plastered to her face. “You’re just making stuff up! … And what other problem?” “You’re not over my lap yet.” “But …” “Exactly – your butt isn’t over my lap.” “But people.” “We didn’t see anybody in the last two miles before we got here, and don’t you wanna be my submissive little girl?” “Well, yes to the submissive and girl parts.” “You just love girl parts so much.” “But couldn’t we wait until we get home?” “But Daffy,” Mary said with her snarky smile plastered on, “don’t you want to be by submissive little girl?” “You said that already … and yes, but …” Stupid feelings making me feel feelings with the conflicted feelings and things and stuff. “Fine,” I said and scooted over to her. Why do I always give in? “The last time we did this, it was your idea if memory serves,” Mary reminded me. “Over my lap.” “But that was further from the trail, and there was more stuff between us and it.” She flipped up my skirt anyway. “And as a concession to that fact, I’ll leave your undies on.” “Mary, no! Eeeep!” Buh-huh! Urghh! Fnnrmrmrrr. “Why you eepin’?” She was swirling her fingertips around on my butt cheeks, and yes, I liked it, but eeeeeep! “Because you’re so mean to me.” Letting me keep my panties on was not so much an ideal situation because wedgie. Not an atomic wedgie, but maybe a napalm wedgie because it burned with the panties practically splitting me in two. “I’m not mean, Daffy. I’m strict, because little girls need someone in their life to keep them on the straight and narrow.” “Nothing you’ve ever done to me has kept me straight,” I snarked with all the snark I could snark to prove she’s not nearly so good at snark as I am when I’m snarking. There was world weariness in my snark, too. “And thank goodness for that.” “And I’m not a little girl.” Really. “O, so it’s a big girl laying across my lap about to get her bare bottom spanked.” “Yes, and there’s no contradictions in that sentence whatsoever, so just do what you wanna – hhhhh! – Mary! We’re in public!” With those fingers of her going places and doing things. That’ll teach me to give her blanket permission to do what she wants with me. Lesson noted and learned. “Now that you say that, this place does look a lot different from our house. But back to business. Why are you getting your bare bottom spanked?” “Because you said.” “I think there’s a little more reason to it than that.” “Because you made up a reason and then you said.” Minor risk, but I felt compelled to tell the truth. What’s the worst she could do? Spank me? She chuckled instead. “Sounds about right. Now, it’s okay if you need to struggle and make adorable little subby noises during your spanking. That’s normal for a little girl getting her bare butt spanked, and I won’t have any trouble controlling your body. I’ve given lots of little girls spankings.” “You’ve given the same woman lots of spankings lately.” “That’s the kind of attitude we need to adjust,” Mary said, raising her hand. “Injustice brings out my bad attitude,” I managed to say just before her hand made contact with my butt. “Ow! Marrrry, go easy on me. I’m tiny.” “Pshaw. You are not (SMACK). In fact, you’re a larger-than-life figure (SMACK!).” SMACK SMACK SMACK!!! “There, that should remind you who’s boss.” “I never forgot … and is that all?” “For now.” “Um, but … hmmph! … You’re so mean sometimes.” Gets me all wound up and just gives me love pats. Creates a whole nether situation and just leaves me to deal while she delights in watching me squirm. Damn but I love her and stuff. Wonder what it’s like to be normal (must be horrible). “But I’m so nice the rest of the time.” “Are you just gonna sit there, or are you gonna kiss me and stuff.” I rolled off her lap and tried to affect my kinky minx pose. Know what destroys a kinky minx pose? Picking a wedgie. So my attempt came off more as my my-underwear-is-virtually-inside-my-butt pose. She scortled. “You were so shy a moment ago.” “Stop living in the past, Mary.” But in the present, still with the wedgie. Like … ow. “My little hedonist,” Mary said before pouncing on me like a she-wolf. That’s what she is, ya know, a she-wolf, where as I am just a (lusty) bunny trying to make my way through the big bad woods without getting eaten. But I’d have to save getting eaten until we returned to the suburbs. I settled for getting kissed and petted, and now that I think on it, if Mary and me were a YouTube video, it would be one of those predator-loves-prey videos where people ooo and aww when a German shepherd takes care of a rabbit or goose (and everybody would call me a silly goose, which I am not – really!). But that’s not what we got caught doing. “You have a leaf in your hair,” I said to Mary when we were done fooling around. “You have a beautiful smile,” she said back and made me all snurfy and smol feeling and happy. “You like me,” I said with my derpy-smile on. Mary gets to be beautiful and poised, and I get to be all flustered and derpy. “Of course I do. That’s why I’m so mean to you.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “So let’s get your underpants on and we can go.” “They’re already on,” I pointed out, and they’d even worked themselves free. Well, one side (yay progress!). “Those are not age appropriate.” “Well, duh! You picked them out … Stupid kittens.” Smiling at me from my panties like they’re right at home with another p … anyhoo … “And besides,” Mary continued without acknowledging my protest because she loves continuing without acknowledging my protest, “You couldn’t even keep them clean.” “I did too! You’re just …” “Mean. I know. And if they’re so clean, why don’t you peel them off and give them a sniff.” “Ewww! We’ve been hiking and … you put ‘em there.” “Stop living in the past, Daffy,” she winked. “Don’t you wink at me with your throwing my words back at me from like fifteen minutes ago.” That’s nine hundred whole seconds! She crawled over to me on fours (cuz she’s a she-wolf) and kissed me on the cheek and then (such effrontery) tapped me on the nose and said, “You’re pretty when you’re pouty and flustered.” And then she kissed me again. “Stand up.” “Flattery will get you nowhere,” I said as I stood up. I really to have a word with my brain about doing what I say and not just what Mary says. “Did I mention you’re a very good girl today?” Also, flattery has gotten Mary all the places and most of the things (okay, all the things). “Marrry, why you gotta go pushing all my buttons?” “Because we haven’t gone anywhere in a while, and I wanna make the very most of it.” She took a deep breath and sighed. “And because I like getting you hot and bothered and watching you squirm, and I know you like it, too.” “Do not.” Except yep (mostly). “I think your real fetish is playing hard to get. Just barely hard to get,” she added with a chuckle. “I am, too, hard to get!” “And your other fetish is just being oppositional.” “It’s called bratting, Mary … And I’m not a brat.” Really! “Ya know what else I think?” “If I ask you and say please with extra sprinkles with a cherry on top will you tell me,” I said. A hint of sarcasm may have crept into my voice. “I think when get home you’re gonna need to be paddled hard.” “But … Yes’m.” “Or we can do it on the way home at the rest stop.” “Home is good,” I meeped. I love our home. Paddled at home sounds wonderful. “If we have that resolved, gimme your feetsies.” I grumbled as I complied. “Why are you taking my shoes off? Ya gonna give me a piggy back ride all the way back?” “I’m gonna put you in a goodnite so you don’t piddle on the trail on the way back.” “O. Better than a diaper I guess.” “We’ll save the diaper for the car.” “But I don’t need it for the car … Or anywhere?” “I’ll make a deal with you,” she said as she got my shoes off. “If you can keep your pullup dry all the way back to the car, you can wear it home. Won’t that be fun?” “Subhrumuhmininder ressefraiter.” “What?” “I was grumbling!” “Lay back.” Which I did, and Mary reached up under my skirt and took my panties down. “Bet it feels good to have these yucky underoos off.” “They felt fine until you pulled them up to my brain.” “And now I’ll pulled them down to your ankles. The universe balances. Lift those hips.” This is the part where I blacked out. Or wish I had. But things did go black for a minute. I was lifting my hips and all of a sudden, Mary’s eyes got big and she threw the blanket over me, or the half of the blanket I wasn’t laying on. “Hi,” Mary said to … someone. “Hi,” someone said back. “Good day for it.” O my god, make your inane small talk walking and fast. “Yep.” “So …” “Well, nice chatting with you.” Go the fuck away! “Bye.” What’s happening? “They’re leaving,” Mary whispered. “Can I come out?” “Wait until they’re around the bend … okay, quick.” Mary ninjaed me. There was a blinding light, and when it went away, I was wearing a goodnite. How does she do that? It’s not nice to keep secrets from your wife, and I wanna be a ninja too. I got a very quick hug, and Mary ninjaed our stuff into the pack while I got my shoes on. We hiked pretty damn fast in the direction of the Subaru with Mary looking behind us every few minutes. “I think we’re okay, Mary.” Like, the person wasn’t creepy so far as I could tell. They wanted to chat, but it didn’t seem dangerous (at least not from under the blanket). “Quicker, Daff.” “You’re scaring me. What’s wrong?” “Nothing. Let’s just get out of here.” It took us two hours to walk there, and we did the return trip in less than an hour and a half. We encountered other people, and if Mary was feeling unsafe, she didn’t say anything to them or seem to feel less unsafe because we weren’t alone. I couldn’t get a word out of her other than, “We’ll talk about it at the car.” So when we did get to the car, we were soaked with sweat (and bear in mind, I don’t sweat; I glisten; but I was soaked with sweat), a little out of breath, and tired. We dumped our stuff in the back, where we had also put a cooler with some cold drinks for when we got back because Mary still won’t go in a store to get stuff. I sat down on our tailgate and quaffed by Gatorade. Much of said Gatorade ended up on my shirt when Mary threw her arms around me like, well, the way I throw my arms around her (but her arms are bigger than mine). “Mary, what’s wrong?” “I’m so sorry (sniff). Are you okay?” “Yeah.” I gave her a kiss on her hair. “Don’t get all teary. I’m fine.” “That was my fault.” “We pressed our luck once too often.” “But you didn’t even want to.” “I didn’t red light either.” “I’m supposed to keep you safe.” “I am safe.” I kissed her again. “We’re both fine.” She took a big sniff and kissed me. “When we get home I’m giving you a bath and putting you in your jammies.” “You are such a silly goose,” I told her. “Want me to drive?” “No. I’m fine.” “Can we stop and get ice cream.” “Ha. Drive through.” “See, you do take good care of me.” “I love you so much.” “I love you, too.”

I never cared who knew I wet the bed I still don't

My good friend and his brother were chronic bed wetters. They never used diapers and both peed their beds nearly every night. They were never embarrassed about their wetting and had no problem with me or their friends playing in their room, wet beds, underwear and all. I know they both wet well into their teens.

I have found that many hotels just don't seem to care. Also I have found evidence of previous bedwetting in quite a few motel beds.

It's impossible to know if it's different when asleep. Most people have no knowledge of what happened during sleep. For me, I go pee just before I go to bed, put on my diaper, and go to sleep. When I wake up my diaper is wet, and I have no awareness of wetting.