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Yet another diaper myth has been dispelled, within the walls of my house; my daughter was looking for nitrile gloves, to bring to school for a morning that they are going to spend picking up post-snowmelt detritus from the boulevards and fields in that neighbourhood. I had a thought that there might be some liability concerns, unleashing a gaggle of students to go pick debris from the ground, fentanyl being as popular as it is, but this school is well into the suburbs, and people do their fentanyl in their own backyards, I guess. She announced what she needed in the kitchen, and my wife immediately said, "Talk to your dad, he probably has gloves he uses for his diapers..." I'm not making this up, people. So, earlier this week, we addressed that I do not, in fact, lie down like a toddler, in order to get a nappy on. Now, we're at "diaper gloves"? What exactly would they be? Are they for disposing of the dead soldiers? Or does one wear them, whilst in the act of changing? I never had diaper gloves, back when we had people in the house wearing diapers, who could not reliably change themselves (although on some memorable occasions, I sorely wanted some...). Don't get me wrong, I can see where they could come in handy. I don't engage in a second act, in my nappy, very often, but it has happened, and the main reason it doesn't happen, except out of dire necessity, or mutiny, is because it takes me longer, and I employ more consumables, when that happens, than when I just use the potty like a big boy for the once, or maybe twice a day that it's typically called for, blue-moon-rare, ill-advised Taco Bell forays aside. But, when I've found myself contemplating the aftermath of having taken a load off my shoulders, so to speak, I do sometimes think that gloves could be handy. Or a 1000 PSI pressure washer. But I don't have a trove of dedicated "diaper gloves". However, I was not about to engage in the above-described musings, out loud, on that topic - I'll go back to what I said earlier, about every relationship requiring a bit of magic be maintained. I think my wife knows that I don't poop my pants habitually, 7 years in diapers, or no, but I don't want to talk about it... and particularly not while wearing a fairly pendulous BeDry Night - which, as an aside, they now call the BeDry Night Premium. They snuck the premium in there at some point - I wonder if they are charging for it. So, I just said, "I have a box of nitrile gloves in the garage, ahem, for handling the lawn & pool chemicals and such, thank you, and you can certainly take as many as you like of those." Rearz, by the way, just announced that their next Warehouse Sale, alleged to be their best sale of the year, runs from May 7th to 11th. InControl, their plain-Jane medically-themed sister company, just ran a sale, but it was underwhelming. I idly considered placing an order, and probably should have done, but I didn't get that "Strike while the iron is hot!" cumpulsion, from 15% off, and only on a couple of models that I don't usually buy. The BeDry EliteCare, for example, was on sale, but I never really understood where they were meant to be placed, within the Rearz pantheon. They cost about as much as the Night version, but don't hold as much, and they come in packs of 36, whereas the daytime ones, while being a medium-duty, rather than a heavy-duty product, are notably - about $1.25 a unit - less expensive, and they're still better than most of what I would call my "daytime" diaper options. So, I buy the Nights and the non-nights, but I skip the EliteCare's - I bought a case when they first came out, just to know, and I haven't gone back. Although that world is changing, too, because I have been more adventurous this year, in just wearing a big old nappy, if I think I can do so with reasonable discretion. I'm not impervious to the potential indignities of having my diaper spotted, but experience has taught me that nobody pays much attention, and if I'm wearing the right clothes, it's just not likely to be an issue. Being under-diapered is more indiscreet than being over-diapered, is what I'm saying. Anyway, I will watch the Rearz sale with interest; they sometimes list InControl products in any case, whereas the inverse is not true - I guess they figure that would-be ABDL shoppers might want a nappy to wear to a doctor's appointment that doesn't suggest that they have a collection of stuffies in their bed. Whereas people shopping for dignity pants for Uncle Herold might be scandalized to learn that diapers aren't just for sad people.

a bit ago i had the chance to use a diaper full time for a few days. i only ever tried a year ago, and it was only for a day, so i was really looking forward to it. on day one i started by putting on a diaper and letting myself wet whenever the urge hits, no matter what i’m doing: cooking, playing on my pc, or out in public. it felt so good to constantly be able to pee and not worry about it, and i loved the warmth between my legs. i also managed to mess that day. i was in the kitchen when the urge hit, so i just stood still (i love messing while standing and feeling it drop), and started pushing. it took me a little while, but i filled my diaper with logs of poop, just how i like it. i decided to finish what i was doing before changing, and wet more while doing so. it was over all an amazing first day! i also made sure to drink a lot before bed, so day two started out by waking up in the middle of the night, having to pee. and for the first time ever, i could just stay in bed and let go. i changed positions halfway trough (while still peeing!) to avoid leaks, and tried to go back to sleep, which was hard, because i got so excited. i woke up again with a bit of leaking anyways, but it was all worth it. i continued to wet constantly, every time imagining i just can’t help it. i also played with myself a little bit, thinking stretching my butt might help me mess easier, and also stimulate my bum. i tried to stay relaxed doing it, and i noticed a few drops of pee escaping whenever i struggled a bit with the stretch. i don’t think my bladder is weak, but i know i can wet myself really easily, so maybe it was due to that. i did end up messing shortly after, but i couldn’t tell if it was any easier. i was sitting on the couch, so i just slid down, so my butt had space, and pushed for about ten minutes, util i felt i got most of it out. i then decided to sit on the toilet diapered, and filled my diaper more. it’s a really weird feeling to mess yourself while sitting on the toilet, but it only made me feel more helpless, i loved it. day three was a mix of the previous days. maybe it was getting really easy to pee, or maybe i’m tricking myself. i had to take care of some adult stuff, so i inserted a plug to work on stretching, put on a new diaper and a short skirt, and went out. i never had to pee on a bus before, it made it a little harder, but i got my diaper wet before i had to get off. i also had to sit around and wait for a good while, i didn’t want to stand up and walk around to pee, so i just crossed my legs and tried to lift up a little, so i can continue with my plan of wetting constantly. the plug made me feel like i needed to go all day, so when i got home i removed it, and started pushing, but i couldn’t poop myself, even while sitting on the toilet. it was really annoying. i started off day four by wetting in bed, and deciding to give myself an enema. it worked, and the urge hit quickly, i tried my best to not clench and simply let go. bodies have instincts, so the years of potty training still makes me think i’m doing something bad while using my diaper, but i managed to pass everything with little pushing! maybe i did the enema wrong, but i continued to get the need to mess two or three times after the first one. i only did enemas a few times so i’m not an expert, maybe i did too much, but it was welcome. it only made me realize how much i love messing right when i need to. the day was pretty eventless otherwise. day five (last day :[) i once again wet my nighttime diaper, and went about my day. my roommates were coming home that day, so i didn’t want to do anything crazy, or mess, but i kept up the rutine of peeing. i was still in a diaper when they arrived, covered by regular clothes, and while i didn’t wet while talking to them, i did when i was only a room over, which is pretty new to me. the whole week made me realize how much i loved being full time, if only for a few days. when i was back in panties (i’m too much of a chicken to continously wear around friends), i caught myself dribling into my panties because i forgot i wasn’t padded. it strenghtened in me just how much and how quickly i got used to the comfort of diapers. now weeks later, i’m here again, doing the same thing whenever i can. it’s not consistent enought to count as actual training or achieve anything (besides wetting incredibly easily now), but it’s a reminder i could go 24/7 one day, if i decide to commit to it. until then, i’d love to try some kind of stent to simulate the feeling. thank you for reading about my experiences, even if they are pretty mild. i hope everyone is having a fun day working towards their goals:)

BEFORE READING: DISCLAIMER: All characters in this story are of age (18+). This story is NSFW. DISCLAIMER: The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this story are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred. Elliot’s Accident “Sweetie, It’s not a matter of age. 25 or not, you need diapers!” “Mom! Please keep your voice down, someone might hear,” Elliot’s pleaded, eyes darting around the empty supermarket, hoping to contain this embarrassing conversation between the two of them. “It was just a few accidents, the absorbent underwear works fine.” “The Pulls-Ups have leaked three nights in a row and…” “They’re not Pull-Ups! It’s absorbent underwear, it even says it on the package,”Elliot interrupted, desperately trying to salvage what dignity he had left. “Oh baby, call them what you want but they simply just won’t do. You need something more to handle your bedwetting.” Elliot cringed hearing his mother reference his bedwetting so casually. Did she have to be so brazen in public like this? Did she not see how humiliating this whole ordeal was for him? “Fine, but please let’s just get them and go,”Elliot said, his eyes now glued to the floor. It was obvious that this was a losing battle, best for him to just relent and hope to minimize the humiliation. “Now don’t look so glum,” Elliot’s mother said cheerfully, resting her hands on her knees and crouching slightly to face her son at eye level. “This is not a punishment, just proper precaution. Why don’t you pick out a cute style, something fun”. “I don’t care what style. Let’s just pick one and go.” “Okay, Grumpy-Butt. So I guess we’ll just take these pink princess one’s and be on our way.” “NO, not pink!” Elliot whined, his eyes shooting up from the floor. He scanned around only seeing plain diaper patterns and his mother stifling a grin. She let out a giggle at his reaction. “I’m just teasing Elly, they have black, grey, or white.” she said motioning toward the limited selection. “Now pick before I call over an employee to see if they any cuter prints in the back.” “Not funny,” Elliot said bashfully as he grabbed the box diapers, white print. He figured they were the safer the choice, although he had not put much thought to it. His primary focus was getting out of the supermarket and home before anyone could see him. Holding a box of adult diapers, his diapers, was mortifying enough but he needed to make sure as little people saw him as possible. “Good choice, Honey. Now let’s get going, or should we get two just to safe? You have been extra leaky as of late.” “Not true! I’ve just been stressed from job-hunting. Once I find something, I won’t even need these.” “Oh if I had a dollar for every time I’ve heard that,” she said, reaching over his head and grabbing another box, placing it atop the one Elliot was already holding. “Always so confident, then comes the morning and it’s watery eye’s and wet sheets.” “I remember those days,” a nearby shopper interjected. Elliot and his mother shifted their attention to stranger, both a little startled. The older woman stood behind her shopping cart with a warm smile, peering at the two through her bifocals. “It was always a fight getting mine in diapers.” “He threw a bit of tantrum early but he is all settled now.” Elliot’s mother said warmly, patting his head. Overwhelmed by the humiliation, Elliot returned his focus to the floor, wishing it would open up and swallow him whole. Most 25 year olds were well on their way to adulthood, meanwhile Elliott was cowering beside his mother, holding two packages of sorely needed adult diapers while the two women spoke as if wasn’t there. He felt the tears begin to form and, even worse, his nervous bladder began to ache. “M-Mom. Can we get going? I need to use bathroom,” Elliot said to his mother, placing the box of diapers into their cart. “Just a second, honey. I’m talking to our new friend Margaret here” she said dismissively, never breaking eye contact with the older women. Elliot did not bother to push any further and instead shifted his attention back to his feet, praying this nightmare would end soon. As he stood obediently next to his mother, he could not help but listen to their conversation. Throughout their chat, Margaret explained that she was caring for her granddaughter, Grace. Grace, like Elliot, had recently graduated college, was having trouble finding a job, and recently returned to diapers due to frequent accidents. Elliot perked up upon hearing another adult his age shared his nighttime struggles. Despite his mother’s constant assurances, he could not help but feel he was the only person his age who still struggled to keep his bed dry. As his mother and Margaret droned on for what seemed felt like hours, Elliot’s thoughts drifted away from his current humiliation to imaging what Grace was like, how she looked, and how she handled being a college graduate who hadn’t mastered potty training. Elliot’s short reprieve from embarrassment was interrupted as he felt a small spurt of pee escape him and dampen his underwear. He gasped in surprise and immediately looked down to inspect the damage. He was relived to find there was no visible stain but shifted uncomfortably as he tried to get used to dampness around his crotch. “Are you okay, Sweetie?” his mother said, sensing his discomfort. “Do you still need the bathroom? Is it an emergency?” Elliot felt another spurt release from him as he jumped a little at his mother’s question “N-No, i-it’s okay,” Elliot lied, mustering all his willpower to remain calm as his bladder begged for release. While it was most certainly an emergency, he was determined to maintain some dignity in front of Margaret, less any word of this get back to Grace. “Well I will let you two get to it,” Margaret said, rotating her shopping cart as she prepared to leave the aisle. “I’ll be sure to give you a ring.” “Oh please do, it was so nice meeting you. We should definitely set a date,” his mother’s said cheerfully. “Certainly, it was nice meeting you,” Margate said, giving one last goodbye for leaving. “You too, Sweetheart.” Elliot was barely able to process what either of the women were saying as he desperately tried to keep from full on wetting his pants. Once Margaret was out of their sight, Elliot dropped the act and immediately started hopping from foot to foot with his hands over his crotch. “P-P-Please Mom, b-b-bathroom.” “Oh honey, you should have told me sooner,” his mother said. Sensing his urgency, she began speeding their cart through the store as Elliot continued his potty dance behind her. “Sorry for chatting so long while you had to go, we just had so much in common. I can’t wait to see her again next week and to meet Grace”. “G-G-Grace?,” Elliot stammered. “You weren’t listening? We exchanged numbers and are going to setup at lunch at her place,” his mother said enthusiastically as she spotted the bathroom at the back of the store. “She was so excited that Grace can finally have a friend that wears diapers too.” “Grace is going to know I wear diapers!” Elliot shrieked, too focused on his aching bladder to care if others heard. “Come on, there is no reason to feel embarrassed. Grace wears them too and Margaret says she even wears them during the day at times,” his mother said casually, trying to ease her son’s concerns. “Who knows, maybe you two will hit it off. It will be a funny story to tell at the wedding,” she said jokingly, looking back, hoping her son could find the humor in all this. Elliot had stopped anxiously following his mother, and instead fell to his knees, desperately clutching his privates hoping to stop the inevitable. The thought of Grace, a woman he has yet to meet, knowing he had been relegated to diapers, broke his concentration just enough to open the floodgates. The occasional spurts of pee were replaced with a heavy stream, soaking his entire lower half, and creating a pool around him that grew rapidly on store’s tile floor. He felt the warmth spread across his crotch, then down to his knees, and the uncomfortable stickiness of his now soaking wet pants. The tears came without warning as he began to cry loudly, hyperventilating as he reached out his arms for help. “M-mommy, help me please,” he cried. “Oh my goodness. Ellie, it’s okay, it’s okay,” his mother said sweetly. “Accidents happen. Now let’s get you cleaned up, okay baby?” She said as she slowly guided him to his feet, walking him by his hand to the women’s bathroom, with a spare diaper in her free hand. “Not here, not the women’s room,” he whined. “Oh baby, no one will mind. This wouldn’t be the first time I changed your diaper in the women’s room,” she said, using her elbow to push open the restroom door. Elliot could only look to the floor in shame, gripping his mother’s hand, and hoping this nightmare would be over soon. “Now be a good boy for mommy and hop up,” she said, pulling down the changing table fixed on the bathroom wall, and lifting Elliot by his armpits. Elliot compiled, hopping back onto the unsteady table, letting his mother adjust him as needed. As far as twenty-five year old men go, he was certainly on the shorter side, but even he could barely fit on the changing table, his legs dangling awkwardly over the end. While Elliot stared up at the bathroom ceiling, lost in shame, his mother made quick work of removing his soaked pants and undies. Without a word, she lifted Elliot legs, and gave his thigh a gentle pat and, on instinct, Elliot lifted his bum momentarily, falling back down to the all too familiar padded sensation of a fresh diaper. He felt his legs part as his mother brought the front of his diaper to his belly button, and began applying the tapes. He looked away, attempting to avoid eye contact, only to catch his reflection in the mirror, his leg dangling helplessly, tear stains on his cheeks, and an impossibly thick diaper was all he had on from the waist down. “All done,” his mother said cheerfully. “That wasn’t so bad was it? Now let’s get you to the car, you can wait there while I check out and tell a clerk about the mess.” she said, balling up Elliot’s soiled clothes and dumping them in the nearby trash before washing her hands. “B-but I-I need my clothes. I can’t walk around in just a diaper,” he stuttered, his voice still shaken. “I know it’s embarrassing sweetie, but we don’t have much of a choice. Your jeans are soaked, and I didn’t bring a change of clothes. Now be a good boy for mommy,” she said calmly, reaching out for his hand. “The sooner we get you to the car, the better.” Elliot hesitated, but thought better of pushing back. He just wanted to go home. He took his mother’s hand, and the pair began their walk back. A crowd of confused shoppers had formed around Elliot’s puddle, talking amongst themselves. Upon the bathroom door opening, all eyes shifted to Elliot, specifically his diaper, as him and his mother hurriedly made their way through the store. Elliot shivered as the cool air conditioning brushed against his bare thighs. The diaper forced him to waddle awkwardly, and he began absentmindedly sucking on the collar of his shirt in an attempt to soothe himself. The laughter from the crowd was deafening. While some tried to show restraint, giggling quietly before looking away, some unruly shoppers openly pointed and laughed. “Aw, someone couldn’t quite make it to the potty.” “Eww, so gross. He should have been wearing a diaper in the first place.” “Be nice, he’s probably special needs.” “They make diapers for adults?” Elliot put his free hand to his face in a feeble attempt to hide his identity. He tried to tune out their comments, but they only echoed in his mind, bring on another flurry of tears. His mother turned back to face the onlookers “Mind your fucking business,” she said forcefully, a tone that Elliot never heard from her. The shoppers quickly dispersed, both weary of the angry woman and bored of the unusual scene. The walk past the checkout was made better only by the fact that most shoppers were outside of earshot. Once outside the store, and safely back to the car, his mother opened the backseat and guided him in. “I’m going to go back and pay for the rest of the diapers, okay? You stay here and be safe,” she said, enveloping Elliot into a big hug, and patting his back. “Don’t listen to those assholes in the store. You are smart, kind, adult, and one accident does not change that,” she said lovingly, but she could tell that her words fell on deaf ears.

For Services Rendered Chapter One: The Ad Emmalynne (Emma) Rose Turner was, if she did say so herself, a stunningly attractive woman who was meant for the silver screen. She was a blonde with long, wavy hair (that she spent hours maintaining every week), bright blue eyes, long black eyelashes, a slim but well-suited nose for her face, and moderately plump lips. She showed the slightest hint of dimples when she smiled and was obsessive about keeping her figure. Every day, she spent two hours (minimum) on maintenance: she started with her exercise routines where she toned her abs, stomach, legs, and arms – and then a shower, skin care, shaving, hair styling, and make-up. It was not a routine for the faint of heart. All of this was in service of her career path. She knew from a young age that she wanted to be an actress. She loved playing dress-up and being the center of attention. The problem was that her family was not well connected nor wealthy enough (well, not wealthy at all) to get her any “ins” in Hollywood. She needed to achieve her dream the old-fashioned way: moving to L.A. and making it on her own merit. So far, this had been a bit of a bust. She lived in a cramped apartment with three other aspiring actors, worked as a barista and in a clothing retail shop to make ends meet, and had been in only a few local plays since moving. The day before at the coffee shop, she freaked out at a coworker who spilled a drink on her during their busiest time, and her manager gave her “a few days off” in retaliation. So, in her own retaliation, Emma had decided she wasn’t going to show up to her next shift. Or any after that. That job sucked anyway. However, that meant she needed money. Living in L.A. was quite expensive, and her parents had made it clear they couldn’t support her financially (which she was fine with, but told them not to expect anything from her when she made it big). Thus began the paid acting jobs, acting jobs paid upfront, and high-paying acting gig Google searches. Her roommate Jerry pointed her to a different site called “Performance Pays,” a tailored job-search site for paid acting jobs. She filtered by top pay and found the gig she was currently sitting in a waiting room to interview for: SEEKING THOSE IN TOUCH WITH THEIR INNER CHILD at The Family First Clinic Find meaningful and inspirational jobs that will help others learn, grow, and heal. Must be willing to play a child and have the utmost discretion. Jobs are personal and private, range from 1 to 48 hours, with pay starting at $50/hr. Must be willing to sign a strict NDA. Office is open from 8 am-5 pm. Walk-ins welcome. Fifty dollars an hour. Starting. Emma could not believe this site did not have more traction. A single 48-hour job would more than cover her rent for the month. Naturally, she hurried off after finding her cutest pink dress and put her hair up in pigtails to make a good first impression. The building was discreet, which aligned with the ad, but had the appearance of professionalism. The waiting room was warm and inviting, and even had toys out like at a doctor’s office. After five minutes of waiting in a chair, bouncing her crossed leg impatiently, Emma looked at the toys and thought, 'I bet this is a test.' Grinning, she moved onto the floor and began playing with the blocks. “Miss Turner?” a friendly, soft female voice asked, and Emma nodded, but didn’t look up. She had figured this was a part of the interview and wanted to prove she was indeed in touch with her inner child. “Vvvvroom!” she exclaimed as she pushed a toy car across the waiting room, and it sailed under a chair. She threw her arms up in celebration, then finally looked over at the woman, who waited patiently with a half-smile. She was an older woman, starting to grey with wrinkles at the corners of her eyes, and a figure that suggested she was a mother. She gestured down the hall. “We’re ready for you,” she announced, and Emma bounced up to her feet, grabbed her purse, and followed her down the hall. “My name is Jenny Somners, and I’m a coordinator here. I see you noted in your form that you found us on Performance Pays?” “That’s right!” Emma exclaimed brightly, trying her best to sound semi-childish, and swung her purse dramatically as she walked. “Great. Well, we know our ads can be a little vague, so we have a presentation on what we’re all about,” she explained patiently and softly as she escorted Emma into a quiet, comfortable room with a TV on the wall and a couch. Emma skipped to the couch while Jenny selected a few buttons on the remote and, as the introduction began, said, “I’ll be back when it’s over,” and closed the door. Sighing, Emma reclined on the couch as the video presentation began. “Here at The Family First Clinic, we offer a wide range of services to families at every stage. We are about preparation, growth, and healing. We thank you for taking time out of your day to consider helping us where it matters most.” “Mmkay,” Emma snorted, rolling her eyes as she bounced the leg she had crossed over the other. She wasn’t particularly interested in this place’s message or goals. And what was with companies needing their employees to buy into their product these days? Surely they knew deep down everyone only worked for them for the money. “We have a silent partnership with the Screen Actors Guild to not only set a high bar for quality work, but also provide experience that can count towards a membership.” Emma sat up on the couch, blinking. She looked towards the table where the remote had been, but Jenny must have taken it with her. “No way,” Emma whispered as she stood up, her eyes darting to the wall where several certificates were on display. The presentation continued with several other accreditations in psychology, family medicine, and therapy, all reflected in the certificates on display. But her eyes fell on the one that mattered to her: the SAG logo, with the official seal, and everything. This place had officially grabbed her full attention as she spun around to face the television. “So what is it we do here?” the voice-over narrator asked as the logos of accreditations disappeared from the screen, and a scene of a woman, an adult dressed as a child, was playing with two elderly adults. “We provide services to families in need of healing, such as elderly couples with memory dysfunction who struggle to remember their children have grown up, or –” The scene faded into the next, where two women, one of whom was pregnant, were feeding a fully adult male dressed as a baby in a highchair. “Soon-to-be families who desire practice and lesson sessions. Or –” The scene faded into the next, where an adult male dressed as a toddler was appearing to have a meltdown at a carnival with two flustered adult males trying to calm him down. “Practical exams and testing sessions for those who are considering starting their own family. While these are some of our most common services available, we pride ourselves on our customization and flexibility to provide for those in need.” Emma sneered at the screen as the presentation continued. She didn’t know what to expect when she read ‘must be willing to play a child’ in the ad, but seeing the reality of what they expected didn’t sit well with her. It looked public and all-consuming; it was “play acting” as a child – it was being a child. Still… her eyes flicked to the wall at the SAG certificate, and the starting pay range rang clear in her mind too. Amazing pay and experience that she could put towards joining SAG… She drew in a breath; she’d have to suck it up. A little bit of childish play was better than a stripper pole to make ends meet. The presentation suddenly paused, and Emma blinked, her head snapping to the door as it was opened, and Jenny smiled. “There is more, but,” she stated as she slipped the remote into the pocket of her apron. “This is usually a good point to gauge our interviewees. Would you like to proceed with the interview, watch more of the video, or do you think this place might not be for you?” The question was so genuine and sympathetic; Emma could tell that Jenny was used to people walking out at this point. They likely had a lot of traffic because of their high starting pay, but many probably got cold feet when they saw the presentation. ‘Cowards,’ Emma thought, grinning slightly as she lifted her head, feeling rather superior to the strawman in her mind. “I’m good to move on to the interview,” Emma smiled confidently, and Jenny’s face lit up, having clearly not expected that answer. “Oh, wonderful!” she exclaimed as she clapped her hands together, then gestured her back into the hall. “Then come with me, my dear.” In that moment, Jenny seemed to take on the countenance of a teacher. She was warmer, gentler, and friendlier than before, which was impressive since she hadn’t been unfriendly in the slightest. “As you know, the next step is the interview,” she explained as if she were already talking to a child; Emma raised a carefully manicured eyebrow, feeling a rush of indignation, but reminded herself this was the role. Plus, SAG and money. “This is as much an interview of you as it is of us, so please do ask questions, my dear.” “Yes, Mrs. Somners,” Emma replied in a bratty, annoying tone of a child too good to be in kindergarten. It was the only way she could keep track at this place and get her aggression out on this lady — but it backfired, as Jenny thought it was the most charming thing in the world. “Oh, you’ll do wonderful here, Emma,” she replied with a smile and opened the door to a conference room. Inside, a long table with many chairs sat on both sides, and two figures sat on the side opposite from the door. One figure was a man whose brown hair was thinning all over, but his hairline was still present, and he had a round face and a friendly smile. The other was a woman who looked near retirement, with more grey than brown hair, wrinkles, reading glasses, and only flashed a smile when Emma entered. “This is Mr. Barty Owens, Director here at Family First, and Mrs. Katherine Howard, our legal counsel and privacy specialist,” Jenny introduced them as they both nodded. She gestured to the chair for Emma, who took a seat after waving to the pair. “Pleasure to meet you, Miss Turner,” Barty smiled as he maintained eye contact for a moment before looking to Katherine, who nodded to Jenny as she shut the door to give them privacy. “Emmalynne Rose Turner,” Katherine spoke curtly, in an officious tone as she slid over a heaping stack of papers. “As indicated in our ad, you must be willing to sign an NDA before we can proceed any further. You may take as long as you need to read it; however, I am going to highlight three components of this you must be aware of: “First – you must not divulge any details you learn from this interview to anyone, nor your potential role here at the Family First Clinic. The penalties for revealing anything about this place are strict and severe, including but not limited to financial, professional, and experiential penalties with SAG –” She went on to list the other guilds and associations that would require more experience, dues, etc., should she reveal anything about this place, but Emma didn’t register it. She gave a curt nod when she heard SAG and knew that was enough for her to keep her mouth shut. She continued, explaining that the second highlight was that she could not post anything online about this place. And third, she must not approach or acknowledge anyone she meets through or at this clinic in public outside of the job or building. “Why so secretive?” Emma frowned as she lifted the pages up and let them fall, looking at how many there were rather than the contents. “It’s to protect both our customers’ and our employees’ privacy,” Barty replied before Katherine could speak, then he gestured to the stack. “Any more explanation than that will require your signature.” “Okay,” Emma shrugged as she grabbed the pen and signed at the top. She slapped the pen down and pushed the stack away from her as she looked up and smiled. Katherine gave a half-smile as she reached for the stack, while Barty looked surprised but followed up with a warm smile. “Well, okay then!” he laughed as he leaned back in the chair. “So, any questions before we get started?” “Yeah, uuhh,” Emma thought, looking up at the ceiling as she tried to come up with a question. She had seen online that asking questions at interviews gave off a good impression. “You said this protects the privacy of your customers and employees. Like – how?” Katherine arched an eyebrow, but her face stayed downcast as she signed in the witness box. Barty chuckled. “Well, the core of our service is that our employees provide our clients with the experience of taking care of a child, whether that be an infant or all the way up to 17. It’s important that the immersion of this adult child not be broken,” he explained warmly, like a father casually explaining what he did for a living to his kids. “So we can’t have employees talking about their job online where it can get back to the ‘parents’, nor can this service be publicly known, or the fact that it’s all acting will ruin the experience.” “But, like… they know it’s acting, right? How can they not?” Emma scoffed, crossing her arms over her chest. “No one would believe I’m actually a five-year-old.” “Well,” Barty tilted his head to the side, raising his eyebrows and giving a half-frown, half-smile. “Our clients don’t exactly read the fine print. We tell them we’ll connect them with ‘special needs’ individuals aligned to the age they’re looking for.” “You tell them your employees are retarded?” Emma scowled. “We do not use that word,” Barty reprimanded quietly with a force that surprised her. “Not for our employees nor anyone with special needs, ever. Period. That’s a cruel and naughty word, Emma.” She opened her mouth, but no sound came out. She had not been scolded by an adult since she was thirteen, much less for something so mundane. Her eyes flicked to Katherine, who stared at her impassively, and Barty’s eyebrows rose higher, clearly expecting some kind of response. Emma felt her body seize up and her hand that was hidden under her armpit clench; she wanted desperately to call this man a balding sack of shit, to stuff his retarded sweater up his retarded ass, and to storm out of this dump. But she heard the words in her head again: SAG and fifty dollars an hour. Her nostrils flared as she took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and nodded. “Sorry,” she mumbled curtly. “Thank you, Emma,” Barty said, clearing his throat and returning to his cordial demeanor. “Legally, we define ‘special needs’ to mean the needs of the client. They define what they’re looking for, and our employees cater to those needs for the duration of the job. It’s a bit of smoke and mirrors, and I have no doubt some clients are very well aware that this is an acting facility – but our standards are very high for our employees, so I think it’s easy for our clients to ‘get into it’, if you will.” Silence followed. Emma looked between Barty and Katherine; neither indicated they would continue, and she realized she should ask another question. Grimacing, she looked up at the ceiling again. “The ad mentioned the starting pay,” she began, her eyes snapping down to Barty, who smiled and nodded. “Was it… a typo?” “No, goodness, no,” he belly-laughed, gesturing to Katherine, who began looking through a folder, pulled out a sheet of paper, and handed it to him. “This is a demanding job. We have high expectations of professionalism, acting quality, and dedication. We could not reasonably expect anyone to meet our standards while receiving bottom-tier pay. Here, these are the starting wages.” He handed over the paper to Emma, who locked eyes on the amounts: Training: $50/hr Ages 14-17: $60/hr Ages 10-13: $70/hr Ages 6-9: $80/hr Ages 3-5: $100/hr Ages 0-2: $125/hr “Trainees receive the starting wage. Once a trainee has completed any of the desired age range tests and validations, they may start taking jobs while continuing to train for another age range group.” The explanation that followed had somewhat turned into the Charlie Brown adult noises to her as she stared at these numbers. She could quit her retail job, work here for one week a month, and be set. She could spend the rest of the month auditioning and working on exposure that wasn’t strictly hidden by an NDA, all while not having to worry about how to get into SAG. Her eyes locked on the lowest age ranges, and she stuck her finger on the paper, looking up at Barty, who had just finished his explanation. “This… this is real?” she stammered, her eyes flickering between the two, then she looked up for cameras. “Is this… like… punk’d or something?” “No,” Katherine said sharply with an exhale, clearly having heard that question a bit too many times. “It’s real, Emma,” Barty smiled proudly. “We take care of our employees, so they can focus on taking care of the clients. You get full benefits, free access to our staff psychologists, and generous PTO. We pay and treat our employees well. But we also ask a lot.” He gestured to the paper where Emma was pointing to the 0-2 age range. “Many people want to start there because of the pay, but I recommend starting older,” he suggested, though Emma noted it was not out of the question. “The age range of an infant is very demanding. You must be dependent on the client, completely, for the duration of the session. You would be dressed by them, diapered, changed, fed, burped – the whole nine yards. It takes a special, elite kind of person to pull that off effectively.” Emma felt a burning in her cheeks and chest, like she had just been issued a challenge. “I’d like to do it,” she blurted out, interrupting Barty, who had continued on, though she hadn’t noticed. He blinked in surprise, and almost looked concerned. “We’ve barely scratched the surface,” he pointed out as he gestured to her. “I would hate for you to get into this without knowing all that’s involved.” “I’m in,” she pressed, slamming an open palm on the table to emphasize her point. “Like, 100%, this place is amazing – I’m sold. Sign me up!” “Well,” Barty paused, taking a beat to take her in, looking at her with the same concerned expression before he turned to Katherine. She shrugged, apparently having no opinion on the matter. He brought a hand up to his chin and rubbed at his jawline. “Please,” Emma said as a swell rose in her chest, putting forth her best acting chops to appeal to him, all while inwardly cursing him for making her do this. “I’m happy to do an audition, or - or - a trial, if that’s a thing here. To prove myself. I’d love to spend the night, if you have sleepovers or something. Whatever would make you comfortable… but this place seems like a dream.” Katherine wasn’t buying it; her mouth tightened in disapproval, but Emma (inwardly calling her a saggy bitch) focused on Barty, who looked inclined to believe her. He considered it for a long moment, then blew air out of his nose, smiled, and tapped his knuckles on the table. “You know, I like that idea,” he said, and Katherine glared at him. He looked upwards, trying hard to ignore it as he thought out loud. “We do have a nursery here for our trainees, and I think spending the night here and meeting some of our best actors would really give you a good idea of what we’re about. And it gives us a chance to see you in action.” “She’ll need to sign on,” Katherine hissed curtly, seemingly annoyed that he’d folded so easily and that it would mean more paperwork for her. Emma briefly smirked. “Under a provisional status.” “Perfect!” Barty exclaimed as he patted Katherine’s shoulder and stood, offering a hand to Emma. “What do you say, Miss Emmalynne?” “Oh, thank you, sir!” she exclaimed, nearly putting on a Southern accent, harking back to a truncated version of Gone with the Wind she had performed in high school. She stood up and took his hand with both of hers, shaking it vigorously. “You won’t regret this! I promise!” Chapter Two: Miss Mabel Katherine had not been pleased with Barty’s lax attitude toward Emma, nor with being stuck in a room with her for an hour handling all of the paperwork required to sign her on and spend the night. On the more positive end, Jenny had been in and out of the room, running identification, background checks, and bringing in snacks for the two. She was thrilled to have Emma on board. Emma was on her phone most of the time, scrolling various apps, chuckling at memes and funny videos, signing where Katherine told her to, and reading none of it. “Emma,” Katherine sighed, annoyed, as she shoved another unread but signed paper into the growing stack in Emma’s new employment folder. “Although it is not my responsibility to inform you of this, it is my ethical duty as a lawyer to tell you that you really should read things you are signing.” “Is there something I should know?” Emma asked without looking up from her phone. “Yes,” Katherine sneered as she pulled out another piece of paper and pushed it across the table. “That you should read.” “Look, I get it: act like a kid, get paid, don’t tell anyone,” Emma huffed, setting her phone down to sign her name again, which was slowly looking less and less like a name and more like squiggly lines. “Are we done yet?” “Almost,” the lawyer growled, standing up to pull the paper back, stuff it in the folder, and pull out a thick stack of papers. “This is the last one, but the most important.” “Right - okay - one sec,” Emma said, holding up a finger to stop Katherine, then finished her text to her retail chain boss, telling her she quit. Katherine’s right eye twitched. “Cool. Okay, so what’s this one?” Katherine’s jaw moved to the side for a moment, sucking on a canine and rubbing it with her tongue, before gesturing to the bound book. “This is for you. It is the details of the arrangements we have made with the guilds and associations to connect and advance our employees beyond this job. It details what you may expect when you leave this place, join any of these, and how to navigate the privacy restrictions,” she explained in a sour tone, annoyed to be going through the usual spiel for this girl, but unwilling to compromise on her professionalism. “It also details the punishments for revealing yourself to a client, during or outside a session.” “Punishments?” Emma hesitated, her eyes falling to the book, then back up to Katherine, who nodded curtly. “Should you break character to a client, even for a brief moment, you will lose your employment, all your benefits, and you will be blacklisted from every organization listed here for five years.” “What?!” Emma shrieked, grabbing the packet as if it would speak up. She hadn’t planned on breaking character, but she hadn’t anticipated such a strict punishment. Katherine’s lips managed a mix of a smirk and a sneer at the same time. “Should you wish to back out, you may do so,” she suggested as she gestured to the packet. “We cannot proceed without you signing an acknowledgment of these conditions.” “Ugh, fine,” Emma groaned, blowing out a raspberry at the ceiling, grabbing a pen, and signing the paper. She pushed it away from her in a huff, then crossed her arms in a pout. “So now we’re good?” “…Yes,” Katherine sniffed after a beat, her eyebrows knitting together as she snapped the paper off the table and slipped it into the folder. “I’ll inform Mr. Owens.” Emma rolled her eyes as the woman passed her by, waited until she heard the door shut, then desperately started looking through the packet. The woman had to be lying; she clearly didn’t like Emma, probably jealous because she wasted her youth, and made that up to try and get her to back out. Unfortunately, Emma didn’t have the time to verify. Within minutes of her flipping back and forth between the pages, the door opened again as Barty returned. “All set?” he asked with a chuckle, keeping the door open while sliding his hands into his pockets. “You may very well be the fastest person we’ve ever signed on.” “Really?” Emma squeaked, jolting to her feet in surprise as she slammed the packet closed. Given her lax attitude towards signing, she hadn’t wanted to reveal that now she was trying to read it after the fact… though if asked, she couldn’t exactly say why. Turning to face him, she nodded in understanding as she collected her purse, phone, and the packet and stepped out into the hall. “Oh yeah,” Barty confirmed with another chuckle, motioning in the direction they were heading. “It’s a lot to take in. I think we’ve had a few people take a whole week, coming in, reading and signing a portion, then going home to think. You and the ABDL folk have had the fastest turnover. Saaaay –” he paused in his thought, rubbing his chin as he raised an eyebrow at Emma. “Is that it? Are you ABDL?” “No,” Emma guessed, having no idea what that meant. “Furbaby?” “What?” “Huh,” Barty puzzled, but shrugged it off as he led them into an elevator. He swiped his ID and then hit the number 3. “Well, in any case, I had just enough time to get your welcome package ready and find your buddy for this evening.” “Buddy?” Emma asked warily, trying not to sound too confused, in case any of this had been in the paperwork she didn’t read. “You know, the buddy system!” he smiled at her brightly, and she raised her eyebrows, nodding like that made sense. “Oh, right,” she tried her best to beam at him. The elevator dinged, and Barty walked out first, followed quickly by Emma, who looked around to get her bearings. None of the building had windows that looked out, so it was hard to tell whether she was in the core of the building or at the edges. They stepped up to a door that looked like an entrance to a daycare; a massive rainbow with smiley-faced clouds at either end, and the word “NURSERY” superimposed over the rainbow. Nervously, Emma looked up and down the hallway as her cheeks flushed, a sense of realization washing over her of what she had gotten herself into. Barty had already stepped through after swiping his ID on the card reader and held the door open for her, giving her an anticipatory look that made her step through. “S-Sorry,” she mumbled as she flashed him a smile, and he placed a hand on her shoulder. “Don’t worry,” he encouraged her, squeezing her shoulder. “This feeling is normal. Everyone – well, except maybe some of the aforementioned folk – goes through this phase. You can take it as slow or fast as you’d like.” “Thanks,” Emma whispered, her eyes dropping to her feet, repeating in her head the benefits of this job: sag, 125, sag, 125, sag, 125 …. “Ooooo, is this the new baby?!” squealed a light brown-haired woman who stepped forward while clapping her hands together. She was dressed like a kindergarten teacher, wearing overalls with various embroidered farm animals across her legs and chest, bright yellow tennis shoes, and a floral long-sleeved shirt. But this dress looked sorely out of place for the body it adorned, as Mabel was huge. At least six feet tall, with shoulders like a bodybuilder. “New provisional baby,” Barty chuckled as he put up a tempering hand. “Emma, this is Miss Mabel, our Training Director. Miss Mabel, Emma.” Emma turned beet red at the greeting this woman offered her (or lack thereof, as she talked about her), both from embarrassment and fury. She had forgotten she had worn a particular cutesy pink dress and put her hair in pigtails to look the part, and thus was incensed to be called a baby. “Oh, so good to meet you, Emmi-deari,” Mabel giggled as she leaned down and booped the end of Emma’s nose. “It’s Emma,” she snapped as she pulled her head back and glared up at Mabel. “Oh myyyy,” Mabel put a hand to her mouth and shot Barty an exaggeratedly surprised look; he chuckled and put a hand on the back of his neck. “We have a long way to go, I see!” “Excuse me?” Emma snarled, and Barty gently placed his hand on her shoulder. “You’re gonna have to get used to this kind of talk,” he chortled, then gestured towards the lockers, one that already had her name on it, as he tossed Mabel a wink. “But I think Miss Mabel can ease you into it.” Mabel gave a knowing grin and an exaggerated bow; Emma blinked. “Oh,” she mouthed, coming to the realization that the woman had already begun the training. “I’m… sorry.” “Oh, don’t be,” Mabel giggled as she directed Emma toward the lockers. “It’s jarring, but I like to just rip the band-aid off, as they say!” Emma nodded as she stepped up to the locker and opened it up. A basket hung from the hooks, holding a teddy bear with a WELCOME EMMA! sign. Mabel beamed as she hovered over Emma and gestured to the basket. “You’ll find a set of age-appropriate clothes. We guessed your size, but you can always switch, and there’s a set of PJs for tonight,” she explained and then pointed to a bathroom. “You can get changed in there, dearie.” “Thank you.” Emma blinked as she looked between the basket and bathroom, then noticed a little card wedged near the front. It listed a few things in what looked like a man’s handwriting, including her name, real age, and “training age,” with ages 6-9 selected. Grabbing the card, she spun around to face the two. “Uh, no, I’d like to start with zero through two.” A beat passed as Barty and Mabel stared at her, looking as if they had been frozen. The first to move was Mabel, whose eyebrows twitched and rose ever so slightly. “Emma, that’s, uh,” Barty started, looking a bit alarmed. Mabel, though surprised, stepped in with ease. “That’s a bit advanced, Emma,” Mabel explained in a more mature tone. “Ages six through nine is the best place to start to get a sense of –” “No,” Emma interrupted with a huff, finally getting her edge back as the $125 per hour flashed in her mind. She didn’t want to work more hours than she needed. She wanted to power through this job as quickly as possible and have all that extra free time to work on her acting career. She could suffer a few days a month of being a baby if it meant freedom the rest of the time. “I signed up for ages zero to two. That’s what I want.” Mabel’s demeanor shifted as she arched an eyebrow, as if this were some sort of personal challenge. She shot a look at Barty, silently asking if this was how it was going to go down, and Emma did the same, daring him to deny her again. He took a large step back and held up his hands, laughing nervously. “Well, uh, h-how about, for tonight, zero through two it is, and uh, you tell us how you feel about it tomorrow? But, uh, ease her in, Mabel?” He swallowed nervously. “No,” Emma snapped again, crossing her arms over her chest. She was going to ace the training and didn’t want to slow for anything. She looked to Mabel, who was increasingly looking determined. “No ease. I want the full training.” “Emma –” the man yelped. “Full,” Emma enunciated. “Emma, please,” Barty nearly sounded like he was begging. “Fucking,” she emphasized. Barty winced. Mabel’s head jerked. “Training.” Barty swallowed and took the largest step back he could manage, and Emma, thinking she had won, gave a victorious grin. But it did not last long. Mabel reached out, grabbed Emma’s wrist, and yanked her with all her might to her; she could barely let out a gasp. Mabel slammed down into a nearby chair and pulled Emma over her lap, then slammed an open palm on her ass, seemingly as hard as she could. “You DO NOT SWEAR!” Mabel bellowed in an authoritative voice, raised her hand into the air, and spanked again. “NO –” SMACK. “–SWEARING!” SMACK. Emma howled in pain, tears immediately filling her eyes. She flailed her arms around and kicked her legs behind her, trying to grab onto or kick anything that would wrench her from this situation. Her face was beet red once again, and after the third smack, so were her butt cheeks. “FUCK –” Emma couldn’t even get out the ‘you’ as Mabel smacked her ass again, and again, and again. By the sixth, Emma had stopped her flailing and let out a sob, desperate for the pain to stop. “Stop… please,” she whined, holding her chest upwards still and trying to reach back for Mabel, but the woman had her pinned down with her other arm. Emma looked over at Barty, who gave her a mix of a grimace and an ‘I told you so’ look, then forced a smile. “Well, I’ll, uh, I’ll leave you to it!” he quickly bid farewell and swiped his card, making all haste to get out of there by power-walking down the hall. “Hmm,” Mabel hummed as she lifted Emma’s dress, making her tense up and jerk around again; the trainer slapped her hand away, though it was gentler than the spanks. “Stop squirming, dearie; I’m seeing how bad it is.” “How bad wha –” Emma started, but felt another slap, this time on her thigh, and then Mabel pressed the hand she had pinned on Emma’s back down ever so slightly. “Now, dearie,” Mabel started very gently, leaning forward and pressing her weight onto Emma’s backside. She got her face close enough to speak both softly and threateningly, “Babies… don’t talk. Babies don’t plead. And babies don’t get embarrassed.” Emma’s eyes widened as it was sinking in… This was the training. Again. She cursed herself; this was the second time she hadn’t realized Mabel was already at work. The blonde whimpered and nodded her head, relaxing her body and resting on Mabel’s lap. ‘Fucking bitch,’ Emma thought, a sneer overcoming her face as she lay there. She would have appreciated a warning, like ‘start scene’ or something. “Good girl!” Mabel praised, and Emma’s sneer deepened, but she winced when she felt her dress lift over her underwear. “Oh, you cute little thing, you aren’t ready for big girl underwear!” “Wha –” the blonde started, her body starting to seize up again, but she bit her tongue; she felt Mabel pause, as if waiting for her to say or do something, then felt a finger hook over her panties and pull them down to her knees. Emma felt a furious heat in her cheeks and brought her hands over her mouth, doing her best to muffle the indignant yell she let out. “What was that, hun?” the massive woman asked, and Emma shook her head furiously from side to side. “Oookay,” Mabel replied as she leaned to the right in order to pull the underwear the rest of the way off. She sucked in air through her teeth, and Emma winced, feeling fingers touch her burning butt cheeks. “Oh, that looks angry,” Mabel commented with a sigh and leaned to the side, fishing some ointment out of her pocket. She squirted a quarter-sized amount on each cheek, then began rubbing it in. “Sweeeeet Caroline, bum bum bum. Good times never seemed so good.” Emma blinked in confusion, both at the fact that Mabel was singing at all, and also how – well, how bad it was. She was close enough to the tune to be recognizable, but off-key enough that it wasn’t comforting or soothing to listen to. Biting down on her tongue, she grimaced at every out-of-tune, sharp, flat, or just-wrong note the giant woman sang. “Looook at the night,” Mabel continued, swaying slightly left and right. Although she kept singing, she suddenly stopped rubbing and shifted Emma to face her as if they’d hug; Mabel smiled at her while singing, and Emma grimaced a smile back. The trainer gasped as she took Emma’s hands and clapped them together to match the song’s beat. Emma couldn’t tell who she felt more embarrassed for, herself or Mabel, but either way, she wanted to curl up and die the entire time this was happening. “Sweet Caroliiiiiine,” Mabel trailed off as she completed the song, then forced Emma to clap for her, and she giggled. “Okay, little Miss Muffin, let’s get you dressed.” Mabel put a hand on Emma’s back, pushing her inward as if to hug, then stood and carried the smaller blonde. Emma closed her eyes, wincing as her butt was grabbed, and she pulled her arms in to cover her face, repeating her mantra: sag, 125, sag, 125, sag, 125 …. She opened her eyes as she was shifted onto her back and lowered. She looked over her shoulder, seeing just a hint of an adult-sized changing table before she was laid upon it; blinking, she was grateful it was comfortable. Mabel grabbed the bottom of the dress and pulled it up, pulling Emma upwards to undress her. “H-hey –” Emma blurted out and then winced, cursing to herself for speaking up again. As the dress lifted off her body, she caught a glimpse of the warning look Mabel shot her before her eyes fell to the bra. “No way,” Emma seethed, putting her arms over it to cover up. Mabel raised her eyebrows in a threatening look, but Emma’s nose curled up defiantly. She may have been told babies don’t talk, but they can be randomly stubborn, right? That was her thought process anyway. The two women glared at each other for a beat, but to Emma’s surprise, Mabel broke eye contact first. She let out a chuckle, clicking her tongue, and moved down towards Emma’s feet. Blinking in surprise, she kept her arms defending her bra but pulled the upper part of her body up just in time to see the ankle cuffs the trainer slapped on her. “What the fuck??” “Ooo,” Mabel clicked her tongue again, shaking her head. “Such a potty mouth.” “Get these off,” Emma growled as she kicked her legs, trying to break the straps. While she focused on kicking and kept her arms protecting her bra, Mabel pulled a strap over her waist. “H-hey, stop it!” “Sweet Caroline,” Mabel began humming again as she walked to the top of the changing table, knelt down, and disappeared beneath it. “You don’t restrain babies!” Emma squealed as fear started to take over her tone, realizing she was quickly losing mobility. She was going to have to choose between protecting her breasts and trying to remove the straps. She angled her head to look above, saw no sign of Mabel, and took the risk. Removing her arms from her breasts, she began feeling around for the release on the waist strap. “Aha!” Mabel exclaimed as she grabbed Emma’s right wrist with both hands and pulled it above the blonde’s head, easily fighting the resistance with her superior strength. “NO!” Emma screamed as her left hand tried to claw at the cuff she felt cinch around her wrist. She grabbed at it, but only had seconds before her second wrist was seized and pulled into its own cuff. “No – please –” “Now,” Mabel sighed as she walked around the table, crossing her arms over her chest and looking down at the blonde trainee. “Before I had to do that… what was I – oh yes!” “No,” Emma whined as tears came back. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d been restrained. Carseats had been catastrophic in her family; she had thrown tantrums over them for years. Even as a toddler, she couldn’t stand being restrained, dependent on someone else to decide when she got to move. None of this had registered while she was signing up for this job, of course, but it all came flooding back as she found herself unable to move more than a few inches. “Please.” Mabel leaned in, sliding a single hand beneath Emma and unsnapping her bra with freakish speed and ease; the woman winked at her, but then stood back up to her full height and looked down with a puzzled expression. “Oh, darn, the cuffs…” Mabel tapped her lower lip as she turned around and disappeared north of the changing table again, and Emma whined, wiggling around on the table, trying to find a weak spot in any of the restraints. She wasn’t sure what she wanted; her mind was racing, feeling fearful at the prospect of being completely naked to this woman, despite knowing this was how the job worked. She was just running on instinct at this point, and it wasn’t doing her any favors. Snip. Emma blinked, her entire body freezing as she heard the familiar sound of scissors. Then, again, snip. “There we go!” Mabel cheered triumphantly as she ripped the bra off, holding it up in the air like a trophy. Emma’s pupils shrank as she looked at one of her more expensive bras, callously ruined by this… this… monster. “Are… you…” Emma started quietly as Mabel chuckled, tossing the bra to the floor and squatting down under the changing table once again. “FUCKING KIDDING ME?! DO YOU KNOW WHAT THAT COST?” Emma’s screams became shrill as she started thrashing about on the table against the restraints, switching between screaming nonsense and spewing out any number of insults she could think of. She pulled out all the stops; she swore, insulted every physical component of Mabel’s she had thus far seen, and finished off with, “AND YOU’RE FUCKING TONE DEAF, YOU MEGA CUNT!” “Oh, boy,” Mabel said, sounding alarmed as she appeared at the foot of the changing table, a mock expression of concern on her face as she held a massive white diaper in one hand and a pacifier on a strap in the other. “That was a meanie thing to say.” Emma was breathing heavily, her throat dry and pained from the sheer strain of screaming, but she was now staring at the new items. Her heart began to race. It wasn’t that she didn’t expect this logically… She knew it was coming: it was what she signed up for. She had seen the diaper on the actor in the video. But this was not at all how she expected this to go down. She pictured putting herself in the diaper, in a changing room, privately. Getting time to adjust to it, like putting on a costume for the first time, and emerging fully dressed. But now, naked, restrained on a changing table with this awful woman being the one to put it on her… it was a very different feeling. “Wa-wait, I – can I –” she swallowed, and Mabel broke out into a maniacal laugh. “Oh Emmi, you’re so funny,” the woman snorted as she set the diaper down between Emma’s legs. “I do love me a good brat.” “Oh – f-fuck you,” Emma began to whine, trying to pull her arms down to cover her mouth, but when she couldn’t, she turned her head to the side and closed her eyes. “So defiant, so prideful,” Mabel chuckled as she approached and grabbed Emma’s face, turning it to face her as she smirked. “I bet you thought this would be easy.” Emma couldn’t swallow; she was frozen, staring at the amused face of her tormentor, her brain seized by the inability to process this strange scenario. Everything felt so foreign, and her system was now in fight-or-flight, which was itself awful because she could do neither. Mabel leaned in and used this freeze state to put the pacifier in, which jolted Emma out of it, and she shook her head violently. “No, no,” Mabel warned, squeezing her cheeks and raising her eyebrows. “Dearie, listen to me: this is happening.” Emma took a noisy breath and let out a whine, then nodded, grimacing as she closed her eyes. “You made your choice, Emmi-baby,” Mabel chuckled, releasing Emma’s face and lifting her head slightly to set and adjust the strap. “Full fucking training,” Mabel repeated as she kept chuckling and set Emma’s head down, giving it a pat. Emma glared at her, cheeks burning with anger at being mocked, but she was quickly distracted by the pacifier in her mouth, which she rolled around her tongue with a mix of confusion and disgust. “I do love this job,” Mabel sighed happily as she walked to the south end of the changing table and picked up the diaper, slowly unfolding it with a bemused smile. Emma groaned and looked away as the diaper stretched out dramatically. “We get a wonderful variety of individuals here. And so many babies come in desperate for their diapees,” Mabel tittered as she slid her hand under Emma’s sore butt and lifted, then the diaper was slid beneath, rustling in the process. Emma was lowered onto the diaper, tensing up as she prepared for - actually, she didn’t know - maybe pain? But as Mabel withdrew her hand, Emma let out a relieved sigh at the soft and gentle plush feeling of the diaper against her sore skin. “They’re so thrilled. It’s very sweet. But a brat like you? Fighting me every step of the way?” the woman sang in a strangely sweet way as she folded the diaper upwards and taped it on. She rubbed the front of the diaper, then gave it two firm pats, the plastic crinkling under her hand. Emma squeezed her eyes shut tighter as Mabel leaned forward and lowered her voice. “I live for this.”

Does that mean they have shitty food?

Chapter 24 - If the diaper fits, wear it How many times today had someone called her a baby? Wether it was a criticism or an observation made by someone who didn’t know she was a portal little, and an adult to boot. She knew it wasn’t true, but the more it was said the more she was starting to think it was true. She was diapered, wearing baby clothes and sitting in a baby pram, it wasn’t true she knew that, but should she just accept it for the time being and not complain? Not only did Amazon baby diapers in this dimension easily fit, she was now wearing them. On reflection it wasn’t the first time she had been through the situation she now found herself in. Her mind dredged up long forgotten memories of when she was a grade schooler back in her own dimension and her parents had taken her along with them on a three month business trip to England. Her own Mom had put her back in diapers for the long flight saying it was easier because there would be queues at the airport checkin and customs, queues for the bathroom on their flight and that she didn’t want any accidents. Although she had complained bitterly about not being a baby anymore her Mom was having none of it, she had been diapered for the cab ride to the airport, the duration of the flight and for the next four months in England and that was that. Mortified at the time It turned out she had been worried about nothing. Because of her small size everyone had thought she was much younger than her actual age so no one said anything about her being too old for diapers. The first time she had used her diaper still stuck in her mind like it had been yesterday. They had been in the check in queue for what seemed like a lifetime when her body told her that it could hold on no longer. She had danced around her Mom like a eager puppy pleading to leave the queue and go to the bathroom. Her Mom’s response to her pleas cast a dark cloud that still hung over her to this very day… it may as well have happened yesterday. “We are almost at the front of the check in queue Baby, just use your diaper… that is want it is for… Mommy will change your diaper in the lounge upstairs.” Her fate had been sealed that day, by the time her passport was handed over it felt like she was wading in a bog, the fluff pulp padding of her diaper had done its job and expanded to at least three times it pre-wetting size. While that had been bad enough she had then been dragged through the airport by her parents to the frequent flyer lounge of which her Dad was a member in the soaked diaper as it had cooling rapidly. That fact wasn’t unnoticed by the receptionist at the lounge front desk when she told her Mom that there was a baby change room before the showers that was stocked with complementary diapers, baby wipes and formula if she wanted to make up any bottles for the flight. If there had been a black hole available at that moment she would have gladly stepped into it. She had been changed by her Mom into one of the complementary diapers which was plastic backed, thick, crinkly, bulged under her leggings and stuck out above the waistband of her leggings so there was no mistaking what she was wearing. On the flight her Mom had been given a complementary baby care pack that contained another six of the same diapers and that was what she was wearing under her footed fleece sleeper with its pink unicorns pattern when they landed at London Heathrow the next morning. Although the flight to England had gone as good as could be expected the next four months were a nightmare. Her father’s firm had thought of everything. A fully furnished house in a nice area with a fenced in backyard had been rented, arrangements had been made for her Mom to accompany her Dad on the weekly business trips to the Continent to support him at the many social events where she would be valued. That left Heather to sort out, the firm had thought of that as well although her parents had not yet told her of the arrangements. After collecting their luggage and clearing customs they had been met by a woman and a man in the arrivals area where her Dad and Mom were given new tickets and instructions for a late change to the next weeks agenda. They had to turn around, recheck in and catch the next flight to Frankfurt for a dinner that night and a week of banking meetings. She had not realised what was going on until her Mom handed her off to the woman along with her suitcase and the complimentary baby-care pack from the Trans Atlantic flight. Even thinking about it now gave Heather the heeby jeebies. She had been farmed out to an British nanny. In the rush her Mom hadn’t given the Nanny her passport so she didn’t know how old Heather was. The fact that she was still wearing the footed sleeper from the flight over with a now saturated diaper taped around her bottom added to the confusion. She had tried to tell the Nanny she was older than she looked when the Nanny took her to a family bathroom at the airport, stripped off the wet diaper and promptly taped a fresh one around her bottom, treating her as if she was still a toddler when she had already started grade school back in California. While she had tried to make her point the Nanny had ignored her, instead insisting that she still needed nappies as the Brits called them because she was not yet old enough to keep big girl panties clean and dry. That first week had been a living nightmare, the Nanny had taken her shopping at the high street stores where thick washable terry towelling nappies, pull on plastic baby pants, disposable annoy liners, bibs, toddler clothes and baby bottles had been purchased to replace her missing suitcase. The Nanny had then promptly put her back in the washable terry nappies and plastic baby pants and dressed her as a toddler. When she saw herself in the hallway full length mirror she looked like a actual toddler, her hair in pigtails with pink ribbons and her voice muted by a pacifier. Made to drink baby formula from a bottle, eat in a highchair, nap and sleep in the cot that was in the nursery of the house that had been rented she had also found herself confined to a large wooden playpen and wheeled around the high street shops in a large baby pram for the next week. When her Mom had returned the following Saturday and got the download from the Nanny she had rather enjoyed the though of having a baby-girl again for the next three months and did nothing to dispel the Nanny’s incorrect assumption. That was years ago, now she found herself reliving that experience in another dimension where she was being treated as if she was even younger. Being regressed to a diapered toddler had been bad enough, now she was dressed as if she was an infant who needed constant care. Why had she even offered to help Dawn back at the hotel last night, she should have ignored the knock on her door and left the girl to stew in her own soup. Refocussing her thoughts Heather was back in the present, diapered, sitting quietly in a pram dressed as if she was still a baby. She had to get out of here before it was too late, what ever Diane was up-to it wasn’t looking good. Twisting her body to the right there was an unexpected tightness across her chest that brought her to an unexpected stop. She had been pulled up short of her objective by the white leather safety harness that was secured around her body and fixed to the pram by straps with shiny chrome clips between the soft mattress and the side walls of the pram’s basinet. Shit, a delay, but she could still make it, all she needed to do was unclip the safety harness from where it was secured to the pram on each side at her waist. Looking down she reached for the first clip, one hand on the short leather strap, the other on the chrome clip that she needed to release. As her mittened hands fumbling with the safety strap and the clip she could feel her chest pounding. Close, she was close, all she needed to do was get the clips released, climb out of the pram and make a run for it. Fumbling with the clip and safety strap releasing it was proving to be much more challenging than she had anticipated, the mittens on her hands meant she could not use her thumbs for gripping, that was making it an almost impossible task. Concentrating fully on her objective now she didn’t see the shadow looming over the pram as she fumbled with the chrome clip of the leather childproof safety harness that confined her to the pram. “No no no… no you don’t…. that’s not what good babies do….” A pair of amazon hands now had her own hands in their grip. Diane was back, immediately she had recognised what the girl was trying to do and put a stop to it. “That’s very naughty little one, just as well Mommy made sure she put your baby mittens on isn’t it or we might have lost you in the big scary mall.” Rummaging in the diaper bag that sat in the parcel tray under the basinet of the pram Diane found what she was looking for, a small glass bottle with an eye dropper and a medicating pacifier. Taking the bottle she studied it, Baby Drops… turn your favourite little into the baby you have always dreamed of… impairs walking and muscle coordination… Standard dose 5 ml - Crawler (crawl but not stand)… Double dose 10 ml - Infant (roll over and push up)… Triple dose 15 ml - Newborn (zero coordination). The girl had pushed her as far as she was prepared to let her, the time had come to show she meant business. Filling the mediating pacifer with a standard 5 ml does she checked the back of bottle. Caution… once administered effects will last 3 to 5 days. Perfect, that would give her time to get the girl home and acquainted to her new role. Standing she leant over the pram and slipped the pacifer into the girls mouth. When the silicone nipple of the pacifer filled her mouth Heather’s initial reaction was to push it out with her tongue, she had done exactly that… or tried to until her taste buds exploded with an exquisite sense of red and black black raspberries, blackcurrants, Madagascar vanilla, Moroccan citrus peel, honey, and cognac. She immediately recognised the taste of her favourite sweet liqueur known for its deep purple color and distinctive orb-shaped bottle. Instead of rejecting the pacifer her mouth took on a mission of its own, suckling on the silicone nipple like a piglet feeding from a sow. Diane was pleased, she had expected a scene and that had been averted. “Good girl, now lets go and find your big sister and we can get some pictures done shall we.” Wheeling the pram across the reception area and through the door where Becky had been taken already she relaxed. A close call at escape, but she had averted it thanks to the baby mittens that now covered the girls hands. Through the door the space opened up into a large area with a series of backdrops. On the far right Becky was already playing with a dolls house, an unmistakeable bulge under her pink bike shorts and the plastic backing of a diaper peeking out of the elastic waist confirmed her own thoughts. Unclipping the walking harness from the basinet safety straps she lifted the little who was destined to become her baby from then pram and sat her on the carpet in front of the dolls house alongside her own daughter. “Show your baby sister how to play with the dolls house Becky.” Sensing that she was best to play along Heather watched as her new friend showed her how to play. From the sofa at the back of the studio Diane sat with one of the staff and watched as a photographer took pictures of her two girls, well one girl really, the other was a petite little disguised as a baby. Watching to see how quickly the Baby Drops were working she picked up a brochure the receptionist had given her and thumbed through it as the Manager joined her on the sofa. “Diane, lovely to meet you. Thanks for coming in, your baby is very cute, she will be perfect for our ads that need a baby if you are interested in signing her up as one of our models.” Surprised by the offer Diane wasn’t sure how to reply, “Really, do you think so?” “Sure do Diane, her older sister is also still small enough to model as a toddler, a little make up and the right outfit can also work wonders, would you like to see what our makeup artist can do.” The allure of easy money had got Diane’s interest. Was it that easy? Perhaps the little was her lucky charm. “Sure, that sounds great, work your magic.” Nodding to another staff member the Manager kept Diane busy as Becky was quietly taken in hand and led back out to the makeup room. “We will put them both on our models database, all you need to do is sign here with your consent.” Signing the papers Diane smiled, Seventy five dollars an hour each and all she had to do was give her consent. Easy money, she woud’ take it, why not, if she didn’t someone else would. “Becky should be ready by now, we are doing a casting call for an ad, Ive asked Rachel to add her to the list, would you like to see how we do that, your baby can stay here with Mandy while she gets some more file shots.” “Sure, sounds great, I didn’t expect it would happen that quickly.” “Great timing on your part, we had just wrapped up with the last of the Moms and little ones when you walked in with your cuties, Ok through here, we can watch from the back but need to not say anything.” In an adjacent studio Diane was surprised, it had been dressed to look like a nursery in a suburban home, just then a tall model with blonde hair walked in carrying an older toddler on her hip. At first she didn’t recognise the child, then her senses picked, it wasn’t a toddler it was Becky, her hair had been put in pigtails with white ribbons, she was nursing a pacifer and wearing nothing more than a disposable diaper. Lullaby music filled the semi darkened studio as the model lowered the crib side with one hand, lowered Becky onto the crib sheet, rubbed her hand on the diaper as if she was checking to ensure it was still dry then raised the side ensuring it had locked into place. “Pampees Nighttime, everything baby and mommy need for a full nights sleep.” “Cut… thats a wrap, nice work Becky, we need you to swap places with your baby sister for the next take. Standing in the crib Becky put her hands up to be lifted out of the white wooden barred prison that had contained her as Heather, now in the same but a smaller size disposable was carried onto the set and deposited in the crib with a half finished bottle of baby formula. From the back of the studio Diane watched as darkness slowly gave way to daylight to make it look like the next morning. The curtains on the set had been pulled back to show a large window opposite the crib that held Heather who was now sitting nursing a baby bottle as if she didn’t have a care in the world. “Ok, here we go… music and narration please” announced the Director. Pampees Nighttime… our most absorbent overnight diapers yet… upto twelve hours of blissful sleep no matter how much your baby still needs her Pampees”. Diane was confused, she had heard the tag line hundreds of times on tv already and in every ad the models were in wet diapers. It didn’t make sense, sure Heather was in a crib and looked like a baby in just a diaper but she had only been changed recently, it was still be clean and dry. “You are about to see one of our trade secrets that creates the magic here Diane, even Baby Heather doesn’t know what is about to happen.” “What do you mean? I’ve seen the ads before and they normally start with a baby in a wet or a dirty diaper? From where she sat Diane had a front on view of the set. The diaper Heather was wearing matched the one her own daughter had been put in with pink elastic leg gathers, a pink waistband and a print of diapered teddy bears on the landing strip where the tapes fastened. As the portal little moved in the crib she could hear the plastic covered diaper rustling loudly. “Watch closely Diane, see the set assistant on the left, she has a small remote, when the director gives her the nod Baby Heather is in for a big surprise.” Closely Diane watched, then she saw it, just a slight nod of the directors head. The stage assistant had a small remote in her hand and she pressed a button as the sound of Heather nursing a baby bottle filled the studio. At first nothing happened, then Heather stopped nursing the bottle and grabbed the diaper between her legs with her free hand as tears filled her eyes. Craning to get a better look a hand covered Diane’s mouth. “Did she just do what I think she has done?” “There is no mistaking it Diane, Baby’s diaper was dry when the stage hand out her in the crib, now as you can see its soaked. “What the.. how did you do that?” With a chuckle Diane smiled, “trade secret Mom, if we had to wait for our models to use their diapers on their own accord we would be here all day and that’s time we can’t afford to waste. Now, would yu like to sign both of your girls up to our preferred models listings? The lure of earning easy money was too much for Diane, readily she agreed as Heather was retrieved from the crib and her diaper changed for a dry one. “Sure, I wasn’t convinced at first but didn’t even recognise Becky to start with in just a diaper and the makeup. “Well Mamm she is still petite enough to pass for a diapered toddler,” the Manager chuckled. “Although to be fair to her all is not as it seems, illusion is a powerful thing. In this case a petite model and oversized baby furniture, everything you see in this room has been upsized, it is all ten percent larger than normal, including the diaper your daughter is wearing and that projects the illusion that she is still a toddler.” Conveniently ignoring her own ruse from the roadblock Diane smiled. “Oh, I see, well that explains it then. Becky is still small for her age but I never thought I would see her looking like a diapered toddler again.” “She would be perfect for some upcoming ad work we are looking for models that can take direction if you are interested Mamm, I will give you the details once we have finished with your session.” - - - - - - - - -

Chapter 5 : Mistakes --------------------- Lynn woke up in her bed. For just an instant the mattress felt like the padding of a giant diaper, Lynn herself lying spread eagle in the middle waiting for... something. Her brain awakening to reality, she opened her eyes with a smile and turned over onto her left side. The bed was warm and cozy and inviting her to stay in its loving embrace. Perhaps she could study in bed? Stay under the blankets and just read her books here. It was a grand plan, apart from her books being stacked in piles in the living room. Oh, and apart from her bladder complaining it was time to go. For the moment the only padding around her bottom were her flannel pajamas. Yesterday's diaper lay rolled up on her desk, subtly wafting its stale odor to remind Lynn of what she hadn't done last night. Too tired to find a proper place to dispose of her soaked padding she had simply put it in the most obvious place. Sighing with regret, she swung her legs out of the bed to get up and bumped into the package of fresh diapers next to it. Looking down, her morning was instantly decided for her. There was really no reason to repeat yesterday's frantic morning dash to the bathroom, no reason to just bump into Madison again, who would object to her using the toilet anyway. Lynn found herself forming a smile while she grabbed a fresh diaper from the package. She spread it out on the bed, smoothing out the folds as best she could. Noticing the tapes at the wrong end, she turned it around, then lifted her bottom onto the soft padding. With the leak guards carressing her, she folded and pulled the front up between her legs. Only a couple of tries to get the tapes right and she was back to being the house's baby. Well, maybe only after getting her onesie back on. Sitting back up on the edge of the bed, her bladder wanted to go but her muscles down there did not want to give up, holding on tight for dear life. She tried to remember how she had managed to wet her diaper yesterday, to find the feeling that would allow her to release again. Awkwardly she couldn't manage, leaving her with a strong urge to go without a way to give in. She found her cheeks warming up with the embarrassment of not being able to simply use her diaper, the inherent irony of which made her giggle and forget herself for a moment. That was enough, as she suddenly felt the soft padding beneath her bottom grow warm and moist and swell up. She kept herself as still as possible, afraid to accidentally clamp shut and stop the stream. The swelling continued for longer than she expected, than she thought she had to go. Feeling the front and the back, she had already managed to soak herself as much as halfway through the day before. Getting up off the bed, the swollen diaper squished and pushed back against her thighs, wetly clamped onto her bottom to emphasize its presence. Was that normal, to pee so much first thing in the morning? She could ask Peony, if Peony wouldn't already notice simply by taking a peak at her diaper. And Lynn had already said Peony could check her diaper at any time. Even with her housemates accepting her diapers, it still felt a little embarrassing to be the baby. After a stop in the bathroom for the morning wash-up, Lynn found Madison sitting at the table in the living room. Last night's puzzle had been moved aside to one side of the table, but it was still in one piece. Madison sat studying at the other end with a thick textbook of which Lynn could not see the title. An empty plate also sat on the table. Madison looked up. "Good morning, baby. It's nice to see you be yourself." She smiled with a very genuine shine to her face. Being called "baby" still felt a little uncomfortable, so before her cheeks could betray her, Lynn answered: "thank you, Madison." Her cheeks betrayed her anyway, but Madison only smiled again and returned to reading her textbook. Entering the kitchen was a more curated experience than the day before. The space was divide neatly into a study corner for Peony with books and study-aids on one side and a welkoming breakfast corner for Lynn herself on the other side. She knew it was for her because everything was neatly prepared and the table was set, while Peony was already eating. Seeing Lynn walk in, she put down her book and immediately came over. "How are your hips, sweetie? Did you put some moisturizer on them last night?" Lynn blushed. There seemed to be a lot of little embarrassments involved in being the house's baby, even if it was her own choice. "No," she had to admit, "but my hips do feel fine." Peony didn't hesitate to pull on the leghole of her onesie and feel her hips, even wiggling a finger between the diaper and her skin. The latter was not easy, Lynn had managed to get her diaper on snugly. "Your skin does seem okay, but we should not wait until there's chafing, sweetie." The first words that popped into Lynn's head were "yes mom", but she decided not to. She might be the baby, yet that did not make Peony her mother. Although, with how caring Peony was and how she had prepared breakfast for her, the comparison could be made. Instead she said: "I will try to remember, Peony." Along with a quick pat on Lynn's bottom Peony straightened her onesie back out. She hesitated and felt Lynn's bottom again. "You're already quite wet," she pointed out with a soft voice. "I noticed," Lynn said quickly, then sat down at the table. Peony gave her quick squeeze on the shoulder and moved to sit down across from her. She shoved aside a textbook of hers lying there, making space to put her own breakfast on the table and focusing her full attention on Lynn. "Did you sleep well last night?" Lynn gave it a moment's thought, answering "yes, I feel very rested actually. I kind of really enjoyed the puzzle, thank you for setting that up." "No need to thank me, it was all Madison. Though technically it was my puzzle." Peony replied before taking another bite. Lynn nodded as she took the first bite from the eggs on her plate. A lot of breakfast passed silently as both girls were busy eating and enjoying each other's company. A few minutes after they were done eating, Peony broke the silence: "Well, time for you and me to get back to studying, Lynnie. I'll bring you snacks later, okay?" Lynn could only nod and made her way to her little corner of the living room where her books were neatly piled up. She could see Madison's head perk up and smile for a moment when Lynn walked to her little studyspace. With a bit of a plop, a wet plop, Lynn sat down in her chair. She wiggled her butt a little to find a comfortable spot, which was a little different from the day before. Finding it, she grabbed a book from where she had left off. The morning went much as the day before: she got engrossed in her books, occasionally found something to eat or a cup of tea or some water sitting on the table where she wanted to put a book, and her diaper kept steadily swelling throughout the morning. It was a shame there wasn't more time before the exams, she didn't think she could actually read all those books again, she'd have to settle for rereading the important passages. There was something about going through a book again completely that allowed for new insights, so her father said. She'd been warned there would be a lot of reading for the study she'd chosen and the warning had been accurate, though it was also noted that professors apparently made the first semester the worst to weed out students who weren't suited for the field. Between one page on the next, Lynn suddenly heard Madison's voice break the silent focus. "Someone really needs a diaper change." Lynn immediately looked down, felt her diaper, but no she hadn't sprung a leak. She'd been worried about that yesterday too, but these diapers were incredibly absorbent. She had no idea where her roommates had found them. She peered up toward Madison, who was wrinkling her nose as she used her eyes to point at Lynn to Peony, who had entered the living room to see what was going on. "Lynnie, did you have a little accident?" Peony voiced carefully from across the room. Madison butted in before Lynn could even swallow to find her words. "No Pea, I'm pretty sure she didn't leak, but she does need a clean diaper for the sake of our noses." Peony spoke softly toward Madison. It was a little hard to hear, but Lynn was pretty sure it was something along the lines of "I can tell." Lynn's cheeks grew hotter as she was looked at by both her housemates. For the first time since the fall did she feel truly embarrassed to be in a diaper around them. Wanting to get up, her feet felt cold and were slow to respond to her desire to flee. Her skin tightened and a lump formed in her throat. "Sorry," she whispered. She didn't dare look as she managed to climb out of her chair and shuffled toward the stairs. Behind her, she heard Madison say: "She looks a little unsteady, you should probably check if she'll be okay. If you need an extra hand, just call okay." Lynn vaguely heard steps behind her as she reached the stairs. With an arm suddenly around her waist, Peony's gentle voice said: "Come on, diaper butt, needing a diaper change is nothing to be flustered about. I'll help you." Even knowing she could handle a diaper change on her own, Lynn's throat felt too tight to speak the words. All that could be done was letting Peony guide her upstairs in silence. Halfway up the stairs the embarrassment had overwhelmed her and her head just felt numb. A few moments later, Peony was unbuttoning her onesie and opening up her diaper as Lynn lay on her bed. "Stay here, Lynnie, I need to grab some supplies." She first looked around Lynn's room for the supplies she needed, then headed into the hallway for something else. Lynn could only lie there, her intimate parts on display as she lay on an open wet diaper. The embarrassment returned to her as the numbness faded. She wished it hadn't because she very much felt like a baby being taken care of by her mother. She put her face in her hands. She felt very small and vulnerable, a little vulnerable girl who really did need the care that Peony was providing. Taking a deep breath to keep the tears out of her eyes, she heard Peony return. "You doing okay, sweetie?" Peony asked, giving her a little kiss and caress on her forehead. And that was too much. The tears erupted from her eyes, streaming down the side of her face as she lay there. "Sh-sh-sh, it's okay, Lynnie sweetie, I'll take good care of you, okay?" She set to work, using a washcloth and wet wipes to clean Lynn, then pulling the wet diaper from under her. Through blurry tears Lynn could see how Peony fluffed up her next diaper as if she was an expert in adult diapers. She did it much better than Lynn had done that morning. "Lift your butt," she instructed with a pat on her bottom, sliding the fresh diaper under her. She even pulled out that moisturizing cream she had been talking about, rubbing it on her hips, her bottom, the insides of her thighs. Just a bit of baby powder and then Peony was lifting the front of the diaper between Lynn's legs, taping it shut tightly, only needing to readjust the velcros once. "There, all fresh and clean." Peony sat next to Lynn on the bed, gently closing the snaps on her onesie, then rubbing her tummy. "Is our little household baby going to be okay?" She asked with genuine concern in her voice. Lynn realized she was still crying, every emotion rushing through her mind. Embarrasment, shame, belonging, joy, love, sadness, and above all uncertainty. "Thank you," she finally said softly. "You're welcome. I'll always help you when you need a little help, okay?" With another kiss on Lynn's forehead, Peony added: "Come downstairs when you're ready." It took Lynn a while to gather herself to go back downstairs. Walking into the living room, she saw Madison had set aside her books, enthusiastically doodling on the page. The second Madison saw her, she smiled and gave her a wink, then continued her doodle. Lynn was a little relieved, just Madison being Madison, with no mean words about what had just happened. It was reassuring that Madison's usual teasing really was just teasing and nothing more. Lynn was also certain Madison would tease her again. Lynn plopped down in her bookcorner again, breathing out, and allowed herself to grab another book. A last glance at Madison saw her glancing over at Peony in turn and then again to Lynn, smiling as she continued to draw and write on her pad. Yeah, she really was a loved little baby here. --- Up to chapter 8 is available on my Buy Me A Coffee page, and with chapter 8, the story has passed 20k words =D

That's because Taco Bell food "drives through" your colon!

cheese and crackers are my go to and have been since I was literally 5. also I saw someone say cookies and milk and I agree with that too

Yes, I have ordered from them many times since Brexit. Great service!

Leon Chapter II Something felt off, he knew it instantly, he's hard enough to wake up in the morning, what could've possibly woken him up from what was at first such a pleasant dream. Then he felt it, the middle of the bed was..damp, he lowered his arm beneath the sheets and felt around his crotch. "I would'n've, could'n've, what the fuck, what the fuck, what the fuckkkk." He was panicking, "This never happens" Leon didn't quite know what do, this hadn't happened to him since he was a kid, all sorts of possibilities ran through his head as to what may have caused it. After a minute or so of his heart skipping beats, he knew what he had to do, ''you're just gonna have to bite the bullet". He looked over to the stand next to him and laid eyes upon the button the nurse told him to push if he needed her at any point. He took a deep breath and pressed it, thought it made no obvious signal that it worked, soon after the nurse appeared. A woman in her 30s, Leon hadn't yet learned her name, but she had a kindly demeanour and at that moment she was all Leon had. She entered and spoke "Hi, is everything alright?" Leon didn't quite know how to reply "I..um..well I...I think I wet the bed a little" her demeanour didn't change "Oh that's ok" she could sense he was both embarrassed and anxious "Do you have a spare change of clothes with you?" "I've got some pyjama bottoms in my bag." his response was shaky, he was still in shock slightly "and underwear?" the nurse questioned, her tone warm and without judgement. "No I uh don't think so" "Ok well, we'll get you to the bathroom, get your clothes in the laundry and I'll see what i can find in the way of underwear, sound good?" he could only nod along slightly. She helped Leon to his feet, and guided him to the bathroom, every step a reminder of what just happened, Leon could only be thankful that he hadn't drank all that much otherwise he could've ruined his cast. Once in the bathroom, the nurse asked "Do you need any help removing your clothes" he blushed 'I think i'll be alright". She left him to it, in the downtime Leon would only think about what is his Mother going to say about all this. He removed his underwear and as they fell past his knees they hit the ground with a slight splat. Leon was glad to still not be totally unburdened as his pants took the worst of the damage, it left the gown mostly dry but for one small patch. Shortly after, the nurse returned with two things in hand, in her right hand a pair of black pants with pirate symbols covering all over, though they looked too small for a teen like Leon, and in her left hand "It couldn't be" he thought he was seeing things, what looked to be a...nappy, though not like one he'd seen before. "I'm really sorry" the nurse began "but it seems the largest pair of underpants we have spare are these" she held her arm up "can i try them on?" he knew the chances were that they wouldn't fit, even if he didn't have bulky cast covering half his leg, but he couldn't possibly fathom actually having to wear a nappy. "Yeah go ahead, I'll turn around" she handed the pants him, keeping her left hand, nappy in tow, by her side. Leon tried all he could, but there was nothing he could do against a piece of clothing that was simply too small to fit. "Everything ok?" the nurse asked, hearing the battle going on behind her. "They won't fit' he sounded out, defeated. He stared at the floor hoping it would swallow him up. "That's ok, don't worry about it, I'll just take them back", she continued "I suspected they weren't the right size, that's why i brought this" she gestured towards the nappy. "This is one of our incontinence products, we sometime use these on older patients, but i'm sure this smaller one is the right size for your height and weight, do you want to try it on?"

Today its crinklz aquanauts!

lol, "Anytime, raccoon.”

My wife is very supportive and encouraging. A few months ago, I began wearing to deal with long workdays (I have had IBS-D in the past). Turns out, I never ended up having to use them. And honestly, I never want to use them for their intended purpose. I was very surprised that I ended up enjoying the padded experience. I think, for me, the kick is that it’s like humiliation and chastity rolled into one and we’ve done some scenes like that, where I’m padded, hands tied to bedposts, and she writes on the front, “Property of K” so I don’t forget I only belong to her 😂 It has kind of spiced up our intimate life, unexpectedly. It’s not something I NEED, but it’s nice sometimes, whether we’re doing a scene or I’m just chilling after work or both. The only time I wear when I’m out is when I’m expecting my gut to give me trouble, because hell, to put it metaphorically, it’s best to wear body armor on days you’re expecting to get shot at, right? And K has been encouraging the whole way. She said to me, while touching my cheek, “there’s no shame in this family.” I love her very much.

CHAPTER EIGHT Peter paused halfway up the stairs; he could feel the pressure in his bladder. He wasn’t sure if he wanted to use the pull up or the regular bathroom. If he did use the pull up, he wasn’t going to pee on the middle of the staircase. If he leaked that would be yet another awkward conversation and he wasn’t sure how he’d explain to his parents why he was wearing a pull up. Peter walked up the rest of the stairs and headed to his room. The pressure in his bladder growing with every step. He still wasn’t sure if he should use the bathroom or the pull up? He was wearing the pull up, so he might as well use it but he wasn’t sure if he should. What if he leaked? Although he could easily clean up. Peter walked into his room and then his bathroom and closed his bathroom door. He pulled down his sweatpants, looked at himself in the mirror on the back of his bathroom door and released his bladder into his pull up. Peter watched in fascination as the pull up swelled as it absorbed the contents of his bladder. Once he was done peeing he looked at himself in the mirror. Peter pulled his sweatpants back up and then walked into his bedroom and grabbed some clean clothes. After he took a shower and dressed in clean clothes, he tossed the pull up under some trash in his bathroom trashcan and then walked back into his bedroom. There were fifteen pull ups left in the pack and Peter needed to make those last as long as possible or until he could somehow get another pack. Although he really wasn’t sure how he would. Maybe he could walk to the store tomorrow and buy a pack of pull ups. Although that meant he could run into someone he knew. Peter let out a sigh and then sat down on his bed. There came a sudden knock on his open bedroom door. Peter looked over to see his mom standing in his bedroom doorway. “Hi sweetheart.” “Hi mom.” “You alright sweetheart?” “Huh? Yeah, I’m just thinking about stuff.” “Alright, do you have any homework?” “I have a math assignment but I finished it.” “Alright, do you have any plans for the long weekend?” “Um, no, everyone is doing something.” His mom nodded. “Do you wanna go grocery shopping with me tomorrow?" Peter knew that would the perfect opportunity to buy a pack of pull ups. “Yeah.” “Okay, your dad is thinking about ordering dinner from that Chinese restaurant we all like.” “Cool, sounds delicious.” “Alright, do you want your usual?’ “Yes.” “Alright.” His mom then headed back downstairs and then Peter got up and walked over to his desk drawer and pulled out a small metal box. Inside the box was money which Peter had in case he wanted to buy something. Peter pulled out a twenty dollar bill and put it in his wallet and then put his wallet in his backpack. Peter then sat back down on his bed and pulled out his phone.

Ch. 3 Apartment D, Steven’s Place The car ride back to the apartments was as short as the ride to the Urgent Care, but uncomfortably silent. Steven’s reflection in the rearview mirror had a thousand yard stare. He had walked in the Urgent Care as just a friendly neighbor and walked out as a new Daddy. It was the same stare he had when Nurse Hannah was installing the cheap, basic booster seat and instructing him on the importance of a 5-point harness carseat. He had just nodded along with Piper on his hip and a pack of the hospital diapers in the other. Piper had remained silent during the car ride, too, but only because the inflated pacifier gag was still filling her mouth. A dull ache in her jaw had dulled even more to numbness. It was pushing midnight by the time Steven parked back in his spot outside of the quadplex. He turned the car off, exited, then waited next to the passenger door. I’m not helping him out anymore. He’ll work it out on his own, probably. Fuck… I hope I made the right choice. I mean, he has to learn how to do these things now, no backing out now . . .I think? Once he remembered himself he hurriedly opened the door and placed his freshly Adopted Little on his hip again. “Shoot. I’m so sorry. I’m not used to - I didn’t-” Steven huffed as he grabbed the pack of diapers and their copy of the hospital Adoption forms. Yikes. She felt even more dazed and confused than him, but the pacifier gag kept her from commiserating with him. So Piper just opted for half hearted pats on his shoulder with her free hand that wasn’t propping herself up from his chest. He paused in the hallway when he made it between the doors to their respective apartments. “You should … stay with me tonight. I think.” The pack of diapers and papers were discarded on the floor, freeing his hand to jingle through the key ring until he found the one for his apartment. This was the first time since returning from his failed date that he had opened his apartment door. Guess he ended up bringing a girl back to his apartment after all. Piper let out a muffled giggle at that thought. “What could you possibly find funny about this?” Steven asked. She didn’t answer. Half because there was no way for her to mumble past the inflated gag, and half because this was the first time she had gotten more than a brief look from the hallway at Steven’s apartment. It was the mirror of hers, but where her furniture and knick-knacks were mismatched pieces she had found through thrifting, his apartment had some more thought put into the decorations. A brown leather couch, a matching recliner, a dining table that was half cleared and half covered in mail. The walls were the same off white beige as Piper’s apartment, but the pictures were hung at Amazon height and featured Steven and, Piper assumed, his mother and some other family members. Piper’s frames were filled with art, no pictures of family hung on her walls. Huh, so this is what it looks like when you don’t have to worry about being too lazy to get the step stool out to hang things on the wall. It was at the dining table where he sat her down, taking a seat himself. His shoulders slumped. “There’s nothing funny about this. I shouldn’t have signed those papers,” his hands found his face and rubbed his eyes beneath his glasses. “I’m not ready to be a Daddy yet.” You can start by taking his pacifier gag out. God my jaw hurts. “Why did you start filling out those forms?” Steven looked at her expectantly. He stared as he waited for her response. The only one she could give him was motioning towards the shield of her pacifier gag. “Shit!” The button on her gag was pressed, the bulb deflated, and finally Piper could feel the blood flow back into her jaw. “Yuh knoh” she said as she massaged her cheeks and jaw, “that yuh left thuh fowms in thuh hullway, wight?” She wasn’t going to give him the answer until her jaw could feel again and not until she had those forms in front of them both. He’s wigging worse than me. He needs to realize that he’s in it now. She wiggled around in her seat, trying to find a comfy position. A crinkle sounded with each wiggle, and she finally decided that crossing her legs was the optimum position in the Amazon-sized wooden chair. “Here,” the papers were unceremoniously deposited onto the table top. “Umm…” he looked around trying to figure out where to set the pack of diapers “I guess these can go here for now.” He awkwardly deposited the diapers on the table as well, looking as uncomfortable with them as if he had been the one relegated to the life of having to piss in them every day. “Now, why did you fill out those forms with my information?” Because you didn’t listen to me. But you’re gonna listen now. “Because you didn’t listen to me when I said that I didn’t want to go to the Urgent Care.” She didn’t look at him, just grabbed the papers and started flipping through them, landing on the one that explained the Willowsford Little Adoption program. Six to eight weeks for a date to be in front of a judge to make this final, hmm. Alright, that’s a workable timeline. “I- what? I didn’t listen to you?” “No,” she flipped the page and read through all of the legalese. Law word law word healthy and safe environment law term law term found to be a competent caregiver. “You didn’t listen to me.” The Little is found to be thriving buh buh buh can’t be hypnotized. Very good for me. “I was just supposed to let you be in pain for an easily treated infection?” His knee was bouncing up and down rapidly. “You’re a person who needed help, how could I just not help you?” Her eyes rolled before she gave him her response. She was tired, humiliated, and no longer felt her Amazon filter in place. “Yes, Steven. I did need help. But to you, I’m a person. To everyone else tonight I was a Little in wet pants and you were the lucky Amazon who caught me.” She had never let herself be this blunt with him before. Her usual routine of dancing around his inquiries and finding the quickest way out of conversations wouldn’t serve her purposes now. “If you had listened to me I would just be running a late load of laundry and you could be here, alone, planning your morning phone call with your mommy. But you didn’t listen. So congratulations, I’m your consequence.” Huh, if the Amazon is found to be unfit to be a caregiver for the Little or surrenders custody then they will go in a database and be unable to Adopt again. Interesting, Steven’s dates wouldn’t last to the first Mom phone call if he was on this list. His arms crossed, her words had never been as blunt before. “Consequence? I was just being a good friend, Piper. You’ve always been a good friend to me.” Oof, he thinks that was friendship? More like an uneasy hostage situation every time he wanted to come over and talk. “No, you weren’t being a good friend. We never were friends, because you’re an Amazon.” The forms made a plop sound as they hit the table. She needed to make eye contact with him to get him to understand. “I wanted to handle my UTI myself, but you’re an Amazon. I was going to run back into the building after the cop left, but you ratted out where I lived and gave him my name, because you’re an Amazon. You sat there while I tricked you into giving me information to fill out the forms, because you’re Steven.” “Wait, what do you mean ‘we never were friends’?” Her words had cut him deep, he seemed to physically sag into the wooden dining chair across from her. Then, mostly to himself, he said “I thought we were pretty close.” Ok Piper, pull slightly back on the venom. “Look, Steven. I’m flattered that before tonight you thought of me as a friend. But to be honest, I kept you at arms length.” She sighed when his dour look didn’t go away. “No Little lets themselves get close to Amazons. Because they usually end up looking like this.” She pulled the fabric of the onesie forward that was embroidered with the words Baby Girl forward. “Obviously, I didn’t keep you far away enough.” “I just…” He paused, searching around his apartment like he was going to find the words he wanted to say, or holding back tears. “Even though it’s obvious that you’ve started regressing, or have whatever medical condition the nurse mentioned, I still don’t see why you had to fill those forms out with my information. ” “Of course you failed to see it!” She almost shouted. “Steven, I’ve spent nine years on my own navigating Amazons! Pretending to be the model adult Little citizen! Not staying out late after dark and not standing too close to my dates on the street! But when you placed me in front of that cop and those nurses the only way it was going to end was me crinkling with every movement. You’re the loser who ruined that for me!” “You think I’m -” he made an impression of a fish gasping for air, “a loser?” Was he not aware? I thought Amazon’s were only this blind to their Little parenting skills. She hadn’t thought her opinions would shock him this much, especially now that he was agreeing on some level that she was regressing back to infancy. But her words still held weight with him, and that was more than other Littles in her position weren’t usually afforded. Fuck it, we both got to rip this band aid off. “Everyone does, Steven. I mean, you take calls from your mother when you’re at the movies. You think a Little is your friend, and rent from a Tweener. Amongst Amazons and Littles, you are a loser, and that’s why every girlfriend you’ve ever had has broken up with you. Sorry that it took Adopting me for you to find out.” And not a lot of other Amazons would be letting any Little, Adopted or not, talk to them like this, Steven. “I can’t do this.” Steven stood up and started pacing. “The nurse said you were experiencing a loss of maturity, and that’s obvious by the way you’re talking. That by filling out the forms that you were looking for a ‘Dada’. But I can’t be a Daddy. I can’t do this, you need someone who isn’t me. You need someone ready to take care of a Little.” His hands were running through his dark auburn hair, pulling at his scalp. “First thing tomorrow I’m surrendering you. I shouldn’t have finished those forms. Why did I let that nurse talk me into finishing those forms?” “Because she was hot!” Piper quipped with a wry grin. The panicking Amazon stopped his pacing for a moment to stare at her. Having a precocious and cute Little girl is an excuse enough for women to come up and talk to him. I think he can be coached. “That isn’t funny, Piper! This isn’t funny! I shouldn’t have signed those forms!” He continued pacing around the room. “Steven, please sit back down and take some deep breaths. You’re panicking like you were the one Adopted and placed in this stupid baby girl onesie.” I didn’t even wear this frilly stuff my first time in diapers. “This is serious! Shouldn’t you be panicking? Begging for panties or planning an escape or something?” “No, I mean - “ Piper sighed, she had always had a better grip on her emotions than most other Littles. “Yes, on the inside I am, but panicking outwardly isn’t going to help you or I.” She took a deep breath. I’ll think about it tomorrow. Sending him into a panic spiral where he was making plans to surrender her hadn’t been her goal and she had to reign him back in. “As for panties,” she picked the forms back up, “see your signature here? You consented to my treatment, and the medicine . . . well. If I was an Amazon I would be able to have panties back. But the dose they used on me sort of…made me numb to feeling my bladder urges.” I’m stuck pissing myself whether I like it or not. “I consented to that?” He grabbed the papers to read the exact line she had pointed to. Squinting as he tried to see how they meant that he gave the Urgent Care permission to make her bladder incontinent. “They never explained that to me…” “The nurses were going to see to it that I ended up in diapers whether you signed those forms or not. You took me to that Urgent Care, I just needed to make sure I walked out with you.” It was time to start her pitch. Steven, the loser who saw Littles as capable people but would let a pretty nurse talk sweet talk him into Adopting one, was still the Amazon she wanted in her corner. “Because yes, you didn’t listen to me, and yes, you are a loser. But you’re who I need to be with so I can keep being myself. If you hadn’t finished those forms, or if you surrender me tomorrow, I’m just going to end up either in an orphanage or with an Amazon who’ll just put headphones on me and blast me with hypnosis until I’m their vision of a perfect Little baby girl.” “Piper, come on, hypnosis is illegal. No one is going to do that. You’d be safer with someone who knows what they’re doing.” She rolled her eyes as he made that statement. Hypnosis was, technically, illegal where they lived. But hard to prove in the court system. Any Adopted Little who found themselves being conditioned to squat upon first urge was usually never in the position to be considered a credible witness to what they’ve endured, because obviously they had just lost their maturity. Any free Little who could vouch for how someone was before Adoption would find themselves sat in front of the same video. In practice, the law only really functioned as a tool for Amazons to tell Littles their fears were just hysterics. “Be serious, you know as well as I do that hypnosis is still used. Do you want to risk me ending up with an Amazon who thinks they can get away with it and I stop being me?” “No, I don’t. But,” he sat back down and slumped his shoulders, “Piper, I can’t be a Daddy. I don’t know how to do this.” “But you can’t surrender me. Look here.” She flipped the papers over to the Adoption program pages and pointed to what he needed to read. “If you surrender me you’ll never be able to Adopt again. You’ll be on a list of Amazons deemed unable to care for Littles.” “So? I can’t care for a Little who’s regressing back to infancy. That list is what I should be on.” “No, because you know how you have romance problems now? Do you know how worse you’ll have it when the person you’re dating hears you’re on a list?” “Fuck,” he ran his hands through his hair again, “I mean. I could just date Tweeners?” The way he spoke that question let Piper know he wasn’t convinced that Tweeners were the solution. I think I can sell him on this. “There’s no need to accept being on that list for the rest of your life. We can make this work. Look,” she motioned for him to turn the page, “they have a guide on how to be a good Daddy and what the LPS agent will be looking for! It’s like an open notes test!” He flipped over to the page and read over the list. “I just, I don’t know. This is all so sudden, I hadn’t planned on becoming a Daddy right now.” Yeah, and I hadn’t planned on pissing in a diaper for the rest of my life but life likes to throw punches when you least expect them. Ya gotta roll with them. “And the money.” He stared at the ceiling, lost in mental math. “Work pays well, and I have some savings, but I was planning on buying a house in two years.” Piper motioned for him to give her back the forms, mostly as a way to not get distracted by asking him what he did for work again. “All the answers are here again, Steven. Look, you, or rather me,” she flashed him a cheeky grin, “opted to not legally declare me dead. All of my stuff is now yours. Including all of my savings.” The forms were in his hands again as he read over the legalese. “And how much is that?” “Oh, enough to cover the costs of getting us all the latest in recommended Little gear.” She hoped that would be a good answer for him but he shot her a look over his glasses at her. “Well, remote web design paid well enough, and I never really had a reason to travel, or spend it on anything big like a car. So, after paying off school, and keeping up with rent and utilities, I have about twenty thousand.” “Wow,” Steven blinked a couple times as he took in that number, “Yeah, that would be enough to cover getting everything you need.” He sounded almost convinced. Almost. Alright, time to seal this. “Steven, if you promise not to drop me off at an orphanage tomorrow, then I will promise to help you learn how to be a Daddy, and I will also help you get better at dating.” “Hahaha,” he laughed. Chuckling for a bit before he gathered himself. “How are you going to help me with dating?” “Come on, Steven.” They had lived next to each other for some time. For as often as he got home from failed dates, she had brought over several girlfriends. Of course, they had never been happy to hear she lived next to an Amazon. But that worry usually dissipated once they had seen Steven was exactly the way Piper described him. “I know what women want. Also, by being a Daddy your stock has gone up! Women love commitment!” “Oh, yeah. Sorry I guess you would understand women.” He leaned back and started cleaning his glasses on his shirt, his face pensive as he considered her solution to their troubles. Well, at least my second time around with a dad the lesbian thing won’t be an issue. “Alright, Piper. You have yourself a deal.” Steven said, then a goofy grin spread across. “Or, I guess I should say you have yourself a ‘Dada’” He laughed at his own joke, only stopping when he saw Piper’s frown. “Oh, deal, you have yourself a deal.” “Great! You’re not going to regret this! I -” Piper tried to stifle it but she couldn’t hold back a yawn. “Oh gosh,” Steven tapped the screen on his phone to wake it up, “It’s almost one in the morning. We should get you to bed.” Piper nodded and covered her mouth as she let out another yawn. “See, you’re doing such a great job already.” She found herself being placed on his hip again, a faint squish and crinkle of her diaper made her aware of the slight dampness against her crotch. “I don’t have a guest bed in the spare room, but I think the couch will do for now.” Steven pointed down to the pink pacifier that was resting on the table. “Do you want that back?” “Absolutely not!”

Chapter 157: Powerless It is my personal and professional opinion, as a Little, that Littles are naturally adept at surfing. I’ve never been on a surfboard in my life, I hate saltwater, and I am a mediocre swimmer at best. But I think I would be an excellent surfer. Surfing involves limited choice, luck, lack of agency, balance, and a degree of stubbornness and willingness to do something completely impractical. You don’t create tasty waves, you have to find them. You don’t command the surf, you just have to let the wave take you. You do not control the ocean, you can only hope to control your responses to the onslaught of saltwater it hurls at you. And if you do it right, you can look really, really, cool for a couple of minutes. Also, swim diapers and water wings don’t impair you nearly as much as you’d think when compared to swimming. The one bad part about surfing- if my limited knowledge garnered mostly from television and movies is to be believed- is that the places with the best waves are often home to the biggest sharks. It was that Friday, end of the first week after returning from Winter Break. Report cards and progress reports were going home. Little did we suspect that the students weren’t the only ones being monitored and reported on. “Thank you for agreeing to meet with me,” Brollish said, taking her seat at her desk. “Please close the door.” “Of course,” Janet said, balancing me on her hip. It’s not like she had a choice. The school day had just ended and Beouf had handed me over to my Mommy for a quick hug at the bus loop when the old witch materialized out of nowhere and asked to see us. Both of us. Uh oh. What had I done now? I searched my memory, but outside of calling Winters and Sosa out on their bullshit the other day, I had genuinely tried to be good; or at least not actively bad. But Winters and Sosa wouldn’t go to Brollish, would they? Skinner, maybe, but I always had the feeling that the odd couple followed a kind of code where tattling to the Principal would be seen as giving up, (and both giantesses were particularly stubborn). Had I been particularly difficult with Skinner this week? Had I even had Speech this week? Fuck. What did I do? Beouf offered to join us as a union representative as soon as the buses were loaded, but Janet declined. I was too caught off guard to try and change anybody’s mind. It certainly didn’t make me feel any better when the old banshee smiled and said, “I’ve already sent you an email about it.” The most unsettling part was that this time the smile actually reached her eyes. Janet closed the office door and took a seat. I squished on her lap for only a millisecond when she said, “Whoops! Almost forgot. Mrs. B doesn’t usually change you until after the buses leave.” She stood me up on her lap and lifted the hot pink sweater I’d been wearing all day up past my belly button so that she could pull back the waistband of my diaper. The day was actually cold, the Wreck Room’s cleaning bot had destroyed my fleecy romper and all of the spare clothes were meant for warmer weather. The only thing available in the front office Lost and Found was a sweater meant for an Amazon child. I had to roll the sleeves up, but otherwise, it was a very warm smock dress on me. Honestly? Not my thing, but I think I kind of pulled it off. I could have thrown a tantrum, but my diaper was completely obscured without so much of an outline peeking through, it didn’t constrict so I was still able to run around on the playground, I was warm and didn’t need a blanket for nap time, and when Billy tried to taunt me for wearing a dress he was left completely flabbergasted when I just nodded and said “Yes. And?”. Like I said, I think I’d be pretty awesome at surfing. Good times. “That’s fine,” the demon purred. “This won’t take long.” It was a Friday afternoon, and Brollish was likely eager to start her weekend routine of prowling cancer wards for bone marrow. Or maybe not. She might have been on a diet. Janet didn’t let that stop her from checking me. “You’re soggy,” she told me as if I didn’t know, “but not stinky. We can wait a while.” She pulled the borrowed sweater back down to my shins and sat me back on her lap. I had the feeling Janet was playing her own game here; showing how unconcerned she was. That or she was afraid and going into a kind of autopilot to feel in control. What was a private and unscheduled meeting with one’s boss if not the adult emotional equivalent of a sudden unsolicited diaper check? “So what’s up?” She asked the mummified eater of children’s foreskins and purveyor of misery. Brollish folded her hands on her desk and sat up a little bit straighter. “Ms. Grange,” she said. “I’ve decided to put you on a Professional Improvement Plan to help you improve your pedagogy.” All of the oxygen fled the room. I felt Janet’s grip on me go slack even as her heart quickened and thundered in the worst, most horrible way. For context, a Professional Improvement Plan is a fancy way of documenting complaints and professional failings of a given teacher. In a way, it’s a bit like how I.E.P.s are used for Littles. It’s supposedly a way to measure someone’s development and meet their needs; but really it’s just creating a paper trail to prove that they deserve to be treated poorly. The school district insisted that Professional Improvement Plans were meant to aid struggling teachers through analysis and recommendations regarding best practices, but in ten years I’d never seen or heard of a teacher getting anything but fired for not meeting their plan. Brollish was calling my Mommy a bad teacher, and was initiating steps to fire her; steps that could be very difficult for even union contracts to work around or prevent. “Excuse me?” Janet finally found her voice. “I haven’t even had a formal evaluation yet. And last year’s test scores were above average.” Janet did not raise her voice, but Brollish still held one hand out in a defensive posture as if to tell my Mommy to calm down. “And those will be taken into consideration, too,” the gaslighting old crone pretended to assure us. “And I know that you weren’t satisfied with your evaluation last year. That’s one of the reasons why we’re doing this plan together. That way maybe you can get a better one this year.” My whole body started to burn. I didn’t need the oversized sweater to keep warm anymore. If Brollish had thrown in talks about maturity or Maturosis or diapers she’d be talking to Janet like she was a Little. I heard Janet’s teeth grinding in her skull. “May I ask what specifically is leading you to starting this plan?” She was maintaining her composure but there was no hiding the edge of defensiveness in her voice. “It’s just that if I was in need of help that badly I thought I would have heard about something earlier; not halfway through the school year. It’s just…” she finished the sentence with “...confusing.” but I knew in my heart of hearts that she really meant ‘suspicious’. Brollish unfolded her hands and opened a drawer. Uh oh. That was never good. On her desk she placed a spreadsheet on her desk and slid it over to Janet. “This is a printout of your students’ grades this year for the last two report cards. Pay particular attention to their language arts and math scores.” Janet took the paper and scanned it. I looked up and saw her brow furrowing as though she were deciphering some ancient and unknowable text. Her eyes flitted from left to right the way you do when you’re trying to puzzle out the differences between two pictures. “They…went up.” She sounded perturbed, sensing the trap but not certain where it was coming from. Me too. “Correct,” Brollish agreed. “But their Science and Social Studies grades stayed mostly the same.” “Okay. And…?” Janet shuddered and corrected herself. “I’m not sure where you’re going with this ma’am. My students are improving.” Brollish returned her hands to their folded position on her desk. She was a cobra swaying at her food, mesmerising it, playing perhaps, before she struck. “Yes, and that’s odd, don’t you think?” She stopped just long enough to let the insult land but not long enough to give Janet time to reply. “We both know that the leap from second to third grade math is a much bigger leap than first to second. If they’re not getting the basics at the beginning, how likely is it that they’re keeping up with more complex operations?” I squeezed Janet’s hand, warning her to hold her temper. I needn’t have though. “I agree,” Janet replied. “This group was very difficult initially. That’s why I remediated them until I saw improvement. Don’t you think their overall improvement is a sign that the remediation was effective?” The haggard bitch did not smile, but her eyes twinkled; a cat playing with her mouse. “Ordinarily, yes,” she said. She opened the drawer behind her again and took out a whole stack of papers. They were black and white with an unnatural grayish hue. They were printer copies, likely from the mailroom printer just down the hall. “Take a look at these, please.” Janet took the stack and started riffling through them, handing each one to me in her laps as she went on to the next. It took me a moment to figure out what I was looking at, but when it clicked my face sagged more than my Monkeez. These were all copies of student papers. Spelling tests and math worksheets mostly. Every one had been graded and scored in smudgy crayon that resembled chalk or charcoal thanks to the grayscale glaze from the copier. Except down in the corner, or on the back, circled in bright red pen were my initials. “C.G.” Oh no! I’d been caught! Brollish had come into Janet’s classroom after hours and noticed the cocky little signature I put on all of my papers! After Ambrose had been fired and Forrest driven off she’d been looking for a way to get back at us and had finally found it. All of my tampering and tantruming had finally blown up in my face! Worse, it was blowing up in Janet’s! I’d taken out my frustrations on a bunch of kids and now my Mommy was paying the price for it! Except something was off… I looked at the scores I’d written on the papers: 98, 95, 99, 100, 100, 97, 95, 100, and so on. These were all really good. I’d graded these fairly! I double checked the dates (where the kids could be bothered to write it), and realized that these were all fairly recent. The space between Unification and Solstice. Not even a month! I hadn’t tampered with any of these! “What’s the problem?” Janet asked, just as confused as I was. “You let your Little boy grade papers?” It was a question that sounded like an accusation. Janet’s arms wrapped protectively around me. “He helps me for fun. I always go back and double check his work. Those scores are accurate.” “Nevertheless it implies a level of…” I swear I was ready for a forked tongue to flicker out of her mouth “...irresponsibility on your part. There are testing items that are considered secure materials and can’t fall into the hands of children.” “Mrs. Brollish,” Janet said, measuring her words carefully. “I don’t think worksheets and notebook paper are the same things as federally mandated testing materials. Clark would never even see any secure materials. I never bring them home and keep them locked away at all times.” “I know,” Brollish flashed a hollow smile. “I checked. But I just wanted to make sure that you understood that that would not be acceptable. Hence why we’re making this improvement-” “Bullshit!” I scoffed. The fucking nerve of this decrepit old witch to equate me grading homework and spelling tests to me stealing official test papers. And then when she couldn’t find any evidence to support that offense she decided to pre-emptively punish Janet because she might hypothetically fuck up. I was shaking my head and preparing myself to stand up and give her a piece of my mind. It’s not like her wrinkly old ass could fire me. “That’s just so fuckin typical-!” “Clark! Gibson! Grange!” Janet barked at me. My blood ran cold. “Language, mister! Now hush. Grown-ups are talking.” My blood ran cold. My knees and elbows locked. My lips locked shut but my jaw still stretched as far as they would allow, and my tongue retreated to the gumline of my bottom teeth. My eyes refused to shut and my nostrils flared with an inhale so sharp it burned the insides of my nose. My heart beat into hummingbird speed. My arms, knees, and elbows locked up. My biceps tensed, my shoulders lurched forward while my head reeled back. What kind of mindfuckery was this?! “Sorry, Mommy,” I whimpered. She gave me a kiss and popped a pacifier into my mouth and I instantly started to feel better. Had something happened over Solstice and some kind of trigger phrase had been implanted in me? Or more likely, I was so broken and entangled in Janet that hearing her shout all three of my names with such angry disappointment shocked me into regret and submission. Janet petted my hair. She softly cooed, “I forgive you, baby,” and that made me feel better too. I was powerless. Brollish versus Janet wasn’t a fight I could directly help in. If I tried to thrash against the wave, I’d drown or get eaten by a shark. Best to let the wave carry me and surf it out. My outraged thoughts from before magically transmitted themselves through Janet’s infinitely more diplomatic filter. “I still don’t understand why I need an improvement plan,” she replied to Brollish. “That’s like giving me a traffic ticket because I might speed.” “Be that as it may,” Brollish droned, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her mouth. “I think there’s evidence to suggest that Clark has been tampering with your students’ grades, and that’s a concern with regards to professional conduct, grading integrity, and testing security.” “I already told you,” Janet said, a bit of growling ire starting to flash through from the back of her throat, “I check his work. Those grades are accurate.” I bit my tongue and waited for another set of papers, much older than the last to appear on the desk next. As improbable as it might be, it wouldn’t surprise me for Brollish to have called Janet’s entire student roster and asked their parents to supply her with any and all graded papers that they hadn’t thrown out. If she’d still had Forrest to kick around, she might have raided their trash cans, but the new Tweener receptionist had quickly developed a reputation for weaponized incompetence regarding anything that wasn’t strictly in her job description. Brollish didn’t need them, however. “Do you see how some of the answers seem…altered to you?” Every paper had at least one other circle in red ink highlighting a supposed discrepancy. “Like they’re not in someone else’s handwriting?” I sucked on my pacifier so hard in surprise it’s a wonder I didn’t swallow it. I was being accused of cheating to help Janet’s students?! Janet squinted at the paper with me. My handwriting wasn’t the best to begin with. The unwieldy and uneven crayons took it down a notch in legibility. The off and faded nature of the copy took it down another half notch. Throw in the smudges, scribbles, and crossouts from a bunch of 9 year olds trying to correct a mistake and an argument could be made that it looked like I’d done more than just mark an answer right or wrong. Add to that my habit of giving correct responses next to the ones I marked wrong and the argument that I skipped a step or forgot to make a distinction got stronger. “You think my baby is cheating?” Janet’s tone took on an almost amused tone. “Not on purpose, no.” Brollish smirked. “Clark has always been fond of children. He was like a younger brother to them and they always wanted to do well for him to make him happy.” Janet’s arms constricted more tightly around me, rightly anticipating my desire to thrash. Brollish tapped her fingernail on the spreadsheet she’d brought out. “I think your clever Little boy saw that Mommy was struggling and mistakenly decided that he’d help by boosting her student’s grades behind her back.” Mommy gasped in disbelief. Brollish’s words had slapped her in the face. Both of us had been in a way. She’d been accused of being an ineffective teacher who carelessly let her materials be doctored by her perma-toddler, and I was being accused of doing essentially the exact thing that I’d actually done but in a completely fabricated context and instance! “Clark’s not even in third gra-...” Janet stammered and tried to correct herself. “He’s still in dia…” Again she faltered. It was hard to argue that I was too incompetent to cheat while still justifying letting me grade papers. “He’d never do a thing like that, and I monitor his materials. He only uses crayons.” “Are you sure?” Brollish asked in a way that wasn’t asking. “He’s been very crafty before.” Phantom whiffs of weaponized cinnamon flooded my synapses. “But…there’s no…evidence…” I felt her sigh and slump over me. She was finally beginning to realize that evidence wasn’t needed to convict her. Contracts and unions provided protection, but at the end of the day the boss’s perception mattered more than anything else. Maybe that’s why I’d lasted as long as I had as a teacher; it wasn’t that different from any other aspect of my life. The monster in a pantsuit forced a bit of fake compassion into her voice. It was the difference between talking to an employee and talking to a parent. “I think Clark is very clever, and even though his Maturosis is certainly affecting his overall capabilities, I suspect third grade math and reading are still well within his grasp. When my daughter was three she memorized a song that had all the countries and their capitals. Little ones can still be very good at rote memorization, can’t they?” She chuckled- a hollow thing that sounded more like a frog’s croak after swallowing a juicy fly- and said, “They love all their facts at that level of development, don’t they?” The preposterous nature of her comment felt like a couple of rusty screws being drilled into my temples. Janet couldn’t bring herself to say that I was both incompetent and capable in the same breath. Brollish had no problem arguing that the third grade curriculum was too hard for a bunch of nine year olds to rapidly improve on and yet at the same time me cheating was chalked up to a more advanced version of children memorizing a trivia song. Caring about hypocrisy requires a soul, I suppose. Typical. Goddamn fucking mother fucking sonofabitch twat waffle asshat donkey dildo dunking typical! “I just don’t want you to get a nasty surprise in a few months if their test scores don’t reflect their grades in your class.” Brollish was sitting back in her chair, now. Content at having dealt a crippling blow. “If this was objectionable,” Janet tried, “Why didn’t you inform me of this sooner?” Brollish rolled her head around slightly, casually stretching her stiff neck, unconcerned. “I wanted to see if you’d submit the grades as written and let it affect their report cards or not.” She looked at me point blank and condescendingly said, “I don’t have a problem if you give your Little boy scrap paper to scribble on. I just don’t want it interfering with student achievement. You understand.” There was a long, drawn out pause while the two giantesses quietly stared at each other across the heavy oak desk between them. “What would you like me to do?” The gargoyle steepled her fingers together. I guess she missed her perch and was feeling homesick. “I want you to emphasize material and academic security from here on out, Ms. Grange. I suggest you keep all your student papers from here on out on campus and only grade them here.” A beat as her eyes flicked over to me. “That way we can protect Clark and put him above suspicion.” “I believe that that goes against my contract and I would like union representation at this time.” Janet said; a soldier spouting out her name rank and serial number to an enemy interrogator. Brollish closed her eyes and held her hands up slightly in a gesture of mock surrender. “Please don’t misunderstand. I’ve already informed your union representative of this course of action. You don’t have to keep your student work here, that was only a suggestion. But I do think it would be prudent if you found your child something else to do to bide his time while Mommy grades the papers.” I hooked under Janet’s arms and squeezed them harder than I would have even tried with Lion. This petty bitch of a witch was literally trying to take away one of the few somewhat adult scraps that I had left just because she didn’t have any other way to hurt me. But talking wasn’t my play here. I kept riding the wave. “That can be done,” Janet agreed. “What else?” Because there had to be more. The documentation required for something like a Professional Improvement Plan had to be predicated on a positive and not the absence of a negative. If this was just a matter of not letting me play teacher’s helper anymore, she’d just write Janet up with a warning, document it, and be done. The fake parent friendly persona melted away entirely, leaving only the reptilian countenance of a machine-like administrator. “I’m going to be auditing all your lesson plans this reporting period. I want you to include extra remediation for your students in reading and math, just in case things aren’t going as smoothly as they seem.” “I’ve got to cover new stuff, too,” Janet said, “Where do I find the time in the day?” “You’ll manage something,” Brollish droned and I swore I heard a snake’s rattle chitter in the background. “Get creative. Incorporate it into your Science and Social Studies lessons. Perhaps make it a part of Recess.” “I see.” Janet said. Her voice becoming decidedly brisk. “Any questions?” “Do I need to include those in my plans for this week?” Janet asked. Another pseudo laugh hopped out of Brollish’s throat. “Of course not. This arrangement isn’t retroactive. I wouldn’t want to falsify documentation.” The Principal without principles produced a final sheet of paper and slid it across the desk, rattling off her words like the disclaimer on a pharmaceutical ad. “This is documentation saying that we had this meeting and that we have initiated putting you on a Professional Improvement Plan. It is not an admission of guilt or that you are accepting this as an evaluation, it is just acknowledging that you were here and we had this talk together. As you can see, the listed criteria does not include keeping student assignments on campus at all times.” She paused and looked Janet directly in the eye. Much more slowly, she said, “You’ll also notice that maturity monitoring isn’t recommended…” Translation: ‘I’m not making you wear diapers to work…yet.” Janet leaned over me and sighed with defeat. She put her signature and rose up from the chair, shifting me back onto her hip. “Thank you for your time,” Brollish said. “Have a good weekend. I’ll make sure there’s a copy of this in your mailbox come Monday. Please make sure to email me your lesson plans by then.” ****************************************************************************************************** Not five minutes later, Janet was ranting to Beouf in her classroom. She was pacing around like a caged animal. I was sitting at Beouf’s activity table, feeling awful and trying not to wail. My bottle of coffee lay untouched. My remained unchanged and I dared not bring it up. Again, I had rebelled and someone I loved was paying the price for it. For every bit of responsibility that I’d been freed of an equal amount had been foisted onto my caregivers. I had caused this. This was my fault. If I hadn’t graded the papers in the first place, Janet wouldn’t be in this position. All I ever seemed to do was give bad people ammunition and cause to hurt good people. I didn’t deserve a clean diaper. Beouf was standing with her hands on her hips. “I’m sorry, Janet, but I tried to warn you.” “I know!” Janet was so stressed out that she let her hair all the way down, letting her raven locks shake out down past her shoulders. She was a horse chomping at the bit looking to jump the fence. “But it still pisses me off!” “I know,” Beouf said, her voice quiet and calming. “Brollish is being a bitch. It’s not fair.” She took a deep breath. “If it makes you feel any better you can probably appeal it, even if it will take time. The test security thing is pretty flimsy and there’s no solid documentation or evidence that will stick. She’s doing this to rattle your chain.” “Yeah…” Janet growled, “Well it’s fffffff….working!” She stopped pacing and composed herself. “My kids worked really hard to learn that material and now she’s having me cram it into my day again like they failed!” “It’s not like you have to actually teach to your lesson plan,” Beouf reminded her. “Unless she’s watching, you just have to write down that you did it. She gave you extra paperwork. That’s it.” “That’s not the point!” Janet stomped her foot. “She did it because she doesn’t want Clark helping me out. She doesn’t want him to be able to do anything teacher-like. If it were any other kid, this wouldn’t be an issue! I know Mrs. Springfield has a couple of middle schoolers that help her out from time to time! Where’s her plan?!” Her rant built up to a crescendo. “But she’s not coming after Springfield, she’s coming after me and my kid!” “Okay, okay.” Beouf whispered like she was trying to calm down a classmate on the verge of a tantrum. “You’re right. You’re right. Just try to keep it down. We don’t know who is around and who might be listening…” She sniffled and rubbed unformed tears out of her eyes. “I know he’s not perfect, but he shouldn’t get in trouble for something he didn’t do,” she squeaked. The guilt got to be too much. My heart broke. “Mommy,” I said. “Janet,” I corrected myself. I wasn’t trying to manipulate her. She deserved to be angry at me. But it didn’t feel right, saying her name like we were equals after I’d fucked so much up. “Mommy, I have a confession.” Janet straightened up and strode over to me. She took a knee beside me, her presence oppressive and smothering. “What’s wrong, baby?” Oh how I wish she’d stayed on the other side of the classroom. It would’ve made this so much easier if there were just a few meters of distance between us. “Your students didn’t need the remediation this first quarter. I was fucking with their papers!” I heard Beouf gasp as I took a breath to steady myself. “I’m sorry! I was angry and it was wrong and they didn’t do anything to deserve that!” “Clark!” Beouf said. “I’m ashamed-!” “Hold on, Mel.” Janet interrupted. Beouf covered her mouth and took a deliberate step back. Janet repositioned herself and turned me in my chair so that she was still kneeling but now we were facing across from one another instead of beside each other. “Tell me the truth, Clark. Did you change those grades?” My face spasmed as I fought myself to keep from screaming in humiliation and indignity. “Not those papers!” I promised. “I stopped doing it! I didn’t want to hurt a bunch of kids just to get to you!” I stopped and held my breath for a second so I didn’t choke on my words. “And I don’t want to get to you anymore, Mommy. I’m sorry!” I slammed my eyes shut, but I still heard Janet ask me, “What should the consequences for this be?” Trapped in my own personal darkness I whimpered. “I dunno. Whatever you feel is appropriate. Don’t let me grade papers. Take away my tablet. Put the mittens back on. Add in some booties. Remove my teeth like Helena did to Amy.” “Did to Amy…?” Beouf echoed in clear and obvious confusion. I felt Mommy’s hand lift up my chin. “Open your eyes,” she said softly. I obeyed and I saw her looking at me, her smile sad, but present. “Hey. C’mere.” She opened her arms and I spilled myself out of the chair and into her arms. “You did a bad thing but you stopped doing it without anyone forcing you to,” she whispered soothingly to me, gently rubbing my back. “And you owned up to it even though you wouldn’t have been caught. That’s a very Grown-Up thing to do. I don’t think you need a punishment or a change in routine this time. I’m very proud of you.” Beouf had gotten over her outrage by the time Janet was picking me up and rocking me in her arms. “If Clark marked those papers fairly, that means Brollish thinks she made it all up. This is that essay crap all over again.” “Tell me about it,” Janet said. “But what can we do?” “Same thing we did last time,” Beouf shrugged resignedly. “Be better than perfect. For about two months.” “Guess so,” Janet echoed Beouf’s resignation. Sometimes even Amazons are powerless. She adjusted me on her hip again and then gasped in realization. “Ooops! I forgot to change you!” ************************************************************************************************** “Come here Clark,” Janet called for me after dinner that night. “I want to show you something.” I toddled back into the kitchen, the comfort and relaxation of the play mat abandoned out of guilt and a desire to self flagellate. Forgiven or not, relevant or not, I still felt guilty as anything and translated that into being overeager to please Janet. The kitchen table had been cleared off of dishes and placemats. On top of it a stack of student papers remained. It was our usual setup for grading papers. “Mommy?” Janet picked me up and plopped me into my highchair. She clicked the tray into place and handed me a blank piece of paper and a green crayon. “This is your answer key.” She told me. “It’s blank.” I said, dumbly. She took a child’s spelling test and placed it next to the blank paper. “You’re going to make it for me by writing all the spelling words correctly onto your paper. Then you’re going to scan every answer and tell me which ones to mark for correction.” “You’re having me grade papers but with extra steps,” I frowned. “Pretty much,” she smiled. “You can help me grade as long as there’s no proof.” “Buuuuut isn’t that just making more work for you?” Janet reached out and brushed a bit of my hair off my forehead. “Yeah, but I like it. It’s a special way for us to bond and play together. I get to spend time with you, y’know.” My face warmed as if I’d just taken a shot of whiskey and Mommy’s milk. “Yeah. I do.” Her eyes shifted around conspiratorially and she leaned in to whisper, “And I’m not letting that self-righteous bitch, Karen Brollish, tell me what I can and can’t do with my own damn kid in my own damn home.” We laughed together, long and loud. We were powerless but as ever, there were degrees of rebellion in powerlessness. Waves to be caught and surfed. Sharks to be punched in the nose. Papers to be graded in acts of quiet spite just so we could feel like we’d accomplished something. “Can I get out of this stupid sweater first?” I asked. “I was wondering when you were gonna ask,” she snickered.

At camp, Sally learns that testimony is never just a story—it is context, confession, and the courage to let others see the parts still hurting. After sharing the beautiful beginning of her faith, she tries to leave the darker chapters untouched, but a nightmare drags the hidden reality into the open: trauma, weakness, humiliation, and the wounds that still have not fully healed. Yet what could have become shame becomes grace. Surrounded by silence that protects, friendship that stays, and kindness that refuses to flinch, Sally discovers that being known is not the same as being exposed—and that sometimes the context we fear most is the very place where God shows us we are not alone. Chapter 182 – Context Matters Camp routine settled faster than Sally expected. It didn’t happen all at once. There was no dramatic moment where she suddenly thought, I belong here now. It happened quietly, in the ordinary repetition of things. The morning bell. Cabin devotionals. Breakfast trays. Bible study. Group discussions. Afternoon games. Evening worship. Showers. Pajamas. Sleep. Rhythm. It was strange how quickly human beings adapted to rhythm. And food. There was always food. Breakfast somehow tasted better when preceded by cold mountain air and public suffering. Lunch arrived just when everyone thought they might collapse from spiritual growth. Dinner felt like a reward for surviving the emotional damage of the day. Somehow, everything tasted better at camp. Even mashed potatoes had personality. “You get hungrier,” Charlie explained one afternoon over lunch, with the wisdom of a man who had clearly built his theology around breakfast. He was attacking a plate of roast chicken with serious conviction. Sally, halfway through what should have been an innocent amount of mac and cheese, narrowed her eyes. “That cannot be the full explanation.” Charlie pointed his fork like a professor. “Fresh air. Walking everywhere. Emotional vulnerability. Volleyball coaching stress.” She sighed. “The coaching thing is never going away, is it?” “Never,” said Monica from across the table, without looking up from her food. “Coach.” Betrayal. Complete betrayal. Sally was secretly annoyed she had no actual group with Charlie. Not their morning cabin devotionals, obviously—boys and girls were kept in their proper civilized categories there. But even the mixed Bible study discussion groups had somehow managed to place them on opposite ends of camp existence. She found that personally offensive. Not because she needed Charlie there. That sounded ridiculous. But because he was familiar. Safe. Easy. And camp, for all its warmth, still had edges she was learning. Still, her assigned study group turned out to be exactly what she needed. Maybe more. There was no hiding in Bible study. Not real Bible study. Not with open Bibles and people asking questions that reached under your skin. Sally found herself thriving there in ways she hadn’t expected. Not because she knew more—often she didn’t—but because she knew how to think. That surprised some people. Text analysis came naturally to her. She had been trained for it without realizing it. Economics. Contracts. Foundation proposals. Reading beyond what was written. Looking for motive, structure, implication. She knew how to interrogate a text. What she lacked was the bigger picture. History. Theological context. The living thread connecting it all. She could analyze Ruth. But now she was learning how Ruth connected to David, and David to Christ, and grace to everything. Suddenly the Bible felt less like a book and more like architecture. Alive. Layered. Intentional. She found herself writing notes in the margins. Actually excited to read. Actually frustrated when discussion ended too early. Actually thinking about Scripture while brushing her teeth. It was deeply inconvenient. And wonderful. Sleep came easily. Too easily, really. There was something about camp exhaustion that left no room for overthinking. By the time lights dimmed, Sally usually fell into bed like a small exhausted pilgrim. And her nighttime routine—once something heavy, something loaded tension and self-consciousness—had slowly become… automatic. Not painless. Not emotionally invisible. But manageable. Routine. She had caught herself more than once sliding down from the top bunk without even bothering with the ladder, half asleep and not fully aware until she realized her pajama shirt had ridden up and discretion had become a theological emergency. There had been a moment—one horrifying moment—when she had turned around and seen Karen sitting on her bed watching with the neutral expression of someone observing wildlife. Sally had nearly died. Karen had simply said, “Bathroom line’s shorter if you go now.” And that was it. No comment. No cruelty. No awkwardness. Just life. That had taught Sally more than a speech could. Nobody said anything. Not because no one noticed. Because kindness often looked like silence. Mornings became routine too. She slept like a baby. And woke like one. Every day. The reality still stung sometimes. Not because of the diaper itself. Because of what it represented. Lack of control. The quiet reminder that healing was not always neat. That adulthood did not exempt you from humiliations. But it helped—more than she admitted—that Charlie had said it so plainly. Me too. Those two words had carried more comfort than pity ever could. She wasn’t alone. That mattered. Testimony evening changed something too. That one surprised her most. It happened after dinner, one of those quieter evenings where the games ended early and everyone gathered in the assembly hall without the usual loud energy. The lights were softer. No stage performance. Just chairs in a loose circle and the strange invitation of honesty. Ian had simply said: “Tonight, no lesson. Just stories.” And people began talking. Real talking. Not polished church answers. Not “I’m blessed” and smile. Real things. Parents divorcing. Anxiety. Depression. Anger. Shame. Doubt. Loneliness. One girl talked about her father leaving and how she still checked the driveway some nights like she was ten. One boy admitted he had been baptized mostly because everyone expected him to, and he still wasn’t sure if his faith was his or inherited. Monica—who Sally would have bet money could not be emotionally vulnerable without legal representation—talked quietly about resentment. About how easy it was to perform faith while privately feeling angry at God for prayers that seemed ignored. Even Charlie spoke. Briefly. Simply. About learning that dignity and weakness could exist in the same person. That one hit Sally like a stone. She sat there listening, hands folded tightly in her lap, feeling something she had not expected. Relief. She had felt singled out in her suffering for so long. Her accident. Recovery. Fear. Nightmares. The private humiliations of healing. The strange loneliness of being young and carrying things people politely didn’t discuss. But here, in that circle of folding chairs and tired teenagers and badly made camp coffee, she learned something that felt both obvious and revolutionary: Christian life was not easy for anyone. Not really. Everyone was carrying something. Some burdens visible. Some hidden. Some wrapped neatly in polite smiles. Grace was not for the dramatic cases. It was for everyone. And somehow, that made her breathe easier. -- The conversation shifted naturally after testimonies, as if once people had admitted real things, pretending became too exhausting. Nobody wanted to go straight back to jokes. They stayed in the assembly hall, some sitting cross-legged on the floor, others half-curled in chairs, a few leaning against walls like they planned to stay there all night. The counselors let it happen. No one rushed the moment. Someone—Sally thought it was Grace—finally asked it. “Okay, serious question. Why are we actually here?” A few people laughed softly. “No, really,” she insisted, sitting forward. “Not the church answer. Not the brochure answer. Why are you here? Because the world is offering a lot more exciting things than Bible camp in West Virginia.” “That should be the official slogan,” muttered Monica. “Lick Run Bible Camp: Less exciting than sin, but significantly safer.” Even Ian laughed from the back wall. But the question stayed. It was real. Why commit? Why faith? Why restraint, obedience, surrender, discipleship—when the world sold freedom as indulgence and happiness as self-worship? Sally sat quietly, knees drawn up slightly in her chair, listening. She wanted to hear this. Because she was still answering it herself. Emma spoke first, surprising everyone because she was usually quiet. “I don’t know exactly,” she admitted. “I just know that when I tried living like none of it mattered, I felt worse. Not freer. Just… emptier.” She shrugged, embarrassed by her own honesty. “Like I was eating junk food for my soul.” “That’s disgustingly accurate,” said Karen. Emma laughed. “It is, though. I kept thinking if I had more freedom, more fun, more whatever, I’d feel more alive. But I just felt louder. Not better.” That sat with people. Taylor nodded slowly. “For me, it was missionaries.” Everyone looked at her. She smiled a little. “Our church had this missionary couple from Uganda come visit when I was fourteen. They had almost nothing by our standards. Like, objectively hard lives. Dangerous, hard, exhausting.” She folded her hands. “And they were happier than most people I knew.” Silence. “That messed me up, honestly. Because I realized maybe comfort isn’t the goal. Maybe purpose is.” Sally felt that. Purpose. Charlie looked down at his hands. Grace pointed at him. “You. Rich kid theology. Go.” A few boys laughed. Charlie sighed like a man entering cross-examination. “Fantastic.” He leaned back in his chair. “People think my life is easy because it’s… arranged.” He said it plainly. “Private school. Good family. Money. Expectations. A road already built.” He smiled thinly. “And sure, compared to a lot of people, I have it easy. I know that.” A pause. “But that can be dangerous too.” Everyone was listening now. “Because if life is already paved for you, it becomes very easy to just… walk it without asking where it leads.” He looked up. “To live on automatic.” No joking now. No irony. “People assume comfort means clarity. It doesn’t.” His voice stayed calm. “If anything, it creates responsibility. Because if God gives you much—resources, family, opportunities—that can’t just end in your own comfort.” He glanced briefly at Sally. “So I keep thinking… if I just live the life people expect from me, and never ask what God expects from me, then I’ve missed the whole point.” That landed hard. “Live for something eternal,” he said quietly. “Not just something impressive.” Sally stared at him. Because she understood that too well. Too well. Monica shifted in her chair. She looked almost annoyed to be speaking honestly. “My father is a pastor,” she said. Some people nodded. Some already knew. The newer campers—Sally included—just listened. Monica crossed her arms. “When you grow up around church, people start assigning you a personality before you have one.” That got quiet agreement. “You become ‘the pastor’s daughter.’ Which mostly means behaving. Smiling. Not embarrassing anyone in public.” A few knowing laughs. She rolled her eyes. “And for a while I thought that was Christianity. Just… behaving correctly. Being good furniture for church.” Even Ian made a wounded face from the back. Monica ignored him. “But eventually I realized God probably wanted more from me than being decorative.” Laughter broke the tension. She smiled too. “I had to figure out whether I believed because it was mine—or because it was inherited.” Her voice softened. “And I think faith becomes real the moment obedience costs you something.” That one made Sally sit straighter. Because yes. Exactly. Not convenience. Cost. Monica looked down. “I realized God had a purpose for me beyond just behaving well and not causing church scandal. And honestly? That was both terrifying and freeing.” Grace nodded solemnly. “Personally, I still enjoy causing minor church scandal.” “Clearly,” said Karen. Laughter returned, but softer now. Warmer. Real. Sally still hadn’t spoken. She wasn’t sure she could. Because every answer they gave was peeling something open inside her. Purpose. Responsibility. Belonging. Grace. Expectation. She had spent so long thinking faith was about becoming good enough to belong. Now she was starting to understand it might be the opposite. God calling you before you were ready. Before you deserved it. Before you looked like the right person. She sat there in the quiet hum of teenage honesty, surrounded by people who were somehow both ordinary and extraordinary, and realized something very simple. She was not the only one asking hard questions. She was just finally in a room where people answered honestly. -- Monica swept her gaze around the room like a prosecutor selecting her next victim. Her eyes landed on Sally. She pointed. “You’re next, Florida girl.” Sally’s eyes widened instantly. Absolutely not. There had to be other people. Safer people. People with complete emotional stability and less public crying. She looked around as if someone might volunteer as tribute. No one did. Traitors. Monica stood, walked over, and gave her a half hug as she stepped aside, brief and firm and warm. Close enough that only Sally heard the whisper against her ear. “God loves you, girl.” Then Monica stepped back, folded her arms, and leaned against the wall like she hadn’t just detonated Sally’s emotional defenses. Charlie was sitting farther back with the boys. He caught her eye and lifted his eyebrows slightly, the silent kind of encouragement that said: You’ve got this. Or at least: Please don’t pass out. Sally took a breath. She walked to the front, suddenly very aware of every footstep, every face, every eye. She had nothing prepared. Nothing polished. Nothing impressive. So she chose honesty. The basics. She folded her hands loosely in front of her and started with the truth. “A year ago, I had never stepped into a church.” Silence. She looked up. “In my life. Ever.” That got their attention. She saw it immediately. People straightened. Even the ones pretending not to be listening. She looked down for a moment, gathering herself. “The strange thing is, my first time at church wasn’t even for church. Not really.” A small breath. “I was with a friend—Charlie’s sister, Patricia. We were supposed to pick Charlie up because he had… strayed.” That made a few people laugh. Charlie muttered something offended from the back and immediately got elbowed by three people. Sally smiled faintly. “He was at a friend’s house. Or so we thought. Turns out they were having band practice at church.” More heads turned toward Charlie. His social suffering was immediate. Excellent. “The fact is,” Sally continued, quieter now, “a lot had been happening that year.” Her fingers tightened slightly. “I’d been in a car crash that February. No major injuries. I walked away. Which sounds like the good version.” She paused. “But something changed. I suddenly felt mortal.” That made the room still. “Life stopped feeling safe. I stopped feeling safe. I wanted to control everything. I wanted comfort. Security. Certainty.” She swallowed. “Therapy didn’t help.” Her voice steadied again. “Then my father sort of reentered my life. He’d been… absent. My mother had emergency gallbladder surgery. Everything felt unstable all at once. Friends said they were “praying” for me. Whatever that was. But it felt good… In the end, Patricia said “God is Good”, and it sort of stuck in my mind.” She exhaled slowly. “It was after my mother got home from the hospital. Patricia was visiting. We went for ice cream, and on the way back we were supposed to get Charlie.” She smiled to herself. “Only Charlie was at church.” A few laughs again. “I remember Patricia asking me if I minded stopping there first.” Sally shook her head. “She was so careful. So worried about pressuring me. She made it sound like she was asking permission to stop by the morgue.” That got real laughter. “I pretended I didn’t care.” A pause. “But I was curious.” Her voice softened. “When we walked in, they were singing.” She looked up, somewhere beyond the room. “Jana was singing. She’s my friend now. But that’s another story.” She smiled faintly. “You know that song by CAIN? Honest Offering?” Immediate nods. Several enthusiastic ones. One dramatic “Yes!” Sally nodded. “Yeah.” She hummed the words softly, almost more to herself than to them. “Tried to clean it up nice… Tried to hold it all together…” She looked down. “That was me.” A small laugh. “Pretending I was in control. Looking at religion with polite curiosity. Maybe even benevolence.” Then her voice shifted. “But then the next line hit me like a brick.” She looked around the room. She hummed some more. “I’m living rich in the world… But a spiritual beggar…” Silence. A few soft claps. But mostly silence. Listening. “Maybe we hear ‘rich’ and immediately look at Charlie,” she said, glancing at him with a shy smile. The room laughed. Charlie gave a dignified nod of suffering. “But I mean the idea.” She touched her chest lightly. “Me. Thinking I was doing fine. Functioning. Successful. Safe.” A pause. “And suddenly feeling exposed as… a beggar.” Her voice thinned. “I knew there was something missing. I wanted to know what.” She took a breath. “And worse—I felt like I had nothing to offer.” That one hurt to say. “My life felt broken. Delicate. Like something people politely avoided discussing.” She looked up again. “But then Jana sang—” Her voice softened. And hummed. “And I been waitin’ to give Till I can give You something better But You just wanted my heart…” She swallowed hard. “That wrecked me.” A few girls were already crying quietly. “Then the chorus.” Her voice shook now. “Jesus, You can have it all ’Cause You love every broken piece Of an honest offering…” She smiled through tears now. “I was shocked.” She laughed once, softly. “I genuinely did not know God would want my broken life.” Her eyes were shining. “So when we left, I asked Patricia.” She looked down. “I asked, ‘Does God want me if I’m broken?’” Silence. Heavy and holy. Sally looked around the room. Most of them were still. Some nodding. Ian at the back with one hand against his chin, thoughtful and quiet. “Patricia told me she’d answer if I really wanted to know.” A beat. “The good part and the ugly part.” She smiled faintly. “The ugly part, she said, was sin.” Her voice sharpened. “My sin. Her sin. Our sin.” That one had changed everything. “She talked about death. Eternal death. Eternal life. Grace. Judgment.” She shrugged slightly. “She gave me a Bible.” A few smiles. “I had absolutely no idea what to do with it.” That got laughter. Thankfully. People relaxed. Sally smiled too. “Charlie saved the day.” More laughter. “He finally arrived—with his guitar, of course—because we were waiting outside for him.” Charlie groaned. The teasing from the boys became immediate and merciless. Sally continued. “He told me, very simply: start with the Gospels.” She looked toward him. “Start with Jesus.” A pause. “So I did.” She stood there quietly for a moment. That was the center of it. The real beginning. Ian stepped forward gently, sensing she had reached the edge of what words could hold. He rested a hand lightly on her shoulder. “And did you read?” Sally nodded. “My dad helped me find Matthew.” She smiled slightly. “Don’t ask me how he knew.” A few laughs. “It took me a couple days to get through the first three Gospels.” She looked down. “By the end of Luke…” She lifted her eyes. “I knew I believed.” She said it so simply that Ian himself looked briefly taken aback. He asked softly, “What made you so sure?” Sally thought about it. Then answered honestly. “I don’t know how I didn’t before.” Her voice trembled. “Jesus’ words. The miracles. The healings.” She pressed a hand lightly against her chest. “It felt like my heart was on fire. But the more convinced I became, the more I kept hitting a wall.” She paused. “But then the wall just… broke.” The room was utterly still. “It was the thief on the cross.” Her voice almost broke there. “When I read the way he asked Jesus…” Tears now, openly. “And Jesus just told him he’d be with Him in Paradise.” She shook her head. “That same day.” Ian lowered his head slightly, almost reverently. “That’s what did it.” Sally nodded. “Yes.” Her voice was barely above a whisper. “That’s what did it.” She wiped at her face and smiled weakly. “Many people helped. Patricia. Charlie. Jana. Even my father—who was sort of a skeptic back then.” That made her laugh softly. “It was a whirlwind for a few days. But by the time I got through John…” She looked around. “I was reading with different eyes.” Charlie’s eyes were shining. Several girls were openly crying. Monica stood against the wall, beaming through tears, holding a girl’s hand on either side of her like some emotional war general. No one moved. No one rushed to fill the silence. Eventually, the evening ended the only way it could. Soft singing. Quiet. Reverent. No performance. Just voices. Sally sat there in the dim light, mind full of memories—some raw, some beautiful, some still too sharp to touch. She never spoke of what came after. Not tonight. Not the conflict with her parents. Not Milan. Not the crash into the golf course. Not the hospital. Not the long healing. That was another story. For another time. Tonight, she had given them the part that mattered. The beginning. The moment grace walked in and asked for her broken heart. -- The drama entered the cabin slowly, almost quietly enough to be ignored. At first, it was only movement. A restless shift in the top bunk. Fabric rustling against fabric. The soft, trapped sound of someone caught in sleep but not resting. Monica stirred first. She opened one eye, annoyed at the interruption, then frowned as she listened. A low whimper. Not talking. Not sleep mumbling. Something worse. Under Sally’s bunk, Taylor shifted too, half-awake, confused. Then Sally’s body stiffened violently inside her sleeping bag. A sharp, broken sound escaped her lips—half gasp, half cry—and then came the scream. It ripped through the cabin. Not a call for help. Not words. Just pure fear. Raw. Animal. Panicked. Sally thrashed against the sleeping bag, trapped in it, twisting against invisible danger, breathless sounds breaking from her throat like she was fighting something no one else could see. Most of the girls woke instantly. Someone sat up and whispered, terrified, “Oh my God—” Rebecca was already moving. Fast. Calm. Certain. She flicked on one of the smaller bedside lamps, not the full overhead light, just enough to cut through the darkness without turning the moment into a spectacle. Soft yellow light filled the cabin. Monica was sitting bolt upright now, staring at Sally’s bunk above her. Her own face had gone pale. For once, Monica had no joke. Just fear. Rebecca raised one hand sharply. “Sit back. Give her space.” Her voice was low, firm, practiced. She stepped onto Taylor’s lower bunk without hesitation, balancing easily as she reached up toward Sally’s top bunk. Sally was still trapped in it. Breathing hard. Whimpering. Twisting. Fighting air. Rebecca leaned closer, voice cutting gently through the panic. “Sally.” No response. “Sally, you’re having a dream.” Another sharp cry. Rebecca placed one steady hand lightly on Sally’s arm. Grounding. Anchor. “Sally. You’re okay. Wake up now.” Her voice stayed even. Steady. Unafraid. “Sally, you’re safe. It’s a dream. You’re having a dream. Wake up, honey.” For a second, nothing changed. Then— Sally’s eyes blinked open. Her whole body stilled like a wire suddenly cut loose. She stared upward, disoriented, breathing hard, sweat damp against her hairline and neck. Rebecca stayed there. “It’s okay.” A pause. “You’re fine.” Sally frowned like consciousness itself hurt. She sat up slowly inside the sleeping bag, dazed and overheated, and Rebecca helped unzip it down the front, trying to let some cool air in. Her face looked feverish. Flushed. Embarrassed. Young. Rebecca’s voice softened. “You okay, honey?” Sally blinked, trying to understand where she was. Cabin. Camp. Not the jet. Not fire. Not falling. She looked immediately defeated. Not here. Not now. Please not here. Rebecca turned her head slightly toward the room. “Okay, girls. Just a bad dream here. Everybody back to sleep.” There was reluctance in the silence. Concern. Curiosity. But nobody argued. Slowly, the cabin obeyed. Bodies lowered back into bunks. Blankets pulled up. Quiet returned in pieces. Monica, however, moved more slowly. She slumped back into her sleeping bag, head on the pillow—but her eyes stayed fixed upward on Sally. And in the softened light, reality sat there without permission. Sally’s hoodie had ridden up. Her pajama pants had bunched badly from the thrashing. And clearly—unmistakably—the thick white edge of her diaper showed beneath the fabric. Monica saw it. Taylor probably did too. Maybe others. No one said a word. Not one. Rebecca spoke quietly, only for Sally now. “How about you lay back down.” She adjusted the small lamp lower. “I’ll leave the light on. Just relax. Take it easy. You’re safe.” Sally shook her head slightly. “I’m fine…” Her voice was thin. Rough. Humiliated. She swallowed. “I’m sorry. It’s been a long time since…” Rebecca squeezed her arm gently. “You do not need to apologize.” Simple. Certain. “Rest. And remember—God is with you. Even in the bad dreams.” Sally gave the smallest, crooked smile. “Yeah…” But she didn’t sound convinced. Slowly, she lowered herself back down into the open sleeping bag and curled onto herself, facing the wall. Small. Exhausted. She wasn’t aware of how disheveled she looked. She didn’t realize the back of her diaper was still visible. She didn’t notice Monica turning her face away on purpose, giving privacy in the only way possible. Sally just lay there. Still. Breathing. Pretending to sleep. Not sleeping. Never sleeping. Her mind was already back there. The dream replaying with cruel precision. The same one. Always the same one. A jet. Falling. That horrible impossible sensation—slow and endless and final. The fire. The smell. The screaming. Metal and gravity and prayer and helplessness. No control. No escape. No father. No pilot. No miracle. Just falling. And worse than death— the feeling of absolute abandonment. No hope. No heaven. No rescue. Nothing. Only terror. Sally stared at the cabin wall in the half-light, eyes wide open, tears drying silently against her pillow. And around her, the girls pretended to sleep too. Because sometimes love looked like silence. And sometimes friendship began there. -- Rebecca let Sally sleep in. Or rather, she let Sally pretend to. The counselor moved through the cabin with unusual softness that morning, nudging girls awake with quiet hands and whispered instructions instead of the usual cheerful violence of the camp bell. No jangling bell. No dramatic declarations of Christian responsibility before breakfast. Just hush. Gentle movement. The girls, still carrying the weight of the night, obeyed with sleepy seriousness. Monica slid out of her bunk without complaint. Taylor rubbed sleep from her eyes and whispered instead of talking. Even Karen, who usually woke up with the energy of mild warfare, moved carefully. They were protecting something. Or someone. Sally lay still in her bunk, curled toward the wall, eyes open. She had not gone back to sleep. Not really. But resting counted for something. At some point in the night—or maybe early dawn, she wasn’t sure—she had tugged at her pajama shirt and shifted her blanket enough to partially cover the obvious truth of her situation. Too late for dignity. She had already been seen. Laid bare. Not just the nightmare. Everything. The fear. The weakness. The diaper. The whole humiliating architecture of healing. There was no undoing that. Only surviving it. She heard the soft sounds of girls dressing, bathroom doors opening and closing, whispered conversations, the rustle of hoodies and jeans. She heard Rebecca guiding them quietly toward the morning devotional outside. Then the cabin door closed. Silence. For a moment, only birds and distant trees. Then voices outside. Low. Soft. And then Monica praying. Not loudly. Not performatively. Just praying. Sally couldn’t make out the words, but she recognized the tone. Earnest. Different. It made something twist painfully in her chest. She lay there for another minute, staring at the wood wall beside her bunk. Then she sighed. Enough. There was no dignity in hiding forever like a wounded bird. She had to face them. She pushed herself upright slowly and climbed down from the bunk with more care than usual. Her body still felt heavy from the emotional violence of the night. She stood there for a second, tugging at the sagging diaper beneath her pajama pants, lips pressed thin. Reality. Always reality. Cold and soggy. She shuffled quietly to the bathroom. Hot water. Fresh face. A clean change. Hair brushed. Jeans. Hoodie. Armor. Simple enough. When she finally stepped outside, hands shoved deep into her hoodie pocket, the entire devotional circle turned toward her. A chorus of concerned eyes. Curious eyes. Kind eyes. Which somehow felt worse. “Morning,” she mumbled. Her voice sounded smaller than she liked. She shifted awkwardly. “Sorry about the… spectacle.” Monica frowned immediately like she’d been personally insulted. “Nothing to be sorry about.” She sat forward. “I’m just sorry I sat there like an idiot not knowing what to do.” Rebecca raised a hand before Monica could escalate into self-condemnation. “You did fine, Monica.” Her voice was calm. “Exactly fine.” She looked at Sally and softened. “Why don’t you sit? We’re just finishing. I wanted to let you get some rest after a tough night.” “Thanks.” Sally sat carefully on the edge of the bench, shoulders slightly hunched, still feeling like everyone could somehow see through denim and dignity. She looked at the group. Girls she barely knew. Girls who had watched her unravel. Girls who were now somehow hers. She exhaled. “I guess I owe you an explanation…” Immediate protests. Taylor’s golden curls bounced with the force of her head shake. “Nope.” Monica looked personally offended again. “You owe absolutely nothing. You had a bad dream.” Sally tilted her head slightly. Fair. But still— “I know. But I want to explain.” She looked down at her hands. “The context.” Silence answered. Not pressure. Permission. Rebecca gave the smallest nod. Go ahead. Sally swallowed. “Yesterday I told you about my conversion.” The girls nodded. “Beautiful.” “I cried.” “I also cried,” Monica admitted dramatically. A few soft laughs. That helped. Sally nodded. “Yeah. That part was beautiful.” A pause. “What I didn’t say… is what happened after.” She searched for the cleanest way to say something ugly. “Like… two days after.” She looked up. “I was in an accident.” Her voice stayed steady, but only just. “A bad one. Really bad.” Silence again. “A plane crash.” That landed like a stone. Not dramatic. Just heavy. “Not an airliner. A smaller plane.” She breathed in slowly. “People died.” No one moved. “I didn’t.” Her voice thinned. “My best friend and I survived. She doesn’t remember what happened.” A pause. “I do.” She looked down. “Every. Single. Moment.” Nobody interrupted. Nobody filled the silence. That was kindness. Sally nodded faintly, almost to herself. “I used to have more nightmares. A lot more. They mostly stopped.” She shrugged. “Now they’re rare.” Her mouth twisted into something like humor. “My bones healed. My punctured lung is fine.” She tapped lightly against her own chest. “But apparently my brain still enjoys creative projects.” A few weak smiles. She let herself say it. “You probably noticed I sleep with protection.” The girls collectively became fascinated with the trees. Rebecca gave her the quietest look of complete understanding. Sally laughed once, dry and crooked. “Yeah. Diapers.” There. Said. No one died. “My body healed faster than my mind did.” Monica looked up, eyes already wet. “All that happened… just after you converted?” Sally nodded. Looking down was easier. “Yeah.” Monica’s voice came softer now. “How… I mean…” She struggled. “Were you angry?” That was the real question. Everyone wanted it. Sally thought about it. Actually thought. Not the polished answer. The true one. “I didn’t know what to think.” She looked at the trees. “I only knew one thing.” Her voice steadied. “I had given myself to God. Everything.” She pressed her hands together. “I was His.” A pause. “That much, I knew.” She smiled faintly. “Now I know it for sure.” Silence. Not empty. Full. “But yeah,” she admitted, “it was hard.” Her throat tightened. “Months in the hospital. Physical therapy. Learning how to trust my own body again.” She shrugged. “I had help. I still do. A friend. The pastor’s wife. She still counsels me.” Rebecca looked up, eyes clear and steady. “Suffering doesn’t make you smaller.” She let that sit. “It makes you stronger.” Monica wiped at her face angrily. “Yeah.” She sniffed. “And also—you’re not alone.” That one nearly broke Sally. But before tears could win, salvation arrived in the form of breakfast. The bell clanged across camp. Loud. Ordinary. Perfect. Rebecca stood and clapped once. “Okay, girls. Before we all become emotionally dehydrated, let’s get food into you.” That worked. Movement returned. People stood. Bibles tucked under arms. And somehow, without discussion, Sally found herself surrounded. Not trapped. Surrounded. Protected. Escorted. The walk to breakfast was quieter than usual. Softer. No less warm. When they entered the dining hall, Charlie looked up almost immediately. He noticed everything. The late arrival. The dark circles under Sally’s eyes. The strange solemnity of the girl group around her. His eyebrow lifted slightly. Question. Concern. She looked at him across the room and gave the smallest crooked smile. And a shrug. Not now. Later. Charlie nodded once. Gentle. Understanding. And turned back to his tray. Sometimes love looked like words. Sometimes it looked like knowing when not to ask. -- Sally wasn’t very hungry. She pushed scrambled eggs around her plate with the vague sense that she probably should eat something responsible and nutritious, but appetite had not survived the night. Coffee, however, was another matter entirely. Coffee was theology. Coffee was mercy. She wrapped both hands around the warm mug and took a slow sip, feeling the fog in her head begin, very gradually, to loosen. The cobwebs of too little sleep and too much emotion started to disperse, though her body still felt heavy, like she had run a marathon in her dreams. Around her, breakfast conversation moved in warm currents. Monica was debating something passionately with Grace involving syrup distribution and moral justice. Taylor was defending toast. Charlie was somewhere across the room being accused of looking too awake for a teenage boy. Sally barely followed any of it. But she felt lighter. That surprised her. She had expected embarrassment to linger like a stain. Instead, after speaking to the girls, after the quiet honesty of the morning devotional bench, after simply saying the ugly things out loud, something had shifted. Not fixed. But lighter. She had been braced for rejection. Instead, she got kindness. She was still getting used to that. As the girls began pushing chairs back and standing to leave for morning study, Sally lingered with her coffee, staring vaguely at the last bite of toast like it had personally disappointed her. That was when two hands landed on her shoulders. “Well, Sally,” came Renée’s cheerful voice from behind her, “how about a quick chat?” Sally turned around and looked up. “Me?” Renée smiled brightly. “Yes, you, raccoon.” Sally blinked. “Raccoon?” “The eyes,” Renée said, pointing dramatically at the dark circles beneath them. “Very woodland creature. Very tragic heroine.” Despite herself, Sally laughed. “I’m fine, really.” “No argument there,” Renée replied smoothly. “Just humor me, will you?” There was no escaping that tone. Sally sighed theatrically and stood. “Yes, ma’am.” Renée slung an arm around her shoulders as if escorting a mildly rebellious younger sister rather than a patient, and guided her outside. The morning air was cool and clean, the kind that made breathing feel deliberate. Camp was already alive around them—voices from the volleyball court, someone laughing near the chapel, distant footsteps on gravel paths. Renée steered her toward one of the old wooden benches beneath the trees and sat beside her. They watched the woods in silence for a moment. Birds. Leaves. Wind. Peace. Then Renée spoke. “Tough night?” Gentle. No drama. No performance. Sally stared ahead. “Just… a bad dream.” Renée nodded once. “Rebecca shared the basics with me. She was concerned. Wanted me to check if you’re alright.” She glanced sideways. “You look alright. Except for those magnificent rings under your eyes.” Sally smiled faintly. “I am alright.” A small frown formed. Her voice, tense. “It just… hadn’t happened in a long time. And now…” Renée kept her voice careful. “Related to your accident?” Sally nodded. “Sort of PTSD, I guess.” She hated how clinical that sounded. “I used to have nightmares all the time. Then they mostly stopped. Now they just… show up sometimes.” Renée folded one leg under herself on the bench. “Yesterday was intense.” She gave Sally a knowing look. “I was wondering what you weren’t saying. You sort of vanished emotionally at the end there.” That made Sally chuckle softly. “Yeah. Well.” She rubbed her hands together. “Sometimes I don’t know how to talk about it.” Renée nodded like that was the most normal thing in the world. “So talk about it. To me.” She leaned back. “Patient secrecy and all that.” Sally looked sideways at her. Uneasy. “What do you want to know?” Renée shrugged. “Whatever is bugging you.” She tapped lightly against Sally’s chest with two fingers. “You’ve got a weight sitting right here.” Sally looked up at the trees. Yeah. That. She stretched her legs out and leaned back, hands clasped behind her head. “You know the basics.” Renée nodded. “Plane crash.” “Yes.” “It happened shortly after my conversion.” Rebecca had told her that much. Sally swallowed. “I thought I was going to die.” Simple. No need for decoration. “We were going to die, actually. There was no way out.” Silence. Birds. Wind. Then Renée said quietly, “But you lived.” Sally let out a humorless laugh. “Against all odds.” A pause. “And you remember everything,” Renée said. Not a question. Sally’s jaw tightened. “Everything.” She sat forward now, arms crossing instinctively. “And the worst part is my brain keeps making more.” Renée listened. No interruption. “No one tells you that memory isn’t stable. It turns into this…” Sally searched for the right word. “Kaleidoscope.” She looked down. “Twisted pieces. Real things, imagined things, fear, guilt, sound, panic. I know the theory. I know why trauma does that.” She shrugged sharply. “But it still happens.” Renée nodded. “It frustrates you.” Not a question. Sally nodded once. Especially because it was true. “Especially when it happens like this.” Renée smiled slightly. “Like a spectacle.” Sally huffed. “Yeah.” She rubbed her forehead. “Nothing says spiritual growth like screaming in your sleep and accidentally flashing your entire cabin.” Renée laughed. Actually laughed. Which helped. A lot. “Well,” she said, recovering, “how do you judge the cabin’s reaction to your dramatic performance?” Sally thought about it. Then smiled—small, real. “They were… great.” She shook her head. “Honestly, awesome.” That still surprised her. “I feel bad for them. But at the same time… it’s like I’m surrounded by love.” Renée nodded slowly. She sat with that for a while. Then she said, “Well, I’m no theologian. I don’t know everything.” She lifted one shoulder. “But maybe that’s part of God showing you something.” Sally frowned thoughtfully. “Like what?” “That you have people.” Renée said it simply. “You can trust them. You can let them in. You can connect.” Sally stared at the gravel. “Just like that?” Renée chuckled. “No.” She smiled. “Nothing with God is usually just like that.” Fair. “He has plans for you. Bigger ones. He’s still showing you things. That part is between you and Him.” She pointed gently toward the dining hall. “But I can tell you what I see.” Sally looked up. Renée grinned. “The way you girls walked into breakfast this morning?” She pressed a hand dramatically to her chest. “A Norman Rockwell painting about friendship.” Sally laughed. “Really?” “Absolutely.” Renée was fully committed now. “No tension. No whispers. No ‘oh no, we got the weird girl in our cabin.’” That made Sally laugh harder. Too accurate. Too funny. “They saw my weirdness,” Sally admitted. “Diapers and all.” “And they embraced it.” Renée nodded with full authority. “Cuteness and all.” “Renée!” Sally groaned. Renée only smiled wider. “Come on. They absolutely thought you looked adorable.” Sally covered her face. “Everybody says that about my diapers.” “Because apparently,” Renée said wisely, standing up, “you have achieved some kind of universally accepted baby-faced injustice.” Sally muttered into her hands, “This is harassment.” “It is healthcare.” Renée pointed toward the chapel. “Now, cute girl, time to rejoin Bible study.” She offered Sally a hand up. “You have a clean bill of health.” A beat. “But try and get some rest this afternoon.” Sally took her hand, stood, and shook her head. “Yes, ma’am.” Then she paused. Looked at Renée. And said it quietly. “Thank you.” Renée smiled. Warm. Easy. “Anytime, raccoon.”

Chapter 35 Lucille found herself amidst a crowd of onlookers. It seemed like some kind of party was taking place in the castle, and there were all the usual rich types in attendance, though they were strangely indistinct. Most of them seemed to have their attention squarely on her, and she caught several passing comments from them. “Her dress is just darling!” “She has the Queen’s hair!” “Uh oh, smells like a dirty diaper…” “Peekaboo! Peekaboo!” “What’s your dolly’s name, Princess?” “Oh my, be careful not to trip!” Despite all of the attention, Lucille wasn’t annoyed. In fact… she was enjoying it. She giggled, danced, and played all throughout the party. She was passed from lap to lap, held in strangers’ arms, had her diaper changed in front of several onlookers - and none of it seemed out of the ordinary. Not to the guests, and not to her. She was… happy. “Luci!” She heard a familiar voice cry out. She looked over and saw Sophia, singularly bright and clear amongst a crowd of grey silhouettes. She was beckoning her cousin to come play with some other Littles. “Coming!” Lucille replied excitedly. She grabbed her dolly from the ground and hugged it tight, bouncing lightly back and forth on her feet. Just as she was about to toddle off, she caught a glimpse out of the corner of her eye - someone standing near her, watching. She turned to look, pigtails batting her face, and saw Noah standing there. “Noah!” Lucille ran over and enveloped Noah into a tight hug. “Come play! We got dollies!” Noah looked at Lucille. His expression was flat and unchanging. “Noah?” Lucille asked, her head tilting. She grabbed his hand and pulled. “Don’t be so boring! Come play!” Still, Noah didn’t move. Lucille couldn’t budge him from his spot. At the same time, the crowd seemed to fall silent as well. Now, Lucille felt nervous, on the spot. For the first time all night, she felt like something was wrong, and she was out of place. She looked around and shuffled nervously. “Noah…?” What was up with him? She was trying to have a good time prancing around her party, and he was being weird. She was a Princess. How could she be treated this way? “N-Noah! You’re spoiling MY party! You big meanie! Come play dollies or go away!” Suddenly, Noah looked away, and lifted his hand towards Lucille. In it, a crumpled piece of paper was held. He dropped it at her feet and then ran off, disappearing into the crowd. Why would he do that? Was he mad at her? Was he trying to tell her something? What could be so important - more important than playing, the most important thing that there is? Lucille pouted and blew a raspberry into the open air where Noah had ran. She sniffled a bit, then messily wiped her nose along her bare arm. She then looked down, and saw the crumpled paper. There was something written on it, and though Lucille couldn’t read it (words were for Bigs), she felt it was somehow… important. Yes, more important than playing. But what was it? Wait… — Lucas jolted awake. His body jumped as much as it could be allowed, given the fact that he was tightly swaddled in his crib. The pacifier in his mouth stifled a sharp gasp as his eyes adjusted to the darkness. It seemed to still be the middle of the night, the nursery illuminated only by the soft purple nightlight on the far end of the room. The only noise in the room was the patter of raindrops against the window. Only one thing was on Lucas’ mind: the drawing Noah gave him. How could he forget? His dream brought it back to the forefront of his mind, as if giving him a message. But the fact that he had let such an important development slip away from him for a whole evening was unbelievable. Come to think of it, much of the previous evening was a sleepy blur. He remembered fragmented moments, but so much of it was concealed in a pink, glittery haze. Either way, he had to see that drawing. He hadn’t had a chance to look at it yet, and time was of the essence. First things first: escaping his swaddling. He spat out his paci and shifted his weight back and forth, pressing his arms and legs out as much as they could, but found little luck in breaking free. He had tried many times over the weeks, longing to be able to stretch freely in bed. He wasn’t even sure why swaddling was necessary. Over and back he shifted his body, fighting against the restraints. Each failure to break free only strengthened his resolve. He grunted and huffed, giving himself quite the workout as he attempted to accomplish what was probably considered a great feat of strength for a Little. But this was important - he had to keep trying. It took some time, but eventually his perseverance paid off. Exploiting small openings in the blanket, he was able to fight his way out, emerging sweaty and stiff, but free. He wore his blue onesie overtop a heavily padded nighttime diaper. Breathing a sigh of victory and relief, he rose clumsily to his feet. His legs shook as he balanced himself, and the protective plastic lining of the crib mattress crinkled beneath him as he took baby steps towards the bars. He held them for support and looked beyond, scanning the room for any sign of the drawing. “Come on, come on…” His view from the crib yielded no results. In frustration, he fell backwards and landed on his butt, arms crossed and bottom lip protruding in frustration. He looked up - as expected, the bars of the crib were much too tall for him to climb. He never quite realised how ominous a crib looked from the baby’s perspective - more like a cage than a bed. Squeezing through wasn’t going to happen either. He lamented his inability to do anything for himself. How unfair it was that he was confined to a crib, swaddled in a blanket, and had no say in any of it. If he wanted to do something as simple as get up in the night to use the bathroom, he was made to wet right where he laid and go back to sleep happily. And that’s exactly what he’d been doing - it became clear just how far he’d allowed himself to slip. This drawing represented a chance out, to put this whole baby princess fiasco behind him. He just needed a plan… Suddenly, he heard footsteps approaching down the hall. Though faint beneath the sound of raindrops pelting the window, they grew closer and closer until he saw a shadow moving in the light that streamed from underneath the door to his crib. He looked up and remembered the baby monitor - he was always on camera, even in his own bed. The door opened and a figure stood there, shambling sleepily into the room. When the lighting allowed, Lucas was able to see that it was Angie who had come to his nursery. She let out a deep yawn, clearly having been woken up by noises he made on the baby monitor. Her hair was messy and unkempt, and she was not wearing her glasses as she usually did. Her maid outfit was not present, and instead she stood before him in just her underwear and a loose tank top. “What’s wrong, baby?” She whispered as she lowered the railing of the crib to pick Lucas up. At least now he was out of the crib - one hurdle down. Angie carried Lucas around the nursery, bouncing him gently as if he were merely a fussy baby who awoke in the night, and not a Little on a mission. All the while, Lucas intently searched the room for any sign of the drawing. The swaying pattern Angie took around the room made it difficult to focus on any one part of the floor for too long, but eventually Lucas spotted the dress he’d been wearing, the one he stuffed the paper into, placed in a laundry hamper. Lucas’ eyes fixed on the dress. His best bet was to look there. He stretched his arm out over Angie’s shoulder toward the dress and squirmed in her arms. “Gosh, what is it, Princess?” “Ah!” Lucas vocalised, still gesturing towards the dress. Angie turned around to see what it was that Lucas was so focused on. She took a look, but her eyes landed on a different spot than his had. Instead of seeing the discarded dress, Angie saw an empty bottle, sitting on top of a small bookshelf. “Ohh… I know what baby wants.” Angie smiled and carried Lucas across the room - away from the dress. She sat down in the rocking chair and with another light yawn, she pulled aside her loose tank top to reveal her waiting breast. “Luckily I’ve got something a little fresher than a baba… open wide.” She began drawing Lucas’ face closer and closer towards her nipple. Lucas began to struggle in her grasp. “No! Dress!” He protested. Angie shook her head. “Come on, sweetie…” Lucas continued attempting to struggle, but eventually found the nipple filling the ainside his mouth. His muscle memory kicked in, and he began suckling down a stream of Angie’s breastmilk. With each gulp, Lucas’ vision and mind grew cloudier, and the sound of the rain outside grew more distant. The glittery pink haze returned to his mind, and he tried as hard as he could to hold on to the drive to get that drawing back. But the milk was too powerful for the moment, and Lucas drifted off into blissful sleep as his tummy filled. “Mmmph…” “Good girl.” — When Lucas next awoke, he was already on the changing table, right in the middle of having his diaper changed with his legs held in the air by the ankles. It was morning now, judging by the bright light filling the room, though Lucas could still hear rain outside. Leading the change was Hazel, not Angie. She was focused on the task at hand, and performing it with her signature confidence and routine precision. Lucas rubbed his eyes as his senses returned to him, though he was still heavily fatigued from his midnight snack. “Good morning, Princess.” Hazel said. “Ughh…” was all the reply Lucas could muster. “Someone is sleepy today, hm?” Hazel continued wiping. Hardly his fault, he thought. He’d basically been sedated at the first opportunity when he awoke last night. He didn’t answer Hazel, who set the used wipes aside. “Well, we don’t have a busy day, at least. You and your cousin can stay in your PJs.” Hazel began unfurling a fresh diaper from one of the changing table’s built-in shelves. Just then, she felt a sudden trickle brush against her hand - she looked over and saw Lucas, legs spread wide, as he peed openly. He didn’t seem to realise he was doing it in his sleepy state, and the yellow liquid managed to puddle out onto the plastic cushioning of the table - not to mention all over Hazel herself. “Oh dear!” Hazel said. She grabbed the soiled diaper which still sat underneath Lucas’ butt and folded it back up to catch the free-flowing pee in its padding. She managed to move quickly enough to minimise the damage. The changing table wouldn’t be any problem to wipe down, though her blouse and apron would probably need to be changed to avoid smelling like pee all day. Still, Hazel took it in her stride, smiling as she heard the hissing slowly trail off to signal Lucas had finished. By now, he noticed what he had started doing accidentally, and covered his face with his arm in embarrassment. His face was flushed red, and though he was still tired, he felt the need to apologise. “‘M sorry, Nana…” “Oh, don’t worry about it, Princess. Just a little peepee, no harm done!” Hazel began humming a soothing tune, which put Lucas at ease a bit. Though her exterior was as warm and composed as always, internally she remembered what she had learned last night, and mentally prepared to deal with it over the coming day. She would have to continue to play it cool - see how the Princess would act without knowing for sure that Hazel knew of the drawing. It was a sneaky tactic, yes, but important to know exactly what she was dealing with and how she would proceed. She retrieved more wipes, nearing the end of the pouch, and got to work cleaning the Little’s freshly wetted skin again. — “All gone!” Hazel announced to the two Littles sitting side by side in their double high chair. She and Angie, who had fed Sophia alongside Hazel feeding Lucas, began gathering the two empty jars and their associated plastic spoons for washing. Lucas stifled a burp, feeling bloated as always from his breakfast. Meanwhile, Sophia dangled her legs and seemed fairly content after hers. He couldn’t help but feel a little jealous watching her eat peach and banana favoured baby food - though still a somewhat unpleasant purée, it was better than the broccoli and spinach one he was forced to swallow down. It took quite a bit of coaxing from Hazel to get Lucas to agree to stop pouting and eat his veggie mush. “Watcha statin’ at?” Sophia asked. Lucas looked to her. Remnants of her meal were stained all across her face and chin. Instead of a simple cloth bib like the one he wore, hers was a rubber bib which curved to a bowl-like shape at the edge - a necessary addition, as several spoonfuls of her food had made their way into it. It was clear Sophia was much more of a messy eater than he was. “Show off.” He pouted. “Don’t mind her, Sophia,” Hazel chimed in. “Luci’s just crabby because the Doctor says she needs lots of veggies.” Sophia looked at Lucas with a devious smile. He stared back, and after a moment his eyes widened. “Don’t…” Without saying a word, Sophia scooped up some of the mush from within her bib and flicked it directly towards his face. It smeared across his cheek and he yelped in shock. “Ah! Nana!” Lucas recoiled, but his ability to escape the line of fire was hampered by being stuck in the high chair. She reeled her arm back to throw another volley, but Hazel intervened quickly. “Play nice you two!” She tutted. She began wiping away the excess purée from Lucas’ face with his bib. She then removed it and began wiping down Sophia too, a more involved task given she was much messier. Hazel and Angie then removed the Littles from their chairs and sat them down in each lap for their morning milk. Hazel unbuttoned her blouse and got Lucas to latch with no issue. She smiled as he began to suckle and drifted off gently. She looked over at Angie, who - to Hazel’s surprise - had done the same with Sophia, who was firmly latched to Angie’s breast and happily suckling. “Angie!” Hazel chided gently. “What?” She replied, her eyes suddenly alight with worry. “Sophia is on a formula diet, remember?” The memory hit Angie and she slapped her hand to her forehead, letting her glasses slip down the bridge of her nose. “Oh, shoot! I forgot all about that! I’ll stop her…” Hazel held up her hand to stop Angie from halting the nursing. “It’s okay, I’ll just explain to Lady Alicia… Sophia will probably have an upset tummy today, but as long as we handle it I’m sure it won’t be a problem.” Angie nodded and allowed Sophia to continue to nurse. She knew that by “we”, Hazel had meant that Angie would handle whatever Sophia would do to her diaper on an upset stomach. She was happy to, given it was her mistake in the first place. The Littles finished nursing and were removed from the breasts. As they finished, Leo walked in, stretching sleepily after having allowed himself a late start to the morning. “Morning.” “Ah, Leo, just in time. I need to clean up here a bit. Would you mind burping your sister?” Hazel asked, already passing Lucas towards Leo alongside a burping cloth. “Tch… Give her here.” Leo grumbled, clearly not happy with being made to do this first thing in the morning. He got Lucas into position, slung over his shoulder and supported by the bottom, and began patting his back. His technique had clearly improved with his study, and Lucas began burping and spitting up small bursts of milk into the cloth. “Wow, your highness, you’ve gotten really good at this!” Angie smiled, burping Sophia. Leo nodded to accept the compliment, though he maintained a steely detachment to the whole exercise. When Angie had sufficiently turned her attention away, Leo took the opportunity to give the milk-addled Little a quick kiss on the forehead, away from the eyes of anyone else - they’d never let him live it down… but he just couldn’t resist. Meanwhile, Angie was patting Sophia, who was passing an abundance of gas - not just from the front, but from the back too. She sighed and thought to herself that it was going to be a messy day with this little one. — Lucas and Sophia sat on the floor of the living room, dressed only in their onesies. Lucas wore the same onesie he had on the previous night, complete with its embarrassing slogan, while Sophia wore a purple onesie with a smiling cartoon sun above the writing “Little Sunshine”. The two Littles were watching Frozen, or a version of it strikingly similar to the one Lucas vaguely remembered from his own dimension. They got to the point of the movie where Elsa started singing “Let It Go” - and in typical fashion, Sophia started belting out the lyrics alongside the movie. Lucas was fine with leaving her to it and not participating himself. Instead, he turned towards Hazel, who was sitting on the couch behind them. “Hey Nana?” “Yes, Princess? Do you wanna sing too?” “No, I’m okay… I was just wondering…” “Hm?” “…Did you, um… did you find a drawing in in my room yesterday?” She was wondering when he’d ask. It was time to play coy and see what she could get out of him. “Hm… there are a lot of drawings around, baby. Which one do you mean?” “It was… Noah gave it to me yesterday.” “Ooh, a drawing from Noah, huh? What was it a drawing of? That might help Nana remember.” “Oh, um… it was…” Lucas thought of how to proceed. He couldn’t say too much or risk giving away the secret… assuming Hazel hadn’t already looked, which for all he knew she did. He took a breath inward. “…It was just something he drew me after we…” his sentence trailed off and his eyes shot to the floor. Hazel smiled in response. “Well, I don’t remember seeing a drawing like that. Maybe we can look for it together in a bit, hm?” Lucas didn’t reply. More than anything, he had to get his eyes on that drawing without Hazel also seeing it. If only Noah had stayed the night, he could have found a moment alone to ask him what it had said. The feeling that Hazel had actually seen it and was toying with him somehow hung over him heavily. And of course, she had. Hazel hated to lie to the Princess, but she knew it was necessary to get more info out of him. She just had to be patient and careful enough to direct Lucas into a confession without hurting his feelings. Ultimately, this was for his own good. “Why don’t you go sit with your cousin, Luci? This part looks fun.” Lucas nodded and crawled along the floor to sit next to Sophia, who greeted him with a smile. Although he had other things on his mind, at least Frozen managed to entertain him a little bit as he watched - enough to even begin singing along for a bit. — Author’s Note: I’m back from my hiatus! At least for the time being. I’m hoping to get some more updates out in the coming days. I hope you all enjoy!

Another year has passed, which means I've written another chapter =D --- Chapter 4 : Taking a break ---------------------------- Lynn felt like she was sitting on a wet pillow and it was warm. Pleasantly warm, if she was being honest with herself, but on the whole the swollen diaper was... She didn't know the right word for it. She was sitting in everything she had let go since morning and she couldn't decide how she was supposed to feel about it. There had been moments where she was so certain of her choice throughout the day, sitting here at the table after dinner was not one of those moments. The diaper had been big on her to begin with, now the waistband was clutching her hips tightly, the heaviness between her legs providing the pull. And not only was there a heavy pull between her legs, there was a cornucopia of heavy feelings sprouting from her heart: embarrassing, exhilarating, freeing, confined, moisture intimately being pushed between her legs and her cheeks, the warmth caressing where she was softest, feeling seen and feeling seen in both ways, cherishing her choice and not knowing how far it extended, how far it should extend. She picked at what was left of her dinner with her fork. She hadn't eaten very well. Peony's voice broke through Lynn's ruminations, her internal cloud of hazy thoughts. "Reality to Lynnie." Catching Lynn's eye, Peony continued, "You haven't eaten very well, sweetie, is everything alright?" Madison exhaled through her nose, Lynn could hear the smile in it, before she said: "Maybe you should've fed the baby, Peony. You probably need to know how to do that for one of your exams anyway." Peony's attention switched to Madison, yet a quick flick of her eyes back toward Lynn showed she was not forgotten. There were words on Peony's lips, that she swallowed and her cheeks reddened slightly. "I do need to know how to do that," she admitted rather quietly. A little flustered she turned back to Lynn. "Are you still lost in your books, sweetie? Or..." There was just a moment's hesitation, "or how is your diaper holding up?" Lynn found herself looking down past her plate toward her lap. Toward her diaper, really. "It's still fine." It didn't come out with much energy. Madison was the first one to speak: "Well, these are very big diapers for a little baby like you." "Madison!" Peony said sharply. "She is the baby of the house, Peony, and she has already agreed voluntarily that she was before. So it's a little poking fun at our baby, but also saying that she's securely padded in some very good diapers because we want the best for her." There was a little sparkle in Madison's eye and a little triumph in her smile like she'd just achieved something. It had to be something she was studying. Peony was blushing again, just slightly this time. Doubling down, Madison spoke again: "Besides, we've both checked her diaper before dinner." Lynn wanted to protest and her words died in her throat. She swallowed. They had both checked her diaper when she had come back downstairs, Peony had even complimented her fastening skills and it had felt warm, homely. As she started clearing the table, Peony finally replied: "I'll clean up here. Lynn sweetie, do you want to help me?" Lynn simply nodded. She got up, carefully because of the diaper between her legs, but it actually stuck closely and warmly to her bottom. Peony was already loading the dishwasher. They were lucky to have one. It made cleaning up a lot easier, especially during busy days. Or busy weeks in this case. Sometimes Peony would insist they do dishes together. Not today, today she sent Madison out of the kitchen with a simple request: "can you please find something to do for us tonight?" And when Madison had left the kitchen she quietly asked: "I didn't check your diaper earlier, sweetie, I just wanted to make sure you had it on right." Slowly and even quieter than Peony, Lynn responded: "I tried getting it back on exactly right. Thank you for checking." Peony nodded, but before her housemate could respond she added: "It's okay if you want to check me next time." It would help Peony with her studies and, well, Peony had already helped diapering her that morning. Lynn had one hand touching her diaper, the other holding a plate as she dared to look back at Peony. In a spur of the moment, she put down the plate, took Peony's free hand and pushed it against the front of her diaper. If she hadn't been wearing the diaper, it would've been very inappropriate, maybe it was still very inappropriate. Peony's eyes went a little wide. Only for a moment, then her eyes softened and a little smile formed on her lips. "Thank you for trusting me," she said, voice calm and warm. She put the plate in her other hand down and for a quick instant she squeezed Lynn's hand. Then her smile began fading and with a furrowed brow she pushed a little through the onesie into the diaper, feeling its weight. "Goodness Lynnie, that's very heavy," she breathed. Gently she reached for the snaps on Lynn's onesie and undid them. She lifted up the front. The white diaper was puffed up and tinted, obviously used. Looking down, Lynn herself could see the soaked diaper she could feel. Peony circled around her and lifted her onesie in the back as well. "You've definitely put it to use, sweetheart." It sounded softly affectionate, positive. "I would recommend changing, but... the tapes are still holding perfectly and... and I think it can actually take more." Peony walked back around and began closing the snaps one by one between Lynn's legs. "You say it's fine, but it can't be comfortable in that state." Lynn felt her cheeks grow warm again. It was... well, the diaper felt like it was supposed to feel when it was that full and Lynn was the baby wearing it. So maybe the uncomfortableness was just the right part of it. She didn't know how to explain that to Peony or even if she should. Grabbing two of the mugs on the table, Peony put them in the dishwasher. "You should put some moisturizing cream on your hips tonight when you take off the diaper, Lynnie, they've been wrapped up all day." At that point, Madison stuck her head back into the kitchen. "I found something for us to do tonight. You're going to love it Peony." The living room table was filled with a pile of puzzle pieces, the box set upright on one of the corners to clearly show the picture. A couple of bunnies in a grassy meadow, a single tree providing the only variation besides the bunnies. "I forgot I had that," Peony said. "Are you sure this is what you want to do tonight, Madison, it doesn't seem like your thing." "I'm sure," Madison said with with a warm smile. I absolutely think it's perfect for tonight. Peony had a warm smile herself and softly tapped Lynn's padded bottom, saying: "Come on, let's make a puzzle." It wasn't exactly what Lynn had in mind for tonight. She had been engrossed in her books and she had thought to continue that for a while longer. Looking at Peony's happy face Lynn almost changed her mind. Nonetheless, she told her housemates: "I think I'll read some more tonight." A sharp look on Madison's face got immediately interrupted by Peony: "Oh no. You need a break, Lynnie, sit down." She practically pulled Lynn down onto a chair with an audible squish. The noise from the warm padding under her butt shot warm shame into her cheeks. For a moment she found herself unable to protest or even look at her housemates. She could only focus on her bottom digging into the wet padding and hoping that the diaper continued to contain anything. She herself had said her diaper could hold more, Peony had said her diaper could hold more, and yet for the moment all she could do was try to feel if there were any leaks. By the time Lynn felt certain enough, Peony had already made room on the table for the puzzle. "Do you want to help me, sweetie?" Peony asked as she sorted edge pieces from the pile. The corners had already been laid out to more or less form the right frame. Lynn sighed and gave in. She still wanted to dive back into her books, crawl into a warm corner with her warm bottom and read more. Peony wasn't going to let her go. She couldn't reach the pile of puzzle pieces from where she was sitting, she could only reach for the ones that Peony had already sorted out. She look at their patterns and began fitting them together where already possible. She had a pretty good idea where a few parts should go, the bottom of a rabbit foot gave it away. Bit by bit, piece by piece, the edge of the puzzle was filled in until they had a complete border. Lynn hadn't noticed when it happened, but she had switched places with Peony and she was sitting on her knees, bending over the table as she made the puzzle, completely engrossed like she had been when she was little. Madison was sitting on the other side of the table, just smiling and sharing a look with Peony, who was also enjoying watching Lynn work. "You're doing good, keep going," Peony said. Lynn blushed, and kept going. Her books had been forgotten, even her padded bottom had been forgotten, and the absurd moment of her housemates encouraging her like a child was also quickly forgotten as she pieced together a field and two bunnies over the next hour or so. When the puzzle was done, Peony gave Lynn a kiss on the side of her forehead. "Well done, sweetie. Told you it was good of you to join, to take your mind off studying." She didn't suppress a massive yawn. "Tell you what though, I'm going to look up my bed. We can leave the puzzle here until tomorrow, decide what we want to with it then." Getting up, shoving her chair back under the table, she finally added: "Do you need any help getting ready for bed?" Shaking her head, Lynn answered no. Getting up, she became aware of the heavy padding between her legs again. For a moment she hesitated, not quite blushing, which drew Peony's attention. "I can handle it," she reassured her friend. Madison was nowhere to be seen anymore. Admitting to herself she also felt tired, Lynn put her other housemate out of her mind and followed Peony upstairs. --- I have good news. I haven't written just one chapter, I have written three and will write more in a reasonable timeframe this time. In return, I'm humbly asking you to please provide some support at buy me a coffee. A lovely woman (not yours truly) in the Philippines could use some financial support due to the current state of the world, so if you can help, it will be greatly appreciated. Here's the deal: I will be posting one chapter per month here on DailyDiapers, on the first of the month.My Buy Me A Coffee page is currently two chapters ahead (up to chapter 6) and will receive two chapters per month. That means that every month, the Buy Me A Coffee page will be one chapter further ahead.

Emma is a young woman in a world that is inherently unfair to young women. In this parallel universe, women develop their motor skills much later than men. If a young woman develops her skills early she can move out of the "specialised" women's classes in time to take her tests with the men, and have an entirely different trajectory for life. The question is: Will Emma get there in time? Final exams are coming up and as desperate as Emma is, she's still struggling. Things are made even more complicated by the arrival of a guy who upends her world view. --- I'm only able to write as much as I do thanks to the amazing support of my readers. Writing is my only income and I appreciate everyone who reads my stories more than you all can imagine. If you enjoy my stories and want to see updates a week before everyone else PLUS read 35+ stories only available on my membership sites please have a look at the links below. All support is very gratefully accepted ❤️ https://reamstories.com/elfy https://subscribestar.adult/elfy --- What Emma Wants By Elfy I slowly opened my eyes as the chirping of birds outside brought me out of dreamland. I grumbled as I rolled over wanting some more sleep, the thickness between my legs told me that it hadn’t been a dry night. It wasn’t much of a surprise; I think I’d had one dry night in my life and that had been sheer luck. My nursery was always the worst in the mornings. The overwhelming pinkness seemed to glow even brighter shortly after dawn, with the sun that was now streaming through the window making me squint. My pink curtains were so thin they were more for show than anything else. This had been my room for as long as I could remember, and it had hardly changed at all in the time aside from the furniture getting bigger. Here I was, one month past my eighteenth birthday, and my surroundings were the same as one month after my first. The one thing I had convinced my parents to do was add an extra bookshelf with some of my favourite books, a small concession to my actual age. I grabbed a frilly pink pillow and held it over my head in a desperate attempt to block out the real world for a few more minutes. It was no use. My senses were already waking up. I could hear footsteps, probably my younger brother, stomping up and down the landing. The smell of bacon, Dad’s favourite, sizzling in a pan wafted through the air. That was the duty of my mom, of course, to make sure Dad’s breakfast was cooked and his clothes washed and ironed before work each morning. It would be my duty too soon, no matter how much I hated the idea of it. I grumbled as I rolled on to my back. I kicked off the blanket that had felt cosy during the night but was now making me too sweaty to reveal my pyjamas. As pink as the rest of the room my sleepwear was very childish decorated as it was by pictures of sleeping bunnies. Underneath was, of course, my ever-present diaper. I didn’t need to reach down to know it was soaked. The bulky overnight padding successfully keeping my bed dry was as familiar as it was hated. “Morning!” Mom started talking before the door had opened but by the time she finished her singsong greeting she was already halfway to my crib. I didn’t say anything, nor did I uncover my face. The morning routine was set in stone, and my participation was not needed for most of it. Mom’s thin-wristed hand slipped between the thick bars of my baby bed and then reached down under the waistband of my pyjama pants to press against my diaper. I don’t know why she bothered with this part. It wasn’t as if I was likely to be dry. “Let’s get you changed and ready for school.” Mom said. The side of my crib came down and I finally pushed the pillow off my head. With another grumble I rolled sideways and then swung my legs over the side of my bed. I stood up and almost fell straight into mom. “Oops, careful.” Mom said with a chuckle. I didn’t find it funny. It was another in a long list of examples that I still wasn’t ready for what I truly wanted; to get out of these damn diapers and start to get taken seriously. I wasn’t optimistic about achieving that dream any time soon though. According to Dad it had taken years before Mom was out of diapers completely. Mom held my hand as we walked over to the changing table. I hoisted myself up and lowered my pyjama bottoms helpfully for Mom, any chance to show I could be responsible I wanted to grab with both hands. “Is this really necessary?” I asked as I rubbed my eyes and looked up at the glow-in-the-dark shooting stars that decorated my ceiling. “You know it is.” Mom’s hand patted the sagging round diaper. “You could at least let me TRY to potty train.” I complained. “Baby, you know that’s not up to me.” Mom said as she pulled the tapes on the diaper. I sighed and let my head roll dispiritedly to the side. No, it wasn’t Mom’s decision. It wasn’t even Dad’s. This was an argument we’d had on the changing table countless times; it was one I knew I couldn’t ever win. “Honestly, baby, I bet all your little friends don’t give their poor Mommies this much grief every morning.” Mom pressed some cool baby wipes against my crotch causing me to jump. “Well, maybe I just want it more than them.” I mumbled. “Emma, if you want to get out of diapers you need to find yourself a husband.” Mom said, “You know that. Any progress on that front?” “No.” I replied shortly. “You should get a move on, baby.” Mom said. God, I hated that pet name, “If you want to get out of diapers, you’ll need to find yourself a man to marry. You know, when your father took over changing my diapers from my Daddy it was a really romantic moment.” I stared at Mom with furrowed eyebrows. She couldn’t be serious. She seemed to notice my expression as she smiled and continued. “We were young and in love.” Mom said with a wistful far-off look in her eyes, “We were nervous and that intimacy of the first diaper change really helped bring us closer together.” I sighed and bit my tongue to stop myself from talking back. My legs were lifted and rolled back as the wet diaper was pulled out from under me. My feet were held in the air until Mom had flattened the new disposable and slipped it under my rear end. When my butt came back down it was on top of a fresh crinkling diaper. The sides were pulled up and taped closed with the speed of an expert who had been changing my diapers for eighteen years… which is exactly what Mom had been doing. “Alright, wait right there whilst I get your clothes.” Mom said. She put a hand on my chest as I tried to get up, “Don’t sit up. We don’t want you to fall.” Mom’s lack of faith in me was annoying. Sure, like ninety-nine percent of girls my age I had some trouble with coordination and could be a bit clumsy, but it wasn’t like I was totally incapable of looking after myself. When Mom turned to head to the closet, I decided to ignore her and sat up, I swayed a little as my balance tried to catch up to the movement but I didn’t fall of. Success. Mom came back over with my outfit for the day. I let out a deep sigh. None of my outfits were what I would describe as “grown up” but this one was particularly childish. A pink t-shirt with a picture of a unicorn flying through the sky, a rainbow trail coming out of the back of it. Over the top Mom had selected a denim dress that came up to the middle of my chest with straps that went up and over my shoulders. She helped me off the table and I didn’t need to look into the mirror to know that it barely covered my diaper. The in-built petticoat pushed the dress out in every direction. I tried to flatten it all down to give myself more cover and hopefully make the outfit look more mature, but it didn’t work, as soon as I flattened one bit another part would stick out. Mom completed my outfit with the fashion accessory all young women and girls had. A pacifier with a big latex bulb, a pink mouth guard and a long piece of rainbow coloured ribbon that attached it to a metal clip on the front of my dress. The pacifier bobbed against my chest ready to be pushed into my mouth as soon as a man had decided I had done enough talking. I was still trying to make myself presentable when Mom took my hand and led me out of the nursery. The fresh diaper crinkled loudly in the otherwise quiet landing, it was a sound I had almost tuned out having become so used to it but just occasionally, when I was particularly frustrated, my ears heard the tell-tale rustle common in every house with girls younger than their mid-twenties around the world. As I waddled down the stairs the familiar sounds and smells of breakfast came wafting down the hallway to me. The smell of eggs and bacon frying, for my Dad and Brother, of course, we women were expected to watch our figures so I knew it would be cereal for me. I could hear my brother talking, his voice only recently deepened by puberty, and then my Dad’s loud and booming laugh in response. Despite what it may seem I never hated my family, they were simply upholding the “natural order” of things. Once in the kitchen I made my way to my highchair. It was yet another point of contention that I had argued about for years, pretty much as soon as I was able to talk, I was protesting, but my family insisted. The most annoying thing was they were probably right. I did need it just like I needed help with so many other things. There is a fundamental and profound difference between women and men. No matter how much I despise or try to fight there could be no doubt about it. As we were all taught in our rudimentary biology lessons, girls simply developed slower and later than boys. Whilst boys would be out of diapers by four or five years-old girls most often needed them into their twenties. I believe the textbook said the average age of female potty training was twenty-five which meant I could expect another seven years in padding, a thought so horrible it made me want to cry. It wasn’t just potty training that separated the sexes though. Whilst the diapers might be the most obvious difference if you were to look between a boy and a girl of a similar age it was far from the only thing. Along with the delayed potty training came a big delay in developing fine motor skills. Basically, girls needed a lot of help with a lot of things. For instance, breakfast. Whilst I could eat an apple on my own there was no way I could handle a spoon without most of my cereal ending up down the front of my dress. That was just one example of a thousand. The practical result of these genetic differences was that girls were simply treated differently. We were essentially little more than babies until well into adulthood. The diapers seemed to inspire a certain amount of protectiveness from the men who would keep us in nurseries, dress us like overgrown toddlers and generally not trust us to do anything for ourselves. They weren’t nasty, for the most part, they were just doing what they thought was best to help. The “immaturity” of women had seeped into every aspect of life. Even older women, like my mom, who had been long potty trained were still treated as little more than children a lot of the time. It may have been obvious, but I HATED it. I hated being treated like I was different or less able. I was jealous of boys, like my brother, who could just get on with their lives. I loathed the fact that unless I was extremely lucky, I was going to end up like my mother. Married off and looking after the home whilst producing babies whilst my husband earned the money. I wanted more but I almost certainly wasn’t going to get it. What was really the most frustrating aspect of it all though was that I was capable of so much more. I was smart, at least for a girl, and I took pride in that. School was almost a waste of time for me, I had to try and learn what I could in my spare time. I would ask for books for my birthdays and Christmases. Dad clearly didn’t agree and thought it would lead to me “getting ideas” which was apparently a bad thing. For once mom got her way though, mostly because she was the one to head out to the store for presents, and at least twice a year I would unwrap a new book. But none of that mattered. I could apply to be taken out of the girl’s classes and put into an accelerated program, the only way for me to go to college and have a potential career, to escape my fate as a future homemaker but I wouldn’t be accepted. Whilst I may have had the intelligence to pass the requisite tests it was irrelevant because I still had the coordination of a toddler and in the world’s eyes that was all that mattered. Even amongst girls my age, I was behind the curve. “Nice dress, sis.” Ollie said with a smirk. I scowled at him. He knew about my frustrations and, like any good brother, poured salt into the wound when he could. What I wouldn’t have given to switch places with him… “Oh, Richard, dear.” Mom said to Dad as she made the cereal, “The Wilkinsons have invited us over for a little get together.” “Sounds marvellous.” Dad replied without looking away from his newspaper. I was pretty sure Dad had spent more of his life looking at the papers than he had me. I had hopped up into the highchair, nearly falling over in the process, and when Mom returned, she locked the tray in place and put my breakfast on it. I looked at the unappetising wet cereal without enthusiasm whilst Mom brought eggs and bacon for the men. My mouth watered just looking at the cooked breakfast. A piece of cloth fluttered down over my face to rest against my chest. My bib was to protect my clothes from any food that missed my mouth, mom never liked having to change my clothes before sending me off to school. Mom then sat down with her own cereal and two spoons. “Alright, baby, open up.” Mom said sweetly. “I’m not a-…” I started complaining but Mom simply shoved the spoon into my mouth. As I ate my lacklustre breakfast in silence Ollie started telling Dad about his latest sporting achievements. As if to emphasise the differences between us Ollie was very smart and athletic, popular too. It only made me feel worse about my own situation. We had the same abilities and yet he was going to get all the opportunities whilst I was going to get nothing. I hated mealtimes just because they took so long. In between my own mouthfuls I had to wait for Mom to eat and she liked to gossip to no one in particular leaving me waiting even longer. If it were up to me, I would eat as quickly as possible so I could get away from the highchair and go back up to my room. --- If you want to see what happens next RIGHT NOW you can do so at one of the following links. Thank you, and all support is very gratefully received: https://reamstories.com/page/lpjgftb4y2/story/mf967rdsf7db10/chapter/mofj6wqga4681931 https://subscribestar.adult/posts/2460869

New Song will have you entranced to the sound! 🧷🕑😵 For those who haven't heard yet, this is the third song in an entire album I am slowly working my way creating and releasing one song at a time! You can find the others here in the Art forum, or follow me on my page where I post them there as well! I also posted the alternate cover art on my profile page! Enjoy! Tick Tock Backwards Clock.mp3

This is a sequel to Téa and the Duel Conveyor, which you can read here. Hope you like it. 😨 Téa ran out of the room holding the two conveyor belts that were used in the most insane Duel Téa had ever seen or participated in. Depending on how low your Life Points were, you were put through a different station. The woman who put her through this, a relic hunter that would send the loser to a childless couple, had just lost the Duel and was being transported to her new parents. However, Téa didn't make it out unscathed. While she still had her short brown hair, and her blue eyes were as focused as ever, she was still in a giant cloth diaper, and her tongue was somewhat numbed by a thorough washing. She wanted to leave, but she desperately needed to find her clothes, or else she'd be arrested. After what felt like an hour of searching the room from top to bottom, Téa had to accept that her clothes were no longer in this room. As such, she'd have to check the rest of whatever crazy building this room was in. After a few moments to steady herself, Téa opened the door and headed out of the conveyor belt room. The next room caught Téa completely off guard. It was a giant nursery. It had everything. There was a green changing table with a silver top, a cream colored baby buggy with pink sheets, and a high chair. Téa was also surprised to see a bathtub in the far corner and what looked like a barber chair with arms on the sides of both the head and the feet. In fact, Téa could see that the high chair had a black machine on the back. Everything here was mechanized, just like the conveyor belts. Deciding to stay clear of them, Téa finally saw what was in the center of the room. It was a boxy orange robot a single light bulb for an eye, silver arms with ball joints acting as the elbows and shoulders, matching hands, and a unicycle instead of legs. The robot also had a pronounced chest, to the point where it made Téa feel a bit under developed, and was dressed in a stereotypical maid outfit. Before Téa could try and walk around it, the robot turned on, almost by itself. "Welcome, dearie." The robot said in a maternal voice. "Wh-who awe you?" Téa asked nervously. "I'm the Robot Nanny, dearie." The Nanny said as she began rolling towards Téa. "I-I don't need a nanny." Téa said quickly. "I won the Duew!" "Oh, clearly." The Nanny agreed as it continued towards her, and Téa backed up, feeling a pressure in her stomach that very much alarmed her. "This room is a fail safe where we'll play a new game. If you can last for the next three hours while only going through five or less diaper changes, you're free to go. Your clothes are even waiting on the other side of the door. But if you have even one more accident after the allotted five changes, you'll stay here with me forever." "Fowevew?!!" Téa asked in alarm, causing her to forget about the pressure in her stomach as she peed her diaper. "That’s one, sweetie." The Nanny said much to Téa's embarrassment and alarm. Just then, a spare pair of arms exactly like the last ones came out of the Robot Nanny's back and undid the top of her dress. Once it was off, the Nanny's chest opened up to reveal an orange table. All four arms then grabbed Téa and put her on the table. While the main pair held her down, the extra pair removed her soaked diaper and dropped it down a chute. Next the arms used baby wipes to clean Téa's private parts, making her shudder at the cold. Next the arms reached inside of the Nanny's chest cavity and pulled out a bottle of baby powder. The powder was rained down on Téa's groin, butt, and stomach as she struggled with all her might, but it was no use. She couldn't break free of the Robot Nanny's hold on her. Finally, a new cloth diaper was brought out and wrapped around Téa's pelvis before a safety pin was put through the middle to secure it. The Nanny then brought out a white baby bonnet and put it on Téa's head, tying it tightly under her chin. She then had a red bib tied around her neck. Finally, white mittens and booties with red frills were put on her hands and feet. The Nanny then put Téa down and patted her head, making Téa groan. She was now an even bigger baby than five minutes ago. Unfortunately, her only way out was to play the Nanny's sick game. Téa glared at her as the Nanny's chest popped back into place and she refixed her dress before her arms were retracted. "Now don't you look pretty?" The Nanny said sweetly. "Remember, you only have four changes left." Téa grumbled in humiliation and walked off. She needed something to take her mind off of things. After that, the three hours would go by like a breeze. At least she hoped they would. Téa had already escaped babyhood once today and was terrified about the prospect of not succeeding this time. Just one too many slip ups, and she'd be at the mercy of a mechanized nanny. To be continued...

I had to change the "See you soon, raccoon"... it sounded better but didn't make much sense. But yeah, a sleepless Sally would look very much like one. Thank you. Impossible not to be cute in diapers, even if you're too old. And Sally already looks kind of cute, without trying.

And you can work out your "anger issues" while making it. 😆

Chapter 66 When we got back to the cabin, I led her quietly into our bedroom, the soft creak of the floorboards beneath us adding to the stillness. I motioned toward the changing table, its surface freshly prepared and waiting. She gave me a curious look, one brow slightly raised. Okay… she said, stepping over with hesitant curiosity. As she reached the table, I spoke gently. Our moms will be gone for about six hours, I said, my voice low and calm. So… it’s time to get you into a diaper. She paused, uncertainty flickering in her eyes. But what if they come back early? I offered a reassuring smile, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek. Don’t worry. We’ll see them coming up the road long before they reach the cabin. If that happens, we’ll have plenty of time to change you. She nodded slowly, still a little unsure, but trusting. Okay… In moments like this, I imagine the quiet intimacy we’ll share when we’re living together—how the world will slow down in our little space. I walk over and gently ask her to lift her arms. She does so, her movements soft and deliberate. I ease her T-shirt over her head, careful not to disturb the moment’s serenity. The fabric slips free, and I fold it with intention, placing it aside as if preserving something sacred. Turn around, I whisper. She pivots slowly, her back warm beneath my fingertips, the curve of her spine familiar and grounding. I unfasten her bra with deliberate care, the gesture not just practical but reverent. I fold both garments and lay them down gently, honoring the quiet trust she’s placed in me. With a touch that barely stirs the air, I unsnap her shorts and guide them down, the motion slow, respectful. Her panties follow, each movement deliberate, as if time itself were pausing to witness. I fold them neatly, placing them beside the others, a small tableau of intimacy and care. Then, I lift her into my arms, her body light and yielding, and settle her gently onto the table. She doesn’t speak—she doesn’t need to. As she finds her place, she instinctively brings her thumb to her mouth, a gesture so tender and childlike it catches me off guard. I watch in silence, struck by how naturally she’s surrendering to the moment, how quickly she’s adapting to the quiet safety we’ve built between us. I began by applying diaper rash ointment between her legs, then gently spread it across her bottom. Once that was done, I made sure her entire diaper area was lightly dusted with baby powder and gently rubbed in. I could also tell that she was starting to enjoy what I was doing. Her nipples was starting to grow. All that remained was to gently pull the front of the diaper between her legs and secure it with diaper pins. I held up two pairs of plastic pants—one a soft pastel blue, the other a cheerful bubblegum pink—and asked her gently, Which one do you like best? Her eyes lit up as she pointed to the pink pair, her thumb still tucked in her mouth. I smiled, slipped my hands through the leg holes, and reached for her ankles. With slow, careful movements, I guided the pants up her legs, the smooth vinyl rustling softly as it slid over her skin. When the waistband reached the edge of her diaper, I cradled her bottom in one hand and gently lifted her off the changing table just enough to pull the pants snugly into place. I ran my fingers lightly around the elastic edges to make sure everything was secure and comfortable, smoothing out any creases. The pink pants hugged her diaper with a soft puffiness, sealing in the last step of her change. Satisfied, I gave her a warm smile and lifted her off the table. She blinked up at me, pulled her thumb out with a quiet pop, and asked with innocent curiosity, aren’t you going to put a top on me? I smiled and replied, no need for one—it’s warm enough outside, and your diaper is all you need. She gave a little shrug and toddled ahead, the soft crinkle of her plastic pants audibles with each step. Watching her waddle confidently through the hallway, I couldn’t help but feel a swell of affection. She looked absolutely adorable, and I felt quietly grateful to have found someone who embraced this quirky part of our life with such joy and ease. We made our way into the kitchen, sunlight spilling across the countertops. Betsy reached for the note her mom had left on the fridge and read it aloud, her voice clear and focused. The first task: melt butter with minced garlic, rub the mixture generously over four russet potatoes, wrap them tightly in foil, and get them on the grill by 3 o’clock. We glanced at the clock—plenty of time. Next up was the strawberry cheesecake, a bold undertaking for two novices. We laid out the ingredients—cream cheese, sugar, eggs, vanilla, and fresh strawberries—and followed the instructions step by step. There were a few moments of hesitation, a couple of laughs when we misread a measurement, but together we got it done. The cheesecake went into the fridge to chill, its glossy top promising something delicious later. Then came the homemade BBQ baked beans. The kitchen filled with the rich aroma of molasses, brown sugar, and smoked paprika as we stirred the mixture on the stove. It simmered gently while we ticked off another item from the list. Only three tasks remained: shucking the corn, flipping the steaks that had been marinating in a tangy blend of spices, and rinsing the strawberries for the daiquiris we’d serve with dinner. The afternoon was unfolding smoothly, and with each completed step, the celebration felt closer, more real. With everything settled in the kitchen, I reached for Betsy's hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. It’s time for our talk, I said, my voice calm but purposeful. About moving in together—and everything that might come with it. Outside, the late afternoon sun bathed the yard in golden warmth, casting long shadows across the grass. I found a wide, cushioned chair on the patio, just big enough for the two of us to sit together. I sat down and gently lifted Betsy onto my lap, cradling her close. Her body relaxed against mine, her head resting lightly on my shoulder as the breeze stirred the leaves around us. As part of her care routine, I discreetly checked her diaper—just a quick, practiced touch to ensure she was dry. She was. I gave her a soft pat on her bottom and whispered, Good girl for staying dry. She smiled, a quiet glow in her eyes, and popped her thumb into her mouth, settling deeper into the comfort of the moment. We sat like that for a while, wrapped in quiet and warmth, before I spoke again. Betsy, I said gently, we talked a lot yesterday, and I really want to understand how you’re feeling. When you’re in this mode—this headspace—what age do you feel like? She looked up at me, her thumb still resting against her lips. Her eyes searched mine for a moment, then she nodded slightly and whispered, Three. I nodded slowly, letting her quiet admission settle between us like a soft breeze. So you're okay with me treating you like you're three, I said gently, giving you the care, attention, and space that feels right for you? She gave a small smile, her eyes warm and trusting, and nestled closer into my chest. Her thumb remained tucked between her lips, a quiet comfort she clung to like a lifeline. I paused, letting the moment breathe, then asked softly, and that includes using your diapers when you need to? Is that something you're comfortable with? She didn’t speak, but the way she relaxed against me—her body melting into the embrace, her thumb still rhythmically resting in her mouth—told me everything I needed to know. There’s one more thing we need to talk about, I said, watching her closely, her thumb now seeming like the only thing anchoring her to the moment. If we’re going to move forward with this, I think I already know what your answer’s going to be. I paused again, not to press, but to give her space—space to feel, to think, to respond in her own time. The sun warmed our skin, the breeze rustled the trees, and for a moment, the world felt perfectly still. Before we went any further, I wanted to give her space. If there’s anything on your mind, I said gently, brushing a strand of hair from her cheek, now’s the time to ask. I want you to feel heard. She looked up at me, her voice barely above a whisper, uncertain but brave. Do I have to wear a diaper at school? I shook my head softly, offering a reassuring smile. No, sweetheart. I would never make you do that. But if you ever feel safer or more comfortable wearing one there, I’ll support you. It’s completely your decision. She nodded slowly, her thumb hovering near her lips, eyes drifting into quiet thought. I gave her a moment, then added with care, When you’re not at school, though, you’ll still need to wear one—for now. She didn’t resist, just nestled a little closer, her body language speaking volumes. I know I’ll be helping you get dressed each morning, I continued, keeping my tone light and warm. But if I ever pick something you don’t like, just tell me. We’ll change it—no questions asked. What matters most is that you feel safe and happy. There was a pause, then she asked, her voice fragile and hesitant, what happens if I mess my diaper while we’re out? I nodded, understanding the vulnerability behind her words. That might happen sometimes, I said gently. And if it does, I’ll take care of it right away. I’ll make sure it’s handled quietly and quickly so hardly anyone even notices. You don’t have to worry—I’ve got you. She leaned into me, thumb returning to her mouth, and I wrapped my arms around her a little tighter. The trust between us felt like something sacred—fragile, but growing stronger with every word. I nodded slowly, giving her question the weight it deserved. That’s something we’ll navigate together, I said gently. You don’t have to wear diapers around your parents unless you want to. If it helps you feel safe or grounded, I’ll support you—but it’s completely your choice. She looked thoughtful, her thumb resting near her lips again, eyes flickering with uncertainty. I could tell she was imagining the situation, trying to balance comfort with vulnerability. If you ever do choose to wear one around them, I continued, we’ll make sure it’s discreet. No one has to know unless you want them to. And if you’d rather not—if it feels too exposing or uncomfortable—that’s okay too. She leaned into me again, her body relaxing just a little more. I wrapped my arms around her, letting the silence speak for us. The afternoon light filtered through the trees, casting soft patterns across the patio, and for a moment, everything felt still—like the world was giving her space to decide.

Last night. I bought a package of skinless/boneless chicken thighs, pounded them flat with a tenderizing meat mallet, then dipped them in a egg wash, Italian bread crumbs and browned them in olive oil. Once browned, I removed them, drained the oil from the pan and made a package of homestyle white chicken gravy. I returned the chicken to the gravy in the pan and let it simmer. Instant mashed potatoes and a salad. I'll probably make it again, it didn't cost a lot and was pretty tasty.

33. My Induction “Please,” Tess answered under her breath. “I’ve seen that stuff on TV, like stage shows and stuff, and I always wondered how it feels. You can make it feel real, so we’d be feeling like we’re that age again, and not embarrassed about acting like that?” “I can. That’s something you really want?” The world seemed to hold its breath, but in reality it was probably just me. I was on the edge of my seat now, and Tess could clearly see that. She felt she was doing me a big favour by letting me be a teen again, without realising that the whole point of today was to convince my girlfriend of Tess’s desire to be babied. I know I’d set the trap, but it was playing out better than I had ever imagined. “Yes. I’m interested in being younger,” she was nervous saying the line, but even if you knew where she was coming from, it was hard to tell if she was trying to remember what I’d told her or just ashamed of the desires she was now admitting. “Just for the afternoon, you know? It’s not going to have any lasting effects, I’ll still be able to act normal around my friends. I don’t mind feeling like a child if I’ve agreed to dress and act like it, but not just happening at random. And only if Gabby does it too.” She treated me to a grin which, if I didn’t know better, I’d think was a sign that she was planning to embarrass me. That was the smile of someone pushing a friend into a dare. I shrugged and offered a chuckle in response, before turning back to Ffrances and nodding. This was going to be perfect, and if I could just give her a few words of guidance first, Tess wouldn’t know what had hit her. She would find her littlespace coming back when she least expected it, encouraging her to act little more and more, until she was feeling small, safe, and protected whenever I wanted her to. “That’s okay with you, hon?” Ffrances asked, already lifting her favourite metronome out of her bag. I hadn’t even realised she’d brought it. I wasn’t sure if she was intending to trance Tess first, or do both of us together. But I was sure that I could convince her that separate suggestions would be better; allowing me every opportunity to understand what was going on in my little’s subconscious, and take advantage of the more subtle triggers that I could use to remind her of the little feeling. There was plenty of time to talk; Ffrances never did hypnosis without a drawn-out pretalk to make sure that her subjects knew what to expect, and were entirely satisfied with what they had asked for. And I knew how to use that time to further convince her that Tess was asking for the changes I’d chosen. “Yeah. We should probably talk about how we’re going to do this. It’s probably best if I watch Tess’s session, so I can–” “Stop,” Ffrances commanded, one finger reaching towards my lips. I stopped of course. And then that finger touched my forehead, and the next command was just as simple: “Deep now.” Heavy eyelids closed, my head bobbed automatically, and after the second nod I didn’t have the energy to look up again. * * * “I said, is that okay?” I felt a hand shaking my shoulder, and glanced up to see Ffrances was watching me closely. “Sorry,” I answered with a sheepish grin. “I didn’t realise you were talking to me.” “Does the big safety talk bore you?” she said with a raised eyebrow. “Anyway, Tess has agreed to what we’re going to try this afternoon. Just a light trance. She’s playing a role, but it will feel more realistic, and she won’t experience any expectation or obligation to act like an adult. She will see you as a cousin she’s excited to play with, because you always have fun together, and there will be no feelings of responsibility. I’m the responsible adult here. Does that sound fair to you, given what you two have talked about in the past?” I nodded, enthusiastic as always. “And would you be okay with doing the same, so she doesn’t feel singled out?” Before I could answer she turned back to Tess, and explained in a stage whisper that we had already experimented with living out different kinds of fantasy scenarios, so I had an idea of how a hypnotic suggestion could make me feel, and so I didn’t need such an in-depth explanation of what was happening. But I was already nodding; I’d been looking forward to this for so long, and now it was so close I could taste it. Ffrances set up her metronome on the coffee table. I traded places with her, so that Tess and I were both on the couch, where we could look at the little mechanical device with Ffrances moved a chair from the kitchen so she was sitting behind it. I guessed that it would be faster if we both had the suggestions at the same time; Tess would feel more confident that way. And there were ways I could use that to my advantage; if we were having the same suggestions, that would mean that everything had to be the same. “I’ve been thinking,” I mumbled. “If one of us likes this, she wouldn’t want to be asking you to repeat the session every time. Could you make it so that if… either of us… wants to feel younger again, she can do that by dressing in childish clothes, or doing childish things? Maybe not like fully getting into the role, but just making it a little bit easier to overcome those inhibitions, so that it’s easier to accept and enjoy being treated like a child. I think… one of us… might like to try that, if today goes well.” “Tess?” Ffrances only needed one word to answer. “Sounds fine to me. I’d never do anything childish anyway, so if Gabby wants to try it, I don’t mind.” She sounded so much like she was making excuses, glad to get something like that without having to ask for it, that it was easy to believe she’d been craving access to her little headspace all this time. “Good. Now, I’m going to ask you to stare at the metronome. Imagine how it could capture your attention once I start it, how focusing on that will be the only thing on your mind. You can already imagine being so focused that my words just slip into the back of your mind. And as you watch…” She reached out and flicked the metronome pointer to one side. It was just the right speed to be matching my heartbeat, and I couldn’t believe that all my dreams were finally coming true.

It's morning and you know what that means for me...a wet and warm, squishy, messy pink MegaMax diaper sitting here while I sip hot coffee. I won't change right away because I sooo enjoy the cascading cacophony of the intense pleasure of my wet and poopie morning diapie. The pink diaper looks so innocent in contrast to the potty squishing inside my diaper, but for me that's innocent as well.

Don't forget the ripple effect. We could be heading for a recession. High price for gas means people stay home more. That effects businesses, restaurants, vacations, hotels, tourist sites, etc. Then figure if there is reduced business, that means layoffs and more people out of work. Even those who still go out pay more for groceries based on the fuel it takes to distribute them to stores. What a mess.

Well, I gently disagree with your definition of DL, but that's just me. While I'm personally very much into the age-play aspect, there are days when I wear just 'for comfort' and the feelings of 'security'. Those days, I'll often make it to the bathroom just fine and wear a dry diaper the whole day. But I still enjoy it for various reasons: knowing I don't have to 'trust a fart', or "it's there, just in case". Heck, in the winter when I have to shovel snow they keep my butt warm!!! (BTW, don't try to stay outside when windchill is -5F and you have a wet diaper... that's not fun. lol) But as I've recently mentioned to others, 'labels' that are ambiguous are not useful. If your idea of 'DL' isn't the same as others, then using/ not using it can lead to confusion. Best to spell it out with more words. Something like, "I like wearing diapes for the emotional support/ comfort they give me." Or whatever feelings you have towards wearing them at the time. That's why I sometimes describe myself as AB with 'sissy tendencies'. That S-word is ill defined and so when I say 'tendencies', it helps the listener understand that, "Okay, some aspects, but not all?? So... not completely what I assume the word means, but..." Likewise you might say, 'DL in some ways....' or such. Helps the listener get an idea, but not jump too far in conclusions. And can open up a dialogue where more nuanced details can be explained if they're really interested.

I just prattle on more than you do; Douglas Adams was not known for his prolificacy, either!

I wet my Little Kings diaper throughout the night and after I got out of bed just 15 minutes ago; I was blessed with a massive mess in my diaper. Instead of WMD (Weapons of Mass Destruction" I have a MMD: Massive Messy Diaper this morning. I am sipping hot coffee while I enjoy the warm, squishy poopie in my diapie. I won't change right away, at least I hope not, i.e., if my potty begins to spread and squish to the front of my diaper or I have a diaper blow-out, I will change right away. My plans, however, are to stay wet and messy while I get my morning exercise. I'll change and get clean, fresh, sweet smelling well before my wife is out of bed. Sooo nice and comforting right now. I use these emoji's because they best depict how I feel: relieved,my full diaper hugging my perineum, melting with intense psychophysiological pleasure, and my little secret.

Would love to see this get continued

PART FOUR We stepped into the entry hall for the History of Gaming exhibition, and it was incredible. The room was much darker than the hallway, and in the centre was a pyramidal pile of screens and monitors, each showing different games, from the early stuff like Pong and Space Invaders, to Mario and Sonic, to more recent stuff like Baldur’s Gate and Mass Effect. Around the room, including hanging from the walls well above eye-level, were huge perspex replicas of game characters, lit from inside, so that they glowed like game sprites on a screen. Pac Man ate dots along one wall, as ghosts pursued him, Sonic & Tails hung from one corner, and Mario and Luigi from another. Master Chief stood by the door we had just come through, while Sora beckoned people forward into the rest of the exhibit. We followed his invitation, and walked into the next room. This one was much smaller and much brighter, lit like the rest of the museum. On the far wall was a huge sign that read ‘Proto-Video Games’ in a font that looked like text from a very early computer screen. Along the back wall were a series of very small, round displays, featuring games like draughts, noughts and crosses, ballistic missile simulators and pong-like tennis games. The screens weren’t the original machines that these ‘games’ were played on, there were photographs of those behind them. Instead they were replicas - re-created versions of these older games, built on modern devices made to look like the ones used by the early computers on which these games had been played. They even had replicas of the bizarre controllers used to play them. Jen and I sat on a little stools in front of the noughts and crosses game, and used a weird dial device to place our marks. It was an interesting experience, but more for the novelty than for the actual game, which was - as all games of noughts and crosses are - terrible. After a couple rounds we decided to move on and see what was in the next room. Here we were met with a pretty convincing replica of a 1970s arcade. Everything looked vaguely brown - there was even a swatch of carpet that wouldn’t have looked out of place in The Shining. On the wall was a marquee that read ‘The Golden Age of Arcade Machines’, and around the room were various machines, like Pong, Space Invaders, Pac-Man, Asteroids, Donkey Kong and Missile Command. I went straight for the Breakout cabinet, while Jen picked Frogger, and we started playing. The only problem was, neither of us were very good. And in spite of the machines being set on free play, they didn’t hold our attention all that long. We moved on, me to Space Invaders and Jen to Pac Man, which occupied us for a few more minutes, but soon we realised the boards around the walls that told the history of these games, and the machines they were played on, were generally more interesting than the games themselves. The next room had a stereotypically 1980s aesthetic, with a vinyl floor covering that had a diamond tile pattern, a selection of Patrick Nagel art prints in glossy red frames, and blue and pink neon light strips along the walls. The marquee on the wall read ‘Gaming Comes Home’, and the focus of this room was on the early consumer systems, with a range of consoles and microcomputers, including a Vectrex, an Atari 2600, a Sega Master System and a NES, all linked up to period appropriate CRT TVs. To really sell the era, the uncomfortable stools from the first room had been replaced by big, comfy sofas with a bit of a Memphis design influence. Jen and I sat down in front of the NES, and started playing a two-player game of Doctor Mario. I remembered playing this when I was incredibly young, but I was so young that I wasn’t particularly good at it. Although, fortunately, nor was Jen. And our mutual crappiness made it a great fun experience. As we played, I wet myself again, without even giving a thought to it. One moment I felt like I needed to pee, then next my nappy was a little bit wetter, and a little bit warmer. More troublingly, I had a heavy feeling in my tummy, like I was going to need to poop again soon, but I dismissed it. That was a problem for future me to worry about. After twenty-five minutes in this room, not only playing on the consoles, but again, reading about their history, how they related to the development of gaming, and their place in the culture in general, we moved into the next room, which had a marquee on the door that simply read, ‘The 90s’. This space was much bigger than the others, a long room separated into multiple sections. The first looked like a mall, with blocks of bright, slightly pastel-toned colours, and wild patterns. This represented the early part of the decade, with A Mega Drive, a SNES, a Game Boy and a Game Gear, as well as several arcade cabinets, including The Simpsons and Turtles arcade games, and Street Fighter II Champion Edition. The second area was much grungier, with band posters plastered to the walls, and a patterned carpet. A Sega Saturn, Sony Playstation and Nintendo 64 were all set up, along side a Mortal Kombat and sunset riders arcade machine. It looked like an idealised version of a teenager’s bedroom. The final area was set up to represent the turn of the millennium, with silver painted-plastic furniture and inflatable chairs, framing a Playstation 2, X-Box, Sega Dreamcast and Nintendo Gamecube, as well as Time Crisis and DDR arcade cabinets, and a couple of beige tower PCs, that were connected to matching CRT monitors.. I nudged Jen’s arm and pointed at the Street Fighter II cabinet, “Want a game?” “Sure,” she replied, “but don’t whinge when I beat you too much.” We began what became several rounds of Street Fighter, and although we were both rusty, we played it so much that we began to remember tricks and moves neither of us had used since we were children. While we played, I felt my tummy cramp. It wasn’t too bad, and ordinarily I’d try to hold it, but Jen was in charge now, so holding wasn’t my problem anymore. I gave a little push and felt a lump of poo fall into the seat of my nappy. I didn’t even break my concentration on the game while I did it. We kept playing. I had pooped myself in the first round of the game. Jen won that one. I then beat her in the second. As we started the third round, I noticed Jen sniffing. “Ew,” she complained, “that stinks. Did you fart?” “I guess,” I said, more focused on beating her than I was on anything else. The match had been close, and we were both nearly out of health, but she had a bit more than me. I was nearly dead. Then she made her mistake. she misjudged her range with her Rolling Claw attack, which let me jump into a Spinning Bird Kick and take her out. Except I had misjudged how much health she had left. I thought that would be game over, so I eased off. It wasn’t. And a simple punch from her took me out. “Noooo!” I wailed, theatrically. “So close,” Jen teased, “but not close enough. Even if you did cheat by using the biological warfare.” I pouted at her. “Which reminds me,” in one motion, she spun me around, lifted my t-shirt and checked down the back of my nappy, “yep, you’ve pooped yourself again. I’m surprised that’s possible given how bad the mess you made earlier was.” I felt a little confused, “I normally need to poo a little while after I’ve eaten.” I said, with a very matter of fact tone. “That’s…” Jen paused to consider, “a lot more regular than most people.” I shrugged, then started walking back the way we came, heading towards the cafe for a change. “Where do you think you’re going?” Jen asked. “To the toilet so you can change me.” Jen gave me a look that I could only describe as ‘commanding’, “That’s not your decision to make, little kitty.” I was confused, and apparently looked it, too. . “You might be stinky, but other than me, there’s no one to bother with the smell,” Jen explained, “and your nappy is nowhere near wet enough to leak, so unless you’re feeling uncomfortable, I’m not spoiling our fun by taking you away for a change. It can wait until we’re finished here.” “I’m not uncomfortable,” I confirmed, “it doesn’t really bother me at all.” “Good,” Jen said, walking toward the N64, “How about some Goldeneye?” We sat down on the sofa in front of the console and started the level. It had been a long time since I last played Goldeneye, but I had spent so long playing it when I was a kid, that I still knew where all the secret passageways and hidey holes were on each of the levels, which meant I was pretty good at jumping out of them to ambush Jen. Unfortunately I kept doing so with a rocket launcher, so I killed myself as many times as I killed her, but that didn’t stop me cackling wildly every time I did it. “You’re very proud of yourself, aren’t you?” Jen asked, as I destroyed us both yet again. “Yep,” I responded, “Brat.” I gave her my best, completely innocent grin. “We’re at a bit of a stalemate here, aren’t we?” I nodded in agreement. “How about a dance off?” she suggested. I glanced over at the DDR cabinet at the end of the room. I’d never been any good at it, but Jen seemed excited, and it did seem like fun. “You’re on.” We set ourselves up on the cabinet, or rather, I held the grab bar while Jen set us up. In a few moments the opening beats from It’s Like That by Run DMC started playing. I took a breath, and began dancing. I had never had the best sense of rhythm, nor the best coordination, but I gave it my all, flailing wildly and hitting at least a few of the pads at about the right time. Jen was much better, and by the time the song was over her score was much, much better than mine. “Well done,” I said, giving her a hug, “I would claim the nappy made it harder, but honestly, I’m just terrible at DDR.” “Next room?” Jen suggested. “There’s loads of stuff in here that’s super cool, but yeah,” I agreed, “save some of these for the next visit.” The next room was decorated in a much cosier fashion, although it still featured some of the silver-painted standard lamps, the general vibe of the decor was folksy and homely, with warm tones. It felt very safe and comfortable. The marquee on the wall read, ‘Mid-2000s - Gaming Goes Online’. The CRT screens had been replaced with modern-style LCD flat panels, and while one side of the room looked like a cosy home, complete with anX-Box 360, a Playstation 3 and a Nintendo Wii, the other looked like a branch of Starbucks, with a row of wooden desks with PCs on them. I supposed this was representative of internet cafes. The boards around the wall described an era where broadband internet made online gaming a regular thing, and where internet access had become commonplace. Jen took a look at the Wii, “Tennis?” “Sure” I replied. We picked up the wiimotes, and started a game. I was already pretty worn out from the round of DDR, and this was equally energetic. I should have suggested bowling. Still, I gave it a good go, and through more luck than skill, I managed to beat Jen. This time she congratulated me with a hug. As she did, I stole a kiss. “I’m having a really good time,” I told her, “thank you for not dragging me out before we were done.” Although the room represented a pretty significant era in video games - at least according to the information the museum presented us with - it didn’t hold our attention as much as the previous room had. By this point, it seemed, gaming was a much more serious endeavour, and there were fewer opportunities to just pick up and play a game for a few minutes. And as neither of us had the energy for another round of tennis, we decided to continue to the next room. As we walked toward the exit, I felt myself needing to pee. I relaxed, wetting myself as I walked. We entered the next room, the final one of the exhibition. It looked like an Apple store, with stark white walls, light wooden floors, and highly polished tables. A marquee read, ‘The era of Mobile’. “I guess the era of microtransactions didn’t have the same ring to it” Jen joked. There were several consoles set up in one corner, including a Playstations 4 and Playstation 5, an X-Box 360 and X-Box Series X, and a Wii U and a Nintendo Switch, but they took a backseat to an array of mobile phones and tablets, set up on the tables with various mobile games on them. More interestingly, though were the PCs and Steam Deck, that offered a range of indie games for people to play, alongside video interviews with the developers. Jen and I walked over to look at them, listening to how many of these games were made with tiny teams, as passion projects. While we watched, I realised I still needed to poo. Trying to not draw Jen’s attention, I raised myself up off my chair a little, and pushed. I felt my butt cheeks part, as what I hoped was the last of the mess oozed out. It didn’t seem like a lot, but it felt nice to be able to just go, without worrying about the consequences. Of course, Jen realised what I had done right away. She gently tugged the earphones I had been using to listen to the video away from my head, and whispered, “Good kitten.” I couldn’t help but smile. When the video came to an end, we put the headphones back and stood up. Jen pulled me into a hug, stroking the back of my head as she did. It felt wonderful. “I love you,” she said, and my heart skipped a beat, “but you smell terrible. We need to go get you changed before the staff call in a bioterror incident.” I blushed bright red. After a lifetime of public accidents, I had a pretty high threshold for mild embarrassment, but I still tended to get very upset when someone made a big thing of my accidents. But having Jen gently tease me like this actually felt good. Somehow her teasing wasn’t mean, but kind of supportive. Of course, that didn’t mean I couldn’t play up to it for bratting purposes. “Meanie!” I pouted “I guess I’m already getting back at you though, as you’ve got to change it.” Jen nodded, “Yep. Which we’re going to do right now. Come on, poo-pants.” She took me by the hand and led me out of the room and onto the mezzanine walkway that led back toward the cafeteria. I took a couple of steps, then had a moment of panic. Intellectually, I had known that we would have to walk back through the cafeteria to get to the toilet, but I hadn’t really processed what that might mean. Suddenly the prospect of walking through a busy room to get changed became very real and very uncomfortable. I stopped walking, and Jen’s tugging couldn’t get me moving. “What’s wrong?” she asked. “Everyone in the cafe is going to smell me and know exactly what’s happened when we walk past them.” I whined, “then they’ll know you changed me when we go back past and I don’t stink anymore.” Emotion had overtaken me, and I was a little louder than I intended to be when I said this. I immediately worried about how many people walking on the floors above and below had just heard me confess to messing myself. Jen stroked the back of my hand with her thumb, which immediately helped to calm me down. “Sorry” I said, a little sheepish. “No, it’s OK” Jen assured me, “I understand.” She glanced over the edge of the balcony, looking down onto the main concourse down below. It was now quite a lot busier than when we first came in, or even when we walked through before lunch. “I would prefer to change you in one of the two toilets the security guard told us about” Jen explained, “Having you lie on the dirty floor isn’t ideal, and it’ll probably be easier to get you clean in a facility designed for the purpose.” She gestured to the lobby below the balcony, “I don’t mind going downstairs to the other one, but that’ll involve either going down several flights of stairs, or using the lift, then walking through all those people. And not to be too mean, but you smell really awful right now. I know you’d still have to go past people in the cafeteria, but it’s only over there, and it’s probably less busy now everyone has had their lunch.” She was right, of course. Going down to the lobby would be an absolute nightmare. There was no good choice here, just a least bad one.I sighed, and started walking toward the cafe. My grip on Jen’s hand grew tighter as we got closer and closer to the doors; it was like going to the dentist when I was a kid, knowing that no matter what, the experience was going to be uncomfortable and unpleasant, but there was absolutely no getting out of it. I felt the padding get warm as my nerves overcame me and the remaining urine in my bladder uncontrollably escaped. We stepped through the doors and into the cafeteria. Any hope that it would be empty was immediately dashed as I saw that nearly every table in the room was completely full. To make matters worse, the woman on crutches who had been in the toilet while I was waiting for a change was sitting at one of them. It was bad enough she had witnessed me in a messy nappy before, but for it to happen a second time was beyond humiliating. Between the already limited space between the tables, and the number of people in the cafeteria, making our way through to the toilet was far slower than would have been ideal, and involved my butt being very near head height of people who were eating. Whoever had decided to put the purpose-built facility for changing incontinence pads at the back of a cafeteria either had no concept of what that might lead to, or an incredibly twisted and cruel sense of humour. I kept my head down as we walked, desperately trying to avoid the looks of disgust or pity that were no doubt being thrown my way. No one was cruel enough to say anything audible, fortunately, but there was a definite muttering from people we had walked past. I was used to having accidents, and used to people noticing, but I usually did my best to avoid people when I’d pooped myself, and I certainly wouldn’t go anywhere near people who were eating by choice. After what felt like an eternity, we made it out of the dining area and to the toilet. Although, I guess, ‘changing facility’ would have been a better description. The room was significantly bigger than even a normal accessible bathroom, and although there was a toilet in the centre of the back wall, most of the room was taken up by a hospital-style gurney, a hoist, and a shower head. “I don’t know what I was expecting,” Jen said, “but this wasn’t quite it. Still, should be more than sufficient to get you cleaned up and into a fresh nappy.” As before, I started slipping off my shoes and lifting my t-shirt off. “Wait a sec,” Jen said, “no need to strip everything off, this should be a lot less of a faff than changing the pull up. Just slip your shoes and shorts off for me” I did as I was told. She patted the gurney, “Up on here,” I lifted myself onto the platform, feeling the slightly hard, wipe clean plastic padding push against the mess in my nappy. “Lie back” Once again, I followed her instruction, lying back. It wasn’t exactly comfortable, but was much better than the floor of the other toilet. Rather than beginning to change me immediately, she grasped my hand and ran her thumb over the back of it, and then up my arm. It was incredibly soothing. “Sorry you had to walk through all those people” her hand moved up and down my arm, tickling me slightly but helping me to relax. Then she leaned down, planted a kiss on my forehead, and stroked my hair, “I’ll try to avoid situations like that in the future.” She stood back up, and moved down to my waist. She gently eased my t-shirt up, so that it was clear of the waistband of my nappy, then gently pressed on my hips as she undid the tapes. As she did, my thumb once again found its way into my mouth. The advantage of this was that it was soothing. The disadvantage was that I was now breathing through my nose. And as Jen pulled the front of the nappy away from my skin, the already terrible smell became even worse. So bad, in fact, that Jen had to stifle a gag. “Sorry,” I mumbled from behind my hand. Jen moved round slightly so that she was able to stroke my head again, “It’s OK, don’t be sorry, you couldn’t help it and it’s not your fault that it smells bad.” “It kind of is, I had that milkshake, and that usually makes my tummy a bit funny.” “Oh really?” Jen chuckled, “well from now on, as long as it isn’t causing you pain, you don’t need to worry about that. All the dairy you like, and I’ll deal with the fallout.” I felt the cool wipes against my skin as she started cleaning me off, beginning at the front, and moving to the back. After a few wipes, Jen’s hand moved to my ankles, gently raising my legs, “I need you to bring your knees up to your chest, and hold them there.” she explained. I did as I was told, wrapping my hands around my knees as Jen started wiping the mess from my butt. The wipes tickled a little as it rubbed against my skin, particularly when Jen ran a wipe around my sphincter. I giggled a little. “You like this bit then?” she asked. I nodded. “Yeah..” She continued wiping, making sure I was clean. “All done,” she said as she rolled the stinking nappy into a ball and taped it up. She moved across the room to throw it in the bin, then pulled a clean nappy from the bag. “Legs down and lift your hips up for me please.” I did as she asked, raising my butt off the bench so that she could slip the clean nappy underneath me. “Down.” Once again, I followed instruction. She rubbed a handful of cream onto my butt and crotch, sprinkled baby powder on, and taped me into my clean nappy. “Feel better?” “Yeah, thank you.” “Ready for the space exhibit?” she asked, I considered for a moment. I did want to look at the space exhibition, but it was getting kind of late, and we wouldn’t be able to spend much time in there.. “Shall we leave it for another day?” I suggested. “Not a bad idea,” Jen agreed, “given we need to get to the shop before we go home so we can get your dino nuggets.” I grinned, suddenly reminded of my forthcoming dinner. “Get your shorts back on and we’ll get going.” A few minutes later, we stepped out of the toilet and back out into the cafeteria. Most people paid us no attention, now that I no longer smelled there was nothing to cause them to look at me, but a few people who had seen us came in gave me somewhat pitying expressions, which caused me to find Jen’s hand and squeeze it. We took the lift back down, gave the brontosaurus skeleton a goodbye wave, and headed out of the museum and back to the car.

I guess the quality of my writing must be slipping - apparently, I last "won the day", a bit over a year ago... it's not a metric I've paid much attention to, at least in part because that feedback is very unpredictable. I've poured my heart out here, and had supportive, insightful and kind messages from my friends, both publicly, and in private messages, while garnering few clicked reactions, and then, on another occasion, passingly noted some quip my wife threw over her shoulder, and, on what I guess must have a slow news day for the site, voila, I'm a Kardashian. I'll be clearing airport security in the company of my boss next week, apparently - another trip has appeared on the radar. I have cleared security with a diaper in my laptop bag countless times before, with nary a glance, and I've cleared security while wearing a diaper, with mixed results. Lately, it's been pretty seamless, but there were a couple of "incidents", usually clearing smaller airports with antiquated equipment, that, I'm guessing, is not employing AI to determine what to highlight for the officers, in terms of what might be of interest, under my trousers. The worst of these involved a TSA employee running a gloved finger around the inner perimeter of the waistband of my pants, while the waistband of my (thankfully, boring and white) diaper made a prolonged appearance, in a crowded airport. I have developed a thick skin for that kind of radiation - I estimate that somewhere between nobody, and 3.6 people, actually noticed anything, and the other 80 people surrounding me, auto-deleted whatever they might have scanned in their peripheral vision. Such is my plight - you play stupid games, you get stupid prizes. I am in the wrong line of work, if I can't survive raised eyebrows from some lady in Cleveland that I'm never going to meet again. However, raised eyebrows from my boss... I'm less impervious to that. I suppose that, technically, wearing diapers would fall into a "protected" space, from an employment perspective - they can't fire you for needing, say, a cane, or eyeglasses, or a wee wee bag strapped to your thigh, either. But we all know that impressions and perceptions do tend to tilt the table of outcomes just slightly. More executives are tall, than aren't - I don't think height correlates with intelligence or business acumen. I'd be willing to bet that vanishingly few of them are openly incontinent. So normally, I bring a checked bag - I'll pay the cost myself, if necessary, just to remove the "Are these adult Huggies, or packets of narcotics?" curiosity satisfying, to the exam room in the basement of the airport, where checked bags are eviscerated, and charger cords, and one sock, are confiscated. However, this is a short jaunt - a checked bag for a two-day trip, for a guy, raises questions. I can certainly operate, volume-wise, from a carryon bag perspective, but if, if, they decided they needed a look inside it, I'd now be standing there, in the security area, while my bedtime Inspire+'s see the light of day, to confirm that their contents are stuffing and SAP, rather than Miami snow. It hasn't happened yet - the dice would appear to be loaded in my favour. Speaking of quips, I have another one to report: my wife, daughter and I were watching a clip of a comedian who was talking about how long it takes women to get ready for anything, versus how long it takes men. I live in a house full of women, so while gender stereotypes are not applicable to all, they do exist for a reason, and in my house, this particular one does often apply. So, I laughed, and said something like, "That checks out..." My wife couldn't resist the urge to retort, so she said, "Okay, Mr. Diapers, you're saying that you're the fastest person to get ready to go somewhere?" First of all, yes, I am - this has been proven countless times. My hair comes ready for action, out of the box, because it is about 100 times shorter, than any of theirs. I require no makeup - I'm not saying aesthetically - I'm sure improvements could be made, parging my face with a layer of foundation, for example, and my eyes have never really been highlighted - perhaps they are stunning. But in practice, these steps are omitted, when we're late for Aunt Bea's viewing. "I can change my diaper in less than a minute, if I have a gun to my head. I don't even have to take my pants completely off..." was my response. Her eyes evinced a skeptical wideness. "So you can lie down, on the floor, put a new diaper on, and get back up, without removing your pants, in less than a minute? I want to time this. I don't believe you." "What's the floor got to do with it? I would do that standing up." "Well you had your cushy diaper mat in front of the tub at the old house, so I just assumed..." Which did raise an interesting point - the mechanics of all this, are mostly hidden from her view, and that's deliberate - I'm still self-conscious about that part, even thought I am perfectly willing to moonwalk through the living room, once I have a diaper on. She's walked in a couple of times, when I was taping myself into a diaper on our bed, and once, recently, when I was just closing one up, standing in the bathroom, but she hasn't participated, and, just like I don't tend to use the toilet with the door wide open, I don't tend to perform diaper changes in full view, either. Marriages require that at least a bit of the magic not be taken out behind the barn and executed with a 12-gauge, no? The mat she was referring to was something I used to use, way back at the dawn of my diapered days, but I do 98% of these operations on my feet, now. So perhaps she does assume that the way we did it with the kids, is the way I do it for myself, most of the time? "I don't usually put them on, lying down - it's usually a standing operation. I'm not going to lie down on the floor, in a public washroom, for example." "Well you learn something new, every day!", she said, and then turned her attention back to the comedian, who was now talking about how long it takes the respective genders to shop for shoes. I decided not to offer any further commentary. I shop for shoes about twice a decade, and shopping for diapers is generally a point-click affair. But I do keep a spreadsheet for that, so I guess I am vulnerable to certain criticisms...

31. My Masterplan I had an early start in the morning, getting breakfast ready. I could hear the ping of bed springs from Tess’s room as I passed; she was stripping her bed. I wondered if that was just because it was a week since she’d cleaned the sheets, or if her diaper had leaked. Or, perhaps, she’d been even more sleepy than we’d realised. She’d fallen asleep in front of a movie the night before, a family drama about the son of a mafia boss, and I’d had to shake her shoulder until she woke up, just to urge her to go to bed. In the circumstances, it wouldn’t have surprised me if she fell asleep again without properly protecting herself. That would be even better, I supposed. A little more embarrassing, and if she was worried about me finding out, she might give herself the first push towards wearing them during the evening as well. I didn’t call out, just went downstairs. I didn’t say anything after breakfast either, when she dashed up to her room and brought down a bag of laundry. She wanted to hide her accident from me, and I thought that stubborn independent streak was adorable. I should have reprimanded her, given her one little push towards accepting her state as the baby. But I had other objectives today, and I needed her to be cooperative. So I didn’t say anything about her soaked sheets, and waited until the machine was spinning before I spoke again. Luckily for me, Ffrances had to pick up some things from the office. Perhaps the metronome she loved so much, just in case Tess found her courage and requested the hypnosis session that we knew she was building up her courage for. Or maybe something related to her plans for the day, once she revealed the photo I’d given her. Either way, it was convenient because it meant I could talk to Tess, and make sure that she gave the right answers when Ffrances asked the questions we had agreed on. I started by apologising for not trusting her judgement the night before, and for pushing her boyfriend away. I told her that I would do my best to make it up to him. If he wanted to come round again, maybe I could stay out of the way and leave Ffrances as their chaperone. I felt like I was betraying my principles even by saying it. The cryptic hints at his family told me that they were on the wrong side of the law, and the fact that he was going after such a young girl proved to me exactly what kind of pervert he was. But I reminded myself that he wouldn’t get any closer to Tess even if I gave them my seal of approval; he was sure to lose interest the first time she wet her pants in front of him. She wouldn’t listen to my advice, so I needed to make sure that he would realise sooner rather than later that she was too young even for his tastes. Then we went through to the lounge, with coffee mugs in hand, so that I could explain what I really wanted. I told her quickly enough that Ffrances had been tidying up the box room, and that there were a lot of old things in there from my family. And I revealed that I knew she had taken the photograph. It had been taped on the outside of the box, after all. Ffrances loved me, and she would have to find it funny to see some of my childhood memories. I just knew that she was going to ask if I wanted to dress up in the clothes on top of that box, and try to relive a moment of my youth. I said Ffrances would find it funny, and I was pretty sure that was true. But then I also said that I really wanted to try that, thinking that imagining myself as a child would be a break from all my responsibilities. That wasn’t true, but it gave me a chance to prime Tess, talking about a bunch of different reasons that might lie behind her desire to be a little. If I was the one saying those things, she would surely find it easier to admit the same feelings to me. But still she didn’t say anything, just suggested I was lucky to have a girlfriend who would indulge my fantasies like that. That was my cue to admit the big problem. I said that I was scared to admit to Ffrances that I wanted those things. I said that I couldn’t bring myself to say it; which I knew Tess would sympathise with. Especially when the things she’d not confessed to me this morning would still be weighing on her mind. And I asked her to be the one who said it. I spun it like a narrative, making everything seem reasonable. Being able to pretend I was a kid again would let me have more fun, and not worry so much about what people thought. But worrying what my girlfriend thought was stopping me getting there. So if Tess were to look at the photo and say she wished she could be that age again, maybe Ffrances would think of ways she could achieve that. And if one of them asked me to do the same, there would be no shame in playing along with the kid’s ideas. I could get what I really wanted, without my own pride holding me back. I told Tess she didn’t need to be embarrassed either. Of course she didn’t; it would be something she was doing for me. Pretending she was interested, just until I could get what I wanted. She could play along when it was for someone else’s benefit, couldn’t she? Just like taking on a role in the school play, her character’s confession wouldn’t reflect on her personally. Of course, I knew that once she was getting into her little headspace, it would be harder to deny that it was really what she wanted. Especially on the off chance I could convince Ffrances that Tess had agreed to using hypnosis to enhance the fantasy. But I pitched it to Tess just as a game, something she could play along with for my sake and then never think about again. She was reluctant. Of course she was. But I promised that I would do anything she wanted if she just let me have this one thing. Assuming that Ffrances really was thinking of what I thought she was thinking – which gave me a big smile. Of course I knew what Ffrances was going to suggest, because I’d asked her to propose it. But Tess didn’t need to know that now, and it only made it easier to coach her for the upcoming conversation. When she gave a reluctant nod and said she’d think about it, I was overjoyed. “Thank you,” I whispered, and the tears in my eyes were real. This was something I had dreamed of for so long, and my dreams were finally coming true. Tess must have been able to tell just how much this meant to me, even if she didn’t quite see the same perspective I had on the life ahead of her. Finally, I knew that everything was going perfectly. She would be my baby before long, and the path that led there was a carefully prepared slippery slope, for which I had carefully planned every step along the way.

Chapter One Hundred & Sixteen: Part Two: The Van Buren house had slipped into that peaceful hush only a Monday evening after dinner could bring. Golden lamplight spilled from the living room windows onto the front porch, and the faint crackle of the dying fire still carried down the hallway like a lullaby. Kim stood at the bottom of the stairs, one hand resting lightly on the banister, her cream cardigan draped loosely over her shoulders. Charles stood beside her, his broad frame filling the space with quiet strength, the kind of steady presence that had anchored their family through every storm & celbration. They had decided together—quietly, after Mya & Robert had finished their evening chores—that tonight was the night they would tell both of them about Paul ahead of their near two week late December trip. Kim’s voice was soft, the gentle Southern Georgia drawl wrapping around her words like warm honey. “Robert first, I think, then Mya-we can tuck her in after that.” Charles nodded, his Mobile Alabama tone straight and warm. “Let’s do it right. No rush. They deserve to ask whatever they need to ask.” The two parents climbed the stairs side by side, their footsteps soft on the carpet. Down the hall, Robert’s bedroom door stood slightly ajar, a sliver of lamplight spilling out. The space was a scholar’s sanctuary. Floor-to-ceiling bookshelves lined two walls, packed tight with hardcovers on Roman history, constitutional law, political philosophy, and thick mystery novels —some stacked on the desk, others marked with folded pages or tabs. A neat wooden desk sat under the window, laptop closed and perfectly centered, a chessboard beside it with pieces arranged mid-game. A world map covered one wall, pinned with small flags marking places he had researched but not yet visited. Everything was orderly, logical, a reflection of the sixteen-year-old who already carried himself like someone twice his age. Robert was sitting at his desk when his parents entered, a thick book on constitutional law open in front of him. He looked up, eyes sharp behind his glasses, as Kim and Charles step in, his posture straightening just slightly—not stiff, just attentive. “You thinkin’ about Utah?” Charles asks, his tone easy, that Mobile drawl settling into the words like they’ve been there all along. Robert shrugs lightly. “A little. I might try snowboarding. Or just take pictures. Depends how it looks out there.” Charles nods. “Ain’t a bad way to spend your time.” Kim steps a little closer, resting her hand lightly on the back of his chair. “We wanted to talk to you about Paul, sweetheart.” Robert’s expression shifts—not alarmed, just focused. “What about him?” he asks. Charles exhales slowly, leaning his weight onto one foot. “Boy’s been through somethin’ rough,” he says, plain and direct. “And he’s dealin’ with the after of it.” Robert watches him closely. “What kind of after?” he asks. Kim answers this one, her voice soft but steady. “His body’s havin’ a hard time keepin’ up with him right now. When he gets stressed… or overwhelmed… it reacts faster than he can control.” Robert’s brow furrows slightly. “…like panic attacks?” he asks. Charles shakes his head. “Deeper than that. It hits his muscles too. Makes him weaker sometimes. Throws off his balance. Even how he moves.” Robert nods slowly, processing. “And… there’s more,” Kim adds gently. “Sometimes…well, just in case he wears protection.” Robert’s eyes flick down for a second. Then back up. There’s a pause. Robert leans back slightly, running a hand through his hair. “That’s… a lot,” he admits. Charles nods once. “Sure is.” Another pause. Then Robert asks the question that’s been sitting there. “…what do you want me to do?” Charles doesn’t hesitate. “You treat him the same,” he says. “Respectfully. Like you always would.” A beat. “But you don’t ignore it either,” he adds. “If he needs space, you give it. If somebody else says somethin’ stupid, you shut it down or you walk away. You don’t join in.” Robert nods. Firm. “I wouldn’t,” he says. Charles studies him for a second longer, then gives a small nod back. Kim’s voice softens again. “He may act a little differently than you remember, sweetheart. There might be times where he leans younger than 18 but that doesn’t change who he is.” Robert exhales slowly. Then nods again. “…it doesn’t,” he agrees. Mya’s room is alive in a way only a nine-year-old’s world can be. String lights loop loosely along the wall, casting soft gold against a collage of drawings—animals, trees, a carefully labeled “Eagle Trail Map” she’d made herself, complete with hand-drawn badges and checkpoints. A green sash hangs proudly from a hook near her closet, patches stitched in uneven rows—camping, first aid, wildlife tracking—each one a story she’s already told a dozen times and will tell a dozen more. Soft pastels spill across the walls, hand-drawn pictures taped in uneven rows—flowers, animals, a very ambitious but slightly crooked snowman labeled “Elsa’s Friend.” A small pile of stuffed animals crowds the corner of her bed, arranged like an audience waiting for something to begin. There’s glitter somewhere it shouldn’t be. There’s always glitter somewhere it shouldn’t be. Mya sits cross-legged on the bed, already bouncing slightly with energy she hasn’t spent yet, her eyes lighting up the second Kim and Charles step in. “Are we packing tonight?” she blurts, unable to hold it in. “Because I already know what I’m bringing—my pink boots and the fuzzy hat and—” Kim laughs softly, settling onto the edge of the bed beside her, one hand smoothing over Mya’s hair. “Slow down, sugar,” she murmurs, her voice warm like honey. “We’ll get there.” Charles leans casually against the dresser, arms folding loosely as he watches the two of them, a faint smile tugging at his mouth. “You excited about the trip?” he asks. Mya gasps like it’s the best question anyone’s ever asked her. “YES. I’m gonna build a snowman—like Elsa—but better. And I’m gonna drink the sweetest hot chocolate ever and—and—and—” she stops, breathless, then adds in a whisper like it’s sacred, “with marshmallows.” She stops mid-breath, her mouth still slightly open, eyes darting between her parents as she finally registers the way they’re standing. Not rushed. Not laughing. Just… there. Her smile softens. Curiosity takes over. “…what?” she asks, quieter now. Kim moves first, sitting beside her, one hand immediately finding its place in Mya’s hair, smoothing it gently back. “Nothin’ bad, baby,” she says softly, her Georgia drawl wrapping warm around every word. “Just somethin’ we wanna talk through with you, alright? You remember Paul? Aunty Lilly’s son?” Kim asks softly. Mya beams. “He’s the tall one who lets me win games.” Charles huffs a quiet laugh. “Sounds about right.” Kim smiles, then brushes her thumb lightly along Mya’s cheek. “Well… Paul’s been a little sick lately.” Mya’s expression changes—not fear, not panic—just… processing. Her brows pull together slightly, her lips pressing into a small line as she thinks it through. “…like a fever?” she asks. Kim shakes her head softly. “No, baby. Not that kind.” Mya tilts her head, eyes narrowing just slightly in concentration. “Sometimes,” Kim continues, slower now, choosing words Mya can hold onto, “Paul’s body gets a little confused. When he feels big feelings… or gets tired… or even just overwhelmed… his body reacts before he can stop it.” Mya’s face scrunches slightly. “…like when I trip ‘cause I’m runnin’ too fast?” she asks, testing the idea. Charles nods once. “That’s close enough.” Mya nods slowly back, but her eyes flick down, then back up again, thinking harder now. “And… sometimes,” Kim adds gently, “he wears a little extra protection to help him when that happens.” There’s a pause. Mya’s eyes widen just a touch. “Oh… like William?” she asks, softer now. Kim nods. Mya’s lips part slightly, her expression shifting through a quick series of reactions—surprise, confusion, then something softer, more understanding. “…oh.” She looks down at her hands for a second. Then back up. “Okay,” she says. Not dismissive. Not careless. Just— accepting. Kim watches her closely, brushing her thumb along Mya’s cheek again. “And sometimes, he might act a little younger. Like he might wanna play more with toys, or you might see him drinking from a sippy cup, or take naps as William does.” Mya’s face brightens again almost instantly, her eyebrows lifting. “That’s okay!” she says, a small smile breaking through. “I like doin’ that stuff sometimes too.” Charles chuckles under his breath. Kim smiles warmly. “We know you do.” “But listen to me,” Kim adds softly, her voice just a little firmer now. “That doesn’t make him any less of who he is. He’s still grown. Still just like Savvy.” Mya nods again—this time more serious. “I won’t make fun of him,” she says quickly, almost like she needs to say it out loud to make it real. “We know you won’t,” Charles replies. Mya pauses. Her face shifts again—this time into something brighter, more purposeful. “Can I invite Paul and Savvy for a hot chocolate tea party after we all build snowmen? And I could help Savvy read both William and Paul a story before they take a nap together? I’ll make sure they have all their favorite stuffies!” She stops, looking between them, hopeful. Kim’s expression softens deeply. “I think some of those ideas sound super fun, baby girls, especially about the snowmen and hot chocolate. So keep those ideas in that big, smart, and caring head of yours, and when we get to Utah, we can ask to see what memories we can make happen.” The string lights in Mya’s room don’t switch off all at once. They fade. Softly. One tiny bulb dimming, then another, until the glow becomes less about light and more about memory—warmth lingering in the shape of something that just happened. The last strand flickers faintly against the wall, casting small golden halos that blur at the edges—and then—that glow stretches. Pulls. Becomes something else. Morning. The early sunrise was just beginning to peek over the low clouds, turning the sky into a watercolor wash of soft pinks and oranges that spilled through the tinted windows. Bryan sat in the driver’s seat, hands steady on the wheel, his posture the careful, protective one he had worn the night he and Rachel drove Paul home from the hospital as a newborn—slow, deliberate, every turn taken with extra caution. Lilly rode in the captain’s chair beside him, her pink paisley Panthers jersey was thrown on last minute when the hospital called and cleared Paul for an early morning discharge. One hand resting on the center console as if she could reach back and steady her son with a single touch. He’s finally coming home, she thought, the words wrapping around her heart like a warm blanket. My boy. My sweet, brave boy. The ambitious woman she used to be—the one who chased red carpets and sponsorship deals—felt like a distant memory now. That version of Lilly would have been checking her reflection in the visor, worrying about how the hospital stay had affected her skin or her next shoot. This Lilly, the one who had spent the last few months learning what it meant to be someone’s safe place, only cared that Paul was breathing easy in the back seat. Paul was only half-awake, the OxyContin Dr. McGinues had given him thirty minutes before discharge was doing its gentle work. His sunglasses hid the heavy eyelids, the blue lenses reflecting the sunrise in faint streaks. He sat slumped against the seat, posture telling the whole story: Batman plushie clutched tight in one arm, the prescribed pillow pressed firmly against his broken left rib in the other. The thick diaper beneath his teal shorts crinkled softly with every small shift, but Paul was past caring. Home, the little side whispered, safe and sleepy. Daddy’s driving. Mommy’s here. The big side, still fighting to stay present, managed one last coherent thought before the medication pulled him under: I made it through the fight. I made it through the talk with Amber. Maybe… maybe I can make it through whatever comes next. Lilly reached back gently, her fingers stroking Paul’s right arm in slow, soothing circles. “Are you still with us, honey?” she whispered, voice soft and full of that new-mother tenderness she had grown into over the last few months. The only answer was a slight snore, quiet and content. Lilly couldn’t help but smile as she turned to Bryan. “Guess not.” Bryan’s eyes crinkled at the corners, the careful driver momentarily softening. “It’s a good thing we got his room ready. Seems like he’ll be testing it out sooner than expected.” Lilly closed her eyes for just a moment, the sunrise warming her face through the windshield. In her mind she pictured the new room waiting at home—the soft teal paint on the walls, the accent wall with its bright superhero mural watching over the rail bed like silent guardians, the sports-themed mobile already wound and ready to spin above Paul’s head. She could almost hear the gentle lullaby, see Paul tucked in safe and sound. The early-morning sun now fully risen and casting long golden beams across the front porch as Bryan rolled the car into the driveway. He killed the engine and stepped out, the cool morning air brushing against his face as he circled to the passenger side. Lilly was already there, opening the opposite rear door with quiet care. She gently removed the pillow from Paul’s arms first, then eased the Batman plushie free, setting both on the seat beside him. Paul didn’t stir—deep in the heavy, healing sleep the medication had granted him. Bryan leaned in, unbuckled the seatbelt with practiced hands, then bent down and slid his arms beneath his son. In one smooth, careful motion he lifted Paul out of the car, the weight of his eighteen-year-old body familiar yet still surprising in its vulnerability. Lilly was right there, guiding Paul’s rubbery arms up and around Bryan’s neck so they draped loosely over his shoulders. Paul stirred just enough to mumble, voice thick and sleepy. “Dad…?” “Easy there, buddy,” Bryan murmured, voice low and steady, the same tone he had used when Paul was small and scared of thunderstorms. “I’ve got you. We’re home and we’re just gonna get you tucked in for a quick nap, okay?” Paul didn’t answer with words. Instead, he instinctively nuzzled his head into the crook of Bryan’s collarbone and shoulder, the simple trust of it hitting Bryan square in the chest. My boy, Bryan thought, the father in him swelling with a fierce, protective love that had only grown stronger through every hospital visit, every late-night worry, every step of this long road. Still my boy, no matter how big he gets. Bryan carried Paul through the front door, Lilly holding it open and then following close behind. They moved through the living room—past the couch where family movie nights had happened, past the kitchen where meals had been shared—and into the east wing where the new room waited. Bryan lowered Paul gently into the rail bed, the soft teal bedding welcoming him like an old friend. Lilly was quick to help, carefully removing the San Jose Sharks hockey jersey and the teal shorts, leaving Paul in just the black onesie. The thick diaper peeked out at the leg holes, a quiet reminder of everything they were still learning to navigate together. Lilly draped a baby-blue blanket with white trim across Paul’s legs and midsection, tucking it snugly around him to keep him cozy. She leaned down and pressed a quick, loving kiss to his forehead, lingering just long enough to feel the steady warmth of his skin. Sleep tight, my sweet boy. Bryan reached up and gently turned on the sports-themed mobile above the bed. Footballs, basketballs, baseballs, and hockey pucks began to spin slowly, the soft instrumental lullaby filling the room like a promise of rest. Lilly leaned back into Bryan’s chest, his arms coming around her waist as they both stood there watching their son sleep soundly. The rail bed enveloped him protectively, the superhero accent wall standing guard, the morning light filtering through the curtains in soft golden beams. Relief washed over them both—deep, bone-tired, and profoundly grateful. A gentle mechanical hum layered with something lighter—tiny chimes, the faintest lullaby threading through the air like it’s afraid to be too loud. It doesn’t pull him awake all at once, it coaxes him there, tugging gently at the edges of his consciousness until the darkness behind his eyes begins to thin. His breathing shifts first. Slow… then slightly deeper. And somewhere between one breath and the next—he starts to come back. Not fully. Not yet. But enough. The light behind his eyelids changes. Warmer. Softer. Morning has already passed—this isn’t that sharp, early brightness. This is something quieter. Afternoon light filtering in through curtains, diffused, patient… the kind of light that waits for you instead of demanding you wake up to it. His eyes flutter. Once. Twice. Heavy. Still weighed down by everything that had been given to him—everything his body is still working through—but eventually they open, just a fraction at first, the world bleeding in slowly, out of focus, like a lens trying to find its mark. Above him—movement. Shapes. Blurred colors spinning gently against a pale ceiling. He doesn’t understand it at first. His brain lags behind what his eyes are seeing, trying to piece together something that isn’t quite there yet. The motion is too soft, too repetitive to feel threatening. If anything… it feels familiar. Safe. The lullaby continues. And as his eyes begin to adjust—the shapes sharpen. Footballs. Basketballs. Baseballs. Hockey pucks. Turning lazily overhead. A mobile. A slow blink. Then another. Reality begins to settle. Paul exhales quietly, his lips parting just slightly as he stares up at it, watching the way the pieces catch the light as they turn. For a moment, he doesn’t move at all. Doesn’t think. Just… watches. His head shifts slightly against the pillow, the movement slow, careful, his body reminding him immediately that it’s still not ready for anything sudden. The dull ache along his ribs hums beneath the surface—not sharp, not overwhelming, just… present. Constant. Like a reminder his body refuses to let him forget. He turns his head. Left. And that’s when he sees it. At first—it’s just color. Muted tones blending together, edges soft, undefined. His vision takes a second longer to catch up this time, the world still swimming just slightly as his brain struggles to sharpen what it’s being given. But slowly—it clears. And the wall comes into focus. Heroes. Not towering. Not overwhelming. Batman stands slightly to the side, grounded and steady. Superman beside him, strong without needing to prove it. Wonder Woman at the center, calm, confident. Green Lantern, Nightwing, Batgirl—all arranged not like something larger than life, but something closer. Something watching. Something protecting. Paul’s eyes linger there, his expression softening without him realizing it. There’s something about it—about the way they’re painted—that doesn’t feel loud or dramatic. It feels… intentional. Like they were put there for him. Not to impress. But to comfort. His chest rises slowly. Then falls. And only then does he realize—how warm he feels. Not hot. Not suffocating. Just… wrapped. His fingers twitch slightly against the fabric beneath them, and instinctively, without thinking, he tugs the blanket down just a bit, needing to feel it, to understand it. The texture meets his skin immediately—soft, impossibly soft, the kind of fabric that almost melts under his touch. His hand moves over it slowly. Once. Twice. Grounding himself in it. It’s real. He’s here. Another breath. And as the blanket lowers just slightly—the air touches him. Cool. December. Not harsh, not biting—but enough to make the contrast noticeable, enough that his body reacts before his mind fully does. A small shiver runs through him, subtle but present, his muscles tightening just enough—and then— that feeling. Familiar. Unavoidable. The soft, unmistakable squish beneath him. The reality of another night (or morning nap) of his body doing what it needed to do without his full control. The little side inside him accepted it with quiet resignation, finding a strange safety in the padded protection. The big side winced, embarrassment flickering hot in his chest even in the privacy of his new room. Eighteen years old, he thought, the words heavy with old shame and new acceptance. And still waking up like this. His jaw tightens just a fraction— then releases. And he breathes again. Slow. Measured. Okay. His head turns. Right this time. His arm follows, moving carefully, his fingers extend outward until they meet something. Solid. Smooth. Wood. He blinks, his vision tracking down to where his hand rests against the small wooden rail beside him, his fingers curling slightly around it as if testing it, confirming it’s there. The bed rail. His bed. A small shift of his weight—careful, cautious—and he begins to sit up, using the rail for support, his other hand pressing lightly into the mattress. It takes effort. More than it should. His body trembles just slightly, not violently, just enough to remind him that control isn’t fully his yet. And as he lifts his head— as his eyes move past the rail—the room opens up. And that’s when he sees her. Lilly. Sitting in the rocking chair. Moving gently back and forth, the soft creak of wood against wood finally synced with the sound that had been pulling him awake all along. Her posture is relaxed, one leg tucked slightly beneath her, her arms resting loosely in her lap, her head tilted just enough that she’s been watching him longer than he realizes. Waiting. The motion of the chair slows slightly as she notices him fully awake now, her eyes softening instantly, that same warmth—the same steady, unwavering presence—wrapping around him before she even says a word. The sight brought Paul fully back to the world of the living. For a fleeting, dream-like second, his vision played a trick on him. He saw Rachel there — his mother’s gentle smile, the way she used to rock him when he was small, humming the same lullabies that still lived in his memory. Then the image shifted, overlapping with Mama Kim’s warm Southern presence, the soothing voice and comforting hugs from the Van Buren house that had felt like a second home during the hardest days. All three women — Rachel, Kim, and now Lilly — blended in that moment, each one having watched over him while he napped, each one waiting patiently for him to wake up. Paul’s throat tightened. They’ve all been here, he thought, the big side feeling the ache of loss for Rachel and the complicated gratitude for Lilly’s new role. The little side felt safe, held, loved in a way that made tears prick at the corners of his eyes. Mommy… all of them… waiting for me. Rachel would have loved this room. Mama Kim would have made sure the blanket was the softest one in the house. And Lilly… she’s here. Really here. Not just the girlfriend who moved in with Dad. She’s my mom now, and I don’t know how to tell her how much that means without sounding like a little kid. The conflict inside him — big side wanting independence, little side craving the safety — felt less like a war in the moment and more like two parts of the same person finally learning to share the same bed. Lilly’s eyes met his, soft and full of that deep maternal love she had grown into. She leaned forward in the rocker, voice gentle. “Hey there, sweet boy. Welcome back.” He exhales softly, his voice still thick with sleep. “What time is it?” he murmurs, shifting just slightly, his ribs reminding him they’re still there, still healing. A beat passes, then a faint, almost sheepish add-on, “I’m kinda hungry…” Lilly’s smile deepens, something warm and grounding in the way she looks at him—not amused, not surprised… just present. “It’s just about 12:30,” she says gently, her voice carrying that quiet reassurance. “Your dad’s just finishing up some sourdough B.T.L.T. sandwiches on the panini press. Does that sound good?” Paul’s lips lift into a small, genuine smile, the kind that doesn’t need effort. “That sounds great…” he pauses, his hand instinctively brushing down over the blanket, over himself, awareness catching up again, “…but could I get a change first?” “Of course, honey,” Lilly answers immediately, no hesitation, no shift in tone—just calm certainty. Paul nods, taking a slow breath before he moves. Carefully—deliberately—he swings his left leg over the low rail… then his right, the motion controlled but not effortless. Lilly is already there, one hand steadying his arm, the other hovering just enough to catch him if he needs it—but not taking over. His feet meet the floor. And he pauses. Because the first thing he notices—is the texture. Soft. Springy. The foam padding gives slightly beneath his weight, cushioning him in a way that feels unfamiliar but… intentional. His toes flex instinctively against the deep steel blue and grey puzzle panels, the surface cool but forgiving, stretching out across most of the room like a quiet promise of safety. He takes a step. Then another. And that’s when he sees it. Right in the center. The rug. Large. Round. It was a vibrant safari wonderland on a cream background, framed by a decorative geometric border of warm triangles. A cheerful lion with a golden mane roared proudly in one section, a gray rhino ambled nearby with a friendly smile, zebras with bold black-and-white stripes stood tall, a pair of tigers lounged together with playful grins, a tall giraffe reached for leaves on a tree, a crocodile grinned from a winding blue river, a green snake coiled curiously, and an elephant trumpeted with joy. Palm trees, baobab trees, patches of grass, bright flowers, and meandering river paths connected the animals in a joyful circle, turning the rug into a living storybook map under his feet. The soft, thick texture felt incredibly inviting and plush against his bare toes, like stepping into a gentle, comforting adventure that wrapped the whole room in warmth and playfulness. His eyes lift—and land on the wall. And this time—he doesn’t blink. The mural stretches across the wall in front of him, color and motion captured mid-moment—Leonardo, Donatello, Raphael, Michelangelo—all gathered around, pizza in hand, laughter frozen in paint. April’s there, smiling, Splinter calm and proud… and off to the side, Shredder—knocked flat, defeated in a way that somehow still feels playful. It hits him all at once. And for just a second—his world splits. The little side inside Paul absolutely squealed with delight. Turtles and pizza! it thought, the words lispy and babyish. All my favorites! They’re eatin’ pizza just like me and Daddy watch on the TV! The big side focused on the practical—the brand-new, permanent changing table, prominently positioned in front of the mural. It was white, sturdy, and fully stocked. On the bottom left, stacks of his diapers were neatly arranged: Safari prints, Dino designs, and Critter Caboose all piled high and ready, layers of protection waiting without apology. To the right, wipes, powders, creams—all organized, all visible, all part of a system that doesn’t pretend it doesn’t exist. “Wow…” he says quietly, his voice thoughtful more than anything. “You guys really went all out with the room and everything… the painting is really something…” his eyes flick back briefly to the mural before returning to the table, “…but what happened to the other table? You know… the one we could fold away and hide?” Lilly doesn’t answer immediately. She reads him first. Sees the hesitation—not fear, not rejection… just uncertainty. Then she steps beside him, her voice calm, grounded, steady. “Oh, honey… we got you an upgrade,” she says softly, her hand brushing along the edge of the table. “See how the sides come up and down? That way you’re completely safe without needing a strap.” She turns slightly, meeting his eyes now. “And Paul… we can lock this room when we have company over. Nobody who doesn’t need to see this… will ever see this. Okay?” Paul breathes in. Slow. Then out. And the tension that had crept into his shoulders eases just slightly. “Okay,” he nods. He steps forward. Sees the stool. Climbs up. Carefully turns, lowering himself onto the changing pad with a quiet, deliberate motion, the surface beneath him firm but padded, supportive in a way that feels different from the hospital—less clinical… more home. With Lilly’s help, he shifts onto his side, then slowly back, his head settling onto the foam pillow as she guides his legs in gently before lifting the side rail and locking it into place with a soft click. There’s a pause. Then— the soft snap of fabric. Paul glances down slightly as Lilly begins undoing the onesie, the motion routine, practiced—but then she moves. Around. To the other side. And without hesitation, she slides his arms free, lifting the fabric up and away, removing it entirely until he’s left in nothing but the thick, well-used diaper beneath. He blinks. “What gives?” he asks, a hint of curiosity in his tone. “The onesie wasn’t that dirty… or smelly, was it?” Lilly lets out a small, warm laugh, shaking her head. “No, no—nothing like that,” she reassures him gently. “We just need to get a new patch on you.” Paul’s brow furrows slightly. “Patch?” She held up a small, medicated Lidocaine patch. “They probably gave you that medicine before they talked about your pain management plan. That’s okay, honey. They want to help you manage the pain without relying on oral painkillers like opioids, but instead things like Tylenol. They also want to see if Lidocaine patches like this one can help numb the area — 12 hours on, 12 hours off. So we’ll try this first, and then when we wake you up later tonight at twelve-thirty a.m. for a pill, we’ll remove the patch. Okay?” Paul nods slowly. “Okay.” Her touch is gentle as she applies it to his left side, careful around the ribs, pressing it down just enough to secure it without causing discomfort. Then she got to work on the change itself — the soft rustle of wipes, the faint crinkle of the soiled diaper being folded away, the quick, efficient sounds of cleaning and powdering. Paul stared at the ceiling, the little side finding comfort in the routine while the big side stayed quiet, grateful for the privacy and care. As Lilly fluffed out a fresh Dino diaper — white with colorful cartoon dinosaurs and playful “ROAR” lettering — she asked, “Do you want another onesie, a romper, or some big-kid clothes?” Paul thought for a moment, the big side weighing the options, the little side quietly excited at the memory of the last time. He let go of overthinking and simply said, “Can I match? You know, with the dino romper. I liked it when I wore it the last time.” Lilly smiled, soft and approving. “Of course.” She finished the change with the same gentle efficiency, then helped him into the matching dino romper — soft, comfortable fabric patterned with bright cartoon dinosaurs, red trim at the sleeves and legs. She slipped fuzzy white socks onto his feet for extra coziness. Paul gingerly got off the changing table, feeling steadier now. “Do you want your paci?” she asks gently. Paul shakes his head, a small, quiet confidence in the motion. “I don’t think I need one right now.” “Okay.” Lilly smiled and, without thinking, took Paul’s hand gently in hers. They walked out of his new room together, the soft foam floor cushioning every step, heading down the hall toward the kitchen. They heard Bryan’s voice before they saw him, warm and teasing from the kitchen island. “Hey, sport, how was your nap? All comfy and rested for some lunch and a tour upstairs?” Paul squeezed Lilly’s hand once, a small, grateful smile on his face as they stepped into the kitchen together. The room smelled of toasted sourdough and sizzling bacon, the panini press humming softly. Paul stands at the base of the staircase tucked behind the second-floor bookcase, his hand resting lightly against the wall beside him, his body already anticipating what’s coming before he even lifts his foot. There’s a quiet in the space—different from the rest of the house—like this part of it has been waiting. Behind him, Bryan stays close. Not hovering. Not crowding. Just… there. A presence more than anything, his hands occasionally brushing near Paul’s back, ready if needed, never forcing it. “Take your time,” Bryan says softly, his voice low and steady. “No need to rush it.” Paul nods, more to himself than anything, and lifts his foot. The first step is careful. Measured. His body shifts with it, weight transferring slowly, the slight waddle more pronounced here—not exaggerated, not awkward… just honest. His hand slides along the wall, fingers brushing against it lightly, grounding himself with every inch gained. The stairs aren’t steep, but they feel longer than they used to. His breathing deepens slightly, not from exhaustion, but from focus. The bookcase shifts with a soft mechanical click, the hidden passage opening just enough to reveal the hallway beyond—and Lilly. Waiting. Exactly where she said she’d be. And before he can even process it fully, his body moves forward, instinctively leading the way down the hall, Lilly and Bryan falling in step just behind him as if this was always meant to be his pace to set. They stop. Right in front of a door. His door. Bryan’s voice breaks the quiet, light but carrying something deeper underneath. “Go on,” he says with a small smile. “Open it up… check out part one of your birthday gifts.” Paul blinks. “Gifts?” he repeats, the word landing somewhere between confusion and excitement, his hand already finding the doorknob before his brain catches up. The smile hits him before the breath does. It spreads fast—too fast—stretching across his face until it almost hurts, until his cheeks ache with the weight of it, until his eyes widen just slightly as if they need more space to take everything in. Because it’s—his. All of it. Exactly how it was. Before. The bed sits perfectly made, untouched by rails or reinforcements, the mattress smooth and open, sunlight spilling across it from the window in a way that feels almost unreal—like the room had been frozen in time and only just now allowed to breathe again. There are no plushies scattered across it, no pacifiers clipped nearby—just clean lines, quiet space, and something that feels undeniably him. Paul steps inside slowly, his eyes moving without stopping. The closet. His chest tightens just slightly as he crosses toward it, pulling the door open and finding—his clothes. All of them. Hanging the way they used to. Organized. Open. Breathing. The space that had once been crowded, repurposed, reshaped around necessity—now restored. The absence of what had been there isn’t jarring. It’s… intentional. Like something was moved, not taken. Given back. All the diapers, toys, and baby clothes had been moved out, giving his adult attire room to breathe once more. The corner where the old changing table had stood was now completely free, the space open and normal. Then he noticed it. Bryan had added a second part to the desk—an extension with brand-new professional recording equipment. High-performance computer, a digital audio workstation the Pro Tools model, a quality audio interface, and industry-standard microphone the Shure SM7B, all wrapped with a bright red ribbon like the most thoughtful gift imaginable. Paul stops breathing for a second. Then turns. And he doesn’t think. Doesn’t hesitate. He just moves. Closing the distance in two quick, uneven steps before throwing his arms around both Lilly and Bryan, pulling them in tight, his voice breaking free without control. “Thank you—thank you—thank you,” he repeats, the words tumbling over each other, raw and real and completely unfiltered. “This is amazing—this is—” His voice catches. Doesn’t finish. Doesn’t need to. Bryan’s arms come around him fully, strong and steady, Lilly’s wrapping just as tightly from the other side, the three of them folding into something that feels bigger than the moment itself. Bryan and Lilly completed the embrace, pulling him in tight between them. Bryan’s voice was thick with tears he didn’t bother hiding. “It was our pleasure to help set you up for a future that is so rightfully yours, and how amazing the journey will be.” He pulled Paul back just enough to look him in the eyes, tears glistening. “Paul, you have an amazing talent for performing—on stage or behind the microphone. Whatever path you take, I know you’ll succeed.” Paul swallows. Hard. “But it’s more than that,” Bryan continues, his hand tightening gently on Paul’s shoulder. “What you’ve done these last few months… what you’ve pushed through… that’s what makes you incredible. Not the talent—the strength.” A pause. Then softer. “We’re proud of you. Every part of you. And whatever comes next… we’re right here. Always. You’ve got nothing to be embarrassed about. Ever. Not with us.” The words settle into Paul slowly. Not like a speech. Like something he’ll carry. The moment swelled with joy, sadness, and happiness all braided together—Paul’s big side drinking in the pride, the little side feeling safe and seen in a way he hadn’t in months. The emotional current was interrupted when Paul’s computer screen suddenly came to life across the room. Zoom flashed brightly: “Incoming call from Ellie.” His eyes widen instantly, the emotional weight shifting in an entirely different direction, something sharper, more nervous, more immediate. “Oh—my—” he stumbles slightly, looking between the screen and his parents, energy rushing in all at once. “Dad—Mom—it’s Ellie—she’s calling—can I—can I take this?” Lilly’s smile returns immediately, bright and encouraging. “Of course,” she says, already nodding. “Do it.” Then she glances down—just briefly—and lets out a soft laugh. “You might want to throw something on over… that.” Paul looks down at himself—then back up, nodding quickly. “Yeah—yeah—my Marlins jersey—that’ll work. She loves the color orange.” “Hop to it, bud,” Bryan adds, stepping back slightly. “Call us after, alright? Just for the next week or two, one of us wants to make sure you’re good on the stairs.” “Sure,” Paul says quickly, already moving, his fingers flying across the keyboard to type out a quick one sec. As he waddled quickly into the walk-in closet, the dino romper crinkling softly with each step. Bryan and Lilly made their way out of the room, closing the door gently behind them. In the hallway, they shared a quiet, proud look—parents who had just given their son back a piece of himself. He pulled the bright orange Miami Marlins jersey over his head, the fabric sliding easily over the dino romper underneath. The jersey was loose and comfortable, the bold “MARLINS” lettering across the chest and the team logo on the sleeve a splash of normalcy that hid everything else—the thick diaper, the padded waddle, the vulnerability he still carried. It felt like armor, not for hiding, but for stepping back into the world as himself. He slipped on the new headphones, adjusting the mic with careful fingers, his heart hammered with a mix of excitement and nerves as he clicked the green button on Zoom. Ellie’s face lit up the screen almost immediately, her familiar smile bright and warm. A smile that hits fast and easy and real—until it doesn’t. Because she sees him. Really sees him. And the smile fades. Not dramatically. Not harshly. Just… softens. Shifts. Her eyes track across his face, taking in the black eye, the faint stitching along his cheek, the small discoloration that hasn’t quite faded yet, and something in her posture changes—leans in, just slightly, like distance suddenly matters more than it did a second ago. “Paul…” she says, her voice quieter now, concern threading through it without hesitation. “What happened?” “I uh…” he starts, his hand instinctively brushing against the edge of the desk before settling. “I’m sorry we haven’t been able to connect. Things have just been… complicated.” Ellie blinks. Then tilts her head just slightly, her expression sharpening—not in judgment, but in clarity. Ellie leaned closer to her camera, her expression softening but staying direct. “No. Every university student’s life is complicated, Paul. Your life looked like ‘complicated’ left after you got hit by a bullet train. What happened?” Paul’s tracker pulsed yellow on his wrist, the familiar anxiety bubbling up. She deserves the truth, the big side whispered. But what if she sees me differently? What if she leaves like Zach and Mitchell? The little side curled tighter inside him, wanting the comfort of a pacifier not present, but he forced himself to stay present. “I got into a fight,” he says finally, the words feeling smaller than they should. “At school. Because… well… it’s a long story.” His jaw tightens slightly. Ellie could see the nerves etched across his face—the way his shoulders tensed, the slight tremor in his hand. Her first reaction was gentle, protective. “It’s okay if you don’t want to talk about it, but I never figured you for a fighter at all.” Paul huffs out the smallest breath, something almost like a humorless laugh. “Yeah,” he murmurs. “I’m… usually not.” His fingers tap lightly against the desk once. Twice. “I just—he picked on me first,” Paul continues, his words starting to come a little faster now, not quite rushed, but not fully steady either. “It was stupid. We were playing pickup basketball, no real rules, kinda rough, and we both got into it. I mean, I won, but…” His voice falters, his thoughts catching again. “After that, he just—he…” He swallows. Hard. “My school saw what I was,” he says, the words slipping out before he can stop them. “I… I kinda lost it because they saw—they saw—” His breath stutters. His chest tightens. The spiral hit fast—memories of the gym, the laughter, the pantsing, the exposure. His ribs ached with every shallow breath despite the Lidocaine patch. They laughed. They all saw the diaper. They saw me as broken. The little side wanted to hide; the big side wanted to run from the shame. “Hey,” she says quickly, her voice grounding, steady, cutting through the noise before it can build. “Breathe. It’s okay. You’re okay.” She softens again immediately after, giving him room. “You don’t have to say anything else, Paul. Whatever happened… it sounds like it hurt you. A lot.” That kindness cracked something open in Paul. His brain—not the big side, not the little side, but the core of who he was becoming—spoke clearly: You can tell her. She trusted you with her diabetes. She checked her blood sugar right in front of you like it was nothing. She deserves the same honesty..only if you’re ready. He took a few deep breaths, the pain flaring in his ribs, but he pushed through it.Then he looks back up. Right at her. And shakes his head slightly. “I’m sorry,” he says, quieter now. “I’m just… I’m in pain. I broke a rib in the fight.” Ellie’s eyes widen just slightly. “A broken rib?” she echoes, leaning forward again. “Paul, that doesn’t sound like a fight—that sounds like a street fight.” Paul lets out a breath through his nose, a faint, tired smile ghosting across his lips. “Yeah… it kinda was.” A pause. Then—he goes. “The reason I got into it…” he says, slower now, more deliberate, like each word is being chosen instead of forced. “After the game… the guy I beat thought it’d be funny to pants me. In public.” His jaw tightens again, but he doesn’t stop. “And he did. And some of the school saw that…” He swallows again, but pushes through. “They saw that because of a medical condition… connected to stress and… muscle control… I have to wear… extra protection. Just in case.” He doesn’t say the word. He can’t. Not yet. Maybe not ever. “But they saw it,” he finishes quietly. “They laughed. And then he hit me. And… yeah. We fought.” A small breath. “I’ve been in the hospital since Friday. Just got home today.” There’s silence on the other end. Paul feels the weight of everything he just said hanging there, exposed, vulnerable, too much, too real, and his next words come faster, defensive, already trying to close the door he just opened. “I know it’s a lot,” he says quickly. “And if it’s too weird for you, we can just—like, we don’t have to talk again, because that’s what some of my—” “No.” Ellie cuts him off immediately. Not harsh. Not loud. But certain. “No,” she repeats, softer this time, but just as firm. “I don’t want to stop talking to you.” Her eyes lock onto his, unwavering. “And no, I don’t think it’s funny that you have to wear protection.” A beat. Then— “I’m sorry,” she adds, her voice shifting again, warmer now, grounded in something real. “I’m really sorry you have to deal with that. But Paul…” She leans in just slightly. “You’re not alone. Okay?” The words landed like a lifeline. Paul’s tracker, which had been climbing toward orange, slowly eased back to a fading yellow, inching closer to green. The nerves, the stress, the sharp pain in his ribs—they all subsided at once. The big side and little side inside him settled into a fragile peace. He wasn’t alone in this. Someone outside his immediate family knew, and she hadn’t run. His shoulders drop just slightly, the tightness in his chest loosening as something close to a real smile finally breaks through. “Really?” he asks, almost hesitant, like he’s not sure if he’s allowed to believe it yet. Ellie smiles back instantly. “Yeah,” she says, a small laugh slipping in now, lightening the space between them. “Really.” She tilts her head just slightly, a spark returning to her eyes. “Now tell me you opened up a can of whoop ass on that piece of shit.” That—that gets him. Paul’s cheeks flush immediately, the warmth rising fast, but this time it isn’t shame. It’s something else. Something lighter. He looks down for a second, then back up, a shy grin finally settling in. “Oh yeah,” he admits, softer now, but with a quiet pride underneath it. “I did enough to knock out a front tooth… and break his nose.” Ellie’s eyebrows shoot up, impressed. “Damn,” she says, shaking her head with a small grin. “Remind me not to piss you off.” The nursery was wrapped in the soft hush of late evening, the kind of quiet that felt both peaceful and alive with the day’s lingering warmth. Paul sat on the Safari-themed carpet in the center of the room, the plush fibers cushioning him like a gentle embrace. He could hear the soft crinkle of his diaper with every small shift, a familiar sound that had become part of his evenings now. The gentle, rhythmic sucking of his pacifier filled his ears, steady and comforting, his little side was in the driver’s seat tonight, content and sleepy, while the big side hovered nearby, watching with quiet acceptance. Bryan knelt down in front of him, one knee down first, then the other, the subtle shift of weight intentional as his hand moves behind his back, hiding something just out of sight for a moment longer than necessary—not for suspense, but for timing. “Happy Birthday BUDDY” Bryan reveals a sprawling, multi-level fortress of molded gray stone and sharp black panels, rising in jagged layers like a mountain carved into purpose, the centerpiece unmistakable—the bold, glowing bat emblem set into the front like a beacon, framed by angular supports that stretch outward like wings mid-spread. To one side, a command center unfolds in tiers—curved consoles with bright, colored panels, tiny embedded screens that look like they’re alive with information even when they’re not, the kind of detail that makes it feel like something important happens there, something controlled. There are platforms that rise and connect, ladders molded into the structure, narrow walkways leading to lookout points, a side tower capped with blue and red accents that adds height and balance, giving the entire thing a sense of scale far beyond a toy. A circular chamber sits off to the right with a bold bat insignia stamped across it, while below, a central opening suggests hidden doors, secret passages, a place where things move unseen. Even the colors feel intentional—deep blacks, slate grays, flashes of yellow and blue that break through just enough to keep it from feeling cold, turning it instead into something alive. Paul’s big side froze in disbelief. He remembered. The offhand comment from that Saturday afternoon weeks ago—when Paul had casually mentioned how he never got a Batcave as a kid—came rushing back. Dad actually listened. He remembered something so small, so silly, and turned it into this. The little side erupted with pure, unfiltered joy. His body lifts before he can think about it, a soft bounce on his padded bottom, hands coming together in quick, uneven claps as joy bursts out of him in a way that doesn’t ask permission, doesn’t filter itself, doesn’t care if it makes sense. It just is. “Fank you, Dada!” he blurts, the words pushed through the pacifier, softened, rounded, but filled with something so bright it almost spills over. Bryan’s face breaks into a smile that isn’t surprised. The moment felt dream-like, wrapped in the soft purple glow and the gentle sounds of the nursery, but it was real. Paul’s little side was fully in control, bouncing and clapping and making happy noises around the pacifier as he explored the Batcave’s levels. Then the world shifted again. The edges blur again, colors pulling back, warmth thinning just enough for something else to seep in underneath, and Paul’s voice echoes—not as bright this time, not as clear, but still reaching. “Dada…” The word stretches. Softens. “Daddy…?” Darkness answers. “…Dad…?” The room is different now. Gone is the soft glow of imagination—replaced instead by the low, steady purple hue from beneath the bed, the LED lights casting long shadows across the floor, enough to shape the room but not enough to fill it. Paul blinks. Slow. Heavy. “…what’s… what’s going on…” Bryan stands over him, the outline familiar even in the dim light, his presence grounding in a way that cuts through the haze without breaking it completely. “Hey buddy,” he says gently, leaning forward just enough for his voice to land softly. “Come on, I just need you up for a few minutes.” Paul groans faintly, his body resisting more out of instinct than intention, still caught halfway between sleep and waking. “We gotta take that patch off,” Bryan continues, calm, steady. Then, lighter—just enough. “And… smells like a little stink bug might need a fresh change before getting back to bed, bud.” Paul’s nose wrinkles faintly. Not fully aware. But aware enough. Bryan didn’t guide him out of bed. It was simply easier—and kinder—for him to slide his arms beneath his son and lift him gently, carrying him the short distance to the changing table. Paul felt the mess squishing underneath him as Bryan laid him down, cold and heavy, the unmistakable evidence of a full night’s need. He winced—not from pain, but from a quick flash of shame and disgust as the smell became more present in the quiet room. Not again, the big side thought, a flicker of embarrassment rising. But the little side stayed quiet, trusting, knowing Daddy was here. Bryan worked with the same steady care Lilly had shown earlier. He gently lifted the left side of Paul’s Safari pajama top, carefully rolling Paul onto his right side to help as he peeled away the Lidocaine patch. He slid the top back down, then eased Paul’s pajama bottoms down until they bunched just below his knees. Paul, still in that slight regressed state, began to wiggle a little, the realization of the messy diaper and being woken up not sitting well with him. Bryan’s voice took on that gentle “Daddy” tone—natural and warm, never forced. “Easy there, little man. Stop squirming. Daddy will get you all cleaned up as fast as he can.” He leaned forward in the dim purple light, gently fished the pacifier up from where it hung on its clip, and slipped it back between Paul’s lips. The sucking started immediately, helping Paul settle as Bryan began the change. “That’s it…” Bryan hums softly. “There we go… nice and easy…” His words stayed soft and loving, baby talk that felt completely natural coming from a father who had learned how to meet his son exactly where he was. “There we go, buddy… let’s get this stinky one off you. Daddy’s got you nice and safe.” The motion of the wipes was gentle and thorough, the soft rustle as the dirty diaper was folded and set aside. Bryan kept Paul’s legs raised carefully with one hand while fluffing out the new diaper underneath. He added one stuffer, then paused, thinking to himself, Last one was near leaking. He could use a second for tonight. He slid in another, then rubbed in rash cream with careful, loving strokes before sprinkling a generous amount of baby powder—enough to ensure his son’s protection and comfort. The powder cloud rose softly in the purple light as Bryan taped the fresh diaper up snug and secure. Both Bryan and Paul felt the added thickness immediately—the crinkle louder, the padding noticeably bulkier between Paul’s legs. A small whine escaped around the pacifier. “It’s okay, buddy,” he murmurs, hands smoothing over the sides, grounding him. “Daddy just wants your nigh-nigh diaper to be extra comfy cozy, alright?” The whining lingers. Even as the pajama bottoms are pulled back up. Bryan leans over him, brushing his fingers along Paul’s cheek. “What’s wrong, bud?” Paul pulls the pacifier free, his hand lifting sluggishly as he points toward his side. “Hurt…” he mumbles. “It hurts…” Bryan nodded, understanding immediately. First, helping Paul sit up, then reaching for two extra-strength Tylenol, and showing them to him, then placing the tablets into his mouth before guiding the sippy cup forward. “Drink.” Paul does. Swallows. A small sigh escapes him. Relief—partial, but real. Bryan then helps him down of the changing table and back toward the bed, one arm steadying him, but just before they reach it— Paul stops. Just slightly. The pacifier back between his lips, his words come out soft, garbled, small. “No… sleep…” he murmurs. “Daddy… could you… rock me… please…” His hand lifts weakly, pointing toward the chair by the window. Bryan nodded without hesitation. “Yeah, bud,” he says quietly. “I got you.” The chair creaks softly as he sits, adjusting Paul into his lap with careful precision, mindful of every angle, every pressure point, making sure he’s supported, safe and close. Bryan hums under his breath, the melody unstructured but warm, something old, something carried more in feeling than memory. His thumb brushes lightly along Paul’s temple, then back through his hair, over and over, until the motion becomes less about doing and more about being there. Adding a few loving & gentle diaper pats through the thick padding, the crinkle soft and reassuring under his palm. He presses a kiss to Paul’s forehead. Lingers for just a second longer than before. Then pulls back, just enough to look at him. Really looks. The swelling has gone down a little. The bruising is still there, faint shadows against skin that used to be untouched, untested in this way. His lips part slightly around the pacifier, his expression soft, unguarded in sleep—no tension, no defense, no fear. Just… peace. Bryan exhales quietly. Not relief. Not completely. But something close to it. His hand moves lower now, resting lightly against Paul’s side, careful of the ribs, steadying him without waking him, and the rocking slows even further until it’s barely motion at all—just enough to keep the moment from breaking. Outside the window, the night stretches on. Still. Unmoving. But inside—something has shifted. Not fixed. Not solved. But held. Bryan leans his head gently against Paul’s, just for a moment, his voice so quiet it barely exists beyond the space between them. “I’ve got you, buddy…” No response comes. Not in words. But Paul shifts slightly closer, his head settling more firmly into his father’s shoulder, the smallest, unconscious trust anchoring him there. Bryan doesn’t move. Doesn’t need to. Because right now— this is enough. The chair rocks once more. Then slows. Then stills. And in the quiet that follows, under the soft glow of the room and the steady rise and fall of his son’s breathing, Bryan simply sits there… holding him… long after sleep has already claimed him, as if letting go—even just to stand—would mean breaking something that had only just begun to mend.

I have been 24/7 for 16 months this time. Previously I have had periods of a month or so in cheap drug store diapers with subsequent leaks. So my last day in underwear was the one which made me decide to get serious about 24/7 and premium products. I was doing dishes, the faucet was running, and so was the pee running down my legs. This had been happening frequently, and I thought "if I need diapers to wash dishes or brush my teeth, then I need diapers period".l define incontinence as loss of control. In that sense, I see myself as partially incontinent, but not at all fully incontinent. i have had some uncontrolled #2s, but I make a practice of sitting on the potty after breakfast. Most of the time that works and frees me from worry the rest of the day. I don't want messy diapers. In urination, I dribble during the day unless I'm in a stressful situation. I don't feel a need to pee; instead there is feeling that I am about to or already wetting. During the night I wake up 3-5 times not feeling an urge but a fullness and the thought that I'd better wet now or I won't get any sleep. In the night it's often hard to get started unless I press on the bladder area. And then I don't know when I'm finished. In other words, I mostly don't know the state of my bladder. Is it full or not? I know it's never totally empty because I have a big bladder stone causing retention. I don't have to diaper check because I'm almost always wet. I usually wet a new diaper shortly after a change. Weight and sag tell when a change is near. Functionally, I am totally dependent on a diaper. That may be partly just fear of accidents. But I do dribble to and from the shower. When I air out I wet whatever absorbent is under me. Husband (who enjoys making comments about my padded butt) and a few friends know. I don't try to hide, but do try wear clothes that are not too obvious. Medical. Urologist knows and respects my desire not to try any more procedures. I get Ct scans periodically in diapers which the gowns can't possibly hide. I have been in the hospital and rehab, and both have treated me as incontinent. The hospital connected me via an external catheter to a suction tube connected to a collection apparatus on the wall. Rehab staff changed me in their diapers on their schedule. Daily routine is either two or three changes a day. Two if #2 and shower happen by 10 am. Three if shower is later. My usual diaper is a boosted Megamax at night. And either Megamax or Abena m4 in the day

Only way you will know for sure if you like the fit, feel and how they work is to take one of your terry hand or bath towels, pin it on and try it for yourself. Don't forget the plastic pants. Oh, and most important: make sure you wash it after use before drying your face with it.

I poo in bed quite often actually. I adore the feeling of my nappy being full whilst being wrapped up, all comfy, with the obvious scent wafting from beneath covers. Often I'll hold it just so I can go in bed. I'll turn over and lie on my tummy after I've been. The weight my bulging nappy weighing me down makes me fall to sleep effortlessly. I feel the littlest in those moments 😍

Oops... forgot to post this one! Enjoy, and if you like my writing, please consider checking me out on Patreon-- I post exclusive stories and art projects every month! “I’m a grown woman! I deserve respect!” Vanessa spat, stomping her foot and feeling her dirty diaper squish against her buttocks even further, the poopy stench wafting up her nose and making her feel silly for even trying to assert her adulthood. Ms. Prowse sneered, highly amused. “You don’t much look like an adult to me,” The hard faced woman said, crinkling her nose distastefully. She easily maintained her grip in spite of Vanessa’s struggles, and it was no trouble at all to reach out and casually swat her bottom again, the mess in the seat of her pampers squishing nosily against her backside once more. “AHHH! STOP THAT!” Vanessa demanded wiggling in place to avoid another solid swat to her poopy pants, powerless to do anything but squeal when Ms. Prowse landed the spank anyway. “Come along!” she snapped, dragging Vanessa along behind her. “We’ve got to get you out of that diaper-- young lady, you STINK!” Vanessa growled angrily, but allowed herself to be dragged to the bathroom. She was desperate enough to get out of her poop packed pamper to simply go along with the woman at this point. She did have a point... even with an entire night to get used to it, the stench of her mess still made her upturned nose crinkle distastefully. She was still in a state of shock about having made such a major mess-- the finicky, spoiled, perpetually dieting Vanessa was usually unable to produce more than a few pellets on her morning visits to the restroom. Standing in the tub, she tried to hide how grateful she was when Ms. Prowse tore the tapes off the diaper and gently pealed it off her rump, discarding it into a nearby diaper pail and leaving Vanessa standing there, naked, her cute, round butt totally caked with thick, brown poopy, clinging to each buttock and smushed up inside her crack uncomfortably. “Stick that fat tushy out,” Ms. Prowse said, suppressing a grin as she turned the water on and adjusted the heat. Vanessa huffed indignantly... but she didn’t hesitate to comply, bending at the knees and sticking out her poopy rump behind her, resting her hands on her thighs for balance. Ms. Prowse could no longer hide her smile as she spitefully directed the jet of water over Vanessa’s quivering ass. The girl grimaced, the water almost burning hot against her plump, pale skin, but she uttered not one word of complaint, sighing gratefully when she felt the awful, sticky mess rinsed away from her flesh. She waggled her hiney gently, ensuring she got all the poopy off her. Ms. Prowse, meanwhile, took great satisfaction in aiming the powerful, hot jet methodically across each cheek, then spitefully aiming it at the dark crinkle of her anus between them. She’d hoped to be able to soap herself, but Ms. Prowse insisted, and Vanessa found herself blushing and wincing, standing still as Ms. Prowse lathered up a wash rag and went to town, quickly soaping her body before rigorously scrubbing her ass, until each cheek was shiny and pink, and the cleft between them practically tingled with freshness. Ms. Prowse turned off the shower. Vanessa grumbled, but stood still and allowed the woman to dry her off with a big, fluffy bath towel. “Come on, move it little girl!” Ms. Prowse growled, leading her along with a solid swat to her naked, jiggling rear end. “OW! Bitch...” Vanessa grumbled under her breath, allowing herself to be led into the bedroom. She expected to be dressed, but instead, Ms. Prowse shoved her roughly down onto the bed, leaving Vanessa to glare up at her. “Hey! What the--” But she found her protests cut off with a large pacifier shoved into her mouth. “Roll over on your tummy... let’s go, brat!” she demanded, motivating Vanessa to cooperate with a solid swat to her bare butt. The beautiful blonde complied, rolling onto her tummy and leaving her bare tushy exposed and vulnerable. She grumbled and tried to get comfortable, paying no attention to her tormentor... at least, until she felt her buttocks unceremoniously parted. “Hey! What’re you-- WHOA!” she cried when she found her anus being smeared with cool, gooey gel. “Stop that right-- YIKES!” She cried, turning just in time to see Ms. Prowse smile as she stuck her finger where the sun didn’t shine, getting Veronica’s hole nice and greasy. “Just what do you think you’re up to?!” Vanessa demanded, her eyes going wide when the woman pulled a thick glass thermometer and a jar of Vaseline from her apron. “Better think warm thoughts, deary,” the nurse said, eyes gleaming, “Because this is mighty cold!” “Now see here, Ms. Prowse,” Vanessa thundered pompously in spite of her pacifier, “I refuse to let you treat me like a child! I-- OOOOOOO!” The gorgeous, naked babe emitted a high pitched squeal as the nurse pushed the thermometer home, popping it past the tight, pink ring of her anus and sliding it’s cool, slick glass into place with little resistance. Vanessa turned, bottom lip quivering, faint at the sight of the thick glass tube protruding from between the round, pink hillocks of her smooth, bare buttocks. Visit me on Patreon for more great stories!

That's a great question. If I had to take a guess, she inherited a hereditary predisposition to dental diseases/gum disease. She lost a lot of teeth by the time she was in her 30's and opted to get dentures since it would give her a perfect smile for less than getting a dozen dental implants. The simple response is that my client who commissioned this story likes toothless women.

Chapter 3: Last Minute Booking ***The Next Morning*** "Yes, I know it's short notice." Pamela whispered, paranoid that her daughter could be listening even though it was just after dawn. "I know you're booked up, but-" Pamela was interrupted by a stern matronly tone that caused her to mentally shrink. "It's been months! Just let me have an afternoon!" Pamela begged before lowering her tone. God how pathetic she sounded. "Please! I'll pay triple your rate!" Pamela listened for a response, the silence eating her up inside. All she wanted was an afternoon to relax. How hard was that to- "Oh, thank you! Thank you, thank you, thank you!" The forty three year old sounded so childish and excited. "I'll be right over!" Pamela sat down her cell phone and started to get ready for the day. It was going to be a day she would never forget. **Meanwhile, At The Macdougall Residence** "Now, if you need anything, just call. I might not be able to immediately call you back, but I'll try my best." Allison explained. "Everything will be fine mom. I'll probably just watch YouTube all day, maybe go for a walk later." "That sounds great, sweetie." Allison sighed internally. "You have a good time, mom!" "Thanks sweetie! Before I forget, here's a little money for a pizza or whatever you want for dinner." Allison opened her purse and handed her daughter two Andrew Jacksons. "Thanks!" "No problem, baby. Now give your mother a hug!" The two redheads wrapped their arms around each other for a moment, the older McDougal squeezing her daughter before releasing the teen. With everything seemingly taken care of, Allison hopped into her old Altima and slowly pulled back out of the driveway. She couldn't help but smile when she noticed that Mackenzie was waving "bye" to her. Sure her daughter did give her trouble sometimes, but Allison knew she was a lucky mother to have such a good girl.She hated lying to her daughter, but one thing Allison knew was that if anyone found out what she did every weekend, they would think she was crazy. "Ugh, I should ask to be punished for lying." Even though her daughter had guessed bondage the night before, she wasn't too far off the mark, Allison thought. Here she was, going to someone else's house to pay another grown woman to basically wipe her ass and babysit her all weekend like she had been doing for the past year. But each weekend was such an incredibly therapeutic time for her! Ever since she was a child, she had been yearning to experience being cared for like a baby. It was one thing to chat with people online, to roleplay, but to actually be put into diapers and forced to communicate in babyish gibberish, while suckling on a pacifier, was a high that no drug she had ever tried topped. To quench this desire that she had been hiding since her childhood was better than sex itself, but as the months passed, she found herself craving it more and more. 'Maybe I should have mommy come move in with me once MacKenzie goes away to college?' To Be Continued... Want to read more? You can read up to the part where diapers get introduced on my Patreon. https://www.patreon.com/user?u=6660213

Chapter 2: Another ABDL **On The Other Side Of Coral Cove** "There will be no, what?" "No boys or anyone here but me." Mackenzie Macdougall repeated in a droll monotone. "Very good, Mackenzie." The forty two year old, Allison Macdougall, cooed condescendingly at her eighteen year old daughter. The young redhead sighed, annoyed with how her mother was treating her. It had been five of her friends and no one else! By the way her mother was acting, you would've thought that she had hosted Coachella or something! "While I'm gone, I don't want a repeat of last weekend. There will be no raging parties in this house ever again, do you understand?" "But it wasn't even a party!" Mackenzie argued. "The neighbors told me differently. The driveway was filled with cars and there was a bunch of people talking over loud music in the backyard." Mackenzie grimaced. Maybe the music was a little louder than it should have been, but the driveway could only hold two cars! "I was just hanging out with a few friends. We didn't even drink or do anything stupid like that!" Mackenzie explained. "And that's why I trust you enough to leave you home alone this weekend. I could've gotten you a babysitter if you had really been bad." Allison MacDougall chuckled. "Mom!" MacKenzie whined. "Don't even joke about that! I'm eighteen years old for crying out loud! I don't need a babysitter anymore!" "I know, sweetie." Allison smiled, her red bangs framing her angelic face as she gazed through her daughter as if she wasn't there. Her thoughts shifted away from the serious conversation and filled with visions of what awaited her at her weekend retreat. Unlike most women her age, she still looked young enough to be mistaken as her daughter's older sister. Sure, the early years had been tough on her and Mackenzie. Losing her husband to divorce and then her father to a heart attack, last year, had really taken an emotional toll on the forty two year old, but inheriting his company, on top of his rather generous life insurance policy, had cushioned the blow, monetarily speaking. With this added money, she had bought a new home in the illustrious Coral Cove private community outright in cash. After securing her new residence, she had set aside enough money to send her daughter off to an accredited college next year. However, her expenses weren't purely domestic. While most people would've bought a brand new car or gotten dental work, her teeth had fallen out years ago due to poor oral hygiene and smoking, Allison had done no such thing! She saved every cent, only spending what she needed on food, gas and the utilities. Of course, her weekly excursions down the street weren't exactly a "needed" expense, but she treated it like a trip to the therapist. Oh, how she couldn't wait for tomorrow! "Earth to mom!" The all too familiar voice of her only daughter broke the forty two year old mother from her thoughts. "I'm sorry, sweetie. Was just thinking about tomorrow." Allison sighed, a dopey grin on her face. "What do you even do every weekend anyway?" The question was a valid one. She had never thought to explain to her daughter just what it was she did every single week. Sure, her daughter was an adult now, and the world was becoming a much more open minded place, but that didn't mean that she should tell her anything. What if it drove her away like it did to her husband all those years ago?! "It's just a spa, sweetie. How do you think I keep myself looking so youthful?" Allison giggled at that last word like she was giving away a bit too much information. "Maybe next weekend I could come with you?" MacKenzie asked. Even though her mother could be a bit annoying, sometimes bordering on stupidly strict like how she had to deal with a babysitter until she was fifteen, the younger Macdougall really did love her mom. "I'll have to think about that, honey. It's an adult place." "What? Like do you guys have sex out there or is it some kind of weird bondage bed and breakfast?" MacKenzie arched an eyebrow. Allison's face turned ghost white, making her already pale skin look alabaster. "Where did you even hear about that sort of stuff?" The forty two year old asked, thoroughly surprised by how seemingly knowledgeable her daughter was. "Saw it on Vice TV." The younger redhead stated nonchalantly. "Well, I can assure you that no one is being tied up or anything like that." Allison affirmed. "Then why can't I go?" "It's pretty booked up. Don't think there's an opening until next year." The older woman replied. It wasn't exactly far from the truth. "Fair enough, I guess. But I'm gonna go with you one day." MacKenzie asserted. "Sure, sweetie. Now get up to bed, it's past your bedtime." "Fine." MacKenzie groaned as she turned away from her mother and walked up to her room. To Be Continued... Want to get to the diapers? https://www.patreon.com/user?u=6660213 Also, thank you very much, Abykamper, for your feedback and support! I'll be updating this story weekly. Basically, it's about two moms who secretly diapers. How will their world's collide? Tune in to find out!

Part 10 Miss Harlow sat down on the couch while Hannah and I sat down in front of it. “Now Mikey,” Miss Harlow said while looking at me. “This snack is optional, if you don't want it, I understand it completely and I will get you something else.” I sucked my pacifier a bit harder and wondered what she meant by that. Miss Harlow studied the look on my face. “Why don’t I demonstrate it, Hannah, come sit next to mommy,” Miss Harlow said as she motioned for Hannah to sit next to her. Hannah eagerly climbed up on the couch, obviously happy with whatever is going to happen. “I should have worn a blouse,” Miss Harlow sighed as she started to remove her sweater. I immediately knew what was going to happen and so did Hannah and Miss Harlow, who both looked at me. My eyes switched between Miss Harlow’s black bra and her eyes. I bit down on my pacifier, was this really going to happen, was Miss Harlow going to be breastfeed Hannah? Miss Harlow seemed to sense my question. “Don’t worry Mikey, I don’t produce milk,” Miss Harlo said as she was undoing her bra, letting it drop next to her on the couch. My eyes grew even bigger, looking at her now naked chest, her breast were firm and big, D cup if I had to guess. “This is only for show and the feeling it brings to Hannah. Like I said, you don't have to join in, but feel welcome if you want to,” Miss Harlow said with a wink, turning her attention to Hannah. Miss Harlow removed Hannah’s pacifier, “Lie down on your back sweetie,” Miss Harlow said to Hannah sweetly. Hannah made herself comfortable on the couch and her head was soon resting on Miss Harlow’s lap, the breast hanging inches away from her face. I felt myself starting to freak out, but also aroused. It was a weird feeling to have, I wanted what Hannah now has, but it was all moving fast and without warning. Miss harlow guided her nipple to Hannah’s lips, who immediately put the nipple in her mouth and started sucking. Here I was sitting, in a full diaper witnesses and adult being breastfed by another adult, maybe it was just for show, but that didn’t matter to me. Miss Harlow was cooing at Hannah. “What a good baby girl you are,” she said while patting Hannah’s diapers. occasionally giving me a brief glanze. I let out a little trickle of pee in my diaper and started to climb the couch. I was already deeper in this than I was expecting to be, so why not go all out? I looked at Miss Harlow pleadingly as she removed my pacifier. “And who is mommy's good little boy?” She asked, I felt my cheeks burn bright red and let my head rest on her lap right next to Hannah’s who was sucking away happily with her eyes closed. I closed my eyes too and opened my mouth, anxiously awaiting Miss Harlow’s nipple. I felt the nipple entering my mouth and started sucking. No milk came out as Miss Harlow had stated and I immediately understood what kind of feeling it brought to Hannah. It felt really nice, safe and really comfortable. I kept sucking softly as Miss harlow petted my diaper. “Such good little babies,” she cooed at the both of us. Hannah moaned softly, still sucking away. It felt like an eternity, lying on Miss Harlow’s lap, sucking away on her breast, not thinking about anything but just enjoying the moment. It also felt to short, after a while mommy interrupted our session. “Alright little darlings, I think that is enough for now, let’s get you too in some dry diapers,” mommy said as she was poking around my pee filled diaper. Hannah and I stopped sucking and sat upright. I had a bit of a disappointed look on my face, while Hannah’s face showed content. “Mikey, if it lasted longer it wouldn’t feel special right?” Mommy asked. “I guess so,” I said a bit sulky. Mommy rubbed my back and popped the pacifier back in my mouth. “Cheer up Mikey!” Hannah said happily and slipped down the couch, crawling back to the nursery. Mommy stood up, put her bra and sweater back on. “You too little mister, to the nursery,” mommy said with a mockingly stern voice. I let myself down from the couch and followed mommy, who followed Hannah. In the nursery, mommy first changed Hannah, putting her in another pink diaper. When Hannah was cared for I climbed up the changing table and lied down. Hannah went back to her toy chest and pulled out a doll, back into her game she was playing. “Seems like you leaked a bit,” mommy stated as she undid the snaps. I turned my face, not looking at mommy. “It’s not your fault Mikey,” mommy said. “Sit up so I can get you out of your onesie.” She quickly went to work, removing the onesie and throwing it in the hamper, removing the diaper and dropping it in the diaper pile next to the changing table. I lied naked on the changing table, waiting for a new diaper. mommy seemed to sense my thoughts. “First we need to clean you, mr pottypants,” mommy said as she grabbed a few baby wipes. the wipes went all over my crotch and butt area, I felt my penis growing stiff. Ashamed I closed my eyes and tried to think of anything else. “No need to be embarrassed,” mommy said. “It is all natural,” she continued as she gave my penis a few strokes with the baby wipes. She threw the baby wipes away and grabbed a pink diaper from underneath the changing table. I looked questionably at the diaper, “Can I wear a white diaper?” I asked softly. “No you can not, those white diapers don’t hold as much as the pink ones,” mommy stated seriously, letting me know I shouldn’t question her. She powdered me and swiftly pulled the diaper over my crotch and taped it snugly shut. “Thank you mommy,” I said with a bit of a babyish voice in my tone and climbed down. “You’re welcome,” mommy said as she patted my head. “Let’s find something else for you to wear, and for your big sister too.” She said as she took a couple of steps towards the closet. She rummaged in it for a bit and pulled out two identical pink onesies. “Hannah, would you like to dress your baby brother?” Mommy asked Hannah, who was quickly on her feet. “Yes!” Hannah yelled as she made her way over to us. “This foot goes into this hole, and that one into this,” Hannah said, wildly gesturing. I followed Hannah’s instruction reluctantly, not really excited to wear a pink onesie. Once we were both wearing our onesie mommy claimed it was time for a nap. Hannah and I crawled towards mommy, who was already busy lowering the bars for us. We climbed inside of it, lying down, waiting for mommy to raise the bars again. Before mommy did that she gave us each a stuffed animal, I got the bear again and Hannah was given a penguin. “Pingu!” Hannah yelled excitedly, immediately hugging her pingu. “Both be good babies and go to sleep,” Mommy said while she raised the bars. Seeing the bars towering over me, my anxious feelings returned. Mommy saw the look on my face, “Don’t worry sweetie,” mommy said as put an arm between the bars to ruffle my hair. “You big sister Hannah is sleeping right next to you, and you can always call for me,” mommy said pointing towards the baby monitor. Mommy’s kind work relaxed me a little bit and I lied down next to Hannah, who was hugging her pingu intensely. Hannah turned to face me, our pacifiers almost touching each other. “Don’t worry Mikey, I will protect you,” Hannah said, our pacifiers touching, as if she was giving me a kiss. I felt the blush on my face and buried it into my teddy. Mommy stood up and walked towards the door, she turned around “Have a nice nap sweeties,” She said as she turned the lights of and leaving the door ajar. I looked at the ceiling, still sucking my paci and hugging my teddy. After a while I looked at Hannah, who was peacefully asleep, her pingu tight in her grasp. Hannah looked really beautiful, even under these circumstances. I never thought I would be attracted by someone who wore diapers. But then again, I never thought I would be wearing diapers again, I thought when I drifted off.