Cute_Kitten

It was a real thing. The Nazis were into total control- they wanted to replace religion with their ideology. "Songs that mentioned Jesus, like Silent Night, were rewritten with new lyrics espousing the benefits of National Socialism by none other than chief Nazi ideologist Alfred Rosenberg and Heinrich Himmler, one of the masterminds of the Holocaust. At the height of Nazi Christmas revisionism, any mentions of the Savior were replaced with mentions of the “Savior Führer.”" quoted from: https://www.fastcodesign.com/3024022/how-hitler-redesigned-christmas Here's another article you might like: Though the translation I'd originally found when researching Nazi life had a slightly different translation: https://libertyunyielding.com/2013/12/23/nazi-germany-hijacked-christmas-changed-lyrics-silent-night/

A site like that is not the place to take any serious advice from. It sounds like a troll hangout. As for the problem with your kittens- you'd want to get answers from people who have experience/ expertise in that area. Talk with your vet, or- since your cats are pedigreed- talk to the people you got the cats from. Or find a cat association/ cat club, or a cat forum. Which might mean an international forum. Cats are cats where ever they are. You want to make sure you're getting advice from people who know what they're talking about. Bad advice could end up hurting you or the cats. Don't just stick with one website- use your google-fu! Use a search engine such as google or yahoo to find different websites dedicated to the care of cats/ breeding cats/ cat behavior.

Thank you for commenting. I'm glad to know the story feels authentic. Gertrude shook her head, pulling herself out of old memories. What was wrong with her? Christmas was supposed to be the happiest, most joyful time of year. Christmas Eve was the most magical night of the year. Yet here she was, wallowing in sad memories. She should be remembering happier times with her sister. With Magda. If she was going to mourn, it should be all the German soldiers who’d died on the front, who gave their lives to protect their families, their freedom, their Reich. The National Socialist Women’s League had thrown a memorial Christmas luncheon earlier today for families of fallen and wounded soldiers. Gertrude swallowed. The stollen made her mouth feel dry, like she’d eaten paper. Her tongue rubbed the roof of her mouth. She poured herself a glass of milk from the icebox. Her grandfather owned a few cows and some goats, so milk was one ration they didn’t have to worry too much about. They were even able to give and trade it with the villagers and other farmers. After the dry, papery, tasteless stollen, the milk tasted cold, creamy and sweet as it flowed over her tongue. She closed her eyes, savoring the taste. She leaned back against the counter. The diaper’s thick padding cushioned her backside, bringing her thoughts back to Magda and Heidi. Heidi had spent her whole life in diapers. Magda had worn diapers because of an underdeveloped bladder. Had Magda ever outgrown her diapers? Gertrude finished her milk and rinsed her glass out. She gazed out the window over the sink. Snow fell in flat, lazy flakes, blanketing the world in white. Bare branches piled high with snow bowed under the accumulating weight. Bushes, fences, and water troughs in the animal pastures were just lumps under the thick white blanket. The full moon shone down through thick, dark clouds heavy with more snow. The moonlight glistened off the white snow, softly illuminating the night. No animals stirred. All was calm. Quiet. Peaceful. Gertrude stared at the scene, trying to soak that serenity into her soul. She thought of her favorite Christmas song. Silent Night. The special Christmas Eve radio program had played a new version of the beloved classic. She hummed softly, trying to carve that peace into her heart. After a few moments, she sang in a low voice. “Stille nacht. Heilige nacht. Silent night. Holy night. All is calm. All is bright. Only the Chancellor stays on guard. Germany’s future to watch and ward. Guiding our nation aright.” The new song was popular with certain segments of the population. Around the community bonfire in the village that evening, the Church choir sang the original while the boys and girls in their Hitler Youth League uniforms sang the new version. Then the older boys lined up, taking turns jumping over the crackling fire to prove their bravery. At the end, when everyone was heading home, each household took a burning twig from the community fire to light candles on their Christmas tree. The clouds drifted across the moon; blue shadows on the white snow danced and shifted to reveal a set of footprints in the deep snow leading into the barn. Gertrude’s stomach tightened at the sight. Her tranquility and peace shattered. The tracks were fresh; already thick flakes were filling in the holes. Everyone in the family was in bed, fast asleep. The prints were too small to belong to a full grown man. A child or a woman, then. Nervous knots in her belly tightened into anger. One suspect immediately leapt to mind. Ilse, a woman from the village. Was she trying to raid their barn again? Gertrude had caught her twice trying to steal a few eggs or a bucket of milk fresh from the cow. Gertrude was too soft-hearted, letting Ilse off with a warning that next time, she really would turn her in to the police. Perhaps Ilse was after a chicken this time- a roasted hen for her Christmas supper. Gertrude’s blood boiled. The family barely had enough to get by as it was. What little extra they produced, they needed for trading. All across the Reich, bellies of good Germans went hungry together. Gertrude wondered if Ilse was tainted with thieving Jewish blood in her family tree. She certainly behaved like a greedy, selfish Jew. For a moment, Gertrude considered waking Josef up. He’d scare the hell out of Ilse. Hell, he’d arrest or shoot her himself. Was Gertrude really such a cowardly pansy that she couldn’t handle one thieving neighbor? Indignation and self disgust stoked the flames of her anger higher. Her eyes fell on Josef’s shiny boots and rifle in a corner by the door. She didn’t need to bother any of the menfolk. She’d handle Ilse on her own. Make her regret taking Gertrude for a fool. Gertrude wasn’t going to shoot her, not on Christmas Eve. Just scare her with that big rifle so bad Ilse literally pissed herself. Maybe Ilse would wish she was wearing a diaper, like Gertrude was. Gertrude giggled darkly at the thought. She smiled, baring her teeth as she crossed to the coat rack. Her own wool coat was still wet with melted snow from when she fed the animals earlier and got them settled for the night. So she put on Josef’s heavy coat. It was huge, swallowing her up. His high boots felt like she was putting her feet into boats. Between the thick diaper, oversized coat and boots, she felt like a little kid playing dress up. The rifle was cold in her hands, but she held it comfortably. She knew it was loaded, too. That morning, Josef had taken her out to an empty field to shoot tin cans off a fence. She’d smuggled him out a bottle of grandma’s gluhwein and some Allerlei cookies. After two hours with the gun, she felt confident enough to use it now. Or at least scare a trespassing thief with it.

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Those are adorable!!!

The kitchen was colder than the living room. She sat her lantern down on the edge of the big kitchen table. There was no electricity at night, so she couldn’t turn on the lights even if she’d wanted to. Cookie tins- some gifts from neighbors in the village or girls from the League- lined up on the counter between the sink and the icebox. The stacks weren’t as high as the years before the war; a reminder that all across the Reich, German families were scraping by just like them. Solidarity in hardship. The tins were full of pfeffernusse, spongy soft, puffy spice cookies dipped in a sweet, thick white glaze. Others held allerlei cookies- spiced gingerbread and molasses sweetened with a thin glaze. The soft, chewy cookies came in traditional shapes like stars, trees, angels, snowmen and rocking horses. Swastika cookie cutters were popular, too, to celebrate their Aryan roots. Loaves of sweet bread and nut rolls lay on the kitchen table under dish towels. Gertrude felt almost guilty as she flipped back the corner of a towel and picked up a knife to cut a small slice of stollen. She felt better when she saw a little piece was already missing- another family member already stole some stollen. Even here, the selection was thin. No confectioner’s sugar dusted the top of the loaf. Usually, her aunt’s stollen was full of raisins and chunks of dried, candied fruit. This year, the raisins were few and far between. Sugar and flour had been used sparingly, stretching the rations out as much as possible. Gertrude had done the same thing with the ginger and clove spices when she made batches of lebkuchen, soft spice cookies dipped in chocolate. She’d watered the chocolate down with milk to stretch it out. The result was less than delicious, but at least they had cookies. Gertrude cut a thin slice and covered the loaf back up. She broke the slice in half- one for her, one for Heidi. She bit into her small piece. She could barely taste the sugar and spices. It tasted like dry paper- her mom had held back on the butter that made it so creamy and moist. She’d skimped on the sugar and flour. All the sweet bits Gertrude looked forward to and treasured, gone. The stollen tasted like….Christmas without her sister. Tears blurred her eyes. The stollen was a dry, papery lump in her mouth. She wanted to spit it out. She wiped her eyes with her sleeve, the frayed lace cuffs harsh on her soft skin. She forced herself to swallow the flavorless lump. “Enough. Stop it. You’re a strong German girl. What would Heidi say if she saw you like this?” Gertrude tried to rally herself. If Heidi was here, she wouldn’t have been able to talk, but Gertrude easily pictured the disdainful, scornful look Heidi would give her when she thought Gertrude was being a big crybaby. She sniffled, blinking back the rest of her tears. She raise the other half of the stollen up to the ceiling. Up to Heidi in heaven. “Prost.” Her whisper was as dry and dull as the sweet-loaf bread. She toasted her twin, then shoved the bland morsel into her mouth whole. She chewed, pretending the stollen was moist and dense, sweetness oozing over her tongue and bits of candied fruit popping between her teeth. She closed her eyes, remembering happier times of her childhood. Snowball fights with her cousins. Throwing snowballs up at her bedroom window to make Heidi laugh and stick her tongue out. Josef pulling a sled while she sat on it, holding Heidi up. The three of them would go careening down a snow covered hill. Quite often, her best friend Magda would join in. Magda. The name brought Gertrude up short. She swallowed the mushy lump of stollen. She hadn’t thought of her for years. As little girls, they’d been inseparable, ever since they met in their first year of school. An older girl had been teasing the little Jewish girl, flipping up her skirt and showing the other kids her bulging diaper. The crying six year old Magda had worn thick, bulky cloth diapers covered by voluminous rubber panties. The Jew’s diapers made Gertrude think of Heidi, so Gertrude had calmly walked up to the jeering older girl and socked her hard, right in the nose. Just like Josef taught her. The girl’s nose had crunched, blood spurting out. The older girl had punched Magda back, giving her a black eye before running off crying for her mommy. Magda had given Gertrude the cookies from her lunch as a thank you. After that, the girls became fast friends. They’d played together every day. Adults hadn’t been happy about the friendship, so the girls snuck off and played together in the woods or in Gertrude’s family barn. There weren’t that many hiding places in the small barn, so they usually played up in the hayloft. Sometimes they snuck inside to play with Heidi. Magda never laughed- she even learned to interpret some of Heidi’s grunts. Magda and Heidi became friends the first time Gertrude brought Madga to meet Heidi. Heidi’s thick, soggy cloth diapers and rubber panties had leaked all over the bed. Heidi had been upset. To calm her, Magda didn’t hesitate to lift up her dress and show Heidi her own soggy diapers. Magda, Heidi, and Gertrude had become known by the village kids as the Diaper Brigade. The Diaper Girls. Heidi might not get out much, but the whole village knew of her from her cousins and other relatives talking. Gertrude didn’t wear or need diapers, but she was found guilty and soggy by association. Some of the boys had tried to flip up Gertrude’s dress, too, to see if she was diapered. They knocked that off after Gertrude slugged them a few times. Having a disabled sister and being best friends with a pants-pissing Jew hadn’t helped her popularity with the village children. As they grew bigger, there were more chores and less time for playing They didn’t see each other as much. Looking back, Gertrude wondered if that was deliberate on their parents’ end. Teachers and youth leaders yammered on about the importance of blood purity, on eugenics and the natural evolutionary superiority of the aryan race. History teachers taught how the Jews had betrayed Germany in the Great World War. They had all been spies for the enemy. They caused the economic hardships under the Weimar Republic. During the Great Depression, while good Germans suffered, greedy Jews grew rich. Most Jews might be bad, but Magda and her absorbent, padded underpants weren’t like that at all. Everything came to a head one summer evening. Gertrude and Magda had played all day; Gertrude walked Magda home to keep other German kids from teasing her. The windows to Magda’s house were open. Magda’s uncle and her father were arguing inside. So Gertrude and Magda, just like many kids would, hid under the windowsill and listened in. “Come with us, Jakob. I’m begging you.” The deep voice belonged to Magda’s uncle, Rudolf. He had been a tailor, at least until a law had been passed that banned Jews from the profession. “Move to America? They don’t want us there. No countries want us. They can barely afford to feed their own people. There’s no room for us, anywhere. We both fought in the Great War for Germany. It’s our home. Things are really tough right now, so people are lashing ut. We just have to be patient and ride it out.” The reedy voice belonged to Magda’s father, Jakob. “I’ve got a job lined up. I could get you one, too.” “Through the same connections you get those American papers from? Do you have any idea how much danger that puts us in?” Jakob hissed, sounding like a leaky hose. “I burn them after I read them. It’s always good to hear what the other side says. And that’s exactly why I’m leaving. You can only read German papers, listen to German radio- hell, the Volksempfanger model can’t even pick up any foreign broadcasts. First the Brown Shirts boycotted our businesses. Then, a law says Jews can’t own land. Another law says Jews can’t be newspaper editors. Then we’re not allowed in the National Health Insurance. No more Jewish teachers, accountants, dentists, doctors, lawyers. Then we have to register all our wealth and property. We have to get identity cards from the police. Our taxes go up. Everyday, the list grows. They take more and more of our rights and our money. I’m taking my family out of here before they start taking our lives. I see the writing on the wall. “ Magda’s uncle sounded tired and sad, like this was an old argument. “........” Silence stretched out while Magda’s father didn’t reply. “I won’t-I can’t- put it off any longer. So, come with me.” Her uncle implored. “Those American rags made you crazy. How are you going to afford the emigration tax for Jews? It’s up to 80%. Those bastards will take practically all your money. You’ll be poor in America.” “Take it all now, or little by little- either way, it’ll end up in Nazi hands. We’re already poor here. There, at least I’ll have a job. I can always make more money. Even if it’s just with the clothes on my back, I’m leaving while I can. I wish you’d come along with us. Even our parents are going.” “You’re going to leave me, Martha and little Magda in this house all by ourselves.” Magda’s dad sounded tired, the fire going out of him when he realized he couldn’t change his brother’s mind. “It doesn’t have to be this way. At least let me take Magda. This life here...it’s no future for her.” Her uncle’s voice trailed off into low mumbling. Gertrude and Magda hadn’t hear the rest of the conversation- a series of harsh whispers followed by the fleshy thump of a fist hitting a table. The door had banged open; the girls had shrunk back against the wooden siding of the house. Magda’s uncle had stepped out onto the porch, face tilted up to heaven. He had noticed the girls with a smile that didn’t reach his eyes. “The world’s falling apart. Why don’t you two go sew it up a bit? Go play.” He’d given them each a piece of hard candy from his pocket and walked off. Moments later, Magda’s father had come out onto the porch. He’d stared at his brother’s back, then had looked down at the girls. “Gertrude, you head on home. No more playing with Magda.” Gertrude’s child mind had thought he meant for the day. Turned out he meant forever. Days later, Magda’s uncle and the rest of the family left for America. All the small village watched them go. Only the few Jewish families were sorry to see them leave. After that, Magda sometimes snuck out to Gertrude’s farm to play when she could, when her father wasn’t looking. Those times were few and far between. They grew increasingly further apart until they stopped altogether. After a law was passed that kicked Jewish kids out of German schools, they didn’t see each other at all. Then one day, a group of SS Sturmabteilung soldiers- Brown Shirts- appeared. They had the Jews gather up what belongings they could then herded them at rifle point into trucks. That was the last time Gertrude ever saw Magda.

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AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is a historical fiction set in 1940's Germany. That means Nazi Germany. This is the story of two girls who were best friends when they were little. Now that they're 18, they're reunited. One of them grew up with Nazi propoganda pounded into her head. She wrestles with her morality- that which she senses, knows deep down, is right- and an internal battle with all the brainwashing she's undergone. Let me be crystal clear- the Nazis were bad. They were scum. The main character in this story has to dig through propoganda and lies to learn that truth we know today. FROEHLICHE WEIHNACHTEN by CK- Cute Kitten The soft layers of the cloth diaper rubbed over the sensitive mound of her womanhood with each step. The press of the padding tingled along her nerves, radiating waves of comfort in the quiet dark of night. The hem of her red nightgown swished around her ankles while the lace collar, cuffs, and hem shone like fresh snow in the dim yellow glow of the kerosene lamp. Her thick woolen socks made no sound on the wooden floors of the old farmhouse. Gertrude carefully opened the doors between various rooms, trying to keep squeaky hinges silent. She tiptoed over the squeaky floorboards as she slunk through the house on Christmas Eve. Snitching a few Christmas cookies was an old childhood tradition between her and her twin sister. The only thing that slowed her annual Christmas Eve sojourn was the diaper. Even a single cloth diaper forced her thighs apart, making her waddle. The thickness slowed her gait down. Just one layer, just one diaper, yet it felt like she wore several pairs of thick woolen underwear. How had her sister Heidi tolerated such a bulky undergarment? In bed on a cold night, a diaper was comforting. But up and ambulating around, the warm bulk just got in her way. Heidi never had a choice about wearing and using diapers; she’d been incontinent all eighteen years of her short life. Heidi had been born with deformed, twisted limbs. She was never able to talk or know when she had to go to the bathroom. Incontinent cripple. The doctors at the hospital had called her condition cerebral palsy. The family had called it a curse, an embarrassment. Back when Gertrude was was a little girl, she only brought one friend inside to meet her sister. Her best friend, Magda the little Jewish girl. Heidi was kept hidden away, a shameful family secret. Heidi never went to school. The doctors and family both knew she was incapable of learning. Gertrude tried to teach her what she learned in school, anyway. Heidi was never able to talk, but she learned to read. Heidi and Gertrude even proved it to their parents. The doctors refused to believe it, chalking it up to wishful thinking. Gertrude slipped into the spacious living room. The diaper pressed against her privates. It was dry; she had no intention of actually using it. She only wore them to feel closer to her dead twin. Heidi had been gone for a year, but the would of her passing was still fresh in Gertrude’s heart. Heidi had been her best friend and confidant, even if she could only grunt and drool. Gertrude learned to interpret those grunts until they became a language all their own. The cold living room seemed larger since it was empty. Her grandparents, parents, aunts and uncles were all upstairs, asleep. Her father had cleaned out the fireplace earlier and filled it with fresh logs for Christmas morning. Hand knitted stockings hung from the mantle, lumpy with little gifts. The war had tightened purse strings all across the Reich, but out here in the country they didn’t feel the bite as hard as the city folk. The gifts weren’t much; just small luxuries to sweeten hard times. Some candy, apples, oranges. Scented bar soaps and body powder for the ladies. A new hairbrush to replace an old, broken one. Her grandparents were full of old stories mourning the lost glory of the German Empire and life under the kaiser. Her father and uncles had all fought during the Great World War. They had suffered under the economic hardships steered by the inept Weimar Republic government and raped by the even harder penalties of the Versailles Treaty. Gertrude didn’t pay much attention to politics or what was going on in the wider world. There was too much work to do on the farm, more important things in her immediate life to worry about. What little she knew, she gleaned from the grumblings of the menfolk, particularly when they were soused with drink. The cold emptiness of the room pressed in on her. The magic of Christmas, that most wonderful time of the year, was as chill and dark as the unlit fireplace. Gertrude was the only girl in her family. All ten of her cousins were boys. Nine of them were away from home on the front lines fighting the enemy. Josef was the only one home on special leave. He wasn’t a regular Waffen SS soldier like the others. He was a member of the SS Totenkopfverbande. She wasn’t sure exactly what they did. Josef refused to talk about it, but their domineering grandmother pestered him into dolling out a few crumbs. At dinner, he’d mumbled something about guarding a camp. After a few glasses of grandma’s homemade gluhwein, he’d let slip some slurred gibberish about a place called Buchenwald. The absence of her cousins, the absence of her twin, left Gertrude feeling alone. Up in her little cramped closet of a room she’d once shared with her twin, the lonely isolation had pressed in on her. She hadn’t been able to sleep, even with the comfort of Heidi’s diapers. Memories and shadows of her dead sister filled every nook and cranny of the room and pinched her heart. So she’d fled downstairs, hoping that keeping their old tradition alive would help her feel less alone. That it would bring back some small part of her sister. The diaper shifted and rubbed against her with every step across the living room. It was a constant reminder of her twin. Usually the warm softness of the thick padding reassured her. Now it only heightened the ache of Heidi’s absence. This wasn’t the first time Gertrude wore Heidi’s diapers. She’d been wearing them to bed every night since her sister’s funeral. The first time she donned a diaper was the night they scattered Heidi’s ashes in their grandmother’s rose garden. Heidi used to love staring out the window for hours at the summer roses, watching the bees and butterflies. The night of the funeral, Gertrude had wallowed in the dregs of grief, out of her mind with mourning. So she pulled out one of Heidi’s clean cloth diapers and put it on. Immediately, the press of the thick bulk between her legs had calmed her, reassured her. Heidi was gone from the earth, but she was still with Gertrude in her heart. From that night on, Gertrude wore her dead sister’s diapers to bed. Tonight was Gertrude’s first time getting out of bed and walking through the house in diapers. The padding that usually comforted her now unnerved her. What if she got caught in a diaper? They’d say she’d gone crazy with grief. They’d lock her up in the loony bin. She should’ve taken the diaper off before leaving the bedroom. She’d tried, but her fingers refused to open the diaper pins. She couldn’t bring herself to do it- it made her feel like she was leaving Heidi behind. Casting her sister aside by taking off the diaper. Gertrude shuddered at those thoughts, cold from the inside out. The lantern swayed on the thin wire loop handle in her hand. The soft, swaying light danced on the tin ornaments with their shiny, metallic paint. The candles on the Christmas tree were snuffed out for the night; they’d be relit Christmas morning, along with the yule logs in the fireplace. Most of the ornaments were wood, hand carved by her grandfather, father and uncles when they were boys. Some were knitted from yarn, made by her grandmother and aunts. The ones that drew the most attention were shiny, metallic tin disks proudly displaying thick black swastikas. Her uncle had bought them a few years ago on a trip into the city. He’d wanted to put a big swastika on top of the tree, but grandma refused. She wanted her beloved, tacky, stained glass and lead star instead. Lumpy presents in cheap brown paper lay under the tree. Everybody knew what they were- new hand knitted sweaters or cardigans. Smaller packages were mittens, scarves, gloves. Everyone was grateful, too- the ones from last year were falling apart after months of hard living and working. A hard life made harder with the extra burden of caring for her disabled sister. She’d left Heidi behind once before, when the family moved her into a sanatorium several years ago. Taking care of her disabled sister had become too much of a burden on top of all the farm work, especially as the boys grew up and left the village for adventure and glory in the Wehrmacht. She had missed her sister, but the work-exhausted part of her had been relieved to be free of the extra duties. That relief pricked her conscience now with a sharp slivers of guilt. She rarely had the free time and funds to visit her sister. The home for the physically disabled was in a town several days’ travel from their tiny village. The family received a letter from the sanatorium doctors saying Heidi’s condition had grown more severe, so they’d transferred her to Hadamar psychiatric hospital, which was even further away, for more intense treatment. A few months later, the family received a letter from Hadamar doctors informing them of Heidi’s demise. Gertrude’s insides had twisted in doubt and disbelief when she’d read the death certificate. The cause of death listed acute appendicitis. Heidi had had her appendix removed as a small child. How could she die from an organ that was long gone from her body? The rest of her family insisted it must be a mistake, a mix up. Gertrude had travelled with her father to claim Heidi’s remains and get the death certificate fixed. In the Hadamar waiting room, Gertrude had talked to other grieving families there to claim their loved ones’ remains. So many dead patients. They dropped like flies. Was that normal? Doctors assured her it was. The mentally and physically disabled were of weak, inferior blood. They didn’t live very long. It was tragic. Gertrude had the doctors’ sympathies. But, really, they had assured her, it was for the best. One irate man was there to demand an explanation for the burnt ladies’ hairpins in his dead brother’s ashes. The man’s brother had died of appendicitis, too. Quite a few patients had died from that. There were a lot of death certificate mix-ups, and ladies’ hairpins in male ashes. Way too many mixups. It roused Gertrude’s suspicions. Gertrude’s family swallowed the doctors’ lines. Gertrude didn’t, but every time she voiced her doubts, she was shushed or ignored. The doctors’ told the family it was just her grief talking and not to take her seriously. So she held her tongue, bend her head, and kept working. Put in more hours doing charity work with the Bund Deutscher Madel, or League of German Girls. She could never shake the notion that she’d abandoned her sister to cold blooded killers who couldn’t even keep the remains of their victims straight. Life unworthy of life. She remembered learning about that in school. She’d read magazine and newspaper articles by prominent doctors promoting the idea. Useless eaters. The disabled couldn’t contribute to society. They only took. Times were hard. Sometimes, to save a healthy body, diseased limbs had to be cut off. There was no room for diseased, useless leeches full of nothing but bad blood. They were nothing but a burden on society, weighing it down. Wasn’t Gertrude’s own sense of relief to be free of her caretaker duties proof of that? Staring at the cold fireplace, Gertrude blinked back tears. The guilt ridden ache for her sister burned stronger. She forced her mind back to happier times. Normally, she’d have been to the kitchen and back upstairs by now with iced ginger cookies or sweet, sugar dusted fruit bread for her and Heidi. Gertrude focused on the soft padding rubbing against her crotch and backside as she walked. The sensations distracted her from dark memories. Moving in the diaper was both weird and soothing at the same time, like a beloved Christmas carol sung in a foreign language. The diaper added an extra layer of warmth in the drafty old house. The heavy cotton of her nightgown and thick wool of her hand knitted socks kept her warm enough, but the diaper added the last layer that made her cozy. Sometimes, she wondered what the diaper would feel like wet. She blushed at the thought. Once in a blue moon, when the pain of her sister’s absence was particularly sharp, she felt the urge to add on more diapers and rubber panties then let her bladder loose. Fear and disgust always held her back. How could she even think such a thing? Maybe she really was going crazy. Trying to flee from her thoughts, shut down her overactive brain, Gertrude hurried into the kitchen.

Thank you all for commenting. I appreciate it.

The whole story is still up at ABDL Story Forum, along with Naughty Christmas and the completed Tricky Treats.

Thank you for commenting.

Thank you for commenting! I love hearing your thoughts. LIttle Fenny- It is set in the same world as Tricky Treats. There's actually a little easter egg hidden in here- a brief mention of Danny (Daniel) from Tricky Treats.

BAD SEED C.K. Cute Kitten Cameron McLeod lay on his back, staring up at the white painted ceiling tile decorated with decals of teddy bears and ABC blocks. He sucked on the large rubber nipple, the plastic shield of the pacifier pressing against his lips. His hooded sweatshirt and onesie were pushed up to his armpits, and the plastic strap securing him to the changing table was tight; Mrs. Vesper had the unfortunate habit of fastening it too tight, as if she thought that somehow made it extra secure. He felt a tugging sensation on his hips and lower abdomen as a fresh diaper was taped around him. "A clean diapee feels better, doesn't it?" Ms. Sweeney chirped in her sugary sweet singsong voice. Her diaper changes were much gentler than Mrs. Vesper's. She had gotten called away by a phone call, so Ms. Sweeney had stepped in and finished changing him. He tilted his head, looking up at his teacher and licensed regression therapist. Her plump, ruby red lips smiled down at him and her brown eyes twinkled, full of the joy of life. Her short, curly black hair frizzed around her head like a fuzzy dark halo and huge rhinestones sparkled in her earlobes. She chattered away, mostly to herself, not expecting her charges to answer. Most of them could or would not. Cameron caught her eyes and returned her smile behind his binky. He was one of the few who could. He had a hand full of classmates in the special education; regression therapy curriculum. His only reply to her was a smile. Dirty diaper, clean diaper, it made no difference to the eighteen year old. He had been in diapers since he was six. The last day he had worn big boy underwear- they had a print of Spiderman, he recalled that specifically- his life had changed forever. He shivered at the memory, his heart skipping a beat "It's cold, huh, baby?" Ms. Sweeney cooed as if he were a toddler. "Let's get you all fixed up and snugly warm again." She unfastened the changing table security strap, pulled down his blue onesie down, fastening it over his diaper. He heard the metal snaps click shut, pressing the padded bulk closer to him and felt some of the cool baby powder shift in his diaper, sliding down towards his butt. He felt her tugging on his pants and heard all those snaps click shut. The cold was not what made him shiver, but that was something he did not want to talk or think about. He was happy the cool days of early autumn were growing colder as winter approached. Wearing pants and long sleeves was a lot more acceptable in the cold weather than it was in the warm. It was normal. He would rather be stared at for being dressed like a weirdo in the warm weather than to expose what lay beneath his clothing, and he did not mean his diapers. The snaps on all his pants, and the telltale bulge of a thick diaper, coupled with the loud crinkly noise they made, all gave away his diapered state anywhere he went. No, what he hid from the world was the painful mementos of the fateful day that changed the course of his life forever. That day was the reason he still wore diapers, and why he was in the regression therapy program. Ms. Sweeney watched her student's pretty face crumple. Cameron had better control of his emotions than her other students, and he was the one who had been through the most. He had also been through the most intensive therapy. When reading his files for the first time, she had been horrified at the nightmare the boy had survived. He had also spent several years in a mental hospital that specialized in intensive regression therapy. "What a cute ducky!" She tapped the yellow duck embroidered on the chest of his blue onesie. "What does the ducky say?" She asked, fearing he was having a melt down and wanted to distract him from it, like she would distract a baby having a tantrum. Cameron stared up at his teacher. He knew what she was trying to do, distract him from his thoughts. The technique worked with patients who had been mentally and emotionally regressed. It had worked on him in the hospital, when he had been little more than an overgrown infant. It worked on his classmates, who were kept emotionally regressed. He played along. "Woof-woof!" He spat his binky out. "Silly baby. Puppies say woof. Duckies go quack-quack." Ms.Sweeney cooed then pulled his hooded sweatshirt down, hiding his ducky and his onesie from sight. "Uh-oh." She smiled and slipped his binky back between his pink lips. Cameron opened his lips so she could slip the rubber nipple into his mouth. "There we go, all done!" She held out her hands, and Cameron placed his hands in hers, allowing her to help him sit up then jump down from the changing table. His hooded sweatshirt hung loose on his slim frame. It was light blue with white and baby blue stripes on the sleeves. His jeans would have passed for normal jeans except for the snaps running along the inner legs all the way up to his crotch, to make for easier diaper checks and changes. His plastic backed diaper crinkled noisily with each little movement and the thick padding around his crotch was familiar and comforting. "Tank yew." He lisped behind his binky to Ms. Sweeney as she tugged at his pants and shirt once more, fixing them now that he was standing. A little bit of drool ran down his chin and plopped down his ever-present bib. A bright yellow ducky clip with a blue strap secured his paci to his shirt. "You're welcome, sweetie. Go back to your seat now." She patted his heavily padded bottom then set about cleaning up the changing table and throwing his used diaper and wipes into the diaper genie. He started across the regression room, which resembled an adult-sized daycare. The thick bulk of his diaper forced his legs apart, giving him an unsteady toddler waddle. He toddled past the locked classroom door when loud voices drew his attention to the glass window in the heavy door. It was locked to prevent any regressed students from wandering out, for their own protection of course. The regression room was more like a daycare in the high school, and students in the regression therapy program were little more than oversized toddlers and babies. "Chill. Seriously. No need to get your dick in a knot, gramps." The voice was loud, female, and excessively annoyed. Cameron froze, shocked at the foul language coming out of a female mouth. He toddled to the door, peering out of the glass window for a lookie-loo.Normal students rarely passed down this hall, which had several special education classrooms. The only time other students or school personnel passed down the special education hall was when they were taking the long way to the school office. Through the glass, he saw a girl in black short shorts, ripped black stockings, black leather boots with spikes, and a baggy black sweatshirt. Spikes had been added to the collar and cuffs. The shirt was just as short as the shorts, exposing the girl's flat stomach. She wore metallic purple lipstick, and her eyes were heavily rimmed with black makeup that made her naturally pale skin the hue of a corpse. Metal spikes poked through the skin under her lower purple lip in a snake bite piercing. A matching, curved metal spike pierced her navel. Her most arresting feature was the left side of her exposed middle. Her once-smooth flesh was a mutilated pink and red ridgeline of deep scars. Rows like jagged, crooked canyons furrowed through her mutilated flesh, as if skin and hunks of meat had been ripped away. Behind her marched the school principal, Mr. Witherspoon, with a stern frown on his aged visage. "Young lady, you are already in violation of the dress code. It is your first day so I will let you off with a warning. Such language will NOT be tolerated here at Mapleton High. Any further infractions of the rules or insubordination to your teachers will result in punishment. Do I make myself clear?"The girl grinned crookedly. "Well, it's a little murky-"He cleared his throat, cutting her off in the middle of her shenanigans. She huffed a put-upon sigh. "Yes, sir." She reached under her half-a-sweatshirt to pull down a white tank top with a glittery black skull on it. "This better? My side was hurting. All hot and itchy, you know? Just needed some air on it. It's still healing." She stuck a finger bedecked with a skull ring into one of the canyons, pushing the shirt's cloth into the groove of missing flesh. Mr. Witherspoon visibly cringed. The girl smirked but quickly wiped her face when he opened his eyes. "Your shorts are still in violation of the dress code. Do NOT let it happen again.""Sure, sure." The girl dug her finger in more, rubbing the groove so the cloth stuck in, giving a hint to the mutilation it hid. The principal puckered his lips in distaste and she grinned like the Cheshire cat. "Well, if that's all sir, I'd better be off to class. Don't wanna be late." She clicked her booted feet together and gave him a sassy salute then dashed off down the hall. Mr. Witherspoon stepped in front of her, blocking her way. He leaned down close and said in a threatening tone, "I run a tight ship here. I will not allow this school's reputation to be tarnished. Parents depend and trust me to keep this institution and its students safe. I have read your files. I am perfectly aware of your past antics. I know your grandfather kept you from going to juvie, where you certainly belong. Or maybe in one of those regression camps for troublemaker youth. I will see you sent there if you so much as put another toe out of line. Do we understand each other, Liliana?"She rolled her eyes insolently, not cowed at all by the invasion of her personal space. She looked sideways and locked eyes for an instant with the prettiest boy she had ever seen. She smiled at the boink in his mouth. Cameron blushed, his face burning, as the girl caught him staring. Purple punk lips quirked in a smile. She winked at him. He realized he still was sucking on his boink. Humiliation washed over him. The new, trouble-making girl was laughing at the big baby boy. Just like all the other normal kids had when the school had attempted to mainstream him. He quickly spat his pacifier out, but it dangled from his ducky clip. Too little, too late- the girl was already looking away. "Liliana!" Mr. Witherspoon crossed his arms, looming over her. Her eyes snapped back to the principal. Her purple lips quirked in a sneer and she looked him up and down aggressively. "Fuck you." She snarled in oddly accented Hindi. Both the principal and Cameron blinked at the foreign language. Cameron wondered what language it was, but the principal seemed to know. "What did you just say?" Mr. Witherspoon barked. "Don't think you can get fresh with me just because you've spent time in India." Liliana smoothed her face into a blank mask. "I said, you are right, sir. I will behave myself from now on. I'll be just as good as my cousin Pissy." "Excuse me?""Priscilla? Prissy? Priscilla Renine? She's my cousin." This time the girl added an "r" into Prissy, making Cameron think her earlier slip up was intentional. He almost smiled at the nickname. He had no love for Priscilla, not after the pranks she had played on him, the bullying, the teasing and tormenting. Mr. Witherspoon's brow ticked. "Yes, I know." Everyone knew who Priscilla was; she was a cheerleader and one of the most popular girls, and a darling of the adults. She was also one of the main reasons Cameron had ended up back in the regression program after his therapist had attempted to mainstream him. "Yeah. I'll be the same exemplary student she was. " The principal's lips puckered even more. "I somehow doubt that." He looked down his nose at her. Liliana grinned. "I will, you'll see!""Humph. You may go, Miss Renine. But remember, I am watching you." "Oh, no doubt about that, sir. I don't doubt that at all." She ended with a theatrical, mocking bow then glanced up at the door again. Cameron's blush deepened when she smiled at him and winked again. He giggled then covered his mouth with his hands. Before the principal could say anything else, she dashed off down the hall. The principal called after her, voice dripping with disgust. "No running in the hall!" He shook his gray head and marched back to his office, the number one place students dreaded. Cameron had a feeling the girl would be spending a lot of time there. Cameron, what are you doing?" Mrs. Vesper, who was younger than Ms. Sweeney and was her assistant, came over after helping another student pick up the jumbo Crayola crayons they had dropped or thrown. Cameron never took his eyes off the hallway. He just pointed to the window. Mrs. Vesper peered out and her eyes widened in recognition as Lili trotted past. She made a loud cluck of disapproval with her tongue, then took Cameron's soft, slender hand in her own. She tugged, leading him like a nursery school worker leading a toddler. Her lips puckered just like Mr. Witherspoon's had, like she had bitten into an extremely sour lemon. "I see. Liliana's back. Well, don't you worry, sweetie. That scary girl won't bother you. I won't let her. Now, come on, it's art time. Why don't you color a pretty picture for your grandma?"At the mention of his grandmother, Cameron wrinkled his nose as he toddled along besides his teacher. His grandmother Beatrice would not care if he colored her a picture or not. Oh, sure, she would pretend to care, to fuss and coo over him if others were around. It was all show though; she did not give a damn about him. If he was alone with her, she would just smile, pat his head and mumble "how nice" before going back to checking the agenda of her social calendar or gossiping with the other ladies in her Ladies' Society. She was always on the phone, worse than a teenage girl with her need to keep up with what was going on in her social circle.Mrs. Vesper took his hand and tugged gently, leading him away from the door and view of the hall. "Aww, your binky fell out. Here you go, baby." She popped his binky back into his mouth and he accepted it automatically, sucking and moving mechanically as she guided him back to the table he shared with Leroy, who was regressed to a five year old mentality to help him recover from some emotional trauma or other, Cameron had never learned the reason for the other boy's regression.Leroy looked up as Cameron sat down and he smiled at the teacher, holding up a scribbled, childish drawing of a dump truck. "Big twuck!" He showed her and Cameron proudly."I see. What color is it?" Mrs. Vesper cooed, patting Cameron on top of his head. "Boo!" Leroy shouted loudly, meaning to say blue. He burst into giggles and clapped his hands at her praise. "What a smart baby!" Her smile faltered as she sniffed. "I smell stinkies. Who did it?" A cloud of stench wafted up from the table. A very similar stench would've emanated from Cameron's own behind if he didn't take a special pill twice a day that nullified fecal odor. Not all the students took the pills, though. Some mommies wanted to easily tell if their baby made a stinky. Cameron's grandmother did not want anyone knowing what went on in his diapers, so she had him on the pills. Mrs. Vesper looked down at them both. Cameron let his binky fall. He wanted to tell her he'd just gotten his diaper changed- in fact, she was the one who had started changing him, but he knew she wouldn't take his word for it. She had been distracted and forgot. Instead of pointing it out , he just sat there quietly debating to try speaking up or hold his tongue.He just smiled as silly as Leroy. "Quack quack!" "Well then I'll just have to check your diapees." She lifted Cameron's hoodie up and found her way blocked by his onesie as she pulled back his pants. She squeezed the back of his puffy diaper but found no lumps. "New diapee." Cameron lisped before putting his binky back in his mouth. "Camwin poopies!" Leroy pointed and giggled, accidentally knocking his blue crayon onto the floor. Mrs. Vesper stood Cameron up, popped open his crotch to poke at his diaper from the leg holes. "Dry as a bone. You must've just been changed." Cameron rolled his eyes; he'd just told her that. 'No shit, Sherlock.' The snarky phrase rolled through his mind, tempting his lips to say the deliciously naughty words. He blushed at the impulse. Those were bad words and good little boys did not use them. Even now, the teachings from his time in the hospital stayed with him, reinforced here in the classroom. Mrs. Vesper snapped him back up and gently pushed down on his shoulder. He immediately plopped down with a loud crinkle and felt a little trickle of warmth as he peed into his diaper. "So, you must be the guilty culprit." She pulled Leroy's pants and diaper back and wrinkled her nose. "Phew. Yup, it's you. Come on, let's get you changed, little stinker." She took him by the hand and led him over to the changing tables. Cameron wondered at the rebellious streak as he stared down at the blank white paper. He was used to being babied, had been conditioned to enjoy it. It was all he knew. After his time in the hospital, he had been home schooled and outpatient therapy. At home, he was taken care of by a regression specialist nanny since his grandmother was very busy with her competitive social life. She was the only family he had; his grandfather was always overseas on business, and his father…..the man was still alive, in prison. After some homeschooling, when he had progressed to a lighter therapy schedule, his therapist suggested he go back to school. Not in the regression program, but in regular school, with the normal students. That had been a disaster.He picked up a purple crayon, doodling a spike the like ones under the girl's lip. Liliana. She felt no compunction to obey authority figures like he did. He recalled her smart mouth and blatant defiance. Attitude like that would earn him a one way trip across his teacher's lap. Parents and guardians of regression students signed consent forms for some old fashioned, across the lap discipline. It helped keep over-sized toddlers in line. He drew a pair of fat purple lips and wondered if Liliana would behave if she was spanked. Judging how Mr. Witherspoon and Mrs. Vesper reacted, it would take a lot of spanking to make the girl behave. That's one of the reasons the regression program existed- to help bad kids learn to be good, to reform them. Would she be joining him in class? She'd be regressed so he wouldn't get to talk much with her. He didn't talk with his other regressed classmates much, but he still enjoyed playing with them. How far would they regress her? Most of the students in here regressed to preschool or kindergarten level. In the hospital, he had been regressed to a newborn and had worked his way up from there. Now, mentally, he was no longer regressed. He had been in with the normal students, when the adults tried to mainstream him; it had been like throwing an injured rabbit into a den of starving tigers and resulted in him being put back into the regression room. Here, he was safe from the normal students and their bullying.

Since the malware attack ate all the stories, I've finally gotten some spare time to start reposting a few. A NAUGHTY CHRISTMAS C.K. Cute Kitten "I'm not wearing this damn thing!" Reila swore under her breath as she pulled her cobalt jeggings back up. She wiggled around the tiny bathroom in her fur trimmed Ugg boots. The soft, stretchy fabric of her jeggings- the bastard love child of jeans and leggings- felt weird as it rubbed over her bare crotch and butt. Finally, the tight material settled just right on her slender frame. She tugged down her bright turquoise sweater-tunic and smoothed it in place. She turned, checking herself in the mirror above the sink. The thick, knitted wool covered her butt, hiding her freshly un-padded bottom from view. "Perfect. The old hag will never be able to tell." She smirked and tossed the unused purple with pink butterflies printed pull-up into the garbage, hiding it under layers of used, balled up paper towels just in case her mother decided to check the bathroom in suspicion of just such a stunt. Reila put her hand on the door, hesitating for a second with a nagging sense of guilt. What if her mother lifted her shirt to make sure she still had her protection on? Given the last few months, Reila wouldn't have put it past her. But in a crowded airport? No, not even her mother was that insane. She pushed the door open. Eight hours was a long flight. What if she fell asleep and wet herself, as she had been doing every time she dozed off? She bit her lip, tempted to go back in, fish her pull up out of the trash and put it back on. Planes had toilets. She'd just have to remember to go a lot so her stupid, malfunctioning bladder stayed empty. She stepped out and was immediately accosted by her mother. "Took you a while." Sonja stared at her daughter, pursing her red lips in displeasure. "I had to take a shit." Reila fired back at her mom's suspicious accusation. She crossed her arms defensively. "I'm eighteen, not two. You can trust me." "Yet you wear the same undergarments as a two year old and act just like one. After your recent escapades, you've lost my trust. You're doing a poor job of earning it back. Even the judge saw fit to strip you of your adult status. Need I remind you that just days after court. One more screw up and it's straight up the river for you." Sonja's eyes narrowed at the back talk as she stared Reila down. Reila's defiant glare gradually withered to a sulky pout under her mother's cool, firm disapproval. Sonja was at her wit's end with the girl. Barely an adult, yet she'd racked up a laundry list of misdemeanors and law violations long enough to do any hardened criminal proud. Just like her absent father. Sonja encouraged Reila's spunky spirit, knowing it would help her get through tough times in life. Sonja could have used a little more spunk and backbone in her own childhood. Maybe then she wouldn't have married young to a man who turned out to be a murderous loser that ended up in prison for life. Reila had gotten into fights in preschool and elementary school. Middle school saw her skipping school and taking up smoking. High school was full of underage drinking, unsupervised parties, and smoking pot. Reila progressed to breaking and entering , vandalizing school property for a senior prank. Even though she was not a senior. She should have been, but all that hookie and sleeping in class led to her flunking junior year. This year she should be graduating, but she was repeating her junior year instead. Then came the sex tapes on the internet. The proverbial cherry on top was her getting arrested for shop-lifting lingerie at the mall. The judge, being lenient with youth offenders and in the spirit of the Christmas season, gave Reila one last chance to clean up her act. He gave Sonja legal custody of her, declaring Reila unfit to run her own life Next stop for her was prison or one of those new Regression Therapy discipline camps for youth offenders designed to turn troublesome youth into moral, upright citizens. "There's a line of people waiting for the bathroom." Reila said sulkily, lowering her gaze to her mother's scuffed, off brand boots. Sonja, a single mother, did her best to give Reila the name brand things she liked. Right now, she just wanted her mother to stop staring at her. "Because you were holding it up. You'd better still have your diaper on." Sonja hissed in a loud voice then swept past for her turn in the bathroom. "They're pull-ups, not diapers!" Reila retorted just as loud as the door closed in her face. She was suddenly aware of eyes on her; her eyes scanned the airport crowd. Those nearby stared incredulously at her- the pretty, fashionable young lady loudly proclaiming her pull-ups were not diapers. Meeting her gaze, most on lookers looked away in embarrassment but some continued to stare. Few smirked in amusement. Her cheeks flamed red as Rudolph's nose and she ducked behind a nearby pillar. Why did the airport have to be so damn crowded? It was only the first week of December. Not holiday travel time, even though that's what she and her mother were doing. Her mother with the embarrassingly loud mouth. Life just loved to take a big, steamy shit on her. All she wanted was to have a little fun, to live her own life. She never hurt anyone. Yet the judge saw fit to turn her back into a child just for a little harmless pick-pocketing. Her mother had breathing down her throat ever since she was arrested and released. On top of that, her bladder had been acting up since she woke up in the hospital several months ago. She'd gotten her stomach pumped after passing out due to a cocktail of various alcoholic drinks and funny shaped pills. Maybe a line or two of cocaine, she didn't really remember. Those were the best parties- the ones she couldn't remember. Pure bliss. Now, her life was pure piss. Wet bed every f***ing night since she'd woken up in the hospital. Pissing herself during the day, too. Like when that cute cop handcuffed her. Or when she peed herself standing in front of that bastard judge. In a bizarre way, wet pants, along with her baby face, had helped convince the judge to be lenient with her. All these accidents were just flukes. Nerves. Stress. The doctor had said something about street drugs being laced with other shit and unpredictable side effects, but what did that stupid bitch know? Reila did NOT need diapers. Pull-ups. She'd show them all she could keep her pants dry. "NOO! LEMME OUT! AAAHHH!" The loud, prolonged screams made Reila jerk her head in the direction of the sound. A girl around her size and age thrashed, strapped in an over-sized stroller. A special needs stroller. A five point harness securely strapped the screaming girl in place. Heavily padded, yellow baby booties covered her feet, which were strapped into the leg rests to prevent her from kicking. Matching mittens covered her hands. A pink, plastic bib hung around her neck, covering her chest. It shined with dribbles of her slobber, which also coated her chin. Her blue jumper dress was pushed up by the thick straps restraining her. Under her dress was a long sleeved, yellow onesie. The crotch snaps were open, revealing her voluminous, bulging disposable diaper. She slammed her mitten covered hands down on her legs, occasionally thumping off her thick diaper. The front of the once-white plastic was lumpy, soggy and yellow-tinged brown. The diaper was obviously well used. The girl had shit and pissed herself and had been left to stew in her own juices for quite a while. Reila stared in fascinated horror. The poor girl more resembled an over grown baby a disabled person. Her eyes zeroed in on the dirty diaper on prominent display between the girl's spread legs. An impending sense of dread washed over Reila; she felt as if she was staring at her own future. That could be her. She'd fit in that stroller. In that horrible, thick diaper full of piss and shit. Suddenly her despised pull ups were much more appealing. The attention of the crowd was now on the spectacle of the screaming, big baby and the woman in a neon pink, velour track suit pushing the stroller. "Rachel, sweetie. Shh. Mommy will get you out of that icky poo-poo diapee soon. You've been so backed up. You're just full of big poopies, yes you are!" The woman cooed loudly, but the girl only screamed more, helplessly throwing an enraged tantrum. The woman finally noticed all the eyes upon her. She looked around and said loudly. "Nothing to see here, folks! Just the face of severe autism!" At that, most people looked awkwardly away, yet a few continued to stare. Rachel was one of them. It was too much of a spectacle. The lady pushed the stroller towards the family bathroom right behind Reila, so Reila ducked behind another side of the pillar. Hiding so the woman would not see her. The stroller and screeching, red-faced big baby in it suddenly stopped besides the pillar. The lady bent down, digging through a yellow diaper bag with carousel horses on it. "Rachie. Shhh. It's okay, sweetie-baby. Your tum-tums must really be bothering you. Such a constipated baby. I guess that suppository didn't get all the poopies out of you. An enema will get the rest out and you'll feel all better!." The woman cooed as she fished around the diaper bag. Reila peeked out at the woman, her neon pink tush up in the air for all to see. She ducked back behind the pillar and peeked around the other side at the girl in the stroller. Puffy, red rimmed eyes in a snot-covered, red face stared pleadingly back at her. "Help! Please! She's crazy! I'm not autistic! I'm normal! She turned me into a big baby! Help! My stepmom's evil! Call 911! Call the cops! You have to help me!" The girl whispered frantically. Her wild eyes bore into Reila's. Reila stared in shocked horror. She did not know what to make of the situation. Surely there had to be something wrong with the girl. Who in the hell would turn a normal girl into a big baby and humiliate her in public like that? Suddenly, a warm, wet spurt spread along her bare crotch. Reila's eyes widened and she forgot all about the girl. How? She just went potty! Pee! Peed on the potty like a big girl. Went to the bathroom to urinate like an adult. She was an adult. With a wet crotch. "Here we go!" Rachel's stepmother beamed as she stood up, holding the enema box up like a trophy. Rachel whimpered helplessly, her body sagging into the stroller cushions in defeat and dread of what was to come. Before Reila could hide, she found the smiling lady suddenly smiling down at her. She wondered if the woman had overheard her daughter pleading for help. "Thank you for entertaining my silly baby. Is your mommy here, little girl? Does she know you had a little accident? I saw pee-pee stains on your pants." Reila's face paled. Didn't her long sweater cover her crotch? But the woman had been kneeling down. And she knew Reila had been spying on her. She was too shocked to even register how the woman was talking down to her. "Oh, don't worry, dearie. Only a mommy used to spotting leaky diapees would notice. Your pants are dark, it hides it well. Now, did you take your diapee off? Or did your mommy run out? I've done that before." Reila was shell shocked. Not even Sonja talked down to her like that. Did this deranged woman just assume Reila was retarded because she stood there in wet pants, staring at the woman's freakshow daughter and the shitsack of a diaper on prominent display? Reila's face flushed red as Rachel's, and she opened her mouth to give this crazy bitch a piece of her mind. "I'm not a little girl, you daffy old-" "Reila! What's going on?" Sonja cut her off before she could even get started. Sonja stormed over from the bathroom, assuming her daughter was causing trouble again. She paused, blinking in surprise at the large diapered girl in the stroller. Just what was going on? "Oh, you must be this little girl's mommy. She was so helpful, entertaining my autistic baby while I got a new diapee out. The girls were playing hide and seek! Oh, and your little girl had a little accident in her pants!" The woman added in a loud whisper. Sonja stared in disbelief and confusion. No one ever complimented Reila's behavior. "I-um- Reila…was…helpful?" Just then, Rachel got her second wind. She brought her mitten covered hands up then slammed them down angrily on the huge bulge of her dirty diaper. She howled and thrashed once more. Causing people to stare once again, including Sonja and Reila. "Rachie, shush, baby." The woman looked at Sonja. "I got to change Rachie's diapee- but here. Take these, I insist. Your little girl needs a new diaper, and it's always good to have an enema on hand. Us moms of autistics got to stick together, you know! Toodles! Have a blessed day!" The woman waved and disappeared with the screaming Rachel into the family restroom.

Thank you for the comments. I'm glad you're enjoying the story :3 Lucas is surely in for something much more than just getting his paci back. To be clear- all characters are 18+.

I remember this one! It's very sweet. I also like your idea of putting diapers in a mainstream story.

For out and about, I like plain white diapers. For at home, I like abdl prints.

Yes, this was just a little vignette. As of right now, I have no plans on continuing it. :3

The bulging pocket of a teenaged girl caught her attention. She fell in line behind the gaggle of local girls, keeping a few yuppies in between them for camouflage. It was easy to tell the locals and the yupsters apart. The city slickers tried too hard to fit in, making themselves stick out like sore thumbs. They passed a few game booths like Pop-A-Pumpkin with darts and orange balloons. Prudence drifted closer to the teens, easily weaving between people. She occasionally surveyed the crowd with a casual glance to make sure no one was watching. One eye stayed on the girl and her pocket. She was an older teen, almost grown up. Eighteen or nineteen, Pru guessed. So she might have something good on her, like cigarettes. Or junk like used, balled up tissues or bubblegum. Who knew with kids these days? They were such slobs. Not like when Pru was young; back then, society had standards. Now, she was often mistaken for an older teen or a young twenty something by the humans. It annoyed her to no end. Given her looks, her age when she’d been bit, been turned, it was only natural that the humans would get confused with her age. She still looked the same as she had a century ago. Her physical body was in her prime; hell, she was in better shape than when she was a human. Physical perfection; beautiful and lethal. A predator in her prime. A wolf in sheep’s clothing. The longer she lived, the less human she felt. Like that part of her was slipping away. Sometimes, she forgot herself and had trouble connecting with the humans. Blending in with the humans used to be as natural as breathing as she adapted to her new state of being. Now, that state felt natural and acting human was a foreign language, clumsy on her tongue. The girls whispered and giggled, heads bent together. The murmurs and laughter of the other pedestrians milling all around them should have drowned out their voices. Pru heard them easily from several feet away, as clear as if she stood right next to them. She picked up each voice as well as each individual scent. She sniffed the air, her nose and brain filtering and automatically cataloging each scent like a canine. “Rosie, you sure it’s okay to leave Lucas by himself?” A girl with acne asked the girl with the bulging pocket. Pru’s ears perked up at that. Could the girl with the bulging pocket be cousin of Lucas the doll maker? It was a small town; Pru was sure she’d just hit pay dirt. She paid closer attention to the girls. “He’s fine.” Rosie sounded annoyed. Like the topic was getting old. “He seemed pretty freaked out.” The tallest of the group chimed in. “Yeah, you know how he is. What if he has one of his anxiety freak outs or something?” Acne girl frowned at Rosie. “They’re called panic attacks. And he won’t. He’ll be fine. We’re just going through the haunted house. We’ll be back in like five minutes.” “I feel bad. Just leaving him like that. He looked like he was gonna cry.” Tall girl looked back over her shoulder. Prudence casually turned her head, like she was thinking about buying a candy apple from the nearest food booth. Just another face in the crowd. Rosie made a disgusted sound deep in her throat. “He’s got his fucking bear and a dry diaper. He’s fucking fine. Just because he’s in a wheelchair doesn’t mean he’s a full blown tard. Quit looking at me like I smashed one of his dumb dolls. Now, it’s Halloween. I’d like to have a little bit of fun with my best friends without my fucking cry baby cousin completely ruining my night. Is that too much to ask?” She rounded on the other girls. They met her eyes for a brief moment then looked away, awkward and uncomfortable. Rosie stared at them for several heart beats. None of them looked back at her. She sighed and dropped her hands to her sides. “I’m sorry. Look. Lucas even said it was okay. He said he didn’t mind if we went to the haunted house. So let’s just go and get back, okay? I’ll get him a candy apple or something.” That last part swayed the other girls. They nodded and continued walking. Pru drifted closer until she was directly behind the distracted girls. Foot traffic slowed. Bodies pressed closer together as they neared the spook house line. Ahead, a toddler writhed on the ground in the middle of a tantrum fit. Her fists and feet pounded the pavement, her face red as she howled at the top of her lungs. Pru’s upper lip curled in a snarl at the noise. She glanced around once. No one watched her. She stepped silently closer to the girls. Her hand dipped into Rosie’s pocket. Her fingers curled around a smooth plastic oval ring attached to something. She guided it out, hidden in the palm of her hand, then into her own pocket. She smoothly turned and walked away. All this occurred in the span of a few seconds. She walked between two food stalls and behind a bounce house before she examined her latest prize. A pacifier. A large one. Too large for a baby or child. Perfect for an adult. Little Rosie was a raver? She didn’t strike Pru as the type. Rosie wasn’t a kandi kid or a tweeker. First impressions could be wrong, but Pru considered herself a good judge of character. Girls like Rosie didn’t get high. They stole the occasional beer or wine from their parents. Cut school. Broke curfew. Acts of childish teen defiance. Pru turned the pacifier over in her hand, examining it. The shield was green. The button yellow with a cartoon turtle on it. The handle was blue. Colored more for a boy than a girl. A prop for a Halloween costume? There were some scratches on the plastic and teeth marks on the large rubber nipple. It was too realistic, too well used to be part of a costume. Could this belong to a diaper wearing, teddy bear carrying, anxiety prone, crippled doll maker? “Only one way to find out. Besides, returning it is the right thing to do.” She grinned, revealing very sharp looking teeth. She tossed the pacifier into the air, caught it and put it back in her pocket.

Currently reading: a few political books and Wolfsbane and Mistletoe- hair-raising holiday tales. :3

All my previous stories got devoured in the malware attack. I haven't had the time to repost the long ones. They're still up on another site.

Iola's heard of the internet, and she does have plenty of AB's out there, but the one she's looking for hasn't turned up yet. :3 I'm glad you enjoyed the story, and thanks for commenting. I have several longer ones that got deleted in the malware attack and subsequent purge. They were Bad Seed, Tricky Treats, and Naughty Christmas. I just haven't had enough free time to repost them here, but they're still up on another site.

https://www.amazon.com/gp/product/B07WGJ1H9X/ref=dbs_a_def_rwt_bibl_vppi_i3 BAD MOON RISING by CK Cute Kitten “This shit hole hasn’t changed much in a century.” The noise of the crowd swallowed Prudence’s mutter. Fair booths lined both sides of the street. The Fall Harvest Festival was like a Halloween themed farmers’ market. Some booths had games, but most sold homemade goods and sweets. Hand-knitted sweaters and blankets, apple and pumpkin butters, summer jams, hand pressed ciders, homemade fudge and candied apples. Warring scents assaulted her sensitive nostrils. Fried fair food -burgers, corn dogs- mixed with freshly popped kettle corn and pumpkin flavored cookies, cakes, pies and mingled with scents of homemade candles. This bouquet of smells was underscored by the sting of homemade alcohol. Shrieks of excited children pierced her ears and the pungent aroma of dirty diapers filled her nose, drowning out the other scents. Little sugar-crusted snot goblins ran everywhere, too fast for tired parents to keep up. Prudence nimbly side stepped the kids as she slid between the gaps of people milling about. Her slim hand slipped into pockets as she passed, occasionally coming out with money. Mostly chump change from the locals, but she got quite a few crisp twenty dollar bills from the visiting yuppies. And a few wedding rings she could pawn, though the gold was low quality and not worth much. Her haul was better than the last time she strolled down these streets, pick-pocketing at the turn of the century. Newton was a small town surrounded by farmland and woods. Cornfields and wilderness as far as the eye could see. That hadn’t changed much; now there was more farmed land, less woods. The town had expanded as the population grew. Dirt roads paved over. More automobiles. No more horses and buggies. Telephone polls. Street lights. Cell phones. Girls in pants. Main Street was still the largest street, running right through the center of town. A couple of fast food joints. A few diners. One grocery store. Some gas stations. Feed store. The three bars in town still stood in their same spots. The names changed and buildings were modernized. Her hometown was still just a backwoods scratch on a map. Just a newer version of the same old shit she’d left behind. Even the Halloween Carnival was mostly the same. The name had changed; somewhere along the line, it morphed into the Harvest Festival. Main Street still got closed off and shut down so booths, a spook house, bounce castles and a few carnival rides popped up. A maze of hay bales and tables for pumpkin painting. Prudence noted one big difference as she walked around; a big increase in the number of attendees. Farm families were too far apart, so they used to bring their children to town for trick or treating. Adults took advantage of the time to trade goods, thus spawning the Halloween Carnival. Now, city-dwelling yuppies, enamored with romantic idealizations of the quaint, wholesome, rustic country life flocked with their broods to the small town. They drove for an hour or more for the honest, simple country folk to fleece them with over priced, hand-made goods. Prudence couldn’t fault the locals for their business savvy. The yuppies were ripe for the plucking; big pockets, small brains. No common sense. City living bred it right out of them. Not that she was complaining. She smirked and patted the pilfered money in her own pockets. “This Halloween sucks.” Picking the pockets of idiots with their guard down was the only entertainment this town had. She’d never wanted nor planned to return. Only once had she come back, in the 1940’s to burn a few records of her past and erase some evidence. Local police had labeled those fires as Halloween pranks by deviant youth. One of those fires occurred a few streets away from where she stood now. She recalled a full harvest moon in a starless black sky and the orange flames turning day to night. That night had been a ill moon for the town. Tonight was a full moon on Halloween, too. She stuffed her hands in her pockets, feeling all her ill-gotten gains. “Looks like it’s another bad moon for you, baby.” She grinned to herself then laughed. Hicksville was boring as hell, but all that she hated about this place made it the perfect place to lay low. She had pissed off quite a few dangerous, powerful wolves when her latest, not-quite-legal, get-rich-quick scheme went bust. The law got involved. The law breakers were not happy. Now Prudence was laying low until the heat- both from the cops and the wolves- blew over. The crisp autumn breeze shifted. Red, orange, and yellow leaves fluttered about. Costumed kids shrieked, tiny hands grasping for the dancing leaves. The change in direction of the wind brought in scents of earth, of rotting vegetation, pine needles, and animal musk. The forest. Fresh cut hay and pumpkins from the fields. Pumpkins everywhere. Just like when she was a child. A human. Pru struggled to recall happy childhood memories. Fought for nostalgia as her feet once more trod the soil of her birth, both as a human then as a wolf. All she felt was nausea. She’d discarded her childhood as easily as she’d tossed her humanity. All she had left were vague memories. A screaming mother. Fighting siblings. So many siblings- faces and names all blurs. A father who always reeked of soured whiskey and who was heavy handed with his belt. Constant hunger in her belly. She shook her head, brushing the cobwebs from her mind. They weren’t worth remembering. She crossed the street to another row of booths, looking around aimlessly. Three little ball jointed dolls in a glass display case caught her attention. These were collectors’ items, not toys for children to play with and ruin. The dolls were little children dressed up for Halloween in exquisitely detailed costumes. The faces and hair were realistic looking; little replicas of real life. She almost expected them to blink, to giggle, to move on their own. She drifted closer to the booth, standing right in front of it. She never took her eyes off those hauntingly beautiful dolls. Childhood memories frozen in porcelain. “Like the dolls, dearie? Win them in a raffle. Only five bucks a ticket. Helps out the firemen.” A middle aged lady with gray streaks in her ponytail shook a roll of tickets in Pru’s face. Pru took an involuntary step back, blinking and shifting her focus onto the lady. A sense of deja-vu hit her and she was swept back to her childhood. The woman was a dead ringer for her old teacher in the local one-room school house. Mrs. Fisk had been a strict but fair schoolmarm. Most of the kids liked her. Prudence often was on the receiving end of Mrs. Fisk’s switch; neither teacher nor student had liked each other very much. This raffle lady had to be one of her descendents; a great great granddaughter or something like that. “I’ve never seen dolls that detailed. They’re almost life-like. They should be in some high-end store, not a prize at a fair. “ “I thought the same when I first saw them. Lucas is such a talented boy. He refurbished these from a thrift shop. He should’ve just sold them on ebay. His cousin Rosie said he insisted on donating them to the raffle when she dropped them off.” The lady shook her head. “The dolls have been a big help. These tickets sell like hot cakes. We just might be able to get that new equipment after all.” Prudence tuned her out as she prattled on. A boy created such a treasure from junk? She wondered what kind of person this artist who created such beauty was. Trash turned into art. She wanted to meet him. She was tempted to swipe the dolls, but they were at the back of the booth, under glass. And the lady watched them like a hawk. Too much trouble... But if an opportunity presented itself, she’d be ready to pounce. “You look really familiar. Are you related to a Mrs. Fisk?” The lady blinked, taken aback. “Fisk is my maiden name. I’m a King.” She looked up from her tickets, giving Prudence a long, hard look. “You look familiar, too.” She squinted. “I swear, I’ve seen you before. But I know you’re not from around here. I know all the locals.” Her voice took on a touch of pride. “Oh, I was born here, but I haven’t been back in ages. Left plenty of family, though. The Pipers still around?” “There’s a few. You’ve got the look of a Piper.” “They still causing trouble?” “Never stopped.” Prudence laughed. She liked the lady. Maybe she’d let the old bat keep her dolls, as a favor to the very late Mrs. Fisk. “What did you say your name was?” “I didn’t. It’s Prudence.” “Prudence Piper?!” The lady’s grey brows rose nearly up to her hairline in shock. Pru smiled, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “Something wrong with that name?” “You don’t know who Prudence Piper was?” Pru shook her head. The lady rambled on. “Whoever in your family named you has a sense of humor. Prudence Piper is something of a local legend.” She leaned forward to stage whisper. “She was a notorious girl. A bootlegger during Prohibition. Rumor has it she had ties to the mafia. Al Capone’s sweetheart.” Prudence laughed at that. “I’m not so sure about that last part. But I bet the rest is true. Well behaved women rarely make history, after all. She sounds like a fun gal.” She gave the dolls once last look then drifted away.

Just a short vignette. RAKING LEAVES by CK-Cute Kitten The wind was cold and crisp. The scent of snow and bitter temperatures underlied the smell of wet, rotting leaves. The season was at the cusp of change from autumn to winter. Iola could already feel winter settling into the marrow of her undead bones. She shuddered, shrinking into her fuchsia cardigan. A chill gust picked up leaves from the balding trees and from the huge pile at the vampire’s feet, scattering them across her just-raked yard. Iola’s pink lips twitched in annoyance, her fangs flashing white in the silver moonlight. Tonight was not a night for raking leaves. She hated work and she was already out here, so she was determined to get it done and over with. She’d had plenty of time all fall. The colorful leaves fell one by one, filling up her yard in October, turning brown and decaying in November. The leaves kept piling up while she procrastinated. She’d spent all fall hunting for her ideal partner, her soul mate. The absence was a gaping black hole in her heart. She had all of eternity to search, but her unbeating heart was full of love to give. Her special, adult sized nursery sat gathering dust. She was a mother without a child. She was too busy searching to put her messy house in some type of order and get rid of all the cluttered junk that accumulated over the decades.After a long season of dropping temperatures, falling leaves, empty hunts, and a few not-so-nice notes tacked on her door from her neighbors, she dragged her undead ass outside and raked her yard in the dead of night.She should’ve been done by now, but her thoughts kept drifting. She wanted a baby. Not an actual human baby, gormless, squirmy maggots. She wanted an adult baby, but so far she’d found none who fit the bill. Iola clutched the wooden handle of her rake and raked up the stray leaves yet again. The wind continued to blow, pulling more leaves from the pile as she added to it. With inhuman speed, her rake darted out and caught the escaped leaves, adding them back to the pile. She smirked, pleased with herself. Being a vampire had its advantages, and she enjoyed them thoroughly. She enjoyed them so much, she hardly remembered being human. She forgot the feel of a bright, warm sun on her skin. She shuddered, and this time it was not from the thought of winter. She tilted her head back, curls bouncing around her shoulders, to stare up at the sliver of moon. She was not an old vampire, but neither was she young. The human part of her mind could recall, vaguely and with concentration, the sun as a pleasant thing. Now the yellow fireball mean a painful, burning death. Something to be feared. It was the monster in a vampire’s daymare. Iola was a daughter of the night. Though she loathed the winter cold, she loved the longer periods of darkness, when she could roam and be the monster in a human’s nightmare. She smiled vaguely, thinking of the thrill of the hunt. The salty sweetness of her prey’s fear, the song of racing blood and pumping heart. She closed her eyes and sniffed as if she could smell the tangy metallic aroma of fresh blood, like a turkey cooking on Thanksgiving. She licked her lips, catching the saliva that dripped from her fangs. The thrill of feeding was all in the hunt, the struggle of her meal, not in the drinking itself. She rarely killed- her stomach couldn’t hold all that blood, and she was too lazy to properly dispose of the bodies. It was much easier to just let them lay there, barely alive, for some good Samaritan to find. Her meals usually recovered within a week or two. Lately even feeding felt empty. There was a hole in Iola’s world. Her unbeating heart filled with yearning. A dark empty void she needed desperately to feel. In life, she’d never been a mother, never had maternal instincts. She’d been turned young. As a vampire, her body was incapable of bearing a child. She didn’t want the responsibilities of full-time motherhood, anyway. What she wanted was someone who was adult, but also a baby. She wanted the intimate bond a mother had with her child, but she wanted that with an adult. Someone who would look to her for love, guidance and protection. A love, a relationship that ran deep, down to the marrow of her bones. Her baby. Her soul mate. She ached for that with every fiber of her being. She even had a nursery set up in her house. She just needed to find her special baby. The wind picked up; the sudden gust blew the top off the huge pile of brown leaves. The beautiful colors of early fall were long gone, leaving only decay in their wake. Several leaves landed on her unbrushed hair. She hissed like an angry cat, expressing her frustration. She quickly raked the leaves back up as the wind scattered more about the yard. The wooden handle creaked in her grasp from the tight pressure she put on it. She eased her hold- the last thing she wanted was to break yet another rake. Within a few moments, the wind undid most of her work. The more she raked, the more the leaves blew and scattered. She was back to square one. With a frustrated growl, she nearly chucked her rake into the yellowing grass and stormed back into the house. Let the stupid leaves rot until next spring under a blanket of winter snow. Something shiny and black caught her eye. She looked under the tree closest to her house. Moonlight shined off a huge, plastic garbage back she’d dumped there and forgot about as she raked. She was too busy mooning over her missing child and the hole in her life to pay attention to household chores. Her porch light was off. As a vampire, she needed no artificial light to see in the dark; just like cats, owls, and other nocturnal creatures. She should’ve been bagging as she raked, to keep the leaves from blowing away. If she did that from the very beginning she’d have been done long ago. Iola smacked her forehead with her palm for not thinking of something so simple and practical right off the bat. Household maintenance was her least favorite chore. She didn’t even dust her empty nursery. Finding her baby consumed her. She’d clean when she was a mother with a baby. Iola sighed, scooped up the garbage bag, and went about raking her messy yard. This time, she bagged along the way. The wind whipped at the bag but she kept it clenched in one fist so it wouldn’t blow away. She moved faster than a human. Her limbs started to get stiff with cold. The wintry breeze that tossed the leaves around like a salad cut right through her cardigan. Soon, she was going to have to surrender and break out her winter coats. Gloves and scarfs would soon follow when the snow started to fall. She scooped up the last of the leaves, tied up the bag, and put in in her garbage bin. She put her rake back in the shed, and glared up at the dark clouds as if daring them to start snowing now. The seasons changed was so fast. Why couldn't life? Why couldn’t she find her special baby? She wouldn’t mind raking big piles of leaves for her baby to jump in. Time still flowed as it did while she was human. Things, people, and circumstances changed over night or didn’t change at all. Time flew during pleasant occasions and dragged during unpleasant ones. Iola wrapped her arms around her middle as she walked onto her porch, leaning against her door and staring up at the cloud covered night sky. She sighed wearily, as if she were thousands of years old and had the weight of the world on her shoulders. She turned and stared at her leaf-free lawn. The yellow grass had stopped growing weeks ago and she’d been too busy to notice or care. The yard looked better devoid of decaying leaves. It looked like an empty bed ready for a blanket of winter. Like the empty crib up in her nursery, just waiting for her baby.Winter would come and pass as all seasons did, flowing into one anther and carrying Iola with them. She would drift in life, even if she didn’t like a particularly icy stream or patch of water and she’d survive until the next bend in the river. She just wished she change her life as easily as she changed her yard. Eyeing the grasses one last time, she sighed again, turned, and went int the warmth of her empty house, shutting the door quietly behind her.