Talldarkanddiapered22

I have been reading over the whole story, and the feedback, I and I wanted to say something . Thank you babybb for being so vocal, I have seen how many people have read this post, but a singular vocal memeber, such as your self, really helps. I have truly loved the process of writing this story and I am excited about writing more. But it really, really helps to not only see, but hear from readers who have enjoyed what I have written. Thanks for being there babybb. Guilelessly, TDAD22

The Feeling is Mutual Summary A life takes a interesting turn when a smaller adult stays at his family friends house when his parents are on vacation, he is old enough to have a job and apartment but doesn't. She says on the first day, you will be treated as old as you act, he gets a idea then, and starts on a course then even though he doesn't know how it will end. Sample Robert had a whole lot of worries running through his head as he got off the plane. His simple life had recently gotten a whole lot more complex. He was living with his parents, until recently when they had gotten sick of his loafing and his inability to hold down a steady job. They had told him, bluntly, that they were going on vacation and he would be staying with a old family friend, Kara who would be able to get a job for him. The family had known Kara forever, and Robert had known her since he was in diapers. In fact she was his babysitter till he was fifteen, and his parent decided that he was old enough to watch himself. He had been proud at first, beaming with joy, excited at the idea of finally being a adult, finally being trusted. But the his first free night, when his parents were on a date, he missed her. Oh he kept himself distracted for a while, playing on is N64, eating pizza, watching TV. But at the back of his mind he knew that he felt lonely. More than that he missed Kara. He jolts awake when the someone behind him in line yells at him, telling him to hurry up and get on the plane. He rushes, embarrassed, rolling along his luggage for a moment. Unfortunately, he takes a turn too quickly and the luggage flips, spinning around. He almost tears up in frustration. "Fucking thing," he mutters to himself. He makes it to the curb and flags down a taxi. Forty minutes later he is standing outside Kara's single level house. He takes a deep breath, and walks to the door. He stands for a moment, thinking. "I will be coming here a failure. I will be coming here for handout. Coming with a problem, I can't fix for myself. I had hoped to be able to stand on my own two feet that the next time I saw her, she would see a man in return. But instead she would see a child, looking for comfort, for her to kiss a boo-boo better." "Shit." Then, drawing his willpower into a singular focused effort, he brought his shaking hand up and knocked on the door. His dread grows as he hears footsteps "click, click, clicking" on the hardwood floor. The fear puts him in fight or flight mode, he turns around, readying himself for a full on sprint. But before he can make a break for it, the door opens behind him, and he feels himself being lifted off the ground, into a backwards bone crunching hug. He relaxes then, reassured by her love, and pacified by the feeling of her breasts pressing against the back of his head. "Hello, Kara," he casually says, as if picked up and squished is part of his regular routine. "Hello sweetheart," she replies just a casually, with a whole lot more warmth. -------------- Robert is sitting on the couch, yawning after a full nights sleep. He stretches, lazily, reaching his arms out as far as he can to his sides, rolling his arms to loosen the muscles in his back. As he scratches his head he errant lay wonders what Kara got him up so early for. It couldn't wait till noon? Well he would put up with if for now, before he laid down his ground rules. Kara walked in the room, and he crossed his arms readying himself, preparing himself to tell her what's what. "Listen Kara..." He never got farther than that. When he was marshaling himself she drew closer and leaned over him, in that annoying lording and parental way she always had. "Let me stop you right there" She commands. "Don't forget I have been watching out for you your entire life. I know what that look means, mister "I am in charge". If you remember how well it worked when you were eight, you wouldn't be trying it again." "Let me remind you. It didn't." He is genuinely frightened of her at this moment. The last time she had started like this, when he was twelve, it had ended with a spanking. He thought he was to old for that, but she proved him utterly, demeaningly, wrong. He still didn't know if the paddling had injured his pride, or his bottom more. He had thought the dynamic would change, that she would see him as adult, but clearly that wasn't going to happen. It didn't help that she was still, much, much taller than him. And still, obviously stronger. He didn't really have an edge. He had come to her door, looking for her help. He had definitely played his cards wrong. "I don't mean to interrupt you" Robert says suddenly, "but you are right. This is your house and it would be very, very rude of me to think that I could run roughshod over you. My apologies." The anger and Kara was appeased, and the fire behind her eyes seems to to die for a moment. But it is quickly replaced, by something just a vivid, some emotion, but it seems hidden from Robert. "Thank you," she concedes, "you acted like quite the grown up young man. But only after you were gonna start one of your temper tantrums." Robert rose from the couch, opening his mouth to speak. It only took one look, that do-you-want-to-go-to-bed-without-dinner look, that he knew so well, before he shut his mouth. "As I was saying," Kara continues, " you seem to be caught in between acting like a little boy and being a responsible adult. Since that is the bind we are in, I will offer you a deal. You will be treated exactly as you act. No more, no less." "I am I understood?" she asks, quietly. "Yes ma'am," Robert replies, knowing full well what would happen if he said anything else. His reply cut the tension in the room. Soon the old, casual back and forth developed. Anyone you spend you spend that much time with you develop a language, both verbal and physical that only you know. They whiled away the day, telling each other old stories and catching up. -------------------- That night he wet the bed. -------------------- When he woke up, Kara was already in the room, livid about what was done to the sheets. "This will not happen again," she says. "You wait right here on the bed. I'm going to the pharmacy, and until I get back you better not move." -------------------- Kara gets in her car, starts the engine, puts on her seat belt and checks her mirrors. She backs out of the driveway, taking her time to be careful. She drives out of her neighborhood, waiting three seconds at least at every stop sign. Her driving was through and deliberate. It was odd, when she drove right past the pharmacy. She knew this area by the back of her hand. She could practically drive around blindfolded. So she must being going somewhere else. After another twenty minutes of driving, she pulls into a storage unit center. Kara signals the guard and he opens the gate. She drives along, the gravel crunching under her tires, till she eases into a stop. She gets out of the car, and takes her key ring with her. Kara then unlocks the unit door at the base, and slides the door up, as it rattles. Crammed inside is a jumble of what looks like, at a first glance, like standard nursery furniture. A crib, changing table, rocking chair, playpen, diaper genie, highchair, car seat, mobile, and a wide variety of baby and toddlers clothes and toys. But, if you took a second glance, you would realize the proportions were wrong, that all of this furniture and clothing were much to big for a baby. They might fit a short adult though. Kara looks a her elaborate, painstakingly assembled collection. She moved this all out after she asked Robert's parents to send him down here. She understood it was necessary, but still fretted about scratching the paint on any of the furniture. She briefly inspected the items, and finally found a collection of thick cloth Velcro nighttime diapers. She grabbed some plastic pants, in both babyish and plain white varieties, on her way back out. When she reached the outside of the unit, she turned around and took a moment. She grew more and more excited as she envisioned Robert, or baby bobby, (as she had called him long ago) fidgeting in his highchair, shaking his legs in rage, trying to fight out of it, but dangling to far above the ground, helpless, dependent. Kara saw him, crying, bawling his little eyes out as he sat in his playpen, wearing just a obviously messy diaper. She would pick him and rock him slowly, till he calmed down. Then she would sit down on the couch, and open up her shirt. Then she would softly guide baby bobby's mouth to her teat, and her would slowly nurse, warm, nourishing liquid pouring into him. While he lay there, on her chest, slowly, inevitably, his little chest, with it's little heart would beat in rhythm with her own. She woke from her vision, feeling, very, very turned on. She took a deep, deep breath. She held it in, for ten seconds and let it out. She looked again at her collection. "Patience," she whispers to herself, "patience." Therapy? Summary A therapist recommends her patient a new clinic for ab/dl's who wish to cure themselves of there desires. Since it still in the early stages, and she knows some of the administrators, she offers him a free spot. He agrees, with the condition that she comes with him, to be his support through a difficult process. She agrees and they head into the clinic together. Only one of them will leave. Rumplestiltskin redux Summary You remember Rumplestiltskin right? I won't give away all the twists. Sample Sophie is crying.....no that would not be accurate, she is sobbing, her full body tensing and releasing with with every cry, barely time between to get air for the next. She never made any promises but she would be the one to suffer for her father's lies. It started, as it always started, with her father drinking. He was down at the bar, like every night, doing the only thing in his life he took seriously, getting drunk. He took his time. In his earlier years he treated it as a sprint to the finish line, getting plastered as quickly as he could. But he would get thrown out then, much to early in the night. His family would still be awake when he got home, which was not good. His drinking buddies would be surprised at the change that took over him when he got home, his wide grin and gentle stagger, as he waved side to side would vanish. Instead of a lovable souse, who the best dirty songs, always coming up with another when asked, a beast would walk into the house, filled with rage. If he started yelling, it was a good thing, Sophie learned. Yelling meant that only mama would get a beating tonight. If he was quiet, if he inside slowly and set his jacket on the rack deliberately, before sitting down at the table, things were bad. He would sit, fuming and look at her, his face growing uglier and uglier, contorted by rage. Those nights were bad. Each and every morning, he would wake up and apologize, acting astonished, saying that he was in control of himself, that he didn't know what he was doing, the he couldn't remember anything. Then he would come home early for a couple of nights, and jostle Sophie on his knee, pretending nothing happened, and tell her fairy tales. But in a week or two, his buddies would ask him to come out, ask to come with him, tell him that they never laughed so hard as when he sung his songs, he told his tales, he spun his lies. Then he come home again, and they cycle would repeat. Eventually even he got tired of saying the same old lies. Eventually he got tired of seeing the glazed look in his daughter's and wife's eyes, when he told them that he would never, ever drink again. So he took his time when drinking, was alway the last to leave and when he got home, the house was quiet and he didn't rage. But one night, he had already sung the bars all time favorite, "a mermaid's twat is wetter than most," when a brand new, a glorious lie came to his head. "You know," he said, "I really like you slobs." The usual crowd laughed at his insults, putty in his hands. "Its true, no really it's true," yelling over their groans, "If wanted to, I could take my family to live in a palace in any kingdom we wanted. We could spend the rest of our lives eating off china and dinning with royalty. I could have daily audiences with the pope, telling him my thoughts on god." The crowd quieted, impressed by his claims. His stories were good, but never this good. "But I stick here with you lot because I like the way you all curse." A great laugh from the rabble at that. "See here, you have all seen my daughter, Sophia, right. She is hard to miss, the pale girl with the long, golden hair. Well her hair wasn't always golden. When she was but a child, she would go wondering in the forest, despite my warnings. One day, as she walking, she saw a sparrow flit by overhead. She was captivated, in the way that young girls are and ran after the bird, trying to keep him in sight. As she ran she tore her dress, and splattered it with mud. Sophia's mother wanted to tan her hide when she got back. Before she knew it she had wandered into a circle of mushrooms. Now I know I don't have to tell you what happens to most who wander in a fairy circle never wander out. But the king fairy of that circle had a daughter himself, about Sophia's age. When he saw the state of her clothes, his hard fey heart grew soft, thinking her a orphan. Instead of keeping her, he decided to gift her with magic powers. Whenever Sophia sits down to weave, she can weave both her magic and hay, regular old barnyard hay, into gold." At the end of the story, the regular shouts and applause rang out through the dingy hut that served as the town watering hole. But one man was sitting thoughtfully in the back. In hindsight, you could call him gullible, or maybe calculating. Maybe he was tired of the girls father and his loudmouth antics. But for whatever reason, the next day he told the prince. Which is how Sophia found herself, locked in a dungeon with bales and bales of hay. The princes words still reverberated in her ears. "I'll have a room of gold and a new wife, or a room of hay and a execution in the morning. It's your choice." Eventually, after a long time, she gave up on crying. If tonight was going to be her last night on earth then she was going to enjoy every last moment of it. She stood by the window, and stared up at the bright full moon. It captivated her, the dignity, the tranquility of the heavenly body washing over her. She sighed a deep, deep sigh and resigned herself to her fate. "I will not beg," Sophia says aloud, "I will not disgrace my self. Every other little thing in my life has tried to make me beg for forgiveness. I didn't give up then, and I will not give up now." As she says her speech to herself, enjoying the expression she imagines on the repugnant prince's face, a face pops into the window. Soon a body follows and both hop quickly over the window sill. Sophia stands and stares aghast at the horrid, twisted thing that has entered the room. "Be still my lady," the creature says, "if you scream now the guards will come running and you will not leave this cell alive." This grabs her attention in no short order. "Why should I trust you, thing." She lets her revulsion into her voice, nearly spitting the last word. "Because, my lady," the creatures says, as it stands, stretching itself impossibly tall, "no one else is coming. I am your last chance. Do you believe in angels?" "Do I what?" Sophia replies. "Believe in angels. The question is simple, really. If you don't, I walk out that window right now and I never come back. I will watch the execution from a nearby roof. It will be painful for me, thinking back to this moment of this conversation, as the axe crunches," he crosses his fingers past his throat, " right through your pretty neck." "I'll think if only she had listened to me, she could have been a queen, a sovereign power, a god in her country. But if you answer yes, there is a condition. If you say yes, that you believe in angels, I will help you, but in a single years time I will be back and you will give me your firstborn child." "Yes," she says immediately, "I believe in angels." When she calms down, and feels tag the icy hand of death has passed over her, she realizes the enormity of what she has promised this "angel". After feeling deeply deeply ashamed, so crushed by her own selfishness that the walls seem to be closing in, suddenly something snaps. "If I die here, that the child will never be born. Better to be this creatures thing then never be born." She repeats it, over and over again in her head till it sounds true. When she finally looks up the thing, well she could see him better now that he had unraveled himself, the crooked man had rolled all the hay in the room into a impossible small bundle, that he continued to fold the hay back on itself, from the size of a pillow, to the size of a cup, till it was the size of a grain of sand, which he stuck in his pocket. She look at him then, finally brave enough to face her savior. He was tall, but not sturdy, it was as if a short, stocky man had been stretched on a rack, till he was drawn out, thin as a skeleton. The skin on his face seemed to be stretched too thin, his cheeks sunken in like the face of a starving man. But his eyes were bright, emerald green, like pools that seemed entirely out of place with this crooked man. He seemed crooked, but that wasn't because he had a hump or a twisted spine. No it was subtle, but when looking at him directly, something about him seemed at angle, not straight with the ground. When you tried to line up your head with the bend, to straighten your vision of him out, you would nearly break your neck, contorting and bending to find a angle that didn't exist. After she took all this in, she asks, "Why did you roll up the hay? Don't you need it to spin into gold?" He laughed then, but the laugh didn't come out strangled, rattling his frame. Instead it was a full bodied, full bellied laugh. She almost laughed as well, simply watching him, till she remembered that he was laughing at her expense. "Little girl," the man says, "there is no magic that turns straw into gold. Do you know how ridiculous that sounds? Only a drunk or a idiot could come up with something so stupid as that." "Actually, she replies, "my father was both." Then the crooked man grabs at the pouch at his side, walks to the center of the room, holds it above his head, and turns it over. A river of gold, no a lake, no a ocean of gold flows from the pouch, unending, Sophia backs up to the walls to avoid being crushed by the riches. Finally she hears the clatter of gold slow, till finally she hears a last coin ring and roll down the heap. The crooked man slides down the pile, wearing a crooked smile. "Farewell my lady. Your angel will see you again. In a year." ------------------------ The wedding was amazing beyond words really. The kingdoms new found wealth, as well as the story of its origin drew most of the royal families of the know world. Each and every one trying to give the best gift, hoping for a gift of gold in return. They were greedy givers. Still the Turks trotted out their horses, the Russians their religious art, the French their sabres, the moors their elaborate art made of their script. Each ad every gift was more dazzling than the last. Most the nations of the world were there for the ceremony. The noise after the prince kissed Sophia was so loud that the bride and groom had to cover their ears. That night they were laughing with each, both tipsy from toast after toast from each foreign king. The undressed and whispered sweet nothing's to each other. But before they could consummate, Sophia had a idea. "My love, my prince, my king," she starts, " could we wait a year before we have children? My love for you is so strong so bright, I would not want your attention shared with any other." The princes thinks for a moment, poised above her. "I would love to honor your request, jewel of my heart, but if I were to let you have your way, we would be without heirs. The only reason for kings to have queens is to have a line of succession, I have had many children, but all bastards. As such, they were eliminated." Sophia recoils from his touch, what he said made her feel sick, but her body grew cold at the way he simply stated it. He talked about murdering children the way people talk about facts. It wasn't something that bothered him, or that he was proud of, it just was. She drew away from him, but he held her down and whispers in her ear, "The only thing more important than a queen's virtue, is a king's need." Sophia was reminded of her father that night. -------------------- A year later and no children yet. Her husband the king, was baffled and redoubled his efforts daily, despite her resistance. He seemed to enjoy her struggling, think it part of the sport of it. She had her handmaiden supply her with goods form the apothecary shop, and would not get pregnant, not anytime soon and possibly never. ------------------- The day before the crooked man had come before the court, asking for her first born child. The king responded that his royal whore had no child yet, despite his efforts. The court had erupted in laughter, the court had long ago been taught the lesson of obedience. "Then," the crooked man had said, "I will take Sophia. I made the contract will her, and she will pay the debt." Sophia was filled to the brim with a mixture of dread and doubt. What would the crooked man be like. Would he be like her father or her husband? Even if she wanted to go, she doubted that the king would let her. Not that he loved her or, even liked her, but he was not a man who would let someone else take his things. "But," the crooked man continued, "Since the payment has changed, so will the rules. I am not a overly cruel man. I will come back tomorrow, and if you can guess my name in five tries you may keep your wife." The crooked man left then, walking away without so much as a bow to the king. As soon as the crooked man was out of earshot, the king sent his cleverest spy to follow the crooked man, and find his name. --------------------- The spy returns early the next day and whispers into the king's ears only the crooked man's name. The story circles around the court though, and Sophia hears it well. The crooked man had built a bonfire last night and danced and drank till he couldn't stand up. Then he sang his name at the top of his lungs. The spy heard this and returned immediately to the court. She had scarcely heard the story, and had her hopes, hopes she wasn't even aware of before, plummet, before the crooked man walks into court. "Well, king," the crooked man says,"do you know my name?" Sophia watches her husbands face intently, and sees that all too familiar expression of cruelty, like a cat playing with a mouse. She knew that the first guess would not be the right one. "Is it Thomas?" The king asks, raises his voice and standing, pointing at the crooked man. The king knew the guess was wrong, but had a theatrical sense, when his cruel moods took him. "No" the crooked man says. A groan from the court, was that the name his spy had given him? Was he out of guesses? Who would he punish with his anger if he had his toy taken away? "Robert?" "No" the crooked man says. "Joseph?" "No" the crooked man says. Sophia sees the look in the king's eyes. He is reveling in this moment, the high theatre of it. He could feel everyone hopes and emotions as putty in his hands at that moment. He had been king for a year, but he had never felt control like this. "Timothy? "No" the crooked man says. Then before the last one, before his last guess, the king looks directly into Sophia's eyes searching for her hidden hope. He waits till he finally finds it, right in her irises, then he says the words to crush it. "Foul man, I banish you for your name is.....Steve?" "No" the crooked man says, and he grins a crooked grin. Right past the king, at Sophia, and she finds herself returning a smile just as lopsided in return. The kings sputters and yells for his spy. When the man arrives he guts him of the spot, stabbing him in the stomach to "let him bleed out slowly". The king then turns to the crooked man and yells, "That is your name, don't think you can trick a king. This man, dying in front of you told me your name. He heard it last night as you drunk yourself to sleep." The crooked man's impossibly grew even larger. "I don't drink," he said, "it makes you sloppy. I did put on a show when I saw your man was tailing me. It might be cruel, but I just had to see the expression on your face." The crooked man ignores the king, despite the monarch's growing rage, and walks straight past him. "My lady," he says to Sophia, bowing a crooked little bow, "your angel has come for you." Sophia jumps into him, hugging him and crying into his cooked body. "There, there," the crooked man whispers into her ear, "it's all over now. It's done." The crooked man holds her close, and walks from the court. He ignores the kings shouts, and yells till the monarch begins to insult Sophia. Yelling about her whorishness, her pig like squeals, her dry womb. The crooked man's pace slows as he hears this. Sophia looks over and sees mounting rage on the crooked man's skeletal face. But they continue forward. Finally the king says, right before they pass the threshold, "I'm glad to be rid of the sow. I am king and she my queen, but not one time did she fuck me willingly. Oh sure it was fun at first, but it bored me over time. You can have my Sophia now that I have worn her out." When Sophia looks up at the crooked man's face then, the rage is gone. In its place is a slackness, making his face look totally dead. But his eyes burn green, fierce emerald green, and he stops. The crooked man says to Sophia "look away." But she cannot. She has fantasized about killing this horrible king for every waking moment of the last year. She will not turn away. The crooked man walks slowly back to the throne where the king sits. Everyone in the room can tell that this crooked man, this bent monster is after their god on earth. Four of the braver knights charge him. Sophia's heart leaps to her chest scared that soon she will watch her angel die and be return to the clutches of this king. The crooked man doesn't change his pace even when the first knight is a step away. The man swings a large broadsword, intending to split the twiggy man in two, to earn his name in the court. The crooked man turns to side easily sliding away from the attack. He grabs the knights wrist with one hand and punches the the elbow other hand. It snaps with the sound of wet wood. One by one as the knights charge he breaks bones snaps joints and dislocates shoulders. He doesn't outmaneuver them, he isn't quicker than them. He just is never where the strike. He doesn't even slow his stride to the king. The king looks at the crooked man, who gives a crooked smile, and for the first time in his life, he feels true terror. He looks to his court, but they have all vanished leaving the room empty except for four knights, laying like broken dolls on the floor. The kings sits there, his fear rooting him in one spot, till the crooked man is standing over him, but then it is too late. Sophia sees the crooked man leaning over the king, and hears the crooked man muttering something about a "heartless man". In a moment though the crooked man is walking back to her, at his unhurried pace. He holds something like a red apple in his hand. The king though, is very clearly still alive behind him, though his eyes seem to be rolling in his head and his face is slack. "I told you not to look," the crooked man says, as he grows closer to Sophia. "I had to watch, it doesn't matter what you said, I had to watch. After all he has done he owes me a death. "No," the crooked man says, " you don't understand. You are mine now. When I tell you to do something, you do it, or you suffer the consequences." As the crooked man says this, he shines the apple thing on his shirt. As he brings it to his mouth, Sophia realizes that it is pulsating. The crooked man takes a big bite, and Sophia can hear the king's screaming, loud at times and quiet at times, coming from a body in its death spasms. She breaths deeply, closing her eyes, when she has steadied herself, she opens them back up to look the crooked man in his eyes. She almost makes it, but is distracted when she sees him wipe his mouth with his hand. His hand comes away covered with blood. The last thing she sees, before she passed out, is a crooked grin on a crooked man's face. Pick your favorite, "the feeling is mutual", "Therapy?" Or "Rumplestiltskin Redux"

Thanks. I really appreciate that babybb. I have liked a lot about "Qualifed", but truth be told, it is my first effort at any type of story that is longer than ten pages. Admittedly I did have the arcs for everything but the ending worked out long before, but when it finally came to the ending, i didn't know what to do. Any transition from the tone I had developed over the story would be difficult and truly a cop out of sorts. So I sat on it. And I thought of a way to end it. Maybe I will think of a better one later, but I wanted it over because I have a lot more I'd like to write. I will posting three lose ideas today.

Love "You can understand and relate to most people better if you look at them -- no matter how old or impressive they may be -- as if they are children. For most of us never really grow up or mature all that much -- we simply grow taller. O, to be sure, we laugh less and play less and wear uncomfortable disguises like adults, but beneath the costume is the child we always are, whose needs are simple, whose daily life is still best described by fairy tales." -Leo Rosten She wakes in the guest bedroom alone. Her diaper is still dry, but her daddy is nowhere to be found. She nurses on her paci as she walks room to room, panic and fear mounting steadily in her. She checks outside and sees that his bike is still in the driveway and she calms down considerably. Then she realizes there is only one more room to check. She heads up the stairs to her room and finds Greg, her daddy sitting on the bed with his head in his hands. He seems deep in thought, but mired in decisions he doesn't want to make. She says, "hello daddy," her pacifier muffles the words and she pulls it out while blushing. Greg looks up at her and smiles, his genuine, easy smile, for a moment. Then a storm seems to cross his face. He stands then, up from the bed and looms over her. He seems deep in though, ideas and decisions whirling round his head like clouds, intangible and unreachable. Finally he seems to make a decision and takes a deep breath before looking her directly in the eyes. "You are what i have dreamed about for a long time," he starts, "and it scares me. I can't do half measures. If give any more of myself, and you reject me, I broken. So now I'll tell you what I need, simply, and you will decide." "I need a love, a body, a relationship, that I can submit to. I couldn't give a damn about anything else, walking through the day, picking up groceries, going to work, a fucking play act so those fleshy piles of despair around me don't try to snuff me out." "Fuck 'em. You get one or two of them by theirselves and you have a chance of inspiring thought, of trying to share your light, of lighting their own torches. it only lasts till the next beer, the next blow job, the next baseball game on tv. Why try? Why risk anything? All it takes is the right one, that right one telling others and your flame is snuffed. And you will be the one who cripples and snuffs the next light. And you will know to do so better than the others." "At other times I laugh at myself, sitting on a throne of air, passing judgement on those I will never meet, never speak to, never cry with. If they bury themselves, they blunt themselves. If they bury themselves, fear, love and hate, can be manageable, can cool existence, those emotions can isolate themselves from the world and preserve them, protect them." "I don't want that, I want to stand against the world, I want to breathe every last breathe, I want to feel the breeze on my face and the sun warming my bones. I want to feel, everything, to gorge myself, while growing impossible empty, hollow, till a whisper of feeling echoes and resounds throughout my body, leaving me both empty and overflowing, so I can be anything and everything for you." "You, I could give into. You I could dominate. For you, I could be your beast, your prince, your pillar, your rock. I could vanish into you and you could never let me out. I wouldn't care." And then, a question, a throaty question, one answer a irreparable bonding, one sending him spiraling away, shredded. "Will you let me?" When she looked into his eyes she was drawn in, slowly at first, but the deeper and deeper he went he moved faster and fast and faster drawn to the inevitable, the only choice. She learned in and kissed her on the lips, gently at first, but suddenly slipping into a hot angry desire, nearly biting at him a she drew away. He looks pleasantly stunned and says, "I guess that is a yes." He grabs her and tosses her on the bed and she giggles, delighted to be in his power and delighted to know that he is in hers. Greg leaves her for a moment and then closes the door. Leaving the hallway in darkness. "It closes for discretion's sake, because Rala must now introduce Rumo to the miracle of love. For some miracles can only occur in the dark." -Walter Moers, Rumo Now I know why so many stories go unfinished. When you have built something for so long, and created something that is some reflection of yourself, finding a ending for it seems impossible. I don't know that I love the way I finished it, but I do know it was the only ending I had. I would love to hear your thoughts. Also later today or tomorrow I will posting short sections of the next three stories ideas I have. I will take votes and I will write what the people ask.

I have been letting it sit for two reasons, one I was creatively and physically strained by the output of the story so far, writing it in a week span, two the complexity of what I want to write next. The journey I knew from the beginning, but now I need to write the promised land (not to get heretical) and want to deliver what I have been merely leading up to. Additionally I have had some very strong ideas for other stories that are distracting me. So, here is my gameplan. I will finish what I have started in the next three days. Then I will post snippets of the next three ideas I have. This story is posted on three different forums, but I will take a vote from the people across all three, and write as the people wish. To be perfectly honest, when you guys vote, it will be you who is helping me, becuase frankly, I can't pick between three ideas I like. All of them more nuanced and a lot more dark than th

I'm sorry, it may very be just me, but this is not good. The spelling is terrible and the updates are very, very short. I would offer some other positive feedback, but it is nonsense cliche after nonsense cliche. Clearly I am not your intended audience. That being said, I am glad others are enjoying the story. As a amateur writer myself, that is a great feeling. Work on longer updates, it eases both yourself and the reader in to the story. My apologies if I offend. That is not my intent.

Thanks for coming forward radioman.

Despite how quickly I have pushed this out, I am dissatisfied with the level of feedback. The person who provides the best feedback will get to chose the topic of my next story. I am a man of my word, as well as a man of words. I apologize for the above line. I really couldn't resist.

Got it one.

Which style then. Oh and incidentally, lol.

Bonus points for whoever can tell me the diaper name.

Well, I cannot say I am disappointed by that. Is there any part in particular, any line that works or doesn't work. You provide much appreciated feedback. But I am always hungry for more. Sincerely, TDAD22

I am glad you like it. Was there any part in particular you responded too. Anything that seemed clunky? Any feedback helps. I am happy where I am at, in my writing, but I could be better. Sincerely, TDAD22

Acceptance "There's no "should" or "should not" when it comes to having feelings. They're part of who we are and their origins are beyond our control. When we can believe that, we may find it easier to make constructive choices about what to do with those feelings.

Patience, or Recovery If you are losing your soul and you know it, then you still have a soul left to lose. -Charles Bukowski “You were sick, but now you're well again, and there's work to do.