RambleLamb

Mental regression ticks a lot of personal boxes for me and you absolutely nailed the specific aspects that accomplish that. You're an amazing writer and I thank you for sharing your wonderful work!

I am best searcher. Also, valid points all around BUT as the author I have final say and I say...

Search for "The Infantile Infantry" and see how you feel afterwards.

So, I've checked out your story here and the original it spins off from and you have good ideas BUT your pacing and structure are really fast to the point that it reads like you're trying to get everything out as fast as possible. When someone talks use quotation marks so people can tell someone is talking. Pull back a bit on the "this happened and this happened and this person felt this way" and so forth and try and have things move smoothly to the desired destination. I know I'm probably asking for trouble given the way you responded to a previous critique, but here's the thing, anyone can write a story but if people struggle to make sense of it because it's a wall of text or there aren't clear definitions for people speaking versus action versus narration they may not bother reading your story. Food for thought, feel free to ignore my suggestions and continue on your way the way you're going, I'm just offering a bit of friendly advice.

I'm not rushing this one, information and plot will come in increments, but I'm very happy you liked it! As an artist I don't see myself that way so don't think I'm arguing with you, I just don't see anything super special about what I'm doing. Also, sparks can cause fire...sexy fire... I like to try different things to practice writing, it's not always easy to come up with new and exciting fap fiction, but if I try something new every time I may hit on something great...I may also make a Civil War documentary story, it's all a rich tapestry.

Words hold power and the word "diaper" holds power over me, when I hear it I hone in on the source regardless of context or setting and I felt avoiding using it illustrated what kind power it had because of its absence, like the negative space in a painting. Glad you liked it!

The thing I really liked about this story was that it felt like everyone could relate to it. Obviously some people haven't ever had the same experience the story illustrates but I think everyone, at one point or another, has felt the sting of anxiety over having to purchase diapers or AB stuff or literally anything that society or family members or neighbors would look down on them for purchasing. I, like you, went the "dress like a criminal and go in dead of night to buy diapers like they were an illegal drug" route so I tapped into that for this. Doing something similar for trying on clothes you "aren't supposed to wear" is a very interesting thing to me because I hadn't thought it would be the same way but makes total sense. Thank you for sharing your experience and for reading my story!

Glad you loved it! Thank you for reading!

Baby’s First… "Kiss" By: RambleLamb We thought we could beat the rain, wrapping up our after dinner conversation just as the conversation started to turn more intimate, finally pushing through the barrier of awkwardness that inherently came from years of friendship being transmuted into something new and unexplored. We'd walked the short few blocks to the restaurant since we'd both agree that the weather was more than pleasant enough for walking in. She'd beautifully explained it as something welcoming you to sleep with the window open and nothing but a light sheet to keep you covered, your pajamas saved for another day when the season was just starting to turn. Standing at the edge of the covered area where we'd just had a lovely and decidedly romantic dinner, I looked at her and looked away, a smile pulling at the edges of my lips without any conscious thought from me for it to happen, I felt her looking at me but when I turned she was looking out at the falling rain, her own smile spreading as she stepped out into the rain and turned back to me, her hand reaching out for me to grab it and join her. The rain wasn't heavy enough to be inconvenient, nothing that would bring soggy socks or a cold, just a bit of a drizzle to act as a soundtrack for our journey back to our apartment, the rain pattering softly on awnings of the buildings lining the way back home, the newly formed puddles in a constant state of growth and flux as drops hit them and rippled outward creating a tangible metaphor for our own blossoming new relationship. It struck me just how beautiful she truly was as she stood there in the rain inviting me to join her, willing me to take her hand and cement the status of "couple" that we'd been dancing around for weeks, making plans to go out on a proper date and shrugging nonchalantly when those plans fell through for one reason or another, neither of us wanting to let on how disappointed we really were that the thing we were both ensorceled by wasn't happening as we'd hoped it would. I reached out my hand and put it into hers, wrapping my long fingers around her hand as she did the same with mine, her light tug pulling me to her, the first drops making contact with me bringing out a happy giggle that I struggled to recall making before in my adult life, realizing that she was producing a similar sound in tandem with my own as I gravitated toward her, our bodies briefly connecting, my heart skipping a beat as we parted as quickly as we'd come together, her leading me behind her leisurely. She wasn't dressed for rain, neither of us were, I looked at the faux gemstones on the strap of her flipflops, the purple ones adorned on the inside with a now worn image of Princess Jasmine from Aladdin that she'd bought at Disney World the Summer before last when we'd gone into a little shop for rain ponchos for the coming bad weather and she'd fallen in love with the overpriced shoes, going on and on about them for fifteen minutes after she'd bought them for herself. My gaze went up her long caramel colored legs, stopping at the frayed legs of her jean shorts, the ones she'd been wearing that day at the beach when we'd gotten into a fight over a girl we'd both seen and looked at for too long to be considered anything but a stare, jealousy was the root of the problem, both of us feeling slighted that we weren't looking at each other the same way, both of us failing to admit that we looked at each other that way all the time but never called attention to it for fear that the feelings wouldn't be reciprocated. The white peasant top she wore was soaked now, clinging to her torso and leaving nothing to the imagination, her pale pink bra showing underneath, her smallish but absolutely perfect breasts beneath calling me to them with the faint scent of her perfume lingering on them as the rain degraded the scent with each passing moment. I thought of seeing them in locker rooms and in passing when she left the shower but didn't care to close the door completely as she stepped out and casually covered herself with a towel, wondering how I could have platonically seen them dozens or more times in our life but only now noticed them the same way I was now noticing her. We were nearly home now, the rain in the light of the street lamps making everything feel like an old movie, the film aged and heavily used giving those scuffs across the frames that made me think of quiet afternoons at my Grandparent's house sitting on the couch with my Grandma and Grandpa watching old movies while they reminisced silently about the life they'd lived together. The light caught the rain drops in her curly hair making them glint like little diamonds on the night sky shading of her hair. I heard music from a car at the light ahead of us, something melodic and sincere that sent my emotions careening off into a place filled with visions of lazy mornings with her in bed beside me, neither of us sleeping but neither of us in a rush to get up, content with just being together beneath the covers. I saw the distant days where we'd upgraded to a house and gardened together, her comically outdated and unfashionable sunhat making her look so beautiful in spite of all its flaws. I never saw a wedding or kids, but that might have just been the realist in me barring hopeful thoughts of real commitment from my mind, keeping me from believing I could domesticate her fully. Up the stairs we walked, her still leading the way with my hand in hers as we reached our front door and faced the very real decision of where we went from here. A moth struck the mason jar light cover of our porch light, its shadow erratically casting itself over us making her eyes look like they were sparkling as she looked up at me, my eyes meeting hers in a moment that seemed to be over in an instant but also stretch on for the entire span of human history. She was thinking about it too, and I could tell she knew I was thinking about it but neither of us were moving, just standing face to face like we were at a junior high dance and didn't understand what real dancing should look like, scared that closing the distance would somehow lead to pregnancy or marriage when we weren't even through puberty yet. Her smile was growing, the real kind that shows teeth rarely seen, not the upturning of the edges of your lips to give the appearance of a smile, those were reserved for disappointing birthday presents and picture day at school. Her smile was affecting her eyes, her top lids lowering just enough to let me know that she was content in the moment but going further was what would be best. ************************************************************************ I watched her standing beneath the awning of the restaurant, the quiet little wallflower afraid to play in the rain. She was worried about her hair getting wet and flattening, afraid that I wouldn't still be attracted to the drowned rat look she was so sure she embodied. I reached my hand out to her, knowing what it would do to her, playing off of her need to please the people she looked up to. She took it, as I knew she would, and joined me in the rain, giggling that sweet giggle of hers that she saved for when we were alone and I joined her with a giggle of my own, something that I too saved only for when we were alone. We brushed against each other and she might have gasped, but the rain devoured the sound with it's calming white noise serenade, and I began leading her as I always ended up doing. I remembered our trip to Disney World, leading her everywhere as she desperately tried to come to terms with the fact that she was publicly engaging in her kink for the first time, worried that everyone that saw her would instantly know that she was hiding a pink Tinkerbell Pull-Up beneath her shorts. I'd joined her in a show of solidarity by wearing one of my own blue Toy Story ones beneath my skirt, trying to get her to come out of her shell by buying the cutesy and childish Jasmine flipflops, giving her a peek at my absorbent underpants as I sat to switch my shoes for them, savoring the flush her cheeks took on as she hurriedly looked away. This night was much the same underwear wise as our trip though with me in shorts and her in a skirt this time. I knew she was wet already, the brief vacant expression on her face as she emptied her iced tea, the straw sucking air and smatterings of liquid for a moment as she let herself go. I knew without looking that her legs would start swinging beneath her chair soon, the regressive feeling of wetting herself bringing her down to the blissful and carefree mannerisms of her youth. It struck me just how perfect a couple we really were as I stopped beneath the street light to look at her while I wet my own Pull-Up, much more discreetly that she had. I looked at her pale, unathletic legs, the perfect porcelain complexion of them ruined by the dotting of mosquito bites. Her skirt wasn't short enough to reveal her secret attire, though I did get a giddy thrill thinking about her waddling beside me in a proper diaper, the bulbous crotch peeking out beneath the skirt I picked out for her. The light from the street lamp reflected in her glasses, the round, too old a style for a girl that spent too many weekends on her stomach on blanket on the living room floor watching cartoons in her diapers, tortoise shell relics making her look like a librarian. Her fiery red hair was drooping now, but I knew it would spring back to life once we got it dry and she'd go back to looking like a frazzled little nerd that liked to read with her head hanging off the end of her bed because she was convinced it made her retain the information better. I was in love with her and she was in love with me, we both pretended like we had no idea that was the case, never being intimate with one another before, but facts were facts. We'd grown up together, we'd had sleepovers and hours long phone calls, we'd confided in one another that we were freaks that liked to wear diapers for whatever reason, moving in to an apartment together to spend every free minute with our best friend and playmate. I loved the way she hid vegetables in her napkin and believed that she was so slick that I had no idea she was doing it. I loved the way she yawned when it was way past her bedtime but she was stubborn and intent on not missing any of the fun by sleeping. I loved that she used baby shampoo and deodorant that smelled like baby powder but tried to argue that she wasn't a baby when she needed to be downgraded from Pull-Ups to diapers for having an accident. I loved that she knew everything about me, good and bad, and still wanted to be with me every moment she could. I loved that she would both pee and fart when she really got to laughing about something, the years melting off of her as her womanly laughter devolved into high, childish giggles in the span of a fart. Standing outside our front door I looked at her green eyes as they shimmered in the porch light behind her glasses, the lenses starting to fog up in the confined area of the porch causing her to remove them and smile awkwardly at me. She was a goofy girl, and I wanted her to be my goofy girl, everyday for the rest of our lives. I could feel myself smiling, trying to pull it back but failing because of how happy I was embarking on this journey with her. I let go of her hand, realizing that I'd been holding it in one way or another since the restaurant and moved closer to her, my arms moving through the space between her hips and arms so I was loosely holding her, my hold tightening as I pulled her closer. ************************************************************************ She was making her move and my heart was thundering in my chest as she pulled me to her. I copied her, putting my arms around her waist and guiding myself to her as she pulled me in. I focused on her lips for a moment, full and inviting, my mouth going dry as I looked up to her eyes, dark and warm like the way she drank her coffee in the afternoon. Everything started to move in slow motion as the distance between us narrowed. I pushed myself up onto my tiptoes to be even with her height, my stomach doing a summersault as I lowered myself in fear of causing us to miss our marks, her kissing my chin and me kissing her nose. The mental image of us standing there like that made me giggle nervously, and we stopped moving closer. ************************************************************************ I'm not easily rattled, but her giggle sent ice water through my veins. Was this not what she wanted? I realized I was staring at her when she mumbled a quiet apology, explaining that she'd just thought of something silly and that she was nervous and that made her giggle. She was babbling after that, her thoughts spewing from her mouth without a filter in place to keep them on topic. I smiled at her and pulled her the rest of the way to me, lifting her up a bit and quieted her with my lips pressing into hers. ************************************************************************ My eyes were closed the second she gave the final pull and kissed me. All of my senses exploded as the electricity from our lips connecting overloaded and blew every synapse in my brain at once. The most basic part of me took control, kissing her back with all the love I felt for her behind it, her perfume filling my nostrils as I breathed in through my nose, and then we parted and she was looking at me. Was it not as good for her? ************************************************************************ The pleasant tingle ran down my scalp, spine, legs and left my toes wiggling in my flipflops as I pulled away from her slowly, looking at her, eyes still closed and lips still pantomiming kissing until her brain caught up and she slowly opened them. She was sunburn red in her cheeks, her freckles seeming to darken in the porch light as she started to nervously chew her lip. Time froze and the world fell away around us before... ************************************************************************ Pouncing is the first thing a Little should learn, it can catch your Big off guard and give you precious seconds to tickle or cuddle or generally love on them before they regain control and restore the natural order of things. In the case of another Little, it's a power move that shows them you're in charge and should accept whatever happens after the pounce or else serious face emoji. I pounced on her and did my best sloth impression, wrapping my arms and legs around her and going in for more kissing. ************************************************************************ When she decides to pounce I let her believe she's in control. I don't stop her, I just do whatever she wants and when she's done we move on with our lives. She's never pounced and kissed before. Pounce and tickle? Yes. Pounce and cuddle? Obvi. Pounce and cry? Mos def. There was even the one instance of pounce and poop that I will be telling the story of on my death bed because of how adorable, disgusting, and hilarious it was. If she wanted kisses though, I was more than happy to oblige as I supported her butt with my arms and returned her love tenfold, my tongue sneaking between her lips and sensually caressing her own, her little moans dying in my mouth as I leaned against the wall for support, my legs wobbly and unsteady in the throes of passion. ************************************************************************ I willed her to replace the pounce and poop story with this one as we rested against the wall, my hands unclasping from behind her before being pinned between her and the wall and going up to her cheeks to hold her face to mine as I let my tongue dance with hers. I pulled myself from her and she let me down onto my feet, her expression completely dumbfounded as she stared at me. "Did I do it right?" I asked her softly. ************************************************************************ I nodded and slowly stood up from the wall. "I think you may have been fibbing about not ever kissing before." I told her. She blushed at that and shook her head. "Well, you did so well for your first time that I think you deserve a special reward." I told her as I patted her still wet head with the palm of my hand. ************************************************************************ In one night I: -Had my first kiss ever -Had my first kiss with a girl -Had my first kiss with my best friend -Had my first kiss with my new girlfriend -Did something super secret with her that no one else gets to know about ************************************************************************ We had ice cream. Naked ice cream. Bowls and spoons somehow never got used. You know what we did and I'm not going to tell you, pervert. End

One of the things I've been struggling with is feeling like talking about this stuff will be met with judgement. It doesn't matter whether it's pity or disdain, judgement bothers me so I don't talk about it. Your response is the kind of thing I appreciate, open mindedness with compassion and no claim that my situation seems "unlikely" like I experienced here once before. I know this situation seems unlikely, because it's fucking awful and weird and disturbing, doubting the validity of my situation is fine, but openly essentially calling me a liar is a really shitty thing to do and I just stopped sharing because of it coming from a mod and not just some random person. I felt like this wasn't a safe space to share myself but I've learned that maybe fuck what people think, I'm dealing with this stuff and when I need to share I will. On topic, I really appreciate you not only reading this but also taking the time to respond, your words were very helpful and moving and made me glad I shared this. Thank you. I don't know what the future holds for me, but at least I can talk about things without fear now.

This was an exercise my therapist asked me to do, to write my my thoughts out without filtering them and to share them with people that are important in my life. This community is the only thing I have that isn't a direct part of my day to day life, so I'm sharing it here. It's not a fun read and you can't fap to it...I mean, there's something deeply wrong with you if you can, but anyway, it's a thing and whether anyone reads it or not is irrelevant, I did it and this is it. Slip By: RambleLamb I feel it coming before it happens. It's never enough warning to do anything about it, not that I could anyway, but it's the early warning that makes it all the more frustrating. It starts as this sort of hum in my brain, like the sound power lines make but a physical sensation rather than auditory. The hum isn't big at first, just a background process my brain starts to run like a virus scan on a computer. If I'm alone when the hum starts I pack everything away that I don't want chewed on or damaged and sit quietly to try and will the hum away, this has yet to work, but I haven't been able to fully resign myself to the transformation yet, so I try and force it to stop. As the hum builds things start to make less sense. Letters become hieroglyphics, numbers become squiggles, my tactile senses get turned up to eleven and touch and taste become my sole means of discovering objects. My words become smaller and less coherent, broken little things barely above monosyllables, often words disappear entirely to be replaced with the grunts and gurgles one would expect from a preverbal infant, the thing I'm to become for an indeterminate amount of time. It's the times that I'm alone that make it hardest, though that's becoming a rarer and rarer circumstance the more often this happens to me. The space between the slips, the times where I'm functioning at my normal developmental level are becoming the exception and not the rule. As the hum grows I look around the room and feel the tears start to form in my eyes. I had a room that was made for an adult once, a bed that I engaged in adult activities in, a bookshelf full of tomes that proved how smart I was, how diverse and broad a spectrum of understanding I possessed, but then everything fell apart. My room now is indistinguishable from that of a toddler just starting their journey from their infant beginnings. My bed has a protective railing on the side to keep me from falling out, a compromise made when the suggestion of a full crib was met with protestation from an indignant version of me that existed before the slips started to become commonplace. The cream carpet is dingy in the spots where I sit and play with the brightly colored bits of plastic that entertain me during my slips, those are being gradually replaced with softer colored things made of softer materials like cloth, things that I won't hurt my teeth on or swallow when they inevitably end up in my mouth. The diaper pail beside the window used to be a more clinical device, one that served to dispose of the inevitable wet and messy garments I was unable to stop creating since the accident. The plain diaper pail, the one that had blended into the wall when I moved in disappeared at some point, replaced with a fingerpaint smeared, sticker adorned one that proudly proclaimed itself a necessary fixture in the nursery the room was gradually becoming. When I write or read it gives me a sense of control over myself, a semblance of the life I once had where my freedom of choice dictated if and when I regressed and I chose who was allowed to see me at this most innocent and vulnerable state of being and if I wanted them to participate by being my caregiver. My reading and writing are often interrupted now by unannounced diaper checks or changes when it's apparent to everyone but me that I've soiled myself. This all feels like a cruel joke. One day I was happy to allow Her to see me in my diapers, to watch me pretend to be a helpless baby or curious toddler, I would smile and coo as I consciously let myself go in my diaper, feeling this warmth fill my heart and soul when she praised me and lovingly changed me into a clean or dry diaper. The days after Her became a funhouse mirror of that life, a parody of make belive in the realm of reality. No longer do I decide when I use my diaper, no longer do I choose when the role of helpless baby or curious toddler becomes my station in life. The day before I lost Her we made love. The noises she made as I satisfied her gave me that feeling of satisfaction I got when she took care of my littler side. She tasted like the watermelon I'd eat as a little girl, sweet but with salt sprinkled over it to expand its flavor. I told her she was "Summer" as we lay in each other's arms that night, straddling the line between sleep and awake, talking to each other in hushed tones coded in weariness and post coital bliss. She giggled. I giggled. She kissed my forehead. I nuzzled her bare chest. She asked what I meant when I said she was "Summer". In the dark of the room she couldn't see my blush, but I knew she could feel my face growing hotter against her bare flesh. I told her the watermelon story, shy for some reason at allowing her access to my personal thoughts, worry that my brain's insistence on overcomplicating things will make my comparison not make sense to her. She rubs my back and tells me she understands. She thanks me and we fall asleep together for the last time. Tears aren't as rare as they used to be for me. I cry when I think of Her which is all the time. I cry when I feel helpless which is all the time. I cry when I'm reminded that I'm not the woman I used to be which is all the time. I hide this new normal from people. I've shared bits and pieces here and there, but the assumption is that I'm lying, that I'm living in a fantasy world I've created because I'm one of those people that can't tell the difference between what's real and what's not. Someone once acted like they were jealous of me because I was living their dream lifestyle and it hurt so much, the reminder that aspects of this life I'm forced to live now used to be something I would write about and pleasure myself to but now just feel like bitter resentment crystallized into this cold lump in the pit of my stomach. When the slips happen I go away, not even a passenger in my own body, just losses of time and memory that are seldom described to me once I return. When they first started I was told about how I'd laid on the floor drooling and babbling incoherently, shown videos of myself throwing a tantrum, my cries sounding smaller in my own ears, more infantile than I could have ever faked before. I feel like a nesting doll, the largest outer doll hiding facets of myself until the tiniest and most fragile one is exposed, trading places with the rational adult doll and banishing it to an inescapable prison of infancy that it's powerless to escape from. How do you run away from something when you can't walk anymore? How do you establish your desire to be seen as the adult you are, regain the independence you once had when at any moment you could devolve into a squalling infant trapped in an adult body? How can anyone be expected to value your requests for freedom and the responsibility of making your own decisions when you have to be told that you've messed your diaper? She would know what to do. She was so smart. The double edged sword of irony is a fucking bitch. I want my adulthood back and my normal life back and Her back so all of this can go back to being fun, an occasional indulgence that allows me to unwind with Her after a hard fought day at work being a responsible, productive member of society. I want to stop being a helpless baby so I can go back to playing make believe games where I'm a helpless baby. Her baby. That's the variable that changes everything. She made everything safe and happy, reassuring and comforting. My family doesn't love me like she did. They tolerate me because I'm pathetic, a broken girl with a missing leg and a damaged spine. They'd put me in a hospital if the guilt of the idea that family actually means something didn't spur them to let me live here. They judged me for being an adult baby. Judged me for being bi and then again for going full lesbian. They hated what my life choices did to my mother and never could see that I wasn't hurting anyone and didn't want to in the first place. I wonder what She would think about my blossoming intimacy with my cousin. Would she be disgusted knowing that we've kissed? Would she hate me for giving the same secret kisses on the tenderest of lips to my blood relative? Would she feel like I was cheating on Her? I miss Her so much and maybe it's that deep longing that's making my already skewed and confused mind see love where it shouldn't. Is incest still so wrong if you can't create a horribly deformed baby from your union? It's not like I can feel anything below the waist anyway, how wrong can it be? I spend so much time now crying and feeling sorry for myself and lamenting what a shit hand I've been dealt in life that I lose sight of the truth that someone still loves me enough to take care of me, loves me enough to shoulder the burden of protecting me when I've slipped so far that I can't do anything but cry. She loved me that much. I tell myself that but I can't know it for sure, and Her lips are sealed on the matter. When I told Cousin that I loved her, that I was "in love" with her she didn't run away, she kissed me the way She kissed me, her velvet tongue inviting mine to dance with it as she pulled me close to her and then she said it back. Can I be happy despite all of this? Can I cobble together a semblance of the normalcy I had with Her with Cousin? I worry that I'm a curiosity to Cousin, a pleasant tingle in the secret part of her that will fade once she realizes that our relationship is far more mother/daughter than lover/lover, but she knows what I am and what my limitations are and she still said it back. I hate having trust issues because She died. I hate that I resent Her for lying about being together forever. She couldn't have known that our time together would be over so quickly, I know that, but emotionally I'm very much a child and it hurts and I hate it and I can't make sense of any of it so I throw a tantrum about it. I haven't thought about suicide since She died. I want to be proud of that, other people are, but the truth is that I had an epiphany and it's really fucked up so I keep it to myself but rules are rules so, yeah, I don't think about suicide anymore because the me that was happy and had her shit together died in that accident. I'm a ghost in my own life now, just a phantom trying to get someone to listen to it and right a wrong so it can rest in peace, the thing is that the wrong can never be righted, my brain will slip more and more often, the slips lasting longer and becoming more intense until the ghost of me is gone for good and all that's left is an adult sized infant that offers nothing to the world aside from used diapers. It's not "giving up" if the game is unwinnable. I'm being realistic about my situation and that won't sit right with people so I just keep it all to myself so no one gets upset. The humming is starting again. Maybe this will be the last slip? Does it really matter?

This must be my last story since I'm breaking out of my wheelhouse. Thanks for reading and welcome aboard the story! Also, jokes on you, I had to look up "erudite"!

Every once in a great while I turn into this grocery store checkout line bodice ripper novel writer and things like that happen. Also, we're going to deal with a few spinning plates here, long distance relationships are one plate, body positivity is another one and growing up/learning who you are as a person and being comfortable with that knowledge is the last one.