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.

Road To Discovery By: RambleLamb One Pleased To Meet You The ceiling fan clicked rhythmically with every rotation of the blades creating a white noise in my room that up until I noticed it was very relaxing but quickly became an annoyance once I realized it had been clicking for the last hour. Rather than turn it off I opened the drawer of my desk and fished out my earbuds, plugging them into the hole on the side of my laptop and opening my music player to drown the irritation out with something loud and fast. The music began, the guitar building in tempo, the drums joining in to create a beat for the female singer to scream her anguished lyrics to and I relaxed. The room was dark behind me, the glow of my laptop screen casting a pale light blocked by my form to send a shadow stretching across the room like a silent hulk keeping watch over me as I went about my business, my brown eyes dancing across the images on the screen, reading the words associated with them in my search for the right guy for me. I went to my profile on the dating site I was sifting through and sighed as my picture came up, the "creatively" shot picture of me taken from an above angle that made me look less plump than I am, my round face looking thinner as I smiled at the camera. It's not that I'm trying to deceive anyone, it's just that people have an ideal girl in mind in the dating scene I'm in and only a small margin of people have an ideal girl that looks like me. Height isn't an issue, the men in this community want a girl that's shorter than they are, it fits the narrative that they're the dominant party in the relationship, and age isn't an issue either as I'm on the last year of my teen years and most of the guys I'm looking three years older than me at a minimum. Weight and body type is my issue, I'm a fat girl and there isn't anything wrong with that, I'm comfortable with my body, but here's the thing, I'm an Adult Baby, I like to wear diapers and act and be treated like a baby and guys want a little girl to be their little girl. When I look at pictures of girls in this community it's a sea of girls that are small enough to wear actual baby diapers and be carried on their Daddy's hip like a real baby and that's not an option for someone that's considered "obese" because of the combination of their height and weight. At four foot eight my hundred and thirty pounds makes me a pudgy little girl, and some people are into that, the fetish of having a baby with "real" baby fat is an enticing prospect, but it seems like more of a curiosity, like a circus sideshow act than something to actually build a life together on. The concept of body type mattering isn't exclusive to this lifestyle, men want women to be petite and delicate so they can be the strong protector, the macho caveman that holds the power for their slip of a thing wife or girlfriend to try and siphon some of it off through their dick. I know I sound bitter, but it's not bitterness, it's realist. The deck is stacked against me in the arena of normal vanilla relationships and here I go trying to find someone in a community that's based around small equaling cute and helpless and being fat automatically lumps you in with the gross older guys that fake being mentally handicapped to hire women as caregivers to change their shitty diapers. I'm just a normal sexual deviant like everyone else, no malicious weirdness, just a desire to have a Daddy treat me like I'm small so I can feel what those special snowflake's feel when they tape on their Pampers. I looked at my profile picture again, my long black hair done up into cute pigtails, not the usual way I wear my hair, but appropriate for the audience I'm trying to attract. I'd gone sparse on the makeup, only giving a little definition to make me look less like I'd taken the picture after obsessing about poses and outfits for an hour and more like I'd just snapped a quick selfie on the fly. My skin tone isn't the most glamorous, so the little bit of makeup I did use went mostly to making me less resemble a hotdog and give me more of a human flesh tone. Another sigh left my lips as the trickle in my diaper built to a steady stream, my stubby fingers gently stroking the front of the plastic barrier keeping my chair and the carpet below from disaster. The warmth spread over my fingertips, radiating through the spiraling grooves of my fingerprints like they were being scanned before allowing entry into the secret confines of the absorbent bunker my sex resided in. I bit my lower lip as my fingers turned into sensual spider legs that began walking their way up to the top of my diaper, intent on worming their way into the muggy confines to writhe and wriggle their way around and settle in to a peaceful rest in a newly made nest of stickiness of their own making. My computer dinged at me and my barely open eyes, lids heavy with sultry anticipation, shot open to see a small box in the corner alerting me that I'd received a message. Having yet to receive a message on this site, save the automatically generated welcome message, I let out a little frustrated grunt, my neglected lady bits protesting with angry throbs that wanted to be menacing but merely came off as petulant and annoying, as I sat up and clicked on the box to take me to my message center where the message sat. To: Buns_Of_Cinnamon From: Mister_Hi-Fi_Banjo_Strings Subject: Hi! Why did the can crusher quit his job? Because it was soda pressing! Now that you're disarmed by my hilarious wit, my name is Josh and I saw your profile and thought you seemed like someone that I'd enjoy talking to. Take a look at my profile and respond if you agree. Please come correct with a joke of equal or lesser quality, we're not animals. Caught off guard, I let a little giggle snort escape me when I read his "joke" and promptly rolled my eyes to counteract the minor slip. I went to his profile, he was cute, twenty three years old, tall, his skin was tan in the way that suggested he'd gone somewhere where the sun was recently but didn't make a habit of it. I read his write up about himself, it was tempered with sprinkles of the kind of self deprecating humor that drives all the girls wild, it was well written and didn't make the fetish the focal point like some other profiles did, overall it was good enough to warrant a response which I set out to do after attending to my previously interrupted physical endeavors. ************************************************************************ I'd ended up going to sleep after concluding my personal exploration, changed out of my well used diaper and gotten a shower in before parking myself in front of my computer to respond to Josh. To: Mister_Hi-Fi_Banjo_Strings From: Buns_Of_Cinnamon RE: Hi! A horse walked into a bar. Several patrons got up and left as they recognized the potential danger of the situation. I tried to set the bar as low as possible, but I think it may have actually burrowed into the Earth, maybe China will find my joke funny? My name is Amaia, and after careful deliberation, I find you to be an acceptable talking partner, congratulations! Before we start talking, I feel like I need to come clean about a few things, first, I am in fact a female, so if you were looking to get catfished by a handsome twink or burly bear, I sincerely apologize for letting you down. Second, I may have a bit of a fetish for wearing diapers and playing baby, I realize this may come as a shock given the ABDL theme of this dating site, but I can't start our friendship on a foundation of lies. Now that I've confessed and unburdened my soul to you, I feel it's only natural for you to do the same, cheesy joke optional. I read and reread my message a half a dozen times before finally sending it, questioning whether I was as cute and endearing as I thought I was in my writing or if it would read as me being a snarky little bitch that was obnoxious and off putting. In the end my growling stomach made the decision to send it so I could get food rather than starve to death obsessing about it. ************************************************************************ I'd moved out of my parents house three months ago, waving my hand away at their protestations that I was too young to be able to support myself, patiently reminding them that my older sister was my age when she went off to college, and had miraculously survived without them for the last few years. Unable to afford a place on my own, I moved in with a friend from work which should have been amazing but turned into me feeling awkward when one of the men she brought through her revolving bedroom door was in the kitchen eating our cereal, or eggs and bacon if he'd managed to impress her by correctly deducing that the only thing that made her able to cum was if he stimulated her clit, asshole, and mouth at the same time, we've only ever had one man eating eggs and bacon in our apartment, and it was the gawky weirdo that worked the shoe counter at the bowling alley, the one we don't go to anymore because of that very same guy. When we first moved in together I was nervous because of the diaper and baby thing, but figured that I'd managed to keep it a secret from my parents for years and they were overprotective snoopers, ignoring closed doors and privacy in general. As it turned out, Maribel was twice the snooper they were, and discovered my secret our first night in the new apartment. She was trying to be helpful, at least that's what she claimed, by grabbing the box I'd marked "Private" while I was out getting food and dragging it into my room for me to unpack it so I could hang out with her the rest of the night and not feel like I had so much unpacking to do. Coming home to find your stash of diapers, bottles, sippy cups, pacifiers, and baby clothes open, the contents on the bed like a museum display is enough to make someone regret deciding to move in with you, and we fought about it. As it turns out, my submissive nature in the face of her confident and assertive one made me fold almost immediately to hide in my room crying for over an hour, that, and she sounded just like my mom when she kicked on her "angry Spanish" at me for freaking out about something totally unimportant. We'd talked things out once we'd both calmed down and the agreement that we'd never talk about it again was struck. To date, she has broken that agreement twelve times, usually in the form of playful teasing, but once to actually hurt my feelings. It turns out that we're not actually all that good of friends, but we're in a lease together and that's all there is to it. Maribel was out of state visiting her abuela, which meant that if I'd wanted to I could have walked around the apartment diapered, or even completely naked, but there's something about having a secret fetish that makes you feel like without warning strangers could burst into your apartment as soon as you decide to allow yourself a little freedom. I wore my clothes and panties like a responsible adult and made myself a breakfast burrito, generations of Latin heritage apparently means you can just whip up food without really knowing what you're doing. When I returned to my room with my meal I parked in my desk chair and opened my new message from Josh who apparently was positioned right at his computer for when my message arrived. To: Buns_Of_Cinnamon From: Mister_Hi-Fi_Banjo_Strings Subject: Hi! Wanna hear something crazy? I'm totally into women first off, and second, I'm totally into women that like to wear diapers and play baby! I'm what the French call "Le Daddy". I don't really want things to start with us JUST talking about our sexual proclivities though, so now that we've gotten the basic appropriate knowledge out of the way, I'd like to talk about us as people and see if we've got normal people chemistry, as long as that's okay with you. Like I said, my name is Josh, I'm twenty three and I live in Colorado. I work at a wood shop, we make cabinets and pretty much anything someone wants us to make and is willing to pay for. I made a crib and highchair last month that seemed way too big for a real baby which spurred me to join this site, which sounds way more stalkery than I intended, but there you go. I'm going to be honest and let you know now that I'm not planning on moving because my mom lives here and isn't in the best shape health wise, so anyone that I end up being with either has to be here or would have to move here to be with me. I know that's probably a deal breaker for a California girl, but I don't want you to have unrealistic expectations. I hope we can continue talking. Josh With my breakfast burrito now finished, I looked up the rough distance from me to Josh, sighed and dejectedly wrote my response. To: Mister_Hi-Fi_Banjo_Strings From: Buns_Of_Cinnamon RE: Hi! Family is very important, and it's very admirable that you put your mother's needs first to make sure that she's got a solid support structure in her life. I vote that we not worry about what's going to happen in a hypothetical future and just talk to each other here and now. Maybe we'll become really good friends and we can just be pen pals that talk to each other about the things going on in our lives where we live, maybe you can impart some Daddy wisdom here and there and I can ignore it like all young girls do. Whatever happens, I'd like to keep talking to you because I think you're nice and would make a good friend. Anyway, my name is Amaia and I live in California. I'm nineteen and I work as a secretary at a law office here. Because we're being honest, I'm four foot eight and a hundred and thirty pounds, which means that I'm small and chubby. I've always struggled with my weight because of my height and because my family can cook and I love food, but I exercise every day and try to keep myself healthy in the face of not being able to do much about my build. I'm not sharing this because I'm ashamed of these things, I'm sharing because my profile picture can make it look like I'm thinner than I really am. I hope we can keep talking. Amaia I closed my computer after sending my message and stripped out of my clothes to get into my diaper and baby clothes to help calm myself down after having to share the truth about my body with Josh knowing that he probably wasn't going to waste his time messaging me again knowing that I wasn't what he thought and that we were too far apart for anything real to happen between us. I made myself a bottle of chocolate milk, giving a middle finger to my inhibitions by padding into the kitchen in just my diaper and blue dinosaur onesie before checking to make sure the front door was locked and crawling onto our overstuffed couch to watch cartoons and drink my bottle, replacing it with my pacifier when I'd emptied it and falling asleep after only a few minutes of quiet suckling. ************************************************************************ It was dark in the living room when I woke up and shut off the television and got up to go to my room for more sleep. I retrieved my pacifier from the couch and put it back into my mouth before moving the side of my onesie out of the way to give the crotch of my diaper a tentative prod, feeling the familiar squish of absorbed urine within confirming that I'd wet during my short nap just like I did when I went to sleep for the night. When I'm in my little headspace I view my bedwetting with a sense of pride, it's a thing that makes me officially a baby and I let a little smile spread across my lips behind my pacifier before I went to my room. My curiosity got the better of me when I entered my bedroom and I went to my computer and opened it up to find that I had a new message from Josh waiting for me. My tummy did a little flip as I read the message, my smile returning again as I closed my computer again and made my way to bed to have happy dreams about my new friend being very friendly to me.

I'm just being realistic, I'm not upset about it, she's better than me. All I was saying was that her story, and I commented this on it, should be required reading for people new to all of this, it's extremely helpful for making you feel like you're normal and all the things you feel are normal and everyone here has felt them.

"For some reason the actual word for what I was here to buy had almost the same power as the actual item itself, hearing the word used out in the world always caused me to focus my attentions automatically and intently" quoted, bolded and underlined for truth. This is very much me, and I'm sure I'm not alone in it since we literally have a forum section about diaper references, but just hearing the word diaper is cause for excitement for me, even if it does turn out to just be someone discussing to a friend on the phone that they had to diaper their ferret or whatever. If being amazing is doing something similar in tone as a vastly superior and more popular writer but not doing it as well or as engagingly, then yes, I am amazing.

I was shooting for this to be relatable to people like Something Familiar by the incredibly talented @Sophie ♥. I didn't have any illusions that I'd be able to capture the same perfect crystallization of emotions and thoughts that we in this community have about these things, about these experiences that we have when we're growing up by growing down, but I wanted to illustrate that we're kind of this hive mind of shared experiences when it comes to this lifestyle and I'm glad that at least one person felt that. This story, and the rest in the series, are designed to shine a light on things that people may feel are only something that's happened to them, for better or worse, the reader will hopefully learn that they're not the only one that's had to endure going to a store to buy diapers and feeling like the world is watching and somehow knows who and what they truly are, they'll learn that other entries in this series are part of that shared experience we as a community have and that they're not alone. Again, I'm not the best person for this job no one asked be done, but I chalk it up to giving back in a way and if one person feels a little better about something because they saw themselves in the story then I'll feel great...as long as they tell me that, I'm not omniscient, guys.

This is the first in a small series of one shots that will focus on small experiences in the narrator's life that happen to be firsts for them as little's or AB's or what have you. Everything contained within these stories is fiction and should not be viewed as actual events that have transpired. Fun fact, I didn't use the word "diaper" in this story because of reasons. Also fun fact, I may have let my own personality bleed into this one...a lot...ish...discuss? Baby's First... “Shopping Trip” By: RambleLamb At what point do you decide to commit to something important to you? I've thrown myself into activities of interest before, often with little to no real love for whatever it is, but something that I feel defines me as a person ends up being waited on and pushed aside for various reasons, most of which are shame based. This is why, at two in the morning, I'm dressed and sitting on the couch in my, well, my parents' living room holding my car keys and watching my leg nervously bounce up and down while I try and rationalize my sudden and impetuous decision. Fact: I just got my driver's license and in the great state of California I'm not legally allowed to operate a motor vehicle without an adult in the car after dark. Fact: My parents are out of town and gave me strict orders not to take the car out for anything other than school, work, and errands. I'm standing and reach the front door before I realize that my body has taken control of pushing me into doing what I'd been trying to do for the last hour. The keys in my hand are entering the deadbolt and turning it with that solid clunk sound that makes me feel secure when I'm on the other side of the door in my pajamas on the way upstairs to bed, but now just cements in my brain that I'm breaking all the rules for purely selfish reasons. Our condo complex is usually quiet, but in the wee hours of the morning it's almost eerie how silent it is until a car passes by on the street with music blasting out the open windows shattering the silence and making me jump and feel like running back to the front door to hurry back inside and to bed like the random car was somehow going to alert my parents of what I was planning. My heart rate slows down as I walk to the car, looking around nervously as I push the zipper of my hoodie up like I'm trying to decapitate myself in the teeth before stuffing my hands into the pockets of the hoodie to clutch my phone and keys as I approach the car and thumb the buttons on the fob forever to ensure I don't accidentally press the alarm button at the top, but double tap the unlock button in the center and put my hand on the door handle to open it and climb into the car. The thumping of my heart is elevated again once I'm in the car. During the daytime the car is known, it's a place I've been in front and back, I've learned its secrets and how it operates through hours upon hours of practice, but this isn't that daytime car, this is the still dark early morning hours car, the foreign being that's enshrouded in darkness with levers and buttons that look out of place with only the florescent light above the parking space casting weak illumination into it. I close my eyes and take a deep breath, my anxiety threatening to go into panic attack territory if I don't do something to get it under control. I realize I'm gripping the steering wheel and pull my hands from it slowly, my fingers aching from squeezing so hard on the leather ring in front of me. Thoughts of giving up and going back inside cross my mind, the logistics of just ordering online playing out to the inevitable worst case outcome, my parents bringing in the package and opening it while I'm not home so I walk into a shit storm of disappointed looks and screaming, probably therapy for being a degenerate freak. My head is shaking the thought from it as I put my foot on the brake and press the ignition button, bringing the car to life and breaking the early morning silence as my mother's oldies music blares from the speakers for a fraction of a second before I smash the button on the dashboard to silence it, looking around through the tinted windows for signs of angry neighbors with torches and pitchforks rallying up around the car to drag me out and detain me until their leader can get a hold of my parents to tell them about my disruptive behavior and late night excursions. I sigh and mentally chastise myself for getting carried away as I put the car in reverse and inch out of the parking space, looking this way and that behind me while looking in each mirror in succession as I clear the side of the building and work the wheel to the right, my eyes bulging out of my skull when the alarm for the parking brake starts chiming in the car, causing me to push my foot down too hard on the brake to release the lever beside me. Another sigh as I finish backing up and switch the car into drive and inch my way to the driveway leading out to the street, stopping again for the seatbelt chime and spending the next five minutes running through a checklist of every possible thing in the car that may or may not ding, buzz, chirp or alarm at me before finally pulling out onto the street. I'd decided early in the planning stages of this quest that I wouldn't chance going to the Walmart closest to where we lived on the off chance that someone I knew from school was working there or a friend or family member of a friend happened to be doing some after midnight shopping of their own and would see me. I briefly entertained the idea that the popular clique of girls would be hanging out at that very store and I'd happen to bump into them, not upon entry of the store of course, but only after I'd gone to where I was going and gotten what I'd come to get so that they'd see me with the package under my arm and I'd try to smoothly spit my cover story of restocking Grandma's supply only for one of them to somehow recall that my Grandma had passed when I was in middle school. The nightmare scenario ended like one of the stories I secretly saved in a folder on my computer cleverly titled "Anime Translations" hidden within a sub folder inside of a sub folder just in case my parents used my computer for something. Two towns over was a twenty four hour bulk grocery store which I chose as my destination because two towns over was exactly just outside my sphere of influence in the world and because bulk meant more for my money, at least that's what my sixteen year old knowledge of economics told me. The drive was quiet and allowed me time to think about what I was doing, which is a terrible thing for someone like me. My carefully crafted plan eroded with each subsequent thought as I navigated my way onto the freeway. "Terrible Scenario #1", as it was quickly dubbed, found me walking up to the registers to find the most attractive cashier imaginable working it which left me nervous and stammering as they asked me if my purchase was for me. My well thought out cover story devolved into my mouth open for the words to come out only to have them clinging to the back of my throat in terror, not wanting to face the harsh florescent truth of the outside world. The cashier would notice all of this and inexplicably produce their phone to begin recording me just as my anxiety forced my apparently full to bursting bladder to empty in front of them, leaving me standing in a puddle, my shameful accident not only on full display but also recorded for posterity. The cashier would hand me my purchase and thank me for shopping and I'd leave, my piss filled shoes squishing with every step all the way back to my car. "Terrible Scenario #2" found me successful at the store with zero issue, my purchase safely and discreetly in the trunk and pulling back in at home with a swell of confidence at a plan perfectly executed. Once the front door was opened though, and my home far too early and sitting in the living room waiting for me parents came into view, I found myself in a similar predicament as the first scenario. My parents faces were masks of disappointment, first at me having gone out after curfew, then at driving alone at night, and then at me holding my purchase by the little plastic carry handle like I was going on a picnic where instead of eating one just pissed and shit themselves hundreds of times requiring such a large supply of protection. Mom would cry, Dad would seethe and I would regret all my life choices up to that point and watch my prize be thrown out while agreeing to see a therapist for my deviancy. "Terrible Scenario #3" involved me at the store but everyone I'd ever met was shopping there at two in the morning because that's when the crowds really die down apparently. Rather than just turning around and going home empty handed, imaginary me doubled down on the plan and confidently strode into the store straight to the aisle I wanted where everyone passed through and critiqued my choices. The teacher I had a crush on in first grade before I could even understand the intricacies of crushes shared that I looked like a leaker and should go for the thicker ones and then seductively traced a finger along my butt as if that was something I wanted from them. My long dead Grandfather shared that he used the thinner ones except for on taco night at the Elk's lodge, that was a double up kind of affair, his words, delivered with a hard slap on my back and that wheezing guffaw he had that turned out to be the cancer. I flipped on my turn signal and turned into the parking lot of the store, finding a space in the center of the lot so I wasn't directly under the bright security lights but also wasn't in mugging approved darkness and put the car in park and killed the engine. My heart was beating hard in my chest again and I planned to stop at the restroom on the way in to empty my suddenly very twitchy bladder and maybe also vomit, I like to be surprised from time to time. The distance to the store seemed to stretch on forever as I put one foot in front of the other and made my way in, abandoned carts not yet retrieved by whatever shlub was unlucky enough to have to shag carts overnight as their job littering the empty parking spaces to the left and right of me like wheeled onlookers silently judging me, knowing precisely what I was here for. The automatic doors parted and allowed me to enter the store, the soft muzak worming its way into my ears as I turned and made my way to the bathroom. Nothing came out of me in fifteen minutes of trying to pee and or vomit, I blame the overpowering scent of lemony cleaner that hung in the air barely masking the lingering scent of shit in the bathroom. I did achieve a moment of clarity though, realizing that my carefully crafted cover story was beyond stupid given that I was here at two in the morning dressed like I was going to burglarize a house on my way home, black hoodie, black jeans, black shoes, my crook look was on point for certain. I suddenly feared that anyone that saw me with my purchase would immediately assume correctly that I was in fact a pervert and that nothing about my purchase was innocent or necessary, save of course my innocent need to pretend to be a baby and the innocent need to be attired as one for the sake of faithful recreation of the simpler time in my life. The wide, almost industrial sized aisles of the store were daunting to say the least, but the fantasy of everything seeming larger because I was actually little slipped into my mind and stuck there. Images of riding in one of the muted, overly judgmental carts while someone I had created in my imagination pushed me through the store. My driver morphed as we went, male to female, older to younger, nice to mean all while I sat in the seat of the cart and behaved like the baby I fantasized myself to be. I babbled and clapped as I looked around at the rows of brightly colored boxes while they looked down at me lovingly and talked to me in that kind of babytalk that is actually cute and not the toxic acid that seeps into one's brain when they hear or read people like me do it and disables your central nervous system so all you can manage to do is roll your eyes and politely wish they would get puppy bone cancer and die in a fire. I came out of my fog of imagination when I realized I had no idea where I needed to go in the store. My eyes and head working in tandem to scan the aisles I was passing for signs of my prize, finding only bulk cereal and practically oil drum sized containers of juice and milk. I saw a worker mopping ahead of me and absently wondered if I could ask for directions without using my trigger word. For some reason the actual word for what I was here to buy had almost the same power as the actual item itself, hearing the word used out in the world always caused me to focus my attentions automatically and intently as if the conversation weren't just about a young mother toilet training her child but rather were about her preparing to divulge her prior night's experience of pleasuring herself in her well used garment or whatever the fantasy leaned into on that given day and time. Rounding the corner at the end of the main artery I was careful not to make eye contact with the mopper and put my head down and scurried forward past the dairy cases, looking up just enough to peek down the aisles I was passing in search for something similar to what I was looking for. This went on for long enough that I started to wonder if maybe I'd made a mistake, maybe they didn't carry what I was looking for at all and I'd wasted my time coming here and formulating my perfect clandestine plan, and then I saw them. These things have a curiosity attached to them, a fascination that is indelible from my very soul like part of my personality. I suppose that's what a fetish is, but that word always makes it sound unseemly to me, like something that one should be ashamed of and hide from the world. When I attach flowery words and descriptors to them it makes it sound more like what it is, a dependency, I suppose codependency would be more accurate given that unless I'm wearing and using them they just stay in a bag, their sole purpose for existing going unmet for no greater reason than shame. They need me just as much as I need them, someone created them and I'm willing to put them to good use, so really, I'm just a consumer, nothing weird or disgusting about that, right? I realize as I'm standing in front of them that they're facing the registers, which I might have noticed when I came in were it not for my phantom needs to urinate and or vomit I'd been experiencing at the time. I glanced at the bank of registers to see a woman sitting behind one doing a puzzle book of some kind, crossword or word search most likely, the former making me feel nervous that she'd see through me and know my purchase was for me because of how smart she was for doing a crossword puzzle book in what appeared to be pen, the latter putting me at ease because word searches are the adult equivalent of covering your eyes to make a baby think you've disappeared, there's no challenge because the subject is barely smarter than a houseplant, and using a pen wouldn't matter to her because if she messed up she'd just casually look around to see if anyone was watching and then flip the page to a different puzzle like a child reading a choose your own adventure book but not letting go of a page until they were certain the choice they made didn't end the story. The lying liar of a woman wasn't paying attention to me when I looked, and I focused my attentions on the packages in front of me, my heart beating faster as I read the packaging and saw the prize within the clear plastic it was printed on, words like "absorbancy" and "protection" dancing through my brain as I imagine myself playing with my odd assortment of blocks and soft toys as I pause briefly to relieve myself without concern because my purchase is taped snugly around my waist. My hand trembles as I grab the carry handle on top and pick it up, feeling a giddy thrill at how heavy it actually is before making my way nonchalantly to the register. The word search queen looks up at me, her eyes glazed with boredom or possibly retardation, I can't be sure, an adult doing a word search is fairly damning evidence for the case of mental deficiency. I watch the package move down on the conveyor belt as she toggles the little switch near her and step to my mark to make my purchase, trying to relax as she scans the barcode on the side of the package and gives me my total. I force a smile and nod my understanding as I reach into my pocket, my hands touching my keys and phone and suddenly a cold chill runs through my body as I realize I forgot my wallet at home. I see it in my mind's eye on the counter in the kitchen right beside the wooden bowl we use for keys and coins. I apologize to the cashier and explain my lack of money in a way that someone of her mental acuity would be able to comprehend and scurry away in humiliation, the fear of driving back home knowing now that I don't have my license on me making me feel like crying. I sit in my car crying for a few minutes, thinking about all the things that could possibly go wrong on the way back home and wipe my eyes with my sleeves, take a deep breath and start the car, resolute in my decision to get home safely and without incident so I can order what I came here for online like a normal pervert.

This continues to impress and be amazingly well written and engaging, keep up the great work!

I didn't know I needed this in my life. Excellent job keeping the tone and spirit of show and book while realistically incorporating diapers into it. I'm not usually a fanfic person, but this is so well done I can't help but like it!

@Elfy Would you move this to the completed section when you get a chance? Please and thank you.

Globalization in AB/DL literature is always neat to me...except the Diaper Dimension, that's cheating, so the idea that The Innocent expands and gains traction around the world is totally something I'm into but it's also a very daunting task and will have to come at a later date.

Thank you! More things are coming! I feel like there's more story left to tell about The Innocent and its expansion, so maybe that will happen at some point. I'm honestly just happy I finished a multi chapter story because I'm kind of really bad at that.