Alex Bridges

Well, I had a crummy day. A doctor confirmed if I ever wanted it to stop hurting, I'll need surgery on one of those parts you're only supposed to talk about with a doctor. Then the clueless, faceless numbnuts that dictate your life when you work for a company that's owned by a company that's owned by another company let me know via my boss that though I've worked the equivalent of 12 weeks in a year that's only 9 weeks old, I need to do more to generate revenue. And I have a headache, an upset stomach, and I've been typing this with a fractured wrist and two sprained fingers, the latter of which I accidentally jammed into a shelf today. For sure the upset stomach has to do with either the bug going around in the office or the fact that dinner tonight was a donut and a little scotch that's peatier than I prefer. So having vented and being prepared to get in bed and stay there until forced to choose between getting out and losing my job, I give you Chapter 8, which I think is pretty good despite everything else and being written in just 3 hours. So enjoy the read and sleep soundly, but I'm damn sure gonna ? ______________________________________ Chapter 8 “So, what did you want to talk about,” Rebecca asked when the three of them were back in the living room, he on the chair we could barely see them from and them on the sofa. “So, first off, I wanted to reiterate that I took that diaper off, and then peed it after I woke up this morning,” Jamie said, awaiting some kind of realization on their faces. Nothing. “Honey, it’s so cute that you want to try to change yourself, but you should always let a Big do that for you.” It was like an insurmountable language barrier. “No, see, it wasn’t a change. I just took it off,” he let that sink in, “and then urinated in it,” and again, “as though urinating in a toilet.” “Honey, that was a dream.” Un-fucking-believable, Jamie thought. I’d be making more progress with a tree. But it pays to be patient. “So,” he said very slowly, “If I were to take off the diaper I’m wearing right now,” using hand gestures to illustrate, “what would happen then?” “I’d put it back on you, silly. We can’t have you running around with a diapey – you’d make a horrible mess.” “Okay.” Let’s try that again. “And, please pay very close attention,” which Becky did, in the way a person looks at a toddler to humor them, “if after you put the diaper back on me – see where I’m going with this – I took it off again, and, peed in the toilet – making more sense now, I hope – what would happen then?” At this point, Jamie felt like he was the one speaking as if to a toddler. “Honey,” Becky said, finally showing some recognition, “if you don’t like your diapers you should have said so.” Progress? Jamie felt a wave of relief. “They have lots of designs to pick from. We can go find some different ones at the store tomorrow. Thicker ones; ones with cartoons; ones with animals; different colors. Personally, I think you’ll be handsome in any diaper you wear.” Direct approach time. “I don’t need diapers.” She giggled in response. “I don’t need diapers.” Now she was laughing. “I. Do. Not. Need. Diapers.” And Becky snorted, which made Amanda finally laugh, too. Now Jamie felt like he was talking to a couple of stoners. As frustrating as it was, it was fascinating at the same time. Like a complete mental block. Finally, Becky recovered herself. “You’re too funny! Mmm, I can’t wait to show you off.” Sighing tightly so as not to swallow his own tongue, Jamie waited. Let the ball be in her court, he thought. “But speaking of …” Becky stood up and cross the room quickly, and without so much as a ‘how do you do” put her hand on Jamie’s crotch, then bent him forward and checked his butt through his pajamas. She did it so quickly and so easily, he realized he couldn’t physically resist her. He could try, maybe slow her down, but he couldn’t win. “Let’s hope soon,” she said as she returned to the sofa. “So what else did you want to talk about?” Jamie pinched the bridge of his nose and roughly rubbed his eyes and forehead. What he wanted to ask for next was a drink, none of that 80-proof crap either; Jamie had grown-up problems. “Do you have a headache,” Amanda asked. “Yes,” he said. It’s named Rebecca, goes by Becky, and is killing me, he wanted to shout. “I’ll go get you something.” She left. “Um … what was I got to say … how old are the two of you?” “Well, time is different than where you’re from, so I guess by your clock I’m about 42, and Amanda is about 20,” Becky replied as Amanda came back in with a medicine cup. She approached Jamie and held it up to his lips, keeping her hand under his chin to catch any drips. “Drink up.” Jamie tilted his head back, and Amanda poured it in. Geez, he thought, even medicine tastes good here. “Thank you.” Amanda kissed his forehead, and sitting back down on the couch said, “He doesn’t feel feverish.” “Okay, um, so what do you guys do?” “I teach science at …” She whispered to Amanda, who whispered back. “I’d guess you’d call it a secondary school.” “And I’m a college student,” Amanda said with pride. “Oh …” Jamie grimaced. “So you’re going back to school when summer is over? You don’t live here?” So far she was the one Jamie actually liked being around. Amanda picked up on his tone. “Oh, you sweet boy, I go to school here, so I live at home. Trying to save money. So I’m not going anywhere.” He smiled bigger than he meant to, and tried to cover it. “Um ... I mean, I’m glad to hear that.” He didn’t want to offend Becky, who didn’t appear to take any offense but instead looked happy he was starting to form an attachment to her. “Can I ask one that may be ... uncomfortable?” “Of course. Ask us anything. We’re family.” “Well, that was actually my question. Do you have a husband?” “I’m divorced,” she said, placing a hand on Amanda’s, “and Amanda’s father is not part of our lives anymore.” Amanda didn’t look bothered by that statement at all. Maybe a couple easy ones next. “So where do we live again?” “Tosca, which is a region in the northwest of Itali on the coast. And the town we’re in is San Siena. We can find a map later, but it’s about two hours from the capital. We don’t actually live in the city, but outside it a little. We can find you a map later, and tomorrow we can drive around town.” “I’d like that. And also, when is it?” “Summer time.” “But, I mean how do I tell time here?” “Oh, don’t worry about it.” She dismissed it oddly casually. Jamie knew he’d need to come back to that. “Okay … um … I’m not sure how to ask this. I want you to know I’m grateful, and happy here,” he lied, or thought he did. Did he? Or not? “I just want to know, um … why did you want a little?” The softest look came on Becky’s face, that look when your heart melts, and though he’d rather here this answer from here he was, Becky scooped him up and brought him back to the couch, sitting him upright in the crook of her elbow so he could see both of them. “That’s not an easy question to answer. Sometimes we just know we want things, and that they’ll make us happy, and we aren’t sure why. I guess, I just have so much love to give, and who better to give it to?” She leaned down and kissed him on the cheek. It wasn’t a wholly satisfying answer, but Jamie thought she was probably right. Sometimes we know what will make us happy, or think we do, but we don’t know why. “And we saw your picture, and read all about you,” she continued, “and out of all the Littles out there, we wanted to give that love to you, because you’re so special.” Jamie frowned. If that was a compliment, he didn’t like it. He never much liked compliments. What did ‘special’ mean, anyway? Everybody’s unique; does that make them special? And there are so many other people wanting to be adopted; they’re special, too. Why didn’t they get picked? Surely there were more deserving people. People who wanted out for good reasons, not just to run away. “What’s wrong, honey,” Amanda asked. He didn’t want to tell them the truth. He didn’t know them yet, and he didn’t want to seem ungrateful or unhappy or not glad to be there, even if he was feeling those to some degree, though he wasn't sure what that degree was. “I’m just, so … thank you.” Amanda didn’t look like she accepted that answer, but she didn’t press it. Becky interrupted, “Can we ask you some questions?” “Sure.” “Geez, he even says ‘sure’ cute, doesn’t he,” Becky gushed to Amanda. Jamie was beginning to wonder if Becky was an idiot, or just turned into one around Littles. Turning back to Jamie, “Tell about your family, and what you did, and what made you want to come here.” Jamie didn’t really want to. “Wasn’t all that in my file?” “Some of it was, but I want to hear it from you.” Jamie didn’t think he could get out of this, but maybe he could get away with not telling them much. He looked up at Becky, who he had to crane his neck to see, and across at Amanda. On impulse he didn’t understand, he held his arms out. “Aww, you want me?” Amanda lifted him from her mother’s laps and set him down in her own. She smiled from ear to ear. Jamie understood that smile; though he had no family, a few times over the years he’d be on the job or at an event with colleagues and their families, and a baby or toddler would want him. And it did feel like a million bucks. Like you were the best thing in the world because this little person thought you were, and their word was good enough. And he did want Amanda. “Um, it’s just easier to see both of you this way,” he said in a transparent lie as he was seated facing entirely away from Amanda, who had her arms around him. “So … I don’t have a family. I never did. I grew up in foster care.” “Yeah, I remember that from your file. What is that,” Becky asked. Figuring they just called it something different here, he answered, “You know, when a kid doesn’t have parents, or isn’t safe with their parents, they go to live in foster care.” “Like being adopted?” “Um, well, sometimes kids in foster care get adopted, but a lot of them, like me, we live in foster care until we grow up.” “Why?” It was a very honest question, he could tell. Maybe they didn’t just call it something else here. “Because there aren’t enough people who want to adopt all the kids that need to be adopted.” He felt Amanda squeeze him a little, and Becky looked shocked. “What? What happens to kids no one wants to adopt here?” Becky’s voice turned very soft, as though she were reassuring someone their nightmare was only a dream. “Honey, that doesn’t happen here.” “Ever?” “Never.” “But … how is that possible?” “When a child needs a home here, they always get one.” “Exactly, like a foster a home,” Jamie said, thinking he’d solved it. “No, they get adopted right away.” Jamie was skeptical. He knew not every person in Itali could be a good person. Cheryl had said so, that there were good people and bad people here. “Every single one?” “Yep.” He looked at her, still not fully believing her. How could that be? There were always more children that needed homes than people who wanted to give them one; even just mathematically, there had to be, right? “Um, alright.” “So you were never adopted?” “No. I aged out, um, I became old enough to go live on my own.” “Do you still keep in touch with your foster parents,” Amanda asked. “Uh, well, I went through a lot of homes. I was never with anybody that long. And my last few years, I was in a group home.” “What’s a ‘group home?’” It’s what we used to call an orphanage, except worse, Jamie thought. “It’s where foster kids live if there aren’t enough foster parents who want them and can take then in.” Jamie didn’t want to answer more questions about group homes. “So then, I got lucky because my school counselor helped me get into college with a full scholarship.” “Wait, what was the lucky part?” “Well, most foster kids who age out without being adopted don’t go to college.” “What do they do instead?” How to answer that? “Well, some go straight to work, and others … struggle more … to find their path.” “Oh. And what’s a scholarship?” “That’s when a school gives you money so you don’t have to pay to go to college?” “You have to pay to go to college,” Becky asked. “Um, yeah. You don’t here?” “No. Our taxes pay for it, just like for primary and secondary school.” “Wait,” Amanda asked, “So some kids go to college, and some go to work. And what do the other ones do again?” The cultural disconnect was much bigger than Jamie imagined. He was feeling defensive, like he was making his home sound like some kind of hell. “Well, some get in trouble in trouble with the law and go to jail for a while,” he said sheepishly. “Well, there are always a few bad apples.” “No!” he snapped. “I mean, a few, yeah, but most are just kids trying to survive … in a world that doesn’t care much about them.” He looked around at Amanda and back to Becky. “That could’ve been me, if a few of the right people weren’t in my life.” His lips quivered. “Some of those kids … some of them don’t get ever really be kids. And … some of them don’t ever get to grow up.” Jamie wiped at his eyes and nose. “Not all of mine did.” He was struggling to keep himself together. That wasn’t in the file; they weren't sure what he meant. Amanda felt him shaking and held him closer, lowering her head to rest it on his and gently rocking. Becky reached over and rubbed his shoulder. “Why don’t we finish this some other time,” Becky said. “No,” Jamie said louder than he intended. He didn’t want to have this talk again. “I’m okay. What else do you want to know?” He pulled himself together, and Amanda sat back up. “If you’re sure …” Becky said, pausing, and when Jamie nodded she went on, “What do you mean ‘not all yours did?’” “I was a social worker.” There was still some authority, pride, in saying that, a desperate kind, as if to ward off an accusation. “I mostly worked with foster kids, or kids who were at risk of getting into trouble, or who had been hurt before.” Jamie saw faces. Newborns and infants. Toddler and first graders. Tweens and teens. A thousand faces. Some were happy; some were sad; some were angry. The youngest were usually happy, but not always; some were too listless to be happy, never having gotten the love and attention they needed to not just be happy, but even to develop as they should have been, and they never would catch up, not without a miracle. Still, the babies and toddlers were easiest, because it was relatively easy to find them homes. Some of the kids were happy, but not all of them. The ones who came into the system as kids were lost, dislocated, bewildered; the ones who grew up in the system, eventually they figured out that if someone had wanted to adopt them, they would have by now. So they knew there must be something wrong with them. Those childhood years were the crucial years, when you could get to a kid and get them out of that thinking. But there were so many kids, and so many other forces out there, and only so many social workers. A few of the teens were happy. They had outlets, groups they could find some belonging in, like a team, or just a group of friends. But some found the wrong groups of friends. Some never did get happy. Some lived in places where to be happy, to show it, invited trouble from people who wanted to take away that happiness just so they wouldn’t feel alone in their unhappiness. “Ya know,” Jamie said, looking at those faces, “In a lot of the places I worked, the kids I worked with, they don’t use the word ‘home.' It was ‘where I stay.’ They didn’t have homes or families. And … I couldn’t save them all.” Jamie saw those faces; those were the faces he loved so much, and that he couldn't bear to look at anymore, but he saw them anyway. “Is that why you wanted to come here,” Becky asked. “Yes. Because it hurt too much to keep trying, and I couldn’t … I couldn’t … I couldn’t live with myself …” Jamie’s body rocked with the effort to keep the sob back. “ … if I stayed and just watched it happen.” Becky’s eyes were wet. She didn’t have anything to say to that, nothing she wanted to anyway, because she didn’t want to set off the tears again. She only reached out and caressed his cheek. “Ya know what? It’s time for somebody’s morning nap,” she said, holding out her arms. Amanda didn’t let him go. “Actually, I wouldn’t mind a nap myself? You want to snuggle in my bed?” Jamie nodded; he couldn't think of anything else he'd rather do. “Okay,” Becky said, “but make sure he’s between you and the wall so he doesn’t fall out.” Upstairs, resting on the massive bed with Amanda, Jamie did feel tired. He was facing her, and she played with the hair around his ears. “Jamie, can I ask you one more question?” “Mhmm.” “Did you want to come here, or did you want to leave there?” Seeing him start to quiver, Amanda pulled him closer. As he cried into her chest for the second time in as many days, she continued to stroke his hair and didn’t shush him, but just let him get it out. “That’s what I thought,” she said. “You’re gonna ruin all my shirts.” She kissed his head, and wrapped in her arms he fell asleep. _­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________________________________________________________ Jamie wasn’t sure how long he had been asleep, but he didn’t think long. He was the little spoon, although the size mismatch stretched the metaphor. It was his belly that woke him up. Whether the anesthesia, pain killers or both, Jamie hadn’t passed anything since he woke up the day before. He wasn’t locked in his crib this time, but he was between Amanda and the wall, her arm was over him, and he’d need to sneak down to the foot of the bed and try to get away. And go where? The toilet was too big for him, and taking his diaper off and using it the way he had this morning seemed a much worse idea in this context. He laid there hoping the discomfort would go away, but it only turned into pain. Okay, Jamie, he thought, accepting the inevitable is sometimes the most mature thing to do. And at least it won’t hurt anymore. Laying on his side, he bore down, and nothing happened except he was in more urgent pain. He bore down again, and was relieved of a large and hard bowel movement, followed by more that was less hard, and wetting himself in the process. No longer in pain, Jamie lay there not wanting to move. His brain didn’t want to think about it. Nor did he want to announce what he’d done. So he just lay there. After what seemed like an hour but was only fifteen minutes, he felt Amanda stir. And Amanda felt something pressed against her that hadn’t been there before, and when Jamie heard her sniff he cringed thinking about what she might say. “You awake, buddy,” she whispered. As much as he wanted to delay the words that would pass between them, he much more did not want her to go back to sleep and leave him like this. “Yes.” Even his voice blushed. “Then let’s go change your pants,” she said picking him up as she got off the bed. Jamie’s relief at not having to say anything or ask to be cleaned was quickly interrupted when Amanda hefted him onto her should, supporting him under his butt with her forearm. “Uggghhh,” was Jamie’s retort to the change in position and sensation. He bounced with each step, and she felt the need to pat his butt. Why does every single adult feel the need to pat every butt with a diaper on it, he wondered. Each bounce and each pat reminded Jamie what he was sitting in. But Jamie wasn’t too disgusted to notice that while he had peed, he didn’t feel wet. And while he had soiled himself, it was less the sensation he hated than what was causing the sensation. And neither did he feel ashamed; Amanda gave him no reason to feel that way, and really, he didn’t have a choice. If he was blameless, what was there to be ashamed of? Still, once on the changing table, he thought, my kingdom for a potty chair. He'd have thought toilet, but he thought to aim for the possible for now. This time, he enthusiastically participated in his diaper change, whatever he could do to get clean again as quickly as possible. “You’re lucky,” Amanda said as she cleaned him, “Mom would have given you an enema if you hadn’t gone by lunchtime, and that would have been zero fun. And I bet you feel much better.” I do now that I’m clean, he thought as she taped a new diaper on him. “Amanda, thanks … for everything.” “Hey,” she said as she ruffled his hair, “that’s what big sisters are for.” “I like you.” He didn’t know why he said it. Maybe it was because he didn’t have anything else to give her. She had picked him, comforted him, been kind to him, and listened to him when he spoke, at least more her mother had. All he could give her was his gratitude and friendship. “Aww! I like you too.” Snapping the legs of his jammies closed, she said, “I think it’s almost lunch time. Wanna go see what mom’s cooking up in the kitchen?” More of whatever that incredible drink is, he thought. “Yeah, I’m hungry.” Pulling him into a sitting position, Amanda asked, “Wanna walk, or do you want me to carry you?” Jamie blushed. “Carry me,” he said. She smiled, placed him on her hip, and walked toward the door. “Hey, how about after lunch we make a list of things you want for your room?” “Really? “Uh huh.” _­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________________________________________________________ After a bottle of that ambrosia, Jamie and Amanda lay on the double-thick rug in his room together making his list. For every serious thing he added, she added a something fun. A curtain he could hang around the edge of his crib (for privacy, but he said so he could build a fort); and she threw in some pillows to fortify it. A chair that was his size; an activity table he could play at. A couple of books that would keep him entertained; a couple of coloring books that would keep him entertained. When he ran out of ideas, Amanda lifted her eyes and looked under the crib. She hadn’t forgotten about it. “How about some picture frames?” Jamie followed her eyes. “Yes, please.” So Amanda added picture frames to the list. She didn’t ask, though. She knew he’d let her know when the time is right. “What are you guys up to,” Becky asked as she came in the room. Watching the two of them lay next to each other made her very happy. Jamie sighed. He wasn’t sure why, but it felt like an intrusion. “We’re making a list of some things Jamie would like or his room.” “Let me guess: toys?” Jamie rolled his eyes, though not so she could see. “A chair, some curtains.” “Good ideas, sweetie, but let him add some things, too. And don’t forget we’re gonna let him pick out some new diapers.” “Adding it right now.” She quickly scribbled ‘LEGOs’ and show it to Jamie, who cackled before catching himself. He smiled at her, then looked at Becky and stifled a giggle. It warmed Becky to see them this way, especially Jamie, who had cried much more than he'd laughed since he arrived in her home. She saw Jamie felt closer to Amanda, and though she wanted Jamie to feel that way about her, too, she also knew siblings had a different kind of bond. It was one kind of bond when they were close in age – playmates – and a different one when one sibling was much older and the other much younger – safe like a parent, but fun like a playmate, too. And though they weren’t siblings, that’s how Rebecca wanted them to feel. “Is Amanda your person,” she asked. Jamie turned his neck around to look at Becky and then back to Amanda. “Yes.” Amanda pulled him closed and kissed him on the head again, who sighed to feel her arm around him . Any parent would melt at the scene.

I like what I do, but I’d open my own non-profit to continue doing it, and I’d hire a GM so I could spend half the year traveling.

There is not a single private restroom in my entire 20-story office building. If there was, I probably would have worn to work by now. Only option I can think of is taking my backpack with me to a restaurant nearby and changing at lunch, but I very rarely eat lunch away from my desk. Neither does anyone else, for that matter. Sigh...

Jamie was feeling kinda sarcastic last night. ?

Short update this time, and nothing heavy. I'm glad everyone is enjoying this so much. I started off to right a light and happy story, and this went down the path it's on now. I like it more. ____________________________________________________ Chapter 7 When morning arrived, Jamie woke up in pain. Not having consciously urinated since he awoke the first time yesterday, he was over full and needing to relive himself. He considered his options. He could call out to one of them and ask to use the bathroom. It might take them a while to hear him, though, and if they did, their reaction yesterday left little doubt they’d only look at him in confusion when he asked to use the toilet. He could climb out of the crib, but he doubted how well he could in his condition, and having gone over the railing, he’d be twelve feet from the floor. And having gotten to the floor, assuming he didn’t hurt himself, he’d need to sneak out of his room, to the bathroom and back. He hadn’t seen the bathroom yet; he could just as easily walk into one of their bedrooms. And then he’d have no way to get back into his crib, and he didn’t know how they’d react if they found him out of it. Strap him in? Put a canopy on top? Punish him? Or take the diaper off and pee … somewhere. In his crib, but he did have to sleep there. It would clean up, but he knew there was never really getting urine out of a mattress. He could pee through the bars. Somehow that struck him as an even worse idea. Finally, an acceptable solution came to him. Getting to his knees, Jamie untaped his diaper, laid it out in front of him, and peed into it like a urinal. A lot. Much relieved, he moved the diaper to the far corner of the crib, not wanting to put it back on. Jamie knew this was more like half a plan, but he liked that half. Shrugging, he got back under his covers and waited for someone to come get him. He began to drift off again when he heard Rebecca whispering, “Wake up, it’s a new day.” He opened his eyes to find her looking down at him. How can something so big make so little noise, he wondered. “Good morning, Becky,” he greeted her. “Did you sleep well? I hope so after the hard day you had. How about some breakfast,” she said as she pulled back his covers. It didn’t happen quickly enough for Jamie not to be afraid of her reaction, but she didn’t look angry, more surprised and confused, and then she laughed. “Where did your diapey go?” By the way she was looking around in the blanket, it was clear she wasn’t expecting an answer. Finally she found it, grabbed it, and rolled it up in one motion. “Did someone take off his diapey? Was that someone you? Did you take off your diapey?” It make Jamie want to smile a little, which he assured himself was only because of how ridiculous the entire situation was. He didn’t know what to say. Answering was superfluous, as the answer was obvious. “That’s my fault,” she said, picking him up and lifting him over the rail, “I should have gotten up earlier to change you. You were probably uncomfortable sitting in that so long.” From the crib directly to the changing table. “Actually,” Jamie said, “I took it off and then peed in it.” “Uh huh …” Once more he felt like he was breaking the third wall, looking at an audience that wasn’t there as if to ask, can you believe this woman? Jamie had no idea how to respond to her non-response. It was as though she had a mental block and couldn’t wrap her head around the idea he didn’t need diapers. “We got the whole day to ourselves, just the three of us,” Becky went on as she got Jamie into a new diaper. Jamie kept his arms folded over his chest and looked away, less embarrassed than fed up. “Looks like someone is cold …” Becky said as she cleaned him off. That was the last straw, and Jamie jerked up instantly, hands ready to animate what he was about to say next. “You know what …” Becky stopped and looked at him, surprised. Seeing the look, remember where he was and what he was and what she was, he forcefully exhaled through clenched teeth. “I am cold. Yes. Thank you.” He laid back down, remember his healing abdomen, and stewed. He recalled that elegant phrase he had heard so often in his career, that phrase that so perfectly encapsulated so very, very much about life on his home planet, this planet, and, he assumed with perfect confidence, every planet: This is some bullshit! And it was, and Jamie could do nothing about it, for the moment. Shortly thereafter he was dressed and being carried out of the room, not paying much attention to Becky but thinking more on bullshit and its many iterations and permutations, when he was taken out of his philosophical musings when he heard, “You haven’t pooped since you got here. If you don’t go soon we’re gonna have to do something about that.” Motherfucker! _­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________________________________________________________ “That wasn’t too much food this time, right,” Becky asked as she wiped Jamie’s mouth for him. “No, that was just right.” What is that stuff and why does it taste so good, he wondered. “Good morning,” Amanda announced cheerily as she came into the kitchen. “Good morning,” Becky replied. “You’ll never guess what I found this morning. A naked boy.” Giants live here, Jamie thought, so where’s a giant hole I can jump into? “Oh yeah? What’s the plan for today,” Amanda asked as she made herself a bowl of cereal. “Nothing, really. Just another day to adapt and adjust, for all of us. What do you want to do, Jamie?” It was the first time, that he could remember, that either of them had asked what he wanted to do. “Um … can I take a shower?” “That was on my list. Let’s go do that right now,” Becky said. “Can I walk?” “Oh, sure,” Becky said. She sounded disappointed as she lowered him gently to the ground. She held him under his arms, slowly letting himself take his own weight, and lingering to make sure he could. Eric was patient about it, and when he was on his own feet, rolled his hips a bit to see how they felt. The right one was sore, a little less than yesterday, but it held him up just fine. He followed Becky out of the room and down the hall taking two steps for every one of hers. She turned into the room across from his, the bathroom, and Jamie took mental notes of it. The top of the sink was out of reach; he’d need a stepstool to get to it. Even if he was allowed to use the toilet, he’d need something to stand on for that, too, and he realized, if he were to sit on it, he’d probably fall right in. He’d need a special seat. He’d be able to hoist himself into the tub, but that could prove risky when wet. He’d need both hands to turn the knobs, and the shower head was well out of reach. Becky opened the cabinet under the sink and took out a stool, which relieved Jamie until she sat down on it and began to undress him. It wasn’t for climbing. Only wearing two garments, he was quickly nude again. “Uh, thanks.” Setting his pajamas on the vanity and his unused diaper in the wastebasket, pivoted back and turned on the tap. “Um, I think I can take it from here.” “Oh no you don’t,” Becky responded, once more like this was a game. “I know how little boys are. As soon as I leave you’ll make a horrible, no good mess for me to clean up. Besides, you’re too little to do this yourself. You’ll miss a bunch of spots.” The list of things that were not bullshit continued to get shorter. Still, Jamie thought, a bath would feel good. And considering, it wasn’t as though she hadn’t seen and touched every part of him already, it wasn’t all that embarrassing. Checking the temperature and feeling it was fine, she lifted Jamie into the bathtub. It may as well have been a hot tub, except almost twice as deep. Jamie had always liked taking baths. He could hardly complain. The hot water sapped the stress from his muscles and eased the stiffness all over. Focusing on how good it felt and not on the fact he was being watched, he ducked his head under the faucet, came back out and pushed his hair back, and laid down against the rear of the tub. This was the best he had felt since he had felt in what was now 41 days. Amanda came in and snapped a few ‘first bath’ pics, and Jamie didn’t care. Becky rested her chin in her hand and her elbow on her knee. “You like water, huh?” Jamie smiled with his eye still closed. “Yes. I always have.” “We’ll get you some bath toys then,” she said as she soaped a sponge. When it touched his chest, Jamie let out a happy moan. What incredible feels, the water and the sensation of that soapy sponge being rubbed up and down his torso, then his arms, and his neck. He lifted each leg when asked and from his feet, which tickled, to the very tops of his thighs, the soft but rough sponge cleaned every part of him. Forgetting where he was and with whom, he opened his legs without meaning to, and every part of his there was cleaned to. Finally, we sat up, and the same thing was done to his back, and then his butt. Finally, her hands were rubbing the tension from his scalp, working a sweet scented shampoo into a lather, before he felt a cascade of water of his head. The slick of the soap, the gentle abrasive of the sponge, and her heavy hand made it a massage worth remembering. He hadn’t even had to open his eyes. Amanda left again after she got the classic soapy hair photo. “All clean.” Jamie just smiled in response, up to his chin in the water, and felt he could fall asleep. He stayed like for ten minutes while Rebecca felt warm inside for her contented little boy. She waited and finally pulled the plug, and Jamie opened his eyes back to his new reality. When the water was only an inch deep, she helped him to his feet and wrapped the largest fluffiest towel he’d ever had on his body, and started carrying him back to his room, grabbing his pajamas on the way. “Wait,” he said as he passed the mirror, “I wanna look.” Becky stopped and looked down him and at the mirror, then place him on his feet on the vanity, keeping her hands on him to make sure he didn’t fall. There was no sign of a beard, or even peach fuzz. No grey in his hair, which he swore was a lighter shade of blond than it had been. He opened his mouth and then smiled; his teeth were whiter and perfectly straight. “Can you, uh, take the towel down?” Sensing that this was an important moment, Becky didn’t say anything, just moved the towel. There was no hair on his body, except the faintest on his forearms, felt more than seen. He looked slim, not only across his belly but in his chest and legs, too. He flexed his arms, picked up each foot and rolled his ankles and knees and elbows and neck. Nothing cracked. “Wow,” he whispered. He was the same height, a slimmer version of his old self but still the same build, but he otherwise looked, and, better yet felt as though more than half his years were gone. “Wadduya think,” Becky finally asked. He looked up at her and smiled. “Haven’t felt this good in years.” Back in his room, he was redressed, still not participating in his diapering. Placing her hand gently on his belly, Becky lightly prodded him here and there, and rubbed her hand in circles. “Does that hurt?” “No. Well, a little.” “You’ll feel better when you finally manage to pass something.” And Jamie knew she was right about that, and he both hoped and dreaded that it would happen relatively soon. She held out her hands, he took them, and she helped him to sit up. “Becky, I have some more questions. Can we go talk some more?”

For sure. Updates might be a few days in coming, or may get shorter, or a bit of both.

I hope this keeps going.

Yes. I was probably about 4 and out of diapers. My mom watched a neighbor’s baby and kept a pack of diapers in a closet. One Saturday morning I took out and held it against myself. I just wanted to, very badly. I remember thinking it didn’t feel as good as I thought. I put it back before I got caught. Or I can count the time I was two and my dad asked me if I wanted underwear or a diaper for the day. No contest: chose the diaper. And purposefully filled about an hour later waiting in line at the grocery store (I said i needed the bathroom, he said you’re wearing a diaper - very happily did as I was told).

I’m interested what people carry. I find a backpack obtrusive since I’m not a student. There’s no real reason for me to carry a bag at all, really. Currently, I keep a 14-inch Amazon laptop bag in my car. It holds two diapers, gloves, wipes, powder, cream, a ziplock bag and a pair of underwear. Still don’t think I can carry it around without people, like family and colleagues, wondering why, especially to the bathroom.

I may have to stop spoiling you quite so frequently. This is kinda draining. Seriously, I always wondered how actors could cry on demand and what it meant to internalize the material. I spent a half hour on that letter and cried, hard, through most of it. I’m not sure if I’m internalizing material or externalizing feelings. I guess I very much do want and maybe need a Cheryl and an Amanda in my life.

I think I'm going to make it a goal to make people cry every other chapter. Ideally without making myself cry. LOL

Okay. So I went through a couple paper towels writing that letter. Makes me wish I had someone to write a letter like that to. The link at the end is worth listening to in full. It’s always affected me strongly, and yes, that is Yo-Yo Ma on the cello. Happy Sunday, and sleep soundly. ___________________________________________________ Chapter 6 He looked at his wrist and ankle, covered by the sleeper, and realized he hadn’t seen the bands with his name and barcode when he woke up. Eric didn’t know the safest thing to do. He didn’t even know the name of the giant who was carrying him. He knew for sure he didn’t want to upset them. He opted to fall back on his old habits and go along with what was happening until it made sense to speak up, which hopefully would be very, very soon. “What’s wrong,” Amanda asked, noting the change in Eric’s expression and the tension in his body. “Um … just, uh, heights … it’s nice to meet you, Amanda,” Eric managed to say. “Aww, don’t worry, kiddo, Mom’s got you all safe,” Amanda assured him as they reached the kitchen. Eric couldn’t see much from his vantage point. The woman adjusted him so she was holding him with one arm, stooped a little to open the fridge, and took out a baby bottle of milk that had to be at least a liter. Glimpsing the contents of the fridge, Eric saw several more bottles like it, plus giant condiments, giant fruit, a giant green thing he thought was lettuce, and under a large piece of foil, what he could make out as leftover bird that would have fed a Thanksgiving table of 30 with leftovers for sandwiches. It frustrated Eric that he couldn’t see. On one side of him was the woman, and on the other he could only see partway over the arm holding him. He could see what past his feet, but it was mostly cabinetry. Where did Amanda go? “We’ll warm this up for you first,” the woman said as she put the bottle in a warmer. “Are you sure you’re comfortable like this?” Physically or emotionally, Eric thought. “Yeah, um … this is fine,” he responded, trying to keep the fear out of his voice. Any human would have picked up on it anyway. Maybe Bigs can’t pick up on those nuances, he thought, or not when they first meet one of us, but the answer seemed to please her. “I think you’re going to like this an awful lot,” she said as took the bottle from the warmer. She moved to sit down at the table, and Eric found the slight up and down motion of each step similar to being on a lake on a gentle day. Part of him liked it, and part of him felt queasy, and another part didn’t like either of the others. Quick enough to startle him, Eric descended several seat as she sat down at a kitchen table. Amanda came into view again, across the table and holding a small tablet or giant phone. “Ready for some food,” the woman asked, and Eric looked up and found her expectantly looking at him. Eric was grateful she had asked first. In truth, Eric never drank straight milk. He never cared for it. But he was hungry. He nodded. The woman placed a cloth over Eric’s chest, and then lifted the bottle to his lips. Tentatively, Eric opened his mouth, and an immediately it was filled with a silicone nipple. Only drips came out. Eric sucked and found nothing flowed, and with another two tries realized he needed to press his tongue under the nipple to open it before sucking. It wasn’t milk. He couldn’t place it; it wasn’t anything Eric had ever tasted before. It had the texture of a protein shake, but was better than any he had ever tasted. It was sweet but not cloying. It was one of the best things he had ever tasted. But there was still a liter of it, and Eric didn’t want to chug a liter. He heard the artificial click of. Camera and glanced left to see Amanda holding up her phone. He looked up and found a dreamy smile on the woman’s face. He realized she wasn’t going to move the bottle until he finished it. With half a liter to go, Eric was feeling a little desperate, and plugged the opening of the bottle with his tongue, stopping the flow and taking several long breaths. He heard another click and felt a pat on his shoulder urging him to continue, and with another deep breath, he resumed drinking the delicious fluid. The last quarter was a struggle, and he sucked air twice before opening and his eyes finding the bottle empty. He felt full to the point of nausea. Taking the bottle away, the woman dabbed at Eric’s chin with the cloth and asked, “How was that?” Eric was read in the face, and swallowing down a rising discomfort in his chest, he said, “It was really good … just … a little much, maybe?” Definitely. “Oh! I know what you need,” the woman said. She draped the cloth over her shoulder. Eric started to say, no, I can do that myself, but the change in position hurt his hip, and cut off his words before he could get them out. His chin was on her shoulder and there was a sudden thumping on his back. It only took the one, but he got several. The formula rose into his throat, and some escaped his lips before he could swallow it back down. Eric was more irritated than embarrassed. He reached for the cloth before she could and wiped his own mouth, half dropping and half throwing the cloth back on her shoulder. “Does someone feel better,” he head Amanda ask. Eric was practiced in patience. In his career, he had put up with a lot, de-escalated conflicts, been called everything but a child of God, and had been punched by more than a few kids, teens, and their parents. Every time, he stayed calm. Now he didn’t have to be the adult in the room, and the emotionally satisfying four-letter words that came to mind nearly came out his mouth, but for his own sake, he swallowed those down to. Her other hand came under his other arm, and she lifted him in front of her, bring him to stand on her thighs, letting him hold some but not all of his own weight. He heard Amanda’s phone click again, and in a condescending voice she said, “Someone has his grumpy face on.” From ear to brain to mouth, one of those four letter words almost escaped again, but Eric checked himself. With a forceful sigh, regathered his patience, and with his authoritative voice, near-shouted, “Timeout!” Both women were taken aback. Regretting he had raised his voice even a little, Eric sighed again (I’m doing that a lot today, he thought), and in a measured tone asked, “Can we go somewhere and talk?” The two women looked at each other, and the older one said, “Uh, sure.” She stood and moved him to her hip with her arm under his butt. It hurt his hip, but he’d rather have the discomfort than be cradled just then. From this position, he could see more of the kitchen and then the hall and entry way as they passed into a family room. A playpen was set up in one corner. An overstuffed chair sat next to it, and at an angle to it a couch. “Can you please put me down in the chair,” Eric asked. She did, and then she and Amanda sat on the couch. The chair was nearly wide and deep enough hat Eric could lay flat in either direction on it. The overstuffed arm blocked much of his view. He could see them, he felt ridiculous, and with what pride he had left he decided not to ask for a cushion to sit on. He stared at them a moment. They stared back. No thought passed through Eric’s head. He just took in the scene, let his mind process it. When he was ready, he asked, “Ma’am, can you please tell me your name?” A look of chagrin came across her face when she realized her mistake. “Oh, I’m so sorry. I’m Rebecca Webb,” she said, gesturing to herself, “and this is my daughter Amanda.” Pursing his lips, Eric exaggerated a nod and said, “Thank you, Rebecca. Do you prefer Rebecca or Becky?” “Becky, but I hope you want to call me ‘Mom,’” she said with a glow. Eric didn’t want to respond to that right now. “I’m Eric. Eric.” He let that sink in without saying more. After a second, Amanda gasped and covered her mouth with her hands. “Oh! I’m so so so sorry. I didn’t think!” Becky looked at her daughter and realized what had happened. “Oh! We know! We know you’re Eric!” Eric didn’t realize he’d been holding his breath until he it rushed out in relief. “Then who is ‘Jamie?’” “On your preferences form you said you weren’t sure if you wanted to keep your first name or not. We thought about it and liked ‘Jamie,’” Becky explained. “It was my idea,” Amanda volunteered. “You can pick another, if you want, or keep ‘Eric.’ It’s up to you,” Becky said. “Okay. I’m going to think on that. Can I please ask a few more question?” “Of course.” “Why did you feed me a bottle, and what was in it?” “Did you not like it?” “No, it was really good. There’s was just too much of it. And I prefer solid food … obviously.” “Oh, I’m sorry. I should have asked if you were full.” “And I can burp voluntarily.” Amanda giggled and quickly stopped herself. “Because of your stomach surgery it’s going to a little while until you can eat solid foods again,” Becky explained. “Two more weeks of liquids, two weeks of pureed foods, two weeks of soft solids, and then back to normal.” Another relief. With a hard flick of his wrist, which Eric regretted, he pointed at the playpen. “Playpen?” Very earnestly, and not apologetically, Becky answered, “For when you’re playing and no one can be in the room with you.” Glancing side-eye in his unimpressed face, Eric held his breath again without meaning to. One thing at a time; save your ammo until you know how many fronts you’re fighting on, he thought. “And the crib?” Cocking her head to the side, Becky said softly and sweetly, “Honey, that’s where you sleep,” as though it were the most obvious answer to the most obvious question anyone had ever asked. “Uh, why?” “So you don’t fall out of bed and hurt yourself.” She had a very plain but upbeat of answering the question. “Or get into any mischief.” “What if I need to get out?” “For what?” “Um, to use the bathroom,” Eric answered back with a sarcastic flick of his uninjured wrist. Becky and Amanda looked at each other, their turn to be confused. Amanda whispered something Eric couldn’t hear. Becky didn’t answer, and the two of them looked back at Eric. “Honey, you wear diapers,” Becky answered, as if this answer had overtaken the previous one as the most obvious ever. Eric’s eyes drifted away from them and froze, his left hand in front of him as if to make a point. “Until I’m fully recovered from surgery, right” he asked, holding his breath for the answer. “No,” Becky replied with a shake of her head. Her eyes were open and her expression kind. Eric’s head dropped to his chest. Motherfucker, he thought. It wasn’t an angry thought. More exhausted. “I can control my functions,” Eric answered back, finding that authoritative voice again. “Well, we’ll see, eventually. But for now let’s be safe.” “’Safe’?!” Now Eric was angry. He kept the outward appearance to mere irritation. “I can prove it. I know when I need to pee.” “Oh, I bet you do,” was Becky’s answer. You patronizing, bitch, he thought. He was losing a little more control of his temper. “This is not debatable. I’ll prove it right now!” “Exactly,” Becky said, “You can just go whenever you have to.” Fucking bizarro world! “I can! I mean, I already do! It’s called ‘going to the bathroom whenever I want and relieving myself!’” “That’s right! ‘Whenever you want.’” Eric didn’t know what to say next. He scrutinized Becky’s face closely, and looked at Amanda, who looked back at him as though he were … a toddler. A toddler who wasn’t potty trained. Eric thought back to all his conversations with Cheryl. He remembered what she had told him about the agreement and about Bigs. “They’re not pretending … It’s not a game where they pretend you’re not fully capable of functioning in their world; they actually see you as not fully capable.” “They retain the right to decide the details associated with your stage of life, which may vary from your expectations. Whether and at what pace you progress through life stages, and what point, if any, you stop progressing, is up to the Big.” “If you adopt yourself out, you’ll have the same rights as a minor there. Anything that is permissible for a Big to do to their own children can be done to you.” He remembered what he had said: “Can you, um, put it in my file that I don’t think I ever want to grow up again?” And he remembered the language of the agreement: “By accepting this agreement, the Adoptee Party implicitly consents to all actions subsequently taken by the Adopting Party except any actions that violate any clause of The Agreement, treaties duly ratified between the governing bodies of the Adoptee Party’s and Adopting Party’s respective countries, and the laws of the Adopting Party’s country.” Eric brought his hand to his forehead and ran it through his hair. It was a tic of his, a gesture he made without meaning to when was mentally or physically tired. He said nothing. Becky saw he looked tired. “Honey, I bet all that breakfast made you tired, and you’re still recovering. Let’s go put you down for a nap for a few hours,” Becky said. That sounded fine to Eric. He was tired and he wanted the alone time. He started to get off the chair when Becky sprang forward and scooped him up. “I can’t walk either,” he asked. It was plaintive instead of angry. “Of course you can, but I want to wait until tomorrow because of your hip.” At least I have that, he thought. Back in his room, Eric got a better look this time. Rocking chair, crib, dresser, toy chest, closet, a brightly colored rug like a street grid on top of beige carpet, a shelf with a few toys on it, and a changing table. Becky didn’t take him to the crib; she took him to the changing table. He only got a glimpse of it before he was face up on top of it. He saw stacks of several different kinds of diapers. Wipes, powder, creams, a few pieces of clothing, but he couldn’t tell what they were. He didn’t want to say anything. He just wanted to disappear. Looking up at the ceiling, Becky came in and out of his field of vision. She was humming something familiar, but he was sure where he had heard it. “I can help, Mom,” he heard Amanda say. He turned and saw her in the door way. She was pretty. They both were. Had they not been giants, Eric may even have been attracted to them. In that moment, Eric felt the same way around her as he felt up through most of college: shy. He hadn’t felt shy before, even if he was intimidated by her, as he was with many pretty women, but in a moment, he’d be naked. “Thanks, honey, but for this first one with him awake, I’ll take care of it.” A small mercy. Eric went back to staring at the ceiling, and a felt a band of pressure around his chest. She had buckled him down. Looking up at her for a moment, she saw his face and said, “Just until we see how much of a wiggle bug you are.” He dropped his head back down and opted not to participate further in his change. He felt a tug on his legs and the sounds of snaps popping open, then his feet being taken from the pajamas, held up, and the bottoms pushed back under him. With his feet still aloft, he felt a hand touch his butt, pressing the padding against him. “Still clean.” Eric covered his eyes with his arm. He pressed his legs together just a bit, as an experiment, and felt a firm, gel-like resistance between his thighs. He heard two rips and two more, and felt cool air on his privates. It felt good. His legs were being lifted by the ankles again, and felt a warm wipe being passed over both but cheeks and down his crease. When he was set back down, he was on a new pad, and Becky gently opened his knees, and he felt another warm wipe being rubbed against the inside of his thighs and around his scrotum. He felt a tug on his penis; she was holding it while she wiped it. Then let it go and moved on to his pubic mound, which he could tell from the sensation was bare. His ankles were back in the air, and something cool and greasy was being spread on his bottom and under his scrotum. He was set down again, and a moment passed before he felt a light shower of soft powder fall on his front, and Becky’s warm hand rubbing it in. Finally, he felt the garment being pulled up between his thighs, snugly into his crotch, and pressed against his belly. One hand stay on his belly, and another tugged at one hip, and then the feeling of a hand pressing against him; then the other hip and another hand; and then the hand two more time. Eric didn’t want to think about it. He couldn’t deal with it right now. The embarrassment. The humiliation. The shame that it … didn’t feel bad to have her hands run over him down there. He felt himself being lifted again, and the bundle of pajamas come out from under him, and his feet being placed back in the stocking, and the snap-snap-snap as the pajamas were closed. “Is he asleep,” Amanda whispered. “I think so,” Becky whispered back. “He’s so darling.” Eric heard none of it. He was asleep. _­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________________________________________________________ “Wake up,” Eric heard from a distance. “Wake up.” He felt a hand on his back, and he lifted his eyelids and rolled over. Standing above him, leaning over the crib rail, was Cheryl. His heart rose up in his chest in the fullest feeling of safety and contentment. He laughed and leapt to his feet … “Wake up, kiddo. Or you won’t sleep through the night.” Coming to, Eric felt a hand again on his back, making small circles through the fuzzy material of his footie pajamas. This disappointment flushed the fullness from his chest and left it empty. He knew when he rolled over, it wouldn’t be Cheryl. He rolled over anyway. “Hi, Becky.” He didn’t both to move or sit up. “Hi, kiddo. You must’ve been so tired. You slept for four hours.” She unlatched the crib rail and lowered it gently. She reached in and squeezed Eric’s crotch. He grimaced and looked away. “Wow! You’re still dry. Are you feeling better?” “Yes, a little.” “C’mon,” Becky said as she picked up Eric, who lifted an arm to make it easier for her. “Why don’t we go find something for you to do,” she said as she carried him toward the door. Looking behind him, he saw a giftwrapped box under the crib. “Wait! Um … can I just play in here for a while?” He remembered what the box was, and he wanted to open it alone. He was afraid if he told her, she’d insist on watching him open it. She looked down at his face, and it seemed to plead. “Okay. Just keep the door open.” She set him down gently on the floor, seated on his butt. He instinctively started to rise. “Ah Ah. No walking today, remember? Be gentle with that hip.” “Okay. I promise,” he said as earnestly as he could. They stared at each other for a moment: her waiting for him to do something, him waiting for her to leave. He realized what she was waiting for, and on his hands and knees he crawled toward the shelf with the toys on it. Hands on her hips, she smiled and left. Eric reached the shelf and picked up the first toy he came to. It looked like a typical toddler toy – lights and sound to amuse a simple, developing mind. He played with it for a moment in case she came back. But he couldn’t make it do anything. He pushed a few buttons, and it didn’t light up or make a noise. He turned it over in his hands. He didn’t see a battery door. He couldn’t make sense of it. Was it a puzzle? He set it down. He glanced over the other toys and then around the room. He knew he couldn’t reach the top of any surface without climbing something else to get there. He looked at the rocking chair, and he thought maybe he could struggle to get up there on his own, but he pictured the runners sliding out from under and the whole thing falling on him. He looked at his changing table. There were three kinds of diapers under it: the plain white one he was wearing earlier; a much thicker blue one; and something with a cartoon on it. The blue one was shiny, but the other two were not. He didn’t want to inspect them. He sniffed a little, and he smelled something sour. Then he saw the diaper pail next to the changing table. He hadn’t asked how long he had been here, but he figured at least since yesterday. On the other side of the changing table was a hamper. Too curious not to, Eric brought his hand down his crotch, and through his sleeper he probed the front of his diaper, then reached around with both hands and felt his diapered butt, the padding feeling wide and long, extending above his lower back, but stopping before reaching his mid back. It felt slick through his sleeper. Working up his courage, he unzipped his pajamas – at least the zipper was on the front – and looked inside, finally putting his hand directly on it. He was wearing one of the blue ones. It felt as thick as it looked, so thick he couldn’t feel much through it, and it the shininess was from the plastic. Disgusted, he zipped his sleeper closed again. That fights not over, he thought. Crawling to the door to assure himself no one was coming around the corner, he crawled back to his crib, or underneath it. It was tall enough under there to be his fort, he thought, his hiding place. He could stand up in there with the top of his head just brushing the underside of the crib. With the rail down, he crawled under from the head of the crib and sat down next to the box. It was wrapped in plain blue paper, which he was glad of. He wouldn’t have wanted something childish. It was good wrapping paper, too. Not the kind that tore when you tried to wrap a present; a colleague showed him the difference his first year on the job when his office exchanged secret Santa gifts. That seemed like Cheryl, too. He pulled the box toward himself. It heavier than he thought it would be, though it was a large box. The gift label read, For: My forever friend, Eric From: Your forever friend, Cheryl Eric’s eyes filled with tears, the reason he wanted to do this alone. Gently, so as not to tear any paper, Eric ran his finger down the seam, breaking the tapes. He peeling the paper back and folded it, setting it to the side. Finally, he pulled at the flaps of the box. Within he found several more boxes and an envelope. He held the envelope and saw her handwriting. He couldn’t open it yet. He set it aside. Like anyone would, he picked the largest box within. On it was taped a note: Some things that might help you adjust to your new world. Saving the note, he opened the box and found, of all things, exercise equipment: grip strengtheners, resistance bands in various thicknesses, a portable pull up bar, an ab roller, and a wooden board he didn’t recognize. He turned the board over and found a label that said Finger Board. He remembered what this was now; he’d read about them in outdoor magazines. Rock climbers use them to strengthen their fingers. Looking around the room, it made perfect sense. Everything was too tall for him. She’s so clever, he thought with a smile. He opened the next box. It was a stationary kit. Each envelope was pre-addressed with Cheryl’s home address and what he realized must be the address of the house he was in. A note inside said, Hide the pen until you know if they’ll let you use one. There were several refillable capsules inside a ziploc baggie. That made sense, too: would he give a toddler an actual pen? Pausing, he listened closely to hear if anyone was coming, then slipped the pen and the capsules under the crib mattress, which he could just reach if he stood on his tip toes. It hurt a little. He eased himself back down. There was just the one box left. Eric decided to open the letter first. A few pictures fell out, of Cheryl, and of Cheryl and Eric. He smiled to remember each one; they hurt, too. He unfolded the pages. My Dear Eric, I am missing you as I write this. I wanted so to do the selfish thing and discourage you from leaving, or else delay finding you a new family forever. It was no sense of professional obligation that kept me from it, but how much I care for you. Our world needs gentle souls; each one of us needs dear, kind friends. Reasons enough to keep you here for myself. As for you, wherever you go, you are dear to me, and you have my kindness always. But you need something else besides. I rise each morning wishing for your happiness. I pray each night you come to know the deep wellspring of goodness within yourself. I saw it so quickly. How may I open your eyes? What must I tell you to make you understand you need not ask anyone for forgiveness, for there is nothing to forgive? What can I write to make you forgive yourself? Tell me, my sweet boy, and I’ll write it a thousand thousand times. I know as you are reading this you are frightened. You’re wondering just how big a mistake you’ve made and asking yourself whether you’ll be able to bear it, whether you’ll be happy again. If you trust me, know truly that you will be happy again, and very soon. Know you need not bear it for it is not a burden but will be a joy to you. I promise. Becky and Amanda love you. They loved you when they set eyes on you. They will love you always. I made sure of it. It was Amanda who first saw you. She pulled your file from the stack and smiled when she saw your sweet face, and her smile faded when she read your troubles. ‘What about him,’ she said to her mom. And Becky asked why and took the file from her, and Amanda said, ‘I think we can help him.’ They are yours and always will be, as I am yours and always will be. Let them love you, for my sake if not your own, for I cannot stand the thought of you again without love by your side all day and long night. Love is like the grace of God. It warms us. It redeems us. It saves us. It will save you. I promise promise promise. And if you want to come home, tell me and I will come for you, damn every contract and law across this universe. I’ll move stars for you. But o, please give it time. For me. Your Forever Friend, Cheryl PS, I will keep my promise to visit Eric wept. He wept so hard he didn’t know if he could stop. He had never wept so. Or hurt this way. He folded the letter and put if back in its envelope. He wanted so badly to clutch it tightly and never let it go, but he forced himself back to his feet and slid the letter under his mattress. With tears still on running down his face, he sat back down and opened the last box. Inside was a teddy bear. An ordinary teddy bear, larger than most, but an ordinary bear. He smiled to think of her going to a store and walking the aisles until she found the perfect bear for him. The thought stopped his tears. It’s knitted brown eyes and smile looked back at him. It was soft but firm. He gave it a squeeze and felt something inside. Working his fingers to take hold of whatever it was, he squeezed it. Even muffled by the padding, he could make it out plain. It was Cheryl’s voice: “My sweet boy.” It stunned Eric. It stunned him, and when the moment passed, he sobbed. Not gently. Not softly. Not quietly. But in great grief. In such terrible grief a hard heart would miss a beat to hear it. Eric buried his face in his bear and couldn’t stop himself. Every tear he had, every tear he had never shed. They all came out now. He didn’t know what or who he was crying for. For himself? For her? For the ones he left behind? For all of them? For the chance at a new and better life? In gratitude? He didn’t sense he was being lifted or see who was holding him. By instinct he took his face away from the bear and buried it in the soft warmth of whoever had him. She held him tight. She held him as tight as he held his bear. He sobbed so long and hard he no longer could. His head hurt terribly. He sniffled from time to time and tears still fell, and he didn’t take his face away from that soft warm place that held it. He felt the gentle rocking. The soft hand that rubbed circles on his back and fingers through his hair. He heard the gentle shushes and coos of a kind voice trying to comfort him. Gentle, loving kindness, that elemental thing. When he finally could, he looked up and saw it was Amanda who had him so tightly. She wasn’t smiling, nor did she look worried. She looked content just to have this little boy in her arms, and Eric knew Cheryl was right about her, in every way. Eric rested his cheek against her chest on the driest spot he could find, and felt a gentle kiss on top his head, and her hand again on his back. She spoke very softly, looking into the middle distance to draw out the memory. “Ya know, when mom said she wanted a Little, I was against it. I don’t gush over Littles the way most do. I liked things the way they were, just the two of us. But she wasn’t going to change her mind. We went to the agency office and looked through a bunch of files, and I saw you and thought, ‘What a cutie.’” She chuckled and continued. “But there are a lot of cuties. Then I saw your background, though, and that’s when I told mom I thought we should pick you. She told me she loved me more just then. And then we waited for months, and it all faded a bit, and I started thinking she had made a mistake in wanting a Little after all. I was worried you would change things. And I was worried I didn’t have it in me to be a Big. I wasn’t sure I could love someone that much, like other people can. And then you got here two days ago, and I looked down at you sleeping in your crib. And right then you taught me, just your tiny little form and your soft face snuggled into a blanket. You taught me I could love as much as anyone else, more even, more than I ever thought I could. And I can’t ever thank you enough for that.” She kissed his head again, and he nestled against her. Trying hard not to start crying again, Eric took in three short breaths, enough to say, “Amanda? I like ‘Jamie.’” “Okay. ‘Jamie’ it is.” She held him and rocked him a little longer until she felt him go limp. She looked and saw he was asleep, though his hand held his bear. She laid him gently in his crib and raised the rail, clicking it into place. She saw the toys and pictures under the crib and would ask about them later. Gently, she took the bear from Eric’s hand and undressed him, getting him out of his sob-stained pajamas. She checked both sides of his diaper and found him clean and dry. She pulled his blanket up around his chin and tucked him in snug, caressing his cheek with her thumb before turning to leave. Her mom was leaning against the doorframe with tears of her own. Amanda blushed, and didn’t say anything as she passed. Becky caught hold of her sleeve and gave her a quick kiss. Amanda went to change. _­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________________________________________________________ Hours later in the darkness, Jamie felt himself stirred but didn’t rise to consciousness. He felt something pressed against his lips again, and that sweet liquid ran into his mouth, and he drank it in slow, sleeping swallows. He faintly heard Becky humming that tune again, and then singing: Sleep my child and peace attend thee, All through the night Guardian angels God will send thee, All through the night Soft the drowsy hours are creeping Hill and vale in slumber sleeping, I my loving vigil keeping All through the night. While the moon her watch is keeping All through the night While the weary world is sleeping All through the night O'er they spirit gently stealing Visions of delight revealing Breathes a pure and holy feeling All through the night. Love, to thee my thoughts are turning All through the night All for thee my heart is yearning, All through the night. Though sad fate our lives may sever Parting will not last forever, There's a hope that leaves me never, All through the night. (All Through the Night)

Being realistic, can any of us expect anyone not involved in kink to ever be welcoming? And in what circumstances would it come up, except within the kink community? We're into a fetish that many other fetishists are very uncomfortable with. I think anywhere you go, outside the community, this is gonna stay in the closet or you're going to feel a lesser or greater degree of ostracism from people outside the community who find out.

This one is by a DD member: https://www.amazon.com/dp/B079P1B2BT

Yeah, as I was writing that, I was thinking I should save parts of it for something I could publish under my actual name.

I wear purely for recreation, BUT, I have a couple other things going on: I have an anal fissure that requires I apply a petroleum based medical back there, and after it stained multiple pairs of pants, I resorted to wearing Conni incontinence underwear because the waterproof barrier extends all the way to the waistband, keep the medication off my pants. The fissure makes it uncomfortable sometimes to relax my urinary sphincter while seated, and I often find myself leaving the bathroom not completely empty. I have always had a small bladder and go pretty frequently. Some days I'm just what I call "leaky." Not literally, but there are days when I could spend a morning peeing in small amounts about every 90 seconds for a straight half hour. I'm on a medication that has the side effect of making me have to pee frequently, yet have a hard time getting it going and keeping it going, and a hard time finishing. A lot of trips back and forth to the bathroom. All this started happening 15 months ago. So it's not incontinence, and I've worn for 20 years for pleasure and relaxation, but with all these problems, I find diapers are just a huge convenience and make all these problems much less uncomfortable and more manageable. I only wish I could wear to work, which being where I spend 9 hours a day is where I deal with these problems most.

Chapter 5 “I think he’s waking up,” Eric heard, echoing like in a tunnel, but close. It was a soft voice, tentative. “Are you waking up, hun? Are you waking up,” Eric heard, echoing still, but closer than before. It was another soft voice, higher, the voice one uses when speaking gently to a very young child, melodic, over annunciated, excited, abbreviated. Trapped behind his eyelids, Eric heard the voices in the blackness. He couldn’t move his body, and he couldn’t open his eyes. He felt warm, constricted, and heavy, one element of consciousness returning at a time, snippets of sounds reaching his brain. “Hello in there. Hello? Are you waking up?” Eric was understanding now, and he struggled to move his body, each part coming alive in a slow crawl of sensation, but he couldn’t yet open his eyes. Too heavy, too tired, until they flicked open enough to let in a little light, falling closed again. And open a little wider, but blurry, and falling closed again. Finally able to keep them open, but not yet to focus, Eric instinctively tried to sit up. He found it painful and realized he was not flat on his back, but half upright already in an attitude his body wasn’t used to. Something gently pushed him back down, and he tried again, turning this time to his left and expecting his elbow to catch on something to push against, but there was nothing. “He’s a squirmy little thing.” Tired from the effort, Eric went limp against something soft. He opened his eyes and concentrated, but the light was harsh. His pupils constricted, and he squinted, trying to bring the world into focus. His face was close to something, too close to see the whole of it. Slowly rotating his head, still resting it against the surface, he saw the outline of a person sitting a few feet away. Or rather the torso of a person, and craning his head upward, the shape of a face framed by light scattered through blond hair to create a glow that only made it harder to bring the scene into complete focus. And turning upward, at least three feet above him, another face, looking down. Smiling eyes took form, and the conscious part of his brain solved the puzzle. Control of his body returning more quickly, his muscles retrieving their power, Eric looked down to see himself five feet above a pair of giant, socked feet. Looking back up, he saw a person seated close in a chair, and too close and too big to see in the frame of his vision. From spine to amygdala to hypothalamus, cortisol and adrenaline flooded Eric’s body. His heartrate rose, his breathing grew fast and shallow, his senses sharpened, his muscles contracted, his skin grew warm. Sudden and total sobriety. “Shh, shh, honey …” Eric thrashed to his left and right, but something was stopping him from rotating his hips around. He tried to climb, but something was holding him down. “You’re okay. Shh. You’re safe.” Eric’s body knew better, and he pressed himself away from the surface in front of him. It gave just a little, but still his hips were not free, and he couldn’t move himself. Flight gave way to panic. He kicked and swung his arms with no coordination or target, trying only to get away. “Hand me the pen.” Hyperventilating, blood pressure surging, the edges of Eric’s vision grew black. He vaguely felt something pressed against his thigh, and suddenly his limbs went heavy again and the adrenaline ran out, and Eric could do nothing to stop his heart from pumping the diazepam to his brain. He was asleep again. “That was scary.” “Think of how it felt for him, poor little guy. I’m going to put him in bed. He’ll probably sleep for an hour or so.” _­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________________________________________________________ Eric saw a rabbit and held still. He wanted this rabbit to be his friend and slowly crouched down and held out his hand and chirped in the best imitation of rabbit speak he knew. The rabbit stood perfectly still thinking its mottled brown coat hid it against the earth but it was summer and the earth was at its most vivid green and the speckled fur did nothing to hide its outline or its perfectly round black eyes or the twitch of its nose or the glint of sunlight off the ends of its whiskers. The rabbit only thought it was still, but Eric could see its heart beat three times a second through thin, delicate skin. Having no patience for this game, Eric’s right hip moved forward and out just enough to begin a step and the rabbit saw and took off and Eric bounded after him as fast he could with the rabbit stretching out its hind legs like coils of soft steel springing backward and punching the ground and Eric followed and the rabbit watched each shift of Eric’s hips and went the opposite direction right and left and right again and Eric still followed. Now Eric was the rabbit and never had a whole view of the boy but knew he was being pursued and punched his steel legs against the ground and his thin claws caught at the dirt under the grass and he bounded three times the length of his body with each stride but every way he went the boy followed and Eric watched the boy’s hips and so went right and left and right and the boy still followed and Eric went from flight to panic until he didn’t mean to move right or left or right but just moved as fast and as far as he could with his tired steel legs. The boy stopped pursuing Eric and Eric stopped running right and left and right and bounded straight as fast as the dwindling adrenaline and sugar in his body would move him across the green earth until he reached the cover of a wall of boxwood and crouched low under the branches sure he was hidden. Eric’s heart beat five and then four and three and two times a second and he was as tired as he had ever been and he knew he would need to find and eat more food to replenish himself to survive until tomorrow when he would go out to find more food and when he may well need to run again. Eric wasn’t afraid of the boy. He didn’t know the boy. He didn’t know what a boy was. He only knew the boy was many times his size and many times his strength. But Eric was fast so he could run, and small so he could hide, so he ran and he hid and he got away, but there might be more boys tomorrow when Eric had to go find the day’s food and he couldn’t stay always safe in his den but had to leave it to survive. Eric wasn’t afraid of boys. He didn’t know what a boy was or what a boy wanted. He was afraid of what a boy could do to him. _­­­­­­­­­­­_____________________________________________________________________________ Eric came to more quickly this time, chest down on what his body knew was cotton and he felt no pressure on his hips anymore. He moved. He was sore. He was stiff. He felt bruised. “He’s moving a little,” he heard a voice whisper. Eric didn’t know which way he was facing except away from the voice. “Okay. Wait outside so he doesn’t get frightened again, and I’ll wait for him to wake up,” he heard another voice say. Both voices were feminine. Eric’s brain wasn’t foggy this time. He knew the voices were five to ten feet away. He heard soft steps on what he pictured as carpet or a rug walking away from. If she was moving to the hallway, and her voice was away from his face, it meant he was facing into the room or into a wall. He heard the soft squeak of wood being compressed, and he pictured the other voice sitting down into a chair. Eric didn’t want to move yet. He wanted to remember what had happened. Eric had gone under anesthesia a couple times in his life, and while some people forget what happened right before going under, Eric always remembered. Cheryl was holding his hand and kissing him on the forehead. Tish was standing at his left with a syringe just before he closed his eyes. He had told himself not to fight the sleep. And nothing after that until he woke up and saw the figures above and around him. He didn’t remember the details of them well. He remembered trying to run and not being able to. He remembered fighting. He remembered fear. He could fit the pieces together in his mind. He remembered what he had been told: you won’t wake up until you’re home with your new family; you might be frightened, and they will have medicine for that. He had woken up in the arms of a giant and been frightened and tried to run and tried to fight and been given a sedative. A powerful one, judging by how quickly he passed out. The puzzle took shape in Eric’s mind without opening his eyes, and knowing he was being watched, he held perfectly still. He needed a moment uninterrupted, and he stock of what he knew: 1) I have no idea of where I am 2) I’m surrounded by people more than twice my size 3) I physically do not fit in this world 4) A few of my body parts hurt 5) I cannot fight, and I cannot run 6) This is the reality I have to work within For all that, it felt familiar. In a childhood of bouncing from place to place, feeling dislocated and surrounded by strangers in a new place was an intermittent but frequent enough occurrence that Eric learned how to deal with the changes in a way that made it less likely he would be hurt physically or emotionally. It was instinctual then, and he had to recall it now: 1) Accept everything that is offered 2) Ask for nothing that is not offered 3) Say ‘thank you’ for everything, whether you need to or not, or mean it or not 4) Apologize whether you need to or not, or mean it or not 5) Ask only questions you need the answers to 6) Do not emotionally commit to anyone Be cautious, in other words, and deferential, and don’t say or do anything that could be interpreted as ungrateful. Figure out what worked and what didn’t work, and then figure out how to fix or get around what didn’t work. Back then, it was never Eric’s fault, these moves. It was just what happened to him, like catching a virus. This time, Eric was wondering if he hadn’t irretrievably fucked himself over. Eric took the risk and opened his eyes, and as he suspected he was staring at a wall. But between him and the wall were white balusters large enough to be columns and close enough together he couldn’t squeeze between them. Shifting his head just enough to turn his eyes toward his feet, he saw the same thing. A blanket was over him, and he felt he was naked under it. I’m in a crib, Eric thought, and when I roll over, there’s going to be a she-giant sitting in a chair staring at me. Eric wasn’t normally irritable, but then he wasn’t normally trapped in state of absurdity. Maybe the old rules, Eric thought, are going to need to be bent if this is going to work. Sighing and figuring he may as well get it over with, he closed his eyes not to hide but by reflex, opened them again, and without otherwise moving asked, “Did I hurt you?” Eric heard the creak of the wood again, and without meaning to asked in a curt voice, “Please! Could … could you just … stay there a second. Give me a moment … please?” He heard the wood creak again and breathed a sigh of relief. Already breaking my rules, he thought. “No, sweetheart, you didn’t hurt me,” she said. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to.” “I know you didn’t. It’s okay. How do you feel?” “Sore. Where am I?” “You’re in Tosca, in Itali.” That wasn’t a helpful question, Eric thought. If she had said ‘the third star past Jupiter’s smallest moon’ he’d have a better idea of where he was. Sighing, Eric began to push himself up and felt his right wrist hurt. He rolled over and felt his right hip hurt. Finally, he tried to sit up, got about halfway, and laid back down with a groan. Wincing, he heard the wood squeak a little, but not all the way. He stared at the ceiling, decorated a sky blue with puffy clouds. He hadn’t turned far enough to see the voice. “I’m okay. What did they do to me? The doctors.” “You were quite a sick little boy. They said they didn’t often see a Little your age with some of your problems.” The voice gentle, concerned. “Like what?” “Oh, geez. A bunch. You had some torn cartilage in your wrist they repaired. There was some scar tissue in your right hip they removed. They replaced your gut flora. Straightened and whitened your teeth. Fixed your near-sightedness. Did a procedure to restore the soft tissue in your major joints. A couple minor cosmetic procedures to make you look a little younger. Got rid of your little potbelly. The major thing was you had three stomach ulcers they had to repair.” She chuckled. “The doctor said your insides belonged to a boy twice your age.” Eric knew about his wrist and hip; he remembered those injuries. The ulcers were a surprise, but not surprising; he felt a little pain from time to time, and given his job, it made sense. “How long have I been here?” “Here? You’ve been in Itali 29 days. I think that makes 40 days since you left there.” There, Eric thought, here used to be there. Eric chuckled at a thought: this is like Dorothy going through the looking glass and ending up on Brobdingnag. “You should feel fine in about five days,” she volunteered. “Do you want anything for the pain?” “No, thank you. What time is it?” “Mid-morning. Are you hungry?” “Yes.” Eric decided it was time. He turned his head to his right. Sitting about eight feet from him was a woman in a rocking chair with blond hair. She was wearing an athleisure outfit, or whatever they called it here. She wore no makeup that he could tell, and he put her age around 40, or what would look like 40 by Earth time; he wasn’t sure how the difference orbits and revolutions impacted how they measured age here, but it had to in some way since it impacted how time was measured. “Is it okay if I get up,” she asked. Eric was surprised by her voice. She sounded like a human. He had assumed a creature so large would have a much lower, louder voice. She sounded just like a human woman. “Yes.” She stood up not slowly, but slower than it was obvious she was able to. She’s trying not to frighten me, Eric thought. It made him smile a little. He couldn’t tell with her seated, and now he could only estimate. He guessed she was 12 to 13 feet tall, almost two-and-a-half times Eric’s height. Eric was several inches shorter than the average male back home; now he appreciated how good he’d had it. She was otherwise proportioned just like a human. She had an athletic build. With her standing to give perspective to the scene, Eric figured the mattress of his crib was about six feet from the floor and the top of the rail about six feet above the top of the mattress, or about six inches above Eric’s head if he were to stand up. She crossed the eight feet between them in two small steps. She lowered the crib rail and bent over him. It was intimidating. He knew she posed no threat, or least hoped so, but she was intimidating nonetheless. He remembered his first trip to the zoo, seeing a real bear for the first time. It was on the other side of six inches of safety glass, but the sheer size of it – nothing he saw on TV or in books or his imagination prepared him for it. Her standing over him drove home a fact: he was not in control of this environment. “I’m going to help you sit up. Here – squeeze my hand if it hurts,” she said as she offered him her right hand and worked her left under his back. He sat up, winced, and tightened his grip around – her pinky and ringer fingers, he realized. His palm fit in hers. Once upright, his abdomen didn’t hurt. The blanket fell from around his shoulders, leaving his chest bare. Eric looked down at himself. His chest hair was gone. He had only the faintest blonde hair on his forearms. Reaching up to his face, he felt no morning stubble. He sighed again, feeling irritated, not that he didn’t have body or facial hair but that change was happening – no, had happened – so fast, and no sooner had he processed one change than he discovered the next. “If I take my hand away, can you stay up,” she asked. “Yeah.” She slowly took it away, and he let go of her other hand. He felt a little pang is his stomach wall and leaned forward. It went away. He looked at his right wrist. It was sore, but he didn’t see any evidence of an incision. He rolled his hand around slowly; it moved fine. He supinated his forearm, the motion that always hurt because of that injury. It hurt a little worse than before. He looked at his stomach. He smiled; he didn’t see a six pack, but the little bit of pudge he developed sitting in an office was gone. Gently examining his abdomen, he saw fix incisions with a thin layer of clear glue over each one. He took a deep breath and winced, but it wasn’t that bad. He looked up and saw above him a soft face with a gentle smile. He smiled back, a polite smile, his lips flat but his eyes warm as if to say, well, here we are. “How about we get some clothes on you, buster,” she said as she turned toward a dresser. He watched as she took out a pair of yellow footie pajamas. He’d have preferred sweatpants and a t-shirt, but footies were popular among young people at home. It made more sense here than there. There, he thought, and frowned a little. “Are you wet,” she asked as she closed the drawer and walked back toward him. Eric looked puzzled. He looked down at himself and then around, wondering where he would be wet, and what from. “Um … where?” “Your pants, silly,” she said with a bemused smile as she pulled back the blanket from Eric’s lap. Eric looked down and saw what was unmistakably a plain, white diaper. Eric looked back up. His face was a perfect version of the “unimpressed” expression. He sighed, again. He closed his eyes and shook his head. Maybe this is a post-surgery thing, he thought, after all, you’ve been unconscious for 40 days. But then he thought back to the adoption agreement: your arrival age range is binding, but the details of it are at the discretion of the Big. Eric started to say something and decided against it. This is not a big deal, yet, he hold himself. One thing at a time, and maybe he’d rather not know the answer. “Mom, can I come in,” he heard a voice ask behind him. Looking over his shoulder, and up, Eric saw a blond head peeking out from behind the doorframe. “Yeah, come on in. I’m just getting him dressed.” Eric nearly gave himself whiplash when he felt something press against his penis. “You’re just a little wet; it can wait a bit.” He quickly looked down to see her taking her hand off his … underpants, and quickly back up as he mouthed to himself, “I am?” And quickly back and over his shoulder again as he felt another person standing above him. It was enough to make Eric a little dizzy, and he brought his hand to his head and rubbed his forehead and eyes. The girl was a slightly smaller, trimmer, younger version of the woman who was threading footie pajamas up his legs, obviously her daughter. She was beaming down him. “Can you lift him up a bit for me?” The pajamas had reached his hips. He started to lift himself and felt a little pain shoot through his right hip. “Sure.” The girl reached under his arms and lifted him enough for her mom to get the pajamas under him, and she brought them to his shoulders. Eric instinctively raised his arms, and though he easily could on his own, she took his each wrist worked them through the sleeves herself, and he was quickly zipped into his new outfit. “I’m going to pick you up very gently, okay? I want you to tell me if it hurts, even a little,” the mom said. Eric nodded, and putting one arm under his knees and one across his back and under his left arm, she picked him in a cradling position. Bent at the waist, it did hurt, and Eric groaned with his eyes shut tight. “Relax, just relax,” she said, “I’ve got you.” Eric did, letting his weight slump into her arms. Without contracting his abdomen to hold himself upright, his belly didn’t hurt. Opening his eyes, he was much closer to her face, which meant he was at least ten feet off the ground. Eric had never liked heights, and he didn’t want to look down, and he didn’t want to look scared in front of her. This is an exercise in trust, he told himself. And your ability to keep your anxiety in check. He thought he was doing well, so far. She smiled down at him, a big smile, but the wrinkle in her forehead showed concern. “Better?” “Yes … I … I don’t like heights,” he said, even though he had just told himself not show he was scared. “Aww, that’s okay kiddo. You’re safe with me – promise. Let’s go get you a bottle,” she said as she turned toward the door. A bottle? Eric grimaced, confused. Why a bottle? The girl stepped into his field of as he was carried to the door. In a sing-songy voice, the girl said, “Hi, Jamie. I’m Amanda.” A cold clench in his belly, his heat rate picking up again, Eric started to sit up and the pain quickly forced him back down. Looking from the woman carrying him to the girl beside him, Eric felt fear again. Who the fuck is ‘Jamie,’ Eric shouted in his head. Did I get the wrong family?

I’d be interested to know your outcome as I may soon be facing a similar procedure.

Who here chose an organized religion other than the one they were brought up in? For the purposes of this question, changing denominations or sects within a religion doesn’t count. Why did you choose this new faith? What were the steps you took from question your earlier farther and arriving at the faith you chose? What convinced you of the truth of the daith you chose over the faith you decided was not true?

When I hear that only those who are born again and have accepted Jesus as their savior go to heaven, I think about all the people born before Christ, all who’ve never heard of him, all the good people who have heard of him and have lived just lives without being born again, and I ask myself, if a man is saved by faith alone, and only alone, what does that say about the savior, who would damn all these people? To me, it says that how you treat your fellow creatures doesn’t matter to the savior. It says, to me, that all the savior cares about is a person submitting to him. That savior is a narcissist who cares more being worshipped than he does about his people. I don’t want that savior. I wouldn’t keep a friend like that, leave alone worship someone like that. And what’s more, a person cannot freely consent - accept - to worship a being that hangs damnation over his head if he chooses otherwise. That’s not accepting Christ; that’s being coerced. So no, I do not believe only born again people go to heaven, because I do believe in a loving god, and a loving god wouldn’t do that. But those are only my opinions.

I considered ending it right there. It wasn’t my plan to take the story down this path. It’s just where it went, and I thought, I could end the story here, or I could have him stay. But I still want to tell the story I sort of imagined. I’d say think of this as act one. It could be a one-act, but it also sets up possibilities for a second act.

I guess I’ll compare it to a great relationship: first you can’t stop thinking about her, then you can’t stop yourselves from jumping into bed together, and then all you want to do is be with her. It never gets old for me. I still enjoy the sexual aspect of it, but for me it’s not just the wearing but what goes along with it in fantasy - trust, the exchange of power, the surrender. After a minor house fire that nonetheless meant I had to throw out every diaper related thing I had, I went about 10 months without, not for any reason. But since then, about 15 months ago, there has hardly been a day I didn’t wear. I feel more comfortable, relaxed, and more like me. Every weekday, I get home, take my tumblr out of work bag, put it on the counter, put my bag down, take my shoes off, go upstairs put on a diaper. Every weekend, absent a reason not to, I’m essentially 24/7. It’s just a part of my day and how I feel most content. I guess what I mean to say is, diapers didn’t stop being sexual for me. They just became something else, too. Also, you’re 21. Your hormones will eventually calm down.

I considered it. Writing without an outline, letting the story go where it wants to, that would have been a valid choice, but that’s not the story I set out to tell. And neither is this the story I set out to tell. I’m seeing four or five possible endings, and I don’t know which one it will be, or how I’ll get there. I suppose the journey will decide. Yeah, I got a little teary, too, writing it. I guess I’ve been a little emotional lately.

I read a lot of threads about where people do wear, so I wanted to turn this around. For me, work (so far), any doctors appointments that involved or may involve my pants coming down or being felt down there, the gym/pool, and getting a pair of pants fitted. Other than that, the only that stops me wearing is when the clothes appropriate for the weather won’t conceal it (damn you, stupidly humid summers).

I can’t speak specifically to ABDL, but when the people I encounter in kink in general are either (A) more likely to suffer from mental illness or (B) more likely to talk openly about it. Perhaps it’s a safe space thing, and mental illness, by comparison to other topics of conversation, is less intrusive to discuss than kink. And when people are open about so much else that is considered top secret, why not be open about mental illness, traditionally, and wrongly, something people hide. Personally, I think ageplayers and some DLs have stronger and more unusually emotional needs. Hence the desire for a big to care for them, or a little to care for, or the emotional comfort a DL takes in a diaper in addition to the sexual. I mean, how often do we hear people say “it’s not sexual/just sexual for me”?