quietlyhumiliated

Seventy-Nine It took a day or two for things to get back to ‘normal’–whatever that was–in the wake of my mother’s visit. Her visit hadn’t actually been that long overall–she stayed overnight at a local hotel and I got breakfast with her the next day before she went back home. But her brief presence had left a mark. It wasn’t like I didn’t trust Mommy anymore–I couldn’t hold it against her that my mother could be quite insistent, and Mommy had probably made the right decision in getting the both of us in the same room at the same time. Still, I was a little sore that I had been blindsided like that, and had unconsciously begun giving Mommy the cold shoulder. She reacted to this by giving me the space I needed–which was probably the best thing she could’ve done. I decided to use this quiet time to myself to reflect on where I was and what my goals were. My meeting with my mother had actually worked out to be a good thing, as it felt like something I could cross off of a mental list. Previously, its presence on the list was a dark spot–one of the highest hurdles I’d need to jump, and because it felt so insurmountable, it made the actual process of ‘growing up’ feel like a fool’s errand in the end. But…it had happened. I talked to her. We had a good talk. Did my mother know that I wore diapers and was treated like a baby by my boss? Well…my mother certainly knew something, though she had mostly avoided admitting how much she knew. Also, she refrained from passing judgment. I was sure she had lots of thoughts about the situation–but she was able to keep them to herself. Which, at the end of the day, was probably the best I could hope for. With that done and out of the way, the future suddenly seemed a little easier. I was feeling good. Things were happening. I was getting out and socializing. I had a job again. I didn’t have to think about the awkward conversation with my mother anymore. I could see a path before me, and I was excited about adult things again. Paychecks, and grocery shopping, and using ATMs, and cooking dinner for myself, and reading a book, and… I started to wet my diaper, and the thick padding warmed and swelled between my thighs. This wasn’t the first time I involuntarily used my diaper while thinking about the future, though I could never be certain if it was just coincidental timing, or if planning ahead too much just caused my body to expel itself. For most of my time at Mommy’s, I never really needed to think about when, or if, I needed a diaper change. That was up to Mommy–or whoever was handling me on behalf of Mommy. There were still times that I waddled about without any care for the condition of my diaper, though they were getting fewer and fewer. This diaper, though, felt uncomfortable. The way it sagged. The feeling of the moist padding pressed against my skin. I needed out of it. “Mommy?” She was in the kitchen, chopping up some vegetables. There was a time when she didn’t cook very much. So rarely, in fact, I just assumed that she either didn’t like to, or didn’t know how. More recently, she had started to use her kitchen more often–and for more than just making coffee or chilling her wine. As it turned out, she seemed to be a pretty great chef. “Baby,” she answered with a smile, looking up from the cutting board. “I’m, uhm…wet.” She snickered and set down the knife. “I’m not surprised by that. I am a little surprised you wanted to tell me, though.” “I just…” I actually wasn’t sure what to say. I knew how I felt, but I didn’t know how to express it. “Are you uncomfortable in your wet diaper?” she asked. I nodded. “I was reading an article about potty training recently,” Mommy said. “It was talking about the signs that your toddler might be ready to start using the potty. One of the signs was a toddler’s sudden disinterest in staying in their dirty diaper.” I felt myself blushing, equally amazed and humiliated how easily I could be seen as an authentic toddler interested in potty training. “Do you think you’re ready for the potty, big boy?” “I…well, I think I could use it, if I had to.” Mommy let out a loud “Ha!” as she walked past me, grabbing my hand so that she could lead me to the nursery. Soon, I was in a spot I knew better than almost any other space on the planet–on my back, on my changing table. Much like the way that beds and couches would slowly form little grooves and depressions from where you sat on them often, I had a groove in the plush padding of the changing table. My body just kind of snapped in place, and it was always a source of comfort to me. Like: This is my spot. It was meant for me, and this is where I belong. The spot still felt good to me–I was sure that it would always feel good–but I just wasn’t as interested in wiggling myself into the grooves as perfectly as I usually did. Mommy pulled the tapes up and opened the diaper. “Pretty wet, but I’ve seen wetter.” “D-do you think I should’ve waited?” “Nope,” she smiled. “I trust you when you say you need to be changed. I mean…I thought that was my job but…” She shrugged and pulled a moist wipe from the container so that she could slide it across my skin. It was hard to read her. She didn’t sound upset, but I knew her well enough to know that she wasn’t completely overjoyed. I imagined that it was hard for her to see me ‘growing up.’ I wondered if it was all that different from how my actual mother felt when I was getting older. They’re happy for their child, but sad that an era was slowly coming to an end. I was reminded, again, of the conversation I overheard her having on the phone a bit ago–the one where she confessed to not knowing what to do with herself after I moved on. I had spent a lot of time thinking about what she had said–wondering if the best move was to just stay a baby for the rest of my life. No, that probably wasn’t going to work. It’d stop being cute eventually–like when I was old enough to need a routine colonoscopy. Was Mommy’s happiness after I left my responsibility? She interrupted my thinking: “So? Should we start thinking about taking potty training seriously?” “Maybe?” It occurred to me that I was kind of scared of potty training. It wasn’t the fear of the toilet itself–it was the fear of leaving behind something that had been such a big part of my life. It felt like my entire personality–my entire existence–was tied to diapers. “As much as it pains me to admit it,” Mommy said, “I think it’s a good idea.” It seemed that we were on the same page about that, then. “Do you, uhm, think it’ll be hard?” She laughed and shrugged. “We’re entering new territory for me, Clarky. I imagine it won’t be all that hard…I assume you had a few good years of experience in using a toilet already.” “Uh, yeah,” I said. “Man…that feels like a long time ago, though.” “It’ll be fun,” she said, bundling up the soggy diaper and tossing it into the bin. “Fun?” “I’m thinking we’ll make you a little potty-training chart,” she said. “It’s important to keep track of your successes and failures.” I remembered back when we were in the old office–just before Thomas Pritchard blew everything up, actually–when Mommy showed me the spreadsheets she used to track my diaper use. I wondered if she still did anything like that now that I lived with her, but maybe it didn’t matter. Seeing a potty-training chart mounted on the wall of the nursery, however–that mattered. I was blushing just thinking about it. “I…I don’t want to give up diapers forever, though,” I said to Mommy, thinking of Ava. “I just…” “You don’t want to be dependent on them,” Mommy nodded. “I understand. But, no, I doubt you’ll ever be done with your diapers. Once a baby–always a baby.” “So…how do we do this?” I asked. “How do I…get potty trained again?” It felt like a silly question to ask as she was unfurling a giant diaper and tucking it under my bottom, but that’s just the way things were. “I’ll work on that,” Mommy said, shaking a bottle of powder over my caged cock. She even gave the metal cage a little poke. “If you can show me that you can use the potty reliably…maybe I could be convinced to unlock you.” If anything was going to motivate me to start using a toilet again–that was probably it. Especially now that…” “So,” Mommy said, as if reading my mind. “How are things with that girl you’ve been talking to? Paige?” “She’s…good.” We had been consistently texting with one another, but I’d been a little hesitant to make plans with her. I wanted to see her again–but that felt risky. I had no doubt that Paige wanted to get inside of my diaper–just as I’d have liked to get into hers. But it felt complicated. There would be discussions needed about my diaper. About Mommy, maybe. And top of that…well, I was still pining for Ava. “You’ve got that look on your face,” Mommy said as she taped my diaper into position. “It’s funny, because you make a similar expression when you’re troubled by something as you do when you’re pooping. Sometimes, it’s hard to tell which it is.” She leaned in a little closer to my fresh diaper and gave it an exaggerated sniff. “I’m pretty sure you’re not pooping.” “It’s just hard,” I sighed. “It’s hard to just be, like, a normal guy with Paige. I’m afraid to spend time with her, because all I can think of is how the more she knows about me–the more of a freak she’ll think that I am.” I hoped for Mommy to offer some advice, but instead she just nodded. For a moment, that seemed like all I was going to get–though she eventually opened her mouth. “I’m not sure what to say, Baby,” she said, taking me by the hands and pulling me up into a sitting position on the changing table. “I think you need to do what’s best for you. Just know that whatever you want to do–I’ve got your back.” “Thank you, Mommy.” I’d spend a good part of the afternoon thinking about Paige, and what my next move was. What I needed was an excuse to see her–but in a setting where things couldn’t get out of control. Something social. In public. Something like a double-date, with another couple–just as Lyndie had suggested a few days before. It was starting to make sense to me–an opportunity to spend more time with Paige, while not putting myself in a position where I’d have to expose too much of myself. Maybe–assuming I could get all parties to agree to it–this would buy me some more time with Paige until I was less dependent on diapers…and my chastity. I pulled out my phone and texted Lyndie: Me: “Hey, do you think Ava would actually be interested in a double-date with me and Paige?” Lyndie: “Uh…YES. She and I talked about it already. I know for a fact that she’d be down.” Me: “You two actually talked about that?” Lyndie: “Clarky, we talk about everything.” Me: “Okay, so what do I need to do to get this ball rolling?” Lyndie: “LOL. Well, first of all, I’m not your personal assistant. Reach out to Ava yourself, dum-dum. Tell her what you want to do.” That probably should’ve seemed obvious, but my social skills were still a little lacking–and maybe they had never been that great to begin with. I would reach Ava, but there was a more important step that needed to be taken care of first–I’d need to make sure Paige was onboard with the idea of going on a double-date with me and my friend. Me, to Paige: “Hey! So…just out of curiosity… Let’s say that a good friend of mine has been pressuring me to go on a double-date with them and their boyfriend. Do you think you’d be interested in something like that?” It was a lie–which I wasn’t especially proud of, but it felt like a much more reasonable way to throw the idea out there instead of the truth: “So, I’m terrified of spending time alone with you, so I’m going to wrangle my friends up and use them as a temporary buffer.” The worst she could say was no–and I told myself that I wouldn’t panic about it until she actually responded to me. Paige: “Wow. So, our second date is me meeting two strangers?” Me: “I totally get that I’m asking a lot. I’m not expecting you to want to - I’m just throwing it out there.” Paige: “I was being a little sarcastic, sorry. Look, if it’s important to you, then I don’t mind doing it. I assume they’re pretty cool if they’re your friends, right?” It was flattering that she thought I was cool enough to have cool friends, but I wasn’t really sure how to answer that. Yes, Ava was very cool. So cool that I wanted to make out with her. But that’s not something I could say to Paige. Me: “Well, I don’t know my friend’s boyfriend all that well, so we’d all be meeting some strangers. But it’d mean a lot to me if you’d come with me.” Paige: “Then say no more, baby boy. I’m in. Do you know when yet?” Me: “Not yet, but I’ll let you know as soon as I do.” That seemed easy enough–and now the hard part was out of the way. All that was left was to propose the idea to Ava–who, from the sounds of it, was already onboard with it. Elsewhere in the house, there were curious sounds. Amidst the texting and waiting for responses, Mommy mentioned that she had to run some errands and would be back in a little bit. It sounded as if she had returned, and was tearing open some packaging–a cardboard box from the sounds of it. Intriguing, but unless she was calling for me, I doubted it had anything to do with me. She had recently mentioned wanting to get a new lamp from the foyer, and so I just assumed she had finally picked one up. I’m sure she’d show me later. I hesitated over the text I was going to send to Ava for a bit. I’d write a few words, change my mind about them, and then start over. I wanted to sound excited about the idea, but not so excited that it sounded like I just wanted to show Paige off to Ava. I wanted it to sound like I was just as–if not more–excited to see Ava than I was to introduce her to Paige. I might as well just tell her that I’m in love with her. Instead, I sent this: “Hey! Lyndie recently mentioned that you and Caleb might be interested in going on a double-date sometime. It’d be nice to see you, and I’d love to introduce you to my friend Paige.” And…sent. I immediately had doubts about introducing the concept of Paige as my ‘friend,’ though it wasn’t like I had any other way to describe her. My friend-who-also-seems-into-diapers? My not-quite-girlfriend-but-maybe-later-after-I-get-my-chastity-removed? ‘Friend’ seemed just fine. I decided to go downstairs to see what Mommy was up to. I was walking now–which usually didn’t seem like something worth pointing out, except that I had only recently decided to start walking at home more often. Usually, I just crawled. I kept waiting for Mommy to ask me to get down on my hands and knees again–or to, at the very least, ask why I wasn’t crawling–but she hadn’t said a word about it. In the meantime, I just found that I needed to be a little more conscious of my steps as I walked. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. I almost toppled over on the steps. It was a silly thing–just one step moving ahead of the other a little too quickly–and something I was able to correct before a disaster occurred, but it was a little reminder that I still had some adjusting to do before I fully gave up the baby life. “Hello, sweetie,” Mommy cooed from the living room. “Come here. I want to show you something.” I swallowed nervously and slowly waddled down the hall to the opening of the living room. Left foot. Right foot. Left foot. Right foot. “I was originally thinking I’d just put this in the nursery,” she said, pointing to an object on the floor. “But the beauty of this thing is that I can put it anywhere I want.” At first, I wasn’t entirely sure what I was looking at. It was a plastic…something. A toy? It dawned on me, at last, as to what it might be. It was…a child’s potty chair. A purple plastic seat that sat low to the ground, with a little well in it where one would deposit their…well, whatever it was they needed a potty for. As best as I could recall, I had never seen one in person–and if my mother used one with me when I was that age, I would have no memory of it. “What do you think?” she asked. “Y-you…got that for me?” “Mmmhmm,” she nodded. “I figure that if we’re going to do potty training, we need to do it right.” “I mean…I know how to sit on an actual toilet,” I said. “Sure. But this is cute.” I couldn’t argue with that. Just looking at the tiny little piece of plastic made my cheeks darken. And it wasn’t hard to see where Mommy was going with this–she wanted to have as much fun with potty training as she did with keeping me in diapers. “So…how do you see this working?” I asked. “Do I just…use that instead of the toilet?” “Well, I’ve been reading about potty training toddlers, and they say that you should sit your child on the potty chair regularly–every two hours or so. The idea is to acclimate them to not only using the potty, but to get them in the habit of holding it until they are sitting on the potty.” “That’s actually kind of smart,” I shrugged. “I mean…if I was a toddler.” “Are you not?” “I…uhm…” Since I just changed your diaper a little bit ago, I won’t make you sit on it now. But, soon enough you and Ms. Potty here are going to be very well acquainted.” “Ms. Potty?” “A cute name, right?” “I guess…” I stared down at the purple potty, trying to imagine myself sitting on it. I supposed it was possible–the potty’s seat didn’t have any sides that I’d have to stuff myself into. I would just look completely ridiculous sitting on it–probably more so when I actually used it. And I already knew that she’d be making me use it. “I think it pairs nicely with this,” Mommy said, holding up the next new purchase. The packaging read: ‘Potty Training Chart with Stickers!’ “Oh.” “See? It’s got all these little stickers in it, and we can keep track of your progress with it. See? A sticker in this column means you asked to use the potty. A sticker in this column means you made your pee-pees or poo-poos in the potty instead of your diaper. There’s also a column we can mark if you were able to wipe yourself, instead of having Mommy do it for you. And a sticker in this column over here means that you even washed your hands when you were finished using the potty–a very important step.” “I…I know how to wipe,” I said, my cheeks feeling even warmer now. “And I always wash my hands.” “I suppose we’ll see what the chart says after a week or two, huh?” Mommy shrugged. “Let’s not get too cocky yet.” I sighed, nodding my head like the obedient boy I was. “You don’t think it’s…too small?” “No,” she said, looking down at the potty while shaking her head. “I think you’ll fit on there just fine. In fact…let me just see something.” She unfastened the drawstring of her tight pants and, without any hesitation, pushed her pants and panties down her legs, past her knees. Then, she slowly and carefully lowered her ass down onto the potty chair. “Oh wow,” she said once her buttocks finally made contact with the plastic seat. “It’s even lower than you think it’s going to be. But look–it’s supporting me just fine. I fit right on it. I’m sure you’ll fit on it even better than me.” I couldn’t help but gawk at what I was seeing–I loved seeing Mommy being playful like this. I still daydreamed about the day we crawled around her house together while we both wore diapers. “Well,” she continued. “Since I’m here, I might as well take care of some business.” I almost asked her to elaborate, but I quickly realized what she meant. And, if I didn’t figure it out for myself then, it probably would’ve come to me once I heard the telltale sound of water trickling and puddling inside the potty chair. She was using it. I was staring down at her as she nonchalantly pissed into the tiny potty. “Ah,” she said. “Much better. Yes, I’ll think this’ll be good for you. Now, can you be a dear and go fetch Mommy something to wipe herself with?” “Of course,” I said. I ran to the bathroom, grabbed a wad of toilet paper, and waddled back. “Good boy,” she cooed. “Now, do you think you can be trusted to wipe Mommy clean?” “Y-yes. I can do that, Mommy.” “Good. Here you go, then.” She lifted her body up–not entirely standing, but squatting above the potty chair. I reached beneath her with the paper, carefully dabbing her with it at first, but then moving to a wiping motion–pulling the wad towards me as I hugged the curve of her body. “I think that’ll do it,” she said, stepping forward from the potty chair and pulling her pants and panties back into place. “You can throw that toilet tissue for Mommy, yes?” I nodded. “Yes. And what about the, uh, potty chair? Do you need me to, like, empty that and clean it out?” “Hmm. Good point, Clarky. Something should be done about this little puddle I made, huh?” I started to reach down to grab the potty chair. I had no idea what I was going to do with it once I had it. Dump it into the toilet, maybe. Though…I would be lying if I didn’t admit that there was a small part of me that wanted to hold the plastic container up to my nose to take a big sniff of her fresh piss. She stopped me before I could grab it. “I’ll take care of the cleanup for this,” she said. “I know just where to put it.” “Oh, where were you thinking?” The answer was actually pretty obvious, I just needed another second to think about it. As soon as I saw the mischievous smile on her face, I knew exactly where she’d be dumping that pee. “Stand still, Baby.” She reached down to the potty chair, and was able to detach the little bucket inside of it from the rest of the chair–a feature that probably made cleanup a lot easier. Now, it just looked like she was holding a plastic bowl of pee in her hands. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I offered no resistance as she pulled down my pants and opened the waistband of my diaper just enough so that she could tilt the bowl into it. Steadily and carefully, she spilled its contents into my diaper, watching to make sure that not a single drop was spilled. I could immediately feel the warm liquid rush past my cock and gather between my thighs–causing all the padding along the way to swell. It soaked the diaper in way that was a little different from when I’d wet it–causing the weight of it to feel dispersed differently. I would’ve given anything in that moment to not be locked in a cage. “There we go,” she said, pulling my pants back up. She thrust the bowl into my hands. “When you have a chance, give that a good washing. Then you can put it back into the potty chair for later.” “Yes, Mommy.” And with that, I waddled away–a more pronounced waddle, given the need to adjust to the way Mommy’s piss sat in the diaper–ready to wash out the potty chair’s bowl that I’d only be dirtying myself later anyway.

I realized I was a week or three behind, so you're getting two chapters this week! Seventy-Seven I still wasn’t used to the idea of getting ready for work in the morning. For some time now, my mornings consisted of being woken by Mommy, getting my diaper changed, having breakfast made for me, and then being sent off to the living room with my cartoons. Now, after a diaper change and breakfast, there was a stack of adult clothes waiting for me to slip into. Tight, restrictive, adult clothes. Something seemed off, though, and I wasn’t completely sure what it was until I spotted Mommy again in the kitchen after I had gotten dressed. “Are you not going to the office today?” I asked. Her yoga pants and t-shirt couldn’t have been further from what she normally wore to work. In fact, she rarely looked this schlubby when it was just in the house. “Not today, Baby.” “But…” “Don’t get your diaper twisted. I’ll still be driving you to the office. But then I’m coming back home.” “Are you okay? Are you sick? Are you…” “I’m fine,” she said, smiling. “Thank you for caring, Baby. Mommy just needs a little me-time this morning. And then, this afternoon, I have an appointment that I’m not really looking forward to.” “An appointment?” I asked. “What kind of appointment?” My mind quickly scrolled through the worst-case scenarios. Some sort of diagnosis from her doctor? Business issues? A job opportunity that would take her far, far, away from me? “It’s nothing you should trouble yourself over right now,” she said. “I promise, we can talk about it more later.” I wanted to trust her, but it was the ‘right now’ part that troubled me. Did that mean, at some point, I’d have to trouble myself over it? I let it go. Clearly she was already feeling stressed about it, and she didn’t need me badgering her for more information. I gave her a tight hug as a show of support, which she reciprocated by tightly grasping my body as well. Soon after, I was in the passenger seat as she drove. Sitting next to me was a bagged lunch she had packed for me. I hadn’t looked to see what she packed, but judging by the shapes I could feel through the paper bag, there was at least a baby bottle waiting for me. While I had no doubt that whatever she had packed would be received well by the office, I also knew that it’d probably cause me to blush. Future-me problems, I told myself. It felt right to offer one more sign of support for whatever it was that seemed to be weighing heavily on her mind–whatever it was that involved her ‘appointment’: “Mommy, whatever’s going on, I’m sure it’s going to work out for the best. These things usually do–especially when you’re involved.” She took a hand off the wheel and put it on my thigh. “You’re a sweet boy, Clarky. I know I’ve told you this a thousand times, but it continues to be true.” “At least ease my mind a little,” I said. “You’re not, like, dying, are you?” “No,” she said, chuckling a little as she stared ahead. “It’s nothing like that.” “Oh. Well…that’s good.” “I promise you, I’ll tell you everything soon enough.” “Okay,” I said, believing that. “Clark?” “Yes?” “This is going to sound like a silly question, but I need to ask it anyway. You know that I love you, yes?” “Of course.” “I do. I love you very much, Clark. In fact, it’d be hard for me to think of anyone I love more than you. And that’s not just in some romantic way. That’s a familial love. That's friendship love. That’s a love I thought I’d only feel for my actual flesh and blood–if I ever had children. I love you, Clark.” “I…I know that. And I love you too. But…” “I just wanted to say that,” she said. “That’s all. I wanted to make sure that it was extremely clear.” “I do understand that,” I nodded. Her words were making me nervous. It sounded like the sort of thing people said in movies before they sacrificed their lives. Or…made some sort of questionable decision. This was usually the point where I’d start to panic or overthink things–but I trusted Mommy far too much to let my worries get the best of me just yet. Soon enough, as she said, I’d have answers. And when I did, I had no doubt that everything would make sense. “I hope you have a good day at work, Baby,” she said, pulling up in front of the office building. She leaned towards me, planting a wet kiss on my cheek. “I’ve asked Lyndie to keep an eye on you today. Try not to give her much trouble, okay?” I shrugged, laughing. “No promises.” “That’s a good boy,” she smirked. “Now, off you go. I’ll see you tonight.” No sooner than I had departed the car, Mommy was off and down the road, headed back to the house, I presumed, for her me-time. It was a rare occurrence for Mommy to just stand, or sit, still–it seemed like she was always doing something. Always moving. I tried to imagine what her me-time would even look like. A giant cup of tea–or glass of wine–while she watched soap operas? Did she read a book in the bathtub? She did like to read–though her taste in books never seemed especially relaxing either. True crime and true crime adjacent, usually. How she didn’t have nightmares about it all was beyond me. “Good morning, Clark,” Amber said as I approached the front desk. “G-good morning.” Amber seemed nice, and Mommy spoke highly of her, but I had yet to get a good read on her. She was distant enough from the baby-shenanigans that I just didn’t know what went through her mind when she saw myself or Risa waddling around in diapers. “Think you’ll be alright without your Mommy today?” Was she mocking me? Or was that a genuine question? “I, uh, think I’ll be good.” “Of course he’ll be alright,” said another voice. Lyndie was approaching. “He’s got me looking after him.” “Good morning, Lyndie.” We walked deeper into the office, and when I felt we were far enough away, I had a question: “How do you feel about her?” “Amber? She’s cool. Don’t expect her to change your diaper, but she’s never going to give you any problems.” “Hey, uhm, do you know anything about Mommy staying home today?” I asked. “Some sort of appointment?” She was quick to shake her head. The suspicious part of me thought it was way too quick. “Can’t say I do,” she shrugged. I wasn’t about to call Lyndie a liar, so I kept my doubts to myself. “So, how’s the diaper doing this morning?” she asked, her hand giving my bottom a good firm pat. Behind us, I could hear Risa giggling, causing my cheeks to blush. “Dry so far,” I said. “I’ll check again soon enough,” Lyndie assured me. “Well, you know where to find me.” I sunk into my office chair and booted up my PC. There was actual work to do. Actual responsibilities. I still wasn’t used to how novel this felt. I had a few tasks assigned to me–nothing that seemed extremely critical or urgent. Likely just the boring and tedious tasks that nobody else wanted to do–the sort of stuff that would’ve been relegated to the interns, if this company had them. Interns. Wow. That used to be me. There was some file organization to do. Some data entry. Some proofreading on an early draft of an employee handbook. There was a folder of images that needed to be moved to another server to be used on the company’s still-developing website. “Are they giving you lots of work to do?” Risa asked, strolling up to my desk. There was a baby bottle in her hand, filled with what looked to be milk. She casually tipped it into her mouth, suckling from the nipple. When she was done, she wiped the drips of white liquid from her lips with the back of her hand. All without the slightest care in the world as to what other people might think. Too, her attire was quite infantile–a colorful onesie underneath some pastel pink overalls. I wondered if she actually wore this into the office or if she changed into this outfit when she got here. I tried to imagine someone walking down the street in this get-up, but it just didn’t seem likely. “I’ve got a bit, yeah. Enough to keep me busy today.” “Same,” she said. “It feels like there’s always something to do. But I like that.” “How, uh, are you feeling about the company?” I asked. It felt like just small talk, but I was genuinely curious to get more insight on her thoughts about this place. “Love it,” she said. “It’s like a dream job. I’m getting paid while I’m using my diapers, you know?” “How do you like Ms. Beaufort?” “Oh, she’s the best. And the, uhm, breastfeeding? Like…holy shit.” I laughed and nodded my head. “It’s nice.” She grabbed a chair pulling it up alongside my desk and took a seat. “You know, I just want to say, you’re, like, my hero.” Lyndie had mentioned something like this to me when I first started working in the office–something about Risa and Bradley seeing me as a legend for how I taken into Ms. Heller’s home to be treated like a big baby for a good length of time. Still, hearing her say this to me now, my only response was: “Huh?” “Like, man, I would kill to live like you do. Okay, well maybe not kill, but you know what I mean.” I wasn’t sure that I did, but I nodded anyway. “That had to be awesome, right? Living the dream? Full-time baby?” “It certainly had its perks,” I shrugged. I opted not to talk about the downsides. The feeling I had of being so far behind now–the insurmountable amount of catching up that I felt I had to do now. The loss of familial and friendly connections. “I’ve got so many questions for you,” she said. “But if I start asking them, I’m sure we’ll be here all day.” “Well, uh, I’m around if you ever want to chat.” I was just being polite. I didn’t mind talking to her about my experiences, but I wasn’t entirely comfortable about the idea of just being interviewed by someone I barely knew. “Good morning, Clark,” said another voice, just beyond Risa. I looked up to see Ms. Beaufort’s smiling face–and her ample milk-filled bosom. “H-hello, Ms. Beaufort.” “Oh please. It’s Auntie.” I tried that again: “Good morning, Auntie.” “My assistant isn’t being too distracting, is she?” “N-no,” I stammered. “Of course not.” “She can be a chatty little baby. But that’s why we have this.” Ms. Beaufort revealed a pacifier and slid it into Risa’s mouth. Risa’s cheeks blushed as she looked down at the floor. I was tempted to reiterate that Risa had done nothing wrong, but it didn’t really seem important. As embarrassed as Risa seemed to be, I could tell that this was also the sort of thing she lived for. Relatable, really. I’d have died if Mommy pushed a pacifier into my mouth back at the old office, in front of my other co-workers–but I’d have thought about that moment for weeks after. “And, one more thing,” Ms. Beaufort said, helping Risa to her feet. “Let’s check on the status of your diaper, hmm?” Risa let out a meek moan of protest through her pacifier, though did little to actually resist. Of course her diaper was going to get checked right here, in the middle of the office. That was how this place worked. Ms. Beaufort unlatched the shoulder straps from the overalls, letting them tumble down Risa’s legs. Next, her hand reached between Risa’s legs and gave the bottom of the onesie a good tug to pull the snaps apart. Next, the onesie was pulled up past Risa’s hips so that her diaper was exposed. I had been told previously that Risa was all about the cloth diapers, and here they were. I was expecting a pair of plastic pants, but these were more like a cloth diaper cover–I suspected they had a waterproof liner. I couldn’t see the cloth diaper itself, but given the bulky shape of her bottom, I had to imagine it was pretty thick. I was curious to see how Ms. Beaufort would go about checking diapers like this, since you couldn’t really see the cloth diaper itself. Sure enough, waiting just another moment revealed that answer, as Ms. Beaufort’s hand gently squeezed the bottom of the diaper. I imagined that she knew the feel of a wet diaper. Then, she lowered her head closer to Risa’s bottom and gave it a quick sniff. It didn’t seem necessary–messy diapers rarely needed that thorough of an investigation to identify–though I suspected this was more for show. Really, if all she was going to do was to squeeze the diaper, she probably didn’t need to unsnap the onesie. This was just how this place worked. “Wet,” Ms. Beaufort announced–just as much to Risa as it was to anyone who felt like listening. “It could probably hold more though. I’ll be checking you again soon enough.” “Y-yes, ma’am,” Risa stated. No ‘Mommy.’ No ‘Auntie.’ It was a curious way to address her, but Ms. Beaufort didn’t seem to have a rebuttal or correction for her. As best as I could tell–’ma’am’ was just the expected way for Risa to address her at the moment. I had questions about that–but this probably wasn’t the time to seek answers. “Clarky,” Ms. Beaufort cooed in my direction, “it’s always a delight to see you in the office.” As quickly as she materialized, she floated back to her office, closing the door behind her, leaving Risa to reassemble her onesie and overalls on her own. I couldn’t help but notice the struggle she was having with the onesie snaps. “Do, uh, you need help?” I asked. “I appreciate you offering,” she said, looking up at me with glowing pink cheeks. “But I can get this.” Perhaps realizing that she was better off taking her struggles back to her own desk, she slowly shuffled backwards towards her own space, her overalls still around her ankles. By the time she got to her chair, it seemed that she at least had her onesie fastened overtop the waterproof diaper cover. I told myself again: This was just how this place worked. Soon enough, I found myself deep in my own work again. Time seemed to zip by at a quicker clip when I had purpose, and that seemed fine by me. The quicker the day went by, the sooner I could talk to Mommy about whatever it was her ‘appointment’ involved. Of course, part of losing myself to work–losing myself to anything, really–was that I stopped paying attention to my own potty-needs. Suddenly, my diaper seemed sopping wet. I had a vague recollection of it growing warmer and more swollen a few minutes earlier, but it seemed so normal and expected that I just didn’t dwell on it much. This, I presumed, would be the hardest part of potty training. Glancing over to Risa’s desk again, where she was finally sitting down after untangling the shoulder straps for her overalls, I realized that I didn’t want my next diaper-check to be a huge production. I’d be proactive, taking my diaper to Lyndie instead. “Out of work already?” Lyndie said as I entered her office. “Or…” She sniffed the air. “Nope. Doesn’t smell like a dirty diaper.” “Well, actually,” I said, feeling my cheeks warm, “I did kinda want to talk to you about my diaper…” I caught her checking the time on her smartwatch. “Hmm, it’s later than I thought it was. I suppose that was enough time for you to dirty your diaper. Just wet?” “Yes,” I nodded. “But wet enough to be changed, I think.” She laughed. “Well, you’d be the expert. Come on over to the changing table.” “You don’t mind?” “For you, Clarky? I don’t mind a bit.” Soon, I was on my back with my legs up in the air. It felt like the most normal position in the world, especially because I was in the company of Lyndie. “How goes the potty training anyway,” she asked, her lips curled into a wry smile. “Uh…I’m working on it. D-did you hear that I actually used a toilet the other day?” She snorted and shook her head. “I did not hear that. Just once?” “Well…I was at, uhm, someone’s house. And…it probably would’ve been rude of me to do in my diaper what I did in her toilet.” “Her?” Lyndie asked, honing in on the most important detail. “I need a name, Clarky. Who were you visiting? Megan?” “N-no…” Though, I still owed her a call… “Someone I know?” “You know who she is, but I don’t think you know her name.” “How much longer are you gonna leave me suspense, Clarky? Out with it. Who have you been spending time with?” “Her name is Paige…” “You’re right,” she shrugged, peeling the tapes of my diaper open. “That name means nothing to me.” “Pizza Girl.” She had to stop what she was doing and step back from the table for a moment. “Wh-what? Are you serious?” I nodded. “How in the hell did that happen?” “We…ran into each other.” “Oh shit,” she said, shaking her head. “That night at the pizza shop?” “Yeah…” “And…she gave you her number? Even though she knows about your diapers?” “Uh, funny thing about that…” I told her the whole story. I told her about the brief conversation at the pizza shop, and Paige’s note. I told her about how our little stunts back at the old apartment had somehow inspired Paige to seek out diapers of her own. I told her about the bar, and the subsequent trip to Paige’s house, where I had to make a hasty decision about where I pooped. All the while, I was laying atop the oversized changing table like it was a therapist’s couch–my diaper open and my caged cock dangling in the open without either of us batting an eye. “Hm,” was all Lyndie could offer when I finished my tale, quickly returning to the task of wiping my skin in preparation for the next diaper. “That’s…all you have to say?” She laughed and shrugged. “You have to see that this is a very ‘Clark’ problem, right?” “What’s that supposed to mean?” “These sorts of things are always happening to you.” “I guess,” I said. “It’s not a bad thing. Someday, it’s all going to make a very interesting memoir.” “Who would want to read that?” She laughed again, sliding a new diaper under my freshened-up bottom. “I bet there’s an audience for that somewhere.” New diaper in place and taped up, I slid off of the changing table to get my clothes back on so that I could return to my job. Someday, returning to work after a piss could be as easy as zipping up my fly and washing my hands. Can you even imagine? “You know,” Lyndie said. “You should talk to Ava.” My ears perked up and I spun around to face her again. Did she say something? Had Ava indicated that she wanted to spend time with me too? Did Ava somehow mention that… Well, maybe it was best if I just asked: “Oh yeah?” “Well, she’s been hassling me to join her and Caleb for a night out, but I wasn’t really interested in being the third wheel. But maybe you and Paige should join them. Like a double-date? Wouldn’t that be adorable?” “Uh…maybe.” I could just imagine it: half the table sounding excessively crinkly while the other half giggled and pretended not to notice. “Ava would love it, you know,” Lyndie shrugged. “She’s always saying that she wishes she got to hang out with you more.” “Oh. Maybe it’s not a bad idea…” No, I was pretty sure that it was a bad idea. “Okay! I’ll throw the idea out there to Ava tonight.” Was it too late to tell her not to bother? Whatever. If Ava was actually interested in the idea of a double-date, I’d let her be the one to tell me that. And if, by that time, I decided it really wasn’t something I wanted to do–I’d tell Ava myself. Who was I kidding? If Ava told me to meet her on the moon, I’d drive to Florida in a heartbeat to hijack a space shuttle. The rest of the workday held few other surprises. Apart from another wet diaper of my own in the afternoon to change–and Risa scrambling to Ms. Beaufort’s office after she claimed to have ‘made pudding’ in her diaper–the day seemed light on infantile hijinks. I was productive, too, getting through almost all of my assignments, and even finding some time to organize some of Mommy’s files for her. When it came time to leave for the day, I was almost disappointed–a feeling I didn’t think I’d ever had about work before. “You ready to get out of here?” Lyndie asked. “Are you my ride home?” I asked. She nodded. “Gabby asked me to drive you back. You don’t mind, do you?” I shook my head. “No, of course not. Did she say anything to you? About what she had been up to today?” Lyndie shook her head, but it was all that convincing. She knew more than she was letting on, but it was hard to say how much. It was fine. Whatever Mommy had going on, that was her business and it was on her to tell me about it. I couldn’t hold it against Lyndie for keeping Mommy’s secrets if that’s what Mommy wanted. It was a quiet drive back. Lyndie tried to make small talk, and I did my best to roll with it–but I was back to just thinking about Mommy. Maybe I wouldn’t have been so stressed if I had an inkling of an idea as to what this was all about, but I had nothing. Zilch. Not an ounce of context. Not only that, but it felt like this mysteriously dark cloud had come from nowhere. I didn’t remember it being there yesterday morning. What changed? When? Why? How? Etc. Lyndie’s car finally rolled into Mommy’s driveway. It wasn’t always easy to determine if Mommy was home or not, because there was no way to tell if her car was in the garage or not. There was, however, another car in the driveway–one that I didn’t recognize. A white Mercedes that looked relatively new–given how exceptionally pristine it appeared. “Looks like company,” I said. Lyndie shrugged and offered a playful laugh, but it rung pretty hollow. Did she know who this car belonged to? “Let’s head inside,” she said to me, turning the car off. “You’re, uh, coming in too?” “Yeah, well, Gabby thought it might be a good idea I was here.” “Okay, so, what is going on here?” She sighed. “It’ll be okay. But we should head in. She’ll explain everything.” “Explain?” I asked. “What is there to explain?” “This isn’t a bad thing,” she said. “I promise. But you might not like it at first. And I’m really sorry about that.” “You’re really not going to tell me what’s going on?” She shook her head and waved for me to follow her up the sidewalk. I swallowed, rotated my shoulders in an attempt to loosen myself up, and let out a little spurt of pee into my dry diaper. Okay. Here we go. The front door opened and we stepped into the foyer. I could hear talking. Two voices. Both feminine. One, without a doubt, was Mommy. The other was familiar, but just muffled enough that I couldn’t make a perfect identification for. The cadence of the conversation seemed polite, but awkward. I knew Mommy’s various tones well enough. She was talking to someone she didn’t know that well. She was being cautiously friendly. The closer I got to the entrance of the living room, the more clarity the conversation had. I could hear the familiar clink of spoons in teacups. “...it’s not really my business,” Mommy was saying. “I’ve tried to encourage him to reach out, of course. But, at the end of the day, that’s not a decision that I can make for him.” Was she talking about me? “You understand why I had to assume the worst, don’t you?” the other voice asked. Oh. That voice was also very familiar to me. Suddenly, I felt myself getting a little lightheaded. Not to the point where I thought I’d topple over, but enough so that everything around me seemed a little fuzzy. Let’s get this over with, I guess. I stepped forward, clearing the corner and entering the living room. There they were: Mommy was sitting on the loveseat, a cup of tea hanging from her hand. Across from her, on the other side of the coffee table, was my mother. Annette Leiland-Ashburn, in the flesh. Finally in the same room at the same time as Gabrielle Heller. “Clark,” my mother said, standing up. “I’ve been looking for you.” Seventy-Eight In the back of my mind, I knew this day was going to come. My mother wasn’t going to just shrug, kick at the ground, and say ‘Oh well, I guess he’s gone now.’ Sooner or later, she’d accept my silence as a challenge. On one hand, it occasionally made my mother look like the Terminator–an unyielding agent who wouldn’t stop until she got what she wanted. On the other hand–wasn’t she just being a good mother? Her son had fallen off the grid without saying where he’d be off to–what else was she supposed to do? So I wasn’t mad to see my mother. I felt upset–but I was only upset at myself. I had ample opportunity to reach out to her and to try and explain things. I probably didn’t even have to tell her everything. Or even much at all. All I had to do was reach out and confirm that I was alive and doing well, and I could’ve bought myself more time if I wasn’t ready to have a bigger conversation with her. “Clark,” my mother said, standing up. “I’ve been looking for you.” “Well,” I said, feeling my heart shake violently in my rib cage, “you found me.” “I truly didn’t want it to come to this,” my mother said, walking towards me. “I didn’t want this to be a whole production. I just wanted to know what happened to you, and I wanted to be sure that you were alright.” Her arms opened and wrapped around me. For a moment, I was too dumbstruck to reciprocate, but I finally lifted my arms and hugged her back. “How did you find me?” I asked. The question seemed to imply things, I thought. It implied that I was trying to hide, or that I didn’t want to be found. Really, I just wanted to know what led to this moment. “I’ll take the heat for that,” Lyndie said, waving to me. “Your mother and I had exchanged numbers back when she came and got brunch with you and me.” “I only recently reached out to her,” my mother said, releasing me from her grip and stepping backward from me. “Though I probably should’ve done it much sooner.” “I wasn’t sure what to do,” Lyndie said. “I probably should’ve come right to you, Clark. I’m sorry I didn’t. But I went to Gabby instead.” “And I reached out to your mother myself,” Mommy said. I was surprised at the anger that I was feeling. I didn’t think I was mad a few moments ago, but Lyndie’s admission that she should’ve talked to me first stirred me up a little. Yeah. She should’ve talked to me first. Because now–looking around to see my mother’s, Mommy’s, and Lyndie’s concerned faces–it felt like an intervention. Or, worse, a shaming. “I’ve got to go take care of a thing or two,” I said to the women. “Why don’t you all keep talking about me without actually talking to me.” I wasn’t entirely sure where I was going, so I just let my feet take me wherever. I ended up going up the stairs to the nursery, shutting the door behind me. Fuck me. That was a temper tantrum. And for what? So that I could storm into my nursery? I checked my own diaper–as if I might’ve surprised myself by it being more used than I remembered. No, only mildly damp. I thought that I might fix that soon enough. That’s what I needed–a good load in the back of my diaper. One that I could sit on, squish all over, and stroke myself to. Supposing, of course, I had a key to the damn cage. I sat down on top of the changing table. The plan was to just do nothing for a while. Here, in my infantile sanctuary, I’d just wait out the rest of the adult world that I didn’t want to have any part of. I knew I couldn’t stay here forever, but a few minutes didn’t seem like a bad idea. I’d just sit. Think. Maybe I wouldn’t even think all that much, if I could help it. I must’ve managed to disassociate from reality a little, because when I heard footsteps approaching the nursery door, it felt like I was being woken from a nap. It was going to be Mommy, probably. She was going to apologize. She was going to say some magical thing to make me feel better about this situation. There was a knock at the door. “Yeah?” When the door opened, I saw it was Lyndie. I wasn’t mad about this, though. If anything, I was relieved to see her. Lyndie kept me grounded. “Hey,” she said, slowly entering and closing the door behind her. “Hey.” “You alright?” “Did I overreact down there?” I asked. “Look, if I were in your shoes, I’d have cursed someone out. You were pretty civil about it.” “That’s something.” “I’m sorry I went to Gabby instead of you when your mother reached out.” “It’s fine,” I sighed. “I was living my life like an infant for almost ten months now. Mommy was taking care of everything for me. I can’t, then, be surprised when everyone keeps seeing me as a baby.” “Are you gonna go down and talk to her?” she asked. “Because, if you want, I can down and tell her to fuck off.” I laughed. “No, no. You don’t have to do that. I’ll talk to her. I just needed a minute.” “You’ve been up here for a little bit. Did you need another minute? Did you need a diaper change?” Lyndie smirked “N-no. It’s dry. I checked.” Of course, I wasn’t that sure how long it had been since I first came up here. Maybe my diaper still wasn’t as dry as I remembered it being. I shifted my body a little, trying to feel how my diaper squished beneath me. It didn’t seem wet. “Well, the offer will still be on the table if you need one later.” “I’m sure, eventually, I’ll have to take you up on that.” We both laughed and shook our heads. Just another surreal moment in a long, long, series of surreal moments in our lives. “Do you remember the first time we met?” Lyndie asked. “Maybe? I’ll be honest, these days, it feels like my memories of the old office start with Mommy handing me a diaper.” Lyndie laughed. “I think I started, like, two weeks before you did. They kept telling me that there were more interns coming, and I was kind of dreading it. They put me in a fucking closet, but…it was, like, my closet, you know? And so then you showed up. I did not like you.” Maybe this shouldn’t have been as surprising as it was–I could recall Lyndie being kind of distant for those first few weeks, though I just assumed that was her personality. “Really? What was it that you didn’t like about me?” “I think I just thought that you were the person that I didn’t want to be. I didn’t want to be a corporate drone. I didn’t want to be indoctrinated into the world of being a ‘team player’ or having to give a shit when the company put cupcakes in the break room. But you–you just had this naiveness about you. I firmly believed that the company was going to swallow you whole and turn you into all the things that I never wanted to be.” “Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “I guess that premonition came true, huh? I became the ultimate lapdog.” “Don’t be silly, Clark. The exact opposite happened. Gabrielle made a move to get her hands on you, and the person I thought you’d be would’ve resisted. That person would’ve–I dunno–gone to HR. Quit. Got reassigned to another company for your internship. But you went for it. Even when things got weird–and they got pretty damn weird pretty damn quickly.” I had to laugh again. ‘Pretty damn weird’ was still an understatement. “I’m not all that sure what that has to do with right now,” I said. “I just wanted you to know that I look up to you. I always have. Sure, you were always the baby. The one that everyone got to take out their weird fantasies on. But you always rolled with it, embraced it, and made it your own. If you had rejected Gabrielle’s ideas early on, I definitely wouldn’t be where I am now.” “You? You look up to me?” “You think with your diaper sometimes,” she shrugged. “But you seem to keep your heart in your diaper too, so it’s not all that bad of a thing. Look, here’s my point: Whatever happens downstairs–whatever awkward conversations you have, whether it’s today or tomorrow or ten years from now, I don’t want anyone to ever make you feel like you made the wrong decisions, okay? At the end of the day, you’ve always done exactly what you wanted to do. So many people never get to live out their fantasies like you did. Maybe they can’t. Or…maybe they’re just too afraid to. But you did it, Clark. I’m proud of you. I’m happy for you. And I hope that you never let anyone else tell you that you lived your life wrong.” There was so much I wanted to say to her. So many details in her words that I wanted to comment on. But really, the only response I could give was to hug her. I slid off the changing table and threw my arms around her, squeezing as tightly as I could. “Now don’t go telling people I was being this nice to you,” she said into my ear. “I don’t want anyone thinking I’m soft.” I chuckled, finally relinquishing my grip. “Thank you, Lyndie. I really needed to hear that.” “Of course. But I meant it. Every word of it.” “I know.” Someday, I hoped to say something equally as beautiful to her. “I should probably head back downstairs,” Lyndie shrugged. “You coming with me? If you need more time to yourself, I can pass that message along for you.” “I should go too,” I sighed. I didn’t want to go, but I felt like I had run out of good reasons to hide–though I had plenty of bad reasons. “It probably won’t be as bad as you think it’s going to be,” Lyndie said. “Probably?” “I mean, there’s always the chance your mother takes out a sword and cuts Gabby’s head off. Or yours. It’s not likely, but it’s possible.” The idea of this didn’t really make me feel any better, but it at least served as an interesting distraction as I tried to imagine my mother as some sort of ninja. “You’re an adult, believe it or not,” Lyndie continued. “Your mother knows that. The only reason she’s here is because she wanted to make sure you’re alive and that you’re safe.” “Yeah…but she saw photos and–” Lyndie shrugged. “So what?” Her response was so simple, so blunt, that it forced my mind into overdrive as I tried to rationalize all the concerns and fears I had developed over the last ten months. “So what? Lyndie, I sent her photos–well, I didn’t send them, but she thinks it was me–of me at one of my absolute worst moments. It’s probably changed the way she looks at me. It’ll change the way she sees me for the rest of my life. Or her life, at least.” Lyndie shook her head. “Don’t be so sure of that. Your mother isn’t this infallible being–she’s human. She’s probably had moments like this herself in her life. Like, no, she probably never wore diapers as an adult. But she probably humiliated herself in front of the wrong people. Or exposed the wrong part of herself to her mother. If what she saw in those photos disgusted her so much that it changed how she saw you, she wouldn’t have put in all the work that she did to find you. She would’ve cut you off in the same way that you cut her off.” That made sense to me. I wasn’t completely certain that I bought it, but it at least made sense. “Yeah,” I said. “Maybe.” “Worst case scenario–well, outside of the one where she has a sword–is that she says mean things to you. And then, Gabby and I tackle her and roll her out the front door.” “You’d do that for me?” “Clark, I’d roll anyone out a door for you.” “Well, uh, I’d do the same for you,” I said, despite the fact that I was hoping that there’d never be a scenario where I’d be expected to follow through on such a promise. “Perfect. So? Shall we go, then?” “Yeah…” “Wait, before we go,” Lyndie said, her lips twisted into a little smirk, “can I get a status update on that diaper?” I felt my cheeks warm a little. Somewhere in the midst of that conversation, I had felt a little trickle of pee in my diaper. It wasn’t much, and I didn’t feel especially soggy now, but I couldn’t really say that I was ‘mostly dry’ anymore. “It’s a little wet.” “Wet enough for a change?” Were it any other time, I’d have said that it wasn’t. But if I had to go back downstairs, and I had to wear a diaper while I talked to my mother, it seemed better that I do it in one that was completely dry. “I think I’d feel better if I was wearing a dry diaper.” “Wow. Changing you twice in one day? Just like the old days, huh?” The old days. Sometimes they didn’t seem that old. Sometimes they seemed like entire lifetimes ago. I was back on the changing table, my pants pulled off and the diaper opened up so that Lyndie could wipe me down. A new diaper was slid under me, and a dusting of baby powder was applied. Lyndie and I both looked at each other at the same time, likely thinking the same thing. “Should I have skipped the powder?” Lyndie asked. “It’s scented,” I said. “I’m…going to smell like a baby.” “Well, you always smell like a baby. This house smells like a baby.” “Fair enough,” I shrugged. It seemed like a moot point anyway–the powder was already on me. Soon, I was fastened into my fresh padding and my pants were eased back up my legs. That was that–there weren’t any other distractions or delays. It was time to, quite literally, meet my maker. To my surprise, when Lyndie and I came down the stairs, the tone of the conversation I was hearing in the living room was unlike anything that I expected. It wasn’t dour, nor was it awkward. It wasn’t combative. It was the sound of…camaraderie? Friendly conversation. Some laughing. “...but as cute as it was,” my mother was saying, “I knew that those were the flowers I was growing in the garden. So I was simultaneously annoyed that he had uprooted them all–but completely charmed that he had made this haphazard bouquet for me.” “Ah, Clark,” Mommy said from her couch, watching Lyndie and I slowly stroll into the room. “Your mother was just sharing some adorable memories of you.” The idea of my mother and Gabrielle Heller having a civil conversation about the embarrassing moments of my childhood was usually the sort of thing I had nightmares about. I took a deep breath and steadied myself. It felt good to have Lyndie next to me–her presence gave me strength. “Did she tell you the wedding story?” I asked. “That’s usually the first one she tells people.” Both my mother and Mommy laughed, nodding their heads. I felt my cheeks blushing some, but I did my best to shrug off the rest of my humiliation. I was trying to think two or three steps ahead. If I sat down, where did I sit–who did I sit next to? What did we talk about? How much could I say–how honest could I be–with an audience? No. I needed to just do what I should’ve done months and months ago–I needed to have a conversation with my mother. One on one. “Mom?” I asked. Amusingly, both Mommy’s and my mother’s faces perked up–though it didn’t seem like my mother noticed this. Mommy quickly realized I was talking to my mother, chuckled, and sat back in her seat. “Yes, Clark?” “I was hoping you and I could talk. Like, uh, just you and I.” “Of course. Did you want me to join you in another room, or…” “Lyndie,” Mommy said to her. “Maybe you and I can step out for a little bit?” “Sounds good to me,” Lyndie nodded. Mommy got up, waved goodbye to me, and left the room–Lyndie following behind. Finally, and for the first time in a very long time–my mother and I were in a room alone together. It wasn’t a public place. We weren’t at risk of being interrupted by anyone or anything. Unlike our moment together at brunch all those months ago, we weren’t just waiting for Lyndie to return. It was just us, and there hadn’t been a moment like this in years. “Hi Mom,” I said, sitting down in the seat that Mommy had been sitting in previously. I felt my diaper crinkling beneath me–and even though I had that extra padding between my ass and the seat, I could still feel the warmth of where Mommy’s ass had been moments before. “Hello Clark.” “I owe you an apology,” I said. “You do,” she nodded. That was my mother–a little too direct at times. “I’m sorry I didn’t call you,” I told her. “I’m sorry I didn’t reach out–even if it was just to let you know that I was okay.” “You moved and you didn’t even tell me,” she replied. “I didn’t even know you had moved, let alone know where you had gone. What if something happened? What if I needed to get a hold of you?” I sighed, nodding my head. “S-sorry…” My mother took a deep breath, held it, and slowly released it. To my surprise, when she was finished exhaling, there was a small smile on her face. “Clark, I’m not actually angry at you.” “No?” “You’re my only child, Clark. And, for a good part of your childhood, I was raising you by myself. Yes, I know I’ve been a bit overprotective in the past. Overbearing, even. I just thought that I had to be. I will probably always be very critical and concerned about your well-being. I’ll be like this when you’re fifty years old.” “Fifty?” I laughed. “I can’t even imagine that.” “It’ll happen to you someday, believe it or not,” she said. “But to my point, I think all that worrying and concern is my problem. You’re still an adult. You can, and should, do whatever it is you want to do.” Whatever it is you want to do. It felt like she was tip-toeing around what she knew, or thought she knew, about my lifestyle. “But,” I said, “I shouldn’t hide from you. You should know where I live.” She laughed. “It’d be nice. Though…I suppose that’s really up to you. It occurred to me today, as I was driving here, that I might not have had the right to just barge into your life. If you didn’t want to talk to me anymore–or if you didn’t want me to know where you were–I suppose that’s a right you have too.” “I’m glad you’re here,” I said. “I’m glad we’re talking.” Sure, it wasn’t really that simple–I had plenty of thoughts about the timing of this visit and if she had, in fact, ‘barged’ into my life. But I had known for a very long time that I wanted to talk to her–and if she hadn’t done so, who could say how long it would be before it actually happened. “Good,” she said. “Look, maybe we should rewind a little. Those pictures that I sent you…” “No,” she said, wagging a finger at me. “You don’t owe me an explanation for those, just so you know. Unless it’s something you truly think that I should know.” I laughed. It probably wasn’t really that funny–especially not to her–but I couldn’t help myself. On no planet would I ever think that it was important that my mother know I was willingly using diapers and acting like a baby. “I think we’re better off not talking about it,” I said. She nodded. “Fair enough. I deleted the photos, just so you know. I don’t have them anymore. I only ever looked at them once–and that was more than enough.” The photos were burned into my memory–I felt like I knew every single pixel of them. They probably were a lot for her to see. Especially without context. “Gabrielle seems nice,” my mother said, looking around the living room. “And she seems invested in your happiness–whatever that entails.” Again, I had to wonder what she imagined when she thought about my lifestyle. “She’s been very good to me,” I said. “Is she, like, your partner?” “Uh…” I was almost about to say ‘no,’ but the answer didn’t feel that simple. “Not in the traditional sense, I guess.” She laughed at that. “Whatever is going on here, I imagine it’s complicated.” “That’s an understatement.” “And Lyndie is in on it?” “In a way.” She nodded, seeming to mull it over for a moment or two. “But you’re happy?” “Yes.” “And you’re not harming anyone else?” “No.” She shrugged. “I mean–I guess I’m happy for you, then.” “It’s not going to be like this forever,” I said, well aware that ‘this’ had yet to be defined out loud. She nodded, her smile implying a “Sure, if you say so,” sort of response. “I suppose I do have one question,” my mother said. “You don’t have to answer it if you don’t want to.” My heart pounded in my chest as I held my breath. I was dreading what this could be. “So, you’re living with Gabrielle, and it seems like you know each other well and she takes good care of you–I suppose the details of that are none of my business. But…I’m curious. Do you see her as a mother-figure, Clark? Is she the version of a mother that you wished I was?” Oof. What a question. I could, and probably would, spend years breaking down and dissecting that query. Was it even possible to offer a concise answer for my mother now? Maybe. “It’s different,” I said, realizing that the room had likely been silent for a good minute or three. “I wouldn’t want her to be you. And I wouldn’t want you to be her.” That felt like an alright answer–one that scratched the surface. But it also occurred to me that there may have just been one thing that she wanted–perhaps needed–to hear: “She doesn’t replace you.” My mother nodded. It was unclear if she believed me, or if she was happy about this answer–but I at least felt that she understood it. That was the best that I could do. “Whatever it is you have here, Clark, it seems to make you happy. Gabrielle and Lyndie speak very highly of you, and they clearly love you. I’m not going to pretend that I’m not jealous, but I am happy for you.” I wasn’t sure what to say. I said, “Thank you, Mom,” but I wasn’t entirely sure what I was thanking her for. “I could impart some motherly wisdom for you, if you’d care to hear it,” my mother said. I sighed, expecting some speech about how I needed to grow up or get my life in order. Perhaps some words about responsibility or maturity. “Sure.” “I may be a little late with this advice, but it’s still a good thing to know.” “Uh huh.” “See, when you were young, you’d get diaper rashes all the time. I tried a lot of different topical treatments and ointments. But do you know what worked best? Coconut oil. Every time–cleared it right up.” I felt my cheeks glowing–my face might have been on fire. “Jesus, Mom.” “I’m just saying,” she shrugged. “Maybe you’d find that information useful.”

Seventy-Six I walked out of Paige’s bathroom and closed the door behind me–praying that she’d not open that door until three to four years from now. I slowly walked back to the living room, trying not to look too ashamed of myself. Paige was sitting on the couch, in the exact spot that I left her. The look of concern that was on her face when I got up and practically ran to the bathroom was still there. “Are you alright?” she asked. “Better now,” I said. “Sorry about that.” She shrugged. “You don’t have to apologize. I was just worried when you ran off like you did.” “Something, uh, wasn’t sitting well with me,” I said. “Something I ate? Drank?” “Poor baby,” she cooed, patting the seat on the couch where I had been sitting earlier. “Come over here. Sit down. I’ll get you some water. Tea, maybe?” I dragged myself across the living room and sat down on the couch again, this time sitting so close to her that I almost landed on her lap. Her hands were on me almost immediately, gently petting my thighs, my chest, my shoulders, and my head. She clearly wanted to do whatever she could to take care of me–just as it was also clear that she didn’t have very much experience in taking care of anyone besides herself. “I’ll be okay,” I assured her. “But I need to be honest with you about something. And it’s pretty embarrassing.” “We’re wearing diapers,” she said. “You can probably tell me anything.” “I…really, uhm, had to go.” I realized that that probably wasn’t clear enough, and I needed to elaborate: “I had to…go. To the bathroom.” I knew that probably wasn’t much better. “Right,” she said, nodding. She had paused, head cocked and waiting for more information. I sighed, realizing I was going to have to spell it out for her: “I, uhm, used your toilet.” “Oh,” she said, her eyes growing with surprise. “I didn’t think you did that.” “I don’t,” I said. “Well…I haven’t. Not in a very long time. But I had to, uhm… Well…let’s just say that it would’ve been a terrible first date if I had done it in my diaper.” “Ah,” she nodded. “I’ll trust your judgment.” “You may want to avoid using your bathroom for a while.” She laughed. “You do realize that I stink the damn thing up every day, right?” I sighed and shook my head. “Sorry, this is a really weird conversation. Especially on the first night we’re hanging out.” “You handled it like a champ,” she said, slowly rubbing my thigh with her hand. “Though, I have to admit, I’m a little curious about what might have been.” I was cracking a smile now. Everything about her–her tone, the way she touched me, the way she looked at me–had this warm and friendly energy that helped me feel incredibly comfortable. “It wouldn’t have been pretty.” “Describe it to me,” she said. “Let’s pretend it happened. What do you think would’ve happened next?” “D-do you want the, uh, best case scenario?” She nodded, emitting a melodic hum into my ear. “Please. The very best case scenario.” I took a deep breath, leaned back on the couch, and closed my eyes so that I could better picture the scene. I felt her one hand on my thigh still. The other was rubbing my back between my shoulder blades. “So…I rushed into the bathroom,” I started, my heart pounding in my chest. I wanted to ask if she was sure she wanted to hear this–but she had already told me as much. I needed to trust that. “My bowels were…uhm… Well, I really had to go. I had to go for a while. It was a miracle I didn’t burst sooner.” I opted to leave out the part where I was distraught because I had been thinking about Ava while I kissed her. “Oh my,” she whispered into my ear, sounding like this was the most dramatic thing that she had ever heard in her life. “What happens then?” “I…I had to make a choice. The toilet. Or the diaper.” “And you chose the…” “I chose the diaper,” I said. In my fantasies, I’d always choose the diaper. Her hand’s grip tightened on my thigh a little. I thought it might be closer to my diaper now, but I’m not entirely sure. I remembered thinking that there was a reason I didn’t want her hand to get too close to my diaper, but I couldn’t remember what it was. It’s fine. For now, I let it be. “So what did you do?” she asked. “I… Well, what else could I do? I wear diapers. I don’t use the potty.” “Mmm,” she practically squeaks into my ear. She liked that. We were getting into the part where I worried she might regret asking me to make up this little story. “I thought about leaving the bathroom and just rushing back to the living room. I, uhm, wanted you to see it happen, you know? I wanted you to watch me do it.” In my periphery, I saw her head nodding slightly. “But I didn’t make it. All at once, it’s just…pushed out of me.” “It?” she asked. My cheeks warm and I bite my bottom lip for a moment. “Y-you know what I mean, right?” “Well…I just want to be sure you’re talking about what I think you’re talking about. “My…poop. All at once, I just…pooped myself. I pooped in my diaper.” Her hand has migrated further up my thigh. “It was a lot, huh?” “Oh yes,” I nodded. “It just…completely filled the back of my diaper. Like, I’m talking completely packed.” “How did it feel when it happened?” I don’t have to try too hard to imagine what it might have felt like. I’ve experienced it so many times over the last few months–the exact kind of sudden and epic mess that I’m describing now–that I know exactly what it would’ve felt like. I could describe it to her in detail–the feeling of the back of the diaper expanding. The feeling of the mushy load spreading into every vacant space in the diaper that it can find. The weight of it. The foul smell of it. The shameful crackling and crinkling noises that were unique to filling a diaper. I try to summarize it as succinctly as I could: “It felt amazing. Absolutely amazing.” “So then? You’re in the bathroom–my bathroom. You know that I’m out here waiting for you. And…what’s going through your mind?” What’s going through my mind was: I really wish I had actually loaded my diaper now instead of wussing out and filling her toilet instead. “I mean, I was scared. Sure, we talked a lot about using our diapers–but there’s a big difference between talking about them and you actually experiencing me loading my diaper with a pretty big mess. But I can’t stay in your bathroom forever. Besides…my clean diapers are out here in the living room. With you.” “Ah, yes,” she said, giggling. “So you’d have to come out sooner or later.” “Let’s say that, then, I opened the bathroom door and emerged,” I said to her. “Let’s say I stumbled out here in a messy, stinky, diaper. What would you do?” “Well for starters,” she said, “your pants would have to come off. I’d want to see it.” “It’d be gross.” “Maybe I’d like that.” “Be careful what you wish for,” I said. “You never know until you smell it for yourself.” She laughed. “This is a fantasy, remember? I’m sure it smells disgusting. It should, right? It’s poop. But, at that moment, it doesn’t really bother me. I like it. I like the look of shame on your face. I like how it makes me, uhm, jealous.” “Jealous?” “Maybe I’d wish that I had done the same thing.” “You could,” I offered. “It’s a fantasy, remember? It can be anything you want.” “Not this time. This time, we’re talking about your diaper and my reaction to that.” “Ah, right. So, you’re green with jealousy.” “And you’re just…brown?” We both laughed. “What do you do then?” I asked. “Hmm. I dunno.” “Okay, let me ask you this,” I said. “What do you wish would happen to you, if you were in my shoes?” Another content little hum into my ear. “Hmm. Perhaps I’d say: ‘Look at you, you big baby. Did you just make poopies in your diaper?’ And you’d have tears welling in your eyes and you’d nod pathetically. And I’d say: ‘I thought big boys used the potty. But clearly you’re not a big boy, are you?’” My cock strained in my cage as her hand got closer and closer to my diaper. I was supposed to be stopping her, but I couldn’t go through with it. She continued: “I’d say something like: ‘If you’re gonna act like a diaper-filling baby, you ought to be treated like one.’ And I’d make you, uhm, bend over. And I’d spank your dirty diaper.” “Babies don’t usually get spanked for using their diapers,” I said. “It’s my fantasy,” she laughed. “Right, right. Go on.” “Well, I mean, that’s it. I’d spank your dirty diaper. Have you ever had that happen to you before?” I had, of course. More times than she’d even be able to imagine. I still wasn’t ready to get into all of that yet. “Uh, y-yeah. It’s happened.” “I bet that felt good, huh?” I nodded. “Very.” Her hand was on my crotch. It was stroking the swollen padding through my pants. I, still, wasn’t stopping her. Her fingers were sneaking up towards the waistband now, likely aiming to unfasten my belt. If I was going to stop her, this would be the time. But how? Her hand reached my belt and she stopped. “Sh-should I keep going?” I sighed. “If it’s okay with you…maybe not tonight?” Her hand began to retract, but not entirely and not all at once. It was back on my thigh again–a sort-of truce, as if to say: ‘I respect your wishes, but I’m returning to the last place I knew you were okay with my hand being.’ “I’m sorry,” I said, feeling like a doofus all of a sudden. “I just… Well, the whole bathroom thing and my diaper is completely drenched and… I think I’d feel more comfortable if we left some of the mystery for another night.” To my relief, she was smiling and nodding. “Of course.” “Thank you, Ava.” “Huh?” Shit. I’m still thinking about Ava. “Uh…Thank you for understanding.” She seemed mostly unphased by my slip-up. Either she didn’t understand that ‘Ava’ was a name, or she just wasn’t sure what I had said in the first place. “Honestly, it’s kind of a good thing. I tend to be a little…handsy? I could probably benefit from some slowing-down.” This doesn’t make me feel as good as she might’ve hoped it did. I–and probably any other guy in her path–would normally have no issue with her handsy-ness. Paige kept a smile on her face and seemed good natured about the situation, but I could still detect a note of disappointment from her as we continued to sit on the couch together. She had, afterall, brought me back to her apartment from the bar. And now, it seemed we were relegated to doing the same thing we would’ve been doing back at the bar–just talking. “What about your diaper?” I asked. “It’s got to be feeling pretty heavy right now. Pretty squishy?” “Oh, uh, yeah,” she said, her cheeks blushing a little. “I kind of love it.” Mommy would love Paige, I suspected. “You think you’ll change soon?” She shrugged. “I probably should, huh? I can start to smell my pissy pants.” “That could be my diaper too,” I offered, despite being pretty sure that I had smelled her diaper earlier when we were coming up the stairs. “Like, I know we’re not supposed to like this. It’s gross and it’s just not what adults do. But, man…” “I know,” I said, nodding. “Believe me, I know exactly what you mean.” I’d have offered to change her diaper for her, but after shooting her down for getting too close to my own, it didn’t seem like the best idea. So we just talked a while more. Mostly, Paige told me about her sister’s rockstar life–showing me assorted memorabilia and photographs of her sisters standing next to other famous people. Ryan Gosling. The kid from The Sopranos. Tom Hardy. And plenty of people who I didn’t recognize, despite Paige’s excitement when showing me the photos. I was only half paying attention. The other half of my brain was somewhere else entirely. It was wherever Ava was–following her around. I was imagining what she and Caleb might be doing at this very moment. Canoodling. Making out. Fucking. Not a single wet–or dry, for that matter–diaper in sight. “W-well, I had a really good time with you tonight,” I finally said. “But I think I should probably get going.” Again, Paige seemed disappointed, but understanding. “Of course. You’re good to get home?” “Oh yeah,” I shrugged. “Just need to get to the train station and take it out to the suburbs.” From there, I’d call an Uber. Or Mommy. “I can walk you back to the train station if you want.” “I appreciate that,” I said. “But you should probably take care of that wet diaper of yours.” Her cheeks reddened again and she laughed. “Yeah…fair enough. Though, before that, I’ll probably…” Her voice trailed off as she seemed to realize that she was saying too much. “Uh, yeah, I’ll take care of this.” We embraced in her doorway. Again, it felt good to be so close to her–I just wished things had been a little different tonight. Maybe I had jumped the gun with this date. I wasn’t as ready for this as I thought I was. Soon after, I was on the train, squishing myself into a seat in my swampy diaper. I drew my phone from my pocket and texted Mommy. Her reply came pretty quickly. I did, but the answer felt a little more complicated than that. The evening felt steeped in unrealized potential. All the things it could’ve been, and it was mostly just two people talking about diapers. And rockstars. I suspected Mommy would be disappointed by that, but she didn’t say as much. I wondered how much I’d tell her. Would I tell her about my thoughts of Ava? No, probably not. Would I tell her that I used a toilet? Well…she’d probably suspect something was up when she saw the state of my diaper. Wet, for sure–but I had to do a good amount of wiggling and careful prying of the top tapes to get the thing off so I could pull it down. And the same tapes weren’t quite as sticky when I tried pulling it back up again. It was safe to say that my pants were the only thing keeping my diaper in place now. Stepping off the train onto the suburban platform, I immediately spotted Mommy’s gleaming SUV in the parking lot. I quickly trotted over to it, holding my pants up so they didn’t slip with the shifting weight of my loose and heavy diaper. “Looks like you’re carrying quite the load there, Baby,” Mommy smiled as I slipped into the passenger seat. “It’s…just wet.” I didn’t tell her about the condition of the diaper itself. I was thinking I’d wait and let her discover it for herself. “You had a good evening?” she asked as she pulled out of the station’s parking lot. I nodded. “Do you think the two of you will hang out again?” “I think so.” It seemed likely enough. In a perfect world, it wouldn’t happen before I could get my life in a little more order–though the likelihood of it actually working out that way seemed pretty slim. “She was fond of you, I assume.” “Y-yeah.” “How could she not be? You’re the cutest little thing.” Within moments of rolling into the garage, I was escorted back to my nursery where I quickly disrobed from my more ‘adult’ attire and flopped myself onto the changing table. Mommy carefully inspected my diaper, noticing the poor shape the tapes and waistband seemed to be in. “What happened here, Baby? Was this girl trying to pull your diaper right off of you?” “N-no… I had to, uhm, take it off.” Her eyebrows raised curiously. “Oh? Showing off your cage for her? Surely she wasn’t changing you–seeing as how it looks like you’ve been sitting in this puddle for at least an hour or two.” I shook my head. “I…used the potty–uhm, the toilet.” “Ha. You? The potty?” “I…came close to pooping myself in her apartment…” “Her apartment?” “Y-yeah. But…nothing happened.” “You’re allowed to do things, Baby. I never said you couldn’t.” It was nice to hear her say that, but it didn’t make what I said any less true. I repeated myself: “We didn’t do anything. But I really had to go. I didn’t want her to see me like that. I didn’t want to have to deal with changing myself there.” “How did that feel?” she asked. “What was it like to use a potty again?” Honestly, I hadn’t really thought about it that much. I did what I felt I had to do in the moment, and it felt like the most normal thing–save for the embarrassment of leaving a toxic cloud behind in this poor girl’s bathroom. It was only in hindsight that it seemed strange or alien. “Good, I think.” “Uh oh. Is my baby ready for potty training?” I’d have been tempted to say yes–but feeling Mommy’s hands on my diaper as she pulled it open had me reconsidering. I was never going to get sick of this. In moments like this, I felt I could be convinced to have my diaper changed for me for the rest of my life. “I…don’t know.” “Well, you think about it, Baby,” she cooed to me as she drew the first moist wipe from its package. She ran it across my skin, sending those classic tingles up my spine. Maybe I’d just be in diapers for the rest of my life. “How was your night?” I asked. I don’t know what I was expecting–some breezy remark about doing some work or talking to Neve. But I noticed a change in her body language right away. She seemed guarded. Cautious, even. “It was fine,” she said. She quickly changed the subject: “But I’m much more interested in your night. Tell me everything.” I made a mental note to try and come back to this later–it felt like there was something that she wasn’t saying. In the meantime, I told my tale as best as I could. There were bits and pieces I left out–namely, how my mind kept wandering to Ava, though I also managed to skirt around Paige’s wandering hand. Freshly diapered, Mommy put me into a onesie and escorted me to my crib. “Sounds like you had a wild night,” she said, kissing me on the forehead. “All tuckered out now?” “Yes, Mommy.” A few months worth of early bedtimes had greatly diminished my stamina once it got dark out. On most days, I didn’t see it as a bad thing–prior to my total infantilization, I told myself plenty of times that I needed to get more sleep. Now, it was just another adjustment I’d need to account for as I took baby steps into adulthood again. Soon, Mommy was gone, leaving me alone in the crib so that I could drift off to sleep. I thought of Mommy. I thought of Paige. But then, I was just thinking about Ava again.

Seventy-Five Paige was a year older than I was. She went to college with plans of being a teacher, but realized rather quickly that she just didn’t have the passion for education that she thought she did. After dropping out, she took on a few small jobs–hoping that she’d figure out what she actually wanted to do sooner than later. She didn’t. But then her sister, who wasn’t just in a band–but, apparently, a rather well-known rock band that was getting airplay on the radio–offered a room at her apartment to Paige. If, for no other reason, than to get Paige away from their parents, who nagged Paige everyday about when she was going to go back to school. For the record, I had never heard of the band her sister was in. But she played me one of their songs, and I thought it was alright. Nobody asked Paige to get a job, but she felt it was only fair that she contribute a little money towards food and internet–since she had been consuming a lot of both. Hence, the pizza delivery job. She liked horror movies, chimichangas, and reading sapphic erotica while laying in bed at night. She was currently taking a little hiatus from weed, as she feared she had been building a resistance to it–but she felt like she was just about ready to be stoned again. Her middle name was Helen. Her childhood dog was named Sam. She still had no idea what she wanted to do with her life. She sighed, taking a sip from her third pint. “...and, I guess that pretty much catches you up with who I am.” “I feel like we’re besties now,” I said, only sort-of joking. I had given her some details about myself–carefully picking and choosing the least scary details from my life to share. I told her about the complicated relationship I had with my mother–but not that she had been sent photographs of my messy diaper. I told her that I was working for a big corporation, and that I left with my boss to work for her new company–but not that I was living with her or that she kept my cock locked in a cage. I told her that I had also put my education on pause because I needed time to figure myself out–but not that ‘figuring myself out’ also entailed getting potty trained for the second time in my life. As best as I could tell, she still seemed fond of me. “And no stinky diapers?” she asked. “You’re really hoping that I poop my pants, aren’t you?” “I’m just so curious!” “Yeah, but what then?” I asked. “Then I’m wearing a really dirty diaper. Best case scenario–I have to change myself somewhere. And do I really want to change my messy diaper in a bar bathroom? I didn’t even like to piss in one before I wore diapers all the time. Worst case scenario–I have to ride the train home in said diaper. Stinking up the place.” “Okay…but you have everything you need in your diaper bag, right?” she asked, pointing to my bookbag. “Sure.” “So, if you had to change yourself before going home, there’s a lot of places you could do it besides a bar’s bathroom.” I should’ve seen where she was going with this, but my ability to pick up social cues was still pretty rusty. “I guess. But I’d still need to find a place to…” “I was talking about my place,” she said, stopping just short of rolling her eyes at me. “If you need a place to change yourself, my place isn’t that far from here.” “Oh.” It didn’t seem like a bad idea. Except… “Oh!” Going to her place was a surefire way to find myself needing to explain my chastity. And Mommy. And every other crazy part of my life that I wasn’t sure if she was ready for or not. “No pressure, of course. Just saying that it’s an option.” “Right,” I said. I didn’t want to commit to anything just yet. “I really appreciate that.” “So, obviously people know that you wear them,” she said. “But is that, like, the scene you’re in? Your friends all wear diapers too? You have, like, diaper parties?” “Diaper parties sound kind of nice,” I laughed. “Whatever those are. Yes…some of my friends wear them too.” Again, we were on the verge of going too deep into my bizarre world. I wanted to pull back a little. “That’s a good thing, though,” she said. “Right? You don’t ever feel alone in it.” “That’s true.” I supposed I had the same thought once or twice, but I didn’t think about it nearly as much as I should’ve. “I told a friend of mine,” she shrugged. “Well, he’s a friend, but he’s also more than a friend.” “A boyfriend?” “No, no. More like a…friend with benefits? A ‘no strings attached’ sort of thing.” “Ah.” I wasn’t sure how interested I should sound on that. Did I want to know if they were still enjoying their ‘benefits’ together? Was that any of my business? Really, it was a question for myself: How much do I care? I didn’t think I cared too much, honestly. My world was rife with non-standard relationships and loosely defined borders between friendships and…whatever it was when a friend changed your diaper. If anything, it was almost relieving to hear that Paige had other relationships–romantic or not–in her life. “I don’t think he cares for it much,” she shrugged. “Not everyone is going to.” “He at least heard me out. I guess that’s something.” “So he doesn’t care that you’re into it–he just doesn’t want to deal with it himself?” “Exactly.” I was curious to know what she wanted. Did she want a relationship? A partner? An actual boyfriend? Or was she just looking for a playmate while she explored her blooming kinks? I kept the questions to myself–they didn’t seem important enough yet. “So…” Her mouth extended the ‘ooo’ sound as she cautiously glanced around to make sure that we still had our little area all to ourselves. “I think I’ve got to pee.” I smirked. “Oh yeah?” “I’ve never peed in public…” “It’s not hard.” “Easy for you to say,” she laughed. “You probably do it all the time. You’re literally sitting in your own pee-pee pants right now.” I blushed–’pee-pee pants’ was still an effective way to embarass me, no matter how true it was. “So?” I shrugged. “Are you going to do it?” “I might. I just have to figure out how.” I knew that feeling. God, it felt like so long ago when I felt that way. So long ago that I was tempted to say that it never happened at all–that I was always just sure of myself in a diaper. But I knew that wasn’t true. I could remember the panic and anxiety that came with using my diapers in the office, or out of the house. It was almost cute how Paige was getting to experience that now. One day, perhaps, she’d be as natural a baby as I was. “It’s easier than you think it is. It’s more mental than physical.” She nodded. “I figured. My body doesn’t think I should be peeing if there’s something covering up my…” We both laughed, a shared juvenile giggle over how it was somehow more embarrassing to name our genitals than it was to talk about diapers. “I can do this,” she said, trying to stifle her laughter. “Just…give me a minute…” “No pressure from me,” I assured her. “Only do it if you want to. And if you can.” “I had to pee when I got here,” she said. “And then with the beer on top of that… Look, I have to pee. If I went to the restroom right now, it’d probably sound like a waterfall when I was on the toilet.” “But then you’d have to sit on a public toilet.” She shrugged. “True. See? Maybe diapers made more sense the whole time. Just think of how many germs and diseases you’ve avoided by not having to touch a public toilet.” This was actually a good point, I thought. “People can criticize me for wearing dirty diapers, but maybe I’m actually in better shape than they are.” “In the future, we’ll all be wearing diapers to avoid butt-germs. You’ll be seen as a trendsetter.” “I wouldn’t go that far…” “Oh!” she suddenly exclaimed, her eyes large. “I…I think I’m about to…” I couldn’t help but squirm in my own soggy diaper a little as I watched relief wash over her face. I couldn’t see it. I couldn’t hear it. But I knew it was happening, and that was absolutely thrilling for me. She wasn’t just wetting herself–she was wetting herself in public for the first time. “Oh wow,” she said quietly. “That’s a fucking rush, huh?” I wanted to tell her that she was only at the very tip of the iceberg–but maybe that was a discovery that she’d have to make for herself. “Feels good, huh?” I asked. She nodded. “Uh huh. But, like, on multiple levels. There’s the feeling of the diaper itself and then there’s the feeling I have of sitting here while the rest of this bar is oblivious to what I just did.” “It’s a good feeling,” I smiled. “It’s a fucking drug is what it is,” she laughed. “If it feels like this everytime, I can see why you just don’t ever take them off.” She was right, I supposed. Of course, like any drug, you’d eventually adapt to the dosage you were taking and needed more. And now look at me–to get that dopamine hit now, I had to almost-literally become a baby. “What now?” she asked. I shrugged. “Now? Just try not to leak, I guess. And don’t get a diaper rash.” She held a hand up to her mouth as she giggled. “Have you ever…had a diaper rash?” “Once or twice.” Honestly, it was probably more than that, but for whatever reason, I felt the need to downplay it a little. What I really wanted to tell her was that diaper rash was inevitable–but, again, it felt best to let her figure that out for herself. “I feel like I’m swimming in this thing.” “It’s a nice feeling, right?” “It’s so warm!” “It won’t stay that way forever,” I said. “Enjoy that warmth while you can.” “Thank you,” she said. “F-for what? You’re the one who wet your pants. Not me.” She laughed. “No, silly. Thank you for being here. Thank you for talking to me. Thank you for–I don’t know–introducing me to this crazy world you live in. You’ve been so open about it all. I don’t think I’d have been as comfortable exploring these interests for myself if you hadn’t been. You’re like my, uh, diaper-guru.” Nobody had ever called me that before–maybe nobody in the history of the world had ever been called that. “Uh, thanks.” “What now, guru? What’s the next step in my padded becoming?” “One thing at a time, my…padawan.” She blinked her eyes and offered a friendly smile, but the pun seemed to have gone over her head. “Star Wars?” “What about it?” “Never mind…” “So, like, have you ever had your diaper changed by someone else?” Paige asked, her voice getting a little more hushed again. She had slid her seat a little closer to mine so that our knees were touching. The temptation was strong to just laugh in her face and declare that a rarer occurrence would be me changing my own diaper. “Y-yeah, it’s happened before.” “What is that like? That’s got to be a real trip too, huh?” This was, still, a pretty easy question to answer. Because, regardless of how many times my diapers were changed, it was still an experience I cherished. “It’s the best. Like…it might just be my favorite thing.” Her cheeks were a little more pink now, with a sheepish grin between them. Her eyes looked at me hungrily, like she wanted much more of me than she thought she could ask for. “I think I’d like to experience that.” It seemed clear what she was actually saying: ‘Come back to my place. Change my diaper. I’ll change yours.’ I regretted, now, hyping up diaper changes like that. As badly as I wanted to go to her place, it just felt like a bad idea. Things would spiral out of control–like they always did. I’d be left with my chastity exposed, and having to explain a lot to her. What was I supposed to do, then? Cut the night short and leave before things could escalate any further? Tell her, flat out, that I wasn’t going to go back to her apartment tonight? Feign an emergency so that I could leave without having to explain myself? No, I didn’t do any of that. Instead, I found myself saying: “Well…if you need some help changing yourself…” “Yes,” she spat out before I could even finish my sentence. “I’d really like that.” You fool. “Did you, uhm, want to go and…” “Yes,” she said, again cutting me off. “Let’s go back to my place.” “Well…” “Are you okay with that?” she asked. I could’ve said no. She was literally giving me the opportunity I wanted to decline. But I just couldn’t bring myself to say it. I didn’t want to shut down her enthusiasm. And, selfishly, there was a part of me that wanted to go too–even if I knew it was a bad idea. “I’m okay with that.” “Good,” she said. “Let’s go.” We finished our drinks, settled our tabs, gathered our things, and made our exit from the bar. I was about a pace behind her, giving her the lead to direct me to her apartment. I was still well aware of how bad of an idea this was, of course–it was all I could think about. My stream of thought at this moment was just a barrage of “I shouldn’t be doing this. Why am I doing this? What am I going to do? What am I going to say? Is it too late to bail? Can I tell her I changed my mind?” It was at this moment that I felt a cramp in my abdomen. I knew what that usually meant–my diaper would soon be getting heavier. I recognized this as the reality check that I needed–the reminder that I was better off not going to her house tonight. No, this is good. I thought that I could consider this part of my potty training. I’d managed to make it twenty-something years without pooping my pants. I could do this. I could make it through the night without humiliating myself in a messy diaper. I can do this. I said it to myself again, just to reiterate its importance: I can do this. “Do you know this area?” Paige asked, seemingly oblivious to my internal conflict. “I think so. We’re not too far from where I used to live, right?” “Yeah,” she said. “Your apartment would be, like, three or four blocks down that way.” “And how far are you from here?” “I’m right there,” she said, pointing to the building across the street. “Wow. Not that far away.” The words almost didn’t mean anything now. I wasn’t living at my old apartment anymore, so it didn’t even matter if she was actually my next-door neighbor. “What do you say?” she asked. “Want to come in?” “Let’s do it,” I replied, smiling. I felt another pang of discomfort in my bowels. I can do this. I can do this. It was an older building–most of them in this part of the city were–but at least it looked like the owners had been keeping up with the maintenance. The carpets looked new and the walls freshly painted. Even the vibrant white light seemed to make a huge difference–whereas the yellowed lighting of my old building seemed to age everything by a decade or so. I followed Paige up the steps, she was about a step or two ahead of me. It was here that I smelled it–the all-too-familiar scent of wet diapers. I may have been smelling my own diaper, but I somehow knew it was hers–as if I could just tell that I was stepping into the little clouds of pee-scent that she left behind her. I found it exhilarating. Intoxicating. I wanted nothing more than to open her diaper and stick my face into it. Control yourself. “Oh, sorry,” she said, somewhere around the third floor. “There is an elevator. But it’s kind of small and scary, so I don’t use it.” “Oh,” I said. “Uh, no worries. This is good exercise.” And it was, except for the fact that every single step was jostling my innards and making my need to poop even more urgent. I can do this. “But don’t worry. I’m on the next floor.” “Good,” I gasped, running out of breath. My toddler lifestyle didn't include much exercise. I had managed to avoid putting on much weight, but I was still pretty out of shape. By the time we were walking through the front door of her apartment, I felt like a walking disaster. My wet diaper was sagging considerably. I was breathing heavily. The scent of Paige’s diaper had me ridiculously horny, despite my cage turning that sensation into discomfort. My bowels felt like they were holding on for dear life. A week ago, I’d have already lost control and filled up the back of my diaper–so I supposed I should be thankful for having as much control as I did. “Okay,” she said to me, closing the door. “So…I have to finish what I started.” “How so?” “Like I said,” she shrugged. “I had to pee before I even got to the bar. And then all the beer on top of that? I’m about to burst again.” “Better out than in,” I said, hoping that I wasn’t giving my bowels any ideas. She didn’t seem to have any issues with using her diaper now. Understandably so, I supposed, as we were in her home and there weren’t strangers around us. Still, she surprised me with just how quickly she let it all go. Within a moment, I could hear the sound of her stream further swelling her diaper. Her eyes were closed, and I watched as her cheeks got a little rosier. “Ohhhh…fuck,” she muttered as she released. “Jesus, that feels good.” Then, she opened her eyes when she finished, finally remembering that I was still there and watching her. “Uhm…sorry you had to hear that.” I laughed, shaking my head. “Don’t worry about it. Believe me, I’ve had that experience plenty of times.” “Can I get you anything?” she asked. “Water? Beer?” “That seems dangerous,” I said. “My diaper is already pretty wet, and…” “Well, you’ve got extra in your bag, right? What’s the big deal?” “Y-yeah, I guess you’re right,” I said. I can do this. “Well, I’m going to get another drink,” she said, pivoting to head into her kitchen. “Do you want something?” “Maybe,” I replied, looking around as I just blindly followed her. Though it was technically her sister’s apartment, it was still a pretty impressive place. It reminded me a bit of Megan’s–though that felt like forever ago now. I wasn’t sure what to expect from the living space of a musician, but the aesthetic seemed surprisingly clean and modern. There were book shelves, record collections, and stereo equipment lining the walls, but all of them seemed well arranged and organized. “This is a beautiful place,” I said. “Well, I can’t take much credit for it. I’m not, like, the cleanest person in the world. So I have to set reminders in my phone to clean this place up so it doesn’t get out of control. If my sister came home and found this place trashed, she’d probably throw me out the window.” “It looks pretty clean to me.” “Today it does,” she shrugged. “You don’t know it yet, but you’ll see. I’m a slacker. A slob. I can get pretty lazy. Honestly, the more I think about it, the more diapers just feel right for me. Like, nothing in the world sounds better to me than getting high as fuck and just sitting in one spot on the couch all day–pooping my pants because I can’t be bothered going to the bathroom.” I laughed. As Mommy’s little baby, I think I had inadvertently lived out that exact fantasy. “I certainly get the appeal of that.” She opened a bottle of beer, holding up a second and pointing it in my direction. I couldn’t say no to her, so I nodded and took the bottle from her hand. “What do you think?” she asked, headed out of the kitchen and back to the living room with her beer. “Maybe we’ll just chill on the couch for a little bit? Later we’ll, uh, do some diaper changes?” That absolutely could not happen. I didn’t want her to see my chastity. Not yet. Hopefully, not ever. Still, I couldn’t help myself from sounding amenable: “Sure. Sounds good to me.” Really, I was just buying myself time to figure out how I’d get out of this. My bowels, meanwhile, were continuing to hold on for dear life. Maybe, gods willing, I could make it through my time at Paige’s without filling my diaper with a stinky mass. But there was no way that I’d be coming home with a clean diaper. I’d have to figure out what to do about that, too. I can do this. I sat down on the couch first, positioning myself towards the end of it so that Paige had all the space to sit with however much distance she wanted between us. But she sat down right next to me–so close that she came incredibly close to just parking her diapered butt on my lap. “Comfy?” she asked. I nodded. “Very.” It wasn’t a lie, I liked having her warm body so close to mine. “Hey, can I ask you something?” “Of course,” I said. “Would it be weird if, like, two babies kissed?” “N-no,” I said. “I don’t think so.” I knew what was coming next, and I made no effort to stop it. She leaned in closer, her hand guiding my face towards hers until our lips pressed together. I was immediately transported to somewhere else. We were in a park now, and it was very late at night. It was Ava’s lips that I was kissing, and it was her hand that was slowly sliding up my thigh towards my diaper. It was Ava’s breast that my hand was cupping, gently squeezing at. I almost said her name aloud. I was glad I didn’t, because I opened my eyes long enough to see that it was Paige’s breast I was squeezing. Paige’s hand that was just about on my crotch. “C-can you excuse me for a minute?” “Oh,” Paige said, her entire body receding from mine. “Of course. Everything okay?” “I…uhm… May I use your bathroom for a moment?” There was a little pause–a moment where I was pretty sure she wanted to make some snarky comment about how I was already wearing my bathroom. Thankfully, the moment seemed to pass quickly, and there was a look of concern on her face as she pointed towards the hallway. “Over there. Second door on the left.” “Thank you.” “Are you okay?” she asked again. “I just, uh… I’ll be right back.” I had no idea what I was doing, and I had no idea what I’d do or say when I came back to the living room either. ‘Sorry about that. Just got overwhelmed while thinking about another girl who I thought I was starting to get over, but as it turns out…I’m still pretty crazy about.’ Yeah, I probably wasn’t going to say that. In the bathroom, I splashed some water on my face. A sharp cramp coursed through my abdomen. I needed to go, and it was quickly getting to the point where my sphincter was just going to give out. I looked down at her toilet. I probably wasn’t going to get out of this bathroom without losing control of myself. And so the only real question was: where would I be when I did? Standing here, letting the back of my diaper fill up? Or would I be sitting on the toilet? It was a test, it seemed. How badly did I want to be an adult?

Periodic reminder that you can find more of this story, and many (many!) more stories you can't read anywhere else on my Ream Stories account. Seventy-Four “I’m sorry,” Mommy said, catching her breath and swiping some hair out of her face. “What were you saying before we got…distracted?” My moist face emerged from between her legs, and I ran a hand through my mussy hair. Any conversation that took place in her bed usually ended up being split into two parts–the part before I started pleasing her with my mouth, and the part after. This had been a particularly long intermission, leaving my tongue feeling so tired that I wasn’t even sure that I wanted to keep talking. Too, I was blanking on what it was that we were talking about in the first place. “Uh…” “You wanted to ask me something,” she reminded me. “I would say that you looked nervous about it…but you always seem nervous when asking me anything.” “Oh, right. So…” My heart was still racing, and I needed to catch my own breath yet. Having my mouth affixed to Mommy’s pussy always presented some challenging hurdles when it came to breathing. “Take your time,” she said, her voice soft and smooth. “Come up here. Cuddle with me. And when you’re ready, you can tell me all about it.” I was quick to take her up on this offer, snuggling beside her nude body under a thin bedsheet. I was the only one wearing any article of clothing–if one considered a diaper ‘clothing.’ Her arm wrapped around me, pulling me even closer to her before she gave my padded butt a firm pat. “It feels dry,” she said. “It is.” “A shame.” “I know. But…I tried.” One of Mommy’s most favorite things in the entire world was when I used my diaper while pleasuring her with my mouth. Mommy could get quite wet normally, but it was like sticking my face in a tsunami when she could catch a whiff of a dirty diaper while my tongue played with her clit. “I heard you pushing,” she said, smiling. “It was very cute.” I offered only a bashful mumble, burying my face in her side. I remembered what I wanted to talk about, but it feels even sillier now–given our current status–than it did when I first entered her bedroom. “So…I wanted to go…out.” She giggled. “Out?” “R-right. I’ve been talking to this, uhm, friend of mine…” “This friend-who-is-a-girl, yes?” “Uh, yeah. That’s the one. Paige.” It still felt strange to call her Paige, especially out loud. She had lived in my head–my imagination–as ‘Pizza Girl’ for so long. “A date?” “I mean, we were just going to, like, hang out.” “That sounds like a date to me,” she cooed, again patting my bottom so that a loud FWOMP FWOMP FWOMP sound filled the room. “I suppose.” “My little boy is growing up. Sort of.” “Sort of,” I repeated. “Does your friend know you aren’t potty trained yet?” “Well…” I chuckled a little. That was one of the strangest parts of this whole thing. “Yes, she knows.” “And she’s okay with that? I’m not judging, of course. I just want to be sure.” “Uh huh. I’d say she’s okay with that.” I wasn’t quite ready to tell Mommy that Paige also had an interest in diapers. At least, per her note, I thought that was the case. I’d have told Mommy if she asked, of course. I just wasn’t ready to offer that one for free yet. “And what about your chastity, Baby? Think she’ll mind that?” I’d like to say that I hadn’t yet thought about that, but the truth was that I had been thinking about that a lot. I couldn’t imagine needing access to my cock on our first hangout. But, sooner or later, it might be nice to have access to it. Was I supposed to ask Mommy for the key? Or did I just beat around the bush until she decided to give it to me on her volition? “It probably doesn’t matter. Uhm…yet.” Mommy giggled again. “Yet? But eventually?” “I mean, who knows?” Did I expect her to just hand over my key at that moment? Or did I just hope that she would? “Talk to me again when you think you need your little boy-toy back,” she cooed into my ear. It wasn’t a promise, it was an invitation to another awkward conversation in the future. “Y-yes, Mommy.” Things seemed to be going well with Mommy as of late. Things had always been good there–but I was starting to wonder if some of my recent decisions would wear away at our relationship. I still hadn’t completely processed the overheard conversation between her and Ms. Beaufort on the phone–the one where she confessed her fear about what she was to do with herself after I was gone. And so I wondered if my sudden desires to work and be social were exasperating those fears. I didn’t bring it up. For one, I didn’t want Mommy to know that I had overheard her conversation. But also: what was I supposed to do about it? There was a part of me that considered just staying with her forever, but I already knew that wasn’t the answer. At some point, whether it was now or later, I’d have to move on. And, sooner or later, Mommy would have to figure out what came after that for herself. Months ago–eons ago, maybe–I had told myself that I was going to help find her a partner. Someone who could make her happy without having to wear diapers. Obviously, I had gotten a little distracted since I made that declaration. Maybe I needed to get that little project off the ground again. Or…not? The thing was, I wasn’t entirely sure if I even knew what Mommy wanted next. It seemed best, then, to just concentrate on myself. If there was anyone in the entire world who I trusted to tell me how they felt, it was Mommy. And so far she hadn’t pushed back at any of my attempts to spread my wings and fly from the comfy nest she had created for us. I had compartmentalized my guilt well enough so that by the time I was actually stepping off the train in town–I refused to let Mommy drive me to my meetup–it didn’t feel like it’d be interfering. I had Mommy’s blessing to be here, and for the night, that’s all I needed. “Is it strange that I’m not used to seeing you with pants on?” Paige asked, meeting me outside the bar she had recommended. “Well…you had only seen me without pants twice.” “Oh,” her cheeks turned pink and she looked away for a moment. “Maybe that’s just how I picture you in my head.” “Fair enough. If I had seen you in a…” I decided I didn’t want to say the d-word out loud. Not yet. “If I had seen you in a similar state, maybe that’s how I’d think of you too.” “That can always be arranged,” she said, opening the door and stepping inside. She beckoned for me to follow. Soon, we’re sitting at the bar next to each other, and we each have a pint glass in front of us. The bar is only moderately busy, though I still feel like I’m on display. If I had picked, we’d be in a corner booth–as far away from everyone else as possible. “Clark?” she asked–not like she was calling for me, but questioning what my name was. “Yep.” She sighed out of her nose. “I still think you look like a Paul.” “I mean, if you really want to call me that…” “You know what it is? You kind of remind me of this guy named Paul I used to hang out with.” “Was he cool?” It probably would’ve been devastating if she had been unconsciously comparing me to a complete dud. “Well, he was cute. Like you,” she shrugged. “He used to bring me donuts from this little bakery near his house, and that was pretty cute. But…I think he also got arrested for threatening his dad or something.” Cute but dangerous. That was kind of like breaking even. “Paige,” I said to her. “See, I think that’s a pretty name.” “Yeah, maybe if I was a homesteader making my own kombucha.” “That’s very specific.” Paige laughed, mostly to herself, before playfully slapping my arm. “Okay. So? Uhm…diaper?” My head automatically swiveled back and forth on my neck, surveying the area around us for open and available ears who could’ve potentially heard her say that word. It wasn’t even something I thought about while in public, it was just my body’s natural defenses at work. The report came back that it was safe enough. I nodded. Of course, she didn’t know that I was always wearing diapers. Not yet. “And you?” She also nodded, her cheeks getting a little rosier. “Uh huh.” “Keeping dry?” She grimaced and shook her head. “Like, I want to use them out in public. But it’s hard! Do you use them when you’re out of the house?” Hoo boy, where do I start? “Y-yeah. Sometimes.” That’d suffice for now. Her eyes grow large and voice drops a little. “You think you could do it tonight? Here?” “Are you asking me to?” She considered that for a moment. “No. Not necessarily. Just, could you? If you wanted to.” I nod. “Probably.” Inevitably. I decided to try and redirect the conversation a little bit. As tempting as it was to just talk about diapers, I was hoping that we’d have a bit more in common than that. I started small: “So, pizza delivery, huh? Do you like that?” “Eh,” she shrugged. “It’s an easy job. I like the restaurant and I like the neighborhood. The tips are nice…but it’s not enough to live off of, for sure.” “Oh, so do you live with…” “I live with my cousin. Well, I live at my cousin’s. She’s a musician, so she tours a lot, which means I get the place to myself most of the year. Rent free.” “Wow.” “The gravy train isn’t going to last forever, but I’m enjoying it while I can.” She takes a swig of her amber lager before continuing. “What about you? What do you do for a living?” “Actually, I just recently started a new job with my Mo…” I trail off and I feel my cheeks warm. How do I explain ‘Mommy’ to her? “I just recently started a new job. It’s a group of business consultants. Honestly, most of what they do is over my head, but I’ll be helping out with some day-to-day stuff around the office.” “Ah,” she said. “A corporate worker bee.” “Something like that.” “Do you like that?” Did I? Come to think of it, I hadn’t asked myself what I wanted to do with my career in a very long time. I like the company. I like the people I work with. Beyond that? I guess I’m trying to figure myself out.” “Here here,” she said, clinking her glass into mine. While I’m pretty sure there’s a minimum amount of small talk we’re supposed to get through before we can get into the juicier topics, I realized that I just couldn’t help myself–I needed to know the answer to at least one of my burning questions. “So, uhm, have you always worn, uh…” She laughed, swiping some hair from her face. “No, not always. It’s kind of a recent fascination, actually.” Damn, had Lyndie been right? Had I actually been the inspiration for her newfound fetish? Of course, Lyndie had said something else too that she might have been right about: That I wasn’t ready for a relationship yet. That I had to crawl before I could walk. She probably wasn’t wrong about that. “R-really? And…what brought that on?” “Oh, I’m sure you can guess,” she smiled. Was she batting her eyelashes at me? Everything about her felt flirtatious–her tone, her body language, the way that she took these little sips of her beer. And it was all working on me. “Me?” “I’d say you certainly started me down that rabbit hole. Though…I’ve got to ask. Was that, like, a dare or something? To stand at the door in a diaper when I delivered food?” “Oh, uh, yeah.” “But you do actually have a diaper kink?” “Uhm…yes.” Kink wasn’t the word I’d use at this point. It was a lifestyle. It was, perhaps, my whole life. “So your friends, they all know you wear them?” We were treading deeper and deeper into more complicated territory. Would there be a point where I’d have to reveal too much about myself? That I had been, effectively, living as an infant for the last few months? That I was now wearing diapers to the office, and was expected to use them while there? “They know.” “Wow. They must be some pretty good friends if you trust them with that. If I told my friends I liked diapers, they’d probably laugh at me so hard that I’d need to move out of town.” Oh, they’re all in on it. Some of them have even worn diapers themselves. “Yeah…I guess we’re all pretty close.” “That must be pretty awesome,” she said. “I’m kind of jealous.” Would she feel the same way if her friends were patting her diapered bottom? Changing her diapers? Teasing her for being a baby? I didn’t hate the dynamic I had with my friends, but there was something to be said for having some secrets that were just mine, too. Also, I had no doubt that Paige would fit right in with the likes of Lyndie and Ava. “So, wait,” I said, circling back a little. “You saw me standing there in a diaper–making an absolute fool of myself–and you were…inspired to put on a diaper yourself?” “Yeah, something like that, actually,” she said, taking a bigger swig of her beer–as if to help fuel the rest of her story. “The idea was just stuck in my head and I had to try it, you know?” That made sense to me. I’ve certainly been there before. “Lo and behold, I ended up liking them,” she shrugged. “A lot, actually. And there was something kind of fun about the idea of running into you again, both of us in a diaper.” “Oh wait…” I started, remembering a moment from a few months ago. I had been coming out of the elevator in my old apartment building when she was entering it. Our bodies had brushed against each other, and I was almost certain that something seemed weird about that moment. “The elevator? You were, uh, wearing one then?” She laughed. “Wow. I almost forgot about that myself. I saw the order come in for your apartment, and I kept a diaper in my backpack for such an occasion. So I quickly put it on in the bathroom…” Likely the same bathroom where I had recently changed my own sopping wet diaper, I thought. “...before going to your place, hoping I’d see you. I didn’t, of course–your roommate received the pizza. I was kind of bummed about it, honestly. But then I ran into you in the elevator, except I think we caught each other by surprise and neither of us really knew what to say to each other.” “Wow,” I said, shaking my head. “So, if I had opened the door instead of my roommate…what would you have said to me? Would you have been, like, ‘Hey, here’s your pizza–also, I’m wearing a diaper’?” Her cheeks got a bit more pink and she swallowed another gulp from her glass. “I have no fucking idea what I would’ve done. All the scenarios I had imagined were…kind of unrealistic.” I let out a chortle–an embarrassing noise that I would've prevented if I could’ve. “Okay, you have to elaborate on that. Unrealistic how?” “Oh, I dunno. Like, maybe I would’ve pointed down to my crotch and have been, like: ‘I’ve got an extra delivery for you in here too.’” “I probably wouldn’t have gotten that you were signaling that you were wearing a diaper if you had said that…” “I know, I know. Oh, and my other idea was that I would’ve commented that your tip was going to go towards my diaper fund.” “Then, I just would’ve thought you were making fun of me.” We were both laughing, and pretty hard too. I was laughing so hard that I had lost some of the control I had been exerting on my bladder, causing a stream of pee to flood my diaper. It wasn’t a heavy wetting, but it was enough to change the status of my padding from ‘damp’ to ‘wet.’ Wet enough that I might have even considered a change were I anywhere else. I needed to be a little more careful. I probably couldn’t afford another slip-up like that. “So, Clark,” she finally asked, stifling the lingering giggles. “Who are you when you’re not in a diaper?” Oof. The answer I spat out was much more honest than I would’ve liked: “I don’t even know anymore.” She leaned in closer, looking much more curious now. “Is that so? Are, uh, diapers that important to you?” “I, uh, suppose that’s something I should be pretty upfront about.” I wasn’t prepared to have this conversation yet, but it was probably better for both of us if I did. She deserved to know the truth–or at least some of the truth. If she didn’t like what she heard, she didn’t have to waste any more of her time. “I wear them all of the time.” “Oh.” She didn’t look upset by this answer, though maybe concerned? “Shit. Did I…misread something? Is there, like, a more legitimate reason you wear them? Some sort of disability?” “No,” I quickly said. “It’s…all pleasure.” “Oh,” she said again. She said it differently this time–with some hesitation and, maybe, skepticism in her tone. “That’s a bit of a commitment.” “That’s an understatement.” “So you just choose to wear them? All the time?” I nodded. “And…how often do you use them?” she asked, with the cadence of someone who thinks they might already know the answer. “I’d say…pretty regularly.” She pointed down to my feet, where my bookbag was sitting on the floor by my stool. “And is that your…diaper bag?” My face blushed, her question being right on the money. “Y-yeah.” “My goodness, Clark. You’re just full of surprises.” She was smiling. That seemed good. Or, at least, better than her frowning or getting up and walking away. “Sorry,” I shrugged. “I know that’s a lot.” She didn’t even know the half of it yet. “It’s fascinating, is what it is,” she said, finishing the last of her pint glass. She waved to the bartender, pointing down at her glass. Did this conversation require more alcohol? “Too much information for someone you’re just getting to know?” “I’m still here, aren’t I?” “You are. But you may also just be interested in seeing how fucked of a human being I am.” “Wearing a diaper has been the most exciting thing to have happened to me in a year,” Paige shrugged. “I’m not going to pretend like I’m the sane one here. But I’ve still got plenty of questions for you.” “Shoot.” “So…is your diaper still dry?” That wasn’t the question I was expecting. I seemed to be having good luck with honesty thus far, so that seemed like the track to stay on. “Not really, no.” “Get out of here. Seriously?” I shrugged. “I mean…that’s what they’re for, right?” “It shouldn’t be that weird to me,” she said. “I mean, I’m wearing one too, you know? But, like, you’re really sitting right here next to me? In a pissy diaper?” My head did another perimeter check, scanning for eavesdroppers. The coast continued to be clear, as best as I could tell. “Yup.” “Wow,” she said under her breath. “I kind of love that.” “You could do that too, you know.” She snorted, and her cheeks glowed pink again. “It’s possible, sure. Will I? Eh…I don’t know about that.” “You might like it,” I prodded. “Oh, I’m sure that I will. But I’d need to convince myself that it’s safe to do, first. That’s the tricky part. I’ll work on that. In the meantime…I’m more interested in you and your diapers.” Isn’t that always the case? “Uh, any questions I can answer?” “Have you ever…” Her voice dropped to a near-whisper, her words were just barely audible over the bar’s ambient noise. “...like, pooped? In your diaper?” I didn’t want to, but I laughed out loud–a genuine cackle that got a few eyes on us for a moment. Had I ever pooped? I’d already messed myself twice that very day. “Sorry,” she said, head tilted with confusion. “Is that, like, a weird thing to ask?” “No, no. I just… Yes. I’ve done that.” And, for the sake of transparency, I added: “Often.” Her eyes grew big again. “Really? Like…recently?” “I…wear diapers all the time,” I said to her again. “It happens regularly.” “Even…out in public?” “Yeah.” “Even…when you’re out on dates? At a bar? With a girl you barely know?” “If that’s what my body needs to do, then…yeah.” She smiled and took a huge gulp from her fresh pint. She then waved down the bartender again, pointing at my empty glass to signal that I’d need a new one too. “So, you’re saying that if we sit here and talk long enough…you might just fill your diaper?” “Uhm…” The answer, I supposed, was a little more complicated than that. I could, probably, hold it if I had to–if I knew it was coming. Accidents happened, especially with me, but I had left the house tonight feeling pretty confident that I could avoid any catastrophic messes. But I didn’t think that was the answer she wanted to hear. “I just might,” I shrugged. “Let’s chat for a while,” she said, a devilish smile on her face, “and find out.”

Seventy-Three Memo to Staff: In the coming days, Clark Ashburn will be joining our team as an assistant to Gabrielle Heller. Most of you should know Mr. Ashburn already–either from his occasional visits to the office, or by reputation alone. While Clark’s core responsibilities will be in aiding Ms. Heller, he’ll also be available to assist in the office’s overall day-to-day operations. If you have any projects or tasks that you haven’t been able to get to yourself, please send details to Ms. Heller. Clark will remain diapered while in the office, just as Risa is currently and, previously, Bradley had been. === Step 3: Get back into the workforce. I had seen working as one of the last things I’d care about on my journey from overgrown toddler to adult. But, following my conversation with Mommy–and her proposal that I come work for her, once again, it made sense to bump it up the list a bit. Besides, the more I thought about it, the more it made sense to do this sooner rather than later–it felt like an extension of my first goal, which had been to get out of my babyish bubble. “My my, don’t you clean up nicely,” Mommy said, drifting into the nursery as I stood in front of the mirror, attempting to tuck my shirt into my slacks. The pants–yet another gift from Mommy–probably would’ve fit incredibly well if it hadn’t been for my diaper. Now, things were going to get pretty tight down there. “D-does my diaper look obvious?” “Yes,” she nodded. “But you shouldn’t be worried about that. Everyone knows you wear them.” In the mirror’s reflection, I saw my cheeks were glowing pink. This wasn’t actually a surprise to me–I had visited the office a few times. They knew who I was and what I was about. And I wouldn’t be the only baby in the office. Mommy’s words were, however, a reminder that this wasn’t going to be a traditional job. I had a new question: “Do I look…adult?” She shrugged. “Maybe? It’s hard for me to say, since I see you everyday. And you just always look like a baby to me.” “Yeah…fair enough.” “Are you nervous, Baby?” she asked. I laughed. “Yeah. Of course I am.” Shortly after the exodus from our old company, Mommy and Ms. Beaufort had cobbled together a consulting firm called Beaufort and Heller. It had come together so quickly that I had to assume that at least part of this plan had existed before Mommy stepped down from her previous role as CEO–perhaps as a back-up plan, should the baby-business ever go south. The nitty-gritty details of what this company did, or who its clients were, were still mostly lost on me, but it seemed that the two women were quickly finding success with this new venture. From my vantage point, I had always figured that Mommy was happy with her role as CEO. And maybe, on some level, she was. But it wasn’t until I started watching her pour herself into this new partnership with Ms. Beaufort that I saw an actual passion for work in Mommy’s eyes. She liked building a company from the ground up. She liked operating without a faceless ‘Board of Directors’ hovering above her. She liked the business trips and meeting with clients face to face. “I was tempted to put together a diaper bag for you to take to the office,” Mommy said, pouring herself a travel mug of coffee in the kitchen while I waited for her near the door, my body bobbing back and forth with anxious energy. “But I doubt we’ll need anything that isn’t already there." One of the first things that Mommy and Ms. Beaufort did was to set up an office. And that office, it was decided, would be a baby-friendly place. There had been, at first, two ‘office babies.’ The first was Bradley, who had jumped ship to follow Lyndie soon after the Thomas Pritchard incident. Technically, he wasn’t anyone’s assistant in the new company, though it sounded like he was sticking pretty close to Lyndie regardless. I never got any good answers on what–if anything–happened in the strange triangle between him, Nancy Tamberlin, and Lyndie. As best as I could tell, Ms. Tamberlin was pretty busy at the old company, cleaning up that mess. In a few months, it wouldn’t matter anyway–Bradley had moved away. The other, and now the only office baby, was Clarissa–Risa, as she went by. I had only met her once and knew little about her, though she seemed well-liked. From the stories that Mommy told me, she seemed to have adapted to her role as baby rather well. I could have misheard, but I thought I might have caught a part of a conversation once in which Ms. Beaufort said that she had found this new assistant by specifically looking for someone already into diapers and acting like a toddler. “My little boy is growing up so quickly,” Mommy said while her car was stopped at a red light, en route to the office. I wasn’t sure whether to attribute her smile to sarcasm or sincerity. I was thinking about what I heard her saying on the phone to Ms. Beaufort the other night–the things she said when she didn’t know that I was listening. She had talked about the uncertainty, and fear, she felt at the prospect of me moving forward with my life. I still wasn’t sure what I should do with that information. Was I to slow myself down a little, perhaps even giving up my ambitions at being a ‘normal’ 20-something? Or did I continue ahead and let her figure out the next part of her life herself? “Am I, uhm, going too fast?” I asked. “You should go as fast as you need to,” she said. I studied her face, and her tone, for hints as to how she really felt, but I could only guess. I wanted to keep the conversation going, but I thought it was best to leave it at that for now. Soon, we were pulling into the office building’s parking garage. The old brick building housed a few other small companies–most, according to the directory listed near the entrance, were things like accountants and law firms. I doubted that any of them had people waddling around the office in diapers. We stepped off the elevator soon after, made a short track down the hall past one of the many accounting firms on this floor alone, and Mommy opened the door into the office of Beaufort and Heller. “Well, would you look at that,” Lyndie said from the front desk. Her and Amber had been going over something at the front desk and they both looked up at me, big smiles on their faces. “Clarky, you and I are working together again!” “Y-yeah,” I said, running a hand through my hair. “How about that?” Lyndie was the very first person hired for the new company. And while I had no doubt that she was still changing diapers when she could, she was no longer just the babysitter. She was handling a number of administrative duties, including accounts payable. “Hello, Clark,” said Amber. “It’s nice to see you again.” “Likewise,” I said. “Hello.” Amber was currently the receptionist–though Mommy had mentioned the possibility of making her a personal assistant of sorts. Albeit, one that did actual work, as opposed to just wearing and using diapers all day. Her long bronze hair looked like a fantastical veil in the fluorescent lighting of the office. I wondered what her take was on the company’s baby-culture. “I tried to rally the troops for a little meet and greet this morning,” Amber said to Mommy. “But Sam has been on calls all morning, and Neve is running late. So…there’s bagels in the break room. Help yourself whenever.” She sounded a little annoyed that her plans hadn’t come to fruition. “That was very kind of you to try,” Mommy said, strolling past the front desk. “Clarky? I believe you’ve met everyone here before, yes?” “I believe so.” Amber I knew from my visits to the office, and I had met Risa once. That just left Samantha Roberts–an old friend of Mommy and Ms. Beaufort’s. We had only met once, in passing. She seemed nice enough, but I had heard that she wasn’t as enthused about the whole baby thing. Still, she came to the office everyday, despite people waddling past in diapers, so I figured she couldn’t have hated it all that much. Besides, Mommy said she’d come around eventually. “Let me show you to your desk,” Mommy said. “Actually, Ms. Heller, you have a call in a few minutes with that guy from Boise in a few minutes,” Amber said. “Ah, right…” “Why don’t you go and get ready for that,” Lyndie said. “I’ll take care of Clark.” “He’s dry, if that’s what you mean,” Mommy smirked. “But you can show him to his new desk.” Lyndie laughed. “Will do. C’mon, Clark.” And so I had been passed off. Mommy went in one direction, and I followed Lyndie in the other. “Busy today?” I asked, mostly gauging whether or not my presence was going to be a burden. “Not yet,” she shrugged. “We’ll see how the day goes. Are you going to keep my hands full?” “W-we’ll see.” When I had imagined walking back into an office again, I imagined doing it without a diaper underneath my pants. That wasn’t the case today, though. For now, I was still well-padded and probably would be for a while yet. Still, it felt like a good time to practice my control. Accidents were inevitable, but if I could start being more conscious of when I was going, I figured I’d be in better shape when Mommy was willing to give me some underwear back. And, should I have an accident, this seemed like the place to have it. Walking through the office with Lyndie, I could detect trace amounts of baby powder in the air. Here, unlike the old office, I was almost expected to be having accidents. Most would probably even encourage it. “I know you’ve been here a few times, but I’ll give you a little tour anyway,” Lyndie said. I was thankful for this–most of my visits to the office had been brief and I had been far too baby-brained to remember where anything was. “There’s Neve’s office. It doesn’t look like she’s in yet, but there’s Risa, her assistant.” Risa looked up from behind her computer monitor and waved. “Oh, Clark! Hello!” She quickly got up from her seat–the unmistakable sound of a crinkling bottom following in her wake–and she rushed to me, giving me a hug. I was caught off guard, seeing as how I barely knew her and she was embracing me like I was an old friend. Perhaps she was just happy to not be the only baby in the office now. I hugged her back. She had this adorable little round face that practically screamed ‘baby.’ And if it wasn’t the face that did it, it would’ve definitely had been her dark hair–pulled into tight pigtails on either side of her face. I was certain people called her a ‘babyface’ for most of her life. Maybe, at some point, she just decided to lean into that. “It’s, uh, nice to see you again,” I said. “I can’t wait to work with you,” she said with the surprising eagerness I’d associate with a fangirl at a pop culture convention. I appreciated the sentiment, but I just wasn’t ready for the intensity of the delivery. “Y-yeah, ditto,” I said, giving her the warmest smile I could. Lyndie quickly ushered me forward in the tour. Once we were out of earshot: “Risa is nice, but…she can be a lot.” “Is she like that with everyone?” “Most people. But I do think she was pretty excited about you joining the team.” “Me? Why?” Lyndie laughed, shaking her head incredulously like she couldn’t fathom how I didn’t already know the answer to that. “You’re kind of a legend in here, Clark.” I had to ask again: “Me? Why?” “Of all the babies, you’re the babiest. You didn’t just wear diapers to work. You became a baby. You moved in with Gabrielle. ‘Hashtag: Lifegoals’ for Risa. And Bradley, while he was here.” “Oh.” I hadn’t ever spent much time with Bradley. I was surprised that he ever thought of me at all, let alone had wanted to be me. “Don’t let it go to your head, Clark. You’re still wearing a diaper to work.” “Right, right.” “This is just like old times, eh? It’s nice to be working with you again.” “Same,” I said, feeling that familiar warmth in my cheeks. We ventured forward, the tour continuing. “Here is Samantha Roberts’s office. Maybe we can stop in and say hello, or…” Through the office’s glass door, we could see Samantha was on a call. Given the way she was gesturing, I had to assume it was a video conference, though maybe that was just the way she talked. “We’ll come back later,” Lyndie said. “I heard she’s not really into diapers.” “I think she was more interested in the job than she was the culture,” Lyndie laughed. “But I’ve seen the way she stares at Risa’s bottom. I suspect she’s, at least, curious.” Onwards past the next office door. This one was open, and on one side I could see a desk, and on the other was a changing table. “This is my office,” she said. “The changing table,” I said, pointing to it. “Is this also a nursery?” “That was the original plan,” Lyndie laughed. “But if Neve was here, and we looked into her office, you’d have found a changing table in there too.” “Oh. And…” “Yep,” she nodded. “Gabrielle has one in her office too. This was kind of amazing to me. It would have been the dream of our group back at the old office–a workplace that not only didn’t have to hide the weird baby stuff, but seemed to completely embrace it. “What about when clients come?” I asked. “That’s what the conference room is for,” Lyndie said, pointing to the next room. “Yeah, that makes sense,” I shrugged. “And here are the bathrooms. Not that you’ll have as much use for those.” “Not yet,” I said, a juvenile defiance coming through in my voice. “But I’ll get there.” “Sure, sure. Oh, and there’s the room you probably know the best, here. Mommy’s office.” “And is that…” “That’s your desk, right out in front of her office door.” That brought me back to the old office too, where I sat just beyond her office so that she could keep an eye on me easily. I felt a tear welling up in my eye, which I quickly wiped away–I was surprised at how emotional I was getting by just having a desk of my own again. I didn’t realize how much I missed the concept of work until now, just as I missed responsibility. Purpose. I sat down in the shining new office chair, feeling the casters smoothly glide back and forth on the floor. The computer on the desk had two monitors, the blue glow from them spilling off the desk and onto my chest. I felt like a fool, getting so excited about such things, but it was good to be back. “Gabrielle says she’s putting you to work,” Lyndie said. “Like…actual work.” “Good. That’s what I want.” She laughed and shook her head. “You’re so weird. Also? Open that drawer on the left side. I got you a little welcome-back gift.” “Really? Oh, wow, Lyndie. You didn’t have to do anything like that. It’s honestly nice just to be back in an office again and…” I opened the desk drawer and found a pacifier. “I got that online,” she beamed. “Custom made.” The mouth guard had little lettered beads affixed to it, reading: STINKY. “Wow,” I sighed. “How thoughtful.” “I thought you’d like it! Want to give it a test drive?” “Maybe later…” “Suit yourself. Well, look, I’d love to chit-chat, but I do have a few things to do this morning. I think your login information is written down by the keyboard. Why don’t you check your email–I sent you some tutorials on some of the software you’ll probably be using most.” That was my big sister–always looking out for me. “Thank you.” “You’ll be okay by yourself if I go back to my office for a little bit?” “Yeah, of course.” “Okay, good. Either myself or your Mommy will check in on you as soon as we can,” she stated. ‘Your mommy,’ made me feel like I was in kindergarten though. She started to walk away, stopped, and then quickly came back. “Oh, one more thing. Your Mommy would kill me if I made you sit here in a dirty diaper.” “But, I’m not…” “Stand up, Clark. I have to check your diaper.” “Here? But…” “This isn’t like the old office, Clark. We don’t have to hide in rooms with the doors shut anymore. I’m treating you just the same as I would Risa over there. In fact, you’ll see me checking her diaper in a little bit. If, that is, we don’t smell her first.” “Hey…” came an exasperated moan from over at Risa’s desk. I stood up at my desk, not quite sure what a ‘diaper check’ entailed at this office, but interested in finding out. I expected that the world around me would stop so that it could stare at me, but from my vantage point that didn’t seem to be the case at all. I couldn’t see Amber’s desk from here, nor could she see me. Risa was staring ahead at her computer. And while I could see directly into the window in Ms. Roberts’s office window, she still looked completely consumed with whatever conversation she was in. “Why don’t you pull your pants down for me,” Lyndie said. “It’ll make this a lot easier.” “But…” “Just do it,” she sighed. Wild. A few months ago, Thomas Pritchard had done this exact thing–revealing his diaper in the middle of an office. Except, where as he had set off a destructive chain reaction of events–nobody was blinking an eye when I did it. There I was–pants pulled down to my knees at my desk as Lyndie inspected my diaper. “A little damp,” Lyndie shrugged. “But you’ll last a while yet, barring any major catastrophes.” “Hey,” Risa said, her head poking out from behind her desk. “What kind of diapers are those?” There was no alarm or concern in the tone of her voice. She asked it like she was asking me where I had gotten my shoes from–like it was just another everyday thing. “Oh…uh, I’m not sure,” I shrugged. “Mommy…er…Ms. Heller buys them for me.” My cheeks warmed a little more at having said the ‘m-word’ while in the office. “MegaThicks,” Lyndie replied confidently, playfully smacking my bottom. “I’d know these bad boys anywhere.” “They’re cute,” Risa said, her head turning to focus on her work again. Wild. “Okay, pull your pants back up. I’ll see you later.” A few minutes later, it felt like my old life was starting to come back to me as if there had never been any interruption. Just the basic motions of using a mouse and keyboard gave me a sense of nostalgia. Thinking back on my work history–though I could probably go a little further back and lump school in with this–I had never felt particularly motivated. I did what I had to do, but I had no passion for work. Now, I wanted to dive into it. I wanted to learn every platform. Study every spreadsheet. I wanted to be in some meetings and listen to other people talk about what needed to be done next. Soon, I had a notebook open and I was taking notes. I had post-its stuck to the sides of my monitor with references to things that felt especially important. And then, a familiar scent wafted into my nose. Oh shit, are you kidding me right now? I thought, for sure, that I had somehow pushed an enormous mess into my diaper without even realizing it. It wouldn’t have been the first that happened. But I was able to quickly rule myself out as the culprit, as it was rather obvious that I wasn’t sitting atop a foul load. Which meant that it was probably… I looked over towards Risa’s desk, where she continued to tap away at her keyboard, eyes fixed on her monitors like she was deep in the throes of some important project. I glanced around the rest of the office, seeing that Mommy, Lyndie, and Ms. Roberts were still sequestered in their offices with the doors closed. I wondered if Amber could smell this up at the front desk. And, if she could, I wondered what she thought about it. I probably didn’t need to say anything, but I couldn’t help myself. “Is, uhm, that you?” Risa had a look of surprise on her face for a moment, like she had pulled from whatever work-trance she had been in. Her cheeks got a little rosier as she looked in my direction. “Yeah… Sorry about that,” she shrugged. But she didn’t sound all that sorry. “Oh, you don’t have to apologize. Just wanted to, uh, make sure.” She laughed. “I think you’d know if it was your accident.” I couldn’t get over how surreal the moment felt. Back in the old office, we fretted and panicked when something like this happened. We worried about who could smell our diapers, or who might notice a lump in the back of our pants. And now, here I was, at a place where someone could just nonchalantly load the seat of the diaper with a stinky mess and continue sitting there–doing their work with no fear of consequence. “Sorry,” I said. “I just… I need to get used to this.” “Ah,” she shrugged. “Maybe I should’ve warned you first? I think I just got used to letting go when I needed to.” “No, no,” I assure her. “You didn’t do anything wrong.” “Well, don’t be afraid of doing the same. I mean, that’s what the diapers are for, right? And I’m certainly not going to judge you.” I almost wished that she hadn’t said that to me. I was trying to grow up. I was trying to reduce my dependency on diapers. And, here in this new office, I was hoping that I could build a reputation that didn’t revolve around me smelling like I needed my diaper changed. But… I was still wearing diapers. And I had taken a rather big step forward just by taking a position at Mommy’s company in the first place. Surely I couldn’t be expected to accomplish all of my goals on the same day. The odor of Risa’s diaper–which I now felt like I knew better than Risa herself–continued to permeate the office. The longer she marinated in her chair, the heavier the stench got. Until, finally, the odor just became normal. While I felt no urgency in my bowels at the moment, I suspected that if I did, I’d have joined her in stinking up the place. As it was, all I really needed to was to piss. And so I did, allowing myself to not get hung up on whether or not I should be resorting to my more infantile instincts or not. It was the most blissful a wet diaper had felt in some time, honestly. There was certainly something to be said about being in a place with other people, yet not having to feel afraid of exposure. “Alright,” Lyndie said, emerging from her office eventually. “Which one of you did this?” She waved her arms around her, as if to signal that she was talking about the air around us. “That’s all me,” Risa said, almost sounding like she was proud of what she had done. “Unless Clark added some smells of his own? I’m not sure if I’d be able to tell.” “N-no,” I said. “Not this time.” “Alright,” Lydie sighed, glancing towards Ms. Beaufort’s office–still dark. “Well, someone is going to have to take care of this. Come on. Let’s get you changed.” Risa almost looks hesitant to get up from her desk. I doubt it’s the diaper change she’s opposed to, it’s leaving her work behind. I watch them march back across the room and into Lyndie’s office where the door is shut and the blinds are drawn. Privacy is important, of course–though I’m a little disappointed I don’t get to see that show. And, too, maybe I’ll be thankful for the option of blinds when it’s my turn to get a diaper change. Speaking of which, I would probably need one soon. That wetting was on the heavier side, and the padding between my legs was already feeling rather swampy. If I hadn’t already met the capacity of the diaper, it was only a matter of time before I did. I shifted forward and back on my plump padding–I had gotten very good at stimulating myself like this. Maybe, I thought, I’d ask Lyndie for some help with my diaper when she was done with Risa. Or, maybe I’d just stay like this until someone–likely Mommy herself–checked on me later. I let out a little moan as I squirmed in my chair. It was nice to be back at work again.

Seventy-Two Step 1.5: Talk to Mommy The next step on my return to adulthood was actually potty training. But it felt like there was actually a step that needed to happen before that–one that I probably should’ve started with in the first place.kylie I needed to talk to Mommy. I needed to tell her about what I wanted. But this was proving to be easier said than done. I had tried, on multiple occasions in the day or two that followed Mommy’s brief business trip to Atlanta, to start the conversation with her, but I just couldn’t commit. I’d stare at her with my mouth hanging open. Or I’d panic and say something off-topic, putting us on another tangent that I couldn’t steer back towards what I originally wanted to say. “We haven’t talked much about Lyndie’s little ‘field trip’ with you the other night while I was away,” Mommy said as she changed my diaper. My feet were pointed towards the ceiling as her practiced hands wiped away my latest stinky mess. “Did you have a good time?” “Uh, yeth,” I said through my pacifier. “You can take that thing out of your mouth, silly,” she said. “I understand you went to that pizza place near where you used to live. Quite the adventure for a little boy.” I opened my mouth wide, letting the pacifier roll out from my lips and onto the changing table next to my head. “It was good,” I said. “I missed, uh…” I wasn’t sure how to finish that thought. What was it that I had missed? Not the specific people–both Ava and Lyndie had been over to the house recently. “You missed pretending to be an adult?” Mommy asked. “Y-yeah. I think that’s it.” This felt like a good opportunity to have the conversation I had been struggling with having. “Well I’m proud of you,” she said. “R-really?” Maybe this would be a pretty easy conversation. She’d do most of the work for me–telling me that she was proud of me for going out and hanging out with my friends without her. “Lyndie said that you managed to not humiliate yourself in front of everyone.” “Oh…” “I don’t want to say that I was rooting for you to have some nasty blowout in your pants in front of Ava’s friend. But…I do find the thought of that a little…titillating.” I sighed. Truthfully? I did too. But that was for neither here nor there. “Can I ask you something, Mommy?” “Yes, pumpkin?” “Uhm…do you think you’d be upset if I did things like that more often?” She chuckled a little, reaching to grab yet another wipe. “Do you think that’d upset me?” “No.” “You’re free to go out and be a big boy if you want to.” I could see it on her face–she had a good idea of the direction this conversation was going. It was hard to pin down what her expression was broadcasting. A little bit of sadness, maybe. A little bit of pride. “I’ve been thinking…” She sighed. “Oh? And what have you been thinking about?” “I think that I might be ready to, uhm, start…being an adult again?” Was that a tear welling in her eye? She blinked, and it was gone. “Of course, sweetpea. That was always the idea, right? Whenever you were ready.” “I mean…I don’t want to, like, flip a switch and suddenly be a big boy again.” I felt my cheeks warm at my mention of ‘big boy.’ “At whatever pace you want,” she said. “Like…I probably need diapers for a little while yet.” “Well, sure,” she cooed. “You made this little disaster while taking a nap.” “I don’t know where to start,” I shrugged. “I don’t know what to do. I just…I feel like I’ve been hiding for too long.” “What have you been hiding from?” she asked. The dirty diapers, and the wipes used to clean up after it, were bundled up and tossed into the diaper pail. It was a perfect toss, the diaper disappearing into the bin. She had lots of practice. “Nothing in particular, I don’t think.” “Your mother?” “Oh…yeah. Maybe a little. But, also, maybe I’ve just been hiding from growing up.” She laughed, giving my legs a little shake. “Look at you. You’re so tense. Was this that hard of a thing for you to say to me?” “A little.” “Why?” It probably wasn’t actually a mystery to her–she just wanted to hear me explain it, in my own words, rather than assuming. It was one of the many, many, things I loved about her. “I just…well…” I thought of Hillary again. She hadn’t actually done anything wrong, I didn’t think. She just…grew up. Moved on. Surely, Mommy had known that day would come–just as she knew the day would come for me. “If I left, eventually, it’d mean that you’d be alone. And…I hate thinking about that.” She took a deep breath, laughing from her nose as she exhaled slowly, her eyes closed and head shaking. “You’re just the sweetest boy.” A fresh diaper was unfurled and slid beneath me. Next came the liberal layer of baby powder. “I’ve been happy to have you in my life,” she continued. “I’d have been happy to just have you as my assistant at the office, but it’s been a joy to have you in my home–our home–for the last few months. But we both knew this couldn’t last forever. So, whatever it is you need to do, I’ll help you achieve that.” “But…” “And don’t worry about me, Baby,” she smiled. “I’ll be fine.” Her calm and collected responses probably didn’t do what she wanted them to. She likely wanted to encourage me and assure me that moving on was the best decision. Instead, her compassion was just reminding me that I was probably never going to meet anyone else like her. Maybe I’ll just stay here forever. “What will you do if I leave?” I asked. “Will you have another assistant? You, uh, don’t have one at your new company, right?” “I have Amber working at the front desk right now,” she said. “But she’s a competent young woman. I think I’d trust her taking on more duties as my assistant.” “Uh, do you think that…she’d be an assistant like…me?” Mommy laughed. “You know, I think she might go for it if I proposed it to her. I see a little glimmer in her eyes when she sees Neve taking Risa into her office for a feeding. But, I think I might be taking a break from changing diapers for a while.” “Oh?” She smiled and shrugged. “I suppose that sounds like I have another idea of what I’d want to do with myself, but I haven’t figured that out yet. And that thrills me.” It felt good to hear her say that. And though I didn’t think this was the case, it almost sounded like I was doing her a favor by moving on. Soon after, my feet landed back on the ground again as I hopped down from the changing table–a fresh diaper between my thighs and my onesie snapped shut over it. As was tradition, she gave my padded bottom a good pat. “What do you need from me?” Mommy asked. “How can I help you do the things you want to do?” I took a trip down the mental checklist: Call my mother. Call Megan. Potty training. Deal with chastity? Figure out school. Figure out a job. Figure out living on my own. I thought that might be the order, but maybe it didn’t matter–so long as all those things were figured out eventually. “Well…maybe there are two things you can help me with.” “Okay. Shoot.” “So, for one, I want to have a…job.” “Ah,” Mommy said. “You’re right. I can definitely help you with that.” “Like…a real job,” I said, a little nervous that she’d take offense to my request. “I want to learn how to do things. I want experience. I want to help do work.” She laughed. “I don’t know what the fun in that is–but that’s still something I can provide for you. When you’re ready, you can come to the office with me.” “Th-thank you, Mommy.” “And the other thing?” she asked. “You said there were two things I could help you with?” “Well…I should probably be a little less dependent on diapers, right?” “Potty training, huh?” “Just a word of warning: my mother claims that it was hard to potty train me the first time.” “Should I give her a call? Maybe she can give me some pointers.” It didn’t matter if she was joking or not–the very thought of Mommy and my mother having a conversation together was still the most terrifying thing I could think of. Especially now that my mother might have had a little insight into my infantile life. “If she figured it out, I’m sure you can too,” I said. “Well one of us needs to call your mother,” she replied. Touché. “Th-that’s actually on the list,” I said. I had already talked Mommy’s ear off about the humiliation I felt when my mother was the accidental recipient of photos intended for Mommy–many times. “Good,” she said. “She probably misses you.” She stopped short of just commanding me to call. I’d have done it if she just told me to–but we both knew it’d be better if I handled it when I was ready. “Thank you, Mommy,” I said. I wasn’t thanking her for anything specific–it was just a general note of appreciation for everything. “Of course, Baby. Now then. I’ve got a few emails and calls I need to catch up on downstairs. You think this diaper might last a while?” I nodded. “I think so.” “Good boy. I’ll be in my office if you need me. And Clark?” “Yes, Mommy?” “Your phone is where you left it, in the drawer in the kitchen. You might need to charge it. That is, if you need it.” Soon after, I had been left to my own devices. Call your mother. I knew I needed to. Call Megan. But I wasn’t as close to her. Would she even care when I called? Call…Paige? No, I’d probably text her. But that seemed like a much more palatable idea than reaching out to anyone else. Before I moved in with Mommy, my cellphone had been practically glued to my hand–as it likely is for most anyone else in the 21st Century. An unintended consequence of my move, however, had been a lot less screen time. I had handed my laptop and cellphone over to Mommy early on–though they were never actually hidden away. She’d give me time on them in small doses–but if I really wanted them, I could have them. For a time, I had missed being so connected to the world. I had taken for granted how easy it was to know anything. News. Music. A game to distract me. YouTube. Wikipedia. It was all just a finger's movement away. With a screen less convenient to get to, I had to fill that time with something else. Thinking, mostly. But then I got sick of thinking all the time. I’ve heard people say that technology like phones, tablets, and laptops only serve to act as pacifiers for adults. I’d argue that I wasn’t at my most infantile until my phone was gone. When I had gotten sick of thinking–I became proficient at just turning my mind off. My phone was right where I expected it to be, and it was dead. Mommy had charging cables in just about every room of the house, and so it wasn’t hard to find one. I plugged it in, and waited for it to charge for a little bit. As tempting as it was to stare off into space and slip into the empty headspace I sometimes found synonymous with being ‘baby-brained,’ I just stared at the phone–waiting for it to be charged enough to use. A few minutes later, the screen illuminated. Off the grid. It was a phrase I had thought about from time to time. I hadn’t really gone off the grid–not in the way that people who prided themselves on such a feat did it. I had merely become harder to reach. Perhaps frustratingly so. 27 Missed Text Messages. I used to make it a habit to at least check my phone once a week–just to make sure that I wasn’t missing anything important. That habit had slipped into the ether at some point. I was ignoring the texts from my mother. The friends–the friends I cared about–knew where I was. And the rest just didn’t seem important at all. There were a few texts from ‘Mom’–the name still throwing me off when I saw it. It was my mother–not Mommy. I had only just changed her name to ‘Mom’ in my phone before everything in my life upended. In fact, the change of name had been what caused the confusion when Megan sent pictures of my messy diaper to the wrong woman. My mother reached out almost every week. Not long after I had moved in with Mommy, her messages had an almost pleading tone to them–practically begging for me to call her. At the time, I assumed it was, exclusively, because she wanted to know what those pictures were about. More recently, her texts seemed to lack a sense of immediacy–acting only as somber reminders that she still cared about me, regardless of whatever it was that she had seen earlier. Her most recent text was really all I needed to read: Mom: “I hope you’re doing well, Clark.” For the most part, the rest of the new texts seemed to be of no real consequence. A cousin was spamming every number saved in his phone to try to drum up support for a new online business he was working on. A group text from some folks I had gone to college with had some new activity. Also: Ava - “Hey, you around? I was hoping we could catch up.” Ava had reached out a little bit ago too–seemingly before Mommy had asked her to babysit for me. The text was dated a few weeks ago. I couldn’t help but wonder what might have changed in my timeline if I had answered her then. Did my silence help push her towards Caleb, even a little bit? No use dwelling on that now. Though that did remind me of something else. I had Paige’s number memorized by this point. I punched it in and started crafting a message for her. I was met with writer’s block–texter’s block?–right away. Even before I had allowed myself to regress to babyhood, I hadn’t been the most suave when it came to the ladies. What was I supposed to say? “Hey, baby, am I happy to have seen you, or is my diaper just wet?” No, no, no. I deleted the message as quickly as I could. “It was great seeing you the other night. I hope I can see you again soon.” Better. And true. But…was that really what I wanted my opening message to her to be? I felt like I had to reference diapers somehow. I was just so curious about what Paige’s deal was. Maybe Lyndie was right and I had somehow managed to inspire someone else to start wearing diapers. Considering how many people had seen–or known–about my diapers by now, maybe the odds were in my favor that someone liked what they saw. What was the other option? That of all the people in my neighborhood to have seen me in a diaper, Pizza Girl just so happened to be an ageplay enthusiast herself? “Keeping dry?” No, that wasn’t any good either. Deleted. “I cracked open a jar of strained green beans today and I thought about you…” What the fuck? No. Deleted. I was overthinking it, and would probably continue to overthink it. Me, to Paige: “Hello. This is Clark. AKA…Diaper Boy. It was great seeing you the other night. I hope I can see you again soon.” Sent. Done. There was a hot spurt of pee in my diaper, the new warmth quickly absorbed by the padding and dispersed in every direction. I wondered how Paige would react to the truth: that I didn’t just like diapers–I wore them 24/7 and usually needed someone else to change them for me. Would she run for the hills? Or would she just laugh and volunteer to wipe my ass for me? I’m probably jumping into this stuff way too quickly. I should be thinking about potty training. I should be thinking about working and saving money. School. Apartments. I should, at the very least, not have my cock locked up in a cage when I go out to meet people. How soon was too soon to tell someone you were interested in that your cock was, effectively, off limits? For now, at least. I wished I had brought that up in my conversation with Mommy earlier. There was another splash of warmth between my legs. Might as well just empty it all out. I closed my eyes and exhaled slowly as I finished what my body had already started–releasing a nice long stream into the diaper. All this time later and I still wasn’t sick of this feeling. It was a moment of pure bliss, feeling the diaper swell and thicken around me. And then, immediately after, there was the pleasure of getting to sit in my swampy pants. Sometimes–when I’d wet so much that the padding couldn’t keep up with all the moisture–excess pee would puddle at the bottom of the diaper, making it feel like there was a water balloon between my legs. I loved that feeling. I wanted to ‘grow up,’ but that didn’t mean I wanted to give up diapers forever. I already knew that diapers, on some level, were just going to be a part of me forever. My phone vibrated. I quickly grabbed at it, expecting–hoping–it would be a response from Paige. It was. Paige: “Well, well, well. Who let this baby have a phone? And ‘Clark?’ Not the name I imagined you having.” I took a deep breath, slowly releasing it from my nose. Flirtatious banter–oh how I had missed you. Me: “What name did you think I’d have?” Paige: “Paul? Peter? Something with a P, I think.” Me: “There’s not a single P anywhere in my name!” Paige: “Would you have guessed my name is Paige?” Me: “No. But I also don’t think I’ve ever met a Paige in my entire life.” This was the life–my feet kicked up on the coffee table, my hand slipping between my legs to feel my warm and bloated diaper with one hand while the other communicated with my newest friend. “Skipped a few years, have you?” A voice said from behind me. Surprised, I slid my feet off the table, fumbling with my phone before ultimately dropping it on the ground as my cheeks blushed brightly. My only response was a confused: “Huh?” “They grow up so fast,” Mommy sighed dramatically. “He was just a little baby yesterday. Today, he’s smiling at his phone like a teenager. Still in diapers though…” “I…uh…” I felt like I owed her an apology, though I wasn’t exactly sure what I’d be sorry for. “Who’s got you all flustered-looking, Baby?” “Uh, well, this is just some…friend. We’d known each other for a little bit and…” “A girl, Clarky?” “Yes…” She shook her head slowly, smiling as she watched me. “Is that what all this growing up and moving on stuff is about, Clarky? Are you catching feelings for someone?” “N-no, Mommy. I…” “I’m teasing you, Baby.” I sighed and laughed nervously, reaching down to grab my phone, seeing that Paige had responded. Paige: “Truth be told, Paige is my middle name. But my first name is Trudence, believe it or not. But this is the one and only time we make mention of that name. Got it?” “Is it Ava?” Mommy asked. I shook my head. “Is it…someone I know?” I shook my head again. “Is she cute?” I felt my cheeks warming considerably as I nodded. “Be sure to let her know that if she hurts you in any way, I’ll hunt her down and mount her head on my wall.” “Uh…I’ll see if I can work that into the conversation.” And that seemed to be that. Mommy had nothing else to say about the situation–even later when she was changing the incredibly soggy diaper I was wearing while texting with Paige. Usually, this was when she was able to ask me all the hard-hitting questions, knowing that I couldn’t run and hide from them. Tonight, she kept her questions to herself and just went about her job with a smug smile on her face. “Are you too big for the crib, now?” she asked me later, escorting me to the nursery for bedtime–a nightly ritual of ours. “I…I’m still a baby, Mommy. For now.” “For now,” she repeated, wistfulness in her voice. “I’ll take what I can get.” She leaned into the crib, planting an especially juicy kiss on my cheek. “Goodnight, Baby. I love you.” “I love you too, Mommy.” She paused at the door before stepping out into the lit hallway. She didn’t say anything, she just seemed to be taking everything in–taking a mental photograph, perhaps. I rarely had trouble falling asleep while in the crib. A thick diaper between my legs and a stuffed animal at my side, and I felt like I could sleep through an earthquake if I had to. Tonight, however, sleep wasn’t coming all that easily. Part of it was just this energy that I felt running through my body–an excitement about the things to come. Jobs. Money. Buying sandwiches from the deli. I missed life, and it was all starting to feel close again. But there was another feeling too. Anxiety. Life was hard, and I remembered the times that I thought I wasn’t very good at it. How long after I left Mommy’s bubble would I find myself run down by everyday living again? The anxiety turned to restlessness, and the restlessness made me thirsty. I rarely left the crib once Mommy put me into it for the night, but tonight would have to be an exception. I reached around the bars and pulled the lever to release the side of the crib so that I could climb out. Mommy would probably still be downstairs–but that wasn’t a bad thing. Maybe I could sit with her on the couch for a little bit. Maybe she’d even let me sit in her lap. As I made my way down the steps, I could hear Mommy talking–her words getting a little more clear with each step. “...and I feel like a fool,” she was saying to someone. She was probably on the phone, as I was almost positive that I’d have known if she was having a visitor tonight. “This was always the plan, you know–he’d spend some time with me and then go out on his own again. I always knew he’d leave eventually. But I didn’t really think about it all that much, you know? Out of sight, out of mind.” She paused, presumably to let the person on the other end talk. I was tempted to get even closer and stand near the entrance to the living room, but I stayed on the bottom step. “Right,” Mommy said. “Exactly. It’s just… It’s hitting me a lot harder than I thought it would. And I can’t let him know that, of course. I want him to do what he wants to do. I want him to be happy. And if he’s ready to spread his wings again–I’m all for it. But…can I say something a little selfish right now?” Another short pause. “When he’s gone, I have no idea what I’m going to do with myself. I don’t have a spouse. I don’t have children. And when the one thing I have–a grown man who I keep in diapers–is gone…what then? I’m tired of being alone. I…I feel like I’ll have nothing, Neve. Well, besides work–and I can’t let that define my life. It terrifies me.”

Seventy-One I still hadn’t completely recovered from my run-in, and subsequent conversation, with Pizza Girl–Paige, apparently–as I returned to the table a few minutes later. There was a fresh diaper under my pants that was more than likely poorly taped up, but short of calling Lyndie into the bathroom to help me, there wasn’t much I could do about that. As it turned out, it had been a good idea to change myself when I had. The old diaper was in far worse condition than I even realized. There was even a small wet spot forming on the back of my pants–one that, thankfully, nobody else had been aware of. “Ah, here he is,” Lyndie said upon my return. “Did you fall in? You were in there for a while.” She knew damn well what I was doing in the bathroom–everyone at the table, save for Caleb, did. Always a kidder, that one. I sat down with a sigh, my new diaper crinkling under my bottom–hopefully not so loudly that anyone else heard it. “I fell in,” I nodded. “Took me a while to swim out, but I finally did it.” “Clark? I want you to meet my friend Caleb,” Ava said. “Caleb? This is my good friend Clark.” We both stood simultaneously, shaking hands across the table. “Ah yeah, Clark,” Caleb said. “Ava mentions you all the time.” “Hopefully not because she’s cursing my name,” I said. I couldn’t help but notice that Ava’s cheeks were blushing a little. “Quite the contrary,” he said. “I’ve only ever heard good things about you. It’s a pleasure to meet you.” “Likewise,” I said. I was tempted to add that I had heard good things about him too, but I didn’t really know anything about him at all. “Oh,” Caleb said, his eyes lighting up. “Actually, Clark, I owe you a huge ‘thank you.’” “Uh, you do?” “Yes! I guess, a while back, you had mentioned a show that you liked to Ava. Mythical Knights of Far Earth. I initially wasn’t interested in watching it, but she had it on everytime I visited her apartment, so I kind of got sucked into it. Now I absolutely adore it!” I could see that Ava’s cheeks were getting even pinker. I supposed that Caleb didn’t know the rest of that story–that when I told Ava about that show, we were in a park together in the middle of the night. A few minutes prior to that, we had been making out and feeling each other’s diapers. We had talked about how I wished my chastity cage could’ve been unlocked. “That series is hard to watch anymore,” I said. “I don’t think it’s streaming anywhere.” “Oh, well, I bought the DVDs online,” Ava shrugged. “Actually…I think I ordered it not long after you told me about it.” That probably cost her a pretty good amount of money. I had a small scratch on one of my discs and had once considered replacing it, only to be put off by the ridiculous prices the DVDs were fetching on Ebay.” All I really felt was regret. I sometimes wondered if I would’ve done things the same way if I could go back to when Mommy asked if I wanted to move in with her. Maybe I’d have said no. Or, at the very least, I’d have said yes, but with the caveat that I needed to stay in touch with my friends. But it wasn’t Mommy who kept me from them. That was all me. “Well, I’m glad you love the show,” I said to Caleb, quickly flashing a smile as to not let on that I was starting to feel a little down again. “For the record,” Lyndie said, “I hate it. Whenever Ava puts it on–and it’s pretty often–I need to go find something else to do. Clarky, I didn’t know that you were to blame for this.” “W-well, Clark might have introduced me to it,” Ava said, her cheeks maintaining their redness. “But I do like the show a lot.” I’d kill for a one-on-one conversation with Ava about the show. I want to know her favorite character. I want to know what she thought when Dargus Rhatborne jumped into Szar’s mouth. I want to get her opinion on who was the better Truthsayer: Bruck or Mija. And I wanted to have that conversation while my cock was deeply embedded in her pussy. Instead, she was having those conversations with Caleb. And, eventually, he’d be the one fucking her while singing the battle song of the Forever Thieves. “Hey,” Evan said to me, bringing me back to reality. “Guess who I just saw a few minutes ago.” I’m pretty sure I could already guess who it was. “Uh, who?” “Pizza Girl.” Simultaneously, Lyndie and Ava laughed and repeated the name: “Pizza Girl!” “Who the hell is Pizza Girl?” laughed Caleb. “She delivers pizzas,” Evan shrugged. “We didn’t know her name, so we just called her Pizza Girl.” The laughter died a little, everyone else realizing that it wouldn’t be possible to explain why that was funny. It’d be a story involving adults wearing diapers, and being dared to expose oneself to a stranger–things that Ava probably wasn’t ready to tell him much about. “This pizza isn’t bad,” Caleb said. “But if you really want to have some good ‘za, you have to go down to Market Street. There’s this fucking incredible place over by the train station. I’m telling you–best pizza in the whole city.” He continued talking, seeming to be working his way down a list of memorized bullet points about what made this other pizza better than what we were eating now. I stopped paying attention pretty quickly, and I could see that Lyndie had checked out too. She shot me a smile that helped to comfort me some. I didn’t like Caleb. I didn’t think he was an awful human being, by any means. He wasn’t a dick and he had never once been unfriendly. He just wasn’t my type of person, I didn’t think. Also, it probably didn’t help that I saw him as an obstacle standing between Ava and I–but I tried my hardest not to let that weigh on me. Still, I tolerated his company for another hour or so, before Lyndie finally decided to rescue me. “Well, it’s been a good time. But, Clark, I’m thinking I should probably get you home.” “Y-yeah, that’s a good idea.” “It’s almost Clark’s bedtime,” Lyndie said to Caleb. It had the cadence of a joke, but it was actually much closer to the truth. “Well, of course,” he responded. “I don’t want to get in the way of that. Be sure to read him a story before he goes night-night.” It was funny, sure, but only because he didn’t know why the rest of us would think that it was funny. We said our goodbyes. I promised Evan I’d stay in touch. I shook Caleb’s hand one more time. I hugged Ava–our hug lasting a little longer than I expected, with each of us seeming slightly hesitant to be the first to end it. And then I was being driven back to Mommy’s house again. “So,” I said, finally breaking the silence. “That was Caleb?” She shrugged. “That’s him.” “Do you like him?” “He’s fine.” “Just fine?” She shrugged again. “I dunno. You met him. He’s nice enough.” I wanted to continue my interrogation, but it seemed better to drop it. No amount of talking about him was going to change how Ava felt–and she seemed to be smitten with the guy. You could see it in her face whenever she looked at him. “I saw Pizza Girl,” I said to Lyndie, changing the subject. “Yeah, I think I saw her once or twice too,” she said. “I mean, uh, I talked to her.” Her eyes grew big and she laughed. “Really? You didn’t tell me that.” “I know. I didn’t tell anyone. She gave me her number.” “Clarky, are you pulling my leg right now?” “I’m serious! We ran into each other in the hallway where the restrooms were. It was so fucking weird too. Like, we’ve never really talked to each other before, you know? But she looked so happy to see me.” “Yeah, well, she’s not going to forget the face of the guy who answers the door in a diaper.” “That’s just it! She wrote down her phone number for me, right? But she also wrote this little note.” “A note? Well that’s fucking adorable. What did it say?” I opened my mouth to recite the brief message from memory–it had already been burned into my brain–but I just laughed. The note had just been another absurd moment in a long, long, sequence of long events that had started when I randomly encountered Ms. Heller one afternoon, long ago. “Was it a joke?” Lyndie asked, a little confused by my giggle-fit. “N-no,” I said as I tried to compose myself. “Actually, there’s something else I need to ask you first. Before I tell you about that note.” “Okay?” “Do you think Ava and Caleb are going to, uh, date?” Lyndie sighed, her head bobbing from side to side like she was having an internal debate about how honest she wanted to be. That, in and of itself, was probably the answer I was looking for. “I think you just witnessed the start of their first formal date, Clark.” “Huh?” “You and I left. Evan was going back to his apartment. That just left the two of them. Maybe they’re going back to our apartment. Maybe they’re going to go do something else together. But I’m pretty sure their night isn’t over yet.” I felt despair wash over me, settling in the pit of my stomach. I had been right there–right next to her–tonight, and yet I was ultimately powerless to do anything to interfere with her and Caleb. “It’s not a bad thing,” she said. “I know you like her. And I know that she likes you.” “She liked me,” I corrected her. She laughed and shook her head. “Clark, don’t be a stupid baby–as hard as that might be. The world didn’t stop when you moved in with Ms. Heller.” “Yes, yes,” I muttered. “I know. I think about that everyday.” “I see two possibilities: The first? You might not like it, but they might end up together. They’re cute together. I can tell that he likes her, and that she likes him. And all you can really do is be happy for her, in that scenario.” “Of course,” I said, begrudgingly. “I know that.” “The second is that somewhere, down the road, the two of them don’t work out. Maybe that’s a week from now. Maybe that’s years down the road. But even if they did split at some point, that’s not a guarantee that…” “I don’t really like either of these possibilities.” “The point that I’m getting at,” she said, “is that, no matter what, you’re probably not helping yourself if you put all your eggs in her basket. Because, you know, she might be lending her basket to Caleb.” “Is ‘basket’ a euphemism for her…” “It’s just a bad analogy,” she said. “Besides, are you even in good shape for a relationship right now?” No, probably not. “Alright, alright. Point made.” “You have to learn to crawl before you can learn to walk,” Lyndie said, snickering immediately after. “I can crawl just fine.” “My point is that you need to worry about yourself first. Then worry about romance and love.” I laughed. “Okay, but, let me tell you what this note said, now.” “Go for it.” “It said–and I’m not making this up: If you wear your diaper, I’ll wear mine.” “Wait. So you’re telling me that Pizza Girl also wears diapers?” I shrugged. “I mean, that’s what it sounds like, right? What are the odds of that?” “What if…she was just inspired by you.” “What do you mean?” “Like, she saw you in a diaper, right?” “Twice.” “Right. And she liked what she saw and decided to get some for herself.” “I dunno…” “What if, like, you’re becoming a folk hero, of sorts? I mean, think of how many people have seen you in your diaper, right? Maybe some of those people walk away from that thinking that they need to get some diapers for themselves. You’re like, uh, Clarky Diaperseed or something–planting a kinky idea in susceptible minds.” “Maybe…” “So…you’re going to call her?” I laughed. “In that moment, I was so sure that I would. Especially after reading her note.” “Well sure. If she wears diapers, too, you don’t even have to grow up all that much first.” “I guess, yeah. But…I think you were right earlier. I’m probably not ready for a relationship right now. I have to, uh, learn to crawl so that I can walk. I should probably talk to Mommy, too. Before I do anything else.” “She’d be supportive,” Lyndie said. “I’m sure of it.” I’d like to think that she was right. I wasn’t a prisoner or a hostage. I willingly came to live with Mommy. I willingly chose to put my life on hold to experience this lifestyle. I had no fear of Mommy denying me the desire to start taking control of my life again. No, what I feared was that I would break Mommy’s heart. As Hillary seemed to have once before. “How’s your diaper doing?” she asked. “You managed to avoid humiliating yourself with stinky pants in front of everyone else–which only makes me think that you’re overdue for a smelly bottom.” The greasy pizza had been working its magic in my digestive system. Something was cooking, she was right about that. “It’s good for now.” “If at all possible, do you think you could hold off on pooping your pants until we get back to the house? I’d rather my car didn’t smell like a dirty diaper for the next few days.” “I’ll do my best,” I shrugged. “No promises though.” I did wet myself before we pulled into the driveway–a rather heavy wetting, though one my diaper should’ve been more than capable of containing. Except, I could feel the wetness spreading to other parts of my pants where the diaper wasn’t. A leak. I wasn’t all that surprised–I was never very good at diapering myself even on the best of days. Diapering myself in a dingy pizza-shop bathroom, my mind clouded by Paige’s note? Forget about it. “I’m wet,” I announced as she pulled up to the house. “Very wet?” I nodded. She shrugged. “No big deal. We can take care of that inside.” “I, uh, might have leaked…” She sighed, shaking her head. “You know, I had been considering getting some sort of car seat for Bradley, back when he was visiting me. Maybe I still need to get one.” “Don’t say anything about that to Mommy,” I said. “She’d buy one for me in a heartbeat.” “She really would,” Lyndie laughed. “But wouldn’t that be so fucking cute? Her pulling up to a drive-thru window with you in the back, fastened into an oversized car seat, wearing just your thick diapers?” My cock strained against its cage. Yeah, I liked that idea too. She felt the seat where I had been sitting with the palm of her hand, assessing the damage. “A little moist, but not as bad as it could’ve been. Someday, when you have an income of your own, maybe you can detail my car for me?” “Yeah, sure,” I laughed. “But you’ll have to remind me.” “Because you think it’ll be so long until you’re an adult again?” she smirked as she walked towards the front door. “I dunno,” I shrugged, following behind her. “How hard do you think it’ll be for me to just…grow up?” We were stepping through the front door now, and she immediately pointed up the stairs–signaling that before we did anything else, she’d need to change my diaper in the nursery. Good timing too, I thought. There was a heaviness in my bowels. If my diaper was going to be changed anyways, it probably made sense to save her another diaper change later. “Honestly, I don’t think it’ll be as hard as you think it is,” she said. “You crawled around on your hands and knees and filled some diapers for a few months–it’s not like you were in outer space and needed time to acclimate to the planet’s gravity again. You could probably walk out the front door tomorrow and join the masses if you really wanted to.” She made a good point. I sometimes got it in my head that I was a literal baby–or something similar to one. Even in my most infantile headspaces, I was still just playing a character. I was pooping. I felt my cheeks parting as a soft mass was slowly pushed out into the back of my diaper. The fact that it was so quiet almost made it seem more naughty to me–Lyndie probably wouldn’t know it was even happening until she could smell it. “Can I be honest with you for a second?” Lyndie asked as we approached the steps. I tried to hang back for a second, hoping she’d start walking up before I did–but she paused too, waiting for me to head up first. I felt my face tightening as I pushed a little, freeing the last of my load. “Y-you always are anyway,” I answered. “Go for it.” I sighed and started walking up the stairs–the back of my diaper packed full now. I felt like it stuck out in Lyndie’s face as she trailed behind me. “You’ve been spoiled,” she said, starting to ascend the steps. “You were lucky to find someone like Gabby, who had the means and the time to spend doting on you. But I’m not sure that was actually a good thing for you. This is the part of your life where you’re supposed to be out in the world. Learning from your mistakes. Finding yourself. You’ve just been hiding from it.” It didn’t happen often–but once in a while, a messy diaper just felt good. Like, not just ‘good’ in that big-baby-who-likes-poopy-diapers kind of way–but in a stimulating sort of way. It was the way the load had filled the back of my diaper, and the way that it pushed against my ass with every step. It caused my cock to swell in its cage–as much as it could, at least. A little noise escaped my lips–a faint whimper of pathetic pleasure. “I don’t begrudge you for living this life for as long as you have,” she continued. “But the longer you’re here, the harder it’s going to be for you to…” Her voice trailed off, and I could hear her sniffing the air. “Oh, Jesus. Clark, did you just poop yourself?” “Uh…” Somehow, her acknowledgment of it only made it feel even better. She sighed. “You know what? I take it all back. You’re a baby. A baby for life. There’s no coming back for you.” We cleared the steps and headed down the hallway. The nursery door was just ahead of us. It was so close–but it felt so far away too. It was the feeling of my diaper, combined with Lyndie’s reminder that I was a baby, that was helping to suck me into a very tiny headspace all of a sudden. I took a few more steps forward, but I decided that I didn’t want to walk anymore. I stopped, and dropped to my knees. “Clark? I still have to change you. So don’t you dare…” It was too late. I flopped backwards, landing on my dirty bottom, feeling an oozing squish between my skin and the diaper. I opened my mouth, but only to groan as I shifted my ass back and forth on the carpet, each movement sending pleasurable pulses up my spine and into my brain. “Are you serious right now?” Lyndie sighed, rolling her eyes. “Fine. Whatever. You might as well finish what you started. Go on. I’ll wait.” She towered above me, arms crossed in front of her as she looked down at my feeble attempts to grind my dirty diaper to a climax. There was a part of me that was ashamed–or, at least, a part of me that knew I probably should be ashamed. The rest was just drinking in the moment and getting drunk from it. A minute later, my caged cock was spitting up into the thick padding. “Do you even want a life where you can’t do that anymore?” she asked. All I could do was shrug. It didn’t seem fair that I had to choose.

Seventy I’m an only child. There are times when I think that it’s not a very significant detail in my biography, but I would say that there are even more times when I think it’s the root of every problem I’ve ever had in my entire life. My childhood friend, Brett, had two older brothers. They didn’t always get along–in fact, I’m not sure that there was ever a time that I saw them in the same room at the same time when they weren’t pummeling each other with playful punches or giving each other wet-willies and wedgies. But almost every story Brett ever told me started with: “My brother showed me this thing where…” or “My brother has this really cool thing that…” It was like friendship that was built into your life. You were just born into it, no effort needed. You were never alone. Someone would always have your back, if it came down to it. I had none of that. My father passed away when I was young. And my mother… I really need to call her at some point. My mother wasn’t the same thing as a sibling. She was an authoritarian, not a friend. But then Lyndie had said something to me a while ago–a long while ago, I think. She said: “There’s the family you’re born with, and the family you create for yourself, Clarky. I’m proud to have you as part of mine.” In hindsight, I thought it was one of the best things that anyone had ever said to me. I really needed to hear that. And so there was Lyndie, standing in Mommy’s kitchen. My sister. I was always excited to spend more time with her. “And you’re fine if I take Clark out for a little field trip, right?” she was asking Mommy. “I have no objection to that,” Mommy shrugged. “Just remember to bring the diaper bag.” Lyndie laughed. “Obviously.” And that was that. Mommy grabbed her briefcase and suitcase, kissed me on the forehead, and was out the door–off to Atlanta for the night. “So how’ve you been?” Lyndie asked after Mommy’s car had left the driveway. She had asked a similar question when she first arrived at the house, but it felt like an entirely different one now that it was just her and I. “I’ve been good,” I said, scratching my head. “I’ve been, uh…I don’t know.” She laughed. “What’s wrong?” “Oh, you know how it is,” I shrugged. “Just a little identity crisis.” “Is that all?” Lyndie snorted. “I have those every other day.” “Are you being sarcastic?” It was a silly question to ask, but the last few months had done some weird things to my ability to pick up on social cues. “No, I’m actually being serious,” she said. “I think that’s just what this stage of our life is all about–trying to figure out who we are, and second-guessing ourselves everytime we think we’ve figured it out.” “Yeah, but you’re trying to figure out your career,” I said. “I’m trying to figure out if I want to be potty trained again.” She laughed, though I was unsure if it was because she agreed, or because it was just a funny thing to have heard me say. “I’m sorry,” I quickly added. “I…I didn’t mean to minimize anything that you’re struggling with.” “Never change, Clarky,” she sighed. “You’re so adorable.” She helped herself to some of the coffee that Mommy had left in the pot in the kitchen–I knew better than to ask her to pour some for me too–and went to have a seat in the living room. I waddled behind her, plopping myself and my diaper down on the opposite side of the couch. “You said, uhm, something about a field trip?” “Oh right!” her eyes lit up. “I was talking to Ava the other night, and she mentioned that you and her were talking about going to the pizza place over by your old apartment.” “Yeah, we talked about that…” “She thought it’d be nice if we got the old gang back together there. Tonight.” “Oh. Uhm…cool!” It did sound fun, but it also didn’t sound like what Ava and I had talked about. We had talked about something that seemed a lot like a date–we had even joked about that. “I texted Evan too,” she said. “He’s going to meet us there.” It was becoming less and less date-like by the second. What next? She was going to reveal that Thomas Pritchard would be dropping by too? “That sounds great,” I nodded, hoping I sounded convincing enough. I had no problem hanging out with Evan. I liked Evan. I missed Evan–yet another casualty of my complete immersion into the world of being Mommy’s little baby. But now the evening was starting to sound like it was going to be a whole production. Three people who had, in one way or another, moved on in their lives–hanging out with the guy who had somehow managed to move backwards. All the way back. “Maybe I should’ve asked you before I made these plans,” Lyndie said, likely reading the expression on my face–she could, still, see through me better than almost anyone else. “No, no,” I said, shaking my head. “It actually sounds really fun. And I think it’s actually the kind of thing I need right now.” “Oh yeah?” “I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately…” “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you?” I had this little moment of nostalgic bliss–recalling the time spent in The Closet with her back at the office, and how she used to tease me all the time. It was so…sisterly. “Uh, no. But…” I had to backtrack for a moment to remember what it was I wanted to say. “Oh, so, I’ve been doing a lot of thinking lately. About, you know, how it might be time to move on from all this.” “Yeah? Have you talked to Gabby about it yet?” “No… I mean, I know I have to, at some point. I’m not sure I’m ready for that conversation yet.” “Well, see? Tonight will be good for you, then. Get out of the house! See some old friends. Eat greasy food and drink beer like you used to.” I was pretty sure that a slice of pizza and a beer would destroy a diaper–but hopefully by the time that happened, I’d be far away from everyone else. I sighed, expelling the last of my doubts. “You know what? You’re absolutely right. I’m looking forward to that.” Hell, just talking about going out and being social made me feel a little older. A little more mature. “Alright, good,” she said. “Now then. Let’s check your diaper.” And I was immediately reminded of how I was still a baby. My feelings for the evening seemed to fluctuate every few minutes for the rest of the day. I’d have moments where I felt really good about it, and where I’d feel excited about seeing all my friends in one place. Then, I’d suddenly imagine myself loudly filling the back of my diaper, reminding everyone that I wasn’t like them. Maybe they’d all laugh loudly, pointing at me and calling me a stupid little baby. Or, even worse, they’d try and be nice to me about it, all while giving each other these glances that said: “He’s not really like us anymore. We’ve all grown up, and he hasn’t.” Back and forth. All day. “You’ve got to get out of your head,” Lyndie said as she drove through the city that evening. A car was a more recent development in Lyndie’s life, and a concept I hadn’t gotten used to yet. “It’s going to be a good time.” “I just feel like a fake,” I shrugged. “Like I’m a little boy wearing an adult’s clothes.” “Aw,” she cooed. “But isn’t that always so adorable?” “You’re not helping.” “I get why you’d feel that way,” she said. “But we’re your friends. Nobody is going to think you’re an imposter.” “But you’ll see me as a baby.” “Well, yeah. But, Clarky, you’re literally wearing a diaper and your diaper bag is in the backseat. I’m not sure what else you’d expect people to see.” My cheeks warmed a bit as I stared out the passenger side window. She was teasing, but she hadn’t been wrong. Perhaps I was looking at the situation the wrong way, I thought. My friends could see whatever version of me that they wanted, and it didn’t matter–what mattered was that they were my friends and they wanted to see me. And, too, if I was ever going to successfully ‘grow up,’ I needed to take…well, baby steps. The old neighborhood. Absolutely nothing had changed–not that I thought it would. It’s probably looked mostly the same for the last twenty years. Twenty years in the future, it might still look mostly the same. I liked getting those Mexican sodas at that corner store. There was good Chinese food at that place over there. There was a nice park just beyond that street light where you could usually find a bunch of kids playing soccer. Listen to me, I sound like I’ve been gone for years and not months. There was the building I used to live in. My old apartment was somewhere in there. And that’s not all there was. There was that girl–Lauren–who saw me spill my dirty diapers everywhere. And that older woman, her name escaped me now, who had seen me with my pants down in the elevator. I’d say that Toretti’s was exactly the same too, but I think I was only ever inside of it once or twice–we always had pizza delivered. It was clean enough, I supposed, though everything seemed well-worn and aged. Well loved, some might say. Honestly, it was the kind of environment that seemed fitting for an institution like this. It was the kind of thing you wanted to see when you walked into a pizza shop. You just knew that you could trust a place like this–there’s a reason it’s been around long enough to get worn down. “Alright,” Lyndie said as got out of the car in a small lot behind the pizza place. “I should probably ask before we go in there: How’s that diaper doing?” “A little wet.” “Just a little?” I sighed. “P-pretty sure, yeah. I think it’ll hold up for a bit.” “Make sure you grab your diaper bag,” she said. “Just in case.” Evan and Ava were already at a table when Lyndie and I came through the door. The thought hadn’t even occurred to me until I saw him at the table: “Evan, you’re…outside? In public?” He stood and approached me, giving me a big hug. Another thing that I couldn’t remember the agoraphobic roommate of mine doing before. “I’m not going to say I’m a different man,” Evan shrugged. “But I’m working on it.” “Was Clark holding you back?” Lyndie teased. “When he moved out, were you like ‘Oh, I can finally start living?’” He chuckled and took his seat again. “Sort of. No offense to you, Clark.” “Uh…none taken.” “I mean, I can’t afford the place on my own, so I had to get another roommate. But to do that, I felt like I needed to start making some changes in my life.” “He’s going to therapy,” Lyndie said. “Cool, right?” “I guess,” I shrugged. Therapy was good, I thought. Or so I had been told. Was therapy cool? “I, for one, am very proud of him,” Ava said. I still couldn’t get over how good she looked. Not better, per se. Just different. She suddenly looked like the most mature person at the table. “You have a new roommate now?” I asked. I think I had heard as much a while ago, but I didn’t know any more than that. “Marshall,” Evan said. “Really nice guy. Grad school student, actually. I don’t see him that much–he’s always always pretty busy with school stuff.” A natural rhythm soon fell over the table, like we had never missed a beat. Well, maybe not ‘we’–I still felt like the odd man out. I was talking and laughing too, they were certainly being inclusive; but I felt out of step. I got the sense that they all stayed in touch–even with Evan–and they were all up to date on each other’s lives. Some stories seemed to start in a place that sounded like the middle to me–as if the first part had been told when I wasn’t around. I tried not to let it upset me. Such was the cost for living my life the way that I had for the last few months. If I wanted to be a part of this group again, I only needed to insert myself. The pizza was as good as it had ever been. Only once, maybe twice, had I had pizza since going to live with Mommy. It was around, from time to time, but she wasn’t a fan of feeding me ‘adult’ food. Only on rare occasions–perhaps when she was just feeling a little lazy–did she let me have some. But that wasn’t this pizza. It was the right amount of grease and cheese. The crust was somewhere between crispy and soft. There were those pillowy dough bubbles near the crust that I loved biting into. I–or whoever would be changing my diaper later–would regret this at some point. But it’d be worth it. “Has anyone heard from him?” Ava asked. I had blinked, and seemingly missed the topic of the current conversation. “If he knew what was good for him, he probably left town,” Evan said. “I actually reached out to him a few weeks ago,” Lyndie said. “I was kind of hesitant too. I was afraid, like, he’d hate me or something.” “It wasn’t your fault he acted like an idiot,” Ava said, talking while chewing. Ah, we were talking about Thomas Pritchard. “I know, I know. But I can’t help but think that I hadn’t been careful enough. I should’ve gotten to know him better before I let him in on what was going on.” “You thought you were doing the right thing,” I chimed in. “The fact that you were doing anything at all to try and protect everyone says everything that I need to know.” Everyone nodded, seeming to agree with that. “Wait, you said you reached out to him?” Ava asked. “Did he talk to you?” “Briefly,” Lyndie answered. “He said he was moving, yeah.” “Where to?” Evan asked. Lyndie laughed. “You know, he said something about moving to this, uh, farming community out west? The way he described it, I swore it sounded like a cult.” “Yeah, that makes sense to me,” Ava nodded. “That guy would go join a cult.” “Bradley moved too,” Lyndie said. “Crazy how quickly things change, right?” Ava said. “What about, uh, Megan?” I asked. “Has anyone heard from her?” “If anyone would’ve heard from her,” Lyndie said, “I thought it’d have been you. You were closer to her than anyone else.” I frowned. Another relationship dashed by my infantile sabbatical. “I heard she’s doing good for herself, though,” Lyndie shrugged. “She still works at the office, but she’s not Mr. Yang’s assistant anymore. I think she’s got a pretty nice position for herself.” I owed her a call, I thought. And my mother too. The table vibrated, and I looked across the table to see that the screen of Ava’s phone, sitting next to her plate of partially-consumed pizza, had lit up. Ava picked up the phone and read whatever message she received and sighed. She didn’t seem mad about the message, but it looked as if there was some sort of concern on her face. “So…you guys can say no,” she said to everyone. “But I got a text message from my friend from work. Caleb. He’s in the area and asked what I was doing tonight. I can just tell him I’m busy, but…” I saw Lyndie’s eyes slightly shift towards me, trying to see how I was reacting to this. I hadn’t told her about Caleb, though I meant to. “If he’s close,” I said, “you should just have him come by. Seems silly not to. We’ve got plenty of pizza here if he wants some.” “Are you sure?” Ava asked. “Of course,” I said, shrugging like it wasn’t even close to a big deal. “Cool, I’m going to step outside for a minute and let him know where we are. I think he’s close enough that I can just wait to meet him out there.” Within milliseconds of Ava stepping away from the table, Evan and Lyndie were both staring at me–looking like they were each doing a deep analysis of my face. “You sure about that?” Lyndie asked. “Yeah, don’t you like her? And she’s inviting over another guy?” I sighed. “What else am I supposed to do? She thinks I’m happy in baby-land and that I’m not interested in a relationship right now. And, you know, she’s had months to go and meet other guys. Like Caleb. I guess.” “You knew about Caleb?” Lyndie asked. “Did you?” I asked back. “Well…uh…” I laughed. “He’s been at your apartment, hasn’t he?” “She’s had him over. We’ve hung out a few times.” “You didn’t tell me that…” But I knew why she hadn’t, and I certainly wasn’t going to hold it against her. My big sister, looking out for her baby brother’s heart. “Look,” Lyndie said. “They’re not dating. I don’t think they’ve even kissed. You can’t get yourself all worked up about it. You’ve got plenty of time to…” “No, no,” I said, sighing. “If something is going on between her and Caleb, I’m not going to get in the way of that. I’m going to be cool. Cool as a cucumber.” “That’s something that cool people always say,” Evan said, the sarcasm dripping from his words. “No, seriously,” I countered. “This is good. This is okay. I made my decision to move in with Mommy–er, Ms. Heller–a few months ago, and I can’t expect everyone else to put their lives on hold for me. And it’s not like I’m in any shape to date anyone right now anyway.” “Even if they’d change your diapers for you?” Lyndie teased. My face warmed and I sighed again. “Well, I doubt Caleb wears diapers.” “He doesn’t,” Lyndie said. Now, Evan and I were staring at her. “I didn’t, like, ask him to take off his pants,” she laughed. “But I’ve seen enough men in diapers to know a bulge when I see one.” “It’s all good,” I said again, though I knew I was mostly trying to reassure myself. “How’s your diaper doing?” Lyndie asked. I heard Evan snorting from his side of the table. “F-fine…” “Just sayin’. You don’t want a leaky diaper when Caleb shows up.” “M-maybe I’ll go and, uh, change real quick.” “We can go back to my car,” Lyndie said. “I can change you there.” “No way. In the middle of the parking lot?” “The apartment isn’t too far away,” Evan shrugged. “But, uh, Marshall might be there.” “Look, it’s fine,” I said, picking up my diaper bag–a simple black book bag loaded with the essential supplies for a big baby on the go. “I’ll just go to the restroom here and do it myself.” “Mommy wouldn’t approve,” Lyndie said. “You’re not going to tell her, are you?” Lyndie giggled. “You do remember that you’re technically an adult, right? You can do whatever the hell you want to do.” “Fair enough. I’ll, uh, be right back.” I waddled away from the table and down the narrow hall where a humming neon sign pointed in the direction of the restrooms. The further I got from the dining area, the worse everything looked. It was a little dirtier back here. A little darker. So dark, in fact, that I almost ran into someone who was coming out of one of the doors that went into the kitchen. “Oh, I’m so sorry,” I said. “Almost ran you over there.” “No worries,” the person said, a familiar-ish female voice. “I probably should’ve looked before I…” In the dim light, we could see just enough of each other’s face to recognize the other. “Pizza Girl,” I said aloud. “Diaper Boy,” she said aloud. My eyes widened at this. Is that what she called me? We both laughed, an awkward chuckle. “Shit,” she finally said. “I didn’t think you lived around here anymore. When I deliver pizza to your place, you’re not there.” “Ah, yeah,” I said, running my hand through my hair. “I moved a little bit ago.” “That’s a shame,” she said. “I mean…not for you. I’m sure you had good reasons for moving.” “Well, I, uh…” I wasn’t really sure how to explain that to her. But I also knew that I didn’t have any obligation to. This might have been the most that we ever talked to each other. I didn’t even know her name. I looked back down the corridor I had been traversering in search of a bathroom, and saw that Ava was coming through the door, towing a man behind her by his wrist. He was tall. Dark hair. Glasses. He was introducing himself to Evan and hugging Lyndie. “S-sorry,” I said, turning back to Pizza Girl. “Got distracted there for a second. Yeah, I moved just outside of town. It’s a nice place.” “Good,” she said. “I’m glad to hear that.” “How have you been?” She shrugged. “Oh, you know. Schlepping pizza around the neighborhood. So it goes.” Back at the table, another chair had been pulled up to the table, right between Ava’s and Lyndie’s, and Caleb was taking a seat, saying something that made everyone else laugh. “So,” Pizza Girl shrugged. “You still, uh, doing your diaper thing?” My instinct was to panic, run away, and hide in the bathroom for a while. But, I thought I might try something different instead. “Funny you should mention that. I was actually just headed over to the bathroom to, uh, take care of that.” To my surprise, a little grin appeared between Pizza Girl’s pink cheeks. “Good.” “Good?” “Well, uh…” She laughed and started over again. “Nevermind. Sorry, I should let you go take care of that.” Back at the table, Caleb was talking while Ava had a big smile on her face. “Hey,” I said. “I know this is going to sound totally random–but do you think I could get your number? We could, uh, hang out or something?” “Seriously?” she asked. “I’d love that. One sec.” She stepped back into the kitchen, reemerging moments later with a piece of scrap paper and a permanent marker. She quickly scrawled something down on it, folded it in half, and pushed it into my hands. “Thank you,” I said. “You better call me,” she said. “Or text. Whatever.” “I will,” I replied. I wasn’t any good at keeping in touch with anyone–Megan and my mother could both attest to that. But Pizza Girl didn’t have to know that. “Gotta deliver some pizza to stoners,” she shrugged. “It was good seeing you.” “Yeah,” I said, smiling. “Same.” We parted ways, and I quickly darted into the restroom–a rather scuzzy unisex space that probably would’ve killed my appetite if I had come in here before eating pizza. Thankfully, I didn’t have to sit on the toilet–I just had to change my diaper. But first, I opened up the piece of paper Pizza Girl had given me. It was, in fact, her phone number. And a message. If you wear your diaper, I’ll wear mine. – Paige

Sixty-Nine Step One: Get out of my bubble. Mommy’s eyes narrowed as she considered my request. I didn’t think she was opposed to the idea–but she wanted to consider the logistics of it first. “We’ll be a ways from home,” she said. “And there will be a lot of people.” “I know.” “I’m not not opposed, Baby. But I know your comfort levels. And I worry that this is going to be outside of them.” I had thought the same thing, of course. But I had also been thinking about the idea of immersion. Reverse-immersion? Just as Mommy had dumped–no pun intended–me into the role of being a big baby once upon a time–I wondered if I might benefit from just immersing myself in the real world again, no matter how hectic and overwhelming it might be. “I…I think I’ll be fine.” “We’ll pack extra diapers,” she said. Funny, I thought. Ava said the same thing the other day when I suggested that we go out and get pizza. “Of course.” “You’re sure that you’re okay with this, Clarky?” “Y-yes, Mommy. As long as you don’t mind that I, uhm, might have an accident.” “Oh, I’m counting on that,” she said. “But I think you’ll be far more embarrassed about that than I will.” Same as it ever was. “I know.” “Very well. I’ll get a diaper bag packed. And I suppose we should pick out a more adult outfit for you too, yes? Unless you want to waddle around in your ‘I heart Mommy’ onesie. It was a good call. And while I would’ve liked to think that I would’ve had the same thought myself before we walked out the front door, it hadn’t occurred to me until she said something. I wasn’t even sure where she kept my adult clothes. Not that she kept them from me–I just had no need for them. Out of sight, out of mind. Things had mostly returned to normal since Mommy’s return home from her brief excursion. As nice as it had been to see Ava again, her presence had kept me on edge. No matter how sweet she was to me, all I could think about was how she was constantly judging me. Or worse, comparing me to Caleb. Whoever that was. For all I knew, Caleb was her cousin. Or neighbor. Or dentist. It didn’t matter who Caleb was now–he represented men. All men. Any man who wasn’t still filling up a pair of diapers. A man she’d eventually allow to make a move on her because she wasn’t going to wait for me anymore. And so the normalcy of Mommy was nice. But I was still mulling over ‘The Plan’–the one that would take me from being an oversized toddler to respected adult again. Again? Was I ever respected as an adult before? Mommy didn’t ask about the status of my diaper, she looked for herself–pulling it open and peering down inside. Then, either seeking further evidence–or just wanting to see me squirm a little–she ran her hand between my legs, squeezing the bottom of the diaper. The crinkling was louder than it had ever been before, thanks to the new plastic pants she had gotten for me. The idea of cloth diapers had been thrown around for a while now–she often joked that I was responsible for an absurd percentage of the nation’s diaper-trash–but she’d never acted on it before. Apparently, Ms. Beaufort had been convinced by the conservation-minded Risa to make the switch and she, in turn, convinced Mommy. “Wet,” she said. “If we were staying home, I’d say this could wait a while. But I think I’d prefer you in a dry diaper before we go out.” “A, uhm, cloth diaper?” “Disposable. It’d be best to stick with what we know best for a trip like this,” she said. It was music to my ears. I liked the cloth diapers, but they were different. The weight of them seemed to hang differently. They moved differently between my legs when they walked. And those damn plastic pants–I wondered if Mommy’s neighbors could hear me crawling around. “What’s with this newfound interest in getting out of the house?” Mommy asked while I was atop the changing table, legs sticking straight up in the air as she ran a damp wipe over my bottom. “It’s been a while,” I said. I almost felt like I was keeping a secret. I supposed I was–I hadn’t yet told Mommy about my still-developing plan to ease back into adulthood. I didn’t think it’d be the end of the world–nor did I think it’d even be a fight. I knew she’d be supportive. But that conversation would change things. No matter how slow I wanted to take that process, Mommy would start second-guessing everything she did to baby me. And I still loved the way she treated me now–and wanted that to last as long as possible. I’d tell her eventually. When I was ready. “Is there anywhere special you want to go, Baby? I can take you anywhere you want to go. The comic book store?” I had made a stray comment a few months ago that I had missed going to the comic book store. I wasn’t a regular, by any means, but I liked to swing by a few times a year and see what new releases were out. I was touched that she had remembered that. It was tempting to take her up on that offer–but that seemed like the last place I wanted to be when I had an accident. I couldn’t say what was different about a store full of men my age and older seeing me poop my pants, as opposed to an office full of women, but I knew I didn’t like it. “N-no, that’s okay. Thank you for offering, Mommy.” “Of course. Are you sure you won’t be bored following me around? I’m shopping for shoes. That barely interests me.” “It’ll be good,” I said. “I just want to get out for a while. It doesn’t matter where we go.” While my legs were held up in the air, I felt her finger ever-so-slightly run across my backdoor–an action that still sent a powerful jolt through my body. I moaned softly as I tried to push my ass towards her as if begging for more. “If you’re a good boy,” she said, “there’ll be treats for you when we get home.” I liked treats. Treats made me spurt into my diaper. Or, if I was really lucky, her hand. “I-I’ll be a good boy.” “I know you will, Baby.” Soon after, we’re in the car. Just being in the car is strangely refreshing. I didn’t think it had been that long since I was strapped into the backseat of her SUV, but even a few weeks without being in a car seems like a long time. It felt surreal to be so excited about seeing all the mundane things out in the world–but yet there I was, a stupid smile on my face when I saw a new billboard for some lawyer. There was a group of kids hanging out on a street corner. A guy whose arm was hanging out of the driver side window, cigarette dangling from his fingers. A long line at the hamburger place’s drive-thru. It was stupidly thrilling. “I’m meeting a client in Atlanta early next week,” Mommy said to me as she drove, turning her head enough to project her voice into the backseat. “I’ll be gone again, but only for a night, I think. I’ll be flying out Monday morning, and I’ll be back Tuesday night.” “Yes, Mommy.” “If you had a good time with Ava as your babysitter, maybe I could call her again?” That was the last thing I wanted. I wanted to somehow find a way to prove to Ava that I was growing up–and giving her access to my dirty diapers wasn’t going to help that argument. “I, uhm, dunno about that,” I said. “No? She said that she had a good time.” My cheeks warmed a little. Yeah, she probably loved playing with a stupid baby. “I just…uh…” I had no idea how to explain this to Mommy. “I get it,” she shrugged. “She used to be like you. Now she’s not. I suppose it’d be hard to see someone who used to be your peer suddenly be responsible for you.” That was true–though it wasn’t exactly it. Close enough, though. “Y-yeah. I like Ava. I just…don’t know about her as a babysitter.” “Fair enough,” she said. “Maybe I’ll give Courtney a call.” Courtney was better than Ava, but still not ideal. Courtney loved playing with big babies almost as much as Mommy did. If I was trying to find my maturity again, she certainly wasn’t going to help. “What about…Lyndie?” I offered. I hadn’t put that much thought into it, but it sounded good as I said it. Lyndie was the best of both worlds–Mommy approved, but also someone I could have an honest conversation with. If there was anyone who could help me make progress towards boxers again, I thought it might be her. “I’ll text her when we get out of the store,” she said. “Good idea, Baby.” Of course, I was still sitting in the backseat of Mommy’s car–a thick diaper under my pants while I discussed who would have to babysit me. I had a long way to go before I was ‘grown up’ again. I was wet by the time we reached the store. I was a little miffed by this, too; I had spent the better part of the drive trying to remain conscious of my bladder’s status. But somewhere along the way, I got distracted–maybe it was a billboard, or maybe it was the conversation about babysitters. Suddenly, my padding was feeling moist. Mommy, of course, had to check for herself in the parking lot. She made no attempt to be discreet about it, giving the waistband of my pants a good tug outward so that she could peek inside of my diaper. Some women were walking past us at that moment. Once, there was a time when I’d have been paranoid about what they thought or if they had seen anything. It didn’t seem that important to me anymore. Nothing to see here. Just a big baby getting his diaper checked in the parking lot. “You should be good for a while longer,” she said, giving me a supportive pat on the bum. “And there’s plenty more in the diaper bag.” I was thankful that the bag didn’t look like a ‘diaper bag.’ It looked almost like a normal backpack with its neutral gray color and brown leather details. We had diaper bags at home that looked like diaper bags. Gaudy custom-made things that had things like ‘BABY’ embroidered on the sides. The bag was handed off to me. That made sense–everything in it was for me, so I should be the one hauling it around. Perhaps a perk for the Mommy with an extra-large baby. It wasn’t quite a mall, but I wouldn’t have called it a strip-mall either. It was a cluster of shops and stores arranged in a mini-neighborhood, with sidewalks and roads zig-zagging through it. There was probably a name for something like this–but I had no idea what it was. Mommy had been right about the people. The good weather had brought everyone out, and groups of people were strolling from store to store with handled bags hanging from their hands. I had never been much of a shopper, myself. Still, it felt good to be back in a place like this again. I was walking past people. They were ignoring me. They couldn’t hear the sound of my diaper rustling over the ambient noises around us. They had no idea that I had peed myself a little bit ago. They had no idea that the backpack slung over my shoulders held even more thick adult diapers. “How are you feeling, Baby?” Mommy asked me. Was it brazen that she called me ‘Baby’ in public? Or was it just a habit for her now? “I’m good,” I said. “You tell Mommy if you think you’re going to have another accident, understand?” “Yes, Mommy,” I replied, showcasing my own habit. “Or, you tell me if you had an accident. I’d rather hear about it from you before I start to smell it myself.” “Y-yes, Mommy.” We walked past the restrooms. Men. Women. Family. I let out a little sigh of relief at the sight of a family restroom. This, hopefully, meant that I wouldn’t be subjected to a diaper change in the back of her car–should I need one. Who was I kidding? Of course I’d need one. It was hard to say if this trip was actually accomplishing anything or not. Thirty minutes had passed while I had followed behind Mommy as she slowly shifted between racks, shelves, and display cases. I hadn’t made a fool of myself yet, and that felt like a small accomplishment. But was this how I was going to ‘grow up?’ Maybe with repetition? “...I had a pair like these last year,” Mommy was saying to a young woman by a display of shoes. “I thought they were very nice, but I wore them once and I swore they were falling apart by the end of the night.” “I’ve seen people online say they had a similar problem with this brand,” the woman responded. Their conversation continued, but I tuned out. I was listening to the music playing over the speaker at the store. It was a happy sounding pop song–though one I had no recollection of hearing before. Not that I was ever one for keeping up with the trending tunes–but I wondered if it was a popular song. One that might have taken the nation by storm while I was in the midst of filling up my diaper. “Fucking shoes,” a masculine voice to my left said. I quickly turned to find a young man standing a few feet from me. He had that hipster-look about him with his scruffy hair and a not-quite-beard. “I swear, she owns a hundred pairs, and here she is–looking at more.” My heart thumped hard in my chest. Did this guy see me as…another guy? An adult guy? “Tell me about it,” I said, making a show of rolling my eyes like I was the guy he believed me to be. He laughed, shaking his head. “Maybe she thinks the same thing about me, though. Like, she thinks I have too many watches or something.” I wasn’t sure that I’d owned a watch in years, let alone multiple watches. Still, I was enjoying my moment in adultdom, and I wasn’t ready to let it end yet. “Ridiculous. You can’t have too many watches.” “Right? That’s what I’m saying,” he said, his hands doing just as much of the speaking as his voice. “Watches tell time. The date. You can use a watch. But, like, all I need are like two or three pairs of shoes–tops. My sneakers, my boots, and my dress shoes.” “Makes sense to me,” I shrugged. “So, uh, can I ask you something?” I liked the turn his voice took. It got a little quieter, but a little smoother–like a conman explaining his latest grift to his accomplices. “Uh, sure. I guess.” His head nodded towards where Mommy was still chatting with the woman. “That’s not your mother, right?” Well, it is and it isn’t. “No,” I said, shaking my head. “Good, dude.” He playfully slapped my arm. “Because she is fucking hot.” I laughed just thinking about how much that would’ve amused Mommy to hear. I found myself wanting to play along. I’ve never been that kind of guy before, but this man didn’t know that. “Tell me about it. And, uh, your girl isn’t looking too bad either.” “Well if you ever want to swap…” He’s joking, I think. His cadence suggests a joke–I suspect I wouldn’t have even been able to tell the difference back before I became the chastised baby I was now. I find it hard to believe that people actually talk like this. To strangers, no less. Is this what I’ve been missing while in my bubble? Goddamn. Mommy would absolutely devour a guy like this. And I would’ve wanted to see it too–this cocky asshole strolling up to her, only to suddenly find himself on his hands and knees in a diaper, licking up a puddle of her piss from the floor. Fuck, now I’m thinking about the taste of her piss. My laugh wasn’t the most genuine, but I didn’t think he’d notice the difference. He didn’t. He breaks into commentary about his partner: “Well, now she’s going for the green shoes. Nope. Nope. Maybe the blue ones instead? She’ll probably change her mind two or three more times.” Is this what passes as comedic banter between men? He doesn’t see my response–which is to begin wetting my diaper. It’s one of the rare times that I am fully cognizant of what I’m doing in my diapers. Eventually, I was sure, I’d have had an accident and have ended up with a wet diaper anyways. But I decided to expedite that–purposefully opening the floodgates. I needed this. I needed to feel my diaper swell and warm around me. If this guy can live in his own little world–one where he’s a ladies man who actually stands a chance with someone like Mommy–then I want to be in mine. “Ah, well, looks like she made a selection,” he shrugged. “I’ll probably have to go offer an opinion now. Spoiler alert: I don’t give a shit what color shoes she buys.” I almost wish I was a different kind of person. The kind of person who could be bold enough to say something about how she clearly deserves a better partner. Instead, I’m squeezing my thighs together, feeling my wet diaper squish between my legs. “Good luck,” I offered as he wandered forward. Mommy regrouped with me soon after too, two pairs of shoes in her hands. She didn’t ask my opinions on them, and I assumed that she already knew she was going to buy them. “Are you getting those?” I asked. “They look nice.” I didn’t say this out of obligation. I meant it. Mommy’s face lit up as she smiled. Was she surprised that I cared? Or just happy to be reminded? “Which do you like more?” she asked, holding out both pairs in front of her. There was a pair of glossy black shoes, some more rustic looking brown shoes. I almost immediately pointed to the sleek black shoes. I liked that I could almost see myself in them. “Me too,” she said. We started walking again, slowly making our way towards the front of the store. Occasionally, she’d stop, looking at another display while I stood off to the side–marinating further in my wet diaper. So much for starting the process of growing up today. “How are you doing?” she asked. She wasn’t asking about my general well-being, of course. “Wet,” I quickly replied. I realized I hadn’t followed her direction from earlier–letting her know when I had used my diaper. I tried to overcorrect: “B-but I didn’t poop yet.” I had failed to consider the discretion Mommy used in asking her question. Any other time, any other place, she’d have had no problem with bluntly asking if I had soiled my diaper. It wasn’t until after I gave my response that I noticed that the couple we had interacted with a few minutes ago were standing just a few feet from us. Mommy smiled as she went about looking at shoes–seemingly happy with the ramifications of my little self-own. Had they heard me? Well, seeing as how the mustached man smirked as he and his partner exchanged looks–it was safe to assume so. Mommy paid the couple no mind, nonchalantly finishing her browsing before continuing her stroll towards the cashier, with me shuffling behind her. I wondered what that man thought of me now. What he might have thought about my relationship with Mommy. Was I still the ‘dude’ he thought I was? The transaction was completed and we were outside again. “I have another store or two I wanted to stop at while we’re here,” she said. “Will your diaper be alright?” I nodded. “Should be.” Truthfully, I had no idea–my body did its own thing. Sometimes it amused me that she even asked. She knew me as well as I did. How many times had I said that my diaper would be good, only to spring a leak a few minutes later? It happened often enough. I was feeling a little defeated–having already soaked my diaper and having attracted the wrong kind of attention from strangers–but I also knew that wasn’t the point of today. I was here because I needed to get out of my bubble. And in that regard, I thought I had succeeded. “How are you doing?” Mommy asked again as we walked. I just knew that she wasn’t referring to my diaper this time. “Okay,” I nodded. “Did you miss the public so badly that you needed to go shoe shopping with Mommy?” “S-something like that,” I shrugged. My mouth hung open for another moment as I contemplated whether or not I’d tell Mommy more about my developing long-term plans. I decided against it, for now. With my luck, I’d blurt out something stupid: “Me want to be big boy now!” I’d tell her more when it felt like the time was right. “Well you’re doing very well, Baby.” “Treats?” I asked, sounding like a pathetic puppy. “Treats,” she confirmed. Later–but not that much later–I was on my back atop the changing table in my nursery again. I was in a fresh diaper and the soggy one I had worn on our excursion had been cast into the bin. Now, the tip of Mommy’s vibrating massager was pressed against my cage, through the diaper. I had been hoping for something to be pushed into my asshole, but… “Uhhhhhhhhhhffffffff…” …it didn’t really matter. I’d gladly take anything that Mommy gave to me. “Does that feel good?” she cooed. “Y-yes, Mommy.” As my body shook and twitched, climbing closer and closer to that peak, I thought about the future. One day I’d wake up and the first thing I did would be to use the toilet. I’d wear the clothes of my fellow adults. I’d go to a job. I’d have a girlfriend. A wife, perhaps. Fingers crossed it was who I wanted it to be–though if I was seeing anyone at all, I had to assume it was someone I liked. We’d have sex. I’d enter them with my cock, finishing deep inside of her and we’d moan and roll around together. I couldn’t wait. But then… “I-I…I’m gonna…uhh…” “Go on,” she cooed to me. “Tell me all about it.” It was that pre-climax blabber–a deluge of stream-of-conscious tidbits that I forced out as I came close to blowing my load. I had gotten pretty good at it. “I…I’m your baby, Mommy. Your…uhf…dumb little pathetic baby…” “Are you now? And what should I do with a dumb little baby like you?” “K-keep me in diapers…forever,” I spit out, my back arching as I finally came–globs of milky-white goo oozing into my diaper. I’d be wearing that for a while.. “Forever is a very long time. But…if you say so.” Those weren’t exactly the words of a boy who wanted to grow up. Oh well. Maybe I’d get ‘em next time.

Sixty-Eight Even in the days before diapers entered my life, I was wary of coffee. I loved coffee, but coffee didn’t always love me back. Drinking a hot cup of joe meant that I’d spend the rest of the morning making sure I had a planned escape route to the closest bathroom–as it just seemed to run right through me. More often than not, Mommy would just pick up her morning coffee between the house and the office. Even on the days she decided to stay home–whether she was working from home, or playing hooky–she’d still make a quick run to a coffee shop to pick up a tall cardboard cup of caffeine. On rare occasions, however, she’d make a pot of coffee in the kitchen. Those were my favorite mornings. There’s just something so pleasant about waking up to the smell of fresh hot coffee. The way it just seeks you out, grabs you, and pulls you into the kitchen. I didn’t drink it–Mommy said that coffee wasn’t for babies–but just smelling it was usually enough to put me in a good mood for a few hours. And so it was a pleasant surprise to wake to the smell of coffee. For a moment, I thought it was going to be one of those special days where Mommy decided to stay home from work. I’d go to the kitchen, finding her in just a short t-shirt and some panties–cup of coffee in one hand and a spatula in the other as she made some pancakes for us. I’d be seated in the high chair–another costly custom piece she had acquired since I started staying with her–and she’d cut them into little pieces, feeding them to me one bite at a time. No, that wasn’t right. Mommy was somewhere else. A resort? Business thing? It was hard to keep track of Mommy’s life anymore. It all came back to me. Ava. She was at the house, and it was she who made coffee. I almost audibly groaned, thinking about the awkwardness of the day before. How I had greeted her on my hands and knees, swollen diaper between my legs. How I had messed myself right in front of her. How she changed my diaper for me, all while talking about how she wanted to date other men. Or something like that. She had tried her hardest to initiate conversations with me throughout the day, but she was met with the resistance of a grumpy toddler. It wasn’t entirely purposeful–sure, I was in a bad mood, but I didn’t want to be a dick to her. Small talk and dirty diapers was all she got out of me. But coffee. Coffee seemed like a good start to this new day. It was like a ‘restart’ button had been pressed. Okay. You want to win some points back with her? You can start by just not being a brat. I exited the crib, checking the snaps on the bottom of the onesie I wore to bed last night. Still holding. Status of diaper? Wet. Not drenched, but certainly not dry. It’d do. I followed my nose out of the nursery, all the way to the kitchen. As tempting as it was to just crawl–I opted to walk instead. I was a little wobbly for a minute, but by the time I got to the kitchen, I felt like I had found my rhythm with it once again. “Good morning,” Ava said. She was, in fact, making pancakes on the stove. I wondered if Mommy had told her to do this, or if beautiful women all just thought alike. “H-hi there.” “I thought I’d make some breakfast. You like pancakes, right?” “I, uh, do, yeah.” “Why don’t you sit down. I’ll get you something to drink. There’s some juice in the fridge. Or milk.” “Maybe I’ll have some, uh, coffee?” She smirked as she mulled it over–like she either hadn’t expected me to say that, or Mommy had already told her what I was and wasn’t supposed to be consuming. At last, she shrugged. “There’s plenty in the pot,” she said. “I’ll pour you some.” “I can get it…” “Well, maybe I should…” she started, pausing for a moment. I knew what was happening. She saw me as a toddler. She saw me as someone who couldn’t be trusted to handle a hot beverage. “You know what? Go ahead.” Still, she couldn’t stop herself from adding: “Be careful. It’s hot.” As tempting as it was to give some snarky response about how shocked I was to learn that coffee was hot, I just nodded. She was doing her job–taking care of me. A baby. I took a mug from the cabinet and set it on the counter, carefully pouring the steaming liquid into it. Every single movement I made was careful and deliberate–I couldn’t risk a misstep here. It was incredibly important to me that Ava see that I was capable of pouring myself a cup of coffee. Mission complete; coffee achieved. “Hey,” I said. “I’m really sorry about yesterday.” “Sorry?” she asked. “For what?” “Well…just being kind of rude, you know? I think I was just kind of moody yesterday and…” “Don’t worry about it,” she shrugged. “Maybe I owe you an apology too.” “What? No, I don’t think so. What could you possibly be apologizing to me for?” “Mommy trusted me to be a babysitter, you know? And I promised her that’s what I’d be. And what was the first thing I did yesterday? I practically begged you to change your life. That was rude. You’re living your best life here, you know? Who am I to assume that I know what’s best for you.” I opened my mouth, ready to tell her that she’s wrong–ready to explain that she had actually been pretty inspiring to me. Instead, I moved my arm a little too quickly, splashing hot coffee on myself. I cried out. The pain only lasted a moment, and it wasn’t even that bad–it was just the surprise of it. “Oh my gosh! Clark, are you okay?” She rushes to me, towel in hand, to try and dab away the liquid on my onesie. “I…I’m fine.” “Maybe coffee wasn’t the best idea?” I wanted to tell her that it’s not a big deal and that I’ll be fine, but she reached forward and took the cup from my hand. There was no time to react or protest as she dumped the mug out into the sink. “Why don’t you have a seat. I’ll get you some juice in a sippy cup, okay?” I sighed, realizing I lost this battle. There’d be more later–more opportunities to prove I’m more than a baby. Out of habit, I started to climb into the high chair, but thought better of it–quickly sliding into one of the ‘adult’ chairs at the table instead. She smiled at this, but didn't say anything. She didn’t have to, I was pretty sure I could read her mind: “Okay, sure. You want to pretend to be a big boy? I won’t tell Mommy.” “I respect that you’re doing your own thing right now,” she said, getting back to the stove and picking up the conversation where she left off before I spilled coffee. “And, look, of all people? I get it. Being treated like a baby is the best feeling in the world. Who knows? Maybe I could’ve benefited from asking Neve if I could move in with her for a few months. Getting breastfed every morning? God, that sounds amazing.” I opened my mouth to try and speak again, but I’m too slow–she just kept on going. “Be a baby for as long as you’d like to, Clark. Good for you for embracing it.” She sets a plate of pancakes down in front of me, along with a sippy cup. To my surprise, she’s already cut the pancakes up into small pieces for me. “Ms. Heller said you liked it like that,” she said. “She also said you liked to be fed…but…” “I-it’s fine,” I stammered. “I’m capable of feeding myself.” She sat down next to me, a plate of food for herself, along with a cup of coffee. Damn, the coffee smelled so good. I imagined myself in the future–far in the future, when I had gray hair and wrinkles. Ava and I would be regaling some friends with tales of the wild, occasionally diapered, adventures we had in our youth. “What made you decide to give up the baby-stuff?” someone would ask. And I’d answer: “It was the smell of coffee, I think. I just realized I didn’t want to live in a world without it.” “Ms. Heller will be back in a few hours,” she said. “Are you excited?” Honestly? Of course I was. She could be away for just a few minutes and I’d still be delighted to see her walk through the doorway again. But I wanted to play it cool: “It’ll be nice, yeah.” “She’s probably very excited to see you.” “I dunno,” I shrugged. “I think she likes getting a break from all the diaper changes.” “I can’t blame her for that…” “Actually, I think she’s traveling with Ms. Beaufort this weekend,” I said. I had forgotten that it might have been a sore topic–I was just trying to change the topic to anything other than me being a baby. “Yeah, that’s what Ms. Heller said,” Ava shrugged. I knew it was none of my business, but I was too curious to just leave well enough alone. “So are you, like, upset with her?” “No,” she said, shaking her head. “I don’t think she did anything wrong. I made the decision to move on, you know? I wanted to stop wearing diapers and suckling on her tits. So I don’t really get a right to be upset if she finds someone else.” “Ah,” I said. “Jealous?” “Maybe.” “Do you have regrets?” “Sometimes I think I do? But, ultimately, I think I made the right decision for myself. It just sucks to know that there’s someone else now. Someone else getting all the special things I used to while I’m not.” I thought about Hillary–Mommy’s last ‘baby’ before me. I wondered if she would’ve felt the same way, seeing how Mommy treated me now. Maybe, one day, I’d feel the same things Ava was when I moved on from Mommy’s care and she filled that void with someone else. “Well, I know it’s not the same thing,” I said. “But if you want, there’s plenty of diapers here. If you want to slip into one.” She laughed. “I appreciate that, Clark. But I’m not the baby. You are.” I felt myself blushing. “Speaking of,” she added. “How’s your diaper doing this morning?” “It’s…” It occurred to me that it was much more wet now than it was when I first woke up. Now it felt drenched. Squishy and juicy. “...pretty wet, I think.” “Need a change?” I wanted to tell her, again, that I could do it myself. Instead: “Maybe after breakfast.” “Suit yourself.” I picked up one of the small triangular-shaped pieces of pancake with my fingers, dunked it in the pool of syrup on my plate, and tossed it into my mouth. While it still felt pretty normal to me, it suddenly felt kind of juvenile while in Ava’s presence. “Hey, can I ask you something?” “Of course,” she responded. “When you…stopped wearing diapers, was it hard to not have accidents after that?” “Harder than I would’ve thought,” she said. “But not impossible. It’s not like you’re starting over again from the very beginning. You know how to hold it–you just have to be a little more conscious of it for a while. Speaking for myself, I had to fight the impulse to just let go everytime I needed to pee or…well, you know.” “So there were accidents?” She laughed, nodding her head. “Afraid so.” “Were they…bad?” Another laugh. “Well…I’d argue that there’s no such thing as a good accident. I ruined a few pairs of panties. Made a fool of myself once or twice. But, I dunno…” She shrugged. “...that’s all in the past now. A few accidents seems like a fair price to pay for the freedom I’m enjoying now.” I wondered if I should ask her to elaborate, but I didn’t think it was necessary. I think I understood what she meant by ‘freedom.’ The freedom to leave the house. Go places. Meet people. Have a job. The freedom to just exist without having to think about the time or manpower required to change a dirty diaper. “Just thinking about the future?” she asked. I shrugged. “Maybe.” Actually, I was thinking about the now. I was thinking about the imaginary arms race between me and this guy she worked with–a guy I didn’t even know the name of. He got to see her everyday. She seemed to like him–or, at least, like him enough that she was thinking about him while she changed my diaper the day before. And? He was potty trained. Presumably. In other words: he had a head start on me, for as long as I was still pooping my pants. She was staring down at her phone as I pondered my place in Ava’s life. She was smiling. She let out a little giggle. A text from that guy? Calm down, man. “You okay, Clarky?” she asked. I wondered what it was that tipped her off that I was having a little moment. Clarky. You know, I had gone most of my life without ever being called that everyday. Sure, friends or relatives would occasionally throw it out there in an endearing way when I was younger. But now ‘Clarky’ was synonymous with ‘Baby Clark.’ And as long as people were still calling me ‘Clarky,’ I would still be a baby. I watched as Ava’s attention returned to her phone as I shoved another piece of pancake into my mouth and chewed it. I was thinking. Plotting. How do I grow up? Again. I begin to make a mental list of how I’d achieve such a goal. Step 1: Leave the house once in a while. Start reacclimating myself to society-at-large. I’d never grow up if I stayed disconnected from everything outside of the house. I needed to get out of my stinky little bubble. Step 2: Potty training? Step 3: Get Mommy to unlock me? That’s going to be a challenge. Step 4: Figure out school. Step 5: A job? Living on my own again? There was another task in there that I’d have to complete–I just didn’t know where it belonged yet. Talking to my mother. Of all the loose ends left behind when I abandoned the world to live with Mommy, it was my relationship with my mother that felt like the loosest. I had fretted and fretted over her visit, only to have been pleasantly surprised by how well the visit actually went. Only to–almost literally, I sometimes thought–shit all over that progress when pictures of me and my dirty diapers were sent to her. She had tried to reach out to me countless times. She left voicemails. Text messages. She sent a letter to my apartment–which Evan was kind enough to forward to Mommy’s. And I had no response to any of it–petrified of having to face the damage that might have been caused. I didn’t want to have a conversation about it. I didn’t want to explain to her what happened. I also didn’t want to have to lie to her. So…I just hid. I had been hiding ever since. “All done?” Ava asked, her voice saturated with sweetness as she looked at me with her pretty eyes. She was talking to me like a toddler. And she probably would for a while. Maybe not in every conversation–but in enough of them. “Y-yeah…” “Good. Let me take this out of your way then.” She stood, taking the plate and bringing it over to the sink where she rinsed it off before putting it into the dishwasher. It was nice to be cared for–even the little things. Being a baby had perks. I couldn’t help but steer my eyes over towards her phone, sitting on the table still, as she worked at the sink. I knew I shouldn’t be nosy, but my stare was fixed on the black screen–just hoping that she’d get a text so that I could get a clue as to what her life was like now. And then it happened. I willed a text into existence. Caleb: “LOL” That was the entire message. But that was also enough of a message. Ah yes, Caleb. Caleb likes to laugh. Out loud, even. What had Ava said to him to get that response? The logical part of my brain knew that it was probably nothing worth dwelling over–I was thinking about this interaction way more than either of them had. But fuck logic. I wanted to speculate on the worst case scenario–the one where his response came to her making a remark about where she was right now. “I’m stuck at my former boss’s house, babysitting a grown man in a diaper. And you better believe he’s wearing a pissy diaper right now.” And to that, Caleb just said: “LOL.” I realized that, in addition to coffee, I also missed beer. And liquor. Those things used to help when I was getting myself all worked up about things that didn’t actually matter. Speaking of coffee…Ava had left most of a mug’s worth sitting on the table. “Hey, uhm, were you going to drink that coffee?” She laughed. “Why? Did you want it?” “Kind of.” “I’d say I should put it in a bottle or sippy cup for you, but I don’t think it’s hot anymore. You might make a mess of yourself, but at least you won’t get burned.” I sighed. “You know that I’m not actually a baby, right?” She looked conflicted. Did she agree with that, or not? “Just, uhm, be careful.” I sighed and slowly dragged the cup towards me on the table. I’d probably set myself back considerably in my imagined battle against Caleb if I managed to spill even a drop of the coffee. I concentrated, putting all my energy into my steadiness as I lifted the mug to my lips. Oh shit. Near-orgasmic. Coffee. Caffeine. I couldn’t help myself, I chugged the rest of the cup down, the room-temperature liquid going down surprisingly smooth. “What do you think?” Ava asked. “Should we deal with that diaper?” “You know…I don’t think it’s that bad,” I shrugged. Really, I just wanted to put off another diaper change for as long as possible. I needed more opportunities to remind her of how mature I could be. Her wiping my ass wasn’t going to be one of them. “If you say so,” she said. We migrated back out to the den, taking seats on the couch to turn the TV on again. Nothing in particular–we seemed to take turns flipping through various channels and platforms mindlessly as we talked. “So when Mommy and Ms. Beaufort started their company, did they talk to you about joining?” She nodded. “You just…didn’t want it?” “It was nice of them to ask,” she said. “But it would’ve been the same thing as the old company, you know? Leaders and followers. The followers would wear diapers.” “Fair enough.” “I’m surprised you’re not working there,” she said. “Mommy and I talked about it. I could have if I wanted to. But…” “...but you wanted to just live the full-time baby lifestyle?” I shrugged. “So it seems. But I’ve been over to the office a few times. Mommy used to take me there to show me off.” Ava giggled. “You must’ve loved that.” “It wasn’t the worst.” She was right–I had loved it. There was nothing to hide there. Nobody to hide from. Everyone knew exactly who I was and what I was all about. I’d be paraded around the office, giving everyone time to make their little jokes, squeeze my cheeks, and playfully pat my thick bottom. Ms. Beaufort, Lyndie, Ms. Roberts, Amber. They loved it. I suspected Risa liked it too–if only because it took some of the attention off of her for a while. “You don’t go any more?” “Not as much,” I shrugged. I had become a real homebody as of late. The outside was an overwhelming place for a big baby who might fill his pants at any moment. “You know what I miss?” she asked, the sound of someone seamlessly changing the subject. “Huh?” “That pizza place over by your old apartment. Toretti’s?” I laughed. I thought about that place from time to time. Not for the pizza–but the staff. Pizza Girl. It had been a while. Did she still work there? Did she ever think about me–the guy who wore diapers? “I liked that place,” I said. “All the pizza places by Lyndie and I’s apartment suck. I want that pizza again.” “Yeah? We should, uh, go sometime.” She looked at me, smirking and with a curious eyebrow raised. “Really?” “M-maybe I should get out once in a while. And that’d be fun, right? You and me going to get pizza?” “Almost sounds like a date,” she giggled. “N-no, I mean…” Maybe I shouldn’t have been so quick to shut her down. “We should go sometime.” “Will Mommy let you?” “I…think?” “Well I’d like that,” she said. “Let me know when you want to do that. And bring extra diapers, of course.” I loved coffee. But coffee didn’t love me back. Drinking that cup had been a bad idea–especially since it had been a while since I had any. Nervously, I laughed it off. “I’ll be fine!” But in the next moment, a deluge of noisy sputtering waste was filling my diaper and all I could do was blush and stare at the floor. I repeated, mostly to myself: “I…I’ll be fine…”

While there's not a full-on 'day in the life' chapter that details their life prior to this chapter, future chapters do elaborate on what certain aspects were like. Your other points are interesting, and it's tempting to answer them - but some of them may be addressed by the story itself. If, in a few weeks, you think these points haven't been sufficiently answered, I'll consider them lessons to be learned in my storytelling. As always, thanks for the critical food for thought!

Hello. We are about to embark on Season 4 of Doing Business. And as we do so, here's a friendly reminder that if you want to read ahead in the story - or if you'd like access to the multitudes of other ABDL stories I've written - subscriptions are available at Ream Stories (https://reamstories.com/quietlyhumiliated) and start at only $3. Thank you so much for continuing to read this story. I hope you like what's to come! Sixty-Seven It was as if a fog had been lifted. A fog that I wasn't even aware of until I saw it receding. And so if I looked a little a little out of it—if I looked kind of confused, or maybe even flustered—it was because it suddenly felt like I was seeing the world around me for the first time. The 'real' world. Not the imagined fantasy land I had been, willingly, plunged into for the last few months. “Are...you okay?” Shit. Shit. Shit. What the hell am I doing? I tried assembling a quick timeline in my mind, trying to retrace the last few months. Months? Had it been months? That felt right. It had been longer than weeks, but it certainly hadn't been years. Beyond that, I realized I didn't know all that much about when it was. I didn't know what day of the week it was. I wasn't even completely certain what month it was. I could have taken an estimated guess, though I wouldn't have been surprised if I was wrong. There had been moments, a ways back, when I had thoughts like this. I'd be lying in my crib, or rolling around on the floor and I'd suddenly think about the rest of the world—still doing their jobs. Going on dates. Buying paperback books from the grocery store. Scrolling through the near-infinite amount of content on streaming platforms as they looked for something to watch. And there I was in a world almost entirely of my own. And Mommy's. “Uhm...I think I just need a minute...” I said. That feeling had surfaced less frequently over time, until the point where they just ceased to exist. Looking at Ava, that feeling was coming back for the first time in a while. Stronger than I could ever remember it being before too. Mommy was gone, somewhere between the house and the airport. Had I been left in the care of Courtney—as was usually the case—I doubted I'd be having this overwhelming feeling of having squandered my life. It would've been just another day in the life of the baby. It wasn't just the presence of Ava that was triggering this feeling of my life being squandered. It was who Ava seemed to be, all of a sudden. In my mind, Ava was the same young woman I worked with back at the office. That Ava had an innocent face and a reputation for stinky diapers. That Ava rolled around with me in a quiet park in the middle of the night. That Ava suckled from Ms. Beaufort's chest amidst the crisis that was unfurling in the office. This was not that Ava. Her hair was longer. She was wearing more makeup than I could ever remember her wearing before. Even her body language seemed a little different. Was she standing straighter? Was that confidence in her poise? “What are you doing here?” I asked, at last. “I got a call,” she said. “Well...it started with a call. Gabrielle and I met for lunch after that.” “Y-you...met up with her?” I did not know about this. I hadn't realized that Mommy had contact with Ava at all. I certainly hadn't talked to Ava in... Well, it had been a very long time. “And you wanted to, uh, babysit me?” “No,” she said, laughing. “I just wanted to see you.” “But...” “Clark, do you actually need a babysitter?” “Uh...” My diaper was wet. Soaking, actually. Worse, I woke up like this, with the accident occurring while I was fast asleep. Was I that much different than an actual infant? So, yeah. Maybe I did need a babysitter. “I missed you, Clark. And it seemed like this was the only way to see you.” “You could've dropped by at any time,” I shrugged. “I wanted to see you. I didn’t want to see Ms. Heller’s little plaything.” “Oh…I…” “No offense,” she shrugged. “I was a plaything once. And it was quite nice. But I knew I was never going to be able to have a conversation with you–a real conversation–for as long as she was around.” “N-none taken,” I said. “This isn’t like a, uh, intervention, is it? Because…” “It’s not an intervention,” she sighed. “I just…needed to see you.” “W-well,” I said, my voice a little shaky as I leaned back on my knees, starting the slow process of standing up. “Here I am.” “You look…cute,” she said. It sounded genuine, though she didn’t look entirely happy about that either. “Mommy dresses me,” I blurted out, barely giving myself a moment to consider how infantile that would sound. I felt my cheeks warming as I finally stood straight up. I felt my diaper shifting, the soggy load between my legs sagging down as far as it could in my onesie. Sometimes it would dawn on me just how little I stood anymore. I probably looked pretty pathetic even trying–a wobbly toddler in obvious need of a diaper change. “I’m sure she does,” Ava said, her lips curling into a small smile. “She probably does a lot of things for you, doesn’t she?” I disliked how she seemed to be talking down to me–her tone getting soft and exaggerated like she was trying to have an ‘adult’ conversation with an actual child, all while chuckling at the child’s attempts at trying to match that cadence. I didn’t think she was really laughing at me or even intending to be all that condescending. Perhaps it was just human nature to talk like that when confronted with someone so…small. “Well…just about everything,” I responded, shrugging. “Are you happy?” The question feels big. The question feels like it was something she meant to save for later–something we built up to with a number of other conversations first. A question that would serve as a cliffhanger at the end of a chapter. Instead, here it was–only minutes after she walked through the door. It was a very easy question to answer, I thought. “Of course.” “The diapers? Being fed? Being bathed? Crawling around in just this house because you can’t really go anywhere else?” Was she trying to point out reasons why I shouldn’t like my lifestyle? Because those all sounded like amazing things to me. “I…like all that.” She nodded. I wondered if she was disappointed by my response–though if she was, she was doing a decent job of hiding it. A strange feeling had come over me–an almost adult feeling. She wasn’t a babysitter like Courtney or Lyndie were. They’d come over and immediately take charge, reminding me that I was still a little baby–regardless of whether or not my Mommy was around. Ava, on the other hand, wasn’t like them. Sure, maybe she couldn’t help but be a little condescending, but this was already the most ‘mature’ conversation I’d had in months. I was feeling like a host–like I would be responsible for the comfort of a guest in my own home. “Can I, uh, get you something?” I asked. She laughed, shaking her head. “Ms. Heller has made it very clear that I can help myself to anything.” “But…” “I can take care of myself,” she smirked. “I’m a big girl.” It’s a playful jab, but one that sticks a little deeper than she probably intended for it to. It took a conscious effort not to just lower myself into my default crawling position again–standing doesn’t feel as natural at the moment. What do adults talk about? “So…how have you been?” She laughed. The vibe I read from her is something like ‘Aww, look, he thinks he’s a big boy!’ But I might’ve been projecting. “I’ve been good,” she said. “Busy.” Busy. ‘Busy’ was something I hadn’t experienced in a long time. It was a thing that happened to the people around me–but never me. Mommy was ‘busy.’ Lyndie was ‘busy.’ Courtney always said that she was ‘busy’ when she was over at the house–but she was probably referring to the fact that I kept her busy. “You, uhm, have a new job?” “It’s not as new anymore,” she shrugged. “Doing project management at a marketing firm downtown.” “You like it?” She nodded. “It’s fulfilling.” I wanted to pry into that a little. I wanted to know if she just had a passion for project management–whatever that was–or if it was just fulfilling to be doing any job that respected her like an adult, as opposed to being made to wear diapers and suckle on breasts. I sometimes fantasized about a ‘normal’ life of working 9-to-5 and using a toilet. Not often, but once in a while. I kept my prying to myself. “Do you, uhm, keep in touch with Ms. Beaufort?” “Not really,” she said. Her answer seems rather terse to me. A sore spot? “She comes by once in a while,” I say. “She and Mommy work together, you know?” “Yes,” she said. “I know.” “She has a new assistant now. I’ve only met her once. Uh…Risa, I think?” “Yes, I know,” she said again. It dawned on me that I wasn’t reading the room very well. In my defense, I thought, I haven’t had to read the room in a while. This was definitely a sore spot. I wanted to know more, but it was clearly none of my business. Maybe it was time to change the subject again: “You’re, uhm, keeping in touch with Lyndie, right?” Ava laughed and nodded. “I live with her, silly.” I knew that. I thought I knew that–but maybe I just never really processed that before. It was wild to think that two of my closest friends were now living together–in a world completely detached from my own. “She’s good?” She nodded. “She’s good. Busy, of course.” Everyone is. Well, almost everyone. “Is she still taking care of…” “Bradley? She is. Not as often as she used to, though. For a while, it felt like he was over at our place every weekend. But he’s actually going to be leaving the city soon.” “Oh?” “He was offered a job at wherever it is his father works,” she shrugged. “So, he’s… No, don’t say it… “...moving on.” Exactly what I feared. Even pathetic little Bradley was growing up. And there I was, still waddling around in diapers that I soaked while I slept. “He’s actually over at our apartment with Lyndie this weekend,” she continued. “This might be the last time he sees Lyndie for a while.” I wanted to know more. I wanted to know what kind of drama, if any at all, came out of the Bradley-Lyndie-Nancy Tamberlin triangle. I wanted to know how long Bradley and Ms. Tamberlin remained with the old company–or if they were still there now. That got me thinking about a number of people I’ve had no reason to think about for a few months. Mr. Yang. Megan. Mr. Morris. People who were close to the epicenter when the Thomas Pritchard bomb went off. Thomas Pritchard. What was that guy doing now? I wanted to change the subject again. Or, maybe, I wanted to loop around back to the very beginning of the conversation. “You wanted to see me?” I asked. She nodded. “Is it really that strange that I missed you? We were pretty close for a while there. And then…stuff happened and you just kind of vanished.” Had it actually been like that? It was hard for me to say. When I thought back at that time–that admittedly short period between when Mommy and I left the country and when I officially moved into her home–I was always under the impression that everyone would just stay in my life. Lyndie or Ms. Beaufort would come over to the house and it’d be like nothing had changed other than the location that I saw them in. And if Ava didn’t come over too, then it was because she just chose not to. But maybe that wasn’t the case. Maybe she had been waiting for an invitation that never came. Maybe I should’ve made any sort of effort to reach out to her–and the fact that I didn’t had been interpreted as me not wanting to. “Shit. I’m sorry, Ava.” “You don’t have to apologize,” she said. “I didn’t come over here because I wanted you to apologize. I get it. You were given the opportunity to do something you really wanted to do. And Ms. Heller has obviously been taking very good care of you. Maybe I’d have done the same thing if I were in your diapers.” “Do you…ever wear diapers now?” I asked. The words felt so pathetic as I said them. Here she was, trying to talk to me like I was still her peer, and I was still mumbling about diapers. “No,” she said. “Are you…ever tempted to?” She shrugged. “Once in a while. But it passes. Look, I like the idea of them. And I sometimes miss those days. But I felt like I needed to get away from them if I ever wanted to, uh, grow up.” Another jab. “Is that why you’re here?” I asked. “You came to ask me to grow up too?” “I’m not here to make you do anything you want to do,” she said. “I just…I missed you. I missed Clark. I missed hanging out with you.” I thought I could read between the lines. “I can’t hang out with you now, because you’re not like me. You’re a diaper-dependent baby. You’re not the version of Clark I want to hang out with.” “I miss you too,” I said. “I don’t know what your plan is here, Clark. But there’s an opening at the company I work for. I think you’d be qualified for it, if you were interested. And if you still needed hours for your internship, maybe you could even…” “I’m, uh, on a break from school,” I said. My stomach grumbled, reminding me that I hadn’t eaten anything since crawling out of the crib. I began a slow waddle across the room in the direction of the kitchen. Between the sagging diaper and my lack of confidence on my feet, it must’ve been quite a sight. Ava followed me. “Don’t you want to work, Clark? Make some money?” “I mean…eventually, sure.” “How long are you going to stay here?” she asked. “How long are you going to crawl around and fill your diapers before you decide that it’s time to get back out there again?” I shrugged. “I don’t know. I assume that the time will just feel right.” “I really don’t want to sound like a nag,” she said. “And I definitely don’t want to tell you what to do with your life.” “I know that.” I was pretty sure I knew that. My instinct was to be defensive, as if she was trying to ruin my blissfully padded life. But I knew that wasn’t the case. She just cared. She had concerns. In the kitchen, I opened the fridge door to look at my options. On most days, Mommy was there to make these sorts of decisions for me. I rarely ever thought about choice when it came to food–I just consumed whatever she put in front of me. The baby bottle of milk caught my attention immediately–probably not an approved breakfast by itself, though Mommy wasn’t there to say as much. It wasn’t until after I had closed the fridge door and popped the bottle’s nipple into my mouth that I realized how strange this must’ve looked to Ava. She seemed amused, at least–her lips curled into a little smile again. My cheeks were warming again as I sheepishly lowered the bottle. “This is weird, right? All of this?” “I want to be clear, Clark–I don’t think I’m better than you because I decided to make some changes in my life. I believe you when you say you’re happy. I think, maybe, I’m here for…selfish reasons?” “Selfish?” She shrugged. “I just want my friend back.” I didn’t think she meant ‘friend.’ She meant something else. Something bigger than friendship that we had been working on before everything had to go and change on us. I wanted that too. But I also wanted what I had. I had sometimes daydreamed about the possibility that both things were possible. Now, though, I wasn’t sure that it was. “I’m still here,” I said. Despite knowing damn well what she meant, I said it anyway. “I’m still your friend.” “I know,” she said, sounding a little deflated. It wasn’t the answer she wanted. There was a sudden churning in my gut–a familiar feeling, though one I had gotten pretty good at ignoring most days. I didn’t have to think about it, or what it’d inevitably lead to. Mommy–or someone under Mommy’s direction–would take care of that. Staring at Ava, though, I was more conscious of that ominous gurgle than I had been in quite some time. There wasn’t much time to spare. Certainly not enough time to sprint to the bathroom–not that I would. All I could really do was warn her. “I…I think I’m going to…” Plorrrbbbbttt. The back of my diaper expanded as much as it could as my mess near-effortlessly filled up all the vacant space that it could find. Another soft and thick load–as they tended to be these days. As loud as it would be stinky. I was afraid to look up at Ava’s face immediately after. I wasn’t sure that I could handle it if she looked disappointed. Or grossed out. Or even just mildly annoyed. “S-sorry,” I said. To my surprise, she answered with: “It’s okay, Clark.” She sounded much more sympathetic than I expected her to. “I-it happens so quickly anymore,” I shrugged. “I don’t really, uhm, think about it until it's too late.” “I get it,” she said. I believed she meant that–maybe there was a point when she had experienced a feeling like that too. I set the bottle down on the counter–that would have to wait. “I should, uhm, probably change myself. This one’s hanging on for dear life.” “No,” she said. “You can’t.” “I mean, I kind of have to…” “No,” she said again. “A baby can’t change his own diaper.” “What are you saying? That you’re going to…” I couldn’t even get the words out of my mouth, the thought of being changed by her so overwhelmingly humiliating. “Ms. Heller did hire me to be your babysitter after all,” she said. “Maybe I came because I wanted to see you again, but I didn’t actually think I’d make it through the whole weekend without changing one of your diapers.” “B-but… Ava, it’s going to be, like, really gross. Y-you shouldn’t have to…” “You let me worry about that,” she said. “Why don’t you show me to your nursery? Ms. Heller told me all about it, but I haven’t seen it for myself yet.” “Yeah…okay.” I took a few steps forward, feeling the load in the back of my mushy diaper squish and spread as I awkwardly waddled forward. “If it’s easier,” she said, “why don’t you just crawl?” I could hear a change in her tone–it was similar to the condescending tone she had used before, except now it sounded more purposeful. More accepting, perhaps. She had come to me to see if I’d have been willing to ‘grow up’ with her. My response was to fill my diapers with a big disgusting load of poop. I’d have probably thrown in the towel if I was her too. There seemed little point in being anything other than what I was: a baby. I dropped down to my hands and knees again, proceeding to crawl the rest of the way–my soiled diaper sagging and swaying from side to side beneath me as I plodded forward. I couldn’t see her, though I could hear her footsteps behind me–her shoes clip-clapping on the hardwood floors. I could only imagine her face, staring down at my bottom the whole way, equal parts disappointment and amusement on her face. As soon as I crossed the threshold, I decided to just assume my usual position atop the big changing table. It was as much a habit as filling my diapers was at this point. Ava seemed in no rush to get to the disaster in my diaper, though. She slowly made her way around the nursery, taking in everything. I wanted to know what was going through her mind. Did such a place still seem otherworldly to her? Did she wish that she had access to a room like this? Did it make her nostalgic for own pair of droopy diapers? “She went all out, didn’t she?” Ava asked. “She tends to do that for things she cares about,” I responded. “Is it crazy that I’m a little jealous?” I almost laughed. I knew it! I composed myself, offering: “Well, there’s plenty of diapers. If you want one for yourself. I don’t think Mommy would mind.” “Surprisingly tempting,” she shrugged. “But I think I’m good. Why don’t we worry about you instead?” “D-do you know how to change a diaper?” She laughed. “Probably? I’ve had enough of my own changed. And I’ve watched your diapers get changed. And Bradley’s. I think I’ll be good.” “Okay,” I said as she approached me. “But, uhm…I just want to be very clear: I’m sorry about how bad it is in there.” She laughed. “Do babies usually apologize when they get their diapers changed?” Nope. Maybe that was a more normal response for me many many diapers ago. But not anymore. I no longer had any anxiety or doubt about Mommy’s desire to change my diapers. I’d proudly wiggle atop the changing table, almost excited for Mommy to have to get her hands dirty as she cleaned up after me. This was different. This wasn’t Mommy changing me. It wasn’t Lyndie. It wasn’t even Courtney–who was just a hired extension of Mommy’s own hands. This was someone I felt the need to apologize to for the state of my diaper. Hell, I felt like I needed to send her a ‘thank you’ card when this was all over. I opened my legs, giving her access to the snaps at the bottom of the onesie. She reached between my thighs, the lightest of tugs opening the onesie up and letting my diaper flop out. “So do you ever leave the house?” she asked. “Not often. It’s kind of hard when I’m…uh…” “Dependent on diapers?” “Yeah. B-but…that’s okay. I like being here.” “You don’t miss the outside world?” she asked, pulling up the onesie to fully expose the swampy diaper. “Sometimes. I feel very disconnected from it.” “You’re just a baby all the time?” The answer felt a little complicated. In the beginning, Mommy had floated the idea of ‘immersion’ past me. As she saw it, I’d quickly acclimate to a new, infantile, life if I just immediately jumped into the deep end. I’d be treated like a baby 24/7 from the start. There’d be no breaks or pauses. After a while, Mommy seemed willing to ease up on the immersion. We’d go out for an afternoon for some light shopping. Or she’d hand me my laptop and let me catch up on my emails and social media. More and more, however, I found myself less interested in those opportunities. I didn’t need to stroll around a store. I didn’t care what my second-cousin Jack was posting about on Facebook. And I was more than happy to let Mommy take care of all the ‘adult’ parts of my life. Credit cards, taxes, bills–I handed over my lingering adult responsibilities to her and washed my hands of them. She’d tell me that I could have whatever I wanted. If I wanted to go out, I could go out. If I wanted to binge watch Breaking Bad, I could binge it. If I wanted to stop pooping in diapers and start drinking from ‘big boy’ cups again, I’d only need to say the words. So I was a baby all the time. By choice. Actually, maybe it wasn’t that complicated of an answer: “Yeah.” She laughed, shaking her head at me. “And that still appeals to you?” “I…like it, yeah.” She shrugged, seemingly able to accept this answer. The diaper’s tapes were peeled back, and I watched with bated breath as she slowly opened the diaper. There it was–the nose twitch. The cringe. The look of someone who suddenly realized they were in over their heads. “Oh wow,” she said, her eyes wide as she stared into the swampy abyss. “That’s…a mess.” “Look, you don’t actually have to do this,” I said. “I can manage if you need to go get some fresh air.” She laughed, loosening up her shoulders as she seemed to psych herself up again. “No, no. I can handle this. I may not like it, but I gave Ms. Heller my word that I’d take care of you.” Out came the wipes. This was usually the part where a pacifier would be popped into my mouth, or I’d just start sucking my thumb unconsciously–leaving the adults to do their thing to my bottom. As tempting as it was to slide my thumb into my mouth, I kept my hands at my side while I watched her face as she tried to formulate a plan for cleaning me up. “It’s not as bad as it could be,” she shrugged. “I imagine it’d be worse if you sat down in this.” I nodded. Her fingertip rammed itself into the tip of my chastity cage, sending a little jolt up my spine. “I see this is still here. Does it ever come off?” “Not often,” I said. As it turned out, there were plenty of ways for me to climax without being unlocked. It was always a nice treat to see her sliding the key into the lock–but I just didn’t need the key. “Some life you live, huh?” she laughed. “It’s not all that bad.” “Don’t you miss, like, sex?” All I had to do was answer her question–and it was as simple as saying ‘yes’ or ‘no.’ Instead, I answered her question with a question: “Are you having sex?” I felt my cheeks growing hot after I blurted it out. It was rude of me to have asked–and it felt especially rude to have asked it in such an accusatory tone. She sighed, her face getting a little red as well. “Well…I wasn’t planning on talking about it while I wiped up your dirty bottom. But, seeing as how we’re talking about it now…” I was a fool. In the back of my mind, I had always imagined that Ava had been waiting for me. One day, I’d trade in my diapers for a pair of boxers, and I’d finish school. Get a job. Get an apartment of my own. And Ava would be there, ready to pick up where we left off. But how long had it been? How many months? And all that time, she thought I had just ‘vanished?’ “A-are you seeing someone?” I asked. She shrugged. “Not really. Not…yet.” “Oh.” “I think that’s part of the reason I wanted to come see you.” “To tell me that you’re having sex?” She snort-laughed, shaking her head. “No, no. I just…I needed to see where you were at, Clark. I needed to see if you were anywhere close to being on the same page as me.” “A-are you seeing someone?” I asked. She shook her head. “No. Well…not yet. But…” her voice trailed off, as she clearly had some hesitations about completing that thought. “But what?” She sighed. “N-nothing. You don’t want to hear about that.” She was probably right. “I do!” “I mean, there’s this guy I work with. We hang out from time to time. Flirt a little bit, but that’s all. I know he wants to ask me out on, like, a real date, but I’ve been kind of giving him the run-around whenever we get close to having that conversation. But, like, I want to get out there. I want to date. I want romance.” “So…why aren’t you out there, then?” But she had already told me the reason–it was the same reason she was here. She wanted to see if I was ready to ‘grow up’ yet. Was I? I looked around the nursery, seeing the crib and all my diapers. Really, I didn’t have to look any further than beyond my open legs–where someone was wiping up my messy bottom for me. I wasn’t sure that I’d ever want to give this up. She shrugged. “I…missed you, Clark.” “I missed you too, Ava.” “But you’re happy, right?” “Of course.” But I immediately knew I had misunderstood her question. Obviously I was happy. But what she was really asking was if there was any chance I’d be moving on from this life soon. I wished I could. For her, I wished I could. But I didn’t think I was ready yet. The old diaper, and all of its foul contents, were rolled up and cast into the diaper bin. She unfurled a new diaper, flattening it out on the changing table between my legs before sliding it under my lifted bottom. The last thing I wanted to do was ask her to wait for me. But I had to say something. What would a true friend say? “You’re such an amazing person,” I said while she sprinkled baby powder into the fresh diaper. “You should be out there. You should be doing all the things you’re supposed to be doing in your early 20s. Making mistakes and breaking hearts.” She laughed. “I’m not sure that’s the sales-pitch you think it is.” “You know what I mean.” She nodded. “You’re a sweet boy, Clark.” There were a thousand things I wanted to say, but I bit my tongue. I looked pathetic enough as it was–having a new diaper fastened around me. How selfish would I be if I asked her to wait a little longer? If I asked her to wait any amount of time? “You’re sweet,” I said. “And I hope you meet people who see that too.” A cloud seemed to hang over the house for some time after. We returned to the living room and tried to chat and catch up some more, but it just felt like small-talk. The energy had been sucked from the room, and neither of us seemed willing to acknowledge it. I finally decided to give us both a break by announcing that I needed to go take a nap for a bit. I went to Mommy’s bedroom and curled up on her bed. It was comforting to smell traces of her perfume on the sheets. I wished she was here–if for no other reason so that she could tell me what to do and what to think. Okay. But what did I want? Because it suddenly looked like I was choosing Mommy over Ava. And there was a part of me that thought: “Well, duh.” But the big question that Ava had been asking was still a good one: When was enough enough? When would I…grow up? Somewhere on the other side of Mommy’s bedroom door, Ava was sitting on a couch and watching the TV. Her phone was probably in her hand. Maybe she was texting with her mother. Or Lyndie. Or Mommy, even. Or, perhaps, she was texting that guy that she worked with. Setting up plans. Responding to his texts with emojis and ‘LOLs.’ That could’ve been me. I spent the last few minutes of being awake, before taking a nice long nap, wondering what I’d need to do to be considered enough of an adult that Ava could take me seriously again. I wasn’t entirely sure that I was ready to move on yet–but I had a feeling I had been spinning my wheels for a little too long. If anything was worth growing up for, it was Ava.

Memorandums II, Part 5: Megan Ascends 1. Darren Yang did have a wide range of emotions, though this probably wasn’t obvious to everyone who worked with him. He had a smug stoicism about him, and he wore it like a mask at all times. Even if someone recognized it as a mask—it really didn’t matter because they couldn’t see behind it. It had taken a long time to be able to do so, but Megan could now see behind the mask. And when she looked at his face—despite the fact his lips were locked in a confident grin—she saw concern and worry. Panic, perhaps. “You and me,” he said. “We’re different.” “How so?” she replied. He sometimes started conversations like this—sounding like he was answering a question that hadn’t been asked. “The rest of them, they had their hands dirty, you know?” She squinted her eyes, as if that helped her to make sense of what he was saying. “Who are we talking about?” “The other execs,” he said, throwing his arms up in the air like it had been completely obvious. “And when I say that their hands were ‘dirty,’ I do mean that literally. The diaper changes and all that.” “Oh,” she said. She hadn’t realized he was talking about that. “Gabrielle, you know, her hands were dirtier than anyone else’s. Besides that other assistant girl’s.” “Lyndie?” “Sure. So it makes sense that they were the first to go, along with Gabby’s assistant…uh, Whatshisname.” “Clark.” “And then Neve’s assistant…” “Ava,” Megan said. She wished she had made an effort to get to know her before she left. “But I think she had put in her notice before any of this had happened.” “Nancy’s assistant quit too. Did you know that?” “Bradley,” she said. She wondered if it was silly to speak their names—but it only seemed right. She didn’t want their existences reduced to associations with other people whose names that Mr. Yang could remember. “I hadn’t heard that.” “Or fired,” he shrugged. “I don’t know what happened there. Neve is leaving too.” “Is she?” This, too, was news to her. “She says she’s leaving on her own accord, but you have to figure that the Board is breathing down her neck.” The Board. Faceless ghosts that had a strange amount of power over everything the company did. Megan had never seen them, as far as she knew, nor had they seen her. Depending on the story that she was hearing on any given day, they were either in support of the executive team’s antics, or they were opposed to it. “You think they want her to leave?” “It makes sense,” he said. “Everyone else in the company has questions and concerns, right? You remove everyone who was involved in the situation, and then you don’t have to provide answers anymore.” That made some sense, she thought. “It’s just Nancy and I now,” he continued. “And you.” How nice. Almost an afterthought. “Nancy is fine,” he said. “You and I, we’re fine. We’re different.” “Because our hands aren’t dirty?” She didn’t completely understand the logic, but sometimes she just had to try and speak in his language. “People never saw you waddling around in a diaper, did they?” “Not at work, no.” It was a cheeky comment and she knew it. “We’re fine,” he said again. Everytime he said it, he sounded a little less sure of himself. 2. “I appreciate you taking the time to meet with me today,” Troy Morris said. He had an exceptionally kind face. Megan wondered why she hadn’t noticed this before, but quickly remembered that they hadn’t interacted much in the past. The most time they might have ever spent together, she thought, was when she positioned herself over his lap for a ceremonial spanking—the same ceremony that Clark had most recently found himself enduring. “Of course,” Megan said. “When the CEO asks for some of your time, you give it to him.” “Acting CEO,” he corrected. “The Board has just asked me to take on the role while they begin the process of finding a proper replacement for Gabrielle.” “You must be quite busy,” she said. “Sort of,” he shrugged. “There’s so much to do—so much to catch up with—that it almost feels impossible to even try. I’m just kind of letting everything sit on the back burner for now while I find my footing.” Mr. Yang did not know she was here, and she doubted that she’d tell him about this meeting either. He hated Mr. Morris, though she was relatively certain that this was no fault of Mr. Morris’s. There was just something about that man that set Mr. Yang off. Maybe it was his gregariousness. His handsome face—though Mr. Yang would never be called ‘ugly’ either. Megan’s theory was that Mr. Morris didn’t have to wear a mask, and that was what made Mr. Yang hate him so much. “I’m sure you’ll find it soon enough,” Megan said. It was more than Mr. Morris’s exceptionally friendly face that she liked. She liked the way he looked at her. Lots of people looked at her everyday, especially in the office. They looked at her like they were trying to figure her out. Maybe they saw the faint glimmer of a man who didn’t exist anymore. But not Mr. Morris. He looked at her like she was a person. He saw Megan. “So I wanted to talk to you, specifically, because I’ve been a bit of an, uh, admirer-of-sorts recently.” She felt her cheeks warm a little. “I’m sorry?” He laughed and shook his head, realizing he needed to rephrase what he said. “Your work, Megan. I’m an admirer of your work.” “Oh,” she said, chuckling a little herself. Though, somewhere deeper down in her subconscious, she was a little disappointed. “Yang presented that spending report last week,” he said. “It was an exceptional presentation. But…” Megan laughed again, as if knowing where this was going. “...I could tell that he had no fucking clue what he was talking about,” Mr. Morris continued. “It was as if someone had done all the work for him and all he had to do was talk about it. Do you know anything about that, Megan?” “Maybe. A little.” “I’m not kidding—that report was exceptional. Did you do that on your own?” “Yes, sir.” “You don’t have to call me sir, Megan.” “Mr. Morris.” “Just Troy is fine,” he said. She nodded. She liked that. “So, look, I’m inheriting a shitstorm of work here. They can say that I’m only temporarily the CEO, but we both know that a formal replacement isn’t coming for months. Maybe even longer. The Board has given me carte blanche to do whatever I need to do to get things back on track, though. And I think one of the first things I want to do is put together a team of folks that I trust.” “An assistant, Mr. Mor— Er…Troy?” “No,” he said. “‘Assistant’ is suddenly a bad word around here, if you haven’t noticed. Besides, I think you’re too smart to be assisting other people. I think you can be trusted with bigger, more important, projects. Hell, maybe you’d need an assistant yourself. Or a…helper? Whatever it is we’d end up calling them.” “Oh wow,” she said, running her hand through her hair. She wasn’t sure what else to say. “This is an informal conversation,” he said. “I’m only asking if you’d be interested—you don’t have to commit to anything today.” “I’m interested,” she quickly blurted out. “Very interested.” 3. She certainly wasn’t thinking about Mr. Yang during sex. But, then again, she usually didn’t. Often, she’d at least be thinking about sex—albeit with someone else—but she wasn’t even thinking about that today. She felt like a piece of furniture that a dog was humping. “Oh Jesus,” Mr. Yang grunted from behind her. She almost laughed, imagining him as a pastor giving a sermon. “Jesus…fuck…” It amazed her that he was still into this. It also amazed her that he didn’t seem to notice how she felt about it. Sure, she thought, I’m the one on my hands and knees right now. Maybe that was enough for him to assume she liked it. Or he didn’t care. “Come on,” she said, her voice vaguely encouraging. “Give it to me.” No thought had been put into the words—they came out of her mouth automatically, just part of a routine. He said something. “Urgahana,” it sounded like. She wondered if he meant to say something intelligible. She was thinking about Troy Morris, but she wasn’t thinking about being fucked by Troy Morris. She was thinking about the concept of legitimacy—as in, having an actual position within the company where she was respected and appreciated as a hard worker, not a glorified sex doll. When Mr. Morris—Troy—had shown interest in giving her a new position, that had almost brought her to an orgasm. Something that Darren Yang, grunting and huffing away behind her, hadn’t done in a long time. The timing of her conversation with Troy seemed serendipitous, actually. She hadn’t realized it, but she had fallen into a little rut, of sorts. Her life was a constant cycle of transactional sex and thankless toiling in the office. It was Clark, of all people, who made her realize that she wanted to break out of that cycle. She wasn’t sure that he had said or done anything specific to be a catalyst—he had just been a source of chaos, introduced to her life when she needed it. Since then, she had been thinking about finally doing all the things she had been putting off: breaking away from Darren Yang, getting a new job, getting an apartment that she paid for with her own money, etc. Troy gave her direction. He gave her hope that such things were more than just fantasies. “Uhhh,” groaned Mr. Yang. She knew that sound. There was a burst of wetness in her bottom. Once upon a time, she thought that she liked that feeling. She wasn’t sure that was true anymore—but it could just be the source of the wetness that she didn’t care for. “Incredible,” he muttered, sounding like he was talking to himself. “I’ll never get sick of that.” She didn’t respond to that. Either he didn’t notice, or again, he didn’t care. They were in her apartment. His apartment, he’d sometimes remind her—seeing as how he was the one paying for it. This was usually where it happened. A handful of times they had done this in his office. Once or twice at his home—though he didn’t like bringing Megan to his home. He had never said this aloud, but he seemed to make it obvious enough. He could understand why—Mr. Yang was not a single man. He did not live alone. Of course, few knew this. He didn’t talk about it much. He didn’t wear a wedding ring, causing Megan to speculate that he either didn’t like broadcasting his marital status, or he wasn’t actually married to the woman he lived with. Whoever she was, he had never even said her name aloud. Carly was her name. Megan knew that thanks to the combination of some detective work and a little bit of luck. She kept the name close to her chest, making sure never to tell Mr. Yang that she knew it. It was banked with some other tidbits she had learned him along the way. She wasn’t sure what they’d be needed for, but they felt helpful to have. A ‘break glass in case of emergency’ depot of forbidden Yang-knowledge. “Fuck,” he said, rolling onto his back. “Remember when I could do this twice in an afternoon? I’m getting older.” “That was just a few weeks ago,” she replied, feeling wetness leak from her ass and down her thigh. “Huh,” he grunted, seemingly displeased with her observation. She was tempted to say that he had been acting ‘strange’ as of late, but that implied that there was a time when he had been ‘normal’—which he had never been. Since the Thomas Pritchard incident, he seemed to be slowly unraveling. “I have to get going pretty soon,” Megan said. It was a trick she used from time to time—feigning the need to be somewhere else in an effort to get him to put on his clothes and roll out the door sooner. She wondered what today’s excuse should be. “I’m, uh, meeting some friends for dinner.” “Are they cute?” She sighed. “Sure.” “Excellent,” he said. “I’ll tag along.” She was pretty sure that he was joking, though it was getting harder to tell. “Well…” “I’m kidding,” he said, grinning like he was the funniest man who had ever lived. He was sitting up now, legs crossed and his hands behind his head as he stretched his nude body out across her bed. Note to self: wash those sheets before bed. “I’ll see you in the office tomorrow?” he asked, finally sliding off the mattress to gather his clothes. “You know it.” 4. Troy Morris took a long and slow sip from his steaming mug of coffee. Megan was tempted to ask where he even got coffee that hot–it was a frequent complaint that the coffee pots throughout the office weren’t hot enough, but maybe that was one of the perks of being CEO. Acting CEO, as he’d be wont to remind her. “So, the other day, you and I had a little chat,” he said. “I called it an informal conversation.” “I remember,” she said, nodding. “Well, today, I’d like to make it a formal conversation. I’d like to offer you a position. I haven’t ironed out the exact title yet, but I’m thinking something like ‘Operations Director.’ Something important sounding.” “I mean, just as I told you last time, I’m very interested.” “You’re smart and you’re organized, Megan. I think you’d be a valuable asset in helping me get the company on track again. I drafted up a list of job responsibilities,” he said, pointing down to a piece of paper on his desk. He pushed it towards her. “And on the bottom of that paper, is a number. I already got it cleared with the board–so I don’t want you to think that’s a fib. That’d be what I want you to make if you took this position.” She wanted, very badly, to look at the number at the bottom of the paper first, but she resisted that urge–figuring it’d be best if she at least took a glance over what kind of work he’d be expecting her to do. By and large, it didn’t seem like anything she hadn’t done while working with Darren Yang. Though there were a few terms that jumped out at her that felt like they were beyond what she knew how to do. “Data analytics?” she read aloud. “Ah, don’t worry about that,” he said, waving his hand. “I don’t know much about that either. But we could learn together.” She bit her bottom lip and squirmed a little in her seat. She wanted to learn everything with Troy. She wanted to learn everything about Troy. Regardless of what salary he was offering, she suspected she’d take the job–if only to spend more time around him. But then she saw the number. No, that can’t be right, she thought. She looked at it again, trying to decide if there was a typo or if she just didn’t understand what she was looking at. Because if this was the offered salary, it was significantly more than she was making as Mr. Yang’s assistant. In fact, it might have even been more than Mr. Yang was making himself. This was an absurd amount of money. A stupid amount of money. “Are, uh, you serious about this amount here?” Megan asked. “Quite,” he said. “Like I said, you’re worth it. I want you to stay with the company and work with me.” With you, under you…whatever you want. “I… I’m very interested in this position,” she said. “I thought you’d say that. Say the word and I’ll get the ball rolling with HR. I’ve been told that we can have you transitioned into this new role within the next two weeks.” Such things shouldn’t matter, but she still had to know: “What about, uhm, Mr. Yang?” “Ah, well, I’ll leave that part up to you. If you don’t want to talk to him about it, I’d be more than happy to have a conversation with him.” “I can talk to him,” she nodded. “Actually…I wanted to ask you about him anyway.” “Hmm?” “Well, I really hate to put you in this position, but the board has had some concerns about him and they’ve kind of left it up to me to decide if he should stay or go. Honestly, I’m not sure that I really care either way. I never cared for him much, personally, but I also didn’t know him that well. If you don’t mind…I’d love to get your thoughts on him, and if you think there’s a place for him in the company moving forward.” She laughed aloud. Absolutely unreal. Minutes ago, she was still Mr. Yang’s assistant. A few days ago, he was fucking her from behind. Now, his job was in her hands. “I’m very grateful for Mr. Yang for a lot of things,” she said. She meant that. “But that doesn’t mean that I like him.” She also meant that. “Fair enough.” “I think I’d like some time to think about it, if that’s okay with you.” “Of course,” he said, his voice still kind and smooth. “Take all the time you need.” “I truly appreciate that, Mr. Morris.” “Troy,” he said. That sexy grin was sending signals to her, she was sure of it. “Troy,” she nodded. 5. Megan had intended to talk to Mr. Yang sooner, but she was still in the habit of avoiding him whenever possible. She went home that night with a bottle of wine and celebrated by herself. She wished she had friends to call, it’d have been nice to not have to drink alone. At the very least, she would’ve liked to have called Clark–though the two hadn’t spoken in a bit. Was he upset that she texted his photos to his mother? If so…that was fair. She still felt pretty bad about that. More likely though, if the rumors were true, he was living his best life as Gabrielle Heller’s little pet baby. Nice work if you can get it. And so, drinking alone it was. She came into the office late the next day, a little hungover. “Well, well, well, look who decided to show up,” Mr. Yang said, ushering her into his office and closing the door behind him. “Uh…sorry I’m a few minutes late,” she said, still rubbing some sleep from her tired eyes. She’d have offered an actual excuse…but fuck it. She could see through the mask this morning. Mr. Yang looked pretty upset. “Why did I have to hear about your new promotion from anyone other than you?” he asked. She scratched her head. “Wh-who told you?” “Nancy from HR,” he said. “She sent me an email detailing your transition to Troy-fucking-Morris’s team.” “He offered me a very good position,” she said. “I’m sorry I didn’t get a chance to talk about it with you first, but… Well, I had to take the job.” “Did you forget who butters your bread?” he asked. “Who pays for your clothes? Your pretty little dresses? Your apartment?” “Look, I want to be clear with you, Darren…” She rarely called him ‘Darren,’ but it felt like it was time to use it. Troy showed her that she was worthy of being on a first-name basis with her boss. “That’s Mr. Yang to you, you ungrateful little…” He stopped himself and took a deep breath in an attempt to compose himself. He started over again: “Look, let me make it simple for you, okay? If you’re going to work with Troy-fucking-Morris, then you’re getting cut off. That apartment is no longer yours. You’re on your own for buying clothes. And you better believe that you’re not going to be feeling my cock in your asshole anymore.” She almost laughed, thinking about how tempting it was to shout back: “Thank god for that.” “Are you sure this is such a good idea?” he asked. “Are you sure you want to lose everything?” She wasn’t sure how to respond to this. Maybe she’d be more sure of herself if she wasn’t battling a hangover. There was one thing worth saying, though–something that she might have been a little nicer about presenting if she was feeling better: “Are you sure that you want to lose everything?” He narrowed his eyes and sat back in his chair. “What is that supposed to mean?” “I heard something too,” she said. “I heard about the board being less than pleased with you.” “H-how did you… Who told you that?” “It doesn’t matter,” she said. “But I can promise you that if I went to my new boss and told him that I didn’t think you were worth keeping around…well, the front door would be hitting you in the ass on your way out.” “That’s bullshit,” he said, shaking his head. “You don’t have that kind of pull around here.” “Try me,” she shrugged. She could feel it washing over her–power. The realization that Mr. Yang had nothing to hold over her anymore. “Fuck around and find out.” She was sure that he had more to say, but she didn’t feel like listening to it. She stood up and left his office while he sat in his chair–dumbstruck by both her audacity and the conversation they had just had. 6. “Can I talk to you in my office, please,” read the message Mr. Yang sent to Megan’s computer a few hours later. At first glance, it didn’t really say that much–but, once again, Megan could see behind the mask. It was the ‘please,’ that seemed out of place. He never said please to her. Oh, this was good. Without having any idea what he wanted to say, she already knew she had the higher ground. Taking a seat across his desk from him, it was like she was looking at a completely different man than the one who talked to her that morning. He looked friendly–or, at least, like he wanted to appear friendly. “So…” he began. “I, uh, just want to tell you that I’m sorry about this morning. I had the chance to talk to Mr. Morris this afternoon and, er, he seemed pretty excited about having you on his team.” There was a lot that he wasn’t saying–a lot that he probably didn’t have to say. Suddenly, Mr. Yang looked scared and afraid. He knew that his career–possibly even more than that–was now in Megan’s hands. She wished she had been a fly on the wall when he and Mr. Morris had talked. What had he said to Mr. Yang? “I’m excited too,” she said. “I…I’m sure. Look, about the apartment and all that–maybe we can work something out and…” “I don’t want your apartment,” Megan said. “I don’t need your money. I don’t need your cock.” He sighed. “But…I just…” The sound of a man fumbling for the words and coming up empty. But Megan knew what he wanted to say: “Please don’t ask Troy Morris to let me go.” “If you don’t want to leave the company,” she said, “you shouldn’t have to.” “No?” She laughed a little, sitting back in her chair. She hadn’t thought about this conversation much–maybe in little fantasies she had over the years–but not since she accepted Mr. Morris’s offer. “If you want to work here, you can work here. You want to work here, don’t you?” “Well…yes. I do.” “Darren,” she said–he didn’t correct her this time, “how badly do you want this job?” He sighed and tapped his fingers on his desk. He was looking around his office, possibly taking inventory of what he had here in his little bubble. “I mean…I need this, Megan. Surely, we can work towards some sort of agreement, right? Maybe it’s time we put an end to you and me and our little…” “Oh, that won’t be a problem,” Megan said. “You and I–whatever it was that we had–it’s over now. You won’t be my boss. You won’t be my daddy. You won’t be fucking me, and I won’t be fucking you. In fact…I’d like my key.” She almost wondered if she’d need to specify which key she was talking about, though she was certain he knew. There was only one that he kept from her. Truthfully, she probably didn’t really need it–she could find her own way out of her chastity if she had to. She had even saved a tutorial on picking the type of lock her chastity device had a while ago, and it was saved on her laptop just in case the day came where she needed it. Getting the key from Darren was just easier. “Y-yeah,” he said, reaching into his pocket. “Of course.” He pulled out his keychain, and began to fumble with it, flipping through all the keys until he found the right one. She thought it was kind of amusing that he kept the key to her chastity with the rest of his keys like this. Keys to his house, his car, his office, his boat, and…her dick–all within easy reach. She liked how Ms. Heller did it with the key to Clark’s chastity–kept on a chain and worn as a necklace. Once in a while, Megan would catch sight of the chain on Ms. Heller’s neck–or on even rarer occasions, she’d spot the key itself–and it would provide a little thrill. Clark’s entire manhood was reduced to a piece of jewelry, worn by another woman. Meanwhile, she thought, I’m just another door to open when he needs to. He set a key down on the desk and slid it across to her. “You don’t mind if I take care of this now, do you?” she asked. “Huh?” She didn’t bother repeating herself, instead hiking up her skirt and pulling down the front of her black panties–revealing her chastity cage. Sometimes, she liked that she wore the cage. There was some sort of symbolism about it that she never fully fleshed out–but something about keeping the last relic of manhood locked away and rendered useless. She sometimes wondered if, after she took off this chastity, she’d buy one of her own. She didn’t mind being in a cage–she just didn’t want it to be Darren Yang’s cage. She tried the key, and it slid into the lock chamber effortlessly with a series of faint, but extremely satisfying, clicks. With a slight turn of the key, there was one more click–and then the feeling of looseness. The pressure of the cage had been so ever-present that she had gotten used to it–it rarely even registered with her anymore. That pressure was gone now, though, and she could tell. Freedom–permanent freedom–felt amazing. Near-orgasmic, really. She tucked her dick back into her panties and pulled her skirt down again, before placing the empty cage atop the desk. “This belongs to you,” she said. “I…don’t think I want it,” he shrugged. “It was for you. And if you don’t need it, then it’s trash.” “I dunno,” Megan said. “I think it might still have a use.” Darren–he was no longer ‘Mr. Yang’ to her–laughed a little. “Yeah? Do you think it should be mounted on the wall as a decoration or something?” “No,” she said. “I was thinking you should take it home with you. Clean it up. And then when you come into work tomorrow, you could be wearing it yourself. I’m pretty sure it’ll fit you just fine.” “What?” he said, a little smile still on his face. He looked like he heard what she had said–he just didn’t believe it. “You heard me.” “Megan, I’m not going to…” “Are you really in a position to tell me what I can or can’t do, Darren? You already said that you really want to keep your job. And I think you know by now that I happen to be holding your job in the palm of my hand. So…if you want your job, you’ll come to work tomorrow wearing that.” “But…” The smile on his face was gone. His cheeks were flushed pink, and he was shaking his head slowly. “How do you expect me to…” “That’s what I want.” “For how long?” he asked. “For as long as I want.” He sighed. “Okay…fine.” Really? That was easy. Too easy. So easy that she wondered how Darren ever had any power at all. “Great,” she said. “I’ll be keeping the key, then. I guess I’ll see you tomorrow?” “W-wait,” he said as Megan stood up. “Hm?” “Is…is that all? That’s all you want from me for you to let me keep my job?” She shrugged. “Why? Do you want there to be more?” “N-no, that’s not what I meant. I just…” “We’ll start with chastity,” she said. “Let’s see how that goes.” 7. Bzzzzzzzzzzzz. Holy fuck. What an absolute power trip. When she replayed the conversation back in her head–and it was being replayed on a near constant loop–it felt like a movie that she had only been watching and not participating in. She was thinking about it as she held the vibrator against the front of her soaked diaper in her bedroom–the vibrating shaft pressed against her hard cock. When she came, she came so hard that her cream shot out from the waistband of the diaper, spreading onto her belly before slowly dripping back back down into the padding again. She felt like the most powerful woman on the planet. 8. The next day, Darren came to her office, and took a seat on the other side of her desk. “Good morning, Darren,” she said, as if this was just another normal conversation. “Uh, hi…” “Can I help you with something?” He sighed. “You, uhm, asked me to do something yesterday. Remember?” “Hmm,” she mused, tapping her chin in an exaggerated manner as she pretended to think about it. “Maybe? I’ve been so busy lately that it’s hard to recall every conversation I’ve had.” “Come on, Megan. Don’t play dumb.” “Darren, why don’t you just tell me what you did or didn’t do.” He drew in a long breath and paused for a moment. Finally: “I…did it.” “It? What is it? What did you do?” “Yesterday, you gave me the cage. You told me to put it on. And…I did that.” “Did you now?” she asked. She wished she wasn’t being so expressive right now, but she couldn’t help it–she was absolutely elated. “You…disinfected it first, yes? I had been wearing it for a while.” “Y-yes…” “And how does it fit?” “Well, it’s a little big, but I don’t think it’s going to fall off or anything.” “Interesting,” she said. “I always thought it was a little snug on me. What do you think that means?” His cheeks turned bright pink, but he didn’t answer. She didn’t need him to answer, either, she just wanted to throw that out there–she had long known that she was packing more than he was, and had always wanted the opportunity to say as much. “I’ll need to see it, of course,” she said. “While I’d love to take your word for it, there’s just too much at stake.” He looked over to the window in Megan’s office. This wasn’t like his–or any of the other executives’–office, where the rooms were almost entirely protected from outside eyes. Just beyond the glass were cubicles–though it was early enough that there were very few people in this part of the building yet. “You should probably be quick about it,” Megan continued. “Donna will be here any minute, and she sits right there,” she said, pointing to a cubicle that seemed to have a pretty good vantage point right into her office. He said nothing else, and made no further attempts to delay the inevitable. He stood up, quickly unfastened his belt, unzipped his pants, and pushed his pants and boxers down just enough to display his manhood–locked up in a familiar looking cage. Then, just as quickly as he pulled his pants down, he hoisted them back into place. He sank back into his seat again–just as Donna casually strolled past Megan’s office on her way to her cubicle. “Very good,” she finally said, nodding. “How long do I have to wear this for?” he asked. “As long as I want,” she shrugged. “But…Megan. You realize that I don’t live alone, right? I can’t just have my penis locked up indefinitely.” “How long do you think it would take for Carly to notice?” Megan asked. His eyes grew big and his mouth hung open. God, it was so satisfying to see that expression on his face when she finally dropped that bit of knowledge. “How do you know…” “I don’t know her,” Megan said. “But I know she exists. And I’m willing to bet that she doesn’t know that I exist. She doesn’t know about the little toy you’ve kept as your assistant for the last few years, does she?” “Megan…sooner or later she’s going to find out. And what am I supposed to say to her?” She shrugged. “Did you ever, once, care about what I’d have to say to the people in my life as I transitioned?” “Right, but you wanted that. It’s not like I forced you to–” “No, you’re right,” she nodded. “But that’s not what I’m asking. I’m asking if you ever thought about how hard it was for me to have conversations with my friends and loved-ones about what I was going through. Or did it just not matter to you, because all you cared about was your little girl-toy in the office?” “I…well… If I said that I did think about that, would you even believe me?” She laughed. “No, probably not.” But, also, she was pretty confident that had never been the case. Darren Yang only ever cared about Darren Yang’s needs. “I suppose good behavior will convince me to return the key sooner.” “The, uh, cage came with two keys,” Darren said. This was true–but it was also a bluff. “You lost one, remember? When you took me to the Outer Banks.” He sighed and threw his hands up in the air. “Fine. Happy now?” “I have to be honest with you,” she said. “I’m feeling very good right now.” 9. “You seem pretty confident about this plan,” Troy said. He insisted on being called Troy, despite how tempting it was to call him Mr. Morris. “It all looks pretty sound to me, so if you think this is what we should roll with, then let’s do it.” Megan nodded. “I feel good about it.” It wasn’t much–just a spending report for a new initiative she was spearheading in the office. However, it was her first major task since beginning her new role, and thus she saw it as the first opportunity to make a good impression on Troy. Which, from the looks of it, she had. “Well, look,” he said. “I’m going to sneak out of the office a few minutes early today. If anyone comes looking for me…” “I’ll tell them to get lost,” she said. They both laughed. “Thatta girl.” “So what’s getting you out of the office early tonight?” she asked. “Something fun, I hope.” “A, uh, date, actually,” he said, a little pink in his cheeks as he ran a hand through his short hair. There was a moment where Megan was a little unsure of how she should feel about this. She had been harboring a little crush on the guy for the last few weeks, and there were times–though she could never be sure–where she thought he might have been flirting with her too. She certainly thought about him when she was home at night, her hand inside of her diaper while she played with herself. “Sounds nice,” she smiled. “Someone new?” “Third date, actually,” he said, barely able to hide his goofy smile. “But I’m kinda crazy about her, so fingers crossed this pans out.” Maybe this was a good thing. It could mean that her relationship with Troy was more platonic. More professional. It meant that, maybe, she didn’t have to stress about complicating things with emotions and sex and, most likely, the inevitable confession that she really just wanted a daddy to change her diapers for her. This is what it’s like to have an actual boss, she thought. One that I don’t have to fuck. “I’ll keep my fingers crossed for you too, then,” she said, grinning. “Well, I appreciate that. But, look–you don't need to hear your boss talking about his love life.” The moment felt reaffirming. It was a reminder that his job offer, his reliance on her, and his friendliness towards her were all genuine. This wasn’t a handout. This wasn’t one side of a transaction that required sex to be complete. That felt better than anything else had felt recently. “Well, have a good time,” she said. “And at least tell me how it went tomorrow?” 10. She wasn’t thinking about Troy. She could’ve–and it was tempting to–but it felt wrong now. He was her boss, and maybe it was best if she didn’t drag him into her fantasies. Now, when she closed her eyes, there was someone else there between her legs–asking if she needed her diaper changed. She wasn’t sure who the person was–but she was confident that she’d eventually meet the right person to fill that faceless being’s form. In the meantime, it didn’t matter who it was–just that there was an imaginary presence there, asking about the condition of her diaper. “It…it’s pretty dirty,” she said aloud, as if talking to someone. It wasn’t a lie. She had come home from the office feeling like she was absolutely desperate for the feeling of a ruined diaper against her skin. She probably could’ve waited for nature to take its course–but she was feeling impatient and had grabbed the enema bag from the closet. Now her bloated diaper was filled to capacity–a sloppy mess was just barely contained inside of it as she slipped one hand down the front of her diaper and the other held her vibrator to the padding. One of the nice things about chastity was that it had forced her to get more creative with how she brought herself to climax. But…there was something really nice about the immediacy of just stroking herself though. She thought of Clark, who was probably somewhere sitting in a dirty diaper of her own. She thought of Darren Yang, who was probably still struggling with hiding his cock from whoever Carly was to him. She thought of Troy Morris, who was probably being his effortless charming self with a very lucky woman right about now. She thought of the faceless being who was urging her to ‘make cummies in your dirty diapies.” “Fuck…” 11. There was a knock at her office door. “Come in.” “Hi, Megan?” It was Peter, her new assistant. Well, aide, as she liked to refer to him. Polite and hardworking, though a bit naive. Someone like Neve Beaufort or Gabrielle Heller would’ve had this kid crawling on the ground and pissing his pants in an hour. And…that was certainly a tempting option, but she thought it’d be best to not let history repeat itself. Still, it didn’t stop her from daydreaming about it when she saw his boyish face. “Yes, Peter? What’s up?” “Mr. Yang is here to see you…” She sighed. “Can you just–” “I know,” he said. “I tried to get rid of him or make him schedule a time to come see you. I said I’d come over and see if you’re available for him now…but I’m prepared to go back and say that you’re unavailable.” “It’s fine,” she sighed. “Send him in.” Peter looked surprised by this–she almost never caved like this. “You sure?” “It’s okay,” she nodded. “Thank you.” Soon after, Peter was gone and there was a new shape in her doorway–Darren. He stumbled in, quickly shutting the door behind him before he took a seat. “Darren. I heard you had this immediate reason to talk with me? Is everything okay? Is it an emergency?” “D-don’t play coy with me, Megan,” he said. “You know why I’m here.” “Enlighten me.” “It’s been a month. I’m still locked up. Carly thinks I’m cheating on her because I won’t have sex with her. I…I need to get out of this thing.” “And so you thought you’d barge into my office and demand I release you?” “No…I thought maybe we could barter? Make a deal of some sort?” “It’s safe to say that I’m more respected around the office than you are now,” she said. “I’m not sure that you have all that much you can give me.” “Anything, Megan. Anything.” She sat back in her chair and thought about it a little. She imagined herself tasking Darren with being her nanny–wiping her ass for her when she made a messy diaper. Then, she imagined Darren himself in a plump diaper–whining and crying on the floor while the front of it turned yellow. Or…maybe this was when she revealed that she knew where Darren and Carly lived. Maybe he’d pay Carly a visit, and they could have a little chat about Darren’s life outside the house. Maybe she’d hand Carly the key to Darren’s cage and tell her to do with it as she pleased. Hell, maybe Carly would even be interested in having some diapers on hand. “I’ll think about it,” she said. “Please,” he said. “Soon?” “Soon,” she nodded. “I’ll think about it this afternoon.” He sighed. “Thank you.” “Is that all?” “Y-yeah. I’ll get out of your way. But, you’ll tell me when you made up your mind?” She nodded again. “Promise.” It was hard to read the expression on his face as he stood up and reached for the door. He looked distressed, but he might have also been impressed. “I…I had no idea you were like this,” he said. She shrugged. “You know, I think this is your fault.” “How so?” “Well…you tried to create a girl. But what you actually created was a goddess.” Oh. That sounded nice. That was what she needed–someone kneeling at her feet, calling her a goddess while she looked down at them. And after, they’d change their goddess’s diaper. Thank you for reading the Memorandum II series. Season 4, and the story proper, resume next!

The next many chapters are already written. I do get into some of that soon enough though. Obviously we've jumped a bit ahead in time and we're more focused on the present than the past. But I believe there's some more details about the decline of his potty training!