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18 Runcorn cis Girl. BBW (big beautiful woman) size 16-20 clothing size. Bra cup size is B. 5.8ft Looking for a daddy or an abdl. I am a abdl but also a mommy looking for a Cis or trans man or a woman (any age) will post photos in a few days. Looking for anyone around Runcorn. Or will share pictures and chat on kik if you want.

Roleplay Ava keeps wetting her bed. Her parents are getting tired of it. They decide it’s time for a change a diaper change.

Im new to this site, hoping to make new friends and playmates. I like video games and drawing. I hope to live the baby life style someday.

What is it going to be like aging with diapers, is the desire to b diapeed always going to be there? What is it going to be like aging with adbl lifestyle. How is it going to work for retirement or nursing home?

Miles didn't know where he could possibly be; he was gagged, blindfolded, and wet with his own pee, that much he could understand. He struggled against the straps keeping his midsection locked to the surface he now lay upon, but they only tightened further with each movement. When his wet clothing was unceremoniously stripped off his body, someone spoke, but he couldn't make anything out. The blindfold, the gag, and the restraints digging into his stomach were so uncomfortable they made him want to scream. Through the gag, he let out a series of muffled screams, straining against his bonds and trying desperately to speak. His muffled babbling made drool trickle down his chin, and he whined, shifting about as he heard someone walking, shoes clicking against tile. The man reached out for what he didn't yet understand was a mobile that played music above his head, where he lay flat on his back, held fast by straps that grounded him to the spot. He was cold, uncomfortable, and nothing made sense. Tears trickled down his cheeks as he writhed, reaching up in search of something familiar, for someone who would free him from this strange nightmare. "Gaaghaa!" An incoherent cry was all that escaped his lips as the mysterious person lifted his legs, powdering him and oiling his privates before setting his legs back down. That was when the new arrival spoke, this time loud enough for Miles to make out every syllable...

Hello! Hello! ! My name is Infantwish for now, but you can call me Baby if you want . Just kidding (though I don't mind, in fact, I like any cute nicknames you give me XD ), I shall go by Wish. I wish I knew how to code here, but it's beyond my abilities at the moment, so please bear with my wall of text for a moment, and you can have some cookies by the end, ok? As you may have guessed by the gif, I am an anime enthusiast. Other interests of mine include reading, writing, roleplaying and philosophy, albeit I won't be doing much of the roleplaying part on this site seeing as that I've had poor experiences with roleplaying outside my main roleplaying site in the past. I am an opinionated person, but I assure you I mean well! So feel free to ask me for any feedback you'd like to receive Did you swallow that part yet? Good baby! So, of course, being on this site means one thing: I'm part of the abdl community. I've known I was part of it for a few years now, though I just joined this site like... today. I'm unsure if the kind of baby I envision myself as is a 2 year old or a 3 year, so I take the kiddy way and say I'm 2 and a half *raises four fingers*. I may be a straight guy, but don't mean I can't enjoy my share of cuteness, so bring it! <3 I'd say this development of this part of me comes from some mixture of innate curiosity and a desire to just be rid of stress, so the kind of baby I'd fit into would be a cheerful and silly one, but one that knows it's bounds still. Or maybe that's my adult brain telling me to hold my horses. Where's a genie lamp when ya need one, right? Speaking of confinement though, that's one thing about me: I keep this very much under wraps. I'm not the kind that can just willingly come out and admit this kind of thing to my family or close friends, and so I am pretty confined in what I can, considering I'm still in college (legally an adult though, so don't worry, things check out). Maybe one day I'll be able to indulge more in this wonderful little world of ours, but for the time being I'll stick to writing a few stories and trying to craft the perfect OC that encapsules my own inner self. wish me luck So, I'm not really sure how to segway into anything else, so I guess I'll go with the old, any questions, please ask them below (may edit the thread later and add more stuff, but for now, do ask me some questions, I'd love to answer them and get to know you in the process <3 ). Would you rather questions are really welcome, since I love games like would you rather and truth or dare XD So, I guess I see you mommies, daddies and babies around! Hope you enjoyed and nice to meet you! <3

Jenny’s Story Part 1 Jenny was a sweet baby; pretty, placid and absolutely gorgeous. That wasn’t just the opinion of her doting parents; everyone who ever met her immediately thought she should be advertising some baby product or other. Whether she was dressed to impress in her trendy baby clothes or merely crawling around in her diaper, people would stop and comment on just how cute she was. Her joyous smile made everyone cheerful; everyone being cheery seemed to make her smile all the more. Jenny was a magnet for well-being and happiness. As she grew up her sweet demeanour made her a favourite play-mate, she was fun and always happy to join in. ‘Mommies and Daddies’ was her favourite game and often, because she was so easy going, nearly always ended up playing baby. She didn’t mind, all her life she’d been used to people making a fuss around her so when her friends wanted to do the same, she simply complied – it was just a game after all. Her little chums took great delight in dressing up their ‘baby daughter’. All the way through her junior years they would pretend that some piece of material, or pretty fabric would make an eye-catching new garment. Of course it was all make believe so often the dress or blouse was terrible and ill-fitting but it didn’t stop the girls using Jenny as their baby model. Jenny didn’t mind either as long as they had done one thing correctly; she liked to be put in a diaper first. As soon as they started playing she would shuffle out of her panties and her friends, who had become very adept at the game and privy to Jenny’s penchant for protection, would have brought disposables, sibling’s diapers and an array of plastic pants to get the baby fashion show underway. Jenny loved all the preparation; the wet-wipes, the lotion, the powder and then the actual fitting everything tightly into place. She would lay there and giggle, make baby noises or, if someone had thought ahead, suck happily on a bottle or pacifier. Over the years she was able to collect quite a few items, which she treasured and kept safely stored away in her childhood memory box. It contained a few of her toys, some of her baby things and loads of her childhood clothes. It was a place her mother knew about and thought how sweet it was that her beautiful daughter should want to keep all those things in her bedroom, maybe even passing them on to her children. Of course her parents had potty-trained their gorgeous daughter fairly early on and dressed her to reflect the affluence their position demanded but they had no knowledge of her preference for being treated as a baby. In fact, when her friends came to her home Jenny always found a different game to play so, ‘Mommies and Daddies’, ‘Fashion Baby’ or any variant where a baby was involved was never allowed. She did however keep a photograph of mommy and daddy and herself as a toddler at the side of her bed. Her parents looked so proud of their beautiful daughter in her cute little dress with just a hint of her diaper and plastic pants showing under the hemline. In her heart of hearts, this was how Jenny always saw herself and always wanted to stay. Throughout her school years she kept her desire secret from all but a few. Her supply of diapers and covers only brought out for her own amusement or at times of stress. Exams or even meeting her relations caused her some anxiety; as a result she would slip on her diaper, pull up her plastic panties and crawl into bed. Any and all problems would instantly disappear as she sucked her thumb and regressed to her favourite state – that of a two year-old. Although she was an intensely good-looking girl, and later young lady, she was never confident about her body. Others of her age who might have felt a similar disconnect, found a different, often more destructive way to deal with such a dilemma but Jenny chose a place of warmth and safety. Unfortunately, her parents liked to see her grow up and admired the sweet, sophisticated, understanding and benevolent young woman she became. She gave her time and effort over to looking after children; babies, toddlers and infants up to the age of five who had been abandoned or needed sanctuary for some reason, she had, thanks to a hefty donation, opened up a place of refuge where they could stay protected and well looked after. * The safe house for children was a great success and Jenny loved looking after each and every one of those sweet tots who came her way. The reason she was so successful was because she totally identified with their simple requirements to be kept clean, tidy, fed and amused. She made life simple for herself by having each child of either sex wear only a diaper and smock so that changes were made easier and there was no pressure for them to be seen in the latest trendy clothing, every child was equal, they were all treated the same. The only choices were different coloured diapers and a wonderful array of patterned plastic covers, which the children often made a game of deciding which style to wear. Jenny was no different. She wore her diapers and plastic pants under her dress more or less like her wards, except perhaps hers weren’t as obvious as theirs but were just as colourful. In some quarters she was seen as a Saint; giving up all her time and devoting so much attention to her small but busy nursery. Loving the babies, treating her toddlers with care and making sure they enjoyed their young lives to the full, it was something she felt she was born to do. The mess that kids make was not a problem, she revelled in the noise and adventure, the ideas and play, the innocence and openness - the atmosphere was full of fun and the smell of baby powder - was intoxicating. Jenny and her few helpers would be down on the floor crawling around with the kids, babies were cuddled and rocked, meal times were a hoot and even when there were tantrums and tears, it was all treated with kisses and hugs. Jenny’s team would be having as much fun as the children, playing with toys, nuzzling teddy bears or building imaginary palaces. There wasn’t a dress code for them but a couple, like their boss, wore a diaper under their work clothes. They may have been the most responsible ‘big kids’ in the room but they had as much enjoyment as the children. Apart from the difference in size, it was often difficult to tell grown up from toddler as their diapered and crinkly bottoms interacted and played together. The place was a success and more and more people wanted their own children to be a part of that experience. Alas for Jenny, as the numbers rose so did the expense, which wouldn’t have been so bad if her sponsor’s donation hadn’t dried up and finance proved difficult to come by. The offers of monetary support she received were nowhere near what she needed to keep going and so, with a great deal of regret and emotion, the nursery closed. The children had to go to other facilities, her helpers had to find new work and Jenny was left saddened and devastated by the collapse of her project. She never thought she’d find anything to take its place or give her the satisfaction it had done. She would sit in the colourful empty nursery totally depressed, wearing nothing but her protection and sucking her thumb; she had no idea what to do next. That was until Mr Henderson appeared in her life. *tbc*

Dan was a twin, at 12 years old and had just started secondary school with his twin brother. They both had a secret like for diapers and wanted to wear again, but didn't know how to tell their parents. It was the evening after school, and the twins were sitting watching TV, their parents sitting on the couch, and a diaper commercial came on the TV and both their faces lit up, the parents noticing the boys intently staring at the packs of diapers shown. Mike, the boys father looked at his wife "they seem to like the diaper commercials honey? good thing they don't wear diapers anymore" he laughs

As the tech problem appears to have lost this story completely I have reposted the first four chapters in one go. I shall hopefully be adding more as we go along but I suppose we need to make sure this is all working again. I've missed keeping up with all the fab stories and looking for old ones that are quite brilliant. ############################################ My 18th Birthday “Stoopid, stoopid, stoooooopid,” I was so angry with myself for letting it happen. I was rapping my knuckles on my forehead, shouting and scowling at myself because I just couldn’t believe how stupid I’d been. I know I’m not the brightest person in the world but I should have caught on sooner and I wouldn’t be in the mess, literally, that I was now… sitting in. With a thick diaper stuck to my body, I disliked immensely the way the poop engulfed everything and made me feel both dirty and queasy. It didn’t help that I was being chastised for being “A dirty little baby” and made to feel that was all that I would ever achieve. Banging my head wasn’t helping as it hurt. I sat shaking in my pile of poo unable to do much else and began, as I so often did these past few days, to cry. No doubt I looked the picture of abject misery but, this is what the people had wanted and they were getting just that from my current display. * My name is Benjamin or Ben, never Benjy as I’ve always thought that sounded so childish. My parents are both quite high achievers in their respective fields; mom being an art historian and dad being a Biotech company CEO. My older sister, Gwyneth had her first book published when she was sixteen, her second did quite well and her third, Smart Moves, had recently been optioned for a movie. I on the other hand am basically just that, basic. I have no conspicuous talent. I cannot play sports very well (although I’m always game for a … game) and my academic achievements had me constantly in the bottom half-dozen or so. It wasn’t that I didn’t try, Hell; I never stopped trying as I had a great deal to live up to but I just wasn’t clever enough. Simply put, compared to the rest of my family I am DUMB, not gifted in anyway but, on the plus side, I would try anything if I could. Whereas the rest of my family have terrific jobs I’m stacking produce at our local superstore. It’s boring and doesn’t pay well; a group of Mexicans, East Europeans and me all work for minimum pay just so we have a job to our name. It probably is about the only thing I can do without mucking up but I’d like something better. But hey, look around you – do you see loads of bosses desperate to give high paying jobs away to the likes of me? You get what you’re given and like it… or at least don’t complain about it. I’ve heard being described by my parents as ‘over-emotional’ (although it’s always said as a whisper and as if I wasn’t even in the room). Obviously it is a somewhat dismissive term but I’m not sure I know why being ‘over-emotional’ is a bad thing. OK, I admit that I can cry at seeing kittens and puppies playing (in fact any baby creatures immediately win my heart) but it’s out of joy. I know I’ve been known to cry at some awful news story where people have been hurt or killed and I also seem to identify with the images of the starving across the world and yes, I am emotional and get upset about any form of violence. For a guy my age I watch very little TV because I find it too violent and the same with computer games. My friends, those few I have, think I’m weird and a bit of a ‘softie’ (although I’m sure they say much worse). OK. So I’m still living at home with Mom and Dad, when they are here, otherwise I’m shipped off to my clever author sister while they are away on business, vacation or whatever as they don’t trust me not to wreck or set fire the house if I’m left to my own devices. Chance would be a fine thing. * It was approaching my 18th Birthday and I was looking forward to some kind of celebration as all my other (few) friends had huge parties when they had reached this magical age. Alas, both my parents would be away on business for a month and my sister wasn’t interested in giving me a party. I suggested we go out for a meal, or something, but she’d just had some bad news herself and was in no mood for any kind of celebration. Gwyneth had just found out that her boyfriend of three years had recently sired a baby with another girl, whilst my sister had just lost her own. Her house was no place for merriment and I was happy to spend as much time as I could stacking shelves and collecting trolleys just so I wasn’t around her too much. However, one late night I saw her looking through an album of old photographs. She was smiling at a page that had some rather cute pictures of me. The one she was particularly happy about was of me, I must have been barely one year-old, sleeping and cuddling my teddy bear (Teddy), whilst wearing only a particularly thick and well-pinned diaper. My blue pacifier seemed to cover half my face but I looked so happy and contented hugging Teddy tightly. According to Gwyneth, I was always a happy, chirpy little baby, always smiling and rocking in my diaper or crawling around on some expedition that ended with me back where I started. * Eventually, as we settled together on the sofa she asked, with an air of sadness, regret and nostalgia, what it was that I missed most about my childhood. I shrugged and looked at the album, the page still open at me and my teddy bear. “That.” I said emphatically. “I miss having something to cuddle.” When I was five years-old my parents, no doubt thinking it was for my own good (or something they had read somewhere) decided to get rid of all my childish notions by throwing out all my baby toys and mementoes. Teddy went with the rest of the stuff to the goodwill store and I never saw him again. I was devastated and I know for weeks after I’d wake up wet both from crying so much and peeing the bed. The last thing they wanted to do was put me back in diapers (it was against the very concept of my growing up) but mom would only put up with wet sheets for a couple of days before she insisted I wear disposables on a night. Oddly enough, these became my comfort for the next few months until I was gradually weaned off my loss of Teddy and eventually back into pjs. Gwyneth took another look at the photo I was still pointing at. “You do look particularly sweet,” she said nodding at the photo and then half to herself, “perhaps I should get you something special for your birthday after all?” Now I love my sister, in fact, I love everybody. I try not to be nasty to anyone and I go out of my way to be respectful to my seniors (Gwyneth is six years older than me) and try and do what I can to help if they are in difficulties or provide a cheerful word if they look like they might need one. I’m no Good Samaritan but I do help out at charity events and the church if they need any volunteers. At work, on their charity day, I was helping run the crèche, organise the free food and dress up as a clown to entertain the children. I got extra credit for all my efforts and was able to get an extra 5% off anything I bought in the store that week. Alas, I had no money and there was nothing I wanted. * As my 18th birthday approached I noticed that Gwyneth’s mood improved, as if in some way my reaching this age had cheered her up. I was glad to see her a lot happier and we chatted long into the night about silly stuff and our family. She was telling me that at the moment she had a sort of ‘writer’s block’ (which after all she’d been through I could understand) and that she was glad she had her ‘little brother’ to keep her company through this trying time. I felt sorry for her having to go through all that but was pleased that I was there and in some way help. Perhaps my parents hadn’t been quite as selfish as I’d thought in not letting me stay at home on my own. The guys at work had bought me celebratory cake for my birthday, which we wolfed down in our lunch break. I received a card signed by them all and also received a load of pats on the back and ‘well dones’ throughout the day. You’re probably wondering why I wasn’t out with my friends or girlfriend, well, I don’t have that many friends and most girls are only interested in a guy with a car and I didn’t fall into that particular category. When I got home the mailman had been but I got not so much as a card from mom and dad. I suppose they were too busy but you’d think… wouldn’t you? Thankfully, Gwyneth had remembered and not only got me a card but a present. * It was the biggest teddy bear I’d ever seen. It was slightly bigger than me and had this huge blue bow around its neck just like Teddy had. At first I thought ‘what a stupid gift’ but then I remembered our conversation from a few days previously and, ever thoughtful, she had actually bought me something she thought I’d love. As I stroked his soft fleecy bulk (yes I named him Teddy as I’m that imaginative), his glassy eyes and stitched on smile won me over and I couldn’t stop cuddling him… he was so soft and… wonderful. Gwyneth was delighted that I was happy and we sat and had a meal that she had specially prepared. She even offered me a glass of a rather nice chilled white wine, which for once didn’t taste of warm sour apples like I’d had in the past, although I really wasn’t much of a drinker. After two rather large glasses I was quite giggly and Gwyneth was very entertaining. She took a few photographs on her phone of me and Teddy cuddling and kissing (yes I know but I’d had a couple of drinks) and she thought how delightful we both looked. Then she said she had an idea and wondered if I’d be up for a dare. I wasn’t sure where this was going but, with my inhibitions loosened by the wine, nodded and she suggested we recreate that image of me of when I was one year old. * I laughed out loud. She laughed along with me and then said that perhaps, we should ask Teddy? “OK Teddy, you huge cuddlesome beast,” she giggled like she was a seven year-old, “should Benjy…” Now I giggled like a toddler as I looked into Teddy’s eyes half expecting him to actually reply. His huge furry face and soft welcoming body oozed love and friendliness… this was a Teddy who would always be there for you… for me… and would never steer me wrong. “… should Benjy accept the dare?” She nodded then looked at me who was watching her and then looked back at Teddy. Suddenly she leapt up and gave a little shout “There,” she said emphatically, “he just nodded.” I looked back at Teddy and there was no doubt that his smile appeared to have got broader (though this might be down to the influence of alcohol on my brain) and he was nodding (again this might have been down to my sister pushing him with an unseen hand), either way, it was conclusive. Teddy wanted me to re-enact my photo. * I started cuddling him but Gwyneth said that I had to change first. I wasn’t too sure what she meant but she told me to follow her to her room. “OK, let’s do this correctly,” she slurred slightly, “We need you dressed properly.” I wasn’t sure what was about to happen but I was enjoying the silliness of the situation so went along with it. “Take off your clothes,” she waved her hand in the direction of them, “and lay down on my bed.” I was a little bit shocked at the suggestion but it was my sister and she wouldn’t be seeing anything she hadn’t seen thousands of times before, which she reminded me of as I slowly pulled off my shirt and dropped my jeans. “Yesshh, and your boxers,” she went off in search of something in the bathroom. Reluctantly, I slid them to the floor and then playfully kicked them off. They landed on a lampshade, which immediately made me start to giggle even more. “Now I’m an accurate kicker,” I half grumbled to myself. “Why wasn’t I that good when I played soccer and there were other people around?” * I lay out naked on the soft, feather-filled, cream and blue duvet that covered her bed and awaited her return; my bare dick not displaying any of its usual feistiness like it often did when it came to being free of clothing. I stroked it a couple of times but thankfully it wasn’t playing and at that point Gwyneth arrived back in the room carrying a thick towel and I guilty let go of my prized ‘toy’. “I’ll get you something else to play with later,” she mocked as she pretended to slap away my hand. I realised what she was going to do and thought “Why not go all the way?” so let her fold it into shape and slip it under my bum… although before pinning it into place she sprinkled some baby powder all over me. “Now you even smell the part,” she was smiling and that had me responding in the same way as I quite like the smell of talcum powder. Nakedness between us has never been a problem. Nudity was never shameful in our family and it was just ‘normal’ that we wondered from bedroom to bathroom naked as it was wearing something. As we grew up we didn’t hide ourselves from each other so it was really no big deal for her to see my genitals, though perhaps not so close up. Even though she hadn’t lived at home for a couple of years now I wasn’t bothered as she rubbed the powder in and then tightly pulled the towel up between my legs and pinned it into place. She pulled me to my feet and let me look at myself in the mirror. I was amazed at how thick the towel fashioned as a diaper appeared but, and I have to hand this to my sister, it looked exactly like the one I was wearing as a baby all those years ago. She was smiling. “Let’s go show it off to Teddy… see what he thinks off his little friend… his little Benjy.” **** Part 2 Though it’s a name I never really liked, Benjy just seemed appropriate at that moment. She took my hand and guided me back to Teddy who once again seemed more than happy to see me, even dressed as I was. Gwyneth was keen that we should cuddle on the floor (not me and her, me and Teddy) so she could get another photograph. He was so cosy and soft it was like falling into warm butter and, as I squeezed him tightly, his furry arms appeared to embrace me at the same time. There is something very satisfying about a soft, yielding bear that welcomes you into its arms and responds with soft fleecy tickles to your naked body. Everywhere his fur touched produced a wonderful sensation; little ripples of giggly pleasure and velvety reassurance added together with delicate caresses made me feel very safe... and very loved. There was one thing missing and I was surprised when Gwyneth suddenly produced the finishing touch. She slipped a huge blue pacifier between my lips, which I had no idea how she got or where it came from. At that moment I didn’t question anything as Gwyneth started organising and taking her snaps. It was no problem snuggling with Teddy and to tell you the truth I was thoroughly enjoying myself. This was the most intimate contact I’d had with anyone (or anything) since, well, since I was five and had my final cuddle with the original Teddy… and I appreciated this renewed relationship. * The room was warm and I was comfortable wearing only a made-up diaper. It fitted tightly so wasn’t falling down every few seconds and once Gwyneth had finished taking her photos, we settled down to finish our meal, well dessert actually. It was nothing special except a rather colourful ice-cream medley. We decided to have it sitting on the sofa whilst watching a late night movie. Teddy was just too big to sit with us so he sat at my bare feet, tickling them every time I brushed against him, which I did regularly, so I was smiling when my sister brought in the dessert in a bowl. She then did something we’d never done before; she fed me spoonsful of the stuff in between taking the odd mouthful for herself. It was a lovely tender and unexpected moment. At one point we were in fits of laughter because she’d offered some to Teddy only for him to turn it down. I think she sneakily nudged his head so it looked like he was refusing the creamy delight. “Well I suppose someone’s got to think of their figure,” she shrugged and we both sniggered like tots at that. The movie was boring and the wine had made me very tired so I excused myself and brought my 18th birthday celebrations to a close. Gwyneth gave me a ‘goodnight’ peck and I thanked her for a great fun night (I had actually enjoyed what we’d done together it was so unlike anything we’d ever done before) as she patted my diapered bum and jokingly said I wasn’t to wet, but if I was going to, then at least I was dressed accordingly. I laughed as I began to trundle to my room but she called me back and asked if I wasn’t forgetting somebody? Of course, Teddy. I picked him up, for such a huge animal he was incredibly light to carry, and we toddled off to bed. It felt strange having the thickness of the diaper between my legs but with Teddy by my side I wasn’t worried, I dreamily thought he’d protect me from whatever the darkness brought. He was my friend and oddly enough the diaper seemed to make everything feel as it should be. Maybe it was the memory of how comforting diapers had been after I lost Teddy the first time that made me not worry as to the way I was dressed. We climbed on top of the sheets together and it was so nice sinking into bed with someone else, even if that someone was Teddy. He was warm and welcoming and it wasn’t long before, clutched in his paws (and him mine) we were dead to the world. * I woke up from a particularly heavy night’s sleep. I was slightly woozy but I was still clutching hold of Teddy, I smiled and thanked him for keeping me safe. I lay there for a few minutes enjoying the sensation of Teddy against my skin when I became aware of the thickness between my legs. I pulled back the thin piece of sheet partially covering us both and saw the towel hanging loosely around my hips. I was quite impressed that I’d been able to sleep with such an unusual thing wrapped around me but apparently, it had made no difference to how I slept. Then I suddenly wondered if I’d wet myself. I didn’t feel wet but… I slipped my hand across the front and thankfully that all felt dry, then, furtively, I slipped it down the front and checked around my dick. “Dry”, I sighed with relief. I got up, went to the bathroom and had a nice long shower. I could hear Gwyneth pottering around downstairs and was really pleased with the way we’d celebrated my birthday. As the shower grew warmer I was thinking it was a birthday I’d never forget and beamed enthusiastically at the thought of what we’d done. It had been madly childish but I now had a new Teddy and although I was eighteen, I wasn’t going to let my parents or anyone else send him to the goodwill store. * Dressed in shorts and t-shirt I wandered downstairs. I had four days off until I was scheduled to go back into work so I was being comfortable and relaxed. The store uniform was a tight-fitting green polyester ensemble of trousers and a shirt; with my name and ‘CAN I HELP’ written across the left breast, it wasn’t the most comfortable thing to wear but no one could pretend I wasn’t staff. Anyway, it was something I was always happy to ditch the moment I got home and slip into my favourite casual clothing, which is what I now wore as I wondered into the kitchen. Gwyneth was making coffee, smiling and humming to herself. We exchanged the usual pleasantries but I detected a grin on her face, which meant she was up to something. “What are you smiling about,” I enquired. “Oh, nothing much except I did something last night I’m… er… surprised at the results.” She smiled but looked down as if she had a guilty secret. “Yes, it was pretty strange wasn’t it… oh… and that reminds me… I’ve put the diaper in the bin. It’s not wet. Well it is but I… er… just dried myself on it.” I said quickly defending myself against any thoughts to the contrary she might have. Her face brightened up. “No seriously. I didn’t pee my diaper, honest. I just used what was nearby when I climbed out of the shower.” I stammered. She could see I was getting slightly agitated over nothing but that smile was still there. “I believe you,” she tried to calm me and put her hand over mine. “Anyway, I’m talking about something else.” And she flipped open the laptop that lay in front of her. “See,” she pointed to a Facebook page that had an image of me as a one year-old and me as an eighteen year-old, side by side hugging teddies, with pacis in our mouth and wearing diapers. She’d put the damn image from last night online. I was mortified. Not only that but as a joke she had swapped the caption underneath so it read “Benjy at 18” under the image of me at one year-old and “Benjy at 1” under the other. “Take it down.” She was still smiling. “Please, Gwyneth, take it down before anyone sees it… I… I…” “Too late for that I’m afraid.” The smile never left her face as she pointed to the fact that there were 207 Likes and 44 Comments… all of which Gwyneth assured me were positive. I put my head in my hands and wondered what I should do. I’ve never been any good at getting angry and I don’t think I’ve ever lost my temper with Gwyneth so I was stumped for how I should really respond. All I could think about was the guys at work seeing it and them constantly referring to it. It was a good thing I had so few friends, I wasn’t on Facebook because of that, but she told me she’d set one up just for me. Also, she informed me that I was now ‘trending’, whatever that was, and the next time I looked the Facebook page had gone up to 297 Likes and 61 comments. * I sat quietly sipping my coffee but unable to eat anything at that moment. I had filled-up and I was desperately trying to hold back my emotions. I wondered what had possessed her to do such a thing but as she was sat typing away I thought perhaps it had helped her get past her writers block. She pressed the ‘enter’ key and sat back relieved as if she’d just completed an enormous task. “Have you unblocked yourself,” I asked rather ineptly (and weepily). She looked at me pondering what I meant, “Can you now write… have you got over not having a story or… whatever…?” She smiled and said that she now had an idea but that it would need my help to see where it led. She was trying to cheer me up and dig me out of my ‘emotional’ state with a bit of enthusiasm. She speculated that it might be a terrific change of style for her but needed my involvement and hoped I’d be up for it. I was still nursing my bruised and emotional ego; I didn’t really want 297… no it was now 314… people to think of me as a baby but I suppose it did no real harm. After all, I had so few friends to worry over and in fact, my parents and my sister were the only people I really had anything to do with. I liked the guys at work but… well… it was work; it wasn’t like we socialised much. Even school mates were few and far between, I only saw them when they were back from college or university or where ever. “I’ve just uploaded a few more images of you from last night to the page…” she spun the screen for me to see, “and already people are clicking the ‘Like’ button.” * Although I was frustrated with her attitude my sister had furnished me with something else for my birthday, something I would never even have thought about, my own Facebook page. As I watched the screen I was amazed to see the number of Likes and Comments that kept appearing. She smiled at my stunned expression and suggested that I should read some of them. I had no idea how to go about it but she pointed out how many Likes each image was receiving and clicked on a box that let me see the comments. Most were very positive: “Oooo look at the lickle babe”, “What a sweet innocent picture”, “Lovely idea”, “What a nice boy” and similar things. However, there were one or two more intense messages. Gwyneth tapped the screen. “I think maybe later we should take a look at these suggestions and see where they lead.” I shook my head and told her I didn’t think so but she begged me to reconsider as she thought it would make an interesting part to a new novel she was just beginning to envisage. This, she promised, would get her back on track as she could already feel her creative juices flowing. I still doubted the wisdom of getting involved but she told me that I would be credited at the front of the book for my ‘inspiration’. OK, she got me. How could I refuse my sister and such an opportunity to be recognised as someone who had given a successful author ‘inspiration’? * As I sat at her laptop reading the various messages she told me, as she slipped on her coat, collected her car keys and headed for the door, not to reply to any comment just yet. I just shrugged but I have to admit that my curiosity was aroused by just how many people, now standing at over 400 Likes and 83 Comments, felt the need to acknowledge my photographs. I know I was looking like a happy teenager playing with a huge teddy bear and wearing just a diaper but I couldn’t get over why that should create such attention. “Where you going?” I eventually managed to break away from the screen. “Just to get a few things from the store, I shouldn’t be long.” She smiled. “There’s plenty of juice in the fridge if you’d rather have that than coffee… and there are some English muffin’s if you want something to eat.” “OK, see you soon.” I did prefer juice and poured myself a lovely long cool glass of OJ before putting the muffins in the toaster. I grabbed the butter and strawberry jelly and sat at the laptop waiting for the toaster to do its job, the screen had gone blank and wasn’t sure whether I should touch it to try and get my pages back. I was curious to see how things had developed since I’d last looked. I waited until I’d finished my breakfast before I examined the screen again and hoped that by touching one of the keys I didn’t erase all of Gwyneth’s work. * A list of recently visited sites appeared and I was distracted to see that the latest one was YouTube. This was perhaps one of my favourite sites because of all the cute animal clips that seemed to occupy most of its content. I decided I’d like to see some playful kittens to cheer myself up and pressed on the key. It went straight to a clip of a big baby rolling around the floor with a huge teddy. Oh no, it was me. The clip started on my diaper pins and slowly pulled out to reveal, well, everything. To begin with my face was hidden by the big paci and it could have been anybody but as I played with Teddy and moved around the floor hugging and kissing him I became more and more identifiable. My mouth went dry, it was if I’d never even drunk that OJ, and I stared at the screen mesmerised by my actions. There was absolutely no doubt I was having fun, diaper or not, and from the occasional looks to the camera you could tell I was in my element. As I watched my body went clammy and I could feel those emotions of mine rising to the surface. As I happily played my diapered bottom appeared to be the main focus of attention – just what the hell was Gwyneth thinking? There were three different clips; two of me playing with Teddy and one of me sleeping with Teddy, which I didn’t even know she’d recorded. In fact, I didn’t know she’d recorded anything I thought she was just taking photos with her phone. There I was, happily snuggling Teddy with my arms wrapped around him, paci hanging slightly out of my mouth fast asleep and my white padded bottom looking quite prominent against the dark blue of my sheets. I wondered why so many people had commented and noticed that the clips had, even after just such a short space of time, received more than 3200 hits. There was a link to the Facebook page but now I was dreading reading the comments as I was sure they would be calling me a perv… or worse. I filled up with tears and cried because I didn’t know what I could do, I thought such notoriety would make me a laughing stock in town, perhaps lose my job and I’d never be able to look people in the eye again. * My bottom lip was still trembling when Gwyneth arrived back home. I hadn’t moved from staring at the screen because I was simply mesmerised by the images. She could see I was disturbed and dropped the bundle of packages she was carrying and came over to comfort me. The sobbing became a full blown wail as I buried my head in her bosom and kept on asking her “Why?” I assumed she hadn’t done it to hurt me but I couldn’t figure out why she would do such a thing. After a few minutes I calmed down and I looked at my sister through tear-stained eyes. She hugged me again and asked why I was crying. I was speechless that she could ask such a question so just pointed to the screen. “Yes, it’s you…” she asked with concern, “but why are you crying?” “What… what… what will…” I sniffed, “what will people think?” She just shook her head slightly. “They’ll think that there’s something wrong with me… they’ll think I’m…” I couldn’t finish my thoughts as I was overcome once again with a huge sob that gripped my throat and left me shaking my head in disbelief. “Tell me,” Gwyneth was now all very serious, “aren’t those really tears of happiness?” I looked at her in disbelief. “You’re eighteen. Eighteen,” she emphasised, “and” she pointed at the screen, “that’s the first time I’ve seen you truly happy in many-a-year.” There was no doubt about it those images were of me genuinely happy. When I was playing with Teddy I simply didn’t have another thought in my head apart from having a fun time with him. But I wondered, what might others think of an eighteen year-old running around in a towel… that’s a diaper? Gwyneth hugged me once more. “You, my sweet little Benjy, needed something. I wasn’t sure what to begin with but, and I’m sorry to say this to my little brother but, you needed a kick up the arse for you to start living.” I was stunned at what she was saying. “You are eighteen and just coasting through life. You have a miserable job…” I interrupted her and said that at least I had a job. “Yes you do, and I’m sure it’s fine in many ways but… I’ve never seen you actually happy for so long now. You seem to have few, if any, friends and mom and dad are no real help to encourage you…” The enormity of what she was saying suddenly gripped me and I felt that huge sob I’d been holding back in the pit of my stomach come out with force. I hung onto Gwyneth as I wailed and wailed, not this time because I was worried about what others might think but because she was correct. ***** Part 3 Later, when I’d calmed down, Gwyneth told me her thinking. She said that from the moment I saw the photo of me with Teddy as a baby there was an immediate change of expression on my face; wistful, thoughtful, with a touch of longing. She wasn’t sure but thought Teddy made me happy. I began to think back - certainly that time in my life, when I wasn’t regarded as anything but a toddler, when I didn’t have to prove myself and just enjoy my childhood… I was like everyone else my age… a little kid revelling in what was around him... I was happy. She went into a great deal of detail about how I tried so hard to live up to my parent’s expectations; they were of the opinion that kids should grow up quick and had little time for games and play – ‘read and learn’ was their philosophy. Unfortunately, those were the very things Gwyneth was most happy doing but I just couldn’t get to grips with. Reading and numbers just weren’t for me and I wrestled with school work, which I found very difficult no matter how I tried. My sister went on about how, even so young, I let failure weigh heavy on my shoulder, although it wasn’t always obvious because I tried to be positive and strived to be upbeat. Once our parents realised I wasn’t going to be a boy genius (they were most disappointed in my report cards) they more or less lost interest. They gave themselves over to their work and concentrated on their careers rather than what I did. Of course Gwyneth was way ahead in her development and they saw no problems there. Often I tried to read but once I’d open a book, if I got past the first two pages, well, my concentration level jumped to wanting to watch TV or go and play outside. Sometimes I’d curl up with Gwyneth and she’d read to me whatever it was she was interested in. I may not have understood everything but I think, without her, I’d know very little. When I thought about it, she did the job my parents should have done. It wasn’t that they ignored me, more that they tolerated me. I was their son after all… I zoned back in to what Gwyneth was saying. “You may not have been the cleverest in school but everyone liked you.” She looked at me very concerned and stroked my arm. She went on to tell me that even now I accept limitations but said I shouldn’t. She thought it sad that I didn’t have a girlfriend… or a boyfriend, she nudged me and smiled, but thought I needed to do something to break away from my ‘boring’ rut of a life… and do something to regain my happiness. “The recreation of the photograph last night suddenly brought things into focus for me,” she was on a roll now. “You seemed to become a different person, a happy person, a person who, left to their own devices… and given the right stimulus…” “You mean you thought I enjoyed being a baby?” I asked incredulously. She pointed to the screen. “Yes, just look at yourself. Even when you’re asleep you look happy.” A shiver ran through my body because I knew she was making some kind of sense and I had really loved last night. “But the diaper… what will people think?” “Well,” she pondered. “You may not like it but… I think that helped release something in you - something that has been holding you back. Last night we giggled like kids and there was no one around but us two to say anything or have an opinion about what we did. No parents, no workmates, no one to hold you back, so why should you let others inhibit you? Stop thinking about what others may think… they don’t matter.” Then she ran her hand through my hair and kissed my forehead, “And yes… even for an eighteen year-old, running around in a diaper… you looked pretty damn cute.” “But why put it all online, couldn’t you just have said something?” I complained. “It was just a spur of the moment decision. I wanted to let you see that the majority of people quite like to see someone enjoying themselves. People like all kinds of things to hide what they do and what they are, but you brother, were open and happy when you weren’t worrying about anyone else and I think others respond to that.” She pointed to the screen, “I think you respond to that.” * There were more opinions from my sister and, as she’s a lot brighter than me, eventually convinced me that this was a turning point in my life. She added that the comments online were almost all positive, occasionally cheeky but always interested, supportive and in some ways quite affectionate. Of course there’s going to be one or two people who hate the idea of others finding a way of having fun “Just so they can shit on you” (yep she actually said shit) but, and this is where her recent shopping trip had come in, she wanted to try and let me take that idea of happiness a little further. She’d bought a whole load of adult disposables and wanted me to spend the next few days wearing nothing but them. She persuaded me that I needed to get back to when I was at my happiest. To relive those times hoping to give me a window into what I needed to do to make me content in the future. I baulked at her suggestion but my sister has a way of getting me to go along with her plans so, guess what? She took me upstairs, stripped me out of my shorts and t-shirt and slipped me into a tight-fitting disposable. She took great pains to make the event something special; opening the package, unfurling the diaper, enjoying the crinkling sound as she spread it under my bottom. The wet-wipes and powder she used to clean me up (not that I was dirty or anything it was all part of a process), the silliness as I started to get a stiffy from her ministrations, which she quickly took care of by pulling the disposable tightly up between my legs and taping me snugly in. From her bag she produced a pair of plastic pants and had me climb into them after which led me to Teddy, who, during the proceedings she had found time to dress the same. How she knew I’d go along with her suggestion I do not know but, oddly enough, I was delighted to see Teddy dressed like me and it did make things easier. We spent the rest of the day playing games; me, my sister and Teddy. * Now you may think - well that was easy - getting me into diapers but I’ve spared you the long discussion we had to go through to get to that stage. She showed me loads of comments that had been posted by those who’d watched the clip or seen the images. As I’ve said, most seemed straight forward and nice but others were actually welcoming me to my ‘little’ side. I had no idea what they were referring to but Gwyneth seemed to understand and, more importantly, felt it was something I should get to know. Ever the author, she’d spent some time researching what it all meant and thought it applied to me, even if I wasn’t aware of it. She then showed me clip after clip of other grown-ups wearing diapers and having fun. People from all over the world and all ages, I was astonished there were others at all. A couple of cute boys in Japan appeared to have a site about their daily diapered exploits, one nice young man sang a song at his piano dressed in a thick diaper. There were so many – an old guy eating whilst in a high-chair, others drinking from baby-bottles and sippy cups or charging around whilst wearing nothing but diapers and a cape pretending to be a super hero. Meanwhile, as some played with toys several exhibited what they had just crayoned or painted. It was quite overwhelming and gave the impression that diapered and padded plastic covered bottoms were everywhere. It was a whole new world to me and one I had no idea existed but, as Gwyneth pointed out, they were all enjoying themselves and not worrying what anyone else thought. She convinced me to give it a go and promised that if I wasn’t getting any pleasure from the new ‘situation’ then we’d forget all about it. It was late evening when I was eventually diapered and, thanks to Gwyneth, I didn’t feel guilty whilst running around dressed as I was and cheerfully including Teddy in all my escapades. Suddenly my mind was open to fun - childish fun - fun that I hadn’t experienced, well, since I was a toddler. The truth was I was in my element. Weirdly, the wearing of a diaper and plastic pants (Gwyneth said it was my freedom uniform!) had no restricting effect on the way I behaved. In fact, she was correct, it felt wonderful to wear; snug, comfortable and the constant rustling as I moved around acted like some kind of soothing sound I found reassuring. Though it may have appeared very juvenile to anyone looking on I’d never felt happier, freer, or more content. The diapers, the plastic pants, the pacifier, indeed the entire ensemble gave me a feeling of complete reassurance. Teddy provided someone I could direct it all to, while Gwyneth was my guide and safeguard. * In the morning I woke up with Teddy and off course I’d spent the night wearing just my padded protection (another term Gwyneth used although I wasn’t sure from what it was I was being protected). My sister was standing over me and gently shaking my shoulder to rouse me from my deep and untroubled sleep and then, without asking, she felt down the front of my diaper. “What are you doing?” I queried as I quickly clasped her hand over my bulky protection stopping her searching fingers from reaching any further. “Just checking.” “Just checking what?” “Just seeing if you wet yourself in the night…” “What?” I asked incredulously. “Why would I wet myself?” “You might have… I was just checking so that you don’t have to be embarrassed if you had and…” “Stop, stop.” I waved my finger at her. “I’m old enough to get up and go to the bathroom, why on earth would I wet myself?” She smiled. “You don’t have to get all defensive. All I’m saying is… if you had wet yourself it’s OK I will…” “That’s not OK at all,” I argued. “I’m not going to pee… or poop in a diaper… YUK!” “Fair enough. All I’m saying is, should you do so then you don’t have to feel embarrassed about it. I’ll change and clean you up.” I was getting slightly annoyed. Even though I enjoyed being in my diaper I didn’t actually think about using it as a toilet. However, soon after she left the room for me to get up she returned with a new disposable and some other bits and bobs and told me I needed a change anyway. As I’d sort of agreed to wearing nothing but a diaper for the next couple of days she just shrugged off my half-hearted protests and unfurled the crinkly package. * As I lay there I was wondering - Why is she behaving in this way? We’d agreed that it was something I might like to try but wetting and stuff… in a diaper… I wasn’t keen on that at all, and then it hit me. She’d recently lost her own chance of a baby, perhaps the miscarriage was affecting her and I was now some kind of surrogate, someone she was projecting her unresolved feelings on? In that moment of comprehension my emotions welled up inside me again and I hugged my sister. After all she’d been through, still acting strong and in charge yet perhaps she needed her own way of coping with things. I was choked at the thought that if I could help, then I was there for her no matter what it took. Without making a fuss I let her strip off my night time stuff, clean me up (just as she said she would) but this time, when she had me lay out on the newly unfurled diaper, she added some extra pads before taping me tightly into place. This was a whole new experience and with the plastic pants now firmly holding it securely she led me down to breakfast. At this point I have to admit to being more than a little confused. I wasn’t sure whether I was doing this for her or for me but the bulky, rustling diaper arrangement meant I now had a wild noisy waddle as I negotiated the stairs but even that was funny and we joked about it. She’d cut up my pancakes and, although she’d put juice in a sippy cup, I stopped short at her suggestion of feeding me. However, I had noticed that my meal now came in a plastic bowl with cartoon animals smiling sweetly up at me and a spoon that echoed the same cheerful motif. She appeared to have gone to a lot of trouble to make me feel happy about being ‘little’ and I reluctantly began to appreciate all her efforts. * I was happy to wander around the house dressed as I was but when she suggested we go out for the day and enjoy the sunshine in the park or a walk up in the hills I was a little less sure. She told me to just pull a pair of shorts over my diaper and slip on a shirt and I’d be fine. I wasn’t sure about this at all as I was under no illusion that people would be able to tell what I was really wearing under my shorts. Her opinion was simple “Screw them” no one else mattered but me and, she whispered conspiratorially in my ear. “Don’t you think it would be quite exciting, Little Benjy doing what he wants for a change?” Once again, somehow, what she wanted I agreed to and before too long I’d tried on several pairs of shorts and jeans to try and hide the bulkiness, none of which fitted properly. I was beginning to see the downside to wearing padding and such thick padding at that. I was about to tell Gwyneth that I couldn’t find anything but in the end one pair of baggy shorts (I didn’t much like because they were too slack) managed to do the job and surprise, surprise, they were no longer loose. It was a wonderful hot day and I was more than pleased to be out and about not really paying much attention to what I was wearing. Although I could feel the bulk of it all I thought that the shorts hid what was underneath pretty well. We walked up into the hills and hardly saw anyone, those that did pass by just nodded or said “Hello” and carried on their way. We found a lovely shady spot where Gwyneth decided we’d have our picnic. She’d brought sodas, sandwiches and fruit but I wondered what I’d brought in the little backpack she’d given me to carry. She told me all would be revealed eventually but for the time being we should eat and enjoy the wonderful, peaceful surroundings. * The mass between my legs had made me waddle as we walked. It felt peculiar but I was getting a feeling of pleasure knowing what I was wearing, the problem was the padding and plastic made me sweat and I could feel moisture pooling at my crotch. Once we’d sat down Gwyneth saw me trying to rearrange the diaper and suggested, as it was so hot, I take off my shorts and shirt to let some sun and air get to my diaper… as I looked like “…a sweating pig”. It was true I was soaked and it would be a bit of a relief so I furtively looked around and saw no one anywhere near so I did as she suggested. It felt great being outside in the fresh air in just a diaper. Gwyneth thought I looked particularly cute and encouraged me run around and to chase butterflies as she got the picnic ready. I was aware that she was also taking photos with her phone and to be honest I was acting the big kid just for the camera. However, I didn’t know just how much I was enjoying myself until a little while later I noticed a couple talking with Gwyneth. I froze as I heard these two old people, both with walking sticks, making small talk about the weather and the beautiful countryside. They were looking across at me, waving and I heard them say that they liked to see a boy enjoying himself. So engrossed in my game of ‘chase the bugs’ I hadn’t seen the couple arrive but their sudden appearance startled me and made me do something I never thought I’d do - I felt a nervous spurt of pee escape. It was if my bladder was shocked by this unexpected visitation and reacted accordingly. I stood there stunned as they continued to chat and wave a greeting. Unfortunately, I was too embarrassed to respond even if no one else appeared to be. It was too late to hide so I just stood there, like a statue, about twenty feet away completely immobile and wishing I was somewhere else. Gwyneth called me over as the food was ready and inferred I should come and say ‘Hello’ but I was just too self-conscious. Eventually, the couple stopped talking to Gwyneth and carried on their way. As they passed by they smiled and said what a lovely day it was before disappearing down the hill. However, as they spoke, and without warning, my little spurt turned into a flow and no matter what my brain was saying to try and stop it, pee filled the diaper to complete my humiliation. The couple had obviously seen what I was wearing but there was no mention of diapers or shiny plastic pants, even though they were now an even bulkier part of my outfit having absorbed a great deal of liquid. * I waddled over to Gwyneth who looked at me strangely before I think she realized what I’d done. With a knowing but sympathetic expression she asked. “Do you need a change?” I wasn’t sure whether to admit it but there seemed little point in denying what had happened so I nodded. She lifted her hand examining the front of my diaper and said it wasn’t so bad and that it could wait for a while and we should eat first. Despite my embarrassment I was starving so plonked myself down on the blanket and set about the ham, cheese and tomato sandwiches (covered in mayo) with relish. ***** Part 4 Wearing a wet diaper wasn’t nearly as bad as I’d thought it would be and after a while, and despite the bulk, I’d forgotten that I’d wet them. After we’d eaten we had a game of ‘ISpy’ and a rather interesting competition of cloud watching; it really is incredible the shapes you can interpret into actual things. We were coming up with some silly and clearly outrageous suggestions and this had us giggling quite a lot. However, after a couple of hours, and several cans of soda, I was desperate for another pee. Gwyneth looked at me when I said I needed to go because I was searching for a private spot to do my duty. She just reminded me that I’d already used my diaper once so it would be silly not to do so again. I thought I couldn’t do it deliberately but Gwyneth pounced, rolled on top of me and began to tickle. Whether I wanted to or not that got the old pee flowing, and it is to the credit of the diaper’s absorption powers that nothing trickled out. * We lay in the sun enjoying the final few rays before we returned home. I wondered if I’d have to squish all the way but my ever prepared sister opened the little backpack I’d carried, emptied it out and there were spare disposables, plastic pants, creams, lotions and of course a supply of wipes and baby powder. I had no idea that was what I was carrying but, as she pulled at the tapes off my swollen diaper I was rather pleased she’d planned ahead. It was a relief when she removed the soggy thing. It had expanded to quite a size and again I was amazed that I’d been wearing that grossly expanded object between my legs and, perhaps more to the point, it hadn’t concerned me in the least. As she wiped me clean but before she applied the creams and powder a light breeze blew against my naked genitals and sent tiny ripples of bliss through my body. My penis reacted and grew under her deft handiwork but she just smiled, pulled the diaper between my well-powdered groin and quickly taped it into place; flattening its stiffness against my body and blocking any further thoughts I might have had regarding that particular bit of my anatomy. This time the plastic pants I stepped into were blue and I was dressed like that for a few minutes as we packed everything else away. Gwyneth took more photographs and kept on reminding me how wonderful and sweet she thought I looked. In fact, at every opportunity she kept complementing the way I looked and patting my padded bottom, which made me chuckle, I liked the attention. The day had been nothing like any other I could remember. I couldn’t remember ever doing this with mom or dad, days out were just something other kids got to experience with their parents. This was great and even in diapers, it had been a fantastic day… in fact I was appreciating even more the incredible efforts my sister had gone to for me to feel special on my eighteenth. * Back home we sat and watched TV for a while (her in her summer dress and me wearing nothing but a diaper and plastic pants), before she recommended I had a bath before bed - to make sure, she jokingly said, that there was no residue pee left secreted in any ‘crevices’. Normally, I have a shower in the morning and that’s it but her reasonable suggestion made me think it probably wasn’t a bad idea so off I went. I shucked off my diaper, which wasn’t wet, and happily climbed into the suds. The water was very hot but I could just about stand it; my sister’s lavender bubble bath I’d ladled in helped me to fully relax as I let myself soak for quite some time. It had been one hell of a day and as I washed my hair and gently scrubbed those all-important places I began to feel ‘playful’ again. Wearing a diaper had a major drawback for a horny eighteen year-old, it restricted (if not completely prevented) any cock and ball play. A toddler may not think that way but, now I was out of those confining things, I intended on having a different kind of fun. However, just as I was enjoying the gentle caress of my own soapy hand, Gwyneth walked in with a towel. I was slightly embarrassed at being caught in mid-stroke but she just smiled and told me that I’d wrinkle up if I didn’t get out of the bath. I was hoping she’d go so I could continue with my efforts but she just stood there, towel outstretched, waiting for me to rise from the foam. Reluctantly I climbed out and Gwyneth proceeded to give me the most thorough drying I think I’ve ever received; every bit of my body was methodically rubbed. Unfortunately, she ignored the very part of me that would have benefitted from such an enthusiastic massage and I was left more than a little frustrated. * She guided me to my room and of course her supplies were all laid out ready for me to be diapered for the night. I really thought that it would be back to my usual boxers and t-shirt to sleep in but obviously Gwyneth had other ideas. I was about to complain, or try and reason with her at least, but she’d gone to such extraordinary lengths so far to make me happy I wondered if this was perhaps another thing I thought I didn’t want but actually did. Anyway, the upshot was that she carefully applied lotions and creams, lashings of powder and an ultra-thick fabric diaper, which was held in place with two huge pink pins. Once again she slipped up a pair of clear plastic pants that snugly held it all together and, just as I thought she’d finished and was about to crawl into bed, she produced something else, a pair of footed pjs. I wasn’t expecting this and wondered how the hell she’d been able to get hold of something my size so quickly. The pjs were blue with cartoon stars and planets all over them and, as she fed my feet into them, I marvelled at how soft the fabric was as it touched and caressed my skin. Soon my arms were encased and she stood me up for the final action. The zip was at the back and stretched from hips to neck, which she closed with a flourish. Then we stood together looking in the mirror and it was an amazing sight. For a brief second I was stunned at the reflection; I thought she looked like mom and I was back to being a toddler, I was even holding her hand and, as a shiver ran through my body, and despite my size, I really did feel like I was back to being a little kid. I was speechless as Gwyneth gently led me to my bed, pulled back the covers, where Teddy was lying still dressed in his own diaper, and urged me in. I was dazed at this strange ‘mirror revelation’, a glimpse of my past that really shook me and, because I was distracted thinking about it, wasn’t even aware that she had slipped a babies bottle full of warm milk between my lips. As she held it to my mouth, and with my mind elsewhere, I naturally began to suck and closed my eyes as I rhythmically downed the entire contents. Later she replaced the bottle with my paci and left me cuddling Teddy as I drifted off to sleep after what, one way and another, had been a pretty eventful day. * My dreams were of Teddy and me and Gwyneth and me, where Gwyneth was actually my mommy and Teddy was my father… weird. At one point mommy (Gwyneth) was telling me what a ‘good boy’ I was because I’d managed to use the potty correctly but daddy (Teddy) was threatening to spank me if I didn’t wear my diaper like he was (yes in my dreams Teddy/daddy was still wearing his diaper). In my dreams I was doing all I could to please them both and each one was telling me what a ‘clever baby’ I was being. I woke up desperate for a pee. I climbed out of bed and made my way to the bathroom but once there found I couldn’t reach the zip on the rear of my footer. I tugged and tugged but for some reason I just couldn’t budge it, in the end I had no option but to fill my diaper. I argued with myself that was what the diaper was for, and Gwyneth had encouraged me to think of it in that way, “Just do it” had been her advice, so that’s what I did. To begin with it was a strange warm sensation, which I didn’t mind much, luckily the diaper and plastic pants held it all in and I was able to fall back to sleep relatively quickly. In the early hours I felt I needed to go again but this time I made no attempt to get to the bathroom so lay there and with little effort further filled my diaper. When I eventually did wake up the diaper was thick between my legs and my plastic pants where a shiny stretched reminder at just how much I’d drunk the night before. However, and this fact was a bit of an eye-opener, it didn’t worry me what I’d done. Just the day before the very thought had made me recoil in horror but here I was wearing a fully soaked diaper and not being bothered about it in the slightest. * I got up and sought out Gwyneth because I needed help getting out of the footer. She was already downstairs making breakfast and smiled as I shuffled into the kitchen. Another few photographs were taken as I asked her to let me out but she just told me to sit down and have the bacon and eggs she’d cooked before they got cold, and which had been cut into bite sized pieces. I waddled to the table (I was waddling everywhere at that time) sat down and it was a squelchy diaper that cushioned my bottom. Once again everything was served in the new little kiddie bowl and I was given only the matching spoon to use. My juice was served in a sippy cup and despite any doubts I may have had I was so famished I happily ate and drank the lot. Once my plate was clean and I’d taken it to be washed Gwyneth led me back upstairs to be changed. She tweaked the zipper and it easily came down but I informed her that I was very, very wet because I couldn’t get to the bathroom to go properly. She just smiled as I stepped out of my pjs making small talk about what the plans were for the day and as if changing an eighteen year-old was the most natural thing to do. I shucked down my plastic pants and the fabric beneath was saturated. She asked if I’d messed as well but I just made an “Uuuurrrghhh” type of noise to indicate no and she patted my swollen bottom and unpinned me. How she could be OK with all this changing business I didn’t know but I suppose, thinking about what I’d assumed earlier, she was substituting me for her lost baby… well maybe. I certainly didn’t want to be the one to spoil whatever fantasy or need she had at that moment because, well, I was still enjoying playing this game myself. * Gwyneth had been correct about there being a ‘little’ me somewhere inside and that the people online and who commented on YouTube had also noticed it so, I was feeling part of a pretty cute group. I liked the term ‘little’ and, as my sister had shown me, dressed in diapers had released me to be the fun person she suspected I was all along. With her encouragement being childish was nothing to be ashamed about and living an enjoyable life as a toddler certainly beat stacking shelves. However, work was on the horizon and I wanted to make the most of my time off before it was back to the grindstone. I’d even begun to think that perhaps I might be able to wear a diaper or something similar under my uniform but I was sure the outline would be obvious as the pants were so tight. I showered and Gwyneth once again got me ready for the day. She put a couple of pads in the disposable and pulled up the clear plastic pants. She pointed to a mark on the front and told me that, if I wet them, then the mark would change colour and she could check without me saying anything if I needed changing. Then she pulled out a new yellow t-shirt with tiny toy rocking horses all over them and slipped it over my head. Although I did a sort of double-take because it looked so childish she then produced a matching pair of shorts which she quickly fed my legs into and pulled up to my waist. Again that feeling of just being a little kid with mommy dressing me coursed through my body and I stood transfixed by my new outfit. Although I was eighteen I wasn’t a large teenager, in fact, Gwyneth was a good two inches taller than me and looked much bigger. However, I didn’t get chance to be pleased or complain because Gwyneth was guiding my crinkling butt down the stairs and out to the car. * I had no idea where we were going but Gwyneth was telling me about some of the online comments she had read. According to her, loads of them had said that it was best to make the ‘little one’ happy and comfortable in clothes that were soft, colourful and reminded them of when they were a toddler. Toys and colouring books were also an important aspect to all this so that’s where we were going now, to a mall that had a huge toy store. For every reason I put up not to go (especially dressed as I was) she had a comment that said the opposite. There was no doubt that the bulky diaper I was sitting on was a constant reminder of what I liked and perhaps surprisingly I found the hugging of my hips and groin very pleasing. However, although I quite liked it I thought my little yellow outfit was maybe going too far to be seen in public. Gwyneth said I shouldn’t worry, everything would be alright and was convinced no one would say a thing. I doubted that and remained silent for the rest of the journey. * In the silence I began to think. How come she had a footer my size? How come she had this outfit ready? How come she had a paci, bowl, diapers and plastic…? Just as my suspicions were growing I suddenly got a pain in my stomach. I groaned and Gwyneth asked me what was wrong. I tried to tell her about the pain but almost instantaneously my guts started to churn. I begged Gwyneth to pull over as I needed to go to the bathroom but she said there wasn’t one nearby. She said that I should just pee in the diaper but I moaned I thought it might be more than that. “OK, just hold on we’re not far away.” She said with concern etched on her face. Unfortunately, the turmoil in my stomach wasn’t open to any constraints from me and I couldn’t hold back. With a loud wet fart the contents of my bowel erupted into my diaper and I was crying in humiliation and disgust as wave after wave of poop exited my bottom. The smell in the car was awful and Gwyneth had to roll down the window to get us both some air. I sat in my own rapidly filling diaper stunned at what was happening. As soon as my guts exploded the pain had instantly gone but I was mortified by the strange and disgusting feeling in my pants… my emotions took over and there were more tears. A couple of minutes later and we arrived at the mall but I thought in my state I just couldn’t leave the car. However, she insisted that I couldn’t just sit in the mess and that I wasn’t to worry she’d have me cleaned up in no time. She grabbed my hand and led me crying and gingerly waddling towards Toys’r’Us, which was the first store in the mall nearest to where we parked. There were a few kids already looking at toys with their parents but Gwyneth led me straight to the baby changing area. It was empty when we went in and although I was crying and embarrassed I let her take charge. My little shorts were pulled off, which thankfully were still clean, she then tentatively shimmied the plastic pants down to reveal my bloated and discoloured disposable. Mercifully, the extra padding had absorbed most of the liquid but I was still a mess. She quickly stripped me out of it all and, with barely any acknowledgement to the smell, set about cleaning me up. I hadn’t noticed the large bag she was carrying but as she lay me out on one of the counters, she opened it up to reveal a host of stuff she’d need to fix me. First she used toilet paper and then going over to the sink soaped up a cloth she’d brought and began to wipe away the debris. I was still sniffling when someone else came in. A woman with a baby took one look at me, looked pityingly at Gwyneth and then set about changing her own child. My clean-up took quite some time and during that period I lay there motionless, self-conscious and desperate not to make eye contact with any of the other patrons using the facilities. * A lady with a boy aged about ten came in, found the empty table next to mine and stripped her son out of his shortalls by simply popping some studs at his crotch, laying him out and then popping the studs on his cute cartoon plastic pants, which instantly gave her easy access to his soaked diaper. Gwyneth watched how easily it all appeared and asked the lady where she had bought her boy’s shortalls. After a brief discussion about their usefulness and hardwearing properties (“Just the thing for an active boy”) she made a note of the name she’d been given, thanked her and resumed my re-diapering. The young boy and I were finished together. Gwyneth pulled up my yellow shorts as his mother finished pressing the last few poppers back together. He bashfully smiled at me as his mum picked him up, patted his freshly padded bottom and they set off to finish their shopping… and quite unexpectedly I cautiously waved back. The young boy’s attitude to being changed in public had stopped me blubbing as he seemed untroubled by the process. That sweet little smile had really got to me and I wished we could play together. I was no longer thinking of our age difference only what we had in common and we both wore diapers and had accidents in them. It was a revelation and suddenly I didn’t feel so self-conscious. * Once Gwyneth had packed all her stuff away, and before we left the bathroom, she asked if I was OK. Now I was clean, dry and wearing my thick ‘protection’ (now I knew what Gwyneth had meant by that term) I was comfortable and quite happy to continue. “Good,” she said as she patted my freshly padded bottom and we entered the main part of the store. The array of toys was spellbinding. Mom and dad had never been keen on my playing with such childish things and because Gwyneth, even as a youngster, preferred to read, I wasn’t encouraged or given many toys to play with. As we toured the aisles I was spoilt for choice, I just didn’t know what to get for the best. Over in the kids play area right next to the store I saw the young boy from earlier running around with some younger kids sliding into the ball pit, running on the rope bridge and playing on the JungleGym. He noticed me and waved again and it was the first time I noticed that his diaper was really quite obvious and thick. However, he seemed unconcerned as he smiled, whooped with pleasure and chased some other kids into another part of the ‘playzone’. * Sitting on the floor in front of a plastic toy garage was another guy, perhaps a few years older than me, seeing how the wind-up lift worked that took the toy cars to the top to let them zigzag down again. He was wearing denim shorts but because he was bent over there was no hiding the top of his diaper from showing above the waistband. As I walked past he looked up and smiled, whilst running one of the four vehicles scattered around him along the ground and making car noises. “That looks fun,” I said and he invited me to join him on the floor. He was a lot older than his clothes would have suggested; he had a huge cartoon character on the front of his sweatshirt and his socks also had the same image festooned all over them. His sneakers had lights in the heel which flashed as he walked and he spoke, well, like a toddler. He was both shy and enthusiastic to have someone to play with but then I saw an older man approach who asked him if he’d made a friend. Gwyneth and the man got talking as we played together and inspected all the secrets that the garage contained. I didn’t hear what they were saying because my new friend grabbed my hand and took me to another aisle to look at the latest huge toy castle that he said his ‘dada’ was going to buy him. His voice was soft, as if he didn’t want anyone to notice him, but he was enthusiastic as he explained all the fantastic things the castle contained and all the dragons, monsters and soldiers you could get to do battle. He seemed so excited but then his ‘dada’ called him and he went rushing off to hold his hand. Even though he was older than me he acted like a little kid; shyly holding his ‘dada’s’ hand and swinging a foot whilst he waited for him to stop chatting with Gwyneth. I have to admit, knowing he was wearing a diaper like me was heart-warming, he looked so sweet and just as at ease as the ten year-old boy had been. I sat where I was inspecting the massive plastic castle with all its turrets and towers and wondered if I should get one. He’d fired my imagination and I liked the idea of dragons and knights and fantastic mythical encounters. A few moments later Gwyneth called me but I hadn’t made up my mind. We spent a good couple of hours looking at everything but I really wished I could play in the kids Playzone with all the other children as it looked fun. However, I realised that it just wasn’t built for someone my size and I’d just have to watch. After the two encounters with other ‘older’ diaper wearers, now I was all clean and tidy myself I never gave what I was wearing much thought and it was only the knowing smile from an adult, or a gawping look from a toddler that occasionally made me hesitate. However, I had work to do and decisions to make and they didn’t come easily. In the end I settled on some cars, a large truck and loads of little figures and colouring books from the latest Pixar movie. ***** Tbc

The Boss’s Bizarre Justice A while ago, I was at an all-time low. At 23 years old I’d got myself into a ridiculous amount of debt and could see no way out of my predicament. The flash clothes and the other expensive gifts I’d lavished on myself had fulfilled an ego-boosting need in me… but only for a short while. Now, I felt stupidly guilty about wasting so much money on stuff I didn’t need or want. I saw a short-term solution to my problems when I ‘borrowed’ some money from the works account. After all, although still only a junior, I was a trusted employee and had access to all manner of finances within the company and had convinced myself I could pay it back before anyone noticed. Unfortunately, for me it was at a time when the firm was being audited and the boss re-checked the company accounts. The ‘missing’ amount was so obvious and so was the culprit. Consequently, to save a long process of denial I admitted what I’d done and the boss said he had no options but to fire me and call the police. I asked if there wasn’t an alternative as I was up to my eyes in debt and I couldn’t see another employer giving me a job if his references said that I’d embezzled from the company. I was desperate to keep my job and literally begged him to come up with an alternative to my being sacked. Mr. Phanasious thought for a while and said there was an alternative… indeed, an old-fashioned cure for what I’d done. He said he was prepared not to fire me if I agreed to his suggestion. The money was to be paid back instantly and if I couldn’t do that, my wage would be garnished by 10% until the money was recovered. I agreed, as I knew that if he’d gone to the police I might have ended up with a record or even worse, sent to prison. I thanked him for being so understanding but he said that there was more. I was unbelievably relieved I could keep my job so I agreed that I’d do anything before knowing what the conditions were. He was very stern when he informed me that the only reason he wouldn’t go to the police was on the requirement that I had to take six strokes with a cane across my bare bottom every night after work until the debt was paid. I was shocked. Even at school, I’d never received corporal punishment, my parents had never agreed with that form of chastisement either but now… well, I had little option, if this was the price I had to pay for my stupidity. He also claimed it would concentrate my obligation on paying the debt, although, like any monetary business transaction, interest would be added to what I owed. Besides, when the alternative could mean prison, and what was said to go on in such places, I was probably getting off fairly easily. I reluctantly agreed and hung around admin until everyone except Mr. Phanasious had left for the night. Once alone in his office he locked the door and told me to strip to just my underwear. I was nervous and apprehensive of what was about to happen. My Greek boss was a great deal bigger than me; six feet tall, hirsute and a body that any professional rugby player would be proud of… even if he was well into his 50s. He looked quite strong and more than capable of taking care of himself if anyone caused him any trouble. I was scared of what this powerfully built man could inflict on my body but, while almost naked and held in this older man’s gaze, strangely, I began to get aroused. He walked up behind me carrying a cane he’d retrieved from a cupboard, pulled my y-fronts down to my knees, and began to fondle my arse, cock and balls. I immediately got even harder and a strange thrill ran through my body. He then ordered me to bend over the end of the desk. As I’ve said Mr. Phanasious is a big, tough, no-nonsense type of boss, I was at his mercy, and now, in this passive and vulnerable position, it was turning me on. Then I felt the first sting as he bought the cane down across my arse cheeks. I screamed blue murder as I hadn’t expected it to hurt so much or to be delivered with such force. After six cruel agonizing swats, which brought tears to my eyes, I wasn’t turned on any longer. However, as I raised myself up and rubbed my flaming backside he told me my punishment hadn’t finished. I was ordered to lie out on his desk, which wasn’t as easy as it sounded because the recently delivered stripes across my bum cheeks were very painful. He helped by pulling off my underpants and once I was embarrassingly naked he pointed to my still semi hard cock and said that just wouldn’t do. He seemed angry that I’d got excited and put the second part of his plan into position. From his desk draw he took out a thick piece of what looked like towel fabric and folded it and placed it under my sore bum. He then told me that from now on, I was no longer the office ‘junior’ but the office’ baby’ and should be dressed as such whenever I was at work. He would check both when I arrived and before I left to make sure I was keeping to my side of the arrangement. He made it quite clear that if, for any reason I didn’t like this, or that I didn’t comply, he would quite happily hand me over to the police to deal with. With my arse on fire, he was quick to follow through with the second part of my punishment… although I was embarrassed at my position (laid out on his desk in a diaper) the thick soft padding had eased the pain a little and I began to appreciate this version of my boss’s rough justice. As I pulled up my trousers over the bulky diaper he locked my underpants in a cabinet and said that when the debt was paid I could retrieve them but until then, he expected me to comply with the new house rules. My movements were slow, as I was both in shock and negotiating the huge bulge in my pants and between my legs. He helped me to my feet and offered his hand to shake. Staring directly into my weepy eyes he asked if I understood what was now required of me. I nodded. He wanted more. “Say it.” My head was dealing with the painful and inflamed bottom but I knew, as his hand grasped mine, that I would have to confirm and agree to his demands. “Sir, I know I’ve done wrong. I apologize and accept without question the condition for me to remain with the company. I will wear whatever the company deems appropriate and that my junior status has been reduced to that as… er… er...” I was finding it difficult to actually say the word, “…baby.” He quickly shook and released my hand as if I’d been dismissed. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning bright and early for inspection,” he looked darkly at me, “Don’t even think about absconding or wearing anything under your trousers other than a diaper.” He pointed his huge muscular finger at me. “That will remind you, every moment you are at this company what you have done, the shame you have brought on yourself and your family and… whilst you are here and on my time, you are no longer allowed use of the bathroom. You will come to me when you need changing. Is all that understood?” Sheepishly I replied, “Yes sir,” and slowly ambled out of his office. On the way home, and with my sore arse and bulky reminder, I began to think it strange that he had this fabric diaper already in his draw. Had he known that I’d agree to his terms or, perhaps, there had been others who’d broken the rules in the past and this was how he chastised us all? Maybe there were others in the office who were also made to wear the same as I had to, though I’d never noticed. # It’s now the third month of my sentence and I seem to have hardly paid off any of my debt… but the punishment continues. Bizarrely, I’m beginning to love being the baby of this hulking brute of a man. Even though the caning and humiliation (I feel that everyone can tell I’m wearing a diaper to work even if they don’t know why) are painful I feel a connection, which of course may well be just in my head. I had started to appear regularly at his office asking to be changed but he has now added a pair of plastic pants to my humiliation to hold my soaked diaper in longer. The constant rustle and crinkle as I move makes me shiver in embarrassment but I dare not say anything to any of the others in case they tell or think I got off lightly. They are a very loyal bunch of workers to the boss and he is very loyal to them. I’m sure if my transgression got out it would be them who were the trouble for me and not Mr. Phanasious. The fact that he has taken the time to personally deal with my offense and offer his own style of bizarre justice, I feel privileged to have such a boss. In fact I’d say my whole personality, temperament and work performance has improved, although I no longer deal with actual money any more, my concentration level and productivity have certainly increased. On payday each month my salary is docked the agreed amount but with interest on my ‘agreed loan’, and the way things are going, I might never get to pay off my debt and besides, I quite like the diaper. I never take it off except when I have to receive my caning, which doesn’t seem quite so fierce these days. I think that maybe, on that first occasion, he was making a point of what it could be like. I even wear a diaper at home and where ever I go as a constant reminder of what I did and what now really matters… to respect people… not things. ### Part 2 Mr. Phanasious keeps an ever watchful eye on everything that I do. I suppose I can’t blame him but I really feel he needn’t bother, I am a reformed character. He’s made sure of that. However, over the past few weeks things have changed a tad. The daily ‘six-of-the-best’ with the cane has given way to twenty on one day of the week after work. He doesn’t tell me which day so that keeps me both on my toes and pretty apprehensive, meanwhile, the diapers are getting slightly bulkier and plastic pants definitely noisier. He called me into his office late one Monday afternoon and told me of the alterations to my punishment. It was obvious that this change of play wasn’t open for discussion and that what he’d decided went. However, he did say that he had noticed a vast improvement in my attitude to work and was impressed by this dramatic change… then, as everyone else had gone home, delivered the twenty swats to my naked behind. Once they were over (and I’m afraid to admit it but I was crying like a baby) he re-taped my disposable, added another and pulled a pair of thick, clear but very crinkly plastic pants out of his draw to drag over them. “You appear to have got too used to the diaper, perhaps you are liking the situation?” Said with his slight Greek accent it felt more like an accusation. He looked at me for a reaction and I was desperate not to give anything away. Thankfully I was still wiping the tears from my eyes so I think I avoided any sign that he might be correct. “You need to know that you did wrong. Every minute of every day that you are at this company… you need to know you did wrong and that such deeds do not go unpunished.” He was being firm but I’d got used to this form of lecturing and wasn’t going to risk either the job or my freedom by answering back or disagreeing. “Yes sir, sorry sir.” I looked at him as miserably as I could and I suppose my wet and tear-stained face helped me sell the point. “I try to do better. Every day I try… to thank you for your… er… erm… understanding. I appreciate all that you are doing and have done for me and I am… very… very grateful.” With a noise which seemed to fill his office he pulled me to my feet. The plastic pants sounded as if they had a crackling life of their own as I went to put on my trousers. It was difficult; the bulkiness of the thicker diaper and the chunky plastic pants making it almost impossible for them to fasten… not to mention my blistered butt. I left his office for home still gripping my pants together. It was a long journey and one that drew attention to my unwieldy pantie line. There was no way that anyone who might have been interested couldn’t have determined what my problem was but, although I got plenty of people looking (and I think smiling), no one said a word to my face. Once I got through my front door I gladly let go of my pants and as they dropped to the floor I felt relief flood through me and, I have no idea why, I pissed myself. This was stupid because I was only feet away from my own bathroom but, nonetheless I did and my diaper expanded under the torrent. I waddled to my bedroom and gazed in the mirror at what I’d become. The shiny see-thru plastic noisily accompanied each step but, and this was the strange part for me, I didn’t dislike the image I saw staring back. I pulled off my shirt and tie, kicked off my shoes and socks and stood naked apart from my ‘punishment’ looking in the mirror. My body looked OK, it wouldn’t win any Mr Universe title but I wasn’t carrying too much extra weight. My hair was short but natural, not filled with product. I kept my face clean shaven so I still had a sort of boyish quality, which only now, wearing a thick diaper and plastic pants, I was beginning to appreciate. Becoming the company ‘baby’ (along with the cane) had been a revelation. It had opened up thoughts, feelings and possibilities that I’d never imagined. That big baby looking back was, I had begun to realize, having the most productive time of his life. Yes, even with the cane making me cry like a kid again, I had never been better or felt that I could attain anything if I wanted. What Mr. Phanasious may or may not have realized was that this ‘baby thing’ was like a rebirth and I could start my life all over again. If this is what it took to make me better, to give my life a complete overhaul and simply be a fuller, more responsive human being, then it was worth it. I hadn’t been bullshitting the boss, I really was only just beginning to comprehend that what I said to him I’d meant. I was trying hard and, with the thick diaper between my legs and the sensation of it every time I walked or moved or sat down, made me appreciate that unexpected new development in my personality. Yes, that big wet baby staring back at me needed to be seen for what he was… and in truth… I loved what he was and what he might become. I spent the rest of the evening wearing just that noisy, squishy outfit and thanked my lucky stars I’d been given this extra chance. Even once I’d gone to bed I let myself fill the diaper even more and by the morning, the thing had expanded so much that the plastic pants were stretched to such a capacity that they looked like I was wearing an immense shiny, slippery balloon. I’d bought the same brand of disposables that the boss used so I had a ready supply of my own and once I was showered I slipped into exactly the same as he’d dressed me in. It did feel strange. After a night of thick, wet diapers, wearing clean dry ones just wasn’t the same. I wondered if I should add a third to make them reach a similar bulk as the ones I’d just taken off, but I was going to be inspected as soon as I got into work so it was up to Mr. Phanasious to make any such decisions. I loved the crinkle, rustling noise I made as I walked or sat on the bus. I wasn’t sure how many people could hear it but to me it was loud and obvious. A woman who sat next to me smiled as I moved over slightly to give her more room and I detected an expression of crinkle recognition as she cheekily looked down at my crotch before quickly resuming her forward stare. She did have a smile on her face for the rest of the journey before I had to get off. Even then, as I excused myself and she moved her legs for me to pass, the rustling was even more apparent (and now directly in her face) I saw her hand waiver for a brief moment… I think she almost patted my padded bottom as I went by. I turned to thank her and we were both grinning and that set me up for the day. Another, unexpected triumph, I’d made someone I didn’t know smile. For a brief moment I thought about my girlfriend, well, my ex-girlfriend who, as soon as the money had dried up suddenly found an excuse to leave. No gifts, no sex. No money, no girlfriend. At the time I was devastated at how easy it had been for her to use me and then discard me but eventually I began to realize that she was treating me the same way I treated my ill-gotten gains. They were useful and convenient but ultimately I didn’t need them. She must have felt the same way. I suppose, the fact that I now had no distractions to my life was a mixed blessing, and I certainly don’t know what she’d have thought about my striped bum and diapers. Thankfully I only had myself to worry about on that score and I’d decided that I wouldn’t pursue the couple of work colleagues that I quite fancied. I arrived at the boss’s door ready for my morning inspection. His secretary, who I wasn’t sure how much she knew, if anything, smiled and waved me through because I was expected. In his office there was a visitor. “Good morning,” he looked at me with those steely eyes, “I’d like to introduce you to my wife.” I was surprised at this level of familiarity, meeting his missus was a huge deal and I thought how strange it was that she should want to meet me. “Good morning Mrs Phanasious,” with a slight bow I shook her hand, “a pleasure to meet you.” She smiled a very winning smile. She was about ten years younger than her husband, very feminine and beautifully made-up and surprisingly her hand shake wasn’t some feeble limp grip… she was definitely a force in her own right. “The pleasure’s all mine Georgie.” It was an unexpected response. In the office they called me George, or Mr Miller, no one had ever called me Georgie, well apart from my mother when I was a child. I was a little bit discomforted by this overfriendliness and immediately I felt a cold shiver run through my body and, at the same time, very uncomfortable standing there in my diapers. Before I had chance to respond Mr Phanasious continued. “My wife is the reason I didn’t call the police when we discovered the amount of money you… ‘borrowed’…from the company.” That cold uneasy feeling was now changing to a hot flush covering my body and I could feel the sweat flooding from every one of my pores. “It was she who convinced me to give you a second chance.” He kept that stare on me as I avoided my eyes meeting hers. I didn’t want to see if there was any expression of triumph or superiority or… The boss continued, “She came up with your rehabilitation - firm but fair.” My diaper was getting hot and I wriggled uncomfortably in it aware that they both would notice my discomfort. “I’ve been telling her about your fantastic progress,” He seemed genuinely pleased about my attitude change and how well I was doing at work. “She wanted to meet you herself.” I plucked up the courage to look at her directly. “Er… thank you.” That didn’t really sound enough, so I repeated myself. “Thank you.” She smiled but I couldn’t quite decipher what that meant. I really was feeling most awkward and my anxiety level had risen considerably. Neither of which were helped when Mr Phanasious said. “OK, drop your trousers let me inspect the stripes and your diaper.” I looked aghast at him and then across to her but he simply repeated his instruction and I could do nothing but reluctantly let my pants fall to the floor. ### Part 3 I averted my eyes like I normally did as the boss checked me out. He pulled down the back of my diaper and inspected the effects of the previous days caning. The ‘mmm’ sound he made I guess meant he thought it was all good but all I could remember were the twenty painful strikes that had left me sobbing. I got a lump in my throat as I recalled how abjectly I had cried but knew I deserved it. I caught Mrs Phanasious looking on with interest and concern so, as he pulled up my diaper after finishing his assessment, I was wondering why this lady had come to my protection and saved me from a probable criminal record… and jail? I stood there under the gaze of my boss and his wife in just my thick diaper and crinkly plastic pants but I dare not, at least without permission, retrieve my trousers. At that moment his intercom buzzed and Mrs Parker, his secretary, announced that there was someone else to see him. He left the room and I was left with Mrs Phanasious who gave no indication I should pull up my pants so I remained standing as I was… embarrassed but determined not to rock the boat in any way. “Georgie,” she said in a quiet voice. “I hope you don’t mind me calling you that but… you… do look so cute and boyish dressed as you are.” I tried to hide the fact that I was uncomfortable with the entire scene. I shrugged my shoulders and muttered some sounds that I hoped meant I wasn’t concerned. She continued her strange and unusual stare as if she was appraising me and then spoke. “My husband spoke about you when he first employed you.” I stood in my diaper but realized just how badly I needed to piss. I hoped this chat wasn’t going to last too long. “He mentioned that he’d just taken on a very young, very bright new employee who he was convinced would lead the company into a new era of financial stability.” She waited for her words to sink in. “You can imagine how disappointed he was to eventually find that almost immediately the person he had put so much faith in had tried to rip him, and the company, off.” I think she was waiting for some reaction but in truth I didn’t know how to react. “He knew the company was losing money from somewhere but never expected it was down to you, and I suspect, he would never have checked on your involvement.” I wriggled noisily in my discomfort and her friendly tone changed ever so slightly. “The fact that you were so brazen and hardly covered your tracks hit him hard.” She appeared both calm and angry at the same time and I could tell that she was fighting another emotion as she went on. “My husband is very perceptive, he knows a wrong one when he sees one… but he didn’t see you. The fact that you cared so little after he put so much trust in you… he questioned his faith in people and his ability to spot and develop real talent,” she shook her head, “and even when the paper-trail led inevitably to you… he wouldn’t believe it.” I wriggled even more uncomfortably, the guilt hitting home. “The rest of the staff who would have to forego any bonuses… the possibilities of laying people, good hard working people, off… hit him badly.” My involvement in this crime, which, I had thought was all about money but was now shown to be about a whole lot more made me feel a complete loser. “Several times he’d picked up the phone to call the police but hoped for a different solution… he could see no way around getting the authorities involved and you being put away for your crime.” The realization I’d let so many people down made my heart beat faster and swallowing was becoming more difficult. Not just at this company but my parents, my sister, the other places where I worked. I had constantly under achieved any expectations; lied and cheated in the pursuit of money and things for my own stupid gratification and the weight of that guilt transformed into tears. Not only that but as I fell to the floor bawling my eyes out my bladder gave way and I began to fill my diaper. I was no longer in control of any of my waterworks so just curled up into the foetal position and let out the pent up flood of piss and emotion Mrs Phanasious came over and offered a few soothing words and stroked my padded bottom. She gave me time to calm down but in many ways I was just too ashamed to want to move at all. Even though I was wet, the fact that I was wearing my protection was offering me some strange and inexplicable comfort. I hugged myself into a tight ball, the slippery plastic and bulky diaper the only things I was really aware of. I wanted to hide, to sleep, to get escape from this awful thing I’d done so I closed my eyes tightly and hoped it would all go away. Eventually my tears subsided and I found myself being comforted in the arms of the woman whose husband I’d let down so badly. She was soothing me as she might have a baby or a toddler who’d just gone through some kind of trauma. I felt safe and relaxed and had no real idea how long I’d been there. Although my diaper felt cold and clammy and I knew I needed to change. Meanwhile, I had no recollection of taking my shirt and tie off, or my shoes and socks or losing my trousers because I was being held naked apart from my diaper. “Georgie. Georgie.” She was whispering trying to bring me back into the real world. I was in no rush to return. I snuggled down. I didn’t want to face any responsibilities and it felt safe where I was. “Georgie, I’m an Occupational Psychologist. I suggested that, if he still thought you were worth the effort, he might try a different strategy.” Her fingers stroking my head were gentle and caring. “I don’t know what your childhood was like but I thought perhaps you might want to start over again. My husband wondered about some kind of punishment, he didn’t want you thinking you could just do what you did with no consequences so…” I was listening and shivering at the same time. My body shook with tension at what she might say next. “I came up with this idea of… rehabilitation.” My head was spinning. Rehabilitation? Surely she meant punishment… a punishment that I had no alternative but to accept. The corporal punishment, the diapers… this wasn’t rehabilitation it was torture… and she had dreamt it up? I could feel anger and resentment growing in my stomach. I wanted to respond; shout, scream, reject all the accusations but her soft stroking of my hair and the gentle patting of my crinkly soaked diaper reminded me that I had done something wrong and deserved to be punished. “Because my husband thought you held so much promise we thought this alternative offered you a chance, one that was up to you to take or refuse. It might not have seemed so at the time, or perhaps since, but you chose correctly, I’m not sure jail would have been the best place for someone of your… sensitivities.” I couldn’t disagree and eventually I unfurled myself from her comforting touch. “Why the cane? Why the diapers? Was it just to humiliate me?” She shook her head. “You need to know that bad deeds need to be punished. Jail may have been the answer but I was hoping for something you might want to change yourself. The cane was to direct your thoughts, the diaper was to keep those thoughts in your head… and… if what my husband says is true… you have gone a long way yourself to make sure these simple… ideas… have worked.” I looked in both disbelief and relief that she was right. I’d come to the same conclusion myself only the previous night but I’d arrived at it from a different perspective. However, Mrs Phanasious added something more. “You appear to be on the right lines, going in the right direction but we don’t want you to falter. Too many people would be let down and needless to say, you would let down yourself.” I have always hated preachy people, people who think they know best, people who think they know better than I do what’s right for me… and I’ve always gone out of my way to prove those people wrong. It came as a bit of a shocker to realize that perhaps it was me who was wrong. In fact, now as I lay there in my diapered protection there was no ‘perhaps’ about it. I didn’t know everything, I wasn’t always right and I did need guidance, the type of guidance I’d rejected for most of my life. Her fingers strayed under the plastic pants and she could feel the wetness. “You need changing.” I didn’t do anything but lay there as she went and retrieved a fresh clean disposable. Like any good mother she removed the sodden mass, wiped the area dry, added some baby powder (I had no idea where that came from) and proceeded to fit me tightly into a diaper that felt soft and comfortable to wear. I was past any kind of embarrassment and just let her get on with it, which she was so much better at doing than either her husband or myself. I started giggling. My body shook with the tremors of deep throbbing laughter and I looked up at Mrs Phanasious with tears of joy running down my face. I was laughing at my own ‘preachy’ thoughts, my own abject realization of my worth… nothing. She smiled understandingly “The diapers are really just the symbol of a restart. As a child grows and learns, well, they are just a symbol of offering you the same opportunity, to start afresh. The fact that you have taken to them so well is very positive.” And then she hugged me. “Put you clothes back on and get back to work.” It felt like she was jovially reprimanding a child. Noisily I moved to redress and I smiled in acknowledgment of the rustling that accompanied every little movement. The diaper and plastic pants had become part of my ‘rehabilitation’ and I was in no hurry to discard them. In fact, I thought of them as a badge of honor, one that I’d had to earn to get back some kind of self-respect. They were now a very important part of who I was and what I wanted to become. I held my boss and his thoughtful wife in high regard for seeing something in me that needed help, direction and a future. They had done their bit in making me realize I might have more potential than I’d offered to anyone before but now, with my diaper firmly in place, I was going to try and be the best. “Thank you Mrs Phanasious,” I could hear the crackle as I moved towards the door, “Thank you… I won’t let you or Mr Phanasious down”. She smiled and nodded as I closed the door. “Good luck Georgie.” Mrs Phanasious sighed with relief. She was glad the way things were turning out but, like her husband, Georgie would need a keen eye kept on his progress. Nothing else about his ‘rehabilitation’ would change immediately because it appeared to be working and she was just glad that, for the moment anyway, he was onboard with the program. She was also very glad that the alternative, the Plan B, had he not been so compliant, didn’t have to be used; another paper-trail of misappropriation that would have led straight back to him… and a definite long prison sentence. The End #######

Andrew’s Story It was a shame for Andrew; so much promise, so much talent, so much money… just the wrong time to have a break down. ~~~~ Andrew Simmons, Andrew ‘The Frick’ Simmons, was all but burnt out after an extremely busy few years. He’d built up the business “The FrickFactory” from a simple, though addictive, game he’d created when he was seventeen, which had gone viral. The add-ons that he attached to this unpretentious computer programme ‘Frickland’ had launched a business that escalated, in less than seven years, to be worth $56million. We know this because that was for how much he’d just sold it. Andrew was almost at the point of collapsing from nervous exhaustion. It didn’t help that his small, frail, pale body, which had hardly seen sunlight over the past seven years, looked like it could have done with a good meal. He was burnt out and having such terrible trouble sleeping he was becoming addicted to drugs to help alleviate his many problems. Those seven years where, almost single-handedly, he’d developed and designed the ‘Frickland‘ franchise and the harder, more phantasmagorical ‘Conspiracy Gene’ game, had been intense and draining. He was up against a huge number of other exciting computer games on the market and it was a battle to keep up with all the leaps in tech, story lining, design and artwork. In fact, every day brought something new and revolutionary in to his business. Innovation was nonstop and although at first it was fun and challenging, for Andrew it had become mind-numbingly terrifying. He was descending into an abyss of his own creation, whilst his reliance on chemical highs to help him exist was taking its toll. Every one of his friends thought the shedding of his company would help, but it didn’t. His anxiety level was through the roof and, living alone, in the spacious mansion that only success can buy, was making him feel isolated, even when surrounded by people. He was getting desperate. He was sure his mind was going and there was a creeping sense of paranoia that drove every decision. With all that money in the bank, and the fact that he no longer had the responsibility of his company to worry about, you would have thought was enough to ease his predicament. If anything, his mood got darker and he became a very unpleasant, secretive, angry and deceitful young man. Somehow he managed to annoy business colleagues, frustrate family and alienate his best friends, which led to being more solitary. His parents had begged him to return to his mid-western home. They thought rest and recuperation away from the pressures of California was all he needed to get himself back to his creative best. He was adamant that he didn’t need any help, convinced if he did it would be used against him in some way. He screamed he needed nothing from anybody, there was nothing wrong with him but, at the back of his mind, he knew everyone was out to get him. A little rest, a little escape from all these annoying voices was all he really needed. He had to get away from all these leeches that would suck the life out of him. It was they who were the problem not him. The paranoia was no longer creeping… it was full blown suspicion. One morning his personal assistant Becky found her boss lying in a pool of vomit, shivering and crying for his mommy. She herself had known the problems of a personal breakdown but had recovered thanks to her psychotherapist Doctor Drummond. Once she’d cleaned Andrew up she begged him to try her doctor. She claimed that after only a couple of hours of therapy there was an instant improvement. Her boss was dismissive of her claims but she insisted that the doctor had hypnotised her, found the root of her problem and, by regressing her back to that moment, she had confronted the problem at its cause. She claimed that she’d been 100% calmer since those sessions and thanked the psychiatrist almost daily in her prayers for delivering her from a whirlpool of doubt and terror that up until that moment, she couldn’t explain. Andrew would have none of it, yelling and calling her a liar. Becky begged him to at least try him but the foul verbal abuse was just too much and she was glad that the following day was her last in his employment. When he’d sold the company, his employees went with the new owners, Becky wasn’t needed but thankfully she’d found a new position and couldn’t wait to leave now her boss was such an obnoxious prick. In many ways she was looking forward to telling him just what she thought but it would have to wait until the last pay-check was signed then she could walk out and never have to worry about the jerk again. That last morning was a disaster. She arrived to find him lying unconscious, surrounded by empty bottles and an assortment of Class A drugs and, on top of all that, he’d shit and pissed himself. Becky was at her wits end, finally she called for help. ~~~~ Head clear, mind refocused, Andrew was enjoying this new game, why he hadn’t thought of it before was a mystery. Instead of progressing Frickland he was going back to how it all started; The Frickland Nursery. The entire concept was there before him; it was bright, colourful and fun, a sort of cross between The Sims and Rugrats; entertaining cartoon characters you controlled. The simulation and sets were designed for the most enjoyment a child could possibly have. The game was clever, easy and at times fiendish. At each stage they could graduate up to the next age group if they achieved certain levels and collected special prizes. They had a time scale to accomplish otherwise they were returned to the beginning of the game. Andrew thought this was a cunning part of the experience because, no matter how advanced you were, at any moment, when timed out, you could be returned to a crying baby and the entire process would start from scratch. Andrew was relishing developing this game more than any other, well apart from that first one which had set his career in motion. Thankfully, now there was no pressure he was taking great delight in making each character age appropriate; diapers, rompers, onesies, pacifiers, stuffed toys, toys in general, powders, lotions, plastic pants, rubber sheets, cribs, nursery rhymes, mobiles… he couldn’t stop once he started. ‘The Nursery’ was going to be the best ever. The walls were all bright colours; cartoons festooned the surfaces, whilst the personality of each child was sweet and cute they were clothed in appealingly decorated diapers. Some of the kids would be timid, others adventurous but all were adorable wearing their little baby outfits. Some of the characters were new-borns, others crawling and some toddling around. They walked and talked like babies and each wore a very visible diaper; some wore more than one. The thickness was a penalty for not achieving certain ‘points’ or ‘prizes’ throughout the game. Occasionally a grown-up (Nanny), would come in and change, discipline, dress or insist on ‘nap time’ for various individuals as needed. To gain age levels they had to collect colourful items like golden pacifiers (there were seven colours to be won to get up to the golden prize), four layered lace pink panties (pink was the top plastic panties you could achieve though there were four other colours and different layered ruffles to attain first). Food, baby bottles, sippy-cups, bibs and playtime were all graded and awarded points and only once you’d achieved the top level in each of these could you advance. Andrew was getting more and more excited as each new component of his game dropped into place or he expanded on the idea. ‘The Nursery’ was heavily populated. Padded bottoms were everywhere as the cast crawled or toddled to various areas of play where some tried to gain the rewards that meant they would be able to ‘grow up’. Baby boys and baby girls cried, wet and soiled themselves if they failed and that set them back a stage which they had to repeat. The changing mat also meant that more diapers were added, which slowed the toddler down and made achieving the next level slightly more difficult. Andrew giggled to himself when he saw that one of the 30 month-old toddlers lost all his rewards and had to start at the beginning – so it was back to being a baby again. That was a penalty which seemed extreme but was fun to have. Crying was just as much a part of being a child as giggling, or moodiness, or sleeping, so at times the nursery was both chaotic and peaceful. Andrew thought it was the best game his imagination had ever created. He loved the colourful characters he’d produced. He loved the innocent but slightly edgy nursery world in which they lived. He loved the fact that it was a fun place to play. Every game was an adventure; every detail of a kindergarten was included, from the selection of soft and furry toys to the lettered building bricks. It was all so realistic, every move was accompanied by the rustling sound of plastic diapers and plastic pants… he could almost smell the baby powder… in fact; he could smell the baby powder! ~~~~ He looked down at himself. He was wearing a thick, thick diaper and a pink vest with a cartoon mouse on the front. Whilst the cartoon mouse stayed the same the rest of the Sim-like caricature world dissolved from colourful comic animated figures into real people. Each of his characters was no longer in a game but the real world. There was a cross-section of ages and when he tried to speak the only noise he could hear was childish gibberish. He tried again, but no words formed just sounds and noises those around him responded to but couldn’t understand. The toddlers had a few words in their vocabulary but Andrew; well he wasn’t sure what or where he was. He looked like a twenty-four year-old but his dress and speech were that of a one year-old. He thought this was all part of his own creation but now he wasn’t sure. He could only crawl and his diaper felt full, wet and uncomfortable. He tried to tell someone, anyone that he was having a nightmare, but no one could understand what he was trying to say. His body just wouldn’t do the things he wanted or expected it to do. There was no coordination, no strength, even crawling around was difficult. On top of all that, the frustration at not being understood led him to do what babies always do when in such a situation - he sat in his soiled diaper and cried. ~~~~ High up on the gantry, looking down on his medical achievement, stood the fifty year-old, white-haired and self-satisfied Doctor Drummond; he was pleased with the way business was progressing. The specialist area of psychiatry had led to his ground-breaking research being financed by the government. His responsibility was to find a psychological way of rehabilitating hardened criminals so that they were no longer a menace to society. Unfortunately, his deep and controversial exploration of the human mind had led to a few setbacks along the way, which the government, seeing lawsuits on the horizon, weren’t happy being associated with. His funding had almost dried up until he’d found a way of utilising those unforeseen but effective ‘setbacks’. Now, with his state-of-the-art desert retreat (psychiatric institute) he was able to offer a service he was surprised how many people wanted to exploit. Some patients were volunteers, some were sent, whilst many had no choice. Most of the ‘children’ who were crawling around below were heirs to various fortunes that either family, or Doctor Drummond himself, had managed to convince needed to start his specialist treatment. They all had problems of one kind or another and hoped for a cure that the saintly (and highly regarded) psychoanalyst might provide. Whether, kidnapped, coerced or corralled business was doing well. The clever and opportunistic shrink had certainly found a market for his specialised (some might say criminal) therapy. None of patients were aware what their ultimate ‘cure’ would be, though this particular outcome suited many business rivals or disgruntled siblings. The doctor would tamper with their minds; explode memories, kill off thought processes, defeat certain urges, impose control, manipulate will, rectify and regress each one of them back to those glorious, happy, untroubled, childhood days. That was the initial idea; however, what that actually meant was they were destined to a lifetime of diapers and toddlerhood… repeated ad nauseam. Visiting guests and high powered execs took great delight in seeing a rival reduced to diapers and building bricks and were happy to pay for the privilege to keep that person out of the way and incapable of a response. They reasoned that being ‘forever a toddler’ was better than ‘not being at all’, and congratulated themselves on being so considerate, finding a wonderful world for their ‘adversaries’ to live out their lives. They also loved the idea of the humiliation that a grown person having to wear baby clothes, smocks, diapers and plastic pants would feel, they hadn’t realised that humiliation can only happen if the person humiliated is aware of the fact. These babies had no concept of anything but their toddler existence and the childish sphere in which they blissfully lived. No matter what their real age, in ‘The Nursery’, no one would ever progress past being a toddler. The nurses (or nannies to the little ones), trained and cared for their babies in the colourful, childish world that the good doctor had created for them. The regression trigger he’d placed in all of his subject’s minds was there should any start showing signs of developing an intellect. Their entire lives were spent as little kids playing and trying to win prizes. He, and a couple of his technical boffins, had come up with an app called ‘The Nursery’ so there was a digital baby world as well as a real one in existence. He was able to combine the two for his tots, which gave them something to aim for, even if that aim was bogus, after all, it did form another part of the research. However, as soon as they reached the advanced level (about three years-old), cleverly they were re-set to start all over again with no memory of what they’d already accomplished. Smugly, as the doctor looked down on the latest patient in his care he smiled. After a couple of weeks intensive ‘therapy’ Little Baby Andy was now able to join all the other babies in the nursery. His brain had needed a complete retune but using the game and Andrew’s own programming abilities, had been fairly easily convinced it was all his creation. He’d planted the computer game idea, and the characters, so deep that Andrew would have difficulty in separating one from the other and believe he was responsible for everything that went on. That was until his mind refocused on the real rather than the cartoon element then, as the doctor planned, his mind would scramble and he’d slot right into complete babyhood with no problem. The cunning academic could see the newest ‘recruit’ to the nursery sitting in his thick diaper and cute little mousey t-shirt crying, coming to terms (or not) with his situation. It wouldn’t take long. Soon his brain would stop computing and start accepting, although he may never quite be able to mentally differentiate between the physical and digital worlds. However, Baby Andy would be a welcome addition to the doctor’s crazy collection of kindergarten kids. Besides, the cute, sad-eyed, under nourished looking baby with the huge diaper had nothing to worry about; Doctor Drummond was going to be taking special care of him. After all, the clinic was financially safe for quite a while now that he had access to $56 million. ****************** THE END

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