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All right, this is my very first story, so please be kind. The ideas surrounding this have been kicking around in my head for a while and I finally thought I could share to this site that has so many wonderful, understanding people. I've already got several chapters lined up, but we'll see how far things actually get. (edit: I went back and reposted with better formatting and one or two minor grammatical changes) ---------- Chapter 1, Found "Bye hon, I'm off to class," Sarah called out as she gathered her keys and headed towards the door. Oh my gosh, I had almost forgotten it was Thursday. I looked up and called out to my wife as she reached the door, "Have a good class, see you when you get home.” And with the realization she had class tonight, things started to wake up in my loins. Class nights were when I had some private time. Sarah would be gone for at least four hours, from 4:00 until 8:00. With luck she would text around 7:30 saying she would be going out with 'the girls' and be even later. You see, I do love my wife of three years dearly, but I've always kept one deep secret from her. To put it simply, I'm an adult baby. If you don't know what that is, to put it simply, I like to dress up in diapers and pretend I'm a baby. It may sound strange, but we AB's, as we often refer to ourselves, get emotional and sexual satisfaction from it. And with Sarah off to class, I can indulge this part of myself for a while. So, when I heard the car door shut and her driving off, I got up and headed to our bedroom. As I have done many times, I quickly shed my 'big boy clothes' and dug into the back of the closet where I kept my diapers hidden. A new package, it took a moment to tug the first one out and then went over to the bed. As I lay on top of the opened diaper and lowered my bum onto the soft padding, my cock was already wide awake knowing it would soon be embraced in the absorbent garment. Pulling it up between my legs, the brush of the elastic leg bands against my thighs sent another thrill through me. As I tugged the tapes in place my bladder gave a small twinge and any normal person would have gotten up to use the bathroom. But then, I'm not exactly normal and thought, "Perfect, after playtime, baby is going to have an 'accident'." That thought brought a smile to my face and a small giggle. Time to log onto my favorite web site to see if there were any new pictures or captions. So off to the home office, I sat down with a crinkle and clicked until I found the "What's New" tab. It wasn't long before I found a new one that was enough to make me move my hand from the computer mouse to my diaper. A woman's chest, wearing a nursing bra with one cup opened. The caption read, "Good little babies can have mommy's special treat.... Good little babies wet their didees." I must confess, this hit all my 'buttons' and soon my other hand rose to my face and I was sucking my thumb on one hand while my other hand slipped into my diaper. It wasn't long and my eyes were drifting shut in incredible bliss as the only noise in the room was the crinkling of my diaper as I masturbated to another incredible climax. My thumb slipped from my lips as I gasped, catching my breath as the afterglow came over me when suddenly I heard... "Looks like you're having fun." My heart leapt into my throat as my head jerked around to see Sarah leaning against the doorway, her arms folded across her chest. Thoughts raced through my mind, "How long was she there... oh DAMN,she saw what I just... shit shit SHIT!!!" "Sarah! I... I... what are you... I thought you went to class," I stammered and stalled, trying to deflect the conversation. "You...you shouldn't be skipping..." All the while, she was walking slowly towards me as I sat there frozen, hand still in my diaper, computer still displaying the captioned picture. "It’s fine, I told the professor I wouldn't be able to make it this week. But is that REALLY what you want to talk about??" She smirked a little as she reached down, kindly but firmly gripping my wrist and pulling my hand out. Then, matter-of-factly, she declared, "First, we need to clean those fingers, I don't want your cum everywhere. Come along." With that she tugged my wrist and I rose up to follow her, down the short hallway and into the kitchen, over to the sink. Having just orgasmed and my heart still pounding, the last thing my bladder needed was the sound of running water as Sarah turned on the tap. "One thing I won't abide is you getting your cum everywhere," Sarah declared as she thrust my hand under the cool water and squirted some soap on it. The cold water made my bladder twinge and I felt a little pee leak out, with her back towards me, my other hand swiftly gripped the front of my diaper and I managed to stop the flow as she quickly washed my fingers. As she shut off the tap and turned, I blushed and jerked my free hand away from my diaper. Sarah grabbed a tea towel and started drying my fingers, saying quite clearly, "We need to talk." Oh dear, I've heard that before from when I dated other women. 'The Talk' always ended up with them leaving, me crying alone, and another round of depression. Resigned to my fate, I dropped my gaze to the floor and said softly, "Fine, I'll go change and we can..." Sarah interrupted, "No, in the living room. Now." She put a hand on my shoulder, turned me in that direction and gave me a small push. As we entered, I realized the drapes where still open and I'm waddling in front of them wearing nothing but my t-shirt and diaper. I hesitated for a moment, but Sarah urged me onward. Sarah pointed to a spot on the sofa and simply said, "Sit." Then she sat down beside me, turning towards me. She was quiet, apparently waiting for me to start. When the silence started to grow deafening, I suddenly remembered something she had said. She had told her professor last week she wasn't going to be in class tonight. I looked up and into her waiting gaze, "You planned this. You knew!! How long have you known??" Sarah put her elbow on the back of the sofa and leaned her head against her hand, "Since before Christmas." No further explanation, no criticism, just a simple statement and she once again was quiet. I did the quick math, it was now mid-April. "But that was more than four months ago, and you didn't say anything? You didn't..." Sarah looked directly at me, "I am well aware of how to use a calendar, Michael." She went on, "And how to research things on the internet, how to review your browser history, and how to search through the trash every Friday morning." I sat there, thinking how dumb I've been to have left such obvious evidence, but she continued. "I even made a couple of appointments with Cyrstal. You remember I've told you about her? My old college friend? She's a clinical psychologist now, she helped me understand quite a few things." I felt the blood drain from my face, "You...you told her? How could you do that?" Sarah sat up straight again, reached over and gently put her hand to my cheek, "Michael, she's bound by patient confidentiality. She said she's heard a lot worse. And I love you, I want to know how to help." "You mean you want to 'cure' me... good luck with that. Do you think I haven’t tried stopping? Try to be more 'normal'?" Despite her not shouting like some other women have in the past, I hung my head down and felt the tears about to start. I just know she's about to leave me just as ever women I've ever known. None have ever compared to Sarah, but I was certain our short blissful marriage was about to end. After a moment of silence, I felt her hand on my shoulder, she pulled me toward her. Pulling my head into her arms, against her chest, she hugged me tight. "Shhh... shhhh... no, I'm NOT going to do that. Crystal explained it, you can't help it anymore than you can stop breathing. It's a part of you, I understand that." She continued, while gently rubbing my back. "I am a little upset that you never told me, but my research online taught me a lot," she softly explained. "It's like there is a wall separating your two lives, your two halves, and for them to meet in real life, well I know it must be upsetting. It's like breaking a glass, sometimes it's just a chip, sometimes it shatters. But I'm here to help either way." All I could do was nod into her chest as I felt the tears trailing down my cheek. "So you're, you're not freaked out and going to leave me?" "Nope. Not at all. In fact, we're going to open up that wall together, starting right now. I want you to wet yourself. Right now." I started to sit up but her arms held me firmly. "You can't mean that, I mean I can't do that. Please don't." I whimpered. "Now Michael, every Friday for months now, I've found a diaper in the trash. And a large number of them were wet. I know you do it, there's no point in denying it. I just want you to admit it to me and show me that you trust me." And with that simple declaration, she hugged me tighter to her chest and slowly started to rock me in her arms. The tears slowed as I felt her warmth, holding me. She didn't say anything more and the room fell silent. My mind was conflicted. Part of me wanted this, wanted so much to be held in loving arms that cared for me. But years of shame and rejection are hard to overcome. I reached and hugged her arm as I closed my eyes and tried to relax. This is different, I told myself, this is Sarah and she loves me. She knew all this time and she didn't get mad, she tried to learn more she says she wants to help. After what seemed like ages, the post orgasmic need, the cool air on my legs, the stress, I finally calmed down enough, nuzzled her breast and let it happen. At first just a trickle and as so often happens, when the first trickle hits my skin I clenched reflexively and stopped it. But then I relaxed again and let go fully. All those stories about hearing it I'm sure were exaggerations, the silence in the room was so strong you could have heard a pin drop. But I felt the warmth spreading like so many times before, the padding swelling up as it did it's job. But Sarah knew, perhaps by the soft sigh as I relaxed, the tension in my muscles finally easing. Whatever it was, she knew. I felt her shift a little, then she patted the front of my diaper, "Good baby.... Good little babies wet their didees.' Hearing her say that, where had I heard that? At any rate, I blushed hard and buried my face deep into her chest as she once again hugged me tight. I was an emotional mess, from orgasmic ecstasy, to shock, fear of rejection, slowly calming and then this final step, quiet contentment and bliss. I didn't want to move from this spot ever again. But of course Sarah, ever the practical one finally stirred. Patting my diaper she said, "Okay, time to get up sweetie. It's almost six now and I made dinner reservations for seven. I want you to shower, get dressed up nice, we're going for Italian at Canale's." I'm normally not that fond of Italian, but I wasn't about to argue. Here I am, my life suddenly turned upside down and my love wants Italian. So tonight, Sarah is getting Italian. As I got up and headed for the master bath, this woman that loves me called out, "And don't forget to put your diaper in the trash sweetheart." A quick shower, dressed and when I reappeared Sarah had fixed her makeup, stood up and gave me a hug. "You look great darling, let's go." But what I wasn't expecting was as we left the bedroom she grabbed my butt and said casually, "No diaper? That's okay.... baby steps love... we'll work things out in baby steps..." ...to be continued

May 22, 2016 Hi, I’m Eddie. This isn’t a diary; it’s a journal. I like to write, and I want to become a better writer, so I decided to start a journal. My teacher said writing in a journal is a good way to become a better writer. I wasn’t sure what to write about, so I asked my teacher. She said, “Write about yourself, it’s what you know best.” Well, what can I say about myself? Let’s start with the biggest thing. I’m fifteen years old, and I still wet my bed. It’s not even just sometimes. It happens almost every night. I haven’t been dry since January. That’s right! I’m in high school and I’ve peed my pants 134 nights in a row. My mom used to keep track of stuff like that, but she stopped a few years ago. I still keep track, but I don’t know why. It makes me feel like a baby. Some kids stop wetting the bed when they are two years old, and most stop when they are three. I’m fifteen, and I still pee in the bed like a little baby. I guess there are some other teenagers who wet the bed, but for most of them, it’s because something happened that they can’t control. It’s not like they aren’t fully potty-trained. I’ve done this all of my life. I’ve never stopped. The longest streak I’ve ever had is three nights in a row, and that only happened once. A few years ago, I thought it was getting better. When I was twelve years old, I didn’t wet the bed every single night. It still happened, and it happened a lot. It happened more often than not, but I stayed dry at least once a week; that’s when I had my three-night streak. I certainly didn’t wet my bed 134 nights in a row! That’s for sure. Unfortunately, it stopped. I began to wet the bed more often than before, and not less. My doctor thinks I’m sleeping sounder because I’m growing. Trust me, it feels like we’ve tried everything. We tried the medicine, but that just made me feel sick and I still wet the bed. We tried an alarm, but that just woke everybody else up. I slept through it and still wet the bed. My mom used to wake me up in the middle of the night to take me to the bathroom, but I hated it. Who wants to be an eleven-year-old kid who needs his mommy to take him to the potty? Most of the time, I didn’t even remember using the bathroom. Sometimes I was already wet. My mom would change my sheets, and I would wet the bed again. I’m not allowed to drink anything after six o’clock and I can only drink one glass of juice after school. I’m always thirsty and it’s not even helping. My mom made us wear diapers when I was younger, but she stopped when my little sister didn’t need them anymore. Emily was only four years old and could stay dry all night. She didn’t need diapers anymore, but her big brother and big sister still did. Sara was twelve years old and had to wear a diaper every night! I can’t imagine being that old and having to wear a diaper. Mom didn’t even use Pull-ups; she used Pampers! We wore the largest size she could find. I was nine and Sara was twelve, and my mom treated us like we were babies. After that, Sara didn’t want to wear diapers anymore. She threw a couple of tantrums, which only got her in trouble. It never changed Mom’s mind. One night she begged. She promised to do the laundry if she wet the bed. Amazingly my mom agreed. She said, “You two aren’t babies anymore. No more diapers, but you have to take care of your bed.” I think it worked for Sara, but it never worked for me. I thought maybe I would stop when I turned thirteen, just like it did with Sara, but it didn’t. Now, I use Goodnites, which are kind of like diapers. They are padded like diapers, but my mom doesn’t have to put them on me. They are meant for older kids, and don’t have little kid designs. Mom says that nobody can tell when I’m wearing one, but I think it’s pretty obvious. Unfortunately, they leak! They don’t leak all the time, but it happens a lot. I think I just pee too much. Sometimes, I forget to put my sheets in the washing machine. When that happens, my mom gets mad. Yesterday she yelled at me, “For God sakes Eddie! You’re fifteen years old. You shouldn’t wet the bed and you’re old enough to take care of it when you do. The least you can do is put the sheets in the washing machine.” I think my mom is frustrated and I understand why. Who wants to have a teenager who isn’t fully potty-trained? My mom is normally supportive and tries to help. Yesterday, after yelling at me about the sheets, she told me about a doctor who can help older kids who wet the bed. His name is Dr. Albert Bennet. Apparently, his program takes about six months. He said that 80 percent of his patients stopped within a year, and those who didn’t, learned how to manage their bedwetting. They recondition your brain, and you learn not to wet the bed anymore. Mom asked, “What do you think?” “I think it looks good.” “If we do this, will you follow the rules? I don’t want to do this if you won’t cooperate.” “I guess so. What do I have to do?” “I’m not sure, but conditioning means that you’ll have to do something. Do you want to try it?” I told her, “Yeah, I guess so. Yes, I’ll try anything. I don’t want to wet my bed anymore, and if this helps, I’ll try it.” Mom replied, “Okay, we’ll set up an appointment with Dr. Bennet.” I don’t know what they mean by conditioning my brain, nor what it looks like to manage my bedwetting. I don’t care, I just want to stop wetting my bed. I want to be potty-trained before I go to college.

Hi everyone, This is my first attempts ever at writing a story of any kind, I hope you will enjoy it. It's the first chapter, I don't know how many it will contain or exactly where the story will go. I'm working on the next chapter, and I appreciate any feedback and constructive criticism. I have gone over it a couple of times, but might have missed some mistakes, English isn't my native language. Enjoy the read! ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- The Mysterious Mansion Chapter 1: “Damn it!” the 26-year-old Sarah said to herself, after seeing her nice shoes getting stained from the mud. She didn’t expect the lawn she was walking on to be completely soaked and muddy, causing her shoes, which at first were beautiful and light pink, to now be dirty and mostly brown. Not that she had any right to complain, seeing as she was technically trespassing. The reason she was trekking through the grass in the first place was to make sure she stayed out of sight of any potential onlookers, while she walked up to the seemingly abandoned mansion. She knew she shouldn’t even be trying to reach the house, but she could no longer help herself. Every day she passed the beautiful house on her way to work and back, and every time she wondered if anyone was living there. She never saw anyone on the grounds or in the windows and there were never any cars parked. The yard seemed well maintained, though, and the front gates were locked every time she cheekily tried to open them. No longer being able to contain her curiosity, she had decided to walk around the perimeter of the grounds, following the huge hedge that loomed over her, which kept the mansion and the grounds obscured. After a brisk walk, she eventually found a tree close to the tall hedge, and after putting her long, blonde hair in a ponytail, decided to climb it. First, she got out her water bottle from her backpack and took a big gulp, trying to wash away the anxieties of what she was about to do. One of the lower branches hung above the hedge and looked sturdy enough to hold her weight, and, after a brief climb, she managed to reach it. Not pondering about it too long, she placed her feet on the thick branch, carefully testing it to see if her claim held true and it could support her full weight. A tiny voice in the back of her head warned her that this might not be a good idea, and when she looked down, she got slightly dizzy from the height. Just as she was deciding to climb back down, she heard a loud “crack” and she felt the branch she was standing on give way, taking her with it. She yelped and tried to jump back towards the tree, but she was too late, and the branch she was standing on, along with Sarah herself, broke free from the tree and fell towards the ground. Through sheer luck, her backpack got caught halfway down the hedge and left her dangling with her feet off the ground a good distance from the ground. After she recovered from the shock and looked down, she figured was stuck in the hedge with her backpack. Deciding she had no other choice but to abandon her cute, pink backpack she herself had embroidered with pretty flowers, she raised her arms and let herself slide out of her backpacks’ straps, towards the ground, and landing on both her feet. Looking up at her backpack hanging high up in the hedge, out of reach, she counted herself lucky she wasn’t injured. She felt a pang of sadness that she lost it, but decided that she could come back for it later. It hung safe out of sight from everyone outside the yard, and she reasoned that she could probably find something around the mansion to help her get it back when she was done exploring. Looking down at her light pink summer dress, she batted some leaves from it, seeing that her dress had survived the fall and was mostly undamaged, except for a small tear in her shoulder strap, but it did get a little dirty from the encounter. Checking her surroundings again, making sure that there was nobody around to spot her, she looked at the thick branch she took down with her and thought to herself how lucky she was, and that she probably shouldn’t be climbing any more trees, before letting her gaze fall upon the massive mansion, and venturing towards it. That is how she found herself lamenting her pretty shoes and she almost decided it wasn’t worth it, but her curiosity got the better of her and she kept walking. Her shoes were ruined now anyway. Now that she was getting close, she saw how beautiful, but old, the mansion was, it’s size looming over her even more than she could have imagined before. It seemed to be two stories high, built entirely out of large, beige bricks and with beautifully decorated windowsills. It looked old, but very well-maintained, without any visible damage or dirt. Whoever built this place, however long ago, must have been enormously rich, she thought to herself. She noted that the yard extended much further behind the building than the front, apparently being four or five times bigger than she expected, and counting herself lucky that she didn’t have to walk that far. She came upon the giant double doors that were the main entrance and was relieved to see that it was impossible to see her from the streets, and there wasn’t a single soul to be spotted in the windows either. She tried opening the doors, expecting them to be locked, but to her surprise, they opened easily. Pushing the left door open, the hinges creaked loudly, startling Sarah and causing her to jump back. She ducked and waited outside around the corner, scared of someone inside possibly having heard, but nothing seemed to happen. She waited a few moments more, but no one came to the front door, so she decided to take a quick peek inside. Entering the main hall, her mouth fell open in amazement. “Holy hell!” she accidentally exclaimed, forgetting she was trying to be sneaky. She slammed her hand to her mouth and hoped yet again no one had heard her. With her heartbeat racing, she looked around the large room, almost immediately forgetting that she wasn’t supposed to be here. She saw a main hall stretch on for a seemingly infinite distance, flanked by two staircases leading to next floor. The guard rails were decorated with marble and ornate shapes, looking like works of art belonging in a museum. Paintings taller than she was were hung on every wall, a chandelier with hundreds of precious stones glittered like the sun hung from the ceiling and she saw more doors than she was able to count down the hallway, upstairs and in the foyer. As she walked along the beautiful and thick red carpet, she noticed her shoes were tracking mud inside. Horrified, Sarah immediately took them off and threw them out the front door, on the steps leading up to it. The floor was a comfortable temperature for her feet, and she figured she wouldn’t need shoes inside anyway. It also had the added bonus of her footsteps being quiet as a cat with her socks on the thick carpet. She looked at the doors on either side of the room at the bottom of both staircases and decided to just have a quick look around, holding the believe there was no one inside to catch her sneaking around. She randomly decided on the door on her left, but when she was walking towards it, she felt a light breeze and heard a loud creaking echo around the spacious room. With a horrified expression, she looked back to see the front door slowly closing. She quickly sprinted towards it, but she was too late to stop it. It shut with a loud bang, just when she was able to grab the handle. In a slight panic, she pulled it with all her strength, but the door remained firmly shut. She looked for a way to unlock them but finding only a keyhole, with no key nearby. “What bad luck,” Sarah thought to herself, getting slightly anxious, “Very weird how it opened so easily before, but now is refusing to budge. Well, I guess I have to find another exit or a key now.” Slightly alarmed, but also a bit curious, she opened the door at the bottom of the stairs and walked through it. A long while later, Sarah had forgotten all about her fear of being discovered, sneaking around the foreign house. She was mostly just in awe at the size of every new room she found. Every room seemed much larger than it would have needed to be, and Sarah assumed that the owners must have very excessive taste. There was a kitchen, so large it could have twenty people working in it at the same time and would probably be able to serve ten times as many people. A dining room with a beautiful, ornate table which could fit everyone she knew. She found a library with hundreds of books, most in English, but some in exotic languages she couldn’t place, with a cozy reading nook. There were bathrooms, bedrooms, a tv room, storage room and even a room with a pool table. Most of the furniture was covered in a layer of dust, and everything looked like no one had been in there for years, but aside from that, everything seemed to be in pristine condition. What she didn’t find, however, and was starting to worry her just a small bit, was a door leading outside. The windows were not an option either, every single one was too high of the floor to reach or had thick, metal bars covering the outside. After losing count of how many rooms she had explored, and still seeing many doors she hadn’t tried yet, she happened to come upon the entrance hall again, mostly due to chance. The various hallways and huge rooms with multiple doors resulted in a very confusing building, making it very hard for Sarah to keep track of where she was. While she was in the foyer, she tried the front door again, but still no luck and she found her gaze exploring the stairway up, making her more and more curious what could be up there. Aware that she was even less likely to find an exit up there, she decided to and explore anyway. After walking through the seemingly endless corridors she found that many doors on this floor were locked, except for a few more bathrooms and a few bedrooms. She did notice, however, that it was starting to get dark outside, and Sarah thought she should go and find an exit soon. “Maybe there will be a fire escape?” she thought to herself, unsure if she believed herself at all. Deep inside she knew she was dying to see more of the beautiful mansion, and wanted to explore everything it had to offer. The next door she tried opened to reveal what seemed to be a large playroom, large even by the standards of this crazy huge house, filled with hundreds of toys, seemingly aimed a very young children or babies. Strangely, this room was completely clean, and no traces of dust could be found, unlike every other room she had discovered so far. Sarah entered the room and walked around in amazement. The first thing she came across was a row of dolls on standards, on a low shelf. The sizes of the dolls varied from 30 centimeters to some almost as tall as she was! They all had subtly different faces and different hair colors, but they all had kind expressions. “These must have cost a fortune!” Sarah mumbled to herself. They all had different outfits on too, ranging from nurses, teachers, yoga instructors and princesses, and they all seemed to have a mature, curvy shape, which caused Sarah to blush as she found herself staring. Quickly walking on, she found that the last doll in the line, one of the larger ones, strangely, and with the same proportions as the other ones, was dressed as a baby, including comically huge, thick, and pink diapers and an equally pink pacifier, covered in hearts, on a pink cord clipped to the light pink onesie it was wearing. She noticed that the onesie was the same shade of pink as the dress she was wearing, and when she compared it to the other dolls, she found that that particular doll was the only one with blonde hair, exactly the same color as her own. “What a coincidence!” She giggled to herself, walking on and not giving it much further thought. She would have loved to play with those when she was younger, she thought to herself, and secretly still a bit now. Sarah continued to explore the room. She found loads of different types of toys, that were, as most things in this house, much larger than she had seen them before. There was a rocking horse she could have fit on easily, and piles of stuffed animals, she even saw a few stuffed animals sitting against the wall which were bigger than she was, even in their current, sitting position! She couldn’t contain herself when she saw the largest stuffed animal was her favorite color. A giant pink bear with a large and friendly smile on its cute face, and a big heart on its belly. Despite Sarah knowing it wasn’t real, she felt it had a welcoming expression with its big, blue, comforting eyes. Even though she knew it was childish, she couldn’t stop herself, and jumped on his lap, folding her arms around it and giving it a big hug while burying her face in its soft fur. Despite Sarah being alone in a strangers’ house, cuddling with stuffed animals that didn’t belong to her, she felt completely safe, and she let herself totally relax. It even felt like the bear was hugging her back, but she knew that that was impossible, it was just a stuffed animal after all! When, after a long moment of hugging it with her eyes closed, she suddenly, felt the faintest of movements on her back, akin to something very large, very gently stroking her. She immediately opened her eyes and looked at her back, but she saw nothing except the arms of the bear on whose lap she was sitting, which were close to her, but not touching. She quickly got up, nervously looked around her and at the bear. Its expression remained exactly the same as before, but somehow looking at it now made her a bit uncomfortable, getting the eerie and weird sensation it could get up and grab her at any moment. She took a few steps backwards, but the bear remained exactly where it was, immobile. After staring at it for another while, she sighed, feeling like an idiot. “Of course the bear isn’t gonna move, it’s just a toy!” she said to herself, softly. Having calmed down a bit, she decided it would be best to leave this oversized playroom, thinking she should be heading home. When she entered the hallway, not being exactly sure from which way she came, she decided to check out one more room, just to satiate her curiosity. She picked a random direction to walk in and tried the first door she saw finding it, unfortunately, locked. She didn’t mind it much and walked on to try the next one, enjoying the feeling of the soft carpet on her feet. After trying a few doors that were locked, she came upon one that made her feel… weird. Sarah couldn’t exactly explain why, but she felt hesitant to open this particular door, even though it looked exactly the same as all the others, the hairs on the back of her neck standing upright as she approached it. She felt like she was just being a scaredy-cat and making a fuss out of nothing, so she soldiered on and grabbed the handle. It wasn’t locked, and opened easily, somehow almost disappointing Sarah. When she saw what was waiting behind the door, she loudly gasped. Before her was an explosion of pink, a room equally as big as the playroom she just visited, and almost everything was different shades of pink. It was obviously a nursery, Sarah thought, as it had a crib, changing table and other things you would need to take care of a baby. Just as the playroom, this room seemed spotless and very well-maintained and a sweet, almost homely smell seemed to hang in the air. Upon realizing that this room looked spotless and very much in use, Sarah quickly checked the crib again to make sure it wasn’t occupied, which, fortunately, it wasn’t. She slowly walked around the room, taking in the sights and being fascinated by the color palette. Everything was a shade of soft pink, and as she looked down at her dress she giggled and figured she would fit right in. What stood out to her as she approached the crib was just how big it was, it was easily the size of a double bed, and the bars were taller than she was. Fascinated, she continued to check the changing table, which was large enough for her to comfortably lie down on. “Just how tall are the owners of this house?” she wondered to herself. Like all the other rooms so far, this one seemed to be unnecessarily big, just as everything in it. She looked around the room and saw a large chest, a small cupboard with drawers, a large, mesh playpen that came up to her head with an open door, various pink cupboards, and a door. She got curious about the door and approached it, wondering what would lie beyond. When she opened it, she was amazed yet again, at the size of this room, which seemed to merely function as a wardrobe. She figured it was bigger than her living room! Uncountable pieces of clothing of all kinds were neatly hung on hangers, and a lot of it was very pink, and very frilly with many, many ruffles. She looked around in awe, thinking that it seemed to be perfect for a cute girl who would live in this nursery. She randomly grabbed an article of clothing, which turned out to be an adorable princess dress which any little girl would love to wear, bright pink with poofy shoulders and lots of glitter. Although strangely, when she held it up to her own body, it didn’t seem to be sized for a little girl, but it looked like it would perfectly fit herself, although the skirt of it was rather short. She shuddered and quickly hung it back, this dress would be too much even for her and her love of pink, and she left the closet without investigating any further. She was starting to get a bit freaked out by the scale of everything in this house and decided to leave this oversized nursery. She walked towards the door and looked back one last time, wondering who could possibly have lived here and how long ago, and having a strange affection for sheer amount of pink in this room. She grabbed the doorhandle and pulled. She almost walked face-first in the door when it refused to budge. Surprised, she tried pulling again, but the door refused any amount of movement yet again. Starting to get frustrated, she tried pushing, pulling and slamming on it with all her strength, but the door might as well have been a concrete wall for the lack of effect her efforts seemed to have on it. Starting to get desperate, she shouted for help, but no response seemed to come. Her breathing growing more and more panicked, she looked for a way out, but she only saw windows with bars on the outside, which were too high to reach anyway, and the door leading to the closet. After trying the door for what seemed like an eternity, Sarah came to the conclusion that she was well and truly stuck. “Well, fuck.” She dryly said. Worst of all, she started to feel the need to pee.

Before we start, I would like to point out that this is an experiment. It relies on audience participation. If there is none, it will probably be ended before the story is complete. To make a long story short (pun intended), this will be sort of a collective choose-your-own-adventure story. At the end of each part of the story, there will be two alternatives to determine where the story goes next. You, being the audience, will have the opportunity to vote on these two alternatives. Please note: Only votes cast at The Scriptorium will be counted. (That is, after all, where I primarily post my work.) I will count the votes seven days after the story has been posted, and then proceed to write the next part based on which alternative gets the most votes. (If you have a suggestion you think is better than mine, feel free to add that to your vote. I might incorporate it somehow.) This introduction is fairly long but the following parts will be shorter, giving you all ample opportunity to influence the plot. Updates to the story will be posted at the same time both here and at The Scriptorium. Now, with that out of the way, on to the story. ----- THE ORDER Maria stared at the holographic screen floating in front of her, its dim glow casting long shadows on the walls of her tiny apartment. At 27, she felt like she was living someone else’s life, a life she hadn’t chosen and couldn’t escape. Her job as a data entry clerk for a mid-tier interstellar shipping company was as soul-crushing as it was mundane. The endless stream of numbers and codes blurred together, a monotonous symphony of mediocrity for a paycheck that barely covered her rent. Her personal life wasn't much better. Relationships, whether with men or women, always ended in disaster. There was Jake, who ghosted her after three months. Then came Sara, who accused her of being too clingy. And let’s not forget Alex, who turned out to be married. Each failure left her more jaded, more convinced that she was unlovable, destined to be alone. Most nights were spent scrolling through the vast expanse of the galactic net, searching for something, anything, to distract her from the gnawing emptiness inside. Her fingers danced across the keyboard, half-heartedly chasing rabbit holes of trivia and gossip. That’s when she saw it: a fleeting mention of something called *The Maternal Covenant*. The name caught her eye, not because it was flashy or bold, but because it felt... familiar, like a whisper from a dream she couldn’t quite remember. Curious, she dug deeper. But the more she searched, the more elusive the Covenant became. She spent weeks obsessing over it, her already lacklustre work performance suffering. There were no official websites, no clear descriptions, only vague hints and second-hand accounts on fringe forums. Some called it a religious order, others a cult. One forum post described it as "a place where the lost find home," while another warned it was "a one-way ticket to oblivion." One poster claimed their sister had joined and never contacted them again. And yet another said they’d received an invitation but had been too afraid to accept. There was even a cryptic reference to a "mother" who led the order. Maria devoured every scrap of information she could find, but the Covenant remained shrouded in mystery. The only consistent detail was that members of the Covenant gave up their former lives entirely, severing all ties to the outside world. It was as if the Covenant deliberately stayed out of reach, a ghost in the machine. Then, one evening, weeks after her initial discovery, an email appeared in her inbox. It was unmarked, untraceable, and addressed directly to her. The subject line read simply: Invitation. Her heart raced as she opened it. The message was brief but direct: Ms Rosso, you have been invited to join The Maternal Covenant. We sense your longing for connection, your desire for purpose. We offer you a place among us. To find us, travel to the planet New Mojave, coordinates attached. You have ten days to decide. This is a one-time invitation. Accept or decline, but know that once the door closes, it will not open again. Attached were detailed instructions on how to reach New Mojave, a remote planet on the outskirts of colonised space, barely inhabited and rarely visited. The message ended with a single line: The choice is yours, child. Maria read the email over and over. Her mind whirled with questions. How did they know about her? How did they find her? And more importantly, should she go? The following days were a blur of agonizing deliberation. She thought about her job, her tiny apartment, her handful of acquaintances who barely qualified as friends. What would she be leaving behind, really? But then there were the warnings, the whispers of cults and brainwashing, the fear of losing herself entirely. What if this was a mistake? What if she was walking into a trap? Was it even real at all, or just some elaborate hoax? She considered talking about it with her co-worker Jenna, but how could she explain the pull she felt toward something so unknown? Jenna would think she was crazy, or worse, desperate. So Maria kept it to herself, her secret weighing heavier each day. Yet, the pull persisted. It wasn’t just curiosity anymore; it was something deeper, a longing she couldn’t name. She found herself staring at the stars through her apartment window, imagining New Mojave out there, waiting for her. Waiting to give her something she’d never had. On the ninth day, she made her decision. She booked a ticket to New Mojave, her hands trembling as she confirmed the purchase. She packed a single bag, realising how sad it seemed that most of her meagre belongings fit in it. As she stood in her empty apartment, she felt a strange sense of peace. For the first time in years, she wasn’t running from something, she was moving toward it. The journey to New Mojave was long and solitary. Maria booked a seat on a cargo freighter, the cheapest option available, and she spent most of the trip in her cramped quarters, staring at the walls and second-guessing herself. The freighter’s crew barely acknowledged her existence, which suited her just fine. She wasn’t in the mood for small talk, not when her entire life was hanging in the balance. As Maria stepped off the freighter, New Mojave greeted her with a stark, otherworldly beauty. Tall, jagged mountains rose on all sides of the spaceport, and the sky above them was a deep shade of blue, almost violet. The air smelled faintly of something sweet she couldn't identify. The closest city was New Newcastle, a name that annoyed Maria with its lack of imagination, and she was waiting for the transport there when she heard her name over the spaceport speakers, asking her to come to the Teranic Trans-galactic Transport desk. It took Maria a while to find it, since Teranic Trans-galactic Transport, despite its ambitious name, turned out to be a small ore-hauling company. Their desk hidden away in a corner of the goods terminal of the spaceport and manned by a single, middle-aged man wearing a dusty jumpsuit. "Yeah?" the man said, looking up from his screen when Maria cleared her throat. "Maria Rosso." Maria pointed up at the speakers. "Oh. Yeah. We have a charter for you. I just need to see some ID." Maria fumbled around in her bag, pulling out her ID card and handing it over. The man scanned the card and handed it back to her. "Shuttle 3," he said and pointed to the door to the loading docks The shuttle turned out to be a cargo hauler. As she approached, the cockpit door opened and a head popped out. "You my passenger?" the pilot asked around an enormous wad of gum. "Yeah, if you're shuttle 3." "Yep. Hop in." Maria climbed into the cramped cockpit and barely had time to strap into the spare seat and put on the offered ear muffs before the engines rumbled to life. The next several hours was spent in silence, with the exception of a couple of stops to unload or pick up cargo. She learned that her coordinates were on the outskirts of one of the many deserts in the equatorial regions. Eventually, the pilot pointed out the window and mimicked landing his hand on the console between the seats. They landed with a heavy thump that made Maria feel like her stomach took a little trip down to her pelvis before bouncing back up to its usual position. The pilot shut down the engine so the dust they had kicked up would settle. "You sure this is your stop?" he asked. "This is literally the middle of nowhere." Maria looked out the window at the ochre cloud outside. "These are the coordinates, right?" "We're about as accurate as this baby can get. So it's about two hundred metres or so in..." The pilot checked his instruments, then pointed forward and slightly to the right. "...that direction. I figured you'd want some distance for when I take off." Maria only nodded. "Look. I'm coming back this way the day after tomorrow. If you're still here, I'll give you a lift back." "I'm sure that won't be necessary," Maria reassured him. "But thank you for the offer." She picked up her bag and climbed out of the cockpit. Walked ahead in the direction the pilot had pointed, stopping when she had reached what she figured was a safe distance. Then she turned and gave a thumbs-up signal. As she turned and continued to walk, she heard the engines starting up and felt them kicking up sand and grit, stinging the back of her neck. Then the transport was gone and Maria was left in a silence unlike anything she had heard for years. There was no hum of machinery. No people talking. Nothing. She looked around. There was nothing to see either. No buildings, no people, practically no vegetation save for a few scraggly bushes here and there. In short, it was just her, the sand, and an absolutely spectacular sunset. "I guess I wait," she said to herself. Mostly to fill the silence. She sat down on the warm sand. The horizon still held a hint of red when she heard it: a distant whine of engines. It gradually grew louder as a small silver ship descended and landed. Maria picked up her bag and walked over to it. As she approached a door opened silently. She looked inside the empty cabin. The ship had to be either remote controlled or automated since there didn't seem to be any cockpit nor a pilot. There was a small piece of cardboard with her name on one of the seats. Maria climbed in and sat down. The trip was a lot quieter and smoother than the previous one and eventually, Maria nodded off. She awoke as the ship landed and an alarm began chiming softly. Through the open door, she could see lush grass and tall trees lit by the twin moons. Then she saw it. It was as if someone had tried to carve a gothic cathedral out of a dark mountain, but stopped when they were half-finished and then let it melt. There were curves that looked almost organic, but also symbols carved into the smooth walls, giving it the appearance of being both natural and artificial; both grown and constructed. A dimly lit path led from the landing path to the building. Following the path, Maria arrived at a large wooden door. She paused. This was it. The moment of no return. Her mind raced with doubts. What if they’re not what they seem? What if I lose myself? What if I’m making the biggest mistake of my life? But beneath the fear, there was something else, a flicker of hope, a whisper of possibility. What if this was the answer? What if, for once, she would belong? Maria took a deep breath, steeling herself. Then, with a resolve she didn’t know she possessed, she knocked. ----- Who answers the door? Edit (15.April): Please note that if you want your vote to be counted, you HAVE TO cast your vote at The Scriptorium. Alternative 1: A large robot with a spotlessly polished chrome plating Alternative 2: A woman wearing a long, flowing robe with a hood that hides most of her face her face.

1. General settings The Dragon Cave is a large cave in Atilet Slopes. According to rumors, a big treasure is guarded by a dragon there; that’s why the cave name. Several attempts to get the treasure have failed already. An adventure party is gathered in Claycliff, a small town south of the Slopes. They would like to get the treasure. 2. Character list Harold Age – early 30’s Gender & Sex – Male Class – paladin. He is a brave hero and a native party leader; strong and experienced in fighting skills. Harold was a member of King’s personal guard, but he left his job and decided to be a mercenary. The main reason was obvious - gold and money, but he also likes the leader role that he didn’t have in the King’s guard. Personality – Strict but fair. However, he isn’t used to females in party and often shows his distrust. Of course, there were no women in the army let alone King’s personal guard. Clothing & equipment: ATK: 5 DEF: 5 MATK: 0 MDEF:0 SNK: 2 ESC: 2 Priscilla Age - Early 20’s Gender - Female Sex - Female Class - Mage. Can cast a variety of spells from offensive elemental magic to smaller utility spells like creating orbs of light to brighten up dark areas such as caves. Extensive spell casting upsets her bowels so she needs to wear diapers as a precautionary measure. Most mages do not suffer from this issue so it is quite the mystery. Mana - Like other magic users, she has a finite amount of mana to cast spalls with though as a person trained in the art of magic she has much more mana than the average person. When it gets low she will need to scarf down a lot of food followed by some rest in order to replenish it. Some spells use more than others, the stronger the spell, the more mana it uses. When she has used up too much mana her body will collapse from exhaustion, rendering her unable to move her limbs until her mana is replenished again. This system also applies to healing magic but tends to be less of an issue since outside of large scale healing spells, support spells tend to require less mana to use than offensive magic. Though notably a lot of Priscilla’s utility magic costs very little mana so she will have no trouble using those unless a: she is already out of mana at that time or b: she doesn’t want to upset her tummy any further and risk an messy accident. Personality - Quiet, embarrassed and ashamed about her condition, easily flustered but is a sucker for praise. Tends to hide her face in her large hat when embarrassed. Clothing - Typical mage attire. Large hat, long cloak both a shade of purple it’s pretty by the numbers but why fix what isn’t broken, hm? And besides, the cloak can be flipped up for impromptu diaper checks! She’ll definitely throw a fit if you do that though! Equipment - She always has her trusty staff with her! It’s made of a special magic conductive wood which she carved herself! It was part of what she had to do while learning magic. It curves on the top into a C shape. ATK - 0 DEF - 0 MATK - 5 MDEF- 3 SNK - 2 ESC - 1 BLS = 50, feeling urge at 40 BLI = 2 BWS = 90, feeling urge at 70 BWI = 3, casting a spell adds 2-4 to the actual roll Kennan Age - early 40’s Class – rogue. He is not physically strong but very dexterous and perceptive. He easily can detect enemies, unlock doors and even solve puzzles. His past is partially criminal – his fingers were trained by pickpocketing. He also was careful enough not to be caught. After several years, he decided to use his skills on the other side of the law and offered his services to adventurers’ parties. These skills can be very useful in every mission. Personality – Kennan is a mature man, and he is sensitive to everybody. His personality is a direct contrast to Harold. Clothing: Equipment – besides of the dagger, Kennan is equipped with a complete set of pick-locking tools. ATK: 3 DEF: 4 MATK: 0 MDEF:0 SNK: 4 ESC: 4 Michelle Age – late 20’s Gender & sex – female Class – cleric. Michelle is a powerful healer; she can use herbs, elixirs or magic to cure all kinds of diseases and wounds. She learned all skills from her mother – a powerful witch. However, she had to pay a prize for it – she never got potty-trained; her mother had to change her diapers until Michelle left their home. Michelle still doesn’t like the diaper changes on her own and would welcome if somebody else took care of her. Personality – quite cheerful and content with her diaper condition. She even likes her diapers even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Clothing: Equipment – a bag with herbs and elixirs, a big bag with spare diapers and cleaning utensils. ATK: 2 DEF: 2 MATK: 3 MDEF:4 SNK: 3 ESC: 4 BLS = 40 BLI = 3 BWS = 120 BWI = 2 3. Scene 4.Plots and relations Kennan is a sensitive man. During his criminal past he lived in a lair together with women and even children. This experience made him sensitive, and his relationship with the female party members is almost parental; after all, they are much younger than him. He easily accepts the diapers and is willing to be a caretaker. Harold, on the other hand, doesn’t like that relationship, but he has to accept magic and healing abilities. He accepts the women even if with a bit grumbling. Occasionally, he argues with Kennan about his alleged effeminacy. Michelle is glad she has found somebody willing to take care of her and doesn’t show any sign of embarrassment when she asks Kennan to change her diapers. She even does it publicly, in front of Harold to tease him. She also likes to tease Pricsilla by checking her diapers. Prissy could probably be teased a lot by anyone of the party! Though of course not in a malicious way. And if she ever finds herself out of mana, she’s gonna need everyone to pitch in and take care of her until she can move on her own again. She is also rather frail, like physically so she is of course going to need protecting in battle. More so than the average mage. That’s part of why her body reacts so negatively if she fires off too many spells.

Chapter 1: The Show That Changed Everything Terry had always humored Genevieve’s curiosity. So when she found a flyer for an adults-only hypnosis show and asked if they could go, he agreed with a shrug. “Sure, babe. Could be fun.” He didn’t expect what followed to flip their entire world. The theatre was dim, cozy, filled with couples and clusters of friends sipping wine. There was a buzz in the air—like everyone knew they were about to see something forbidden. The stage was set simply: one couch, one chair, and a single overhead spotlight. When the hypnotist walked out, a tall, silver-haired man with eyes like polished stone, the crowd hushed. “Tonight,” he said, his voice rich and slow, “we play with the mind. But more than that—we play with who you think you are.” Volunteers were called. At first, it was silly—people clucking, dancing, barking. But then it shifted. Terry and Genevieve watched as the hypnotist selected a tall, shy man near the back. He looked out of place—gangly, nervous, like he hadn’t meant to volunteer but got pressured by friends. The hypnotist guided him gently on stage and spoke in low tones. The man’s eyes fluttered. “Drop for me,” the hypnotist said. “That’s it. Let go.” Within moments, the tall man was kneeling. “You feel small now,” the hypnotist whispered into the mic, “so small you can’t think unless Daddy tells you what to think. You want to feel useful to Daddy. Don’t you?” The crowd murmured, caught between shock and arousal. The man nodded. “Good boy. Now crawl to your waiting Daddy. Show the room how eager you are.” From the edge of the stage, another man stepped out of the shadows—broad-shouldered, in a tailored vest, waiting patiently with a smirk. He radiated confidence, his eyes fixed on the hypnotized boy with hunger and control. As the submissive crawled to him, Daddy’s expression deepened into something almost reverent—he was watching someone surrender utterly for him, and he relished every second. “Present your mouth,” the hypnotist commanded. The boy moved between Daddy’s legs, hands settling gently on his thighs, eyes wide and adoring. He leaned forward, lips parting, and began to suck with slow, reverent eagerness. It wasn’t clumsy—it was worshipful. Daddy’s arousal was obvious—not just physical, but psychological. He exhaled slowly, his chest rising as he leaned back slightly, letting his hand rest possessively in the boy’s hair. His smile was content, yet hungry. Each motion of the boy’s lips and tongue coaxed out more than just sensation—it fed his dominance. He watched the boy with half-lidded eyes, taking in the sight: the flushed cheeks, the glistening lips, the soft gagging sounds that only made it sweeter. The pleasure wasn’t just from the act—it was from the power. The absolute control. The boy’s eagerness was intoxicating. “You see him?” the hypnotist purred to the audience. “That’s devotion. That’s a good little cocksucker giving Daddy everything he has.” The submissive moaned around him, trembling, hips subtly grinding against the floor. He was in deep—obedience and humiliation turning into raw pleasure. He never once broke contact. Daddy stroked his cheek with pride. “Look how much he needs this,” the hypnotist continued. “And look how much Daddy enjoys being worshipped.” Daddy’s other hand gripped the armrest, knuckles white, pleasure mounting as the boy increased his pace—sloppier now, more desperate. His legs tensed, hips lifting subtly into the boy’s face. His breathing deepened, each moan a confirmation of just how close he was. Then came the moment: a slow intake of breath, a growl of satisfaction, and the boy burying deep, holding himself still as if offering himself completely. Daddy’s eyes fluttered shut. He held the boy close for a moment, savoring the aftermath, fingers gently stroking through his hair. It wasn’t just release—it was fulfillment. Power and pleasure, perfectly intertwined. The boy’s body shook with his own climax, silent and overwhelmed, his cheeks still wet. He didn’t stop until Daddy exhaled and leaned back with a whisper of approval. When the hypnotist clapped his hands, the trance lifted. The boy blinked up, dazed, resting against Daddy’s leg like he’d just woken from the most vivid dream. The room erupted in applause. Terry blinked. “Holy shit,” he whispered. Genevieve didn’t answer. Her hand had drifted to Terry’s thigh, fingers squeezing slightly. That night, as they walked home, she was quiet. But her eyes sparkled. “Did that turn you on?” she finally asked. Terry hesitated. “I mean... it was intense. Hot, yeah. But more weird than anything.” Genevieve grinned. “I think I’d like to try learning it.” He laughed. “To get me to bark like a dog?” “No,” she said softly, voice husky. “To make you beg like him.” Terry didn’t sleep much that night. Neither did Genevieve. But for very different reasons. That was the night everything began. Let me know if you want more!?!?!?

Summer Camp Re-Calibration Chapter 1: The Problem and My Brilliant Idea The sight of Ethan glued to his video games, another afternoon dissolving into digital nothingness, twisted my gut. It felt like a direct indictment of my parenting, a glaring crack in the foundation of the confident, resilient son I’d always envisioned. Me, Jack, the guy who wrangled million-dollar deals and made the tough calls before breakfast, suddenly felt utterly useless against a bit of nighttime dampness. It wasn’t just the damn laundry mountain; it was the anxiety clinging to Ethan like cheap cologne, the way he’d practically levitate to avoid sleepover invites, the sheer terror that bloomed on his face at the mere mention of summer camp. Bright kid, Ethan, aced his tests, even remembered to put his dirty socks in the hamper (sometimes), but this nightly… leakage felt like an insurmountable Everest of wet sheets, chipping away at my hard-earned paternal pride. “Maybe we should try therapy again, hon?” Olivia’s voice, all soft edges and concern, would drift through my brooding. She’d approach the topic like defusing a bomb, a stark contrast to my usual slam-dunk approach to problems. I’d nod, listen to her theories about underlying anxieties – all well and good, but felt about as effective as shouting at the rain. I’m a fixer, see? Always have been. Ethan needed a proper solution, something with nuts and bolts. My own Camp Grizzly memories were practically a recruitment poster: sun-drenched glory, cabin camaraderie, conquering that ridiculous climbing wall. That’s where I became Jack, dammit. Except… there were those other memories, lurking like forgotten socks under the bed. The hushed whispers about the “Waterproof Warriors” cabin, the way we’d all subtly avoid eye contact, the faint sting of my own youthful guffaws echoing in my ears. A twinge of guilt, swallowed fast but never truly gone. Surely, I reasoned, a shot of that Grizzly spirit, the great outdoors and forced activities, would toughen Ethan up. I’d survived my awkward phases; Ethan could conquer this. Olivia, bless her empathetic heart, remained the voice of doom and gloom, all worried about Ethan’s “fragile emotional state.” She saw a sensitive kid drowning in anxiety; I saw a plumbing issue needing a good wrench. My more… assertive nature usually won out, and so, despite Ethan’s watery protests and Olivia’s thinly veiled disapproval, the camp brochures sat on the counter, a done deal. Four long weeks of communal sleeping, four weeks of potential humiliation hanging over his head like a thundercloud – the agonizing prospect of his nighttime secret going public was practically a physical presence. Every excuse deployed, every argument exhausted, but I stood firm. “Good for him,” I’d declared, the sound of the gavel in my voice. “Builds character.” Still, a tiny worm of doubt had started nibbling. What if camp was a disaster? What if the teasing I vaguely recalled was still the main event? The image of Ethan, all vulnerable and squishy inside, facing that kind of kid-level cruelty for four solid weeks… it sent a genuine shiver down my spine. Nope. Not on my watch. My boy deserved better. He needed backup, a seasoned pro, someone to navigate that social minefield alongside him. And that’s when the epiphany hit, audacious even for yours truly. Down in my workshop, amidst the glorious clutter of half-finished projects and the soothing hum of nascent genius, sat my baby: the “temporal re-calibration device.” Not a time machine, not exactly. More like a… reset button for your physical form, dialing back the years within the current timeline. And with the “causality stabilizer” engaged – a trivial bit of engineering, really – the younger body would retain all the glorious memories and intellect of the older model. I’d used it for minor tweaks, a fleeting return to my youthful biceps for the high school reunion (worth every watt). But now, a far grander purpose beckoned. I’d dial myself back to a cool 14. A year older than Ethan, but young enough to blend. I’d register at Camp Grizzly as “Ace Corbin,” a self-proclaimed champion of the nightly soak, a dude who needed industrial-strength diapers. This open, almost celebratory acceptance of a far more… significant issue would, I reasoned, make Ethan’s little pull-up situation seem like small potatoes. I’d be there, a human shield against bullies, a social lubricant, a silent promise of “I’ve got your back, kid.” Bold? Borderline insane? Maybe. But fueled by pure, unadulterated paternal instinct and a deep-seated need to fix things? Absolutely. I could do this. I would make Camp Grizzly a win for Ethan, even if it meant rocking a teenage bod and pretending to like whatever the hell “Gen Z” music was. Chapter 2: The Great Regression Logistics, my forte. A vaguely corporate “off-site team-building exercise” itinerary for the office, a last-minute camp registration for “Ace Corbin” smoother than a baby’s… well, you know. And then the tearful goodbye – Ethan’s anxiety practically radiating off him in waves – as he boarded the bus. A final, strangely paternal pat on his shoulder from my soon-to-be-teenaged hand, and then I was peeling away, my trusty sedan pointed towards the glorious chaos of my workshop, a determined glint in my eye. The workshop, usually a symphony of focused energy, now thrummed with anticipation. The temporal re-calibration device, my magnum opus, stood bathed in the soft glow of its own internal lights, a glorious mess of wires and humming conduits. The touchscreen interface winked at me, a cascade of intricate parameters. My fingers danced across the glass, inputting my biosignature with practiced ease, then settling on the target age: fourteen. My adult brain double-checked every setting, my gaze lingering on the reassuring green glow of the engaged “causality stabilizer.” Deep breath in, a final mental handshake with my adult self. I hit the activation button. A low hum filled the room, escalating into a tingling vibration that zipped through my body, followed by a surprisingly pleasant rush of youthful energy. Glancing down, my expertly tailored work slacks were already bagging around my rapidly shrinking frame. Quickly, I wrestled open the pre-packed duffel. Out came the carefully curated wardrobe of a modern teen. Oversized hoodies that looked suspiciously comfortable, athletic shorts in retina-searing colors, graphic tees featuring bands Ethan mumbled about – each item felt both alien and strangely familiar against my shrinking skin. A final check in the full-length mirror on the workshop door revealed the truly bizarre sight. The reflection staring back was undeniably me, but… younger. The stress lines around my eyes had vanished, the subtle softening of my jawline now sharp and defined. This was me at fourteen, the boundless energy I vaguely remembered now thrumming beneath my skin. Not bad, not bad at all. With a renewed sense of purpose, I finished stuffing the bag. Nestled amongst the trendy threads were the linchpins of my master plan: a truly heroic supply of the thickest, most absorbent adult diapers money could buy online, the kind advertised with cartoon characters and promises of overnight dryness (ironic, given my intended use). They felt strangely substantial in my suddenly smaller hands, a tangible symbol of the role I was about to play. Slinging the duffel over my newly slender shoulder, the weight was… surprisingly reassuring. “Ace Corbin” was locked, loaded, and ready for Camp Grizzly. Chapter 3: Ace Arrives and Makes a Splash (Literally?) The “Waterwell Wonders” cabin – a name that sounded suspiciously like a euphemism – was a cacophony of adolescent angst and forced enthusiasm, a sensory assault that did nothing for Ethan’s already frayed nerves. He’d retreated to the dubious sanctuary of his upper bunk, a dog-eared fantasy novel clutched like a life raft against the swirling tide of unfamiliar faces and booming voices. Then I strolled in, radiating an almost comical level of false confidence. Easy swagger, oversized duffel slung just so, a grin plastered on my face that could curdle milk. There was a flicker of something in Ethan’s eyes, a momentary spark of recognition that almost blew my cover, a fleeting echo of… someone familiar, but the sheer teenage-ness of my current vibe clearly threw him off the scent. “Yo, what up, future cabin-mates!” I announced, my voice cracking slightly on the “up” – puberty, what a joy. “Looks like we’re the elite nocturnal moisture management team of this fine establishment! Name’s… uh… Ace Corbin.” I lowered my voice conspiratorially, though still loud enough for the whole damn cabin to hear. “And yeah, well, the rumors are true. I’m a heavy sleeper… and a heavy wetter. Like, world-record heavy. So, you know, solidarity, right?” With a dramatic flourish that would have made my high school drama teacher proud, I produced a truly enormous, cartoonishly thick diaper from my bag, holding it aloft like the Stanley Cup. A wave of nervous laughter rippled through the cabin, Ethan included, a tiny sliver of the tension around his shoulders easing. Score one for Team Dad. My expertly trained paternal gaze locked onto Ethan. I sauntered over to his bunk, my smile morphing into something I hoped looked like cool cousinly concern. “Hey there, man. You must be Ethan, right? I’m, uh… your distant cousin. Ace. Heard you were slumming it at this… adventure, and figured I’d join the party. Keep the family flag flying, you know?” Smooth, Corbin, smooth. Ethan stared, that flicker of recognition intensifying. The voice, the eyes… the resemblance to his old man was almost uncanny, yet somehow… off. Younger, looser, almost… dare I say… cool? The “distant cousin” story felt flimsy enough to see through, but the open, almost celebratory admission of the bedwetting thing clearly threw him for a loop. This “Ace” wasn’t shrinking in shame; he was owning it like a boss (a very damp boss). “Hi,” Ethan mumbled, his voice still tight with apprehension. “I’m an… occasional wetter. I just have pull-ups.” He gestured self-consciously to the discreet package on his bedside table. Small potatoes, kid, small potatoes. I nodded sagely, my grin unwavering. “Cool, man. Low-impact. We all start somewhere, right? Think of this cabin as a super-secret club. Only the… leakier members get exclusive access.” I punctuated the statement with a wink that hopefully conveyed cool cousinly understanding, and a genuine, if slightly bewildered, smile finally cracked through Ethan’s anxiety. Over the next two weeks, “Ace” became the cabin’s unexpected mascot. My self-deprecating humor about my “industrial-strength leaks” created an atmosphere of surprising tolerance. Any potential teasing directed at Ethan was effortlessly absorbed by my far more… significant… “condition.” I became the deflector shield of dampness. Organized games, told surprisingly engaging (if slightly embellished) stories, subtly made sure Ethan was always included, never isolated. I even had the other boys chuckling about their own minor nighttime mishaps, creating a bizarrely supportive, almost soggy, little ecosystem. Each night, the lights would dim, the sounds of rustling sleeping bags would fill the air, and “Ace” would ostentatiously chug a massive water bottle before hitting his bunk. Hidden beneath my pillow, my phone vibrated silently at random intervals – 1 AM one night, 3:30 AM the next. I’d wake up groggily each time, a pleasant warmth spreading… well, you know. I’d stay quiet, the subtle discomfort strangely becoming a familiar part of the night. Then I’d drift right back to sleep, the dampness a silent testament to my commitment. By morning, the truly epic saturation of my diaper was undeniable “proof” of my heavy-wetter status, a damp beacon of reassurance for Ethan and the others. But as Ethan’s confidence blossomed under my damp wing, a subtle undercurrent of something… else… began to brew within him. He admired “Ace’s” effortless charm, his seemingly carefree acceptance of the very thing that had haunted Ethan’s nights for years. It wasn’t entirely fair, was it? “Ace” got to be the cool, well-liked, albeit damp, guy, while Ethan had carried this secret shame like a lead weight. Teenage logic, I guess. Chapter 4: The Unraveling Back home, the silence of the house hummed with an unsettling emptiness. Olivia probably missed my… insightful commentary. Down in the basement, the temporal re-calibration device stood silent. Olivia had looked at the control panel, the cryptic settings a mystery. Her finger had hovered over the “Causality Stabilizer” option, the indicator light a steady green. “Causality Stabilizer,” she’d murmured, tilting her head. Sounded… limiting. With a decisive tap, the green light extinguished. A faint sense of… something… shifted in the room. Satisfied with her adjustment, Olivia had returned upstairs, none the wiser. Miles away, under the deceptive tranquility of a late summer night at Camp Grizzly, the delicate, diaper-clad ecosystem I’d so carefully constructed began to wobble. The two-week mark loomed, and a subtle temporal instability seemed to be in the air. In my bunk, my fourteen-year-old body stirred restlessly, an unseen tremor rippling through me. Something felt… off. Like I was catching a bad radio signal. Chapter 5: A Blinding Flash into a Damp, Baffling Reality SNAP! One moment, I was drifting off in my bunk in Cabin Eagle at Camp Grizzly. I’d only been here for a few days, still a bit nervous but starting to make friends. The next, a blinding flash ripped through my eyelids, and a jolt slammed through my body like hitting ice water. My head spun, and a wave of nausea washed over me. Where… where was I? This wasn’t Cabin Eagle. The air smelled damp and a little… weird, and the shapes of the other bunks in the dim light were unfamiliar. Fear, sharp and sudden, clawed at my throat. I looked down at my pajamas – not mine. And then the wetness. A cold, heavy, utterly disgusting feeling between my legs. What the hell? My heart hammered against my ribs. Had I… had I wet myself? But I hadn’t done that since I was a little kid! This was… a lot. And… what was this bulky thing I was wearing? It felt… strange. Like a thick pad. A voice, older and unfamiliar, drifted down from above. “Hey… ‘Ace’? You okay? You’re… kinda making squelching noises.” ‘Ace’? That wasn’t my name. My name was Jack. Where was Garrett? Where was Mr. Henderson, our counselor? This was the wrong cabin. The wrong voice. Everything felt wrong, terrifyingly wrong. And… was I wearing a diaper? A huge, ridiculous diaper? I tried to speak, but my throat felt like sandpaper. “Wh… where am I? This isn’t my cabin. How long have I been here?” My voice was weak, barely a whisper. “Dude, it’s Ethan. What are you talking about? We’re in the ‘Waterwell Wonders’ cabin. You know… at Camp Grizzly? It’s… been about two weeks, ‘Ace.’” Ethan’s voice held a strange mix of amusement and something else… pity? Ethan? I didn’t know any Ethan. Waterwell Wonders? That sounded like a joke cabin. This was all wrong, a horrible, disorienting nightmare. And… I was wearing a diaper? This couldn’t be happening. “Whoa, ‘Ace,’ you really soaked that one, huh? Guess you are the ‘super soaker’ after all!” The unfamiliar voice, this “Ethan,” held a cruel edge that made my stomach clench. Other shadowy figures stirred in the darkness, their stifled laughter like sharp stones thrown in my direction. That evening, before lights out, Ethan tossed me a fresh diaper. “Here, ‘Ace.’ Don’t want any midnight surprises… though they seem to happen anyway.” He watched with a detached amusement as I fumbled with the unfamiliar straps and sticky tabs, utterly clueless. He sighed and, with a strange mixture of mockery and efficiency, showed me how to put it on. As I drifted to sleep, a short buzz and a flash of warmth flickered at the edge of my awareness, feeling like a strange, recurring dream. The humiliation burned. The next two weeks in this bizarre, damp reality were a living hell. Every morning, I woke up wet, the shame a heavy weight in my chest. And every morning, I’d pull off the sodden diaper, desperate to be rid of the evidence of my nighttime humiliation. Ethan would just smirk and hand me a fresh one each evening. The short buzzing and the following warmth became a nightly occurrence, a strange, inexplicable constant. The other boys, these strangers, called me “Ace” and whispered behind my back. This “Ethan” seemed to take a strange pleasure in my humiliation, yet he was also the one facilitating this bizarre, degrading ritual. I didn’t understand any of it. I just longed to go back to my real cabin, my real friends, the time before this nightmare started, before the strange nighttime buzzing and warmth. On the final night of this camp session, a desperate hope flickered within me that I would wake up back in my own bed, and this bizarre, soggy nightmare would be over. Miles away… the lights went out. Chapter 6: The Damp Dawn of a Rewritten Life I woke with a jolt, a deep sense of unease clinging to me like a damp shroud. My own bed, the familiar floral wallpaper a stark contrast to the hazy, unpleasant remnants of a disturbing dream. Olivia stirred beside me, her breathing soft and even. But something felt profoundly wrong. A heavy, sticky discomfort emanated from my lower body, a sensation both alien and vaguely familiar. Pushing back the covers, I glanced down, my breath catching in my throat. Encasing my hips was a thick, undeniably wet adult diaper. A wave of pure, unadulterated shock slammed into me. What in God’s name? I scrambled back, a strangled gasp escaping my lips. Olivia’s eyes fluttered open, her expression calm, and accepting. Before I could stammer out a question, a torrent of fragmented, unsettling memories flooded my consciousness. Camp Grizzly. Being fourteen. Waking up wet for the first time. The bewildered, slightly disgusted faces of the other boys. Then, a relentless, insidious pattern of nighttime accidents that had apparently never stopped. The scratchy, ineffective camp diapers I'd been stuck with for nearly four weeks. The shame. It was like a hidden chapter of my adolescence, brutally unearthed. And somehow… it had always been this way, these bulky, embarrassing things a constant, shameful secret. “Morning, hon,” Olivia said, her voice carrying a quiet strength, a subtle air of… competence that made a knot tighten in my stomach. There was no surprise in her eyes, no confusion. Only a gentle, practiced understanding. “You had a rough night.” Rough night? This was… this was a nightmare. “Olivia… what… what is this?” I gestured weakly to the sodden diaper. Her hand reached out, not in alarm, but in a comforting, almost maternal gesture. “It’s alright, Jack. Just a little accident. It happens.” Her tone was soothing, matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather. A strange role reversal seemed to have occurred. The decisive, take-charge man I thought I was felt utterly lost, adrift in a sea of damp indignity, while Olivia exuded a quiet, unwavering authority. “I’ll get you cleaned up,” she continued, her voice brooking no argument. “I will call your boss. You’re working from home today.” Not a suggestion, but a statement of fact. My usual protests died in my throat. A strange sense of resignation settled over me. As Olivia efficiently and without a hint of distaste helped me change, the fragmented memories solidified, weaving a new, unwelcome narrative of my past. The confident, dry adolescent I vaguely recalled from before my fourteenth year now felt like a fleeting fantasy, replaced by a shame-ridden bedwetter, navigating teenage years with a secret burden of damp sheets and hushed anxieties. The carefree memories of my twenties and thirties now felt subtly tainted, shadowed by an underlying fear of exposure, a constant vigilance against potential embarrassment. I had a faint, confusing echo of a short time, maybe two weeks, where I was called "Ace" and the diapers were better, but that was just a strange, fleeting dream amidst the much longer, humiliating reality of being just Jack at camp, constantly wet. Later that morning, the memory of my workshop surfaced, a fleeting image of wires and half-finished projects. A daring, idiotic plan to rewrite the past. It felt like a dream now, a bizarre fantasy disconnected from this soggy reality. The temporal re-calibration device, my grand solution, was gone, lost in the rewritten fabric of my existence. There would be no triumphant return to a dry past, no chance to undo this deeply ingrained, humiliating truth. Looking at Olivia, at the quiet strength in her eyes, I saw a new dynamic in our relationship. The balance had shifted, subtly but irrevocably. She was no longer just my supportive wife; she was also my patient caretaker, navigating this lifelong secret with a grace I hadn’t known she possessed. A sigh escaped my lips, heavy with resignation. The fight had gone out of me. The confident fixer I once was had been replaced by someone… else. Someone defined by this persistent dampness, by this lifelong secret now brought into the harsh light of day. There was no time machine to be found, no reset button for this rewritten life. All that remained was the damp reality of the present and the quiet acceptance of a past I no longer recognized as my own. This was my life now. And somehow, I would have to learn to live it, one soggy morning at a time. The End

AUTHOR'S NOTE: This is my first attempt at a story and I wanted to clarify one thing. This is at its core a transfem MTF transformation story. As a trans woman I have some experience with the feelings, emotions, and hurdles of this, but I absolutely do not have a cis woman's perspective on anything. There will be sex and body exploration moments, and as someone without a vagina I had to research what this is like. Hopefully it doesn't come across like some dumbass virgin wrote it. Anyway, I hope you enjoy ------------------------------------------------------ Chapter 1: In Which She Makes a Wish Ryan stared in awe at the being hovering before him, a beautiful woman with long flowing chestnut colored hair held in a ponytail by a turquoise band, a matching bedlah top covering her chest, and gold bands around her wrists. Piercing blue eyes regarded the boy, a hint of a smile touching them. However the most notable thing in Ryan's estimation was that just below the navel her body ended and below that she was made of a lavender smoke that endlessly emanated from an ornate antique bottle, twisting and flowing in eddies and swirls that seemed to hypnotize him as he beheld the being before him. “Well met, Master,” intoned the strange ethereal woman. “I am known as Sisu the Giving, genie of the bottle. I give you my most humble thanks for freeing me. In return I shall grant you all your heart’s desires. May I ask the name of my Master?” Ryan stared slack-jawed. He had found the bottle in an antique shop tucked away in an alley that he’d never meant to go down in the first place. He’d bought it as a gift for his girlfriend’s birthday. Andrea loved antiques and Ryan had thought she’d love the bottle especially, but when he pulled out the stopper this was the very last thing he’d expected to happen. Finally after a moment of stunned silence he spoke to the genie before him. “I’m, uh, Ryan,” he said lamely. “You…you're really a genie? I mean, uh, obviously you must be, but…I didn't know genies were real.” “Indeed I am,” Sisu the Giving said. “Alas, my kind are rarer in this age. I can feel only three others of my kind left in this world. Many of us have passed to realms beyond, or shall never be found again and have wasted away. ‘Tis a great tragedy, but unfortunately not one that I may remedy, for my bond is to you, my Master. As he who has freed me I am bound to your eternal servitude. As they say, your wish is my command!” Sisu smiled brightly and twirled in midair as bright glittering sparks flew about her from her fingertips, painting her as the very picture of ethereal beauty. Ryan was awed by her, still hardly believing what was happening. “Wish? You mean you can really grant any wish I want?” he asked. “Of course, my Master! I shall grant anything you desire. Fame, fortune, love, anything you ask of me shall be yours!” Ryan paused, suddenly wary. “Hold on,” he said cautiously. “In stories genies aren't always so kind in granting wishes, there's always some kind of twist.” Sisu’s eyes twinkled as she regarded her new master. “Indeed,” she agreed. “Many of my kind have done these things. I, however, shall not warp your wish into some unfavorable or nefarious outcome. Your wish shall be granted perfectly and according to your true desire.” Ryan waited for a moment for Sisu to speak. “But…?” he prompted. Sisu smiled a wan and dry smile. “Of course,” she confessed, “a price must be paid. For everything you receive something from you shall be taken. This thing I will not tell you and you shall not know until it is gone, but I give you my solemn vow that neither you nor those you love shall come to harm, nor shall your wish be tainted.” Ryan considered this. If what Sisu was saying was true it wasn't as bad as the stories had said it would be. However, this could potentially be just as bad, especially if he didn't know what he'd have to give up. Still, the trade-off might be worth it in the end after his three wishes were through. Actually…wait a minute. “Wait,” he exclaimed as the thought occurred, “you haven't told me how many wishes I get!” “That is because there is no limit,” Sisu proclaimed. “I do not limit you to one, three, or even five as some of my brothers and sisters may have. You may decide yourself when the price becomes too high for you to ask for more.” Ryan paled slightly. These trades must be pretty serious if Sisu thought he would give up on his own accord. What would be the breaking point? What would be taken from him that would cause him to quit? And just because something wasn’t harmful doesn’t mean it couldn’t be bad. “That's…different,” he muttered uneasily. “Is there anything else I should know? Any more rules like no killing or no love?” “Nothing of that sort. Love is easy to manipulate, even if it can get a bit unpleasant. If you truly wish someone to die then it shall be done, but the price of ending a life shall be severe.” Sisu’s eyes turned steely and sharp. Ryan could see the weight of her words reflected in her expression as she spoke. “I would also caution against raising the dead,” the genie continued. “It can be done, but things tend to get…messy. Besides these, I give you one final warning.” The swirling smoke comprising Sisu's lower half suddenly shifted inward and formed into slender legs with a gold and turquoise pair of pants to match her bedlah top. Sisu touched down on the floor and took one quick stride to be face to face with Ryan for the first time. She stood at eye level just a few inches away and Ryan instinctively took a half step back. “What is done cannot be undone,” she warned, the severity shining in her eyes once more. “Neither wish nor sacrifice may be reversed. What you get and what you lose shall remain for all your life. Choose wisely.” With her warning completed Sisu floated back up into the air, taking a pose as if she were lounging on a chair, her head propped on her arm and her legs crossed, all trace of seriousness gone. Ryan swallowed nervously. “So, my Master,” she smiled. “What is your wish?” Ryan regarded the genie nervously. A pit had begun to form in his stomach as he weighed the choice before him. He could have anything he wanted. But was it worth the risk? What could he want so bad that it would be… He paused, and the pit grew deeper. Ever since the lavender smoke began pouring from that bottle a thought had played at the back of his mind, a thought that had grown stronger even as Ryan tried to shove it down, shove it back into the dark place of his mind where he kept it locked. Some days it stayed put, content to stay away, but it was always there, waiting, and on the nights when it broke free it consumed him and left him aching, sleepless, and hopelessly despairing. But now there was no avoiding it, and 27 years of repressing this feeling had finally taken its toll. It was free now, and the thought, that terrible ache, could be made real, and almost without even thinking Ryan spoke. “I…can you…” He hesitated. “Hm?” questioned Sisu, a curious look on her face. “What is it that troubles you, Master?” Ryan could hardly breathe, he felt like he was being choked. He forced himself to take a deep breath and count in his head until he was calmer. 1 and 1 is 2. 2 and 2 is 4. 4 and 4 is 8. “I wish…” he started. 8 and 8 is 16. 16 and 16 is 32. Sisu smiled, and unbeknownst to Ryan she used a tiny portion of her magic to loosen his tongue. She had a sneaking suspicion what his wish would be. It was not the first time she had seen this happen. “Speak, Master,” she intoned. Ryan counted 32 and 32 is 64, took a deep breath, let the pit fill his entire being, and spoke. “I wish I was a girl,” she commanded. Sisu did a midair somersault and landed in front of Ryan, her eyes glittering and her grin wide. Just as she’d suspected. "Your wish is my command, Mistress.” Smoke poured from the bottle, surrounding Sisu until she was no longer visible. At once the column of lavender haze drifted towards Ryan, enveloping her in a soft caress from head to toe. She shivered as she felt herself begin to change. Her short hair grew, lengthening to halfway down her back, light and smooth. Her shoulders and waist began to narrow at the same time as her hips began to widen. She suddenly felt very tight in her jeans and worried about them ripping as she felt her butt also begin to expand. She couldn't be too sure through the smoke but she could swear she felt herself shrinking. It was all too much. She could hardly breathe. It felt as though there was a heavy weight on her chest. She put her hand up and gasped, feeling the mounds beneath her shirt as her new breasts began to swell. She was suddenly very scared of how she hadn't specified anything about this, but there was nothing to be done now. Just as she was beginning to worry that they were going to get too big the swelling slowed and stopped. She breathed a sigh of relief, but tensed again as she heard Sisu’s voice in her ear. “Apologies, Mistress, this next part is going to be a bit invasive, but I need to be precise here. I promise I shall be gentle and make it nice for you.” The smoke receded from her head and feet, gathering at her crotch and moving into her pants. She squealed in fright as she felt her manhood begin to shrink, then let out a soft moan as she felt pleasure radiate from it. She shook and her knees buckled as she suddenly felt the greatest orgasm of her life rock her. Pure ecstasy radiated out from her crotch as she sat on hands and knees, unable to move as the genie continued her work. It came in waves in ways she had never felt before, reverberating through her whole body, shaking her to her core. As the bliss rolled over her she felt the genie moving deeper and deeper inside her new genitals. She could feel things inside her moving, being rearranged, transformed from her previous male organs to her new female ones. Soon the waves of pleasure subsided and she was left panting on the floor. Eventually she was dimly aware of the smoke coalescing in front of her as Sisu appeared again, looking proud and grinning from ear to ear. “I must say,” bragged the genie, “that this may be my greatest work in centuries.” Ryan looked up at Sisu, eyes wide, still catching her breath. “That…that was…” she panted in an unfamiliar high-pitched voice. “I’m really quite good,” the genie said, evidently very pleased. “Still, we're not quite done. There's one last finishing touch.” Ryan cocked her head to the side. What could possibly be left? Everything about her was fundamentally different now, even the world looked bigger. “What-” she started before Sisu knelt down, took her head by the chin, and kissed her firmly on the lips. Ryan's eyes went wide as suddenly thoughts, memories, and knowledge flashed in her mind. How to put on makeup, how to wear a bra, how to manage a period, everything one could ever need to know about being a woman was beamed directly into her head. At the same time Ryan felt something else leave her mind, some small piece of former knowledge taken. Was this the trade? Sisu broke the kiss after just two seconds, though to Ryan it had felt like an eternity. She wobbled slightly on hands and knees, then fully collapsed on her side, whimpering, the room spinning above her. Sisu drifted down to rest beside the poor girl and placed Ryan's head in her lap. The genie began to stroke Ryan’s hair and spoke softly to the new girl before her. “It is alright, Mistress. You have been through a lot. Just breathe and it will pass. Sixty…sixty-ffffff… Ryan's head was still swimming with the process and couldn't really focus properly on her numbers. But as her head began to clear she tried to focus on what was taken from her mind, something important, something she felt like she had all her life that was now missing, but no matter how hard she tried she couldn't remember. “What was it?” she asked the genie unsteadily in her new higher, softer voice. “What did you take?” Sisu smiled down at Ryan. “Nothing too important. You'll find out soon enough.” Ryan blinked up at the genie. She was beautiful, and from here she looked almost motherly. As the last of the head fog cleared, Ryan sat up as straight as she could, if a bit unsteady, next to the attentive genie. Did Sisu get bigger? Or did… Ryan propped herself on the coffee table and slowly pulled herself up. Sisu stood and offered a helping hand which Ryan took as she took stock of everything. No, she wasn't imagining it, Sisu was taller than her, but only because Ryan was shorter. She had been at eye level with the genie before but now Ryan had lost at least eight or nine inches. Even her clothes hung weird and her jeans bunched up considerably around her ankles and under her heels. She'd have to have Andrea measure her when- “Andrea!” she squealed at the thought of her girlfriend. “What's she going to think seeing me like this?! I didn't even think about how she'd react! Sisu, change me back! She’s supposed to come over tonight!” Sisu gave a tsk tsk noise and wagged her finger at the girl. “Apologies, Mistress, but as you recall one of my rules was that wishes cannot be undone. I believe there's a delightful phrase in this time, ‘no take-backsies.’” Ryan groaned. Of course, stupid stupid Ryan, never thinking ahead. What was she going to do? “If I may, Mistress,” Sisu said, “I'd advise you to worry less about your girlfriend and more about yourself. You seem to be having some…difficulties?” Ryan looked up at the genie, still helping her stand, wondering what she was talking about, when she suddenly felt something very warm between her legs. She looked down and jumped back in alarm as she saw a growing wet stain around her crotch that was beginning to run down her legs, completely soaking the front of her too-tight jeans. It took a second for her to fully realize what was happening, but when she did she was utterly mortified. “What the fuck what the fuck!” She shrieked. She tried desperately to put her hands between her legs in an attempt to stop it, but to no avail. Under no control of her own she was wetting her pants and could not stop.

Well, here goes nothing. I have posted on ABDL sites before but I don't think my heart was really in those stories. That has changed now, this story is one that I have put plenty of work into and I am finally ready to test it out on a real audience. I have a few chapters ready in the coming weeks but, based on how things go I hope to move to a regular schedule as I have lots of plans! Note regarding grammar, well I am terrible at it. I don't have an editor and rely mainly on re-reads and free web grammar checks so, don't judge me too bad, ha! Hope you Enjoy! ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ The sound of a flip-flop smacking the bottom of a foot and the ground in an annoying, repetitive beat filled the car as they approached their destination. “Tara, stop that!” her mother spoke sharply. Tara leaned up from the clenched position she was in at the back of the van and pressed her foot down hard to stop the tapping. She had been holding back her bladder for the better part of the trip. The freeway separating Tara’s house from her mother’s best friend was legendary. She had been holding back the two colas she had pounded at lunch and was thankful the end was nearly in sight. “I keep telling you it's not healthy for you to keep doing this to yourself; I thought we were past this.” Diane continued. In her current condition, Tara couldn’t help but agree with her. Ever since she was little, she had issues with bathroom breaks. As a small child, she was potty trained early, but that did not stop her from constantly having accidents. Her mom always said she had her ‘head in the clouds’; she would be so focused on something that nothing else would matter… nothing. As she grew older, Tara continued to have accidents that would go up and down in frequency. When she started school, she earned the unpleasant nickname ‘Tinkle Tara’. Between accidents and a bout with bedwetting when she was 7 and 9 years old, it looked like she was doomed to it. However, for whatever reason, a switch had flipped, and it had been nearly 8 years since ‘Tinkle Tara’ was uttered. On the other hand, in the last few months, Tara has been putting her bathroom training through the ringer. Time after time, she found herself holding her bladder and aching from the effort. Whether it was at the mall, watching a movie, or sitting through classes, the urge to go was becoming more frequent and urgent each time. She had not told her mother that she almost always felt the need to go ‘right now’ whenever she had to pee. It never helped matters that her mother was a health nut and had drilled into her to keep hydrated, so she always was drinking water. It was a habit, but then again, it was only in the last few months that things started to go sideways. Now Tara was also going to be playing ‘big sister/babysitter’ to a 10 year old. Her mother and Brittany’s, had been friends since High School and now work for the same company. Both had been married and are now divorced. With lucrative jobs and a daughter, they were about as close as any family member. So when they both were chosen to go overseas to be in charge of operations in a new business move for the company, they quickly decided the plan. As Tara was 18, she would watch and take care of Britteny until the two mothers got back, which would be around the beginning of the summer. “Now remember, you have to be in charge of Brittany and keep up with your school work. Those are the two most important things,” her mother said, for about the hundredth time. “Mom, I know. I have hung out with Brittany plenty of times before,” Tara countered. “Not for this long and with this many responsibilities. Plus, Cathrine has… Well something else that you are going to have to keep track of,” her mom finished. “Oh?” the girl raised her eyebrow. “She will tell you,” her mother said giving her a look that said, this is serious. As the van pulled into the garage of Cathrine and Brittany’s home, Tara shot like a bullet out the door into the house. Catherine was blurred as she shot for the bathroom in the room she usually stayed in on the second floor. Scrambling through the door, the sight of the bathroom made Tara relax. “No!” she gasped, hurriedly tired to get the button on her shorts undone. She had relaxed too early, and now things were out of control. Finally sitting on the seat, a sharp but blissful relief crept over her. She had not realized how much and how painful this time had been. Tara knew that she should stop doing this but, for now, inspected the damage to her shorts. The whole crotch of the garment was a darker shade of blue and was a lost cause. Luckily, she had one other pair close to these that she could grab from her bag and slip into. This was only the third time this had happened, but it certainly was not something she enjoyed. Slipping into fresh clothes, she made her way back down to the living room to ‘officially’ greet Cathrine and Brittany. “Whew, sorry about that,” she greeted Catherine. “It’s alright, pretty on par for you, ha!” Cathrine jested, then her voice went low,“Follow me to the kitchen.” Her mother was talking with Brittany, and the girl was looking like she did not have much to say, so she followed Catherine. “So there is something that I have been keeping from you; I just told her mother last night,” she let out with a long breath. “Oh no, is something wrong?” Tara blurted out. “No, no, nothing serious, but… Brittany has been having some troubles. Bathroom troubles,” she responded flatly. A heat rose in Tara’s cheeks, and she simply said, “Oh…” “Now I know that you had your own issues, but I recently saw a book about accidents among older children and teenagers. I have Brittany following some rules that are designed to help her get through this phase.” Cathrine explained as she put a hardcover book on the counter. “The front of the book explains how the rules work - the ins and outs as they were. And in the back there is the list of rules and a little chart if you need it,” she went on. Tara picked up the book, and before she could utter a word, Cathrine continued, “You obviously don’t have to read it, and Brittany knows the first two rules by heart now, but you should read them and she has to follow them. Supplies are in the upstairs hall closet.” “Supplies?” the girl questioned. “Well, in a nutshell, Brittany has to use protection whenever she has accidents. The more accidents, the more protection, and the more…eh… privileges she loses.” the older woman explained. “Ah, well, I guess that makes sense.” Tara concluded. She couldn’t believe it, Brittany was in diapers! It was a shock only because there had never been a hint to her that her little friend may have had such troubles. Well, Tara herself was smaller, but not terribly so, but she was still taller by a couple of inches. Brittany had a heart shaped face, round blue eyes, and shorter brunette hair, while Tara had sandy blonde hair past her shoulders, brown eyes, and a longer face. Both had followed their mother’s genes, like matched sets. “Cathrine, we need to get to the airport,” her own mother called out. “Oh yes, coming!” she replied, and then to Tara, “Just read the rules and make sure Brittany follows them, simple as it gets!” With that, she hugged Tara and made her way to the living room, where her daughter and Tara’s mother were. There were the usual tearful goodbyes, as the realization of how long it would be before they were all together again sunk in. All too soon, it was just Tara and Brittany watching TV in silence as the girls both recovered from the painful departure. Tara ordered pizza as a way of cheering them both up, and by the time the large pizza and sodas had been consumed, it was close to bedtime. She, Tara, knew it was time to broach the subject. She decided to do so in a manner that showed she trusted Brittany to know what she had to do. “Well, I guess it is time for bed, Brit,” she stated. Brittany yawned. “Yeah, I guess so.” The girl got up from the couch and made her way to the stairs. “Wait, Brittany!” she called to stop the girl. “Is there something we need to talk about? Some rules?” The younger girl froze, and she stiffened as she turned to face Tara, so she went on the offensive. “Before you say anything, it's alright. I had problems when I was around your age,” she tried to soothe Brittany. “I don’t want to follow the rules without mom,” she almost spat back at Tara. “Look, this will go smoothly if we just follow what your mom wants you to do.” Tara countered. “But… it's just… It's so embarrassing, and I want to just be normal.” Brittany pleaded, “Please don't make me do them.” It nearly broke Tara’s heart to see Brittany clinging onto a small hope that she would be out of whatever she had been enduring. “What exactly are the rules you are supposed to follow, i haven't read them yet because I want you to tell me,” Tara said. “Well, umm… you… There are five rules, and if you have any, you know. Then you start at 1 and go from there.” Brittany mumbled. “I see, and what rule are you on now?” She questioned further. “1B,” Brittany said out of the side of her mouth. “1B?” “Yeah, the first rule has three parts… some kind of like grace period before the rest of the rules, I guess.” Brittany had crossed her arms and had not looked at Tara since she started talking about the rules. “How far have you gone down the list?” Tara asked with complete curiosity. “Just two, but it was awful.” Brittany huffed. Tara was in a bind; she didn’t want to fight Brittany for weeks on end. And she didn’t want to have to deal with Brittany having accidents she could prevent. But most of all, she did want to have fun with Brittany; she really was like a little sister. The girl shouldn’t have to feel alone in this… then it hit her. It was drastic, but it just might work. “Alright, let's look at 1B,” Tara announced. Going into the kitchen, she opened the back of the book and found the page with 1A at the top. She read out, “1A - a single day-time accident will result in a pull-up for 1 day and night.” Turning the page, she also read, “1B - a single night-time accident will result in regular pull-ups for 2 days & night-time pull-ups for 2 nights.” Brittany was bright red but Tara talked fast to ease the embarrassment. “So you…” “The night before last, this is my second night. Mom let me go without during the day today because she was leaving,” the girl clarified. “Good, then we will both follow the rules going forward.” Tara stated. “Both?” Brittany asked. “Both,” she replied. “What good is that? It's still just me that will have to do any of it!” Brittany screeched. “Hold on. Did you see me dash upstairs when I got here?” Tara asked, and the girl nodded. “Well, I didn't quite make it, and my shorts got a bit wet. So I guess that puts me on 1A, right?” she said, matter of fact. “You're lying,” Brittany huffed, but Tara was prepared for this. A quick trip to her room and her shorts from earlier presented to Brittany were all the evidence she needed. “Whoa!” Brittany exclaimed. “Told you, so we will both be in pull-ups tonight. Your mom gave you a break, so we will just go with the pull-ups tonight. And if we are both dry in the morning, this all resets, right?” She asked cheerily. “Yeah, but… but… “ Brittany couldn’t come up with an argument. “Now come on, we are still about the same size; let's see if they fit and we can get off to bed.” Tara led the dumbstruck girl up the stairs and to the closet. It was packed with white boxes, each labeled in the upper corner. The shelf at chest height had two opened boxes, one of the left read ‘Slims’. Thinking these must be the pull-ups she grabbed two, and handed one to Brittany. “Let’s both get pjs on, i will come to your room in about 10 minutes.” Tara said as she closed her door behind her. Throwing the pull-up on the bed, it suddenly hit Tara what she was about to do. It had been so long since she had worn something like that she almost felt as if it stared back at her. As if this meant more than just a means to an end. Shaking her head, she inspected the pull-up; it wasn’t any of the major brands she knew. In fact, it only had an “R” in the center of the waistband to indicate a brand. The sides were just a bit longer than the width of her hand and the padding looked fairly thin, but then it was just a pull-up. Changing into a tank top with thin shoulder straps, she placed her usual PJ pants next to the pull up on the bed. Stepping into the pull-up she began to doubt that she would fit, yet as she dragged it up to her waist, it never seemed to tighten. Standing there, 18 years old, and in a pull-up, it may as well have been fitted for her. It clung to her a bit but didn’t feel tight, and she felt the leg holes conform around her leg just below her butt, a perfect fit. She walked around and noted the extra padding and the overall ‘bulk’ she was not accustomed to as she moved. Satisfied, she pulled her PJs over the pull-up and went to see Brittany. Knocking on the door, the girl called out that she was ready. Tara was momentarily taken aback as Brittany had some small shorts and the diaper spilled out of the top and the sides. “All set?” she asked. “Yeah… I guess,” but Brittany kept glancing at Tara's PJs. Pulling the band of her pants down a bit, Tara showed the top of the pull and said, “Fitted just fine.” Tara began to giggle, and a smile reached Brittany's face as well. Soon they were laughing hard at the situation, and the tension was broken between them. “Night, Brit, see in the morning.” Tara chuckled out. “Night, Tara” was the reply as the younger girl got into bed. Back in her own room, Tara turned off the lights and got under the streets, exhausted. However, she almost immediately realized why Brittany’s shorts were so small. Being under covers, in pants, and in a pull-up was not the most comfortable thing. But tiredness eventually overtook Tara, and she drifted off.

So this is my first time, trying to write any kind of story revolving around ABDL and also one of the first time I've ever tried sticking my nose into creative writing at all. This is basically a preview. I would like some feedback on my writing style and also if this is an "story idea and concept" that people would like to see me put some time and effort into. To zero and back Chapter 0: ” You GOT to be joking!” My mother stared back at me with a dumbfound look on her face. “You can’t be serious, about such an idea!?” Her eyes didn’t flinch, as she just stared right at me, with a blank expression. “Mom, seriously, it’s a great idea and it’s NEVER been done before. And the people at the magazine already signed off on it. They think its brilliant! This could be my big break!” I could easily tell, that my attempts at convincing her, had little to no effect. “So let me get this straight.” Taking a zip of her coffee, she learned forward in the couch, staring even harder at me, from the other side of the living room table. “The biggest child and parent’s magazine in the country, “Mommy Mag” has agreed for you to write a parenting guide on potty-training, by first unpotty-training yourself and then training yourself again, alongside your baby cousin!? And how long did they give you to write this article?” “Two years.” I mumbled, trying to break free of her locked stare. “So what, one year to unlearn everything and then when your cousin turns three, you got one year to learn everything again alongside him and write this damn thing!?”. “Pretty much.” Her eyes did not flinch, she had barely blinked since the conversation started. “And what does the deal include.” She took another sip of her coffee. This was my shot, my one opening to sell her on the idea. “They have agreed to take care of all expenses, WHATEVER that may include, also I would be under full time contract the full 2 years, but will not have to meet into the office to work on the article. And Mom, the salary is great and when the 2 years are up, if the article gets printed, I’m guaranteed to have my contract renewed and is free to work on whatever I feel like afterward. It’s a great deal and I really think this could be my big shot, at making it in the business.” That last part wasn’t a lie, I truly did believe that this could be my chance of making it big in the journalism business. Ever since getting my degree almost a year ago, nothing had really gone my way and 12 months after finishing school, I was still living at home with my mom and had, little to no luck at getting my foot in the door anywhere. That was one of the reasons of this project of my, but there was another, one that nobody and especially my mom needed to know about. I’m an ABDL which stands for adultbaby diaper lover, it’s a kind of fetish that has its roots in ageplay and regression often revolving around wearing and using diapers. So basically being able to wear and use diapers and combine it with my work, which may lead to something bigger, while getting PAID to do so, was the ultimate dream come true. But first, I had to convince my mother, since I was living under her roof and this would come to affect her day and life. “And what does your aunt Karen and uncle Rob think of this?” “They are pretty cool with it, I’ve already ran the idea by them and it’s not like it’s really going to affect them. Especially not until cousin Jack turns two and then it’s still limited how big a part of it, he and they are going to play. I’m the test subject, Jack is only playing the role of control test, so I’ll have some routines to follow, while training myself back up.” She took another zip of her coffee cup, still looking skeptical, but her stare had lightened. “I still can’t believe, that my sister agreed to this.” She exhaled deeply. “And how exactly are you planning on….UNtraining yourself?”. “Well...” I hesitated for a second. “I’ve been reading a lot about it on the internet, there are actually a lot of information on the subject, believe it or not. In reality, it’s like un-training any other muscle and there’s also hypnosis and stuff, that should help with the process.” She continued to stare into her cup, not giving me a second look as she spoke. “Well Patrick, you’ve seem to have already made up your mind. And you’re an adult, it’s not like I can stop you and you seem to have done your research. If this is want you think you NEED to do, to get your career going and if you promise to take good care of yourself.” My eyes lit up, as she looked back up at me. “Then go for it,” JACKPOT! Chapter 1: After a rather quiet, but especially awkward dinner, I found myself sitting in front of my laptop, armed with my company credit card and ready to begin my project. Seeking out diapers was my first priority, it didn’t take me long to find a local site that sold incontinent product and offered express shipping. I ordered a case of plain white adult diapers, in medium thickness and capacity and continued on to the second target on my “to do list”. I had been looking at hypnotic ABDL files for a while. Most of them seemed too good to be true, offering complete incontinent and mental regression. But at one point I stumbled upon a webpage that didn’t promise too much and actually sported some great review of their files. One file offered help to induce urinary incontinent, making the listener more open to the thought of becoming less bladder control aware and accepting this fact. Another offered the same but included bowel incontinence. But the one I had my eyes on, offered both of these, plus included ties to mental regression and acceptance. Linking the thought of becoming incontinent, with the thought of being a toddler or infant. Mentioning allowing the user to not be embarrassed by the idea of wearing and using diapers, because that is what babies would do and making “giving up control” easier, as this train of thought and connection between the two grew stronger. That was all I needed to read and within seconds the file was ordered and arrived in my email inbox. That would be all, I would need for now and I put my trusted company card away and decided to call it a night. But not before transferring the hypnotic file to my phone, so I could listen to it while I slept. Laying in my bed, I plugged my headset in and played the file, which sadly turned out to be a disappointment. The field proved to be some sort of subliminal message, just a random mix of radio scatter and sounds bites. The only noticeable feature, was a faint sound of a nursery lullaby appearing from time to time. But still I found the simple thought of the promised effect and what awaited me in the near future arousing and jacked myself to a major orgasm, before falling asleep, the file still playing in my ears. I woke up the next morning refreshed and excited. Luckily Mom had left for work, when I got up so awkward encounter ruined the morning as I had breakfast and started my day. I did not achieve a lot that day, as I constantly found myself checking the driveway waiting for the delivery of my diaper order. But I did manager to kill some time in front of my laptop and after much thought came up with a name for my article. “To zero and back” I said to myself as a wrote the headline on the word document. That name seemed fitting, as I would be going back to zero potty training and then back again afterwards. The mere thought of that, got me excited. Finally, the doorbell sounded and I sprang across the house. Opening the door, I was greeted by a UPS driver, holding a large cardboard box in his arms. Quickly signing for the order and sending him on his way, I ran back across the house and into my room, throwing the box onto my bed before ripping it open. Inside I found exactly what I ordered. A shipment of plain white diapers, enough to surely last me a while. At least in the beginning. Now came the part I had been waiting for. Time to put on, what hopefully was my first of many diapers for a long time. I ripped one of the diapers out of the box and sniffed it. No apparent smell hit, to my disappointment, so I quickly continued to open the diaper and spread it out on my before, taking a second to admire it, before slowly unbuttoning my jeans and letting them drop down around my ankles, before stepping out of them. Next I removed my underwear, realizing this may be the last time in a while, that I wore such a pair of boxerbriefs. I turned around and placed my bum on the diaper, it felt thinner than expected, but still the feeling of the soft padding, sent chills down my spine, as I laid back and put the front up between my legs. Next came the tapes, which proved to be quite a challenge, as each side sported 2 pieces of sticky material. It took a lot of fiddling and several on and off attempts but finally I had all four pieces of tape attached and the diaper secured around my waist. After standing up and walking over to my bedroom mirror to inspect myself, it became clear that “secured” may have been an overstatement. The diapers were hanging rather loose and slightly crocket around my hips. It took 5 more minutes of fiddling and opening and reapplying the tapes, before I ended up with a semi acceptable result. There I stood, dressed in nothing but my t-shirt and a crinkly white diaper. This was a dream come true, but the dream quickly ended as I heard the front door open and my Mom enter the house. I panicked and quickly ran to pick up my pants, we may have had the talk and this may be a dream come true, but I was nowhere near ready to let my Mom see me, in just a diaper. The pants proved to be a challenge to put on, the diaper was thicker than expected and it took quiet a lot of effort to force my pants up and over the diaper, but I managed to close them around my waist and went to greet my Mom. As I entered the kitchen to meet her, I became aware of the crinkle that followed my every step, as a result of the diaper moving around my hips. I slowed my movement, careful not to walk to fast, as a mean to dampen the noise of my new underwear. “Oh there you are, so how has your day been?” My Mom was busy unpacking the groceries as I entered. “Fine I guess, I’ve got a bit of writing done and I even came up with a title for my article.” I picked up a grocery bag from the table and start unloading it into the cabinet. My Mom stood quiet for a moment, staring down at me, as I was kneeling in front of the cabinet. “So, how does it feel?”. I looked up at her with a confused look. “What do you mean?” I folded up the bag and stood back up. “How does it feel being back in diapers?” My mouth dropped for a second. “How did you know?” My response triggered a chuckle from her. “It pretty hard not to notice, that crinkle is pretty hard to ignore, also its peaking up from the back of your pants when you squat down and when you entered, you were waddling almost like a toddler trying to hide it.” She continued to chuckle, as she put the bags away. “Guess it’s something we both have to get used to. It’s not like you can sneak around for the next 2 years, trying to hide it.” At this point my face was burning bright red, this was one of the things I hadn’t thought about, but she was right. I spent the next few hours “hiding” in my room, trying to avoid awkward diaper contact with my Mom, until the time came for my bladder to declare itself “full”. “This is it.” I mumbled to myself, as I stood up from my desk. Standing in the center of my room, I closed my eyes and relaxed my body. Nothing. I took a deep breath, exhaled and relaxed. Again, nothing. This was proving to be quite a challenge, and this whole untraining concept, may be harder than expected. Once again I took a deep breath, held it, exhaled and FINALLY. I felt a warm flow spread around my crotch, as the diaper flooded and consumed the urine flowing from my body. The warmth continued to spread across the front of the diaper, slowly making its way towards the back and… DOWN MY LEG!? I opened my eyes, just in time to catch the first drops of liquid, roll my thigh and onto the floor. “SHIT!” I mumbled loudly. The flow of urine stopped, but it was clear that my diaper had leaked and I had managed to make a mess on the floor. “Guess I didn’t do such a good job after all.” I thought, as I stood there contemplating my situation. I quickly made my way to the bathroom. First to rip off the “failed” diaper and wash myself off with a cloth, before grapping a roll of paper and run back to my room for a quick clean up. With the mess taken care off, I dropped the used diaper in the bathroom waste bin and soon found myself back in my room, fresh diaper in hand and ready to give it another try. Once again I placed the diaper on my bed and started placing it around my hips. AND once again I found myself having to fiddle with the tapes for several minutes, applying and reapplying them, before I ended up with an acceptable result. At this time, Mom was yelling that dinner was ready, so I threw my pants back on and slowly snuck my way to join her. Nothing particular happened for the rest of the night, as we both tried avoiding starting any awkward conversation during dinner, before I quickly snuck my way back to the safety of my room, where I spent the rest of the night, until it was time for bed. Laying in my bed that night, the hypnotic file playing through my headset. I quickly discovered that falling asleep wearing my new underwear would prove to be a challenge. The extra padding between my legs, made laying on my side rather difficult, not to mention the loud crinkle that followed my every movement and the extreme heat that was generated around my groin. But finally after much tossing and turning, I drifted off to sleep. 1 day down, 729 to go.

Chapter One “Hey, Elliott? Come on downstairs. She’ll be here any minute.” As in, his babysitter. It was more annoying than embarrassing. Elliott was twenty years old, and way too old to need supervision while his parents were away for the weekend. As they had explained to him, however, this was more about his grades than his ability to stay out of trouble. Though he had coasted through his first year of university, the same couldn’t be said about his time as a sophomore. Elliott had low Bs in half his classes and mid Cs in the others. And, since he was living at home to save on room and board, his parents were well aware that he had a habit of slacking off and choosing video games over studying. He tried to assure them that he would be fine, just like he had been in December. Admittedly, he had crammed pretty hard in order to pass those exams, yet that also proved he was capable of doing the same this time around. His parents were less confident, especially since failing any of his classes meant that he would lose his scholarship. Which is why they hired Vanessa to make sure he studied properly over the weekend while they were on vacation. Vanessa was a neighbor, a young adult who had moved in a few months ago and had quickly established herself as a competent nanny. Between her experience and her availability, which couldn’t always be said for younger babysitters, she had great reviews and barely needed to advertise her services any more. Elliott’s parents, for example, met her at a neighborhood event once, and later heard good things about her from a couple a few doors down. There was also the fact that they couldn’t hire a teenager to watch their college aged son, so it made way more sense to ask someone like Vanessa. Elliott had never met her before, as he didn’t go to those events any more. He was too old to hang out with the neighborhood kids, and too young to have any interest in socializing with the adults. That, and he preferred gaming these days. It’s what he was doing when his mother called him from the main floor. Thankfully, he was playing a single player game with a pause function, or he would have to deal with the age-old explanation of how he couldn’t just drop everything when his teammates were relying on him and he had to finish the round before getting up. He quietly groaned to himself and stood up, heading out of his room and down the stairs to be polite and greet Vanessa. Maybe she would stay out of his hair if he played nice from the beginning. After all, he was a young adult himself, even if being in university didn’t make him quite as grown up as the nanny who had her own house and was running her own business. Hopefully she would realize that Elliott was self-sufficient enough, and proceed to leave him alone and take the easy money. The doorbell rang just as he reached the top step. Elliott only hesitated for a moment, before continuing the descent. He wasn’t sure what to expect, though there was really no reason to be nervous. This was all going to be more of an inconvenience than anything else. He definitely hadn’t prepared himself for Vanessa to be hot. As his mother opened the door, the redhead on the other side came into view, wearing a red dress that was quite the contrast to the t-shirt/jeans combo his babysitters tended to wear back when he was young enough to actually need someone around when his parents went out. “Good afternoon,” she smiled, “And thank you again for the opportunity. It’s always exciting to work with a new family.” “I’m just glad you were free this weekend,” his mother said, “Come on in. I can give you a quick tour, and answer any questions you have before heading out. Elliott is upstairs, but should be down in a minute.” The stairs led right down to the front door, so Vanessa could easily see him in the background. “That must be him,” she said, “Hey, Elliott. Ready for a productive weekend?” “Something like that,” he muttered. Her attractiveness was a little disarming. Though she was being ever so slightly patronizing with her greeting, he couldn’t help but wonder if he had a chance with her. Maybe not, considering the 5-8 year age gap; it was tough to get an immediate read on how old she was. Vanessa stepped inside, complete with her duffel bag slung over one shoulder, “A tour would be lovely. Elliott, do you mind gathering your academic materials for me in the meantime? I was given an overview of what you need to get done this weekend, but I’d love to go over the specifics with you.” Short of being needlessly difficult, he didn’t have a reason to say ‘no.’ The good news was, it was university. His parents only knew what classes he was taking, as well as the broad strokes of his GPA. Unlike high school, they weren’t in communication with his professors or anything like that. Ideally, he could ensure that Vanessa was in a similar boat in terms of not knowing exactly what he had to get done by Monday. He returned to his room, as there was no reason to tag along for a tour. Unlike babysitters from his childhood, Vanessa would be staying overnight, likely in the guest bedroom. Other than that, he assumed it would be the same. Ordering pizza with whatever money his parents were leaving with her, or perhaps cooking if she was into that; it really depended on the sitter. Of course, he preferred the former option. As for the materials she requested, there wasn’t much for Elliott to show. The semester was nearly over, which meant he only had a few assignments left to deal with. Other than that, it was simply a matter of studying for his exams the following week, which he hadn’t planned on starting until Tuesday or Wednesday. Not wanting to look bad, he at least took the effort to pull out each syllabus and turn to the last page. Partly to show Vanessa that her services weren’t actually needed, and because looking disorganized would validate his parents’ decision to hire her in the first place. Other than that, he wasn’t sure what to do while he waited. Deciding to avoid smalltalk and a drawn out departure where his parents were involved, he opted to stay in his room for the time being. It would be easier to figure out whatever his dynamic with Vanessa would be if he didn’t have to do so in front of his family. It didn’t take long for the tour to bring Vanessa to his bedroom; Elliott hadn’t considered that when returning to his desk and looking up potential builds for one of his mains in the MOBA he and his friends were into. There was no point in resuming what he was playing earlier, as he’d have to deal with Vanessa sooner rather than later anyway. “Hmm. It’s pretty messy in here,” Vanessa said. Barely one step into the room, and clearly in babysitter mode. “Maybe we should tackle this first? I bet you’ll be more productive in a cleaner space.” Hopefully she was just putting on a show for his mother, who was standing right there. Elliott did regret not tidying a bit before the tour led them upstairs. In his defense, this had been his bedroom for his whole life, and his habits hadn’t changed much since starting university. And, since he lived with his parents, there weren’t many opportunities for him to have a girl over. Though Vanessa was attractive, it wasn’t as if she was an instant crush or anything like that. At the same time, first impressions were still important. “Couldn’t hurt,” his mother agreed, “Although, good luck. I’ve mentioned the clutter for years. Anyway, are you all set here, Vanessa?” “Of course,” she nodded, “I’ve got both your numbers on speed dial for the weekend, as well as Leslie’s next door in case of emergency. Plus Elliott is older than my usual charges, so I’m sure he won’t be a problem. Isn’t that right, Elliott?” He was definitely old enough to understand a lose/lose question like that. Disagreeing would make him sound immature and needlessly difficult, yet he couldn’t think of a way to answer in the affirmative that wouldn’t sound almost as immature as doing the opposite. “We can still let Vanessa go home,” he pointed out, aiming to make it sound nonchalant. For whatever reason, he didn’t want to potentially hurt her, “Save a little money, and let me worry about school by myself?” “Vanessa is here because I’m worried about school,” she said, “Besides, she probably turned down another job or two after committing to this; it wouldn’t be fair to fire her at the last minute.” “You’re too kind,” Vanessa said, “And don’t worry, Elliott. I’m just here to supervise you. As long as you behave and get all your work done, we’ll get along just fine!” Uh huh. Except it still sounded like she was talking down to him. Probably a habit from being a nanny for said younger charges. “Great. Class information is right here.” He tapped the side of the desk that wasn’t occupied by all of his gaming stuff. “Thank you for putting that together for me,” she replied, with that same smile, “Why don’t you start by cleaning your room while I get settled? We can get started once your parents are on the road. Sound good?” Not really. But Vanessa turned and left the room without waiting for an answer. Elliott wasn’t sure where to start. He still had the teenage mentality that a pristine bedroom was idiotic when it made just as much sense knowing where everything was amidst a bit of organized chaos. His room also wasn’t that bad, especially compared to a number of his friends. Even so, he at least made the effort to pick up a few things off the floor and dealt with some of the more obvious corners that Vanessa might get on his case about. He was assuming she wasn’t expecting perfection, considering the main reason she was hired was for the sake of keeping him on task where his studying was involved. He only had a few minutes before he was being called down to the main floor again. The goodbye ritual with his parents was fairly quick. After living at home for his whole life, it wasn’t that unusual for them to be gone for a weekend. Normally he would either enjoy the place to himself the entire time, or host a LAN party with his friends that still lived in town. Obviously, either of those options were preferable to studying on someone else’s schedule besides his own. Once it was just the two of them, Vanessa got right to it. “Okay! Let’s go check on the progress you’ve made with your room, and then we can take a look at your classes.” “Umm, sure,” he said. Now he could attempt to set up some dynamic with her where she didn’t feel the need to pressure him to study, let alone do something like clean his bedroom. Thanks to the dress she had on, casual as it was, he felt several underdressed by comparison. “I really can deal with the school stuff myself, by the way. My parents are a bit paranoid about me failing, that’s all.” “Hmm, I guess there’s only one way to find out if I really need to be here or not,” she shrugged. She gestured towards the stairs, “Lead the way. Oh, and is ‘not failing’ really the best goal? I think you could pull a B in every class if you put your mind to it. It might even help to have someone around to keep you on task!” Elliott didn’t dignify that with a response. It was clear what she was getting at, and he was stuck in an equally impossible position of validating her supervision no matter what he did. Procrastinating would prove her point, while starting immediately would be as if it was happening because she told him to. He simply began walking, weighing other options along the way. As they stepped into the room together, Vanessa was once again quick to comment. “There’s still so much to do!” Giving the space a more thorough look, she clasped her hands together. “Okay. Why don’t you keep cleaning, and I’ll take a look at all your school stuff. Teamwork, yeah? Then we can make a plan afterwards.” “Why don’t we just work downstairs? That’s where I usually do my homework, anyway.” A total lie; Elliott was banking on the assumption that his parents wouldn’t have mentioned something like that to Vanessa. He wasn’t necessarily opposed to cleaning his room, though he also didn’t enjoy a nanny telling his young adult self to do so. “You should still have a tidy room,” she insisted, “Trust me, it will put you in a better headspace for studying. Speaking of your bedroom, it kind of smells like boy in here. Have you showered today?” He definitely didn’t see that coming. “Umm, yeah,” he said. Most mornings, as he had class every day. Not always on the weekend, as there were some days he would just be lounging in his room without any plans. “Huh. Well, maybe apply a bit more deodorant, just in case? It also couldn’t hurt to vacuum and do laundry. Don’t worry, I can help with some of that. Your main focus this weekend should be on your studies!” Well, so much for Vanessa treating him like an adult. She was making it sound like he was a teenager, especially in the way she mentioned his hygiene. “Everything’s on the desk,” he reminded her. The sooner she checked out the syllabi for his classes, the sooner they could move past what was turning into an awkward introduction. In the meantime, Elliott picked up where he left off in terms of tidying his room. Mostly since he wasn’t sure what else to do. Since Vanessa was at his normal spot, seated in his gaming chair and getting acquainted with what he needed to know for the upcoming exams, that really only left the bed. Plus his phone was still on the edge of the desk, and he was also trying to balance making a good first impression with not letting her treat him too much like a kid. A few minutes later, she glanced over her shoulder. “Elliott? Deodorant, remember?” Wait, that wasn’t a suggestion? He honestly didn’t know how to respond to something like that. “I already did,” he said. It had to be a joke. He was way too old to need that kind of oversight. “After my shower.” “It can’t hurt to apply a little more,” she said, “You don’t mind, do you?” He frowned slightly in frustration. “I guess not.” It was as if everything she said was a perfectly designed trap, yet always subtle enough that he couldn’t call her out on what she was doing. Such a simple request wasn’t worth arguing over, but being sent to the bathroom as a twenty year old for the sake of hygiene? That, and the fact that an attractive girl was implying that he smelled bad. Or, in her words, ‘like boy.’ Either way, it was tough to avoid feeling self conscious about it, even if he was convinced he had been thorough enough that morning. One perk of being an only child was that he had his own bathroom upstairs, rather than one he would otherwise have to share with a sibling. It only took a minute to head in and do a quick pass with the stick of deodorant. He was tempted to do nothing and see if she noticed, but decided against it. For all he knew, she could be right, though he was still convinced she was just making a bad assumption. More likely, the problem was his full hamper of dirty laundry, or maybe something else. When he returned, Vanessa greeted him with a smile. “Thanks, Elliott. Your room is looking better, too. If it’s not too imposing, I’d be happy to take over while you work. I think I have a general sense of your classes, though I’ll definitely look more in depth at all the ones you’re not currently studying in a few minutes. From what I can tell, Sociology looks like one of the more difficult courses. What’s your grade in that one currently, if I may ask?” Elliott considered lying. That was the thing about his parents hiring someone like Vanessa; she didn’t know anything about his classes or his GPA, nor was she a tutor. It was simply a matter of supervision. “A high C, I think,” he said, only slightly stretching the truth. Last he checked, it was closer to a C- than a C+, which meant it was one of the classes he would be cramming for more than the rest. “Well, then we have some work to do,” she said, “If you ace your exam, you can for sure bump that to a B. Maybe even a B+, based on the grading percentages I’m seeing here. Want to start with Sociology, then?” “Sure,” he replied. It didn’t really matter to him. Anything to remind Vanessa that he was a college student, and she was only here to worry about his studies. “Sounds like a plan,” she nodded, “Okay, get all your things for Sociology and meet me downstairs wherever you like to study. Kitchen? Living room?” Bedroom. Except he was committed to his recent lie. “Living room,” he said. More comfortable. “Got it. I can trust you up here alone for a minute or two, right?” she asked, “I’ll be downstairs.” The moment she turned the corner, Elliott sighed. It was going to be a long weekend. ------------------------ Check out my website: www.ladyluciastories.com And my SubscribeStar: https://subscribestar.adult/lady-lucia

The idea for this story wouldn't leave me alone until I started writing it just to get it out of my head. This is my take on the diapered prisoner trope along with a dash of dystopian horror. It's set in the future, a few centuries from now. No flying cars, but we've got moon and mars space colonies! And mentions of gangs and cartels doing gang and cartel things. My favorite are two adorable squishy cuddly diaper boys who come in a little later (no, they're not prisoners. They're victims and survivors) and they're the sweet and sugar to balance out any bitter. If you've read any of my other stories, you know I suffer from chronic Happy-Ending-Itis. This story is a bit different for me. I'm experimenting with a few things . I haven't written the ending yet, and I have no idea how that will turn out. 😂 SYMPATHY FOR THE DEVIL by Cute_Kitten aka C.K. Kat In this day and age, humanity likes to delude itself with beliefs of progression, of evolving civilization with basic dignity and human rights for everyone. Even for us convicts. I’m here to tell you right now that is a bunch of bullshit propaganda. Politicians lie and people give themselves pats on the back for progress that only exists in theory and on paper, not in reality. Who I was on the streets does not matter. What I did in the past does not matter. At least, it shouldn’t matter enough to strip away my basic human rights and violate my dignity. That is what they do in here. They strip you of everything. Literally and figuratively. I made mistakes. I can admit that. I was a poor, fatherless boy and young teenager growing up in lawless, dangerous streets. I had no choice except to do the things I’ve done. Anyone would have done the same. Survival demanded it. What would you have done in my shoes? You would make the same choices me and thousands of other lost, misfortune souls made. Let the vicious, unforgiving streets eat you alive or run the streets? Society gives you no choice. Then, when you get caught- and you will sooner or later because it happens to us all- society demands you pay the price for the choices it forced upon you. Each of us in this life think we’re smarter, we’re more clever, we’re better than the fools that get caught. We all think “I’ll never get caught.I’m not like those losers.” Until they slap the handcuffs on you and shove you into a cell. Then you realize you’re not that smart or you fucked up somewhere. I’m only twenty one and I’m going to spend the rest of my life behind bars. It’s a gross misappropriation of justice. My sentence is purely political, just so the police and politicians can look good, like they’re fulfilling their campaign promises to “get tough on crime and finally clean up the streets after decades of violence and bloodshed. Let’s make this country safe again!” This crackdown on crime resulted in harsh, lengthy sentences that turned criminals into victims of an extreme, vindictive regime. I’ve been speaking in a lot of generalities and abstracts. Let me get specific so I can help you understand. First off, the judicial and penal systems are very different in many countries. Some places execute drug smugglers (and my international gang never dared to set up shop in that country because the police are rabid and trigger happy) while other places hang homosexuals and stone to death women who were raped. My country does not have the death penalty. I wish it did. Death would be a blessed end, a heavenly release from the decades of confinement and torture I have yet to endure. I’m getting ahead of myself. I often do that. Sorry not sorry cuz I’ll probably do it again. So, my country is a tiny, insignificant dot on a map. We’re not a global superpower or political heavyweight in the international or intergalactic spheres. Hell, most people could not find our little country on a map. We’re a proud people who love our country and our culture very, very much. We were the death capital of the Milky Way for over fifty years. For five decades, two gangs ran the country in constant warfare for territory and to eliminate each other. The government barely clung to a tiny corner of land and power. They only maintained existence by striking deals with the gangs. Yeah, that’s right. Even the high and mighty bureaucracy feared us and paid us for the right to exist so we didn’t roll into the capital and curb stomp them into oblivion. The army and police were also terrified of us. We ran the prisons. Our two gangs were huge. International, with branches or tribes in nearly every country. We were working on setting up shop in the moon and Mars space colonies when there was an election. No one in my gang paid any attention. Who cared what boot-licking figurehead won? In a day or two the new president would come crawling on hands and knees, offering up a monetary tribute if we promised not to kill him. Toothless paper tigers, the lot of them. The gangs were the true power and the whole universe knew it. The citizens all feared and respected us. We literally held their lives in our hands, able to kill on a whim without repercussion. Do you see now why I had no choice but to join the gang who ruled my village when I was twelve? Survival of the fittest. Law of the wild, law of the jungle. The law changed with the new president who shook the very foundations of our country. He was a third party candidate. For over five decades, two parties dominated politics and ran on empty promises to wage war on gangs. Civilians, so sick of the death and violence and useless parties, decided to throw all their desperate hopes on a virtual unknown. We laughed. How could a no-name upstart from an insignificant third party change the very fabric of our country, our society, our communities and our very way of life? We knew he would fail just as all those before him failed. If a war broke out between the various gang factions and the government, we knew we would win just as we’d always won in the past. And that’s without the rival gangs calling a ceasefire and teaming up. Hell nah, dog. We don’t play like that, fool. The other gang is our mortal enemy. We would fight and kill each other and the government goons all at once. Even if we did get arrested, we had judges and lawyers in our pockets. We knew how to exploit the law. Even if we did go to prison, so what? We could still issue orders and run things from the inside. This new president said war, and he meant it. We thought it was just the usual political bluster. Months passed. Life carried on as usual while the president worked behind the scenes to destroy our safety nets. Judges were impeached and removed once an investigative panel found them corrupt. Prisons were restructured. A state of national emergency was declared. A new prison, a megamax specifically designed for the most violent gang members, was built in only a few months. Once the preparations were complete, the new president was ready to launch his offensive. A state of emergency was declared. Laws and due process were suspended so that swift, sweeping arrests could be made and streets cleaned up. This new president studied where and how his predecessors failed. He increased the power of the police and established special gang task forces with the sole duty of rounding up gang members. How would they identify gang members? Tattoos. These chumps had five decades to study the gangs and knew well how we operated, what each gang’s tattoos and symbols are and what they meant. Tattoos are very special and important to gang life. You have to earn them. They show off your rank within the gang, the things you’ve done for the gang, your accomplishments, and what tribe or branch of a huge, international gang you belong to. Tattoos give you instant respect and street cred. They identified you, told your story. Any non-gang member who replicated the tattoos because they thought it was cool or wanted to emulate us and appear all tough like a Billy Badass got their throat slit. If a gang member got a tattoo they had not earned, we cut it out of their skin, flaying them alive. The only way to get a tattoo, to get respect and rank, is to earn it. The government goons knew it all, every ink-stained secret compiled into a book for their jackboots. That, too, was new. We waited for the president to come grovel before us, begging on his knees for a peace deal as was tradition after each election. He never came. We should’ve realized what this meant. In our arrogance, we assumed it was because he was terrified and trying to find his balls. The special task forces were new. The Emergency Martial Laws were new. The net was wide; preparations thorough. We didn’t realize the noose was closing until too late. City blocks, suburban towns, small jungle villages; all were hit in random blitz-krieg attacks of armed men in armored, bullet proof cars rolling in and rounding everyone up for inspection. Kinda like the Nazis did to the Jews. Civilians were let go. Anyone with gang tattoos was immediately arrested. Having a gang tattoo was now a crime. No warrants, no due process. Your tattoos rendered you automatically guilty. Non-gang tattoos were immediately released with the other civilians. Skip court and go directly to jail. No bail cuz you got gang ink in your skin. You can talk with a lawyer and judge later. This is a war against violent sub-human scum, as my arresting officer told me. He also claimed they were taking the country back so kids could have childhoods and play outside and go to school without fear of trafficking, being sold or shot. The soldiers went from building to building. House to house, shop to shop, looking everywhere. Civilians- those who were once so terrified of the deadly, brutal consequences of ratting out gang members to the police- now happily cooperated because the soldiers made them feel safe. They even helped the soldiers check by pointing out all of our hiding places. We used to use civilian non-gang affiliated houses and shops when it was convenient for us. Anyone who refused suffered. Maybe a body part was cut off as a punishment and warning to others. Usually a child’s. Parents become swiftly docile when you threaten to cut off their kid’s ear or pluck out an eye. If they lived in gang territory, their lives and their property belonged to the gang. We always made sure to collect our dues. These raids were not a one and done deal. They happened repeatedly at random, snaring more gang members each time. The high ranking members, we who ran things, went straight to the brand new supermax prison built just for us. Now that you have a general idea of what has been going on in my country, let’s get to the heart of the matter. This new super prison, the diapers, the forced incontinence, and the numerous human rights violations. Yes, that’s right. Diapers. We have to wear diapers.

Mary decides to use her diaper in public for the first time. After a lot of reflection i decide to go to the park and i am wearing a skirt and i go into the middle of the park and squat down in front f other people and start to use my diaper in public.

Ally is twenty years old but because of a birth defect she doesn't look any older than a five year old. She wonders the mall looking for a mother figure that will take care of her.

Jennifer jenny for short is 25 years old and she goes to a new community center and sees a new brochure about a new neighborhood that lets adults act as young as they want. She has always had a fascination with diapers and decides to be in them full time now. After making the phone call she packs up her clothes and drive to the neighborhood.

Margaret peggy is for short who is 16 years old is getting jealous of her sister who is the product of her mother new marriage. And is feeling left out and decided while her mom and stepdad and sister are out that she will try one of her sisters diapers out.

Okay, this is really my first (and thus far, only planned, although I'm Not Saying It's Aliens, but... is rather similar in a way) foray into Diaper Dimension stories, so I'll try to do my best to adhere to the whole thing. Basically, though, I will warn you of this: there is a war in this particular part of the Dimension, and neither country involved has their hands clean. That's the moral of this story: war sucks, every country has their dirty laundry, and nobody's innocent. The focus on Littles is also pretty far away; I'm focusing more on one particular Little and her perspective on the whole thing, and while Littles will appear, I'm not planning on them being the focal parts of the story for story reasons. If any other characters are really focused on perspective-wise (possibly; I have an idea how the story ends, but everything else is a work in progress, and I apologize; bipolar disorder makes it hard to focus on...well, anything, and I wanted to get something done to help with the depression.), it'll likely be the Amazons and Middles who are a part of that war. I will mention that I am not a member of the armed forces and not a marine, so while I'm trying to research the absolute shit out of this, I cannot promise to be perfect. If there is a marine here who wants to correct me, feel absolutely free, and I will apply those corrections to this story whenever possible. Likewise, I cannot give a specific schedule of when Semper Fi gets updated; I have a very busy four weeks ahead, and my mental health is likewise unclear, and that's why I'm updating this at the moment and trying - key word is trying - to get my other stories done, I promise. About critique, feel absolutely free to tell me what I'm doing wrong; in fact, I encourage it with all my heart! I want to publish this under my pseudo penname in books for AR/AB stuff, and in order to publish without mistakes and errors, I absolutely need to know what I've done wrong. If you can't find anything wrong, then tell me what you liked, please! These things make me a better writer. I'm not soft when it comes to critique, and I'll always listen to it. But if you're not scared away by the numerous content warnings I've posted, read on: - Chapter One: Where is my Brother? - Corporal Clover Hope was so desperate to find her missing older brother that she had gone AWOL from the United States Marine Corps, all the way from Camp Lejeune to the last location he had been sighted: Nevada’s Death Valley. First Lieutenant (Marine Corps like her, semper fi!) Graywind Hope, tall and well-built at 6’4”, with his short black hair, his warm gray eyes the color of smoke on the breeze, his tawny skin denoting him (and her) as a member of the Navajo, his normal stoicism belied by the fact that he gave her all of the soft smiles he wouldn’t give anyone else, laughing at all of her bad jokes, and giving her all of the biggest hugs a big brother could ever give a little sister. He had gone missing a month ago, and whenever she brought it up with her superiors in the Marine Corps, they told her that they didn’t have answers, that she’d have to bring it up with the chain of command, who delayed her constantly, without remorse or empathy, every time she tried to go through normal channels. Clover was fucking sick of the chain of command, fucking sick of every noncommittal answer on normal channels. She wanted to see his smile again, hear his voice again, and nothing was worth more than that. She wanted her brother - her only family member with both of their parents dead - back, screw the military, and screw what everyone else thought. She was positioned just outside of the latest sighting, getting as much information as she could from the Nevada natives outside of Death Valley, close to another base that was very much like Area 51, but even more secretive in what they did. The United States military had been testing various things above her paygrade; that she knew, as she took a sip of water from one of her two two-quart-sized plastic flasks she had brought along for the ride. Clover had ditched her uniform a while back, going for a cowboy hat, a tank top, leather gloves, a pair of jeans, and muddy combat boots to go along with her huge backpack, all crudely painted black with a stolen paint can now in the vehicle she stole - being conscious of the environment was the reason she didn’t use spray cans - and stolen from different places; she wanted to spare what little cash she had for necessary things like food, water, and gas for her car. Said backpack was stuffed with her other water flask and an aluminum canteen cup, a case containing her Nintendo Switch OLED model with various games, charger, and a Power Bank for portable charging (to prevent her getting bored), a tactical flashlight (she had left her iPhone at the base so as to avoid being tracked, so she had stolen the flashlight), binoculars (military grade and yes, it was stolen), a bunch of canned and preserved food from a gas station (expensive and not particularly edible, but better than MREs, and she’d make do), a jacket and a beanie for the cold desert night (also stolen), a first aid kit (stolen again), and a military grade sleeping bag (to nobody’s surprise, stolen). Her M18 Modular Handgun System - a pistol based on the SIG Sauer used by the Marines - was holstered on her thigh with two extra magazines on her belt, along with a standard KA-BAR knife stored in a custom made (thanks to Graywind for her most recent birthday, her twenty-second two months ago) waterproof vegetable-tanned cowhide leather sheath, as she peered through the binoculars, her gray eyes cautious. The building had snipers posted on top, and she’d never be able get close to the place unless, maybe, when it turned to night - a massive problem since she was wanted by the Marines, local and federal police, and probably the fucking FBI and CIA at the rate she was going. Clover had dug herself a small hole into the rocky hill using her KA-BAR knife. It had been exhausting work, taking the whole of the day and sweat poured down her tawny skin and black ponytail, but she kept at it, even when bits of sand filled the hole, thinking of nothing more than her brother, safe, back with her, ready to face whatever consequences so she could see him again. When she finished, it was dinnertime: canned hash (basically salty beef and potatoes), canned corn, and canned black beans with a snack of trail mix and a quickly-browning banana. It was what she had been living on in the past three days that she had been AWOL, and she hated it…but it was still better than the military’s Meals Rejected by Everyone. She shuddered, remembering the first time she had tried the chili and macaroni MRE; she had nearly vomited the whole thing up, and it gave her severe constipation, taking for-fucking-ever to shit it out of her system. Good news is that prison food might be a bit better, Clover thought pessimistically as she chewed on the canned hash, drinking a bit more water to go along with it. Then a deep male voice, close, far too close, shouted, “Don’t fucking move!”, and she saw a bunch of red dots line up on her body, with three very tall, fully armored men pointing M27s at her. Bitter tears escaped her eyes. She was close, so fucking CLOSE to finding Graywind, and she had been denied it. “Who are you?” the speaker, a huge man in body armor that had to be at least 6’9”, demanded in a Southern drawl. “Specify the reason why you’re here!” She answered, like she had been drilled into countless times at boot camp, “Sir, Corporal Clover Hope, USMC, Service Number 8839754669, sir!” The speaker paused. “Where did you go to boot camp? What is your MOS? Where were you stationed? And what are the parts of the EGA, and what do they mean?” “Sir, MCRD San Diego, MOS is 0311, stationed at Camp Lejeune, and the parts of the EGA are Eagle, stands for United States, Globe, stands for global service, and Anchor, stands for our naval traditions, sir!” Clover saw the man smirk, could almost see the amusement in his eyes behind his sunglasses. “You expecting a Big Chicken Dinner for going AWOL?” he drawled. “To find my fucking brother, asshole!” she snapped. The man paused for a few moments. “...Semper fi,” he said. “Oorah,” she answered quietly. “Yeah, he was here,” he said, holding his hand up to signal his men to stand down. “Far above your paygrade.” “I don’t give a single shit, or I wouldn’t be here,” Clover growled. “Sir, we don’t have time for this,” the second marine said. “Just put her in the damned brig and be done with it.” “I wonder, though…” the big marine murmured, his finger scratching his blond beard. “Corporal, how much do you know of dimensional travel?” “Sir?” she asked, suddenly confused. “You’re talking aliens?” “Of a sort, yeah.” She got the feeling he wasn’t being entirely honest. “You’re about the right size for…yeah…if it were a Middle, it would be a different story, but you’re about 5’1”, should be enough for…” “Sir, what the fuck are you talking about?” Clover interrupted, completely confused about the reference to her height. Her boob size wasn’t much to brag about either, probably AA cup, maybe A at the absolute most, but she almost preferred it: the less staring and catcalls from the men, the better. “Take these.” The big marine handed her an earpiece (which, while she was confused about it, didn’t hesitate to put it in her left ear) and an odd gray device, circular in circumference and the size of her palm. “You’re going to want to get rid of your weapons - every weapon - and grab your backpack before you click the bottom button.” “I’m not relieving my weapons,” Clover said stubbornly, as she palmed the device. “Your funeral,” the big marine said with a shrug. “You come in with weapons, and the Amazons won’t be very fucking happy, but you asked for it; we’ve got plenty more where you come from.” She looked at the big marine like he was crazy. “Amazons? The fuck kind of aliens are those? Do they do deliveries and shit, too?” “Remind me to laugh at your shitty jokes if you ever get back,” the second marine growled, and she could almost hear his eyeroll. “Sir, you’re not seriously-” the third marine began before the big marine cut him off, saying, “Every Middle classification, including her brother, has disappeared without a trace, has immediately been cut off from radio contact. We’re not part of their world, so we can’t be Amazons. There’s only one classification left we haven’t tried, and we haven’t tried a woman yet.” “Littles!” the second marine spat. “She’d be useless to them!” “And she doesn’t know shit about this! Why not try someone else on base; hell, anyone else?!” the third marine snapped. “She has a personal stake in this. Motivation enough to risk a prison sentence.” The big marine sighed as Clover quickly devoured her meal, not even bothering to clear off the remnants of food from her face before she packed up her sleeping bag in her backpack. “Sometimes, that’s what the greatest of us lack: motivation and a reason worth fighting for.” Clover hefted her backpack over her shoulders and clicked the button on the bottom of the gray device, which lit up bright silver in the desert, whirling in her palm, burning as miniature tendrils attached themselves to her hand. She felt every fiber of her body react, her blood, sinew, and bones almost boiling like a bad morphine overdose. She wanted to scream, but it quickly died in her throat. The device emitted an ear-piercing shriek, and she may have as well before everything went black. - Hope y'all enjoyed~

Lisa is 14 years old and has a secret diaper fetish and decides to tell her parents that she wishes to become a teenage baby.

Lucy is 30 years old and is the head of a bank. She never had an easy childhood and has decided to go to regression therapy in hopes that she can have better memories. The therapist suggests couple that will help her along.

Jenny is a high powered attorney who just needs time to relax. So she decides to post a ad online offering her services to become a baby to help he relax.

Jill woke up refreshed. She felt good until she checked her diaper. It was soaked. This made seven nights in a row. She looked at her calendar. She only dry three times in a whole month. She put herself back into nighttime diapers at the start of the month and things didn't look good. She wrote down "Wet" to end the month. She got her phone out and opened the Dress App. She set the settings to what she would wear.Mary had told her what she needed to wear. The diaper was replaced with heavy duty Pull-Ups. She wished it was normal underwear but it was better than diapers. A skirt, just below the knees, with Hello Kitty on it came next. The padded bra was next. Just big enough so it look like she did have something. Over that was a Hello Kitty Peter Pan collar shirt. All looked cute but still more like an adult. She got a text from Mary. "Are you up?' "Yes," "Were you dry?" "No," "Are you dressed properly?" "Yes," "Your ride should be there in thirty minutes. There will be a Starbucks pickup for you." "Thanks," She was out and ready for the Uber lift. They stopped at Starbucks for her Pumpkin Chi tea lattie, Venti Size with a snack. She was half done by the time she got to the golf course. Mary was there waiting with both set of golf clubs. They did warms ups while waiting for their tee times. Mary said, "Can you keep under five accidents this time and avoid Pull-Ups for a week?" Jill said, "I hope to avoid any accidents. Maybe get you to have a few accidents." "In your dreams." They got their ear buds in and phones linked to they can talk even if far apart. When their names were called they went to the started. The started confirmed their start time. "No one is in front of you. Your daughter and you should have no one to wake for. What grade is she in, sixth or seventh?" Jill wanted to say that she was twenty years old but Mary wouldn't allow her to say that. "She's twelve but she's only in the fifth grade. She has been held back." They got to the first tee. "Why did you tell him that?" "Makes me feel young to have daughter that's only in elementary school." "I'm not your daughter." "Details. This only role playing for fun." The first hole was a par five. Jill went first. Her first shot was straight for a hundred yards. A good begining. Mary's shot was just to left in rough, about ninety yards. As they head to their balls, Mary asked, "How many dry nights have had this month?" "Just three." "Send me a log." Jill sent it. The log not only had have often but how much she wet. Her phone kept track as well as physical calendar she kept. Mary got to her ball. This time she was on the fairway. Jill's was further and also on the fairway. "These don't look good. Not only are you a frequent wetter but heavy wetter as well. You need to add a night-time bottle and sleep with a dollie." Jill didn't like that. It would make her accidents even worse. She knew what would happen if she started to leak. Three more strokes and Jill was on the green. Mary was just off. "I don't want to have to switch to cloth diaper or double diapering." Mary smiled. ''Well, then don't leak." Mary chipped on within a foot. Jill have a ten foot putt. She needed this to win the hold. At first it looked like it would miss on the left but then broke and went in Jill had won the first hole. She just needed two more so could use the toilet. And with luck Mary would have an accident. Jill said, "I'm one up." This was good start.

This story follows a 13 year old boy from England, who’s life is about to head in a totally unexpected direction. Tommy’s Trials Chapter One - Calm before the Storm Tommy was like any other 13 year old boy in England. He went to school, played video games, loved football, and had few cares in life. The boy lived a very normal life, but all that was about to change. “Wake up Tommy, it’s time for school!” shouted Mum Groggily, the lad rubbed his eyes and threw off his covers. He pulled off his grey Pokémon pajamas, allowing them to pool on the floor, with Pikachu’s yellow figure smiling back at him. Tommy loved Pokémon, even if the other kids thought it was too babyish now. He grabbed his grey school shorts, white shirt, clip on tie, black blazer, and prepared to put on his regular ensemble. It was the first day back at Riverside High School, and the summer break was over. The boy had so much fun, and now was the return the monotony of secondary school. “I made you boys some toast” said mum, as Tommy walked into the kitchen. “Thanks mummy!” squealed Tommy’s little brother Riley. The 7 year old boy was always full of energy, despite the fact it was 8am. The boys ate breakfast and prepared to leave, their emotions greatly contrasting each other. “Let’s go Riley, we’re gonna be late” exclaimed Tommy, grabbing his little brother’s hand. So they set off, with their first stop being Riverside Primary for Riley. Tommy was a good big brother & walked his annoying sibling to school every day. They arrived at Riley’s school, just a five minute walk away from Tommy’s. The boys hugged and said goodbye, but not before the supervising teacher stumbled upon them. She was new, the boys had never seen her before. “Okay boys, come on, school starts soon, get yourselves inside” said Miss Lisa, ushering them inside the great gates. Tommy instantly realised what was happening. The uniforms were similar and his secondary school blazer was in his bag, the teacher had mistaken him for a primary school kid. Tommy was small for his age, often mistaken for much younger than he was. The two brothers were similar in size, and many adults believed them to be twins at first glance. “I don’t go to this school” Tommy glumly replied, “I’m in high school”. “Oh I’m so sorry, I thought you were another one of our boys” apologised Miss Lisa. “Apology not accepted” thought Tommy, he was sick of being mistaken for a little kid, wondering when he would finally have a growth spurt. So Riley marched in excitedly, and Tommy left for Riverside High. His eyes set on the familiar ancient blue gates, a lighthouse guiding the way for ships of tired sailors in the dark morning. He mentally prepared himself for the first day of school, unknowing of the crashing waves which were about to sink his life into a totally different direction.

The one thing Madelyn desires most in the world is to wear diapers again, and she is prepared to do anything to make that wish come true. As inexplicable as that desire is for a twelve-year-old girl, it is one she has obsessed over for the past three years. Ever since Madelyn tried on a pull-up that a distant cousin had used for bedwetting, the thought of what it would be like to forego her underwear for that padded, crinkling sensation between her legs has been a desire she has been unable to shake. Every other plan to get her hands on diapers or pull-ups has failed up to now. But this time it is going to be different. This time it is going to work. This time she isn’t going to back out at the last minute. The plan is simple. All Madelyn has to do is intentionally begin to wet the bed at night. Then, her parents will have no choice but to get her the diapers she so badly desires. What could possibly go wrong? Chapter 1: Daydreams in Class I will not chicken out this time. That was what I had told myself two days ago. That was also what I had told myself yesterday. Third time was the charm, right? It was easy to put a bold face to my latest harebrained scheme to acquire diapers from the safety of my daydreams. It was much harder when the time came to actually carry out the plan that had been brewing in the back of my mind for the past year – one I had finally decided to put into motion this week. Why would a 12-year-old girl want to wear diapers in the first place? I don’t know. All I know is that for the past three years, nothing I have done has been successful at getting this obsession out of my head. I certainly didn’t have any interest in being a baby. My younger brother, Jackson, is only six years old. I discovered where Mom kept all his old baby stuff long ago. I’ve tried his old pacifiers, bottles, and sippy cups. None of those items held any appeal for me. I can’t stand kids’ TV shows. I can’t color to save my life. And don’t get me started on dollhouses, barbies, and whatever other toys babies like to play with. In every aspect of my life other than this strange desire for diapers, I wanted to act my age. My latest plan all started a year ago with a magazine and a desire to procrastinate on my homework. There had to be some level of irony to the fact that this latest idea came about when I was seated on the porcelain throne. Mom had almost a dozen different magazines she subscribed to. Most of them found their way to the bathroom, which was also probably the only circumstance where I would have even considered reading them in the first place. I was already finished doing my business, but leaving the bathroom meant needing to continue a homework assignment I’d been slowly picking away at for the past hour. The only reason I even bothered to pick up a copy of the Reader’s Digest on that day about a year ago was for the few sections where it had funny jokes and stories. That, and I had left my smartphone in the bedroom. I really didn’t know how my parents managed when they were my age. I skimmed through the first section of jokes. Whoever had put together this edition of the magazine had totally mailed it in. There was a completely unoriginal one about redheads and souls that had me tempted to toss the magazine in the garbage. I mean, with how many magazines Mom had, would she even miss it? Redhead jokes get old really quick when you’ve had people telling you them your whole life. It has been forever since I’d been told one I hadn’t heard before. And even longer since I’ve been told one that was actually funny. Maybe I would have better luck with the second humor section toward the back of the magazine. I flipped through the pages casually when one of the advertisements caught my eye. I could scarcely believe what I was seeing. There it was. Right on the page. An exact replicate of the pull-up I had briefly stolen from a cousin two years ago. But there was more. That pull-up from two years ago had been the boys’ designs. This ad showed that there were ones for girls as well. And even though I’d had a pretty good growth spurt in the past two years, the product info indicated that I wasn’t even close to being too big to wear them. I didn’t tuck the magazine in the trash, but I did take it with me from the bathroom, burying it deep inside my box of miscellaneous things in my bedroom. I’ve looked at that page at least once a day for the past year. “Earth to Maddy. Earth to Maddy. We’re calling in.” My head jerked upright from the hard wooden desk in my math classroom to the sound of laughter. “Here!” I called back to our math teacher. “Well, thank you for joining us again, Maddy. Now,” he said, pointing to a cluster of numbers, letters, and symbols on the whiteboard, “that we’ve isolated ‘x’ on this side of the equation. Can you tell us what it is?” I had enough trouble paying attention in classes that I liked. For ones I hated? The temptation to daydream was hard to resist. And I hated math class. It was hard enough when we were dealing with regular numbers. I would be lucky to scrape by with a “B-” on my report card. But now, with the end of the school year in sight, my math teacher had ever-so-helpfully decided to give us a sneak peek of some of the things we got to look forward to learning next year in eighth grade. I sucked at long division. But it at least made sense conceptually. The numbers were real, even if doing the work to get the answer was tedious. But now there was this thing the teacher called Algebra, where we were supposed to be adding up letters as well as numbers, which was beyond my ability to comprehend. Every “x” and “y” on the whiteboard seemed designed to taunt me. May as well put a “D” or a “C” on the board, as that was about what I could expect on my report card next year if this was what was in store for me. I stared blankly at the whiteboard with the sinking feeling that even if I had been paying attention for the past five minutes, I wouldn’t be any closer to understanding what was going on. “Um,” I said, picking at my nails while I continued to stare ahead. I had to at least give some kind of guess. But my brain and my mouth sometimes aren’t exactly in sync with one another. “The spot.” “I’m sorry. What was that?” Mr. Thompson asked. “You know, the spot. Like, ‘x’ marks the spot.” The classroom was full of laughter again. This time with me rather than at me. I made eye contact with one of my friends, Angie, who turned to look back at me from the front row. We shared a smirk at the joke. Mr. Thompson sighed. “Everyone settled down, please.” He gave me a look that suggested he might be once again telling my parents about how I had apparently been disruptive in class. “Now, Maddy, if you had been paying attention as we worked through this problem, you would know that the answer was actually…” I didn’t even manage to pay attention long enough to get to the answer to what ‘x’ happened to be or what sorcery had been used to arrive at that conclusion. I fixed my eyes on a spot on the whiteboard, a method I had mastered to trick teachers into thinking I was actually paying attention to their nonsense when I’d rather be daydreaming. My thoughts slipped back toward my plans for this evening. The third time had to be the charm, right? It wasn’t really my fault the first two attempts at wetting the bed had failed. The first night, I had simply been too tired. We’d had an exhausting soccer game that evening that had gone on to overtime, and we’d been shorthanded, so I hadn’t spent almost any time on the bench. I had fully intended to stay up past midnight but had used the excuse of being tired to back out of it. Instead, I let myself drift off to sleep without wetting the bed. During the second night, I’d managed to stay up until 1 a.m., but I had found it impossible to make myself pee. I simply hadn’t had enough to drink. I had considered simply pouring water on my bed, but I was worried that might not be convincing enough should my parents make a closer examination of my bedding. I could have snuck off for a glass of water in the kitchen and stayed up another hour, but again, I chickened out and pushed the plan off to another night. But tonight was going to be different. I was going to be drinking as much water as I could tonight, and I would skip going to the toilet before going to bed. Plus, tonight was Friday, which meant it was pizza night, so as long as I picked out a caffeinated soda, I should be able to keep myself up late enough for this plan to work. I realized that I was likely going to have to keep this up for multiple nights. One random night of bedwetting — after having never wet the bed since I had been potty trained at the age of two — wouldn’t be enough to convince my parents to take action. But if I could have the courage to keep it up long enough, they would have no choice but to purchase the pull-ups shown on the magazine page for me. I would make sure to leave that old magazine out in a way that would get Mom to see the advertisement. It was a desperate move, but I couldn’t wait any longer for the pull-ups. I knew from other advertisements I’d seen that these pull-ups were sold in stores. Had there been a store close by that I could bike to, I might have considered going out and purchasing some for myself on a day when I had been left at home on my own. But that wasn’t an option for me. I still had over three years to go before I would be old enough to get my own driver’s license. I had already waited three years for this. I couldn’t possibly wait three more. “Maddy. Earth to Maddy. Hey!” There was the sound of hands clapping together a single time. More laughter. I blinked rapidly, adjusting my gaze over to Mr. Thompson, where he was standing at the front of the classroom with his palms still pressed together from making the noise he had used to so rudely interrupt my daydreams. “Maddy, please just take one of the homework sheets and pass the rest behind you.” I looked straight ahead, where Chloe was holding a stack of papers with her arm stretched out toward me. She rolled her eyes at me as I grabbed them from her. In a rare moment of self-control, I did not stick my tongue out at her. I took one of the homework sheets and passed the remaining one behind me to where one of my two best friends was sitting. The three of us had initially been seated next to each other. But Mr. Thompson decided a few weeks into the school year that doing so was too much of a distraction. Emma, who had been seated to my right, was switched to the seat behind me. Angie, who had been on my left, had worse luck. Not only was she moved to the front of the class, but she had to sit next to Ryan, who had the disgusting habit of picking his nose in public. But that was OK. We’d have the whole weekend together. Tonight was the beginning of the playoffs for our U13 soccer team. We’d had a moderately successful season, meaning we’d managed to somehow win more games than we lost over the past several months. It was disappointing that the spring soccer season was so close to coming to an end, but we had the opportunity to keep it going this weekend if we could manage to string a few victories together. The bell rang as the final class of the week came to an end. Mr. Thompson belted out more instructions about the homework as I slid the piece of paper, with all its archaic symbols and equations, into my backpack. I’d just ask Angie and Emma later to see if there was something I’d missed in his instructions. I joined my two friends in the hallway. We all lived in the same neighborhood, so we rushed off to catch the bus together. They chatted excitedly about the game tonight, but I walked alongside them in silence. My thoughts were somewhere entirely else. My mind settled on the image of the pull-up I had held in my hand three years ago. The few minutes where I had examined it thoroughly, my fingers tracing over its whole surface. How it had felt to wear it for a couple of minutes before I was forced to set it aside, not knowing the opportunity was one I wouldn’t get again for years. Should everything go as planned, I would be wearing a pull-up again in less than a week. But to accomplish that, I needed to wet the bed tonight – on purpose. <><><> Three years ago If there was a single moment that perhaps best defined the last three years of my life, it was that day three years ago when it all began. The day I first laid eyes on a simple object that would become an obsession I would never be able to shake off. I didn’t cry at the funeral. I knew, intellectually, that this was what people were supposed to do. But even the sight of my aged great-grandfather lying in the open casket hadn’t moved me to tears. It wasn’t as though I wasn’t sad, but it was a more abstract kind of sadness. That kind that has someone thinking heavy thoughts about what happens after death, not that kind that leaves someone bawling on their knees. I had no memories of the man lying in the casket. My parents said I had met my great-grandfather three times. But I had been too young to have any memories of those visits. My older sister, Grace, on the other hand, was devastated. It was her first funeral as well. She had memories of her great-grandfather. The man in the casket was not an abstract concept to her, but the ghost of someone who had played with her and held her in his arms. Jackson cried as well, but that was just because he was a baby. You could never exactly tell what it was that they were upset about most of the time. The three-year-old boy likely just needed a nap. But the funeral home wasn’t where that pivotal event in my life transpired; it was merely marked the event that gave cause for all my distant relations – grandparents, aunts, uncles, cousins – to join together from where they were all scattered across the country. The reception after the funeral was where the fateful moment occurred. The adults ate, drank, and smoked while kids split into playing games with others of their age. There was a cohort of preschoolers huddled around a TV, watching stupid kids’ shows. On the other end of the spectrum was a collection of angsty teenagers Grace had abandoned me to hang out with. They weren’t particularly welcoming of youngsters, and my normally friendly sister had shooed me off after I attempted to tag along with her. Not that I cared that much. Other than my sister, teenagers made me a bit apprehensive. Besides, there were a half-dozen other kids my age to hang out with. My mom introduced me to two boys shortly after we arrived at the house for the reception. One of them, Alex, was eight. Though he made clear he would be nine in a few weeks, which would make him as old as me. His younger brother, Timothy, was seven. The boys were distant cousins from half-way across the country. There was some technical term Mom used for exactly what type of cousin they were to me — second cousins, twice removed. That didn’t mean anything to me. All that mattered was that they were my age and more than open to finding some way to play in order to pass the time while the adults did whatever adults did. We hit it off immediately. We did what kids that age normally do. We fell into the habit of playing simple games with each other as if we had been friends all of our lives. The two brothers were staying at the house where the reception was being hosted, so it was only fair that they gave me a tour of the massive building. We explored the expansive backyard, winding our way through the adults in the garden until we were shooed away. We played in the basement for a while, which had foosball and ping-pong tables before the teens decided that was where they wanted to be hanging out instead. But there was still plenty of house to explore. Alex and Timothy led me up a winding staircase to some rooms upstairs, where they had been sleeping while their family stayed with the relatives who were hosting the reception. That’s when I stumbled across a stunning revelation. One that would shape my life for the next three years. Haunt my dreams. Hound my thoughts. Practically drive me crazy as I was often left incapable of thinking of anything else. There was something out-of-place sitting in the corner of the room on top of a pile of discarded laundry. I tended to usually say the first thing that came to mind without regard to whether it was socially appropriate to do so. I wasn’t any better at that at the age of nine. I pointed at a blue undergarment in the corner that didn’t exactly look like a normal piece of underwear. It was not as though I didn’t have a good suspicion of what it was. But I wanted confirmation. “What is that?” Timothy walked casually over to the corner and picked it up. “Oh, that’s my pull-up.” I looked at the item in his hand. He was seven. That couldn’t possibly be his. I felt sure I was the subject of some kind of joke. “Don’t be silly,” I said. “You’re too old to wear pull-ups.” “Older kids sometimes need to wear pull-ups,” he said, still holding the item in his hand. His defiance left me no less confused. I rolled my eyes. “I doubt that even fits you.” I hadn’t intended in any way to dare them to put the pull-up on. But that must be how that statement had come across. Alex snatched the pull-up out of his brother’s hand and tugged it on over his dress pants. “See,” he said. “It fits. We wear them ’cause we still wet the bed.” They were bedwetters. And they weren’t the least bit ashamed of it. That was at least a topic that I understood. I had no intention of teasing or bullying them. While neither my brother nor I were bedwetters, my older sister had wet the bed up until a year or so ago. Why hadn’t I put together a connection between pull-ups and bedwetting? Come to think of it. I wasn’t even sure if Grace had worn pull-ups during her bedwetting phase. She had her own room, which I was very much forbidden from going into, so if she had, there wasn’t any way I would have known about it. When I had first learned of my older sister’s predicament, my parents had sat down with me and calmly explained what bedwetting was and how I was to never shame or tease her about it. And given how privately they had handled her condition, and the fact that it hadn’t ever impacted my life at all, I truthfully hadn’t ever given her bedwetting much of a thought. Alex mistook my pensiveness while considering my sister’s bedwetting to mean that I was still confused about the topic. He launched into a long explanation with words like enuresis, explaining how bedwetting was just a medical condition that he and his brother would grow out of. “Do you wet the bed?” Timothy asked me. “No,” I replied. I came close to continuing my reply and accidentally outing my sister, but I would never do something that mean to her. Alex still had the pull-up around his waist, completely unconcerned with how silly it looked. The pull-up had a picture of Spiderman, my favorite superhero, on the front. I pointed that out, which led to another conversation about which Marvel superheroes we liked best. Timothy was big on Iron Man. But Alex insisted that Batman was better than any of them. My eyes kept glancing down at Alex’s waist. I found myself unable to look away from the pull-up for long. The sight of the pull-up around Alex’s waist raised another thought. That pull-up would fit me just as well. My distant cousin and I were both about the same size, after all. I didn’t question the desire to wear the pull-up. Once the impulse had taken hold of me, there was little else I could think of as I distractedly continued the conversation with my cousins. Our parents called us down for dinner. Alex ripped the pull-up off and tossed it back in the corner of the room before we retreated down the stairs. I was unable to concentrate during dinner. Alex and Timothy were across the table from me, and it was all I could do to keep my mouth shut about what I had just witnessed. I was filled to the brim with questions, most of which I would have to keep inside unless I were presented with another chance to have a private discussion with those two bedwetting cousins. But there was one question more important than any of them. One perhaps best answered on my own rather than by asking them. What did it feel like to wear a pull-up? While the adults were content to sit and chat around at the table long after their plates were clean, that wasn’t the case for us kids, and soon we were back to running around; Timothy, Alex, and I were joined by another four cousins. Big houses and hide and seek go hand in hand together. We agreed that hiding upstairs in the house was against the rules for the game of hide and seek. That meant that the upstairs room where the pull-ups were waiting for me was technically off-limits. But I didn’t care one bit about the game. Anyway, making the upstairs rooms off-limits had been my idea. An absolutely brilliant stroke of genius for a then nine-year-old girl. In one move, I’d ensured that no one would be up there when I went looking for the pull-up and that I would be safe from anyone following after me. I took quick glances in both directions as I stood at the base of the stairway. Perfect. There were no other kids in sight. I leaped up the stairs, skipping two steps at a time with each upward lunge until I was safely around the corner and out of sight. I encountered my first problem when I made it to the bedroom where Timothy and Alex had been sleeping. I had somehow assumed that the pull-up Alex had ripped off could be fixed. I seemed to recall that the pull-ups my brother had worn a year ago had Velcro sides. But that wasn’t the case with these bedwetting pull-ups for some reason. But there had to be additional pull-ups elsewhere. There couldn’t be any way that the boy’s parents would risk them peeing all over the bed while they were spending the night as guests. I didn’t have any luck in the first suitcase that I looked through, nor the second, but the third one was where I struck gold. There were more than a dozen pull-ups tucked into the side of the suitcase. Surely, they wouldn’t notice if one of them happened to go missing. I grabbed a pull-up and bundled the pull-up into a ball, tucking it into the waistband of my skirt. I was sure that was not nearly as discreet as I thought it was at the time. But, to my good fortune, I was able to make it to a nearby bathroom without being caught. The adults were busy downstairs, and my cousins, who were playing hide and seek, were doing a better job than I was at abiding by the rules. I locked the bathroom door behind me. I double and triple-checked to make sure the door was actually locked. I removed the pull-up from under my skirt and held it in my hands. I didn’t stop then to think through how bizarre the whole situation was at the time. I think I must have stood there looking at it for several minutes. Feeling how it crinkled beneath my touch, testing out the sides to see how far they could stretch, rubbing my fingers down the padded interior. I was completely and utterly fascinated by it. The desire was no more explainable than a moth being drawn to a flame, a kitten to catnip, or a raven to a shiny object. I cautiously slid my arms through the leg holes, stretching the pull-up out in front of me. Not only was it more than stretchy enough for me, but it could probably fit a kid twice as wide as I was. Now came the moment of truth. I removed my skirt and underwear. The pull-up had a side that was helpfully labeled as the back, so I knew which way to put it on. As I brought the pull-up into place around my waist, it was like sliding the final piece of a puzzle into place. I turned around so that I could look at my reflection in the mirror. I lifted up the front of my skirt so that the whole pull-up was in view. It practically came up all the way to my belly button. There was something about the way it hugged my sides, the way the soft padding pressed against my skin as I sat down on the toilet lid and the way it crinkled quietly as I paced across the bathroom that left me completely enamored. There was just one thing left to do. And I didn’t have much time before everyone noticed that I was missing. I lifted up the lid of the toilet seat and sat down while still wearing the pull-up. One of my deepest regrets was that I had went to go potty right before the game of hide and seek began, meaning there wasn’t anything waiting to come out of my bladder at the moment. I tried. I really did. I wanted to know. I had to know. What would it feel like to pee into a pull-up? It couldn’t be bad. Alex and Timothy hadn’t seemed to be put off at all by waking up in a wet pull-up every morning. But nothing happened. The timing was off. My bladder wouldn’t cooperate. And time was up. I needed to be out of the bathroom in a couple of minutes. I considered it a radical idea. What if I put my underwear and skirt over the top of the pull-up? I could continue to wear it until I actually needed to pee. I nearly did it. I really, truly, honestly nearly did it. But then I chickened out. The same way I would, time and time again for years afterward. It was too risky. A small trickle of shame was diluting my euphoria. I knew that despite how ecstatic I was at my discovery, the reality of anyone else discovering this secret — and the relentless shame and teasing that would follow — would be devastating. I wasn’t like Alex or Timothy. I didn’t have the veneer of bedwetting to hide behind as an excuse for wearing a pull-up. I slid the pull-up off of my legs. I intended to put it back in the suitcase. Then it would be like nothing had ever happened. That’s when I encountered a second problem. Apparently, I had gone potty in the pull-up after all. Not a lot, just the teensiest of tinkles. But it was enough to leave a tiny yellow patch the size of a quarter smack dab in the middle of the pull-up. I breathed a sigh of relief that I had even noticed it in the first place. That would have made for an awkward situation for Alex and Timothy had I put the pull-up back in the suitcase. I peered into the trash can. I was in luck. I could make out two pull-ups at the bottom of the small trash can. One had been turned inside out, the color of its interior leaving no doubt as to the truthfulness of Alex’s description of his and his brother’s bedwetting. I bunched up the pull-up and tossed it in the trash can. I didn’t think it was likely that anyone would be paying too much attention to notice the addition of one more pull-up in it. My curiosity sated, I returned to the game of hide and seek, pretending that I had been expertly moving in between hiding places to avoid being spotted. I didn’t think anymore about the pull-up until later that evening when we were lying in bed at the hotel. Jackson was little enough that he could sleep on a padded mat and sleeping bag on the floor while Grace and I shared a bed – an experience that hadn’t gone well the past couple of nights, as it had been interrupted by midnight accusation of blanket theft. If it had just been Grace and me in the room, if Mom, Dad, and Jackson hadn’t been around to overhear it, I might have worked up the courage to ask my older sister about her bedwetting. I wasn’t even sure if she knew that I knew about it. But I had to know. Had she worn the same pull-ups as Alex and Timothy? Was there perhaps a style that came in colors and designs for girls? But we weren’t alone, and those questions went unasked. The drive home wasn’t any easier. I didn’t touch my tablet, which had been my constant companion on the trip here. Instead, I stared out the window. But I wasn’t paying any attention to the passing cities and landscapes. Instead, my mind was replaying the events of the previous day, in particular, the few precious minutes when I had my hands on the pull-up. I was filled with a deep sense of longing and regret. Why had I thrown the pull-up in the trash? Why hadn’t I put it back on beneath my skirt? I would have had it with me now. I could have been wearing it now. Of course, I did know better. I would have had no issue wearing the pull-up out of the house, but once we had gotten to the hotel, there wouldn’t have been any realistic way for me to have kept it concealed. But the acknowledgment of that reality did nothing to lessen my longing for the pull-up. I had nothing but time as I began to scheme up all the different ways I could get my hands on another one, or better yet, an actual diaper. What would I have done if I had known the wait was to be measured in years rather than days, weeks, or months? --- Links to all my stories can be found at https://abdlwriter.wordpress.com/