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It's been a while since I've written or read anything ABDL related. Some of you, like me, feel the compulsion come in waves. One such wave struck today, and I ended up writing this as a form of therapy. Obviously I didn't fall into the Diaper Dimension, but I have a different happy ending of sorts. Still, it's a beautiful dream, and I hope you enjoy it. *** I remember the Before Time in dreams. There, I’m still a little girl’s heart in a grown man’s body, lost in too large a world, regardless of size. There, the cold is all consuming, and always finds me no matter where I hide; no matter how many blankets I use to smother my bed. At my age I should know better - be better, stronger; know by instinct how to navigate this life I was always destined for, outside the nest and out of my mother’s arms. Except that I never had a Mum, or even much of a Dad. Growing up I watched friends with whole families who could afford to take love for granted. What love I had were table scraps, but after a while you make peace with starvation. You learn to survive as best you can. Nobody wants to hear a grown man cry about a lost childhood, so I stomped it down and did the next best thing - tried to lose myself in the arms of women. I can still see her face, although it was many faces. Steph, Jenn, Lisa - different people, but similar in the loneliness I felt with them. I guess you could say I had a type. In all of them I saw the same smile; joyous laughter waning into tight, long-suffering grins, and eyes that sought out a man through his ever-present despair. How could I forget the looks on their faces when I told them the ugly truth? What was inside me, that she was still a child, and that she was lonely. Sometimes confusion, sometimes disgust, and sometimes anger in defiance of my words. Anything to avoid the fact that they didn’t love a man, but a twisted ‘thing’ in a man costume. “What do you expect me to do about it?” she/they snapped. “I’m not your mother. I’m not here to kiss your boo-boos better.” As if I ever knew what that was like. Such was life in the Before Time; a waking nightmare suffered until death. I wasn’t even awake before I started crying. The bars of my crib were a haze through the salty tears. Big feelings filled my chest, and next I knew I was wailing at the top of my lungs! The Before Times were over, but their memory still followed wherever I went. Then Mommy appeared, just like she did the first time - as an angel stealing me up for the rapture. My back and my torso slid into her hands, feeling her warmth flowing into me, already sapping the sadness. Hers was the power to reach into my chest and lift the weight that held me below the surface. “It’s alright, babygirl,” she cooed. Babygirl - not a yucky boy, but a princess who needed her Mommy; who was safe and never wanting for kindness. I loved my long, auburn locks; my pastel pink sleeper and all my pretty dresses - and the larger than life woman who adored them all; adored me! I clung to her as though my life depended on it, and with my head resting on her breast soothed to the gentle beat of her heart. And she held me back, bouncing me in her arms and stroking between my shoulders. Of course she took the time to do a sneaky diaper check - I was soaked like I was every morning, but that was a later problem. The nightmare eased its claws but still lingered. It plucked the strings of shame, echoing voices long since passed. My little hands pawed at Mommy’s nightshirt, desperate to get closer than close. A cold shiver ran over my skin as the tsunami threatened to come crashing down, pulling me to depths not even Mommy could reach. How could someone as sweet and as wonderful as her ever want someone like me? I grasped for an answer, but fell short. The trap door fell open and I fell once more into the dark. “You should’a left me,” I said. “I know dat I’m a bad girl, an’ I’m broken, an’ need to grow up, an’-” Mommy hushed me and bounced me higher to her shoulder. She cradled my head and rocked me back and forth, and never once made my panic her own. I smelled her hair and the warmth of her skin, and evaporated into a sea of love; love that I didn’t understand - and still don’t - but craved for longer than I could say. “It’s alright, little one. Mommy’s here now,” she sang. “You’re a good girl, you’re a sweet girl, and you’re a loved girl. You’re not broken; just hurt, and that’s okay. I still love you, just the way you are.” And I believed her. She loved me - me, who is a girl; not a yucky boy in an ill-fitting suit. Me, who thought that love was a beautiful lie, who wasn’t allowed to be pretty, who was taught to swallow pain no matter how great. Against everything I knew Mommy appeared, and with her voice, her touch and her caring the world became small again; soft and safe in the way a little girl needs. Some call this dimension a curse, but for me it’s the greatest miracle. It brought me to Mommy, and given the choice I’d fall into it all over again.