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Hi everyone, So I've been a lurker for years. Reading your stories, a little jealous sometimes at certain scenarios. I love writing but never had the courage to write ABDL stories. Today I just felt like trying and made my own account to publish. English is not my native language, constructive criticism and ideas are always welcome. If you guys like it, I will definitely continue. Nina ":) ---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------- Intro The sun was finding it's way through the half open blinds, small beams of light peaking through on the early Monday morning. The first sign of hopefully good weather today, not that they wouldn't go out if there was chance of rain but for an outside activity it surely was a plus. The bedroom was quiet, except for the soft snoring of a young man. Next to his sleeping form was a woman, just a few years his senior. She had been awake for several minutes already but hadn't moved yet, she was content with just looking at her sweet for now. He had cradled himself against her, the head full of dark brown curls nestled against the woman's bosom and his hand holding onto the fabric of the pink nighty she was wearing. The other one held a grip onto a stuffed red panda, his favourite animal. His light snores wear still heard, but the pacifier in his mouth continued to move up and down every now and then as he suckled. He also was content. This new dynamic had been going on for seven weeks now, they had been together for two and a half. But they had both missed something in it, well, Jessy mostly. A mother. Esmee had always cared for him, right from the start she nurtured him a little more then a girlfriend probably should have. But that's what he needed, someone to tell him what do, make his decisions. It gave him structure, less stress and she was more then happy to see him blossom in life because of that. She was his partner but also his mama now. In the last seven weeks there had been changes, obviously all in agreement. Some he was unsure about, like the bedroom across the hall being turned into his nursery. He liked the big bed, loved snuggling with his Mama as he slept. But there he was all alone with just his panda, so for now they agreed only naps were to be taken in his crib. Diapers on the other hand hadn't been much of a problem. He was naturally a little lazy, so the diapers were introduced as the perfect solution for gaming, no potty breaks needed. Jessy liked his diapers, the infantile underwear felt nice and thick. And his Mama always gave him bum pats when they snuggled, those were the best. With every drop of motherly love Esmee gave Jessy the last seven weeks, he became a different person. He slept better, was less anxious and just in general much happier being her little boy. There was only one thing that he struggled with most, outside. Jessy had no trouble being his Mama's boy inside, but out of the house? What if friends saw him, family? Or if a stranger noticed the bulge of the thick pampers? The thought on it's own made him physically ill. What if they noticed? Esmee understood, but this dynamic they had, she liked it too. More then she was willing to admit and she wasn't just going to 'play house' at the house. So every now and then she would take him with her on errands, just small ones. Dressed in shorts a size too big, a clear white onesie underneath that was snapped closed at the crotch, the tight fabric against his thick diapers and a striped red and white t-shirt to hide it under. They would wander through the grocery store, one that was two towns away from theirs. She would hold his hand, like any mother that wouldn't want their child to wonder off. Jessy would toddle next to her, his legs splayed apart because of the underwear. And he was quiet, with a faint little blush on his cheeks as Esmee walked through the store with him, occasionally patting his crinkling behind, reminding Jessy of his status. And with every small outing the young man had with his Mama, he felt more relaxed. It was only a small routine trip after all, she was there, making sure he was alright and taken care of. On the last trip he even emptied his bladder, right there in the baby isle as Mama was getting new wipes. But today would be different, today they were going to the zoo. Jessy was excited to see the red pandas, but the realisation that it was a full day out made him anxious. And when he was anxious, he became a fussy little boy. He didn't listen or cleaned up his toys. To top it all off, Mama made him lunch and he purposely tossed it on the floor. Yesterday evening they were supposed to go out for dinner with friends, the first time in a full week he would be out of diapers and in a pull up. Mama made him wear those just to be sure. But she had canceled it because of his behaviour, told them they couldn't make it. And when Mama announced that, Jessy threw his PlayStation controller on the ground in anger. As it collided against the black tiles, the back came off and the controller glided away to the other side of the living room. Seeing the state of the item he immediately regretted it, more reason because it been a gift. Mama had pulled some serious strings to get it for him when it came out, it was hard to get but she managed and here he was throwing it around. Esmee wasn't going to punish him for his behaviour, she knew what the real source of the behaviour was. Not to mention that the guilt was already written over his face before the controller had come against the ground. His cheeks were now red, glistering of tears in his eyes as he looked up slowly, even Jessy was embarrassed at his own childish tantrum. So she took his hand, deciding that an early bedtime and some extra motherly love was in order. Now here they were the next morning, Jessy cradled against his loving Mama as he dreamed of red pandas with diapers on.

After much internal debate, I have decided to starting posting this story that I, originally, wanted to be a Patreon exclusive. While I am only posting the first chapter now, if you are interested in reading ahead before I post them here, join the $10 tier of my Patreon. I am done with multiple chapters already and more are coming constantly. Without further ado, here is Day at the Beach ________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ “Towels?” Amy called out, going through the checklist in her head “Check” Justin called out, putting the 2 large beach towels in the bag. “And finally, sunscreen?” Amy made sure to ask for the most important item last. “And...check” he searched the room for a second and eyed the spray, tossing it in the bag. “Looks like we have everything we need to have tons of fun at the beach. All we need to do is get into our swimsuits. Can you wait here while I get mine on?” Amy asked, knowing that he will listen to anything she says. “Yup” Justin replied. “Excuse me?” was all the response that she needed to get his attention. “Sorry. Yes...mommy” he replied sheepishly, looking down at the ground. “That’s better baby boy” she replied with a smirk as she headed back to their bedroom to get changed. It had been a year since Amy and Justin have turned their relationship into a MD/LB relationship with AB/DL mixed in. Not that this is the first time they had been kinky. They had been heavy into the Dom/Sub scene ever since they met. However, one day, Justin brought up the idea of a lighter side of their dynamic and told her about MD/LB. Instead of rejecting the idea, she was interested in starting it almost immediately and they have been a happy mommy and baby boy ever since. No matter how many times he had to call his girlfriend mommy, it would make him blush every single time. However, he was fine with that. The humiliation was one of the things that turned him on about this dynamic. Men, in general, are supposed to be the lead in the relationship and having to take a back seat to his partner was both erotic and embarrassing at the same time. A big plus in their relationship is that they are not exclusively in this dynamic. They go out dinner as a couple, go to movies, argue about bills, and all the normal stuff couples do. Justin thought that he would have gotten burnt out if he was forced to be mommy’s little boy all the time. 5 minutes later, Amy emerged from the bedroom and nearly made Justin’s jaw drop. Her beautiful blonde hair fell down her shoulder blades and drove all the boys wild. The bottom of her hair landed on the back of her black bikini top which did not leave much to the imagination. Neither did the cutoff jean shorts she looked like she was poured into. Completing the outfit was a pair of yellow sandals that showed off her beautiful feet, complete with yellow toenails to match. “Wow mommy, you look sexy as hell” her little boy said, which kinda seemed a little odd coming out of his mouth. Normally the compliments he gave her were “pretty” or “adorable”, but never sexy. “Thanks sweetie. Now it’s time to get you ready. Let’s go” she announced as she took his hand and guided him into the bedroom. Once they were both in and the door was shut, she wasted no time with taking his shirt off, leaving his hairless chest bare. Even though he was 22, she had decided that he was going to be hairless from head to toe. It was one of the things that she made sure he kept up with in their relationship. Justin, on the other hand, was embarrassed by his lack of body hair. Whenever he would wear shorts, he would get looks from other guys. Having no chest hair is no big deal, but no leg hair made him a little self conscious. Noticing that look in her baby boy’s eyes, she ran her hands up and down his soft body. “Such a smooth baby boy. Mommy loves it when her baby follows her directions” she whispered in his ear as continued to rub her hands all over him. “Now, let’s get those pants and big boy underwear off.” All he could do was stand still as the women he called mommy unbuttoned his shorts and slid them down his legs, making sure to grab his black boxers as well. While he stood in front of Amy, he was so embarrassed he just wanted to melt into the floor. He knew what was coming next. “Can you be mommy’s helper and go get your supplies?” Amy cooed at him, knowing full well he knew what she expected from him. Walking as slowly as possible by shuffling his feet, Justin walked to the closet to get the supplies. Reaching to the top shelf, he grabbed the baby powder as well as a PeekABU diaper with a stuffer inside. Those were mommy’s favorite diapers to see on him and, honestly, he thought they were pretty cute too. Once he brought the items back to her, Amy helped guide her little boy’s bottom onto the extra towel she placed on the floor as a makeshift changing table. “Let’s get you all padded and comfy” she cooed like a mother talking to her toddler. Making sure to use a liberal amount of baby powder, she slowly taped the thick diaper onto her baby. “Oh my goodness, you just look adorable! Yes you do!” Amy used her sappy tone that she knew turned Justin into jelly. “Now, why don’t you go pack your baby bag and go get some clothes to wear to beach...unless you just wanna wear your cute little diaper” she concluded with a smack to his padded butt. As if on auto-pilot, he made his way to the Winnie the Pooh backpack he used as his makeshift diaper bag. On his way there, he noticed that his walk had turned into more of a waddle as the diaper combined with the stuffer was thicker than he was used to. He made quick work on pack a couple extra diapers as well as the powder and wipes into the bag. Justin double checked his bag to made sure he had everything and added two extra diapers just to be safe. If he didn’t have enough diapers, Amy would make him stay in the last diaper until he got home. His mind went back to a car ride 2 months ago when he had to sit in a full diaper for 2 hours because he thought he had enough padding to last the whole trip. Nope, no way that was going to happen again. Once his bag was packed to his satisfaction, he began looking for clothes. After a couple minutes, he decided on a dark blue pair of swim trunks and a white tank top. It was his go to attire when going to the beach. This, however, was going to be the first time he wore a diaper to the beach. He was slightly worried, but he knew mommy would not expose him to any bad situations. They were very discreet around vanilla people with their lifestyle. When they were alone in public, however, all bets were off. “Alright sweetheart, it looks like you got some clothes. Let’s get you all dressed and ready to go swimming!” Amy announced that with an excitement in her voice that would have normally been used by someone who just won a prize on a game show. She couldn’t help it. When she got to be a mommy to her precious little man, her maternal side kicked into high gear. Everything had to be the most exciting thing ever and she made sure to make it seem like that to Justin. The red cheeks returned to Justin when mommy asked him to step into his swim shorts. Once they were pulled up and tied tight, he looked down at his waist and was glad he was going to be wearing a tank top. At least 3 inches of white plastic was poking over the top of his shorts. “Stick your arms up like Superman baby” Amy stuck her arms up to show him just how to do it. She smiled as he mimicked her and she was able to put his shirt on. Once his head poked out of the head hole, she surprised him with a kiss on the cheek. “There’s my little man! Why don’t you grab your Pooh Bear bag and let’s head out” Amy cooed at him with a tushy pat to entice him. In no time flat, Justin had his backpack slung over one shoulder and was at the front door. Slipping both his sandals on his feet, he went through a checklist in his head to make sure he had everything to make the day as fun as he could. “Mommy, we are forgetting…” “The sand toys!” Amy finished his sentence for him. Getting a firm grip on his hand, she walked with him into the garage and put the sand toys in the trunk of the car. “Good memory Justin, you would have had a lot less fun at the beach without those” she told him with a tussle of his short brown hair. “NOW, do we have everything?” the women he called mommy asked, going through the inventory herself. Finding everything they needed, she opened the back door of the sedan and smiled at Justin. “Looks like everything is here, let’s go buddy.” The diaper clad 22 year old hopped in the car, actually pretty excited to be going to have some fun at the beach. Over the last couple weeks, work has been really stressful. Couple that with the normal stresses of paying bills and everything else that comes with being an adult and he was happy he got to let all of that go for the afternoon. Justin looked out the window for a little while, but then got bored. He needed something to do. His mind, as well as his eyes, wandered down to his waist. After he untied the swim trunks, his hands want to exploring the crinkly diaper underneath. While he was a huge fan of his diapers now, they were probably the most nerve wracking part of going to this lifestyle. His first couple times wearing them were about as uncomfortable as it got. The more he wore them, however, the more he got used to them. He loved the safeness and security he got by both mommy putting him in them and just wearing them in general. Plus, when he was playing games, he never had to stop to use the potty and that was awesome! As Amy was driving along, she looked in the rearview mirror and saw her little guy playing with his diapers. “Well well, looks like a certain someone is happy to be in his diapers.” Once he started taking his hands out of his pants, she spoke up again. “It’s ok sweetie, babies love being in diapers and waiting on mommy to change them. Since you are my little baby boy, it’s perfectly natural for you to love your puffy diaper.” While Justin was blushing, he couldn’t help but agree with her. He loved his diapers and, in the short time he has been interested in them, would never want to give them up! After about 20 more minutes of quiet alternative rock from the car radio and crinkles from the back seat, Amy pulled into the parking lot. Both her and Justin noticed that they were the only people there. “Perfect” Amy thought “This should let my little guy be himself and not have to worry about being judged by onlookers.” Mommy hopped out of the car and opened the backdoor to see her little boy smiling back at her. “Let’s get your shorts tied back up” she said as she reached for the swim trunks, making quick work of getting them tied tight. “Thanks mommy” Justin thanks his girlfriend, trying to not let the embarrassment show on his face. While he has been embarrassed about almost every step of their MD/LB journey, Amy was almost the complete opposite. Ever since she could remember, she has wanted kids. Since they are not ready for that step in the relationship, this seemed like a perfect plan B. Unbuckled and out of the car, Justin walked to the trunk where his mommy was waiting. “Alright buddy, how about you take your baby bag and the sand toys while I take the beach bag?” Amy made it seem like a suggestion, while making it a demand. She smiled as she saw Justin grab his Pooh Bear backpack and the huge bag of sand toys. He looked like Santa as he slung the huge bag over his shoulder. Little did he know that the bag was holding his shirt up, exposing some diaper. She had to do her best to hold in an aww as they started the walk down to the beach.

Im looking for a baby girl around my age who needs a mommy. 18-27 preferred. Must have a skype acc.

*Edit: I've been a reader for a long time, and around this time last year I decided to start writing ABDL stories to eventually post. There was a bit of a learning curve, I wrote a few stories that failed for various reasons, but it was important to me to post a story that was finished. I started working on Without Merit in October. It's around 30 chapters long, and I'm wrapping up the final chapters as of the posting of Chapter 1. I'm really proud of the results, and I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it. Thanks for reading. All characters are over 18. Story contains sexual content. ................ About Lovington Lovington is somewhere in middle America, a place where the highways give away into county roads, where franchises are few and far between. That's not to say that it's a backwater, Lovington is exactly as pristine as the American dream, and as common as ice cream with an apple pie. It's a typical American small town with a small shopping mall, a local cinema, its main street is main street. The people are kind, generous and almost as bland as the town itself. A town that blends into the area, that isn't even a blip on the map. It's always out of everyone's mind, and the people of Lovington like it that way. There is nothing suspicious about Lovington, that's why it was a great location for a secret laboratory. All the while, this laboratory in Lovington ran along, melting budgets with no real breakthroughs — then one day, there was one. They finally opened a door and only one thing came out before it closed again: the cube. 0 Boredom is its own kind of inspiration. It was well established among the teenagers that the small town of Lovington was boring, nothing ever happened here. Even as it was happening. However, the strange place had plenty of inspiration to share with everyone. A quiet influence swam throughout the city like an invisible fog, a feeling that something was moving behind the curtain, a feeling not everyone noticed or that anyone could shake. The Hartmann house was a three story affair, if you count the game room in the basement. The below ground man cave was wall to wall in wood paneling, a throwback from the 1980s when that was in fashion. The three girls inside looked as bored as the decor, draped on the pair of couches and the single creaky, padded lazy boy chair. Katie Nguyen lounged on the shorter couch, her long athletic legs hung over the other end of the sofa. Charity Brown held a pillow across her chest and was the only one watching the box shaped tv. Marisa Hartmann rested in the giant chair, swiping through selfie filters until she found one good enough to post. "Men are so easy,” Charity sighed. "I think you mean boys are easy, there aren't any men that go to our school," Marisa clarified. She lifted her phone above her head to take another semi-down the shirt selfie. “Nothing but immature boys,” Katie added. All three girls nodded in agreement before going back to whatever they were doing, but Charity wasn't ready to let this drop. There was something bothering her, and she had no idea how to express her feelings. So she complained to her friends until they helped her figure herself out. Being a teenager was strange. "It’s so annoying because it's so lame,” Charity continued. “I’m over being romanced, getting flowers, and getting bored again.” “Sounds like you need to get laid,” Marisa said with a grin. Katie raised an eyebrow in consideration to Charity, who still stared blankly at the tv screen. “I can get laid, that’s not the problem and you both know it,” Charity argued. “We both know that you’re an easy slut?” Marisa prodded. “Ha ha, very funny.” Charity rolled her eyes. They were close enough friends to let this joke pass, but no self respecting girl liked being called a slut. Charity was mostly self respecting, at least to those who didn’t truly know her. It was fine that she liked sex, and not just the regular sex that she could get from almost any boy at the school. Charity liked weird sex, like back page experimental Cosmo magazine stuff; she found herself bored too easily, like she was right now in the retro game room at Marisa’s. And when she was bored, she thought about sex. The lithe blonde cheerleader sat up and threw the lifeless pillow into the opposite corner of the couch, preparing to get on her soapbox. The commotion was dramatic enough for Marisa to actually get off the phone and actually pay attention to her. “No, think about it, Mars. You and I both know we can get whatever we ask for from just about anyone. We can get in the backseat from a football player, or in the bathroom between classes from the weird/moody, silent kid. If we want an older guy, we’d just troll a bar with a fake ID; but we’re so pretty we wouldn’t even need one. I bet that we could even bag a teacher, like even a married one. Don’t you think that’s boring?” Katie blushed furiously as Marisa considered her words. For a typical blonde, Charity made a good point every now and then. However, Marisa wanted to see where Charity was planning on going with this, and also she wanted to see just how red Katie’s face could get from embarrassment. Charity wasn’t wrong, but she over-calculated just how horny Marisa actually was. It’d be cool and all to get caught up in a whirlwind romance with an older guy, or married man. That being said, she wasn’t one to open her legs at the drop of a hat like Charity. “So what’s your point?” Marisa asked. “I’m not trying to make a point, I’m just saying I’m bored,” Charity said. The cheerleader went back to flipping between channels with an ancient tv remote with tape wrapped around the battery pack. It was Marisa’s turn to not let things go, if something was bothering her friend, she’d at least want to know the cause, it was her game room after all. “Alright, if you’re that bored you should move onto threesomes and gangbangs. You know your way to the boys locker room, you’ve done it in their showers before, right?” Katie choked. “You’ve been in the boy’s locker room?” “Shut up virgin!” Charity snickered. It was an A and B conversation and Katie needed to C her way out. Katie’s virginity was well-renowned in her circle of friends. She was the athletic type, more interested in good grades and Martial Arts tournaments than dating. It wasn’t that she was ugly, quite the opposite. Katie was tall with almond shaped eyes and well defined muscles. Her honor student lifestyle, addiction to Tae Kwon Do, and most importantly her old fashioned Asian parents, did not allow the quick hook-ups like other girls her age. “I’m just saying I want something different, a kinky relationship without the banging — like fifty shades or something.” Charity tapped the remote against her chin. “I love that movie,” Katie quipped. Virgins just didn’t know when to shut up. Marisa decided it was time to give some sort of advice, Katie was getting no where with Charity. “So why don’t you find a billionaire to tie you up and spank you?” Marisa asked. “Who said I won’t be the one doing the spanking?” Marisa laughed, Katie blushed, but Charity was still deep in thought. They were at some sort of impasse, and she had no idea what she even wanted to hear. She was bored, kinda horny, and she wanted to play a game. The idea of being the ‘spanker’ was just a quick comeback to her friend, but Charity found it intriguing and worth a second thought. “I think we’re onto something, about the whole school being boys not men and whatnot. Wouldn’t it be kinky to be in charge of a boy like we were cougars? We could put them under our control, and force them to satisfy even our nastiest fantasies. I mean, really push the envelope.” “So what did you have in mind?” Marisa purred. She could be classically sexy when she wanted. Marisa was one of those girls that woke up perfect, olive colored skin came without the tanning bed, she had long eyelashes and barely had to apply any makeup at all because being beautiful just came naturally to her. Just like her former actress, supermodel mom. “I don’t know, maybe it will come to me,” Charity said. Still nothing came to her except a hot, churning feeling nestled between her legs. She felt the need to squeeze her thighs together, then do it again — harder. Charity softly bit her lip as she hungrily watched television. Maybe she did just need to get laid. That was when she saw the commercial that gave her the idea. At first, Charity wanted to laugh so she covered her mouth. Then she had to stifle something else, a moan. This was naughty, way naughtier than anything she’d ever thought about before. By far the naughtiest daydream while watching television. Charity flashed Marisa a wicked grin from the couch prompting her to say something. “Alright Chars, what’s on your dirty mind?” Charity crawled from the couch to whisper in her friend’s ear. Her words lost to those outside her cupped hand, but Katie tried to figure out what she was saying by watching their faces. The curiosity was killing her, she hated being left out and this felt super juicy. Marisa started off looking a little confused, then she frowned, and then she laughed. It wasn’t until Charity finished her sales pitch that Marisa featured the same wonton look as her friend. Marisa asked, “Is that really a thing?” “It totally is, I read about it online months ago,” Charity answered. “What kind of guy would even allow you to do that to him?” Charity raised her eyebrows and gave Marisa a knowing look. They were the best of friends, almost at mind reader level. “You know you already have a boy wrapped around your finger,” said the blonde cheerleader. It was Marisa’s turn to blush, she knew just who Charity was talking about. He was cute but not boyfriend material, safely tucked away in the friend zone where he belonged. At the same time, the cheerleader was right about him being wrapped around her finger, but that didn’t mean he’d be into the craziness Charity was proposing. However, Marisa was intrigued by this erotically charged challenge, how far would a boy go to please them? Especially a pushover like him. Marisa asked, “Just how —?” “We could condition him like a Pavlov dog, get him hungry with every ring of the bell. With our feminine wiles we could have him jumping through hoops in no time. Just think of it as a makeover, but with a twist." The two girls laughed as the commercial continued on just in front of them. Katie was officially out of the loop, her eyes jumping from the giggling girls and the television trying to deduct what she was missing. She'd had enough of waiting, so she stood from the couch. “What are you guys talking about? And what does that have to do with Pampers?” …. 1 “No way!” That’s what Adam wanted to say when Marisa invited him to her lake house for the four day weekend. It had to be a prank or something, why would a popular girl want to spend time with a pipsqueak like himself? This was beyond the pale of believability, and it had a dreamlike quality that could just be pinched away. Sure, they shared a few classes together throughout their time in high school. He often helped her with her homework, which actually meant he did it himself, but that was always the plight of smart guys with pretty girls. The closest the two got was when Marisa played the role of his mom in the school play, 'Mother Knows Best'. However, those connections were hardly the means to be invited to a lake house. When he thought about it, he wasn't even sure they were friends, and he had expected her to disown him at her earliest convenience. Marisa was so far out of his league that they weren't even playing the same sport. She looked like a trending movie star, had the etiquette of a princess, and she practically ran the school with her personality alone. As for her body, her mom was some kind of bikini model, and the apple didn’t fall too far from the scantily-clad tree. Marisa often wore short shorts to show off her long legs and halter tops to show off her naturally tan skin. Her hair was the color of honey and caramel, finding a soft niche between blonde and brunette. She was also homecoming queen as if there was any doubt. Adam asked, "Why me?" Marisa didn’t give him an answer, she just giggled. He agreed to go anyways, but that was before he found out that Charity and Katie were going as well. Now, he would be the only boy in a lake house with three of the hottest girls in his grade. "No way!" That’s what his friends all said when he told them how he was planning to spend his weekend. They worshipped him like he’d pulled off the impossible, like he’d found the holy grail. Jerry joked, "Hold on, wasn't Marisa the one who was your mom in the play -- wouldn’t that make her a MILF?” There was plenty of laughter and high fives to go around, they all told jokes at his expense. Adam regretted letting his plans slip. When they realized that he was telling the truth, his entire table had a bit of an overreaction. His friends turned into howler monkeys — bouncing around the table, banging their chests with their hands, and victoriously pumping their fists into the air. They fantasized and strategized on how he could bed all three girls, maybe at the same time. The commotion caused the whole cafeteria to stare, and that made Adam want to disappear. Out of all his nerdy friends, Jeremy typically razzed on him the most. He was a self-proclaimed love expert, and even he looked borderline jealous of Adam. He reminded him that this was how pornos started, 'hot chicks with a helpless geek'. They surrounded Adam in a makeshift football huddle around the table, game planning what his next move should be, and how he should best handle this 'opportunity'. His mom would probably complain about all of the locker room talk, but Adam was happy that his mom wasn't there to hear what was being said. He kept his hands over his face to hide his blushing cheeks. He let out a couple of nervous laughs to play off his unease, but he didn't touch his lunch. Good things weren’t supposed to happen to the wallflower, the outcast. There comes a time in everyone’s life where they evaluate themselves against the hopeless backdrop of their peers — a measurement of deviation from normalcy. It didn’t take long for Adam to see how different he was from most eighteen year olds. He was short and scrawny, and small enough to still shop in the kids section. Adam never had to shave, even the freshmen had stubble. It was like the puberty fairy forgot to sprinkle dust on him while he slept. He even played the cute little kid in the school play. Everyone laughed at the jokes, they coo’ed and aww’ed at him, all the while he was a senior in high school. He wasn't bad looking, both his mom and grandma said he was handsome. That’s two women spanning two generations, that had to count for something, right? Adam was shy and struggled to talk to girls, he was a virgin and never had a girlfriend because he was afraid if he asked they’d say -- “No way!” Okay, he was better with girls than he gave himself credit. Jeremy often marveled at how well he did with the opposite sex despite being so clueless. He was the opposite of Adam, Jeremy kept up with the latest fashions, dressed the part and quoted GQ like it was scripture. His reputation for unsuccessfully chasing skirt, and his palpable desperation, led to him turning off every girl at school. However, he still lectured Adam almost daily in how to get girls. Just like he was doing now. Jeremy advised, “You’ve got to have the confidence to be yourself if you want to seal the deal.” The irony was not lost on Adam; he did his best to ignore him, he didn’t want to be the one to burst his friend’s bubble. Adam just looked at things differently, his friends all changed as they grew older — everyone except Adam. Friday nights were no longer about pizza and late night video game sessions, there were no more nerf wars with walkie-talkies in the woods; now, all his crew cared about was getting laid. Adam wasn’t like them. He still played with action figures, watched cartoons and he loved wearing his Pokémon shirts to school. Like Ash Ketchum, Pokémon was timeless. It’s not like he wasn’t interested in girls, his life didn't revolve around hooking up. The situation at school didn't help matters, he was prime pickings for a lot of random harassment from his female classmates. When he walked down the halls, he got his hair ruffled, butt goosed, a couple of times he was even carried off by a pack of giggling girls. It wasn't anything sexual, it was just how they'd flirt with a senior that looked like an 8th grader. They also gave him kindly nicknames, calling him 'squirt', 'honey', 'baby'. They treated him like a kid brother, not potential boyfriend material. “No way!” That’s what Adam thought his mom would say when he asked her if he could spend the weekend at a lake house with three girls. This wouldn't pass her puritanical smell test for sure. However, she surprised him with the biggest smile and a sincere happy mommy hug. Adam still got those at eighteen. Then she asked, “Honey, do we need to talk about safe sex?” “No way!” Adam wanted to scream, but he just shook his head. She did so anyways, for an entirely painful 30 minutes, Adam never wanted to hear about the birds and bees ever again. The following day he found a box of condoms on his pillow, a gift from mom. How come everyone was viewing this lake house invitation as a VIP ticket to orgyville? Of course he knew of all three girls, they were school-wide royalty with perfect hair and perfect bodies to match. Cool seemed to always stick with them and change with them like seasons. They were the unapologetic trend setters, who all girls wanted to be and whom all boys wanted to be with. Charity was a blonde, everyone knows the type, a cliche valley girl that began each sentence with OMG and spelled out LOL instead of laughing. Her clothes were expensive but always bought on sale. She wasn’t really rude, she just tried really hard to make it seem like she didn’t care. Adam knew for a fact that she did, back in sophomore year, she stopped a few members of the football team from putting him in a locker. She had a reputation as a girl that went all the way, which meant as much to Adam as the weather on the moon. Katie was more of a mystery. The Asian girl was a blackbelt in TaeKwonDo, genuinely polite and caring. Her GPA was through the roof, and she won an award in just about everything she did. Her intelligence was just as intimidating as her muscles, she was athletic and quick to solve a math problem. As far as Adam knew, she never had a boyfriend. It seemed like the dating scene passed by them both. The boys at his table had different ways to describe the girls, they made hand gestures regarding their curves, they kissed at the air like lovesick fools. Jeremy asked, "So you're going to film this right? You're going to make an epic porno." "Um... No way," muttered Adam. This would not end in sex, he thought to himself. However, there was a secret in the duffle bag cradled between his feet. Safely tucked away in a sock was the box of condoms his mother had bought him. There was no way that he'd put anything on video, even though the thought did excite him a bit. That'd be one way to get back at Jeremy for razzing him about his virginity for the last four years. Adam looked around to see his support group had turned on him, no longer regarding him as the king of the table, only as the loser who wouldn't give them what they wanted. The energy deflated like a worn balloon. Adam hated himself for telling them his weekend plans, but he also hated disappointing them. So he did what all cowards did, he gave in. "Okay, fine. If anything happens I'll try to catch it on video." Adam expected them to cheer, chant his name, and carry him around the cafeteria, but they all fell silent. Their eyes went wide, their jaws dropped open with shocked expressions on their faces, he was surprised by the effect his words had on them. He was even more surprised to hear Marisa's voice come from behind him. “What do you plan to catch on video?” Adam felt the dual sensation of panic and humiliation when he wondered just how much she had heard. The world reeled in slow motion as he turned from the table to see not only Marisa, but Charity and Katie as well. They all had the same look on their faces, the same kind that his mom had when he did something bad. He ran his hand through his shaggy hair, he had no idea what to say, so he nervously chuckled while looking to his friends for help. Jeremy turned his back on him, whistling like he had nothing to do with operation Amatuer Pornstar. It looked like Adam was already on his own, some group of friends that he had. "I was hoping to make a nature video. You know, of the animals around the lake." A surprising solid 3 star save in the clutch! Right on cue, the boys around him nodded in agreement, someone muttered something about squirrels. It looked like everyone believed Adam except for the three girls. Katie crossed her muscular arms, Charity rolled her eyes, and Marisa had her hands on her hips as if to say: "No way..." "I'm sure you care all about the wildlife," Charity groaned. She had plenty of experience with bad boyfriends and could sniff out a masculine lie like a bloodhound. Marisa seemed the quickest to shrug it off. "My mom just pulled up, are you all packed and ready for our trip?" Jealousy emanated from his friends as they left the boys at the table. The ones who were about to throw a parade in his honor were now giving him sideways glances like he was the first one to shout bingo in a room full of grannies. He was no longer wanted at this table, and he was pretty certain that he wouldn't be until he came back with a scandalous video. That probably wouldn't happen, because despite the peer pressure, Adam still thought that it was a bad idea. Katie asked, "Are you excited?" The taller girl slugged him in the arm, harder than she probably intended, she was a black belt after all. He managed to nod back at her. Adam was not a fan of small talk, and he had to stop himself from throwing up when he opened his mouth. He said something that sounded like 'yeah', but it was more of a grunt than a word, so he cleared his throat and said it again. It still came out as a mumbling mess. The hallway to the car seemed to go on forever, how was he supposed to talk to these girls this weekend? Adam wanted to open up, shake off the shyness, but he was still a mumbling, bumbling idiot. Two conflicting thoughts battled in his mind as he shuffled in silence. The first, that his friends were wrong, and this wouldn’t be some sort of sexy party with a wild romp with these girls. This was highly likely, and the most probable outcome, but some leftover mystery still lingered — what if they were right? What if he was heading into a trap where these girls would bang him all weekend? It sounded like a fantasy, but it made him want to throw up. Both thoughts were equally nerve racking, and he couldn’t think of anything else. Marisa put her arm around him and shook him awake. "Come on, Adam. We're going to have a great time this weekend. We've been looking forward to hanging out with you, so there's no need to be nervous." He melted a little bit when she flashed a smile at him. "We're going to have LOADS of fun,” Charity giggled. There was a red luxury SUV in the parking lot, a beautiful woman leaned against the passenger side door like a Bond girl. Her long blonde hair swayed in the wind, same as her loose fitting turquoise summer dress that looked like it was ripped straight from a fashion magazine. She looked like she was high maintenance but worth every penny. Marisa pointed to her. "It looks like my mom is here. Adam, why don't you say hello while we load up all the bags in the back?" "No Way!" Is what Adam thought when he saw Marisa's mom for the first time. Jeremy liked to use the word MILF to describe any woman over the age of thirty, but that's the exact way Adam would describe her. She had aged out of pretty but matured into beautiful. The nerves rose up again, and he chose to look at his feet rather than make eye contact with her. He wanted to snap out of it, say something witty or polite, but he just walked in front of her and stood there expectantly. Like a mute. Mrs. Hartmann leaned down and ruffled his shaggy brown hair. "So you're this Adam that Marisa keeps talking about. I recognize you from the play, you look a little bit older when you're not wearing a sailor suit." A bit puzzled, Adam looked down at his Pikachu t-shirt and khaki shorts, then remembered what he wore for the play. Yes, he wore a sailor suit to make him look more like a kid. As if his genes didn’t do that enough already. “Yeah, those aren’t my regular clothes,” Adam mumbled. "I'm sure they weren't, but you did look so cute. I'd say that you were the audience's second favorite, and you memorized your lines so well. We were so proud of you, weren't we Marisa?" "We sure were," Marisa commented as she circled around the front of the car and hopped into the passenger seat. The hot mom extended her hand to shake his, Adam just meekly put his hands in hers. "My name is Lindsey Hartmann, and I'll be your driver today. You better be on your best behavior, I won't hesitate to give you a firm smack on the behind if you get out of line with any of these girls." Adam couldn't tell if she was joking or not, she was as difficult to read as Shakespeare with a stutter. However, he didn't like the sound of being spanked at all. There was something so demeaning and childish about that particular punishment. Adam had an active imagination. In his mind he saw himself draped over her lap — and he stopped himself from thinking about it even further because his face was turning pink. Marisa rolled down the window. “Aren't you going to join us?" Everyone was already inside the car by the time Adam recovered. He opened the door to the back seat to find Katie and Charity already comfortable and watching him expectantly. He stepped inside only to find a pink booster seat in the last open spot. Not only was it pink, it was a princess themed toddler chair covered with glittering magic wands, butterflies and fairy wings. A large sparkling tiara featured prominently where his butt would be. He wanted to say so bad — "No Way!" Really? Were they expecting him to sit in a chair for toddlers? Adam fumbled around the back of the booster looking for a way to pull it off the seat so he could actually sit down. It was tied to the backseat by some force beyond science, he certainly couldn't figure out where. Adam pulled and jerked at the chair while the whole car watched him make a fool out of himself. "Is there a problem?" Marisa asked from the front. "No, I'm just trying to move this car seat so I can sit down," Adam answered. "Could you do me a big favor and just deal with it this time?" Marisa asked politely. "We put the seat in for my baby cousin, and it was a real hassle that we do not want to do again. My mom is planning on taking her to the zoo next week." Marisa had a way of making Adam do whatever she wanted, the magic formula was her good looks and powerful charisma with a dash of his lack of backbone. She could easily put him under her spell. He felt helpless to her words; then again, a car seat was a car seat. Lines had to be drawn somewhere. Adam complained, "I don't think I'd even fit, I'm not a little kid." There the chair sat, its intentions evil to the core, and Adam wasn't planning on sitting in it — that was until Charity slapped the seat with her hand, which startled him. She didn't have to say a word, she just gave him a look. He was beginning to hate these girls and their looks. But once again like a coward, he gave in. He climbed into the car seat without any more protest. The arms on the booster were snug around his waist, but besides that, he did fit. Adam frowned when he did. Marisa snaked her hand from around the front seat and gave his thigh a squeeze. "And you thought you were too big," Marisa laughed. "Well, I —“ Lindsey interrupted, "Aren't you going to buckle up?" Adam desperately wanted to argue, say something about being an adult, but everything around him seemed to move too fast. In a flash, Charity deftly pulled the seat belt over him, her hands sliding uncomfortably through his comfort space, barely above his no-no zone, but the boy was flabbergasted already. Too many girls, too little of space, and princess themed car seats had a way of getting to someone. "Alright, he's locked up tight. Let's get this show on the road," Charity announced.

Was browsing ebay and came across a listing for Luvs Size 7. Did these just come out? I tried looking them up on google and only see size 6's.

It's always fun when this time of year rolls around, and holiday themed stories make their appearance. The same can be said about Halloween. I had hoped to write one of my own for Halloween, but that didn't happen. This idea popped in my head last week. I'm hoping I'll be able to finish it by the end of the month, but I don't want to make promises that I can't keep, and I don't want to rush a story and get stressed out. It takes place in the Diaper Dimension. If you're unfamiliar with that content, there are a ton of amazing stories on this site that can bring you up to speed. I didn't create any of the setting, just borrowed ideas along the way, and its impossible to give full credit where credit is due. This is not a smutty story. More of a PG-13 kind of thing. I don't plan on using any bad or unsavory language, and there's no scenes where you need to cover your eyes. Also, no Littles were harmed in the production of this story. Well, at least not in chapter one. Thanks for reading. ..... The Present(s) - 1 Arrival, 2 Anticipation, 3 Agreements, 4 Antechamber, 5 Actualization pt 1, 6 Actualization pt 2, 7 Acceptance, 8 Awareness, 9 Ambush, 10 Almost midnight, 11 At Midnight, 12 After Midnight 1 Arrival The present. The ‘here and now’. The ‘what’s happening’. The ‘very second’. That’s where James Park tried to keep his head. To keep his focus on what he was doing, not thinking about the past or future, only trying to move from one moment to the next. He had to maintain that mindset, because life was rough for a Little in a Big world. For James there was only the next job, and the next job would be his last. A comforting thought, but that was also thinking into the future. A Little ‘no, no’. There were pitfalls in his line of work, nothing could be taken for granted, and losing focus was dangerous. While on this side of town, every thought counted, every action was under scrutiny, and every word could be used against him. He had to set his mind right if he planned on avoiding what happens to Littles who make mistakes. In the present, he stood shivering on a sidewalk opposite from an impressive skyscraper, scrying the busy intersection for a spot to make it across the street. A picturesque snowfall hushed the loud city street around him. It possibly could have been comforting, if James wasn’t so concerned about being late. He tightened his navy overcoat across his chest, his chin length dirty blonde hair had collected white flakes at the tips. It wasn’t a bitter cold. It was crisp, precise, on point with the season. However, it was a different story when the wind would kick up. A quick gust almost pulled the tiny scrap of paper from his hands. A paper with a place, a time, and a promised payout. An Amazon couple slowly strolled his way from further than the sidewalk. Their loving arms entwined and wandering eyes on the hanging wreaths and colored lights. They carried on in empty conversation and laughter. James turned away to pretend he wasn’t there, but he felt their eyes linger as they passed. He was used to the looks, but he wasn’t used to being late, or being called up at the last minute. It raised his hackles. The present. He needed to get across the street. Contracts were quite specific on arriving on time. Unfortunately, there was no stop to these cars. He again jumped to press the button to trigger the crosswalk, then jumped a third and fourth time, but he doubted he had the force necessary to change the light. This side of town wasn’t built with him in mind. His flailing about caught the watchful eyes of a Big doorman from the tower on the other side of the street. The man was tall and dressed in a red uniform, standing guard in front of a wide array of gold trimmed glass doors. James knew he had the man’s attention, this guy was a helper of sorts, and he’d help him get past this traffic. The two made eye contact, exchanged a pair of nods, and the doorman pulled a shiny brass whistle to his lips as he walked into the road, raising a hand to part the cars. Deep down, he hated the favor. Or that he needed the favor. He also hated the man’s condescending smile. Even if James tried to return a polite one. But what he hated most was the way he called him ‘Little guy’. “Hey Little guy,” the doorman said as he pressed a white glove against his back, hurrying James across the street. “I assume that you’re here for the party?” There was something about that smile that wasn’t right. As sinister as it was genuine. James answered, “Um. That’s right.” The Little struggled to keep pace with the Giant’s larger strides while cowering from blinding headlights. What was at the waist of a Big was eye level for a Little, and the high beams burned from both sides. When they got to the curb, the doorman gave a final tug to the back of his jacket, sending James stumbling over the sidewalk almost into the glass doors. The doorman spoke. “Now what do you say, kid?” James wasn’t a kid, but it wasn’t worth the argument. Not on this side of town, not against this man. It was all a job, all a performance. That’s how he learned to swallow that pride like poison and keep his mind on the present. He gave a slight bow. “Thank you, sir.” The taller man ruffled his hair with a gloved hand before opening the door for him. Then all at once he was inside. Away from the cold wind, snide doorman, and into a busy lobby. The Giant room was tall and wide, an open space like a concert hall, with the acoustics to match. It would probably echo had it been empty, but it was full of life. Lively ropes of garland hung from the walls, spiraling trees filled with ornaments in every possible corner, and there was even a robotic oversized Santa mechanically waving at passersby. James could hear its jolly laughter over the brassy holiday music that filled the air over the throng of people seemingly everywhere. All three types were present in the lobby, highlighting the caste system based on size. The tall Amazons moved about with confident authority, manning stations and desks, or other ones seated on plush chairs and sofas, sharply dressed presumably for their holiday party. Betweeners hustled about fulfilling the Big’s wishes to prove that they were worthy of being above Littles, or at least they hoped. Then there were the others, the Littles, the ones so very out of place. Against a wall stood a long line of about twenty or thirty in a row, like a band of preschoolers on a field trip, anxiously awaiting — they couldn’t possibly all be there for the party, could they? James didn’t know that there would be others like him, or he wouldn’t have taken the job. Suddenly, things didn’t feel right, and he was about to turn around when he felt a hand on his shoulder. It was warm and feminine, but also firm and binding, like his contract. So there was no getting out of this. She chirped, “What’s your name, Little guy?” There it was again. James spun around wielding a fake happy face. He followed the hand on his shoulder to a perky Tweener with wide open eyes, like she was excited to see everything. She wore business casual, lots of makeup and a lopsided Santa hat. There was a tablet in her hands and a walkie clipped to her belt. Party coordinator, Little wrangler, or for this job, possibly his boss. “I’m James Park, and I’m here for the party.” “Oh, you look so excited! Let me check if you’re in the right place.” She tapped a pen along the edge of the computer screen until she found his name. Unfortunately, he was in the right place. “It looks like you’re partners with Kinsey tonight,” she said as she pointed to a Little girl moping against the wall like the rest. “I’m Jennifer, but you can call me Jenny. Or Miss Jenny. Whatever is easiest to say.” James hesitated. “Jenny, I didn’t know there were others. I mean, I normally work alone, and I— “ “You’re nervous, I can tell.” Jenny reached around and rubbed his back, then he felt the slight push towards Kinsey and the other Littles lined against the wall. “I bet you’ll feel better about things after making new friends. Kinsey is super nice, maybe she’s single and ready to mingle.” The present. He was just another Little in a long line. Jenny lied. Kinsey didn’t seem nice, just pretentious and bored, and anything but kind. Though she looked pretty in that fashion conscious black dress, so that was something. They exchanged polite greetings before spending the next few minutes in silence. He kept glancing her way, expecting her to say something, anything. He looked around at the other Littles of all kinds, like someone pressed a randomizer button, and the Littles of every flavor popped out of a machine. Dark hair, Light hair, short hair, long hair, tomboys and girly boys, every color of a Little rainbow, and every single one dressed in their best to impress. However, he and Kinsey practically looked the same. Blonde hair, blue eyes, fair skin, down to their button noses. Most of the other partners were talking with one another, James thought it was proper to at least attempt the same. “So Kinsey, what brings you here?” He grimaced. It came out awkward despite all of the courage he spent to break the ice. Kinsey recrossed her arms and slid further down the wall before loudly sighing. “I was told they only invited professionals, and now I’m stuck with a newbie.” A newbie? She might as well have called him a baby. A pretty strong insult coming from the mouth of a fellow Little. James leaned into her personal space. He took crap from Bigs and Tweeners, but when it came to his own size, nope. “I’m not a newbie, I’ve been around, this isn’t my first time with Amazons. I’ve probably been working longer than you.” “Oh, yeah.” Kinsey side-eyed him for a hundredth time. “What exactly do you do, James?” It wasn’t really a secret, but he didn’t exactly want to admit to his line of work. He shook his head. “Nah, you first.” Kinsey delicately placed both palms on her chest. “Easy. I’m a model. You may have seen some of my work, but judging by the fact that you’re wearing last year when it’s almost next year — you haven’t.” James felt that burn. On the inside. She asked, “What about you, Little guy?” Oh, man. He felt the heat rise, like a soft blush from spiked eggnog, it settled into his cheeks. James cleared his throat, there was no way the truth would put a stop to this ridicule. Neither would a lie. “I’m a singer,” James answered. “What kind of singer?” Kinsey turned her head as if she knew she was prying him apart. Alright, time to get honest. James worked as a singing telegram. He sang Little ditties in babyish costumes for tips, traveling around to different offices and events — basically embarrassing himself in front of Amazons for hard cash. He would like to think it was worth it, but even at his last gig, he still wasn’t sure. Simply put, it paid the bills and zero chance for social promotion. Even by a Little’s standards. The job also didn’t have the best of reputations. Mostly by a Little’s standards. There was something about giving the Amazons what they expected of Littles that aggravated everyone else his size. There was a usual song and dance to his — his song and dance. A routine of sorts. Show up wearing their silly costume, sing your little song, and collect your little paycheck. It was all demeaning, of course. The songs were standard Little music: ‘I’m a Little Teapot’, ‘Ba-Ba Black Sheep’, or whatever preschool jam was popular or relevant for the affair. Also, it was important to be cute, but not too cute, just the right amount of cute. That’s what the costumes were all about. The pre-made costumes were a tad bit infantilizing, always short shorts, sometimes coveralls, or worse, with snappies between the legs and zippers that ran down the back. But he set his limits: no dresses and no diapers. It had to be said. There were others he worked with that didn’t set those limits, those that didn’t mind showing up for a show thickly padded, which James thought was an invitation to disaster. However, he couldn’t blame them. They were in the business of getting tips, it was part of the territory. Push the envelope, reap the rewards. He had done the same himself, his longer hair was a part of that game. James had more than once been a target of suggestions for barrettes or pigtails. Kinsey prodded again. “What kind of singer, James?” They had a name for singing telegrams, more embarrassing than the job itself. He couldn’t bear telling her. She stopped, then grinned. “Don’t tell me that you’re a Gramcracker.” “Fine, I won’t tell you that,” James snapped back. It took a moment for her to believe him, like he fabricated his lifestyle just for this little talk; but when she figured it out, her whole demeanor changed. From apathetic to downright angry, and in rapid time. “You’ve got to be kidding me, diaper-bait.” She pressed a finger into his chest. “You mess this up for me, I swear-” Miss Jenny hustled by with her tablet, and Kinsey halted her brow beating until the Tweener passed. “I can’t believe I’m partners with a stupid Little like you,” Kinsey whispered. “You’re one to be talking,” James defended himself. “What’s so bad about what I do for money, huh?” “I shouldn’t have to explain it to you, I just can’t wait to hear your cute Little singing voice. Just try not to pee your pants and get us both put in diapers.” “Like you’ve never worn a diaper before,” James scoffed. Kinsey became suddenly alert, he definitely struck a nerve with his comment on diapers. “What are you suggesting, Gramcracker?” He knew he shouldn’t push her buttons, but the way she called him Gramcracker gave him no choice. “What kind of fashion magazines are you in? Little fashion, or ‘Little’ fashion? Emphasis on the Little part, I bet you’ve been padded more than your fair share.” James barely had a chance to smirk before Kinsey wheeled him against the wall. Her index finger was under his chin like a knife. “What I’ve had to wear because of stupid Littles like you is none of your business. If I wore a diaper, it meant I could be trusted in one without using it. Now, it'd be best for you to shut your mouth until it’s time for your little jingle.” She added, “You got that, Gram-gram?” He gulped. Just then, Miss Jenny made another round with her walkie wildly squawking. Kinsey pretended her threatening finger to his throat was nothing more than a friendly embrace. “I’m so glad to see you two are getting along,” Jennifer gushed. “When the bells chime it’ll be time to head to the elevators so you guys can get properly dressed.” The pair of Littles just smiled back, angry claws still digging into one another. This was going to be a long night, James thought to himself. Kinsey probably thought the same. Who knew what partners meant, and James struggled on keeping this whole thing professional. Kinsey released him as soon as Jenny looked the other way. After that, James kept his mouth shut as things fell into motion. They were organized into couples of boys and girls, some girls and girls, some boys with boys. And they were forced to hold hands. They were hors d'oeuvres for the devilish tastes of the Amazons, made to order, and ordered to please. A chorus of bells sang out from everywhere, tinny small ones, toneful medium ones, and heavy bells that shook the bones. All at once the chaotic atmosphere changed into programming. The chaos became order, the music stopped, and the uneasy quiet of hushed voices and shuffling feet took over. The well-to-do Amazons were the first on the elevators, heading to the top floor to the party. The Tweeners made sure to write their drink orders and remind them of seating arrangements. Older Amazons in ball gowns and fancy headdresses gave the long line of Littles one last look before heading up and taking their creepy leering faces with them. One last job. Then no more. Last but not least, it came time for the Littles. A small group of Betweeners herded them through the lobby and cattled them together onto an elevator. A Big elevator could fit a lot of Littles, and all of them hopped aboard. Jennifer stood with her kind in the middle of the mass checking over details with another Betweener that had a walkie and tablet in tow. The elevator had a mirror for a ceiling, an overhead reflection that the Littles didn’t need. They all stared at their reflection as they looked up into one another, holding hands awaiting what awaited them. That's the issue with the future. The future is captivating. It tugs and pulls at the present until the mind isn't on what's currently happening, the mind is elsewhere in a nameless space, sharing dreams and nightmares of what’s yet to come. James could take a guess on where their minds were at this moment. Probably already on floor 100. Later that night, in the future when this present was past, James would reflect on this moment just like that overhead mirror. The bright eyes looking up to something they couldn't quite see, soaked in a frightful quiet because there were no words for this ‘feeling’. A feeling that couldn’t be described as terror, more like an anticipation for malice. The bad was coming, but they could hope that it wouldn’t be all bad. Or too bad. But if it got too bad it would eventually be over. That’s the way it was with Amazons. Everyone hoped it would be worth it, that metaphorical pot of gold on the otherside of this rainbow. The fame, fortune, or some other prize that brought them to this moment didn't matter anymore. They were there. James had to assume that they were mostly like him, or Kinsey. In show business or hospitality for the Bigs. Which meant contracts, and unions, or guilds, or whatever. Signed contracts were a two way street, what kept him in line also kept him in clean underwear. Life wasn’t easy being a Gramcracker in a shark tank, but there were legal protections in their union contracts. If they performed to specifications, they were untouchable. Unfortunately, paper could only do so much. Binding agreements didn’t stop the pinches to both sets of cheeks, top and bottom, but it kept the kidnappings at bay. The oddities of this assignment plagued him for some reason, so were his reasons for taking the path that led to this moment. This job was different, last minute, high paying. No pre-made costume, no set list. Only an address and a time to arrive. Kinda suspicious for a final show, but James could rationalize it. There was an extra zero on this check that wasn’t on the others. He’d go out with an end of year bonus and never be seen around these parts again. Once again his head was in the future. That future was coming closer by the second, as the elevator slowly climbed to floor 99. Floor 100 was the top of the building where there was a high end club housing this ‘party’, but floor 99 was for Littles and Tweeners, those who made this party a reality. What was reality? The present. Kinsey closed her fist tightly around his hand and gave it a painful squeeze. She whispered right into his ear. “I hate you.” James turned to whisper back. “Good. I hate you, too.” Ah, the present.

Some pictures featuring my OC Andy drawn by friends

A Christmas Special As a gift to my many readers, I'm making this available here without delay. If you've enjoyed my work over the past year and wish to say thank you, you can subscribe to my Patreon or leave a tip there. This is a sequel to A Thanksgiving Special, available wherever the best diaper stories are found (like here and here). Check out the original story or dive on in. ­­ Purely by coincidence, it was one day short of a month since your life had changed, Thanksgiving falling on November 25th and today being December 24th. You had lain wondering how many years in a hundred it works out that Thanksgiving and Christmas both fall on the 25th of their respective months while your partner changed you into a fresh diaper. You had been mad at her for all of ten minutes the first time, when she had ambushed you with a diaper as you were about to get dressed for Thanksgiving dinner at her parents’ house, confronting you about the rising frequency of your accidents and reminding you in detail about the prior Thanksgiving when you bottomed out your undies before you’d even finished your pumpkin pie. You couldn’t help but admit it made sense though, and when your partner told you on Black Friday, as you were about to get dressed to go shopping, that your change of attire wasn’t just for one night but permanent until you didn’t need diapers anymore, the experience of the previous night kept you from a more than a pro forma protest; that and the look in her eyes that told you this wasn’t negotiable and that she’d take the hairbrush to your bare bottom, a rarity but not unheard of, if you refused. And so you went from being someone who had accidents in their pants to someone who uses diapers. “If it happens in a diaper,” she told you more than once until you stopped apologizing every time it happened, “it’s not an accident.” You had to admit that made sense. After all, like she pointed out, that’s what diapers are for, so how could it be an accident? Hence the new euphemism your partner used in public: an incident, not an accident. No one in public ever seems to notice what you’re wearing, except for that one time three weeks ago you had a very big incident while waiting in line at the department store. What a frightening moment that had been, when you were waiting to check out with the cashmere sweater you were buying her for Christmas, and she was down in the men’s department shopping for you. You didn’t know what to do, the suddenness of it taking you by surprise and leaving you frozen in line. The few times you’ve had that kind of incident in public, she’s been by your side and quietly whisked you away to get you changed into clean huggies. You don’t mind that she calls them diapers instead of briefs, but it does bruise your ego a bit when she refers to them as huggies or pampers, but it’s far from a concern when you’ve, as she sometimes says, fudged your huggies and just need her help. You’ve never changed a diaper before, let alone your own, let alone such a full one as the one almost sagging around your hips that day in the mall. You didn’t even have the diaper bag with you. It wasn’t merely wearing one or even a full one but the smell that alerted the other shoppers, even though they were all wearing masks and on the “stand here” decals the store had put on the floor to keep shoppers six feet apart. The woman in front of you lifted her sleeping infant from the stroller and checked her diaper while you looked around as though you were just like the other adults and trying to find the source of the stench. But you fooled no one, nor did you notice the salesperson pick up the phone at the register and quietly say something to someone, so it came as a complete, and completely embarrassing, surprise when a store manager appeared at your elbow. She was nice about it, recognizing from your watery eyes you hadn’t done what you did for jollies and establishing as she walked you toward the escalator that you needed help. She guided you to the upper floor where the family restroom is located and assured you everything would be okay and asking only for your partner’s name before she left you standing in the middle of that restroom, wondering what was going to happen when you heard her on the public address system. Could your partner “please come to the manager’s office on the third floor behind bedding to meet your partner?” The entire time between the checkout line and being left in the restroom was a blur, and it was only after your partner had changed you into a clean diaper and held you while you let out a few tears did you realize you no longer had that sweater. The manager was waiting for you at the end of the hall, asking as though nothing unusual had happened whether you still wanted to check out. The manager struck you as unusually empathetic, guessing the sweater was a gift for your partner and taking you into her office to complete the purchase. She even gave you a certificate for free wrapping at the customer service desk. That fit with what you noticed your first night back in diapers. Your partner had preemptively told her family, taking away the chance of a surprise discovery, and they had all treated you especially gently. Not even the kids snickered. Your father-in-law even called you ‘tiger.’ But that was her family. Thanksgiving with her family, Christmas Eve with yours, and when you come out of the shower on Christmas Eve, she has an outfit waiting for you on the bed. You’ve always been equal partners even if she does take you over her knee a few times a year to correct your behavior, but ever since she’s declared by fiat that you are back in diapers indefinitely, she’s taken charge of a few things, inconsequential things in the scheme of it but all things that make you feel sometimes like a second-tier adult: your hygiene, your clothes, your diet, your sleep schedule, and of course anything having to do with relieving yourself. “I’m going to go change,” you announced when you’d returned from the Black Friday shopping trip. “Are you wet,” she asked. “No.” “Lemme check.” “I’m not wet,” you insisted in a childishly petulant tone that just came out. You didn’t speak that way to anyone, and especially not to her, the love of your life. “Then hold still and lemme check,” she said firmly as she took you by the elbow and cupped you through your pants. Not satisfied, she unbuckled your belt and slipped her hand down your pants while you stood there trying to resist the desire to push her hands away and reassert your own authority over your body. You were dry, and you knew it. To be fair to her, you don’t always know when you aren’t, and that was true even before she put you back in diapers. She didn’t acknowledge you were dry beyond buckling your belt again and giving you a soft smile. You were briefly taken aback, almost offended, when she didn’t congratulate you or tell you good job. She did that just two days ago when you went almost an entire day without an accident. But underpants are to be kept dry, and keeping them dry deserves at least a verbal reward. Diapers aren’t supposed to be kept dry; using them shouldn’t provoke a scolding, but by the same token, not using them doesn’t deserve encouragement. After all, it’s only a matter of time. You didn’t know that at the time, the full weight and meaning of this change very slowly becoming clear over the course of the past month. On Black Friday, you just knew that you were dry and wanted to go change into your regular clothes. “So I’m going to go change,” you said again as she turned away from you after buckling your belt and started sorting through the shopping bags. “Why? You’re dry,” she said as she searched for something particular in one of them. “Um, because we’re home, so … I’m going to go put underpants on.” That caught her attention again. She straightened up and turned back toward you, her expression very like the one she’d worn when she announced you were wearing diapers to her parents’ house the night before, kind but resolved. “Honey, you wear diapers full-time now, even at home.” “But the bathroom is right there,” you said in more of a whine than you intended. “Please don’t use that tone with me. You have accidents at home too. You’re in diapers now.” “But … I don’t want to.” As an adult, that actually is a valid argument, and you knew that. You are an adult; not wanting to do something is a very good reason for not doing it provided you’re not harming anyone else and are willing to accept the consequences. “I understand that, sweetie, but it’s not up to you.” “Yes it is too,” you shot back, raising your voice, again without meaning to, an outburst that did nothing to make you seem like an adult but did plenty to make you sound like a child on the verge of a tantrum. Your partner wouldn’t be having that, and faster than your reflexes could respond, she had your wrist in her left hand and her right delivered two sharp spanks to the seat of your pants. “Do you need more,” she asked with her hand poised. You tried to cover your butt with your free hand, but you knew from experience that wouldn’t stop anything. “No!” “Because if you need more, it will be on your bare bottom.” “No, I’ll be good,” you promised. “Come with me,” she said and led you to the sofa in the living room. “But I said I’d be good,” you pleaded as she sat down. You only ever try to get out of a spanking verbally, not that it’s ever worked even once. You never run away or fight back, not really. Just trying to bat her hands away when she takes your pants down or feebly attempting to block the spanks or kick your way off her lap. “I’m not spanking you. Sit down.” And you did, quite aware that if you acted up, she was fully capable of changing her mind and pulling you across her lap. “I’m sorry I wasn’t clear this morning. You’re in diapers all the time everywhere, until you stop needing them.” “Even at home?” “You have more accidents here than anywhere else.” “But … But that’s only because I’m here more than anywhere else.” Which upon just a half-moment’s consideration you realized isn’t an argument in favor of underpants. She must not have thought so either because she didn’t even bother to counter it, merely saying again, “You’re in diapers until you don’t need them anymore.” “But I’m an adult.” “An adult who needs diapers. You’ll be much happier this way; we both will. No more stained undies or ruined pants or wet furniture. No more public accidents.” “People will find out.” “They might find out, but they definitely will find out if they see you flood your pants or have a brown out in your shorts.” “Can we just try them for a while,” you ventured, searching for a compromise and fairly certain you could find ways to sabotage a trial period. “We’ve tried lots of things, and the doctors are out of ways to help you. It’s diapers from now on.” You knew you were not going to change her mind. “But just until I don’t need them anymore, right?” “Right,” she said back with a tone that struck you as being similar to the tone one uses when telling a child that Santa might bring that toy that’s way too expensive: upbeat but insincere because like that parent, she knows it will never happen and can neither break your heart with the truth nor lie straight to your face without betraying a hint of her true thoughts. But like that child, you wanted to believe, so you said, “Okay, until then,” and she reached out to embrace you while you cried into her breast. All to say you aren’t surprised when you find her waiting in the bedroom for you to finish your shower, with your outfit laid out on the bed, so complete with a diaper. Diapers are part of your outfit now as surely as underpants used to be. And because she took charge of your outfit on Thanksgiving and had taken the great liberty of informing her family, you opt to not say anything about it to your own family. She would do it if she thought it was necessary, and you trust her. A good excuse since you’re too embarrassed to tell anyone. Once you arrive at your childhood home, it doesn’t take long for you to understand from the way people are treating you with kid gloves that she has, in fact, told them. Your dad calls you sport. Your mom keeps placing her hand on your lower back and discreetly, although from whom she’s trying to hide the motion you aren’t sure, sliding her hand down your waist. It doesn’t make any sense that she keeps doing that. As much as you try to take no responsibility for your diapers, figuring that if your partner is the one insisting on them then she can be the one to do all the work they create (with you doing your best to not see how that makes you seem even more in need of her doting care), even you know she can’t tell if you need changed just by putting her hand on the very top of your diaper’s back waistband. Your big sister solves that mystery by being much less discreet, merely putting herself between you and the center of the living room as she turns you around, the sudden shock leaving you wordless and cooperative as she grasps the waistband of your pants in one hand and tucks your undershirt in with her other. “Your Christmas sweater keeps riding up, kiddo. Everyone can see your diaper,” she says above a whisper but hopefully not loudly enough for others to hear, though they likely saw or at least surmised. And when she gives you a pat on the butt and you almost swallow your tongue, you lock eyes with her daughter, all of five years old, who smiles at you as if she knows how delicate your feelings are. “Honey,” your partner calls from across the room not long thereafter, “my parents are about to facetime me. Come say hello.” A glance around the room as you cross the rug and followed her up the stairs makes you suspicious as to whether anyone believed her excuse, because you don’t believe it and find you are right not to as you follow her to your childhood bedroom where she has already prepared a diaper change. “I wanted to get you into something dry before we open presents,” she explains. A day shy of a month, four changes a day, and you are well practiced in the routine. She is already kneeling on the floor as you approach her, and she unbuckles your belt and slides your pants down. “Actually,” she said, pausing, “let’s take them all the way off for this one. Lift your foot.” She takes your shoes off, then your pants, and you gingerly lay down on the changing mat, a habit from never being entirely sure there isn’t a small mess in the seat of your diaper but knowing as occasional as that is, it’s often enough to have taught you sitting straight down can make a change much longer. “Hold your sweater,” she says gently as she pushes it up and away from the top of your diaper. She always uses a gentle tone when she changes you, except when she’s trying to cheer you up or is in a silly mood. You always do your best to pretend you don’t like it, but you can never hold in your laughter when she blows a raspberry on your tummy during a change. “Not so bad after all,” she said the first time she changed one of your dirty diapers, “right? Isn’t this better than having accidents in your pants?” “Yes,” you’d agreed, and while you meant it, you weren’t happy about it and let that emotion show, so she bent forward and blew a raspberry on your tummy and did it again while you laughed, and she tickled your sides and somehow kept you from rolling away as you giggled and pleaded through tears of laughter for her to top. On Christmas Eve, she puts her hand on the bottom of your diaper as you lay on your back looking at the glow-in-the-dark stars stuck to the ceiling since you were a little kid. She bends forward and gives your diaper two investigative sniffs. “You’re a little messy,” she pronounces you. The first few times she discovered you were messy after she’d opened your diaper, she’d asked you if you knew you had stinky pants or remembered doing it, but she doesn’t ask anymore, nor did she ever ask if you’d been doing that before going back into diapers, making very small messes without knowing it. She figures it didn’t matter either way. Worst case, the diapers are making your problem worse, but since she never expects you to be out of diapers, it makes no difference. “Are you having a good time,” she asks as she plucks a few wipes from the packet and sets them next to you. She always does that before she opens your diaper, getting everything ready to make the change as quick as possible and, sometimes, to do everything she can to make sure nothing gets dirty or wet. “Yeah,” you respond. “Cuz you look a little mopey.” “I … everyone saw my diaper … poking above my pants.” “So? Anyone say anything mean?” “No.” “Anyone care?” “I don’t know. If they did, they didn’t show it.” “No one cares,” she assures you. “No one thinks less of you.” “How do you know,” you say sharply. You trust her to take care of all this because you love her and do trust her, but also because you need to trust her because there’s no one else to trust. But sometimes it doesn’t always seem like she understands that she can’t understand what this is like for you. She drops the rubber glove she was about to put on and gets back up on her knees, planting her hands on either side of you, straddling you like she does when she wants to make love, trapping you underneath her as though you’d ever want to leave the protection of her arms and looking down into your eyes while you look up into hers. “I love you,” she says, “and so does every person here.” She leans down and kisses you. “I love you even more every day.” She smiles at you again, and you feel a swell of emotion. “Uh-oh,” she said, “I know that face.” She sits down at your side, and you sit up just enough to bury your face in her lap. “It’s okay,” she coos. Ever since the accidents started, you’ve become more emotional, more prone to tears, and the diapers have only made you more so. You cry more often but rarely for long, and this time like every time she strokes your hair and rubs your back and shushes you until you pick your head up. “All done?” You nod, and she reaches across you to the wipes she plucked from the packet and wipes the tear streaks from your cheeks. “Sorry,” you apologize. “Never be sorry because you have to cry.” “I love you too.” “I know you do, sweetheart.” She kisses you on your hair. “Ready to lay back so we can get this yucky diapie off you and go open presents?” You do, and she finishes putting her gloves on, something you insisted she start doing despite her insisting changing your dirty diapers doesn’t bother her. “I know it’s Christmas,” she says, “but that doesn’t mean you needed to fudge your huggies just for me.” You scoff and chuckle. “Not that I don’t appreciate the present you made me. It’s the thought that counts, right?” Normally you’d be upset if she made that joke, but the day and the circumstances and the reassurance that she still loves you – that changing your diapers doesn’t change how she feels about you – make the joke funny even to you, and in just a few minutes you’re in a fresh diaper and redressed. “Where are you taking that,” you ask when you notice her rolling the diaper up into a ball. “The trash,” she says with a quizzical look on her face as though it was a silly question. “O.” “You want to throw it away at home?” “No, I just … no. Thanks for changing me.” “You’re very welcome like always, sweetie. Let’s go open presents.” You lead the way back downstairs, and while you turn left toward the living room, she walks straight ahead and passes your younger sister, who takes note of what she’s carrying but doesn’t say anything as your partner tosses your used diaper into the trashcan. She doesn’t push it deep into the trash, just setting it on top and letting the lid close. What’s there to hide? Nothing. Your little sister catches up with you and puts her hands on your shoulders, leaning forward to whisper into your ear, “You’re the luckiest person I know,” before she too gives you a light swat on your butt. Both sisters and your mom and your partner’s mom have now all casually done that, and while you think you should feel offended, you don’t. In a way you don’t understand and you can’t express, it feels good, and you know you’ve done the same to your nieces and nephews still in diapers and don’t know why, as though a diapered bottom needs to be patted for some mysterious, irresistible reason. Your partner joins you in the living room, and the two of you sit down on the floor together to open presents and enjoy watching everyone else open theirs. You try hard every year to find at least one gift you’re excited to give, and this year you found several. It warms you to see people so delighted with your gifts. As it always does, the hour it takes to open all the gifts seems over too soon. You help gather up all the stray paper, and you dad asks rhetorically, “Who’s ready for dessert?” “We’ll be down in a minute,” your partner responds. “I don’t need changed yet,” you whisper as she takes your hand. “I know,” she says and lead you back to your childhood bedroom anyway. “What,” you ask behind closed doors, eager to get your share and more of the dessert your mom only makes for Christmas. “It’s getting late, and I want to go straight to bed when we get home.” “Okay,” you respond, unsure why she brought you upstairs to tell you that. “So let’s get your jammies on.” That’s why the diaper bag seemed fuller than usual. There’s been an extra outfit in the back of the car for years, frequently needed and frequently needing to be replaced. For the past month, an extra pair of pants have been in the diaper bag for any trip away from home for more than two hours, but never an entire outfit. You just assumed that was what was in the bag because you never go in there unless she asks you to get something. It’s not because you're not allowed to but because you don’t want to. You had been upset with her only very briefly when she insisted you go back to diapers; it isn’t pique that keeps you out of the diaper bag. It’s acceptance. She’s in charge of the diapers, so there’s no reason for you to go into the diaper bag. “Jammies,” you say incredulously. She’s been on you about your sleep schedule since you were first dating, and you’d reluctantly complied over time, realizing she was right and you do feel so much better when you go to bed at her version of ‘on time.’ “Yes, jammies, silly goose. You always sleep in pajamas.” “Everyone will see.” “See you in your jammies? What’s the problem?” “I just …” It’s not being seen in your pajamas, though they do make your diapers much more obvious. It’s that no one else is in their pajamas. It will make you seem more childish. Even if the diapers are a necessity and everyone understands that, they’ll be a lot less understanding of your partner insisting you get dressed for bed before you’re even home as though you’ll fall asleep in the case and she’ll carry your sleeping body to bed. “Yes,” she says, waiting for you to finish your sentence. “I don’t want people to see me in my pajamas.” “Siena saw you in them last week.” Her best friend. “That was different. We were home, and it was late, and I was about to go to bed.” And you had put on your own pajamas. Does she mean to actually dress you for bed? “And this doesn’t even save any time. It takes less than a minute to get my pajamas on, and anyway,” you sigh, “you’re going to have to change me for bedtime anyway.” Probably, given the hour, but maybe not. Christmas miracles do happen, right? Just as she is about to respond, there’s a knock at the door. “Can I come in,” your mom asks even as she’s in the act of opening the door neither of you had locked. “Um, yeah,” you say since it’s too late and you’re still dressed. “Are you changing into your PJs,” she asks as she closes the door behind her. “Just about to,” your partner replies as though you weren’t on the edge of a disagreement on that very subject. “I figured. I always brought their jammies to my parents’ house on Christmas Eve so they could go straight to bed when I got them home. I got something for you.” “More presents,” your partner asks as you stand there unsure whether you speaking up will make any difference. “Just a couple gifts I thought you’d like to open without everyone watching, but I want to see you open them. I made them myself.” It’s a large box. “That’s so nice of you.” “Um, really nice, Mom.” “Well, come sit, silly,” she says as you stand in front of her. You sit down on the bed next to her, oblivious to the crinkle from the mattress when you do. You long ago grew so used to it that you don’t notice it anymore. “It’s not much. I had the idea when I saw you two for lunch two weeks ago.” “Don’t be so modest,” your partner says as you turn the box over and slide your finger under the seam to break the tape. “You didn’t have to go to so much trouble,” you tell her. She’s always gone out of her way to make each Christmas special, and every year of your adult life, you’ve been profuse in your thanks, understanding in a way you didn’t as a child how much work and love she pours into the holiday. You open the box to find several pieces of clothing, and you hold the first one up. “A onesie,” your partner practically exclaims as you examine the shirt. “At lunch I kept seeing your diaper poking out above your pants every time you moved. It’s been doing it all night, too, and it was just driving me crazy. I thought this would be perfect for that, and that you’d feel better knowing no one will see your diapers when you bend over.” Your partner lets out a chuckle. “Um …,” you say before finding your voice, “thank you. I … Thank you. That will help a lot.” And you mean it. Childish, yes, but also practical, and you know it comes from the heart. “Really? You really like it,” your mom asks. “I love it.” “O thank goodness. I was so nervous. I was afraid you’d be upset with me.” “What? Never. I know you’re just thinking of me. I really appreciate this. It’s a great idea.” “There’s a few in different colors and few plain white ones, and I made one just for Christmas.” She takes the box off your lap and digs through the folded diaper shirts until she finds the one she’s looking for: green and white stripes with red piping along the sleeves and neckline, with a reindeer applique in the center of the chest. “Well,” she asks with a beaming smile. “Did you do this needlework by hand,” your partner marvels at the reindeer. “Yep, and I can teach you. I have the pattern, so we can make more.” “That would be great.” “We can make other things too,” your mom explains. “If we have a pattern, we just need to change the measurements to fit. I’ll show you.” “I’d like that.” “There’s one more thing in the box,” your mom says excitedly. “And I know this isn’t exactly cool, but I know you like to be warm.” She’s rambling now. “And it’s okay if you don’t like it. Really. You won’t hurt my feelings. It’s not to everyone’s …” “Mom,” you interrupt, “I’m sure I’ll like it.” You put your hand on top of hers, and she looks back at you with a warm Christmas smile before she starts taking the onesies out of the box and laying them on the bed. “It’s on the bottom,” she apologizes. “Here,” and with that she lifts a footed sleeper out of the box by its shoulders. The one she used for a pattern was for a toddler, and the zipper on that one was in the back, so she made one in your size with the zipper on the back too, not thinking you wouldn’t be able to get it on and off without help. “O my goodness, that is so cute,” your partner gushes. “Wow,” is your clever response. “That will definitely be warm.” “You like it?” “Yes.” “You really like it?” “Really,” you try to convince her but aren’t entirely sincere. What matters is she made it, so of course you like it. Love it even. But perhaps won’t like actually wearing it. “O, that makes me so happy.” She leans forward to hug you, and you hug back. “I just want Christmas to be perfect for everyone.” “I know. You always do such a good job,” you say and rub her back. When she leans away, you get a better look at the sleeper. The pattern is the same as the Christmas onesie, except the sleeper also has a reindeer tail. Snaps extend across the crotch and down both legs, at the end of which are soft-soled slippers below an elastic ankle cuff. “Try it on,” she urges you. “Um …” “Tomorrow,” your partner interjects. “When we come back for Christmas morning. In fact, I’ll wear my pajamas too.” “We all will,” your mom agrees. Her, your dad, your younger sister, you, and your partner. Your older sister will be opening gifts with her own family, and in the afternoon, you’ll head over to spend the evening with your partner’s family. “But we can try on the onesie right now,” your partner decides. You turn to look at her over your shoulder, and the look she gives back says yes, you will too. It’s not so much that you don’t want to argue in front of your mother as you don’t want to risk hurting your mom’s feelings, so you nod. “Of course,” you say. “I can’t wait to see you in it,” your mom says. “Lay back.” “What?” “Lay back, sweetie.” “We were just about to …” you say. “O, don’t be so silly,” your mom says as she bends down to pluck the diaper bag from the floor. “I did this every night when you were a kid.” You look at your partner for support, and she shrugs. “That was one of your birthday presents one year, remember,” your mom says because she’s a mom and is oblivious to when she’s embarrassing you. She turns back toward you and puts a hand on your shoulder, gently pushing you back. “Lay back. It’s okay.” You do, and she starts taking out everything she needs for a diaper change. “What birthday was that,” she asks absentmindedly. “Do you remember? You said all you wanted was to be allowed to put your nighttime diapers on yourself. It had to be after thirteen or I never would’ve let you. Of course that’s not all we got you, but I did give in and just checked that you did a good job before you went to sleep. Remember?” You’re blushing, and your partner is doing a poor job of suppressing a smile. “Did you know they make diapers for adults with cute designs on them,” your mother asks. “I saw them online when I was doing some searching for onesie patterns. Not that you’d like those probably, but they are cute, and the reviews say they work very well. People are in such a fuss that this new one is only available in Japan right now; it is adorable, but people just need to be patient. It’ll get here.” She spots the packet of rubber gloves and pauses, understanding what they’re for and turning her attention back to you as she puts an empathatic hand on your thigh. Her eyes tell you she’s sorry you have to deal with this, and she keeps her hand there as she turns toward your partner. “I’m so glad the two of you have each other.” She turns back to you. “I couldn’t have picked a better partner for you.” A tear once again appears at the corner of your eye. “Hhh,” your mom pretends to gasp, “you always were mommy’s little crybaby.” She leans down to kiss you on the cheek. “Everything is going to be okay because you two have each other, and of course I’ll always be your mommy. That’s just how it works.” She sounds almost choked up herself. “Anyway, we’re holding up dessert,” she says and clears her throat. “You’re making everyone wait,” you ask as though that’s the nicest thing she could do for you in the moment. “Of course. I know you look forward all year to my Christmas cake.” “Here,” your partner says, “lemme help.” She gets your shoes and socks off, and wanting to not seem completely helpless, you begin to unbuckle your belt. Your mom bats your hands away, and with nothing to do until she tells you to lift your hips, you have a moment to consider why you’re allowing this to happen. You turn your head to look away, and with your ear to the mattress you hear the crinkle of the plastic sheet under the bedclothes. You know exactly why. It’s embarrassing but not mortifying – not what you're wearing nor why nor that your mother is about to see your nudity – because the two of you have done this many times before. She did let you put on your own bedtime diaper when you pleaded for your fifteenth birthday. Not that it was the last time your mother did this as she sometimes insisted when you were under the weather or just very tired right up until you dried up at night towards the end of your senior year. You knew you must’ve been the only senior who had to wear a pull-up on that right-of-passage road trip with your parents to visit colleges. How relieved you were to be dry by the time you filled out your residency form, thrilled to be able to leave off any reason why you couldn’t share a room with someone else and have a regular college experience. Your problem got better for a number of years before beginning to get worse than it had ever been, leaving you in the position you find yourself now. And that fifteenth birthday wasn’t so long ago in the scheme of things, and even less time from your mother’s perspective. For you it’s half a lifetime, but for her it’s yesterday because that’s how time works for moms. “Just wet,” your mother announces when your pants are off. “Usually,” your partner says, “but sometimes there’s a little present in there waiting for you. There was earlier.” Whether the last time your mom changed you was recent or not, that was embarrassing, but saying so would only be more childish than what was already happening, so you don’t say anything. “So how has it been going,” your mom asks as she tears the tapes open on your diaper, and you know the question is directed at your partner and not you. “We’ve both adjusted and gotten used to it. We had some hiccups early on, and there was a blowout at the mall …” “O goodness. I’m sorry to hear that.” But not as sorry as you were to endure it. “…but you live and learn.” “And then get Luvs,” your mom finishes with a chuckle as she wipes down your diaper area. “Ha! It’s the social aspect we’re still working on. Just a couple friends know so far.” “Your friends won’t care, sweetie,” your mom tells you, “And if they do, then they’re not your real friends.” Which is such a mom thing to say, and you manage to not roll your eyes. “I brought a nighttime one,” your partner says as she gets the right diaper out of the bag. “Goodness,” your mom says again, the closest the woman has ever come to a cuss word in your presence. “I wish they’d made them this thick when you were younger. I had to double diaper and get some plastic panties so we wouldn’t have leaks more nights than not.” “Plastic panties,” your partner asks. “You don’t know about those?” “Still new to this.” “Such a lifesaver, and with the mush tush accidents they’d help hold the smell in.” “We don’t call them accidents anymore. If it happens in undies, it’s an accident, but diapers are supposed to be used, so these are incidents.” “That’s very sweet,” your mom says, casting a grateful look at your partner, glad she’s so understanding and doing so much to help you through this adjustment. “Anyway, if there’s a dirty diaper incident,” she says, stressing the word, “in public, plastic panties would maybe save some embarrassment. Nothing quite as unpleasant as everyone smelling you have a poopy diaper, is there sweetie?” Now you’re not sure what’s worse: being included or excluded from this conversation. “All done,” your mom announces as she seals the last tape on your diaper. “You look kind of cute in your diapie, just like you used to.” “What do you say,” your partner asks. “Uh, thanks, Mom.” “You’re very welcome. Just a mom’s job … Ope, and a partner’s if needed.” She takes your hands and helps you sit up. “Stick ‘em up.” You do, and she helps you take your Christmas sweater and undershirt off while your partner unsnaps the Christmas onesie and rolls it up in her hands. “Keep ‘em there, buster,” she says, and your mom pivots out of the way, rolling up your used diapers and repacking your diaper bag while your partner slips the onesie over your head and helps you get your arms through the sleeves. She hasn’t been helping you dress until tonight, and it doesn’t occur to you to wonder whether you should expect more of that treatment. Your mother hands her the pajama pants from the diaper bag and folds your actual pants to put in the diaper bag. You reach for the pajamas, but your partner holds them back. “Not yet. We haven’t seen yet. Stand up.” You do, and your partner leans down and reaches between your legs to find the back flap of the onesie, her forearm pressing firmly into the front of your diaper as she does. A tap on the inside of your thigh tells you to open your legs for her, and as you glance down and back up, feeling self-conscious again, she closes the five snaps. “Let’s show your mom,” your partner says as she straightens up and turns you toward your mother, who is zipping up the diaper bag and turns to see at the same time. “O, it’s perfect,” your mom says. “You look so cute.” She steps toward you gives you another hug, and you don’t jump this time when she reaches down to pat your diapered bottom, not just once this time but six times in rapid succession as she practically beams with pride, of her handiwork of or of you, you’re not sure, but it’s for you. She’s always proud of you. She leans back again, keeping her hands on your shoulders. “Does it feel alright?” “Yes,” you say as you nod quickly. “And you really like it?” “Yes, Mom, I do. Thank you again.” This time you initiate a hug, and it’s your mom who has teary eyes. “I’m so glad. I just want to help. It’s hard seeing your baby go through things like this.” “We appreciate any help you offer,” your partner reassures her. “Ready for pants,” she asks you. She holds open your pajama pants, and you step into them. “I need bigger ones,” you say absentmindedly, something you’ve said several times over the past month. They fit too snugly around your bedtime diapers. “We’ll see what Santa brought in the morning,” your partner says as she puts warm socks on your feet because they always get cold at night. “I really have to go down there like this?” “You can wear your new sleeper.” “Honey,” your mom says, “everyone here loves you. No one would dream of making fun of you, and if they do, they’ll have to answer to me.” She always was protective when it came to making sure no one made fun of you for your problem. “That’s what I said,” your partner chimes in. “You ready for cake,” your mom asks. She opens the door, and your big sister walks by with your five-year-old niece in her arms. The little tyke is also wearing her jammies so she can go straight to bed when she gets home. She’s already almost asleep in her mom’s arms. You all head downstairs, and you get complimented on your new ‘shirt,’ and everyone congratulates your mom for doing such a good job on it. Not a word is said about your diaper bulge or the two diapers, one dirty, in the kitchen trash. You’re almost ready to fall asleep when you get in the car for the ride home, and though you’re a little damp when by the time she steers you to the bedside, your partner yawns as she says, “You’ll last til morning.” And in the morning, you’ll wake up and open presents at home with her before heading back to your parents’ house for yet more presents, this time wearing your new sleeper, and who knows, maybe some of those cute diapers your mom mentioned will be waiting under the tree. Maybe you’ll have a dirty diaper while opening presents – you usually do that time of morning – and it will go unremarked while you all finish opening because some things are more important than getting you into clean pants right away, like Christmas and presents and family. Maybe your partner will change you, maybe your mom, or maybe even your little sister, just two years younger than you but still living at home. It wouldn’t be the first time, and after all, your partner already packs a box of changing supplies to leave at your parents’ house. But no matter. Whatever happens, it will be fine, and so will you. That knowledge and the sense of peace it creates in your heart is the best Christmas present you could hope for. You can read Alex’s extensive library of sweet and kinky ABDL fiction on Patreon, Amazon, and SubscribeStar.

Hello Iam 36 year "old" from Norway. Been intrested inn diapers etch as long as I can remember. Iam here to meet likeminded people Have a good dry day

Hey I’m Alex! Nice to meet you all. I go by she her pronouns or they them is fine too. I am bisexual, or maybe pansexual, still figuring it out. I am 22 but my ABDL age is around 10 years old. Or maybe 5. I have always been super into ABDL since a long time ago, I always sort of had the perspective of treasuring my childhood. I still enjoy the things I loved as a kid, and I probably will until I’m an old grandma hahahaha. as a kid, I really loved Arthur! I also loved Kipper the dog (I think it was a British cartoon, though, it’s super cute though i recommend looking it up!), the magic school bus, and I loved cartoons in general. Now as an adult I still watch Adventure time, spongebob, gravity falls, I even started watching Hey Arnold because it looked so funny and relatable since I was born in the city, and it’s about city kids. I actually never watched it as a kid, but I figured out about it a few years back and love it!!! Also, anime, I watched Sailor Moon and Pokemon mostly when I was a kid. I also was a gameboy era kid, so I played Pokemon Emerald when I was a kid and it is still my favorite game!! Actually I’m currently playing it again for nostalgia purposes. And because it’s just genuinely fun. I also love Animal Crossing! My fav anime is actually Soul Eater, i know, it’s kinda silly but it’s mainly because I LOVE Death the Kid. (He is my fictional character crush and my comfort character....ahahaaaaa...)? okay that’s all! About diapers, I am still practicing putting diapers on, and I’m not exactly wearing them in public yet, and I don’t know if I ever will, but it’s definitely something I have considered and am willing to try. Just gotta be a little more confident in my ABDL side first! ☺️ it’s really great to meet you all! Feel free to tell me your favorite cartoons, too! Oh! Last tidbit of information! I do actually go to art school , art college whatever you call it! In New York City. I go to a school called SVA (school of visual arts), if you don’t know it, feel free to look at their website. It’s known to be a super competitive school, but in my experience, it’s really fine, and I actually really love it there. The people there are all really great artists and creative people, and I feel mostly comfortable there, too. They do actually have a Disability Services, which is really useful to me because I do actually have Autism, ADHD and anxiety (social anxiety as well, which I am working on!) I think it’s really cool that they have services for Autistic people, and a lot of people don’t actually know this. But yea! SVA is pretty lit. I don’t know if any of my friends from school are into ABDL, though...but you never know! If anything, I hope the people I currently consider my friends will be supportive. ? I hope to show you all my drawings in another thread! Thanks for reading! ☺️? a photo of me in my pajamas: