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Cereal. Milk. Spoon. Cassius didn’t want to admit to himself that a bowl of Frooty Swirls would be the highlight of his day off, but he couldn’t think of what else would top it. His slim selection of friends were busy, or lived on the internet, accessible only through his phone, so his free time would be used to run errands and binge re-runs. At least the cereal was crunchy and sweet. He checked his phone, scrolling social media as he chewed the froot-flavored cereal. Someone had posted a picture from an ABDL meetup, showing three diapered butts arranged in a row, with a caption about how awesome their week had been. He felt the impulse to leave a reply, but had no idea what to say. Jealousy overwhelmed his feelings, and Cassius knew that if he tried to respond, he’d just come off as lonely, so he scrolled away. It didn’t help. Someone else was talking about how nice their Mommy was. Another user was bragging about both his Littles. Everyone had friends, or partners, or just someone. Everyone except Cassius. He had his Frooty Swirls. He’d gone to a few meetups and munches, but social anxiety had left him paralyzed and quiet throughout–he’d barely said a word, and doubted that anyone liked him or wanted him to return. Sure, they’d all been attending the ABDL meetup, same as him, but…he was different. He didn’t have what they had, they made it seem so natural. Pursing his lips, he set aside his phone, focusing on the cereal. The Frooty Swirls had been the same since the late 80s, and just tasting them always got him in a Little headspace. It was the only thing that felt like a socially acceptable way to regress–indulging in fake sweeteners that reminded him of his childhood. Reading the back of the cereal box, he skimmed the fluffy text explaining a game. ‘I’ve lost all my frooty magic! Can you find all six froots and make a wish?’ Choosing to engage, he scanned the box, looking for the cereal shapes. Oranges were in the corner, lemons were behind the nutrition information, berries–they never did say what kind of berry it was supposed to be–were hidden on a fake tree. Limes he found right behind the mascot, cherries were underneath a word search, and finally, he found apples right inside the Frooty Swirls logo at the top of the box. He’d won. It was childishly simple, but that was kind of the point–this was his singular chance to regress every day. And, hey, the box said that if he won, he could make a wish. (I wish…I wish I didn’t just have interests that a handful of people online could relate to.) (I wish I was normal.) … Cassius steered his way through the grocery store’s bread aisle, lost in his phone as he got the shopping out of the way. He made it all the way to the end of the aisle before realizing he hadn’t added anything to his cart since the dairy section. He’d done it again, losing himself in internet jealousy. Frowning, he pocketed his phone, resolving not to go onto social media anymore until he was done with his errands. Turning around, he pointed his cart towards… He hesitated. A couple stood in front of him, two men in their thirties, walking down the aisle in Cassius’s direction. They were holding hands, which was cute, but not what made him stop and stare. One of the men was wearing a pair of shortalls with a snug baby blue shirt beneath. He wasn’t sucking on a pacifier or anything, but his whole demeanor just seemed Little, and Cassius couldn’t help but glance down around his waist. The crotch of his shortalls seemed to be a bit puffy, but that might have just been– “Excuse me?” the more mature of the two asked. Cassius froze–he’d been caught staring, trying to size up whether the man in shortalls was wearing a diaper. “I–uh–” he stammered, searching for an excuse. “Can you reach that for us? ‘Bare Bread’, right next to the whole grain.” He stepped back and pointed, nodding with his head towards his partner. “This one’s picky, he’ll only eat the crustless kind.” Blinking, Cassius caught up to the situation. Both men were on the shorter side, while Cassius always loomed in every conversation. “Oh, sure.” Nodding, he grabbed the crustless bread from the top shelf, passing it to the man. “Here.” “Say ‘Thank you’,” the man said, nudging his shortall-clad partner. “Thank you,” the one in shortalls said, blushing and looking down at his feet. Cassius stood there, stunned, as the two men left him to resume their shopping routine. (Are they…did I just…) he thought. He would have bet anything that they were ABDL, or at least in a daddy dom/little boy relationship, but…they were so brazen about it. Then again, maybe it only stood out to Cassius because their dynamic was already on his mind. Shaking his head, he resumed his shopping, filling up his cart. He had just managed to shake off the feelings of uncertain jealousy and surprise when he got to the checkout aisle, and then it snapped back in full force. On a spinning rack, right next to the candy, were pacifiers. His heart began to flutter, looking around as though he’d been caught in something, but nobody paid him any mind. He looked at the pacifiers again–they weren’t labeled as ‘for adults’ or anything, but some of them seemed too big for any baby. Looking away, his eyes fell on the magazine rack, and his anxiety spiked further. A celebrity was pictured on the cover of a tabloid magazine, some candid paparazzi photo, and her midsection had been highlighted by a red circle. Next to it, photoshopped to show off bare skin, the magazine depicted her in a bunny-print diaper. Cassius stared, eyes widening, until the cashier cleared his throat. “Sir?” He looked up. The line in front of him had cleared–(how long had I been staring?)–and it was his turn to check out. Stepping forward and setting his groceries onto the checkout conveyor, he tried to put it out of his mind. … Flipping through the magazine options at the auto center, Cassius was relieved to find that they were all normal. Hot rod cars, sports gossip, the kind of thing he’d expect from a magazine rack–no diaper wearing mechanics just springing out at him from nowhere. Just his same old auto shop, where he’d been coming for tune-ups and oil changes since he earned his permit as a pimply teen. Taking a seat by the coffee maker, he settled in to wait. The oil change wouldn’t be long, but he actually liked the short break it offered him–a chance to just kick up his feet and do nothing for a bit. He patted himself on the back for how effective his self-imposed social media break was already proving to be. This relative relaxation lasted for only a few moments, until he heard a distinct ratta-tatta-ratta-tatta clicking sound roll up right outside the auto shop. Glancing over his shoulder, he identified the noise in a heartbeat–a tomboyish woman about his age was half standing on a bicycle, playing cards jammed between the spokes to produce the overt rattle. The rider wore elastic shorts and a Transformers T-shirt with a matching backpack, her outfit capped off–literally–with a baseball cap turned backwards on her head. Frowning, Cassius watched the woman hop off her bike and walk it in through the auto shop’s doors. Getting the attention of the man behind the desk, the cyclist said, “My front tire keeps losing air, Mister B–you think you can take a look at it? I think I’ve got a leak.” Mr. Burnett, a man in his fifties who’d worked at the shop for as long as Cassius had been driving, smirked at the new customer. “Two, by the looks of it.” Eyes widening, Cassius darted his gaze down, spotting two rather distinct crescent-moon shaped wet marks on the newcomer’s elastic shorts. The woman blushed slightly, but seemed more flustered than upset, muttering, “Aw, dangit…” Chuckling, Mr. Burnett nodded to the side. “Go and get yourself cleaned up in the bathroom, I’ll get that tire checked out.” Cassius realized he was blushing more deeply than the customer whose… whose diaper had leaked. Ripping his gaze away, he fumbled for a distraction, reaching for the TV remote by the coffee maker. He hoped to just give himself something to focus on so that he wouldn’t stare at the obviously diapered man who’d just rode in on his bicycle. Blinking for a moment, the old tube TV hummed, then began to display some reality show garbage. A dating show, just the sort of gameshow pablum he needed. Cassius almost sighed in relief, until he saw a woman waddle onto screen, clad in little save for a onesie and the diaper obviously poking out from beneath it. Face turning bright red, he stammered, looking around to see if anyone else in the waiting room had reacted to the absurd images on screen. “I–is anyone else seeing this?” A woman sitting next a few chairs down glanced up from a quiet conversation with her husband, then rolled her eyes at the screen. “Ugh,” she said, shaking her head. “I know–it’s like they don’t know how to write shows anymore, it’s all reality sex appeal crap.” (What?) Flicking off the TV, Cassius got to his feet, walking to the desk. “Is–is my car ready?” Mr. Burnett glanced over his shoulder, through the window into the garage, and then turned back and nodded. “Looks like it’s being parked just now. You’re all paid up, so you’re ready to go.” “Great,” Cassius said. “I think I need to get some air.” Behind him, the woman he’d spoken to stood, whispering to her husband, just loud enough that Cassius overheard. “Sweetie, you’re messy–did you remember to pack the diaper bag?” Looking over his shoulder, Cassius saw the woman’s husband flush and shake his head. Feeling like he might explode from awkward confusion, it was all Cassius could do not to break into a run as he fled the auto shop. … Cassius couldn’t deny the truth any longer as he wandered into the department store, confronted immediately with the spring fashion displays. Some of it was expected–Bikinis, various styles of shorts and tops and trendy drop waist dresses, but right next to it were onesies, shortalls, and rompers in adult sizes. Not plain ones, either–the sizing made it clear these were for adults, yet the design had an overtly juvenile streak. ABDL clothing in everything but name. Even modern, chic adult diapers sat stacked in packages, ready for customers–their trendiness was underlined by the fact that several models were displayed on posters wearing them. He couldn’t begin to guess how this had happened, but he couldn’t argue with the spring sale section in front of him. His interests were…normal. And he couldn’t help himself. Picking out a onesie with a slightly retro-style print on the front, he glanced about, as though someone might see him and catch him in the act of buying clothing that was there for him to buy. Hunching his shoulders and slipping off to the changing area, he found the first open room, ducked inside, and fumbled with opening the snaps on the onesie. It felt like every other experience he’d ever had in a changing room: awkward. Still, as he got out of his shorts and shirt and into the new garment, it also felt right. He was just trying something on. A popular, maybe even a slightly boring bit of fashion. Stepping out, he looked at himself in the mirror. The onesie was cute on him. And it fit, too–he didn’t have to worry about it not being long enough for his tall frame, he could see it on him. Maybe a bit baggy between the legs, but all in all, he couldn’t help but grin as he saw it. Then a woman walked by and all his newfound confidence vanished, shrinking away. He blushed, crossing his arms over his chest, looking to the door of his changing room so he could retreat as quickly as possible. Noting his suddenly demure posture, the woman stepped back. She was about his age, and well over a foot shorter than him, but she carried her posture with confidence and quiet empathy as she raised her hands in a placating gesture. “Hey–no need to be embarrassed, tall guys can be little too.” “I…” Cassius began, his blush still plastered firmly on his face. “It’s…” “I know, fashion magazines always find the smallest guy they can,” she said, rolling her eyes. “But you can’t let that shape how you think about yourself–you look cute in that onesie, and you don’t need to be four feet tall on your tip-toes to pull it off.” Eyes widening, Cassius couldn’t quite handle the rush of emotions that flooded him. “I–you think I’m cute?” She smiled, a tiny giggle escaping her, but it wasn’t condescending. “Though–it’d fit better with the proper bottoms, those onesies really need something to pad them out around the waist.” Looking back at himself in the mirror, Cassius blinked a few times–his vision had begun to blur. “Can I ask you a question?” “Sure thing,” she said. “You don’t think it’s weird?” She shook her head, smiling. “Not at all, sweetheart. It takes all sorts, doesn’t it? Tall littles, short bigs–even boring people who don’t want a dynamic. I don’t think I’d ever want to be someone’s little girl, but that doesn’t mean I don’t understand the appeal.” Shrugging, she nodded to the onesie on his body again. “You should get that.” “Yeah? Does it make me look good?” he asked, turning to glance at himself in the mirror again. “It makes you look happy,” she replied. Nodding, he mumbled a thank you, shocked and overjoyed as he stepped back into the changing room. His fingers fumbled as the crotch snaps as he undressed, returning to his old clothes. The old clothes. (I don’t have to hide,) he realized, holding his old shirt in his hands. (I can just be…me.) Pulling it over his head, he grabbed the onesie, rushing out of the changing room. There was just one more opportunity he couldn’t wait for–he’d been waiting too long already. He searched around the store, looking from side to side as he left the changing room. He passed a package of diapers in his size and snagged them on the way, but that wasn’t his real goal. (I just casually picked up a pack of diapers, in public,) he realized, shocked, but he had little time to think about it as he found the woman he’d been looking for, putting back a blouse on the rack she’d gotten it from. “Hey,” he said, approaching, raising a nervous hand, stammering over his words. “I know we just talked, but–hi. I’m Cassius.” She looked up at him and smiled, glancing down to the purchases in his hands. “It’s nice to meet you, Cassius,” she replied, looking back up to his face. “I’m Tilly.” “I was just–well, I wondered if you…” he began, rubbing the back of his neck. “Well…this is dumb, we barely talked, but–” Grinning, Tilly let his stammering fizzle out and nodded. “A coffee date would be lovely,” she confirmed, cutting through his uncertainty. “Or you can get juice, if you’re too little to have caffeine.” A smile spread across his face, and Cassius bubbled with more excitement than he could ever remember feeling since adolescence. “Just one condition, though,” Tilly added, cutting into his glee just slightly. Cassius nodded. “Of course, what is it?” Her eyes lowered to the package of diapers under his arm, the onesie still folded over them. “Be sure you dress your best, okay?” The End ... Thank you for reading! This story was written as a commission by one of my lovely supporters. 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Friday. “Kay, I need the transcript from the team meeting before you leave.” “Uh, you didn’t ask me to take any notes. How badly do you need it?” “Ugh, come on. Do I have to ask you to do everything?” “Right… Sorry sir.” Being a secretary absolutely blows. Overworked as fuck, dealing with customer complaints, management always expecting me to read their god damned minds, and worst of all I have to apologize! Middle manager Tom rolls his eyes and unleashes a sigh that seems to stretch on forever before stepping away with words of caution. “I guess it’s fine this time, but I expect a transcript for the next team meeting.” This is hell. I’m literally living in hell. However, with that interaction finished I’m free to leave. Free for the weekend! I grab my purse and keycard, push my rolling chair away from the reception desk, and quickly make my way through the front glass doors. Checking myself out on the employee card scanner as I go. Rolling my long sleeve shirt up I peer at my watch and notice that the bus should arrive shortly at the stop I frequent to and from work. That puts a little pep in my step. I walk as briskly as my business skirt and heels will allow. My increase in speed paid dividends as I turn the corner and see the bus moments away from pulling up to the stop just outside the business complex. “Oh, thank god.” I murmur in relief. If I missed this one, the next one wouldn’t be showing up for another thirty minutes. Walking up to the bus I ready my pass and scan it. The doors close behind me and the driver hits the gas before I’ve seated myself. *Ding* A text notification from my phone. Blindly I shove my hands into my purse, rummaging around. Eventually I hit the plastic of its case and extract it from the overflowing space. My heart does a happy little flip. It’s from Marna, my girlfriend! For better or worse my last text wasn’t entirely truthful. We both know I’d be partying a little less than ‘hard af’. Some video games, wine, maybe pop on some Netflix in the background. If I’m feeling particularly zany perhaps I’d go for a walk or heat up a frozen burrito for dinner… I appreciate texting with my adorkable shortstack love. It blew a good chunk of bus riding time. Several stops into the journey and we arrive at my exit. I quickly take my leave, thanking the driver as I go, and throwing a wave behind me as I walk the final block to the small two-bedroom house that Marna and I share. It’s a nice walk, the fresh and somewhat cool spring air feels just right. And our yardwork is coming together quite nicely. The flower seeds we planted a few weeks ago have started sprouting. Soon it’ll be a sea of beautiful flowers. But as I walk down the pathway to our home, I notice something strange on the porch. A small brown box. I’d not been expecting a package, and I wasn’t aware that Marna was either… Reaching down and picking it up I find it to be quite light. As well as addressed to me and our house; so little chance of it being a mistake. I unlock the door and make my way inside with great haste. Intrigued by the mysterious package. Shoes go off on the entryway shoe rack. Purse gets hung up on a hook. Package goes under my arm as I take a right to visit the kitchen for a drink and scissors. Glass of water gulped down; I viciously attack the box with the kitchen scissors. Carefully down the center and swiping down the flap’s sides. Inside it’s packed with white tissue paper. Sifting through that is a dainty black drawstring bag. Perhaps made of silk? I pull it open and upend the bag, a piece of fabric falls out and onto the counter. Picking it up and unfolding it reveals it to be… Lacy black panties? Flowery patterns adorn the rear of the undergarment. These patterns continue around the thighs up to the front were a solid circle sits center on the front. Within that circle is what can only be described as a safety pin and the number 3. The flower pattern is nice, and the fabric feels very comfortable in my hands. But the pin and number are odd, seemingly breaking up the aesthetic for no discernable reason. But this certainly feels like something Marna would buy for me. Gosh, she does this all the time. Ha, she’s probably expecting a picture tonight. Eager to get this done I run to the back of the house where the laundry room resides. I strip free of my work clothes and toss them into the washer, adding my new pair of underwear as well. My half-full laundry bin does a nice job filling the rest of the washer, so I add a pod and start it up. While the washer runs, I hop upstairs to where our bedroom, ‘office’, and bathroom reside. After a day like this a long and relaxing bath is required. I get the water temperature just right and plug the tub. Quickly I go to the bedroom and pull together a fresh set of underwear, bra, sweatpants, and a comfy t-shirt. Then it’s bath time. I scrub my hair and body clean, and lounge back, soaking in the warm water. I remain that way until I hear the distant screech of the washing machine. A sign that the load is washed. “Well… I guess it’s time to get out…” I say aloud to myself. Very much not ready to leave. But I do so anyway, drying off with one of the towels from a nearby hook. I throw on my selected outfit and wrap up my hair in order for it to dry better. Downstairs the contents of the washer go into the dryer with a lavender scented dryer sheet. And I forgo TV on the living room couch for the upstairs ‘office’. Which in all actuality is more like the game room. A desk for Marna, and a desk for me. Hers more work-centric with various papers and files. Mine more play-centric with several monitors, a game console or two, and a PC. I take a seat on my gamer chair throne, the back of which feels so much nicer than the rolling chair at the office. No support whatsoever on those. The Switch blinks to life as I grab my pro controller to log some hours onto Pokémon Scarlet. The obviously superior version with the cave-mommy professor. I throw a speed running video onto another monitor, the commentator is funny and I only have to half-listen. I spend roughly an hour in this state, making some progress on my Pokedex when I hear the loud beep from the dryer downstairs. Tearing myself away from the game I rush downstairs and pull the clothes out of the drier and into the clean hamper. The towel wrapped around my hair goes into the dirty bin. I lug the clean laundry through the house, stopping at the kitchen to grab a pack of single serve bottles of wine from the fridge, before going upstairs to our bedroom. The clothing is folded and put away inside drawers and hung up in the closet. The lacy black panty is the only remaining fabric. Down go the clothing on my lower half, and up goes the new underwear and the sweats on top. I toss the one I’d been wearing before back in the underwear drawer… It’s still clean! A few test steps and body positions later and I can easily conclude… “This pair of undies is the tits! So damn comfy! Marna you beautiful bastard, you’ve outdone yourself.” With my only real chore for the evening done I return to gaming heaven with tasty wine in hand. Where I spend the rest of my evening, pausing briefly only to acquire a frozen burrito. And then, so very late at night… Or early in the morning, it is time to sleep. Off goes every article of clothing aside from my brand new underwear, and I slip under the covers. Ah wait, I need to tell Marna how much I love her gift. I roll my eyes. Marna sometimes likes playing dumb when it comes to her little gifts. She can be so silly sometimes. Holding my phone aloft I make sure to get most of my body in the frame and snap a picture. One of my front, my free hand lightly touching the waistband of the underwear while I bite my lip in a sexy albeit buzzed manner. One of my back, my free hand grabbing an exposed ass cheek playfully. The back one may or may not have taken a few attempts… Marna replies quickly, only moments after I’d sent the images. I return her sentiments of adoration and gently lay the phone on the nightstand on my side of the bed. Then, to the best of my ability, I follow her final orders for the evening. My sleepy eyes close. … …. ….. I feel a twinge in my bladder. The alcohol I’d had this evening making itself known. Against my better judgement I can’t bring myself to get up. My body refuses to move a single muscle. “Ooooaaahhh well, I can hold it till morning…” My yawn becomes a self-assurance as I roll over onto my side. Rational thoughts cease as I fall fast into a buzzed slumber. Before I go under, I feel the twinge in my bladder break slightly in relief. A few stray drops of urine escape into the panties hugging my bottom. ~~~ In what feels like no time at all, my eyes open wide and sudden. No longer on my side, I’d shifted in my sleep onto my back. Light breaks through the bedroom window’s curtains, giving good indication it is no longer night, or even morning for that matter. I lay in the warmth of the bed and stretch. Arms and legs crack. Despite creaking my back manages to hold strong. Rolling over I grab my phone, it’s noon. Just in time for lunch! I push myself up into a sitting position on the bed and then stand. “Hah?” Something is off. The panties I’d sung the praises of last night feel different. Like the fabric bunched up while I slept. I guess there’s no such thing as the perfect underwear, there’s always a catch… My thumbs hook into the waistband of the lace underwear except… What they feel is not the light lace from last night. It feels like cotton or something. “What the…” Did I drunkenly wake up last night and put on a new pair? Finally, I look down to see what I’m wearing on my bottom half. It is not in fact the black lacy panties that I’d slipped on last night. But it shares the exact same flowery pattern, color, and safety pin motif. The number on this garment is 2 rather than 3. I run my hand around my butt, feeling the fabric all over. Thicker in some places, lighter in others. The gears in my sleep addled head turn slowly but reach a conclusion based on past experiences. I’ve babysat before, I know what this is… “Why the hell am I wearing cloth training pants?” ___________________________________________________________________________________ Starting the new year off strong with a new short story. Expect only a handful of chapters for this story. This is based off a prompt someone on Twitter gave me. I'll link the prompt on the final chapter, wouldn't want to spoil the story at chapter 1...