Something Familiar (Complete)

[Sophie ♥]

Something Familiar
By Sophie

*Author's Note: This is a short two-part story about something I think most of us go through.  It's written so that you can insert yourself as the main character, so please give that a try.

 

That Friday, I had therapy.  I had struggled for three months to tell Anna the truth.  My lips moved to form the word.  My tongue would lightly touch the roof of my mouth, just behind my teeth, ready and waiting.  And then my vocal chords would freeze up.  Air would pass my lips, but there wouldn’t be any sound.  I’d quietly mouth two syllables, and if Anna could read my lips maybe she’d know what I’d been trying to say.

I left her office that afternoon with a sinking feeling in my stomach.  Why did I even go to therapy?  The one thing I wanted to talk about, I couldn’t.  And everything else was just tedious.

School.  College.  Stressful, but whatever.  How else was I going to make something of myself?

Work.  A coffee shop off campus.  It wasn’t the glamorous TV sitcom life I’d hoped for, but it paid the bills.

Friends.  Arlo, Millie, and I played board games on the weekends.  Trish liked to take me out drinking Friday nights.  Dakota kissed me last month.  Maybe that was something?

But what was the point of dating someone if I couldn’t tell them?  We would be doomed from the start, just like my weekly appointments with Anna.

I sat alone in my car in Anna’s parking lot for ten minutes, with my forehead against the steering wheel.  Once I started the engine, a new week began.  Another seven days until I saw Anna again, and another seven days before anything could change.  

I just wanted to tell someone…

With the turn of the key, the engine kicked into gear.

*     *     *     *     *

I checked the thermostat when I walked into the apartment.  Sixty-eight degrees.  October was on my heels and I’d have to start using the heat sooner or later.  But not tonight.  Tonight I had two thick comforters and a bright-eyed plan.

My apartment wasn’t much bigger than a studio, off campus in a less-than-stellar neighborhood that I could afford on barista wages.  But there was a silver lining: I lived alone.  That meant more to me than any size or any neighborhood.

I drew my blinds and turned on the floor lamp in the corner.  The room shined with an early evening glow.  The sofa looked more comfortable and the television more inviting.  My laptop sat on the coffee table, eager to be opened.  But first things first, I reminded myself.

Whoever built my apartment hadn’t done a very good job.  The shelf in my closet was way too high.  That’s why I kept my diapers there.  I reached up on my tippy toes and tugged one down with tips of my fingers, like a kid at a cookie jar.  The colorful square of plastic fell into my arms and the excitement was conductive on my skin.  It washed through me, filling me up.  Until a sobering though drained it out.

Only seven left.

I sulked and sat on the edge of my bed with the diaper in my hands.  The plastic backing crinkled when I touched it, ever so slightly.  A sound I knew intimately, a sound no one else would understand.  I ran my fingers over the prints of cute colorful animals and the tiny blue stars.

The stars disappear when wet, I reminded myself.  I was filled up with renewed emotion.  How infantile.  How childish.  But of course I was a big kid!  I would never do something like that!  But those thoughts were just pandering to some stubborn inner child.  Deep down, I knew those stars would disappear before I took this diaper off.

Maybe it would be an accident.  Not a real accident of course, because that stuff only happened in stories.  But I could pretend.

Or maybe I'd let it happen.  I would be busy watching TV.  A show I really liked.  I didn’t want to miss any of it.  And I was already in a diaper, so… 

My thoughts swam with warm ideas.  Then, one idea ice cold.  Why did I want to piss myself, anyway?  It was disgusting.

I shook my head.  Not right now.

I put the diaper down on the bed and went back to the closet for some baby powder.  On the right, the hangers were donned with cute childish outfits.  Onesies.  Footed pajamas.  Even a romper, with overall straps and everything.  In a chest of drawers tucked into the corner, I had pacifiers and plastic panties and frilly socks.  And of course, they were all in my size.  An adult.  

Adult.  The word stung.  I took a breath and moved past it.

My fingers leafed through the outfits like pages in a book.  A simple blue onesie with one designs or anything.  Nah.  An over the top girly onesie with pink and frills.  How embarrassing!  Footed pajamas with a yellow ducks all over it.  But I wanted to cover myself up with blankets.  Then the final onesie - the usual snap crotch design with pumpkins all over.

Well, it was almost October.

I looked down at my bed with my arms crossed.  A diaper.  A onesie.  Baby powder.  And a blue pacifier, with an appropriately sized nipple.  Blue didn’t fit the theme.  But it was my favorite one, so it was fine.  I nodded my head to cement the rationalization.  It’s amazing how much power physical actions can have on thoughts.

Unfolding the diaper was akin to religious experience.  The way the plastic crinkled.  The way the wings opened up.  The feel of the soft padding inside.  The first time I stretched the elastic along the waistband.  Knowing, no matter how I try to fold it again, it would never go back the way it was.  It had been permanently altered.  I had no choice but to put it on.

The sensation of padding under my bottom.

The sudden fear of doing it wrong.  Of wasting something so expensive.  Something I bought just to pee in and throw away.  A waste of money.

But these ones had refasten able tabs.  I couldn’t mess it up.

And I didn’t.  The diaper hugged me around the hips, like someone pulling me close in the middle of the night.  It was so thick I couldn’t touch my knees together.  The room smelled like baby powder and Heaven.  I closed my eyes and smiled.

Wasn’t this worth three dollars?

The onesie stretched to perfection, though the snaps were hard to do up on my own.  If only someone else would do them for me.  But no one would…

That’s not true.  A lot of people online have caregivers.

But not me.

I shook my head.  Not right now.

While I was changing into my baby clothes, the sofa waited for me.  I plopped down on the soft cushions and pulled my blanket up to my neck.  I reached for my laptop, but stopped short.  No… TV first.

I turned on the television and put the pacifier in my mouth.  

I was never very good at using pacifiers.  Weren’t they bad for your teeth?  Or was that just in children?  I could never look up quality scientific information on “adult pacifier use”.  Some of my friends online used them all the time - they could suck on them while they were asleep and would never spit them out!  I chewed on mine instead.

That’s because they are better Littles than me.

I tried to suck on the pacifier, but it felt unnatural.  Like I was trying too hard.  I shouldn’t have to try.

I sunk into the sofa with a pout.  They weren’t better, right?  We were just different…

*     *     *     *     *

I only liked baby bottles for the aesthetic.  Honestly, they were a pain to drink from.  I tried cutting a bigger hole in the nipple, but I would go through the bottle so quickly it wasn’t worth the trouble.  But damn, they were cute…

I put the bottle on the coffee table, empty but for the few drops of apple juice that stuck to the insides.  Note to self: invest in a sippy cup, perhaps.

But the bottle had done the trick.  My thoughts were filled with a warm, dull fog.  Everything was slower.  Everything was safe.  I curled up in my blanket and watched the television with a dumb smile, seeing colors and hearing sounds in a whole new way.  A better way.

Why couldn’t things always look like this?

Why couldn’t things always sound like this?

Why couldn’t things always feel like this?

I reached for my laptop and pulled up my favorite page.  A story forum.  Diapers.  Regression.  Baby stuff.  Littles.  Alternate worlds, where it wasn’t so impossible.  Where it might even be normal.  Gosh, the thought…

A new story?

 

Little Locked

All Lana was good for was making coffee.  Honestly, what’s the point of having a younger sister anyway?  I was only 26 and I’d already bought my own house.  I had a pre-law job.  I had thousands in my savings account.  I had a fiancé.  And my 22 year old sister lived in my spare bedroom and worked at the Wendy’s on Maple.  But she really did make amazing coffee, every morning for over a year.

 

But Lana’s intentions weren’t pure.  The coffee had begun changing Marjorie’s body chemistry, preparing her for an experimental product.  The Little Lock: a bracelet that could manipulate the age of the wearer.  As long as Lana had that remote, Marjorie was hers to control.  Hers to regress.  Halfway through Chapter 2, I was warm with empathy.  Marjorie was three years old and so was I.

Wetting myself used to be so difficult.  I struggled against the potty training that had been ingrained in every day of my life.  But now, after a few years of practice, it was easier.  I held the blanket tight over my lap and turned up the volume on the TV.  I didn’t like to hear it or smell it.  I just liked to feel it.

Warm.  That’s always the first feeling.  Then relief, if I really had to go.  The heat poured over my genitals, between my legs, and against the crest of my ass as the diaper struggled to soak up all the wetness.  As long as I didn’t think about the specifics, it felt really nice.

Wetting my diaper.  Each word had power.  

Wetting.  Not peeing or pissing or “going”.  Wetting, like ‘the bed’, like ‘my pants’, like a childish moniker of the act.  Like what I was doing couldn’t be helped.

My.  Not the.  Not someone else’s.  It belonged to me.  It was purposefully and indisputably for me.

Diaper.  A word so innocuous and everyday that anyone could say it.  Something that made me blush every time.  Something I couldn’t utter in the presence of others, in case the word was somehow tied back to me.

I let out a quiet sigh and fell back into the sofa, wet and warm and happy.

No more stars, I thought with a smile.

My fingers reached between my legs.  A dry diaper and a wet diaper were nothing like one another.  They might as well be two different things.  Dry diapers were soft, comfortable, and safe, like pulling a pillow between your legs as you’re drifting off to sleep.  But wet diapers were a constant, shameful, squishing reminder, like a sore bottom in the aftermath of a spanking.  

I pushed against the plastic and the soaked padding held my handprint.  I pushed harder, until I could feel the pressure on my skin, until arousal welled up in my stomach.  I moved my fingers to encourage that feeling, until I was quietly breathing through my mouth.

Poor baby, I said to myself in someone else’s voice.  Maybe a caregiver.  A vindictive babysitter.  A bratty best friend.  I pushed my knees together to fight off my hand, but I was persistent.  The voice went on.

I thought you were a grown up.  The diaper was just a precaution.  And now look at you… tsk tsk.  I thought you were sexy, you know.  I thought we could be together.  You know, as adults.  But you proved me wrong.

I whimpered softly in protest.  But my hand pushed firmly against the sodden diaper.  It constantly reminded me of the state I was in.  That I had no say anymore.  I was just a little baby…

That’s okay, the voice went on.  I’ll take care of you.  I’ll keep you safe and warm in your diapers.  All the time.  From now on, you’ll be my little baby.  Shhh… let go.  Give up your adulthood.

The voice whispered in my ear.

Prove to me how much you really love this life… prove you really love your diapers.

And I did.  My toes curled and my body tensed.  I shivered and ached.  Then, all at once, the tension left me.  I filled the diaper in a whole new way, and with it I left my adulthood behind.  I was nothing more than a baby in that moment, eager for the life the voice had laid out for me.

But when I opened my eyes, there was no one there.  I was alone in my apartment, wearing a piss and cum soaked diaper.  The waves of orgasm started to pass.  I could barely move…

I looked up at the ceiling with regret.  With disgust.  With shame.  Not in a good way, not like the narrative I had built for myself.

Why did I want to piss myself anyway?  Why did I rub myself off through a diaper?

I shook my head.  Not right now.

Yes right now.  I tried to shake the thought, but it had built an immunity.  It took advantage of my weakened state.

Why did I like this stuff, anyway?  Why couldn’t I be normal?  Had I even tried?

Of course I had.

I could have tried harder.  I could have thrown all this stuff out.  I could move on.

People try that all the time.  It never works.

Then I’m a slave to this?  Pissing myself and cumming in diapers and dressing like an overgrown baby?  Wasting my money on this disgusting hobby?

Am I really that pathetic?

If I were normal, if I could make it all go away, I would be easier to love.  I’d find someone.  They wouldn’t snap the crotch on my onesie, but they would hold me at night.  They wouldn’t rub my wet diapers, but they’d lavish me in affection.  They could be better than this.  

I could be better than this…

My legs wobbled when I stood up.  I stripped myself of the onesie and balled up the wet diaper.  I packed all my diapers and onesies and pacifiers and footed pajamas into trash bags.  Then, when I was sure the neighborhood had gone to sleep, I threw them into the dumpster outside my apartment.

My closet was clean, but my heart had never felt so cluttered.

[To be continued.]

[fyunch]

Well, this is promising.

[kerry]

This is massively sad. Not only the purging but the overall tone. Nothing wrong with that per se, but wow: you write it well. I hope your own world is less depressing than hers.

[Wannatripbaby]

Huh. Well this is not the sort of story I'd expect from you. And yet at the same time it is exactly what I'd expect from you.

I've heard of people doing purge cycles. But I'm not sure if I've ever seen a story written about it in story form. This will be very interesting. :)

[bbykimmy]

This story is pain.  I have lived this, almost every line.  The hidden diapers, the expectant feeling, like a rush in your tummy - butterflies, like new love every time you take a diaper out of the package.

I could quote every line in this one and share my experience...

It hurts because it's so close to home.

Every.  Line. 

From looking at the cost of a single diaper, to telling yourself it's worth it, to enjoying it, reveling in it, wondering why the paci doesn't feel the way you imagined.  Everything.  I've lived every feeling in this story and more, the shameful orgasm... being in the throes of passion and owned by it, and hating yourself when your head is clear again.  Wanting more than anything to be normal.  Just to be normal.

I hope this character never has to see the disgust in a lover's eyes after that fog of passion and need clears.

This story hurts.

I don't know where you're going with it.  But I hope it ends well.

[Sophie ♥]

*     *     *     *     *

It worked.  I was cured.  Finally, everything was falling where it should.

I went out drinking that night with Trish.  We talked about penguins and parallel universes.  I woke up Saturday morning with a splitting hangover and an essay to write for Contemporary Literature.

Arlo and Millie showed up around eight, when I could stand the sound of dice clacking against the coffee table.  We played two games of Catan and a dirty version of Pictionary.  I didn’t win even once.

Monday, after school, I asked Dakota out to dinner.  We had the same shift at work and a regular customer made his third visit that day.  I said something about how coffee can’t replace a good meal and Dakota asked if I had dinner plans.

Trash pick-up was Tuesday morning.  I slept through it.

It worked.  I was cured.  Until that afternoon.

I woke up at 12:15.  I checked my phone for notifications.  None.

No school Tuesdays.  No work Tuesdays.  No plans Tuesdays.

No reason to get out of bed, except to use the bathroom.  If only…

I shook my head.  Not right now.

But it was too late.  One stupid half-thought and my eyes lingered on the closet door.  I knew nothing was in there.  I knew, even if there was, it wasn’t good for me.  I was fine now.  I was normal.

I got out of bed to use the bathroom, hoping it would alleviate the thoughts.  But it didn’t.  I sat on the sofa with my blanket on my lap and my memory filtered back to Friday.  The fog.  How I felt.  

The TV was missing colors.  The echo off the back wall was all wrong.

I needed to preoccupy myself.  I had to think about something else.  A new TV show.  Or I could watch the news.  Maybe there was an event at school I could attend.  I opened my laptop to check, but the muscle memory in my fingers typed out half the web address for my story forum before I thought any better of it.  I hesitated, fingers arced over the keyboard, aching to continue.

Slowly, I closed my laptop.  Then I called Dakota to ask if we could change shifts.

*     *     *     *     *

I thought work would help, but it didn’t.  I wanted to go home.  I wanted to change into a soft, comfortable diaper.  I wanted to be safe from all this employment crap.  Every customer with a baby on their hip, every little kid in cute clothes, with their little socks and their fluffy hair, and…

That night, I stared up at my bedroom ceiling.  The aching was so constant, I hardly noticed anymore.

Was I a pedophile?

No, I wasn’t aroused.  I was jealous.

But diapers were sexy.  And regression was sexy.  

But kids weren’t sexy at all.  What fucking sense did that make?!

I threw my pillow as hard as I could at my closet door, but the dull thud wasn’t enough for me.  I wanted to break something!  So I threw my alarm clock.  I heard the plastic splinter when it hit.  The echo radiated through the bedroom and I settled back into my sheets.

I didn’t feel any better.

*     *     *     *     *

I thought school would help, but it didn’t.  I wanted to go home.  I wanted to cuddle up in a snug onesie and warm blanket.  I wanted to escape academia and elitism.  Every professor talking about their kids, every second of Developmental Psychology, every pigtail and children’s backpack and pencil with a cartoon character and…

That night, I sat in the shower with my head on my knees.  The water turned cold after ten minutes.  Water dripped down my cheeks.

Why did I feel like this?  Why was one awful element of my life so powerful?

Was this my parents’ fault?  Was this because of some traumatic childhood event?

Was there medicine for this?  Could I turn it off?  My mind kept moving, gears turning…

If I was anyone else, I could escape it.  If I could close my eyes and wake up as somebody else, then I would never think about it again.

I dried off with the biggest, fluffiest towel I had.  An ounce of baby in a world of big.  It would help.  But it didn’t.  I knew what I could have had, what I threw away…

I took a sleeping pill.

*     *     *     *     *

Thursday morning, I watched the clock tick by on my phone.  Since Dakota and I switched shifts, I had nothing going on.  I had nothing to do but think.

I wasn’t happy; it was plain and simple.  I missed the Little feelings and the fog and the excitement and the warmth and the safety.  I missed my diapers and my onesies and my girly socks.  I missed chewing my pacifier instead of sucking on it.  I missed all of it…

And what did it matter if I wore diapers?  I wasn’t hurting anyone!  No one even knew about it!  Why would I throw all my stuff away over the stupid idealized notion of “being normal”?

Trish and I talked all night last week about alternate universes.  She wanted to live in a world where everyone was an animal, but she couldn’t decide between whether or not to be a fox or a penguin.  She was absolutely not normal.

When we played dirty Pictionary, I had to watch Millie draw the most uncomfortable looking sex toys I’d ever seen.  And Millie was an excruciatingly vivid artist, too!  Arlo’s face was bright red for almost an hour, and I couldn’t stop laughing.  They were definitely not normal.  

And Dakota didn’t like cheese.  It wasn’t an allergy or anything, it was just a preference.  No pizza.  No nachos.  No lasagne.  It took half of Monday’s shift to decide where to go on our date.  Dakota might have been the least normal of any of us.

So what?  

I loved my friends.  I loved their weird stuff.  It made them cool and unique and interesting.  So maybe… maybe my stuff made me interesting too.

I didn’t need an excuse to spend three dollars.  I didn’t need to understand why wetting myself felt nice.  I didn’t need to explain why diapers were sexy.  I didn’t need a reason to be the way I am.  I didn’t need to rationalize everything or have all the answers.  But I needed to be happy.

All my baby stuff might make it harder for someone to love me, but hiding away would make it impossible.  They could only love the lie I created.  And if that lie ever faded away, the love would fade away with it.

Suddenly, I was overwhelmed with regret.  All those outfits… my favorite pacifier… some of that stuff you couldn’t even buy anymore.  It felt like a step backward.  It felt like I had lost so much.  I pulled the covers over my head and curled up into a ball. 

How long until the cycle of binging and purging continued?  Was it worth starting over, just to throw everything in a dumpster?  Would I ever stop mourning for the things I threw away?  Would I ever move past this regret?  

But what other options were there?  I’m either a slave to my fetish or a slave to its cycle.  My journey to happiness was so long and so complicated.  The most I could hope for was not to get turned around by all the spinning.

Above all else, I had to keep moving forward.

In therapy, Anna asked the same things she always did.  

Instead, I told her: “I like diapers.”

[END]

[ChloeNova]

Oh my gosh that was phenomenal, sweets!!! That was such a powerful (and relatable to most of; if not all Little’s) story!! The ending was really exceptional, honestly 

[Pudding]

I loved this, I loved the concept and the implementation, I've always loved the way you write and this is far away one of your best <3 

[Yuukarian]

I think I'm saying what I and others have said already buuut this is really relatable! Plus, it's just good writing! Thanks for telling me this story is a thing cause I don't use this site as much as I should! ?

[Eagle0769]

Were you a fly on the wall in my bedroom and watched me do what you said in the beginning of your story. Going to read the rest. Hope I find out you found a Mommy or Daddy. ?

[RambleLamb]

I've been sitting here for about ten minutes trying to come up with the words that will give adequate representation to just how gosh dang amazing this story is, and I just used "gosh dang" in my opening sentence so...

This story hits a lot of buttons for me, not all of them good, but that's kind of the whole point. Sadly, this is the first story of yours that I've read, despite you coming highly recommended by a jury of my peers, but rest assured I will work on changing that in the future.

If there was one story that could be made required reading for people trying to understand themselves with regards to infantilism I would vote for this hands down. You capture every raw emotion so clearly and perfectly that it relates to every person on this forum and that's a ridiculously amazing thing to accomplish.

I sadly have no likes to give at this time, but I hope my words illustrate just how amazing I think both this story is and you are as an author.

[Tableleg0]

Oh...... now I see why you’re the most popular writer on this site!!! This is amazingly written and it’s good at adapting to the people who read it!

[YourFNF]

As someone who never got this level of euphoria from wearing or really hit head space. Then has felt the interest fade but never quite go away. Sometimes I even wonder if it's even a kink or I just have an unhealthy relationship style. Whenever I try to do stuff IRL it's fun but never quite lives up to the fantasy.

Ooof this hits close to home.

@Sophie ♥

[Sophie ♥]

Hey guys.  Thanks for the sweet comments.  I know it's not the happiest piece in the world, but almost all the people on this site struggle with this in one way or another.  I think having a story that delves into it is important.  And hopefully people can see that though the binging and purging is so often a negative thing, it can be used as a tool to reevaluate and move forward.

Uhh.  What else...

I wrote it to be sort of a self-insert for the reader.  The story is told from a genderless perspective with a genderless love interest so anyone can pretend they are the main character.  There's no dialogue because I don't want to say something you might not say.  If you didn't feel like the protagonist when you read it, maybe try re-reading it through that lens.  I dunno.  Just an idea.

That's it.  I'm glad people liked it.

 

9 hours ago, Eagle0769 said:

Hope I find out you found a Mommy or Daddy. ?

I have a girlfriend who plays as my big sister and I am very happy with her.  Luckily this story is a feeling I haven't felt in a while, but I still get inklings of it every now and again.

6 hours ago, RambleLamb said:

If there was one story that could be made required reading for people trying to understand themselves with regards to infantilism I would vote for this hands down. You capture every raw emotion so clearly and perfectly that it relates to every person on this forum and that's a ridiculously amazing thing to accomplish.

This in particular is a very nice thing to say.  Thank you very much for such high praise!

[Sophie ♥]

Oh.  Yeah.  One more thing.

No one mentioned it, but the story within the story - Little Locked - is something I've been wanting to write for like... a year.  I have two chapters done but I'm always too busy to work on it. >_< So maybe that'll happen in the future.

[Wannatripbaby]

30 minutes ago, Sophie ♥ said:

I wrote it to be sort of a self-insert for the reader.  The story is told from a genderless perspective with a genderless love interest so anyone can pretend they are the main character.  There's no dialogue because I don't want to say something you might not say.  If you didn't feel like the protagonist when you read it, maybe try re-reading it through that lens.  I dunno.  Just an idea

Wow! I didn't even notice that! Of course I'm not an AB nor a DL in the conventional sense. So I've never been through this nor will I probably ever do so. But still, very impressive! :)

[chansu ragedashi]

You described the feeling! I've never had a way to describe the shift of perception (where things are just a little  brighter or just a little more silly or a tad more fun! Or when thoughts are shorter and "fluffier" and things like bills and work feel a million miles away.) when in a headspace. It took me a long time to even perceive what the change was, let alone quantify it as purely as you have here.

[CDfm]

This was simply another fantastic story from you. I feel bad for not getting to it sooner. You would think that with spending 10 days laying around in a hospital and then another 2 weeks of recovery time I would have managed to get to it sooner. I guess I could blame the drugs for keeping me from wanting to read. I have plenty to catchup on again and this was a awesome way to start. 

[Sophie ♥]

11 hours ago, CDfm said:

This was simply another fantastic story from you. I feel bad for not getting to it sooner. You would think that with spending 10 days laying around in a hospital and then another 2 weeks of recovery time I would have managed to get to it sooner. I guess I could blame the drugs for keeping me from wanting to read. I have plenty to catchup on again and this was a awesome way to start. 

Thanks CDfm!  I hope you are feeling better!

[Sarah Penguin]

so sad.