The Perfect Story (Chapters 1-2)

[ThatWeirdKid]

DISCLAIMER: The story Im working on right now is based off of the story in the link below (Authors name Little Trip). There are 18+ scenes in the story so if you're not comfy with that then this story might not be for you.  This is the first time I've posted anything I've written like this so let me know what you think!

Link To Original Story -> https://old.ararchive.com/index.php?option=com_ewriting&Itemid=14&func=chapterinfo&chapter=2031&story=883&type=01

 

Its hard to find good ABDL stories. Don’t get me wrong, they do exist so if you go looking than you will find a few, but a few is all you'll find. And its not because of a lack of material either, quite the opposite actually.  There's an ocean of drek out there.  Stories written in baby talk, pages of crap sentence structure, mind numbing fap material, the list of grievances goes on. I try not to be harsh as I'm grateful towards those of us that are willing to belt out a story for all us littles out there, but I'm a picky reader.  Often my nose can be found stuck between the pages of a book and over the years my tastes have refined and tolerance diminished.  As a young teenager I remember going through some of the first websites dedicated to my hobby and being delighted that such stories even existed. But now there's only disappointment.  A truly great story is hard to come by, and even harder so if it revolves around diapers and age play. 

Its why I started The Diaper Scribes,  a little group on discord comprised of a few close friends that shared my hobbies and even further my desire for excellent reading material.  We pooled our resources and found the total came to 50 pieces. 50 stories that we collectively agreed rose above their brethren in terms of quality.  The community on reddit where one of our members lurked rejoiced when we shared our findings, but the virtual back patting did little to solace. In the entire world there were so few ABDL stories worth reading, and our group had already read the stories each of us shared.  We had done our homework, but it did nothing to benefit us.  There was nothing new left to discover and it was pretty disheartening. I think maybe we had underestimated how small the ABDL community actually was.  There simply wasn’t enough of us out there capable of writing quality tales and even rarer the individual eager to share the creations of their perverse mind.   

Tommy and Jim, the only couple in The Diaper Scribes suggested that perhaps we could write our own story, but the idea was dismissed.  We were amateur critics not writers. Then Melanie, the shyest little of our organization offered a solution.  She mentioned sites like Patreon and Deviantart and the abundance of people there that wrote kink centric stories on a commission type basis.  She suggested we find ourselves one of these writers and pay him to expand the library of good stories. I loved the idea, but had no idea where to start with our search.  Fortunately Melanie held the answer to this as well.  She told us of a writer who specialized in ABDL stories. Said he went by the moniker Little Trip and that supposedly he had never written a tale that was poorly received.   

“If his stories are so good why haven't we heard of him?” I asked echoing the queries of our other friends to which Melanie admitted that she hadn't read any of his material either. 

There was another friend of hers, a young man named Dylan who had apparently had a commission made for himself a few years back and claimed it to be one of the best he ever read, comparing it to several of the works I had cited as the best in our genre.  I asked to see Dylan’s story and again was denied. Apparently one of the writer's rules was that the story was not to be shared with anyone and her friend Dylan followed this despite Melanie’s repeated requests.  I didn't like that at all. How could we know what kind of quality we would receive from the writer if we weren't able to review his earlier works? Despite that little hiccup I still did my due diligence with the rest of our group and we began our online search for the man. It didn’t take long. Little Trip was found easily enough on Patreon and he even had a personal website linked on it. The professional design of his homepage succeeded in lending the writer an air of credibility, but it was mostly filled with fluff testimonials and contact information.  The others didn’t share my dubious leaning though as they keyed in on Little Trip’s money back guarantee. 

“We should just try him,” Sarah typed in the chat as everyone could see I was still on the fence with going this route. 

“I dunno,” I began to type out when Tommy interrupted sending a gif of some neko girl clasping her hands together and asking pretty please.  

Tommy was always sending cutsie crap like that to the group, and while it was adorable it didn’t help to convince me. I stared at my screen for a bit as im sure the others did from their ends as well. Maybe I was worrying about nothing.  I scrunched the bridge of my nose with my thumb and forefinger and imagined the huge waste of time we were all about to undertake. With reluctance I agreed to at the very least speak with the man on behalf of The Diaper Scribes. 

And so the contact request was sent to our prospective writer to which he responded back promptly.  He introduced himself by his tag Little Trip and thanked me for my interest.  He told me a little bit about himself, how he likes to write and how every story comes with a set of rules that he expects his readers to follow.  I found myself bemused by the repeat mention of Little Trip’s rules. I asked what the supposed rules were and in a puckish manner asked how he would know if they were not followed. 

“Every story is a little different,” Trip had typed,” but the one rule that never changes is that you are not share your story with others.” 

His response to my second question was curt. 

“I won't, and don’t care if you follow them. Once the story is written it is up to you to adhere to the rules.” 

His answers only succeeded to further my bafflement. Sighing I leaned back into my chair and wondered if I should bother continuing with the so-called writer. After a moment of inaction I looked down at my waist.  I was naked save for the only important garment, one of my baby blue cloth pullups and a plain white pair of plastic pants. I placed a hand on my protection and absently rubbed a thumb and finger on it. With little provocation I could feel the heat begin to stir within my diaper.  There was just something so mesmerizing about the contradiction.  I was a lumberjack in all ways except profession.  Stocky, well built, and the perfect amount of hairy. And it was all complimented by the slight belly that had grown out thanks to my proclivity for drinking. I wasn’t Adonis, but I was happy with my body and doubly so as I honed in on the clashing nature of masculinity with my infantile garb. 

 To add to the countering elements I glanced upward to see my bottle, a mason jar that I had modified with a silicone nipple to form an adult sized baby bottle.  It laid there tantalizingly, adorned with lion king stickers and filled part way with my most favorite of beverages, pure Kentucky straight whiskey.  Still rubbing myself lightly through my diaper I grabbed at the drink and began to nurse.  Bits of delicious fire dotted my tongue spreading a wave of warmth through me. The heat coiled with the straining sensation of my cock pressed against the inner fabric of my pullup and other thoughts floated away. 

 I began to rub myself through the plastic pants in earnest going from a few fingers to my whole hand which shifted with increasing speed. It didn’t take long before I could feel an orgasm approaching, but I couldn’t quite get there.  The stimulation kept me on edge, but the combination of thick cloth and plastic pants made it fantastically difficult. A voice from the back of my head told me to just jerk off like a normal person and wrap my hand around my shaft, but a stronger voice boomed in protest. Babies weren't supposed to stick their hands down their diapers to make stickies. I whimpered as my dick pulsed in rhythm with that thought so I focused on it.  Bliss was experienced as my pullup absorbed dots of precum leaking from me. Without thinking I suckled more fervently on my bottle, adding its bite to the other euphoric sensations and my hips started to buck in tune with my rubbing efforts.. I was so close.  I would make stickies in my diaper the way all little boys should. And there it was.  With that last shameful thought my cock spasmed spurting several layers of cum onto the inner walls of my pullup and forcing me to gasp from ecstasy.  

For a moment I was paralyzed, my head thrown back to rest on my chair, the bottle now leaking its final drops of alcohol into me. I breathed heavily through my nose as I luxuriated in the debauchery. But it didn’t last. Within a f moments the glory faded replaced by a weariness that drew to my attention exactly how late it was. Reluctantly I separated from my bottle putting it back on my desk as I allowed myself a few seconds of recuperation. The realization that I had been somewhat sidetracked was evident.  Whenever I came during playtime the desire to continue was usually quelled.  Its why I tried not to masturbate too much while engaging in ABDL shenanigans. But desire had gotten the best of me and I dwelled on the fact that I was sitting in a damp and now sticky diaper.  I pushed my chair out from my desk rising slowly to a standing position.  A quick shower and a change to more vanilla clothing was required. I turned my head towards the bathroom and began to step away when I remembered Little Trip’s correspondence. I scratched at my scruff that had only recently graduated to a full beard. In my newly acquired state of exhaustion the idea that perhaps I was thinking too hard about all of this crossed my mind.  His commission fee was reasonable and the others had pointed out the money back guarantee. Shrugging I typed out a quick reply to Little Trip while hunched over my desk. 

“Little trip, if you are still taking work right now, than my fellow littles and I would like to commission a story from you.” 

I wouldn’t use my computer again until the next day, but after returning home from work my conversation with Little Trip continued.  We began to go into details over what my group was looking for and to save time I invited him to our discord so that he could talk with all of us.  The members of The Diaper Scribes were happy as clams when they found I had relented and decided to give Little Trip a shot. When he joined our group chat they tried to goad him into unrelated chatter, but to his credit he kept things professional.  He typed that he was eager to get to work for us and needed to know what we wanted in our ABDL story.  

This had proved the easiest part of the process as we had spoken at length beforehand about what we desired in our stories. Each member of The Diaper Scribes contributed to the concept.  Tommy and Jim  agreed that the setting should fluctuate though largely take place in a type of daycare facility, while Melanie insisted the story have characters that both mentally and physically regress throughout the tale.  Sarah who prided herself as the kinkiest member of the chat group was fine with whatever as long as there was humiliation, frustration, and of course the copious usage of diapers. Though she did clarify afterwards that she didn’t just want mindless fapping material either.  When it came my turn to tell Little Trip what to add in I gave it a final consideration.  

 Everything my friends had mentioned painted a lovely picture, but I knew there was still something missing. I recalled my favorite story. The premise had been simple, the main character got his wish to be a baby again and came to regret it deeply later.  It had been just a few nights ago when I reread it and I recall the most titillating part came at the end. The main character found out that his desire for temporary babyhood had turned into him permanently infantilizing himself and being teased by his pears mercilessly for it. It was a a cruel ending, but I found it mesmerizing. Getting what you think you want only to find out that you’ve made a terrible mistake.   I would be lying if I said I hadn't stroked myself a time or two as daydreams of being in a similar situation as that poor protagonist plagued me.  But a mixture of ineloquence and embarrassment prevented me from admitting that I wanted this to be a feature of the story. So I pivoted.    

“Could you make us the main characters?” I asked  

There was a pause of several minutes before Little Trip responded with a single smiley face .  Then another pause of approximately a minute before he clarified. 

“Sure thing,” Trip had typed putting another smiley face at the end of his sentence. 

And there it was.  The random tidbits that we hoped would come together to craft a classic tale of dudes, damsels, and most important of all diapers. Little Trip informed our group it would take him three weeks to finish the short story and during that wait time he would be unavailable for contact.  I was miffed at the added inconvenience, but Tommy and Jim were optimists.  As the weeks passed by their excitement for our incoming story grew contagious and the rest of The Diaper Scribes found themselves eagerly awaiting Little Trip’s finished work. Even I was plagued with impatience, though I made no such mention to the rest of my friends. Then the fateful day arrived.  Little Trip had been as good as his word, for exactly 21 days after he started the finished product was delivered. 

 

The story came as an attached word document in a group email to myself and the rest of The Diaper Scribes. Being that it was Monday most of us were stuck at work when the email hit  our inboxes and it wasn’t until the evening that I was able to break away to home. Reaching my sanctuary I wasted little time getting myself set up. I moved quickly to my bedroom tossing aside my jeans and button up for garments that I much preferred. From my bedroom closet I retrieved one of my disposables, my baby loony toons t-shirt, and a pair of denim shortalls.  The desire to rush through my transformation was strong as thoughts of the story Little Trip had written for us teased me. But I forced myself to enjoy the process.  

The disposable was placed on my bed after a second or two  of fluffing for maximum poof.  As it laid there I grabbed at the baby powder that rested on my bed stand. I sprinkled a light coating on the diaper’s inside making sure to cover the front and back evenly.  I turned around preparing to lay back and diaper myself when I realized that in my excitement I had forgotten to remove my underwear. Giggling at my own stupidity I hooked my thumbs into the waistband and dropped them to the ground. I hesitated before continuing as I appreciated the dissonance that the hair on my chest and happy trail created when compared to my trimmed privates. It was starting to get time to shave down there again as I noticed the hairs which had started growing out, but I decided to worry about that later.  There were too many other things I needed to get to doing. 

And now nothing remained between me and the protection I craved.  I sat directly on the diaper before laying back down, my hands reaching between my legs to grab at the diapers front.  I pulled the diaper up covering my member which already showed signs of insolence as it poked upward. The soft padding was magnificent as it wrapped around me and while one hand enjoyed feeling the plastic backing that separated my cock from my grasp the other went to work fixing the tapes. The action was repeated for both sides leaving me fully padded and already a tad horny.  I smirked at my lack of self control as I rose from the bed. I allowed myself a few soft pats on my diaper’s front before I continued on to don my shirt and shortalls.  

 The shortalls were a light tan color most often seen on those designed for actual toddlers with the accompanying snaps going down the sides of the bottoms for easy access to the diaper zone.  Throwing on my t-shirt first I then stepped into the shortalls, looping their straps over my back shoulders and fastening them to the front of the garment. The fit was snug, but granted more than enough freedom of movement.  In a whimsical fashion I hopped over to the full-length mirror that rested by my desk and admired the sight.  This particular piece of clothing was perhaps the favorite of my outfits.  It always succeeded to put me in that little space.  If not for the overwhelming urge to dive into the story Little Trip had sent us than I would most definitely be going downstairs to watch cartoons.  

There was only one deviation left to take care of. I left my bedroom heading into the kitchen to retrieve my bottle.  It had been washed since I last used it and currently sat out in the open on my kitchen island. It begged to be filled. I laughed aloud as I thought about what someone would think if they were to see my man sized bottle. I was pretty safe from this happening of course.  My friends were mostly online and Amanda, a girl with whom Id begun a romantic relationship with hadn't yet graduated to seeing my place.  I stopped in my tracks at the thought of her, whimsy draining from my face.  There was a deep fear rooted in me regarding her finding out about my adult baby side.  I liked her, wanted her in more ways than one and I didn’t want anything to jeopardize that.  

I stood in silence for a moment or two before I shifted my weight around causing my diaper to crinkle loudly. It was all I needed to reset my attitude. Shaking negative thoughts away I took the bottle and proceeded to fill it with my signature drink from the fridge.  In the past my friends have teased me for my blatant alcoholism, but those fuckers just didn’t know what they were missing out on. Taking a sip from the still open bottle I headed back to my room, putting back on the bottle’s collar and nipple as I did so. Finally I was ready.  In front of me was my desk the computer resting atop it. On the monitor a screensaver played through a continuous loop of my favorite ABDL artworks. It wasn’t a super fancy setup by any means, but it was my battle station, and I treated it with the reverence it deserved..  

I sat down and began to manipulate the technology. A few clicks and strokes of my keyboard brought up both my discord and email taking up two separate halves of the screen. On the right was my discord which had apparently blown up within the last half hour. At least 50 messages awaited for me to sift through. But I was more curious to get a glimpse at the story Little Trip had sent first. Moving my mouse over I clicked on the message Little Trip had sent me and revealed its secrets.  The email itself was mostly empty containing just a sentence or two of gratitude for letting him write what Little Trip claimed was his greatest story yet. Underneath his self-congratulations was a small list containing what I assumed were the rules he wished our group to follow.  Thankfully there were only three. 

1.) Do not share your story with others 

2.) Do not delete your story 

3.) Do not leave the daycare 

Very strange. First two rules seemed easy enough to follow, but the third one made no sense. before clicking on the surprisingly large word document. Holy cow.  There were over 150 pages worth of material here and as I scrolled to the bottom I felt anger bloom.  There was no freaking way he wrote so much in such a short amount of time. Whatever this story was it had to have been made in advance.  If this were the case then Little Trip had swindled us. We paid to have a custom story written for us, not some generic tripe. I began to type a response to Little Trip the keys clacking loudly in response to my frustration. Then another ding sounded off bringing my attention back to discord. Melanie had just posted something about the story.   

 

“This story is amazing!” she had typed adding a slew of emojis to the end of the sentence. 

I raised an eyebrow not expecting such a bold statement from her, then I noticed the message above hers, and the one before that. Tommy, Jim, Melanie, and Sarah had gotten to the book before I had and had been shouting its praises for well over an hour. I tilted my head to the left to look at my email, the attached word document Trip had sent, and the angry letter I had begun to craft for him. 

“So you all like the story?” I asked in discord. 

“The story is perfect so far,” Melanie answered first. 

“He somehow managed to nail our personalities,” Tommy said next to which Jim added,” Little Trip even made your character addicted to that same moonshine swill that you drink all the time.” 

Now that was disturbing. As far as I was aware none of my friends had made any such mention to the writer and it had certainly not come up from me. I began to type to the others the obvious question of how Little Trip could have known such a thing when Sarah responded. 

“Its so deliciously evil,” She wrote before continuing,” But it still manages to have its sweet moments. Ok I know you Dan, your probably sitting there with your snobby little reading glasses going all ‘Harumph there's no way this story will meet my expectations, Harumph!’  Stop wasting time and get to it boy!” 

Snobby reading glasses? Is that how the others saw me? I frowned, a little hurt by the comment as I glanced back at my email.  Making dramatic motions I pressed the backspace key loudly removing the start of my angry letter from existence.  I was skeptical as to how exactly Little Trip managed to create a project of such large scope, but I trusted that my friends knew what they were talking about.  

“Ok reading now,” I typed back on discord before opening the word document Trip had sent. 

Time became meaningless for me as I was introduced to Little Trip’s world.  At first I tackled the subject matter with skepticism, but within a few pages it had morphed to intrigue, a few pages further and I was excited to read more.  It was brilliant. I scrolled the pages with a frenzy, trying to get as much into my imagination as possible, whilst also savoring the details.  I would go through stages as I read.  At points I would laugh hard, at others I would struggle to keep my hand out of my diaper, and there were even a few sections devoted to just fleshing out our characters.  The book had it all and had it been longer I would have read more.  But unfortunately I had reached the final page.  I yawned as surprise took me.  It felt like I had just started reading, but the clock on my computer showed that close to 5 hours had passed. It was almost midnight now. 

Realizing that I hadn't blinked for what seemed ages I closed my eyes wincing at the slight burn they gave off. When I opened them again I saw my bottle still standing full on my desk.  I had been so engrossed in the fiction that I had totally forgotten my beverage, something which I can recall not ever having done previously.  I had to share this with the others.  I opened my discord to full screen hoping to see one or more of my allies, but they were offline.  I scrolled through the final messages they had left while Id been reading.  Each of the members had posted that they finished the book.  Like me they had read it all in a single sitting, though none went into details.  The only thing they did post regarding the material was that it was perfect.  Shortly after each of them posted about how they’d finished they would post again a final time for the night saying they were going to bed. 

 The times seemed pretty early to me. Ranging from Melanie who had finished her book by eight pm to Sarah who had finished by ten. I yawned again understanding that perhaps it was also time for me to go to bed. The others would surely be curious to hear how I felt about the book so I was certain that I would hear back from them all tomorrow.  I rose from my chair prepared to go to bed as I was. Then I felt it. My diaper was sticking to me, and through my shortalls I could see that the diaper had swollen in size.  Good lord I had wet myself.  An expression of equal parts amusement and confusion plastered to me.  Me using my diapers wasn’t anything new, but the only times when I couldn’t remember using them was when I was hammered.  Right now I was tired, but definitely sober. 

I squeezed the diaper through my clothes, feeling the squish of the material even through the denim.  Normally I would have elected to change before bed, but tonight was different. That story had stroked my imagination in such titillating ways for so long that I now felt totally drained.   I just needed to go to sleep and tackle everything else in the morning.  The diaper would be fine until then. Not even bothering to remove my socks I plopped face down on my bed before maneuvering myself to a more comfortable position.  I curled into the fetal position as I drew one of my blankets between my legs and rested it under my head.  The action reminded me of Charlie Brown’s friend Linus who always carried around his security blanket. I fell asleep smiling at the thought. 

[kerry]

My strong suspicion is that the Diaper Scribes would all give this opening a huge thumbs-up. Its premise is unusual and the writing here is solid and consistently interesting. I'm certainly entranced and hoping to see more of it soon.

[ThatWeirdKid]

Oh thanks, working on chapter two right now. Not that an experienced of a writer so I wasnt sure if it was worth continuing, but glad to hear im onto something lol

[Clr224]

You have an interesting start.  I’m curious as to where you take the story. 

[Shotgun Diplomat]

Colour me very intrigued. This is an interesting premise. I am going to go out on a limb here and suggest that there is either magic or privacy invasion afoot. 

[ThatWeirdKid]

Chapter two:  Diaper Scribes United 

 

Never been a morning person.  In fact I think I would go farther and suggest that anyone that claims to be so is false. Its just so unpleasant. You wake up, usually too early only to find out that you woke up usually too late and have to rush to get business sorted. That was how it started as my eyes snapped open.  Daylight blinded me as its shine coiled with immediate panic. The grogginess that normally accompanied waking up blew away, torn from me as a terrible realization took hold. If it was daylight outside, I was late for work. Closing my eyes to banish the offending stimulus I twisted to my side. I felt around the bedding hoping to find my phone.  My boss would surely have blown it up by now with a slew of furious messages. With my blind pawings I failed to find the phone, but as I grasped at the bed something odd revealed itself. A harsh crinkle sounded with each swipe of my hand against the bedding and a material that was definitely some kind of plastic was felt. 

Slowly I opened my eyes confused as to why the immaculate thread count of my normal sheets had been replaced with such a strange substance.  The expected dark green sheets were gone, replaced by  a vanilla covering made of thick waterproof material. The plastic bed cover was adorned with cartoon bears engaging in a variety of childish activities.  Not my sheets, not my bed.  Bewildered I rose up to get my bearings.  On all ends of the bed were thick wooden poles that rose high above me in my seated position.  I had been sleeping in a giant crib. What the hell was going on? 

Nervous hands ran through my hair as comprehension of my predicament failed me.  Thick locks of hair curled around my fingers only furthering the confusion. I shaved my head. Eyes threatening to pop from my head I clutched at a strand of curls.  I pulled the hair down the bridge of my nose going cross eyed as I stared at the offending locks.  Thick and dark, reminding me of a time in my youth before genetics had balded me.  What else was different? My clothes. I had gone to bed wearing my favorite shortalls and shirt, but now both were missing. I was naked save for a diaper, but it wasn’t the diaper I had fallen asleep wearing. The plastic backing that I preferred had been replaced in my slumber to a cloth one featuring a variety of cartoon balloons on the front. 

And then I honed in on the rest of my body.  It was all wrong.  All traces of hair below my head were absent revealing smooth skin.  But it wasn’t just that things were missing, the flesh itself was foreign.  The scarred musculature that had developed over a number of years was gone, replaced with supple pudginess. I looked like a toddler. 

“What the hell is happening?” I whispered aloud startled by my transformation, but also cognizant enough to recognize that the changes had not been limited to my appearance. 

My voice had come out as a small squeak sounding fully formed in my mind, but escaping me slurred and clumsy. A baby’s voice and a baby’s body.  Holy shit.  My heartbeat quickened in pace with the start of hyperventilating. Both fascination and terror vied for my focus.  Becoming a baby again was a fantasy I had never thought capable of experiencing.  I didn’t know how to react. Thankfully a voice broke me away from the emotional spectrum. 

“Hey you,” a tiny voice called out from behind me. 

I turned around, almost falling backwards with the action.  My new body lacked grace.  A few feet beyond the confines of my crib was another crib, which like mine held a baby.  The baby was tiny, even smaller than I was now, sporting a buzzcut and eyebrows that were noticeably thick for a child. The infant was standing in his crib face smushed against the bars and staring with strange fixation at me.  Did that baby just talk? 

“Oh do not tell me you’re an actual dumbass baby,” the infant lamented as I struggled to respond. 

“You can talk?” I asked after a few seconds of stupification. 

The infant paused copying a look that would convey annoyance were it to be seen on an adult. 

“So you ARE a dumbass baby. But you can talk. That’s good.” 

“Whats good?” 

The baby sighed at my query pulling the skin of his cheeks downward in a gesture of exasperation. The number of questions I had was maddening. What happened to me? Where was I? Who are you?  All  demanded answers, but the boy’s apparent foul mood made me hesitant to prod further. 

“Just woke up here like you I guess,” the boy responded as he toddled from one end of his crib to the other his palm smacking against the bars as he moved, ” No idea what the hell is going on. Im guessing you don’t either.” 

I shook my head admitting the truth of her statement. 

“Fucking great. Just fucking great” 

The boy was panicking. Seeking to comfort I put one of my arms through my crib bars reaching out towards the other child before raising my hand up in a be calm gesture. 

“Calm down man we’ll figure this out,” I started before the boy snapped his head towards me fury in his eyes. 

“Im a girl ya shit noodle!” 

The perfect combination of whimsy and vulgarity.  Despite the situation I found myself amused by the cursing baby, caught somewhere between panic and throwing a temper tantrum. A half smile started to form. 

“Kind of hard to tell,” I answered sardonically.  

We were both just babies, no distinguishing features existed yet to distinguish our sexes from one another aside from the genitalia hidden beneath our padding.  I doubted that she was even broke up about my misstep.  She seemed like she was just lashing out. Upset by the surrealism of our situation and unsure of how to handle herself. Then her barb echoed in my mind.  Shit noodle.  Such a unique and memorable insult. One that I knew I had heard before. 

“Oh my god,” I stared my face belying disbelief, ” Sarah is that you?” 

The baby flinched at the mention of Sarah’s name before turning fully towards me.  Her little hands gripping tightly at the bars of her crib. 

“How do you know my name?” she questioned. 

“Its me. Its Dan!” I exclaimed patting at my chest begging her to understand. 

“Dan?” she parroted confused before a twinkle of understanding gleamed in her eyes, “Dan from The Diaper Scribe group?” 

“Yes, yes!”  I breathed out relieved to have found a friend. 

Sarah’s relief visibly matched my own as smiles echoed between both of us.  For a moment we just stood there pleased to not be alone anymore before Sarah finally spoke. 

“Whats happened to us?” 

I wished that I had an answer, but I was as lost as she was.  Before I could repeat my cluelessness though another voice entered the conversation. 

“Its the nursery,” the voice answered originating from my left. 

Both Sarah and I turned towards the new voice to see another crib facing us.  Inside the crib was a baby of Asian heritage with a bob sort of haircut that drew focus to her silky black hair. The baby was looking around the room and appearing more curious than Sarah and I were. 

“The nursery?” Sarah asked before I could 

“From the story,” the baby responded. 

Connections were made.  I looked around the room with new insight gathering details I had been too crazed to notice earlier.  Pink pastel walls glazed with caricatures of birds and bees, several wicker rocking chairs, the cribs.  All the primary elements were there.  This was an exact copy of the nursery room that Little Trip had described in his story. But it just couldn’t be possible.   

“From the story?” Sarah repeated equally incredulous,” You mean Little Trip’s story? The one we commissioned?” 

The new baby nodded. Unlike Sarah and I she was seated in the middle of her crib making no attempt to stand.  She appeared content with her surroundings. 

“This can't be happening,” I stammered, “ We can't be in a story. It’s a story for christsakes.” 

“And yet the details match,” the baby shot back,” Unless you can think of another reason why adulthood has been stripped from us?” 

I tried, but couldn’t argue the point.  The impossible was staring us down. Did Little Trip have something to do with this? Sarah seemed to consider the statement looking downward pensively.  When she looked back up towards the new baby I saw recognition in her. 

“If we’re in the story... Melanie is that you?” 

The baby smiled weakly before nodding again. I looked to Sarah grins shared between the two of us at the small victory.  There had always been talks of our group getting together In real life, but a combination of conflicting work schedules and life in general had always prevented us from gathering.  Now here we were, meeting for the first time in the strangest circumstance possible.  But The Diaper Scribes were still incomplete. 

“If we’re all here where our Tommy and Jim?” I asked hoping either of the girls could point me to the couple. 

The three of us scanned the room again wondering if perhaps we had missed a final crib containing our missing members. And we had.  In the far corner of the room, near the only door was a fourth crib,  larger in size than ours. Inside it two small figures could be seen cuddled up against one another. They were still asleep. 

“Thats gotta be Tommy and Jim,” I said turning back to Sarah and Melanie, “We should wake them-” 

Sarah erupted before I could finish. 

“Tommy! Jim! Wake the fuck up!”  

Her sudden outburst caused Melanie’s smile to widen and I was forced to cover my mouth to stifle a giggle from escaping.  Melanie could see it too, the total hilarity of someone with Sarah’s personality being stuck as an infant. The way the vulgarity was tamed by her babyish pronunciation. I recalled that when it came to roleplaying Sarah preferred playing the part of caregiver. The script had been flipped on her. While a small part of me was enjoying whatever this was I doubted that Sarah shared the sentiment.   In response to Sarah’s explosion the two babes in the fourth crib squirmed, little yawns coming from them as they stretched out. 

“What time is it?” one baby asked groggily. 

“babe you sound like you’ve been sippin on helium.” the other one replied. 

It didn’t take long for them to catch on.  Just as I had the two boys were jolted awake by the strangeness.  Melanie Sarah and I allowed the two a moment to collect themselves as they babbled in confusion making the same remarks and discoveries that we had earlier. Based off their interactions I could tell the two apart.  Jim had turned from whatever adult he had been into the classic cute kid, bright blue eyes and messy blonde hair that laid fell down against pale skin. His husband Tommy was also no slouch in the adorable department having transformed into a little Latin butterball, tiny rolls of fat visible on cinnamon arms and legs and accompanied by pinchable chipmunk cheeks.  

“My god Jim we’re actual babies,” Tommy exclaimed hints of excitement in his voice 

“But how,” Jim responded his tone lacking Tommy’s enthusiasm. 

That was our que to join their conversation.  Calling to the baby couple again Sarah drew their focus towards us and looked to Melanie and I to catch the boys up to speed.  Melanie told them her theory about what was happening and I admitted that it was possible.  The two took it relatively well.  Tommy’s joy was palpable as he grinned madly, he didn’t care how or why. All that mattered was that he was a baby again. Jim’s reception was not as warm. 

“This is so fucked,” Jim whispered as he rubbed at one of his temples in disbelief. 

I was conflicted.  A part of me wanted to join Tommy’s enjoyment, but Jim had always been the more thoughtful of the two and his concerns were definitely warranted.  Forcing myself to keep things in perspective I suppressed the cavemen parts of my brain that wanted to do nothing but revel in my newfound infancy.  Answers were needed before I could fully enjoy this. The most important one being how do I get back into my original body. What if there wasn’t a way back? The question loomed eerily in my mind. Then Melanie spoke. 

“Lets keep our heads. If we’re in Little Trip’s story than I think we can assume at the very least we aren't in any danger.”     

“Well I don’t know about you guys, but this is pretty much the most awesome thing to happen like ever,” Tommy responded, ”I mean we all agreed the story was perfect.  We are in the perfect story right now. How amazing is that?” 

“Listen tubby,” Sarah growled as she shook the bars of her crib, ” I may have liked the story but that doesn’t mean I want to live it.”  

“I agree,” Jim chimed forcing himself to speak slowly, aware of his inability to enunciate, “This is creeping me out.” 

Tommy glanced over at Jim hurt welling in his eyes. Jim realizing he may have phrased that a tad indelicately was forced to back peddle. 

“Babe im not calling you creepy, I mean yeah this is kind of cool.  I’m just worried is all.” 

Tommy’s grin faded as he considered the statement turning towards the rest of us. He always presented himself as a carefree dude when we interacted online, so to see concern growing on him didn’t fill me with confidence. 

“What’s there to be worried about?” Tommy asked hesitantly. 

The answer came in the form of a loud creak, the sound of old wood being moved under protest.  Our group unanimously turned towards the sound’s origin.  The door that led into the nursery was opening.  Speechless we watched as an opening was created to another section of the daycare.  Through the hallway on the other end stepped several young women. They wore identical clothing consisting of  cool gray cardigans draped over a striped button up, faded jeans, and pairs of non descript sneakers. They looked like grade school teachers, but the similarities didn’t lie in the clothing alone. Each of the women who stepped into the room held the same eyes, same shoulder length blonde hair, fair skin color. Everything was identical.  It wasn’t four women, but four copies of a single woman!   

“Oh my god it’s the caretakers!” Tommy squealed failing to keep his enthrallment hidden. 

The caretakers fanned out each of them moving to one of our four cribs. In perfect unison they placed their hands on the top of the railings, but stopped short of further movement.  They were looming over us staring blankly.  They looked like giants, closed smiles stretching their faces, but offering no warmth.  Something in the eyes was missing, like they were looking at us, but not actually seeing anything. I could see Sarah’s brow furrow as she glared back at the caretaker in front of her.  If she were an adult than her pouty expression would probably have been closer to a snarl of outrage. 

“Get away from me!” Sarah growled as she stepped backwards in her crib till her back leaned against the far bars.    

Subconsciously I too found myself backing away from the statuesque figure that was in front of me.  And in fact everyone was.  Even Tommy who was delighted by another element of the story revealing itself crawled backwards intimidated by the caretaker’s lifeless approach.   

“Wha-whatdoyawan?” Jim asked his fright causing him too speak to quickly, words jumbling into an unintelligible mess. 

The caretakers made no signs of even hearing Jim’s question remaining locked in position, but a voice did answer Jim. 

“Hello children,” a sultry voice echoed near the door drawing my focus. 

I leaned to my side hoping to see past the behemoth that was standing by my crib and get a look at whoever had just entered the room.  But the coordination required proved more than my new body was capable of.  The moment I lifted weight off my left foot in my leaning all sense of balance was gone.  Letting out a cry of surprise I began to fall. I fanned my arms out in an attempt to stabilize myself, but the effort was fruitless. I crashed unceremoniously onto my side, head missing smacking one of the ends of my crib by inches.   

I lied there both stunned and embarrassed at how babyish that must have looked to the others. I prepared myself to recover and get back on my feet, but as I rose to a sitting position I felt off.  In tune with my rising a pressure that had not existed previously formed. I had to pee. Without warning the pressure vaulted in intensity reaching unprecedented levels of comfort.  I bit my lip, clenching down as hard as I could.  But my body still elected to betray me. Despite my struggles jets of hot urine escaped coating the insides of my diaper.  My mouth gaped as my bladder’s reservoir drained, my body ignoring attempts made to stifle the flow.  It lasted for scant seconds, but felt far longer. Looking down I expected to see urine scattered everywhere, but the diaper contained the entirety of my accident. It had swelled to noticeable levels though while the balloon’s that were drawn over the diaper’s front faded, apparently serving as wetness indicators.  Helplessly wetting myself in front of others.  Another fantasy fulfilled, and yet no satisfaction or euphoria was felt.  

It was strange. In my mind I knew that this was an arousing scenario for me, something that I would jerk off thinking about.  But the arousal was missing. What was present however and demanding of my focus was a rapidly growing sorrow.  My diaper was drenched and squelching uncomfortably under me as I shifted.  It was awful, the worst sensation imaginable.  I needed to be free of it immediately.  Reaching down at my diaper I searched for a way to free myself from the padded prison.  Clumsy hands rubbed down the edges of my diapers front gliding over the tapes, but for some reason they weren't coming off.  It was like fiddling with a puzzle, the kind that only appeared simple.  I grunted angrily as I redoubled my efforts, beginning to claw at random portions of the diaper, probing for weakness.  Then Jim spoke up from the corner of the room interrupting me. 

“Dan whats wrong?" he asked wide eyed 

I paused stammering as I tried to convey what happening, but I was too frustrated to speak.  I turned from Jim to the other babies hoping that one of them could explain. Instead I was met with wildly confused stares.   My diaper was wet. And I hated it! How could they not understand?! Then I felt it, a single tear rolling slowly down my right cheek.  And my lip, it was quivering.  What in the hell was going on? Shaking my head I grabbed at the rails of my crib pulling myself to a half standing kneeling position. I had been gone for a moment there.  Thought processes mutilated into some kind of infantile abstraction. I hadnt even realized it was happening. Wiping the tear away I opened my mouth to speak of my experience, but the voice that had set the last moments chain of events into action cut me off. 

“Stop fussing children,” the voice called as a woman stepped from out of my view into the rooms center, claiming the sound as hers. 

She was different from the caretakers. Older and while the caretakers dressed in casual professional garments the new woman rocked a matching grey blazer and skirt combo. She had the look of a high society business woman. This in combination with her black hair pulled into a tight bun and thin glasses gave the impression of a woman that didn’t tolerate buffoonery. 

“You all can call me Doctor,” she said switching glances from each member of our group, “And I'm here to help.”   

 

[Clr224]

Interesting story.  Given their current apparent ages, I’m a little surprised that any of them would be aware of their bladders emptying. 

[ThatWeirdKid]

Totally intentional, definitely not a mistake.....I need an editor lmao