TheUnknownAuthor Posted March 26, 2022 Share Posted March 26, 2022 Greetings! This isn't going to be a long story, a few chapters, less than ten for sure, but I liked the idea and thought maybe someone else would enjoy it too. Let me know what you think and have a great day! Worth A Thousand By: The Unknown Author I “The Box” It took me a good month to work up the ability to start going through my mom’s stuff after she died. Her house became my house and I found myself avoiding anything and everything in it that would trigger another emotional breakdown. I stayed in my childhood bedroom most of the time in that first month, venturing out for food and to shower and use the bathroom, but her room at the end of the hall remained closed off. When I was little the hallway seemed impossibly long, nights when I had a nightmare and sought refuge in her bed were the worst, the fear that the things from my dreams were lurking somewhere in the dark chasm between my room and hers, waiting to grab my leg as I passed by in near full sprint until my feet left the ground to avoid the final pitfall of the space beneath her bed in my journey to her warm and safe embrace. Being back in that house, and my old room in particular, made me feel like that little girl again, nightmares waking me, my still drowsy and sluggish mind recognizing the childish room immediately and putting me right back into my little body, cries for mommy threatening to leap from my mouth just as my spacial awareness kicked in and I slumped back down on the bed, the sheets clinging to my sweaty skin. At least it was sweat at this stage in my life and not the other, far more humiliating reason for dampened sheets that plagued me when I was growing up, the crinkly mattress protector being the first and only thing I’d actually thrown out in the house up to that point. I started the cleaning and purging in my old room, spending the majority of my time there anyway made it easy to get most of it done in short order. I’d sorted everything out into piles, one for donation, one for trash, and one for any little one’s that might want or need old toys or clothes in my extended family. It was more than a little embarrassing to come across so many things from when I was little given that I’d lived in that very room until I graduated high school and went off to college, baby toys in a box on the top shelf of my closet, clothes that seemed ludicrously childish to still be hanging up in a room that a moody teenager had dwelt in last. By the time I’d finished my room, I’d managed to drum up the courage to venture down the hall to my mother’s room, my heart pounding in my chest as my hand curled around the doorknob and turned it, the familiar squeak of the knob protesting its manipulation bringing memories of sneaking in to look for Christmas and birthday presents in her closet when she wasn’t home flooding back into my mind. The room was immaculate, as it always was when I’d lived with her. Her four post bed was made with hospital corners and despite the staleness of the air from being closed off for a month, the lingering scent of her perfume clung to the bedding or the carpet and triggered a fresh breakdown that took more than an hour to recover from. I’d dropped to my knees in anguish, and then onto my side, and lay in more or less a fetal position rocking and sobbing until I was hoarse and exhausted and weakly slunk back to my room in defeat. The following day I’d managed to make it to her dressing table, the oak behemoth had always been of particular fascination to me growing up, lectures after making a mess by playing with her makeup were fairly common until I learned my lesson and watched her doing her makeup rather than sneaking in to try and do my own. Another defeat came when I remembered sitting on her lap while she did my makeup to teach me how things should work so I didn’t look like the four year old I was had drawn on my face with lipstick and blush. Every day for a month I managed to stay in her room for a little longer. The triggers were numerous, landmines of memory that blew up in my face over completely innocuous things to the untrained eye, but deeply personal moments in time preserved like a mosquito in amber waiting for me to come along and find them so I’d destroy what little emotional stability I had and send me scurrying back to my room to hide like a scared rabbit until the next day when I could do it all over again. When I finally managed to stay in her room for a full day with little more than a few tears and a sniffle or two, I set about packing up her things for donation, the closet was first and all the clothes filled a dozen boxes. With the closet devoid of clothes I found only one thing remaining, a wooden box on the highest shelf, the one where the presents would hide when I was little. I thought maybe it was a forgotten present, something she’d misplaced and never recovered, thoughts of some toy meant for toddler me or something for gawky middle school me to fell embarrassed about receiving filling my mind as I pulled it down and took it to the bed. The box was gorgeous, carved from some dark wood with ornate, shiny patterns of some kind of stone or other material adorning the top of it. The front had a small circular silver plate and a little cover that slid aside to reveal a keyhole. My heart sank when I saw the keyhole and tried with no success to open the box, but as I lifted it to see if there was some kind of button or switch that might be the real means of opening it, I saw a white envelope taped to the bottom of the box with my name written in my mother’s lovely, fluid cursive. I pulled the envelope off and opened it to find a letter and a small key within, my heart beginning to race as I opened the letter. “My darling Madeline, If you’re reading this, then I’m sadly gone. I wanted so desperately to share the contents of this box with you over the years, but never found the courage to do so. Many people in my life, friends and family included, think they knew who I was, but the evidence of the woman I truly was lies within this box. I know that nothing will make sense at first when you open it, which I hope you will, but, if you’re anything like me, the intrigue and adventure of an honest to goodness mystery to piece together will be too much to resist. Should you decide to open the box, I urge you to keep an open mind and remember that despite being your mother for however long I lived, I was a woman before you were born and I had a life and many truly wonderful experiences, but you became my life and I put myself aside to give you the best life I could and nothing in the world would ever compare to the joy I felt at being your mother. All my love, forever and always, Mom P.S. I truly am sorry I’m not around to provide context, but I hope you’ll understand that I see more than a little of myself in you and I have a gut feeling that you’ll see it too when all is said and done.” It was another month before I managed to venture back into her room to pick up the box, the rest of the house had been cleaned up and boxed up and thrown out where appropriate, and with nothing else to focus my attention on, the box became my obsession. On the one hand, I was terrified that I’d find out my mother was a serial killer or something, the box full of trophies from her victims that she was bequeathing to me because I too was a killer, but on the other hand I was curious to learn more about the woman she’d been before I was born. She had a photo album in the living room, pictures of her as a little girl and up to high school, but then it bled into photos of her holding me in the hospital when I was born and then nothing but me at the various stages of my life. By my rudimentary math, the box could have as many as fifteen years worth of information about her that I had no knowledge of, and that was the carrot that drove me to pick the box back up and take it back to my room. I slid the small metal cove aside and inserted the key, twisting it until the lock clicked and then I sat and stared at the still closed but now unlocked box for the better part of an hour before I finally lifted the lid. A photograph on top of a small stack of Manila envelopes greeted me, my mother, freshly graduated from high school judging by how young she looked, stood in front of a Volkswagen van holding up two fingers and smiling like someone had just told her the funniest joke, her eyes were closed and her mouth was partly open in a wide grin. She was wearing a peasant top, thin enough to reveal she wasn’t a fan of bras and skin tight jeans. Her hair was held out of her face by a hairband of some sort that looked like a wreath of white flowers had been slipped onto her head and I realized with great embarrassment for both of us that my mother had been a hippy. Each Manila envelope beneath the photo was thin, not containing anything more than a document, and each with a date written on the front, a half dozen in total ranging from the year she’d graduated high school to just before I was born. Atop the stack was a yellow sticky note that simply read “Keep an open mind”. I peeled the sticky note off and set it aside, my mouth dry as I picked up the envelope marked in my mother’s handwriting “James 1/17/71, Oakland, CA” and opened the folded metal arms on the back of the envelope to allow me to open it, pulling out a few piece of paper and a small collection of photographs. Setting the photos down on the bed, I read the first paper, finding it to be a diary or journal entry of some kind. “Stopped into a furniture store to take a break from walking all day and met James. Thinking I was in the market for the bed I’d flopped down on, he approached me with all the charm and charisma you’d expect from a young man working on commission. I could tell he wasn’t a total square though, despite the ugly tie and cheap suit he was wearing. I took his picture and he was curious why “anyone as beautiful as me would want a picture of him” and I told him that he was very handsome and that pictures showed us as we truly were, not as we or anyone else perceives us. We talked for longer than his boss deemed acceptable and James was told to escort me out, which he did, but said if I was interested, I could come back after the store closed that night so we could continue talking.” I sat in stunned silence as I read my mother’s diary page, wondering how the woman that taught me everything I knew about life and stranger danger could even consider taking “James” up on his offer, then I remembered her insistence that I keep an open mind and I pressed on with the next page. “Went back to meet James when the furniture store closed, he’d ditched the tie and jacket and had some cold beers waiting for me when I arrived. We sat at one of the dining room tables on the show floor, it was funny because the rest of the lights in the store were off except for a few lamps here and there, and if I focused on him, it felt like I was in his home rather than a store. We talked a lot about his job and my trip and then he turned the music on on the store speakers and we danced and it was so much fun.” I smiled as I read, imagining my mother having an admittedly very sweet encounter, possibly even date, with this James guy and moved on to the next page of her diary. “We danced for a while and drank some more, and James started to dance a little closer and touch me a little more and-” I sighed and closed my eyes as I pointed my head to my ceiling, mentally shutting off the urges to discontinue reading this saga and shut the box forever at the thought of reading about my mother having sex with a random furniture salesman in Oakland. I opened my eyes slowly and looked down at the papers in my hand and swallowed hard as I kept reading. “we ended up dancing near a bedroom display. There was a queen bed and a lemon yellow crib, and as we danced we neared the little yellow crib until I had nowhere else to move and sat down on the mattress of it as he kissed me. When our kiss ended he asked me if “I was a good little girl” and the question made me blush and gave me this weird tingle up my back, the beer we’d been drinking making me giggly before I corrected him that I wasn’t a little girl.” I shuddered involuntarily as I read. “He pointed out that I was sitting on a crib and that it was night time and those things couldn’t be a coincidence, so I must be a little girl, or maybe a baby. I blushed more at his insistence and of the quick demotion from little girl to baby, but looking up at him from my seat on the edge of the crib made me reluctant to argue a second time, making me chew my bottom lip as the tingle I’d felt earlier went lower in my body and built to a persistent hum between my thighs.” I was reading my mother’s erotic fan fiction, I suddenly realized, hating that I was doing so but despising my inability to stop reading despite all the alarm bells going off in my head about how expensive the therapy bill for continuing to do so would be. “His strong hand took mine and he gently curled my fingers into a fist and extended my thumb outward before her guided it to my lips, his smile when my lips parted and allowed my thumb to enter making the hum stronger. He stood before me looking down and I felt so small sitting on the mattress of that baby’s crib sucking my thumb, but he knelt down and placed his hands on my thighs, “Daddy thinks it’s time for baby to get ready for bed.” he said, enhancing my blush and the hum between my thighs to heights I’d never experienced before.” “Why am I still reading this?” my brain screamed at me, but something else was far more concerning to me, the tingling I was feeling running up my own back, the soft hum that was building between my own thighs, this was disgusting and kind of incestuous, but it was turning me on for some insane reason and I didn’t want to stop reading it. “I was surprised when he left me sitting there, thumb in my mouth, wanting him to come back and fix the feelings I was having for him, to take me to the adult bed and do adult things with me, but as I sucked my thumb and gently rubbed myself through my jeans, I also felt like I was right where I should be, obediently waiting for “Daddy” to come back to his baby. When he finally did return he set the things he was carrying down on the big bed and came to me and picked me up as though I weighed nothing to him, my legs wrapped around his waist on instinct and I hugged him tightly with my free arm as I continued sucking my thumb with the other so I didn’t upset him for removing what he’d so gently put into my mouth.” I wasn’t completely ignorant to what was seemingly about to happen to my mother, I grew up when the internet was a wild west landscape of everything under the sun being available at the click of a mouse without parental controls or paywalls being in place, and while I couldn’t remember specifically where or when or how I’d come across it, adult’s playing baby wasn’t something that was unheard of to me. “He lay me down so gently on the big bed, putting me on my back to look up at him as he knelt and slipped my shoes and socks off, peeking at me over my stomach as he reached up and unbuttoned my jeans, slowly peeling them off of me, his face looking like he was waiting for me to stop him, but also proud that I was still sucking my thumb and allowing him to continue. Once my panties were gone, he slipped my shirt off and left me naked on the bed, admiring my body for a moment before he picked up the stack of towels beside me and lifted my legs to slide them beneath me, bringing them up between my legs before he pinned them into place with the safety pins he’d been holding in his mouth when he picked up the towels.” I had to stop reading and take a minute to compose myself, the notion that my mother, the woman that enforced bedtimes and curfews and groundings over the course of my life, had allowed herself to be diapered by a total stranger in a very public place was mind boggling to me, and my intense arousal was more than a little shameful and concerning. I went to the bathroom, noticed the quarter sized damp spot in the center of my gray panties and felt disgusted with myself for having already decided to go back and finish the story, pretending that I wasn’t going to pleasure myself to what I was reading, that my mother wasn’t going to change into myself as I imagined some boy I had a crush on doing those things to me. “Once the diapers were pinned in place, James checked the fit and picked me up once more to take me back to the crib, setting me down and then guiding me to lay on my back, legs pulled up to my chest but parted before he raised the side and hurried away, returning with my camera and snapping a photo of me.” My cheeks burned at the knowledge that somewhere in the envelope these pages had come from there quite probably was a photo of my barely legal mother in a baby’s crib and some form of a cloth diaper as she sucked her thumb and my hands trembled as I began the final page of her diary. “It only took a few gentle “make a pee pee for Daddy” and “good baby’s wet their diapers” for me to let go and flood the towels pinned around my waist, my inebriated bladder more than willing to let go, James’ fingers gently rubbing the warm, wet padding when I’d finished, bringing squeals of pleasure and bliss in little bursts around my thumb as I sucked on it with my eyes closed until another wetness filled the diaper. He snapped a final picture before he lowered the side of the crib and knelt beside it, stroking my hair and praising me before he removed my thumb from my mouth and stood to unzip his pants and pull out his manhood, teasing it against my lips as he’d done with my thumb, the final results much the same.” I set the last page down beside me in the neat, orderly stack with the others and picked up James’ envelope with trembling hands, sliding the black and white photo’s out in a neat stack in my hand, looking at James for the first time, was clean cut and clean shaven, barely older than my mother, his tie was ugly, looking like a cheap motel rug, the kind of thing that someone with zero taste would assume would brighten an area simply by existing, not noticing the off putting patterns lack of cohesiveness. He was stronger looking than I imagined, maybe a football player or a wrestler in school given his thick forearms and the obvious biceps trapped beneath the long sleeves of his button up collared shirt. The next photo was of my mother, naked save for the thick towels pinned around her waist. She had a gorgeous body, fit and slender, curving in all the right places, her thumb in her mouth, that arm covering one bare breast while the other lay at her side. The sides of the crib were narrow, leaving barely enough room for her to lay on her back within it, but her legs were pulled up so her knees were near her stomach, and true to her description, her legs were partially spread to allow clear visibility of the diaper she was wearing. It was thicker than I’d imagined it would be based on her description, images of bath towels I’d conjured banished away by something more akin to the thickness of a bath towel folded up on a shelf, the pins securing it seeming to shimmer in whatever light source they’d been picking up. Setting that picture aside I came to the next, my mother in the same position as the previous photo, but with a wet diaper, though the photo didn’t clearly illustrate that thanks to the black and white medium, but based on her description I found myself studying her crotch intently for a moment to check, blushing when I remembered who the woman in the photo was and setting it aside. The last picture made me smile involuntarily, my mother curled up on James’ lap on the queen sized bed, her head rested against his chest, eyes closed and thumb still in her mouth, but the faintest curl of a smile in the corner of her mouth. James was smiling, his strong arm holding her to him behind her back, his hand resting on the seat of her diaper while his other hand rested on her knee. They looked incredibly happy together, beyond the happiness of having an orgasm, and I found it incredibly sweet that he hadn’t just used her for his kinky game and booted her from the store one he’d gotten what he wanted, but that he’d held her and spent time with her, going so far as to take a photo of the two of them together for her to keep as a reminder of the Daddy she’d had for a night whenever she happened to look back at her old photos. I put the diary pages and photos back in the envelope and set it back in the box, closing and locking it before I took it over to the dresser across the room and put it in the top drawer before returning to the bed. I thought about my mom’s note on the bottom of the box, how it had said that she saw more than a little of herself in me and that she felt I’d see it too. Was she talking about the diapers? The willingness to play baby for someone? I dismissed those thoughts and settled on simply her adventurous nature and desire to meet people and make memories with them. The ache of neglect in my intimate areas made it harder to accept those notions however, the thought that not long ago I too was in a diaper in this very bed making my fingers disappear beneath the blankets to explore the other possibility, however unlikely I hoped it would prove. To Be Continued… 9 Link to comment
kerry Posted March 26, 2022 Share Posted March 26, 2022 1 hour ago, TheUnknownAuthor said: The last picture made me smile involuntarily, my mother curled up on James’ lap on the queen sized bed, her head rested against his chest, eyes closed and thumb still in her mouth, but the faintest curl of a smile in the corner of her mouth. James was smiling, his strong arm holding her to him behind her back, his hand resting on the seat of her diaper while his other hand rested on her knee. They looked incredibly happy together, beyond the happiness of having an orgasm, and I found it incredibly sweet that he hadn’t just used her for his kinky game and booted her from the store one he’d gotten what he wanted, but that he’d held her and spent time with her, going so far as to take a photo of the two of them together for her to keep as a reminder of the Daddy she’d had for a night whenever she happened to look back at her old photos. I really like this story and the detail with which it is written; however, I find myself stepping outside of it to wonder just who took this picture of the two of them. ? Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted March 26, 2022 Author Share Posted March 26, 2022 11 minutes ago, kerry said: I really like this story and the detail with which it is written; however, I find myself stepping outside of it to wonder just who took this picture of the two of them. ? A ghost. I actually googled when timers were invented on cameras just to make sure it was within the realm of possibility that the camera had a time delay function of some sort to grab that picture. I'm by no means a camera person, but for what it's worth, "Self-timers delay the opening of a shutter giving a photographer time to be included in the photograph. The Faries Shutter Tripper is possibly the first, or second self-timing device marketed in the United States. This accessory was patented January 14, 1902" I may or may not be totally stupid for assuming this means that the camera that took the photo of the pair had a feature that would allow such a thing, but I wrote it and I stand by it. Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted April 7, 2022 Author Share Posted April 7, 2022 II “Lisa 3/30/72, Orlando, FL” I enjoyed a heavy night’s sleep courtesy of one of the most powerful orgasms I’d ever experienced, my sleep was so heavy in fact that I woke to find a familiar wetness surrounding my bottom half and cursed myself for having removed and thrown out the old mattress cover that had still been on my childhood bed. Waking up in my old bed, in my old room, in my mother’s house with wet sheets brought a strong disorientation to my waking mind, a lump in my throat and a cold feeling in the pit of my stomach that my mother would soon be in to wake me for school to find that I’d once again wet the bed bringing tears to my eyes before the realization that I was an adult now and she was sadly dead and gone bringing on a full emotional breakdown that lasted for a half hour. The last time I’d wet the bed I was fifteen years old, and my mother had gotten to the point where she’d broached the subject of “protective undergarments”, but hadn’t followed up on it, I’d assumed that it was just an empty threat at the time, but seeing her pictures and reading her journal entries had me wondering if she wasn’t merely letting the idea linger, giving me the opportunity to decide if I wanted diapers, testing me and feeling me out to see if her suspicions about me, whatever they may have truly been, were in fact true. I had a strong suspicion of my own that she thought I’d somehow inherited a desire to wear diapers from her, despite her only having worn them and played baby with one man when she was barely out of high school. I fell back into my shameful childhood routine as though I’d never stopped performing the actions associated with it, stripping my wet pajamas and bedding and throwing them in the wash, showering and getting dressed to open the window to let the acrid scent of urine air out while I did my best to clean the stain from the mattress, my attention drifting to the box on the dresser, the need to learn more filling my mind as I scrubbed the mattress and wallowed in self pity. Once the mattress was as clean as I could get it, I placed an order for a replacement plastic sheet and casually browsed the selection of “protective undergarments”, wondering if she would’ve had any interest in the plain white ones or if she’d have preferred the more infantile looking ones designed for fetishists. I didn’t order anything other than the sheet, a strange pang of embarrassment washing over me as I realized what I’d been shopping for and closed my phone to retrieve the box, retiring to the living room to get out of the cleaner heavy air of my room. The next envelope was written on in the same manner as the first, “Lisa 3/30/72, Orlando, FL” read my mother’s elegant penmanship, I noticed, on closer inspection, that the dot over the ‘i’ in ‘Lisa’ was actually a little heart, something I almost missed in casually looking at it but the slightly off kilter shape of it made me look closer. The little heart made me smile, a distant memory of notes in my elementary school lunches having a hidden heart somewhere in and among the letters of the note, a secret proclamation of love from mother to daughter to keep embarrassment to a minimum should a friend or classmate read over my shoulder. I opened the envelope and set the photos face down on the couch and gathered the various journal pages, settling in to read them. “My night with James awakened something in me, dredged up long ignored memories from the periphery of my mind like ships lost at sea. Maybe ‘ignored’ isn’t the right word, the memories weren’t the kinds of things you focused on, they weren’t the main focus of the moment, just something in the background that goes unnoticed, but the funny thing is that my night with James made me realize that I’d noticed a lot and my brain had filed it away, seemingly in preparation for just such an occasion.” I sipped my water and thought of my own feelings this morning, things in my own past that hadn’t meant much but given the revelation about my mother now had significant weight and purpose. “When I was around seven or eight, I’d stayed with my Aunt and cousins for a week when my parents had gone out of town for my father’s job, and, at the time, I had to suppress my giggling when my Aunt would bring my older cousin out to the living room before bed and pin him into what I thought, at the time, was a ludicrous amount of toweling diapers. My other cousin’s and I weren’t just sitting on the sofa watching in rapt attention as this teenage boy was made to be diapered for bed like a toddler, we were playing on the other side of our room in our pajamas, minding our own business, but my night with James framed everything differently. For starter’s, my older male cousin was the last one to be laid out on the living room floor, but my two playmates had gone first, their own plastic panties and toweling diapers poofing out beneath their nightgowns, the five year old even sucking a pacifier as she played. I’d had to beg my Aunt not to diaper me for bed as she’d done with her nine and five year old daughter’s, and she’d only relented because my mother hadn’t told her that I’d needed it, but she sternly warned that should I wake up wet I’d be spending the day in diapers with a spanked bottom.” This new information marinated in my brain as I read it, family gatherings from my childhood now showing my Great Aunt diapering my adult first cousins on the living room floor of my Grandparents’ house before bed, bringing a giggle from my throat at the absurd image. “Such a thing wasn’t given any further thought beyond the actual moment until I’d been diapered by James and wet myself for him in that crib, and suddenly recollections of stolen glances at my cousins while they were being diapered and shameful secret hopes that my Aunt would ignore my pleas and diaper me as well filled my mind. Every memory of an accident I’d had after being toilet trained was tinged with doubt, my memory uncertain that the accident truly was that and not a secret attempt to be put back into diapers. I questioned everything about myself after my night with James and came to the conclusion that I did in fact want to wear a diaper again, and with no one but the open road chaperoning me on my journey, I found a store that sold what I wanted and had my father wire me more money for a made up car part that needed replacing and stocked the van with toweling diapers and plastic panties to explore this deep seeded desire dwelling within me.” I moved the sheets and my pajamas from the washer to the drier and used the bathroom, chewing my lip absently as I imagined letting myself go in my pants in front of the toilet like a toddler still trying to master the potty, blushing hotly as I sat on the bowl and used the facilities like a normal adult, ashamed at my train of thought and wondering whether I should’ve followed through with ordering the diapers I’d lingered on for so long earlier in the morning. Returning to the couch, I settled back down to continue reading, my focus wandering to my phone periodically against my will. “By the time I hit Orlando, I was positively hooked on wearing diapers. The shame of having damp towels pinned around my waist, the humidity of my arousal and of my use of the diaper leaving me with a perpetually beet red complexion that fit in well with the sun exposed residents of Florida. I think it was the paradox of being a high school graduate on her own in the world, driving a car with no one to tell her what to do and where to go, the epitome of a free adult, wearing diapers and plastic panties and wetting herself willingly as she drove that kept the hum between my thighs going almost constantly. I’d gently rub myself at red lights, the knowledge that the occupants of the car beside me were oblivious to what I was doing but that I could be discovered should a large truck pull up alongside me drove me absolutely crazy and led me to multiple orgasms along the way to the place I was staying.” My cheeks were flushed as I read about my mother’s deviant escapades, my own mind numbing orgasm from the night prior making me bite my lip once more as I reached for my phone and found my way back to the diapers I’d been perusing. The white one’s were so plain and boring, clinical and functional in their design and there’s nothing sexy about clinical and functional, I settled on a package of something with pastel silhouettes of pacifiers and bottles, the infantile pattern making the hum return to the space between my own thighs as I added them to my cart and threw in some powder and wipes and then a pack of bottles and a pack of pacifiers, the thought being that if I was going to explore I might as well do as much as I could all at once instead of having to place a dozen orders because I was still curious. “Lisa was a friend from high school, her father was some big business muckity muck with connections all over the country and he’d arranged for Lisa to have a job at an amusement park that Disney had opened a few months earlier in Orlando. We’d stayed in touch after school ended, and when I told her I was traveling the country she practically begged to have me stay with her and see the park she worked at, and the prospect of sharing my newly discovered love of diapers with the woman I’d been in love with nearly all through high school and that felt the same way about me, well, that’s what I’d call an easy decision.” I read and re-read that last bit a dozen or more times, my eyes feeling like they were bugging so far out of my skull that they might fall out entirely if I blinked, my mother, the woman that had remained single and unavailable from the time I was born to the day she died was in love with another woman and had, at least up to that point in my reading, had designs on exploring a fetishistic relationship with her possibly while attending the newly opened “happiest place on Earth”. I sat back against the couch in stunned silence, not because my mother had been bisexual, but because she’d been in love with someone and had such a strong relationship with them that she’d planned on sharing something about herself that I couldn’t fully imagine saying aloud in the emptiness and solitude of the house I was in, let alone to another living human being. I marveled at the fearlessness my mother had displayed to me thus far in her journey, casual kink encounter with a random furniture salesmen in California and then, whatever would end up happening with Lisa in Florida, I felt my lips curl into a smile as a swell of pride for my mother built in my chest and I continued reading. “It’s hard to describe what seeing Lisa again was like, it was obviously wonderful, and she was just as lovely as ever, her long black hair was braided into this style that made her look like she’d stepped out of a fairy tale, her light makeup letting me know that she wanted to look good for me but didn’t want to seem like it was her main focus, and her simple rose patterned dress and bare feet when she opened the door made me feel like I’d gotten the chance to meet her again for the very first time, that pure desire and longing she inspired in me from the first time I saw her filling my heart all over again.” My smile remained as I read my mother’s words, the profound love she had for Lisa was truly something special and even though a part of me wondered if she’d been miserable being alone after I was born, I chose to focus on how happy she’d been with this mystery woman from her past. “Lisa noticed the plastic panties almost immediately, the skirt I’d chosen to wear allowed for some of the lemon yellow plastic to be seen beneath, and though her face was riddled with curiosity and confusion, her smile never diminished as she pulled me to her and kissed me as though we’d never been apart. Her hands explored beneath my skirt, the crackling of the plastic panties deafening in the entryway of her apartment. She broke our kiss and flipped my skirt up, looking up from the padding within the yellow panties to me with a raised eyebrow and a hint of concern which I quickly put at ease by telling her about my secret desires, leaving James’ part in their awakening out for simplicity’s sake and went back to kissing her. She asked her probing questions between flicks of our tongues, effortlessly walking me backward to her bed as we kissed and she asked questions while I tried to keep up with her and answer as best I could, finding my skirt around my ankles and my blouse rising above my head and off of me entirely just before the backs of my knees hit the end of the bed and I fell back onto the mattress to look up at her in just my diaper and plastic panties.” My fingers were absently rubbing the seam of denim between my legs as I read, my breathing coming out in excited little puffs as I imagined myself in my mother’s place, exposed and at the mercy of the woman I loved waiting for her to speak on my attire and desires with hopes that she’d not merely accept me for who I was and what I was wearing, but would join me in my naughty game. “She stood there between my splayed legs for what seemed like an eternity, running her fingers lightly up my legs until she reached the plastic panties, her fingers pulling the elastic bands around my thighs away from my skin, the relief of the biting tightness making me actually sigh from the newly found comfort, her fingers probed the padding beneath and a small pout formed on her kissable lips. She asked me why I was dry when I should be soaked just from seeing her, and I felt my cheeks flush as I had to explain that I’d just changed before I came to see her, to which she responded by going to get a chair to place where she’d been standing so she could sit and wait for me to wet my diaper for her.” I set the pages down on the couch and got up and started pacing, my mind having a sudden dilemma regarding whether it was or wasn’t alright to be aroused by what I was reading, regardless of whether or not I was projecting myself into the narrative in place of my mother. I went back to the couch and picked the pages back up, giving my brain a silent warning to mind its own business before I continued reading. “Lisa had always been the more dominant one in our relationship, she commanded my body when we were intimate and taught me how to properly satisfy her before rewarding me with my own release once she was finished, but being on her bed in my diaper and plastic panties while she urged me to wet myself for her, using words like ‘baby’ and ‘sweetie’ pushed me further into the role I was exploring for myself. I’d started with a desire to wear and wet the diapers as I’d done for James, but there was this nattering little voice in the back of my mind that kept pointing out that diapers were for babies, not for me to achieve sexual pleasure from, but Lisa was driving me to understand that those things weren’t mutually exclusive, I could play the baby and derive sexual pleasure from all of this and I knew in my heart that she was going to be the one to teach me how to find that balance, to marry the two together in such a way that everything felt right.” The dryer went off and brought me out of the deviant trance I’d found myself in reading my mother’s journal pages, setting them down on the couch, I went and retrieved my bedding from the dryer and diligently made my bed before returning to the couch to continue the story that was unfolding. “When it became apparent that I wasn’t going to wet for her any time soon, Lisa got up from her chair and strode to the head of the bed, her dress slipping off her shoulders, cascading off her body like water as she climbed onto the bed and beckoned me to her. I rolled over and crawled to her, my plastic panties crackling with each movement and lay where she told me to, my cheeks flushing as I complied and found myself facing her bare breast as I lay against her thigh, her arm supporting my back to keep me laying where she wanted me as she spoke to me. The words that she said and the tone she used were the final trigger I needed to unlock the side of me that had been so frustratingly illusive, the side that needed her diapers, that needed a Mommy to look after her, that needed to have a breast in her mouth to allow herself to comply with her Mommy’s wishes and wet her diaper like a good baby should. I became Lisa’s baby girl, not with any effort on my part, but merely with what came naturally from a baby, giving in to base desires.” My head was swimming as I unbuttoned my jeans and shamelessly plunged my hand down inside, the amount of wetness in my panties making me actually check to make sure I hadn’t peed myself. I was so confused by all of the things I was reading, all the hidden secrets my mother was sharing with me, but the most confusing aspect was why it was so arousing to me, why I was conducting myself like a horny teenager over decades old journal entries about my mother’s lesbian fetish games, but none of that hindered my ability to quickly, and loudly, bring myself to climax on the couch, in the living room of the house I grew up in. I slumped against the arm of the couch panting, my cheeks burning with shame and exhaustion as I slowly stood up on shaky legs and headed to the kitchen for liquid refreshment. I brought a bottle of water back to the couch and picked the journal pages back up as I sat down and gulped my water, noticing that the date on the page I’d come to was several months later than the previous one. “This trip was always meant to be an experience that I could look back on for the rest of my life as a defining moment for myself, the point when I left home a child and came back a woman, but in the two months I spent with Lisa, I became far younger than when I’d left. Lisa commanded obedience with love and tenderness, encouraging me every day to embrace my love of diapers and allow myself to regress as much as I wanted, reminding me that she was there to take care of me and love me no matter how much of a baby I was or wanted to be. I was her baby and she was my Mommy, and we both played our parts perfectly in our time together. The changes I experienced in myself were so incremental and gradual that I was barely aware that Lisa had doubled up my diapers for our trip to the Disney park she worked at until I found myself waddling awkwardly when she helped me off the bed to pull my plastic panties on and led me by the hand to the kitchen for breakfast. I knew by that point not to question Mommy, but inquisitive babies ask lots of questions and I asked her why my diapers were so big and she smiled the sweetest smile and kissed my forehead and asked me if I remembered the last time I’d used the toilet, and as I sat there thinking back over the days and weeks, all of it a blur of sex and infantile routine, absently nursing the bottle of milk she’d popped into my mouth, watching her packing a bag for our day together and completely forgetting what I’d been trying to remember as I wet my diaper and drank my bottle like a good baby.” I sat back in stunned silence, trying and failing to wrap my head around my mother, regardless of her youth and naivety, submitting herself to such behavior in general, but to the point that she’d gone months using nothing but her diapers instead of the toilet. Flashes of her standing up to teachers on my behalf when they questioned my ability to focus and pay attention in class, establishing herself as a strong woman that would fiercely defend her child without hesitation, the woman I was reading about was nothing like my mother and it baffled me how she could’ve come from where she was with Lisa to the woman I knew. “The Disney park was something else entirely!” The exclamation point made me smile, images of the young woman I’d already seen pictures of standing wide eyed, mouth agape in wonder, legs spread from her doubled up diaper peeking out beneath her skirt as she held her Mommy’s hand and tried to contain her excitement, the image was sweet and endearing and I found myself forgetting I was thinking about my mother and not an actual toddler. “Mommy got us on all the rides even though we had to wait a little bit on some of them, but some we got to go right on because Mommy worked there. We rode on a Dumbo ride that went round and round and up and down and I sat between her legs and she held onto me like a real baby and one of her friends took our picture together. We rode on a ride that was a boat that went all over the world and there were kids singing and dancing and everything was so pretty and real looking, there was a haunted house ride that we went on and she held my hand the whole time so I didn’t get scared, we went on a jungle boat and the tour guide was telling jokes and there were really real looking animals and headhunters and it was so much fun!” I thought about our own trip to Disney World when I was eight or nine and felt my eyes start to water when I remembered how happy my mom was on that trip, taking me on rides and telling me about when she was little and had ridden them the first time, the realization that “little” meant something completely different than her chronological age. Looking back on the trip, I did remember my mother seeming freer and more at ease at the park, the strong, independent woman that had planned the trip and arranged travel and accommodations for us stayed in the hotel room while a bubbly, happy and youthful woman enjoyed the park with me on more of a peer level than a maternal level, as much as she could while also keeping her responsibility to me in check. “By the end of the day I was really tired from all the walking and excitement, so Mommy found us a spot to sit and cuddled with me while we watched a parade of characters and dancers and then fireworks that we kissed under. I struggled all day with trying to be more adult for Lisa, to have a day together as a couple, but the weight of my damp diapers and the crinkling of my plastic panties, coupled with her maternal behavior, doting on me and talking to me about the things we were seeing and doing like I was her child left me at a loss on how to accomplish that, so by the time we shared our romantic kiss beneath the fireworks, I was simply in too little a mindset to keep up with her and merely allowed her to do all the heavy lifting with the romantic gesture.” Our trip to Disney World had ended with me throwing a tantrum about having to leave, my mother warning me that if I didn’t act my age and walk with her that she’d get a stroller for me to ride in, and then I’d wet my pants on the bus to our hotel and thrown another tantrum, but my mom handled it with ease and calmed me down and covered my pants with a sweatshirt and gave me a bath when we got back to the hotel room and cuddled me until I fell asleep. The memory made me cry once more, the gaping hole she’d left in my life and heart tearing wide open once more. “Lisa woke me up the next morning and changed me into a fresh diaper before she told me it was time for me to go. The abruptness of it all left me speechless, allowing her to, once again, do the heavy lifting. She kept repeating that she loved me, clarifying that she was in love with me, but that she wasn’t ready to be a mother and that her treatment of me over our time together was doing me more harm than good. She consoled me when I started crying, but remained firm on her stance that the kind of relationship we’d had in high school wasn’t the kind we had or that I needed now. When I tried to argue she asked me how many of my wet and stinky diapers I thought she’d changed by now, and I couldn’t answer, she smiled that smile again and kissed my forehead and told me that it was enough that she could officially be considered more of a parent or caretaker than a girlfriend. There was no malice or resentment in her tone or demeanor, she was still every bit the loving woman that cared deeply for me, but she’d reached her limit and needed me to move on. I pleaded with her, telling her that I’d stop wearing diapers and being a baby, but she smiled her smile and told me that we both knew I couldn’t promise that. We took one last picture together once she’d calmed me down and I left with an empty, aching space in my heart that I never thought would heal.” I set the last page down and allowed myself to take an emotional breakdown break, my already depressed mood skyrocketing out of control at the loss of Lisa for my mother. They were so happy and in love, but Lisa had noped out on my mom because she’d become an inconvenience when Lisa had done everything in her power to make my mom exactly what she claimed she didn’t want in her life, a baby. I resented Lisa, my heart hurting for my young mother as she tried to navigate a new chapter in her life only to suffer a devastating loss at the hands of the woman she loved and depended on the most. I resentfully picked up the stack of photos, hating how beautiful Lisa was in her rose patterned dress, her tall, lithe, frame standing in the open doorway, her perfect mouth smiling widely at my mother behind the camera, her eyes holding true love in them at the sight of her long lost lover come back to her. The next picture was the two of them kissing in front of a large oval mirror, the much taller Lisa holding the camera above them, the sole bit of clothing between the pair of them being my mother’s diapers and plastic panties, her smaller stature making her rise on her tip toes to reach Lisa’s lips, the slight curve of their smile’s just barely visible, making me believe that they both enjoyed a good laugh once the photo was taken. The next photo was my mother and Lisa outside of Disney World, the black and white medium didn’t allow me to learn much more of my mother’s outfit, but, as I’d envisioned, her skirt failed to entirely cover her infantile undergarments, but her smile was something to behold. Lisa was kneeling beside her to put them on the same level, and my mother’s smile was nothing short of pure elation. Both of them were dressed modestly in blouses and skirts, but where my mother’s peeking diaper and smaller height made her look every bit the child of the pair, her hair done up in pigtails with ribbons holding them in place, Lisa, with what was obviously doubling as a diaper bag for the outing slung over her shoulder, looked every bit the proud mother taking her baby to Disney for the first time. She was smiling just as broadly as my mother, but there was something else there, a preoccupation that I’d seen on my mother’s face when we went to Disney, she was present for the moment and happy to be there with her daughter, but behind her eyes were costs of the things we were doing and a never ending checklist of my needs and wants that had to be carefully balanced to avoid either neglecting or spoiling me. I scoffed at Lisa, hating her for lying to my mother about not wanting to be a mother when she was clearly already so good at the role that she’d mastered the art of being happy while worrying about the important things. My mother and Lisa on the Dumbo ride cemented my belief, Lisa’s arms around my mother’s middle as my mother’s arms jutted up into the air, an obvious scream or squeal of delight erupting from her wide open mouth while Lisa smiled the same happy but preoccupied smile as before, and then I realized why she was preoccupied, she was calculating and planning how to break my mother’s heart, giving her the happiest and most fulfilling day she possibly could so that when she kicked her to the curb the next day the blow wouldn’t be as devastating. My face softened, Lisa truly did love my mother, so much so that she gave her the quintessential Mommy/baby day despite her feelings just so my mother had a happier memory to focus on when she thought back on her time with her. The final picture was the two of them on the bed, fake smiles hiding hurt and resentment on both their faces. Lisa wasn’t happy to be sending my mother away, it was obvious by the look in her eyes that she’d done the legwork to try and cobble together something that would make the both of them happy and come up short while my mother smiled despite losing both the woman she loved and the Mommy she’d come to find she needed and wanted. Emotionally and physically drained, I got off the couch and trudged to my room, stripping out of my clothes and burrowing beneath the fresh covers as my thoughts swirled with heartbreak and sorrow for my mother and for Lisa, a glimmer of hope that maybe somewhere else in the box was a reconciliation and a reunion. I yawned softly and snuggled down into a cozy ball, ignoring the twinge of my bladder reminding me to visit the toilet before I went to sleep, ensuring that another round of laundry would be required once I woke up. To Be Continued... 6 1 3 Link to comment
zamm21 Posted April 8, 2022 Share Posted April 8, 2022 Holy cow is this an awesome story. I've got all the feels! Thank you! Link to comment
kerry Posted April 8, 2022 Share Posted April 8, 2022 I find myself wondering whether Lisa might turn up in the present as well as the past... Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted April 8, 2022 Author Share Posted April 8, 2022 8 hours ago, zamm21 said: Holy cow is this an awesome story. I've got all the feels! Thank you! Really glad you like it! Thanks for reading and taking the time to let me know what you think, it means a lot! 1 hour ago, kerry said: I find myself wondering whether Lisa might turn up in the present as well as the past... Nah...or maybe yah...I guess we'll find out together! Thanks for reading and sharing your thoughts! Link to comment
YourFNF Posted April 9, 2022 Share Posted April 9, 2022 Oooff.... I've had a relationship end under different but related circumstances. Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted April 9, 2022 Author Share Posted April 9, 2022 1 hour ago, YourFNF said: Oooff.... I've had a relationship end under different but related circumstances. I'd be surprised if there weren't a lot of people within this community that didn't have relationships that ended in some part due to this lifestyle, I mean, I didn't just make all of this up, I drew on personal experience myself. Regardless, it sucks no matter what and I'm sorry if you experienced any bad feelings from reading but I do appreciate that you read my story. Link to comment
YourFNF Posted April 10, 2022 Share Posted April 10, 2022 22 hours ago, TheUnknownAuthor said: Regardless, it sucks no matter what and I'm sorry if you experienced any bad feelings from reading but I do appreciate that you read my story. Thank you ?Although it was more both of us weren't in great places in our lives at the time. Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted April 15, 2022 Author Share Posted April 15, 2022 (edited) On 4/10/2022 at 9:43 AM, YourFNF said: Thank you ?Although it was more both of us weren't in great places in our lives at the time. There's many reasons why things don't work out, and while the not working out is obviously not great and you have my sympathy, a mutual understanding and agreement is one of the better outcomes. I was never a subscriber to "There's plenty of fish in the sea", I'm more of a "Everyone has someone meant for them, you just have to be lucky enough to meet them" kind of person,though that might be problematic when looking at the world as a whole and whether or not fate allows you to actually meet, but let's go the hopeless romantic way of thinking and choose to believe that the stars will align and bring that someone to you or you to them at some point IF that hasn't already happened for you which is absolutely none of my business and I need to shut up now and post this story before I look even stupider than I probably already do. Just because this chapter is shorter doesn't mean it isn't important. Madeline isn't the main character of the story, her mother is, hence the 'interlude', but that doesn't mean that Madeline doesn't have a journey of her own to make. I hope you enjoy and if you do let me know and if you don't let me know. III “Interlude: Like Mother, Like Daughter” My dreams were vivid, my mother’s journal unlocking the thing she saw in me apparently. In my dream I had wet the bed, pushing the covers off of myself to examine the damage, the sight of my soaked pajamas and sheets making my cheeks flush with embarrassment while the pleasurable hum between my thighs began to build, my thumb finding its way into my mouth as the bedroom door opened and she walked in. If Lisa had been my mother’s secret love and chosen caregiver, then Florence was who my brain had selected for that role for me. She’d been a year older than me, but had stayed back a grade, rumors ran rampant as to the reasoning for it, but I’d been privileged enough to learn the real reason from the girl herself. We had two classes together and had grown close after being paired up for a History project. She was tall and gorgeous, her strawberry blonde hair always smelling like a fruity drink of the same flavor as her hair’s namesake. She had a light dusting of freckles on her cheeks and the bridge of her nose that, for some reason, drove me absolutely wild. I didn’t know what love was in high school, any more than I knew what being bi or gay was supposed to feel like, I just knew that being around her was intoxicating and being paired up with her meant that I got to spend two glorious weeks with her outside of a school setting. Florence lived with her grandparents because her father had killed her mother and then himself one night while she was visiting said grandparents. She hadn’t handled the news well, not that there is a “good” way to handle such an overwhelmingly devastating situation, and had spent the better part of a year in a hospital for emotionally disturbed kids. She didn’t lead with this story, it came in time, hesitant half sentences that died off in her throat after we’d spent some days working together. True friendship had begun to blossom in a short time though, and she’d opened up after inviting me to stay for dinner one night halfway through our project. Her grandparents had an old swingset out back of their house that we’d ended up sitting on after dinner, and she’d stared at the ground and her feet before she eventually dropped the bombshell on me, leading with “You know, you’re my only friend, right?”, something that I hadn’t been consciously aware of but had felt a flutter of elation in my stomach at hearing. After she’d told me as much as she was comfortable sharing, which was a lot by my estimation, she’d looked up at me, her tear filled eyes seeming to glitter in the moonlight and had gotten up from her swing and come to me and kissed me. I’d never been kissed by that point, not romantically anyway, and nothing really prepares you for hearing the saddest, most heartbreaking story you can imagine regarding someone you care about followed immediately by said person sharing an intimate kiss with you. I wanted to kiss back but didn’t know how, wanted to share her passion but was still reeling from the story, so I passively allowed her to kiss me and what part of my brain wasn’t sobbing in a corner from the story was melting with happiness that Florence, the loveliest girl I’d ever met was kissing me. Needless to say, after that we were inseparable. We completed our project and got an A on it and continued to spend copious amounts of time together without being mandated to by a teacher. Our relationship bloomed into something more akin to dating than I realized, I’d had her over for dinner and she’d had me over for dinner, but, like a pair of Cinderella’s needing to get home before our coaches turned back into pumpkins, we never had sleepovers like normal teenage girls did in the magazines I’d seen at the grocery store with quizzes and games for girls to play in their pajamas included inside. One night, holding hands and talking on a blanket she’d spread out on a hill just outside of town, looking up at the stars, she told me that she loved me, squeezing my hand gently as she rolled onto her side and kissed me. I’d gained much practice in short order and kissed her back with the same passion and desire that she had for me, and then my hands began to move to her pants and everything stopped. She blurted the confession out so quickly that my brain took more than a moment to process it, Florence, the most beautiful girl I’d ever known and my girlfriend, had only uttered four words, but decoding them took the same amount of thought as deciphering hieroglyphics would. “I wet the bed.” she’d said, her hand on my wrist to stop me from undoing the button on her jeans, her warm hands on my cool skin sending shivers of pleasure up my spine. My brain and my mouth conspired against me and allowed, “So do I.” to escape my lips as our eyes searched one another for some kind of indication of a lie or malicious intent, finding none, we kissed deeper and more passionately than we ever had and consummated our relationship in front of billions of twinkling lights in the night sky. The following morning, we’d woken up snuggled together beneath the blanket, sticky with sweat from the previous night’s activity as well as the heat, and thoroughly soaked with the previously mentioned nighttime release from both of us, but there was no shame or embarrassment for either of us. I mewled happily and kissed her freckled chest and then her lips, the taste of myself still on them from the night before, and we just lay together in love, both aware that we stank of piss and sex but neither of us deterred by it enough to stop holding one another beneath the blanket. So it was, that dream Florence strode into my dream bedroom, her sheer nightgown showing off enough of her body to intensify the hum between my thighs, and looked down at me with a pitying pout on her kissable lips. “Mommy knew she should’ve put you into a diaper last night.” she’d remarked as she knelt down, arms folded on the bed as she rested her chin on them to smile at me. “Are you ever going to stop being a baby?” she asked me lovingly, her hand extending to gently caress my cheek as I continued to suck my thumb. My dream self shook her head and let a little more pee out to prove her point before the scene shifted to me looking up at her from her lap, cradled in her arms as she held a bottle to my lips and rocked me, the thick diaper I was now wearing crinkling softly with each movement. My thoughts in my dream were nothing loftier than my love for her and the feeling of being safe in her arms and in my diaper as I nursed the bottle and stared up at her adoringly, the light from the open living room window bathing her in light and making her look like an angel. “Mommy loves you, Maddy.” she whispered softly as she smiled down at me. My eyes opened slowly, the light streaming through my bedroom window making me squint as I sighed contentedly and slipped my thumb from my mouth with a warmth rising in my cheeks, my movement in the bed making me aware that I was once again soaked. I felt a naughty thrill at having wet the bed, the memory of my dream still fresh in my mind as I gently rubbed myself through my wet pajamas before slipping my hand down the front of them to properly satisfy my urges, bringing myself quickly to climax with thoughts of being Florence’s baby while I stifled my moans and panting by returning my thumb to my mouth and sucking it feverishly as though it were a part of her in my mouth rather than a part of me. After a shower and getting the bedding into the washing machine, I settled onto the couch and checked the status of my order, a giddy giggle escaping me at the prospect of one day separating me from indulging in my newly awakened fetish. I looked at my texts after that and felt a pang of guilt that nearly six months had gone by since Florence and I had talked, the last exchange being about a restaurant she’d tried she thought I might like. We’d kept in touch after high school, our romantic relationship fizzling out when she’d gone off to college far from where I’d gone off to college, and life and time dictated that we were still friends but not nearly as close as we had been. We’d check in every once in a while via text or email and update one another on our lives, she was a vet now in Boulder, still gay but not attached to anyone, at least no one she chose to disclose to me. I was less gay but also single, a string of loser boyfriends and halfhearted attempts at girlfriends who were nowhere near as pretty or fulfilling as Florence keeping me happy without attachment to any one person. I wrote and deleted and rewrote and redeleted many opening messages to her for the better part of an hour while my sheets and pajamas washed, wanting to avoid talking about my mom dying for obvious reasons, but wanting to talk to someone I felt might have some kind of understanding about the things I was learning about myself. I’d finally settled on “Hi, how are you?” because I guess I subconsciously wanted her to feel like I saw her as a distant Aunt I hadn’t seen since a dozen Christmases ago rather than the love of my life and went about my day not expecting a reply any time soon. “I was just thinking about you.” came the reply a few minutes later. My heart fluttered, she’d been thinking about me the same day I’d been dreaming about her? “Good thoughts, I hope.” I’d replied. “Always. ” she’d quickly sent. My phone began to buzz with the alert that she was calling me and I suddenly found myself breaking out in a cold sweat of nervousness and childish anxiety as I accepted the call. “So, on a scale of one to ten, where would you put being day drunk and wearing a diaper for when you eventually pass out on the pathetic meter?” she asked without saying so much as ‘hello’, her words a bit slurred as if to confirm her claims of being day drunk. My cheeks flushed. She was wearing a diaper and thinking of me? I felt like I was still dreaming. “Well, where would washing your bedding for the second day in a row because you stupidly removed the plastic sheet from your childhood bed fall?” I asked, worrying about oversharing despite her doing so first. “Your back home?” she asked. “Yeah.” I said. “My mom passed few months ago and I’ve been living here while I sort things out and pack everything up.” I told her. She was silent for a moment. “Shit, Mads, I’m sorry.” she finally said. “I really loved your mom, she was great, still sent me Christmas cards up until last year.” she said, a nervous chuckle following. “I guess asking how you’re doing is a dumb question.” she added. I shrugged. “It’s gotten easier to be here.” I said. “So, day drinking in a diaper, huh?” I asked, “I guess asking how you’re doing is equally dumb.” I added. She sighed. “I’m fine.” she said, a smile on her tone. “Sometimes I just need to unwind after a hard work week.” she explained. “Are you still a vet?” I asked. “Yeah, I’ve got my own clinic now and things are going really well.” she said. “Alcoholism is just one of the lovely parting gifts I got from my dad.” she added with another nervous chuckle. My mouth was dry as I saw my opening and recklessly pounced on it, “Well, I’m finding out that I inherited my mother’s diaper fetish if that makes you feel any better.” I said, the words effortlessly tumbling from my mouth as though I was relaying the weather to her. Silence. “That was an overshare, I’m sorry.” I stammered uncomfortably after checking my phone to make sure the call hadn’t disconnected. “No!” she practically yelled. “Sorry.” she calmly apologized, “I didn’t mean to yell, I was just-” she hesitated, “trying to unpack that information while trying and failing not to imagine you or your mom in diapers.” she admitted. For the next hour I told her about the box and the journal pages and the photos and the fact that my mother had guessed I’d had the same feelings she did and how I’d found myself thinking more and more about diapers, even confessing to ordering some. “Are they cute?” she asked when I told her I’d ordered the diapers. I copied the picture from the order page and sent it to her. She giggled drunkenly, “Hang on.” she said and the phone filled with rustling and movement sounds and then a picture of her came through and my head nearly exploded when I saw her in a very wet diaper, the pastel pink and blue elephants fading in the front where she’d peed and the biggest grin plastered across her face. “In case you were feeling exposed or embarrassed.” she slurred, giggling again. I told her about my dream without realizing the words were coming out of my mouth and she giggled again. “Why, Maddy, are you still carrying a torch for me after all these years?” she asked. I blushed. “You’re not the easiest person to get out of your mind.” I told her. “Especially now.” I teased. She sighed. “Listen, I’m too drunk to know what I’m saying and doing right now, but if you’re going to be at your mom’s for a while, I can take off work for a few days and come help you, maybe teach you how to put a diaper on while I’m at it.” she said. “I’d like that.” I told her. Her voice smiled, “Mommy Florence will see you soon then, baby Maddy.” she said before making sloppy kissing noises and sleepily saying goodbye. In all my years I’d never properly swooned until the moment I set that phone down after opening up to Florence and having her open up to me. I felt every kiss and every passionate physical encounter, every loving glance and gentle brushing of hair from my eyes as she stared into them and I melted where I sat and felt the warm wetness trickling into my shorts as I wet myself, watching the liquid flow out of me in little burbles as I chewed my bottom lip and sighed contentedly, not caring that the couch needed to be cleaned or that I’d made more laundry for myself, just happy that I’d allowed myself to vocalize my thoughts and feelings and desires to someone I loved and she not only accepted me but shared, at least on some level, my feelings and desires herself. “Mommy Florence and baby Maddy.” I thought dreamily as I pressed my fingers to the wet fabric above my sex, “That sounds so right.” I thought as my fingers began doing their job and my thumb once again made its way into my mouth, the thought that I was so much like my mother as I closed my eyes and pleasured myself made me feel closer to her than I had for a while and filled me with a new feeling of happiness and satisfaction. To Be Continued... Edited April 16, 2022 by TheUnknownAuthor I'm dumb 11 Link to comment
kerry Posted April 15, 2022 Share Posted April 15, 2022 2 hours ago, TheUnknownAuthor said: then a picture of her came through and my head nearly exploded when the picture she sent came through of her in a very wet diaper came through Maybe this needs a tiny bit of editing? ? I really am enjoying this story! 1 Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted April 16, 2022 Author Share Posted April 16, 2022 4 hours ago, kerry said: Maybe this needs a tiny bit of editing? ? I really am enjoying this story! D'oh! Good catch, thank you so much, glad you're still enjoying it! Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted April 21, 2022 Author Share Posted April 21, 2022 IV “Various/Anonymous, New York, NY & Home” I was quickly learning that having an interest in wearing and using diapers is almost no fun when you don’t have diapers. Wetting the bed was one thing, I couldn’t control that, but as I scrubbed the wet spot I’d made on the couch and the carpet below, I chastised myself for not waiting until I had diapers to do something like wet myself. I’d opened the nearby window to vent the smell and scrubbed the cloth of the couch until I was confident I’d gotten the brunt of it clean, then did the same for the rug before the discomfort of wet pants made me strip out of my wet bottoms to throw them into the wash before I went for another shower. The cleaning fumes in the living room kept me from hanging out there after my shower so I grabbed my mother’s box and took it to my room and went and got my clean bedding from the drier to make my bed before I settled in to read another of her envelopes. My curiosity was piqued at the heading and the lack of a date, the breaking of the running theme to that point made me wonder what this envelope had in store for me as I opened it and set the photos aside to read the journal pages. “Ten minutes after I left Lisa’s house I stopped in a parking lot and threw all the diapers and plastic panties in the van into a dumpster. I must’ve looked insane, sobbing uncontrollably and screaming obscenities at stacks of cloth diapers as the sailed into the dumpster. If no one thought I was insane for that, then me hiking my dress up to remove the soaked diaper and plastic panties I was wearing to throw that away had to have done the trick. Sufficiently purged of the things I’d chosen to unload my rage and pain on instead of Lisa, I got back in the van and set out to get out of Florida and never return.” My phone dinged and I picked it up and actually squealed excitedly when I saw that my order would arrive at some point that day. “No more wet clothes and bed for this girl!” I thought to myself, realizing with a blush just how silly I sounded being excited to have diapers coming in the mail. I pushed that self consciousness out of my head and set my phone back down to resume reading the journal pages. “By the time I reached New York the van was positively rank with the smell of the accidents I’d had along the way. I kicked myself for throwing out the diapers, the awful discomfort of a developing rash on my butt and private area from sitting on a wet seat for hours on end. I’d thankfully been able to stop for the other need, otherwise I probably would’ve had to cut my trip short because I’d set fire to my van to destroy the evidence.” I tried to imagine being in my mother’s position, having grown so accustomed to wearing and using diapers that not having them ensured disaster for wherever you happened to sit for any length of time, and once again I was struck with such an odd sense of feeling like the woman I’d grown up “knowing” truly was a stranger in so many ways. I’d never in a million years have guessed that the woman that I’d spent my entire time growing up with, the over packer and over preparer was, at one point in her life, in a situation where she developed a rash because she’d had to drive in a piss soaked seat across the country because she’d thrown out all of her diapers. “The hotel I was staying in was alarmingly gross, roaches ran when I flipped on the lights, rats scratched and gnawed within the walls, a man in the hallway that smelled embarrassingly similar to myself had yelled a string of obscenities at the wall he was facing and made me not just jump in surprise when he did so, but sent a small trail of wetness cascading down my thighs in response. So, with all of these setbacks in mind, it’s little wonder that I spent the better part of my first two days in the city in bed crying in a fetal position, moving to the dingy bathtub when I’d accidentally soiled the mattress when nearby gunshots rang out in the night.” I felt like crying for the state my mother found herself in, down on her luck in every conceivable way, unclean, alone and frightened in a huge city with no one and nothing to pull her back from the brink of depression and anxiety. Reminding myself that she ended up fine, a mother to an amazing daughter, owner of her own home, a successful adult by all accounts helped, but it was rough reading about how hard she’d had to struggle at such a young age. “I reinvented myself in New York, I became ‘Clara’, a young woman with her life together and the confidence to walk the streets of the big city unaccompanied as she took photographs for the successful magazine she worked at, but never at night, I’m not suicidal.” I smiled at this news, my mother turning things around for herself, getting out of her funk and on with her life to make the best of her time in New York. “When you hold up a camera to take a photograph of someone, you have a chance of them stopping whatever photo worthy thing they were doing when they noticed you, acknowledging the camera and smiling or waving or showing a peace sign, or telling you rudely not to take their photo, but New York seemed to be a city full of people so busy and focused on their day to day lives that I was free to catch more candid photos of people doing things than I had been in California or Florida. ‘Clara’ never asked for people’s names when she talked to them, that wasn’t her style, she was interested in the story the picture told, not the story the person would spin when asked about what they were doing or thinking or why. The old man playing chess in the park with another old man wouldn’t like to be asked about the numbers tattooed on the inside of his forearm or his relation to the man he was playing with, he just wanted to play chess and share a laugh with another person. The woman hanging her wet clothes on the line connecting one building to another high above the alleyway didn’t want to have her dirty laundry aired while she aired her clean laundry, she was more concerned with the lack of progress she’d been able to make on the coveralls stained with grease and finding out from her neighbor across the line whether the casserole recipe she’d shared had turned out or not. No one paid ‘Clara’ any mind as they bustled down the sidewalks and passed by her, the only time people acknowledged her was when she was ordering food from them or hurrying to the bathroom to avoid an accident, which were happening much less frequently since she’d stopped dwelling on Lisa and her discarded diapers. Moving on from those things and focusing on the people and places around her brought a calm to ‘Clara’ that put her back on track on her adventure.” I was so proud of my mother for everything she’d endured, proud of her for rising above all of it and focusing on her mission of taking pictures and seeing the sights her country had to offer. “By the time I left New York I’d replaced the sadness of losing Lisa and my diapers with the loss of the city I’d come to love in a short time. I loved the way that people moved down the sidewalk so quickly but never touched one another, I loved that the wind carried scents that came in waves, changing from delicious food to sweat to garbage, back to food to urine and back to food, the bad smells not lingering long enough to make you disgusted and the good smells disappearing just in time for your stomach to grumble about wanting whatever food had just been identified. I loved that people were rude when people acted stupid but were polite through silence when everything was running smoothly, I loved that a train ride became theater when a man with a bird perched on his shoulder got the creature to speak and thanked people when a coin was dropped into his tin cup. Growing up in a suburban sprawl of cookie cutter houses that tried so hard to capture what the fantasy of the “American Dream” was by erecting picket fences and keeping the neighborhood as devoid of anyone darker than said fences out as possible meant that I never got to hear arguments in foreign languages, never got to see kids of every race playing in the water gushing from a hydrant on a hot afternoon, the rainbow in the mist of the spray perfectly mirroring the rainbow of races enjoying the refreshing water and onlookers from stoops and storefronts smiling rather than pulling their child away from the different looking kids. A part of me resented being white when seeing these people working their hard jobs and struggling to scratch out a living while I knew that my mother was probably playing bridge with her WASPy friends and having too much wine and my father was golfing somewhere that would call the police if anyone resembling the people I’d seen came within a hundred feet of the country club.” I sighed at my mother’s stance, sad that in all the time since she’d experienced these things, very little had changed with regards to inequity regarding race and equality for all peoples. She was having her mindset changed through experience while passing that belief structure on to me as I grew up, doing what little she could to make a difference by not being part of perpetuating the problem. Again, I was proud of my mother and wished that I’d seen more of the side of her I was learning about when I was old enough to appreciate it. “Back at home I developed my pictures, leaving the ones from Florida for last and prepared to start school. I continued taking pictures, but found the passion sapped from me surrounded by nothing but college students from the same wealth bracket, that is until I met Kevin.” I perked up. “Kevin grew up in what was commonly referred to as “the wrong side of the tracks”, which is to say that Kevin’s parents both worked hard to support their three kids and had managed to be able to send Kevin to college to ensure that he went further in his life than they had. He was smart and funny and tall, his height triggering my inner child once more when we met and I had to crane my neck to look up at him. We had a photography class together and had to share our portfolio’s with the class on the first day, his photos were amazing, an old train going by as three little kids, the oldest in a t-shirt that went down to his shins, the middle jumping excitedly showing his bare feet sticking out of the bottoms of the legs of his torn jeans, and the youngest in a drooping diaper mid fall onto their butt as the middle child they’d been holding onto betrayed their trust by jumping suddenly, excitedly cheered the train on for no reason other than it was a big noisy train that was cool to be so close to. There was an old, blind, black man sitting on a porch with an equally old dog laying asleep beside the rocking chair, the mason jar of foggy liquid, most likely lemonade, sweating on the knotty wooden table beside him as he was in mid laugh. The way Kevin captured innocuous things and presented them as both seemingly supremely important and also beautiful was what drew me to him, that and he really was just amazingly pleasant to listen to and look at.” I’d taken a break from reading my mother’s journal to put my shorts and panties into the drier and to check the front door for the package that had arrived, finding a large box sitting beside the door that I dragged inside and opened excitedly like Christmas morning was happening. Babyish diapers in my size? Check. Bottles? Check. Pacifiers? Check. Wipes and powder? Check and check. I secreted the box to my room and wasted no time in changing into my new acquisition, the feeling of the thick padding hugging my body sending my fingers to the crinkly center of the front of my diaper almost as soon as the last tape was secured. I stopped myself long enough to open the pack of pacifiers and slip one into my mouth before I went to work on myself, christening my new diaper with a gush of pure bliss before sullying it with a full bladder’s worth of pee, leaving my nether regions floating for a moment before everything was soaked up and my once white diaper was now splotched with deep yellow. “After class we talked, sharing our mutual respect and appreciation for one another’s pictures, the conversation moved from the hall outside the classroom to the library, the topic changing to my travels and his family, then from the library to a diner a few miles away that he drove us to, the conversation shifting to our relationship statuses, and then to us in the backseat of his car, the conversation devolving into little more than grunts and moans. Life became more normal with Kevin as my boyfriend, sure, he wasn’t satisfying my inner child as Lisa had, but he wasn’t hurting her either. He’d do little things that meant nothing to him but made me feel small and looked after, like letting me wear his jacket when the wind got chilly, the size difference between us making me look like a little girl wearing her daddy’s jacket, he’d let me ride on his back when it was getting late and we’d been walking all day, he’d hold me after sex and make me feel like I was safe in the strength of his arms. I grew comfortable being in a relationship devoid of anything weirder than anal sex, the feeling that I’d been so silly to pin all my hopes and dreams on a Mommy/baby relationship with Lisa that I lost sight of the normal things we could and should’ve been doing as a couple made me feel badly for how selfish I’d been with Lisa and a reminder to sit down and write her a letter to let her know how sorry I was for losing sight of how important she was to me in favor of focusing on what she could do for me.” I slipped off into a nap shortly after my fifth orgasm in my heavy, sodden diaper, the pacifier in my mouth working slowly and rhythmically between my lips as my eyes closed and sleep overtook me. ********* I dreamed of Florence again, though she wasn’t in charge anymore, but rather was with me in the overly large playpen in the living room. We were both topless, our bulky diapers on full display as she lay on her back with a soft toy in her mouth, squeaking it as she chewed on it and kicked her legs lazily in the air while I watched her without trying to seem like I was watching her as I pretended to build a block tower. My mother came up to the side of the playpen and smiled down at me, her towering height bringing a dribble of wetness into my diaper as I looked up and up and up until I finally found her face. “Go play with her, Maddy.” she urged in an ethereal and distant sounding voice. I nodded and crawled to Florence, clumsily losing my stride and falling flat on my face right in the warm, wet padding of her diapered crotch. My phone ringing woke me up and I answered the phone groggily with what might’ve been words. “Shit, I woke you, didn’t I?” Florence asked. I mumbled something I thought could be construed as words assuring her things were fine. “Riiight.” she said, drawing the word out as though she didn’t believe my incoherent burbling was normal and not because I’d just been having another dream about her after cumming my brains out into my wet diaper. “Well, I’ll text you in case you don’t remember this conversation, but I won’t be able to come out there for another week, there’s a dog show coming to town and I’m going to be crazy busy with people doing check ups on their dogs.” she explained. “S’fine.” I mumbled. Her smile was on her voice. “Go back to sleep, baby, I’ll talk to you soon.” she said. “Love you.” she added. I smiled and felt my heart skip a beat at the knowledge that she still loved me, even just as friends, though I sincerely hoped if she was planning on coming all the way out to see me she was at least somewhat interested in rekindling our romance. Sleep kicked me in the head hard and forced me back to sleep, my dreams evaporated and only deeply replenishing rest remaining. ********* When I woke up I was elated to find the bed bone dry and even more elated to find my diaper soaked but not leaking. I changed into a fresh one and made myself some coffee before diving back into my mother’s odyssey. “Much like with Lisa, there was a moment where I actually felt content that this could be the person I spent the rest of my life with, Kevin had fulfilled me as Lisa had without me wearing diapers or playing baby and that meant that we were together because of the people we were and not because of something that turned us on. When he broke up with me because he’d gotten another girl pregnant I felt every disappointment and betrayal I had with Lisa magnified a hundred fold because his cheating on me had gone unnoticed to the point that he’d formed a strong enough relationship with another woman to want to marry her and raise their child together while making me feel like I was the only person woman in his life.” I sighed heavily at another setback in my mother’s happiness, the happiness I’d felt for her bouncing back from Lisa deflating as she had to deal with not just losing another love but also being cheated on which I knew from experience hurt just as much if not more than being dumped. “By the time school ended for the year, I was moping around the house with nothing to do and no one to do it with, spending most days in bed feeling sorry for myself. I started slipping back into the bad habits of my youth that Summer, returning to arguing with my mother like I’d done in middle and high school, sleeping the day away and sneaking out at night to drink and smoke pot with the kids from high school that hadn’t gone to college. I started intentionally wetting the bed in an attempt to get back to the diapers that made me feel safe and secure, but all I got was lectures about ruining the mattress and a plastic sheet and my mother and father limiting my fluid intake before bed. Faced with the reality that wetting the bed wasn’t cutting the mustard, I started wetting myself during the day, ruining a couch and two chairs before my mother finally relented and had my father bring home toweling diapers and plastic pants from the drugstore. So it was that my second infancy beneath my parent’s roof began, my days of sleeping replaced with playing on the floor of my room in my diaper, a swell of pride when my mother wanted there to be shame at the diapers and plastic pants hanging on the line to dry for the neighbors to see, I loved it and she hated it, taking every opportunity to make snide remarks and belittle me in an effort to bring me out of my infantile behavior and back to my normal age in time to return to college when school started back up. I never wavered and never gave in. When she pushed, I pushed back, when she unpinned my diaper and spanked me, thinking that a childish punishment would snap me out of the “game I was playing”, I wet myself on her lap, when she tried to publicly shame me by pushing me out of the house in nothing but my diaper and shirt, I squatted down and messed myself and forced myself to start crying as I wailed “Mommy” at the top of my lungs until she opened the door and let me back in with a look of disgust on her face. It shouldn’t have come as a surprise when they committed me, but it did.” My arm and jaw went slack as I finished the final page, searching the bed and envelope for more pages and groaning in frustration when none were found. Committed? I couldn’t believe that my mother had been committed for being an AB, or at all for that matter, she’d obviously never mentioned anything about it, though she’d also told me her parents had died before I was born and now I wondered if that was actually true and not just something she’d made up to keep the truth from me. I sighed and picked up her photos. The same thing she said she loved about Kevin’s work was just as true with hers, the lighting on the two men playing chess in the park made them look like statues in deep contemplation of a move that was forever waiting to be made. The woman hanging her laundry on the line above the alley looked forlorn in a way that only seeing an endless routine of washing and hanging clothes until the day you died unfulfilled and full of regret at the life you wasted. The kids playing in the hydrant were so happy despite all the signs of poverty around them, the smiling onlookers didn’t just seem to be smiling because it was heartwarming to see kids having fun and cooling off on a hot day, they seemed to be smiling because they remembered hot days being combated in the same way, they seemed to smile because for a moment they could focus on something pure and innocent while various ism’s and worldly concerns stalked their waking world. She had pictures of the overly tall and ridiculously good looking Kevin, pictures of the two of them together as a couple before he betrayed her and broke her heart. One in particular of her on his back, head rested against him hid the “inner child” she’d spoken about, the thing I knew to be her Little side, she was wearing his jacket and looked almost like a baby in a papoose on his bag all bundled up in the oversized garment, to the untrained eye they looked like a happy couple that had stopped to take a photo of something chivalrous being shared between them, but I could see the contentment in her tired eyes, the look of a young woman about to put her thumb in her mouth and drift of to sleep while Daddy carried her to bed on his strong back. The final picture was of my mother on the floor of her room in her diaper and plastic pants, a well worn looking doll clutched against her bare breast, the tan lines of bikini tops shielding the goods from the Summer sun stark white against the tanned rest of her body. There were wooden blocks littering the floor around her and her hair was a mess as though she’d literally tumbled out of bed and snapped a photo with no concern to her appearance given. The thing that struck me the most about the photo was the look on both her face and in her eyes, it was the exact same that I’d seen in her photo’s with Lisa, a pure innocence without a hint of shame or embarrassment. I sat back and wondered if she truly was just a baby at heart and allowing that to be her outer facade rather than laying dormant within made her so blissfully happy that it showed in her face and eyes without looking for it, or if she was just such a good actress that she could capture a baby’s innocence just by pretending. Whatever the case, I didn’t look forward to continuing her saga and learning that her parents had killed that part of her by putting her in a hospital. To Be Continued…. 10 1 Link to comment
Kaleros Posted April 22, 2022 Share Posted April 22, 2022 I have been following this story since the very beginning, and I have to say that you do a good job of capturing emotions. Also, I wonder what happens next. 1 Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted April 22, 2022 Author Share Posted April 22, 2022 20 minutes ago, Kaleros said: I have been following this story since the very beginning, and I have to say that you do a good job of capturing emotions. Also, I wonder what happens next. Thank you so much! I really appreciate you following my story and I'm super happy that you're enjoying it! I also wonder what happens next, hopefully something that keeps the enjoyment coming! Link to comment
kerry Posted April 26, 2022 Share Posted April 26, 2022 This story is unlike anything else I've ever read. It has the feel of a memoir-within-a-memoir even though it is fiction, and you are doing a great job with it. 1 Link to comment
aldl4811 Posted April 29, 2022 Share Posted April 29, 2022 @TheUnknownAuthor - I have read what feels like every story on DD for a long time. This is fantastic work and has me genuinely captivated and pulled into a wide variety of exploratory places in my own head. Thank you. 1 Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted May 4, 2022 Author Share Posted May 4, 2022 On 4/26/2022 at 2:38 PM, kerry said: This story is unlike anything else I've ever read. It has the feel of a memoir-within-a-memoir even though it is fiction, and you are doing a great job with it. I'm enjoying the absolute stuffing out of it, and I'm really happy that you are as well! On 4/29/2022 at 5:49 AM, aldl4811 said: @TheUnknownAuthor - I have read what feels like every story on DD for a long time. This is fantastic work and has me genuinely captivated and pulled into a wide variety of exploratory places in my own head. Thank you. You're quite welcome! I know what I want from this story and where I want it to go, but it's exciting to "fill in the blanks" as we go, like we're all going on this adventure with no real knowledge of the space between other than the basics of "mom was a great mom and is dead now". I really like learning about a character after they're gone because we don't get that chance often in life and it's rewarding for her daughter as much as us, I feel. As always, it's so wonderful to hear your guys' thoughts on the story and the fact that they're positive is great, thank you both so much for reading and taking the time to share your thoughts! So, I did something different for this chapter, just as a quality of life thing, I made the journal parts italic for ease of reading and I'd like to know if that's a good choice or not if you have time. If it is, I'll go back and change the rest of the story and if not I'll just change this chapter, but anyway, more story! V “The Long, Dark Years: Part One” “I remember going to camp for the Summer and having three months go by in the blink of an eye, the apprehension of the first year and whether I’d make friends or not, the eagerness to see the friends I’d made the previous year the following year, all of it a whirlwind of emotion that seemed to never be long enough. The hospital my parents committed me to was the opposite of that.” I winced inwardly, knowing that the title written on the envelope and the opening to the journal pages were preparing me to feel awful for my mother by the time I finished, but I took a deep breath, held it, and let it out again to join her on her journey to become the woman I knew, to see her blossom as she had with me when I was growing up, it was a weird experience mentally to see your parent navigating the pitfalls of youth and growing up, but she’d hooked me and I wasn’t about to give up on her when she was at her lowest. “I’ve thought a lot about whether I even want to write about my experience at the “Silver Birch Psychiatric Hospital”, a stupid name for a place with no Birch trees within a hundred miles, by the way, and I decided that if I have to live with the memory of the things I experienced in that place then I damn sure am going to make sure someone else knows about it, though that would require me to share these journals with someone else and I’m not sure I have that kind of strength, but I digress. I went along willingly with what I genuinely believed to be a charade my mother had cooked up to snap me out of the behavior I’d been exhibiting. She and my father had sat me down shortly after the messing incident on the porch and expressed their mutual concern for my mental state, I, still thinking this was part of mere disapproval, sucked my thumb and mostly ignored them in favor of my bare, wiggling toes which I giggled at as they droned on. Eventually, the talking stopped and we were leaving the house, I assumed my mother was planning another public shaming stunt, further from home to create a larger stage for my humiliation and my father was carrying me to the car to prevent me from running back to the safety of the house, but then he was setting me down and settling me into the back seat, my already damp diaper visible through the plastic panties I’d been given no covering for. As we drove my mother cried, something she never did, but I assumed was part of the ruse, a twist of the dagger to punctuate the emotional toll my behavior was having on her. I rolled my eyes and sucked my thumb, kicking my still bare feet nonchalantly as I wet my diaper once more. When the hospital appeared in the distance I figured the game out, scare me into abandoning my carefree second infancy under threat of going to the big scary hospital. When my father helped me out of the car and picked me up again to carry me to the front steps of the building I had my back to the two men waiting for us, the sudden surprise of large hands finding their way around my biceps and hooking beneath my armpits, holding me firmly as they pulled me from my father, their strength and size against my own leaving my bare feet hovering uselessly above the ground as they carted me away from my parents, my father hugging my mother as she sobbed into his chest, the front doors of the hospital shutting with a secure kerchonk sound that made the reality of the situation set in at once.” Part of me worried for my mother’s apparent disconnection from reality based on her description of the events leading up to her commitment, the way she described her behavior during what was obviously a very serious and adult conversation between concerned parents and their college aged daughter was alarming to me, not just because of where it ended up putting her, but also because of how out of character it was for the woman I knew to be sucking her thumb and giggling at her toes like an infant, somehow wearing and using diapers and playing baby as she had with Lisa seemed endearing and sweet, a shared experience between consenting adults, but this situation with her parents and the way she conducted herself both frightened and concerned me for her mental health, the possibility that the hospital may not have been the wrong place to send her given her sudden and near total mental regression. “I don’t know how long I spent in the already wet diaper I’d been wearing when I arrived, but the rash I got from it lasted two weeks. My arrival began with an injection, no explanation as to why or what was in the syringe, just a jab to my quickly exposed and just as quickly recovered butt cheek before I was strapped to a gurney and carted off to a room and left there. Whatever they gave me made me feel like I was the highest I’d ever been while also the most exhausted, the two competing for supremacy in waves that had me giggling at nothing one moment and struggling to stay awake the next. My body felt like it had been packed with cotton one moment, deadening the sensation of filling my diaper at some point, and a feeling that all my nerve endings had their sensitivity turned up to the maximum. I could feel every soaked fiber of my diaper grating against my sensitive flesh like I was being dragged through sand naked, the mess beneath the weight of my bottom became a sentient mass writhing and wriggling within my diaper, searching for a way out. I hallucinated that Lisa was with me, standing at the end of the gurney like a ghost, her worried and pitying gaze making me sob uncontrollably and beg for her to help me. Once I was put in an actual room and not the claustrophobic feeling tomb of a broom closet that was the windowless holding room, things didn’t get any better. I was freed from my stinking and soaked diaper, but barely cleaned, the smell of piss and shit lingering as they tightened the straps around my wrists and ankles to keep me secured to the bed. A kindly looking older man explained what was happening to me, but the drugs they’d put in me made his words seem nearly indecipherable. I weakly struggled against the straps as he talked to me, but another shot quelled whatever rebellion I had and put me to sleep while layers of fresh padding were being affixed around my waist. I drifted fitfully in and out of sleep that first day and night, nurses and orderlies coming in and out in a constant stream that at one point I saw as a kind of centipede made up of all of them moving at once one behind the other, the phantoms of their previous visits lingering to create a maddeningly impossible appearance that the room was filled to the brim with people all doing and saying a hundred things at once.” I shuddered involuntarily and wiped a tear from my eye, my breath trembling in my throat as I reached for the baby bottle of now room temperature juice on the nightstand beside my bed and suckled it, the realization that my throat and mouth were bone dry not coming until the liquid began to flow down my throat as I continued reading. “I retreated into myself once the constant drugging stopped after the first few days, I’d sit by myself in the communal room looking through the metal grate over the window, the laughter and screaming of my fellow inmates making me jump every time they pierced the silence encapsulating me. Time flowed in fits and starts, meals being the only real way of telling what time of day it was, though the medication I was being given made even that a little difficult to keep track of. I’d spend most of the day at my window in a wheelchair, my diaper perpetually damp without much conscious thought on my part, at one point another woman came over to me and stroked my hair softly, her gentle words bidding me to relax as she began to hug me, when I reached up feebly to hug her back she snapped my wrist in such a quick and fluid motion that I simply sat staring at the new angles she’d created as my hand flopped limply back and forth as I turned it this way and that to examine it.” “Jesus Christ.” I thought to myself as I read her account. “The first time an orderly took advantage of me was in my second week. My wrist was in a cast and I was kept in my room all day and night after the incident that had caused it, combined with the drugs, I was little more than a drooling shell, a passenger in my own body with no control over what was happening any more than I had control over my movements or speech. I suppose when someone can’t say ‘no’ to you it’s not rape in the mind of a man that would take advantage of your food caked mouth while you sat placidly, the tears rolling down your cheeks dismissed as reflex from forgetting to blink as he had his way with you. If I’d been able to, I would’ve killed myself in that place, but nothing worked when I bid it to unless I was close to another dose of my medication, but by that point I was too exhausted to do much more than cry over everything I’d lost in coming to this place. Eventually, even the crying stopped, my emotions were so deadened by constant drugging and degradation that I just sat in my wheelchair or lay on my bed and watched things happen to me and around me without reaction. Internally, I’d laugh at the idea that my parents had sent me here to snap me out of my infantile behavior and get me back to being an adult, and this place had effectively rendered me more of a helpless infant than I was when I arrived. I dreamed my mother came to visit and made a big show of crying at my bedside when the smell of feces filled the air without me making any outward indication I was going, but then the dream ended and I was in the dark of my room, painfully aware that the dream was more real than I’d thought as the smell persisted even when I was awake.” I was sobbing and pacing around my room to try and get control of my emotions, the hatred I felt for my grandparents at the abuse my mother had endured at their misguided attempt to “fix” her left me shaking until I finally collapsed in blubbering heap of tears against the wall, my head resting on my knees as I pulled them up to my chest and rocked myself to try and calm down. “When I was finally released I felt a crushing weight in my chest when I looked at the calendar behind the desk in the nurses station, a month had gone by, a single month, since I’d come in, when everything I’d endured had seemed to stretch on for years. I numbly took the envelope the nurse handed me and shuffled to the front door, the sunlight stinging my eyes and the heat of the sun on my skin making everything come to a head as I dropped to my knees on the rocks of the front drive and bawled uncontrollably until I felt like vomiting. They’d given me clothes to wear since I’d arrived in little more than a diaper, plastic panties and a shirt, and I cocooned myself in the sweatshirt and sweatpants that were a size too big as I repeatedly wiped my eyes with the sweatshirt sleeve and tried to open the envelope with shaky hands, the cast on my wrist making it incredibly difficult to manage the fine motor skill needed to accomplish the task. My van keys were accompanied by a letter from my father, a concise and rather curt dismissal of me as his daughter full of chastising remarks about my failure to live up to expectations and the trauma I’d put my mother through. It was made clear that the check included in the envelope was to purchase their freedom from me, and ensure that I never darkened their doorstep ever again. I noticed the trail of liquid cascading down the stairs I was sitting on and began to giggle which turned into a full blown, almost maniacal cackling as I looked at the check, the price of abandoning one’s own flesh and blood, giving up a daughter you claimed to have loved until her choice of lifestyle became too much for you to tolerate apparently amounted to five thousand dollars. Standing on shaky legs, the remainder of the liquid still flowing from my bladder without my consent rolling down my legs within the sweatpants, I tore the check into little pieces and released them to the wind, a smile on my face despite the irreparable fracture in my heart as I walked away from the hospital into an uncertain future of homelessness and loneliness.” I needed a break, needed to clear my mind and feel better before I continued reading my mother’s tale, a part of me suddenly felt incredibly wrong for wearing the infantile patterned diaper given what I’d just read, but the comfort of having my bottom swaddled in the thick, crinkly padding was the only thing keeping me from shutting down completely emotionally. The problem I quickly discovered was that none of my jeans fit over my diaper, and nothing except my pajama bottoms even came close as a substitute, but those were thin enough of a material that the rustle and crinkle I produced with every awkwardly wide step would make it obvious what I was wearing to anyone with working ears. I picked up my phone and texted Florence, “What do you wear over an adult baby diaper when you want to go out?” and then quickly followed it with “Asking for a friend.” Her response was to call me, and a calm washed over me as the screen lit up with the picture of her and I together that I’d set as her profile picture. “Already jumping to public exposure?” she asked without saying hello or waiting for me to do so. “Someone’s getting adventurous in her old age.” she teased. Her voice brought an immediate smile to my face the a look at the scattered journal pages on the bed threatened to snuff out as I hurried out of my room and shut the door behind me, apparently to keep the journal pages from stalking me through the house to attack my still shaky emotional stability. “I’m reading my mom’s journal and it’s really bad right now and I just wanted some fresh air.” I blurted out. The phone buzzed against my head and I pulled it away to see that she was requesting a video call that I hesitantly accepted, her smile making me melt inside when she appeared on the screen. “Hi.” she said sweetly, her voice somehow maternal in its tone despite it being only one word. “Hi.” I said, all of the emotions I’d been dealing with and failing to keep in check bubbling to the surface and spilling over as I slumped down onto the couch and started to cry. “How bad?” she asked. I sniffled and set the phone on the table so it was still pointed at me and wiped my eyes. “Her parents committed her because she started openly wearing diapers and regressing.” I told her, “The place they sent her to abused her and didn’t even pretend to help her.” I added. “Do you think she needed help?” she asked. I looked at Florence and shrugged lightly, “Maybe?” I said, making it sound like a question, “I mean, she had a girlfriend that she did that kind of thing with, but doing that stuff in front of her parents is kind of not okay.” I said, “Right?” I asked. Florence nodded, a contemplative look on her face, “Was she hurting them or herself?” she asked. “Physically?” I asked, “No.” I answered. “But she’d already been on an extended break from school to travel the country and then she goes on break after school gets out and decides to be a baby again? That’s kind of a warning sign that things aren’t okay.” I told her. Another nod and another serious expression, “Remember when I missed like half the school year because of Mono?” she asked. I nodded, recalling the awful stretch of time without her in my life when our relationship was in full swing. “It wasn’t Mono.” she said somberly. “My grandparents,” she sighed, “they got worried about me because I was happy being with you, truly happy for the first time since my parents died, and that happiness made me comfortable with who I was and spurred me to explore things like why it felt good to wear diapers.” she explained. “I started getting careless and wearing diapers outside of for bed and masturbating in them and,” she stopped, her cheeks flushing as she looked up at nothing for a moment, sighing once more, “they came home early one day and caught me masturbating in a messy diaper and sucking my thumb and they got freaked out that I’d lost my damn mind.” she finally said. I listened intently, chewing my bottom lip as she spoke, entranced by her story. “It wasn’t a hospital, it was like one of those “pray the gay away” camps that they sent me to, and it was awful and I-” she looked up again and wiped her eyes with a heavy, trembling sigh, “I had a knife that I swiped from the kitchen at the camp and,” her voice quavered, “I wanted to do it, Maddy, I had the knife and I held it over my arm and I just couldn’t do it, and do you know what made me drop that knife?” she asked. I shook my head softly and wiped the fresh tears rolling from my eyes. “You.” she said, looking into my eyes. “I was scared and depressed and feeling like I was some kind of big, gay, freakshow in the eyes of the only family I had left, but I thought of you and how your hair smells, and the way you blush when we kiss, and a million little things that nobody else would notice but I do because of what you mean to me.” she explained. I blinked and sniffled. “Meant.” I corrected. “No.” she smilingly argued, “All of those things are still true, Maddy.” she said. “Time and distance have separated us over the years, but I still love you just as much as I did then.” she told me. I smiled and made a weird coughing laugh sound that startled us both. “I still love you too.” I told her. “Obviously.” she teased. “Look,” she said after a moment of quiet admiration shared between us, “your mom made the choices she did and unfortunately had to deal with some misguided attempt at help from her parents, and I know what that looks like and it isn’t fun, but you know how the story ends eventually, she has you and lives happily ever after, right?” she asked. I shrugged. “Honestly, with everything that I’m learning, I don’t know that she did.” I said, “I mean, yes, she presented herself as happy and loved me and dedicated the rest of her life to making sure I knew it and was happy, but,” I sighed, “how could she end up happy with all that she lost?” I asked. Florence smiled and shrugged. “Guess you’ll just have to keep reading, kiddo.” she said. “I wish you were here to read with me.” I said with an unintentional pout. She nodded. “I think you mean ‘to you’, you big baby.” she teased. “Don’t fret, I’ll be there before you know it.” she added. “You still need fresh air?” she asked. I shook my head, “You balanced me out pretty good.” I told her. She pumped her fist into the air. “Dopamine for the win, baby!” she cheered. I giggled and blew her a kiss, “Love you and miss you.” I said. “Samesies.” she agreed with a kiss planted directly on the camera of her phone. “See you soon, be good.” she said before disconnecting the call. I basked in the warmth in my heart Florence had put there for a few minutes before getting up and returning to the journal pages on the bed, taking and holding a deep breath before letting it out all at once and sitting down to resume reading my mother’s story. “My van was parked on the side of the front of the building and once I clambered into it with my one good hand, I sat and sulked in my piss soaked sweatpants wondering where I would go and what I would do with myself, homeless and jobless, friendless and alone in the world, probably incontinent to some degree, I cried and rested my head on the steering wheel.” I knew why she’d torn the check up, but knowing her situation made it seem like the worst possible choice for her, but I pressed on, reminding myself of Florence’s “happily ever after”, secretly hoping she was right. “The back of the van was packed with my things, clothes, toiletries, the small collection of diapers and baby things I’d gathered from yard sales and thrift stores, and a framed photo of my parents and I from when I was seven or eight. I was sitting on my father’s lap in my Sunday best, the bow stuck on the side of the top of my head making me look like a present from Santa being delivered to my mother who sat beside my father. I knew my mother had put the photo in the box because the envelope taped to the back was folded in half to effectively hide it unless someone picked it up and either felt it back there or turned the frame over and saw it. Her note was the polar opposite of my father’s, and made me cry fresh tears once more when I read it. She blamed him for everything, insisting that he wanted me committed and decided, against her wishes, that I was going to be cut off and disowned, she apologized for abandoning me and repeated at least a dozen times that she loved me and wished things could be different. I saved her letter, not because I believed a single word of it, I didn’t, my mother was a liar when faced with backlash for her actions, and this situation reeked of her passive aggressive bullshit more than it did my father’s controlling dominance over the women in his life, I saved it because I needed a reminder for when I eventually overcame all of this and had a life and family of my own and started to forget what they’d done to me, for when my mother called out of the blue one day years in the future and wanted to make amends because one of them was facing failing health and wanted to die with a clear conscience and the soft part of me felt bad for her, I saved it because even if I pushed this awful experience out of my mind and replaced it with a lifetime of happy memories, I needed to remember what terrible parents they were for abandoning me and sentencing me to endure the abuse I’d survived in the hospital. But I did survive, and I did it without them and if I could survive that then I could survive anything else life through at me.” I was so proud of my mother, not for the first time in general, but also not for the first since beginning reading her journal pages. Being the first of how ever many parts of the “long, dark years”, I knew there was still more rough times ahead for her, but her outlook was one of strength and looking toward a happier future for herself, and with everything she’d faced in the hospital it was good to learn that she believed in herself even though her parents didn’t. I put the journal pages back in the envelope and picked up the next one, setting it down a moment later when my stomach grumbled at me and I realized I hadn’t eaten yet today. Setting the envelope back in the box, I got up and toddled to the kitchen to make myself lunch, my thoughts drifting to the future when said lunch was ready to leave my body and whether or not I was up for experimenting with such a thing. I snapped a selfie in front of my sandwich after making it and sent it to Florence with the caption, “Feeling cute, might poop my diaper later.”. She responded with an eye rolling emoji and “Well, you ARE a big baby after all.” and an emoji sticking its tongue out playfully, followed immediately by, “Pics or it didn’t happen.” and a winking emoji. My heart fluttered and I sighed contentedly as I pocketed my phone in my pajama bottoms, it was becoming apparent that I was falling in love with Florence all over again while also finding out that I was a big baby on top of finding out that my mother had been exactly the same, and I was happy with all of that, happy enough to decide as I sat down and took a bite of my sandwich that Florence was going to get some pictures later that would ensure our next conversation would be very blushy for me. To Be Continued... 11 Link to comment
kerry Posted May 5, 2022 Share Posted May 5, 2022 This is really one of the best and most original pieces I've seen in a long, long time. 1 Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted May 6, 2022 Author Share Posted May 6, 2022 19 hours ago, kerry said: This is really one of the best and most original pieces I've seen in a long, long time. Aww shucks, my head won't fit through doors if you keep that kind of stuff up. Sincerely, that's the most complimentary thing anyone has ever said to me, not just about a thing I wrote either, just overall, so yeah, I'm gonna retire at the top now. Glad to hear you're still enjoying the story, kerry! Link to comment
kerry Posted May 6, 2022 Share Posted May 6, 2022 5 hours ago, TheUnknownAuthor said: I'm gonna retire at the top now Not until you finish this, you won't, or I'll have to come find you! 1 Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted May 8, 2022 Author Share Posted May 8, 2022 On 5/6/2022 at 3:39 PM, kerry said: Not until you finish this, you won't, or I'll have to come find you! Good news! My retirement has been postponed until this story is finished! Link to comment
TheUnknownAuthor Posted May 9, 2022 Author Share Posted May 9, 2022 VI “The Long, Dark Years: Part Two” “Six months after I got out of the hospital I landed a job. I would’ve gotten something sooner had my body not decided to act up in numerous interviews. I’d been struggling with my continence since leaving the hospital, but between the nightmares and the general unease of being alone in a van where anyone could break in and do anything they wanted to me while I tried to sleep, I quickly spiraled out of control into my regressive tendencies, my already fragile mental state desperately searching for some way to feel safe and relaxed in the face of overwhelming turmoil. The waitress interview at a local diner went South when I couldn’t seem to remember how to do basic addition on a practice check, got frustrated and sucked my thumb to avoid a full blown tantrum. The secretarial job fell through when the heels I’d been wearing suddenly became too much for me to handle and I wound up on all fours in the bustling office, my body recognizing the position and deciding it was time to evacuate my bowels and bladder into my suddenly not so hidden diaper, my new position having pulled my sensible skirt up to give everyone a good show for the gathered employees that I had to awkwardly waddle away from as they laughed at the pathetic little idiot I was. Over and over again I was reminded how ill suited I was for independence and adulthood, and over and over again I cried myself to sleep and prayed for an end to my humiliation and struggling. My prayers were answered in the form of a flier that had ended up tucked beneath the wiper blade of my van, “Model wanted for “unconventional” photo shoots” was the headline, a silhouette of a woman, obviously naked and posing sensually beneath it, and a name and phone number below that. I rationalized that maybe I could get the modeling job, but if that failed, maybe they had an opening for a photographer, something I could do better than whoever “Gus”, the name on the flier, could himself or whoever he had doing it for him now. When I called, “Gus” dismissed me as a kid, telling me not to play on the phone and only when I shouted over him that I was an adult and needed a job did he stop and listen to me and grant me an audience with him later that afternoon.” I’d been dividing my attention between my mother’s journal pages and talking with Florence about what was going on with regards to messing my diaper. I felt genuinely bad that my attention was so easily pulled from my mother’s very serious situation every time my phone buzzed. Florence was jockeying hard for me to use my diaper, and I was committed to doing just that, but the need hadn’t arisen yet. “Gus turned out to be a giant, somewhere in the neighborhood of six and a half feet tall and possibly as wide with all his muscles. He was obviously running things, or acting as the muscle, if such a venture needed one, but he was slinging orders to half a dozen people as I approached him in the warehouse that had been set up as a photography studio. The expansive room had been partitioned into thirty or so smaller areas, separated by temporary walls similar to cubicles in an office, but taller. As I walked past I caught glimpses within through the small gaps between the curtains acting as doors and the small room beyond, women in all leather outfits, a girl on a tarp slathering her naked body with what had been a very pretty looking wedding cake, things that clued me in to what “unconventional” meant as it pertained to the photo shoots. When Gus stood in front of me I felt my diaper warm, looking up at the admittedly handsome man, his short brown hair shaved almost down to nothing atop his head while his facial hair was trimmed neat into a goatee. He was much kinder in person than he had been on the phone, his admiration for my size and for the youthful appearance my features gave me. When we sat down and he discovered I was wearing a diaper, it was like he’d just discovered I was made of solid gold, and our conversation changed from polite getting to know one another to serious offers of employment for me for durations as long as I wanted.” The gurgling in my stomach wasn’t just because I was concerned for my mother getting involved with giant, burly men taking obvious fetish photographs, the likelihood that her admittedly fragile mental state would lead her to being exploited and possibly harmed quite high, but also because I’d come to the moment where I had to decide where I was going to relieve myself. I’d promised Florence I’d go in my diaper, but now that the moment had arrived I found myself wavering in my resolve. “This is just your potty training fucking with you.” she’d responded when I told her I was having second thoughts. “You control where and when you poop.” she’d added, making the already ridiculous conversation that much more surreal to me. “It’s going to be so gross and stinky and I’ll have to clean it up and-” I whined into the phone after calling her to ensure she heard my very reasonable and rational argument rather than just dismiss the words sent in text as uncertainty for something new. She was eating something crunchy and it was very distracting. “So, crunch lemme get crunch this straight, crunch if I were there crunch and you pooped crunch you’d expect me to change you, crunch right? crunch “Well, I mean, you do have more experience with this kind of stuff.” I lamely argued. She scoffed and finished crunching, “How do you think I got that experience, baby?” she asked. My stomach fluttered as my cheeks flushed hotly, “By doing it.” I said begrudgingly. Her smile tinged her voice, “By doing what?” she asked coyly. More blushing. “Pooping in your diaper.” I said quietly. The phone buzzed and my stomach fluttered once more when I looked to see she was requesting a video call, not wanting to disappoint her, I accepted and forced a smile when I saw her. “Since my sweet little baby can’t be trusted to handle this very simple task on her own, and since Mommy knows babies learn better when they’re shown, I want you to sit back and watch me and then show me what you learned, okay?” she asked. My face was burning up with every belittling word and regressive implication as I obediently nodded and watched her set her phone down and get up onto her knees on her couch with her back to me, her babyish diaper fully on display as she looked back over her shoulder at me. “First, press the padding under your bottom up so it bunches just a bit.” she explained as she did so to the seat of her diaper, “This will make it so Mommy can see that you’re going when the padding pushes back out.” she added. I felt absolutely ridiculous being talked to like a potty training toddler in the first place, but the fact that the goal was for me supersede decades of toilet proficiency and fill my diaper was becoming almost more than I could handle as the pleasant hum between my legs grew with every word from Florence. “Once you’re in a comfortable position, just relax and give a little push on your bowels and your body should take over like it does when you’re on the potty.” she continued, a few rude noises coming through the phone a moment later as the pushed in seat of her diaper expanded outward before my eyes. “You’ll feel resistance, that’s just the diaper being there, keep going and eventually,” she grunted and exhaled before breathing in again as the expanding in her seat stopped and she turned and sat down without hesitation to smile a big, toothy grin at me, “you’ll be all done!” she chirped happily. I desperately wanted to rub the front of my diaper, Hell, I wanted to plunge my hand down inside it and give her something to really smile at, but I controlled myself and sighed softly, “Florence, I-” I started to say. She shook her head. “Get your pacifier and put it in that cute little mouth of yours.” she gently commanded. I blushed hotly and complied, an indignant puff of air coming from my nostrils as I sullenly sucked the silicone teat of the pacifier. “First of all, Florence is what grownups call me, not little babies that are going to poop their diapers.” she explained. “Do you know what little babies that are going to poop their diapers call me?” she asked, her smile so fucking endearing that I hated being apart from her. “Mommy.” I said quietly. She nodded. “That’s right!” she praised. “Secondly, you’re going to get into your poopy position so Mommy can see your cute little tushie when you make your little pushies.” she cooed, giggling sweetly, “Mommy rhymed, didn’t she, baby?” she asked. I nodded and obediently got up from the bed and set the phone on the dresser, walking a short distance from it to squat down with my back to it. “That’s perfect, baby, Mommy can see you just fine!” she praised. I reached back and pushed the crinkly padding above my seat inward as instructed and brought my hand back around so my forearms were on my knees but able to brace me if I lost my balance. I closed my eyes and gave a tentative push on my bowels, a muffled fart escaping me, the giggling behind me making me flush anew as the pacifier between my lips bobbed rhythmically as I sucked on it in earnest as exactly what she’d just shown me played out once more, the silence of my bedroom disrupted by soft crinkling, soft grunting, soft giggling from behind me, and an extremely hard to resist urge to not degrade myself further in front of her by giving in to the exponentially growing horniness building within me. The experience seemed to drag on infinitely, the resistance she warned me about seemed like the final “are you sure?” roadblock my body had to push through, the knowledge that the most infantile garment on Earth was actively pushing my mess back into me as if to say, “Umm, you know you’re not actually a baby, right?” to which I had to firmly disagree and give that final push to fill the seat of my diaper and cement my place as the big baby Florence encouraged me to be, and that I wanted to be, but she didn’t need to know that. “Yay!” Florence playfully cheered behind me as I awkwardly turned on my tip toes to face her, still crouched, my face red from what I would claim was strain but that I’m sure we both knew was a heady mix of shame and arousal. “Look at that droopy diaper!” she squealed excitedly. I could see myself in the mirror beside the dresser, my diaper dangling pendulously between my slightly spread legs, the warmth of wetness flooding out of me discoloring the front as I suckled my pacifier and fought my sexual urges. She snickered, “We should play a game!” she chirped, “If I can guess what you’re thinking and feeling right now, you’ll have to do what I tell you, but if I’m wrong, I’ll do what you tell me.” she offered. I wanted to argue, to point out that I’d already done what she’d wanted me to and now I wanted a shower, but she was smiling again and I’m powerless to fight against that fucking smile, so I feebly nodded and steadied myself in my perched position. She leaned forward and picked up her phone, bringing it close to her face so she filled the screen, “I’m betting that my little Maddikins is absolutely aching to touch herself right now.” she whispered, “I’m betting that you’re disgusted with yourself for not caring that your diaper is messy, you just want to finger yourself or hump something until you have a great big climax in your stinky diaper.” she continued. “How am I doing so far?” she asked coyly. Every word leaving her lips was like a tender kiss from her on my throbbing sex, she wasn’t just right, she was teasing me by painting a picture of a fantasy she was keeping me from experiencing by prolonging the moment with her game, but she was an expert in everything that had to do with my arousal, and she was putting on a clinic. I nodded and gave a frustrated little whine through my pacifier. Her smile broadened as she set the phone back down and placed her hand on the front of her diaper, the small, circular motions of her fingertips against the crinkling plastic bringing a shudder to her breath as she softly moaned, “Isn’t it just so unfair that Mommy can touch herself any time she wants, but baby Maddy needs Mommy’s permission?” she asked. I whined again and nodded vehemently, steadying myself once more as I swayed on my quivering legs. She bit her lip and closed her eyes as she began to move forward and backward on her butt, her fingers moving in time with each gentle thrust of her hips. “Should Mommy make you wait until she’s there with you to give her baby the release she so,” she gasped and moaned once more a single eye opening to stare at me hungrily, “desperately wants?” she asked, her nipples straining against the white t-shirt she wore with the “Pampers” logo colorfully displayed across the chest. I shook my head and whined loudly without spitting out the pacifier and using my words to tell her how brutally sadistic such a notion was to even suggest, remaining a good girl for her despite her intolerable teasing. She finished herself off, making an obscene show of it for my benefit, her moans obnoxiously pornographic, her panting genuinely concerning, and the final shudder and rigidity I’d seen a dozen or more times in the past was now more akin to a seizure sufferer than a woman climaxing, but she’d finally concluded her business and sighed contentedly as she grabbed her drink from the table and gulped the remaining half of it, the ice in the glass clinking loudly as a final exclamation point on her over the top display. “Well, I guess that’s it then.” she said between breaths. I glowered at her. She smirked. “Your commitment to Sparkle Motion is undeniable.” she praised, referencing the first movie we’d missed the end of because we were too keen on making out. “See that teddy bear over there?” she asked me. I pivoted, wobbled, caught myself and looked where she was pointing, the old teddy bear I hadn’t been able to toss in the trash or donation pile sitting against the wall beside my open pack of diapers. I looked back over my shoulder and nodded. “Crawl to it and fuck it like it was me.” she instructed as she picked up her phone and sat back on her couch with a satisfied smirk. I got onto all fours and hurried to the teddy bear, not because she commanded it, but because I desperately wanted to fuck the stuffing out of the avatar my beloved has chosen to receive my affections for her. I didn’t even make it to double digits in my animal like thrusting, my body devolving into some sort of jellyfish like creature as waves of pure bliss crashed over and over me as I rolled onto my side clutching my mate and looking up at the very small looking phone on the other side of the vast expanse my room had become in my very tired and completely at ease state. “Not bad for a first try.” she said simply. “You’ve definitely got the ending down.” she added with a giggle. The pacifier dropped from my slack mouth as my lips curled into a smile. “When you regain your faculties, I want you to have a shower and make sure you clean yourself extra good, poop can cause some serious problems if you don’t wash your kitty after play time.” she explained, using a trademark word for the female genitalia that made me cringe. “After your shower get plenty to drink and make sure you get a fresh diaper on before bed.” she continued. I weakly saluted her, giggling stupidly at my small gesture of snark. “I’ll be there next week, so make sure you still have plenty of diapers, okay, baby?” she asked. I nodded. “Yes, Mommy.” I respectfully and sleepily murmured. “Mommy loves you, you big, stinky, baby.” she said sweetly, kissing her camera. I tried to make a heart with my hands and succeeded in loosely clasping them together in front of my chest while drooling on myself as I tried to kiss at her. She giggled sweetly and sighed, “So fucking in love with you.” she said before disconnecting the call. As my body wound down and my diaper cooled, I closed my eyes and smiled at how well I was doing in becoming the baby everyone seemed to know I was before I did. ********* I followed all of her orders to the letter, except for the diaper before bed, that came as soon as I’d dried off from my shower, and opted to spend the rest of the day crawling when I needed to go to the kitchen, it wasn’t the funnest thing in the world, according to my knees, but my lower point of view definitely helped the illusion that I was littler than I actually was. I climbed onto my bed and nursed my bottle of apple juice and continued reading my mother’s journal, wanting to be as good a girl for her as I’d been for my sex Mommy. “The photographs didn’t bother me, I’d taken plenty of my own photos of myself in diapers and playing with toys or drinking a bottle, and Gus decided that he wanted an innocent looking girl like me to be an innocent baby, so the graphic sex stuff I’d seen the other girls in the nursery decorated room doing alone or with each other wasn’t something I had to do either, but Gus had a hold of me from the moment I’d signed my contract, and he kept that leash very short. It was partly my fault for sharing that I was living out of my van and desperately needed a steady job to get an apartment, but he made everything seem like he was my burly benefactor rescuing a helpless baby from being a homeless orphan. It started out innocuous, he’d call for lunch and set me up in the highchair on set to eat my meal, usually something he’d ordered extra of so he could share with me, I’d start getting tired after hours of shooting and he’d offer the crib for me to take a nap in. With our size and strength difference, he would decide that carrying me was quicker and easier than having to wait for me to toddle along behind him, his thick fingers knowing just where to press as he supported my bottom to ensure that my face ended up buried in his broad chest. As time went on and I grew more comfortable around the office and with him, it became clear that he was my caregiver more than he was my boss. I’d stupidly called him “Daddy” one afternoon when he was tucking me into the crib for a nap, and since that day he’d decided he liked the sound of it and wanted me to exclusively call him that going forward. One day my van got towed and I returned to the office in tears, sobbing in his strong arms as he scooped me up and rocked me while patting my back. With nowhere else to go, he made the offer that I live in the nursery set and showed me that his apartment was on the next floor up, ensuring that “Daddy” wouldn’t be far from his baby girl. I should’ve known he’d had my van towed to manipulate me into being dependent on him, but I’d been kicked down by so many people for so long that someone actively appearing to have my best interest at heart made me eager to please as a way of repaying that generosity. Admittedly, he wasn’t a bad “Daddy” in the beginning, kind, gentle, ensuring all of my needs were met and that I felt safe and loved, but charades aren’t built to last, their built to lower defenses and fall apart when the time is right. It started with a line of cocaine. I’d never tried it before, but he made the argument that I’d smoked pot with him and some of the girls, so this was just as safe because “Daddy” would never hurt his baby girl”. I don’t remember much of the night, but I woke up in the crib with a sore bottom and saw blood in my diaper when he changed me. Obviously I could tell any sort of story here, I could say that I quit and saved myself from bad situation, got a legitimate job and lived happily ever after, but the point of this journal is to catalog my experiences, and the truth of the matter is that where I ended up was anything but happy. Two years went by of being his baby, relegated to diapers, living under his rules, a nice cocaine habit numbing me to the constant sodomy that ended up making the diapers all the more necessary. I would cry and plead like an actual baby for him to give me drugs, falling into a weak and malleable stupor night after night just to shield myself from what I knew he was doing to me when I was unable to protest. As this nightly routine went on, my teeth started to rot from having him rub my gums with a finger of coke, and several were pulled to avoid infection, by the time he fired me because I’d become “Just another junkie whore that nobody wants to look at”, I had six teeth in my head and had long since stopped thinking of my living arrangement as part of a job, the fact that I hadn’t seen a paycheck in over a year was a big contributor to the belief that he’d adopted me and I was his baby and he was my Daddy. Just like my biological Daddy, he left me in the gutter like a piece of garbage, and I bought into the belief that if two father figures in my life can fuck me in different but no less painful ways and discard me like I didn’t matter, that I must actually be that worthless. I decided that I’d had enough, suffered enough. I’d started my journey out of high school a fresh face young woman on the cusp of adulthood, and now I was an addict, twice abandoned, incontinent, homeless, jobless, loveless and helpless and I blamed myself for being the way they’d made me. I blamed myself for not keeping my secret life a secret to my parents, I blamed myself for ending up reliant on someone like Gus, and I blamed myself for ruining my relationship with Lisa, just like I’d ruined every other relationship in my stupid, meaningless life.” I was an emotional wreck reading my mother’s journal, tears streaming down my cheeks as I pleaded to any force in the universe that would listen to make her suffering stop. “I went to the bridge at the end of town, my bare feet slapping on the asphalt, the leaking diaper beneath the coat he’d “generously” thrown at me when he shoved me out the door, the size of it making me look like I was wandering the streets in a tan dress rather than a coat. I spied a phone booth at the end of the bridge and thought about Lisa, thought about giving her the courtesy of a final goodbye on the off chance that she remembered me after all these years. Fumbling in each of the pockets until I miraculously found change, I made my way to the glass box, the operator connecting me when I told her the city Lisa lived in and her name and after two rings her melodious voice filled my ear and I wept like the baby I’d become.” To Be Continued... 3 1 Link to comment
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