Cbus Baby

So much so that the receptionist did not even bother to address him—ostensibly an adult—when they got to the desk. As if he were just another baby who needed an actual adult to speak for him.

“Why don’t you go play with some of the toys, honey?” Mommy said absentmindedly as she filled out a form.

Timmy didn’t think highly of Mommy’s suggestion but decided to keep his disagreement to himself—his bum still burned ever so slightly from the spankings he received in the parking lot.

The only saving grace for Timmy was that they were the only ones in the waiting room.

“Do you like to color?” the receptionist asked Timmy, “We have crayons and coloring books on that table there.”

“T-thank you,” Timmy muttered, knowing Mommy expected him to use his best manners.

Timmy glanced around the room, looking for something—anything—that would be appropriate for a 24-year-old. There was little hope of succeeding.

His options were bad and worse. He certainly wasn’t going to sit on the carpet in the middle of the room to play with the oversized building blocks. Nor did he fancy playing with the dollhouse.

“And how can we help little Tim here?” the receptionist asked Mommy.

“I’m worried about his tummy. He’s been having runny messes for about two weeks. He used to be so regular, but now I’m changing dirty diapers two or three times a day.”

After seeing the receptionist’s sympathetic nod, Timmy took it as his cue to find something to entertain himself. Even playing with toys would be less humiliating than having Mommy talk about him like he was an actual baby.

His diaper was soggier than he remembered, forcing him to waddle slightly on the way to the toddler-sized table. The only thing worse than sitting at the child-sized table was the sickening squelch his diaper made as he sat on the tiny chair.

As demeaning as it was, at least the table offered some privacy, tucked away in a corner. Plus, he knew choosing any of the adult chairs would only draw Mommy’s ire.

Once she finished checking Timmy in, Mommy found an adult chair and pulled out her phone.

Timmy watched jealously, wishing he could sit in a regular chair. Wishing he still had a phone.

Wishing he still had any of the adult privileges he lost.

Sighing, he opened a Lion King coloring book. The first ten pages were an explosion of color crayon in a way only a bored child could create. Though he grinned when he found a picture of Timon and Pumba that had been spared by the onslaught.

Despite his prior embarrassment—and the pitiful selection of colors—Timmy was beginning to enjoy himself. Pumba looked almost perfect, though he would have to be creative with Timon without any light brown crayons.

As he was formulating his plan, he felt a finger reach into his diaper and tug at his diaper.

“Any uh ohs, sweetie? You were making some faces,” Mommy asked entirely too loud.

Timmy meekly shook his head.

“That’s a relief. I really didn’t want to change a messy diaper here. Stand up so I can see how soggy you are, baby.”

He huffed, feeling the receptionist’s gaze, but obeyed. He stared at the ground as Mommy squeezed and prodded at his diaper in the middle of the waiting room.

“Hmm, a bit soggier than I hoped. I’ll check you again soon. Oh! Look at Pumba, did you color that yourself? My what a special little pampered Picasso you are!”

Timmy beamed with pride at the compliment. No matter how mortifying it was having lost his adulthood and dignity, he always loved when Mommy praised him.

Once Mommy sat back down, Timmy got back to work, more determined forever to color a masterpiece for Mommy.

Had he not been so focused on staying in the lines, he might have noticed the gurgling in his tummy.

But he didn’t.

A door swung open. A pretty nurse his age walked out with a clipboard. “Timmy?”

“He’s right over there,” Mommy answered, “C’mon Timmy, you can finish your picture after the doctor checks your tummy, okay?”

“The receptionist ”I’ll make sure nobody touches your drawing, kiddo,” the receptionist added.

The nurse smiled sweetly at Timmy as he crinkled over to her, his face rapidly flushing with embarrassment.

“Right in here, honey.” The nurse guided Timmy inside, her hand on his shoulder. “I hear you have an icky tummy. Don’t worry, we’re gonna it make it all better!”

“Oh my gosh, these rooms so cute!” Mommy squealed as she saw the exam room.

Cute is hardly the word Timmy would have chosen.

They were immediately greeted Elmo’s face painted on the wall surrounded by clouds. The exam bed was not only covered in plastic to prevent leaks, but also the regular paper film. But that wasn’t the worst part.

The bed itself had a colorful cartoon car frame with cutouts holding baby powder, wipes, and disposal bags.

“Okay, cutie,” the nurse said with a knowing grin that made Timmy flustered, “Can you come sit right here?”

Mommy followed Timmy over, but only Timmy sat on the bed, creating an explosion of crinkling.

“Can you take this medicine like a big boy?” the nurse asked, handing him a pill and a small glass of water.

Timmy swallowed the pill. The nurse shot Mommy a quick smile.

“I’m gonna check a few things real quick before Dr. Susan comes in okay?” Her hand gently pushes Timmy’s chest until he’s lying down flat.

Timmy closed his eyes when she pulls up his shirt to expose his belly, knowing she can see at least a few inches of his diaper.

“Take a deep breath for me, kiddo,” she cooed, placing a stethoscope against his chest. “Good job!”

After a few more breaths and different placements, the nurse seemed satisfied.

“Everything sounds normal! Now, can you tell me his symptoms?” the nurse asked Mommy.

“He’s had runny messes for the last two weeks, nothing I try seems to help.”

“Poor thing.” The nurse’s gloved hand probed Timmy’s tummy, “Any changes in diet or activity levels?”

Timmy whimpered when his tummy cramped.

“No, he’s been feeding normally, in the morning, after his nap, and before bed. Along with mushed solids in between.”

Not even a grumbly, ominous toot distracted the nurse. “No fevers or any flu symptoms?”

“None,” Mommy said.

“Hmm.” The nurse grabbed a thermometer and slides it in Timmy’s mouth. “Shhh, it’s okay little one, if you have an accident, you have an accident. It’s perfectly normal.”

Timmy knew the nurse wasn’t being condescending—which only made it worse. She acted as if there was nothing strange or unnatural about Timmy’s whimpering and fussing.

“You’re right, no fever,” the nurse said over a grunt. “There you go, good boy. Let it all out into your diaper.”

“I’ll change him when he’s done,” Mommy offered.

“Oh, no. Changing diapers comes with the territory when you work with little ones, even when they’re bigger.”

“Mghhfg,” Timmy grunted again, wishing he was anywhere but here. The nurse’s sympathetic smile as she watched him fill his diaper felt like the final nail in his lost adulthood.

Timmy felt the nurse unbuckling his shorts, carefully sliding them past his still-expanding diaper.

“These are so cute!”

“Right? I decided if I’m going to be changing his diapers, they should be something cute and enjoyable for me!”

Completely unbothered by the smell and continued grunting, the nurse checks to make sure Timmy’s diaper isn’t leaking.

“All done?”

“Mghff.”

“Oop, well, I’ll let you finish. Have you given any supplements or medications?”

“Only some pesto bismol, but it didn’t help at all.”

“I see.”

After what seemed like an eternity for Timmy, the nurse was satisfied he was finished. “Do you mind giving me a new diaper? I don’t think these will fit him.”

Mommy laughs at the stack of Pampers she pointed to. “Here you go.”

“Alright, little guy, let’s get you out of that icky diapie, hmm?”

Timmy didn’t have time to be embarrassed before the nurse was ripping at his tabs. “He’s 24, right?”

“Yeah, he turns 25 in July.”

“Ahhh, you’re three years older than me!” she cooed, pulling back the front of his diaper. “It’s definitely loose stool, but the color isn’t concerning.”

The door suddenly opens.

“Oh, didn’t mean to interrupt!” Dr. Susan said.

Timmy immediately recognized the doctor, all the blood draining from his face.

“Suze!” Mommy greeted the doctor, grinning ear to ear, “Or should I say Dr. Lambert!”

“Stop squirming, mister!” the nurse commanded as Timmy tried to disappear.

All eyes turned to Timmy.

“Well, hello, Timmy. Imagine my surprise when your Mommy called me up asking about her sick ‘little one’ and needed to see a doctor. Of course I offered to help when I heard it was you!”

Words utterly failed Timmy—though he knew there were none that could help. Not when he’s lying on a cartoon car getting his poopy diaper changed.

“It’s not every day an ex waddles through my door! But we can catch up later, I promise. Duty calls. I hear someone has an icky tummy.”

Susan towered over Timmy as the nurse balled his old diaper and slid the new one under him.

“You said it’s been about two weeks?” Susan asked Mommy.

“That’s right,” Mommy answered, the trace of a smile on her face.

“Good, that means it’s working as intended. And you mentioned he’s been dribbling pee when you change him? That’s great. And his erections?”

The nurse expertly rubs in barrier cream and sprinkles baby powder on Timmy.

“None in the last two weeks.”

“Great, that’s great. Let’s schedule a follow up for him in another two weeks. By then we should know if the treatment was successful.”

Timmy stared at Susan in utter confusion. Susan met his look with a satisfied grin.

“Don’t you worry, little one! Nurse Joy is almost done with your diapie, and then you can have a lolly!”

Nurse Joy slid up Timmy’s pants and buttoned him up. “All clean.”

Nobody seemed interested in explaining what they meant by “successful treatment” to Timmy.

“Still on for this weekend?” Mommy winked at Suze.

“Wouldn’t miss it! Let me know if the babysitter falls through, I’m sure I can find a replacement.”

“I’d be happy to babysit whenever,” Nurse Joy added, “I could use the extra money for Spring Break, Cabo isn’t cheap.”

Mommy laughed. “Aww, the good old days! I’ll get your number from Suze!”

Timmy found himself leaving the office more confused than ever before.

A smile grows as she’s talking to whoever’s on the line.

“But she pooped! Like her diaper is brown! It’s disgusting! You didn’t say she poops herself! Isn’t she older than me?”

Her smile fades for a split second before it’s replaced by a more deviant grin. She bites her lip.

“Or what? You’re going to spank me? Make me go down on you? Oh no! I’m soooo scared!”

Whatever the response was, it got her attention. Her eyes grow wide.

“Fineeeee, whatever. I’m going! Hmpff.”

She puts down the phone, turning her attention to you.

“Ugh, why are you even in diapers? You’re so pathetic. And you, like, poop in them, too? Just…gross.”

You stand there, feeling your face grow red, deciding what to say. Every part of you wants to argue with this little brat who thinks she’s so special.

But you remember what Daddy said before he left. What would happen if you misbehaved.

It’s not worth it.

“Just change me,” you demand, more forceful than you expected. To soften the blow, you add, “Please?”

“Don’t act a brat, sweetie. You’re in a poopy diaper. It’s literally right there, drooping down like a baby. You should be thanking me.”

“I guess you would know. You sounded like a brat on the phone!”

It came out before you could stop it. She deserved it, though!

“Honey, that was my boyfriend. I can be a brat because it’s our thing, you know? Well, probably not. Judging by that diaper I doubt you’ve ever had sex and I’m not gonna waste my time explaining adult fun to you, poopy diaper girl.”

Her comment hits you like a ton of bricks. You fight to control your temper.

“I’ve had sex before!” you splutter. You wince at how pathetic you sounded.

She laughs. A full-body laugh that would make a comedian proud to receive.

You’ve never felt smaller in your life.

“I doubt it, sweetie. You spend your life in diapers. You sleep in a crib. You have a changing table for fucks sake! Not even the most desperate, horny dude would look at you right now and want to fuck you!”

Tears well in your eyes. Deep down, you know she’s right—you haven’t had sex since the first night you asked your boyfriend to diaper you.

“Onesies aren’t sexy, honey. This is!” she laughs pointing to her outfit, “I can be a brat to my boyfriend because it drives him wild. It’s fun to be ‘punished.’ And always ends with us fucking like animals.”

She pats your diaper.

“What do diaper changes end with? Raspberries on your tummy? The lingering smell of baby powder? All I know is it’s not an orgasm.”

“I..I..” you whimper.

“Awww, don’t cry! I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, little one. I’m sure warm, soggy diapers feel just as good as sex! If you even remember. I guess I got confused because you’re adult sized. But you’re really just a big baby!”

She laughs again, grabbing the paci dangling from your onesie and puts it in your mouth.

“There, kiddo. You just sucky suck on your paci. It’s all you’ll ever get. Poor girl. Sad about her poopy diaper. Jealous her babysitter gets to be a big girl while you…do whatever you do in your nursery. I don’t really care.”

All you can do is stand there, tears rolling down your cheeks, accepting everything she said is true.

Because it is.

“Don’t worry, your Daddy will be here first thing tomorrow morning. He was so excited about his date! And he deserves it. It must be annoying changing your diapers all the time!”

I feel my body deflate. I hate the idea of her dating someone else. “I…I can do that!” I say in my best big boy voice.

“I don’t think so, silly! You’re far too little for such things. You’re right where you belong!”

“Am not! I did it before!” I argue.

“Yes, when you were pretending to be a big boy. But you’re not, are you?”

“I…I wasn’t pretending!”

“Oh? You weren’t? Because you haven’t acted like a big boy in six months!”

“Because you won’t let me!” I squeal, desperate and feeling my argument slipping away.

She laughs. “Honey, I don’t force you to fill your diaper. I don’t force you to suckle on your paci. I don’t force you to wear onesies. But you do all of those anyway!”

“Cause…cause you’ll punish me if I don’t!”

“Duh, little one. Littles don’t get to do big kid things. Adults—real adults—don’t beg their wife to put them in diapers and baby them. But you did!”

“I-I…I didn’t want it full time!”

“Yes you did, silly! You just didn’t know it. But I did. Mommies always know what’s best for their little one. This is who you are!”

“Is not!” I whine, feeling smaller than ever.

“Then why did you let this happen? You never fought for your ever-shrinking adult time! Why did you so happily surrender every adult privilege if you wanted to be an adult?”

“T-Thats not fair! I didn’t know you’d start dating other men and I wouldn’t ever have sex anymore!”

“Baby, look at me. What did you expect? That I wouldn’t lose all sexual attraction to you the first time you squatted down and load your diaper?”

Tears well in my eyes. “B-but…I.”

“But what? The only “but” I’m concerned about now is the one I wrapped in a clean diaper five minutes ago.”

“I can stop wearing them,” I sob, “I don’t need them!”

“Oh, little one, please don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. This is who you are! You are my little. You belong in diapers. Your place is your nursery.”

“Nuh uh!” I sob, abandoning any pretext of adulthood.

“Yes, honey. Besides, do you really think you could go without them anymore?”

I hesitate, not wanting to know the answer. It has been months since I tried to make stinkies. They just happened now.

“I didn’t think so, sweetie. Now, can you drop all these big boy sex fantasies? You’re still my husband. I’ll always love you. But our relationship is just different. I’m your Mommy first and foremost.”

“B-but I still want to have…you know.”

“What did I just say, baby? No sex. Never again. Mommies don’t have sex with babies. Especially when their little ones are breastfeeding! And you’re back on the breast, which means your off sex.”

“Hmpff.”

“Huff all you want, little one. But I’m going out tonight and you’ll be all safe and sound in your crib, dreaming of our special moments in your nursery.”

I open my mouth to argue. She puts a finger on my mouth before I have the chance.

“Don’t. I’ll tell you what, little one. I have to leave in a half hour. Would you like to eat before I leave?”

I know I should say no. I should try to be an adult.

But I can’t.

“Y-yes pwease.”

“Good boy,” she says, taking off her dress and sitting down, adjusting my body and guiding my head to her nipple. “You just eat little one.”

I let her guide me, latching on immediately. Her bare skin feels warm and inviting. She rubs my back as I feed, humming a sweet melody.

Her other hand grabs at my diaper, checking it. Her fingers linger on my manhood. She giggles when she realizes.

“Such a silly boy. See, you do need my body, but not for your pleasure. You need it for your num-nums.”

I’m too out of it to understand what she’s saying. I don’t remember her getting up and tucking me into bed. Or Jen changing my diaper later that night.