Either the Girl Goes or I Do

Here, for easy reference, are links to all of my longer posts, with the approximate word count and relevant tags for each.

BTW, if anyone feels like encouraging me to write more by tipping a couple bucks, my CashApp is: $DarrenLCF

A Shared Revelation (1,800 wds) #femdom #bathroom-control #exposure

Awakened by Alexandria (2,200 wds) #adult-babysitter #bedwetting

Beach House Escape (1,000 wds) #fear-wetting #mutual-wetting #intimidation

Office Gossip (7,000 wds) #femdom #public-wetting #diaper-humiliation

Alone on the Train (Follower request) (5,000 wds) #fear-wetting #voyeurism #intimidation

How My Girlfriend Broke Me (2,100 wds) #fear-wetting #intimidation

When Debby Feigns Disinterest (2,700 wds) #date #public-wetting #prejac

Work/Wife Balance (7,000 wds) #femdom #public-wetting #spanking

Competing for Dominance (1,900 wds) #holding-contest #mutual-wetting #switching

My Stepsister's Intimidating Friends (2,800 wds) #voyeurism #bullying #intimidation

Rest Stop, Wet Spot (3,300 wds) #car-desperation #public-wetting #prejac

Nervous Approach (3,700 wds) #intimidation #public-wetting

Marketing Pitch (1,600 wds) #femdom #bullying #forced-wetting

Pooling (1,000 wds) #leaking #public-wetting #concealment

Upstairs Dommes (1,500 wds) #femdom #intimidation

Kat's Conditions (3,400 wds) #school #bullying #bedwetting #diaper-humiliation

Private Reading (2,000 wds) #school #bullying #exposure #bedwetting

Without Permission (2,000 wds) #voyeurism #intimidation #switching #diaper-humiliation

When the Wife's Away, Part 1 (3,000 wds) #babysitter #femdom

When the Wife's Away, Part 2 (5,000 wds) #babysitter #femdom #spanking

Alleyway Stakeout (1,400 wds) #public #discipline #MOMMIDOM

The Plumber is a Girl?! (8,700 words) #shyness #intimidation #holding

Who's Embarrassed Now? (4,900 wds) #role-reversal #switching #dom-sub-relationship #diaper #public-wetting

Celebrity Waitress Causes a Splash (1,100 wds) #intimidation #public-wetting #celebrities #fake-news

After the Confession (2,500 wds) #adult-babysitter #bedwetting #femdom #diapers #ageplay

Continuing Education (1,500 wds) #intimidation #bullying #femdom #lesbian-cuckolding

Could've Been Worse (Based on a poster's anecdote) (1,000 wds)

Darren Doll (7,300 wds) #feminization #sissy #bullying #femdom #school-wetting

I really appreciate getting messages like this, and I appreciate the fact that I can still see new likes on my old posts when I log in. I'm glad people enjoyed what I posted here. Maybe one of these days the correct switches will flip in my brain and I'll have both the inclination and the long-term focus to post more. But as it stands, I can't even muster the energy to look back at stuff I've already written, much less add more.

Part of that is entirely personal. My interests and my sense of what is worthwhile tend to change very quickly and thoroughly. So does my sense of how much time I can put into things, and for the past few months I've felt like basic work responsibilities and run-of-the-mill tasks are all I can manage.

But there's a bigger problem, because all of that is exacerbated by external factors. If I had to give one simple reason why I'm no longer motivated to express my weird little psycho-sexual fantasies in meticulously detailed writing, I'd say it's the fascism.

When I said earlier this year that I was thinking of posting regularly again and pursuing some big ideas, I was dramatically underestimating how quickly things would get as bad as they have in America. I should have realized that past a fairly low threshold of bad news and institutional collapse, I wouldn't be able to mute my dread for long enough to think through any of the titillating stories I would like to put on the internet.

That said, there are two distinctly different ways of thinking about erotica in times of socio-political crisis when evil is on the rise. On one hand, there are so many things that are so much more important than giving an outlet to myself and others for sexual kinks that probably reflect a lot of serious mental hang-ups and unprocessed trauma.

On the other hand, what could be more important than exploring the fringes of human experience and reasserting your right to be weird when there are powerful people all around who are increasingly emboldened in their efforts to reduce humanity to a condition of slavery while outlawing all kinds of alternative artistic expression? Besides, as life gets increasingly difficult, pure escapism is going to be more of a tool of survival than ever before.

I'd like to provide some people with that escape, and I'd like to be able to just say, "I'm still here and the world hasn't yet beaten my imagination out of me." But at the same time, if I even think about spending a couple hours on a story about age play and sexual humiliation, I'm invariably faced with guilty reminders that that time could be better spent volunteering in my local community or trying to develop skills that will help myself and others to survive what's coming.

And in case you don't understand what I mean by that or you're so disengaged that your reaction is to ask, "What's fascist about making America great again," I don't know what to tell you. Take a look around. The government is building concentration camps. Masked men are storming into workplaces, hospitals, and parks, arresting and often brutalizing people based on little other than their skin tone. People are being disappeared to countries with abysmal human rights records, where they have never lived or where they face serious risk of politically-motivated execution. Meanwhile, in the course of providing ungodly levels of funding for more of the same, lawmakers designed the largest upward redistribution of wealth in human history, cutting off access to health care for millions of people and potentially turning basic survival into a greater challenge than it has been for decades.

I don't know what to do about any of that, per se, but until I figure it out, writing stories about adults acting and being treated like children just seems self-indulgent. Under different circumstances, I might see it as effective stress relief after hours spent doing meaningful work and trying to make the world a little less shitty. But it's going to take a lot for me to get into that headspace.

"I want you to crawl over here and kneel down on this spot. Then show me you know how to control yourself.

"Yes, it's so close to the toilet, isn't it? You can even reach out and touch it, if you want. But you may not use it. Not until I say so.

I know I said that I would get back to the would-be four-part story that I kind of abandoned, but I'm prone to distraction and still trying to make Tumblr fit back into a regular creative routine.

So in recent days, I've written several chapters of what's turning out to be another very long story, plus this one-off, which I found fun and some of you might as well.

It's a little bit different, with the focus still on male omorashi, but it a slightly fantastic but also not really context. I post this in full awareness that some of you will find the conceit annoying, but I'm sure others will share my timely humor.

7,500 words.

Well, I was a week late in posting my New Years-inspired story. That's a less than auspicious start to 2025, but I'm willing to give myself a mulligan on the first few days.

I am tentatively resolved to remaining active on here in the coming weeks and months, as well as establishing a presence on other platforms for my fetish fiction.

In the meantime, I'd like to once again express my gratitude for those of you who continued following me after I kind of fell away from Tumblr and this type of content in general. I can't really account for my absences other than by saying that my mental health took some turns which made it difficult for me to indulge fantasy in the structured way that yields my perhaps excessively detailed fiction.

I'm also chronically self-conscious about that excess, which has held me back from making a novel available without first editing the absolute fuck out of it. That said, I'm going to either buckle down on giving Shy Teddy that edit this month or else bite the bullet and release it as a >100,000-word monstrosity.

Of course, first I've got to complete the short series that I started more than a month ago. I know it must be frustrating to read two parts and then be left hanging, but I'm trying to get back in the saddle, and once I do, I've got big plans.

That's not to say that I'll definitely follow through on those plans, but if I do, I think some of you are in for a treat. A lot will depend on whether I'm able to maintain enough efficiency with the work that actually keeps a roof over my head, so I can still devote some time to these extracurriculars without getting totally burned out.

Bobby awoke late in the morning on January 1, with a headache and a lingering haziness that told him he had overdone it the previous night with his New Year’s Eve celebrations. As he steeled himself to cope with the hangover, he felt grateful for the familiar embrace of the diaper he was wearing. It made him as feel comfortable and secure as ever, despite his disorientation – so much so that he considered turning over, pressing himself into the thick padding, and going back to sleep for a little while longer.

But as recollections of the previous night trickled into his waking mind, Bobby’s pleasant feelings were supplanted by a dawning confusion and mild panic. He’d gone to that New Year’s Eve party with his girlfriend, and wasn’t she supposed to come back to his apartment to spend the night afterwards? Had she? And if so, why was Bobby sleeping in a diaper when he had never worked up the courage to confess the things he liked to do when she wasn’t around?

Wincing in the light, Bobby forced himself to look around and confirm he’d woken up in the bed alone. As he propped himself in the bed to search for any signs Miranda had been there, his hand found something wet and his attention was drawn down to the puddle he’d just been sleeping in. Slowly, he raised his now wet fingers to his nose, hoping to find it was just spilled water, but was immediately struck by the unmistakable scent of the first pee after a night of heavy drinking.

After casting a paranoid glance over each shoulder, Bobby pushed himself up onto his knees, straddling the wet spot and looking down at the crotch of his diaper, which he was wearing without any pants over it.

“Did I leak?” he wondered to himself while pressing both hands to the diaper and examining the leg gathers. Although the padding was wet, it was far from soaked, and Bobby felt sure that there was no way he could have leaked it enough to make the sheets as wet as they were, especially considering how securely it was taped around his hips and thighs.

It occurred to Bobby that he could barely make the tapes that straight and snug even when he was perfectly clear-headed. How had he done it when he was blind drunk? And what the hell happened last night anyway?

Bobby left one hand resting on his diaper and raised the other to his mouth, touching his fingernails to his teeth while he wracked his brain for the last thing he could remember. He could vaguely recall sharing a passionate kiss with his girlfriend at midnight, but try as he might, he couldn’t remember getting home or going to bed.

“Miri must have decided to go home after the party,” he thought. “Jeez, I hope we didn’t get in a fight after having such a great time all night.” After a long moment, it occurred to Bobby that his phone would likely hold some clues. With sudden purpose, he lunged for the bedside table only to stop short, his heart in his throat, when he noticed the glass of water and two aspirin that had been left there for him, alongside a note in Miranda’s handwriting.

“When you’re done sleeping it off, we need to talk,” it said.

No sooner had he processed these words than he became aware of sounds coming from the other room. The smell of freshly brewed coffee wafted into his bedroom to overtake the smell of urine, and as he pictured his girlfriend waiting for to confront him with an unpleasant discussion, he was overwhelmed by a rush of emotions which quickly made him feel as if he were going to cry.

Bobby’s first instinct was to strategize some way of talking his way out of this situation, but he still didn’t know exactly what the situation was. Miranda must have stayed over after all, but then what? Did he wet the bed with her in it? In his drunkenness, did he decide it would be a good idea to put a diaper on then? But then where was his girlfriend for that? Surely, even when he was sloshed, Bobby wouldn’t be so stupid as to diaper himself in front of her. Bobby reasoned that after he’d had an accident, she must have left the room in disgust to go sleep on the couch.

Maybe, he thought, I just have to apologize for wetting the bed and remind her that it’s the only time of year I get that drunk. This could’ve happened to anybody. It’s embarrassing as hell, but she’ll understand – as long as I get out of this diaper first.

Having reminded himself that sometimes, other people wet when they’re drunk, too, Bobby looked back at the wet spot on his bedsheets and allowed himself to entertain the notion that maybe it hadn’t been him who wet the bed. Maybe when he stepped out into the kitchen, Miranda would be the one apologizing to him. Maybe there was some drunken logic at play that told him he should put his diaper on to avoid getting wet from her pee.

Bobby clung to that optimism while gingerly climbing out of the bed in search of grown-up clothing. But he remained wary of going out to face her, of smelling the pee on his skin whether it was his or hers. He wanted to rinse it away in the shower first, and he certainly wanted to get rid of the diaper before she saw it, but he also didn’t want to keep her waiting for him if she was upset.

Normally, waking up in a wet diaper meant that he would just strip it off, fold it up, and stuff it in the bathroom garbage, then make sure to take the bag out well before Miranda came over. The fact that she was in the apartment with him meant that he would need to come up with a whole new procedure, which was made more difficult by him being hung over.

Bobby stripped off his damp sleep shirt and tossed it onto the bed, then put on a fresh t-shirt and found a pair of loose-fitting pants which he could wear over his diaper just until he slipped into the bathroom. Once he did that, he would just have to stuff the diaper into the trash before taking a quick shower, and hope she wouldn’t look into the bathroom garbage before he could take the bag out.

After slipping the pants on, Bobby also grabbed a pair of ordinary underwear and turned to head for the door, but stopped short to look back at the bed and its wet spot. Although he couldn’t think of any scenario in which she wasn’t aware of what had happened there, he still didn’t want her being reminded of it if she went back into the room, so he paused to pull up the covers and hide it as best he could before heading to the bathroom with his clean underwear in hand.

Bobby barely managed to turn in the direction of the bathroom before Miranda’s stopped him in his tracks simply by clearing her throat. As he jumped and turned to face her, he hastily stuffed the underwear into his pants pocket and winced as he inadvertently caused his diaper to rustle. His pulse quickened when he met her eye, but he tried his best to act natural.

“I thought I heard you rustling around,” Miranda said. “Going somewhere?”

Bobby tried not to read into her choice of words, but faltered nervously in his effort to respond.

“I was… Uh… I was just going to go to the bathroom before I came to talk to you.”

Miranda shook her head decisively. “I think this time you can wait,” she said while gesturing for him to follow her. “Come on. I made breakfast.”

Bobby winced a second time, assuming that her sarcastic reply settled the question of who had wet the bed. He also noted that there was something ineffable about her stern but matter-of-fact tone, and while he cautiously padded into the kitchen behind her, he reassured himself that she couldn’t be that upset with him if she’d been willing to cook him breakfast.

Bobby slowly settled into a chair, taking care not to rustle any more than was necessary, then convinced himself to get the ball rolling with a modest, if unavoidable confession.

“I’ll be honest,” he said. “I don’t remember very much of last night.”

“Yeah, that’s not surprising,” Miranda replied. “You were in rare form last night.”

“I hope I didn’t do anything terrible. It’s just so easy to lose control on New Year’s Eve. It’s the only night of the year I really go wild. You know I’m not usually much of a drinker.”

“Yeah, and I guess now I have a better understanding of why that is.”

Bobby felt his cheeks getting flushed, assuming this was a reference to his apparent accident.

“Yeah… Like I said, I don’t remember much of what happened, but… I woke up and, um… I saw that the bed was wet, so I guess… um, I…”

Bobby trailed off for a moment, then willed himself to look into his girlfriend’s eyes as he tried to reclaim his senses.

“Look, I’m sorry, Miri. I don’t know if I got it on you or anything, but, you know, it happens sometimes when people get too drunk. It was just a one-time thing, so please don’t hold it against me. I mean… it’s not like I’m a bedwetter or something. You know… How many times have we stayed over at each other’s places?”

Miranda indulged a conspicuous pause before replying: “Well, technically, you didn’t wet the bed last night.”

Bobby straightened up in his seat, feeling as if a massive weight had been lifted off his shoulders. “So it was you!” he said a bit too excitedly.

Miranda positively cackled in response. “What?! No! Of course not, Bobby. It was all your piss. I just mean you didn’t wet the bed in the sense that you didn’t wait until you were asleep to start peeing.”

“What?! I don’t…” Bobby trailed off again while returning to a slumped, submissive posture.

Miranda raised an eyebrow and cocked her head to the side, scrutinizing her boyfriend. “You really don’t remember anything, do you?” she asked.

“Not really. Not after midnight.”

“That’s okay, I have video.”

To Bobby’s ear, her tone remained ineffable, and he couldn’t tell whether she intended her declaration to be merely informative, teasing, or threatening. On some level, he hoped that she would clarify by just showing him what she was referring to straightaway. But on another level, he wasn’t sure that he wanted to see it at all.

Miranda pulled out her phone and pulled up the video in question, but did not immediately press play or show it to her boyfriend. Instead, she set the phone down in the space between them and set to work filling in some of the other gaps in Bobby’s memory.

“So, we hung around the party for about an hour after the ball drop. You kept getting more and more wasted, but it wasn’t anything too crazy. We were having a good time. Things only started to get weird on the walk home. We were talking about the difference between guys and girls when they get drunk. I said something about how girls become more like little kids – they get affectionate and giggly and super-emotional – but boys become full-on babies. I was just kind of trying to make fun of how you couldn’t walk or talk properly at that point, and how I was going to have to take care of you when we got home. But then you just wouldn’t let it go. The whole rest of the walk, you were like, ‘I’m baby! I need my diapee and baba. Mommy’s gonna take care of me when we get home!’ It was gross.”

The sudden humiliation compounded Bobby’s hangover and made him feel like he was going to pass out. He glanced at his girlfriend’s face just long enough to register the expression with which she punctuated the last word, and then he proceeded to star down at his lap while hoping that somehow this was still a dream.

“I thought it was just a weird joke,” Miranda said, “but then we got home and this happened.”

She pushed her phone closer to Bobby, waited until she was sure he was looking at the screen, and pressed the play button for him.

The video began with Miranda’s voice speaking from behind the camera as she steadied it on the image of her boyfriend sprawled out on the bed, still fully clothed. “Wait, say that again,” she said, sounding slightly confused.

“I need a diapey,” Bobby replied without hesitation, lifting his arm languidly to point in the general direction of the dresser where he kept his ABDL supplies hidden.

“Why are you being weird?” Miranda asked, the confusion in her voice becoming more pronounced.

In the video, Bobby then sleepily draped his forearm over his face while stretching to make himself more comfortable on the bed. “I’m not weird, you’re weird,” he chuckled. “You said I’m a baby but you let me go alllll night with big boy undies on.” He raised his other arm and let it fall until a limp finger was pointing roughly toward his crotch.

“What?!” Miranda’s voice interjected before Bobby went on, heedless of her disbelief.

“You’re lucky I didn’t have a accident,” he said. “Then who would have had to clean it up?” He paused to thrust the same limp finger toward the camera before heavily spitting out the answer: “You!”

“Look, Bobby, I’m sorry I compared you to a baby,” Miranda said. “It was just a joke, and it’s done now. I feel like you’re taking this way too seriously.”

“Nope!” Bobby chirped while turning over and snuggling into the pillow, looking strangely pleased with himself. “You said it, can’t take it back. How’m I even sposda go to the potty if I can’t walk, huh?

“Bobby, are you saying you have to go to the bathroom…? Come on, get up. I’ll help you.”

The video began to move closer to the bed but stopped in response to Bobby raising his arm and swatting at the air to shoo Miranda away.

“Shh. Babies can’t talk, either,” he declared before slapping his hand against the front of his pants and leaving it there, loosely gripping his crotch. “That’s why I need a diapey. Can’t tell you when I gotta go potty.”

“Uh… I think you just did. Seriously, come on, get up. You’re obviously not going to wear a diaper. That’s not something we just have sitting around, babe.”

“Uh-huh, I got lots of ‘em,” Bobby said, barely lifting his arm to indicate the dresser again. He paused to drunkenly smile and laugh to himself before adding, “Obviously.”

The video then clearly picked up Miranda whispering, “What the fuck?” before the image bounced across the room and leveled on the dresser. “Which drawer…?” she asked tentatively, pausing for a moment before she pointed the camera back at her boyfriend and repeated, more loudly, “Which drawer?”

Bobby laboriously propped himself up in the bed, obviously struggling to make his eyes focus on the objects on the far side of the room. His arm thrust forward again but he didn’t even bother pointing this time as he said, “Bottom left,” then collapsed back into a prostrate position.

Miranda pointed the camera down at the indicated drawer and opened it to reveal a stack of towels. With her free hand she reached under them until her hand met different texture and she once again whispered, “What the fuck?”

“What the fuck?” she repeated theatrically after moving aside the towels to reveal her boyfriend’s stash.

“Bobby, these have cartoon prints on them! Why do you have these?”

Bobby stretched again, evidently struggling to keep himself awake, and kept his eyes closed while he answered. “’Cause I’m baby,” he said insistently, almost impatiently. “I need it.”

“You don’t need it!” Miranda practically shouted back. “You’re a grown man, dating a grown woman. You go to the bathroom in the bathroom.”

“Mm-mm,” Bobby shook his head. “Babies don’t know how to go bathroom. You gotta put the diapey on me.”

“I’m not putting this on you! Are you crazy?”

“Okayyy,” Bobby answered in a teasing, sing-song voice. “But if you don’t wanna change me, I guess I just hafta pee my paaants.”

“Oh my god, do not do that.”

Bobby lightly moaned while casually grabbing hold of his penis through his pants. “But I gotta go.”

Miranda turned the camera toward Bobby’s bedroom door and thrust her hand into the frame to snap her fingers and point at it while giving a single word command: “Bathroom!”

Bobby answered with his own, equally short command: “Diapey!”

“No!”

“Okay.” Bobby drunkenly chuckled again and shrugged his shoulders before repositioning himself on the bed and visibly grinding his hips against the mattress. “I guess I got no choice.” He lifted his arm behind him in an abortive attempt to point at his girlfriend one more time while saying, “This is your fault.”

“What…” Miranda began just before the video picked up the image of the bedsheets taking on a darker color, first in the area just below Bobby’s crotch, and then around his thighs and hips.

“Oh my god, stop,” she shouted as the image went blurry with the motion of her rushing forward, just before it cut off abruptly.

As soon as it did, Miranda casually took back her phone, and began waiting patiently to see what Bobby would say first.

All the color had drained from his face as he watched, and when he returned to his senses, he realized that he had been steadily peeing into his diaper since the moment he saw her uncover the secret he’d been keeping in his dresser all these months.

When he finally spoke, it was as much to drown out the sound of his intensifying stream as it was to break the tension. Of course, he had no idea what to say and was forced to content himself with a lot of stammering and false starts: “Um… I’m… I… Um… I’m sorry.”

Sounding no less confused than she had in the video, Miranda replied, “Bobby, I don’t even know what you’re apologizing for, really.”

“Um… well… for… uh, first of all… for… for peeing… in the bed like that.”

Miranda frowned and shrugged her shoulders. “Whatever. It’s your bed. I don’t have to sleep in it. And after that little performance, I’m not sure I will be again.”

Bobby buried his head in his hands. He couldn’t think of anything else to say for himself, so he sat there in silence, trying not to squirm too much from the fullness of his diaper while he waited for Miranda to make it clear whether or not she was now his ex-girlfriend.

“So, do you want to explain the diapers, or what?” she asked finally.

Bobby didn’t look up before replying. “I wear them sometimes.”

“Obviously. Why?”

Bobby shrugged and then slumped. “It feels good, I guess.”

“Okay? And why do they have to look like that?”

“Well… I like… I dunno. That way it feels more like… more like I’m a kid again. Like I’m innocent and cute or whatever.”

“Just what every girl wants in a boyfriend,” Miranda spat back sarcastically. “And do you actually want people to see you like that?”

“No!” Bobby answered insistently, as if she were accusing him of cheating. “I mean… I guess… I wanted you to, eventually, maybe. Just… not like this.”

“Ew.” Miranda wrinkled her nose. “So what would have been the good way for you to show off your baby diapers to me?”

Bobby shrugged again. “I don’t know. I hadn’t really thought about it. I just know that… I was… I was planning on telling you eventually.”

Miranda scoffed. “I don’t think I would have wanted you to. I’d rather not know. But I can’t exactly unsee it now, can I?”

Bobby pressed his face into both his palms as if hoping he could make the whole world disappear.

“Ew,” Miranda repeated. “Are you going to cry, now? How did I never know that you were such a baby?”

“I’m not a baby,” Bobby protested, but his voice cracked as he found himself actually fighting back tears. “I just said that last night for fun. I’m the same man I always was. I just like to… play sometimes.”

“I’ll bet you do,” Miranda said, tauntingly. “So, what, you put yourself in baby diapers, you pee in them, and then you rub yourself in them until you cum? Is that it?”

Bobby’s cheeks went red as he fumbled for a response. “Um… It’s…”

“That’s all right, you might as well admit it,” Miranda advised. “I didn’t get it on video, but after you pissed yourself last night, you kept trying to get yourself off by grinding your cock into the wet spot. I finally agreed to put you in the diaper because I thought maybe it would make you stop, but then when I was leaning over you, I had to keep swatting your hands away because you wouldn’t stop trying to play with my tits. I ended up giving you a handjob just to keep you quiet, which was weird because I think you were too drunk to even enjoy it, much less notice that I wasn’t.”

“I’m sorry…” Bobby moaned.

“Whatever,” Miranda said, with a surprisingly gentle turn. “I’m sorry that you won’t even be able to remember the last time I ever jerked you off.”

Bobby used the heel of his palm to wipe a tear from each eye before he began pleading. “Do we really have to break up over this? Can’t we just pretend that it didn’t happen? I love you and I thought you loved me. This doesn’t have to change anything. Not really.”

“I do love you,” Miranda said. “But it’s like I said: I can’t unsee what I saw last night. Even if I could pretend like I don’t know what you do when I’m not around, what happens if I want to go out and party again? How can I trust you to get drunk and not revert to baby mode where you decide you’re going to piss in your pants again?”

Bobby wiped away more tears and blubbered, “Please don’t leave me.”

“Stop crying, it’s gross,” Miranda groaned. “You’re just proving my point. I’m not going to be able to just stop seeing you as the adult baby you actually are, but that doesn’t necessarily mean I have to dump you.”

With a quavering gasp, Bobby forced himself to meet Miranda’s eye. “Really?” he asked.

“I mean… that’s kind of up to you,” she answered. “I don’t think I can let you fuck me anymore. I doubt I’d be able to feel your cock inside me without thinking about how it looked bulging against your piss-soaked pants, or squirting in my hand before getting wrapped up in those cartoon prints. That’s not exactly a turn on for me, you know. But if you’re okay with me filling that need elsewhere, there’s no reason why we can’t still be boyfriend and girlfriend—or maybe better yet, mommy and baby.”

“What… What do you mean?” Bobby asked.

“Bobby, do you have any idea how many guys at that party would have taken me home last night if I asked them to? Some of them were every bit as drunk as you were, but I’ll bet any of them would have fucked my brains out and not pissed their pants. Up until last night, I thought that was your job, but not anymore. If you want to stay together, it means we can still go out together, but we’re not necessarily going home together.”

At that, Bobby felt the tears welling up in his eyes again, but he couldn’t tell whether they were tears of sadness or of relief. Though he’d been clinging to the hope that he could still salvage his manhood in his girlfriend’s eyes, now that was out the window. But he couldn’t deny that it seemed like a sacrifice worth making in order to keep her in his life.

“You don’t have to decide right now,” Miranda explained. “I already had a few hours to think this over while I was waiting for you to wake up. And I’ll be honest… I was going to just break up with you. But I had some help seeing this in a different light.”

“Huh?” Bobby croaked.

“I was so…” Miranda paused to consider her words. “…flabbergasted by what you did last night that I needed to find out if you were just crazy. I mean, I’ve heard about people peeing on each other and stuff like that, but a grown man wearing baby diapers and wanting to be changed? This is all brand new to me.”

Bobby wanted to launch into an explanation of how he used to think he was alone, too, and how he eventually discovered a vibrant and diverse ABDL community, but almost before he opened his mouth to speak, Miranda raised a hand to silence him.

“I know, it’s not that unusual. I mean, obviously they make those diapers for someone. But I’d never heard of it, so I started texting with some of my girlfriends who I know are a lot kinkier than I am.”

Noticing the sudden appearance of terror in Bobby’s eyes, Miranda raised her hands in a gesture of reassurance and explained: “I didn’t mention your name or what happened. I just told them that I found out something about someone I’ve known for a while, and I wanted to see if they’d heard of anything like it. And lo and behold, some had. Heck, at least one of them, Lucy – you know her, she was at the party too – she’s even kind of into it. She had one boyfriend who called her mommy and everything.”

Had Bobby not been so emotionally drained by the preceding several minutes, he might have felt vindicated by this information. Miranda was right that Bobby knew her friend Lucy, but Bobby suspected that he knew her even better than Miranda realized.

Not only had he seen her at the party, but at one point, when he was coming out of the bathroom, Lucy had seen fit to grab him by the crook of his elbow and take him aside to smooth out his rumpled clothing, check his awareness, and advise him to drink some water and pop a few breath mints before kissing his girlfriend at midnight. It was only the latest of many instances where Bobby felt she was giving off strong mommy vibes.

“Lucky for you,” Miranda continued, “she helped me to recognize the fun part of having an adult baby I can control and play with however I want. Don’t get me wrong, it’s still gross, but now that I’ve gotten over the initial shock, I think I might be more inclined to laugh than to cringe next time I get to watch you pissing yourself.”

As she imagined what that future accident might look like, Miranda glanced down at Bobby’s crotch. Noticing this, and noticing her furrow her brow a second later, Bobby instinctively crossed his forearms over his lap, which only served to confirm what Miranda suspected.

“Bobby, is your diaper bulging more than it was last night? I didn’t get to see what it looks like under your pants before, but that seems kind of full.”

Fearing both her disgust and her laughter, Bobby whimpered, “No,” but immediately betrayed the lie by leaning forward in an effort to further conceal the evidence.

Miranda did not hesitate to reach out and start prying his hands away. “Are you sure?” she asked, insistently. “Why don’t you let me check?”

After a half-hearted struggle, and with his cheeks burning and his heart racing, Bobby relented and let his girlfriend take hold of his waistband.

“Let me just…” Miranda said. “Lift your butt up.”

Bobby pushed himself out of his chair long enough for her to yank his pants down his thighs, then settled back into the simultaneously comforting and humiliating squish of his sodden diaper. A moment later, the humiliation overtook the comfort as Miranda laid a hand over his crotch and gave a series of probing squeezes.

“Oh my god, this is completely soaked!” she exclaimed, before bursting out laughing.

Bobby tried to convince himself that laughter was the best reaction he could have hoped for, but it still cut through him like a knife and prompted him to once again bury his head in his hands.

Miranda pulled Billy’s pants the rest of the way off and discarded them with a flourish before grabbing his wrists and commanding, “No, don’t hide.” After forcing him to meet her eye, she declared, “This is the perfect proof of concept,” and kept hold of one wrist in order to drag him onto his feet and lead him back to the bedroom.

As he toddled behind her, legs forced apart by the wet padding, Miranda turned back to him and scolded, “I can’t believe you pissed yourself again already. Seriously, how did I never know that you were such a baby?”

“I had to go when I woke up but you wouldn’t let me,” Bobby whined.

“Oh my god, so what?” Miranda shot back. “Big boys can hold it for ten fucking minutes in the morning. And men are capable of telling their girlfriends, ‘No, you wait for me’.”

In the bedroom, Miranda physically positioned her baby boyfriend beside the bed and then pushed him down onto it. Consciously, Bobby knew that it wasn’t a sexual gesture, but his cock didn’t. The feeling of his nascent erection pressing against his wet diaper only intensified his embarrassment, as did the smell of last night’s pee, which faintly penetrated the covers to reach his nose.

Bobby was compelled to cover his face with his hands yet again, while lying back in the changing position, but Miranda was no more willing to tolerate the gesture this time, and so she leaned down to pull his hands away and pin them to the mattress on either side of his head. This, of course, did not diminish his arousal, and Bobby could only imagine how red his face became while he struggled to cope with his dread of how she would react if she opened his diaper to find that the entire situation was turning him on.

“Here’s what’s going to happen,” Miranda declared, her face only inches from his. “I’m going to change your diaper, and if I can do it without being completely grossed out, I’m going to call Lucy and tell her exactly why I was asking her about adult baby boys. I think she’ll be really interested, for more reasons than one.”

Miranda stood upright to take in the full image of her boyfriend lying on his back in just a shirt and wet diaper, flushed with embarrassment, before she went on:

“You know all those guys I mentioned I could have gone home with? Well, it turns out Lucy did go home with one of them. I got to hear all about it when we were chatting this morning. He sounded really hot, and apparently after they fucked, they started talking and my name came up.”

Miranda registered the curiosity in Bobby’s expression at the same time as she reached down to fondle the edges of the diaper, gearing herself up to un-tape it and reverse the process she’d so begrudgingly carried out the previous night.

“Yeah,” she said, “I guess he admitted that he’d been checking me out last night before he realized I was there with someone. I don’t know if she was just joking, but Lucy actually told me that she said he should have gone for it anyway, because she didn’t think you were man enough for me. What are the odds, huh?”

At that, Miranda began peeling off the tapes of Bobby’s diaper while she continued:

“Then she said something really interesting. I don’t know if she was still a little drunk from last night, but she let it slip that she’s been wanting to go to bed with me for a while, and she said the two of them discussed it, and they agreed that if they ever got the chance, they’d love to have a three-way with me.”

With all four tapes removed, Miranda left the diaper loosely covering Bobby’s groin and went on: “So now that I know you and I aren’t going to be fucking anymore, I think I’m going to take them up on that offer. But don’t worry. You can come, too. You’re just going to have to keep your diaper on.”

To drive the point home, she brought her hand down on the front of the one she had just removed, patting it several times and eliciting a shudder and a wince from her boyfriend when she made direct contact with his erection. Miranda raised her eyebrows in surprise and pulled the diaper open in a grand gesture to reveal his cock sticking straight up in the air.

Bobby found himself torn between the impulse to cover his face again and the impulse to masturbate, so instead he grabbed the bedcovers tightly in both fists and writhed in discomfort while his girlfriend stared down at his erection and chuckled.

“I was going to ask whether you’d be into that,” Miranda said, “but I guess I don’t have to. You fucking pervert, this is really turning you on, isn’t it? I don’t think I’ve seen you this hard in a long time.”

To Bobby, her tone came across as almost encouraging, which caused one impulse to win out over the other. Before he was even consciously aware of it, one of his hands reached for his cock to begin stroking, but before he could get started, Miranda slapped that hand away, grazing the head of his penis in the process.

“You already got to cum last night,” she cautioned. “We’re not doing that again.”

Bobby only moaned in response, while averting his eyes.

“Put your hands at your side and keep them there while I go and get you a fresh diaper,” Miranda commanded.

Bobby complied, but continued squirming on the bed as his libido battled his willpower. When Miranda was back in front of him, he dutifully lifted his ass off of the bed to let her remove the used diaper and replace it with the new one.

“Yeah, so I’m definitely going to call Lucy after this,” she said. “But first let’s get you taped up before you’re tempted to start touching yourself. I think we should keep you nice and wound up while we make our arrangements. That three-way is going to be incredible, and you’re going to be able to listen to every minute of it. Maybe while he’s taking turns with us, Lucy and I can take turns going into the other room to check your diaper. Do you think she’d want to change you? Do you think you could keep your hands to yourself if she did?”

Miranda carefully pressed the diaper down over her boyfriend’s erection and began taping it up with surprising adeptness. Bobby found himself still unable to muster any response to her inquiries other than a groan.

“Actually, I think maybe we’ll do it together,” Miranda said with note of inspiration. “I know I was probably supposed to wipe you down and put powder on you or something just now, but let’s be honest: you’re lucky I’m doing this for you at all. If you want me to do it right in the future, I’ll bet Lucy can show me the ropes. Maybe the three of us will even take a little shopping trip together, to get everything I’ll need.”

Miranda laid her hand over Bobby’s diapered erection to add emphasis to her next line: “Wouldn’t that be fun?”

Bobby shuddered in response, and Miranda withdrew her hand quickly.

“Oh my god, that thing’s ready to blow, isn’t it?”

Miranda paused to withdraw her phone and then said, “Okay, I’m going to go make that call now. You better think about baseball or something, ‘cause I don’t want to find jizz in that diaper when I come back. I think if Lucy does agree to change you later, I’ll let her decide what you should do to thank her, and I don’t want anything to be off the table because you couldn’t control yourself.”

Miranda raised her phone in front of her face, and Bobby assumed that she was searching her contacts to dial Lucy until he heard the click of her camera shutter. Bobby felt the cold prickling of newfound embarrassment as that sound was followed by the sound of an outgoing text message. After that, Miranda finally raised the phone to her ear and turned to leave the room.