40. Human. I write AB/DL erotica. New stories (and better versions of the stories on this blog) are on Ream. This content is strictly for indivuals aged 18+ with no excepton.
After taking on a new, time-intensive dayjob (at the stuffed animal factory, obviously), I've decided to slow down my story output just a tad. But I'm still publishing new content almost every week, whether it's a new story, or a new chapter to an ongoing series.
And here's the part that you should be excited about: Since I'm publishing less content per month, I've decided to make it easier than ever to join my Ream and read some stories about big babies in their big diapers.
There are now only two tiers. Gimme $4 a month and you get the new chapters of the current ongoing story (right now it's new chapters of Milk!, available to read weeks before anyone else reads them), along with a sizable chunk of my Ream-exclusive stories (pretty much everything published over 18 months ago).
Or! Gimme $9 a month, and you can read EVERYTHING. If it's on Ream at all, it's yours to read - and now at a lower price than it's ever been before.
And with the money you save on subscribing to my Ream, you can put it right into the diaper-fund, baby!
Crawl on over to Ream using the link below, pee yourself with excitement, and read some stories!
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Hey hey. Here's the first half of a new story I've shared with my subscribers on Ream this week. Wanna read the whole dang thing? I've got a link to my Ream page at the bottom of this story, wherein you can find all the details about subscriptions.
Cliff only ever leaves his apartment at nightânot until it's completely dark outside. I assume itâs for his job, though I have no idea what kind of work he does. Only once or twice have I seen him come home again, as it was in the very early morning hours before daybreak, and Iâm rarely up that early myself. I donât think Iâve ever seen Cliff in the daylight before. My pet theory is, obviously, that Cliff is a vampire.
Jenny has this small dog with wiry black fur and that barks way too much. I honestly canât figure out why Jenny has a dog at all, seeing as how she dislikes it so much. Three or four times a day, I can hear her yelling at the dog to shut up. Whenever she takes the dog outside to do its business, she seems annoyed by the whole process. Sheâll complain aloud that the dog is taking too long to âgo.â In the summer, sheâll complain that âitâs too hot out here for this.â But then, in the winterâand while she isnât wearing any sort of jacket or hatâsheâll complain that âitâs way too cold out here for this.â If someone else is also outside, sheâll at least make an effort to pick up, and dispose of, her dogâs business. But if she thinks nobodyâs watching, she just leaves it in the grass and drags the dog back inside. Sheâs not really fooling anyone, though, because I think sheâs the only resident with a dog that walks it in that general area.
Helen might have been born with a cellphone attached to the side of her face and a cigarette wedged between her fingers. I have never seen the woman without either in her hands. I imagine that sheâs always telling someone a story. âYouâll never believe what so-and-so did last nightâŠâ Or, âYou have got to hear thisâŠâ Itâs sometimes amusing to think of how connected Helen seems to be in her social circle, considering how she only ever seems to be hovering around her apartment, phone in one hand, cigarette in the other.
No, I donât actually know Cliff, Jenny, or Helen. Iâve never talked to them, or any of the other folks I spot hanging around my apartment complex day after day. Theyâre just colorful background characters in my own boring life story.
On a recent phone call with my sister, she asked if I had made any friends since moving out to Palm Lake. I said: âSort of,â but didnât bother to elaborate that my perceived âfriendsâ were just my neighbors that I watched all day from the comfort of my balcony.Â
I lucked out, as far as the position of my apartment goes. Iâm on the fourth floorâthe highest for this buildingâwith a balcony that looks over the complexâs swimming pool, the grassy courtyard, and the balconies of the building on the other side of the pool. Itâs from here where I spend most of my days, watching everyone else live their lives.
I sometimes wonder if any of my neighbors have taken note of me in the same way Iâve taken note of them. âOh, thereâs Mr. Creepy again, sitting on his balcony and just staring down at everyone. The dude never works or goes outâhe just sits up there on his cheap plastic chair, drinks beer, and watches.â
If thatâs what they say, they wouldnât be entirely wrong. I do spend a lot of time on that cheap plastic chair on my balcony. And I do drink a lot of beerâthough Iâm honestly trying to cut back a little since noticing that Iâve put on a few extra pounds. And theyâd be right to assume that I donât have a job, because, well, I donât. Havenât had one in a while, actually. A few years ago, I helped develop an online platform for inventory managementâhorribly boring stuff. Some big retail conglomerate liked it so much they bought it from my team and I, making us all stupidly wealthy overnight. The kicker there? I heard that just a few years later, that conglomerate doesnât even use our platform anymore. Meanwhile, Iâm still living a pretty comfortable life.
My other teammates, they went and leveled up their lifestyles. Big, fancy cars. Big, fancy mansions. Trips around the world. Nice clothes. Expensive watches. Et cetera. But I never really needed things like that before, and that didnât change after my windfall. Iâm still driving the same beater car Iâve had for the last ten years. I have a pretty uninteresting mid-tier apartment with a pool I share with a hundred other residents. The rest of my money just sits in various accounts and investments, slowly growing larger in the most uninteresting ways. Iâm hoping that someday Iâll figure out what I want to do with it all.
Thatâs always kind of been my problem, I guess. I donât have a lot of drive. âNo gumption,â my father always said. I donât think Iâm âlazy,â per seâit just doesnât take much for me to feel comfortable. I probably wouldâve been happy working a menial 9-to-5 office job my whole life, blending in with all the other forgotten white-collar masses who were destined to never get ahead.Â
But here I am, with more money than I know what to do with, no job, and little desire to do anything except sit on the balcony of my apartment and watch the rest of the world do its thing.
===
Okay, full disclosureâIâm a little creepy. Iâm not trying to be, but Iâm just a curious person by nature. I see something, or someone, that interests me, and I like to delve into it. I want to explore itâlearn everything I can about it. Thatâs how I became a Star Wars trivia obsessive. Itâs how I stumbled into programming, which would eventually lead to the development and sale of Hangers-11.Â
And itâs why I bought a pair of binoculars, so that I can occasionally get better glimpses into the lives of my neighbors.Â
I try to be subtle about when I use themâreserving them mostly for night when I can keep my lights off and not be noticed as I sit on the balcony. If I have any reputation at all around here, itâs that I spend too much time watching everyone else from up high. I probably donât also need to be known as âthe creep with the binocularsâ on top of that.
But you see a lot when nobody thinks youâre looking. Even with their blinds open and the curtains pulled aside, people often seem to feel safe and free in their own homesâlike they can do whatever they want, as theyâre free from judgment.Â
Vampire Cliff watches a lot of pornography in his third-story apartment. And, given that I have a pretty good angle on his TV with my binoculars in hand, Iâll say that he watches some pretty extreme stuff. Sometimes he likes watching girls getting smacked around. But then, sometimes, he likes watching the girls doing the smacking.
Granny Smith, an older woman who lives a few apartments over from Cliff on the other side of the swimming pool, cooks a lot of food. Sheâs always tending to something on the stove, or putting something intoâor taking something out fromâthe oven. Itâs always a lot of food, too. Big pots. Big sheet pans. And itâs weird because I never see anyone else in her home eating the food. Where does all this food go? It seems like too much for one elderly woman, but what do I know?
And then thereâs Dolly, who lives on the fourth floor of the building on the other side of the courtyard. Much like everyone else in our complex, she seems to have little sense of privacy while sheâs in her own home. There are never any blinds or curtains obstructing her view outside, nor my view into her home. She struts around confidently, likely thinking that nobody can see what sheâs doing. Sure, her balcony looks across the property to other propertiesâbut thereâs enough distance that youâre not going to see much. Either sheâs banking on that, or she likes the little thrill of being exposed, because she acts like sheâs got all the privacy she could ever need.
I call her âDolly.â Short for âbabydoll.â Because, well, thatâs how she dresses. Thatâs how she acts.
The first time my binoculars zoomed into her apartment, I had no idea what I was looking at. There she wasâthis beautiful 20-something year old woman with peachy skin, thick blondish hair that bounced with her every step, and her petite frameâwaddling around in these underpants that just seemed way too big. Like, they were thick. Bulky.
The only thing that I could think of that would be that thick wasâŠa diaper. And as ridiculous and impossible as that initially seemed, the longer I gazed at her prancing about in her thick undergarments, the more sure I was that this was exactly what I was seeing.
Dolly likes her diapers. Itâs rare that I see her without them on. Sometimes sheâs wearing more than just a diaper, but the diaper is always there. Sometimes she wears these cute little dresses that donât cover up the bulky padding. Other times, she crams her diaper into a small, tight pair of shorts. Sometimes she wears one of those onesiesâthose little bodysuits that snap at the bottom. Sometimes she has a pacifier in her mouth. Iâve seen her drinking from a baby bottle a few times. Jars of baby food. On a few occasions, Iâve watched her sitting on the floor, cuddling with a large teddy bear.
Sheâs weird, no doubt about it, but itâs an endearing sort of weird. And Iâm weird too, for that matterâwatching everyoneâs private lives with my binoculars.
Iâve done some looking around online, learning that thereâs a sizable community for the âadult babyâ types. Iâm not entirely surprised by thisâmaybe Iâve seen references to this before in my life, but always dismissed it because it didnât seem pertinent to me. It would probably be an interesting rabbit hole to fall down, but I realize that Iâm not interested in the community as a wholeâitâs Dolly herself that fascinates me.Â
As best as I can tell, she lives by herself. She has a job she goes to during the day. On most evenings, when she gets home, she sheds all of her clothes and walks, nude, to wherever it is she keeps her âbaby things,â and proceeds to change into a diaper and whatever else sheâs going to wear. She makes dinner like this. Talks on the phone like this. Reads a book or watches TV like this.Â
I donât always know when she uses her diapers, but I know they get used. Sometimes, in the middle of doing something else, Iâll watch as she suddenly pausesâher hands feeling the front, or back, of her diaper for a few moments. I never see her get up and go to the bathroom. Sometimes, she lies down on her living room floor and proceeds to change out of one diaper and into another.Â
I was tempted, once, to dig through the trash in the complexâs dumpsters in the dead of night, curious what I might be able to learn about her from her refuse. I didnât go through with this, of course, but it served as an indication of how desperate Iâve been to learn more about her.
===
Tonight, Iâm sitting on the balcony, in the dark. Iâd like to think Iâm invisible up here, but I have no idea. As best as I can tell, nobody ever looks up here and watches me while Iâm watching them.
I have a bottle of beer in one hand, and my binoculars in the other. Across the way, over in Dollyâs apartment, the lights are also off. Sheâs probably not home yet, and so Iâm left daydreaming once more about what it is she does during the day. Using the binoculars, I peer into her dimly lit home, doing my usual scan for details that might fill in some of the blanks as to who Dolly really is. Alas, there isnât anything to see tonightâat least not that I havenât seen before.
Itâs about 6:30 PM. This is around the time she gets home. I wonder if she gets off at work around 6:00, and then has about a half-hour commute.Â
Soon, itâs 6:45, and the lights are still off and thereâs been no activity.
âWhere are you, baby?â I ask aloud, though mostly to myself.
Suddenly, thereâs a flash of light in her apartmentâitâs the front door opening, letting in light from the hallway. The light is on in the living room and the door closes. She walks in the kitchen, turning the light on there too.Â
I increase the zoom on the binoculars. Sheâs wearing a salmon colored skirt over her tan stockings and a very soft looking white sweater. Itâs a cute outfit, and one that compliments her fair skin color.
She stands in the center of the living room, her body perfectly framed within the rectangular sliding glass panels that would lead out to her balcony. Itâs times like this when I feel like she has to know she has an audience. As she pulls her sweater up her body and over her head to remove it, it feels like a special performance just for me. The sweater is cast aside, out of view, and her pristine white bra is revealed. It doesnât matter how many times Iâve seen this show before, itâs one I canât ever get enough of.
She reaches behind herself, her fingers fumbling at her lower back as she unzips the skirt. Even though she canât hear me, I softly say: âDo you need some help with that?â She ignores my question, shimmying her body out from the skirt and letting it drop to the ground. Next, the tan stockings are pulled down her legs. Iâve seen her do this beforeâshe has a very slow and methodical approach to lowering the stockings just a little bit at a time. My theory is that theyâre just fragile, and she does it like this to ensure she doesnât cause a run or stretch in them.Â
Thereâs something about the daintyness of the stockings that I likeâhow the thin fabric is like a second layer of skin for those slender legs of hers. And with that layer removed, her pastel pink panties are revealed, like a secret and forbidden fruit.
Whereas the skirt is just left crumpled on the floor around her ankles, the removed stockings are tossed aside to wherever the sweater is. Her hands are behind her back again, unfastening her bra. With its tension released, she lets the straps slide down her arms until the bra lands on the floor in front of her. Her hands cup her breasts for a moment before she lets them fall to her sides again, like sheâs giving me a turn to look for myself. And I do.Â
Iâve seen them plenty of times, though it's a view I never get sick of. Her tits are round little dollopsâperfectly sized for a diaper-wearing baby like herself. She turns towards the window, giving me an even better view of them.Â
Sometimes, I swear, she knows Iâm here watching her. This is all a show she puts on for me, and me alone.Â
Her panties are sliding down her legs now. Zooming in. Her hairless pussy practically glows in the warm lighting of her apartment. She squats down a little, just enough so that she can grab her panties and skirt off the floor. She walks to the side of the room, where my view is inhibited by the wall.
My eyes scan to the right, and I see the bathroom light turn on. There is, unfortunately, a curtain here, and I canât see whatâs going in there. Just as quickly as itâs turned on, though, it turns off. My eyes scan further to the right, to the windows of her bedroom. While she doesnât have anything up over those windows, I still canât see into that room very wellâthe angle just isnât right. Still, I can see that sheâs in there. I see the light turn on, and I watch her shadow bounce around the room as she does whatever it is she needs to. I suspect I know what sheâs doingâitâs the same thing she always does when she comes home after work.
âThatâs it,â I say. âGet your diaper. Like a good girl.â
She lingers in the bedroom for a while. All I can do is imagine whatâs occurring right now.
This is usually about the time when I reflect on what Iâm doing and start asking myself if Iâm happy with my life.
Is this what I thought Iâd be doing with my adulthood? No job, no friends, no lifeâjust watching my diapered neighbor with a pair of binoculars?
I came to Palm Lake because I liked its proximity to everything else. Smack dab in the middle between two decently-sized cities, thereâs never a shortage of things to do around here. In just an hour or three, I could be on a plane. I could be skiing. I could be hiking or swimming. I could catch a football game or some basketball. I could be seeing amazing performances at a theater or catching a great concert.
I donât do any of those things.Â
I donât have to do anything, and so, usually, I donât.Â
No gumption. Right, Dad?
Being a creepâstaring at my neighborsâthatâs all I really do anymore.Â
In a way, I blame Dolly for my current lifestyle. If she was a little more boring, maybe I wouldâve given up my voyeuristic tendencies by now. But noâsheâs got to be this cutie patootie in a fucking diaperâgetting me all wrapped up in her charming mystery.
âFuck you, Dolly,â I whisper, praying that the wind doesnât carry my words across the courtyard to her apartment.
Dolly reemerges in the living room a few minutes later. Tonight, sheâs only wearing a diaper and nothing else. Personally, while I like the babyish clothes too, I think this is the best look for her. Itâs strangelyâŠpure.
Sheâs in the kitchen now, her diapered ass facing towards me as she prepares food on the counter and the stove. Itâs not a cold night, but itâs gotten a bit cooler since the sun went down. I hope sheâs comfortable in just a diaper.
There it is. The pause. She was dicing something with a knife, but abruptly set it down as she stepped back from the counter a little. Slight squat. Her hands are tucked between her thighs, feeling the front and bottom of the diaper.
âWhatcha doing, princess?â I ask.
No reply, of course, but maybe she doesnât need to say anything. She moves her head just enough that I can see the relief in her expression. Thereâs this little shudder of pleasure that seems to move through her body as she briefly aims her face up to the ceiling. I swear, I can hear her making a little grunting noise, even if I know that it's impossible and my brain is just filling in the blanks.
When sheâs finished with whatever sheâs doing in her diaper, itâs like she just springs back into reality again. Sheâs back to chopping things on the counter. Sheâs checking the stove. Sheâs taking things out from the fridge. Sheâs getting a bowl from the cabinet. Sheâs doing it all with a big, content smile on her faceâthe kind of smile that says: âI accomplished something and Iâm very proud of myself.â
Every time I see her hovering around her apartment in a thick diaper, I find myself a little more in love with both Dolly herself and her strange little diaper-kink. Iâm spending more and more time fantasizing about what it might be like to be in her apartment. Does her diaper crinkle when she walks around? Does she make little giggling noises and speak in baby talk to herself? Does her diaper smell? If it doesâŠwhat does it smell like? How far away from her can I be and still smell her diaper?
Iâm not going to get answers to any of these questions, and thatâs something Iâve had to make peace with. I mean, sure, I could go over to her apartment and just, like, talk to her. But how would that even go? âUhm, yes, hello. So, I like to watch you from that building all the way over yonder with my binoculars. I see you wear diapers a lot. Care to talk about that with me?â
Sheâd probably mace my eyes before I even finished.
The way I see it, one of two things are going to eventually happen. Either I realize that this fascination with a complete stranger isnât healthy for me and I retire my binoculars altogether, or I eventually get caught peeping on the wrong people and end up getting kicked out of this building.
Iâd rather the first option, if I got to choose. But Iâm not ready for that just yet. For now, I zoom in on her padded tush again, scrutinizing over whether or not I see a defined brownish lump in the back of her diapers.
This is also when I open the front of my pants, and grab my cock as I peer through the binoculars.
===
An opportunity presents itself, and my heart flutters wildly as I debate on whether or not Iâm going to take advantage of it.
Tonight, through my binoculars, I see her in the kitchen, wearing a pair of yoga pants and an oversized sweatshirt. Sheâs wrangling a few bags of garbage in her hands, likely preparing herself for a trip down to her buildingâs dumpster.Â
My fingers drum on the railing of my balcony as I watch her. I bite my bottom lip.Â
âDo I dare?â I ask aloud, perhaps to some unseen deity who might be willing to offer me a sign.Â
If I really wanted to, I think, I could run downstairs myself. I could go outside, and jog over to the dumpster at her building. I might be able to get there just as she arrives to throw her garbage out.
And then what?
I havenât worked that part out yet. Wow her with my charm? That might work if I had charm, though Iâve never really been the charismatic type.Â
Comment on her trash? âWow, looks like youâre throwing away a lot of adult diapers, there.â Yeah, because sheâd love that.
But I almost donât even care what Iâd say or do. I could go down there right now and see her face to face. Introduce myself. Make contact. Do something. Because something is more than the nothing I do up here on my balcony, beyond just watching her through binoculars.
Next thing I know, Iâm running down the stairs of my building towards the first floor. Iâd take the elevator, but itâs so freaking slow that, by the time Iâve made it to the bottom floor, sheâd already have been outside, thrown her trash away, and then returned to her apartment. Iâm trying not to think too much, because I think my plan would fall apart under the tiniest bit of scrutinyâwhat little plan that there is.
Iâm going out there, where she is, and Iâm making contact. Right now, thatâs all I know.
I kick open the door on the first floor of the stairwell and jog out into the parking lot, making a beeline towards her building. The further I run, the further I realize her building is from mine. If my heart wasnât pounding so hard this might be a more sobering momentâa wakeup call that Iâm being a bit too creepyâbut those thoughts dissipate from my head as quickly as they surface.
I see her buildingâs dumpsters ahead of me, but I donât see her. Did I miss her? No, of course I didnât miss herâI was running like a maniac. But sheâs not rushingâshe has all the time in the world. Sheâs just not here yet. I take advantage of this, propping myself up against a tree and allowing myself to catch my breath in the hopes that Iâve gotten hold of myself again by the time she arrives.
But this feels like a mistake. The second I stop moving, I start thinking. What am I going to say? How do I actually introduce myself to her? How do I get my foot in the door in a way that ensures we might be able to talk again in the future?
I have no idea.
I see a door on the side of her building open, and my breathing ceases for a moment as I watch to see who it is. The first thing to come through the door are two or three large trash bags, bulging from being overstuffed. I think: You should probably take your garbage out more often, but it seems wrong to be judgmental of the woman Iâve been watching like this.
Itâs her. While the binoculars have given me incredible access into her life, sheâs a sight to behold without the aid of lenses. A gentle breeze blows through her hair, and she almost seems to glow in the street lamps.Â
But my indecisiveness about what I might say has altered my plan. Iâve ducked for cover in a small grove of trees and shrubbery. Iâm relatively sure that Iâm concealed, though itâd probably look pretty bad if she glanced in this direction and noticed any part of me.
I watch as she brings her bags closer to the dumpster. They must be heavy, given the way she grunts and strains as maneuvers them. She places them all down, taking the first with both hands and heaving it as hard as she can up into the air, its arch taking it right into the open mouth of the dumpster. A little impressive, actuallyâthe babyâs got some strength.
She handles the next bag the same as the first, grunting as she puts some power into launching it into the dumpster, where it lands with a splatting noise.
Itâs the next bag where it looks like sheâs struggling. Itâs a heavier one, and she winds herself up a few times before abandoning her throw at the last momentâclearly second-guessing her strength. Iâm so tempted to run out there and offer assistance, but Iâm sure itâs not a good look for a stranger to emerge from the darkness of the trees right now.
âFuck,â she mutters, winding back with the bag in both hands one more time as she prepares to throw it. This time, she does launch it, and while it's an impressive attempt, the bag is simply too heavy. It hits the rim of the dumpster instead of going into it, and the force of the impact causes the bag to explode.
She says the same thing Iâm thinking: âGoddammit!â
The contents of the bag scatter all over the pavement.Â
âNo!â she whines, followed by an exasperated: âYouâve got to be kidding me right now.â
Even in the minimal light of the parking lot, I see the white bundles that have been spilled all over the pavementâsomewhere between a softball and football in sizeâand I immediately know what Iâm looking at. Diapers. All of the dirty diapers she was about to throw into the dumpster are now spread across the ground.
Itâs at this moment, while her back is turned to me, that I emerge from the trees and approach where sheâs standing. I donât know why this seems like the time to do this, but it just feels right. I quickly walk towards her and her current dilemma, and without saying anything, I bend down and pick up one of the diapers in my hand, ready to toss it into the dumpster for her. Of course, before I do that, I take a moment to gently squeeze the sinful little parcel, admiring the squish of the padding and its heft.
Itâs at this point she hears me, and she spins around. I hadnât considered just how alarming this scene must beâa complete stranger, manhandling her filthy diapers.
I feel I need to say something before she does: âOh, hey. I saw your, uh, garbage bag break, so I ran over here to help you.â
Her cheeks blush a deep crimson and she immediately shakes her head. âNo.â
I guess I just assumed sheâd be grateful for my arrival, and so her blunt refusal catches me off guard. âButâŠâ
âPlease just let me handle this, okay?â she asks. âI⊠I donât want anyone else handling my garbage.â
It is a fair request and one that comes from a good place. She knows that some ârandomâ passerby shouldnât be touching the garments sheâs used in place of a toilet, and that itâs best she keeps anyone else away.
Me being me, though, I act naive. I throw the diaper in my hands into the dumpster before reaching for the next one. âOh, itâs no trouble, miss. Things like this happen, you know? Iâm happy to help you clean up.â
âPlease, I think Iâd much rather ifâŠâ She stops abruptly, her head craning to the left.Â
I hear it tooâthe sound of footsteps echoing across the parking lot. Someone else is approaching the dumpsters.
âLetâs be quick,â I say, plucking up two or three more diapers from the ground in quick succession and tossing them into the large metal tub.
I can tell that sheâs torn about this interaction, but that she also knows Iâm right. Her best chance to avoid further embarrassment is if we work together to clean up this mess as fast as we can. We both scramble around, grabbing all the diapers we can and heaving them up into the dumpster. I slide my phone out of my pocket and use the light on it to scan for other diapers, though it seems as if we have them all.
âThere,â I say. âI think we got them.â
And just in time, as itâs at about this moment that an older woman walks into view, wordlessly walking past us and throwing her own garbage bag into the dumpster before trotting back in the direction she had come from.
âThank you,â âDollyâ says to me at last, her back turned towards me so I canât see her face.
âOh, it was no trouble at all.â
âI can explainâŠâ
âExplain?â I ask. âYou donât have to explain anything.â
She laughs. âOh please. Youâre really going to pretend that you didnât know what you were picking up on my behalf?â
âWell, uhâŠâ I want to say something about how it doesnât really matter what she had dropped, as I wouldâve picked it up for her.
But before I can find the right phrasing, she continues: âYou probably think Iâm a freak, huh? Needing to carry a big bag of diapers to the dumpster?â
I play dumb: âI guess I just assumed you have a babyâŠâ
She laughs again, this time louder than the first. âYou donât need to be polite. You saw how big those diapers were.â
âA grandparent, perhaps?â I ask.
She finally turns towards me, and while she is blushing brightly, I can see that sheâs also smiling. Seeing her face this close for the first time, Iâm noticing all the fine details that the binoculars have never revealed to me about her face. Those subtle dimples. Her long eyelashes. The perfect shape of her nose. I try to remain centered, but Iâm worried that my own blushing cheeks might give me away.
âThat was very nice of you,â she says. âThatâs never happened to me before, and it couldâve been a lot worse.â
I shrug. âOh, no big deal.â
âDo you live in this building?â
âOh, I actually live, uhmâŠâ My voice trails off, and I wonder if I should reveal which building Iâm actually from. I decide to just do it. Pointing in the general direction of my building, I say: âOver there, actually. I was just out for a walk when I saw your littleâŠaccident.â
âWell that was pretty good timing,â she says. âI didnât even see you until you just kinda materialized out of thin air.â
Iâm not sure what I want to do next. It feels like the conversation is winding down, and this isnât where I want it to end. But what do I say? Ask her to get a drink or some coffee with me? Maybe not now, but later? But then, well, this might be the most awkward time to ask someone out, and Iâm sure sheâd feel the same way too.
I start to speak, not really sure where Iâm going with this thought yet: âSo, uh, lookâŠâ
âDo you want a cup of coffee?â she asks.
I try not to look as surprised as I feel. âOh, like, right now?â
âIf you have somewhere else to be, maybe we can do it another time. I was just thinkingââ
âYes,â I say, too impatient to let her finish that thought. âThat sounds great.â
âCome on,â she says, turning to walk back to her own building, waving a hand for me to follow her. âFollow me.â
We walk across the parking lot together and into the building. We make a little small talk along the way, and we make our introductions. Her name isnât Dolly, of course, but Katie, though that name seems to suit her just as well as Dolly does. Her personality seems to match perfectly with what I had imagined, or hoped, for it to be likeâkind, cheery, and the slightest bit bubbly. There are some things that you just canât know when looking through a pair of binoculars, like what her girlish giggle sounds like, and Iâm honored to have the chance to hear it.
Her apartment building is eerily familiar to my own, with similar aesthetics and layout. But the subtle differences go a long way to making this place feel like an alternate reality of mineâthere are more fliers on the bulletin boards in the lobby, and the rugs are a different color. I follow her into the elevator and we take it up to the top floor. It is, of course, a slow ride, but being in a more confined space with her gives me the unexpected opportunity to smell her. Itâs a subtle smellâone that I donât even attribute to her initiallyâbut when I realize what it is, Iâm certain that sheâs the source: the unmistakable powder-fresh scent of a baby or a nursery.Â
Moments later, Iâm following her into her apartment, and she closes the door behind us. Iâve seen plenty of her apartment before, albeit from the perspective of my binoculars and from a distance away, and so while thereâs a familiarity, itâs quite uncanny to see the place from within it, looking across it from the opposite side for once. Through the sliding glass door that leads to the canopy, I can see the lights of my own apartment, out beyond the darkness that separates our buildings.
Katie hustles to the kitchen, where she immediately starts to wash her hands, waving me towards her so that I can do the same.
âLook, I donât normally do things like this,â she says. âLike, inviting men I donât know into my place? But I guess I just felt like I needed the opportunity to explain what happened down there.â
âExplain?â I ask. âYou donât owe me an explanation.â Iâm just being polite, thoughâI desperately want to hear her talk about her diapers.
âYou picked up my dirty diapers for me,â she says, her face immediately turning beet-red at having said these words. âI guess Iâm terrified that you wouldâve walked away from here thinking Iâm some sort of freak who has all these diapers andâŠâ
âI didnât think you were a freak,â I say, turning off the faucet and taking the hand towel from beside the sink to dry my hands. âYour garbage? Your life? Thatâs your business.â
She smiles at this, nodding her head. She looks relieved that I said this.
Honestly, though, Iâm feeling sick to my stomach. Maybe Iâm saying the right things she needs to hear, but Iâm certainly not practicing what I preach. The only reason Iâm here right now is because I violated her privacy, repeatedly, by watching her from the balcony of my apartment. I almost wish I hadnât ever done any of that now. Maybe, in a different world, a situation like what occurred at the dumpsters would have been more organic, and we couldâve made a more genuine connection.
âI appreciate you saying that,â she says. âIâŠI was going to attempt to explain the diapers to you, butâŠâ Her voice trails off again.
âYou donât owe me any of your secrets,â I say, the knot in my stomach getting tighter. âYou donât have to tell me anything that you donât want to.â
She smiles at me, still blushing, though not quite as intensely as before. âItâs a nice night out, isnât it? Do you want to sit out on my balcony?â
âThat sounds lovely,â I say, nodding my head.
âPerfect. Why donât you go have a seat out there and Iâll finish getting some coffee together.â
Stepping out onto her balcony, my eyes are fixed on the lights of my own apartment. Itâs too far away to see them, but I know my binoculars are over there, sitting atop the small table next to the chair on my own balconyâright where I left them when I hoofed it down the stairs in an effort to meet Katie.
The guilt is consuming me. Thereâs nothing honest about my being here. This whole scene is a farce, orchestrated by a creep. She doesnât deserve this. Sheâs a nice young woman who is just living her best life in her small slice of privacy. I donât belong here, and I feel as if my presence is a blight on her sanctuary. I really should tell her the truth, but I worry that doing so wonât just ruin this little rapport we have now, but itâll ruin her little adult baby lifestyle. Sheâll feel less safe in her own home. The things that brought her comfort before might not work as well after.
It would probably be best if I just finish this coffee, politely excuse myself, and then go home and put an end to this.Â
Maybe Iâll even get rid of my binoculars tomorrow.
***
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Fifty-Four: Convergence/More of Maxineâs Story
I occasionally think about this time where my mother, likely on a day where I was being especially annoying, sighed, threw her arms up in the air, and proclaimed: âI thank the heavens everyday that you werenât twins, Alfie. If there were two of you? Iâd probably jump out a window.â
I wonder how many other people from my life would share that sentiment?Â
Hereâs to hoping none of those people, my mother included, are at Harperâs Dinner Bell right now, as Maxine rushes across the diner to grab the other-Alfie by the wrist and pull him over to our table.
âWho are you and what are you doing here?â she asks, pushing him down into the seat next to me.Â
Other-Alfie and I stare at each other for a few moments, not saying anything. We take each other in. We study each other. I think heâs a little scruffier looking than me, with some stubble on his cheeks and chin and shaggy hairâbut itâs possible that Iâm looking just as unkempt at the moment and just havenât yet had the chance to look in a mirror.
It would be weird, I think, to run into someone who just looks a lot like me. Itâs very, very, weird to be sitting next to someone who is you. It fucks with your head. No matter how many strange things Iâve seen on my journey so far, nothing has prepared me for the existence-questioning Iâm going through right now as I stare myself in the eyes.
âYou probably think youâre the real Alfie, donât you?â I ask.
âWell, I am real,â Other-Alfie says. âBut I was just about to ask you the same thing.â
Maxine groans from the other side of the table, her question ignored as the two of us ponder our place in the multiverse.
He starts to ask: âHowâd youââ
But it comes at the same time that I start to ask: âHow did youââ
We both laugh.
But maybe I donât need anyone to explain things to me. Iâve seen the âmultiverseââstill for lack of a better wordâfor myself and I can easily speculate that thereâs an infinite number of versions of worlds I could potentially come to. Within those infinite worlds, there are many, many, other instances where an Alfie like me endures the same string events that I do, and finds himselfâyou knowâcumming his way across worlds.Â
And if Iâm coming to this realization right now, it probably means that Other-Alfie is coming to the same one himself. Or, maybe, heâs already come to it.
I nod at him, signalling that I get whatâs going on.
He nods back.
We both look back at Maxine again. Sheâs Maxine, but sheâs neither of âourâ Maxines. Sheâs this worldâs version of Maxine, which neither of us belong to.
âOkay,â she says to us. âIâm just going to say it: This is really fucking creepy.â
âI havenât run into any other Alfies yet,â I say. âIn all the places Iâve gone, that worldâs Alfie is always somewhere else.â
âSame,â Other-Alfie says.
âSo what makes this place special?â I ask. âThat thereâs multiple of us here?â
âItâs like a convergence,â Other-Alfie says.
I nod. âOoh, thatâs goodâI like that term. Is that what itâs called?â
He laughs. âOh, no, I just made that up. I thought it sounded cool.â
âYouâre right,â I say. âSounds awesome.â
âOh my god,â Maxine sighs.Â
Our food arrives soon after, and Celia does a doubletake upon seeing someone who looks exactly like me sitting next to me now.
She laughs. âDidâŠyou just multiply while I was getting your food?â
âYes,â myself and Other-Alfie say at the exact same time, both of us thinking weâre funny for this joke.
Celia narrows her eyes. âOkay, wellâŠdo you want a menu to look at?â she asks Other-Alfie. âSomething to drink?â
âOh, good idea,â Other-Alfie says. âIâm starving.â
âShould I bring, like, a pile of menus?â Celia asks. âJust in case more of you show up?â Sheâs joking, but Other-Alfie and I share a skeptical glance, both of us wanting to be the one to say that this might actually be a good idea.
âJust one more,â Maxine says to Celia before either of us get the chance to say anything. With a nod, Celia walks away again.
âMaxine was telling me a story,â I say to Other-Alfie. âIt was about how she had met yet another version of me, and I guess he told her a lot ofâŠstuff.â
âWhen did this happen?â Other-Alife asks Maxine. âWhen did you see this other version of me? Or, uhâŠus?â
âA few weeks ago,â she says.
âAnd, is he here now?â he asks.
Maxine blushes a little. âNo. HeâŠleft.â
âLeft?â I ask. âWhere did he go?â
âWell I didnât get to that part in the story yetâŠâ she mutters.
At the same exact time, Other-Alfieâs eyes and my own get large and we let out little gasps. We both ask: âDid you sleep with him?â
Other-Alfie turns to me. âYouâve probably been wondering the same thing I have,â he says.
âRight,â I nod. âWhat happens to us after we cum.â
âWe cease to exist in that world anymore,â he says, thinking aloud. âHow about that? We justâŠvanish, is that right? Not really the answer I was expecting.â
âIt makes sense,â I say. âIn the sense that it makes as little sense as anything else.â
We both laugh again as Celia swings by to drop off another menu, giving both of us Alfies a skeptical eye. Sheâs seen twins before, no doubt, but sheâs never seen two people look, and act, more alike in her life before, Iâm sure of it.Â
What would my Celia think of this?
âThatâs pretty much it,â Maxine says. âAlfieâŠer, the one who came to visit me, knew heâd, uh, leave after we had sex. He just wasnât sure what would happen to his body. It was an experiment of sorts. One of the many things I was supposed to tell you.â
âMe?â asks Other-Alfie.
âNoâŠyou,â she says, pointing at me.
âHe knew I was coming,â I say. I almost meant it as a question, but I was so sure of the answer that it tapered off into a statement. âHow?â
âThat was in the story I was trying to tell you,â she sighs. âBefore heââ Her finger waggles at Other-Alfie. ââcame in.â
âActually, uh, bad news about that,â Other-Alfie says. I look at his face and see that heâs looking out the window. At first I donât see anything myself, but then I see what heâs staring atâa figure walking along the street, getting closer and closer to the diner. Theyâre a little too far away to identify, though I think we can already guess who it is.
âAre you kidding me right now?â I mutter.Â
âWhat is it?â asks Maxine, her vantage point maybe not as great from her side of the booth.
âAnother one,â Other-Alfie says. âAnother one ofâŠus, I think.â
Is it so bad that among the first things that I think of upon realizing that thereâs multiple versions of me in the same place at the same time is that I feel like Iâve lost any sense of my own identity? I am not a special snowflake. I am not the Alfieâthe one and only that Iâve been my entire life. Now, Iâm one of a few. One of many, maybe. One of an infinite number, if I really stop to think about it. There are days where I struggle with standing out amongst everyone else in the world, and now Iâm worrying that I might not even stand out amongst a crowd of other versions of me.
âWeâre all converging here because itâs a familiar place in an alien world,â I say. âItâd probably get pretty weird if more versions of us keep spilling inside the diner.â
Other-Alfie nods. âIâll go out and stop him.â
âGood idea,â I say. âAnd maybe keep an eye out for others?â
âYeah,â he says.
âDo you want me to bring you out some food?â I ask. I hear Maxine sigh, and so I look to her, remembering that sheâs probably the one that has to foot this bill, since my wallet is conveniently in another dimension. âIfâŠthatâs okay with Maxine.â
âUh, yeah, whatever,â she says.
âYeah, good idea,â Other-Alfie says. âYou know what I like.â
We both laugh at this before he gets up from our table and trots out the door, leaving Maxine and I alone again. She immediately lets out an exhausted sigh.
âToo much of me?â I ask.
âProbably. Ever since youâor, I guess, another version of youâcame into my life a few weeks ago, my life has just been so fucking weird. I should be in college right now. I should be making out with my girlfriend.â
âGirlfriend?â I ask, eyebrows raised. âY-you have a girlfriend in college?â
She shrugs. âI havenât used that word with her yet. But if I ever get back home again, Iâd like to.â
âWho is she?â I ask.
âHer name is Ash,â she says. Maybe seeing the deflated look on my face, she adds: âJust because Iâm seeing someone doesnât mean that your Maxine is seeing someone.â
âNo, thatâs true,â I say. âBut my Maxine certainly has the freedom to see someone else if she wants to. Me and herâŠweâre not together at the moment. But, maybe when all this is said and doneâŠâ
âYou know, that seems to be a theme,â she says. âMe and the Alfie of this world arenât together anymore either. And the other Alfie who visited me a few weeks agoâŠhe wasnât with his Maxine any more either. AndâŠâ She gestures out the window, towards wherever Other-Alfie and the new Alfie might be at this moment, though I donât see them. â...I bet if I was to ask him, he would say that he and his Maxine are no longer together either.â
I tilt my head but remain silent, waiting to hear her summarize her point, as I suspect sheâs about to do.
âIâm just saying,â she says. âMaybe you and I arenât fated to be together in any world.â
âOuch.â
âMaybe thatâs a good thing to know,â she says, shrugging. âMaybe it means you donât have to waste any of your time trying to âwin me backâ someday.â
I ask: âWhat happened? Between you and your Alfie? The one is supposedly back home in New Jersey right now, unaware of any of this?â
She shrugs again. âOur little fling was fine while it lasted, but it ran its course. I wanted different things. And thatâs okay.â
Celia is back at the table again, two plates of food balanced on one arm and a menu in her other. She blinks her eyes a few times. âThere was someone sitting next to you before, right? Someone who looked exactly like you?â
I wonder, for a moment, how much it would fuck with her head if I denied that there had been such a person. Instead, I just say: âOhâŠhe had to step out. But leave the menu. Weâll probably order something to go.â
She does so after dispensing our food, and then sheâs off again with a scornful look on her face. In this brief pause in the action, I take stock of myself, and realize that the diaper Iâm sitting on is a little damp and warm. I wonder when that might have occurred.
Also, thereâs been something Iâve been wanting to say since Maxine started her story: âNoodles.â
She looks at me, a confused look on her face and her head tilted. âHm?â
âUhâŠnoodles,â I repeat. âIt was the answer to the question you asked the other Alfie in your story. About Pillow Peteâs weakness? You were going to ask me, remember?â
She laughs, blushing a little. âY-yes, thatâs right. Thatâs three for three in worlds where you and I have made that weird little in-joke.â
âSo, uh, maybe now that itâs just us again,â I then say to Maxine, âyouâll want to finish that little story of yours?â
âRight, yeah, I should. And I hope there arenât any interruptions this timeâŠâ
I consider making a joke about how three more Alfies are walking through the dinerâs door right now, but it seems in poor tasteâespecially when sheâs already looking a little annoyed. âGo on.â
===
More of Maxineâs Story, as told by Maxine
Youâthe version of you who popped into my life a few weeks agoâtold me that in the course of your travels through all those, uh, dimensions, had developed a few theories about how things work. You speculated that you might have just been lucky with the specific worlds that you ended up in, combined with the fact that your journey into the multiverse seemed to start earlier, months earlier, than most other versions of yourself didâthus giving you more time and experience in navigating. Because of this, you believed that you were the best version of Alfie. You literally called yourself âAlfie Prime.â I told you that this was a stupid name, though you didnât seem dissuaded by my opinion.
Anyway, you described the âmultiverseâ you were travelling through as an onion with millions of layers. And, like, every time youâŠblew your load, you were descending deeper into the onion. Seeâand forgive my uncertainty about telling this part of the story, Iâm not as well versed in, like, comic book scienceâyou had learned in your travels that each âlayerâ of the onion was another world that this âMotherâ youâre dealing with had touched in some way.
You theorized that if you were to somehowâI donât knowâcum enough, youâd eventually make your way to the middle of the figurative onion. And at the center were all the answers: Who mother was; what mother wanted; and the knowledge of what you had to do to stop her.
I thought that was the answer, then, to my question about what you were doing in my worldâthis was just another stop on his interdimensional tour as you made your way to the middle. But you surprised me again by saying that you came here on purpose.
One of the things you had learned along the wayâsomething that all the versions of you will learn eventually, when youâve jumped from world to world enoughâis that there are ways to control which world you travel to next. And so, instead of jumping deeper in the onionâlike he would usually want toâhe jumped, uh, to theâŠside?
Look, again, Iâm not going to pretend I understand all of this myself. Iâm relaying to you what Iâve been told.
Anyway, you come here, to my world. Itâs one that you werenât supposed to have ever come to, given the path youâre taking through the onion. But, you know that another version of you would eventually come here. And so you decide that youâre going to stack the odds in your favor. You think that if you can pass along all the essential information to another version of yourself, youâll have an ally who can quickly join you when it comes time to get to the center of the onion.Â
You think about sticking around and talking to the other version of you who eventually shows up yourself, but you donât think you want to wait around that longâyouâve got it in your head that you need to keep moving, and you donât want to lose your momentum as you head towards the center of the onion. And so you decide the next best thing would be if you could ask someone to be waiting for the new version of you that will eventually be arriving. Someone that youâany version of youâwould trust. Someone that any version of you would want to see.Â
And, well, you think of me.Â
There are things that you donât tell me. I donât know how you got across the country. I don't know where you got the clothes on your back or the diapers that you carry around with you. And I definitely donât know where you got the envelope full of cash that you handed to me in my dorm roomâthe cash that you hope will convince me to go along with your convoluted story and fly across the country so that I can meet another version of you.Â
Still, I donât know if I can buy that any of this is true or not, you know? I think I would be even crazier if I did just accept all of it as truth right away. I tell you that I need to think about it first, before I agree to anything. You claimed to be fine with this, though I got the feeling it was making you a little antsy.
I snuck you into the showers and got you cleaned up a little. Then I took you down to the campus dining hall so we could have some dinnerâthough you insisted on taking your bag with us. âJust in case of another accident,â you said.
 It was really weird, because it was like hanging out with the Alfie I knew, and yetâŠit wasnât him. Maybe our worldsâ timelines were just different enough that your experiences with your Maxine, and my experiences with my Alfie werenât all the sameâwe each made references to events and stories that the other didnât recognize. But the core of who you are was the same. The same sense of humor. The same interests. The same mannerisms.
And I wonât lie, it was kind of nice having you around again. I missed you.
Time flies when youâre having fun, I guess. We ate dinner. We walked around campus a little, and we just talked. Not about world-traversing shenanigans, thankfullyâjust about ourselves. I told you about my college experience so far. You told me about The Cradle and some of the friends you had made there.Â
At the risk of bringing up something awkward, I remembered something you had said earlier, back in my dorm roomâabout how in other worlds, I had been a very good âmommyâ to you. I asked about that, curious to know more.
âI donât find you in every world,â you said. âIn most of them, youâre in college on the other side of the country from where I am. Of the instances that Iâve met another version of you, there are some where youâre hostile or untrusting of me for varying reasons. There was a world where Alfie was the host of Mother, and was causing all sorts of chaos. And so there, obviously, you wanted nothing to do with me. But then, there were others where you and I managed to reconnect and form an alliance after I explained who I was and where I had come from.â
âLike this world?â I asked. âLike me?â
âYes,â you said. âVery much like this. And, in some of those instances were ones in which you were willing to, uh, take care of me.â
âLikeâŠhow?â I asked, even though I had a good idea what you meant.
âChanging my diapers, mostly,â you said, your cheeks getting red. âThough once, you bottle-fed me. Twice you spanked me.â
âWow.âÂ
Once again, your admissions gave a little credence to the idea that you were who you said you wereâa world-jumping copy of the boy I knew. Because the Alfie I knew probably wouldnât be so forthcoming about details like that. ButâŠmaybe he would if he knew that eventually heâd be moving on from this world, and heâd never talk to this version of me again.
We walked a little further when I started detecting little hints of something smelling bad. It didnât even register with me what it could be. Instead, I was thinking that it might be something like, you know, a sewage leak or a nearby dumpster. It wasnât until I happened to glance at your face, and saw your reddened cheeks, that I was reminded of what you were wearing.
âDid youâŠâ I struggled to get the words out, they seemed so ridiculous, but I felt like I had toâlike it was the only way for me to fully wrap my head around what was happening. âDid you poop yourself? Is your diaperâŠmessy?â
âGuilty as charged,â you said, offering this âaw shucksâ shrug.
âWh-what are we going to do about that? I canât have you come back to my dorm room like this. If Juneâs there, sheâll freak the hell out.â
âThatâs what this thing is for,â you said, reaching over your shoulder and patting your backpack. âI call this my âdiaper bag.ââ
âSoâŠwhat? Youâre just going toâŠâ
âIâm going to do what Iâve done countless times before, in many different worlds,â you say. âIâm going to find a quiet place to change myself, and then Iâm going to take care of business. YouâŠwouldnât happen to know of anywhere I can go, do you?â
âActuallyâŠâ
My girlfriendâwellâŠmy close friend who I make out a lot withâhad recently discovered this quiet little grove by the library, a shaded corner of a field that nobody else had good reason to go to. Weâd been there a few times, spreading out a blanket and lying down together under the guise of âstudyingâ or âreading,ââthough weâd usually just end up rolling around and jamming our tongues down each otherâs throats. Weâd gotten into some pretty hot and heavy situations over there, and we had yet to be caught or spottedâas best as we could tell. If there was any place I could take Mr. Stinky-Bottoms to discreetly change his diaper, this was probably it.
Of course, the problem was that my secret grove was on the other side of campus, meaning that it was going to be a long walk to get over thereâa long walk in the company of someone whose stench was getting worse and worse. There was a quick, straightforward, way to the grove, but it involved walking through more crowded areas, and the last thing I wanted was for someone to smell you and and laterâlong after youâve blasted off to whatever world you thought you were going to nextâcontinue to associate me with a boy who pooped his pants. So, instead, we were going to have to take the long way.Â
Needless to say, you were quite ripe by the time we reached our destination. Those last hundred yards or so were the worst, with your pace being slowed to a toddleresque waddle as the stink of your diaper seemed to constantly waft up around you.
Half-joking, I said: âSo, is this the part where I change your diaper for you?â
You laughed and shook your head. âIâm not going to ask you to do that. I think Iâm already asking a lot of you, with whatâs to come.â
âOkay,â I said. âBut letâs say that I wanted to change your diaper? Would you stop me?â
You laughed. âYou donât mean that.â
âI didnât say I did or didnât mean it. I was just asking a question.â
âI-if you really wanted to change me,â you said⊠âIâd never turn down the help.â
I donât know what the hell came over me. Maybe I was thinking about howâone way or anotherâyou probably werenât going to stick around. Like, either what you were saying was true and you were going to teleport somewhere else, or you were going to just walk off campus into the horizon and Iâd never see you again anyway. I was wondering if Iâd ever regret it, years from now, when I thought about the time I had the chance to help change a grown manâs diaper but didnât take it. Either way, I was thinking about it.
Not that you were waiting for me to commit to this or not. You methodically took your shoes off and set them aside, followed by your pants, leaving you with nothing on below your waist but a droopy, brown-stained diaper that sagged dramatically between your thighs. I could actually see the bulge in the back of your diaper that held your mess. From your bag, you took out a towel and spread it out over the grass. While you did this, I looked around to make sure the coast was clear. Of course it was, but it just seemed surreal that someone could be here, changing their dirty diaper out in the open like this, and that a whole campus of students and faculty could be oblivious to it.Â
Also from your bag, you pulled out a package of baby wipes, setting them next to the towel. Then you eased yourself down onto your back, taking great care in not putting too much weight on your ass. After this, you began to pull up the tapes on the front of your diaper, either oblivious to the fact that I was watching or just not caring.
âDo you need me to, like, look away?â I asked.
You laughed and shrugged as you slowly opened your diaper to reveal your manhood as well as the thick swatch of brown that consumed your bottom, inner-thighs and the inside of the diaper.Â
âHereâs the thing,â you said. âI like the idea of you watching or helping me change. But the reality is that it also, uhm, excites me. And if it excites me too muchâŠboom.â
âBoom,â I repeated, not entirely sure what that meant.
âBoomâŠlike, if I orgasm, Iâm gone. Off to another world, and leaving this one behind. And, yâknow, I still have no idea what happens to me after I leave. Do I leave behind a body, but my mind is gone? Or does my body go too, and I just leave behind a dirty diaper? OrâŠâ
âOr?â Such a strange conversation to have while a grown man attempts to clean himself in such a state.
âOrâŠmaybe this world, and everything in it, ceases to exist.â
I swallowed nervously. âI donât really care for that option.â
âI donât think thatâs what happens,â you said with a playful chuckle. âBut I also just donât know for sure.â
You were erect now, that was rather obvious. We were both blushing at the sight of this, and I wondered which of us would bring it up first. After a few beats passed and it still went unmentioned, though, I figured that was the game we were playing: just pretending it wasnât there.
I had little doubt that you could take care of cleaning up this mess on your own. It was probably something you had done countless times before. Still, looking down at you while you fumbled with wipes and stretching your arm to reach between your legs, it felt kind of rude to just stand there and watch.
âWhat can I do to help?â I asked.
âYou donât have to do anything,â you said.
Like I said, maybe it was curiosity or just FOMO, but I had myself convinced Iâd regret it later if I didnât offer a hand. So I dropped down to my knees andâŠwell, I helped take care of you.
âHaving met a few versions of you now,â you said to me, as I carefully guided a baby wipe along your skin, âIâve come to learn a few things about you.â
I laughed. âAm I the same in every world?â
âNo, not really. Nobody is, actually. You might be surprised by how even the smallest change in someoneâs life can alter their personality. Still, thereâsâŠthemes, I guess. Similarities that always seem true of a Maxine, for example.â
âIs that so? And what have you learned about me then, huh?â
âYouâre always curiousâor at least more tolerant than othersâof diapers.Â
I almost took that as an insultâmaybe because it hit so close to the truth, that I was finding myself enjoying this moment more than I thought I would. âReally?â
You nodded. âMaybe itâs not the diapers themselves, per se, but just that youâre a pretty adventurous person, by nature. You embrace weirder things like this more than others. I think that, too, is why I came here to see you and ask for your help. I knew itâd be easier to convince you to help me than anyone else.â
âThe money,â I said, laughing. âThat certainly helps too.â
I thought, maybe, this would be the part where you told me where that money came from, or your clothes, or your bag of baby supplies, or youâd tell me about how you managed to get across the country. But, no. I guessed those stories would stay with you. I couldâve asked, but I kind of liked the mystery. I kind of likedâŠwho this version of Alfie had become, the version hardened and wisened by experiences I couldnât begin to imagine.
You walked me through the process of changing your diaper. I wiped you clean as you lifted your legsâgiving me access to all the, uh, harder to access areas. I bundled up your dirty diaper and all the wipes, and wrapped it up in a plastic bag from your âdiaper bag.â You guided me through the process, then, of helping you to put on a new diaperâcomplete with shaking some baby powder on your still-erect dick.Â
âCouldnât have done without you,â you said when it was all said and done, and I was helping you back up to your feet again so you could put your pants on. A lie, but it was still nice to hear you say it, still.
We sat in the grass for a while, you and I, and I listened as you explained what you needed from me. Bits and pieces you had made mention of previously, but now you spelled it all out for me. Well, as best as you could, and as best as I could understand it.
You needed me to come here to California, to meet the other version of you whenever he arrived. You didnât know the exact date of when that would be, but you had a good idea of when it might beâa window of a few days, which it turns out you were right about. Then, once he arrived, Iâd fill him in on the things Alfie Prime told me and Iâd help send him on his wayâtowards the middle of the, uh, onion, where heâd meet up with you. Maybe, along the way, Alfie Prime would be rallying more versions of you for this cause. And when you all met at the center, youâd be united in the goal of finding out how to rid every world of Mother.
===
âAnd, soâŠta-da,â Maxine says, throwing her arms up in the air. âI guess I did the thing I was supposed to do.â
The only words that come to mind are: âWhat. The. Fuck?â
âYeahâŠitâs a lot.â
âJumpingâŠto the side?â I ask.
âI guess.â
âThe center of the onion?â I ask.
âThatâs what youâŠuh, what he said,â she nods.
âAlfie Prime?â
âThatâs what he called himself,â she says.
Maybe Iâm just a little annoyed because I didnât think of Alfie Prime myself. Or, maybe all versions of me eventually come up with that name, once we jump around these worlds long enough like he, apparently, has. But what about the name âAlphie?â LikeâŠAflie plus âalpha?âÂ
Maybe thatâs just harder to verbalize to someone.Â
I laugh, realizing that this, of all possible things, is what Iâm concerning myself with right now.
I look back up at Maxine again. âSo, uhâŠwhat am I supposed to do?â
âGet to the middle of the onion,â she says, shrugging like the words make just as much sense to her as they do to me.
âAndâŠhow do I do that?â
âThat I can actually help you with,â she says. âBut, uhmâŠâÂ
Her eyes wander back towards the window, and mine follow. I see him again out in the parking lotâthe other Alfie who briefly joined us at the table. Heâs talking to the other Alfie who we watched walking down the street towards the diner. This oneâs wearing a large baggy shirt, and either short-shorts or no pants at all.Â
And itâs not just those two. Thereâs another in their huddle now. Their back is to me, but I donât need to see their face to know itâs yet another Alfieâthis one in a large yellow rain poncho.
âWhat the fuck is happening here?â Maxine asks.
I shrug, knowing as much as she does. Still, I might at least have a word to describe it: âConvergence.â
âAndâŠwhat do we do about that?â she asks.
âFinish lunch, order a pizza for the other, uhâŠAlfies, and then⊠Well, thatâs all I got.â
âBetter plan than any I have,â she says.
And we quietly go back to eating our food. I do my best to avoid looking out the window, afraid of how many more Alfies will be standing in the parking lot next time I do.
I think about my Momâs threat: âI thank the heavens everyday that you werenât twins, Alfie. If there were two of you? Iâd probably jump out a window.â
Iâm a little curious to see how sheâd react if she were here right now.
Fifty-Five: Too Many Alfies (And Audry)
Upon leaving the diner, I usher all the Alfieâs collected in the parking lot to the picnic table in the back of the restaurantâthe one that Not-Celia pointed out to me back before she revealed herself to be some sort of evil imposter. That was a different world, and a different Celia, but the table seems to be a common element across worlds, as itâs in this one too.
Roll call.
Thereâs meâIâve decided to call myself Alfie #1, on account of the fact that Iâm the first of the Alfies currently present to arrive, so far as anyone knows.Â
Then weâve got Alfie #2, the second to arrive, and the one who briefly joined Maxine and I in the diner. Heâs a little scruffier than me and is currently wearing a pair of baggy brown pants, some boots, and a red and black plaid button-up. Heâs not thrilled at the fact that heâs â#2â and not â#1,â but he seems happy enough that heâs not â#3.â
Alfie #3 is currently wearing only an oversized t-shirtâas evidenced by how we were all caught a glimpse of his âlittle Alfiesâ between his legs when he sat down. He seems a little more paranoid than Iâve ever been. A little too suspicious and on-edge. I wonder what was different about his upbringing to make him this way. Maybe it wasnât even his upbringingâhe might have had a similar disposition as me up until he ventured into the mult-verse. Perhaps heâs encountered a Not-Celia of his own once or twice, and itâs caused him not to trust anything he sees now.
Alfie #4âAKA Rain Poncho Alfieâasks if anybodyâs got a cigarette. Nobody knows what to make of that, as weâre all non-smokers ourselves.
The pizza set down in the center of the table is gone in less than a minute, with a flurry of hungry Aflieâs pulling away pieces and scarfing them down. Maxine makes a joke about how she hopes there arenât going to be any more Alfies joining usâbut I think we all have a feeling that more are likely on their way.
âI think somethingâs gone wrong,â I say to this council of Alfies. âHave any of you ever been in a world where youâve come in contact with so many of us?â
âIâve never come in contact with another one of me at all,â Alfie #3 says. âEven in worlds where I figure heâs got to be around somewhere.â
âSame,â says Alfie #4. âItâs like the universe does its best to prevent us from meeting other versions of ourselves.â
âExcept for this one,â I say, thinking aloud. âI donât know what that means, though.â
Maxine and I havenât shared Alfie Primeâs little story with the group yet. Iâm not sure if its just because it hasnât come up yet, or if itâs because weâre hesitant to get into all those strange details when our own current situation seems plenty weird by itself.
âDoes anyone have a diaper?â Alfie #2 asks. âIâm, uh, wetting my pants over hereâŠâ
âFor the love ofâŠâ Maxine sighs and shakes her head. âYes, I have more in the car. Iâm going to assume that all of you need one?â
One by one, everyone at the table nods their heads, including myself.Â
âYou too?â she asks me, sighing.
I shrug. âI meanâŠbabyâs gonna baby.â
Damn, thatâs good. Gonna put that on a shirt some day.
âI have enough for all of you,â she says. âBut I wonât have many after that. And I donât have a change of clothes, so if youâve wet your pantsââ She stares at Alfie #2. ââyouâre out of luck for getting dry ones.â
âW-wellâŠweâre probably going to need more,â Alfie #3 says nervously.
âI meanâŠdo you?â I ask.
Alfie #2 knows what I mean, and he nods his head. âYeah, youâre right. We can, uh, always move on, you know? To the next world.â
What heâs saying, without saying it, is that any of us can jerk off at any time and be done with this world.Â
âI just kinda want to take a break for a while,â Alfie #3 says. âDo you know how hard it was to find just this shirt? How far I had to fucking walk to get to this diner? A-andâŠwhat if the next world sucks, you know? Iâm kind of sick of this.â
We have to keep moving,â Alfie #4 says. âBecause we all know that thereâs nothing for us here. This isnât our world, and the ones that each of us came fromâwhichever ones those areâare in some sort of peril, and we want to get back there. I, for one, want to see my Maxine again. I want to see my Tommy. My Eric.â
âEric?â Alfie #2 asks. âI donât know if I have any important âEricsâ in my life. Whoâs that?â
âBrother?â I say, shaking my head. âNo, I donât have a brother named Eric. I have a sister namedâŠâ
âSam,â Alfie #2 says. âMe too.â
âW-wait,â Alfie #3 says. âI have a sibling named Sam tooâbut heâs my brother.â
Once, a very long time ago, my mother had mentioned that if Sam had been born a boy, they might have named him either Samuel or Eric. Funny, I guess. I wonder what flapping butterfly wings caused my sibling to be born a boy instead of a girlâand what would cause some iterations of my parents to name him either Sam or Eric.
âDo you thinkâŠâ Alfie #2 says, â...that thereâs a world where Iâor, weâwere born as a girl?â
âAlfina?â I say.
Maxine groans with disgust at that.
âAudry,â Alfie #3 says. âIâŠI think Mom told me once that if I had been born a girl, that wouldâve been my name.â
âItâs better than freakinâ Alfie,â I mutter.
âLook,â Maxine says, changing the subject. âWe canât all sit around here, pissing ourselves and putting diapers on right next to a diner parking lot. Weâve got to get out of here.â
âWhere?â I ask. âThereâs no Cradle here, in this world, right?â
Maxine nods. âRight. ButâŠâ She points a finger at me. âThereâs the place I found you. Where I picked you up.â
âThat clearing in the woods, yeah,â I say.
âHey, thatâs where I just came from,â whines Alfie #3.
âWell, weâre going back there, okay?â Maxine says. âItâs far removed from other people. It gives us a place to talk aboutâŠeverything. And from there, we can figure out what comes next.â
Itâs really nice to have Maxine here for thisâeven if itâs not the Maxine I know and love from my own world. Sheâs arguably more sane than the rest of us, and has a few resources that we donâtâlike a vehicle, money, and diapers.
âAlright,â Alfie #4 says. âSo we pile in the car and thenâŠâ
Maxine groans again. âYâall are going to pee all over the seats, arenât you?â
Nobody answers this, though thereâs a lot of blushing on the faces around the table.
âItâs fucking rental,â she says. âAll of you canâI dunnoâjerk off into the great beyond, but Iâll still be stuck here, trying to explain to some pissed off rental company clerk why all the seats are soaked and smell like pee.â
Alfie #3 suggests going back into the diner and asking for some plastic bags that we can use to line the seats with, but nobody wants to be the one to have to ask for those. Alfie #2 points to a dumpster, with broken down cardboard boxes sticking out of it, and asks if those would work. None of us think itâs a good idea, but we also donât have any better ideas of our own. And so we grab a few pieces of cardboard and Maxine and I bring them to the white rental SUV and we use them to line the top of the seats.Â
Soon enough, four Alfies and a Maxine are piled into the vehicle, with Maxine in the driverâs seat, myself in the passenger seat, and the other three Alfies in the back. Weâve only just pulled out of the parking lot and onto the road when thereâs a piddling sound coming from the back.
âIs that what I think it is?â Maxine asks, frustration already surfacing in her tone.
âI, uhâŠwet a little,â Alfie #3 says. The sound we heard was his urine reverberating off the cardboard slab heâs sitting on. âI-it wasnât much thoughâŠâ
Maxine glances at me, eyes narrowed and scorn on her faceâas if this is all somehow my fault. And, sure, I guessâin some strange wayâit kind of is. Or at least itâs another version of meâs fault.Â
A mile down the road, the thick seas of trees already surrounding the road on either side of us, and apropos of nothing, Alfie #2 says: âI was in a world where Mother had been elected Queen Supreme of Earth.â
Alfie #3 scoffs at this. âI was in a world where Elvis was not only still alive, but he had a bionic arm with a microphone built into it that he sang into.â
Alfie #4 sighs before muttering his own weird story: âIâŠwas kept as a prisoner in a post-apocalyptic version of The Cradle.â
âHey,â I say, turning around. âPisstopia, yeah? I was there too.â
âIâŠI donât remember them calling it that.â
âMaybe it was just similar,â I say, shrugging. âWhat a trip that was. Befriended some cheerleaders who tried to save me when their base was overrun.â
Maxine shoots me a look, like: âWhat the fuck?â
âOh, uh, no,â Alfie #3 says. âNo cheerleaders. Just angry women who thought I was a spy. Th-they tried spanking a confession out of me.â
âShit,â Alfie #2 says, chuckling. âI like the sound of that. I kinda want to go to that world.â
âNo no!â Alfie #3 says, practically crying out the words. âYou think itâd be good, but itâs not! It wasâŠbrutal.â
Is Alfie #3 a wimp, or has he just experienced some things that really changed him? Maybe weâve all been changed a little by ourâŠâpaths through the onionâ as Alfie Prime apparently put it.Â
The other Alfies are still talking, comparing stories and experiences, but I tune out a little and just stare out the window, watching the trees fly past us as I think about what might be happening in my own world right now.
===
Itâs Maxineâs annoyed sigh that snaps me out of my half-sleeping stare out the passenger side window.
âHuh?â I say, turning towards her. It would seem her frustration got the attention of everyone in the back seat too, as theyâre all leaning forward and looking out the windshield.
We all see it at the same timeâthereâs a figure in the woods ahead. Dashing behind trees and thick patches of shrubs and weeds. Itâs the skin tone that gives them awayâtheir white skin obvious in all this brown and green.Â
âItâs another of us,â I say. âNaked.â
âWe were all naked when we came here,â Alfie #4 says, giving me a suspicious glance. âSome of us had more luck than others at finding clothes, though.â
âLook, weâve got to stop,â I say to Maxine.
âAnd put him where? Weâre out of seats.â
âThe cargo area behind our seats,â Alfie #2 says, gesturing over his shoulder with his thumb.
âThatâs where my stuff is,â Maxine says.Â
But the car is already slowing. Of course sheâs going to stopâshe wouldnât just drive past another of me. I take a quick look into the back seats again, figuring we could probably squeeze another person into it if we had to.Â
âUhmâŠit might not be one of you,â Maxine says.
My eyes shoot back to the windshield, and I see a flash of flesh among the trees again, very close to where the car is crawling to a stop this time. I sawâŠa bare breast, one that was certainly bigger than mineâor any of the other Alfies for that matter. I donât want to assume anything, but I donât think this naked person is a man.Â
âUh, stay here,â I say to everyone else. âIâll go out and say hi.â
âIâm just as entitled to talk to them as you are,â Alfie #4 says.Â
âWe donât want to overwhelm whoever it is,â Maxine says, coming to my defense. âAnd, uh, he called it first, soâŠâ
If thereâs more of an argument to be had, Iâm not paying attention to it. I open the door and slide out from the SUV, closing the door behind me. I look up the length of the road in either direction, looking out for other vehicles. Thereâs nothing coming.Â
âUh, hey,â I say into the trees where I last saw movement. âAlfie?â
Thereâs no verbal response to this, though I hear the sound of feet shifting on the ground, dry leaves and little sticks breaking and crumbling.
So, if itâs not a âheâ thenâŠ
I try again: âUhmâŠAudry?â
Thereâs a confused âHuh?â from the other side of the green.
âSoâŠIâm Alfie andâŠâ But I have no idea how to finish that sentence. Do I mention that the car I arrived in is chock full of other versions of Alfie?
âH-how did you know my name,â their voice says. Itâs a feminine voice, as best as I can tell.
âLucky guess? Come on, youâve probably seen some pretty weird things by now. This can't be that weird.â
âNobodyâs ever known my name before,â she says.
âYou want to see weird?â I ask, gesturing behind me to the car with my hand, not that she can see that. âIâll show you weird.â
âWhatâd you say your name was?â she asks.
âAlfie.â
She laughs. âFunny. My mom used to tell me that if I had been born a girl, Iâd have been an âAlfred.â I usually blew her off, assuming she was just bullshitting me. ButâŠâ
Behind me, I hear the electronic whir of one of the windows being rolled down a little so that the others can eavesdrop.
âSo, uh, youâre me,â I say, trying to move this conversation along as best as I can. âLikeâŠyouâre a version of me. Or, Iâm a version of you, if youâd rather. Iâm guessing youâre from a world where I had been born a girl.â
âY-yes,â she says. âI was born a girl. Didnât have much say in that.â
âOkay, soâŠbehind is a car full of, uh, other versions of me. And you too, I suppose. But theyâre all, like, Alfies, you know?â
âHow did that happen?â she asks.
âGreat question. Weâre still trying to work that out. But itâd probably be best if you came with us.â
âIâm naked.â
âWell, sure, we were all naked when we got here, butâŠâ It occurs to me that there isnât much I can say to make her comfortable with getting into a car of strangersâregardless of who they areâand especially while naked. âUh, hey, do you by any chance know Maxine from where you came from?â
âMaxine?â she asks. âY-yeah, I know a Maxine.â
âWell, youâre in luck, because weâve got this worldâs Maxine with us too. Why donât I grab her and she can help you figure out the, uh, stuff about getting less naked.â
I jog around the car and over to Maxineâs window, ready to tap on it, but sheâs already got it sliding down into the door.
âDid we hear that right?â she asks. âThatâs a woman behind those trees?â
âMe, if I was a woman, believe it or not.â
She smirks and offers a playful shrug. âThis might be the best version of you yet.â
Disregarding her comment, I say: âFor obvious reasonsââ I look into the backseat, where the three other Alfies put on their most innocent faces. ââsheâs not very eager to get into the car while sheâs naked.â
âAh, right,â Maxine says. âShe needs some clothes?â
âAnd probably a diaper,â Alfie #2 says from the back.
âYes, thank you,â Maxine sighs, rolling her eyes but not looking back at him. To me: âI might be able to lend her some of my own clothes. Let me see what I can do.â
I hang back at the car as Maxine gets out and goes to the rear door, opens it, and rifles through some stuff to find what sheâs looking for before wading through the forest herself.
âHey,â Maxine says. âIâm Maxine and I just want to help.â
Audry says something, but I canât hear it from where I am. Maybe itâs for the best, giving the girls some privacy.Â
âYou saw her?â asks Alfie #4.
âNot really,â I say. âDidnât get to see her face.â
âSheâs got, likeâŠ?â Alfie #2 holds hands out in front of his chest to signify breastsâthose the distance heâs putting between his chest and his hands suggests some pretty enormous tits.
âSheâs female, I can say that much,â I shrug.
âYou think sheâs hot?â Alfie #4 says. âI always kinda thought Iâd look hot as a girl.â
âAlright, alright,â I say. âEverybody needs to calm down a little. We canât be creepy, okay? Thatâs especially true for you, #4.â
âMe? The fuck did I do?â
âYou just give me creepy vibes or something,â I say. To everyone: âNow, look, just because sheâs the one who represents us on the world she comes from, doesnât make her the âfemaleâ version of Alfie, alright?â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â Alfie #2 asks. âShe gets special treatment because sheâs a girl? The rest of us are âjust more Alfiesâ?â
âYeah,â Alfie #4 says. âThatâs kinda what it sounds like youâre saying. And who made you head-Alfie anyway?â
âIâm notâŠâ But I let my words trail off, knowing itâs not worth the argument. Iâm more interested in whatâs happening between Maxine and Audry right now.
I move back around the car again to get a better view. Both women are concealed by trees and bushes now. Theyâre talking to each other, but too softly for me to make out any of the words. I see occasional flashes of skin and colors from Maxineâs clothing through the leaves and branches.
Maybe I should mind my own business, but I canât help myself: âEverything okay back there?â
The shortness in her tone is one I recognize from my own Maxine, and the message is received. I reach for the passenger side door again, but change my mind and open the backseat door instead
âScooch over, everyone.â
Alife #4, sitting closest to the door Iâve opened, scoffs and twists his face at me. âWhat the hell?â
âIâm going to sit back here with you,â I say.
Alfie #2 sighs too. âWhat? Why?â
âWeâre going to give Audry the passenger seat, alright?â
âYeah, I think thatâs smart,â Alfie #3 says, already sliding over in his seatâand pushing Alfie #2 against the other door in doing soâso that thereâs room for #4 to slide over.
Begrudgingly, Alfie #4 finally slides over, giving me just enough room to climb in and shut the door behind me. Itâs definitely not the most comfortable any of us have ever been, but I feel like Iâve been in more uncomfortable places before.
âSo thereâs more coming,â Alfie #2 says.
âMoreâŠwhat?â Alfie #3 asks.
âMore of us,â I say, thinking the same thing. âIn that clearing over where The Cradle should be where I woke upâwhere all of us probably woke up. More Alfies keep appearing there. They wake up, theyâre alone, and they do the most logical thingâwander down this road until they can either find help or find clothing.â
âOr they justâŠjerk off again,â Alfie #4 says. âI did that once or twice, you know? Woke up in a place that I either didnât like the vibe of, or where it felt like itâd be too much work to explore and I just decided to roll the dice right away on a better world.â
I think about Maxineâs story, where she relayed the things that Alfie Prime had told herâspecifically the concept of âthe onionâ and how the center might just hold all the answers. I wondered why none of us had thought to immediately masturbate every time we woke up in a new world, allowing us to race ahead to the center. Well, probably because most of usâexcept myself, Alfie Prime, and whoever else Prime has spoken to about it since leaving this worldâdonât know that thereâs a center weâre racing towards. Without that information, weâre just blindly fumbling forwardâpooping our pants as we think about this next world might be âthe oneâ that gives us all the answers we need to get back home.
Speaking ofâŠ
âOkayâŠâ sighs Alfie #2. âWho did that?â
Nobody needs to ask about what heâs referring to, because we can all smell itâthe toxic cloud of a dirty diaper. Iâm rather sure itâs not my own, though the scent does seem strangely familiar. Itâs almost creepyâsmelling yourself, in a way, because another version of you has messed his diapers.
âWell, uh, thatâd be my work,â Alfie #4 says. âBut Iâm not going to feel bad about it. It couldâve happened to any one of us. And none of us are strangers to dirty diapers.â
âHell of a first impression to make on our new friend,â Alfie #2 says.
âSheâs just as likely to load her diaper,â #4 fires back. âLetâs not pretend sheâs precious just because sheâs got tits.â
I try to steer the conversation back to where we were a minute ago: âSo, uh, why is it that there are all of us in this one world. None of you have ever seen that before, have you?â
Everyone either says that they havenât, or shakes their head.
âIs there something special about this world?â Alfie #3 asks.
âOr did an another Alfie fuck something else up?â Alfie #2 says.
Alfie Prime had said something about jumping âsidewaysâ didnât he? A special way to jump from world to world that allowed him, maybe, more control over the world he went to? Iâm thinking it has something to do with that, but I decide against sharing this with the group. It wasnât my story to tell, and if Maxine wants to tell it again, itâd probably be better coming from her than from me.
The conversation stalls when the back door of the SUV opens and Maxine sets some things down in the cargo space. Itâs hard to miss that all four of us Alfies are now sitting in the back seat, of course.
âWhatâs all this?â she asks. I turn my head a little to face her, and catch her nose wrinkling with disgust. Sheâs not nearly as acclimated to dirty diapers yet as we all are.
âAlfieâŠer, Audry can sit up front,â I say.
âOh wow,â she murmurs half-sarcastically. âYou boys are so polite.â She closes the door and calls out to Audry: âYou can sit up in the front seat. Everybody else is crammed into the back now. But Iâm going to warn you right nowâit smells like someone had an accident in there.â
Audry says something in response to this, but I canât make out what the words are. Whatever it is, it causes Maxine to laugh.
Itâs now, as Audry walks past my doorâs window, that we all get our first real glimpse of the female version of us. I canât speak for everyoneâor maybe I can, since we all might think the sameâbut right away I see the semblance. Those are my cheekbones. My nose. Her hair is the same color as mine, just longer. Her lips are a little smaller, but I certainly recognize the dimples. She turns her head, looking through the window at us. One of the Alfies gasps a little at the better view of her face. She pulls open the passenger door and slides into the front seat. I canât see the full ensemble sheâs wearing from this angle, but I think Iâve seen that red t-shirt before in another worldâitâs one of Maxineâs. As she settles into her seat, the crinkling of yet another diaper can be heard.
For a few moments, nobody says anything at all. Thereâs a strange tension in the car as Maxine begins to drive again, and I canât quite identify with where itâs coming from. Are we all just nervous to confront a version of ourselves thatâs so radically different? Or is it really just a matter of us Alfies being strangely timid around a new woman in our lives?
âSo, this is all pretty weird, right?â Audry finally asks. Her comment earns an immediate guffaw from Maxine, and a chorus of muffled laughs and confused grunts from us in the back.
âYouâve, uh, never met another one of you then?â asks Alfie #3. âOrâŠanother one of us?â
But his question causes me to reflect a little myself, even though he wasnât talking to me. Before this world, I hadnât considered the idea of there being other Alfies. And if I had thought of this idea, what would have I imagined? More like me, right? More men. More Alfies. Audry probably never realized that she was unique for being a woman instead of a man because she probably never considered the possibility that she wasnât the only one on this journey in the first place.
âNo,â she says. âHave you?â
âNone of us have,â Alfie #4 says, speaking for all of us. âThis world is different.â
âAnd Iâm, like, the onlyâŠwoman.â I think itâs a question at first, but I realize itâs a statement. She continues her thought, turning her head a little to address us in the back: âAnd you all are men? Uh, Alfies?â
âAnd theyâre not the only ones,â Maxine says before any of us can respond ourselves. This world has its own Alfie who lives in New Jersey and is blissfully unaware of any of this.â
âIâm from New Jersey,â Audry says.
âObviously,â Alfie #2 mutters under her breath.
âAnd, uhmâŠâ Maxine starts to talk again, but trails off almost immediately. I can guess what she wants to mentionâAlfie Primeâs appearance in this world a few weeks before our arrivalâbut Iâm not sure why sheâs hesitant to make mention of it. Iâm tempted to jump in and mention it myself, but decide it might be better to trust Maxineâs instincts. Maybe sheâs thinking of something that Iâm not.
âDo you have a brother or a sister?â Alfie #3 asks.
Audry says: âYes, a brother.â
âSam?â I ask, mostly just trying to be a little cheeky.
âY-yes,â she says, a little surprised that I either knew that already or that I had guessed correctly.
Alfie #2 glances at us in the back with a wary look on his faceâlike he needs some sort of pre-approval for whatever it is heâs going to ask. Of course, we have no idea whatâs on his mind and nobody says anything. Looking up towards Audry again, he just asks his question: âSoâŠfor us, when we want to move on to our next world, we, uhmâŠstroke ourselves, you know?â I can already hear Maxine groaning from secondhand embarrassment. He continues: âSo, for you, when you move onto the next worldâŠâ
âSame thing,â Audry says. âWellâŠdifferent equipment. But the same general idea, yes.â
In the backseat, we all quietly confer with each other, nodding heads and grunting in approval, as if this somehow proved something we werenât sure of earlier.
===
I think it comes as a relief to all of us when we make it to the clearing without either finding another naked Alfie/Audry on the side of the road, as well as not having any additional stinky diapers to contend with. Alfie #4âs has been more than enough to deal with for those last few miles.
Of course, no sooner than the car is parked, we notice something else in the green grassâanother flash of bare skin.
âOh for fuckâs sake,â mutters Maxine.
Alfie #5 is here waiting for us, looking like he just started to wake and acclimate to this new world a few minutes before our arrival. A vehicle of other Alfies, Maxine, and Audry, might be quite a shock to himâI know it would be for me, if I were in his shoes right now. If he was wearing shoes.
â#4?â Maxine says. âCome with me to the back of the car. Iâm going to get you a new diaper. If anyone else needs a change, you might as well follow me. Alfie, uh, #1? Maybe you should go and introduce yourself to the new member of the collective.â
I kind of like Maxineâs efforts to keep control here. I never really considered herâmy Maxine, at leastâto be a leader, though it suits her well. I wonder if this worldâs Maxine is just different like that, or if the events sheâs endured over the last few weeks have just shaped her into this new role.
I get out of the SUV and approach the new Alfie. âUh, hey! Welcome to yet another world. I probably donât need to introduce myself, huh?â
âWell,â the fresh and naked Alfie #5 says, scratching his head as his cheeks blush, âthis is certainly something new. Canât say Iâve ever met another one of me before.â
âYeah,â I say, shrugging. âI donât think itâs supposed to work like this. But here we are.â
The other Alfies are unloading themselves from the SUV now. Alfie #5âs eyes grow larger. âThereâsâŠmultiple of you?â
I nod. âAnd Maxine. Surely you know her, right?â
âYes,â he says, nodding. âI, uh⊠I miss her.â
I laugh and nod as well. âWe all did, I think. WellâŠsheâs here. And, uhâŠâ I turn around and point my hand in Audryâs direction. âThatâs Audry.â
âWhoâs that?â he asks.
âThatâs you. And me. ItâsâŠus, from a world where we were born a girl.â
âOh.â I watch as he stares at Audry for a few moments, taking in this surreal sight before finally glancing back in my direction. âHow did you know I would be here?â
âWe didnât,â I say. âOr, wellâŠthis is where we all woke up. But we didnât realize youâd be here when we came back. Maybe we shouldâve though.â
âAnd, uhâŠwhy?â
I sighed, rolling my eyesânot so much at his question, but at the big unanswerable questions heâs alluding to. âLookâŠweâre all trying to figure it out for ourselves.â
===
Maxine has given Alfie #5 a diaper, and Iâm able to get a new one to replace the soggy one that Iâve been wearing for a little while now. But the bad news is that these were the last diapers. After this, thereâs nothing clean to change into. Inevtiballyâsomeone, perhaps everyoneâis going to be stuck in a dirty diaper for a little longer than anyone would like. Maxineâs considered going back to town to get more, but I wouldnât be surprised if most of us were thinking the same thing at this point: If we needed a diaper change, and there isnât another diaper, maybe we just move on to the next world.
Itâs hard to get Maxine to myself. Everyone knows her, and has obviously unrequited feelings for her, so sheâs almost always humoring someone. But I manage to pull her away from the group.
âSo you didnât tell everyone about Alfie Prime yet.â
âI know,â she says. âMaybe I shouldâŠâ
âBut?â
âBut, while he knew when and where youâd show up, he only foresaw you comingânot the rest of the Alfies. âŠand Audry. So, I guess Iâm just hesitant to involve them with his plan, because I donât think he knew they were coming. What if he doesnât want their helpâjust the help of the one Alfie he knew of?â
I shrug. âI guess?â
âLook, if you see him again when you, uh, cum your way to the next world, just tell him about what happened here, will you?â
âSure,â I say. âAnd, uh, one more thingâŠâ
âUh huh?â
âEarlier, back at the diner, you mentioned something about knowing how I could get to the middle of âthe onion.ââ
âRight,â she says, sighing as her cheeks glow pink.
âOkay, so? How does one do the thing that Alfie Prime does? How does one have more control over the next place they go to?â
âI donât know all the details,â she says. âBut he gave me a little information, that he wanted me to pass along.â
âHit me with it.â
âSoâŠthereâs different kinds of orgasms,â she says. âI meanâŠmaybe not to you and I. Maybe to us, all orgasms are justâŠorgasms. But in the greater scheme of things, different kinds of orgasms have different kinds ofâŠenergies.â
âUh, sure,â I shrug. I donât fully understand, but I get the sense that she doesnât either.
âJerking yourself off? Or having someone else jerk you off? Thatâs one kind of energy, right?â
âOkay?â
âBut thereâs another when you have an orgasm during sex.â
âSo, youâre sayingâŠâ
âWhen you leave this world, youâre going to have to fuck your way out of here,â she says with a surprising bluntness.
***
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Fifty-Two: Neutralized
I watch as the sun sets outside the windows of Celiaâs bedroom. Then itâs dark. Then the sun comes back up again, slowly rising into the air before making its descent again. Itâs how I know Iâve been here, tied to this bed, for almost a full day now.
Iâm intermittently visited by Celia. Well, Not-Celia, as I call her. She looks and sounds as I would expect Celia to, though I donât think that itâs actually her. Sheâs possessed, perhaps. Taken over. Assimilated or replicated. I donât know. One would think that all my years spent with comic books, video games, and science fiction movies would have me better prepared for a situation like this.
As it turns out, reality is so much goddamn weirder.
Not-Celia tips a baby bottle into my mouth on occasion to feed me, her other hand helping to support my head as she holds it up towards the bottle. I donât know what it is. Itâs milk-like, but the taste is unlike anything Iâm familiar with. Creamy with some sort of artificial flavor. Some kind of, like, baby formula, maybe? Once, while the pacifier-gag is out of my mouth, and before she can cram a bottleâs nipple between my lips, I ask if Iâm going to get any actual food. She laughs and says that this is my food.
I helplessly use my diapers, as I expected I would. I wet them. I mess them. And periodically, Not-Celia comes into the bedroom to check and see if I need a change or not. Almost every time she checks, she finds that I need a fresh diaper.
Time crawls by when you have nothing to do. Itâs just me and my thoughtsâand Iâm just about sick of myself. Time drags in a way that Iâve never felt it drag before.
I can sleep, though. Itâs an uncomfortable sleep, but itâs kind of like a âfast-forwardâ button, so I try to do as much of that as I can.
===
Twice now, Not-Celia has checked my diaper, found it to be dirty, only to leave the room without changing me.
I could really use a change right now. The front of my diaper is heavy with wetness, while the back and bottom are packed with a thick sludge that continues to permeate an eye-watering stench throughout the room. I know she knows Iâm dirty. I bet she can smell me from elsewhere in the house.Â
If I spend much more time in this state, the diaper rash is going to be a bitch.
When she enters the room again, groping at the filthy padding with her hand, I emit a frustrated series of groans through the pacifier, hoping to convey that Iâd really like her to do something about this.
âAw,â she coos at me, her voice far more condescending than Real-Celiaâs could ever be. âWhatâs wrong, little poopy pants? Does the little baby need a changing?â
I nod my head frantically.
She says, flippantly: âMm, see, just as thereâs something I could do for you, thereâs something that you could do for me. Maybe we could trade? Iâll give you what you want if you give me what I want? A little quid pro quo?â
I moan again, hoping she can translate my primal noises into the message Iâd like to transmit: âYes, whatever you want.â
âSee, what I want is to knowâwhat Mother would like to knowâis how it is that youâre able to do your little hops from one world to another. Not only does Mother say that this isnât allowed, but you shouldnât even be able to do this. So how about it? You tell me how youâre pulling off that naughty little trick, and Iâll make sure you get nice and clean. Youâll be smelling fresh as a daisy in no time at all.â
Thereâs a part of me that wants to squeal with delight. Not-Celia, and Mother herself for that matter, they donât know how Iâm jumping between worlds. Thatâs information I have that they arenât privy too. Thatâs, potentially, power.
Calm down, I remind myself. Iâm still tied up. Iâm still in one of the grossest diapers Iâve ever worn. I might have an ounce of power, but in this state, I barely have the means to wield it. I need to be smart.
Not-Celia reaches behind my head and unfastens the ribbon, allowing her to the pacifier from my mouth. She hovers over me, smiling down with her hands on her hips now.
âWell, little boy? Care to do a little trade? Have something youâd like to tell me?â
âH-how do you know that Iâm even, uhmâŠtravelling between worlds?â I ask. Itâs still a silly thing to even think in my head, let alone say aloud.
âMother has seen traces of you in places you shouldnât be,â she says, folding her arms in front of her. âSheâs very cross about this.â
I decide it would be best if I was very careful and deliberate with everything I say from this point forward. Whatâs the best way for me to approach this? How would Not-Celia, or Mother, know if my answer was truthful or not? If I were asked to prove it, and I didâthus getting zapped off to some other placeâhow would they react? Can they pursue me?
Her hand presses into the bottom of my diaper again, squishing my filthy load against my skin and forcing a pathetic little groan from out of my mouth.
âAll you have to do is tell me how youâre doing it,â she says. âAnd then I can get rid of this icky, stinky diaper.â
âWill you untie me?â I ask.
She scoffs. âWhy? So that you can get into more trouble?â
âI canât stay like this forever,â I say.Â
âDonât be so sure about that.â
âI want to be untied,â I say. âAnd changed. And I want real food.â
She laughs and shakes her head. âSo you think you can make demands now, baby?â
âIâm the one who has what you want, arenât I?â
âYou overestimate your power, little boy,â she says. âWhile Mother does want to know how youâre pulling off your little tricks, thatâs secondary to keeping you secure so that you canât cause any more trouble.âÂ
âWh-what if I pulled off one of my, uh, little tricks right now, huh?â I need to rein it in a littleâI feel like Iâm not as in control of myself as I told myself I needed to be.
She laughs. âIf it were that easy, you wouldâve done it already.â
Sheâs got me there, though I wonât say as much.
âFine,â she says. âYou want to be a stubborn little baby about it? Iâll just change your diaper later. What do you say? Should I come back in, like, an hour?â
âW-wait,â I say. âHold on just a second.â I donât know what it is Iâm willing to offer to make her stayâcertainly not the truthâbut I at least want to take another shot at talking her into changing my diaper.
But sheâs not paying attention to me. Sheâs walking out the door, and closing it behind her.
And I remain tied up on the bed. Squishy and stinky.
===
I donât know how much time has actually passed, but it feels like itâs been about an hour when the bedroom door opens and Not-Celia walks in again, a smug grin on her face.
âWell then,â she says. âIt seems even stinkier now than it did the last time I was in here. Why, Little Bunny Poo-Poo, did you somehow manage to mess yourself a second time?â
I gotta give it to her, whoever she really isââLittle Bunny Poo-Pooâ is pretty good.
I shake my head. While Iâm a little wetter than the last time sheâs seen me, I donât think I could mess again even if I wanted toâthe back of the diaper is simply at capacity now. Itâs probably just that her nose is re-acclimating to the stench of the room again. Or maybe my diaperâs contents are just fermenting over time, concocting new and terrifying scents the longer I sit here like this.
She reaches between my legs again, feeling the bottom of the diaper. Iâd be willing to bet that thereâs already a hand print squished into the diaper from the last time she did this. Still, she jostles the contents a little, letting out a cruel and girlish giggle.
âGosh, it feels disgusting in there,â she says. âLike soup. That canât possibly be comfortable.â
While Iâd rather not give her the satisfaction of being right, I canât help but shake my head again to confirm her suspicion.
âPoor baby,â she coos. âPoor, poor baby. What ever am I to do with you?â
âYou could change me,â I say. Iâve been hesitant to say anything, afraid that Iâll just get the pacifier tied around my face again. But sheâll probably just do whatever she wants to anywaysâI figure I might as well say what I can, while I can.
âHmm, yes, I could,â she says, stroking her chin. âBut I hope you didnât forget the little transaction required for that to happen. You tell me what I want to know, and then you get your dirty little bottom cleaned.â
âHow would you know that Iâm telling you the truth?â I ask. Itâs a question Iâve been pondering in the span of time between the last time she hovered above me and now.
She doesnât respond to this, she just squints her eyes at me.Â
I continue, despite not knowing whether or not it's in my best interest: âIâm assuming that you donât want me to actually show you how I do it, because that would mean that Iâm outta here, you know? And then youâd have to, like, chase me down again? Or whatever it is that you and Mother are doing. So all I can do is tell you about it instead. And youâre just going to have to take my word for it.â
She continues to stare down at me, that smirk of hers slowly morphing into a disappointed frown. I doubt sheâll ever come out and say that Iâm right, but she doesnât need toâI feel like Iâve won this round. Sort ofâIâm still trapped in a very soiled diaper.
âItâs safe to assume that you need your appendages for your little trick to work,â Not-Celia sneers. âSeeing as youâre still here now.â
Sheâs kinda right.Â
âSo,â she says. âWhat is it, then? Some series of little hand movements, like youâre casting a spell or something? Howâd you learn that?â
I think carefullyâor as carefully as Iâm capable of thinkingâand answer only the latter question: âI figured it out on my own.â
âNo way,â she says.
âWhy donât you believe me?â
âBecause Mother doesnât believe in happenstance. Someone showed you what to do. Who was it? Where did it happen?â
The amusing truth is that I could credit Mother herself for showing me what to do. It was a combination of her milk and her stimulating me that allowed me to reach the white space where I met Harriet. And, after learning that lesson, I used it to traverse deeper into theâŠmultiverseâa word that still doesnât feel right, with all its hokey comic book connotations, despite feeling like the most accurate.
âAlright,â I say. âYou got me. Itâs a combination of hand signals and spoken words. But as long as Iâm restricted, I canât do it.â
âWhat is it that you say during the ritual?â she asks.
Considering that the âritualâ is just good, old fashioned, masturbation, her question is a little amusing to me. âI canât, uh, do it now. Itâs just something that comes out of me when Iâm doing the gestures, you know? Like, itâs this whole thing. A trance-like state.â
Her eyes widen and she nods a little. Somehow, she seems to be buying this.
âVerbal and somatic,â she says softly to herself, like sheâs making a mental note of it.
âYeah, pretty much,â I say, unsure of what she means when she says that.
âSo as long as I keep you tied upâŠâ
âRight,â I say. âSo long as I donât have a full range of motion, I canât do it.â I worry that Iâm giving away too much information, though Iâm also just making this shit up as I go.
Though, I suppose I do need my hands to perform the ritual of, you know, jerking off. Somewhere, deep in the recesses of my mind, I tell myself that thereâs work arounds for thisâthat I can somehow find a way to pleasure myself without access to my hands. I donât know what that way is, but Iâm choosing to believe myself for now.
Not-Celia ponders this for a few more moments before nodding her head, seeming to accept this for now. âYou probably think youâre owed a diaper change now, hmm?â
âY-yes,â I say. âIf you donât mind.â
âOh, I mind. But a deal is a deal.â
She stands at the foot of the bed and leans over me, her hands reaching to the diaper so that her fingers can peel up the tapes on the diaper. It occurs to me, as the tapes are released and the front of the filthy diaper is peeled back and laid between my open thighs, that while she seems to know the steps needed to change a diaper, she might not have ever done it before. Itâs hard to say what instills this feeling in me beyond just experienceâhaving now watched as a number of different people, from a number of different worlds, change my diaper.
âWho are you really?â I ask as she produces a rectangular plastic tub of baby wipes. Which, apparently, along with a stack of disposable diapers, she already has on hand.
âThatâs not the business of little babies like you,â she says.
âI know Celia,â I say. âOrâŠanother version of her. And I know that youâre not her.â
She scoffs.
Another thought comes to me, and I say: âJust as Mother is not Harriet Tuller, despite looking like her.â
Not-Celiaâs face is unreadable as she slides a moist wipe over my skin in an effort to begin the work of cleaning up. She offers no response.
âGive me something,â I say. âAre you a ghost? An alien parasite? Whatâs your deal?â
âIf you keep jabbering like this, baby, Iâm going to put the pacifier back in your mouth. Do you want that?â
âNo,â I say. âI just want to know who Iâm talking to.â
âIf I was to tell you the truth, you wouldnât even be able to understand it.â
Iâm reminded of a conversation I had a long time ago with Harriet in the white place. I had asked her a question about how she got there, and she had said something about needing to explain very big things before she could explain the little things. She had pointed up to the skyâor where a sky wouldâve been if there were oneâand mentioned how small we were, and how little we knew about everything.
This conversation feels a little like that one.
But Iâve learned more since then. Iâve traversed multiple dimensions. Iâve consumed a lot of magical milk. I feel like, maybe, I actually could begin to parse the mysteries of the cosmos.
âI think Iâd understand more than you think,â I say.
She laughs, wiping away at my stinky bottom. âTypical child, thinking you know everything.â
And thatâs the last thing she says to me for a while. She goes about diligently wiping me clean, discarding the old diaper, and sliding a new one under me before fastening it around me. Again, she seems to understand how itâs done, but thereâs an unsteadiness in her motions telling me itâs her first time actually doing it. Itâs been a while since this process felt this humiliating to meâthereâs something strange and humbling about seeing a familiar face, and not knowing who is behind those eyes as they clean you after one of your worst moments.Â
Itâs not until sheâs done and has left the room again that I realize the opportunity Iâve missed.
Maybe I don't need my own hands to get myself off. If I could somehow get Not-Celia to jerk me off instead, Iâd have a ticket out of this place.
===
More time passes. The sun goes up and down a few times, but Iâve lost track of how often it's happened. It doesnât seem like it should be that hard of a thing to count, but when I have nothing else to entertain me except for my own brain, it gets ridiculously easy to second-guess myself.
Has it been three days? No, four. Wait, it was definitely three. NoâŠit was three yesterday. It was three two days ago. So itâs got to be five, right? No, three. NoâŠ
Not-Celia continues the routine of feeding me and changing me, though she seems to have little to say. My attempts at communicating with her are met with dismissive sighs or the pacifier being planted in my mouth again.
I beg her to untie me. My body canât bear another second of being tied in this position. I need movement. I need to stretch. Sheâs skeptical, perhaps understandably so, but I am relentless in my bugging her about it.
âTie me up in a different position if you have to. Or, untie me and let me roam around for a little under your supervision. Do whatever it is you need to do. Just let me move.â
My biggest fear is that Not-Celia isnât human enough; that she has no empathy for someone like me. Maybe she sees me as a toy, or an object. My discomfort and pain could be nothing to her.
But then, when Iâm on the verge of crying for the umpteenth time as she changes a wet diaper, she relents.
âIâll untie you,â she says. âBut youâll remain in my sight at all times. And if you act up, or if I even think youâre about to act up, thereâll be consequences.â
âThatâs fair,â I say.
âIâll continue to tie you up at night, though.â
âOkay.â
âAnd when I have to leave.â
âYes, thatâs fine.â
And so, after a thick diaper is wrapped around me, Not-Celia methodically walks to each corner of the bed, unfastening the ropes that sheâs used to keep me in place. With the release of each limb comes a simultaneous wave of relief and a new ache in my stiff muscles. Still, it feels more good than bad.
âIs that better?â she asks. I honestly canât tell if she actually cares or if sheâs being sarcastic.
âThatâs good,â I say.
Iâm not allowed to leave the room, but thatâs fine. It feels good to walk around the short distance that I can. It feels good to just stand and stretch. She stations herself at the door, seated in a chair while she watches me like a vigilant gargoyle.Â
Much like the rest of the house, this bedroomânow that I have the chance to get a more thorough look at itâseems gutted and broken down. Shelves are empty and there are bare spots on the walls where it's obvious that pictures and posters used to hang. Itâs as if the space has been scrubbed of anything with a semblance of Celiaâs personality.
And so where is the true Celia of this world, if Not-Celia is not it? And what of her fatherâwho even if he wasnât living here often, was liable to show up eventually? I doubt these are questions Not-Celia would be willing to answer, and so I donât even bother bringing them up.
âCan I have a book or something?â I ask. I point to the TV in the corner of Celiaâs room: âThis place have cable?â
âYouâre annoying,â she says. âCanât you just sit there and be quiet?â
âThatâs all I have been doing.â
She scoffs. âYou whine like an actual child. You belong in diapers.â
âSoâŠwhatâs next?â I ask.Â
âHm?â
âYouâve got me where you want me. Youâre stopping me from going anywhere else. What now? Do you send me back to Mother?â
She seems to carefully consider this question for a moment before shrugging and saying, simply: âNo.â
âNo? NoâŠwhat?â
âI wonât be sending you anywhere. Nobody is coming to retrieve you.â
âEver?â
âRight.â
âSoâŠâ I canât help but laugh. âSeriously, thatâs it? This is the rest of my life? Trapped in a house here with you? In diapers? Getting tied up?â
Iâd like to think that by pointing out this absurdity to Not-Celia, sheâd second-guess this plan herself, but she only offers the most apathetic shrug.
âThatâs insane,â I say. âYou realize that, right?â
âItâs how Mother wants itâfor you to be neutralized.â
âNeturalized? You make it sound like youâre going to kill me.â
âIf youâd rather that, it makes no difference to me.â
âWoah, woah. This conversation is going in the wrong direction.â
âMy only purpose,â Not-Celia says, âis to make sure that you stay put. By whatever means necessary.â
âWhat about you?â I ask.
âWhat about me?â
âDonât you have a life? A greater purpose? Wants and needs? If youâre expected to, like, spend the rest of your life babysitting me, what kind of life is that?â
Unfazed, she just shakes her head and smirks. âSorry to disappoint you, Baby. But Iâm your entire future, and youâre mine. And thatâs fine by me.â
===
It seems unwise to assume too much, though I wonder if thereâs a few things that can be extrapolated from my conversations with Not-Celia. Like, for instance, that while I have the means to traverse the multiverse (still a silly thing to reference), does Mother not? Hence, why she isnât coming to collect me herself? Sheâs at least aware of the fact that I can jump between worlds, though Iâm unsure yet of how that is.
Not-Celia, too, is also unable to travel like I do. Which could meanâŠwhat, that sheâs always been here?Â
And, since it came up, I've been thinking about death. Can I die here? What happens to my physical body, wherever it is? OrâŠis this my physical body? OrâŠis thisâŠ
I never get too far into that train of thought. It just hurts my head.
They want me to stay here. Or, more specifically, they just donât want me to keep jumping to new worlds. And why would that be? It could just be a control thingâa frustration about how I can do something that she canât. Maybe Motherâs afraid of what Iâll find out thereâlike the answer to how one goes about overthrowing her? If Iâm allowed to continue, thereâs a chance that I could one day be a threat to her.Â
Regardless, Not-Celia seems to think that Iâm here forever; that this is the last stop on the Alfie Worlds Tour. I should probably take this more seriously, but it hasnât really bothered me yet. Maybe Iâm being cocky, but I just canât help but think that, eventually, Iâll find a way out of this place. Iâd hate to be wrong about that, but the hope keeps me strong.
Sooner or later, I choose to believe, Iâll get Not-Celiaâs hand around my cock, and sheâll unknowingly send me right out of this place.
===
Iâm sitting on the edge of the bed, flipping through pages of a cooking magazine from about eight years agoâfantasizing about what this chicken cacciatore Iâm looking at might taste likeâwhen I feel a sudden, urgent pressure in my bowels. This wouldnât be the first time that whatâs about to transpire next has happened in front of Not-Celia in the days that Iâve been her captive, though it never seems to get easier.
I slide off the edge of the bed into a squatting position as my arms wrap around my abdomen. At the same time that I let a long moan out from my mouth, thereâs a splattery explosionâalbeit muffledâcoming from the other end of me thatâs currently diapered. The back of my padding instantly droops and changes color as I dump the soft contents of my bowels into it. Whatever it is that she feeds me in her bottles causes every movement to be like this.Â
I helplessly moan again as my body braces itself for round two. The diaper gets heavier, and the pungent smellâboth sweet and rottenâfurther fills the room.
And Not-Celia, who has just been watching me from her chair by the door this entire time, smiles and watches the whole thing happen.Â
âPoor, poor little boy,â she coos as I feel the last bit of it slip past my anus. âDid you have another accident?â
Thisâme needing a diaper changeâis the only thing that she ever seems excited by. Nothing else seems to matter to her, but sheâs always ready to condescend me as soon as my diaper gets heavier.
When I donât respond to her, she says: âAw, I see. Too bashful to even respond to me now?â
I have an idea that Iâve been meaning to try outâone of the many things I think about when Iâm tied to the bed, or left to just stare into the abyss in this stripped down room while she watches me from her chair.
âIâŠI poopied my diapy, Mommy,â I sayâputting my all into this performance. I want to sound cloying and pathetic. I want to sound like Iâm lost in the moment and that I believe Iâm the baby Iâve been made to act like.
She giggles, and leaves the chair so that she can strut a little closer to me. âWell thatâs new,â she says. âMommy, huh?â
Maybe this wonât amount to anything, but I want to see where this goes. If the only thing she ever seems to enjoy is teasing me and treating me like a baby, then Iâm going to lean into it and see where it goes.
âMommyâŠuhmâŠbaby stinky.â
Maybe, under the influence of the milk at The Cradle, Iâve acted this way before and meant it. My memories of those moments, when the pull of the milk is at its strongest, are hazy and vague now.Â
She giggles again. âMmhmm, yes you are, little boy. You made big stinkies in your diaper, havenât you?â
âYeth,â I say, my word slurred by my thumb, which Iâve slid into my mouth.
As silly as I feel, itâs surprisingly easy to get into this role. It does seem well-suited for me. But Iâve considered this possibility, and Iâve decided that this is a good thing. I want to slip into my role. I want to roll over, in a sense, and show Not-Celia my figurative belly. I want to disarm her, and entice her to play with me even more.Â
âAw, just look at you,â she coos. âYouâre so adorable when youâre a filthy little mess.â
âMommy. Me need changies.â
Thereâs a new softness in her face. A slight pinkening of her cheeks. âI know,â she says softly. âI know, dear. Come up on the bed for me.â
I stand up and turn to climb onto the bed, only for her hand to smack my bottom a few times, sending its creamy contents splatting and smushing into new areas of my diaper. Itâs humiliating, though thatâs not all it is. By letting myself âbeâ small, Iâm easily sliding into a different headspace. For the first time since my arrival on this world, the feeling of a dirty diaperâand Not-Celiaâs hand on my bottomâis also arousing. I feel my cock growing in the front of my diaper, pushing its way through the moist, dense, padding.
No sooner than I flop down on the mattress, on my back, Not-Celia seems to notice this as wellâher eyes growing large and curious as she spots the new bulge in my diaper.
âWhy, babyâwhat is this?â
âUhmâŠâ
âIâve never seen this before,â she coos. âIs this lump right here for meeee?â She reaches forward, gently stroking the bulge with the back of her hand. Just her touchâthe slightest amount of pressure on my memberâsends an excited pulse through my body.
Yes, pleeease! Please touch me. Keep going.
âAh-ah-ah,â she tuts, waving a finger at me. âOne thing at a time.â
She starts every diaper change by tying me to the bed again if Iâm not already secured in place. Her justification for this being that she doesnât want me to âwork my magicâ while her hands are busy cleaning my swampy diaper. Itâs smart thinking, even if it only indirectly prevents me from making my escape from this world.
Not-Celia seems to get better at changing my diaper every time she changes me. Sheâs practically a professional now, swiftly moving through the process without any hesitations. The tapes are peeled away, one at a time, and the diaper is opened between my legs. Though I cannot see what she does, I have a good idea as to what sheâll find: a sea of brown that coats the inside of the diaper, as well as my thighs and bottom, and my manhood as it stands at attentionâa stoic flagpole rising from the humiliating abyss.
âGoodness,â she says, giggling again. âSomeone sure is happy to have filled their pampers up for me, hm?â
My thumb back in my mouth again, I moan with affirmation.
âWhat ever shall I do with this,â she teases, playfully poking my stiff member with her fingers so that it wobbles to and fro. Quite amused with this, she lets out another girlish squeal.
I just donât understand Not-Celia. If my infantilization brings her such delight, canât something else? Why is she so comfortable with dedicating the rest of her life to preventing me from ever doing anything again? Who is she in relation to Mother? How did she get here? How long has she been Not-Celiaâassuming there was a time when this world really did have a Celia?
Well.
If a day comes where I can ask those questions of her, I doubt sheâll give me the answers.
So when I leave this worldâwhether itâs now or laterâIâll be leaving without answers. Just another mystery of the very large cosmos that Harriet once tried to warn me of.
I think I can make peace with that.
âHmm,â Not-Celia muses, her eyes hungrily staring at my cock. âI bet youâd love it if I played with this, hmm?â
âMmâŠMommyâŠâ Itâs easy, in this moment, to forget that Iâm setting a trap for Not-Celia. Iâm reminded of my joy of diapers, of the pleasure that comes from being babied and talked down to. This feels goodâthe best Iâve felt in a while. Thereâs even a small part of me that wants to stop her as her hand grips my cockâwilling to sacrifice the potential for an orgasm for a few more days of blissful baby-space.
âI probably shouldnât be rewarding you like this,â she says. âBut I have to admit, I do love the look on your face when Iâm touching you. You like this, baby boy? Do you like when I touch your naughty bits while youâre still all messy and stinky?â
I groan, my body automatically thrusting myself further into her hand.Â
This seems too good to be true. Too easy.
But itâs happening. Sheâs really stroking my cock right now. Sheâs into itâenjoying herself. Sheâs watching my face intently, studying me like I was at text book.
âDirty little boy is going to make another big mess soon, isnât he?â
âMmâŠâ
I realize, perhaps a moment or two too lateâright around the time when I feel myself tensing up for an orgasmic releaseâthat I might have misplayed my hand a little here. After this, will Not-Celia, and by association Mother, now know my secret for jumping between worlds?
Not much I can do about it now.Â
âOh my, look at you,â she coos. âIs someone going to make their little squirties already?â
I try to mumble something: âS-seeâŠyouâŠâ
She giggles. âWhatâs that, sweetheart?â
âSee you laterâŠsucker.â
And the world around me seems to crumble away as I climax.
Fifty-Three: Maxineâs Story
First, thereâs this grogginessâa momentarily unshakable haze as my mind tries to take the few context clues that I have and make sense of things once more. My instincts are devoted to finding answers to the most simple of questions: Where am I? How did I get here? Am I in danger?
Then, my consciousness switches on, and Iâm better able to reasonably assess my current situation.Â
Iâm lying in the grass, my head resting against the trunk of a fallen tree thatâs just about the right height to emulate a pillow.
I remind myself that this has happened beforeâwaking up in a vulnerable state in a place that I donât know, without any clue of what awaits me hereâand that this probably wonât even be the last time it happens.Â
Which is all summarized by my muttering of: âWell, letâs see what kind of shit Iâve stepped into this time.â
Iâm used to waking up naked. I donât like it, but Iâve come to accept that this is the way âitâ works. Either clothes canât traverse these worlds like I can, or perhaps thereâs some cosmic force that goes out of its way to remove my clothes while Iâm en route just because it likes fucking with me.
ExceptâŠÂ
I am wearing clothes this time. Not muchâa pair of jeans and a t-shirt. My t-shirt. The Life Aquatic shirt. There are also sandals on my feetâa welcome change of pace from having to tromp around with bare feet for a while after waking.
And, I find as I spread my legs apart and bring them together again, thereâs a telltale squishing between my thighs that suggests that Iâm already diapered. A clean diaper, by the feel of it. I was not wearing a clean diaper when I left the last place I was in, which only makes this more curious.
âWakey wakey, baby,â a voice says. I canât really tell where the voice is coming from, though thereâs something familiar about the tone. Itâs a voice I know well, but one I havenât heard in a while.
It might beâŠ
I prop myself up into a sitting position and spin my head aroundâboth to view my surroundings and to look for the person who just spoke to me. At first, all I see is the lush grass of a small field surrounded on most of its sides by forest, with a little trail or road that borders the last side. While the place itself is one Iâm not familiar with, I feel like I know the bigger forest that this is a part ofâthe California wilderness, where The Cradle is. Or should be.Â
Another world. A new set of mysteries about how and why this place is different from the one Iâve come from.
I see her, at last, standing near me, but a little behind where Iâm situated. I slowly, unsteadily rise to my feet, brushing blades of grass and dirt from my pants. At first I refuse to believe itâs who I think it is, and I stare at her intently, as if trying to find a way to prove itâs an illusion. Black pants, a ratty metal band shirt and a stretched out cardigan pulled over it.
âAlfie,â Maxine says, smiling at me. âItâs good to see you.â
===
Weâre seated on the fallen tree now like it's a bench. She sits next to me and lightly caresses my back as I rub the last remnants of sleep from my eyes.
âYouâre reallyâŠyou?â I ask.
She laughs. âI hope so.â
âBut youâre notâŠâ
âNo,â she says. âNot your Maxine. But a Maxine.â
âWeâre in California?â
âYes.â
âYou knew Iâd be here?â
âYes.â
âH-how? I meanâŠâ
âWe donât have to get into all that right now, do we?â she asks. Her hair is a little longer than I remember it being, and it might even be a slightly darker shade now. Her tired eyes make her look older than she is.
Tears well in my eyes and I towards her to embrace her. She reciprocates. Iâm sobbing now. It doesnât matter if sheâs âmyâ Maxine or some other versionâitâs still her. She feels familiar in my arms. She even smells familiarâthe same sweet-scented body spray or lip gloss sheâs used since I first met her.Â
I pause for a moment, considering Not-Celia. What if this Maxine isnât real either?
No, I say to myself. I know Maxine. Iâm willing to trust my instincts. Iâd know my âherâ on any world.
âMaxâŠhow?â
She laughs. âI bet the story of how youâve gotten to this very moment is pretty long and crazy, huh?â
I nod. âAn understatement.â
âYeah, well⊠Iâve got a story like that too.â
===
We walk down the road a little ways together, towards the car that Maxine says sheâs parked about a half mile away. Her pace is a little faster than mine, mostly on account of my diaper-induced waddle, though she quickly adapts and does a better job of matching my speed.
I want to hold her handâI feel like I could really benefit from the feeling of her hand in mine right now. But for as familiar as she seems, I need to remind myself that sheâs a stranger.
She shoots down most of my questions, each time stating that itâd be better if we just didnât worry about those things for now. If I want answers, theyâll come later when she can tell me everything.
âWhat about me?â I finally ask. âLikeâŠthe me who lives here? At least tell me that.â
âYouâre fine,â she says. âUhâŠhe is fine.â
âYou mean that? Safe and secure? Healthy? Living his best life?â
âHeâs alright,â she says. âI promise.â Thereâs a hint of something in her tone. Frustration? Indifference? I donât feel that itâs aimed towards me. Perhaps this worldâs Alfie is a pain in the ass too.
I briefly wonder why she didnât just drive her car all the way up to the field, though the condition of the old road, and its deep potholes, answer that concern for me. Eventually, though, I spot a newer-model white SUV stopped and abandoned in the center of the road. I suppose itâs safe to say that thereâs no other traffic on this road that would be impeded by its presence there.
âIs that yours?â I ask. Probably a silly question, but Iâve never seen the car before. It looks expensiveâthe kind of thing my Maxine would never be caught in.Â
She nods, waving for me to follow her towards it. âCome on.â
âWhere are we going?â
âAre you hungry?â
Food is the last thing on my mind, but the thought of it does make my stomach gurgle a little. âYeah, sure, I could eat.â
âI know a place,â she says.Â
I can take a pretty good guess as to where weâll be going, and it conjures memories of meeting Not-Celia in the parking lot. I do my best to let that fear go for now, Iâd rather be happy right now. Being greeted by Sam in this world is such a nice alternative to being captured or imprisoned.
âYou got to give me something,â I say to her while she drives down the narrow dirt road. âI wake up in god-knows-where and youâre here waiting for me? LikeâŠI think I deserve an explanation.â
âRight now, on the other side of the country,â she says, âAlfieâthe one Iâve always knownâis working. Heâs oblivious to the fact that Iâm here. He doesnât know Iâm in California, and he definitely doesnât know that you are in the car with me right now. In fact, thereâs a lot he doesnât know. He doesnât know about The Cradle. Or Mother. Or milk. Heâs never experienced those things, and heâll never have to. Blissfully ignorant, Iâd sayâhis natural state.â
âOuch,â I say softly, taking it personally, despite the fact that sheâs talking about someone else.
âHit close to home, does it?â
I shrug, my cheeks blushing. To get back on topic: âAnd yet you know about them. Milk and Mother and all that. You know about these things but the Alfie here doesnât?â
She shrugs. âI bet you think thatâs pretty weird, huh?â
âTo say the least.â
âYes, well, despite the fact that the Alfie I know is oblivious to all this youâve still managed to pull me in and involve me,â she says.
âMe?â I ask. âIâŠI didnât do anything to youâŠâ
âNot you,â she says, sighing. âGod, isnât this âmulitple realitiesâ thing fucking exhausting?â
I nod. âA little.â
âBelieve it or not,â she says, âyouâre not even the second Alfie Iâve ever talked to.â
âThat sounds like the start of an interesting story.â
âMaybe,â she says. âBut hold that thought for a second..â
I scoff. âOh, come on. Seriously? Youâre going to keep doing this? Pausing right before you start to tell me whatâs going on?â
She chuckles a little. âYouâre just like him, you know?â
âAlfie?â I ask. Itâs really, really strange, referring to someone else with the same nameâsomeone else who is, essentially, me.
She nods. âAll of you Alfies are the same.â
âWell, I should hope so. But, uh, youâre just like my Maxine too.â
That would explain the near-instant rapport we seem to have with each other. In a way, we kind of have known each other for quite a while.Â
âLook, I know youâre not going to like me asking you this,â she says. âBut before we get to town I just thought I should check and, you know, make sure your, uhâŠdiaper is okay.â
I swallow hard, my cheeks warming considerably as I stare out the passenger side window to avoid eye-contact with her.Â
âItâsâŠgood.â Then, something occurs to me: âDidâŠyou dress me?â
She nonchalantly shrugs as she stares out the windshield.
âYou found me? Naked? And you put clothes on me? You put a diaper on me?â
âI was kind of hoping we didnât have to talk about that,â she says.
âBut youâŠâ
âOh, come on, Alfie. Itâs not like itâs anything I havenât seen before. Besides, isnât it better that you woke up with a little bit of dignity.â
âWellâŠthank you. ButâŠâ
âBut?â
âWell, you know where I was going to be. And you knew when I was going to be there. And you knew that I was going to be naked. And you knew that, uhâŠIâm Alfie, but not your Alfie.â
âIâve changed your diaper before,â she says, shooting me a playful smirk. âOr so Iâve heard.â
âUhâŠâ My face gets warmer.
âThat never happened to me, of course,â she says. âI put you into a diaper, just a little bit ago. It was kind of fun, in a weird way. Maybe Iâm missing out on whatever fun the other versions of myself are having.â
âYou seem, uh, awfully comfortable with the idea of the multiverse.â
She laughs and shakes her head. âWell, sure. Now I am. You shouldâve seen my face when it was first explained to me, though.â
Iâm laughing too, nowâimagining how âmyâ Maxine would react if I tried to explain these recent events to her. Sheâd probably zone out and roll her eyes and make a playful jab about how I read too many comic books.
I say: âI wish I was here to have seen that.â
âYou were,â she says. âIn a way.â
===
This Harperâs Bell is no different than the Harperâs Bell I was just at where I met Not-Celia. Identical, as best as I can tell. This, too, may be a world without a Cradle.
âI hope this place is good,â Maxine says, pulling into the Harperâs Dinner Bell parking lot. âItâs, like, the only place to eat around here.â
I want to laugh, and I want to scream. Get me the hell away from this place. Alas, I calm myself as best I can and try to play it off like everythingâs cool. Food does sound good, and Iâm just going to cross my fingers that the Celia here isnât also some sort of agent of Mother.
Of course, Celia is here and sheâs also our server. Moments after we take a seat in a boothâperhaps, even, the same one that Nikki and I sat in when we first came to townâshe sidles up to our table, a big customer-service grin on her face.
âHey,â she says. âIâm Celia, Iâll be taking care of you today. From out of town, are ya?â
âIs it that obvious?â Maxine asks.
âMaybe,â she shrugs. âBut also, I know everybody in town, so it's pretty easy to spot the new faces.â
âYou, uh, get a lot of visitors here?â I ask.Â
She shrugs. âNot really, no.â
I have the slightest pang of deja vu. In another world, I had almost the same exact conversation with her once. The thought of this makes me queasyâa reminder that Iâm fucking with things that are so far beyond me.
âSo,â she says, not missing a beat. âWhile youâre looking at the menus, how about I get you something to drink?â
A few minutes later, and weâre slurping on fountain sodas and waiting for our food to arrive. Maxine shakes her head incredulously. âSeriously, tacos? Whoâd order tacos from a place like this?â
âUh, soâŠâ I donât mean to change the subject, but every moment that passes without me getting answers is like a headache whose intensity gets turned up a notch on some figurative dial. âYouâve got a story to tell me?â
âHere?â she asks.
âI donât care where it happens. Here is as fine as any other place.â
She shrugs. âYeah, alright. WellâŠI feel like I need to preface this by saying that all of this might sound completely insane.â
I really do laugh this timeâan abrupt squawk that causes my cheeks to redden when I realize how loud I am. âS-sorry. Itâs just that, uh⊠Look, Iâve seen a lot of weird shit. You just tell me the story, no matter how weird you think itâs going to get.â
âFine,â she says. âYou asked for it.â
I excitedly nod, eager to hear what sheâs got in store for me.
âEverything was, you know, completely normal,â she saysâher version of âOnce upon a time.â âWell, as normal as my life ever is. I have a girlfriend at college. âŠuhm, had a girlfriend? Things are complicated on that front right now, but thatâs for neither her nor there.â
âA girlfriend,â I say. âWhat about, like, you and me?â
She shakes her head. âWe broke up when I went to school. â
âWhy?â
She sighs. âLook, this story is convoluted enough as it is. You and me are a whole other story. Maybe we can talk about that later or something.â
âYeah, fair enough. Go on.â
===
Maxineâs Story, as told by Maxine
You came and visited me on campus one afternoon, a few weeks ago. Now, I donât want to make you feel bad or anythingâmaybe youâre different from the Alfie I know, in this regardâbut I was really surprised to see you. Not just because it was a random, unannounced visit, but because this wasnât the sort of thing you ever did.Â
I just so happened to see you before you saw me. You were standing there on one of the sidewalks, a bookbag slung over your shoulder. I watched you for a minute as you wandered around aimlessly. I guess it made senseâyouâve never been to campus before, and you probably didnât know where to find me. It was just luckâfate, if you want to play that gameâthat I happened to spot you. Who knows how long you were blundering around before I approached you.
You were happy to see me. Like, way happier than I wouldâve expected. You didnât take our breakup very well, you know, and I just assumed you still resented me. But there you were, practically blubbering like a baby when I touched your shoulder.
You said that it was really good to see me. I believed you meant that, but I couldnât understand why you needed to see me that bad at all. It hadnât been that long since I had seen you last, andâlike I saidâgiven the way that last conversation went, I assumed you wouldnât want anything else to do with me.
You looked different. Your hair was a little longer, a little shaggier. You had some stubble on your face. It didnât really seem purposeful, I guess, it just looked kind of patchyâmore like you just hadnât thought about shaving in a while as opposed to trying something new. You looked crazed and desperate to me. And, yeah, I was concerned. Not just for you, but for me too. Like, should I be worried about a crazed version of my ex showing up at my school out of nowhere?
The best plan of action, I decide, is to get you away from other people. Clearly you want to talk to me anyway, and I donât need my peers seeing me trying to comfort some loon, right?
And Iâm sorry if that offends you. When I say âyouâ I donât mean you. You get me?
I was supposed to be in class, but I said âfuck itâ and dragged you back to my dorm. Thank goodness June, my roommate, wasnât there, because I didnât want to have to feel guilty about asking her to give me some space.Â
By the time we get to my dorm, youâve calmed down a bit. Instead, you just seem a little embarrassed about everythingâmaking a scene and showing up unexpectedly. You apologized profusely, and I assured you that I forgave you. Honestly, I donât know that I actually had at that pointâI was kind of pissed at you, but I wasnât going to say anything.
And speaking of âpissed,â well⊠That was one of the first things I noticed after we were in my room: you smelled kinda bad. You smelled like pee. Mind you, I donât think I thought of âpeeâ in the momentâthatâs more of a hindsight thing. At that moment, you just smelledâŠdirty.
I told you so. You seemed a little embarrassed about it, but not entirely troubled, which I thought was strange. And your pants werenât wetâI specifically remember checking that, trying to figure out if you had actually pissed yourself or not. As best as I could tell I hadnât.
Of course, knowing what I know now, itâs safe to say that you were wet. You know what I mean?
I made you sit downâon Juneâs chair, not mineâand I told you to explain yourself. Almost immediately, you jump into this rambling tirade about magical milk and California and your brother in law and I just had to shut you down.Â
I thought you were crazy. I thought you had, like, legit lost your mind. I was going to call your mom or your dad and tell them to come collect you, hoping that theyâd see you need some sort of psychologistâs help.
But then you said: âI want you to call me.â
âCall you?â I asked. âCall you what?â
âNo, no. I want you to call me on the phone. You have your cell phone, right? Give my number a call right now.â
I didnât get what your game was. Was this some sort of trick or stunt? Or was I going to call your phone and activate some sort ofâŠbomb. Alfie, Iâm telling youâthatâs how worried I was about you: At that moment, I seriously believed that you were capable of planting a bomb somewhere.
I donât know how, but you convinced me to give your phone a call. Maybe I just agreed to do it because I thought I could somehow prove that you were being crazy and I needed to take further action.Â
So, I found your contact in my phoneâI had actually changed the name from âAlfieâ to âDumbassâ at some point since we had last spokeâand I called you.
Maybe you can guess what happened next?
I stared at youâthe you that was sitting across the room from me in Juneâs chairâwaiting to see one of your pockets light up or to hear something in your backpack vibrating. Instead, someone answered the phone.
It was you.
âMaxine,â you said. âIs everything okay?â And that was the freakiest fucking thing, because it sounded just like you, right? But Iâm looking at you at that moment, and youâre not talking.
The âyouâ on the phone sounded startled. Understandable, I guess, since you probably werenât expecting a random call from me.
âAlfie,â I said. âWhere are you right now?â
âUhâŠhome?â you said. You laughed, like I asked the most ridiculous question. âWhy?â
âI justâŠâ I thought that maybe I was talking to a recording. AI? Can AI even do that? I asked: âWhat time is it right now?â
You told me the exact time. The exact date. And then you laughed again and said something stupid like: âWhat, did you lose your watch and needed a hand? Thereâs easier ways of getting the date and time, Max.â
I wanted to mention that I was currently looking at someone who looked and sounded exactly like him, who was in the same room as me, but I didnât. I donât know whyâmaybe it just seemed smarter to withhold that information, just in case I could use it to catch the version of you I was talking to in a lie.
âYouâve been home all day?â I asked the person I was talking to on the phone.
You laughed again. âPretty much. Maxine, youâre starting to concern me a little. Is everything okay?â
I couldnât truly believe that I was talking to Alfie on the phone while seeing a different version of Alfie right in front of meâI just couldnât wrap my head around it. This was a trick, or a stunt, or some kind of, I donât knowâŠtomfoolery.
Trying to catch the Alfie on the phone off guard, I asked him a question that I thought that only youâthe true youâwould know the answer to: âWhat is Pillow Peteâs one weakness?â
On the other line, you chuckled softly. âAre you serious right now, Maxine?â
âAlfie, just answer the question.â
âMaxine, you made it pretty clear that you didnât want to talk to me, and I havenât heard from you in a while. And now youâre calling me out of the blue and youâre acting all weird, andâŠâ
âPlease, Alfie. Just answer the damn question for me, okay?â
Even if he was a little hesitant to do so, he saidâŠ
Well, he told me the answer. Iâm not going to tell you what he said, because Iâll want to see if you know the answer too when Iâm done with this story. But he gave me the answer and it was correct.
I didnât know what else to say, so I said I had to go and that maybe weâd talk another time. I ended the call before he could respond.
Sitting in Juneâs chair in my dorm room, you had a smug smile on your face, like you had just proven some point, even if I had no idea what point that was.
âWhatâs going on here, Alfie? I want the answer. And I want it right now.â
You told me that it was a very long story, and I said that I didnât care. I wanted to hear all of it.
And so you told it to me. You started from the very beginningâwhen Anders had gone missing in California, and how you and Nikki went to go retrieve him. And you told me about The Cradle. And milk. And Mother. You told me about coming home and how you and I decided that we would just be friends with benefits before you went back to California. You told me about some festival. About how you stopped some literal clowns from stealing the supposedly âmagicâ milk. You told me about how Mother mightâve, like, zonked you out or something and you were transported to some other world where, uh, you were withâŠlikeâŠMother, but she isnât Mother⊠Honestly, from this point on, the story gets kind of hard to follow.
Needless to say, you told me a lot of things. Stuff that was pretty hard to believe, though it was all stuff that you seemed to believe yourself.
I asked you the same question I asked whoever it was that I talked to on the phone: âWhat is Pillow Peteâs one weakness?â It was an in-joke you and I had for a little while, something that we had kind of both stopped referencing even before we broke up. But I thought it was just the kind of thing that youâthe real youâwould remember and know the answer to. And even if you had coached someone else to serve as an imposter on the phoneâlike this was some fucked up practical jokeâitâs not likely you wouldâve thought to tell them about.
Youâthe you in my dorm roomâgave me the right answer.
âItâs me,â you said. âNot the âmeâ you know, but itâsâŠme. And I need your help.â
I honestly wasnât sure if I believed you, or if I was just humoring you. If nothing else, I was curious.
âFirst things first,â I said. âYouâre stinking up my dorm room. Juneâs going to kill me if I donât do something about that.â
Your face got beat red. âIâŠneed to change.â
âDo you have a change of clothes with you?â I asked.
You laughed a little and shook your head. âI donât mean my clothesâŠâ
I realized, then, that you meantâŠa diaper.
I donât know why, but that was like the thing that made me start to believe that all the nonsense you just spouted might have been true. Like, of all the things to like about, who would choose a dependency on diapers? Who would sit here in my dorm room in a wet-ass diaper, stinking up the place with it?
I asked if you needed to go use the dormâs bathroom. You said youâd rather not attend to your little issue there, and that seemed understandable. So, I told you that you were welcome to use my room. I donât think you liked that much either, though it was probably the best option.
âDo you want me to leave the room?â I asked.
You said that I didnât have to. Fine. I assured you that Iâd give you some space and Iâd just, like, look away or something. I went so far as to offer you my bed if it was a useful place for you to change, though you said you were fine taking care of business right there on the floor, in the space in the center of the room between my bed and Juneâs.
NowâŠI know I said that Iâd look away and give you privacyâbut I peeked pretty early on and saw that you were so wrapped up in your process that you werenât paying much attention to me. So, yeah, Iâm not ashamed to admit that I watched. All it took was one glance and I knew that I wouldnât be able to look away even if I wanted to. You were so methodical, the way that you flattened yourself onto your back, pants discarded and set aside. You peeled away the tapes of your diaper and unfolded the thing, letting the front of it flop down between your open thighs. Your pubic hair was goneâthat area pristine and clean shaven. Iâve seen your junk plenty of times before, Alfie, and thereâs always been hair there. Not that it matters, I guessâjust saying.
The inside of the diaper was stained yellow, and all I could think about was how heavy that mustâve felt on you. And the smellâI was definitely thinking about that too, the scent of your pee seemed to get a lot stronger with your diaper open.Â
From your bag, you pulled out another diaper and a slim plastic package of baby wipes. Only more recently have I wondered where and when you got those, as I know you didnât have them when you first arrived. You went about cleaning yourself with efficiency and speed, using three or four wipes to completely wipe down your front, bottom, and back sides that had been in contact with the wet diaper. The dirty diaper pulled out from under you, and the wipes tucked into the center of it, you bundled the whole thing up into a tight little package before pulling a plastic shopping bag from your backpack and depositing your bundle into it. The bag was tied shut and set aside. You unfolded the diaper and laid it out between your legs before pulling it under your body. All that was left to do at that point was fold it over yourself and tape it up, which you did in just a few swift movements.
It was only when you were finished, and sitting up againâyour crinkly diaper making noise underneath youâthat you saw that I had been watching you.
You blushed, of course, doing that thing you do where you run your hand through your hair when you want to pretend youâre cooler than you feel. âWere you watching the whole time?â
I nodded.
âItâs probably better I didnât know,â you said, laughing.
âWhyâs that? Too embarrassing?â
âAh, well, sureâŠsome of that. But you and meâin different worldsâweâve had some, uh, crazy times together. I look at you and I canât help but think about them.â
âSoâŠIâve changed your diaper for you before?â I ask.
You nodded, face getting even more crimson. âOh yes. There are worlds in which youâve been an exceptional Mommy.â
For the first time since showing up at my university, something you said had bothered me. Maybe it wasnât the words, but the insinuationâthe suggestionâthat youâd prefer that I was a little more like another version of me you had encountered in your travels.
âReally, though,â I said. âWhy are you here?â
And he saidâŠ
===
âHold that thought,â I say to Maxine, holding my hand out to her from across the table in our diner booth. As entranced as I am in this story, and as badly as I want to hear more, the dinerâs entrance has opened and someone awfully familiar looking has entered.Â
I swing my hand at Maxine as I stare at the door, trying to get her attention and draw her eyes to the same thing Iâm looking at. I finally do, finger tips grazing her chest. âWhat theââ But then her eyes follow in the direction Iâm pointing, and she sees him too.
Itâs me.
Itâs Alfie.Â
Yet another one. This one wearing a pair of baggy brown pants, some boots, and a plaid button-up. Not quite my aesthetic, but itâs probably not quite his either. I wonder where he got it from.
If this isnât the version of me thatâs native to this world, and I donât think it is, then that means there are at least three of us here now. Not counting the version of me from Maxineâs storyâwho, judging by the look of surprise on Maxineâs face right now, it probably isnât.
I never thought Iâd have to say such a thing before, but here we are: âI think thereâs a few too many Alfies in this world.â
***
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Fifty: PISSTOPIA
âWhatâŠthe hellâŠare youâŠdoing?â
Skylarâs words come out segmented as her arms wrap around me from behind, attempting to grapple me as I struggle and continue to rub myself inside of the front of my diaper.
This should probably kill the mood, but⊠I donât know, maybe itâs actually working for me?
Skylar tries to pull at my arm in an effort to get my hand out of my diaper, but surprising even myself with how much resistance I offer.
âThe fuck is your problem,â she spits, dragging my body towards the center of the room.
âIâŠwellâŠâ I donât know how Iâd ever begin to explain to this woman Iâve just met that I need to reach an orgasm so that my soul is blasted off to another dimension.Â
I donât know how Iâd explain that to anyone.
She wrestles me down to the ground, pulling me down with more force than I think each of us are expecting. The wooden chair I had been tied to previously is knocked over and my back hits the cement floor with a sudden thud. Quickly rolling over my side so to pin me onto the ground, Skylar looks down at my face.
âWhat the hell, man? What was that all about?â
âUhâŠâ
âDid you really get that worked up over everyone touching you earlier?â she asks. âAre men always like this, and I just forgot?â
I donât think the pain hurt me too bad, that I feel an ache radiating through my lower back. My hands, free from my diaper and pinned at my sides, unconsciously squirm like theyâre trying to worm their way back to where they just were.
âSorry,â I say. âIâm really not trying to cause any trouble hereâŠâ
âYeah, obviously. You just want to jack off in front of me, is that it?â
âIâm not trying to be crude or anything.â
âIs that the amnesia?â she asks. âDid you forget how to act like a fucking human?â
âIâm sorry, Iâm sorry,â I sigh. âI wonât do that again, okay?â
âSeriously, tell me what the hell that was about?â
âI got carried away,â I say, sighing. Itâs not the truth, but itâs the best answer I can come up with that doesnât make me sound like either a maniac or a pervert. Or, a perverted maniac.
She laughs, though I canât tell if itâs because she actually finds this funny, or if itâs one of those ominous âIâm laughing because Iâm about to destroy youâ laughs.
âHow long has it been since youâve seen a woman, anyways?â she asks.
âUhâŠâ Probably not as long as she thinks itâs been. I just came from a world where giant women tried to baby me. And before that, a world where my only company was a woman. And before thatâŠwell, there were plenty of women in my life back at home. Some might even say âtoo many,â though I donât think such a thing is possible. But seeing as how these cheerleaders are acting like they almost never see men anymore, I wonder if that means thereâs factions of men somewhere that havenât had any interaction with the womenfolk for quite a while. Seems dangerous, honestlyâIâve seen how men get when theyâve become desperate.Â
Still, in the interest of providing a universe-specific response, I say: âIâm sure itâs been a while. Though I donât really remember.â
âHm,â she grunts. âThatâs fair.â
âHas it, uh, been a while for you?â I ask. âLike, since youâve been with a guy?â The conversation feels a little strange while our limbs are tangled up on the floor and Iâm being pinned down, but this is hardly the strangest thing thatâs happened to me today.
âVirgin,â she mutters. âI didnât get any before The Blow Out, and itâs not like thereâs been a dating scene since.â
At the risk of sounding like her therapist, I ask: âHow do you feel about that?â
She snortsâa sound reminiscent of one Nikki would make. âItâs fine, I guess. Besides, you know Iâm not defined by my sexual history, right?â
âY-youâre the one who brought up being a virginâŠâ
Skylar sighs, and I feel a sudden release of tension around us as she relaxes her hold on me. âLook, Iâm sorry about throwing you on the ground. ButâŠjust donât, like, start touching yourself in front of me again, alright? Itâs fucking creepy.â
I nod. âSorry.â Maybe my intentions were less perverse than she thinks, but I donât think Iâd ever be able to explain that to her effectively.Â
I do need to get myself off at some point, but Iâll have to find another time for that. Preferably one where Iâm all alone.
âCan we just not tell the others about this?â I ask.
âYou promise to behave yourself around other girls?â she responds.
âY-yeah,â I say, my cheeks blushing. Iâm being shown a lot of grace for a moment that seems more creepy everytime I think about it.
âWe shouldnât have gotten you all worked up like that,â she says, rolling away from me.Â
She springs up to her feet and reaches her hand down towards me. I take it and let her pull me to my feet again.
âYou should eat,â Skylar says, pointing at the food.
âI know beggars shouldnât be choosers, but I guess itâs just not what I was hoping for.â
She scoffs. âBuddy, you know where you are, right? There ainât no fine dining around here. No fast food. No Tex-Mex. All that shitâs gone, unless you go to the midwest, where Iâm sure you can buy some with labor.â
âIs that what itâs like there?â I ask.
She shrugs. âDunno. But Iâve heard stories. Look, this is what we have. We make our own bread. We make soups, broths, and stews from what we can forage and grow. The waterâs from a well. Itâs not the best food youâll ever eat, but itâs not the worst. If you had been found twenty miles west of here, youâd have been picked up by the Paci Clan. I hear they eat bugs.â
My stomach turns at the thought. âWell, when you put it that wayâŠâ
âJust eat,â she says, going back to the bed and sitting down on the edge of it.
I pick up the knocked-over chair from the ground and bring it to the small desk before sitting down at it. I pick up the chunk of bread and tear a piece off and dip it into the orange broth before taking a cautious bite from it. ItâsâŠnot terrible. The bread is mostly flavorless, besides a slight wheatiness. The broth is interesting. A little spicy, but a little sweet.
âWhatâs this jail all about?â I ask, trying to win back some respect by just being normal.
âDonât know,â she says. âWe found this place a few years ago and it seemed like a good place to make into a home.â
âThe jail?â
âThe whole area. Itâs, like, a compound. Cabins and other buildings. A fenceâor what used to be a fence, I guess.â
I think I already knew this, but this goes to further confirm that weâre in whatâs left of this worldâs version of The Cradle. It doesnât explain why there was ever a prison here, though. Did things go horribly off the rails at some point? OrâŠis this what could happen at my own worldâs version of The Cradle? I need to know more. Maybe I shouldnât be so hasty to depart.
âDo you think Iâd ever be allowed to leave this cell?â I ask. âYou know, like walk around and stretch out a little?â I dab another piece of bread into the broth and cram it into my mouth.
âItâd be up to Chloe, I think,â Skylar says. âButâŠâ
âBut?â
âI think sheâs been hesitant to tell everyone that youâre hereâonly her most trusted friends. She might not want you to be seen by everyone else.â
âWhy? Whatâs the problem with everyone seeing me?â
âYou saw the way Brittany was looking at you, right?â she says. âSome girls are going to want to get their hands on a guy. Some girls have had bad experiences with guys from other factionsâthey might think youâre one of them and want revenge. And, well, I think Chloe would just like to know who the hell you are before we say anything to anyone else.â
âY-yeah, fair enough,â I say, my mouth full with another bite. Iâm hungrier than I thought Iâd be, it seems. I have no idea how time works for me anymore. Has any amount of time elapsed since I left the bigs and littles? Since Harriet?
A few minutes pass in silence. I finish the food on the tray and stand up, thinking maybe Iâll go lie down on the bed for a little bit. All this interdimensional movement can be a little tiring. But no sooner than Iâm on my feet, I feel my bladder giving out and a warm stream shooting off into my padding. I guess, subconsciously, I had known of a faint signal alerting me that I needed to pee, but it seemed pretty ignorable. I have no idea whatâs going on with my body now. Am I still riddled with Motherâs milk? Is it because of the incontinent post-apocalypse that I find myself in? OrâŠis it just habit that I use my diaper now?
The answer doesnât matter, because Iâm still pissing myself. The diaper grows heavy and squishy as it sags between my thighs. It feelsâŠgood. I hate that wetting my diaper feels so good. Or, rather, I hate that itâs probably so obvious that I like pissing myself. What I wouldnât give to be alone right nowâŠ
Skylar laughs and shakes her head. âWhatcha got going on there, Alfie?â
âUhmâŠjust an accidentâŠâ
She chuckles to herself. âWant me to take care of that for you?â
âDoes anyone change their own diaper around here?â I ask.
âI mean, sure, they can,â she says. âBut weâre, you know, a sisterhood. We do these things for each other.â
âIâm not your sisterâŠâ
She laughs. âYouâre either a prisoner or a guest. Either way, weâd probably still insist on taking care of that for you.â
âWell, if you insist. But you just put me in this one, so if you want to wait a while before changing me againâŠâ
âWhat, do you like being in a wet diaper?â Skylar asks, an eyebrow raised.
âUhâŠâ
âYou wouldnât be the only one.â
âReally? YouâŠlike that too?â
She laughs and shakes her head. âOh, god no. Iâd kill to be able to dependably make it to a toilet again. I just mean that thereâs factions out there that have totally embraced diapers and acting like babies. Maybe you belong to one of those groups. The Mothered? The Infants? Any of those names mean anything to you?â
âNo,â I say. Though Iâm very curious to know everything there is to know about them. Is there a wiki somewhere for all this?
âWhy donât you just lie down?â she asks. âIâll change you. Maybe you can take a nap after?â
âSure,â I say, though I let out a little laugh.
âWhat?â she says. âWhatâs so funny?â
âA few minutes ago, you were wrestling with me on the ground. Now youâre making sure that I get enough sleep. Itâs justâŠinteresting.â
âI doubt you remember what your life was like before The Blow Out,â she says. âBut I wonder if you had an older sibling or not?â
âI have an older sister,â I say. Sheâs a very, very long ways from me, but I keep that part to myself.Â
âI had a younger brother,â she says. âThatâs the way those relationships work, isnât it? One second youâre fighting, and the next youâre working together.â
She had a younger brother. Iâm curious about that, but Iâm not sure if it's a box Iâor sheâwants to open. Instead, I just nod. âYeah, I can relate to that.â Sam is often my best friend. And there have been times when sheâs been my greatest enemy.
âCome over here,â she says, patting the bed.Â
I waddle towards her, deciding that I wouldnât mind a change and a nap. I lie down on the bed on my back. Itâs not the most comfortable thing in the world, though maybe not the most uncomfortable surface Iâve ever slept on before.
She wastes no time in ripping up the first of the tapes from the front of my diaper, before following with the others. She looks down at me with a cheeky grin on her face as she does. âAnd donât you worry, I wonât be getting you all riled up like before, alright?â
Gee thanks. But I keep my thoughts to myself. Iâm just happy that this doesnât have to be a big deal.
Sheâs quick and methodical with her changing, so efficient that I barely get the chance to enjoy the process. True to her word, she doesnât let her hands linger around my manhood any longer than she needs to. Following our earlier grappling, I didnât think I was going to get all hot and bothered again anyways, but she still ensures thereâs not another awkward situation with a stiff cock.
Iâm the tiniest bit disappointed, I guess. It wouldnât have been so bad if she stroked me off and sent me on my way to the next place. Oh well.
âTake a nap,â she says. âGet some rest.â
âYouâll be here later?â I ask. Iâm not sure what Iâm actually asking hereâif sheâll be the one Iâll be seeing later, or if Iâll just be alone.
âIf not me, someone else,â she says, shrugging.
She drags the chair closer to the cell door and takes a seat. Sheâs just going to sit there? No book to read? No phone or tablet? Sounds boring, but what do I know? Maybe the apocalypse is a good thing if it causes people to put down their distractions and think for themselves again.
I attempt to do some thinking of my ownâreflecting on whatâs happened to me, and considering what could come nextâbut thereâs something about being in a horizontal position and in a fresh, thick diaper that seems to make my eyelids pretty heavy.Â
===
The cheerleaders have me pinned down again. Thereâs more of them now. Four or fiveâitâs hard to tell because I feel almost lost in the tangle of their limbs. My diaper is being opened again. Theyâre talking to each other, laughing too, but I canât make out the words. Are they talking too softly, or are there just too many voices to keep track of? I want to ask if itâs time to be changed again, but I donât think it is. I donât smell anything stinky in here, and I definitely donât feel wet.Â
But then I feel their hands on my cock and my balls again. There are hands spreading my legs apart. Hands sliding under my ass and playing with my back door. Hands stroking me. Groping me. Someone spits down into the orgy of hands that are rubbing at me.Â
FuuuuckâŠ
âAlfie,â a voice says.Â
âMm,â I moan. âJustâŠkeep going.â
âAlfie!â
Itâs the shaking of my shoulder that wakes me, but itâs the sound of shouting coming through my cellâs little window that actually stirs me.
A shame, reallyâI was having a very nice dream.
â...the hell is going on?â I ask.
Skylar is at the side of my cot, her hand on my shoulder and still shaking me. I see that Marci is at the cell door, left hanging open now.Â
âCome on, we have to go,â Skylar says.
âGo?â I ask. âWhere?â
âWeâve got to get out of here,â she says.
âRemind me why we canât just leave him?â Marci asks. âHeâs not one of us.â
âYeah,â Skylar says. âBut heâs not one of them either. With his amnesia, he wonât last any amount of time on his own.â
âI guess Iâm just not sure why thatâs our problem,âMarci says with a sigh.
âBecause itâs the right thing to do,â Skylar says.
âFine, fine,â Marci sighs. âCome on, come on. Everybodyâs leaving.â
âSo, uhm, whatâs going on?â I say, sitting up on the cot now. My diaper crinkles loudly beneath me and Iâm reminded that Iâm still not wearing anything else.
âThe truce was broken,â Marci says. âItâs the Paci Clan. Theyâre coming to raid us. They want our supplies.â
âThey want our diapers,â Skylar says.
This world is so fucking weird.
âAnd soâŠyâall are just going to run away?â I ask.
âWeâre potentially outnumbered,â Skylar says. âWeâre fighters, but weâre not stupid.â
âWhere are you going to go?â I ask.
âJesus Christ,â Marci mutters at the door. âCanât you play Sherlock later? Weâve got to go.â
âWe have allies in the south,â Skylar says. âWeâll regroup there and figure out whatâs next.â
This all feels too big for me. Factions at war, struggles to survive, the sudden need to abandon the only comforts you have. This isnât my home. This isnât my fight. And Iâm just an orgasm away from leaving it all behind.
âWhat if, uhâŠyou just left me behind?â I ask Skylar.
Skylar tilts her head. âYou wouldnât be safe. Just come with meâweâll take care of you.â
She cares about me, I think. Iâm her adopted little brotherâthe proxy for the one she used to have before things went south. Itâs honestly kind of touching, though it also makes me realize that I might just break her heart in a moment.
âWe really donât have time for this,â Marci says.
Thereâs more yelling outside. A woman screams: âGo, go, go, go!â
âCome on,â Sklyar says to me.
Seeing as how we probably donât have the time for me to explain much of anything, I have to weigh my options. Maybe, for now, itâs just easier to follow Skylar and Marci. I can lose them later, then go off on my own way and, well, work on the olâ escape plan. If I try to shake the girls now, I run the risk of Skylar chasing after me. For the sake of her own safety, that seems like an unwise path to take.
âLetâs go,â I say, rolling off the cot.
âFinally coming to your senses, huh?â says Marci. âIâm headed outside. Brittany should be there already. Meet us there.â With that, she jogs down the hallway away from us, her skirt riding up to show that thick diaper waggling back and forth with every step.
The things I noticeâŠ
âI grabbed some clothes for you,â Skylar says.
âNot a cheerleading outfit, I hope.â
She snorts. âFor what itâs worth, I bet thatâd be cute. But noâthese were in storage. I think it was stuff left behind by whoever used to live here. I donât know what would or wouldnât fit you, soâŠjust maybe just quickly go through it and find something that fits?â She points to a cardboard box filled with pieces of loose clothing.
I quickly rifle through it, finding useless-to-me things like skirts and single socks. But then I spot a plaid button down shirt that looks a little familiar to me. Where have I seen this shirt before?
I think I remember Tommy wearing a shirt like that once. Thatâs fucking weird.
I dig a little more, pulling out a faded blue t-shirt with The Life Aquatic filmâs logo on it. Thatâs weird. I used to have a shirt like that. I mean, I guess I do own a shirt like that, back where Iâm from. In fact, Iâm pretty sure that I had that shirt packed in my bag when I came to California.
Is it possibleâŠ
How crazy would it be if this was actually my shirt? Well, not mineâbut the version of me who comes from this world. He was here. This is his shirt. My shirt.Â
Does this imply that, up to some point, this world and my world had a very similar timeline? In this world, I still bought this shirt, much to Nikkiâs objections, while at this record store on the boardwalk? That I still came to Californiaânot once, but twice, bringing this shirt with me the second time? And if thatâs true, does that suggest that whatâs happening here really is the probable outcome for my own world?
Is this the future, compared to the time in my world?
âDid you find something?â Skylar asks, some urgency in her tone.
âUh, one secâŠâ
It only seems right to take back my own shirt, and I put it on. Fits just like it always did. Smells a little musty, though god knows where this thing has been sitting for, apparently, years.
I flip through the contents of the box, hoping to find something else of mine, but I donât see anything. Iâd like to think that it means that I escaped this place with my belongings at some point, but who knows. Maybe Iâm dead. Or in some weird âfactionâ like the, uh, Paci Gang or whatever. My luck, Iâm probably in the worst faction there anyone can be part of, the one all the other factions make fun ofâsomething like âThe Bongo Buttsâ or the âDiapered Cucumber Sniffers.â
Does this mean that the ones sniffing the cucumbers are diapered? Or that the cucumbers, themselves, are diapered?
I retrieve a pair of cargo shorts from the box. They look a little big for me, but I think I can make them work. Besides, itâs best to have something that can accommodate this thick diaper.
Iâm about to stand up and get dressed when something else in the box catches my eyeâa very familiar shade of light green.
âNoâŠâ I say softly.Â
I pull another t-shirt out of the box. Lake Bucky Bike Race, 2014, read the faded black letters on the shirt. This could be the strangest coincidence, but I think Iâve seen enough to know that itâs probably not.
This is Nikkiâs shirt. This is her comfort shirtâthe one she wears whenever she wants to be comfortable, usually to bed.Â
Maybe she left it here that first time she and I came to The Cradle to get Anders.
Yeah, but she was wearing it when we went back home to New Jerseyâbefore I went to California again on my own.Â
Nikki came to The Cradle again.
She was looking for me.
Does that mean, back in my world, Nikki hasâor will, in the futureâcome looking for me?
âCome on, Alfie,â Skylar says.
âIâŠuhâŠhold onâŠâ
The weight of the last few months suddenly feels crushing. The realization that I never knew shit about who Mother was or what was happening at The Cradle. The realization that we were all fucking with forces beyond our comprehension. The realization that I may have put Nikki in danger because I couldnât get enough milk.
I have to find a way to go back. I need to help free Harriet. I need to make sure that Nikki isnât in danger. I need toâŠstop whatever diapered hellscape this is from happening, if such a thing is even possible.
I get to my feet and slip into the shorts and put a shirt on over my head.
âShoes?â I ask.
Skylar shrugs. âThereâs none in the box. But maybe thereâs some extras over at theââ
A voice calls down the hallway: âI swear, weâre going to fucking leave without you if you donât hurry up!â
Skylar grabs my shirt and pulls. âLet's go. We can worry about shoes later.â
Sheâs running. Iâm running. Past the other, vacant cells. Down the hall. When the hallway veers to the side, we turn with it. Ahead is the open door and bright daylight. We charge into it, and I canât even begin to imagine what Iâll see when weâre there.
===
I see chaos.
And I also see the Cradle. Itâs not exactly The Cradle that I know and love, but itâs still very familiar. As we stumble forward, I see that the cabins and buildings are a little more run down now than I remember them, but theyâre still in all the places I remember them being. The prison, I realize, is where the dining hall used to be.Â
There are womenârunning everywhere. I see cheerleaders, here and there, directing the running women with their hands, showing them where to go as they yell out commands about where to meet with the others.
I think I just assumed that everyone in this little club wore cheerleading outfits, but Iâm wondering now if only the leadership team gets that uniform.
âOw,â I mutter, my bare feet smacking down on old gravel pathways and uneven turf. I do my best to dodge the debris that I canâof which there is someâas Iâd rather avoid the need for a tetanus shot if I can help it. Could you even get a tetanus shot here? Noâif you get tetanus they probably just throw you in a pit or something.
Something large and yellow catches my attention, flapping in the wind above my head. I steer my face towards it, seeing that itâs a tattered flag. The yellow color, I imagine, was once more vibrant and aggressive, though itâs been muted by years exposed to the sun and the elements. The flagâs only other detail is a word scrawled across it in bold black letters. It appears to be written by hand, in a chaoticâalmost furiousâscript.Â
It reads, simply: âPISSTOPIA.â
Is that what we call this place, or is it a defiant âfuck youâ to the state of the current world? So many questions, andâgiven that someone is tugging at my arm againâso little time for answers.
âShoes,â I say to Skylar again, seeing that sheâs the one towing me alongside her.
âWeâll get them when we can,â she says.
The shouting intensifies, and new voices are being added to the mix. Masculine voices. Angry voices. The Paci Clan?Â
How mad can you be when your identity is based around a tool used to soothe a crabby baby?
Somewhere behind us thereâs a very loud âbangâ that seems to echo around us forever after. Gunshot? Explosion? A building failing down? Iâm tempted to turn around and look, but Iâve decided that the less I know about this place, the better. I donât want to be invested. I just want to go, and never come back.
Thereâs a mound of ashen dirt on our left where a garden used to be. Up ahead thereâs a shell of a building that, once upon a time, was where big babies waddled to when they needed their diapers changed.Â
âAre you okay?â Skylar asks.
It almost annoys me that she cares enough about me to ask. This isnât my world, and itâs not where I belong, and I want to get out of hereâbut once I do leave, I doubt that means this world ceases to exist. It continues to be. Skylar, and her Brats continue to deal with the same hardships. Iâm the one with the easy escape plan that they donât have, and it just doesnât seem fair.
But what else would I do? Iâm not their savior, and Iâm not going to fix an entire world. This was their battle before I got here, and itâll continue to be theirs after I go. I hate that, but itâs true.
âIâm okay,â I say. âBut, lookâŠâ
She glances at me as we run forward. âWhat?â
âI need you to do something for me.â
Thereâs a worried expression on her face. âPlease donât tell me youâre going to do something stupid.â
âThereâs something that I have to do. And I need you to keep running. You canât run after me, alright?â
She shakes her head. âJust like I saidâyouâre going to do something stupid. I thought you couldnât remember anything. How is it that you know you have something to do?â
âI know this,â I say. âJustâŠplease keep going. Donât stop on my account, okay?â
âAlfieâŠâ She looks mad. Or she just looks tiredâitâs really hard to read expressions when youâre running like this.
âIâll be okay,â I say. âAnd so will you.â No, I donât know that, but it seems like the kind of thing youâre supposed to say. Itâd make a good, heart-warming scene in a movie.
âIf I ever see you againâŠâ she says, shaking her head. âIâm gonna smack you alongside the head.â
âAnd I look forward to that,â I say.
And with that, I break away from grip on my arm and run off to the side as she continues to run straight ahead. I dodge a few other running womenâincluding a confused Chloeâas I dodge behind cabins and trees. Somewhere in the distance, I hear more yelling. I see smoke. I sprintâas much of a sprint as my unathletic legs can muster, at leastâin a new direction. The remains of the fence that surrounded The Cradle are ahead, with large swaths of it fallen down completely or broken. I pick an area that looks like I can leap over and hurdle it. My feet are killing me, and Iâm terrified of the trek through the woods beyond the fence. I have to be cautious of sticks, rocks, and whatever post-apocalyptic debris might be hidden beneath the leaves. My pace slows, though I keep moving at a steady-enough clip. From one tree to another.Â
The noise behind me subsides. Nobody knows Iâm here. Nobody, as best as I can tell, is pursuing me. I finally stop to take a breath, resting against a large tree on a wooded incline. Out here, in the middle of the forest, itâs almost like youâd never know that the rest of the world has gone to hell. Itâs probably no different than the forest of my own world. The same trees and chirping birds. The same pristine, unspoiled nature. Itâs the closest Iâve felt to home in a while.
I let myself slide down the tree into a sitting position, my plump diaper squishing beneath me.Â
Well. Thereâs only one way out of here.
Iâm thinking that the last thing in the world I want right now, while Iâm sweating and my heart is pounding like a jackhammer, is to start jerking off.Â
But I gotta.Â
Think of sexy things. Think of sexy things. Think of sexy things.
I imagine myself on my back, legs spread and held high in the air by Freya as she changes my diaper. I think of Maxine, groping the front of my diaper as she teases me for being such a pathetic little baby. I think of the way it felt the very first time my mouth latched onto Motherâs breast and I tasted her milkâand how it felt like my entire world was coming apart at the scenes.
Iâd say itâs weirdâleaning against a tree in the middle of the forest, rubbing the front of my diaper. But this isnât even the weirdest thing that happened to me today.
But itâs not working. None of this is really, like, getting me in the mood that I need to be in.
What else? What else sparks excitement?
I think of thick diapers. Wet diapers. Mucky, stinky diapers. I think of crowds of people standing around me, watching as I squat and push a load into the back of my padding.
Almost, but not quite.
I sigh, giving my hand a break for a moment. Maybe Iâll come back to this later. Though, I have no idea what âlaterâ even looks like here. Is it me, still sitting by a tree in the middle of the woods at midnight? Is it me getting further lost in the tall trees? Walking until I find some other settlement thatâs probably too dangerous for me?
But then, somethingâsomeoneâdoes come to mind. And, after I take a deep and cleansing breath while thinking of her, I feel myself stiffening.
âFuck,â I say aloud. I can never, ever, tell her about this. Sheâd punch me. Pummel me.
âIâm real sorry about this,â I say, hoping that its intended recipient never hears the words.Â
I ease my hand inside my diaper and begin to stroke my erection.
I canât say for certain why itâs my thoughts of Nikki that are getting me stirred up right now, but I make a pact with myself that itâs something weâll think about laterâwhen all of this is said and done.
âMm,â I moan softly. âNikki, get me out of hereâŠâ
Fifty-One: Transcendental Friendship
âDid ya lose yer clothes or something?â the man asks, his eyes narrowing as he peers out the window of his car.
Iâm almost oblivious to the fact that, to him, I just look like a crazy naked guy on the side of this unpaved backroad that cuts through the forest. Instead, Iâm fixated on how normal this almost seems. Heâs a normal sized man in a normal looking car. An actual California license plate on the thing too.
An hour or so agoâitâs hard to be sureâI woke up alongside this road. And so once I found the strength to stand up and move around again, I decided to do the only thing that I couldâwalk. I donât know where Iâm going, but I figure this road has to eventually go somewhere.
When I saw the carâa white Lincoln thatâs probably seen better daysâcoming down the road, I briefly considered diving into the trees and taking cover. For one, it was nice to wake up in a new place and not be a prisonerâbe it by a giant woman or a post-apocalyptic diapered cheerleader. For all I knew, the driver of the car was just going to end up locking me up and slapping a diaper on me. Maybe, I thought, Iâd have better luck avoiding this car and finding my way to a place where I can get some clothes and get a lay of the land on my own.
What prevented me from doing that was the unknown. How long until I made it to a place with clothes? Food? What if this worldâif it wasnât my ownâhad, like, dinosaurs in it? OrâŠforest ninjas? The car seemed like my best bet. So I waited at the side of the road, my hands covering up my midsection the best I could, as the car slowed down and rolled up next to me, the window slowly rolling down.
The man is older, old enough to be someoneâs grandpa, I suppose. Balding, with the last strands of his gray hair pulled over the expanse of nothing on top of his head. Stubble on his leathered face. Big lensed bifocals. He also looks more annoyed at the sight of me than concerned.
I donât know how to explain my current predicament to a stranger, but I take a stab at it. âIt was a, uh, prank. Some hazing, you know? Me and my budsâŠwe got a little carried away.â
The left side of his brow slowly raises. âAnd whereâre yer friends now, boy?â
âDonât know,â I say. âBack in town?â Iâm hoping that there is a town in this world.
âHarperâs Bell?â he asks.
Itâs a huge relief to hear him say that nameâitâs not much, but itâs a faint semblance of the normalcy that I crave right now.
âYeah,â I say. Still, Iâm skeptical of what weird twist this world has in store for meâassuming itâs not the world Iâve originally come from. âItâs not, like, blown up or anything, is it?â
Both of the manâs eyes narrow again. âIs that some kinda joke or something?â
âUh, yeah. SorryâŠignore that.â
âYou want a ride back to town?â he asks. âOr you gonna wait out here âtil yer pals get back?â
âWellâŠâ
âIt ainât gonna be light out fer much longer,â he says, glancing at, I assume, the time on his carâs dashboard. âYa might be better off goinâ to town.â
âIf youâre offering,â I say.
âYou ainât got any clothes at all?â he asks.
âNope.â
He sighs, again sounding more aggravated by having stopped than anything else. âWell, shit. Ya canât go to town lookinâ like that. Yer gonna offend the ladies.â
âNot much I can do about that,â I say.
âHold on. Mays be I got somethinâ in the trunk you can wear.â
âYou donât have toâŠâ
But heâs already got the car in park and heâs opening the driver side door and slowly hoisting himself out of his seat. Heâs not an especially big guy, though thereâs something solid about his frame. He reminds me of my grandfather, my dadâs dadâthe kind of guy who didnât know the meaning of resting. The kind of guy who insisted on working and laboring like he was still 30-something and not in his 70s.
The man has the trunk popped open and he flings it open when he gets to it. He rifles around for a little bit and pulls out a bundle of blue fabric and tosses it at me.Â
âHere,â he says. âIt ainât much, but itâll keep you decent.â
I unfurl the bundle, revealing a pair of faded and stained denim overalls.
âThey ainât pretty,â the man says with a shrug. âI keep âem around in case I get stuck in the mud and make a mess of myself or somethinâ.â
Iâm mildly amused by his choice of words, just because âmaking a mess of myselfâ means something very different where I come fromâassuming that itâs not here.
âWell, thanks,â I say. I quickly step into the overalls, one leg at a time, and hoist them up over my body before fastening the shoulder straps to keep everything in place. Theyâre a little bug, but they could be a lot worse. And, like the man said, if nothing else, theyâre keeping me decent.Â
âI ainât got shoes or anything like that though,â he says.
âItâs alright,â I say.
âYa prolly got clothes back in town?â
âSure.â I probably donât, but that doesnât seem worth explaining.
âWell get in. Iâll take ya back.â
===
Bill Hammondâs got some kids, he says, but theyâve all moved away.Â
âThey donât want nothinâ to do with this place,â he says as the car lurches along the old backroad. âCanât say I blame âem or nothinâ. Time was, I was happy my pop gave me this placeâfelt like I was doinâ my job to continue the familyâs legacy, ya know?â
âSure,â I say.Â
He shrugs. âBut if the kids donât wanna live out here in the middle of nowhere, and donât wanna be farmers, I canât make âem. Iâm disappointedâbut I ainât gonna force âem.â
âSo you live out here alone?â I ask.
âAye. Well, not alone. Got the wife and the dog, of course. Some animals in the barn. Iâll give it a few more years but then Iâm prolly done with it all. Maybe Iâll sell all the land, yâknow? Maybe sooner than later so I can enjoy some of the money before I keel over.â
Admittedly, Iâve only been half-paying attention to him, but thereâs a few nuggets in the words Iâve heard that feel like puzzle pieces.Â
Hammond. Iâve heard that name before, havenât I? Hammond. Hammond. Who is that?
Obviously itâs nobody that I know, since Iâm not from around here and I donât know any of the locals. So itâd have to be a name that Iâve heardâa name thatâs been referenced around me. But what local person would be referenced in a context that wouldâve mattered to me.
My eyes widen, realizing where I know it from.
The Hammond Farm. The place that would later become The Cradle. Is the farm heâs talking aboutâthe one he hasnât even seriously considered selling yetâthe same as the plot of land Iâve come to see as home over the last few months?
âI gotta ask ya, boy, what in the world transpired that caused you to be out in the middle of goddamned nowhere without any britches on?â
âUh, well, thatâs a long story,â I say. And it is.
His shoulders bounce with a little shrug. âKids doinâ stupid shit. Some things never change.
âCan I ask you something?â I donât mean to cause such an abrupt change of direction for this conversation, but itâs hard for me to humor any other small talk at the moment.
âYeah,â he says. âShoot.â
âYou ever hear of anything called The Cradle? Not, like, an actual, uhâŠcradle. I mean, like a place that they call âThe Cradle.â Itâs like a camp, I guess?â
He glances at me with his eyebrows all uneven like heâs trying to understand me while I speak in an entirely different language. âHuh?â
âMirabelle?â I ask. âThat name mean anything to you?â
âI donât know anything about any of that,â he says, his chest shaking with a rumbling laugh. âWhat are you on âbout, boy?â
âAhâŠnothing,â I say, shrugging. âJust some stuff I heard about in town, I guess.â
âYou live in town?â he asks, as if picking out detail to process and throwing the rest of what I said out. âWhoâs yer parents? I prolly know âem.â
âI donât live in town,â I say. âJust visiting, actually.â
âSo you donât even live âround here and yer pals are just leavinâ ya in the woods without yer pants?â
When he puts it that way, my fictional friends do sound pretty shitty.
âLike I said, itâs a long story.â
âWhoâre yer friends?â he asks. âMaybe someone I know?â
Damn, man. Heâs asking too many questions. I think he means well, but heâs unknowingly backing me into a corner where Iâm going to run out of ways that I can lie to him.Â
I take one more shot at changing the subject. Plan B might just be opening the passenger side door and rolling out of the moving car and then running through the woods. âTheyâre just a bunch of idiots. Whatever. Hey, do you know the girl at the diner? Celia?â
At this, the friendly smile on his faceâwhich has been there since he first tossed me his overallsâgrows a little wider. âCelia? Yeah, I know âer. Nice gal.â
Thatâs really all I needed to hear. I just needed to know that something in this world was familiar.Â
âActually,â I say. âYou think you could drop me off at the diner?â
He laughs. âYou gonna go and bother Celia, are ya?â
âUhâŠâ
âThere ainât much of a dress code at the diner,â he chuckles, âbut ya might need more than jusâ overalls.â
Shit, I say, forgetting about my current attire, or lack there of.
âYa sure I should drop you off there?â he asks.
I nod. Clothes or no clothes, and regardless of whether or not this Celia is âmyâ Celia, this is all I have. Iâll take my chances. âYes, please.â
===
Harperâs Bell looks nearly identical to how I remember it. The same well-worn expanse of slowly cracking roads and buildings in need of upgrades. Even Harperâs Dinner Bell looks exactly like Iâd expect it to. Though, maybe slightly shabbier? But itâs been a while since Iâve been in town in my own world, so I canât be too sure.
âYou want these overalls back, I assume,â I say to Bill Hammond as I climb out of his Lincoln in the parking lot.
He considers this for a moment and shakes his head. âI got more. And you need âem more than I do. You sure yer good, kid?â
âIâm alright,â I say. âThanks for the ride.â
I donât think he believes me, but with a little shrug and one more flash of his friendly grin, he puts the car into drive again and his car rumbles down the street and out of sight. Itâs not until heâs gone that I realize how stupid I am. No phone. No wallet. No shoes. Barely any clothes.
No diaper. Does that matter? Knowing my luck, it probably will.
I donât have to look too hard to find Celia, sheâs around the side of the diner, leaning against the wall and drawing in a long drag from her vape with one hand as she scrolls on her phone with the other. Sheâs got a pink t-shirt on and a pair of light-blue jeans that are rather tight, a white apron tied around her waist. She looks up at me as I slowly, carefully, amble closerâwatching every step for broken glass or pointy rocks. Her eyes linger on me, but itâs not recognition in her eyes; instead she looks baffled by me. I can just about read her mind: âWho is this clod with the big overalls, no shirt, and no shoes?â
âHey,â I say.
She narrows her eyes and tilts her head. âHey.â Itâs almost a question.
âUh, CeliaâŠâ
Her head tilts even further. âDo I know you?â
âWell, yeahâŠâ I stop myself, well aware of how insane Iâll sound if I try to rattle off how I know her in a different world. âN-no, I donât think so.â
She scoffs. âWell? Do I know you or donât I?â
âYou donât,â I say. âI donât think.â
âYou donât look familiar,â she says. âYouâre not from around here.â
âThatâs for sure.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
I sigh, wondering if weâre getting off on the wrong foot. But, then again, what in the world am I supposed to say? This Celia is a complete stranger to me. Is there any feasible way that I can get her to help me?Â
Maybe I canât. It was probably a mistake to try and approach her in the first place.
âSoâŠcan I help you or something?â she asks when I donât say anything for a few beats.
âIâm sorry to bother you,â I sigh.
âWhatâs your deal?â she asks. Without giving me a chance to respond, she stacks a few more questions on for good measure: âWhere are your shoes? Your shirt? How do you even know my name?â
I search my mind for somethingâanythingâthat I can say that might help establish a connection between us. I blurt out: âDarla.â
âWhat?â
âDarla,â I say again. âYour father is dating a woman named Darla, right? From out of town? He stays with her pretty often, and itâs why youâre usually alone at your place.â
For a moment, she doesnât react to this at all. She just stares at me, taking me in with cold and calculating eyes. Iâm already regretting having said any of thatâI probably come off as a terrifying stalker more than anything.
âHow do you know that?â she finally says.
âYou told me once.â Shit, that was the wrong answer.
âBut you donât know me,â she says.Â
I sigh and shrug. âIâŠI donât know.â
I expect her to tell me to fuck off, but instead she smirks, laughing to herself a little as she shakes her head. She seemsâŠstrangely amused.
âI-Iâm not going to hurt you,â I say, putting my open palms up in front of me. âI justâŠâ
Something in her expression seems to soften as she looks at me. Itâs a similar softness as I had seen on her face when I was in her homeâin a different time, in a different worldâwhen she was offering to change my diaper. I think itâs pity or sympathy. I donât know what she sees right nowâa crazy guy in stained overalls in need?
âDo you need something to eat?â she asks.
The abrupt change in tone of this conversation almost gives me whiplash, though at least it seems to be turning in the right direction.
I hadnât thought of eating sinceâŠI was in whatever PISSTOPIA was, but now that sheâs mentioned it, I feel a little grumble in my stomach.
I shrugâthe universal symbol for âIâm too proud to say that I need something, but hopefully youâll understand this and help me out a little.â
She sighs, pointing down the dinerâs wall to where the corner turns. âThereâs a picnic bench back there. Itâs for the staff on their breaks, but I think Iâm the only one who ever uses it. Why donât you go over there and sit down. I have to go back to work, but I should be able to grab some food for you in a little bit.â
âY-you donât have toâŠâ
âI donât know what your deal is,â she says. âBut I think weâve got more to talk about. Do you have anywhere else to be?â
I shake my head.Â
âOkay. Picnic bench, then. Iâll see you in a while.â
âThank you,â I say, before we head in our different directionsâme back to the table, and her back into the diner through a side-entrance.
===
The old, worn benchâjust as unloved looking as the rest of Harperâs Bellâsits nestled between two tall pine trees on the edge of the parking lot. The fact that the bench and the ground around it are littered with fallen brown needles and pinecones suggests that what Celia said was right and that this isnât an oft-used area for taking breaks. I take some comfort in that as I brush some needles away from the bench and sit downâfeeling hidden from the rest of the world back here.
Not only is this place the closest thing to âhomeâ Iâve felt in a while, but I find the freedom from giant women and angry post-apocalyptic clans to be rather refreshing. So close, but so far away. This is Celia, but itâs also notânot as I know her, anyway. But she looks like the Celia I know. She sounds like her. The smell of the smoke she exhaled after vaping even smells like the kind the Celia I knew used.Â
It makes me wonder what else about this world is like the one I know. What is this worldâs Nikki doing? And Maxine. And Mirabelleâif thereâs no such thing as The Cradle. And Anders. Sam. Is my dad still shacking up with Julie-fucking-Ross?
What aboutâŠme? Am I here?
I somehow feel it before I feel itâthe sound of liquid dripping into a puddle, coming from directly below me. Itâs at this moment I realize that the crotch of my overallsâwell, Bill Hammondâs overallsâhave suddenly become warm and wet. A trail of wetness runs down the insides of the overalls thighs, past the knees, down the ankles, and now a tiny trickle of pee is puddling in the pine needles on the ground.
And there you go, ladies and gentsâyour boy still needs diapers.
Itâs a weird feeling, pissing myself without a diaper. The warmth is in the wrong place. The dampness is all wrongâfeeling more like a sloppy wetness. And in the bagginess of the overalls, sans underpants, it just feels like Iâm sitting in a wet sack or something. There is absolutely nothing even slightly erotic or ânaughtyâ feeling about this. I feel grossâwhich is a funny thing to feel when I donât think Iâve felt that way in months, despite the number of dirty diapers Iâve been trapped in.
Itâs a whole new challenge, isnât it? How do I get diapers when I donât have any money?
I close my eyes and take a few deep breaths, hoping that I can somehow collect myself. I have no idea if itâs working or not, but trying is at least a pleasant distraction from freaking out.
A rusted door on the back of the diner, near a dumpster, opens and Celia emerges, carrying a plate. She walks over to the picnic table, brushes some more debris from the top of it, and places the plate down in front of me. Looks like a club sandwich and some fries.
âI hope this is alright,â she says. âI realized that I didnât ask what you might want.â
âBeggars canât be choosers,â I say. âAnd this is perfect.â Honestly, Iâm just glad that itâs not the tacos.
She reaches into her apron and slaps a few napkins down on the table too. âHow about something to drink?â
âY-you really donât have toââ
âYou canât eat a meal without something to drink,â she says. âWater? Soda?â
âA Coke actually sounds perfect,â I say. Something sugary and caffeinated really does sound like the best thing I could ask for.
âOkay,â she says with a nod. âIâll be back in a minute. Anything else?â
âYouâre already doing too much,â I say.
She doesnât respond to that directly, beyond a little shrug. âAlright, be right back.âÂ
Sheâs gone again.
The sandwich and the salty fries are fantastic, not only hitting the spot, but giving me a nostalgic rush for when Iâve eaten at Harperâs Dinner Bell before. Iâm reminded of when Nikki and I came here for the very first time, when we arrived in town in search of The Cradle so that we could cover Anders. Goddamn, that was a different time. Before diapers. Before Mother. Before Tommy, Celia, and Freya became a part of my world.
Celia returns again and sets a clear plastic cup of soda down on the table. âEverything good?â
âAnything at all wouldâve been good,â I say, my mouth full of half-chewed french fries. âThis is excellent.â
âGood,â she says, nodding a little. She lingers near the picnic table for a moment, looking like she wants to say something else.Â
After swallowing, I donât take another bite, instead, giving her my attention. âHm?â
âYou seem to know my name,â she says. âBut youâve got me at a disadvantage when I donât know who you are.â
âAlfie,â I say.
âAlfie,â she repeats. â I donât know if Iâve ever met one of them before.â
No, not on this world.
âIâm a little biased,â I say, âbut Iâd like to think weâre pretty cool.â
Of course, as I shift in my seat a little and are reminded of the wetness in my overalls, I suddenly feel a lot less cool.Â
She doesnât say anything. She just watches me carefully; studying my every move like I was a zoo animal in a cage and sheâd never seen anything like me before.
âDo you remember me?â I ask, a hopeful twang in my voiceâas if I fully believe that the power of friendship somehow transcends dimensional barriers or something like that.
âNo,â she says bluntly, instantly shooting down my hopes. âBut, I dunno, you talk to me like you know me.â
âUhâŠâ
âYou seemed pretty confident about âDarla,ââ she says.Â
âI really donât know what to say.â
âGive me something.â
âWe, uh, met in another life, maybe.â
She clicks her tongue as she tries to process that response. However it is she feels about it, she keeps it to herself.
âWhat else do you think you know about me?â she asks.
I laugh. âHonestly? Not a lot. Youâre kind. You, uh, have gardens in front of your house. Theyâre kind of your project now, but you originally started them with your dad.â But beyond that, I donât know what I can say thatâll make sense to her. Describing the inside of her house would probably just make me sound like a home invaderânot someone who was invited inside of her home in another world like this one.
âAlright,â she says, tapping her fingers against her thigh. âLetâs start somewhere else. âWhere are the rest of your clothes? And your shoes?â
âI donât have any.â
She pinches the top of her nose with her thumb and forefinger and closes her eyes. Is she agitated? Just thinking? She asks: âDo you live in town?â
âNo.â
âAre you homeless?â
âTechnically, I guess,â I say, scratching my head.
She sighs. âAre you in trouble, Archie?â
âAlfie,â I correct. Itâs surreal, hearing her say the wrong name like she doesnât know me at all. âAndâŠkind of.â
âYou need a hand, yeah?â
I nod my head.
âIâve got to get back inside. I probably have customers waiting for me. When my shift ends in about two hours, are you going to be here?â
âI can be,â I say. Also true is that I have nowhere else to go.
âOkay,â she says. And just like that, she goes through the door and back into the diner again.
I canât get a good read on her. I feel like she should be more skeptical of me. More suspicious. Less trusting. But she sounds like she wants to help me, for whatever reason. I wonât pretend that I understand her motives, but I also need her help so badly that Iâm hesitant to question them too much.
Perhaps the power of friendship really does transcend dimensional borders, and she can sense a strong connection between us from another place and time.
===
I spend almost every second of my time waiting for Celia thinking about what Iâll say to her later. I could lie to her, fabricating some convoluted story about my origins and how I got here. But I donât even know where Iâd start with that. Itâs probably a testament to my upbringing that I donât know how to spool together a string of lies about who I am, where Iâve come from, and how Iâve come to learn strange details about Celiaâs life without her knowing who I am.
I decide to just tell her the truth. As absolutely as insane an idea as that sounds, I think itâs the only way to go. I need an ally, and Iâd rather earn Celiaâs trust through the absurd truth than lying.
Worst case scenario, am I really in a worse spot than where I started? Iâll justâŠfondle myself and jet off to the next world, I guess.
When Celia emerges from the dinerâs backdoor again, she looks tired. Her apron is gone now, and sheâs got a purse slung over one shoulder and a cardigan hanging off the other. She glances at me, sitting at the picnic table, and almost looks like she forgot about me for a moment there. The expression on her face says: âAh shit, you again.â
âHey,â I say. âHow was work?â
She grunts, seemingly unhappy with the question. I suppose I can understand thatâshe doesnât think we have any rapport yet. I donât deserve the opportunity to ask things like that. She doesnât know me like I think I know her.
âLook,â I say, âwe can do this tomorrow if you want. Like, if you just want to go home and shower and relax or whatever, we can meet up and talk later instead.â
âWhy donât you come with me?â she asks.
Iâm surprised by this. âYou want me to go back to your house with you?â
âYouâre not going to kill me or anything, are you?â
âUh, no,â I say. I resist the urge to add: âBut isnât that what a killer would say?â
âAnd you donât have anywhere else to go, do you?â she asks.
I shake my head.
âAnd you donât have any other possessions? No clothes? Things?â
âNo,â I say.
âCome on,â she says, beckoning me towards her with a hand.Â
Itâs only as I stand that I remember what I had done in the overalls earlier. While that accident might have dried a little, the second accidentâoccuring maybe an hour an agoâcertainly hasnât. There, in the crotch of my overalls, is a giant wet splotch, spreading down my thighs with little streams and rivers of wetness running down the length of the legs.
Celia stares at me for a few moments, not saying anything at all. Her expression isnât at all what Iâm expecting. Sheâs not disgusted or disturbed by what sheâs seeingâinstead, she looks curious. Intrigued, even.
âWhat happened there?â she finally asks, pointing towards my midsection.
âThatâs actually part of the very long story I need to tell you.â
âYou had an accident?â she asks.
âJ-just a little oneâŠâ
âYou couldnât have pissed on a tree? Asked to use the restroom?â
âMaybe if we could just talk about everything, I could explain thatâŠâ
âDo you need a diaper?â she asks. âIs that it?â She says it dismissively, like itâs just a joke.
I laugh nervously. âI meanâŠâ
âReally?â
âI, uh, usually wear them,â I say, adding: âWhere I come from.â It feels shameful and humiliating to have to admit as much to a stranger.
âCome on,â she sighs, again beckoning for me to follow her with her hand.
âAre you sure?â I ask.
She laughs. âI wouldnât have invited you if I didnât mean it.â
===
We donât talk much on the walk to her house. Thereâs a lot Iâd like to say to her, but I opt to follow her lead, and she seems content with silence.
My feet are a little sore, but Iâd take the smooth sidewalk of Harperâs Bell over the rough backroads that cut through the forest.Â
The closer to her house we get, the stranger this situation feels. She really ought to be more suspicious of me, shouldnât she? Who invites a random pissy-pants stranger over to their house after a whole ten minutes, if that, of conversation?
Am I, somehow, the one who is suspicious of her now? I mean the thought mostly as a joke, though Iâm still on edge.
For the most part, I find the walk to her house to be a pretty familiar route. Iâve walked this way with Celia before, in a different world. Thereâs a few minor differences to the buildings around usâno signs about their being no public restrooms or changing stations, for oneâthough the path itself is the same.
Itâs a Harperâs Bell without the influence of The Cradle. No strange people in diapers passing through on the daily. No influx of cash to local businesses from visitors en route to the old farm. Now, itâs just a small isolated town, drawing even closer towards its inevitable abandonment. Itâs sad, in a way.
I almost donât recognize Celiaâs little cottage when we get there. While there are some patches of dug-up earth in front of the houseâplaces where gardens would be back at the version of the yard Iâd knowâthereâs nothing but dried soil and remnants of dead plants now. Itâs been a long time since anyoneâs cared about growing something here.
She opens the front door, beckoning for me to follow. Beyond the door, I just see darkness. I donât know why, but I have a bad feeling about this; itâs deep down in the pit of my stomachâan instinct to turn and run.
âCome on,â she says.Â
I approach the door, despite the bad vibes. Maybe itâs because I have nowhere else to go, or maybe itâs because I could always trust my Celia.Â
âGood boy,â she says as I cross the threshold.Â
Her voice sounds different. Her hand is suddenly wrapped tightly around my wrist. Instinctively, I try to run, but she stands her ground and holds me in place. She seems almost impossibly strongâmy attempt to flee doesnât so much as cause her to lean.Â
Somethingâs not right. Somethingâs not right. Somethingâs not right.
My eyes adjusting to the darkness inside the house, I see that things are not as I expect them to be. This isnât the quaint little place I remember. There are no warm-colored rugs and furniture. The paintings of people and flowers have been pulled down from the walls. Some of the shelves are empty of the knick knacks and plants that used to habitat them, while other shelves are gone altogether. This place seems abandoned. Deserted.Â
âCelia⊠What is this?â
âIâm not Celia,â she says, closing the door.Â
Her face has changed. Not like sheâs morphing into someone else so much as the expression on her faceâher entire temperamentâis unlike any Iâve seen from my Celia before. She looks amused and satisfied. Devilish and sinister.
I make another feeble attempt to escape her grasp, but sheâs simply too strong and effortlessly holds me in place.
âWhatâs going on here?â I sayâmy voice a childish whine.
âPoor baby,â Not-Celia coos sarcastically. âYour mother has been worried sick about you.â
âMy m-mother?â I stammer. But then I realize what she means. Not my motherâshe means Mother. She of the psychedelic milk and who is suspiciously absent from this world.
âMother doesnât like that youâre able to run amok,â Not-Celia says. âNo little boy should be allowed to run between worlds like you do.â
âAnd who are you, then?â I ask.
âIâm here to make sure that you donât get to run any further,â she says. âYouâre going to stay right here where I can keep an eye on you for Mother.â
===
Another world, another instance of finding myself held prisoner in a diaper. I really thought this world was going to be different, but I guess I was a fool to think that.
Iâm tied to what I assume was once this worldâs Celiaâs bed. Each of my limbs is tied separately to one of the bedâs corresponding posts.Â
I have been liberated from my wet overalls.Â
I am, once more, wearing a diaper.
The diaper is already wet.
Thereâs a pacifier in my mouth, held in place by a piece of ribbon that is wrapped around my head to keep it in place.
Iâd laugh, if I could. No matter where I go, this just seems to be my fate. Youâd think Iâd be used to it by nowâbut here I am, already thinking about how maybe itâll be different next time.
Assuming, of course, there gets to be a ânext time.â
***
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Forty-Eight: Little
âI was traded,â Wobble says. âI only came to live here two years ago. Before that, I used to live in the city. I thought life was pretty good there, and I thought I had a decent relationship with my big. But then they justâŠtraded me away. Like I was a toy they had gotten sick of.â
âPeggy wanted a boy,â Tinkles somberly says to him. âShe always said that before you arrived.â
Stinker sighs, rolling her eyes again. âPeggy and Lenore are my first bigs. They caught me a few years ago.â
Caught. This has implications. Perhaps littles can, if theyâre lucky, have a life outside of serving the bigs? And just how does one get caught? Iâm imagining a cartoonish snare trap, but since I canât ask any questions myself, I can only rely on what they choose to share with me.
âI was born here,â Tinkles says. âItâs all Iâve ever known.â
âShe likes it here,â Stinker says.
âI-itâs not like that,â Tinkles says. âI justâŠâ
âThis is her whole world,â Wobble says. âI get that.â
âWhat about you, uhâSmooshy, was it?â Stinker asks.
I nod my head, unable to respond otherwise.
She asks: âYou always been a âSmooshy?ââ
I shake my head.
She asks: âSo you werenât always someoneâs little?â
I shake my head.Â
She asks: âIsâŠthis your first time being someoneâs little?â
I mean⊠If being a âlittleâ means being made to wear a diaper, act like a baby, and get doted on by people acting like the adults, I donât suppose thatâs all the different from The Cradle. But that seemed like a more consensual agreement than whatever is happening here. ThoughâŠthe milk, and whatever mind-altering properties it has has me questioning that now too.
But, for the sake of her question, being made into some giant womanâs pet baby is certainly a first. I nod my head.
âShit,â Stinker says. âIâm sorry to hear that. I mean, itâs impressive that you lasted this long without getting captured. Did you live around here? Were you in one of the communities?â
I shrug, vaguely pointing to my face and plugged-mouth with my mitts to remind her that I canât really answer all those questions right now.
âRight,â she sighs. âMaybe we can talk about that later.â
âAre you scared?â Tinkles asks.
I shrug, for lack of another way to respond. Iâm not, like, terrified. But this place is strange and alien to me. The four of us look like what Iâd consider to be an âaverageâ adult size back in the Earth that I know and love. But here, where everything else is bigger, it fucks with your head. The ceiling is too tall and the room seems too big in general.Â
âPeggy isnât bad,â Stinker says. âI mean, I donât like her. But sheâs mostly harmless. Just kind of careless sometimes.â
Wobble sighs. âLenore, thoughâŠâ
âI donât think Lenore actually likes littles,â Stinker says. âShe tolerates them on behalf of Peggy.â
âTh-thatâs not true,â Tinkles says. âShe likes littles. Sheâs just a little more, uhmâŠâ
âUptight,â Wobbles says, finishing that thought for her. âBitchy. Moody. Not especially kind.â
âYou must be tired and overwhelmed right now,â Wobble says, putting a mitted hand on my back. âDo you need to lie down? Thereâs some blankets over there.â
âIâm a good cuddler,â Tinkles says. âSometimes we have cuddle parties.â
I have no idea what I need right now. I can barely think straight. Do I need a nap? Lunch? A bottle of milk? Do I needâŠa cuddle?Â
No, what I need is to cum. As ridiculous as that sounds, it might be my only chance at getting the hell out of this weird place.Â
But then what? Someplace even stranger? And this prompts the question: How does this get me any closer to my end goal of getting back to my own worldâpreferably while freeing Harriet as well? Because if I keep cummingâif future orgasms work to take me into new, uh, realms or dimensions or whatever, am I just going to get myself further and further away from where I want to be?
Or, are the answers I seek here, in this weird world of bigs and littles? But how would I know? And how would I find them while trapped in some crazy couplesâ basement?
My head is spinning. Maybe I do need to lie down for a little bit. I nod and follow Wobbleâs finger to where the blankets are stacked. I waddle towards them and grab one or two. Itâd be nice to have a bed or something, but at this point, Iâd be fine with just throwing the blankets on the ground and curling up on top of them for a bit.
No sooner than I spread a blanket out on the padded floor, though, I feel a presence behind me. Itâs Tinkles.
âWould it be weird if I took a nap with you?â she asks.Â
I shrug, again unsure of how else to respond.
âIâŠwell, I just want you to know that youâre not alone here,â she says. âSometimes it helps comfort me when I have a friend I can cuddle with. So if you think itâd help you too, thenâŠâ
I nod. Sure, itâs a little odd, I guess, to cuddle with a stranger Iâve just met. But so is a world with giant women who make us wear diapers. So is traversing the multiverse with orgasm. So is magical milk that turns people into diaper-wetting babies. And you know what? I think having a warm body cuddling against me in these very surreal times sounds quite nice.
So I nod my head and lower myself onto the blanket, as does she. I lower myself onto my side, expecting her to lie in front of me to be my âlittle spoon,â except she lies down behind me instead. Iâm the little spoon. But thatâs fine. ThatâsâŠactually pretty nice.Â
She doesnât say anything. Her hands arenât groping me or anything like that. Sheâs just lying behind me, her body pressed against mine. Itâs warm. Itâs comfortable.Â
I try to think, juggling all the scattered thoughts I have about the weirdness Iâve encountered so far, and what sorts of weirdness will probably be yet to come. But I feel myself shutting down sooner than I expect. Iâm reminded, briefly, that I didnât feel things like exhaustionâor a need to pee, for that matterâwhen I was in the white space with Harriet. Iâm feeling those things now. Iâm exhausted. And, well, I have to pee.
If Iâve learned anything from my time in diapers, itâs that thereâs never a reason to just hold it. Sooner or later, youâre going to end up with a soggy bottom anyway.Â
I let it all out, feeling the diaper growing warmer and heavier between my legs as the wet spot expands to encompass more and more of the padding.
That feels good. Everything about this moment feels good. I let those good vibes carry me off to sleepâa welcome reprieve from the madness of whatever reality Iâm experiencing.
===
Iâm airborne.
I open my eyes and I see my feet dangling below me. The blanket I was laying on is getting further and further away from me.
But there are hands under my arms. Iâm being lifted up. Oh right, the giant women. I donât know if Iâll ever get used to being hoisted up by Peggy.
âThatâs a pretty wet diaper you got on there, Smooshy,â Peggy says to me. Her breath is as bad as I remember it being earlier. Less onion-y, though; more generically âbadâ now.
Thereâs another odor in the air, thoughâone that, hopefully, isnât related to Peggyâs breath. Itâs the unmistakable stench of a messy diaper. Mine? I donât think so, though I wouldnât be completely surprised if it was.
âI see how it is,â Lenore mutters to Peggy from behind. âYouâre going to take the wet one, and I get to change the stinky one?â
âOops,â Peggy giggles, adding a nonchalant shrug.
Lenore grumbles and picks Tinkles up from the ground. She holds the diapered girl out away from her like Tinkles is a bomb set to explode. âLetâs get this dreadful thing off of you.â
The women carry Tinkles and I from whatever playroom weâd been kept in and weâre taken to another room. Despite being just woken from a nap, I feel a little more aware of my surroundings than the last time I was carried around the house. I see the large changing tablesâone of which I was probably laying on when I got my first diaper hereâand I see that this is a nursery of sorts. Two changing tables. Shelves holding lots of diapers, wipes, powders, and ointments. Thereâs a happy little woodland scene painted on the walls. If my sister and Anders were to ever have a kidâand what a terrifying thought that isâthis is how Iâd imagine Sam would want to decorate the room.
Tinkles and I are each flopped down on our own changing tables and the women get right to work on us. Iâm not surprised at their speed and efficiency, as Iâm sure theyâve changed plenty of diapers.Â
I make the mistake, just once, of turning my head and glancing at Tinkles as her diaper is unfastened and pulled open, revealing the brown mess within. I see her glancing at me too, her cheeks bright pink. I turn away, not wanting to embarrass her anymore than I might have already.
âNobody has called about him,â Lenore says, pointing at me.
âYou expecting that?â Peggy asks.
âIf one of the neighbors had lost one of theirs, I could see them reaching out to everyone else in the area and checking to see if weâd found him, couldnât you?â
âI suppose,â Peggy shrugs.
âNobodyâs called. Nobodyâs come looking for him.â
Peggyâs eyes get large. âYou mean, like we got a wild one?â
âPerhaps,â Lenore says, her nasally tone masking if sheâs more amused or annoyed by this. âThough he seems awfully docile to be wild.â
âHeâs a good wittle Smooshy, ainât he?â Peggy coos at me, her giant fingers attempting to tickle my belly. It does little besides making me squirm.
âIs that pacifier necessary?â Lenore asks.
âHe was quite chatty beforeâŠâ
âTake it out, I say. If he gets to be annoying, we can always put it back in. But if you leave it in now, Iâm concerned heâs just going to be resentful. And a resentful little is not a compliant little.â
Peggy sighs. âYeah, yeah, youâre prolly right about that. But doesnât he just look so cute and pathetic with his mouth all stopped up like that?â
âPeggyâŠâ
âIâll take it out. Sheesh.â
Still, she doesnât take the pacifier out immediately. First, she tends to my bottom. The wet diaper is peeled away, and her big hands run a baby wipeâbigger than one Iâve ever seen before, I might addâover my diaper area. Sheâs not even especially gentle about it this time around; itâs just a low-effort set of moves, like sheâs not all that interested in cleaning me up. I think Iâve seen an attitude like hers beforeâthereâs plenty like her in the workforce. Theyâre the people who do just enough to get by. The bare minimum. I probably know it so well because that also describes me.
A new diaper is unfolded and slid beneath me, again my legs being hoisted into the air to lift my bottom up. Bingo bangoâIâm wearing a clean diaper again.
Meanwhile, Lenore is still working on cleaning up Tinkles, and it looks to be a laborious affair. Lenore glances at Peggy, a frown on her face, and scoffs. She says: âNext time, you get the dirty one.â
âWeâll see,â Peggy says cloyingly, before her hands reach around my head and unfasten the strap that holds the pacifier in my mouth.Â
I feel a surge of relief as she pulls the bulb from my mouth. My jaw, exhausted from being forced open for so long, flexes up and down a few times as I acclimate myself to having use of it again. I know better than to say anything, thoughâI have a feeling that sheâd be happy to jam that thing back into my cakehole again, given the slightest excuse.
âIâm bringing him back to play with the others,â Peggy says, picking me up.
This, too, seems to irritate Lenore, as she pauses what sheâs doing to narrow her eyes at Peggy. I can only guess why this would annoy Lenore. Maybe Lenore thinks that Peggy should be spending more time with her âtoysâ rather than leaving them in a room by themselves while she goes and fucks off elsewhere.
I mean, thatâs certainly what Iâm thinking.
Iâm carried back to the other roomâthe one with the padded floors where the other âlittlesâ areâand Iâm eased down onto the ground in a sitting position.
âThere you go, Smooshy,â Peggy says. âGood as new. Iâll be back to check on you later.â And with that, she turns and leaves the room, leaving me alone with the others.
âSmooshy,â says Wobble with a nod. âI see youâre allowed to talk now.â
I open my mouth, unsure of what it is I want to say. How soon do I want to get into the story of my dimension-hopping orgasms? Do I want to talk about milk? Do I want to ask a thousand questions about this place?
I settle for simply saying: âHey.â
âTInkles?â asks Stinker.
âStill getting changed,â I say.Â
âSo,â Wobble says, a big smile on his face. âNow that you can talk, Iâve got a very important question for you.â
âOkay? Shoot.â
He says: âCake or pie?â
===
I donât know how to respond to that, and I need to consider the question for a moment. Is he being serious? Is this somehow a hotly debated topic among the littles? Is there a wrong answerâone that gets me shunned from this tiny community in Lenore and Peggyâs basement.
âThereâs your answer,â Stinker says to Wobble. âClearly he doesnât know.â
âW-wait,â I say. âI meanâŠI like cake a lot, butâŠâ I look at both of their faces, seeing a mix of amusement and curiosity. âYouâre not actually asking me about cake or pie, are you?â
âIf you donât know, you donât know,â Wobble says. âDonât worry about it.â
âWell, hold on,â Stinker says. âDonât be so dismissive just yet.â
âNo,â he says. âWe canât trust him yet. We can talk about this some other time, okay?â
Stinker seems annoyed by this response, but also doesnât look like sheâs going to press the matter. Myself, Iâm debating whether or not I want to poke this bear.
âI'm not from around here,â I say.
âWhere are you from, then?â Wobble says.
I canât help but laugh. âHonestly, I donât know where I am now.â
This raises Stinkerâs eyebrows. âAnd yet you know that youâre not from around here?â
âCalifornia?â I ask. âDoes, uh, Harperâs Bell sound familiar?â
âWell, yeah,â Stinker says. âThatâs the closest town to here.â
âThe Cradle,â I say. âHave you ever heard of that?â
Stinker shrugs before glancing at Wobble who also shrugs.Â
âLikeâŠis that a place?â he asks. âOr do you mean an actual cradle?â
âItâs a place,â I say. âA community? A, uh, cult? Mother? Milk? Mirabelle? Does any of that mean anything to you?â
They look at each other and shake their heads. Iâm not surprised by that response. The Cradle might exist and they just donât know about it. But I suspect thereâs just nothing like it here. In a world where thereâs already a natural imbalance between âbigsâ and âlittles,â thereâs probably not a need for a community that embraces diapers and baby clothes.Â
âWhat about, uhâŠâ But my voice trails off as I hear approaching footsteps. Itâs Lenore, entering the room with a freshly changed Tinkles. She sets the girl down on the padded floor, scanning the rest of us with a skeptical eye.
âOn your best behavior?â Lenore asks.
Wobble nods his head. Stinker says nothing at all.
Lenoreâs glare shifts to me. She stares down at me, her eyes narrowed.
I nod too. âYes, maâam.â
Lenore scoffs. âPeggyâs rightâyou do talk too much. Careful with that mouth of yours, child, or youâll be wearing that pacifier again.â As quickly as she stormed into the room, Lenore pivots and exitsâher footsteps getting quieter as they recede.
âWhatâs the deal with these ladies?â I ask. âCan they just not hear us? Or are we, like, so beneath them that they canât bother to acknowledge us?â
Tinkles tilts her head. âHave youâŠnever met a big before?â
âWhere are you from?â Wobble asks for a second time.
I sigh, still unsure if I should be lying or telling a story that thereâs no way theyâd ever believe.Â
âLook, I donât know what happened to me,â I sayânot a complete lie, âbut Iâm having trouble remembering, uh, everything right now. Maybe I hit my head or something when I ended up here.â
âAmnesia,â Tinkles gasps, holding her hands up to her mouth.
âWe can help you remember things,â Wobble says. âWhat do you remember?â
âIâm from the east coast,â I say. âNew Jersey.â
This seems to get everyoneâs attention. Theyâre all staring at me. They lookâI donât knowâin awe of me?
âSoâŠâ says Wobble. âWhen I asked if you liked cake or pieâŠ?â
âI donât know what you want me to say,â I respond. Nikki and I have a little joke we make sometimes about cake and pie. I donât even remember where it came from, but once in a while, one of us will ask the other if we like cake or pie. And the other will say⊠âDonuts?â
Wobble laughs, laughing as he sighs with relief. âYeah, exactly. SeeâŠI knew you knew!â
âKnew?â I ask. âI have no idea what youâre talking about.â
âN-I-K,â he says, spelling it out. âThe leader of the rebellion in New Jersey. Her and her littles have been fighting back against the bigs. The stories are spreading around the worldâinspiring other littles to stand up for themselves.â
The odds seem slim, but Iâd love for this to mean that Nikkiâthe Nikki that I know, love, and have lived with for a long timeâis the face of a rebellious group of littles working to overthrow the âbigsâ of this world. Because that is the sort of thing sheâd do in a situation like this, isnât it? If anyone ever tried to make Nikki put a diaper on, she would fucking revolt.
And if that is âmyâ Nikki, I wonder if that means thereâs another version of me in this place. Am I in NJ too, as part of Nikâs Rebellion? Am I a big, poking fun at helpless littles in diapers?
No, of course not. Iâm definitely a little. Wearing a diaper is probably my fate across all universes.
Perhaps this is my body in this world. Maybe Iâm just temporarily using the body of this universeâs Alfie while Iâm here? Strange that Iâd be in California, I guess, but what the hell do I know?Â
And, now that I think about it, why do littles have to wear diapers and act like babies for the bigs? How did that culture come about? And do bigs rule the planet? Do littles have any representation at all? What does a community of littles look like, free of bigs? What identity do bigs have for themselves when they donât have a little to torment?
Was there ever an Elvis here? Was he famous? Was he a big or a little? Are there little celebrities? Are there bigs who champion for littlesâ rights?
But maybe any one of the littles in this room with me would have countless questions about the world that I live in, given the chance to travel there for themselves. Which is to say, that Iâll probably never know everything there is to know about this place.Â
âAre you part of the rebellion?â I ask.
âWe support the rebellion,â Wobble says. âQuietly.â
âThis is our home,â Stinker says. âThis is all we have. We may not always like being the bigsâ playthings, butâŠâ
âI understand,â I say. And maybe I donât fully comprehend the full situation, I think I get the jist of it.Â
===
âIs he not the cutest little Smooshy who has ever smooshed before?â Peggy asks, her giant fingers squeezing my cheeks and shaking them. When she releases her grip, my cheek radiates a warm pain as I open my jaw a few times in an effort to stretch out my faceâs skin again.
âYou like this one, do you?â Lenore asks. She seems to be only half-paying attention to Peggy and I, her face aimed at the TVâone thatâd likely be too big for any house in the world that I come from.Â
Iâm seated on Peggyâs lap as she sits in an armchair near Lenoreâs in what I presume is their upstairs living room. Iâm wearing only my diaper, and Iâm straddling Peggyâs legs as I face her chest. Her legs occasionally bob up and down, jostling my body around. She seems to find this pretty entertaining. Of course, the jostling is also doing a number on my digestive systemâshaking my bowels so much that I can feel them suddenly begging for release. What the hell is even in my bowels right now?Â
âHeâs adorable,â Peggy coos, sticking her face in mine and planting a sloppy kiss on my head with her big lips. Strings of saliva drip down my cheeks. âSo precious. Do you know how hard it is to get a little this cute?â
âHe belongs to someone, Iâm sure,â Lenore says with a dismissive wave of her hand. âOr rather, he belonged to someone. Heâs ours now.â
I feel another ominous rumble in my guts as Peggyâs thighs shake again. My face must signal the new panic Iâm feeling, because I watch as Peggyâs eyes light up as she stares down at me.
âUh oh. Whatâs that look for, little fella? Are you thinking you gotta use your diaper?â
Lenore sighs. âIf heâs going to make a mess, could you at least take him somewhere else? I donât want his stench to ruin my relaxing evening.â
âOh, come on,â whines Peggy. âIt wonât be that bad.â
âNo thank you,â Lenore says. âYou made me change Tinklesâs nasty little diaper earlier, and Iâve had just about enough of stinky bottoms for the day. This one is all yours. Get him out of here and then clean him up yourself.â
Peggy sighs, lifting me up and cradling me in her arms. âCome on, Smooshy. Letâs go take a walk outside.â
With her breasts smashed against my face, she carries me out of my room. I hear doors opening and closing, though I have no sense of where weâre going. Itâs not until I feel a brisk wind rush past my skin that I realize weâre outside.
âThere we go, Smooshy,â Peggy says. âFeel free to do your dirty little business whenever youâre ready. I promise Iâll take good care of you after you do.â
âDo I have to?â I ask.Â
She chuckles and shakes her head as her arms sway from side to side to rock me. âYou silly little thing. Such a chatty fella.â
I swear, itâs like they canât actually understand the words littles say. A little can understand them, but they just canât comprehend any of the words that come out of our mouth.
I put the theory to the test, clearing my throat first and then saying, a little more loudly: âYouâre ugly and your breath stinks.â I feel kind of guilty for even saying thisâI donât think Iâve ever called a woman ugly to her face before, and I donât think I ever want to do it again. Still, surely this will get a rise out of her.
But she just laughs and shakes her head. âMaybe I ought to get that pacifier for you again, hm? You blabbering little baby.â
My test is inconclusiveâI still canât be certain if sheâs just not paying attention to what Iâm saying, or if the sound of my voice means nothing to her. But I do know that itâd probably be best to keep my mouth shut for a while, lest I want a paci-gag shoved into my mouth again.
She continues to rock my body back and forth in her arms at a slow and steady pace. And itâsâŠkind of nice. Itâs easy to kind of lose myself in this moment, just closing my eyes and making peace with the gentle swaying and the warmth of her body.Â
Itâs the one thing that was missing from The Cradle, I realize. There, they can treat you like a baby all dayâand the milk certainly helps to make you feel like youâre that babyâbut you never get the feeling that you are as small as you wish you were. No matter what you feel, youâre still in an adult-sized body.Â
That seems to matter less here. No, Iâm not the proportional size of an infant here either, but Iâm certainly smaller than my caretakers. I can be picked up, manhandled, and tossed around with ease. She can cradle me in her arms like Iâm a small child, andâŠI needed that. More than I ever wouldâve thought, apparently.
âThatâs a good little Smooshy,â she coos at me. âGet nice and comfortable.â
I see now what babies like about this. Fuck everything else. Who cares about The Cradle. Who cares about littles and bigs? Who cares about Harriet? Just give me this forever. Let me be this diapered sack of bones forever and everâjust lying here in these big arms and getting endlessly swung back and forth.
Thereâs another little cramp in my abdomen, reminding me of the still-growing pressure in my bowels. Thereâs a small part of me that would still prefer to have this happen somewhere else, but thereâs a much larger part of me that doesnât care at all.
Youâre a baby now. Completely. Just let it all out and let someone else deal with it. The sooner you empty yourself into this diaper, the sooner you can get back to focusing on completely shutting your mind off while in her arms.
I honestly canât say whether or not I purposefully allow myself to mess my diaper, or if my body makes that decision for me. All I know is that Iâm suddenly grunting and shifting a little in Peggyâs arms as she rocks me, and I feel the back of my diaper suddenly expanding as a new warm mass squeezes into my padding.
Peggy seems to sense whatâs going on almost immediately. âAre youâŠâ She laughs. âYou are! Youâre doing a big olâ poopsy woopsy for me, arenât you?â
I offer no response as I let out another pathetic whimper as I helplessly push another round into my diaper. Normally, doing this sort of thing in front of someone else would make me feel pretty humiliated, but I find myself not caring much about that at the moment. This just feels rightâlike itâs exactly what Iâm supposed to be doing.
âAww,â she coos, balancing me on one arm as her big fingers of the other press into my belly and rub it. âYou should see that scrunchy little face you make while youâre doing your poopies for me! Lenore was stupid for not wanting to see this. Youâre just the cutest little thing in the whole world!â
With a final little âUnh!â I force the last of my load out from myself. The swampy diaper feels so much better than it probably shouldâthe way it sticks to my skin and mushes around as Peggy continues to rock me.
âAnd, oof,â she says, âa stinky little thing, huh? That was quite the load. Maybe I deserved that after what I left Lenore with earlierâŠâ
My eyes are closed, and Iâm already finding it easy to sink into this blissful state of nothingness. I am floating. I am a baby. I have no thoughts. No concerns. Nothing else matters.
I feel one of her hands on my diaper, though I can barely be bothered to see what arrangement her arms are in to make this possible. All I know is that I like the feeling of her large fingers poking and prodding at the dense padding as she feels the size of the big mess I made.
âGoodness,â she coos. âYouâre gonna put me to work with that mess.â
I let out a little moan as her hand continues to grope my diaper. Iâm not even aware of the fact that Iâm becoming erect until I feel some of her fingers rubbing at the new lump on the front of my diaper.
âI knew I was going to like you the most,â I hear her sayâthough her voice sounds like itâs coming from somewhere far, far away from the blissful realm Iâm currently inhabiting. âWeâre going to have so much fun together.â
Thereâs this very small part of me that knows that this isnât right and that I donât belong here. But thereâs another, louder, part of myself that proclaims: I donât care! This is how itâs going to be now. Iâm baby.
âThe other littles donât like it when I play with them like this,â she says softly. âBut you donât seem to mind at all, do you? You seem to love it.â
I moan again, lost in this abyss of being rocked, getting rubbed, my thoughts dissipating, and the air around us starting to stink like my diaper. Those big fingers are doing some very good things to me right now, and I feel my head rolling back as streams of drool leak out from the corner of my mouth. My restrained hands helplessly reach up and bat at her chest
âGo on,â Peggy coos. âShow me what a good little you are. Show me how much you like your filthy little messes.â
Thereâs that old familiar feeling: a numbness that washes over me as I realize Iâm on the verge of cumming into my diaper.
And I realize, a few moments too late, that once I cum, I probably wonât be here anymore. I wonât have the chance to talk to the other littles again. I wonât have the chance to learn anything else about this crazy place.
I know that I need to go, but I wasnât ready for that yet.
âW-waitâŠâ I say.
But Iâm already cumming.
Forty-Nine: Post-Apocalyptic Consent
I realize a few things as I slowly come to and open my eyes. For one, Iâm sitting on a chair. But I canât move my arms or legs. I slowly tilt my head down to see why that is, and find the answer pretty quickly. My legs are bound with rope, and it seems another rope wrapped around my abdomen is what is keeping my arms bound behind the back of the chair.
The walls on either side of me are dirty and a little ramshackle in their construction. Cinder blocks and cement, I guessâthough Iâve never claimed to be any sort of expert on building materials. Itâs the wall in front of me that concerns me moreâmetal bars that run from the ceiling to the floor. Theyâre painted black, but that paint has chipped in places and I spot rust and corrosion in the bars. Thereâs a door on the right side of the bars, which I imagine is locked from the other side.
Iâm tied up?Â
InâŠjail?
Well, this is definitely worse than being rocked in a giant womanâs arms while I mess my diaper. How do I go back to that? And for that matter, how do I get back to Harriet?Â
How do I get back to The Cradle, and home? Is such a thing even possible now?
I donât see anyone else here in this place with me, though I canât see behind myself.Â
âHello?â I say. Miraculously, my mouth hasnât been gagged or otherwise restricted.
Thereâs no response.Â
I slowly look up at the flickering fluorescent lights, recessed in the cement ceiling and giving off a buzzing sound. Beyond the bars, I see a long hallway, and possibly some other cells on either side of it, but thatâs about all I can make out.
âHello?â I say again. âAnyone?â
Again, thereâs no answer. No sound at all, really, save for the consistent buzzing sound of the lights.
Well fuck. Iâd like to call a mulligan, I think. If I had access to my hands, Iâd jerk myself off right here, right now, and just let fate take me to the next universeâhopefully one where Iâm not just automatically in jail for some reason.
âHellooooo. Anyone? Look, I donât know whatâs going on here, but I can assure you that Iâm probably not someone you need to have in jail.â
Or am I? If my mind is inhabiting the body of the version of me who lives in this world, perhaps thereâs a good reason Iâm bound and in a cell of some sort.
Also, Iâm suddenly realizing that Iâm naked again. This makes the tight, bristly ropes against my bare skin feel very uncomfortable. Why is it that I canât wake up in a world where I have some dignity?
At the very least, I donât see any diapers lying around. Of course, given my luck, Iâm probably in, like, Baby Jail, and Iâm awaiting trial to be sentenced to a lifetime of suckling from bottles, pissing myself, and crawling around on all fours.
No, it wouldnât be the worst thing in the world, I suppose. But I could do without the pre-trial bondage.
From somewhere else, I hear a new sound entering the frayâa gentle clip-clap. Footsteps, I think, echoing across the hard ground. They slowly get louder, and I realize that theyâre heading towards me. I swallow hard, nervous to see who or what Iâm going to have to deal with now. Clip-clap. Clip-clap. Clip-clap.
A figure turns a corner at the end of the hallway Iâm facing and theyâre walking straight towards me now. And, well, of all the people I couldâve imagined walking towards me, I donât think I wouldâve ever imagined what Iâm seeing now.
Sheâs a cheerleader. An honest-to-god blue-and-white-skirt-and-top, hair-in-pigtails-with-big-bows, thigh-high-socks-with-pristine-white-shoes cheerleader. Her tan skin and buoyant, curly brown hair couldnât look more at odds with the shabbyness of this prison.
âHave a nice little nap?â she asks as she reaches the other side of the bars of the cell that Iâm kept inside of.Â
âUhâŠâ How do I even respond to that question, let alone any of this?
âSorry if the ropes are a little tight,â she says. âMarci gets a little carried away when sheâs on rope duty.â
âUh, do I have to be tied up? I meanâŠIâm already in a cell, arenât I?â
âBetter safe than sorry,â the cheerleader responds. âWeâve made mistakes before, and we donât intend to make them again.â
âWe?â I ask.
She proudly points to the stylized word in large letters that adorns the front of her cheerleading uniform top: THE BRATS. âDonât you know that youâre in Brats territory?â
Iâd shrug if I could. âI donât know what that means.â
She laughs loudly, kicking her head back as she does. âBullshit. Everybody knows who we are and that we run this area. Whatâs your name? Who are you with?â
âAlfie,â I say. âAnd, IâŠreally donât know how to answer that other questionâŠâ
âSee, Betsy didnât think you needed to be tied up,â the cheerleader says. âShe thought youâd be harmless and we didnât need to take any precautions. Iâm happy I stuck to my guns, though, because youâre trouble.â
âIâm really not.â
âYouâre a liar,â she spits, a fierce finger poking through the bars towards me. âTell me what faction youâre in.â
âIâm not really from around here,â I say. âSo, uh, seriouslyâI donât know what you mean when you talk about factions.â
âWhere are you from then, huh? Because last I heard, there werenât any territories left that werenât under faction control.â
âUhmâŠNew Jersey?â I say, hoping that that means something to her.
She narrows her eyes at me. âIs that some sort of fucking joke?â
âIâve been accused of terrible timing with jokes in the past,â I say. âAnd I can sense this would be a bad time to be making one. So, uh, Iâm not trying to joke around, no.â
âYou want to be a smartass, huh?â she asks, rearing back with her hands on her hips now. âCool. Fine by me. Weâll see if you think youâre still funny when I bring Chloe down here to talk to you.â
Is that supposed to sound threatening? Thereâs nothing especially terrifying about the name âChloe.â Still, there was some extra emphasis put on the nameâeven if I donât think of Chloe as a threat, someone else certainly does.
âIâm more than happy to explain myself to anyone you bring here,â I say. âIâm not a threat, I promise. Iâm just a guy whoâs in the wrong place at, apparently, the wrong time.â
She scoffs and shakes her head. âYeah, weâll have to see what Chloe thinks about this. See you later, loser.â
And with that, the cheerleader pivots and begins walking away from me, back down the hallway again. Clip-clap. Clip-clap. I notice two things as this happens, however. The first is that I see the name âSkylarâ is printed across the back of the cheerleaderâs topâpresumably her name.
The second is that I see the back of her skirt is rising up a littleâjust enough to reveal what sheâs wearing underneath it. And wouldnât you fucking know it?
Itâs a goddamn puffy, white disposable diaper.
===
Chloe doesnât look any more threatening than her name sounds. Sheâs short, thin, and looks like a stiff wind could carry her across a few counties. She is also dressed like a cheerleader, in a uniform similar to Skyarâs, which doesnât exactly instill terror in me. But credit where credit is due, sheâs got a mean look on her face, and her scowl concerns me.Â
Skylar opens the cell door from the other side and lets Chloe in. All I can think about is whether or not Chloe, too, is wearing a diaper. There might be a slight bulge in her skirt, but I could also be completely wrong about that.
âI hear youâre being difficult,â Chloe says. Even her voice is soft and flowery.
âI-Iâm really not trying to be,â I say. âIâm trying to explain thatâŠâ
Slap!
Quicker than anything, her open hand flashes between us, smacking me alongside the face. It stings like hell. I canât remember the last time someone slapped me like this. Julie Ross, maybe, back when we broke up? But even then, I donât think Julie meant to hurt me so much as just shame me. Chloe wants to cause painâand I canât help but imagine a pink hand-shaped mark on the side of my face now.
âWhat faction do you belong to?â Chloe asks, in the same tenor one might use to ask about what was for dinner. Seeing now what violence she was capable of, that tone seemed a little terrifying.
âIâm not part of a faction,â I say. âIâm not from around here.â
Slap!
That really smarts.
âHe told me he was from New Jersey,â Skylar says.
âHeh,â laughs Chloe to herself. She asks me: âAnd whatâs that supposed to mean?â
âYou do know what New Jersey is, right?â I say.
She scoffs. âI know what New Jersey used to be.â
I tilt my head a little. âWhat do you mean? Itâs still thereâŠright?â
Now Chloe narrows her eyes at me and just stares at me for a few moments. âIs this some sort of bit?â
I think about the excuse that seemed to work pretty well while I was in Lenore and Peggyâs basement, and wonder if it might win me a little of Chloeâs patience here: âUhâŠI think Iâve got some sort ofâŠamnesia.â
Chloe looks back at Skylar: âYou said you found him like this? Naked?â
Skylar nods. âMarci, myself, and Tiffany did, uh huh.â
Chloe asks: âAnd he wasnât even wearing a diaper?â
I sigh a little, feeling like I already see whatâs coming. It really is my destiny, across all universes, to end up in diapers.
Skylar shakes her head. âNo. He was unconscious. Face down in a field. We thought he might be a School Boy, so we tied him up down here.â
âI donât think heâs a School Boy,â Chloe says, turning back to me. She runs the back of her hand over my bare shoulder. âNo gold stars.â
School Boy? Gold stars? Brats? No New Jersey?
âWell heâs definitely not a Stinky,â Skylar says. âToo clean for that. Mothered?â
âMaybe,â Chloe says. âBut this far south? Theyâd never travel so far away from their precious robots.â
âR-robots?â I say.
Chloe laughs again, squinting at me. âYou really donât know about that?â
I shake my head.
âBig Girls? The Mothered? The Paci Gang?â
âI can assure you that I donât know what any of that means,â I say.
Skylar says: âWhat about The Blow Out?â
âIs that aâŠfaction?â I ask.
Chloe sighs, looking sympathetic towards me now. âGo ahead and untie him, Sky. But weâll keep him in the cell for now. Stay here with him, and Iâll send Brittany and Marci down here with some diapers and clothes for him.â
I donât really want to interjectâthe last thing I want to do is squander the little bit of goodwill I seem to have nowâbut I add: âM-maybe something to eat? And drink?â
Chloe nods. âIâll see what I can do.â
===
Skylar works on the knots that keep me bound to the chair until I finally feel the tension surrounding me release. I can move my limbs again.Â
âIs that better?â Skylar asks me.
âMuch,â I say, slowly standing up. Now that I can move around, I turn around to see what the rest of my space looks like. Thereâs a barred window mounted high on the wall. A barebones cot in the corner. A small wooden writing desk.
âDonât do anything stupid,â she says.
âLike?â
âLike trying to escape. I promise you that you canât run faster than me. And youâre definitely not stronger than me.â
âI donât doubt that,â I say, shaking my head.Â
Itâs only now that I remember that Iâm completely naked; as I look down to see my soft manhood dangling between my legs. Instinctively, my hands rush down to cover myself up as I feel my cheeks redden.
Skylar laughs. âI wouldnât mind seeing some more of that. I donât get to see too many of those.â
âI think Iâll just, uh, keep that to myself right now,â I say, sitting back down in the chair. It seems a little easier to conceal myself in this position.
âYou really donât remember anything?â she asks.
âUh, no. Whatever is going on here, itâs all new to me.â
She laughs. âWhatâs the last thing you remember? Maybe I can catch you up.â
I have no idea how to answer that. I get the feeling that thereâs a point in which this universe wildly diverged from the one that Iâm from, and I donât know when in the timeline that might have happened.
I just have to laugh. These are some wild concepts that Iâm allowing myself to so readily embrace. Someone else, faced with the same circumstances, might go insane from trying to wrap their head around this. Perhaps itâs the milk thatâs opened my mind. Or, maybe, itâs all those years of reading comic booksâwhere things like this happen all the time. And Nikki wanted to make fun of my comic reading.
âSomething funny?â Skylar asks.
I shrug. âIâŠI donât even know where to begin.â
âYou know about The Blow Out, right?â
âWas that, like, a movie or something?â I ask.
She shakes her head, sighing a little. âYou really donât know, do you?â
âNope.â
âFolks call it âThe Blow Out,ââ she says. âNobodyâat least nobody that Iâve ever talked to beforeâknows who or what caused it. But something happened a few years ago and it caused everybody on Earth to, uhâŠâ Her voice trails off and her cheeks redden a little.
âHm?â
âSorry. I should be used to it by now, but I guess itâs still kind of embarrassing. So, uh, this thing happened, right? And it made everyoneâŠincontinent. Like, every single person in the world.â
âIncontinent?â I ask, leaning forward a little.
âLike, you know, we canât control it when we have to piss orâŠâ
âN-no, I know what it means,â I say. âBut that happened to everyone?â
She laughs, shaking her head again. âI canât believe none of this rings a bell to you.â
âLike I said, I donât really remember anything.â
âRight, well,â she continues. âEverything fell apart after that. Maybe it was because of the incontinence itself, or maybe that was just the last straw in a world that was already pushed to the breaking point. Uh, thatâs what Emily says, at least. But people went crazy. Governments crumbled. A lot of the countryâs population consolidated in the midwest to form new colonies. But the coastal regions are still mostly held by factions.â
âLikeâŠThe Brats?â I ask, looking at her cheerleading uniform.
She smiles and nods. âThatâs right!â
This is even more comic-booky than I initially thought.Â
âDoes, uh, âThe Cradleâ mean anything to you?â I ask.
âLike, the place?â
My eyes open wide and my heart rate quickens. âYou know of it?â
She shrugs. âI guess. Itâs kind of an urban legend around here. You know about that but you donât know about The Blow Out?â
âI, uh, itâs just a faint memory,â I say, shrugging my shoulders. âBut what do you know about it?â
âItâs where we are now,â Skylar says, shrugging. âOr, well, it used to be called that, I guess. A long time ago. Some creepy cult used to live here or something. Some of the girls used to tell this story about how the leader of the cult turned all of her followers into, like, babies and that she was the one responsible for The Blow Out. But people make up all kinds of shit, you know? Stupid stories like that were just made to scare everyone else.â
Itâs a lot to process at once. For one, I suppose it continues to confirm that when I cum my way from one universe to anotherâas insane as that soundsâIâm arriving in the corresponding location of where I was before. Perhaps thatâs a good thing to keep in mind.
ButâŠthis isnât The Cradle that I know. This is a jail cell, and itâs not the only one in this building. At what point did The Cradle ever need a prison? When did they start locking up people? And why?
I need to remind myself not to get too caught up in details like these, though. This isnât my world. This isnât my Cradle.Â
Still, maybe thereâs some warnings to take heed of. While Skylar seems dismissive of the story about a cult leader who turns followers into babies, all stories have to start from somewhere. Itâd be quite the coincidence if someone just fabricated a story about a cult leader babifying her followers here, in a place called The Cradle. It makes me wonderâis the inevitable path of Mother in any world she inhabits? That, given enough time, sheâll eventually render the entire world incontinent?
Why? And to what ends? AndâŠ
âYou still with me?â Skylar asks, waving a hand in front of my face. Iâm realizing that I spaced out for a moment.
âOh, uhâŠyeah,â I say.
âYouâre kinda weird,â Skylar says.
âIâm sure Iâm even weirder than you think I am.â
===
Two new cheerleaders walk down the hallway towards the cell where Iâm still sitting, and where Skylar leans against the wall.
âHey,â says the first. Sheâs got short, dark hair, freckles, and big doe eyes. Sheâs got a small stack of folded, plump, disposable diapers and what might be a package of wipes in her hands. âI didnât bring any clothes. All we have are, uh, uniforms, and I didnât think heâd want that.â
Sheâs probably right.
âYo,â Skylar replies to acknowledge her, stepping forward and pushing the cellâs door open from the inside. Apparently the door isnât locked? Had I known this, I wonder if I wouldâve made an attempt at escaping.Â
The other cheerleaderâwith a more olive complexion, big gaudy glasses, and big auburn hoops of hairâcarries a tray of food past me and places it on the desk.
I havenât yet considered the age of these girls, but itâs something Iâm thinking about now. Definitely not of high school age. College-age, maybe. Maybe a little older? They still have a youthful glow to them, but thereâs a dash of maturity in those eyes as well. Of course, who the hell knows what toll doomsday takes on a body. They could be 18, or they could be 40, for all I know.
Even if I was fully clothed and in a more ânormalâ situation, by my standards, I still think Iâd have a hard time handling myself around a group of attractive women like thisâlet alone women in cheerleading outfits. Thereâs something about the cheerleaderâa symbol of a popularity class that I could only ever dream of being a part of in high schoolâthat makes me feel self-conscious and more timid. It helps, a little, to know that theyâre all wearing diapersâbut that doesnât mean much when I have a feeling that theyâll be putting me in a diaper too, soon enough.
âNo food until youâre wearing a diaper,â the girl who carried in the food says. The back of her uniform reads âBrittany.â Which, I think, makes the other Marci?
If this, in fact, the post-apocalyptic world after Mother has had her way with humanity, I have to say that Iâm impressed with their uniformsâtheyâre clean, perfectly sized, and the customized details of the cheerleaders name and the âThe Bratsâ logo is pretty well executed. I canât help but wonder who handles that sort of thing after the fall of civilization as we know it.
Oh, the things I think about at the end of the world.
âYeah, sure,â I say. Iâm not going to fight these women over a diaper. Iâm coming to expect that this is just the way it is in all universes.
âOver here,â Skylar says, waving me towards the bed with her hand. âI can take care of that.â
Iâm assuming theyâre putting me in a diaper because they assume I need one, like apparently everyone else who lives on the planet. But Iâm not completely sure why they have to be the ones to put it on me. Canât I just do it myself? Is this typical protocol for a prisoner, or whatever it is that Iâm considered to be?
âOh, uhâŠâ I look around at the girlsâ smirking faces as they watch me. âMaybe you could all justâŠlook away for a second while I get up?â
The girls all snickered and giggled amongst each other.
Marci says: âI donât see the point in being modest about it. Weâre gonna see it all when Skylar puts the diaper on you anyway.â
âI never seen a dick before,â Brittany says, blushing a little. âI mean, like, in person.â
âYouâre not missing much,â Skylar says. âOverrated.â
âYou would think that,â Marci says with a wry grin on her face. âWe know what you and Betsy do in your cabin at night.â
I donât get much time to imagine what that might mean, though, as Brittany and Marci are on either side of me, each taking one of my arms and pulling. They manage to not only pull my hands away from my crotch, but they pull my body up from the chair and into a standing position. Once more, my manhood flops down, dangling in front of me pathetically.
âThere you go,â Marci says, pointing at my crotch. âThatâs a dick.â
âThatâs it?â Brittany asks, her nose wrinkling a little in disappointment.
âH-hey,â I say, my face feeling pretty warm all of a sudden. âIâm a, uh, growerânot a shower.â
Marci giggles as she pulls me closer to the bed. âSure, buddy. Whatever you say.â
âWe caught that guy from the Paci Gang trying to steal our supplies, remember that?â Skylar says. âHe, uhmâŠâ She doesnât finish that thought, but holds her hands out in front of her, putting a good twelve inches between her hands. The other girls giggle and act astonished. Personally, Iâm not buying that anyoneâs shlong is that bigâunless this universe just so happens to also have very well-endowed men in addition to being a post-apocalyptic diapered hellscape.
Brittany gives me a little shove towards the bed, and Iâm caught by Skylar, who then helps ease me onto my back. The cot doesnât have any sheets or blankets on it, itâs just a thin mattress pad atop the wires and springs of the cot.Â
There are hands all over me. I canât keep track of whose hands are where. Hands hold down my shoulders. Hands spread my legs open. Hands unfurl a diaper and spread it out between my thighs. I look up briefly, and the sight of their three pretty faces peering down on me is like some sort of hot dream my teenage-self wouldâve had ten years ago.
âI wanna touch it,â Brittany says.
âYou canât just go touching whatever you want,â Skylar says. âYou should ask first.â
Itâs nice to know, I guess, that consent is still important in the post-apocalypse.
âExcuse me, stranger,â Brittany says to me. âWhat do you think? Can I touch your, uh, dongle?â
My dongle?
I clear my throat, unsure of what to say to that. âUh, well⊠I mean, I guessâŠâ
Brittany wastes no time, her hand darting between my legs and grasping at my manhood. I donât want this to be sexy or arousingâIâm embarrassed and out of my element enough as it is. Still, my body betrays what I want and I feel myself starting to grow elect as her soft, slender fingers shake my cock to life.
âOoh,â Marci coos. âWould you look at this? Somebody is happy to get some attention, hm?â
âYou know,â Skylar says. âMaybe he was right. Itâs already a little bigger than I expected it to be.â
My sense of self-worth thanks her, a little, for that.
âItâsâŠnot like I was expecting it to be,â Brittany says.
Marci giggles. âReally? LikeâŠwhat were you expecting it to be like?â
âI donât know,â Brittany replies with a shrug. âMaybe itâd feelâŠscaly?â
The other girls laugh at this. Hell, Iâd laugh too if I wasnât paralyzed with humiliation from being held down and fondled by them.
I wonder if this is actually a blessing in disguise. Maybe, if they play around with my cock a little longer, theyâll manage to get me off andâbam!âIâm whisked away to the next world where, for whatever reason, Iâm made to wear a diaper.
âSoâŠthis is what you do with it, huh?â Brittany asks, her fingers wrapping around my shaft and giving it a little tugging motion.
Hoo boy.
Skylar bats her hand away, wrapping her own hand around my cock now. âI mean, sure, thatâd probably work. But this is how I used to do it.â Hand cupped around me, she strokes upwards, almost clearing the shaft completely before using her palm to rub at the head before letting her hand slide back down the shaft. âYou have to be, like, real flexible with your wrist.â
Marci scoffs. âSee, I wasnât giving boys handjobs. They can do that themselves. Thereâs other places Iâd want to stick that thing.â
âSlut-ty,â says Skylar with a giggle.
âAre you gonna show us what you mean by that?â Brittany says.
âWhat, you think Iâm going to put this strangerâs dick in my mouth?â Marci scoffs.Â
âAlright, alright,â Skylar says. âLetâs not get our captive too excited. I gotta put this diaper on him and he still needs to eat.â
âWill that diaper even fit right while heâs all hard like that?â Brittany asks.
âIâm sure itâll be fine,â Sklyar says, shrugging.
Iâm surprised with how disappointed I am that theyâre not going to finish what they started. Not only am I not getting the chance to blow this joint and travel somewhere else, but now Iâm just erect and worked up.Â
Thereâs a matter-of-factness about the application of the diaper. Thereâs nothing âfunâ or ânaughtyâ about it. Even at The Cradle, where diapers are changed hundreds of times a day, thereâs still a feeling of it being this special thing. But here, itâs just business as usual. Thereâs nothing special about a diaper change when everyone, with apparently no exceptions, needs them. As Skylar finishes wrapping the diaper around me, the other girls have already loosened their grip on me and are talking amongst themselves.
Up until now, I havenât taken much note of the smell in whatever kind of cell this is supposed to beâI guess thereâs a faint and inoffensive trace of dampness, but nothing beyond that. Thereâs a new smell filling my nostrils now, however. Itâs the undeniable odor of a soiled diaper.
And Iâm not the only one to smell it. I watch as Skylar wrinkles her nose, giving me a skeptical look. âYou couldnât possibly have alreadyâŠâ
âIt wasnât me,â I say softly.
âWas that you, Britt?â Marci asks.
Brittany sighs. âYeahâŠâ She doesnât look embarrassed as much as she looks inconvenienced. Like her flip flop broke, or she spilled mustard on her pants.
âPhew,â Skylar says, waving her nose in front of her face. âMarci, why donât you go give her a hand with that. Iâll finish up Mr. Stiffy here and make sure he eats. Just make sure someone comes down later to take over guard duty, yeah?â
âYeah, sounds good,â Marci says, shrugging. âCâmon, stinky.â
âShut up,â Brittany responds, playfully pushing the other girl. âYouâre one to talk. We all got a whiff of what you cooked up this morning during breakfast.â
The two continue to poke fun at each other as they leave the cell and walk down the hallway, leaving me alone with Skylar again.
âThere you go,â she says, pulling the last tab into place on the front of the padding. âIâm surprised you didnât piss all over the chair while you were tied up.â
âYeah, me too,â I say.
âYou hungry?â she asks.
I nod.Â
âWell, have at it. Thereâs some food on the desk there for you. Water too.â
âThanks,â I say, sitting up in the cot before swinging my legs off the side of it.Â
I see that the cell door has been left slightly ajar. Nobody has been walking around with keys. Maybe that door just doesnât lock, and thatâs why Iâve either needed to be tied up or guarded.Â
A shame, because if I was left to my own devices, Iâd have a hand crammed down the front of my bulging padding as I worked on traversing the, uh, diaperverse again. It doesnât feel especially appropriate to do that while Skylar sits in here with me. It doesnât help that I feel a little edged at the momentâmy cock still at attention as I waddle towards the tray of food.
What would Skylar do if she saw me groping my diaper? Stop me? Yell at me? Join in? I donât think Iâm bold enough to find out.
The food on the tray is nothing to behold. A chunk of bread. Some sort of orange broth with unknown chunks floating in it. An apple.
I havenât seen very much of this worldâŠbut I donât think I want to be in it any longer than I have to. There was a lesson to learn hereâthat if left unchecked, this is what Mother is capable ofâand now that knowledge is stowed away.
You know what? I find myself caring a little less about how bold I usually are or arenât. I gotta get out of here.
With my back still turned to her, I slide my hand down the front of my diaper and grasp my shaft. And I slide my hand down. Up. Down. Up. This is either the stupidest or smartest decision Iâve ever made.
âHeyâŠâ I hear Skylar say behind me, some curious skepticism in her tone. âWh-what are you doing?â
âUhâŠnothing.â
Up. Down. Up. Down. I donât know if itâs because Iâm still just that worked up from the cheerleaders putting their hands all over me, or if the thrill of needing to get myself off while Skylar remains in the room is working for me.
âY-youâreâŠtouching yourself,â she says.Â
âUhmâŠâ
âStop that!â
âJust, uhâŠone secondâŠâ
Given how strange the last few months have been, I think calling something âcrazyâ has lost all meaning. Still, this feels crazy. Among the craziest things Iâve ever done. Itâs wrong. Itâs kinda gross.Â
But if this works, then Iâm out of here and it doesnât even matter. And if it doesnât workâŠIâm already in jail anyway, right?
I hear Skylar behind me, shuffling towards meâher own diaper crinkling under her skirt.Â
I rub myself even harder and faster, praying that I can somehow summon an orgasm before itâs too late.
***
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If you need to catch up with the story so far, here's a link to the Table of Contents.
Act V: Beyond the Milk
[Note from QH: And now, we return the story to Alfieâs POV...]
Forty-Six: The Creation of Pants
Itâs an amazing sleep. One of those sleeps you just donât get very often as an adult. The kind where it feels like youâre asleep forever, and wake up feeling well rested and completely content, only to have this sudden panic that itâs noon, and you probably shouldâve gotten up hours ago for work, or school, or whatever. But then you realize that itâs a Saturday morning and so you can instantaneously relinquish all of that stress, burrow yourself deep under the blankets again, and completely zone out.
âI donât really sleep,â a voice says to me. It seems as if it may be in the distance, though I suspect itâs much closer. Too, itâs a familiar voice, though I canât quite place it yet. âI mean, there are times when I just need to, I dunno, veg out a little? Itâs more like meditation, I guess. And itâs funny, because Iâve never meditated before in my life. But when you have all the time in the world, you can kind of figure out those things, you know?â
âWhat?â I ask.
I open my eyes for a moment, but the light blinds me and I quickly close them again. It might not even be that brightâI suspect any amount of light wouldâve done that to me.
âSorry, Iâm rambling,â the voice says. Itâs a feminine tone. Friendly sounding.Â
Freya, maybe? Marta? The voice doesnât exactly sound like either of theirs, but my senses still feel like theyâre booting up again.
âHow long was I out?â I ask.
âUhmâŠâ
âProbably a while, huh? Went through a few packs of diapers on me? Go ahead and get it out of your systemâtease me about being such a big baby.â
âWh-where do you think you are right now?â the voice asks.
I open my eyes again, though I can only manage to keep them open by squinting. Itâs not that itâs bright, per se, itâs that everything isâŠwhite.
Oh, come on.
I sigh. âHarriet?â
She laughs. âHello, Alfie. It looks like youâre finally coming around?â
âHow long have I been here?â
âIâm not sure,â she says. âThereâs not really âtimeâ here. So, I guessâŠa while? You just sort of appeared, as you usually do. Though youâve never shown up unconscious before.â
I can open my eyes a little wider and see that Iâm in that damn white place again. That weird ethereal nowhere that I always seem to drift to after having an orgasm while deep under the effects of the milk.
DidâŠI cum? Itâs such a ridiculous question to have to ask, but thatâs the only way Iâve ever gotten to this place previously.Â
I try to remember where I was before waking up, but those memories seem distant and hazy. I search the mental archives for the most recent memories I have.Â
The clown girl. The stolen milk. Driving the truck back to The Cradle and feeling simultaneously frightened and empowered.Â
I was at Daycare. I remember that now. I suppose itâs not that hard to believe that thereâd be an experience at the Daycare that would send me here again.
ButâŠ
âYou said Iâve been here a while?â I ask.
Harriet nods. âYes. It surprised me too. I kept waiting for you to, uhm, disappear again. But youâre still here.â
I donât know what that means, but it seems disconcerting. I slowly rise to my feet, stretching my limbs as far as I can.
âIs this what it was like when you first came here?â I ask.
âI donât know,â she says. âMaybe.â
As my eyes begin to focus more, itâs hard to look at her and not see Mother. They look the same. Something tells me that they are the sameâthough, again, I donât know what that means.
There are minor differences, I think. Subtle things like body language. Motherâs posture seems much more perfect. Thereâs a reverence about herâshe carries herself like she knows sheâs the most powerful woman on the planet. But this Harriet just seems soâŠnormal. Everyday. Her shoulders are a little slumped. Thereâs no confident smile on her face. She looks tired and weary.Â
The same body, but with a different soul, if such a thing were possible.
Mother. I remember nowâI had seen Mother. We were talking. I had things I wanted to say to her. I might have even said the name Harriet to her. What else had I said?
Mother had asked me something: âDo you like being a baby, Alfie?â
I donât know how I responded, but I doubted that I said âNah.â
Neither of us say anything for a while. I stare down at my feet, noting how I donât seem to be standing on anything at all. It gives the illusion that Iâm falling, or at least floating, but because it feels like Iâm standing on something the experience doesnât seem to be as nauseating as Iâm sure that it could be.
I donât really feel any sort of physical ailment at all. No headaches. No abdominal discomfort. Mentally? Well, sure, Iâm a mess. Anxiety and confusion course through me.Â
Ah shit. I realize Iâm naked. Harriet isnât, sheâs wearing a simple dark-colored robe of some sort. Itâs not the most flattering thing, but it keeps her bits covered up. My instinct is to try and hide my shame, butâŠwhatâs the point? For all I know, this is just a dream.
Still, Iâm curious. âHow come you have clothes and I donât?â
She laughs. âYou can have anything you want, here. It took me some time to realize that, of course.â
I sigh, a little frustrated with that answer. âYou realize I donât know what you mean by that, right?â
âIf you think of something hard enoughâif you think of something in just the right wayâyou canâŠcreate it. Summon it? Iâm not entirely sure. Itâs hard to explain, and it took me a long time to figure out that I could do it. I didnât have anyone here to tell me that I could do that, like you do now. Remember that one time you were here, and there was grass and trees and sky andâŠâ
âYeah,â I say. âWhere is all of that now?â
âThatâs the hard part,â she shrugs. âYou can create anything you want here. But you have to keep your mind on it for it to stay here. If your thoughts stray, it ceases to remain. It gets even harder when you want to do multiple things at once. Like, say, creating a grassy field while talking to someoneâI have to be able to maintain focus on the earth beneath our feet while maintaining a conversation.â
âIâve never been that good at rubbing my belly and patting my head,â I say.
âRight. WellâŠIâve had time to practice. The meditation helps. Also, sometimes, itâs easier to justâŠnot need things. Itâs boring around here when itâs just white like this, but it also frees up so much of my mind.â
Perhaps that explains the simple clothes sheâs wearingâitâs just less taxing on her psyche.
Less taxing on her psyche. What kind of goofy comic book am I in right now?
âArenât you lonely?â I ask. âWhy donât you just, you know, think of some people to interact with?â
âIt doesnât work with people,â she says. âIâve tried. It has to be things. Places. Ideas, even. Like, for example, imagining a beach at sunset.â
And with that, I find that my feet are suddenly half-buried in warm sand. I look to my left and to my right, finding that the beach extends in both directions as far as I can see. The sun is in my eyes. I use my hand to shield my face, and seeâand hearâthe waves of the vast, flat ocean lapping at the shore. Itâs not quite perfectâthe lack of clouds, seagulls, and other people do cause it to feel a little artificialâbut itâs no less amazing because of it. The sun feels warm on my skin. It feels good.
âCan I do this?â I ask.
âDunno,â she says.
âWhat about buildings?â
âLook behind you.â
I do, seeing a row of buildings perched on the beachâs edge. Theyâre all mostly similar to each other, with some subtle differences in, perhaps, color and the number of windows they have. Itâs impressive nonetheless.
âCan you go into them?â I ask.
âItâs tricky,â she says, âbut not impossible.â
âBut no people,â I say, talking more to myself than to her. âSoundsâŠlonely.â
âA little.â
I turn around, and I watch her sigh with relief as the houses vanish and a little extra space in her mind is returned to her.
âWhat about doors?â I ask.
âDoors?â
âCan you make a door that leads you out of this place?â
She laughs. âDo you think Iâd be here if I could do that?â
I sigh. Thereâs a part of me that still thinks that, at any moment, the âworldâ around me is just going to fade away and Iâm going to find myself back in a crib at Daycare again. But lots of moments have passed, and Iâm still here. This isnât like the other times.Â
===
Mother said to me: âDo you like being a baby, Alfie?â
I cooed: âMm.â Because, yeah, I really have enjoyed my time at The Cradle and all that it entailed. Even the diapers. Sometimes, especially the diapers.
And I now remember what she said then: âI sure hope so. Because after this, thatâs all youâll ever be.â
And, well, that certainly implies some permanence, doesnât it? Maybe not the permanence I wouldâve expected, but I think Iâd be a fool if that didnât relate to my current predicament.
A fool. Thatâs exactly what Iâve been. I see magicâactual magic, as best as I can tellâand I allowed it to feel normal. There she was, a woman who can make enough breastmilk to feed a community. A woman who can make breast milk that reduces people to slobbering, pants-filling babies. And I donât think I, or anyone else, ever stopped to say: âWhat else can she do?â
Everyone at The Cradle is a fool, playing with things they donât actually understand.
Look at me. I got careless. And now IâmâŠI donât know. Blinked off the face of the Earth? Stranded in nothingness?Â
===
Harriet isnât too far away from me, but sheâs given me some space. I didnât ask for this, but I respect her knowing that I needed it.
Maybe she needs it too.
With every moment that passes by, it seems less likely that Iâm going to just blink away and reappear somewhere else. This is how things are now. For how long, I couldnât say. Harriet, too, would probably like to know how long weâre going to be here.
I have questions for her. She has questions for me. Eventually, weâll get around to asking them. But whatâs the rush?
Actually, maybe Iâve got to get a few questions out of my system: âDo you ever get tired?â
âNo,â she says.
âDo you sleep?â
âNot really. I donât get hungry. I donât get thirsty. I donât have to go to the bathroom. These arenât, like, physical bodies. They seem like they are. ButâŠI donât know.â She shrugs, a frustrated glare on her face. âTheyâre just not.â
Iâve been standing since I first stood upâwhen I first found myself in this place. Iâm not tired. Iâm bored, but not tired.
Iâm still naked. Maybe thatâs part of the reason sheâs looking away from me. My flaccid manhood dangles in front of me helplessly. There was a time, what feels like ages ago now, when this would absolutely destroy me with humiliation. Itâs still unpleasant, for sure, but maybe the time spent in The Cradle has helped. All the people whoâve seen my dong during a diaper change. All the people whoâve just seen me in a diaper. All the people whoâve seen, or smelled, me use a diaper.Â
After a while, it gets a little difficult to feel as ashamed as I used to.
Harriet can conjure things with her mind. Sheâs made herself clothes. Can I do that?Â
I think about pants. That doesnât seem to do anything, thoughâexcept make me feel strange for thinking about pants so intently. Harriet had said that I need to think about things I want to âconjureâ in a very specific way. But if she doesnât even know what that means, how the hell am I supposed to know?Â
I think about pantsâŠdifferently. I imagine myself wearing pants. I imagine pants forming around my legs, like a second skin that slowly weave their way into existence. For a moment, I feel somethingâthe slightest rush of air against my bare legsâbut no pants are created.
Maybe I should just ask Harriet to create pants for me.Â
No, noâshe figured this out for herself, and I can do the same thing. There was probably a time when she was here, all by herself, and she was naked for god-knows how long and she had to slowly learn how this place works. Iâm already at an advantage here in that I have her to guide me.
For now, Iâll just be naked, I guess.
âIf you were to guess,â I say, âhow long do you think itâs been since I came here?â
She shrugs. âIâŠI have no concept of time anymore. A day? Two days?â
âBut not, like, a month?â
âNo, I donât think so,â she says. âBut who actually knows?â
âDo you think time here correlates to timeâŠin the, uh, real world?â I ask. Itâs such a weird question, but thatâs just the way itâs going to be in âhereâ for the foreseeable future, isnât it?
She shrugs.
âI just wonder, like, when it is in the real world, you know? Is it the same day I got, like, zonked out? The day after? Or have three years passed and now everyone assumes Iâm dead?â
Harriet lifts her eyebrows. âI donât think itâs the latter. Well, I hope itâs not.
Pants. Iâm thinking about pants again. Iâm focusing on pants. Iâm trying to find new and creative ways of exploring the very concept of pants in my consciousness.Â
Pants.
Pants.
Paaaaants.
I close my eyes tightly and take a deep breath, holding it as I attempt to reach deep within myself and make contact with another level of my psyche. Harriet had mentioned meditation earlier as what she needed to summon things into being here. And like her, Iâve never meditated once in my life.Â
Well, thatâs not entirely true. I pretended to meditate once, back when I was with Julie-fucking-Ross. God, that seems like an eternity ago. Back before she started dating my father. Back before I really despised her. At the time, Julie was going through this semi-spiritualized journey of sorts. I think she had, like, read a book or something about inner-peace and new-age whosie-whatsits, and decided that she was going to make some big changes in her life based on that. Me, still trying to be a good boyfriend at the time, gave a mild shrug of approval and even offered to try meditation with her.Â
Candles were lit and she put some soothing music onâsomething with a lot of harps being plucked, as I recall. She sat on the ground with her legs crossed and her hands stretched out at her sides. I asked her why she was poised like that, thinking that maybe this was somehow proven to be the best position for meditationâlike it allowed for better spirit-flow or something silly like that.
She said: âThis is just how people do it, Alfie.â
And I guess that was indicative of how Julie went about all things in life, doing the things that everyone else did without considering the reasons why.Â
I didnât cross my legs. I didnât hold my hands out to my sides. I didnât close my eyes and stare off into space, occasionally chanting some monosyllable âohm.â I just sat there on the floor, watching her and taking note of how silly the whole thing was. I waited and watched, wondering how long this charade would go on for. But Julieâwell, sheâs always been tenacious. She stayed like this for way longer than I thought she would. It was at least an hour, maybe even close to two. And, like, I truly did not believeâand I still donât to this dayâthat she was actually âmeditating.â She liked to make little scenes like this. She probably wanted me to watch her. When we were done, she wanted me to talk about it after the fact with my family and my mutual friends. She wanted me to say things like: âYeah, I didnât really get it, but she was totally meditating! It was incredible, the way she was able to disconnect from the world like that.â It was exhausting, really, to always be inadvertently made into her hype-man.Â
And I stared and stared at her. And the time just kind of melted away. And soon I wasnât really looking at herâI was just kind of looking at nothing. I was thinking about nothing. I was justâŠthere. AndâŠ
WellâŠshit.
It occurs to me, only now, that maybe I actually was meditating. While staring at my ex-girlfriend, as she tried to prove how connected she was to some other plane of existence, maybe I actually had achieved the very thing she was looking for.
And maybe she did actually meditate, I donât know. I didnât think that I had. ButâŠI was wrong.
So maybe I can do it again?
How did I do that? Sit. Stare. Focus. No, donât focus too much. JustâŠlet it all go. Donât think about nothingâjust allow myself to be nothing.
I realize that Iâm still holding my breath. How long have I been holding my breath for? Minutes? Shouldnât I be dead right now? Maybe I donât have to breathe here. Just like how I donât need to drink, or eat, or sleep.Â
Iâm focusing againâbut not focusing too much. My eyes are closed and I let myself justâŠbe. I let the rest of the world around me fade away. Which is pretty easy to do when there is no world around me. No sounds or lights or other distractions. Itâs just me and this endless expanse of nothing. And Harriet too, but itâs easy enough to not even have to think about her either.Â
Pants.
Iâm thinking about only pants. Or maybe itâs not so much pants themselves, but the concept of wearing pants. Of some sort of garment thatâs wrapped around my body.
I think itâs working. I feel something. Warmth. The feeling of soft material brushing against my manhood.
Iâm wearing something! I feel it slowly materializing my midsection.
Iâm so excited that I open my eyes and look down.Â
Pants?
No. Itâs not pants. Itâs a diaper. Iâm wearing a fucking diaper. Of all the things that my mind can conjure in a place like this, I end up in a diaper again.
Somewhere behind me, I can hear Harriet giggling at me.
===
Time passes. I couldnât say how much or how little. There are no clocks, and thereâs no sun or moon. For that matter, there arenât even biological clocks like hunger, needing to urinate, or just getting tired. Still, I have a vague sense of time passing. My body still recognizes the cadence of an hourâbut the problem is that itâs easy to lose track of just how many âhoursâ scoot past me. Itâs been a day, I think, since I woke up here. Maybe a day and a half?
I donât talk to Harriet as much as I probably should. For the most part, she keeps a little distance, though sheâs always happy to chat when I want to. I think she thinks sheâs doing me a favor by not being in my face all the time, and sheâs probably not wrong about that. This âplaceâ is like nothing Iâve ever experienced before, and it takes a while to acclimate to its nothingness. Once upon a time, she went through a similar period of acclimating, and she had to do it by herself.
My diaper comes and goes, as my focus on it waivers. Slowly but surely, I come to learn how to dedicate a small part of my consciousness to maintaining the diaperâs existence while the rest of my mind wanders elsewhere. Here, with seemingly infinite time and no other distractions, I find that Iâm a quick learner. Soon enough, Iâm wearing a shirt too. Briefly, Iâm able to make myself some actual pants, but it seems to be a much harder thing to maintain. I stick to diapers, as embarrassing as they are, just because itâs something I have little trouble with.Â
I have a theory as to why that is: For the last few weeks, thanks to the milk, my entire world has revolved around diapers. Even hereâdetatched from what I know as realityâthe milk continues to have a hold on me. Itâs easier than it should be to just think like a baby.
âWhatâs the most elaborate thing youâve created here?â I ask Harriet at some point.
âI recreated my childhood home,â she says. âWell, as much of it as I could recall. I tried living in it for a while.â
âThatâs kind of neat.â
âNo,â she says, shaking her head. âIt was terrible. It was lonely and sad. For one, there were so many details that I couldnât get right. Like, Iâd know that there was a red couch in the living room, right? But itâs hard to recall what that couch exactly looked likeâso anything that I placed there just didnât feel right. No matter what, it felt fake.â
âHm.â
âItâs, likeâŠthe uncanny valley,â she says. âIsnât that a thing?â
âUh, yeah, itâs a thing.â
âLike, everything looks so close to being real, but not close enough and so it looks even weirder. Itâs one thing to make a house, you know? But you canât make it feel lived in. Mail on the counter. Dirt being tracked in through the front door. A cereal bowl on the dining room counter. Magnets on the fridge.â
âSoâŠyouâre saying that I shouldnât try to recreate my childhood home.â
She shrugs. âWell Iâm certainly not going to do it again.â
âYou once told me that this place is like a prison,â I say. âI didnât really get that before, but I think I get it now.â
âI think of this place as, like, where my mind gets dumped while someone else is using my body.â
âSomeone elseâŠâ I repeat to myself. âLikeâŠwho? What?â
She shrugs. âThe hell if I know. An alien? A wizard?â
âDo you think that, since Iâm here too, thereâs someone else in my body?â
She shrugs again. âIâŠI donât know.â
âWeâve got to get out of here.â
She clicks her tongue and shakes her head. âLike I said beforeâif I knew how to do that, I wouldnât be here right now.â
âWeâre going to figure that out,â I say.
She scoffs.
âNo, Iâm serious,â I say. âThereâs two of us now. I mean, you figured out so much on your own, right? With no assistance from anyone else? Now imagine what the two of us can do together.â
She laughsâit almost sounds like one of Nikkiâs signature snorts. âZero plus zero is still zero.â
I think I get what she means. âWe donât know if we donât try. AndâŠwell, what else do we have to do around here?â
The expression on her face says more to me than her words ever could. She looks tired and a little checked out. She looks like sheâs abandoned much of whatever hope she originally had a long time ago. Sheâs spent an unknowable amount of time in this bleak nothingness, trying and failing to escape from itâor, at the very least, creating distractions for herself. Her more optimistic days are behind her.
Okay then.Â
===
More time passes, as it does. The hell if I know how long it's been.
Iâve made myself a bench that Iâm sitting on. I continue to wear only a diaper. Sometimes I think about trying to make other clothes, but Iâve given up caring. Itâs easier to just stick with this for now.
But Iâve done some experimenting, and found that I can change the, well, state of the diaper. I canât actually pee or mess in itâbut I can create a diaper that looks and feels like it has been. Right now, my diaper is heavy with pee and tinged yellow. When I stand, it hangs between my legs. When I sit, it squishes around me.Â
Itâs comforting, in a very strange way. It reminds me of those early days at The Cradle, when diapers and milk seemed so exciting and magical. I felt like I was part of something big and special.
Harriet sits down next to me, giggling a little as she does. Of course, I canât help but blush at the fact that she knows Iâm choosing to sit here in a swampy adult diaper.
âI-Iâm not laughing at you,â she says.
I roll my eyes. âOh yeah? Thatâs exactly what someone who is laughing at me would probably say.â
âItâs the bench, actually.â
âWhat about it?â
âIt might not seem like much to you, butâthis is kind of wild. For the first time, in a very long time, Iâm sitting on something that I didnât have to make myself. You have no idea how wild that is, Alfie.â
âI didnât really think about that.â
âThis is, like, the happiest Iâve been in a very long time. And itâs just a bench!â She starts laughing again.
âAh, wellâŠso happy I could make you laugh, then.â
âIâŠIâm sorry about before,â she says. âI shouldnât have been so pessimistic.â
âI get it,â I say. âI really do. Youâve been here for god-knows how long and you still have no answers about why youâre here or for how much longer youâll be here. Thatâs got to be draining.â
âIt is,â she says. âBut itâs nice to have company. And itâs good that you have hope. Itâs a little inspiring, honestly. I needed that.â
âHappy to help,â I say, shrugging.
Sheâs laughing again, but this time sheâs looking down at my lap. âOkayâŠnow Iâm laughing at you.â
âYou have no idea how weird this is,â I say, staring at her face as she snickers behind her hand.
âI could say the same thing. The first time Iâve spent time with anyone in a long time, and itâs a guy in a pissy diaper.â
I sigh. âItâs hard to look at you and not think of, uh, Mother.â
âMother,â she repeats. âSheâs nothing like me, is she?â
âNo, not really. I mean, obviously you look alike. But sheâsâŠâÂ
âSheâs what?â
Iâm not sure what to say here. Truthfully, I barely know Mother at all and the words I would use to describe her to someone elseâwords like âpowerfulâ and âconfidentââwould probably not sound good if I mentioned them to this Harriet.
âSheâs just different. Her body language, and, like, how she talks.â
âWhat would she do if she saw you were in a pissy diaper?â she asks.
I laugh. âIâŠuhâŠâ
âWould she change you? Like a baby?â
âN-no⊠Sheâd probably pass that job off to someone else.â
Harriet laughs. âThatâs wild.â
âSheâs a, uh, influential woman, you know? She wields power.â
âI donât think I could get someone to bring me a bottle of water if I asked,â she says, her eyes still fixed on my diaper. âLet alone get someone else to clean up the mess I helped make. Iâve never really had power like that before.â
âWell, for what itâs worthâthe you in the ârealâ world is thriving in her little colony of adult babies.â
She laughs and shakes her head. âI-is it bad thatâŠI want to touch it?â
âMyâŠdiaper?â
âJ-just a little,â she says. âI know thatâs weird, but⊠Well, again, Iâm just fascinated by the presence of things I havenât had to make myself.â
âI mean, no, I donât mindâŠâ I feel like half of the worldâs population has touched my diapers over the last few weeks, whatâs one more? âBut, youâre not, like, grossed out by it?â
She laughs. âItâs not real pee, right? Maybe, when you really think about it, itâs not even a real diaper.â
âUh, knock yourself out,â I say. âTouch it if you want to.â
This stupid place. Canât sleep. Canât eat. Canât pee. Probably canât even get an erection.
I feel her hand lightly press into the diaper. It feels like it should, with the thick padding being pressed against my skinâthe feeling of squishy dampness that I know all too well. It sounds like it should, the way it crinkles as it flexes.
AndâŠ
âOkay,â I say, politely brushing her hand away from my diaper. âThatâs, uh, enough of thatâŠâ
âWhatâs wrong?â she asks, a concerned look on her face. âDid I do something I shouldnât have? I just wanted toâŠâ
âNo, no, youâre good,â I say, sighing. âItâs justâŠâ
Thereâs an erection forming in my diaper, and I fold my hands over the front of the padding in an effort to conceal it.
Her cheeks redden a little, as she now seems to understand. âOhâŠâ
âI guesâŠthat can happen around here, huh?â I ask. âIf Iâd been here for as long as youâve had, all alone, Iâd have probably touched myself so much that my, uh, penis wouldâve fallen off by now.â
She laughs, her cheeks getting even redder.Â
But thatâs got me thinking. Previously, I was able to get to this place through having an orgasm while under the influence of milk. What would happen if I had an orgasm here? Would it send me home? Send me somewhere else?
Without even taking a moment to consider how insane itâs going to sound, I turn to Harriet and open my mouth: âI think I want to try something. All I need to do is cum.â
She laughs, narrowing her eyes at me. âAre you asking me for help?â
Forty-Seven: Big
It seems only right that I explain myself. I tell Harriet all about my milk-induced orgasmic planar traversalsâa phrase that would probably be a fantastic name for my story once all this weirdness is behind me and I have the time to write my story, assuming that day ever comes. I then explain my current theory: that, maybe, if Iâm able to reach climax in this place, Iâd be sentâŠelsewhere. Maybe back to the real world? Or maybe somewhere even weirder.
Harriet takes it all in, nodding her head as I yammer on about it. Even when I feel like Iâm just kind of rambling, she seems interested. Never once does she smirk, shake her head, or laugh at me like Iâm some kind of dolt.Â
âItâs not a bad idea,â she finally says.
âR-really?â
âI did, at one point, wonder to myself if this was just a very elaborate ploy to get me to jerk you offâŠâ
âOh, hmâŠâ I hadnât even considered that.
She shrugs. âBut Iâd have just done that if you asked meâno convoluted story necessary.â
âIs that so?â
She laughs. âYour presence is such a pleasant change from the monotony that Iâve been trapped in, Alfie. You have no idea how fucking bored I was. You can have anything you want.â
It takes me a moment or two to snap out of my dumbfounded stupor. I could do all the nasty things I want with Mother? Well, sheâs not Mother. But: I could do all the nasty things I want with a good looking woman? Hell, even: I could do all the nasty things I want with another human, here in the privacy of some sort of weird pocket dimension?
âNoted,â I say.
âPerhaps, firstly,â Harriet says, âitâs important to know where we are. Like, is this really a place? Or are we just somewhere deep inside of this, uh, âMotherâsâ consciousness while she uses our bodies?â
I shrug. âI mean, whatâs the difference? Either my plan works or it doesnât.â
âOkay,â she says, laughing. âSee, itâs good that youâre here. I have a tendency to overthink things. I need someone whoâs more of a, uhâŠâ
âNon-thinker?â
âI wouldâve probably chosen a much nicer word.â
Iâm not offended, but I have too many jumbled thoughts to dwell on this for too long. âLet me ask you something, here.â
âOkay?â
âHave you, uh, touched yourself here?â I ask. âLike in this place? Can you do that here? Does it work?â
Thereâs a bashful look on her face and a little extra pink in her cheeks as she glances away from me. âYes. It works. And when you spend a lot of time aloneâŠyou do a lot ofâŠthat.â
âOkay, thatâs good. So I can get off.â I say it like Iâm a scientist, making note of an important detail, when really Iâm just talking about masturbation.
âYes,â she says. âI think youâll be fine.â
âSo, look, weâre essentially speedrunning the whole intimacy thing here,â I say. âButâŠâ
âSpeedrunning?â
âLike, uh, videogames?â I say.
She shakes her head. âI was never really into them.â
I donât really want to have to overexplain my bad joke so I start over again: âNormally, when I like someone and want to, like, be with them, itâs like pins and needles, you know? A lot of vague suggesting and not a lot of me using my words. I think thatâs why I usually go for girls that are a little moreâŠself-assured, you know? Girls who know what they want and are a little more forward than I am.â
âWhat are you getting at?â she asks.
I laugh and wag a finger at her. âSee, this is exactly what Iâm talking about.â
âJust spit it out.â
âI have to cum,â I say, my face blushing. âI meanâŠI think itâs something worth trying. And I could do it myself, but Iâll feel all awkward about it if youâre watching me. OrâŠeven if youâre not watching meâlike if you even know thatâs what Iâm doing. So I think itâd be betterâŠâ
âFor godâs sake, Alfie. Just say that you want me to get you off. I already said that I would.â
âYeah,â I say. âThat.â
===
âDiaper or no diaper?â she asks.
That question gets my face good and redânot just because sheâs asking me if I want to get off in a diaper in the first place, but because I think I might actually prefer being in a diaper. I think I could admit as much to herâwhy the hell not?âbut I feel like, maybe, I donât need to be that greedy. Or, I just want to hold onto one little slice of dignity.
And suddenly, Iâm not wearing a diaper, and Iâm completely naked again.
Itâs a funny thing, how quickly it seems Iâve become accustomed to the vast nothingness of this place. Both Harriet and I create things to fill that space nowâtables, chairs, floors, walls. Sometimes trees and grass and picturesque horizons. Itâs hard to know who is creating what at timesâitâs like one of us builds something with our mind, and the other expands on it. Not only is it getting easier for me to do, but I think itâs a little less taxing on Harriet to have to do everything herself. We make our immediate surroundings together, and everything beyond that is justâŠwhite.
Weâre sitting on a bed. Itâs nothing special, beyond the fact that itâs got incredibly soft sheetsâsofter than anything I think Iâve actually felt before. In a way, itâs frustrating, because I know that some day Iâll want to buy sheets like this, and Iâll never find any that feel like how I remember these feeling. Or, if I do, theyâll be absurdly expensive.
Iâm naked, and so is she. I didnât ask for that, but Iâm not mad about it. She looks fantastic, and thatâs definitely helping to get me worked up.Â
âItâs been a while,â she says, her hand on the top of my thigh now. Itâs so close to my manhood that it feels like a teaseâbut I think sheâs just as nervous about making that move as I am. âEven before, uh, all this, I wasnât exactly drowning in romance.â
âWho would even want that?â I sigh.Â
âIâm notâŠpromiscuous, is what Iâm saying.â
I shrug. âOkay.â
âIâm just saying. I havenât been with a guyâor a girlâfor a long time.â
âLook, really,â I say. âItâs not a big deal. And you donât have to do anything you donâtââ
âI want to,â she says. âIâm just nervous, alright? Iâm worried that I wonât be any good.â
I laugh. âSee, I believe you now when you say you havenât been with a guy in a while. LIke, you do remember what men are like, right? Weâre easy. If you just sat there and blew on my dick from, like, a foot away, Iâd still get all riled up.â
Sheâs laughing too. âIs that what you think a blow job is?â
And now weâre laughing very hard togetherâthe silly pun combined with the absurdity of our current situation is goddamn hilarious.
âI like you,â I finally say, wiping tears out of my eyes. âI wish I knew you, uh, out there.â
âIâm more likable here, trust me,â she says. âI was a nobody out there. This place is the most interesting thing thatâs ever happened to me.â
âYouâre not alone there,â I say.
Maybe sheâs finally ready, or maybe she just wants to change the subject, but her hand leaves my thigh and her fingers grasp my shaft. I let out a soft gasp as her grip tightens.
âYou tell me what feels good, okay?â she says.
I laugh again. âEverything feels good. Thatâs the problem sometimes, I think. Thatâs why I get myself into so much trouble.â
âAlright,â she says, her voice just a whisper now. âThatâs enough talking. Let me do this.â
I want to close my eyes, but I canât look away. I watch as her slender hand glides down my shaft, pauses, and then slowly slides up towards the head. Yes, it feels good. Of course it feels good. The first few swipes of her hand are like little experimentsâtesting to see what the resistance is like and how my reaction changes depending on where in the shaft her hand is and how much pressure she uses. Soon, her speed increases and her grip tightens. She seems more confident with what sheâs doing. Between my groaning and the slow, pleasured rolling of my head, I think sheâs getting a lot of really good feedback to work with.
The world around us is changing, I think. The walls are getting shorter, then longer, while changing colors. Thereâs a window sometimes, and sometimes there isnât. When there is a window, there is sometimes a sun that shines through it, and sometimes itâs moonlight that illuminates our space. I hear water on the groundâthe gentle babbling of a stream, maybe. I donât know which of us is doing that. Maybe itâs meâmaybe my mind is all over the place while she pleasures me and this is what happens.
I feel a shudder roll through my spine.Â
âYou like this?â she says.
âYes.â
âYou like beingâŠa baby?â she asks.
Oh, come on. Sheâs doing this for my benefit, I thinkâasking a question that she knows is going to set me off. And itâs working.
âY-yes. IâŠIâm a babyâŠâ
âI know,â she says. âI can tell. A big baby.â
âFuckâŠâ
Thereâs a blissful numbness spreading through my body, a loss of bodily awareness that sometimes comes (pun, likely, intended) from a good orgasm.
âYeah?â she asks, as if she had translated my groans and moans into something profound. âAre you going toâŠâ
âY-yesâŠâ
âDo it,â she says.
âFuckâŠâ
âI-if this works,â she says. âIf you, uhmâŠget transported, or whateverâŠâ
âF-fuck,â I mutter, only half-listening to her as my body tenses.
âPlease find help, okay?â she whispers into my ear. âGet us the fuck out of here.â
âFuuuuââ
===
âWell now,â a voice says. ItâsâŠloud. Not like they are yelling, but more like they are talking into a microphone linked to a large PA system. Or a megaphone. Their voice just seemsâŠbig. âWhat do you make of this?â The voice is feminine, I think. Itâs cold. A little nasally.
A different voice responds: âSome is going to be in trou-ble.â Their voice is also feminine, though playful and a little more song-like, but itâs just as big and loud as the first.
I donât know where I am, but Iâm definitely somewhereâand that somewhere is not the white nothingness where Harriet and I just were a moment ago.Â
Iâm laying face down on the ground.
The ground. Yes, there is a ground here. Iâm lying on dirt and grass. And Iâm naked, though this seems slightly less important. Iâm somewhere. My theory, I think, worked. Cumming my way through the multiverse, baby.
âI donât think itâs one of ours,â the nasally voice says. âLook at himâheâs naked.â
âAye,â the playful one says. âBut maybe he took all his clothes off.â
âSeems unlikely,â the first says. âThough, I suppose, not impossible.â
I feel something poking at me, nudging my body. Itâs something big. Blunt. Whateverâs poking me seems strong enough to get my whole body to shake when it touches me. I could roll over, but I donât think I want to see where I am, or who it is that Iâm dealing with.
âHeâs alive, ainât he?â the playful one says. So loud.
âWarm,â the other says. âMaybe just unconscious. Why donât you pick him up? Weâll carry him back home and see if heâs one of ours or not.â
âAnd what if heâs someone elseâs?âÂ
âFinders keepers,â the nasally voice bellows, at which the playful voice cackles with glee.
Yes, I think. I belong to someone else. Maybe I should say that right now, before it's too late.Â
Just like when I first went to the âwhite place,â thereâs this immediate sense of things being wrong. I mean, obviously itâs not normal there. But itâs like your whole body knows that something is off and that you donât belong there. I feel that way here too. Wherever I am now, I am certain that this isnât a place I belong.
I feel something grabbing meâa hand on either side of my body. Maybe? They feel like hands, but they also feel like theyâre way too big to be hands. Nobodyâs hands are this big.Â
I feel myself being hoisted off the ground. It seems to come easily for whoever is picking me up, like Iâm just a ragdoll. And when I open my eyes, I see that the distance between myself in the ground is growing quickly, and Iâm being lifted into the air a little higher than I wouldâve expected.
Thatâs when I see herâthe other woman who isnât picking me up. Long dark hair. A stubby nose. Big glasses. An ugly seafoam green skirt and a bluish top. Sheâs not an attractive woman. She looks like someoneâs mean elementary school teacherâthe kind who would slap your hand with a ruler or scold you if you took too long at the water fountain.
And, well, sheâs big. Not, like, Nikki-big in that sheâs just kind of muscular. I meanâŠsheâs big. A giant, even? Itâs hard to say just how big she is, because I donât have anything around I can compare her to for context, but based on my own size and our proximity to each other sheâs got to be, likeâŠtwelve feet tall? Twice the size of me, that seems right.
âNot one of ours,â the ugly nasally-voiced giant woman says. âHeâs cute though. I think Iâd like to keep him anyway.â
âLemme see,â the other says, and I feel my body being spun around in her giant hands. And there she is. Slightly more attractive, I suppose, though thatâs not saying much. She looks younger, with blonde hair pulled into a big ponytail. Sheâs wearing a blue and white striped shirt and a pair of denim overalls. Sheâs a slingshot-in-the-back-pocket away from having some major âadult woman Dennis the Menaceâ vibes. âOhhhh, yeah! I like him already! Look at his cute little face! We have to keep him.â
Both of them are like cartoon characters come to life. And big.
âWhatâs yer name?â blonde ponytail girl says to me, her giant face getting closer to my much smaller face.
âA-alfieâŠâ
âI donât like it,â the nasally woman says. âI donât even know what that word means.â
âAnd what would you call him?â the blonde says, her giant hands still holding me good and close to her face. Her breath is like a strong wind, smelling ofâŠonions, maybe? I donât care for it.
âSmooshy,â she says with a confident nod.Â
âAww, I love it!â Blonde exclaimsâsending globs of spittle the size of ping pong balls onto my face. More onion stench. âLittle Smooshy! Iâm Peggy! But you can call me Mommy if you want.â
With that, Peggy presses my body against her chest, her giant arms wrapping around me for a bear hug. Sheâs too strong. Too big. Sheâs pressing me into her chest which is, wellâŠproportionally bulbous. Itâs the sort of thing that weird men probably have strange fantasies aboutâand I wonât lie that itâs, conceptually, something I find pretty pleasing. But sheâs too strong, and seems to lack a sense of just how much sheâs crushing me.
âYou must be careful with him,â the nasally woman says. âYou do remember what happened to the last one you squeezed so hard, donât you?â
âYeahâŠâ Peggy sighs, finally relinquishing most of the strength in her arms. She flops me about with her hands again, and now Iâm cradled in her arms like I was a child.Â
Which makes me wonder: Are these women large? Or am I just small? AndâŠwhat happened to the last one that got squeezed too hard? Hoo boy.
The world around me gives little context for this, as everything seems more proportional to the women. The trees are especially tall. The road that they found me in is exceptionally wide. A road sign not too far from usâjust a speed limit sign like one Iâve seen a billion times beforeâjust seems comically large.Â
While I donât think Iâve ever been here before, it doesnât seem entirely unfamiliar to the point of being alien. Weâre on a long dirt road that stretches as far as I can see in either direction, cutting through a dense forest. The speed limit signâand the suggested speed of 35 MPHâsuggests that cars exist here too, and Iâm guessing theyâre also big. Iâm reminded of the California backwoods someone has to traverse to get from Harperâs Bell to The Cradle. This place definitely has that vibe.
âY-you can understand me?â I ask Peggy.
âTheyâre so cute when they talk,â Peggy gushes.
âYes, well, they shouldnât be talking to us,â the otherâs voice booms. âThe littles should only be talking to the littles.â
âI donât mind if he talks to me, Lenore,â Peggy squeals. âI hope he tells me that Iâm the best mommy in the whole wide world.â
She hasnât answered my question. Sheâs acknowledged that she can hear me, sure, but not that she understood, or cared about, the actual words that came out of my mouth. Still, Iâm going to assume that they can understand me, seeing as how I can understand them.
Iâm learning things. Peggy and Lenore. Littles. And, does that make them âbigs?â
âFirst thingâs first,â Lenore, as I now know the nasally woman to be, says. âYouâre going to want to make sure to put a diaper on that one. Why, heâs liable to wee all over you.â
DIapers? I sigh, annoyed that I somehow seem to be in yet another place thatâs all about diapers. This is my fate, I guessâdiapered in all dimensions.
âYes, I know, Lenore,â Peggy says. She focuses her attention down on me again. With another wave of warm onion breath, she says: âYouâre not going to wee on me, are you, little Smooshy?â
âN-no, I donât think so,â I say. âButâŠâ
But seemingly uninterested in what I have to say, Peggy cuts me off, saying: âIf you wee on me and ruin my favorite overalls, Iâm gonna be real cross with you, you got me? I promise you, Smooshy, you donât want that.â
No, Iâm sure I donât. What does an angry giant do to a little when punishment is needed? A spanking would probably flatten me into a cartoonish pancake.
Peggy carries me down the road, rocking me back and forth like I was actually a small child who needed it, as Lenore walks alongside us. Honestly, I donât hate the feeling of being held and rocked, nor the feeling of being small and handled by someone so much larger than me. Is a new kink being unlocked? Or just an expansion of the wild kinks Iâve already been inoculated to over the last few months?
âIt may be one of Myrtleâsâ Peggy says to Lenore as they walk.
Lenore scoffs. âDoubtful. Myrtle doesnât feed her littles enough. Theyâre all scrawny and wiry.â
âSmooshy is kinda thinâŠâ
âHeâs not that thin.â
Peggy giggles, poking me in my stomach with her giant fingertip. It doesnât feel like a pokeâit feels more like a jab, causing me to make an âughâ sound. She says: âHe does have a little bit of a tummy, donât he? Someoneâs been feeding him.â
Geez, thanks a lot. I make a mental note to myself to go to the gym when this is all said and done.
===
The forest begins to thin out, and the road comes to a clearing. Thereâs a house on the hill there, at the end of the driveway that the women are just turning onto. Without the context of the large women who carry me, it almost looks like a regular houseâthe kind I could just walk up to, step inside, and feel like itâs ânormal.â Itâs kinda quaintâa simple one-story white building with a mid-century look to it. It has a well manicured lawn with a garden, an attached garage, and some of those bright pink plastic flamingos sticking out of it. But the closer we get, the more undeniable it is that this house, too, is enormous. Hell, those flamingos are hilariously large in comparison to what Iâd expect.
âIâm gonna take him downstairs,â Peggy says. âIâll put him with the others for now.â
âPlease put some clothes on him,â Lenore says. âAt the very least, a diaper. If I find any stains on the carpet later, itâs your nose Iâll be rubbing in it.â
Peggy scoffs defiantly. âWell duh. You think Iâm going to let this little scurry around without a diaper on?â
âJust making sure,â Lenore grunts. I sense, perhaps, that sheâs usually the more responsible one, cleaning up after Peggy?
âCâmon, little Smooshy,â Peggy chirps, skipping up the hill ahead of Lenore. âIâm going to make you look so cute and pretty! The other littles are going to be so jealous!â
From behind us, I can hear Lenore sighing. âPeggy, please, donât rile them all up.â
But Peggy isnât paying attention. Her skip has turned into a jog, and she recklessly pops through the front doorâusing her arms and my body to push the large door open, and smacking my head against the door frame. âOopsies,â she says, barely sounding sincere in her sympathy.
Somewhere else, Harriet is wondering what happened to me. Is my body there? Is she still holding onto my cock? Or is she suddenly sitting in an imaginary bed all alone?
And then, in a different somewhere else, The Cradle is going about its day; big babies waddle around in dirty diapers like they do. What do they think happened to me? What actually happened to me? Does anyone care?
Maxine. Nikki. My editor, Benny. Mom. Dad. Julie Fucking Ross. Theyâre all still âthere,â somewhere, going about their life like nothing has changed. I have to admit, Iâm pretty jealous. I wish that were me. I crave normalcy. I crave the âeveryday.â
But no, instead Iâm in some sort of weird diaper-inception.Â
Only me, right? Just my luck.
âFirst thingâs first, Smooshy, I gotta put a diaper on you,â Peggy says. Her large body careens through the house so quicklyâor perhaps itâs just that the sense of scale is so skewedâthat I canât focus on anything. Itâs hard to say what the inside of the house looks like. I canât pinpoint landmarks Iâd want to remember for later, should I try to escape this place.Â
Is escape even an option?
Perhaps, if I want to get out of here, Iâd have to do the same thing I did to leave the âwhite place.â Iâd need to, uh, cum again.
âIf you must,â I finally mutter, assuming she either wonât listen or respond to anything I say anyway. And it seems that Iâd be correct, because she doesnât even bat an eyelash at me. Out of curiosity, I try something else and shout: âHey, big ogre-lady! Can you even hear me?â
She rolls her eyes and looks down at me briefly. âYouâre a little yappier than the other littles. What are you so fussy about? Sounds like youâre going to need a pacifier in addition to a diaper.â
SoâŠwhat does that mean? She can hear me, but canât understand me? Or she thinks so little of me that she truly doesnât care what I say?
Thud!
Suddenly, Iâm being flopped down onto a padded surface. Mattress? NoâŠchanging table. Iâve been on enough of those recently to know one when Iâm on it. Thank god for the padding, or else my sore head would probably be bouncing off another hard surface. Peggy seems to lack a more careful touch.
âSmooshy,â she says, âI think Iâm gonna put you in a, uhmmmm, blue diaper.â
âYeah, sure,â I sigh. âWhatever.â
She rolls her eyes again. âYou sure do make a lot of sounds, donât you? Here, before we go any furtherâŠâ
Her hand disappears from view for a moment, reappearing with a pacifier between her thumb and forefinger, aimed at my mouth. It looks so small between her fingers, but by the time itâs between my lips, I realize itâs actually a little bigger than the pacifier Maxine had once given to me. Holy shit, that was, like, lifetimes ago. Its soft latex bulb fills my mouth, and almost immediately seems to stupify me. Thereâs a natural instinct to just suckle, but I donât know if thatâs my own instinct, or if the effects of Motherâs milk somehow transcend space and time.
Thereâs no point in resisting or fighting a woman who is twice my size, and so I just let it happen. I let myself just lie there as her big hands carefully unfurl a blue disposable diaper and lays it between my legs. Iâve felt small plenty of times before while someoneâs changed my diaperâthatâs just how it goes while youâre treated like a baby. But now, Iâm actually small. And sheâs big. And she lifts my legs up into the air, raising my bottom off the surface of the changing table, so that she can slide the diaper underneath me. Manhandled like a doll. My cheeks feel like theyâre burning.
The diapers might be small in comparison to her hands, but because the bottle of baby powder looks proportional to her size, it looks comically large. Shake shake shake. Itâs like a blizzard, entirely centralized around my midsectionâthough she gets a good amount on my things and belly too. Not that she seems to care about this.
âMaybe I shoulda given you a bath first, huh?â Peggy asks. I imagine it's a rhetorical question, seeing as how I canât respondâwhether I want to or not. She shrugs. âAh well. Sooner or later, youâre gonna need a good scrubbing, yeah?â
She pulls the front of the diaper through my open legs and folds it over me, pulling the tabs tightly to the front so that she can seal me into it.
âThere you go!â she finally says. âOh, you look just darling in a diaper! Now then, I think youâre missing a few thingsâŠâ
She plops something else onto the changing table. Pink and, maybe, softball-ish in size. But for the life of me, I canât figure out what they are. Thatâs when she picks one up and turns it over, revealing a cavity inside of it. I realize whatâs happening at the same time that she fits it over my hand. Itâs, like, a mitten. A thumbless mitten. Well, there goes the use of my hands. Worse, the mittens have buckles at the cuffs, which she tightens into place after slipping them over my fingersâpreventing me from even prying them off my wrists later.Â
âI donât normally do this,â Peggy says, âbut because youâre such a chatty thing, I think Iâm gonna make sure you donât make too much noise.â
The pacifier is pulled from my mouth, replaced a moment later with another one of a similar size, though this one is attached to a strap which is then wrapped around my head and fastened in the back. AâŠpacifier gag?
âThere we go!â Peggy exclaims. âThis is perfect. I think I can introduce you to the other littles now. Youâre not gonna cause me any problems, are ya? Youâre not gonna make trouble?â
I shake my head. With my hands bound and my mouth plugged up, what can I even do?
She picks me up again, carrying me with her hands under my arms and holding me out from her as she walks.
She says: âBad babies, just so you know, get spankies. And I donât think you want spankies, do you?â
That giant hand on my little ass? No, I probably donât want that.
ThoughâŠ
Maybe, in the dark recesses of my mind, thereâs a small part of me that kind of wants to feel that once. That little voice that says: âMaybe someday in the future, youâll be pretty annoyed that you didnât let a giant woman spank you in the ass.â Thereâs probably a whole community of people online who obsess about a prospect like this. Entire Subreddits related to fiction and imagery surrounding giant women administering spanking.Â
And I could be their god.
Alas, thatâs probably not what I should be thinking about right now. I need to get out of here. And how do I do that? WellâŠprobably the same way that I got here. I need toâŠcum again.Â
Though Iâm in quite the pickle now, seeing as how I donât have access to my hands, Iâm in a thick diaper, and I canât even use my mouth to explain to someone else what I need. I donât want to just jump to the conclusion that Iâm screwed, though I should probably get comfortable with the idea that Iâll be here for a while.
===
This is what a day care looks like on TV shows. The interlocking, colorful foam pads on the floor. Signs showing the alphabet and numbers hanging on the walls, mingling with pictures of animals and cartoon characters. Thereâs toys and stuffed animals strewn across the floor.Â
And Iâm not alone. Thereâs three others hereâall of them dressed like babies, though none of them actually are. Theyâre my sizeâwhich is to say, not gigantic. Thereâs a man with dark, shaggy hair, wearing a blue and green onesie. A woman with long reddish hair pulled into pigtails, wearing a yellow dress with a very short bottom that makes little effort to hide her equally yellow-stained diaper. Another woman, of sepia skin and short, dark hair, wore only a diaper and plain baby-blue colored t-shirt. All of them have their hands trapped in similarly disabling mittens as mineâthough Iâm the only one with a pacifier stuck in my mouth.
âEveryone?â says Peggy, calling for the othersâ attention. âThis is Smooshy. Heâs gonna be living with us now, alright? I donât want any of you to give him a hard time. And, likewise, Smooshy, you better be on your best behavior. Our littles are well trained and very obedient. Donât you go messing that up, alright? Like I said beforeâŠspankies.â
I nod my head, acknowledging what sheâs said.
âIâm gonna go upstairs for a little while. Iâll check on yâall later. Anyone need a changing?â
Peggyâs eyes scan the group, and the girl in the yellow dress raises a padded hand. To this, Peggy narrows her eyes and stares at the girlâs diaper before huffing and approaching her. She lifts the hem of the dress to get a better look at the diaper. With a dismissive sigh, Peggy breezily waves her hand in the air.Â
âThat doesnât seem that bad,â she says. âIâll change that later. Toodles!â And with that, she stomps out of the room and up a flight of stairs.Â
Seeing as how this appeared to be a one-story house from the outsideâand because there are no windows in hereâIâm guessing weâre in the basement.
âWelcome,â the guy says. âI, uh, donât know who your previous owners were, but I should warn you ahead of time that Peggy and Lenore arenât much better.â
âY-you shouldnât tell him that,â the girl in the tee says. âThatâs a terrible introduction.â
âItâs true, though,â the girl in the yellow dress sighs. âMy diaper needed to be changed, like, two hours ago. Iâm definitely going to get a rash now.â
âSmooshy, huh?â the guy says to me.
I shrug. Itâs not my preferred name, but maybe itâll have to do while I canât say what it actually is.
âIâm Wobble,â the guy says.
âIâm Tinkles,â says the girl in the dress.
âStinker,â the girl in the tee sighs. Iâm guessing that these names were chosen for them by the bigs, like my own. And clearly, the bigs have poor taste in names.
âLook, itâs not so bad here,â Tinkles says. âYeah, the bigs here are kind of a mess. But we have each other. Thatâs something.â
They seem almostâŠresigned to their fate. Thereâs no defiance in their eyes. Theyâve accepted that this is the way things are, and seem to have made peace with it some time ago. I wonder if this is the only life theyâve ever knownâsome sort of infantilized servitude to these âbigs.â
If I could talk, Iâd have only one question: âWhat the fuck is this place?â
***
Friends. Enemies. Others. How are you? Doing well? Warm enough? Cool enough? Dry enough? Wet enough?
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Hi! These are the last two chapters in Nikki's Story. Next week, we're headed into a new (and stranger) story arc for Milk! Need to catch up on the story so far? You might find this helpful.
Forty-Four: Nikkiâs Story, Part 11
Itâs another hour and a halfâlong enough to make me think that nobody else is going to show upâbefore the cabin door slowly opens and Kelly enters. Her long blonde hair is pulled into a ponytail behind her head, while her sizable chest seems contained under a hoodie. Itâs a little disappointing, though itâs probably for the best that theyâre not out in any sort of distracting way.
âI was thinking Iâd be first,â Kelly says, taking a seat on one of the cabinâs unused beds.
âI beat you by a bit,â Freya says.
Freya and I have spent the last hour or so just chatting. Itâs been nice, honestly. I think she needed it for sure, but I think I needed it too. There few huge revelations that came from our conversationsâjust musing on our lives before The Cradle. I talked about being a bartender, sharing storiesâat her requestâof the strange people I encountered there. She talked about her brief life as a high school teacher before finding herself pulled into the âcult of milk.â She had just as many horror stories to share about hormonal teenagers as I did about drunk adults.
âWe were talking about who we were before we came here,â Freya says to her. To me, she says: âKelly used to be an au pair for a rich couple in New York City, if I remember correctly.â
âDonât remind me,â Kelly says, rolling her eyes. âIt made me an expert on changing diapers, for sure. But I'd take one of these big babies over one of those little privileged brats any day.â
Iâm curious to know more, of course. I kind of want to know everyoneâs story of how they got here. Why here? What makes this place better than everything they left behind?Â
Every single person contained in The Cradleâs fence has a story. This isnât new news, but itâs something I donât always think about when I walk around this place.Â
âWho else can we expect to be here tonight?â Kelly asks.
âNita,â Freya says. âProbably Patty.â
âMarta?â Kelly asks.
Freya sighs. âIâŠI didnât tell her.â
Kelly seems surprised by this. âOh. I just⊠I always assumed you two were inseparable.â
âI like Marta,â Freya says. âA lot. But sheâs got bigger stakes than most of us here. She operates the flower shop in town, you know? Mirabelleâs gotten in her head that itâs the start of The Cradle expanding. I really want to trust Marta, but I just worry that sheâsâŠâ
âCompromised?â I ask.
âMaybe,â Freya says. âMaybe not even on purpose. I donât think sheâs doing anything shady, but if she was asked to choose between taking Mirabelleâs side and anyone elseâsâŠâ
âYeah,â Kelly says. âBetter safe than sorry, for now.â
âYou said you invited someone?â Freya asks me.
I nod. âTommy.â
âR-really?â Kelly asks. âNo offense. ButâŠhim?â
âYou donât like him?â I ask.
âI mean, heâs fine, I guess. I just⊠Well, heâs always running around like Mirabelleâs errand boy, isnât he? If weâre not ready to include Marta yet, then Iâd thinkâŠâ
âWe can trust Tommy,â I say. âI trust him.â
Kelly opens her mouth to say something else, but seems to change her mind. I think I can guess what it isâsomething like: âCan we trust you?â
Iâm not mad about it. Iâd probably ask the same question.
Nita is the next to arrive. Dark skin, long braided hair. Sheâs soft spoken but not in a shy sort of wayâinstead, she seems like one of those types who only speaks when they have to. Iâd like to think thatâs how I am, though Iâm not always sure how others perceive me.
âCade didnât want to come,â Nita announces after sheâs been introduced to me. âHe wants me to pass along the message that he supports us. But he thought it would be best if hung back for now.â
âCade?â I ask. Everyone else probably knows what sheâs talking about, but I donât.
âMy brother,â Nita says.
âYourâŠbrother is here at The Cradle too?â
âTwin brother,â Freya says.
Iâm not sure what to make of thatâor if I should make anything of it at all, so I stow that information away in the back of my head for now. Everyoneâs got a story hereâand I have to accept that I probably wonât ever get to hear them all.
âI saw Ingrid on my way here,â Nita says.
Someone groans, though Iâm not sure who it is.
âEither she didnât see me,â Nita says, âor she didnât care.â
This isnât the first, or even second, time Iâve heard less-than-nice things said about Ingrid. I ask: âIs she trouble? Someone we have to watch out for?â
âI donât know,â Freya says. âFor all I know, she might actually be on our side. I think itâs just that, uhâŠâ
âSheâs not pleasant,â Nita says.
âI hope youâre not talking about me,â says a new voice as the cabin door opens again.Â
The new woman looks a little older than I think she actually is. Itâs her aesthetic, I thinkâthe bandana over her hair and her large, round glasses make me think of a middle-aged art teacher I used to have in elementary school. In actuality, sheâs probably closer in age to me.
âIngrid,â Freya says.
âOh,â the woman says, clearly trying to stifle a laugh.
âThis is Patty,â Kelly says to me. âIn case you havenât met yet.â
âI donât think so,â I say. âHi.â
âYouâre Alfieâs friend?â Patty asks.
âYes.â
âI donât know him especially well, but his cabin is one of the ones I help take care of,â she says.Â
âAnd what of his cabin mates?â I ask. âDo they ask about where he is or what happened to him too?â
âIâm not privy to all the chatter,â Patty says, shrugging. âBut I get the feeling theyâve bought Mirabelleâs story that heâs getting some special sort of care.â
As if in response, thereâs a light knock on the door.
âThis might be the last person,â I say. âCome in!â
The door opens and Tommy walks in, his face pink as he nervously glances around the cabin. Surrounded by womenâmost of whom have likely changed his diapers on many occasions.
And this makes me wonder if these âMommiesâ wear diapers too.
Who changes the diaper-changers?
âWet,â Nita says, pointing at Tommy.
âWh-what?â Tommy says, looking at her incredulously. âNo! I meanâŠuhâŠâ
âA soggy diaper, for sure,â Kelly adds with a smirk. âLook at that thing drooping under his pants.â
I donât know that I wouldâve detected it myself, but I assume these women know their dirty diapers.Â
âBefore we get started, maybe someone ought to change him?â Freya asks.
âNo, no, I donât need that right now,â Tommy says. âWhy donât we get started andâŠ.â
âDonât be silly,â Kelly says, standing up. âWe can do both.â
Thereâs a diaper in Kellyâs hand now. For a moment, Iâm not even sure where it came fromâIâm certainly not hoarding diapers in my cabin. But Iâm realizing only now that she arrived with a backpack slung over her shoulder. A diaper bag of sorts? Interesting that she knew to bring it with herâthough, more than likely, sheâs just learned to keep supplies on hand at all times. A âMommyâsâ work is never done.
And so, in the corner of the cabin, Tommy begrudgingly lies down on his back on another of the vacant beds as Kelly pulls his pants off and prepares to change his diaper while the rest of us talk.
âAlright, so, I think thatâs everyone we can expect,â Freya says. âMaybe we ought to start talking.â
âWhere do we start?â Patty asks.
âSomething stinks around here,â I say, taking the lead. âAnd, uh, I donât mean Tommyâs diaper.â
âH-heyâŠâ Tommy says.
âYou do smell like pee,â Kelly says with a shrug.
I continue: âAs most of you probably now, my friend Alfie disappeared from view a few weeks ago. Whisked away to seemingly nowhere, and Mirabelle has been unwilling to give anyone answers. Even youâthe very people who are running this place on her and Motherâs behalf.â
âWe, those of us who are here from the Maternal Council,â Freya says, âhave talked about it privately. Even before you arrived, Nikki. ItâsâŠconcerning. Mirabelle and Mother have never hid anything from anyone before.â
âNot that we know of,â Kelly says, peeling up the tapes on Tommyâs diaper in the background.
âWell, right,â Freya sighs. âBut slowly, a lot of things are changing around here. The locks on the doors that we arenât given keys to. Thereâs a lot less communication than there used to be.â
âI tried to talk to Mirabelle about it,â Nita says. âBut she brushed off my concerns. She said that these were just âtemporary measuresâ after the attempted theft of the milk supply.â
âJust to play the devilâs advocate,â Patty says. âWhat if that is true?â
âThen whereâs the transparency on whatâs going on with Alfie?â Freya asks. âThereâs no excuse for that. Or, if there is, Mirabelle hasnât said as much to anyone else.â
âTh-thereâs something else too,â Tommy says from his horizontal position. We all look in his direction, just as Kelly opens his wet diaper and exposes his flaccid manhood to all the ladies in the cabin. His cheeks turn bright red. Some look away from him, attempting to spare him further humiliation. I should probably do the same, but I find my gaze fixed on his embarrassed state.
âWhat else?â I ask.
âThe milk,â he says. âI-itâs mind control.â
Thereâs an awkward silence in the room, and I canât tell what to make of it. Is it that everyone already knows this? Or is that his claim is as ridiculous as it sounds?
âWhat do you mean?â I ask.
âThe milk, uh, makes you, like, susceptible to being told what to do. Y-you have to drink a lot of it before it starts to have that sort of effect on you. But if everyone here is being given milk all the time, wellâŠâ
âHow do you know this?â I ask.
Freya asks a similar question: âWhere did you learn this?â
âIâŠheard it,â Tommy says, his cheeks getting a little redder.
âYes, but from where?â Freya asks.
Thereâs something in Freyaâs tone that gives me a little pause. âWait,â I say to her. âDid you know this already?â
The âMommiesâ all glance at each other nervously.
âSort of,â Nita finally says.
âItâs one of the first things we were told when we joined Mirabelleâs Maternal Council,â Kelly says, now gently stroking at Tommyâs midsection with a moist baby wipe.
âItâs not like anyone says: âThis is mind control, use it for nefarious purposes,ââ Freya says. âItâs more, like, implied that the âbabiesâ around here become a lot more docile and easier to guide when theyâve been drinking the milk for a while.â
âIt was, uh, suggested to me that we donât tell the residents about this,â Kelly says.
âYeah,â Nita says. âSame.â
âMe too,â Patty says.
I look at Freya, and she looks at me. We have the same thought at the same time. She letâs me be the one to say it: âSoâŠyou were told not to say it. And, because youâve been drinking the milk tooâŠâ
âShit,â Patty says, laughing as she shakes her head. âI, uhâŠnever really considered that.â
âMe neither,â Kelly says, now pulling Tommyâs wet diaper out from under him, and balling it up.
âWhat else has been âsuggestedâ you do?â I ask the room.
Freya sighs. âWho knows. I meanâŠall kinds of little requests, you know? Things that seem simple and innocuous in the moment. Things we might have agreed to anyway. OrâŠso weâd think.â
âSo itâs safe to say weâve been subtly manipulated from the very start,â Nida says.
âI guess, on some level, I always wondered if that was the case or not. I mean, why would it only work on the babies, but not us?â
Nobody directly responds to this, but judging by the disappointed faces on everyone else, I suspect theyâve all shared a similar thought.
Freya turns to Tommy again, just as Kelly unfurls a fresh diaper, laying if flat between Tommyâs legs while he lifts his ass up from the bed.
âWhere did you hear about the milk, uh, affecting peopleâs susceptibility?â she asks.
âIt doesnât matter,â he says.
Sloane. She mightâve known about it. That mightâve had something to do with why the thieves she was associated with wanted the milk in the first place.
I can see why Freya might want to know how Tommy knew about thisâsheâs probably confused as to how someone else mightâve been able to talk about it, but she couldnât. Theyâre not ready to hear about Sloane yet, I think.
âWell, it does matter,â Freya says.
âAlfie knew,â I say. âI donât know how he knew, but he did. He, uh, mentioned it to me before he disappeared.â This isnât true, of course, but itâs not like Alfieâs here to answer any further questions about how he would know such a thing.
Freya nods, seeming to accept this answer. âSo thatâs why you donât drink the milk.â
âRight,â I say. âAnd if any of you are still drinking itâŠmaybe itâs time to give it a rest?â
Nobody in the room verbally acknowledges this. Maybe some have already stopped drinking it. Or have been thinking about it. Or, theyâre embarrassed to realize that theyâre as addicted to it as they are, and they know itâs going to be hard to pull themselves away from it.
âThereâs something else too,â Tommy says. Kelly is taping the new diaper around him now. âI, uh, donât really know what it means, but it might be worth mentioning.â
All eyes are on him now, whether he likes it or not. His face maintains its redness as Kelly puts the finishing touches on the diapering job.
âSo, uh, Alfie had a name he was looking into. Harriet Tullman.â
Thereâs silence in the cabin stillâit seems likely that nobody recognizes it.
He continues: âI did a little research on it. W-well, it wasnât just me, butâŠâ His voice trails off, and he takes a moment to compose himself as he sits up againâhis new fresh diaper crinkling beneath him. âHarriet Tullman has been missing for a few years. She has friends and family who are looking for her. And, well, a few years before thatâwhen she was more active onlineâshe was just this very normal woman. She had a mundane job. A pretty mundane life. Iâm sure she was, like, nice and allâbutâŠâ
âIâm sorry,â Nita says. âJust who is Harriet?â
âKelly?â he asks. âCould you hand me my pants?â
She does so, and Tommy reaches into the pocket and draws out his cellphone. Itâs wild to me just how weird it is to see someone using a phone here in The Cradle. The reception is so unreliable that most people around here donât even bother carrying them with them.
He hands the phone back to Kelly. âThese are some photos I took of Harriet Tullmanâs social media page. Does she look familiar to you?â
Kellyâs eyes immediately grow large as she looks at the phone. She hands the phone to Patty.
âOh!â Patty exclaims. She hands it to Nita.
Nita laughs and shakes her head, passing the phone to Freya.
Freya just stares down at the phone, says nothing, and passes it to me.
But I donât know who this woman is. I donât recognize her, and I donât think Iâve ever seen her before. Thereâs nothing even abnormal about this
ButâŠ
If everyone else here recognizes her, it must be someone associated with The Cradle. And who is someone I havenât met yet that might elicit a reaction like this?
âSheâs bold,â Freya says, picking up the thread. âBigger than life. Powerful.â
âSo, then, this picture isnât of her?â I ask.
âIt is her,â Tommy says.
âMaybe itâs, like, a twin sister?â Patty asks.
âI donât think so,â Nita says. âThatâs her. I think, at some point, she justâŠchanged.â
Freya laughs, looking over at Tommy again. âYeahâŠI donât know what to do with this information either.â
Thereâs some more silence as all of us process whatâs been shared so far. Itâs a lot to take in, and it's apparent that each of the women are trying to grasp what this means for how they see The Cradle.
Nitaâs the one who asks the question to move things forward: âSo, what do we do?â
âIâll tell you what I want to do,â I say. âThereâs that cabin by the farmhouse. It used to be a storage shed or something, I guess, but itâs gotten a makeover and thereâs a lock on the door now. Either Tommyâs in there, or thereâs something else inside of it that the rest of us should probably know about. If someone knows where I can get a crowbar or a hammer, Iâll just rip that door down myself.â
âWe should be careful about actions like that,â Freya says. âI mean, I like your spirit. But the second we start taking actions like that, we lose control of everything. Suddenly, Mother and Mirabelle start locking us out of more things. We lose the ability to lead. The residents, ultimately, will suffer.â
Iâm ready to retort: âButâŠâ
âI want to do the same thing you do,â Kelly says. âBut Freyaâs right. We shouldn't take action like that until we have a plan in place. We need to make sure everyone is safeâboth ourselves and the residents. Once we start busting down doors, thereâs no telling how Mirabelle would react.â
âIf she can manipulate us with suggestion, through the milk,â Nita says, âis there more that they can do that we donât know about yet?â
The cabin is silent again. These are fair points, I suppose. I donât like them, but theyâre questions that would probably need answers before we do anything.
âWe should stop serving milk,â Patty says.
âAnd just how do you propose we do that?â Freya asks.
âWe, uh, fake it,â Kelly says. âSwap out Motherâs milk with milk we buy at the store?â
âWe donât have access to the reserves anymore,â Freya says. âAnd Mirabelle is very cautious about who handles the milk thatâs distributed to the residents now. ButâŠitâs not impossible.â
âItâs not a bad idea,â Nita says. âSomething we should at least think about.â
I sigh and shake my head. âThat takes time. Too much time. Time to plan these things out. Time to implement. Time for the effects to be noticeable. And then what? All this time passes, and Iâm not closer to freeing Alfie from whatever captivity heâs in.â
Nita nods, but says: âBut if we do things your wayâŠâ
âIâm going to bust down that door,â I say, making up my mind on the spot, âwhether or not you like it. Iâll take the blame for it. If I come face to face with Mirabelle, Iâll tell her that nobody else had anything to do with it. Worst case scenario, whatâs she going to doâkick me out? Iâm done here anyways. Iâll take Alfie and be on my way. Meanwhile, your little revolution still needs to happen. Take all the time you need to figure things out. I know everyone around here acts like big babies, but youâre all adults. You can ask questions. You can take action. You can warn everyone here that something shady is going on.â
Iâm standing, I realize. I donât know when I stood up. Thereâs a part of me that wants to storm out of here and slam the door behind me, but that would be kind of silly, seeing as how it's my cabin.
Freya sighs: âNikki, maybe we can meet halfway or something? I know Alfieâs important to youâheâs important to all of us. But we still need to be careful about how we go about things.â
Oh, sheâs probably not wrong. But I still donât like hearing it.Â
But Iâm out of patience.
I just want Alfie back.
And a fucking toilet.
âWe can all agree that something needs to change here,â Patty says. âNo, uh, pun intended.â
SomeoneâI donât know whoâgiggles a little.
She continues: âWe need to figure out what our end goal is. Is there a Cradle without Mother or her milk? Do we really want to end this little experiment? No, I donât think so. I think we justâŠaccountability. We want answers. We want the truth. We want to know the truth about Alfie.â
âAnd we want to know about the long-term effects of milk,â Kelly says.
Nita adds: âAnd we want to know why thereâs not more transparency with the residents here about how the milk can be used to manipulate.â
âMaybe thatâs the take away for tonight,â Freya says. âWe define what we want, and we start developing plans on how to get there. Maybe we all think about this, individually, and we meet back here in, say, a week? Nikki, a weekâs not too long, is it?â
I sigh. There was a moment where I thought this meeting was going to be constructive, but itâs become everything I was worried it would be. Too many people. Too many ideas. To many concessions that need to be made to make everyone happy.Â
I canât hold it against themâthey all think theyâre doing the right thing. And they may very well be. Itâs just not how I want to do things.
I lie: âThatâs fine.â Seems to be little point in fighting now.
And so, with the decision for everyone to âthink moreâ before reconvening in a week, everyone slowly filters out of the cabin. In the end, itâs Tommy, myself, and Freya. Freya is at the door, about to leave herself.
âThatâs not what you wanted to hear tonight, is it?â she asks.
âNo,â I say.
âBut you understand why everyone is hesitant to take big swings right away, right?â
âI do,â I say. I donât say it aloud, but I think: âAnd I disagree with that.â
She laughs. âBut weâre not going to stop you from doing your own thing, are we?â
I snort. âNo, probably not. Sorry.â Iâm not sorry, but it feels like the right thing to say.
âOh, no apology needed,â she says, running a hand through her hair. âGo. Wreak whatever kind of havoc you need to.â
âI think we needed to start having these discussions,â she says, âwith or without you. But they probably wouldnât have happened if you werenât here. So, thank you for that.â
I shrug. âYouâre welcome, I guess.â
âYouâre rightâweâre all adults here,â Freya says. She glances at Tommy, still sitting on the bed in his diaper. âWell, most of us.â
He says: âHeyâŠâ
âWeâll figure it out,â she continues, talking to me again.Â
I ask: âI meant what I said earlier. If I go kicking doors down, Iâll leave the rest of you out of it if I end up having to answer to anyone.â
She shrugs. âIâm not going to tell you to do that. Do whatever makes sense to you. Weâll figure it out from there.â
Freya looks sad. All the other âMommiesâ did as they were leaving the cabin, I think. Itâs the realization that the community theyâve worked so hard to build has a spot of rot in it, and the more they uncover, the larger the spot turns out to be. I can guess what theyâre biggest fear is: That, by the time theyâve uncovered all the rot, there will be nothing good worth saving.
Iâd hope, in that case, that they do the right thing and just throw the whole damn thing away.
Still, I feel for her. âIâm sorry, I say. âIâŠknow this place means a lot to you all. I hope everything works out. For your sakes.â
âI appreciate that, Nikki,â she says. She yawns and looks out the door into the dark night. âI shouldâŠprobably get going.â
âRight. Iâm sure weâll talk again sooner than later,â I say.
She bites her bottom lip nervously and asks: âHow soon until you think youâre going to, uh, do whatever it is youâre going to do?â
âDo you want to know?â I ask. Though, truthfully, I donât yet have a plan of my own in place.
âNo, I suppose not,â she says. âI want to be able to act surprised when I hear about it.â
===
Itâs just Tommy and I now.Â
If we were home, Iâd make an ill-advised decision about brewing some coffee or chugging something caffeinated from the fridge instead of going to sleep. I donât have that option here, but maybe I don't actually need itâthe way my mind is working right now, I donât know if Iâll be getting to sleep regardless.
âMaybe I should be on my way too,â Tommy says, grabbing his pants.
âYouâre welcome to stay, if you want,â I say.
âOoh, a sleepover?â I canât tell if heâs being sarcastic or if thatâs genuine excitement in his tone.
âDonât get any ideasâyouâll have to sleep in your own bed.â
âDo you think you can lend me a pillow?â
âMaybe.â
âDo you want me to stay?â he asks.
This is usually the part where I say âNo.â I might even make a snarky comment about him even asking me this.Â
But Iâm still in this longing mood. I miss Alfie. I miss home. I miss the security of normalcy. Maybe some company, in the form of one of the only friends I have at The Cradle, isnât a bad thing.
âStay,â I say.
He smirks. Maybe heâs just happy he can stay. Maybe itâs because he knows, on some level, heâs managed a great feat by becoming someone I like enough to let stay with me.Â
âYouâre not going to stink up the cabin, are you?â I ask.
âUh, no,â he says, cheeks reddening a little. âWellâŠIâll try not to.â
âIâm not changing your diaper if you do.â
He laughs. âWell, if you need a hand with your own diapersâŠâ
âYouâre kidding, right?â
âProbably.â
âI took mine off,â I say. âFuck that thing.â
Heâs laughing again, but he also looks a little disappointed. Maybe he thinks Iâm cute in one? Oh well.
===
The cabinâs dark now. Iâm lying in the bed, staring up into the darkness. Somewhere else in the cabin, I can hear the sound of Tommy lightly snoring while his still-uncovered diaper crinkles a little every time he shifts his body.
I actually kind of like the background noise. It feels good to not be alone. For as much of a loner as I like to think I amâas I probably actually am in most waysâI still have needs.
But hereâs a weird thought: I almost miss the diaper. I didnât think I would. I mean, I still hate the concept of them and having to play along with everyone else here. But I had almost gotten used to wearing them over the last few days, and itâs not until now, when Iâm free of them, that I realize I kind of like the bulk and warmth of them in my pants.
I donât think I miss them enough to go find one and put it on or anything like that. Itâs just a stray thought wandering through my mind as I stare into the nothingness.
I gotta get out of here. Back on the east coast, I doubt Iâll ever find myself missing diapers, of all things.
Itâs time. Iâve âplayed the game.â Iâve met with the Maternal Council. Iâve waited. I think itâs finally time to act.
I think Iâll talk to Mirabelle one more time. Ask one more time to see Alfie. No more wasting time.
I donât care what excuse she makes, or what possible reason she can throw at me. If I donât see Alfie after that?
WellâŠyeah. Iâm going toâas the other babies here might put itâthrow a temper tantrum.
Forty-Five: Nikkiâs Story, Part 12Â
(Note from QH: For anyone sensitive to such things, this chapter makes references to spousal abuse and violence.)
Iâm not proud of it, but Iâve thrown a punch once or twice in my life. Perhaps more, but I allow myself to have selective memory when it comes to my low points.Â
I tell myself that my violence was justified whenever it occurred, but I still regret it. I think I used to be angrier. Scrappier. A little less in control of myself. Iâm not sure what happened to change that, but Iâve certainly changed for the better. Iâd like to think Iâm cooler and more level-headed now. Maybe age mellows you out. Or alcohol and pot. Or working at a place where you see everyone else getting easily riled up, and you learn a thing or two about the kind of person you donât want to be.
I punched this guy Harris once. Right in the face. It was a sucker punchâhe never saw me coming. And, really, thatâs my only regret about that incident. I shouldâve let him know what was coming and have given him the chance to defend himself. Hell, I wish he threw the first punch. I wouldâve liked for him to have really given me a reason to smack him around.
Whatever. He still deserved what he got.Â
I barely knew the guy. He was the boyfriend of this girl I knew, Amy. I never really thought of Amy as a friendâI think she was just a co-worker that I got along withâbut I think she thought of me as a friend. I donât know, I sometimes feel awkward about things like that. Am I supposed to make more of a âfriendshipâ effort if Iâm not feeling the same way the other person is? Regardless, I at least tolerated her. So when she started showing up to workâthis shitty little diner that closed only a few months after it openedâwith bruises on her arms and face, I started asking questions. She never came out and said that Harris had been hurting her, but the message was there, in between the lines. I asked if she wanted me to do anything. She said no, she did not. And I didnât like that answer, but it also wasnât my life. I thought I could let it go.Â
But then, the stupid-ass has the audacity to show up at the diner one night while weâre cleaning up after a shift, and berate her for not wanting to give him some cash. I kept my distance, trying not to get involved. At one point, I had kind of tuned the entire nagging conversation out altogether. I couldnât keep ignoring it when I heard her yelp though, after he had tightly wrapped his hand around her arm in an effort to keep her standing next to him. I have no idea the context of the conversation at this point, all I know is that sheâs saying âStop, youâre hurting me,â and he shows no sign of caring or backing down.
I didnât even think about itâI just walked over to him, wound up, andâŠsmack. Right in the face. It was harder than I meant it to be, though I have little remorse about that. Immediately, he dropped Amyâs arm and stumbled backwards. His nose was bleedingâor maybe it was his lip? Couldâve been both.
All this to say, if it came down to it again, Iâm not above punching someone again. If Mirabelle wants to get in my way, and sheâs what stands between Alfie and myself, Iâm not above punching her.
Thinking about this, as I walk to the dining hall in the morning after our little meeting in my cabin the night before, I feel my fists clenching at my sidesâas if Iâm already letting that old violent energy build up inside of me before it's even needed.
Calm down. Weâre not there yet. And, with luck, I wonât ever have to be. I donât actually want to get into fisticuffs with Mirabelle. I just feel like I need to be ready for the worst case scenario.Â
But in a place like thisâwhere seemingly magical milk turns people into diaper-filling babiesâmaybe the worst case scenario is actually weirder than I think it is. Maybe itâs not a fist-fight with Mirabelle. Maybe droves of stupified adult babies chase after me like it's a zombie movieâtrying to tackle me to the ground before dragging me back to the farmhouse, where Mother is planning on forcing me to drink copious amounts of milk so that I might join their cult.
The thought of zombies takes me back to when Alfie and I were first driving to The Cradle. We knew nothing about where Anders was yet, and we made comments to each other about feeling like we were in a horror movie. Zombies, chainsaws, all of that.
I dunno. Sometimes I think Iâd prefer that to diapers.
âYou coming to the farm today?â someone asks, a body sidling up to mine at the dining hall.
Iâve been so lost in thought that I donât even remember entering the dining hall, let alone getting in line for some coffee.Â
âOh, hey,â I say to Tess, realizing that sheâs the one talking to me right now. âI, uh, have something I need to do first.â
âYeah, of course,â she says. âNo pressure. But if youâre able to make it by later, we could still use the help.â
What I want to say, but donât, is that I canât even imagine where Iâll be this afternoon. I could be in a car, driving towards the airport with Alfie at my side. I could be knocked out and stashed away in whatever prison cell Alfieâs sitting in. Hell, for all I know, The Cradle could be on fire in the background as I walk away slowly.
âIâll see what I can do,â I say.
===
I casually stroll towards the farmhouse; resisting the urge to run or march there with any sort of speed. I need to be calm. I need to be in control of myself.Â
If Iâm being honest, I looked around for tools. I walked around the back of the dining hall, hoping someone might have left out somethingâanythingâthat I could use to pry open a door or bust a lock. A hammer. Screwdriver. Crowbar. Axe. Machine gun. I walked around a few other buildings and cabins too, scouting for helpful items. No such luck. Maybe all the good stuff has been stashed away or something.
Whatever. Iâll use my bare hands if I have to. Iâll use a big stick. A rock.
I stand near the door to the little building off to the side of the farmhouse again. This used to be a storage shed, Iâm told. But itâs certainly more than that now. I hear the air conditioning unit connected to this building whir.
Last time I was here, Mirabelle came right out, because she saw me on the cameras. Sheâll likely see me this time too. She might have already seen me.
I wait. And I wonder how long Iâd have to wait before I just kick down the door myself, instead of talking to Mirabelle first.
âItâs always a pleasure to see you, Nikki,â a familiar voice says to me.Â
There she is. Just as I expectedâMirabelle.
I turn and face her. For a moment, I wonder if I should try and smile politely, but I donât see any reason in trying to be fake at this point. She gets what Alfie would call âthe stank eyeââthe look of frustrated disgust Iâm guilty of weaponizing often. Sheâs wearing a pair of dark green linen overalls that have a baggy fit on her, and a white top underneath the straps. She has some real camp counselor vibes going on.
âI suppose you know why Iâm here,â I say.
âAh, yes, I take it you were hoping to see Alfie today, hm?â
âJust as I was yesterday,â I say. âAnd the day before. And the day before that.â
She clicks her tongue and shakes her head sympathetically. âI feel for you, I truly do. You want to see your friend so badly. Can I just say, Nikki? I really commend that. I do.â She clutches her hands to her chest. âItâs an inspiration, you know? I wish everyone was as devoted to their friends as you are to yours. I adore that about you.â
I resist the urge to give any positive reaction to this. She sounds sincere. Maybe she isâI suppose someone can genuinely mean the nice things they say while also being underhanded.
I say: âMirabelle, Iâve grown tired of asking the same question over and over again. Iâve grown tired of you telling me to wait a little longer.â
âI can imagine that would be upsetting, yes,â she says. âBut, you seeâŠâ
âNo,â I say. âAbsolutely not. No more excuses. Todayâs going to be the day, Mirabelle. Youâre going to let me see Alfie, or Iâm going to force my way through that door.â
âNow, Nikki, I donât think thatâs very wise. You have to understand thatâŠâ
âIâm not sure that I can make this any simpler,â I say. âAre you going to let me see Alfie right now? Yes or no? Thatâs all I need to hear.â
âPerhaps the actual answer isnât as black and white as you want it to be,â Mirabelle says. âSurely you can understand this.â
I snort. âIâm going to assume thatâs your way of saying âno,â then.â
âAnd, if thatâs how you choose to interpret my words, what do you plan on doing next?â
I shrug and point to the small building thatâs behind me now. âIâm going to bust my way through that door.â
She smirks a little. Itâs a hard expression to read. Itâs not the most sarcastic of smilesâitâs more condescending than anything else. Iâm reminded of the way my mother, once upon a time, sneered when I told her that one day Iâd leave home and never come back. Itâs a look that says: âSure, go ahead and try that.â
I turn around and face the door, with its big lock. Could I kick this thing down if I wanted to? I have no ideaâIâve never actually busted a door down before. And the last thing I want to do is embarrass myself by trying and failing.Â
But then, Iâm way too stubborn to just walk away. Iâm going to try.
I take a step towards the door.
âNikki,â Mirabelle says. âCome inside with me. We can go into the farmhouse and I can make us something to eat. Something to drink, maybe?â
âNo thank you.â
âWould you like to meet Mother? I can get you some time with her today. Maybe youâd like to hear more about Alfieâs situation from her? I can arrange that.â
I pause. Thatâs a little tempting. No, I canât imagine it would be all that helpful of a conversationâIâm sure âMotherâ would also try to be manipulating me and feeding bullshit like Mirabelle is. But Iâd like the chance to look her in the eye and say something about how Iâm done with her and this whole little cult of hers. Maybe Iâd say something about how I know about âHarriet Tullerâ too, even if I donât actually know what that means.
And I laugh to myself. I bet thatâs exactly what Alfie did. Thatâs probably why heâs in baby jail right now.
âIâm good, thanks,â I say, continuing to walk towards the door.
âPlease,â Mirabelle says, her voice on the verge of crackingâitâs the first time Iâve ever heard her voice without that calculated âcustomer serviceâ tone in it. âLetâs not do anything rash.â
This gives me strength. Hearing the desperationâeven trace amounts of itâin her voice makes me feel like she sees me as an actual threat. Thereâs a part of her that believes I can do what I sayâthat I can bust down this door and take Alfie.Â
At the door, I raise my hands over my head and behind my back. Fully wound up, I swing them forward and down, letting the bottom of my fists crash into the door.Â
Slam!
I donât know what I expected to happenâbecause Iâm not so delusional as to think that Iâm strong enough to knock down a door with a single blow. But my hands hurt now, and the door seems completely indifferent to swing. I canât even bear to turn around and see what Mirabelle might be doing. I donât need to see her smirking or laughing at me for thinking I can bust down this door.
No. I can do this.
Iâm going to try again, but Iâm going to try something different this time. I take a step or two back, and aim my shoulder at the door.
âThatâs enough,â Mirabelle says to me. Her voice is mostly calm and level, though I can hear some restraint. I think she wants to be angrier. âStop this right now.â
Thatâs a command, isnât it? I think it might be. The sort of thing she could say to any other diaper-wearer here at The Cradle, and itâd make them stop in their tracks. Their mindsâsoft and malleable from all that milkâhave no idea how suggestible they are.
I wonder, if Iâd actually been drinking the milk, if this command would have any sort of effect on me. Maybe notâI still wouldnât have been drinking it for all that long.
So I just laugh.
I hear her sighing behind me, disappointed that her command didnât work.
And now Iâm charging forward.
I hear her calling out. âN-no, NikkiâŠâ
Slam! Itâs louder than the first time, and the impact is a lot harder. I feel pain radiating through my shoulder and down my arm. The door still stands, which doesnât seem all that surprising, though I did hear a faint cracking noise. Iâve weakened something, somewhere. If I do this again, maybe I can further weaken it.
âN-Nikki, you canât do this!â Mirabelle says to me. âStop!â
I snort. âWhat are you going to do about it?â
âI, wellâŠâ
Mirabelle isnât used to defiance. No, I bet thatâs never been an issue here before. People only come here willingly, and they come here already wanting the experience of being treated like a child. They all roll over so readily. Mirabelle and âMotherâ have probably had very little need of their milk-based manipulations, given how everyone would be willing to do what was asked of them in the first place.
Except for me. I get to be the exception to the rule.
Itâs an honor.
I take another step or two away from the door, readying myself to ram into it again.
âNikki,â Mirabelle says. âYou have to stop this right now! You donât know what youâre doing.â
âThatâs not true,â I say, aiming my shoulder for the same place I rammed it the first time. âI know exactly what Iâm doing.â
I charge forward again, and my shoulder collides with the door.Â
Slam!
This time, thereâs an even louder cracking sound coming from the other side of the door. I think itâs the frame. Another blow or two, and I might be able to actually break it and force the door inward.
My shoulder is killing me, but the feeling of accomplishment is bringing me a lot of strength. I take a step back, and then two more, giving myself even more space to build up momentum with my next ram.
âAlfie!â I yell at the door. âCan you hear me? Itâs Nikki. Iâm coming in.â
âNikki, wait,â Mirabelle says, her hand suddenly on my shoulder. Itâs a soft touch, and when I look over my shoulder, my eyes meet hers. Yes, she looks desperate, but she looks concerned too.Â
âWhat?â I spit. âAre you going to open this door for me, or am I going to have to do it myself? Because I think Iâm getting pretty close to making my way inside.â
âY-you donât understand,â she says.
âNo, youâre right. I donât. I donât know why itâs so hard to get an honest answer out of youâbut Iâll tell you what I think it means. Iâm pretty sure it means youâre up to something shifty, you know? Something youâd want to hide from everyone else.â
She sighs. âJust what do you think youâre going to do when you break through that door, Nikki?â
I shrug. âIâm going to get him out of here. I donât care if I have to carry him out.â
âHeâs going to need more than just being carried,â she says.
âAnd whatâs that supposed to mean?â
She sighs again. âM-maybe it really is best that you see whatâs going on.â
I canât help but roll my eyes. âYou couldnât have come to that conclusion before I started ramming myself into this door?â
She reaches into her pockets and produces a keychain. âCome on. I want to show you whatâs inside of here.
I step aside, giving Mirabelle access to the door. My shoulder throbs, but I can barely concentrate on that. My heart races and my hands feel sweaty as I hear the key sliding into the lock. Here we go. Finally.Â
She turns the keys. Click. She pushes the door inwards. Cool air rushes out from the building, cooler than anything Iâve felt in the last few daysâeven the air conditioned dining hall never feels as good as this. But the burst of air carries scents with it too. Baby powder. A faint staleness. And the odor of dirty diapersâa scent Iâve come to know well since my time here at The Cradle.
âCome with me,â Mirabelle says.
And so I step through the doorway.
===
Itâs not a very big space. I already kind of figured this, given the observable dimensions from the exterior, and yet it still seems even smaller once Iâm inside of it. I feel like Iâm in a shed. A nice shed. Maybe more of a closet than anything.Â
Thereâs very little in the way of decoration or aesthetics. The floor has a layer of squishy padding on it, like maybe the mats kids play on in preschool. Thereâs a changing tableâlarge enough for an adult baby, of courseâagainst one wall, and a crib against the other. Thereâs a small wooden chest filled with stuffed animals and toys. Some shelves on the walls with stacks of diapers and baby supplies neatly organized on them. The lighting here is softâjust enough to see around, but dark enough that it takes my eyes a moment to adjust to it. The air in here is comfortable here tooânot too warm, and not too cold. The most ideal room temperature I could ever ask for.
There are cameras mounted on the walls. I count at least four, but I would bet there are even more that I havenât noticed yet. A way for Mirabelle to keep an eye on this place from the farmhouse, I guess?
The babyish scent of powder, stale pee, and the musk of dirty diapers past intensifies as I step towards the crib. I see a shape in the center of it, a long shape, swaddled in blankets.Â
âIsâŠis that him?â I ask, slowly walking forward.
âIt is,â Mirabelle says.
Iâm not yet really surprised by any of this. Here, in this place where everyone wears diapers and traipses around while dressed like a baby, this doesnât seem all that different. The one big difference would be the isolation, though. This room is sequestered from everything else. There must be a good reason for that.
I stand at the edge of the crib and peer in. Thatâs him, Alfie. My heart aches in my chest and my legs tremble a littleâI feel overwhelmed, finally seeing him again after all this timeâafter all this searching and scheming. His eyes are closed and heâs letting out these little snoring noises as he sleeps.
I start to reach into the crib, ready to shake him in the hopes of waking him up.
âWait,â Mirabelle says, her arm holding mine back just before I touch him.
I roll my eyes. âWhat?â
âHeâs not going to respond like you want him to.â
âWhatâs that supposed to mean?â
She opens her mouth, but hesitates.Â
âJust spit it out,â I say.Â
âHeâs not the Alfie that you know.â
I snort. That hasnât answered my question at allâsheâs only giving me more questions to ask. âIâm going to wake him.â
âY-you donât understandâŠâ she starts to say.
But my hand is already down in the crib again, gripping his shoulder as I give his body a little shake. At first, thereâs no reaction, and so I shake him again, this time a little harder. âAlfie,â I say. âWake up.â
His eyes flutter a little before finally opening slowly. For a moment, he looks in my direction, but he seems to be looking past me more than at me. He gazes all around him, like the world is a strange and unfamiliar place to him. Thereâs a glassy look on his face as he blinks and slowly steers his head around to take in his surroundings.
âAlfie. Itâs meâNikki.â
Alfie opens his mouth, but when a sound finally comes out of it, itâs an unintelligible noise. A âbahâ or something similar.
âAlfieâŠâ
âHe doesnât understand you,â Mirabelle says. âAnd he wonât be talking back. WellâŠnot words that youâd comprehend, at least.â
âIs he doped up or something? Whatâs wrong with him?â
At the base of the crib, Alfie wriggles slowly from side to side, slowly shedding the blanket that heâs cocooned in. Heâs wearing a baby-blue onesie, with an undeniably large bulge where his diaper is.Â
âThereâs nothing wrong with him,â Mirabelle says. âHeâs just hadâŠuhmâŠâ
I'm already tired of the constant goading. âWhat? Heâs had what?â
âA lot of milk,â Mirabelle says.Â
I canât help but laugh. âSo has everyone else here.â
âYes, but⊠It was more than anyone else here drinks at any given time. It was a lot, and it was a lot at once. And, wellâŠthe effects of doing something like that can be very powerful.â
âWhat kind of effects?â I ask.
âWellâŠright now, Alfieâs not exactlyâŠAlfie.â
I snort, annoyed that Iâm going to need to ask her to elaborate again.
But to my relief, she continues without being asked to: âHe doesnât know who he is. Where he is. What he is. Heâs essentiallyâŠâ
I sigh, realizing what sheâs getting at. Not that I need for her to tell me, I can see it for myself inside of this crib. Heâs essentially a baby. An actual, oversized, baby. Helpless. Pathetic. AndâŠ
I watch as Alfieâs face scrunches up for a moment, a little extra pink blooming in his determined cheeks, just before thereâs a soft rippling sound coming from his diaper.
âItâs a good thing weâre here, then,â Mirabelle says. âSounds like heâs going to be needing a change in a moment.â
A new smell quickly rolls through the small spaceâthe unmistakable stench of a messy diaper. And itâs the weirdest fucking thingâseeing my best friend lying there like that, helplessly filling his diaper without a thought in the world and with no recollection of me in his eyes whatsoever.Â
There was a second there where I thought I found him. ButâŠheâs still lost. Lost to himself, really.
âWhy?â I ask her. âWhy did this happen?â
âIt is what Mother required.â
âWhy?â
âIâŠI cannot say. Not even I understand everything that she does. But you have to understand, Mother sees beyond the current, like you and I. She sees everything. She knows all. Everything she does is part of a bigger plan, even if itâs one that we donât fully understand yet.â
I make no effort to stifle my groan. Iâve heard that before, or something like it. My childhood was rife with people saying things like that to explain everything they didnât like. People can believe whatever they want to, I supposeâbut I told myself a long time ago that I wasnât going to buy into mysterious âmasterplans.â
âThis is why I wasnât ready for you to see Alfie,â Mirabelle says. âI knew it was going to be hard to explain this to you.â
âSo you were going to justâŠkeep leading me on? Making false promises about seeing him the next day? And when the next day came, youâd kick it to the day after that? And so on and so forth forever?â
âWe, uhm, werenât prepared for your tenacity, I suppose. I was thinking that weâd eventually be able to buy ourselves some time with the, erâŠâ
âWith the milk,â I say, finishing her thought. âIs that it? You were hoping that Iâd drink enough milk that youâd eventually be able to just make me not care about Alfie?â
Mirabelle sighs, but doesnât say anything for a moment. The only sound to be heard is that of Alfieâs dirty diaper rustling as he wiggles around inside of it.
âYouâre not drinking the milk, are you?â Mirabelle says to me.
âNo.â
âI wondered if that might happen. But, I remained hopeful that you would.â
âSorry to disappoint.â
âBut do you see why Alfie canât leave here?â she asks. âHe needs care and attention. And he gets that here. Everything he could possibly need. I know that you care for him, Nikki. But are you prepared to bring him back home in this state? Are you prepared for the work needed to take care of him?â
âItâll wear off,â I say. â...right?â
âIt⊠Itâs hard to say,â she says. âIt could be a long time. A very long time. So long that it might even beâŠpermanent.â
I snort. âBullshit. No way. Youâre just saying that to scare me.â
âLook at him, Nikki. For now, like it or notâŠthis is who Alfie is. And I donât know if anythingâs going to change that. Not any time soon.â
âNo,â I say. âIâll take him out of here. Iâll carry him back to the easy coast in my arms if I have to. Iâll take him to doctors. Iâll do whatever it takes to get him to snap out of whatever state you put him in. IâllâŠâ
âYou canât take him, Nikki. He needs to be cared for, and heâll have that careâthat special kind of careâright here.â
âSorry, heâs not yours to keep,â I say.
âWell, no, heâs not mine,â Mirabelle says. âBut heâs Motherâs.â
âSheâs welcome to come here and try to stop me from taking Alfie,â I say. âBut otherwise, heâs coming with me.â
Mirabelle opens her mouth again, ready to say something else, when the door behind us opens, letting in the bright light of the outdoors. Someone walks into this already cramped space, closing the door behind them. It takes a moment for my eyes to adjust again, though I feel like I might already have an idea as to who this new visitor is.Â
Speak of the devilâŠ
Mirabelle speaks first. âM-Mother! I was just explaining to Nikki thatâŠâ
âPerhaps it's time that Nikki and I have had a conversation,â the woman says.
âYes,â Mirabelle says, nodding her head as she begins to skirt past Mother, bringing her closer to the door. âShould I leave? Let the two of you talk in private?â
âYes,â Mother says. âBut donât go too far. Youâll need to change the little oneâs diaper soon enough.â
===
Time seems to freeze for a moment, and Iâm stuck in this indefinite second where Iâm just gawking at her. Yes, she does look familiar to me, even if Iâve never met her beforeâIâm reminded of the photos that were on Tommyâs phone last night. Harriet Tuller.
But this woman might resemble her, but I donât think that it is her. This woman seems larger than life. Tall and powerful. Confidence that surrounds her like a glowing aura. The semi-transparent black robe she wears lets me see her perfect skin, her round tits, and her flat belly. Her perfect posture. Her sculpted face.
Yes, thereâs a reason sheâs the leader here. Just looking at her makes a small part of myself feel like I, too, should be worshipping her.
âIâve been watching you since youâve arrived,â the woman says. Her voice is calm and understated. Itâs almost like she has to restrain herselfâas if inflecting any amount of emotion in her tone would be too much for human ears to tolerate, and weâd go insane from it.
I want to say something snarky, but itâs tough to think straight in her presence. I canât tell if I just need a moment to collect myself orâŠif itâs something else. Maybe itâs not crazy to think that a woman capable of producing psychedelic milk also has an aura capable of affecting the psyche of those around her.
âI admire you,â Mother says. âStrong. Independent. Brave. But, alas, I donât know that thereâs a place for you in a place like this.â
âYes, well, Iâd agree with that,â I say. âThatâs why Iâm trying to leave.â
âThe Cradle is just the start,â she says to me. âI donât think you realize that just yet. I think very few do. Eventually, Iâll have so much more than just The Cradle. Maybe, wherever it is you call home, will one day be mine too. And on that day, Iâll still have no use for someone who refuses to obey. It would be so much easier if you allowed yourself to become one of us now, Nikki.â
I snort. âIâŠI donât think so.â
âDrink the milk,â she says, reaching to her chest and grasping one of her tits through the mesh robe. I see a blob of white forming at the nipple, dripping out and wetting the robe itself. âI promise that youâll like it.â
âNo,â I say. âIâm not going to.â
She steps towards me. âJust a taste, Nikki. I understand why youâd be so hesitantâbeing such a strong and stoic woman. But donât you get tired of it? Donât you get tired of being the one in charge? The one who has to assert dominance? The one who has to make decisions? The one who has to always keep your composure?â
I say nothing, but I swallow. Yes. That is a lot. Yes, itâs something I do get tired of sometimes. Itâs hard to always be stoic. To be a realist. To be proactive. To be pragmatic.Â
But thatâs who I am. And I donât want to be anyone else, no matter how hard it is.
ButâŠ
Maybe there is a small part of me that yearns for the feeling of justâŠletting someone else take the reigns.
Wait. Do I actually feel that way? Or is she, like, doing something to me?
She says: âCome closer, Nikki. Just once, allow yourself to let go of everything.â
And I take a small step towards her.Â
I honestly have no idea if I want to take her up on her offer, or if sheâs making me think that I am.
âAlfie,â I say, as if calling out to him for help. A silly gesture, I knowâbut itâs the only thing I can think to do as Motherâs milky breast seems to get closer and closer to my face.
âNikki,â a voice mutters softly.Â
Is that⊠It is. Thatâs Alfieâs voice. I spin around, seeing the body in that giant crib starting to sit up.
âAlfie!â Iâve snapped out of whatever brief haze I felt myself slipping into.
âNikki,â he says. âY-you⊠You have toâŠâ
I rush to the side of the crib. âWhat? What is it, Alfie?â
âYou have toâŠdrink the milk.â
Suddenly I know, deep in my soul, that this is not Alfie. Not the Alfie I know, at least.
âFuck,â I mutter under my breath, feeling stuck between Mother and âAlfieâ in the crib. Coming to California. All this planning and plotting. Building these relationships. Was it all so that I would just end up hereâfalling into the same trap that Alfie might have?Â
I was a fool to have come here.
===
Like I said at the top, next week starts a new story arc here in the pages of Milk!, once more returning the focus of the story to our boy Alfie.
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Once upon a time, Thomas Pritchard did something foolish. And, like most fools, he didnât intend for everything to go as bad as it did. But with hindsight being 20/20 and all, it was clear to him now where things had gone a bit off the rails.
One morning, he wore a diaper to the office he worked at. He didnât just wear itâhe flaunted it. He wore pants that were too small, so as to make the diaperâs bulge even bigger. He let the back of the diaper poke out from the back of his pants. He took the longest route possible to his desk that morning, giving as many co-workers as he could the chance to see what he was wearing. Then, later in the morning, he stood up from his chair, squatted down next to his desk and grunted as he filled the back of his diaper. The goal was to then walkâwaddle, reallyâover to the CEOâs office, one Gabrielle Heller, and demand that he get his diaper changed. Though, itâs at this part of the storyâright around the time he actually messed himself at his deskâthat his memories get a little fuzzy. People were panicking and gawking. The lady from HR was there, trying to corral him somewhere else. Maybe there had been some sort of physical altercation, itâs hard to say nowâbut the aftermath was him standing there in his office, pants around his knees, and his dirty diaper on display to all of his co-workers.Â
Itâs a story thatâs probably been told a thousand times by everyone else who was there. Though itâs one that heâs never really told himself. Heâs come close a few timesâgiving small morsels of it to both Alfie and Nikki. But heâs torn on whether or not heâd ever want to tell the whole story. Because the whole story is long and complicated.Â
He sometimes wonders how far back heâd have to go to have the story make sense to someone. Maybe the story starts when he first meets Clark Ashburnâan intern at the company he worked for, who ended up being the catalyst for the strange turn his life took after. And, well, he did have a lot of resentment for Clark and the attention he got. But thatâs not actually the start of the story either.
Maybe the story starts when he was in college, and he had spent the better part of a semester trying to break out of his antisocial shell to woo Jasmine Pickford, whom he was spending hours every week studying withâonly to catch her on her hands and knees in his own bed, getting railed from behind by his own roommate.
Or, maybe the story starts in high school, when the friends group he had been a part of for years suddenly decided that they were way more interested in smoking pot, drinking beer, and stealing shit than they were in playing Tekken with him on his PlayStationâcausing a rift that was never bridged.
The story might even start even earlier than that, like when he was eight years old and spending the summer with his grandmotherâas he had for the summerâs previous to that. Those previous summers had been joyous marathons of being coddled and spoiled, but for this particular summer he was joined by his toddler cousin Melissa, who got all the coddling and spoiling and naught but a cold shoulder from his grandmother.
In a nutshell, the problem had always been that he felt overlooked and ignored. Desirable until someone, or something, better came alongâat which point he was just discarded and forgotten about.
Those years and years of feeling rejected had taken their toll on Thomas, culminating in him acting like a fool at his office. Ironic, he sometimes supposes, that he would be remembered and talked about nowâbut only as the âdiaper-guyâ who humiliated himself.
If heâs being honest, he sometimes feels a little overlooked at The Cradle too. He isnât one of the âcoolâ babies. He sometimes worries that he isnât given so many tasks and errands to do because they trust him, but because heâs a doormat that can be easily walked all over.
But heâs a lot happier these days anyways. The Cradle isnât that much different than the rest of the world, when he thinks about it. A little stinkier. A little quieter at night. But itâs still people just being people.
He is the one thatâs changed. His little stunt in his old office gave him pause and forced him to do a lot of reflecting. Why was he always so determined to make people like and accept him? Why did it matter if people paid attention to him? Wouldnât it be better if he was justâŠhimself?
So, yeah. Heâs going to call himself âTommyâ now. Not âTom.â Not âThomas.â Heâs going to dress up like a country boy when he feels like it. Heâs going to take ill-advised shots at girls that are probably out of his league. Heâs going to let himself be a little corny and goofy. Heâs going to continue to embrace diapersâwhich he likes far more than he ever thought he would.
And The Cradle is an exceptional place to practice being yourself, heâs found.
Heâs made friends here. One in particular, Alfie, is a friend in the truest senseâsomeone who seems to accept him, warts and all. Someone who trusts him. The kind of friend Tommy hasnât had in a very long timeâor maybe ever.Â
When Alfie seemingly vanished that night, right after driving that truck of milk back to The Cradle, Tommy had convinced himself that nothing nefarious was happening. This was The Cradle, after allâitâs home. Itâs the inspiration for him living his best life. Itâs the place where he gets to start over after burning his old life to the ground.
And then Nikki showed up, reminding him of how strange things actually were around here. Alfie needs help. And who to better help him than his friend?
Tommyâs been a fool beforeâmaybe heâs even been a fool his entire life. But he thinks this time is going to be different. Heâs going to make sure that he doesnât look back at this part of his life with regret.
Heâs going to do whatever he can to make sure Alfieâs okay. And thatâs how he knows heâs grownâbecause he finally recognizes that all his previous disappointments came after only caring about his own needs.
===
Tommy pulls his pickup to the curb in front of Celiaâs house. He had stopped by the diner first, but was told that she wasnât working today. That was good newsâit was probably better that he didnât have to hassle her while working.
Now that heâs got some reception on his phone, he was thinking he could just search for the name âHarriet Tullerâ on it. But when he tried in the diner parking lot, he was underwhelmed by the results he was gettingânot to mention that his small screen was just making it hard to parse the websites he was looking at, making him think he was missing details. Doing this on a bigger screen seemed necessary. Nikki was right to suggest Celiaâs help.
âTommy,â Celia says when she opens the door. For the first time in as long as he can remember, she doesnât seem to cringe when she looks at himâthe way she usually did when she saw him at the diner. Understandable, he supposesâhe probably laid it on a little thick with his flirting. Though, in his defense, flirting is still a relatively new thing for him to be doing; heâs not all that great at it yet.
Instead, thereâs a look of concern on her face. He immediately realizes what it might beâshe sees him as the bearer of bad news. As if thereâs no other reason heâd be at her door right now.
âAlfie?â she asks, when he doesnât immediately say anything.
âNo news there, really,â he says. âBut Nikki and I are working on some leads.â
She nods, her face still looking disappointed.Â
âBut there was something I was hoping you could help me out with.â
There, he sees a little spark in her eye. She lifts her head up, already eager to help in any way that she can. âYes, of course. What do you need?â
Alfie mentioned a name to me a while ago. Maybe he mentioned it to you too? Harriet Tuller?â
Celia considers this for a moment and shrugs. âI donât know who that is. Should I?â
âThatâs what Iâd like to know too. I got the feeling that Alfie thought there was something important about that person, but heâyou knowâwent off the radar before I could get any more information from him. Nikki and I have asked around The Cradle to see if anyone else recognized the name, but I know that I havenât had any luck.â
âIâm afraid I donât know her either,â she says, disappointment creeping over her face again. âSorry you drove all the way out here for me to say that.â
âWell, I was thinking that maybe you could help me do some research? Maybe we could look for her online with your laptop?â It occurs to Tommy now that heâs just assuming that Celia owns a computer of some sort. But who doesnât these days? Besides, this was Nikkiâs idea, and she spent some time here at Celiaâs placeâsheâd probably know if Celia didnât have a computer.
âCome inside,â she says, nodding. âLetâs see what we can do.â
Thereâs someone else sitting in the living roomâa young woman he doesnât recognize at first, though sheâs certainly familiar-looking.
Oh right. Sloane is here. Nikki had mentioned this to him. It seemed like Nikki trusted her to some degree, and so he figured he should probably do the same. Still, he had heard the stories about how she had betrayed The Cradle, and those were hard to set aside. He wondered what she was still doing here.
âHey,â he said, nodding at her.
âHey,â Sloane said.
âLook, Iâm not a private investigator or anything,â Celia says, retrieving her laptop from another room and carrying it over the coffee table in the living room. âI donât know the first thing about looking people up online. But Iâll do my best.â
Sloaneâs eyes grow bigger. âLooking for someone online? M-maybe I can help.â
Celia chuckles a little. âIs this something you know a thing or two about?â
Sloane shrugs, her cheeks getting a little pink. âMaybe. Iâm a little guilty of doing some cyber-stalking in my free time. Checking up on exes and old friends.â
âSounds creepy,â Tommy says.
âHonestly, itâs more pathetic than creepy,â Sloane says. âI guess Iâm always hoping to see people living more miserably than I am. But it rarely works out that way. Usually, Iâm the one left feeling miserable.â
âI ran a search for her name,â Celia says, looking at the laptopâs screen. âHarriet Tuller, right? These search results seem like junk.â
âIt is,â Sloane says. âThatâs your first mistake. All these sites in the results just want to sell you access to information thatâs been taken from public records. You want to find someone, you look on social media.â
Sloane motions for Celia to pass the laptop to her, and when she has control of it, she navigates to one of the social media sites. âI have to log you out of your account, okay? I donât want anyone seeing that your account was looking for this person.â
âThat can happen?â Celia asks.
Sloane shrugs. âBetter safe than sorry, right? I have an account that I use just for this purpose.âÂ
She logs into the site with her own credentials, pulling up the profile of someone named Addison Langley. Thereâs a picture there that isnât of Sloane. A whole profileâs worth of details that are likely fabricated. Tommy, standing behind the couch and watching the computer over the girlsâ shoulders, even notes that âAddisonâ has more friends than he does on his own profile.
âThis isâŠquite elaborate,â Celia says.
Sloaneâs cheeks get a little more red. âItâs nothing Iâm proud of, okay?â
With her secret identity logged in, she searches for the name âHarriet Tullman.â A list of potential profiles show.Â
âShit,â Celia says. âHow would we ever know which is the one Alfie talked about?â
âUhmâŠI think that answers the question right there, doesnât it?â Tommy asks, his finger pointing at one of the profiles. Sloanâs eyes immediately grow and she lets out a little gasp.
âWho is that supposed to be?â Celia asks.
Tommy says: âWellâŠthatâs Mother.â
===
Harriet Tuller is 30 years old and supposedly lives in the small town of North Grey, Michigan. Sheâs an operator at a customer service support hotline for a credit card company. She likes police procedurals on TV, hiking, reading, Elton John, Mexican food, and Disney movies.Â
Either she doesnât use social media very often, or she just doesnât know many people. She has a low follower count, and when scrolling through her timeline, most of it is just out-of-context photographs and short messages. Each has only a smattering of likes and reactions.
A picture of a hot air balloon hovering above a park, taken from the ground.
A picture of some fresh-baked chocolate chip cookies with the caption: âPlease donât make me eat these by myself :)â
A post that reads: âIt was good seeing you, Janny. Safe travels back home.â A response, from Janet Layton reads: âThanks again for having me, Harriet! Youâre the best! Iâll let you know how things go with Garbage-Man.â
But it would seem that Harriet hasnât been active on her profile in a few years now. Six? Seven? This, by itself, wouldnât be all that concerning to Tommyâhe rarely updates his own profiles anymore. A few years could easily slip by without him caring much about it. The concerning part are the messages at the top of the timelineâthe messages left for her by other people.
âItâs been a while since Iâve heard from you,â says Mary Tuller, likely of some relation to Harriet. âI miss you.â That post came two years ago.
Last summer, Janet Layton asked: âDoes anybody know what happened to Harriet?â The response to that comes from one Mirabelle Hapsbergen, two months later, who says: âHarriet is doing just fine, thank you for asking! She doesnât get online very much anymore, but wanted me to pass along the message that sheâs okay and that she hopes to talk to you soon!â
There is no response from Janet Layton.
âMirabelle,â says Sloane. But when they click on her profile, they see that itâs restricted to only being able to be seen by friends. âDo I dare try to add her?â
âIs there any way she can trace the profile to you?â Tommy asks.
âI donât think so,â she says. âBut Iâm not an expert on these sorts of things.â
âAnd who is Mirabelle?â Celia asks. âAndâŠMother?â
Tommy chuckles a little, rightfully assuming itâd be complicated to try and explain everything to Celia. âTheyâre the ones in charge. More or less.â
âBut here they are, looking almost like normal people,â Sloane says. âI canât get over Motherâer, Harrietâsâprofile. She looksâŠâ
âNerdy,â Tommy says. He thinks of the way heâs seen Mother at The Cradleâthis tall and imposing woman who just seems to radiate power from her every pore. And thatâs not who he sees in the online profile. Here, Harriet comes off as kind of lonely and unassuming. If he squints his eyes, he supposes he can believe that Harriet and Mother are the same person. But how does someone go from a mundane life of answering phones and baking cookies to overseeing a community of people who regress to babies when they drink milk from her breasts?
What the hell happened there?
âHow did Alfie know her name?â Celia asks.
âI donât know,â Tommy says. âBut heâs a writer, right? A reporter? Like, thatâs what he does. He investigates.â
âDo you think he knew too much?â Sloane asks. âMaybe thatâs why something happened to him. He knows things he isnât supposed to know.â
âYes,â Tommy says, shaking a finger at the screen. âI bet youâre exactly right.â
âBut how does knowing someoneâs name, or about their previous life, matter?â Celia asks. âHow is that knowing too much? Itâs not like she was a spy or a government official. She was just some chick with a boring job like everybody else.â
âItâs not about who she was,â Sloane says. âItâs about who she is now. She doesnât want anyone to know that she was once normalâshe fears it would undermine the authority and power she has over The Cradle for people to see her as one of them.â
âMaybe,â Tommy says. He feels like theyâre close to something. Closer than theyâor anyone elseâhas ever been to learning the truth of The Cradle. Theyâre just missing a piece or two of the puzzle.
âSo what now?â Celia asks him.
âI need to go back and talk to Nikki. I donât know what the next steps are, but maybe sheâll have some good ideas. Maybe we go and talk to Mirabelle andâŠâ
âThat doesnât seem like a good idea,â Sloane says. âFor all we know, thatâs what Alfie did, and now heâs been jammed in some secret nursery.â
âGood point,â he says, sighing. Itâs still a little hard to accept that The Cradleâa source for so much goodness in the lives of manyâhas a vein of darkness running through it. Itâs even harder to accept when heâs not even sure what the âdarknessâ is. Itâs not like they know of a sinister master plan or anything. Thereâs secretsâbut what are those secrets protecting? âDo you have a printer, Celia? Can I print some of these pictures out?â
âItâs not a very good printer,â Celia says.
Tommy takes out his phone instead, snapping a few pictures of the computer screen with it. âThis should do.â
âWhatever it is youâre going to do,â Sloane says, âI want in.â
âLikewise,â Celia adds.
âIâll talk to Nikki,â he says. âWeâll regroup. Weâll come back to you two and weâll hash it all out.â He starts to walk towards the door.
âYou just got here,â Celia says. âAre you leaving now?â
âAh, wellâŠâ
âI was going to make some dinner. Stick around and join us?â
âWellâŠâ Yeah, maybe thatâs not a bad idea. Nikki knows how to take care of herself, and this information can probably wait a few more hours at this point. Not only is Celia being nice to him, but sheâs inviting him to stay for dinnerâit feels like an offer he shouldnât refuse. He smiles. âWhatâs on the menu?â
===
Dinner was good, if not a little awkward. Tommy couldnât help but feel like a third wheelânot knowing either woman well enough to push the conversation beyond small talk, while they had no issue chattering amongst themselves. It wasnât like they were trying to be rudeâthey tried to include him as often as they couldâbut the whole thing just felt a little stilted and unnatural.Â
When dinner is finished, Tommy practically begs Celia to let him take care of the dishes, but she turns him down.
âDonât take it personally,â Sloane says with a smirk. âI think she just has a particular way of doing it, and it makes her anxious to have anyone else handle it.â
âItâs therapeutic,â Celia says, gathering the dishes from the table. âI need mindless chores sometimes. It helps me process things. And, you know, I donât have that many dishes to wash when Iâm here by myself.â
Tommyâs a little curious about what sorts of things Celia has to process, but he knows thatâs none of his business. Maybe itâs the same stuff that everyone else in this house is processing: How the hell did we get caught in this weird world of diapers and magical milk?
When Celia is nearer the sink, Tommy leans towards Sloane. In a hushed tone: âHey, can I ask you something?â
âSure,â she says, matching his low volume.
âI, uh, might have an extra diaper or two in the glovebox of the truck, but if you have one in the house I could useâŠâ
âI have some,â she says, nodding. âTheyâre not as good as the ones from The Cradle thoughâbut they do the trick. Are youâŠwet?â
âUh, yeah,â he says, running a hand through his hair while his face warms. Heâs more than just âwet,â thoughâheâs soaked. Somewhere during their meal, he wet his already damp diaper pretty heavily.
Celia tries to keep a straight face, but ends up chortling behind her hand just before turning the faucet on.Â
âShe has ears like a hawk,â Sloane says. âFYI.â
Tommy sighs, his cheeks glowing a little.Â
âItâs not a big deal,â Sloane says. âWhen I was coming off of the milk, she heard all about my dirty diapers.â
âAnd saw them,â Celia says from the sink. âAnd smelled them. And not just Sloaneâs. Aflieâs, too. Trust me, itâs nothing I havenât seen for myself already.â
Sloane shrugs. âSee? No big deal. Come with me, Iâll get you a new diaper.â
Tommy follows her out of the kitchen and across the house to the spare bedroom. He feels a little guilty, leaving Celia behind to deal with the cleanup of dinner alone, but sheâs already humming a little song to herself, so maybe she really is okay with it.
In the spare roomâa barely decorated, but adorably quaint little space, Sloane pulls out a package of adult diapers from under the bed, shoving the whole thing into Tommyâs chest. âHere. You can have them all.â
âI only need one,â he says, laughing a little. âBesides, donât you need them?â
âI still have occasional accidents,â she says, shrugging. âThe milk lasts a little longer than you think it does. I still have another pack, though. Iâm finally starting to wear panties again during the day. Itâs actually kind of wild to not feel that bulk between your legs.â
âCongratulations on the potty training,â he says, smirking.
âIt might happen for you someday,â she says, shrugging. âIf you want it to.â
âI donât know what I want anymore,â he sighs, not realizing until a moment after the words came out of his mouth that he was responding to more than what she just said.
She lifts her eyebrows a little, looking invested and curious. âHaving some doubts about things?â
âI really thought The Cradle was the utopia I craved, you know? The place I could go and finally be myself. But Iâm starting to wonder if I was wrong about this too.â
âTake this with a grain of salt,â she says, âconsidering how I didnât go to The Cradle because I wanted to be a big baby. But thereâs a lot of genuinely good people there that can be trusted. If there werenât, I probably wouldnât feel as bad for doing what I had.â
âThatâs true,â he says, staring down at the open package of diapers he cradled in his arms now. âBut what if milk and Mother turns out to be some sort ofâŠI donât knowâŠscam? Thatâs the heart of everything. What is The Cradle without its heart?â
Sloane considers this for a moment and then nods. âYeah, thatâs a really good question. And a part of me wonders if every person at The Cradle is going to have to answer that question for themselves some day.â
âI guess,â Tommy says. She might be right, but itâs hard to think about the big picture when heâs so often stuck thinking about his own identity.
Seeming to read his thoughts, Sloane adds: âBut I know what thatâs like to be questioning who you are, or where you belong.â
He looks up from the diapers. âYeah?â
She nods. âItâd be nice if I just knew where âhomeâ was for once. Itâd be nice if I had a real job. Friends. Family. When I, uh, helped to steal the milkâŠthat was for my family, you know? But I couldnât even do that right.â
Tommy knew a little of her story, bits and pieces he had put together from what Nikki had mentioned to him after she spent some time here with Celia and Sloane.Â
She laughs. âGod, Iâm sorry. Listen to meâmaking this a pity party about myselfâŠâ
âNo, itâs okay,â Tommy says. âHonestly, itâs kind of good to hear that Iâm not the only one whoâs struggling with who I am or where I belong.â
âThereâs dozens of us,â she says with a smirk. âDozens.â
He laughs a little, happy to recognize the pop-culture morsel. It reminds him of a different time in his life, when he owned a TV, listened to podcasts, and knew what movies were playing at the theater. What has he missed? Is there a Toy Story 9 right now?
âMaybe I should, uhâŠâ He looks down at the diapers again.
âDo you want some help?â she asks.
He blushes again. âN-no, I think I can manage on my own.â
âLet me help you,â she says. She seems to mean it in a friendly way, but it comes out sounding a little like a command.Â
Tommyâs eyes grow big, a slight look of vacancy in them. He drops the pack of diapers onto the ground. He says, simply: âOkay.â
She looks confused for a moment, in seeming disbelief that heâs really just rolling over that fast, suddenly willing to let her change him.
âShit,â she mutters.
Tommy blinks his eyes a few times, as if suddenly waking up from a brief sleep. âWhat the hell was that?â
âTommyâŠâ
âDid you do something to me? It was like you told me to let you change you, and there was this overpowering voice in my head telling me that I had to let you do that.â
âAlfie didnât tell youâŠâ she says.
âTell me what?â
âNo, of course he wouldnât have,â she says to herself, thinking aloud. âHe disappeared right after he got back to The Cradle, right? After he brought the truck back?â
âMore or less.â
She sighs. âThat nightâjust before he took the truckâhe was confronting this girl, Casey, who was in the group I was a part of. The oneâs stealing the milk?â
âOkay?â
âShe made Alfie do things with commands. Like, she told him to stop moving, and he did. She told him to give her his phone and he⊠Well, he almost did that too, but I think he fought the urge and dropped his phone on the pavement instead.â
Tommy recalls when he and Nikki stood in that very parking lot a few days ago and noticed the broken glass from the screen. They were right to speculate that it was part of Alfieâs phone.
âSo what are you saying?â he asks. âThat this girlâŠmade Alfie do things that he didnât want to do? She had some sort of power? That you have that power too?â
âNo, no,â she says. âItâs not like that. Casey said that if someoneâs consumed enough milk, they were susceptible to being ordered to do things. Anyone could take advantage of that if they knew to.â
âThat doesnât make any sense,â Tommy says, shaking his head. âSo, like, because Iâve drank a lot of milk, you could tell me to do something andâŠâ
âTommy, touch your nose,â she says.
He does this.
âTommy, walk in place.â
And he does this too. He looks down at his legs incredulously, horrified by the betrayal of his own body.
âStop,â she says, putting an end to the marching.
âThisâŠthis isnât good,â he says.
âI know.â
âY-you didnât think to tell anyone?â
âI didnât know who I could talk to,â she says. âYou know damn well that there isnât anyone at The Cradle whoâd want to see my face right now.â
âThatâs true,â he says, stroking his chin. âBut this isâŠbig. This is important for people to know. I need to tell everyone about this.â
âYou need to be careful,â Sloane says. âYou have to assume that Mother and Mirabelle know this. And if theyâre not telling anyone else about it, you have to assume that itâs because they want to exploit it. You start telling people, and the wrong people find out you know something you shouldnâtâŠ?â
âYou think thatâs what happened to Alfie?â he asks. âHe knew too much?â
âThat makes sense,â she says, nodding. âThey donât want him around everyone else because they donât want him to talk about the things he knows.â
âI have to at least tell Nikki,â he says. âI need to go back right now.â
âHold on, hold on,â she says, putting a hand on his shoulder. âOne thing at a time. You smell like peeâyou should change into a new diaper first.â
âThatâs the last thing I can focus on right now,â he says.
âIf you canât focus on a diaper, you probably canât focus on driving either. Lie down on the bed, Tommy. Iâm going to change your diaper.â
âButâŠIâŠâ Heâs nodding his head. Thereâs a part of him that wonders if heâs doing this because he really does think itâs a good idea, or if he only thinks so because of the milkâs influence on his mind. âYou have to be careful, Sloane. P-please donât make me do anything I donât want to do.â
âRight,â she says. âSorryâŠyouâre right about that. Iâll leave you alone if you want to take care of things yourself.â
âNo, wait⊠Maybe, uh, I could use a hand. If you donât mind.â
âI donât mind at all,â she says.
Moments later, heâs lying on the guest roomâs bed, on a changing mat that Sloaneâs rolled out for him. Perhaps that was another thing Celia picked up for Sloane at some pointâsomething to keep the sheets clean during the necessary diaper changes. Itâs a little weird to have Sloaneâa stranger, and a woman seen as many in The Cradleâstanding between his legs and untaping his dirty diaper, but since coming to California heâs had his diaper changed by so many different faces he canât even remember them all.Â
Maybe sheâs not all that bad, he thinks as she carefully slides a moist baby wipe over his limp manhood. She doesnât make any jokes or commentary at his expenseâshe seems to do everything she can to keep him comfortable and feeling safe.Â
And itâs working.
===
Later, as he drives back towards The Cradleâfresh padding under his bottom nowâhe thinks about that foolish thing he did, once upon a time. Too, he thinks about all the things in his life that lead up to that moment. All the mistakes, second-guesses, betrayals, and perceived slights that would eventually make him think it was a good idea to poop his pants in front of all his co-workers in the hopes of getting a little attention.
Itâs getting harder and harder to recognize the person that he used to be.
âAnd so who am I now?â he asks aloud, to nobody in particular.
HIs thick diaper crinkles beneath him as he hits a bump in the road, though he barely notices.Â
But he wonders if he isnât asking himself the wrong question. The near-constant search for his own identity is exhausting. Just as is the constant search for home and a place where he belongs.
He thinks he might be better served by building the home that he wants to live in, and helping the people that he cares for. And somewhere in that process, heâll just know who he is now.
Heâs going to tell Nikki everything he knows. And then, together, theyâre going to figure out what to do next from the list of the things to do.Â
At the top of that list?
Save Alfie.
And then, save The Cradle from itself.
Forty-Three: Nikkiâs Story, Part 10
Sitting around and waiting for Freya in my cabin, as the world around me gets quieter and darker, gives me time to think. Itâs not something I want to be doingâI think Iâve done far too much thinking on this little excursion as it isâbut Iâm having trouble with just shutting off my brain.
I might be a little homesick, I think.Â
I miss the apartment I share with Alfie. I miss the comfortable contours Iâve worn into my mattress. I miss my favorite travel coffee cup that I use almost every day. I miss the way our TV makes a mildly alarming clicking noise when you first turn it on.Â
I miss the stupid in-jokes that Alfie and I had. The onesâ so obscured by time that we probably couldnât even tell you why we originally found them funny. Like when one of us asks the other if they prefer cake or pie, and the answer is âdonuts.â We still say it, and we still laugh about it, but the hell if I know where that even came from.
I donât miss the concept of âworkâ itself, but I do miss the routine of a normal day. You donât realize how comforting the banality of life is until youâre thrust into a situation where every single moment feels weird and new.
I want to be thinking about paying bills right now, not about diapers.
I want to use a fucking toilet.
In an alternate universe where Alfie never flew across the country to âsaveâ his brother-in-law, we might be chilling in the apartment right now. Just another night. Weâve got some cans of beer in our hands, and Iâm pretending to watch whatever foreign language film Alfieâs got on the TV at the momentâprobably something heâs never seen before himself, read a positive review of once, and bought a Blu-Ray for sight-unseen. Iâll go to bed when Iâm tired enough, blasting the air conditioning in my room because I like both the white noise of it and the arctic temperature it produces. Iâll probably slide my hand between my thighs before drifting to sleep, and Iâll never actually know if I reached climax or if I fell asleep before that happened.Â
Instead, Iâm just waiting in the dark. Wearing a diaper.
I hear the faint sound of footsteps outside, little grinding noises coming from the gravel pathways.
This is her, I just know it.Â
Sure enough, thereâs a light tapping on the door a moment later.
âCome in.â I turn on the small light on the bedside table to create a little more light in the cabin.
As expected, itâs Freya. Sheâs wearing an oversized gray sweatshirtâhood pulled up over her hair. It seems a tad too warm for that, but I think it has less to do with keeping her warm and more to do with helping her look inconspicuous as she traversed across The Cradle. Even in the dark, any bit of light on her red hair would give her away.
Which yields the question: Just who is she trying to avoid?Â
âI hope you donât mind me coming here,â she says.
âI donât,â I say.
âAfter I had dropped off the note, I realized that it probably wouldâve been better to give you an option, you know? I couldâve had you meet me somewhere else, so that if you wanted nothing to do with my request, you couldâve just not come.â
âItâs really okay,â I say. âIâm not upset that youâre here.â
âSo, do you need a change?â she asks, smirking. Itâs a joke, I think.
âN-no.â Though Iâm certainly thinking of the last time I saw her, and the things she did with me.
âHow long have you been in that diaper?â she asks.
âA while,â I shrug. âBut I havenât, uhâŠâ I laugh a little. âThereâs a puddle behind the cabin. Watch your step if you go back there for any reason.â
She laughs. âNoted.â
âIâm going to guess that you didnât come here just because you wanted to check my diaper.â
âYouâre right,â she says. âThough I wouldâve. And, well, the offer is still on the table if you do happen to need one before I leave.â
âIâll take that under consideration,â I say.
âI should probably get to the point,â she says. âThings have been a little strange around here for the last few weeks.â
I say: âStranger than they usually are.â
She chuckles and nods. âTo say the least.â She takes a second to compose herself before starting again: âAlfie being, you know, whisked away like he wasâit didnât sit well with a lot of us.â
âAnd âusâ isâŠâ
âThe Maternal Council,â she says.
I still donât like that name, but I keep that to myself.
Freya continues: âWell, itâs not the entirety of the council. A handful of us. There are some who refuse to question anything that Mother or Mirabelle say or doâand we know better than to let them in on these conversations.â
âIngrid?â I ask. I know absolutely nothing about whoever that is, but the name is stuck in my mindâsomeone that Tess had called out earlier for being âprickly.â
Freya laughs. âDo you know her?â
âWe havenât met. Iâve only heard of her.â
âThen her reputation precedes her,â she says. âYesâŠsheâs one of the council members that we leave out of these conversations. Sheâs the type whoâd run to Mirabelle in a heartbeat and tattle on the rest of us who dare question âMotherâs divine judgment.ââ
âLetâs say she did do that,â I say. âHow bad would that be?â
Freya shrugs. âNo idea. Thereâs no precedent for that, you know? Weâve never had an issue that the Maternal Council was divided on before. Thereâre others, like Ingrid, who have been vocal about the fact that whatever has happened to Alfie is none of our concern.â
âHrm.â It annoys me to hear that.
âItâs a new world,â she says. âOne where a few of us have to be very careful of who we talk to, where we talk, and what we say.â
Kelly had mentioned some of this to me earlier, when she was changing my diaper. Changing my diaperâitâll never not seem absurd to even think those words.
âAnd so what now?â I ask. âI mean, itâs good that some of you are talking about the more questionable aspects of this place. But, like, do you have a plan for what youâre going to do about it yet?â
âNo,â Freya says, looking down. She looks disappointed.
Maybe my question was a little harsher than I meant for it to be. âSorry, I didnât mean it, likeâŠâ
âItâs okay,â she says. âI get itâyou want your friend back. And we want answers. Thereâs no doubt that we have to do something. But weâve only just started to talk about it.â
âI get that.â
âThatâs why I wanted to talk to you,â she says. âI think what you want aligns with what we want. Maybe we can all work together.â
Itâs a good idea, Iâll give her that. But Iâm also not exactly the âworks well with othersâ type.Â
Well⊠Maybe there was a time when that was more true, but this excursion to the west coast has me reconsidering that. Tommy. Celia. Sloane. Weâve all been working together so far, and Iâm probably better off for it.
âI have some people Iâve been working with too,â I say. âSome on The Cradle and some outside of it.â
âYou trust them?â she asks.
âSo far,â I say. If Freya asks, I donât think Iâll be naming names. Nobody here is prepared to hear Sloanâs name being mentioned when talking about allies.
âThatâs good to know,â Freya says. She, thankfully, leaves it at that. âSo youâd be interested in meeting with us, then?â
âOf course.â
âI was hoping youâd say that,â she says. âWeâll be meeting tomorrow night.â
âWhere?â I ask.
âWell, finding places in The Cradle that are safe from curious eyes and ears is tough, but I think I might know a place.â
âHm?â
âHere?â Freya asks.
âMy cabin?â
âItâs in a good areaâa little less foot traffic than others, especially at night. Plus, youâre just about as far from Mirabelle and the farmhouse as we can get.â
âSo, was this the plan all along?â I ask, cracking a smile. âGive me the advantageous cabin in the hopes that Iâd later be okay with hosting a meeting for the rebellion?â
She laughs. âRebellionâI like that. Well, I wasnât the one in charge of choosing where youâd stay. But I find it hard to believe that Mirabelle wouldnât have wanted to keep you closerâso maybe someone else had a hand in that.â
âHere is fine,â I say.
âPerfect. Then youâll see meâand some other friends tomorrow. Itâll probably be late at nightâmake sure you get plenty of rest.â
I shrug. I doubt Iâll be sleeping much tonight, and Iâve already committed myself to another day with Tess in the garden tomorrow. Iâll probably be pretty exhausted by this time tomorrow. Oh well.
âAre you sure you donât need a diaper change before I go?â she asks, her lips smirking again.
I have little desire to use my diaper, but her question almost makes me wish I felt differently. A little pre-bedtime attention between my legsâlike the kind she gave me the last time she changed meâdoesnât sound that bad right now.
âStill dry,â I shrug.
âAh well. Maybe tomorrow night?â
I laugh. âYeahâŠweâll see.â
âGood night, Nikki.â
âGood night, Freya.â
===
The next morning, as I drag my weary body towards the dining hall for some coffee, I spot Tommy charging towards me with a determined look on his face. He practically bowls me over, and I sidestep him to avoid the both of us tumbling over.
âH-hey,â he says, trying to catch his breath. âSorry, I justâŠI went to your cabin this morning, but I mustâve just missed you.â
âSo youâve been chasing after me?â I ask. âWhatâs the emergency?â
âI, uhâŠâ He pauses, wheezing for a moment.
âJust take a second,â I say. âIâm not going anywhere.â
âYesterday, I went to town. Like we said, you know? I went and talked to Celia and Sloane. Harriet Tuller. WeâŠâ
âStop,â I say, looking around us.Â
I donât want to be paranoid, but if Freya and her Maternal Council friends are being cautious of everyone, it makes me think that I should be too.
âWh-what? I thought you wanted to know aboutâŠâ
âWe should talk about this later,â I say. âSomewhere else.â
âAh, right,â Tommy says, finally grasping what Iâm not saying aloud.
âYou should come over to my cabin tonight.â
I watch as his cheeks redden a little. âOh, uhâŠâ
I roll my eyes. âDonât get too excited. Weâre going to talk business. And you wonât be the only guest.â
âWho else isâŠâ
I wave my hand at him to signal that itâs something I wonât be talking about. âLate night tonight. Just come.â
âHow late?â
âI donât know. JustâŠwhenever you can make it over, I guess. The later the better.â Iâm hoping I donât have to spell out that he needs to not be spotted by anyone else.
He nods. âRight. Iâll be there.â
âGood.â
Thereâs excitement on his face. I mean, I guess he always looks a little excitedâheâs just that kind of guy. But more excited than usual, maybe. I wonder if he got some especially important news from his research on Harriet Tuller. Or, maybe, heâs just excited that it feels like people are finally starting to band together and do something for Alfie.
If itâs the latter, I get. Iâm excited too.
===
I think, maybe, Iâve lost a little bit of weight since coming to The Cradle. Not much, but enough that my shirt suddenly feels a little bigger. Iâm not that surprised, honestlyâIâm snacking around less. Drinking a lot less. And even when I eat at The Cradle, I find myself eating less than I usually do, because every bite just reminds me that every bit of food I consume could eventually end up in my diaper.Â
Itâs a weird way to dietâprobably not one Iâd recommend to anyone else. Too, I know weâre supposed to feel good about losing weightâespecially us of the female persuasionâbut I was happy with where I was before I came here. I liked my curves. I like when someone I end up in bed with appreciates having a little something extra to hold on to.
I spend my walk to the gardens daydreaming about all the things Iâm going to eat when I get home. A cheeseburger. A big ass chimichanga from the place over on the corner by our apartment. The barbecue pork pizza from Razzoâs. A six-pack of cheap beer and a bag of pretzels.
And Iâll happily suck the cock of any man willing to sit by my side and feed me those things so I donât have to move my arms.
Thereâs a little pang of discomfort in my abdomen. Despite my best efforts, sooner or laterâand probably soonerâmy bowels are going to be asking for release again. Iâm going to try my hardest to make that a later-me problem, but that might be out of my hands.Â
âYou alright?â Tess asks me an hour or two later in the garden, when Iâm dragging a heavy sack of fertilizer off of the wheelbarrow.Â
âHrm?â
âYou seemâŠoff,â she says with a shrug.Â
âOh. Am I not working hard enough, orâŠ?â
âNo, no, youâre doing great,â she says, giving me a warm and reassuring smile. âAs usual, youâre doing more than everyone else. You just seem a little distant today, thatâs all. More so than usual.â
âAh, well⊠Iâve got a lot on my mind, I guess.â
And thatâs true. Future meetings with the Maternal Council. The future meals Iâm going to eat when Iâm out of this place. Future diapers that might need to get changed because Iâm not able to just use a toilet like Iâd want to.
âAnything you want to talk about?â she asks.
I snortâthe habitual sort that I do without even thinking about first. âOh, probably not.â
She laughs. âFair enough. Well, just so you know, you can talk to me about anything if you want to.â
âThanks,â I sayâa word that never feels like it means much of anything in a context like this. At best, itâs: âIâm acknowledging your offer, but Iâm not interested. Hereâs the easiest, most polite way of saying as much.â
When I get back to work, I wonder if I should talk to Tess about the Alfie situation. Maybe sheâd be another good ally to have in the days to come.Â
Hell, I wonder if Tess would feel insulted ifâlater, when everything was said and done and Alfie was headed back to the east coast with meâif she would feel insulted that I didnât ask her to help.
She doesnât seem like that kind of person to me. But maybe there are limits to my human understanding. Maybe Iâm only really good at analyzing strangers when theyâre in a bar.
Tomorrow, perhaps. Iâll see how tonight goes with the Maternal Council ladies and Tommy. If we can get some sort of plan together, Tess is someone I can probably rely on for a handâbut I wouldnât want to involve her until thereâs a plan in place.
And, well, Iâm already a little worried about this meeting tonight for that reason. Committees and meetings, in general, have always been the bane of productivity in my opinion. With so many cooks in the kitchen, itâs going to be hard to agree on details. Thereâs going to be compromises. Thereâs going to be a need for even more meetings later. The thought of that makes me queasy. We donât need deliberationâwe need action.Â
I already see myself leaving the meeting tonight, frustrated by the lack of forward momentum, and feeling like Iâm better off just doing things myself. Which will be even worse of a thing to do at that point, because Iâll have been in a room with other people who will have already stated their displeasure in doing things however I want to do them.Â
Itâs a mess, Iâm realizing. Itâs already a mess.
A mess. Just like a dirty diaper. Just like the dirty diaper that Iâm currently downwind of.
OrâŠ
Please, donât let that be me.
Thatâs how crazy I feel at the momentâthat I can momentarily believe that Iâm capable of accidentally crapping my diaper like every other big baby around here. Even though Iâm not drinking the milk. Like, I donât know, milk vapors in the air have seeped into my skin or something, and now Iâm poisoned by it whether I like it or not.
No, itâs not me. Thereâs no mushy bulge in my diaper. I sigh with relief, realizing itâs just someone else.Â
In fact, it would seem to be Tess, who is just a few feet away from me, carrying a shovel. She spots me looking at her, and her cheeks blush a little.
âGuilty,â she says with a little shrug. âI usually donât think about it too much, but having a new face around is making me a little self-conscious. S-sorry if I donât smell like a flower right nowâŠâ
âOh, itâsâŠfine,â I say. âShit happens.â
She laughs, and I canât help but snort myselfâthat was an accidental pun.Â
Now Iâm thinking about poop, of all things, and my bowels are calling out to me again.Â
I have this thoughtâand it seems a little silly at first, but it makes a little more sense every second that I dwell on it. If I have to poop at some point anywayâeven if itâs in a diaperâwhy not now? Why not right here, when I wonât be the only one walking around with a swampy diaper?
Maybe itâd be, like, a sign of solidarity? In fact, Iâm pretty sure this is what Tess proposed the last time I was working on the garden and on the verge of messing myselfâthe two of us filling our diapers up together. Well, regardless of whatever I thought the last time this came up, it seems like a good idea now. Experiences like this might be what proves Tess to be a reliable ally when the time comes to blow this place up and take back Alfie.
OrâŠwhatever it is we end up doing about that.
âI, uhâŠactuallyâŠâ I want to tell Tess that Iâm going to join her in needing a diaper change, but the words are harder to get out than Iâd like. Makes sense, really. We as adults donât often have to say to other adults: âIâm going to poop my pants too.â
âWhatâs that now?â she asks.
I sigh, figuring I should just actually say it: âI, uh, am going to need a diaper change myself here in a moment tooâŠâ
She smirks. âOh!â
I guess Iâm doing this now.Â
But how do IâŠ
The last time I messed myself, it practically happened on its own because I had waited way too long. Despite having to go, the feeling is nowhere close to being as urgent. In other words: this isnât going to happen without me making it happen.
With an audience, no less. Tess is trying to pretend like sheâs not watching me, and that sheâs busying herself with other things, but I keep seeing her curious eyes glancing in my direction.
âDo youâŠneed some privacy?â she asks. She likely remembers the last time, and how I had to run away before doing my dirty deed.
âOh, no, itâs fine⊠I just need to, uhâŠâ
Just do it. Just get it over with.
My body goes into a semi-autopilot mode as I let sheer instinct take over.Â
I squat a little, simultaneously relaxing the muscles in my ass while pushing a little.
Maybe, for just a moment or two, Iâm the toddler I was 20-some years ago. Maybe this is the infantile headspace these other babies get into much easier when they drink their precious milk. Because Iâm barely thinking about it as I do itâthis just seems like the right and natural way to do this.
Here it comes.
Itâs happening.
And thereâs Tess, taking another little glance at me while she pretends to do something else. Does she like this? Or is it just curiosityâthe same feeling that triggers when you pass an accident on the side of the highway and you need to take a look, even though you know itâs not something you really ought to be seeing.
Iâm messing myself. This is not like the first time. Iâm squatting here, physically pushing the contents of my bowels into this diaper. Iâm feeling the diaper expanding under my shorts. Wafts of toxic airâan altogether different sort of putrid odor than the one Tess had made a few minutes agoâare already meeting my nose.
I think Iâm done, but thereâs more in there. I push a little harder. I let out a pathetic sounding grunt as I doâa girlish squeak that Alfie would probably try to emulate and mock for the next six months if he were here.
Fuck, I donât care. I wish he were here right now.
âA tough one, huh?â Tess saysâher voice seeming a little distant to me as I focus on the deed at hand.
âUhmâŠâ
âItâs been a while since thatâs happened to me,â she says. âMaybe itâs the milk, you know? I never have a problem getting it all out now. Hell, most of the time, I donât even know it's happening until Iâm done. Give it some timeâI bet the same will happen to you.â
I realize Iâm holding my breath, and I finally release itâjust as I finish depositing the last of my load into my diaper. Then, I laugh a little as I finally process what Tess just said to me. No, I donât think Iâll ever just be walking around, mindlessly pooping myself. Or so Iâd like to hope.
âFeel better?â she asks.
I hate that I do. âYeah.â
âMaybe we should go get these stinky bottoms taken care of, huh?â
I didnât really think about the âchangingâ part when I squatted down out of solidarity and friendship. Another diaper change. Another person manhandling my legs and cleaning my own filth off my skin when I could easily be doing it myself. Another humiliating trip to the changing table. And this time, with a friend!
âYeah,â I say, sighing. âLetâs.â
===
Iâm on my back, legs up in the air, and the dirty diaper is pulled openâfurther filling the cabin with the stench of my mess. Kelly is standing at the end of the changing table opposite my head with a baby wipe in her hand.
Iâm thankful that itâs Kelly again, and that someone else from the Maternal Councilâs first impression of me isnât my smelly ass. Iâm also thankful that Tess insisted that I get myself changed first. I donât think I could stand waiting around outside longer in this dirty diaper than I have to, only to come into the cabin and be changed in the remnants of Tessâs own stink.
Selfish, I guess. But Iâd argue that sheâs used to it, and Iâm not.
âBack so soon?â Kelly says with a smirk.
I hate to reuse the same joke so soon, but Kelly wasnât there the first time I used it: âShit happens.â
She laughs a little. âSo true. But thatâs okay. Thatâs what Iâm here for.â
âSure.â
âIâll, uh, be seeing you tonight?â she asks.
I nod, though I feel my cheeks warming. All I can imagine is her sitting in my cabin, smiling at me while everyone's talking because sheâs thinking about how the two other times sheâs seen me, Iâve had this disgusting mess in my diaper.
Logically, I don't think thatâs actually going to happen. But that doesnât mean itâs not a fear of mine.
âTess?â Kelly asks. âIs she in the loop?â
âNot yet,â I say.Â
Kelly nods. âUnderstood. I just want to know what I should or shouldnât say around her.â
âNothing for now,â I say. âBut, uhm, do you know Tess well?â
She shrugs. âNot especially well. Weâre friendly, though. If youâre helping her out on the farm, you probably know her better than I do.â
Fair enough. I donât even bother asking Kellyâs opinion on whether or not she trusts Tess.
âYou seem a little more at ease today than you did last time I was changing your diaper,â she says, changing the subject.
âHrm.â Itâs definitely not because Iâm warming up to it. If anything, itâs that Iâm just distracted by too many other things right now. Probably for the best.
ThoughâI dunnoâI feel like I kind of get the appeal of being the baby. Just lying here while someone else pampers youâin just about every meaning of that word. I still donât think that life is for me, but maybe Iâm a little less judgmental of anyone else who loves it.Â
Tommy and Alfie included.
âAlmost done,â Kelly says in her chipper tone.
I make the mistake of peering through my legs, catching a glimpse of a glob of brown on the baby wipe sheâs currently holding. It makes me sick to my stomach. Humiliating.
I keep my eyes closed for the duration of the change.
===
Most of the day teeters on the edge of ânormalcy,â or as normal as a day at The Cradle ever gets. I help Tess in the garden. I eat some food at the dining hall. I take a nice long walk through the grounds as the sun begins to set.Â
But itâs not actually ânormal.â None of it is, nor should it ever be. Alfieâs still missing. This place still has far too many secrets. I refuse to let myself become complacent. I refuse to acknowledge âroutineâ while Iâm here.
I feel sick to my stomach at the thought of how much time I feel like Iâve wasted since I got here. I know it makes sense to âplay the gameâ and try to blend in, or to pretend that I actually want to be in here. I should just be busting down the door to that weird cabin over by the farmhouse right now. If Alfieâs not actually in there, Iâll just bust down every door until I do find him.
The more I think about it, the worse my mood gets. By the time the sun has vanished over the horizon, and The Cradle starts winding down for the day, Iâm in a downright awful mood.Â
When I have to piss again, I pull down my shorts outside, behind my cabin, rip my diaper off completely, and piss on the groundâat right about the same spot I did the last time.
Iâll âplay the gameâ again tomorrow, I decide. Iâm taking a break for now.
I wipe myself off with the diaper before standing up and hiking my shorts up. They obviously fit a little looser without the diaper, but they seem to fit even a little looser than they used to before I came to California too.Â
âSuch a rebellious little girl,â a voice from somewhere behind me says in a cheeky tone. âI guess every toddler reaches an age when they think theyâre bigger than they really are.â
Itâs Freya. My cheeks glow a little, unsure if Iâve just been caught peeing on the ground or not.
âI was born a bitter adult woman,â I say. âOr so Iâve been told.â
Freya laughs, stepping out of the darkness of the trees with a smile on her face. âI believe that.â
âDid you just watch meâŠâ
âMaybe,â she shrugs.
âI hope you enjoyed the show,â I say sarcastically.
âIâve seen worse.â
I snort. âAre you flirting with me?â
âIâm enjoying adult banter,â she says. âYouâd be surprised how little of that there is around here.â
I snort again. âNo, I donât think Iâd be surprised at all.â
âI didnât mean to creep up on you,â she says. âI know Iâm probably a little earlier than you expected.â
âItâs fine,â I say. âYouâre just that eager to spend time with me?â
Something like that,â she says with a little shrug. âLike I saidâadult conversations are sometimes hard to come by here. You remind me of, uh, friends I used to have.â
âTheyâre not your friends any more?â Iâm walking around the cabin to the door, and she follows behind me.
âYou sacrifice a lot of yourself when you commit to staying here,â she says. âFriends, family, jobs, hobbies. Thereâs a lot I walked away from. And I doubt most of those things would still be there if I ever went back.â
She follows me into the cabin, and we both take a seat atop my bed. What I wouldn't give for a couch or a chair.
âYou ever think youâll leave here?â I ask.
âWhen I first came here, I was certain that Iâd see it through to the end, yes.â
I laugh. âYou sound less sure of that now.â
âWell⊠Recent events have me reconsidering whether or not this is the utopia I once believed it was.â
âSomeday, Alfie will laugh when he learns he inadvertently ruined utopia.â
âNo, no,â she says. âI donât think it was him.â
âThen what was it?â
âYou,â she says with a shrug. âEven the first time I met youâdirty diaper and allâI just knew you were too stubborn, too feisty, to be controlled by this place. I was, like: âThis girl is going to set this place on fire.ââ
I donât know how I should take that, but Iâm choosing to take it as a compliment.Â
===
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Interlude 7: Maxine Daydreams About What Could Be
âOne, twoâone, two, three, fourâŠâ
Other Mike lays on a thick groove with his bass, and Buck joins in a moment later with a rhythm that seems to lean on the hi hat a bit. Lee hammers out a few chords on their guitarâsomething kind of springy and jangly. Leeâs a relatively new addition to the band, but they seem to already be fitting in with the rest of the band better than whoever the last guitarist was.
Ash hangs back for a moment, keeping a good three feet from her microphone. She almost looks uninterestedâlike she doesnât even realize where she is or what sheâs doing. Her mind is somewhere else completely. But then, she seems to hit an invisible switch, and a playful smirk spreads across her face. She takes two long strides towards the microphone and grabs it with both hands, pulling it and the stand itâs on towards her mouth. Her eyes are closed and she takes a deep breath. When she releases it, it comes out in the form of words.
âYooooouuuuu,â she bellows, âmight as well just get over itâŠâ
The song is called âRacecar Bed,â and Ash says it has something to do with her parentsâ divorce. Sometimes Maxine thinks she understands how the lyrics relate to that, but sometimes sheâs still not entirely sure.
She sits on a metal folding chair on the far end of the rehearsal spaceâa small detached garage-cum-studio that Other Mike made arrangements for. He knows the owners of the house the garage belongs to, maybe? This, sheâs decided, is her favorite place to beâsitting in this garage while the band rocks and Ash seems to be singing directly at herâan audience of one.
Sometimes, Maxine feels like sheâs in the band herself. Sheâs friendly with everyone in the group. Sheâs there for every rehearsal and every performanceâeither on campus or at the local dive-y club, Merengue. Also, since she shared some of her poetry with Ash, Ash has been hounding her to write some songs for the bandâeven inviting her to join in vocal duties. Maxine has been giving it some serious consideration, though sheâs still a little apprehensive.
The band is no longer called Snowball Fight. They were briefly Moist! Moist! Moist!, but Other Mike made a very strong argument about how it didnât really fit the âvibeâ of the bandâs songs. Currently, theyâre called Pet House, a name that Maxine pitched after a drunken conversation about the Beach Boys that nobody really remembers the details of anymore.Â
âSee, I donât like that thing you do in the bridge,â Ash says to Buck, causing the music to come to an abrupt stop.Â
Buck shrugs. âOkay? What do you want instead?â
âSomething, likeâŠâ She sighs and looks to Lee. âDo you know what Iâm saying?â
âI think,â Lee says. âMaybeâŠmore snare? Less kick drum?â
âYes,â Ash says, her finger wagging back at Buck again. âSomething like that.â
Buck shrugs again. âYeah, alright. Wanna take it from the top again? OrâŠâ
âLetâs take a break,â Other Mike says. âI gotta piss.â Maxine still doesnât know who the âoriginalâ Mike was, but she continues to call him âOther Mikeâ like everyone else does. Thatâs just his name.
âIâm gonna get some fresh air,â Ash says. She nods towards Maxine with her chin. âYou coming?â
âAbsolutely,â Maxine says, her mouth spread into a girlish grin as she springs up from her chair.
âFresh airâ is code for vaping outside in the alley, and making out a little bit, something that neither Maxine or Ash can ever seem to get enough of. Moments after rounding the corner from the front of the garage into the alley, Maxineâs pinned against the brick wall, Ash pushing her warm lips against hers.Â
âYou sound good today, Mommy,â Maxine says softly into Ashâs ear.Â
âMommyâ is an interesting word between the two of them, one that seems to have taken on its own meaning within their relationship as of late. Maxine used to mean it a little more literallyâactually imagining Ash as someone who could make her wear a diaper or suck her thumb. She does still imagine this from time to time, though when she uses the term now, itâs more of a cute and intimate moniker. An affectionate little in-joke between the two of themâeven if Ash probably has no idea how literal Maxine has meant the name to be at times.
Ash is Mommy. Sheâs strong. Sheâs caring and supportive. Sheâs the supportive older sister Maxineâs never had. The attentive mother sheâs never had. And, on top of all that, the greatest kisser sheâs ever known.
âItâs hard sometimes,â Ash says, pulling away from Maxineâs body and pulling her vape out of the pocket of her cardigan. âI see you sitting there, watching me as I sing, and all I can think about is how badly I want to fuck you.â
âOops,â Maxine offers, shrugging while flashing a playful grin.
âYouâre not doing anything later, are you?â Ash asks.
âDonât think so.â
âSoâŠyou want to stay here at the garage with me after everyone else leaves? Iâd like to practice a little more.â
They both snort and laugh, knowing damn well that this was probably not what theyâd be using the garage for.
âShit,â Maxine sighs. âActually, Iâve got to go back to my dorm. Juju went home for a few days, so Iâve got to feed her stupid fish.â
âWaitâso that means you have the dorm room to yourself, right?â
Maxine laughs, not even considering that until now. They were both so used to assuming that her dorm was just not an option, because her roommate would be around. Nothing personal against Juju, of courseâthey just wanted to have the kind of fun that was best enjoyed without an audience.
âYeah, you know what? You should come over to my room tonight. Crash there if you want to.â
âOh, I plan on it,â Ash says. âIâm going to wake up naked in your bed tomorrow.â
âYou better.â
âSo, after rehearsal wraps up weâll just go over to your room?â
âActually,â Maxine says, thinking about it. âI mean, yes, I want you to come over. But the roomâs kind of a mess right now. I should probably tidy up a little bit.â
Ash laughs. âTidy up? Iâm not your mother. I donât care what your room looks like.â
Maxine bites her lip a little at the ânot your motherâ comment, but keeps her comments about it to herself. âMy clothes are all over the place. Youâd think a bomb went off in there.â
âI like all of you,â Ash says. âLet me like the messy part of you too.â
They still used the word âlikeâ when they talked about their feelings. Maxine suspected that they wanted to use the word âloveâ instead, but it just felt too soon for that. Theyâd only been together for a few weeks now. Theyâd been an incredible few weeks, but it still felt too soon to start using lofty l-words.Â
âLook, I really want you to like the messy part of me too,â Maxine says. âAnd Iâd really like to just be messy around you and not worry about cleaning up after myself. But Iâm not there yet, okay? Just let me try to continue the illusion that Iâve got my shit together.â
âSeems kind of silly when youâre telling me exactly what youâre doing,â Ash says, smiling. âButâŠI get it. Maybe Iâm still trying to be the best version of myself around you too.â
âSo then itâs settled. Iâm going to head back to campus and straighten up my room, okay? Text me when yâall are done rocking and youâre on your way over.â
âDeal,â Ash says. âHow about I bring over some food. Pizza and a bottle of coke?â
âItâs like you know the way to my heart is through my stomach.â
âIâve also found that itâs the way into your pants,â Ash giggles.
âOh please,â Maxine says, her cheeks glowing. âAll you have to do is look at me and my legs start to spread.â
âIs that so?â Ash asks. âBecause Iâm looking at you right now.â
âRight. And Iâm wet.â
âLet me seeâŠâ
Without even bothering to look either way down the alley, Ash pulls open the front of Maxineâs pants before slowly sliding her hand down into them. Her fingers carefully explore southward along the silky fabric of the panties until theyâre burrowed between Maxineâs thighs. Maxine gasps, her eyes closing tight and her mouth hanging open as she feels Ashâs hand stroking her pussy through the panties.
âI guess Iâll just have to check later, then,â Ash says, shrugging. âFor now, I should probably-â
Sheâs interrupted by a voice at the end of the alley, nearest to where the garage door is. Itâs Other Mike: âHey, whenever youâre done groping your girlfriend, weâre ready to get started again.â
Ash and Maxine both laugh, though Maxineâs cheeks get a lot more red than Ashâs do.
âGo on,â Ash says to her. âGet out of here and clean your room for me, alright?â
âYes, Mommy.â
===
Itâs a cool, beautiful dayâa welcome change after all the dreary weather they had in the last week. The sunâs out, the breeze feels good, and Maxineâs vulva feels like itâs still tingling from Ashâs touch.Â
Life is good.
She slows her pace a little, knowing sheâs probably got a bit of time yet. Besides, her âcleaningâ will mostly just entail shoving things under her bed or in her closet, and that probably wonât take very long to do.
And then, as happens from time to timeâespecially when her âmommy needsâ get especially strongâshe thinks of Alfie. She hasnât heard from him in a while. A while ago, Alfieâs sister Sam had reached out to her, asking if she had heard from him. It was a little concerning that not even his own sister had heard from him, but she also just assumed that Alfie was enjoying his time over in baby-land, or whatever that place was. She had asked Sam to keep in touch with her and to provide any updates she might have about Alfie. She hadnât gotten any updates yet, but she assumed no news was good news. Sheâd have probably heard if Alfie, like, fell into a ravine or something.
If only he could see her nowâgetting wet at the sight of some cool rock-and-roll chick just looking at her. Heâd probably get a kick out of Maxineâs fantasiesâlike the one where Maxine pisses her pants, and Ash forces her into a pair of thick pampers.
âThis is all your fault, Alf,â she mutters to herself as she strolls through the campus gates. If she hadnât met himâor, perhaps, if he hadnât taken that first trip over to Californiaâsheâd still be years and years away from diapers being something she thinks about on a daily basis.Â
A few minutes later, she spots a familiar face sitting on a bench near a courtyard. Zach. Zachy. The cherubic boy she had so badly wanted to diaper and swaddle on her first week on campus. The boy she had attempted to spank, only to have him cream his pants. Theyâd occasionally make small talk when they drifted past each other on campus now, but for the most part, it was clear that he was avoiding her. She was a little disappointed about this. All dirty fantasies aside, she didnât dislike the guy, and his avoidance made her feel like she was a monster of some kind. She didnât think she did anything wrong, but she wondered if Zach felt differently.
She asked herself: Do I approach him, or leave him be?
No, she couldnât bring herself to just walk past him. She had to at least say hi.
âHi.â
He looks up from the book opened on his lap, an especially thick volume with columns of text and diagrams. Probably something for one of his classes.
âOh, uhâŠhey.â
âSorry,â she says. âHope Iâm not interrupting anything. I just saw you here and wanted to see how youâve been.â
âN-not at all,â he says, his cheeks getting a little pink. Sheâs not sure how she knows, but she has a feeling that heâs thinking about that time they hung out togetherâwhen he made a mess of his pants. âAnd Iâve been alright, thanks. How are you?â
âCanât complain,â she says, shrugging.
âI, uh, saw you last week over at Merengue. You were, uh, hanging out with Pet House.â
âOh shit, yeah, I was there. Damn, I didnât know you were there, or else I wouldâve said hi. How come you didnât say anything to me there?â
âWellâŠyou looked like you were having a good time and stuff, so I just didnât want to bother you.â
She thinks back to the show the band played there last week. Pet House was opening for another local-ish band called Rugby Acresâand after the band had finished their set, she and Ash had spent the rest of the night making out in the corner. Yeah, she probably wouldnât have approached herself either if she was Zach.
âIt was cool of you to come out to the show, though. Whatâd you think?â
âPet House? Uh, pretty good. I liked Snowball Fight, honestly, but I think the band sounds better than it ever has.â
âI think so too.â
âYou and Ashâyouâre, like, dating now?â
âSomething like that,â she says, trying to downplay it a little. Sheâs not even sure why.
âHey, so, Iâve been meaning to talk to you,â he says, scratching at the back of his head a little.
âYeah? Here I am. Whatcha got?â
âI was just, you know, thinking about that time we hung out. Over in your dorm room?â
She laughs. âYeah, I think I know what you mean.â
âI feel like I handled that in the worst way that I couldâve.â
She shrugs. âItâs not a big deal. I meanâŠyou canât control what your body does, right?â
His face turns red. âOhâŠuh, well. That was plenty humiliating too. I meant the part where I ran out of your dorm.â
âOh, right. WellâŠâ She shrugs. âLook, you have no idea how often I want to run away from things. If I had, like, farted in front of you that day you were in my dorm room, I probably wouldâve taken a flying leap out the window.â
He laughs. âYouâre only on the second floor, thoughâŠâ
âSo then I wouldâve started running when I hit the ground. Maybe to the hospital if I had to have jumped through the glass.â
âI was an ass,â he says. âIâŠwish I hadnât left that day.â
âItâs cool,â she says. âSeriously. Donât worry about it.â
âI was just thinking, like, if I hadnât done thatâŠmaybe we couldâve kept hanging out together? Like, maybe if we tried againâŠâ
She thinks she sees where this is going. He feels regret for having bailed out of that scene like he had. He sees nowâor at least he thinks he seesâthat this is probably his only chance at having fun like that. If he had just stuck around, there wouldâve been a lot more fun to have had. So now heâs sticking his foot in the door, so to speak, to stop it from closing completely and locking him out.Â
Yeah, sure, itâs probably embarrassing to blow your load in your pants in front of a girl. But she wouldâve rolled with it. She thinks about the way she pleasured herself in the minutes after he ran from her dorm, in factâstill imagining whatâd it be like to finish that spanking before putting him in a diaper. And, sure, itâs flattering to think about how it sounds like he still thinks about all the possibilities too, and still seems interested.
But, man. Maybe sheâs just looking for messages that arenât there, but it kind of sounds like heâs saying that he wants to reconnect and pick up where they left off. Okay, sure, that does sound nice. But buy a girl a cup of coffee first. She worries that heâs more interested in getting his bottom spanked than he is spending time with her.
Then again, maybe friends with kinky benefits wouldnât be the worst thing?
âWe should hang out sometime,â she says with as casual a shrug as she can muster.
âI-I would like that,â he says, nodding. His cheeks get a little pinker as he pulls the big book in his lap a little closer to his bodyâhis legs closing a little. Is just the thought of hanging out with her again giving him a little stiffy?Â
Sheâs not mad about that. In fact, sheâs almost positive now that diapers are in little Zachyâs future. Because heâs going to be willing to do anything to make up for fleeing previous. Heâll even say that to her: âIâll do anything for you.â
And sheâll say: âLetâs see how true that is. On your back, little boy. Iâm going to show you what I want.â
âCool,â she says to him. âI gotta run right now. But weâll figure something out soon, okay?â
âYeah,â he says, nodding his head, the book being held a little tighter in his lap.
===
Maxine was feeling good when she left the garage. By the time she gets back to her dorm room, sheâs feeling transcendent. Sheâs in love with a beautiful girlâshe can use the big l-word when sheâs talking to herselfâand now sheâs got a potential boy-toy to play around with later.
The dorm room doesnât even seem that bad when she gets inside. The clothes that probably need to be dragged down to the first floor washing machines get stuffed into the bin. Everything that looks potentially wearable again gets tossed into the bottom of her wardrobe. She takes all the random papers, notebooks spread across her desk and puts it into a single unorganized pile. She stuffs all of the garbage into the trash can and ties the bag shut, throwing it near the door to take downstairs later before putting a new bag into the can.Â
Maybe thereâs more she could do. She could straighten things up on the top of her dresser. She could finally hang those new postcards she bought for the purpose of hanging on her wall that she hasnât touched yet. She even considers putting together a new playlist that she leaves playing on her laptop while Ash is overâAsh is always talking about how good Maxineâs taste in music is.
Instead, she rifles through the clothes she just dumped into her wardrobe until she finds the disposable diapers she had hidden away in the same space. She doesnât want to wear themâshe just wants to see them. Feel them. She needs this every once in a while. She likes the feel of the satin plastic-backing of the diapers. She likes the way it crinkles between her fingers. She even likes the way they smell. No, they donât smell like baby diapersâwhich is a shame, she thinksâbut she kind of likes the generic plastic scent that they have.Â
For a moment, she imagines that Zachy is lying on the bed behind herâpants off and legs open wide, waiting to be wrapped up good and tight in some thick padding.Â
Holding the diaper in both of her hands, she spins around, slowly strutting towards the bed, practicing her seductive âmommy-walk.â
âWell, well, well, little boy,â she says. âLooks like someoneâs ready for their diaper, hmm?â
Thereâs no response, of course, though she waits a beat as if giving his phantom presence the chance to reply.
âItâs about time you got treated like the baby you are,â she says. âI think about that little mess you made in your pants the last time you were here. The way youâŠsplooged yourself.â
She hunches over, hands on her knees, as she cackles at herself. Splooged? Who the hell talks like that? Thank god sheâs practicingâthereâd be nothing sexy about talking about how âsploogedâ himself.â
She clears her throat and tries again: âItâs about time you got treated like the baby you are,â she says. That part she likesâsheâs definitely going to use that when heâs here. âYou made such a little mess in your pants the last time you were here, didnât you? I bet that was an uncomfortable walk home, wasnât it?â
Yes, yes. This is good.Â
She continues: âI think itâs just smarter to keep you in diapers. That way, whatever mess you make is contained inside of these bad boys.â
She snorts with laughter again. Bad boys. That probably wonât make the cut either.
She tries again: âNot only do you look cuter in a diaper, but it means that if you have any sticky little accidents again, itâll be even easier for me to clean you up.â
Mmm. She likes that too. She likes implying that he will end up blowing his load in the diaper, just as she likes the idea that sheâd be there to clean him up after it happens.
âThatâs right, little boy,â she says, trying something else out. âYou can do whatever you need to do in this diaper. You can make your sticky little cummies. You can make pee-pees. You can even make a big stinky poopy into it if you want. Iâll clean you up no matter what you do.â
Her clit feels like itâs pulsating. Thereâs something thrilling about saying these dirty things out loud, even if thereâs nobody else to hear her say them. Can she actually see a scenario where Zach poops in a diaper? No, probably notânor would it even be a good idea for something like that to happen in this space she shares with Juju. Hell, sheâs not even sure she wants to wipe the ass of some guy she barely knows in the first place.
But the idea of it is kind of hot. Saying the words out loud is hot, for sure.
Now she kind of wants to run with thatâsaying more dirty things out loud, just to hear herself say them.
âOh, Zachy, what did you do?â She waves her hand in front of her face in an exaggerated way. âDid you just⊠Well, donât even bother denying it, little baby. Someone just made a really stinky mess in their diaper and it certainly wasnât me. Did you do that, huh? Did you go poo-poo in your diaper? Did you make a mess for Mommy to clean up?â
She squeezes the diaper in her hands again, listening to the crinkling it makes as it squishes between her fingers. She holds it up to her face, taking a big drag of the plastic exterior.Â
Sheâs thinking about if this was her diaper now. Sheâs imagining that Ash is in the room with her, and Maxine now has to plead her case for a diaper change.Â
âMommy,â she says. No, thatâs not right. Itâs too ânormalâ sounding. She needs some desperation in her tone.Â
âM-mommyâŠâ Thatâs better. But itâs still missing somethingâŠ
She slides her thumb into her mouth, holding out the other diaper in front of her. âM-mommy? I neethe you tho, uhmâŠchangth meâŠâ
Oh yeah. Thatâs it. Thatâs perfect.Â
Fuck. She canât believe sheâs never done this before. Itâs one thing to try and imagine these things happening. But acting them outâsaying these dirty things out loudâis absolutely hitting the spot right now.
What else would be fun to say aloud? She pulls her thumb from her mouth, letting it slide down her side towards her thighs.
âMommyâŠI went pee-pee.â
âIâŠpeed in my diapey.â
Not bad. Sheâs getting a feel for the baby-talk, finding the right balance between helpless child and humiliated adult.
âMommy, ch-change my diaper pwease? I went potties againâŠâ
Sheâs a little wet again. These poor panties of hersâhow many times is she going to make them moist today? Not that sheâs complaining much. She wouldnât mind if the first thing Ash said to her when she came by the room later was something like âBabe, I can smell your damp panties out in the fucking hallway.â
Ugh. Sheâd fucking melt if that happened.
She clutches the diaper tightly against her chest as she slips her other hand down the front of her pants. She probably shouldnât be doing this right nowâsheâd be better off saving all this energy for Ash, wouldnât she?
Iâll just touch myself a little, she thinks. Thatâs not hurting anyone.
Less than a minute later, sheâs collapsed on top of the bed, on her back. Her legs are spread wide. The diaper is still being clutched against her body with one hand, while the other is plunged into her unzipped pants. Her back has a little arch in it as she gazes up at the ceiling, her mouth wide open.
She wishes she could say something humiliating in-character as she does. Something about how sheâs a filthy little baby. Maybe sheâd beg for a good spanking. But all she can manage to get out of her mouth is: âF-fuckâŠâ
She hears something in the background. A noise in the hallway? It might as well be on another fucking planet. She just canât bring herself to care right now. All that matters is this orgasm sheâs working towards while holding onto the diaper tightly.
Come onâŠ
Not much longer nowâŠ
But then she hears the noise again, and realizes whatâs happening.Â
Someone is knocking on the door.Â
Who the hellâŠ
It seems too early for it to be Ash. And Juju wouldnât knock on her own door. SoâŠitâs probably someone else. Fine. Whatever. Sheâll just pretend like sheâs not home. Whoever it isâwhatever they wantâcan wait until later.
Her fingers remain on her clit, stroking it in circular motions. Her eyes are closed tight again. Sheâs imagining Ash standing above her, looking down and shaking her head in a condescending sort of way.Â
âAnd just what am I going to do with you?â Ash says.
Yes, thatâs perfect. Itâs like she can actually hear Ash saying those words to her.
WaitâŠ
She opens her eyes. Either sheâs tripping really hardâwhich she shouldnât be, considering that she hasnât smoked anything yet todayâor Ash really is standing at the side of her bed, watching her touch herself while holding a diaper.
âHi,â Ash says. âI didnât mean to interrupt anythingâŠâ
===
Thereâs a moment where Maxine is so overwhelmed with whatâs happening in this moment that she simply short circuits. Beyond sitting straight up and taking her hand out of her still-open pants, all she can do is stare at Ash in disbelief.
âSorry,â Ash says. âMaybe I shouldnât have let myself in, but I didnât think youâd mind and, uh⊠Well, I didnât think youâd be busy.â
âIâŠuhâŠâ
âDonât get me wrong,â Ash says. âIâm not mad that I caught you like this.â
Maxine looks down at the diaper that sheâs still tightly gripping in her hand. She looks up at Ashâs face, observing the fact that Ash is looking at it too.
âIs that aâŠdiaper?â Ash asks.
âUhmâŠâ
Ash chuckles. âLook, just so you know? Iâm not judging you or anything. Iâm just curious.â
Maxineâs face feels way too warm. She opens her mouth, though she still has no idea what sheâs supposed to say. How does she defend herself? How does she spin this so she doesnât look like a crazy person who loves diapers?
âIâŠuhmâŠâ The best she can come up with is: âItâs not what it looks like.â
Ash laughs again. âThatâs a shame. Because, to me, it looks like the little babyâs got herself a diaper. Is that what you like? You can tell me.â
Maxine considers denying this, but then she sees that big smile on Ashâs face.Â
âYes.â
âMm,â Ash moans, slowly rolling into bed alongside Maxine. âIâm going to want to hear all about that.â
âYeah?â
âOh, for sure. But thereâs something else we need to do first?â
âWh-whatâs that?â
âHave you cum yet?â
âNo.â
âLetâs take care of that, then. Then I want to hear everything.â
And now Ashâs hand is down inside of her panties where hers was just a moment ago.Â
Alfie, Maxine thinks to herself, I hope youâre having as good of a time right now as I am.
Forty-Two: Nikkiâs Story, Part 9
I have a theory. I suspect that at this momentâwaddling out of the woods and down a small hill to get onto the trail again, while wearing a messy diaperâI am closer to an actual baby than any of the weirdos who call The Cradle their home.
See, they like this. They drink this milk and they think that it puts them in touch with their inner-baby. They poop and piss their pants and get all sorts of delight out of it. âLook at me,â they say, âIâm a baby!â
Iâm not a mother, and I donât spend a lot of time around babies. But I still know a little about them from just being a citizen of the world. Babies and little kids are everywhere. You go to the store, and there they are. You walk down the street, and there they are. And donât forget about all the TV shows and movies about parenthood. Iâd like to think that everybody has some basic understanding of a babyâs needs just on account of being exposed to them on a regular basis.
Whatâs one of the first things someone says when a baby starts crying?
âDo they need to be changed?â
And do you know why people ask that? Because babies donât like sitting in their own mess. They donât want to be in dirty diapers. They want to be cleaned. They want to be dry.Â
These peopleâthese big babies bopping around The Cradleâthey happily fill the back of their pants all day long, laughing with each other about how smelly they are.
Iâm a baby. Iâm the one with an enormous frown on my face. Iâm the one grumbling under my breath as I take careful steps with my legs spread apart while I walk, so as to not further disturb the mushy mound in my diaper. Iâm the one who wants to get this fucking diaper off my ass more than Iâve ever wanted anything in my entire life.
I hate this.Â
There was this brief moment where I thought that maybe I was wrong about all of it. Just after I had fallen on my ass in the woods, and having felt my mess spread throughout my diaper, I laughed at how ridiculous all of this was. I had this thought, like, âWell, this is itâthe stupidest moment of your entire life.â Itâs like hitting rock-bottom, you know? Where else does one even go from there? And it was almost liberating. I was so close to coming around on it completely. Like: âWell, I might as well embrace it. Iâm a baby now.â
And then I stood up again, and felt the weight in the back of my diaper shift a bitâthe diaper sagging between my legs. And I said: âFuck this.â
So, whatever. If someone else wants to have a blast in their dirty diapers, they can go right ahead and do that. But theyâre not as infantile as they think they are.
And itâs definitely not for me.
I have no idea what the hell Iâm supposed to do right now. Where do I go? Do I just stumble up to some âMommyâ and tell her to change me?
I donât need to be changed. Just give me a shower. Give me a hose and Iâll just spray myself down.
âI didnât expect to see you like this so soon,â someone behind me says.
I sigh. The voice is familiar, but my head is swirling a little too much for me to place it. It just figures though, doesnât it? This embarrassing thing happens to me and then, of course, someone has to witness it happening and then make some commentary about it.
I turn around, and see that itâs Mirabelle. I donât think there wouldâve been anyone that Iâd be happy to seeâexcept, maybe, Freyaâbut Mirabelle feels especially disappointing.Â
âI guess thatâs the, uh, milk, huh?â I ask, gritting my teeth a little. I donât know if sheâll buy that or not. If Freya could see through my milk-fakery, Iâd assume that Mirabelleâthe big cheese around hereâwould be able to as well.Â
But Iâll take my chances and let her call my bluff.
âIs the first time that you, uhmâŠâ
âY-yes,â I say, feeling my cheeks warming.
She smiles, and her head tilts a little to the sideâa very parental look.Â
She has yet to be anything other than warm and friendly towards me. But I donât trust her, and the longer Iâm at The Cradle, the less I trust her. Somethingâs happened to Alfieâsomething that nobody else seems to know anything about. But she knows, though isnât sharing any details.
âWhat do you think?â she asks.Â
I snort. âWhat do I think?â
âDo you like the way it feels, Nikki? Do you feel yourself warming to the life that we have here?â
It takes a surprising amount of effort to prevent myself from saying what I want to say. If Iâm âplaying the game,â then this is the boss at the very end of it.Â
âUh, maybe,â I say.Â
âYou were off to get yourself changed, I hope,â Mirabelle asks, her nose scrunching a little.Â
Yeah, I smell myself too. Itâs foul.
âThatâs the plan,â I say.Â
âWell I have a few minutes,â she says, shrugging. âIf youâd like, Iâd be happy to take you someplace and take care of that dirty diaper of yours.â
âIâŠâ Iâm not sure what to say here. I do need a change, and I had already assumed that Iâd have to allow someone else to do it, whether I liked it or not. But I donât really want to spend any more time than I have to with Mirabelleâand I especially donât need her to be the one wiping my dirty ass.Â
âWhy donât you follow me, sweetie. I know a place close by where we can get you all cleaned up.â
I just donât get her. Her body language and tone make her seem so genuine. She has this incredible aura around her. I can almost see myself running over to her and grabbing her hand like I was a little girlâletting her tow me along to wherever she thinks we should go.
âI appreciate it,â I say. âBut I was just going to goâŠover there.â I point in the direction I was walking before Mirabelle found me, though I donât really know whatâs in that directionânor could I say why going âover thereâ was something that prohibited her from changing me.
She smiles again in that patient, and possibly a little condescending, way and nods. âOf course, dear. You are going to get yourself changed though, yes?â
âYes,â I say.
âWell, my offer for some assistance will still stand, okay? Should you need me to help you get changedâor anything elseâyou just come find me, yes?â
âSure.â I start to turn away, but remember something else I wanted to say to her: âWaitâhold on.ââ
âYes?â
âAlfie,â I say. âYou said the other day that youâd let me see Alfie, but you just needed a day or two? And, well, I think weâre at about that now, arenât we?â
Thereâs a little bit of surprise on Mirabelleâs faceâlike she either forgot she made such a promise, or she was hoping that I wouldâve forgotten she said that.Â
âAh, well, thatâs a very good question,â she says, nodding her head. Iâd have to check in and see what his status is and then get back to you. Would you mind if I got back to you on that?â
I sigh, my fists balling up at my sides. If my ass wasnât caked in my own filth right now, Iâd probably have a lot more to say to her, but the urgency of needing to be cleaned is taking precedence.
âY-yeahâŠif you could let me know as soon as possible.â
âOf course,â she says. âI appreciate your understanding. Weâre taking very good care of Alfie, and that means being very selective about external stimuli.â
âIâm his best friend,â I say. If thatâs not an acceptable âexternal stimuli,â then Iâd love to know what is.
âYes, youâre absolutely right,â she says. âLike I said, Iâll get back to you, okay?â
A moment later and Iâm walking again in the direction I was originally headed in, taking wide and cautious strides to avoid making a bigger mess of myself.
Iâm a little surprised that Mirabelle let me go so easily. I thought for sure that she wouldâve insisted on changing me, and Iâd have run out of excuses for why I didnât want her to do that. Maybe she just wasnât in the mood to change a dirty diaper. The thought amuses meâitâs probably the perk of being the closest thing to a boss around here, letting someone else take care of the stinkier problems.Â
I am a little curious if she bought that I was all milked-up or not, though. There was nothing about her attitude towards me that suggested she didnâtâbut her unflinching sunniness, despite her possible misdeeds, has me thinking she could just be a sociopath.Â
===
A few minutes later, I spot another cabin with the Maternal Council symbol on the doorâanother âchanging station,â I guess. I hope.
I canât believe Iâm doing thisâthe last thing I want is for anyone else to see me, or smell me, in this condition. Just the idea of having to go to someone else to take care of this feels like it goes against everything I stand for.
Still, I challenge myself to find a different way to look at this. For my own sanity. Iâm âplaying the game,â sureâblending in with all the other stinky babies around here. But, perhaps thereâs something to be said for the fact that Iâm not the one who has to do the cleaning. That gets to be someone elseâ job. Someone else has to wipe me up and put me in a new diaper, while all I do is lie there. It doesnât really make me feel better, though Iâm pretty sure Iâd rather be the changee than the changer.Â
I give the door a quick rap and wait. I can hear some movement inside. Maybe someone talking.Â
âOne moment please!â a voice says from inside, in an almost sing-song cadence.
Whatâs a few more moments of standing around in my own filth?
Hm.
My mind wanders back to where it was earlierâhow none of these supposed âbabiesâ have the disdain for dirty diapers that a literal infant would.Â
Do you know who likes rolling around in their own shit? Pigs. Or so Iâm toldâIâve never actually been around pigs, as best as I can recall. So that just settles it. The Cradle isnât actually for babiesâitâs for piggies. Dirty little piggies.
The door opens before I can dwell on my new metaphor any longer. A young woman emerges, pushing her messy brownish-red hair out of her face. Her freckled cheeks have a vibrant pink glow to them right now. The first thing she does is take a whiff of the air around me and wrinkle her nose. I roll my eyes, biting my tongue before I say something like âIâm sure your diapers donât smell like cotton candy, missy.â
The girl quickly scrambles away from me and the cabin, pulling at the hem of her powder-blue dress to cover the thick white diaper underneath it. I donât know why sheâs even bothering. Maybe sheâs also new to this place?
âThanks for your patience,â a woman says emerging from the cabin next. The first things I notice about her are her long blonde hair and rather impressive chestâbulging out from the tight white shirt theyâve been stuffed into. Truth be told, Iâm usually more of a butt-girl than I am a boob-girl, but if sheâs going to flaunt those puppies like she is, Iâm not going to stop myself from getting a little lost in her cleavage.
âUh oh,â she says, waving a hand in front of her face. âSomeone made a little boom-boom, huh?â
I resist the urge to call her âCaptain Obviousâ and just nod my head. If nothing else, Iâm grateful for the fact that I donât have to tell her that I pooped myself and need her to change me.
âCome inside, buttercup. Letâs get you cleaned up.â
âUh, sure.â
I follow her inside the cabin and she closes the door behind me. Either all these âchanging stationâ cabins look the same, or Iâve been in this one before. I try to recall where I was when Freya changed my wet diaper, but I find thereâs a lot of empty space in my memories from around that time.Â
âWhy donât you hop onto the changing table, okay?â the woman asks. A moment later, her eyes flutter and she laughs to herself. âSilly meâI didnât even introduce myself, did I? I guess I just assumed all the babies know who I am, but I donât recognize your face. Iâm Kelly.â
âNikki,â I say, waddling towards the changing table.
âNikki,â she repeats, speaking to herself. âIs there another Nikki here?â
I shrug. âNo idea.â
âI just heard that name recently, and Iâm trying to remember why.â
I leave her to her pondering as I propel myself up onto the tableâs soft matt. The odor in here isâŠnot great. Itâs not just me, I donât thinkâthough Iâm certainly contributing. Thereâs other competing scents in here. Baby powder, and a stink that I donât think is mine. Maybe that last girlâs dirty diaper.Â
I spin myself around and lower myself onto the mat, feeling my filthy diaper squish beneath me as I do so. Iâm cringing as I flatten my body out, feeling even grosser than I did a moment ago.
âAh,â the woman says, nodding her head finally. âNikki.â
âThinking of someone else?â I ask.
She laughs. âNo, someone mentioned your name to me just this morning.â
Iâve never been a fan of other people talking about me when Iâm not there. I guess thereâs nothing you can do about it, but it just feels like a loss of control over how people perceive me. Not that I even care about how people perceive most of the timeâbut I still want to be in control of it.
âWho?â I ask.
She smirks at me. âDonât worry your cute little nose. Nobody said anything bad about you.â
I sigh. âButâŠwho?â
âIf you must know, it was Freya. She didnât say muchâjust that she had a, uh, favorable experience with a new member of our community yesterday.â
âHrm.â I feel my cheeks warming.
âItâs a good thing,â she says, gripping the waistband of my shorts and easing them down my thighs. âTrust me, you should hear the way we âmommiesâ talk about the babies we donât like.â
Admittedly, I am a little curious about that. I donât like it when itâs about me, but I do have a little thing for gossip. It might come from the longer, slower nights at the bar when thereâs barely any people around and Iâm looking for something to amuse myself with. Iâll listen in on conversations taking place on the other side of the counter, absorbing all the nasty rumors and drama for people Iâll never meet.Â
Baby gossip. Whatâs that like? Who has the stinkiest diapers? Whoâs the hardest to get to sit still during a diaper change? Who guzzles the most milk?Â
I bet thereâs some good gossip in a place like this. Seeing the way the milk can make people act all loopy, and given that everyone is always being encouraged to be their most real selves, The Cradle probably has a surprising amount of drama. Didnât Tommy say something about that a bit ago? Something about one of Alfieâs roommates sleeping with some semi-famous stranger behind everyoneâs back.
Wild.
The sound of the tape being peeled up from the front of my diaper reminds me of where I am, and whatâs about to happen.
âNow then, letâs see what weâre dealing with in here, stinky,â she says, giving the bottom of my diaper a good pat. I donât care much for being called âstinky,â but the pat to my disgusted diaper triggers some of the same tingling sensations that Freya stumbled into when she changed me last.
Keep it together. Youâre not doing that again. Not with a messy diaper.
âYouâre so tense,â she says.
âThings like this donât usually happen to me,â I say.
She laughs. âIs thisâŠyour first poopy diaper, Nikki?â
âWe really donât have to talk about it,â I say, my face getting even warmer. âI just need a, uh, new diaper so that I can be on my way.â
âThis is a big deal!â she says. âA special moment! Babyâs first poopy!â
I shake my head. âNot exactly a moment I want to remember or celebrate.â
âAw, youâre such a cute little stick in the mud. I guess that rules out me taking a picture of you right now for prosperity?â
âNot if you donât want to see me kick your phone as far as I can into the trees.â
âIâm kidding,â she says. âIâm just trying to loosen you up a little.â
I snort. âWell, threatening to take pictures of me like this isnât going to do the trick.â
âNot really into joking around, huh? Okay, okay, thatâs fair. Thatâs probably a good thing for me to know.â
âSorryâŠâ I sigh. âI donât mean to be standoffish. I just⊠This is all new to me. And I've got a lot on my mind andâŠâ But I donât want to divulge anything else. I donât know who I can trust around hereâeven if theyâre about to have their hands in my soiled diaper.Â
Kellyâs response is simpleâshe leans down, her big breasts briefly resting atop my own chest, and she lays a kiss on my forehead. And without another word, she goes back to my diaper, a little smile on her face.
Itâs an incredibly disarming kiss. It helps to brush away some of the anxiety Iâm feeling. And, well, whenâs the last time someone kissed me like that? JustâŠgave me a loving and reassuring little smooch on the head?
It makes me miss my parents. Well, noâit makes me miss the concept of my parents. The idea of who my parents couldâve been. In a world where my mother kissed me on the forehead once or twice, would I have moved so far away from them? Would I have met Alfie? Would I have ended up on a changing table, smelling my own foul mess?
I intermittently switch between closing my eyes and staring up at the ceiling. Anything to avoid having to watch Kelly wipe my ass clean for me.Â
But I feel it. And I hear the crinkling of the dirty diaper beneath me. I hear the sound of the moist baby wipes being pulled from the package. I hear Kellyâs little âHmâs and âAhâs as she carefully manipulates my legs to get into each and every orifice.
I donât feel that rush, that thrill, that I had when Freya was cleaning me up yesterday. Even when Kelly runs a moist wipe over my vulva, it doesnât quite send positive vibes up my spine. It could be Kelly herself. Nothing personalâsheâs very pretty, and seems to be nice enoughâbut her entire approach to this process is different. Freya had an unmistakably sexually charged energy about her. Kellyâs is more maternal. She wants to clean me up and take care of me, because thatâs who she is and thatâs what I need. Also, it could just be that Iâm a lot less horny now, following the magic Freya performed with her fingers previously. Itâll probably take a good long while before Iâm that horny again. And by that time, Iâd like to think that Iâm anywhere other than here.
Last, but certainly not least, is the possibility that itâs just the nature of my messy âaccident.â Lying here in my own filth probably wonât ever be the sort of thing that turns me on.Â
âAre you okay?â Kelly asks.
âFine,â I mutter, sparing her the complaints about how I donât want to be here.
âWeâre almost done.â
âSo soon?â Iâm surprised that Iâm thinking this, let alone saying it.
She laughs. âShould I have taken my time?â
âI just⊠I thought that was going to take a while. It was a big mess.â
âSweetheart, do you know how many times a day I have to change a dirty diaper? And you might find this hard to believe, but I see far worse than yours. Iâve already seen worse than yours todayâand I bet by the end of it, Iâll have seen even worse than that.â
This is actually a little reassuring. My most humiliating momentâthe most shame Iâve felt in a very, very long timeâis barely even a blip on someone elseâs radar. She might even forget about me, and my mess, midway through changing the next diaper.
And, speaking of: Knock, knock.
Kelly smiles. âMy work is never done, it seems.â She turns to the door and says the exact same thing she said to me when I had knocked, in even the same sing-song tone: âOne moment please!â Then, to me: âAlright, lift up your little bottom for me again.â
One of the rare times my bottom is called âlittle,â but okay. I see her unfolding a new diaper, and I almost laugh at how distinct the rustling sounds are with a clean diaper than a messy one. So much more crisper. Airy? She slides it beneath me before signalling for me to lower my ass onto it. Out comes the baby powder. Itâs the fact that I âneedâ baby powder that bothers me more than the scent itself. I use powder-scented deodorant from time to time, and itâs a smell I often associate with feeling clean. Plus, it cuts through the scent of my dirty diaper, and my nose is happy to have a little bit of relief there. And then, in just a few efficient moves of her hands, she completes the task of sealing me in my diaper.
âGood to go,â she says with a big smile on her face.Â
Knock knock, on the door again.
Kelly, though still smiling, rolls her eyes. âOne min-ute please!â Itâs still got a song-y element to it, though itâs a little more forced this time. âI swear, every baby thinks their diaper is the most important one.â
âThanks for, uh, taking care of me,â I say, swinging my legs over the side of the changing table and standing upâfeeling the new padding crinkle loudly beneath me.
âThatâs what I do, baby. Always happy to lend a hand.â
âWellâŠâ I donât really know what else to say. Iâm tempted to make a quip about how, hopefully, there wonât be many more diapers that need changing, but those are probably better kept to myself.
My feet land on the ground again and I grab my shorts, pulling them up my legs. When I look over to Kelly, I see she has a hand stretched towards me, holding up one finger. âJust one more thing.â
âHm?â I ask.
âFreya mentioned that youâre Alfieâs friend.â Her smile has diminished a little. Sheâs talking in a softer tone.
âYes,â I say. âI came here to find him.â
âAnd thatâs been a little tricky, hasnât it?â
âIt seems that way,â I say.
âFreyaâs probably mentioned that thatâs a sentiment shared by many of us.â
I narrow my eyes a little, skeptical of whether or not this is a trap or a trick of some sort. Freya did mention her own concerns, but she didnât say that they were shared by a collective âus.âÂ
âUs?â I ask.Â
âThe Maternal Council.â
âThe whole thing?â I ask.
âEnough of us,â Kelly says with a shrug.
âOkay.â Iâm not really sure what else to say to that, nor do I know how this helps my cause. If anything, it makes me concerned that itâs going to be even harder to get more answers from anyone besides Mirabelle.
âFreya proposed that we get together later and talk some more.â
âWe?â
âYou, me, FreyaâŠmaybe some other members of the Maternal Council.â
I ask her the same question I asked Freya: âCan I trust you? Can I trust all of you?â
âNone of us want to be having these conversations. None of us want to think that something shady is going on around here. None of us want to cross Mirabelle. OrâŠâ
âOr Mother?â I ask.
She nods.
But Iâm not afraid of that as they are. I say: âAlright. Iâd like to talk too.â
âOkay,â she says. âWe donât have a designated time or place just yet. But once we do, weâll be sure toâŠâ
Knock knock knock.
âJust one minute, please!â I find myself yelling at the door, lacking all the sweetness that Kelly had channeled at the door earlier.
Kelly snickers and finishes her thought: âWeâll be sure to let you know.â
Iâm tempted to ask how theyâll go about doing that, but itâs probably not that hard. They obviously know which cabin Iâm in, for starters.
We say our goodbyes and I open the door to leave, and an antsy guy in a diaper and a t-shirt rushes past me through the doorway. I smell him before I get a good chance to look at himâa toxic rankness that puts my own soiled diaper somewhere closer to actual cotton candy. When I finally glance in his direction, I see that heâs holding onto the top of the diaper with both of his hands, trying to prevent it from slipping further down thighs. At the very bottom of it, I can see the dark brown stains that tell the story of what happened. And if that wasnât enough, I catch a glimpse of the back of his shirt, where a brown stain announces that heâs had some trouble keeping his mess contained to his diaper.
âGoodness,â Kelly says to him. âWhat in the world happened to you, sweetheart?â
He stammers: âIâŠI went potty andâŠâ Tears well from his eyes and he sniffles pathetically.
Kelly looks up at me as I finally make my exit and smiles. Iâm sure sheâs thinking the same thing I am: âYou thought your diaper was bad? Well hereâs proof that it couldâve been worse.â
And, yeah, that does make me feel a little better as I walk back towards the garden to get back to what I was going to do before my life became consumed by shit.
===
âTook you long enough,â Tess says with a smile as I walk into the garden, slipping some work gloves on over my hands.
âSorry if that took a while,â I sigh. âI had to, uh, find a place toâŠâ
âIâm teasing,â she says. âCome on over here, I could use a hand.â
I waddle my way over towards her. The diaper under my shorts is a little too hot and restrictive to be considered comfortable, but itâs infinitely better than the feeling of a load in the back of my diaper.
âI have some more overalls if you want some,â she says.
I shake my head. âI think Iâm good. I donât mind getting a little dirty.â Or, maybe, my tolerance for a little bit of dirt has just increased after the morning Iâve had so far.
And with that, she puts me to work. Pulling up vegetables. Weeding. Shoveling dirt into a wheelbarrow and moving it to another location. Watering plants. Pretty much anything she needs, Iâm game for. And the sprawling gardens have a near-endless number of things that need doing. Even with more people working over here, it still seems like too much work.
âYou should have more help,â I say, wiping sweat from my brow as I stroll up to her after dropping some dying plants off in the compost bins.
She laughs. âPreaching to the choir.â
âThey donât, like, make people work here with you?â
âThey,â she says with extra emphasisâlikely alluding to the Maternal Councilâdonât really make anyone do anything. Theyâre always suggesting that people volunteer to be a part of the community, you know? And a good number of people do. But theyâre all doing things like working in the kitchen, or walking around and tidying up things. Hell, people are more interested in taking care of the animals than they are growing things. I get it, I guess, this is an exhausting life.â
âAnimals?â I ask. I vaguely recall Tommyâonce upon a time, when I had just met himâmentioning that there were animals at The Cradle.
âItâs more of an experiment than anything else,â Tess says. âWeâve got some goats, a cow, and some chickens. Down the road, weâd like to have more.â
âI think Iâd rather fuck around in the dirt than shovel animal crap,â I say.
She laughs. âThatâs why I like you, Nikki. Great minds, thinking alike.â
âSo what else needs to be done?â I ask. Iâm in the mode nowâonce I get my body moving, itâs hard to slow down.Â
She chuckles lightly to herself and shakes her head. âI think thatâs enough for today. Thereâs more to do, of course. But Iâm beat, and youâre probably more tired than youâre letting on.â
I take a deep breath and expel it slowly, letting off some of the pent up steam that was keeping me going through the afternoon. Maybe Iâm more ready to call it a day than I thought. âYeah, that works for me. Weâll pick up from where we left off tomorrow?â
âYou want more?â
âThe work ainât going to do itself,â I say with a shrug.Â
âSee, if we ever get around to cloning people, Iâd want a hundred more of you.â
I snort, shaking my head. âOne is more than enough, trust me.â
===
By the time Iâve waddled my way back to my cabin, Iâm wet. No, not pissyâjust sweaty. My shirt is wet. My shorts feel damp. I need a long, cool shower and then I need a beer.Â
Iâve never seen any alcohol around this place, come to think of it. I havenât seen anyone smoking either. Do people just sacrifice their vices when they enter The Cradle? I doubt that. More likely, their vices are just replaced with milk. And I donât like that. Everyone so dependent on the same thing, that you can only get in one place?Â
Seems like a means to control people if I ever heard one.
I havenât had to piss much this afternoon, despite the copious amounts of water Iâve guzzledâI probably sweat it all out. But now, with my cabin in view, Iâm finding that I finally need to pee.Â
Do I justâŠwet myself again?
Iâd rather not. Iâve already spent more time on a changing table than Iâd like today. Instead, I walk around to the back of the cabinâthe side that faces some treesâlower my shorts, shimmy my diaper down my thighs, and squat. A moment later, I hear the sound of my pee stream hitting the ground beneathâa delicate pattering sound. Itâs not a toilet, but itâs still better than doing it in my pants.Â
I was a little short-sighted in not bringing anything to wipe myself dry when Iâm done, but I guess thatâs where the diaper comes in handy. I pull the diaper and my shorts back into place and then head around to the door of the cabin and let myself in.
Someoneâs been here, I see. Nothing has been disturbed, as best as I can tell, but I see some things have been left for me on the bedside table.
The first is a bottle of milk. Itâs a short, stubby bottle, like the one that was left for me when I first came to the cabin. Somewhere along the way, I remember someone saying that milk was dispersed like thisâevery few days, per some unknown schedule, new milk was delivered to residents of The Cradle. Not everyone got it on the same day either. Iâd imagine thatâs so the whole population isnât helplessly reeling around like a whiny infant at the same time?
Well I definitely wonât be drinking this either. Iâll probably toss it out the window like I did with the last milk. I suppose I could be nice and offer it to Tommy. Iâm sure heâd slurp it right up. But if the milk is bad news like I think it is, itâs probably better that nobody drinks it.
Thereâs something else too, next to the milk. A note, written on a piece of scrap paper, torn from who-knows-where.
It reads: âLetâs talk tonight. Iâll come to you.â And then, thereâs Freyaâs signature.Â
My heart quickens a little. Interesting. Does she want to finger me some more? Or does she want to talk about Alfie?
Either way, Iâd be happy to see her.
===
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I donât think there was this exact moment where it clicked for me that I liked both men and women. Itâs not like some pretty girl walked past me one day and, after following her ass with my eyes, I said: âYeah, I think Iâm bisexual now.â
Itâs more like I always knew this about myself. It was always just a given. When I came of age and started noticing other people, and thinking about all the things we could be doing togetherâwhether I understood them or notâmy gaze was unbiased.
How could I ever only like boys? How could anyone? Theyâve got their perks and advantages, but look at all the other shit we have to put up with. The patriarchy, you know? Eye roll.Â
âNot all men,â theyâll say.
Okay, sure. But, like, enough of you all. Calm down.
And donât get me wrong, women arenât a walk in the park either. Sometimes I think we might even be worse, though maybe Iâm biasedâhaving had to wade through twenty-some years of the catty societal norms expected of us.
My motto is, and always has been: Iâll just take what I can get. Whatever shape. Whatever size. Whatever equipment. So long as youâre cool, we get along, and youâre willing to jam your tongue between my thighs, I think weâll be just fine.
That saidâyeah, sure, I guess it has always been harder to interact with women in a romantic sort of way. Itâs more awkward because thatâs just not the way the world is built. Guys? I can talk to a guy no problem. A guy can certainly talk to me with no problem, if nothing else. Girls, thoughâthereâs this added level of insecurity in having to parse whether or not theyâre on the same page as you or not.Â
âWhat kind of girls do you like?â Alfie asked me once. Well, no, he asks me this once every six or seven monthsâlike he either forgets that we had this conversation before, or he just wants to see if my answer is different.
I donât know. Maybe Iâm looking for the same things I look for in a guy. Someone cool. Confident. Someone who isnât afraid to smell like sweat. Someone who uses their hands. Someone who can keep up with meâor who can actually manage to take the lead. Give me a girl who can pick me up or throw me around a little and Iâll be real fucking smitten.
So when Freya takes my hand and starts pulling me through The Cradle, it puts some color in my cheeks. It might even make me a little wetâthough who would know, considering the sopping wet diaper Iâm tromping around in right now.
Getting my diaper changed, by itself, is just ridiculous. Easily the weirdest damn thing thatâs happened to me in my adult life. And I hate how avoidable this seems in hindsight. Months ago, when Alfie asked me if I would join him on a trip to California to find his brother-in-law, all I had to say was âNo thanks.â I couldâve just stayed home, kept my shifts at the bar, and let Alfie go do his thing. But no, I had to tag along. And look at me nowâwaddling around in a pissy diaper, moments away from being changed. Humiliating because, you know, Iâm not a babyâbut also because the idea of this pretty woman manhandling me and having any sort of power over me is aligned with some of my favorite fantasies.
I feel like I owe Alfie both a punch and a kiss for this.
âAre you coming in?â Freya asks, standing in the doorway to the cabin weâve come toâone of the many âchanging stationsâ dispersed around The Cradle.
âYeahâŠâ I was lost in my head for a moment, just thinking about everything. Maybe I was disconnected from reality for a few momentsâlong enough to look like I was just standing there, staring into space.
She smiles, beckoning me with her hand. âCome along, Nikki. I promise I won't bite.â
âHrm.â I feel my cheeks getting a little warmer.
She smirks at this. âI mean, unless you want me to bite. Do you need a little nibble?â
âUhâŠâ
She laughs. âIâm teasing.â
Look, I want to say, make good on that teasing and I might just throw away my search for Alfie and become your special little baby girl. Whatever you want.
Itâs that goddamn horninessâwhat I was feeling on the drive here with Tommy. Itâs still unresolved, and with every day that passes in which I donât take care of it, it seems to get even stronger. Maybe Iâm not perpetually horny 24/7, but when those feelings do surfaceâŠwatch out.
Theyâre surfacing now. Iâm not happy about it.
Or am I? Thatâs the thing about feeling like thisâI wonât know how I actually feel about it until later, with hindsight.
I walk into the little cabin, spotting a large table pressed into the corner with a thin mattress atop it. I presume this is the adult-sized changing table. Nearby, there are shelves of diapers, wipes, ointments, oils, and powders. Baby bottles. Pacifiers. Folded clothesâonesies? Everything a baby could need, I guess.
âCome on up,â she says, patting the top of the changing table. âAre you good to get up here, or do you need a boost?â
She knows damn well Iâm capable of climbing atop the table myselfâsheâs just trying to make me feel small.
Well, itâs working. I feel my face getting even warmer, and I scoff as I shuffle past her.Â
âShould I, uh, take off my shorts, orâŠ?â
âIâll take care of everything,â she says. âYou donât need to worry about it.â
âSure,â I say, propelling my first leg up onto the table and then using it to help pull the rest of my body up. Iâm successful in getting onto the table, though itâs a little more of a struggle than Iâd like. Maybe itâs the fact that my range of motion is slightly diminished by the wet diaper. Or, it could just be that Iâm shortâwhich is even more embarrassing, given everything else.
âGood girl,â she says when Iâm atop the table. She says this with a knowing grin, as she seems to be well aware of how her playful condescension is making me feel.
I no longer have any idea how I feel about this. Iâm opposed to the concept of arbitrarily surrendering my independence, just because weâre in a place where everyone else has done the same thing. I can, and should, be able to take care of this myself. I shouldnât have had to wet a diaper in the first place. But⊠Here I am, in a place where things happen. Iâm in the pissy diaper now. And hereâs this tall, pretty woman who wants to touch me and care for me.Â
Itâs hard to be mad about that.
âAre there cameras in here?â I ask. Itâs a silly thing to ask and I know it. I think the real question I want to ask is: âIs there any chance that anyone will ever know about what happens here?âÂ
âYouâre safe here,â she says. âItâs just you and me.â I suspect she knows exactly what Iâm asking.
This helps a little. Iâm still tense and anxious, but I did need to hear that.
She says: âYou should lie down, sweetie.â
Whenâs the last time someone called me âsweetieâ? It doesnât happen that much anymore. I think, when I grew into my adult bodyâmy âfinal formâ as Alfie might sayâit was made abundantly clear to people that Iâm not the type you call âsweetieâ or âhoney.â Itâs that look of scorn on my face, maybe. âResting bitch face,â Iâve heard a few guys at the bar say over the yearsâusually in hushed tones to each other when they donât think I can hear them.
But being called âsweetieâ now melts me just a little bit. On some level Iâve been needing to be called this.
I do as she asks, laying down on my back. She towers over me at the side of the changing table now. Sheâs huge. And I feel small and helpless.
I wonder what this would be like if I had actually drank the milk. Would I feel even smaller? Even more docile? Would I be reaching up at her tits, foolishly thinking that I was allowed to suckle from them like she was my âmommy?â
I donât actually regret dumping out the milk. These hormones are more than enough for me right nowâand I maintain that itâs better that I keep my wits about me otherwise.
She puts her hands on the waistband of my shorts and pulls at them, trying to pull them down from my hips and expose the diaper under. Instinctively, my hands lash out towards hers, trying to push her away.
âYou have to let me help you,â she says.
âR-right,â I say, retracting my hands.Â
She tries again, reaching to the waistband so she can pull my shorts down. This time sheâs successful, and I watch as my shorts are slid down my thighs, past my knees, down my ankles, and then right off from my feet.
I take a deep breath, the blushingâno doubtâintensifying.
âDid they give you some milk today?â Freya asks, her fingers playing with one of the tapes on the front of the diaper, though not actually peeling it up just yet.
âYeah.â
âHm,â she nods.
âWh-what?â
âWellâŠa few minutes ago, when I knew you had a wet diaper on just by looking at you? Itâs because I see a lot of babies every single day.â
âSure.â
âBut thereâs lots of little things I can pick up on, given how often I do this.â
Sheâs getting at something. âOkay?â
âI donât think you drank any milk,â she says. She says without any sort of smirk, shrug or nodâitâs devoid of any tell that would let me know how she feels about it.
She laughs. âSo then that wasnât an accident, was it?â
âYou donât know that,â I say again.
âAh, but I do, little girl. Iâm very familiar with how milk makes babies act. Even in the subtle ways that they donât even realize.â
âWhoâs to say that it just doesnât affect me differently?â I ask.
âPossible,â she shrugs. âBut my gut is usually pretty reliable when it comes to these things.â
I say nothing just to be safe. I donât know if I can trust her or not. She could walk out of here when weâre done and go right to Mirabelle and talk about how I lied about drinking milk.Â
So what? I donât even know what Iâm being paranoid about anymore. I donât know what the worst case scenario looks like. I guess, if anything, I just donât want to fuck anything up for Alfieâor for my chances at seeing Alfie for myself.
âBut youâre going to behave for me, right?â Freya asks. âYouâre going to let me change your diaper?â
I sigh, though Iâm still not sure if I should say anything at all.
âLetâs make a deal, then,â she says. âYou let me change your diaper, and I keep your little secret that you didnât drink your milkies. I donât know why youâd want to keep that a secret, but Iâm sure a girl like you has your reasons.â
âBlackmail?â I ask. âReally?â
She chuckles. âItâs not blackmail. Itâs a deal. You have a secret to keep. I have a diaper to change.â
âWhat would I owe you if, instead, you let me change my own diaper and still didnât say anything to anyone?â,
âYou donât want that, sweetheart,â she says. âYou think you do, but you donât. You want me to change your diaper.â
I snort, again having to say: âYou donât know that.â
But she surprises me by putting her open palm between my thighs, pressing my wet diaper into my crotch. Sure enough, feeling the force of her hand push the dirty diaper against my already-confused-and-throbbing pussy causes a groan to escape my mouth.
Fuck. I wish she hadnât heard that.
âLet me see if I can guess who Iâve got on the changing table right now,â she says, her smirk returning. âHere, we have a stubborn little girl who is fiercely independent. More often than not, she thinks she knows better than anyone else. She keeps everyone she can at armâs length to protect herself. But she has needs too, and theyâre harder to achieve when sheâs created a little bubble for herself.â
âAre you done?â I mutter. Now Iâm a little annoyed.
And, well, still a little turned on.
âI could probably go on,â she says.
Her hand is still on my diaper, and Iâm reminded of this when she pushes it into me again. I clench my hands, close my eyes, and offer up another little moan.
âI see all kinds of babies come through here,â she says. âAnd diaper changesâwell, theyâre a very intimate moment, you know? Itâs a space where lots of babies feel they can open up about things they donât usually talk about. Itâs, like, therapy while your butt gets wiped clean, you know?â
âHm.â
âI studied psychology in college. That helps,â she says. âIf I didnât come here, I likely wouldâve been a therapist.â
I moan a little again, her hand now massaging the squishy padding between my legs. I hate that I like this. I hate that she seems to have control over me right now by exploitingâŠmy loins.
I also kind of love it.Â
I can never really get into porn in picture or video form. The actors and subjects are never who I want them to be. The âprofessionalâ stuff always feels too fake. The homegrown stuff is way too intimateâI just imagine a couple, moments after finishing a video, having an argument about whose turn it is to wash the dishes. I take my smut in word form, thank you very much. Would it shock anyone to learn that Iâm an avid reader, and that 80% of what I read is smut?
Consensual non-consent. Thatâs where itâs at for me. Itâs seemingly impossible for me to be thrown around and âforcedâ to do anything in the real world, so I like my smut to let me slip into a place where thatâs possible.
And here I am now, getting almost what Iâve fantasized about, only itâs like I made a wish on the fucking monkeyâs paw or something. Sure, you can have a hot lady that will make you feel small and weak in her presence. ButâŠyou have to wear a wet diaper, and sheâs going to treat you like a baby.
But maybe itâs close enough?
âYou resist,â she says. âBut I think you like it.â
I donât respond with words, just a frustrated-but-titillated moan.
Sheâs got me wanting more. My legs open a little wider, and my hands retreat even further from hersâthe equivalent of a dog rolling over to expose its belly. Here, look, you can do whatever you want now, okay? I canât think of the last time I let myself do this, though this might just be the first time.
Her little grin tells me that she knows what I want, and that the power is in her hands. Which is probably why she then pulls her hand away from the bottom of my diaper, using it to instead tug at one of the tapes.Â
I grunt at her. The translation would be akin to: âPut your hand right back where it was.â
She laughs a little. âCome now, little girl. I have to get you out of this very wet diaper, donât I?â
âHrm.â
âUnless you like being in a wet diaper. Is that the case? Are you a dirty little girl, Nikki?â
Her words. Her condescending tone. The fluttering of her eyelashes and the smugness of her grin. Sheâs absolutely wrecking me right now.
I feel myself tensing up again, and I keep my mouth tightly shut.
I wonder if, maybe, I do like being in a wet diaper. Maybe itâs not the wet diaper itself as much as it is the figurative display of showing weakness and vulnerability to a pretty woman in a position of power. Something is certainly working for me right now.
âGo on,â Freya coos. âJust answer my question.â
âIâŠâ I sigh. Itâs hard to believe these words would ever come out of my mouth, but it feels like the toll I have to pay if I want to proceed down this path. Here, in this private spaceâwhere Freya already knows that Iâve avoided the milkâI think I might just be able to allow myself to let it happen. âIâmâŠa dirty little girlâŠâ
Freyaâs smile is the biggest Iâve seen it yet. She clasps her hands together in front of her, just about squealing with delight. âI knew it.â
Her hand is back between my thighs again, pressing the bulky, soggy padding against my pussy. I hate how much I love thisâbut I do love this feeling. At least right now I do. I wonder if Iâd feel the same about it later, without a diaper or inflamed loins.
Her hand pushes another long moan from my lipsâa moan Iâm sure that nobody else has ever heard me make before, because it might be the first time Iâm hearing it for myself too.
âThatâs it,â she says. âMake your little noises for me.â
âUnhâŠâ
âI know you like this, but thereâs so much more I could be doing if you just allow me to open this diaper.â
I wonder if this is kind of what itâs like to drink the milk. To feel so incredibly desperate and needy. To feel so small and helpless. Maybe this is just a little part of the whole milk experience. I almost regret not drinking it now. Almost. Even in my horny and stupified state, I still feel like I made the right decision on that one. Itâs bad enough that my hormones are in an electrified state while Iâm at this placeâI donât need a foreign substance sending me further into a tailspin.
âSure,â I manage to say to her. Translation: âDo whatever the fuck you need to doâbut please do something right now.â
Sheâs pulling at the tapes on the front of the diaper again. Each time she gives one a quick, practiced tugâwith its sticky tearing soundâit sends a little jolt through my body. When the last is pulled free, she grabs the diaperâs front and pulls it back between my open legs slowly, like sheâs revealing a birthday gift sheâs received in front of all my friends.
âWell would you look at this,â she says. âJust as wet as I thought.â
âYou knew that already,â I say, though my face still feels like itâs turning a deeper shade of red.
âAnd look at this cute little stubble down here. Looks like it might be time for another shave, hmm?â
I sigh, looking up at the ceiling. I donât always shave my pubic hair. I can never tell if I like it better shaved, trimmed, or if itâs just left to its own devices. Itâs like a cycle, I guess, where Iâll shave it off until I get sick of doing it, and then I just let it grow for a while before I get sick of that too.Â
âCan I tell you something else?â Freya asks.
âS-sureâŠâ
She brings her head down closer to my ear and whispers into it: âYou have a very pretty pussy, Nikki.â
Iâm not even sure what that means, but I like hearing it. Can pussies even be âpretty?â Whatâs the difference between a pretty pussy and an ugly one? Maybe itâs a trick questionâlike, all pussies are pretty, and sheâd have said this no matter what. Regardless, it melts me.
The word âprettyâ can go a long way with me sometimes. Iâm not a âprettyâ person. I mean, I dunno, someone out there finds me attractive. But Iâm not, like, traditionally âprettyâ and I know this. Iâve made peace with that. Some girls can rock the pinks and the curls and the jewelry and the makeup and the cute vocal affectations and the giggles. Some girls canât.
Once in a while, I find myself a little envious of the âprettyâ girls. I try to imagine what my life would be like if I was more like themâwhat path I wouldâve had to have taken, or where that would lead me.
Like, I donât know, maybe I wouldnât be here right now, on a big changing table, if I was âpretty.â Maybe I wouldnât have the relationship I have with Alfie if I was âpretty.â I try not to go down this rabbit hole when I can help it, though. I still like who I am, and I have little regret for the choices Iâve madeâeven if I sometimes think about the âwhat-ifs.â
All this to say that when Freya says âprettyââeven if itâs just about my throbbing, hungry pussy, it further stokes the fire inside of me.
âI⊠Iâm sorry,â I say softly.
She laughs. âSorry? Sorry for what, dear?â
I sigh. âSorry that youâre going to see me like this.â
Her eyebrows lift curiously as her fingers graze my damp vulva. âWhy, whatever do you mean?â
My answer is a guttural groan that I release as I arch my back and thrust my midsection towards herâbegging her to touch it more.
She laughs and nods. âI see. Well, no apologies are needed. It should be obvious by now that I donât judge you in the slightest.â
Fine, fine. I donât even bother responding. I think Iâve said enough. I think Iâve done enough thinking. Itâs time to turn my brain off and just enjoy whatever this moment is. If this was a mistake, Iâll deal with the fallout laterâright now, I need Freya to have her way with me in whatever way thatâs to come.
âFirst of all, I think itâs imperative that we clean you up a little, donât you think?â she asks. She puts the back of her hand on the moist skin near my vagina. âThis dampness Iâm feeling? Thatâs your pee. We canât have that now, can we?â
I let out a little grunt again, hoping to communicate that I donât care what she does.
She seems to get the message. With a smug little grin, she pulls a wet wipe from the lidded plastic tub that theyâre kept in. She drapes it over her hand before slowly, gently sliding down my inner thigh towards my quivering body. Another swipe on the other thigh. My legs tremble and I bite my lip as I feel her hand whisk across my skin. Itâs hard to pay attention to such things, so Iâm unsure if sheâs using the same wipe over and over again, or if sheâs occasionally switching to a fresh cloth. Either way, I trust herâsheâs changed enough diapers that Iâm sure sheâs got a good system for this.
Her wipe-gripping hand slides overtop my pussy, sending a new thrill up my spine. When she slides over it again, her fingers pushing the moist cloth a little deeper inside of me as she does so, I release a series of one-syllable noises. It sounds a lot like baby talkânoises Iâd assume I couldnât make if I wasnât in this position.Â
âAw, the little baby likes getting cleaned, does she?â
âUnhâŠâ
âWhat a good little girl, letting me do everything I need to do. Now, I need you to lift your little bottom up for me. Can you do that?â
Of course I can, and I do it without hesitation. She guides another wipe under my body, sliding it along the contours of my ass cheeksâletting it sink into the crack just enough that Iâm made to bite my lip a little harder. I pull a long, deep breath into myself through my nose.
âThere,â she finally says. I feel her pulling the soggy diaper out from under me as gently presses my abdomen downwards to let me know itâs good to lie flat again. âI think that takes care of your icky diaper.â
I breathe out through my mouth.
âThis is usually the part where I put the baby in a new diaper,â says Freya. âBut if youâre not drinking the milk, Iâm not so sure that youâre a baby.â
I say nothing.
âAre you a baby?â she asks, her hand gingerly working its way up my inner-thigh again.Â
âY-yesâŠâ She could ask me if Iâm an astronaut right now, and the feeling of her hand on me would probably get an affirmative answer.
âI want to hear you say it. Tell me that youâre a baby, Nikki.â
Itâs surprisingly easy to say: âIâm a baby.â
âSurprisingly convincing,â she says.
Now, her fingertips dance lightly over my vulva. Sheâs teasing me. Playing with me. She wants me to want more. Itâs working. My knees shake and a muffled moan is pushed through my locked lips: âMm-mmm-mm-mmm.â
Finally, I feel a fingerâmaybe twoâpushing past my wet vulva. They begin to slowly explore inside of me, searching for the points that excite me the most. Itâs not hard to figure out where her fingers have the most impactâshe only needs to follow the sounds I make. Gasps, moans, groans, little squeaksânoises I donât recall ever making before.Â
I am so wrapped around her fingers right now. Literally.
Itâs when she begins to touch my clit that I just about lose it. I let out a loud noiseâsomething of a âHyuh!ââ and thrust my midsection into her hand once more. With a playful giggle, she continues to stroke my clit with small circular motions.
This is good.
I donât know that this is everything I needâgetting filled up with a cock might also hit the spot right nowâbut her talented fingers are working absolute magic on me. Any person that I choose to date in the futureâregardless of genderâis going to have to take lessons from her before we disrobe in a bedroom together.
I feel the heat of her face near mine again, though I canât bring myself to open my eyes. I hear the wetness on her lips as she opens them to whisper: âYou really want to cum, donât you?â
âY-yesâŠâ
âMaybe you should ask permission.â
âM-may IâŠuhmâŠâ Itâs not that Iâm too embarrassed to finish the statement, itâs that the pace of her fingers have quickened, making it even harder to think straight.
âWhatâs that?â she asks. âYouâll have to try again.â
âMay IâŠcum.â I say it again, so quickly that it sounds like itâs all one word: âMay-eye-cum.â
âWell, since youâve been a good girl,â she says. âI guess I could allow for that. But youâre going into a diaper as soon as you do.â
And just like that, I lose control of myself. My bodyâs shaking, my legs are wobbling, and my hands are grasping at the padding of the changing table like I might just tears chunks of it away. My back and neck are arched as far as they can be. Iâm making absolutely inhuman sounds. I donât just squirtâI feel myself gushing like Iâm an opened fire hydrant. Sheâs saying something to me, but I canât be bothered to pay attention.
Maybe this is the greatest orgasm of my entire life.
Or maybe itâs like when you havenât eaten anything all day and you finally settle for something absolutely sinful, like a fast-food hamburger, and the taste hits you like a religious experienceâbeams of light, loud organ chords, and the choir chanting in the background.
This is what Iâve been needing.
===
I donât remember Freya changing me into a new diaper, but here I am with the bulk of some fluffy padding between my thighs again as my feet dangle off the end of the changing table.
âIâŠhope that wasnât too much,â Freya says. Sheâs leaning against the wall, staring at me with a big smile on her face. âI like playing with the babies on my changing table. Sometimes I get a little carried away.â
I clear my throat, feeling my cheeks warm again. âItâs fine.â
âBut you were especially fun to play with, Nikki. Thereâs just something about the more defiant onesâŠâ
âHrm.â
A moment or two of silence passes before she changes the subject: âSo why arenât you drinking milk?â
âAre you going to rat me out?â
She shakes her head.
I have no reason to trust this woman, but I tell myself that anyone who can make me cum like has earned some truthful answers from me.
âI think somethingâs happened to Alfie,â I say. âIâm here to figure it out and bring him home.âÂ
âSo youâre thinking that youâd, what, come here and pretend to be one of us or something while you tried to learn more?â
âSomething like that,â I say, shrugging.
âAnd youâre not drinking milk becauseâŠâ
âBecause I want to keep my wits about me,â I say. âIâve seen what it does to people. Iâm no use to Alfie if Iâm a diaper-dumping baby like everyone else around here.â
She laughs at this, nodding her head. âThatâs fair. And youâre so committed to the bit that youâre even going to use your diapers so people think youâve been drinking it too?â
âYep.â
She seems to consider this for a moment, her fingers tapping on her thigh. âItâs not a bad plan. But this place has had some, er, trust issues in the last few weeks. I donât know how far deceit will get you anymore.â
âI heard about that,â I say, choosing not to mention that I just spent time hanging out with the last baby who betrayed The Cradle. âBut who do I need to be careful about? The Maternal Council? Mirabelle?â
âIâm part of the Maternal Council,â Freya says. âButâŠâ She hesitates, letting her voice trail off.
âBut?â
âIâve had my own concerns about Alife. I honestly have no idea what happened to him, only that heâs part of a, uh, âspecial project.ââ
âHrm.â
Freya sighs. âLook, if weâre being honest, I donât like it. This is the first time the Maternal Council has ever been left out of anything before. Itâs not like Mirabelle, or Mother, to keep us out of the loop like this.â
âSo you think something shadyâs going on?â
âSomething is different,â she says. âBut thatâs all I know. Iâve been trying to assure myself that Mirabelle knows what sheâs doing and that everything was actually on the up and up. But now youâre here, asking questions, and Iâm remembering how fucked up it is that I donât know anything about where Alfie is or what happened to him.â
âCan I trust you?â I ask. A foolish question, perhaps. No untrustworthy person would ever say âno.â But I tell myself that Iâll just know if Freyaâs lying to me or not.
âYou can.â
I think I believe that.
Or, at the very least, sheâs bought herself a little bit of trust with the orgasm she gave me a few minutes ago.
Forty-One: Nikkiâs Story, Part 8
Freya has assured me that she not only wants to help me find Alfie, but wants to aid in keeping Mirabelle out of my business as much as possible. She says that sheâll âstay in touch,â but details are scarce on how sheâll do that.Â
But she does know where Iâm sleeping, so I guess itâs not too hard to find me.
I sleep pretty damn well that night, following my little encounter with Freya. There is something strangely cozy about having a cabin to myself out in the wilderness. Also, my orgasm while on the changing table has done wonders for me. A heavy weight has been lifted off my shouldersâor maybe itâs been lifted from my loins? Itâs the best night of sleep Iâve had since I left New Jersey.
I donât bother setting an alarm for the morning, figuring that Iâll just get up whenever I wake up. If I sleep in until noon, so be it. I could probably use the rest.
Iâve never really been an advocate for sleeping-inâI typically like getting my day started early. Maybe itâs one of the few traits Iâve willfully takenâa bunch of early-risers themselves. To me, the world has always felt a little different at the crack of dawn. Everyone else is either sleeping or in some sort of zombified state as they drag themselves to the closest coffee dispenser. Yeah, I like getting a morning dose of caffeine myself, but Iâve never felt especially useless without it.Â
Also, I donât like sleeping in for the same reason that I donât like naps: it feels like time I could just be doing something. Not that I have an infinite number of things to do. But I figure Iâm already forced to sleep every night as it isâthe daytime is my time. The last thing I want is to be an old lady on my deathbed, regretting all the books I didnât read because I chose to sleep even more than I had to.
Alas, the sound of knocking on the cabinâs door wakes me up from some dream that disperses so quickly that I immediately forget what it was about. I look at my cell phone and see that itâs only 8 AM.
Youâve got to be kidding me.
Thereâs another round of knocking.
âHold on, hold on,â I sigh, throwing my legs off the side of the cabinâs cot and letting my feet land on the ground.Â
I immediately sense that something is offâsome slight alteration to how my body normally feels when I wake up.Â
Ah, right. Itâs the diaperâthe bulky padding still crinkling between my thighs. Still dry as a bone, as it should be. I canât help but wonder how many babies in The Cradle woke up to wet diapers this morning. Or maybe worse.
I thought I went to sleep in a t-shirt last night, but I realize now that Iâm only wearing a diaper. My eyes instinctively dart to the cabinâs windows, checking to see if some peeping-Tommyâs face is there, seeing far more than heâs been given permission to see. The coast seems clear, and so I take my shirt off the floor and pull it over my head before walking to the door. Itâs my favorite teeâthe light green one I got from a bike race I participated in a few years agoâback when I briefly had a âbiking phase.â Alfie calls it my âsecurity shirt,â because itâs always my go-to when I need something comfortable to wear. But heâs no differentâheâs got his stupid Life Aquatic shirt he wears just as often.
I briefly consider putting some shorts on over my diaper, but Iâm just a little too tired to care about concealing it right now. Besides, whoever is at the door is probably expecting me to be in a diaper anyway.
Iâm expecting Tommy at the door when I open it, but itâs not. Instead, Tess is there in her overallsâa different pair than the ones I saw her in last, I think, though these have their own set of unique stainsâand a straw hat.
âHey, Nikki,â she says, her eyes fixed on my diaper for a moment before slowly bringing her gaze to my face. âI didnât wake you, did I?â
âWellâŠâ I pinch the top of my nose and close my eyes before giving my head a little shake in an effort to wake myself up a little more. âI needed to get up anyway.â As an afterthought, I throw in: âAnd, uh, good morning.â
âSorry to come by unannounced like this. Freya told me I could find you here.â
âF-Freya?â I ask. I feel my cheeks warming a little. I canât help but wonder what else Freya might have said to Tess. Something about how I can squirt a few feet when Iâm good and horny?
âLook, you can say ânoâ if you want to, or if you have other plans,â Tess says. âBut weâre a baby down on the farm today. Brinley says sheâs come down with something. Honestly, I think sheâs just got a case of the âlazy-bones.ââ
I have no idea who Brinley is. âSo you, uh, need a hand?â I ask.
Tess nods. âIf you need something to do. Iâll try not to work you too hard, if youâre not up for it.â
âNo, that actually sounds pretty good,â I say. Iâm missing the gym a little bit right now, so some physical labor sounds like it might just scratch the same itch. âLet me just, uh, put some pants onâŠâ
âDid you eat?â she asks.
âIâve barely woken up.â
âYou have to eat. Weâll get you breakfast on the way.â I think the implication is that sheâs already eaten, as sheâs been up for a while.
Tess is older than me, though Iâm not sure by how much. Not old enough to be my mother, but maybe a little older than Iâd imagine a big sister to be. Maybe ten-ish years older? That puts her in, what, âcool auntâ territory?
I think Iâve pieced together that sheâs the de facto leader of the farming operation here on The Cradle, though I donât recall her ever saying this to me herself. She seems different than everyone else here, even the âMaternal Councilâ ladies Iâve met thus far. She seems a little less obsessed with the âbabyâ side of things. Not to say sheâs completely removed from itâI hear the crinkling coming from under overalls. But itâs clear that the farm is her main interest here, and I respect that. If I had to live here, I think thatâs how Iâd be too.
âYou want to, uh, come in while I get ready?â I ask. I donât know what the protocol is around here for visitors.
She shrugs. âItâs a nice day. I might just stand out here and absorb some of that sun while you get yourself together.â
I respect that. âI wonât be long.â
âDonât worry too much about what you put on,â she says. âIâve got some extra overalls down at the barn you can change into if you want to wear something you donât care about getting dirty.â
I snort. âThatâs probably good. I didnât bring, like, work clothes with me.â
I haphazardly run a brush through my hair, brush my teeth, and slide into the same shorts I wore the day before. The bare minimum amount of effort.Â
Stepping outside, I can see what Tess means by absorbing the sunâit does feel pretty good today. Warm, with room to get warmer without being uncomfortable.
âReady?â she asks.
âLetâs go.â
===
âI always feel like a little bit of an outcast,â Tess says as we walk.
âHow so?â
âI mean, I know Iâm not the only one who came here without any prior interest in, uh, diapers. But Iâm certainly in the minority.â
I snort, finding this to be unsurprisingly relatable. âHow do you feel about them now?â
She smirks, running a hand through her hair as she considers her answer for a moment. âTheyâre fine. I donât think Iâll ever be as in love with them as everyone else is. But if this is the cost of paradise, thatâs not the worst thing.â
âParadise?â I ask. âIs that what you think this place is?â
âIn a strange way, maybe. Itâs a happy, friendly community here, you know? And I donât I was ever truly compatible with the way that life works on the other side of The Cradleâs fence. The whole 8-5 workday thing? Rent? Cell phone plans? Putting gas in the car? I think this place is more ideal for me. I wake up in the morning and I go and do the things I love to do. I give to the community and the community gives back to me. And then thereâs the milkâŠâ
âYeah,â I say. âHow do you feel about that?â
She bites her lip and blushes a little. âIt's weird. Maybe the hardest part of this to adapt to. But Iâve come to love it. I find that it helps me to, like, free my mind, you know? It further liberates me from all those âadultâ concerns I used to have.â
âHm.â I nod my head.
âWhat do you think of it?â she asks.
Iâm tempted to tell her the truthâthat Iâm staying as far from it as I can. But Iâm already questioning whether or not it was the right move to tell Freya about it. The more people I talk to, the more likely it is that the wrong people learn of my secret.
âIâm still getting used to it,â I say with a shrug. âI donât know how I feel about it just yet.â
âFair enough,â she says with a knowing nod. âIt took me a while to come around to it.â
âSo then what brought you here?â I ask. âIf it wasnât the milk. Or the diapers.â
She grimaces a little. âMy husband.â
âOh.â I instinctively look down at her hand, finding a vacancy on her ring finger. âI didnât know you were married. Heâs here too, I assume?â
âWeâre not officially divorced just yet,â she shrugs. âFor all intents and purposes, weâre just separated. No, he doesnât live here any more.â
âWhat happened?â I ask, before quickly adding: âLike, if you want to talk about it, that is.â
âI donât mind,â she says. âWe came here together. It was his idea. Heâs intoâŠuh, diapers, you know? Back before The Cradle existed, Mirabelle and, uh, Mother were inviting people to their home to try the milk. And Brandon somehow got involved in that scene.â
âI had no idea that was a thing,â I say. âLike, milk being passed around before The Cradle was around.â
âI donât know that much about it myself,â she says. âBrandon had a knack for, well, keeping things from me.â
âOhâŠâ
âMost of what I know now is stuff Iâve learned after the fact,â she shrugs.Â
âAnd yet he convinced you to move here?â
âWhen The Cradle became a place that you could move to, he was ready to drop everything and move here in a heartbeat. He was going to quit his job, abandon his responsibilities and even leave me. I think he thought he was just going to sneak off in the night and never be seen again.â
I snort. âSo obviously that didnât happen.â
âNah. He was sneaky, but he wasnât always the sharpest tool in the shed. I caught wind of something going on so I demanded he tell me everything. And only then did he tell me about this place.â She sighs. âIf I was in a better place myself, maybe Iâd have stayed put and told him to fuck off in babyland, you know? But I had just been laid off, and my mother had just passed. I was in a pretty bad place. So when he starts explaining about how he was going to go live in some commune, all I could think about was how Iâd be abandoned and left all alone. So I proposed that maybe we should go together.â
âEven knowing about the milk and the diapers?â I ask.
She shrugs. âIâd love to know how I wouldâve handled that conversation if I was in a better headspace, you know?â
âSo then you came here. What then? What made him leave?â
âIt was kind of funny how it worked out,â she says. âDespite not being a diaper-person, I managed to find an inviting community here that was ready to accept me. I made new friends, and found a place for myself on the farm. I feel like thatâs where I thrive now, and I might not ever have known about it if I didnât come here. BrandonâŠhe struggled.â
âHow so?â
âHeâs the worst combination of awkward and entitled. I think he just assumed that heâd be someone special here, since heâd known Mirabelle before The Cradle. But, like, so did everyone else here at that point, you know? And just like everyone else, he had to put the work into being a part of the community and making friends and partnerships. He justâŠdidnât. And then he got pissy when people didnât just automatically make him a part of things.â
I shake my head. I think Iâve known a few guys like that in my life. Plenty of them come to the bar too, drinking alone while complaining about all the things that couldâve been.
âI think it hurt him a lot that I was doing really well here while he wasnât,â she continues. âA part of me wishes I couldâve done more. ButâŠas we say in the garden: You reap what you sow.âÂ
I snort.
âHe left,â she says. âDiaper tucked between his legs. For a while, he used to write to me often, asking that I leave too. But I think he got the message that Iâm not leaving. Itâs been a while since heâs written to me.â
âWhatâs he doing now?â I ask.
She shrugs. âCouldnât tell you. But you know what? I donât really care anymore.â
I nod my head. Her story only makes me like her more.Â
===
Tess waits outside while I go into the dining hall to grab something quick for breakfast. I settle on a croissant, a few strips of bacon, and a cup of coffee. I consider just bringing my food with me over to the garden to eat so as to not hold up Tess, but then I spot Tommy sitting by himself at a table and figure I can sit for just a minute or two.
âHey,â I say, sitting across from him.Â
He looks surprised to see me. âDid you just go out of your way to sit with me?â
I snort. âMaybe.â
âCharacter development,â he jokes.
I roll my eyes. âI canât stay long. Tess is waiting for me outside, and weâre going to do some work in the garden.â
âLook at you, making yourself useful.â
I shrug. âIâm just blending in. Playing the game.â
He laughs, nodding. âSo, uh, how did things go yesterday?â
âHm?â
âThe, uh, diaper change?â
âOh rightâŠâ I feel my cheeks glowing. âIt was, uhm, fine.â I think Iâm going to leave it at that.
Thankfully, he doesnât seem to have any follow up questions.
I catch something in his expression though. A sense ofâŠworry? Concern? âIs something up?â
âUh, no. I justâŠhave something on my mind.â
âDo you want to share?â I ask. I stuff some of the food into my face as I wait for his response.
He leans forward a little in his seat, his diaper crinkling under him as he brings his face closer to mine. âAlfie said something to me a few weeks ago, when we were driving to town to confront whoever mightâve stolen the milk.â
My eyes light up. âWhatâd he say?â
âI kind of forgot about it for a while,â he says. âI guess with all the drama of what happened that day, and how things have been around The Cradle since, that makes sense. But then that conversation just popped into my head the other day. Maybe itâs something?â
âSpit it out,â I say. âWhatâd he say?â
âHe asked me a question. He wanted to know if I knew someone named Harriet Tuller.â
âWho?â
Tommy shrugs. âI donât know who that is either. He said that he was looking for her though. He said she might be someone at The Cradle, but Iâve never heard of her.â
âDo you know everyone here?â I ask.
âI know enough people,â he says. âBut Iâve never heard that name before.â
âDid he say why he was looking for her?â I ask.
He shakes his head. âNo. I mean, maybe sheâs someone he met at the festival, you know? A guest? But, I donât know.â
âI can ask Tess,â I say. âMaybe she knows the name?â I quickly eat the last of the food on the plate Iâve made for myself.
âYeah,â Tommy says. âIâll ask around too. I have a feeling sheâs not here, but maybe someoneâs at least familiar with her and knows how to get in touch with her.â
âYou really think sheâs a lead?â
He shrugs. âMaybe.â
âNext time you go to town, you should talk to Celia,â I say. âSheâs got reliable cell service and access to the internet. Maybe she can, like, Google her or something.â
âYeah, thatâs not a bad idea. Maybe I can take a drive later. Do youâŠwant to go with me?â
I shrug. âCome find me when youâre going. If Iâm not too busyââ
He laughs. âYouâre really getting into your new farm-girl role, huh?â
âIâm just helping,â I sigh.
I stand up from the table, ready to throw out my trash and take my cup of coffee to go. Then I hear Tommy laughing again.
âWhat is it?â I ask.
âItâs just, uh, your diaper. Itâs sticking out from the top of your shorts.â
I look down. So it is. Whatever.Â
===
I leave the dining hall, ready to apologize to Tess for taking a little longer than I wouldâve liked, only to find her chatting with another woman near a tree.Â
I slow my pace, studying their body language with each other as they converse, though I canât hear the words. People watching is another skill Iâve honed over the years at the bar. Iâve seen it all from my side of the barâbreakups, budding romances, affairs, schemes, one-sided conversations. Iâd like to think Iâve gotten pretty good at reading a situation from just a glance.
Iâve seen the woman that Tess is talking to before. Sheâs older, though maybe not quite old. She has a kind and patient temperament about herâbut thereâs something about the rigidity of her back that suggests she has a stricter side too. The conversation between the two women seems friendly, if not a little awkward. Iâm wondering if they have some sort of history.
âAh, Nikki, hello again,â Tess says, waving me over. âThis is Marta. Sheâs on the Maternal Council.â
âNikki, is it?â Marta says, extending a hand towards me. âItâs a pleasure to meet you.â
âLikewise,â I say, shaking her hand.Â
âYou know, I think I might have heard about you,â Marta says, wagging a finger at me. âI think you met Freya yesterday?â
I feel my face getting warmer and I momentarily lose track of my thoughts at the sound of Freyaâs name. âUh⊠Y-yeah, I met her yesterday.â
âShe spoke highly of you,â Marta says. Her casual shrug suggests that Freya had given her too many details about yesterday, but for all I know, Martaâs just good at downplaying things.
âShe was, uh, very nice as well,â I say.
âAh, well, I probably shouldnât hold you up any longer than I already have,â Marta says, looking back at Tess. âIâm sure Iâll see you around.â
âOh, itâs always good to see you, Marta. Iâm sure weâll run into each other again sooner than later.â
âYou really ought to come down to the shop sometime,â says Marta.
âI agree!â Tess says, nodding. âI have a hard time pulling myself away from work. But now that Iâve got some extra handsâŠâ She gestures at me with her head. â...maybe Iâll finally be able to drop by.â
Final goodbyes are exchanged, and Marta walks in one direction while Tess and I walk in the other. When Tess finally looks at me, ready to offer some commentary, I can already see the little smile on her faceâthe kind of smile that says: âOkay, hereâs the dirt.â
âI donât dislike Marta,â she says. âI think we have a lot in common, actually. We should be very good friends.â
âBut youâre not,â I say.
âWe just havenât clicked, you know? Just because two people are similar on paper doesnât mean theyâre actually destined to be good friends.â
âTrue,â I say, acting like I know what she means when the figurative stick that I use to keep everyone at a distance prohibits me from a lot of friend-making opportunities.
âShe runs a floral shop in Harperâs Bell. I think itâs kind of like an experiment of sortsâseeing if The Cradle can find lucrative opportunities on the other side of the fence.â
âHrm.â
âTo hear some of the Maternal Council talk about it, they imagine a scenario where The Cradle has kind of taken over the whole town, and our little diapered empire just keeps growing. Seems a little lofty, if you ask me. But itâs good to have goals, right?â
âI guess.â
âAaand if weâre being honest,â she continues, âI donât think the Maternal Council likes me very much.â
âNo? Why not?â
âThey wanted me to be part of their little club at one point. I guess Iâd been here long enough, and enough people looked up to me. But I turned them down. I already have a job to do around here, and I didnât want to be seen as part of the âleadership.â Seems like a fair thing to say, right?â
âIâd think so,â I say.
She laughs. âYeah, well that apparently rubbed some of the âMommiesâ the wrong way. I donât knowâthey thought I was saying that I was too good for them or something like that.â
I snort, amused by the high school levels of cattiness that seem to persist into adulthood in any place that people congregate.
âNot all of them dislike me,â she says. âFreya and I get along pretty well. Martaâs never been a jerk to meânot to my face. Ingrid, thoughâŠâ
I shrug. âI donât think Iâve met her.â
âSheâsâŠprickly,â Tess says, laughing to herself. I suspect sheâs holding back a little on her true feelings.
âWhat about, uh, Mother?â I ask. Itâs weird saying the name aloud. Is it a name? A title? It feels like Iâm talking about a deity. And around these parts, I might as well may be. This woman means nothing to me. Iâve never met her. And yet, because of just her reputation, I find myself trying to assign some reverence to her name as I say it aloud.
âWhat about her?â
âDo you know her?â I ask.Â
âWell sure. As much as anyone can really know her.â
âDo you like her?â
She laughs again. âI donât even know how to answer that, Nikki. Sheâs, you know, important to this place. It wouldnât be what it is without her. And her giftâher milk⊠Everything kind of revolves around that.â
It doesnât really answer my question. Or maybe it does.
âUh, one more question,â I say. âItâs unrelated to any of that, though. I think.â
âOf course. Whatcha got?â
âDo you know a, uh, HarrietâŠâ I canât remember the last name Tommy mentioned to me, so I just leave it at that. âSomeone, anyone, named Harriet who mightâve been here at The Cradle?â
âHarriet?â she asks? She strokes her chin a little. âCanât say itâs anyone Iâm familiar with. But I also stick to a pretty small area of The Cradle. Itâs possible theyâre been hereâor are still hereâand I just donât know them. Someone youâre looking for?â
âA friend of a friend, maybe,â I say. Though, I have no idea if thatâs even true.
===
Thereâs an ominous rumble in my abdomen as we approach the garden. I knew this would eventually happen, and I wish I was a little better prepared for it. I need a toiletâand, of course, I just so happen to be in the one place where there isnât one for miles. I can probably put this off for a little longer, but it occurs to me that Iâve probably already been, unconsciously, putting this off all morning as it is. A deadline is approachingâfind a place to go, or else my body will make the decision for me.Â
But my body is stubborn, as evidenced by the debacle that was pissing myself yesterday. Things are going to get more uncomfortable before they get better.
âYou alright?â Tess asks. âYouâre looking a little, uh, pale all of a sudden.â
Tess seems like a reasonable, rational, human being. Iâd like to be frank with her.
âI justâŠhave to use the bathroom.â
She laughs a little at this. âSorry, I donât mean to laugh. Itâs justâŠwell, I rarely have a choice in the matter any more. It happens when it happens. Thatâs what the diapers are for, right?â
âI guess. ButâŠIâd rather, uh, not use the diaper if I can help it.â
She makes a sympathetic frowny-faceâthe kind a mother might when their child comes to them with a scrape on their knee that needs a bandage. âAw, poor thing. You havenât, uhâŠmessed yet?â
âNo. And Iâd kind of prefer to keep it that way.â
âYouâll find thatâs a very unpopular opinion in these parts.â
âI know, butâŠâ
âI didnât like it either, when I first came here,â she says, shrugging. âI wonât say that I âloveâ it now, but maybe Iâve made peace with it. Thereâs something kind of liberating about it, you know? The act of surrender andâŠâ
I like Tess, I really do. But I'm learning that sheâs kind of chatty. And right now, I donât think thatâs helping me. âI think I just need to go andâŠtake care of some things.â
She laughs again. âIf you have to go, just go. Iâm probably about due for a dirty diaper myself. We could go get changed together if you want.â
âIâŠuh⊠Maybe itâs best that I just do this by myself.â
She shrugs. âI get it. I used to be like that too. Iâd hide behind some bushes while I filled my diaper. You go and do whatever you have to do. And when youâre done, and have gotten all cleaned up, come right back here, alright? I could use your help today.â
âSure,â I say, though itâs hard to focus on the future while the now is so taxing.
Iâm not even sure if she says anything else to me after that, as Iâm already jogging away from her.
===
I donât know where Iâm going, and I definitely donât know what Iâm going to do when I get there.Â
My instinct is to just run into the woods, pull down my pants and just leave a little pile on the ground. But then what? What do I wipe myself with? Or do I then have to sprint to a shower?
Everything about this is infuriating. This is the most ridiculous problem Iâve ever encountered in my adult life. I just want to poop for godâs sake. It shouldnât be this hard.
Well, nobody else around here seems to have that problemâŠ
Yes, because everyone else around here is blissfully packing their Pampers like thatâs the most normal thing in the world.Â
Maybe I shouldâve drank the milk. Then this wouldnât be as big of a deal if I had no choice in the matter. Iâd justâŠgo. No control. No thinking about it. No concept of dignity or self-respect. Then Iâd just shuffle off to the closest Mommy without a care in the world.
Though⊠Now Iâm thinking about Freya again. Maybe another trip to her changing table wouldnât be the worst thing in the world?
No. No way. I canât let her see me in a disgustingly loaded diaper. Even if she has seen diapers far worse than whatever I could produce.
I can hear Tommyâs voice echoing in my mind too: âPlay the game.â
âFuck you, Tommy,â I say aloud. Heâs not hereânobody seems close enough to have heard it, but I feel better for having said it.
I have no idea what to do, and that almost never happens. In most tough situations, I might have a moment where I need to weigh my options a little, but I usually feel like thereâs at least one path I can count on. Iâm just not finding that path right now.
I am wearing a diaper. Everyone is expecting me to use it. Nobody would blink an eye at me if I did. Hell, theyâd probably love it if I messed myself just like they do. But itâs meâIâm the problem. Iâm too proud. Too stubborn. Iâm not a baby. Iâm not drunk on magical milk. All I want to do is find Alfieâwhy should I have to resort to pooping my pants like everyone else?
The longer I hold it, the harder it gets to think straight. I canât remember the last time Iâve been this desperate. No, thatâs not trueâI was in a similar pickle yesterday, wasnât I? When I had to pee and refused to piss myself. This isnât too different from that. Except, well, that it is different. Thereâs a world of difference between flooding a pair of diapers and pushing a disgusting, stinking mass into the back of my pants.
I veer off the path and into the woods. Am I actually going to justâŠpoop out here in the middle of nowhere and worry about the cleanup later?Â
I donât know. Maybe.
But Tess is waiting for me. Do I have time to find a shower and use it? Would that take more or less time than just letting someone change me?
Thereâs another urgent quake in my bowels. As stubborn as my body is, I can feel myself being worn down. Thereâs a quiver in my anusâand I can just tell that itâs holding onto control by a thread. At any moment, it could give out, giving me an answer to my conundrum whether I like it or not.
What do I do?
 I sigh, thinking of Tommyâs advice again: âPlay the game.â
Iâm deep enough into the woods that nobody can see me. I doubt anyone knows that Iâm here. Good enough. I drop into a squatting position and let out an almost-whimpering sighâthe sound of me begrudgingly surrendering myself to the needs of my body. But thatâs not all Iâm surrendering myself toâthis is a sacrifice of my dignity to the âgreater good.â Maybe, just maybe, this buys me a little bit of extra credibility so that I can fit in around here and get some more answers.
âAlfie,â I mutter as I feel my asshole opening inside of the diaper. âYou fucking owe me.â
Iâm ready to push, and even let out a grunt as I prepare myself for one, but itâs not needed. Everything in my bowels rushes out from me in what feels like a split second. I feel the back of the diaper expand outwardly aggressivelyâviolentlyâas it accommodates the mass thatâs been forced into it. In an instant, I feel the diaper sag and shift, the filthy mess spreading downwards between my thighs.
Another wave, and I grunt again, this time having to push a little to ensure that I can get everything out of me and into the already-packed diaper.
My shorts suddenly feel too restrictiveâlike theyâre preventing my diaper from having the space that they need. I try to pull them down, but my squatting position makes that hard to do. Fine, Iâll just move my legs a little. But I miscalculate somethingâmaybe I donât account for the little hill that Iâm standing onâand I lose my balance.
âFuckâŠâ
My feet scramble to try and stop me from tumbling over, but I can already feel my body pitching itself backwards. I reach out for something to try and hold ontoâa branch or a tree trunk or somethingâbut thereâs nothing close enough.
Iâm going down.
Splat.
I end up on my assâthe absolute worst place I couldâve landed. Everything I just pushed into my diaper is now, well, smashed against my skin.
I feel disgusting. I smell disgusting. I hate absolutely everything about this.
If there was ever a time for me to throw a toddler-style temper tantrum, this would probably be it. Instead, I let out one last grumble, take a deep breath, and try to center myself.Â
This is all for Alfie. That son of a bitch.
***
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Vodka tasted better when you drank it out of Communion cups.Â
Or at least, I figured it would. This was a first. I tipped the cheap-ass vodka into the tiny plastic cups, watching the clear liquid settle. They were practically shot glasses for evangelicals.
Dan and Amanda watched me. They sat on a stack of dusty old hymnals in the storage room. âIsnât this, you knowâŠblasphemous?â Dan asked.Â
I rolled my eyes, steadying my hand as I topped off the third cup. This shit was damn near impossible to get when you were nineteen and lived in a religious bubble; I wasnât going to waste a single drop. âYouâre supposed to put alcohol in them,â I said. âThatâs the whole point.â
âWine,â Amanda said quietly. âThe body of Christ. NotâŠwhat is this again?â
âVodka,â I said.Â
âWhereâd you even get this stuff?â Dan asked.Â
I grinned and pressed the tiny cups into their hands. âI have my ways.â I raised my cup. âHereâs to the most fun any of us will ever have at church.âÂ
Dan frowned. Amanda giggled. They tinked their plastic cups against mine. I threw mine back, the liquor scorching my throat, leaving a warmth deep in my chest.
Dan coughed and sputtered. âWow, thatâs strong.âÂ
I smirked, warmth spreading through my limbs. âUh-huh.â
Amanda tossed hers back. A flicker of pink crept up her neck, but she bit back the cough that tried to escape. Our eyes met, and she smiled. Not the polite, church-picnic smile. This one lingered. A little crooked. Like weâd just committed a crime together and gotten away with it.
I smiled back at her. âAlright, round two.âÂ
âRound two?â Dan gasped.Â
âIâm sure thereâs wafers in one of these boxes if you need something to settle your stomach first.âÂ
âThatâs definitely blasphemous,â he said.
âOkay, keep your panties on,â I told Dan.
Amanda, you can go right ahead and take yours off.
She giggled. Her flushed cheeks glowed in the dim light. She tugged her shirt lower, thinking I wasnât looking. Conservative, high-cutâthe kind of blouse a hot girl could get away with at a place like Antioch Independent Baptist. Still, that extra bit of skin was enough to spark heat behind my eyes.
I opened my backpack and pulled out a raspberry seltzer and three styrofoam cups.Â
âSeriously? You had something to mix that crap with?â Dan said. âWhy didnât you do that in the first place?âÂ
âCome on,â Amanda said. âWe can drink it how he wants.â
I raised the bottle of vodka. âExactly.â I set the bottle aside and began filling one of the cups on top of a stack of extra Bibles. âRound two coming up.âÂ
âYou see that Bespoke is coming to The Pavilion in a few weeks?â Amanda said.Â
âNo way!â I spun around too fast, knocking the seltzer over. It crashed onto the Bibles, then tumbled onto my lap, a cold flood soaking straight through my khakis. âFuck!â
Dan frowned. âDude, not in church.âÂ
Amanda jumped up. âIâll find something to soak it up. Thereâs probably napkins or paper towels or something in here.âÂ
I waved her off, shifting in my now-clammy pants. The smell of artificial raspberry clung to the air. âItâs fine. Iâm just going to go to the bathroom. Iâll be back in a minute. Donât drink all of it without me.â
She giggled.
I closed the storage room door behind me and walked down the dark church hallway.Â
Let her drink the whole bottle. I didnât care. Iâd never seen her this loose. This unguarded. When I got back, maybe we could ditch Dan. She might do more than tug down her shirt if he wasnât around.
The way she looked at meâŠthat wasnât just the vodka talking.
âThomas?âÂ
I froze.Â
A blonde head peeked out of the nursery. âHi!â
Shit.
âHey, Hope,â I said.
She beamed and stepped fully into the hallway. That prairie-floral dress she always wore made Amandaâs blouse look like clubwear. Still, it didnât hide the curve of her hips. Not completely.Â
âI thought I was the only one here,â she said. âIâm on nursery duty this month. Not that itâs a duty--I volunteered. Whatâs more important than taking care of our little ones while mom and dad are learning about the Lord, right?âÂ
âRight.âÂ
âI thought it could use an extra deep clean and some reorganization. Figured itâll take me a few Wednesdays, so I might as well get started now.â She looked at me expectantly.
âCool. Iâm, uh, doing something similar. Mark has been asking me to help out with the audio stuff, so I was learning the new mixing board.âÂ
She cocked her head to the side and smiled. âOhhhh. That is so sweet. Iâm sure he will appreciate it. The whole flock will. Are you--â She stopped, her eyes taking in the huge wet stain on the front of my pants.
âUh, yeahâŠI had a bit of an accident.âÂ
Godammit. Fantastic choice of words, dumbass.
Her brows drew together. âOh, Thomas. Come on. Iâll help you out with that.âÂ
âI just meant I spilled something. I can--â
âOh, donât be silly.â She gestured me into the nursery with that same no-questions tone she used when I was ten and covered in marker. âI have some paper towels in here.â
Great. Just get it over with. The less she followed me around sniffing for answers, the better. And my breath had to reek of vodka.
The nursery glowed with dim amber light--a lamb-shaped nightlight and a lamp next to the rocking chair. It smelled like baby lotion, apple juice, and graham cracker crumbs blended with the faint mustiness of Little Golden storybooks. Â
Hope handed me a roll of paper towels. âHere you go.âÂ
âThanks.âÂ
She frowned. A flicker of something---suspicion?--crossed her face. âWhat was it you said you were doing? Were you cleaning, too, orâŠ?âÂ
Shiiiiit. She smells it.Â
My mouth went dry. âI was just. Yeah. I--â
âAre you okay?â Hope asked. âYour face is flushed. Did you spill cleaner? Come on, letâs go look together. Those fumes are no joke.âÂ
âNo!âÂ
She startled.Â
âI mean,â I took a deep breath, âI had an accident.âÂ
Her expression melted into concern. âThomas. Oh. These things happen, I suppose. Did you--â She shook her head. âNever mind. None of my business. Letâs get you sorted out.âÂ
I waved the paper towels around. âThis is great, thanks.âÂ
She rummaged through a drawer. âYou remember when I used to babysit you and your sister? Seems so long ago now, doesnât it?âÂ
âIt was so long ago. Thanks for the paper towels, I think Iâm gonna go.â
She turned around with a diaper in her hand. It had a smiling Burt and Ernie on it. âYou remember the first time I ever watched you? Your mom was going to some meeting. You waddled out in your bedwetting diaper, not realizing I was there, and--âÂ
âYou must be thinking of Annabelle. She was the bedwetter.âÂ
Hope smiled. âHhhhmm. In any case, I was thinking you could slip this down in your underwear. Just in case, you know?â She fluffed the diaper with practiced fingers, like she was straightening a corsage. Soft. Intimate. Familiar.
I snatched the diaper from her. âSure. Okay.âÂ
âIâll turn around.â She spun around and faced the wall.Â
âLook, I appreciate your help. But, Iâve got it handled.âÂ
âItâs okay to be shy. Modesty is so important and so devalued in the world today. I promise I wonât look. Exodus 28:42--You shall make for them linen undergarments to cover their naked flesh. They shall reach from the hips to the thighs." She giggled.Â
God. She was only a few years older, but she still acted like my babysitter. Even during piano lessons years later, sheâd muss my hair and call me nicknames like I was still in diapers.
Apparently, full circle now.Â
I unbuttoned my jeans and shoved the diaper down inside, fumbling to get into some sort of position that wouldnât look like I was wearing, well, a diaper. I glanced up.Â
She still faced the wall. A small part of me wished sheâd turn around. A bigger part knew Iâd drop dead if she did.
I zipped up. The thing wasnât even taped, and it still made the front of my jeans bulge like I was smuggling a muffin.
She turned around. Her eyes flickered downward for a second. âYouâd hardly even notice.âÂ
My stomach dropped. Hardly notice?Â
Then she pulled me into a hug. Her arms were warm. Familiar. She smelled like lavender and something sweet that I couldnât quite place. The press of her chest against mine was all soft curves and holy restraint.Â
My hands hovered awkwardly before settling lightly on her back.Â
She pulled and ruffled my hair. âIâm so proud of you. Youâre growing into such a responsible young man, dealing with a challenge like this. Just remember: many are the afflictions of the righteous, but the Lord delivers him out of them all."
---
âDude, where have you been?â Dan asked. âAmanda left. She had SAT test prep or something.â He was still perched on his stack of hymnals, glued to his phone.Â
âWhen did she leave? Maybe I can catch her before--âÂ
âUh, what is in your pants?â Dan asked. âIs thatâŠactually, what is that?âÂ
âI did what I had to. Paper towels and all. Not a lot of options.â I turned away from him and pulled my backpack from behind a milk crate full of those horrific Chick tracts. Amanda being gone sucked. Big time. No reason not to have enough shot, though. Actually, it was a great reason to have another shot. Or two.Â
âIt was your idea to meet here, man. I said we could go park, or, likeâŠanywhere. Somewhere no one would see us.âÂ
I sighed. âNot a lot of spare pants at Berring Park or behind the Walmart Tire and Lube either, are there? And if we just disappeared for a few hours and came back smelling like booze, your mom wouldâve sniffed it out instantly. But tell her up front you were going to church to help me with AV, a fact that the deacons could back up if checked, andâŠâÂ
He was silent for a minute. I loved the guy, but heâd never figured out how to skirt around the rules. Sometimes, I wondered if he even tried.Â
âGood point,â he finally said. âBut you still havenât told me why you have a beach ball in your pants.âÂ
Heat flushed my face. I pulled the bottle of vodka back out of my pack and sat on the stack of hymnals across from him. The padding, mostly bunched up in the front, but also pressing weirdly under my balls and ass--made sitting feel weirdly floaty. Like sitting on a pillow. Or like that time a dish towel got wadded up in my jeans in the laundry.Â
âGonna have to take it straight,â I said. âAll the seltzer is on my pants. No coughing or bitching this time, either. Gotta keep it quiet. Hope is here.âÂ
âYour old piano teacher?â
I swished the bottle of vodka in his face. âEarth to Dan. You wanna drink or not?â
He leaned back, his brow wrinkled in confusion. âYou smell likeâŠI dunno. A girl?â
âDoâŠyouâŠwantâŠa shot?âÂ
âNot as much as I wanna know why you were gone so long and came back with a wad of something stuffed in your pants. âÂ
I slammed the vodka bottle down on the thin, musty carpet, stood up, and yanked open my pants, exposing the wadded-up diaper.Â
âIs thatâŠa diaper?â he asked.Â
âHappy?â I snapped. âCan we drink now?âÂ
He nodded. âSo, uhâŠâ
âHopeâs idea.â I buttoned my pants up, sat down, and grabbed the bottle of vodka.Â
âSo sheâs still here? What if she--âÂ
I waved him off. âShe wonât. Sheâs busy with this nursery project or whatever.âÂ
And sheâd seemed weirdly satisfied with the outcome of our interaction.Â
âHuh.â
âFigured if I pushed back, maybe she'd guess something else was up,â I said. âCome looking for us. Didnât want you getting in trouble.â I set two of the Communion cups down and started to pour.Â
âSounds like Hope. She never quite grew out of that babysitter thing.âÂ
âShe never quite grew out of that Charity Churchmouse, holier-than-thou shit,â I said. âSheâs what, twenty-five?âÂ
Dan shrugged. âI mean, she probably believes in it or whatever. Itâs not something everyone wants to âgrow out of.ââÂ
âSure. Whatever.â I handed him the cup.
âArenât you going toâŠ?â he raised his eyebrows.
âDude, I told you: no more seltzer.âÂ
He pointed at my crotch and chuckled, awkward and too loud. âNo. I meanâŠwhy havenât you taken it off?âÂ
âIâmâŠitâs not on,â I snapped. âLike, taped or whatever. I just jammed it in there so sheâd back off.âÂ
âOkay. Seems like itâd be pretty easy to--â
âYou couldâve tried âthank you for taking one for the team.ââ I reached into my pants, yanked out the diaper, and chucked it at him.
He batted it away like it was radioactive. âGross!â He stood up, brushing invisible germs off his pants. âYou know what, Iâm good for now. Iâve gotta get back home to take care of the chickens.â
âFine.â I tossed his drink back. âSee you later.âÂ
âYeah. Cool.âÂ
Once he was gone, I slipped the bottle into my backpack and dumped the communion cups in the trash along with the balled-up diaper.
Burt and Ernie stared up at me, grinning like smug little assholes. I hesitated, then snatched it back and stuffed it into my pack.
No way was I leaving that here.
Too many questions I didnât want to answer.
Check out my Ream to read the sequel as I publish it chapter by chapter each week. You'll instantly gain access to a huge library of completed, members-only stories that I will never release on Tumblr.
Want a good place to start? Check out Rian's New Sister, a 125,000-word story:
Rian and his wife Amara - now Mommy Amara - have a special relationship. A relationship full of diaper changes, cuddly storytimes, and lots of LEGO-buildin'. But Mommy has met someone special: Daddy David and his pampered princess, Gwen.
Now they are all moving in together, and Rian needs to share a nursery with the spoiled Gwen, who doesn't want him there. The strict David wastes no time establishing who wears the pants and who wears the diapers in the household, either.
Can Rian convince Amara they need to leave? Or will he find a way to accept his new life?
There are, in fact, two security guards at the gate to The Cradleâwhereas there was only one the first time I was here. Neither are all that intimidating looking. Itâs not like theyâre holding assault rifles or have handcuffs attached to their belts. They just look like twoâŠdudes. One a little older, a little overweightâhe might be the same guy I saw the last time I was here. The other is a little taller and looks like how a child might imagine a lumberjack to lookâbushy beard, plaid shirt, suspenders. The kind of guy that Alfie always assumes Iâm attracted to.Â
Iâm not.
The truck lurches up to the gate. The overweight guy signals for us to slow down, and Tommy does so, rolling down his window. I would assume security sees him roll through this gate all the time, so Iâm surprised they want to chat. Of course, Iâm a new face, which is probably the cause for the check-in.
âTom,â the guy says, grabbing a clipboard as he approaches the window. âHowâs it hanginâ?â
âCanât complain,â Tommy replies. âHowâs things, Chuck?â
âSlow. Quiet. Just the way we like it.â
âSo, uhâŠâ Tommy motions over to me with this thumb. âThis is a friend of mine andâŠâ
âIs she an official guest, Tom?â Chuck points down to a list of names and notes on the papers attached to the clipboard.
âWellâŠâ
âGuests have to be preapproved now, you know,â Chuck says.
âSheâs been here before,â Tommy says.
âBut she donât live here?â Chuck asks.
âNo,â Tommy says. âNot yet.â
Not ever, I think.
âLook, manââ Chuck wipes some sweat from his balding head. I get the sense that heâs not comfortable with the âenforcementâ part of his jobâthat up until recently, heâs enjoyed the cozy ride of just doing nothing at the gate everyday. âIâm not trying to bust your balls or anything. But guests need to be approved before they can enter.â
âSheâs with me, Chuck,â Tommy says. âAnd itâs not like this is a secret or anything. Mirabelle knows my friend here and we were going to go talk to her together anyway.â
Chuck swallows and clears his throat. âLook, I probably shouldnât do this. But, uh, yeah, I know youâre a good guy, Tom. I can let you through with her just this once, alright? But Iâm going to have to make note of her name, just in case.â
âRight,â Tommy says. âThat makes sense. Sheâs, uhâŠâ He hesitates for a moment, looking back at me. I think I know what he wants to ask me: what name he should give.
As tempting as it is to use a fake name, I donât think Iâm creative enough to think of one on the spot. Besides, a fake name feels like a surefire way to cause trouble for myself later on when someone realizes that Iâm in The Cradle but âAmanda Hugginkissâ isnât.Â
Oh, thatâs amusing. I should tell him my name is âAmanda Hugginkiss.â
âNikki Harding,â I say. I give him my full name. It sounds weird to say itâI feel like I donât use my full name too often. Maybe because Iâm just not important enough of a person, or maybe because Iâve carefully curated a life for myself that allows me to avoid referencing my familial name. But, sure, Iâll use it now. Itâs almost like a dareâIâm so confident that Iâm going to get out of here with what I want that Iâm willing to put my full name down on it.
âGot it,â Chuck says, scribbling something down on his clipboard. âAnd yâall said you were going to talk to Mirabelle anyway?â
âThatâs the plan,â Tommy says.
Chuck nods, either approving of this plan, or just tired of having to act like he cares. He waves his hand to usher us through the gate. âAlright, see you around, Tom. Nice to meet you, Miss Harding.â
âMiss Hardingâ makes me want to vomit. Still I flash him the most mild smile I can and give a little nod as the truck rolls forward.
âNikki Harding, eh?â Tommy asks as we drive towards the parking lot, smirking at me. âIf that is, in fact, your real name.â
I shrug. âYou can choose to believe it or not. Doesnât bother me either way.â
âSo mysterious,â he says. âI love that.â
I roll my eyes, though I have the decency to look away from him while I do it so he canât see. Thereâs a good chance that any variation of âYouâre so mysteriousâ is the sexiest thing a man can say to me.
===
I step out of the truck, immediately sniffing at the air to see if it smells of baby powder and dirty diapers. It doesnât, and I think I knew it wouldnâtâbut for some reason, between the last time I was here and now, I feel like Iâve convinced myself that this place just smells like a giant nursery. Iâm sure there are areas that doâespecially the indoor areas. But not here. Here, it smells like summer. Fresh. Green. Floral. It smells pretty damn good, actually. I fill my lungs with it.
âWhere do you want to start?â Tommy asks.
I exhale. âHow bad do you think itâd be if we didnât tell anyone I was here, and they found out later after catching me snooping around?â
âWell, they wouldnât like it muchâŠâ
âRight,â I say. âLetâs go find Mirabelle then. Or someone official, I guess. Letâs let them know Iâm here.â
âYou sure about that?â he asks.
âYou said it yourself, didnât you? Iâve got to play the game.â
âRIght,â he says. âLetâs head over to the farmhouse. Weâll probably find her there.â
Every once in a while, I take a trip to Manhattan for a day. I go by myself, and I rarely have any sort of agenda. I just kind of like it there. I like pretending that in a different life, I became a city-girl. I go to the coffee shop in the morning for my latte. I know all the trendiest restaurants in town. I wear all the most fashionable clothes. I have a network of friends and acquaintances that I meet up with for brunch or impromptu trips to the museum.Â
Every time I go there, no matter how many times Iâve been there, it always feels like a new city to me. Itâs familiar, but not familiar enough that I know my way around. Iâll walk down a street that I swear Iâve never been on before, and then Iâll spot a restaurant that I ate at the last time.Â
Thatâs the way The Cradle feels to me now: familiar, though still feeling new. Iâve seen some of these places before, but I couldnât tell you how to get from one place to another. Like Manhattan, itâs not exactly the same as how I remember it being, though all the general beats seem the same. The cabins. The flower beds. The little walking paths. The people walking past us in their diapers.
It does seem different though. For the worse, maybe. Has anything actually changed, though? Or were my memories wrong? I remember this place being a littleâŠhappier. And, sure, everyone seems to be in pretty good spirits, but it feels like something is missing. The aura is off. I wonder if itâs the locks on some of the doors, where there were no locks before. The extra security guard. A faint sense of paranoia that has swept through the place after being betrayed by one of their own.
The babies we walk past smile and wave to Tommy. Sometimes they greet me too, but sometimes I can see a little worry on their face as they glance at me out of the corner of their eye.
Sloane would probably cry if I told her this. Sheâd hate to know that she was likely the cause for the slight change in temperature here.
But thereâs still plenty that seems to be the same as I remember it. Especially the people. The babies. Waddling about in their diapers and baby clothes without a care in the world. A blonde haired woman passes us in a yellowed diaper that droops down between her thighs, clinging to her hips for dear life. For a minute, we walk behind a young redheaded guy whose rear end slowly expands as we follow. Iâm just about ready to ask Tommy if the guy is doing what I think heâs doingâonly for the stench of a soiled diaper to slap me in the face.
âYouâre used to this?â I ask Tommy. âThis all seems normal to you?â
He laughs. âUsually. Now and then, Iâll look around and wonder and realize how wild all this is. But that seems to happen less and less these days.â
âWould you ever leave this place?â I ask.
He shrugs. âNot by choice. Itâs been a long time since any place has felt like home to me. And this does, you know?â
I donât know why, but that answer concerns me a little. Maybe itâs just because I canât imagine myself ever choosing to be a permanent resident here. To me, this place feels soâŠtemporary. A place, like Disney World, that you go to because you want to feel some sort of magic. The longer you stay, though, the less magical it would seem.
But what do I know? Maybe these people really do just crave a sanctuary where they can live their best baby lives. The difference between me and everyone else here, I guess.
âOver there,â Alfie says, pointing to a guy sitting under a tree. âThat wasâer, is, I guessâone of Alfieâs cabinmates. Andrew.â
The guy doesnât strike me as the type who belongs in a place like this. Heâs tall and slenderâthe kind of guy who looks like he follows a strict diet and runs every morning. Fit. Handsome, I dare sayâmaybe not the kind of guy Iâd ever be into, but Iâm sure he turns heads at the bar.Â
âI assume youâve talked to him about Alfie?â I ask.
Tommy nods. âYeah. He doesn't know anything.â
âIs he, like, concerned at all that Alfie hasnât been around?â
He shrugs. âI donât know. Someoneâone of the Mommiesâtold the cabin that Alfie was selected for some sort of âspecial program,â or something like that. I guess they just choose to believe that.â
âThe âmommies?ââ
âUh, the Maternal Councilâthe ladies who change everyoneâs diaper and kind of help to keep the order around here? We call them âMommies.ââ
âOh.â
Iâm tempted to go over to Andrew and talk to him, but I donât know what good thatâll do. The guy isnât wearing any pants, just a thick white diaper and a t-shirt that barely covers his belly. Heâs got headphones in his ears and is holding a bottle of water. Given how sweaty he is, maybe he just finished a run. I make note of his face and nameâmaybe later Iâll circle back to him.
âDo you know who Birdie Dowell is?â Tommy asks me.
âShould I?â
âSinger? Guitarist? Sheâs kind of famous, I think.â
I shake my head. âNever heard of her.â
âWell, uh, sheâs here in The Cradle too. Sheâs not here permanently, but she comes by pretty often. I think Alfie said that Andrew and her are, you knowâŠâ
Itâs easy to assume what Tommy is suggesting, but I raise my eyebrows curiously as if I still need to hear him say it.
âUhâŠboinking?â Tommy says.
I snort, shaking my head.
âAnd this is why youâre still in diapers,â I say.Â
===
At the old stone farmhouse, Tommy says heâs going to go in and see if he can find Mirabelle. He asks if I want to join him, but out of the corner of my eye, I can see another smaller building behind the farmhouse. No windows.Â
âIs that the building you were talking about?â I ask.
He nods. âThatâs the one.â
âGo see if Mirabelle is around. Iâm going to go check it out.â
âNikkiâŠâ
âWhat? Itâs not like Iâm going to bust down the door.â
I can read his face. He wants to say something like âbe careful,â but he knows that would probably be a mistake. And heâs right.Â
âAlright well, uh, Iâll go see if Mirabelleâs here. And IâllâŠcatch up with you here? Or around here?â
I nod, and he steps up onto the porch before entering the house.
I walk around the farmhouse and closer to the other building. Itâs not quite as big as one of the cabins, but itâs not a tiny shed either. I suppose someone could live in there if they wanted to. Iâve seen pictures of prison cells smaller than this.Â
Prison? Baby-prison, or something like that. Thatâs an interesting idea.Â
I approach the door, noting the lock that keeps the door shut. The way that itâs mounted on the exterior of the door suggests that you couldnât unlock it from the inside. I could be wrong about that, but Iâm pretty sure thatâs the case here.Â
Next, I walk around the perimeter of the building, looking for anything else interesting. Thereâs some electrical lines running to the building from the farmhouse. Thereâs an air conditioning unitâcurrently running. But not much else of note. No windows. No other doors.
Back at the door again, I debate on whether or not I want to knock. In the best case scenario, I hear Alfieâs voice on the other side of the door, pleading to be let out. Iâd kick the door downâdespite telling Tommy that I wouldnâtâand Iâd grab Alfie. I wouldnât even wait for TommyâIâd just run. Iâd hold Alfie in my arms like a baby and carry him out of this place. I donât care if I have to walk all the way back to Harperâs Bell. Iâll do it.
Knock-knock.
I swallow as I listen at the door, unsure how prepared I am for a response.
When I donât hear anything, I try another way: âAlfie? Alfie? Itâs me, Nikki. Are you in there?â
I hear something. I think. The slightest movement. A faint rustle, maybe. I could just be hearing things, or hearing what I want to hear, but I swear that itâs something.
And then I really do hear somethingâbut itâs coming from behind me. Footsteps.
âNikki,â a voice says. âI was hoping youâd join us again.â
I spin around and there she is. Mirabelle.Â
In some ways, she looks like she could be my sister. Sheâs on the shorter side. Curvier. But her round face seems permanently stuck in its happiest settingâher cheeks glow and her smile is wide and toothy. I want to say itâs all a front, because nobody could ever be this happy. And yet, it does feel genuine.Â
âHey,â I say. âDid, uh, Tommy find you? I think he was looking for you to tell you I was here.â Iâm not sure what else to say. It probably doesnât look good that Iâm nosing around buildings that I have no right to be at.
âHe has not,â she says. âBut I did happen to notice you two arrived together.â
âHm?â
Mirabelleâs eyes glance up, and I follow her gaze to a camera mounted on the side of the farmhouse, aimed at the smaller building. I imagine thereâs a few other cameras around The Cradle now too.Â
I wonder how many residents around here know about them. Or care.
I do my best to suppress any feelings of guilt or regret.Â
âIâm very happy that youâre here,â Mirabelle says, her arms outstretched like she wants to hug. I shake my head and wave a hand in front of me to signal that Iâm a hugger. She continues: âThough Iâm surprised you didnât let me know you were coming first. We couldâve been prepared for your arrival.â
Thatâs exactly why I didnât reach out first.
I could bullshit her, but I think itâs best that I just get to the point: âIâm here because I want to see Alfie, Mirabelle. Nobodyâs heard from him in a while, and frankly, weâre all getting a little concerned.â
I expect her to get defensive, or for her to artfully squirm out of this conversation. But she maintains her smile and charm and just nods like she completely understands.
âYes, of course,â she says. âAnd thatâs so sweet of you. I mean, seriouslyâto love a friend so much that youâd be willing to fly across the country to check in on them? Thatâs true friendship right there.â
Her whole personality throws me off. Sheâs either a ridiculously good actor, or sheâs unflinchingly positive. I feel like Iâm pretty good at seeing through people, but sheâs an exception. SheâsâŠopaque.
âHeâs here?â I ask. Maybe I mean in the building behind me, but Iâd be happy with any answer.
âOf course heâs here,â she says. âWhere else would he be?â
âI want to see him.â
âI understand,â she says, a sympathetic expression on her face. âAnd Iâd like you to see him too.â
âOkay, great. Letâs go see him.â
âI did mention in my email that heâs currently undergoing a specialized treatment, yes?â
âYou did,â I say, biting my tongue to prevent myself from adding: âAnd it sounded like bullshit in your email, too.â
âWe have to be careful with Alfie,â she says. âWe canât just interrupt his treatment at any time.â
âLook, I just want toâŠâ
âI understand,â she says again. âReally, I do. I would feel the same way if I were in your shoes. And Iâm not saying that you canât see himâIâm simply stating that weâll need a little bit of time before you can see him.â
I donât like this answer, though I suppose it's better than an outright refusal. I donât know if I trust Mirabelle or not, but she certainly sounds like sheâs being honest with me.
âHow much time?â I ask.
âJust a day? Two, at most? But why donât you stay here with us in the meantime. Weâll give you a nice cabin to stay inâthat you can have all to yourself. Weâll make you very comfortable.â
I sigh. âI will get to see Alfie, right? Youâre not bullshitting me on that?â
âI would never lie to you about a thing like that, Nikki. Please, stay with us?â
Itâs at this point that Tommy rounds the corner of the farmhouse. He seems startled to see that Mirabelle and I are here, already engaged in conversation.
âOh, h-hey, Mirabelle. I was just looking for you, andâŠâ
âYes,â Mirabelle says, nodding. âIt would seem I found Nikki first. Itâs so wonderful that you brought her here, Tommy. I really appreciate that.â
Tommyâs cheeks get a little pink as his eyes dart between the two of us. If I was to take a guess at what heâs thinking, Iâd say that heâs torn between being a loyal drone to Mirabelle, and helping me to break a few rules in my effort to find Alfie.
âMirabelle was just telling me that I can see Alfie,â I say. âIt might be a day or two, though.â
âO-oh⊠Are you, uh, okay with that?â he asks me.
âWell, she offered me a cabin to stay in, soâŠâ
MIrabelleâs face lights up again. âYou will stay, wonât you?â
I sigh. âSure.â
âThatâs wonderful,â she coos. She turns to Tommy again. âTommy, can you go find Marta? Let her know that weâre going to set Nikki here up in Cabin 19 for a few days.â
He gives me a skeptical glance, a âare you sure about this?â sort of look. I give him a reassuring nod.Â
âAlright,â he says. âIâll go find her right now.â
After Tommy trots off, Mirabelle looks back to me and beckons for me to follow her. I do.
âI understand that perhaps not every part of our lifestyle here appeals to you. And I get that, I really do. But since youâre here, and since you have a little time on your hands, I wonder if you wouldnât mindâŠhumoring me a little?â
âHow so?â I ask.
âThink of it as a challenge, Nikki. Iâm challenging you to live like we do, for just a day or so. Truly put yourself into a place where you can decide whether or not itâs for you. Because, unless you do, youâre just assuming, yes? And you know what they say when you assume things?â
I donât answer her riddle, though I know the answer. And, on some level, sheâs not entirely wrong. âDonât knock it until youâve tried itâ is a mantra I refer to oftenâeven if most things do end up being just as disappointing as I figured theyâd be.
I hear Tommyâs voice in my head: âPlay the game.â Heâs right about this. Until Iâm out of here with Alfie, I donât want to rock any boats.Â
âOkay,â I say. âLetâs, uh, give it a whirl.â
âR-really?â Mirabelle looks genuinely surprised by my answer. And delighted.
I nod. âYouâre right. I canât really judge this place until Iâve given it a fair shake.â
âYou know what I think you should do, right?â she asks.
âDrink the milk?â
Thereâs that huge smile again. She says: âYes, exactly. Drink the milk. Just try it.â
===
Iâm not going to suckle from a strangerâs tits, and I tell Mirabelle thisâthough in a nicer way. She says she understands. She says she can have a bottle brought to my cabin, and I say that this is perfect.
And that, for the time being, is the last to be said about that.
Mirabelle has other things to do, and other places to be. She gives me some directions on how to get to Cabin 19, which I almost immediately forget. Still, I assure her that Iâll be fine and that. Soon enough, Iâm left to my own devices again. Sooner or later, Iâll find my way back to Cabin 19, and to that bottle of milk Iâve agreed to, but Iâm in no rush to get there.
Iâm reminded of that very first day when Alfie and I came to The Cradle in search of Anders. At some point we split in different directionsâAlfie got whisked away to guzzle milk and get turned into a baby, while I did a little exploring. I eventually found myself at the farm, and spent some time with Tess, who showed me around.Â
Iâve thought about the farmâand Tessâquite a bit since I left here. And while Iâve been so focused on finding Alfie recently, thereâs been a small part of myself thatâs been excited to see Tess again, and to revisit the farm.Â
Seeing as how I have a dayâmaybe twoâto kill, I figure I might as well see if I can find my way back to the farming area.
Iâve been accused of being a âpower walkerâ before. Alfie says he feels like he has to jog to keep up with me. Iâm not a dawdler, I guessâif I know where I need to go, then Iâm on a mission to get there quickly.Â
But alsoâand this is a revelation Iâve only had in my adult yearsâthere are things I do to compensate for what I used to believe were my shortcomings. Pun intended.Â
Nobody will ever let you forget the fact that youâre short. From kindergarten through my senior year in high school, I donât think a single day passed where someone didnât reference my height at least once. It wasnât always maliciousâbut it didnât matter. Just the fact that it was coming up at all, so consistently, was enough to irk me.
Thatâs why I work out at the gym. Sure, Iâm shorter than you, but Iâm stronger than you.
Thatâs why I walk fastânobodyâs going to accuse me of walking slower because I have short legs.
Thatâs why I keep to myself whenever I canâI donât ever want to be accused of being both short and annoying.
And, well, there are probably a thousand other ways my behavior is alteredâwhether directly or indirectlyâby me trying to overcompensate for being short. Ways that I donât even realize.
But now, the warm sun on my skin, a potential route to see Alfie in the future, and thousands of miles between me and the rest of my life, I feel as ifâfor the first time in as long as I can rememberâI can slow down a little bit.
Iâve got nowhere I need to be right now.
And, here, I donât feel the need to try and prove that Iâm more than my stature might suggest. There are people walking around and pooping their pantsâhow can I be judged?
Hell, it might even be seen as a positive to be shorter in a place like this.
Yeah, I guess that speaks to me.
I slow my stroll. It feels good, for the first time in a long time, to just not care.
===
When I finally come upon the vegetable gardens, I spot a few bodies bobbing up and down in between the rows of plants. Harvesting, or just checking in on plants, Iâm not entirely sure.
I watch them for a little while. I like the down and dirty nature of their roles. I like that theyâve come to a supposed âparadiseâ and still feel the need to actually work and perform labor. Nobodyâs making themâthere are plenty of people here who seem to have no issue with living their best, most relaxed, baby-life. These people want to be here. Itâs in their blood.
I think I can relate to that.
âIs that Nikkiâs ass I see?â a voice from behind me says. Itâs familiar to me.
I turn to see Tess standing there, arms crossed in front of her and a smile on her face. Sheâs wearing some denim overalls, stained with dirt and dustâsome of it fresh, though some might be old stains thatâll never wash out. Her short and dark curly hair pokes out from a wide brimmed straw hat sheâs wearing. Itâs a little silly looking, but I bet itâs more about function than fashion.Â
Sheâs older than me, I think. Maybe by a decade, if I were to guess, but itâs hard to say. The tanned skin and sweat helps to disguise her age some.
âYou know my ass that well?â I ask, hoping my cheeks arenât as pink as they feel.
âWell, no. But yours isnât in a diaper.â
âThatâs fair,â I say.Â
âAnd, well, I saw you walking over this way a few minutes ago,â she adds, smirking. âItâs good to see you again, Nikki. I was starting to think that you mightâve meant what you said about not coming back.â
âI had to come back,â I say.
âWeâve all been there,â Tess says, nodding. âBut we all must answer Motherâs call.â
Iâm ready to correct herâto say that Iâve never heard any sort of call, and that Iâm just here to retrieve Alfieâbut I wonder if thereâs even a point. If I keep my motives to myself, I wonder if that helps me âplay the game.âÂ
âYeah,â I say. âCouldnât, uh, ignore the call for too long.â It feels weird saying this. Even though I know itâs just a front, it still feels like a betrayal of myself.
âYouâre not going to regret this,â Tess says. âYouâre a strong woman, and we have need of someone like you.â
Well damn. She knows how to stroke my ego. In the same way that making a comment about my height will make you a lifelong enemy of mine, complimenting my strength earns you some attention that you might not get otherwise.
Maybe this is how Iâll fill the time between now and when I get to see AlfieâIâll do some work on the farm. Get my hands dirty. Do something productive that helps contribute to this weird little community.
âWhat needs doing?â I ask, rubbing my hands together.
Tess laughs. âOh, I like your gumption. Ready to go right now, are you?â
I shrug. âLetâs do it.â
âWell Iâm not going to work you too hard just yetâit looks like you just got here. But, if you insist on lending a handâŠâ
âAnd I do.â
âDo you see that shed over there?â Tess asks, pointing up to a small building atop one of the stumpy hills on the perimeter of the garden.
I nod.
âThis morning, I loaded some bags of fertilizer onto a wagon but then I got distracted by some other things. If youâd like something to do, itâd be a big help if you could wheel that cart down over to that section of the gardenââ She points to an area surrounded by tall wire-mesh fencing. ââand then unload the bags near the gate. Would you be able to do that for me?â
âAbsolutely,â I say. And honestly, Iâm pretty excited about this task.
===
One âsmallâ task turns into another small task, and then the next thing I know, Iâm running a few small errands for other farmers too. Suddenly, Iâm feeling the satisfying dampness of a good sweat and I realize that a few hours have passed. The sun is now slowly making its way towards the horizon. I should probably wander back to whatever cabin theyâve got me in and find a place I can take a shower. Maybe touch base with Tommy too.
I say my goodbyes to the farming folks, and offer optimistic responses when most ask if Iâll be coming back tomorrow. Truthfully, I have no idea what tomorrow will bring just yet, but I wouldnât be upset if it involved me coming back to the gardens again.
As tempting as it is to wander aimlessly across The Cradle to find my cabin, I simply ask Tess to point me in the right direction, which she does.
Itâs not an especially long walkânot while I know where Iâm goingâto get to the cabin. And once Iâm there, I see that I have my first visitorâTommy is sitting on the steps.
âYou havenât been waiting a while, have you?â I ask
âJust a little while,â he says, standing up and stretching his back. Iâm guessing heâs been here for longer than heâll admit to. âWhere have you been, huh? Having fun without me?â
âThe farm,â I shrug.
He laughs. âI shouldâve guessed that. Well, uh, hereâs your cabin. They left some things in there for you.â
âThings?â
He swallows nervously. âYouâll see what I mean when you get in there.â
Diapers, I bet. Theyâve left me diapers. I guess I should be happy that theyâre not dragging me to some baby changing station so some stranger can powder my bottom. Not yet, at least.
âThey left you some milk too,â he says. The look on his face asks the question he doesnât say aloud: âYou gonna drink that?â
I donât offer any sort of answer to him, instead walking past him and into the cabin, allowing him to follow me.
For whatever reason, I just assumed the cabins were these cramped and uncomfortable spaces. And maybe they are when four or five people are sharing this areaâall of them in loud, stinky diapers. But this cabinâs got a bed, a bedside table, a little dresser, and nothing else. It feels empty. Almost uncomfortably soâtoo far on the other end of the spectrum from cramped.
âNice of them to give you a whole cabin,â he says. âItâs funnyâŠa few weeks ago, when the festival was going on, we didnât have enough room for everyone.â
âGood for me, I guess,â I say, my eyes locked on to the thick, white disposable diaper sitting on the end of the bed, waiting for me.
âYou gonna be alright by yourself?â he asks. Is he asking if I want company?
âIâll be just fine,â I say.
âAre you hungry? Theyâre still serving dinner in the dining hall if you want to go over.â
I pick up the diaper in my hand, squeezing it. Rigid exterior. Soft interior. Lots of crinkles. I think I feel my cheeks warming a littleâmy body just knows that this isnât something I should be in such close proximity to. Iâve never wanted a baby of my own, nor have I ever wanted to be a baby. Diapers are something I shouldâve been able to get through my entire life without ever having to think about.
And here I am.
And thereâs the milk, sitting atop the bedside table in a baby bottle. Itâs strangely degrading, I thinkâforcing someone to drink from a baby bottle. Maybe the people here like that sort of thing, but Iâd have more respect for the place if they just put it in a paper cup for me.
Drink the milk.
Play the game.
Well, Iâm going to do one of those things.
âHey, Tommy?â I ask.Â
âYeah?â
âDo you think you could wait outside for a sec. Iâve got to, uh, change.â
Itâs his cheeks that are getting red now, as he looks at me holding the diaper. âY-you mean youâre going toâŠâ
âIâll see you outside in a minute, alright?â
When I have the room to myself, the first thing I do is unscrew the cap on the milk bottle. Then, I open one of the windows and proceed to launch the milk out of the bottle and into the dirt outside.
I suppose I couldâve just given the milk to Tommyâheâd have liked that. But no, it felt good to dump the contents of the bottle out. Defiant.Â
Fuck milk.
Fuck âMother.â
The diaper is in my hand again. Iâm ready to play the game. Iâm ready to try and blend in. Iâm going to make them think Iâm one of themâjust until I get what I want.
But Iâm not going to become a slave to whatever the âmilkâ is.
I stare at the diaper for a little longer than I mean to. A few minutes pass before I finally sigh, realizing itâs time to get on with it.
Itâs time to put the diaper on.
Thirty-Nine: Nikkiâs Story, Part 6
There, Iâm wearing the diaper. Did I apply it well? Doubtful. But itâs staying on, and I guess thatâs all I can ask for.
But I canât pull my shorts up over the thick padding. I try and I try, but the shortsâwhich were probably a little too snug to begin withâjust wonât budge over the extra curves. I settle on a less flattering pair of nylon running shorts in my bag which manage to contain the diaperâbut not without a pretty obvious bulge.Â
I probably shouldnât care. Not only do I usually not dwell on what others think of my outfit, but I know Iâm in a place where everyone else either has a diaper-bulge or has their diaper on full display. I just donât like the idea of people knowing that Iâm the one wearing a diaper.Â
But this is what Iâm supposed to be doing. Iâm blending in. Playing the game. Now, my diaperâs on. My shorts are on. Letâs do this.
When I step outside, Tommyâs eyes immediately wander down to my shorts, and a big smile spreads across his face.
âWow, you actually put it on?â he asks.
âI think thatâs pretty obvious,â I say. Iâm tempted to add that itâs in his best interest not to make any further comments about it, but I think the glare on my face does enough to make the point.
âThe milk?â he asks. âYou didnât drink it, did you?â
I shake my head. âBut if anyone asks, I did.â
âR-right.â
We start walking, and I give him a half-step lead on me so that I can follow him to the dining hall, which Iâm not certain Iâd be able to find on my own just yet.
âWhat, exactly, does the milk do when you drink it?â I ask. âLike, for the first time.â
âAh, wellâŠâ He scratches his head. Maybe itâs hard to remember, or maybe itâs just hard to explain. âItâs likeâŠhave you ever been really high? Like, so high that you feel like you can barely move?â
I snort. âBeen there before.â
âIt reminds me a little of that. Your body feels heavy and hard to move. The world around you is kind of foggy. You feel, you know, small. Helpless. Itâs hard to focus on anything. You have delayed reactions to everything. You, uh, lose control of your bodily functions, you know? If thereâs anything in your bladder, or your bowels, itâs coming outâhence the diapers.â
âAnd, uh, how long does it take to get through that and to start functioning again?â I ask.
He shrugs. âDepends. It hits people pretty hard the first time, though I think it depends on your body and how much youâve had to drink. A few hours, usually.â
âIf I tell people I drank the milk, can you back me up?â I ask. âLike, confirm that I was all loopy or whatever for a few hours?â
He laughs a little. âYeah, I can do that.â
âIâll pretend that I donât remember the details of what it was like while I was, like, under its spell, alright? If anyone asks for detailsâŠyou can improvise?â
He grimaces a little and shrugs. âI mean, Iâm not exactly known for my acting abilities. But Iâll do my best.â
âGood enough. What else do I need to know? Like, what longer-term effects are there?â
âWell, the big one is, uhâŠâ
âYes?â
âIncontinence.â
âRight, right,â I sigh. I should know this by now. âSo theyâll be expecting me to use my diapers.â
He shrugs again. âTheyâll just assume that you are, yeah.â
âBut do you think I could get away withâŠnot crapping myself?â
âMaybe,â he says. âYou might be able to get by for a while without using your diaper and nobody being the wiser. ButâŠâ
âBut?â
âYou wonât find a toilet around here. Not easily, at least. So youâre going to have to go somewhere.â
âHrm.â
âLook, I know itâs probably the last thing you want to do, but nothingâs going to make you blend in with everyone else better than just, uh, using the diapers.â
âIâd rather not.â
âI know, I know. ButâŠusing diapers? Having one of the Mommies change you? Thatâs the culture around here. Like I said, you could probably get away with not doing those things for a while. But sooner or later, someoneâs going to notice.â
I canât help but scoff. âSo youâre suggesting that I just use my diapers and allow someone else to change me like I was a baby?â
âItâs not that bad,â he says. âI mean, honestly, itâs not bad at all. Itâs nice.â
âSays you, who is into that kind of thing,â I say. âThe thought of someone I donât know wiping my ass for me isâŠunpleasant.â
âLook,â he says. âYou want to know what will help you fit in, and this is what I think the answer is. Especially if youâre not actually going to drink the milk, you know? I know itâs not something youâre comfortable doing, but you know, nobodyâs going to doubt whether or not you belong here if you have a full diaper from time to time.â
Heâs probably right about that. But, if things work out the way that they should, I wonât be here for too long. Maybe I can get by for a day or two with just wearing a diaper and not using it.
But I already have a sinking feeling in my stomach that things arenât going to work out that way. I hope Iâm wrong about that.
===
Itâs taco night at the dining hall. My expectations are set lowâIâm having flashbacks of high school cafeteria tacos, with their ground beef-paste and stale shells that shatter into a thousand pieces if you so much as look at them.
Iâm pleasantly surprised by the quality of the food though. Chopped chicken swimming in an inviting orange sauce. Thin strips of seasoned steak. Fluffy rice. Black beans. A fresh bowl of mouth-watering guacamole is placed on the serving line just as Tommy and I get in the line.
âThis all looks pretty good,â I say.
âThey donât mess around with food here,â Tommy says. âPeople come for the diapers, but I think they stay for the grub.â
âI guess I just imagined everyone getting a bowl of baby food.â I shrug.
âThatâs more of a Tuesday thing,â he says, shrugging. I can usually tell when heâs jokingâheâs never very subtle about it. But for the first time, Iâm not sure if I should believe him or not.
A scrawny guy in front of us in line, his skin tannedâon the verge of being just burntâand his hair stringy, turns to us. âYou new here?â
âYup,â I say.
He chuckles to himself. âYou couldnât have come on a better night. Taco night is always the best.â
âCool.â I donât know what else Iâm supposed to say to this.Â
âBut, uh, it always makes for an interesting night,â the guy continues. âIf you know what I mean.â
Beans. Tacos. Lots of big babies waddling about with the freedom to do whatever they have to do in their diapers. I know what heâs getting at, but I play dumb anyway. âI donât know what you mean.â
His cheeks blush a little. âJust, like, uhâŠâ He points to the food. âBeans?â
I give him a blank stare, hoping to convey that Iâm still not getting his point.
âLike, uhâŠâ Whatever confidence was in this guyâs face when he first turned around is gone now. His joke is ruined. An awkward expression is creeping over his face. His diaperâhanging out in the open without any pants to cover them upâseems to yellow and sag before my eyes. No, maybe notâmaybe it was already wet and sagging between his legs. But I like the idea that I somehow made him wet himself.Â
âIâm just fucking with you,â I say, putting the guy out of his misery.
His cheeks turn a brighter shade of red and he shrugs, trying to laugh it off like he was in on my joke too before slowly turning around again. I feel a little bad for making the guy feel awkward, though maybe not that bad. And given Tommyâs little chuckles behind me, he seems to have found some humor in the scene too.
Food acquired, we find a quiet table to sit at. Iâm much hungrier than I thought I wasâthe smell of the good food has me just about ravenous, and I make short work of my tray of food.
âI have another question,â I say, swallowing down the last of my tacos.
âSure,â he says.
âThat very first day, when Alfie and I came here looking for Anders, Mirabelle whisked Alfie away and made him try the milk.â
âYeah, I remember,â Tommy says.
âHe says that he was brought to your, uh, âMotherâ person? And he says she, like, breastfed him?â
âMm,â Tommy nods, shoveling some rice into his mouth.
âIs that the experience you had when you first came here?â
Tommy shakes his head. âNope. I meanâŠI did, eventually, get to meet Mother. But it took a while.â
âBut Alfie got that immediately,â I say. âYou didnât. I didnâtâneither time Iâve come here. What does that mean?â
âAhâŠâ His mouth is open, ready to answer me, but he pauses and thinks about it for a moment. âYou know, I donât actually know why that is.â
âIs Alfie, like, the âchosen oneâ or something?â
âI mean, nobodyâs ever said anything like that to me,â he says. âYou think thereâs a connection between him getting to meet Mother right away and him being, like, kept somewhere now?â
I shrug. âDo you know of anyone else who met Mother as quickly as he did?â
âI dunno. Itâs not something I usually ask anyone else about. But maybe youâre rightâmaybe thereâs something to that. I should look into that.â
I sit back in my chair some, my belly full. I probably ate a little too much, but I have no regretsâI ate well. Maybe the best meal Iâve had in a while.
Good food and the life of a farmer, a voice in my head says. Are you sure you donât want to stay any longer than you have to?
My bladder has something to say too: Remember me?
YeahâŠitâs been a while since Iâve peed. Iâve felt the pressure ramping up for the last hour, though Iâve been hoping Iâd find an alternative to using the diaper. Iâm not above running into the woods and just pissing into a pile of leaves if I have to.
âYouâre squirming,â Tommy says. Heâs trying to keep a straight face, though I can tell that he wants to smirkâwhich might just be worse than actually smirking at me.
âI am not.â
âYou totally are,â he teases. âWhatâs wrong? Have to pee?â
I scoff, unhappy with the entirety of this situation. Iâm wearing a fucking diaper. I have to pee in a place where there are no actual toilets. And, perhaps worst of all, Tommy can sense my desperation and is teasing me about it. Tommyâthe same baby whose stinky diaper almost knocked me unconscious in our travels between the airport and The Cradle.
âJust pee,â he says. âItâs not that bad.â
âI canât,â I say. âI donât think my body will allow for that.â
Generally, Iâm a pretty stubborn person. Itâs in my blood and my bones. I come from a long line of stubborn people. I already know that my body will reject the notion of just âletting goâ in my diaper right now. Iâll hold my piss until I drown in it if I have toâmy body wonât release a drop into the clothes Iâm wearing, diaper or not.
I donât know if it's true or not, but my motherâback before our relationship completely fell apartâused to tell people that I basically potty trained myself. âOne day, at only two and a half, she got up and just decided that she didnât like going wee-wee in her pants, and just started using the toilet herself,â the story usually went. Iâve always found it at least a little believableânot only was I supposedly born self-assured, but if it was left up to my mother to train me, I probably wouldâve been in diapers until I was in first grade.
âSo what are you going to do?â he asks me.Â
I shrug. âPee in the woods?â
He wrinkles his nose and shakes his head. âMaybe you should just try the diaper. Just once?â
âIâm not going to have someone else change my diaper,â I say, as if I need to make a further argument for why I wonât.
âI can get you more diapers,â he says. âDo you know how easy it is to get diapers around here? Theyâre all over the place.â
Iâm changing the subject a little: âOkay, but where do all the diapers go?â
âHm?â
âI mean, thereâs quite a few people here, right? All of them wear diapers. All of them probably needing a few diaper changes a day. Thatâs, you know, a lot of dirty diapers. What happens to them? Where do they go? Who deals with that?â
âWell, we donât keep them here,â he says. âThereâs a guy, I think. He collects them every night from around The Cradle and then he takes themâŠsomewhere.â
I snort. âAre you just making that up?â
âI mean, Iâve never met the guy. But thatâs what Iâve heard. I mean, I assume thatâs what the deal is. Otherwise this place would be a landfill in a week.â
From a few tables away, thereâs a muffledâbut still plenty loudâburst of trumpety bass. This is followed by squeals of laughter from that general vicinity. Iâm not too surprised when I see the scrawny guy from the line among the laughing. Hell, he might even be the gaseous source of the initial noise.Â
Farting humor has never really been my thing. I guess I get why itâs funny. But when I think of farts, I think of my fatherâs constant flatulence, and his total nonchalance about it. The man could fart anytime, anywhereâand heâd level a small part of the midwest everytime he did so.Â
Alfie, heâs not a farter. Well, not an obvious farter. He whisks himself away to the bathroom or his bedroom when he needs to do that. Yet another reason I like him, if weâre being honest.
âJust pee,â Tommy says, breaking my focus from my reminiscing about bodily gas. âYouâll feel better when itâs done, I promise.â
âItâs solving one problem but creating a new one,â I say. âSure, I wonât have to pee anymore. But then Iâll be sitting in my own pee.â
âWell, yeahâŠâ He blushes a little, scratching his head.Â
I snort. âRight, all you people like that.â
âHow do you know you donât?â he asks.
âCommon sense, I guess,â I shrug. âYou like peeing your pants because itâs naughtyâbecause society tells you that youâre not supposed to like it. I have a lot of problems with âsociety,â but sometimes they get it right. Iâm pretty okay with not sitting in my own waste.â
He smirks, and his mouth opens for a moment like he wants to say something, though he doesnât.
âWhat?â I sigh.Â
âN-nothing.â
âOh, come onâdonât do that. Just tell me what youâre thinking.â
He shrugs. âI dunno. Youâre funny.â
I scoff. âFunny? Iâm not trying to be funny.â
âNot like a, uh, comedian,â he says. âJustâŠuhâŠâ
âNever mind,â I say, hoping that Iâm putting him out of his misery of needing to explain himself. Besides, maybe I get what he meansâIâm just giving him a hard time.
===
When I stand up to put away my tray at the dining hall, a wave of discomfort pulses through my whole bodyâits origin being my bladder. Iâm going to have to do something about this soon.
âOh come on,â Tommy sighs as we exit the building together. âYouâre waddling right now.â
âI am not.â
âYou are! Your legs are squeezed together and youâre taking these little steps. Your face is all red. You look uncomfortable, Nikki. I get that being stubborn is kind of like your thing, but maybe just, you know, let go a little.â
Let go. Literally and figuratively.Â
The boyâs probably right about that.
I think Iâm ready to try again. If only I could convince my body to âlet go.âÂ
âIâm going over there,â I say, pointing to some trees across the way from the dining hall. âDo not follow me.â
âAre you really going to pull down your diaper and piss on the ground?â Tommy asks, grimacing some.
âDonât worry about it,â I say, trudging away from him and into the woods. Iâm still not used to the thick diaper under my shorts, and between that and the intense pressure in my bladder, I sense my embarrassing waddle.
Iâm not going to pull down my pants and pee in the woods. Iâm going to try and âplay the gameâ by pissing the diaper. I just need a little more privacy before I try that again. Iâm not like everyone else hereâI canât just squat in the middle of a walking path and fill a diaper up.
I step into the trees, avoiding the fallen sticks and pointy rocks as best as I can. A trail? Maybe not a trail so much as it is a worn-down path, a place where someone has tromped through this area a few times.Â
WaitâŠ
I glance up and squint my eyes, making out the chain link perimeter fence a few yards from where I stand, partially obscured by leafy tree branches. It would seem that Iâm in the area of where Sloane had helped to make the Great Milk Heist. Though the daylight is starting to fade, I figure I have more light now than Sloane did when she was standing where I am now. I see the pointy tree branches, the shrubs, and the briars that Sloane wouldâve had to fight her way through. I wonder if a seasoned forensics team would find traces of her blood or fibers from her onesie here.Â
Of course, what this also might mean is that Iâm not the first person to use a diaper over here. Though I donât know if that makes me feel better or worse.
âHey, you alright over there?â Tommy yells from a few yards in the opposite direction of the fence. Through the trees, I can see where heâs standing. Far enough away, but not so far that I feel like just a lone weirdo in the woods. Though I guess I kind of am.
âJust fine.â
Okay, justâŠdo it, I tell myself. Just go. Just pee. I spread my legs, squat, and push.Â
Nothing.
âCome onnn,â I mutter to myself.
I hear Tommy talking again, but itâs not loud enough that I can make out the words. I think heâs talking to someone else whoâs walking by. On one hand, it feels like my audience has just doubled. On the other, maybe itâs good that Tommy is distracted by someone else and that heâs not just waiting on me to do my thing.
Another push. More nothing. I let out a little whining noise unlike any Iâve ever heard myself make before. Iâve never sounded more pathetic. More desperate. I donât care for it much.
âJust fucking gooo,â I whine to myself again. But this time, when I hit the âgo,â my body actually responds. Or, maybe itâs not responding so much as itâs just giving upâmy body simply doesnât have the choice of holding it anymore.Â
Iâm peeing.
Wetting, as a baby might say.Â
My first thoughts are of how gross and disgusting this feeling isâthe diaper getting warmer and heavier. Thereâs something about the way the wetness just seems to cling to my skin in an area that slowly expands that just doesnât feel right. It gives me the âicksâ as some dumb kid at the bar would probably say.
But thenâŠ
I donât know. Iâm not going to say that it feels good, but I suddenly find myself almost understanding what the hubbub is about. Tight. Wet. Warm. Heavy. Thereâs a strange security in the diaper. Like being wrapped up in a blanketâŠaround just your midsection.
Or being in the womb.
Alright, whatever. Itâs done. My bladder is drained and Iâm feeling much better. Sure, it feels like thereâs a soupy plastic bag between my legs now, but Iâll deal with that soon enough. I start walking back towards Tommy again. Iâll need him to fetch me a new diaper so I can change myself. I know that's not how things are done around here, but I just donât think I want some stranger manhandling me for a diaper change.Â
Tommyâs still talking to someone. Theyâre laughing together, whoever it is. Not laughing at me, I donât thinkâjust some casual conversation.Â
Is it going to look weird that Iâm emerging from the woods? Maybe I should think of a story orâŠ
âOh, hello there,â a voice says as I burst out from the trees, shaking some weeds and leaves free of my foot. âYou must be new here, yes?â
Itâs a woman, the one talking to Tommy. Sheâs tall, with very-red hair. Fair skin that seems a little too fair for the California sun tooâmaybe she spends most of her time indoors.Â
âNikki,â Tommy says. âThis is Freya. Freya, this is my friend Nikki.â
âA pleasure to meet you,â Freya says, extending a slender hand towards me. Sheâs smirking, but Iâm not sure if thatâs just her usual expression, or if she finds something about me amusing. Maybe it was the fact that I just emerged from the woods like some lumbering bear.
âNice to meet you too,â I say. I point to the woods, thinking I should probably attempt to explain myself. âI, uh, was just taking a look around.â
âNikkiâs actually a really good friend of Alfieâs,â Tommy says. âSheâs here to see him.â
âIs that so?â Freya asks. Her eyes seem to light up this, and her smirk becomes a sizable grin. âI love Alfie. Weâre not supposed to have favorites here, butâŠwell, heâs one of mine.â
âYou havenât seen him lately, have you?â I ask. âBecause Iâve been trying to get in touch with him.â
She retains her smile, though her nose wrinkles a little bit. A sore subject? Or does she not know where he is either? âIâm, uh, afraid I havenât seen him in a little while myself. But I know that heâs in good hands right now.â
âYou know that, do you?â I ask, my tone a little more aggressive than I intend for it to be. âAnd just whose good hands are those? Because nobody can give me a straight answer.â
âMotherâs, I believe,â Freya says, seemingly unfazed by my attitude.
âDo you know where he is right now?â I ask. âWhatâs happening to him?â
âNo,â she says. Now, her expression seems to falter a little. I canât be certain, but I think I see a smidge of concern on her face now. âIâm sure heâs okay. But⊠Well, Iâm afraid that Iâm not privy to the details of whatâs going on with him.â
I glance at Tommy, trying to make eye contact with him. I just want to know if this lady is someone we can trust or if I should stop talking to her. But heâs not looking at me, heâs gawking at Freyaâs chest, wrapped up in the tight white top sheâs wearing.
Maybe thatâs as good an accommodation as I can expect from him.
âAnd so where are the two of you off to now?â Freya asks.
Tommy, finally, looks at me and shrugs. âItâs been a long day, so maybe weâll just head back to our cabins?â
âYeah,â I say. âThat actually sounds good.â I could use some rest. Too, I want to take this sopping wet diaper off and fling it as far from me as I can.
âYouâre not going to retire for the evening with a dirty diaper, are you?â Freya asks.Â
For a moment, I assume sheâs just talking to Tommyâbut then I realize sheâs staring at me.
âExcuse me?â I say.
âSheâs a, uh, Mommy,â Tommy says. He then clears his throat. âUh, Maternal Council member, I mean.â
âWhat I think Tommy here is trying to say,â Freya says with a playful grin, âis that I have a keen eye for diapers that need changing. And yours, dear, have a distinct sag that your shorts do little to hide.
âIâm fine,â I say. âI donât need to beâŠâ I can barely get the word out of my mouth. â...changed.â
âI beg to differ,â Freya says. Her hand is again stretched towards me, like she wants me to hold onto it. âCome with me, sweetheart. I promise, Iâll get you all cleaned up.â
I feel my cheeks warming a little. Iâm not a baby. Iâm not a toddler that gets led around by the hand. Iâm not a âsweetheart.â
âI, uhâŠI think Iâll just take care of it myself,â I say.
Tommy is behind Freya, trying to silently say something to me. I think I get the message from his exaggerated mouth movements: âPlay the game.â
Ugh. Do I have to?Â
I need to remind myself again why Iâm playing the game. Itâs because I want to find Alfie. Itâs because I want people here to trust me enough that they tell me the things I need to know. Itâs because I worry that if I resist too much, Iâll get myself thrown out of here.
âDonât be silly,â Freya says, wiggling her fingers at meâanother invitation to take her hand. âI promise, Iâll take good care of you. And doesnât a nice dry diaper sound pretty good right now?â
âI guess,â I sigh.
Begrudgingly, I take her hand. I shoot Tommy a look, trying my hardest to transmit a psychic message to him: âI donât know howâbut I think this is your fault, and Iâm not happy about it.â
âI probably donât even need to ask if you need a change, do I?â Freya asks Tommy. âYouâre always a good boy who gets his bottom cleaned when he needs to.â
Tommy blushes a little, trying to avoid eye contact with me. âIâm good for right now, thank you.â
âVery well. Nikki and I are going to take a little walk so that I can get her changed,â Freya says.
âIâll, uh, see you later, Nikki,â Tommy says.
âMaybe,â I mutter.
Then, thereâs little else to do but allow myself to be tugged forward by Freya.
===
A minute or two into our walk, I glance over my shoulder and see that Tommy is nowhere to be found. I assume heâs wandered off in some other direction, towards his own cabin.Â
Itâs just me and Freya now.
I wriggle my hand free of hers. She doesnât have an especially tight grip, but Iâd say itâs a purposeful oneâshe wants me to be holding her hand like I was a child.
She doesnât say anything when my hand is free, though she looks at me with raised eyebrows, perhaps concerned that somethingâs wrong.
âI, uh, just donât really like holding hands,â I say.Â
âWhat about it donât you like?â she asks.
I donât know why, but Iâm a little caught off guard by her question. Maybe itâs the way that itâs askedâboth the verbiage and her tone.Â
âI justâŠâ I bite my bottom lip, debating with myself on whether or not I feel like being vulnerable with a stranger. âI donât need anyone else to support me. Iâm good on my own.â
âAh,â she says, nodding her head. âI can relate to that.â
âHm.â I donât know her, but I believe it. Itâs in the way she stands tall and holds her head up as she walks. Itâs in her tone.Â
âItâs hard to let other people in sometimes, isnât it?â she asks. âBecause you donât know how theyâll react. They might spot a weakness in you. It might not even be a weaknessâjust something they perceive as weakness.â
I nod. âYeah.â But then I add: âIs this the part where you try and convince me to, like, try and unwind a little? Let myself be vulnerable for once?â
âThose do sound like good ideas,â Freya says, snickering a little. âBut only if those are things that you actually want to do.â
I snort. âIâll get back to you on that.â
âHow much of a fuss are you going to put up when I change your diaper?â she asks.
Play the game. No, I donât want her to change me. But thatâs what happens here, and for the time being I want to try and blend in.
âIâm not going toâŠfuss.âÂ
âGood,â she chirps. âIs this going to be your first change?â
âYes.â
âEven better,â she says, her smile widening again. I expect her to make some sort of awkward remark about âpopping my diaper cherry,â but thankfully she says no such thing. Instead, she says: âI promise, thereâs nothing to be ashamed of. Whatever youâve got going on in your pants, Iâve seen worse. Iâve probably even seen worse today.â
Thatâs not as comforting as she thinks it is.
But I look up at her face as she stares straight ahead. Sheâs pretty. Attractive. The kind of girl, who if I saw in a place like a party, I might try and talk to. The kind of girl who I might, in my more private moments, imagine myself kissing.
I feel my cheeks blushing as she points to a small cabin a few yards away.
âHere we are, dear,â she says. âWhat do you think? Ready to get your diaper changed.â
I swallow and sigh a little, hoping that she doesnât see the extra pink in my cheeks.
âYeah letâs, uh, do this.â
***
If thou seeks more of Milk, ye must venture forth to Ream Stories, where ye will find many, many more verses. Please view ye olde link below:
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Like most of the Interlude chapters, this one is mostly self-contained. Still, need to catch up on the story so far? Here you go!
Interlude 6: Flowers Part 1
Every once in a while, my mother would look at me in this very specific wayâas if she was suddenly full of wonder as she beheld me. The first few times it happened, Iâd ask what that look was for.
âBecause Iâve seen you every single day since you were born, Marta,â sheâd say. âIâve seen you as a tiny little baby, and I see you as the young woman youâve become. But the changes that happened between then and now are so subtleâso slowâI often donât realize theyâre happening. So sometimes I look at you and remember that youâre not the four year old girl in pigtails anymore. Youâre not the 12 year old bookworm. Youâre not the 16 year old who is begging me to learn to drive.â
I would eventually find myself looking at her the same way, from time to time. For so long, my mother seemed ageless. But then Iâd spot an older photo of her and notice that her skin used to look a little softer. A little tighter. The color of her hair was a little darker. Slowly, but surely, my motherâs face wrinkled and her hair grayed.Â
It became more noticeable after I moved away. Whenever we visited each other, the first few minutes were the both of us taking in how much the other had changed. We rarely talked about it, but we both knew we were doing it.Â
Iâm beginning to feel the same way about Harperâs Bellâa town Iâve known and loved for the last two decades, but that seems to be changing and aging into something different than what it used to beâso subtly that I hardly realize itâs happening until I think back to the way things used to be around here.
To hear others speak of it, it started changing before I even arrived here. When I first moved hereâconvinced to do so by my then-husband, Ronny, the town existed mostly to support the big lumber mill. But for as prosperous as the mill had been for the local economy, there were already signs that things were on the decline. The costs of operating the mill were increasing, while demand was slowly diminishing. I was only in Harperâs Bell for a few years before the mill shuttered altogether, half of the employees getting laid off and the other half being given the option to relocate to the companyâs other operations. Ronny, a dedicated company-man, was fine with being relocated to New Mexico. Me, on the other hand, wasnât as willing to do so. I had fallen in love with the local community. I had been accepted as one of their own. I liked going to the diner and knowing the name of every patron there. I liked my work at the floristsâwork that hardly felt like âworkâ at all. I liked that, in spite of the lumber business leaving town, there were still a passionate group of people that were willing to stay behind and still make something of their town.
So I stayed, and Ronny left. That was a big change, of course. The mill leaving was another. But a new normal presented itself when the dust cleared, and thatâsâmore or lessâhow things have been since.
Except, Iâm now realizing that somethingâs been slowly changing around here once again. Itâs hard to say when it startedâI think Iâm one of the last to notice these changes, honestly. Some say that it began when the old Hammond Farmâanother institution in these partsâwas sold to someone from out of town a few years ago. Admittedly, I had little personal attachment to the farmâIâd never known the Hammonds personally. Still, it was a little troubling that such a big piece of the areaâs identity was now in the hands of someone who, likely, knew nothing about it. We all dreaded the worst case scenariosâthings like housing developments or strip malls. It often seemed unlikely that those sorts of things would happen here, in the middle of nowhere. But the world seems to be getting smaller everyday. One of these days, our little town wouldnât be the quiet, hidden place that we know now.
But we didnât get housing developments and strip malls. Something was happening on that farm, but nobody could put their finger on what it was.Â
And for a time, we all forgot that it was happening at all.
I remember the first time I stopped and looked around me, realizing that things were slowly changing in Harperâs Bell without me realizing. It was four, maybe five years ago, and I was walking down the streetâheaded towards the flower shop for another day of work. On the other side of the street were a pack of kids. Well, maybe not kidsâyoung adults. Twenty-somethings with bright colored clothes and cell phones that seemed glued to their hands. Beyond the fact that I had never seen them before, you could tell by the way they pointed and took pictures of things that they werenât from around here. Then, it started to occur to me that this wasnât the first time I had seen new faces in town. More and more, almost everyday now, I was starting to see people around that I had never seen before. Iâd go into the diner, and Iâd recognize only halfâmaybe lessâof the patrons seated and eating.
But why? This isnât a tourist destination. We donât have âattractions.â Their presence almost felt mockingâlike the only reason they had come here was to make fun of us for our simple, isolated lives.
I wasnât the only one who noticed. The town seemed divided on what to make of this influx of visitors.Â
Some hated it. âThis ainât Disneyland,â I remember Harold Kuhn saying as he shooed a group of new faces away from his bakery one morning. âGet your damn camera-phones out of here.â
Others didnât mind it as much. I remember Lindsay Burkett stopping by the shop one morning and gushing about how profits at her grocery store had been up for four months in a rowâperformance she hadnât seen since the mill was still operating.Â
Iâd say that I was skepticalâneither upset or happy about the people passing through our town. I didnât love the idea of our sense of normalcy being replaced by something else, butâŠI could also see how this was probably better for us in the long run. The truth was, since the mill had left, there was nothing bringing people here. The most stubborn of us stayed and made the best of it, but our town was dying.Â
These visitors, whoever they were, were bringing life back to Harperâs Bell.Â
It wasnât long after that that word âdiaperâ started coming up more and more in conversations around town. It was a common enough word that maybe if if came up in just a single conversation, you wouldnât think much of it. But more and more, it was somehow a point of conversation.Â
Lindsay talked about how she had a shelf of adult diapers that had been sitting thereâmostly untouchedâfor years, but now they were suddenly sold out and she found herself having to buy more.
Moe Henson from the diner was complaining about finding diapers stuffed into all the trash cans in the restrooms.Â
Ellen Bergstrom was furious that she almost tripped over a discarded diaper on the sidewalk over on Maple Street.
Why the hell was everyone talking about diapers all of a sudden?Â
===
I got my first glimpse at the answer on an otherwise normal weekday afternoon. I was at the shop, working on a custom arrangement for Caroline Spiegelâs upcoming birthday celebration, when the front door opened and a bashful young woman with blonde hairâstrung up in pink ribbonâstumbled inside, hurriedly closing the door behind her.
It was another new face that I had never seen beforeâand the first to come through the door of Earthly Delights.
I put my best smile on and welcomed her. âHi! What can I help you with today?â
âA-actuallyâŠâ the girl said, her face darting around to take in the layout of the shop. âI was kind of hoping that you might have a, uhmâŠrestroom I could use?â
âWell, our restroom isnât really for customers,â I said, glancing over my shoulder towards the doorway into the back room. Unofficially, I always just assumed the shopâs bathrooms werenât public. In all my time working here, I can only remember it coming up one other timeâwhen Michelle Prince was 8 months pregnant. And who was going to say ânoâ to a pregnant woman?Â
âI know Iâd be asking a lot,â she said. âBut I just have to, uhmâŠtake care of something and I need a private place to do it.â
She was undoubtedly an adult, though her ensemble gave me a little pause. The pink ribbon in her hair, the pastel pinks and blues of her dress, the lacy details on her ankle socks. I had heard others in town making similar observations about some of the visitors in recent weeksâcomments about people dressing âyounger,â though I didnât know what that meant until now.
I was the only one in the shop. In fact, most days, I was the only person who was ever manning the shop, now that the ownerâLizaâhad moved to San Diego to be closer to her daughter. So really, the decision rested solely on my shoulders.Â
âI guess, sure,â I said, shrugging. âWeâll have to go through the back, thoughâand itâs a little messy back there, so just watch your step and try not to judge me too much, alright?â
She nodded. âThank you so much.â There may have been tears welling in her eyes, but itâs hard to say if that actually happened or not. I just remember her looking far more distraught than anyone ought to be for just needing a bathroom.
Walking back to the front of the store after helping her to find the bathroom, a peculiar odor caught my nose. I checked the trash cans in the back, thinking maybe I had thrown away something I shouldnât have. But nothing that I found seemed to match the lingering stench. Even when I got back to the front of the store, the smell seemed present there tooâfainter, but undeniable.
I couldnât say what it actually was, but I knew what I thought it smelled likeâshit. That nasty, unwanted smell that sticks with you after you've accidentally stepped in dog shit. Or the remnants of what the person before you had done in a public bathroom stall. Given the girlâs urgency in running back to the bathroom, it seemed pretty likely that she had been the source. Either she had been moments away from having an accidentâŠor, sheâs already had an accident.
Time ticked by. Five minutes. Ten. Twenty. Maybe, if I had more things to keep myself busy, I wouldnât have noticed as much. Instead, I was standing at the front counter, frequently checking the clock on the wall as I wondered what was going on.Â
I knew the last thing the poor girl probably wanted was a stranger trying to barge into whatever situation she was dealing with, but I also felt like I at least owed her one check-in. Just in case.Â
I waited until 25 minutes had passedâthat seemed like a good amount of time to give someone before checking inâand then I knocked on the door.
âYes?â she said. It was just a single word, but it felt mired in distress and panic.
âHey⊠Iâm really sorry to be bothering you, butâwellâyouâve been in there for a while and Iâm just a little worried. Is everything okay?â
I expected her to say that everything was fine and that she didnât need any helpâregardless of whether or not that was true. Instead, she surprised me by saying: âI donât really know what to do.â
âOkay,â I said. âWell, Iâm here. Is there anything I can do to help?â
I was nervous to ask that questionâworried that any amount of âhelpâ she might need would be far beyond anything I actually wanted to do.
âI donât think you want to get involved in this,â she said.
âOh, I probably donât. But youâre in my bathroom, soâŠsooner or later we need to get you out of there.â
âItâs really embarrassing,â she said.Â
I sighed. It probably was the worst case scenario, thenâthe poor girl had an accident in her pants.
âHow bad is it?â I asked.
âItâsâŠbad.â
âChange-of-clothes bad?â
âYes,â she said quickly. âB-but my clothes are back at the farm andâŠâ
âThe farm?â I asked. âThe Hammond Farm?â
âI-I donât know anything about it being called that,â she said.Â
I was curious, but this probably wasnât the time or place to ask more questions about where she was staying. âOkay, what do you need? Underwear?â
âN-no, IâŠIâm good there. ItâsâŠmy dress thatâs the problem.â
I couldnât even begin to wrap my head around what that meant. If she had an accident, how did she need a new dress, but not a new pair of panties? Maybe she had some extra panties in her purse? But for all the shit I carry around in my purse with me, a spare pair of undies was never one of them.Â
âYour dress?â
âItâŠcame out the top of myâŠâ Her voice trailed off for a moment. âThereâs this big gross stain in the back of my dress. I-I canât leave this room looking like this.â
âI could probably get you a change of clothes if you want.â
âI hate asking for that,â she said. âButâŠI donât know what else Iâd do.âÂ
âWhat do you need?â I asked. âA pair of pants? A shirt?â
âYesâŠâ
âBut not underwear?â I heard what she said the first time, but I just didnât believe it. How on earth did someone mess up their dress so badly, yet not their panties?
âN-noâŠâ
Thatâs when I remembered that little word that had been floating around town lately.
Diaper.
Could it be? Was this girl wearing a diaper, of all things? It seemed ridiculous, but there was evidence to support that someone had been wearing them around here as of late.Â
âMy name is Marta,â I said through the door. âAnd you are?â
âIâm Sarah,â she said.Â
I had more questions I wanted to ask, but I wondered if this was the time to ask them or not. She was a captive audience while trapped in the bathroomâwhat else could she do besides answer my questions? But, trying to imagine myself in her shoes, I didnât think Iâd want some stranger asking me personal things about myself.
And, putting myself in her shoes meant imagining myself wearing aâŠdirty diaper. I grimaced a littleâexperiencing a feeling my young niece would likely describe as feeling âsquicked out.âÂ
Still, maybe for the sake of being as helpful as I can, I had to at least bring it up. âIs there anything else you need me to bring you, Sarah? AâŠdiaper? Baby wipes?â
I heard a small gasp on the other side of the door.
I sighed. âIâm sorry, I donât want to embarrass you or anything. But it sounds like youâre in a bit of a pickle, and I really do want to do whatever I can to help you out.â
There was a moment or two of silence. Then: âI have an extra diaper. I have wipes. Itâs just a change of clothes that I donât have.â
âThereâs a general store across the street,â I said. âTell me what size you need and Iâll run over there and grab you something, okay?â
âA-are you sure?â
âI mean, it sounds better than leaving you in this bathroom indefinitely, doesnât it?â
For the first time, I heard her laugh.
She told me her sizes and I made a mental note of themâwarning her that the selection wasnât always the best and that I couldnât promise Iâd be bringing back anything that sheâd actually look good in. I wasnât surprised that she was fine with thisâagain, imagining myself in her shoes, Iâd settle for a burlap sack being tied around my body over wearing clothes stained from an overflowing diaper.Â
I locked the front door of the store, putting a sign in the window stating that Iâd be back in a few minutes, and then I ventured across the street.
===
Before then, when I heard people talking about diapers, I hadnât put too much thought into the âhowsâ and âwhys.â But now that Sarah was trapped in the flower shopâs bathroom, I found myself traipsing through my memories and comparing some of the stories I had heard. The discarded diaper on the street. The diner restroom trash cans, filled to the brim with used diapers. The sudden shortage of adult diapers at the general store. It seemed incredibly unlikely that just one person was responsible for all of thatâand even less likely that that one person could be the bashful Sarah.Â
But, then, what was the alternative? That there were suddenly many people in town with a need for diapers? That seemed even more unlikely.
Or did it?Â
Sarah had mentioned âthe farm.â And, in thinking about the timeline of local events, the selling of Hammond Farm did seem to precede the sudden arrival of all these new faces. But what could that mean?Â
Then, while at the general store to fetch Sarah some clothes, I walked past the âHealth and Beauty Needsâ aisle and took a curious detour into it. I scanned the shelves until I spotted what I was looking for: adult diapers. I couldnât say why I wanted to check this outâmaybe I thought Iâd find a clue that would somehow answer some of my questions, or maybe I just wanted to see if Lindsay had been telling the truth about selling out of adult diapers.Â
And there it wasâjust one pack of adult diapers sitting on the bottom shelf, all the space around it vacantâlike there had been diapers there before, but they were all sold now.Â
So they did seem popular, I could confirm that much.
I read the package to myself: Adult Incontinence Briefs: Maximum Protection.â
It was the word âincontinenceâ that jumped out at me. At no point in time had I ever assumed that Sarah purposefully soiled herselfâbut I also hadnât stopped to consider why she was wearing diapers in the first place. Incontinenceâthat made sense.
I had a revelationâan idea that seemed kind of silly, but one that almost answered most of the questions I had about recent events in Harperâs Bell: Hammond Farm had been purchased and turned intoâŠan incontinence camp.
Now, I had never heard of such a thing as an âincontinence campâ beforeâbut it didnât seem all that far-fetched. A place for young adults with continence issues to go and⊠Get treatment? Learn to better accept their disability? Mingle with others with similar ailments?
Or, I jokingly considered: Theyâre all just weirdos who love wearing diapers and wanted a place to hang out with each other.Â
Maybe later, after I was able to free Sarah from the restroom, sheâd help shed a little light on what was actually happening down at the farm.
===
âSo, as promised,â I said, dropping a plastic bag full of folded clothes at the bathroom door, âthese arenât the trendiest styles. But theyâre at least something you can walk around in public with.â
âI really appreciate that,â she said. âSeriously. I owe you!â
âOne thing at a time,â I chuckled. âIâm going back to the front of the shop. Iâll keep the front door locked for now to make sure that nobody comes into the store while youâre doingâŠwhatever you need to do, okay? If you need to spread out a little, feel free to use the back room. Iâm leaving the bag of clothes by the bathroom door. Give a holler if you need anything, got it?â
âGot it,â she confirmed. âA-againâŠthank you.â
Whatever was going to happen in that bathroom after that was none of my business, and so I tried to put it out of my mind as I went back to work on Caroline Spiegelâs bouquet. But, whereas Iâd usually get some satisfactionâeven after all these yearsâwhen snipping the stalks of flowers, my mind was still on the young woman in my bathroom, doing her best to change her diaper and put on some fresh clothes.Â
The poor thing. I might just be witnessing the worst day of her entire life.
Thereâs a small electric kettle behind the counter that I sometimes use when I need a midday cup of coffee or tea to help push me through the afternoon. The least I could do, I thought, would be to get a cup of tea ready for her as a sign of goodwill. Worst case scenario, if she didnât want it, Iâd just drink it myself.Â
I waited, and then I waited some more. I pondered the logistics of having to change oneâs own diaperâespecially in the confined space of the floral shopâs cramped bathroom.Â
I knew that she wouldnât, but if she had asked me to help her change her diaper, I wouldâve obligedâas strange as that might sound. I may not have any children of my own, but in a past lifeâbefore moving to Harperâs BellâI worked at a daycare. Iâve changed many, many diapers of all shapes and sizes. No, not an adultâs, but I suspected it wouldnât be all that different.Â
In fact, there was a part of myself that almost wanted to change her diaper. Not because I thought Iâd like the sight of a grown womanâs messy bottom, but because I was sure that I could do a more thorough job than whatever she was doing in that bathroom.Â
Finally, she emerged from the back room. The colorful skirt was a little less form-fitting and flattering than the dress she had walked in here with, but it also wasnât stained. Too, it seemed to be doing a good enough job of hiding her diaper. The top, a simple cream-colored âI Love Harperâs Bellâ tee, didnât quite work with the skirt, but again, it still seemed better than what she came in with.
âEverything okay?â I asked.
Her cheeks were still bright red, and I wagered they would be for some time. She nodded. âY-yes, I think so.â
âI made some hot water for tea if youâd like a cup.â
âOh, uhmâŠâ
âIt wonât hurt my feelings if you donât want it. But I always find tea to help calm my nerves after feeling stressed.â
âMaybe some tea isnât a bad idea,â she said.
I poured us each a mugful, and it was nice to have her company for a little while. With Ronny gone, and with nobody else in the shop with me, I was spending most of my days alone. I tried not to think about it too much, but sometimes it was nice to be reminded what it was like to have someone to talk to. Despite all the questions I had about diapers and the farm, I tried to avoid those topics. Instead, we talked about the places we had come from. She was from the midwest, and had never traveled outside of her state before. As she put it, she was in deep over her head here: a new town, a new state, and barely knowing anyone else.
âWell, if it helps, you made a friend today,â I told her. âIf thereâs anything you ever need, at any time, Iâm happy to do whatever I can for you.â
âYouâre too kind,â she said. âSeriously, I donât know how I could ever repay you for today.â
âStop,â I told her. âYou donât owe me anything.â
âI donât know how often Iâll get back to town,â she said. âBut I like that thereâs a friendly face around here.â
âCome back and see me sometime,â I said. âIâd love the company.â
âWell, I do like flowersâŠâ
There was something else I wanted to say too, but I worried how sheâd take it. Still, I knew Iâd regret it later if I just kept it to myself. âHey, uhm, another thing?â
She carefully sipped from her tea. âYes?â
âIâm sure itâs difficult dealing with your, uhmâŠissues,â I said, hoping that I was using the right word to describe them. âBut if you ever need someone to talk to about them, Iâm all ears.â
Her cheeks blushed as she stared down into her mug. âY-you donât mean that.â
âI really do, Sarah.â Maybe I couldâve just left it at that, but I felt compelled to add: âAndâŠif youâre ever in town and you find yourself in a pickle like that againâŠfeel free to come by here. I will make sure you have all the space you need to do what you need to do.â And then, again, there was still something else I wanted to add, but wasnât sure if it was a good idea or not. I bit my bottom lip for a moment before deciding to just throw it out there: âAnd, uhmâŠif you ever need a hand with, uh, cleaning upâŠIâm pretty handy with that sort of thing.â
I immediately felt stupid for even saying that. I was worried that I sounded like I was begging this poor girl if I could change her diaper.Â
Her cheeks went from pink to bright red. âIâŠwellâŠâ She cleared her throat. âThatâs a very kind thing for you to offer. Iâll, uhm, remember you said that.â
I couldnât tell if she meant that, or if she was just placating me, but I supposed it didnât matter. She knew she had a place to go, if she ever needed it.
===
A few weeks passed without seeing her. I was pretty sure that Iâd never see her again, actually. I couldnât blame for not returning. It was so much easier to just avoid this place than to come back and look me in the eyes againâknowing all the things that I had seen, and smelled.
Maybe she was gone. Maybe her time at the farmâthe âincontinence campâ or whatever it wasâhad wrapped up and she was back in the midwest again.
But then, early one morning after I had just opened the shop, I heard the jingle of the bells on the front door, and there was Sarah. She wasnât wearing the multi-colored skirt I had bought for herânot that I could blame her, it wasnât all that niceâinstead wearing a much simpler black skirt. Though she was wearing the âI Love Harperâs Bellâ tee. And, this time, there was a smile on her face.
We talked for a while. Nothing especially heavyâmostly small talk about the good weather weâd been having and answering some questions about town.Â
âYou know, weâre working on expanding our agricultural programs at the farm,â she said to me after a while. âWeâre growing some vegetables, but weâve been talking about growing some flowers too. And, well, you were the first person I thought of.â
My eyes widened. âOh yeah? Tell me more.â
She laid out the basics for me, explaining that the operators of the farm were interested in setting up some flower beds and gardens around the property. Sarah had given the powers that be my name, stating that I might be able to assist with providing seeds and bulbs.Â
I told her that I could do better than thatâthat Iâd love to come down to the farm myself and help plant everything. Sarah was ecstatic with this offer, and wanted to run it by whoever was in charge of such thingsâbut she felt optimistic that this would be a good partnership.
Only two days later, she was back in the shop again, excitedly extending an invitation to come down to the farm during the weekend to help plant some flowers. I took her up on that.
âButâŠâ she then said, her cheeks getting a little pink again, âI feel like I should probably tell you a thing or two about the farm before you go there.â
Ah yes. Iâd been hoping that, sooner or later, Iâd get to find out more about how the townâs diaper problems were connected to whatever was going on at the farm, and this seemed like that moment.
âY-you know how I, uhm, wear diapers?â she asked.
âI do,â I said, noddingâfighting my instinct to smile, as to not embarrass her.
âWellâŠeveryone there wears diapers.â
âReally?â I asked, trying to act surprised. This all but seemed to confirm my âincontinence campâ theory. Still, I wanted her to be the one to say it. âAnd, uhm, why is that?â
âItâs kind of hard to explain,â she said. âIn fact, youâd probably think Iâm certifiably insane if I told you everything.â
I laughed a little, hoping to dispel some of the tension I could feel coming off of her. âI wonât think youâre crazy, promise.â
âYou say that now, butâŠâ
âGo on,â I said. âTell me more.â
âWeâre, like, a community of sorts. Like-minded people who just wanted a place where we could be ourselves, you know?â
âSure,â I nodded. âA place for incontinent individuals? A place where you didnât feel ashamed or judged?â
She bit her bottom lip, blushing even more. âS-something like that. But weâre not, uhm, incontinent. I meanâŠwe are now, but we werenât when we got there. There was milk, andâŠâ
âIâm sorry,â I said. âIâm not really following.â
She laughed to herself. âYeahâŠI think itâs harder to explain than I thought.â
âYou should try,â I said. âI really want to know.â
She looked up into my face, her eyes meeting mine. She smiled and nodded bashfully. She took a deep breath and then started over again: âNone of us were incontinent when we came here. We chose to come here. We chose to wear diapers. WeâŠâ
âOh, soâŠâ What was that otherâseemingly unlikelyâoption I had considered, if it wasnât an incontinence camp? Weirdos who loved diapers and just wanted a place to congregate? â...youâre just a group ofâŠdiaper enthusiasts?â
She giggled a little as she looked back down at the floor again. âThatâs getting warmer, I guess. Itâs more than that, though.â
I thought back to the first encounter I had with Sarah, and how she had burst into the store pleading for a place to deal with her dirty diaper. There was true panic and desperation on her face that dayâshe really was in a crisis. Though it was hard to know what to make of that when sheâs not admitting that there was a willingness on her part to wear diapers in the first place.
âIf you come to the farm,â she says, âI could show you everything. I think it might be easier to see it for yourself than for me to tell you about it.â
This response gave me more questions than answersâbut it also suggested that answers were on the horizon. If I took Sarah up on her offer, Iâd not only be further cultivatingâI can never resist a good horticulture punâour friendship, but Iâd also get a better look at what was actually going on around here.
I couldnât say no to that.
âTell me where and when,â I said. âIâll be there.â
===
That night, nursing an especially large glass of wine as I sat at my kitchen table by myself, I found myself thinking about diapers. Kinda funny, reallyâI had a feeling there were a lot of people in town thinking about diapers all of a sudden. Who wouldâve thought that this would be the most interesting thing to happen to Harperâs Bell in two decades?
I thought of the way Sarah looked up into my eyes earlier that day while in the shop. I could tell that she really wanted me to know everything that there was to know about her and the farm and the people who were living there together.Â
I wondered if she saw a kindred spirit in meâsomeone who had the smallest glimpse into the strange world she lived in, but didnât flinch.Â
I wondered that about myself too. Could I belong in a place like that?
I took another long sip from my wine glass, and stared off into space. In my head, I was imagining the day Sarah stumbled into the shop againâdirty diaper and all. I recalled the way she looked at meâwith those wet and pleading eyes. The way she looked so helpless and worried.Â
âOh you poor thing,â I imagined myself saying to her as I subtly sniffed at the air. âDid you have a little accident?âÂ
Sheâd have given me a little nod, her feet nervously shuffling beneath her.
âCome with me,â Iâd say to her, reaching out to her with my hand. âLet me help you take care of that.â
And she would take my hand, immediately putting all her trust in me. Unlikely, sureâbut this was my fantasy and in it things would work however I wanted.Â
Iâd lead her into the back room, quickly pushing aside the flower pots, boxes, packing materials and bags of soil from the large wooden table that was centered in the room. Pulling out a step stool from under the table, Iâd unfold it and beckon for her to crawl up to the top of the table.
âB-butâŠâ sheâd try and stammer.Â
âItâs okay, dear,â Iâd say, trying to assure her. âI know youâve soiled your diaper. But I promise that Iâll take good care of you.â
For a moment, sheâs atop the big table on her hands and knees, before carefulling rolling herself over so that her diapered bottom hovers above the tabletop. Iâd see the hesitancy in her face as she shyly looked in my direction.
âGo on,â Iâd say. âJust sit your little butt down and then lie back. I promise Iâll take good care of you.â
Sheâd do so, no doubt squishing her nasty little disaster between her bottom and the tableâprobably working its way into all sorts of new places in her diaper. This is fineâshe had already come into the shop with a big stain on the back of her dress. I may not have known this when it actually happened, but I knew it in my recreated fantasy.Â
Iâd pull her dress up and off of her body entirely, leaving her in just a dirty diaper and her bra. Her soft pink skin would glow under the fluorescent lightsâher face even pinker.Â
Thereâs something strangely alluring and erotic about the imagined act of changing her filthy diaper. Sheâs a pretty girl, with a youthful luster to her body that Iâm a little envious of, but itâs not as if Iâm attracted to her. Itâs the position that Iâm inâthe power that I hold as the person who is now going to clean her up and take care of her that was causing my vulva to tingle.
I couldnât say that I completely understood everything I was feeling at that moment, but I knew that I didnât hate it.
I took another long sip of wine and spent a little more time in my imagination.
I was more curious than I had ever been about what was transpiring at the farm.
Interlude 6: Flowers Part 2
The farm, then, was just called âthe farm.â Nothing had official names yet. There were a lot less people roaming around. Most of the buildings that people walk in and out of everyday now had either yet to be built, or were in a much more primitive state.Â
And yet some things were the same then as they are now. Namely, the people walking around in outfits that did little to conceal their diapers.
âIs it weird that Iâm the one who feels out of place here?â I asked Sarah, our knees in the soft soil as we made little holes to deposit some flowers.
She laughed. âI mean, that could very easily be arranged.â
âNo offense, but Iâm not sure thatâs quite my style,â I said. I was tempted to add that I saw myself as more of a âbabysitterâ than a âbaby,â but I kept it to myself for the time being.
âBut it doesnât bother you to see everyone wearing them, right?â she asked.
I shook my head. âNo. I meanâŠitâs definitely not the sort of thing you see everyday. And Iâm sure there are plenty of people whoâd have much stronger feelings about it than I do. But it doesnât bother me.â
âThatâs what I like about you,â she said. âItâs what I liked about you the very first time I saw you.â
âThe very first time you saw me,â I said, my voice a little more hushed, âyou were wearing a dirty diaper and there were tears in your eyes. I doubt you were making observations about me at all.â
Her cheeks grew rosy as she tucked some of her hair behind her ear. âYour shop wasnât the first that I went into that day.â
âNo? Where else did you go?â
âJust down the street from your shop is a little hair salon.â
âToniâs,â I said, nodding. I resisted the urge to roll my eyesâI had my own feelings on Toni. In a town that had become known for being stubborn and unwilling to evolve, she was quite possibly the biggest stick in the proverbial mud. She hated the concept of change. âWhat happened there?â
âW-wellâŠwhen I had my, uhm, accident, I was hoping Iâd be good for a little while. Long enough that I could wait for my ride to take me back to the farm where Iâd be changed.â
Be changed. Curious words, I thoughtâas if implying that someone else would be doing it for her? I nodded my head. âSure.â
She continued: âWell, it turned out to be a much bigger accident than I thought it was. I donât think it had turned into a, uhm, blowout at that pointâbut I could at least smell myself, and it was bad enough that I knew Iâd need someplace I could go to change myself.â
âRight,â I said.
âSo I went into the salon because I didnât see anyone else there besides the woman behind the counter. Itâd be humiliating to explain what I needed to do, but I was hoping sheâd at least let me use her restroom. Iâd do my business, clean up, and then run out of there. With luck, Iâd never have to see her again anyway, you know?â
âShe didnât give you an attitude about it, did she?â I asked.Â
Sarahâs cheeks got a little more red. âShe wasnât very nice, no. Almost immediately, she was waving her hand in front of her face and pointing at the door. She said she wanted nothing to do with âwhatever my deal was.ââ
âShe said that?â
She nodded.
I finally rolled my eyes. âSheâs the absolute worst.â
âI wasnât even thinking clearly when I stumbled down the street after that,â Sarah said. âBut I saw you in the flower shop, a-andâŠI thought you had such a kind face. I figured Iâd take one more shot at it, and if you kicked me out too, Iâd just go and try to clean up in an alley somewhere.â
I sighed, shaking my head at the depressing thought of some girl trying to change her own diaper behind one of the abandoned buildings in our annoyingly stubborn town.
âYou were kind to me from the very start,â she said.Â
Was I? Itâs funny, because I donât remember myself being especially kind when she first blew into the shop. It was interesting how we each perceived that moment. Iâd have loved to know what she saw when she thought back to that scene.Â
âYou were in need,â I said. âAnd I wanted to help you.â
âYou went above and beyond,â she said, her big smile returning to her face. âAnd then, just before I left, do you remember what you said to me?â
I blushed a little myself, not immediately recalling what I mightâve said, but hoping that it wasnât anything I regretted. âIâm not sure.â
âYou said that if I ever needed help getting cleaned upâŠâ
âOh right,â I sighed, my cheeks getting even warmer. âI did say something like thatâŠâ
âThatâs how I knew,â she said. âThatâs how I knew that I needed to invite you here. Not everyone would understand a place like this. But I was sure that you would.â
It did make me feel good to hear that, even if I still didnât have a clue what was going on in this place.
I said: âCan I ask you something?â
She nodded. âOf course.â
âYou mentioned the other day that you, and everyone else here, chooses to wear and use diapers.â
âThatâs true.â
âBut you also said that when you, uhm, messed your diaper in town that day you first came to my shop, you had an âaccident.âÂ
âRightâŠâ
âI mean, Iâm not calling you a liar or anything. ButâŠâ
She giggled and nodded. âSee, now weâre getting into the things that are harder to explain with wordsâand are best shown to you.â
âWell, weâre just about down with this flower bed,â I said, brushing some soil over the roots I had just eased into the ground. âIâm thinking you ought to show me.â
âAre you sure?â
âI might die of curiosity if you donât,â I grinned.
âCome with me,â she said. She stood up, the short dress she was wearing billowing just enough in the slight breeze that I could briefly see up her legs and between her thighs where something thick and whiteâpresumably a diaperâsat. My heart fluttered with anticipation as she extended a hand down to me, which I took so that she could help me up.
===
Everyone remembers the first time they tried Motherâs milk. For anyone whoâs ever had the privilege of consuming it, that very taste is just as much a milestone as, say, having your first beer, driving a car for the first time, or perhaps even the first time youâve had sex.
By the time a small, clear plastic cup of milk was pushed into my hand for me to drink from, I had already seen the milkâs effect on people. I didnât know, then, that it was the milk that was to blame, but I could feel the influence of something in almost every corner of the farm.Â
We were in Sarahâs cabin when she offered it to me. There were other beds besides hers, but it looked as if she was the only resident for the time being.Â
âMilk?â I asked Sarah, looking down into the cup of the same opaque white liquid I felt I had been looking at my entire life. I wondered if it was supposed to be some sort of symbolic gestureâlike, youâd have to drink the same thing a child would drink to show your commitment to a more infantile headspace or something silly like that.Â
âItâs milk,â she nodded. âBut itâs also more than that.â
Truthfully, as strange as the sights of diapered adults freely strolling around the farm had been, there was a part of me that almost felt like it clicked with. Everyone seemed so happy. So free. What they were doing would be frowned upon by the general public, but the general public wasnât here to stop them. I had never been in a place quite like it before. Even college, with all of its coming-of-age self exploration, still paled in comparison to the liberation on display here.
So, no, I didnât understand the importance of the milk. Being told that milk was somehow âmoreâ than milk meant nothing to me. But I wanted to believe in the same bigger thing that everyone else seemed to.
And so I downed the milk in one fell swoop. It didnât taste like I expected it to. Not like it had gone badâif anything, it seemed to taste even better than I expected. But it wasnât like any milk I could remember tasting before. It was somehow both alien and inviting.
I remember the look on Sarahâs face immediately after I did that. She looked delighted, but also a little surprised.Â
âIs this the part where you tell me that the milk has been spiked or something?â I asked, trying to read her expression.
âWell, nothing has been added to it,â she said. âButâŠI was being literal when I said that it was more than just milk.â
âGoat milk?â
âBreast milk,â she said, shrugging sheepishly.
If the milk were still in my mouth, I wouldâve spit it out. Not from disgust, but from the surprise. âLikeâŠhuman?â
Her cheeks blushed and she nodded. âY-yes.â
I felt the slightest bit of fogginess in my head at that moment. Like the edges of the world around me were clouding over just a little.Â
I was reminded of when I was just a teenager, and my best friend Emily had stolen one of her dadâs beers from their kitchen refrigerator. She popped the cap off and we took turns sipping at it. It was revolting to our young tongues. But we had seen what beer and liquor did to adults after they drank enough of it, and we figured that the terrible taste was the agreed upon cost for the altered headspace. We each drank half of a single bottle of beer, choking it down over the course of an hour. By the end, we werenât tipsy or drunk in the slightest. If anything, it disturbed our stomachs and made our breath smell bad. But we were so committed to our experiment that we still managed to convince ourselves that we were a little tipsy. We stumbled around and pretended to slur our wordsâgetting so lost in our act that there were moments when I really wasnât sure if I was pretending or not.
I wondered if this milk was similar. Was my vision actually getting a little blurry? Was my body suddenly feeling heavier than it usually did? Was it actually getting harder to move my limbs or walk straight? Or was it that I just wanted to be a part of this place so badly that I was willing to play along?
I stumbled a little, and Sarah rushed to my side to help support me.
âIâm sorry,â she said. âI shouldâve warned youâŠâ
âWarned me?â I asked.Â
âIâŠI was so excited about having you try the milk that I didnât think I should tell you about what it does.â
âIt does something?â I asked. But of course it didâI could already feel it happening, whatever âitâ was.
âCome lie down on the bed here,â she said, guiding me over to one of the vacant beds near her own. âI know itâs a little disorienting at first, but youâll quickly get used to it.â
She was right. The room seemed to be getting bigger. Or, maybe, it was me who felt like I was getting smaller. I rolled onto the mattress, staring up at the ceiling as all my senses worked overtime to try and make sense of what was happening to me.
âY-you need a diaper,â she said.
âNo I donât,â I laughed. It was a girlish giggle that I had let outâthe kind of noise I couldnât remember myself making since I was pre-pubescent. âIâm not a baby.â
âYouâre about to be,â Sarah said, her face looking down at me as she stood at the side of the bed.Â
âButâŠâ I was going to try and tell her that I didnât want to be a baby, but I was having trouble getting the words out of my mouth. When I finally pushed sounds out from my lips, they were near-incoherent babble.
But also? I was starting to feel excited about the prospect of becoming a baby.Â
From this point on, there are holes in my recollection. In one moment, I was lying there, wearing all the dirty clothes I had been in while Sarah and I planted flowers around the farm. In the next, my pants and panties were goneâmy sensitive womanhood exposed to the cooler air of the cabin. I was embarrassed by this, but not completely upset about it. It felt necessary, even if I wasnât sure why.
Then, I was wearing a diaper. I barely remembered the act of being diapered. It was as if I blinked, and there was suddenly a thick bulge of crinkling padding between my thighs. There was a part of me that knew this was âwrong.â Adults werenât supposed to wear things like this. One of the very steps we make in growing up is leaving diapers behind, after all.Â
But the diaper also felt right. It felt good.Â
Sarah was lying next to me in the bed now. She had shed most of the clothes she was wearing too, stripped down to just a onesie that I didnât know she had been wearing beneath her clothes the whole time. I could hear her own diaper crinkling and rustling as she snuggled her body against mine. Had she sipped on some milk of her own?
Iâd only been intimate with a man a handful of times after Ronny had left Harperâs Bell. In the first few years of being on my own, finding another partner had been a bigger priority for me, though the dating pool was greatly diminished. After some one-night stands and go-nowhere relationships, I became much more comfortable with the idea of just forgoing the fruitless hunt for a partner.Â
That is to say, it had been a long time since I had felt a warm body pressed against mine in a bed. A long time since I had felt my bare legs rubbing against the bare legs of another.
It was intimate. But it wasnât sex. It was two friends sharing the most vulnerable versions of themselves.
She whispered something in my ear. It didnât make much senseâI donât think she was able to speak very well either. But there was one word that I did manage to catch: âwetting.â I slid a curious hand down between our bodies and pawed at the front of her diaper, feeling as the padding warmed and swelled.
No, wait.Â
That wasnât her diaper that I was feelingâit was my own. Her hand was on my diaper too, and we felt it together as I helplessly drained my bladder into it. I wondered if I should be feeling ashamed for doing this, but how could I feel shame when it felt so amazing?
===
I wish I could say that I remembered more of that afternoon, though those memories are ethereal and sparse to me now.Â
What I do remember is being stirred awake by a gentle hand on my shoulder. When I opened my eyes, I found that Sarah was still lightly snoring next to me, her hand draped over my chest and a thin line of drool starting at the corner of her lips and flowing down to my shoulder, where it added to a wet spot in my shirt.
The hand waking me was not Sarahâs, but another woman who I didnât recognize.
And who didnât recognize me either.
âWhatâs this?â the woman asked, her voice soft and almost sing-song. âA new friend? A stowaway?â
The hazy, dream-like world I had been in for the last however-long began to abruptly disperse, leaving me to realize that I was not only looking up at a woman I had never met before, but I was doing so while wearing a diaper.
A very dirty diaper. The heavy stink of a messy diaper filled my nostrils, reminding me of sniffing at the air in the back of the flower shop after helping Sarah into the restroom that first time we met. But I could feel the squishy mass in the back of my own diaperâa swampy, thick mud that clung to my skin.
I had pooped myself.Â
My hands rushed to my crotch in a feeble attempt to conceal my dirty diaper from this new face.
âOh, you donât have to do that,â the woman said. âBelieve me, Iâve seen plenty of those.â
âI-IâŠI donât know what happened,â I said. âI donât ever do things like this. I donât haveâŠaccidents andâŠâ
âItâs okay,â she said, her hand reaching down and stroking my cheek. âYouâve done nothing wrong.â
âButâŠâ
âThis is what we do here,â she said. âAll of us. My name is Mirabelle. And you are?â
âMarta,â I said to her. As badly as I wanted to keep myself good and composed, it was getting hard to fight back the feeling of shame that threatened to overtake my body. There I was, lying in a bed that wasnât my own, next to a girl younger than I was, while wearing a diaper that I had managed to both wet and mess in. And here was another woman younger than I, looking down at me as if she was my mother and I was a helpless child.Â
âAh yes, Sarah said youâd be helping with the flowers,â Mirabelle nodded. âIâve seen some of your work around here. Those little flower beds are looking delightful.â
âTh-thank youâŠâ
âSarah didnât mention sheâd be showing you this side of our little community, though.â
âShe didnât mention that to me either,â I said, blushing.
âA discussion for later, perhaps. Right now, I think we need to do something about that stinky diaper of yours.â
âY-you donât have to do that,â I said, my cheeks warming further. âI can change myself. I actually, er, know my way around diapers andâŠâ
âIt would mean a lot to me if you allowed me to take care of you,â Mirabelle said, her hand lightly pressing into my chest to keep me horizontal on the bed.Â
I almost laughed at the idea of it âmeaning a lot to herâ when I didnât even know who she was. Still, there was something about all the signals that she was sending meâthe confident stare of her eyes, her calm and nurturing tone, the way that she touched me with her handsâthat felt strangely maternal. She looked at me in the way that I remembered my own mother looking at me when I was a child. There was a reassuring energy about her that allowed me to lower my guard.Â
I donât know whatâs happening here, I remember thinking. But I know Iâm not in danger. What ifâŠI just let it happen?
And so I did. After Mirabelle had helped Sarah back onto her own bed, I got my diaper changed by a woman I had never met before and knew nothing about beyond her name. But that didnât even matter. I was a baby. I had needs. I wanted only to be loved and cared for. And this wonderful woman met every single one of those needs by lifting my legs into the air and wiping my skin clean.
Despite not knowing anything about the farm, milk, or the strange world that Sarah had pulled me into, I knew for certain that this was the place I belonged. When Mirabelle pulled that last tape of my fresh diaper into place, all I could think about was how I wanted to be her. I wanted to make people feel as loved and well cared for as she made me feel.
===
I began to spend every one of my weekends at the farm. And when that wasnât enough, Iâd drive over and spend my nights during the week there too, after working at the florists. At first, I remained focused on working on the flowers and plants with Sarah. But in time, as we completed that project, I found myself volunteering to do just about anything else that was needed. I cooked food. Did laundry. Washed out baby bottles.
âYouâve been such a boon to our community,â Mirabelle said to me one day. âMother would really like to meet you.â
I knew of Mother, but I had yet to meet her. She was the source of the milk, as I understood it. Itâs a strange, almost silly, thing to think about sometimesâthat a human woman was capable of producing a milk that was soâŠtransformative. But once you had experienced that magic for yourself, once you felt it course through your body and take hold of your mind, almost anything seemed possible.Â
I imagine that my first encounter with Mother was very similar to how all the babies that had come before me, and would come after me, had met her: I wore only a diaper as I found myself sprawled across her lap, her bare breast dangling just inches from my drooling mouth.
âI sense a special light within you,â Mother said to me. Words that, if they had been said to me at any other time or place, mightâve meant nothing to me. But there in her lap, I knew exactly what she meant.
âIn such a short time, this place has given me so much,â I said. âItâs made me feel loved in a way that nothing else has in a long while. AndâŠâ My voice trailed off a little, my nerves getting the best of me.
âGo on, little babe,â she said to me, her hand cradling the back of my head. âTell me more.â
âI want to help others feel cared for in the way that you all have cared for me. I want to feed them. Bathe them. Love them. Change them.â
âAnd so you shall,â she said to me. âYour hands will be extensions of my own. Together, weâll show our children love and kindness unlike any theyâve experienced before.â
Her hand carried my head past her chest, towards her face, and her mouth pressed against mine. Almost immediately, I felt a surge in my body unlike any I had ever known. In just a single moment, I felt myself releasing everything I had into my body. I pissed myself. I messed myself. I even shook and convulsed as I had a shuddering orgasm unlike any I had ever felt before. And then she held me close to her, allowing my hungry lips to wrap around her nipple and suckle from her.
I was changed that day. I still find it hard to put into words how I had changed, but Iâm certain that it happened. I feel her inside of me. I feel her guiding me. Itâs a warmth that I never grow weary of.Â
===
Almost everyday now, I think about the way my mother would occasionally stop what she was doing and stare at me with amazement in her eyesâoverwhelmed by how much Iâd been growing and changing right in front of her face.Â
I feel the same way when I look at what weâve accomplished.Â
It never fails to make me smile when I walk across The Cradle now and see the flower beds and gardens blooming. They arenât the flowers that I originally helped plant, but it was the work that Sarah and I had done that allowed these flowers to be here now. We planted seedsâsome literal, some figurativeâfor what these gardens would become.
I see seeds being planted everywhere now. I see them in the smiling faces of the new babies who venture to our community for the first time. I see them in the community itself, as it continues to grow and blossom well beyond what it was when I first encountered it.Â
I even see those seeds in Harperâs Bell now. The diner crowd seems a little less resistant to the new faces that spring up almost everyday. And, sure, youâll see a few harshly toned signs around town about where not to leave your diapers, but Iâd argue that this is a sign of how the town is slowly evolving to acknoweldge its new neighbors. Besides, if youâve been to the general store lately, youâd see that the adult diaper selection has expanded to almost four shelvesâand Lindsay says that she still has trouble keeping them all in stock.
Myself, I spend almost all of my time at The Cradle these days. I take my responsibilities as a senior member of the Maternal Council very seriously. My passion for taking care of others has only grown. I still may not have all the answers about how and why Mother and her milk do all the amazing things that they do, but I can also accept that some things are just much bigger than I am. Iâm just happy to be a part of it.
Two years ago, the flower shopâs owner, Liza, told me she was interested in selling the businessâas it seemed unlikely that sheâd be coming back to Harperâs Bell in any permanent capacity. At this point, I was barely there myself, and had enlisted a few of The Cradle residents, including Sarah herself, to work there during the week. I saw this as an opportunity, and when I presented it to Mirabelle, she agreed. Thus, the flower shop is now owned by The Cradle. I like to think of it as just another seed. Since, weâve bought a few other unused buildings in town, with plans to renovate and repurpose them in time. Weâre blooming in Harperâs Bell. One day, the town might even be a part of The Cradle.Â
And then, whatâs to stop us from continuing to expand?
***
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I wanted to share with you the first part of a new story I've shared with subscribers at Ream. If you like what you read and want more, check out the details at the end of this post.
===
Well, this isnât good.
The gauges are going haywire. All the red lightsâthe ones that are never supposed to be litâare blinking and flashing. At least three different consoles are emitting ominous beeps, screeches, or sirens.
âCome in, come in! Mayday!â The radio is unresponsive.
Donât panic. Itâs easy to recall those words, but in a situation like this they donât really mean anything. Itâs the same as thinking of the words 'alligator butterscotch.â Sure, those are words, but what the fuck do they mean?
First thingâs first, I need to come to terms with what is happening. This plane is going down. Thereâs no stopping that now. Even if Iâm to get the damn thing working again, itâs probably too late to recover.Â
So, then, what are my options?
Donât panic. Alligator butterscotch.
Iâm pulling up. My best chance for survivalâmy only chanceâis that I can somehow stabilize the plane and glide to a landing on the vast sea below me. And even then, itâs going to hurt.Â
And even thenâŠwhat the hell do I do after that? Best case scenario, Iâm sitting on a piece of floating wreckage, waiting for hope that never arrives, and then I justâŠdie.
Woah, woah. One thing at a time. Letâs get the plane out of the sky first. Letâs get out of the plane. Letâs not blow up or drown. And then I can die.
âShit.â Thatâs putting it mildly.Â
ActuallyâŠshit. Yeah, I think Iâm on the verge of crapping my pants. How about that? Maybe someday, someoneâs going to find me. âHey, look, we finally found the body of that explorer-guy. And, uh, he shat himself.â And then thatâs going to be my legacy.Â
At least I wonât be around to hear the snarky remarks about it.
Okay, okay. Focus. Alligator butterscotch.
I look out the cockpit window, scanning my surroundings. Blue. Nothing but sea in all directions, as far as the eye can see. Well, there might be one little blop of brown down there, but I canât afford to take a second look. I pull the nose of the plane up, and after a little bit of a struggle, I mean to get the small aircraft into a nice glide. Aside from all the beeps, boops, sirens, and flashing lights, itâs not a bad ride.Â
Now itâs just a matter of minimizing the damage at impact. No matter what I do, this plane is never going to fly again; so itâs a matter of whether this thing is going to be my coffin or raft. The water is getting closer. It feels like Iâve managed to slow my descent, but the displays Iâd check to confirm that are all busted.
Here comes the water. Bracing for impact.Â
In a moment, Iâm either going to be swimming or dead.Â
Iâm definitely going to crap myself.
Should I say something? Some final words?
âHey, God, if youâre around, maybe you couldâŠâ
Explosion. Darkness.
And thenâŠ
My arms and legs are flailing in the water. Thereâs water in my mouth. In my throat. I donât know which way is up and which is down. Something, somewhere, is on fire because I can see the orange reflections of it in the water. I reach for anything, and I find it. Something long, flat, and most importantly, floating. Despite most of my stamina being smacked out of my body, I manage to hoist myself out of the water and onto the object.Â
Itâs supporting my weight, that seems good. Though if it didnât, Iâd be fine with just sinking. Iâm too tired to do anything else.
Whatâs the condition of the plane? Where am I?Â
I think, maybe, Iâll seek answers to those questions later. Iâm feeling weak. Sleepy.Â
And thenâŠ
This might be a dream. Because I feel hands touching me. Hands that are not my own. I hear voices. I feel my body being lifted.Â
Oh. Maybe Iâm actually being devoured by a shark right now, and this is just how my injured brain perceives it.Â
Unfortunate, but there's not much I can do about that.
âMake it quick,â I mutter. âIâm more of a snack than a meal.â
And thenâŠ
Itâs a surprise to me that my eyes are even opening at all. Well Iâll be damned. Iâm alive, huh? But then the surprises keep coming.Â
Iâm lying on something much more comfortable than whatever piece of wreckage I had been earlier. I feel at it with my hands. Soft blankets. This is a bed.
Thereâs a ceiling above my head. Iâm no expert on such things, but it looks like dense thatching of straw and branches.
I try to sit up, but this proves to be too painful.Â
âNo,â a voice says, soft and feminine. âYou need to rest.â
âI do like that idea,â I say. âBut Iâd also like to know where I am.â
âYou would noât know this place,â she says. âSo just rest.â
I turn my head to see who is talking to me, and there she is. Sheâs tall, with tanned skin and long golden hair. She wears a green shoulderless dress of sorts, with intricate designs weaved through it in gold thread. She is a strong looking woman. Back home, Iâd assume sheâs the type who frequents the gym.Â
âThis isnât a dream?â I ask.
âNo,â she says softly. She comes closer and strokes my head. I wince a little, feeling a sore spot on the side of my skull. Otherwise, I find her hand to be soothing.
âHow long have I been here?â
âDays,â she says.
âDays?â
âMy sisters brought you here a near half cycle ago. You have been unconscious since.â
âOh,â I say, pretending that I know what a âhalf cycleâ is. âYour sisters, huh? You live here with your family?â
She smiles. âAll in our community are sisters.â
Does she mean that literally? Or are âsistersâ just friends? Community members?
âWhere am I?â I ask again.
âYou will not find this place on your maps. We know this because we have recovered them in the wreckage of your vessel, and we could not locate our home on it.â
âWell thatâs not very convenient,â I mutter, already wondering about how Iâm going to get out of this place.
âFirst, we will heal you, Hart. And then we will help you get home.â
My eyes widen at the sound of my last name. âHow did you know that?â
âWe found many things in what remains of your vessel, Hart.â
âJ-Jack, please,â I say. âHart is my last name.â Does she know what a last name is? She knows English. Sheâor someoneâknows how to read a map and whatever other documents they found.Â
âYes, Jack,â she says, nodding.
âAnd your name?â
âLeiâloâialla,â she says, her hand on her chest.
âUhâŠyou got a nickname?â
âYou can call me just Lei if youâd like.â
âThatâs going to work a little better for me, yeah.â
âI am glad to see that youâre awake,â Lei says, a kind smile spreading across her face. âI will need to tell my sisters. They too will be happy for this.â
âHow many, uh, âsistersâ do you have, if you donât mind me asking?â
âThere are many of us,â she says, not elaborating any further.Â
So this is a community, I gather. In a place that isnât on any map. I think about that little speck of brown I spotted in the water as my plane was falling out of the sky. Is that where I am now? Some tiny island in the middle of absolutely nowhere?
âWhere am I?â I ask again, following it up with: âLikeâŠwhat do you call this place?â
âHome.â
âAlright, I walked into that one. But, I meant, likeâŠâ
âMaternis,â she says.
Yeah, that name means nothing to me. Thereâs a million questions I could be asking right now, but as my body slowly wakes, Iâm becoming more aware of other needs that I have. Namely, the aching in my bladder. Goddamn, I hope this isnât days worth of piss that Iâve been holding in while unconscious.
âM-maybe you could help me up,â I say. âI need to go your, uh, bathroomâor bathroom-equivilantâand take care of some business.â
âYou will stay right there,â Lei says, putting her hand on my chest. âYou can just let it out.â
I laugh, shaking my head. âMissy, I donât know if this is part of your culture here or something, but where I come from, itâs frowned up to wet the bed. Especially when itâs someone elseâs bed.â
She laughs a little, an amused little chortle, and proceeds to pull back the thin sheet that is covering my body. âLook. You are protected, Jack.â
Protected? Itâs a curious choice of word and I lift my head a little to look down the length of my body. Iâm not wearing any clothes at all, save for a pair of what appears to be white underpants. For a moment, I pay the undergarment no mind as I gaze at the cuts and bruises strewn across my body. But when my eyes come back to the garment, I observe that itâsâŠvery thick. It almost looks like a makeshiftâŠ
âDiaper?â I ask aloud.
âIt is okay for you to use it,â Lei says. âThat is what it is for.â
âNo offense, Lei. But Iâm not a baby.â
She gives me that soft smile again. Thereâs something kind of maternal about itâit reminds me of how my own mother used to smile at me when she was trying to comfort me when I was a little boy.Â
âNo one will judge you, if that is your concern, Jack. Many of us have already changed you.â
âCh-changed!â I exclaim. âYou mean to tell me that a bunch of strangers have beenâŠchanging my diapers?â
âYour body was sleeping,â she says, nodding. âBut your body still needs to do the things that it must.â
I sigh. âYou mean Iâve been laying here, conked out for days, while pissing and shitting myself in diapers?â
Her hand, still on my chest, runs slow and soothing circles on my bare skin. âYou must not be ashamed, Jack. We have been happy to care for you.â
I bet I really did shit myself when the plane hit the water. These ladies, whoever they are, probably found me with some brown-stained pants. I feel my face getting hot at the thought of women Iâve never met before changing my dirty diapers like a goddamn infant.
âJust go,â she says again, her voice closer to my ear. âYou will feel better.â
âButâŠâ
âJust go,â she says, her finger on my lips to silence me. âI will take care of you.â
It goes against everything I stand for as a strong, independent manâbut everything about her tone and body language puts me at ease. I donât like the situation sheâs putting me in, but I canât deny that sheâs making me feel safe regardless.Â
âFine,â I say. âThen this is your mess to deal with.â
âYes, exactly,â she says, almost looking excited about it.
Itâs easier than it should be. I sigh, relax as much as I can, and allow my bladder to do its thing. My stream surges out of me into the cloth garment, immediately saturating it. Itâs shameful and humiliating, but I canât deny that it feels good to have the relief.Â
Iâve almost emptied the tank when I realize that Leiâs hand is no longer on my chest. I look down the length of my body again to see that itâs now resting on the front of this makeshift cloth diaper. Sheâs feeling it as it swells and warms. And thereâs a big smile on her face.
Where the hell am I?
And thenâŠ
I sense that Iâm still sleeping a lot. Itâll probably be like this for a while as I recover. Iâll come to for a short time and sense daylight coming from somewhere. Then, Iâll close my eyes and open them again, and suddenly everything is pitch black.Â
People come and go. I remember bits and pieces of conversations or things they say to me, though it all feels like a blur. I know that Iâve seen Lei the most, though there are other faces too. Occasionally, there are hands on meâmanhandling and twisting me as they replace the cloth diaper Iâm wearing. I rarely even know that itâs dirty.
âJack?â
Iâm daydreaming about those last few moments in my plane, as I careened towards the water, when I hear Leiâs voice. I focus and look towards the end of my bed, where I see her and two other women. One of them is darker-skinned, with thick braids that hang from her head. The other is younger and smaller, perhaps in her late teens. They were similar dresses as Lei does, simple in form, but with complex patterns sewn into them.
âUh, hey,â I say to them.
âJack, I want to introduce you to some of my sisters,â Lei says. She points to the braided woman, her dress a deep crimson color. âYou may call her Rain.â She points to the other girl, her dress a soft pink color. âYou may call her Fia.â
I sense that these are not their full names, but the shorter versions for an outsider like myself. I nod politely.
âItâs nice to meet you. Iâm Jack.â
âWe are pleased to see that you are awake, Jack,â Rain says. Thereâs something about her stature and the confident tone of her voiceânot to mention the way that the other women seem to regard herâthat suggests that she has some importance here. Perhaps a leader.
âItâs good to be awake,â I say. âAndâŠalive.â
âYes, we are thankful to see that you have survived as well. You have endured a challenging ordeal.â
âTo say the least,â I mutter. âMy plane, itâsâŠdestroyed, I assume?â
âYour vessel has broken into many pieces, Jack. Most of those pieces lie at the bottom of the sea now.â
âDang.â
âYes, though we may yet be able to send you home,â Fia says.
âIs that so? You got a big boat or something?â
Rain holds out a cautious hand towards Fia. âMy sister speaks the truth, Jack. Though we must not get too ahead of ourselves. You are still healing, and it will take time before you are capable of making the trip back to where you came from.â
I donât love that answer, though logically, I know that sheâs right. I can barely move my limbsâand I still canât even get out of this bed.â
âLook,â I say. âI feel like a bad houseguest, crash landing on your front lawn and then overstaying my welcome while you take care of me. ButâŠâ
âNo, it is okay,â Rain says. âWe want you to stay here for as long as it takes for you to heal. We want to aid you in any way that we can.â
What I need âaidâ with right now, unfortunately, is this sopping wet cloth diaper that Iâm wearing. Iâve slowly accepted the fact that I have to wear theseâand that the women here donât seem to mind changing me when I need them to. That doesnât mean that I enjoy it, however. I keep this to myself, though. Sooner or later, theyâll check for themselves and see what I need. In the meantime, I donât like coming off as any needier than I fear that I am.
âI understand that my sister Lei has been taking very good care of you,â Rain says.
âShe has,â I say. âFive-star service.â
âI am pleased to hear this,â she says. Lei, meanwhile, blushes a little, sheepishly looking down at the floor.Â
âAnd you,â I say to Rain. âYouâre in charge around here?â
âI am the elder sister, yes,â she says, calmly nodding. âThough that doesnât always mean that Iâm in charge.â
âAnd, uhm, your other sister here?â I ask, my hand gesturing towards Fia.
âFia here is learning and growingâas we all must at some point,â Rain says. âI have asked her to assist Lei in caring for you. There is much to be learned here. Is that alright with you, Jack?â
âAh, wellâŠâ I feel my cheeks blushing. It would feel strange to decline this, seeing as how I owe them my life. âItâs fine.â
Rain smiles, nodding her head. âDo you have any questions for me, Jack of Hart?â
âUhâŠâ I laugh and shake my head. I mean, where do I even start with that? Iâve got a million questions. âAre there any men around here?â
âNo,â Rain says. âThere are no menfolk here.
âNone at all, huh?â
Rain smiles, but doesnât offer any additional elaboration.
âSo, then, how do yâallâŠuhâŠâ But Iâm not sure a conversation about procreation and reproduction is anything I should be getting into right now. For now, Iâll let that one go, instead opting to ask a different question: âYou speak English very well. Better than a lot of the dum-dums I know back home. Whatâs up with that?â
All three of the women laugh a little, like Iâve stumbled into a local in-joke. âWe know many languages, Jack,â Lei says. âWe know many things about the world.â
âAye,â I say. âBut does the world know about you?â
âI believe you can presume the answer to this,â Rain says, her smile widening again.
And thenâŠ
Iâm sitting up in my bedâthe most Iâve moved in the week since I first woke hereâand Fia sits at the side of my bed, carefully spoonfeeding me some kind of soup from a bowl. I canât say for sure what it is Iâm tasting, but I get hints of coconut, lemon, herbs, and thereâs some sort of meat that I occasionally swallow a small piece of.Â
I keep insisting that Iâm capable of feeding myself, but Fia refuses to take no for an answer. And, well, I think I have trouble saying ânoâ to a face like hers. Those dimples. Those bright yellow-green eyes. Her wispy strawberry hair.
âMay I ask how old you are?â I ask between spoonfuls of warm soup. âI donât mean anything creepy by that. Iâm just not a very good judge of age in the, uhâŠâ I almost say ârealâ world, but I catch myself. Whoâs to say that this world isnât real? â...in the city I come from, let alone here.â
She smirks, shoveling another spoonful into my mouth. âYou will not believe me when I tell you, Jack.â
âHoo boy,â I say. âSo if I guessed that you were 18, how far off am I?â
âHmmâŠI would say that you are very far off.â
âWell, you sure as hell arenât 40. And if youâre, like, 12, Iâm going to just let myself choke on this soup and die.â
âI am 73.â
âIn human years?â
She giggles. âYes, that is right.â
âIs that like a joke? I donât know what humor is like around hereâŠâ
âI promise you that this is the truth, Jack. Ask any of my sisters.â
Itâs hard to truly believe her, but Iâm willing to at least play along. âAnd if youâre 73, what does that make Lei? 400?â
âShe is 143,â Fia says with a playful little shrug.
âGet the fuck out of hereâŠâ
âJack, I must stay and finish feeding you your food.â
âN-no, I just meanâŠâ I sigh and allow her to push another spoon of soup into my mouth. I let it sit on my tongue for a moment, letting the flavors wash over my tongue before I swallow it all. âAre you consideredâŠyoung here?â
âYes, Jack,â Fia says. âI have much to learn yet. Much growing to do.â
I continuously have to remind myself to curtail it with the questions. They donât seem to mind my constant curiosity, but I always feel like Iâm interrogating everyone I talk to.
âThis soup is good,â I say.Â
âIt is a special soup,â she says, nodding her head. âMade for healing. It is good for babies.â
âBabies?â I donât like the way she looks at me when she says that.
She nods and smiles. Putting the spoon back into the bowl, she balances it in one hand while her other hand lands on the crotch of the diaperâs thick cloth. âBaby.â
âIâŠIâm not a baby,â I say, my cheeks getting fiery hot. âMy bodyâs just a little banged up and, uhâŠâ
âIt is not a bad thing,â Fia says. âA baby is special and good.â
âSure, sure, Iâm not going to argue with that. I love babies too, you know? But me? Iâm not a baby myself. Fully grown.â
âHow old are you?â she asks.
âWell, 28, butâŠâ
âSee?â she says. âBaby.â
âI have some ex-girlfriends who would probably agree with you,â I say, sighing.
I notice that her hand is still on the front of my diaper. I swallow nervously, not quite sure what to think of that. I like her hand there, but I canât decide if this is a good thing or not. Is it impolite to get aroused at a time like this? Because thatâs happening. I feel my cock slowly growing in the thick cloth garment.
Maybe I should say something? Cut through the tension a little?
âWell,â I say, âIâm glad to see that still works.â
Fia giggles a little before pulling her hand away from my diaper and lifting the spoon again, loading it up with some more broth and pushing it towards my mouth. I slurp the spoon clean, thinking of everything that I can to distract myself from the bulge in my undergarments.
And thenâŠ
I donât care for this part.
Thereâs a pressure in my abdomen that begs for releaseâa need to fulfill that Iâve always taken for granted until now, when itâs harder to achieve on my own.
What goes in, must come out. And if itâs coming out, itâs coming out into the diaper.
LIke it or not, there really isnât any other option. I continue to be too weak to get out of this bed, and the âsistersâ of this island, when present, insist that I just use my diaper. Never once have they made me feel silly or pathetic for doing so. They happily dote on me, cleaning me up and leaving me and taking care of my every need without a single disparaging word.Â
And so Iâve made a little peace with the fact that Iâll be soiling this diaper too. I donât like it, but I suppose that this situation could be worse.
Iâm sometimes a little curious about the diapers themselves. Theyâre interesting garments, crafted from layers of absorbent fabric that seem to fit my body perfectly, while metal pin-like clips keep the front and back clasped together at my sides. When one diaper is removed, a clean one is presented. It makes me wonder how many diapers they have on hand. Do they have them in different sizes? Or are they being made by someone on demand?Â
And, well, if they do have a stock pile of these diapers, why do they have them sized for adults like myself?
I wonât pretend to be an expert on diapersâalbeit for infants or the elderlyâbut I was under the impression that cloth diapers needed some sort of plastic pants to go over them, due to the porous nature of the fabric. No such thing has been given to me. They must know something about producing a good diaper, though, as Iâve never had one of these things leakâeven after it felt as if I pissed like a racehorse.
Iâm stalling, I guess; thinking about everything other than the fact that I need to defecate. I look around this small room that Iâm in as I sit up as much as I can. Itâs sparseâjust my bed, a small side table, and some sconces on the walls that Iâve seen the women use to hang torches from. Thereâs a window, but it is too high off the ground to see out of, and mostly serves to provide light during the daytime. Am I in a cabin? A hut? A yurt?Â
I can hear waves crashing against the sand outside, especially at night when the world seems extremely still and silent, so I imagine Iâm not too far from the shore.Â
How big of an island is this?
How has no man ever discovered this place before?
How is it possible thatâ
I groan as a cramp reminds me of what Iâm putting off. Iâve considered this before, and Iâve decided that itâs better to use my diaper when Iâm alone and then have someone check in on me, as opposed to having to use my diaper while someone is here watching it happen. Especially for a job like this.
No time like the present, and all that. The sooner I do this, the sooner Iâm free of the discomfort in my bowels.
I lean back, close my eyes, and push. I donât have to push all that hard, though, as my body is more than happy to take over from this point on. My dietâmostly consisting of variations of soups, broths, and little rolls of seasoned vegetablesâhad made my movements a little loose as of late. My bowels erupt like a volcano, forcing a warm lava-like mess to spill into the padding. I groan and attempt to lift my hips a little in an effort to give more clearance in the back of my diaper, but the pain in my muscles is too great to sustain for long. The mess just goes where it goes, seeping into every nook and cranny that it can.Â
By some miracle, not a single drop escapes the garment. These strange diapers are simply made too well to allow for any spillage. The downside of this, of course, is that Iâm not trapped in what feels like a water balloon filled with mud.Â
The smell is less than pleasant, but thereâs little I can do about that. I just sit and wait. Sit and wait.
Then, there are voices outside, approaching the door. Here come my nannies.Â
Sure enough, Lei and Fia spill into my humble abode a few moments later, happy as they ever are to see me. Fia carries a small wooden pail in one hand, and another of the cloth diapers in the other. Lei carries another piece of thick cloth in her own hand, folded up into a neat little square. These are the things they usually bring when they are here to change me.
âAh see, I told you,â Lei says to Fia. âIt will be time to change him.â
===
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