Alex’s Nursery

Your body shivers from a mixture of the cool bathroom air and a recollection of the events just weeks prior, the cold gaze of everyone you call close looking on as you stand there stranded in nothing but your damp Huggies.

Having Ariel as your partner was, all things considered, a bit overwhelming. Sure you’d wanted this. All those years wishing upon stars for someone who’d fully indulge in your particular fantasies finally came true, but like this? She’d thrown out all your underwear, replaced your room with a nursery, and even enlightened all your friends of your toddlerhood, and now she expects you not to be a nervous wreck being toted around in public?

Your train of thought is interrupted as she slides a fresh diaper between your bottom and the wall, powdering and taping you up with blinding efficiency. Before long your trousers are pulled into place and you’re led out to the table populated by your closest friends, a few of them giggling at what no doubt had just transpired.

The bar is lively. Each nook and cranny is filled with people imbibing through excited conversation. No one even has the time to notice your swollen bottom, the bulky padding almost comically expanding the cute little jeans Mommy had picked out for you. “Sorry y’all. One too many for this one,” she says as you both take your seats.

The evening continues on, your mind straying from your embarrassing reality as you lose yourself in conversation with those you hold closest. You’re a bit out of your element after the next few beverages, and you nearly tumble to the floor when your partner-turned-guardian instructs you to grab another round. You gain your footing and, tugging your shirt down over your butt, begin the agonizing waddle towards the bar proper.

The bartender, busy from the night’s crowd, omits his words with a subtle glance indicating it’s your time to order. You begin, but are caught in your tracks by an all-too-familiar feeling. Your stomach cramps tightly, alerting you from the inescapable fact that you have to go.

Your words roll around in your mouth as the man impatiently awaits and your legs begin to cross. “I uhm…” you attempt to continue on, but it’s no use. Without warning you sprint away from the queue, hoping desperately to be sitting on the porcelain throne as quickly as possible. Unfortunately for you, Ariel notices the entire infantile display.

You knock on the door furiously as she arrives behind you, diaper bag in tow. “Number two?” she queries you without inhibition, her words no doubt carrying over to the patrons seated behind you. Through small choking sobs you manage to nod. She shushes you softly and takes you into her arms. “It’s okay, hun. I’ve got you. Thank you for telling me.” She practically carries you into the stall, locking the door tight behind as you begin fiddling with your belt buckle.

“A-Ariel? Can I just use the potty this one time? It’s all a bit…”

She cuts you off with an assuring yet devilish smile. “Much? So is changing your dirty diapers but you don’t see me complaining. We had an agreement didn’t we?” Your gaze meets the floor as you muster the courage to answer. “Y-yes ma’am…”

“And? What was our agreement?”

Your cheeks burn red as you continue, “No more big-kid potty for big babies.”

“And you are very much a big baby! Just look at your underwear,” she coos in response. “But I’ll tell you what, I’ll let you sit on the potty as you do your business. I won’t even look. How does that sound?”

A few weeks ago you might be up in arms at such a ridiculous constraint. But now, after weeks of carefully stripping you of adult responsibilities, her words are nothing but a reminder of the life you’d so willingly agreed on. “F-fine…” you mutter in response, although you might agree to anything with the amount of aching in your bowels currently.

“Such a good kid! Now, go ahead and get it all out.” With that, she turns around. You put down the seat quickly and plop your padded rear end on it desperately, your head swimming in humiliation at the notion of your current situation.

With a few helpless grunts, your mess is slowly and surely pushed out into your freshly changed padding, leaving you panting as you force out every bit of your babyish deed against the Elmo design plastered all over your potty area rather than the toilet water waiting below. You sigh with relief as Ariel snaps around with no real regard for your dignity.

It was shocking enough when she woke me up by caressing my shoulders while smiling down at me. I mean, you would be too when you live alone, and someone wakes you up who you did not know and did not invite.

“Who the fuck are you?” I demanded, making sure my soggy diaper remained safely covered.

She smiled sweetly as if I was being silly. “I’m here to take care of you, little one! My name is Abigail, but you can call me Miss Abby! I was assigned to your case!”

“My—what? Case? What are you talking about?”

“Oh, gosh, I’m so sorry, dear! I thought you were expecting me! This must be quite the shock!”

“Why the hell would I be expecting you? What is going on?” I say, growing more frustrated.

“Did Dr. Marshall not explain it to you?”

“Explain what??”

“He diagnosed you on Monday, urge incontinence and trouble holding in your stinkies! He documented it with our agency, which is why I’m here, sweetie!”

“What are you, some nurse?”

She laughed. The horrible, sweet laugh you give a toddler. “No, little one. Not a nurse, I’m your Nanny!” she giggled, handing me a folder of documents.

I snatch the folder from her, thinking this must be some horrible prank. I open the folder, pulling out paper with an official-looking government logo.

It read: The Department of Children and Families, Adult Guardianship Division.

My heart froze.

I rifled through the papers. they all look authentic. My name, department signatures, and even—my body shivered in panic as I saw it—a signature by a state judge signing off on my enrollment in the program.

She rubs my arm again. “Sweetie, sweetie, look at me. It’s okay. Everything will be okay. Just listen to me!”

I recoil from her touch. “Listen? What the fuck? No, this is bullshit!”

Her smile never wavered. “I know, little one. Let it all out. All the big emotions you’re feeling. Let them out. I’ll wait to explain your new life when you’re calm.”

“I’m not some toddler! I’m an adult! Stop talking to me like that!” I seethed.

“No, silly, you’re not. Not legally, anyway. You’re under my care; I’m your legal guardian and caregiver. And I am trying to be patient with you.”

Yeah, remember that dazed and confused thing I was talking about earlier? This was it.

“My…what?” I said, in utter shock.

“Hunny, was I not clear? Guardian. Caregiver. But those are big-boy terms. Maybe live-in Nanny is easier for you to comprehend? It’s all there,” she answered cheerfully, pointing to the documents strewn on my bed.

“I…I don’t need a…nanny!” I screamed, “I can manage just fine on my own!”

For the first time since she had woken me up, she dropped that sickening smile, replacing it with a look that sent shivers down my spine.

“Honey, I don’t care what you think,” she said with the finality of a mother hitting her limit with a misbehaving child, “The judge signed the order. You’re a ward of the state under my care.”

“Why, because I’m incontinent? Somehow that makes me unable to care for myself?”

“Yes, sweetie, it does! If you can’t be trusted to keep your pants clean, why should you be trusted to do anything else?”

I stared at her in shock. “Are you serious? No. That’s bullshit. I can appeal the decision!”

“Oh? How are you going to do that? Children have no legal standing, silly. Their Caregivers do. And I don’t see any reason why I would appeal it.”

No, this is bullshit.

I tried to get out of bed, only for her to push me back down. “You’re fussy, little one. And I think I know why,” she said, reaching under the sheets and squeezing my diaper, “Yep, you’re soaked!”

My face burned in humiliation. She just checked my diaper like I was a toddler…

“Where do you keep your diapers, honey?”

“I…it doesn’t matter!”

“Awww, is someone ashamed of hims diapees?” she teased, “Don’t worry, my sweet prickly pear! You don’t need to hide them anymore! Soon everyone will know you’re a diaper-dependent cutie!”

“W-what do you mean?” I whisper, my mouth bone dry.

She puts her arm on my shoulder again. “Oh, honey…what did you expect? You’re not an adult anymore! How did you plan on hiding your new status from your family and friends when I check your diaper in front of them?”

The total weight of the situation crashed down on me.

What was I going to do?

Am I really supposed to give up on my adulthood—the life I’ve worked so hard to build?

“Oh, honey,” she cooed, noticing my panic, “You don’t need to worry about that, okay? I’ll take care of everything. I’ll let your boss know you won’t be able to work anymore. I’ll call your family and introduce myself and explain your situation. Just relax.”

“Relax? I’m supposed to relax while you call everyone I know and tell them I’m some baby?”

“Yes, that’s exactly what I expect you to do.”

“Well, fuck that!”

“Pumpkin, why don’t I make you a deal? You can either apologize for cursing and let me do my job, or you can listen as I call your family with a bar of soap in your mouth. What do you prefer?”

“I’d prefer you get the hell out of my house!”

She sighs. “That’s disappointing. But a deal is a deal. I’ll be right back, hun.”

I watch her calmly walk out of the room. Her unrelenting poise suddenly terrifying. But there’s no way she’s actually going to do it.

Right?

I don’t need to wait long to find out. Ten seconds later she walks in with a bar of soap—and not one I had in my house.

“I really didn’t want to spend our first moments together like this, little one. But there will be no more potty mouth moving forward, got it?”

I stare into her eyes and find nothing but steely resolve.

“I-I’m sorry, I won’t curse again, I promise!”

“It’s too late for that, kiddo. Open.”

She slides the wet bar of soap into my mouth. I’m immediately overwhelmed my the taste.

“I know, honey, it’s icky, huh?”

I nod, defeated. Overwhelmed.

“You spend the next ten minutes working on an apology while I call your parents.” She grabs my phone and heads to the door, “Don’t go anywhere or it’ll be twenty.”

Every minute felt like an eternity, sitting there with a bar of soap in my mouth, wondering what the hell is happening.

Yet, I don’t move. I don’t even try to take the soap out—though the longer it’s in the better it tastes…

I can hear voices, but it’s too muffled to understand. Though I know it’s nothing good.

Her voice suddenly gets louder. “Yes, yes, of course, he’s right here Mrs. Johnson.”

She walks into the room. “Sweetie, your mom wants to speak with you. She heard about your potty mouth.”

Wait…that’s what my mom is concerned about?

Miss Abby slides the soup out of my mouth. Drool drips down my chin.

“Hewwo?”

What just happened?

“Erik, Miss Abby comes to help you and all you can think to do is curse at her? I raised you better than that, young man! What do you have to say for yourself?”

“The ithnt herwe ta…wath wong wif ma mouf?”

“That’s the soap, little one,” Miss Abby smiles, “Don’t worry, it’ll wear off in a few days!”

“Dayth?!?”

The phone slips from my hand.

Miss Abby picks it up. “So sorry, Mrs. Johnson, he’s a bit overwhelmed, poor thing…even as a child?…well, don’t worry, he’s in good hands…thank you, Mrs. Johnson, we’ll call you later tonight when he’s settled in, I need to get him changed before he leaks…you too, Mrs. Johnson.”

Miss Abby runs my hair. “Your mom is so nice, sweet pea!”

I don’t even try to answer, not when I’m lisping like a child.

“Cat got your tongue, cutie? It sure beats a potty mouth! But while you’re being quiet, let’s get you changed. Our first diaper change as a new family!”

What a treat….

She pushes me back onto my bed and hums as she rips my diaper tabs.

“Awww, hi little guy! Don’t worry, you’ll be in good hands with Miss Abby!”

She giggles and looks at me.

“Not literally, kiddo. That part of your life is over. But still, a lifetime of fun and love, doesn’t that sound great?”

It happened before you could react. Before you had any chance to stop her.

She reached down at your diaper, grabbing a handful of your soggy megmax and squeezing it, testing its fullness.

It was so casual. As if she had every right to check your diaper. As if your diaper was as much hers as the contents of her purse.

You were paralyzed by shock. Nobody knew about your incontinence or the diapers you’ve worn for the past 3 months.

“W-who…who are you?” you manage to say with great difficulty.

She just smiled, wordlessly pulling down your pants, exposing your soggy diaper.

“What the fu—!” you start yelling.

“Hush,” she chided, her tone leaving no room for disobedience. Despite every instinct telling you to argue, you stay silent.

“Good boy,” she purred, “you don’t need to be embarrassed. Now lay back and let me take care of this diaper for you.”

Her hand presses against your chest, forcing you down. She’s surprisingly strong. You couldn’t resist even if you wanted to.

She reaches into your bag, grabbing supplies without a trace of uncertainty. She pulls out a spare megamax, wipes, and powder, her gaze never leaving you.

Your first tab is ripped open, sending a wave of terror through you. Then the second. A terrible, horrible countdown to your embarrassing fate.

The third tab rips. No, no, no. This can’t be happening.

A final rip announces itself. You’re powerless to stop her. You close your eyes, hoping it’s a dream.

You feel the soggy diaper pulled away from you, cold air assaulting you. You wince in utter humiliation.

She giggles. A short, playful giggle. Barely audible, yet it hits you like a sonic boom.

A cold wipe is thrust unceremoniously onto your delicate areas. Nothing about her businesslike efficiency giving any hint of flirtation.

The wiping pauses. You hear your next diaper being expertly fluffed while the cold air assaults your exposed privates.

Your legs are suddenly thrust into the air. You squirm ineffectually as she wipes your bum clean. Your face burning violently in embarrassment.

You’re lowered onto a freshly fluffed diaper. Powder snows onto you before she diligently rubs it in, her hand showing no hesitation in rubbing your sensitive areas.

She claps her hands in finality, still smiling down at you, her condescending gaze drilling a deep hole in your ego.

Your diaper is pulled up. She quickly fidgets with the fit. Once satisfied, she gets to work taping you up.

“There. All clean, little one! You did such a great job for me! You weren’t fussy at all!”

All you can do is stare up at her. Somehow, the completely exposed diaper she taped on you is the least of your concern.

Why is she talking to you like that? You’re not some baby!

“Oh stop looking so surprised, cutie! Your soggy diaper was so obvious I couldn’t help myself. We both know you weren’t at this party to get laid. Diaper boys like you don’t get laid—they get diaper changes.”

“W-what?! These are my friends!” you whimper.

“They were! Well, before your diapers! They’re not your equals anymore, honey. They’re your superiors. You’re in diapers.”

“It’s just a medical condition!”

“Then why didn’t you tell anyone? That’s what I thought. Because you know what being in diapers means. You know you’re a diaper boy. And yet you had the audacity to show up and pretend you’re not a whiny diaper boy. That’s not okay with me, baby.”

“I was just waiting for the right time to tell everyone!”

“Well, don’t you worry about that. I’ll take care of telling the party about your diapers. You can either take my hand and follow me to tell everyone. Or, you can run away and I’ll still tell everyone anyway.”

“Or you can not tell everyone..”

“I could! But I won’t. You’re lying to everyone here pretending to be something you’re not—an adult. If you come with me, I’ll take care of you. I’ll make sure your diapers are changed and nobody teases my diaper boy. Maybe I’ll even give you diaper rubs when you’ve been extra good!”

“And if I don’t?” you say with a false bravado that she sees right through.

“You’ll be all alone. Your friends will know what you are: a diaper boy. You’ll stop being invited to parties because they don’t need some diapered baby bringing down the vibe. No girl will ever give you a second glance. You’ll be all alone in soggy diapers.”

You stutter randomly trying to comprehend your fate.

She gets up, heading towards the door. “Up to you, diaper boy.”

“I-okay! I-I’ll do it!” you plead.

“Good boy,” she coos, reaching out her hand, “you’re such a cutie. Mommy will take great care of you, I promise.”

“M-mommy?” you mutter as she pulls you out the door.

She ignores your concerns, squeezing your hand.

“Ready to start your new life, baby?” she whispers in your ear.

She’s already getting everyone’s attention before you can respond.

Which is why you were so surprised the night you got home from work and found her waiting along with cases of diapers, onesies, and more accessories than you could have ever imagined.

“Awwww, are you surprised to see all this, baby? Good! At first I thought it was just so…pathetic. But I’ve done a lot of research and think this is perfect for us!”

You couldn’t believe your ears.

It didn’t take long to see just how thorough her research must have been. She hadn’t just bought every ABDL item she could find—she had fully immersed herself in the kink.

“I need you to understand one thing, baby. If this is what you want, then you will fully commit. This won’t be something that happens when it suits you. It’s all or nothing.”

She continued, “You will be diapered 24/7. No exceptions. At home you will have no more rights than a baby. You can wear big boy clothes in public over your diaper, but I will check and change your diaper when I see fit. Got it?”

How could you say no?

She was a natural. A perfect mix of loving Mommy and firm domme. Caring and attentive, yet unrelenting and uncompromising. She was unambiguously in control.

And it was better than any fantasy you ever imagined.

Which brings us to today.

Mommy just fed you your lunch: a large bowl of oatmeal with sliced strawberries and bananas, followed by two jars of pureed prunes.

As usual, you were doing your post-lunch tummy time on your oversized Winnie the Pooh blanket in nothing but your Rugrats t-shirt and comically soggy Little Kings diaper.

Of course, Mommy knew you were due for a change. She wasn’t blind. But she knew her little one was extremely regular—especially after eating those prunes.

She’d change you once you made your afternoon poopoo.

The first wave of cramps hit seconds before the doorbell rang.

You looked up in panic; you’d be immediately obvious to anyone at the door.

Yet Mommy completely ignored your terrified squeals from behind your paci, heading straight for the door.

You watched in horror as the door opened. It seemed to happen in slow motion, slowly and inevitably.

“Hey girls! Come on in!”

Nothing could have prepared you for this.

Standing in the doorway were Mommy’s two best friends, Lauren and Mary, smiling from ear to ear.

Looking right at you.

Utterly exposed.

You instinctively try to cover your diaper in an admittedly adorable, yet wholly futile attempt to preserve your dignity.

As if that was even possible.

Your bulging, yellow diaper was merely one aspect of the humiliating, infantile menagerie before them.

“Oh! My! Gosh! Fiona! He’s adorable!” Lauren squealed in delight, walking straight toward you, “He’s even cuter than you described! And that diapie? Ahhh, I can’t!”

They knew about this?

Mary followed right behind Lauren. “Like…he even actually looks like a baby! Just…bigger.”

The three women surround you, looking down at the red-faced baby too stunned to speak.

You can’t believe Mommy told them!

“Told you you’d love him!” Mommy says with pride, “He just belongs in babyhood!”

Mary laughs. “I know Lauren thinks so. Remember that fight before your wedding?”

“Can you believe I actually argued this sweet little boy was a man?” Mommy says quickly, noticing Lauren’s hesitation, “But you were right all along!”

“Well, I still shouldn’t have said all those things at the Bach party. It was way out of line.”

Mommy waves a hand dismissively. “You were just being a good friend. I wasn’t ready to hear it, yet. Good friends tell hard truths.”

Your eyes go wide in fear as a strong wave of cramps hits you. A tiny whimper escapes your mouth.

You look at the women, praying they’re too distracted to have heard you.

“What’s wrong little guy?” Mary asks softly, kneeling down, “What are you whimpering about, hmm?”

Mommy flashes a knowing, devious grin.

“Ut oh! Does Mommy’s little baby have an icky tummy? Is someone gonna make poopoo in his diapie for us?”

“Ahhh! He even makes the same poopy face as actual babies!” Lauren squeals, tickling your tummy, “Go on, baby. You don’t have to be embarrassed! Babies like you go poopie in their pampers!”

Your face burns in embarrassment. Or maybe from the effort of holding it.

All you know is you cannot mess your diaper like this in front of them. It’s bad enough being seen like this—but you won’t give them the satisfaction of pooping your diaper.

“Poor baby, trying to hold it,” Mary coos, “Just let go for us. We know you’re just a baby. Don’t pretend to be a big boy. It’s okay! Just push all your ickies into your diaper, and it will all be over.”

“I think it’s cute,” Lauren giggles, “Does he actually think if he holds it, we won’t see him as a baby? Well, kiddo, about that…nobody will ever see you as an adult ever again. Besides, we’re going to be here all night babysitting you. We’ll see your stinky tushie sooner or later!”

They’re babysitting you tonight?

Lauren sees the look of confusion on your face. “Oh, does he not know we're babysitting him, Fiona?”

The thought distracts you from your cramps, forcing out a loud, bubbly toot followed by a small amount of mess.

“Good job, baby!” Mary says encouragingly, “You can do it!”

Mommy just smiles.

“Why would I tell a baby my plans? What Mommy does in her free time is of no concern for him, is it baby? All he needs to worry about is when he’ll be changed.”

Mommy is planning on going somewhere?

Another grumbly toot trumpets into your diaper. You grunt as you push warm mush into your diaper.

Despite the overwhelming humiliation of losing the battle in front of Mommy’s friends, you’re more concerned about Mommy leaving you.

“I think the baby is finally making pushies!” Mary shouts, “Is that bulge in your diapie poopie, baby? Yes it is! Yes it is!”

Lauren slides your pacifier into your mouth between grunts. “Here, sweetie. Suckle on your paci while you go poopoo.”

Mommy stands up. “Do you two mind watching him for a bit while I shower? He’ll probably be going for a while. Prunes go straight through him.”

“Not at all, Fiona! You’ve been excited for this date since you put him back in diapers!”

No. No. No! Mommy is going on a date?

You look at Mommy, who doesn’t have even the slightest trace of shame. If anything, she looks more radiant than usual.

“Thanks, girls. I’ll show you how to change him when I get back.”

Your attempt to get up and follow her are foiled by another large cramp. Instead of following your wife, you push another round of mush into your diaper.

“Oh, honey!” Mary coos, rubbing your hair and rattling a toy for you, “Mommy will be back in a bit, I promise. Are you almost done pushing?”

You hate the way Mary talks to you.

She knows why you’re upset—you’re not an actual baby!

Your wife and her friends are casually talking about her going on a date with someone named Mark, but Mary has the audacity to make it seem like it’s because you’re an infant with separation anxiety?

“Sweetie pie, what did you expect?” Lauren chides, “I mean, look at you! You’re pooping your diaper during tummy time! Do you really think your Mommy—or any woman—would ever want to be with you after that?”

You want to argue but can't bring yourself to look her in the eye.

“Baby, you made your choice. This is what you wanted. You gave up your adulthood to be pampered by your Mommy. You’re a baby—not a husband. So guess what? Your Mommy has needs babies can’t satisfy.”

Tears well in your eyes.

“Aww, don’t cry, honey,” Mary says as she wipes the tears from your eyes. “Be nice to him, Lauren. He can’t help it! He’s just a baby!”

“I think you have a soft spot for the baby, Mary,” Lauren teases, “You just love helpless things.”

“Guilty. And what’s more helpless than a baby in a poopy diaper? Poor thing, you should never have been allowed to grow up, huh, kiddo? Don’t you fuss about Mommy. She loves you very, very much, okay?”

You look into Mary’s eyes. To your surprise, you don’t find a hint of mockery—only authentic concern and affection.

And for some reason, that makes everything worse.

Lauren may taunt and tease you, but at least she’s recognizing you’re an adult when she does. Unlike Mary.

Mary genuinely sees you as a baby; that much is clear.

You squirm at the realization. You passed the point of no return.

This isn’t a game anymore. It’s not a fun role play between you and your wife.

This is your life.

“You look stunning!” Lauren shouts when she sees Mommy come back into the room in a red dress you had never seen before.

Lauren wasn’t lying. If anything she was underselling how beautiful your wife looked.

She looked so good you forgot about your rapidly cooling messy diaper. You forgot her friends were here to babysit you.

Forgot she was your Mommy.

For the first time since her friends arrived, you found your voice. “Babe, you look amazing!”

“Awww, you’re so sweet, little one,” Mommy says before dramatically sniffing the air, “But Mommy is more concerned about your stinky bum. Babies get diaper changes, not dates, silly!”

“He definitely needs a changie! Such a stinky boy!” Mary adds unhelpfully.

The momentary bliss fades away as you remember you’re about to have your poopy diaper changed.

You stare longingly at your Mommy in her dress as she grabs your diaper bag.

“No, no, we got this, Fiona. That dress shouldn’t be anywhere near a poopy diaper,” Mary assures her.

“Are you sure?”

“Your baby is in good hands. You’re off the clock. Go have fun with Mark.”

You pretend you don’t see her wink.

“Ugh, thank you! You guys are the best!” she says before turning to you, “You behave for your babysitters, honey. I’ll see you in the morning. I love you, sweetie!”

She blows you a kiss as she walks out the door, leaving you with a poopy diaper in desperate need of a change.

“Alright, mister,” Mary says patting your diaper, “Let’s get you out of that icky diapie so we can play!”

The way Lauren laughs sends shivers down your spine.

Last night, your girlfriend sat you down and explained that you will no longer have your cake and eat it too.

“All you did was beg me to put you back in diapers. Beg, beg, beg. You wanted to go ‘24/7’ so bad! So what did I do? I played along, wanting my boyfriend to be happy.”

“And what did you do when confronted with the reality of life in diapers? You whined and complained. Made excuses for why you couldn’t wear your diapers. Cheated by sneaking off to the potty when it was inconvenient.”

“I can still hear you whining. ‘Wahhh, no diapers today, all my friends are here, what if they see?!’ Or, ‘I couldn’t find my wipes, so I just used the potty, sorry!’ Or, ‘it’s scary to change in the office bathroom!’ Blah, blah, blah.”

“I’m sick of it. No more excuses. You wanted to be a diaper boy. Wanted to spend all day, every day in diapers. To have your toilet taped around you. Well, guess what? You’re getting exactly what you asked for.”

“After tomorrow, you won’t have to worry about hiding your diapers ever again.”

Which brings us to today.

She invited your best friends for a friendly game of golf, which they happily accepted.

As soon as you woke up, a bottle of Pedialyte was shoved into your hand.

“Drink it,” she hissed. You obeyed.

She changed you out of your soggy nighttime diaper and—to your utter horror—into a Rearz Mega Dinosaur. The look on her face dissuades you from arguing.

A pair of slacks and a polo shirt were laid on your bed for you. To your relief, your slacks hid your diaper reasonably well.

For now.

A devious grin flashed across her face.

“I wonder how long it’s gonna take for that diaper to be obvious. If you’re lucky, you might even make it to the 15th hole!”

You shuddered, realizing the cruel game she was forcing you to play. You wonder what's worse: the sick anticipation of waiting or the eventual, inescapable moment your diapers are discovered.

“Not that it matters. Eventually, that diaper will fill with all your tinkles and bulge out for everyone to see! Those slacks have no chance of hiding that diaper! It’s not a question of if they find your diaper, but when.”

“Ugh, it’s going to be so hot watching you blubber about after they ask the inevitable question: ‘Is that a diaper?!?’ You’ll be so adorable explaining why you’re in a soggy diaper! Knowing your friends know the truth of who you really are…”

What could you possibly say in a situation like this?

It was bad enough Mommy dressed you in nothing but an oversized Lil Swimmers diaper and dinosaur floaties around your former friends.

And in Robin’s case, former crush.

It was bad enough having to surreptitiously squat down and load that swim diaper.

But somehow, this made it even worse.

Here you are—blubbering an excuse after Robin caught you red-handed trying to hide in your poopy diaper.

Exactly like a shy toddler.

“Awww, don’t be embarrassed, cutiepie! It’s just a poopy diapie. Poor thing, were you trying to hide from us?”

“I…”

“Come here, little guy. You’re okay,” she coos, pulling you into a hug, “You’re safe. How about I grab your diaper bag and get you out of that icky diapie, hmm?”

“B-but…wha-what about my…”

“I can change you, sweetie. Your Mommy is having some fun, I’ll give her a break.”

She pulls your hand to the group of sunbathing girls, giving you no choice but to follow.

“Found this lil stinker trying to hide his poopy diaper.” She tousles your hair. “Anyone know where Liz put his diaper bag?”

You felt every eye on you as you waited for Robin to grab your diaper bag, your drooping brown diaper unmistakable.

To your horror, she places the changing mat right next to you.

“H-here?! Can’t we g-go to the car?”

“That’s all the way up the hill, honey. Your Mommy would kill me if I let you walk that far in a poopy diaper! Besides, you’ve been playing in nothing but your diaper all afternoon, nobody will be surprised it’s getting changed.”

The other girls laugh, but not you.

“Lay down, kiddo.” As you do, she slides a paci into your mouth.

She rips the sides of your Lil Swimmers.

“You know, when I first heard your Mommy did this after your accidents started, I thought she was crazy. I mean, diapers or not, I always thought you were a good guy. I even had a crush on you!”

Wait—she had a crush? On you?

“And then to have your adulthood ripped away like this…I mean, you’re genuinely no different than my three-year-old niece. It just seemed so…cruel. But now that I’ve spent time around you, your Mommy chose right! This is sooo better for you!”

She starts wiping you clean.

“Think about it. No woman would ever want to be with someone in diapers. And who could possibly respect someone who might poop his diaper at any moment? That’s no way for an adult to live. So why try? You’re already closer to a baby than an adult, so why pretend? Why confuse you?”

“Aren’t you better off without any big boy expectations? Free from the burdens of adulthood? Doesn’t it make this diaper change easier knowing I think of you as a toddler, not an adult?”

She lifts your legs into the air.

“You’re free, honey. Babies aren’t embarrassed by their diapers because babies aren’t judged for needing diapers. It’s the most natural thing in the world for them. Expected. Just like you!”

She rolls up your messy diaper, grabbing a new Lil Swimmer, baby powder, and rash cream.

“Your Mommy gave you a gift: your Second Babyhood. Now nobody will judge you as an adult. Isn’t that great? You never need to be embarrassed again!”

She boops your nose.

“You can run around to your heart’s content in your cutie swim diapie like it’s the most normal thing in the world! Because it is! All us girls think it’s the most adorable thing!”

She sprinkles baby powder on you.

“So no more running off to hide because you made a poopoo, okay, mister? That’s why your Mommy put it on! Let us worry about your diapies, your job is to build the biggest sandcastle ever!”

You finally find your voice as she slides your Lil Swimmers on you.

“O-okay…”

She laughs. “Silly boy, you can do better than that! Aren’t you excited to show your Mommy the sandcastle you’re making her?”

“Y-yeah!”

“Hmmm, what do you think, girls? Is he excited enough?”

A collective murmur of encouragement rings out.

“I thought so!” Now,” she coos, tickling your tummy, “Who wants to build a sandcastle?”

“Meeeee!” you wail, laughing from the tickles.

“Good boy! C’mon lil stinker, let’s go build a sandcastle!”

The next hour flies by. For the first time since you were demoted to babyhood, you weren’t worried about your lost adulthood.

You were having fun!

It didn’t matter that you were building a sandcastle in nothing but a Lil Swimmer, surrounded by pretty girls your “age.” It didn’t matter that every so often, the back of your diaper was pulled back to inspect it for poopoo.

Robin was right—you were finally free.

You aren’t an adult, so why be judged like one? Why live by adult standards? Why fight to be seen as an adult, when you’ll never be one of them?

You finally embrace your new life and let go of who you were before the diapers. Let go of worrying what the girls next to you think you.

This is who you are.

A carefree baby boy. You have Mommy to care for you. She makes all the decisions. What’s there to fuss about?

“Wook Mommy!” you squeal when you see her, “I builded a thancathle!”

Not a care in the world.

Sydney succeeded in everything she did. She was your high school Valedictorian, Student Council President, and even the top swimmer in the state, eventually receiving a college scholarship for it. She was popular and well-liked all through high school.

So were you. You dated Sydney your freshman and sophomore year of high school, where you explored so many things together. You loved her—and she loved you.

But by your junior year of high school, you got in with the wrong crowd. Instead of studying with her, you went out to get drunk. Rumors began to spread about your increasingly dangerous drug and alcohol use. By the time Sydney learned of your first affair, your relationship was over.

She was heartbroken, obviously. It took her months to get over you, especially when she listened to the gossip floating around about your weekend sexcapades. The last time you spoke was graduation—a brisk conversation barely acknowledging your past relationship.

Sydney only thought about you in passing over the next two years. She’d occasionally see pictures of you or hear vague updates about your life, but she was completely disinterested in hearing about your problems. You barely snuck into a lower tier college before flunking out in two years.

Then one day, your Facebook profile was suddenly gone. She stopped hearing anything about you. It was like you disappeared. She always wondered what had happened to you. You may have broke her heart, but she could never truly stop caring about you, even if she’d never want to be with you again.

At least, until she started working Biggest Widdle Daycare.

You saw her first that day. You were laying on the changing table in the middle of another messy diaper change. Your “Nanny” as they called them at Daycare, babbling at you like you were an actual toddler.

Please, no. Don’t let her see me like this.

“Almost done with wipies, Joey! Then you can go back to story time!”

“And over here is where we do diaper changes!” you hear the Principal explain, “as you can see it’s pretty busy!”

Your face burned as Sydney made eye contact with you.

“Joey…is that you?” she asked, shock in her voice.

Your Nanny answers for you, noticing your embarrassment. “It sure is! He’s my favorite lil’ stinker here! Always so well behaved!”

Sydney continues to stare at you in utter disbelief, her mouth opening and closing as she struggles to find any fitting words.

You cover your face as your Nanny applies a generous coating of baby powder. The infantile smell overwhelming your senses, olfactory proof of your new status in life.

“Yeah, we used to…” Sydney hesitates, “well, we were friends in high school.”

Your Nanny gave her a knowing look, “well, I’m sure you’ll be best friends again soon enough! Don’t you think, Joey?”

You sheepishly nod your head as your diaper is pulled up and taped on.

“There, all done, Joey! So much better than that icky diaper you had before! Why don’t you show your friend Sydney where you do story time!”

You look at your Nanny, eyes begging her to stop. “Oh, honey, I’m sure you want your shorts but I think it’s best we keep them off, you’ve already had two stinkies today. We need to check you more often.”

Sydney smiles, recovering herself, reaching out her hand for you to grab.

You look into her eyes, trying to figure what she’s thinking. You’re more embarrassed than you’ve ever been since your parents sent you to the Regression Center after you were arrested for possession of cocaine.

“Don’t be shy, Joey! It’s just me, Nanny Sydney! Can you be a big boy show me where story time is?”

You grab her hand, feeing a jolt of electricity flow through you. You remember her touch, how it made you feel, the power it once held over you. Memories race through your head, like a movie played at 5x speed.

Sydney’s hand flinches too, as if she too felt the same electricity. But if she also had the same thoughts, she didn’t show it.

“Thank you, Joey! My little prince, here to show me around his little kingdom!”

The reading nook is just across the room, in full view of the changing tables. You hate how condescending this walk is, but you’re still excited holding Sydney’s hand—not that kind of excited, though. You lost that ability along with your continence. Though the feeling of attraction torturously remained.

As you get to your designated spot, you obediently sit down. The Nanny reading the story smiles at you.

“I’ll come check on your diaper later, Joey,” Sydney whispers in your ear. You shiver, not in embarrassment, but longing.

You don’t hear any of the story for the next twenty minutes. Memories of your relationship with Sydney continue to flood your brain.

You see her laughing on her bed, half naked, waiting for you to come kiss her. Next, you’re cuddling up behind her as the big spoon, you can still feel her warm skin on yours. You hear her whispering in the darkness, promising she’ll always love you.

“Earth to Joey?” you hear distantly.

You look around, every other little is gone, excitedly preparing for recess.

“Something on your mind?” Sydney asks, “I know littles can be spacey but you were really out!”

“I, uh…” you mumble.

“It’s okay, Joey. It’s perfectly normal. Maybe it was just because you were working hard to fill that diapee for Nanny Sydney!”

Something about the way she said it made you feel smaller than you ever thought possible. You knew she remembered everything, just as you did. But calling herself Nanny Sydney…she didn’t see you as anything more than a little. That much was clear.

“Only a little soggy, mister! You excited for recess?”

“I guess…” you trail off.

“You guess? Well, you should be more excited than that! You get to run and play with Nanny Sydney! That warrants more than a ‘I guess!’ Can you say ‘I’m excited to play with Nanny Sydney,’ little one?”

“I’m excited to play with Nanny Sydney,” you say, slightly louder than a whisper.

“You can do better than that, sweetie! I want to feel your excitement!”

The process repeats three more times, each time getting slightly louder.

You finally tell, surprising the other littles around you. Sydney grabs your hand, “great job, Joey! Now, what’s your favorite game?”

Sydney stayed glued your side the rest of your day, asking you questions about your current favorite games and activities, your favorite movies, and favorite snacks.

She never asked anything about your life before your regression. Nor did she ever mention your past relationship with her. Both of you knew the other remembered those days—and nights—you spent together. But it was left unsaid.

You were just starting to feel comfortable around Sydney, despite waddling around daycare in a t-shirt and exposed diaper, one you knew was getting heavier by the minute, when she asked you to come to her.

“I may be new here, mister, but I know a diaper that needs to be changed when I see it! Follow me while I get my supervisor.”

What followed was the most embarrassing diaper change of your life. Not only was your former girlfriend changing your diaper, but she was being trained as she did.

It wasn’t a quick diaper change. It was slow, methodical, and frequently interrupted by instructions and comments—and giggling.

“Make sure you wipe him well down there, Sydney! I know, that’s a side effect of regression, it’s perfectly normal! But don’t worry, he’s not able to get those anymore!” More giggles.

“You want to make sure you get powder everywhere, especially Joey’s bottom. He’s prone to rashes and his mother is very particular! Oh, you know her? Awww, that’s why you’re such fast friends!” Cue the giggles.

Later that night—evening, really—you lay in your crib thinking about Nanny Sydney. You wonder how different your life would have been had you stayed with her.