WeAbdl

It was her team, too! Daddy knew how excited she was about the game.

She ruminated about how she used every tool in her arsenal to soften Daddy up over the last week. How she went to bed every night without a fuss. Gave him her best puppy-dog eyes each morning when she lay in his lap, suckling her baba.

She even picked up all the toys scattered around her nursery without Daddy asking! Daddy’s perfect angel.

Just to end up in her crib at bedtime.

Another chorus of cheers interrupted the tranquility of her nursery. She kicked her legs at the injustice of it all.

The sudden movement, so similar to the bicycle kicks Daddy insists on whenever her tummy is full of bubbles, results in a stream of toots.

“Hmpff,” she pouted, even angrier that her outburst backfired.

She folded her arms, resigned to her fate, until an idea struck her. A smirk grew behind her binky.

If Daddy wouldn’t let her watch the game, then she wouldn’t let him watch, either.

Grabbing the bars of her crib, she pulled herself to her knees. Her diapered bum floating just above her toes.

The perfect position to fill her diaper.

A series of tiny grunts and ragged breaths filled the room as she pushed, determined to load her diaper.

Her only progress after a few minutes of effort was a single, terrifying toot so loud it must have been heard in the other room.

Red-faced, frustrated, and out of breath, she throws herself flat on her back. Why was it so hard? She never has to try! Most of the time, she doesn’t know she’s pooping until her diaper gets heavy!

Lost in thought, she unconsciously fiddles with her feet, pulling them close to her face.

Suddenly, everyone in the other room cheers in unison, startling her. Before Peanut can react, her diaper crinkles softly as it expands. She reflexively grunts as her body takes over, pushing more mess into her diaper.

Peanut pulls her feet closer, unaware she’s loading her diaper.

By the time she realizes she’s pooping, she’s almost done. Her diaper was already bulging to accommodate its burden. She giggles in between grunts.

Mission accomplished.

She sits up, giggling harder as the mess spreads even more. Usually, she’d avoid mushing her mess, but desperate times call for desperate measures.

As she reaches for the latch to escape her crib, she notices her favorite stuffie watching her.

Judging her.

“Don’ judth me, Dithon,” she lisps through her paci, “Dada thtarted it!”

The enormity of Peanut’s mess is immediately obvious the moment she steps out of her crib; her diaper droops dangerously as she waddles to the door. Her shirt is far too short to cover her diaper.

Had she been less stubborn she would at least have the onesie Daddy got her for the game to support and conceal—well, at least cover—her diaper.

But no, she had to be fussy and reject it.

It takes a moment for her eyes to adjust to the bright light, though she waddles on anyway, making her way to noise down the hall, thankful it drowned out her crinkles.

She reaches the end of the hallway, heart beating fast. Not only is she not supposed to be out of bed, she isn’t particularly keen on being seen in a diaper this messy.

No matter how many times she’s been around Daddy’s friends, how many times he’s loudly announced she needed a change, how many times he’s marched her to another room for a diaper change, she still squirms being in a full diaper around them.

She quickly peeks around the corner to find Daddy and get his attention without his friends noticing. To her horror, Daddy’s friend Bailey happened to be looking right at her. She tried to hide, hoping she wasn’t seen.

“Was that you, little one? Did I see a peeking Peanut just now?”

Peanut doesn’t move. Maybe Bailey will think she was seeing things.

“I did see a peeking Peanut!” Bailey coos, finding Peanut “Everything okay, honey? Daddy put you to bed an hour ago.”

Bailey looks down at Peanut’s droopy diaper.

Unable to meet Bailey’s eyes, Peanut stares at the hardwood floor.

“Oh, poor baby, I bet that diaper doesn’t feel very good, huh? Come on, honey, let’s go find your Daddy.”

“M…m-bu,” Peanut mumbles, eyes wide at Bailey’s suggestion.

“Hush, honey,” Bailey soothed the poor girl, wrapping her in a hug and gently patting her diaper, “We need to get you out of that diaper before we have a blowout on our hands.”

A hand guides Peanut forward, out of the safety of the hallway and into the living room. She feels the eyes of everyone in the room on her—and her diaper.

“Uh oh, looks like somebody needs a change!” Jane, another of Daddy’s friends, says.

“You can say that again, poor thing. Anyone know where her Daddy is?”

“He just went to the bathroom, I’ll go get him,” Larry says.

A silence that lasts an eternity overtakes the room. Peanut tries to avoid eye contact and pretend everyone is watching the game and not the helpless baby in a poopy diaper.

“Peanut, what are you doing out of bed, hmmm?” Daddy asks as he walks over to his little one, “I was just about to check on you.”

Peanut feels Bailey pat her diaper. “Probably has something to do with this.”

The others in the room groan at the game.

“Oh, Peanut,” Daddy says distractedly, watching the game, “I’ll change you after this drive, okay?”

“No, no, no, look at her!” Bailey chastised Daddy, “Her diaper is about to fall off!”

Jane stands up, giving Daddy the evil eye before turning to Peanut, “Don’t worry little one, we won’t make you wait. Where are your diapers, sweetie?”

Peanut’s binkie bobs a bit more. “Ummm…m’nurswy.”

“Honey, you’re lucky your diaper hasn’t fallen off already. That won’t make it down the hall,” Bailey insisted, “I’ll get you out of that icky diaper right here, okay? Doesn’t a clean diapie sound nice?”

This was not the plan.

The plan was for Daddy to change her diaper in the nursery—not getting her diaper changed by Bailey right here in front of everyone!

Bailey kneels in front of Peanut with the diaper bag, looking deep into her eyes. “You have nothing to be embarrassed about, little one. It’s just a poopy diapie. Will you let us get that tushie fresh and clean?”

“M-mhm.”

Bailey tickles her tummy. “Good girl! Your Daddy always brags about his brave little Peanut.”

Somehow, despite getting her poopy diaper changed right there in front of everyone, Peanut found herself loving the attention from Jane and Bailey.

Jane made the silliest faces playing peek-a-boo while Peanut giggled in utter delight whenever Bailey blew raspberries on her tummy.

By the time Bailey carefully rolled her messy diaper into a ball and slid a fresh diaper under her, Peanut could not care less about being changed in front of everyone.

Excited, incoherent babble serenaded the room—the sounds of a happy baby having the time of her life.

“There, all clean!” Bailey said proudly, smoothing out the diaper and admiring her handiwork, “Let’s get you back to bed, cutie.”

“Bu bu wa-wan play!”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Bailey said with a twinge of disappointment, “As much as I’d love to play, it’s well past your bedtime.”

Just as Peanut was about to give up, Daddy walked over with a warm bottle of milk filled with vanilla, honey, and a dash of cinnamon.

“How can I deny Bailey some quality time with my little Peanut after she wiped her tushie clean? Peanut, if you ask Bailey nicely, maybe she’ll let you sit on her lap and hold your baba for you while we finish the game. Would you like that?”

“Yeth pwease, Dada! May I pwease Mith Baiwey? Pwetty pwease?”

“Of course, honey! I’d love that!”

The last thing Peanut remembered was laying on Bailey’s lap suckling the warm milk from her baba, as Bailey smiled down at the baby with heavy eyes.

Her wet suckles continuing a few minutes after her eyes closed for the last time.

She didn’t even stir when Daddy’s team won on a last second field goal.

“Oh my god,” Maxine says again. “Are these wet?”

Okay, so, maybe these briefs are made for me. But is it so bad that I want something both absorbent and…fun? Or does ‘fun’ imply that I like diapers?

“W-wet?” I stammer, unsure of how to answer that question. “Uh, well…you did just splash that water on me and…”

“Come on, Alf,” she says softly, shaking her head. “Tell me the truth. Did you wet yourself?”

“Yeah. But, uh, just a little bit.”

“Did you wet yourself…on purpose?” I sense that it’s a rhetorical question–I doubt she thinks that I’m having legitimate accidents in my pants. 

“It’s…complicated.”

Part of me expects her to recoil and slink away with a look of disgust on her face. Instead, her hand stays on my diaper, her fingers curiously probing the moist padding.

“When were you going to tell me?” she asks.

“Right about…now.”

This might be the part when someone else gives me the chance to explain myself, but Maxine’s got too many questions she needs to get out. “How long have you been wearing them? Does anyone else know? Does Anders know? Did you really go to California to find your brother-in-law, or were you going because you wanted to see this place for yourself?”

“Well…”

“How often do you wet yourself? Have you ever worn them when you were hanging out with me before? What brand of diapers do you get? Where do you buy them? How long do you wear one before you change it.”

“H-hold on,” I say, putting my hands on her bare shoulders. It’d be tough to have this conversation at any time, but it’s especially hard when she’s topless and her hand is on my diaper. “You’ve got to give me a chance to answer one question before you ask twelve more.”

“Right,” she says, the sigh that follows sounding like an engine winding down. “So, uhm…how long have you been wearing these?”

“Since…two days ago.” I try to answer the rest of her questions too–at least the ones I can remember: “Anders knows, but only because he was there with me. I really did go to California to talk to him. I’m not wearing diapers because I want to, it’s more like…I have to. Actually…maybe I do kind of want to wear them too? Honestly, I’m still processing these things for myself. It’s all still pretty weird for me too. I don’t want to keep this stuff from you or anything…I just don’t know what to say about it.”

To my relief, I see a warm smile on her face. “The good news is that you look cute in diapers.”

My face feels way too hot and I’m so flustered that I can barely stand to make eye contact with her. “S-sorry…I should’ve told you sooner. I just… Well, I’ve been thinking about it a lot, and I’m still trying to figure things out, you know? And then you were in my lap and I forgot about them and…”

“It’s all good,” she says. “And I shouldn’t have barraged you with questions like that.”

“Look,” I say. “You can tell me I’m a freak. Maybe I need to hear that.”

“It’s weird,” she shrugs, her fingers now slowly stroking my still-stiff manhood through the padding. “But that doesn’t mean I hate it.”

“Yeah?”

“It’s clear you like your diapers,” she giggles. “And if you like it–I like it too.”

“But I don’t want you to say that just because you think it’s what I want to hear.”

“I’ve never done that before, and I’m not going to start now.”

It’s moments like this that make it hard to believe there will be a time when Maxine is no longer in my life. I’m never going to find anyone like her again. It takes all my willpower not to pick her up, carry her to my closet, and lock her inside of it so that she can never leave my life.

“I don’t deserve you,” I say.”

“No, probably not,” she says playfully. “Now, how about we pick up where we left off on the couch.”

I scoff. “No, we don’t have to…”

“Don’t pretend like you don’t want to,” she says, her hand giving my diapered cock another good squeeze. “I assume this thing isn’t hard because all you want to do is talk.”

I’m feeling incredulous–I’m standing in front of her in a wet diaper and she wants to go back to the couch and get back to foreplay? “Are you serious?”

“Be honest with me, Alfie. Whatever’s going on here with you and diapers…is there a sexual element to it? Does wearing them excite you?”

It feels like another question that’s more complicated than she realizes. I still need the diapers, as best as I can tell. Also, my feelings on them are connected to the experience of how I was first introduced to them–the women who stripped off my clothes, the woman who breastfed me, and the woman who changed my first messy diaper. But, sure, if all I had to do was pick between ‘yes’ and ‘no’ to answer her question, I’d probably have to go with…

“Yes.”

“Good,” she nods, finally releasing my diaper so she can grab my hand. “Come back to the couch with me. Let’s have fun with that.”

===

We don’t go back to the couch right away. First I drink what’s left of the glass of water Maxine brought me. Then, she insists that I remove my pants and shirt–leaving me in just a diaper. Finally, just before I begin to sit down myself, she swoops in before me, sitting down in the exact spot where I had been earlier.

“I thought we were picking up where we left off earlier,” I say, meaning that she’d be back in my lap again.

“Doesn’t it seem more appropriate that you sit in my lap?” she asks.

My face, again, feels hot and I release a series of flustered huffs. 

“Come on,” she says, patting the top of her thighs. “Don’t be shy.”

“But…” I have no idea what I want to say. I think I want to do exactly what she’s asking me to, but the sudden reversal of our entire dynamic has thrown me off. It’s not that I’m ever the one in ‘control,’ but I’m always ‘the older guy.’ The ‘mature’ one. The ‘adult.’ And now, I’m literally in a wet diaper, about to sit on my girlfriend’s lap like I was a toddler.

“Just do it,” she giggles. “Obviously I’m not going to make fun of you for doing it. I mean, unless you want me to.”

“Yeah, I know. I just…” I sigh, attempting to shake the last of my anxieties away so I can just enjoy this moment. I’d really like to enjoy this moment.

“Less thinking,” she says. “More sitting on my lap.”

With one last stubborn grunt, I take the last few steps it takes to get to her and I slowly park my diapered rear onto her lap–my bent legs on either side of hers while I face her. 

“There,” she says. “That wasn’t so bad, was it?”

I swear my diaper feels a little wetter now than it did when I first got off the couch. I don’t remember peeing more–but it also wouldn’t have surprised me if I had. Now, I feel it squish between my ass and her thighs. It feels good–a lot better than it should. That feeling alone would probably keep me hard, let alone the fact that I’m on Maxine’s lap. Let alone the fact that I’m staring into her bare chest. Let alone the fact that she’s running her hands through my hair slowly and biting her bottom lip again.

“Do you want me to treat you like a baby, Alfie?”

“Ah…” I’m not sure what she wants me to say.

“It’s not a trick question, silly. I just…I’m trying to understand.”

“I don’t know what I want just yet.”

“Okay,” she nods. “Do you like…sitting on my lap?”

“I do, yeah.” This answer comes as a surprise to me, though it doesn’t feel untrue.

“Before, when you were sucking on my nipple…were you, like, pretending to be fed or something?”

Oh, honey, if only you knew what I was imagining when I did that.

“Y-yeah, something like that.”

“You, uhm, said something before,” she says softly, her eyes still meeting mine. “Something about how you felt like you have to wear diapers?”

I was worried that detail had been lost in the hubbub of her fondling my diaper and coercing me to sit on her lap. A few minutes ago–when I was still standing–I’d have been more willing to elaborate. Now that I’m sitting on her lap, it doesn’t really feel like the time to explain anything. I need action now, not talk.

“I might have said something like that.”

“Obviously I’m gonna be a little curious about what you might have meant by that.”

“What if…I explained everything a little bit later?”

“Hmm,” she smirked. “I suppose that’d work. But I’m going to hold you to that.”

“Fair enough.”

“I mean it. I want answers. I’ll spank them out of you if I have to.”

I think she’s joking, but I can’t be sure. Spanking is something we’ve had some experience with in the past, though I’ve always been the one swatting at her ass. I find the idea of myself getting spanked–especially as I sit in her lap in a diaper–to be quite humiliating. And exhilarating, though I try not to be too obvious about that.

“R-right,” I say. “Whatever you have to do. But, that’s later. And we’re her now.”

“I do want you to fuck me,” she says, sliding a hand between us so that she can feel the stiff lump in the front of my diaper again. “I might even want you to do it while you’re wearing your diaper.”

“Really?”

She smirks, the fair skin of her cheeks getting a little pinker. “Sounds dirty, doesn’t it?”

“Heh.” I sound like a fucking teenager again. “A little.”

“But…I think I need something from you first.”

“Anything,” I say, sexual desperation washing over me. “Want me to lick your pussy? I’ll fucking do that all night.”

“I need you to suck on my tits again–like how you were doing it before.”

“Yeah?”

“Oh yeah. I need to feel that again. That was really, really…”

But she doesn’t get to finish that thought, as my mouth is already on her breast, and my eyes are closed tightly as I imagine warm milk spurting into my mouth once more.

===

I’m looking down at Maxine’s back as she’s bent over the couch. My cock is deep inside of her, and I can feel the strong pangs I usually associate with an incoming orgasm. I brace myself, arch my back and attempt to give her some sort of warning, though it comes out sounding like: “Gonnn-ugh cummmm…”

And when I do climax, I feel myself shuddering as the tremendous explosion overtakes my body. It is an intense orgasm–nothing like what I usually experience. The only time I’ve ever experienced something like this before was, well, when I was at The Cradle–just after I got a bellyful of breastmilk.

Like that instance, the world around me begins to fade away. Everything turns white.

Okay… This again?

“Oh,” a voice says, though I’m still not certain where it’s actually coming from. “You’re back?”

I open my mouth to speak, only getting out: “I…”

But the white is already dissipating. Once more, I’m staring down at Maxine’s bare back. My cock is still inside of her. My damp–but not soaked–diaper is stretched between my knees.

“Holy shit,” Maxine says. “Seriously, though-what the hell happened to you in California? Because that was some next-level boning.”

===

We’ve finally relocated to my bedroom–arguably, where we should’ve been in the first place. I’ve sprayed some air freshener in the living room and opened a few windows, hoping that the smell of sweat has dissipated by the time Nikki comes home. She generally doesn’t care about what I do with Maxine–or where I do it–though I’m sure she’ll make a few comments if the whole apartment still stinks of our naughty deeds when she comes strolling through the door after a shift at the bar.

On my bed, I’m lying on my back and wearing the same diaper I was earlier and nothing else. Maxine is on her side next to me, one of her arms and one of her legs draped over my body. My right arm runs beneath her and is currently gently caressing her back. She’s not wearing anything at all. Her hand is positioned over the front of my diaper. 

“It’s warm,” she says. I assume she’s talking about the diaper.

“Makes sense,” I say. “I’m warm.”

“No…this is a different kind of warm.”

She’s not wrong about that. Somewhere between the end of our fornicating and when we collapsed on the bed, I wet my diaper again. Admittedly, this wasn’t as much of an accident as the previous times had been. In fact, for the first time since when I had consumed Mother’s milk, I felt like I had some level of control over my bladder. If I wanted to, I could’ve gone to the bathroom and used the toilet. Instead, I gave my body the rubber stamp to wet the diaper once more. It wasn’t a heavy wetting, but combined with what I had previously done, it felt safe to assume that this diaper was in need of a change.

“Did you pee yourself again?” she asks.

“Maybe.”

“When?”

“Before. Uhm, just before I came in here.”

Her hand casually explored the padding a little, feeling the way it had swelled and bulked up after being used some more.

“How does it feel?” she asks.

The answer embarasses me, but there doesn’t seem to be any reason to lie to her now: “It feels good.”

“I thought so,” she smirks, shifting her head a little so that she’s staring into my face again. Taking on some sort of exaggerated faux-babytalk, she adds: “Does da widdle baby wike his diapies when they’re dirty?”

I sigh, flustered by how much I like that.

“I’m just teasing,” she says.

“You’re good,” I say. “Promise.”

“I want to know everything,” she says.

“I know. And I really want to tell you everything too. Just, you know, bear with me. Some of this stuff is easier to talk about than others.” I still have no clue how I’m going to explain enchanted breastmilk to her.

“Of course,” she says.

“Maybe it’d be easier if you just ask questions. Otherwise, I don’t think I know where to start. Or end.”

“Fair enough,” she shrugs. “So…you have to wear diapers?”

I should’ve known she was going to start here. “Yeah. I…have been having, like, legit accidents. If I wasn’t wearing a diaper, I’d be ruining my pants.”

“How the hell did that happen? As far as I know, you’ve never had a problem with that before.”

“No, it’s never been a problem before. Not until a day or two ago.”

“Did something happen?”

I laugh and shake my head back and forth on my pillow as I stare up at the ceiling. I’m still not ready to answer these questions just yet. “Yeah…something happened.”

“Care to…elaborate on that? A little?”

“I… Well, uhm…” But I don’t really know what bits and pieces I can pick from the last few days to explain the basics of my current situation. Each detail seems predicated on another detail which seems predicated on yet another detail.

And so, I guess, I really only have two choices: I tell her nothing at all, or I tell her everything. I don’t really love either option, though I know in my heart that the latter is probably the way it needs to be.

“Were you gonna say something?” Maxine asks, her fingertips playfully dancing on my chest.

“Alright, so I decided I needed to be the one to go to California and tell Anders he’s an idiot and had to come home, right?” 

“Uh huh.”

“So Anders wanted me to fly out there. He wanted me to see the place he was staying at. He made arrangements for me to meet some guy from his, uh, group in this nearby town who could get us in, I guess. So after Nikki and I got a rental car, we drove to this town in the middle of nowhere. Well, uh, actually, I guess the story starts just before that–when we saw a van on the side of the road with a flat tire.”

I tell her about Reid and Bria, and the diaper change in the backseat of my car. I tell her about driving into Harper’s Bell and the diner we went to. I tell her about there being tacos on the menu. Celia. The sign in the bathroom. The graffiti under the sign. Tommy. Driving through the gate. Catching Anders just as he was about to get his diaper changed. The tour. Mirabelle. Everyone’s suggestion that I just ‘try it’ once. And then, I tell her about the milk. I tell her about the uncontrollable accidents. I tell her about how it truly seemed like I needed diapers for a while. I tell her that I had to go to the store to buy more. I even confess that there’s a small part of me that likes the diapers, though I’m still trying to figure out why that is.

The only details I choose to leave out of the story are how the milk was actually delivered to my mouth, my world-breaking orgasm, and the absolutely vile diaper I was wearing when Mirabelle changed me. I don’t have a lot of time to consider why I omit those details, though I’m sure I’ll be thinking about this a lot later on.

“And, well…here I am now,” I say. “On a bed with you in a wet diaper.”

She doesn’t immediately say anything, though she continues to be cuddled against my side, her fingers still slowly swirling around my chest. When she finally opens her mouth–minutes later, though it feels like it’s been hours–it’s to say: “That’s quite the tale.”

“I know it’s not very believable.”

“Do you believe it?” she asks.

“I do,” I nod. “But I don’t think I’d believe it if anyone else told me about it, though. Like if Anders had told me everything before I got there, I would’ve told him to fuck off.”

She snickered a little. “No you wouldn’t have.”

“Well, I would’ve thought it.”

Another minute or three passes, and we both remain silent. I choose to believe that her continued presence at my side means that she’s not upset or completely weirded-out by anything that’s she heard, but I’m still dying to know what she’s thinking.

“So,” I finally say. “What do you think about all that?”

“I’m a little jealous that you got to have this weird little adventure without me,” she says, her head pivoting a little so I can see her smile. 

“You…believe me?”

“I think so,” she shrugs. “It’s all really strange. But…I think I know you well enough to know when you believe something is real or not. And you look like you believe. And so I want to believe too.”

“Well…I was thinking about going back, so…”

“Really?” she asks. “You’d go back.”

“I think I want to,” I nod. Actually, I think I need to, but I’m not ready to let on that there’s a slow-building desperation inside of me just yet.

“And so what happens now?”

Her question catches me off guard. “Hmm?”

“I mean, like, do you have to just…wear diapers for now?”

“Until I regain control of, uh, functions, I think.” I’m tempted to mention that if the wetting I had a little bit ago was anything to go on, I might be done with diapers sooner than later–but I hold onto that information for a moment, curious to see how she responds.

“Can I ask you a weird question? Kind of a, er, gross question?”

I sigh, bracing myself for whatever it might be. “Uh, sure.”

“So, like, does this mean that you poop yourself too?”

I could respond to this with the story of running into Mirabelle in the middle of the night. I could also respond to this with the story of how I loaded the back of my diapers while making myself breakfast this morning–powerless to do anything about it. But, once more, I’m not sure I’m ready to go there yet. I offer just a vague “It does,” and hope that’s sufficient for now.

“You’ve gotten yourself into quite a pickle, haven’t you?” she says. I detect a little bit of amusement in her tone–I think she might like my current predicament.

“Seems that way.”

“Wouldn’t it be nice if you had someone close by who could, uh, lend a hand?”

“And…I just want to be clear,” I say, my heart beating a little faster now. “When you say ‘lend a hand,’ you mean…”

“I mean that if you need someone to, uhm, change you…”

“No,” I say, feeling my face getting very warm again. “No, no, no. I could never ask you to do that. I don’t even know if I want you to do that–if only because I don’t think you should have to be subjected to my, uh…shit.”

She laughs, bringing her hand up to my face so that she can stroke my cheek with the back of her hand. “Come on, Alfie. It’s got to be easier than handling it yourself, right?”

This morning’s mess had been quite the handful. My attempts to clean myself up in the bathroom seemed to make things a lot worse before they ever got better. I was in a standing position when I unfastened the velcro tabs–causing the heavy garment to fall to the floor with a dramatic splat that caused some rather unfortunate splashing. Then came my attempts to wipe myself, which seemed to only further spread the damage around instead of clean. At some point I gave up and just jumped into the shower. Of course, then I had to clean the shower out when I was done. Truth be told, I probably could use a hand with that.

But I just can’t ask Maxine to do that. She’ll never look at me the same way again.

“N-no, Maxine. I really appreciate you offering, but I think I need to, uh, clean up my own messes.”

Her hand recedes from my face and her leg pulls itself away from my body as she rolls off my arm. I watch her carefully, wondering what it is she’s up to. After she slides off the bed, she rights her nude body and proceeds to stroll to the foot of the bed where she stares down at me.

“Wh-what are you doing?”

“I’m going to show you that I’m up to the task,” she shrugs, stating it as if it was the most obvious thing. “Spread your legs. I’ll change you right now.”

“Maxine…”

“Stop,” she says. She puts her hands on her hips, and there’s something powerful about this pose–especially when her pussy is still glistening and her exposed chest juts out in front of her. She could demand just about anything right now and I might just give it to her. “Let. Me. Help.”

“I…I just don’t know that I can ask you to do that.”

“That’s why I’m making it easier for you,” she says. “I’m telling you that I’m doing it, and that way you don’t have to ask me anything. Capice?”

“But it’s gross, Max.” I don’t call her ‘Max’ very often. She never seems to mind when I do, but she never refers to herself that way, so I usually just follow her lead. “It’s…pee. What if it was poop? I couldn’t expect you to–”

“Let me decide what’s too gross for me, alright? Isn’t that what soap and water are for?”

“I guess.”

“Would it make you uncomfortable if I changed you? If you think it will, say so. But if the only reason you don’t want me to do it is that it’ll, like, hurt your dignity, then I’m just going to do it.”

Okay, yes. I want her to change my diaper. I want that very much. I just didn’t want her to feel like she was somehow obligated. If she wants to change me, then I guess we’re on the same page.

“Go ahead,” I say, my voice very small. “Let’s get this over with.”

I slowly spread my legs apart, granting her access to just about anything she needs access to. I’m reminded of the vulnerability I felt when I was with Marta, Freya, and Mirabelle back at The Cradle. One might think it would be easier putting myself in such a vulnerable place with someone I know and am already comfortable with, like Maxine–but I’m not sure that’s the case. In fact, it feels even harder–she probably shouldn’t be seeing me like this. 

“First thing’s first,” she says, her body bending towards me–her perfect breasts dangling like tempting carrots just out of my own reach–so that she can pull at the diaper’s tapes. “There has to be better diapers than these, right?”

“Wh-what do you mean?” I ask. I mean, yes, she’s right about that–if only she could’ve seen the ones that Mirabelle sent me home with. But what would Maxine know about diaper quality?

“These just feel so cheap,” she shrugs. She pinches the cloth-backing and gives it a few tugs. “It’s like you’re wearing a stack of napkins or something.”

“I mean, this is what people who are actually incontinent wear,” I shrug. “These were the best ones the grocery store had. ‘Maximum protection!’”

“I hate to break it to you,” she smirks. “But aren’t you actually incontinent right now?”

Maybe? “I don’t know.”

“Look,” she says, holding two fingers closer to my face. 

“What am I looking at?”

“My fingers. They’re wet.”

“Wet? Wet with…what?”

“All I did was run my fingers near the leg cuff of your diaper and my fingers got wet.”

I’m sure she’s making an obvious point, but in my post-coital state of diaper-change-induced humiliation, my brain is far too scrambled to understand what she’s getting at. “Okay?”

Maxine maintains her smirk, though she rolls her eyes. “Alfie. You’re leaking. This stupid thing doesn’t even work.”

“Alright, alright. I get the point. So what do we do about that?”

“I bet I could find cuter diapers for you,” she says.

“Cuter? I don’t think ‘cute’ is the issue here.”

“R-right, she blushes. “Sorry, I think I just, uh, slipped there. I think we can find, like, better diapers for you. Ones that don’t leak.”

I’m tempted to tell her that I don’t think I’ll be needing diapers for much longer, but I bite my tongue when I see the look on her face as she pulls open the cheap padding. She looks…excited. She looks happy. She looks like she’s discovered something new about herself. 

And who am I to stifle something she’s happy about? Something that I, too, might be happy about?

“Yeah…” I say. “M-maybe we do need some better diapers.”

“And you’ll probably need more wipes,” she says. “And, like, baby powder? That’s important, right? You don’t want to get a rash or anything.”

“Don’t worry about it,” she says, her eyes catching the opened pack of grocery store diapers I had purchased from Lowery’s. “I’ll get the things you need.”

There’s a part of me that’s nervous that things are escalating too quickly. I still feel like I need to process the time I spent in California, and yet I’m already charging into a new adventure with Maxine. 

But I see that smile on her face, and I just can’t help myself. A few days ago, she was lying on the carpet and we were joking about her being the one wearing diapers. Look at us now. 

Bring it on.

***

Hello. My intent is to publish Milk! weekly here, but I think I've fallen a little behind schedule. So bear with me, I'm gonna try to catch you up to where I think you should be over the next few weeks with an extra chapter here and there.

Meanwhile, if you're interested in reading ahead, subscribers to my Ream have access to a number of additional chapters that haven't been published here yet. I'd love to see you there!

I shake his hand, almost introducing myself before remembering that he already knows who we are. “You want a seat? Some food?”

Tommy helps himself to a seat on Nikki’s side of the booth, much to my own amusement. He doesn’t know Nikki yet, but if he did, he’d be wary of her dissatisfaction for having to share her seat with a stranger. “So,” he says, “here for Anders, huh?”

“That’s the plan,” I sigh, already exhausted by him. “Where’s he now?” It would’ve been so convenient if Anders had just come to town with Tommy. Then, I could've just pushed him into the back of our car and drove off. Of course, that’s probably why he’s not here.

“He’s back home,” he says. “Unfortunately, he was tied up with some other stuff. But that’s why he asked me to meet you.”

“Home?” I ask. “Is that the, uh, farm?”

“The farm,” he chuckles. “Been talking to the locals?”

“Just the waitress,” I say. “Is it…not a farm?”

“I mean, it’s a farm, sure,” Tommy shrugs. “We grow fruit, grains and vegetables. We’ve got some animals too. But we don’t call it ‘the farm.’ What else did the waitress say about us?”

“Nothing bad,” I shrug. “She said you’re all pretty nice.”

“Tell me more about your friend here,” Tommy says, his curiosity about the town gossip seemingly satiated. He nods his head to the side towards Nikki. “Is she, like, your girlfriend?”

I smile. This ought to be fun. He already broke the first rule, which was asking me about her–especially when she’s sitting right next to him. “You might want to start by asking her that.”

Tommy’s head slowly rotates to the side, getting a much better view of Nikki’s scowl.

“Did you have something you wanted to ask me?” She cracks her fingers in front of her chest.

“Uh, sorry,” Tommy says, his cheeks getting a little pink. “I didn’t mean to…”

“I’m Alfie’s friend,” she says. “Moral support.”

“She’s also my bodyguard,” I say. I’m only half-joking.

Nikki is a bartender back at home. As far as I know, it’s the only job she’s ever had, and it’s the only job she ever wants. Her dream is to own her own bar. That’s it. That’s all she wants. When I told her I was going to California, I said that she was welcome to join me. I wasn’t sure that she would, since she had a job and all. But I watched as she picked up her phone, called her boss, and nonchalantly told him that she’d be away for a few days. I was pretty sure that she ended the call before he even had a chance to say anything in response.

When asked why she wanted to come with me, she told me that she just wanted the opportunity to “get away from things for a minute.” A very respectable reason, in my opinion–though a part of me wonders if there’s more to it than that. Nikki keeps most things close to the chest. Over time, I’ve learned to read Nikki well–maybe better than anyone else ever has–but I still have my blind spots. 

“You remind me of someone,” Tommy muses, staring at Nikki. If this was a cartoon, his irises might be in little heart shapes. “A girl I used to know.”

“Did you annoy her too?” she asks.

He blushes a little, her bluntness catching him off guard. I wonder if most of the people he talks to have a little more patience with him. He clears his throat and does his best to laugh it off.

“Look,” I say, wanting to get the conversation back on track again. “We want to go see Anders, wherever he is. You’re going to help us do that, right?”

“Of course,” he says, nodding. “Whenever you’re ready, you can follow me over.”

Somewhere in the background, I spot Celia walking by. At this point, our bill has been paid and we’re completely done with our meal, so there’s no need for her to check in on us–yet, I’m a little surprised she hasn’t stopped by since Tommy arrived. Up until the moment of his arrival, she’d at least swing by every few minutes for some small talk. It makes me wonder if she’s interacted with Tommy before or not.

“And why couldn’t we just drive over there ourselves?” Nikki asks.

“Well, it’s invite-only,” he shrugs. “They’d have turned you away at the gate, no matter who you know inside.”

A gate. And who is ‘they?’ Nikki had brought up the idea of it being a cult earlier, and I had brushed the idea off. It seems a little less strange now.

“But if you’re with me,” Tommy continues, “a member, they’ll let you in.”

“A member,” I repeat. “A member of…what, exactly?”

He opens his mouth, but seems to think better of whatever his answer would’ve been. He considers it for another moment before trying again: “A member of our family. I’d like to introduce you to our family, of course. I know Anders would like that too.”

“Is Anders…part of that family?”

“Of course.”

“He’s got a family back home, you know? Myself. My sister. We were kind of hoping we could get him back.”

“You can share, can’t you?”

“I’d love to see how my sister–Ander’s wife–would respond to that,” I laugh.

Nikki snorts.

“Anders isn’t being held against his will,” Tommy shrugs. “Whenever he wants to go, he’ll go.”

“Sure. But I think he needs a little reminder that people are waiting for him.”

“You’ve come a long way to just give him a little reminder,” he says. “Look, all I’m saying is that since you’re out here anyway, you might as well let us show you around. Maybe see for yourself all the good qualities of our home that Anders sees. You might be surprised at how much you like it.”

Aside from shrugging, I’m not really sure what else there is to say. I’m ready to roll. I’m ready to get over there and to start the process of getting Anders back into an airplane. 

“You too,” Tommy says to Nikki. “I think you’d like our home too.”

Nikki’s nose wrinkles a little as she glances back at Tommy. “Are you wearing a diaper right now?”

His cheeks blush and he bites his bottom lip for a moment. “I mean, well…”

“I’m just saying,” she continues. “It kind of smells like pee over here.”

===

We’re back in the car and on the road again. The car still smells a little like baby powder. Ahead of us, Tommy’s pickup leads the way back out of town again. We pass the gas station that Bria and Reid took their van to earlier, and I can see that the van is pulled into the garage now. I see Reid outside, talking on his phone, but I don’t see Bria. I wave, but I don’t think he sees me.

“So,” I shrug. “Tommy, huh? What a guy.”

“I’ve seen him before,” she says. “Well, not him, but other guys who are just like him. They’re at the bar all the time. I swear, there’s a factory somewhere that just keeps churning them out.”

“This one pees his pants, though.”

“It wouldn’t be the first time I’ve seen one of them piss themselves either. I guess he at least had the foresight to wear diapers.”

I shrug. “I don’t really like him either. A strange choice to be our envoy, right? I’m hoping that he’s not the best they have to offer.”

“It’s busy work,” she says. “He probably annoys someone else at their little headquarters, so they sent him here to meet us just to get him out of their hair.”

“Poor guy. Now I feel bad for him.”

The road is far from the worst we’ve ever been on, but it’s hardly a smooth ride. We’re in ‘back road’ country now, and I feel more disconnected from the rest of the world than ever before. The closer we get to the farm–or whatever else it is they want to call it–the more anxious I get. From my apartment in New Jersey, it was easy to imagine myself wandering into this place and talking Anders into just coming back home with me. Now, I’m not so sure. 

“Did you get a hold of your sister?” she asks.

“Nah. Left her a voicemail though. I’m sure that by the time she calls back, we won’t have reception.”

“It’s kind of nice,” she says, staring out the window. “You know, not being able to use our phones so much.”

I can’t help but chortle. Nikki has, like, one hour of screen time total a day. She has restraint I rarely see in other adults our age. “Funny coming from you.”

“It’s just the idea of being, like, off the grid. I carry a phone around with me everywhere I need to go just in case someone–like you, or someone from the bar–needs me. Even when the phone’s not in use, it could go off at any second and interrupt my day. Now, I don’t have to worry about it. Out of sight, out of mind.”

“I wish I could see it that way,” I say. I’m thinking about how I need to talk to Sam yet. How I’d like to touch base with Maxine. I should also, at some point, think about calling my editor.

I am a writer. Others have called me a ‘journalist,’ but I’ve never been bold enough to say it myself. Usually, I just write shit articles for a shit newsblog that’s on its last legs. I’m not the guy who goes out in the field and does interviews. I don’t ‘investigate.’ I write reviews of dog accessories. I rank memes. Once in a great while I get to do a concert review. They keep paying me, and I’m making enough to live–albeit, barely–but I know this isn’t going to last much longer. Soon, AI will be writing the articles I usually write. If I want to continue to be a writer, and I think I do, then I need to make myself important. I need to go places that nobody else is going, and I need to write about things that nobody else is writing about.

Probably another reason that I decided to fly across the country. I wasn’t thinking about this when I booked the flights. But now that I’m here, I see pieces of a story everywhere I look.

“How often do you think the people in this place deal with diaper rash?” Nikki asks.

I laugh. “I…haven’t thought about that. You figure it’s got to happen sometimes, right?”

“I mean, take this Tommy guy. If I could smell his pissy pants, he was probably sitting in them a while, right? And he just got back in his truck without changing himself, so who knows how much longer he’ll be in that thing.”

“When we get to where we’re going, should I remind him to change?”

Nikki snorts and nods. “Please do that. I’d love to hear it.”

“You ever think about having kids?” I ask. I think I’ve always assumed that she didn’t want them before, but we probably haven’t actually talked about it in a long time. 

“No.”

“No…you don’t want them? Or no, you don’t think about it?”

“I don’t think about it.” She leaves it at that. As always, the master of keeping it close to her chest.

Actually, I could see her being a good mother. She can be very protective at times, and even at her gruffest, she’s always considerate for those she cares about. Though, honestly, I can’t begin to imagine the kind of person she’d marry, let alone choose to procreate with. Would he be a bulldog himself? Or would she need someone completely different to balance the equation?

Would I be a good parent? I just can’t imagine being in that role. If anything, I feel like I still need someone else to take care of me.

===

We reach a gate. 

This place has a gate. Not only that, but a chain link fence spreads in either direction, disappearing into the trees around us. However big this place is, I suspect it’s completely fenced off from the rest of the world.

There’s someone standing there, too. A guard, I think. He doesn’t appear to be armed, but he also doesn’t look like the kind of guy I’d want to force my way past. For the first time since we landed in California, Nikki seems interested. Maybe she’s just interested in the size of the guard’s arms, or maybe she’s just as curious as I am about what a place like this needs a guard for.

Tommy’s pickup pulls through the gate, and the guard waves for us to drive through as well. I’m tempted to stop and talk to the guard for a moment, but I’m not even sure what I’d ask. “Keeping the babies safe in here, are ya?” Instead I just offer a friendly wave as we slowly roll past him.

I do spot something else as we roll through the entrance, though–a large wooden sign suspended above the gate. It reads: The Cradle. Nikki and I read the sign at the same time and then look at each other, making sure the other has noticed it.

“That’s interesting, huh?” I ask. Nikki only snorts in response.

This place–this commune, this compound, this community–is huge. There are roads. There are buildings. There are people walking around. I feel like we’re only seeing a small part of it too. Beyond the buildings and trees that I see, I’m sure there’s even more. I’m already overwhelmed.

“Nobody looks to be dressed like a baby over here,” I say–just as much for myself as it’s for Nikki to hear. 

“Pull over and that lady if she’s wearing a diaper,” Nikki says, pointing at a random woman walking on the side of the little road. She’s probably joking.

“I bet we’re going to have plenty of opportunities to see people in diapers,” I say. “Let’s not annoy our hosts too much just yet.”

There’s an unpaved parking lot ahead, and there’s about a dozen or so cars already parked here–ranging from beat-up older vehicles, like Tommy’s, to brand new Mercedes and Land Rovers. Our arrival kicks up a big cloud of dust in the parking area, and so I can barely see  that Tommy’s pulled his truck into a space at the far end. I pull into a space next to his, praying that I haven’t accidently run over everyone.

“You’re here,” Tommy says as we all get out of our vehicles at the same time. “Welcome.”

“Was that security at the gate?” I ask. I think I’m actually asking something else–something about why a place like this would need security, or if something ever happened to require security here now.

“That’s just Chuck,” Tommy shrugs. “No big deal. It’s just a little extra peace of mind to know that someone’s watching the entrance. There’s two more guys on security detail. One of them is probably somewhere here on the farmstead. The other one is probably sleeping.”

Alright, I guess I’ll just ask what I should’ve asked in the first place: “What do you think you need security from?”

Tommy nonchalantly waves the question away with the back of his hand. “People just like feeling secure. Honestly, most of what security does is just keeps the bears away. If y’all brought any bags, why don’t you grab them and follow me.”

Both Nikki and I have packed some belongings, assuming that no matter what happens with Anders, we’re probably going to need to spend at least a night here. Neither of us grab our bags though, probably for the same reason–doing so would be to assume that we’re staying. And, ideally, we won’t have to do that. Best case scenario, we get Anders and drag him out of here and then find a place to stay the night in Harper’s Bell. Or, we just keep driving until we do find a place to spend the night.

“We’ll, uh, grab them later,” I say.

“Suit yourself,” he says. His arm waves us towards him. “Follow me.”

I keep wondering how Anders found out about this place initially. I can guess, I think. He’s the type who can just approach anyone and strike up a conversation. He’s fearless when it comes to socializing. This, combined with the fact that he travels a lot for his job, probably provides ample opportunity for adventure. I can imagine him striking up a conversation with someone who knows about this place, and they mention it to him. He’s intrigued and wants to know more. He says all the right things and manages to get himself invited. Once here, he falls in love with it.

Anders once told me–maybe around the time he shared the photos of himself with the diapered folks in the background–that he really wanted to return here, but worried that the next time he arrived, he wouldn’t want to leave. I laughed it off when he said it, but I’m starting to see why he might’ve felt that way. As we walk across the grounds behind Tommy, I’m overwhelmed by all the things to see. Flowers and plants everywhere. People just walking and talking–all of them look happy to be here. It’s quiet too–a kind of quiet I’m not familiar with. Living in suburbia all my life, ‘quiet’ still includes the background ambience of cars on a highway, sirens, or barking dogs. Most of that noise is absent from here, leaving just the soft tones of polite conversations, birds chirping, and wind blowing through leaves. 

I’m looking for diapers. Everytime we pass someone, I study their clothing, looking for the telltale lump of thick padding. Most of the time, I either can’t tell, or it doesn’t appear that they’re wearing one. But that’s not always the case. A young man’s athletic shorts have slid down a little, revealing the back of a white diaper as he talks to a woman near a tree. A woman squats near a small flower bed with a trowel in her hand, her dress riding up enough so that I can clearly see she’s wearing a diaper underneath. Someone with bright pink hair is walking across our path ahead in only a t-shirt and a diaper–their thumb lodged in their mouth. I expect Tommy to turn back to us to explain what that might be about, but he continues to stroll ahead like it’s the most normal thing.

“What do you think?” I ask Nikki.

“I should’ve gotten jerky at that store in town.”

“Sure. But what do you think about this place?”

“It’s nice,” she shrugs. No snark detected.

“So, uh, where are we headed?” I finally ask, projecting my voice ahead to Tommy.

“Well you want to see Anders, right?” Tommy asks. “He should be up here.”

===

People like to tease me because of how I act around Anders. They call me a puppy-dog, or insist that I’m obsessed with him. While I think they exaggerate a little, I do like Anders a lot. I liked him from the first time Sam introduced me to him. He’s the cool older brother I never had. He’s gregarious, friendly, and he has impeccable taste in just about everything. The music I listen to, all the movies that I watch, all the books I read–most of them were recommendations from Anders. I sometimes say–to myself, as I’d never say this aloud to someone else and invite further jokes at my expense–that I want to be Anders when I grow up.

Now, I just need to wait for whenever it is that I grow up.

Anders, as best as I can tell, appreciates my role of ‘little bro.’ He likes having a fan club, and he likes having someone to talk to about the obscure art that Sam could care less about.

If asked what he does for a living, Anders will say that he is a jazz musician. And while that is technically true, I doubt he makes very much money from playing with some band in the city once or twice a month. Anders is also a photographer, and a rather renowned one, at that. He mostly takes photos of collectibles–things like stamps, coins, and toys–for coffee table books and price guides. More recently, Anders had been traveling around the country and taking photographs of antique cars for a new book he’s working with a writer in Manhattan. It sounds like a cool enough job, though I still get the feeling that Sam is the house’s breadwinner. 

His most recent trip to California–the one he has yet to return from–was under the guise of taking photos of more cars. I know this to be a lie now, and it makes me wonder how many of his previous trips were covers for him coming to ‘The Cradle.’ 

Nikki and are waiting for a few minutes after Tommy went into a small cabin–presumably to fetch Anders. I’m just about to complain about how long it's taking when the door opens again.

I almost don’t recognize the man who emerges from the cabin’s door. It’s only when he smiles that I realize it’s my brother-in-law. The Anders I know keeps his dark hair in a semi-purposeful mess, while his carefully trimmed beard says professor-chic. This man’s hair is neatly combed back, and his beard is gone. He’s not wearing tight fitting jeans, and some designer button-down, as Anders is wont to–instead, he’s wearing loose-fitting white pants and a billowing tan top. It’s an outfit that either screams ‘cult-member’ or ‘guy at a yoga retreat.’ 

“Anders,” I say, unable to help but smile in return.

“Alfie,” he says. “I’m so glad you made it.”

What I want to do is run up and hug him, but I can already hear Nikki’s stifled snickers in my head now. I settle for a firm handshake. As glad as I am to see him, I’m also annoyed with him, and I feel like I need to make that clear: “Sam’s a little pissed, you know?”

He sighs and nods slowly. “Yeah… I bet she is.”

“You need to go home,” I say. “And you need to go home with a helmet on, in case she’s waiting for you with a golf club.”

“Yeah, I know,” he laughs. “She deserves to hear the truth–and I’m going to tell her everything. Believe me, it’s not like I want to keep any of this from her. I just… Well, you know your sister. I’m not sure she’d understand a place like this, and so I’ve been trying to figure out how to make her see what it means to me.”

He’s not wrong–I can’t imagine Sam witnessing people roaming around in adult diapers and saying anything other than “What the fuck?”

I want to jump right into the little spiel I’ve been mentally preparing since I boarded a jet in New Jersey, but it seems better to hold off for the moment. There’ll be plenty of opportunities today to give him hell. For now, it’s just good to see him again.

A few yards away, Tommy gives me a big wave to signal that his work here is done. I wave back. Here’s to hoping the guy gets his diaper changed soon.

“Nikki,” Anders says, his arms open for a hug. “It’s good to see you too. Keeping my man safe, I assume?”

Nikki–who’s never seemed either charmed or annoyed by Anders in the past–just shrugs and waves. “Glad to see you’re still alive.” She’s not a hugger, and he slowly lowers his arms when he remembers this.

“I’m so glad you made it,” Anders says again, his attention turning back to me. “There’s so much I want to show you.”

“I’m sure,” I say. “But I just want to make sure that we find some time to talk about–”

“There’ll be plenty of time for that,” Anders says, cutting me off. “But you’re here now and, you know, so long as you’re here, you might as well see what this place is all about, right?”

“Yeah,” I nod. “Actually, that sounds good. I’d really like to understand what’s going on around here.”

Anders laughs and shrugs. “You know, you’re going to see a lot of things. But to truly understand it? You’d have to–”

He doesn’t get a chance to finish that thought, as the door of the cabin he previously emerged from opens again, a young woman with curly brown hair steps out. Her arms are crossed and there’s an amused look of faux-frustration on her pretty face.

“Anders?” she says. “And just where do you think you’re running off to?”

“Hey,” he says, his head spinning back towards the door quickly. His cheeks turn bright pink. “Uhm, my brother is here and…”

“I wasn’t done with you yet,” she says, her lips breaking into a little smirk. “You get back in here so I can take care of you.”

Anders’ eyes meet mine, and I’m pretty sure he can read my mind. “You have a wife back home,” I’m saying. “My sister, at that. You better have a pretty good explanation for this.”

He immediately responds to my thoughts aloud: “It, uh… It’s not what it looks like.”

“Well that depends on what you think it looks like,” the woman giggles. “Because if it looks like this big baby here is sneaking away from a diaper change, you’d be absolutely right.”

Anders sighs, nervously running his hand over his hair. “You’ll have to excuse me a minute, Alf. I just have to, uh…”

“He needs to get his diaper changed,” the woman says, looking delighted to expose him like this. “He’s wet the one he’s wearing so much that it’s about to leak. It’s a bad habit of his. I swear, it’s as if he likes being in dirty diapers.”

I haven’t begun to process this yet, and it's among the most absurd things I’ve ever heard someone say in my entire life–but that doesn’t mean it’s not funny. I try, and fail, to conceal my mouth as I giggle. Nikki, of course, snorts.

“Well, sure,” I say, my mouth still curved into a big grin. “You should probably take care of that, then. We’ll wait, Anders.”

He sighs and begins to say something, but seems to reconsider. “I’d try and explain but…”

“You can tell ‘em all about it when we’re done,” the woman says, taking his arm and pulling him back into the cabin. The door shuts behind them, leaving whatever happens next up to our imaginations.

===

The woman I saw earlier, whose dress was hiked up enough to show off her diaper as she tended to a small garden, is walking towards us. She walks with purpose and, perhaps, a slightly off-kilter wobble–like there’s something under her dress that she’s trying to compensate for as she moves. The diaper, I’m sure.

“Hi,” she says, a cute flare of rose in her cheeks as she waves. “Are you two waiting?”

“Waiting?”

She points to the cabin. For a moment, I’m not sure what she means by this, but then I think of the woman dragging Anders back inside of it–stating that he needed to have his diaper changed. 

“Oh,” I say. “N-no. We’re not, uh…” What do they call themselves? Diaper-people? Babies? Residents? “We’re not waiting to go in. We’re waiting for someone to come out.”

The woman nods, chuckling a little. “Are they going to be a while, you think?”

“Uh…I really don’t know how long these things take,” I say. “I’ve never, uhm, had my…diaper changed. Well, as an adult, at least. I assume someone took care of that sort of thing for me when I was a baby. Oh, and I guess I should probably mention that I’m not wearing a diaper right now, and…”

“Rambling,” Nikki says softly. She’s always looking out for me.

“Right,” I say, my cheeks warming. “I don’t know how long it’ll be.”

She smirks. “Visiting?”

I feel compelled to explain why we’re here, and that we’re not interested in becoming one of…whoever they are, but I doubt she cares. It seems easier to just nod. “That’s right.” It’s not a lie.

“You know, I just ‘visited’ once,” she shrugs, a smug grin on her face.

“Is that so? And now you’re a, uh, member?” Member? Is that the right word? It sounds like I’m describing something cult-y again.

“I live here now,” she smiles. 

“That sounds lovely,” I say. “Congratulations.”

“Look, I’m just saying that I’ve seen your expression before,” she says. “I saw it in the mirror when I first came here. This place is a lot to take in, isn’t it?”

I’m thinking about Celia’s little warning to me back when we were at the diner. About how it seems like everyone who comes here ends up in a diaper. “Maybe it’s something in the air. Or the water.” I almost don’t want to engage in this conversation at all, afraid that polite conversation will be misconstrued as genuine interest. 

Still, I can’t just not respond to her. “It’s a lot,” I chuckle. “But I’m not here to judge anyone. I hope everyone’s living their best life.”

She smirks. “Well, I’m going to find somewhere else to be changed. Maybe I’ll see you around. And if I don’t, well, I’ll assume you left.” This last part is said in a tone that implies she doesn’t believe it’s going to happen. 

“Uh, yeah. I’ll see you if I see you.” She had mentioned needing to be ‘changed’ so nonchalantly that I barely thought about it. Now, I find myself a little curious about the current status of her diaper. 

She walks past me, onwards towards the next location where she can get freshened up. Her arm brushes against mine, and she utters a little whisper as she passes–so soft that I’m almost sure I imagined it. “Just try it.”

Try what.

But I think I already know. The message from the restroom wall comes to mind again: ‘Drink the milk.’ As the girl walks away, I catch a little whiff of the trail she leaves behind. It’s not a fresh scent.

“They’re nuts,” Nikki says, shaking her head. “All of them.”

“Y-yeah,” I nod. She’s probably right. But I also kind of wonder what it’s like to be nuts myself.

The cabin door opens again and Anders emerges, a big smile on his face. “Hello again!”

“Good to go?” I ask. “Everything, uh, situated?”

He laughs, his cheeks reddening a little. “Good to go. Come on, guys, I want to show you around.”

I turn my head one last time to see if the girl in the dress is near us or not, but she appears to be out of sight. I am a little curious if I’ll ever see her again. Because if I do, it probably means I’ve been here too long.

“Hey, Anders,” I say. “What do you know about, uh…” Milk. All I have to do is say one more word, a short word at that. But I just can’t bring myself to ask about it. Maybe I don’t want to know, because then I’d have to care. And if I cared…maybe I’d be showing up at the diner with a diaper peeking up from the back of my pants, and Celia would be there laughing, saying: “See? Told ya so.” 

“What do I know about what?”

“Uh, the reception around here. Is there any place around here I can go if I had to make a call?”

“Oh, yeah,” he shrugs. “I can usually get a bar or three of service near the gate. Follow me. I’ll show you.”

Anders walks ahead, with Nikki and I following a short distance behind. She glances at me curiously. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to–I’m sure she wants to know what I was originally going to ask. Maybe I’ll tell her later, long after we leave and while we’re laughing about the strange experience we had while getting Anders.

Or, maybe I’ll tell her while someone’s topping my glass of milk off, and we’re moments away from trying it for ourselves.

***

As always, there's more of this story (and plenty of other exclusive, non-milk-centric stories) available to read on my Ream Stories page. Go check it out and help support stories like this one.