I'm 21 years old, I've been lurking on here in this community for as long as I can remember and I've decided to be a more active participant. That being said I'm 100% behind protecting children and no one under the age of 18 should be on my blog. I'm going to post some of my abdl fantasies, maybe some pictures/videos, and reblogs of my favorite posts of course. Here are the highlights.
- they/them pronouns, and gendered compliments are fine in either direction. you can call me star/little star if you'd like.
- you will be blocked if: under 18/no age in bio, mean/rude, your particular yums/kinks trigger me.
- asks are welcome! dms are also fine but be mindful of the fact that interacting with me is a privilege and I'm not afraid of the block button!
- i do not tolerate any form of pedophilia, discrimination, or hatred of any kind. It's gross and I have a serious open-minded policy as long as everything is safe, sane, and consensual.
- also be mindful that a trans disabled person of color runs this blog, if you aren't an ally to and/or supportive of those communities in particular this probably isn't the blog for you. My personal experiences influence my kink and i'm not going to try and separate all of that for popularity/likes/keep other people comfortable
- i know it is relatively popular in this community but i do NOT consent to being degraded/humiliated on here without a negotiated understanding in place.
- my kinks include: abdl, cg/l, chastity, humiliation, praise, impact play, bondage, knives/blade play, somnophilia, monster-fucking, and others expect to find these things here.
- mutuals are very welcome : )
I also just want to send out a very big thank you to the community at large. I've really struggled with a lot of shame and guilt about my kinks and the people who have been on here for years educating, sharing, and caring in this community often without any compensation have been instrumental to my being comfortable enough to start making abdl and kink a bigger part of my life.
I think when a sub says "you can do whatever you want to me" what they're actually wanting is to not make decisions anymore, and they think by saying this they can foist the decision making off on the dom without having to do any of the work beforehand. But unfortunately to get to the Not Making Choices part of kink you do in fact have to make a Lot Of Choices beforehand and communicate those choices to your partner. This is an essential part of the process and skipping it is both unsafe and unfair for whoever you're playing with.
Not Making Choices is the reward for communicating clearly, not the default
To people who say this, as someone who has been there, reasons you might find yourself wanting to say "you can do whatever you want to me":
It feels flirty (situationally dependent. This is not the use OP is talking about but make sure you've *already negotiated* before, don't say it in response to genuine questions. If anything else on this list feels true to you, don't let being flirty be an excuse to say it anyway/not communicate/not address those other factors.)
Wanting to please/prioritize your partner (not a bad desire, but they likely want a clear understanding of your own wants and limits so that they can not only do what they want to do but have the Impact they want.)
Fear of seeming too needy, demanding, not submissive enough (maybe ask for them to share some of their desires and limits first so it doesn't feel like you're leading the conversation right out the gate, and understand that you having to trust that if you ask for something they don't care for they'll say no is the same trust they have to have in you.) (note- some Doms DO complain about subs being demanding, or asking for things right out the gate, treating them as kink dispensers. Subs Can be shitty like that and it's fair to complain, but also Doms can do this unreasonably, and in either case people overhearing these complaints can absorb that "don't be demanding, treat your Dom as a person" incorrectly as "don't ask for things")
Not knowing what you want (generally you can just state this outright, I recommend including a request for suggestions or brainstorming, or a discussion of a kink tasting, "Can we try a couple things and see what clicks?" If they're not up to work with you on figuring it out then you will have to just figure out what you want by yourself or with someone else.)
Decision fatigue/desire to set aside making choices (you can in fact also say this bluntly. Being offered a simple two options to pick between works for some people, so you can suggest that as a starting point. You may also need to get some down time to start with, prior to subbing. Subspace is not a replacement for self care and the human need for relaxation. It can help with decision fatigue to have time in subspace, so before doing more in depth scenes needing signifact negotiating you can do smaller ones to help that, but you do need to make Some decisions and do communication upfront for that even if you find ways to safely minimize the decisions to start with. You could ask for suggestions and make the only decisions be indicating your interest/lack, fill out kink interest worksheets so it's on paper instead of a conversation and can be broken up into more manageable chunks, or do a tasting type scene where all you say is yes and no. Seriously try to give yourself downtime and meet your needs without Just putting them on another person though.)
Shame about expressing desires (let yourself be embarrassed. Turn red, stammer, say "I need a minute", push yourself to voice at least one thing. You don't need to be suave in a negotiation, and most Doms will find it cute/hot. And probably do some reflecting on where that shame comes from, how it does and doesn't align with your values, and unpack that some with a professional or at least a trusted friend.)
Fear of setting boundaries/voicing limits (this is a serious one. If you can't do this in the negotiation do you think you can safeword in the moment? You simply Have to find a way to set those boundaries to be able to play. That's not to say you can't Work on this while in a kink relationship, but you need to start working on it Now, and make sure that your Dom understands that that's where you're at and is okay with being in those troubled waters with you. Do Not Be Shitty if they are not up for it. Let them leave without guilting them.)
Lack of concern about your own wellbeing (first of all goddamn do I get it. Depression is hard, ideation warps perception of everything, trauma can destroy your sense of self preservation, I used to think trusting someone meant not minding if they did hurt you rather than having faith that they won't. If you can't find it in you to care about not being hurt for your own sake, care about it for theirs. They almost certainly don't want to trigger you, hurt you in a way you dislike, abuse you, or kill you. If they do want to do those things then you saying what you don't want won't stop them, so in that case it doesn't matter. But they probably don't, that's why they're negotiating with you. Your lack of concern doesn't outweigh their concern for your wellbeing, so let them know the relevant info.)
Thinking about what fits here can get you to a place to address issues, accomodate your needs, and communicate effectively.
A Weather Fairy moodboard requested by @dotanddoodle who said I should pick my favorite type of fairy!
A weather fairy controls the weather. They can make it windy, make it rain, snow, sleet, or shine! They sleep on clouds and slide down rainbows. A weather fairy's wings are normally blue like the sky, but they change to dark grey when it rains! They carry wands to wave the clouds around and drums that make thunder. If you see a lightning bolt, it might be a weather fairy being born!
Lately, I’ve been completely enamored with the idea of my caregiver taking away my glasses privileges.(And yes all those glasses are mine 🙈)
Little ones can’t be trusted with contacts—too much picking and prodding at their eyes—so all I’m left with are my big, awkward glasses. The frames swallow my face whole, and my prescription is so strong it makes my eyes look comically huge. And sometimes, when I’m naughty, Daddy takes even those away, leaving me utterly dependent on him.
Mornings change immediately. I’m no longer waking Daddy early, begging for pancakes or a diaper change. Instead, I lie awake in my crib, anxious and squirming in a soggy diaper, unable to get out on my own. I can’t see where I’m going. I have to wait for him to come get me.
Potty training regresses almost overnight. Daddy finds himself changing far more dirty diapers throughout the day because I’m too nervous to use my training potty. I can’t judge the distance to the seat, can’t tell how close I am, and the memory of tinkling down my skirt—more than once—makes me freeze up entirely.
I’m stuck in a near-constant state of whining, crying, and tantrums. I can’t find my toys, can’t tell where they’ve gone, and panic sets in as I’m convinced they’re lost forever.
New bumps and bruises appear from misjudged steps and unseen obstacles, from getting too close to the bars of my crib without realizing it.
The anxiety is worst when Daddy isn’t right there. If I can’t make out his fuzzy shape, how do I know he’s nearby? How do I know I’m safe? How do I get where I need to go? Daddy becomes my eyes, my legs, my everything.
He notices his back aching more than usual now. I’m constantly tugging at his pant leg, reaching up for him, begging for “uppies” just so I can get around without panic of hurting myself.
Even out in public, the dependence follows. The humiliation of not being able to read a menu at a restaurant, my face burning as the waitress asks what I want. I sputter, stumble, then turn to Daddy so he can answer for me—because he chose for me, because I need him to.
It’s raw. It’s humiliating. It strips away independence and presses directly on my anxious attachment. And that’s what makes it feel like the perfect punishment. 🤍
I love forced agere where the little acts out only to be met with an ever patient, gentle and immovable force.
Like you've been kidnapped, and you have tried everything to escape but it soon becomes clear that this is impossible. So you just become angry instead, fighting your captor at every turn. You scream. You kick and hit. You try to break things. You throw your food.
And every single time, your captor just picks you up and places you in the same damn corner, neutral face, neutral voice, and says "five minutes."
Of course, you don't stay in one place. You run only to be picked up and placed back in the corner, the timer restarting, "five minutes." And again and again and again. Until you've exhausted yourself. Meanwhile, your captor has not shown an inkling of anger or impatience. They could do this all day.
You're a wreck, sitting slumped in the corner, face red and blotchy, hardly keeping your eyes open, and they haven't even done anything to you.
You almost want them to finally lose their patience, to shout at you, to hurt you, so that you can be proved correct. So that you can tell yourself they really are cruel and terrible and you were right to fight them all along. It does not make sense to you that someone would keep you hostage to take care of you. This gentleness is foreign to you. It has to be fake.
Finally, you've stayed in the corner for the full five minutes. They walk over to you, and kneel down.
"Do you know why I had to put you in the corner?" They ask.
You do not respond, but they don't mind.
"I had to put you in the corner because you kicked me. We must use gentle hands in this house. Do you understand?"
You nod faintly.
"I would like you to say sorry now."
"S'rry." You mumble, but it's enough.
"Good girl! Thank you, sweetheart. Let's go and have our lunch now, hm?"
A caregiver who understands you're only little and you will need time to adjust, of course. You're only misbehaving because you are lost and confused. You've been lacking structure and guidance for so long. They can see the little one underneath all the bravado, the one begging to be loved.
----
This form of punishment just makes more sense to me. Because eventually, you would learn that you can never win. That caregiver will never lose their patience or give up on you, no matter how badly you behave. Acting out is just pointless.
You had barely recovered from the shock of being woken up by someone in your room when you realized Sarah was sitting on your bed.
In her bra and panties.
The woman you’ve had a secret crush on ever since she moved in with your roommate.
“You’re lucky I woke you when I did, sweetie. Any longer and that diaper might have burst!”
The casual, matter-of-fact way she mentioned your diaper, no different than an off-hand remark about the weather, momentarily stunned your groggy brain.
Until you remembered that nobody—least of all her—was supposed to know about your diapers.
It was only then that you realized your blankets were at your feet, leaving your drenched diaper on full display.
And you wishing you wore a shirt to bed.
“Relax, honey. It’s just me,” she chortled as you desperately tried to cover yourself.
“I…I can explain!”
“What’s there to explain, silly? Your bed is dry, and your diaper is wet. Seems pretty obvious why you’re diapered.”
The fear of your diapers being discovered always made you believe you’d be relentlessly teased, mocked, and shunned.
Yet she didn’t seem the least bit repulsed by your bulging diaper. If anything she was acting like they were perfectly…normal.
“Don’t worry, baby. Your secret is safe with us!”
“U-us?” you whimper.
“Yes, silly. Who do you think pays the internet bill? Ryan sees all the adorable diaper websites you visit.”
The blood drains from your face.
“Awww, baby! Look at me. You have nothing to be ashamed of, okay? To be honest, your diapers make so much sense!”
“Th-they do?”
By now you’re thoroughly confused. This is nothing like how you expected the exposure of your darkest secret to go.
“Yes, hun. I thought you were handsome when I met you. But something about you made me feel maternal—not attracted. Like you were fragile and all I wanted to do was protect you from the big, scary world. I couldn’t explain it.”
She pats your diaper.
“But now it all makes sense! You are too fragile for the world! You’re not a man; you’re a baby in a trenchcoat pretending to be a man. Well, you don’t have to pretend anymore.”
“I…I’m not pretending! It’s just…just…”
“What did I just say, hmm? I see the real you. The baby boy that’s dying to be acknowledged and nurtured. Let go, baby. You’re safe.”
Her words linger in the air. Every part of you wanting to believe her. Yet, you hesitate.
She senses the battle raging inside you. The tug-of-war between your heart and brain.
“It’s hard to let go, isn’t it? You’ve spent your whole life denying who you are. Building up the adult façade, convincing yourself that’s who you really are. But don’t you see? It’s all a lie! A prison cell you sent your authentic self to rot!”
Your first instinct is to argue—how can she say the entirety of your adult life is a lie? She may find it easy to casually dismiss your adulthood, but not you.
But once again, your mouth doesn’t open. Somewhere in the back of your mind, a voice grows in strength, making it harder to deny the truth in her words.
“I can see it in your eyes, honey. You know I’m right. Don’t let the lies win. Just admit it. Tell me who you really are.”
You shake your head, unable to say the words.
“I…I can’t! People w-would..I have…”
She sighs but regains her composure quickly. “Well, if you truly believe you’re an adult, then prove it.”
She edges closer to you, biting her lip, her cleavage directly in your line of sight.
“Rip that diaper off and fuck me like a man.”
Your eyes linger on her body, taking in every curve.
“B-but…what about Ryan?” you ask, hating that you brought him up.
“What about him?” she purrs, straddling your body. “Take off your diaper. I’ve seen the way you look at me. Now’s your chance, big boy.”
Despite being so close to her, feeling her body on yours, the voice grows louder than ever before.
Resisting.
“See?” she exclaimed, beaming, “You only thought you wanted me because that’s what men are supposed to want. But deep down, you knew it was a lie. Just like being a big boy, baby. Don’t you get it?’
The voice is impossible to ignore now.
“I…I’m scared…”
She pulls you into her, resting your head on her chest. Somehow you instinctively knew there was nothing sexual about it.
It was something entirely different.
“I know, baby. You still have all those icky adult worries rattling around that head of yours. Making you think you should keep pretending to be a big boy. But you’re not a big boy, are you?”
Her hand slowly pulls down her bra, letting her nipple rest an inch from your lips.
She guides your head towards it.
“Are you, baby?”
Her nipple slides past your lips, tickling your tongue.
You look up at her, her eyes meeting yours.
She nods, rubbing your back.
You latch on and suckle.
Nothing is said for the next ten minutes. Or maybe an hour. You lost all track of time.
Lost in the moment. Lost in her.
The door slowly creeks open as Ryan peeks his head in. Sarah waves him in, smiling from ear to ear.
Sarah rubs your back and kisses your forehead before gently nudging your head. “You can go back to suckling in a minute, baby. Ryan and I need to ask you something.”
You look up at her confused. “Ryan?”
“Hey, buddy,” he whispers, sitting next to you on the bed.
His sudden appearance in such an intimate position—with his girlfriend no less—causes you to try to pull away from Sarah.
“It’s okay, baby. Ryan isn’t upset—quite the opposite.”
Ryan pats your diaper playfully. “She’s right, buddy! I couldn’t have been happier to see you feeding so adorably. It means you accepted who you are. And, maybe, if you want…”
He looks at Sarah who nods in agreement.
“Baby, what he’s—what we’re trying to say—is we care about you. We want nothing more than to see you embrace who you really are. No more pretending to be a big boy.”
You look at both of them, wondering why they’re both suddenly so tentative.
“Buddy, if you want…we’d love to be your Mommy and Daddy.”
The voice in your head screams in pure joy.
“R-really? You wanna b-be my Mommy?” You look at Sarah, who’s teary eyed. “A-and my Daddy?” You look to Ryan, who winks.
“Yes, honeybear. If you want that, of course!” Mommy coos.
“I…I…but, but what about—”
Sarah puts a finger to your lips. “No, little one. No more buts, no more concerns. Leave everything to Mommy and Daddy. All you have to do is say yes, baby.”
You could barely contain your happiness. “O-okay, Mommy! I want you to be my Mommy and Daddy, please!”
Mommy and Daddy immediately wrap their new baby boy in a hug, a moment of pure joy and affirmation.
Everything you ever wanted, but could never admit.
“But before you say yes, baby, just know that we expect you to fully live your authentic baby life. That means you’re leaving every part of your adult life behind. You will be our baby—and only our baby. That means diapers, nap times, babas, binkies, and bedtimes, okay?”
Ryan nods in agreement. “We will take care of everything, baby. No more bills, no more rent, no more no more job. We’ve talked long and hard about this. We can afford a baby. So your only job is to listen to Mommy and Daddy like a good boy. Does that sound like something you want?”
Both of them seemed so confident, so sure they want you to be their baby, there was no more hesitation.
“Yes, Daddy! Yes, Mommy! I wanna be your baby!”
Your moment of ecstasy was short lived, however.
“I think the baby needs a diaper change, babe. Poor thing is leaking everywhere. Why don’t you do the honors?”
Mommy tickles your tummy. “Does Mommy have a leaky boy? Yes, she does. Come on tinkle pants, let’s get you clean. We have a big day ahead of us.”
“W-we do, Mommy?”
“Yes silly boy! This room is no place for our little one! We gotta get your nursery set up, buy diapers for our lil stinker, and donate all these big boy clothes! But in the mean time, where are your diapers kiddo?”
You point to the closet.
Mommy opens it up and inspects your hidden stash.
“Oh my gosh, babe! Look at this onesie!!! Ahhh, and the binky!”
Daddy looks at you seriously. “Buddy, you’ve been hiding all these adorable things from us? Naughty baby!”
Mommy grabs a new diaper, wipes, powder, a onesie, and your binky.
“C’mon baby, let’s go start our new life as a family!”
Their purpose is in the name, it's to make you the same. They strip you of your ability to define and express yourself as a person and in doing so denote you as a little bit less than a person. They say this one is not a person living their life it is a tool doing a job and you are free to treat it that way.
A school uniform has the same purpose, except it's worse than that because as we've all experienced the 'job' that a student is doing is learning to be docile, to be obedient, to be a tool.
What I want to do is find a burn out ex-"gifted student", put her in her old school uniform, sit her down at a desk with a standardised test and a clock ticking loudly. Then when she's done make her stand in from of me as a I mark it berating her for every mistake and asking her over and over where all her potential went
And then when she's sobbing I'll stick a pacifier in her mouth, sit her on the ground with a colourful plastic mat and some butchers paper and big pots of paints and get her to make me a finger painting smothering her in praise the entire time
I think that'd be really effective force age regression
I finish unloading the laundry into the bag and come and find him, sitting at one of the tall tables by the window, doodling in his notebook.
"I don't think that's your homework."
"Um..." He steps down from the chair, closing the notebook and putting it under his arm. I can see a little bit of sag under his jeans.
I wrap my arm around his and hold his hand as we step outside. The air is cold and the city looks blue in the dark, interrupted only by yellow-orange streetlights.
"Okay, when we get home we need to put the laundry away, and then probably change you, and then we can make dinner." He squeezes my hand. I lower my voice. "Is that in the right order? Or do we need to change you first?"
"I'm...um...I'm okay."
"Did you go pee before we left the house?"
"Mhm."
"Did you go in the toilet, or did you use your diaper?"
"Umm..."
"You don't want to tell me?" I pause under a streetlight and he shifts his weight very subtly from one foot to the other. Oh, that's what's going on.
"Can we keep walking?" he says.
"Why?"
"I'm cold."
"Not because your diaper is full and you need a change because you need to pee yourself again?"
"No!"
"Why didn't you just go in the toilet before we left? You could have avoided this. You could have just peed yourself in the laundromat if you had gone in the bathroom before we left, and you'd be fine."
He fidgets with the sleeve of his sweater.
“You know that’s true, right? Can you tell me that’s true? You could have gone in the toilet earlier, and then you could have wet yourself no problem.”
“I know,” he says, pulling down the hem of his sweater and rubbing his hands on his thighs. “I need to goooo!”
“Really bad?”
“Really super bad,” he says, looking down at the sidewalk.
“Okay, we’ll keep walking. I just need you to remember that it was your poor planning that got you into this situation.”
I take his hand and we keep walking.
We’re still a couple blocks away from home when I hear a little sniff.
“Are you okay?”
He’s crying. Two tears are rubbing down his cheeks.
“You’re not being very nice. I really need to pee and it hurts and you weren’t being nice about it.”
“Ohh, I’m sorry. I’m sorry, baby.” I pause and kiss his cheeks. “It’s okay.” He wipes his eyes on his sleeves. “Ohh, honey.”
We turn the corner and almost run straight into our neighbor, out on a late-night dog walk.
“Oh my gosh, hi!” she exclaims, clapping a hand to her chest. “You scared me!”
“Oh hi!” I glance over at my boyfriend. His nose is still red and there are little tears clinging to his eyelashes, but I’m hoping it’s something only I can see in the low light of the streetlamp on the corner.
“What are you two doing out so late?”
“Walking home from laundry,” I tell her.
“Oh, nice! I’m walking Pickles,” she says, even though that’s obvious. “Look at this. I got him this new light-up collar.” She smiles down at her little dog. “It’s way safer for when he needs a walk at night.”
“Uh-huh, yeah. Um, I’m sorry, but we’re kind of in a hurry to get home…”
“I used to have a little raincoat for him with reflective strips,” she goes on, “but he hated wearing it! I think the collar is a lot better. He’s used to wearing a collar already, so he…“
Oh my god, she’s in an especially chatty mood. I feel a little squeeze on my hand.
“Okay, that’s nice, but we need to go right now!” I squeeze past her on the sidewalk. He’s holding my hand tighter and tighter.
We jog down the last block and I set the laundry down to unlock the door.
“Ugh, that’s too bad we ran into Katherine. I’m sorry. I tried to get us out of there as soon as I could.”
“I kind of went when we were talking to her,” he says quietly.
“Oh, okay. That’s fine, we’ll clean up when we get inside.”
“But I still need to go. I can tell there’s more.”
“Okay, just give me a second.” This key is so sticky. It’s a new key because our landlord just changed the locks, and it just isn’t as good as the old one.
“I’m peeing a little bit! I just went!”
I push the door open with a creak and pull him inside after me.
He starts to cry again, shifting from foot to foot. “It hurts really bad!”
“Come on, come on.” I take his arm and pull him into the bathroom.
He’s already soaked down to his thighs.
“Just get in the shower, okay? We don’t need to get those pants off you if you’re just about to burst anyway.”
He steps into the shower and I hear a hissing sound immediately. He doubles over, hands between his thighs again.
“You’re peeing on your hands.”
He grimaces, finally straightening up. “That was it.”
“Okay, let me help you get those pants off. We’ll do a shower and then I’ll get you into a new diaper, okay?”
“Okay.”
“Do you need a pacifier?”
He nods, tears still wet on his face. I open the drawer under the counter and get a washcloth and a pacifier. I wipe his face and slip it into his waiting mouth before I help him with his belt buckle and pull his pants down.
“This diaper is completely ruined. You could’ve gone in the toilet before we left. Or you could have at least told me you needed a change.”
He whines and takes his pacifier out of his mouth.
“It wasn’t just that I peed before we left…I went more when we were at the laundromat, too…”
“Ohhh, that’s what happened. Are you feeling okay? That’s a lot of pee.”
“I, um, I was drinking a lot of water…”
“Uh-huh.” I help him untie his shoes and then pull his wet pants down. “Why?”
“Ummmm…”
I’m pulling his pants and shoes all the way off. I turn to dump them on the floor. “How come?”
“I wanted to have to pee more…”
“You wanted to have to pee?”
“Ummm…yeah…”
“Did you want to pee in your diaper?”
He looks at me, holding his pacifier in one hand and chewing on the nipple. He nods. “Uh-huh.”
“How come? Why is that, baby?”
“Because it’s fun…”
“Was it fun when you wet your pants because you’d used your diaper too much?”
He shakes his head emphatically. “No!”
“Not fun at all. I think that’s a good lesson in consequences for actions. Put your pacifier back in so we can get your sweater and shirt off. Oh, you’re kind of sweaty and stinky. I think it was a lot of work to try and hold it, huh?”
“Mmhm.”
“It was hard, huh? You know what would have made it easier?”
“Nooo…” He knows what I’m going to say.
“If you’d told me you needed a change before we left.”
He fidgets with his pacifier.
“How come you didn’t? You weren’t embarrassed, were you?”
“No…it was…I liked it.”
“You liked what? Having a pee diaper?”
He nods a tiny bit. “It was all warm and heavy…” He’s turning very red.
“You like having a full diaper? My goodness. What on earth are we going to do with you?” I reach out and untape him. I pull his diaper away. “Oh. You really, really liked it.”
“I didn’t mean to! It’s not on purpose!”
“Do you want me to help you with that?”
He nods, still all red, sucking on his pacifier.
“Okay, just give me a second to get my clothes off and I’ll get in with you.”
He waits patiently.
“Okay, we’re going to get you taken care of, and then we’ll put away the laundry, and then we’ll make dinner. Does that sound good?”
“You forgot something.”
I pull my shirt off over my head.
“What?”
“New diaper for me.”
“Oh, right. So you can get it all wet all over again.”
He nods. “Uh-huh.”
“Okay, just use better judgment this time, okay? It was fun to have a wet diaper, but it wasn’t fun to have wet pants.” I pull off my own pants and socks and step in with him.
The thought of wearing diapers was embarrassing at first, when your girlfriend brought it up you were very against it and told her how you felt.
“What- no- babe, I can’t do that. What do you mean I should wear these? They’re for kids and I’m not a kid obviously”
And now you’re a baby who humps the special stuffie your mama gave you and coos every time you fill your pamps and what’s better is that your mama records every moan and whimper you make when you treat the stuffie like your girlfriend.
“Does that feel good baby? I bet it does, she’s going to be your girlfriend now cause babies don’t have grown up sex do they? You look so cute like this, and to think you were against it in the beginning”
I wake up and my eyes flutter open, but I don’t see a smiling face across from me like I’m expecting. Instead, it’s a worried one, with a little crease between its eyebrows, chewing on his thumb.
“What’s wrong, honey?” I ask, brushing hair out of his eyes. “Are you feeling okay? You look a little upset.”
“I woke up and I’d pooped in my diaper,” he says, forehead creasing even more.
“Ohh…” I say. “Well, you were really tired from the Dramamine yesterday. Maybe you had to go and just slept through it.”
He shook his head. “It was only a little bit, but I woke up before you and I…I went more. On purpose. It felt really good.”
“Oh, sweetheart,” I say, wrapping my hand around his cheek. “That’s okay. That’s nothing we can’t clean up.”
“No, it’s not okay,” he says. “I don’t poop in my diapers. I’m not the kind of boy who…I’m not sick like that. I just like wetting sometimes because it’s comforting, I don’t like…” he starts to cry, tears sliding across the bridge of his nose and onto the pillowcase.
“Oh, honey,” I say, pulling him in closer. “Shh, shh. It’s okay if you liked it. It’s okay.”
He sobs again. “I don’t d-do that,” he stammers.
“It’s okay, baby. I kind of expected this to happen.”
“You did?”
“Yes. You were getting way more comfortable wetting and wearing diapers at night instead of pull-ups. Remember that one time you were really gassy and sitting on my lap in the evening?”
“Yeah…?”
“I almost suggested it, then, just because I knew I could rub your belly and help you out. But I can see now that would have been really embarrassing.”
“Better than having a real accident,” he cries, and I squeeze him to me, rubbing my hand down his back.
“Shh, shh, shh. You have real accidents all the time. Remember last week when you leaked your pull-up all down your leg running to the bathroom? Was that scary?”
“N-no,” he says. “But that happens all the time. I’ve never had a dream and—“
“Did you have a dream? Tell me about it.”
“I was sitting on a cloud with my pants on. And I suddenly felt like I needed to go number two and it was like a voice told me it was okay to go, and I went. And then I woke up and felt sticky and dirty and you were sleeping and then I thought I should just keep going but now I regret it and I—“
“Oh, shh, honey, it’s okay. You don’t need to regret it. It felt good?” He doesn’t say anything but his sobs are letting up on my shoulder. “You can poop yourself, it’s okay. You can be one of those boys. You can be anything with me. It’s okay, honey.”
I slowly disentangle myself from him and sit up. “I’m going to go take a shower and get changed. Do you want to come with me or do you want to lie in bed for a little bit longer? It’s up to you.” I wipe some of his tears away with the corner of the bedsheet and wait for his answer.
“I’ll come with you,” he says. “Does that mean you’ll help me with my diaper…?”
“Yes, honey, of course.”
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