Return to Sender [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

The hardest part, up to that point, was acting like I wasn’t excited about something.

I was an actor, once upon a time. High school drama club, sure. But that still counts for something, right? I had a part to play, and so I got into character. I learned my lines. And then I gave my performance.

My character was Perry Hawkins, a man who had the same name as me. Perry’s wife was going away on a business trip for almost two weeks, and while Perry loved his wife very much, he also liked the idea of having two weeks to himself. Thus, Perry would need to act as though he was very disheartened by this situation.

He was so bummed out. He was going to miss her so much.

It was an incredible performance. Almost too good, honestly, as Kelly had wondered aloud if she would be better off postponing or cancelling the trip. Maybe the company really was asking too much in having her go away for so long.

I–well, my character–had to then reverse course a little and suggest that while her absence would be felt at home, it was best for her and her career if she took this trip.

And then I escorted her to the plane and watched her disappear into the sky.

I had wondered, while sipping my celebratory glass of top-shelf bourbon on the couch later, if I had been wrong to manipulate her. I came to the conclusion that this was probably what she wanted as well. She was going to Vegas, after all, on the company dime. With a per diem. A per diem in Vegas? I was a little jealous of that. She showed me a picture of the hotel they were putting her up in. It had a pool on the roof.

She’d be fine.

And I had those two weeks ahead of me, all to myself. Two weeks that I felt I had earned. What to do, what to do?

A week and a half before Kelly stepped onto a plane, I had placed an order for a package of adult diapers. No generic drug store shit. Nothing cheap or looking like it came from out of a hospital. I wanted the cute ones. The fancy ones that all the cute boys and girls wore on the Internet. I wanted the big thick ones with juvenile prints and stupidly bright colors.

This was a long time coming. I had put my kinks on hold when Kelly moved in with me. It had been surprisingly easy to do at the time. The promise of nightly sex with a hot woman seemed like more than a fair trade for the occasional trip into a diaper. Still, time caught up with that decision. Marriage and blossoming careers stunted our sex life more than I had anticipated, and I found mysely yearning for the pleasures of pissing myself in a diaper.

I don’t know why I couldn’t just tell her what I wanted. Who knows, maybe she’d be incredibly receptive to it. Maybe she’d tell me to get therapy. I guess I just didn’t want to take that chance. It’d remain my little secret. And someday, when the opportunity presented itself, I’d be able to indulge in my weird desires once more.

This was that opportunity.

So I sat there on the couch that afternoon–while Kelly was somewhere in the sky above the contiguous United States–sipping on my fancy bourbon while checking the shipment tracking for my diapers on my phone. They were expected that afternoon, with an almost comical span of time given as an ETA: between 3:00 PM and 9:00 PM.

Six hours. I could watch an entire trilogy of movies. I could drive across the state and back. I could proof some bread dough, let it rise, bake it, and then eat it. I could do any number of absurd things in that big of a window. I almost wish they hadn’t given me a span of time at all, as then I’d feel free to go and do…anything. But to have an idea of when the package would arrive, the vaguest whisper of an idea, meant that I’d be checking out the window for the next six hours every time I heard a truck drive down the road.

And that’s exactly what I did. I poured another glass of bourbon, loaded up some streaming television, and remained stationed on the very edge of the couch so that I could get up every time I heard something outside.

It wasn’t that I thought someone would come steal my package. I’ve heard of such things happening, but not in my neighborhood. And even if they tried, what would they do when they saw that it was just giant diapers? An amusing thought, though one I was pretty sure I didn’t have to fret about. No–I just wanted my diapers. I just wanted to put one on and crawl around in it.

Two hours into waiting, I had the thought to check online for an update to the shipping. Maybe my window had narrowed or maybe…

The website said the package was delivered.

I sprinted to the front door and opened it, but there was no package waiting for me on my porch. I wondered, for a moment, if the delivery person had somehow been confused and dropped it off somewhere else at my house? In front of the garage? In the driveway? I frantically ran around my house, checking every door and window to see if, somehow, a package had been placed there. Nothing.

I quickly called the shipping company handling the delivery. They initially told me that their records had, in fact, confirmed that it was delivered. They barely seemed interested in continuing that conversation, feeling they had already closed that case. It was only when I badgered them further, insisting that I not only didn’t receive the package,but that the package’s contents were very important, that they agreed to contact the driver for more information.

And as I waited for the results of that call, I began to imagine that the worst case scenario had actually come true–my diapers were stolen right off my porch. What then? Was I supposed to go to the police and report that someone had stolen my weird kinky underpants that I had big plans to piss in later?

“Mr. Hawkins,” the woman from the shipping company said on the phone, “I think we’ve determined what happened here.”

“Okay?”

“The package was delivered. But, unfortunately, it looks like there might have been a typo on the shipping label. So it appears to have been delivered to your neighbors’ house instead. 105 Chapman Road? We could, if you wanted, have the driver head back over there and…”

The implication in her voice was clear: They could come back and correct the issue if I wanted to throw a fit about it. But since the package was next door, maybe I should just take care of that myself.

Fine and dandy, except for the fact that I’d have to ask my neighbors to give my diapers back.

Whatever. At least I knew they were here. Well, close to here. 105 Chapman was, literally, across the street. And, with luck, the package would still be sitting on their front porch and all I’d have to do was walk over there and take it.

Except, when I looked across the street from my own front porch, I didn’t see a package.

The Bermans, I think. I didn’t talk to them much. Mr. Berman drove a BMW and seemed to be the type who made that part of his entire personality. Mrs. Berman had a yoga mat in her hands every time I saw her. They were older than Kelly and I by a good 20 years, at least. I didn’t like them all that much, though I figured that one day they were who we’d become.

The other thing about the Bermans was their daughter, Chelsea. A few years younger than me and in college. I didn’t see much of her. But when I did? Fuck. Long slender legs. That ass. That chest. It was probably best I didn’t see her more than I did.

The problem was that Chelsea was home. In fact, she might have been the only one one home. Just the day before, I watched Mr. and Mrs. Berman load some suitcases into the BMW and take off while Chelsea waved goodbye from their porch.

The same porch that I wished my package was just sitting on now.

I rang the doorbell. She came to the door quickly, wearing an oversized Nirvana t-shirt and the tiniest pair of jean shorts I had ever seen. I tried to keep it together. She didn’t know that my package had diapers in it. All she knew was that she had my box. Maybe she had even planned on bringing it to my place herself later.

“Oh hey,” she said, smiling as she opened the front door. “Gary, right?”

“Hey, Chelsea. It’s, uh, Perry, actually.” I almost didn’t correct her. Sure, you just call me Gary from now on.

“What’s up?” There was this genuine curiosity in her tone that confused me. Didn’t she know that she had my package?

“Oh, well, I think there might have been some sort of mixup. I had, uh, ordered something and it was supposed to be delivered today. But I think they accidentally delivered it to your house instead.”

She tilted her head, considering this information. “Oh wait. That was yours?”

I wasn’t sure how to react to that. “I mean…it should have my name on it.”

“Hold on,” she said, holding up a finger. “Gimme a sec.”

“Sure thing.”

She disappeared back into the house, leaving the front door open. A moment or two later, she came back out. There was no package in her hands, though she was smiling.

“Yeah, I’m really sorry,” she said. “I didn’t even look at the shipping label when I found the package. I assumed my Mom had bought something so I took it inside.”

“Okay, great. So you have it then, right?”

“Well…I kind of opened it.”

I felt the color drain from my face and my armpits began to perspire. I wanted to just turn around and run away. What had she seen? What had she assumed when she saw what was in the box?

“But, you still have the package, right?”

She smirked. It was the kind of playful look that under other circumstances would’ve probably caused my pants to tent a little bit. Now, it felt dangerous.

“I do,” she said.

“Can I…have it?”

She stared at me. Into me, really. Like she was analyzing me. “What are they for?”

“Are you serious?” I asked. “It…it doesn’t matter. They’re mine. If you could just give them back to me–”

She shrugged. “Just tell me what they’re for.”

“What do you think they’re for?”

She laughed, more of a giggle really. A sadistic little noise. “Are they for you?”

“That’s, uh, none of your business.”

“If you want them back,” she said, “all you have to do is answer my question.”

“I don’t need them that badly,” I said. “I can just go and order new ones.”

“Okay,” she said with a shrug. “Go do that then.” She had completely called my bluff.

I needed to rewind the conversation a little bit. “But what did you do when you saw what they were? I mean…did you assume your Mom wanted…those?”

She shrugged flippantly. “I sent her a picture of them and asked what they were for, but I didn’t get a response back yet. I guess I should’ve looked to see who they were actually for, huh?” She showed little remorse. In fact, she seemed kind of smug about the whole thing. “Oops.”

I didn’t want to have to wait another week and a half for more diapers–I didn’t really have that kind of time. Maybe I could order from somewhere else. Maybe I could find a brick and mortar store that I could drive to. Maybe I could just…go without.

No, absolutely not. I had earned this escape. I had been waiting for this opportunity for a very long time.

“Yes, they’re for me,” I said. “Could I please have them back?”

“A little big for diapers, aren’t you?”

Being honest, this scene was probably something right out of one of my fantasies. The hot young woman from across the street is holding my diapers hostage, making me jump through hoops to get them.

“It’s not what you think,” I said. I had nothing to back that claim up with, and she probably knew that too. .

“Really?” she said, smiling. “That’s interesting. Because when my neighbor says that the pack of giant diapers–with their cutesy prints all over them–aren’t what I think, I’m having trouble imagining what else it could possibly be.”

I wanted to cut through all this bullshit and get to where it was seeming to lead: the bargain. “What needs to happen for me to get my package back?”

She laughed. “Aw, you don’t want to play with me?”

Yes. Fuck, yes. Please. Alas, I doubted we wanted to play the same game.

“Look, I’m not feeling too proud of myself at the moment,” I said. Could I even appeal to a beast like this with honesty? “You’ve seen some things you shouldn’t have. You’ve learned some things about me I wish you hadn’t. Really, I just want to get that package so that I can…”

“Do you want to come inside?” she asked.

“Well, no, I think I just want…”

“Come inside,” she said, stepping away from the door.

It was clear that the door-phase of our conversation was over. My choices were to either go home empty-handed or to follow her inside and hope that I was a step closer to getting back my diapers.

I followed her, closing the front door behind me.

The Bermans’ home was pretty much what I had expected it to be. An intentionally minimalist design. Expensive furniture. There was a smattering of art throughout the part of the house I could see–some paintings and a sculpture or two–but it was all abstract. I wondered if the art actually meant anything to the Bermans, or if it was just part of a vibe. Feng shui, or a part of a ‘flow.’

I looked around, but I didn’t see my diapers anywhere. But when I saw Chelsea again, she was holding one of the diapers in her hand.

“I hope you don’t mind,” she said, “but I opened the package up and took one out. I wanted to see what it looked like.”

I didn’t know what to say. I could’ve told her to put back what she took, or I could’ve asked, once more, that she just give everything back to me.

“How deep does this go?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Well, you’ve got these big baby-diapers right? I can’t imagine it ends there for a guy who likes something like these, right? There’s got to be more. Pacifiers? Baby bottles? Do you have a little bonnet that you wear? Little booties? Do you have a stuffed animal that you snuggle with?”

“You probably won’t believe me,” I said, “but, no. I don’t have any of those things.”

She gave me a skeptical glare, as if to say: Don’t lie to me. “Why not?”

“I guess I’m…getting back into things again?” It was a much more honest answer than I had expected to give.

“You’re married, right?”

I nodded.

“She’s pretty. What’s her name?”

“Kelly.”

“Pretty name too.”

“Chelsea is a pretty name too,” I said. I immediately felt stupid for saying it. At best, it felt like I was trying to kiss her ass. At worst, it sounded like flirting.

“Does Kelly know about these?” she asked, flexing the diaper back and forth with both hands to fill the room with a chorus of crinkling plastic.

“No.”

“What do you think she’d say if she did?”

“I have no idea,” I said. “So I guess I’d rather not have her find out.”

She smiled and took a deep breath. It was as if she could barely contain her glee. “Well this is an interesting little situation we have ourselves in now, isn’t it?”

“It doesn’t have to be a situation,” I said. “If you were to just give me back my things, this could be done and I could go home.”

“What’s the fun in that?”

I sighed, trying to think of any other way to make a case for me just leaving with my belongings. “Don’t you have anything else to do? Anywhere else to be? If I could just get my stuff and be on my way, I could let you get back to whatever it is you were doing.”

“My parents are on their way to Florida,” she said. “And when they get there, they’ll be getting on a cruise ship taking them to Mexico. So I have the house all to myself for a while, and I have absolutely no plans. I have all the time in the world.”

I grumbled to myself.

“And you?” she asked. “I’m going to guess your wife isn’t home? That’s why you decided to buy some…diapers?”

“A work trip,” I said, again regretting handing her this honesty.

“Ah, I see. So it sounds like both of us have a bit of extra time on our hands.”

I wanted to plead again. Beg her to give me back my diapers. There probably hadn’t ever been a more pathetic thing to beg for though, and so I bit my tongue.

“So what was your plan?” she asked, still slowly crinkling the diaper back and forth in her hands as she spoke. “Get some new diapers? Crawl around like a baby for a few days? Get all your naughty little fantasies out of your system? And then hide the evidence and pretend like it never happened once your wife got home?”

“I guess.”

She shrugged. “So what does that look like?”

“What does what look like?”

“Like, being a…baby, I guess?” She held the large diaper up in front of her face to take a good look at it again. “Something this big–something this cute–I can’t imagine you’d want to hide it, right? So I guess you’re only wearing a diaper?”

“I…I don’t want to talk about it with you.”

“Oh come on,” she said. “Play along. You want your precious little baby diapers back, don’t you?”

“You can’t tell anyone,” I said. “Not my wife. Not your parents. Not anyone.”

She smiled, giving a playful shrug. “I could probably keep a secret. Though I did send that picture to my mother…”

“I just think that–”

“I could keep a secret for a good little boy who did as he was told,” she added, talking right over me. “Maybe even convince my mother that the photo I sent was a joke.”

My heart sank in my chest. “Are you serious right now?”

“Do you want your diapers or not?”

“What is it that you want from me?”

“Sit,” she said, pointing to the couch behind me.

It was a simple request, and while I wasn’t foolish enough to think that it’d be the end of her demands, it was at least–in itself–a painless task. I took a seat on the couch, and she took a seat on a rather plush looking leather chair that faced the couch. For the first time, I realized there was no TV in this particular room. I imagined they had one somewhere. But the concept of a room where there wasn’t a TV felt so exceptionally adult to me. And here was their daughter, younger than me, talking down to me as if she was closer in age to her parents than I was.

“Do you pee your pants?” she asked. I could barely stand my discomfort. She came swinging right out of the gate.

“I don’t have any diapers right now, so…”

“But supposing you had a diaper on,” she said. “You’d wet yourself?”

“Probably, yes.”

She giggled behind the hand she held up to her lips. “And would you do your, uhm, little poo-poos in there too?”

It would’ve been a humiliating question no matter how she asked it. But her condescending tone, combined with the pseudo-babytalk was downright soulcrushing. I felt paralyzed, with any answer that I could give feeling like the wrong one. If I denied that, she wouldn’t believe me. If I admitted that I wanted to, or that I had, she’d surely tease me mercilessly.

“I don’t know,” I said.

“You don’t know?” She giggled again. “Sounds like you’re at least curious, hmm?”

“Well, I dunno…”

“That sounds fun to you?” she asked. “You want to be this dirty little baby, is that it? Roll around in your own filth? Stink like a messy diaper?”

I felt a twitch in my pants as she said these words. She was hitting the nail on the head, as if she was already well versed in how, and why, this would be such a pleasurable humiliation for me.

I, again, spoke without thinking: “Do you…like this too? Like, the idea of it?”

She laughed–a loud and hearty sound that seemed to emanate from deep within her chest. “Oh, god, no way. I think you’re a disgusting little pervert.”

I was deflated. Absolutely decimated. My face fell and I stared into the pristine hardwood floor.

“But that doesn’t mean that I don’t want to see this little–pardon my pun–shitshow,” she added.

I looked up at her again. “What?”

“Here,” she said, handing the diaper out towards me.

I accepted it graciously. “What about the rest of them?”

“Take this one home,” she said. “Put it on. Do your baby thing. Make a big gross mess and do whatever it is you have to do in it. And when you’re done, come back over and show me.”

“Wait, so…”

“I don’t want you to take off the diaper,” she said. “I want you to come back to my house while still wearing it. And I want you to show me whatever disgusting thing you’ve done with yourself. And then I’ll give you another.”

There was so much I wanted to ask her. I started at the end and worked backwards: “Another? You’d just give me…one?”

She nodded. “Everytime you use your diaper, you come back here and show me and I’ll give you another. And so you can have all of your little diapers back–in time. But with every single one, you’re going to have to show me what filthy thing you’ve done with it if you want to be able to do it again.”

I didn’t have the ability to debate this further, or to even agree or disagree with this proposition. I had a single diaper, and that felt like enough of a victory in itself.

“I…I have to go,” I said, standing up.

“You know where I’ll be,” she said. “And where the rest of your diapers are. If you want more, you know what to do.”

I was just about out the door by the time she completed that thought. I ran down the front steps of her house, across the lawn, across the street and back into my own house. It wasn’t until I had closed my own door behind me that I realized I had been holding the diaper out in front of me the entire time.

I tossed it towards the couch. The feeling of victory was short-lived. I had gotten one single diaper, and it had come with a great cost. The cost for future diapers would be even higher.

It was hard to say what I was feeling, exactly. Anger and frustration. Humiliation. Maybe some excitement–deep down in my subconscious, but so deep that it’d be a lot of work to excavate. I had convinced myself, at that moment, that it was probably a game I didn’t want to play. I had gone years without having had diapers to play with. What were a few more? Kelly would have other business trips. I could order new diapers. Chelsea would eventually move out of her parents house and I’d never have to see her amused smirk again.

Foolishly, I convinced myself that I was patient and reasonable.

By the time I walked to the kitchen to get myself some water, I already felt myself yearning for that diaper. Who cared where the rest of them were? Did it matter what hoops I had to leap through to get this one single diaper? I had it, and it was all I had wanted for years.

And the rest? Her demands and expectations? It was just optional. I could put the diaper on and do anything I wanted to. And when I was done, that could be it. I wouldn’t have to go back to her and put myself through some other humiliating show just to get another diaper, because I wouldn’t need one. The curse would be lifted. The need would’ve been met.

I daydreamed about what I’d do with the rest of the next two weeks if it wasn’t crawling around in thick diapers. I could catch up on all those TV shows I had put off. I could get a few good hikes in. I could finish cleaning out the part of the backyard I had intended to put a garden in eventually.

There was the diaper, sitting on the couch–waiting for me. I picked it up and flexed it back and forth in my hands, as Chelsea had a while ago. It was the first time I held such a thick diaper in my hands–well, while I wasn’t running across the street–and it really was something to behold. Just holding it made me feel smaller. I felt that twitch in my pants again–I really wanted this.

My pants came off and I unfurled the diaper in the center of the living room floor. It was enormous, to the point where I wondered if it was somehow too big. I could just picture wrapping it around me, only to find that it was sitting just below my armpits. But even if that was the case–and I doubted it would be–it probably wouldn’t be so bad. I wanted to be that little tiny boy swimming in the great big diaper.

It had been a very long time since I last wore one. Years. And even then, I wasn’t working with the best options; just cheap drug-store off-brand diapers that were only erotic on a purely conceptual level. This was entirely new, to the point where it almost felt like it would be putting on a diaper for the first time.

Putting the diaper on wasn’t hard. Awkward, maybe. I wondered if it would be one of those things that you just never really forgot how to do, no matter how long it had been. Except I don’t think I had ever been especially good at putting a diaper on myself. And this was a different class of diaper altogether. It was like looking at a $100 steak and thinking that it was just like the time I microwaved some chicken nuggets when I was a teenager.

But I got it on, for better or for worse. I was finally wearing a diaper again. Not just a diaper–the holy grail of diapers. And it felt amazing. Thickness in all directions. An uncompromising bulk between my legs. This was what I wanted for all these years. What I craved.

I got down on my hands and knees and began crawling through the house. It was such a stupid little thing, but I didn’t care. What better way to get acquainted with the new thick diaper than to move around like a baby? I thought of the diapered boys and girls of social media–those lucky and/or privileged scenesters who seemed to have no other obligations except to waddle about in diapers. In their cute nurseries. With their supportive partners who took care of them and/or fucked them. I wasn’t one of them, but this felt as close as I’d ever get.

For a little while, I could forget about the rest of the diapers that were sitting somewhere in a house across the street.

Whereas putting the diaper on myself had been a little testing, every other aspect of being a baby was a piece of cake. I could crawl. I could suck my thumb. I could roll around on the ground and kick my feet into the air.

I could wet myself. That was incredibly easy to do. I had gotten a little lost in the moment as I waddled about in the diaper, and it was only moments before releasing my bladder that I knew it was happening. Suddenly there were new feelings to experience. The feeling of the hot stream hitting the padding. The diaper swelling and growing heavier. The wave of warmth that slowly enveloped the entire diaper. It was everything I wanted it to be.

Now what?

I looked out the living room window, across the street at the Bermans’ house. I wondered what Chelsea was doing right now. Was she occasionally staring out her window towards my house? Was she waiting for me to knock on her front door? Did she think I’d come, quite literally, crawling back?

I sighed. It was too soon to start stressing about that. I deserved my time with this diaper. When I was done–whenever that was–I’d throw it out and be done. Or…

Was I really going to go back to Chelsea? Beg her for another diaper? Admit that I had used the one she had given me? And…show her. She said I’d have to show her.

There it was again, that crippling feeling of absolute humiliation. Though my cock was also rock hard. Of course it was.

I wasn’t going to go back and see her. I wasn’t going to get any more diapers.

But what if I did?

I laughed. It was a fun mental exercise. A little daydream or fantasy, maybe, where I waddled across the street in my sagging diaper and begged her for another one. Maybe I’d get down on my hands and knees and beg her. Maybe I’d show up in just a diaper–no pants–with my thumb in my mouth.

And why stop there? If I really wanted to explore this fantasy, why not go all the way? Did she want to see me use my diaper? I’d use my diaper. I’d come back to her with a diaper that was filled to capacity. She’d smell me coming long before she even saw me.

Then I would use the same words she used to tell her what I had done: “Chelsea? I did my little poo-poos in my diaper.”

My hand was in my diaper, stroking myself. I thought of Chelsea as I did it. Not her, necessarily. The concept of her. The cute too-cool girl who had just enough time for me where she could laugh at my humiliation before egging me on to take it further.

“Go on,” she’d say. “Why don’t you sit in your diaper. Right here, in front of me. That’s a good boy. Now slide back and forth–really squish it around in there. I know you like that.”

“Fuck,” I muttered, followed by a pathetically whined: “Chelsea…”

I came into the diaper, pulling my hand out just as I felt myself squirt into the damp padding. I could feel it dripping down the diaper, slowly mingling with the still-warm urine that had soaked into it already.

I sat in the diaper for a while. Then I got up and made some food. I sat it in some more while I ate the food. At multiple points, I considered taking off the diaper. But I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Then it’d be over. For as long as I kept this thing on, I was still the baby I had wanted to be.

I couldn’t wear it forever, of course. Eventually it’d come off. But when? And when it came off, what then?

I wondered what would happen if I took off this diaper, waited a few days, and then went back and asked for a new one without having shown her the used one from today. Would she give me one?

Maybe I should just order some more? I wouldn’t. It was tempting, but I had already thrown away enough money for diapers I didn’t have. And even if the diapers got here quickly, how much time would I actually get to enjoy them?

There was a flutter in my stomach. The first signal that I was due for a trip to the bathroom on account of my bowels. Or, I thought, I could just finish using this diaper.

Tick tock. Tick tock. The afternoon wore away, and as my diaper began to feel a little more cool and clammy, I knew I was running out of time. I’d need to make a decision now: Would I return to Chelsea for more diapers? Or would this be the end of my dream experience?

I thought about it for a while, and eventually landed on: Well, I might as well go out with a bang.

I stood up and began to squat, ready to fill the stale diaper with a naughty load. I looked out the living room window again, staring across the street.

Would I go back to her? Show her what I had done? Earn another diaper and live this ideally perverted life for a little longer?

I grunted and pushed.

Of course I would. It was never actually in doubt.