Another Failed Man [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

Author's note: While not a sequel, this story is set in the same world as this story, His Second Infancy.

Everybody knows who she is. Zoey Carmandy. Of that family. You don’t grow up in this area without knowing who they are. Generations of wealth and power. They've had CEOs and senators in their family tree. They live on an estate. She’s a celebrity around here, though I don’t think she’s ever done much herself. Honestly, it probably doesn’t take much to be a celebrity in a small town like this.

After we spot her in town, we usually talk about why she even bothers sticking around. She’s young and rich. Wouldn’t she be better off in a place like Beverly Hills? Hell, any major city would probably at least have a Gucci instead of Miller’s Family Clothing.

I had a theory, of course: She wouldn’t be anyone if she was anywhere else. So long as she stays here, in this bubble, then she gets to pretend she’s royalty. Unchallenged by anyone else with that level, or more, of popularity.

She had developed a bit of a strange reputation. Nobody could point to any behavior that seemed ‘bad,’ but most stories about Zoey Carmandy had a similar feel to them.

“I saw her at the movie theater, just hanging out in the lobby. But I don’t think she was seeing a movie.”

“I saw her over at Dirk’s Bar. She wasn’t drinking, she was sitting at a table, watching everyone else.”

“I was over at the Super Mart the other day, and she was there–just sort of drifting around the store.”

Stories like that made me feel bad for her. I imagined her being a sheltered young woman, longing to experience the little things that the rest of us common people were doing. I wondered how she felt about watching as, year after year, kids graduated high school and left town in search of new jobs and opportunities while she remained.

I probably should’ve left town too. I was saving up for college, or so I told myself–but I had been telling myself that for four years while I was saving just nickels and dimes from working at my mother’s small bookstore. Maybe that was my destiny, to grow old and die in town, eventually having a kid of my own to pass my meaningless job down to.

“Excuse me?”

Zoey Carmandy had walked up to the counter in the store one morning. I had never seen her in the shop before. Come to think of it, I don’t think I had ever interacted with her at all.

“Oh, hi…miss.” I wasn’t sure how I was supposed to address her. Was I to act like I didn’t know who she was? “How can I help you?”

She was a very attractive young woman, with her caramel hair and subtle curves. Early 20s, probably not much older than I was. She didn’t go to public school. Kids would debate whether or not she was getting homeschooled or was going to the private school in East Bridgeton. But Eddie Chalkin claimed that his cousin went to that private school and she wasn’t a student there either.

“I’m looking for a book,” she said.

I bit my tongue. The temptation was strong to make a sarcastic quip about how she didn’t have to look hard for one in this store. “A particular book?”

“It’s called His Second Infancy,” she said. She didn’t make direct eye contact. I couldn’t get a good read on her. Was she nervous to speak to other people? Or was talking to someone like me beneath her? “It’s by Ellen Mills.”

I quickly punched the title into our computer. It didn’t bring up any hits as something we ever had in stock. I brought up the page of one of our distributors and checked with them instead.

“We don’t have it here,” I said. “But I could order it and have it here by the end of the week if you’d like.”

I watched her lips twitch as she thought about that. “That long?” she asked.

I shrugged. My mother’s store had managed to stay afloat all these years mostly because of the local indifference to online shopping. But buying books online still seemed like a quicker, and cheaper, option to me. Not that I’d say that to her. “Well, if you want me to order it, I can.”

She sighed. “Okay. And can I pick it up here?”

“Absolutely,” I said, placing the order. “I’ll have it here on Friday. I can just give you a call to let you know that it’s here if you want to leave me your number.”

“Don’t worry about that,” she said. “I’ll be by on Friday afternoon to pick it up.”

“Very well. I’ll just have it set aside here for you, Miss Carmandy.”

Her head tilted and she looked right at me. It wasn’t anger, maybe just a little confusion. I realized that she hadn’t told me her name.

“You know who I am?”

I chose my words carefully. “Your family is pretty well known around here.”

She continued to stare at me. She seemed to be studying me, sizing me up.

“And what is your name?” she asked.

“Alex.”

“Alex…” She turned to look at the Bertram’s Books sign hanging in front of the shop’s window outside. “...Bertram?”

I nodded. “That’s me.”

“Alex, it is very important that nobody knows I was here today.”

“I mean…I don’t have to tell anyone.”

“I don’t want anyone to know what book I ordered. And when it does arrive, can you please be sure that nobody else is made aware of the fact that this book was ordered for me?”

It was a curious request, and one that I had never gotten in my years of working at the shop. Though it was an easy enough request to accommodate.

“That’s fine,” I said. “We’ll keep this between you and me.”

“Perfect,” she said. For the first time, I saw her smile. She seemed genuinely thankful and her glowing face struck me as being even prettier than I thought it was when she first approached me. “I’ll see you on Friday then, Alex.”

And then she was gone.

It was a strange interaction, but it was also kind of exciting. An encounter with a local celebrity. A secret, and a favor. Maybe it was all nothing, but it was far more interesting than anything else that had happened in my life for a while.

Of course, the next thought I had was wondering what this book could possibly be about that inspired such secrecy.

The answer was one internet search away. His Second Infancy: Lessons in Taking Back Control was the full title, which only further piqued my curiosity.

The summary read:

Ellen Mills’ marriage with her husband Charles was faltering. He was spending all of their money, and possibly even seeing other women behind her back. And while everyone else around her suggested divorce, she struggled to see how that was a solution at all. What then? Marry another man who’d eventually let her down?

Ellen saw an opportunity to do something new and unprecedented: Rather than get rid of Charles altogether, she’d rehabilitate him–and she’d start at the very beginning.

Now, Ellen provides you with a step-by-step breakdown of how she regressed her husband back to his second infancy so that she could start over with him. And, with her journey, perhaps you’ll be inspired to take back control in your own relationship.

The words seemed surreal and alien to me. Just how literal was the idea of a “second infancy?”

I sought out reviews for this book, and I found them in droves. Almost unanimously positive and glowing. Woman after woman, from coast to coast, leaving 5-star reviews about how they found Ellen’s journey so inspiring. Some women claimed to have even begun the process of regressing their husbands themselves.

I felt like I was missing something. Some interpretation of ‘regress’ or ‘infancy’ that I wasn’t privy to. Surely, I was thinking about this too literally. This wasn’t actually about regressing a man to a state of…infancy. It was about taking charge in the marriage and showing dominance. Right?

But then I found pictures. Ellen Mills’ husband, Charles–now better known as ‘Chuckie.’ There he was, on his hands and knees while wearing only a giant diaper. A pacifier stuck out of his mouth.

There were photos of other men–other success stories. Linda Balantino from California was sharing a photo of her husband, Billy, who was holding a sippy cup with both hands while sitting in a giant playpen. Candice Worthington from Vermont shared a photo of ‘little’ Stephen, who was bent over so that the camera could see the giant yellow-stained diaper hanging between his legs.

There were so many more examples, but I felt like I had seen enough. It made absolutely no sense to me. What man would surrender themselves to being treated like that?

And then: Why on earth did Zoey Carmandy need a book like this? As far as I knew–Carmandy family gossip spread quickly throughout town–she was still single.

It was none of my business. I had to tell myself that a few times. As curious as I was, it would do me no good to speculate.

I tried my hardest not to dwell on it.

***

The book arrived a day early. If I had her number, I would’ve considered calling her to let her know. But as it was, she’d be coming in the next day.

It sat on the desk in front of me for a while, and I just stared at it. It was like Pandora’s Box–I knew that I shouldn’t go poking around in something that I wouldn’t understand, but I was just so damn curious.

There was nothing else to do. No customers. No orders to fill. I stared at the book a little longer while absent-mindedly shoveling cheesy snack-food into my mouth.

Finally, I decided to pick it up and flip through it. I doubted I’d be able to read the entire book before Zoey arrived to pick it up, but maybe I could at least glean a little more understanding from it.

The most surprising thing about the book was that by the time Ellen does implement her ‘Second Babyhood’ plan, it makes complete sense to me. He’s acted like a baby–and she intends, then, to actually treat him like one.

She calls it ‘failed manhood.’ It’s the concept where a man has seemingly nothing to offer his marriage, or maybe even the world at large. The man might not even know it yet–but he’s a disgrace and an embarrassment. He had his chance at being an adult, and he squandered it.

I wasn’t expecting the words to hit me as hard as they did. I wondered if I, too, had a ‘failed manhood.’ I was doing almost nothing with my life–having been given this job by my mother as a courtesy for lack of anything else to do. I had no long term goals or plans.

But did I deserve diapers?

I laughed. It was an absurd thought. I was thankful for the book in helping to open my eyes a little to my own lack of gumption. But I wasn’t the same as Chuckie. Or Billy. Or Little Stephen. They brought down marriages with their disappointments. I was just bringing myself down.

I put the book away, assuming I had learned everything I needed to from it.

***

“Hello Alex,” she said, quickly gliding through the bookstore’s entrance and sauntering up to my desk. “I believe you have a book for me?”

“Ah yes, I believe it came in just this morning,” I said, pulling the book out from the shelf behind me and handing it to her.

“I’m very thankful for this,” she said, pulling her wallet out from her purse. “How much do I owe you?”

Truth be told, I had played this conversation out in my head a few times that morning. I knew what I wanted to say, and I wanted to see how she’d react.

“Actually, you don’t owe me anything for this.”

“I’m sorry?”

“It’s free,” I said. “You don’t owe me anything.”

She offered a curious little smile. “And why is that? Did I win a contest or something? Or are you just flirting with me?”

It was probably closer to the latter. In all the scenarios I ran, I didn’t account for the instance in which she called me out on flirting with her.

“You know… It’s just that your family has done so much for our community and I thought that I’d, uh, offer a little token of my personal gratitude...”

“Honey,” she said with a smirk, “I’m rich. I could probably just buy your entire store if I wanted to. You’re not doing anyone any favors by not charging me the twenty-ish dollars this book would cost me.”

“I know, but…”

She had looked down at her book and then back up at me again. “Can we at least barter?”

“Barter?”

“In exchange for this book, perhaps dinner can be on me?”

“Dinner?”

“Surely you know what dinner is,” she said. “Tonight?”

I tried to think if there was any reason I could, or should, say no–but nothing came to mind. My schedule from there into eternity was blank and empty.

I felt weird about having a woman ask me out, and to insist on taking care of that meal. But I felt like I’d be an even bigger fool if I turned her down.

“That’s fine.”

“Excellent,” she said.

“Where would you like to go?” I was already trying to inventory the local restaurants, deciding which might be of an acceptable caliber for someone like her.

“My house,” she said.

“Oh. At your…estate?”

“7 PM,” she said, nodding. “Tell them at the gate you’re there to see me. I’ll tell them you’re coming.”

***

It was surprisingly simple. I had pulled up to the front gate and a tired looking security guard confirmed my name on a clipboard before waving me through. From there, I followed the guard’s directions down a small road to a standalone house behind the massive mansion that the rest of the estate seemed to sprawl out from.

Zoe was outside waiting for me when I parked my aged Saturn between a BMW and a Tesla.

“Alex, I’m glad you made it.”

She looked amazing. She was wearing a slim cream colored dress that seemed to accentuate her assets–of which she had lots. I had worn the nicest shirt and tie I could find in my closet, though it took a good twenty minutes of ironing to get the shirt into presentable shape.

“Is this yours?” I asked, pointing to the house in the shadow of the bigger mansion.

“All mine,” she said with a smile. “Not much, but it’s home.”

Not much. It was easily bigger than the home I shared with my mother. It was bigger than my home and the bookstore combined. It was bigger than most single homes in town that I could think of.

“It’s lovely,” I said.

“I hope you’re hungry.”

“Are you a cook?” I asked.

She laughed. “Heavens no. But thankfully we have some excellent cooks on staff. Come on in. I’ll get you something to drink.”

She didn’t ask what I wanted, she simply slipped behind the bar and made something in a cocktail shaker before dispersing it into two glasses, sliding one to me as I sat on the other side of the wooden counter from her. It was sweet, but complex–I had no idea what it was, though I didn’t dislike it. Her confidence behind the bar suggested that she was a very capable woman, despite having the privilege of others doing things for her.

“So what did you think of the book?” she asked.

I just about spit out the drink. “What? I mean…”

She shrugged. “I’m pretty sure you at least flipped through the book, yes?”

“How would you know that?”

“Thumb print on page 63,” she said with a smile. “Orange-ish? Might have been a cheese curl?”

I felt my cheeks warm. “Doritos, actually. Damn.”

She laughed. “So? I’d love to hear your thoughts on it.”

It was a difficult position to be in, not knowing the context for why she wanted the book in the first place. Was she a believer in the book’s cause? Or a staunch opponent doing research on how to debunk Ellen Mills’ story?

“It’s an interesting concept,” I said, honestly. “I can get behind the idea of, like, trying to rehabilitate someone who doesn’t seem to be pulling their weight in a relationship. But I’m not sure I believe the actual results.”

“No?”

“Adult men? Professionals with big salaries and positions, suddenly letting their wives put them in…diapers? Seems kind of hard to grasp.”

She chuckled to herself before taking a small sip of her own drink. “I believe that anyone can be convinced to do anything, so long as the argument is good enough.”

“What about you?” I asked. “Is this something you’re all in on?”

“I love the concept,” she said. “But I’ve loved it for some time now. This book is just research–though I absolutely adore the little revolution Ellen Mills has managed to conjure.”

“Are you married?” I asked.

She shook her head.

“In a relationship?”

She shook her head again. “Seems silly, doesn’t it? I’m not even close to marriage, and I’m already obsessed with trying to treat a problematic husband.”

“Maybe it’s not about having a bad marriage,” I offered. “Perhaps it’s something more…maternal?”

She laughed loudly, her head rocking back as she did. “You know, maybe you’re on to something. Maybe I just need someone to call me ‘mommy.’”

I swallowed nervously. I couldn’t quite put my feelings into words. I was completely enchanted by her. Her beauty. Her wit. Her general aura. My dating history was pathetically brief and to be there with Zoey, of all people, felt incomprehensible. And, again, I was reminded of my shortcomings as a man. Failed manhood.

“Maybe someday you’ll get that chance.”

She smiled. “I don’t make it easy for myself. I rarely leave the estate. I didn’t go to school with everyone else. I went to college–but for what? I’ll probably be handed some job or title at some point anyways, and I’ll be set for life. My family, they don’t pay attention to me much. They’d probably like to see me get married–if only so they had an excuse to throw a party.”

Of all things, I was a little surprised by the revelation that she had gone to college. It shot a hole in my theory that she lurked around town because she wanted to witness normal human interactions.

“Do you want to be married one day?” I asked. “Have a husband?”

“I want a baby,” she said with a grin.

There’s something in the air, lingering between us. I wondered if she can sense it too. I don’t believe in fate, but how else would one explain Zoe bursting into the book store and asking for the one book that would point out what the both of us wanted?

Wait. Do I want…that?

“And what about you?” she asked. “What does your future look like?”

It felt like a punch to the gut, and I’m deflated. I could’ve lied and told her about all the big things I want to do–college, traveling, starting a family and getting a career–but I didn’t see the point.

“I don’t know,” I said. “It looks…bleak. I worry that this town has its grasp on me and it’s not going to let me go.”

“I’m sorry to hear that,” she said. She looks down at my glass on the bar’s surface to see that it's empty. She begins adding ingredients to the shaker again. I’m tempted to say that I don’t need another drink. But maybe I do. “Can I ask you something?”

“Of course,” I said.

“Do you ever think that you’ve had a…”

I already know what she’s going to say before the words leave her mouth.

“...failed manhood?”

***

Dinner was superb. Halibut in some sort of sauce. I didn’t ask many questions about what it was. It smelled good and it tasted good. I couldn’t think of a better meal I had ever had, actually. The Carmandy’s chef could put any restaurant in the county to shame. And when we were done, someone was there to pick up after us. I couldn’t fathom what that sort of privilege felt like on a daily basis. Was it any wonder that she chose to stay here in her bubble?

“There’s dessert,” she said as we tossed our napkins onto the table in defeat. “But maybe we can wait a little bit for that?”

I nodded. “I’m not sure I could eat another bite if I wanted to.”

“Maybe I could show you something?” she asked.

“Absolutely.” Maybe this was how she wanted me–tipsy, full, and completely obedient.

I followed her from the living room and she led me up the stairs and down a short hallway. When we arrived at our destination, I was shocked to see that the room was completely empty.

“This is…it?” I asked.

“It’s not much yet,” she said.

“And what will it be when there’s things in here?”

“A nursery.” She pointed to the corner opposite of where we stood. “I want to put a crib there. And a changing table over there. Over here, I’m thinking some shelving, you know? For things like diapers and baby supplies. Maybe a toy chest over there.”

I tried to follow along, using my imagination to fill the room as she spoke. For a moment, I was imagining her taking care of an actual infant. But I quickly realized that we were still talking about big, adult, babies.

“Oh,” I said. “Oh wow. So…you’re all in on that, huh?”

“All in,” she said, nodding. “It’s consumed me.”

I could feel my heart racing. “How doable do you think that is?”

“The nursery? A piece of cake.”

“No,” I said. “The…part where you find a husband willing to be your baby?”

She laughed. Her cheeks actually turned a little bit pink. “You know, I always thought that’d be the hardest part. But, maybe it’s not as hard as I think it is. Like I said before–anyone can be convinced to do anything, if the argument is good enough.”

“Yeah, I guess that’s true.” I felt my body tensing.

“You didn’t answer my question from before. Do you think you’ve had a failed manhood?”

We’re on the same page now. We see each other as the missing pieces in each other’s puzzles.

“I…I think I could’ve done better,” I said.

“What if you could try it again?”

“Start over?” I ask.

She nodded.

“Maybe,” I said, quietly–almost to myself.

“Maybe you’d be happier that way,” she said. “As…”

“...a baby,” I said, completing her thought. I meant to phrase it as a question, but by the time it came out of my mouth, it was a statement. It felt definitive.

“I don’t want to ask you to do anything you don’t want to do,” she said.

“But are you asking me to do anything?”

She seemed as nervous to ask her question as I was to hear it. Instead, she walked to the closet and opened it up. Inside, I could see that she had already begun building a small stockpile of supplies. Diapers. Baby bottles. Powder and wipes. Other things that were still in boxes.

Zoey reached in, grasping a diaper from the pile. “I really love these. I think these are what really sold me on the idea of the second infancy.”

“Diapers?”

“When I first heard of this whole concept, I was imagining adult diapers being so…clinical, you know? White and sleek and discrete. But when I saw what was available–diapers like these, I think that was when it all truly clicked for me. I want to put these on a man. Reduce him to a babbling infant. I want him to use the diapers–not just because he knows he’s supposed to, but because he knows it would make me happy.”

I wasn’t sure what to make of that. I had never heard of anything like that before–well, not before having read through the book she had ordered. But the idea resonated with me, and I knew that she could tell. It was why she had asked me about my own feelings towards my successes as an adult.

It was clear what she was getting at. I wondered if I should just let her continue to hint at it, or if I should just be the one to say what we seemed to be tip-toeing around.

“Do you think that I’d make a good...baby?” I asked.

She grinned, looking like she was trying her hardest to contain how elated she was. “Ms. Mills actually covers that in her book. Anybody can be made into a baby. You put a diaper on them and take away their privileges and they’re just sort of forced into complying. But a good baby means that the person wants to be the baby. They’ve accepted their role and they lean into it. You could be a good baby. If you wanted to be. Do you want to be a baby?”

I looked at the thick diaper in her hands. It was white with pastel green, pink, and blue shapes on it that I couldn’t make out. It was humiliating just to be in the presence of the diaper. I knew where the diaper belonged, and what was expected to happen once someone wore it.

That could be me. I carefully considered my answer to her question. I was curious, but I was curious about a lot of things. I was curious about skydiving–but I’d likely never try that. What was my gut reaction?

“Yes,” I said, nodding.

“So you may just be a good baby then,” she said.

Despite the fact that nothing had actually happened, I still felt like everything was moving so incredibly fast. I knew next to nothing about Zoey Carmandy, and I was suddenly on her estate. In her house. Inside the empty room that would one day be a nursery for a big baby. A big baby that could be me, if I wanted it to be.

“Is this a lot?” she asked, either reading my mind or just being incredibly perceptive. “Too much, too soon?”

“Maybe,” I said. “But maybe I’ve been standing still for far too long.”

“I could give you this diaper,” she said. “You could put it on for me. See how it feels and see if it’s something you like or not.”

“I’m kind of nervous about that,” I said.

“Why so?”

“Because…I’m worried that I’m really going to like it. I’m worried that it won’t only feel right, but it’s going to be all that I want.”

“Is that so bad?”

I shook my head. I didn’t need to leave her house and mull things over. The second I had seen the words ‘failed manhood,’ I knew that they defined me. I knew that I needed to start over. I needed that second infancy.

I belonged in diapers. And Zoey? She was the woman in need of a big baby to care for.

“I’ll take the diaper,” I said.

“I wouldn’t just hand it to you,” she said. “If you want this diaper, then I’m going to put it on you.”

“Like…a baby.”

She nodded.

It all felt so sudden, and the commitment felt so heavy to me. But I hadn’t fled in terror. That was how I knew that this was what I truly wanted. More than I had known I wanted anything in my entire life, really. College? The concept of college? I thought it was what I wanted and I thought it was what I was saving my measly pennies for. But what then? I didn’t know what I wanted to do with myself and, if I was being honest, I only wanted it because that seemed to be the thing that people did.

“I want it,” I said. “All of it.”

She pointed to the floor. “Go ahead and lie down.”

“My clothes?”

“I’ll take care of those.”

I could only concentrate on the surreal awkwardness of the situation as I lowered myself to the floor. I wondered if it would always feel like this. But then I saw her face looking down upon me. Her gorgeous, beautiful face. There was a warmness in her eyes. A genuineness. She didn’t have to say the words for me to hear them: “Whatever you’re feeling, just remember that you’re not alone.”

I let my defenses down. It’d be weird, but I wanted to embrace it.

She began by loosening my tie, opening it up enough that she could work it out from under my collar and over my head. She then slowly unbuttoned my shirt, starting at the top and methodically working her way down. I wanted to ask why she’d need my shirt off if she was putting me in a diaper, but I bit my tongue. She could do anything to me that she wanted.

My shirt had been unbuttoned and untucked from my pants. “Arms up,” she said, and I put my arms above my head on the floor so that she could pull my shirt and undershirt off of me. I was a little embarrassed to be half-exposed to her, but it also felt right. I was a baby, being freed of my adult trappings.

After removing my shoes–and plucking each of my socks from my feet–she unbuckled my belt and opened the fly of my pants. I looked down across my body to watch her effortlessly pull my pants and boxers away from my body.

I was now completely naked and lying on the floor in front of Zoey Carmandy. As naked as a baby just born into this world. A little bigger, I supposed. Hairier, probably.

“Look at you,” she cooed as she unfolded the large diaper. “Just a little boy, aren’t you?”

I felt stiff and stilted, like a wooden baby doll who was waiting to be posed and dressed by my owner. I wanted to feel free, but I was paralyzed with the feeling of being overwhelmed.

“I know this is all so new to you,” she said softly. “It’s new to me too. But I think we’ll be okay.”

It was probably easier for her to say, considering that she wasn’t naked and wasn’t about to be put into a diaper. But she was probably still right about being okay. It was weird, but it was a shared weirdness.

She knelt on the ground in front of me, gently parting my legs. My limp penis dangled, looking as useless as it felt. In my fantasies, when I was confronted by a sexy woman who wanted to have her way with me, I was engorged and ready to be asked to provide pleasure. This felt hot and out of a fantasy, but I was still seemingly incapable of getting erect. Out of respect, I told myself. It was probably out of fear.

I couldn’t ever remember feeling so vulnerable. It was one thing for Dr. Acherman to gently cup my testicles while asking me to cough during a physical. But Zoey Carmandy, the closest thing this area had to a celebrity, was crawling between my legs with a diaper. What did she see? What did she think of what she saw? Had I washed up enough the day before? Did I smell?

“Are you not excited to see me so close to you?” she asked playfully, poking my limp cock with her finger.

“I…I want to be,” I said. “I think I’m just too nervous.”

“Does it help if I do this?” She took the entirety of my soft member in her hand, wrapping her fingers around it, before starting to stroke it.

No amount of anxiety could keep me down at that point. I felt myself come to life in her hand, feeling her grip tighten as I filled the once-vacant space.

“Ah, there we go,” she cooed. “I would’ve taken offense if you didn’t spring to life eventually.”

I opened my mouth to respond, but all I could offer to the conversation was a small moan as her soft hand glided up my shaft.

She giggled–a noise you almost never want to hear while an attractive woman rubs your cock. “I’ve seen smaller. But…I have to assume you’ve learned to become proficient with your tongue too?”

I got the jist of what she was implying. “I…I’ve never…”

“Used your mouth?”

I shook my head.

“You’ll learn,” she said with a smile. “I can assure you of that.”

She drained large chunks of my stamina with every pull of my cock. I could already feel those initial waves of euphoria creeping up my body–that feeling that only heralded the coming of a much bigger release.

“So much hair,” she said, her other hand gently running through my curly pubic hair. “It should come off, of course. You ought to be as smooth as a baby.”

I nodded. Of course I wanted that.

“I…I’m going to…”

“I know, Baby.”

And maybe she had just brought me to that point anyway, but hearing her call me ‘Baby’ felt like the exact moment I was finished. With a loud and primal groan, I erupted into her hand.

“What a good boy. Did you do that just for me?”

I had no idea of anything at the moment. I nodded anyway.

“You’ve made Mommy very happy.”

Mommy. I let the word repeat in my head a few times, waiting to see how many red flags my subconscious would raise. But there were none. It sounded good. It felt right.

She stood up for a moment, returning to the closet where she grabbed something else and then returned to the carpet, once more on her knees between my spread legs. She opened a package of baby wipes, removing a plastic liner that suggested that this was the first time these wipes had ever been opened before. I wondered how long she had them in her closet.

A wipe was drawn from the package, and she wiped my softening manhood clean. A second wipe found its way between my legs.

“Lift your bottom so I can get in there,” she said.

I complied, feeling her run the damp cloth between my cheeks. My face turned crimson just imagining the embarrassing traces of brown she might have cleaned from me.

“It’s okay,” she cooed, perhaps reading my mind again. “I’m here now to make sure you’re nice and clean.”

I kept waiting for an announcement. “And now for the diaper.” But there wasn’t one. Suddenly, I just felt something sliding under me. I heard the crinkling of the diaper’s plastic as it was folded over me. I heard the tapes stretch out to be fastened to the front of it. One moment, I was still nude in front of her. The next, I was in a diaper.

“There we go,” she said. “You look…absolutely perfect!” There was so much excitement in her voice–no doubt the result of finally being able to release all the anticipation she had built up over the day when she’d finally get this chance.

I sat up, the diaper crinkling beneath me. I could see the pastel colored shapes now–blocks, teddy bears, hearts and stars. The diaper itself was both overwhelmingly large and tight. It wasn’t underwear and it wasn’t pants. It was something else entirely.

“What do you think?” she asked.

It was hard to really know how I felt about any of this. It wasn’t just new to me–it was an entire world that I knew nothing about, nor had even considered before just a day or two ago.

But there was no denying that I felt something. Something positive, at that.

I sighed. “I think…I like it?”

Her eyes lit up and she clapped her hands together in front of her.

“Can you even imagine?” she asked. “There’s so much ahead of us. This nursery. And…you could stay here, with me, on the estate. And you’d be my baby and…” Her voice trailed off as she laughed to herself. “Listen to me. We barely know each other and I’m asking for you to uproot your entire life.”

I stared back down at my diaper again. “The bookstore.” I was trying to name reasons why I couldn’t just agree to becoming her fulltime man-baby, but that was the only thing I could think of, and I didn’t care all that much about that either.

“You have to like it first,” she said, reaching down and squeezing the diaper with her hand. “You have to like all of it. Then, maybe, we talk about what's next.”

“All of it?” I could probably imagine what ‘all of it’ entailed. But I wanted to hear it from her.

“It starts small,” she said, still crouched beside me, feeling my diaper with her hand. “You just wear a diaper for me. Wet it for me. That’s not asking too much, is it?”

“I don’t think so, no.”

“We go out together. Maybe we run some errands, or we get some food or drinks. And you’re wearing your diaper under your clothes. Nobody would know–it’d just be our little secret.”

I nodded, thinking of the way that people in town thought about Zoey Carmandy. Mysterious and strange. Famous by reputation. Would that be me? Zoey’s weird friend? Being towed through town with her, hand in hand? But I didn’t find that to be all that dissuading. I kind of liked the idea of it.

“What then?”

She smiled. “Then? Well, I start getting furniture delivered to the nursery, you know? The big crib and the big changing table. I start dressing you up like my baby while you’re home with me. You start crawling. I change all your dirty diapers.”

“You mean…like…”

“Oh yes,” she said. “Babies don’t use potties, do they? But I’d change all your diapers. Even the stinky ones.”

My eyes drifted from hers. I was already feeling ashamed of things I hadn’t even done yet. But things that I knew I would do.

“My parents, they’re always wondering when I’m going to get hitched, of course. So I’d have to introduce you to them. But they’re easily distracted. A dinner or two a month to keep them appeased, and then the rest of the time I keep you suckling from my breasts. Did you know that you can induce lactation even if you’re not pregnant?”

“N-no.”

“I’ve been eager to try it. I think you’ll like that.”

I had an epiphany. I thought about all the Zoey stories I had heard over the years. Zoey hanging out in stores and that movie theater, watching people. Was she…looking for someone? Had she been looking for someone like me; someone who she knew she could turn into her plaything?

“How long have you been looking for a…baby?” I asked.

“Oh, a little while now. I’ve always had my eyes open for someone who I thought would be open to the idea.”

“Me? When you came to the bookstore, did you think that I would be someone like that? A potential baby?”

She laughed. “You know I have the internet, right? I could’ve just…ordered it. And had it delivered to me.”

I wasn’t sure if that made me feel better or worse. I wondered if she had seen me before entering the store. Had I been targeted? Singled out because she saw something in me? Something that suggested I could be persuaded to join her in her weird lifestyle choices?

But I didn’t want to ask any more questions about it. I didn’t need to know the answers. She was right. I was exactly the kind of person who could be convinced to become a baby. Her baby.

I wanted to tell her that, but I wondered if it’d be better if I showed her.

A moment or two later: “You…you’re wetting yourself?” she asked, her hand still on my diaper.

I nodded as I stared ahead at her.

“Was that hard to do?”

I shook my head. It really wasn’t, either.

“How does it feel?”

I felt the warmth spread throughout the bulky diaper. The weight of it changed, and I could feel the padding swell between my legs. Her hand remained in place.

“It feels amazing…”

I already knew what the answer was, but I hesitated to say it aloud. Because once I did, this would begin. I would be her baby. The whole second infancy thing. Diapers and diaper changes. Baby clothes. I imagined baby bottles and being spoon fed from little jars. I imagined her giving me a bath. Suckling her breasts. Squatting to fill my diapers while I blushed a bright pink. Pacifiers and bibs.

I wanted it all in a way I had never wanted anything before. Maybe, for the first time, I actually wanted something. I was going to join her in the bubble.

“...Mommy.”

She released a melodic sigh, the sound of someone getting everything they had ever wanted. “You’re going to be such a good baby,” she said.