WBBY.fm (Patreon)

Hi all. A little bonus story today for all patrons! 

This one has been sitting around for a while. A story I enjoyed writing, but isn't exactly the most erotic thing in the world. So I've been saving it for a rainy day. And...it's raining as I type this.

The night felt heavier than usual.

It would be tough to convey what that actually meant if I said it out loud to someone, but it felt true. I wasn’t scared of the dark, I was just apprehensive about it. I had a very long drive ahead of me through this particular darkness. I’d be driving through areas I had never been in before, on roads I had never driven on. The world around me would be a mystery–both while on the road and after. A giant unknown void.

“Frankly, I think you’re an idiot,” Marnie said to me on the phone. “You should’ve gotten a room at a motel or something.”

“I don’t want to be here any longer than I have to. I figure if I drive straight through tonight, I can be home midday tomorrow. Sleep in the afternoon. Then I can see you tomorrow night.”

“I think it’s a bad idea,” she said.

I shrugged, knowing she couldn’t see it. “Well it’s not really your decision to make.”

“At least promise me that you’ll be safe?”

“Nah. I’m going to drive like a maniac. I’ll hit some deer and see if I can’t steer myself off the road and into a ravine.”

“Don’t be an asshole. Just be safe.”

“Of course I’ll be safe.”

“I can stay on the phone with you, if you want,” she said. “If you want some company.”

“I appreciate that, but the reception is already a little spotty out here, and I’m willing to bet that I won’t have service at all a little further down the road.”

“Be safe,” she said again. “Please.”

I was stationed at a highway rest stop, a modest institution that seemed like a shell of its former self. At another time, this place was probably bustling with truck drivers and road-trippers. Now, just a handful of trucks and cars were parked in the lot. I was curious to know what happened. Had truck routes changed considerably? Local businesses that had been shut down?

I drank my second cup of coffee and stared out into the darkness. For as little as I wanted to be out in that night, I was ready to get away from this area. It had been a tough week. I was called down here–into this bleak rural armpit of a region–by my ailing father who truly believed that this latest round of sickness was the one that was going to do him in. He pulled through, thankfully, though not without working me to my bones as I helped him get some affairs in order.

Now I wanted to go home. I wanted expensive coffee. Cellphone service. I wanted to kiss Marnie. All of that was worth the long lonely drive ahead of me in the dark.

Soon, I was back on the highway again. I had relied on streaming music through my phone for the drive so far, but the spotty reception was causing the music to buffer every 30 seconds. My options were silence or the radio.

I was nervous to hear what passed as ‘radio’ in these parts.

I turned the radio on, slowly turning the dial to see what my options were.

“...he’s my king, he’s my shepherd…”

“...and in these times, we need to look inside ourselves and find that spirit…”

Men talking in foreboding tones. Country music. The choices seemed slim.

And then I found a peculiar sound towards the end of the dial: the gentle sound of a xylophone, each note being played slowly. The reception was crystal clear in a way that no other station had been. I was hesitant to even call it music–it was just a sequence of calming tones ringing out. It was curious, if nothing else.

“Welcome,” a woman’s voice said on the radio as the tones ceased. “You’re listening to 107.9, WBBY-FM. You might be at the end of the dial, but you’re at the start of the rest of your life.”

Cryptic; creepy, even. Which only made me more curious.

“It can be a scary place out there, can’t it?” Her voice was soothing.

Straight ahead of me, all I could see was the road in front of the car, illuminated by my headlights. Streetlights dotted the side of the highway, though they did little to reveal the world around me. Everything beyond the sides of the road was a featureless black.

“Stick with me tonight, and you’ll be just fine,” she said. “We’re going to get you right back to where you belong.”

I laughed–more at myself than anything else. I could write off this radio programming, whatever it was, as just another oddity you find out here in the middle of nowhere. But I let myself, for just a moment, think that she was actually talking to me. And that was absurd.

“While I play this next song for you, I want you to let it take you back. You’ll know where you need to go.”

It was Ludwig van Beethoven’s The Pastoral Symphony. I didn’t consider myself to be a huge fan of classical music, but there were some pieces I knew extremely well thanks to my childhood obsession with the animated film Fantasia.

I’m reminded of sitting on the floor of my childhood home. My mother didn’t work at that time, and so she was always home. On days when I came home from school in a bad mood–and that happened often–she was ready to lift my spirits by getting me a glass of milk and pushing the VHS tape of Fantasia into the VCR for me.

I had a lot of bad days at school. I did my best to keep to myself, but there was something about having accidents in my pants that acted as a magnet for the school’s worst children. Pee your pants once, and kids won’t let you forget about it for a year or two. Pee your pants as often as I did, and you became the school punching-bag.

I could hear my mother now, trying to talk to me as I watched the cartoon centaurs prance around on the TV: “They wouldn’t be called ‘accidents’ if you could help it. I’m not upset with you. I just think we need to start thinking about how we handle this differently.”

‘Different’ turned out to be diapers. She never called them that, of course. They were my ‘special pants.’ And for a while, they had helped. It didn’t stop kids from teasing me about the times they had seen me wet my pants, but at least it stopped further incidents from being visible.

And that had been the new normal for a while: I’d come home from school and get my diaper checked. If it was wet, she’d change me as if I were a toddler.

I sighed, staring out into the night. What a weird little memory hole to fall down. Prompted by this…radio station that seemed to know exactly what to play.

“Well?” asked the DJ’s smooth voice as the tail-end of the piece faded out. “Did you enjoy that little trip in time?” There was a pause, as if she was waiting for an answer.

“Not particularly,” I said, laughing to myself. I was talking to the radio like a crazy person.

“It’s been a hard week,” the voice cooed. “I bet you want to go home. Back home to the womb.”

That seemed like a pretty strange thing for a DJ to say, even for rural radio. I changed the station again, wondering if maybe I had missed a station earlier. My standards were pretty low. I’d be happy to settle for some vapid pop music right about now.

“...nothin’ but sinners. All of ya. Every last one of ya. The time for repentance is here and…”

Begrudgingly, I tuned the radio all the way to the end again. 107.9.

“Since you and I have a long night ahead of us, you best get comfortable. Not too comfortable, of course. Keep both eyes on the road, baby.”

My heart fluttered a little at the way she said ‘baby.’ It felt so…pointed.

“Here’s another song to help you down your path. Not the one you’re driving down, of course. The other one–the one in your heart. You can call me Mommy, and I’ll be here waiting for you when it’s over. On WBBY-FM.”

“Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” began to play. And, for a moment, I was pleasantly surprised. A good song. A normal song–well, as normal as John and Paul were capable of during that period of their careers. If I had my choice of things to listen to right now, The Beatles would likely have been pretty high on that list.

But…

This song had some memories associated with it too. Of course it did. I was 18 years old and had just graduated high school. College was on the horizon, and I had an entire summer ahead of me to just breathe a little. It was just my mother and I at the house, though she now had a full-time job. And aside from the few hours a week I put into my part-time job at the diner, I had the house to myself during the week.

For a while, this time was soaked up with uninterrupted nerd-time. Video games. Science fiction movie marathons. Meals that were abysmally unhealthy for me. But this privacy gave me the opportunity to explore something else too: sexual curiosity.

There was a nagging thought in the back of mind–one that I had carried around with me for years. Diapers. They kept resurfacing in my thoughts. The memories of wearing diapers to school. The memories of having my diaper checked and changed when I come home. For a long time, those memories felt sour; they were dark days and shouldn’t be recalled fondly. Yet the older I got, the more often I found myself asking: If I didn’t like it, why do I keep fantasizing about it happening again?

I decided to buy diapers. Well, ‘adult incontinence briefs,’ but that seemed close enough. I had gone into the store multiple times that summer. Each time, I’d go into that aisle and stare at the diapers. Would that be the day I’d finally buy them? It usually wasn’t, and I’d walk home empty handed. Over and over this occurred.

Finally, I had psyched myself up enough that I knew that this would be the day. I strutted into the store, confidently plucked the plastic package of briefs off of the shelf, and proceeded to…have a prolonged panic attack about carrying it up to the front of the store. I couldn’t let other customers see me carrying these diapers. They’d know that they were for me, and they’d judge me. I couldn’t handle that thought. Over the course of the next hour, I zig-zagged across the store, darting into aisles where nobody else was. And when someone turned the corner into an aisle I was in, I’d scramble into the next vacant space. So on and so forth until I finally reached the register.

One last hurdle and I was free. One last woman, who couldn’t have cared less if I was buying diapers, ice cream, or sticks of dynamite. She put my purchase into a plastic bag and I was out the front door.

And that was where I had run into my mother.

It was a combination of misfortunes. She had gotten out of work early and decided to go to the store to pick up a few things. I could’ve already been home if I had just brought my purchase to the front checkouts an hour ago. She asked what I had bought, and being unable to come up with a decent lie, I showed her my shameful purchase. Ever the mother, she didn’t think of the nefarious possibilities of teen sexuality. Instead, she saw the same thing she had seen years before: her little boy was having accidents in his pants again, and now needed diapers.

I’ll never forget it, “Lucy in the Sky with Diamonds” playing over her car radio as she drove us home from the store. The surreal song’s lyrics dipping in and out of focus as my mother asked me if I needed help changing my diapers. I knew then that I’d never hear that song again without hearing her say: “Maybe you should let me help you. I can make sure you don’t get a diaper rash.”

“Are you enjoying your little trip?”

The unyielding darkness continued to stretch out before me. Occasionally I’d see blips of light far off in the distance on either side. Houses? Little towns? I wondered what this area looked like in the daylight. It might have been the most beautiful place in the world. Or not.

“Little boys and girls need their Mommy. And don’t you worry, Mommy is here for you. On WBBY-FM. But before we go any further, maybe you need to be honest with yourself. Are you…protected? Accidents happen, Mommy knows that. Wouldn’t it be for the best if you were prepared? Just in case?”

My hand reached up the knob on the radio again, ready to at least turn it off–if not find something else to listen to. Yet I couldn’t bring myself to do it. Maybe the things I was hearing weren’t real. This was some weird fever dream brought on by the boredom of this long drive by myself.

But if this was real? She was talking directly to me, and only me. On the radio now were just the gentle ‘plinks’ of infantile piano music.

I remembered that I had diapers in the car. A few months ago, I had helped clean out my mother’s garage after some minor flooding, only to discover the remnants of that same pack of diapers. It had been, after all, the one and only time I had ever bought them. I didn’t even think about it, I took them and put them in the trunk of my car. There was no plan. No shame. No excitement either. I just took them, probably figuring that I’d figure out what I wanted to do with them later.

This was later, I realized. I wanted to wear one now.

No. I needed to wear one now.

I slowed down the car, considering pulling off from the side of the road. Yet I hadn’t seen another car in…an hour? I just stopped where I was. I hesitated for a moment. Did I want to step out of the car? Into the darkness? I’ll be fine, I told myself. I’m just going to the trunk for a moment. I’ll be fine.

And I was. It took just a minute to get out of the car, open the trunk, root around for the diapers, grab them, and return to my seat. I looked out the windows again, in all directions. No lights. No signs of life. It was just me. I shrugged and pulled off my pants so I could put the diaper on. In the front seat, and with the steering wheel inconveniently positioned in front of me, it wasn’t an easy task. Yet I was able to figure it out, threading the diaper between my legs and taping the sides together. There, it had been done–the first diaper I had worn in years, and perhaps the first I had ever worn without my mother’s knowledge.

I put the car into drive and continued down the dark highway.

“There you go,” the woman’s voice cooed over the radio. “Isn’t that better? All safe and secure. Like a baby. You’ve been waiting a very long time for this feeling. Savor it.”

I felt my cheeks warming, and I sighed. I couldn’t explain what was happening, but I almost didn’t care anymore.

“You’ve been on the run for a while now, haven’t you? On the run from the truth. But tonight, you managed to make a u-turn and you’re finally headed in the right direction. You can’t see the road ahead of you, but I can. And I’ll guide you to your final destination. Promise. Mommy wouldn’t steer you wrong.”

Paul Simon’s “Mother and Child Reunion” begins to play. It’s a song that I can’t tie any specific memories to, but a song that never fails to remind me of my mother.

That summer she’d come home and ask me if I had any accidents that day. I didn’t have the courage to tell her that I hadn’t had an accident in years, or that I had bought the diapers in the hopes of further developing some weird sex fantasy that had its origins in how she treated me when I was a child. So I played along, telling her that I hadn’t had any accidents.

Except, for the one day that I told her I had.

I put a diaper on that day, not long after she had left for work, eager to actually try and finally experience my fantasy. But despite not using the bathroom all day, I couldn’t get myself to just let go of my bladder and pee in my diaper. I had spent the entire day in a frustrated haze. Finally, with only minutes left on the clock before my mother returned home, I felt the floodgates lift. Either I had finally worked up the courage to unleash into my diaper, or my body simply couldn’t hold my liquid any longer. The warm stream completely saturated the diaper in just an instant. The cheap grocery store padding barely stood a chance, and I felt the entire garment sag pathetically between my legs. It was humiliating. It was blissful. It was the adult recreation of a shameful childhood memory I never thought I’d experience again.

I wanted nothing more than to sit on the ground in my diaper, and pleasure myself to completion. But the minutes had melted away quickly, and the front door was opening. I barely had time to pull my pants, let alone anything else.

We exchanged the typical afternoon pleasantries, and I had suspected that I had committed a ‘perfect crime.’ But then, as if her maternal instinct had picked up a stray transmission, she asked if I had any accidents that day.

And I said no. But I hesitated–and I never hesitated when I answered that question. I never had to lie about it. And, as to be expected, she was suspicious. She asked again. I told her the truth–or a version of the truth. I left out the part where I wanted to get off on this. And the part where I had purposefully wet the diaper–even if it took me all day to do it.

I tried to reassure her that I was more than capable of taking care of this myself. I was an adult now. Theoretically. I had graduated high school. I was capable of showering and dressing myself everyday. I, too, would be able to handle this diaper without her help.

But moms–my mother, in particular–have a knack for putting their foot down and having that be the end of the conversation. My mother put her foot down. If something was happening to her boy–her baby boy–she needed to be involved. It wouldn’t matter if I was 3 or 35 years old.

She changed my diaper.

“The path can be hard sometimes,” the voice on the radio said. “Time erodes the things we thought we knew. The way that something seemed in the moment–it can look different later.”

I chuckled aloud. A part of me still wanted to believe that this radio station was broadcasting to a bigger audience than just myself. But no, it was talking directly to me.

That moment would be the last time my mother changed my diaper. And for the longest time, I had looked back at that moment with shame and humiliation. However, time had worn away those feelings a little. I didn’t want her, my mother, to be the one putting me in a diaper anymore. But…I knew my place. I knew what I needed.

“Do you see now? Is the path before you a little more illuminated now?”

I needed someone to keep me in my place. In diapers.

“Let go. Let go of everything. Well…everything except for the wheel, of course. But the rest of it? Let it go.”

Two cups of highway rest stop coffee had been banging on my bladder for longer than I had cared to admit. I hadn’t thought about it much before this moment. On a drive like this, it was inevitable that I’d have to hold it until I found some place to stop. Except I didn’t have to stop anymore. I wet the diaper, feeling the padding struggle to absorb the liquid as quickly as I could produce it. I could feel the diaper grow heavier around me. Warmer.

“You’ve conquered the past–you identified the things that made you who you are. You’ve conquered the present–you’ve learned your truth and you’ve embraced it. And that means you only have one place left to go on this path.”

“The future,” I said aloud.

“The path forks here. You have to choose. And there is no wrong path, only the right one for you. But don’t you worry, so long as WBBY-FM is playing, Mommy is here to hold your hand.”

I assumed that this was meant figuratively, but sure enough, my headlights were reflecting off signs ahead of me in the road.

The road, in fact, had forked. This one road I had been driving on through the dark now split into two new roads. I slowed the car to an eventual stop, paused before the branching paths.

On the radio, Black Sabbath’s ballad “Changes” began to play. An interesting song, in that I had always known it to be about a particularly harsh breakup. But it seemed to take on a new life now. Tonight would change me.

And…well, my diapers would need to be changed at some point as well.

For so many miles, the world had been so dark around me as I drove ahead. But I could see down each of these roads. A surprisingly far distance, at that.

The first road looked like the safest route. Straight ahead. No bumps. No curves.

But no excitement. No challenge.

I could see what life looked like further down that road. I hid away the diapers and the childish things. I’d live my life without it. And I’d be fine. I’d have been ‘normal,’ even if such a thing didn’t really exist. I’d never escape my fantasies, but they’d remain just fantasies. Maybe that was a challenge in itself. Could I live that sort of life? Wanting something that I’d never allow myself to actually have? It was no different than lying to myself.

No, I knew immediately that this wasn’t the road I wanted to traverse.

The other road was quite the opposite of the first. Tall hills that dipped into valleys. Sharp curves. The pavement was uneven and broken. This road was all challenge all the time.

But what did life on that more chaotic path look like?

I needed to be honest. I needed to be able to say aloud what I wanted.

Who needed to hear that? Not my mother–though I had no doubt that she’d probably still insist on changing my diaper if she knew that I had wet one.

Marnie. Marnie needed to hear that.

However, and as best as I could recall, I had never so much as said the word ‘diaper’ in front of her. This could be a very interesting conversation.

I said the words aloud in the car, as if I was practicing: “Marnie, I want you to know that…I like diapers. I want you to treat me like a baby.”

I laughed aloud again. It felt ridiculous to say those words, and I couldn’t begin to imagine her reaction to a statement like that. But maybe that was the nature of the challenging path. I’d have to say that, or something like it. And if she didn’t like what she heard, then she’d leave. Then, I’d be tasked with meeting the next person I’d need to admit this truth to.

Fuck it. I didn’t want to sit here in the dark forever without making a decision. I knew the road I wanted, and it wasn’t the easier option. I put the car in drive again, slowly steering onto the rougher road.

As if on queue: “Do you feel it, Baby? The thrill of making such an important decision? Mommy’s proud of you. And now that you can see ahead of you, what do you see?”

It was dark, but perhaps less so now. I was able to make out details that I wasn’t able to see before. I could see the edge where the trees stopped and the sky began. And when I glanced at my phone, I could see that I suddenly had service again. I could make a call if I wanted to.

“There’s no time like the present, to establish your future.”

It was approaching midnight, and I wasn’t even sure if Marnie would be awake or not. But…there really was no time like the present. I turned the radio down and made the call.

“Hello?”

“Hey, Marn. It’s me. Did I wake you?”

“No…I’m up.” Her voice wasn’t entirely convincing, nor was her long yawn.

“Are you sure?”

“I…fell asleep on the couch watching TV,” she said with a laugh. “It’s probably good you called. Otherwise I’d have been sore tomorrow. How’s the drive?”

“Long and dark.” I decided not to mention the weird radio station or the surreal trip through my humiliating memories.

“And lonely?”

I laughed. “Surprisingly…not as bad as you think. But I’m happy to be talking to you now.” I had come close to saying: I’m happy to be talking to a real person, but that would probably yield the questions I was looking to avoid.

“Well you’ve got me. What’s on your mind?”

“Honestly, I don’t know where to start.”

“One of those nights, huh?”

“You’ve had them?”

“Those long lonely nights drives?” she asked “Yeah, I’ve been there. You start thinking about all those things you don’t normally think about, right?”

“You could say that.”

“So lay it on me,” she said. “Where’s your head at?”

“I’ve, uhm, got some weird stuff to talk about, I think.”

“Weird?” She laughed. “I like weird.”

“More of a confession, really.”

“Okay, just spit it out,” she said. “The sooner you get it out, the sooner I can tell you how crazy you are or aren’t.”

“What would you say if I told you that I was wearing a diaper right now?”

She offered a curious “Hmm,” but didn’t seem to have any other reaction. It was kind of the worst case scenario, as it forced me to elaborate without knowing where she stood on what I had said thus far.

“Well…I’m wearing a diaper right now. I wet it, too.”

She didn’t answer immediately, and I could just imagine her, sitting on her couch while staring into space–trying to find the right words to use when she called me disgusting.

She finally sighed and cleared her throat. “I was wondering when you’d tell me about the diapers.”

It was my turn to be rendered speechless. How could she have known? I had never said a thing to her about diapers. It wasn’t even like I had a hidden stash of diapers in our apartment that she could’ve spotted.

But, if I was to guess…

“My mother?”

“Yeah,” she said.

“Ah shit. What did she say to you?”

“I dunno,” she said. “A year or so ago? You and I were over at her house for dinner. I think her washing machine needed a part or something, so you went to the store to get one for her?”

“Ah right,” I said. “The hose broke.”

“She…told me about your thing with diapers.”

“My thing?”

“Your history with them, I guess. You used to have accidents in your pants when you were younger?”

“Yeah, that’s true. Did she say anything else?”

“Well, she said that you bought diapers again, yourself, when you were a teenager.”

I felt my heart beating faster. Would my mother have told Marnie that she had changed her 18 year old son’s diaper?

“Oh?” I said, hoping that I could get more out of Marnie before I responded.

“But…she didn’t think you needed diapers anymore. She thought that you just…liked them.”

I felt myself shaking as I heard this revelation. Was it true? Had my mother seen right through my diaper purchase in that summer after high school? Because if that was the case, that would mean that she changed my diaper when she knew it wasn’t an accident.

“She wasn’t trying to embarass you,” Marnie continued, sensing that maybe this story was hitting pretty hard.

“Then why would she tell you at all?”

“She likes me. Well, that’s what she told me, at least.” Marnie laughed to herself. “She said that she could sense something about me that was really good for you. She didn’t just come out and say it, but I think she was–I dunno–preparing me for this conversation? Does that make sense?”

Any other night, it wouldn’t have made sense. But then I glanced at the car’s radio and saw that it was still tuned to 107.9.

“I believe you,” I said.

“So what do you want?” she asked.

“What do you mean?”

“Do you want diapers?”

I laughed again. What an absurdly blunt question, and one that had cut through all of the anxiety-ridden thoughts that would’ve crowded my brain if I was left to have to explain the diaper thing to her myself.

“Yes.”

“And do you want me to be the one to put you in diapers?”

“Would you even want to do that?”

“I asked you a question first,” she said.

“Yes,” I said, practically wincing as I thrust my inner-most fantasies into the world. “I want you to put me in diapers.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything at all. Despair washed over me as I waited for a response. Then, just as I was about to open my mouth to ask if she was still there, she finally spoke: “I’d do that for you.”

“You would?”

“I’ve spent a lot of time thinking about what your mother told me. And, yeah, it was kind of a crazy thing to tell your son’s girlfriend. But, in a weird way, I get it.”

“How so?”

“She just wanted to make sure her son was being cared for. No matter what your needs were, she wanted to know that they were being met. And for whatever reason–though I guess she made the right call–she thought I could do that for you.”

Ahead, the road curved left, slowly descending. Challenging roads ahead. But I’d make it through them.

“So you would do that for me. But do you want to?” I asked.

“Yes.”

“Yeah?”

“I want that,” she said. “I…I’ve been waiting for you to ask me about this. Do you have any idea how many times I almost asked you about it over the last few months?”

I considered that question. Before tonight, would I have been ready for that conversation? Probably not. It was only now, after a night like this, that I was ready to admit that I wanted this aloud.

“You said you were wearing a diaper right now?” she asked.

“I am.”

“Is it dry?”

“No…”

“Do you have more diapers?”

“Yes,” I said, thinking about the years-old diapers still in the trunk of my car.

“When you get home, I’ll change you. Would you like that?”

“I…well, yeah. Of course. You would do that?”

“I’ll be your Mommy,” she said. “If you’ll let me.”

“Yes,” I said, barely able to contain the glee that surfaced in my tone. “Please.”

“Good,” she said. “I’m glad you called.”

“I am too.”

“Why don’t I let you get back to concentrating on the road,” she said. “There’ll be plenty of time for you and I to talk when you get home.”

“Okay, yeah.”

“And, you know, if you have to use your diaper again…just do it. I’ll take care of it.”

“Thank you.”

“I love you,” she said.

“Love you too.”

The call ended, and for a few minutes, I just continued down the road through the dark, carefully watching the curves and hills I came across.

And then I turned the volume back up on the radio.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it, Baby? You had to do a little bit of work to get there, but you did it. I’m so proud of you. You’re free now. Thanks for tuning in to WBBY-FM. This is Mommy–maybe not your Mommy, but the guardian-mother leading you through the night–signing off. Happy trails and warm bottoms.”

It was like someone flipped a switch and the station became just noisy static. And, at that moment, I saw lights ahead. A bigger highway. I thought I was on that highway, but then again, I’m not really sure where I was. I merged onto it, immediately seeing other cars driving past in both directions. I checked my rear-view mirror, and I couldn’t even see the road I had just come from anymore. I wasn’t surprised by that.

I checked my phone, and when I saw that I still had reception, I put my streaming audio back on. I opted for the Fantasia soundtrack. I was feeling nostalgic. I wet my diaper again. Because I wanted to. Because I could. Because I knew that someone at home was waiting to change me.

I’ve never felt the need to question that night. Real, imagined, or somewhere in between, that was the trip I needed to take. From that night on, I was finally on the right path.