After the Magic, Part 2 of 3 [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

Two

I set the address in my phone and made the short drive over there. Sure enough, the sign told me everything I needed to know about this place: Bottoms Up: The Adult Diaper Superstore.

Stepping inside the store, I wondered if I had made some sort of mistake. Their shelves were full of diapers and clothes–but they had very infantile designs. I could’ve sworn that I saw the word ‘adult’ on the sign.

“Can I help you?” A young woman asked from behind the counter.

“M-maybe. I thought you sold adult diapers.”

“Uhm, yeah,” the woman said. “That’s kind of what we do.”

“Okay, well, where are they? Because all I see are…” I reached out and picked up one of the sample diapers that was sitting in a small display. It was a peach-y color with little animal shapes printed on it. It absolutely looked like a baby diaper, except it was…big. Very big.

The employee squinted her eyes a little and tilted her head. “You might be in the wrong store. We tend to cater to a, uh, pretty specific audience.”

“I don’t understand,” I said, feeling the bulky object crinkle loudly in my hands. “What incontinent person would want to wear these?”

She laughed. “Is that what brought you here? Are you incontinent?”

“N-no, not me,” I said. I felt myself about to explain that they were for my girlfriend, but I stopped myself. This stranger didn’t need to know the details of who they were for–or the odd journey that had resulted in Aimee needing them in the first place

“Right,” she said, stepping out from behind the counter and smiled smugly.

“Y-you don’t believe me?”

“It’s not that,” the woman said. “It’s that a lot of people come here, swearing that they’re not shopping for themselves. Most people are lying.”

“Maybe I wouldn’t want anyone to know that I was incontinent and buying diapers that looked like this either.”

The woman laughed again, giving me a skeptical glance. “Do you…really not understand who this shop is for?”

I looked around again, taking in the sights of the oversized diapers that came in various colors and patterns. Even the onesies and dresses hanging from racks seemed specifically infantile for their large size. I began to ask myself: Who would want things like this? But before I had even finished asking myself the question, I felt I knew the answer.

“Oh,” I said. “Like…a fetish.”

“Many prefer the term kink.”

I supposed I had heard of such a thing in the past, but I never really considered it much. Aimee and I had our share of naughty interests–spanking, bondage, and the like–but it all felt so incredibly normal compared to this.

“But you do need diapers, yes?” the woman asked.

I nodded.

“Take a look around,” she said. “Maybe you’ll find what you’re looking for.”

“I guess I will.”

“My name is Effie,” she said. “If I can help you with anything, just ask.”

It had been a mistake to come into this store. Not because the idea of an adult willfully dressing up and acting like a baby was repulsing. No, it might have been just the opposite–I could see an intersection in my love for Aimee as my adult girlfriend and my love for Aimee as the baby I had taken care of for the last seven months.

These adorable oversized diapers, with names like “Carnivals” and “Buttercups”—I could imagine the adult Aimee wearing these, and I could imagine how cute she’d look in them.

It hit me, for the first time, how much I was going to miss being Aimee’s mommy.

I wanted those baby-ish looking diapers for Aimee so badly. I wondered how she’d react if I brought them home. Would she wear them if I asked her? Would she believe me if I said they were the only things I could find?

“Effie?”

“Yes?”

“Do you have anything that’s this thick? But maybe a little less…babyish?” Maybe I’d need to take baby steps, pun possibly intended. If I could get her to wear diapers this thick and large, maybe there was a way to get her into something cuter later. Assuming, of course, we hadn’t gotten her potty trained before that.

“Well, we do have these. The Ultramaxes.” She held up a large package of diapers and placed them on the counter. “One of our best sellers. They’re very absorbent, but quite plain. I think the company that makes them actually has some success selling them to people with medical needs too.”

That was all I really needed to hear. I felt like I could sell this to Aimee–she’d trust my judgment that she needed the most protective diapers possible while we worked on getting her control of her body again.

“I’ll take those,” I said. “Actually…I’ll probably need a few packs of those.”

“Heavy wetter?” Effie asked, smiling a little.

“Still trying to figure that out,” I said. “Probably.”

Effie nodded, pulling out a few more packs before starting to ring up the order on her computer.

“Look,” she said. “It’s probably none of my business–so feel free to tell me to shut up–but…what’s your deal?”

“Huh?”

“If you’re not into this stuff as a kink, who are all these diapers for? Your grandma or something?”

“Girlfriend,” I said, regretting having said that as soon as the word was out of my mouth.

“Even more interesting,” Effie said.

“It’s complicated,” I said.

“It usually is.”

“I’ll tell you what,” I said. “If I go through all these diapers, and still need more? I’ll come back here. And I’ll tell you everything.”

Effied nodded, chuckling to herself. “Fair enough. For my own sake, I hope your girlfriend goes through every single one of those diapers.”

***

I pulled into the driveway soon after, a trunk full of thick adult diapers. I had spent the drive home stressing about how I’d sell Aimee on these. She needed diapers, that much was obvious–and I suspected that she knew this too. But I worried she’d balk when I showed her what I picked out. Even without any of the cutesy prints that the others at Bottoms Up had, their bulk alone seemed to lean more towards ‘baby’ than ‘incontinence protection for adults.’

But that conversation would have to wait a moment. I found Aimee sitting on the couch–right where I left her–with a scowl on her face.

“Aimee, what’s wrong?”

She lifted an unsteady hand and pointed across the room at the answering machine. An archaic device that I only kept around for work.

“You missed a call while you were out,” she said to me in a bitter tone.

“Oh,” I said, not completely sure why this may have upset her. “Who called?”

“Tara,” Aimee said. “Regarding a play date?”

I sighed, feeling pretty unprepared for this conversation.

***

In Aimee’s second month of her infantile state, she developed a cold. I suspected it wasn’t too serious, but I didn’t dare take many chances with her. I needed to take care of her, and to keep her in perfect health–it’s what I’d have wanted if the roles were reversed. So, I decided to take her to the pediatrician’s.

The doctor’s visit went better than I thought it would. There was paperwork I had to fill out, and questions that were challenging to answer about the child’s father and where she was born. But I made up any answers that I didn’t have, and my bluffs seemed to pay off with nobody on the staff second-guessing the info I provided. Aimee got looked over and I was assured that her cold wasn’t too bad. I had been given some nasal drops to apply over the next few nights.

But the real takeaway from our visit to the doctor’s was meeting Tara in the waiting room. Another mother–though I could only assume she acquired her baby in a more conventional manner–she was close to my age, just as her infant son seemed to be close in age to what I imagined Aimee’s was. We bonded quickly over the perils of being young and inexperienced mothers. And, if our half-hour conversation in the waiting room was any indication, we both probably needed a friend.

We began setting up ‘playdates.’ We’d claim that they were to socialize our babies, but they rarely interacted much. The goal was to get both to take a nap–which was rarely all that hard to do–so that Tara and I could do some socializing ourselves.

We got along very well. It probably didn’t hurt that we were both hurting from loss–Tara’s fiance had bounced one day in her third or fourth month of pregnancy and had yet to resurface, while my girlfriend had… Well, that was far too complicated to explain to Tara, so I just told her that my partner had also vanished on me. And because I had missed the adult Aimee so much, the time spent with Tara was very important to me.

In hindsight, it was a dangerous arrangement for myself. I had excluded most of Aimee and I’s friends and family from my life while I took care of the infantilized Aimee, and so my time with Tara was my entire social life. And, likewise, I didn’t think she had many people to talk to in her own life.

Within two or three short months, Tara and I were doing everything together. We’d take trips with our babies. We’d spend entire weekends at each other’s places. One of us would even babysit for the other when we needed to.

And then, one night, I kissed her.

Tara had come to my apartment one rainy Saturday with little Adam tucked under one arm and a bottle of Cabernet Sauvignon under the other. We rarely drank much together–as if there was an unspoken rule about drinking around your children–but I was delighted to see both her and the wine.

She had been having a rough day. Her fiance–ex-fiance at this point, I imagine–had finally crawled out of the woodwork to check in on her and the baby. But he had been noncommittal about the possibility of coming back and starting a family with her. And when the subject of child support had come up, he bolted.

But as our babies slept in the nursery, we poured some glasses of wine and cuddled a little closer on the couch–two women in need of something.

She had asked me about my girlfriend–the figurative one who had left me. Aimee hadn’t gone anywhere, I wanted to say. She was still here…she was just different now.

I couldn’t tell Tara the truth–she’d never understand it. No offense intended, of course–who would understand such a crazy story about strange magic being used to regress a grown woman. I crafted a vague narrative about my ex, Diana–it seemed strange to call my ex the same name that I called my baby–having to move to the other side of the country for her job.

But I was lonely. While my entire world was caring for Aimee, there were a number of adult needs that weren’t getting met any longer. And sitting next to Tara on the couch with a glass of wine sloshing around in my belly, I could barely control myself. I put my hand on her lap. She was surprised, and tried to tell me that she was flattered, but never really thought of herself as being attracted to women. I tried to apologize, but she stopped me.

“But I’m curious,” she told me. We both decided to kiss each other at the same time.

***

“Who is Tara?” Aimee asked.

“It’s just like she said,” I answered, though not entirely sure what Tara said in her message. “We set up, uhm, playdates.”

“Playdates? Like…this woman brought over her baby and we’d be left to…crawl around with each other?”

“Y-yeah. I know that sounds crazy to you now, but you have to remember–you were a baby. An actual baby. These things are good for a baby.”

“I get turned into a baby, and the first thing you think to do is make me socialize with other infants? What, did you put me in daycare too?”

“No, of course not,” I said. Truth be told, I had been considering it. But it was best I kept that tidbit to myself. I sighed, and tried to rewind the conversation a little. “Look, I know this is hard for you. You’ve been through a lot. But, so have I. Seven months is a long time and I had to try and…”

“I get it,” Aimee said, sighing. “I-I’m sorry. I’ve only barely begun processing what happened to me and…I guess I haven’t really thought about what it was like for you too.”

“There’s a lot that happened in the last few months,” I said. “And I’ll tell you everything. But…you might not like everything you hear.”

“But you’ll tell me everything?”

“Of course.”

She nodded. “Maybe…don’t spill everything right away. I’m still trying to accept what I do know.”

I sighed a little myself, relieved that I had a little time before I had to talk about Tara.

“Did you find what you were looking for at the store?” Aimee asked. “Did you find…diapers?”

“I did. I know they’re going to be a little embarrassing, but I think these are going to work well until…you’re using the bathroom again.” Feeling a little encouraged by the conversation we just had about not divulging everything at once, I decided to hold back the part about where I had gotten the diapers from.

She groaned and shrugged. “Whatever. Whatever they are, it’s probably better than pooping in all my panties.”

“We should probably get you into one soon.”

She nodded. “Where’s the best place for that? Here? On the bed?”

“Well we could just go to the nursery and use the changing table, and…” My voice trailed off as I realized that I had, once again, started talking without thinking. Not only would the changing table likely be too small for Aimee’s adult body, but she probably hadn’t even known that there was a changing table.

“Changing table?” she said, head tilted. “Nursery?”

“D-don’t be mad,” I said. I felt like I had been asking that a lot.

“You literally made a nursery for me?”

“You were a baby, Aimee. I made it for you. So you’d be comfortable and safe.”

“I want to see it.”

“Maybe we should get you into a diaper first.”

“Show me the nursery first,” she said. “Then we’ll worry about the diapers.”

I sighed. “Okay. Let’s go.”

I helped her off the couch, and supported her as she stood. We walked together, slowly crossing the apartment one careful step at a time.

“Is it getting any easier yet?” I asked. “Are you getting any strength back in your legs?”

“Too soon to say,” she said. “I know how to walk. I just can’t get my body to do it yet.”

“I’ll help you,” I said. “For however long it takes.”

We reached the door to the nursery–the room that Aimee had only known as my office. Still hanging on the door was a cute little sign I had custom made: Aimee’s Nursery. She gave me a skeptical look, but I just shrugged. I could try and explain it, but I’d have plenty more to have to explain soon enough. I just opened the door and helped her through the threshold.

“What…the…fuck?”

Her head slowly rotated back and forth as she scanned every square inch of the room. She took in the sights of the crib, the changing table and the playpen. The shelves of diapers and baby supplies. The baby clothes. The mobile hung above the crib. The pink walls and the infantile decor.

“I got a little carried away,” I said, hoping that it was enough of an explanation.

“Molly, I have actual baby cousins who don’t have nurseries as elaborate as this.”

“You were an actual baby.”

“Y-you couldn’t possibly have done this for me,” she said, looking around again.

“Well, I wanted you to have the best. I wanted the most comfortable place possible, you know? Until I was able to change you back.”

“Are you sure?” she said. “Because it looks an awful lot like you did this all for yourself. Did you even want to make me an adult again? Did you love me more when I was a baby?”

My cheeks flushed red and I shook my head. “Don’t be ridiculous, Aimee. I love you for who you are, right now. And you’re an adult again because I did everything I could to make that happen. But…while you were a baby…”

“You liked being Mommy.”

I nodded. “Yeah.”

Tears were welling in her eyes again. I didn’t ever recall Aimee being so emotional, but I wondered if this–like everything else she was going through, physically–was just another temporary byproduct of the spell being reversed.

When she spoke again, her voice sounded defeated and uncertain. She had a thousand questions, and each answer inspired a thousand more. “Let’s just…do the diaper thing, okay?”

***

Tara’s phone call, and message, had come as a bit of a surprise to me. For one, the timing felt cosmically perfect, for her to have called when only Aimee was there to have heard the message. And while I was grateful Tara didn’t say anything especially incriminating, her use of ‘playdate’ meant a lot more to me than it did to Aimee.

But, also, I hadn’t expected to hear from Tara again.

In the weeks that followed our first kiss on the couch, things had slowly been ramping up. We were going to each other’s places more frequently, and once our babies were asleep, we’d roll around with each other on the couch or in the bed.

She had never been with another woman before. And, she said, she never thought it’d be something that she was into. But we both found what we were looking for when our lips touched. Companionship. Acceptance. Romance. She came around rather quickly, learning the ins and outs of kissing my nipples and suckling my clit. I reciprocated, of course, expanding her knowledge of pleasure in ways she hadn’t ever known of.

Tara was never as good of a lover as Aimee was. For one, that’d be hard to beat, as Aimee was a world-class giver of pleasure. But she was getting better every time, and the longer it had been since I was able to lie in bed with Aimee–my girlfriend–the more I needed whatever Tara could offer.

And then Tara would leave. I’d kiss her goodbye and thank her and little Adam for coming. We’d joke that we should get together for another playdate soon and she’d be off.

Then I’d go back into the nursery, see Aimee’s helpless little body, and I’d cry.

***

“Where the hell do you even get diapers that big?” Aimee asked. She was lying on her back in our bed–and it felt good to be able to call it our bed again–nude except for her tee. I had pulled out one of the white Ultramaxes from the package, and even I was shocked at how enormous it was when unfolded.

“A, uh, medical supply store,” I said. A little fib. It’d do for now.

“You couldn’t have gotten me those Depends that they advertise on TV? The ones that all the old people say are so discreet that nobody can tell they’re wearing them?”

“Well…I saw those. But the quality didn’t really impress me that much. And since, for right now, you don’t have any control, I just figured that maybe it’d be best to get you the most absorbent diapers.”

“Ugh,” Aimee groaned. “I cannot believe that my girlfriend is about to put a diaper on me.”

“See, this isn’t all that new to me,” I said. “I’ve done this a lot.”

“Well, hurry up,” she said. “Get it over with.”

“Don’t be embarrassed,” I said. “It’s just me.”

“I know. But…it doesn’t matter who you are. I shouldn’t have to wear a diaper at all.”

I bit my tongue instead of reminding her whose fault this was.

“Can you lift your legs?” I asked.

“I…maybe? Am I lifting them now?”

“No…”

“Then I guess not. Not yet.”

“It’s okay,” I said. “I got this.”

Maybe it should’ve seemed different–putting a large diaper on an adult woman. But it didn’t feel that alien at all. It was just another diaper change. One of thousands of diapers I’d handled over the last seven months.

I went into auto-pilot, lifting her legs into the air with one hand while sliding the diaper under her bottom. I picked up a bottle of baby powder and shook it over her exposed womanhood and the open diaper.

“Wh-what are you doing, Molly?”

“It’s baby powder,” I said, blushing a little because I didn’t even realize that I was putting it on her until she said something. “S-sorry, I should’ve said something before using it. It, uh, prevents chafing and rashes.”

“But it smells like I’m a…baby.”

“I…I know. But I still think it's important. At least for while you still need the diapers, you know? Next time I go to the store, I could buy some more? Maybe the unscented kind.”

“Whatever,” she said. “Did I ever have a…diaper rash?”

“Uh, yeah. Once or twice.”

“I guess that’s how you know you need the powder then,” she said.

“Look, I promise I’m not trying to humiliate you.”

“I know,” she said. “I trust you. I know you’re just trying to take care of me. And I do appreciate that. This is all just very overwhelming to me.”

“Of course,” I said, nodding. “And that’s what it’s going to be good if we talk these things out.”

I pulled the front of the diaper through her open legs and enveloped her frail body with it, taping closed the sides. It, still, didn’t feel all that different then what I had grown used to doing with her regressed body. When finished, and I had straightened out her diaper, I took a step back to look at her in the diaper.

“Well?” she asked. “How stupid do I look?”

“Oh, you look fine,” I said.

But that was a huge understatement. Seeing Aimee in that bulky diaper was doing things to me. It somehow managed to simultaneously trigger the mommy instincts I had been honing, while causing my panties to grow a little moist. It seemed so very naughty and wrong to feel this way while I looked at her.

Yet, she had never looked so perfect to me as she did in that moment–the beautiful woman I fell in love with, now wearing a deliciously plump diaper.

***

There’s a period of time, somewhere around the five-month mark, that I look back and call ‘the darkest days.’ It was a short span of time where I had kind of…given up. I didn’t give up everything, of course–I still needed to take care of Aimee, and I remained devoted to doing so. But my studies of the antique tomes and Aimee’s notes were going nowhere and served only to frustrate and anger me.

I packed up all the books, put them in some boxes, and moved them to a closet. And for a few weeks, I simply lived my life as a single mother with a baby girl.

Tara and I continued spending a lot of time together. It was to the point where there were more nights that we were spending together then nights where it was just myself and Aimee. And while there may have always been a faint voice in the back of my head, reminding me that this was all wrong, I had grown complacent with this just being the way things were now.

One night, I had to run some errands and I left Aimee at my apartment with Tara and Adam. I hadn’t intended to be out that long, but between traffic and the weather, it took a while. I had returned to the apartment to find that Tara had some of the old books on magic pulled out, and she was paging through them on my coffee table.

She had found them rather innocently. Aimee had a rather nasty blowout in her diaper–probably a detail I wouldn’t want to repeat to the adult Aimee–but there weren’t any wipes left in the nursery. Tara had taken it upon herself to hunt some down, inadvertently finding both wipes and strange old books in the same closet.

My fault, really. I don’t know why I thought to keep them in the same closet.

She asked me what they were for. Was I into magic and the occult? She didn’t ask in an accusatory sort of way–there was no part of her that seemed to be weaponizing what she found. It was just curiosity on her part. There was a flirtatiousness to her tone, not unlike the way I once teased Aimee when I found a toy intended for butts in her dresser drawer once.

I bit my tongue for a moment, fighting off the impulse to get mad at her for digging up these things. I was upset, but I wasn’t actually mad at her–I was mad at myself. Seeing the books reminded me that I had hid them away, rather than doubling down and committing to finding a way to reverse Aimee’s spell. Worse, I was using that time to have hot sex with a new woman while Aimee filled her diapers in a crib.

I lost it that night, erupting into an unhinged emotional mess. I cried. Sobbed, mostly. I made a few futile attempts to try and explain to Tara what had happened, but I could never get the words out.

In the end, I told her that it was probably best if she left. And that I’d let her know if I wanted to see her again later. She could probably read between the lines well enough: If I don’t reach out to you again, assume I don’t want to see you.

***

“This is so fucking humiliating, Molly.”

“I know,” I said, sympathetically. “But…it makes sense, right?”

When I finally got Aimee to sit back down at the kitchen table again so that she could eat and drink something, the next trial presented itself. She still lacked the motor functions to easily eat on her own, and her attempt to hold a glass of water–even with a straw in it–proved to be disastrous, with a broken glass and a puddle of water on the kitchen floor to show for it.

The solution, which I pitched as yet another temporary measure, was for me to help her with her food. I filled a plastic baby bottle up with some juice, and after reheating her grilled cheese a little, I cut it into smaller bite-sized pieces that I could guide into her mouth with a fork.

“You’re feeding me,” she said, still chewing on a bite. “And I have to drink out of a fucking baby bottle.”

“Only because the bottle won’t break if you drop it,” I said.

“Yeah, but look at the big picture,” she said. “I’m wearing a diaper while you feed me, and there’s a bottle of juice in front of me. I’m still a fucking baby.”

“You’re not a baby,” I said, though that last word was particularly hard for me to say. She kind of was a baby, though I could never say that aloud. “And soon enough, I’m sure you’ll be back to your old self.”

“I just…I’ve never felt so helpless and… Fuck.”

“What’s wrong?”

“I…I think I… Am I wetting my diaper?”

I took a peek under the table, lifting up her long t-shirt to find that her big white diaper was, indeed, starting to stain yellow and grow soggy between her legs.

“A little,” I said. “But it’s okay. The diaper can hold it–and probably a lot more.”

“But I don’t want to sit in my piss, Molly.”

“I know, I know. But…one thing at a time. First, let’s get some food in you. Then, we can worry about your diaper.”

Tears were rolling down her face again as she pouted. I had seen this look before–the one that usually signaled to me that a certain little baby was in need of a nap.

“This has been a pretty exhausting morning for you, I bet.”

“Yeah,” she said. “Accurate.”

“What if, after eating a little more, you just lie down and rest?”

“Ah shit, Molly. Are you putting me down for a nap?”

“W-well…”

“God, I really am a giant baby now, aren’t I?”

***

She may have protested the idea of being put down for a nap, but that didn’t mean that it wasn’t a good idea. After I had helped her back to the bedroom and eased her onto the bed, she had almost immediately passed out. I took the opportunity to change her diaper for her again.

My head spun as I tried to collect my thoughts. This brief reprieve of caring for Aimee felt incredibly different from all the spare seconds I had while she was an actual baby. Then, the quiet moments always felt polluted by that nagging thought in the back of my mind about opening up some of those old magic books and looking for a fix. How dare I even think about using that time for anything else.

That was no longer weighing on me now. I had done what I needed to do–the spell had been reversed and Aimee was an adult again, mostly.

So, without that guilt wracking my mind, I sat on the couch and tried to process the day so far. Yet, my eyes kept glancing over to the answering machine and the blinking light that indicated that there was a message. I decided to walk over to it and play the message.

“Hey Molly, it’s Tara. I know it’s been a while, but…what do you think about setting up a playdate sometime?”

I may have been freed from some of my guilt, but Tara must’ve sensed the vacancy and moved in to take that place.

How would I explain Tara to Molly? I guess the real question is if I was going to at all. I wondered: if I didn’t answer Tara’s call and I just never brought it up, was it possible to go the rest of our lives without having to talk about it?

Alas, I knew I couldn’t do that. Aimee deserved to hear the truth. Eventually, I’d have to spill everything. But first…

The phone was in my hand. Am I actually dialing? I was actually dialing the phone. Am I really going to do this? Talk to Tara again? The phone was ringing, so it seemed that way. I was almost praying that she didn’t answer.

Because Aimee wasn’t the only one who deserved an explanation. Tara would too–especially when she asked about how Aimee was doing. “Oh, she’s grown quite a bit since the last time you saw her…”

“Hello?” It was Tara’s voice.

“H-hey. It’s me.” I wondered if I needed to be more specific. Was I so bold as to think that she’d know my voice from a million other potential ‘me’s’ in her life?

“Hey Molly. I…wasn’t sure if I was going to get a call back from you or not.”

“I wasn’t sure myself.”

“I was thinking about you today,” she said. “Well, I think about you on most days. But I guess I thought about calling you today.”

“I-I’m glad you did,” I found myself saying, though I wasn’t entirely sure I meant that. I had enough to deal with as it was–I really had no right to drag Tara into this.

“How’s Aimee?”

I thought of the joke-answer I had considered just before calling her. But instead I sighed to myself. And then I laughed.

“Molly? Is everything okay?”

“I’m sorry,” I said. “I shouldn’t have called you.”

“W-wait. Molly, I…”

“I’m truly sorry,” I said, cutting her off. “Maybe it’d be best if you didn’t call again.”

Tara had started to say something else, but I ended the call. It hurt to have done it–it felt like the meanest and most selfish thing I had ever done. Or, maybe that was when you cheated on your girlfriend while she was sleeping in a crib.

I went back to the bedroom to check on Aimee. Still sleeping. Like a baby. It was so amazing to see her adult face again. God, I had missed it so much. So beautiful. I missed her so much. Her fingers. Her hair. The way she rolled her eyes when I talked about oat milk.

I left the bedroom and walked across to the hall to the nursery. It seemed surreal that Aimee had woken up here just this morning. Just yesterday, she was playing with a stuffed animal in the playpen. Last night, I had changed her messy diaper on that changing table. But it all suddenly felt like it had happened months ago now. That Aimee was gone.

My baby was gone.

I had just begun thinking about where I might donate or sell the now-useless furniture when something in the living room caught me eye–the rest of the pack of Ultramax diapers I had bought for Aimee today. My frown faded a little, and I felt myself smiling instead as I reached down and plucked a new diaper from the pack.

I had held a lot of baby diapers in my hands the last few months, and this was nothing like those. Larger and thicker, obviously. But even the loud crinkling of the plastic seemed foreign to me–baby diapers didn’t really crinkle like that anymore. And yet, there was still something fundamentally infantile about the garment. Sure, sure, maybe some poor old woman suffering from incontinence wouldn’t agree with me. But the diapers felt so purposefully large–as if they were made to remind the wearer that they were not the adult they might have believed themselves to be.

And…Aimee–the adult Aimee–had looked so adorable in her Ultramax. So…hot.

I sat down on the couch, and placed the thick folded diaper against my chest. I moaned a little as I pressed it into my chest, hearing the crinkling noises emanating from my hand. Slowly, I slid the diaper down my body. I tried to imagine that it was Aimee, pressing her diapered bottom against me. Yes, yes. Soon, the diaper was between my legs, and I kept it held there, slowly grinding it against my crotch. Inside my pants, my panties were getting damp.

I liked this, but I needed more. I took one more careful peak towards the bedroom to make sure that Aimee hadn’t stirred. I heard a faint snore, a signal that I’d be alone for a bit longer. I quickly pulled down my yoga pants, held my panties open, and I slid the still-folded diaper into them.

Am I really going to…

I was, it seemed. I furiously rubbed the diaper against my throbbing wet pussy until I came. Both satisfied and ashamed of myself, I slid the diaper back into the pack again and pulled my pants back up.

***

“How did you do it?” Aimee asked.

“Hmm? Do what?”

“The spell,” she said. “How did you reverse my spell?”

I was sitting on the end of the couch, while her horizontal body took up the rest of it. Her head was nestled in my lap and I was slowly running my hands through her hair.

“It wasn’t easy. I used your notes as much as I could to at least help me figure out which books I needed to be reading. But the rest was all just…research. Endless amounts of research and studying.”

She said nothing and just nodded her head. It was the truth–or at least a version of it. I conveniently left out the part where I had left all the magic books in a closet for a few weeks.

“You don’t remember any of it?” I asked.

“No, not really,” she said. “It mostly just feels like a blurry dream to me. I guess I can believe it's been seven months…but it doesn’t feel like it.”

It was just a moment for her. A weird dream, barely remembered. And yet it felt like an entire lifetime for me.

“Do you think you’ll miss having a baby around?” she asked.

I sighed a little. I didn’t want to lie, but the truth was probably going to sound weird to Aimee. To her, she remembered the version of me from seven months ago that was probably unrecognizable to who I was today.

“Yes,” I said. “I think so.”

Aimee didn’t seem to have a response to that.

“Is that…strange for me to say?”

Aimee laughed. “Maybe. But I believe it.”

“Yeah?”

“You probably didn’t see yourself becoming a, uh, mother. But…you’ve always had a maternal side to you.”

I laughed. “Really?”

“Oh yeah. You have always taken care of me. Making me soup when I was sick. Buying me cute things to wear when you were going shopping for yourself. Holding my hair back when I drank too much and had to throw up. I’ve always known you were going to be a great mother.”

I felt my cheeks warming considerably. I brushed her face lightly with the back of my hand, feeling her soft skin. I wanted to tell her everything–about how badly I not only wanted a baby again, but how I wanted her to somehow be both my baby and my girlfriend. I said nothing though. What I wanted barely made sense to me–how could I explain it to her?

Her cheeks glowed a little as I touched her face, and she smiled. “I know you were a good Mommy for me.”

I nodded, trying my hardest not to reveal that her use of the word ‘Mommy’ had caused my panties to get damp again.

“Ah, shit,” Aimee said suddenly, her face turning red as she glanced down the length of her body.

“Oh,” I replied. “Did you…have an accident?”

“I…yeah. Just now–I just started to…go.”

Without even thinking, I took a careful sniff of the air–a little habit I had picked up from a few months worth of looking for dirty-diapers. I blushed a little myself, hoping she hadn’t seen me checking for the scent of a messy bottom. My sniff test had not picked up any messes.

“It’s okay,” I said. “That’s what diapers are for.”

“I know, but…”

“You want to be potty trained,” I said, finishing her thought for her. “I know you do, Aimee. And we’ll get you there as soon as we can.”

“Yeah.”

“Do you want me to change you?”

“I’m…comfortable,” she said. “Do you think it would be okay if I just stayed like this a little longer? The diaper isn’t going to, like, leak or anything?”

I chuckled softly. “No, of course not. It might even hold a bit more. If it had to.”

“Okay,” she said, snuggling a little deeper into my lap. “Y-you don’t think it’s weird that I just want to lie here in a wet diaper, do you?”

I stopped short of telling her that I prefer her like this. Instead: “It’s not weird at all. Make yourself cozy. We can take care of that diaper later.”

“Thank you, Molly.” But her words got a little garbled as she made herself comfortable in my lap. She might have said “Thank you, Mommy.” I didn’t think she did, but my panties got a little wetter.

I stroked her hair with one hand, and used the other to slowly guide my fingertips up and down her back. She moaned softly as I felt her body relax further.

“Maybe I have it all wrong,” she said.

“How so?”

“Maybe it’s not so bad being a baby. Having everything taken care of for you? I could get used to that.”

She was joking, I think. I tried to play along, though I may have been a little more serious than she was: “I can always keep the diapers coming. For as long as you’d like.”

She laughed a little and I felt her body resting, finally content with the exact position of her body. I continued touching her hair and her back. It felt good to touch this version of Aimee again. There were so many little details I hadn’t thought about in a while; like the little mole on her lower back, or the faint scar on the side of her neck from the time she crashed her bike into a tree when she was 11.

I got a little more adventurous as I rubbed her back, letting my hand slip past the little speedbump of a mole so that I could feel her diaper. I pressed my fingertips into the soft padding, the plastic crinkling and rustling in response.

“Wh-what are you doing?” Aimee asked, sounding half-asleep.

“Just…checking,” I said.

“Oh. Okay.” But within seconds, she seemed to be sleeping again–making the cutest little snoring sounds.

I left my hand on her diaper, slowly squishing it and rubbing it, every noise it made only further turning me on. The only reason I stopped at all was because if I had continued, I’d have ended up with a hand in my pants while she slept on my lap.

Then I heard her little voice: “You…can keep going if you want.”

“Wh-what?”

“Do you like feeling my diaper?”

“Well…”

“I don’t mind,” she said. “It feels good, if you want to keep going.”

“Okay, then,” I said. “But only because you asked.”