Fetish Tourism [Tier 2 and 3 Exclusive] (Patreon)

I’m not entirely sure where we are when I wake up. I doubt I was sleeping for all that long, but it must’ve been a deep enough sleep that I missed the announcement over the train’s PA.

“My friend, this is our stop. Are you ready?”

‘Our stop’ means very little to me. James is the one who picked this destination, and he’s been pretty cagey about the details. Still, if he says this is the place, I trust him. I stretch, rub the remaining sleep from my eyes, and grab my backpack before following him off the train.

I actually know very little about James. A week and a half ago he sat down next to me at a dive bar outside of Omaha and we got to talking. I’m usually not one for talking to strangers, but he was so personable and interesting that he pulled me into a conversation with barely any effort. As it turned out, we were on similar journeys.

I’ve taken the summer off to tour America. My original intent had been to try my hand at video blogging the experience, but the small handfuls of reactions I had gotten for my first few posts convinced me to just enjoy the sights for myself and tell people about them later.

James, on the other hand, seemed to just be a free spirit. He was older than me, though I was never sure by how much. He looked good for his age, whatever it was. In shape. Nice clothes. Charismatic as hell. He could strike up a conversation with anyone–and often did. He, too, was out exploring the states, though he seemed to have no plan or schedule. He just went where the wind took him, it seemed.

I had an itinerary, but I found his method for exploration more interesting. After we killed half a bottle of Japanese whiskey together, I took him up on his offer to follow him around for a while.

And here I was, wherever that might be.

“I rolled through here about–oh, I dunno–five years ago?” he says as we depart the tiny train station. I don’t spot any sort of sign that declares the name of this place.

It’s a small town, not unlike most other isolated small towns I’ve seen in my own journeys. In many ways, it feels preserved in time–I doubt things look much different than they did ten or twenty years ago. There’s locally owned specialty shops on Main Street–pharmacies, butchers, and even a newsstand–that have yet to be displaced by corporations and big-box stores.

“Kind of charming,” I say, as I watch a pretty young woman pushing a stroller across the street. Aside from a handful of other people casually walking around, things seem pretty quiet.

James shrugs. “The kind of place you’d like to visit, but wouldn’t want to live.”

I laugh, shaking my head. I don’t quite understand that sentiment, but I let it sit with me as I scan the town again. The more I see, the stranger it seems. It doesn’t seem wrong, it just seems slightly…off. A little too clean and perfect, maybe. Like, the town seems so adorably quaint that it doesn’t seem entirely real.

“We’re not here for the ambience,” he says with a sly smile. “There’s a little place up the road that I want to show you. That is, if it’s still around.”

I laugh. “You didn’t think to call ahead and check first? Hell, you could’ve just looked it up on your phone a state or two ago.”

He shrugs nonchalantly, beckoning for me to keep up. “We have all the time in the world, my friend. I’m choosing to trust fate.”

It sounds like a good idea to me, not that I have much of a choice. But such is the magic of James–he seems to will things into the world. At a roadside food truck a few days ago, he suggested that they’d probably have the best chili we’d ever eat. He had been absolutely spot-on about that.

We’ve walked less than half a mile and we’ve already seemed to have run out of town to walk through. The houses in this more residential area become more scattered, with open space between them. Garments hanging from clotheslines gently billow in the wind, while the rhythmic sputtering of lawn sprinklers create a familiar suburban music.

“How did you find this place?” I ask.

He just shrugs and smiles. I’m tempted to be frustrated, but it doesn’t actually bother me that much. It’s kind of exciting, really–it makes everything feel that much more mysterious. I try to imagine the type of place he might be leading me to. A moonshine distillery? A drug den? Brothel? A giant, weird-looking, rock?

“Here we are,” he says.

It’s just a house.

I laugh and shake my head. “This is it, huh? What we took a five hour train ride for?”

“Hold on,” he says. “We haven’t gone inside yet.”

I follow him up to the porch and he knocks on the door politely. He turns back towards me, shooting me a casual smile. “Just watch,” he seems to say with his expression. “You’re going to love this.”

The door opens and I see a middle-aged woman standing inside the house. She looks rather unremarkable–not to say she is unattractive, rather that her loose-fitting tee and jean shorts probably rule out, at least, this being a brothel.

“Good afternoon,” James says. “I stopped by a few years ago and saw Manuella?”

The woman nods and smiles warmly. “Ah, I see. You may be a little disappointed to learn that she’s moved on.”

“Ah, damn,” James says, running a hand through his hair. “My condolences.”

She laughs, shaking her head. “No, no. She literally moved out of state. Went to California to live on a farm with some friends of hers.”

“Ah,” he says, laughing with delight. “Thank goodness, then. But you–this house–we can still come here and…”

“Of course,” she says. “We’re still open for business.”

“I brought a friend,” he says, pointing back to me.

“Hello,” I say, waving to the woman.

“So you did,” she says. “Why don’t the two of you come inside.”

I follow James inside, still unsure of what to expect. Maybe this is when everything is going to start making sense to me. Will there be glass jugs laying around, filled with clear liquid and labeled with a cartoonish ‘XXX?’ An assortment of drug paraphernalia? Whips and paddles?

No, it’s just a normal looking house. It doesn’t even seem like an especially notable house. Everything seems so…average. Pictures of people I don’t know on the walls, along with some unimpressive landscape paintings. There’s some knick knacks on shelves. A small bookshelf. This could be my parents house. This could be anybody’s house.

“My name is Heidi,” the woman says. “It’s nice to meet the both of you.”

“James,” he says, shaking her hand. “And that’s my good friend Louis.”

I don’t think we know each other all that well yet, but I’m still flattered that he refers to me as his ‘good friend.’

“How much do you want?” she asks James, so nonchalantly that as far as I can tell, she could be talking about either meth or Pepsi.

James looks at me. Is he expecting me to have any idea what is going on here? I just shrug. He turns back to her. “Eh, we’ve got all day. Might as well fill it up to the top.”

“So, uh, what are we filling up to the top?” I ask.

Both Heidi and James laugh.

“Maybe it’s better if you don’t know,” he says to me. “I didn’t know either, last time I was here, but I think it only enhanced the experience.”

“Alright,” I say, laughing while I shake my head. “You only live once, right? Let’s, uh, do this. Whatever this is. Like he said–fill it up.”

Heidi smiles and shrugs. “As you wish. Now, unfortunately, we do require payment up front. It wasn’t always like this, of course. But we’ve had a few instances of folks skipping out without paying and…”

“Seriously?” James asks, shaking his head. “What a shame. People ruin everything good in this world.”

Heidi laughs. “No, no, I don’t think it's ever been intentional. I think, sometimes, people just get a little…lost in the experience, you know? It can be disorienting. It just seems like a better idea now to collect payment in advance so that we don’t have to think about it later.”

I’m a little nervous as I reach for my wallet. Wandering around the country for a few months was never going to be a cheap endeavor, but I’m not sure what sort of cost to expect for a service that remains undefined to me.

“Don’t worry about it,” James says to me. “I got you this time. Pay it forward, next time you’re here.”

I laugh as I shrug. “I don’t even know where the fuck I am.”

All three of us laugh together before James settles the bill.

“I think we’re all set, then. James, I have you in Room 1, just over here. Louis, you’ll be upstairs in Room 2.”

James looks to me, pure excitement on his face. “Well? Are you ready to have your mind blown?”

“Possibly?”

“See you on the other side, my friend,” he says as Heidi escorts him down a short hallway.

For a moment, I just stood there, unsure if I was expected to just walk up the steps or if I should be waiting for Heidi to escort me there.

“Hey,” came a new voice from the top of the steps. It was a woman’s voice. Soft. Sweet. “You’re in Room 2, yeah?”

“Yes,” I say, looking up the steps to see the dark-skinned woman standing at the top. She looks a little younger than Heidi, though dressed just as casually.

“Well? What are you waiting for? Come on up.”

I quickly trot up the stairs, and am met with a friendly hug from the woman.

“My name is Ashleigh,” she says. “And you are…”

“Louis. But also confused as hell as to what’s happening here.”

“Oh,” she says, smiling. “You don’t know?”

I shake my head. “Not a clue.”

“Perfect.”

I follow her into a small, dimly lit, room and she closes the door behind me. When she turns on the light, I find myself only more confused.

“What the hell is this? It looks like a…”

“Nursery,” Ashleigh says.

It doesn’t really make sense to me, and my brain contorts what I see to fit the narrative I have going in my head. This is just someone’s house. I’m not here to see the nursery–this was just an available room for whatever it is we’re doing here. When there’s nobody else here, this is just where Heidi or Ashleigh take care of their baby.

“Okay,” I say. “What now?”

“Come have a seat with me,” she says, plopping herself down on a loveseat tucked into the corner of the room and patting the seat next to her.

There’s little room left on the loveseat for me. Just enough, I reckon–with no room for a gap between us. It seems awfully tight for two strangers in a strange place, but given that my way has already been paid, I figure that I might as well play along and see what happens.

“It’s okay,” she says. “Don’t be afraid to get cozy.”

I certainly don’t have any objection to getting cozy with Ashleigh. Aside from an afternoon fling with a woman somewhere outside of Minneapolis a few weeks ago, it’s been a pretty dry summer for my sexlife. I feel my cheeks warm a little as I sit down and feel her soft legs rub against mine. Is that what this is, James? A weird brothel in someone’s home?

“This is yours,” she says, handing me an object.

I take it from her, but I can’t really process what it is as I stare down at it in my hands. It’s an object I’ve seen countless times in my life, yet…it’s just the last thing I expected to be handed today.

“A baby bottle?” I laugh, shaking my head. “Is this, like, the theme of the room or something? I’m in the nursery, so I have to drink some crazy concoction out of a bottle?”

She laughs, playfully tousling my hair with her hand. “They’re all nurseries.”

“I don’t understand.”

“All the rooms in the house,” she says. “They’re all nurseries. Well, except for the bedroom that Heidi and I use.”

This answer serves only to give me more questions. But maybe there’s no point in understanding these riddles. Maybe I’m missing the point of this experience. I swirl around the milky-white contents of the baby bottle.

“So, uh, I just…drink this?”

“Mmhmm,” she says, brushing my cheek with the back of her hand.

“It’s, uh, been a while since I’ve drunk from a bottle.”

“It’ll come back to you,” she says. “You never forget something like that.”

I take a deep breath, getting one more chuckle in as I bring the bottle’s nipple up to my mouth. “Here we go, I guess. Down the hatch.”

It’s only when the nipple is in my mouth, and the first drops of the mystery liquid hit my tongue, that I look around the nursery again. There’s a number of details I seem to have been oblivious to thus far. The crib, for one, is far too big for a baby. And the changing table…you could put, like, 4 or 5 babies on that thing at once. And those diapers sitting on the shelf look really fucking large.

“What the hell is this place?” I ask.

“Just drink, baby.”

The ‘baby’ throws me off a little, but she makes a compelling argument. Or, maybe, it’s the taste of the liquid that has me convinced to keep going.

Ashleigh was right, the act of drinking from a bottle is either something I retained in my memories, or it's so intuitive that I almost immediately pick it up. My lips wrap around the silicone nipple and I quickly find a comfortable rhythm for suckling from it.

Milk. I’m almost sure of it. But it’s…different. It’s unlike any milk I can recall having in my life, though there’s still a familiarity about it.

“That’s it,” Ashleigh coos, bringing her lips a little closer to my ear. “What a good boy you are, drinking your ba-ba.”

I come close to putting down the bottle to ask her why she’s talking to me like I’m a toddler, but…I find that I can’t pull the bottle from my mouth. It’s not that it’s stuck–I just love the taste so much that I can’t bring myself to give it up. I’m suckling harder–just about guzzling it.

“Oh my,” she says. “Someone’s a very hungry little boy, huh?”

Somewhere in the back of my mind, there’s a part of me that’s wondering what is happening. But the rest of me seems quite content with whatever it is. I feel different, though I’m not really able to elaborate on that. I feel younger–smaller, maybe, yet I know that I haven’t shrunk. It’s not really a physical transformation as much as it seems to be a mental one. Ashleigh’s coddling tone hits me incredibly hard, and I find myself snuggling into her body as I continue drinking from the bottle.

“That’s okay, baby,” she says. “I’ve got you.”

I pause for just a moment, thinking that I should tell her about how I feel. Is this normal? For one, I find that I can’t make the words with my mouth. I know them in my mind, but I seem unable to speak them aloud. Too, I can’t linger on this moment much longer, knowing that there’s still milk left in my bottle to drink.

I wonder what comes after this? Is this it? I think I’d be content with it if it was–just lying here for a few days, slowly sinking into Ashleigh’s lap. Maybe I could spend the rest of my life there while she runs her fingers through my hair and coos cute little things to me.

“You’re perfectly safe,” she says as she eases my body into her lap. My body turns horizontal so slowly that I hardly realize it’s happening until my head is resting on her lap. “You might be experiencing things that are new to you, and it might be overwhelming. But it’s okay.”

I trust her.

She’s completely right though. As I work my way through the last of the bottle’s contents, I find myself in a surreally euphoric haze. I want to be coddled. Loved. Taken care of. I see the strange sights of this room, the oversized baby wares, and I…want them. I can’t even explain it to myself–I’ve never had thoughts like these before, and yet all I want now is to be swaddled in a diaper and rocked to sleep in Ashleigh’s arms.

“All done?” she asks, plucking the bottle from my hands.

I make a mild effort to grab at the empty bottle with my hands, to which she giggles.

“Silly little boy. Do you want more already?”

“Mmhmm,” I answer, nodding.

“I’m afraid this is where you get cut off, baby,” she coos. “Any more, and you’d be loading your pampers for a week.”

‘Loading your pampers’ is a curious combination of words, I think. I don’t quite understand what she means by it. Perhaps it's a local turn of phrase?

“We don’t want to waste much time,” she continues. “Hurry now, we should get you onto the changing table.”

It sounds like a nice idea, but I’m not all that interested in moving. I’ve never been in a more comfortable place in my life. When I leave this house–if I leave–I’m taking Ashleigh with me.

“Oh, you’re going to be like that, huh?” she asks, giggling to herself. “Here, I’ll help you.”

She lifted me back up so that I was sitting up right again, holding me in place as she stood up herself. She then gripped my hand and pulled me up. I didn’t feel completely helpless, but I wasn’t entirely sure that I could move without her help either.

The changing table… Was that what she had said to me? It made sense, somehow, but I couldn’t quite figure out why. The changing table? That’s where babies go for…new diapers? Oh. RIght, well that makes sense.

She led me across the room, and I saw that we were getting closer to the changing table. That’s when, finally, something else clicked.

Wait. Am I the one getting a new diaper? Am I the baby?

I want to ask, but I can’t form the words with my mouth–instead I seemed to just babble incoherently.

Ashleigh just laughs again, directing me over to the surface of the changing table. “Just a little hop up there, baby. I’ll help you.”

She helps me find my footing, and I climb onto the changing table. I could’ve waited for further instruction, but I suspected that I already knew what to do. I flatten myself out on my back, letting any remaining tension in my muscles dissipate. I was hers now–to do with as she pleased.

“We’re off to an excellent start,” she says. “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

“Nuh-uh,” I manage to say, though not even that comes out as easily.

“Now I know this might seem embarrassing. But plenty of boys and girls have done this before you, and plenty will come after you, okay? Try not to think about it too much. Just enjoy it.”

I hear everything she says, but the words that stick with me most are just “Try not to think.”

No problem there. It’s surprisingly easy to let myself go with the flow. I feel her unbuttoning my pants and opening them up. If this were happening any other time–any other place–I doubt I’d be so passive about it. But I’m fine with this. I trust her.

She’s shimmying my pants off of my body. Whatever. I feel them getting tugged down my legs, and when they reach my feet, I feel her pulling my shoes off so she can remove the pants entirely. I wonder, for a moment, if I’m entirely powerless. Paralyzed? Could I stop her if I wanted to? I make an effort to move my leg, and I find that I’m easily able to kick it into the air.

Ashleigh chuckles, as if she’s seen that before.

So I can move. It doesn’t change much, though it does give me a little extra comfort.

She’s holding my pants in her hand, along with my boxers. I’m slightly embarrassed about that–these probably wouldn’t have been my first choice of boxers to wear out if I had known a pretty woman was going to feed me a bottle of strange milk and take my pants off.

“I’ll give these back to you later,” she says. “Don’t forget to remind me.”

I laugh–that must’ve been a joke. I imagine myself walking all the way back to the train station with James, only to find that I haven’t been wearing pants the entire time.

“You’re a giggly little baby, aren’t you?” she coos, pulling up my t-shirt a little to tickle my belly. My body spasms a little in response as I laugh in a way that I can’t remember myself ever laughing before. A deep, raw, belly laugh. It reminds me of childhood in a way that few things ever have.

She holds up an object in front of me. I’m not entirely sure what it is, even after staring at it for a few moments. It’s square-ish and somehow both firm and soft in appearance. It looks folded up, whatever it is. A shirt? A pair of pants? It’s a pastel blue color with white star shapes printed across it. Suddenly, I realize what I’m looking at. I think that’s my diaper. My diaper.

Such an absurd thought. But I remember Ashleigh’s words from earlier. Specifically: “Try not to think.”

She unfurls the enormous diaper, and I find myself a little relieved again that it’s, in fact, a giant diaper and not a diaper intended for babies–implying that I was somehow shrunk. She sets it on the table between my legs, and with a level of finesse that suggests she’s done this many times before, she lifts my legs and tucks it under my bottom before lowering me atop the garment.

“We have to use a little baby powder,” she says. “It helps protect your skin, you know? But some folks don’t like the smelly powder. Personally? I think it smells nice–like what you’d want a baby to smell like. But I’ve got both.”

She holds up two white bottles of baby powder. Sure enough, one states that it’s unscented, while the other boasts its ‘classic baby scent.’ I find that I still can’t form the words I need, but I can at least gesture. I point towards the scented baby powder. When in Rome…

“Good choice,” she says. “I like you.” She overturns the bottle over my crotch and open diaper and shakes out a liberal amount of powder. Clouds of fine white mist roll across my body. I catch the scent when it reaches my face, and I find it extremely pleasing. Like the laughter from her tickles, it feels deeply nostalgic.

She seals me into the diaper, taping it closed tightly. It happens so quickly that I’m almost disappointed in myself for not allowing myself to savor it.

“You look so cute!” she says, her wide smile seeming entirely genuine. “Anyone can be a baby, but not everyone is as adorable a baby as you.”

I feel my cheeks glow as I nod a little in appreciation.

“Maybe you’re wondering what it is we do now?”

I nod.

“The world is your playpen,” she says.

My eyes wander around the room, taking in all the options. Stuffed animals. Plastic toys. The giant crib. Coloring books and crayons.

“But there’s more than what’s just in here,” she says. “There’s a whole world out there. Do you want to go for a walk?”

Outside? Like this? I’m intrigued by her confidence for such a proposition, but I can’t begin to imagine how that would work.

“Of course,” she continues, “I’d be the one walking. You’d be the one in the stroller. So you wouldn’t have to do all that much. But I could show you around town if you’d like.”

It’s funny how you can sometimes see things more clearly when you’re not actually looking at them. I think back to when we first arrived in town and I had been looking around. Things had seemed so perfect and tidy that I hadn’t allowed myself to pick out the details that didn’t quite belong.

There was the woman pushing the stroller–I hadn’t seen who was sitting inside it, but their large feet had hung out from the bottom of it, almost scraping on the ground. There were the people on the sidewalk who might not have actually been casually strolling about as much as they were…waddling. And, while James and I were strolling past through the residential area en route to this house, I can now distinctly recall seeing large cloth diapers and plastic pants hanging from the clotheslines.

What is this place? I’m not scared–just curious.

“Mm,” I moan, trying to figure out a way to signal that I’m fine with being given the tour of the local sights.

“I certainly don’t mind giving you a little tour, if that’s what you’d like,” she says, either being especially adept at understanding babyish moans, or simply having telepathy. “Of course, we’d have to get you dressed first.”

I nod.

“Now, would you like to be a little boy?”

My mouth twists a little in confusion. As opposed to what?

“Well,” she says, perhaps responding to the question I had asked myself, “some folks like to take advantage of this opportunity and really climb outside of their comfort zone. So if you’ve ever wanted to wear a cute little dress and have some makeup put on your face…”

“Nuh-uh,” I say, shaking my head. Honestly, it sounds kind of nice. But I think I’m having a hard enough time wrapping my head around just being a baby, let alone a baby girl.

“Fair enough,” she says. “For what it's worth, I have this little green and yellow dress that I think would look perfect on you. If you ever come back again, you’ll have to let me put it on you.”

I say nothing, though I store that nugget away in my brain for a later time. I don’t really need to respond, though, as she’s already begun preparing an outfit for me. She’s taken something from a small wardrobe–a white and blue striped onesie with a picture of a cartoonish teddy bear wearing a baseball cap on the front of it. Under his smiling face, it reads ‘Little Slugger.’

I don’t argue. Truthfully, as a fan of baseball, I do find it rather cute. Does she know it’d appeal to me, or is this just her default pick for a baby boy? I try not to dwell on it much, choosing to just be in the moment.

She shifts my arms above my head so she can slide my t-shirt off of me, leaving me completely nude, save for–I think–my socks. And the diaper. Then, she carefully fits the collar of the onesie over my head and helps feed my arms through the sleeves before working the rest of the fabric down my body. Where the onesie stops, just short of the bottom of the diaper, Ashleigh snaps the front and back of the garment together, squishing the thick padding closer to my body. I’m actually quite fond of how it feels. I like how constricting it is.

I watch her step away from the changing table for a moment, picking up a large pink shoulder bag off the floor and casually plucking items off of shelves to fill it with. More diapers. Baby powder–the scented stuff. A package of, I think, baby wipes. A large cloth bib. A few items that I can’t even see. A diaper bag. I’m surprisingly fine with this. It makes sense, given how I’m now a baby and we’re leaving the house.

I’m assuming that, at any moment, she’s going to grab my pants or my shirt and put them on me again, overtop the diaper and onesie.

Instead: “Alright, I’m going to help you off the table, and then we’ll get you downstairs and into the stroller for our little trip.”

“Uhm…”

She laughs, playfully poking at my crinkly bottom. “What’s wrong? Nervous for people to have people see the big baby in his diaper?”

I nod.

“Don’t worry about a thing,” she says. “Who doesn’t like seeing a baby? You’ll be fine.”

I trust her, but it doesn’t stop my heart from pounding and a nervous layer of sweat  from accumulating on my forehead.

She helps ease me down from the changing table, and I instinctively land on my hands and knees. I think I could walk if I really wanted to, but I think it’d be easier if I crawled. I certainly want to crawl.

Ashleigh seems mostly unphased by this. Not indifferent, by any means, though I suspect she’s seen this before.

“Come along now, baby. Follow me.”

Back out of the room, down the hall, and to the steps–my crinkling behind noisily wagging behind–I obediently follow Ashleigh.

“Careful on the steps, baby, they can be tricky. I can help you if you’d like.”

I consider her offer of assistance as I crawl to the first step, but I decide to take my chances on my own. I rotate my body and try to crawl down the steps ass-first. Ashleigh seems amused–either at my ingenuity, or at the fact that my thickly padded ass is sticking out as I clear one step at a time. She lightly places a hand on the small of my back–ready to help steady me if I need her too.

Within three or four steps, I need her.

“Good effort, baby. But why don’t I help you down the rest of the way.”

It’s not a matter of ‘letting’ her help me or not–it’s not my choice to make. She applies more pressure on my back, while cupping my bottom with her other hand, and eases me down the steps the rest of the way. By the time we reach the floor again, my face is bright red–the look of a little boy who overestimated his abilities.

There’s already a stroller waiting for us. Somewhere between the changing table and now, I did have the fleeting curiosity about how Ashleigh was going to fit me into a baby’s stroller. Silly me. How did I not predict that the stroller, too, would be especially large to accommodate a baby of my size.

“Your carriage awaits, darling,” she says warmly, gesturing towards the stroller.

I’m daydreaming a little as she says this, thinking about her picking me up with her strong-looking arms and carrying me over to the seat of the stroller and gently placing me inside it. I laugh a little, embarrassed at how much I think I’d like that. I quickly scuttle across the floor and climb into the stroller. She quickly pops something into my mouth.

A…pacifier? I’m tempted to just take it out–again, I think I could if I wanted to. But, no, I think I’ll keep it in. I bite at it and play with the latex bulb with my tongue. It amuses me.

“Ready?”

“Mmhmm.”

Ashleigh slowly pushes me down the sidewalk, towards the town that James and I had walked through not that long ago, in the giant stroller. Her pace seems intentionally casual–as if to let the absurdness of this situation sink in a little.

“Do you see that?” she says, pointing to the house where the large cloth diapers and plastic pants hang on clotheslines for anyone to see.

I nod, though she probably doesn’t see that.

She continues regardless. “Angie lives there with her son Petey. I imagine those are Petey’s diapers hanging on the line now. Wow. He sure does go through a lot of them, doesn’t he?”

I try to count the diapers hanging on the line, but I keep losing track somewhere around 5 or 6. I’m pretty sure I know the numbers that come after, but they’ve escaped me for the moment. It probably doesn’t matter–her point still stands. Petey does seem to go through a lot of diapers.

“Oh, wait, I think that’s him now. Hey! Petey! Hello!”

She waves to someone sitting on the porch of the house. At first, it just looks to be a man who is about the same age as me, drinking a bottle of beer and taking in the warm afternoon sun. But when I squint my eyes a little, I see him for who he really is–another big baby. He’s in just a diaper and t-shirt, and his bottle is filled with white liquid and has a nipple atop it. It's safe to assume it's not beer. He lazily waves in our direction as we pass by.

“Remember that delicious bottle of milk you drank earlier?” she asks me. “Petey’s a bit…addicted to it. It wouldn’t surprise me if that’s what he’s drinking right now, in fact. Poor baby will probably be in diapers for a very long time.”

I’m tempted to ask if I can have another bottle myself, but the pacifier successfully keeps my mouth plugged up. Probably for the best, as I have no clue what it was I had consumed.

I feel a twisting in my stomach. It’s not painful, but maybe a little uncomfortable. Crampy. I bite down on the pacifier, and the feeling quickly passes.

“This is a hard town to find,” Ashleigh says, the sight of Petey on his porch getting smaller and smaller as she pushes my stroller further down the street. “And for some, it’s even harder to leave. You’ll be a careful baby, won’t you?”

“Mmhmm.”

“Good boy. So, I’m thinking we’ll go to the park. Doesn’t that sound nice?”

“Mmhmm!”

“I thought so. What little boy doesn’t love the park? You’ll love this one. It’s full of soft grass and there’s so many butterflies to chase around. I could even lay out a blanket, if you’d like, and you can take a little nap.”

Thus far, my stroller ride hadn’t been all that stressful. It’s only when we begin to roll into the town itself that I realize why–there hadn’t been anyone around to see me. Now, I see people walking around. Cars gently cruise past. My heart begins to race as I catch the curious and amused glances of people walking past us on the sidewalk.

But they don’t seem all that surprised by what they see.

“Hey! Ashleigh!” a young woman cries, running to catch up with us. “How are you?”

“Good afternoon, Maggie,” Ashleigh says, leaving the handles of my stroller to embrace the red-haired woman.

“And who is this little cutie? Someone new?”

“That’s right. This is Baby Louis.”

“Well hello there, Louis,” Maggie says, squatting down so that she can see me eye-to-eye. “Oh, gosh, he’s adorable!”

“Isn’t he? I like him.”

“Keeping his diaper dry?”

“So far, I think,” Ashleigh says, shrugging.

“Sooner or later, they all need a good cleaning.”

“I’ve come prepared,” Ashleigh responds. “I’m not worried about it.”

“Don’t worry, little one,” Maggie says to me. “Ashleigh knows her way around a dirty diaper better than almost anyone else in town. You’re in good hands.”

The temptation is strong to spit out my paci and state that I have no intention to actually use my diaper, but I just suckle on it a little instead. I can make my case just as easily by simply not using my diaper.

I feel another ominous rumble in my belly, though. Surely, Ashleigh doesn’t expect me to… I dismiss the thought as quickly as it comes to me.

“I promised Louis a trip to the park,” Ashleigh says. “Would you like to join us?”

“Ooh, the park!” purrs Maggie. “The weather is perfect for that. I was actually headed in that direction myself to read a little. I think I’m going to get a cup of coffee first, but how about I meet you over there?”

“What an excellent idea,” Ashleigh says. “We’ll see you soon!”

We’re rolling again, and my heart continues to beat like a jackhammer as I try to make sense of the bits and pieces I’ve learned about the strange world I’ve found myself in. Am I in some sort of elaborate amusement park, where it’s made to look like a functioning town, while visitors are pushed around in strollers and treated like babies? Or is it an actual town that just so happens to have a lot of big babies in it?

Ashleigh seems to have no interest in explaining these things to me, though, and just continues to push me down the sidewalk while humming a little song to herself. More people stroll past us, smiling as they look down into the stroller.

Ahead, I see a young woman shambling across the street slowly. It takes me a minute to notice the absurd bulk in her pants–not to mention the stray flaps of her disposable diaper that stick out from the waistband.

“Ah jeez,” Ashleigh says quietly enough that only I can hear her. “She really should have someone looking after her.”

She directs the stroller in the direction of the woman.

“Are you out here all by yourself, little girl?”

The woman’s cheeks turn rosy as she begins to stammer. “W-well…I’m just visiting.”

“Sure,” Ashleigh says. “So is everyone else. And I bet that diaper isn’t even dry, is it?”

“Uhm…”

“Turn around,” Ashleigh says. “Let me check.”

To my surprise, the woman–this seemingly random person on the street–spins around so that Ashleigh can pull back the woman’s pants and peer inside. She even slides a hand into the back of the woman’s pants, feeling the diaper within,

“Just as I suspected,” Ashleigh says, shaking her head. “Absolutely soaked. You’re going to have to get that taken care of. 154 Maple Street. It’s two blocks down that way. Take a left on Maple and it’ll be the purple house on the immediate right. Knock on the door and tell them Ashleigh sent you.”

“Y-yes, miss. Okay.”

“Don’t dawdle,” Ashleigh says. “If I catch you waddling around the streets in this wet diaper again, I’m going to pull your pants down right there on the spot and paddle your bottom. Do you want that?”

“N-No, miss.”

There’s a little twinkle in her eyes that suggests that she might actually enjoy that consequence, though she could never say it aloud.

“Good. Go on then. Get your bottom cleaned up before you get a rash.”

The woman trots down the street, a little more pep in her waddle.

“Sorry about that, baby,” Ashleigh coos to me as she begins to push the stroller again. “I can’t just walk past another baby in need without doing something.”

“Mm,” I moan in response, but that’s all I have to say on the matter. The interaction I’ve just witnessed has only given me more questions than answers, but it's starting to feel less and less important to me to have them answered. I’m embracing the mystery of this place.

There’s another little gurgle in my belly, and I wonder if this is the strange milk’s doing. For the first time, I realize there’s a new and urgent pressure in my bowels. I can guess what it is that I’m supposed to do. But that’s not the only option. I could just get up from the stroller and walk into one of the nearby shops and use their restroom.

I blush a little, just thinking about the sight of this grown man, in his infantile onesie and diaper, waddling through some store just so he can do his dirty business in the bathroom.

But why shouldn’t I use the diaper? That’s what it's for, isn’t it? And Ashleigh will, no doubt, take care of me if I do. I put a pin in that thought. For now, the feeling isn’t urgent enough that I feel like I need to commit to any sort of decision.

The park is in view, a beautiful span of green grass, punctuated with a few beautiful trees. There’s park benches and a playground. There’s a few people there already, reading books or tossing a frisbee back and forth.

No children, though. It feels like a random thought at first, but when I reflect on it, I realize that I haven’t seen an actual child since James and I had arrived. Just adults, or adults dressed like babies. On a warm and sunny day like this, and with a playground in a park as gorgeous as this, I’m certain that if there were any children in this town, they’d be out today. I find this revelation to be pretty comforting. Between this and the fact that everyone in this town seems to be familiar enough with the diaper-wearing visitor waddling about, I’m feeling a little more relaxed. Liberated.

A little more willing to embrace who I’m becoming today.

Ashleigh parks the stroller next to a vacant park bench and helps me out from it. I immediately drop back down to my hands and knees. I can’t even recall the last time I just crawled around in grass before. Feeling each strand, and the dirt beneath, against my skin feels like a secret pleasure hidden from adults. Why don’t I do this more often? I happily trounce about in the grass as she unfurls a blanket nearby.

“Don’t stray too far now,” she says.

I’m absolutely delighted. I just want to roll around in the grass and kick my feet into the air. What the hell? I roll over onto my back and kick my feet into the air. It feels incredible.

I feel another pang of discomfort in my bowels. I still don’t believe I’m in any sort of rush to go to the bathroom. Yet, it also seems silly to have to think about it that much more. I could just…go. Be done with it.

I start small. Actually, I’ve started before I’ve even fully committed to starting. I’m suddenly wetting the diaper. As fast as I can pee, the thick padding absorbs it. I feel the diaper swelling around me, growing heavier and denser. It’s weird and just feels completely alien to me–an adult who considers himself to be potty trained. But it never feels wrong. Or gross.

It’s quite euphoric, actually.

And so there’s only one thing left to do, really.

“Hey,” I hear Ashleigh saying somewhere in the background. Far enough away that she might as well be on a different planet. “What are you doing over there, baby?”

I smile behind my pacifier as I look across the grass at her. I’m still on my back, with my legs in the air. I’m not sure that I can recall a better moment.

Brrrrrraaaappp. It just…happens. My muscles relax and I mindlessly push a sizable mass into the diaper. Never in my life had I ever thought such a thing possible, but the singular moment that I’m messing myself is one of the purest moments of bliss I’ve ever experienced. I don’t know if it recalls memories of my actual infancy, or if it's just a complete rejection of the concept of adulthood, but I’m just so completely satisfied.

“Well now,” Ashleigh says, briskly walking towards me. “I could hear that all the way over there by the blanket.”

I feel my cheeks warming, and I’m sure that my face is a vibrant shade of pink.

“Does that feel good?” she asks. “Are you proud of yourself?”

I can only offer an indecipherable “Mm…”

“I suppose we should do something about that,” she says. “If only so that the whole town doesn’t have to smell your stinky bottom.”

“Is that what the smell is?” says another voice. It’s Maggie again, walking towards us with a cup of coffee in her hand.

“I let this little stinker out of his stroller for two minutes, and he rolls around until he poops himself.”

“No wonder he’s in diapers,” Maggie says, waving a hand in front of her nose. “Pew. That’s a nasty one. Have fun with that.”

“You don’t want to help?” asks Ashleigh.

“Oh, I’ll watch you change him. But I’m not putting my hands anywhere near that diaper.”

“Well,” Ashleigh says, taking a slow and methodical scan of the park. “Before I change him, there’s probably one more thing we should take care of.”

“Do you mean his, uh…little bump there?”

“Ah, you noticed it too?”

Somehow, both women seemed to have noticed my stiff manhood–if it could even still be called that–before I did. It was a firm lump in the front of my saturated and bloated diaper.

“Here?” asked Maggie.

“You keep watch,” Ashleigh says. “I doubt it’ll take long.”

Maggie is more than happy to comply with this request as Ashleigh kneels down at my side and unfastens the snaps at the bottom of my onesie. With a dramatic flomp, my diaper expands between my legs.

“Feels good, doesn’t it?” she asks, her tone turning sweet again.

“Mmhmm.”

“Good boy.”

She puts her hand on the front of the diaper, rubbing my hard cock through the padding. I cycle through looking at Ashleigh’s smiling face, Maggie’s amused face, and just closing my eyes. Finally–and quickly, as Ashleigh had predicted–I moan loudly as I feel myself spurting into my diaper.

“Every kind of mess one can make in their diaper,” Ashleigh says, laughing while shaking her head.

“We call that the ‘hat trick,’” Maggie says. “Congrats.”

“But I don’t think we’re going to get that onesie to close over that diaper again,” Ashleigh says. “But that’s why I brought the diaper bag. Maggie? Could you grab that for me?”

“You’re going to change him right here, eh?”

“Better that than him making a mess out of the stroller if he starts to leak later.”

Maggie shrugs. “Makes sense to me.”

The situation is so surreal that I can barely even wrap my head around it. Maggie hovers over us and watches as Ashleigh peels back the tapes of my diaper and opens it. They both laugh and grimace at the disastrous mess that resides within, though Ashleigh remains undaunted by her task.

I’m reminded of Maggie’s words earlier–Ashleigh does, in fact, know her way around a dirty diaper. She’s a machine, methodically sliding baby wipes through and around my body. I can’t begin to imagine how many she goes through before I’m clean.

I’m actually happy to see a fresh diaper in her hands–I was a little nervous that this would be the end of my time as a baby.

It’s time for round 2.

***

I step out of the house after hugging Ashleigh goodbye, closing the door behind me. James is waiting for me on the steps, a wide smirk on his face.

“Well?” he asks.

I laugh, shaking my head. “I don’t even know what to say, man.”

“You don’t have to say much,” he says. “I probably feel the same way.”

We walk back the way we came, heading through town once more. Things seem…normal. Petey isn’t sitting out on the porch, drinking a bottle. No diapers hang from clotheslines. The few people we pass all seem pretty normal. No waddling. No diapers sticking out from the waistband of their pants.

If it wasn’t for the fact that I was walking towards the train station with a thick diaper under my pants, I’d have to wonder if I dreamed the entire day.

James and I travel together for another week. Nothing is quite like the experience we had in that strange town, though we have some good times together. We finally part ways in Tempe, with me planning on trekking up the west coast, while he plans to head into Mexico.

Nothing in my travels ever compares to my day in diapers. There are occasions when I feel tempted to buy some for myself, but I can never pull the trigger. It wasn’t just the diapers–it was Ashleigh. The town. That…milk.

I think about that milk a lot.

***

“This is our stop,” I say. “Ready?”

“And…where did you say we were?” asks Brent.

“I didn’t say,” I reply, smiling. “But don’t worry about that. Follow me.”

I met Brent somewhere around Toledo. Just two men with wanderlust, killing another summer traveling around the country. When I asked him if he wanted to follow me down to my next destination, he said he was all for it.

It’s a small town, not unlike most other isolated small towns we’ve seen in my our journeys. In many ways, it feels preserved in time.

“Kind of charming,” he says, as we watch two women chatting on a street corner next to a stroller.

“It’s a nice place to visit, that’s for sure.”

“You said you’ve been here before?”

I nod. “It’s been a few years. Though it doesn’t look like much has changed.”

“What’s there to do here?”

“Follow me,” I say. “I’ll show you.”