Stupid Baby Story Club, Part 5 [Tier 2 and 3] (Patreon)

Five: Reborn

I have this habit of imagining my life as a serialized TV series. I’ve done it for most of my life–I blame my mother’s obsession with shows like Gilmore Girls and One Tree Hill when I was younger. We’d watch those shows together, and then I’d later dream about being Rory Gilmore. In those dreams, I'd have academic rivals. I’d be over my head with extracurricular activities. I’d be involved in love triangles.

My life wasn’t that interesting, not even close.

Still, whenever the slightest bit of drama entered my life, I found myself watching my life on a figurative television screen. I’d see myself asking my mother if I could go to the movies with Adam Biers. My mother refused this request for reasons she either didn’t explain to me or that I just deemed as unfair. The music swelled as I slapped the countertop. “You just don’t get me, Mother! You never have and you never will!” I stomped away, the strings reaching a crescendo. The camera zoomed in on my mother's concerned face as you could hear the sound of a door slamming in the background.

End scene.

I have not grown out of this habit. We’re on the 18th–soon to be 19th–season of Sasha’s Life now, and–dare I say–the show feels like it’s finally going somewhere. Most of the old cast–my Mother, Carol, Mr. Donaldson, Lulee the dog–have been written off, save for a cameo appearance here and there. Replacing them is an entirely new cast of characters. The quirky Flo. The mischievous Neil. The motherly Mimi. Each of them deserved a spin-off of their own.

There’s turmoil in the writer’s room. There’s concern that some of the latest scenes don’t feel right for the show. Have Sasha’s damp panties been mentioned a few too many times? And the show has managed to avoid using the word ‘cock’ for 18 years now–why have so many c-bombs been dropped so far this season?

As head-writer, it’s my job to try and justify all the creative changes.

“We’re evolving,” I say. “Sasha had to grow up sometime.”

“I don’t like the direction that she’s growing,” says another writer. We’ll call her Karen. “It feels like she’s growing…down.”

“Why ‘down?’ Is it because of the diapers?”

“Yes,” Karen says, nodding. “That’s exactly what I’m talking about. I mean…look at this scene here–this one about you getting your diaper changed by the character Mama? Do you really expect the audience to buy it?”

“Is it really that outlandish? I think you all have forgotten that this series is very-much based on real events.”

Sometimes I think that I could really use a therapist. There’s only so much I can do with a fictionalized writer’s room for a fictionalized TV show about my life.

The problem is that my life has become so surreal lately that imagining it as a TV show is one of the only ways I have to process it sometimes. A few short weeks ago, I was just a shy freshman stumbling around campus. Now there were…diapers. And stories about diapers. And walking around in soaking wet diapers. And getting my diapers changed by people I barely knew.

So, yeah. That happened.

Credit where credit was due–Mama was kind, gentle, and supportive for the entire experience. She tried her hardest to make me feel relaxed as she took care of me. Hell, even Flo was relatively well-behaved. Sure, she giggled an awful lot. But she never tried to interfere, and if she had any humiliating comments to make, she kept them to herself.

If there was a troublemaker for that scene, it was me.

Maybe it’s because I’ve spent most of my life already imagining I was in a TV show, or maybe it was because I had accidentally discovered an entirely new headspace in that moment–one that I couldn’t relate to while I wasn’t in it. But I have trouble remembering actually being in that moment. Instead, I feel like I’m somewhere else in the room–watching someone else get their skirt pulled up and their sopping wet diaper changed.

I was a squirmy mess. I couldn’t just be still. The slightest touch from Mama would send a bolt of electricity through my entire body and I’d moan and wiggle a little more. I seemed to have quickly forgotten where I was, or what was happening to me. Because, now, I think about Mama changing my diaper and my face turns a bright red and I feel like I’m going to have a panic attack. But the Sasha of that moment looked like she was in the throes of bliss unlike any she had experienced before.

Now, I felt like I owed Mama an apology. I made a fool of myself. She was just trying to help and I had melted into this puddle of horny goo.

“I don’t really like the phrasing of ‘puddle of horny goo.’ Maybe we can spitball a different way to say that?”

Shut up, Karen.

One of the takeaways from that night–besides the fact that diapers + touching = insatiable lust–was that I needed diapers of my own. It seems I had crossed a threshold, and now had a desire to wear them more often.

Of course, there were just too many to choose from. Too many styles. Brands. Colors. Prints. I was going to need some help.

“These are the ones that I like,” Flo said, tapping on the screen of my laptop as we sat together on my bed. “They’re extremely absorbent. You could dump a gallon of milk in one if you wanted.”

“I don’t think that’s true,” I said. “Also, be careful when you say things like that. I’m terrified that I’m going to start picking up more weird kinks, and I can barely handle the one that I have.”

Flo burst into laughter. “Are you really worried you’re going to have a milk fetish?”

“A few weeks ago, I didn’t think I was going to have a diaper fetish, so…”

“Fair enough.”

I liked Flo a lot. I’ve had good friends in my life, but there was something different about the friendship that was blossoming between us. When I thought of every other friendship I’ve had in my life, there were still parts of me that were gated off. Things I’d never dare say aloud or admit. And while I didn’t think I could say anything to Flo just yet, I had already said plenty that I couldn’t have imagined myself saying to anyone else.

Diapers. Diapers helped. Having such a weird secret made everything else a little easier to talk about. Who better to tell my insecurities to than the person who watched me get my pissy diaper changed like a toddler?

“So, like, do you wear diapers all the time now?” I asked.

She shrugged. “I wear them more often than I don’t. Sometimes I wonder if I should just go 24/7, you know? But I think I like the freedom of just wearing them whenever I want to. If I told myself I had to wear them, maybe it wouldn’t be as fun.”

I suspected she was right, though the idea of being made to wear diapers at all times seemed tasty enough that I just had to pocket that little fantasy for later.

“You’re wearing one today?” I asked. I was pretty sure I knew the answer to this already. Spending just a little bit of time around those who wore them had opened up my sixth sense for detecting crinkly bottoms.

She nodded. “Speaking of, it’s a little wet. I might need to leave soon and change before my next class. I don’t want to end up like you.”

“I, uhm, don’t know what you mean.”

“Are you sure? Because that looks like a tube of diaper rash ointment on your desk.”

Busted. My other big takeaway from the last Stupid Baby meeting was my mild diaper rash. I was quite sure that the experience of buying the ointment at the local drug store had embarrassed me more than having Mama wipe my vagina clean the night before.

“Just…ignore that.”

Of course, it was at this moment that the dorm’s door opened and Lara was home. From her angle, there was no way that she could see what was on my laptop, but I suddenly felt extremely paranoid about having pictures of big diapers with cartoon prints present on my screen. I fumbled for the button to minimize the screen as Flo chuckled a little to herself.

“Hey, uhm, Lara. I want to introduce you to my friend Flo.”

“Hey,” said Flo, waving.

“Hi!” Lara, always seeming a bit starved for human interaction, danced forward a step or two to shake Flo’s hand. I felt vindicated for having hidden my diaper-search.

“I was actually about to get some food,” Lara continued. “Would you girls like to come with?”

I didn’t want to have to say ‘no’ to her again. It felt like whenever she asked for a little bit of my time, I had other plans–and those plans usually had something to do with diapers.

“I think that sounds nice,” I said. I glanced towards Flo: “What do you think?”

“What time is it?” She took a quick peek at her phone’s screen. “Actually, I should probably be on my way. I have some errands to take care of before my next class.”

It gave me a little thrill to know what ‘errands’ meant. It felt like a secret code that Lara was completely oblivious to.

“It was really nice meeting you though, Lara,” Flo continued. “Maybe next time we can all hang out or something.”

“That’d be so great!” Lara practically cheered.

Knowing that Flo was wearing a wet diaper, I found myself studying her every movement as she slid off my bed. Was I seeing the outline of a thick diaper under her pants, or did I just want to see it? Did it look like it was sagging at all? Could I…smell anything different around her?

We said our goodbyes and Flo was on her way, leaving me to stand by my commitment to get a meal with Lara. Which I didn’t really mind–it was just a little harder to navigate while I was thinking about Flo’s diapers.

“Can I ask you something?” Lara asked as we walked across the campus together. I could read the tone well enough to know that it was probably an awkward question.

“Go for it.”

“Is Flo a, uhm, romantic interest?”

“What? Oh, uh…”

“I’m so sorry,” Lara said, shaking her head. “Maybe I shouldn’t have assumed.”

“No, you’re okay,” I said. “We’re just friends and…” Well, now I was curious. “What made you think it might be romantic?”

“I guess I just saw you sitting together and the way you were looking at each other…”

“Was I looking at her differently?” I thought aloud.

She shrugged. “Maybe I just saw what I wanted to see.”

I couldn’t help but laugh a little, thinking about how I had been staring at Flo–trying to see if I could tell if she was wearing a diaper or not. But had Flo been looking at me differently too? I hadn’t thought so, but maybe I was too close to have seen that for myself.

“I hope I didn’t offend you,” Lara said.

“Offend? No, no. How would that offend me?”

“Well, like, if you aren’t into, uhm, girls, but I assumed you were?”

“Oh.”

Lara had no idea what she had just done to me. She opened a door that had never been opened before. Hell, she opened a door that I didn’t even know was there.

Truth be told, I had never really given my sexuality all that much thought. It always seemed to be set to ‘heterosexual’ because that was the factory default and I just hadn’t ever gotten around to experimenting with what would happen if I played with the settings a little.

Was this the start of a future ‘I experimented a little in college’ story?

Or, maybe it was the start of the ‘...and that’s when I found out I was into the ladies’ story.

“Actually we’ve been hinting at this for a few seasons now. Remember the time you kept your Mom’s lingerie catalog under your pillow for a few nights?”

Karen, I swear to god…

I ended up laughing. And when I saw Lara’s confused face, I felt compelled to elaborate. “You may have just witnessed history.”

“How so?”

“That might have been the exact moment I realized that I do like women.”

“Wow,” she said. Without missing a beat: “Is it okay if I make a t-shirt to commemorate this?”

Things seemed to change a little after that. Or, perhaps, they had already been changing and that was just the start of when I took notice.

In those fleeting moments of alone time, when my hand was between my legs, the vague, faceless, faces of the men in my fantasies began to turn into women. Sometimes they were just as faceless, and other times they took on more familiar faces. Like Flo. And Mama. And it made the experience so much better.

I could never say it out loud–even to Flo. It sounded ridiculous even when I said it to myself: As it turns out, getting myself off feels better when I have a better idea of what I like.

I ended up ordering some diapers. It felt like an enormous risk to have them shipped to campus, but there weren’t many other alternatives. And it didn’t help that I was craving them. I wanted diapers of my own. Diapers that I could wear whenever I wanted to–however often. The risks, compared to how badly I wanted them, felt worth taking. The order was placed.

They would arrive in the afternoon just before the next meeting of the Stupid Babies. I got a call from the campus mail room that a package had arrived for me. Did I want to pick it up at the campus post office, or did I want to have it delivered to my dorm room?

Neither sounded that great. I didn’t want the box of diapers to sit in the hallway where any nosey-neighbors could put their hands on it. But I didn’t want to have to carry my box of diapers across campus either. I decided to take another risk and checked-in with Lara to see if she was around. And, wouldn’t you know, she was. She was more than happy to retrieve the box once it was dropped off at the door.

That solved one problem, but it created another: Eventually, Lara was going to ask me what was in the box. I knew I would’ve done the same if I had retrieved a box for her too. But was I going to say? Lie? Because if I said it was something like…clothes, she’d want to see the clothes.

I ran through different versions of the conversation in my head as I walked to Garcia Hall for the Story Club meeting.

“It’s…medication. A lot of medication.”

“It’s research material for a project I’m working on. Very boring stuff–you wouldn’t want to see it. And, no, I can’t really answer any questions about what the project is about.”

“It’s prunes. I just love prunes, so I ordered a whole box of them.”

No version of that conversation felt right. And as I snuck into Garcia Hall through the unlocked side-door, I realized that it would just have to be a future-me problem.

“There she is,” said Drake with a warm smile as I entered the classroom we were meeting in.

It seemed everyone was here already, save for Chuck.

“Am I late?”

“I think we’re just early,” Mama said with a shrug.

I wished I was wearing a diaper. There was something about that feeling of sitting in squishy padding–hearing about someone else’s naughty adventures–that had felt so right. There wasn’t much I could do about it now.

“Though Chuck is usually pretty early too,” Drake said. “And he hasn’t been answering my texts. I’m assuming he’s coming? But I really don’t know.”

“He seemed pretty pissed when he left last week,” Neil said. “Flo had to go and insult his fragile masculinity.”

“I was just making a joke,” Flo shrugged. “Or an observation. I don’t remember which.”

I tried to remember the comment in question–something about Chuck having an erection after Neil’s gay romance story. It also occurred to me that I still had Chuck’s phone number that he had given me after a meeting a week or three ago. I still hadn’t texted him. And he hadn’t texted me.

Recalling the excitement I had about getting a boy’s phone number did seem like evidence that I wasn’t yet a fully-hatched lesbian. I still felt a pang of excitement over Chuck’s interest in me.

Ten minutes later, there was still no sign of him. He wasn’t responding to texts from Drake or Mama either.

“Maybe we should just get started without him,” Mama finally said. “He knows where we are and how to reach us.”

“Are you sure?” asked Drake.

She nodded. “It wouldn’t be the first time he couldn’t make a meeting. He’s probably at the gym and lost track of time or something like that. Let’s go ahead and get started.”

“Alright, then,” Drake said, clapping his hands together. “Hello everyone, and welcome to another gathering of the Stupid Baby Story Club. For this series of stories, our theme is ‘It’s Personal,’ and we’re sharing personal stories about our kinky lives that we’ve never shared with anyone else before. Tonight we have a story brought to us by the always-lovely Mimi.”

“You’re biased,” Flo teased.

“Does anyone here think Mimi isn’t lovely?” Drake asked.

The room, rightfully, remained quiet.

“Mama? The room is yours.”

“Thank you, thank you,” she said, her cheeks glowing pink. She took a deep breath. “Well, here goes nothing…”

___

Reborn

You haven’t met Miriam Orton. And you probably won’t, either. I don’t want to say that she’s dead, but she’s far enough out of the picture that she might as well be.

I’ve known of her for a long time, though I’m hesitant to say that I actually knew her. Like everyone else our age, she was trying to find herself out there in the world–and so she may not have known herself that well either.

Also, I doubt that you would like her.

For a long time, Miriam was who she was because society already had a place waiting for her. She was born into a well-liked and affluent family. That family had friends, and those friends had kids. RIght out of the womb, Miriam was part of a social network–one that would grow up with her. On the very first day of kindergarten, there was already a clique of ‘popular’ girls, of which Miriam was a member. And she’d be a part of this until the day she graduated college.

‘Popularity’ was what Miriam’s entire personality was based on. She only wore trendy clothes. She only listened to popular music. She only made new friends when she could see the potential value that they brought to her personal brand.

Friends would come and go. Elizabeth was her best friend for a few years, but then Elizabeth decided that she wanted to devote more time to the flute. And then she started spending more time with the kids from the school band. Elizabeth was then replaced by Courtney. And Courtney would be Miriam’s best friend until she got her period during gym class and stained her shorts. Then, of course, Miriam had to slowly back herself out of that friendship, lest she tarnish her own reputation too much. Courtney was replaced by Dina. Who would be replaced by Lily. Who would be replaced by Catherine. Who would be replaced by Summer. Who would be replaced by, again, Dina. And so on and so forth.

And for a long time, that was life: staying on top of trends, maintaining a respected social circle, and sitting back while the rest of the world accommodated her every need.

When it came time to go to college, she watched as her peers struggled with the nightmare that was the admissions process. All those concerns about good programs, the required GPA, and the money it would cost–and she didn’t share them. The process couldn’t have been easier for her. She pointed out the college she wanted to go to–a renowned East Coast university–and Daddy made a few calls and wrote a few checks.

It couldn’t have been easier.

There was a moment where she feared that college wouldn’t be what she wanted it to be. In a place that had cultivated and curated all the rich and powerful children from around the world, would she have a place there? Or would she just be nobody?

Those concerns would prove to be unnecessary. A pretty young woman, well-versed in social politics–she quickly found a place in the new hierarchy. And soon, it was like nothing had ever changed.

We’ll come back to Miriam in a moment, but first there’s someone else we need to talk about.

[“Wait,” said Flo. “Is Miriam actually…”

Drake shushed her, finger held against his lips. “Let her tell the story.”]

Isaiah Curtis was experiencing a vastly different life on the same campus as Miriam. He wasn’t accepted to this university because he had money or because his parents had any sort of name recognition. He was awarded scholarships and grants because he was a good student.

Isaiah didn’t come to this university to socialize. In fact, if asked, he likely would’ve predicted that he’d make it through his undergraduate studies without going to a single party, or without drinking a single beer.

Day to day, he kept his head down and focused on his studies. Admittedly, there had been times when he was a little lonely–but that wasn’t all that different from the rest of his life. These were the years that mattered, he’d say to himself. Later, when was comfortable in his life and career, he could start thinking about friends and romance.

Isaiah, like the rest of his Economics class, was assigned a random partner for an upcoming project. And if film and television has taught you anything about happenstance, you can guess who it was.

[“Miriam?” asked Neil.

“Bingo,” replied Mama, nodding her head.]

It wasn’t that they didn’t get along–it was that they came from entirely different planets and had no idea how to communicate with each other. Isaiah wanted to devise schedules, timelines, and detailed plans of action. Miriam wanted him to do all the work and to let her know when it was done.

Isaiah would approach the professor, at one point, and try to explain that he needed a new partner. He had worked too hard in this class to have his grade hurt by a partner who was unwilling to do their share of the work. The professor would say that she had deliberately made ‘difficult’ pairings of students. The project was not just the gathering and analysis of data–it was also about…

“...navigating obstacles that are far outside of our comfort zones,” Isaiah said to Miriam, repeating back what he was told by the professor. “And so, look, I get it. You’ve never had to do any work before, and you’re clearly not interested in starting now. But I’m not going to fail this project because of you. I need you to get off your ass, put down your disposable red cup of beer for a few minutes, and pick up a goddamned book.”

Nobody had ever talked to her like that before. The audacity of this little poindexter, with his little plastic glasses and ill-advised goatee. She was livid.

But also? Her panties had grown moist.

For all of their differences, Isaiah and Miriam actually had a lot in common. They were each so focused on the things that they thought mattered the most, they missed out on all the experiences that billions of other teenagers had experienced before them. Hanging out. Breaking rules. Doing absolutely nothing. And? Love. They hadn’t experienced that before.

Books were quickly shoved back into their bags and they ran back to Isaiah’s place where they spent most of the evening making up for lost time. They kissed more than they breathed. They explored each other’s bodies with their hands and then their tongues. By the end, each had bite marks from the other on their skin. Isaiah had learned that Miriam’s pussy was among the greatest things he had ever tasted. And Miriam learned that she was going to need a lot more practice if she was going to start sucking cocks.

You couldn’t fault Miriam for occasionally wondering if Isaiah had just been in the right place at the right time. Maybe all she needed was to be someplace alone with a boy, and that would’ve been enough to cause her sexual awakening.

No, he wasn’t the most attractive man she had ever met. In fact, she’d have been embarrassed to have brought him around her friends from high school. And it wasn’t like they had anything in common. Anytime the conversation strayed from school work–or kissing–they were both sighing and rolling their eyes.

But, there was something special about Isaiah. When he was stern with her? When he told her what he needed or wanted? That’s what she liked. She wanted a man to control her. She wanted to be wrapped around his finger.

This wasn’t immediately obvious to Isaiah, but he caught on quickly enough. Even a simple request from him–like asking her if she could fetch a book for him–would sometimes yield a little moan from her lips. And, having never experienced this sort of power before, he was curious to see just how far he could push it.

“I want to run this model again,” he had said to her as they worked on the project in his dorm room on another afternoon. “This time we halve the imports because then we can…Miriam? Are you even paying attention to me?”

She wasn’t. Truth be told, she still wasn’t even entirely sure what the end goal of this project was.

“Right, right,” she muttered. “I get it. Halve the imports and double the, uh, models.”

“Why can’t you be as smart as you are pretty?”

She was too turned on to be offended by this. “Y-you think I’m pretty?”

“How did you even get into this college? It certainly wasn’t your grades.” He braced himself, hoping he was tapping into the right vibe.

The tiniest of pleasureful squeaks burst from her lips. She blushed, ashamed that it was so obvious that she liked being talked to this way.

“You realize I’m going to have to do this entire project by myself, right?” he asked. “I can’t actually depend on you to do any of this.”

“W-why?” She knew the answer. She just wanted to hear Isaiah say it.

“You’re just a stupid…”

“Oh…”

“...little…”

“Oof…”

“...girl.”

“Mmmph.”

“And the worst part is that you like that, don’t you?”

Guilty as charged. “Y-yes.”

“If you can’t contribute anything to do the actual project, then what are you going to do with yourself?”

Miriam shrugged, finding that her mind had gone completely blank. It was as if he had just shut it off for her by calling her out for what she was–a stupid little girl. “I…I dunno. What can I do?”

“Maybe you should just take your pants off. I don’t see the point of you sitting here, dressed like you’re an adult. My little brothers and sisters would just run around in their diapers and underwear. Maybe you should do the same–at least then you serve a little bit of purpose in giving me something to look at.”

She agreed to this demotion, standing up and immediately lowering her tight white pants down to her ankles before stepping out of them, leaving her faded violet panties in place.

“What is this?” he asked, pointing to the crotch of her panties.

“Uhm…”

“They’re wet,” he said, his finger gently rubbing the cloth–pulling yet more soft moans from her. “Why are your panties wet?”

“I just…”

“You’re not just a dumb little girl, but you’re a dirty one too. Can’t even stop yourself from making your panties wet, can you?”

“No,” she said. “It’s hard.”

“That’s not the only thing that’s hard. Come here. I’ve got something else you can do with your little mouth while I work on our project.”

And that’s how she’d spend the rest of the day, nestled between his legs under the table, casually slobbering all over his cock as she practiced pleasuring him. And when they were done that day, she asked if she could come back the next day to help again.

“I’m not working on our project tomorrow. I’ve got some other work to do and…”

“Please?” she asked. “I just want to help you.”

He couldn’t say no to help like that.

A routine quickly formed. She’d arrive at his dorm room in the afternoon. He’d immediately have her remove her pants. He’d then talk down to her a little bit, and then she’d assume her position under the table, suckling his manhood while he attempted to work on whatever assignment needed his attention.

She had no idea if he could focus on his studies while she did this–or if he even wanted to. But she loved this new role, and nothing else mattered.

One day, as he worked on their project for Economics, her lips slid off the edge of his slippery shaft–strings of saliva rolling down her chin–and she asked a question: “May I go use the bathroom?”

He loved that she had asked.

“Call it the ‘potty,’” he insisted.

She asked her question again: “May I go use the potty?” It made her cheeks blush intensely to have to use such a childish word.

He mulled over the question for a minute, even though they both knew he already had an answer. “No.”

“N-no? But…”

“It’s bad enough that you don’t contribute anything to our actual project,” he said. “But now you want to waste time during the one contribution you can make?”

“I just…I have to pee.”

“Well, you’re going to have to hold it,” he said. “This is my time.”

You, being who you are, can likely guess where this story goes next.

[“Right,” Drake said. “But we want to hear it.”

“I have so many questions,” Flo said, shaking her head. “Because this doesn’t sound anything like you.”

“She never said it’s about her, though,” I said.

“Right,” Neil said. “But the theme is ‘It’s Personal.’ And I think it’s safe to assume that she’s not Isaiah.”

“Can I continue?” Mama asked, chuckling at the banter.

“Yes, yes,” Drake said. “Please.”]

As the minutes ticked by, and as Miriam remained between Isaiah's legs, the pressure in her bladder continued to grow. Truthfully, she had to pee long before she had even gotten to Isaiah’s dorm. And now–as she mindlessly suckled away on his shaft–the only thing she had to think about was pissing. She was thinking about how good it would feel when she finally got to go. How relieving it would feel to expel everything from her. How delicious it was to have to keep holding it at Isaiah’s demand. How good it would be if…

For a moment, she just thought her fantasies were getting a little out of control. She almost laughed to herself at the notion of wanting to pee so badly that she was imagining herself just squatting there, under the table, pissing in her panties.

No. No wait. She was actually pissing her panties.

“Uhm…Isaiah?”

“What? What now?”

“I think I just…uhm, peed?”

“What? What do you mean?”

He stood up from his chair, taking a step back so that he could look at Miriam under the table. And there she was–in just a t-shirt and panties, with a puddle of yellow liquid pooling between my feet on the tile floor.

“Did you…” He shook his head in disbelief. “You pissed yourself? On my floor?”

“I…I tried to tell you.”

“You have to clean it.”

“I’m so sorry, I can get some paper towels or…”

“No,” he said, his voice sounding more stern than it ever had before. “Just lick it up.”

She thought she heard him correctly, but the words didn’t really make any sense to her. “Did you tell me to…lick up my pee?”

“Are you deaf now too, in addition to just being stupid?”

Nobody had ever talked to Miriam like this before. Not her parents. Not teachers. Not relatives, friends, or community members. And this man–with his goatee and generic sweatpants–was going to be the one to tell her to lick up a puddle of piss? Were they back home, she’d have him mopping her floor. She’d have him licking up her piss from the floor.

But she was not home, and she was glad for it. Because she needed to be talked down to more than she had ever needed anything in her entire life. Any power she had, she had ceded it to him when she walked into his dorm and took off her pants. He had taken it, and it was his to do with as he pleased. And…this was what he wanted.

So she complied. Palms and knees planted on the ground, her face slowly stretched towards the ground where her tongue reached towards the puddle, taking small and gentle laps of the liquid. It was still warm. She found the taste to be similar to how it smelled when her face was close to it–though she didn’t feel that was necessarily a bad thing.

She…liked it? Not just the taste–but the entire act of being forced to lick up the puddle she had made.

“I don’t have all night,” he said. “Faster.” He clapped his hands together. “Lick it all up you stupid little baby.”

Baby. Oh that word had rocked her to her core. She hadn’t expected it–she hadn’t really expected any of this–but she especially hadn’t counted on that word resonating with her like it did.

The word kept repeating in her mind as she began to lap up every last drop of her piss. She was wondering where this would go from here. She wondered–hoped–that when she was finished, he’d take her over his knees and spank her like a child. Or, if he was going to call her a baby, maybe he’d tell her that she needed to start dressing like one. She wasn’t entirely sure what that would entail, but surely he’d tell her.

She’d do it. Whatever it was he told her to do or wear, she’d do it.

When she finished cleaning his floor, she remained on her knees–looking up at him as her face still dripped–hoping he’d give her more direction.

Instead, with a sigh, he said: “You’re pathetic.” And with that, he sat down at the table and went back to work.

Disappointed, but not dissuaded, she wondered if she’d just have to take the initiative. She’d show him what a pathetic little baby she could be.

Diapers, that’s what she decided she needed. Nothing said ‘baby’ like wearing diapers. She could not wait to see the look on Isaiah’s face when she showed up to his place with a diaper under her pants.

Later that week, prior to her next visit to his dorm room, Miriam went to the grocery store. She stood in the baby aisle, staring at the packs of baby diapers. She wondered if she could possibly squeeze herself into one. And even if she could–should she? She was beginning to worry that he wouldn’t react well to this reveal. But…hadn’t he called her a baby? That was his word.

She would wear a diaper, she decided. And he would like it–she felt confident about that.

She settled on a package of training pants intended for older children who still wet the bed. Given the dimensions and weight suggestions on the package, she was relatively sure she could fit into one. It wasn’t the most infantile of the diaper choices–but she doubted it mattered. This was, for all intents and purposes, a diaper. And babies wore diapers.

In his dorm room, when she pulled her pants off to reveal the pair of childish training pants–with the cute princess designs–he laughed. He shook his head in disbelief.

“You actually did it. You actually went and got diapers?”

She nodded.

“Why?”

She was tempted to just shrug. But she felt compelled to give him an answer. Really, she felt compelled to give herself an answer.

“You…called me a baby,” she said. “And I wanted to be a baby. For you.”

He shook his head again. “What are you talking about, Miriam?”

Her face had gone pale and she found it hard to speak. She wondered if she had gone insane. What was she doing? She was trying to please a man by wearing a diaper? She actually thought this was a good idea?

She opened her mouth to try to answer his question, but not even she was prepared for the near-endless babble that erupted from her vulnerable lips.

“I haven’t lived until now,” she said. “I thought I was living. But I was just…existing in a world that was already created for me. I’ve never had any actual friends. I’ve never worked for anything in my life. Nothing in my life is truly my own. So, yeah. I want to wear a diaper. And I want to piss myself. And I want you to talk to me like I’m a baby. I want you to feed me a bottle. I want you to take the baby food from the jars I brought with me, and I want you to shove it in my face. I want you to spank me until I cry. I want you to make me crawl around. Make me…I dunno…poop my pants. Make me call you Daddy. Change my diaper and take pictures of it. Show everyone that I’m your pathetic little baby. You could even…”

“Okay,” he said. The look of patient curiosity that was on his face a moment ago seemed gone now. “That’s enough.”

“What’s wrong?”

“M-maybe I pushed a little too hard,” he said, running a hand through his black hair while taking a deep breath.

“But I thought…”

“I liked some of this,” he said. “In concept. But you’ve taken this…”

“Too far?”

He nodded.

It crushed her in a way that nothing had ever really crushed her before. Was this heartbreak? Loss? Was this what it felt like to lose?

She decided that maybe it would be best if she put her pants back on, gathered her things, and went on her way.

He didn’t stop her.

She felt so stupid as she walked home that night. She had become someone she didn’t recognize anymore. And for what? Diapers?

Oh, but she still wanted diapers. She still wanted to be the baby she felt she was becoming–even if Isaiah was no longer willing to be a part of that world.

Soon after, she was back in her dorm room again with the door shut and bolt latched–there was even a chair in front of the door–just in case. Stripped down to just her children’s pull-up, she crawled around on her hands and knees. She remembered the taste of her own piss, and it made her more wet than she already was.

She wasn’t actually mad at Isaiah. Sure, he had created a monster and then forsaken it. But he wasn’t the one who pushed her to take it as far as she did. She held out a little hope that he’d call her and tell her that he made a mistake–though she doubted that would happen.

Of all the new emotions she felt while crawling about in her pull-up, the most surprising was that of freedom. She was doing something for herself, and not because everyone else was doing it. In fact, nobody else would want to do this–which made this experience completely her own. And what a concept that was.

She fell back onto her padded bottom, splayed her legs wide open, and flooded the pull-up. Maybe it was the position she was in, or maybe it was the fact that she was capable of producing far more urine than a child’s undergarment was made to absorb, but the thing didn’t stand a choice. After reducing the padding between her legs to a squishy blob, the pee began to leak out from the leg-holes, pooling around her on the ground. She didn’t even care–she thought she might like this outcome even more. Then, when she was done, her hand slipped into the diaper.

With her flesh at her fingertips, and the moist padding on the back of her hand, she found bliss unlike any she had ever known before.

Later, when she’d think about this moment, she’d usually remember it as being the catalyst for the transformation she needed. As if, by wearing a sopping wet diaper and playing with her glistening clit, she had sparked an entirely new path in her life.

That change wasn’t actually instantaneous–it came after weeks and months of deep thought and careful consideration. It came from looking at the things in her life and asking herself difficult questions about what actually brought her happiness and what didn’t. It came from conflicts with her family and with the people she considered to be her friends. And eventually, she’d reach that new path.

But at that moment? She was just a dirty little girl in a diaper–touching herself. And that was all that mattered.

___

“Well?” Mama asked, shrugging. “What’d you think?”

“That was it?” I asked.

“Yeah, I feel like we’re missing a lot of that story,” Neil added. “Like how the hell does the Miriam of that story become the Mama that’s here with us now?”

“Is your real name actually Miriam?” asked Flo.

“Gosh, so many curious babies,” Mama cooed.

Everyone continued to stare at her, hungry for any answer she might be willing to provide.

“Well,” she continued, chuckling to herself, “I guess I should remind you all that the theme was ‘It’s Personal,’ and it’d be against the rules to tell you a story that wasn’t. And this is but the first in a series of stories that takes me from point A to point B. If you want to hear more, let’s hope that future themes will give me the chance to tell them.”

“What other themes have y’all had?” I asked. I almost didn’t want to know the answer–afraid that the older themes would just make me jealous that I wasn’t around sooner.

“The first theme I ever participated in was ‘Diapers in Space,’” said Neil.

“Oh yeah,” chuckled Drake. “Remember Chuck’s story about the tentacles?”

“Wait,” I said, speaking over Neil’s laughter. “You guys do fictionalized stories too?”

“I’d say we do more of those than we do non-fiction,” Neil said. “At least, in my experience.”

“The real-life stories are better,” Flo said. “I’m not the best at making up shit.”

“I beg to differ on that,” Mama said. “Remember your story about the witch?”

“I still think about that one,” Neil said.

“Aw no fair,” I pouted. “I wanna know the witch story.”

“Maybe I still have that story written down somewhere,” Flo shrugged. “I’ll have to dig around for it.”

“Alright,” Drake said. “And then there was one. Next week, Sasha. Do you think you’ll be ready with a story?”

I had a story. I had to write it out yet, but I had one. I glanced across the room at Flo, who was blushing. She knew I had a story too.

“I’ll be good to go,” I said.

“Excellent,” he said. “I’m genuinely excited to hear what the newest member of our little group has to contribute.”

“But you have to wear a diaper when you tell the story,” Flo said. “Because you didn’t wear one tonight.”

“Well, I…wait. You could tell?”

“Considering that I’m your diaper supplier, and you didn’t get any from me today? Yeah, I could’ve guessed. But I also might have been staring at your ass earlier.”

I felt myself blushing as I tried to keep my composure. “Well, I’ll have you know, I ordered some diapers of my own. And they’ll be here soon.”

“Congratulations,” Mama cooed. “Your first pack, right?”

“Y-yes…”

“Have we ever had someone join the group that wasn’t into diapers before they met us?” asked Neal.

Drake shrugged. “Not to my knowledge. But maybe this is a new direction for us. Instead of other perverts trying to find us–we try and indoctrinate the normies.”

“One of us,” moaned Flo in a cartoon-zombie voice. “One of us!”

“Alright, let’s get out of here,” Drake said, laughing. “Mama, you ready?”

She nodded. “Though we should probably try and figure out what happened to Chuck. You know…just in case?”

“Yeah,” Drake said. “Fair enough. I know where he lives–just off campus. Maybe we can go knock on his door if he doesn’t get back to me in a few.”

“If that’s out of your way, I can go harass him,” Flo said, nonchalantly shrugging.

“Yeah?”

“He only lives, like, a block or two from me. I don’t think he likes the fact that I know where he lives, but whatever. I’ll let you know if he’s alive. Or dead.”

“Are you sure he’s not going to be annoyed if you show up at his door?” Drake asked, a rightfully skeptical look on his face.

Flo shrugged. “Worst case scenario? He slams the door in my face and I confirm with you that he’s, at least, alive and well.”

We all slowly dissipated from Garcia Hall, headed in different directions. I watched Neil go one way, and Drake and Mama go off in another. Flo had hung back with me, as I hoped she would.

“Hi,” I said, feeling myself get a little giddy at the idea of being alone with her.

“Hey.”

“Did you, uhm, want some company?”

“Uh, what?”

“You were going to walk over and check in on Chuck, right? I was just thinking I could tag along. We say ‘hi’ to Chuck for a minute and then we go and, uhm, spend some time together?”

“Actually, I’m not sure tonight is the best night,” she said, scratching her head.

“Oh…”

“No, I mean, like, I want to hang out with you. But I’m kind of tired and I’ve got a bunch of shit to do for school tomorrow, so I was thinking I’d just go check on Chuck for a minute and then head home and, you know, get to it.”

“Right,” I said, nodding. “Of course.”

“But, you know, let’s do something tomorrow night.”

“Yeah?” I hated that I sounded so desperate. But…I was. I wanted to spend all the time with Flo.

“Absolutely. I’ll even bring an extra diaper along.”

“Y-you should definitely do that,” I said, nodding like a pathetic puppy.

“It’s a date. I’ll text you tomorrow.”

“Sounds good. Have a good night, Flo.”

“You too, Sasha.”

And that was that. I turned around, walked back to my dorm room and got ready to settle down myself for the night.

“Wait, that’s not what it says here in the script,” says Karen. “It says here that…”

Yes, yes. That’s enough out of you, Karen.

No, I didn’t go home.

Now, I don’t want to say that I stalked Flo, because that implies that I was all stealth-y and ninja-y and knew how to hide in shadows and all that. I’m not that graceful. I’m not graceful at all. But what I did do was turn and walk in the same direction that Flo had walked, maintaining a pretty healthy distance–though not so much that I couldn’t see where she was going.

Why was I following her? I wasn’t entirely sure. I told myself that I was just taking the very long way home. I told myself that I was just curious to see where she lived.

Okay, maybe there was some little thread that was nagging at me. Some little…thing. Somewhere in the back of my mind, I just had this continued curiosity about Flo and Chuck. I just didn’t get the two of them. And I liked Flo. I really liked Flo. The combination of these two things lead to this insatiable need to follow her to see what I could see.

Maybe it was nothing at all.

Or, if it was something…well, she had every right to a something right?

Like I said, I thought of it as just taking a very long walk home. Nothing more. No nefarious spying taking place here.

Once or twice, I thought she spotted me. She turned a corner, or glanced at something to her side, and I felt like she had to have noticed me in her peripheral. I contemplated jumping into a bush, but I stood my ground, just walking normally behind her. Worst case scenario, I’d just feign ignorance and claim that I didn’t realize I was walking behind her.

She never stopped though. If she saw me–and I don’t think she did–she never stopped or approached me. I followed her off campus, to a nearby block of old row homes. Standard off-campus housing, as I understood it. One of these homes was the current residence of Chuck, and however many roommates he needed in order to afford rent.

I was on the opposite side of the street, hanging back about half a block as Flo bounced up some steps. 119 Green Lane.

She knocked.

So far, so good, I thought. She’s checking to see if Chuck is home, just like she said she would.

The door opened. And there was Chuck.

Okay, great. He’s still alive. Flo should be on her way then…

And Chuck was smiling. Chuck was wrapping his arms around Flo. And Flo was wrapping his arms around him.

Right, sure, sure. See, they’re friends. And sometimes friends do that. You only see a very small part of their interactions together when you’re at the club’s meetings.

And Chuck was leaning in towards her, before kissing the top of her head. And then I watched his hands grab her bottom and give it a playful squeeze.

Aw, goddammit.

Chuck went back inside, pulling Flo in behind him by the hand and the door closed.

“I know we have one more episode to go of the season, but that would make for a great season finale.”

Go fuck yourself, Karen.