We Keep Secrets [Tier 3] (Patreon)

I’m home again. A little earlier than expected, too.

I had the option of staying for another day and, believe me, it was a tempting thought. It was a nice hotel right in the middle of the city. I was surrounded by good food and entertainment, and the bill was being taken care of by my company. Hell, I probably could have–should have–stayed for at least one more day.

Instead, I came home early. Because I’m looking for a fight.

I get out of my Lyft driver’s car and thank him for the ride, dragging my suitcase up the sidewalk to the house. Lucas isn’t home when I walk through the door. This is to be expected. He’d be at work right now–or at least he should be. He doesn’t know that I’m back, and he probably won’t until he sees me later. Until then, he still thinks I’m a few states away.

He sent me a text this morning when he woke up. He said: “It’s a beautiful morning here. I wish you were here to see it with me.”

Nah, I’m just kidding. He absolutely did not say that. He hasn’t said anything like that to me in a very long time. What he actually said was: “What’s on the agenda for the conference today?”

On the surface, it doesn’t seem like anything worth overanalyzing. Anyone from outside of our relationship might look at that question and assume that he just, sincerely, is curious about what his wife might be up to for the day. For me, the question sets off alarms. I can’t help but think it’s a subtle way of making sure that I’m where I said I was going to be. If I tell him that I’ve got three back-to-back meetings lined up, he’d feel reassured that I was busy and distracted for at least another day. He’d have clearance to do whatever it is he’s going to do.

I hear your questions. You’re asking if I’m being paranoid, or if I’m being insecure. Sure, maybe I am those things. But those things don’t happen out of nowhere. Something has to serve as an inspiration. A catalyst.

Lucas has hurt me before.

My house feels alien to me as I walk through it for the first time in a week. Honestly, it’s in better shape than I expected. He’s never really been the cleaning-type. He’s not messy, per se. But he has a tendency to leave behind a trail of evidence of where he’s been. He won’t put the cap back on the toothpaste. He won’t close cabinet doors. He’ll bring a bowl to the sink, but he won’t wash it.

There’s signs of that typical-Lucas here. I see a spoon on the coffee table–still wet with milk. The coffee maker is still on, despite the fact that the pot is empty. A few days worth of mail is sitting in a pile on the counter, looking completely unsorted.

Nothing seems severely wrong or out of place. But I can’t help but think that this just means that there’s more I haven’t found yet.

I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop for as long as we’ve been married. And I’ve got it in my head that it dropped this past week, while I’ve been away.

I walk from room to room, treating each like a crime scene. I’m careful not to disturb too much as I make mental notes of what I see.

There’s pizza boxes from two different pizzerias sitting next to the trash can in the kitchen. The recycling bin has about a 12-pack’s worth of empties in it. The sink is full of dishes that he hasn’t washed yet–though I assume his intent is to wash them all before he thinks I’m coming home.

The bed is unmade, and there’s a small pile of his clothes on the floor–near the hamper, but not in it. The closet door is open. That doesn’t mean much of anything, I don’t think–but I take note of it anyway.

There’s a wet towel on the floor of the bathroom. The cap is not on the toothpaste. His glasses are sitting on the bathroom counter instead of inside the medicine cabinet.

Goddamn, am I really this much of a nag?

On the back porch, I see that he got out the ashtray. He’s been smoking on and off for years now. I thought he was off, but it looks like I might have been wrong about that. There are also two empty glasses on the table. At first, this feels like the ‘Gotcha!’ I’ve been looking for, but I can also believe that he just sat out here on two consecutive nights, drinking and smoking without having brought his glass inside after either night.

By the time I decide to wrap up my investigation, I can’t decide if I feel relieved or disappointed. If Lucas’s biggest sin while I was away was to buy a pack of smokes again, I could live with that. Then again, if that was his only sin, I could still be back in the city–eating amazing food on someone else’s dime.

I sit on the toilet with the bathroom door wide open while emptying myself of the last remnants of my culinary experiences while away. I decide that I’m choosing ‘relief’ over ‘disappointment.’ What kind of woman would want to find proof that her husband has been cheating on her?

I fire off a quick text to Lucas while I sit on the throne: “Just thinking about you. Hope your day is going well.” It feels like an act of contrition–like I’m only being nice because I feel guilty that I ended my business trip early just to spy on him.

There’s no immediate response, but I’m not expecting one either. He’s probably in a meeting of some sort, or swamped with paperwork. Also, I don’t really need him to respond–I already feel better for just having sent my message.

As I reach for some toilet paper, I see it. This little wisp of pink plastic sticking up from some other garbage in the trash can. I can’t tell you why I fixated on this little scrap of plastic, other than sheer curiosity.

I’m mildly amused as I get myself a handful of toilet paper. Do I really think I know the comings and goings of my home so well that I recognize when something in the fucking trash can looks out of place? I seem to think so. I tell myself that I’m just curious. I also tell myself that it’s nothing. It’s garbage.

But as soon as the toilet is flushed and my panties are hoisted back up–figuring I’ll need to wash my hands anyway–I’m digging through the trash can in an effort to uncover what this pink piece of plastic might be part of.

It seems to be attached to something bigger. Maybe a little heavier. I grab the pink scrap and just pull it up, feeling like I’m fishing without a clue as to what I’m pulling out of the water.

It’s…a diaper. A rather large pink diaper, bundled up in a tight roll. Between its weight and the smell, I feel I can safely assume that the thing is chock full of piss. This moment has the makings of a “What the fuck…?” moment, but I’m barely shaken by this revelation.

I guess the baby stuff is back?

Every year or two, Lucas’s kink for big diapers and infantile paraphernalia resurfaces. I used to just find pictures and stories in our laptop–back before we each got our own. Once in a while, I’d come across a stray pacifier in one of his dresser drawers, or a folded up disposable adult diaper hidden in the back of a shelf in the basement. Once, I found strange charges on our credit card, and traced them back to a phonesex line that specialized in ‘adult babies.’

He’s never been totally upfront with me about it, and most of what I know comes from situations like this–where I find something that I probably shouldn’t have. I’ve tried to talk to him about it before. I’m not going to pretend that I understand it, but that doesn’t mean that it disgusts me. Part of a committed relationship, I’ve told him, is learning and accepting what makes the other person tick.

“Is that something I can explore with you?” I’ve asked. “What do you need me to do? Feed you with a bottle? Spank you? Do you want me to put you in a diaper?”

But he just locks up and refuses to open up about it. Usually, he’ll swear that he’s done with it and tells me that I’ll never find that stuff again. I never really believe him. Part of me doesn’t care. If he wants to get off on dressing up like a toddler and pissing his pants, then I think he should be able to do that in the comfort of his own home. I can even accept that he wants to keep it to himself–maybe some of the thrill is lost if he has to be open about it to me.

What bothers me is that he lies. Don’t tell me that you’re ‘done’ with this diaper stuff if what you really mean is that you’re going to try and hide it better.

So I’m not annoyed about finding a diaper. I’m not grossed out by it. I’m just a little disappointed that he continues to pretend like this isn’t actually part of his life when it is.

The trash can, like the dishes in the sink and the spoon on the coffee table, were probably not meant to be seen by me. In his head, he has time to clean up after himself before I get home. Were I not here right now, I would’ve never seen this diaper.

I put the diaper back in the trash can and I wash my hands. I do feel some relief. It’s just diapers again.

So then why do I still feel disappointed? There’s something else to unpack, but I’m not ready to do that yet.

I’m tempted to start cleaning. I see that sink full of dishes and I feel it pulling at my soul–like I can’t do anything else before I tackle that. No. It’s not my mess. I need to let it go.

I’m also tempted to keep digging. Like, if I look hard enough, I’ll eventually find the smoking gun I’m looking for to prove that Lucas has been less than honest about who he’s been spending his time with.

I still think he’s cheating on me. Again.

If I’m being honest with myself, I’m not sure why I’m so sure about this. As best as I can tell, his time is mostly accounted for. It’s not like he’s ‘working late’ all of a sudden. I don’t see any strange charges on the credit cards. There’s no lipstick stains on his collared shirts in the laundry.

I think it has to do with how he acts around me. He seems distant–more so than usual. He also seems distracted as of late. Like there’s something going on in his brain that’s becoming all-consuming. Maybe I’d write it off as just depression or anxiety if it was the first time I had ever experienced this side of him. But I’ve seen this before–and the last time he was like this, he was cheating on me.

It was a few years ago, just months after we had gotten married. There was an ever-widening distance between us that I couldn’t figure out the cause of. Until one afternoon when I got a random text from him: “I had a good time with you today. Can’t wait to fuck you like that again.” He sure as hell hadn’t been fucking me that day.

It all kind of unraveled from there. He immediately acknowledged that he sent the text to the wrong person, which revealed that he had been having an affair–one which started just before we got hitched. In fact, he had met his accomplice whilst planning our wedding–she worked at the catering company that served the food at our reception.

Things got a little messy. I threw some things and yelled. He cried a lot. I slept at my sister’s house for a few weeks. I was thinking that our marriage was over before it really began.

He came to me with an apology, and a commitment to therapy. Not couples therapy–he didn’t think the problem was between the two of us. He said the problem was his, and he wanted help to fix himself.

Taking the initiative on counseling had been a good start, though I wished I had put my foot down on couples counseling. It wasn’t about it being an issue ‘between the two of us’ that caused him to have an affair–having an affair, so early in our marriage, had left me feeling insecure and insufficient. That was something we should’ve been talking to a professional about.

Eventually I’d buy into his supposed reconciliation. I’m not sure if it was anything he did, so much as I just refused to let our marriage die so quickly. I’d return to the house. He’d dote on me and spend most of his time trying to convince me that I was the woman he wanted to be with. I allowed that to work.

And things had been good. Better, at least. Up until the last few weeks, when it suddenly felt like that divide between us–the one I felt when he was having an affair before–was growing again.

Maybe it’s just the diapers. Maybe he’s got himself all wound up in his little ‘adult baby’ space and he finds whatever pleasure he gets from that to be better than what he gets from me. I don’t love that possibility, but it’s one I prefer over him cheating on me again.

I ease myself into my spot on the couch, those familiar grooves and lumps providing some comfort. I’m starting to feel like an idiot. I shouldn’t have cut my trip short. I should’ve just had a frank conversation with him before I went away. “Hey, you seem weird. What’s up?”

And now, I was going to have to find a not-awkward way to ‘return’ home. Was I just going to be here when he got home from work? Would I text him, claiming to be headed home early, and then spend a few hours shopping at the mall until I decided that it was time to actually come back to the house?

I came home early to catch my husband cheating, only to find a sink full of dishes and a dirty diaper in a trash can. Sure, I’ve got a hunch that something’s up–but, for now, that doesn’t really mean anything.

I’m thinking that I’m going to grab my suitcase and go get a hotel room for a day or two. I’ll watch some terrible movies, eat some unhealthy food, and fantasize about coming home to a husband who is delighted to see me again.

I swap out some of the outfits from my suitcase for clean clothes in my dresser, putting what I don’t need into my hamper. It’s a little amusing to me–if he was a little more observant, he might just see the clues that I was already back. But I doubt he’ll notice.

I’m dragging my suitcase towards the front door–already daydreaming about a giant hotel-bar margherita–when I see that the door knob is turning. It’s got to be Lucas. I’m frozen in place, already dreading how awkward this conversation is going to be.

But…it’s not Lucas. It’s a woman–one I’ve never seen before in my life. Blonde hair. Bright red lips. Big tits stuffed into a small dress. A backpack is slung over her shoulder that she lets fall to the ground as soon as she crosses the threshold.

She’s just as surprised to see me. “Oh…uhm…”

“Can I help you?” I ask, feeling my inner-Karen surfacing.

“S-sorry…I just…uh…” The blonde is scrambling for a reason why she’d be barging into someone else’s house, but she’s clearly got nothing.

I decide to help her out: “Looking for Lucas?”

“Well…”

“He’s at work,” I say, trying my hardest to keep myself calm and composed. “Or at least, I assume he is.”

She sighs–a sort of ‘well…the jig is up’ sigh of surrender. She makes no effort to deny wrongdoing, instead jumping right to an apology. “Shit. I’m so sorry. Obviously you, uh, weren’t supposed to be here.”

I kind of respect that, you know?

I opt to be just as honest with her: “Look, I’m pretty pissed off right now. But you’re not the one I’m pissed at.”

“Maybe I’ll just…head out, then?”

“No,” I say. I’m not ready for her to leave yet. If she leaves, she calls Lucas. Then Lucas knows I’m home. Then he comes home. Then we have this absolutely horrible conversation that kickstarts a whole new phase of our life. And I’m just not ready for any of that yet.

To my surprise, she stays in place. She could’ve easily just bolted–I wasn’t going to follow her. She even closes the door behind her.

“You know he’s married, right?” I ask.

“Well, yeah. But…”

“And so were you fine with just being the other woman?”

“It’s not like that,” she says. “I’m not, like, his mistress. I don’t think.”

“Is he…paying you?”

She laughs. “N-no. We just have…similar interests.”

I feel like I immediately know what she’s referring to. “Diapers.”

“Uh, yeah. He said you knew about them. But…”

“But he said that I wasn’t interested?” I ask. “He said that I didn’t like the idea of it?”

She nods. This infuriates me more than the fact that some stranger has just walked into my house in this ridiculously small dress.

“So then…what do you two do?”

“Well…uhm… It’s like…” She hems and haws for another moment or two. I don’t get the feeling that she wants to lie–I suspect that the truth is just an awkward thing to have to explain to me.

“I’m really trying not to be mad at you,” I say. “I just want to know.”

“We meet up when we can,” she says. “We dress up. Play around. I’m, uh, married too. My husband hates diapers and all that sort of stuff. So it’s kind of like Lucas and I have this place where we can just…do the things we feel like we can’t do with our spouses.”

My hands fold into tight fists, and I try to focus all my anger and rage towards Lucas into my fists so that it doesn’t come out in my voice.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Emmy. And you’re…Nina, right?”

I’m annoyed that she knows my name and that I’m Lucas’s wife–and yet I had no idea that she even existed. “Yeah, that’s me.”

“I don’t know if it matters,” she says. “But he’s never said anything bad about you.”

“Oh, what a relief,” I retort. “Instead, he just wants to lie to me while pursuing his interests with other people.”

She opens her mouth to say more, but seems to think better of it. Probably for the best.

“So,” I say. “Whose diaper was that that I found in the bathroom?”

She shrugs sheepishly, her cheeks turning a vibrant shade of pink. “What color was it?”

“Pink.”

“That…was probably mine.”

Are there other diapers around, then? It felt pretty weird to have pulled a soggy diaper out of the trash can when I thought it was Lucas’s. It feels even weirder to know that it was actually someone else’s.

“So how does it work?” I ask. “You two take turns crawling around in diapers?”

She shrugs. “Something like that.”

“He’s not, like, your…daddy?”

“N-no,” she says, clearly stifling a little laughter.

“Didn’t think so,” I shrug. “He’s not really the daddy-type, is he?”

She shakes her head.

I feel like I’m supposed to be pissed at this girl, but I feel very little animosity for her. If there’s anything that actually annoys me about her, it’s that she’s cute. Far cuter than Lucas deserves.

“What are you doing here now?” I ask. “While you seem to know that he isn’t around?”

“He, uh, told me where the spare key was,” she says. “He told me I could come by early today if I wanted to.”

I roll my eyes. “That was nice of him. But why would you need to come by early?”

Emmy shrugs. “Just…you know, getting ready.”

Now I’m curious. I want to know more. I want to know everything. “How do you get ready for one of your little…sessions?”

She’s hesitant and conflicted. I can tell that she wants to tell me more, but she’s not sure if she should.

“Look, I’m not going to, like, follow you home and talk to your husband, okay? I genuinely just want to know more about this world that you and my husband like to spend time in. And, since he refuses to tell me anything…I’m hoping you can help me out a little.”

This seems to put her at ease a little. She takes in a deep breath, slowly releasing it through her nose. “Well, uhm, to start, I have to get…dressed.”

“Right. So is that just a diaper, or…?”

“A diaper,” she nods. “And I have some other stuff.” There’s a brief pause–maybe one where I’m supposed to ask her to elaborate. Instead, I just wait patiently until she finishes the thought herself. “Like, uh, I have a onesie.”

“Does it take you long to get into that?” I ask.

“N-no, not really,” she shrugs. “But when I come here early I get to, uh, have some space to myself for a while.”

“Ah. So your husband is home?”

“He works from home.”

“So you don’t get a lot of time to yourself.”

“Right.”

Again, I can kind of feel for her. I’m not sure that I love the idea of my husband giving strangers access to our home so that they can have some alone-time with their kinks, but that’s yet another conversation to have with him.

“Well, don’t let me get in your way,” I say. “Go ahead and get into your baby clothes.”

She laughs incredulously, like I’m making a joke. “I’m so sorry I barged in like this. Maybe I’ll just go and…”

“No,” I say. “Please stay? I was being serious. I think you should do what you came here to do. Put your diaper on. Put your onesie on.”

She shakes her head. “I…I don’t think I should…”

“Would it help if I said that I really want to see you in a diaper?”

Her eyes grow big. She seems incredibly apprehensive about the idea–and I certainly can’t fault her for that–but she also seems like she might be at least a little bit interested.

“Do you really?” she asks.

I nod. “If you’re willing to show me.”

“But...”

“Look, I’m not condoning what you and Lucas are doing behind my back. So I’m not asking you to get ready for him. I’m asking you to put a diaper on for me.”

“I know you’re processing a lot right now,” she says, ‘but…I think that’s kind of weird.”

Once again, I admire her honesty. I needed to hear that. I need to be reminded that as crazy as the situation is that I’ve stumbled into, this conversation is strange for her too.

“That’s fair,” I say.

“But…you want to know about diapers and adult babies, right?”

I nod. “I do.”

She reaches down to her backpack and opens it up, before reaching in and pulling out a folded up pink object. A fresh diaper. She tosses it in my direction and I catch it.

“There you go,” she says. “Try it out. See what you think.”

Okay. Now I like Emmy.

I shrug, deciding to take a wild shot in the dark: “I’ll definitely try it. But I’m going to need help.”

She laughs–more of a girlish giggle, really. I can certainly see why Lucas likes her–she has a child-like spirit when she lets her guard down.

“Are you asking me to put you in a diaper?” she asks.

“If I was, what would you say?”

She throws her hands up into the air, as if to say ‘Well, this day is already pretty fucking crazy, so why not?’

“Yeah,” she says. “I’ll help you.”

“Follow me,” I say, pivoting towards the hallway and marching towards the master bedroom. I see her shadow on the wall behind mine as we walk.

“He’ll be home eventually,” she says. “Do you want him to see the two of us together? Or…”

“He’s usually out at 5,” I say. “Unless he told you that he was coming home early.”

She shakes her head. “No. I, uh, actually asked if he could get out early. But he said he had a meeting that he couldn’t get out of.”

“Good,” I say. “That gives us–including the time for his commute–about two and a half hours? I’d say that’s plenty of time to make me into a baby. We’ll worry about him later.”

She shrugs. “Sure, if that’s what you want.”

“So where do you want to start? Probably the diaper?”

“Probably.”

I immediately begin to wiggle my way out of my tight black pants. Maybe I should have a little more shame, but fuck that. I’m a mess of emotions and I’m talking to my husband’s secret friend about diapers, of all things. I’m not really in the mood to be modest.

“Oh,” she says, eyes wide at the sight of my trimmed pubic hair as my pants and panties are shaken past my knees. “So you’re just gonna jump right into it, huh?”

“Should I have set the mood first?” I ask. “Light a baby-powder-scented candle? Pour us some bottles of milk?”

She giggles again. I do like that sound. “You’re funny.”

“Should I take off everything?” I ask.

“That’s up to you.”

“What do you like to do?”

“Well…” She blushes and hesitates for a moment. It’s probably not something she’s ever talked about much outside of her adult baby circle. But she looks down between my legs again, and it seems to inspire her to just speak openly. “I have a few outfits that I like. But…I also like just being naked except for my diaper.”

I nod. “That is pretty babyish, isn’t it?”

“Exactly.”

And so I don’t waste any time in removing the rest of my clothes. I pull my top over my head and toss it aside before reaching behind my torso to unbuckle my bra to release my tits.

Am I hot? I don’t know anymore. It used to be the most important thing in the world to me. I try to stay in shape now. I spend a stupid amount of money on cosmetics. But it’s been a long time since someone has called me hot to my face.

Right now, I feel hot. Her eyes are fixed on my body as I strip away my clothes. She doesn’t say anything, but she doesn’t have to. Her eyes are huge and she’s practically drooling.

“There we go,” I say. “Got rid of all those icky adult clothes. I’m ready to be a baby.”

“R-right,” she says, her head quivering a little as she tries to focus. “So…next you’d lie down on the bed. I’ll put the diaper on you.”

“Much experience in putting other babies in diapers?” I ask.

“Not really.”

“Not Lucas?”

“We usually put on our own diapers,” she says, her cheeks looking a little rosy again.

“Really? I feel like that’d be the sort of thing that two big babies would love to do for each other.”

She sighs, unfurling the pink diaper that I’ve handed back to her. “I know you probably think we’re like…fucking all the time. But it’s usually a lot more innocent than that. We watch cartoons. Color with crayons. Drink out of bottles.”

“And Lucas likes that?” I ask. I don’t think I’ve ever seen him touch a crayon in my life.

“I think so,” she shrugs. “He acts like he does.”

It’s an amusing thought–my husband, crawling around on the ground like a toddler while cartoon animals babble on a TV behind him. Maybe he’s playing with blocks while he pees his pants.

“So…it’s not sexual?”

“Oh it can be,” she giggles. “Just…not as much when I’m with him.”

I snort. “Why not with him?”

“I mean, he’s really nice…but I just don’t think we, uh, have that sort of…connection?”

Ouch. Friend-zoned in diapers. The poor idiot.

I spread my legs for her, tempted to ask if she thinks we’d have that sort of connection. I bite my tongue, but I let her get an eyeful as she lays the diaper out on the bed.

“You know what you’re doing?” I ask.

She smiles and nods. “Aside from being a baby myself…I helped raise my baby sister when I was growing up.”

“Ah. Is it that much different? Putting a diaper on a big baby, as opposed to a little one?”

“I don’t think so,” she shrugs. Her mischievous smile insinuates that she’d like to find out.

“Well, hop to it,” I say. “Do whatever you have to do to get me into that diaper.”

She does, lifting my legs into the air. “Can you raise your bum for me?”

I do, and she slides the flattened diaper underneath me, giving me the signal to lower myself back down when it’s in place.

“We, uh, usually use baby powder,” she says. Her use of ‘we’ causes me to cringe a little–only because it includes my husband. “But it’s up to you if you want it or not.”

“Scented?” I ask.

“Sometimes. But only when…”

“Only when you know I won’t be around later to smell it?”

She nods, her cheeks reddening. It checks out. I can’t recall a time when I’ve been home and caught a stray whiff of baby powder. Of course, this does make me wonder how many times they’ve met up in my home without my knowledge. How long has this been going on for? I don’t want to dwell on these questions too long, for fear that they’ll sour my babification. Instead, I’ll save the questions for Lucas, later.

“I’ll take the powder,” I say. “The smelly stuff. I want the full experience, you know?”

She rifles through her bag for a moment. “I don’t think that I have any with me. But… Lucas probably has some around here.”

I smile. “Yeah? Do you know where he keeps his stash?” Because I sure as hell don’t know where he’s keeping his stuff these days.

She bites her bottom lip and nods. “Y-yeah. But it’s not really mine to go through.”

“True. But, seeing as how it’s my house, I’ll grant you permission. If Lucas has a problem with that, he can take it up with me.”

I do have the titillating thought of giving Lucas a phone call at work. “Hello, Lucas? Your baby-friend is putting me in a diaper right now, and we need to borrow some of your goodies. Okay, bye!” I won’t, but it’s a wonderful fantasy.

Emmy wanders over to the bedroom’s closet and opens up Lucas’s half. I’d be surprised if there is actually anything kinky in there. I don’t want to say that I often dig through his belongings–but I’m in the closet often enough for myself that I just can’t imagine where he’d keep these things. Sure enough, she pulls out some shoe boxes from the back of the closet–boxes that I’ve always assumed held, you know, shoes–and places them on the bed near me. I see an assortment of items inside when she lifts off the lid. Pacifiers, wipes, baby bottles. Tubes of cream. Toys. Bibs. It’s actually a rather sizable arsenal.

“Anything else you think we need?” I ask.

She shrugs. “If we do, I guess it’s already here.”

She takes the bottle of baby powder and twists open the cap before tilting it between my legs. She spreads what seems like a decent amount of powder over me–the scent wafts up to my nose. That is the smell of a baby.

I’ve enjoyed going through the motions of the diaper change so far, but I haven’t actually felt a thrill from this infantile world yet. In the back of my mind, I’ve been wondering if it’ll turn out that this just may not be for me. It’s the scent of the powder that begins to change my mind. I would’ve never guessed that I had any attachment to it–but as it fills my nostrils, I feel a strange sense of nostalgia. A conceptual sort of nostalgia that doesn’t seem rooted in reality–but in possibility. I can suddenly imagine the comfort of being coddled. Or swaddled. I’m curious what it would be like to feel the nipple of a baby bottle between my lips. Or if I was sitting in a bathtub of sudsy water while someone runs a sponge over my skin.

I suspect Emmy can sense my new longing. She giggles as she sets the baby powder aside. “You okay?”

“I’m good.” I feel my own cheeks blushing a little as I let out a childish giggle. I can’t tell you the last time I did that.

She pulls the front of the diaper through my legs. The feeling of the thick padding pressing against my cunt summons a soft moan from my lips that I’m not expecting.

“Oh, uh, sorry,” I say, my cheeks definitely feeling hot now.

“Don’t be,” she says.

“Does…that ever happen to you?” I ask.

“It used to. Sometimes.”

“Not anymore?”

She laughs. “It’s like anything else, I guess. The more you do it, the more you need. I wish I could still moan like that from just putting a diaper on. Now, it’s got to be a whole production.”

“What does that production look like?”

“I mean, I’m content just sitting around in my diaper and a onesie, or sucking on a pacifier. That sort of stuff just makes me feel happy, you know? But if I want to get off on it? I’ve got to…” Her voice trails off and she shrugs–as if to say: ‘you know what I mean.’

She’s taping the sides of the diaper to the front. With each taught pull, I feel the diaper becoming more enveloping. It makes me tingle everywhere.

“You have to what?” I ask. This isn’t me trying to tease her. I need to know.

“Well, it’s a diaper,” she shrugs. “And, you know, babies use diapers.”

“Ah,” I say, my lips curling into a grin. “Do you like that? Using your diaper?”

She nods as she stretches the last tape into place–finishing her task of sealing me in my very first diaper.

“Well I know that you wet yourself,” I say, thinking back to the evidence I found in my bathroom. “But, I suppose that’s not the only thing babies do in their pants.”

Her cheeks are a vibrant pink as she speaks so softly that I almost can’t hear her: “I like to mess myself.”

I should probably be disgusted. A grown woman pooping her pants? Society doesn’t look kindly on that sort of thing when it's an accident, let alone on purpose. In a diaper, no less.

But I kind of get it. Feeling this diaper between my thighs now, I feel small. Powerless. I feel disconnected from whatever it means to be an ‘adult.’ And that’s the feeling I get from just wearing a diaper. I can’t begin to imagine what it’d do to me if I actually used it.

“Maybe I said too much,” she says, taking my silence as condemnation.

“Not at all,” I quickly respond. “It’s hot.”

I expect her to say that she doesn’t believe me, but she just nods, her smile growing.

“Have you ever, uh, done that with Lucas?”

She shakes her head. “No. No offense to him…I’ve just never felt that comfortable doing that in front of someone else.”

“But has he done that in front of you?”

She laughs. “Maybe…”

“Do you like it when he does that?”

She laughs again, grimacing a little. “I mean…I’m happy that he likes it…”

Somehow, this doesn’t surprise me. It seems like a very Lucas thing to do–filling his diaper up with a load of shit, with little regard for how Emmy might feel about it. Of course, I’m speculating a little. Emmy might just be the sort of kind soul who encourages him to go through with it, even when she’s not that interested in smelling his ripe bottom after.

I’ve got more questions. I want to know more about her and her husband. I want to know more about her and Lucas. I want to know who else Lucas has invited over to the house so that they could crawl around together.

Fuck all that. I’m wearing a diaper right now.

My hands reach down between my legs, feeling the plasticked bulge in my fingers. It crinkles and rustles as I shift about, and I love that. Everything about the diaper feels wrong and forbidden. I don’t think anything in my entire life has felt naughty in the way that this does. I moan again as my fingers sink into the plump padding.

Is this how Lucas feels when he puts one on?

“You like?” Emmy asks.

I can’t help but laugh. “This is not how I expected to feel.”

“Welcome to the club, I guess.”

“Are you wearing a diaper?” I ask, sitting up in the bed. I feel the padding squish beneath me.

I know the answer before she responds. There’s no poofy bulge in her too-tight shorts. No crinkling.

Still, she shakes her head. “That’s kind of why I came over early.”

“Then you’re next. You need to get into a diaper too.”

“Are you going to diaper me?” she asks.

The idea is a little tempting. “No, I don’t think so. I’m worried I’d just end up ruining a perfectly good diaper. I think I’d be more interested in seeing how you put one on yourself.”

“Learning for later?” she smirks.

I shrug. I’d love to keep a straight face, but I’m sure my mouth is in some sort of grin-like shape. “Maybe.”

I slide off the edge of the bed and stand up again, taking a few slow steps in a semi-circle to get a feel for how the diaper feels while I walk. It’s as weird as I figured it’d be–though I don’t see that as a bad thing.

“I’ve gotten pretty good at putting a diaper on while I’m standing up,” she says, drawing another fresh diaper out of her pack. “But I prefer to do it while laying down.”

She shows me. First, she opens the diaper and flattens it out on the bed. She positions it just right before she starts unfastening her shorts so she can pull them down. I sense that she’s got a little hesitation about taking her pants and panties off in front of me, but she pauses for only a moment before wiggling her hips from side to side as she shimmies out of them. Hairless–completely hairless. Too, her pussy looks wet and glistening.

“Very pretty,” I say. Is that an awkward thing to say to another woman? I’ve never complimented someone else’s coochy before.

To my relief, she accepts the compliment, her face glowing as she smiles. “Thank you.”

Pants and panties on the ground, she eases herself onto the bed–steering her curvy bottom right into the middle of the diaper. Almost immediately, she reaches between her legs, pulling the front of it through them.

“Wait,” I say. “Do you need powder?”

“That’s probably smart,” she says, reaching to the other side of the bed where the bottle is sitting.

But I grab it first. “Allow me.”

I overturn the bottle above her diaper-area, unleashing a blizzard of perfumed powder onto her. I don’t mean to use as much as I do, but I don’t think either of us are upset by the white cloud that seems to envelope the bed.

“Oops,” I say, offering a lackadaisical shrug.

“See, that’s why I wanted to show you,” she grins. “You’re too little to do it by yourself.”

A tiny moan escapes my lips. That’s a thrill.

She finishes diapering herself, pulling each tape into its place. I doubt I’ll be able to perfectly replicate what she just did, but I feel like I at least have an idea of how to diaper myself. You know–if I wanted to know how to do such a thing in the future.

Soon, she’s back on her feet again, and we’re caught in a humorously awkward moment. Both of us want to gawk at each other, but we seem unable to just be obvious about it. Instead, our eyes wander around the room, taking occasional peeks at the other’s diaper. Sometimes, our eyes meet and we laugh at how foolish we’re being.

“You make a cute baby,” she says.

“Likewise.”

From somewhere else, we can hear a high-pitched chiming noise. “That’s my phone,” Emmy says.

“Do you need to get that?”

She sighs. “I’d rather not. But…it might be Lucas.”

The unsaid part of that thought is: If that’s him saying that he’s coming home early, we should probably know about that. I nod, signaling that I think it's a good idea that she goes to check it. I follow her back out to the living room, figuring I should check my phone too. I don’t think anyone has reached out to me, but…

“It’s Lucas,” she says, looking at her phone. “He’s just asking if I’m here.”

…I had a feeling that he’d reach out to her before he ever responded to my text from earlier. Now I’m annoyed all over again.

“Don’t worry about him,” she says to me, picking up on the pretty obvious vibes I must be giving off. “He’s a jackass.”

Easier said than done, of course. But the sight of her in a diaper–while feeling the thickness between my own thighs–certainly helps to at least push aside that anger for now.

“What now?” I ask, shaking off the last of my frustration. “Did you want to get out the coloring books? Turn on some cartoons?”

She shrugs as she bites her bottom lip. “I mean…we could do that if you really wanted to.”

No, I don’t want that. And it delights me to think that she might be on the same page about that.

“Your shirt is still on,” I say. “You should take it off.”

She smiles, her cheeks maintaining a rosy glow. “Good idea.”

In an instant, her shirt and bra are gone, cast aside. Whatever awkwardness there was before seems to have passed, as my eyes are locked on her now–as hers are locked onto me. I take her all in, admiring her curvy little body and how perfect she looks in a diaper. God, I just want to…smash her face into my tits? Rub my diaper all over her? Eat out her powdered pussy?

I have other thoughts too. Things I’d have probably been disgusted by if someone else had said them to me before today.

We step towards each other at the same time, our diapers colliding into each other with a satisfying POOF. I’m just about to ask if I can kiss her, but her lips are on mine before I can even get out the first word. Our arms wrap around each other, our fingers exploring the other’s diaper.

I want to ask if she does this with Lucas. I know she doesn’t–but I just want to hear her say it. Hell, I almost wish Lucas would come through the front door right now. I want him to see us feeling each other up as we wear nothing but our diapers. I want him to see her tongue in my mouth. I want him to watch as my nipples rub against hers. I want to see a fucking tear roll down his cheek as I loudly moan her name.

Warm. Her diaper suddenly feels much warmer. In fact, almost everything about her diaper begins to change. I feel the padding become squishier. It’s heavier. Bulkier.

“S-sorry,” she says, pulling her lips away from mine for a moment. “I…I think I…”

“Aw,” I coo back to her. “Did the little baby wet herself?”

She nods, her little lips turning upwards into a bashful smile.

“It feels good,” she says. “You should try.”

I want to. The longer my hands linger on her swampy diaper, the more curious I am about how it’d feel to wear it. But I don’t think I have to pee. And even if I did–I’m not sure that I could convince my body to just release it into a diaper in front of someone else.

“When I can,” I say.

We tumble back towards the couch. I’m not sure who is leading who–maybe we’re just leading each other. We fall back onto the seat, the excess powder in our diapers puffing out in a little cloud. The scent causes my hormones to fire again and I’m suddenly licking at her tits. I’ve never been with another woman before. I’m tempted to say that I don’t know what I’m doing, but that’s not entirely true–I’m doing what I’d want another woman to do to me. And that seems to be working, given the way that she moans.

I pin her down on the cushion, crawling over her so that I can slowly slide one of my hands into her wet diaper.

“Oh my,” I say. “Someone’s got a very wet diaper, huh?”

“I…I can’t help it,” she says.

“Do you like this? Being a dirty little baby?”

Her head bobs up and down.

“I thought so. The dirtier the better, I bet.”

“Mmhmm.”

“Tell me all about how dirty you like to be,” I say. “Tell me about all the dirty things you want.”

“Welll, uhm…”

She’s got my full attention. Well, most of it. My mouth opens and I take her nipple into my mouth while hand continues to swim around inside of her diaper, occasionally taking a moment to stroke her slick pussy.

“...I love using my diapers,” she continues. Her voice waivers, with little moans and squeaks slipping out in between her sentences. “I love the idea of being anywhere and just…letting go into my pants and having my diaper be there to catch it all. C-can I tell you a secret?”

I moan into her breast, hoping that she understands it to be an affirmation.

“I went to the grocery store last week with a diaper on under my dress,” she says. “I dunno, I don’t wear as much in public. But sometimes I get so, uhm… Well, I get horny, you know? And it, like, overrides all the logic in my brain. Suddenly, I’m not able to think straight. Everything that I’d normally see as a bad idea starts looking like the best idea in the world.”

I pull my mouth away from her wet tit for just a moment. “So you went to the store in your diaper. What did you do?”

“I wet myself,” she says. “Well…I think I wet myself before I even got to the store. I wet myself while I was driving to the store. By the time I was going up and down the aisles with my cart, I was completely soaked. And, like, that made me feel so unbelievably hot. Like, I could feel this wad of pissy padding pressing against me with every step and…fuck. It’s making me so hot to just talk about it…”

“I can tell,” I say. “You’re so wet right now.”

She takes a moment to try and reel herself in. I’m not sure that it’s all that effective, but after a few more deep breaths, she’s at least able to speak again. “It took everything in me to not just flop down on the floor in the middle of the store and shove my hand into my diaper. Like…you don’t understand–I wanted that so badly.”

“I assume you didn’t.”

“No… But, while I was checking out, I, uhm… W-well, I pooped.”

“You pooped your diaper? Right there in the store?”

She offered a little nod. “Y-yeah. I just grunted and pushed and…voila. It all happened in like a split second. Suddenly there was this huge load in the back of my diaper.”

“Did…anyone notice?”

“Maybe? I honestly have no idea. I couldn’t bring myself to look at anyone after that. I mean, it was kind of loud. And I could smell myself almost immediately after. So…I’d be pretty surprised if nobody else noticed.”

“What did you do?” I feel myself growing wetter and wetter in my own diaper. I never would’ve guessed that such a thing would make me feel so aroused.

“What could I do? I hurried through the whole transaction and then immediately rushed back to my car. I threw everything into the back and then…had to get into the car myself.”

“So you had to sit in your dirty diaper.”

“Y-yes…”

“But you liked that, I bet.”

“I loved that. I loved it so much that I couldn’t even bring myself to start the car. I sat there in my shitty diaper, in the middle of this huge parking lot, stuck my hand into my diaper, and rubbed my clit until I was practically screaming. And…then I drove home.”

“And got cleaned up?”

“Eventually,” she said. “After I pissed myself again and held my vibrator between my thighs for a little bit.”

Yes, I find the details of her little story to be quite exhilarating. But it’s just her story that’s winding me up–it’s how she tells it to me. Her voice has an ache to it as she talks, as if all she can think about is how she wants to do it again. She could be talking about submerging her body into a drum of baked beans, and it’d probably still be hot to me.

It’s also inspiring. I close my eyes and focus on emptying my bladder. It’s actually a little easier than I expect it to be. It starts as a little trickle before turning into a heavy stream.

Her eyes grow big as she looks up at my face. “Are you…?”

I nod.

“Oh my god,” she mutters under her breath, her voice completely consumed by desire. “How does it feel?”

I feel that squish. That new weight between my legs. It’s so incredibly wrong, while being so incredibly perfect. “I love it.”

“I’m going to ask something crazy,” she says.

“I’m not sure there’s anything you can say at this point that I would think is too crazy.”

“I want to…taste it.”

“Taste my…pee?”

She nods. “And your diaper.”

I laugh. Not because it’s funny–and certainly not because I think she’s crazy–but because it sounds like an exceptionally good idea to me.

I slide off her, rolling off the couch entirely. There seems to be plenty more space for us on the floor, and so I lay down on my back–legs spread. She follows suit, rolling off the couch and landing on her hands and knees. She crawls between my legs before beginning to paw at the tapes.

“I’m hesitant to take this off,” she says. “I just put you into this thing.”

“Just do it,” I huff. “Please?”

She tears at my diaper like it's a birthday present. I’m not even sure she’s peeling back the tapes so much as she’s just ripping apart the plastic in an effort to get the good stuff inside. She succeeds and pulls what remains of the front of the diaper down between my thighs.

“I…I’ve been thinking about your pussy since you took your pants off,” she says.

“Stop thinking about it. Start tasting it.”

She doesn’t need to be told twice. She throws her head down between my thighs, and burrows her lips into my wet cunt. Her tongue seems to take turns lapping at my body and lapping at the soaked padding of my diaper, like she’s trying to suck the piss right out of it. I love it so much that I almost want to stop her for a moment just so that I can tell her how perfectly naughty she’s being. But I’d much rather her just keep doing what she’s doing.

“How long are you supposed to hang out with Lucas?” I ask.

She pulls her head out from my thighs for a moment. “Oh…probably not long. By the time Lucas gets to the house…and then he has to get ready and all that… And, well, I can’t stay out too late or else my husband will be looking for me…”

“Where does your husband think you are now?”

“Work, probably.” She’s smiling, her face wet with a combination of her own spit and the pissy-wetness between my legs.

The implication might be that he doesn’t seem to care where she is, so long as she eventually comes home.

“Well, Lucas thinks I’m going to be away for a few more days,” I shrug. “So…I’m thinking that I’m going to get a hotel room until then. I could use some company. And some more diapers.”

“I probably couldn’t tonight,” she says. “But…tomorrow?”

“I’ll have nothing on the agenda all day,” I say. “And all the privacy in the world.”

“I’ll give you my number,” she says. “You just tell me where to meet you.”

“Perfect,” I say.

“Actually…?”

“Yeah?”

“I could go with you tonight.”

“What about Lucas?” I ask. As if I gave a shit about his feelings.

She shrugs. “I mean…it’s fun and all but…”

She doesn’t really need to say anything else. Whatever it was she’d been hoping to get from her time with Lucas just wasn’t happening. And this–whatever trouble we were getting into together now–seemed much more satisfying for her.

“We’re going to need new diapers,” I say.

“I’ve got more in my bag.” she says. “But I’m not going to give you any more unless you promise me one thing.”

I laugh. “Yes?”

“No bathrooms. Not tonight. Not tomorrow. Not until you come back home.”

“Dirty girl,” I moan. “You just want me to have a stinky bottom, don’t you?”

“I just don’t want to be the only one…”

It all sounds so amazing to me. I could probably sit back, just thinking about the possibilities, and get off just from that. But, so long as she’s still between my legs…

“That’s a deal,” I say. “First? You need to finish what you started.”

“Right,” she nods. “There’s plenty more I need to taste.”

Her head bobs back between my legs again, her tongue entering my pussy with a forceful sense of purpose.

Poor little Baby Lucas. He’ll come home later, expecting his sweet baby friend to be waiting for him. He imagines that they’ll be coloring pictures together and watching cartoons. But she won’t be here. Maybe she just won’t be here, or maybe she’ll just make some excuse as to why she had to leave our house early–the details won’t be all that important to me. Then, while he’s moping around our house in his soggy diaper, she and I will be in my hotel room–filling our pants and giggling. She’ll be tasting my pussy again–just as she’s doing now. I’ll be tasting hers too. Hell, I’m curious about what it might be like if I stuck my tongue up her tight little asshole.

I make a note to myself to ask her later.

As the sound of my moaning grows deeper–Emmy’s concentrating on my clit and it feels phenomenal–I’m thinking about secrets. Lucas had his secrets–keeping both Emmy and his infantile needs away from me. And now? I’ll have mine. I doubt I’ll ever tell him about Emmy and I, just as I won’t ever tell him that I knew about Emmy and him.

He’s welcome to have his little friend back anytime. Of course, he’s going to have to convince Emmy that he’s more fun to be around than whoever else is taking up her time…

“Oh…oh my god. I’m…I’m going to cum. I’m going to cum all over your face…”

Best of luck with that, Lucas.