Babyface (A Juniper Story) [Tier 3] (Patreon)

Note from QH: This story is kind of a soft-launch for a series of stories I might be interested in writing at some point in the future. It'd be a series of independent stories, linked together by a character who is ~*~magical~*~. I'd love your feedback on whether or not this is something you'd like to see more of or not!

And, of course, if you're looking for something else to read, check out the master index of stories.

Fate Will Guide You To Her

She’s in your town right now. If you haven’t seen her before, it’s because you haven’t been looking hard enough–or because she didn’t want you to find her. When you do see her, it’s because you were supposed to. Fate has chosen to bring you to her.

She’s not like the others you see on the street, peddling their wares. They are selling you things. They are selling you watches and purses. Artwork. Collectibles. Perhaps even substances. She does not sell things like that.

Instead, she offers experiences. Experiences unlike any you’d have ever thought possible. Experiences unlike any you’d have if you never came across her.

You’re curious, yes? You’d like to know more?

Just watch.

You can see him turning the corner now. He’s walking quickly, because he has somewhere he needs to be. The rest of the world is a complete blur to him. The faces of the people he passes? The advertisements posted on the walls? The scent of cooked food wafting out from the open doors of the restaurants he passes? He’s oblivious to all of this.

But he sees her.

It can be hard to say what causes someone to stop when they see her–but they always do. If they are the type who enjoys leering at a beautiful woman, then they may see the exact woman of their fantasies. If they are the curious type, they may see her sitting behind a completely empty table, and they’d want to pause to see what she needs a table for. Are they a fan of the arts? Maybe she’d draw them in with a slow ballad on a violin, or with the sound of her voice.

He sees the beautiful woman, and he sees that she’s strumming on an old acoustic guitar. It reminds him of something–memories of his youth, perhaps. That summer he worked at the camp, and the soothing sound of the guitar as the campfire roared into the dark sky.

“It’s a beautiful day today, isn’t it?” she asks. She finds that it’s an easier conversation when she is the one who initiates it.

He looks up into the sky, as if he hadn’t actually bothered paying attention to the weather before now. “Not a cloud in the sky.”

“You looked like you were in a hurry,” she says. “I can only assume you were on your way to the park?”

He laughs. “The park?”

She shrugs. “Where else would you go on a lovely day like today?”

He draws in a deep breath and frowns. “I wish I could go to the park. Sadly, I’m supposed to be back at the office in…” He checks his watch. “Well, I’m probably not going to make it in time for the meeting.”

“Good,” she says.

He laughs. “Easy for you to say. I’ll probably get bitched at later by my boss.”

“Responsibility,” she says. “It’s not very fun, is it?”

He shakes his head. “Not really.”

“But imagine if you didn’t have any responsibility. Or, if people’s expectations of you were incredibly low.”

“That’d be the life, wouldn’t it? Doesn’t seem like that’s congruent with making a living, though.”

He’s not sure why he stopped to talk to this stranger in the first place, nor is he sure why he’s still talking to her–especially when considering that he has places to be.

She has this effect on people. It’s not manipulation–she isn’t casting some spell over them to make them think that they want to hear her out. No, their interest is genuine. She just so happens to be the exact person they’d want to stop and talk to.

Perhaps that is manipulation, on some much larger scale. One that you or I couldn’t fully understand.

“I have something you might be interested in,” she says.

He chuckles, as if to say ‘I highly doubt that.’ But he’s also very curious as to what she thinks he would be interested in.

“What do you have?”

She reaches down to her guitar case–a worn black leather case–and pulls out…a bright green plastic cup? The sort made for toddlers, with the handles on either side and a lid on top with a nozzle to drink from.

Again, he laughs. “Are you kidding me right now?”

He’s confused. He’s also a little offended. What was this stranger trying to say by offering him a sippy cup? That he looked immature? Because he heard that all the time. The women in his office call him a ‘babyface’ behind his back. Sometimes he feels people don’t take him seriously because he looks a few years younger than he actually is.

She expected this reaction. “Look closer.”

He shakes his head and looks at the cup again.

Actually… Has he seen this cup before? The more he stares at it, the more familiar it seems. He can almost hear cartoons playing on a TV, and the smell of chicken nuggets cooking in the microwave.

“I…I had a cup just like that once,” he says. “God, that was a long time ago.”

“Not that long,” she says. “In the scheme of things.”

He supposes she’s right. He’s 23 now. And when was the last time he used that cup? Maybe when he was 5? One day, that gap would be even greater, and that time of his life would be even fuzzier.

“Is this, like, a joke or something,” he says, taking the cup from her hand. He brings it closer to his face, noting all the chips and scratches in the plastic. There’s no way to be completely sure but…he can almost believe that this is his cup from when he was a little boy.

She shakes her head. “I wouldn’t want to joke about a thing like this.”

He shakes the cup. There’s…something inside of it. A liquid of some kind.

“That’s for you,” she says.

“I’m not sure that I should be drinking mystery liquids from cups given to me by strangers on the street.”

She laughs. “Your mommy and daddy taught you well. But…am I a stranger?”

It feels like a ridiculous question. Of course she’s a stranger. He’s never seen her before in his life. And yet, there’s something about her. Like he’s known her–or at least imagined someone like her–his entire life. And, she has his cup. His actual cup–he’s sure of that. As ridiculous as this entire moment seems, he truly wants to be able to trust her.

His concern shifts a little. “So, let’s say I drink this. Will something happen?”

“Do you want something to happen?”

He thinks about that for a moment. If something was going to happen, what would he like to be? Maybe he’d suddenly be able to fly? Maybe he’d be three times smarter than he was before? What if he suddenly looked like a man–one who everyone took seriously?

“What’s actually in the cup?” he asks.

“Nothing poisonous,” she smirks. “It’s good for you. Promise.”

Curiosity has got the best of him, and he raises the cup to his lips and tilts it enough to allow a small amount of liquid to pass through the nozzle and into his mouth. Oh wow, it’s been a very, very, long time since he’s used a sippy cup.

“Apple juice,” he grins. This used to be his favorite thing in the entire world. He wonders if he should start keeping a bottle in the fridge at home.

“It’s good, yes?”

“Very.”

“Why don’t you finish it up,” she says. “You wouldn’t want to waste a single drop.”

He can’t argue with that. This juice–from this cup–takes him back to a time he hadn’t thought about in a very long time. It’s a wonderful feeling, too.

He finally pulls the cup away from his face, wiping his lips with the back of his hand. “That was good.”

“I thought you’d like that.”

“Well…I should probably be on my way,” he says.

She nods. “Of course.”

“Here’s your cup back.”

“You can keep it, if you’d like.”

It’s a very tempting idea, though he’s not sure what he’d even do with it. He doesn’t have room for it in his bag, and he’s not thrilled about the idea of carrying it with him into the office. That’s the last thing he’d want Bonnie at the front desk to see. She already teases him for looking so young, and she’d be merciless if she saw him with an actual sippy cup in his hand.

“I wish I could,” he says. “But…I just don’t think that’s going to work for me.”

She shrugs and accepts the cup back. She shakes it once to confirm that it’s empty–it is–and she slips back into her guitar case.

“Thank you for that,” he says. He knows that everything that just happened is incredibly strange. And, later, when he’s even further removed from the moment, he’s going to find it even stranger. He just hopes he remembers how he feels right now–the sense of trust and appreciation he has for this stranger.

“Of course,” she says.

He turns to walk away before remembering something. He pauses and turns back towards her as he fumbles in his pocket for his wallet. He usually doesn’t carry much cash on him these days, but–for reasons he can no longer remember–he knows he has a five-dollar bill.

Again, a level of cosmic circumstance that isn’t meant for us to understand.

“This is for you,” he says. Is he paying for the apple juice? Or is he tipping her for busking? He’s not entirely sure, but it seems like the polite thing to do.

“Oh, you don’t have to…”

But he insists, shoving the bill into her guitar case before walking away.

“Thank you.”

As he walks down the street, he can hear her strumming her guitar again. What a lovely sound. Of course, by the time he rounds the next corner, the music is lost–dissipating into the ambient noise of urban life. He’s tempted to go back–to at least turn back onto the street again–to see if she’s still there. He doesn’t–not because he thinks she will or won’t be there, but because it doesn’t matter. He needed that moment–that little pick-me-up–before continuing with his day.

She Will Give You What You Need

Bonnie is smiling from behind her desk in the lobby when he comes strolling through the door. Of course she is–she’s always smiling. Especially when she sees him.

It’s possible that she has a little crush on him. He, occasionally, has a crush on her. He, occasionally, has a crush on almost every woman he works with.

“Well, well, well,” she says. “Look who decided to show up to the office.”

“I know, I know. Is Mr. Branigan pissed?”

“I wouldn’t know,” she says. “He’s still in the meeting. The meeting you were supposed to be in.”

“Right…” He’s already sure that he’s going to hear about this later.

“Try not to worry about it too much,” Bonnie says. “I already told him you were running late.”

“But how did you know that I’d be…”

She shrugs. “When you weren’t here, I figured I should cover for you. If he asks later, I said that you had a maintenance guy at your apartment this morning.”

“Thank you. I really appreciate that.”

“Of course,” she says. “Now, come on over here so I can check you.”

“Check?” he laughs. “Check me for what?”

She rolls her eyes. “Come on. Don’t make this awkward.”

He hasn’t the slightest clue what she’s talking about, but he is intrigued. No, he doesn’t want to make this awkward–whatever ‘this’ even is. And if she’s asking him to come closer to her–well, that doesn’t seem like that bad of a thing.

She spins in her chair to the side, signaling that she expects him to walk around the desk and meet her behind it. He does exactly this, all while thinking about how this has never happened before. Maybe once or twice in a dream, sure, but he doubted this was going to play out like that dream did…

There’s no hesitation or pause from her. No sooner than he is standing directly in front of her, she reaches forward and grabs the waistband of his pants.

Actually, this might be exactly like his dream.

His instinct is to pull away. Even if he doesn’t mind Bonnie’s hands all over him, he doesn’t want this to be the place that happens. There are even other people in the lobby. Most seem distracted by their phones and newspapers, but there’s a person or two who have steered a curious eye over to the front desk. All this to say that by the time he tries to pull away, he’s already locked in place by her tight hands gripping his pants.

“I need you to hold on for just a moment,” she says, her tone lowered. “What did I say about not making this awkward?”

“Wh-what are you doing, Bonnie?”

“Checking!”

She pulls the waistband of his pants as far away from his body as she can. It’s not a huge gap, but it seems to be enough for her to take a quick peek into his trousers.

“Bonnie!”

She sighs, shaking her head. “Are you serious right now?”

“M-me? Am I serious? What was that all about? Why would you try to…”

“Angela is going to be pissed,” Bonnie says to him, her voice dropping down in volume again. She responds as if she either didn’t hear him at all, or as if his words just didn’t matter.

Angela? He’s confused about this. Why would Angela–the office manager–care about what was, or wasn’t, in his pants?

Her hands retract from his body, and he stumbles backwards a step from still trying to resist her pull. He forgets, for just a moment, about the absurdity of being ‘checked,’ as he has a new concern now.

“Angela is going to be pissed? At me?”

Bonnie nods. “She asked me to check when you came in. And, well, I’m going to have to tell her what I found.”

“I…I don’t even understand what it is you’re checking for. How could she possibly be pissed at me?”

Up until today, he thought he had a pretty good rapport with Angela. A hard-earned rapport, at that. She had a bit of a reputation around the office for having little patience and a short temper. And yet she seemed to have taken a liking to him. Speculation around the office–which would occasionally reach his ears–was that his youthful face brought out her maternal side. He usually dismissed that as a joke, though he would occasionally see the way Angela looked at him and he’d find himself wondering if there was at least a sliver of truth to it.

“Look, maybe I can help,” Bonnie says. “Why don’t you go straight to Angela’s office now. I’ll give her a call and make up an excuse for you. I mean, I can just use the maintenance guy story again. She might buy that.”

None of what she’s saying makes any sense to him.

“Bonnie, I need to get into that meeting with Mr. Branigan. If Angela needs to see me, I can stop by her office later and…”

“No, you can’t do that,” she says, shaking her head. “I’m telling you–go and see Angela first.”

You understand why he’s confused, don’t you? You and he share the same amount of information. And there’s simply no context being provided for why he needs to see Angela–or why it’s so important.

He trusts Bonnie. She’s always been nice to him. She looks out for him. Sure, maybe she’s one of the loudest in the office when it comes to the jokes about him looking so young–but he sometimes wonders if it comes from a more flirtatious place. Playground logic, where you push around the kid you secretly like the most. And so if she says that he needs to see Angela first, he’s inclined to believe that’s the best move.

“Okay, fine,” he sighs. “I’m going there now.”

Which is Not Always the Same as What You Want

There’s something off about the main corridor of the office, but he can’t quite figure out what it is. Just about everything looks the same as it usually does–the same bulletin boards, the same water cooler, the same paintings hung on the wall, the same aged carpet on the floor. But something seems missing.

He’s not sure what it was, but he’s certain that there used to be something else in this hallway that isn’t there now. If he remembers this later, he thinks, he’ll be sure to ask someone about that.

He knocks on Angela’s office door, at the very end of the hallway, three times.

She answers on the second knock. “Come in.”

He opens the door, finding Angela sitting behind her desk. She looks as if she’s been staring at the door for a while now. She’s got daggers in her eyes.

“Come inside and close the door behind you,” she orders.

He is quick to do so. “Bonnie told me that you wanted to see me and that you might be upset with me? But, I have to be honest, I’m not really sure what any of this is about.”

“Are you sure about that?” she says. There’s such attitude in her voice.

First Bonnie and now Angela. Why does everyone seem to be talking in riddles–speaking of a thing that they don’t just spell out, while assuming he knows what they’re referring to?

“I’m quite sure,” he says. “But…if there’s something I should be doing, please just tell me what it is.”

“Ah, but that’s just it,” she says while standing up. Most of the times he sees her, she’s sitting behind her desk, or she’s sitting down in a conference room. He forgets how tall she is. She’s certainly taller than he is. In fact, she almost seems taller now–if such a thing was possible. Entire inches taller than he swore she was just the day before. “Your failure to comply with a simple rule now creates more work for me. You understand why that might make me frustrated, yes?”

No. He hasn’t a clue. But, ever the people pleaser, he offers: “Yes…of course. I understand.”

“I thought so. Well, let’s get this over with, then. And after today, I assume that you’ll have learned your lesson?”

“Uhm…sure?”

She picks an object off of her desk. It had been sitting there the entire time. If he had just looked at her desk, he might have figured out what it was by now. Alas, this is the first time he’s seeing it, and now his mind is in overdrive as he tries to figure out what it might be. It’s large. Rectangular. Bright white. Solid…but soft? It looks folded, not unlike some clothing. But it’s clearly stiffer than normal clothing. It’s not paper. It’s not a book.

“Well?” she asks. “I can’t do this while you’re standing up.”

“I’m sorry…what are we doing right now?”

“I’ve been trying to be very reasonable with you this morning,” she says as she waves the strange object at him. “But I’m starting to think that you’re being willfully defiant. I assure you that I don’t have the patience for that today. Are you going to lie down on the floor? Or do I need to talk to Mr. Branigan about your insubordination?”

“Wh-what? Angela, you know that I’d never be…insubordinate. I just don’t understand why…”

She rolls her eyes. “I see. So then you’ve just decided to be difficult today, is that it?”

He sighs. The last thing he wants is trouble. He needs this job. He’s barely scraping by as it is, and even the slightest hiccup in his wages could be catastrophic. Whatever it is she wants him to do–he’s made up his mind that he’s just going to do it. Comply now, ask questions later.

Upon lowering himself onto his back on the floor, he sees a small smile return to Angela’s face.

“I’m sorry,” she says. “I shouldn’t have sounded so harsh. But this is important, you know?”

Part of him thinks he should keep his mouth shut and just see where this goes. Part of him can’t help himself: “But why is it so important?”

For a split-second, it looks like she might be upset again, but after taking a deep breath she’s smiling again. “Have you gotten all baby-brained already?”

Baby-brained? He’s wondering what the hell that’s supposed to mean.

“Bonnie said you weren’t wearing a diaper when you came in,” she continues. “That’s simply unacceptable. You do remember the deal, yes?”

He has absolutely no idea what she’s talking about. Though, at least one thing makes a tiny bit more sense to him now: That object she’s holding in her hand? It’s a big disposable diaper. That doesn’t really make anything that much more clear, but that’s at least one mystery–on a mental list of many–he can cross off the list

“Would you be upset with me if I said I had no idea what you’re talking about?” he asks.

To his relief, she laughs again. “You’re a silly boy, you know that? Come now, off with the pants.”

“Y-you’re going to put that on me?”

“I’m not sure what game you’re playing with me today,” she says, arms crossed in front of her. “But we’re going to put an end to it right now. I’ll explain everything to you–once again. And then, I don’t want to hear another question come out of your mouth. Because if I have to answer even one more question from you, there will be consequences.”

Consequences? He doesn’t care for the sound of that. He quickly nods his head, showing that he understands her terms–even if he doesn’t understand anything else.

“Mr. Branigan has agreed to keep you employed here at the office, but if–and only if–you’re treated like the baby he perceives you to be. And that, of course, means diapers. You’re not to be in this building without a diaper on. So, yeah, that was a rather bold move on your part to show up without wearing one today.”

Oh, you better believe he has more questions. When did this start? Did I previously acknowledge such a deal? Does everyone know about this? Why does Mr. Branigan perceive him to be a baby? He keeps his mouth shut. It seems best to avoid ‘consequences.’

Instead, he just nods–accepting whatever it is she thinks needs to happen.

“Are you going to pull down your pants?” she asks. “Or shall I?”

He sighs and quickly unbuckles his belt and unzips his trousers, pushing them down his thighs as far as they’ll go. It’s at this point that she kneels down next to him and helps lower his pants down the rest of his legs, leaving them bunched up around his ankle. She immediately begins to unfurl the diaper on the ground, flattening it out into a sheet. He can barely comprehend just how enormous this thing is.

He has another thought, too. Well, yeah, he has lots of thoughts. But this is a new one.

The apple juice. The sippy cup. That strange woman on the street.

He can’t quite connect all the dots, but there’s something there. The woman did something to him. Poisoned? No, he doesn’t think so. Drugged? That seems more likely. He’s hallucinating right now. Everything he thinks he’s experiencing is just an illusion.

That has to be it, right? Because, otherwise, what’s the alternative? That meeting some mystical woman on the street, with an enchanted sippy cup of apple juice–a sippy cup that just so happens to match the one he had as a child–has somehow rewritten reality so that he now has to be treated like a baby while at work?

Well, actually, that doesn’t seem as crazy as it ought to.

New plan. He’s going to play along. Best case scenario, he’s going to do exactly what he’s supposed to do. Worst case scenario…he starts calling some psychiatrists later–assuming he still has a job when this fever-dream wears off.

Angela is diapering him. She’s actually putting him in a diaper. He’s terrified that his dick is going to get awkwardly hard as she manipulates his body, but it stays soft and docile between his legs–which he almost worries is worse. She slides it under his bottom and pulls the front of it through his legs before fastening the sides to the front with the taped tabs. He’s diapered now. He’s actually wearing a diaper.

“There we go,” she coos. “See, that wasn’t so hard, was it?”

“N-no,” he says. “I suppose not.” He assumes that this is what she’d want to hear.

“Perfect. Let’s get your pants pulled up and send you on your way.”

While he’s vaguely aware of how thick and alien the new diaper is, it doesn’t really hit him until his pants are back in place and he’s helped to his feet. Everything suddenly feels off. It’s like wearing multiple pairs of underwear at once. It’s warm. It makes little swishing and rustling noises when he moves. There’s too much bulk between his legs.

“You’re not going to give us any more problems today, are you?” Angela asks.

He shakes his head. “I hope not.”

“Me too. Off you go, then. When you need to be changed, I’m sure someone will lend a hand.”

But in Time, You’ll Come Around

Everything feels off. Different. There are moments where he wonders if he’s even living in the same world that he used to.

For one thing, he’s wearing a diaper–and that’s certainly new. And it sounds like there is, and has been, an expectation for him to be wearing one around the office. Bonnie and Angela both acted like they were used to seeing him in a diaper. They didn’t seem to find it strange at all. They were more weirded out by the fact that he wasn’t wearing one.

But that’s not the only thing that’s changed. As he walks back down the office’s main corridor–where he had felt something was different earlier–he realizes what’s amiss. Previously, there was a door on the left and a door on the right–just past the door to the stairwell–that would lead to the men and women’s restroom. Except, now, there was no door on the left–where the men’s restroom used to be. Instead, there was only a door on the right–the women’s restroom entrance. It wasn’t even like the room had been repurposed or locked up–it just ceased to exist.

He supposed that probably didn’t really impact anyone besides him. The only other man in the office was Mr. Branigan, and he had his own private bathroom.

What am I supposed to do about this? Eventually–and probably sooner than later–he knows he’s going to need to use the restroom. His body is on a schedule, and there’s not that much time left before he’s going to need to…

He clears his throat and keeps walking. It’d be best not to think about it for the time being.

He wonders what else has changed. As he turns a corner and makes his way towards his desk, his eyes scan around the office, looking for anything that might be different. There’s Julie, and she’s staring at her phone instead of her computer–nothing different there. There’s Roberta, and she’s talking loudly on the phone to a client–nothing different there. Holly, Christina, Nancy–all of them are just going about their jobs in the way that they always do.

Holly smiles as he sits down at his desk, which is next to hers. He grimaces a little as he eases himself into his chair, feeling the diaper squish and crumple beneath him.

“A little late today, huh?” she asks.

He shrugs. “I had a, uh, maintenance guy at my apartment this morning.”

“I hope everything’s alright.”

“Oh sure,” he says. “They just had to, uh, fix…the toilet.”

She giggles into her hand and shakes her head. “Really? I’m surprised you even need one.”

He’s not really sure how to respond to that, so he doesn’t–instead logging into his PC so he can start getting some work done. Perhaps, he thinks, some actual work will help him forget about the weirdness that seems to be permeating the world around him.

To his surprise, nothing on his screen looks familiar to him. Gone are his carefully organized folders and databases. None of the files he had been working on the day before are still open. In fact, almost everything seems to have been removed from the computer entirely. All that’s left now is a single icon: a blue square with a red star in the center of it. He clicks it.

WELCOME BACK TO KIDDY CORNER, the screen reads in giant colorful letters. A cartoon clown scrolls across the bottom.

He can’t help but mutter aloud: “Wait…what is this?”

Holly is giggling again at her desk. “Aw, is it time for you to get to work? Good luck. I know the colors were giving you a hard time yesterday.”

It’s tempting to ask her to elaborate on that, but he keeps his mouth shut. He can feel his cheeks warming as he blushes–he can’t ever recall a time when she’s ever used a condescending tone like that with him before. But, wow, it was incredibly effective. He feels…small. Childlike.

The screen changes. TODAY’S LESSON: NUMBERS.

A cartoon bear rises out of the lower left of the screen, holding a plate with a single red apple on it. From the right, a cartoon rabbit hops into the scene. He’s carrying another apple. The bear speaks–the voice sounding compressed and tinny coming from the cheap PC speakers: “I have one apple. If Mr. Rabbit gave me one more apple, how many apples would I have?”

He moves his mouse, but he doesn’t see any cursor on the screen. Even when he hits the ‘2’ button on the keyboard, nothing seems to happen. For good measure, he quickly taps at a few random keys, hoping that one of them will trigger the program to do something, but the rabbit and bear continue to patiently sit there.

“You can’t use your keyboard, remember?” asks Holly. “Not until you’ve completed the first few stages of your program. You have to say your answer.”

“Oh. Uh…two.”

“Very good!” the bear on the screen says. A festive trumpet plays and the rabbit is clapping his paws together.

“Good job,” Holly says. Her tone sounds entirely genuine–not an ounce of detectable sarcasm.

“But,” continues the cartoon bear, “what if I decided I wanted to give both of my apples back to Mr. Rabbit. How many would I have then?”

He looks around the room again, trying to see if people are watching him. Is this, like, an elaborate practical joke? But no…everyone seems focused on their own work. Nothing seems out of place except for his desk where there’s a bear asking about apples.

“Zero,” he says, in a quiet voice.

The trumpet sounds off again. Do-da-da-doo! “Good job!” the bear says. Suddenly, the bear has three apples. And Mr. Rabbit is gone, replaced by a fox with three apples of its own.

“If Miss Fox gives Mr. Bear two of her apples, how many would he have now?”

His cheeks blush brighter. Is this really the task the office expects him to be doing? In whatever world he’s in now–imagined, hallucinated, or conjured–his job is to play with children’s software while everyone else works?

“Seven,” he says. He knows it’s wrong, but he’s curious to see what happens.

What happens is that a giant red ‘X’ shows on the screen while a loud foghorn-like noise blasts from his speakers. BAAA-OOOO.

The room comes alive with giggles and laughs. Holly’s laughing. Nancy is laughing. Christina and Julie look at each other and smile as they shake their heads.

“Better luck next time,” Holly says.

He wants to tell her that he was just curious to see what would happen, but he suspects that she wouldn’t buy it.

“M-maybe I just need to take a quick break,” he says. “Do you, uhm, know where the men’s bathroom was relocated to?”

She laughs. “Was that a joke?”

“Uh…well…”

Holly spins around in her chair so that she’s facing Christina and Julie. “Did you guys just hear what he asked me?”

They had not heard. And they’re very curious to know what it was.

“He just asked me where the men’s bathroom is.”

The entire room is laughing again. Not just the three of them–everyone.

He wagers that he knows what they think is so funny–he’s wearing a diaper. Babies–even the ones who go into an office–are probably expected to use them.

“Sorry,” he says, speaking a little louder so that he can address everyone. “I…I guess I had a long morning and I just…forgot.”

“Poor baby,” Holly coos. “I’ll tell you what. Why don’t you work on your program a little bit. I’ll call Bonnie and have her fix something for you to drink, okay? I bet that’ll help straighten you out.”

He sighs. “Yeah. Actually, that sounds really nice. Thanks, Holly.”

As Holly makes a call on her desk phone, he turns his attention back to the computer screen. There’s still the issue of determining how many apples Mr. Bear should have now.

“Five,” he says to the computer.

Do-da-da-doo! The fox is clapping. As stupid and infantile as this program is, the positive response from it does get a few endorphins moving.

Bonnie is already at the door. He can see the object she’s holding long before she gets to him–it’s a baby bottle, with a rubber nipple atop it. The white substance within could only be milk.

“R-really?” he asks as Bonnie hands it to him.

“I thought you loved your ba-ba,” Bonnie shrugs.

“I…uh…” He looks around the room again. Everyone is watching him, big smiles on their faces. He’s not sure he has any choice except to take the bottle. Anything else would make this situation even more awkward than it already is.

“Good boy,” she says. “Now, make sure you drink the whole thing, okay?”

“Sure…”

“Here, let’s not give you any distractions,” she says, reaching over to his keyboard. She quickly hits a combination of keys that shuts the program down. “Drink that bottle, and then we’ll talk. Got it?”

He nods. Bonnie bends over, kissing him atop the head, before pivoting and walking right back out of the room again.

“I have to admit,” Holly says. “I sometimes get jealous. I wish my job was to be a baby.”

He holds up the bottle towards her, offering it.

She giggles and pushes it back towards him. “Nice try, silly. Look, they’re paying you to drink a bottle. You might as well do it.”

This, he decides, is a very good point. Perhaps there’ll be plenty of time to figure out the mysteries of the world he’s found himself in later. For now, if everyone is expecting him to just sit there and drink from a baby bottle…well, that doesn’t sound so bad.

The more he drinks from the bottle, the easier it gets. Nobody’s paying attention to him. Nobody seems to even care that he’s holding a baby bottle up to his lips with both hands and drinking from it. If there’s no fear of embarrassment, why should he feel so awkward about it?

And, honestly? The milk tastes amazing. He doesn’t drink much milk these days. In fact, he’s been using oat milk for so long that he’s not sure if he’s had actual milk since he lived with his parents.

He guzzles it, finally exhaling as he sets the empty bottle down on his desk.

“Holy moly,” Holly says, eyes wide with amazement. “Did you drink that whole thing already?”

He nods, feeling pretty good about himself. He had absolutely no idea what was going on, but it seemed like the bar was set pretty low for success here. And, for now, he could certainly live with that.

“And do you feel better?”

“Y-yeah. You know what? I actually do.”

And that’s when he felt a familiar pang in his gut.

And You’ll Learn to Appreciate this Gift

He’s never been a fan of public restrooms. Not while in school. Not while in college. Not while working for any of the jobs he’s had before.

It was different at this company, though. He was one of only two men–and of them, he was the only one without his own bathroom. Which meant that the men’s bathroom in the main corridor was, essentially, all his. It had been a complete gamechanger. He no longer had to suffer through a long day of holding his bowels until he could go home and use his own toilet. Now, whenever he needed to go, he had a room that was entirely his. No interruptions. No embarrassing interactions. No fear of lingering odors that could be traced back to his rear end.

Except…that bathroom wasn’t there anymore. It seemed to have blinked out of existence entirely.

His fingers tap atop his desk as he feels his insides quake a little. This was usually the part of the morning where he goes to the bathroom, and his body knows it. And he thinks, maybe, he could hold it for a while longer. But all day? He’s not sure about that.

He’s tempted to ask Holly: “Am I really expected to use this diaper?” He could never, of course. Just thinking about those words coming out of his mouth is enough for him to blush again.

But, he’d really like to know.

“Are you okay?” Holly asks.

If he’s ever going to ask his question, this feels like the time to do it. Instead, he says: “I…I think I’m going to get up and stretch my legs for a moment. I’ll be back in a few minutes.”

She shrugs. “Okay, baby.”

Baby. It just rolls off her tongue so easily. So casually. Like she’s said it a thousand times.

By the time he gets back to the main hallway, he decides to go and see Bonnie again. If there’s anyone in the office he can have a frank conversation with, he’s pretty sure it’s her. They’re friends–or at least they are in the world he knows.

She’s sitting at her desk, typing at her computer. The lobby is, thankfully, otherwise empty. This would probably be a harder conversation to have in front of a bunch of strangers.

“H-hey, Bonnie. Do you have a minute?”

“For you?” she says, looking up from her computer with a big smile. “As many minutes as you need. What’s up, sugarbutt?”

Sugarbutt? He’s surprisingly fond of that.

“Look, I have some really weird questions for you, okay? And…even if you think the answers are the most obvious things in the entire world, maybe you could just humor me?”

She giggles. “Are you asking me if I’ll change your diaper, sweetie?”

He bites his bottom lip as his heart pumps faster. “Actually, uhm, that’s kind of my first question for you. Does everyone around here really expect me to, like, use my diaper?”

She laughs again. “Well…I know you said that my answer might be really obvious, but…”

“Please,” he says. “Can you just tell me?”

“What would be the point of keeping you in diapers if you weren’t going to use them?”

This should answer his question, but it doesn’t. He needs a definitive yes or no.

He decides to try again, trying a different query. “So…I think I need my diaper changed. Do I just come to…you?”

“Ah,” she says, nodding her head like she’s starting to understand the bigger situation. “Is that what this is all about? Did you want me to change you?”

“Yes?”

“You don’t sound too sure about that. What did you do in your pants, honey? Because I don’t smell anything stinky…so it’s probably just wet, right?”

“Well, I haven't really used the diaper yet. But I guess I was just curious about what you would do if…”

“Let me stop you right there, baby. I’m kind of busy right now, so if you don’t actually need a change, I should probably get back to what I’m doing.”

This is probably as close to an answer as he’s going to get.

“Sorry to bother you,” he says. “I guess I’ll see you later and…”

“Wait,” she says.

“Hmm?”

“Holly and Christina are always the ones who get to change your diapers, and it’s not fair. I want to change you too–but by the time I hear that you’ve made a dirty diaper, someone else has already taken care of it.”

“Uh…well…I’m not sure what to tell you.”

“Go stand over there,” she says, pointing to the corner of the lobby.

“Huh? The corner?”

“Yes,” she nods. “Go stand over there until you’ve used your diaper. And then, when you’re done, I’ll change you.”

“But…” He still believes that he can hold it for the rest of the day. “What if I don’t go?”

“Then you’ll just be standing in the corner all day,” she shrugs. “But that’s not a good idea either. Mr. Branigan would probably spank your bottom raw if he knew you missed out on most of a day of work because you were in the corner.”

He could mention that this wouldn’t be fair, since it was her who told him to stand in the corner. He could also mention that ‘most of a day of work’ would probably just be answering childish questions from cartoon animals. But that’s not the way this place works. Applying logic to things…that doesn’t seem to be getting him anywhere.

And did she say ‘spank?’ Like…his boss would literally smack him across the ass?

“Hurry up,” she says. “The sooner you get over there, the sooner you can fill your diaper up for me.”

“When you say, uh, fill up…”

“I mean that you better be making all your pee-pees and all your poo-poos in there, baby. You can do that for me, right? I mean, you do it for Holly and Christina all the time.”

“Okay, okay. Got it.”

He waddles to the corner, trying to imagine what that must be like–having a dirty diaper changed by Holly. Or Christina. He imagines Christina’s long fingernails–how in the hell would she change a diaper without… It’s probably not worth trying to figure out.

For a few minutes, he just stands there–watching over the lobby as he contemplates his options. There are few, it seems. Play along. Or…get punished. Spanked? Fired?

He wonders if this is just the way his life is now. He’d forever be a diaper-wearing baby at work and he’d just have to get used to it.

Well, if that’s the case, I’m never drinking a stranger’s apple juice again.

“How’s it going over there?” Bonnie says. “Still dry?”

“Uhm…working on it.”

“Work harder, sugarbutt. Push it all out.”

It’s weird. It’s gross. But if these are the rules of this world–and if this is what everyone is expecting him to do anyway–maybe he should just do it? Bonnie was right–the sooner he uses his diaper, the sooner she cleans it. And once it’s all done and over with he can stare at his cartoon animal program until the end of the day. Then, he’ll go home. And, perhaps, start looking for a new job.

It’s actually pretty easy to wet the diaper. He parts his legs a little and just lets it go–like it was something he did all the time. He feels the thick diaper quickly absorb the heavy stream he unleashes into it–the padding swelling and warming all around him.

He thinks, again, about how weird and gross it is. And it is those things, for sure. But he also likes it. What a delightfully naughty feeling, to be wearing a pissy diaper in a place for adults.

There are two people in the lobby now. Neither seem to be paying much attention to him, though their eyes occasionally glance up at him.

This makes the next part much more challenging. He thinks that he might have been able to poop himself if it was just him and Bonnie in the room. But now there’s two other people–complete strangers.

No, wait. Three. When did that person show up?

His heart races. He feels sweaty. The weight of his diaper causes it to droop a little in his pants.

Damned if he does, damned if he doesn’t. Either he messes himself in front of everyone in the lobby, or he faces some vague punishment. Spanking? Written up for insubordination, and the risk of losing his job?

He imagines himself talking to his mother on the phone, telling her that he has to move home again. She asks why his job didn’t work out for him.

“Well, ma, I was supposed to poop my diaper, but I didn’t.”

Who’s he kidding? If he had to move back home, his mother would probably spank him herself.

There’s six people in the lobby now. If he waits any longer, there’ll be even more. He’s not sure how he knows this–but he knows this.

Fine. He’ll poop his pants. Or, try, at least.

He doesn’t even think it’s possible. He thinks that twenty-something years of potty training has taught his body when he can and can’t poop. If his ass doesn’t feel a toilet seat beneath it–he just won’t go.

He’s wrong.

He parts his legs a little, squats, and lets out a grunt as he pushes on his bowels. You’d be right if you thought that this would attract the attention of everyone in the room. Luckily, he’s not really paying attention to them. His eyes are closed tightly as he pushes and pushes. He feels something breaking through his little backdoor. This is happening.

At last, he’s reached a point of no return. He doesn’t have to do anything else–his body is taking over and making sure that everything inside of him is shoved out into the back of his diaper. As loudly as possible too–a comical phhhthhbbbtlllipp.

Oh. Oh my. He’s messed his diaper. He can feel it sagging even more now, just as he can feel the firm bulge sitting just below his ass.

“All done?” Bonnie asks.

He nods. The stench of his diaper wafts to his nose for the first time. It’s absolutely foul. No man should ever smell like this. Though maybe you’d expect this from a baby.

“Good. Ready to get changed?”

“Y-yes, please.”

He quickly turns and follows Bonnie out of the lobby, without even turning back to look at the people waiting. He can hear them though. They’re awkwardly coughing. Some are whispering to each other. He hears a delighted giggle.

He’s feeling pathetic. Humiliated and ashamed. Stinky. Pissy. His walk has been reduced to a slow waddle. He wonders if it’s a bad thing that he kind of likes it.

You’ll Embrace It

He imagines that there’ll be a changing room of some sort. He doesn’t know where it would be, but the same magic that caused the men’s restroom to vanish might cause a new room to open up somewhere else–a room where dirty-diapered babies are taken to get cleaned up again.

But Bonnie doesn’t take him to any previously-undiscovered room. No, she takes him right back to the room where all the rest of the women work. The room where his desk is.

All of their heads bounce up to watch as Bonnie leads him in. Holly’s smiling. Christina looks like she’s…pouting? Is she really that upset that she’s not changing this diaper? Roberta is laughing. Even Julie has set her phone down.

“Wh-where are we going?” he asks.

“Right over there,” Bonnie points.

“Oh.”

Yesterday, there was a copy machine there. A giant monstrosity that he suspected was almost as old as he was. It barely worked, and everyone did their best to avoid situations that would require its use.

Today, it was gone. In its place was a table with a padded top. No, he was pretty sure he knew exactly what that was. It was a changing table–right there in the middle of the room.

“Oh no,” Julie says. “This smells like a bad one.”

“That’s right,” Bonnie says confidently. “And it’s all mine.”

“Oh, come on,” Christina huffs. “You know I like the dirty ones.”

“Now now,” Holly says. “Bonnie almost never gets to change a diaper. Let her have this one. You can have the next one.”

“Okay, fine,” Christina replies. “But I’m going to watch.”

“Yeah, well,” Holly shrugs, “we’re all going to watch.”

It’s hard for him to focus. There’s so much going on at once, and he’s never felt more overwhelmed in his entire life. Every time he thinks he takes a single step forward, he’s actually waddled forward another five feet. He even feels another trickle of piss dribbling into his packed diaper. I don’t remember authorizing that.

He blinks, and suddenly he’s atop the changing table. There’s hands on his feet, pulling his shoes off. There’s hands on his pants pulling them all the way down his legs before being removed entirely. They’re even unbuttoning his shirt and pulling that and his undershirt off from him. When they’re done, he’s wearing only his diaper. Six women surround the table, all peering down at him: Julie, Holly, Roberta, Nancy, Christina, and Bonnie.

Seven–Angela is there too now.

“I thought I smelled an icky diaper in the hallway,” she says.

Just great. The entire office–save for Mr. Branigan himself–is there to watch him get his diaper changed.

The tapes are peeled back, and the front of the diaper is pulled down to expose the extent of the mess stowed inside of it. The women gasp and laugh at the sight–clearly impressed by the damage.

“That has got to be one of the biggest loads he’s ever had,” Julie says.

“Nancy, make sure you mark this on the potty chart,” says Roberta.

“Don’t worry,” Nancy says. “I’ve made note of this one.”

“Get a picture too,” Julie says. “We might want to see this one again later.”

He expects to see one phone hovering above his body to take a photo–but instead, every girl has a phone in her hand, and they’re all taking multiple pictures. Click. Click. Click-click. Snap. Click.

His cock is hard. He doesn’t know when this happened, as he didn’t think it was hard when they were opening up the diaper.

“Ooh,” Angela coos. “Baby looks very happy.”

“Look,” Christina says. “If Bonnie gets to change him, can I please be the one to take care of his cock?”

“It’s up to you, Bonnie,” Angela says. “It’s your diaper.”

“Yeah, alright,” Bonnie says. “I guess that’s only fair.”

And so it goes. The other girls pass Bonnie the things she needs–wipes, powder, even a small tube of cream. At his head, Nancy slips a pacifier into his mouth, which he immediately begins suckling on. Meanwhile, Christina squirts some clear liquid into her hand from a different bottle before wrapping her fingers around his cock. She slides it up, and then down. Up and then down.

Bonnie folds the front of the diaper over the stinky mass and goes to work at wiping away the mess from his skin.

“New wipe,” she says, tucking the dirty one into the diaper.

Meanwhile, Christina’s hand goes up, and then down.

Nancy is stroking his hair, running her fingers through it slowly.

“New wipe,” Bonnie says.

Christina’s hand goes up, and then down.

Julie and Roberta have a few diapers in their hand and they’re debating which they want to put him into next. To his surprise, they’re not all just white. One is pink. One is green. One has polka dots on it. One has cartoon animals on it–not unlike the ones from his program.

“New wipe,” Bonnie says.

Christina’s hand goes up, and then down.

Bonnie’s fingers press into his tight asshole, pushing a groan out of his lips and through his pacifier as she thoroughly cleans up his backside.

Angela takes a few more pictures. “Mr. Branigan is going to want to see this.”

“New wipe,” Bonnie says.

Christina’s hand goes up, and then down.

He’s cumming, his dick erupting with white cream that flows over Christina’s hand and into his crotch.

“Good timing,” Bonnie says. “New wipe.”

Finally, You’ll Have a Decision to Make

He hears her before he can see her. He’s about to turn onto Forest Street when he hears the strumming of an acoustic guitar. That’s a very pretty sound, he thinks.

It’s her.

“Were you hoping you wouldn’t find me?” she asks as he approaches.

“Wh-why do you think that?”

She shrugs and smiles. “This isn’t the way you normally take to get home, is it?”

He shakes his head. “No.”

“What were you afraid of?”

He sees no reason not to be honest: “I…I was afraid you’d make this all end.”

“Ah,” she says. “So you had a good time?”

He nods. The bulk of his clean diaper fills his pants so perfectly. All he can think about is going home and spending the next few hours touching the fluffy padding between his legs.

“I could let you stay here,” she says.

“For how long?”

“Well…if you want to go back, you’d have to find me again.”

“Is that hard to do?”

“Have you ever seen me before?”

He shakes his head. “I suppose I haven’t.”

“But you also weren’t looking for me. Maybe I’m easier to find than you think.”

“M-maybe I’ll stay here a little longer,” he says.

“Of course. You have fun now. Be careful not to get a diaper rash. Though…I suppose the girls at work would never allow for that.”

He blushes and nods. “I, uh, want to say thank you. I don’t really understand what’s happened, but…”

“But you’re happy it happened?”

He nods.

“I hear it all the time. Run along now, baby. Maybe our paths will cross again.”

And then we see him go. He waddles down the street, turns right, and he’s gone.

She plays her guitar for a few more minutes. Nobody seems to be paying much attention, but she doesn’t seem bothered by this. When she’s done, she puts her guitar into its case, throws it over her shoulder, and begins walking in the opposite direction of where he went and steps into a crowd of people.

When she emerges, she looks different than when you last saw her. Her hair is a little longer. She’s wearing different clothes–an outfit that shows off her long and slender legs. She doesn’t have a guitar case anymore.

“Oh, pardon me,” a young man says as he almost stumbles into her. He blushes as he realizes she’s watching him gaze up and down her legs.

“No worries,” she replies. “It was entirely my fault. I should watch where I’m going.”

He clears his throat, desperate to say something–anything–that will keep this stunning woman here for another moment.

But it’s she who talks instead: “It’s a beautiful day, isn’t it?”

He smiles and nods. “It really is. Say, what’s your name?”

She likes this one already. That last boy never even asked her name. “I’m Juniper.”