Twitter Story: A Wish Poorly Granted (Patreon)

A Wish Poorly Granted.

A Twitter Story for @Just4n0th3rUser

You’re walking down the street, your sundress lightly billowing in the breeze .  You should be enjoying the sunshine and fresh spring air, but you’re too preoccupied. As usual, the reason is one thing: Diapers.

You can’t stop thinking about them. You love them. You need them mentally and emotionally if not physically.  They are your safety blanket. Your comfort item.  And they are only the beginning.

Your yellow sundress covers your diaper up well enough, but you wish it didn’t.  It was just the most babyish thing that you felt you could get away with wearing in public. You’ve got a shelf in your closet that is full of onesies. The bottom two drawers of your dresser are filled with cute ABDL diapers, and there’s several packets of wipes and a bottle of baby powder on top that sees near daily use.

The entire bedroom is painted in pastel pinks and the daybed is covered in childish prints.  In lieu of carpet, you have a padded puzzle play mat on the floor.  You are just short of having a full on adult nursery like all the cool people on the internet.  You’d have one too, but you have no idea where to get one, how to pay for it, and who you’d share it with.  

You are as close to a 24/7 lifestyle without going into internet story trope levels of commitment.  It still isn’t enough for you.  What you wouldn’t do to have a big stroller for somebody to push you around; to have somebody check and change you in public; to really get your kink on in the biggest, boldest, brashest way possible!

BUT that would violate consent, not to mention likely cause you a significant amount of ostracization. So you’ve kept it bottled up and discreet where you can.  It doesn’t stop your mind from wandering and thinking how great it would be.

You hear a  plastic crinkle, and your eyes dart to a lady walking out of a supermarket.  A guy walks by, and you and you stare at the back of his pants in the vain hope that you’ll see something besides underwear poking out of the top of his waistband.  Your ears twitch and you hear talks of “Mommy” and “Daddy” but it’s coming from little kids loading up in the back of a minivan.

Nothing.  There never is. Outside of a computer screen, you’ve never met another ABDL.

Wistfully you whisper to yourself, “I wish everyone else into ABDL as much as I was.”  It’d be easier to enjoy and make new friends if they were.

And to your surprise you hear “Granted”.

Like a slow rain cloud pouring down, you see the changes happen from far away first.  Pants puff out.  Shorts shrink and melt into onesies.  Then it comes closer.  Vape pens and cigarettes become pacifiers and radios start playing nursery rhymes and Kidz Bops.

At least half of every couple is now obviously padded. Some are being carried in one another’s arms.  You hear and see talks of checks and changes.  Little boys and girls just like you getting gleefully taken off to a changing or nursing station.  

Some don’t wait that long to start: Nursing bras are being unclasped and changing mats are being laid down right in public.  Others are drifting off in magnificent car seats that they’re currently being buckled into.

The wave hits you and you feel complete ecstasy and joy!  Finally! Just…finally!    You rip off your sundress and kick off your flats.  If you’re going to do this, you’re going to do it “right” and just prance around naked save for your diapee.  You’re clearly not the only one.

Gasps cascade from all around you.  Littles cover their eyes and their bigs glare at you.  You’re wearing…panties? And a bra? Not even a nursing bra, just a regular…bra.  You scramble to redress yourself, blushing and apologizing profusely.  Somehow you also find a pair of sensible jeans and yank them up, too.  

“Keep your vanilla exhibitionist stuff to yourself,” one of the onlookers says.  “There are littles and AB’s around.  What are you thinking? Find other vanillas if you want to do that.”

“But I’m an adult baby,” you say.  “Like them. Like you!”

“That underwear looked way too vanilla. No cartoons on it or anything.  And is that a purse?  Gross!”  You realize you’re the only one with a purse instead of a diaper bag.

“But…but…”

“Just keep that vanilla stuff to yourself, okay?”

“O…o…okay.”

You realize that the way you that random wish was said was phrased poorly.  “I wish everyone *else* was into ABDL…”  Else.  As is ‘not you’.  You run home with tears streaming down your cheeks, afraid that you’ll find your room completely unbabied.  “I wish I were an ABDL, too,” you say.  “I wish I was an ABDL too!”