Addiction

Chapter 9
How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You

Two months ago: Time unknown

9. I close my eyes at night

Wondering where I would be without you in my life

Everything I did was just a bore

Everywhere I went it seems I’d been there before

But you brighten up for me all of my days

With a love so sweet in so many ways

-James Taylor; “How Sweet It Is To Be Loved By You”.

“Open wide for Mama!” Mama inched the spoon towards Damien with a steady “chugga-chugga-chugga”. Damien’s eyes brightened and he giggled as the plastic tipped utensil scooted towards his mouth in dramatic faction. As the tip of his spoon brushed his bottom lip, Damien opened the rest of the way up, and Mama slid it and the yummy food it held into his awaiting mouth.

His lips closed over the spoon and the delicious stuff slid off the spoon and onto his tongue. Mama slid the spoon out of Damien’s mouth and dipped it back into the baby-food jar for another scoop. Damien, meanwhile swallowed the num-nums and giggled as the stuff slipped off his tongue and down his throat. Apples! Mmmmm. The taste was so good that it made him smile before he was done swallowing and some of the scrumptious goop poured out of his mouth and onto his chin.

“Here comes the choo-choo train,” Mama cooed to her baby boy as another spoonful of applesauce “chugga-chugged” along a track that only mother and baby could see.

“Aaagggh!” Damien squealed in delight, clapping his hands. Mama was so funny! He bounced up and down in his highchair, quivering with anticipation as the next spoonful came for his mouth on its journey from the jar to his tummy. What Damien failed to notice was how with every bounce, with even the slightest shift in his weight, there was a distinct crinkle.

But why should he notice the crinkle? He crinkled whenever he moved, except for the times when he was very, very wet or very, very poopy. Then the crisp crinkling sound became a more muted squish. But that’s how it was, and that’s how it was supposed to be, and that’s how it would always be. The crinkling sound coming from his bottom was just part of living. It was so much white noise.

Again and again, the dance of Mama and the spoon repeated itself, until Mama scraped the bottom of the baby food jar. Again and again, Damien accepted spoonful after spoonful of the delightful fruity mush; smiling each time as though it were the first taste. When the stuff dripped back out from between his lips, Mama occasionally caught it in the spoon and gave Damien another taste, but just as often it dripped onto his awaiting bib.

When he had finished the whole jar (more or less), Mama wiped Damien’s face with the bib. She then reached out of Damien’s line of sight, and held up a milky ba-ba.

“Ooooh! Ooooo! Babababababba!” Damien babbled, reaching for his favorite treat.

“Patience, baby boy,” Mama cooed as she slid the bottle between Damien’s lips.

Damien began to suckle immediately, the rich creamy stuff rolling onto his tongue from the rubber nipple. He sucked voraciously at it, trying to drain every last drop of the stuff all at once. He wasn’t a baby, he was a vacuum cleaner. He wanted all of the milk and he wanted it now!

Damien drank too fast and felt a strange, unpleasant scratching tickle shoot down his throat as he swallowed too fast and some of the milky ba-ba went down the wrong pipe. The milky ba-ba dropped to the floor as he sputtered and coughed.

“Oh, poor baby,” Mama tried to comfort him as he hacked, quickly unbuckling him and removing him from his highchair. The baby began to mewl and fuss as she sat him on her lap and held him closely to her breast.

Just then, something inside Damien clicked into place. Infant eyes closed and adult eyes opened in their stead as the coughing fit came to an end. He groaned in pain and withdrew from Mama’s embrace.

“Wussa matter, baby?” Damien heard Mama ask as he took stock of his current surroundings. He was in a kitchen, though it wasn’t his. It had a black and white checkered floor with simple wooden tables and chairs, not to mention the oversized high chair that was right behind him.

Currently, he was straddling the lap of the woman who had diapered him at Eden. “Mama,” she made him call her. The amount of padding around his crotch and the crinkle that filled his ears with each little jostling of her leg let him know that he was once again diapered and not much else. “Mama” for her part, had changed out of the nursery scrubs she had been wearing and was now wearing a yellow June Cleaver dress and pearl necklace. She looked the part of a housewife out of the 1950’s.

This insane woman kept insisting that he was a baby, and his current predicament wasn’t doing much to disprove her; never mind that if they had been standing, he’d have a good two inches on her. Her seemingly impossible strength counteracted any size advantage Damien may have had.

He had come to his senses like this plenty of times before, and outright struggling only led to painful spankings and a sore bottom. On some level, he knew this was a dream. These experiences, however real they seemed at the time, always abruptly ended and there was no other logical way to explain the lapses in time he was experiencing other than that this was an illusion.

“Uh ohs,” Mama grabbed Damien’s chin and directed her gaze directly into his eyes. “Mama knows that look,” she grinned so devilishly that a Disney villain would be proud. “Some baby thinks that he’s a big boy. Well let’s look for proof, shall we?”

She let go of Damien’s chin, and he felt her sticking two fingers into the leggings of his diaper. He bit down on his tongue and tensed as his most basic personal boundaries were so casually broken. He felt her pull back waistband of the diaper and peek over his shoulder, inspecting whether or not he had soiled himself.

“Clean diaper,” she pronounced, sounding the slightest bit disappointed. “Well, give it time, and I’m sure that will change.” Damien felt himself lifted up and his bare legs mechanically wrapped around the woman’s hips. He felt her arm snake under his backside, supporting him while the other arm started patting and rubbing his back.

“Come on,” she coaxed, as she continued to pat and rub his back. “Make burpies for Mama.” Damien frowned at this treatment; this latest in a growing list of indignities. Dream or no dream, he had had enough.

“Let me go,” Damien demanded.

“No,” the madwoman, this “Mama,” said flatly.

“I don’t need to be fed in a high chair,” he stated.

“You just were,” she replied.

“I don’t need to be- BRAAAAARF” Damien was interrupted by himself as he belched.

“You just did,” Mama replied smugly, still patting his back. “Good baby,” she added.

“And I definitely don’t need-” Damien cut himself off. “Uh-ooooh.” A long low hiss filled Damien’s ears and he wasn’t certain if it could be heard by anyone other than him; kind of like how you can hear yourself chew your own food, but those across the table can’t.

It hadn’t even felt the slightest bit full, but Damien’s bladder let loose as though he had been holding it for days. The warm wetness soaked into the front of his diaper and quickly spread lower. Some of the pee splashed back onto his penis and pubic area before trickling down to his balls and taint where it was absorbed.

“Good baaaaaaaby,” the woman cooed, making sure to draw out the last word while rubbing Damien’s back and patting his diapered bottom. “Baby went potty in his pants,” she planted a doting kiss on his forehead. “Well that’s not technically true,” she added, “because Baby’s not wearing any pants.”

Damien felt the diaper quickly absorbing his waste and it began to bulk up around his member, making it feel like his nether regions were embraced in a warm wet hug. A stray thought bullied its way into his head as he accidentally compared it to another time his dick got into something warm and wet. Blood rushed to his manhood, and soon, despite himself, his diaper felt even fuller than before.

Oh God, why was this turning him on?!

“Baby boy’s got a stiffy, doesn’t him?” the woman mocked in motherese. “That’s okay, baby boys can make all the cummies in their diapers that they want.”

“NO!” Damien screamed, sitting up in bed.

Damien’s eyes shot open. He looked around. He was safe. Safe in his room. His lip curled in disgust as he looked down at his legs. His sheets were soaked in urine…again, and he had a serious case of morning wood. He had turned into a regular bed wetter over the last few weeks. If this kept up, he’d need to start wearing protection to bed.

He sighed in disgust as he kicked the sheets off his bed and peeled himself off of the mattress. Disgusting. He shuffled to the shower, past the small pile of dirty clothes that had accumulated on his floor over the last two weeks. He just hadn’t had the time to put this stuff in the washing machine. Most of his free time when not high on Re-Lease had been spent washing his sheets night after night after night.

Damien knew he should go to a doctor about this, but he knew nothing about the drug that he was flooding his system with on a nightly basis. For all he knew, he could go to the doctor and then either end up in some research hospital, or worse yet, in a jail cell. Damien didn’t actually know what was in that little red pill that made him feel so wonderful at night and then so burnt out the next morning. He wasn’t completely sure he wanted to know. Technically, he still couldn’t be certain that the Re-Lease was causing his bedtime problems or his crazy dreams. Correlation was not the same as causation.

A nagging part of Damien suggested that he should at least buy some Depends or something to wear to bed so he wouldn’t have to keep washing his sheets all the time. But some small bit of pride still lingered in him. It was bad enough that he was diapered in every dream that he could remember lately. He’d be damned if he wore a diaper in the waking world. It felt like giving up to him; like if he finally admitted that this was a problem and broke down and bought the diapers, he’d either have to admit he had a problem or he’d be so beyond solving the problem that there’d be no going back.

He could beat this. He could have his cake and eat it, too. He just knew it. He just wish he knew how.