“Okay.” I mumbled, looking down. I couldn’t see my sandals past the bulge of the swollen, soggy diaper. I frowned down at the cartoon animals smiling up at me. I was still smarting from having yet another accident and was in no mood for her fondling. Sure, I enjoyed it on the horse- hell, her rubbing me in a wet, warm diaper felt good. The memory of it sent shudders down my spine. Oh boy. Oh boy. Oh boy, had it felt good. Until the rush of hormones ebbed and reality sank in. I wet my diaper again. The pleasure had been too good to deny.
I peeked up at Skye. Her good humor seemed restored. “So, Gavi, what do you want for lunch?”
“Um….” I was more focused on the wet diaper swinging between my legs, rubbing my inner thighs and forcing me into a waddle.
“Oh, I know. It’s a little different than what you’re used to, but you’ll like it.”
I paused, and tugged on Skye’s hand to force her to stop. “Something normal.” I put my hands on my hips- my diaper covered hips- and tried to stare sternly up at her. Skye’s taste in food was weird as her personality. Perfect example; on one of our dates we were at some weird restaurant Skye had picked- Indian? Asian? Indonesian? I don’t really remember- and she drank kopi luwak. Coffee brewed from beans pooped out by a civet.
“Normal is relative. And boring. There’s the Safari Food Court with ethnic African food, or the Rainforest Cafe with South American-”
“American normal. Something I’d eat.” I pouted. When it came to food, I learned not to trust Skye any further than I could throw a fat sumo wrestler.
“How about these!” Skye chirped, hands under her breasts, lifting them up as she stepped close to me, practically smothering my face in her cleavage.
“Skye!” I blushed and stepped back with a crinkle. “That’s not food!”
Skye laughed madly. “To some it is! Babies drink their mommy’s milk. That’s what these were made for.”
I stared at her like she’d suddenly sprouted another head. Did I ever mention that my girlfriend is weird? Was she implying she’d nurse me? That I was a baby because I had an accident...or two….and was now in a wet diaper? More than likely she was just teasing me. “Normal food.” I stated again.
“Milk is perfectly normal.”
“For a baby. I’m not a baby. No baby food.”
“Alright, alright. No baby food.” Skye promised with a huff. “We’ll get something boring and more American than a drunk redneck.” She turned her head and suddenly perked right up. “Oh, hotdogs! That was easy!” The path dipped down to the left and gave way to a small food stall advertising hot dogs, with an outdoor seating area framed by landscaped shrubbery and pretty, seasonal flowers. Pigeons milled about the tables and chairs, pecking at bits of french fries and bun on the ground.
She grabbed my hand and merrily skipped off suddenly, yanking me along. With my swollen, wt diaper I had trouble keeping up. My legs spread wide in a crinkly waddle while her long, sleek legs ate up the ground. How did she move so fast in those high wedge sandals? Between the fast pace and the tugging on my hand, I wobbled, off balance. “Skye!”
“Hm? She slowed unexpectedly and I still wobbled, free arm pin wheeling. She giggled, taking my other hand in hers and steadied me. “There you go, Gavi-poo. I’ll go slower so you can keep up.”
“I can keep up!” I insisted, cheeks red.
“Sure, sure.” Skye just giggled again. We set off, not holding hands. Skye moved fast, almost in line and I sped up too, trying to keep up. I got a pretty good waddle-run going on. I smiled, a small part of myself feeling proud for figuring this gait out. Several strides in and my balance went off-kilter. I wobbled to and fro, diaper swaying heavily between my legs when I lost my balance completely.
“Gavin!” Skye caught me, her slim arms around my thin waist. She steadied me. I blushed, mumbling a quiet thank you. I just wasn’t used to moving around in a wet diaper. Skye held my hand, leading me at a calm walk over to the food line. A tiny feeling of security, of safety welled up in me with Skye holding my hand. I frowned, wondering at that feeling. Surely I was a big boy who could walk all on his own. I just enjoyed holding her hand because she was my girlfriend, my Skye. That was all.
I was so busy mulling over all this I barely paid attention as Skye ordered. Two girls manned the hot dog booth; both wore the green t-shirt with the zoo’s logo and khaki shorts. No diapers for them. One girl, a curly redhead, leaned over the counter to grin manically at me. “Oh, what a cutie you have!” She gushed to Skye. I blushed and scooted behind Skye. It was rare for girls to flirt with me, and I was never really sure how to handle it.
“I know it.” Skye preened, pleased as if the girl had been complimenting her. “We’ll take the Mother and Cub special, extra Formula.” She ordered then slid over the change as the girl rung her up. I stayed behind Skye for the rest of the exchange, and I didn’t pay attention to the tray. I assumed they would be nearly the same. I mean, a hot dog was a hot dog, right?
Wrong, Gavin. Oh so very wrong. Sure, Skye got a regular hot dog. On a bun. With toppings. I got a regular hot dog, too. Except mine was all cut up like a toddler’s, served on a paper plate shaped like some zoo animal, and served with a plastic toddler fork.
Skye picked a shady, clean table and set us both up for lunch. I just stared at the tray and crossed my arms while Skye happily dug into her own food. She’s tall and slender and quite the successful stripper. And she could eat like a pig sometimes. She wasn’t one of those Barbie girls that existed on bottled water and lettuce. If it was good, she’d eat it. That was another one of the things I liked about her; a girl who wasn’t afraid of food. I think she just had a high metabolism or she burned it off with all that pole dancing. And I was NOT going to eat that toddler chow. I think I’d rather have civet poop coffee. Maybe.
“Gavi-poo, what’s wrong, baby? Eat your nummy hot dog so you’ll have lots of energy for the rest of our big day!” Skye cooed, leaning across the outdoor table. The sun shone annoyingly bright in the blue sky; no chance of rain washing out the day.
I scrunched my face up, pushing away the childish paper plate with the colorful blue plastic fork, made wide so that small, unsteady hands could easily grasp it. I wanted a regular round, plain white paper plate like she had. Like all the grown ups had. My cheeks flushed at the thought. I was a grown up, too, even if I was sitting in a slightly damp diaper as childishly colorful as the animal-shaped paper plate. I puffed my cheeks out, refusing to say outloud I wanted a new diaper. Pants. Big boy pants. I wanted my big boy pants because I was a big boy.
“You like hot dogs. If the fork’s too hard, just use your fingers, baby.” She cajoled in a sing-song tone. “Don’t you want to see what Zoo Friend you got?” Her fingers pushed the plate insistently towards me. “Have some milky.” She pushed a blue plastic sippy cup with a green lid closer to me.
I pushed them back. “No.” My diaper rustled loudly as I moved on the hard metal chair. I crossed my arms and turned my head away. Families sat around us, mostly mothers and their little boys, with a few grandmothers and daddies sprinkled in. The further the day progressed, the more baby boys popped up like dandelions growing wild. Like me, most of them wore just a t-shirt, sandals, and a gargantuan diaper plastered with happy cartoon animals. Some wore just shoes and a diaper. I stared around at the crowd, feeling smaller inside with each passing second, as if I truly belonged with the babies. A few lucky ducks had shortalls with puffy diaper butts and obvious metal snaps in the crotch, but at least their diapers were covered. A few pre-school aged boys near us reluctantly fed themselves using the same despised, childish plasticware and plate I had. Across the outdoor cafeteria seating, a mother opened up her sleeveless blouse and brought her squirming, squalling infant to her breast. The safari print diaper poked out the leg holes of the yellow onesie.
“Gavin.” The melodic tone withered to a sharp command as she picked up the fork and speared a dime sized slice of hotdog. She brought it up to my face; the motion made her breasts jiggle gently in her low cut top. The bared swell of creamy flesh immediately snagged my attention with toddler-like fascination. I wanted to look away, but my eyes had a mind of their own. Was it just me, or did they look a little bigger? A little fuller and firmer like they were swelling. A strange craving for milk filled my mind.
My mouth hung slightly open; my lips wet. Was I drooling? Skye shoved the fork between my lips. “Good boy!” She cooed in a happy sing-song voice again. I frowned, but part of me- the same part that got all warm and tingly when I wet my pants then my diaper- glowed with happiness at the syrupy praise.
“Come on, baby, you need to chew.” Sky encouraged as I mechanically ground hotdog between my teeth. My gaze stayed focused on the gentle swell of her bosom, mind in a hazy cloud of pleasure from her warm tone and thoughts of milk.
“Here comes the airplane, in for a landing.” She dipped and and zig-zagged the fork through the air, making airplane noises as she tried to feed me another bite. I closed my lips, refusing another bite. I was not a baby. She did not have to trick me into eating. A small part of me thrilled at the airplane game. What other noises would an imaginative girl like her come up with?
I mentally shoved those beguiling thoughts away forcefully. “I can do it myself.” I insisted, cheeks turning red as I quickly picked up the childish sippy cup and took a long drink of the Baby Formula so she couldn’t stuff any more hotdog in my face. It was chill and sweet; the more I drank it, the more it grew on me. Must be an acquired taste.
“Baby, you weren’t feeding yourself. We’ve got lots of fun ahead. Don’t you want to see the rest of the animals? I’m just helping you since you’re having trouble.” Skye smiled, reaching out to ruffle my hair. I tried to duck, but she was too fast. Her hand on top of my head felt…..not that degrading. Almost nice. I could tolerate it. She pulled the sippy cup from my lips mid-swig. Milk dribbled down my lips and chin, dripping onto my shirt. She wiped my face with a napkin then dabbed at my shirt.
“I need to get a bib for my Gavi-poo. Just look at that shirt.” She giggled, immensely pleased.
“Hey! Not my fault. You pulled it out of my mouth.” I glared at her. She just smiled back and jabbed another piece of hotdog, blithely ignoring my complaints as if I was just a fussy toddler.
“I can’t let you chug your milky like that. You’ll get a tummy ache. You need to eat your hotdoggy all gone like a good boy!” She cooed some more
I turned my head aside at her attempt to feed me. “I can do it myself.” I insisted. A slight breeze picked up, tickling my bare legs. The sensitive skin of my exposed inner thighs prickled in goosebumps; I wished for anything to cover my diaper. Even shortalls with poppers in the crotch and a smiling kangaroo on the bib.
“Okey dokey.” Skye smiled with a raised eyebrow, as if she already knew how this was going to end. “But if it doesn’t work, then you’ll be a good boy and let Mommy feed you.”
I blinked. “What?” Surely I had misheard her? The word “mommy” made me feel small and helpless inside. Part of me liked it. The word sprang to my tongue, tempting me to say it. To call Skye “mommy”. Mommy Skye. I frowned, shifting awkwardly on the hard metal seat. My diaper crinkled noisily. My diaper. No longer “the” diaper. I had already wet it, my urine laying claim to the padding swaddling me. My diaper and Skye was my loving mommy. The warmth in my tummy-stomach- grew. A bigger part of me shuddered in horror at these thoughts.
Skye smiled so sweet, her eyes glued to me expectantly. “I said, you’ll be a good boy and let me feed you. It’s okay, baby. I’m sure you can do it all by yourself.” She pressed her soft lips to my cheek as she placed the fork in my hand, like a mommy encouraging her toddler to feed himself.
I blushed, dropping my eyes to my plate. Of course I could do it. I was a big boy. The fork was too wide and chunky to hold like a normal fork. I was forced to hold it in my fist like a clumsy toddler. I peeked up at Skye; she continued to watch me, smiling as she ate her own hotdog. Whole, on a bun, loaded with ketchup, mustard, and relish. An adult hotdog. I wanted one like that too. I pouted and jabbed at a round slice on my plate. The little piece jumped forward, pushed by the plastic fork tines.
“That’s the cutest thing I’ve ever seen.” She giggled.
My face flamed; I jabbed the hot dog harder. Success. Automatically, I looked up at Skye, beaming with pride. She was still smiling. What was I doing? I looked down in disgust in time to see the hot dog slip off the fork.
I puffed my cheeks out, suppressing a stream of profanities. Normally Skye wouldn’t care, but I had an odd feeling she’d reprimand me for swearing today. Probably because of all the babies and kids around.
I threw the fat blue fork down and grabbed (perhaps pinched?) the hotdog. It was halfway to my lips when it slipped and fell to the ground. My pout deepened. Maybe, in my frustration, I squeezed too hard?
Skye breezily laughed as if she was delighted. “What a determined baby!” She gushed as she dug through the gift bag, pulling out a folded up, small plastic rectangle. She had already finished her hotdog and mango smoothie made with a heavy helping of Mother’s Milk. She kissed both my cheeks affectionately, soothing away the frustration and distracting me. When she sat back, I realized something was around my neck. I looked down to see a happy cartoon lion smiling up at me from a plastic white rectangle. I was wearing a bib.
My eyes widened as I stared down at my chest. I blushed again, curling in on myself and sneaking a self conscious glance around. Nobody- no mommy, no kids- batted an eyelash at the sight of a grown, diapered man in a bib. It was the same lack of reactions I’d experienced when first diapered. It was as if the world saw me as just another toddler in a bib and diaper. Pre-school boys fed themselves, gloomy in their happy cartoon animal print diapers. At least they could feed themselves and did not need bibs. Jealousy ate at me, so I looked away with a soft snort. Jealous of a preschooler. What the hell was wrong with me?
“It’s okay, Gavi-poo. You did your best.” Skye cooed, kissing the tip of my nose. I smiled back reflexively. She fed me a bite of hotdog; she had no trouble with the fork. That’s how the rest of our lunch went. Skye was deliriously happy, in her element. She cooed at me, plastering my face with sloppy kisses and making silly faces as she fed me. Defeated, I cooperated, barely tasting the food; I was absorbed by the loving attention she showered on me.
Over her shoulder, I saw the bushes near our small table rustle. A female peacock darted out. The peahen’s plumage was mostly brown, the infamous vibrant peacock colors only a faint ring around her neck. She pecked at the hotdog on the ground, snapping it up in her beak then dashing back to the bush. Diapered toddlers just stared, like I did. They did not squeal or clap like I would have expected of youngsters. Mommies cooed excitedly to their babies, pointing the large birdie out.
A peachick poked his head out of the bush. His downy feathers were brown and white with faint speckles of vibrant blue and green; a promise of future splendor. He pecked at the hotdog his mommy held in her beak, as if he were a fully grown bird trying to steal it. The peahen pecked him sharply on the head; then very reluctantly, he opened his beak and hungrily chirped like a baby bird should. The peahen ruffled her feathers in approval and dropped the hotdog into her baby’s beak.
Was that normal bird behavior? Before I could ponder the strangeness anymore, Skye wiped my hands and face with something cold and wet. A baby wipe, just like she’d used to clean me with down there. In my diaper area. I shuddered at the thought, partly repulsed but another part of me knew it was true. Warmth bubbled in my stomach as I acknowledged it. Not my crotch- my diaper area.
Skye took my bib off, stuffing it back into the bag. “Come on, Gavi-kins. There’s still so much more to do.” She gently but firmly took my hand, guiding me to my feet. She smiled at me, her heart in her eyes, all soft and warm. She was truly happy to be here with me in this moment. My insides warmed in response. For a moment, I forgot all about my diapers and being babied. All that mattered was being with her, our hands clasped and hearts beating as one. I crinkled along at her side, feeling content and at peace within myself.
Stories of Age/Time Transformation