“There’s no “should” or “should not” when it comes to having feelings. They’re part of who we are and their origins are beyond our control. When we can believe that, we may find it easier to make constructive choices about what to do with those feelings.”
“Don’t ask questions of fairy tales.”
-Jewish folk saying
She awoke to Greg’s knocks on the door. She rips off her diaper, and almost stumbles to the shower in a fog. She thinks heavy, heavy thoughts while showering, and ends up siting there, on the floor, curled up, with the hot water coursing over her.
“What did last night mean? What does that say about me? Why do I, after all I have been through, have to find out that I want to be a baby. And be fucked by her daddy. What’s that called again, a Oedipal complex. Wait, that is for guys, I think the female version is the Electra complex.”
“I push through a self inflicted hell and find out heaven is me being entirely dependent on another human being? Could I even ask for what I need? Why the hell would Greg say yes. Nobody wants to be wrist deep in someone else’s poop. I’m fucked.”
She sits there, musing, and loses all track of time. Her fingers and toes begin to wrinkle, and she sits, pondering her impossible situation.
“I want him to be my daddy, for me to be totally dependent on him. But I have to find the bravery to ask. How can I take charge, by asking, for him to take charge and be my daddy. I’m fucked.”
The hot water begins to run out, after a long time, growing slowly colder. Only then does she think of how long she has been in the shower, crouched. She stands and washes quickly, gritting her teeth from the cold water.
She dresses even quicker, and practically runs down the stairs to join Greg in meditation. She sits next to him, but only manages a moment of introspection before he announces that it is time for breakfast. They walk to the kitchen side by side. She wants very badly to reach out and hold his hand, but recoils when she thinks his reaction on that very first night.
Breakfast is simple yogurt with granola sprinkled on top.
They eat in silence.
She insists on doing what little cleaning up is to be done. Then, they head outside to the front yard to start the run. Again they walk side by side. This time, instinctively she reaches out to grab his hand, recoiling just before making contact. She hopes he doesn’t notice.
They run together as well, both a unhurried, easy jog. They do not talk however, both seemingly lost in their own thoughts. As she jogs, she feels a revulsion rising in her gut, feeling sick, and broken inside. Images flash in her head of her masturbating last night. She stops suddenly, and leans over, feeling like she might throw up. She almost does, until she looks up and she sees the expression of perfected parental concern on Greg’s face.
He sits her down, and she leans over, resting her hands on her knees. “Are you going to be okay honey,” he says. She looks up in surprise at his choice of words. Greg looks more surprised than she does, a deep red blossoming on his cheeks. “He is blushing,” she thinks, “actually blushing.” She could have kissed him then, in that moment of vulnerability, but it passes before she has the courage to act.
She stands then, and Greg says, “We will walk from here.”
“I am perfectly fine now,” she argues.
His eyebrows bunch sternly, and he says with finality, “We will walk.”
They walk back in silence.
Greg starts to stretch first, displaying his usual talent. She stretches slowly, enjoying the feeling of nerves loosing their tight grip in her limbs. “I may not have his flexibility,” she thinks, “but with time, and practice, I’ll get there.” Mere moments later she is struck by her own maturity. Some of the disgust lingering in her stomach lifts, leaves her, makes her feel cleaner.
She takes the workout at the same pace, not worrying about Greg’s speed or repetition, taking things at her own speed.
She feel sore, but comfortable. She is proud at finally having the measure of her own ability, and the patience to work within it. “Everything in its own time.” She smiles, beaming with her own answer, finally her own answer, that feels real, feels viscerally right. The voice from the back of her head, usually hidden in the far reaches, come forward proudly announcing that she can stand on her own two feet.
They walk indoors side by side. When Greg sees the content smile on her face, he smiles even wider, so wide it seems like he can barely contain it on his face. But he chooses to say nothing.
They walk to her bedroom. She head to the bathroom and undresses, patiently and puts on a bathrobe. She walks out into her room, where Greg is waiting by the bed. She lies down without comment.
Greg begins to massage her, slowly taking his time like before yesterday’s brutal deep tissue treatment. He works on her toes, moving up the legs at his usually patient pace. His hands on her had never meant anything other than comfort before, but she feels herself growing warmer as he moves up toward her waist. She lets out a low, throaty moan. Greg coughs almost choking, and she lifts her head to look back at him. This time the blush on his face is almost scarlet and reaches all the way out to the tips of the tops of his ears.
She wants again to kiss him, deeply, passionately, to steal that look of boyish surprise right of his face. But Greg doesn’t stop his massage, and he slowly patiently works out every kink in every fiber of her body.
“Sleep tight darling.” He says, the words slipping out as he leaves the room.
If she had lifted her head then, instead of falling asleep, she would have seen a blush of the deepest red yet, and would not have been able to stop herself.
She does not dream.
She does not wet herself.
She wakes, with a smile, to Greg’s tapping on the bedroom door. She dress in jeans and a t shirt, and walks downstairs, almost floating from the days events. She walks to the kitchen.
For lunch Greg has prepared fruit salad, with grapes, watermelon, pineapple, pears, and strawberries. He has set the table with forks and a napkin. When she sits, he begins to dig right in, eating the fruit in no particular order. She sits for a moment, and thinks over the days earlier events. She vividly recalls the images of Greg blushing when he called her those pet names.
She is stuck at a crossroad, indecisive, weighing her options, conceptualizing them. Finally, she puts the question to herself in its simplest form. “Companionship or love?”
After that she doesn’t hesitate for a moment. She digs right in to the bowl of fruit with her hands. She doesn’t eat quietly, slurping at the juices of the fruit, munching loudly. Greg looks up at her and cannot resist, laughing deeply for the first time today. He lets her finish, and then grabs a wet washcloth, and begins to clean her face. This time, she says nothing, and beams up at him. After he finishes cleaning her face, he says, sweetly, “Hands princess,” this time without blushing. She presents them, lifting her digits in front of her face. He wipes them down, making sure to get between her fingers.
He tells her that her shirt is messy and she needs to change. “No,” she says, “I like this one.” He begins to guide her toward her bedroom, but she leans against him, trying to slow herself down. When that doesn’t work, she sits down, immediately, and sticks out her tongue at him. Greg laughs again, deep belly laughs that shake his whole frame, and kneels next to her.
Without a word, he picks her and carries her up to her room. She tells him to put her down. She only says it once. He puts her down on her bed, and tells her to dress in a new shirt before she rides the bike by herself today, then leaves the room.
Then, huffing, mostly in play, she picks out a new shirt. She dresses, while she thinks, “I really don’t have anything girly at all in my wardrobe.”
She hurts downs stairs and finds him, waiting by the front door with her jacket in his hands. He is not wearing his. She grabs hers, puts it on. Wordlessly, grabs his jacket of the rack, and with her other hand she finally reaches out and grabs his. Her hand is dwarfed by his, and she feels comforted by its size. Greg cannot help but smile at the look of determination on her face.
She leads him outside to the bike, still not having said a word, sits him down on the front of the bike. She then sits behind him, and wraps her arms as tight as she ever has around his chest. She can see his ears and neck grow red, as he repeats his incredible blushing trick.
Then they are off. She stands up on the footrest as soon as she can, moving her arms up to rest on his shoulders. She smiles into the winds, squinting, her joy growing as her hair whips backward from the wind. Soon she is gleefully, yelling, laughing at the top,of her lungs.
When she runs out of breath, she sits back down and hugs Greg all the tighter. She does not have a singular thought intrude in her mind, not a single worry, just comfort. The ride ends all too quickly for her.
They pull up to the house, and park in the driveway. Greg gets off the bike and starts to walk in. He is halfway there before he looks back and sees her pouting.
“I wanna go again,” she says.
Greg laughs so hard this time that bends down, curling over his legs, his whole body shaking and a tremendous noise erupts from him. When he catches his breath, he patiently walks over and picks her up. This time he doesn’t cradle her in his arms, instead he places one arm under her rear and uses the other to hold her to her to his body. She feels so little, so small, that even forgets to pretend to want down this time. She closes her eyes and leans into him, burying her face in his shirt.
When she looks back up, she sees that they are in the backyard all ready, and she almost whines when he puts her back down. Then Greg assumes his mediation pose, closes his eyes and begins to breath his clockwork breaths. There is a irrepressible smile on his face though, and he seems to wrestle with it his effort to become serene.
She draws inward in a flash, so quickly in fact that she startles herself out of the meditative state. She takes a breath, then syncs up her breathing with him again, and slowly, taking her time, turns inward. As she thinks back over the day, her face draws in to a grin, and she feels butterfly’s in her stomach. She enjoys this feeling, basking in it for a long time. Eventually, she goes deeper, searching her feelings. She thinks, “As much as I love this, it is not enough. I need more from him, I need him to to be my…be my….daddy.”
“This is going to be hard. I can’t trick him in to it, I can’t lead him there gently. I am just going to have to fucking ask. To bare myself completely and hope he replies. Fuck.”
When she finishes this thought, Greg announces that it is time for dinner. As they walk to the kitchen side by side, she reaches for his hand instantly. He grabs for hers just as hard.
He only lets to when he needs to start dinner, and watches him cook. He dices up mushrooms, red bell peppers, onions and garlic. Then he thinly slices a filet mignon. He tosses all of it in the pan, and sautés the mixture.
He asks, while cooking, “Will you be my little helper and prepare some bowls with lettuce and spinach for the meal?”
She literally jumps at the chance to help, and knocks over her chair. She quickly puts it back up and does as he asked. Greg then serves out some of the pan into to either bowl.
“I want more,” she says, instinctively.
“Sure,” Greg replies, “after you finish what you have already.”
She pouts for a moment, drawing another laugh out of Greg, but starts on her own food. They eat in silence, but not from lack of interest, but because of their shared loved of the meal.
Greg doesn’t even bother asking if she wants more when he sees her, bent over groaning and rubbing her belly. He cleans up in his usual efficient manner. Then he heads to his room to retrieve his customary bottle of red wine.
They drink on the deck, and she starts to talk and relate in a more adult manner, all the while in the back of her mind readying herself, preparing to ask him the question.
Before she can though, Greg asks her, “This is the happiest I have seen you so far. What has changed?”
The perfect opening, the perfect moment, “Now or never,” she thinks.
“Well, I could pretend that it was some large philosophical change in my mindset, but really it is quite simple. I was thinking about what you said about acceptance, and how I think about my actions. I judge myself, really, really harshly. I am trying to learn, to engage, in simply being, simply acting how I want, when I want, instead of worrying what other people think about me.”
“It is so freeing, it feels like I have been holding my breath for my entire life, and suddenly I can let it go. I know my emotions, I know who I am. I accept it. My anger, my vanity, my humor, my fear, my happiness, my ummm… my ummm…”
“Say it,” she thinks, “fucking nut up and say it!” She is screaming inside her own head, almost deafening herself.
“Ummmm,” she says aloud.
She is mentally yelling, “Now, now, now.”
Greg looks deeply saddened, but says, “That is wonderful. I am glad you can finally stand on your own.”
He is almost whispering when he finishes “Soon we will talk about me moving out, and just coming in a couple times a week for some hourly session.”
Then he walks inside. Leaving her there in more anguish than she has felt all week, perhaps even her whole life. She feels like she is at the bottom of a well, so far down the light only reaches her a midday, when the sun is at its zenith. And the light is sliding away fast.
She walks in a fog up to her room. She undresses despondently, and lays down to diaper herself and go to bed, bare breasted. As she lays down though, she realizes she has to pee. A idea strikes her.
“If I cannot tell him,” she thinks, " I will show him." Then, for the first time in her life, she consciously pees in a diaper. As soon as she finishes, she opens her door, and walks down to Greg’s room. The light is still on under the door. She gathers her strength, every piece of self acceptance, of self love, she can muster, and knocks on his door.
Greg opens it, and stares at her opened mouthed, totally shocked. She reacts the only way she can, runs towards him, hugs him tightly and cries, “I need you daddy! I need you.” She begins to cry her little heart out then, while burying her face in his shirt. Greg rubs her back for a moment. He quickly realizes more drastic action is needed as she buries herself deep and deep into him sobbing and gasping in equal measure. He squats down, and picks her up like earlier in the day, one arm under her tush, the other pushing her into his body.
“Shhhhhh, it’s alright,” Greg reassures her, “it’s alright baby girl. Daddy’s here, daddy’s here.”
This doesn’t stop her sobs, and impossibly they pick in intensity, her whole body shaking, with each sob. She slows though, when she hears daddy crying too.
“I am so sorry,” he cries, " when I met you, you were in so much pain, so self consumed with a lie, I wanted to help you anyway I could. I couldn’t push you though, I couldn’t push anything on you. You had to ask, you had to the make the choice. I only thought about how much it hurt me."
“I had no earthly idea it would put you through so much,” and he starts sobbing crying as intense as she was moment ago. She hugs him, this time to comfort him. She waits awhile before saying, “I don’t think this is how its supposed to go, daddy.”
Greg laughs then, behind the tears, and says, “I think you might be right princess.” He reaches for a towel by his bed side, and wipes her face, then his own.
“I was hoping beyond hope you would ask me to be your daddy,” Greg explains, “but I couldn’t resist preparing beforehand.”
With a flourish he produces a duffel bag from under the bed. He unzips it, and begins to remove its contents. He first pulls out a enormous adult diaper, unbelievable thick, with windmills, cherries, and little white baby bunny rabbits and bears. The sight of it takes her breath away.
“Holy shit,” she says, " who makes these?"
“There is a company called bambino, a online website that specializes in adult sized diapers for those who are little at heart. We are not alone in this.”
Next he pulls out baby wipes, baby powder and diaper cream. “The essentials,” he says. Meanwhile her eyes are growing wider and wider with each thing he produces from the bag. “He really prepared,” she thinks, prompting her to ask, " How did you know?"
“I didn’t,” he replies, warmth radiating from a content smile, “I hoped.”
“Okay,” she continues, “I guess I can buy that. But how did you know my size?”
“I bought them in two sizes,” he replies, shrugging, “I got really, really excited. Okay?”
He blushes as he says that, and she can finally, finally, kiss him right on the lips. It starts a firework show behind her eyeballs, so intense that she has no friggin idea of how long they stood, lips passionately locked.
When they unlock he stares at her, and seems to be wrestling with several thing he wants to do. Finally, he begins unpacking the duffle again. He pulls out a adult sized pacifier which he promptly place between her lips.
“To keep me from getting distracted,” he jokes, “while I have work to do.” Then he reaches down and squeezes the front of her diaper, reminding her she is drenched.
He lays her down then, and undoes the tapes to her diaper. She begins to nurse on her paci, gentle sucking in, and letting go, sucking in and letting go. The rhythm of it, and Greg’s gentle hands send her into a deep, calm place. Somewhere she hasn’t been since she was very, very little.
With as much gentleness as his massages Greg grabs both her legs and lifts them. With his free hand he grabs a wipe and begins to clean the top of her tushy. She squeals from behind the pacifier when the cold wipe makes contact with her, and Greg responds, playfully, “Don’t be such a whiner.” He set about cleaning her then methodically, workmanlike, around to her front. He sets her legs down then, and spreads them as her carefully cleans around her vagina. She feels her body grow warm, moaning slightly behind the plastic guard of the pacifier.
He ignores it though, involved in his task. He lifts her legs again, easily doing this one handed, removes her dirty diaper, and tosses it in the trash. He places a bambino under her and sets her down on top it. The first moment her skin makes contact with the diaper, she feels herself traveling even deeper into her mind going to traveling to a purely instinctual place, without words for anything but her simple needs.
Greg then dumps some baby powder in his hands, and lifts her up a third time, spreading with his hands, from the rear forward, getting everything throughly covered in a white dusting. She is in seventh heaven for her little self, enjoying the gentle way he massaged in the powder in her most sensitive areas.
Then Greg sets her legs down, and pulls the sides up tight. He tapes the four tapes, making sure to set them evenly, so his babygirl doesn’t have one side too tight.
As soon as he finishes, she sits up, and gestures with her arms in the air for him to pick her. He chuckles and instead pulls out two more things from the duffle bag. A pink onesie with “Daddy’s lil’ stinker” printed on the front and a adult sized baby bottle.
She squeals, delighted when she sees the onesie, and sticks her arms straight up for daddy to put it on her. She tries to be still, but she can’t help but bounce up and down on the bed in excitement. Daddy finally gets in over her arms and pulls it down past her head. Then he buttons the clips at the bottom.
Yet again, as soon as he finishes dressing her, she wants “uppy” and Greg obliges, but not before grabbing the baby bottle and stuffing in his pocket. She buries her face in his shirt, so familiar with the sensation, but not satisfied yet. He rocks her gently, as he walks to the kitchen. He places her on the counter, then he fills the bottle with milk, and places it in the microwave. She nurses on her pacifier more, intensely excited, even murmuring “baba” from behind her paci.
“That’s right princess,” Greg responds, in those dulcet tones only parents have, “baba. Do you want your baba?”
While he says this he grabs the bottle from the microwave, and walks past her. She almost starts crying then, but she sees that daddy is just getting a spoonful of honey that he mixes into the warm milk.
He hands he the bottle finally, and she grabs it with both hands, and begins to feed, greedily. Greg scoops her up, pocketing her discarded paci. cradling her against his chest. He starts to hum his deep melodious hum, and her whole body can feel the vibration from his chest, against her.
He rocks her slowly and carries her back to his room, all the while humming. He sits down on the bed, and gently takes the bottle from her hands. As he feeds her, with her comfortably safe in his arms, he begins to sing.
“Go to sleep little baby. Go to sleep little baby. You and me and the devil make three, don’t need nobody but the baby.” He repeats this simple verse, till she finishes her bottle, and continues on while he lifts her against his chest, patting her back till she burps gently.
He continues to sing as he lays her down on the bed, and places her paci back between her lips, where it belongs. She closes her eyes, the warmth from her belly radiating through her entire body. He wraps his arms around her as he lays down next to her. As she falls gently to sleep the last thing she hears is, “Daddy loves you, sweetheart. Daddy loves you.”
That night, she does not dream. She has reality.