The Girl in Apartment One

It had been an entire 14 days since I moved, and I still hadn’t unpacked nearly half of my stuff.

Moving sucks. This seems like one of those really obvious statements, but to anyone who has made a move recently, you completely know my pain. How in the hell do you end up with so much crap? This is especially obvious when your move takes place during the middle of winter, and a snow storm decides to settle in mid-unhauling. About the time that you are carrying in your third box of books, you wonder what the hell you were thinking, and why you just didn’t give away this crap to Goodwill. Realistically, a person only needs a bookshelf worth, maybe two. Why the hell didn’t I just dump this crap? What the hell would happen if someone would come across my “little guy box,” that secret one full of diapers, pacifiers, powder, and baby oil? I would have been completely humiliated had that been dropped by accident and spilled all over the ground.

Which, of course, is exactly what happened.

I’m lucky enough to have found an apartment with an expansive courtyard prominently located in front. There, the residents had leave to play horseshoes, volleyball, and Frisbee, all taking place usually during the spring and summer months. Right now, with the snow blowing down in fierce gusts, a snowman was the only evidence of any use of the space. I took this as a good sign;I hopefully wasn’t surrounded by old codgers who would take any opportunity to strike a broom against their ceilings.

As I was hauling a box into my new apartment, the door to apartment one swung open, affording me a look at one of my new neighbors. Expecting an older, middle aged spinster (The Yelp reviews had indicated that this was the general demographic, and the fact the apartment building was located squat in the middle of the Washington, DC suburbs further evidenced this notion), I was taken aback to see a girl who I assumed was in her early twenties. She could certainly be described as cute; her auburn hair curled around her pixie-like face. She was a bit on the heavier side, but with an amazingly even distribution to her curvy body. Every movement I observed helped to accentuate her curvier figure, and in essence, she was honestly one the sexiest girls I had ever laid eyes on.

Perhaps this move of necessity wasn’t so bad after all.

I continued to haul my items into the apartment, doing my best to avoid staring at the face of my new neighbor. I silently thanked whatever spiritual forces were at work that put her in my immediate proximity.

Allow me to admit something very personal: I am a freaking wuss.

I have this sinking feeling that admitting this to you will make you view me in a certain light; in reality, I am not normally a stereotype. I am not afraid of job interviews, of joining sports teams, of flirting with girls (albeit drunkenly) at bars. I enjoy hooking up, and if I am allowed to brag for a moment, I am a handsome motherfucker. I am fit, young, and meet all of the requirements that apparently make me attractive to the opposite sex. I’ve loved 'em and left 'em, I’ve dashed out in the early morning hours, and I’ve generally been the asshole that is expected of someone like me in my early twenties. What they don’t know, and what I’m admitting to you, is that I love-and by this I mean absolutely fucking love to the depths of my deeply perverted-soul-is to be diapered, spanked, and generally treated like a little boy.

Surprise.

What does it mean?

There. I admitted it. Not so difficult, right? Says the guy posting this journal anonymously on a diaper-related forum. You are my people, you are my brethren; if anyone is to understand me, it is you. This is my ultimate desire.

So I all I hope is that you view the following in the same context that you view yourselves.I struggled for along period of time with my diaper-related interests. I hid my Depends, I researched the best baby oils. I bought baby pacifiers at the drugstore along with other purchases that I assumed hid my perverted desires. Please know that all of the following actions were done through the diaper-loving lens that I assume you view yourselves through.

Perhaps I presume too much; I can’t expect to understand or anticipate the desires of others that are desirous of being treated like an adult baby. Please, in this case, humor me as I walk you through the next several weeks.

Should you be of a like mind, I swear to you that this will be a worthwhile experience.

Re: The Girl in Apartment One

I’m a bit conflicted here. On one hand this far too short for me to say anything constructive about it, but at the same time I don’t want you to get discouraged by a lack of response.

This is well written enough, the narrator has an attitude that has potential to be humorous, and the (classic, if not entirely original,) setup leaves room for any number of scenarios.

That’s all I can say; that it shows me this could become good without giving me enough to encourage that it will be good. It’s too early for that comment to be a bad thing, though, far too early.

Keep it up.

Re: The Girl in Apartment One

I agree that, particularly for an opening chapter, this seems a bit short.

Right now, as a narrative, it seems kind of cluttered or not very focused. That probably sounds kind of like a put-down, but actually it’s not. I like the way it almost feels like a stream-of-consciousness piece. There’s some potentially valuable things that aren’t here, like character names and dialogue, but in this sort of style I think that’s okay for a while at least. Show us these things when it seems appropriate.

Really, just please continue, I think you might have something pretty unique here, if you run with it.