(a new story from baby k)

It was really just a normal Saturday evening.  Kerry sat in front of her
computer catching up on her favorite newsgroups, occasionally sipping from a
glass of white wine as the screen flickered before her in the darkened room.
 Every once in a while, she allowed her hand to slip down and rub against her
diaper, the small pressure increasing her stimulation as she devoured a
week's worth of ASFD posts.  No one was awake in the house except for her;
the kids were asleep, her husband Jim was away on yet another in an endless
series of business trips, and her live-in babysitter, a girl from Germany,
was out with some friends.  It was simply Kerry, the wine, and her friends in
cyberspace.  There were times, she knew, when they were all she needed.

She poured a second glass as she downloaded another chapter in her favorite
serial story; she could read it later off line and take the time to enjoy it
more fully.  She hid the file in a partition of her hard drive that was
password protected; no one knew that it even existed, but it housed almost
twenty megs of stories that Kerry read over and over, whenever she could find
the time alone.  Lately, that was a lot.  

It wasn't that there was anything wrong with her relationship with Jim.  They
had been married a long time, and she loved him more than she could say.  But
when he was away--and he was away a lot--she needed something, and she had
found it online.  Her hand slipped down and rubbed the cool plastic on the
outside of her diaper.  The bulky fiber within reminded her that she was wet;
she often wet while reading the posts.  It was not uncomfortable at all;
years of wetting had made it seem almost natural.  

As long as she could remember, Kerry had been attracted to diapers.  She
could not even recall a time when she did not feel that she wanted to be
swaddled snugly in them, that she needed to wear them and use them, to be a
baby, to be protected.  She did know that her first absolute memory could be
traced to the age of six, when he mother had put her younger sister back into
diapers; she distinctly remembered watching the proceeding with intense
jealousy, but not being able to bring herself to do the thing that she
believed could bring the same sentence down on herself.  To wet her pants or
bed and let her other brothers and sisters find out--that she simply could
not do.

Chicken, she thought now as she sipped her wine.  She was always a chicken.
 How many times had she thought about it?  Discussions her mother had with a
friend about that woman's son, eight years old and a bedwetter, and the
doctors they had seen and the solution they were using.  Billy wears diapers,
she had thought with excitement.  He's my age and he wears diapers.  But she
heard also the tone of her mother's voice and her friend's, the embarrassment
and helplessness that these women felt, and she couldn't bring herself to do
that to her mother.  And her older sisters, overhearing the same news, had
made such fun of Billy even though he wasn't there--she could feel what they
would do to her, and she couldn't face it.

She had finally taken a chance when she was thirteen, wearing--and
wetting--the diapers of one of her charges as she babysat.  But she had found
herself terribly worried that her employer would find out somehow--maybe they
knew how many diapers were wet, she had thought.  She smiled at her desk to
remember how she had actually washed and dried the diapers and put them away
before the parents returned.  How ridiculous.

She had thought that her fascination, which she believed was unique and
probably depraved, would go away, but it had not.  When she was sixteen, she
had finally decided to go for it.  There were wet beds--at first careful, and
using only warm water, but later reckless and smelling of her own urine.  She
even wet her pants several times, driving herself home from school.  She was
careful not to let her siblings know, but it had not taken long for a
reaction from her mother, and the beginning of a series of visits to a
urologist who was convinced that Kerry was going through some emotional
trauma: he could find nothing physically wrong.  

But it had all been to no avail.  Kerry's mother made her wash her sheets
each time they were wet, and they discussed what might be "troubling" her
many times, but, even when Kerry dropped hints, her mother did not put her
back in diapers.  She had to wait until she could do it herself, at college.
 She told her sorority roommate that she had a bedwetting problem, and that
she needed to wear diapers to bed each night.  She expected to be made fun
of, and had steeled herself for it, but her roommate had been very
understanding and helped her to protect her "secret" from others in the
house.

What might have happened, she wondered now as she read another entry in the
deepening controversy about underage contributors, if she had let them find
out?  Might they have treated her like a baby throughout her college years?
 Made her wear diapers in public?  Why hadn't she had the guts to risk it?

Jim had come along about that time.  He knew she wore diapers for a wetting
problem--she had never had the guts to admit to him or anyone that the
"problem" was all a coverup for the deeply rooted need to wear diapers that
she really could not even understand.  At first, before the children came, he
even played along with her, pretending in the evening that she was his baby,
diapering her and even taking her out in public, to the park, dressed in her
diapers and frilly, babyish clothing.  But her girls came, and Jim lost
himself in caring for the real babies and lost interest in playing the games
with Kerry.  Several times over the years, he had asked her to see a doctor,
and she even acquiesced once, but the tests he made her take were
uncomfortable and expensive--it didn't seem worth the time for the charade,
and she had a vague idea that somehow these tests might actually injure a
person who, after all, was only pretending to need them.  And she felt very
guilty lying to a doctor.  Finally, Kerry simply ignored Jim's requests and,
after a while, he stopped asking.  She wore her diapers to bed at night and
when she went to movies or other long events, and they both treated it as a
medical necessity, a fact of life that they almost never discussed.  She
never told him how they turned her on, how even the word "diaper" could make
her tingle, how she rubbed herself through them, how her pee was not the only
thing dampening her diapers.  

As the children grew, she was very careful to keep her secret from them.
 When she and Jim decided they needed to bring an au pair into their lives,
Kerry even considered giving them up, but that couldn't last: she knew they
were too much a part of her.  And she kept herself diapered, but she
gradually lost both the opportunity and the desire to do anything more than
sleep in them.

Then she had discovered the internet, and nothing had been the same since.
 ASFD had been her favorite place from the start: proof at last that she was
not simply weird, that there were others who were into this too.
 Occasionally someone even posted fairly scholarly explanations for the
fetish, and she felt that she could finally understand it.  Late at night,
when Jim and the girls and her au pair were sleeping, she sat in front of her
computer reading posts and stories, reliving her lifelong fantasies.  She
never told Jim; he wouldn't understand at this point, and he was away so
often anyway.  So the routine had settled into a little wine, a wet diaper,
and her fellow cyberbabies.

The post on the screen was called "Wetting my Diapers in NY" when she heard
the front door open.  She paused for a moment, listening as Gretchen came in.
 Her friends were not with her; they must have dropped her off.  She would be
coming down to use her bathroom shortly.

Kerry returned to her screen; Gretchen never entered the study late at night
when she was "working."  The bathroom door closed out in the hall.  Soon, it
would reopen and Gretchen would emerge, readied for sleep, and call out her
usual "good night" before retiring.  Kerry moved on to the next post,
something called "Diaper Baby Seeks Loving Daddy."  Another personal ad: she
usually skipped those because they didn't interest her; there was no way she
could ever even consider responding.  Tonight, though, for a lark, she was
reading them.  Lots of other lonely souls with the same odd fetish looking
for succor in a world that could not possibly understand them.  She sighed
audibly, and then moved on to download a picture file called "in my diapers."
 Her computer was set to decode such files as they downloaded, and she waited
while the file gradually appeared on the screen: a pretty clear one this
time, showing a young man sucking on a pacifier, wearing nothing but a
disposable diaper.  The picture was not clear enough to tell if he was wet,
but was quite clear enough to see the details of his face.  How can they do
that? she wondered.  How can they put their faces out there in diapers for
the world to see?  She felt a tinge of envy that these people could be so
free with a fetish that she had to hide.

"What in the world is that?" asked a voice from behind her.  Instinctively,
she clicked on the finder file, bringing its window to the surface and
covering most of the picture, but the diaper remained clearly in view.  She
turned, trying to block it from view, and faced Gretchen.

to be continued...
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Newsgroups: alt.sex.fetish.diapers
From: an216903@anon.penet.fi
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Reply-To: an216903@anon.penet.fi
Date: Fri, 24 Nov 1995 13:35:23 UTC
Subject: ~The Babysitter Part 1
Lines: 172