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It was an otherwise perfect day. The sun shined in the sky, no clouds in sight. Not too hot, not too cold. A light
breeze trickled through the trees.

A perfect day for a picnic with friends.

You look around at your friends, all cheerfully lost in conversation and the impressive charcuterie spread your
girlfriend put together. You’d be jealous of their carefree enjoyment—if you weren’t battling a more pressing
problem.

A terrible, unavoidable problem. Dread consumed your mind. There was no escape. Your girlfriend would never
allow you to run o! and fill your diaper.
:
You were going to fill your diaper right here, surrounded by your friends. Your humiliating secret—and the soul-
crushing diapers necessary to contain your accidents—was about to become common knowledge.

It was a fool’s hope to believe you could hold it long enough to avoid messing your diapers, you knew, but you
were determined to try. The alternative of filling your diaper like some toddler as your friends watched,
horrorstruck by your actions, was unthinkable.

You wouldn’t let it happen.

Wave a"er wave of cramps assaulted you. You squirmed and fidgeted but managed to resist. With each
successful round of repelling your body’s attempt to humiliate you, your confidence grew. Even better, nobody
had noticed your silent struggle.

At least, you thought they hadn’t. Your girlfriend knew exactly what your subtle movements and facial
expressions meant, though she had no intention of tipping her hand, perfectly content to watch your futile
battle.

“Hey, Chris, can you pass me another seltzer? Anything but grapefruit,” your friend Megan asked.

“Sure thing,” you replied, fighting o! another wave of cramps. As you leaned forward to reach the cooler, the
pressure in your stomach suddenly disappeared. For a split second, you thought you managed to resist again.

At least until you felt the unmistakable mass in your diaper. You froze in abject terror, realizing what had
happened.

The good news, you determined, was that you hadn’t fully messed yourself. Only a tiny accident. The bad news
was you still messed yourself.

“Uh, Chris?” Megan asked, “The seltzer?”

Megan’s request startled you back to the present. Summoning every e!ort to keep your face casual, you grabbed
a seltzer and tossed it to Megan.

You sat back down. To your relief, you barely felt any mess spread around. With any luck—and some assistance
from a brisk breeze—nobody would know what just happened.

Your girlfriend gave you an innocent smile before returning to her conversation. “Nobody knows,” you assured
yourself.

Just as you relaxed, an overwhelming urge violently seized your body. Your feeble attempts to stop it were
laughably insu!icient.

Your body reflexively leaned forward to accommodate the freight train of humiliation barreling into your diaper.
Crashing against it, spreading into every nook and cranny as the onslaught continued.

There was no hiding this.

Fortunately, your mess was as quick as it was enormous—nobody seemed to have caught you in the act. But as
the dreadful, tell-tale scent of your mess mixed with baby powder reached your nose, you knew you were on
borrowed time.

Time seemed to stand still as you sat there, your bulging mess an uncomfortable reminder of your new place in
life. It was only a matter of time until you were discovered.
:
Until your friends realized you not only pooped yourself but pooped your diaper. That you were nothing more
than a pitiful diaper boy, doomed to a pathetic fate.

If you hadn’t been too ashamed to look up at your girlfriend, you’d have seen the satisfied smirk on her face. She
could barely contain herself.

Your heart collapsed into itself like a dying start as soon as you heard it. “W-what’s that smell? Did someone just
shit themselves?”

“Seriously, it’s rank! Was it a dog?” Megan asked, looking around. “I don’t see one.”

Your friends, John and Amanda, who were sitting on either side of you, both dramatically sni!ed you.

“What the hell, Chris?” John snorted, “Did you seriously just shit yourself?”

“It’s definitely Chris,” Amanda confirmed to the group.

It was over. There was no coming back from what came next.

“Chris, sweetie,” your girlfriend cooed so"ly, “Did you make stinkies in your diapee?”

Your face snapped up at her. This wasn’t supposed to happen. Why is she talking to you like some toddler?

“Wait…diaper?” Amanda gasped.

An explosion of laughter echoed around the group. “No way!” John visibly cringed.

Your girlfriend was standing over you in a flash. “Stand up, baby, I need to check that diaper of yours.”

For reasons you couldn’t comprehend, you meekly stood up, allowing your girlfriend to unbuckle your belt and
fly, pulling your shorts to your knees, exposing your bulging, discolored diaper to your friends.

“Yep, he pooped!” your girlfriend said with an inauthentic tone of surprise as she peered into the seat of your
diaper, “I think someone needs a change before he stinks up the whole park!”

The unnatural, accusatory silence that hung over the group destroyed your last shred of dignity. Tears flooded
your eyes, overwhelming you.

For the first time in years, you were sobbing. Uncontrollable, gut-wrenching tears streamed down your face.

“Aww, don’t cry, little one,” your girlfriend consoled you, rubbing your back, “It’s just a diaper change! Nothing
to be ashamed of. You couldn’t hold it! But your diaper did! Just like it’s supposed to!”

Your girlfriend grabbed your diaper bag, unfolded your changing mat, and placed it under you. “Lay down for
me, honey. I’ll get you into a clean, fresh diaper in no time.”

You didn’t resist her as she guided you down, still sobbing uncontrollably.

“What is going on, Courtney?” Megan asked your girlfriend, “Why is Chris in diapers?”

“He’s been having a little trouble controlling himself,” your girlfriend said casually as if the scene unfolding
before the group was completely normal, “So, I’ve decided to diaper him until he remembers how to use the
potty. Poor thing has been really struggling to adjust to diapers.”

“Okay…but why are you changing him? He’s a grown-ass man!” John snickered.
:
“Does he look like a grown man, John?” your girlfriend chuckled, “Would you trust him to change his own
diapers? Look at him, he’s sobbing on a changing mat in a stinky diaper! He needs his Mommy to help him with
changies, don’t you, baby?”

Your sobs only intensify. You never expected your girlfriend to act like this.

“Wait, is this some kink thing, Courtney? I mean…Mommy? That’s…I don’t know…” Amanda asked.

“Kink? No, absolutely not. But what else would you call someone responsible for changing his diapers, acts as
his authority figure, and has absolutely no sexual attraction to that person?”

“No sex…did you break up or something?” John asked, puzzled.

“Break up? No, nothing like that! But do you really think I want to have sex with him anymore? I mean, look at
him!” your girlfriend declared, pointing down at you, sobbing harder than ever, pathetically laying on the
changing mat waiting for your girlfriend to change your messy diaper.

“So he actually can’t control himself anymore?” Amanda questioned, “like he just poops and pees like a baby?”

“Seems that way!” your girlfriend laughs, “I think it’s adorable, though! Better to find out now he’s a diaper-
dependent man-child than later! Could you imagine if I was married to him?”

“He certainly is adorable!” Megan adds, “But yeah…I don’t think some diapered crybaby is marriage material!”
:
“Exactly!” your girlfriend agrees, grabbing a spare diaper, wipes, and baby powder from the bag. She kneels
down in front of you, spreading your legs.

You continue to cover your burning face, drowning in the humiliation. Not only were your diapers revealed to
your friends, but now your new place in your girlfriend’s life—something you also learned for the first time.

Your girlfriend rolled up your shirt, providing even greater access to your overworked diaper. She loudly rips the
first tape, your friends’ laughter echoing in your ears.

“Stop squirming, silly,” your girlfriend commanded, pressing a hand on your soggy diaper.

Three more tabs rip o! like gunfire. Thick, heavy silence hangs over you as she prepares to open your diaper and
fully expose your shame to the group.

It was only then that you realized nobody thought you should be changed in a more private place. The weight of
the implication crushes you as if an elephant sat on your chest.
:
They don’t see you as a man—or even an adult. Adults don’t get their diaper changed so openly, so casually, like
it’s perfectly normal—but you do. In the time it took for you to load your diaper, you lost your dignity and
respect.

Adults have girlfriends. You have a Mommy. A Mommy to care for you, control you, and change your stinky
diapers. And Mommies have…no, you won’t even think it. The thought is too painful.

Cold air rushes onto you, and your girlfriend opens up your diaper. Each giggle caused a stabbing pain. Cold
wipes probe you sending shivers down your spine.

“What did I say about squirming, little one?” your girlfriend says dictatorially.

The wiping stops. For a moment, you think your humiliation is ending.

The thought didn’t last. “John, can you li" up Chris’s legs for me?”

“Sure thing, Courtney!” John cackled, “Up you go, Chris!”

Two strong hands grip your legs as your legs are thrust into the air. “Thank you, John!” your girlfriend says,
wiping the rest of you down.

The unmistakable sounds of a diaper being flu!ed haunt your ears. “Oh, thank you, Megan!”

“No problem, I wanted to join in too! I never would have thought Chris could be this adorable!”

“I didn’t, either!” your girlfriend laughs, “Okay, let's get his new diaper under him! There! You can lower his legs,
John.”

John slowly lowered you onto the fresh, thirsty diaper under you. Your girlfriend sprinkled the baby powder,
diligently rubbing it in, prolonging your humiliation.

Finally, mercifully, the new diaper is raised up and taped on. “There, all fresh and clean, little Chris!” your
girlfriend says proudly. She gently slaps your diaper. A small pu! of powder adorably poofs out of your diaper to
the delight of Amanda and Megan.

“Stand up so I can get your shorts on, honey,” your girlfriend prodded. When you didn’t react, despite your
desperate desire to cover your diapers, she added, “Unless you prefer to keep your precious pampers
uncovered…”

For the first time you filled your diaper, you found your voice. “No! I-I want my shorts!”

“You want your shorts what, sweetie?”

“May I have my shorts, please!”

“Baby, you’re still missing something. And I want you to look at me. No more hiding.”

You slowly—anxiously—lower your hands. You locked your eyes on hers, too terrified of what you’ll see on your
friends’ faces. You wordlessly try to convey your desperation, begging her for mercy.

She merely smiled back at you. “Thank you for looking at me, little one. But you’re still forgetting one thing if
you want your shorts. You know what it is, you’re a smart boy.”

Your knees trembled. Surely she doesn’t actually expect you to call her Mommy, right? Not when you’re standing
in front of your friends with your freshly changed diaper exposed for all to see.
:
“Say it, Chris. Now.”

Pee trickled into your diaper.

“Please may I have my shorts…Mommy,” you squeaked.

“Awww, that was so cute!” Megan gushed.

“Thank you, honey! Yes, let’s put your shorts on you,” your Mommy coos, grabbing your shorts and putting them
on you like you were too helpless to do it on your own.

“What do you say to everyone who helped change your diaper, Chris?” Mommy asked sternly.

“T-thank you,” you whisper.

“No, no, no, that won’t do. You have to look at them, silly! And you have to say what you’re thanking them for.”
Mommy demanded.

With a Herculean e!ort, you made eye contact with your friends. They smiled at you expectantly, like you were a
child about to utter their first word. “Thank you for helping change my diaper…”

“No problem, cutie!” Amanda says, “Happy to help!”

Megan echoed Amanda, “You’re very welcome, baby Chris!”

John smiled, “Glad I could help, squirt!”

“That wasn’t so hard, was it, baby?” Mommy chirped, “Now be a good boy and throw this icky diaper in the
trash! But don’t wander o!, I need to keep an eye on you!”

You grab the stinky, heavy diaper from your Mommy. As you’re walking toward the trash can, a chorus of
laughter erupts from your friends.

“OMG can I please babysit him sometime? He’s so cute! I was actually jealous you got to date him, Courtney! But
now look at him!” Amanda jeered.

“Absolutely! He deserves all the humiliation coming to him. Serves him right for destroying our relationship. I
thought I was going to marry him! I thought he was special. Turns out he’s nothing more than a pathetic pamper
packer…”

 Destined for Diapers

 264 NOTES 2 WEEKS AGO  

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