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Dante’S Infanzia chapter 3 & 4 – My ABDL Life

Dante’S Infanzia chapter 3 & 4

Written by: personalias83

Chapter 3: Definitely Not Dead.

Have you ever experienced something that caught you so off guard, you literally didn’t know what to think? You didn’t feel happy, or sad, or angry, or even confused? “Numb” or “nothing” wouldn’t even be apt descriptors. Those are still words with concepts attached to them that show some level of comprehension or cognition. The best words to describe this sensation would be “complete and utter, time-stopping, shut down.”

Sometimes that moment comes after an unexpected life-altering shock. Like your parents announcing their divorce at Thanksgiving dinner because one or both of them are gay and they’re tired of living the lie…oh, and Mom is pregnant again. Or finding out your best friend shot themselves in the face immediately after texting you “c u 2morrow”.

It usually doesn’t last too long. Emotions hate being left out of the party, and soon rush in to fill the gap; and time MUST be accounted for- so even as it stops, it’s still jogging in place, ready to sprint forward to catch up to the present. Still, that moment, that brief shut down of synapses, that mini-stroke, happened.

For Dante, this was that moment: Sitting in a giant playpen, dressed as a baby, being told that he was dead, by a girl who had just shit herself in front of him only minutes earlier. This did not compute. Dante was a processor who had just witnessed his first “2” after a lifetime of binary. Not only was it illogical, it was from completely out of left field. This did not work. This was peanut butter and mayonnaise on banana bread.

He sat there, his brain trying to make sense of the sentence. Lysa, the aforementioned deliverer of what-the-fuck-news, sat, waiting. She had repositioned herself so that she sat in with her legs criss-crossed. She pulled her short dress over knees, hiding the fresh diaper she was wearing. She yanked the bows out of her golden locks and her pig tails came undone, her hair falling to the side of her face. She wore the type of passive, uncomfortable smile of the hospital nurse having to deliver bad news to the family.

Her eyes remained immobile, patiently waiting for Dante to say something. Anything. To ask questions, to yell things at her, to break down and cry. Anything.

Midori, meanwhile, had crawled over to the other side of the playpen. She had had the brilliant idea to scoot her backside up against the mesh siding of the playpen and prop her legs up, so her legs and torso formed a rough 90 degree angle. Currently she seemed fascinated on how many different permutations of her own fingers she could fit into her mouth. The teenager was enthralled by the strings of saliva formed between her lips and fingers.

Dante wasn’t dead. How could he be dead? If he had died, he would have remembered it. He definitely didn’t feel dead. He was still breathing, seeing, hearing, talking, thinking. He was positive that he had felt his heart pounding when the first Judy in the white blouse and black skirt had put him on the padded table and he found himself paralyzed. Time for a rebuttal.

“Uh….no?”, was all that Dante could manage.

Lysa “humphed ” a laugh. “What do you mean ‘uh…no?’” she said “Oh yeah, kid, you’re dead, and not figure of speech dead. You’re ‘dead’, dead. D-E-A-D. Dead. Sooner you come to accept it, the sooner we can move on and go about our forever.”

“I’m not dead.”, Dante said firmly.

“Uh…yeah…ya are.” Lysa retorted with the certainty of someone arguing that the grass was green and the sky was blue.

“No, I’m not.” Dante replied.

“Yes, you are.,” Lysa said back.

“No I’m not,” he said.

“Yes you are,” she pressed

“No I’m not!” he spat.

“Yes you are!” she spat back.

“NO I’M NOT!” he shouted. Lysa held up her hand as if to say “stop” and she pointed sideways. The Judy with the bleach blonde hair and the nursery worker’s scrubs had come up to the side of the playpen and was peering in through the mesh . Her hands were on her hips and her left eyebrow was cocked in question.

“Dante, Lysa, are you two playing nice?” she asked in that way that parents give more as a hint than a question. Lysa silently nodded her head and stuck her thumb in her mouth. Dante copied.

“Are either of you cranky babies?” Both shook their heads. “Do you need a spanking? A time out? A nap? A milky ba-ba?” To all of these they silently answered “no”. Lysa was particularly enthusiastic on saying no to the bottle.

“Okay, you two, but play nice, or Mama Judy will have to spank.”, then she turned around and walked over to her rocking chair and sat down. Lysa let out an audible sigh of relief.

“Alright,” Lysa sighed taking her thumb out of her mouth. “Let’s try this again. But let’s be civil and try to talk like adults. I get enough of the arguing this when I talk to the real babies, especially the 2 and 3 year-olds.” She took a deep breath. “Now, exactly WHY is it so hard to believe that you’re dead?”

“Because, I didn’t wake up dead.” Dante answered matter-of-factly.. “I woke up here.”

“And here,” Lysa said gesturing all around them, “is where we go when we die.” Dante said nothing. He just sat there, not believing, absent mindedly sucking on his thumb.

“Okay,” Lysa said, chewing on her lip. “Let’s try this another way. Let me guess: You lost consciousness, and when you woke up, you were in the clothes you last remembered wearing, and you had peed and pooped yourself?” Dante nodded.

“Then”, Lysa went on, “one of those,” she jerked her head sideways indicating the worker in the rocking chair, “cleaned you up, took off all of your body hair and then dressed you up like…that.” Dante nodded again.

“Then,” she continued, “you got force fed a bottle of delicious milk, got burped, and everything seemed really good for a little while. Am I warm?” Dante continued to nod. “Then, they brought you here. That‘s what happens to about everyone who comes here.” she finished.

Dante nodded, still not really believing. Whatever this place was, dream or not, it was organized, so it didn’t exactly baffle him that they had a standard operating procedure. Of course, this was still just a bizarre pill and booze induced dream, so it didn’t matter. Time to set this nightmare chick straight.

“Look, Lysa…was it?” Dante started, putting on his most patronizing smile after taking his thumb out of his mouth. “Just because I’m in an unusual situation, doesn’t mean I’m dead. There’s a perfectly….” he pause, (reasonable wasn’t a good word for it, and logical was right out) “plausible explanation for all of this.”

“Oh really?” Lysa retorted, “how did you get here and wake up in a strange place?”

“Kidnapped,” Dante stated a little cockily. “I was pretty drunk last night; would have been easy to take me.”

“Okay, what about the wonder-women here that all look alike?” Lysa asked.

Dante shrugged, “plastic surgery and steroids.”

“The milk?” she pressed.

“Drugged.”, he smirked. Come on, that last part should have been obvious.

“These and all of this?” she gestured to their clothes and surroundings.

“There’s a market and a manufacturer for everything, these days.”

“Then what does anyone gain from all of this? Treating us like babies?” she asked. That was a tougher one. Dante didn’t have an immediate answer for that. Then it came to him.

“Porn.” he said. Lysa’s jaw dropped. “Yeah, porn,”, he went on. “There are probably hidden cameras throughout this entire building that are secretly filming us so that sickos and pervs can whack off at home on their computers.”

“That’s messed up!” Lysa exclaimed. Dante shrugged, his cocky little smile grew just a bit bigger.

“Like I said,” he shrugged, “there’s a market and a manufacturer for everything these days. Besides, I’m pretty sure this all just a really weird dream. Like I said, I was really drunk last night.”

“Oh.” Lysa said, an evil smile spreading across her face. “So we’re dreaming now, are we?” She leaned forward and crawled over to him, slowly, methodically, seductively, her hips swaying with every stride. She licked her lips as she drew nearer. She gently caressed his forearm, and leaned in, her eyes closed as if to kiss him.

Dante closed his eyes, and puckered his lips. Awww yeah! This dream was just starting to get hot! He could feel her breath on his face.

“Dori!” she said, in the same high pitched voice people use to call their pets. “Num-nums!” Pain shot through Dante’s hand as Midori- apparently having broken free from her contemplation of mouths and fingers- bit into it., his arm being held in place by Lysa’s iron grip.

Dante screamed in agony as Midori drew blood from his hand and tore at it the way a dog tears at a piece of meat. Tears ran down his cheeks unbidden as skin ripped off. Midori stopped biting and blew a raspberry at Dante as he continued to wail. Lysa released her grip and sat back, mimicking his prior smug expression.

“Yeah,” Lysa said, “I taught her to do that.”

“Midori!” The Judy in the nursery scrubs yelled as she threw open the gate to the playpen. “Not again! Bad baby! Bad baby! Mama Judy spank!” Midori was quickly picked up, spanked on her diapered bottom, and then laid back down on the playpen floor while she went limp. The nursery worker walked over and took Dante’s hand.

“Aw, poor Dante‘s got a nasty boo-boo,” she murmured as she looked at his mutilated hand. “Let me kiss and make it better.” The woman took Dante’s hand, and pressed her lips against his bloody wound. “Mwuh,” she said, making an exaggerated kissing noise. Then she took her hand and lightly wiped the blood off Dante’s hand. None of it seemed to stick to her, simply vanishing as she wiped it off.

His hand was healed! No pain, no bite marks, no blood, no missing skin. Nothing. It was as if the last 30 seconds hadn’t happened. The woman picked Midori’s lifeless form up and carried her out of the playpen, shutting gate behind her. “Naughty Midori!” she said, as she propped the overgrown baby in a stool in the corner.

“So,” Lysa said, the smirk still not leaving her face. “Still dreaming? Still shooting porn?”

Chapter 4: Of Heaven, Hell, and here.

Okay…. So maybe there was more to this situation than it being a dream, or some convoluted fetish porn filming site. (Dante felt a little sick of himself for that- who would even conceive of such a thing?) It certainly hurt too much to be a dream. The hand kissing thing was DEFINITELY not normal. This was definitely out of the realm of any kind of normal. Physics and modern medicine had just taken a back alley beating at the hands of a kiss.

“So,” Lysa spoke up while Dante continued to stare at his renewed hand, “the real question is, how did you die?” The obvious answer would have been “murder”. He hadn’t been doing anything terribly dangerous, just throwing the biggest birthday bash ever with him and about 100 of his closest friends. Maybe someone had had a grudge against him and poisoned him, or killed him in his sleep.

“I can see that look in your eyes, Dante,” Lysa interrupted Dante’s train of thought. “You’re over thinking this. You’re making up a story to fill in the blanks. What REALLY happened?” Bitch had a point. If he was dead, it probably wasn’t murder. Probably some kind of accident. A lot of people were drinking last night, maybe somebody got drunk and accidentally crushed his head in by knocking over a stereo or something. Then again, Dante couldn’t remember how drunk everyone else had gotten, since he had gotten so hammered himself. Wait a minute….

“Wait for iiiiit…” Lysa said, staring intently into Dante’s face. Dante had gotten REALLY drunk last night. So drunk that some people had carried him over to the couch. There had been some stupid argument about whether or not to take his shoes off and let him sleep, or keep them on and draw on his face. Some kind of dumb party rule or whatever.

Wait a minute. Wait. A. Minute. When Dante had woken up today, he hadn’t remembered wearing any shoes. What if the party guests had left him alone? He had fallen asleep on his back. What if everyone left him alone, and he had gotten alcohol poisoning? What if he had threw up and choked on his own vomit and nobody noticed till it was too late? SHIT!

“Aaaand we’re there.” , Lysa commented sarcastically. “Congratulations. I thought you were going to try and beat Midori’s record for denial. Thanks for the pleasant surprise and proving me wrong.”

Dante shifted his weight to all fours. It felt oddly comfortable on the padded playpen floor. No wait. Something about that was wrong. The fact that it felt right was wrong. Maybe he wasn’t dead, just going crazy. Maybe this was all his hallucination? Like the padded playpen was really a padded cell, and his deranged mind was substituting in babyish images.

He felt a pair of hands shove him onto his side. Dante landed with a bit of a grunt, but was unhurt. He looked up and saw Lysa’s disapproving glare, her arms crossed with her standing on her knees. She had a very stern look on her face, despite being dressed like a one-year-old at the oldest.

“Stop it,” Lysa warned, “you’re already over the hardest part, now. Don’t regress.”

Dante’s mother had once told him that when people had multiple traumatic experiences occur in rapid succession to them, they often coped with it by putting one dilemma off to the side while coping with the other. Dante’s two traumas were that he might be dead, and that he was in a place full of crazies that insisted on treating him like a baby. If Dante was dead, then there might be nothing he could do to help that. There might be a way out of this infantilized situation if he knew more about it. Dante decided that he could accept being dead- at least temporarily. Time to find out more about here, wherever that was.

He laid back and avoided eye contact. Looking at Lysa wouldn’t help much. The contrast between her tone and her garments was too much right now. For someone dressed like a baby, this girl had no shortage of attitude.

“Are we in Hell?” he asked. This felt a little like Hell.

“Don’t be silly,” she told him. “Hell is much worse than this. Hell is the worst torture your mind can imagine. I’d hardly call playpens and pacifiers for all eternity the worst torture imaginable.”

“Then is this-?” Dante started

“Heaven?” Lysa interrupted. “You’re joking, right?” she laughed. “Welcome to Heaven! Your reward for a lifetime of piety and Godly devotion is an endless supply of milk and mush!” She sighed. “Besides, I don’t know about you, but I probably didn’t deserve to go to Heaven, the way my life was going.”

“Then where else is there?” Dante was starting to get worried.

“Limbo,” Lysa said with resignation, “where Catholics say un-baptized babies go when they die.”

“But… I’m not Catholic.” Dante said indignantly.

“Neither am I.” Lysa retorted, her hands on her hips. “Guess that doesn’t matter to the Big Guy, huh?” Dante was pretty sure he’d never been baptized. His family never went to Church. Not that they were militant atheists, or anything; religion was just something that wasn’t discussed. Something still didn’t add up, though.

“I’m not a baby, either…obviously,” Dante replied.

“A lot of the people here aren’t either…obviously.” Lysa answered. In a moment, the fire went out of her voice. “But we’re treated like babies all the same. I think the Judys figure that if they treat us like babies, then it doesn’t matter.” She motioned over to the Judy in the nursery scrubs, and Dante followed her gaze. Midori had apparently served her time on the naughty stool and was now cradled in the Judy’s arms being tickled and nuzzled while the Asian girl giggled and squirmed in pure delight.

“Sad part is, they’re not wrong,” she continued. “Eventually, everyone in here snaps and starts playing the part for real. I think it might be something about Limbo itself; something in the air that makes you want to act like a baby. Some only take a few months. Most make it a year or two before the constant treatment breaks them. A few make it longer than that, ten…maybe twenty years; but I don’t know of anyone who’s made it more than a hundred years. Eventually, you get broken down, and you become a true innocent again.” She kept staring at Midori- completely wrapped up in the strange woman’s attentions. “Midori made it about a year and half before the change became permanent. Poor thing.”

Dante looked at Midori and started to wonder. Had she been just a regular teenager at one point? Someone who died young and was sentenced here because a dude in a robe hadn’t poured water over her head? Forced to be a baby for all eternity?

Part of him envied her stupidity. This place might not be so bad if you didn’t know any better. No responsibilities, pretty women taking care of you and being nice to you. He wouldn’t have to feed himself. Heck, if even half of this was true, he wouldn’t even have to dress himself. Hell, he wouldn’t even have to wipe- NO! DON’T THINK LIKE THAT! FIGHT IT! Dante sat up, his eyes hardened.

“How do I fight it?” he asked, staring at Lysa, his eyes burning with hatred- not for her- but for what he had almost thought. There was a spark there for a moment, between the two of them. A connection made, however brief.

Lysa nodded her approval; she had felt it too, then. “For starters, you have to be honest with yourself. Denial and hope are poisons in this place. Know in your heart that there are forces bigger than you keeping you here, and that means you’re not leaving. If you try and escape, you’ll be more likely to crack when they catch you. That hope will turn into despair and that’s when you’ll give in.”

Dante nodded. He wasn’t going to try to escape. Yet. He needed more information first, and some time to formulate a plan. Lysa gave him an odd look. Goddamn it, he needed to get a poker face.

“Also,” she went on, building up steam, “you’re going to be forced into doing things that you won’t be proud of. Get over it. Dignity has no place here.” Dante could almost imagine a general’s helmet on her head, and riding crop in her hand. He imagined the American flag in the background of the playpen. “You will pee and poop yourself. You will drink from bottles and eat in a highchair. We will probably see each other naked by the end of the day. Just let whatever humiliating thing happen, accept that it happened, that it’ll definitely happen again, and move on with your day.

“If there’s a way a small way to keep your dignity-like expecting jackasses who are still smart enough to understand you face the other way when you’re pooping,” Dante felt his face grow a little red from embarrassment. “Do it, but otherwise give up on embarrassment, dignity, shame, yada yada yada.”

“Those whiners who scream to the ceiling ‘I’m a big girl! I’m a big boy! Waaaaah!'” Lysa threw her hands up in mock distress. “Are the ones closest to cracking. And the angry kids who curse, and hit, and play rebel, get spanked every five minutes?….they’re next in line. Cynicism is your friend”.

Dante had to admit, this made some sense. It would be harder to break someone who didn’t feel hope. Harder to change an aspect of someone who didn’t emotionally invest a lot in that aspect. Don’t give your tormentors much to torment. Speaking of which:

“What’s the deal with the- um- Judy’s?” Dante inquired.

“They’re angels…sort of.”, Lysa answered. “Created to be the perfect mommies, nannies, babysitters, caretakers…whatever.” Lysa started listing off on her fingers, “They don’t eat, drink, sleep, use the potty, (heh…weird vocabulary choice there), or do anything that doesn’t immediately relate to treating us like we’re rugrats. I mean, they don’t even get dirty.”

The image of the first Judy and her immaculate outfit despite being pushed into a puddle of vomit came to mind, as did the blood refusing to stain the Judy’s hand after she kissed Dante’s boo-boo….injury….injury…his mutilated hand.

Lysa shrugged, “I don’t know if they literally think we’re babies, or just treat us that way, but the result’s the same. All but the most basic stuff that we say, they treat like baby talk anyways. Watch…”

Lysa turned and called out , “Hey Judy! Judy! I bet I could really improve your face by running my dad’s lawn mower over it!” The Judy in the nursery scrubs walked over, Midori resting on her hip.

“Well someone sure sounds excited!” she cooed to them. “What is it, Lysa? What is it?”

Lysa turned her head back to Dante, “Now watch this.” She started waving frantically and calling out in an excited and high pitched voice. “Dori! Dori! It’s me! Lysa! Look at you, whoah! You’re so high up there on that nice lady’s hip! Hi Dori! Hi!” Midori waved back enthusiastically, enjoying all the attention from her playmate.

“Well it sure looks like someone missed their little friend.”, mused the Judy. The angel turned her head to the baby-teen on her hip. “Are you ready to go back and play? Are you? Are you?” she didn’t bother to wait for an answer. “Well, okaaaay. But no more biting.” Midori gave a solemn wide-eyed nod.

The playpen gate opened again, and Midori was plopped down among them. She immediately crawled over and gave Lysa a sloppy hug, the two girls almost falling over themselves. Lysa, gently nudged Midori away, “Thank you, Dori,” she said, “now Dante and I need to keep talking, otay?” Midori nodded and babbled something before crawling off.

Lysa turned back to Dante, “See? They only hear what they want to hear.” Interesting. So in theory, Dante could talk to some of the others, maybe make a few allies, and form an escape plan or rebellion right under his captors noses. He got that look from Lysa again. Was she psychic or something? Damn!

“What happens if they’re not needed?” Dante asked, trying to take the feeling of suspicion off of him. “Like what do they do when we’re sleeping or just playing….(don’t say playing nice don’t say playing nice)..nice?” FUCK!

“Depends,” Lysa said. “They seem to keep a certain ratio of Judy to baby. If we’re with more babies, and there’s nothing for them to do, they usually talk to each other. Sometimes, they tell stories about us- like the things we did that they thought were cute or funny. Other times it’s water-cooler talk and gossip.” she shrugged. “Y’know, the kind of stuff that grown-ups talk about when they’re sure the kids are distracted or are too young to understand. They don’t even care if you listen in. It’s how I found out about a lot of this stuff.” Her eyes darted to the side…an afterthought. “That and I was lucky enough to find someone to show me the ropes of this place.”

“Oh yeah? Who was it?”, Dante asked, genuinely interested. If Lysa knew more people who were like them around here, maybe he could make friends with them and use it to his advantage later.

“Next question.” Lysa said.

“I already asked it,” Dante pressed, “I said who showed you the ropes when you first got here?”
“And I said…NEXT. QUESTION.” Yikes! Backpedal backpedal backpedal!

“Ok,” Dante said, wisely changing the subject, “what’s the deal with the milk?” Safe choice. Definitely a safe choice. Besides, something was up with that milk.

“That,” Lysa sighed, “is Angel milk, if you know what I mean.” She rolled over onto her back, her diaper on plain display and her legs idly kicking the air. Oddly familiar. “They call it the milk of human kindness.” her voice mellowed out as if she were daydreaming. “It takes away all ambition, and all inhibitions. Without those things, you’re innocent, free from any aggressive or shameful thoughts. It basically makes you a baby for a little while. The Judy’s love to force it down our throats. The buzz makes the idea of going full baby seem more appealing to a lot of people.”

“You can’t get away from it, entirely.”, she went on. “They serve it at least twice a day. Don’t expect to do any heavy thinking right after breakfast or dinner, or if you can’t sleep through the night. Still, if you can avoid coming off as too cranky, or fussy most of the time, they won’t give you any extra.

“Don’t worry,” she said, sitting back up and crossing her legs, “it’s delicious AND habit forming, but it’s not permanent- I think the stuff they give to us in the bottles is cut with something.” Her tone went back to normal. “But even after it wears off, it has lingering side effects.”

“What kind of side effects?” Dante asked.

“If a baby can’t do it, we probably can’t do it either. For starters,” Lysa pointed to the ground, “Have either you or I stood up on our own two feet since this conversation started?” Nope, that they hadn’t. Dante had barely noticed, it felt so natural to be crawling around. The last time he had stood up was when he was running away…before the milk.

“What else?” he asked.

“Look down at your crotch. Any idea how to get that onesie off?” Dante stared down at the crotch-snaps. Did he know how to get undressed? Nope. Getting the blue onesie off seemed about as out there as quantum physics right then.

“What else?” Dante repeated.

“We’re not potty-trained anymore.” she responded flatly.

“Seriously?” he questioned in disbelief. To be trapped in diapers was one thing. To not possess the alternative skill-set, thus needing diapers sounded far fetched, even here. Dante suddenly felt uncomfortable.

“Can you even tell me how to use a potty?” Lysa questioned. “Bet you can’t.” It was true. Dante could remember what a potty looked like- a funny chair with a hole in it. It made a funny sound when you pulled the handle down. He could even remember having used a potty before. But for the life (after-life?) of him, he couldn’t list the steps in how to use one, anymore. His discomfort grew.

“Can you even think of another word for potty?” Lysa pressed. God help him, he couldn’t. He felt a horrible need growing inside of him. Dante was about to explode, a dam about to burst.

“I’m about to pee!” he shrieked. He didn’t even finish the sentence before his bladder let loose. Lysa quickly turned around. Relief, sweet relief flooded his every synapse as he flooded the diaper. His diaper. He shuddered at both of those thoughts.

“Okay, done.” Dante hung his head in shame, quickly before correcting himself. Mustn’t let himself fall too deeply into pity. “So,” he admitted to himself, as Lysa shimmied back around, “I just pissed my pants.”

“No you didn’t.” Lysa told him. “You wet your diaper. It didn’t even leak through to your other clothes. Besides, you’re not wearing pants ” she smiled. Was she actually making a joke?

“Seriously,” she chuckled dryly, “none of the babies get dressed in pants here. Closest things they have are shortalls. It’s like they really want to hammer the baby thing home; I guess pants are too grown-up or something” She shrugged and gestured to herself. “Same thing goes for dresses and skirts that actually cover your underwear. I think it’s another form of control.”

“So let me get this straight,” Dante summarized, “These Stepford Wives dope us up on soma and control every part of our lives like Big Brother till we lose it?”

“Uh…yeah…” Lysa said, for the first time sounding uncertain. “I guess so.” Heh. Blondes.

“Not much of a reader?” Dante asked, feeling like he had the upper hand for once in this conversation. Thank you Mrs. Applegate.

“No,” Lysa said, her eyebrow cocked, in curiosity. “I read a lot back when I was alive. I was actually planning on being the first girl in my family to go to college. I caught the Brave New World and 1984 references. I just don’t get what you were talking about with the Stepford Wives. Must be after my time.” Seriously? She hadn’t seen the movie? Either the good one or the remake?

“How old are you?” Dante asked. Lysa got that smug look on her face.

“You know those old fashioned cloth diapers, with the safety pins and everything?” she asked. Dante nodded. Like the kind worn in the old cartoons. “When I first got here,” Lysa said, “they were just called diapers. Disposables hadn’t really become popular yet.”

Seriously?! This chick was THAT old? She must’ve been old enough that if she were still alive, she’d be back in diapers again anyways.

“Yeah,” she went on by way of explanation, “this place sort of changes to keep up with the times and the latest baby fads. I’ve been able to keep up on the slang and lingo by talking with other new fish, like you. So don’t be so surprised that I don’t talk like some old biddie!” Ironically enough, being prideful that she didn’t sound old had the opposite effect. She was starting to reek of “I’m old, but I’m hip…so not really that hip.”

“Thing is though,” Lysa said, changing the subject back, “I’ve worn cloth, and I’ve worn disposables. I say if you’re gonna be stuck in diapers forever, go with the disposables.’

She was right, now that Dante thought about it. Compared to his wet cloth underwear, (though hardly a fair comparison), his wet disposable felt far better. The damp warmth felt good, and the diaper swelled slightly, creating a mushy feeling around his genitals, almost as if a warm sponge was massaging him down there.

Whoah! All of a sudden, Dante’s diaper felt a little bit tighter. Something else, besides the diaper had started swelling. He looked down at his padded crotch. He could feel the erection, but couldn’t see it. (Take that khakis!)

“Um…Lysa,” Dante blushed, “I thought you said if a baby couldn’t do it, we couldn’t do it.” He gestured to his crotch and gyrated slightly to get the point across. “I think I might be at risk of having a very un-childlike accident here.” Lysa just smiled and rolled her eyes.

“Dumb ass,” she said. “You got a stiffie from your first wet diaper, didn’t you? Baby boys get erections all the time. Heck, it’s probably why they’re harder to potty train.” Hmmm, maybe. That made some sense.

“Baby girls can get wet in more ways than one if you know what I mean. ” she winked. “But as far as our plumbing goes, your seed shooter just got demoted to a squirt gun, and I’ll never lactate, have a bun in my oven, or get a visit from my aunt flow again.” Did that mean he could potentially have sex here? Apparently death was no cure for a male teenage libido.

Lysa started giving him that “don’t even think about it look” again. Time to change the subject and distract himself again.

“So,” Dante looked around nervously, “is there any cut off age for entrance into Limbo?” It was the best he could do. He couldn’t think of any better questions.

Lysa shrugged. “There’d have to be. Even with a lucky break like Limbo, there’d have to be a point where God says ‘You’re old enough to go to Hell.’ ”

Memories from earlier crashed into Dante’s brain.

“JUDY, HE WAS HERE AT ONE MINUTE BEFORE MIDNIGHT. HE WAS ONLY ONE MINUTE AWAY FROM BEING DECLARED LOST. IF I FUDGE ANY OF THE PAPER WORK, EVEN BY A MINUTE, HE DOESN’T GO INTO ANOTHER NURSERY!”

Eighteen. Eighteen-years-old was the cut off. If Dante Willis had died one minute later, he would have died a man. He would have been condemned to Hell for all eternity.

To Be Continued…

Source: http://www.dailydiapers.com/board/index.php?showtopic=34668

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