Every Word is a Piece of My Heart

Reflections of the Root of the Bond

Friday evening. Work is done, and the car ride home produced a great feeling of long awaited freedom … the weekend at last. On my way home, I put in Tom Petty’s Greatest Hits and mimicked Tom Cruise in “Jerry Maguire”.

Pulling into the driveway, I was surprised to see her car was all ready there. She beat me home. A genuine smile of delight came across my face. We both were happy to get some free time. Above and beyond the work we had to do to make ends meet, we were two souls that always remembered what brought us together to begin with and what would keep us together for the rest of our lives … (but I’m getting ahead of myself a little.)

Now, where was I? …. Oh yes … The weekend, time to unwind. I walked into the house and saw a note sitting on the kitchen table with a bottle of wine and two glasses sitting next to it. Pinot Grigio: opened, poured and breathing. She was looking forward to tonight as much as I was. The note was very simple. “Wake me up … Daddy!” My face lit up with a smile again.

The hallway leading back to the bedroom was strewn with a pair of her nylons, her skirt, her blouse, her high heels, her bra, her underwear, a scarf, a bracelet, and a pair of earrings.

I walked back to the bedroom, and slowly cracked the door open. There was a warmth in the air that told me she was inside. She was the type of girl whose body temperature rose dramatically when she slept. (I don’t know why it happened, but a warm girl on a cold night is truly precious.) The aroma of the room filled my senses. It’s that sweet scent that follows a girl wherever she goes, and remains where she’s been.

My eyes caught the site of a figure on the bed. Only her head was out of the blankets. She loved to sleep in the fetal position, and rarely shifted in her sleep at all. My heart began to beat at the pace of a racehorse. I was overcome with emotion. The girl I loved lay before me. It was the same emotion that overpowered me every time I saw her.

Her head faced away from me and all I saw was her beautiful long black hair. This morning she had straightened it, but often she would give herself curls. She liked the way her hair moved when it was curled, especially when I bounced her on my knee, or rocked her in my arms.

I knelt down beside the bed, and tenderly stroked the hair out of her face. She gently awoke, knowing I was coming for her. She stretched out of the fetal position. Turning her head towards me, our eyes met. I could feel my heart racing at full gallop again. She pulled her arms out from the covers. She had just applied red nail polish to her nails. Placing her hand over my heart, her face became flush with warmth and affection. My eyes redirected themselves to the pacifier in her lips. She winked at me.

I traced the outline of every feature of her face with my fingertips. She breathed softly behind her pacifier and closed her eyes. I delicately kissed her forehead. Her face lit up with a smile. She curled up her legs and began kicking in place as she giggled. It was her playful way of telling me she wanted to get up.

I heard a familiar noise under the covers. I peeled the covers off her. She was wearing one of my white button-down shirts, and a diaper which I knew she would be wearing. Placing a hand behind her head, I helped her sit up as I rose to my feet. She sat on her knees and threw her hands out and up, wanting to be lifted in my arms.

I had the pleasure of knowing her in two forms: “Big” and “Little”. “Big” was the adult, the woman, the love and inspiration that I formed a union and life with. “Little” was the baby, the fun-loving side of her that needed to be nurtured and taken care of. When I first saw the pacifier in her lips, I knew instantly that she wanted to feel “little”…. at the moment, at least. But whether “big” or “little”, she was who I cared about most.

I lifted her up into my arms. Her arms wrapped around my neck, her legs wrapped around my waist, we embraced and her body heat grew into me. I placed my hand on her diapered bottom for the sake of habit, but I all ready knew. (wink)

I carried her down the hallway, and into the living room. The last rays of sunlight were sneaking through the trees around the house and through the window. In an hour, it would be dark. I laid her on the couch, and tickled her ribs for a moment. She giggled again, then settled herself down and flat as I unfastened her diaper.

As I removed it and began to wipe her clean. She reached up and twisted my hair with her fingers. (It feels really good when she does that, I’ll admit.) I lifted her bottom in the air and took a gentle stroke up each cheek with a wipe. I could tell her eyes were fixated on me.

I placed a new diaper beneath her and laid her bottom back down on it. The scent of powder permeated the air. As I drew the front of her diaper up and into place, she reached up to my face and began to touch it with her elegant fingertips. She was so gentle and caressing about. She would often stroke my face when I held her in my arms and fed her a bottle. My face fascinated her at those moments.

The button-down shirt came off, and a Yankees jersey went on her, Her choice, not mine.

Freshly cleaned and diapered, I lifted her up into my arms again. She rested her head on the side of my neck. She was feeling very “little” at this point. Getting her diaper changed often did that to her. We had found many different activities in a Daddy/BabyGirl relationship that would form a bond between us every time we did them. The diaper change was one of those bonding moments.

I held her in my arms for a moment rocking her back and forth. I all ready knew what she wanted next, but I wanted to take a moment to tell her how much she meant to me. “There’s never a moment that goes by without you in my thoughts, my senses, my soul and my heart,” I whispered in her ear.

I sat down on the couch and positioned her on my lap to rock her for a while. She lifted her head up, and allowed the pacifier to fall from her lips before turning my face towards her, closed her eyes, and kissed me softly. I put one arm around the back of her waist, and the other straight up her back while holding the back of her head in my hand.

We opened our eyes, and ended a sweet kiss. Tears had welled up in her eyes, and I was experiencing the same emotion. I rolled my fingers up and down her arms and legs. “Touch” was always a big thing with her. She loved the feeling of my hands on her skin. She devoted quite a bit of time (and lotion) to keeping her skin as soft and smooth as possible. When I touched her, I’m sure it felt very nice, but I think she also liked the fact that I noticed how soft her skin was.

In a sudden gesture of “little”, she crossed her eyes at me, and laughed. “You are the kindest guy I have ever known. You take care of me so tenderly. There’s nothing sweeter,” she said.

“Am I sweet like Pinot Grigio?” I asked, playfully.

She smiled, and stood up. “That’s not all,” she said while taking my hand and skipping like a little girl into the kitchen. She opened the oven and pulled out a delivery bag of some sort. I stood behind her, wrapped my arms around her waist, and rested my chin along the side of her neck.

She opened it and we looked in. “Thai food,” I said.

“Bring the wine and the glasses, Daddy, and follow me,” she said as she led me into the den. On the floor by the fireplace was a blanket with silverware, plates and candles. She had set up a blanket picnic….in our den. She lit the candles, opened the bag again and served it out. “So what is this we’re eating?” I asked.

She rattled it right off: “Curried vegetables and pork with rice noodles. It has bell peppers, asparagus, onions, sugar-snap peas, fresh ginger … All kinds of healthy things.”

She laid on her tummy with her feet up in the air, and looked up at me. “Can I ask you a question, Daddy?”

“Absolutely.”

“When did you decide that you wanted me in your life?”

“When you go to bed thinking about someone and you wake up thinking about someone, and you think about her every moment in between, you realize that you’ve found someone that effects differently than anyone else. I never really had to decide. I all ready knew. What about you?”

While eating, she replied: “You make me feel good. Lots of people have made me feel pretty or sexy or happy, but when a girl finds a guy who makes her feel good all over, she’s found a keeper…..and you let me be your babygirl. That’s good, too.”

She had cleared her plate except for the asparagus which she had pushed to the side. I set my plate down, and we both stared at each other. The flickering of the candles and the fireplace, providing the only light in the room, illuminated the face of this beautiful girl sitting in front of me… in a diaper and a Yankees jersey.

We said nothing, but we were still communicating with each other. The food we just ate, the wine we just drank, the fire-lit room we were in and the love we shared were putting the same want in our eyes.

“Come on. It’s my turn to surprise you. We’ll get the dishes later,” I said as I leapt to my feet. She leaned over, blew the candles out, and hopped up. I took her by the hand, and began running to the back porch.

“I can’t go outside in just my diaper!” she said with excitement. I grabbed a pair of sweat pants and her favorite pair of birken stocks. We got to the back porch. I sat on a chair, put her on my lap, the birken stocks on her feet, and the sweat pants on her legs.

Up we jumped, and off we went into the woods. She was trying to pull the sweat pants up the whole time we were running. Our foot race ended when we got to the tree line of the woods. Stopping to catch our breath, and to allow her time to pull the sweat pants up and tie them, I leaned up against a tree.

A little confused as to what was wrong, she kept trying to pull the sweat pants up, but had little success. Finally, she stopped trying and looked at me. “You grabbed a pair of your sweat pants, not mine,” she said.

“Oh, sweetheart, I’m sorry. Should I go back and get another pair?” I asked.

“Naaaah!” she said playfully. “The only thing of mine that I need to be wearing is a diaper. I don’t care what you dress me in. I’ll love it all. So long as I’m with you.”

Her speech was a little quick and slightly slurred. She wasn’t able to drink much wine without it affecting her. Having caught her breath, I could see her mind was beginning to “wander” as to what we were going to do next. Her head lowered, and her eyes widened. She looked all around, and then back to me with a grin. She didn’t have to say it. I all ready knew.

“Hide and Go Seek?” I asked. She nodded as I gave her the pacifier and watched her run off to hide. She bounced as she ran, and her hair flopped around.

As a guy, the sight of a girl walking away from you or towards you is truly breath-taking. The way she carries herself, the way she moves - it’s a very captivating moment to take in that vision of her, head-to-toe. It’s another form of non-verbal communication. You can tell how she’s feeling, perhaps even what’s on her mind if you are passionate enough about her to get to know her that well.

I knew the odds of her hiding weren’t going to be very good. Aside from dusk having set in, she had a gleaming white pacifier between her lips, and her diaper was not only visible because the sweat pants were too big for her waist, but it was also disposable (by her choice, but I whole-heartedly agreed) and it made that crinkling noise whenever she moved, crawled, walked, ran, jumped, anything.

I counted to ten, and then dashed into the trees. Shortly, I was no longer looking for her. I had found her. Now she was looking for me. This is what we did. She always wanted to be the one to hide, but after I counted and started looking for her, she wanted to try to find me. So I indulged her.

At first, she kept trying to look for me, but after a while she gave up. Because … she all ready knew she wasn’t going to find me.

“Daddy?” she called out.

“Yes?” I replied from a distance.

“Are you about to sneak up on me?”

“Yes,” I replied just a split second before I ran up behind her, grabbed her around the waist, lifted her in the air, and tickled her.

She howled with laughter. I set her down. She wrapped her arms around my body and laid her head on my chest. I returned the hug and kissed her on the forehead.

We had so many things in common which made bonding so easy for us. Even our heights were perfect for each other. I was 5’ 11”, and she was 5’ 4”. Which made the pheromones line up just right.

On the male body, pheromones are emitted all over from the skin. The highest concentrated area of pheromone emission on a guy is from his chest. The same is true of a female, but her highest pheromone emission zone is the top of her head. So, when we embraced, our noses lined up right with the other’s “hot spot”.

I reached down inside the sweat pants (which were barely hanging on to her waist) and put my hand on her diapered bottom. Patting her bottom was something that I liked to do anyway, but since she was in her “little” mode and wearing a diaper, it also served as a way to see if she needed her diaper changed. Because I all ready knew that she wouldn’t tell me if she needed her diaper changed. Just so long as she could continue to wear it.

She folded her arms in front of her and curled up tightly in my chest. A diaper check served to make her feel really “little” at a moment’s notice.

Just then, lightning illuminated the dark woods and thunder broke the sweet moment. Without any further warning, it began to pour rain. We dashed for the back porch, but she could only run so fast, and we were getting soaked. So I stopped in front of her, squatted slightly, and she jumped up on my back. Then we piggy-backed the yard. Getting under cover of the porch, we found relief in not having to dodge the raindrops anymore, but we were drenched just that quickly.

I looked at her and marveled over how, yet again, she was able to stop me dead in my tracks with the simplest thing. This time, it was her beautiful, long black hair that had become wet and was dripping. Knowing I was gazing at her, she shrunk her shoulders up and looked back up at me. The rain drops streaming down her face made her seem to glow.

And yet again, without saying a word the “eyes” returned from both of us. I reached out and pulled the waist string on the sweat pants. They fell off her and to the porch floor. She unbuttoned my shirt down to my chest, put her arms around me and gracefully drug her nails down my back. I lifted her up, walked into the house, and back to the bedroom. Piece-by-piece, we added another layer of clothing to the hallway rug. We got to the bedroom door. She reached out and opened it. I carried her in, turned out the light, and shut the door………………….

Loving The Idea

I may never fully understand why I ever took to loving the idea of a girl in a diaper. It’s a total mystery, but wherever it came from, it has given me such an uplifting feeling. And to have found, by way of the internet, massive amounts of people who feel the same way is really overwhelming to me.

The thought of never meeting that girl and never being able to share that passion for the same thing with her is real and can never be ignored. But the pursuit of someone who is able to share my greatest secret (infantilism), and her own … That pursuit is all the incentive I’ll ever need to keep looking.

I don’t see punishment, embarrassment, powerplay in it at all. Some do, and that’s great. It’s the stuff of passion that they seek.

I see a girl in a diaper. I see her gentle soul in my care, and I see her smiling all the time because despite our differences (and let’s face it, no two people are the same), we have the right things in common.

A girl in a diaper and the guy who takes care of her.

What Dreams May Come

You’ve gotta love of it. You’ve gotta live for it. The sight of her sleeping, curled up in a ball with lightly twitching eyes make it clear that her mind is off in some dreamy place.

Kneeling beside the bed, you gently stroke her hair. She’s beautiful. Wearing something soft and light, like a nightie, she shifts her position ever-so-slightly. She moves her hips to find new comfort and in doing so, makes her diaper crinkle a little.

She’s precious. Her head turns to the side, revealing the pacifier that has fallen from her lips. Trying not to disturb her slumber, you pick up the pacifier and attempt to put it back in her mouth. At first, she twitches her nose and moves her mouth away, but eventually cracks open her delicate lips, accepting the pacifier and lightly sighing relief over its return. She sucks on it once or twice, and then enters back into deep sleep.

You lean forward and kiss her forehead gracefully. You trace her eyebrows with your finger. Lying before you is a peacefully sleeping, fully grown adult female. Her appearance is enchanting. Her figure from, her tiny, painted toenails to the ribbons holding her pigtails in place, is an eyeful of infantilism.

It is obvious that she is in a blissful state, where she wants to be, how she wants to be, with who she wants to be. She is feminine in her manners and movement and essence. She is infantile in her demeanor and facade and emotions. She loves, whole-heartedly, and without reserve. She responds to love and kindness and lives vicariously through a bond that she has with you, her caregiver, and the owner of the passion within her heart.

She places her innocence in your hands and leaves herself in your care. You nestle her timidness. You shield her from her fears. You make her world and everything within it simple and pleasant and wonderful and loving, just as she is. There is nothing too overwhelming for her so long as you are there to ease her and to make her feel loved.

So you stand to your feet, and take in the sight of her once more before covering her with her blanket. You revel in the attachment that you feel to her. You turn to leave the room, and as you turn back to take yet one more look at her before closing the door, you find her looking at you, with eyes open and a bright grin beaming from behind her pacifier. She winks at you and then closes her eyes again.

You smile as you close the door.

The Small Moments That Make the Most Impact

It’s the small moments that intrigue me the most about an AB relationship with a baby girl. While role-playing isn’t a typical trait of a (biological) male and (biological) female association, there are distinctions in it that make it attractive.

The caregiver (the Daddy) creates an environment that is safe, secure, and engaging for the baby girl. He is the protector, and she is the protected. They become the center of each other’s worlds.

She feels safe. In a setting that provides the attention she craves, and enables her to live out a dream of acting like a little girl without judgment or ridicule, she delights in the comforts that surround her. In simpler terms, she can act like a girl, feel like a girl, and be a baby girl in a situation that not only invites it, but desires her to “let her hair down” and be comfortable.

At the same time, he is able to be a knight of Chivalry. It is every decent, virtuous guy’s aspiration to make a girl happy. By giving her every bit of contentment, he feels good about himself. It is the finest, most rewarding way to overcome his insecurities. This is an admittance that most guys don’t like to make or even talk about. They’ve been “taught” that insecurity is so very (stereotypically) non-masculine. He is able to defeat such anxiety (without having to talk about it) through actions of “providing”. It is instinct that offers him reason to do so. In simpler terms, he can act like a guy, feel like a guy, and be a guy in a “world” that he creates to be safe.

But what are the “small moments” that I’m talking about?

- It’s being able to look in her eyes and feel a deep-rooted love that’s hard to put to words, (but I’ll try): They not only feel the natural laws of attraction as influenced by gender, but they bond in spirit.

- It’s being able to tell what she’s thinking, what she’s upset about, why she’s happy, and what she needs, respectively: When she lies sleeping in your arms and whimpers while putting an uncomfortable look on her face, it’s about knowing that her right arm just fell asleep and her feet are uncovered.

- It’s assuming the role of a baby and allowing herself to be seen and addressed as an infant.: This is a part of the AB role-playing (not so much DL), and it requires a rapport between two individuals.

- It’s knowing that lovers can’t be lovers without first being friends, and it’s knowing what that means and what that requires.

- It’s realizing that the baby girl is your responsibility and it’s about putting that above yourself.

In the end, it’s about a girl and a guy who both have a love for the same things.

Picture This:

A quiet evening in a dimly lit living room. Outside a gentle brisk wind howls through the trees, giving the air a brisk feeling. It is the perfect night to cuddle close together and share warmth. A beautiful babygirl is curled up in my lap. She seems content for the moment in her light-colored baby “t”, and of course, she’s nestled in the softness of her diaper. Wrapped in a soft blanket, she shifts a little to better position her head on my chest. I gaze down at her with all the love that my beating heart has to offer. She gazes up at me with precious puppy dog eyes. A sheepish, playful grin forms behind the pacifier that slightly parts her pink lips. The mood is relaxing, and a movie plays quietly on the T.V. but all I’m watching are the stunning eyes on this girl in my arms. She yawns lightly and her eyelids begin to grow heavy. Soon, she is asleep. I rock her gently, and kiss her tenderly on the forehead as she shifts again and places her head on the side of my neck. I brush the hair out of her eyes, and whisper the only thought that races through my mind at that moment…… “I love you, princess.”

I picture this every day, babygirl. Do you?