Chapter Nine: Anson

M idway through the first movie, I finally start slipping fully into my Little headspace. It feels almost too easy to forget my adult concerns and to follow the relaxation of being Little. Daddy —and that is definitely how I see Drake as I let go of being Big— makes it super easy to do. He sings the songs with me, doing the character voices and everything. It’s such a small thing, but it reassures me that it’s okay to be silly. It’s okay not to be mature all the time. If someone as big and imposing as Daddy can do it, then I can, too.

My Little headspace makes me feel really good. My thoughts feel kind of floaty, and the grown-up words I keep stored in my mind fade away, just out of my reach. Thoughts become simpler, broken up into clear concepts rather than long, winding trains of logic and critical thinking.

At some point, my thumb sneaks its way into my mouth and Daddy’s chest bounces under my cheek as he chuckles softly. I don’t remember when I wriggled onto my side, but it’s nice cuddling up against him like this, wrapped in his big, strong arms. One of his hands is playing with my hair, his thick fingers carding through the blonde on top of my head, petting me like I’m a cat.

If I was a cat, I’d purr.

Then Daddy asks, “Would you like me to get your paci for you, sunshine? It’s better than making your thumb all pruney. More sanitary, too.”

That makes me giggle. “I’m a doctor, Daddy. I say it’s safe.” Then I snuggle in even more closely, not wanting my comfy, Daddy-shaped pillow to leave.

This time, his laugh is louder and his belly jiggles, too. “Pretty sure Little Anson and Doctor Anson would disagree with each other,” he teases lightly, then groans as he moves to sit up. “Come on, baby. Up. Let me go get your paci.” His tone turns sing-song when he cajoles, “I’ll bring back some snacks.”

My tummy growls at the mention of food. I sit up and give Daddy my best pleading expression. “An’ a bottle of chocolate milk?”

His eyes drift over to the huge, empty mug on the coffee table and then back to me, one of his bushy dark eyebrows cocked in amusement. “More chocolate milk? Has someone got a sweet tooth?”

I grin and nod enthusiastically.

“Hmm.” He looks at me and shakes his head. “We haven’t eaten dinner yet, so I don’t want to fill your tummy up with sugar. So, how’s about I get us some healthy snacks—”

“ Blech! ”

Daddy ignores my protest. “—and then after that, I’ll get you a bottle of juice or plain milk.”

If I were Big, I’d appreciate his willpower. He’s doing all the right things and taking care of me the way I would have taken care of a Boy when I was trying to be a Daddy. But I’m not Big, and I’m not impressed with the idea of healthy snacks and plain milk.

Pouting, I fold my arms over my chest and huff.

Daddy snorts. “Anson, you’re not going to be bratty on our first night together, are you?”

It’s tempting to push boundaries, but I know he’s right. I don’t want to be punished on our first night as Daddy and Boy, or during my first time being Little at all.

I shift my pout into something more apologetic than petulant. “Sorry, Daddy.” The movement on the TV catches my eye and an idea starts to form. Batting my lashes and looking as miserable as possible, I add, “But it’s kiss-moose. We can have candy at kiss-moose, can’t we, Daddy? Please?”

I know I’ve won when he closes his eyes and mutters, “Jesus Christ,” before he sighs and gives me a hard stare, pointing with his index finger for emphasis. “You are only getting away with that because this is our Christmas holiday, sunshine. I’m not usually this much of a pushover.”

We’ll see about that .

Even Little, I’m not silly enough to say that out loud. I smile beatifically at him and clap my hands in joy, bouncing in my seat. “Yay! Thank you, Daddy!”

He grumbles to himself as he gets up and heads towards the bedrooms, then he returns and putters around the kitchen as he gets a platter of snacks for us as promised. I watch him work for a little while before I decide to finish watching the movie. The credits are rolling when Daddy slides a big white tray of snacks onto the coffee table, placing my paci and a bottle of juice down next to it.

I narrow my eyes at the juice, and at the various healthy snacks hidden amongst candy and popcorn and other treats on the platter.

“It’s a compromise,” Daddy says simply. “I don’t want to risk making your tummy upset.”

“Okay,” I acknowledge after thinking it over. “Thank you, Daddy.”

“Good boy,” he smiles, and the praise makes my tummy do flips. “Now, all of these snacks should be in bite-sized pieces so you can feed yourself, but if you need help, just tell me.”

I get a thrill at the idea of him feeding me, but he’s right that the foods on offer are all manageable enough for me to pick up and chomp on. I nibble at some of the apple slices first, then the carrot sticks, dipping them in the ranch dressing he put in a cute little container. I giggle when Daddy affectionately calls me a monster because I make a mess as I swirl the carrot sticks around in the sauce.

I snack on the popcorn when Daddy puts on a new Christmas movie —this one an old-school claymation-esque movie about Rudolph and Frosty the Snowman— and I eventually settle back against him with my bottle of juice, after confirming ‘green light’ when he asked if I was okay with it.

It takes a little practice to get used to drinking from a baby bottle, but it feels freaking phenomenal. There’s something soothing about the rhythmic ebb and flow of sucking through the plastic teat, listening to the hiss of air and sloshing of juice.

My eyelids get heavy as my belly gets full. Adding in the warmth of the fire and the steady thump thump thump of Daddy’s heartbeat at my back, as well as the high-energy of the day as a whole, it’s difficult not to go to sleep.

“Have a nap, baby,” Daddy says, noticing my predicament. He gently takes my empty bottle away and leans over to place it on the table. He stretches a bit further to snag the paci and holds it in front of my face, silently giving me a choice. “It’s still early. I’ll wake you up in a couple of hours for a late dinner, okay? You can stay as Little or Big as you want.”

In my sleepy state, I clumsily reach for the pacifier and pop it into my mouth, and I’m surprised by how much I felt like I needed to replace the missing bottle teat. I get into a new rhythm around the silicone nub of the paci, getting used to the mouthfeel, and find that it is almost as good as the bottle. Maybe not quite as satisfying because I’m not getting anything out of it and it tastes more plasticky, but it’s still calming.

“Cuddle?” I murmur. The word comes out garbled around the pacifier, sounding like ‘cuddoo’ instead. I briefly wonder if Daddy understands what I’m asking for. It’s too much effort to explain that I want him to stay until I’ve drifted off.

But he seems to get it because he adjusts his hold on me. “Of course, sunshine.”

* * *

I wake up to the quiet sounds of someone moving around the kitchen. The TV is off, and the fire has dwindled down to low flames and embers. The room is much darker than it was when I drifted off to sleep, but still light enough to see because the light from the kitchen extends out this way. Sitting up, I stretch and then grumble as my bladder protests, letting me know that I’m pushing my luck to make it to the bathroom without embarrassing myself.

Except…I’m diapered.

A slow smile tugs my lips upwards.

I’m not going to embarrass myself at all.

Deciding that I’m going to fully embrace being Little, I see my paci has fallen onto the rug at some point during my nap and I scoop it back up, popping it into my mouth with the same sense of satisfaction as earlier. It helps bring back the floaty Little headspace quickly. I decide that I really like feeling all cute like this, able to trust that all my needs are being taken care of and all I have to do is relax.

So I do.

It’s a wholly foreign feeling to relax my bladder while I’m fully clothed, and especially when I’m not in a bathroom, but I’m Little enough that I don’t fight it. The first few tentative spurts into the padding have me gasping quietly, but then my body can’t hold it back anymore and the blissful relief of completely letting go washes over me.

It’s hard to explain why, but I feel so free at this moment. Adult rules and social conventions don’t apply to me and I am completely, utterly liberated.

Somehow, feeling the padding expand and get heavy while dampness surrounds my cock and balls makes my headspace even more intense. I feel Little in ways I honestly can’t put words to.

I wriggle where I’m sitting, feeling the previously soft, dry cotton turn kind of squishy, and I giggle at the sensation.

“Well, hello, sunshine. Looks like you’ve woken up happy.” I look up to find Daddy standing on the other side of the coffee table, two steaming bowls of what looks and smells like some kind of creamy pasta dish in his hands. He sets them down on the polished timber and smiles at me. “Did you have a good nap?”

“Uh-huh,” I answer, wriggling in place again, unconsciously prodding and squeezing at the squishy front of my sodden diaper through my onesie.

I hadn’t given a lot of thought to what wetting a diaper would feel like, and I really hadn’t anticipated enjoying it quite so much.

I’m the littlest of Littles. How the hell did I not know this about myself?

I squirm, my head feeling lighter than ever. I feel excited by how Little I’ve gotten. It’s such a fun feeling, I want to stay this way forever.

“Do you need to use the potty, sweetheart?” Daddy asks, already moving around the table, extending his hand toward me.

“Nope,” I grin around my mouthful of silicone as I realize this means I’ll get to experience another first, “too late.”