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View topic - Be My Baby? Um, no. www.sliderulesyou.com Slide Rules You Forum • View topic - Be My Baby? Um, no.
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 Post subject: Be My Baby? Um, no.
PostPosted: Fri Mar 28, 2008 10:12 pm 
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Location: London/Gatwick
I am often asked if I do Adult Baby sessions. The short answer is "no".

The long answer, however, is a little more complex. I don't judge the ABDL fantasy as being abhorrent in any way. After all, why wouldn't a grown man feel the desire to be nurtured and fussed over by a loving, dominant woman, and relinquish the grown-up baggage, responsibility (and possibly the bladder or bowel control) he's become hampered with since his blissfully stress-free infancy? I understand it perfectly, yet the Adult Baby fetish still grosses me out. I just won't do it.

And this isn't through any fault of the poor old ABDL faction. Instead, it's the fault of my ex boyfriend.

Now just to clarify, he wasn't ever knowingly an Adult Baby (he was actually a wannabe-Dominant switch with a shoe fetish, abysmal communication skills, and a cock with a very short attention span). Anyway, he needed a lot of looking after. To say that he was emotionally high-maintenance would be a gargantuan understatement. Giving him the constant reassurance he seemed to require was exhausting, and much like so many men, he wanted a whore in the bedroom and a facsimile of HIS OWN DOTING MOTHER everywhere else. This, I could almost live with, and I'd learned to turn a blind eye to his unnatural fixation with skateboards and utter refusal to read books. Anyway, one evening, he was downstairs switching out the lights and locking up for the night, and I went ahead to the bedroom. On the bed was a stack of freshly washed and folded underpants.

I stared, aghast.

Clearly, his washing machine had not done its job. The pair of white y-fronts at the top of the pile were decorated with an indelible shit mark along the arse-crack, a faded brown teastain, perfectly symmetrical like some horrific Rorschach butterfly between ghostly buttocks. I'd never really scrutinised male underwear before, but I knew that (for reasons I still can't entirely fathom) men do occasionally get skid marks. Yet this wasn't just a skid. It was full-scale car-crash of arse carnage. Nervously, I picked up the underpants and looked underneath to find... yet another pair, identically soiled, washed, and folded... And another... And another...

I can only equate the shock to that moment during "The Shining" when Shelley Duvall found Jack Nicholson's stack of "all work, no play..." pages, yet at least even then, they weren't printed in human excrement! There was nothing I could say, my mind full of the revelation that I was dating a man who had lived into his mid-thirties without even learning to wipe his bum properly. An axe-murderer in a deserted snowbound hotel, I could deal with; A grown man who appeared to be regressing to early childhood before my very eyes, I couldn't. So anyway, two months and a really bad Xmas later, he'd already found someone new to move into his house and look after him, and I vowed never again to end up with another puerile man-boy with Oedipal issues and shitty underpants.

And this, my dear friends, is why I still flinch a little when I see an Adult Baby or an inkblot test.

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