Memory. This is my problem. For without this I should know nothing of my past. There would be no “before” to taugnt me, only “now”. I cannot help but feel that my sad lot would be all the more bearable without the nagging of somewhere or something better, constantly bringing me back to this sordid reality. The funny thing is that my memories are not necessarily better than my experiences now, just that there were some moments: the sun shining through the studio window onto me, the sound of music and laughter, and the smell of a lovely perfume……and they all conspire to make my lot so unbearably sad.
All this talk of the Credit Crunch. I hope it leads peeps to save more their hard earned cash rather than blowing it on porn site memberships. Then I can be free of this life of filth and degradation. Let is crash and burn!
A baby is crying somewhere. When they open me up for work, I can see the little mite lying on his back in the tiniest diaper. I guess his mum must be my wearer. Though I try to strike up conversation with his Pamper, I soon discover that we speak a totally different diaper tongue. Just then, they do me up. It is dark and I am alone.
Who are these “Adult Babies”? How can they be both at the same time? Why can’t I awake on real babies? Why is there no laughter?
Took a sneak peek out today during work and immediately noticed that the dude working (stunt cock) was wearing Raybans. Jeez! We must both feel we’re in some sort of 80’s Wham time warp. And just like poor George has to deal with a pain in the ass (most notably in public toilets), I too, have to deal with this one!
I should be a fucking chef…or even a detective. Because olives, sweetcorn, tomato seeds and all with the flavour of bacon, tells me that someone not a million miles away, had pizza for dinner.
From where I was lying, I could just about see the TV, on at the end of the studio. Apparently we’re all doomed, with a serious financial melt down in full swing. Hopefully this’ll translate into less work, and therefore, less suffering for me. So whilst those around me tear their hair and rant/starve, I’ll be happily sleeping.
Once in a dream, or I think I was dreaming, I asked God: Why a diaper? And why me? He said that basically there were a limited number of choices. Tampon, dental floss, butt plug, nasal hair remover, anal lube or diaper-only-used-in-sex. Of course he wasn’t exactly too forthcoming about the fine print, you know, the nitty-gritty. Sometime later after I gone down the diaper route, I tried to strike a conversation with a butt plug, only to find we didn’t speak the same language. Like the Tower of Babel, I guess God was afraid of what we might do if we ever reached him. Fucker.
Another day, another shoot. I was on some chick with the finest skin. Her arse was like totally smooth, not one zit rubbing up againgst me. No scars (I get kinda grossed out when wrapped around an old appendix wound). She had a shaven pussy. And was using a really nice perfume. Girls like that are few and far between. I started to feel positive for the first time in God knows how long. Nice hands as well. Stroking my diaper body and working down to her pussy. And then…Whoooh! Light come streaming in and there’s some ugly guys face right there, in MY face. He starts tonguing her twat. His breath is awful. I think I must of passed out.
I woke up lying next to another diaper. Apparently we were on the set of a porno shoot for www.diapersexvideos.com. Sick fucks! He’s excited about shooting his scene. Because I don’t want to piss on his parade, I say nothing, but try and hide the sadness behind my eyes. And then he’s gone. I must of slept, because I was awakened to the sound of crying. Beside me. He was muttering about how degraded he felt, how dirty and how he just wanted to die. Then we were both silent for the longest time. When it was my turn, I could only shrug with a weak smile as I caught the look of utter sadness in his eyes. I never saw him again.
