Jessika’s New Life – Chapter Five
I woke up the next morning feeling better than the day before. Firstly, it was the first time I had woken up not in prison in many months. Secondly, despite falling off the couch multiple times, I had eventually achieved some restful sleep, which is something I had not had in a day or two. It took a second to figure out which of those I liked better, as I had been craving restful sleep the last couple days. But it was hands down being out of the prison that made me most happy. It was nice not being woken up by a guard. Despite my night, I quickly ascertained that I had woken up naturally, not having been woken up by someone. And that was another improvement to my morning compared to the old ones. I sat up slowly, stretching myself and goading my mind into a higher functioning state. It didn’t take long. After about 10 minutes I climbed off the couch, and began to walk around. Despite my sleepy deduction that It was nice to be out of the prison, I was still momentarily stunned when I slid off the couch, and my size hit me again. It was the first time I had woken up in this body in a normal home, so it made sense to recoil slightly. I shook my head and felt the hair that only served to help clear my mind, serving as a tangable reminder to the situation. Feeling slightly disillusioned, I began walking around the house at random, getting a better feel for it than I had the previous day, with all it’s excitements, and more notably, embarrassments. It was hard to get used to not being able to see over the counters when you had firm memories of doing just that, and multitudes of them. Back when the toilet seat was within easy reach, and I could use a toilet. Anymore, it seemed a hateful reminder of my situation. Just getting onto the couch was enough of a task. It wasn’t hard, but I missed just sitting down, not climbing up.
I continued roaming the house, getting my bearings as I tried to pick out some more optimistic things. For some reason I felt much more stoic and problem oriented than before. Perhaps being out of the jail helped make me feel less… trapped? That made sense. Now that I wasn’t a rat trapped in a corner, in completely alien surroundings, the problems were just problems. I could adjust. Firstly, I ascertained that despite how rested I felt, I had woken at roughly sunrise. That meant I might have an hour or so before Amanda rose. Good, I decided I wanted the time alone to filter all these feelings out. Perhaps if I was lucky, I had more. But first, I would feel better when clean. I remembered my dismal failure at trying to change myself in the prison. But this time I had better tools at my disposal. I quickly found the supplies I had, and then my way into the bathroom. While taking it off would be easy enough, cleaning myself after the night’s filling of the diaper would be messy. Infact, at my current side and shape, I would make more a mess of cleaning myself than I was already in. It was futile. But, now I was out of the prison, and had the use of a bathroom. Therefore I could simply take a shower. So I gathered my stuff, and headed to the bathroom, and shut the door. In order to best contain the mess, I took the obvious precaution of standing in the bathtub. That done, I disrobed, and, using a wipe, got what little I could reach without trying some new contortionist moves clean. From there, I was left naked, with a measure of my own filth still on me, in the tub. I fidgeted with dials after closing the curtains, getting myself covered in overhot, then freezing water, before finally learning the setup enough to take a shower. I used a washrag to clean the rest, letting the shower do the rest.
Taking a shower solo at that size was a very awkward experience. Just climbing into the tub was something of a trial. In the end, I managed to get clean, and again freeze myself when my smallh ands would nto let me turn both valves at once, forcing me to turn off the hot first, then the cold. Toweling myself dry was another new thing, considering it was proportionately the size of a blanket. After that, I found getting out of the tub was harder than getting in, and failed several times, getting myself lightly hurt in the failed attempts. Fortunately, despite being in the body of at best a toddler girl, I still had my full mind and mental prowess. As a result, I was at least the worlds first self parenting toddler. I had to dry half the tub before I could get the traction to heave myself out of the tub. After a minutes hard thought, I laid the towel down, taking far more work than it would in an adult body due to my size. With that done, I grabbed the supplies, and laid the diaper out in what seemed like the right way. In the end, I ended up laying down on the diaper, and doing it that way. After a few minutes, I was with a diaper, granted it was clumsily done. With myself clean, and a new diaper on, despite not being on entirely correctly, I left the bathroom, depositing the old one in what I knew from the previous day was the right place.
Back in the living room, I climbed back up to sit on the couch, managing some feelings of increased self worth. But my mind was still in logical problem-solving mode. And looking back, the entire thing was really an amusing fiasco, and just not plausible. There was no way I could do all that every time a change was necessary. It would take far too much time. In short, it was ideal for mornings when I was up before her, and didn’t want to rouse her. In short my entire self done diaper change had taken probably over a half hour, and I couldn’t think of a single step that hadn’t been required to get it done without sacrificing cleanliness. Granted if I did it frequently, I could probably shave off 5 or so minutes. And with some kind of ladder on the out and insides of the tub, I might be able to shave off a total of maybe 5 more. I could probably get the entire thing down to 15 minutes. And that was assuming I was lucky enough to never have my body dump the bladder or bowels during the process. That would just require me to then clean the tub, or the floor, and double the time. In short, my method for doing it solo turned out to be little more than an amusing fiasco when you considered doing it many times a day. I then spent some time unpacking and assessing myself emotionally. That was a problem to. The physical world was cruel in regards to my situation. But the emotional side was nothing short of harsh. The world was cruel the way a thunderstorm is. The world wasn’t trying to make me miserable, as the tornado isn’t intentionally aiming for you. The same can not be said for emotional matters. A person can intentionally tear themselves or others down. A person can even accidentally tear themselves or others down.
To not deal with my emotional problems would just lead to letting them get worse. It was time to assess the problems, regardless of how much thinking about it might hurt. First problem; I felt emasculated. I had been an adult male for years and years. Now, everything about that life was gone, and there was little hope for it returning, at least in the near future. I could see only one solution to that problem. I was going to have to just learn to stop comparing myself to what I was. The body was dead, perhaps I needed to let the emotional expectations and ties to it die as well. Quit trying to judge myself against what I was, and accept that I simply am not an adult male anymore. Easier said than done, but I was sure I could adjust and accept the massive change in roles and expectations. Next? I was mourning myself, in a far more literal way than most would think possible. This took self pity to new places. The problem wasn’t me pointlessly whining, but the fact that my odl physical body had physically died. In essence, I was mourning the loss of a close family member, which just happened to be myself. I figured I would get over that too. Next problem? I felt like nothing but a huge burden. That was related to the first problem. I was used to being the one people leaned on, the one who gave support to my family, the one who carried the burdens in other words. Now, that roll was reversed, and it was causing me to be very depressed.
Unfortunately, all these problems were not things I could sit down and solve in some mechanical way. I could get a stool to reach the counter. I couldn’t devise some easy solution around these problems. That said, it was easier to deal with them once they were sorted out. Once I had given each head of the hydra that I imagined my emotional problems to be a name, it was easier to deal with. Suddenly I wasn’t dealing with all the crushing weight of emotion, I was dealing with __. Having a name for a thing took it from a heavy frightening unknown, to a rather large somewhat frightening problem. It was a subtle change, but it made the thing easier to deal with. It’s easier to be brave when you can see the dragon, than when it’s dark, and you know it’s there but can’t tell exactly where or when it will strike. I heard a door open, and turned around. I had heard her enter the bathroom about 20 minutes ago, but simply didn’t pay any attention to it. But now that I was done unpacking the problems in my head, labeling them, and putting them back, I felt a bit better. She smiled in an amused way, and walked towards me. “I hadn’t expected you to wake up first, considering how little sleep you got before you stopped falling off the couch.” She took a seat next to me, and gave me a looking over, before letting out a single chuckle, then stopping and looking at me, anxious I might be hurt perhaps. I shook my head and fidgeted, looking down and pulling a small chuckle myself. Needless to say my clumsily done diaper hadn’t fared well, and was about to fall off. The only thing keeping it in the right position was the fact that I was sitting down. It wasn’t even taped up anymore, being held between to me by the couch. “Lie down, let me fix that.” She seemed audibly and visibly relieved that I wasn’t going to feel bad about my fiasco of a self change. I laid down, and she put the diaper on me correctly, leaving it snug and well fitting. I looked down, blushing. “Yoo uda waffed if yoo ad see da wol ding.” I looked back at the memory, and managed to feel bright enough that the sight of a small bruise on my upper right arm made me giggle slightly. This seemed to startle her, because she hadn’t noticed it until after seeing me look at it. She looked concerned a moment, before I shook my head, sending a curtain of slightly damp and slightly tangled hair waving around. “I fawl ouwn twyin et ouda tub.” That seemed to shock her slightly. Not that I had fallen. Perhaps my emotional state was the problem. She might have expected me to be depressed about the failure, not amused by it. I shook my head again, thinking. “O poi ein sada boud it. Was siwy.”
I smiled slightly, but the lisp made me blush. I was not entirely sure how much sense I made when you heard me speak, I just hoped me point was clear. Amanda seemed to be entirely recovered now, as she looked at me for a moment, a finger on her chin, thinking. “Well, I guess we should get you dressed huh.” I nodded, still blushing slightly. I wasn’t too bugged by being in just the diaper now that it was fixed, but clothing would be nice. She pulled me over towards her, and gave me a hug, before grabbing me hand and heading off. I followed, not that I had much choice, as she had my hand. That said she wasn’t holding it as if she was going to drag me there, it had a feel that was far closer to support. She showed me to her room, and rooted around in a dresser, trying to find something, before she put me on her bed, easily lifting my body, which wasn’t at all surprising. The clothing for the day turned out to be another dress. Again, not surprising due to the unhelpfull clothing store worker the other day, dragging us to the most girly of the baby clothes area. But I managed to not be put off by it. It got easier once you stopped assigning things certain expectations or roles. In essence, I tried to pretend there simply was no such thing as girly, and that all clothes had no connotations at all. It found it easier to just pretend the dress had no significance. The dressing went better this time, and after getting clothes, socks, and shoes on, at least I felt a little better physically. You see, my discomfiture at being around in just a diaper, was such that even those times I couldn’t ignore the femininity of the clothing, it was still preferable. I was never the type to walk around in just underwear, even in my own home. Wearing just a diaper in Amandas home felt like walking around your neighbor’s house in underwear.
After a stop at the bathroom for a brush, we were back in the living room, sitting on the couch. It was then that she set about getting tangles out of my hair while I did my best to resist feeling awkward. But then she spoke, and I pulled my mind out of it’s train of thought to pay attention. “How does that feel?” She kept brushing my hair, not deviating, perhaps to make it clear what she meant. I didn’t want to start lying to myself, denial is a pointless road to travel, and only wastes time, and increases suffering later. I blushed very visibly. “nice.” I looked down, and she pulled me onto her lap as she finished. I sat there for a moment, and then my stomach rumbled it’s eagerness for breakfast. “Breakfast time I see” She got up and prepared breakfast. For me, it turned out to be the kind of situation I was used to from the prison, cereal. She didn’t give me milk or silverware, I hate fruit loops without either, with my hands. I was more than used to it, and I couldn’t blame her for not wanting a mess. Though I managed to cause a smaller one anyway will all that I dropped. After I was one there was a wipe across my face, for apparently there were crumbs, and then a minute of cleaning the floor. In the end, I sat on the couch, cuddling my new stuffed animal, nearly laying ontop of it, watching cartoons.
The End of Jessika’s New Life – Chapter Five.
If you want to read more stories about ABDL girls you can find a list here: Diaper Girls – Index