I’m shaking with fright. Here where I grew up as a child and a teenager. What a miserable discovery my mom is going to make when she opens the door and sees me – in my pink buggy and a frilly baby dress. And all because I confessed to Monica how I loved her clothes and – oh the stupidity of it – how I hoped she would dress me in some of her frocks and – and her lingerie.

As it turns out that was all she needed to put me completely under her control and persuade Sandra, my beloved wife, to hand me over to her, to do with me whatever she willed. Which soon turned into making me her maid, then her daughter, and then her sissy little baby. Which is how I am here, on my Mom’s garden path, about to be exposed as a soppy, sissy, adult baby. I’m churning with disgrace and shame. The doorbell rings, with Monica sniffing in self-satisfaction behind me, while I shrink and shiver with the deepest embarrassment.

“Hello Monica,” says my Mom, “Oh my God! This must be Bernard!”

Her face is a mixture of horror and shock. It lasts five seconds as I peer at her through my tears. Then it breaks. She creases herself with laughter and holds onto the door post, unable to control her hilarity. “I know you said you had to treat him as a baby, Monica, but this takes the biscuit. Look at his crimson chubby cheeks, and this beautiful dress. Oh bring him inside and I’ll help you take care of him.”

If I was miserable before, I’m pole-axed now. What does she mean by loving seeing me in a dress! Fastened into a baby buggy with pink ribbons! Wheeled into the sitting room I’d grown up in, but returning as a big, sissy baby! I can’t help it: as they sit on either side of me and fuss the frills of my bonnet and grin at me with maternal power, my urine takes over my cock and I let it flood in helpless surrender into my double layers of bumper fluffy diapers. And both of them know I am wetting myself in front of them.

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