I lay here, thinking back to how I got to this point in my life. Looking around I see wooden bars surrounding me. I look next to me to see a pile of stuffed animals and above me a space themed mobile. I look down to myself, and find I am clad in a similarly space themed onesie with a thick, obvious padding between my legs, a night light off to the far side of the room and the subtle blueish glow of stars darted around the room being the only light filling the nursery, MY nursery .
For as long as I can remember I knew I was a bit different. Growing up I always acted differently than my peers. Younger even, as if I had never fully grown up. I still bought and played with toys, I still watched shows that most would consider me too old to watch, even some meant for toddlers. If someone were to look at my room in highschool, not knowing who owned it, they'd swear up and down it belonged to a child rather than an adult. Years of knowing I was different culminated in me looking into my feelings, searching the internet to find if I was the only one. I came to find out I wasn't. In fact there were many, many more people like me. I learned of age regression, a term that describes one peeling back their years, slipping into the mindset of a child as a form of stress relief or coping mechanism. The idea made my eyes grow wide as I researched and researched, learning about the different ages one would regress to, the activities full grown adults would do in what they called "littlespace", and the copious amounts of things that were available online for regressors to buy, such as adult sized baby clothes and even printed diapers. The revelation that I wasn't alone made my head spin and I decided then and there to give it a shot.
After moving out into my own house I started small, buying a pacifier to try, finding that it was soothing to suck on, quickly finding that it worked as a better sleep aid than any sleeping pill I'd ever taken. From there I found myself buying more and more little things: a teething toy, a pair of footie pajamas, soon venturing into trying the printed adult diapers, all of which I enjoyed. I kept all my little things locked up in a box at the foot of my bed, keeping the key hidden so that no one could ever find out what I had hidden in there, least of all my girlfriend of about five years.
Liz and I had met in Highschool when she had moved to our town senior year, the two of us becoming a couple a month into her being there and inseparable by the end of the year. She's lovely. She has long dirty blond hair, hazel eyes, pale beautiful skin, and by no means is lacking in....other departments. But above all else, she had a wonderful personality. She didn't put up with anyone's crap, least of all bullies. She had become quite protective of me throughout our final year of Highschool, her anger being enough to scare off most if not all of the jerks that had bullied me over the years for acting so differently. I'd say she seemed almost...motherly to me, almost as if I were her child as well as her boyfriend, finding it her responsibility to protect me, which she did in no small measure.
Growing up my parents weren't bad per say. They were kind, if not distant from the child they hadn't been ready to have. I spent much of my younger years being watched by babysitters and my later years left home alone as the two worked. I know they did it for me, but the lack of a parental figure's presence was definitely felt. But Liz, she seemed to almost fill that void. After finding out about what a "little" was, and how they'd have others to care for them like a parent would, I found myself wishing that Liz could be my, as they called them, caregiver. Her protective and loving nature would make her a perfect mommy, if I could ever bring myself to tell her about myself, though I feared I'd never have the heart to.
After we had been dating for two years and I had been living on my own for one she started asking every now and then if she could move in with me, to which I'd always give some excuse about not being ready to live with someone, but in truth I was scared. Scared that I'd have to hide my regression, but more scared that she'd find out and leave me. I couldn't bear to think of the person I loved most, who had protected me and made my life more complete, leaving me. Little did I know that one day, one mistake would change my life and our relationship forever. Though I didn't let her move in, she'd often come over to my house and hang out watching TV or playing games with me. One day she had come over right after I had regressed, her text sending me into a frenzy to put all my things away in my box. The panic clouded my mind and still slightly in littlespace I had forgotten to lock the box back after I had put everything away, only realizing it after she had left for the night. She was a curious soul by nature, and when I saw that I had left the chest unlocked after I had returned from using the bathroom I had hoped that she hadn't looked inside. The fact that she had said nothing made me think that she hadn't, but I would soon learn that that assumption was very, very wrong.