h Larry If you're old enough to read this, you may not be for long. This story is Copyright 2017 by Soaringtoad. No other reproduction or distribution than Nifty Archives is permitted, without the author's permission. Please donate to Nifty: http://donate.nifty.org/donate.html



I'm somewhat younger than my big brother Victor and his friends, but not by all that much, really. If I mostly stay out of the way, they usually let me hang around and things are cool. I have the usual boy fears and worries, I guess -- I bite my fingernails pretty bad -- but mostly one big secret that we've pretty much always kept in the family.

Victor's always been mostly nice to me in front of the other big boys. I adore him and, for his part, I guess it's hard not to love your little brother when he's as devoted to you as I am to Victor. But this one time he has a bunch of his friends over and maybe I'm being annoying or something -- and this one kid is egging him on -- so Victor starts talking about my personal stuff in front of them. You know, my private family stuff.

"Larry's a baby," he declares, like he's describing something delicious, maybe something to be proud of. This is my big brother that I love with all my heart, and this is hurting and scaring me.

Blood rushes to my face and I draw myself up and say back, sort of crossly, "I'm not a baby!"

And he says back, stronger, in a slow crooning voice, "You ARE a baby!" I hear it in horrified disbelief and I feel it draining me. I fight back against it desperately, but I keep weakening and weakening, and I dread what I know will surely happen next. Dread it and crave the feelings that come with it.

"Nooooo!" I protest, trying to fight it off, but I can't, and I can hear myself failing, starting to whine softly, "Not a bay-bee, not a bay-bee," and I feel myself weakening, softening. Losing.

"You Are a Bay-bee," my brother leans in and croons, with his mouth wet against my ear. I adore him and I can feel his intimate mouth and I just can't shut out that crooning: "A Bay-bee," he croons, his mouth all shivery against my ear, "A little soft tinkle dydee bay-bee boy." He starts to pull away and ends in a soft, slow whisper, with all the other bigboys looking on, "And you can't even hold in your tinkle."

"Not a baby! No dydee! Noooo!" I cry desperately, forgetting to be quiet. But's too late. My voice chokes off into a helpless little sob, as I feel it happening. It comes over me and I weaken and tremble in my tinkler and I fail and the tinkle runs out of me, unstoppable, hot into my white boy undies, hot into my boy pants. Tinkle runs hot down my legs. My wet boypants, plastered against my legs, speak my secret truth, my hated truth, my sweetly familiar, hated truth. And the humiliation of it is strong upon me. Tinkle reaches my socks, and I fall to my knees and stick out my butt to keep the tinkle out of my shoes, shamed completely, ruined before the terrible virility of the hairy penis bigboys. My boy pants fill with my hot yellow tinkle and I can smell it, and the smothering truth sweeps down upon me: a wetty baby, a tinklepants. "Baby," I murmur involuntarily, rocking in my tinklepants, "Little babyboy. Tinklepants." Warm and dreamy.

Victor says to the room, "Let's go put Baby Larry in his dydee," and I hate the looming inevitability that I crave. I'm all weak and helpless and wetty and so little and babyboy inside, too shy to look up. Dydee is coming. Oh, Dydee is coming. Big thing, soft, important thing, and my boy worries now are distant.

Vick-y takes off my shoes and helps me waddle, timid and painfully shy and tinklepants, littleboy, into the big white bathroom where Daddy always puts me in my soft cloth dydee and rubber panties each night for beddie-bye. And my babyboy tinkler begins to get stiff because dydee is coming. And he leads me over to my changing mat, and says, "Stand here, sweet one," and gently starts to take off my wet boy things, my wet truth. Off come my tinkled boy pants and my tinkler is already all stiff. Vick-y sets my wet things down on the white tile floor by my changing place. Then off come my yellowtinkle boy undies and I am naked. Littleboy, shy and stifftinkle naked for all the bigboys to see. Vick-y tosses my tinkled undies onto the pile by my changing place.

"Lie down, sweet babyboy," he says, tenderly, irresistably, and he lays me down on my changing mat, all shy and little. He raises my legs up and I softly spread them over my head, surrendering to be diapered. Stifftinkle passivity takes me, and my head turns to the side and my wet things have that warm sweet tinkle smell. Looking at them, there's some vague sense of loss, loss but rightness and impending goodness. My little bald stifftinkle and my wet babybag stick out all tinkle smelling. I look to the side and drift away, as Vick-y gently dries me. Behind stifftinkle, babybag draws up. "Baby," I murmur softly to myself, "Babybaby," as my mind softens and the passive baby goodness moves into me, sweet behind stifftinkle, "Babybabybabybaby... "

Vick-y shakes the soft white powder between my legs and smooths it slowly, tenderly, with his hand. First on the insides of my thighs, brushing soft against babybag. His touch is thrillingly intimate, makes me a glad baby. I passively receive his touch, thrilled to surrender, so good between my legs, on babybag, so thrilling on stifftinkle, his hand so good, so sweet, so gentle, possessing babybag. Babybag crinkles and Vick-y spreads the powder back behind, near my softplace. His touch makes my softpace all sweet and hungry and I feel it thrill and wink and then wink again. Softplace winky, winky and all the bigboys watching me be a stifftinkle winkybottom wetty baby getting put in my dydee.

"You know I love you babyboy," Vick-y says softly, just to me, and I surrender and just adore my big warm Vick-y and my head turns to the side again and everything goes all out of focus and I am passive and soft and dreamy and murmur my truth to us both, "Babybabybabybaby," as he finishes with the powder.

Vick-y smiles and puts the soft cloth dydee under me and then pulls it up firmly, all deliciously thick and soft between my legs, holding it up to cradle stifftinkle and babybag extra good. I squirm in delight as babyness comes full upon me and I coo at the puffy softness. Vick-y pins me up, cradling and confining me, helpless in the cloying warm dydee softness, inescapably little and puffy and baby safe. Sweet babyboy in front of all the bigboys. Sweet babyboy innocence wells in me, fuzzy warm and thrilling behind stifftinkle and up inside my hungry softplace, winking, winking in my puffy white dydee. The warm smell of my tinkled boy things, still in a pile by my face, may mean something vague and far away, some distant loss on the other shore of my regression, but mainly something much closer, something big and tangible and good and fulfilling: Dydee, soft cherished dydee, displacing all my boy fears and worries. Babysafe and baby pure in dydee.

"Good," Vick-y says softly as he finishes, "You're my good babyboy now. Safe in your fancy pants."

I am so timid and shy and little now, in front of all the bigboys. My shyness is painful. Vick-y pulls me to him and holds me and rocks and comforts me, big and warm and bigboy-smelling, and I put my head on his shoulder. He pats my bottom and the babyness of it brings my thumb to my mouth and I suck, out of focus and little and happy and pure and safe. I love being Vick-y's goodbaby, little soft devoted goodbaby. Dydee is thick and tight and puffy soft between my legs, soft on stifftinkle, soft and warm on babybag. Cradled and happy, I can smell Vick-y and feel the dreamy babyness erasing me, erasing me, erasing me, and I let myself go into the softness and the emptiness and the dreaminess, and I suck my thumb and the words of the bigboys become just meaningless sounds to me. Dydee, big and thick and soft and cradling and so real and safe and baby sweet.

Vicky puts me down and lets me crawl back out, dreamy and blank, all stifftinkle in the softness of dydee, to sit in front of all the bigboys, a puffy soft babyboy with no more secrets.

They've all seen me helplessly wetting, seen stifftinkle, seen babybag crinkle from being powdered and seen my baby winkybottom. They have seen me squirm and coo as dydee made me baby. I am known. Baby. Warm and safe. Dreamy babyboy, dreamy and blank, thumbsuck-y babybaby. My puffy white dydee is my confession.

Little pure babyboy. Littlebaby. Babybaby. Soft tinkledydee. Babysoft tinkler. All little and soft and dreamy, bouncing in my thick soft dydee. Bouncy, bouncy, babysoft tinkler. My thumb finds its way back to my mouth and I suck, my finger up alongside my nose. Bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, bouncy, dreamy, empty, dreamy, empty, bouncy, bouncy, dreamy, empty, baby, baby. And I babysuck, dreamy, in front of the bigboys and helplessly tinkle in my dydee and tinkle runs hot and good over babybag. "Babybaby, Babybabybabybaby... "

And Vick-y says, "Now, who wants to let little Larrybaby suck?" And most of the bigboys just giggle and look down, embarrassed, except for Tommy, with his kind mischievous eyes and his reddish blond hair, who says, "Oh yeah!" and pulls down his pants right in front of the other bigboys, with his coppery redhair bigboy penis all long and slender and pale and beautiful, nestled in his sparse new bigboy hairs. And his pretty hairy penis is for me. And its beauty is sweetly terrible, the head voluptuous and purple, the pretty peelips drawing me to his purple, drawing me and commanding me to suck.

Obedient, dreamy, I crawl to bigboy-smelling Tommy and softly kiss his purple, kiss those terrible pretty peelips, take his tender purple, salty-sweet, into my mouth and I'm all goodbaby dreamy, and I suck and rock, and it's like church. All pure, I tinkle my dydee, mindless and dreamy, sucking Tommy's warm purple. It softly swells, sliding deeper into my mouth, tender and beautiful, voluptuous and terrible and sweet. I suck and I suck, and my tinkle runs helplessly hot and wet in the softness, and Tommy's long warm penis slides and slides between my lips, his purple all tender in my mouth and the terrible beauty of sucking him is everything.

My tinkler gets hungry and stiff in my dydee as I suck and rock in the puffy softness, and I hold my feet out sideways and pull my knees and my tinkler in, straining to trap the sharp goodbaby sweetness in there behind my stifftinkle, and I suck and rock and the sweetness grows and grows and Tommy's purple gets all big and pillowy in my mouth, and I suck it and my babybag is so goodbaby sweet and little and crinkled tight with joy, and I strain and the feeling behind my stifftinkle is so sharp and strong, and I suck and my hungry softplace winks and Tommy moans, "Suck! ...oh suck ...oh suck me Baby Boy... " My truth thrills and burns in me: Baby Boy is me and my sweet littlesissy feeling is almost too strong and I suck and suck.

"Oh Baby," his sudden bigboy cream is all in my mouth and I rock and my sharp littlesissy feeling is suddenly too strong: exquisite and long and sharp, it carries me away, helpless and baby sweet in my thick soft dydee and I pull my legs together to hold the warm pure thickness to me, and I rock and suck and the terrible pretty peelips of his purple give me cream and cream and cream, soft and warm in my mouth. I'm a goodbaby and I ride out my long sharp littlesissy feeling, rocking and sucking and pure and dreamy in the hot softness, receiving Tommy's cream in innocent baby joy and littlesissy wonder and my hungry softplace winks with the last of my sissy feeling and I hold my legs together against my thick wet dydee and rock and suck on Tommy's cummy softening purple. I sit back and bounce, vaguely missing it already. "Babybaby," I murmur, "Babybabybaby," making bubbles in the sticky cream between my lips.

My tinkler gets soft again, and Tommy puts away his hairy and he holds me, all bigboy-smelling, and hugs me and rocks me and kisses my face and pats my dydee bottom in front of the other bigboys and rocks me, and I put my head on his shoulder and go out of focus and suck my thumb, my finger up alongside my nose, and he tells me I'm his good little babyboy and I feel his kiss still wet on my face and feel the dreamy warm goodbaby sweetness go way up inside my softplace and I make more helpless baby tinkle, hot in the softness of my dydee, and dream of Tommy's purple. And Vick-y shows Tommy how to change my wet dydee.

Having Tommy change me and see me up so close, baby smooth and tinkle wet, and feeling Tommy touch me so tenderly, makes my baby tinkler all stiff again. And I dreamily spread my legs for him, eager to be dried and powdered, to have him put me in dydee, eager for his hand to touch and possess me. When he spreads the powder beween my legs and on stifftinkle, babybag crinkles tight, dreamy and eager for his intimate touch. I look to the side, dreamy and helpless, as he tenderly cups babybag with his powdery hand, and the soft babyness erases me, erases me, and I just let it all go and become joyously pure and blank, and he gently spreads the powder and pets behind my crinklebag, back near my softplace and then pulls up my dydee, soft and white and thick and delicious between my legs, and holds it up, cradling, like Vick-y showed him, making me coo and be baby, and gently pins me tight into the warm cloying dydee softness, confined and helpless, my softplace hungry and winking, dreamy dydee baby, happily stifftinkle in the softness, from being dydeed by Tommy. "Babybaby," I murmur, soft and dreamy and joyous to myself, "Babybabybabybaby... "

After that, I have a couple more wetting accidents in front of the bigboys. It gets sort of old and Tommy just starts having me come next door to his house when I need to be a baby. My babyboy truth comes with me: I bring my dydees and my powder in my baby blue changing bag. Tommy just tenderly diapers me right away, so I can sit by him in stifftinkle babyjoy and be his soft babyboy, and bounce all bouncy, bouncy, and tinkle and dream in my puffy white dydee, 'till he's ready for me to kiss his beautiful peelips again and suck his purple. And afterwards, I take my wet dydees home with me to be washed. And now at home I always manage to stay a dry boy, except for in my beddie bye dydee, of course.

This one time, after Tommy takes off my wet dydee, he has me raise and spread my legs like for dydee and I gladly spread and display little baby stifftinkle and little wet babybag to him, eager for it. We can both smell my tinkle and I'm just a soft sweet happy dreamy tinkle baby, joyful and eager for dydee. My tinkle-wet baby bottom is hungry and winking, and Tommy touches me there with a soft finger and the feeling goes all up inside me and makes me shiver and beg for his purple. And without even drying away my tinkle, he puts his purple against my winky bottom, touching my hungry softplace and it feels so good, like big warm food for my hungry bottom, and my softplace winks and grasps at it and mouths it and needs it and I beg for his purple. But Tommy just smiles and tenderly puts me into my dydee and pulls it up cradling and I coo and squirm, hating and loving the hot soft confinement, as he pins me, hungry and desperate and helpless and baby, into the cloying puffy softness. He kisses me on the face and my mind goes babysoft and vague and dreamy again, his kiss still wet, my stifftinkle and babybag hungry and helpless in the cradling soft confinement, as babyness erases me, erases me, and I whimper for purple.

Don't bother to write: I can't read yet. May you squirm and coo. Contribute to Nifty.