Shirley; A Nude Model In Diapers

I was in my second semester at the Tiffany School of Fine Art. Somehow I got accepted as a student here, not sure how it happened but happy it did none the less. The school had an awesome curriculum, with one department solely concerned with Photography, my reason for being here. Not just taking photos but everything from the photo to the finished picture. That is the part I want to study and learn more about. I am into photography, not so much the actual taking of the picture, but the manipulation of it afterward. A lot of pictures that people take could be so much better if they are cleaned up some, removing elements that really do nothing for the photo. I was pretty good at it, having practiced the art for almost ten years now, hoping the school would allow me to get good enough to make a living from it.

The tuition for the school was pretty high, I was hoping to sell a few photos for my third semester tuition, but circumstances kept that from happening. The circumstances being quite pitiful. I had been lazy and not completed any photos sufficiently to sell. Yeah I had altered a few, but now all I had was a bunch of incomplete pictures. A few of them had a lot of promise, one of a woman putting on her lipstick is sex personified. Oh well, I have always been a little lazy, this time it threatened to end my education abruptly.

So now I was actively looking for a part time job to supplement my limited scholarship that I received. I had checked the classifieds many times in the last few days, just nothing there that would do me any good. Lots of fast food jobs, but the lazy part of me again eliminated most of them right off.

While at one of my classes, I spotted a sign that had been added to a bulletin board outside of the class. It wanted a nude model for an art student. Not my first choice but I was getting desperate. If I couldn’t make it at school I would be forced to quit my education and go to work for my father. He owned a construction company, specializing in apartment complexes, my brothers already working for him. I guess it would be alright, but unlike my brothers I was not the outdoor type, preferring to labor inside a building somewhere. Okay the main reason was a job with my father would require me to actually do physical labor. In my peculiar reasoning, something to be avoided at all costs.

I grabbed the sign, then after class called the number. A female answered, so I inquired about the job. She waited while I took a selfie and sent it to her, a requirement before she would meet me to talk about the job. She did stress that the job would take some time, she was doing a montage of paintings, each of the model in different settings. Her use of the word settings did not imply clothes, but subtle pieces of art that were blended into the pose that she had set for her model. She did remind me that I would be naked for long periods of time, usually four to five hours a session. After receiving the selfie, she agreed to meet me at the local student hangout two blocks from the school in an hour.

I was blown away when I saw her, her beauty and presence seemed to be all encompassing. She introduced herself, Patrice is her name and she has made a living from her portraits for ten years now. She was definitely no nonsense, right to the point and strict and uncompromising about what she would pay and what would be required of me. She wanted a contract that had a penalty for breaking it, since she was planning ten portraits using the same model, if I quit it would require her to start all over again. I understood her point, but the contract part seemed a little excessive.

Apparently I passed her first inspection and since I had agreed to her terms so far, the next step was for her to see me naked. I was taken to her home, a beautiful three story affair that had a sunny loft, where the painting would be done. In her studio, she set on a bar stool in front of her easel, waiting for me to strip off my clothes. Like I said a little demanding and obviously very sure of herself. I finally managed to get all of my clothes off, she got up and approached me, moving my arms, legs and erection to where she wanted it. Yes, being naked in front of her excited me to no end. As she maneuvered me into the pose she desired, it was all I could do to not come all over her hand.

I had no idea how to respond, it was done so matter of factly that I was left in quite a quandary. Several more times in the next half hour I was manipulated, then she would return to her easel and do some sketching. The last time she had me spread my legs, and moved my male member back in between my legs than had me close them. I was left with a flat front and a squashed male appendage. From time to time when it was touched it started to react, but my humiliation at being seen this way managed to pretty well keep things soft and flaccid, well at least not a full hard on. Something I was very thankful for. Talk about being humiliated, I am sure my face was several shades of red for the entire time I was in her studio.

At the local hangout she had mentioned a ten dollar an hour pay rate, a fact that I was thrilled about. After seeing me nude she has some other ideas that she would like to explore. Some of her ideas would require me to have some things done to me, nothing permanent and she would cover any costs of having them done. I started to question what she had in mind until she mentioned a twenty dollar per hour pay rate might be more appropriate for what she had in mind. Right there I forgot about what she just said, the twenty dollar pay rate the only thing registering in my mind. I think it is called selective hearing, an unfortunate trait of a lot of males, especially me.

I agreed to be her model, she wanted me here tomorrow afternoon, she would have the contract ready and after signing she would take me to a salon to get me ready to pose, a few minor changes to enhance my look. No posing tomorrow, all of this in preparation for the next day. She would pay me for my time at the salon but not the twenty dollar rate.

All of my classes were morning classes that jived with her painting schedule, so we agreed that I would pose from one to six daily unless an extra half hour might be needed to get to a stopping point. The weekends would be free, some time off for me and for her to get her personal affairs handled.

She would pay me in cash every day, but also reminded me that if I backed out of the contract there would be a severe cash penalty for doing so. To insure my cooperation she wanted my first seven day’s pay held back, that being the penalty if I backed out. Since she had stressed this several times, I knew she was worried about me changing my mind later and leaving her high and dry. I tried to assure her that I would stay the course, until she had her paintings finished.

The next day arrived like most others, my classes were alright but the subject matter at this stage pretty boring. I went to her home and she had the contract ready. I read it through, nothing alarming in it. It was all spelled out clearly and concisely. Before I signed she held up another sheet of paper, on it is the things that will be done to me at the salon over time as per her wishes. I read through them then sat down hard on a chair, the closest one I could find. I now saw what she had in mind, my modeling would be done as a female, not as my male self. She went over it in detail explaining each treatment and why she wanted it done. Each painting would be a stage in a female’s development from girl of age twelve to a young woman in her late twenties.

“The first few treatments would be mainly hair related, removing your body hair and turning the hair on your head into that of a young female. Some light makeup, pierced ears and creating a vagina to make me the proper gender. The salon she is using has a special process where my male organ is glued back between my legs, then a silicone prosthetic is applied over it. You will look just like a female, even requiring you to use the bathroom as one. Later as the paintings progress you will have some figure training done to develop a female body culminating in creation of breasts. Some makeup lessons, always subdued and only enough to help create the proper gender. This is for the later portraits as the subject matures into a young woman.”

“Due to the cost involved in your transformation it will be necessary to stay in the role until the portraits are finished. Thus her full disclosure now, so that you fully aware of what you are signing on for. Do you understand and have any questions?”

“No questions but I would like to think about all of this for a few minutes.” She showed me to a balcony that was shielded from the sun by her home, and told me to take my time. I sat on the lounge chair provided and leaned back and sighed. Lots of thoughts ran through my head for the span of time I was out there. I had no idea how long I was there, but it seemed to be forever.

I thought of my classes first, most of them were large classes, attendance taken and a graduate assistant actually giving the class. I doubt anyone would realize that I was different looking as long as I answered to my name when called. Since my name was obviously female, there would likely be no problem there.

My parents had named me Shirley, after an uncle on my mother’s side. I really had sympathy for my uncle living with that name for his whole life. I guess in Europe, mainly Great Britain, that name is often used for either gender, here in America not at all. Well since it is my name, so the not at all part seems mute now. At an early age I somehow picked up the nickname of Sly, don’t ask me how it happened, but I have went with that name most of my life. I was told it was a cousin of about five that had tried to say my name and came out with Shy but slurred. It quickly morphed to Sly and for some reason it stuck.

I had very few friends, tending to stay to myself, most of my fellow students so wrapped up in themselves that they seldom noticed anybody elses presence. I imagined especially in the later stages that dressing as a male would be unpractical, so I needed to ask about a wardrobe. Buying female clothes for a couple of month’s job might be the deal breaker. Letting out a big breath, then straightening my shirt I made my way back into the loft.

She was at her easel. As I approached I was flabbergasted at her painting. It was me apparently as a young female. The detail was phenomenal to me, although I was not an art critic. I stood there watching as she filled in parts of my body with her sketching pencil. I was fascinated at her skill, I could handle images from a camera, but to create an image from thin air was way beyond anything I could even dream of.

She stopped and asked if I decided. I stuttered a few words, but I think she was part psychic, as she managed to figure out what I was asking. “I will furnish you a wardrobe, as befits a young woman, everything including undergarments, just no evening gowns or sports clothes.”

I blushed, way more than I wanted to know. I had totally forgotten about underwear. I made a quick decision, I hope it is one I can live with for the next month or two. “Yes I will model for you, just please allow me a little time to get used to all of this, maybe if we don’t talk about it for a few days I can get my head around this and not end up in a mental ward. She showed me where to sign, then giving me copies we were off to the salon. Within an hour of signing I was naked on a table, my body hair being chemically removed. I was offered several options, I chose the permanent removal method using a cream to do the job. No further hair regrowth would be possible with this treatment. I was never wild about having body hair, it is uncomfortable and unsightly. Now with this treatment a mute subject. Next my female vagina was secured to my lower anatomy, junior now glued back between my legs for the duration of the portraits.

No difference as I was lying there, but when I stood and tried walking it felt very different. My legs brushed against each other the whole length of my thighs, something that has never happened before. It was not unpleasant, just very different. The feeling that something was missing did prevail though, I even reached my hand down there several times in an attempt to grope the missing appendage. All my hand found was a slit, warm and somewhat moist. I nearly inserted my finger in the slit, till my mind relayed that is was now a part of me and the desire quickly abated.

Then they started on the hair on my head, washing and conditioning it then setting it in curlers after evening up the ends. I spent some time under a dryer, wondering how much a change curly hair will make in my appearance. When my hair was dry, I was moved back to the styling chair and my ears were pierced. Followed by my eyebrows being waxed, not a lot being waxed away, but enough to make me look more feminine.

Looking at the mirror in front of me Sly was gone, a female me was all I saw in the image. I had the genitals of a female, but otherwise I looked quite a bit younger, undeveloped just like a young female. The hair and my thin eyebrows made my face look quite feminine, I presume that is what Patrice saw in me after our first meeting. Thus the change in gender for her portraits.

While I was being worked on Patrice had done some shopping. As Ginger finished my alterations Patrice entered with several bags of things for me to wear. My male confidence was gone, replaced with a vulnerability that I was not used to. Suddenly my nakedness bothered me, my hands quickly trying to cover as much of my body as possible. Even though my smallish body had never bothered me, the lack of body hair and a male organ made me cringe, my hands quickly trying to cover my female slit and my now hairless chest.

When Patrice handed me a pair of panties I quickly grabbed them and pulled them up my legs. Meanwhile Patrice was giggling away. A couple of times she asked me to try and remember my thoughts, my look then would be perfect for one of the portraits. My knees almost gave out as I reached for the edge of the table I had been lying on to keep me from face planting on the floor. The feeling of the silky panties on my bare legs way too much for my mind to handle. I received a camisole next, Patrice helping me get it on, my legs still wobbly and unable to support me. Again the silkiness doing a job on my composure.

She searched in her bags for the next item, I was hoping for a pair of pants and a shirt. Instead I got a very short dress, all frilly and lacey. I stepped into it, as she helped me pull it up so that my arms could go into the sleeves. After it was situated on my shoulders she zipped up the back leaving me encased in the femininity of the dress. It was a pink print fabric, very silky and delicious feeling on my body. The worst part it only came to mid thigh, leaving too much of my legs showing. I tried in vain to pull on the hem to get it to cover more of my leg, but to no avail.

She led me out to her car and we made the trip back to her house. I was quiet, trying to handle all the new feelings and sensations that were assaulting my mind. Once at her home, I asked to use her balcony again, I needed some time to adjust. I must have set out there for the better portion of an hour, lost in thought, often rubbing my hands over what I was wearing. Patrice came to get me and we found some seats in her living room. For the first time I was aware of my surroundings, the room decorated very feminine, a collection of knick knacks tastefully displayed on shelves and cabinets. The décor was functional but elegant, using a lot of different fabrics to give the impression of feminine elegance.

She asked if I was alright. My quietness and reserved behavior worrying her a little. I managed a reply in the positive, it was just that everything had kind of overwhelmed me. She made another offer to me, since she had been able to observe my behavior the last few days. I could use her spare bedroom, located on the ground floor, with a separate entrance. That way she would be handy to help if needed and I would not be exposed to my neighbors where I presently lived. I asked if she was sure, then launched myself at her thanking her for saving me from certain humiliation. I did get some special hugs, savoring each and every one from her. I looked female, but acting like a female was something I knew nothing about. She spent some time with me that afternoon giving me the basics, then made me practice so that I could attend my classes in the morning.

Later she took me to my apartment to gather essentials, all of my male clothing and personal effects left in the apartment. While there I paid one month’s rent in advance saving me a trip later to do so. Patrice’s home was within walking distance of the school, so I would most likely walk to school most days. If it was raining I would drive.

I got settled in her spare bedroom, quite large and decorated in a very feminine manner. She had bought me a few more mainstream clothes to wear to classes, so I breathed a little easier as I hung them in my closet. She did want me to wear a training bra, so that I would get used to the restriction around my chest. After a few days of wearing it, even posing nude I would miss its embrace and that was the look and feeling she was going for. Once it was on I doubted I would miss its embrace, but by bedtime I was not even aware I was wearing one.

The nude posing would start tomorrow, someone from the salon to come and put my hair in pigtails, not a difficult task. It was the myriad of ribbons that went along with the style that would take time. I did manage to get to sleep shortly after I laid down, but was up at the crack of dawn anxious to get to the day’s activities. Imagine me anxious to shed my clothes and pose nude for hours. Oh well, it is a slippery slope once on, it is all downhill.

No classes so a few cookies to nibble on and I was soon summoned to have my hair put in pigtails. It took over an hour to weave in the many pink ribbons then finish the pigtail with a bow at the end of each pigtail. One look in the mirror and I let out a groan, I looked three years old, if that and so feminine. A light coating of a pink lipstick, and two swipes of a mascara brush and I was pronounced done. Up to her loft, my clothes removed and then she posed me sitting among a group of huge cuddly teddy bears. I can imagine how I looked, a larger than life little girl, playing with her plush animals. I imagine my cheeks were sufficiently red already, the smile on Pat’s face reflecting on how pleased she was with the sight before her.

I doubted my blush ever left my face, but Pat’s asking me to kiss the teddie always heightened the color a little. My lipstick was refreshed often, I doubted I needed it but Pat did get a lot of enjoyment as she did so. Since it was Saturday there were no time restrictions, other than Pat wanting to sketch the basic of the painting while my femininity was so fresh in her mind. Sunday would be an off day then resume the normal schedule for the following week. Pat did comment on my squirming, realizing she would have to do something to stop most of it for the following sessions. I pleaded that everything was so different now, not being aware of how that statement would soon bite me in the butt.

Her solution was to stay dressed as a little girl all day, my pigtails staying in until classes Monday. So reluctantly I was a young girl all weekend, even made to take a nap in the afternoon with my teddie. Both days seemed so long, the hours slowly creeping by. I was even fed some baby food, Pat getting a lot of enjoyment at the faces I made as she hand fed me. By late Sunday I had got used to the dresses and was no longer aware of my hair in pigtails. Note to self, keep my mouth shut.

Monday I overslept, even after all the naps and early bedtimes of the weekend I was so out of it. Pat came to help me get ready for my classes, since I only had a few minutes to get ready and across the campus. She ended up giving me a ride to class, with me so unaware of what I was wearing. As I entered the classroom I did not realize I was still in a juvenile dress and my hair still in pigtails. Since she had dropped me off I was stuck, not having time to get back to her house and change even if I ditched this class. I received many stares and also a lot of compliments on my clothes and hair style from the girls in the class. The predominantly male class members snickered, then pointed in my direction and made some faces at me. I did what any young female might do and stuck out my tongue at them. I got a lot of laughs at that, but soon I was ignored by them as the professor entered the room.

The professor was a very attractive woman, well built and obviously proud of her figure since the clothes she wore accented it to the max. She gave me a look, then smiled, asking me to see her after class. She knew her subject well so there was little time to goof off or anything else while in her class. In her class, I even had trouble keeping up with her, my notes after her class many pages long and quite detailed.

I waited in my seat until all the students had filed out, then approached her desk. She looked me over more closely not missing any part of my dress or hair. “Are you posing for Patrice or is this just your new style of dress? You look so cute, I could just eat you up right here. Anyway to get to the important matters. If you are free on the weekends can you pose for me, I will match what Pat is paying you and will furnish free meals. I will even pick you up at Pats then return you there Sunday night if you agree.”

I managed a yes, then the bell rang and I had to skip to my next class. Why I skipped down the hall instead of running I may never know. It just seemed the thing to do. My pigtails bouncing around my head and the ribbons swaying to and fro just seemed to dictate my juvenile actions. Not as much reaction to my looks in this class, although all of the girls were appraising my new look and smiling.

The next class was watching a movie on developing high speed film, so I ignored the movie and tried to put together what exactly had happened this morning. All I came up with is how much I had humiliated myself, and now had obtained a second job for the weekends, but not sure if that was good or bad. I had no idea what I was to model if it was nude again or a juvenile female. Since she took a liking to my appearance in class, I imagine I will be in dresses all weekend, frilly little dresses fit for a very young female. I let out a big sigh, the slope I am on is getting slippier by the minute, I wonder if I will even be able to return to being a male eventually. The bigger question was after months of this will I want to return to the male gender.

Once classes were done for the day, back to Patrice’s and then shed my clothes. She had me keep on the training bra, to be only removed when she was sketching that portion of my body. According to her my look and actions when I had it on were perfect for her portrait. After five hours we called it quits and she ordered some pizza to be delivered for us to share. She asked if Laura, the professor had hired me. It turns out they know each other, often sharing models or ideas for future portraits. Patrice smiled and asked if Laura had told me how I would be attired for my session posing for her. I shook my head no, then Patrice giggled, mentioning I might be quite surprised. I did ask if posing for her involved clothes, the giggle again, yes a few small things, I am sure you will like what you get to wear. I tried and failed to get any more information out of her, but she did say she will drop by Saturday to see me posing in person.

I thanked her for the pizza, then slipped on my dress and went to my room downstairs. My mind did recognize that I just referred to the dress as mine, something to contemplate later. I had some homework to finish so set at the small vanity in my room and worked on it. I did wonder several times what Laura would be dressing me as, but nothing came to mind. I knew she liked the juvenile dress I wore to class, so maybe something along those lines.

By Friday Patrice had finished the first portrait, only nine more to go. She did pay me rather than withhold the first week’s pay, I presume she knew I wasn’t going to leave her in the lurch, staying in her room downstairs kind of foolish if I was going to run off. At Friday’s class Laura had asked me to wear the juvenile dress when I came to her place. She gave me the address and how to get there, but suggested it might be better if I allowed her to pick me up at Patrice’s place. We agreed on her picking me up, at nine the next morning. I worried most of the night about Laura and her idea of what I would wear. Eventually I drifted off to sleep, waking late and having to hurry and put my dress on. Laura was waiting downstairs for me, a huge smile on her face.

The trip to her house did not take long, actually it was only a few blocks from Patrice’s. I was shown in, then a brief tour of the house. It is pretty impressive, from the look of it Laura is making some substantial money. Again a loft for where she does her art work, with me noticing immediately there are no art supplies, just banks of lights and several cameras on tripods. Then my eyes focused on the huge plush animals laying everywhere and the crib and playpen towards the side of the room. I was led to a changing table, helped up on it and soon my panties were sliding down my legs. It took all that time for me to realize I was soon to be diapered, the baby powder sprinkled over my groin a sure indication of what was to come.

Unfortunately the diaper was not the only thing I was to wear. She slipped a camisole over my shoulders, then a next to nothing juvenile dress and buttoned up the back. The dress she was helping me into much more feminine than the one I was wearing. A pair of booties were next, like a baby might wear, although sized to fit my feet. A pair of mittens were slipped on my hands, the strap closure fitting snug around my wrist. I was helped to the floor, and told that I was to crawl any where I wanted to go, not ever to try standing. I was to play with the stuffed animals and dolls until it was time to be fed, then after a warm bottle of milk, a nap in my playpen would be needed. She will be taking pictures as they became available, though I was to ignore the camera and just concentrate on being a little girl. Another sigh, then she swatted my butt to get me to move toward my waiting plush animals. I crawled over to a huge teddy bear, then attempted to cuddle it. The mittens made doing the simplest things difficult, so I ended up in the teddy bears lap, his one arm over my back. I looked over toward one of the cameras to see the flash going off repeatedly with a huge smile on Laura’s face. I tried to move forward to a lion that was next to the teddy bear, losing my balance as I crawled over the teddy bears leg, ending up on my stomach and my head wedged in between the lion’s legs.

This continued for quite some time before Laura called a halt to the play period. I was placed in a playpen, having to crawl into it, then one side closed leaving me inside. I never tried to stand up, once up all I had to do was step over the playpen sides and walk away. The thought never entered my mind, I was drowsy and wanting my bottle. I was given a bottle of warm milk, its nipple placed in my mouth and her rubbing my throat causing me to start sucking on the bottle. I have no idea why I drank the warm milk, it was my intention to just drink a little of it then stop. As I finished the bottle I closed my eyes and drifted off, still sucking on the nipple.

When my tummy was rubbed I opened my eyes seeing both Laura and Patrice looking at me with huge smiles on their faces. I was shown some of the pictures Laura had taken, truly amazed at how they turned out. I looked just like a larger than life infant girl playing with her toys and sleeping in her crib. Even the shots with me sucking on a baby bottle were cute. I got hugged by Patrice and kissed on the nose before she went back home. Laura checked my diaper then nestled me in the crib with several of my fuzzy friends. Another bottle and I was soon asleep.

Waking up the next morning was surreal, looking around me at the larger than life animals and then at my clothes it took me a few minutes to figure out where I was. I then came to the realization that I was wearing a diaper and I was soaking wet. Laura to the rescue as I was helped up onto the changing table and she changed my diaper. I was hoping for some other type of clothing for today, but it seemed to not be in the cards.

After getting changed I looked around the studio to see that all of my fuzzy friends had been replaced with dolls dressed like I was and almost the same size as me. Some lipstick on my lips and I was soon sat in the middle of the dolls while she snapped picture after picture of me. I have no idea why I put up with this, what I was wearing and the diapers so weird for a young male to experience. I tried to broach the subject with her, but something always came up to postpone the conversation. Once as I was getting ready to ask her about getting me out of the diapers she placed a larger than life pacifier in my mouth and kissed the end of my nose. Well that short circuited my brain and no coherent thoughts emerged for quite a while.

I finally made it to Sunday night, Laura paying me for my time and then delivering me back to Patrice’s still in my cute dress and diaper. Patrice was there to welcome me back, taking the diaper bag from Laura then leading me into the apartment that Patrice let me use. I noticed a crib where the bed used to be, otherwise everything seemed the same. A large sigh escaped my lips as I was led to the crib, my cute little dress removed and my diaper changed. Patrice had laid a changing pad on the floor and that is where I laid while my diaper was being changed. I tried to complain, but the pacifier or one similar to what I had at Laura’s was inserted. I started sucking on it, somehow sucking on it was comforting and calming.

Another morning and another surprised wakening while I tried to remember how I came to be in the crib and in diapers. As I was laying there contemplating my fate, Patrice came in with a baby bottle, checked it for being warm on her wrist and then slipped into my mouth. I tried to protest her actions, but instead was soon sucking the warm milk into my tummy. Meanwhile she was changing my diaper, putting a plastic panty over the diaper. Then a frilly panty, with row after row of lace evenly spaced on the back side of the panty. I was sat up in the crib, a pacifier inserted in my mouth then a another frilly juvenle dress slid over my head. It had buttons up the back and a huge ribbon bow that tied in the back. She removed the pacifier from my mouth, then applied some lipstick. Pacifier back in place and she worked on my pigtails straightening and fluffing up the ribbons that were intertwined with my hair. I was dragged out to her car and placed in an over sized infant seat and buckled in. Then taken to the college and dropped off outside the building where my first class would be held. Unbuckled from the infant seat and then helped out of the car. She straightened my dress put my pacifier on a ribbon around my neck and kissed me on the tip of my nose. She then got back into her car and drove away, while I stood there in shock. About that time I felt my groin get wet, then turned several shades of red. I had just peed in my diaper, without any control what so ever. I just stood there trying to decide what to do, eventually walking towards my first class, the wet diaper very much evident. One of my female classmates saw me, came over and hugged me, then dragged me the rest of the way into the class. She saw the pacifier around my neck and before she returned to her seat she placed it between my lips, smiled and went to sit down. Nothing was said to me, but I received lost of attention form every member of the class. I usually get called on in this class, but the teacher just ignored me not wanting to upset me and make me cry. Another female took my hand and led me to my next class, making sure I had my pacifier before she went to her seat.

After that class I did make it outside by myself to see Patrice waiting for me. As she came to collect me I was sucking on the pacifier energetically, like it was my salvation in this new world. Once in the infant seat and buckled in I was handed a baby bottle, grabbing it with both hands and eagerly consuming its contents. Once at home I was removed from the infant seat and taken to my room, laid on the floor and she changed my diaper. Never once did I say anything to her, assuming all of this like it was an everyday occurrence. I was soon to learn it will be such from now on.

Once changed I was taken up to her loft and placed on the floor. My fuzzy friend, the big teddy bear was brought over and I hugged it like a long lost friend. So there I sat, my arms wrapped around the bear and totally nude except for my diaper and frilly panties. My hair still in pigtails and with a freshly applied coat of lipstick on my lips. I saw her painting and I was in and out of sleep as the afternoon progressed. Another bottle for dinner and then my diaper was changed. I was put to bed, a onesie now covering my little body. Again the pacifier and I was soon dreaming of bears, dolls and my next delicious bottle of milk.

I never did attend any more classes, too busy modeling for Patrice and Laura. Laura was able to retire from teaching, making enough from my pictures to do so easily. Patrice never did finish the rest of the portraits she wanted to do, but instead started painting portraits of Shirley with her numerous dolls and fuzzy friends. I think I heard her say she will never be able to catch up to the demand for her paintings of me and my friends.

Well that was not all I was occupied with, since I had lots of toys to play with each requiring some of my time every day. Then there is the baby bottles of milk that had to be consumed, which in turn made my diapers wet requiring changing often.

I did realize deep down what had happened, I had been encouraged to become an infant girl, diaper dependent and getting all of my nourishment from a baby bottle. Patrice and Laura do take good care of me, with me never wanting for anything. Every once in a while I am shown a bank account statement with the name Shirley on the top of it. The number of zeros in the number is more than my little mind can perceive. Suffice to say I will never be hurting for money, but then I don’t need any as long as I have my two mommies.

It is a different life, that is for sure, but one I do enjoy, being hugged, bathed and of course having my diaper changed. To think it all started when I answered an ad to pose nude. Maybe not a life for everyone, but for me just perfect. The name now fits, Shirley a baby girl.

Story Complete For Now

© 2016 thru 2021 Fran Cesca Walker

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *