Um...I kinda get the Adult Baby/Diaper Lover fetish...

Ace and I were grabbing burgers last week, and I was telling him about how I recently became interested in investing.

“That’s what you do, right?” I asked.

“Not really,” he said. “I work in the bank, with specific companies…I’m not an investor.”

“But,” I took a sip of my frozen rose drink, “you might know about companies, and how they’re doing, right?”

He nodded.

“And you could tell me that stuff!”

“What stuff?”

“Like which companies are about to make big moves, and buy other companies.”

“Shannon, that’s insider trading.”

“Oh…oh well that kills my next big idea.”

Still curious, I asked Ace which people at his company did work in investing, and we started talking about a certain boss of a boss that makes roughly 27 million dollars a year.

“Is he cute?” I naturally asked.

We looked him up. He wasn’t.

“These guys,” Ace told me between bites of his burger, “they work all the time. It’s insane.”

“How can you say that?” I asked. “I track you on Find My Friends you work past 11PM every night.”

“But these guys,” Ace shook his head. “It’s fucking nuts. One guy recently emailed us pissed off about how he was on vacation with his wife and he couldn’t take any more calls. I never want to get to a point like that.”

I nodded. Despite the frozen rose, the conversation was sobering me up.

Along with my recent enthusiasm for investing, came a good amount of general anxiety. Investing used to be something fun, almost like a video game. And now I’m careful about what I invest in, and which opportunities are good ones because…well shit, this money is all going to be saved for my future.

If I want more or need more…I need to be the one who makes that happen.

“I think life is…super hard?” I whispered to Ace. “Like, all of it. I wake up, I get ready for work, I try to have breakfast. I walk to work, I get in, I work until 5 or 6. Then I come home, maybe hit the gym, have some dinner, try to enjoy myself and then go to bed.”

Ace nodded and looked at me. I wondered if he didn’t get it.

“And I don’t even have kids. How can someone do everything we’re doing…and have a family? How can they provide for other people, every day? I can barely satisfy myself every day.”

“I think I understand those people with the Adult Baby fetish. Those people who put on diapers.” I proclaimed, maybe a bit too loudly for the restaurant we were in.

“What…is that?” Ace asked.

It’s a normal question. Most people aren’t internet deviants like myself - or people who have their favorite TV show as The Secret Diary of a Call Girl (fucking amazing show, check it out).

The show highlights the fetish in this clip below:

I believe it varies - some people will truly wear diapers and eat baby food, but other people just want to be treated like a child…gently, kindly, and have their needs taken care of.

It’s common for high-powered individuals to hire prostitutes for services like this, or even dominatrixes. And honestly…it’s starting to make sense to me.

Imagine their life: They wake up at around 5am, and try to get a workout in. They have breakfast with their family, and head into work. They’re the boss in work for hours, maybe 10 or more. Meetings, calls, emails, calling the shots, shaking hands, closing deals.

They have to go out to a business dinner and be on. After that dinner they have more work. On their way home they answer emails and still work until they go to bed at night.

If I was that person, I would definitely want to spend $300 an hour every Wednesday night from 8pm to 9pm to be in a nice hotel, in my pajamas, as someone fed me my dinner, rubbed my feet and put on cartoons. And then stroked my hair and sang me a song and took care of things that needed to be taken care of. I would want them to wash my hair and just…do it all.

We all need a break sometimes.

There’s a 200% chance that I don’t understand all of the complexities of this fetish, but I have to say, the more I think about having to work, and save, and keep working, and grind, and prepare for the future, and myself, and my family…the more I just want to sigh, blow some cash, and have someone take care of me for an hour.

And I think we would have to pay someone to do this, or ask a partner to do it…because it’s so hard to treat ourselves kindly in the way that we need, you know?

If my partner was stressed out, I would happily make them a meal, or draw them a bath, or give them a massage.

But when I’m stressed out, I just order Postmates, watch Netflix and play iPhone games. We tend to give ourselves band-aid solutions for problems that require heavier bandaging.

Anyway, I told all of that to Ace, in a frozen rose stupor, and probably more loudly than I should have.

“Maybe you should do that,” he suggested at the end.

“Pay for someone to pamper me?” I laughed. “Well, I guess with spas and manicures I kind of do.”

“No,” he said, “you could be the person who does that. The person who…pampers.”

I laughed. And then made a face. And then considered it.

“I think I’ll stick to my day job. But who knows…it’s always an idea.”

I think Secret Diary of a Call Girl corrupted me. They make it seem like being a prostitute in London is the most fun you’ll ever have.

I normally end these posts with some form of “do you agree? tell me your thoughts!” but for this one I’m going to accept that I have some fucked up thoughts, and ask that you do not comment!

…but for real do you want to wear a diaper?

Hahaha, I kid. For me, it’s all about the pampering.

Until the next one,
Baby S

MiscShannon McNamaraComment