Taken from: Crimson
here is a little story about patience and the impressions we’ve always wanted to make.
The Lasting Impression –
What do you wear on a second date?
Countless magazine articles and even more countless websites had so much advice to offer Trisha that she felt her head spinning just as much as it did last night after she and Kim, her roommate, went through that second bottle of Pinot Grigio before calling it a night.
But the trouble Trisha faced wasn’t so much what to wear on a second date as it was how to act. And on top of that, tonight wasn’t actually a second date with Derrick. It was more like an 8th or 9th date with him, including several nights at his apartment and some unforgettable, mind-blowing sex.
But in many ways, tonight actually was a second date – because up until now, she hadn’t revealed all of herself to him. No girl revealed it all right away, but then again, most girls don’t leave the biggest part of themselves out of the picture for as long as Trisha had with Derrick.
So, if the nature of a first date was designed to leave a first impression, then this date was designed to leave the lasting one.
Trisha would’ve worn pants if she hadn’t been so nervous. And she probably wouldn’t have been so bold as to go diapered on this dinner date with him. But she saw the value of being padded for several reasons – all that were very useful and timely for her: as protection against her reaction to an abundance of nervousness, as her fetish and also as a last resort, should her explanations leave him thoroughly confused and bewildered.
Despite the long white sweater and cherry red leggings she wore, Trisha still believed her appearance to be lacking. But luckily, the Lime Street Cafe was dim with its lighting and had private deuce tables in the corners. And though no one made a fuss over her entrance as she walked in, Derrick certainly did – standing up to take in the sight of her as she walked up to the table in the far corner.
“Miss McCarthy,” Derrick said, his jawline pronounced even more than it normally was, an indication that he had shaved his daily scruff off when he got home from work earlier that evening.
“Mr. Brandt,” Trisha said, embracing him fully, as she usually did, but keeping her hips back a bit further than normal – her defensive move against crinkling and revealing things a bit too soon.
Wrapping her arms around his torso, she placed the side of her face up against his chest, feeling the warmth rising up off his frame, hearing the beating of his heart behind his rib cage and taking in the scented essence of Derrick – a delicious mixture of cologne and laundry detergent.
“How was your day?” Trisha asked softly.
“Fine,” Derrick said with a deep monotone, then kissing the top of her head. “But it just got a whole lot better.”
Oh, thank goodness her arms were wrapped around his body. If they hadn’t been, her knees likely would’ve given way, just then. Oh, what a charmer he was – an absolute charmer. And, as he pulled out her chair, Trisha took a seat quickly – appreciating his Chivalrous gesture but not wanting to give him too much time to notice the padded bulk on her bottom.
This was a big part of the reason why she had worn a long white sweater – to cover the secret until the time was right to tell him and, if all went well, to show him.
“I love the shorter hair look,” Derrick said, sitting on the chair on the other side of the small table.
Trisha smiled, lowering her chin and reaching up to tuck the locks behind her ears.
“And I’m not sure because it’s kind of dim in here, but did your hair get redder?” Derrick asked, then pausing to think about the word. “Is that a word? Redder?”
“I don’t think it’ll pop up in any autocorrects,” Trisha said with a laugh. “But yes, it’s darker red. Closer to crimson.”
“Good evening,” their server said, appearing out of nowhere – a college-aged girl with a perkiness to her that instantly frustrated Trisha.
She didn’t need any competition for Derrick’s attention on this night. This was an important date and she promptly ignored the impulse to get out her cat claws. Or, at least she was going to try to ignore those impulses.
“What can I get you to drink?” the server said, cocking a hip and getting out her server’s pad.
The only thing this girl needed to be any more obviously flirtatious was a pleated, hockey skirt and a huge piece of pink bubble gum to be chomping on like a little cow.
“I’ll just have coffee … uh, regular coffee,” Derrick said, then looking at Trisha.
“I’ll have Irish coffee,” Trisha said. “And please tell the bartender to double the Bailey’s in it, as well as the whiskey.”
“Okey dokey!” the server said, bouncing away – her pert little breasts bouncing as well.
Ugh. The concept of ignoring her was a lot easier than the implementation of that concept.
“Is everything okay, baby?” Derrick asked, now taking notice to how flustered Trisha was, but not yet realizing the impact the pet name of baby had on her psyche.
But he would very shortly understand everything, if she could find the strength to tell him.
“Yes,” Trisha said, picking up the menu and looking at it for distraction. “Do you know what you want to eat?”
“Um … yeah,” Derrick said, a bit confused by her sudden change in demeanor. “I was gonna get the pulled pork ciabatta sandwich.”
“I’ll just have a salad,” Trisha said, putting the menu down right at the very moment the bopsy server returned with their coffees.
“Ready to order?” the server asked, smiling at Derrick and then smiling even more brightly at Trisha.
Oh, what a flirtatious little tart this girl was.
“Yes. I’d like the pulled pork ciabatta sandwich and she would like a salad,” Derrick said, then looking at Trisha as she mouthed the word Harvest to him. “A Harvest salad.”
“Okey dokey!” the server said with her Minnie Mouse voice, taking the menus and bouncing off into the kitchen.
“If she keeps that up all night, I’m likely to say something to the manager,” Derrick said, getting disgusted by their server’s behavior.
“Don’t say anything, Da- … um, Derrick,” Trisha said, catching herself before she accidentally called him Daddy – a mistake that made her heart begin to pound inside her chest. “She’s cute. She’s young. She’s trying to make tips … and before you even say it … No, she doesn’t see me at this table at all. She’s smiling right through me. And she’s instinctively looking for the wallet, not the competition.”
“Well, I see you at this table,” Derrick said, taking hold of both of her hands. “And I can see that you are nervous as can be. Something’s up and I want you to tell me what it is.”
Oh, my. No. Now the pressure was on. Drawing her knees together and shrinking up her shoulders, she closed her eyes for a moment (or two or three or four) to attempt to collect herself enough to be able to utter any sort of vocal sound.
But she knew this was it. It had to happen now. She had to tell him now. She had his undivided attention and, from the look of concern in his eyes, she also had his heart on her side. It was just a matter of seeing it through, of not running away from something for once and of simply believing that Derrick was the one she had been waiting for, the one she had been waiting to say all of this to … the one who would understand.
“Well, okay. Just to let you know … I’m not pregnant. I’m not seeing anyone else and I’m not breaking us up,” Trisha said, stalling for time in the hopes of finding courage quickly.
“Trisha,” Derrick said with that low tone she had secretly nicknamed his Daddy Voice. “I really want to know what’s bothering you. I really want you to relax. You could tell me that you are a bisexual who enjoys sticking carrots in your ears when you take showers and I would be okay with it. You don’t ever need to keep anything from me for fear of how I will react. It’s okay. Tell me why your pulse is racing right now, baby.”
Trisha looked down at her palms, gripped within his hands – his fingertips feeling the pulse at her wrists. Okay … she could do this. And she knew there was nothing else he could say that would calm her any more than she was. The only thing that would enable her to relax would be to take in a deep breath and then to tell him the truth … all of it, hopefully in one shot as she didn’t believe she would ever be able to reveal the truth again.
So she took in a deep breath, remembering her roommate’s advice of not overwhelming him with anything. Moderation was the key.
“There’s two things I need to tell you, actually,” Trisha said, then sipping from her Irish coffee as she began to work out a mental plan as to how she was going to tell him all of this without passing out in the process. “I don’t know which to begin with.”
“Start with the one that scares you more to tell me,” Derrick said with a softened tone. “That way, the fear will only last a few more seconds.”
“Okay,” Trisha whispered, her eyes welling with tears and her throat gaining a lump as she gripped his thumbs with her tiny hands. “I have a fetish that isn’t just fantasy to me. It’s a part of who I am. It’s actually a really big part of who I am. And I know it always will be.”
“There ya go,” Derrick said, smiling. “You told me the most distressing thing first and I’m still sitting here. Don’t you feel better now?”
“No,” Trisha whispered with honesty.
“Why not?” Derrick asked, a bit confused.
“Because I haven’t told you what the fetish is yet,” Trisha said, her face blushing a soft pinkish hue as the humiliation arrived before the admittance that should’ve been the catalyst for it. “Have you ever heard of The Daddy’s Girl Fetish?”
And before Derrick could respond, the bopsy server returned with their food. Oh, what horrid timing, indeed. The server set Derrick’s pulled-pork sandwich in front of him. But Derrick didn’t even look at the plate. Instead, he had already taken out his phone and was googling the term: Daddy’s Girl Fetish. Trisha couldn’t actually see that he was searching this, but it was the only logical thing she could think of that would’ve justified him whipping out that phone as quickly as he did. And the problem was: Trisha couldn’t explain what the fetish was about in her own words because the cutesy server was standing there.
“Here you are, sir. A pulled pork ciabatta sandwich,” the server said with flirtatiousness, then going into her speech about the sandwich – a custom of this particular café to make it seem a little more upscale. “That’s tender coffee-bourbon pork barbecue that’s been topped with red onions, cheddar cheese, and pickles. Served on a toasted ciabatta roll. Enjoy.”
Trisha studied Derrick’s eyes as he read about the fetish, incapable of saying anything to him as the server was still there.
“And here is your harvest salad,” the server said, placing the salad plate in front of Trisha. “That’s baby lettuce, topped with oven-roasted turkey, shredded cheese, bacon, and crisp green apple slices. Served with a side of honey mustard. Enjoy.”
And with a flash, the server was gone – almost like she was an apparition. Trembling from head to toe, Trisha helplessly watched as Derrick read about the fetish. She felt so dizzy that she was certain her humiliation blush had been replaced with a drained and white-as-a-ghost look on her face. And as if his silence wasn’t trepidating enough for her, the nervousness overcame her as she started to trickle a weak stream of pee into her diaper. Then he finished reading the entry, closing his phone and setting it down before he looked up at her.
That was when she started flooding her diaper. He didn’t seem upset or disgusted. But he also didn’t seem overjoyed or enthusiastic. Luckily, she really didn’t have much in her bladder and her nervous pee dripped to a stop. Then he spoke, quietly as to not be heard by anyone but her.
“Before I ask anything about the Daddy’s Girl thing, what was other thing you wanted to tell me?” Derrick asked.
Trisha swallowed the lump in her throat several times, but it wouldn’t go down.
“I have a tendency to overthink things and when I do that, I tend to ruin things and then I get angry and become mean,” Trisha answered him, actually finding it quite easy to admit her second confession, being as her first confession was still unanswered by him. “It’s like a trigger of anger has been set off inside me and I can’t get control of my emotions when it happens. I literal see red. Sometimes, I see … redder.”
Derrick smiled, sharing a pleasant laugh with her – a much-needed and much-deserved tension breaker for the enormous task of having just bared her heart and soul to him.
“The anger thing we can figure out. I have a relative who has a similar problem, by the sounds of it,” Derrick said, wiggling his thumbs – still inside her grips. “May I ask you a few questions?”
“Yes,” Trisha whispered so softly she was almost inaudible.
“Is the Daddy’s Girl thing an age play thing?” Derrick asked.
“Yes,” Trisha answered, wanting to explain in full but only capable of getting out one word replies as he still hadn’t given his outright approval or dismissal yet.
“And because you said it was a really big part of your life, I’m assuming it’s a lot more than just a fetish to you. Is that about right?” Derrick asked.
“Yes,” Trisha said with a growing smile and with growing hope.
She could tell he had actually listened to her, not just the words she was able to speak but also the meaning of those words that she couldn’t quite get out.
“You’re a little girl at heart, aren’t you?” Derrick asked, his face beginning to smile slightly.
“A BabyGirl at heart,” Trisha further defined, having expelled all the oxygen in her lungs to get out those four words.
“Do you have cute little outfits?” Derrick asked, the playfulness in his voice coupling with an even bigger smile on his face to bring a set of butterflies to a waltz inside Trisha’s tummy.
“Yes,” Trisha answered.
“When do you wear them?” Derrick asked.
“To bed,” Trisha said, her heart-rate picking up again.
“Pacifier?” Derrick asked sweetly.
“Paci. Yes,” Trisha answered softly, his growing smile making her do the same.
Oh, my. Could this really be happening? And how wonderful it was to have given it to him slowly as opposed to her usual impulse to heap new things on people’s shoulders. Trisha’s roommate was right. If she didn’t inundate him at the get-go, he would have time to process it all. And that was exactly what he was doing.
“Diaper?” Derrick asked with a whisper.
Oh, my. Trisha tingled between her legs, a breathless ache forming across her sternum. And with inability to even say yes, she did the next best thing she could think to do. She dropped her napkin on the floor, intending for him to pick it up and then be able to look under the table and to see what she was wearing under her sweater.
But instead of Derrick picking it up, the server walked by at that moment, picking up the napkin and setting it back on the table for her. Irritated, Trisha grabbed Derrick’s right hand, dragged his right arm under the table and placed his palm flat on the front of the diaper between her legs. Derrick’s gaze grew big-n-wide, looking into her eyes – her electric eyes. And oh, how those eyes danced.
“Is it sexual for you?” Derrick asked quietly.
“Sometimes,” Trisha admitted, nibbling her lower lip.
“How often is sometimes?” he asked, sitting back – Trisha releasing her grip on his right hand.
“Whenever you want it,” Trisha admitted, a playful fussiness accompanying her whisper.
“So it’s a control thing, too? How would that be termed?” Derrick asked, searching for the word.
“Submissiveness,” Trisha whispered with breathiness, want now filling her eyes.
“You mean you’re … ?” Derrick asked, making certain of her meaning.
“Obedient, yes,” Trisha answered, a full smile forming on his face as she said the word.
“So you don’t actually act like a baby, but …,” Derrick said, pausing to think about it.
“But I feel like one and I crave it,” Trisha said, completing his thought.
“Why?” Derrick asked, more than just curious at this point.
“Because it makes me feel safe,” Trisha said softly. “It puts me in a situation I can’t control. But I still feel safe.”
“It’s security,” Derrick added, Trisha nodding. “I’m getting the impression that you’ve probably never felt the kind of security this Daddy-n-BabyGirl thing provides for you.”
Trisha nodded, tears welling in her eyes – not for being upset but for being happy. Derrick got it. He actually got it and he understood and he was still sitting at that table.
“So, do the outbursts of anger come from this need, too?” Derrick asked.
“No, that comes from being a typical red-head,” Trisha admitted with a laugh. “I’ve just never learned how to control it.”
“Oh you will, BabyGirl. I’ll make sure you learn,” Derrick said quietly, that syrupy-rich Daddy Voice mixing with the first look of dominance he ever gazed back at her.
Okay, apparently she did have a little pee left in her bladder because at that moment, she started wetting herself again. Oh, he got it. He so totally got it. And from his eyes, she could see that it just might be as natural for him as it was for her. Only time and experience would tell.
They started eating, Trisha taking out her phone and holding it under the table – typing a text message and then returning to her salad. A few seconds later, Derrick’s phone chimed a new text message. He opened it and read what she sent him:
Trisha: I have a small bag of “baby” stuff and diapers in my car.
Smiling broadly, he looked across the table at Trisha who kept her head down and kept eating her salad. Then a few seconds later, her cell phone chimed a new text message. Trying to hide her smile, she looked at her phone and read what he sent her:
Derrick: Good. Daddy wants you to bring the bag to my place and leave it there. As a matter of fact, I want you with me tonight. So finish up that salad, BabyGirl. You have a lesson to learn before I lay you down to sleep.
Trisha tingled all over. Oh, my. They were at the start of something very good. And this date had definitely left the impression she wanted to last. She texted back: Yes, Daddy – then doing her best to finish her salad as quickly as she could.
A heart-pounding night awaited them both.
Also read: “Introductions“
The ABDL Any Time Reader Forever Young A Girl Named Love Storytellers Layers Flashback