Clear History?

Hey everyone.

I know it’s been forever since I last contributed anything to this community, and for that I apologize. I was going through some personal issues and conflicts, and at one point forgot about this site. :frowning: Still, I haven’t given up my writing. I published my first ABDL book via Amazon, and this is another one I’m working on and am hoping to one day publish. I’m up to Chapter 10, but for now, I’ll post one chapter at a time so I don’t bombard you with posts. With that said, I present to you, “Clear History?” Please note, there is some strong language in this story.

Chapter 1

It started with a pact. In the event that I died, it would be my best friend, Molly’s, job to delete some specified computer files of mine and clear the history of my web browser. No looking, no snooping, no questions asked. You’d think that even though Molly and I have been friends for over ten years that we wouldn’t have to hide secrets from each other. But the truth is, there are some secrets that you don’t think even your closest friend should know. Still, how she found out was completely circumstantial.

I think what makes Molly so special is that she gets me. She gets that I am easily frustrated over the stupid little things people do. She gets my humor and reciprocates it without skipping a beat. And even though I was so afraid of what she would say if she ever found out about that little something about me, she gets my secret. But perhaps I should backtrack a bit.

I first met Molly in eighth grade. She forgot to bring a pen to class, so I offered her one. What was meant to be merely a kind gesture led to the beginning of an extraordinary friendship. We started eating lunch together, hanging out after school, and all of the other simple things in life we seem to take for granted these days.

By the time senior year arrived, Molly and I would talk until all hours of the night about our goals, our fears, and what we’d do when we went away to college. We shared everything with each other…well, almost everything. You see, there was one thing I never mentioned to Molly: I was (and still am) an infantilist. It was one of those things that I’d thought about telling her since we started sharing more intimate details with each other, but the words could never leave my tongue. It’s not that I was afraid that she’d stop being my best friend. I was just afraid she’d look at me differently. A few times I’d make subtle hints about it to see how she’d react. I remember the Halloween of sophomore year I’d joked and told Molly I was thinking about going as a baby.

“Luke, I think that’d be hilarious, adorable, and awkward all at the same time! I could almost picture you wearing a huge diaper!” was her reaction.

I laughed it off and told her I was kidding, although my brain desperately tried getting me to tell her the truth. Still, I felt it was for the best that she not know about it.

It seemed that with each passing week, we found ourselves sharing a little more about ourselves with each other; bad past experiences, issues with our families or people we liked…the list goes on. It got to the point where we even started talking about sex and our likes and dislikes on the subject. Again, it’d have been a good opportunity for me to share with her my little secret, but to no avail. However, one particular December night, Molly and I got onto a bit of a morbid topic: death. It wasn’t an upsetting talk. To be honest, it was rather interesting and deep.

We’d been sitting on an abandoned railroad bridge, watching the sun slowly set. It was chilly, but not to the point where we wanted to head home. The sky was clear, and we threw stones into the creek a few yards away.

“Molly, this is going to sound random, but have you ever thought about what it would be like if you died?” I asked.

“What?” she chuckled, “Where did that come from?”

“Not really sure. Just thinking, I guess.”

“Well, to be honest, Luke, I do think about it sometimes. I’d be pretty pissed if I died now. I haven’t even been in a legit, serious relationship yet!”

We both laughed a bit, but quickly got back on topic.

“But in all seriousness,” Molly continued, “I guess I wonder what people in my life would do without me around, if that makes any sense.”

“It makes perfect sense.” I paused for a moment. “I guess I’m just curious to know if we can still feel what we feel now as humans.”

“How do you mean?”

“I guess-I guess I’m just wondering like if you had something here, on this Earth, about yourself that you didn’t want anyone to know about, but then they found out about if after you died, if you’d care in the afterlife.”
Molly looked at me with concern in her deep blue eyes.

“Well this has certainly gotten interesting. What are you afraid of people finding out about you? You seem awfully fine to me!” she smiled.

“And in most respects, I am,” I looked toward the sky, “but…oh, how do I put this? There is something about me that I’ve never really told anyone about before.”

“What? Really?” Molly asked.


“You’re joking,” she laughed, “I’ve known you forever, Luke!”

“I’m serious, Molly!” I frowned a bit.

“And you never wanted to talk about it before?”

“I don’t even really want to talk about it now. Someday I promise I will tell you. I’m just not ready yet.”
There was the slightest moment of silence, and I could tell by the look on Molly’s face that she was taken by surprise. But that look of surprise quickly turned into a smile.

“Luke Thompson, you’ve officially become a walking mystery. But, you’re my best friend, and I understand completely if you’re iffy about telling me whatever it is that’s bothering you. And I promise, right here, may God strike me by lightning, that no matter what it is, I’ll always be your best friend.”

Molly came in close and gave me a reassuring hug.

“Thanks, Molly.”

“Any time! You know I’m here for you!”

“Which leads me to my next question.”

“Oh, God…you’re not going to ask me to have sex with you, are you?” she jokingly nudged my stomach.
I was quick to one-up her joke in the lousiest British accent I could muster. “Oh yes, Molly! I have this sudden urge to make love to you! Please grant me this one wish and warm my soul on this frigid December night!”

We both howled with laugher, just as we always seemed to do when we were being ridiculous. Once the laughter subsided, Molly asked, “But what was it you wanted to ask me?”

I swallowed hard, knowing this wouldn’t be easy to explain.

“Are you familiar with the idea of, ‘when a person dies, their best friend’s first job should be to clear their browsing history’?”

“I don’t think that that’s the exact phrase, but I’m familiar with it. Why do you ask?”

“This might sound weird, but I’d like to give you that job if anything happens to me.”

There was a brief moment of silence, and Molly looked at me strangely.

“Ohhhh, don’t want anyone to see your porn, Luke?” she snickered.

“Something like that. But seriously, I want you to swear to me right here, right now, that you will do that for me. And that you won’t look at anything before you do it.”

“What are you, a secret agent or something? Jeez!”

“Molly, please promise me. You’re my best friend and I trust you enough for you to do that for me.”

“But you don’t trust me enough to tell me what it is you’re hiding?”

“It’s-it’s not like that! I promise you I will tell you someday soon. You’ll be the first to know. I’ll make it my New Year’s resolution.”
Molly gave me a look of uncertainty with a smile on her face, then nodded her head and said, “I promise. But! You’re not allowed to die anytime soon, you hear me?”

I smiled and nodded. “Please. Me? Die soon? I’ve got way too much stuff to do before I’m outta here! But thank you.”
We sealed the deal with another hug, and eventually made our way back home. I saw Molly to her house, and just before she headed up her driveway, she looked at me with her brilliantly blue eyes and said, “You know, I meant what I said earlier, Luke. I won’t think any differently of you whenever you decide to tell me this big secret of yours. I mean, unless of course you’re a murderer or something like that.”

That’s the thing about Molly: she genuinely cares about me, but always uses humor to keep herself from sounding sappy.

“It isn’t anything like that, I promise,” I laughed, “but thank you.”

Molly nodded and waved, then slowly walked towards the back door of her house. I sighed in frustration and made my way back home. Despite every moment where I thought I had built up enough courage to tell Molly, I simply couldn’t. She told me to trust her, and yet something stopped me. Perhaps it was because I knew I’d have to see her every day, meaning that if for some reason she reacted poorly, it wouldn’t be the same between us. Still, I knew the time to tell her would come. Or at least I thought I did.

I got one of the worst phone calls in my life on Christmas Eve: Luke was in a terrible car accident. He was alive, but in critical condition. He had told me that he needed to buy one last gift to complete his list, and even though he hated shopping so close to Christmas, he went for it anyway. Now I’m a pretty relaxed girl, but all I could think of was Luke, all bloody and hanging on for dear life in what was probably his mangled jeep.

I threw on my heavy winter coat and raced to the hospital. I remember I cried a lot on the way there, as I was afraid that Luke would leave before I got a chance to see him. All of the “what ifs” that entered my mind ended in pessimistic thoughts.

“Damn it! You just had to go out today, didn’t you?” I yelled, as if Luke were right next to me.

I practically flew into the hospital parking lot and parked my car in a handicap space. Just before leaving my car, I checked myself in the mirror. My hair looked good, my make-up wasn’t too runny despite my tears, and my pouty lips weren’t smudged. He couldn’t see me any other way; I didn’t want the last image he had of me being one where I was crying or upset.
I ran into the lobby and quickly yelled to the receptionist, “Luke Thompson! Where is he?!”

“Room 6. And who are you?” the receptionist asked in a snooty voice.

“I’m his girlfriend!” I lied.

Without acknowledging my response, she hit a button on her desk, and the door leading to the Emergency Room took its painfully sweet time opening up. I bolted down the hallway until I saw Mr. and Mrs. Thompson outside of room 6.

“Molly!” Mrs. Thompson cried and embraced me.

“Where’s Luke? What happened?”

“Some jackass ran a red light and t-boned Luke! Jesus! People drive like such friggin’ asswipes during the Holidays!” Mr. Thompson snarled as he paced back and forth.

“C-can I see him?”

“They’re about to transport him to the other hospital…”

I made my way into the room, and saw before me what was supposed to be Luke. The left side of his face was all black and blue, and his left arm was all bandaged up. His green eyes shifted around wildly.

“Luke!” I yelled as I walked over to his side.

“Excuse me, Miss, but we need to get him out of here.” One of the nurses said.

“Fuck you! I need to see him! Luke!”

“M-Molly…great way to celebrate Christmas, eh?”

The sound of his voice told me he wasn’t doing so well, and I couldn’t help but tear up. Even in this horrible situation, Luke kept his sense of humor. His heart rate monitor beeped at an alarmingly fast rate.

“You’ll be out of here in no time! And don’t you dare think about leaving just yet! You still have to open the gifts I bought you.” I lightly chuckled in an attempt to drown out my despair.

“Miss, we need to-”

“-wait,” Luke said, cutting the nurse off.

He motioned for me to come close to him and struggled to bring his head up toward my ear.

“Remember our promise?” he asked weakly.

“Luke, no. Don’t do this to me.” I sobbed, knowing what he was implying.

“I-I don’t know if I’ll get out of this one, Molly…please, just do what you promised you would…just in case.”

I gasped and covered my mouth with my hands; I knew he was leaving me.

“Luke, I can’t…you can’t do this!”

That promise. That damned promise. Had we never had that conversation, then perhaps Luke wouldn’t have been in the hospital.

Perhaps he would’ve used that evening we spent buying the Christmas gift, thus avoiding the car accident altogether.

“Please…promise me.”

I wept uncontrollably as I said, “I promise.” And in an instant, the nurses rushed Luke out of the room.

I remember Mr. and Mrs. Thompson hugging and crying with me, although I don’t remember for how long. Time seems almost nonexistent in that type of situation. All I could think of, all I could worry about, all I could pray for was Luke and that promise.

Re: Clear History?

Excellent, I’m following this on DD, I’m glad to see you posting here too. I’ve come to enjoy this one, it’s the first story I looked for after Adisc deleted them all.

Re: Clear History?

I remember when you started this story and am glad you’re posting it again. I like where it was going. Of course, I still feel like the story would be completely moot if he just used incognito mode and truecrypt, but that’s the nerd in me speaking…

Re: Clear History?

Christ this is sad. Hardly what I’d expect to find on an ABDL story board. But it’s really well written.

I don’t have any actual criticism to offer. I just wanted to say that this is something I’ve often thought about. Not the search history of course; I use incognito mode. But I have files saved on my computer that would be pretty revealing, and I have a stash of diapers that would certainly be found if I ever suddenly died. It made me think about what would go through my family’s head if they found that stuff. I decided a while ago that unless I someday get a girlfriend whom I tell about this fetish, the only person I’d ever trust to clear up the mess I left behind would be my twin sister. I trust her enough that she would respect my wishes not to look, just to clear it all up. And even if she didn’t, she would never tell the rest of my family about it. Granted I still haven’t entrusted her with that responsibility, but the day may come.

Sorry for the personal mumbo jumbo, but this story really struck a chord with me and I wanted to let you know that.

Re: Clear History?

Chapter 2

The one person I cared for the most was lying on his deathbed, and I was forced to be kept at the mercy of God’s decision of whether he was meant to pull through. Of all the times for this to happen, Christmas Eve had to be it? I silently cursed God and told myself that there was no way that I’d have to fulfill my promise to Luke because he was going to make it through. And yet, part of me felt that he wasn’t coming back. I knew what had to be done and hated myself for going through with it.

While I don’t like lying, I’m really good at it. Maybe it’s the look in my eyes or innocent tone of voice I use when I make something up, but nobody could ever tell that I was lying…except for Luke, of course. Years of practicing getting out of trouble with my mom made it possible for me to say just about anything with a straight face, and now I was about to lie to Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, although it was more like a half-truth than an actual lie. I took a quiet but deep breath and-

“Molly, sweetheart, do you want to ride with us to the other hospital?” Mrs. Thompson asked.

“Oh, that’s okay. I left my phone in my car and need to tell my dad I won’t be home. I’ll meet up with you there.”

Mr. and Mrs. Thompson told me they’d let me know if anything changed while I was gone, and I told myself that this would be the quickest trip I’d ever made being away from Luke. I headed out of the hospital in a haze and hurried to my car. I knew what I was about to do. While I didn’t want to leave the hospital with the possibility of Luke dying before I got back, my heart was telling me that I had to do this now. It was as if something in my soul was telling me that this was the only chance I had to do this.

While driving towards Luke’s house, feelings of dread, anxiety and sadness were clouded with the scene of Luke in the hospital bed telling me to fulfill the promise I made to him. What on Earth was he so afraid of people finding out about him? Ever since the night he told me he was hiding something, I couldn’t help but rack my brain trying to think of what it could be. I had ruled out a serial killer or drug dealer; Luke was too harmless to hurt anybody and too honest to get mixed up with the law. I had even tried prying it out of him a few times through bribery and sharing a secret of my own, but he was persistent in keeping quiet about it. And with Luke on his death bed, there was no way I’d find out what it was because of my promise.

I swore at every red light, every stop sign, and every last person that got in my way while going to Luke’s house. It was only a seven minute drive, but it felt like hours. All the while, I kept begging God to keep Luke safe and that if he died, then to not let it happen until I made it to the other hospital.

The Thompsons’ house was covered in lights and holiday decorations. Gigantic candy canes lined their driveway, and I nearly took half of them out with my car. The winter night was silent as I exited my car and approached the one-story yellow house that I’d been to a million times before. I could see the fluorescent light glowing from the kitchen window and made my way to the back door. Although I could see my breath as I walked outside, I was too numb to feel the freezing cold air hitting my face.

“I can’t believe I’m doing this.” I whispered to myself.

Once I got to the back door, I reached for the knob and turned it, my hands trembling violently. I felt like I was committing a crime while at the same time feeling like if I went through and deleted Luke’s computer history, then he would die. Would the action I was about to take be the trigger that ended his life?

I took a deep breath and turned the handle, expecting it to be locked. To my surprise, the door opened right up and I found myself inside of Luke’s foyer. His parents probably forgot to lock it when they got the news. I took my boots off, entered the kitchen, and then walked through the dining room and down the dimly lit hall. Luke’s room was the last door on the right, and oddly enough, there was a light from what was most likely his computer monitor shining from beneath his door.

Hesitantly, I entered his room, and there on his desk sat his computer, just waiting for me to get rid of all of the evidence in which I’d never even laid eyes upon. As I approached the computer monitor, I could smell Luke’s cologne, and I couldn’t help but look around to see the posters of his favorite band, The Purple Pillars, and the picture on his dresser he had of him and me at a bonfire from the year before. That was when I lost it once more. There in his room, I sobbed and sobbed, each cry harder than the last.

“I can’t! I can’t do this!” I cried. “Please, don’t kill him! Please! That’s not fair! You can’t take him from me now!”

My closest friend, my partner in crime, the only guy who I could playfully smack and would allow to return the favor, was about to die. I clutched the photo on his dresser and sat down at his desk, wiping away the tears with my free hand and pulling my cell phone out of my pocket; I’d left Luke’s exact instructions on a file on my phone, just in case it ever came to this. Even though there were a good amount of steps to take, they were simple enough:

1.) Open the Smooth Sailing internet browser
2.) Go to History
3.) Select Clear All
4.) Select Yes
5.) Once that’s done, click on Libraries on the desktop
6.) Select Music, then click on the Great Tunes folder.
7.) Once there, right-click on the folder that says This Is Good Music! and press Delete
8.) Click Yes
9.) Right click on the Garbage Can on the desktop
10.) Select Empty Garbage Can and select Yes

Luke is such a dork that he’d even made me practice running through this a billion times on my laptop, each time telling me, “I just want to make sure you’ve got this down.” Part of me wondered, as I sat in his room, if he knew he was going to get into the car accident, which is why he’d taught me so many times. Or maybe this was all part of a bigger plan made by God himself. No matter what the real reason was, this simple task became one of the hardest things for me to do.

Luke is a good person, I silently prayed, you have no reason to take him. If I go through with his promise, please please PLEASE do not take him. I beg of you.

I took the computer mouse with my right hand and slowly moved to open Luke’s internet browser. In a matter of a minute, I had successfully cleared the history; my task was halfway complete. In another two minutes, I would be finished and would be on my way to the hospital.

I found the This Is Good Music! file hidden under Luke’s music library and right-clicked it, just as he’d shown me. I hovered the cursor over the Delete function, ready to carry out the last few steps of fulfilling my promise, when suddenly a torrent of curiosity plagued my brain. The questions returned once more, only this time they were practically screaming in my head. What did Luke want to hide from everyone, including his best friend? Nothing could’ve been so bad that he had to hide it so adamantly.

The fate of Luke’s secret was in my hands. Just a few more clicks and I’d destroy it forever…and yet I found myself wanting…no…needing to know what it was. I needed to know what he was scared of and what he promised to tell me. If he died, wouldn’t the weight of his secret bear down on him with nobody to share it with? I was his best friend! I’d never judge him or think differently of him, no matter what!

I have to know…I just have to! What if this torments him after he dies? Or what if I find out and he makes it through, and then I tell him it’s okay? Maybe that will make him feel better and recover faster! That’s it! Maybe that will work!

The flash drive in my purse screamed for me to copy the folder before deleting it. Maybe it was the fact that I’m nosy and a little naive, or maybe it was part of me not thinking as straight as I usually do because of the insanity of that night’s events, but it wasn’t long before my flash drive was put into Luke’s computer and his folder was being copied. The little blue progress meter got longer and longer, and I could see a few of the folder’s files zoom by as they were copied. While I didn’t pay too much attention to them since I was more concerned with getting back to the hospital, a few files caught my eye as they were copied. First, there was a “diapers.jpg” file, then a “babydays.doc,” and some other files with similar titles. Was Luke a father? It couldn’t be! He’d have told me if he was having a fling with someone else!

The questions didn’t linger for long, as the file finished copying and I had to see how Luke was doing. I right-clicked the sacred folder, and finished the process of deleting it from Luke’s desktop, thus making sure nobody in his family would know what secret he was hiding.

I pulled my flash drive out of the USB port and ran back out of the Thompsons’ house, slipping my boots on as I did so. I pulled back out of their driveway and sped off towards the hospital. With my promise to Luke sort of fulfilled, I found myself still praying that Luke would pull through, while “diapers.jpg” and “babydays,doc” started finding their way into my thought process.

You know how there have been people who claim that they see a bright light when they’re about to die? Well, they’re right, because that’s exactly what I saw….at first, at least. I remember looking to my left to see a blue Jeep barreling towards me. The traffic light was green, my directional was on, and I was just about to turn down Main Street to get to the mall to buy Molly a few last minute Christmas gifts. And there was that damn blue Jeep. I screamed some kind of obscenity, shielded my face with my arm, and then found myself barely able to move in a hospital bed, with my parents hovering over me, crying.

They said a few things, and so did who I assumed was the doctor, and then Molly bolted into the room. Never in my life did I think I’d actually have to ask her to do me the favor of deleting my computer’s history, but the corner of the hospital room had a bright light that kept getting bigger and bigger. She looked so upset, too, but what was I supposed to do? My parents or whoever would’ve received my computer would’ve found out that I was an infantilist, which I was 99 percent positive was considered taboo in according to my family’s standards. Molly might have understood after explaining it to her a few times, but even then, I wasn’t ready for her to know.

Seeing Molly cry made me upset, and that image followed me, even into the bright light. I could hear her faintly crying in the distance, even though everything else, including my own breathing, was silent. It was funny; there was no pain there, nor was there any worry or anxiety, or even fear. There was nothing, but it was a good kind of nothing. And still, despite there being nothing, I knew I heard Molly’s cries.

“Luke is a good person…you have no reason to take him. If I go through with his promise, please please PLEASE do not take him. I beg of you.” I heard Molly’s voice. “What is he so afraid of? I have to know…I just have to!”

I turned around since Molly’s voice sounded as if it were behind me, and in the distance, I could see her sitting at what was no doubt my computer desk.

“Molly? What are you doing here?” I asked.

No answer. I walked a little closer to her and continued calling her name, but it was as if I weren’t even there. The closer I got, the easier it was for me to see what she was doing: she was copying my folder! You’d think I would’ve been frightened or freaking out at her, but again, wherever I was, there were no negative feelings. Instead, I found myself continuing to make my way over to her. When I finally came within arm’s length of Molly, I placed my hand on her shoulder, and I could see her deleting the files I’d asked her to, while also taking out a flash drive from my computer. She still didn’t move nor react to my touch. When I tried to take the flash drive from her hand, that’s when everything turned bright again, and I found myself floating, light as a feather, wanting to tell Molly that I was okay.

Re: Clear History?

Chapter 3

It wasn’t long before I arrived at the second hospital Luke was taken to, and despite it having a larger, brighter atmosphere, the air still felt heavy there. It only got heavier the further into the building I went, too.

Inside the waiting room, Mrs. Thompson had her head on her husband’s shoulder, while Mr. Thompson did his best to comfort his wife. Judging by the look of the makeup smudges on her face, she’d cried all the tears she possibly could. She and Mr. Thompson smiled briefly as they saw me, and I asked how Luke was doing. Mrs. Thompson said there weren’t any updates and she started crying again. I felt funny being there, mostly because Luke’s parents had no idea that I’d just waltzed into their house and fiddled with their son’s computer. Still, I did the best I could to not show it and sat down in the chair, my head lowered towards the floor.
What may have been minutes, or hours, or even an eternity later (time didn’t matter at that point; there was too much on my mind to give a damn), the doctor finally entered the room. I don’t remember everything he said, but through the pounding of my own heart, I managed to hear him say, “He’s going to be okay, but it will take a while for him to recuperate.” A collective sigh left the waiting room, and I cried even more, only this time, they were tears of joy, thanking God for sparing Luke’s life, and simultaneously damning Him for making me go through with my promise. Perhaps it was a test of faith as to how far I’d go to fulfill my best friend’s wishes, even though I sort of bent the rules…okay, so I completely bent the rules. But nothing could’ve been so bad that Luke felt the need to hide it from me.

The Thompsons and I followed the doctor down a bunch of hallways, until we reached Luke’s room. And there in the room, was Luke, resting peacefully, an IV attached to his wrist and the heart monitor beeping quietly. Despite looking like a train wreck, Luke appeared to be at peace. My poor, poor friend. It was an image that I would never forget, and something I didn’t think I would ever understand. What divine intelligence would make Luke, a wonderful guy, be the target of someone else’s stupidity, one that almost cost him his life? I’d have gladly taken his place if I had the power to; his loyalty as a friend is that deep. I grabbed hold of his hand and squeezed it gently.

You jerk…making me think you were going to die! I thought to myself, imagining Luke responding in a sarcastic tone, “Oh yeah, because I knew I was going to get in a car accident.” I briefly smiled to myself and couldn’t wait for Luke to recover so we could go back to the way things were.

I hugged Mr. and Mrs. Thompson, who then told me I should get home so not to miss Christmas with my family. Reluctantly, I agreed, and they assured me they’d be staying with Luke tonight and would let me know if anything changed. I told them I’d be coming back the following afternoon to check on him and bring him his gifts.

Leaving the hospital, I felt extremely drained and wondered when I would wake up from the surreal series of events. At the same time, the contents on my flash drive lingered over my thought process, begging me to read them. That’s when I hit a crossroad. Luke had promised me he’d tell me his secret someday, and yet, there I had his secret at the mercy of my curiosity.

The entire drive home was a constant battle of “should I or shouldn’t I?” with the former overpowering the latter. Something about those file names enticed me to look into them. It wasn’t long before I made the decision that as soon as I got home, I would read one of Luke’s files. Just one, and then I’d go to bed. I figured as soon as I knew what he was hiding, I wouldn’t be up all night guessing. I needed something to stop all of the questions.

When I arrived home, my dad was putting some gifts under the tree. I told him how Luke was doing and he responded with a “What a relief. Are you okay honey?” I nodded and told him I was too tired to think anymore. He gave me a tight hug and told me to try to get some rest. We’d be going back to see Luke sometime the following day; after all, if he came to soon enough, he’d be able to open my gifts I got for him. If there are two things Luke loves, it’s music and photography. He’s big on seeking out bands that nobody’s ever heard of and has a knack for trying new things with a digital camera. I bought him a new lens and a few albums he wouldn’t stop talking about for months.

I kissed my Dad goodnight and headed to my room. It wasn’t long before I had my computer turned on and changed into my fuzzy pink pajamas. Fumbling through my purse, I found the flash drive I used at Luke’s house. My conscience begged me to reconsider what I was about to do, and I swore my hand was shaking as I plugged the device into the USB port. Immediately, the folder popped up on the screen. I was tempted to right-click on the folder and delete it, but my curiosity only worsened, and before I knew it, I’d clicked on Great Tunes.

I couldn’t tell you how many files and other folders were there, but it was a ridiculous amount, to say the least. Some of them were pictures, others were read only texts, and some of the folders had nonsensical names to them. One of the folders was literally called “fdwncowfheow” for some reason. Another folder was named Feelings. Still, something even more unusual stuck out from the rest of those things, and that was the fact that most of the file names had some type of association with the words “diaper” or “baby.” It didn’t take long before I found the two files that I’d first noticed while at Luke’s house, so with a deep breath, I clicked on “diapers.jpg” and “babydays,doc,” deciding that I’d first see what the picture was all about…and boy was I in for a surprise. There on my screen was a comic strip without any dialogue (a very well done comic strip, I might add) of a man and a woman. They were both shown in a bed, with the woman cuddling the man, holding him in a way that a mother might hold a small child. The next few images in the strip then revealed that the man was wearing nothing but what was no doubt a rather babyish looking diaper, and the woman was depicted giving the man’s diaper a few soft pats, which were complemented with onomatopoeias in large black ink and surrounded by asterisks. The couple looked very peaceful.

“What the…?” I whispered, my brain unable to process what I was staring at.

A grown man, in a diaper, being held by a woman? What was the meaning of this? Before closing the file, I looked at it a few more times, once again trying to get my brain to logically figure out who would draw such an image and why. It was then that I looked at the"babydays.doc" file. The surprises didn’t let up there, either.

The document was actually a story about a grown man who had a lifelong desire to be taken care of as if he were an infant. I shook my head in disbelief as I skimmed through the story, which had rather detailed depictions of the man at one point being talked to, fed, and even diaper-changed, like a baby, all by a woman whom I assumed was supposed to be the love interest in the story. Now call me dumb, but it wasn’t until that point that I’d realized what exactly Luke was hiding.

You’ve got to be kidding me…this is fucking sick! Really, Luke? I thought to myself as I scrunched up my face and closed the document.

This was it. This was what he was so afraid to share with everyone, and with (what I thought at the time was) good reason. I couldn’t believe what I was reading and seeing. There was something in my brain that simply would and could not put the pieces together. Sure, I’d heard of people being into some weird stuff, but never in my life had I read or viewed something like this before. A memory of a conversation I’d had with my Mom a few years before my parents’ divorce rang loudly in my brain.

“If you ever find yourself with someone who’s into that weird stuff, turn the other way. It usually means they’re sick in the head or had some really horrible childhood.” my Mother had said to me.

But Luke was neither. He was (and still is) a fantastic friend, and all the years I’d known him, he never once brought up anything about having a rough upbringing. Still, that conversation with my Mother in combination with overhearing relatives talk about their sexual escapades while growing up really nailed down the idea that I wasn’t supposed to associate myself with people like that. Don’t get me wrong, I loved Luke, and yes, I had even hoped and saw in the future us being together, but at that point in time, this was a complete game-changer.

Was he into just the whole babying thing? Did he want more from it? Would it affect his ability or desire to deal with or have kids of his own? Would this develop into something that would turn him violent? Television always portrays people with odd kinks or fetishes as violent or downright unable to be sociable with others. This wasn’t the case with Luke, though. Or, if it was, he was extremely good at hiding it. Not in a million years would I have figured out that Luke was into this kind of thing!

While I told myself earlier that I’d only read one file, I continued onward, looking at more pictures and stories, but avoiding the Feelings folder. It was all more of the same; stories, drawings, and even actual pictures of real grown men wearing or being put into diapers, and being babied. With every click, I grew more and more appalled, and for the first time ever, in all the years of knowing my best friend, I told myself that I would never look at him the same way again.

Everything was black, but I could hear a rhythmic “beep” sound in the background. Had I died? What was the strange vision I’d seen of Molly and the computer? I could then hear myself breathing, and every breath hurt like hell.

Jesus, I hope I’m not paralyzed. I thought to myself as I forced my eyes open.

Another bright light met me, but this time it was a fluorescent light. It ached my body to move, but as I looked around, I realized I was in a hospital. The heart monitor was the source of the beeping sound, and I saw an IV bag dripping some type of liquid into my arm. What had happened? The car accident. I remembered.

My left arm was in a cast, I had bandages around my chest, and my face felt puffed up. The flashback of the car accident jolted through my brain again, making me freak out. The heart monitor beeped a little faster momentarily. I groaned a bit as I tried to move a little more, but realized it wasn’t exactly in my best interest to do so.

“Luke? Oh my God, honey?!” my Mom’s voice came from the corner of the room.

"I looked over to see my parents rush up from their chairs, both coming over and crying softly. My dad grabbed my hand and said, “Hey son. How are you feeling?”
Both of them smiled, but I could tell it hurt them to see me in such a state.

“Like I was hit by a car.” I groaned, making a weak smile as I did so.

“I’m so glad you’re awake! The doctor said you almost didn’t make it!” my mother cried.

“We thought we’d lost you.”

Both my parents continued to smile and weep. It was the first time I’d ever seen them that way, and will hopefully be the last time. They looked rattled, their eyes were bloodshot, and seeing them cry didn’t make me feel any better than I did. I told them I’d be okay, and it wasn’t long before a nurse entered the room.

“Look who’s finally awake!” the nurse exclaimed with a smile.

I probably blushed from the response, but I doubt she’d have been able to tell, as I would later find out my eyes were black and blue. Still, the way she said it and the smile she had on her face made me feel slightly infantile. Such is the thought process of an infantilist.

As the nurse checked my IV and vitals, I looked around the room to see where Molly was. She was nowhere to be found. I remembered asking her to delete my files, as I truly thought it was the end for me. I asked my mom where she was.

“Oh, honey, Molly went home a few hours ago. She says she’s coming by tomorrow to see you, though. She’s got some gifts to give you.”

Damn it. My gifts! They were in the trunk of my car! I’d bought Molly some books she’d asked for, as well as an eight-pack of movie tickets. You see, Molly is a huge movie fan. Chick flicks, action, horror, comedies. You name it, she loved it. We’d go to movies almost every other weekend, even if the movie sucked, which in that case, we’d either heckle the film until we were told to shut up or we’d just leave and do our best to ask for a refund. And finally, the last (and what I thought would be the best) gift, a letter to Molly explaining everything about being an infantilist. And I mean everything. Explaining the psychology behind it, how it came to be, and why I couldn’t explain it to her sooner. It was sealed in a vanilla-colored envelope and hand written, but I had originally typed it up and saved it on my computer as a draft to refer to.

“C-can you tell her I’m fine?” I lied through my teeth, knowing I was quite battered and bruised.

“Sure, Luke! I’ll send her a text message.” My mother walked over to the corner of the room and pulled out her phone.

The nurse asked me if I felt any pain, and I nodded, telling her it felt the worst around my ribs and face. She offered to administer some painkillers through the IV, and I accepted. I felt terrible!

“What time is it?” I asked my Dad.

“It’s about 2 in the morning. Merry Christmas.”

“What a way to spend the Holidays.” I mumbled. “I’m guessing my car is wrecked?”

"They told me it’s FUBAR’d, " Dad replied, “but we haven’t even seen the pictures yet.”

“Some of Molly’s gifts were in there.”

“I’ll find out where they towed it to. Maybe some of the gifts can be saved.” Dad assured me.

I thanked him and the nurse, and it wasn’t long before the painkillers kicked in, and I fell back asleep. I couldn’t wait to see Molly. I loved (and love) that woman, and I knew seeing her would make me feel a little better. I needed her to know that I was going to be okay; especially after making her think there was a possibility that I was going to die.


Re: Clear History?

Why that is pretty darn good there!

Re: Clear History?

Very, very interested in seeing how this plays out. As a habitual Incognito Mode user myself, I can imagine how difficult a situation like that could be.

Re: Clear History?

This is a great story so far thanks.

Re: Clear History?

This is one of the few stories I’ve read where you’re managing to make me feel emotion about the characters. God dammit it Molly.:stuck_out_tongue:

Re: Clear History?

Chapter 4

How on Earth would I go about talking to Luke about this? If I didn’t talk to him, then how would I be able to hide what I knew about him? How would I hide the expression on my face? Hell, even if Luke had told me himself, what on Earth would he have expected me to do with such information? Question after question, my brain became overwhelmed. I sighed heavily and once again scanned some more files on the screen, all of which contained more or less of the same thing. More pictures or drawings of males being held, or diapered, or fed, by what appeared to be a loving, nurturing woman. The stories were also similar.

Luke…really? Is this what you’ve been hiding? This is what you wanted me to erase?

It was about an hour later when I decided to call it a night. I was still perplexed about the whole thing and had no idea what to do once Luke got better. He was the greatest friend a woman could ask for, but even I had my limits. That could’ve been why he was always so hesitant to tell me, though. Maybe he knew I’d freak out and react poorly. I didn’t know, and honestly, didn’t care at that time of night. I plopped onto my bed, with the question, “Why?” dancing through my head.

I (barely) awoke the next morning at around 10. I couldn’t remember what time I fell asleep or if I even slept at all. I did the first thing almost everyone does these days when they wake up: checked my phone. Somehow, Id missed a call! If you don’t know me, then you don’t know that I never miss a call or a text message. And yet, on that particular night, I missed one. It was from Mrs. Thompson. She had let me know that Luke had woken up! I didn’t know how to react. A smile swept across my face and I let out a sigh of relief, but I also dreaded the thought of knowing that I now knew Luke’s secret, without him realizing it (not to mention, I just deleted a ton of his files).

I quickly called Mrs. Thompson. Within two rings, she answered with a, “Hi, Molly!”

“Hi, Mrs. Thompson, I just got your message! I’m so glad Luke came around!”

“I know! It’s truly a miracle! The doctor says he has a long way to go, but he didn’t suffer any brain injuries. He wanted us to tell you that he’s ‘fine’, and I figured you’d want to see him.”

Of course I wanted to see him, but part of me felt it’d be awkward. Perhaps Luke would have been too medicated to notice that something was off, though.

“Of course, Mrs. Thompson. I just need to freshen up and I’ll head right down. Tell him I’m on my way!”

Within a matter of minutes, I was dressed and ready to go. I made a mental note to gather Luke’s Christmas gifts as well: a collector’s edition release of his favorite heavy rock band, a new MP3 player so he could listen to said band, and what most would call a sappy letter about how glad I was to have him in my life and that I wouldn’t trade his friendship for the world…I hesitated giving the letter to him, but decided to bring it with me anyway.

It would be an interesting visit with Luke, to say the least. The only problem was that I didn’t know if “interesting” would be good or bad.

I don’t remember falling asleep, but apparently I did for a few hours, according to the doctor and my mom. Dad came in shortly after, holding what I recognized as my Christmas gifts. A brief wave of excitement was shot down as I tried to sit up, forgetting that I was in pain. I looked over to my right arm and saw that it was in a cast. My chest was wrapped in bandages, and surprisingly, my legs appeared to be and feel fine.

“Easy, Luke!”

“Damn it,” I groaned, slinking back into my hospital bed as I looked around the room, “hey. Where’s Molly? Did she come in while I was asleep?”

“You know, she said she was on her w-” Mom started.

“-I’m here.” I heard Molly’s voice call from the hallway.

I motioned for mom and dad to move to make room for Molly. One thing you ought to know about me is that I have this odd way of playing out fantasies in my head. My “fantasy” about Molly coming in was that she’d first enter with a smile, then her lip would quiver, she’d cry, “Oh, Luke!” and would hug me, telling me how glad she was that I was okay. However, things didn’t go quite as I’d hoped.

“Molly!” I said with a short breath, taking my time sitting up this time around.

“Hi, Luke.” I could hear the shakiness of her voice as she let out a little gasp.

At that moment, I didn’t know why she was so upset. You’d think someone would be happy to see you survived a car crash. What everybody failed to tell (or show) me at the time was that the left side of my face looked like I’d been in a fist fight…with freight trains.

“Jesus,” Molly whispered as a few tears fell from her eyes, “does it hurt?”

“A little,” I lied, “but whatever they’re giving me makes me feel like I’m flying.”

She let out a light chuckle, but didn’t smile. I looked over to my parents and nodded, indicating I wanted them to leave. They took the hint and promptly exited the room, leaving the door ajar, leaving me alone with Molly, who still looked a little upset.

“What a way to spend Christmas.”

“Luke, I just,” Molly stammered, "don’t know what to say. I thought you weren’t going to make it, and… "

I reached out and gently put my hand in Molly’s.

“I know. I didn’t think I was going to make it, either. And I’m sorry.” I said weakly. “I shouldn’t have put you through that, asking to keep your promise, but, given the circumstances-”

“-it’s alright, Luke,” Molly’s tone of voice changed from sympathetic to rather bland, and she pulled her hand away abruptly, “I did what you asked.”

Maybe it was the medicine they were giving me, or maybe I was just paranoid, but I swore I saw Molly’s eyes look at me in a way they never had before.

They’d gone from sympathetic and warm to blank. Was she mad at me for still not telling her, or for making her think I would die?

“Thank you.”

A prompt, “No problem” escaped her lips, rather than the “You’re welcome” I expected. Something was amiss. Did she go through my files?

There was an unusually awkward moment of silence between us, which ended by my telling Molly about her gifts. I called my parents back in and asked Dad if he’d recovered my gifts, to which he nodded and said, “I’ll go get the box you wrapped for Molly.”

“Luke, we don’t need to do this here. We can wait.” Molly said quietly.

“Nonsense. I’m going to be here until at least next week.” I argued with a smile.

Molly nodded and exited the room quickly, then entered with a gift bag. Soon after, Dad showed up with my terribly wrapped box and my not-so-terrible-looking gift bag. For whatever reason, I could never master the art of wrapping gifts. Give me a CD or a movie, and I’m awesome. Give me anything larger than that, and my work looks like a five year old’s. Dad then exited the room once more, leaving Molly and I to ourselves.

“You first, Luke.” Molly insisted, again with a hint of distance in her voice.

I nodded and sat up so I could better open my gift. Molly had definitely taken her time wrapping them! Unlike my “stuff everything into the bottom of the bag and crumple up tissue paper on top of it” technique, Molly individually wrapped whatever she had bought me with the tissue paper itself! I first opened the small rectangular gift, which turned out to be a brand new MP3 player! It claimed to have 30+ hours of battery life and could support most video and audio file formats. As if that weren’t a good enough gift, the next present was the newest album from my long-time favorite band, The Shards! I’d been eyeing the album for months, and for some reason was too reluctant to downloa-er, purchase it! Heh.

“Molly, this is awesome! Thank you! Now I’ll have something to do while I recover!”

“You’re welcome, Luke.” Her expression, as if being run by a light switch, changed once again from blank to a smile.

I pointed over to the gifts I’d bought for Molly, and she promptly took them in her arms. I’d placed the letter I’d written her in the gift bag, and despite feeling good from the painkillers, I was still nervous when I saw her rifle through the bag. She pulled out the movie tickets first, and thanked me. She then pulled out the vanilla colored envelope.

“That’s something you can either read now or read when you get home. It’s up to you.”

Quite honestly, I didn’t want her to read it in my presence. I figured if something in the letter upset her, she’d have some time alone to think about some of it, then cool off and ask me questions later.

“I’ll read it later.”

Another rather flat response. Something was off.

“Hey, Molly. Are you alright?” I asked, concerned.

“Yeah. Just stressed from the Holidays.” She lied once more.

Molly isn’t a good liar…at least, to me, she isn’t. Sure, she knows how to hide what she’s thinking from most people, but after knowing her for so long, it’s never hard to tell when something is troubling her.

“You’re sure? Nothing else is bothering you?”

“Well…” she paused for a moment. “I-I’m sorry, I think I have to go.”

With her gifts and my letter hand, Molly turned to leave.

“H-hey, c’mon, Molly. What’s wrong?” I asked once more.

“I’m sorry, Luke.” she turned once more with watery eyes, and then promptly left the room.

That was the last time I saw her while I was in the hospital

Re: Clear History?

I’d have to agree with you on this one, it’s the same for me

Re: Clear History?

I love this story, and how it cycles through the protagonists.

Re: Clear History?

Thanks for your feedback and insight everyone. :slight_smile: This story’s more of a challenge for me since again, some of it reflects things I’ve experienced, and I’ve never written a story where I’m bouncing between two characters. I think it’s coming along nicely, though, and am glad to see that some of you are able to “feel” for the characters. That was my goal all along.

Re: Clear History?

Chapter 5

I know I shouldn’t have left Luke in the hospital, but I did. Seeing him lying there all battered and bruised with his secret revealed to me was just too much. Maybe I was a bitch at the time, but I didn’t know what else to do. It killed me to see him in so much pain, and I honestly felt guilty knowing that I’d gone through his things. Looking back, it was a harsh thing to do, but at the time, I thought it was right.

The drive home was filled with sniffles and soft cries, feeling terrible about Luke and breaking his promise, and struggling to convince myself that I could still love Luke the same, given what had been revealed about him. You might be wondering if I read the letter he gave me. I didn’t, initially. In fact, I placed it back in the gift bag, and when I got home from seeing Luke, I threw the bag on my dresser and kept it there. Don’t ask what compelled me not to read what was inside, but I didn’t.

Part of me wanted to go back to the hospital to tell Luke what I was feeling, but like the coward I was, I chose not to. Instead, I tried thinking of every possible outcome from the conversation I’d eventually have with him, hoping to determine which approach would be best.

The following week while Luke was still recovering in the hospital, I received a few text messages from him. Some were apologetic in nature, telling me he was sorry for putting me through what he did. Others asked me if I was okay and indicated that he couldn’t wait to see me when he got home, smiley faces and all.

And still, I couldn’t bring myself to talk to him, because I didn’t know how. Women, right?

I used to be one of those types of people who thought that ignoring or avoiding the situation at hand would make it go away, as stupid as that sounds. I didn’t mind confrontation one bit, but this was different. This was a guy I loved so dearly and yet didn’t know if I could confess to him what I found out and how I felt about it.

During my days of ignoring Luke, I occasionally spent more time looking through his files, still trying to understand what the whole diaper and baby thing did for Luke. I think what upset me most were the images. In my mind, grown men weren’t supposed to wear diapers, nor be fed baby bottles, or cuddled and held. I’d even tried staring at pictures of Luke, imagining what he’d look or sound like in that state of mind. It didn’t click. Not right away, anyway. Had I not been such an idiot, I would’ve read his letter sooner, but…I was in fact, an idiot.

Petty responses to my text messages, no answers to my phone calls, nothing. Molly had essentially abandoned me in the hospital while I recovered. Thankfully, I wasn’t there as long as I thought I had to be. By New Year’s I was at least allowed to go home. The doctor told me I’d need to rest often and take it one day at a time. And yet, I wondered if Molly had read my letter. If she did, then it meant that she didn’t understand, which would’ve explained why she’d been avoiding me.

On the other hand, that dream I had. Though just a dream, was it possible that she’d actually gone through my files, or didn’t delete them at all? The latter wasn’t the case, as my PC’s browsing history and file full of goodies were gone. The former, however, was still a mystery. I knew Molly, and she liked to joke about different things, both sexual and non-sexual, all the time. Surely if she’d found out before reading my letter, she wouldn’t have minded. Based on how she’d been acting, I couldn’t tell what was wrong right away. Then the e-mails stopped, and the text messages got shorter, and the phone calls ceased to be. Was she really that upset about what I had asked her to do?

It’s ridiculous how paranoid we get when we’re waiting for a response of some kind from someone we care about, especially when it’s something we feel the need to know about almost immediately. The mental torture Molly had put me through didn’t help me recover any better, either. Sure, I managed to be able to get up and move around for longer periods of time (though not as swiftly and elegantly as I normally did), but the added stress of receiving generally lifeless messages from the one woman I truly cared about only made the recover process that much more difficult. To make matters worse, I hadn’t been able to leave the house due to my injuries for a few weeks! With Molly not coming to visit and me being cooped up for so long, the paranoia only grew worse, and my greatest fears started to get the best of me.

I remember my fourth week at home, I finally gathered the strength to pay Molly a visit. Despite the slight pain I felt whenever I walked for too long, the need to get to the bottom of the situation outweighed overexerting myself. It was a particularly cold and snowy day when I hobbled over to Molly’s house. I had no idea what I was about to walk into, but I kept telling myself that it would all be over soon. She would cry and apologize to me, because she was too scared to see me after I nearly died, and because she loved me so much, it pained her to see me this way. The stupid fantasies of hopeless romantics like me.

Oddly enough, the closer I got to her door, the worse the feeling in my gut became. Something was, or was about to be, very off. Still, I overcame my hesitance and knocked on her door a few times. It wasn’t long before someone came to the door; it was Molly. She peeked out from behind the curtain, then looked a little upset when she saw me. Slowly, the door opened.

“Hey Molly. How’s tricks?” I said, trying to mask my uneasiness.

“Hey Luke.” She replied bluntly, ignoring my question and letting out the fakest of smiles.

There was a slight pause, as I waited for her to either invite me in or hug me, or…anything. But, there was nothing.

"L-look, I was hoping we could talk. You’ve been distant this past month. " I said weakly as the snow gently fell. "

“I know, Luke. I don’t know what to say.” I could almost feel the trace of resentment escape her lips. “It’s just-” another long pause ensued. “-hard…”

Hard? She thought this was hard? Not only had I potentially put our friendship on the line by writing her that letter, but I’d nearly died! Before I acted, I made the wise choice to think.

“What’s hard, Molly? I mean, I know I’ve had to be a hermit these past few weeks, but it isn’t forever. And I know now that I shouldn’t have asked you what I did before I went under. And I’m sorry for that.” I explained, unaware of what she did or didn’t know.

“I accept your apology, Luke,” she sighed, “but you’re right. You shouldn’t have asked me. And that’s what makes this so hard for me.”

Had she read my letter? The look in her eyes told me she knew something. And still, we danced around the subject like a stubborn, immature pair of children.

“So you read my letter, then…”

“W-what? No, I-”

As if in slow motion, the “No” rang in my ears like the bells of the world’s largest Sistine chapel. The “No” that instantly turned my fear into anger. The “No” that instinctively told me that Molly broke our promise. The “No” that forced me to remember my odd dream when I nearly died.

“You looked at my files? And you didn’t bother reading the letter within the folder? The one I handwrote to you in the Christmas card?”

Please say yes, please say yes….please just say you’re upset because I expressed my love to you in the letter and you don’t feel the same way.

“I read enough, Luke.”

“I can’t believe you looked at my stuff when you promised!” The trace of resentment that came from Molly’s mouth was nothing compared to the anxiety and anger that shot from mine.

“I know…and I’m sorry. But you hid it from me, your own best friend! I had to know what you were hiding!”

“And it was all going to be revealed and explained in the letter! And we would talk about it in a much kinder way than we are now!”

Molly kept silent, which only made me more upset. I could see her eyes tear up, and it didn’t take long for mine to do the same, the tears stinging from the cold air.

“If you’re not going to say anything, then I hope you’ll at least let me talk more about this, because now you know the most vulnerable part of me, Molly. And now I see why you’ve been looking at me and treating me differently.”

“I don’t want to, Luke!” Molly snapped at me. “Whatever you have isn’t normal, and I tried. I tried these past few weeks to understand, and I can’t! I mean, what would compel you to even think of something like this? It’s a clash of two completely different things, and no matter what I do, I can’t make them fit together!”

Her words stung worse than anything I’d ever felt, making me nearly stagger, as the pit in my stomach suddenly grew ten times in size.

“But you’re my friend, Molly! You’re supposed to be there and let me explain. At least give me the chance to try and help put them together with you!”

Molly merely shook her head and bit her lip.

“I promised I’d tell you someday, Molly, and I did. I did because I love you.”

“No, Luke. Don’t even say that. That’s not fair.” Molly again shook her head.

“And you also promised me that you wouldn’t think differently of me no matter what. Just hear me out…please.”

“I-I’m sorry. I can’t. I just can’t. Just go away…” Molly cried as she hurriedly went back into her house, quickly closing the door behind her.

“Molly?! Get back here! You promised!” I cried once more, yelling as if the window on the door didn’t have any glass.

Molly merely turned to me from inside her house, and shook her head, her tears still visibly running down her cheek. And just like that, she disappeared from my view, leaving me in the cold, snowy silence.

“Some fucking friend you are! I can’t believe you!” I sobbed before heading down her driveway, hobbling back to my house.

If there’s one thing I despise, it’s not getting closure from the things I require closure from, especially when it comes to people I care about. Even if it ends poorly, or if the person chooses not to make amends or be receptive, at least I know I tried. But it’s when the other person refuses to so much as give a chance for me to explain, that drives me insane. And so it did.

Re: Clear History?

oooooh that ending sentence. This is just the tip of the drama iceberg, I can feel it! I admit this comes off as a little melodramatic, but that’s not a bad thing; at least in my opinion, it’s rather enjoyable to read. It’s not disbelief-stretchingly unrealistic, either. This sort of situation seems like it could get exactly as…fraught as you’ve made it so far. Overall, I’m very much enjoying this; thank you.

Re: Clear History?

I wanna slap Molly I hate her! :stuck_out_tongue:

Re: Clear History?

Chapter 6

I know, I know. I was a horrible person, right? How was I supposed to react? I’d lied to my best friend. I was angrier at myself than him about that, but I was still upset by the whole diaper thing, too. I started thinking that maybe I should’ve read his letter sooner. Why hadn’t I read it? Looking back, I think it was because at the time, I had a feeling the letter would entail Luke giving me a sappy (I mean that with sincerity) profession of his love for me. However, I didn’t think I could handle this little kink of his, or that we could somehow make it work, because I had such a black and white mindset at the time.

If you think it didn’t hurt to leave Luke standing alone in my driveway, you’re dead wrong. To this day, I still hate myself for doing that to him. I heard him sobbing, and watched him lower his head as he walked off like an animal about to die. I nearly bolted out of my house to stop him, but I was afraid, so I didn’t. Instead, I sobbed myself, on my living room floor. Why did it come to this? Why did he have to have such an odd preference? Why couldn’t we have just started the year with a picture perfect romance where we’d just joke and laugh like we always did and even take it to the next level? Why did my parents have to raise me to believe that any person with any sort of “fetish” or “kink” was automatically a freak?

Luke and I didn’t talk for God knows how long after that. He later told me it was three weeks, but to me, it felt like an eternity. During that period of silence, I still chose not to read Luke’s letter…at least, not at first. I used to follow only what my brain told me, so when %95 of my thoughts were dictated by my brain, I only heard the tiniest of whispers from my heart. Despite their low volume, they were still heard, until they got louder and louder with each passing day.

Occasionally, I’d take out my phone, wondering if I should’ve called or texted him. Part of me expected him to contact me and ask me to speak with him again, and I think that’s where both he and I were at fault. We expected one another to come forward, and neither of us did. If you’re like me and over-think intense situations, then you know how it feels when you’re constantly letting yourself down by assuming and hoping that a situation will get better without you having to do anything yourself. Meanwhile, stupid me still chose not to read Luke’s letter, which sat atop my dresser in a vanilla colored envelope, with my name written in elegant, cursive writing, begging to be read. Surely, nothing he wrote would’ve changed my mind…and surely, I was an idiot, and I was wrong.

My heart grew louder than the years of being raised in such a fashion that shunned people who struggled with things that they didn’t understand, and soon, despite my best efforts to remain stubborn and not read the letter, I caved. On a rainy Saturday afternoon, while nobody else was home, I carefully opened Luke’s letter, and began reading. Here’s what it said:

[i]Dear Molly,

First of all, Merry Christmas! I wish you and your family the best, and all that jazz. But this isn’t your standard Holiday card. There’s so much to tell you, and you know I’m not too good at spilling my guts. I figured this would be the best way to put some things on the table and tell you a little of what’s going on.

You’ve been nothing but kind to me, Molly. Kinder than anyone I’ve ever known. That includes family. You get me for the most part, you get my humor, and you’re okay with me being me. And for that, I love you more than you probably think or know. That’s one of the reasons I’ve written you this letter. Because I love you, and because I think you’re more genuine than anyone I know….which is why there has been something I’ve been trying to tell you, but the words have never been able to leave my lips.[/i]

He loved me? What did he mean? “Best friends” love, or “love” love? I was sorely confused. I mean, sure, I loved Luke, and sure I’d pictured myself being with him for the longest time, but he never seemed to take the chance to make it official or ask me on a legitimate date.

What I’m about to tell you is something that I’m going to trust you will never share with anyone else, and it is also something that I’ve never shared with anyone before. All I ask Is that when you find out, that no matter how odd or shocking it sounds, you will continue reading, and even perhaps talk to me so I can further explain myself if I need to. My hand trembles as I write this down, because I’m sharing my most vulnerable part of me with someone I care about, and while I know you’re my closest friend, I’m still afraid. Nevertheless, here goes.

I knew what was coming, but still pressed on. I had no idea what to expect as far as how he’d explain it, but I did my best to give him the benefit of the doubt.

[i]I’m what one would call an Adult Baby…to an extent. That is, there are times when life is too stressful, or even too boring, and I get into the mindset of being cared for and dressing up as a baby. I know it sounds ridiculous, and I know you’re probably extremely confused, and I can’t blame you for that. After all, I’m sure picturing me in a giant diaper probably never crossed your mind until now. I’m hoping you don’t take the “black and white” approach to what you’ve read, and automatically think that I’m a freak. Yes, it’s weird (and yes, I’m weird :stuck_out_tongue: ) but there are so many aspects and layers to this lifestyle that I still haven’t found all the answers for myself yet.

You might remember a few times when I acted more awkward than usual when something babyish would be brought up, or when you’d coerce/force/beg me to come with you to babysit your little cousin, or to buy baby gifts for a shower you were going to.[/i]

Damn it, he was right! At the time, I figured he was just being a guy, getting all annoyed when I’d get him to do things with me (despite what the letter said, I never forced him into anything!). The way he got all nervous and sweaty when I took him to the baby aisle to buy diapers for my aunt’s baby shower. That fake chuckle he gave when I asked him to get me some diaper changing supplies when we babysat my cousin. How did I not notice it sooner?!

I buried this deep within myself out of fear of being ridiculed, or disowned, or humiliated if it ever got out to the wrong people. Call it paranoia, but every time I found myself in that situation with you, I’d immediately tell myself that you were on to me, and that if you found out then you’d never talk to me again (even though I know that’s not the case anymore).

That only made me feel more like a bitch. I cringed as I read the last sentence of that paragraph, knowing that despite my initial thoughts on what I’d found out about Luke, I wasn’t giving him the chance to explain himself. I shut him out, even after all we’d been through.

[i]I’m telling you all this because out of everyone I’ve come to know, you’re the only one I can trust. It doesn’t matter to me if you agree with my lifestyle choices, or with the fact that I sometimes want to forget being an adult. All that matters to me is that I have someone like you in my life. I understand if you need time to absorb this and to come up with questions (which knowing you, you’ll go full-fledged psychologist on me!), but please know that no matter what happens, I love you.

Yours Truly,

If I told you how many times I read Luke’s letter that evening, you’d think I was insane. Each time made me feel worse than the last, because what it boiled down to, was that Luke needed someone. No…not someone. He needed me. He came to me with this, and I turned him away. God, would he even forgive me after how I reacted and treated him? How I lied to him and went behind his back after I made a promise to him?

“I’m sorry, Luke,” I cried as I held his letter to my chest, “I’m sorry.”

The doctors told me I’d make a full recovery from my car accident in about three months. It was now May, and I still felt some pain when I walked, taking small breaks to catch my breath. They asked me if I was under any severe stress when I went in for a check-up, to which I replied, “You could say that.” It’s true what they say, too, that stress can greatly reduce the recovery rate of an illness or injury. But this wouldn’t go away.

I didn’t think I could ever forgive Molly if she never talked to me again. Like a broken record player, the scene of our argument played over and over in my head, and I kept asking myself why it didn’t work out the way I hoped it would. How could my best friend treat me so poorly, especially after I told her I loved her? This couldn’t be the bitter end, could it?

I’m an overall nice guy, especially when it comes to respecting the opposite sex. I’ve never lashed out at anyone or told anyone outright that I hated them. This was the first time in my entire life that I wanted to tell Molly straight to her face, with a blank stare, to stop being an ass and just listen to me. I couldn’t (and can’t) stand long periods of silence after an argument. It only got worse when I’d try to talk and the other person would turn a deaf ear. Molly apparently thought it’d be cute to turn off all forms of communication. No eye contact, no responses to my calls or text messages. This only made me feel worse about myself and the whole situation.

I wasted so much time imagining how I’d muster up the strength to go to Molly’s house, knock on her door, and not leave until we talked. We’d yell at first, then crack a few jokes, eventually leading to the elephant in the room. She’d play 20 Million Questions with me, we’d make up and hug it out, and all would be back to normal. However, this was all just my imagination. Some would call it stubbornness, while others would call it stupidity on both our parts.

What Molly didn’t realize was that she killed a part of me; as if she’d taken a piece of my heart, my very essence, and destroyed it. She had the ability to restore me, but because we weren’t on speaking terms, I always felt that piece missing. I slept broken, I showered broken, I ate broken, I recovered broken, I lived…broken. I hated myself for it, and I started hating myself for asking Molly to clear my browsing history in the first place. None of this would’ve happened had I just kept it to myself.

It was a rainy Friday night that May when things took an interesting turn. I’d been listening to my albums on my enclosed porch as I watched the rain splash onto the street. My mom and dad were out for the weekend (Mom insisted on staying to make sure I was okay, but Dad and I spend the better half of 4 hours telling her I’d be fine), leaving me with my thoughts and my tunes. I was about halfway through one of my favorite tracks when my phone started vibrating. I took my time checking to see who it was, assuming my parents were calling to let me know that they’d made it to wherever they were headed. It wasn’t them; it was Molly. I didn’t know how to answer, because I didn’t know what the best approach would be. A simply, friendly, “Hello?” An “It’s about damn time, Molly!”? Hell, I even considered answering with “Bonjour?” just to see what she’d do. Each ring stirred my anger towards her, as our argument once again replayed in my head. I quickly turned my music down, picked up the phone with an overwhelming sense of weariness, and answered with a, “What?”

“L-Luke. It’s Molly.”

“I know who it is.”

An awkward moment of silence ensued.

“Oh. W-well, how are you?”

“I’ve never been better.” I quickly responded, not bothering to ask her how she was doing.

She had to have heard the uneasiness in my voice, which cracked more and more with every word. Simply talking to her felt like the wound was opening right back up, hurting just as much as it did when we first fought.

“Oh,” I could tell by her voice that she’d been crying, “well, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to talk?”

“That depends. Are you gonna slam a door in my face again?”

“What? No, no. That was-”

That was you being a bitch. I thought to myself but refrained from saying it over the phone.

“-We can talk. Nobody’s here but me, so come over if you want. I don’t feel like talking on the phone.”

In between cries, I heard Molly say, “Sure, Luke. I’ll be right over.”

“Okay. I’m just going to tell you now so we’re on the same page, Molly. If you’re not planning on talking this through, don’t bother coming over.” I bit my lip so hard as I spoke that I drew a little bit of blood.

“I wasn’t planning on it.”

We hung up the phone, and through the rain, I watched and waited for Molly to make her way from her house up to mine.

Re: Clear History?

I have waited a long time for the rest of this story from when I first read it. AND know you let it end the chapter this way. Please post more I can’t wait another year for more. please keep up the good work put really more, more more………

Re: Clear History?

Chapter 7

The four minute walk to Luke’s house felt like 10 hours, mostly because I stopped every few steps and thought about turning back. I don’t really know why I didn’t bring my umbrella, either, because I hate getting rained on. A swarm of “what ifs” attacked my brain from the moment I hung up the phone to the moment I reached Luke’s house. Yes, I wanted to try to work through this, but what would stop us from yelling and fighting?

“You can do this, Molly,” I told myself as I inched closer to Luke’s house, “he’s going to be upset and he has every right to be. Don’t say anything mean or stupid.”

As soon as I made it to Luke’s driveway, I saw him hobble from the back of the house. When I say hobble, I mean it. He should’ve been fully healed by then, but for some reason, he struggled with a look of slight discomfort on his face. Maybe he’d gotten sick during his recovery? I really hadn’t paid much attention to him since our fight, and there he staggered, cementing the fact that I’d been an asshole.

“Hi, Luke.” I said quietly as I got closer to him.

“Molly.” He nodded.

“You didn’t have to come out to greet me. It’s raining out! You’ll get sick!”

“I was hit by a car and nearly died. I don’t think Jesus is going to let a little rain kill me.”

Classic Luke. Even during that awkward moment he kept that wiseass charm about him. He motioned for me to follow him into his house, and I gladly accepted, not wanting to get completely soaked from the rain. When we got into his kitchen, Luke quickly offered me a drink. Figuring my mouth would be dry from getting all nervous and choked up, I nodded, and he soon poured both of us some water. Something was off about him. Sure, he seemed okay, and he made small jokes and laughed as if nothing had even happened between us, but I could see the pain in his eyes, and even in his body language.

We entered the living room, where an odd thickness in the air seemed to hover over us. My chest tensed up as I sat in the Thompsons’ large, comfy brown leather chair, my body slightly hunched over the coffee table with my hands clutching my cup of water. Luke sat in the middle of the couch, and we both fell silent once again. Did he want me to start talking? Was he trying to come up with something to start the conversation? The only things I could hear were the raindrops outside, my heart beating a hundred miles a minute, and my brain telling me to say something.

“So…” I stopped myself short, half-expecting Luke to flip out on me.

“….so?” he raised his eyebrows, waiting for me to finish my train of thought.

“Well…I mean, how’s your recovery going? I noticed you were limping a bit when you came out of the house. Didn’t they say you’d recover in three months?”

“Yeahh, well, stress does slow down your recovery rate.” Luke winced as he reached over for his drink, his hand shaking softly as it grasped the cup.

He knew I was stubborn, but he also knew how to give those little jabs that made me flinch on the inside. We’d had our arguments in the past, and I don’t know why I ever let him get to me, but every single time, he did.

“I guess so…” I trailed off, stopping myself short with a sip of water.

Just say you’re sorry, Molly! Why are you always so stubborn?! I yelled at myself, breaking the moments of awkward silence between me and Luke.

He looked at me with an expression that begged me to bring up what we both wanted to talk about, but without an idea of where to start, the words wouldn’t roll off my tongue. I could tell that he was just as anxious as I was.

“Do you remember Emily?” Luke asked quietly.

“That came out of left field,” I said, confused, “why are you aski-?”

“Never mind that. Do you remember her?” He asked again.

“The ‘bitch’ you went out with a few years ago, right?”

“Yeah, that one.”

I figured he’d tell me about the great sex they had, or how pretty she was, or how he was going back out with her, despite Luke so adamantly referring to her as a “bitch.” He was never the guy to call any woman that name, but Emily was the exception. It was always a mystery to me, until that particular rainy day. Luke took a big gulp of his drink, then set the glass down, and spoke.

I could already hear my voice beginning to crack and weaken, and I hadn’t even started to tell my story yet. Still, I pressed on. Molly had to hear this.

“If you remember, Emily and I were pretty serious. I know now that it was never meant to be, but something about her made me feel like I didn’t want to live life without her. She made me feel safe, we always had fun together, and she seemed genuinely happy being with me. I felt the same. In fact, I thought she was going to be who I married when I was ready.”

I made sure Molly was listening, and judging by the look on her face, I had her full attention.

“Things seemed to be going great for the two of us. We started becoming more intimate, started taking interest in each others’ activities, and all that fun stuff that couples are supposed to do. But you know what? I was still scared. No, scared doesn’t even describe it. I was terrified, because I felt that if Emily found out that one thing, that maybe she wouldn’t want to talk to me anymore. But time went on, and we felt safer and safer around each other, and I remember a countless number of times, she would promise me that I could tell her anything and she would never judge me or think differently of me. In fact, we’d sometimes get into arguments about how she felt like I was hiding something from her. I’d tell her I wasn’t ready to tell her everything, despite her insisting and promising me that she wouldn’t care what it was. I loved her, Molly. I loved her, and I was still too afraid to say anything.”

“And it didn’t work out between the two of you. I don’t understand, Luke-” Molly said with a lost expression on her face.

“-I’m getting there.” I trembled as I reached for my glass and took another sip of my drink. “It didn’t work out for a reason. The day we broke up, Emily and I had gotten into an argument on the phone. I don’t remember the specifics of it, but it somehow led to her again prying me for information and accusing me of hiding something from her. I again told her that I wasn’t yet ready to share everything with her. She gave me an ultimatum: either I tell her what I’ve been hiding with her promising not to think any differently of me, or the two of us were finished.”

Some wounds are so deep that it doesn’t matter how long you go without looking at them; they still hurt just as much as the day they were inflicted. I choked up, and Molly’s expression had gone from lost to sincere. I could see her eyes beginning to water.

“You don’t have to finish, Luke.” she pleaded.

Either she didn’t want to see me upset, or she knew exactly where this was headed and didn’t want to hear the rest.

“No. I have to.” I swallowed hard before continuing. “I asked Emily if we could meet somewhere in person so I could talk to her, and she said no. She told me that I either had to tell her right there on the spot, or that was it. Now I should’ve walked away. All I had to do was tell her to respect my decision. And something told me that no matter what I said, we were through, but I still held onto that seed of faith, and told myself that she promised not to judge me and that when I told her, it’d be okay. So I did. Like a shy fool, I stuttered and told her what I was into. And how I sometimes liked to be taken care of like I was when I was little. She responded with, ‘What?’ in the most disgusted, malicious tone I’ve ever heard anyone use before. I tried to explain it further, but she wouldn’t have any of that. Right there on the spot, she told me we were finished, and she hung up the phone. I did my best to reach out to her, trying to call her and text her, and she’d either hang up the phone or tell me to leave her alone. She wanted nothing to do with me, and told me ‘this isn’t normal.’ She broke her promise, Molly. She told me I could tell her and she wouldn’t care, and she did. When I asked if we could talk about it, she denied me every time, until she eventually moved. She killed me, Molly. She literally killed a piece of me that I can’t ever get back.”

By that point, my words were muffled in between sobs, and I only hoped that Molly could understand me. Tears relentlessly ran down my face as I tried my best to continue, and I felt Molly’s hand reach out and touch my knee.

“You’re the only one I truly thought I could tell this to and not be judged for it, Molly. I don’t care if you broke your promise. I don’t care if you can’t understand it. Just, please, don’t turn your back on me anymore. I can’t lose any more pieces.”

Through my tears, I saw Molly cover her mouth as she began to cry harder. She moved herself from the chair to a spot on the couch next to me, then softly put her arms around me, pulled my head to her chest, and started whispering over and over again, “Luke, I’m so sorry.”