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How could I let him talk me into this? This thick, crinkling diaper is wrapped around my hips, and I should feel humiliated. But all I feel is this strange thrill running through me. My feminist friends would be horrified if they knew, a strong, independent woman letting a man treat her like a helpless baby. I used to think of myself as a strong woman, independent and fierce. I fought for equality, shouted about empowerment with my friends. Now here I am, willingly letting a man decide when, or even if, I get to use the toilet like an adult. My cheeks burn with shame just thinking about it. What does this say about me? Am I betraying everything feminism stands for by submitting like this? Or maybe it’s something deeper, something selfish. Because beneath the humiliation, there’s a warmth spreading through me whenever he takes control like this. It feels wrong to want this, but God, do I ever want it. He doesn't ask; he tells me. And in some twisted way, that’s exactly what I need. To not have a choice. To be his good girl, even when being 'good' means wearing diapers and blushing at my own reflection. If my friends could see me now… would they understand? Or would they just see another woman letting a man infantilize her? But then again… they aren't the ones feeling this strange mix of degradation and devotion coursing through them right now. Maybe feminism isn't about refusing to submit, maybe it's about having the freedom to choose your own chains. Even if those chains are soft, white, and embarrassingly absorbent.