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  1. New School After my parent’s divorce mom decided she wanted to start a new life with me in another part of the country. She knew we needed to make a complete break and was eager that I should reap the benefits of a whole new experience. Educationally I’d been doing OK but she knew I wasn’t all that happy and, as an eleven year-old, was about to move up to Middle School. However, that move was going to be to a new academy mom discovered as she searched for a new job. She’s a research chemist and I’m glad to say, quite in demand. So we travelled half way across the country because she’d found employment in a laboratory, out in the wilds of nowhere, that dealt with medical /gene/stem-cell research, an area that mom was expert in. The centre was settled out of town on the edge of a desert but the town itself was large enough that you didn’t feel completely cut off from civilization… also it had a rather unique ‘school’. ‘Vestra frui pueritia’ was the school’s motto, which I gather roughly translates as ‘Enjoy your childhood’ Mom is clever and intuitive and said she only wanted the best for me, so, although it may be a wrench away from the few friends I had, this new beginning would give us both the kick-start to new opportunities from which she thought we’d both benefit. The school, the ‘ALEXIARES and ANICETUS ACADEMY’ was to be my new seat of learning. It wasn’t quite what I expected. * Hi, I’m David, David Grohm, and ever since I was young I’ve always liked to experiment in the way I dressed. My long tousled dirty blond hair and big green eyes (mom always said I had the deepest green eyes she’d ever seen) giving me a sort of neutral sexual look – I could (and was) mistaken for either gender. Sometimes my ‘dressing up’ got away with little or no comment, other times it created quite a stir. “If everyone else is dressed the same then the world would be a boring place.” This was mom’s general rule about what I wore if I ever felt guilty over some of the outfits I chose. She was always very supportive of my originality and, even if she didn’t totally approve, certainly didn’t try to stop me from developing and investigating those interests. Mom, Heather Grohm, is a very clever woman, far cleverer than my dad, James, who often found it difficult to keep up with his brilliant wife. These days mom probably wouldn’t win any awards for the sexiest mom on the school run, she wasn’t that type of woman, but she was always the most diligent and caring and made me, her only son, feel very special. She wasn’t cloying or over-bearing (perhaps that was me?) she knew what was best or just when I needed some space. She said that she saw a sweet, creative and wonderful person from the moment she set eyes on the ‘cutest baby in the world’. I loved it when mom spoke about me like that. Ever since I was quite young I’d worn my mom’s clothes, I’d worn my dad’s clothes, I’d often make my own stuff up from pieces of fabric, plastic and stick it all together with a few pins then wander around in my latest creation. A little girl doing this would have passed unnoticed but a little boy; well it raised a few eyebrows with our neighbours - especially if I was dressed either like some foreign dignitary (and acting like one) or, more likely, a local peasant in rags and little else. However, as I got older my main desire was to wear diapers. There was something very special about growing up and able to appreciate the comfort and pleasure such a piece of childish clothing offered. I suppose it wasn’t a big leap from some of the stuff I’d already been wearing; homemade loincloths, cod pieces, togas, skirts, dhotis, kilts… and it was whilst I had wrapped a towel around me like a diaper that I realised just how much I liked the sensation of something between my legs. I wanted to dress as a baby even if I didn’t want to be treated as one, well not to begin with anyway. * When mom had discovered my craving (that revealing towel wrapped around and pinned just so) I was seven years old. She didn’t appear concerned that her potty-trained little boy would happily want to envelop himself in a makeshift diaper. She asked if I liked what I was doing, and as she seemed OK about it, I volunteered the fact that I’d always liked the feeling that a diaper gave me – of comfort and safety. I’m sure I didn’t use those exact words but she seemed to understand what I wanted and didn’t mind me continuing to wear such items. She asked if I liked wetting myself but in truth I hadn’t done so at that point and found the idea a bit yukky. She bought me a couple of large, terry style cloth squares, showed me how to fold them myself and how to pin them tightly so they wouldn’t sag too much. I actually liked the sag, the bulkiness when I sat down or played around was… wonderful. Sometimes the looseness sent a tickle between my thighs and bottom which made me smile and wriggle gleefully. For obvious reasons I didn’t wear them for school only when at home or in the holidays but, as I grew older, mostly in private. * Mom has always been very understanding. She reckons from that very first time she saw her seven year-old son wearing a diaper again she thought I looked so damn cute she just wanted to scoop me up and hug me forever. We did (and do) a lot of cuddling and even as I’ve grown bigger and gotten older, we still have the same relationship. I simply prefer diapers around the house and to sleep in. In fact, I’m not sure I’d get a good night’s sleep these days without them. There’s just something about a thick diaper hugging you as you drop off to sleep that is very satisfying. It’s not often that I wet them when I’m asleep but occasionally I have done… though after that first time, mom insisted I wear plastic pants over them when I went to bed. She pointed out that even though I wore thick padding, it still leaked and, though she didn’t mind the diaper wearing, she wasn’t in favour of more unnecessary laundry. However, there was something strangely satisfying the first time I wet on purpose. I was wearing a disposable and nervously thought I’d just experiment and see what it was like. As I tentatively let go I was so sure it would leak all over the place and run down my legs that it took me by surprise how efficiently it soaked up all my pee. A few seconds after I’d done it I couldn’t believe I didn’t feel all that wet and wondered where all the liquid had gone. Soon after I felt my disposable pressing and rubbing against my thighs and the front of my shorts had filled out. It was firm and solid and I was totally amazed at how a disposable was taking away any responsibility or guilt about wetting and was thankfully storing it away until I could dispose of it. The whole process had been a revelation and one I had no trouble pursuing on many more occasions. Mom’s demand that I wear vinyl protection over my diapers didn’t seem unreasonable and as she went to the trouble to buy a few pairs of plastic pants, I wore them over my padding in bed. I quite like the feel and now I’m used to them (I’ve been wearing them continually ever since she first suggested it) there is certainly something special having that extra layer and they’ve prevented wet sheets on more than one occasion. Sometimes, when I’m wearing my pyjamas over them, I love the feeling as they slip around the shiny pants and they slide up and down my legs as I wiggle in utter contentment. Mum says she loves those occasions when I’m dressed for bed, PJs over my diaper, and we’re sat cuddling on the sofa watching TV. She says there is something very comforting when she pats my padded bottom and I rustle around in complete happiness. There’s no doubt about it – I’m a momma’s boy. * To be continued…
  2. Baby Claudia

    Bliss

    Today, I have my cock locked, am diapered with plastic pants and 'girlie' knickers all concealed in woolen tights. After having drunk a lot of water over the course of the evening, the pull up, double diaper and plastic pants I shall be wearing may
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