My Diaper Discovery

[Horndog]

May 5, 2011

My name is Shane Carpenter. I am a media consultant for an advertising firm based out of San Francisco. My job is -- on a day-to-day basis -- explain to corporate about how badly they fucked up on their campaigns while simultaneously informing potential clients that we are the absolute best in the business. But as we all know, the marketing industry is about dressing up the facade of a product. Like the products we market, we -- the ladder-climbers, bottom-feeders and cynical 30-something know-it-alls -- are nothing more than facades. We are a complete enigma, and that's the way we like it. We don't want the public to know how we operate because that's a distraction. Every day, we pray that idiot America won't unanimously stand up and realize that we're pulling a collective wool over their eyes, but then we realize, "Hey, guess what? We're all a bunch of fucking idiots!" And our worries magically disappear. Put the likes of Justin Bieber in a Pepsi commercial -- and the kids fall straight into the trap, nevermind the toxic amounts of high fructose corn syrup and sugar that has helped place our country at the top of "World's Most Obese" list.

Of course, the nature of this business forces us to focus on human superficiality. Over time, we fall in love with the superficiality and completely forget who we are, where we came from, and what happened to our jaded sense of morality. But sometimes, it takes a chance, an accident or a seemingly random spark to help us remember who we are -- and often times the result scares us into slinking back into our miserably mediocre lives, living in tiny suburban boxes.

I was at my desk, crafting up ideas for a viral campaign to get kids to use a specific brand of toothpaste. So the issue was: how viral can it get when you tell kids something that they've heard so many times before by their parents? How do we make that "cool"? I tapped my fingers on the keys. At some point, I started writing gibberish just so I looked busy in my cubicle. When the president of the company walked by, I smiled. That's what they want in marketing: a fine smile. It could either mean that you're really making progress or the Botox injection went flawlessly. But honestly, I reached a dead end -- and my brain insisted that I stopped bashing my head against the desk because the ideas weren't coming that way. Suddenly, after drinking my fourth can of Pepsi, I had an idea. Product placement in a superhero movie. Superheroes were the type of people that children always aspired to be. Like the rest of us, they would need to take care of their hygiene. Why not go for a few of those candid moments when they stand before the mirror and brush their teeth? Then you're implying, "Okay, this is the brand that superheroes use." I worked on the idea for the next few hours.

About 4:30 PM, I clocked out, jogged out of the office and straight to my car in the parking garage. I wanted to drive away from work as fast as I possibly and legally could. Between the office and my apartment, I was caught in traffic. Apparently, there was a car accident involving a SUV running over a bicyclist. The driver of the car was texting to his girlfriend; likely sending a photo of his tiny, flaccid dick to her and was distracted by his shameless narcissism when he hit and seriously injured a young mother of two. I was in traffic so long, I was able to read the story on my smartphone as it was being tweeted by dozens of sick, miserable little fucks who jack off to horrifying acts of stupidity.

And then it hit me. I have to pee. Way to go, Shane! I'm sitting in my car, anxiously tapping on the steering wheel. I wanted to roll up the windows, curse loudly at myself for not taking care of business when I was at the office -- but, you know, we already have about a few thousand homeless guys who do the same thing without a given reason. Didn't want to contribute to the noise. So I cross my legs and hum the tune of Queen's "Somebody to Love." But no matter how hard I tried to distract myself, I knew I had to pee. It's human nature. You cannot circumvent human nature. Even the most enlightened Buddhist monks in the most remote monestaries in the Tibetan mountains cannot possibly repress the call of nature. I grabbed onto my crotch like that was going to help. Now the sensation of having to piss was starting to hurt. I took a few deep breaths. Inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale. Breathe! I moved around in my seat. I looked around for something to piss in. There was no cup, no bottle. Nothing. When I realized there was nothing for me to use, I punched the horn on my car. That was my Hail Mary. For a second, I hoped that the line of cars in front of me would part like the Red Seas. Didn't happen.

Finally, I surrendered. I peed my pants. I stopped giving a shit so I let it flow. I watched my dress slacks get wetter, darker. My underwear was soaked. The piss made its way onto the driver seat. It felt good. I wouldn't imagine a day that I would actually be thinking this, but I enjoyed it -- not because of the relief, but because I actually could do this. I was in my car. Nobody suspected a thing. It wasn't as bad as I thought it was going to be. As luck would have it, traffic started moving again once I finished draining a gallon into my pants. I was waiting to come across a red light so I could check the damage. Once I was able to stop at a red light, I looked down at my pants. I wet on both legs. I just had to rub myself there just to confirm that I, indeed, peed my pants. When I rubbed, it felt nice. The wetness on my fingertips. The stirring of a desperate man's scent. The sudden, pleasant warmth. I was somehow interested in these details. I was supposed to be humiliated. I was supposed to be ashamed. Instead, I was aroused. My heart was beating. I started breathing heavily. It felt like I had just completed a marathon, and I was moments away from having sex with the most beautiful woman in the world -- obviously because whoever won first place would get the girl. No, no, no! I pissed my pants. I am not supposed to be turned on by something so stupid. It was irrational.

I laughed at my temporary insane until I entered my apartment's parking garage downtown. I pulled in, parked and got out of the car. I walked to my apartment with wet pants. Had to look up to see where I was going, but I looked down a few times. My dick was up and pressed hard against my soaked briefs. I could see the bulge and the thick outline of my dick. It throbbed a few times. It was begging for attention. I assured it by saying, "Don't worry. We're almost home, buddy." Men should have more conversations with their dick. Sure, the tone would likely be remorseful because of all the stroking, the abuse, and the situations that it's put in. I managed to sneak into my apartment without anyone else seeing me. What a relief! I turned on the lights, set the car keys down on my dining room table and dashed into the bathroom. I removed my clothes -- everything except my briefs. I stood in front of the mirror in the bathroom and checked out my tight, piss-soaked briefs. Just looking at myself in this form and seeing how vulnerable I was turned me on. I couldn't deny it. Wetting your pants is something that society considers to be absolutely forbidden. Don't ever do it! But I did it. I had the power to do it, and nobody told me that I couldn't. The downside was that I ruined my good no-wrinkle polyster business slacks, but that was a small price to pay for discovering a fascinating aspect about yourself.

Nervous and excited, I jacked off frantically. I knew I had to or else it was going to keep me awake with adrenaline. I rode the momentum, jerked the shaft, closed my eyes and came all over the sink. This was the most I ever ejaculated. The climax was so intense that my legs began to shake and my body felt heavy. Looking into the sink, I saw copious amounts of my semen swirling around the drain. I turned on the hot water so that any traces were washed down. After that, there was serenity at last. Complete, uninterrupted tranquility. No aches, no pains. No obligations. I was here living in the moment and for the first time in what seemed to be decades worth of apathy, I felt free. I could pee my pants and everything would still be alright -- and even more than "alright." I was having fun. This perverted, nasty act of selfish humiliation had a clear silver lining that I wanted to exploit. But how? What were the pros and cons? Advantages and disadvantages? I knew I had to go for it, but there were so many questions. So many utterly ridiculous questions. I had to sleep on it.

May 12, 2011

Google has the answers to everything. I had to research it before I started believing I was alone with this sudden, freaky interest. It's called watersports. Wikipedia has a more proper term to describe it: Urolagnia. Watersports sounds more fun, though, so let's stick with that. Says Wikipedia: watersports is a paraphilia in which sexual excitement is associated with the sight or thought of urine or urination. Perfect. I am in the same league as the likes of R. Kelly and a majority of right-wing homophobes who are wrapped in the cloak of piety. So what happens next? I wrote a few ideas down on my computer. What interested me? What did I want to try next? There were obstacles to overcome. I like pants wetting, but I have a wardrobe that I'd prefer to not completely destroy with bodily fluids. There was also my reputation to uphold at the marketing firm. Oh, what a deviant beast! Nobody knows. It was fun to think about everything. This wasn't an "issue" necessarily, but it would be fun to act deviantly with someone else. So that's what I wanted to do. The goals were falling into place. I was getting ambitious.

Went back to Google again. Looked for personals in San Francisco to see if there was any man or woman who would be interested in some watersports play. Thank the magic fairy in the sky for living in the kink capital of California! There was a match. Describing himself as six-foot-one, 210 pounds and 34 years old, there's a man who lives three blocks south of me. He's interested in "piss play." Fewer syllables than "watersports"? Great. He has a phone number. The name on the ad is Wade. Hopefully, he's attractive. I reach for my phone, call the number and get an answer.

"Hello, this is Wade." A dark, commanding tone. Sounds good so far.

"Hi, I'm calling about the ad you placed in a fetish listing."

"Oh, cool. You're into piss play, I take it?"

Fuck. I couldn't pull myself together to utter the words "piss play" over the phone. "Yeah, I mean, it's interesting. That's for sure." Cue the nervous laughter.

"I'd like to meet you. Can you tell me a little more about yourself?"

I could answer this. "My name is Shane. I live on Capistrano Avenue, and --"

"What number? Address?"

"I just introduced myself and now you're asking for the nuclear codes?" My poor attempt at humor.

Surprisingly, he laughed. "I live nearby. Capistrano and Santa Ysabel. Are you walking distance?"

"Yes!"

"Okay, wow. Great. Maybe we can walk together for lunch today, if that's good with you..."

I nodded. He's not able to see the nod. I was enthusiastic and unusually chipper. "Perfectly fine with me. Noon-ish?"

"Sure. I'll meet you at the cross-street."

I could play the role of the delightful faggot for a day. I realized that I didn't tell him a single thing about me, yet he seemed interested. This was more or less a blind encounter, not a blind date. Blind dates are for desperate saps. I knew exactly what I was doing. This was the perfect day to have some fun. I didn't have to clock in to work. I was on-call, though, but I could come up with a dozen excuses. "I got caught in a shower" or "I'm having bareback sex with a man I just met on the Internet." No, nevermind. Those excuses are awful, but shameless. I like it. I had no idea what to expect, but estimating the risk was fun. At this point, I wanted to take risks. I wanted to see who I could and couldn't work with. There was something very sleazy about this whole process, but I was so enamored over the prospect of experimenting with my newly discovered fetish, I didn't care.

We met at his house. At first, I wasn't able to tell if the man standing on the sidewalk was actually the person that I was supposed to meet. He was well-dressed: dark navy polo shirt, brown khaki pants, black dress shoes. He was clean-shaven and looked like a college student in his freshman year. I called out his name. He turned around, knew it was me right away and gave a friendly wave. I was expecting to meet a chubby man, walking around in a leather harness and chaps over a revealing jockstrap. He walked over to me and shook my hand.

"Nice to meet you, Shane," he said to me.

"Yeah, same here." I wasn't one for pleasantries. "Sorry, I'm new to the... y'know. This 'thing'."

Wade calmly shook his head and smiled a little. "Don't worry about it. I'm still figuring it out myself. So, anything going on?"

I liked the open-ended question. "I work at a marketing firm as the 'pitchman,' and I've been tasked to come up with creative ideas for ad campaigns."

"Ah, neat." He looked at me in the eyes when he said it. He smiled. I smiled back. We started walking together side-by-side to a nearby Starbucks.

"What do you do? What makes you tick?" I asked him.

He stopped walking for a moment to look up at the sky. "I'm a lawyer." Then he turned to me. "That's your cue to run away," he joked.

I shrugged it off. "I hope lunch is pro-bono."

Wade snickered. "No comment."

As I was walking with him, I started feeling like things were moving quicker than I anticipated. I didn't feel like I made the transition into fully accepting my re-energized sexuality. Then again, there was something about Wade that was eerily normal. This is the same Wade that was looking for a "piss play partner," and the ad was worded in a way that it sounded like someone looking for a quick, casual pop. By meeting and hooking up with Wade, I thought that I would be able to experiment with someone and it would be pure business. As time went by, I started realizing that Wade wasn't that type of guy -- or he wasn't the type of guy that I presumed he was. He's someone who looked like he was able to repress his wild side for the sake of networking with others. He was about five years younger than me, but he was calm and confident. Why? I felt almost intimidated by his tranquility. He didn't strike me as someone who was into "piss play."

"Working on any high-profile cases?"

We continued walking. "No, not really. Just your garden variety torts. Nothing more than that. I work at my uncle's law firm in Oakland. They bring me into the office when there's an overflow of clients. I do the janitorial work."

"It's a living," I said, trying to be nonchalant.

"Can't complain." He started walking closer to me and spoke in a whisper. "So... you're kinky like me?"

I shrugged. "I wouldn't have called you up if I wasn't. To be honest, well, I didn't realize I was into this stuff until a week ago."

"Really?"

"Yeah, I mean -- I can say that it turns me on. I know it does."

He snickered at me. "We have one thing in common, now don't we?"

We headed to Starbucks, ordered our drinks and sat down at a table. I sat across from him. I was captivated by his striking blue eyes and his brown hair with blonde highlights. He had a small black goatee and a well-rounded face. He sported an earring on his right ear. He was the guy that has been around the block a few times. I could definitely tell. We talked about life, love while vaguely alluding to our sexual interests. We went back and forth for a while. He was unabashedly gay, but he was suave about it whereas I was the conservative-looking, closeted man that was still unable to even say the word "gay" publicly without the feeling that I could be exploited for being open. He said he liked working out at the gym and reading books about ancient civilizations. He was a former Anthropology major who decided to drop out of college to pursue law school by his junior year. He left college with a GPA of 4.1. He's smart.

Now that he told me about how incredibly smart he is, I felt small and insignificant. I couldn't relinquish the title of "Mr. Pompous" without a fight. I told him that I served in the Marines for a while: 2nd Battalion, 1st Marines. After receiving my honorable discharge in 2008, I decided to return to college to complete my Bachelors in Marketing and Communications. With the money I saved up, I drove from Camp Pendleton to my old stomping grounds in Palo Alto. From there, I applied for jobs in San Francisco and ultimately landed one at the company I work for now. I decided to relocate and live in downtown San Francisco. It was difficult to bring up my military past. It wasn't that I was ashamed of it, but the memories from my tours of duty in Afghanistan were painful. I was surprised that I could describe my past in the military to Wade without flinching. Being a veteran, you come back to the country and feel isolated. You feel out of place, but taking those risks is how one -- in the military -- survives. Can't stand and wait for mortar fire.

"Thank you for keeping me safe," Wade told me. He placed his hand on top of mine.

I froze, closed my eyes and tried really hard to move onto another subject. "And thank you for giving a damn," I blurted out. I was concerned that my heavy history would repel him from me.

As it turned out, the opposite happened. He looked at me with more intensity. "I have utmost respect for the soldiers," he said. "It must have been hard. It's unimaginable." I nodded in affirmation. "I have a friend who's a Marine. He fought the battles every day with the others. When he wasn't, he was asked, 'Looking forward to coming home to see your girlfriend?' The question haunted him more than the enemy at times. He thought of his boyfriend. He had to lie to people. He hated lying about it. He hated holding back on anything, but he had to."

I took a deep breath and continued to sip on my coffee. "It's hard to talk about it. I'm sorry if I --"

"Oh, no no. I didn't mean to impose or anything!"

"It's alright."

I managed to distract myself from the objective. The conversation became too personal too quickly. Had to rebound somehow. I tried making small talk. I eased some tension on my end. We talked about the kind of men we like. Being someone who has been with women more than men, my description of the ideal man was not as thorough as Wade's. I decided to just agree with Wade on his criteria. The ideal man would be loving, caring and very charismatic. Not overly charismatic to a degree of insincerity. He preferred men who were aggressive, "straight-minded" and responsible. Clearly Wade was looking for a little more than a sex partner. He was looking for a true companion. At this stage, I offered no commitments. We just met. I held back a little and listened.

The conversation lasted for about an hour, and I barely drank my coffee. It got cold. That showed how investigated I was in the discussion. I was assessing the order of events in my mind as we talked. I found his ad in an online fetish listing, but he was obviously more than that. I have to admit that I was intrigued. I had relationships that were short-term, friends with benefits and one-night stands. I looked at Wade and thought, "Gosh, he's cute and fun to talk to." We kept talking, sharing stories about each other. It was a very clear and lucid exchange.

"You want to head back to my place?" he asked me.

"Sure."

We walked back to his house. It was a small, two-bedroom place. It was modest. It was nice that he was so close to my apartment. What are the odds of finding someone like Wade who lives a few blocks away in a city as large as San Francisco? Impossible odds. I didn't want to screw anything up. I became superstitious and decided to not touch a single thing in his house. I put my hands in my pockets and wandered around innocently. He invited me into his bedroom. Along the way, he removed his shirt and began unbuckling his belt. "Already?" I thought. I got hot under the collar in anticipation. He was going to show me the ropes; show me a good time. Things were happening fast, so I tried my best to not be an ambitious, horny toad. I even measured my footsteps carefully and tried to retain a poker face. It was difficult. The last time I had sex was a little over a year ago.

He opened up the bedroom door and quickly pulled his pants down. I couldn't believe what I was about to see. He was wearing a diaper. That's right. An adult diaper. And not only was it an adult diaper, it was a wet diaper. Naturally I wanted to turn away from it, but I couldn't. I've seen a lot of things: good things, horrible things, strange things. This was one of the stranger sights I've seen. Obviously he trusted me enough to show me the state of his diaper. I looked around for a bit and started to chuckle.

"This is new to me," I told him.

"Maybe I shouldn't have shown you..." he said as he was about to pull up his pants.

I touched his arm. "No, it's alright. Just need to process this. Care to help me?" I laughed.

Wade smiled. "I should provide context. I wear diapers, and --"

"Medical condition?"

He shook his head. "No. It's for recreational use. I enjoy wearing them, wetting them. It's not a big deal. If you're responsible, you can keep your clothes dry."

I thought about that. I enjoyed wetting my pants, even though it was an accident. The feeling of piss flowing uncontrollably into your underwear, soaking it up while it ran down a pantsleg was an indescribable erotic sensation. The only way I could explain it was that it was a creative way to saying "fuck you" to society. I felt like a bad boy for wetting my pants. There was a humiliation aspect to it, but it was also an act of defiance. I'm an adult. I can do whatever the fuck I want to as long as I remain a law-abiding citizen -- you know, not kill anyone. I'm done with that. I like wetting my pants and owning up to it. But diapers? Nobody would know at all. I had no idea he wore a diaper when we went to Starbucks. My observational skills are decent. But that passed underneath my radar. I was impressed.

"I wet while we were walking over there," he confessed.

I looked at his diaper closely. He definitely wet himself. His diaper was a dark-yellow tint. He flooded it and was completely shameless about it. I asked him if I could touch it. He gave me permission. I squeezed his crotch. It was thick, crinkly and pleasantly warm. It must feel good to wear one. Not only would you feel like a "bad boy" when you wet. You would be a "big baby." Just thinking of the words "big baby" turned me on. I was aroused and my pants felt tighter than before. I liked this a lot. It was so weird, but it looked fun. It actually looked fun.

"I knew a few guys in the Marines who would have liked to wear one of these during our missions," I said.

"I'm sure. You should diaper up sometime."

I swallowed nervously. "I'll think about it."

Wade grinned. "No, don't think. Just do it. What's your waist size?"

"Around 34."

Wade walked over to his closet. He opened the sliding doors and showed me his diaper stash. There were at least 50 pre-folded, thick diapers. I'm sure there were more. Clearly he was into diapers. God knows what else he was into. This got me excited. He took out a diaper and told me to lay down on his bed. Without him giving me any further instructions, I removed my pants and underwear. I was down to my t-shirt and nothing else. I'm laying on my back and I'm staring at my dick, which was hard and curved up. I couldn't believe that I was going to be diapered. This was surreal! I took a few deep breaths and whispered to myself that it wasn't a big deal. I felt him sprinkling some baby powder over my waist and rubbing it into my skin. He had a nice touch. He slid the diaper under me, connected the back to the front and taping it together. It took him about two minutes to do. To confirm that I wasn't living in a dream, I grabbed the diaper. Sure enough, I heard a crinkle. A loud crinkle. Then there was that unmistakable new diaper smell. I was ridiculously horny, but I had to keep my cool.

"You like it?" Wade asked.

"Not bad, not bad."

"Get up and walk around. Tell me what it feels like."

I walked around the house in my t-shirt and diaper. I waddled around from room to room while my mind was clouded with dirty thoughts. I could wet myself and nobody would know. My pants would stay dry. I could have as many "accidents" as I wanted to. Every time my diaper crinkled, I was reminded of its convenience. I didn't have to use the bathroom, stand at the urinal uncomfortably and whip out my junk. I didn't have to get up from working on a busy project and spend several minutes of my time, anguishing in a bathroom stall while listening to an awkward symphony of farts and squeaks from the stall next to me. I was free. The downside was that I had to change myself, but so what? I could do it, I thought. Why not? It was a challenge worth accepting and conquering. Diapers unlocked many doors for me. Now I was tasked to find out how I can incorporate them into my life, even if I wore them once in a while.

"Feels nice, doesn't it?" said Wade. He was changing himself in the bedroom.

I stood in his living room, grabbing my thickly padded crotch. "Oh yeah. I feel 'naughty.'"

"Are you up for anything today?" I presumed he was asking if I was still looking to have some fun.

"Well, to be honest, you just put this on me. I want to keep it on and see what happens."

"No problem. It was nice meeting you."

"Likewise. We should hang out more."

"For sure!"

I was about to open up his front door, but I realized that I didn't have any pants on. Figures. He heard me turn the doorknob and ran out to stop me. He brought me my underwear and pants. I bowed exaggeratedly, took the pants and put my clothes back on. It felt strange. The diaper was so thick and bulky that it was difficult to put my pants back on. On the plus side, the diaper felt tighter around me and the waddle effect was toned down because of it. I bid him farewell, shook his hand and said to him, "You're too good to be on some fetish listing."

The moment I stepped outside, I felt like I was being watched; that was the paranoia of going out in public with a diaper on. Cars passed me by as I walked on the sidewalk. Life goes on. Everyone was doing something, going somewhere and not bothering to pinpoint any abnormalities. They don't care if some guy walking down the street was wearing a diaper. People didn't have to know. It's privacy, and because I'm not in the public light like some crackhead celebrity on a "one fender-bender a day" quota, I'm capable of blending in the crowd.

There was nothing on television. I flipped through the channels. There was no real news. Forget about the dozen or so soldiers who died from an IED. Screw them. Let's watch breaking news about Kim Kardashian, rub our chins and wonder how such a talentless, fat-assed bitch is making millions of dollars. Forget about tensions in Syria, which led to hundreds of innocent civilians being slaughtered by their own government. Let's watch a bunch of political pundits on FOX NEWS, criticizing the commander-in-chief for making a wisecrack about Republicans. Watching this kind of garbage is like tooth-pulling. Being waterboarded was starting to sound more entertaining. No, on second thought. Let's waterboard the Kardashians. I could write the pilot for that show, get picked up by some soulless TV corporation and bank a cool million for successfully appealing to the lowest common denominator.

There was me sitting in my living room, wearing a diaper. It was strange. From an objective perspective, it would appear that I was sick with some terminal illness. What kind of grown man, almost 40, would be sitting around in diapers? It was madness. I didn't think it was madness. I called it "fun." The diaper was still dry that evening. My body refused to give in. From time to time, I had the urge to use the bathroom but the feeling would fade away. That was my body telling me, "Toilet only, my friend. No exceptions." Let's face it. I'm pee-shy. This is the very first time, in my adult life, that I was in a diaper. I was waiting for the "accident" that didn't come. I could feel my bladder muscles getting agitated from the pressure, but I was too preoccupied with the desire to pee to actually pee. I tried to distract myself by watching a TV show and pretending to be interested. The pressure continued to build.

I had about enough. I stormed into the bathroom, closed the door behind me and sat on the toilet with the diaper on. I was hoping that my body would react more positively to me sitting on the toilet and being in a "natural" position. There was some progress. I could feel the piss rushing to the tip of the shaft. Slowly but surely. I sighed, stuck my hand down my diaper and rubbed my dick softly. I wasn't masturbating. I was trying to calm my erection down enough so I could go. After a few minutes of doing this, I finally started to wet. Slowly but surely. My diaper was so thick that it didn't feel like it was affected by the wetting. The diaper felt a little warmer. Not much discoloration. The flow began to pick up. I was peeing a little more consistently. Now the diaper started to droop over the toilet seat. I started picking up on my pungent piss scent. This was very satisfying. Then I was done. I felt good.

The momentum was building. I ran with it and jerked off while I sat on the toilet. It took me only a few seconds before climax. Cum was everywhere. It splashed against the wall in front of me. Had to clean it up, but man, it was worth it. I felt very relaxed. I took off my wet diaper and jumped into the shower. I let the warm water cover my body for a short while. I felt like a freak, but this was the first time -- in a very long time -- that I felt comfortable being a freak. As long as I wasn't hurting anybody in the process, everything was fine. I enjoyed my downtime from work. Now I had to work a little harder so I could pay for diapers on top of the rent. Fine by me. This was something that I could get used to.

[Nat]

Cool, will there be more?

[Horndog]

There will be more!

[thong5]

Love the story.

[Horndog]

May 13, 2011

I bought a bag of adult diapers online. It was the brand that Wade wore. They were comfortable. Got them overnight shipping. When I got that nice, discreet box in the mail, I knew right away what was inside. I ripped that box open like a young kid on Christmas day. The box contained several stacks of diapers. There were about 72 diapers in total. I spent a lot on the case, but it was worth it.

The daily routine changed into this. I get out of bed and remove the diaper if it's wet. I take a shower, towel off and put on a new diaper. I eat breakfast, preferably cereal with a side of granola bar and orange juice. I head to work with a backpack of diapers just in case I need to change during work. I arrive at work, place the backpack by my feet. To eliminate suspicion, I also pack my work binder and bottled water inside of it. I call it an "informal suitcase." If anyone comes across my backpack and finds what's inside, I'll tell them that I'm the sole caretaker of an overgrown baby named Huey. The diaper stays on, and I'm the productive worker bee that people want me to be. I'll happily take the marching orders and lead people to believe that I'm not soiling my undergarments while I talk to them.

Going to work diapered has been an acquired taste. At first, I walk in and expect people's eyes to naturally wander over to my newly expanded, puffy waist. I expected people to ask questions, raise eyebrows and treat me differently. That didn't happen. I thought that if I made one slip and bent over that my diaper would show, and I would be the laughingstock in the office. That didn't happen either. There were a handful of personal nuisances, though. When I sat down sometimes, the diaper would bunch up underneath me. It wasn't uncomfortable per se, but it was a little distracting. There was a chance that someone could bump into me and graze against the noisy, crinkling "brief." I had to somewhat be on my guard if I was walking around, standing or sitting in a room full of people. When it came to meetings in our conference room, I was always the first arrive and the last to leave. I was fine with the adjustments.

I have to admit that I jumped into the diaper-wearing fetish very quickly. There wasn't much of a transition. I often thought about it, but I wasn't given enough time to think it through because of work. I worked on an ad campaign for potato chips and designed a concept for a vending machine that was placed in locations near schools and on campus. The vending machines would sell pre-packaged lunches that included a sandwich, soft drink and one brand of potato chip. In my twisted mind, I believed that kids would be subconsciously "hooked" on the brand because that brand would be synonymous with the convenience of having the instaneous, all-in-one lunch. The superiors loved the idea. The chip company we worked for started sending us concept illustrations of the vending machine. I had become the "idea guy." As a result of being the "idea guy," I worked overtime. I wasn't necessarily thrilled with the idea of spending any more time in the office, but money talks -- and it told me to shut up.

An hour before I was allowed to clock out for the day, I had to wet. There were people all around me. I'm working at my cubicle. I thought, "Maybe I can drip." I wouldn't outright flood my diaper. I would drip along, and that would help me make it through the rest of the hour. But because I'm not used to wearing diapers yet, I was still pee-shy. My bladder muscles locked up from being nervous. I tried to be rational. I thought to myself, "It's not a big deal," but my body disagreed. Toilet. No exceptions. This time, I wasn't going to run to the restroom. I was going to sit at my desk and work. It was my way or the highway. And so I sat. What I realized was that I was having trouble wetting while sitting down. So what would happen if I stood up? I did just that. I rose from my chair, stretched my arms and yawned. Not before long, I started to wet my diaper. I started to familiarize myself with the soothing feeling of warmth expanding around my crotch. I looked down at my pants. No embarrassing stains. Nothing. When I was done, I sat back down. Mission accomplished. Found a compromise.

I drove home in my wet diaper. I was getting used to it. I enjoyed the thrill of wetting my diaper in public. Though people in my workplace knew who I was on the outside, they had no idea what was happening inside my pants. I was breaking the rules. And if I was the boss of that company, I would happily admit to breaking the rules and flaunt it if I was challenged or provoked. But because I am an employee, I have to be on my best behavior. Serving in the Marines gave me an edge. When I came back to this country, I felt very entitled. There was righteousness. I fought for freedom in my country. They shouldn't question what I do and why I do it. If a Marine wants to wear diapers, he should. Why should I ever sell myself short? There was a certain pride to exercising my right to wear. It wasn't like I was going to work buck naked with my cock and balls out.

When I returned home, I stayed in my wet diaper. I slipped out of my slacks and put on jogging pants so it was easier for me to walk around. I gave Wade a call once I sat down and collected my thoughts.

"Hey Wade. This is Shane. How are ya?"

"Now that I hear your voice, good."

I'm a sucker for flattery. "I wanted to call and thank you for the treat the other day."

"Sure. It was the least I can do. I'm usually stuck with guys who only hang out for a blowjob."

Felt somewhat guilty when he said that. "You have an interesting story to tell."

"Sorry we weren't able to play around, y'know?"

"No, don't worry about it. I enjoyed the Starbucks and the diaper."

"Did you buy any more?"

"I did, actually. A case from XP Medical."

There was laughter on the other end. "Way to go, champ!"

I talked about how I incorporated my new-found hobby into my daily life. He was amused. He wanted to provide me suggestions for how I could have more fun with diapers among other things. He invited me to a little get-together in Castro on Saturday night. I was unsure about it. Being as devious as I am, I couldn't place myself in the middle of Castro and appreciating all the sexual-tinged shenanigans and bullshit that happen there. Then again, going there would make an interesting weekend. I told him to count me in. He e-mailed me directions to some club with a trendy German name that I can't readily pronounce. He told me that the club staff were accepting of "what we do," but I took that as "proceed with caution." I wasn't ready to take my public persona and blatantly bend it in certain areas. I was going into uncharted territory. For the first time through, I decided to attend the event and blend into the crowd.

May 14, 2011

We went to some place called Wet Dream. I met up with Wade at the bar. There was this obnoxious techno music blaring in the background. There were strobe lights everywhere. I don't get seizures from it, but I get headaches easily. Going into Wet Dream, I was already in a bad mood. I felt like I was out of my element. There were several men dancing around the place, half-naked, wearing revealing speedos and thongs. It was excessive. I grew up in a conservative household. I wasn't familiar with this shit. It's not my scene. Regardless, Wade took me by the hand and walked me through the place until we ended up at a corner of the venue. There, three man sat at a large, half circle-shaped booth. They wore a variety of harnesses. What surprised me was that they were all wearing diapers in public. To be fair, the diapers were somewhat obscured by the laced, assless chaps. Really? What the fuck was going on here?

"Guys, this is Shane. He's a new diaperboy," Wade told the group.

I waved. Didn't say anything. Mind was still trying to chew the concept of seeing some men wearing diapers in a gay bar. Interesting, but still not used to it.

One man extended his hand to me. "Glad to meet you. I'm Rob," said a tall, bear-ish man in his late-20s, I presume. He spoke with an Austalian accent. He was handsome, muscular and ironically reserved for a man who's flaunting his fetish.

"I'm Nick," chirped a youthful, thin man beside him. He definitely looked younger than 20, but babyfaces can be deceiving. Sure enough, he looked the part: clean-shaven, small enough waist to fit into a baby diaper probably. He had an infectious smile.

Another man hovered over the table to shake my hand. "Save the best for last, eh? I'm Michael." I could tell by his handshake that he was the most assertive of all the men in the group. He had the supermodel face, wavy brown hair and striking green eyes. His chest was covered in tattoos. He was the live-wire type.

"I imagine that the club owner is fine with you in diapers like this. He's not worried about leaks or anything, is he?" I asked the group half-jokingly.

Rob nodded his head and rubbed his chin satirically. "The newbie's got a good point. I think I should lay down the law on those diapered queers, don't you think?"

I did a double-take. "You're the owner?" I pointed to Rob.

"In the flesh. Well, I'm a co-owner. No other bar around these parts allows guys in diapers to enter. This place is obviously the exception, and I like that."

I have to admit: I was impressed. I wasn't ready to put down my guard just yet. In my paranoia, I thought it was possible that a big prank was being pulled on me. There was some sort of trap somewhere, I thought, so I tried to keep quiet and not incriminate myself any further. I tuned in and out of the conversation. When the music stopped, I could pay attention. They talked about life and love very casually and calmly as if they weren't having a conversation at a gay bar and surrounded with young bastards on MDMA or whatever the fuck kids are into these days. I kept getting distracted by the flashy cockrings and men with cliched 1970s porn moustaches. Another thought crossed my mind. What was the state of everyone else's diaper at the table? Were the diapers just for show or were they actually using them? Wade invited me to the table. I sat down with a crinkled thud. Clearly I was one of the boys. What now?

"Tell us about yourself, Shane. What's your deal?" asked Michael.

"I work in marketing, spearhead ad campaigns as Project Manager."

"Oh, oh!" exclaimed Rob. "You know what you should do, Shane... You should run ads for adult-sized Pampers. Make adult diapers more festive, you know?" He chuckled at his own suggestion.

I wasn't buying it. "When people think diapers, they think babies and sometimes old people. Nobody in between."

"Fuck the people," Michael chimed in. "Fuck them for trying to tell me what they think is best."

Nick shrugged cynically. "Shane has a point."

Michael crossed his arms. "Seriously, though. We're not harming anyone. We're not pedophiles. And newsflash: there are people out there who have to fuckin' wear diapers for reasons other than something to get off to. Why does the industry try to hide a valuable product like this?"

I replied, "Because we -- 'we' being society in general, I guess -- tend to obscure personal shame despite the fact that everyone has a flaw, has a vice, has something that could potentially hold them back. They don't need ads that remind them of the 'shame.' Me? I don't see a problem with it, and --"

"Of course you don't. I gave you one diaper to put on. You ended up buying a case."

Michael opened his eyes wide. "Holy Hell! It took me a while to accept diapers as something worth investing in. Boy, did Wade give you a good time or what?"

I chuckled nervously and shook my head. "No, no. He reminded me that I could keep my pants clean if I wore them."

Without me realizing it, I began to tell them about my accident in the car, and how that accident triggered my interest. They understood, especially Nick. Nick told me that he suffered from incontinence. He attributed the incontinence to some faulty wiring in his brain. Sometimes, he had control of his bladder. Other times he had no control. It was a roll of the dice, and he didn't want to roll snake eyes and spend his time trying to explain his way out of embarrassing situations. Poor kid. I wouldn't wish that on anyone. He lectured me about how "accidents" are not always fun. I understood. I really didn't want to listen to his anecdotes. He's a nice guy and all, but I didn't come to the club to hear a sob story. The others were inclined to agree. I could tell by their exasperated, shifting eyes and deadpan facial expressions. But things turned more awkward when Wade blurted out the fact that I previously served in the military. Now I wanted to hear more about Nick shitting himself and being miserable about it.

It's not that I wasn't proud of my service. I feel that my military life is one life I led. This life was different. Serving in the Marines was a very dignified path to take. I didn't want to taint and undermine my accomplishments by mixing that sort of discussion with diaper-wearing. Made me visibly uncomfortable. Wade noticed I went silent and he apologized. Not a problem. He didn't understand. To diffuse the strange silence at the table, Michael added that he served in the Navy for a while. This eventually snowballed into Michael reciting the lyrics to the Village People song, "In The Navy." Everyone at the table laughed. I found it a little funny. If that's what it took to change the topic, great. What really sealed the deal was when Rob whispered to me and said, "The Navy is where all the gay sex is. You've missed all the action!" The way he said it made me belt out in laughter. At this point, I didn't mind the blaring music. I was already in a pleasant trance -- hook, line and... stinker.

Drinks were on the house. Because Wade drove me over to the club, he gave me the go-ahead and knock down a few beers. Eventually, I got drunk. Memory was fuzzy. It wasn't that bad like I went completely dark and couldn't remember anything. One thing I remembered was when I was groped under the table. The thought that entered my head at that moment was, "Grab my crotch again and we'll see what happens..." I wasn't groped again. I didn't know who groped me, but I enjoyed it. I love the hands-on approach. Then we took a survey around the table to see who was top, bottom or switch. I remember declining to answer and saying something like, "Does it matter? Whatever!" and people identified me as a switch. I never understood the need to assign sexual roles. Call me old-fashioned. But the more I had to drink, the less I cared about such things. "Yeah, I pitch and catch," I admitted to them. "I play all the bases too." Whatever that meant.

Wade curled up to me at the table. His right shoulder grazed against my left. He nuzzled his head against mine a few times. At first I thought that was accidental, but I felt that he was getting cozy with me. The alcohol loosened us up a bit. It took a few bottles of Coors Light before I let my guard down completely. The night turned fun at last. I no longer felt completely out of place. Even in my drunken state, I was in disbelief that I was sitting at a booth in a gay bar with a group of guys -- including the owner -- in chaps and diapers. I admired how confident they were. To me, wearing diapers in public is inconceiveable. But they were obviously confident and the others at the club didn't care or stare. Everyone was a freak in their own unique way. I looked at my clothes and realized that I was the only one really pretending to be normal. That was a waste. And as the night went on, I grew tired. Nothing sounded better, to me, than to slip into bed with a diaper on and sleep peacefully. Wade showed no signs of wanting to leave. He was having fun talking to the guys. I couldn't complain, really. I was happy for him.

I wrapped my arm around his shoulder without thinking about it. He sighed, turned his head toward me and grinned. When I saw his eyes, it sobered me up enough to really soak in the moment. I whispered to him, "I like you." I was very innocent about it. I didn't use the word "love." What I wanted to say was, "I like being next to you." My words were slurred and my body was getting heavy. He leaned up against me, and his weight contributed to my body feeling heavier. When I could no longer make out what the others were saying, I heard Wade whisper to me, "Let's go." He got up. I followed. I waved goodbye to my new diapered friends, slipped Rob a $20 tip for being a gracious host and left the club with Wade. Once we were outside, I took a deep breath and inhaled the nice cool breeze coming in from the west. The next thing I could remember was being dropped off in front of my apartment. I must have told him where I lived.

I fumbled the keys to the apartment before opening my front door. I turned on the lights and stumbled like an idiot into my living room. Wade was kind enough to turn the lights on.

"Are you gonna be okay tonight, Shane?"

I chuckled. "I think so. Thanks for the ride back," I told him.

"No problem, man. Have a good night."

As he was about to leave, I walked up to him. He turned around to face me. I gave him a kiss on the lips. He was caught by surprise. He must have liked the kiss since he went open-tongue right away. We kissed for about a minute. Suddenly, he removed his shirt. He helped me remove mine. We embraced, felt each other up. He had a nice thin, but muscular frame. I ran my fingers around his abs. My hands drifted down to his jeans. I felt the thickness of his diaper. I was close enough to him to hear the crinkling of his diaper. I unzipped his fly, reached into his pants to feel his damp diaper. His diaper had this irresistable musk. I could tell he wet himself a few times. There was a rich, musky odor. It was inviting. It spoke to me. I invited him into my bedroom. I didn't know what was going to happen, but I couldn't wait to experience the outcome.

I removed his wet diaper to suck his cock. He laid naked on my bed. I crawled over his waist to suck him off. As I sucked him, he was getting harder and harder. I took most of it into my mouth and didn't care. Truth be told, I never sucked dick before. But once I got into it, I found a rhythm that I could work with. In and out. Back and forth. He rubbed my hair in approval. I heard him breathing heavily. He was into it. I stopped sucking and went back to kissing him. Both of us were tired and didn't want to escalate our little adventure any more, so we mutually jacked each other off. I was fine with that. I could barely keep my eyes open, and now that my climax came and went, I wanted to go to sleep. Before I passed out at 1:45 AM, I saw Wade slip on his used diaper. He insisted that he'd change himself when he got back home. The moment I heard my front door close, I fell asleep -- naked and sprawled out on my bed. It was an unusually peaceful sleep.

May 23, 2011

After a while, you learn to do things in moderation. You get that huge thrill at first... when you're discover something that is a lot of fun. Then you do a lot of it. Then you get sick of it. This week, I decided to wear diapers whenever I was in the mood. When I wore diapers almost every day, it became a chore. When I wore diapers at work, I always had that extra reason to be self-conscious. The good news was that my body was slowing adjusting to wearing diapers, but the problem was that I was losing control over my bodily fluids. For a while, I thought that I could handle it, but the times I had to pee arrived almost suddenly. It was like, "Oh no. Not again!" I reacquainted myself with the toilet. I did so reluctantly. I began to feel like going to the toilet was an extra step that I didn't need to make. It was a very tedious process to me: find a bathroom, find a bathroom stall, close the door, lift the seat, unzip the fly, aim, pour, jiggle, flush, wash hands, dry hands, leave. To the average person, that was normal. I knew I wasn't normal anymore -- and I didn't mind that. If I could live my life without the toilet, I would.

I've been in contact with Wade. We started dating and taking each other more seriously. We haven't fucked much. I want to do more of it, of course, but I don't want to come across as a helplessly horny son of a bitch. We had some fun times since the time we went to Wet Dreams. We took the trolley to Fisherman's Wharf and dined on some seafood. I treated him to a nice dinner by the water. We ate and listened to some soft jazz music. Couldn't tap my feet to it. It was dangerously close to elevator music, but since I was with Wade, I was happy. We spent a day or two at Castro and held hands while we walked around. We were a couple. I was more comfortable being "out" like this. I was just one of the boys. We've also texted each other. Sometimes, he would text me during work and tease me. Bad idea, being when was being "bad" a bad thing? Sometimes, I'd get hard when reading his texts. To combat it, I immediately thought of Roseanne Barr in a revealing bikini. That always did the trick. Either that or Stephen Hawking in a pink dress with lipstick on.

"Have you ever messed your diaper?" he wrote to me in one text.

"Can't say that I have," I replied.

I lied. I thought about it from time to time, but the thought of shitting in a diaper scared me -- even at home. Wetting only was much more manageable. You can wet anywhere you want as long as you didn't smell too badly. But shit? No, I couldn't. Honestly, if the smell was more tolerable, then okay. Maybe. Then again, people who wear diapers 24/7 don't exactly have a choice. They're fucked. Going to the movies? Uh oh! Shit your pants. Want to go to see the San Francisco Giants play? Think again. Thousands of people are surrounding you. You shit your pants. People will suspect that you did it. Even if it wasn't intentional, people just know. They can sense it. I dared Wade to come up with creative solutions to overcoming those challenges. I knew that was impossible. But it's fun to speculate. The imagination is limitless. There were times that I thought about staying in a fully loaded diaper until someone decided to change me. But apply that to the real world, and you're stuck with a little more than a diaper rash.

Once every couple of days, I visited Wade at his house -- that is, whenever he wasn't preoccupied with work. Today, I visited him and brought him some Subway sandwiches. We like our footlongs. He brought out the potato chips and paper plates. We had a little party of sorts in his living room. We curled up on the couch and watched TV together. I was fully clothed, but he was wearing only a t-shirt and a diaper. I got used to seeing him that way. I wasn't diapered, but I didn't care.

"Not diapered today?" he said to me.

"Nah. Just taking a break from wearing," I replied.

"I thought you blazed through your case already."

"You think I'm that bad?"

He chuckled. "No. It would be funny, though."

"A big, leaky sink."

"You keep going and going and..."

"That's the Energizer bunny."

We joked and had fun at each other's expense. Once we got tired from all the laughing and carrying on, I cleaned up and put our trash away. We were full and satisfied. Eventually we started watching the late-afternoon marathon of "I Love Lucy." Lucille Ball was a genius. Her comedic timing was brilliant. Every episode had something that was so ridiculously funny that you stay glued to the television set, just to see how she would humiliate herself even more. When the embarrassment started to become a little painful to watch, Lucy would eventually redeem herself -- and everyone was happy. The End. She could be the biggest fuckin' ditz that ever graced the silver screen, but people loved and idolized her. Now, you look around and it feels like people will judge you on a more permanent basis if you fuck up somewhere -- even if your intentions were good. Then again, in the 1950s, a lot of things were taboo. Homosexuality was never mentioned or promoted. Lucy and Ricky Ricardo didn't even share the same bed. Since then, society transformed. Now, it's okay to invite people into the bedroom -- yet everyone is watcing what you do while you're in there.

I looked at Wade for a moment when he leaned against me. I looked at his diaper and thought to myself, "He's brave." He was very open about it, but he didn't shout it to the mountaintops. He trusted me a lot. When I was in the military, I felt very privileged to be trustworthy. I never dreamed of downplaying it. I looked at Wade and admired him for taking a risk to wear diapers, period. There are many sadistic vultures out there who want nothing more than to click on that YouTube video and see someone in a compromising position. There are cameras everywhere. There are people who will stop at nothing to exploit someone's interests, weaknesses and ruin lives for fun. I wanted to protect people like Wade. I felt a responsibility to make sure that his privacy is guaranteed. And this was strange because I wasn't thinking about myself. I never knew what it was like to be selfless. Then it hit me: he was my Lucy.

I had a change of heart. I decided to diaper up with him. It was only fair. He offered to put one on me, but I declined. He looked comfortable on the couch. By that time, he wrapped him in a blanket. I went into his closet, took one of his diapers and put one on. This was the first time that I didn't shake nervously with anticipation when I put one on. I was calm, not aroused. It was hard to diaper up while, y'know, being hard. Always had to push it down. This time, it felt like I had been wearing diapers for a long time. It didn't seem out of the ordinary. When I got back to the couch, he dozed off and was snoring lightly. I kissed the side of his face before sitting down beside him. I idly refastened my tapes when I heard a strange noise. I heard a muffled hissing noise coming from Wade. The sleepyhead was wetting his diaper. Obviously, he wore diapers long enough to wet while he slept. It was cute, I had to admit. I whispered into Wade's ear and told him he was a "good boy." He sighed happily.

"Thank you," he muttered suddenly.

"You're awake?" I was surprised.

"Yeah. Hold your nose."

I didn't, but I knew why he told me to. I heard a partially muted fart inside his diaper. I looked at his face. He opened his eyes and looked toward the television screen with intense focus. I heard something slither followed by a distinct, crinkly pop. He pooped in his diaper and smiled like a very devilish toddler. I got aroused just watching him drop a log into his diaper. He nodded, signalling that he was finished and that he was successful. The smell came around. It was not a scent that I was comfortable with. It was heavy, for sure.

"You pooped, didn't you? Didn't you?!" I teased.

He blushed. "No, no I didn't." What a cute, little liar.

"Admit it. You like the feeling of the mess coming out and tenting in your diaper. You're a big, stinky baby!"

"Say it again."

"A big, stinky baby!"

He started rubbing himself. "Again."

"A stinky little baby with a dirty diaper. You're a bad boy." I spoke in a dramatic, low voice.

Moaning, he squealed, "I am! I am!"

Wade's face turned red. He closed his eyes and groaned. He curled his toes and his eyes rolled to the back of his head. He came into his diaper shortly after filling his diaper. This spontaneous moment turned me on. "I should try that!" I thought. The smell no longer distracted me. I rubbed the back of his diaper to check it out. It was solid, bulgy, brown and unusually heavy. The poor boy must have been constipated. Meanwhile, I felt my erection poking uncomfortably around the inside of my diaper. I wanted to fuck him and reward him for his dirty deed, but he was obviously not ready for me to pounce. Frustrated, I got up from the couch, headed into his bathroom to jerk off. I had a very hard orgasm, and I was fortunate to not make a mess. I pulled up my diaper, flushed the toilet and splashed some water on my face.

"You need help cleaning up?" I shouted to Wade from the inside the bathroom.

"I'm good. Thanks!"

After I jerk off and finish, the world seems unapologetically mundane. I look at things in a quasi-scientific lens. I came out of the bathroom and sat back down on the couch. Wade didn't move an inch. He looked at me, smiling as he sat with his fully loaded diaper still wrapped comfortably around his waist. Unlike before, I could objectively think. Here was a grown man who not only wore diapers. He also soiled them and was completely shameless about it. One could look at that and think that this person is a filthy, disgusting little pervert who should be thrown into a pool of battery acid. Or one can see someone who was obviously enjoying the experience -- but most wouldn't understand where this so-called "enjoyment" came from. To me, seeing Wade mess his diaper made me think about the experience itself and how it would feel if I was the one doing it. There's always that unsettling feeling of taking a shit. That feeling comes from holding it in. The pressure in your stomach will grind if you continue to resist. Your body fights you. You resist the urge. Then suddenly, you let it all go. You feel the mess pushing out and dropping into the diaper. It feels so good when it comes out. What's even more interesting: the mess never leaves you. It reminds you of how dirty you are.

"Feels good, doesn't it?" I asked him.

"Yeah." He stretched his arms, yawned and closed his eyes. "Help yourself to anything in the fridge if you want anything to drink."

I waddled to the kitchen and took out a can of Dr. Pepper from the fridge. By the time I came back to the living room, he was asleep. This time, he really was sleeping. He laid peacefully on the couch, leaving me no room to sit. I knew that it was my time to bow out. I tossed the blanket over him, tucked him in and rubbed the side of his youthful face. I tried to be quiet. I put on my clothes, slowly opened the front door and closed it behind me. I walked back to my apartment, thinking about how strange my life had become. It was a step up from seeing the casualties of war, that's for sure. And that stinky bastard got me entertaining the idea of messing. All my concerns, all my paranoia was thrown out the window. "So what?" I thought. "I'll figure out how I'll deal with it."

[babynicole]

love the update!

[Horndog]

May 30, 2011

People go through divorce. They go through the nastiest divorces, the craziest custody battles -- and by the end of the day, everyone is fucked. That's life in Splitsville. I spoke to Rob, the co-manager of Wet Dreams. You know, I really don't want to refer to the club as "Wet Dreams" because it sounds so fucking ridiculous. Let's called it "The Club." Anyway, I showed up to the place with Wade for some drinks. The guys were there. Rob was there. He escorted us to his booth. The first thing he talked about was his divorce. I was like, "Hey, wait a minute. You got a gay divorce? Each spouse gets half of a rainbow?" Turns out, he was married to a woman before. She wanted to have children. He wasn't on board with the idea. He knew that if children appeared in his life, he would lose his freedom. She insisted on having a family with a baby. He wanted to remain the only baby in the relationship. He tried to get his wife involved in the diaper-lover fetish, but she always shot down his advances by telling him that she'd rather change a baby than him. Tensions rose and he finally called it quits before she could. They had no prenuptial agreement. All their assets needed to be split. They entered into mediation. One of the things they settled on was splitting the profits from a retail space in the Castro District, which he leased out to small businesses. To get back at his ex-wife, he turned the space into a gay bar and came out of the closet in the most flamboyant way possible. Sure enough, she relinquished her co-ownership and gave him all the keys. Every last one. She was understandably horrified.

The story of my sexual exploration was getting weirder and weirder. I met a strange cast of characters since I discovered that I liked wetting my pants -- and that, alone, was strange. I was literally following impulses as dictated from my dick. I let myself go, just to see where it would take me. It was taking me to some interesting people and places, for sure. Now, when I encountered someone who I knew was wearing a diaper, my mind would produce a very childish thought: "Oh my God! He's in diapers!" It's been a few weeks now since I started diapering up, but I'm still shocked to see other adults wearing them. Can't get over it. Maybe a few therapy sessions here and there will do the trick. But seriously, though, it's fascinating.

At this point, I was getting comfortable with my new-found interest. I started wearing diapers publicly. Before, I wore them from time to time around work. I was taking more chances. I went to "The Club" a few times now. First time, I wasn't diapered. Then I was. I wore it under my jeans. When I met up with Rob and the others, everyone at our booth was dressed more conservatively than before. I suspected that they dressed the way they did initially because they wanted to shock me, the "new guy." Gay guys have a penchant for shocking others. I know what "shock" is. So I sit down and Rob tells me his crazy divorce story. I had a hard time believing it. After a while, we were all telling stories about ourselves. The stories were difficult to comprehend and harder to believe. I suppose that's because I've lived a square life all this time. I didn't realize that there were all these nuances, all these things to life that were beyond my comprehension. So I perked up a little and started to listen.

Michael had an interesting story. When he was 19, he got into a car accident in Denver. He was visiting relatives and had stayed at their house for a week. A drink driver slammed straight into the driver side of his car. He was the driver. He was rushed into the emergency room of a nearby hospital and performed surgery. Apparently he seriously injured his spine, causing spine stenosis. A symptom of spine stenosis is incontinence. When he was out of the hospital, Michael reluctantly ordered diapers. When he started putting them on, Michael felt very comfortable wearing them. Immediately they became the convenient alternative to underwear. Because of his medical condition, he wore diapers without shame. He even wore diapers around his family and friends until they got uncomfortable. Of course they're going to be uncomfortable. "Hey son, how was your day at -- oh no, did you shit yourself again? Christ!" Then Michael started wearing diapers in secret and lied to his parents that he was "fine." Turns out, his spine returned to working shape and he no longer had episodes of incontinence. Nonetheless, he was hooked and diapers became a part of his life.

I tried to put myself in his shoes. I couldn't. As much as I was interested in this sort of thing, I couldn't imagine losing my bladder and bowel control completely. It bothered me. There was sympathy. I didn't feel like, "Oh! That turns me on!" When I was in the military, I witnessed men who lost their limbs. Those things don't grow back. Once you lose them, they're gone. Then there's artificial limbs, but it's not the fucking same. They become part of your body, but it's not your body. You lose control of something that was once so natural to you. Fortunately in Michael's case, he was able to regain control. I was honestly frightened by the prospect of losing control, but when I gave it up by having that "accident" in my car, I was aroused. My saving grace was knowing that I remain in control. But by loosening my grip ever so slightly, I was playing brinkmanship. This experience was nothing compared to the shock and pain I've witnessed during my time served, and it definitely did not compare to Michael's story. But I could understand all of it and I was happy knowing that I could.

While I sat and listened to the conversation, I wet my diaper. I've worn diapers long enough to not get outrageously horny as soon as I wet. It was distracting, though. I always had this dumb, concentrated expression on my face. People knew when I was using my diaper -- and that made it fun, I must admit.

Michael smiled at me once he saw my face. "You okay there, bud?" he asked me.

I nodded. "Yeah. Almost forgot to flush."

Rob chuckled. "How subtle."

"I was about to say. You feel better now?" asked Michael.

I gave a very goofy grin. That meant "yes."

It's fun when people ask me about my diaper. I'm tempted to be coy and deny it, but that's not who I am. I don't like lying. Not even if it's foreplay. I like being teased about it. I like being teased by those who share the same dirty little secret as much; as if we're part of a secret club or society. We can communicate our actions and desires almost telepathically, and everyone else -- outside of our inner-cicle -- knows nothing of our secret bond. People usually stay in place when they pee. That's our instinct. And when we do, we always look so silly and stoical like this is a task that requires utmost concentration. It's like we're in a trance or something. With diapers (or pants that you don't mind soiling), you can go into that "trance" anytime.

Michael lifted his nose in the air. "You're not 'full' yet," he told me. "Give it some time."

"You're smelling me?" I asked Michael playfully. I was concerned about my privacy being invaded, though.

"Well, sometimes guys change after they wet once. That's a waste, to be honest."

"That's coming from a man who pees like a racehorse," Rob chimed in as he snuggled with Nick beside him. "It amazes me how he doesn't leak onto the floor here. He's wet front to back."

Silent for most of the conversation, Wade said, "Now, now. We're amongst the civilized here."

"Oh, 'civilized'? You mean like that guy with the revealing orange jockstrap over there?" said Rob as he pointed to one of his customers.

"Anything goes. It's a fuckin' gay bar!" exclaimed Michael. He threw his arms up in the air and laughed. "We do this crazy shit for the purpose of making moralists' heads explode."

Nick shook his head. "You people are crazy."

"Hypocrite," Rob snapped at Nick before suddenly kissing him on his lips.

Despite the weirdness that brought us together, we were still a bunch of crazy bastards. After having a few glasses of beer, I was one of the bastards. I was relaxed a little more than usual. After the drinks, I thought, "I'm wet, but I don't need to get up and change." I have this knee-jerk reaction to get up and change myself as soon as I wet. That didn't happen tonight. I was very comfortable in my own skin. I could feel that my moralistic resistence of diapers was fading away. I was more accepting of it.

Throughout the time I was there, Michael was staring at me. Not staring so much that it made me uncomfortable, but there was an interest. I could tell in his eyes that he was interested in me. Wade noticed that his cocky friend was checking me out. Oddly enough, Wade simply shrugged it off and chuckled.

"What's that about?" I asked Wade.

"I think he likes you," Wade whispered. "Go ahead. Admit that you're checking him out too."

"Oh, come on!"

Michael perked his head up, drank a shot and slammed it on the table. He gave me a half-smile. "What are you doing tonight, Shane?"

I cleared my thought. "Well, I --"

Wade pushed my shoulder playfully. "Go ahead," he told me.

"We have an open relationship?"

Wade closed his eyes and nodded sagely. "Have fun. He might teach you a thing or two."

"You're talking to me like I'm a virgin or something. Christ!"

Overhearing the conversation, Michael laughed heartily. "Chill out, princess."

I wish sex wasn't this complicated. I was raised to believe in monogamy and having monogamous relationships. Part of me was a romantic. I felt that I was being coaxed into an affair that gave me the impression of "cheating," but Wade was actually encouraging me to go through with it. Why? I felt like some flimsy gay whore. At the same time, I wanted to learn more about the fetish that redefined my sexuality. Michael seemed like he knew what he was doing. After all, he dealt with incontinence before. He was more -- um, what's the word -- adept to the experience. He could show me a thing or two, sure. But it also sounded a lot like getting to bed with someone who I still considered a stranger. Is he going to ball-gag me, tie me up, and keep me hanging upside down with my arms tied behind my back? He definitely wasn't the touchey-feeley-kissy type of guy. He was trouble. Was it worth it?

"My place or yours?" I blurted out to him.

Everyone at the table looked at me silly. "Well, well, well. Someone's a player here," joked Rob. "Ever heard of dinner and a movie first?"

Nick added, "Woah, dude." The young man grinned at me.

"My place," Michael replied calmly. Too calmly.

He drove me to his place, which was located about a mile south of The Club. He had an apartment that was a little smaller than the one I had. Inside, he showed me his diaper stash in his hall closet. He had at least 200-300 diapers of different brands, shapes and sizes. He was obviously into it a lot more than I was. His bedroom closet had several unopened diaper bags and a wide array of accessories, including pacifiers and rubber pants. I joked with him about it, saying that he probably spent his life savings on being a pervert. He told me that he works a government job and that it paid him well. We wandered around his apartment and I found a lot of interesting things. For one, his bed contained a queen-sized waterproof pad. It was a thick pad that was blue, covered in spaceship and star designs. The pad was custom made by a seller on eBay, he told me. We circled around his bed for a minute before he started undressing himself.

The first thing I noticed were his muscles. He worked out at the gym. He wasn't the type of guy to sit in front of the computer, take photos of his fat diapered ass for the whole fucking world to see. Michael was attractive. It didn't compute in my tiny little brain that anyone, who wore diapers, would look this good. He had that 1990s grunge rocker look. Of course, surprise surprise! He was wet. Front to back. Very yellow, soggy and wrinkly. He didn't shy away from the fact that he was soaked. He grabbed his diapered crotch a few times and turned around to face me.

"Now you. Out of the clothes!" he ordered.

"Yes, boss."

I took off my clothes slowly. My diaper was so thick, especially because I was also very wet. I tried to pull down my pants slowly and keep the diaper in place. Then the tight, red boxer-briefs that kept the diaper in place. Once that was off, the diaper was sagging and gravity was pulling it down. That's when I realized how much I wet. He complimented me, told me I was a "good boy" for wetting that extensively. I was getting a little uncomfortable in my diaper because I was aroused from that remark. I enjoyed praise. I kept the momentum going and complimented his wetness.

"That looks damp. Can I feel it?" I asked him, pointing to his diaper.

"Sure!"

When I felt Michael's diaper, it was warm on the outside. It has that nice pungent scent. It wasn't overwhelming either. No, it was very alluring. It was strong, but wasn't offensive. The diaper was so wet that my fingertips got wet just from caressing the exterior. I could feel his bulge too. I was close enough to feel his warm breath brushing up against the side of my face. When I rubbed his diapered bulge, he took heavier sighs. He was as turned on. I rubbed his crinkly crotch and listened to the plastic rustle between my fingertips. Another delightful sigh. Things escalated when he started doing the same thing to my diaper, except for the fact that he groped me suggestively. He wanted to let me know that two can play at that game. I felt my heart skip a beat when he pulled down my diaper from the front and exposed my cock. He kneeled down. My mind was racing. He grabbed onto my throbbing dick and started sucking on it. I mean, really sucking on it. It felt like my dick was trapped in a very sexy vacuum cleaner. It was being pulled, tugged and lapped. My balls were aching with tension.

He pulled away for a moment just to rub my diaper.

"That's nice," he commented on the state of my diaper. "I like sucking dicks of dirty boys."

"And? And?!" I was breathless. I liked when people talked dirty to me.

He took my overwhelmed, breathless tone and assumed that I never had my dick sucked before. "You sound like you've never done this before."

I've been blown before, but never with that much intensity. "Eh, well..."

"You got a nice dick. It must feel nice rubbing it after a good piss in your diaper."

I nodded.

He started sucking me again. This time, his head was bobbing back and forth very quickly. He took most of it in and played with it. He wrapped his tongue around it. It felt like Michael was doing it out of desperation, but he didn't act desperate. There was a manic energy coming from him, but he looked cold and calculated. I put a hand on his shoulder, signalling that I was done with that phase. We jumped straight into bed. I knew what to do. I had to finish what we started. I pulled down his diaper and barebacked that cocky son of a bitch. He moaned as soon as I got in. I grabbed onto his waist and fucked him. Sweat was dripping from my naked body. I could feel every drop of sweat. I put everything I had into this wild, animal-style fuck. In, in, in. The bed was creaking loudly. He grumbled and cried as I pounded him. I got further and further inside of him. He wanted it fast. I gave that faggot what I wanted.

"Oh! Oh! Oh! Oh!" he cried. I matched his cries with my animalistic growling. Suddenly, I came and came hard inside of him. It was amazing! I never felt so drained from an orgasm before. Michael pushed all my buttons -- my "good" buttons. I had to lay down somewhere and think about it. It was late. I was tired. So was he. We both sat on his bed and looked at each other. After you climax, it's like, "What the fuck did I just do? I'm f-n' insane!"

"You can stay here for the night if you want," said Michael.

"No, I don't want to... impose or anything, but thank --"

"Actually, I am your ride home. I'm sleepy. Don't think I can sit on the car seat without feeling sore anyway. Come on. Get under the covers. Or -- oh wait! We should put on some fresh diapers first."

As he brought out two fresh diapers from his hall closet, he told me, "Shane, that was really, truly a lot of fun. Y'know, I'm usually a top. But this? This was special, my friend. Where did you learn how to fuck? The army?"

I chuckled. "Top secret. Classified information, Private."

On a whim, I decided to try my hand at diapering him. He showed me how to do it. "It's as if you're changing yourself," he said. "No difference, really." Inside of the diaper faces up. Slide the back of it underneath the ass. Connect the wings on the back to the front. Bottom tapes go straight across. Top tapes go diagonally across, down-facing for a tight fit. Adjust tapes if necessary. Give the guy you diaper a kiss on the forehead to let him know you're done. Got it. I already got the hang of it. I was a little messy with the diapering, but it was doable. I went ahead and put on a new diaper (thank you Mike for your generous "donation") before hopping into bed with Michael. It was a little strange because I was dating Wade. I was hoping to fuck, leave and return home. But there was something about Michael. Something that made me want to say "yes" more than "no."

It was one in the morning, and I hesitantly crawled into bed. I turned away from him in bed. He grabbed onto my waist and held onto me. Didn't expect him to be the cuddly type. Whatever. I felt his diaper rub against the back of mine. He rubbed my waist a little. I took some mental notes at that point. "When I'm with Wade, I'll cuddle," I thought to myself. "Brilliant!" It was very intimate, and it seemed like we've known each other for a long time. I didn't think of him as a "fuck buddy" or a "partner." It was like a brotherhood; a fraternity or a commune of diapered men who understood each other. Michael turned me on and knew all the right buttons to push. He took the initiative, stripped me of everything that held me back, and we fucked like desperate lovers. He tapped into my tension and released it. Wade had the same ability, but Michael took the initiative and let my wild side run free. By the time I went to sleep, I felt like I unraveled another layer of restraint. The last layer I peeled off was when I had my wetting accident in the car. From that moment, I knew what I liked. When I had sex with Michael, I started to know what I wanted.

May 31, 2011

I never slept this well. I passed out right away. It was nine in the morning when I woke up. I normally don't sleep completely through the night in a stranger's bed or in a hotel room. I can never let my guard down all the way. I had work in a few hours. Fortunately, I only had to come to work for mid-afternoon. It was one of those days when I had to come in, look at the logistics and formulate an implementation plan. I had to be on top of my game. Judging by the way I woke up that morning, I was ready to go -- and I didn't feel like something was missing.

Michael wet the bed. I assumed he would because of the protective pad that he placed on his bed. I could tell he wet the bed because the pad underneath me was warm and damp. My diaper was dry and I don't often wet the bed. That's one thing I knew that I was never going to do. But it was cute to see someone else wet the bed. It was cute, really. It was nice that he didn't leak onto the sheets. Then it would have been uncomfortable. By the time I tried moving out of bed, Michael stretched his arms and yawned. When he woke, he rubbed my hair.

"Good morning," he muttered.

"You wet the bed." I was dying to tell him.

"Bummer!" he said sarcastically. "Looks like I'm not ready for the potty."

"Guess you're not over your incontinence, huh?"

He shrugged. "No, no. It was intentional."

Okay, so I never knew anyone that would wet the bed intentionally. That was mind-boggling to me. It was absurd, but damn was it arousing. Michael was a filthy bastard. It reminded me when I was a kid. I think I went the bed about two times during my childhood. The first time I did it, I was suffering from the flu. My throat was sore. I felt hot, heavy and exhausted. I was even taken to the doctor for having a fever. They put me on antibiotics. It was antibiotics that tasted like strawberry-flavored bubble gum. One of the side effects for taking that antibiotic was drowsiness. I stayed in bed all day and took long naps. When I woke from one nap, I had wet the bed. When I discovered that I wet the bed, I was embarrassed. I told mom what happened. She laughed it off, told me everything was okay and washed the sheets. Even though she was accepting of the circumstances, I still felt like shit about it.

The next time I wet the bed was when I was bullied at school. There was a bully in my fourth grade class named Jayce. He was a snot-nosed little shit who called me names and pushed me during recess. One day, I had enough and I told him off. Apparently, some of my saliva splashed onto his pretty face and he reported me to the principal. Turns out, he was the son of a wealthy donor of that school. Without allowing me to tell my side of the story, the principal decided to expel me from school. I came back home in tears, ripped off my clothes and fell asleep naked in bed. A few hours passed and I woke up soaked. I felt like this was the worst day of my life. I told my parents and they weren't too thrilled that their son was developing a bedwetting habit. Mom was less sympathetic this time around.

By the time I was in middle school, my best friend and I had sleep-overs at his house. He had a younger brother who was a bedwetter. He would run around the house in Goodnites. I thought nothing of it. It looked like normal underwear to me. We hung around, played video games, danced to music and watched lots of action movies that weren't made for young boys to watch. By the time we went to sleep, my friend's brother bragged about not having to get up to use the bathroom. At the time, I thought it was gross. But I never smelled anything or saw anything that backed up his bragging. It was out of sight, out of mind.

With Michael, not only did he wet the bed. He did it on purpose! "The pad is so thick that you can just pee on it without a diaper and the bed would still be clean," he told me. "This is the perfect bed for drunk people."

"You know what, you're one of us now," he said, referring to me being part of the diapered gang. "You can do whatever you want. I mean, not like you're free to kill people. But you have protection now. You can go where and when you please. You're not hurting anyone. As long as you're responsible, you're fine." The encouragement goes a long way. You know, I'm an independent guy. I normally march at the beat of my own drum. I always have. But sometimes, if one person -- doesn't really matter who that person is -- tells me, "It's okay to do what you're doing," then it's full speed ahead. No regrets. Crazy, I know. That's all the motivation I really need. Just a second opinion; a reaffirmation.

We were a little hung over. I had a headache, but not as bad as his, apparently. Michael remained in bed and had the covers pulled over his head. He asked me to fetch him two tablets of aspirin. I went through his medicine cabinet in the bathroom and took out the aspirin. When I shut the cabinet, I looked at myself in the mirror for a few seconds. My diaper was still dry. When I saw myself, I wasn't intimidated or embarrassed. It was like wearing underwear -- just underwear that crinkled a lot. When I came back into the bedroom, I heard Michael moaning.

"There's some bottled water and aspirin on your end table," I told him.

"Thanks. Have a seat." He removed the covers from his head and looked up at me. He patted the empty space beside him. I sat back down in bed beside him and sighed.

"So, what do you think?" he asked.

"About what?"

"What happened in the last 24 hours."

"Can I be honest?"

"Go for it."

"It's fuckin' crazy."

Michael chuckled. "You know what else is crazy? Spine injuries. Incontinence. When you lose control of something you think you'd never lose, it's crazy. Then when I wore diapers, it wasn't so crazy anymore. So when people come up to me and say, 'Is that a diaper?' I'll tell them the truth. If they don't like, then they can go fuck themselves. Really, it's that simple."

There was some truth to that. What's happening underneath my pants is not anyone's business but mine. Of course, it's always a good thing to change when the diaper needs to be changed. I get it. I guess I'm always battling with myself. While I'm getting used to wearing, I'm still paranoid. In my mind, it's a risk, but it's a calculated one. There's always the risk that the diaper is defective somehow. There's always a risk of leaking or smelling. When you manage that risk every day like Michael did after that car accident, it's no longer a "risk." It's life. If diapers are a part of life, so be it. People have to adjust. But I feel selfish just thinking that. No, I don't like to beat around the bush. I don't like to be subservient to other people's morals and preferences. What makes them more righteous than me? I really shouldn't be in a position where I'm fighting against the rest of the world.

My first act of spontaneous defiance was to mess my diaper in bed. I wanted to push the envelope a little and see who flinched first. I made no announcement. Michael and I continued talking. I sat up in his bed with my eyes closed. I rubbed my head a few times.

"I'm going to take a break from drinking for a while," I told Michael.

"Actually, you know what? Drink more. You're a square. Live a little."

"Me? A square? Bullshit."

"Shane, you've got to push yourself."

"I am pushing." Of course, I meant something entirely different. I left a muffled fart in my diaper. He didn't hear it. I sat upright as if I was sitting on a toilet. I was imagining that I was sitting down on the toilet seat. The protective padding brushing my rear end was distracting. My brain was instructing me to use the toilet, but I fought the orders. I was going to be a dirty boy today. Today was the day. No regrets. My stomach was grumbling. I had a lot to eat the night before and I needed to expel some of it. I felt like I was carrying some heavy in my lower-stomach and it was just sitting there. I tried pushing it out initially, but my body resisted. Suddenly, my body relaxed and the load came out. It didn't make much noise! I sighed and casually rubbed my newly created back-side bulge.

"Feel better?" Michael asked me.

"Yep!"

"That makes two guys who aren't ready for the potty."

"What's a 'potty'?" I asked him jokingly. I said this as I peed into my diaper. It was a long morning pee. I flooded my diaper. Apparently the stream was strong. I felt my dick beating coated by piss that couldn't get absorbed into my diaper fast enough. It was a very comforting feeling. Very shameful, very bad. But it was warm and soothing. The seat of my diaper was already full. I wanted to sit in my dirty diaper all day, but I had work to do. Michael had a couple of days off from his work. He invited me back to his apartment, but I told him that I'd give him a call.

We changed out of our dirty diapers and Michael drove me back to my place. When I walked into my apartment, I felt like I was finally able to clear my mind and reflect on everything that's happened this past month. I asked myself, "What did I get myself into?" There was no negative connotation to that question. I was actually excited because I wasn't going to be bored anymore. I was also doing well with my job because I've pushed through several successful ad campaigns. The CEO of the company was very appreciative of my efforts, and he strongly hinted at a promotion coming my way. That would be great. I was thrilled with the prospects. The momentum going forward complimented the topsy-turvy craziness happening with my personal life. Things were looking up.

I got an e-mail from Wade, asking me how things went last night. I told him the truth. It was strange having an "open relationship," and telling your boyfriend about the shit you did with someone else. But Wade encouraged it. He described our relationship like "part of a commune," and a "very small circle of friends." I questioned the need for us to even have a relationship. We weren't exclusive to each other. Wade expressed a desire to hang out with Michael. Michael was the popular one. Michael was considered the "master kinkster" of the group because of his experimental, edgy fetishes -- like intentionally wetting the bed, for instance.

Wade also expressed interest in spending time with Rob and Nick. He referred to Rob as "daddy." I didn't know what he meant by that at first, but then I figured it out. A "daddy" is someone who roleplays as the father who changes his baby "boy" or "girl." The "daddy" is also the disciplinarian and sets the parameters of the relationship. I thought, "Okay, this is weird." My real father was strict and wanted me to be a man at a very early age. He always demanded that I sit up straight at the dinner table, finish my plate, do my homework, speak unless I was spoken to, and serve my country once I graduate high school. To him, childhood was a weakness. As a Vietnam War veteran, my father believed that children were generally spoiled and plagued with a nauseating entitlement complex. He wanted me to be the grizzled war hero that he thought he was. I didn't buy into that shit, really. I joined the Marines because I always had the burning desire to help people and kick ass at the same time.

That didn't turn out too well. A lot of the stuff that happened overseas was too painful to think about. The violence, pain and sorrow... all of it made me puke. I was put in a very extreme situation. It was war. No wonder why I went the other way and started wearing diapers. I was looking for protection, and having that invigorated me. Not only that, but I could move freely with that protection; getting turned on from it was an additional bonus. It was therapeutic, and my toilet is a lot cleaner. I made the decision to stay diapered. I had my binge-and-purge cycles, but in the end, I had something that gave me a lot of comfort. Of course, I didn't want to admit it publicly. But if I were to, I'd compare it to having a nice cold beer after a long day. It's something that helps you wind down.

By the time I arrived at work, the group was huddled together in the conference room, working on something I knew nothing about.

I approached my cubicle. "Good afternoon," I greeted my co-worker Kim.

She waved me over and whispered, "Come on in."

I walked into the conference room. People were talking about a new ad campaign. When I heard the name of the company that sought our services, I wanted to crawl out of the conference room as soon as possible.

"Huggies is looking to introduce a new diaper," said the CEO, Brian. "Tough Movers, it's called. They're supposed to be the most absorbent diaper on the market. This product is geared toward busy moms and dads who don't want to change so many diapers. We're in tough economic times. Diapers are expensive. Changing them constantly can be annoying. Mothers, you know what I mean. We need a fresh campaign that really energizes parents to buy this product."

I squirmed in my seat, listening to the crinkling around my waist.

Kim raised her hand. "Brian, What's our target demographic?" she asked.

"Young families ages 21 to 35. Moderate income levels. People on the go." Brian paused for a second and pointed at me. Oh, great. "Shane, give me a pitch. Go!" He snapped his fingers at me a few times.

I stuttered, "The name. Focus on the name. 'Tough Movers' implies that only the cool babies wear diapers as thick as that... kind. Y'know, wearing a 'Tough Movers' diaper is like the epitome of cool. You're projecting that your baby is 'cool,' tough, strong. And strong babies only wear the best."

Brian rubbed his chin. "Okay. Well, I need a visual. Keep the ideas rollin'."

"What do you mean?" asked one of my colleagues.

"Here's a hypothetical. I'm a parent of a one-year-old kid, alright? The diapers are getting expensive and changing them all the time makes me dread going to the store and buying more of them. Sell these diapers to me. Throw me a life preserver," Brian challenged us. He added, "I don't think baby diapers are something that sells 'status.' No offense, Shane."

"No offense taken." I wanted the attention off of me. I tossed in a pitch that intentionally sounded absurd.

"Maybe Shane has a point, though," Kim chimed in. I looked at her and shook my head.

"What do you mean?" asked Brian.

"I don't think anyone has thought of that, really. I'm a mother of two, and I'm not ashamed to say this: mothers like to brag," Kim told us. People laughed. "I know, right? But there's something within me that makes me say, 'Hey, my son is a champ. He wears these diapers,' and I point to it. It's no ordinary diaper. There's a special quality to them like maybe they're stylish. I'll tell the other parents, 'I love my son so much, I bought him the best diapers.' Then it's no longer diapers. We're not thinking about changing. These diapers would essentially be nice-looking baby underwear. Like baby briefs, or something like that."

Impressed, Brian nodded and looked at everyone in the conference room. "Alright. So Kim... you and Shane should work together on a presentation to send to Huggies. If they like it, we'll get to work and start marketing on YouTube. Let's move out!"

I couldn't believe it. Un-fucking-believable. I come to work diapered and now I'm tasked to put a presentation about marketing diapers. Because of my line of work, I'm often willing to swallow my pride if it means that I'll get a nice paycheck at the end of the rainbow. But this was ridiculous. I sat at my desk, tapping it nervously with my ballpoint pen. I wanted to turn to my computer, play a round of Tetris and forget the irony. That wasn't going to happen. When Kim came over to my desk and talked about meeting up, I tried to keep a poker face. She asked if I was available for some coffee and I said, "Sure." While I was talking to her, I could feel my diaper's leg gathers bunching up around my scrotum. I was a little uncomfortable in more ways than one, but I pushed through it, and scheduled a time and place.

Oh brother.

[thong5]

Great Story, looking forward to more.

[Menaiya]

This is an awesome story.

[september]

I cannot wait to learn of Shane's fate! I am hooked. I think he may be gonna lose some adults parts of himself rather fast, and I think there are some dangers for him with the ex-wife of the bar owner who always wanted a family. Oh, I love anticipating and guessing what's next! And no matter what it is, it's always the coolest because it's your creation. Thanks for all the great writing you do!

[Horndog]

Story to be continued next week! Stay tuned!

[maly]

Thankyou!

Just read the story for the first time its hot you have to finish it please!

Mal

[Star Baby]

This story is fantastic I want you to bring it back. I am hooked and I need my fix.

[Nyte Kitsune]

Though an old post I just read this while browsing the web and followed the link. Would love it if this had been continued. Good read, if he were to finish it I'd even go so far as to suggest him publishing it. Horndog, if you see this post, really man finish the story, you have a talent for writing, don't let it go to waste.