Cloth Diapers & Panties

Lunch

I am sharing the first story of hopefully many. Would love if other ABDL in the community checked it out and shared their thoughts! Check it out and enjoy the read! 🧷

That's taking the old "S--t Happens" phrase to the next level.

Tombstone pizza, 4 meat.  I add onions, extra sausage, pepperoni and cheese.  Later I'll have a snack of taco-bean dip.  Gotta get all the gas I can these days.

INTRODUCTION I wanted to share more of my own experiences and stories with this community for a while now, and thought this would be a good one to start. For those who don’t know much about me, where do I even start? I have been described as a multifaceted gem with many different likes and aspects. I have always been the black sheep of my family, growing up the middle child between my two other sisters. I grew up having a pretty good childhood and loved video games early on. My mom says she has memories of her and my dad buying a Sega Genesis for the family, and at a very early age, I really took to it. I have since had many systems and love talking about video games with the community here. If you catch me in chat, bring up your favorite video games sometime. I would love to hear about them. My love for games did not stop there however. I also later found my way into TTRPGs (Table Top Role Playing Games). I love worlds made up from shared storytelling and being able to immerse myself in such a space. Some of the memories I have from these fictional worlds are as powerful as ones I have had in the real world, and I think that just shows the power of storytelling. I have always in one way or another loved storytelling and using my imagination in these ways. My parents say they could just leave me alone in my room for hours and I’d entertain myself with my own imagination. The Legos probably really helped with that at an early age too. Besides this, I also have a deep love for all things strange and spooky. Where most kids of my era probably grew up watching Blue’s Clues, I was obsessed with things like Goosebumps and Courage the Cowardly Dog. I have always had a love for horror and tales of strange things lingering in the uncanny valley. I’ve actually been working on my own horror story I one day would love to share here. It blends what is called liminal horror with some light ABDL themes maybe. I don’t want to spoil it too much about it. It has been a little delayed but I still plan on releasing it in the future. Besides games, storytelling, and the spooky, I also have a deep love of theme parks such as Disney World, Universal Studios, and all in-between. I will stay up late binging YouTube episodes of YesterWorld or DefunctLand. I love the immersion of theme parks and also have a love for immersing people and entertaining myself. And of course, another facet you are all probably waiting for me to talk about is yes, I consider myself ABDL. I like to wear diapers and enjoy all aspects of this thing—from being more of a DL overall, but still having a very big “little” side, as well as enjoying the idea of being a caretaker. It’s all so fascinating to me but also a big secret. I don’t really need to display this side of myself publicly and prefer to keep it behind closed doors. It’s not because of shame, and more of just how I personally feel something like this should be. I have had so many experiences growing into this, which I really hope to share with you all here over time. I don’t exactly recall where it all started, but I have been through what I think many here have, each in their own way. From having my own “early influences” to going through the whole binge/purge cycle. Growing up in a time where ABDL diapers weren’t always on the market, too. Making makeshift ones before I could get my hands on real ones. Remembering the first time I found this online and knowing I wasn’t the only one. I later found my way into this site, but for a long time, I just observed before starting to become more active. I later became one of the admin here and hold this place very dear to my heart. To say it is very important to me wouldn’t be saying enough. It helped me not only meet others with this same interest but so much more. Through this site, I have gotten more into making ABDL art, been able to work on my leadership skills which have helped me in other aspects of my life, made long-lasting friendships I would have never expected, and just overall been able to be more confident in this side of me. Hopefully, my stories may help others trying to understand this in their own journey, or can even just purely entertain. I think many of us have a version of the story I am about to tell. The one where the curiosity first stops being an abstract hum in our heads and becomes something we can finally touch. But curiosity is a lonely thing when you have nowhere to put it. For years, I explored the edges of this feeling in secret, using makeshift things—towels, tape, garbage bags, and silence—to try and capture a sensation I had only ever seen on the flickering screens of now-defunct websites. I was looking for that doorway into this I wasn’t supposed to enter according to what the "norm" was. And then, on one specific night in a house that wasn't mine, the house itself seemed to open that door for me. This is the story of that night—the night I stopped imagining and finally stepped into the crinkle in the quiet. It happened in the space between where I was and where I was going: in a basement filled with ghosts of holidays past, where I found a forgotten package of blue-tinted nostalgia waiting just for me. This is the true story of how I stepped into my first adult diaper and ABDL experience.   CRINKLES BELOW THE DREAM HOUSE We were staying at my aunt’s townhouse before our trip. I was young, or rather younger than I am now. It was February and I remember the cool air getting out of my dad’s Jeep approaching the place. Porch lights coming on, shedding a dim light on a single stone step leading up to a white door of a modern townhouse condo. My aunt had done well for herself and through her life managed to coin a small fortune, as well as own multiple properties. One of which was the bougie and well-decorated townhouse we were staying at on this certain night. The reason, as mentioned earlier, is that my family and I were all going on a trip the following morning. A trip to the Disney parks for a week was all too exciting, but we had to be up super early to catch our flight. Thus, my aunt offered her place to us the night before. It was much closer to the airport and my family just did things like that. My aunt would give you the shirt off her back if she had to. She was also the one to take our grandmother in when she became too old to take care of herself. She would continue to do so until our grandmother passed away. I always enjoyed being at that townhouse. There were many past holidays spent there with all the cousins, aunts, and uncles. Being there this time though, with just me and my family, was different. Even if it was just for that night to sleep. Being in that place that was usually always bustling with people and cheer in every room, was now still. Not even my aunt was there that night. She had given my dad the entry code, so it was literally just me and my family. It felt different that night. Like the kind of quiet that didn’t belong there—but I remember liking it. Sure, I was excited for the trip the following morning to officially begin, but just sort of soaking in that we were going to have this place to ourselves for a night was exciting too. The place in this story sat between our family home and the Disney World vacation: a place in-between or a literal liminal space. I remember pulling up to her driveway after the sun had set. Leaving most of our luggage in the Jeep and only bringing in a few things for the night. We were just staying there the night after all, so that we could have a shorter drive to the airport and all get a little more rest. But who could rest when you were going to Disney World for a long week? The excitement was too great, like a kid on Christmas Eve. So, what would one do on such a night? Exactly what you all are probably thinking. I remember “sleeping” on the living room couch, as both of my sisters and parents had taken all the other bedrooms. I didn’t mind, though. I have always been the one in my family to be the first to take the couch, the rollout cot in a hotel room, or the floor and a sleeping bag in our first small camper. I have always been a little adventurer, so that’s what I did that night. I went on a little adventure—or rather, one that would become more “little” than I had planned, but maybe that house had planned for me. As I mentioned, I couldn’t sleep. I couldn’t have well turned on the TV, as my parents may have heard. We were all supposed to be sleeping after all. I didn’t just want to do that anyways; I wanted to explore. Have you ever had that feeling late at night, or in the very early hours of the morning? That feeling that the world has gone to bed, and yet you have not. That time, especially when you are younger, feels like it is just for you. Though at the same time, you are not supposed to see it at all. The world takes on a different quality, a quieter atmosphere. The silence becomes profound and a sense of independence manifests in these magic hours. It feels like you have a private world all to yourself, where one can think, read, or play in peace. And these feelings were only enhanced with the space I was in. It was something truly magical, like a secret place unlocked that I needed to explore. Fueled by my excitement and pre-vacation adrenaline, I decided to sneak about. I was a little nymph in the night, tiptoeing across the plush carpeted living room where the sound of the air conditioning almost billowed, through the kitchen where the hum of the refrigerator seemed louder in the silence, and eventually down the beige, half-turned stairway that would lead down into a dark still basement. For even the age I was at for many, basements can still be a scary place, especially when an overactive imagination is left to run wild. As I descended the stairwell, the temperature shifted, and even the smell changed from bougie townhouse to cool, dusty concrete. It seemed like I was entering a completely different world entirely. Though a little unnerving, there was another stronger feeling pulling me downward: nostalgia. Enticing me down its steps into a reminiscence of holidays past, this had always been the hangout spot for the cousins over the many holidays we would have had there. Around the half-turn carpeted stairway, my naked feet crept down until they reached the cold cement floor. I can’t really explain it, but the feeling of sneaking down here, with just me and the dark stillness, was super fun for me. It’s a feeling I can’t really describe other than having a powerful nostalgia for whatever "it" is. One by one, I clicked the pull-chain lights, the yellow glow slowly claiming the corners of the room as I stealthily lit the space. Waiting for any noise above—if my parents woke up, I would have to make a mad dash up to the couch. Not that I would have gotten into much trouble, but it was fun to play otherwise. There is something exhilarating about this when we are younger. It’s this kind of harmless fun that gives us both a sense of excitement and allows us to be a little juvenile in our youth. Little did I know at this time, there would be something else down there that would tap into those same feelings… only much more potent. As the light bulbs illuminated parts of the basement, I just kind of took it all in. An unfinished basement with the same old low ceiling that had always been there. Exposed wooden floor joists running across the top, supported by heavy dark metal I-beams. A smooth, pale grey, concrete floor stretched out to the white drywall. On the far left, a large vertical pipe wrapped in reflective silver insulation, likely part of a water heater or HVAC system. To the right stood several large storage bins, plastic bags filled with soft goods, and a tall decorative vase holding dried decorative branches, which added a small touch of "home" to the otherwise liminal space. On another far side wall, the wooden shelves that made a sort of pantry sat stacked full of canned goods. An empty and dusty air hockey table that had seen many games stood still in the middle of the basement, and beyond it, the clustered seating area made up of one large square rug and some leather maroon couches and armchairs. They looked like "sleeping giants" on a carpeted island in the dim artificial light. It would not seem like much to anyone else, but this was the spot all the cousins throughout the years would bring their Legos, their video games, their Pokémon cards—whatever entertained us that year. It was our hangout spot, and there was something incredibly both nostalgic and magical being down here in the dead of night by myself. Seeing it in this stillness just reflecting on all those times. I had brought down a small handful of Lego figures to play with, or rather, to have them revisit these old battlegrounds where so many battles were forged in our imaginations. Now, I know some may be thinking: Weren’t you a bit old to be playing with Lego figures still? But seeing how this is posted in a place where many adults engage in things they may be a bit "too old" for, hopefully I won’t be judged too badly. The exploration of old battlegrounds began as the tiny brick space bounty hunters and alien knights set up a perimeter around Mt. Couch Cushions. I was deep in my own imagination, almost regressing to a point, when the brick battalion decided to expand their exploration to a stack of boxes and bins in the far corner of the basement. The little adventure in my head came to an utter halt when my eyes caught what was sticking out of a half-opened cardboard box. At first, I thought I may have been half imagining it. But as I crawled closer, leaving my Lego men behind, it became clearly obvious. Everything else around me felt like it just stopped. A feeling washed over me and made my stomach sink—not in a sickness kind of way, but more of that feeling you get before you go down a roller coaster. I still remember thinking in that moment that it couldn’t be real, or that this was a dream that I would wake up from. Sitting there, staring at it, even pinching myself in the foot a few times to make sure this wasn’t a dream. There I was, breathing so heavy alone in a basement, across from a pack of adult diapers. Now at this point in my life, I knew adult diapers were a thing. But knowing something from a distance isn’t the same as finding it… waiting for you. I had never really seen them in person. This was my first time seeing a pack like this where it was just me and I could get more hands-on with it. It all seemed so unreal; it still does thinking back. The package was half-opened and only half of the diapers were still there. As I had mentioned earlier, my aunt had been taking care of my grandmother before she passed away. These were clearly ones left over from around then, now packed away, buried, and forgotten. It was almost perfect for someone beginning to explore ABDL, and I was. I had always been so curious about wanting to wear diapers and what they would feel like. The diaper I took out of the package that I was now holding in my hands wasn’t makeshift; it was real. These weren’t your pull-up style ones, or what the “norm” thinks when they hear “adult diaper”. These were puffy, plasticky, with tabs on both sides; the real deal. It crinkled in my hands as I sat there on the hard cold cement floor, taking one out from the pack, feeling how soft and warm they were. This was a time before the ABDL community had diapers tailored to them. You’d see a mixture of cloth, plastic pants, and the more supreme medical diapers on now defunct old ABDL sites. These were certainly some of those "supreme" medical diapers, the best of the best at that time. So, excuse the pun, but when I say discovering that these were a proper adult diaper added another “layer” in all this excitement for me, believe me it did. I sat there for a long time, knowing what I wanted to do next, and not quite letting myself do it yet. I knew I was going to; I couldn’t resist. However, I remember just savoring that moment before, that disbelief that everything fell into place the way it did. All within this subterranean, nostalgic space. It almost seemed like it was meant to be. Or that this was all some sort of dream I’d awake from right before putting one on. At that point, I had only imagined what one like this may have felt like. But I was alone, my family was asleep, and there was a forgotten pack of already opened adult diapers sitting across from me. It was a moment made by circumstances that was almost too perfect, and I had to take it. I took a deep breath, opened the diaper out on the rug, and prepared to finally experience this for the first time. My excitement was so high that the pure energy in the air could have shattered the lightbulbs above. However, just as I was about to do this, a sudden noise from above broke the stillness of the silent crinkles. Muffled footsteps grew louder down the half-turn stairway. I was able to quickly grab and pull up my pajama pants, hide the diaper back in the cardboard box, and rush back to the floor where my Legos were laid out. Making a swift retreat to Mt. Couch Cushions. The rush of adrenaline and shame that often accompanies this kind of early exploration washed back over me. It was like an alarm clock going off. I told myself that if I was going to get caught for staying up, there was absolutely no way I was going to get caught for “the other thing.” As I sat there, heart racing, my older sister turned the corner into the basement. I felt as if I was hiding a body or something. One moment you are a “little nymph” playing with blocks; the next, you’re a teenager with a secret that feels life-altering. Or maybe in that moment I was overthinking and just a little paranoid. It was just a pack of diapers and obviously they weren’t mine. But there is something I think as a closeted ABDL that being around an adult diaper adds to the excitement or dare I say nervousness. Even if the others around you haven’t the slightest idea. My sister and I were cool, she wasn’t going to tell me to go to bed or tell my mom and dad. We were too old for that behavior anyways, but who am I to discuss who is too old for certain things. After all, I was just about to put on a diaper and continue playing with my Legos on a cold basement floor. My sister, staring down simply asked what I was doing down here so late at night. The box of diapers seemed to almost pulse with a light of its own in the corner of my eye. A light that only I could see. But I had to focus on my sister and make sure I wasn’t staring too much at the box of diapers directly behind her. I guess she had heard me moving around a bit in the basement or maybe couldn’t fully sleep either. I told her that I couldn’t sleep, and I just thought it was cool to see our aunt’s basement for once with just me. Oh, and maybe building Legos a little bit; that was obvious, luckily the other thing wasn’t. After some short chitchat that felt like forever, my sister went back upstairs, recommending I get some rest too. I recall just sitting there during that entire thing being so nervous, and even after being paranoid she would come back down. That, or my parents would, which would be even worse caught in that state. The silence of the house above felt heavy, like it was leaning against the basement door, trying to listen in on my secret. I probably sat there another half hour just waiting for more time to pass, to assure everyone else was asleep before I started “crinkling around the basement.” What an odd feeling for an ABDL. Imagine for a moment, you have never tried an adult diaper but have always been so curious about it. Those feelings over time build, and then there you are, right across from a pack of diapers ripe for the taking. You end up getting so close, only to have that moment be halted. Then you are sitting there for another half hour to let things above “cool off.” Oh, and the diapers are still right there across from you. That half hour was so drawn out, but also so exciting. I was telling myself I was finally going to wear a diaper—no, I was going to layer at least three of them for a super poofy one. I wasn’t going to get another moment like this for who knew how long. I decided in that wait time; I was going to indulge as much as I could. After what felt like forever, I got out the diaper again. I got myself ready again and laid down on it. It was already such a weird rush, and I hadn’t even taped up a side yet. The padding below felt soft to the touch; the material of the diaper was crinkly, almost papery. As I taped up the first side, it already felt so snug against me. As I pulled the other side and taped it up, I was overtaken by the feeling of it all. This is what a diaper felt like being on. It was all around me—back, front, and sides—soft and warm. It was so thick and snug pressing against my skin. As I began to roll over on my hands and knees, I felt the entire thing stretch and crinkle to keep the snugly soft fit. I took it all in; from the leg guards' elastic stretchy bands around my thighs, to the thicker padding in the back making its way up to the front. Another word I would use to describe the feeling is obvious. It sounds strange, but I recall thinking to myself that this was obviously a diaper. This wasn’t a bunch of garbage bags and paper towels taped up or a cheap adult pull-up; this was a diaper. I was wearing a diaper. And after a few moments of lying there, I decided to layer like I said I would, and was soon wearing three. It was euphoric for someone like me. Everything I had imagined it would be, but also something completely new to my senses. I remember just crawling around on the floor, simply to take in and feel every snug, soft, and bulky movement. As my legs shifted, the diaper shifted and moved along with me. It felt so secure, silly, and so very obvious. Now, to answer the question that many here are going to be curious about: no. I did not do THAT. You know, that thing that usually happens eventually when talking about adult diapers? I did not indulge in doing that, at least not this time anyways. I did not want to risk having to bag it up and throw it away in a house that wasn’t mine, let alone sneaking that sort of aftermath up into the upper floors. Leaving an even more embarrassing and obvious trail lingering behind me. Even if everyone was asleep, I wanted to be very careful. I did, however, wonder how something like that would feel. But that would be a story for another day. I told myself this would not be the last time I would experience this. That I would wear a diaper again, but that time would not come until much later in my life when I had a bit more independence. Again, that’s another story for another time. The rest of this night, I was just absorbing everything about that diaper. I crawled, I rolled, I waddled, and I laid down on the rug on my belly, kicking my feet up in the air as if the diaper had cast a spell over me. I recall trying to play with my Legos again and being very distracted by just simply being in it. That diaper and all of the feelings that came with it had me hypnotized. I wasn’t myself, but all of myself, all at the same time. Or maybe… more like myself than I ever had. I slipped into a carefree little space and recall being very giggly. I had gone from entering the basement as a stealthy little nymph to the bulky diaper changing me into a much clumsier and carefree one. Waddling around an empty basement in my pajama top and the loud crinkly diaper. Shifting my legs in a way I wasn’t used to because all of the padding made it harder to move, and even that was fun. I felt so much smaller. No shame, no embarrassment, no thoughts of “Why am I doing this?” It was just me, a nostalgic spot, these secret tranquil hours, and that wonderful diaper. Its warmth contrasted to the cold basement made it all feel like a safe, bulky cocoon. Eventually though, I did have to slide the diaper off and return upstairs. I really did not want to, and if you ask me now, I wouldn’t be able to recall how much time passed while I was wearing it. I think even back then that time spent must have felt dreamlike. Hours could have felt like minutes for all I know, and I imagine they did. But that time did have to come to an end, as I had a big day to get up for. An early flight, and a trip to the Happiest Place on Earth. Though at the time, I was already there, in that dingy empty basement, or rather in that soft bulky diaper. Once off, I folded the diapers up and put them back in the packaging as best I could with the tabs still taped up. I don’t remember throwing it away or trying to hide it under other trash, and I for sure did not wear it to sleep. Though I did think about that, too—the temptation was there. That soft, safe, obvious, bulky, silly temptation. That temptation that I am sure we have all felt from time to time. That strong pull I still feel through my life when I am off day dreaming about wearing again. My diaper wearing habits since then have changed (excuse the pun). I have more freedom to just buy them and wear them whenever I want, which I love. Though, there was something really special about my first time in one. Sneaking down into that spot, feeling all kinds of nostalgia already, and then in those magic tranquil hours bumping into it all the way I did. So there it is, my very first experience of wearing an adult diaper. In short, that experience was nothing short of euphoric, but also dreamlike. It’s a time that also feels so nostalgic to me. I do find it very interesting that in all of it, I literally descended down into a basement that wasn’t even my own. It just makes the whole thing feel more like a dream, or even like it was meant to happen to me. Going down those soft carpeted stairs to later go “down” another way. Not like sinking, but more in a state of "growing down"—a type of regression that overtook me when I put on that diaper. Sneaking staying up later past my bedtime and doing something I was not supposed to be doing, only to bump into a much greater taboo practice that was down there waiting for me in that special little liminal space. A dusty forgotten, yet still neatly packaged bunch of light blue puffy nostalgia. To me, there are so many parallels in this story of how it all happened. It’s just all so interesting to me that I knew eventually I had to share it with this community. I have many other experiences to share like this, and I hope that if you liked this one, you will enjoy other ones that I hopefully share down the line. As I sit here wrapping up this nostalgic nappy narrative, wearing a more modern and up-to-date diaper reflecting on it all, I am happy to have had such an experience. I have even since had recurring dreams where I am back in that house, finding secret passages that lead me into hidden rooms. As I rummage through them like a curious kid in these dreams, I almost always find it again. A package of that same neatly packed nostalgia, plasticky and crinkly as always. I have started calling it the Dream House, as my aunt later on in my life ended up selling it and I have no way of ever being able to return. Making the entire thing now feel even more ethereal than it ever did before. A place that no longer exists in my reality, only in my memory. This hauntingly beautiful liminal space I miss dearly. I have also since searched for what kind of diaper it may have been, and have looked at many throughout the years. Strangely enough, I can’t seem to find them either. I know they were not Depends, but obviously some kind of higher end medical brand. This was a time before ABDL diapers were even a thing after all. Those details however, are not what’s important in retelling this story. This story was never about trying to uncover those specific details, but more so to simply go “back down.” Back down to a simpler time and reconnect to those feelings and take a journey back into those memories. To immerse myself, as well as you, in that reminiscence. From the soft feeling of that beige carpet under my feet on the basement stairs, to the feeling of that first diaper in my hands with how cloudlike and weightless it all felt, all while having the feeling of so many butterflies in my stomach. That’s one of the reasons we tell stories after all, isn’t it? To immerse our listeners or readers. Many of us who identify as ABDL probably have memories of our first adult diaper, or when we first discovered this aspect of ourselves. So hopefully this story resurfaced some of those feelings for you, or simply brought you some comfort as we journeyed down those steps and into that diaper together. After all, those are two aspects of diapers that this story shares: comfort and nostalgia. And don’t we all deserve a little comfort and nostalgia from time to time?