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Cloth Diapers & Panties
For the Cloth Diaper Lovers and their Panties of choice.
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Posts
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It feels so wonderful doesn’t it that warmth inside your diaper -
By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
When Valeria finally got into a Amber's room she marveled at how beautiful it looked with its floral pattern wallpaper, a big four poster bed with leaves on it and a beautiful carpet with a leaf design, huge yellow curtains and cute work desk there was a bookshelf and even the toy chest. -
I wear onesies over my diapers. When I’m out in public, I don’t have to worry about the diaper showing when I bend over or sit down, and at night, it helps keep the diaper securely in place since I’m a restless sleeper. -
About a week after we returned from our wonderful trip to the cabin, Betsy and I sat down with our parents to talk about our plans to move in together for school. It was a big step, and we knew they’d have questions—lots of them. Sure enough, they did. Our parents had plenty of questions—everything from finances to daily routines to how we planned to balance school and living together. Betsy and I explained that both of our schools were within half a mile of the apartment I’d already signed a lease for, which made things incredibly convenient. The location was perfect for both of us. We will be able to walk to the schools most days. Then came the financial questions. My dad asked how we planned to pay for everything. I told him that the house designs I sell bring in more than enough to cover rent and expenses, and I’d still be able to put money away into savings. Betsy’s dad wanted to know the exact cost of the rent. I told him not to worry about it—it was already taken care of. But he pushed back, saying Betsy should contribute to the cost. I explained that we’d already come to an agreement: she would cover household goods like groceries, cleaning supplies, and other shared essentials. He frowned and said that wasn’t enough. I looked at him calmly and said, Her school costs way more than mine, and we’re both happy with the arrangement. It works for us. There was a pause. The room was quiet for a moment, but Betsy gave me a small nod, and I knew we were on the same page. We knew we’d won over our dads—their questions had been answered, and they seemed to trust our plan. But now came the harder part: getting our moms on board. That was going to take more effort, more patience, and probably a few heartfelt conversations. They were protective in a different way, more focused on the emotional details, the day-to-day realities, and whether we were truly ready for this step. Betsy’s mom started off with the usual concern: Who’s going to make sure you’re in a diaper at night? And during naps? Betsy just laughed, her tone light but confident. The same person who’s been doing it for the past three months, she said, nodding toward me. He’s made sure I’m taken care of every night and for naps too. Then she added with a playful smirk, Actually, during those three months at the cabin, you only got me into a diaper once—and that was just because you wanted to see how much easier it was to change me after he shaved all my hair off. Her mom blinked, clearly caught off guard by the honesty and humor in Betsy’s response. But Betsy wasn’t trying to be defiant—just real. She was showing that she trusted me, and that we had a routine that worked. As Betsy continued talking to her mom about how I’d been the one taking care of her, my thoughts drifted ahead. In just about five weeks, we’d be living together full-time. That meant I’d be changing more than just one wet or messy diaper a day. On weekends, it could be four or five. It was a lot, sure—but I didn’t mind. It was part of caring for someone I loved, and I was ready for it. Looks like I’m going to need to go shopping for a new changing table for you, Besty’s mom said, half to herself. Betsy’s mom jumped in. We already bought the table, she said, matter-of-fact. Okay, what about a diaper pail? You’ll need one of those. Yes, Mom, Betsy replied with a small smile. We picked up a new diaper pail last week. Her mom wasn’t done. And all the supplies for your nighttime needs? You’ve got those covered? Betsy turned to her mom with a raised eyebrow. Mom, how long have I been wearing diapers? Her mom hesitated. Eighteen years. Exactly, Betsy said. I think by now I know what goes on my butt and how to buy it. Anything related to my diapering—we’ve got it taken care of. I couldn’t help but smile to myself. Sure, we didn’t actually have the diaper pail yet, but I had a feeling Betsy would love the one I had in mind. It was a sleek new model, and I planned to personalize it—with her name on the side in soft pastel lettering. My mom nodded, satisfied. Okay, I think it’s safe to say they’ve got Betsy’s diaper needs under control. She glanced around the room. So let’s move on—who’s going to be making your dinners? I grinned. Mom, remember when you and the others went on that six-week trip overseas? You didn’t hire a cook to come in every night, did you? She raised an eyebrow. No… Exactly. It was Betsy and me, every night, figuring it out together. And since we’re all sitting here talking to you, I’d say we survived our own cooking just fine. That got a good laugh from everyone around the table. Even Betsy’s mom cracked a smile, and for a moment, the tension in the room lifted. I mean, the place has a microwave—what more do we need? I joked, grinning. But then I got a little more serious. Actually, the kitchen is amazing. It’s got everything a chef could ever want—tons of counter space, modern appliances, and even a gas stove. And the best part? There’s a balcony with a built-in gas grill. It’s plumbed directly into the apartment’s line, so no need for propane tanks or anything. My dad raised an eyebrow and smirked. Alright, after you finish answering all the questions the women want to ask, you need to tell us more about the apartment itself. I nodded. Okay, Dad. I will. The next question from my mom was about discretion. How are you two going to hide Betsy’s diapers when you take them down to the laundry room? she asked, clearly concerned. I couldn’t help but laugh. Mom, no one’s going to see her diapers in the laundry room—because the apartment has its own washer and dryer. We won’t be hauling anything down the hall. I paused for a beat, then added with a grin, Now, someone might see them outside if I hang them out to dry in the sun… but that’s a different story. I glanced over at Betsy, and she gave me a look that said it all. If you want to live, she said dryly, I don’t think that’s going to happen. Everyone chuckled, and even my mom cracked a smile. It was one of those moments where humor helped ease the tension, and it reminded us all that we were figuring this out together—with love, patience, and a little bit of laughter. Betsy’s mom leaned forward and said, Alright, one last question—who’s going to keep the apartment clean? I grinned and said, Well, Betsy told me that you and my mom were going to come over every other week to clean it. I was hoping for every week, but hey, every other week works for us. Right, Betsy? Betsy turned to me, eyes wide. What the hell are you talking about? I never said that. Before I could respond, her mom shot me a look and said, It’ll be a cold day in hell before I come over and clean your apartment. The room burst into laughter. Even my mom chuckled, shaking her head. It was one of those moments where the honesty stung a little—but the humor softened the blow. It sounds like we need to start looking for some furniture for you, my mom said. I shook my head and smiled. No need—I’ve already picked out most of the furniture. If we realize we need anything else, I’ll let you know. She nodded, a little surprised but clearly pleased that I had things under control. It felt good to show her that we were prepared, that this move wasn’t just a whim—it was something we’d thought through. Betsy’s mom chimed in again. You know, with Betsy needing diapers in two homes now, I was thinking—we should make sure she has new ones to go with her new place. Betsy shook her head. Mom, I don’t need new ones. I’ll just leave a couple here and take the rest with me. Nonsense, her mom replied. A new home deserves fresh, white diapers to replace those dull, worn-out ones. I’ll give them to you as a housewarming gift. Betsy groaned. Great. I’m 18 years old, and for a housewarming gift, I get something a baby wears. Her dad raised his hand, clearly ready to change the subject. Okay, that’s enough talk about diapers. Let’s move on. He turned to me. Why don’t you tell us more about the apartment itself? I started off, It’s a two-bedroom, two-bathroom apartment. I’ll get back to those details in a bit. What you really need to know is that all the rooms are large—no, not just large, they’re huge. I could see their eyebrows raise, so I kept going. The kitchen has everything you could ask for. The refrigerator is even bigger than the one here at home. And the living room? It’s about the same size as this one. My dad looked around and said, That’s huge. I nodded. Exactly. And we’ve also got a balcony. Betsy’s mom chimed in, a little skeptical. Most of the balconies I’ve seen in apartments are tiny. You can barely fit two chairs and maybe a small table. I smiled. Not this one. You can fit a mid-size table with four chairs around it, and still have room for three or four people to stand comfortably. Plus, the BBQ grill out there isn’t some little portable thing—it’s a full-size, plumbed-in gas grill. That got their attention. I could tell they were starting to picture it—and maybe even getting a little excited for us. Now, I’ve saved the best for last, I said, grinning. More about the balcony. But first, I added, like I mentioned earlier, the apartment has two bathrooms. The one in the hallway has a bathtub with a shower—pretty standard. But the master bathroom? It’s massive. There’s a full bathtub and a walk-in shower big enough for two people to use at the same time. That’s when my mom, with a faraway look in her eyes, said dreamily, That reminds me of when your dad and I used to shower together… Before I could even react, Betsy’s mom leaned in with a mischievous grin. So, how many times did you drop the soap and bend over to pick it up? I knew exactly what she was implying, and when I glanced at my mom, her face had turned a deep shade of red. My dad cleared his throat and waved a hand. Alright, alright—enough about the past. Let’s get back to hearing more about the apartment. Everyone chuckled, and I took a breath, ready to steer the conversation back on track. Now, about the master bedroom, I said, leaning in a little. It’s so spacious that I bought a California king bed—and there’s still plenty of room to fit Betsy’s changing table with space left over. I could see their eyes widen a bit, so I kept going. There’s also a walk-in closet—big enough to hold at least fifty of Betsy’s diapers, her plastic pants, and all her supplies. And even then, there’s still room to spare. And the best part? I added with a smile. The master bedroom has its own door leading out to the balcony. That detail seemed to impress them. It wasn’t just a bedroom—it was a retreat. A space where Betsy and I could feel comfortable, organized, and at home. The balcony overlooks both a serene lake and a winding river, but the real showstopper is the sunset. From our seventh-floor vantage point, the sky transforms each evening into a canvas of fiery orange, soft pinks, and deep purples. It’s the kind of view that makes you pause mid-sentence, forget whatever you were saying, and just watch in silence. The water reflects the colors like glass, and for a few perfect minutes, everything feels still. Dad leaned back and smiled. Well, son, it sounds like you’ve got a nice place to live. We hope you both enjoy it. I’m sure we will, I said, feeling a quiet sense of pride. With that, Betsy’s parents stood up and said it was time for them to head out. There were hugs, a few lingering questions, and then they made their way to the door. As Betsy stepped out behind them, I gently reminded her, Hey, don’t forget—we’ve got that appointment with the seamstress. Make sure to bring the supplies I asked you to bring. She nodded, already halfway out the door, and gave me a playful look. I’ve got them. Don’t worry. The door closed behind her, and I stood there for a moment, thinking about everything that had just happened. The conversations, the laughter, the awkward moments—it all felt real. And it all felt like the beginning of something good and tomorrow is the start of it all. -
I am not incontinent so I hope you don't mind my post that I woke up wet this morning and soon after out of bed, I messed my diaper. All is good because my Little Kings diaper did not leak, bedding is dry. My sincere admiration to those who are incontinent and continue to live a full life adaptively and courageously. My hat is off to you...or should I say my diaper is off to you.
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