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I was able to tell my wife before we wed about me wearing diapers. I don't judge others for the way they felt they had to deal with it. We cannot read their minds and what they are going thru. For me it did not stay the way I wanted it to but I can live with it. I was raised to tell the truth but that there are times to not tell the whole truth or not to say a word at all.                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                      A comic said it best the other night: wife asks "Does this dress make me look fat?" man said " The dress has nothing to do with it." How would you answer that ?..

You promised us a wood chipper send off at Spat's cabin up north.  Spread the wealth!

I was in.  I took off my Sunkiss Masterpiece about an hour ago now.  It certainly fit the description of 'big' diaper....

Part 42 For the next three weeks, life slowed down in the best way. We spent our days drifting down the river about three times a week, soaking up sunshine and freedom. Besty always rode up front, most of the time naked, carefree and unbothered by convention, while I lounged in the back, letting the current carry us. Half the time, when we pulled up to the dock, our moms were already there—relaxed, sun-kissed, and just as unencumbered by clothing as Besty. It was a different kind of summer, one that didn’t care much for rules. One afternoon, as we rounded a bend in the river, we suddenly spotted three fishermen quietly casting lines from the shore. Besty gasped and dove face-first onto the boat deck, trying to disappear. Unfortunately, her quick reaction didn’t quite do the trick—her bare backside was still in full view. We both burst out laughing once we were out of sight, chalking it up to another unforgettable moment in our summer of surprises. The day before our parents were set to leave for their course, things took a more serious turn. Our moms called us into separate bedrooms for a talk that felt heavier than usual. My mom sat me down, her expression calm but firm. “Son,” she began, “we’re putting a lot of trust in both of you while we’re gone.” I nodded, sensing the shift. This wasn’t about chores or folding diapers anymore—it was about responsibility, about growing up just enough to hold the fort while they were away. It was the kind of moment that made you sit up straighter, even if you weren’t sure what came next. She laid out the rules with the kind of clarity that left no room for negotiation. “You’re a new driver,” she said, her tone firm but calm. “So you’re only allowed to drive into town. Movies, restaurants, groceries—that’s it. No joyrides, no detours.” She handed me a small envelope. “We’ve left you with what should be enough money to last while we’re gone. If you run out, use your own and we’ll reimburse you when we get back.” I nodded, trying to look more responsible than I felt. Then she shifted gears. “Now, about Besty,” she said, her voice sharpening. “Make sure she’s diapered when she needs to be. If she falls asleep somewhere and has an accident without one, guess who’s cleaning it up?” I didn’t answer. I didn’t need to. “That would be you,” she continued. “You’re responsible for making sure she’s protected so that doesn’t happen.” She gave me a look—half warning, half reminder. “I’m telling you this because I’ve had to clean up after you more than a few times, and trust me—it’s never fun. Just be thankful she doesn’t use her diapers for anything other than pee.” I swallowed hard. Freedom was thrilling, but the weight of it was starting to settle in. Tomorrow, everything would change. Then my mom leaned in, her voice dropping just a little. Her eyes locked with mine, and the air in the room seemed to still. “Now listen,” she said quietly. “This next part is important.” I sat up straighter, sensing the shift in my mom’s tone. The air felt heavier, like the conversation was about to cross into territory we hadn’t explored before. “You and Besty are going to be on your own for six weeks,” she said. “That’s a long time. Things might come up—unexpected things. You’ll need to be patient, responsible, and honest with each other. You’re not just looking after yourself anymore. You’re looking after her too.” She paused, letting the weight of her words settle in. I could feel it—the trust she was placing in me, the quiet challenge behind it. “I know you care about her,” she continued. “That’s why I’m trusting you with this. But caring means more than just being there—it means showing up when it’s inconvenient, making the right choices even when no one’s watching, and treating her with respect no matter what.” I nodded slowly, absorbing every word. It wasn’t just about chores or driving into town anymore. It was about growing up, about being someone she could count on. Then she reached into her pocket and pulled out a condom, placing it gently in my hand. My heart thudded. “I hope you don’t need this,” she said, her voice soft but steady. “You both have plenty of time ahead of you before you need to think about raising a child. But I was your age once, and I know what it’s like.” She looked me in the eye, her expression open and vulnerable. “I was seventeen the first time I had sex—and it wasn’t protected. My period was late, and for a while, I thought I was pregnant. It was terrifying. I don’t want you to go through that. I want you to be safe, to be smart, and to know that you can always talk to me.” I didn’t say anything right away. I just held the condom in my hand, feeling the weight of everything she’d just shared. It wasn’t just a warning—it was a gift. A moment of honesty. A bridge between her world and mine. She looked me in the eye, her voice steady but gentle. “What I’m trying to say is—please wait. You’ve got years to enjoy life without rushing into things. But if you can’t wait, be smart. Use protection.” Then she pulled me into a hug—tight, warm, and full of quiet encouragement. It wasn’t just a goodbye. It was a handoff. And just like that, the countdown to independence began. It was also the beginning of something I hadn’t expected: the slow realization that I was becoming a diaper lover. Not in a sudden or dramatic way, but in quiet moments—folding them, organizing them, helping Besty get ready for bed. It was strange, comforting, and deeply personal. That night, as I helped Besty into her nighttime diaper, we talked about the conversations we’d had with our moms. Turns out, they’d both said pretty much the same thing—only Besty’s mom had gone into more detail about what a woman experiences the first time she has sex. The physical side, the emotional side, the vulnerability. Besty looked at me, her voice barely above a whisper. “I’m not ready for that.” “I nodded. Me neither.” You could see the relief wash over Besty’s face the moment I said it. It was subtle—just a softening in her eyes, a quiet exhale—but it felt like a weight had lifted between us. That unspoken tension, the wondering, the what-ifs—it all dissolved in that moment. We were on the same page, and that mattered more than anything. Then she reached over and handed me the condom her mom had given her. We both stared at it for a beat before bursting into laughter. It was one of those moments where the gravity of growing up collided head-on with the sheer awkwardness of it all. A symbol of responsibility, yes—but also a reminder that we were still just teens, figuring things out one day at a time. I tossed it gently onto the nightstand, and we settled in for the night. No pressure, no expectations. Just two kids navigating a summer of change—together, and at our own pace. I looked down at Besty. She stood there in her oversized t-shirt, the hem brushing her knees, her diaper visibly swollen and sagging beneath it. But she didn’t flinch. Didn’t fidget. She just stared down the road, her expression unreadable. There was something quietly defiant in her posture, like she’d decided not to let the moment shake her. Then she turned to me. Her eyes shimmered, not from the sun, but from tears she hadn’t let fall. “This is the longest I’ll ever be away from them,” she said, her voice barely above a whisper. I swallowed hard and nodded, unsure what comfort I could offer. Words felt too small. So I stepped forward and wrapped my arms around her, pulling her close. Her body was warm against mine, and I could feel the slight tremble in her shoulders. That was the moment it became real—we were on our own now. I lifted her gently into my arms, her head resting against my collarbone. The morning air was crisp, and the silence between us felt sacred. As we walked back toward the cabin, I gave her a few light pats on the back of her diaper and smiled. “I think I know someone with a very soaked diaper who’d like me to help her get cleaned up.” I glanced down at her. “Would that someone be you?” She hesitated, then gave a soft, shy “Yes.” Inside, the cabin was still. I laid her down on the changing table and cleaned her up with practiced care, trying to make each motion gentle, reassuring. When I was done, I turned to grab her clothes for the day—something soft and familiar, something that would make her feel safe. Behind me, I heard the faint rustle of movement. I turned, expecting her to be waiting nearby. But she wasn’t. She had climbed off the table, then climbed right back on. She sat there quietly, legs swinging, holding something in her hand. I froze. I stood there, puzzled, trying to make sense of it. There was something about the way she looked at it—quiet, thoughtful—that made me pause. I didn’t say anything right away. I just waited, wondering what it meant to her, and why she’d chosen that moment to hold it.

I have slept in diapers since about 2012 ?