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Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
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By little_madd · Posted
Ana agreed with everything and remarked, "I’m no longer sure where to draw the line." She was worried about Alice—the girl who was in a 'baby' state—as she was acting just like Emilly, showing no regard for Maddison’s feelings. "We need to think about what’s best for all of them," Ana said. "If this behavior continues, it will hurt Maddison, and things could snowball—the little one who currently accepts wearing diapers might start refusing them, or even become withdrawn." Camilla agreed, but asked, "How do we handle this? We’ve already made it clear that Maddison is the oldest." Ana replied, "That’s the million-dollar question—but what have you come up with?" -
My advice would to be wary of the outcomes and chronology promised by that document. From my experience there are TWO different answers here. Some particular types of seating scenarios seem to be able to physically constrain the urethra to some extent. It's not a mental block, it's a kinked hose. Even people with surgically-induced total incontinence have reported that certain positions still means their bladder will fill up and voiding won't happen until they shift position. Some other scenarios (notably driving, but to a lesser extent walking) also seem to cause challenges but these are (usually) more psychological and can be resolved with long haul practice and habituation. Having said that, others have reported (and I've also found) that some driving positions/seats CAN actually kink that hose so your driving challenge could go either way. I will typically wet a little whilst driving. Usually I will feel myself wetting but because I'm distracted by driving (which is a GOOD thing), I sometimes can't recall "deciding" to pee. Incidentally, it's that kind of thoughtless, semi-automatic wetting that is as close as we'll get to incontinence through practice. At some level we still "decide" to pee but that decision happens further down the consciousness totem-pole. To put my cards on the table here after 8 years of 24/7 nappies I'm still (somewhat) continent but accidents happen and they are I believe, mental. I also picked up bed-wetting which again for me, is mental but my bed doesn't care. I don't reliably wake up enough to remember deciding to pee anymore. My experience is that by never holding my bladder became intolerant of holding at all. This makes it easier to pee wherever I happen to be because the alternative is more difficult. Following this, I'd just practice peeing whenever I could and over time you may find that the opportunities for "could" may expand (subject to kinked hose limitations). That's a thing sorry... It's not like I became #2 incontinent (fortunately I did not) but it's a lot more trigger-happy than it used to be. All things being normal, I have control. Eat something that doesn't agree with me and can't get to a bathroom very quickly? There, have been "accidents". This would NEVER have happened in the "before" days. Without buying into the debate, I *do* think that worrying about leaking is going to inhibit the degree of mental comfort in using your nappies that you'd need to move voiding lower down the ranks of mental importance. I do agree with @babykeiff that this whole thing is largely mental. My experience (as a regular bedwetter now) is that it's still ok to have some nappy-insurance in place to mitigate the risk of leaking. I'll wear plastic pants over disosables during the day and if in disposables at night, I'll wear terry-lined plastic pants over them to catch the almost inevitable occasional nocturnal disposable leak. I agree that infants don't think about this but we're grown-ups. We can still move towards a more infantile care-free voiding pattern by implementing some countermeasures that lower the barriers we face. Pee dreams were the first phenomenon that appeared to me heralding the slow (re)development of bedwetting. It took time (a LOT longer than that guide might suggest), and a high degree of confidence that the marital bed would remain dry. Also, prolonged day-time 24/7 resulted in me needing to pee more frequently/slower/smaller-amounts during the night as well which meant that there were lots of teachable moments every night. -
By little_madd · Posted
I'm playing a Fate-based RPG, a very simple system focused on narrative, so this work reflects that. I'm not fluent in English, so please excuse any mistakes. You can send comments, ask questions, and talk about it, and if you like roleplaying and RPGs, we can try it. Plot ideia: You’ve woken up wearing a cursed diaper that you cannot remove. It causes every woman you encounter—young or old—to believe, with absolute and loving conviction, that you are a helpless baby in need of maternal care. You are a 23-year-old woman trapped in the small town of Ferndale, Ohio, on a Saturday morning, and you must cross the town to find the one person who might know how to break the curse. The farmers' market is in full swing. Church ladies are everywhere. Every city block is a minefield of maternal instinct. Your roommate, Kris, can send you messages of moral support, but she can’t stop you from being scooped up by a stranger at the produce stand. Navigate the town with caution, manage your exposure, and pray that you find someone with the willpower to see you as you truly are—before the entire town decides you’re due for a nap. Character: Tessa Brightwell Stealth: 3 (Competent) Self-Control: 2 (Inexperienced) Ingenuity: 4 (Highly skilled) Persuasion: 3 (Competent) Athletics: 4 (Highly skilled) Chapter 01: Rolling errors "Why is it so thick?" Tessa whispered, her voice trembling as she tugged at the garment’s heavy, waterproof outer layer. It was a medical-grade diaper—absurdly oversized—secured by tapes that refused to budge, no matter how hard she pulled or where she searched for a seam. The padding was immense, forcing her legs into an unnatural, wide-legged stance; every step became an awkward, lumbering movement, accompanied by a telltale rustle that betrayed her predicament. The sheer absurdity of the garment was eclipsed only by the sudden, overwhelming sensation that the house itself was *watching* her—the air felt heavy, as if the very walls were vibrating with a maternal urge to cradle her. She hurriedly pulled on a pair of loose-fitting sweatpants, but the bulk of the diaper remained, creating an unmistakable bulge beneath the fabric—something no amount of adjusting could conceal. Glancing at her phone, she was met with a flood of notifications: the chaos of a Saturday morning in Ferndale was already underway. To reach the files—and the only person who understood these hidden anomalies—she would have to cross the town square. The rustling of plastic against her skin sounded like a siren, signaling her vulnerability to any nurturing instinct lurking in the area. As she stepped onto the porch, she felt the morning air and spotted Mrs. Gable—the neighborhood’s most notorious "grandmother" figure—pruning her roses across the street. Mrs. Gable’s gaze saw more than just a college student; her eyes gleamed with an affectionate, predatory hunger, locked onto the faint, rhythmic crinkle that accompanied every one of Tessa’s steps. The trap had already been set. Tessa darts into the narrow alley, her heart hammering against her ribs like a trapped bird. She draws upon her athletic training, pushing her legs to their limit to minimize the time spent in the open. Yet, the sheer bulk of the cursed diaper betrays her; with every vigorous stride, the thick padding produces a heavy, rhythmic sound—a distinct plastic crinkle—that echoes off the brick walls. It is far from subtle; it is the unmistakable noise of plastic and absorbent material, giving away her presence—and her peculiar predicament—to anyone within a six-meter radius. As she nears the end of the alley, a sharp gasp rings out. Mrs. Gable, the neighborhood’s most imposing matriarch, has stepped out to prune her hydrangeas. She freezes, her pruning shears suspended in mid-air, her eyes locked onto Tessa. The curse takes effect instantly. Mrs. Gable does not see a panicked twenty-three-year-old woman; she sees a large, distressed baby who has had an "accident" and is trying to flee from the shame. The woman’s expression shifts from surprise to an overwhelming, suffocating maternal pity. Tessa stands frozen—caught off guard by how quickly Mrs. Gable moves. Tessa attempts to use persuasion—"Hey there, neighbor! Lovely garden you’ve got!"—but Mrs. Gable offers no reply; instead, she pulls down Tessa’s pants to check her diaper. "Oh, you poor thing—all wet!" Mrs. Gable exclaims, her voice so authoritative that it makes Tessa’s knees go weak. She drops her shears and reaches out with strong, calloused hands, moving with an agility that belies her age. She closes the distance quickly, looking determined: that "baby" is far too messy to be wandering around the alleys, and she is precisely the right person to handle a change. The air suddenly turns cold against Tessa’s skin as the fabric of her trousers is pulled away with practiced, maternal efficiency. She freezes, a gasp dying in her throat, as Mrs. Gable’s eyes lock onto the thick, crinkling bulk of the diaper. There is no recognition of Tessa as an equal, nor any regard for her status as an adult; there is only a look of profound, misplaced pity. "Oh, you poor thing," Mrs. Gable says, her voice dripping with an excessive sweetness that feels like a trap. "Look at you—all wet and frightened. Who let you wander about in such a state?" The humiliation is physical; an intense heat rushes up Tessa’s neck as the older woman’s hand reaches out to gauge the thickness of the padding. The touch is clinical yet stifling—the gesture of someone who believes they have absolute authority over the body they are handling. Tessa tries to pull back, but the bulk of the diaper hampers her agility, making her movements clumsy, almost childlike. Mrs. Gable doesn’t let go; instead, she begins to pull Tessa toward the porch, her tone shifting from pity to a firm, direct command that leaves no room for argument. Tessa now finds herself cornered between the garden fence and an overpowering scent of lavender and aged lace. The town of Ferndale seems smaller than ever, and the distance to her destination stretches out like an unreachable horizon. If she doesn’t break free now, she won’t be walking toward a cure—she will, in fact and being taken to a changing table. -
By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
Becca read the text as she pushed the stroller back to the car, she understood what Camilla meant and figured it would be a while before Emily started to accept that Madison could wear training pants or diapers whenever she mostly wanted. ------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------ Alice was happily playing with the fake controller pushing the little buttons that made delightful sounds happily giggling and acting just like a baby, it was honestly adorable meanwhile both her mommies were communicating with each other the texts. Camilla thought stricter rules could work, but she didn't want to force the girl too much and reject everything, clearly there had to be a way to get Emily to understand, Camilla even texting maybe she was testing to see how much she could get away with. -
I put on a Rearz Mega Inspire+ today. These diapers are very thirsty. Definitely a diaper for heavy wetters.
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