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Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
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Chapter 10: Heavy Eyes and Hard Decisions The morning sun broke through the window, but my brain felt like it was still drowning in a thick layer of cold molasses. I blinked my sticky eyelids open, immediately disoriented by a dull, throbbing weight in my forehead. As I rolled my head against the pillow, a soft, plastic squeak echoed right by my ear. My jaw felt stiff, and it took me a few seconds of sluggish blinking to realize that the therapeutic pacifier was still wedged firmly between my teeth, bobbing gently with every slow breath I took. Slowly, the fog of the prescription sleep aid began to recede, and the reality of my physical body rushed back, and yet somehow I still continued to suck rhythmically on my paci. The first thing I noticed was the sheer, unbelievable mass between my thighs. My overnight diaper was immensely swollen, heavy, and absolutely sodden, pressing a massive amount of dense, lukewarm padding against my lower half. It felt like I was wearing a concrete block, the thick plastic outer shell tight against my waist. Then, the memories of the night came fracturing back into my consciousness. I sat up quickly, a thunderous chorus of crinkle-squish echoing in the quiet room. My stomach gave a small, nervous twitch. I had a vague, terrifying memory of a blinding midnight panic—sharp stomach cramps, a clumsy tumble over the white toddler bed rail, and a complete, horizontal disaster inside my padding. I remembered screaming in a daze, beating my heavy fabric-covered mitts against the locked bedroom door, and then... a dream? It had to be a dream. I remembered the hallway lights flashing on, my parents hovering over me like ghosts, and the phantom sound of four diaper tapes being ripped open in the dark. I even distinctly remembered hearing Dad mutter something about heading down to his workshop first thing in the morning to build a teen-sized crib out of solid oak. A crib. I shuddered, letting out a muffled gasp around the pacifier. No way. That was definitely a delusion from the medication. Parents didn't build giant cribs for high schoolers. It was just a hallucination brought on by a heavy sedative and extreme psychological exhaustion. Determined to shake off the nightmare, I swung my heavy, padded legs over the edge of the mattress. My feet hit the floorboards, and the sheer weight of the sagging overnight diaper almost made my knees buckle. As I waddled waddled toward my bedroom door, intent on escaping to the bathroom to face the morning, I could feel a fresh torrent of hot urine splashing into my already overtaxed diaper, yet somehow magically being absorbed. As I reached out to turn the brass handle, a sudden spike of panic seized my chest. My hands were still completely trapped inside the thick medical mitts. I clutched the doorknob between my fabric clubs, squeezing with all my might and twisting my wrists, but there was zero traction. The smooth metal just slid uselessly against the heavy cloth. I couldn't open my own bedroom door. I was locked in. Before I could start pounding on the wood in a fresh panic, the lock on the outside clicked. The door swung open, and Mom stood in the hallway, fully dressed and holding a small red plastic key in her hand. "Good morning, sleepyhead," she said, her voice bright and entirely too cheerful for the circumstances. She looked down at my heavily sagging waistline, her eyes narrowing slightly as she noted the sheer bulk of the overnight padding. "Well, it looks like Dr. Arnold’s prescription did exactly what it was supposed to do. You slept a full ten hours, and your diaper clearly bore the brunt of it. Spit out your soother, Dylan." I let the plastic shield fall from my mouth, catching it awkwardly against the chest of my t-shirt with my mittened arms. "Mom, please," I rasped, my throat feeling completely parched and dry—another lovely side effect of the medicine. "Take these mitts off. I can't even open my door. And my diaper is... it's really bad." Mom sighed, stepping closer and manipulating the tiny red key against the metallic clasps at my wrists. With two distinct clicks, the straps loosened, and she slid the heavy fabric mitts off my hands. My fingers felt stiff and tingly as I flexed them. "The mitts stay off for now, Dylan, but only on one condition: absolute good behaviour and complete cooperation," Mom warned, pointing a strict finger at my face. "If I catch you so much as touching a single tape on that diaper today, they are going right back on, and the locks won't come off until tomorrow. Now, march downstairs. Your father is already at work, and breakfast is ready. You can get changed right after you eat." I didn't argue. The thought of getting out of this cold, massive mound of padding was the only motivation I needed. I waddled past her into the hallway, the thunderous, heavy crinkle-squish of my ruined overnight diaper marking a slow, bowlegged rhythm down the staircase. As I stepped into the kitchen, the distant, rhythmic hum of a power saw vibrated faintly through the floorboards. It was coming from the attached garage workshop down the hall. Bzzzzzzzt. The high-pitched whine of the blade slicing through heavy wood echoed faintly, followed by the dull, rhythmic thud of a hammer. I paused, a cold sweat breaking out on the back of my neck. Dad’s building something. The nighttime "delusion" suddenly felt terrifyingly real, but I forced the thought down as I slumped into my chair at the breakfast table. "Look, Mommy! The diaper baby is awake!" Jonathan cheered from across the table, pointing his fork at my bare, heavily padded lower half. "Wow, that one is giant, Dylan! Did you make a big mess?" "Jonathan, that is entirely enough out of you," Mom scolded, walking into the kitchen and setting a plate of scrambled eggs and toast in front of me. "I warned you yesterday about teasing your brother. If I hear one more word about his diapers from your mouth, you will be officially assigned to diaper disposal duty for the rest of the week. You can carry every single one of his heavy pampers out to the trash bin." Jonathan’s face instantly fell, his jaw dropping in disgust as he quickly went back to staring at his cereal bowl. I picked up my fork, my fingers still feeling slightly clumsy and weak from the residual effects of the sleep medicine. I tried to scoop up a mouthful of eggs, but my hand gave a sudden, involuntary shudder. The fork slipped, and a massive clump of yellow eggs tumbled off the prongs, landing directly onto the centre of my t-shirt and leaving a greasy smear down to my waist. "Oh, for heaven's sake, Dylan," Mom groaned, pulling a wet paper towel from the roll and aggressively wiping my chest. "You're still half-asleep from those medication routines. If you can't even manage to feed yourself without making a disaster, I'm going to have to go up to the attic and dig out one of your brother's old plastic bibs to protect your shirts." The threat of a bib slammed into my remaining pride, forcing me to grip the fork with white-knuckled intensity as I carefully managed the rest of my breakfast. True to the doctor's warnings, my mouth felt like pure sandpaper, and Mom strictly enforced the protocol, refilling my orange juice glass twice and forcing me to chug a large glass of water before I was allowed to leave the table. By the time I stood up, I was a complete disaster. There were egg crumbs on my shirt, jelly smears on my fingers, and the heavy, cooling mass of my overnight diaper was sagging so low it was practically halfway down my thighs, the plastic shell crinkling loudly with every tiny shift of my weight. Mom took one look at me and shook her head in pure exasperation. "Look at you. You're a sticky, messy disaster from head to toe. There is no way a simple wipe-down is going to fix this. You need a full shower to get clean, and given how groggy you still are, I'll be coming in to help you make sure you don't slip." Ten minutes later, the relief of stepping into the hot, cascading water was completely overshadowed by the sheer vulnerability of having Mom help me wash the sticky remnants of the night away, treating me with the practiced, clinical efficiency of a nurse. Once I was thoroughly scrubbed and dried off, she handed me a clean t-shirt, completely bypassing my dresser drawers. "Alright, Mr. Piddle Pants, back downstairs to the spare room," Mom instructed, giving my bare, clean rear a firm pat. "Let's get you into a fresh daytime diapey." I walked down the stairs, naked but for my damp towel, my bare feet padding softly against the steps. The distant hum of the power saw in the garage workshop flared up again—Bzzzzzzzzzt—followed by the distinct sound of heavy oak planks being stacked against a workbench. The suspense was building a knot of pure dread in my stomach, but I had to focus on the immediate hurdle. We stepped into the main-floor guest room, and I didn't even protest this time. The memory of the safety strap and the locking mitts was fresh in my mind. Moving quietly, I approached the towering, custom oak changing station. I placed my bare feet onto the sturdy two-step wooden ladder, climbing up the steps until I could clumsily roll onto my back onto the thick, pristine white vinyl padding. "See? Much better when you cooperate," Mom murmured, clearly pleased by my lack of resistance. She grabbed a fresh daytime diaper from the neatly stacked rows in the cubby below, the loud, crisp crinkling of the cartoon zoo animals filling the small room. She didn't bother using the Velcro wrist cuffs this time, leaving my hands free at my sides, but she did pull the thick canvas safety strap across my midsection, clicking the heavy plastic buckle tightly over my stomach. "Just a little reminder to keep your belly still while I work," she said. The routine was fast and practiced. A cool, heavy smear of Sudocrem was applied to my skin, followed by a massive, fragrant cloud of baby powder that blanketed my lower half. Mom unfolded the massive diaper, creasing it down the middle, and drew the front panel up tightly between my thighs. Scritch-slap. Scritch-slap. The four plastic tapes were pulled tight, anchoring securely onto the animal-printed landing zone. The fresh padding felt incredibly crisp and thick, forcing my legs slightly apart as the centre safety strap was unbuckled. "Sit up, Dylan," Mom said, grabbing the empty plastic packaging and dropping it into the white diaper pail with a clean click. I swung my legs over the edge of the elevated padding, the loud crinkle of the fresh plastic signalling the completion of the morning routine. I looked around the room, expecting her to hand me a pair of sweatpants, but she simply closed her supply container and turned toward the door. "Mom? My pants?" I asked, looking down at my bare legs and the glaringly obvious cartoon diaper. "No pants for this morning, Dylan," Mom decided, her voice completely casual as she walked out into the hallway. "We're staying home today, and I need to be able to monitor exactly how your daytime diapers are holding up without any clothing blocking my view. Your father and I need to see how your bladder is responding to the new hydration schedule. Now, go into the living room and watch some TV. I have some phone calls to make." With no choice left, I climbed down the two-step ladder, balancing awkwardly on the fresh, stiff padding of my diaper. I waddled out into the living room, the loud, unmistakable crinkle-crinkle-crinkle of my unhidden daytime pampers advertising my total defeat to the empty hallway, while from the back of the house, the steady, rhythmic thud-thud-thud of Dad’s hammer, interspersed by the whir of his drill, continued to echo from the workshop, hammering away on a mysterious project that I was entirely unready to face. -
By technomonkey · Posted
The Kiddo Teddy Ultra and the Kiddo Junior Plus are 2 Tapes they are OK. I use to wear abuniverse super-dry-kids all the time, They are 2 tapes. I guess it depends on the cut or shape of the diaper and the person. -
By technomonkey · Posted
I have been wearing in public for the last 24 or so years. the old attends and depends was like wearing a plastic bag the crinkle was loud. I have never had any one notice or say anything. I have a pack of ABUniverse printed if my wife found them she would trash them. She is not in to baby BS stuff as she puts it. i have gone out out in public wearing them under my jeans the wife did not know and nobody else. I am not a fan of pull ups as they don't hold much and i have had leaks in the center. -
By Little Sherri · Posted
I've always used the single-tape, dual-tape convention, although I have found myself throwing in "per side" here and there, to ensure there is no confusion. A true single-tape diaper would be an interesting device. Maybe if the one tape were 14 inches long, and could cross all the way over the frnt, and engage the wing on the opposite side... but I digress. I grew up in single-tape kid diapers, as a kid in the 1980's, and the ones that I pined for, and was too large to fit in, were the early generation of cloth-backed single tape Pampers and Huggies and Luvs that came on the market a bit later. So when I started exploring my ABDL side, I was drawn to anything with a single tab design, but adults are not just scaled-up babies, so these were a novelty at best - products like the Rearz Selects and the Play Dayz. When they discontinued the Selects, I bought a couple of cases of them for a song, but they almost never did the same thing twice, at least on me - I wore some of them for a good part of an afternoon, with no problems, while others leaked on the first wetting. The Play Dayz were similarly unreliable - they were fine for wearing around the house, but going out in them, you were taking your chances. Two-tape, or two-tab diapers (per side, lol), just fit most of us a lot better - you can snug up the legs, and separately snug up the waist. I have an asymmetrical waist-to-thigh ratio, where my waist could fit in most large diapers, and even some medium ones, but my tree-trunk-like legs mean that the lower tabs have to be a lot further back than the upper tabs. Single-tab diapers tend to yawn open at the front on me, because of how I have to position the tabs. Don't get me wrong - I still have a soft spot for them. I found an older Rearz Barnyard in size L in my bin of random diapers, and I had a day doing yardwork on the docket, so I put it on as a single-tab diaper, on a lark, with the lower tabs folded back. I loved the nostalgic feel and they even looked a bit like Huggies, with their animal theme and muted colours, but I would not have gone to a bar with my friends in that thing. It worked fine for an afternoon. Three-tape diapers - I've never come across a hook/loop 3-tab product yet - don't appeal to me as much, because back when I was trying to squeeze into kid diapers, they were what everyone's dying grandmothers wore - they weren't "cute" to me, and when I could get my hands on them, they were more like wearing "diaper shorts" than what I considered to be a diaper, which has more of a V-shape to them. 3-tape diaper have more of a [ ] shape, like Adidas running shorts from the 1970's. I also never found good ones, at least in Canada - people wax nostalgically about amazing 3-tape diapers of yore, but the ones that you could get where I live were awful, little more than paper towel glued into white garbage bags, a la the current crop of Depends with Tabs. The market seems to have decided that two-tab/two-tape diapers are what the people want, based on what's available out there. Everything in my current inventory is of this ilk, and this includes diapers from Canada, the US, and Europe (although I am aware that most of them are ultimately made in China). -
It's ok, I know it can get a bit confusing. One person can refer to a single tape diaper, when they truly mean there's just 1 tape per side. Which makes sense. Yet someone else can refer to a 4 tape diaper when they truly mean there's actually just 2 tapes per side. Which doesn't make sense. By always refering to the number of tapes per side, we can always communicate more effectively. But you're just as welcomed to keep trying at switching back and fourth. Me personally, I've never seen a diaper with 4 or 6 tapes per side.
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