![[DD] Boards & Chat](https://www.dailydiapers.com/board/uploads/monthly_2021_11/DDweb-02.png.0c06f38ea7c6e581d61ce22dffdea106.png)
Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
519 topics in this forum
-
- 0 replies
- 12.2k views
-
- 0 replies
- 16.4k views
-
- 0 replies
- 144 views
-
- 112 replies
- 12.6k views
-
- 2 replies
- 165 views
-
- 17 replies
- 1.3k views
-
- 38 replies
- 8.8k views
-
- 9 replies
- 829 views
-
- 6 replies
- 862 views
-
- 8 replies
- 2.5k views
-
- 4 replies
- 180 views
-
- 1 reply
- 121 views
-
- 3 replies
- 527 views
-
- 4 replies
- 385 views
-
- 1 reply
- 236 views
-
- 33 replies
- 6.9k views
-
- 8 replies
- 1.2k views
-
- 15 replies
- 786 views
-
- 0 replies
- 138 views
-
- 0 replies
- 157 views
-
- 15 replies
- 1.6k views
-
- 27 replies
- 9.9k views
-
- 6 replies
- 473 views
-
- 13 replies
- 1.8k views
-
- 1 reply
- 295 views
.thumb.png.e76412a12890a4f63d9fa4c4165cb1cc.png)
-
-
-
Posts
-
By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
CHRISTMAS TRADITIONS. by Alec Leamus. My name is Stephanie Morrison. I am twenty-four years old. I have been married to Jack Morrison for two years. We dated for about two years before we made it official. During the time we dated I was under a generous amount of scrutiny from Jack’s family. Even though I am a successful marketing executive there was an impression I was some sort of a gold digger. There was also some good-natured joking about my age. Jack is twenty-eight but looks much older. I have a little bit of a baby face and I am often mistaken for younger than my true age. I am also only five foot one and have a petite build. As I mentioned earlier Jack is an attorney, but many members of his family are also attorneys. So, they can be very literal when it comes to deciding and discussing certain topics. Jack warned me prior to meeting his family. On more than occasion I found myself cornered into an uncomfortable debate. This led to a bet which I usually lost. The outcome of these “discussions” often resulted in my performing some chore like babysitting or cleaning the dishes. Generally, I didn’t mind these lively encounters. They were always friendly, and I think they appreciated my willingness to accept my defeat. For Christmas we always alternated visits between our families. One year with my parents and the next year with Jack’s family. The first time we spent the Christmas holidays with the Morrisons was exciting and fun. Apart from the chiding concerning our relationship and my appearance it was almost magical. The Morrisons were very well off and lived in a six-bedroom two story colonial in Darian, Connecticut. However, despite their wealth the Morrisons were down to earth, relaxed and fun. Every family has their own traditions and the Morrisons were no different. Many of the things we did like sledding, caroling, and decorating cookies were familiar but there were a few exceptions. The Morrisons gave generously to a halfway house for battered women. We all bundled into the car to deliver good cheer and gifts to this establishment. The odd part was no one left the car except Mrs. Morrison, Jack’s mother. The Morrisons raised a glass of mulled wine on Christmas Eve. A tradition which included the children. And they allowed the children to open one gift early. But it was the opening of gifts on Christmas morning which made me feel inferior. Opening gifts was a slow and reserved affair in the Morrison home. In my family gifts were handed out and with fervor everyone would simultaneously rip open their presents without ceremony. In a matter of minutes all the presents would be opened. This was in direct contrast to the Morrison’s tradition. At the Morrisons, on Christmas morning, each and every gift was distributed with quiet dignity. Then everyone waited as each family member carefully unwrapped their present. Then everyone admired and discussed said gift. This process is repeated as they all turn their attention to the next person. Needless to state this made Christmas morning extend into the afternoon. My first Christmas, Jack had to reach over and stop me before I opened my present. So, it was more than a little awkward as I unwrapped my gift with everyone silently staring at me. This experience was prolonged even further if someone received clothing. If one of the family received clothing, they had to immediately model it for everyone. My first Christmas mother Morrison gifted me a pastel sweater. After explanations and much cajoling, I departed and returned in my new pullover. Apparently the “rule” was you had to try on every item of clothing you received as it was intended to be worn. This meant everything. And you couldn’t simply pull it on over your own clothes. You had to model it for real. Of course, in the Morrison household this opened the door to many hilarious moments. I was no fool and knew to fall in line with Jack’s family customs. It was a small price to pay, and I hoped my action of compliance would endear me to the family which seemed to place great importance on such things. This brings me to this Christmas, December 2022, which is turning out to be one of the worst. My husband Jack was called into a preparation for an upcoming trial. This happened just days before our trip to Connecticut for Christmas. Gratefully, Jack would arrive on December 23. It seemed frivolous to change my ticket too, so I agreed to continue as planned. I would arrive on December 20. A full three days before Jack’s arrival. Obviously, I was nervous about being with his family on my own, but Jack reminded me how they had embraced me after our marriage. In truth, Jack was correct. However, there still existed the stray comment or joke concerning my appearance and relationship with Jack. When I confessed these moments to Jack, he laughed them off. “Oh honey, they are just messing with you. They are seeing if they can get a rise out of you. It’s their way. It means they like you,” he reassured. So, I proceeded forward. Little did I know fate had other plans to propel me backwards. My arrival was uneventful. The Morrisons welcomed me with open arms. I quickly settled into the Morrison Christmas festivities. I actually had fun and bravely ignored Jack’s sister when, while setting the table for dinner, she asked which table I should be seated. “Mom, Jack’s not here where should I put Stephanie, here?” she joked as she stood at the kid’s table. “Vanessa, stop it. Place her next to your father,” Mrs. Morrison scowled. There were other similar brief exchanges. Sometimes I would laugh them off silently other times I would engage with a sharp retort. These retorts were met with a meaningful look from Mrs. Morrison. Although Vanessa was friendly, I always got the feeling she resented me for taking her brother away to California. In truth, Jack hated the winters in Connecticut and when an offering opened up in San Jose, he jumped at it. Everything went smoothly until after dinner on the first day. It was decided, due to the whining from Susan, one gift could be opened. Susan was ten and spoiled and couldn’t wait. I really couldn’t blame her growing up surrounded by such opulence, but she could be a real pain. And she often used her status of being the youngest to manipulate the rest of the family. So, to Susan’s glee, we all gathered around the nine-foot tree in the living room and began the Morrison ritual. The Christmas tree appeared to have birthed four litters of presents. They spilled out and into the living room. Personally, I had never seen so many presents under one tree. Waiting in the room were Jack’s parents seated on the beige striped West Elm sofa, cocktails in hand. Vanessa stood behind them and smiled. Susan knelt on the floor excitedly. Tim, Jack’s younger brother, lounged comfortably in the chair near the fireplace occupied on his phone. There were two sets of cousins, three boys and two girls. Mrs. Morrison’s sisters and one brother, Jack’s aunts, and uncle. And finally, Jack’s grandparents on his mother’s side. The ceremony began and one by one the various family members opened their gifts. When it was my turn, I slowly peeled away the paper and lifted the corner of the oblong box. It was apparent it was some sort of clothing. I could feel every eye on me. In order to avoid any embarrassment of procrastination I jumped from my seat. I headed to the nearby walk-in pantry as was the custom. I closed the louvered doors and opened the box. There were clothes inside but not for me. Obviously there had been a mistake. I stood there in full debate with myself until I heard Mr. Morrison’s voice. “What’s taking so long?” he called shaking the ice in his cocktail for emphasis. “I don’t think this is mine.” “You know the rules dear,” Mrs. Morrison answered. “Rules?” I thought, “when did this become mandatory?” I could hear Jack’s voice urging me to just go along with it. So, reluctantly I pulled off my jeans and blouse. I felt very self-conscious standing in my in-law’s kitchen pantry in my underwear. Then I remembered the hazing Jack told me about when he was in high school. Jack had opened a new hockey uniform kit. He tried on everything but the pads and the cup. His family made him run around the house three times outside in the snow wearing only the jersey and cup before letting him back inside. It was all in good fun, but Jack was their own son. Who knows how they might react or what they may have me do if I didn’t play along. It was ten degrees outside! I whisked my black lace panties down and tore opened the package of cotton underwear and pulled them on. The underwear was tight but sort of fit. I tried not to chant out loud “This is stupid”. I held up velvet atrocity and examined it. It was very small, and I seriously doubted I could even manage to squeeze into the dress. One thing for sure was there was no room for me and my bra inside the garment. I peeked through the louvers to confirm my privacy. I unhooked my bra and slipped it off. I stepped into the dress wriggled it past my hips. It wasn’t as difficult as I thought it might be. I snaked my arms into the holes and painfully zipped it up the back by bending and alternating my hand under and over. I looked down and noticed how the wide expanse of fabric across my bosom completely flattened me. I have a modest chest, but this dress destroyed any illusions I had breasts at all. I hurriedly pulled on the knee socks and shoes. The shoes were too small, but I was able to buckle them in the last hole. I closed my eyes and took a deep breath and opened the pantry doors. I clacked across the kitchen and into the living room. I knew I looked ridiculous but at least I was being polite and being amiable. Jack would be proud. “Ta-da!” I said. There was a moment of silence before Susan and the younger cousins laughed out loud. A stern look from their mothers quieted them quickly. I saw Mrs. Morrison staring at me with a flat expression while Vanessa snickered. Tim even looked up from his phone and the grandparents, unsure, made cooing sounds of approval. Mr. Morrison barely glanced at me as he rose to freshen his scotch. “Where is the box?” Mrs. Morrison commanded. Vanessa brushed past me into the kitchen. I could hear her rustling around in the pantry. A moment later she emerged with the box and wrapping. She handed the paper to her mother. Time stood still as Mrs. Morrison studied the paper and the tag. Meanwhile I stood on display in the middle of the living room as if I was auditioning for a play. “You forgot this,” Vanessa stated loudly as she popped up behind me. Vanessa had discovered a length of ribbon inside the box which matched the dress. She scooped up my shoulder length dark hair and tied the ribbon around it. I was left with a bobbing ponytail adorned by a big red bow. Since there was no mirror in the pantry, I had no true image of myself. The dress was a deep red velveteen and adorned with a white Peter Pan collar. There were no sleeves, only a puff of fabric where my arms dangled. Starting at the top of the dress and down the front were seven small square white buttons interrupted by a faux belt with a bow which matched the color of the dress. The skirt was pleated and flared out. The dress was short and ended a few inches above the knee. Below the dress I wore the white knee socks and tight black patent leather shoes. The shoes were practically slippers and offered no assistance to my height. At least when I wore my running shoes, I gained a little in height. Now, I felt even shorter. At the time I had no idea the picture I presented. In my mind I was my grown up twenty-four-year-old self who had uncomfortably squeezed into a child sized dress. I had honored “the rules” of the family. My self-congratulatory moment was interrupted again by Vanessa. She swung around me armed with a washcloth from the kitchen. She attacked my face claiming I had a smear of pumpkin pie on my cheek. I let her play her little game. I knew she felt threatened and opted to let the intrusion slide. In reality, Vanessa did more than just wipe my cheek. She cleaned my entire face. She started on my cheek then grasped my chin in her fingers and moved the cloth across my forehead and over my eyes and lips. I could smell a faint odor of soap and Noxzema. In her other hand she held a dry kitchen cloth which she used to dry my face. When Vanessa stepped away there was an audible gasp from the room. I was puzzled for moment but realized Vanessa had cleverly removed all of my makeup in one fell swoop. Generally, I didn’t wear a lot of makeup except for business meetings and social gatherings but I always wore something. Otherwise without any makeup I looked very young. This explained the family’s reaction. The slight giggling from Susan and the other interested cousins faded. The room was quiet and uncomfortable as Mrs. Morrison shifted her examination from the wrapping paper to me. “This is not yours. The tag was put on the wrong box. I think this is from Great Aunt Constance in New York,” she explained. Her tone had an imperious quality. As Mrs. Morrison continued to study me, I could feel the tight shoes dig into my feet, so I shifted my weight. My movement had a negative effect on Mrs. Morrison, and she frowned at me. Desperate to end the farce I spoke. “Well, I am going to change.” “It appears as though you already have my dear,” Mrs. Morrison said. It was an awkward moment. I smiled politely and clipped across the kitchen to the pantry as the Christmas music started again. In a panic I searched the pantry for my clothes, but they were gone. Vanessa! I stormed back out into the living room and interrupted the festivities. “Alright Vanessa, where are they?” “What?” “My clothes. What did you do with them?” “I don’t have them.” “Yes, you do.” “You must have misplaced them.” Vanessa’s calm only fueled my anger. This exchange continued further until I couldn’t take any more and I found myself shouting above the music at Vanessa. “Give me my adult clothes back now!” I cannot remember clearly but a foot stomp may have accompanied my demand. The music stopped and the room went silent. Vanessa stood smugly staring at me with her arms folded. Mrs. Morrison cleared her throat. “Stephanie, what did you just say?” I calmed myself and answered. “I said give me my clothes back. I know she took them- “ Mrs. Morrison held up her hand for silence. “No dear, what did you say exactly.” I thought for moment. “I said give me back my adult clothes now.” I was beyond embarrassed. -
I game on my PC, which is a couple years old but still good enough. It's attached to two 36" 4k monitors. I use a mouse and Razer Tartarus Pro, because I hate using the keyboard. I also have a Meta Quest 3 VR headset that I use for working out. You might be surprised at the sweat you can work up boxing digital avatars. -
By ValentinesStuff · Posted
Why the hell did you wait two years before writing for help? Less than six months after my PCP wrote the prescription I was writing my Senator, within a few weeks I was getting help from the head of my local pharmacy, and not long after that cases of NorthShore diapers began appearing. -
The crime is nonexistent, because it's a fake story. A lot of those going around these days.
-
By cute little kokiri girl · Posted
Thankfully by the time Tony had gotten to the guest room Valeria had stopped crying a mixture of him bouncing, rubbing her back and letting the little teen rest on his shoulder, another good thing was the fact that his sister had already gotten up by the time he knocked on the door. When Evelyn opened the door she saw her upset little girl and without saying a word gently took her from her brother before asking what was going on, Tony let out a sigh and apologize saying that Sherry was being bad and picking on Valeria, Evelyn nodded her head and said she understood and would take it from here, after closeing the guest room door Evelyn sitting down on the bed and undoing her top and bra, "Here sweetie have some num nums." Evelyn told her sniffling little girl as she rested her daughter head near her nipple. Meanwhile Amy was at her daughter's bedroom door and heard the little girl crying and having a bit of temper tantrum, she figured that Sherry must be jealous of her new cousin, it was bound to happen Sherry was at that age where she was still a bit of a baby, but still very much a big girl.
-