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Rainbow Diapers
A space where our Lesbian, Gay, Bisexual and Trans members can discuss related issues.
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Wenn ich Prügel bekommen sollte zog meine Stiefmutter mir die Hose runter, legte mich übers Knie und versohlte mir mit der Hand den nackten Po. Dabei pinkelte ich ihr mal auf den Rock. Sie tobte furchtbar. Von da an musste ich am Tage Gummihosen tragen und bekam nachts eine Windel um und eine Gummihose an. Prügel bekam ich jetzt mit einem Riemen auf die Gummihose. Einige Zeit später wurde ich mit einer Peitsche verhauen. -
Ich liebe die Prügelstrafen wie ich sie als Kind und Jugendlicher bekommen habe. Meistens hatten wir Besuch wenn ich Prügel bekam. Ich wurde zuerst mit einem Riemen verhauen und dann meinte Mutti das die Prügel mit einer Peitsche wirkungsvoller ist. Sie besorgte sich eine 1-riemige Hundepeitsche und eine 7-striemige Riemenpeitsche. Wenn sie mich, ob mit oder ohne Grund, verhauen wollte musste ich eine Peitsche holen, sie ihr geben und sie bitten mich auszupeitschen. Alls Bettnässer trug ich zu Hause nur eine Gummihose. Ich legte mich über die Sessellehne und wurde ausgepeitscht. Danach musste ich mich in die Ecke stellen und die Gummihose runter ziehen damit alle meine Striemen sehen konnten. Als ich 14 war hatte Mutti einen Strafbock besorgt. Das war ein 4-beiniges Gestell mit einer schräg nach vorn fallenden, mit schwarzem Lackleder bezogenen Platte. An den 4 Beinen waren breite Riemen befestigt. Ich musste mich dranstellen, drüber beugen, wurde fest geschnallt und ausgepeitscht. Ich hatte und habe die Prügelstrafe mit der Peitsche immer verdient.
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By diaperuser1 · Posted
It's skin on pork belly that is rolled with aromatics inside like lemon grass, green onion and garlic then roasted. You can use other cuts too for simplicity. We served it with spicy vinegar to cut the richness and some rice. It's a dish from the Philippines. -
By Pierry Louys · Posted
Whatttttttt son of bitch who is the bully behind this picture -
By Lilboydiaper · Posted
Chapter Four: The rain tapped steadily against the windshield as Sam guided the car through quiet streets, the soft rhythm filling the spaces between their thoughts. Troy sat in the backseat, his hands resting in his lap, fingers loosely intertwined. He kept glancing out the window—but his attention wasn’t really on the passing houses. It was on them. On the warmth in their voices. The way they spoke to him—like he mattered. After a few minutes, Troy leaned forward slightly, his voice hesitant but curious. “Um… can I ask you something?” “Of course,” Ashley said gently, turning in her seat just enough to face him without crowding him. Troy swallowed, searching for the right words. “Back in the store… when you were talking to me…” He paused, his cheeks tinting faintly. “It felt different. In a good way. I just… I don’t really understand it.” Sam’s eyes flicked to the rearview mirror, her tone calm and reassuring. “That’s okay. You don’t have to have all the words for it.” Ashley nodded softly. “Sometimes it’s just a feeling first,” she added. “We can figure out the rest together, if you want to.” Troy looked down at his hands again, then back up. “You mentioned… people who need care. Guidance. A safe place.” His voice grew quieter. “Is that… something you meant for me?” There was no immediate answer—just a pause, careful and respectful. “We didn’t assume anything about you,” Sam said gently. “But we did notice you seemed like you might be carrying a lot on your own.” Ashley’s voice followed, just as soft. “And we thought… if you ever wanted something different—something where you didn’t have to carry everything by yourself—you should at least know it exists.” Troy’s chest tightened, but not in a bad way. It felt like something opening. “…What would that even look like?” he asked quietly. Ashley smiled, not excited—just warm. “It would look like taking things slow,” she said. “Getting to know each other. Building trust first.” Sam nodded. “It’s not about control or rushing into anything. It’s about support. You’d always have a say. Always.” Troy let out a small breath, like he didn’t realize he’d been holding it. “I think…” he started, then stopped. “It’s okay,” Ashley encouraged gently. “I think I want to try,” he said finally, his voice soft but steady. “Not anything big. Just… to see what it feels like. To not have to be… all grown up all the time.” Ashley’s expression softened even more, if that was possible. “That’s a really brave thing to say.” Sam gave a small, reassuring smile through the mirror. “And a really good place to start.” Troy shifted slightly in his seat, a nervous but hopeful energy in him now. “So… what happens?” Ashley thought for a moment before answering. “For now? Nothing changes all at once. We just… start small.” Sam nodded in agreement. “Maybe we spend some time together. Talk more. Learn what makes you feel safe, what makes you comfortable.” “And what doesn’t,” Ashley added. “That part matters just as much.” Troy nodded slowly, taking it all in. The car turned onto a quieter street, the rain beginning to ease, leaving everything outside looking fresh and new. “…Okay,” Troy said softly. “I’d like that.” Ashley smiled, a quiet kind of happiness settling in her expression. “Then that’s exactly what we’ll do.” Sam glanced at him again in the mirror, her voice steady and kind. “One step at a time.” Troy leaned back in his seat, something unfamiliar but welcome settling in his chest. For the first time in a long time… He wasn’t trying to disappear. He was choosing to be seen. Chapter Five: The car slowed as it turned into a quiet neighborhood, tires rolling softly over rain-darkened pavement. The storm had passed, leaving the world washed clean, the air calm and cool. Sam pulled into the driveway of a modest, warm-looking home—soft porch light glowing, curtains drawn just enough to hint at a cozy interior. She shifted the car into park, and for a moment, no one moved. “Well,” Ashley said gently, glancing back at Troy with a small smile, “this is us.” Troy looked out the window, taking it in. It didn’t feel intimidating. If anything, it felt… safe. Lived-in. Like the kind of place where people actually cared about each other. “It’s really nice,” he said quietly. “Thank you,” Sam replied, her tone warm. “Come on—we’ll help you with your groceries.” ⸻ A few minutes later, they were all inside. The house felt even warmer from within—soft lighting, a comfortable couch, little personal touches everywhere. Photos on the walls. Blankets folded neatly. It didn’t feel staged. It felt real. Ashley set a few bags down on the kitchen counter before turning to Troy. “Hey,” she said gently, “why don’t we sit for a bit before we put everything away?” Troy nodded, a little unsure but willing. “Okay.” They moved into the living room, settling onto the couch—Sam on one side, Ashley on the other, leaving space for Troy in the middle. Not crowding him. Just… including him. For a moment, there was a quiet pause. Then Sam spoke, her voice calm and steady. “First, I just want to say—we’re really glad you’re here.” Ashley nodded. “And we mean that in a simple way. No pressure. No expectations all at once.” Troy shifted slightly, his hands resting on his knees. “I… appreciate that.” Sam leaned forward just a bit, her tone thoughtful. “Since you said you wanted to try this—explore what it feels like to be cared for in this way—it’s important we talk about boundaries and expectations. Not rules to control you,” she added gently, “but guidelines to keep everyone safe and comfortable.” Troy nodded slowly. “That makes sense.” Ashley smiled softly. “And this goes both ways. You get to tell us what you need, what you’re okay with, and what you’re not.” Troy blinked, a little surprised. “Really?” “Always,” Sam said firmly, but kindly. “Your voice matters here.” Troy let out a small breath, some tension easing from his shoulders. Ashley continued, her tone warm and clear. “So… a few simple things to start. Number one—communication. If something feels off, confusing, or too much, you tell us. No bottling things up.” Troy nodded. “Okay… I can try that.” “Trying is enough,” Ashley reassured. Sam held up a second finger. “Number two—respect. That goes all directions. We respect you, your space, your feelings… and we expect the same in return.” “Yeah,” Troy said quietly. “Of course.” Ashley added gently, “And number three—nothing happens faster than you’re comfortable with. This isn’t about rushing into a role. It’s about discovering what feels right to you.” Troy looked between them, his expression softening more with each word. “…That actually makes me feel a lot better,” he admitted. Sam gave a small smile. “Good. That’s the goal.” Ashley tilted her head slightly, her voice softer now. “Can I ask you something, Troy?” “Yeah…” “What does ‘feeling safe’ look like to you?” she asked. Troy hesitated—not because he didn’t want to answer, but because no one had ever really asked him that before. “I think…” he started slowly, “just… not feeling like I have to get everything right all the time.” He looked down at his hands. “Being able to mess up and not feel like it’s the end of the world.” Ashley’s expression melted. “That’s a really honest answer.” Sam nodded. “And it’s something we can absolutely work with.” Troy glanced up again. “And… maybe just… being reminded that things are okay. That I’m okay.” Ashley reached out, pausing just short of touching his hand—giving him the choice. Troy looked at her hand for a moment… then gently placed his own in it. “You are okay,” she said softly. “Right now. Just as you are.” Sam’s voice followed, steady and reassuring. “And you don’t have to earn that here.” Troy swallowed, something emotional catching in his chest—but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was… grounding. Ashley gave his hand a gentle squeeze before letting go, respecting the moment. “We’ll figure everything else out together,” she said. Sam leaned back slightly, a small, comforting smile on her face. “One step at a time.” Troy nodded, a faint smile forming—small, but real. “…One step at a time,” he echoed. And sitting there, in a home that already felt warmer than anywhere he’d been in a long time, Troy realized this wasn’t about becoming someone else. It was about finally having the space… to just be. The room settled into a comfortable quiet after that—no pressure, no rush. Just three people sitting together, letting something new take shape at its own pace. Troy leaned back slightly into the couch, his hands resting in his lap again, but this time they weren’t as tense. His eyes drifted around the room—the soft blankets, the framed photos, the little details that made the space feel lived in and loved. “…Can I ask something else?” he said after a moment, his voice quieter now, more thoughtful. “Of course,” Sam answered gently. Troy hesitated, choosing his words carefully. “You mentioned… figuring out what feels right for me.” He glanced down, then back up. “Does that include… like… an age? Or how I feel?” Ashley’s expression warmed immediately, her tone soft and encouraging. “Yes, it does. That’s a big part of it, actually. Some people feel younger when they’re in that space—different ages, different needs.” Sam nodded. “And there’s no ‘correct’ answer. It’s just about what feels natural to you.” Troy took that in, nodding slowly. He went quiet again, thinking. “I think…” he started, then paused, a faint blush rising to his cheeks. “I think I feel… really small sometimes. Not in a bad way,” he added quickly. “Just… like I want things to be simple. Safe. Where I don’t have to think too hard.” Ashley listened closely, not interrupting. “Maybe…” Troy continued, his voice soft but a little more certain, “somewhere between… a baby and a toddler? Like… really little. Where everything is kind of new and… gentle.” There was a brief pause—but it wasn’t awkward. It was careful. Respectful. Sam smiled softly. “Thank you for trusting us enough to say that.” Ashley nodded, her eyes kind. “That helps us understand you better.” Troy let out a small breath, like he’d just said something important. “…There’s something else,” he added, fidgeting slightly with his fingers. “And it might be weird.” “It’s okay,” Ashley said gently. “You can say it.” Troy looked between them, nervous but hopeful. “If I’m… in that space… would it be okay if I called you something different?” Sam tilted her head slightly, curious. “What did you have in mind?” Troy swallowed, his voice dropping just a little. “…I was thinking… maybe calling you ‘Mommy’,” he said, glancing at Sam, “and you…” he looked at Ashley, a little more shy now, “…‘Mama’?” The room went still for just a second—not from discomfort, but from the weight of the moment. Ashley’s expression softened immediately, her eyes warming in a way that felt almost instinctive. “That’s… really sweet,” she said gently. Sam’s smile grew, steady and reassuring. “It’s not weird,” she added. “Not if it feels right to you—and as long as we all understand what it means.” Ashley nodded. “And what it means is care, trust, and respect. Not replacing anything from your life—just creating something new, together.” Troy nodded quickly. “Yeah, that’s what I meant.” Sam leaned forward slightly, her tone calm but full of warmth. “Then yes. You can call me Mommy.” Ashley followed with a soft smile. “And I’d be really happy to be Mama.” Troy’s shoulders relaxed, something in his expression easing in a way that hadn’t been there before. “…Okay,” he said quietly, a small smile forming. “Thank you… Mommy… Mama.” The words felt new—but not wrong. Ashley reached over, gently adjusting the edge of the blanket beside him, a small, caring gesture. “You’re doing really well,” she said softly. Sam nodded. “Yeah. You don’t have to figure everything out tonight. Just… keep being honest like this.” Troy leaned back into the couch, the faint smile still there—maybe a little stronger now. For the first time, the idea of being “small” didn’t feel like something he had to hide. It felt like something he was finally allowed to understand. And he wasn’t alone in it anymore.
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