Trading Post

I haven't tried SDKs yet. I like the Preschools but they don't make them anymore.

While I could see certain "adult diapers" (back then rectangular pin on cloth things) in the Sears catalog, at 14 or so, I had no way to obtain them. I used old towels (stolen from the Chez Paris Resort Motel in Miami Beach) and safety pins to form the diapers and then cut leg holes in a garbage bag to make plastic pants. It was several years later that I got a pair of real plastic pants (after realizing they had them at some pharmacies, but these things had horendous pad things that never worked for me, so I stayed with using towels). It was when I was in college that I found the early disposable (rectangular fan fold things like the early pampers).

I made a diaper when I was a teen. I used a grocery bag and placed paper towels in it. It was a thrilling feeling.

So I’ve seen this thread and I wanted to add to this, so I got some shipped in, despite being marketed as “youth diapers” but in reality it’s not any bigger than a pampers baby dry size 8. The boundless size 8 by cuties is more like a youth diaper but it feels more like an actual baby diaper. so the comfees, hmm so they just “barely” fit (and I have a 32in waist) (usually if a baby diapers tapes stick to the edge of the wings it means it will usually rip off without staples holding it up) but I need to do tape modding if I want the tapes to land on the landing zone.  they also hold a surprising amount for its size, and swell nice, but absorb less than boundless and leaked sooner with the water test

No dimensions, universes, giantesses, fairies or diapered dragons or whatever - just the fap you are looking for.  Future chapters will follow in the coming days.   CHAPTER 1 The pink cotton clung to Lana’s hips as she paused outside Jacob’s door, her knuckles hovering just shy of the wood. The hallway smelled faintly of lemon cleaner and something else—something damp. She exhaled through her nose before rapping her fingers against the doorframe. "Jacob? You awake?" Inside, the room was a disaster zone of crumpled sweatpants and half-empty soda cans. Jacob sat cross-legged on his bed, phone glowing in his hands, the unopened pack of adult diapers glaring at him from the nightstand like an accusation. He didn’t look up. "Yeah." Lana stepped inside, arms crossed loosely over her chest. The nightgown swished around her knees as she nudged a stray pizza box aside with her toe. "Listen," she said, softer now. "I’m not mad. But we gotta figure this out." Her eyes flicked to the untouched diapers. "You haven't been putting your... protection on properly." Jacob’s thumb froze mid-scroll. His throat worked silently for a second before he muttered, "I got it this time, don't worry." She didn’t move. The ceiling fan clicked overhead, uneven in its rotation. Lana rubbed her temple. "Jacob," she tried again, gentler, "you didn’t ‘get it’ the last two nights." Jacob’s grip tightened around his phone, the screen dimming as his fingers dug into the case. "I said I got it," he repeated, voice cracking just enough for Lana to catch it. His knees drew up slightly, as if he could shrink away from the whole conversation. Lana exhaled through her nose, the sound barely audible over the hum of the fan. She didn’t move closer—didn’t loom—just let the silence stretch between them until it was thicker than the summer heat. Then, with deliberate calm, she walked to the bed and sat on the edge, mattress dipping under her weight. "Jacob," she said, not unkindly, "your sheets are in the washer again. Your pajama pants too." A pause. "You need diapers." His face burned. The diaper package on the nightstand might as well have been neon. "It’s—it’s just embarrassing," he muttered, finally looking up. Lana’s expression wasn’t mocking, wasn’t even impatient. Just... tired. And something else. Concern, maybe. She reached for the pack, tearing the plastic with a practicality that left no room for argument. "Kid, I changed your diapers when you were two. This isn’t new." The crinkle of the material was obscenely loud in the quiet room. Jacob flinched. "That’s different. I was a baby." Lana smoothed the fresh diaper against the mattress with a practiced hand, the crinkling sound making Jacob’s shoulders tense. "Honestly," she said, not unkindly but with a firmness that brooked no argument, "you’re acting like you’re two years old all over again. Leaving your crap everywhere, forgetting to shower, and now this?" She tapped the plastic packaging. "You drink five or six sodas before bed and then wonder why you’re peeing yourself. It’s not rocket science, Jacob." Jacob’s fingers dug into his thighs. The fan above them wobbled, casting uneven shadows across his face. "I don’t—it’s not like I’m doing it on purpose," he muttered, but even he heard the defensive whine in his voice. Lana arched a brow, unimpressed. "No? Then why haven’t you cut back on the pop? Or set an alarm to use the bathroom? Or," she gestured pointedly at the untouched diapers, "even tried to help yourself?" She sighed, rubbing her temple again. "You’re not a kid anymore, Jacob. But you’re sure acting like one." The words stung, mostly because they were true. He’d been coasting for months—letting Lana pick up his slack, letting the job applications pile up unread in his email. The wet sheets were just the latest humiliation in a long line of them. Lana softened slightly, nudging his knee with hers. "Look, I’m not trying to be a bitch about this. But you gotta meet me halfway." She held up the diaper between them, the absurdity of the situation hanging in the air like the scent of baby powder. "Tonight, we do it right. No more wet sheets. No more excuses." Jacob shot up from the bed so fast his knee knocked a soda can off the nightstand, the aluminum clattering against the hardwood. "I don’t need them!" His voice cracked halfway through the sentence, pitching higher than he intended. He swiped at the diaper in Lana’s hand, but she held it just out of reach, her expression shifting from patient to something sharper. "I’m not—I’m not a baby, Lana!" "No, you’re not," she agreed, too calm, like she was humoring a toddler mid-tantrum. She didn’t stand, just tilted her head up to look at him, the ceiling fan casting jagged shadows across her face. "But, again, you really are acting like one. Throwing a fit over something that’ll literally solve the problem you won’t fix yourself." Jacob’s hands curled into fists. "It’s embarrassing!" Lana’s laugh was short, humorless. "You think I enjoy this? Washing your piss-soaked sheets at two in the morning?" She stood then, slow, deliberate, the diaper dangling from her fingers. "You want embarrassing? Try explaining to Amanda whose son is pretty much out of diapers while you're going back into them." The words hit like a slap. Jacob’s throat tightened. He opened his mouth—to argue, to snap back—but nothing came out. Because she wasn’t wrong. He’d seen the way their neighbor had given him an all-knowing smile the other day.   Lana watched Jacob's shoulders slump, the fight draining out of him like air from a punctured balloon. His fists unclenched, fingers trembling slightly before he wiped them on his pajama pants—the same pair she'd washed twice this week. She stepped closer, not crowding him, but close enough that he couldn't avoid the crinkling sound of the diaper in her hand. "Sit," she said, nodding toward the bed. Not a request. Jacob hesitated, then sank onto the mattress, the springs creaking under his weight. He kept his eyes fixed on the soda stain on the carpet, a dark blotch shaped like a half-dried puddle. Lana sat beside him, close enough that their thighs almost touched. The diaper lay between them, an unspoken punctuation mark to the conversation. "Look at me," she said, softer now. When he didn’t move, she hooked a finger under his chin and tilted his face up. His cheeks were flushed, eyes bright with something between shame and stubbornness. "This isn’t about humiliation. It’s about fixing a problem." She tapped the diaper against his knee. "You wanna act like a kid? Fine. But kids follow rules. And tonight, the rule is you’re wearing this." Jacob swallowed hard. "What if—what if I just don’t drink anything after dinner?" Lana snorted. "You said that last night. Then I found you in the kitchen at midnight chugging Mountain Dew straight from the bottle." She shook her head, the ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. "Face it, kid. You’ve got the self-control of a puppy in a treat factory." Jacob flopped onto his back with all the dramatic flourish of a teenager who'd just been told to clean his room. Arms splayed out, legs stiff, he stared at the ceiling like it held the secrets of the universe. "There. Happy?" His voice dripped with petulance, but his fingers curled into the sheets, knuckles whitening. He hadn't even unbuttoned his pajama pants—just lay there in silent protest, a human-shaped lump of defiance. Lana let out a slow breath through her nose, the kind reserved for mothers standing in grocery store checkout lines with screaming toddlers. Without a word, she grabbed the hem of his wrinkled t-shirt—the one with the faded band logo he'd probably outgrown in tenth grade—and yanked it up over his head in one smooth motion. Jacob barely had time to squawk before the fabric muffled his outrage, arms flailing as she peeled it off him like a banana skin. "Hey—!" "Uh-huh," Lana said, tossing the shirt onto the growing pile of laundry in the corner. Her fingers hooked into the waistband of his pajama pants next, not bothering with the drawstring. Jacob's yelp was higher-pitched this time as she tugged them down past his hips in one decisive motion, leaving him in just his boxers—and the unmistakable outline of yesterday's poor life choices pressing against the thin cotton. He scrambled to cover himself, face burning. "Jesus, Lana—!" She ignored him, snapping the diaper open with a practiced flick of her wrists. The crinkling sound seemed absurdly loud in the quiet room. "You wanna act like a toddler? Fine. But toddlers don’t get modesty privileges." Her tone was matter-of-fact, the same one she'd used when teaching him to tie his shoes at age six. "Lift your hips." Jacob's breath hitched as Lana's fingers slid under his hips, the sudden pressure lifting him just enough for the diaper to whisper against the sheets beneath him. The crinkling plastic sounded obscenely loud—like walking on fresh snow in the dead of night—and he squeezed his eyes shut, willing himself to disappear. Cool air hit his thighs as she tugged his boxers down, the elastic snapping against his skin in a final, humiliating protest. Lana worked with the brisk efficiency of someone who'd done this a thousand times before. One hand pressed flat against his stomach to keep him still while the other guided the diaper into place, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs as she adjusted the gathers. Jacob bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, his whole body rigid with the effort not to squirm. The padding was shockingly thick between his legs, the material puffing up around his hips in a way that made his stomach twist. Lana barely glanced at the stiff flush of pink between Jacob’s thighs as she dusted baby powder over the diaper’s lining with the precision of someone seasoning a steak. The powder puffed up in little clouds, settling into the creases with a clinical efficiency that made Jacob’s toes curl against the sheets. He jerked when her thumb grazed his hipbone to smooth out a wrinkle, but she didn’t pause—just tugged the front flap up between his legs with a brisk pat that left his face burning hotter than the embarrassment pooling in his gut. The tapes made a tearing sound as she secured them, one after another, snug but not tight enough to pinch. Jacob’s breath came shallow through his nose, his fingers clutching at the comforter like it might swallow him whole. Lana leaned back to survey her handiwork, the diaper crinkling obscenely as he shifted—a sound that would’ve been comical if it weren’t so mortifying. "There," she said, dusting her hands off on her nightgown. "Now was that so hard?" Jacob’s laugh was brittle. He didn’t trust his voice not to crack if he spoke, so he just stared at the ceiling fan’s wobbly rotation instead, counting the clicks between each uneven spin. The padding pressed against him in a way that was impossible to ignore, thick and foreign and somehow already warm from his body heat. Lana stood, the mattress springing back as her weight left it. She paused at the door, one hand on the knob. "Lights out in ten," she said, like this was any other night. Like she hadn’t just diapered him like an infant. "And no soda. Maybe have a glass of water, but not too close to bedtime." The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Jacob alone with the hum of the fan and the crinkle of plastic every time he so much as twitched. He waited until her footsteps faded down the hall before sitting up, the diaper rustling like a bag of chips under his weight. The mirror across the room reflected a version of himself he barely recognized—hair mussed, shoulders hunched, wearing nothing but a diaper. He pressed the heels of his hands into his eyes until colors bloomed behind his lids. The half-empty soda can on the ground needed to be cleaned up and Jacob lazily wiped the spill with an old pair of boxers, picking up the aluminum still cold from condensation. He hadn’t even realized he’d brought it to his lips—just habit, muscle memory, his fingers curling around the damp can while Lana’s footsteps faded down the hall. The first few gulps had been defiant, almost satisfying in their pettiness. By the time he’d drained it, though, the sugar sat heavy in his stomach, a sluggish counterpoint to the frantic drumbeat of his pulse. He wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, ignoring the crinkle between his legs as he shifted on the bed. The diaper hugged his crotch, the padding pressing insistently against his skin in a way that made his throat tight. A drop of condensation rolled off the can and onto his thigh, startlingly cold compared to the humid room. Jacob flicked it away with more force than necessary, watching it splatter against the wall like a tiny rebellion. Down the hall, the shower turned on—Lana’s nightly ritual, the pipes groaning as water hit the tiles. Jacob stared at the closed door, half-expecting her to burst back in and confiscate the empty can like some kind of contraband. But the only sound was the steady rush of water and the occasional creak of the house settling. He exhaled, slow and shaky, and reached for his phone just to have something to do with his hands. The screen lit up and opened up Instagram, first seeing a status update from Amanda next door—a blurry photo of Tommy grinning in his tiny dinosaur pajamas, captioned *Big boy pants all night!* Jacob’s thumb hovered over the heart react before he swiped the message away, his stomach twisting. The diaper rustled again as he slumped against the headboard, the sound impossibly loud in the quiet room. He should’ve felt relieved. The logical part of his brain knew Lana was right—knew the diapers were a practical solution, at least until he got his shit together. But logic couldn’t untangle the hot knot of humiliation lodged behind his ribs, the way his breath hitched every time the plastic shifted against his thighs. He grabbed a pillow and hugged it to his chest, as if that could somehow muffle the crinkling. The pillow pressed against Jacob’s hips in a way that made the padding shift, the crinkling sound suddenly muffled. He froze, half-expecting Lana to barge back in at the noise—but the shower was still running down the hall, the pipes whining like they always did when the water got too hot. He exhaled shakily and experimentally rocked forward again, just a tiny movement. The diaper’s inner lining brushed against him, softer than he’d expected, and his breath caught. He shouldn’t. He *really* shouldn’t. But the tension in his gut was unbearable, and the more he tried not to think about the way the material rubbed with every slight shift, the more his body seemed to betray him. Jacob clenched his teeth and ground his hips down harder into the pillow, the pressure just *there*, teasing in a way that made his toes curl. A strangled noise escaped his throat—part frustration, part something else entirely—and he buried his face in the pillow to smother it. The diaper held him snugly, the padding somehow both restrictive and yielding as he rocked into it. Every movement sent a jolt of heat through him, the friction just shy of too much. He bit his lip hard enough to sting, his fingers digging into the pillowcase as he chased the sensation, hips stuttering forward in shallow thrusts. The crinkling sounded obscenely loud to his own ears, but the water was still running, Lana none the wiser— Then the shower cut off abruptly. Jacob froze, heart hammering against his ribs. The pipes groaned as the water stopped, and he could practically *feel* Lana stepping out, towel wrapping around her, droplets hitting the bath mat. He pictured Lana, naked with water droplets slipping down her curves... Jacob's breath hitched as the diaper crinkled beneath him, the sound suddenly deafening in the silence after the shower shut off. His hips stuttered forward once, twice—then his whole body locked up as heat flooded through him in a dizzying rush. The padding absorbed it without a sound, the warmth spreading in a way that should've been mortifying but instead left him panting against the pillow, fingers twisted in the sheets. For a heartbeat, there was nothing but the aftershocks thrumming through him and the horrifying realization of what he'd just done. Then the shame crashed down like a bucket of ice water. Jacob's face burned as he peeled himself away from the pillow, the diaper sticking uncomfortably to his thighs. He could feel the wetness cooling against his skin, the padding swollen and heavy between his legs. *Oh god.* He'd just—in a *diaper*. Like some kind of freak. His stomach twisted violently, and for a second he thought he might actually throw up.   Down the hall, the bathroom door creaked open. Jacob's pulse spiked as he scrambled to pull the covers up over himself, the sheets rustling loudly. The diaper squished under his weight as he shifted, making his ears burn hotter. He grabbed his phone with trembling hands, pretending to scroll through something—anything—as Lana's footsteps padded closer. Her shadow darkened the crack under the door for a long moment before she knocked softly. "Jacob? You still awake?" He swallowed hard, throat clicking. "Yeah," he managed, voice strangled. The word came out too high, too tight. He cleared his throat, eyes fixed on the screen like it held the meaning of life. "Just—uh. Just on my phone." The doorknob turned with a slow, deliberate creak that made Jacob's spine stiffen. Lana's silhouette filled the doorway, backlit by the hall light, her damp hair clinging to the collar of her robe. She didn't step in immediately—just hovered there, one hand still on the knob, the scent of lavender body wash drifting in with her. "You're still up," she observed, not quite a question. Her eyes flicked to the crumpled blankets pooled around his waist, then to the phone clenched in his white-knuckled grip. Jacob willed his breathing to steady, but the diaper between his legs felt like a beacon pulsing under the sheets. Lana tilted her head, the robe's belt swaying as she took a step forward. "You okay? You're breathing like you just ran a mile." Jacob's thumb jerked across the screen, opening and closing apps at random. "Fine. Just—reading." Lana hummed, unconvinced. She crossed the room in three strides, the hem of her robe brushing against the discarded soda can. It rolled with a hollow clatter that made Jacob flinch. Her fingers closed around the edge of the comforter before he could react. "Let me check your diaper." "No—Lana, wait!" Jacob's hand shot out to grab her wrist, fingers digging into the soft skin above her pulse point. His heartbeat thundered in his ears, loud enough he was sure she could hear it. The diaper clung damply between his thighs, still warm from—*god*, from what he'd just done. If she pulled back the covers now, saw the mess he'd made... Lana didn't pause. Her fingers tightened on the comforter, and with one sharp tug, she yanked it down to his knees. Cold air hit Jacob's bare chest as he scrambled to cover himself, but Lana was already reaching for the waistband of the diaper, her nails skimming the sweat-damp skin of his hip. Jacob's breath seized in his throat. *She's going to see. She's going to know.* He squeezed his eyes shut, bracing for the disgusted gasp, the horrified recoil— "What the hell, Jacob?" Lana's voice cut through the panic, sharp with exasperation. Her thumb hooked under the elastic, peeling the diaper away from his skin with a wet sound that made his stomach flip. "It's barely been twenty minutes and you *already* wet yourself?" Jacob's eyes flew open. Lana was frowning down at the swollen padding, her nose wrinkled at the sharp tang of baby powder mixed with—*oh god*—the scent of his own release. But her expression wasn't disgust. Just frustration. Like he'd spilled juice on the couch again. Lana pinched the sodden padding between her fingers, lifting the diaper away from Jacob's hips with a disgusted flick of her wrist. The tapes tore free with a sound like Velcro ripping apart, the wet material sagging obscenely between them. "Jesus Christ, Jacob," she hissed, shaking the dripping garment like she might shake sense into him. "I *just* put this on you. Did you even *try* to hold it?" Jacob's mouth worked soundlessly, his throat clicking as he struggled to form words. The truth—the *real* truth—burned behind his teeth, acidic and unspeakable. He couldn't tell her. Couldn't even *think* it without wanting to crawl out of his own skin. Instead, he pressed his thighs together tighter, the cooling wetness between them making his stomach churn. "You're eighteen years old," she said, each word precise as a scalpel. "You probably drank a can of soda in secret like a kid stealing cookies, then pee yourself like an infant who doesn't know better." She grabbed a fresh diaper from the package with more force than necessary, the plastic crinkling like a threat. "Roll over." Jacob's breath hitched. "I—I can do it—" "*Now*, Jacob." Lana's voice brooked no argument, her fingers already tugging at his hips. The mattress dipped as she leaned over him, her damp hair brushing his chest as she maneuvered him onto his back. The new diaper unfolded with a crisp snap, the scent of baby powder puffing up in a cloud as she dusted the lining. Jacob's pulse hammered in his throat as Lana's fingers worked the tapes loose. The diaper sagged between his legs, still warm—not with urine, but with something far worse. His stomach twisted as the flaps peeled back, the sticky truth exposed to the overhead light. *She'll smell it,* he thought, panicked. *She'll know.* Lana paused, her nose wrinkling. Jacob braced for the recoil, the gasp, the horrified realization—but she only sighed, tossing the soiled diaper toward the trash can with a practiced flick of her wrist. "Honestly, Jacob," she muttered, reaching for the baby powder. "You'd think at your age you'd assume to use the toilet instead of lazily pee in your nighttime diaper." His breath stalled. She hadn't noticed. The scent of his shame had blended seamlessly with the powder, the evidence hidden in plain sight. Relief flooded him—hot, nauseating relief—just as Lana tugged his hips up with one firm hand. The fresh diaper crinkled beneath him, absurdly white against his flushed skin. She dusted the lining with mechanical precision, her fingers brushing the sensitive skin of his inner thighs as she smoothed out the gathers. Jacob bit his lip hard enough to taste copper, his entire body rigid. Every accidental touch sent electric jolts through him—half-terror, half something unnameable. Lana snapped the second diaper's tapes shut with more force than necessary, the plastic crinkling like a threat under Jacob's hips. She sat back on her heels, surveying her handiwork with a sigh that carried the weight of a hundred unwashed sheets. "My goodness, Jacob," she muttered, shaking her head. Her damp hair clung to the collar of her robe, the scent of lavender body wash clashing with the sharp tang of baby powder. "What am I gonna do with you?" Jacob stared at the ceiling, his fingers digging into the mattress. The new diaper pressed against him, stiff and pristine—a stark contrast to the humiliation pooling hot in his gut. Lana's thumb brushed his hipbone as she adjusted the waistband, her touch clinical, impersonal. Like he was six again, squirming on the changing table. "Maybe I need to treat you like a little baby," she mused, more to herself than to him. Her fingers tapped against his thigh—once, twice—a slow rhythm that made his breath hitch. "Early bedtime. No soda. Bottles instead of pop cans?" A humorless chuckle escaped her as she stood, the robe's belt swaying. "Hell, maybe I should get you a pacifier." Jacob's face burned. The words should've been ridiculous, laughable. But the way Lana said them— Lana straightened up, her damp robe whispering against the mattress as she dusted baby powder off her palms. The scent clung to her fingers—sweet, cloying, unmistakable. Jacob watched her throat move as she swallowed, the tendon flexing like she was biting back words. "Alright," she said finally, folding her arms across her chest. The motion made her robe gape slightly, revealing a sliver of damp collarbone. "Here's how tonight's gonna go." She tapped one bare foot against the floorboards, the rhythm deliberate. "You're gonna use the potty like a big boy before lights out." Her lips quirked at the phrasing—half-mocking, half-serious. "And when I check that diaper in the morning?" She leaned in, close enough that Jacob could see the faint smudge of mascara under her lashes. "It better be dry. Or else." Jacob's fingers twitched against the sheets. "Or else what?" Lana's smile curled slow and dangerous, like a cat spotting a cornered mouse. "Or else," she said, tapping his diapered hip with one manicured nail, "we're taking a field trip next door. Amanda's been *so* successful with Tommy's potty training lately." The crinkle of plastic underscored her words as Jacob stiffened beneath her touch. "Maybe she’ll have some tips for you." Jacob’s stomach dropped. Amanda—with her knowing smiles and perfectly manicured lawn—who'd waved at him just yesterday while Tommy proudly showed off his dinosaur undies. "You wouldn’t," he whispered, horrified. Lana plucked at the diaper’s waistband, letting it snap back against his skin with a sound that made him flinch. "Try me." She straightened, the robe’s belt swinging as she turned toward the door. "Pajamas are in the dryer. Put them on before you catch a chill." The door clicked shut behind her, leaving Jacob alone with the echo of her threat and the hum of the ceiling fan