Trading Post

So a bit of history.  I have been a DL since probably 2014. Going through the usual binge purge cycles etc. Moving year later wearing nappies started to become a struggle mentally and physically. I had acceptable this side of myself. The conflict was do I wear or dont. I would get to a point that couldnt anymore and start weering. My wife knows this side of me. She was sort of supportive but wouldn't get involved. More like tolerate it.  Move forward to a month ago and I decided im tired of this anguish and internal fighting. So I wrote a letter to my wife. I decided that im going 24/7 for minimum of 3 months. This was to see if i can live this lifestyle 100%. In the letter I included every detail I could think of. I even used AI to gelp formulate the letter. I left nothing to chance. I gave the letter to my wife one saturday morning. She understands why Im doing this and has accepted it. Even though she is holding me to the 3 months. She still stated firmly thst she will not.participate. Which I am fine with. But as most of us who have partners that wont become involved wish they would.  So 33 days later, I have been in nappies the entire time. No matter what situation I have been in. I am wetting so automatically now that I feel the wetting happening but I dont feel the build up. The wetting just happens. I do not go #2 as I hate the cleanup.  So I have worked a system to be able to pull my. Nappy down to go to the loo and then pull it back up. I have had to use nappy covers which are actually cloth pocket nappies. They work really well as nappy covers. Night time is still a battle but I have now worked out a system to wet on bed in a semi conscious state.  From a personal point of view. I feel so much happier. I feel more in control of my life. I dont get so angry so quickly any longer. I handle stress much better. The sensory side if things. I have this like internal happiness feel a lot of the time. I dont masterbate any longer and my sexual drive has been pushed more toward my wife more than before.  So from my perspective. Going 24/7 has been a really positive move for me. 

Just stumbled upon this thread…. I have always enjoyed the odd ‘messing’ when I have the house to myself but…. have always hated the cleanup and the paranoia of smells lingering. So the banana trick sounds ‘right up my street’. Thank you for the top tips, I will try and get some under-ripe bananas (I was wondering how it would be possible to introduce a ‘ready to eat’ banana into a reluctant orifice). Will report back when I have had the chance to experiment.

55. Age-Appropriate “I’m not a child!” Tess snapped reflexively, and immediately regretted it. From so many people, a comment like that would have been a veiled insult about her baby face. And all of her friends should have known her well enough not to say something like that. But this was Spike she was talking to, and she knew beyond any doubt that he would never treat her like a child.She must have misinterpreted his words, because any other explanation just didn’t fit in with what she knew about him. “I’m sorry,” he answered right away. He paused just long enough that she knew he had actually thought about it, and knew he’d done something wrong, rather than reflexively trying to turn away criticism. “No,” she interrupted. “I’m sorry. There was no reason for me to react like that. I know you, Spike. If you’re the one who said it, I know there’s actual thought behind the words. And I’d like to hear what you were going to say, because I know it’s going to be interesting.” “Way to put a guy on the spot,” he chuckled, then tapped the poster. They were standing outside the Regal now, the second largest theatre in Upper Ashfields. The wall was covered with movie posters, some of them straight, pasted over the top of the ones for previous weeks’ showings. In the gaps between, it might have been possible to find narrow slivers of bare wall but most of the surface was covered with more posters, months or even years old. They were accompanied today by Chloe and Rachel, Spike's friend Jeb, and a few others whose names Tess hadn’t caught. They had all piled onto a bus in Raybridge, and then debated what to see over burgers at some place without a visible name. The Regal had a bunch of indie films as well as the big names. That was why they'd decided to take a look, in case there was something to catch their eye out of the mainstream. “I said, it looks like it’s marketed as a film for kids,” Spike tried to explain, gesturing at the poster in front of Tess. “But that’s just a stylistic thing. We’d miss out on a lot of stuff if we limit ourselves based on who they're supposed to be for. It could be the next STP, but how would we know?” “I can see that. It caught my attention because the art style looks familiar. Did you ever catch that Shaaark show a few years back? Similar style, and I recognise the big guy in the back.” “French poster, though. That’s weird, like why would they show a foreign version of a kids’ movie?” “Maybe it was made in French. An extra movie we never got? Still not something I expected to see here. It just kind of stood out, you know? There’s nothing childish about that. I didn’t even watch that show when it was on, but… You know Ffrances, right? She’s really into the comics it was based on, and she’s got me reading some of them. There’s more to them than you think.” They discussed it a little more. Tess was interested to see what this French film was about; if it would be following the same family-friendly tone as the cartoon, or if it was closer to MK’s original work. And she wondered if there were any plot elements in this that her friends might recognise if they went to watch Tags later; though she couldn’t really say that without spoiling the potential surprise. Once everyone had given their opinions, the choice seemed to be mostly between Tags and something called Shiroyamanomusuko, which looked to be an epic romance about a crippled former samurai. “I don’t know what to expect from either,” Spike said with a smile. “Feels like it’ll be a pleasant surprise.” “I think that title should probably have some spaces in,” Tess suggested. “Which one are you going for?” “Can’t decide. You want to pick?” “We already tried democracy. And just asking one person might make this feel like…” “A date?” Chloe smirked. “Yeah, wouldn’t that be weird. Do you want to watch a romance, or a… whatever genre you call it. I think he’s being a little more transparent than usual.” “Hey, he’s just being nice!” Tess protested, feeling the blush rising already. Was Spike really asking her a coded question that she hadn’t even seen? There was no way to know, however much she hoped so. But now somebody else had said it, she would feel bad subjecting everyone else to that choice today. “It’s hard to choose, that one does look interesting. But Spike hasn’t seen Tags yet, and it’s too good to miss.” “Well, I trust your judgement. But I think Jeb is desperate to see Tags, and Chloe and her girlfriend are going to call me uncultured heathens if I don’t catch it soon. So, if you don’t want to pick for me, we’ll go with that. And if you want to see the Japanese romance thing, we can come back next week. When there isn’t anyone around who might feel it threatens their masculinity.” That got a  brief laugh. Among Spike’s friends, regardless of gender, there probably wasn’t anyone who would consider “too girly” a reason not to watch something if it was well written. But it was a few seconds later that Tess found herself picking up subtext that she didn’t  know was even there. He was inviting her to go to the cinema with him; just her, and not the whole group. And saying that a period romance was an acceptable choice. If she said yes, would that be a date? It was hard to see it as  anything else, but she really didn’t know. The thought was in the back of her mind all the time they were buying tickets, and queueing to get drinks, popcorn, and nachos. Is this a date? The question wouldn't go away. Of course today wasn't. It was a gathering of friends, watching a movie that everyone had been curious about. But next week, if Spike had really invited her separately, it was easy to think he wanted her to think that way. But how much of that was her wishful thinking? Those thoughts evaporated within ten minutes when the movie started. It captured Tess's attention immediately, and she was expecting the next twist all the way through. She noticed Chloe and Rachel both tensed up at the start of the warehouse negotiations. Tess was probably just as excited; it was the kind of twist that made you even more excited to see ir on subsequent viewings. And she noticed the surprise and confusion from most of Spike’s friends when Shark first appeared in the shadows. She was vaguely aware of a Ciertowczki-shaped presence moving closer at the start of the movie, but Spike paid no attention and carefully chose a seat between Tess and Rachel, with friends all around him. No distraction could tear Tess’s attention away from the screen. The only other thing on her mind was how her friends were taking all the twists and turns in the plot. More than once she found herself watching Spike’s reactions, enjoying his surprise and excitement as much as the movie itself. But then she noticed his hand right next to hers, on the armrest of his seat. It looked almost like he wanted to take her hand but was too nervous. At that point, the action on the screen no longer mattered. Spike had chosen to sit next to her, among all his friends. He had offered her the decision of what to watch.  He had asked her to come with him to watch the Japanese romance thing next week. All those subtle hints, could it really be possible that it wasn’t an invitation? She didn’t know. But after ten minutes of heart-racing anxiety, Tess forced herself to stare at the screen again. And while she held her breath along with everyone else, waiting for Cerberus Shark’s iconic line, she might have let her own hand move a fraction of an inch. Just close enough to be touching, but gentle enough that it could have been an accident. Tess didn’t know what she was supposed to be feeling now, but this was the single most intense moment of her life so far.

54. My Typical Work Day I was really starting to get into the plot of Mommy’s Little Devil. If it kept on adding interesting new twists, there was a chance it could even dethrone The Baby Button as my favourite current story. It didn’t make that much difference to me that I was now forced to read them on my phone, while my office computer displayed only spreadsheets and the things that I needed to research for something related to my job. I quickly called up FriendSpace, and sent a message to Ffrances saying I hoped that her work wasn’t causing her too much trouble today. She told me a little about the problem; apparently a paranoid patient who refused to tell the truth about his symptoms because she was the only doctor he trusted. The guy was well known to staff, and they’d decided some time ago that if this guy was sick again, they should ask him to wait until Ffrances was available. That didn’t quite explain why she expected to be putting in significant overtime tonight, but I didn’t press for details. If she wasn’t being entirely honest with me, I could easily believe that she was setting up some kind of surprise gift. It was nearly Christmas,after all, and I still needed to organise something thoughtful and special. For my girlfriend, and for my little as well. So I asked Ffrances what time she would be home, and promised that one of her favourite, extra-special meals would be waiting on the table when she got home. Before I put my phone down, I checked one more time to see if there was a new update from TheAuthor’sLittleSister. No luck today; perhaps she was doing her own preparations ready for the holidays. She hadn’t even responded to any of the usual messages on her story’s comments section, or the forum. But I knew I would have something more to read sooner or later. Before I had time to turn my attention to the documents on my screen, I saw movement through my doorway. My office was somewhere between a real office and a cubicle, and didn’t have a real door to knock on, which often left visitors unsure if they could just enter, or needed to get my attention somehow. “Good morning, Belle,” I greeted my visitor. She was somewhere between an intern and a temp, and I was in the dark about her precise role, in much the same way she was about my lack of a door. If the boss had been a misogynistic jerk, I could have believed she’d been hired as eye candy. She was certainly easy to look at, and didn’t make much effort to hide it, but seemed to be genuinely interested in supporting the company when she wasn’t texting her college-age friends. I’d wondered about disciplining her a few times in the past because she spent half the day glued to her phone; but any work I gave her was always done promptly and conscientiously, leaving me no reason to complain. She gave a little curtsey, and mumbled something I didn’t quite catch. Normally she didn’t make much of the difference in seniority, despite much of her workday being spent acting as my receptionist, secretary, messenger, or general dogsbody. She must be nervous today, and I found myself wondering if somebody else had made a complaint. Would she be asking me to serve as a character reference in front of some HR tribunal. “What can I help you with?” I asked. “I’ve just been to see… uhh…” she caught herself, and choked back a word she probably shouldn’t have said. Nicknames for someone else in the office, when she should be using their official title? It was the first thing that came to my mind as she corrected herself: “Miss Bracewell. From the Site Oversight Team.” I sighed, and realised that there was probably little I could do to help if any kind of complaint had escalated that far. Bracewell was dreaded throughout the office, and had any number of intimidating nicknames. She also had supreme responsibility for maintaining a positive working culture and emotional balance in the Upper Ashfields project. Since this branch office had started growing, more like a college campus than a traditional office environment, Bracewell had been in charge of making sure people wanted to work here. That meant that she could do whatever she wanted, and didn’t need to answer to anyone but the board of directors. Even more than Human Resources or the Management Ethics Subcommittee, she was the person whose name you didn’t want to hear. “Oh,” I mumbled, trying to show a little sympathy. I hadn’t expected to see a member of my team in Bracewell’s sights. “Is there a problem? Anything we can do to bring the office closer to the company ethos?” “She wants to see you,” Belle mumbled, and gave a little smile. “It’s probably not anything serious. She’s put a request in with the meeting request system, but she asked me to let you know that… umm… she would rather see you immediately.” I froze then, and by the time I opened my mouth, the young woman was gone. And I knew that regardless of any worries, I needed to find a space on my calendar this afternoon. * * * I paced back and forth in front of the office door, wondering what she Who Must Not Be Named could possibly want with me. It wasn’t like I was behind on deadlines; I was never tough with the people who worked under me, and they all knew I would cut them some slack if they had personal problems. I had suggested monthly office cinema trips six months before, and many of the people from the Fitzgerald Building were in the habit of joining me now; especially after I discovered that SYL owned half of the local cinema, and could bring back nostalgic or iconic movies from our youth if we gave HR a heads up what we would like to see. Could I be due a commendation for that? It didn’t seem likely, now so much time had passed, but it was possible. I didn’t seriously consider any of the possibilities that crossed my mind. I’d gone over this again and again in my head as I made the slow walk to the Committee Building, and I knew exactly what this was about. Someone had found out about the stories I had been reading, not just on company time, but on the office computer. Somehow, someone in my office had found a way to get a document printed out from my PC, or it had been the result of a technical fault after all. And someone had seen it, or had taken the first few pages, and jumped to all the wrong conclusions about the type of things I must be into. Just this morning, I had with the help of a friend in the admin office received an itemised spreadsheet of every document sent to our main office printer on the day in question, with estimated values for the amount of ink used as well as a page count. If I’d just found a way to link those job ID numbers back to the person or workstation printing them, I would at least know who had decided to ruin my life. But right now I had nothing. The best I could hope for was that they had no evidence; or that I could find someone in HR who would be willing to look at the story and realise that it didn’t actually contain sex, or children. That it was all a misunderstanding, and my reading habits should be on the same level as people who played fantasy football with their workmates. It would probably still taint my reputation if this stuff got out, and nobody would trust me. And I would have to find an arbitrator open-minded enough to listen to the whole story without jumping to conclusions, and then willing to stick their neck out for me. I was being called to see Bracewell, the court of no appeal, so it was already too late to start any search for sympathy. I was pacing in front of the door for five minutes before a message from Ffrances distracted me. She told me that she was thinking about me; and that she was looking forward to tonight. And she wished me good luck with my work; completely unaware of the drama that was now unfolding. Should I have told her that I might be out of a job soon? Or that we might be disgraced? I couldn’t say those words to her. I couldn’t tell her the worst case until I knew for sure. So I gave a quick reply to say how much I loved her. Then I muted my phone, slipped it back into my pocket, took a deep breath, and pushed open the door. There was a small waiting room here, with a secretary sitting behind a desk that was even more cluttered than mine. “Do you have an appointment to see Miss Bracewell?” he asked. I hesitated for a moment, and then nodded. I had searched my calendar for the meeting request as soon as Belle left, accepted it, and cleared a space on my schedule until it slotted into place. So she would already be expecting me, preparing what she had to say. Given the woman’s fearsome reputation, I had no doubt that my punishment had already been decided, but that I would also have to face a stern lecture to drill into me exactly what I had done wrong. She would want to make an example of me as well. So I quietly gave my name, and didn’t add any comments about what the meeting might be about.

If only one, white. In order, white, pink, and blue. I have actually used pink, due to the fact that when I started getting into my DL side, pink was the only diaper I had available.