Trading Post

there's no easy way to say this i have been talking with a girl for the last few days on a kinky session we're going to do tomorrow. Thing is, I tried to send her money for the setup via paypal, but accidentally fucked up her account. Ever since she's been asking me for money to try and make up for it because she no longer has access to certain accounts. I do feel bad and I have been supporting her, mainly cuz its my fault that she's in that situation in the first place but... i've spent like 800 dollars in the past 3-4 days she's had good reasoning every time but i've been told i'm very gullible and i've been scammed in the past I can post logs of her reasoning here if anyone wants to discern for themselves i'm just really worried and i'm out a lot of money now I'm not very smart

My routine is finally posted under "Trappy's workout routine".  I'll be updating these documents as I evolve my workout.  I've been using this routine sense late February.

There are many explanations for bedwetting. Back then, a psychologist found this specific one for me. I am describing her advice here.   Part 32: "...you have a lot of catching up to do..."   "And put on something more athletic. I’m not going easy on you today." Before I even had time to panic about the "punishment padding" in my crotch, my mother walked toward me. She smiled at me. "Well, come along then." She actually took me by the hand instinctively and led me into my room. "Marie called yesterday. I told her you could swing by her place after the doctor's appointment and go for a bike ride." Seeing my wide eyes, she immediately reassured me: "No, of course I didn't tell her what we did this morning." I felt relieved and grateful. "Alright then, take off your pants and give me your diapers. They probably don’t go well with a cycling outfit." Mortified, I took off my pants, stood there for a moment in my thick underwear, and reached inside. Blushing furiously, I handed over the two pads. My mother quickly checked them and set them aside on my bed. "You’re invited for lunch at Marie’s family’s house. Mind your manners and be back by five." She walked to the door. I stood in the room in my underwear. "You can handle the rest yourself," she said, giving me back a piece of my autonomy. "I have to get back to Simone." I quickly picked out my coolest clothes, styled my hair modernly straight back, and grabbed my road bike—which I had also received for my birthday—from the garage. I opened the garage door from the inside, and as it rolled up, Marie came into view bit by bit. She was already positioned on her bike right in front of the garage. She knew that whenever we went riding, that’s where I’d come from. Leaning forward, hands on the handlebars, one leg propped on the asphalt for support. First, I saw her new cycling shoes, then her slender leg facing me. Her bare calf, and above it, her short cycling shorts. Then her lean, athletic body with the tight-fitting jersey came into view. Finally her head, her face, smiling cheekily and defiantly, her black hair braided into a tight ponytail, which she now flipped from her cheek to her opposite shoulder with a quick nod of her head. Her face was now visible in all its beauty. "Come on! What took you so long? We need to hurry if we want to get a few laps in before lunch." With weak knees and a racing heart, I got on my bike and followed her down the street. We usually stayed within the area of the next few streets, doing our laps there. Today, we rode a little bit outside the perimeter approved by our parents. They didn't need to know. At 1:00 PM, we busted into her parents' house. It was a lively lunch during which her two younger sisters kept shouting childish jokes like: "Marie has a 'boyfriend'!" Or: "When are you guys getting married?" Even her parents laughed along, and of course it was a bit awkward for us, but on the other hand, I also felt a bit like a great conqueror. Marie probably felt similarly. She acted intentionally "grown-up" in front of her sisters and scolded them at every such comment, but it almost seemed as if she wanted to provoke a few more of those remarks. After eating, we swung back onto our bikes. Just as my mother had ordered, we stayed near our house now. At some point, the front door opened and my mother called me into the house at 6:00 PM. I felt embarrassed and made up something about homework that still needed to be done. When I came inside, Mrs. Dost had left. My mother had prepared a light dinner, and I sat down. I talked about the bike ride in very general terms, trying not to mention Marie. My heart was pounding the whole time. And my mother also seemed to notice that I was speaking a bit faster. She told me she had agreed with Mrs. Dost that Clara and I should spend another night together soon. Mrs. Dost had apparently suggested that Mother should have a nice evening out for once and that she "would love to watch the kids." Apparently, Mrs. Dost still felt guilty. This was discussed in more detail and set for the upcoming weekend. I felt uncomfortable about it. But the decision was made, and there was no changing it now. Of course, I didn't dare ask how things would go with our "problem." Half an hour later, the meal was over, and my mother said: "Alright Tom, bedtime!" I knew exactly what that meant. "Go on ahead, I'll be right there." She had taken the plastic diaper covers and the diapers off the patio and shoved them into my hand. "Here, take this with you." Blushing furiously, I quickly disappeared. I knew what I had to do now. And as I stood in the restroom with my measuring cup, I heard my mother running the bathwater. Then she came in to check everything and log it into the protocol. Now I had to go to the bathroom and brush my teeth. My mother turned off the water and told me to get into the tub. I dragged it out a little longer, hoping my mother still had something important to do. But at the second command, I had to comply. Slowly, I pulled the cycling jersey over my head, then sat on the edge of the tub, and one sock followed the other, very slowly. My mother sat down next to me and gave me time. I had already partially shed the "big Tom." With a heavy heart, I now had to strip off my cycling shorts too. I folded them and placed them on the bathroom chair. Standing in front of my mother in just my underwear, I was "little Tomi." Embarrassed, I now stripped out of that as well. I had to hand it over to her. She turned it inside out just like you would for a toddler. She checked it and was satisfied. "Very good, Tommy.   You're making progress. Now get into the tub. Let's have some nice mother-child time. Just like Dr. Löffler recommended. She thinks it helps you. You maybe didn't have enough of it."   I quickly lowered myself into the water, trying to cover up as much as possible. Once again, my mother sat beside me, talking to me affectionately while I washed myself, feeling exposed. The water was turning cold. "Alright, my little sparrow, climb on out and let's get you ready." I slowly got out of the tub. My mother held up a bath towel and wrapped me in it lovingly. She dried me off and led me over to my room. There I stood, holding the towel tightly around my body. Laying in front of me was my diaper cover, exactly where I had left it this morning. My mother took the changing mat from the end of the bed and laid it out. On top of it, she placed the new yellow diaper cover that I had just been forced to take with me, which I had left in the bathroom. My mother had gathered it along with the dried diapers from the chair over there and had followed me in with them. "This will be your 'nighttime panties' for the foreseeable future." As she spoke, she smoothed out the plastic. I thought of Marie—if she could see me now... I pulled the towel even tighter around myself. My mother carefully folded the white plastic covers—the ones I had been allowed to take off and lay on my bed after coming home—and took them over to the closet. There, she placed them next to the cloth diapers and the diaper inserts. "We'll need those tomorrow..." my mother murmured, hinting at the second part of my punishment for the hidden wet things. She knelt in front of the open plastic cover again and laid down the diapers, layer by layer, as a thick strip onto the yellow diaper cover. On top of that, she added two more inserts—one in the front, one in the back. As she did, she remarked, "It’s a good thing we have these inserts from Laura too. You really put a lot into your diapers sometimes." I blushed from ear to ear. "Alright, my sweetheart, towel down and lay down on your 'nighttime panties'." I hesitated. My mother stood up, walked over to me, and gently pried my hands loose. The large towel slid to the floor. "There's a good boy. Now come on, you don't want all your washed bedding hanging out in the front yard to dry tomorrow like Clara's, do you?" I thought of Marie again... ...it would be absolutely mortifying if she came over tomorrow and saw nothing but my pajamas and bedsheets out on the clothesline! Everyone knows exactly what that means, I thought. My mother saw my resistance crumbling. I received a playful, motherly swat on my rear, and then I bypassed her to take the two steps toward my "nighttime pants," my diaper cover. She watched me with satisfaction. "See, that wasn't so hard! You know I only want what's best for you, my 'big boy.' But as long as children can't reliably keep their beds dry, it's just better to put them in a diaper cover. Now, come on, hop on up and lay down on it." I had already turned around anyway, and I laid down with my legs apart onto the thick diaper bundle. It already felt unique—resting my bottom on that thick padding. My legs automatically flared out a bit wider. It was soft; it felt strangely "familiar." Perhaps it was a deep-seated memory from toddlerhood, when everything was simple and carefree. A time when you were allowed to just be yourself and were loved anyway. A brief smile must have crossed my face. My mother noticed it. Caught in the act, she smiled back subtly. "Very good boy." She reached for the powder and cream. "Which would you prefer? Nicely powdered all over so you don't get a rash, or the cream, my darling?" I was paralyzed, unable to answer. "I know this is a bit embarrassing for you, but if you have a red bottom when showering after practice, and red streaks start forming around the waistbands of your diaper cover, everyone is going to ask what that is. If they have younger siblings, the answer won't be hard for them to figure out. So take your pick. We have to use one of the two." The fact that I was incredibly ashamed, especially after such a wonderful afternoon with Marie, was obvious from my bright red face. "The powder, please," I said, my voice cracking. "Alright then. You know how we do this." I nodded timidly, pulled my legs up, and lifted them over my head. "You are being so good today." She distributed the powder generously across my bottom. Suddenly, the room smelled like childhood. Using two fingers, she casually and briefly parted my buttocks and quickly dusted a lot of powder in between them as well. "Now just a quick dusting for the waistbands of your diaper cover, so nothing gets irritated." With those words, she poured a heavy layer of powder directly onto the plastic cover underneath me. "And lower your legs, then we'll be done in just a second." I lowered my legs. I was relieved but also humiliated, finding myself looking directly into my mother's face again. She let out a short laugh when she saw my flushed face. "Oh Tommy, your face is completely red. Don't be ashamed. This is happening in a lot of children's bedrooms tonight. You aren't alone. You're still all going to grow up into big boys one day." She tickled my stomach affectionately. I couldn't help but grin. Now plenty of powder went onto my crotch, and the waistband that fastened this baby cover around my stomach was also coated with a film of dust. She set the container aside and wiped her hands on an unused diaper. Then came the moment where she lifted the front part of the diaper cover up between my legs, pressing it firmly against my stomach and crotch with one hand, while using her other hand to wrap the first side panel around my hip. Just that initial feeling of something pressing up between my legs made me beam with a sudden surge of happiness. I couldn't explain it. It was a profound sense of security. Using both hands, she snapped the fasteners shut. Snap, snap, snap. She pulled the other side panel across my stomach to meet the middle section. Snap, snap, snap. Then, just like she would with a toddler, she affectionately rubbed her hand over the freshly fastened, thickly protruding center of the cover. "Look at that, someone isn't entirely unhappy about being wrapped up all soft and secure," she teased. My face must have given me away. She's right, I thought. Despite all the shame, I do feel a little more at peace now that these plastic pants are fastened snugly around me. She smiled. "You don't need to be embarrassed about that either. Dr. Löffler said that might actually be a reason for your bedwetting. You don't want to be a big boy just yet. Not quite yet!" My face burned an even deeper shade of red. She ran her fingers along the leg bands to make sure "everything was tucked in properly." Then she picked up the waiting pajama bottoms. "Alright, up with that cute diaper bottom one more time so we can finish getting you dressed." She slid them up over my legs. "She also mentioned that I probably should have let you keep your diaper covers a bit longer. Maybe you want to make up for lost time." I froze, the pajama bottoms only half pulled up, and I had to look away from her. What she said sounded almost more like a question than an explanation. What did she mean? Did she mean she shouldn't have started my potty training so early? That she shouldn't have been so strict back when I was two years old? Or what? I felt an overwhelming wave of shame. Or was this about the time when I was 7 or 8 years old? Back then, I had wanted to play "baby." Why, I didn't know. I remembered the old diaper cover I had found in my mother's closet back then, which I hid under my mattress and she eventually discovered. As if it had happened just yesterday, the humiliating situation here in my room and the conversations that followed flooded back into my mind. Was what she just said another allusion to that embarrassing phase? "You can talk to Dr. Löffler about it on Monday. I won't be there." Startled, I looked back at her. She smiled. "Come on, up with that little diaper bottom, so I can finish putting on your pajamas." I pushed myself up a bit, and she pulled the pants up past my hips. As she did, she leaned forward and kissed me affectionately on my bare stomach. "We'll get through this, my big boy!" she said encouragingly. "Tonight your bed is staying dry one way or another. Even if the diapers are a bit thick. You don't need to worry about a thing. It doesn't matter if the diaper cover is wet tomorrow. That’s what it’s there for, my sweetheart." As much as the shame left me speechless, I also suddenly felt deeply secure and accepted. It felt good to experience my mother being so kind. "Here is your top. You can put that on yourself, and then everything is ready for a peaceful night." I was finally allowed to stand up. Now I truly felt like little Tommy, going to bed at 7 PM in his diaper cover... She held up the comforter, and little Tommy crawled underneath it with his thick bottom. The plastic protector under the bedsheet crinkled with a familiar sound. And despite the muffling effect of the pajama bottoms, his plastic pants still made their signature noises. Mom lovingly tucked the comforter around me. "I have one more thing for you." She pulled my old blue pacifier out of her pocket. Before I could say anything, she explained, "Maybe you've been missing it?" I looked at her, confused. "Last week it slipped under your bed. I think you were trying it out? Weren't you?" I couldn't answer, my face burning bright red. But that already said enough... "I spoke on the phone with Dr. Löffler. I told her how good you're being. She says you have a lot of catching up to do, and that you should feel free to try out your old pacifier." I was deeply ashamed. "Think about it, I'll leave it right here. Maybe you'll want it later." She went over to the window. "I'll close the curtains, and then you get some good sleep." Then she walked to the door. "Sleep well and sweet dreams." The light was out. I lay there in the dark. My legs were spread slightly apart by the thick diapers and the smooth plastic pants. The steady pressure felt familiar. It gave me a sense of security and contentment. At the same time, I thought of Marie, and the shame washed over me once again.    

The traffic on incont.org seems to have slowed to an almost stop. I wonder why that is.

Even more interesting was the metal cap and the nipple both sealed the bottle at the same time. See the two sets of threads on the glass bottle? You take off the metal cap to break the seal, then screw the nipple back on to drink from it. And the nipple has a larger cut opening specifically for adults.