justforfun

I just want to say, Little Sherri, that I so appreciate your writing and sharing. I appreciate that you take the time to write, share, and pontificate on the realities of living a life in crinkly underwear!

I'm humbled that this story that I wrote so long ago keeps getting positive comments and being bubbled back to the surface. I'll go back to the abandoned sequel and see if I can extract some ideas. I see that it was 2018 when I said I was writing it, so I'll have to dig back in my archives... Well...

Oh, hell no. And that, right there, is why I could never live in your upside down world... I can deal with black widows where I live, as they are conveniently sized for most reasonable extermination techniques, preferably that involve fire from a distance, but anything that could stare me down, 8 eyes to 2, is right out.

I've said this before, but you asked and I just had a 9% Mega Gummy Worms beer from New Glory, and then another, so... I trained myself back to sleep wetting about 25 years ago. I say sleep wetting and not bedwetting because I have a chance of wetting anytime I fall asleep... my bed... the couch... an airplane... a car... a movie... This seemed great at first, but over time life changed. I got married, had a child, and so on. A few times I tried to get dry again, and it didn't work. A big time was when my young daughter got out of diapers and... I didn't. That wasn't a great time, especially because when my daughter arrived my wife and I agreed that we (my daughter and I) would wear cloth diapers, and it's really hard to be discreet when you're wearing a cloth diaper around the house, especially when I became the only one. For a number of years I had rather convinced myself that I could, you know, stop whenever I wanted to. It took my wife essentially declaring my attempt to get dry again over, and insisting that I be diapered when there was a chance I might fall asleep, that I realized that I had been deluding myself. At that point, yes, I regretted it. Over time, though, I've come to peace with it. Diapers really do bring me comfort and security, and while I may wish the sleep wetting was perhaps not quite as aggressive as it is, it is what it is, and in the end I think it's the right thing for me. TL;DR: It's complicated.

A recent event... I was flying to the East coast on a red eye, so as is normal for me I wore a good diaper (Megamax) and a onesie under jeans and an un-tucked button-down shirt, had a gin and tonic or two, and passed out for the 5 hour flight. As also is normal for me, I woke up quite wet as we were landing. The humbling part came during the layover. I had a fairly tight connection, I needed to pee, I had a pretty well-used diaper on... and it must have been National Spicy Burrito night the night before, because all of the men's restrooms I passed had lines for the stalls. So, not only was I going to not have a some-what isolated place to change, I was going to have wait, and then have an audience of people staring at my stall, wondering what I was doing and probably catching glimpses through the huge gaps in the doors. And, of course, the bathrooms all seemed silent, with only an occasional "whoosh" to mask any sounds, so the Megamax tape sounds would, I imagined, remove any doubt was to what was happening. I might as well have just stood out in the open. Between the need to pee, and the reality of likely falling asleep and wetting again on the next flight, I was trying to convince myself that I was just going to have to bite the bullet and deal with the public nature of changing a wet diaper with an audience. I am in no way an exhibitionist, and I have no 'exposure kink' or anything of the sort that might have made it at least a little exciting for some folks. I was not looking forward to it, but I didn't have a choice. Some sort of benevolent entity smiled on me, through, and I was trying to gather my courage to enter the last bathroom before my gate, with 5 minutes before boarding began, a man exited the family bathroom. I quickly stepped in, and heaved a sigh of relief. A minute later the wet diaper was in the bin, a clean one was taped on, and I was back together and ready to board.

I may well be one of the accounts you're talking about. I saw your post a month ago now and I didn't respond at the time because it set off a little navel-gazing, because, of course, you're right. I will fully admit that my reactions are contradictory, confused, and inconsistent. But, I've distilled it down a little, and maybe my thoughts will be somewhat relevant to the thread, so... 1) I have a thing for diapers. That's been true since I was a young child, at least since before my 5-year-younger brother was out of diapers. (That's not a surprise, being here...) 2) After some events in the very early 2000's, I decided that I 'needed' to have a reason to wear diapers. While, based on the events, I didn't want to have (or even pretend to have...) actual 24/7 incontinence, the idea of being a bedwetter worked nicely, and so I spent a year+ focused on becoming one, using every trick known, fantasized, rumored, or guessed at. I think that this stage may be familiar to many in this sub-forum. It took time, but it worked. 3) About five years later I met my wife. Being a bedwetter started to be a drag, and I decided I should stop. But, see (1)... and Onzl's comment: I often wonder if their conscious position is at odds with their subconscious one. Uh-huh... it didn't work, and to some degree that fact that I had no success probably served to reinforce my 'need' as justification. 4) Another few years, and a child arrived, diapers were everywhere and it wasn't a big deal, and then... seemingly suddenly... it was just my diapers again, and I had a child that was increasingly curious, we were traveling more... and so I made a concerted effort to get dry. At least consciously, I was doing everything I could to break the bedwetting, but by now it had been more than 10 years... and... again... see (1). I often wonder if their conscious position is at odds... Keep in mind, for me it was never about the bedwetting as a specific thing. It has always been about 'justifying' the wearing of diapers. When I wake up wet, my first though is not, "Hey, I wet in my sleep!", it is, "Wow, it's a good thing I'm wearing a diaper!" Therefore, I may 'want' the bedwetting to go away as a thing because it is inconvenient, annoying, and doesn't fit with where I am in my life... but that can conflict with (1). I think this is important to figure out if you want to know where things are going in the future. I may have happened to have a better understanding going into it why I wanted to wet the bed... and I think my reasons are different than others here, so my experiences with remorse and guilt are likely also different than others here. Ok, this became a much more about-me threadjack than I intended. Sorry.

I trained myself back to bedwetting about 25 years ago, and my general experience supports this. At some point, my subconscious became convinced that if I needed to pee when I am asleep, it's okay to just do that. It's not so much that I will pee just because I'm asleep, but rather if I do need to pee and I'm asleep, I will. To that end, things that increase my need to pee in general... be it alcohol or stress... will make it more likely that I'll wake up wet. Things that decrease my general need to pee, including dehydration, but also just a general lack of stress, mean it's less likely. For me, I think the thoughtlessness and permission are now always there, but unless the need (opportunity) is there nothing will happen. Being on a stressful work trip and going to bed in a strange hotel room after drinking a bunch of beers is a 99.999% chance of waking up wet. Sleeping at home, with a cool rain outside, after having worked in the yard under the hot sun all day... well, I could _almost_ risk going without a diaper. (Not that my wife would be okay with that risk.) But it's all a matter of probability, even after more than two decades... From what you said there, I think there is still a journey for you... which (I guiltily admit) is good for me, because I very much enjoy reading your writing. I wonder how things will change for you as the cooler weather kicks in and you're more hydrated on average...

I want to start by saying that I really really appreciate your posts and comments over the course of this story. I truly hope you enjoyed it! I want to say, though, that I wanted to write a story where the main character was _not_ infantalized or other wise turned into a baby. While I wanted to explore that he investigated the idea, he figures out that is not what he wants. He does not lose agency, and he does not become a child. Greg and Emily explore some things, but in the end he's a happy, healthy, well-adjusted adult. Who happens to be most comfortable wearing diapers. As a DL myself, I wanted a story where the protagonist finds himself, and comes out stronger, even though he is wearing a diaper, as an equal in the relationship. He has a healthy family life, a healthy public life, and is [mostly] free of guilt. He has a life that represents _all_ aspects of himself. Emily is also happier, and she has control, but it's a granted control... if Greg wanted to change his own diaper in the last chapter, she would have let him. He chooses, with agency and consideration, to continue accepting her care for him, and she chooses, with agency and consideration, to continue providing that care, after 25 years. This works for both of them. Thanks so much! I'm so honored you commented. Hitchhikers is one of my favorite books, obviously. It has shaped much of my mindset over the years... much like many of the songs mentioned in the story....

Chapter 42: So Long and Thanks For All the Fish The blacktop was miserably hot in the August sun as I helped Virginia, our eldest granddaughter, unload the last of her boxes from the car. Twenty-five years. A quarter of a century since we'd moved Abby into her dorm room, the day that had unknowingly set the course for the rest of our lives. Now, here we were, the cycle repeating itself. I looked at Virginia, her face flushed with excitement and a hint of apprehension, and saw a reflection of Abby, of myself even, at that age. A knot of something complex – nostalgia, regret, and a surprising tenderness – tightened in my chest. Had I done right by them? By Emily? By myself? "Grandpa, be careful with that one!" Virginia called out as I hefted a particularly heavy box. "It's got all my books in it." I chuckled, remembering a similar scene from years ago. "Don't worry, kiddo. I may be older, but I'm not completely decrepit yet." Emily appeared at my side, her silver hair gleaming in the sunlight. "Speak for yourself, old man," she teased, giving me a playful nudge. "Some of us are aging like fine wine." As we made our way towards the dorm, I couldn't help but feel a sense of déjà vu. The excited chatter of freshmen, the worried looks of parents, the smell of new beginnings mixed with a hint of anxiety and industrial cleaner - it was all so familiar. "You know," I said to Emily as we waited for the elevator, "I'm glad we sprung for the movers this time. My back is thanking me for not having to lug a damn loft up three flights of stairs again." Emily laughed, the sound as warm and comforting as it had been all those years ago. "Oh, come on, Greg. Don't tell me you don't miss the thrill of nearly toppling backwards down the stairs while our daughter yelled geometry instructions at us." Virginia looked between us, her eyes wide. "Wait, you guys actually carried Mom's loft up the stairs yourselves? That's insane!" I grinned, ruffling her hair. "Welcome to college, kiddo. Where your grandparents' war stories become your entertainment." As we entered Virginia's room, I was struck by how little dorm rooms had changed. The same institutional white walls, the same cramped space that somehow had to house two people's lives for the next year. But there was also something timeless about it, a blank canvas waiting to be filled with memories. Emily, ever the practical one, was already directing traffic. "Alright, let's get you settled in. Virginia, why don't you start unpacking your clothes while your grandfather and I sort out the bedding?" As Virginia busied herself with her suitcase, Emily reached into one of the boxes and pulled out a familiar white square. My breath caught in my throat as I recognized it - a waterproof mattress cover, just like the one we'd given Abby all those years ago. Emily's voice was low as she handed it to Virginia. "Here, put this on first. You can just say it's because of bedbugs or something if anyone asks." Virginia paused as her sheet cheeks flushed slightly, but she took the cover with a grateful smile. "Thanks, Grandma," she whispered, slipping it onto the mattress before quickly covering it with her fitted sheet. As I watched this exchange, I was transported back to that day with Abby. The silent understanding between mother and daughter, the mix of embarrassment and relief on Abby's face - it was all there again, reflected in Virginia's eyes. Later, as we helped Virginia arrange her desk and hang posters, Abby appeared in the doorway. "Hey, everything okay in here?" she asked, her eyes scanning the room with a mix of nostalgia and concern. "We're just about done," Emily replied, smoothing out a wrinkle in Virginia's comforter. "Ready for dinner?" Abby nodded, then hesitated. "Actually, why don't Virginia and I go first and grab us a table? Give you two a moment to freshen up." I felt the familiar warmth spread across my cheeks, the blood rushing, making the roots of my carefully dyed hair prickle with sweat, as I realized what Abby was suggesting. It wasn't really embarrassment, not anymore. Just awareness. As Abby and Virginia left the room, Emily turned to me. "Well, Mr. Thompson," she said softly, a ghost of a smile playing on her lips, "shall we?" I nodded, moving, not to Virginia's bed but to the lone chair. I needed a second to get my head straight. I realized as I sat that a warmth was growing in my diaper, a natural occurrence for years now that barely registered until the squishy bulk of the disposable was made more obvious by the seat of the chair. She paused, her brow furrowing slightly. "Babe, the bed..." she began, her voice questioning. I shook my head. "Just need a sec," I said, and sat. The chair was uncomfortable, but my thoughts swirled. She understood without another word passing between us, giving a quick nod. She stood beside me as I sat for a minute, hand-in-hand. I found myself marveling at the journey, the sheer absurdity of it all. Twenty-five years. Thousands of diaper changes. Tens of thousands? Here we were. Full circle. After a minute, I nodded at Emily, and stood. Emily's hands, as she stood, moved to my jeans. It was now such a natural movement for both of us. I closed my eyes, letting the familiar sensations wash over me – the cool touch of her fingers on the snap of my jeans, the whisper of the zipper being pulled down, the soft rustle of the plastic pants Emily had put over the disposable at the hotel this morning. "You know," I said softly, my voice thick with emotion, "I never could have imagined this is where we'd end up." Emily paused, her hands stilling on my hips. Her voice was warm. "Do you regret it?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper, the question raw, vulnerable. A question that had, perhaps, haunted her, too, all these years. I thought about it, truly thought about it. About how it had started with shame, guilt, and lies. About the comfort, the care, the unexpected intimacy we had found. About the life we'd built, a life undeniably ours, unconventional, yes, but... real. "Honestly?" I started, pausing. I reached for her hand and held it tight. The question was not something I thought I'd get asked. "There were many times I asked what if, wished it had never happened. But," I emphasized, reaching up to cup her cheek, needing her to see, to feel the truth in my words, "I love you, and no, I have no regrets. Every moment with you, the kids, family... Every. Single. Moment. Worth it. All of it." I swallowed the lump in my throat. "And besides... I suspect if things had been different, we would have been different, and I do like us." She moved, starting to tear up, it seemed, and came to give me a hug. My head was nestled on her chest, and I felt the familiar warmth of her breasts against my cheeks through her bra and shirt, her slightly musky smell calming me. I held her for a moment, and smiled. Emily leaned into my touch, her eyes shimmering, unshed tears reflecting the light. "I love you, Greg Thompson," she murmured, her voice thick with emotion. "Diapers and all." She smiled, a genuine, beautiful smile that reached her eyes. I answered by tilting my head up and our lips met for a brief, familiar kiss. "So," I prompted. "Shall we?" She smiled and stepped back to pull the plastic pants down. As my diaper was exposed, and her warm hands started removing the tapes, I continued, taking charge just a little. "You know," I said, my voice a bit steadier now, "This is one of the disposables. I could probably manage this myself, in the bathroom." The statement was a truth, but also... a question. An offering. Emily paused, her hands stilling on the tapes. She looked down at the diaper, then up at me, a flicker of something unreadable in her eyes. She gave a short nod. "You could...," she said, her voice even. "But..." she added, almost to herself, "...it’s been a long time since you asked.” The silence stretched, a beat, two, the unspoken question hanging heavy in the air. I could finish this myself. Walk to the bathroom, clean up, dispose of the diaper, regain that small measure of... autonomy. I met her gaze, a small, almost imperceptible smile touching my lips. "But..." I said, my voice a low murmur, a hint of teasing now entering my tone, "...where’s the fun in that?" Emily’s answering smile was slow, a gradual dawning of understanding, of shared complicity. A warmth, deeper than the flush on my cheeks, spread through me. This wasn't about diapers; it was about trust. About vulnerability. About choosing to let go, to let her care for me, not because I had to, but because I wanted to. "Alright, then," she said, her voice husky, a playful glint returning to her eyes. Her hands resumed their task, discarding the wet diaper, the familiar routine a comforting ritual, her face once again expressing gentle, caring confidence, concern, and control. She quickly and efficiently taped the dry diaper on as I stood there, my knees bent slightly outwards to allow her to snug the leak guards up into position, our combined practice obvious, before pulling the plastic pants back up. "There," she said, patting my hip with a touch as I quickly adjusted and fastened my clothes, "Good as new. That should last through dinner." This wasn't the life I had envisioned for myself all those years ago. It was better. Richer. Filled with more love and understanding than I ever could have imagined. As we sat down to dinner, surrounded by three generations of our family, I couldn't help but think, "So long, conventional life. And thanks for all the fish." This story, "Empty Nest", is copyright 2024 by me, justforfun. It may not be reproduced anywhere else without my explicit consent.

Ok, fixed all the punctuation cut-and-paste problems in the last chapter. Sorry about that. Last chapter incoming when I finish likewise cleaning it up. This time before posting.

Ah crap, that's what happens when you paste from google docs, with it's "smart quotes", into the form here without pasting as dumb text and are in a hurry. Oops. (Edit: it's the '...' In this case. I had sorted the '"' out, but not '...') Sigh. I'm on my phone now but will fix it when I get to my computer. That's for pointing it out

As someone very involved in things... it's not going to take an AGI to get to the point where humans are not economically viable in a very wide range of places. An LLM doesn't have to be able to write compelling diaper porn to be able to replace the person taking your order at a fast food place, answering your tech support call, or handling 99% of tasks at the DMV. In my opinion, it's going to happen, the question is what we do about it. As with the OP asking how we want to handle this in stories on this forum, society as a whole needs to figure out what to do with a large number of folks that currently stamp forms or ask dumb questions until they direct you to second level tech support. Saying "No to AI!" is not a viable answer, in the same way that "No to automobiles!" didn't keep cars back. It will be adopted, because it lowers costs for people who aren't incentivized to pay people more for what a machine could do for less. And to be clear, the money in AI is not how well it works for you (as a consumer), it's how quickly it can replace minimum wage workers... which it's pretty darn close to doing... so... what now? Okay, enough of that tangent. I would support labeling Oznl's "AI-Generated: Content where any of theme, plot, setting, characters, point of view and style has been substantially generated by machine." I'm not sure that "AI-Augmented" will have a strong enough line in the sand to know when it is appropriate, or not, particularly as tools evolve?

Oh, I have many, many weaknesses as an author. Like I said, I used to be able to spell engineer, now I is one. I do seek to improve but with limited ability to solicit widespread feedback on... this kind of content... it's hard to improve without automated tools providing suggestions. It's very rare to get lucky and manage to get the time of someone who is interested in reading the kinds of things I write, willing to provide feedback, and has feedback worth listening to! But again, I'm an amateur. I don't get paid for this. I don't try to get paid for this. I do want to improve because I try to take pride in everything I do, but that doesn't mean I have the time or energy to invest in everything I do... so tools, from speel check to grammerly to AI are all varying degrees of crutch while I limp along. I like the general idea. I think that there could also be inspiration drawn from common expectations around photo contests. Picking one in particular that I favor, I asked Gemini to take the rules from that photo contest and modify them for a story contest. (removed because of atrocious formatting)

Well, to be fair, it's unlikely that I'd mess up a diaper related detail. But when a secondary character has a blond roommate in one chapter, and then suddenly her black hair is somehow mentioned 40 pages later, it's not really the point of the story, or likely to be something I'd even remember I said.

This is a great discussion. I have been struggling both professionally and personally with what the role of AI can be, vs. should be, on a lot of fronts. For the record, I am on the hardware compute side of things, optimizing silicon that is often used to both train and use models, so I have a (very) low level understanding of how these things work... I'm curious what people think. When I'm writing a story, I have it all planned out in my mind. I'll develop and outline the story arc, and then start filing out certain chapters that I'm particularly interested in, gradually building out key character development points, key dialog, scenes, and finally getting to the point where I have a fully written story, where there are parts that are polished and I love, and parts that I... uh... don't love, mostly because they are the boring (but important) bridge sections, or for whatever reason don't tickle my creative side enough to really polish them. I started working with someone who showed me how to take that, which is probably 33% great, 33% acceptable, and 33% "improvement needed", and use AI to take some of the 33% "improvement needed" sections and feed that into various AI engines, and taking the ideas and suggestions of the AI as to how to improve those sections. What I end up writing is rarely exactly what any of the models said for anything more than a line of dialog, but it helps me understand how I might improve the section. Various models provide various takes on what might work, and I take all that as input when I figure out how I want to re-write a section. Almost always it comes out way better for a given section that I would have written... I do not generally take AI text exactly, but I admit I am definitely influenced by it. As others noted above, many models have a "style" of writing that is pretty recognizable, and like writing after I've been reading Terry Pratchett, I can feel my style being influenced. It's not that I'm taking the AI's inputs word-for-word; instead, it's just guiding me in a direction. My own writing gets more flowery, more wordy, more descriptive, even though I'm not cut-and-pasting. One of the biggest things I use AI for is to hand it a new chapter, and ask it to check for thematic, characters, and narrative. I have a horrible memory, and the AI is great at pointing out that Fred said he hates cloth diapers in chapter 15, and he loves cloth diaper in this new chapter 50. I see this as an advanced use case of "you spelled thier wrong"... So... yeah, this. I engineer, not writer. I don't get paid for writing. I write because I like to... I'm also an amateur photographer, playing around because I love creating what to me are beautiful images. The question of how much change to the image captured through the lens is still a "photo", versus "art", is an ongoing question in that domain. If I take a great picture of a sunset, and hit the 'enhance' button, is it still a photograph that I took, or one the AI "fixed" to the point that it's not "art" anymore? Do I have to tell everyone that looks at the beautiful sunset that I hit the 'enhance' button, or only those that ask? Can I still enter it it photo contests? What if it adjusts more than just colors and levels? What if it removes bad pixels? What if it removes a spec of lens dust? What if it removes the power pole that was in the way? My point is... art is what is created that evokes an emotional response in people. Tools have been used to create art for forever, from violins, to spell check, to 'Enhance' buttons, to Adobe Photoshop editing suites. IMHO, AI is another of those tools, where, like synthesizers in music, people will originally say that "It's Not Art!", but eventually the artists will learn to master and control the dynamic expression and output to express new emotions and ideas that weren't there before, and it will be accepted as part of "Art" in it's own right, but people will judge it on it's own merits. In the meantime, I would hope that writers would voluntarily label works that are "generated by AI" as such on their own initiative, but also not restrict authors from using the tools available to them to express their creative abilities when it is their emotional, creative, and inspiration that is driving the art. In My Humble Opinion. And, for the record, AI didn't touch a single word of this, although it _really_ wants me to correct "thier" above, but I refuse. I get the point, but putting a camera in anyone's pocket and allowing everyone to upload to Getty images destroyed the professional photographers. Uber/Lyft vs Taxis. Amazon vs... well... everyone. Buggy whips. Think of people with the last name Cooper, Miller, Smith, or Weaver. My point isn't that we shouldn't be careful and thoughtful. But just saying "No We Can't Let That Happen!!!!!1!!!" will just ensure that that wrong thing happens. This discussion is good because it seems like we're looking at how to use new tools responsibly, I hope! I really hate it when the board merges answers without asking me. Just saying.