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A University of Hawaii Diaper Boy's Best Christmas Ever
As a second year college student at the University of Hawaii at Manoa (Honolulu), I will admit that I was ambivalent about returning to my parents' home in Rhode Island last December for the scheduled winter break from classes at Christmas. Having acclimated myself to Hawaii's sublime climate, where a day is considered lost, weather-wise, if the high temperature for the day is "only" 75 degrees, I can say I wasn't looking forward to spending the next three weeks during the winter break in Rhode Island, a state with notoriously cold and snowy Decembers.
About the only good things about coming home to Newport, was of course being able to see my family, but being a still-in-the-closet diaper loving and wearing big baby, I'd finally be able to get out of my dorm room at UH, (where privacy, with two other roommates, is non-existent), and enjoy the freedom of wearing the diapers, that I love so much, anytime I pleased.
My roommates are unaware of my love of diaper wearing, and my latent desire to be babied and mothered by a "surrogate mom". I get the feeling they wouldn't understand. In fact, there is no way I'll ever let them in on my secret. One might think that being a closet diaper boy, I might consider getting an apartment on to my own while attending classes at UH, but with the average monthly rental for a semi-decent one bedroom apartment, close to the UH campus in Honolulu, not infested with roaches and geckos, averaging around $1200 per month, (when and if they are available that "cheaply"), the room and board I pay at UH is a complete bargain. My diaper wearing urges have to take a back seat to the hard financial realities of attending college in Hawaii.
So I took some solace in finally being back home, despite the weather I'd be experiencing, and being able to spend some quality time, alone and in peaceful solitude, in the adult-sized disposable diapers I bought online from an AB/DL store, in the bedroom I grew up in. Fortunately, my mom hadn't converted my bedroom (just yet, anyway) into the sewing room she said she was going to at some point.
My bedroom was still the familiar and comforting place it was to me in my high school years. I couldn't wait to get into my diapers, but other duties required my attention first, mainly talking to my mom and dad about how my school year was going at UH ( wonderfully; I was on the Dean's List for the third time), touching bases with my older sister Amy, who is senior at Smith College in Northampton, Massachusetts, and "talking story" ( a local Hawaiian term for idle chatting) with her best friend Leigh, also a senior in college, at the University of Maine-Orono. Our next door neighbor, Mrs. Hagan, was visiting as well with my parents.
All of this seasonal Christmas camaraderie was good, and in its rightful place, but honestly, after an over-night 14 hour flight from Honolulu to Providence, with a lay-over in Newark, (having arrived in Rhode Island at 9 in the morning) about the only thing I really wanted to do, was unpack my clothes, and just simply relax. And of course, get into my diapers. I persevered though..I was a good son and was congenial to all and carried out my filial duties as a son with much aplomb to our guests.
Finally, after all of the kibitzing was over, and all of the holiday guests had at least temporarily left, and all the chit-chat was "pau" (Hawaiian for "finished") the moment I had been eagerly awaiting for so long, was now imminent. I was finally going to be able to spend some time in my diapers. When it became evident I had the house to myself, I made a bee-line straight for my bedroom, locking its door after rushing in, to ensure the blissful privacy I'd been long-craving at UH.
I didn't unpack all of clothes and sundry items from my suitcases; rather, I went straight for the stack of diapers which were hidden in a colored zip-lock bag, sandwiched between the winter sweaters I picked up on sale at the Ross Store in downtown Honolulu, in anticipation of the cold weather I would soon be facing. I immediately denuded...everything I had been wearing came off of my body in record time. I just couldn't wait to get into my diaper! But before I put my diaper on, I spread out on my bed, a large infantile changing pad, which I also bought from the online AB/DL store where I obtained my diapers. At the side of changing pad, was also a collection of baby powder (Johnson's), baby lotion (Baby Magic), and baby wipes (Huggies). I bought all of those items at the S. King Street Long's Drug Store in Moiliili (a Honolulu neighborhood) just before coming home to Rhode Island. I always thought to myself, when it came to diapering time for me, that I may not have a real mommy to change me, but if I use my vivid imagination to the fullest extent of the permissible fantasy license allowed by the law, I could have a make-believe mommy changing me, providing me with all of love, caressing, and gentle touches a real mommy changing my diaper would.
I laid down on the changing pad and replicated all the moves my imaginary mommy would have me make if she really was in the room changing me. She took me by ankles, lifted them into the sky, and placed a diaper underneath my tush. She then proceeded to gently powder me, lotion me, and drive me absolutely wild with the baby talk and cooing only a diaper-changing mommy can make to her baby boy. My mommy may have been, in reality, an imaginary one, but at the time, she was as real and genuine as the nose on my face. Or the unmistakable "arousal" that hadn't yet been concealed by my to-be-fastened diaper. Due to this arousal, it took some doing, but my imaginary mommy was finally able to secure my diaper shut, and a long last, I was in a diaper, in the privacy of my own bedroom. It was everything I knew it was going to be. It felt comforting to have it on...the softness of the diaper was stimulatingly relaxing.
With the diaper firmly in place, and my imaginary mommy having left the room, I decided to take a nap. The long flight from Honolulu took its toll on me, and I wanted to get a little rest, before I embarked on the dinner party I was invited to at the Brick Alley Pub in Newport later in the evening, with my family, neighbors, and other friends within my family circle. Despite the coolness of my bedroom (it was twenty degrees cooler than my dorm room back in Honolulu), I decided to take a nap with no blanket on...it was just me laying on a changing pad, on top of an over-sized quilt bed, wearing nothing but a diaper. Man, this was well worth waiting for. I felt as relaxed and comfortable and as plain babyish as I possibly could. I put my thumb in my mouth to intensify the babyishness of the moment. And then, evidently, I fell asleep. All was as well as it could be in my diaper-wearing big boy world.
At least it was until my privacy and solitude was interrupted. I was awakened by the sound of my bedroom door opening, which I could have sworn, I had locked when I first put my diaper on. Perhaps it's reliability has changed since I've been away, but the bedroom door lock which once insured my privacy all of the days and nights, back in when I was in high school, when I used to "fantasize" to the hundreds of cuties who bared it all in the girlie magazines I used to sneak into my bedroom and "hide" underneath my bed mattress (my Mom always knew they were there but feigned ignorance to their existence), failed me for the first time ever. Our next door neighbor, Mrs. Hagan, was at the threshold of the doorway, with a stack of hooded sweatshirts and flannel-lined jeans. My God, was I embarrassed! I grabbed at and tried to cloak myself in the quilt on top of my bed, but the damage had been done. Mrs. Hagan, a widowed excessively-buxom blonde-haired beauty of Scandinavian ancestry, originally from North Dakota, (her husband died of a heart attack while visiting Nantucket five years ago) and looking far younger than the 49 years of age she claims to be, caught me red-handed, laying in nothing but a diaper, on a changing pad, with containers of baby products at my side.
Mrs Hagan, not looking at all embarrassed, said to me in a matter-of-fact tone: "Your mother wanted me to bring these winter clothes over for you. They are clothes my oldest son used to wear when he was still living at home. She thought you might be able to use them during your stay here. She told me just to bring them up when I could and place them on top of your dresser. They are perfectly good winter clothes....tsk...it would be a shame to see them go to waste now."
I asked Mrs. Hagan bluntly: "Where is my mom? Why are you here?"
She replied: "There is nobody here now....your mother and father have gone Christmas shopping in Providence; your sister is visiting friends up in Bristol. Nobody will be home for hours....if figured before I forgot, with everybody gone and intending not to disturb anyone, I'd bring these clothes over for you to use. I had no idea you were home as well. I apologize for interrupting your privacy. I'll be on my way....but before I go, I have to say (with a sly grin on her face) that, being a former mother to three baby boys, I can say with experience, I think you need another diaper change...I see you have gone "pee-pee", by that little yellow stain on the front of your diaper."
I looked down at the front of my diaper, and Mrs. Hagan was right. I did slightly urinate during my nap, which based on my recollections, must have lasted over 3 hours, as it was now 3 in the afternoon. Like I mentioned, the flight from Honolulu was wreaking havoc with my internal bio-clock; I was clearly suffering jet-lag and I must have temporarily lost control of my bladder while napping.
Mrs. Hagan, becoming more emboldened, asked: "So, Randy (my name)...are you one of these young men who secretly crave to be a diapered baby boy again? I've seen episodes of infantilism and adult babies and diaper lovers on all the daytime talk-shows I watch. I know all about big baby boys like you."
I didn't answer her. I just let the diaper I was wearing in her full view do all the talking.
Mrs. Hagan coyly said: "I take that as a yes. That's okay. We all have our little secrets we keep to ourselves. There's nothing wrong with your yearning to be a big baby boy in diapers again. To be honest, Randy....I think it's kind of cute....you big boys look so cute when you are in your diapers."
She then went to seductively ask: "Randy....have you ever been diapered as a big baby boy? Have you a met a mommy in Hawaii who diapers you when you need some attention...some pampering...some motherly teasing? Hmmm...?
As my heart pounded, I just shook my head no. I was starting to get too excited to even talk.
When Mrs. Hagan saw my silent reaction to her question, she said: "OOoohhhh....that's too sad!" Now sitting on the edge of my bed, Mrs. Hagan, first looking sexily into my eyes, softly whispered into my ear, her large bosoms pressed into my side: "Every big baby boy like you in diapers needs a mommy to pamper him...to cuddle him..to change him...to powder him...to put lotion on him...to tease him and make him feel as good as he possible can". Randy....it's been a long time since I last changed my boys' diapers...for old-times sake....how would you like me change you into a fresh diaper?"
Still unable to talk, as my heart was racing like a Ferrari doing 150 MPH, I could only nod my head in an affirmative direction. Mrs. Hagan, with a girlish smile said: "That's a good boy! You just lay back on the changing pad, and let your mommy get you out of that nasty, wet diaper and into a new, clean one."
As directed by Mrs. Hagan, in preparation for the diaper change, I laid on my back, completely stretched out on the changing pad; Mrs. Hagan had a complete and unhindered access to my wet diaper. Quickly and with years of motherly experience under her belt, Mrs. Hagan unfastened the two Velcro-style tabs which held the wet diaper in place. She pulled the front of the diaper down and away from my torso, revealing in all of its glory, my exposed diaper area. Mrs. Hagan contently smiled and giggled a little laugh to herself when she saw how "excited" I was. She then said: "My..what a big boy you are. I can see how happy you are that mommy is changing your diaper!"
Mrs Hagan then proceeded to remove the wet diaper from me...she asked me to raise my tush a little bit off of the changing pad to remove it completely from me. After she did so, I was laying completely naked to Mrs. Hagan on the changing pad. A feeling of complete exhilaration filled my soul as I laid naked in front of her on the changing pad...I was finding just being totally nude in her totally clothed presence to be sexually and mentally liberating.
Once again, Mrs. Hagan asked me to raise my tush a bit off of the changing pad; she instinctively knew where to find my stash of fresh diapers and went forth to put me into one of them.
Mrs. Hagan said: "Before I close Baby Randy's fresh diaper up, Mommy wants to make sure you don't get a diaper rash. We can't let that happen now, can we, my little Snookems. Mommy is going to powder you and lotion you so that you feel good, fresh, and wonderful all over", in a baby-talk tone.
First, Mrs. Hagan generously sprinkled baby powder all over my diaper area....first sprinkling some onto my torso, then some between my tush cheeks, and then liberally onto the part of my body which was quivering with excitement. The sweet scent of baby powder filled the room. She proceeded to gently (and with great love) smooth all of the newly sprinkled baby powder out over my diaper area, paying special attention to the part that was..well, obviously in need of special attention. As she smoothed it out, Mrs. Hagan looked into my eyes and asked: "Oh, yes, Baby Randy....that feels so good, doesn't it? Your Mommy knows exactly what you like!"
Then came the good part. Once again, following the same application pattern she followed while applying the baby powder, she applied baby lotion to me with her soft hands. Again, she massaged baby lotion onto my torso, then she massaged some onto my tush cheeks, then deep between my tush cheeks, and then finally, saving the best part for last, she lovingly, and with great deliberation, massaged baby lotion to, once again, that very sensitive and obviously aroused area of my diaper area. I couldn't help involuntarily squirming in manifest sexual pleasure on the changing pad as Mrs. Hagan massaged me there. Again, Mrs. Hagan contentedly giggled to herself when she saw me helplessly squirm in reaction to the lotion she was applying there. She then cooed in a sing-song fashion, gazing deeply into my eyes as she spoke: "Ooooohhhhh...Baby Randy likes being massaged there now, doesn't he....his mommy knows just where a big baby boy likes to be massaged with baby lotion. Yes, she does!"
I couldn't stop myself....I reached down with my left hand, as Mrs. Hagan continued to apply baby lotion to me, and started to rhythmically "pleasure" myself, in full view of her. It was an instinctive reaction I couldn't prevent. Mrs. Hagan lightly smacked my hand, led it away and gently placed it to my side, and in a baby-talk tone said: "No..no...naughty...Baby Randy must not do that" Then she once again, in that girlishly innocent fashion which I was finding highly stimulating, giggled to herself.
After being scolded not to "do that", Mrs. Hagan finished off the diaper change by finally bringing the front part of the diaper up over my torso, and securing the Velcro tabs. It took her awhile to finish me up, as she had to immobilize my sensitive part, which was still fully aroused, with one hand, while securing the tabs with the other.
Mrs. Hagan then said: "There...all done! Baby Randy is all fresh and clean and in a new diaper! My little Snookems looks so sweet in his new diaper!" She then walked away from the bed, looked at me from a distance from doorway into the bedroom, and sweetly smiled at me.
She then said, in a non-baby talk voice...in the voice I've always known Mrs. Hagan to use: "Yes..you do look cute in your diaper. Before I go, I just have some advice for you: You might want to check your bedroom door lock and see if it still works." She then left the bedroom, seductively winking at me as she left, shut the door, and continued to walk down the stairs, and out of the house. I heard her firmly close the front door with a little extra force to ensure that it was locked.
.........10AM, next morning
The dinner at the Brick Alley Pub last night on Thames Street in Newport was great..it was wonderful getting together with all off the family and friends while I was there. Gatherings like this make the Christmas season special. Mrs. Hagan was at the gathering as well. Strangely, yet predictably, she pretty much made an effort to stay clear of me during the party...she would occasionally glance over at me and sheepishly smile, but other than that, there wasn't much else said between us. That was okay though...maybe she was having second thoughts about what she had done during the afternoon. I've never understood the psyches of women and what makes them tick yet...I'm not sure even my grandfather has figured them out completely yet. Sadly, I was resigned that my diaper change from her was a one-time event.
But then, maybe it was not.
My mother, baking boysenberry cobbler (my favorite dessert) in our kitchen said that Mrs. Hagan had left a special early Christmas present this morning while I was still asleep and recovering from the long flight home from Hawaii. It was waiting for me under our Christmas tree. I rushed from the kitchen and into the living room where our Christmas tree was on display, and squirreling through the other presents under the tree, I quickly found the special gift from Mrs. Hagan. I ran up the stairwell leading into my bedroom to open the gift in privacy....I had no clue what this gift could be and I was going to be ready for whatever it might be.
I greedily ripped through the ornately-wrapped gift, not once pausing to reflect on the time and thoughtfulness that went into wrapping it. It didn't take me long to discover that Mrs. Hagan had given me a special Christmas present of baby products. There was a container of Johnson's Baby Powder. A container of Johnson's Baby Lotion. There were baby wipes, a plastic baby bottle, some jars of Gerber's bananas for babies (I still love those!), but above all, a stack of large, cloth, non-disposable diapers, complete with the old-fashioned diaper pins. (These diaper pins had plastic ornamentation that looked like baby-blue colored teddy bears). Among all of these goodies, there was also a Christmas card.
The card read as follows: "Baby Randy: Yesterday afternoon was very special for me. Like I mentioned, I once was the mother to three baby boys. Diapering you yesterday brought back such precious memories of the days when I was a mother....it made me realize how much I miss being a mother and that I, like you, yearn to be something that I once was, but can't be any more. Perhaps through each other, we can give each other what we need. I understand that you will be in Newport for the next three weeks...you might be interested to know that I can have a "nursery", complete with a changing pad, stuffed animals, and lots of baby lotion and powder, set up in 10 minutes notice. Keep this in mind when you need a little pampering...or someone to take care of that "big thing" that I told you not to touch and leave alone when I was diapering you...your Mommy knows a special massage that will take care of that and make you feel just heavenly! Oh yes...WJAR ( a local TV station in Rhode Island) says we are going to get at least 8 inches of snow here in Newport tomorrow. Inland Rhode Island, like Foster and Woonsocket might get 15 inches. Sounds like tomorrow might be a good day to come over....and be the big baby boy in diapers I know you want be..just like the mommy I want to be again. Merry Christmas, Baby Snookums! From your Mommy next door.
Snow. Normally, all I can say about it is:"Yeck". Having just arrived from Hawaii yesterday, one would think that snow would be the last climatic event I would want to see. In the case though, I'll make an exception. How's that song by Bing Crosby go? Something like..."Let it snow, let it snow, let it snow!" That's it. Yes. Let it snow, indeed!
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