JDL23

I wouldn't worry about that. You could say the same thing about any kind of literary genre. It's how well the story is told and how we identify with the characters that makes the whole thing worthwhile.

Chapter Three When I regained consciousness, I found myself back in my bedroom. It took me a couple of seconds to register that I wasn't simply waking up from a nightmare. For one thing, I was lying on my bed rather than under the covers, and my diaper wasn't all that wet. In fact, it was completely dry. I needed a moment for my eyes to adjust, and as soon as I realized that my lamp was on, I looked over toward the door. Elizabeth was sitting in a corner, right where the moonlight was shining. As soon as I looked at her, she turned toward me and offered a ghostly smile. "Don't be afraid, Julia," she said softly. "You've had quite a night." "You're a vampire," I whispered back. Even in my head, it sounded dumb, but it was all I knew for certain. "Yes, I am," said Elizabeth. She stood up and took a few cautious steps toward me. Instinctively, I began to draw back. Maybe if I could just pull my head back under the covers, I'd finally wake up and she'd be gone. "I feel that I owe you an apology to making such a mess of things." Elizabeth sat down on the edge of my bed. Now that she was fully in the light, I could see that she was eerily thin and her face was sharply angled. Her hair was a rich blond color, and her eyes were a smoky gray, but her skin was chalk-white. She wore a black sweater and a pair of dark slacks. I found myself thinking how fashionable she was, but I realized the oddity of that thought and tried to think about what I should say. "I'm really lost right now," I admitted. "I don't exactly know what one says to a real-life vampire." "'Hello' is usually a good way to start." I laughed in spite of my terror. Then I let myself hold onto that smile and said, "Okay, then. Can I ask what brought you here tonight?" "It's a very long story," said Elizabeth. She looked down at her hands, which had begun to tremble. When they stopped shaking, she added, "But in a nutshell, my home was burnt down, my longtime companion's dead, and I barely escaped with my life." "And that's how your throat—" "Yes," she said quickly. I could see from the look in her eyes that it would be a long time before she'd ever be ready to talk about that. "Anyway, I ended up here since I didn't really watch where I was going, but I'm afraid I have to ask if you'd let me stay here for a day." "For a whole day?" I was going to ask why, but I remembered that sunlight was supposed to be deadly to vampires. It made sense that she'd need to be indoors during the day. But would she need a coffin? Would my old trunk work just as well? I was surprised again at how quickly my thoughts took this course, but I couldn't stop myself. Elizabeth nodded. "Just give me a place to hide myself from view from sunrise to sunset, and then I'll be on my way." "Well..." I couldn't believe I was saying it, but clearly I was out of my mind at the time. "If you feel you need to stay longer... I guess that wouldn't be too bad..." She stared at me with a bemused expression. "Be honest now. Are you worried that I'm going to suck your blood? Or that I'll turn you into another vampire?" "The thought had crossed my mind," I said quickly, trying not to panic. "Oh, don't worry about it," said Elizabeth. She was smiling again, and I found myself enjoying the sight of it. "It's not like I need to feed every single night. I can go for about a month without blood if I really have to—and the people I do feed on aren't all that pleasant to begin with. Not like you, dear." "What, you don't find me appetizing?" I was amazed that I was able to speak like this in front of her, but at the same time, it felt natural. Maybe I'd come to terms with the existence of vampires and decided that Elizabeth was no better or worse than any other human being I'd encountered. She shook her head and laughed. "There's nothing in you that I'd want to ruin. And don't think listing all your flaws is going to help, like the cute little way you snore or the fact that you wear diapers." I blushed. "Only at night," I said defensively, tucking my legs underneath me, but that move only made my diaper rustle. "That's strange. I, uh, could have sworn that I was wet a little while ago..." I trailed off as I saw the expectant look on Elizabeth's face. "Did you change me while I was out?" "It seemed like the decent thing to do," she answered. "I..." It was then that I slowly became aware of several details. I could smell the old diaper, which had been rolled up and thrown into the wastebasket near where Elizabeth had been sitting. I could smell a faint whiff of baby powder in the air over my bed. I saw on the clock on my nightstand that I was just a few minutes after two in the morning. I'd been unconscious and alone in a room with a vampire, and all she'd done was change me. She could have taken advantage of me. But she hadn't. I lifted my face to meet her expectant gaze and said, "Thank you for that." "You're welcome, Julia," Elizabeth warmly replied. Her smile soon returned. Now that I had gotten rid of my initial terror and was semi-functional again, I began to feel very, very tired. If I didn't get anymore sleep, I'd be a zombie for the rest of the day. That thought made me laugh—here I was, becoming a zombie after learning that vampires are real. But if there could be vampires, why not other undead creatures? "You should rest," Elizabeth said. She glanced around the bedroom. "And since I spent a lot of energy fixing my throat, I might as well sleep, too." "What do you need?" I asked, trying to sound gentle and not too skeptical. "A coffin would be ideal, but not easy to get on short notice," she explained with a smile. "If you've got a trunk or a closet with a door you can lock, that'll be just fine." I matched her smile and pushed myself off the bed. "Wait right there." Elizabeth watched me as I went over toward my window and pulled over the gray trunk where I kept a lot of mementos and old clothes. I spent a few minutes dumping out all the contents, then trying to clean up the mess I'd made, and finally shoving it all into my closet, where at least the mess would be out of sight. After laying down an extra quilt into the trunk's interior and throwing in one of my pillows, I presented my guest with her own spur-of-the-moment coffin. "Well done," Elizabeth said, sounding quite impressed. "You didn't have to add a pillow, though." "Just trying to be helpful." She regarded me for a moment, then smiled and leaned over to kiss me on the cheek. "Well, it's wonderful. Thank you so much, Julia." Elizabeth promptly got into the trunk and lowered herself into a comfortable position. She waited for me to get into bed and turn my lamp off. "Remember to wake me after dusk," she reminded me. "When you're ready, just knock on the lid three times and then open it. I should be awake by then. And whatever you do, do not open this trunk beforehand. I don't care if you've got all the curtains shut. I can't risk exposure to any sunlight, understand?" "I understand." Elizabeth pulled the trunk lid down, but before she shut it completely, I heard her whisper into the darkness, "Good night, Julia. Pleasant dreams." Then the trunk was closed and I snuggled deep under the covers of my bed, with only a small part of me still wanting to believe this was all a weird dream. "Good night, Elizabeth," I whispered into the silence of my room. Then my eyes fell shut and I descended into a beautiful slumber.

Thank you. Like I said before, I had to rewrite this a few times over before I finally got a story I was happy with. In one draft, Elizabeth was a goddess in human form and Julia was her mortal but unaware niece. Trust me, it didn't work. There will be a new chapter up on Monday, after which I'll be on vacation, so the next one might not be up until a week from Tuesday. Please keep the feedback coming, everyone, and thanks for reading!

It's an interesting premise. Kinda reminds me of this one story on DD called "Diaper Restaurant," but that shouldn't discourage you. I'm just curious as to why you think you shouldn't write this story yourself. I know it can be difficult to write a story if you haven't done it before, but don't let that stop you from trying. You never know what could happen.

I would consider myself masculine, but not the "I'm desperately compensating for something" kind of masculine. I don't shave anything except facial stubble, which can grow back within two days, so it's more of a skin care necessity than a cosmetic one. And no to the make-up, too.

I know I said that new chapters would be up Monday, but I may be on vacation next week, so I figured I'd better send this one up early. Enjoy! --- Chapter Two Back when I was mortal, my name was Julia Shannon Moore. I was twenty-three and fresh out of college. By then, I'd stopped trying to dye my hair blond and let it retain its natural brown color, much to my foster mother's delight. When I say foster mother, I mean just that. I'd never known my birth parents. The nuns at the orphanage where I grew up eventually told me that my mother was an amateur singer-songwriter whose brief fling with a club owner had led to my conception. As encouraging as that story was, I'd never tried to find out who my mother really was. I was content to live in the orphanage and study and play with the other kids. At age eleven, I was adopted. My foster parents were Dave and Michelle Moore, both good-natured folks from Illinois. They did their best to love me and encouraged me to pursue my dreams, although I didn't have too much in the way of dreams. Unless you count traveling to London someday as a dream. It wasn't much, but it was something I'd wanted to do as a kid. Anyway, to speed this little exposition up, I achieved my dream by age nineteen thanks to a Study Abroad scholarship. After a semester in London, I declared my major in Political Science and minored in Economics, thinking I could put the two together and set out to—big surprise—make the world a better place. Little did I know that the world didn't intend for me to follow such a path. So picture me on a Thursday night in June, only a few weeks after graduation, in a tiny apartment in Chicago. I'm sitting at my dining table with a glass of wine and a plate full of pasta. There's a TV in the corner of the room, where I'm watching one of those corny teen dramas where Boy Meets And Frets Over Girl, or vice versa. The pasta I'm eating isn't that great, and the wine is there to help me forget about the cold reality that I have no family, no friends in the area, and no opportunities for a job. Anyway, I had had just about enough teenage angst for the evening, so I switched the TV off and set my dishes into the sink. I carried my wineglass over to the bedroom and turned on the stereo. The music was something light and happy, but not so loud that I'd disturb the neighbors through my paper-thin walls. On nights like these, after a fruitless day of job hunting and socializing, I'd just change into my pajamas, turn the music down low, and get under the covers. So I slipped off my blouse and jeans, tossed my shoes into the closet, and peeled my underwear down to my ankles. Then I went over to the dresser and took out a blue nightgown and my "nighttime undergarment." It's a strange phrase, I know, but it sounded a lot better than saying "my adult diaper." You see, back when I was an adolescent, I developed a form of enuresis, which is just a fancy word for bedwetting. It occurred on most weeknights and definitely on the weekends, when there were so many parties to attend. When I found that alarms and cutting back on late-night drinks didn't work, my foster mother discreetly bought me a package of Depends. She thought I'd outgrow it, but I found the condition stayed with me right into my twenties, so I just resigned myself to diapering up nightly. As far as I was concerned, it was just a health issue and nothing more than that. I opened up the diaper and pressed one half of it against my bottom as I lowered myself onto the bed. Once I was on my back, I pulled the front half up to my waist and secured all six tapes. With a few more adjustments, I was ready for a good night's sleep. I had switched off the stereo after a few songs and turned off the lights. In the soft shadows of my room, I stretched myself out and yawned. With all my nightly rituals complete, I got into bed and closed my eyes. --- If memory serves me right, I don't think I was asleep for more than half an hour, because it was still quite dark when I heard the first impact from outside. My eyes flew open and I immediately sat up. In retrospect it seems silly, but my first instinct was to check my diaper to see if I'd wet myself. So far I was dry, but I had a feeling that I wouldn't be for long. That wine from earlier had to go somewhere, after all. Then I heard another collision from somewhere inside the apartment, followed shortly by the sound of something scratching at the floorboards like a mad animal. I was thinking that maybe a poor wounded bird had gotten stuck inside or that—God forbid—a large rat was prowling around. Either way, I had to know for sure, so I tossed off the bed sheets and grabbed a robe from my closet. The only thing I had that might be remotely considered an offensive weapon was a rolled-up yoga mat, so I picked that up as well. Then I quietly padded out into my hall and toward my living room. As soon as I stuck my head in, I nearly dropped my yoga mat out of shock. The door to my apartment was wide open, and collapsed on the floor by my couch was a tall, fair-skinned woman. She was clutching at her throat and seemed to be having trouble breathing. She must have heard my approach because her eyes slid halfway open and fixed themselves on my face. I stopped, lowering my mat to the floor. "Help..." she croaked, still holding her throat. "I need your help..." "Don't move," I whispered frantically, dropping to my knees. Of course, as I did, I could hear my diaper rustling loudly under my nightgown. It made me wince, but if the woman on my floor seemed to hear it, she didn't show it. It took quite a bit of upper-body strength that I didn't have then, but I was able to help the woman sit up. She didn't take her hand off her throat, but I could faintly see some red fluid leaking past her fingers. "I'll, uh, get a cloth for that," I stammered, pointing at her wound. The stranger shook her head and frowned. "Don't need it. I'll be fine..." "But your throat—" I stopped and stared again at her neck. To my amazement, the blood wasn't leaking through anymore. In fact, it was receding. Then the woman slowly pulled her hand away and I saw that the jagged cut in her throat was healing itself. What had been a ragged mess of flesh and blood was now just scar tissue. I stared openmouthed at this miracle and then looked this strange woman in the eye. "How... how did you do that?" She smiled weakly. "Call it... a gift..." Then she pitched forward into my arms and passed out. With a lot of grunting and rustling and heaving, I was able to drag this stranger off my floor and onto my couch. I made sure to put a few pillows behind her head and see that her neck was properly supported. I didn't know the first thing about medicine, but I knew enough about cuts and blood loss to do my best. I went to close the door, then ran into the kitchen and turned all the lights on. By some strange coincidence, as soon as I did that, I felt a slight twinge in my abdominal muscles and then I was wearing a rather wet diaper. I stifled a groan and resolved to take care of it as soon as I made sure this woman was going to be all right. A few moments later, I reentered the living room with a damp cloth to put on the woman's forehead. She murmured something like "Thank you" as I put the cloth on her head and pressed down. Her breathing was slowly getting stronger and that wound on her throat was looking better with each passing minute. If you asked me, I thought she was gorgeous, even with that ghastly wound on her throat. She had a mane of golden hair and very pale skin. The room was too dark for me to tell what color her eyes were. And like I said before, she was tall and lovely. She had a natural beauty that reminded me of my foster mother, although Michelle was more homely, whereas this woman could have easily been mistaken for a movie star. I don't know how long I sat next to her, watching her breathe and trying to figure out what was going on. I had no idea how she was able to patch up a slit throat with a touch of her hand. In the back of my mind, I began to fantasize that maybe she was an angel in disguise as a human being, and that she was going to bestow a blessing on me that'd turn all my luck around. Even at the time, I knew it was unlikely, but I couldn't help thinking it. In retrospect, I don't suppose I was that far off. Some time later that night, maybe a little after one in the morning, I watched the woman open her eyes. She blinked and turned toward me, as I propped my head up on my elbow and tried to stay awake for her sake. "Thank you," she whispered again. "You're welcome," I whispered back. "Are you all right?" "Much better." The woman offered a pale and trembling hand. "I'm Elizabeth." I took her hand and squeezed it. "I'm Julia. Pleased to meet you." She smiled. "I'm sure you must be wondering how I ended up like this." "Well, I didn't want to bother—" "No, it's fine. I can explain everything if you..." Elizabeth trailed off as she saw me staring in surprise. I was staring at her mouth, now that I was so close to it. I could see her teeth, all perfectly straight and white. All except for the pair of fangs jutting out past her upper lip. "I..." My mouth twitched, but I couldn't speak. "Are... are you a...?" Elizabeth stared back with an expression of intense bitterness. "Yes," she said. "I am what you would call... a vampire." I didn't think I'd hurt my head at any time that night, but suddenly the room was spinning fast around me. Elizabeth reached out for me, and before I knew it, I had hit the floor and everything went black.

For me, diapers aren't an absolute necessity. I usually buy a package of CVS-brand Fitted Briefs, which has about 20 medium-size briefs and costs about $14 or $15. I can make that supply last for a long time if I limit wearing diapers to the weekends, and sometimes then on just a Friday or Saturday night. It helps that trash day where I live is on Mondays, so I can just throw the used diaper into my trash can on Sundays. So really, I only need to pay with a $20 bill for diapers about once every month or month and a half. If I had a steady job, of course, I might wear more often. Certainly, my stress levels would increase, so naturally, my wearing would, too.

New chapters will be posted on Mondays, hopefully either once a week or once every two weeks.

It's taken me a while to write this story, but I've finally hit on the right plot. It's still a work in progress, but with any luck, I should have a new chapter up here weekly--and if not, then at least every two weeks. As always, feedback is appreciated. --- Chapter One The girl's name was Clarissa. I thought she was beautiful. Not like Elizabeth—as if anyone could compare—but she was pretty enough. I'd watched her for a long time and could see how all the guys fawned over her black hair and those long eyelashes. Right now, though, those big eyes of her were turned toward me, quivering with fear. "Don't be afraid," I said softly. I offered her my hand, which made her cringe. "Despite what the movies and books say, I don't kill people just to protect my secret." Clarissa stood frozen in the middle of her apartment balcony, staring at me like I was a monster. Well, okay, that was fair up to a point. I was a vampire, after all. Oh, I see I haven't introduced myself. How rude of me. Hello, my name is Julia, and yes, you heard right. I am an honest-to-God vampire, a true Child of the Night. "If you're not going to kill me..." she whispered, "does that mean you're... going to have your way with me?" I threw back my head and laughed. "Strike two, darling! First of all, despite what all those porn films say, not all female vampires are lesbian vampires. Secondly, I'm not interested in you like that." My smile widened, just to let her see the tips of my fangs. "A vampire's allowed to have other interests besides blood-drinking and seduction, you know." The girl's fear was beginning to subside as her puzzlement became clearer. As much as I love the old vampire stories, I do admit that they really paint a stark picture of our race, as if all we desire is the blood and sex of mortals. I suppose I couldn't fault the poor thing for thinking that way about us. It's easier to accept what's shown on TV or in the movies than what's right in front of your eyes. "Then what do you want from me?" Clarissa asked. I smiled and took a few steps over to the balcony. I let my gaze drift toward the beautiful cityscape and the many lives I could feel within it, whether awake or asleep. "I guess I just wanted someone to talk to," I told the girl. With a toss of my hair, I glanced over my shoulder to catch her reaction. It didn't seem like she believed me. "We're a lonely breed," I explained. "We're drawn to the outcasts and loners, to all the so-called freaks." "I'm not a—" I held up my hand, which silenced her. "I didn't mean you were a freak," I amended. "I meant that I can sense how alone you were. Not just here in your apartment. Your whole life you've been alone. Among my kind, it is a duty to attend to the lonely souls of this world and give them a place to belong. To tell our Story of Transformation and offer those souls our Dark Gift. You can take it or leave it, just so long as you hear the story first." I felt Clarissa's anxiety more than what I could see written on her face. Honestly, who could blame her? How many people would accept the word of a stranger, especially one whose nature doesn't seem all that benevolent? "Let's go inside," I murmured, turning all the way back toward her. "And I'll tell you everything." "Okay," she whispered, looking less afraid now. She seemed just a bit curious. My hand barely touched Clarissa on the small of her back as I guided her away from the balcony and into her apartment. I concentrated for just a moment and then the sliding glass door closed itself behind us. I favored the poor girl with my best smile. "Make yourself comfortable. This is going to be a long tale. But it all starts when I was in diapers, and no, I don't mean when I was just a baby..."

And I've enjoyed that angle quite a bit, so thanks for that, BoTox. I know I've said it before, but I'm paranoid about doing this, so the story I'm writing now needs to be at least three-fourths done before I start posting chapters. "Not very organized around here yet. But it's coming along, love, it's coming." --Osbie Feel, Gravity's Rainbow.

I think you mean Mary Sues, but I get your point. They do tend to pop up in bad writing. BTW, if anyone wants a good list on how not to write a Mary Sue character, I recommend this page.

Well, it's two parts to my screen name. "JDL" is supposed to be short for "Just a Diaper Lover" (although I will admit to a few AB tendencies), and 23 is my favorite number.

That is a pretty amazing feat. Very soft and cuddly-looking. Though I have to wonder how comfortable her prom date might be with it, unless he's a DL, too.

I like a lot of your points, pampers212. I think there's something to be said for the anxiety of toilet training. I know that my issue as a kid (or so my relatives tell me) was "timing," as I didn't always make it to the toilet in time or was too focused on something else, which resulted in quite a few accidents. Samsam: I think the sexual attraction bit for DLs comes from the fact that diapers basically cover the genitals and that kind of touch is arousing. I know this mostly from my own experience. Wearing adult underwear is one thing, but with a well-padded diaper, you become more aware of that area below the waist. In my case, though, I also get the same sense of comfort and security from a diaper that an AB might derive.

In response to several of the above posts: Yes, I realize now that it is in fact an unofficial site for Walt Disney World. Yes, I am aware that the site is not advocating diapers for children, but that some of the parents leaving comments on the page are. And yes, I do know that WDW is in Florida. In retrospect, I would have probably written the OP as "Discuss your experiences with being diapered at amusement parks, were you ever diapered as a child during such trips, etc." Apologies for the confusion, and thanks to everyone for their corrections.

I came across this page at the Walt Disney World website, which features tips for parents on how to give their kids the best experience. I was surprised to read a number of comments from parents who claimed how important it was to have their kids diapered during those long waits in line, although I can understand why. Has anyone here ever been diapered for a trip to Disneyland or some other amusement park in their childhood? What was your experience like?

I suppose my stories would qualify as novellas, since they're made up of very short chapters, with something like one or two scenes per chapter. Well said, BabyJune!

Just as a quick follow-up (since I'm in the middle of writing another story for DD), what do y'all think about perspective or voice? Do you prefer stories that are first-person or third-person limited?

Oh, definitely. As anyone who's read my two "Life with Claire" stories knows, I'm a stickler for keeping up a solid schedule for when I post new chapters on the forum. However, I was still writing out the sequel when I started posting it, so I had to disrupt that schedule a couple of times in order to catch up. Ultimately, I wasn't satisfied with how it ended up, which is why I've found it difficult to write a third story in that series. At the moment, I'm in the process of writing a new story, but I needed to rewrite the premise a few times, so I don't think I'll be posting anything until I'm at least three-fourths of the way done. That way, I won't be putting up one or two chapters, and then letting all my readers lose interest after several months. I think some good examples of stories that were both well-written and regularly updated were Molly Deer's "A Master's Degree in Life" and CS Fox's "My Real Country Family." I highly recommend them if anyone hasn't read them yet.

I agree. Also, and this isn't a slam on anyone in particular, but I've noticed it's a common trend for stories to begin with lines with, "Jenny Johnson was just your average girl. She was 5'3" and 120 lbs, with long blonde hair and big blue eyes, and wore a pink blouse with a denim skirt and..." First of all, if this is a story about diapers, then no, Jenny isn't going to be "just your average girl." Secondly, there's an oft-quoted rule of "Show Don't Tell"--as in, "don't overload the reader with info, just tell the story and let us figure it out." Exposition's one thing, but it needs to go with the action of the story. I'm not going to be hooked on a story just because you've painted a very attractive portrait of a character. Unless that character does, says, or experiences something that interests me, I'm not going to keep reading. That's enough for today's rant. Just something I've been meaning to say for a while. If anyone has any other things they'd like to add, please don't hesitate to post them.

If your character is having a dialogue, then it helps to imagine the dynamics of the conversation. Are they friends, strangers, hostile? What's the back-and-forth between them like? Figuring that out will help you see what needs to be said, and once you know that, you'll be less at risk to just spout everything out at once. Hope this advice was useful. Good luck with the writing!

I agree that stories without some semblance of grammar, paragraph spacing, and punctuation is going to drive readers away. That goes without saying. As for the content of stories, I like stories that involve men and/or women. As for writing or reading, I tend to prefer it when characters are established as wearing diapers instead of being introduced or forced into them. I'm not that big a fan of stories involving humiliation or men being dressed up as girls, although a particularly well-written one may catch my eye. Also, I have this thing about stories involving aunts and nieces. No idea why.

I'm curious to know what people like to read and write about in AB/DL stories. What gets you excited? What draws you to a story and leaves you ready for more?

Knowing Kathy Griffin, it could be a diaper or it could just be something she threw together to wear below the waist, which just happens to resemble a diaper. Either way, I'll be interested to see that episode when it airs.

Hilarious, all of it. This one isn't quite so ABDL-related, I just like it and wanted to share: