jeremy12312

Can't help you with your lady friend, but perhaps the promises broke and make-believe ran out? I really dig that song.

@Ricky: My pants were definitely wet, but I don't know how visible it was to everyone. Since the hole was right on the bottom of the crotch, the damage was pretty much contained to that localized area. I was too ashamed to look back and see if the seat was wet, though. @Depends: That was an oldie! Quote Smithers, as the goons are taking Homer away, "Careful men, he wets his pants." In the 12 or so years that I've been wearing diapers (again), I've only had one break in the plastic, and I think that was because the rack in my closet that I stored them on had a rough spot on it, and I packed 'em in tight. Luckily I work in a really laid back office, so if worse came to worst, I'd just leave and call my boss and tell him that I was going home sick. On the way home, there's enough crazies on Chicago's L that little raises anyone's attention. The homeless and drunks (though I swear I've never done it) use a certain area of the cars as restrooms anyway.

Fridays are always a quiet day in my office, half of the people are usually out, so it's usually the day I'll wear a diaper to work. I went in with an Abena Super and a Tranquility stuffer, which is usually enough to hold me through the day. Things were going fine until I got an e-mail from some friends who wanted to meet up after work. Using the diaper the whole day, it was really starting to swell up (I should probably start bringing a noon change...). To knock down on the bulge, I pulled out the stuffer and taped the diaper back on tight, no problem, but I knew that I'd have to watch myself on any more peeing. Which would have been a fine plan, if I hadn't been fiddling with things. The jeans I was wearing today are wearing away in the crotch. It's sort of fun having access to the plastic to fiddle around with under the table. Well, I'm a nail biter/puller, so I've always got something uneven going on with my fingernails. You should have seen my face when one of my nails breached the diaper plastic. As saturated as that thing was, any pressure at all caused seepage. I called it a pretty quick evening with my friends (non-aware) after that. I had been drinking enough, though, and I really had to go on my way home. As gently as I tried to control the flow, it was no good. Path of least resistance, I guess, but it was a looong train ride home. Moral of the story: Trim your nails!

Can't. Resist. Temptation. To. Post. (Disclaimer: On the Theist (1) to Atheist (10) sliding scale, I'm about a 9.) It saddens me when people punish themselves by removing the things they enjoy to impress a mythical being. For your sake, I really hope there's something out there because otherwise you're wasting the only chance at existence you're going to get. Well, except for the chastity thing, which I do dig, but purely as a D/s thing involving belts and locks. But that's probably impure since I get pleasure from denial (of course, the lingering effects of growing up Catholic).

I'd really like to know, which brick & mortar in Chicagoland sells Attends? Nosy cashiers aside, I'm getting sick of mail order.

In a recent issue of Time Out Chicago, they had a small article covering "what lurks in the fetish forest" as a prelude to their issue about the sexual extravaganzas of Chicagoans. I don't think the article is on their website (www.timeoutchicago.com), so I've transcribed it below. >Age Play What? Not everyone reaches for his favorite candy to revisit childhood. Participants of age play (also called infantilism) role-play either as an adult figure, like a parent, or as a child. Acts can range from wanting mommy/daddy to say you've been a good/bad boy/girl, to extremes like having your diaper changed. Why? Like most fetishes, age play can be a safe way for people to act out fantasies that aren't appropriate or feasible in real life, says local dominatrix Mistress Minax. It also allows them to return to a place where they feel safe and can address sexual uncertainty. "I have a self-made family, and it's a way of [accepting] a sexual relationship with someone you also see as a maternal figure," she says. Okay, where? Minax specializes in age-play fetish professionally (i.e., no sex), and also recommends local dungeons...(shameless plugs). I'm assuming that TOC has copyright on the above text. Living in Chicago, I googled this Minax lady, but didn't get too much off of her website. It didn't even mention infantilism as an interest of hers.

You wouldn't happen to have a copy of the original story, would you? That was always one of my favorites, and I can't seem to track it down anymore.

Its no sweat. All you have to realize is that you're one person out of a thousand that the cashier will ring up that day, and they don't really care what you're buying. You'll only stand out if you look nervous while buying. Also realize that you'll never see that person again, ever, so who cares what they think about your purchases?

Its not too terribly difficult to make your own, if you have the right equipment. I've made countless videos using the movie function on my digital camera. Just do a couple of test shots to make sure you're going to be in frame, then let everything flow. If you have a Mac with an iSight, its even easier. There's a utility called Quicktime Broadcaster which lets you record video streams to your hard drive. Point your iSight or laptop at your butt, and poop away.

This didn't seem so long as I was typing, but it just all spilled out. Lately I've been starting to become more brave in sharing with the world this most private part of my life. I've worn off and on since I was 16, and before this week, only my parents knew about my diapers. At 18, I was stupid enough to let a diaper story stay in the "last 4 documents opened" list in Word on a shared computer, and my mom opened it up. Busted. They weren't angry, they just didn't really want me to keep wearing. My dad found my stash once after that, and again, asked me to throw everything out. But, for the last 8 years after those incidents, I've led the secret life. It was tough during college, but I did continue. My roommate must have thought I was crazy the night I just bolted up from bed, and took a shower. Of course, I just did that as cover so I could put on a diaper. Now that I'm getting older, though, I'm starting to care less what the general populace thinks about my underwear. One of my good friends knows, and was quite accepting. I share a house with a roommate, and he's (supposed to be) out of town this weekend. So, I've decided to go 24/7, starting this past Thursday night. I rode my bike into work this morning and wore a pair of nylon mesh shorts over my diaper. My road bike has drop handlebars, so when I lean over, my shirt creeps up and my shorts creep down, exposing quite the sight to motorists and other cyclists. I rarely wear to work, but today I even changed twice. I used my best discretion on that, though, since I really don't want to get fired. I had been saving up a load since I woke up, planning on filling my diaper when I was heading home from hanging out with the after-work crowd. Mission accomplished, and I got to ride home for 4.5 miles in a severely dirty diaper. Sitting in a messy diaper is one thing, but sitting on a bicycle seat is something else entirely. My mesh shorts took quite the punishment from the squeeze out. My excitement for the evening came a while after I got home. My housemate was supposed to have left at 6. When I arrived, well after that time, the house was empty. I stripped down, and just started lounging around in my dirty diaper. I'm blessed with skin like armour, never suffering from diaper rash. Since I've always enjoyed the feeling of cooling poop, as it moves around with every step, I'm in no rush to change. All of a sudden, I hear the front door open. I make a mad dash for my room, and slam the door. Apparently there was a change of plans, and he and his friends were then congregating. They didn't see me, but the house had to have stunk. I'll see if I get any comments when he gets home on Sunday. Obviously, he doesn't know, and I'd like to keep it that way. Now, I'm off to bed, dose of Metamucil in my belly and the scent of poop gently drifting upwards. I'll sleep well tonight, and have fun tomorrow. Jeremy