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Hello, This is my first time using this site, so sorry if I get some of the stuff wrong or anything like that, not looking to cause drama or upset, just want to get to know some like-minded people in the region I live and share my ABDL side with them. With that out of the way, Hi! My name is Krazy, I am a 30+ male Adult Baby and I live in the Midlands. I live with a very caring and loving mummy, we are engaged and have our own house. We are very openminded and enjoy our own take on the ABDL scene, probably with somethings most of you enjoy, some you do not and some you may not have considered. I expect there are some sides of it I can learn from you too! We have a wide collection of baby items and I live as an AB pretty much 100% of the time I am outside of work, even in public. It is something we work hard to keep secret and just between the two of us. So why make an account here then? I am very lucky to have a full time mummy who looks after me and embraces the lifestyle and all that is associated with it, but I keep wishing I had some ABDL friends who I could talk to, share with and maybe even meet up in real life with as well. Sorry to seem sexist here, but I have my reasons and I don't really want to go into them with a bunch of strangers on the internet, no offence to anyone, it's just very personal, but I am only looking for AB girls (biologically female from birth) to build up a friendship with. I have nothing against guy, trans people or anyone really, it's just my preference is all. Also I am not looking for any kind of romantic or sexual contact, like I said, I am lucky enough to get all of that from my fiancée-mummy. I have plenty to share and am open to other peoples opinions and views, so if you are a female ABDL or similar from the Midlands UK, or surrounding regions, and you fancy getting to know an experienced and friendly guy without any risk of romantic desire or sexual intention, then please contact me here and say hi, I would really love to hear from you. -Krazy

Hello all hope your are all well.Ive signed up today to share my story. Recently I have had a life changing incident. I was hit by a car whilst riding my motorbike quite badly and am now a decent amount paraplegic and have become incontinent. im still in rehabilitation wearing permanent bladder drainages and am in a wheelchair permanently.Prior to the accident i was a closet ABDL and my partner nor anyone ever knew. i would wear abdl type diapers as often as i could and had trained myself to wet them. Id wear them under clothing and go out and enjoy the thrill of wearing secretly in public. I would also make effort to meet other people with similar interests.Now i feel lost. I no longer have the freedom to be how i once was. In almost half a year I have not worn a diaper except for once in the hospital until they stopped that because its apparently bad for my skin and put me on a drainage bag.. I know its a pretty complex question, but does anyone have any advice or maybe experience that could help me in my abdl life? Anyone in or have been in a similar situation

I started to put this story up before but it was removed for some reason but no one knows why. I have been advised to try again Baby Dick I’m sitting in the doctor’s office stripped down to my underwear awaiting his arrival and I’m feeling cold and vulnerable. The thin cream nylon curtain that separates me and the plastic padded bed I’m sitting on from his surgery still allows me to hear him whispering to a nurse, whilst tapping away at his computer keyboard. I wish he’d hurry up and start his examination as I’m bored of looking at the blue, hygienic paper sheet that covers the bed and the rather large, scary-looking chrome implement that I can just see through the crack in the flimsy drape. Even though I’m expecting it, the sudden noise as he pulls back the curtain makes me jump. “Don’t be scared Michael, I’m only going to examine you.” His words are gentle but I’m still on edge as he places a stethoscope against my chest and begins. He weighs, measures, taps, pokes, and peers into every part of my anatomy though it’s a worry when he shuffles down my underwear and cups my genitals. I look over at mum and dad who are sitting on plastic chairs only a few feet away watching this process. The doctor addresses them rather than me whenever he has a question or makes a comment. “He’s very undeveloped for a thirteen year old.” He continues the examination by feeling my penis and searching for my balls. He looks over at my parents and tells them I may be suffering from something, but he says it in doctor-speak so I have no idea what he means. However, the word ‘micropenis’ is in there somewhere and I understand that. Eventually he stops his prodding and poking and pulls up my underwear, which is a thick fabric nappy and tells me that I should relax. I lay out on the paper covered padded bed and he pops in a large dummy that has suddenly appeared on a ribbon around my neck. He then pulls a soft, fleecy baby blue blanket up over me and tells me again to relax whilst he speaks to my parents. “Is there anything that can be done for him?” I hear mother say. “An operation or drugs?” Dad adds. “Look…. Mr and Mrs Smith… it’s perfectly simple… your boy doesn’t want to grow up. His tiny baby sized penis is him trying to tell you… he wants to stay a baby.” “Really?” Both my parent’s chorus. “It’s perfectly normal for a boy his age. What with the pressures of becoming a teenager… it’s too much stress, so he wants to go back to being looked after… not have to make decisions… to be without responsibilities. His baby sized penis, lack of pubic hair and his soft babyish features… well; it’s his way of telling you this.” I’m shocked by what the doctor is saying but my nappy is hugging me tightly, the fleecy blanket is very comforting and so is sucking on my dummy. I feel myself drift off as my parents continue their discussion with my GP. # I wake up and I’m back in my own bedroom. It’s the smallest room in the house and whilst my older brother Paul and sister Helen have larger rooms, this one suits me as it’s mine… and it’s very, very cosy. I’ve made it my fortress; with all my favourite popstar posters pinned up on the wall. My white closet and chest of drawers keep my clothes nicely stored away, whilst the shelf that runs around three of the walls hold a few books but also my favoured toys and stuffed animals (I have quite a menagerie) who look on and keep me company. It must be getting near morning as I can see a glow around the window frame but checking the clock shows it’s not time to get up for school yet. I sigh in relief although know that this Monday is going to be a bit of a trial for me. I lay there warm and cosy under my covers, though a sudden thought made me check myself. Thankfully, I hadn’t had an accident and my PJs were dry so I wriggled, wondering why, for the second night in a row, I’d had such a similar weird dream. # Actually, I guess I know why - the Friday before I was walking home from school when Cuddy Cudthorpe and his gang of bullies ambushed me near the local park, bundled me through some bushes and stripped me naked. Well, not completely naked, they left me wearing a thick disposable with ‘Baby Dick’ written in thick black letters across the white material, front and back. I tried to fight them off but five burly fifteen year olds had the upper hand, especially as I’m thirteen and a bit of a wimp, physically and mentally. Ever since it became public knowledge, well amongst the school, that I was under endowed, he’d made it his job to terrify and belittle me at every opportunity. Of course, like most bullies, he does his nasty deeds when only he or he and his friends are present, so it’s difficult to prove any of my allegations. But it is true that I have a smaller than perhaps normal penis, certainly a great deal smaller than my older brother, unfortunately, mine had been noticed in the showers after gym and swimming lessons by my class. I got a load of ribbing from my class mates but then it got to the ears of Cuddy and since then he seemed to take great delight in never missing an opportunity of referring to me as ‘Baby Dick’. He’s gone out of his way to leave those two words emblazoned on my locker, my books and on the walls of the toilet. Now loads of the school refer to me by that name, which has pleased him no end. However, being embarrassed at school obviously just wasn’t enough for him so he decided to go public. That’s why the attack; he wanted to publicly humiliate me, which he did. I had to walk home wearing a loose fitting, soaked diaper (I was crying and scared) and it must have made his day as he held me down and in fear began to pee myself. He and his mates took photos, cheered about the ‘fun’ we were all having but left me crying in a heap and I still had to find my way the mile and a half home wearing what I had on and looking like I did. It was a warm afternoon but it didn’t seem to faze anyone that a boy my age should be crying and wearing a sagging nappy; although, at that time of day it was mostly school children on their way home and not many grown-ups. No one stopped to offer me help. Even other pupils from the school crossed over the road or giggled at my distress, no doubt knowing it was Cuddy’s doing and not wanting to be the next in line for his ‘practical jokes’. When I arrived home my school uniform was strewn around the garden, everything that is apart from my underpants. I got the message - they thought I was a baby and didn’t need ‘big boy’ pants. Cuddy’d whispered this at school and also while he bundled me into my current disposable that, with a dick like mine, I should always wear nappies. # Although more than a little traumatised there was no one else at home when I arrived so didn’t have to explain anything to anybody. I picked up my clothes and let myself in and waddled up to my room, the wet disposable sagging dangerously low as I climbed the stairs. I stood in front of the mirror and surveyed myself. My eyes were dark rings, tearstains ran down my cheeks and yet, those two words ‘Baby Dick’ emblazoned on the now pitifully full disposable didn’t hold any horror for me. In fact, since my situation had become common knowledge, the taunting and comments had strangely made me more popular… well, perhaps what I mean is, more people knew who I was - ‘Baby Dick’. I’d never been popular at school, not that I didn’t have friends but to be popular you had to be someone, or have done something, and that just wasn’t me. I excelled in being the very opposite of astounding. However, back to my mirror image - I haven’t worn a nappy since I was three years old, and, although my penis hadn’t grown a great deal since, the doctors said that my small penis is just nature – some people have massive ones, others small, whilst most are just normal. Its size had never really bothered me because until the comments at school, it wasn’t an issue. However, with all the name calling and references to me being a baby I began to think more and more about what it would be like being a toddler again and not have to put up with all this aggravation… and surprise, surprise, I didn’t mind the idea. This was probably why, in my dreams, the doctor was telling my parents my small penis was my way of saying I wanted to be a baby – that dream (and the hundred or so times a day ‘Baby Dick’ was shouted at me across the school yard) had a strange effect on me. It sort of instilled that idea deep in my conscious and subconscious. However and here’s the strange part, I’d had similar dreams before the Cuddy incident. These last two nights hadn’t been the only ones where I was a toddler. The difference was, in the current dreams it was me insisting on being treated as a little kid. Before, in fact way before, I’d had thoughts and dreams where I was a baby, and it wasn’t just my family insisting that’s what I should be, it was everyone. These mental images would just swamp in and for a few seconds it would be like... real... but then I’d come to my senses and just get on with whatever it was I was doing... and more or less tried to ignore it all. # I was standing still looking at myself in the mirror when I peed a little more. The full disposable warming slightly but under the extra weight finally gave up hanging on and collapsed to the floor leaving me staring at my mini penis. To me it didn’t look that small, except in comparison to my brother Paul; who has quite a large one. I know he’s sixteen and more developed than me but he and my sister take after my father’s side of the family, whilst I take after mum. So, whereas dad is tall and strong, mum is blonde and petite and that’s who I get my slim physique and blue eyes from. I suppose in other ways I haven’t kept up to my classmates in maturity- for instance, I still haven’t sprouted much in the way of pubic hair, my voice doesn’t appear to have broken and the things I like on TV are more likely stuff that a seven or eight year old might prefer. Oh yes, you know the menagerie I spoke about, I take it in turns sleeping with them all. I love cuddling my stuffed animals and have never once thought it odd doing so even at my age. Mum has had me at the doctors on several occasions and tests have indicated that there is no growth problem, it will all sort itself out and that I’m quite normal, just developing at a different rate to everyone else. Being the youngest in the family has always meant that I’m treated as the baby, someone who needs looking after. Both my brother and sister have always been very supportive and loving. As a tot I was always hopping from my bed and creeping into theirs if I got scared or had a bad dream. I was never thrown out. I remember Paul once saying he enjoyed these times because he could protect his little brother. Helen remarked that she loved it because I was like a warm, wriggly little teddy bear. Even as I’ve gotten older they seem to still think of me in this way – I’m still their baby brother. Both they and my parents are highly protective of me and I’m so glad to live in such a loving household. # Monday and another school day; I arrived and everyone was laughing and pointing at ‘Baby Dick’. Even my close friends were smiling and nodding as if they were in on some fantastic secret. I was soon to find out what they all knew and I didn’t. Posters of me wearing the disposable, with a very yellow front, which I’m sure had been photo-shopped, had been erected around the school yard as well as on some noticeboards in school. It took the teachers sometime to collect them all and then the inquest started. Of course I accused Cudthorpe but he and his friends denied everything, even saying that I’d been spreading lies about them and that they wouldn’t be surprised if I hadn’t done it myself to gain some kind of notoriety. Of course no teacher believed this accusation but, without evidence one way or the other, they couldn’t go any further with mine. However, come break time I was surprised how many people were sympathetic to my situation and thought how brave I was to remain in school. Of course there were still those who were glorying in my embarrassment but because of those who were more supportive I didn’t let them bother me as much. There was a school full of kids now aware that I’d been wearing a nappy, whether they thought it was voluntary or not I don’t think mattered to them. So, as each passed they patted my bum to see if ‘Baby Dick’ was wearing one to school. It got pretty annoying but I was powerless to stop it. I think they were very disappointed when they couldn’t feel any padding. “Baby Dick, why aren’t you wearing your nappy?” Some accused as if they’d been cheated of the opportunity to see for themselves this baby in their midst. “Baby Dick should be in a nappy” was whispered when some people passed by, other times it was hollered across the playground so ignoring it was more difficult. # However, one boy in particular was very sympathetic; his name Quentin, Quentin Timothy Farron to be exact, who was the butt of everybody’s nastiness. He was around the same age and size as me, except where I was blond he was dark, but he’d accrued the accolade of being the school’s BIG SISSY. “Sissy” was spat at him at every opportunity but he didn’t appear to mind, if he did he hid it well. He was gently spoken, unassuming and impeccably dressed... three points that made him definitely, as far as the rest of the school was concerned, a huge certified sissy. Although I knew him as we were in the same class, we weren’t particular friends even though we did have quite a bit in common. Neither of us were good at sport, we couldn’t throw a ball to save our lives, and gym was a constant torture. We were scared of swimming and clung to the floats as if I lives depended on it, which as far as we were concerned it did. We were both unhappy about appearing naked (apart from swimming trunks) in public and always wrapped a towel around us when we changed. We preferred our own company but were frequently disturbed by other kids and older bullies venting their hostilities on us. Quentin had a good way of scaring his adversaries off... he just screamed as loudly as he could until, a teacher came. Usually by then his aggressors would have run off so he was left to explain himself to the grown-ups. He would just shrug and go about his business. When I was in a similar position I usually got verbally and physically abused... often punched by these macho bullying kids... but I stayed painfully silent and intimidated. Although few people laid a finger on Quentin, I don’t know if that was because his dad was a cop or what, but even though he was constantly being picked on, he didn’t suffer the bruises I often came away with. Quentin Timothy Farron (or Quite The Fuckup as it said on his monogrammed school bag once) saw the wounded look on my face as everyone around was laughing at the poster-sized images of me in a disposable. “This is awful,” he whispered as he nervously approached. “I hope those bullying cunts die.” I was shocked by his language (it was a word I’d heard but never used and in fact I wasn’t sure what it meant). His mother was well known in the church group and his father was high up in the police force, so it came as a bit of a surprise he even knew such an expression. He patted my shoulder. “I hope you’ll be okay...” And that was it as he drifted off to class. For a bullied sissy he certainly carried himself well; no cowering, trying to hide away. He had a certain elegance; from his pristine school uniform and well-polished shoes, right through to his quiet but determined personality. He was the only one who actually seemed genuinely upset on my behalf and I appreciated his bravery in even speaking to me at that point. # That night I wasn’t sure if word about the incident would get to my parents so I decided to get it out in the open and tell them what had happened. They were suitably angry with the victimization and the cruel ‘prank’ that had been played on me. They wanted to make a big deal about it, threatening to complain to the school and taking issue with Cuddy but I begged them to let it drop. Paul wanted to beat Cuddy up but as much as I love my big brother, I don’t think even he would come off better between Cuddy and his gang. Cuddy was a bully but he was also an out and out thug. All I could see was things getting worse and Cuddy being pleased with himself for thinking he was making my life a misery. He was the type of person, from that type of family, who revelled in their own controversial reputation. No one liked them, and everyone gave them a wide berth, they delighted in their notoriety. The following day and my locker and desk were stuffed full of disposables and an assortment of baby gear. It seemed that a few ‘jokers’ had stolen their baby brother’s and sister’s trappings and loaded it on me. I nearly threw up when I discovered a shitty and soaked disposable shoved in my locker but I didn’t want to give the audience that had gathered the satisfaction. Once again what was meant as humiliation had a very strange effect. I gathered up all the baby products (except the soiled nappy) and piled them into my locker with every intention of sorting through them at home because an idea was fermenting in my brain. I was desperately trying to look hurt and hard done by. I attempted to appear careworn and upset by it all but the truth was, all these things had given me an opportunity; it was an opportunity I was keen to exploit. Once I got home (I walked with friends now) I let myself in and, armed with a backpack full of baby stuff, headed up to my room. I knew it would be an hour or so before anyone else got in so I spread out the contents to examine precisely what my ‘school mates’ had left by way of a ‘joke’. Four Disposables One thick terry nappy One pair of see thru plastic pants 2 Dummies 1 Rattle Set of four large safety pins A toy duck And lastly a bib that had ‘Mummy’s messy girl’ written in white on a pink background (it still had the remains of some child’s meal crusted into it). What a witty lot my fellow students were. #tbc# Part 2 I stood pondering for a little while, wondering if at thirteen what I was planning on doing was a good or bad idea. There was no doubt about it, certain things had been buzzing around in my head for some time now. Whether this was made more apparent because of the ‘Cuddy incident’, or because that merely seemed to confirm something else, I wasn’t too sure. What I did know was that the last few dreams I’d been having all pointed to me wanting to wear a nappy... to be a baby. Oddly, this desire didn’t seem to be that much of a ‘big deal’ to me. Although I hadn’t worn a nappy since I’d been potty trained, my dreams indicated that I wasn’t averse to the idea. Indeed, it could be argued (possibly) that I’d simply been putting off the inevitable. I stripped out of my school clothes and stood for a few moments naked in front of the mirror. I ran my hands over my soft juvenile body and cupped my balls. I have small hands so my genitals felt the right size; warm, smooth and soft resting in my palm. I ran my other hand over my bottom and turned slightly to see what I looked like. It was as if I was looking at myself for the first time with any degree of judgement. In the past it was simply my body and though I lived with it, I had never either inspected it or given it much thought... but now? When I mentally conjured up thoughts of my friends at school I could see the difference in our developments, or rather, my lack of such. Kevin, my best mate, although the same age as me was hairy, well-developed and very much a boy; I, on the other hand, was very much an underdeveloped version of myself and still maintained the supple outline of a child. Perhaps surprisingly, my small, immature physique didn’t worry me… it was just the way I’m made but, nagging away in some dark recess, was an urge… and an urge I was about to explore. # I reached for the terry towel square and folded it like I thought was appropriate. I had never done this before so it was only through having seen such things done on TV that I thought I had an idea about how these things worked. I lay it out on my bed and grabbed a couple of the pins. Pulling it up between my legs I thought the material felt quite rough and couldn’t really imagine a baby liking such a thing pinned around its bits and bobs. I suddenly thought how much more comfy the one I was forced to wear by Cuddy just a few days earlier had been. Despite the trauma at the time I was now comparing that scary and forced incident onto what I was doing myself. It felt really odd, even briefly, to be thinking in such a way but the forced disposable felt a lot softer than the fabric one I was trying to fit into. Eventually, after several unsuccessful attempts, I finally managed to pin it into place. The material felt coarse but, as I lay on the bed, my reflection looked fine. I sat up and slowly waddled over to the mirror for a better inspection. There was no huge bulkiness to it, although I thought the big pins made it look suitably childish, but was very loose and immediately sagged around my hairless knees. I bent down and shimmied it back up my thighs, grasping tightly to the material and wondering how to make it stay up. “The plastic pants help hold it in place.” It was Helen my sister at my bedroom door. Obviously I’d been daydreaming for longer than I’d thought and time had simply slipped by without noticing. I was a little stunned to hear her words, and although I was slightly anxious at what she might be thinking, I really wasn’t that worried about her discovering what I was doing. “I’m not sure I want that…” I said as I ran my hands over the fabric, “these feel really rough.” She came up behind me and looked at all the items laid out on the bed. “More stuff left by the school jokers...” I tried to explain. She nodded and examined the plastic pants. “Not sure if these will fit but…” She picked them up and stretched them as wide as they’d go and spread them out for me to attempt to climb into. They were tight but she shuffled them up my legs and the nappy was gripped firmly and held in place. It was as if she thought a nappy wasn’t a strange thing to see me dressed in. She stood back and inspected her handiwork. “Mmmm, not sure…” she smoothed them out and pushed any of the exposed material behind the plastic cover. “Well, are they comfortable?” # It didn’t even occur to me that Helen had not found any of this process strange. She had seen I needed help and simply pitched in as she’d always done if I was in difficulties or needed a problem solved. She stood behind me and we saw each other in the mirror. Even though she was only a couple of years older than me, she looked so much more mature. I was smaller than her and, with her youthful breasts more than adequately filling the front of her school blouse she looked like a girl bursting into womanhood. On the other hand, the image that stared back at me was that of an immature boy who didn’t look out of place wearing a nappy. The thing was, at that moment, and with my big sister in charge, I wasn’t unhappy about my situation. “I guess all this has something to do with last Friday?” She whispered in my ear. I nodded but added. “Yes but, erm, well, it’s something more… I mean…” I shrugged suddenly unable to voice my concerns. “What is it Mikey… you know you can talk to me about anything.” It’s true I could. In fact, our family didn’t like secrets and more especially didn’t like to see anyone suffer if they could help. My head was a jumble of things to say, though I’m not certain if I could have put it into any semblance of thought. Was I trying to reclaim my independence by showing ‘them’ that they couldn’t intimidate me? Was I using ‘their’ joke back against them by wearing it to prove their little japes had no effect? What was the reason...? “Well,” I pointed to my reflection again, “what do you see?” Helen smiled, “Just my favourite little brother.” She hugged me. “Exactly… little… L.I.T.T.L.E. I’m not growing up…” “But you will Mikey; we all grow at different speeds and…” I know she was trying to be sympathetic but that wasn’t what I wanted to say to her. “Helen, that’s not it. I… I… erm… I… ummm…” She waited patiently whilst I got my thoughts into some kind of order. “Erm… when Cuddy and his friends forced me into that disposable… umm… although I was terrified by it all…errr… when I thought about it… ummm… it wasn’t so... bad.” I was watching Helen in the mirror to see how she reacted to what I was saying. She sighed and then ran her hand over my plastic pants. “Are you saying that you think you might like… this?” “I don’t know. What I do know is that for quite some time now I’ve… I’ve felt like Peter Pan… you know… never gonna grow up.” “Has it been worrying you?” “Well, erm, what has been worrying me is that I’m thinking about it all the time.” As I was saying this I could hear “Baby Dick”, “Baby Dick”, “Baby Dick” being chanted in my head. “I don’t know what to say Mikey.” Nor did I. All I really knew was that Cuddy making me wear what he did seemed somehow to make sense. Although I cried all the way home and was embarrassed by the event… it wasn’t the actual nappy that caused it. It may have been the realisation about me. I looked down at my feet in shame at what I’d just told my sister and I could see my toes awkwardly curling up in the carpet. The dreams I’d been having recently also filled my head and all I could think about were the doctor’s words “He wants to be a baby.” At that same moment, and totally unannounced, I felt a spurt of pee shoot into the front of my nappy. # Where that action came from I have no idea although seconds later remembered that I’d peed in the disposable last Friday without giving it much thought. I felt my nappy grow warm and there was no disputing what I’d done as the front of the coarse fabric began to absorb the liquid and turn a slight off-yellow colour. Helen looked on astonished. “Oh Mikey… have you just wet yourself?” With a shiver of recognition I just sadly nodded. “Did you realise…” I shrugged my shoulders and shook my head. Ever practical, my sister was immediately on the ball. “Look, you can’t stay wearing this…” Again she stroked the front of my slippery plastic pants. “You aren’t wearing any nappy rash cream and if you stay in it too long it will begin to irritate.” Those nights of babysitting the neighbour’s kids were really paying off. She was already pulling the tight-fitting plastic pants down and with them came my soaked nappy. I was like a statue – I just let it happen. I was too stunned to say or do anything but Helen eased me out of the wet things and grabbed a towel from on top of my drawers. She wiped me down and sent me off to the bathroom to sponge myself clean. When I arrived back Helen had found some cream and powder and had a disposable unfurled and ready for me. “I’m not sure that’s a good idea.” I said in a quiet voice as I peered out from behind the thick towel I was drying myself on. As usual my sister was determined and matter-of-fact. “Mikey,” she raised her eyebrows so I knew she meant business. “You appear to be going through some strange shi… er… problems at the moment and if you don’t even realise when you piss your pants, you need to take some precautions until you can work out…” “No, no I’ll be okay it’s just…” “You’re not okay Mikey. Something is happening in your head and until you… or we… can work out what it is… you need to stay protected.” By this time she’d taken me by the arm and led me over to the bed where everything was laid out. “So, for the time being at least let’s get you sorted so we have some degree of control...” # She didn’t finish what she was saying as a look of determination came over her face and started rubbing cream into my tiny penis and balls. This was followed by a blanket of powder (which had me giggling there was so much of it) and finally she taped the disposable into position. Feeling the soft thick disposable being pulled up between my legs reminded me of when Cubby and his mates had done the same – thankfully, there were no slaps or punches. Helen was much gentler. However, the fit was a lot tighter and I could get up off the bed without feeling it was going to fall down at any moment… also I wasn’t crying. She tossed me my pyjamas and indicated I should put them on and even though it wasn’t yet 6pm, I did as suggested. Luckily my pjs were fairly loose and the bottoms easily pulled over the slightly more bulky underwear. However, there was no denying the bulge that now occupied that area. Whereas my usual small genitals hardly produced a tiny lump, now with the padding I’d gained a profile of some distinction. Yep, the baby padding had given me a bulge where I hadn’t had much of one before; I snickered to myself at this apparent contradictory revelation. # Meanwhile she was ploughing through the rest of the items I’d brought home. She tossed aside one of the disposables and the dirty bib. “These will be way too small.” She shrugged as she checked the toys and dummies but after looking at the array of stuffed animals surrounding the room tossed them back on the bed. She picked up the wet nappy and plastic pants and said: “These will need washing and you’ll need a bit more padding so that it doesn’t feel so rough.” I shrugged and nodded, I wasn’t sure what to think but I quite liked my reflection – standing in just my pjs with the obvious lump at my crotch. I ran my hand over it and it felt so smooth; I was grateful for that soft, yet flattering, large bulge. Helen watched as I teased the fabric under my pjs and in all honesty I was enjoying the surprising comfort it offered. I stroked my padded backside and loved the squashy cushion that now made up my rear. “Helen, is it wrong… you know… to… ermmm… like…” “Mikey, we all like different things… I can’t say how mum and dad will react but…” I pulled my pyjama bottoms down and looked more closely at the way Helen had fastened the disposable. I liked the way the tapes dragged the material in tightly over my tummy, I liked the smoothness of the white, shiny, plastic-looking fabric holding me in such a comfortable embrace. My head was full of strange thoughts. Was all this baby stuff from school planned? Was I being led into a state of mind I had no control over? Was I letting my imagination run away with itself? There was no denying liking what I was seeing in my reflection. My small frame seemed to compliment the disposable and a sense of the inevitable shuddered through my body. Why was I so happy about all this? # The nappy and plastic pants had looked good to me but this looked better. I wondered if plastic pants would improve the look but as Helen had them in her hand, and they were on their way to be washed, I didn’t get a chance to check. However, I was very pleased with what I was wearing and couldn’t stop stroking myself and watching my mirror image. The expression on my face was one of wonder and pleasure. Helen watched my reaction for a few seconds before adding. “When everyone is home you need to tell them your thoughts and what’s happening to you.” I looked her in disbelief. “Can’t I just…?” “Look Mikey, this…” and she indicated not only my padded outline but the rest of my room, “is who and what you are now” She paused before she went on. “But, you might feel different in a week, maybe a month or so… and I think you’ll appreciate the family being with you on whatever you decide.” My sister speaks so much better than my mind works. I’d never be able to find the correct words. I’m hopeless at getting my point of view over even in class. I just tend to go along with what everyone else decides but, this was about me and I’d never got anything less than total support from my family. Of course I wasn’t going to argue with Helen; I didn’t argue with anybody, I’d do as I’m told. “I’m off to start making dinner… mum and dad will be home in half an hour,” She heard the door slam downstairs. “Sounds like Paul’s home … I’ll put these on to wash as well” She said as she exited the room waving my wet nappy. I was alone with my reflection. I saw the rattle on the bed and was drawn to it. I’m not sure why a baby should find such entertainment in the noisy thing but after a couple of shakes I grew board. I picked up a dummy and wondered about trying that out. It looked clean enough but I had no idea where it had been so passed on that for the time being. However, surprisingly I found as I was looking around and thinking I was sucking my thumb. I lay out on my bed and found it incredibly easy to relax; there was definitely something about wearing a nappy that made me feel ‘different’. I sucked my thumb more, closed my eyes and just let go. Without any effort on my part I filled the front with a slow warming pee before I drifted off to sleep. # Mum was home first and Helen had a quick chat explaining what she’d discovered with Michael. “I think that incident last week with the school bullies has had more of an effect than he’s letting on.” “Really dear, why do you say that?” She replied whilst taking off her coat and hanging it up in the hallway. She told her about the conversation and what Mikey had said then beckoned her upstairs to see for herself. She was surprised to see her youngest, fast asleep, with his thumb slick between his lips and wearing what was obviously a disposable peaking over the top of his jammy bottoms. After what she’d just been told she was shocked but her heart went out to him. “Poor little mite… he looks so vulnerable.” “Yes,” Helen slipped her finger under his waistband, “and he’s wet again.” #tbc#

Part of the new Deadpool 2 dvd Trailer. Deadpool 2 - _Baby Legs_ Video.mp4

Found this on Youtube, it's cringy to watch.

hiyaa everyone my name is amber ive been wearing for over 10 years now (wow i feel old), i am 24 human years old but im like 1-4 at heart, i mainly wear for comfort i just get peace of mind when i do when i get put into them it help me get into little space , ive recently moved to london so id love to make some friends that are like minded and can cope with my annoying ass, i love gaming and going on photography walks not that i know many good places to go or get to atm. hope i make some new friends here xoxo Amber

“Because we say so.” I’m fed up with hearing those words from everyone. “Because we say so.” or “Because I say so.” It was the answer to my question, “Why do I have to wear a nappy?” “Because we say so,” was and is the constant reply. When I say “everyone” who I actually mean are my parents. It’s never expanded on. It’s never explained. It’s never negotiable but, since being a baby until now at fifteen, I‘m still told I have to wear a nappy. It isn’t like I have much choice in the matter; both mum and dad never gave me an option and insist that I wear all the time. As it’s the only thing I’ve ever known or been allowed to wear… it’s what I wear. At night I have varied fabrications to sleep in but most often it’s a hefty doubled-up one with a pair of heavy, slippery opaque vinyl pants, whilst during the day, the padding is less bulky but only marginally. The daytime plastic pants I wear over them are quite crinkly and sometimes see-thru but thankfully not as thick as those I have to sleep in. I vaguely remember when I was five, mum trying me out in a disposable to wear for sleep but waking up soaked through - not only me but the bed as well so, from that moment on, she insisted I also wore rubber pants over my nappies. In the intervening time she hasn’t seen any reason to change that decision so I have a selection of rubber, plastic, vinyl, pvc and other waterproof covers that range from the plain, to the colourful and some might say… ornate. There is no other underwear in the house, well not for me at least, and the times I’ve tried to refuse that cumbersome fabric embrace have been met with determined and sometimes painful opposition. “David, we’re not going through this again and again. We want you to be safe and secure at all times and we’ve decided the best way to maintain that is by wearing protection.” Well, that’s roughly what the answer used to be to begin with - now they just ignore my occasional grumbling. As I’ve gotten older I’ve tried reasoning with them, expressing the silliness of a lad my age still in nappies, the bulkiness of them and urine constantly next to my body… Dad says he can’t see why I complain. In his opinion it is simply a different type of underwear and I should think myself lucky I have parents who dote on me enough to make sure I’m always well-guarded. According to them, wearing my toilet is no excuse for not wearing it??? There is no logic to their argument, not that it is an argument. I wear because that’s how my parents want me to dress. I’m an only child and although I’ve never known anything different, I know the other boys at school don’t wear what I have to. My parents regard it, for me at least, the absolute pinnacle of underwear and I think they pity those young people who’ve made the change to briefs or boxer shorts... or so I’m led to believe. I’m always dressed impeccably, mum sees to that. My school uniform is always clean and pressed, fresh clean shirt, Windsor knot on my tie, I look like a new boy every morning. My parents don’t see the thickness in my pants, sending out messages of being incontinent or worse, as a problem. You’d think a pair of briefs would be better than the reams of fabric I’ve worn over the years but they just reiterate that how can I be sure I won’t wet... again? This is where they got me because once or twice my nappy had been soaked when I was younger and they used those few occasions as reason enough to keep me padded. Now I have no option but to flood my nappies because I have no way out of them. # Gary Harrison was grateful. A new job, in an executive position was just what he needed. His wife of barely a year, Jennifer, was expecting their first child, so this opportunity and financial reward couldn’t have come at a better time. Prestige Pharmacists Products, a company his grandfather had founded and run for a number of years was ill so the firm needed an injection of new blood to take it to the next generation of supplies to the industry. Gary’s father had recently passed, and with the prospect of the older member of the family also likely to be taken soon, there was urgency in keeping the family business on track. Even though Gary had tried to make his way in the world in his own fashion he hadn’t been involved in the family business up until that moment. However, with this new opportunity he found he had ideas and drive to take on such responsibility. Harry, Gary’s grandfather, had come up with the idea of developing products that would last through a child’s formative years and well past puberty. He was hopeful to expand the company and have ‘customers for a lifetime’, not just at an age when they would normally need some protection – babies and incontinent old age. It was an idea that came to him when he saw how fathers would take their sons to football games at an early age; indoctrinate them in the ways, chants and colours of the team, which invariably lead to that child becoming a fan for life. He wanted that same principle to be attached to a lifetime for loving his products. He was an innovator and wanted new, exotic, must-have, trendy personal health products that would transcend the fact they were originally designed for only the pant-wetter’s of the world. His plan would be part research, part commercial, part promotional and part innovation – but it needed a subject matter, a volunteer they could follow throughout his or her life. Gary suggested his own, as yet unborn baby might be the ideal guinea pig for this experiment. Despite an initial reluctance to allow this to happen, eventually, as her husband was suddenly promoted to CEO, Jennifer was talked into seeing the benefits of such exploration and agreed to pursuing the research with enthusiasm. It was agreed that their son David, must never know the reason for the way he was being treated otherwise might reject the entire notion when older. He needed to know from his first questioning moments that he was a normal boy and his treatment was special to him because it’s what his mummy and daddy thought was best. He must be continuously told it was for his own good and brook no nonsense from any and all nay-sayers. A firm and constant reply of “because we say so” to his curiosity from the very beginning would mean it unlikely that he’d grow up and make demands that would change this bizarre but important piece of research. Any questioning of their methods on how to bring up their child must be fiercely and vehemently defended. They would, over the years, learn to quell any and all objections to David’s way of life with a series of carefully defended and aggressively pursued explanations. No one really knew what the outcome might be but making their son know he was (and is) loved, and not aware of being used as a guinea pig in some obscure marketing experiment, was paramount. They didn’t want to confuse him with mixed messages or any doubts, the way they cared for their son was to appear normal in their household at least. # Over the years I’ve found that a tantrum leads to a spanked bottom and no amount of crying, pleading or begging makes the slightest difference. I still end up having to wear a nappy. I occasionally still have my petty little rebellions, usually after someone has passed a comment on a boy my age still in nappies, but it’s no use. I usually end up seething for a few minutes before I’m back to wearing what I’m told. I haven’t been brought up to be confrontational, that has long since been spanked out of me, so tend to do as I’m told most of the time. “Because I say so.” It can be either of my parents speaking; it’s always the same answer so my reluctance to do as I’m told has all but evaporated. I may be a teenager but whilst my peers are all angst and mood swings, I’m a fairly easy-going type of guy. Despite being forced to wear a nappy I don’t have any particular hang ups, which I truly don’t understand. In fact, there is something about the way dad says he’s doing his duty by how he treats me is both mystifying but also quite pleasing… there’s never a moment when I don’t think mum and dad are there for me or are honest in their desire to keep me well protected. Maybe it’s simply because I have to wear a nappy that I’m so easy-going and at ease with myself, I’ve had to put up with a lot... I don’t know, perhaps I’m immune to some of the pressures other kids suffer. However, mum and dad are certain that their way is the right way for me and I do as I’m told (more often than not). From being a kid the changing of my soaked nappy has become a fun ritual. There is quite a bit of laughter, whilst the intimacy and tender way both my parents attend me is incredibly loving. Now, at fifteen, I don’t baulk if either of them want to change me, it’s just part of our relationship so I have no concerns about whether it’s appropriate or not. It simply doesn’t matter. Despite all the “Because we say so’s”, I love my parents. I suppose my initial statement doesn’t look that convincing now I’ve written it down but there were (and are) times when the resentment teeters (briefly) on the verge of anger. Usually because someone else has wound me up over it. Over the years various boys (and the occasional girl) have gone out of their way to befriend or bully me into wetting myself. When I was younger, the bullies were almost nonstop in trying to get me to pee my nappy. They would pull down my shorts or trousers and insist that I wouldn’t get them back until they had proof I’d wet myself. The growing yellow spot or gradual inflation of a disposable soaking up my scared pee was enough to have them victoriously laughing at my situation. I’d arrive home crying and demanding to be let out of my nappy but, at those moments mum, who works as an administrator for an overseas charity, would show me photographs of the starving and destitute people they are trying to help and that soon puts a lid on any ‘pathetic’ grievance I think I might have. Seeing images of kids and entire countries desperately trying to find enough food to stave off starvation is not a helpful sight if your only complaint is that you have to wear a nappy; especially, when so many kids hardly have any clothes at all. It was a shock to the system that what I have to put up with is as of nothing compared to the suffering others have to manage on a daily basis. I was learning that fact from a very early age and it sort of dwells continually in my brain should my ‘suffering’ seem all consuming. However, mum never let me contemplate on it for too long and takes a similar view to dad saying that I am her (and by implication, their) ‘sweet little pumpkin’ who should have the constant reassurance that a loving family and nappy, offers. Why they decided that a nappy is the best way to show that fact I’m not sure (cos no one tells me anything) therefore, I’m always well-protected. #tbc#

I Love My Daddy There have been quite a few times when I’ve been glad I was wearing a nappy whilst out and about in public. I know a seventeen year-old should be past that stage by now but, for instance, when an F16 screams in over your head at about 200 feet, pulls back and accelerates away vertically before going into some incredible aerial manoeuvres, you know that the spine-tingling pee you’d just excitedly let loose, it’s a nappy that saves you from an embarrassing damp patch on your pants. It is times like that, when the unexpected leads to a sudden loss of control, a nappy is designed for. To explain the F16: Daddy and I have recently moved to his villa on the coast near Murcia in Spain, where the local Air Base was having an open day and part of their itinerary was a fantastic air display. People had flocked to the beach to watch and the place was crammed packed with visitors. Although Daddy always insists I wear a nappy I’m constantly thankful for that resolve when such things happen. The display had seen loads of different aircraft, both old and new, doing incredible stunts in formation and solo. Loving planes like I do I was in my element and marvelled at the clever pilots as they guided their planes through various brilliant aero-spectaculars. Suddenly, from behind where we were standing, a F16 military jet roared in over our heads. The noise was deafening but I stood thrilled and in total admiration, giggling and crying in absolute delight as the pilot swung his jet into the most wonderful aerobatics. Physically, I was not in control of my body, which was jumping up and down like an excited two year-old, whilst my bladder had a mind of its own. Being seventeen made no difference, I was so gripped by the awe-inspiring display and oblivious to what else was going on in my baby pink shorts but thankfully, the nappy and matching pink plastic pants were as dependable as ever. My heart was beating madly as the pilot veered his aircraft into yet another superb roll right over my head and several other jets of pee excitedly filled my soaked nappy. However, before Daddy insisted on what I wear I’d had enough embarrassing incidents of wet and messy pants to know his solution was correct. Like earlier in my young life, I was in a London shopping mall and I came face to face with one of my TV heroes. I didn’t dare speak to him but the fact that he was only a few feet away from where I stood, signing autographs and having his photo taken, prompted another loss of control and I wet myself. Had I then had the protection it would have saved me from ridicule but, as it was, the flow didn’t just stop at my pants but trickled onto the marble floor. I’m emotionally and physically unable to stop the excitement I feel at any time from spreading out in other directions. Each time my shorts or trousers would be soaked if not for my well-padded and protected lower half. From the moment Daddy had made that decision he ensured I was always expertly fastened in my nappy and securely wearing plastic protection. It might be ungainly at times but at least I felt safe from any mishap that such a sudden exhilarating thrill might cause. Daddy knew how to prepare me for the day (and night) and Daddy knows best. * Daddy is in fact my Uncle John. He took me in when I was four years old after my parents died in a particularly grizzly accident, one in which I somehow (and some said miraculously) survived. However, once I was out of hospital it was Uncle John, being mum’s younger brother and my only close relation, who took me in and brought me up as his own. From the moment I entered his home he has treated me as a bewildered little boy in need of constant care and attention. Needless to say, to begin with I was scared and terrified of a world without my parents and that led to some pretty appalling moments. I was angry at everything and alas couldn’t contain any of my bodily functions without tears, tantrums and general hysterical, messy behaviour. I was a four year-old jumble of emotions who acted like an irritable toddler all the time. Uncle John eased me through it all, slowly realising just what I needed to help me control my mental and physical problems. Off course he found that cuddles and reassurance helped enormously but to control my incontinence I needed something far more practical. Nappies were his solution and because of the number of times and the amount I peed, thick nappies with thick rubber pants he deemed best. I didn’t like the idea at first but he was insistent that my life would be better if I was protected in such a way. He gently explained that part of why I was getting so upset was the obvious evidence of a wet spot, so, he reasoned, if we could prevent that, it would help. I still wasn’t convinced and hated being put in nappies but they did stop the tell-tale stain, and, more to the point I was no longer plagued by worry of ridicule. Sometimes, if I’d had a bad dream, I would wander into his room crying and wet but he’d never get mad. He’d just pull back the covers and let me snuggle in beside him. His gentle soothing caresses relieved my agitation and I’d drop off quickly. Every so often, he could see that the drooping soggy mass needed instant attention, so he wouldn’t flinch at changing me at such an unsociable hour, my comfort being of the utmost importance. He’d then guide me to my room but it wouldn’t be long before I’d pad back, the soft rustle of my protection accompanying each step, and slip in next to him. His comforting arms always made me feel safe and secure as I’d wriggle up close to his warm, strong, reliable body. He didn’t mind the continuous changing because of the trauma I’d been through and actually thought, as a four, five and six year-old, it was OK for me to still be wearing such stuff. I didn’t know at the time but he later told me that despite all the seething resentment at losing my parents I had coursing through my young mind, I looked innocent and lovable when dressed in thick protection. He was amazed at how peaceful I became once I was cleaned up and put into a nappy, it was a sort of acceptance of how things were before my parents died - apparently they had also kept me in rubber pants as I was very slow to toilet train. It was also at this time, as he was changing me and I was giggling at something he’d done, that I accidentally said “Thank you Daddy” instead of uncle - he liked that. He hugged and kissed me so tightly that I had no option but to return the love and gratitude I felt for him. So, it was a very easy transition seeing as when we went out, most people assumed I was his son anyway, and he never corrected that assumption. * Bits of my memories from those early days keep coming back to me and I can see how the bond between us grew. The first intimate recollection was once as he changed me out of a particularly wet and messy nappy. I was overwhelmingly upset and crying. However, undaunted, he cleaned me up, fitted a thick disposable and, as he pulled up my protecting plastic pants, I threw my arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably for ages. All the time he soothed me with gentle massages to my back and padded bottom. He nuzzled and kissed the top of my head easing away my utter distress - hushing away the tears and rocking me gently. He told me that I’d hugged him so tightly and begged him not to leave (apparently I was so scared of losing him) he replied he wouldn’t want to go anywhere without his ‘Little Soldier’. I fell asleep in his arms and when I eventually did wake up I was still laid in his arms but in his bed and he was sleeping. As I lay there, snug and warm, even as a young boy, I realised the love he had for me and I wanted to return that love. I huddled up close and wrapped my small arms around him as much as I could and fell back to sleep. When we woke up again, to my shame I was wet. Thankfully my nappy had protected me from any spillage but I felt guilty for doing what I’d done in my daddy’s bed. I was sure I would be punished for it but, once he realised what I’d done he just smiled. “It’s a good job my little fellow has adequate protection,” he beamed. “As long as you’re watertight,” he rubbed the front of my plastic pants, the damp nappy underneath feeling a bit strange as it slipped against my skin, “we’re all safe from whatever you do.” * He told me it was strange that these days, when I wore a nappy, I hardly ever wet or soil myself but, as soon as he puts me in briefs (which I insisted on wearing like other boys my age), I inevitably peed my pants. He also noticed that if I got excited about anything, no matter how small (or huge) a deal it was, I would somehow manage to let a little trickle of pee out, often without even knowing I’d done so. I remember fairly early on that Daddy took me to a Christmas Panto and I’d got so excited while watching (there was a lot of flashing lights, bangs and smoke) that I wet myself and the seat pretty badly. I think he was embarrassed as he explained to the manager what had happened but he just smiled knowingly and told Daddy that he’d be surprised at just how many kids wet themselves when the villain appears. I would even wet myself whilst watching TV, or if I received a new toy or even saw a toy on TV or in a shop window. It appeared to Daddy that anything and everything slightly excitable could lead me to fill my pants and the only way to prevent that tell-tale damp stain was a nappy and thick plastic pants. This led me to become even further embarrassed and nervous about going out in public. Despite carrying on alarmingly about having to wear them, he eventually convinced me that they were necessary, and so as not to cause further humiliation (I think he meant arguments and damage to people’s furniture), they became compulsory. Of course I argued about how unfair it all was but time and time again I was thankful to have my boy bits safeguarded as I inadvertently wet my pants. * Daddy has been quite strict with me since those earlier days of messy tantrums and fits of non-stop weeping. He said he understood why these things were happening to me but from that early age he curbed my mental anguish by instilling a ‘nappy regimen’. He said that because I found it ‘calming’ the ‘daily diaper’ (a term he used occasionally) became part of both my waking and sleeping arrangements. He checked that everything fitted well and was watertight so no drips or dribbles would appear in my bed or on my outer clothes. He also hoped I wouldn’t feel ill at ease to do all the things an active boy wanted to do. The bulk I eventually got used to and Daddy’s constant approval and compliments gave me confidence. If I asked him if he thought the nappy was too obvious he would tell me how well it all fitted and how no one would be able to tell so, over time, he persuaded me I need not worry. He also convinced me that my needs were paramount and other people’s opinions didn’t matter. Throughout the years daddy has taken great delight in making sure I was always clean and dry. He loves to see me in a pristine nappy and my plastic armour (as he calls them), often making sure that all the fabric is tucked under the smooth, glossy cover and I’m waterproof. Daddy insists on what I should wear, what I should eat and the TV programmes I am allowed to watch (which even now he still keeps an eye on) and to do as I am told - he will not take any cheek or disrespect. In those early days my rebellion was met with understanding but as soon as I went to school and adopted my friend’s defiance, he became more and more insistent on making sure my conduct was acceptable. The strict nappy regimen was the way in which he curtailed any bad behaviour and, he pointed out, the thickness of my protection made my overall attitude a lot more agreeable. Although he was firm on this point, he was also very loving. He admitted that what makes his life worthwhile is seeing me out and about enjoying my childhood, whilst a glimpse of my plastic pants when I’m charging around wearing shorts (which I now wear all the time) confirms my status as a little boy who still needs his Daddy to look out for him. I wore padding under my school clothes because I wet unexpectedly. I didn’t want to but the embarrassment of a damp smudge appearing on my school pants would have been a beacon to the rest of the class to torment me. Because of the precautions that Daddy took, I was never such a target. However, once home he would check to see if I was wet and we were both often amazed at the amount of pee my nappy had soaked up though thankfully leaving me feeling relatively dry. So now I do what I’m told with no argument because I have learned that Daddy is always right and to defy his ‘rules’ is a stupid course of action. It wasn’t all instant acceptance; it took a couple of extremely fierce spankings to begin with for me to grasp that Daddy’s word was law and, even though I might have once wanted to dress like a big boy and be treated as such, I had to learn that Daddy insisting on my childhood being extended for as long as possible is a good thing and not a punishment. He likes me to dress more as a toddler than a teenager. He thinks that it is far more appropriate for a boy wearing a nappy to sport such clothing. He says it fills him with pride and delight to see me running around in my colourful outfits with my protection clearly defined. The thick nappy or pull-ups are always augmented by a pair of colourful plastic/rubber pants, which sometimes get revealed if I bend over or stretch. Daddy says it teaches me my place in his life - that of a sweet, innocent little boy who wants nothing more than to please him. Besides, as these are the only clothes I get bought I am now used to them and, the up side to this is… I am so well protected I never get embarrassed by any unforeseen wet spots. He says my ‘individual look’ constantly reminds him just how precious and unique I am and if my protection wasn’t there I’d actually miss not having that secure feeling between my legs. However, Daddy likes it best when I act like a kid; a silly, irresponsible little kid who just wants to enjoy himself and one not bogged down with the baggage of growing up. The clothes and how Daddy treats me certainly help me feel that way, with the lack of restraint to do anything, say anything that is anything but childishly fun has me behaving exactly as Daddy wants… and I love it. I might have to wear juvenile outfits but I have a terrific, fun-filled life and we do loads together. Daddy loves me and I love my daddy. * Week days my bed time is seven o’clock unless we are away or on vacation, then it can move around a bit. But daddy used to insist that on school nights I was ready and in bed for seven and that is the same now as it was when I was four or five. Daddy thinks boys should get a good night’s sleep at any age and that just staying up watching TV is not good for a young mind. Since we’ve moved out to live in Spain permanently I spend more and more time in just my protection. Certainly around the villa, which is quite private, it has a pool and a large garden and even the two young guys who come to keep it all tidy don’t appear to bat an eyelid as I play around wearing my plastic pants. I chat to them in my very poor Spanish as they trim the vegetation or keep the pool area clean. They are two very handsome young guys, probably a little older than me, and I really feel at ease around them. Sometimes, as I’m lying out in the sun I wonder what they’d look like wearing what I do. I’m sure Daddy would be happy to have them dressed in protection as they went about their business but alas, as yet, they seem content wearing just their bright red shorts and matching red and white t-shirts. They’re always good-humoured and comment with a smile when I wear something colourful, shiny, rubbery and new that Daddy has bought. At night Daddy fixes me into my night time protection after he’s applied all the various lotions and potions he says I need to keep me from getting a rash. He makes this fun and I’m giggling as he pins me in and pulls up my night time rubber pants - they are a good deal thicker than what I wear during the day but Daddy says this is all just a precaution to keep me safe and my bed dry. It’s a nightly routine that I like and makes me feel very special. Sometimes, depending on the temperature, I am left to sleep in just my protection but other times Daddy zips me into a onesie or footed PJs or something else he thinks I look cute in. More often than not I get fed a final juice or a warm bottle of milk, which I suck down as he gently rocks my sleepy body cradled in his arms. Once that’s finished, if I’m not drowsy enough he’ll read me a story or put some soothing music on to help me relax. I have a selection of dummies and stuffed animals that also accompany me to bed and he’ll make sure I am sucking on a dum-dum and cuddling a furry friend before he turns out the light and leaves me to the Sandman. Even now, I like this routine as I feel it brings me and Daddy closer together… and I love my Daddy. **********

Let it... flow (Nothing to do with Frozen) I was looking at some old photographs the other day and one of them was of my dad holding me outside our terraced (and somewhat dilapidated) old house. The caption, obviously written by my father, read - 9 month old Popsi and me taking the morning air. Apparently, my nickname as a baby was Popsi and, from the image at least, my sex indeterminate, which I suppose is OK for a baby, as it really doesn’t matter. As it was, I was dressed in a grey looking smock but my large white nappy was clearly visible resting on dad’s arm. I was giggling about something, and dad was smiling, so it must have been a fun occasion for all concerned but the thing was, I never remembered ever being called Popsi. Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you about this. In fact, I have no idea why I’m sharing this little titbit of my life except as a reminder of the things you forget or aren’t aware of. I’m sure I was called Popsi (by my parents at least) for quite some time although as far as I know, I’ve never had a nickname at school or throughout my adult life. So, although that early part of my life has been forgotten, there is one thing I do remember because in one way or another it continues to this day. * Like I remember, I must have been about six years old and having a bath on my own. I was enjoying playing with my little plastic boats and suddenly I needed a pee. Of course I was already in the bath so it seemed silly to get out and then pee in a different ‘bowl’ of water so I just relaxed and let it flow. I was completely transfixed by the small yellow plume that emerged from my little ‘pidge’ and found that it was something I ended up doing every time I had a bath. Quite simply it was fun and felt good to do. The problem was, even though my potty training had lasted until I was four and I hadn’t wet the bed for over two years, I suddenly started again. These days I can see a link between the two incidents but at the time, well I was only a kid and it never occurred to me. The warmth of the bath and the warmth of my bed both perhaps working on my brain to give me a similar feeling of relaxation; the two experiences were becoming one and the same. However, the connection between the two wasn’t made because no one knew I peed in the bath, all mum saw was that one morning I woke up to a soaked bed. That was followed by further wet bedding and jammies so after a week of such accidents, mum said that I had to return to nappies until I was “over it”. To say I wasn’t happy about this announcement was a bit of an understatement as I threw a tantrum and became very angry. The very idea of being returned to a ‘baby’ had me screaming the house down in protest, which didn’t help my case. Now mum had never been a fan of disposables, I’m not sure if that was a result of worrying about the environment or because of the expense, either way, she never had them in the house. As babies we were always put in thick cloth nappies covered in a rather milky white pair of rubber or plastic pants. I have to say they seemed to do the job remarkably efficiently and mum never seemed bothered about colour or fashion. She is also a no nonsense type of woman. She’s very loving but once her mind is set on a course of action nothing is going to change it. I think dad liked that spark in mum and that’s why he married her (also my oldest brother was on the way). So, once she’d decided on what needed to be done to protect my bed and bedding, her damp little son was going to be well-wrapped at night whether I liked it or not and, as I said, I did not. Besides, I had two older brothers and they would just take the piss (so to speak). They did - as soon as they saw the plastic under-sheet being fastened over my mattress. I was now fair game being referred to as the ‘baby of the family’ and spoken to as if I was still a toddler. My brothers didn’t tire of ‘diddum’s this’ and ‘diddum’s that’ or be constantly checking my padded night time nappy and telling me it was time all babies should be in bed… at 6.30 or earlier. Anyway, it wasn’t something you could talk to a six year old about so my parents just assumed I was being lazy, which may have been part of it, or that I’d probably grow out of my bed-wetting problem soon enough. In the meantime, nappies were the most obvious solution. On that first night mum put me in them I was furious but had no option, both mum and dad said it was for my own good and that the sooner I stopped wetting the bed the sooner I could return to my normal PJs. That initial night was hell, I couldn’t get used to them. They were hot, bulky, uncomfortable and sweaty, which made me squirm around in bed until they were so loose they ‘accidently’ wriggled off. This was a bad move on my part as in the morning my bed was soaked but not the nappy so it was obvious to mum that I hadn’t been wearing it. I got a couple of quick swats to my bare bottom for both lying to her about how it came off and for wetting once again. The following night she pinned me in, added plastic pants over them and made sure I was under no illusions that if everything wasn’t exactly as she had left it (I.e. me in my protection) I’d be feeling more than the little ‘taps’ I’d received as punishment earlier. She had also made it very clear that I wasn’t to take it off, only she and dad were allowed to do that, so I was to stay in my nappy until told otherwise. It was still a damned uncomfortable night but I dare not wriggle free of them this time. My crinkly plastic pants and under-sheet adding to my awkwardness but in the end sleep did visit and so did the pee fairy because in the morning my nappy was soaked. Thankfully, as mum saw it, everything else was dry so her precautions had been a huge success. It felt really awful sitting at the breakfast table with my brother’s giggling at my bloated nappy and plastic pants. Mum said she’d change me when it was time for school. This really worried me because I thought she meant I’d have to wear a nappy to class but in the end she didn’t mean that at all and I went to school in my normal undies … and uniform. What a relief. I didn’t have accidents during the day it was only when I was asleep or in the bath… but then the ones in the bath weren’t accidents… I really liked the feeling and watching the almost invisible pale yellow trails disappear into the rest of the water. I also discovered that if I peed near the surface, and my boats were somewhere near the flow, I could get the current to make them sail in a particular direction. I got pretty good at keeping a load of pee for when I was scheduled for a bath so I could spend more time on this incredible discovery. However, protection at night became a regular feature of my bedtime and eventually my brothers got used to seeing me being wrapped in terry cloth and fitted into rubber pants before I went to bed I shared a room with my two brothers, Leo, the eldest was nine and Gary who was eight shared a big double bed, whilst mine was a small single bed pushed up against the far wall. When all three of us were up or in the room at the same time, like when getting ready for school, it was a very cramped space. With draws, a wardrobe and of course the beds, we had no room for play, it was strictly a place for sleep and changing. This meant that when mum changed me into my night time protection, this was dealt with on my bed and became a bit of a ritual before my brothers needed to get ready. Otherwise there simply wouldn’t have been the room for us all to be changing at the same time and the bathroom was quite small, so there wasn’t much space in there either. We coped but it had to be done to mother’s precision organisation. She liked to apply the various oils and powders and though I resented being put into nappies, that resentment was getting less and less every time. The thing was I was enjoying peeing in my nappy. On more than one occasion I’d woken up and could quite easily have made it to the toilet in time but enjoyed the warm surge. My nappy, like the bath, became the place to let it flow. Mum was slightly annoyed that her washing line was once again filled with my flapping nappies and rubber pants; she thought she was over all that, but as the alternative was fluttering bed sheets and jammies, she let it go. My night time toilet arrangements became quite a topic of conversation between mum and the neighbours who commiserated with her on my immature return to nappies. As far as I knew, and certainly mum never led me to believe otherwise, I was the only six year-old on the estate still needing night time protection. Mum made sure if I was staying up to watch TV or we were doing something else, she always wanted to make sure I was in my protection well before bedtime. She dreaded that I might nod off when not in protection and shame myself by leaving a pool of pee that someone else might notice. I couldn’t understand this as I never arrived home from school in wet pants so why she thought I couldn’t be trusted I wasn’t so sure. Although I suspected it was just the normal amount of gossiping and conclusions drawn that went on between ‘concerned’ neighbours. If mum or dad were going to be busy, on more than one occasion I’d arrive home from school or from playing out and I’d be taken upstairs and made ready for an early night. So, quite often I’d be in my nappy for ages before actual bedtime. So seeing me totter around the house wearing just a t-shirt and nappy was not unusual. I’d try and disguise my padding by choosing a brightly coloured t-shirt, which to me at least, drew attention away from the bulky material between my legs. However, the urge to fill it then was strong, but I was sure that if they knew I could’ve made it to the bathroom and yet didn’t, then I would be in a great deal of trouble. If they thought it was accidental, and I did it in my sleep, that was acceptable. Sometimes I’d have an early night just so I could pee in my nappy as soon as I got into bed. The feeling was wonderful and I’d often fall asleep almost immediately after the event. Mum once or twice checked me when she came to bed and, finding me wet would change me into a clean and dry one only for that to be soaked by morning. There was no doubt I was peeing in my nappy more and more and both Leo and Gary started to complain about the overpowering odour of these ‘mishaps’. As I didn’t seem to be in the process of stopping (and there was nowhere else for me to sleep) her solution was thicker nappies, thicker soak pads and very robust rubber pants. Mum claimed that nothing would get out of this fortified prison and all my changes were to be performed in the bathroom from then on. It was far more cramped and uncomfortable but I couldn’t complain (although I did a little bit). Mum was giving me more and more responsibility for my own changes. I was left to put it on myself, after suitable instruction and supervision from her, and I got quite adept at pinning myself into multiple folds of soft white (now slightly yellowing) fabric. The doctor I went to see told dad there was nothing wrong with me and after giving him the third degree about how I was punished, and satisfying himself I wasn’t being abused, said that I’d probably grow out of it pretty soon. Dad was annoyed that the doctor assumed it was his fault I wet and as a result, I was constantly under dad’s scrutiny and encouraged to improve my night time toilet habits. I did try. I hated that dad was so upset with the disgusting insinuation he was abusing me, so I did get dry for a week or so. Eventually, the strain of staying dry gave way to the pleasure of being wet so nothing changed. Although the outcome of all this was, because of his inquisition dad refused to let me see a doctor again regarding my nightly ‘accidents’. Even when I reached my seventh, eighth and ninth birthdays I was still wearing my night time armour (as I’d jokingly come to call it) but that changed when dad got promoted and transferred to a different town. A change of house, school and friends suddenly had me more interested in that than my wet habits and miraculously (as mum and dad called it) I suddenly found I was dry and the toilet was not an alien place for me to visit at night. Pretty soon, after almost three years I was back to proper nightwear and a dry bed. From then on I hardly ever thought about my ‘golden flow’ and certainly didn’t miss the thick nappy. # Here I’m going to do a potted history of my life then until now, simply because what happened during these years from when I stopped has no bearing on what I want to tell you about (well I don’t think so). I had been working since I left school at eighteen though I never went to college, but found myself at a new firm that had ambition and a workforce that functioned very well together. I was one of their go-getters and the firm was in the right place at the right time for the technical facilities it offered. It was a great place to be and we all did fairly well sharing in the company’s successes. At twenty-one I inherited money that my grandparents had put in trust for me. It was quite a considerable amount and enabled me to put the deposit down on a place of my own. By twenty-four I was married to a nice girl but my sex drive, which had never been prolific, eventually drove her into the arms of another man (a workmate) and I was divorced by the time I reached twenty-seven. During in all that time, I never thought about nappies or wetting and those two thoughts have only just recently surfaced, and that has taken me to a place I wished I’d found earlier. Let me explain. # It’s several months since my divorce and I now live alone. Recently I was taking a shower - don’t get me wrong, I’d taken many showers since the decree absolute, it was just this one was sort of a turning point. It was early morning and as I let the warm jets pulsate against my head and back I let my night time bladder build-up go in the cubicle. Now I’m sure I’d done this more times than I remembered but on this occasion something actually happened. As the stream of bright yellow pee joined the river of warm water I watched in wonder and my mind was immediately transferred back to the moment when I was six and peed in the bath for the very first time. Then it was pale yellow and in volume hardly much at all but now I witnessed a yellow torrent mixing and mingling with a clear water flow and disappear in a swirl down the plughole. It was magical. It brought back that instant over twenty years earlier, when a shiver of excitement, wonder and sheer pleasure led to that most joyful of discoveries - peeing was fun… and not only in the bath. I’d been in a little bit of self despair because I felt useless and it wasn’t just because of the break up. The divorce hadn’t hit me hard because I more or less knew it was coming from the moment I married Penny. We were more friends than lovers and we’d let ourselves fall into the trap that friends could be lovers. Alas, after just a few short, frustrated years (for Penny) it was over. Since then my self-imposed depression meant I wasn’t the bundle of fun I used to be and quite a few of my ‘friends’ took the opportunity to let our friendship slide. I can’t blame them I wasn’t much company but it was all a mask for something… though at the time I hadn’t realised what that might be. However, a stream of pee and a delightful memory had had the most amazing effect and I bounced into work a new man. For the first time in absolutely ages I felt happy. There was energy to my attitude and a zing in my step. I was, to put it mildly, amazingly focused on ME. Not in a depressed state of mind, not self-destructive, not in a negative way at all. In fact, I was all the things I used to be before I got tangled up in growing up. It was surprising how liberated I felt. I could do my job, I could function around others, and the divorce I realised meant a great weight of a lifetime of responsibility had been lifted from my shoulders. THANK YOU GOD… or whoever is in charge of such things. Now, as I live on my own, I saw no reason not to indulge once again in a physical reminisce and went out to purchase a bag of Abena Abri-Form M4 disposables and a couple of pairs of thick shiny plastic pants (they were in packs of two). This was an incredible, life-changing decision. From now on, when not at work (and occasionally when I was, though not as thickly) nappies, disposables and plastic pants would be my underwear of choice. I have once again begun to appreciate that soft rustling sound of a slick pair of vinyl pants, the bulk between my legs, the smooth rounded front to my genital area and wondered why had I let these feelings go? Powder, lotion and a return of baby pins that help make my fabric nappies fit tightly and look so special was like finding old and much missed friends. Now I was older peeing in the bath had more force. I watched the few suds being swept into the current and being destroyed, much to my juvenile enjoyment. I began to drink more liquid in the hope that my bloated bladder made the length of pee last much longer. I now try to hold off from going to the toilet wanting to keep it for my bath time ritual… or later. When bed time comes I just let nature take its course and I find filling my disposable immensely satisfying. I don’t want my complete childhood back but there are things I do that make me giggle like the little kid I once was. The little kid who peed in the bath and enjoyed the sensation of letting go… and letting it flow… a newly warm wet nappy is a thing of immense pleasure. ##################################################

Hey how's it going? Are there any females in or around the North-East area of Scotland into this sort of thing willing to meet up?

Hi all, had my anual check up today at urologists in the hospital. All went well until they suggested that i try using a catheter again. The consultant said that with my sphyncter being in the condition it is it may be worth trying a catheter again, but i may also "dribble a little around the catheter" i said does that mean i will have to use some sort of incontinence pad? The consultant said that it would most likely be necessary to use pads. The consultant looked a bit stumped when i suggested that not only will i still have to use pads but there will be the discomfort of a bag and the possible UTI'S as well, instead of wearing briefs and having none of the other complications. I said to the consultant that that it is he who finds fitted incontinence briefs embarrassing and that i am comfortable wearing briefs all of the time. I explained that it was a matter of getting into a routine and knowing the limits of your nappy. I told him that he was trying to stigmatise me and said that he was going to put me at more risk from being cathetered. We left it at that!

hello all of you lovely people, happy Christmas and for all of you who are not christian, happy holidays. Can i just ask what did you get as a gift that was either abdl, or kink related? I'm gonna start off here and say that i was really surprised to be given 5 identical onesies. And go!

Crinkle Part 1 He loved that sound as he moved. That tell-tale ‘crinkle’ that announced to those in the know just what it was he was wearing. They were a new acquisition. The online firm had been very specific that this particular piece of protection was very noisy. Up until he saw the colourful image of butterflies and birds festooned all over the satin briefs, he had never really wanted anything that might draw attention to his ‘slight’ fetish. He was happy for those in the know to be one – him. He wasn’t interested in having DL friends. He wasn’t interested in being babied, all he wanted was that comfort he felt when he wore his nappy and the joy it gave him putting it on and taking it off. However, the online firm he bought his little ‘bits and pieces’ from had launched a new ‘noisy’ range and the photo of this particular pair of waterproof pants had attracted his attention. MAKE SOME NOISE said the headline for the range, and there had been a fair few pairs of pants that he would have been happy to buy but it was this, rather cute, childish and sweet design that appeared to have made the biggest impression. They must have done because for almost a week before he bought them they were occupying his dreams, both night and day. Eventually, the obsession needed to be satisfied so, via PayPal, he made the purchase and waited impatiently for them to be delivered. ++ The impatience didn’t last long because within two days a brown package arrived at his home where, as he was out at work, his mother signed for them. She squeezed the package as she took possession from the mailman and liked the soft feel and the muted crinkle she heard as she did so. She smiled to herself and assumed her boy was treating himself again. Good for him, she thought, he should have other interests beside computers and work. Her son Ryan was 24, slim, nice-looking (she always said he was the handsomest and cutest baby) but a bit of a loner. Her husband Jeff had died in an accident at work when Ryan was 4 years-old so for the past twenty years it had just been the two of them together. The insurance had made it so she was well compensated for her loss and the fact that her son seemed more than happy to live at home had made her content with life. Mother and son spent a lot of time together and socialised (if that was the correct term for the few friends that they bothered to see) and even went on vacation together hardly ever inviting others into their tight band of two. Despite Ryan feeling his ‘fetish’ was only know by him, his mother had known about it for a long time. In fact, she remembered the time it took to get him out of nappies and how much her son of 9 had cried when he was made to wear only his pyjamas when he went to bed instead of the protection he’d happily worn up until then; his mum eventually convincing him to be grown-up, even if she had a secret longing for him to stay forever her baby. Of course for a mother all children remain their babies… no matter how old they get and Ryan, well Ryan had found his own way to satisfy something he needed. She was happy about this but didn’t want to be seen obviously condoning it because she knew that he thought his secret was just that… a secret. However, she had a secret of her own and that was she knew Ryan wore his nappies to sleep in and had noticed he occasionally went to work wearing his padding. It was at those times she just wanted to ‘mother’ him and return to those days when she looked after every aspect of his life. But, she was of the opinion that she would only do so if and when her son asked her to. She didn’t want to provoke any reaction that might somehow make things awkward at home. She liked her son being with her and would hate for him to feel she had driven him away because of something she wanted. No, the best thing was to support her son when it was needed but in the meantime, enjoy her memories of when he was young… though she could add those images that ran around her head of him sucking his thumb and wearing his nappy now. +++ He walked up and down his bedroom knowing that no one else would know what he was wearing but rather pleased about what he could hear. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. Over the years he’d kept this secret he’d had no desire to broadcast it to anyone else but, and this was the part he really wondered about, this new possession, this stunning pair of satin and plastic protection, gave him a whole new insight to his fixation. The nappies had been wonderful; comfortable, soft, bulky and held happy memories for him. The plastic pants had been a later addition; one that seemed to set off his nappy and give it a new, smooth, sensual aura that he suddenly craved. These new pants had been that step further; an acknowledgement of his own desires (even if he was only admitting it to himself) with that audible response to each step he took. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle. He thought this was a bold step, although he wasn’t sure why. He wasn’t a brave man and couldn’t see himself wandering down the road ‘rustling and crinkling’ till heart’s content but the fact that he had picked up the nerve to buy them, he thought, must mean something. He looked in the mirror. Naked apart from his thick nappy and beautiful silky covering he was amazed at how spectacular and wonderful it all looked. He moved slightly… crinkle… he moved again… crinkle… he was looking forward to sleeping in his new noisy protection. In fact, he might have an early night so he could enjoy the strange and electric sensations that were coursing through his body. Just as he was about to shout down to his mother (who he presumed would be downstairs watching the TV) unannounced she walked in to his room. ++++ An ice-cold feeling of panic coursed through his body. This was the first time his mother had seen him dressed in such a way since he was a child. The smile on her face wasn’t noticed as he screamed angrily at her to “Get Out”. “Get out, get out, GET OUT.” Despite his harsh words terror rooted him to the spot, his slim naked frame only highlighting his padded outline but his mum wasn’t to be put off. “Ryan it’s alright I…” But Ryan shook his head and screamed more, “Get out, GET OUT.” The feeling of wellbeing that had encompassed his body and mind just a few moments earlier were now transformed into anger and guilt… he shivered at those very guilty feelings. His mum stepped forward to comfort her irate son but he stepped away, trying to hide his embarrassment and push her away at the same time. “Don’t worry Ryan… it’s going to be OK… I…” Again he pushed his mother towards the door, tears beginning to form in his eyes, but at that moment fury conquered his guilt as he spat those words once more. “GET OOOOOUUUUTTTT”. His mother’s beseeching hands held out in comfort were rejected amid her son’s confusion and terrified shame. He screamed at her but this time his mum would have none of it. She grabbed him by the arms, spun him around and landed three quick slaps to his padded bottom. He would have hardly felt a thing but was so surprised by this that he immediately stopped screaming. His mother sensing the change of mood stormed in. “Don’t you ever,” spank, “raise” spank, “your voice” spank, “to your mother” spank, “again.” She knew her actions would have caught him off guard and pressed this slight advantage. “Ryan Gatland… do you understand?” and she raised her hand as if threatening to repeat the spanking. “Yes,” his voice was almost inaudible. “Yes what?” His mum pursued her point with another slap. Through sniffles he told her the words she insisted on hearing. “I will not shout at mum… mummy.” She hugged him close to her chest and smoothed her son’s hair. “That’s right. Mummy is always here for her little baby boy… no matter what.” She hugged and kissed his head more. “No matter what…” she quietly repeated. +++tbc+++

Has anyone broken an arm and still been able to manage getting a nappy on themselves or with help? I'm just curious to know as I'm single and if the scenario ever arises.. I'd like to know.. If you have succeeded yourself.. Could you run through how you have done it? As a bedwetter who wears every time they sleep, I'd really like to know :-) Sent from my MHA-L09 using Tapatalk Sent from my MHA-L09 using Tapatalk

So years ago now I saw a video by an Australian ABDL on Tumblr, his account is deleted now and I can't find the video anywhere!! who laid a nappy out on the floor and pooped at the front of his nappy, he then turned around and procceded to put the nappy on as normal so that the poop was spreading around his groin! I've never done this but was wondering if anyone else has? If so what did it feel like? Would you recommend?

Hello,

so cuddlz have a new diaper in the range has anyone used these yet if so how are they

Hey guy & girls, I recently ordered from abdlfactory.com

Was wearing the other day. Decided to give it a decent wetting, after a bit i noticed an odd wetness in the front of my undies. Was wearing over diaper.

Hi, I'm new to dailydiapers and just wanted to introduce myself to everyone. My name is Boris and I am an ABDL (plus full-time nappy wearer). I live with my daddy and older brother. Feel free to introduce yourself below aswell or just say "hi!" Sincerely, Baby Boris

Hi just joins this site . I am a UK nappy lover and have been wearing nappies for the past 28 years. Like to wear as often as a am able and mainly a disposable person. Would love to chat / meet other local ab's or dl's. So please don't be shy and drop me a message.

Hi guys,