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  1. Jessica is partner in a law firm what her colleagues don't know is the she is an adult baby looking for parents to help take care of her. I decide to post a message on a adult baby website looking for the perfect couple.
  2. After being a secret adult baby Jennifer decides to put a ad online to be someones baby who will take care of her.
  3. Re-Start The smell of warm stale urine filled my nostrils, another night and another wet bed... that was the twelfth in a row. Actually, it was the eleventh, I’d had a piss-free night two nights ago but obviously it hadn’t lasted. For too many mornings now I’d woken (and I use that term loosely) up to find that I’d become a bed wetter. When you’re almost twenty this can, and did, come as a bit of a shock. Recently my sleep patterns have been all over the place and I’d say I more often than not merely dozed my way through the night hours. I put it down to the fact I was simply not getting enough sleep. My mind had become the receptacle for rubbish. For instance, I remember on that first night I suddenly got it into my head – How would a three year-old stand for Parliament? Stupid question I know but the thought swamped my mind and I just couldn’t let it go. Even when I tried to distract my thoughts with music, TV or reading (no less disruptive to my sleep patterns), eventually it came back to that same question and my mind would be in turmoil trying to figure out an answer. That was the first morning I woke up to a wet bed and that was just the start of my long troubled nights. I couldn’t get to sleep no matter how hard I tried some kind of nonsense mind-worm (the thinking man’s earworm) was working away and stopping me from getting comfortable in my own bed. ‘How long is a million seconds?’ Yes, that little mind-worm was the next to invade my head as I tried desperately to find sleep. It wasn’t that I wanted to know. I mean, I don’t care and yet, the question wouldn’t let me lie. I tossed and turned, pushed blankets off and pulled them back up when my legs felt cold. I lay on my front, side, back and the other side but could find no position comfortable without that irrelevant question battling in my head. I picked up a bedside book and read hoping that diversion would be enough. After ten minutes and a chapter later I thought it safe to return and try to settle down. I think I managed to drop off before my dream merged with reality and I began to think what I’d do if I wet the bed. I had no idea where this thought came from but suddenly realised that stupid thought had become a reality and I was soaked. Oh shit two nights running... Oh, and by the way in the end I had to look it up. Answer: One million seconds is 11 days, 13 hours 46 minutes and 40 seconds # I knew about ear-worms, when a piece of music lodges in your brain and you simply can’t think of anything else but this was more annoying... but had the same result. The next night my demented pre-sleep thought was – I wonder how long it would take me to count up to a million. 1, 2, 3, 4, 5... No this is stupid, you can’t start... However, the idea has been planted and the brain is saying to give it a go. 1,2,3,4... (why was I trying to count quickly?) What was annoying about this is that because I hadn’t got much sleep the night before I’d gone to bed early. I thought I was tired but that bloody million count was plaguing me and I simply couldn’t shake it. Although, every time I looked at the clock, there had been a passage of time, I’d never quite fallen asleep, merely thought how ridiculous it would be to try and count to a million. It would be the stupidest of things to do to try and count – 1, 2, 3... The alarm was set as usual for seven o’clock so that blast of heavy rock woke me up with a start. So, although I must have fallen asleep at some point I didn’t feel I had slept at all. Then the surprise - not only was I sopping again but I was so tired I felt sleep had eluded me. Another morning with piss soaked into my bed, undies and sheets was a bloody awful way to start the day. Laundry facilities were not easily available as I was living in a bedsit and the nearest laundromat was a bus ride away but thankfully there was one near work. The idea of carrying pee-soaked stuff on the bus made sure I avoided doing so until I had no choice. By then my bedsit smelled a bit and even wrapped in a couple of plastic bin-bags there was no denying what I was carrying. I just had to bluff it out and pretend it wasn’t me. # Now I have to admit that I had slight (very slight) urinary problems before. I mean, I’d like to be able to say this was all new to me but in fact, when I was younger, I’d also occasionally needed a little padding. Not a great deal I must emphasise, however, leaks did happen but my thicker cotton underpants were able to keep embarrassing stains from public disapproval. Since I was little, a toddler in fact, and had grown out of having to wear a nappy, my little briefs still had a job to do. What I mean by that is... I could get to the toilet with no trouble; negotiate getting my willy free of my pants and pointing it in the right direction was OK. The problem I had was, no matter how much time I spent making sure every drop was where it should be, in the toilet, no matter how long I shook my tiddler to make sure no drops remained; as soon as I tucked it away there would be a little extra involuntary spurt, which took me by surprise. I wore slightly damp and stained underpants for years. An under-developed urinary tract had been the diagnosis and, as I got older, had been kept in reasonable check by medication. I stopped taking the medication a year or so ago and found that I didn’t need it because the leakage stopped and all was well... that is up until now. The problem is I have no idea why my brain seems to have changed from ‘no worries’ to worrying about every bloody thing, including how long it takes to count to a million. It makes no sense but my mind is full of this stuff nearly all the time, especially when I try to go to sleep. Here’s another one: How many balloons does it take to lift a human? This little query had my brain working on the principle that in the movie ‘UP’ it took loads of balloons to lift a house so... My head felt like it would explode trying to work out a problem I didn’t WANT to know the answer to. # I’d moved from my family home to this city to be near my girlfriend. She was going to be at university here and I didn’t like the idea of a long distance relationship so got a job with a well-known tyre repair shop not too far away from her campus. It’s a busy place and operates from 8.30am to 6pm six days a week and from 10am to 4pm on Sunday. It does more than just change tyres and so is incredibly demanding. There’s always a line of cars waiting from the moment we open and then it’s non-stop throughout the day... tyres, exhausts, wheel balancing, batteries, MOTs... you get the drift. You don’t get much time for a chat that’s for certain. Anyway, I moved about six months ago and actually really like the job, but a couple of months back the girlfriend called time on us. Without saying the actual words, it basically came down to the fact that she’d met someone in one of her lectures, they had so much more in common, and I was no longer needed... she could (and had) done better. The realisation that I was thick and no longer suitable boyfriend material must have hit me in a way I didn’t understand (naturally). So perhaps that’s why I think these thoughts - thinking them important and what University goers think about... I could be wrong. Anyway, I was here now and I didn’t think our paths would cross that often in a town this size so I thought I’d ‘just get on with it’ – a recommendation I always give myself when faced with a task. “Don’t think about it, just get on with it and get it done.” The thing is I don’t know how to stop the sudden night-time urination. I mean, I don’t even know I’m doing it until I wake up but, and this is the annoying part (as well as the smell and the moist undies) I don’t feel I sleep at all. It makes for incredibly long nights so it’s no wonder I’m always so damned tired. Anyway, the irony was, if indeed it was irony, the tyre firm didn’t put up with me being tired at work and fired me. # Without a job I had no money and was unable to stay where I was living. Jobs seemed few and far between and my boss refused to give me a gleaming reference so for the moment I was stuck. That was until mum said I should return home and she’d look after me. I told her I wasn’t a little kid but she said that didn’t matter what I needed right then and there was someone to care and a mummy (yes she used the word MUMMY, which I knew she was saying just to tease me but still felt a little weird) knew best how to care for her son. As it turned out, the landlord sent me packing after he’d had complaints about the smell of piss drifting into next door’s bedsit. I tried to convince him it was the plumbing but he called my bluff and said it was mine that needed sorting. So, I had little option but accept mum’s offer. Now, despite my best efforts at being a grown-up, I was twenty after all, I arrived home carrying all my belongings and a good proportion of which stunk of piss. Mum took one look (actually just a quick smell) and dumped my sheets and piss-stained clothes straight in the rubbish. The shake of her head as she tutted and looked me up and down made me feel like I did when a toddler and had accidentally wet myself. Oh hell, I think that stain on my pants might be fairly recent. “You young man,” she looked through the rest of my ill-packed cases, “are not equipped to deal with being on your own... and why is everything soaked for heaven’s sake I thought we were past all this?” She already knew that I’d been dumped by my girlfriend because that happened a few weeks ago and I’d told her but hadn’t explained why I’d been sacked. I really had a lot to tell mum but didn’t know how to go about it because it sounded so dumb and juvenile. I mean, not sleeping because you’re thinking of stupid problems... which leads to a wet bed... well, it’s just... childish. However, mum said she’d missed me whilst I’d been away and was happy to have me back. Even though I’d only been gone a few months my room had been changed. Despite my age, I’d left my bedroom like that of a teenager as I’d been too lazy (and too poor) to change the single bed, my football duvet cover or the posters on the wall. Now the walls were bare, my single bed was just a mattress and looked naked and empty, the furniture had been re-jigged a little and a lick of paint had made it seem quite clinical. At least mum hadn’t made it her sewing den as threatened. However, now I was back, and thanked mum profusely for letting me return, I promised that I’d find a job and sort myself out. She just hugged me and said “Welcome home sweetheart but first things first... if you’re staying then there will be some new rules”. ####
  4. Dreamer I stretched, yawned and wriggled myself awake. I reached for my phone to check the time - 7.28 - fantastic, the best continuous night’s sleep I’d had for quite some time. Well, apart from a visit to the bathroom for a piss but otherwise, over ten hours. I was quite pleased with myself. I laid in my warm cocoon knowing that any minute I had to get up for school but so pleased with myself for catching up on what had been a few awful restless nights, I wanted to make the most of my bed’s welcoming comfort. I slipped my hand further under the blanket and rubbed up against the thick plastic pants, the huge expanded bulk underneath told me I hadn’t had the wonderful damp-free night I thought I’d had. How come I can dream of going to the toilet and executing a wonderful, no-hassle pee, yet in reality I can never rouse myself from the sleep I’m having? Even when I’m having a terrible night’s sleep, with constant wakeful interruptions, it’s when I doze, even for a few seconds that my bladder tends to operate under its own terms. In my dreams I can simply get up and go. Mind you, I tend not to be wearing thick padding in my dreams so can easily access my straining cock. I suppose that’s another thing; how come I dream so much of taking a piss? There’s never any huge build up to it, I just go and feel the relief afterwards as if I’d naturally gone to the loo. I can often hear my pee hitting the water or bouncing off the porcelain so that makes me think that my dream is real and I’m doing it for real. Except I’ve slept through the entire event and flooded my nappy, though I have to admit that is a lot better than a waterlogged bed. I hope one day someone can explain just how that works because so far doctors, relations and even Google have been unable to come to any agreement on the matter. I’ll grant that they all have good ideas but the actual reason appears to be one hell of a mystery. I mean, how can it be that for the most part of my life, well since I was three to just a few months ago I slept happily dry but not so now? As far as I can remember there’s been no trauma or accident or anything that could have caused me to suddenly lack the ability to get up in the night for a pee. It’s simply ridiculous. How can I dream the action but not action the action? # My bedroom door opens and in walks mum. A few weeks ago she used to knock first but now I’m in nappies she seems to think she can come in when she likes. I’ve tried to explain this to her, that I need some privacy, but she just ignores my request and simply refuses to see my argument. She says that now I’m wetting secrecy is a thing of the past. Apparently she’s there to make sure I’m awake and remind me I have school (as if I wasn’t aware) and to make sure that these unfortunate incidents haven’t had an adverse effect on me. She doesn't want me hiding myself away and worrying about it. “Just making sure you’re okay and slept well... and both your father and I want you to know... this will pass before long.” Actually, what I think she’s doing is checking her plan of putting me back in night time nappies and plastic protection is working and that her precious bedding is safe. I first wet the bed almost three months ago and mum was quick to suggest I wore a nappy. Of course I resented the very idea but she said that her brother, my Uncle Tom (who now lives in Australia), had a similar problem when he was my age and their mother’s quick decision to make him wear protection had saved everyone a load of heartache. Like me he disagreed with her solution to the problem, and also like me found he had no option. It was simple, cheap and completely effective in what it had to do, whilst a consensus of family opinion meant that a nappy was the answer so, as a shy teenager like me, he didn’t get a say in that particular outcome. My gran (a strong-willed woman to say the least) had been definite that the bed, bedding, jammies and the self-esteem of not swirling around in a sea of urine made it so no one but her son was affected by his burst of incontinence. Apparently he wore that bedtime protection for another twelve months or so before he seemed to “Grow out of it”. Mum applied the same logic to me and despite my teenage tantrum, denials and pleading, I was put back into nappies and made to wear vinyl pants to avoid any chance of leakage. The speed that mum had everything at her disposal was frightening, as if she’d expected me to have this problem at some point in my school life. She alleged that after that first morning of finding me in a wet bed she remembered Tom’s problem and immediately went into overdrive, locating everything she thought I’d need online and spent the day collecting it. She said she wouldn’t allow me to have a second night wallowing around in a pee-soaked bed, especially when there was such a simple preventative system she intended putting into practice. I came home from school to find my dresser just a pile of fabric nappies and a couple of packets containing ‘baby’ pants. There was a small bowl with baby pins (pink, green and blue) and an array of powders and creams, I was stunned mum had garnered together this arsenal of products to take care of my one night of bed-wetting. It was a huge surprise for a fourteen year old schoolboy. I found these ranks of supplies for an accidental, once in a lifetime, wet bed a bit over the top and quite wounded by just how convinced she was that I’d need it all. Waking up to such a mishap was an ordeal (and awful shock) in itself and although I wasn’t expecting too much sympathy I did think she’d see it as just a freak event. It wasn’t like I’d been secretly drinking or got myself into a state... it was simply misfortune. As I lay on my bed and looked at the stuff I wondered why, if she thought I needed it, she hadn’t just bought a pack of Pampers disposables and then seen how things progressed from there. That pile suggested she was getting ready for a long campaign, whilst I thought it was just a one off, a misfortune and nothing to go to such extremes over. As far as I was concerned this wasn’t a calamity - just an unlucky accident. I tried to argue that point but she wouldn’t heed my objection and said it was best to be on the safe side. She was of the firm opinion that making sure my bed and bedding was defended from ‘further urinary damage’ should I pee again, was a worthy principle; laundry would be less and I’d be the only one affected. She couldn’t see a downside to her argument and I failed to defend my case with any hope of success. She promised that if I didn’t wet for a ‘few’ (unspecified) nights then she’d re-think the nappies. I looked at the supplies piled up on the dresser and knew she was expecting the worst. # Actually, when I think about it, this wasn’t the first time I’d wet the bed. When I’d just turned twelve I was having trouble sleeping, I didn’t know why I just was having such terrible interrupted nights. My brain would fixate on one subject (usually of no relevance to anything I could recall) and would lie in bed tossing and turning as if trying to shake the thing from my brain. At the time mum was also having trouble sleeping and was using a programme of ‘natural sounds and delta waves’ to enable a peaceful night’s slumber. It appeared to have worked, as she was far more relaxed and offered the IPad to see if it would do the same for me. Mum herself was against using pills and ‘medicine’ at the best of times and preferred either to let nature take its course (as with colds and flu) or try something natural, like sounds and meditation. She wasn't a homeopathic nutter but thought quite a lot of things would sort themselves out in due course. As the sounds had some effect on her, suggested I give it a try. I scrolled down the ‘relaxing sounds’ section and found one I thought would work for me – Rain Forest. I was expecting the night calls and general wind-in-trees type of thing but in fact it was just as it said; rain... in the rain forest. I don’t know how or why it happened but I woke up in quite a large puddle of my own pee. I was shocked and worried what mum would say but she just laughed (yes laughed) and said she found it funny that the rain forest had made me soak my PJs. However, she also explained that was why all our mattresses in the house had protectors over them... because you never knew when a nocturnal mishap might occur. Anyway, despite her good humour on that occasion, as she stripped the bed and sent me to get a shower she did say that if it happened again, for whatever reason, I’d be wearing nappies to sleep in from then on. I think she was just firing a warning shot because I didn’t pee the bed again until, well, I’ve just told you. However, the speed she got all the stuff together made me think that maybe she had some items already. Meanwhile, I dumped those little night rhythms and sounds and slept without any help from the Amazonian Rain Forest or any other supposedly relaxing therapy. # I can tell you that at fourteen years old I dreaded any of my friends finding out but in our small community, and mum being a very chatty person with all the neighbours, my secret couldn’t last long. However, she did say that I wasn’t the only one with such a ‘problem’ but wouldn’t tell me who the other person(s) were. I spent quite a bit of time scrutinising the washing lines between my home and school for some indication. I thought if my nappies were blowing in the wind, which they seemed to be on a daily basis, and then there was a good chance theirs would be too. I did see the occasional pair of plastic pants and nappies drying on the line but thought they were too small to belong to anyone but a baby. Knowing there were others, but finding no evidence to back mum’s declaration, I began to feel alone and a bit stupid. I mean, staring at folks washing was definitely a bit pervy. However, the main problem was... why should I start pissing the bed? Suddenly I was waking up to a soaked nappy (as mum had predicted). It just didn’t make any sense unless I was regressing back to my childhood. However, like I told you when I was twelve, any last thought at night began to occupy my nocturnal deliberations and sleep was difficult. When I did drop off I dreamt of babies (of which I was one) and when awake that notion just kept turning over in my mind. It was uncomfortable on so many levels, none of which I was happy with... I just wanted to sleep at night and wake up dry. Don’t ask me why that particular ‘being a baby’ theory should have taken over my mind but it did. (I suppose the nightly nappy and plastic pants made a bigger impression on my psyche than I’d given it credit for.) I convinced myself that’s just what I was and daily got more and more depressed as I thought about it. I slipped from being a reasonably outgoing lad, to a self-pitying toddler. Each night, as I fitted my nightly cushion of protection, I felt myself slipping further and further back to my childhood. I’d get upset if I couldn’t get the pins in right, or pricked myself, or I’d not fastened the nappy on tight enough. I was a mess and, if no one else was around, I’d even shed a few miserable, frustrated tears. Pulling up the plastic pants (which mum insisted I always wore with a nappy) more or less proved I was a baby. So that act and thought would stick with me and the entire dream scenario would kick off again. It was like that particular theme was on constant replay. # Equally, if I managed to avoid that specific dream the other one, the one where I knew I was peeing into a toilet, took centre stage. I’d confidently spray the white ceramic bowl, listening to the splash that indicated my aim was true, often zipping up and moving on to continue to do whatever it was I was doing before my toilet break. It was two very exacting dreams; one where I was a baby, the other where I was myself, but both ended with a wake-up call of soggy misery. However, they weren’t the only two because later I dreamt I was in church, singing along with the rest of the congregation when suddenly I felt the spirit of the Lord enter me... except it wasn’t the spirit of the Lord. That nice warming glow that was wonderful and uplifting was a tepid sodden nappy when I woke up. The reason this was strange was that as a family, we didn’t go to church. Mum and dad weren’t interested and the only times I remember going was for a wedding and a couple of Christenings, other than that my experience of church was limited. However, I do watch a lot of television and it is more than likely that I was influenced by something I saw... but I don’t know what. What was even worse was that it wasn’t every morning that I woke up soaked. For instance, last Monday and Tuesday I was dry. I was jubilant for twenty four hours but Wednesday night I wet, Thursday was dry but this morning... incredibly soaked. Of course, the few weeks prior I’d wet almost every night so even when I did wake up dry the feelings of euphoria only lasted a short while. Mum had gone out of her way to make sure that the rubber pants she bought were the most sturdy she could find, so the things I had to wear at night gripped me tightly so there was no danger at all of fluid escape. I even went back to wearing jammies over them in the hope of disguising the bulk a little bit but in the end I was so hot I could hardly bear wearing anything to sleep in other than what I had to. # Although nappies were the first recourse for mum she did, after visits to the doctor and a child psychologist (which she was dead against but dad insisted I give it a go), suggested I try yoga. Having had all the other attempts at curbing my nightly flood fail: From drinking less, to getting woken up in the middle of the night - those relaxing tapes, to various homeopathic potions, it seemed an option I should at least attempt. I just couldn’t take seriously all these po-faced, loose-limbed women (only one guy) stretching and being some kind of ‘downward dog’ or some such, it left me mentally mocking the entire group. I’m sure if they knew I was a fourteen year-old still wetting the bed, they might have been ridiculing me. Anyway, I left them and tried visualisation. The trouble with this was, as soon as I found my vision, it would be usurped by my baby or toilet ‘situation’ and then that was all that occupied my head. Someone suggested to mum that I try hypnosis but she was even more sceptical about that and told her friend that she’d keep that suggestion on the back-burner for a while to see if I improved naturally. I didn’t. The doctor did eventually prescribe some pills, much to mum's resistance, but they had no effect either. So, a dry nappy with thick and durable see-thru plastic pants became the last thing I saw at night and a wet bulky one the first thing I saw in the morning. To feel the morning tightness of an expanded pair of slippery looking plastic pants let me know, in a totally unsubtle manner, that I’d wet again. I could have done without that particular wake-up call. Having said that, despite that firm grip being annoying in the beginning, it didn’t take me too long to come to terms with that particular sensation. Mum had said that I should think of them like a knight relies on his armour for protection and he wouldn’t be daft enough to wonder into a battle zone wearing just his vest and pants (we both giggled at this bizarre comparison). Although my parents were resolute in their actions they just took it as read that these things happen. Punishment or angry voices were never part of their dealing with what was going on. I suppose with Uncle Tom to point to as proof of this philosophy, I didn’t get any negativity at home. However, before they retired for the night mum or dad would come and check to make sure I wasn’t already wet because mum said I should try and prevent laying around in a damp nappy for too long. I don’t think they ever changed me whilst I slept because I’m sure I would have woken up if they’d tried. However, I wasn’t certain if I thought it weird or comforting that they checked. # As I say, mum had bought in all new stuff to cope with my situation. Mrs Pradesh, our neighbour, whose own family had grown up and moved away, offered some of the stuff they’d worn as kids should I need it but mum declined. Apparently, they’d been late in toilet training and she had quite a collection of preventative clothing. Just how late they were in coming to terms with the potty she never revealed but, judging by the size of their colourful nappies, they were at least as old as me. I’d got around a dozen white terry fabric nappies and half a dozen different pairs of vinyl pants, some of which seemed a little more robust than others. Waking up saggy and soggy, whilst these stout pants made sure I was leak-proof, was an interesting way to start the day. I say interesting, what I mean is...not very ego boosting. My self-esteem dipped and the need for that night time force-field was all I could think about... and be indebted to. The paraphernalia of making sure the required area was clean, dry and (mum insisted) smooth, together with the thick preventative creams, lotions and powders I had to administer each night made bed time a complete humiliation. Mum had talked me through the nappy operation at the beginning but then said she trusted me to do it properly myself. Then, having had one or two leaking problems because I hadn’t been thorough enough, threatened to come up and do it herself, which would mean an early bedtime of 7.30. At fourteen I didn’t want to be called in for bed that early as it would have been total humiliation for my mates to know about it. So, I knuckled down and made sure I did as good a job as mum in getting my nappy and protection up to speck. She also threatened there’d be sporadic, unannounced checks and, should it not be in place correctly, it would be a 6pm bedtime and she would supervise every aspect of getting me ready “Like I did when you were a baby”. She smiled as she said this but I’m convinced she meant it. As you might imagine this focused my attention on every detail mum had advocated. # I tried to get dad on side but he was in complete agreement with mum and, in an effort to stop my constant grumbling promised that I’d be wearing a nappy all day as well as all night if I didn’t do as they said... and ‘stop whining’. Dad saying that, and mum threatening a 6pm bed time, made me take my wetting a bit more seriously. I had been thinking that I shouldn’t be punished for something I had no control over but they said I wasn’t being punished for that... my wet nights were being contained. What I would be punished for was my constant complaining and miserable face, which they said they shouldn’t be punished having to look at when my wetting wasn’t their fault. Why do parents have the clever come backs? I have to admit since I’d started wetting I was constantly in a mood. I couldn’t see any upside to my problem and I dreaded my friends catching on... although one or two might have known, no one said anything... to my face anyway. Either side my immediate neighbours didn’t have kids my age. The Wilson's at Number 14 had twins almost two years ago, whilst the Pradesh’s at Number 18 had grown up kids who’d left and had families of their own. What this meant was that the washing line wasn’t over-looked by any of my school friends so my daily laundry was hidden from any possible prying eyes. However, both sides offered mum their support and empathy having a teenager still in need of protection. So, as I mentioned, last night I dreamt I’d gone to the toilet with no problem, yet woke up as normal sopping wet. After three months it was all getting too much and I was severely depressed not wanting to do much or go anywhere. Then it happened, the one thing I was positive would never happen, Saturday morning I fell asleep in front of the TV and, wearing only a pair of cotton briefs under my P.E. shorts, peed myself and soaked the sofa. ~ tbc ~
  5. Tommy’s Tantrums His tummy was gurgling, it sounded very loud in the quiet of his bedroom but he’d had very strict instructions from his mommy that he wasn’t to leave his bed… for any reason. # Tommy had been a very naughty eight year-old. The previous day he’d knocked over, and destroyed a crystal vase and beautiful bouquet of anniversary flowers his daddy had given to his mommy. He was riding his bike in the house and collided with the display table knocking the entire thing over. So dismayed was he at what he’d done he jumped off his bike too eagerly, caught his foot in the pedals and tumbled in a heap onto the broken glass and squashed the lovely flowers. The fact that he’d been riding in the house, which he knew wasn’t allowed, and had now cut himself as he fell, would, he thought, not bring his mommy to carefully tend his cuts, she’d be very angry indeed. She was. His mother admonished him for what he’d done and then dragged him apologising into the kitchen to get his wounds tended. Luckily, despite ruining the wonderful gift and vase, his mother still administered bandages to the small cuts (he was lucky there was nothing more serious) and, as mommies do, kissed the top of her son’s head before sending off to play quietly elsewhere. Meanwhile, his daddy had promised to take him to the park so he could kick his football around and perhaps meet up with some friends. However, he got so frustrated that his daddy was taking so long to get ready that he started kicking his ball around the garden, another no-no, and yes, it did result in yet more damage as he kicked it too hard and cracked the kitchen window. This action only left his parents, who were already at their wit’s end, wondering what to do with their troublesome son. Later, in a moment of temper, Tommy called his two year-old sister Jenny, a ‘poo-monster’ and a ‘smelly pooey, stinky baby’ and pushed her over so that she went ‘splat’ into her messy diaper. The fact that his mommy had witnessed this nasty act made the naughty boy pretend it had all been a joke. His mother would have none of it and sent him to his room as she tended to her sobbing, and messy, daughter. # “Right young man” He knew he was in serious trouble because of her tone. “The report from your teachers is not impressive, you’ve been bullying other children and your clever-clever, back-chatting insolence has won you no friends at school.” Tommy was about to speak and express his sorrow and apologies, he even adopted his most regretful expression (which usually worked) but his mother held up her hand and continued with her speech. “We’ve all simply had enough of your attitude, your tantrums and the bullying of your sister, and the destruction of the vase, is the last straw.” She then reeled off a list of other misdemeanours that he didn’t know she knew about. “You callously ignore what anyone says and in class you wilfully go out of your way to disrespect teachers and forego even the most basic courtesy.” Tommy gulped at the litany of other things his teacher had told his mother because there were lots of offenses he hoped his parents would never hear about. “So… for the rest of the weekend you will wear what you found so ‘funny’ for your sister to sit in… a diaper” “But, but, I, er,…” Tommy tried to interrupt. “Don’t interrupt me, you’ve been an unholy terror for the past few months and you’ve been getting worse. Your recklessness and insolence today has been the deciding factor … this has been a long time coming.” “But mommy, mommy…” Tears were starting to well in his eyes, this time she could tell that her threat had hit home and for once this was no fake reaction. “… I can’t wear a diaper I’m a, er, big boy, diapers are for babies.” “Yes they are aren’t they?” His mother agreed and raised her eyebrows as if emphasising the point. “And you have been behaving like one… wanting your own way, throwing tantrum after tantrum if you didn’t get it… so now you will be treated as one.” The floodgates opened and he bawled his refusal to allow it but his mother grabbed him and slapped his bottom. It wasn’t hard but with enough force to make sure he realised she was serious. “If you don’t do as I say you’ll be in them for school as well, so it’s your choice.” This threat was more than he could endure. The idea of wearing a diaper when none of his classmates did was something that had him sobbing, he knew he’d be ridiculed by the very kids he’d bullied. “It’s, it’s, it’s not fair,” he squealed, “why should I have to wear a diaper?” He was being both petulant and afraid of actually having to wear such an item. Meanwhile, as his mommy left the room, and while he lay sobbing on his bed, he hoped she’d relent like she always did and that he’d gotten away without any real punishment. He hadn’t. # It was six fifteen in the evening and his mommy was running a bath for him. She was completely exasperated with his behaviour and knew that desperate measures needed to be taken. She also hated the idea of disciplining her ‘little boy’ but knew that it was partly due to such an attitude by her that had resulted in the situation they now found themselves in. The destroyed flowers and broken window had finally made her react to the situation instead of hoping it would go away. However, she’d calmed down and, although he was being a bit grumpy, Tommy knew he had to behave. Even though it was early her eight year-old son meekly stripped when ordered into the bathroom and settled in the suds as his mommy gave him a thorough scrubbing. She let him play with his toy boats for a few minutes whilst she went to retrieve a nice warm towel from the airing cupboard. She was gone some time but returned holding his favourite thick, fluffy bath towel, which had the image of a huge squirrel. She wrapped it around and gave him a meticulous drying down before leading him back to his bedroom. He was in for a shock. Set out on the bed was one of his baby sister’s disposable diapers, a pair of pale blue plastic pants and an assortment of powders and lotions, there was also his stretchy, cowboy pyjamas. He looked at his mommy and again started to bawl, pleading with her not to make him wear a diaper. He was screaming, getting hysterical and it was only when his daddy came in that his anxiety subsided. However, any hoped for reprieve from his father was short lived as he told his son in no uncertain terms that any further outburst and he’d be permanently wearing a diaper for school and at all other times as well. “Do you understand?” Like his mother, his father was at the end of his tether wondering how to contain his son’s temper and recent unpleasant demeanour. Right on cue the tantrum kicked in and Tommy was having none of it; screaming, scratching and kicking, hoping above hope that his parents would relent and let him be… after all he was eight and not a baby. It wasn’t to be. # His father dragged his naked son over his knee and gave him a few firm swats. This set him off squealing even more but his protests and weeping were in vain as his father spanked him until he was sure the boy knew who was in charge. Once he’d been subdued his mother quickly powdered her sobbing son, taped him into the tight disposable and pulled up his plastic protection. She then pulled on his stretchy, soft cotton pyjamas, with the elastic cuffs around the wrists and ankles though there was no disguising the thick bulge underneath the cowboy pattern. A tear streaked Tommy looked more like a sobbing four year-old but his parents were being firm; bed now and no getting up playing with toys, reading or watching TV. His computer was confiscated as well as all his little electronic gadgets and once more told that under no circumstances, and they meant ANY circumstances, was he to leave his bed until morning. Tommy was beaten, mentally and physically, and rolled over onto his tummy and buried his tears into the pillow. He’d never been spanked before, in fact, he’d hardly ever been disciplined before and didn’t know what to make of it, except it hurt and he didn’t like it. The huge bulk between his legs emphasising that he was now nothing more than a little baby as far as his parents were concerned, and he could do nothing about it, unless he wanted his daddy to spank him again, which he didn’t. # He cried at the injustice of it all. His sister was younger than him but was still up and watching TV with his mommy and daddy, whilst he, a grown up eight year-old, had been put to bed in a diaper. His daddy had placed Pooh Bear next to him and he clung onto his favourite plushy thinking at least he wouldn’t turn against him. He was even thinking that his little sister had planned all this just to get him into trouble. It never occurred to him that it was his own actions that had made for such an outcome. He was still turning this over in his head when, exhausted by it all, he feel asleep. # Saturday morning and he woke up to find that his tummy was gurgling, it sounded very loud in the quiet of his bedroom but he’d had very specific instructions from his mommy that he wasn’t to leave his bed… for any reason. Despite the thick padding between his legs now feeling substantial it hadn’t stopped him sleeping heavily all through the night, however, he needed to go to the toilet. He wasn’t sure of the time but could hear no movement from any of the family and wondered if he dare make the few feet from his room to the bathroom. The pressure on his bladder made him desperate for a pee; in fact, the gurgling also meant that he needed to make it pretty soon or it would be too late. He lay there in pain trying desperately not to burst when thankfully he could hear the nearby toilet flush and he called out to his mommy that he needed to go. # His daddy came into the room and looked down at his son. “Are you going to be a good boy today?” Moving closer he bent down to face the boy. Tommy was scared, after all it was only last night that this man had spanked him and he could feel there was still a slight soreness to his bottom. “Huh uh.” Was the only response he dare make. As the pressure to pee grew more intense he wriggled uncomfortably under his sheets though for some reason was just too timid to say anything to his daddy. “Well that’s a good boy. Mommy will be making breakfast in a moment and then we’ve got a day at the park planned.” He ruffled his son’s hair. “You’re not grounded for today but you will do what we say or there will be consequences.” His father wasn’t sure if his young son knew what the word ‘consequences’ meant but because of the tone he delivered it in he hoped would make abundantly clear what would happen. Tommy dare not so much as utter a single word; he just looked wide-eyed up at his father and nodded. Once he’d received that understanding he pulled away the boy’s covers and looked to see if his pyjamas were still covering the bulging protection. “Are you wet?” Tommy shook his head but his father didn’t quite believe him so gently pulled at the waistband and slipped his hands down the front of the plastic pants to check. “OK slugger. Well done but, as mommy told you last night, you’ll be wearing these the entire weekend and, because you thought it funny to tease your sister, the toilet is off limits for you.” There was a look of disbelief from Tommy as his daddy emphasised that the diaper was there to be used. # At the thought of him having to use his diaper tears once again began to form and a look of complete dejection filled his face. His daddy almost relented but his wife and he had both decided that drastic action was needed to stop Tommy from getting completely out of control. “But daddy,” he snivelled finding his voice “I’m not a baby. I’m, I’m not Jenny.” “OK son, I know this is difficult but, you have been very, very naughty and when you are you get punished. You’ve been very cruel to your sister and you’ve been doing things when expressly told not to, so now…” “But I’m not a baby, it’s so unfair… I’m, I’m….” he snivelled. “Sorry son but you’ve broken the rules and you need to be disciplined so, for this weekend at least, you are going to be treated like Jenny. She’s too young to understand right from wrong and it would appear so are you. So, for the time being its diapers for you.” Tommy was completely distraught and flung his arms around his daddy. “Please daddy, don’t make me wear… oh… er, I need to go now.” With that sudden movement Tommy felt a brief pain as his bladder reached bursting point and no longer had any control as he let go. Whilst crying in embarrassment, and clinging to his father in support at what was happening, a warm rush of pee swamped his diaper. His daddy patted his son’s padded bottom as the boy continued to weep and his bladder empty. Almost unbidden something else seemed to react to his loaded diaper which he couldn’t stop as his gurgling bowel decided it needed a way out. Even as his father stoked his bottom he could feel the disposable filling up and soon the odour was accompanying the action. # Tommy was still gripping his daddy, weeping like when he was a baby and had just packed his diaper, so his father hugged him tightly until the tears had begun to dry up and he’d calmed down. “Sorry daddy,” he whispered, almost too embarrassed to admit to what had happened. “That’s OK son,” He patted the mushy mess in his full diaper, “let’s go and get breakfast.” “But daddy, I’ve, er, I’ve…” “Yes I know but yesterday you found it funny to shove Jenny over and make her sit in her own messy diaper didn’t you?” The enormity of his crimes where now just about dawning on him. Yes, he had found it funny to make his sister sit in her mess and, with his parents being unaware he’d done it several times before. Also, he knew he shouldn’t have been riding his bike in the house as he’d been warned on many occasions it wasn’t safe to do so, and he’d ruined a special present... and… He began to fill up as his daddy gently led him by the hand from his bed and down to the kitchen. The messy mass in his diaper made it uncomfortable to walk properly. He didn’t want his mommy or Jenny to see him like this and hoped his PJs would hide his accident. He hadn’t noticed how much more obvious his diaper was now it had expanded with the liquid he’d deposited in it. Still led by his father he nervously waddled to the table and reluctantly sat down in his squishy mess. Jenny, being encouraged by mommy, was trying to feed herself and at the same time both caught a whiff of Tommy’s full diaper. “Tommeee done poo-poo.” Jenny said giggling between mouthfuls but carried on eating as if it was quite normal. His mother took pity on him. “Don’t worry sweetheart, we’ll get you all cleaned up after breakfast when we see to Jenny.” #tbc#
  6. Hi, I'm Alejandro from Venezuela, and I need help, I want to tell my mother that I want to wear diapers. Wetting the bed didn't worked, when I was 8 I was a bedwetter for 8 months and nothing happened, i'm trying to become incontinent again to
  7. “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#
  8. Hi there my name is Sable, i’m your average 15 year old girl with long black straight hair a pale complexion and large doe brown eyes, i say average but i’m actually much smaller than you’d expect at 5’4” and around 100 lbs. Though I’m small I’m still very much a well adjusted and responsible teenager. Well that’s what anyone who knew me in person would say but, to be honest i’m anything but. I don’t know when or why but i’ve always had a longing or fascination with diapers, that’s right diapers it’s not just diapers either stuffed animals, pacifiers, bottles, baby toys you name it if it’s infantile i’m drawn to it. My earliest memory of my fascination was when my little sister just turned 1 and I worked up the courage to steal a diaper from her nursery and try it on. I fell in love instantly and I proceeded to wear it for a couple hours and even bring myself to pee in it, after spending probably too long in a wet diaper i changed and threw it away in my bedroom garbage. Yea, you’re probably thinking i was just begging to get caught but, I didn’t know that my Mom had to empty the garbage i thought it would just go away with my 9 year old logic. Needless to say my Mom found the wet diaper in my garbage and proceeded to yell across the house “Sable (omitted middle and last name) why on earth is there a pissed in diaper in your garbage can”! At this point i thought that if i was honest and confessed i would be in serious trouble so i just blushed and repeated that i didn’t know. My mom surprisingly just let it go at this point and didn’t mention it again to my relief. After learning from my mistake i proceeded to steal more of my little sister’s diapers and hide the used ones in a container until mom went to work and dad was in the garage so i could bury them in my sister’s diaper pail. I continued to wear and use diapers on and off for 2 years before i was caught again. This time my mom found where i was hiding my used diapers while she was cleaning she mentioned she smelt the stale urine, however instead of being mad she seemed to be more worried, i her 11 year old daughter was wearing and using her little sisters diapers. She asked whether i was wetting the bed, being bullied at school, or i was depressed of course being me i was still scared to just come out and say my true feelings so, i sealed my lips and refused to answer her; probably making her even more worried. She reluctantly let the subject drop and started hiding my sister’s diapers instead of leaving them out in hopes i wouldn’t wear them anymore. I did stop wearing diapers for a while after that, scared my mom would catch me again until i turned 13 and again had my head filling up again with desire, desire to wear diapers. Now that i was 13 and would occasionally be let to stay home i started getting into my little sister’s diapers again; although she was 5 years old at this point she still wore diapers full time and me being small for my age still had a substantial supply of diapers i could fit into. I was trying to give diapers up at this point though but i loved them so much so i went on the internet to try and find a solution to my problem and looked up “older girls who like to wear diapers,” through this one search i was introduced to the concept of ABDL adult baby diaper lovers. I instantly fell in love with the girls in cute clothes you would be more likely to see on a toddler than an adult and their big smiles behind their pacifiers, through my browsing and increasing interest i came to realize that i am one and the same with these people; i love diapers, stuffed animals, cute babyish clothing, everything about it i loved being “little.” As i became older and was wearing diapers more regularly i became emboldened wearing diapers under my clothes to my grandma’s sunday dinners, to the arcade with my friends, lying around the house when my parents were home, and sleeping in them. I even started to collect more infantile things than just diapers after my long browsing sessions on the internet i fell in love with myriads of cute pacifiers, bottles, footie jammies, and onsies all kinds of things. Being 14 i didn't have access to a credit card and therefore couldn’t buy any of the really infantile things online but i did have an allowance, so i rode my bike to the mall and bought myself some clothes from the junior section occasionally cute sundresses, pink shortalls with cartoon characters on the bib, footie jammies, and i even got baby booties big enough for my feet. When ever i was alone at home i would dress in a diaper my cute “little” clothes and play in my little sisters room with her toys and my stuffed animals. My stealthy play sessions went on for a long time, all the way up to a week after my 15th birthday, it was a friday afternoon during the summer so no school i was in my little sister's room around noon playing doctor and giving my stuffies a check up in a full diaper however i was really quite tired as i was up real late the night before not to mention i ate lunch just a few minutes ago and i ended up actually falling asleep on my sister’s bed. later in the day I was still wearing a wet and messy pampers size 7 diaper, my favorite pink shortalls, and my little mermaid shirt when i was shaken awake by my mom. A lot of emotions ran through me in those few moments of waking; confusion, why am i sleeping in my little sister’s room?, excitement feeling my very full diaper cupping my bottom, dread after realizing that i’m in fact dressed as a little girl in a full diaper in front of my mom, and panic not knowing how to explain myself. I broke down crying, I don’t know what was going through my mom’s head at the time i was far too agitated to make out her thoughts from her face but what i do know is she hugged me, picked me up, carried me to my room sat on my bed with me in her arms still sobbing, and began to hum and rock me until i was calm enough to talk. We had a long talk after i was calmed down, i finally told her everything how wearing diapers, sucking my thumb, dressing like a little girl, being held and cared for it all made me feel so good; so happy. I also happened to confess my (baseless) fears that she’d disown me for wanting to be little or for being gay; yea i didn’t mention earlier but i was very much attracted to girls. I just spoke out one deep secret after the other until for what to me seemed like forever, I was done i finally got everything off my chest. My mom hugged me, she then proceeded to wash all my fears away at once by simply stating “there’s nothing you could ever do that would make me hate you, no matter what i’ll always love you.” Her acceptance and kind loving smile sent me into another crying fit i didn’t know how to process this new feeling i couldn’t describe; eventually after i calmed down again Mom lied me on my back told me to stay put and came back with my little sister’s pampers size 7, baby wipes, and baby powder. I just stayed put like I was told and let Mom proceed to change my diaper for the first time in 13 years. It was amazing such gentle caring affection directed at me and only me, I wanted to start crying again i was so overwhelmed not in a bad way this time but, in the best way. Mom finished changing me, picked me up, and carried me back into my little sister’s room she sat me down and told me and my sister to play and be good while she put dinner on. I took some time to let myself calm down before i let out the biggest most unrestrained smile i think i may have ever made and proceeded to play pretend tea party with my sister and our stuffies. I'm turning 16 in 7 days and Mama said i can have little time all week leading up to my birthday which is a big treat for me; i usually only get to have little time on weekends that Mama doesn’t have work, any other time i want to be little I have to do it alone, which is fine honestly i’m just happy i don’t have to hide it so thoroughly anymore. I didn’t realize at the time but having to always plan ahead and sneak around really took away from the carefree safe feeling i loved so much about being little. I’ve really embraced my little side this past year Mama let my use my weekly allowance to buy cute little things online; I now openly have the biggest collection of pacis, stuffies, babas, and tons and tons of cute clothes; My Mama even buys me adult diapers that fit me so much better and they don’t leak either. I also came out publicly as gay this past school year, I lost some friends sadly but the bonds i still have are much stronger for it and i even made new ones. I decided to tell my bestest friend since kindergarten about my little side and she’s been so very supportive she even sometimes takes the lead and steps in as my mommy when i’m feeling little; i think i might have a bit of a crush on her. Honestly, i feel so great being able to be myself around my friends and family I’m so happy not having to repress and hide my true self all the time. Being me is really the greatest feeling ever. ____________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________________ This a slight revision of the first story i ever wrote the previous version had a self exploration part to the 13 year old section which in hindsight wasn't something i should have put in even if i was trying to be tame, any at all is no good. I tried to make it a more wholesome by removing any sexual connotation entirely. A lot of this stories main points are based on some of my real life happenings or course most of the ladder half is more fantasy and wish fulfillment than reality but the beginning for instance i really did throw away used diapers in my room's trash can thinking i wouldn't be caught; great job past me! My mother also got really worried about me when she caught me the second time. Anyway i really hope you could find something in my story you enjoyed.
  9. Let me be upfront for those unfamiliar with my life history: I am a woman born in 1964 into a family in which female descendants of my maternal Granny Vi's mother have a history of bladder control problems. By the time I was born my mother Alice, her sister Aunt Betsy and their mother Granny Vi were totally urinary incontinent. Probably this was true for all of Granny's sisters and her other daughters whom I never got to know very well. I've had no bladder control since I was 21. The same is true for my 3 sisters and Aunt Betsy's daughter. Just a few of the male descendents, such as my younger brother and Betsy's older son, have bladder control problems which are not as severe as their sisters. Granny Vi had no sons, only five daughters. She raised her girls with the hope each would retain bladder control yet never being embarrassed about wearing absorbent protective under garments. Aunt Betsy and my Mom did the same thing. Growing up we were not treated as babies even when toilet learning was delayed. In the family it was no secret that Granny Vi, Aunt Betsy and my Mom all needed diapers 24/7 to function as responsible adults in a primarily continent world. Those of us with small over-active bladders would be nicely asked to wear 'just-in-case' diapers on long car rides and for special occasions. In the interest of toilet learning we were encouraged to tell an adult when we felt the need to pee or poop, but we were never scolded for not doing so. Once toilet trained and wearing a diaper for mutual convenience on a trip, instead of asking "When will we get there?" we simply used our diapers. At the next stop whose who needed it would have a diaper change. Mom encouraged us to be pen pals with the children of family friends who had bladder problems. Doing so helped us learn to be discreet and compassionate when discussing these issues which do embarrass many nice folks. Several years before I reached puberty I began to feel some of my pen pals intensely disliked diapers while others found diapers comforting. Personally I was never embarrassed or ashamed when diapered, but I preferred wearing more conventional panties when I was sure I could use a toilet in time. Flash forward to 1985. That was my summer between pre-law university and moving to law school when I lost all my daytime control. The expense and logistics of diapers 24/7 was overwhelming! Often that depressed me. In 1990 I had been a licensed attorney for 2 years. I had my own apartment. Needing to buy disposable diapers constantly and to carry used diapers to the dumpster was a drag. My youngest sister Missy was already married and was the first of my siblings to present our parents with a grandchild. When my niece was about 9 months old I told Missy my diapers were depressing me. Missy burst out laughing, "Angela, do like I do. Simply have fun with your diapers when you get the chance. Do you know there is a whole world of very nice adults who have control yet wear diapers for fun? Some of them call themselves 'adult babies'." Missy then handed me a copy of FETISH TIMES with an article all about a club called Diaper Pail Fraternity and another article about a magazine published in Seattle called THE PLAY PEN. To me the people mentioned seemed sensible. Missy put a new pacifier in my mouth, "Sis, give it a try. Relax. Chill!" Suddenly I felt far less depressed. Flash forward to the early fall of 1995. I had been writing a regular column for the DPF Newsletter since early 1991 and had been happily married to a good man willing to cooperate when I needed to chill as a big baby girl since October 1991. Out of the blue through DPF I received a letter from a male psychologist married to a female urology resident. They were worried by the number of children who never wanted to give up diapers. Most of those children became so desperate for diapers they resorted to stealing them from younger siblings, relatives, church nurseries, even from stores. They begged me, as an attorney who wore diapers, to join their effort to encourage parents to freely let their kids wear diapers just for fun. Mutually we felt the risk of those children being arrested for stealing was worst than the cost of providing a few packs of diapers. Often when given diapers the kid lost interest quickly. But if a kid still wanted diapers after a couple of weeks, then the kid probably was an infantilist for life. At that point the parenting goal was to teach the kids to be circumspect while obtaining, using and disposing of diapers. To inculcate those lessons the parents needed to avoid judgment. They needed to communicate with the kid. They needed to set realistic rules, such as how the kids could help pay for the diapers. By late 1996 about 20 medical, mental health and legal professionals mutually formed WHEN KIDS LOVE DIAPERS as an on-line resource aimed at parents. Of course it turned out quite a few older kids discovered the WKLD website. By 2000 the founders of WKLD felt the risk to our professional reputations were too great to continue. Until recently a mirror website still presented a sample of WKLD circa 1999. Think about a world in which people of all ages can wear diapers for whatever reason without risk or judgment? Does this make common sense?
  10. * it is the first day of school and
  11. Well, I found a place finally. Thank god. It took me a while because of some felony charges. I could have rented or leased because all my felony popped up as a misdemeanor. But one charge was stopping me on the back ground check. I finally found a trailer to rent, the guy didnt do a background check. So Im glad I finally have my own privacy. I wanted to order a pacifier Nuk5 and sleep with it. But since I had no privacy in my last place sleeping on the couch in the living room that was definitely out of the question. Even though my room mate knew about my fetish I wouldn't care but I didn't order the pacifier because the other room mate didn't know about my fetish. And Im not fixing to let someone else that doesn't know about my fetish know about it. So now is my chance to order a pacifier since I do have my own privacy and my own place. How do you feel about privacy and your daily diaper wearing around other people? Especially people you may live with or room mates. How do you handle a situation about this? I learn how to handle situations better from past experience. Other people should know your experiences about these kind of things so other people that haven't been in the same situation would know how to deal with it a lot better.
  12. Hello DD my Name is Barry I'm a abdl who unfortunately is deprived from diapers. In the past I
  13. i have been woundering a ton of questions about incontinent people lately and other thing i hope a incontinent person can better educate me and others who see this thanks in advance
  14. I just want to establish first that I live with my parents in the same house. Earlier this past year, my mother was found to have the bacteria Helicobacter Pylori following a procedure. She was on a two-week antibiotic course. She returned for her test 2 weeks after her antibiotic course and the bacteria is still present. Now I'm feeling particularly guilty because I've messed somewhat frequently over the past few weeks, and while I've been able to wipe most of it away, I still have to use the shower to rinse some of it away. (I do not use a sponge or anything) I also put down a fairly substantial layer of Comet in the bathtub every time I do this. I'm wondering if my ABDL activities are the root cause of this problem afflicting my mother. There are no symptoms, but the antibiotic course is annoying. 50% of the adult population in the world is affected by H. Pylori, so then again, maybe this is not a consequence of my activities... but I don't know.
  15. I'm just so fucking sick of my mom. She keeps telling me that whatever I have with Cody isn't real, he may be a fraud. He may be a murderer. He may be a rapist. I just want to scream in her fucking face to shut the fuck up because she knows not one fucking single thing about my life, she has NO RESPECT for what I do with MY LIFE. This is MY life, MY mistakes I will make. She has no right to put her fucking nose where it doesn't belong. She pushes me into depression, I swear I would be a hundred times happier not to live here, which is what I'm going to do, I'm going to get a fucking job and move the fuck out, cause I'm so sick and tired of her, all of our arguments and shouting at eachother, I can't take it, I'm seriously considering to start selfharming again, but I don't WANT TO BE IN HAT MESS AGAIN! I'm just so frustrated, sick and tired of living like this, it isn't healthy for me, no for my dog. I can't stand it anymore, it has gone too far, I've told her to not enter my personal life, it is my life and it is my mistakes I have to make, she can not interfear in this. My life, my rules, my mistakes, my faults, she shall not be involved in it what so ever.
  16. For many years Daily Diapers has discussed many issues involved in giving up or quitting wearing diapers for pleasure.
  17. How do I tell my parents I want to wear a nappy/diaper without them thinking I'm a bit strange?
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