Jump to content
LL Medico Diapers and More Bambino Diapers - ABDL Diaper Store

Search the Community

Showing results for tags 'support'.

  • Search By Tags

    Type tags separated by commas.
  • Search By Author

Content Type


  • Latest News and Updates
    • Latest News
  • Diaper Talk
    • Newbie Nursery
    • Scoop The Poop
    • Our Lifestyle Discussion
    • [DD] Surveys
    • Incontinence - Medical
    • Rainbow Diapers
    • Story and Art Forum
    • Photos
    • Roleplay
    • Product Reviews and Info
    • Diapers in the News
    • Links and Announcements
    • In and Out Board
  • Connect
    • The Rest of your Life!
    • Meeting Place
    • Game Time
  • Trading Post
    • The Diaper Store - Shopping
    • ABDL FreeCycle
    • Other Stuff For Sale/Trade
  • Support
    • DailyDiapers Tech Support
    • Questions And Answers
    • Friends and Family
    • Restlessfox's Depression Discussion
    • ABDL Memorial
  • Other Fetishes
    • General
    • Spanking
    • Bondage
    • Watersports
  • Clubby McClubFace's British Gossip
  • Big Kids Room's Topics
  • Infant School's Let's talk ...
  • Music Producers Club's Topics
  • Diaper Disciplined's Double Diapers and More...
  • Ab/dl LBGT diapers's Topics
  • For us who are turned on by diapers's Write something about yourself, so we can get to know each other!
  • spankings-4-all's Topics
  • spankings-4-all's ABDL spanking and punishments
  • dutchdiapers's Heya allemaal :) Stel je voor!
  • The hated ones's What's it like?
  • Big but getting Smaller!'s Topics
  • abdl west Yorkshire (uk)'s Topics
  • BabyFurs & DiaperFurs's Roleplaying
  • BabyFurs & DiaperFurs's Games
  • BabyFurs & DiaperFurs's Topics
  • For all Canadiens's Hi
  • Minecraft Daycare's Topics
  • "Nerd" Is The Word's Topics
  • AB/DL Support Group's Topics
  • Veteran Abdls's Was it hard to hide
  • Veteran Abdls's Topics
  • Diaper lovers from Scandinavia's Topics
  • Diaper Messers's Introduce Yourself
  • Diaper Messers's Favorite Fantasy in messy diapers
  • Diaper Messers's favorite diaper you use for messes
  • Diaper Messers's favorite activity for with a messy diaper
  • ABDLs of the southwest region's Hello
  • Melbourne Meetups's Welcome Melburnians
  • Melbourne Meetups's Melbourne Meetups
  • Infant littles's Discussion board about everything to do with this age and space.
  • Sweet Diaper Smells n Dreams's favorite Diaper smells
  • Sweet Diaper Smells n Dreams's Favorite Diaper Dreams or Fantasy(s)
  • Sweet Diaper Smells n Dreams's Diaper face sitting
  • Upstate NY ABDL's's Topics
  • Hiking/Camping Meet Ups's Topics
  • Those Who Love Plastic Pants's Topics
  • Wearing, layering, and exposing diapers and plastic pants's Topics
  • Wearing girls panties's What are your favorite panties to wear?
  • Baby Dragons's Topics
  • Those ABDL's into Sports Cars's Whatcha running
  • Inflatables and diapers's Topics
  • ABDL Atlantic Canada's Moncton NbB
  • ABDL Atlantic Canada's Topics
  • ABDL Atlantic Canada's Topics
  • Southern Region and Surrounding ABDL's Hello
  • Southern Region and Surrounding ABDL's Lounge
  • Illinois ABDL's Welcome!
  • Utah Diaper Wearers's Topics where are you from?
  • Becoming a Bedwetter still dry in day time's Did I wet during sleep ?
  • Becoming a Bedwetter still dry in day time's Can hypnosis help ?
  • Becoming a Bedwetter still dry in day time's Training tips
  • Robert Jans adult Baby's TopicsRobert Jans adult Baby
  • Brazilian Diaper Lovers (Brasileiros DLs)'s Tópicos
  • BiggerLittles Bouncers's Bouncer Talk
  • Customizing Your Diapers's Customizing Contour Diapers
  • Customizing Your Diapers's Customizing Diaper Function
  • Customizing Your Diapers's Customizing PUL diapers
  • South Africa DL club's Topics
  • AZ ABDL Social Sanctuary's Topics
  • Braces Club's Topics

Product Groups

  • E-Books
  • Memberships
  • Advertising
  • Videos
  • Collectables

Find results in...

Find results that contain...

Date Created

  • Start


Last Updated

  • Start


Filter by number of...


  • Start



Website URL


Real Age

Age Play Age

Found 5 results

  1. Heya all, I started a Telegram for those who want to help support and motivate each other. This is not meant to compete with this forum but is meant to be work along side this forum. It's dedicated to support, motivation and help therefore the focus is on long term methods and not shortcuts like stents and catheters, however we all know people will try these methods and since they are the most risky I to support them being talked about so that it deters those who won't go through the proper sterilization procedures while at the same time educating those who will do this anyways in how to properly go through the sterilization procedures this way we can minimize any potential self harm as subculture together. This group is not for those still in the binge/purge cycle who are looking to "force" themselves out of it. This group is not for those who only see retraining in a sexual way; its ok if retraining/incontinence is sexual to you as long as you can also see it as non-sexual, I am realistic on how people view things, not everything is a either or situation, however we are looking to normalize this to help support one another, not fetishize it. It should also be noted that its ok to be lewd/RP here and there as long is it does not absorb the entire chat and as long as one halts their lewd/RP activities when someone comes for support. If advertising a Telegram is a bad idea please inform me ASAP so i can delete this post ? (sorry if it is) Sorry for being a bad boy and not fixing this earlier. The reason why the invitation link was not working is that I made the group private for security reasons. However you can still join by messaging me on Telegram. To join contact me for an invite my Telegram handle is: @Acer144
  2. The genesis of this story comes from a comment by @Sarah Penguin on my story That's My Fetish. This got me to thinking about the possibility of these "outlandish" scenarios we concoct in this community existing in the real world and how they'd be handled. Is this story any good? ?‍♂️ That's kind of on you guys to decide, but I do know that it was enjoyable to write and allowed me to prove to @TheMommyM that I'm not all doom and gloom and pain and panic ALL the time and I can manage to write something that I feel turned out pretty sweet when all was said and done. Anyway, I've taken up more than enough of your time, please enjoy and feel free to engage in discussion at the bottom and let me know your thoughts and feelings about the story. Closure By: The Unknown Author I sat in my car looking at the building ahead wondering how something so innocent and innocuous could be warped and perverted into something so terrifying and scarring. I knew the answer already, it had nothing to do with the place itself, it was just four walls and a roof, it was their actions that turned it into a void, a place where happiness would slowly suffocate leaving behind a battered husk of resentment and anguish. The sign on the wall beside the front door matched the one near the parking lot entrance, colorful clusters of balloons and baby blocks floating around a cartoon rabbit wearing a bonnet and a cloth diaper with a comically oversized safety pin holding it in place, the words “Happy Hare Preschool and Daycare” in pastel bubble letters above the rabbit’s head. I shuddered involuntarily in my seat as I read the sign, remembering the joy I’d felt the first day I’d started working there. Being a graduate of the prestigious “Happy Hare Preschool”, returning to my old Alma Mater cemented my feelings of accomplishment and personal growth as I looked at the small play area in the back of the building through the fence from the sidewalk and remembered swinging on the swings and playing in the sandbox, unaware that the whole world beyond that fence was waiting for me to come and grab it by the short hairs. He’d been the owner for a few months when I started working there, my interview to get the job had been done with his wife, a heavyset woman that made me feel very calm, like a grandmother would when she offered you cocoa on a cold afternoon. She’d been delighted to learn that I myself had attended the preschool and took that as a sign that I should indeed return, though without any formal teaching or childcare credentials given my recent graduation from high school, I was offered the job of “Daycare Assistant” rather than anything more formal. I’d been working there for a few weeks before I met him. Where his wife had been a kindly and calming person in her general aura and way she conducted herself in conversation, he was brusque and not at all pleasant to be around. Our first meeting bypassed any fanfare and pleasantry for him critiquing my work at stocking the changing tables and pantry’s, culminating in half of the work I’d done being scattered all over the floor with explicit orders to clean everything up and organize them again correctly, with the threat of having to find another job should I fail again. Having never dealt with a boss before, let alone one that made me feel stupid and inexperienced for a tiny mistake, I spent a fair amount of my break crying in my car that day and the rest of the week hoping I wouldn’t see him again. I sighed heavily as I shut off my car and opened the door, the heat of the day assaulting my air conditioned skin immediately. Moving to the trunk I unlocked it and lifted the lid, retrieving the bag within before closing the lid once more and locking my car up to head to the front door of the building. Papers littered the door, notices of closure and active police investigation weathered and aged, most torn almost completely off like the remnants of the police tape at the edges of the door frame. The front door was boarded up, but I set my bag down and pulled the pry bar I’d brought out and went to work removing the barricade, wiping sweat from my brow once I’d gotten it loose enough to allow me to access the door behind, smiling as my key still turned the lock with a satisfying chunk sound which let me enter the building. I clicked on my flashlight and moved it over the entryway, the beam passing over the small sitting area where parents could wait for their kids to be retrieved for pickup, then to the facility beyond and finally to the front counter where parents would check their kids in for the day. Returning my beam to the body of the building I felt another shudder run up my spine as I took my first steps into the traumas of my past. The smells triggered me first, the faint bouquet of ammonia and talc mixed with the staleness of age and dust beneath a thin veil of cleaning supplies, I imagined the smell would fit better in a senior home, but nothing about the things I saw could support that notion. The long row of changing tables was off to the side of the front area, tucked far enough away to allow for the smells of used diapers and accidents to be masked by walls and corners as much as diaper pails and air fresheners. I stopped at the first changing table, my flashlight illuminating it, the hope that under the harsh light in the darkness I’d see that it was nothing to be afraid of, that it being an inanimate construct of wood and plastic would get my quickened heart rate and breathing under control, but it didn’t, it just brought the flood of nightmares back to the front of my consciousness. I’d stayed late at the request of his wife, and at the offer of overtime pay for helping with the inventory of the various supplies we kept stock of. I remembered her offering me a cup of cocoa, her warm smile bringing the memory of my initial assessment of her being like a cocoa offering grandmother to mind which made me return her smile as I accepted the offered drink. It was a short time later, as I was counting the jars of baby food and the room started to feel like it was tilting, sending me staggering to one of the tiny chairs nearby only to crumple to my hands and knees, seeing the two sets of feet and legs approaching that I began to worry, but my shaky arms and legs gave out and blackness overtook me before I could fully grasp what was happening. The video recordings were my only link to what had been done to me during my unconsciousness, and having to not only see them, but have them be seen by a courtroom full of people made me nauseous as I lifted my light from the changing table and gave serious consideration to bolting, but I swallowed the bile down and pressed on, knowing that this was my only chance to do what I’d come here to do. Obviously no one in the courtroom had laughed at me, the humiliation I experienced from watching my unconscious body be stripped and diapered on a changing table made for actual babies and children was purely internal, the sheer magnitude of the violation and degradation was the prison that kept my mind locked up, unable to move forward with my life, but being a teenager on the cusp of womanhood and independence, looking to college and life in the adult world and seeing the ease at which someone could strip all of that from me and leave me reduced back to infancy was an impossible pill to swallow, until I did something to help the medicine go down. I’d woken up restrained in one of the cribs further back from the changing area in another room that I made my way to, my flashlight guiding me past the rows of changing tables, dancing across posters with cartoon characters urging hand washing and safe play until I came to the open door to the nap area. A dozen cribs lined the wall across from me with several near the door and the other small wall at the far end of the room, I steadied my breathing and passed through the doorway to the crib I’d been detained in, the smallness of it made me giggle nervously, startling me briefly until I realized the sound had come from my own mouth. All told, my detainment and torture lasted nearly three days, but in that time it had seemed like an eternity, the fear and humiliation keeping me in a constant state of panic that didn’t afford me the luxury of knowing how fast or slow time was passing. I think it was the feeling of betrayal from his wife that hurt the most, his actions making some kind of sense given the way he conducted himself, it wasn’t all that shocking to discover he was the kind of man that would hold someone against their will and torture them by forcing them to be his personal baby, but she’d always been so sweet and kind to me and to everyone else there, worker and patron alike, so to have her be the catalyst, the one that had drugged me in the first place really destroyed my ability to trust moving forward. When I’d woken up she was the one standing beside the crib looking down at me, the smile on her face, her hands clutched together in front of her chest like an aunt or grandmother eagerly awaiting her newest family member’s arrival into the world was deeply unsettling as I struggled to focus my thoughts and vision back to some semblance of normalcy. The pacifier taped in place within my mouth kept me from talking and the rope that bound my wrists and ankles along with my weakness from being drugged kept me laying there docilely, looking up at her in fear and confusion. I kept a mental tally of every infraction against me in my time of incarceration, at first just to keep my mind on something useful, like anger and hatred, but then it became a scorecard to be used against them should I make it out of the situation alive and not be killed and dumped somewhere for them to continue on doing what they’d done to who knows how many other people. I endured twenty two diaper changes, four baths, forty eight feedings from baby food to formula to bottles of milk or juice, two enemas, an even dozen naps, sixty eight spankings, and two hundred and ninety four instances of them “re-educating” me to think and behave like a baby. The one thing I was glad I never had a count for was sexual abuse, though I was sure that were she not constantly with me, I wouldn’t be able to say that. During the trial I had to relive all of those instances in gory detail as a hundred other eyes looked on at the videos. They saw me being forced to crawl to “Mama” or “Papa”, saw me gag and struggle against the invading spoonfuls of mush, saw me sob and beg to be allowed to use the toilet until I finally couldn’t control myself any longer and released my bladder and bowels into the diapers they kept me in all while listening to them heap on praise in syrupy sweet baby talk, the tone making my stomach turn even as I sat in the courtroom miles and time between me and that horrible place and that horrible event. Almost worse than the actual act was the years of therapy that followed, having to tell someone what I’d done and what was done to me, having to admit that I hadn’t slept through the night for months I’d been released and had resumed the bedwetting problem I’d gone over nearly a decade without because of the nightmares. I went through seven different therapists before I settled with Dr. Lish, ghosting on the others for various reasons, some for, what I felt, was their condescension or downplaying of the things I’d endured, others for their notion that what had been done to me had triggered something within me that was making me subconsciously long for that treatment in a setting on my terms, citing my returned nighttime accidents as a tether to a long dormant state of youth that I was trying to recapture because I’d lost my father at such a young age. Dr. Lish was the only one that reassured me that what was done to me was horrible and that the only real way to move past it was to break it down and understand it. A week later, and here I stand, looking at the innocuous items that were tools in my torment, seeing them for what they were, items of furniture and nothing more and understanding that they existed to care for babies and were twisted and perverted to be used against me for some kind of sick game. I ran my hand over the top rail of the crib and sighed, letting go of the fear as I touched the wood and felt nothing, no anxiety or fear, just wood and a reminder of all the babies I’d seen sleeping peacefully within, nothing or no one doing them harm, and I smiled. A new smell filled the building as I walked around looking at the various areas where I’d endured so much, the smell of gasoline as it poured from the can I’d brought with me, making a trail that would lead the fire through the past and burn it away so that nothing would exist of that awful experience save for my own memories, but those would fade in time. I sat on the hood of my car and watched the fire travel from the doorway and into the building, the smoke beginning to billow out the crack in the door and my smile came back again and I laughed to myself. Dr. Lish had given me the name of a support group that I’d avoided for a long while, but once I’d given in to my mother and Dr. Lish’ constant pestering, I found people that understood what I’d been through because they’d experienced similar things in their own lives. There was Allison who’d gotten in trouble for underage drinking and was sent by her parents to live with an aunt that, over the course of the Summer, had reduced her to a second infancy that she was still struggling to overcome several years later. Charlie was the youngest and had been punished for wetting his bed at camp by having to stay in a nursery rather than the normal bunks. Brittany had been blackmailed by one of her fellow cheerleaders into wearing diapers and degrading herself for the other girl’s pleasure, and Max had been punished for wetting himself on a family trip by having to wear his baby sister’s diapers. All of them had stories that sounded ridiculously unbelievable in our rational society, but Allison still had to wear training pants because she hadn’t fully regained her continence, Charlie was dealing with the realization that he was gay after the feelings of seeing another camper enduring the same treatment he was brought arousal to him. Brittany had lived with the abuse of her blackmailer for so long that she actually developed a kind of Stockholm Syndrome and now lived with her former classmate as her baby girl and lover, while Max was transitioning to become the girl his parents had awakened when they’d dressed him up to match his sister, a telltale crinkle beneath her dresses at every meeting told the story of her acceptance of the garment to this day. None of them were angry anymore, though Allison did still childishly swear when she realized she’d had an accident, falling back on her training to not use foul language all those years ago by muttering a simple “poopy” or “fiddlesticks” when she squirmed a little in her seat to assess the severity of the accident. They all accepted what had been done to them and had moved forward with their lives, some, like Brittany and Max, embracing what they’d lived through and accepting it as a part of who they were, while Charlie looked to the future where he would be able to admit to a boyfriend that diapers and babying were something he was into and know that it wasn’t the end of the world if they thought that was weird or disgusting, he’d keep looking until he found someone that accepted that part of him and loved him regardless of it. So, where does that leave me? Well, after the fire started to pick up steam but before the fire department arrived I got back into my car and headed to a small diner across town and ordered coffee and breakfast while I waited. Before I’d finished half of my first cup Allison was entering the diner and waving to me, making her way to the booth to sit across from me. “I was surprised you called.” she said as she looked at her menu. I nodded and took another sip of my coffee. “Me too.” I confessed. “It took me almost fifteen minutes to actually do it.” I added. She looked up from her menu and smiled. “I’m glad you did.” she said. “Not sure why you did, but glad nonetheless.” she added. “I did something today and kind of needed to talk to someone about it without feeling like they’d judge me.” I told her. She giggled. “Sounds juicy.” she said. I nodded and watched the waitress approach and take Allison’s order, leaning forward after she’d left, “I burned the daycare.” I whispered. Her eyes went wide, her mouth forming a little “o” of shock. “Really?!” she exclaimed, flushing hotly as she leaned down closer to me and the table. “What happened?” she asked in a newly adopted whisper. I told her the story, shared with her my process of coming to terms with everything as I walked the rooms of the daycare and reduced it to useless ash to purge it from my life once and for all. “How do you feel?” she asked after I’d finished, our food arriving a short time later. I sighed heavily. “Not as good as I thought I would, to be honest.” I confessed. She pouted as she speared a sausage with her fork. “I’m not surprised.” she said simply. “Destruction isn’t always the way to rebuild.” she began as she put the sausage into her mouth and politely chewed with her mouth closed, waiting until she’d swallowed to resume speaking. “Sometimes, it’s okay to keep the foundation and build onto it rather than try and tear everything down and build something new.” she explained. I rolled my eyes. “You sound like Dr. Lish.” I teased. She smirked and shrugged. “What can I say, she’s not wrong.” she said. “So, Dr. Allison, what would you suggest I do?” I asked her. She looked at me thoughtfully as she chewed her eggs, unaware of the bit of yolk juice that was on her chin and threatening to fall on her shirt until I grabbed a napkin and wiped it away for her. “Thank you.” she said after swallowing. “Before I suggest anything, I’d like to know why you thought burning down a building would change what happened to you.” she said. I shrugged. “Fire cleanses all?” I asked. “That’s fair, but if I burned down the Tower of London would it undo any of the history the building had?” she asked. I shook my head. “If I learned about the history of the building and accepted the bad with the good would I be able to objectively make a decision as to whether or not the building could hurt me?” she asked. I begrudgingly nodded. “So, if I suggested that maybe you’re feeling the need to destroy the past because you’re afraid of it, would I be wrong?” she asked, taking a sip of her orange juice. I sighed. “Not entirely.” I said. “But, I’m not afraid of it.” I added. She raised an eyebrow. “Then what are you afraid of?” she asked. The waitress came and refilled our drinks and took our plates and I sat waiting for her to leave, the words I wanted to say, that I needed to say hiding deep within me, afraid to be exposed to the harsh light of day. “Do you want me to guess?” she asked after I’d said nothing for a long while. I flushed but remained silent. She cleared her throat. “I think that you’re afraid that your bedwetting makes you the baby they treated you as.” she said simply. “That’s a part of your past that you struggled with, that filled you with shame and made you feel younger and more helpless than your actual age and you’re worried that admitting that will put you on a path of self fulfilling prophecy and you’ll end up becoming the baby they wanted you to be.” she explained. “How am I doing so far?” she asked. I swallowed hard. “Wrong.” I croaked out softly. She looked at me in genuine surprise. “Really?” she asked. I nodded and blinked away the water that was starting to well up in my vision, sending a tear or two rolling down my cheeks. She was up and beside me in a flash, hugging me. “Hey, it’s okay, you don’t have to tell me anything you’re not comfortable with.” she told me. I shook my head and wiped my eyes. “I want to, it’s just hard.” I said softly. She rubbed my back gently in a small circle. “Do you remember the first session you came to?” she asked. I nodded. “Remember that Brittany fudged her Pampers and I laughed so hard that I overflowed my training pants?” she asked. I laughed in between sniffles and sobs. “Yeah, you were so embarrassed that you tried to hide in the bathroom for the rest of the session.” I told her. She nodded. “And who came into the bathroom to check on me?” she asked. “Me.” I told her. She nodded again. “And who told me that it wasn’t a big deal because at least I hadn’t stunk the whole room up like Brittany?” she asked. I laughed again, the memory of Brittany being led by the hand by her Mommy out to the car for a change, her toddler like gait caused by her bowed out legs making her look ridiculous. “Me.” I finally said. She took my chin in her hand and turned my head gently to face her. “And who made me feel like it was okay that I’m twenty three and still can’t quite make it to the bathroom all the time?” she asked. I looked up into her eyes and smiled. “Me.” I whispered softly. “And who became my favorite person that day, became someone that I looked forward to seeing every week and thought for sure I’d die of happiness when she decided to take my number even though I felt guilty for weeks because I’d given it to her for the selfish reason of wanting to spend more time with her?” she asked. I blinked and felt the smile spread across my lips. “Me?” I asked. She nodded. “And who am I dampening my training panties over because I’m afraid that if I act on my impulse to kiss her that she’ll run away and never come back?” she asked. My thoughts raced as I took in every word of her statement, scarcely able to believe that she was wanting this moment to turn romantic just as I did, and I eagerly closed the distance between our lips and pressed mine to hers softly, fireworks going off in my brain as the tension and fear melted away and long forgotten happiness and calm returned to me. She pulled back gently and stroked my cheek tenderly. “I’ve wanted to do that for so long.” she confessed. I nodded softly. “Me too.” I told her. “I’m sorry for upsetting you.” she said. I shook my head. “It wasn’t you.” I told her. “I’ve been trying to say something but I can’t find the words.” I said. “Like me wanting to tell you how I feel about you?” she asked. I nodded. “Well, that turned out okay.” she said with a smile as she took my hand in hers and lifted it to her lips to kiss it softly. “Maybe if you say what you’re feeling or thinking it’ll be just as okay.” she offered. I sighed and nodded. “I know you’re right, but every time I think I can say it I chicken out.” I confessed. “Want me to guess again?” she asked. I shook my head. “Tell me to tell you.” I said. “Give me a reason to say what I need to say.” I added. “Like an ultimatum?” she asked. I nodded and looked up at her with pleading eyes. “Please?” I asked. She nodded. “If you don’t tell me what’s on your mind, I’m going to get up and walk out of here and you’ll never see me again.” she said after a moment of mental preparation. I swallowed hard and looked down at my hand in hers. “I-.” I began, the words catching in my throat. “I-.” I tried again, feeling the worry of her grip loosening on my hand filling me up and breaking my heart. “I-.” I tried again, watching her hand release mine as she pushed on the table to slide out of the booth. “Last chance.” she said as she looked down at me sorrowfully. The tears had returned and I watched the wobbly blob she’d become fade from my vision, heard her pick up her bag from the other side of the booth and wiped my eyes to see her walking away to the restroom, leaving me to pathetically sniffle and sob before I got up and hurried after her, catching up to her just as she entered the family changing room, my hand grabbing the handle and pulling it from her grasp as I rushed in behind her and yanked the door shut, locking it behind us. “Do you mind?” she asked. “I’d like some privacy, please.” she said. I shook my head and sobbed as I undid my pants and shoved them downward, sending them to rest around my ankles in a pool as I stood with my eyes closed crying the ugliest, most pathetic cry I’d ever cried. The room was silent for a long time, save for my crying, and then she spoke. “What are you wearing?” she asked finally. I kept my eyes tightly shut and struggled to stop crying long enough to answer. “A diaper.” I finally said. I heard her take a step forward. “Why?” she asked. “Because I want to-” I blubbered, stopping the statement from finishing. Another step forward. “Why?” she asked. “I want to-” I tried and failed. “I’m jealous of-” I tried and failed once more. Another step forward and then her hand was on the front of my diaper, pressing gently against the thin, store brand cloth. “Me?” she asked. I shook my head and bit my lip, gasping as I felt a small spurt of urine escape into the thin padding. “Open your eyes.” she commanded reassuringly. I shook my head again. “One.” she said, bringing me back to a long forgotten point in my life when my mother was at the limit of her patience with me as I refused to come out of the bathroom the first night she was going to put me in a diaper to keep me from wetting the bed. I whimpered as another spurt escaped me, this one more of a trickle than the first. “Two.” she said, the memory showing me standing in the bathroom crying, at the prospect of having to wear a diaper to bed while other girls my age were thinking about boys, the idea that I wasn’t as mature as them because of an unfortunate and common medical condition filling my mind as I heard the count continue through the door. The trickle became a small stream that caused me to sob at the knowledge that she must be feeling what I was doing, knowing what I was too much of a coward to admit. “Two and a half.” she said with more warning in her tone, the same one my mother had just before I opened the door and ran to her, throwing my arms around her as I broke into uncontrollable sobbing and pleading only to end up right where she’d wanted me, diapered for bed, my thumb finding its way into my mouth as she left the room and I cried myself to sleep. I threw my eyes open “I’m jealous of Brittany!” I cried just before the floodgates of my bladder opened completely and I drenched my cheap diaper to the point that rivulets of warm liquid cascaded down my thighs and onto my waiting pants. She was smiling at me, I realized. Nothing in her eyes or face was disgusted with me or judgmental of my behavior or statement, she was just smiling at me like she cared about me and was proud of me. “Why?” she asked. Everything poured out of me, the emotional constipation I’d been living with for years flooded out into the world as I told her that I’d gone back to wearing diapers at night for the bed wetting and had found myself fascinated by Brittany and her complete acceptance of her role as baby in her relationship and that the jealousy I felt stemmed from someone engaging in that role from a place of love and acceptance rather than coercion and force like what had been done to me, to all of us in the group. I poured my heart and soul out to her and stood there like a pathetic fool as she listened and smiled at me before she kissed me softly on the lips. “If you wanted to be a baby you should’ve just said so instead of ruining your big girl clothes.” she chided me playfully. I sniffled and looked down at my pants and whined remorsefully. “What am I going to do?!” I wailed. She took my hand in hers and led me, my movement restricted to a ridiculous parody of a toddler’s gait with my wet pants around my ankles, to the changing table across the room. “You’re going to let me take those soggy pants and pathetic excuse for a diaper off of you and wear the extra skirt I happen to always carry over one of my training pants so we don’t get arrested on the way out of here,” she explained as she knelt down and helped me out of my shoes and pants before helping me up onto my back on the table’s surface, “then, we’re going to the store to find some more adequate diapers until we can afford the really thick, babyish ones that Brittany has.” she continued as she wiped me clean and helped me stand back up and into one of the training pants followed by the previously mentioned skirt. I realized as she was tying my shoes for me that I was sucking my thumb and quickly pulled it out as she was standing back up. “You don’t have to stop on my account.” she said sweetly as she ran her fingers through my hair and kissed my forehead softly. I blushed and slowly reinserted my thumb, mumbling a quiet ‘thank you’, or a reasonable facsimile given the finger sized plug between my lips. She smiled. “Two things before we go any further:” she said. “This is all up to you, you can go as far as you feel comfortable and I’ll meet you wherever you land with open arms.” she explained before picking up my wet clothes and depositing them into a plastic bag she sealed up and dropped into her backpack before slipping out of her own training pants and wiping herself before replacing them with a new pair. “What’s the second thing?” I asked softly. She smirked as she slung her backpack over her shoulder, threw her used training pants into the trash and washed her hands before taking my hand in hers and leaning in to kiss my cheek before whispering softly into my ear, “I think I might be in love with a baby.” she said. I giggled for the first time in longer than I can remember. I’d laughed, chuckled, heck, I’d even guffawed, but not since I was probably in training pants the first time around could I remember giggling. “I think I might be in love with one too.” I told her. She put her hands on her hips and put her best impression of a wounded expression on her face. “We’ll just see who the baby in this relationship is Miss “I wanna be a big baby like Bwittany and fudge my Pampers for Mommy awl da times!” she cooed in playfully exaggerated babytalk. I huffed and put my own hands on my hips, mirroring her faux wounded expression with one of my own. “First of all, I never said I wanted to “fudge my Pampers”,” I corrected, “and second of all, are you offering to be my Mommy?” I asked. She winked and kissed me softly once more on the lips. “That’s what I’m expecting you to moan later tonight when we’re back at my place.” she said seductively as she took my hand and led me to the bathroom door. I felt my face begin to heat up as she opened the door and I followed behind her as she led me into the next chapter of my life. The End
  3. Good Morning Everyone: I just edited my "About Me" Block, adding further information to my profile. When I did it yesterday, I added a picture of the USNS Comfort to my profile, and centered it. I then save it, edit information again, and then I see in the bottom left, a picture that I already have in my profile, but I CAN'T DELETE it, or any pictures in the "uploaded images" area, or I LOSE the images, even though they are being served by URLs at my website. can someone tell me why we have to upload images, then possibly lose them, while trying to get rid of duplicates in the profile, you lose them ALL? I've never had that happen...I confused..... Thanks, Brian
  4. Is there a known issue with the Tapatalk app for daily diapers. I just noticed that I am in unable to login using tapatalk app but the web and mobile site works fine. When I try to login it pops up a line of code that looks similar to html coding with some win script thrown in. I had no issue a couple of days ago but I’m unsure what’s going on. Not sure if this has to the mining issue or not.
  • Create New...