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Found 207 results

  1. NewAndCurious

    Ottawa Valley DLs?

    Heya folks! Very curious 30s guy here looking for folks who are curious themselves or experienced in the lifestyle. Open to any and all! And curious about all aspects with an extremely open mind and willingness to learn :)
  2. Les Lea

    New School 1-4

    New School After my parent’s divorce mom decided she wanted to start a new life with me in another part of the country. She knew we needed to make a complete break and was eager that I should reap the benefits of a whole new experience. Educationally I’d been doing OK but she knew I wasn’t all that happy and, as an eleven year-old, was about to move up to Middle School. However, that move was going to be to a new academy mom discovered as she searched for a new job. She’s a research chemist and I’m glad to say, quite in demand. So we travelled half way across the country because she’d found employment in a laboratory, out in the wilds of nowhere, that dealt with medical /gene/stem-cell research, an area that mom was expert in. The centre was settled out of town on the edge of a desert but the town itself was large enough that you didn’t feel completely cut off from civilization… also it had a rather unique ‘school’. ‘Vestra frui pueritia’ was the school’s motto, which I gather roughly translates as ‘Enjoy your childhood’ Mom is clever and intuitive and said she only wanted the best for me, so, although it may be a wrench away from the few friends I had, this new beginning would give us both the kick-start to new opportunities from which she thought we’d both benefit. The school, the ‘ALEXIARES and ANICETUS ACADEMY’ was to be my new seat of learning. It wasn’t quite what I expected. * Hi, I’m David, David Grohm, and ever since I was young I’ve always liked to experiment in the way I dressed. My long tousled dirty blond hair and big green eyes (mom always said I had the deepest green eyes she’d ever seen) giving me a sort of neutral sexual look – I could (and was) mistaken for either gender. Sometimes my ‘dressing up’ got away with little or no comment, other times it created quite a stir. “If everyone else is dressed the same then the world would be a boring place.” This was mom’s general rule about what I wore if I ever felt guilty over some of the outfits I chose. She was always very supportive of my originality and, even if she didn’t totally approve, certainly didn’t try to stop me from developing and investigating those interests. Mom, Heather Grohm, is a very clever woman, far cleverer than my dad, James, who often found it difficult to keep up with his brilliant wife. These days mom probably wouldn’t win any awards for the sexiest mom on the school run, she wasn’t that type of woman, but she was always the most diligent and caring and made me, her only son, feel very special. She wasn’t cloying or over-bearing (perhaps that was me?) she knew what was best or just when I needed some space. She said that she saw a sweet, creative and wonderful person from the moment she set eyes on the ‘cutest baby in the world’. I loved it when mom spoke about me like that. Ever since I was quite young I’d worn my mom’s clothes, I’d worn my dad’s clothes, I’d often make my own stuff up from pieces of fabric, plastic and stick it all together with a few pins then wander around in my latest creation. A little girl doing this would have passed unnoticed but a little boy; well it raised a few eyebrows with our neighbours - especially if I was dressed either like some foreign dignitary (and acting like one) or, more likely, a local peasant in rags and little else. However, as I got older my main desire was to wear diapers. There was something very special about growing up and able to appreciate the comfort and pleasure such a piece of childish clothing offered. I suppose it wasn’t a big leap from some of the stuff I’d already been wearing; homemade loincloths, cod pieces, togas, skirts, dhotis, kilts… and it was whilst I had wrapped a towel around me like a diaper that I realised just how much I liked the sensation of something between my legs. I wanted to dress as a baby even if I didn’t want to be treated as one, well not to begin with anyway. * When mom had discovered my craving (that revealing towel wrapped around and pinned just so) I was seven years old. She didn’t appear concerned that her potty-trained little boy would happily want to envelop himself in a makeshift diaper. She asked if I liked what I was doing, and as she seemed OK about it, I volunteered the fact that I’d always liked the feeling that a diaper gave me – of comfort and safety. I’m sure I didn’t use those exact words but she seemed to understand what I wanted and didn’t mind me continuing to wear such items. She asked if I liked wetting myself but in truth I hadn’t done so at that point and found the idea a bit yukky. She bought me a couple of large, terry style cloth squares, showed me how to fold them myself and how to pin them tightly so they wouldn’t sag too much. I actually liked the sag, the bulkiness when I sat down or played around was… wonderful. Sometimes the looseness sent a tickle between my thighs and bottom which made me smile and wriggle gleefully. For obvious reasons I didn’t wear them for school only when at home or in the holidays but, as I grew older, mostly in private. * Mom has always been very understanding. She reckons from that very first time she saw her seven year-old son wearing a diaper again she thought I looked so damn cute she just wanted to scoop me up and hug me forever. We did (and do) a lot of cuddling and even as I’ve grown bigger and gotten older, we still have the same relationship. I simply prefer diapers around the house and to sleep in. In fact, I’m not sure I’d get a good night’s sleep these days without them. There’s just something about a thick diaper hugging you as you drop off to sleep that is very satisfying. It’s not often that I wet them when I’m asleep but occasionally I have done… though after that first time, mom insisted I wear plastic pants over them when I went to bed. She pointed out that even though I wore thick padding, it still leaked and, though she didn’t mind the diaper wearing, she wasn’t in favour of more unnecessary laundry. However, there was something strangely satisfying the first time I wet on purpose. I was wearing a disposable and nervously thought I’d just experiment and see what it was like. As I tentatively let go I was so sure it would leak all over the place and run down my legs that it took me by surprise how efficiently it soaked up all my pee. A few seconds after I’d done it I couldn’t believe I didn’t feel all that wet and wondered where all the liquid had gone. Soon after I felt my disposable pressing and rubbing against my thighs and the front of my shorts had filled out. It was firm and solid and I was totally amazed at how a disposable was taking away any responsibility or guilt about wetting and was thankfully storing it away until I could dispose of it. The whole process had been a revelation and one I had no trouble pursuing on many more occasions. Mom’s demand that I wear vinyl protection over my diapers didn’t seem unreasonable and as she went to the trouble to buy a few pairs of plastic pants, I wore them over my padding in bed. I quite like the feel and now I’m used to them (I’ve been wearing them continually ever since she first suggested it) there is certainly something special having that extra layer and they’ve prevented wet sheets on more than one occasion. Sometimes, when I’m wearing my pyjamas over them, I love the feeling as they slip around the shiny pants and they slide up and down my legs as I wiggle in utter contentment. Mum says she loves those occasions when I’m dressed for bed, PJs over my diaper, and we’re sat cuddling on the sofa watching TV. She says there is something very comforting when she pats my padded bottom and I rustle around in complete happiness. There’s no doubt about it – I’m a momma’s boy. * To be continued…
  3. Henry is seven (Not to be confused with any of the Shakespearian Henrys) The paediatric nurse Ellie is eighteen and able to leave school to pursue a career close to her heart. Ever since she was little she’d always wanted to take care of children and, when an opportunity came up to take a course in paediatric nursing she jumped at the chance. She’d already been a volunteer at Saint Clare’s the local hospice and of course, what also helped was being ten years older than her brother, so had, over the years, taken care of him when their mother was otherwise engaged. Ellie was a young woman full of care, consideration and love, all of which she displayed to those she was charged to look after. She loved the work. Her brother Henry had been born ten years after Ellie, same mother but from a different father. Her own dad, Michael Warren, had married his childhood sweetheart Debra Gold, when, at the age of twenty-five, they could see no reason not to. He’d got a well-paid job at the local quarry straight from school and she’d been a top honours student but wanted to work rather than pursue further studies. She quickly established herself in the financial accounts department of a legal firm and made quite a reputation for herself. With the birth of Ellie, decided she’d cope with child and career from home and set up her own freelance financial advice/accounts company. Unfortunately, eight years later an accident at the quarry had left the wonderful Michael fatally injured and the small family unit almost fell apart. They managed the best they could, the compensation pay-out helping alleviate the financial worries a little. However, eighteen months later Daryl Woodhouse met and dated Debra. He was a funny, slim man, almost the exact opposite of her first husband, and he brought a much-needed breath of fresh air into the household. Alas, he was a freeloader and Debra only realised her mistake when, as the money run out, so did he. By then she was three months pregnant but thanks to her daughter and close-knit family, managed to get over him. She wasn’t going to let her resentment of his father cloud the view of her new son, Henry (named after Michael’s father) and so put the name Warren on the birth certificate. Although Ellie and the family knew he was from a different father, Debra insisted that he be treated as if he was Michael’s son and he was never to know who his real father was. Keeping this lie proved easier than expected because baby Henry was a little treasure. Everyone, including his older sister, doted on this smiling bundle of joy and he instantly slipped into being an important part of the family. Brother and sister were inseparable; he adored Ellie and she was always there to help and teach him as he grew up. # With Ellie already having helped out at the children’s hospital and the attached hospice she knew that paediatric nursing was not an easy job. Not only was she helping children from babies to teenagers, she also had the emotional journey of all that entailed. Babies that needed almost twenty-four hour care, young boys and girls who from some accident or disease needed help or supervision, the job was as much about sensitivity as medical care. Ellie was determined to get it right from the off and throw herself into it with gusto… she didn’t want to get anything wrong. To this end she decided to enlist the help of Henry. He was a robust, noisy, exuberant seven year old, who enjoyed all the pleasures a second grader could appreciate. However, when asked by his adored sister if she could practice on him, he approached this request with some apprehension. He wasn’t sure what it entailed but she promised it wouldn’t involve any ‘medical’ procedure. She said she just didn’t want to harm kids who were already suffering in one way or another simply because of not knowing how to do something quickly, carefully and with a degree of professionality. Henry had always done as his sister wanted but now, at seven, he felt he liked his independence and was weary of committing himself to do anything. Especially as the summer break was here and he planned to be out and about playing with his group of school mates. Ellie promised she would only practice on him when he was home our before bed and that nothing she did would impose on his fun. His mother encouraged him to ‘rally round’ and had a private word with him saying how pleased she’d be if he helped his sister attain the job she so desperately wanted. He loved his mom and loved his sister so… how could he refuse? # Ellie explained to her brother just what her job would entail. He wasn’t aware she would have to look after kids who were nearly as old as she was and who needed help with even the most basic of tasks. Even though she’d changed Henry’s nappy when he was a baby, he was potty trained by his third birthday, and she really had no idea how to go about changing someone older. She knew she’d be taught how to cope with a larger body but there were other considerations to think about. Most of the paediatric staff was female but they would be required to attend to older boys as well as girls, she wanted to get it right. So, on that first night of ‘Henry practice’ the bandages and other medical kit she was going to employ to begin with had been left in a separate bag at the hospice. Thankfully, the actual bag she had brought had all the things she needed for other training purposes. She nappied him. He was embarrassed throughout the entire procedure and had been reluctant to let it happen. However, she’d insisted that some kids needed help even getting undressed so he should let her do everything and that included seeing him nude. Not that his sister hadn’t seen his naked little bum racing around the house ever since he could crawl but at seven years old bashfulness was becoming a thing he was aware of. Any unwillingness was overcome by a word of encouragement, and promise of some future wish granted from his mother, which meant Ellie could get on with the exercise and Henry would simply comply. She stripped him and applied the wipes and creams she’d been told were needed to keep that particular area free of ‘the nasties’. She let out a schoolgirl giggle when she described it with those words to her brother. He looked horrified that such areas should even have ‘nasties’ around. She explained throughout the procedure what she was doing and why. Despite the awkwardness he realised just what a hard job his sister was undertaking. The idea that older kids might need nappies had never occurred to him and, after giving him a couple of examples of the problems some of her patients had, Henry was a little less anxious. “Don’t you use disposables?” Henry wondered. “Most of the time, but some kids are allergic or have different needs so we have to learn to be able to do everything… and that my dear, sweet little brother, is why I need to practice on you.” She smiled as the soft but thick fabric was pulled up between his legs. “So feel free to wriggle around a bit.” Once fitted in the nappy and plastic pants she asked him to walk around and give his opinion of fit; tightness, looseness, comfort, etc. Henry looked at himself in the mirror and burst out in embarrassed laughter. “I look, I look like a big… a big… “ “Maybe, but think of the poor kids who HAVE to wear that all the time?” Ellie looked at him in the mirror and patted the padding down a bit. “Erm, yes, er, it fits well.” For a moment guilt swept through his seven year old body when he realised some unfortunate kids had no alternative. After all, no one else knew or could see him wearing a nappy so why should it bother him? He knew his sister only wanted what was best for her patients and decided that if he could help, even in just this most simple of ways, he would. The padding wasn’t hurting him and Ellie had laid it on pretty thick (just like the nappy) he would be helping her help them. He paraded around the bedroom for a short while. “It does feel strange having all this between my legs… but it’s not uncomfortable.” “That’s reassuring,” she said relieved. With each unfamiliar step Henry could hear the tell-tale rustle of the plastic. The plain white vinyl cover really not hiding the fact of what lay beneath. “This,” he said rubbing the slippery cover, “doesn’t hide anything…” “It’s not supposed to,” Ellie confirmed. “It’s to keep from any leaks happening.” She slipped her finger between the tight elasticated legs and gently felt the soft fabric underneath. “This can get absolutely soaked so, like when you were a baby, it keeps the rest of your clothes and bedding dry until someone can come and change you.” He looked at her as if she thought he was stupid. “I know that.” # She patted his padded bottom. “Okay clever dick, let me try a different way of folding the fabric and see how that feels and then…” After a brief sigh he let Ellie get on with the second change and again was positive about a job well done. She explained that some kids were simply incontinent; whilst others had medical procedures that meant different techniques of protection were needed. Henry looked at the pile of disposable, fabric nappies, plastic covers and other assorted items she needed for her job and was glad he didn’t require any of this stuff on a permanent basis. Ellie was thorough as she manoeuvred the dense material under his bottom, pulled it through his legs and pinned it into place. As if on cue, his mother popped her head around the door to see how things were going. “Oh sweetheart, you look… lovely.” Although this had been said in a friendly way, Henry, who was laid out on the floor, and all but naked, wriggled in embarrassment. “Moommmmm.” “Sorry, sorry… but you do look cute.” She teased. “Mom!” There was no doubt about it, seeing her seven year old son wearing nothing but a nappy had made her go all gooey inside. She was shocked at just how much the feeling of maternal pride and love swamped her body just from seeing him look so sweet and vulnerable. She swallowed a gulp of emotion and smiled. “Okay. I’m making a hot drink… do you two want one as well?” “Yes please,” they chorused. “But not in a baby’s bottle.” Henry added. “Owww but sweetheart… you’d look…” She couldn’t help herself especially when she realised she wasn’t just teasing him. “MOM.” She disappeared just as Ellie pulled him to his feet. “For the last time tonight… how does that feel?” He stood up and walked around and gave a little jump. The nappy was soft, thick and fleecy and it did feel slightly different to the others. “A bit loose… I think with the plastic pants it would be alright.” He gave another little jump as if to prove his point. They didn’t fall down so he jumped again but the nappy stayed steadfastly in place. Not for the first time a smile appeared on Ellie’s face. “Mum’s right, you do look very cute in those.” “Look, if you’re gonna make fun I’m…” “No, sorry, you’re correct. Thank you for all your help. Let me take it off for you… unless you want to keep it on?” She chuckled to herself at the idea, whilst Henry simply pulled at the pins to dispose of the thing as quickly as possible. …to be continued
  4. Plastic Pant & Diaper Love

    Plastic Pant Fetish

    I am having a hard time as I first became very attracted to plastic pants when a lady I was dating showed up wearing cute pink PP under her skirt one evening. I have never been aroused so quickly in my life! However, I found it difficult to find another person who will even consider playing like that. Recently I began using diapers and plastic pants at night in bed for stimulation. However, now I like wetting them and I
  5. Plastic pants have always been a big turn on for some reason. I have worn them at night over disposables. However, last night I tried a cloth diaper and plastic pants for going to bed. OMG! What a great turn on. Just need a female partner that feels the same. Good luck, right?
  6. Les Lea

    I Love My Daddy

    I Love My Daddy There have been quite a few times when I’ve been glad I was wearing a nappy whilst out and about in public. I know a seventeen year-old should be past that stage by now but, for instance, when an F16 screams in over your head at about 200 feet, pulls back and accelerates away vertically before going into some incredible aerial manoeuvres, you know that the spine-tingling pee you’d just excitedly let loose, it’s a nappy that saves you from an embarrassing damp patch on your pants. It is times like that, when the unexpected leads to a sudden loss of control, a nappy is designed for. To explain the F16: Daddy and I have recently moved to his villa on the coast near Murcia in Spain, where the local Air Base was having an open day and part of their itinerary was a fantastic air display. People had flocked to the beach to watch and the place was crammed packed with visitors. Although Daddy always insists I wear a nappy I’m constantly thankful for that resolve when such things happen. The display had seen loads of different aircraft, both old and new, doing incredible stunts in formation and solo. Loving planes like I do I was in my element and marvelled at the clever pilots as they guided their planes through various brilliant aero-spectaculars. Suddenly, from behind where we were standing, a F16 military jet roared in over our heads. The noise was deafening but I stood thrilled and in total admiration, giggling and crying in absolute delight as the pilot swung his jet into the most wonderful aerobatics. Physically, I was not in control of my body, which was jumping up and down like an excited two year-old, whilst my bladder had a mind of its own. Being seventeen made no difference, I was so gripped by the awe-inspiring display and oblivious to what else was going on in my baby pink shorts but thankfully, the nappy and matching pink plastic pants were as dependable as ever. My heart was beating madly as the pilot veered his aircraft into yet another superb roll right over my head and several other jets of pee excitedly filled my soaked nappy. However, before Daddy insisted on what I wear I’d had enough embarrassing incidents of wet and messy pants to know his solution was correct. Like earlier in my young life, I was in a London shopping mall and I came face to face with one of my TV heroes. I didn’t dare speak to him but the fact that he was only a few feet away from where I stood, signing autographs and having his photo taken, prompted another loss of control and I wet myself. Had I then had the protection it would have saved me from ridicule but, as it was, the flow didn’t just stop at my pants but trickled onto the marble floor. I’m emotionally and physically unable to stop the excitement I feel at any time from spreading out in other directions. Each time my shorts or trousers would be soaked if not for my well-padded and protected lower half. From the moment Daddy had made that decision he ensured I was always expertly fastened in my nappy and securely wearing plastic protection. It might be ungainly at times but at least I felt safe from any mishap that such a sudden exhilarating thrill might cause. Daddy knew how to prepare me for the day (and night) and Daddy knows best. * Daddy is in fact my Uncle John. He took me in when I was four years old after my parents died in a particularly grizzly accident, one in which I somehow (and some said miraculously) survived. However, once I was out of hospital it was Uncle John, being mum’s younger brother and my only close relation, who took me in and brought me up as his own. From the moment I entered his home he has treated me as a bewildered little boy in need of constant care and attention. Needless to say, to begin with I was scared and terrified of a world without my parents and that led to some pretty appalling moments. I was angry at everything and alas couldn’t contain any of my bodily functions without tears, tantrums and general hysterical, messy behaviour. I was a four year-old jumble of emotions who acted like an irritable toddler all the time. Uncle John eased me through it all, slowly realising just what I needed to help me control my mental and physical problems. Off course he found that cuddles and reassurance helped enormously but to control my incontinence I needed something far more practical. Nappies were his solution and because of the number of times and the amount I peed, thick nappies with thick rubber pants he deemed best. I didn’t like the idea at first but he was insistent that my life would be better if I was protected in such a way. He gently explained that part of why I was getting so upset was the obvious evidence of a wet spot, so, he reasoned, if we could prevent that, it would help. I still wasn’t convinced and hated being put in nappies but they did stop the tell-tale stain, and, more to the point I was no longer plagued by worry of ridicule. Sometimes, if I’d had a bad dream, I would wander into his room crying and wet but he’d never get mad. He’d just pull back the covers and let me snuggle in beside him. His gentle soothing caresses relieved my agitation and I’d drop off quickly. Every so often, he could see that the drooping soggy mass needed instant attention, so he wouldn’t flinch at changing me at such an unsociable hour, my comfort being of the utmost importance. He’d then guide me to my room but it wouldn’t be long before I’d pad back, the soft rustle of my protection accompanying each step, and slip in next to him. His comforting arms always made me feel safe and secure as I’d wriggle up close to his warm, strong, reliable body. He didn’t mind the continuous changing because of the trauma I’d been through and actually thought, as a four, five and six year-old, it was OK for me to still be wearing such stuff. I didn’t know at the time but he later told me that despite all the seething resentment at losing my parents I had coursing through my young mind, I looked innocent and lovable when dressed in thick protection. He was amazed at how peaceful I became once I was cleaned up and put into a nappy, it was a sort of acceptance of how things were before my parents died - apparently they had also kept me in rubber pants as I was very slow to toilet train. It was also at this time, as he was changing me and I was giggling at something he’d done, that I accidentally said “Thank you Daddy” instead of uncle - he liked that. He hugged and kissed me so tightly that I had no option but to return the love and gratitude I felt for him. So, it was a very easy transition seeing as when we went out, most people assumed I was his son anyway, and he never corrected that assumption. * Bits of my memories from those early days keep coming back to me and I can see how the bond between us grew. The first intimate recollection was once as he changed me out of a particularly wet and messy nappy. I was overwhelmingly upset and crying. However, undaunted, he cleaned me up, fitted a thick disposable and, as he pulled up my protecting plastic pants, I threw my arms around him and sobbed uncontrollably for ages. All the time he soothed me with gentle massages to my back and padded bottom. He nuzzled and kissed the top of my head easing away my utter distress - hushing away the tears and rocking me gently. He told me that I’d hugged him so tightly and begged him not to leave (apparently I was so scared of losing him) he replied he wouldn’t want to go anywhere without his ‘Little Soldier’. I fell asleep in his arms and when I eventually did wake up I was still laid in his arms but in his bed and he was sleeping. As I lay there, snug and warm, even as a young boy, I realised the love he had for me and I wanted to return that love. I huddled up close and wrapped my small arms around him as much as I could and fell back to sleep. When we woke up again, to my shame I was wet. Thankfully my nappy had protected me from any spillage but I felt guilty for doing what I’d done in my daddy’s bed. I was sure I would be punished for it but, once he realised what I’d done he just smiled. “It’s a good job my little fellow has adequate protection,” he beamed. “As long as you’re watertight,” he rubbed the front of my plastic pants, the damp nappy underneath feeling a bit strange as it slipped against my skin, “we’re all safe from whatever you do.” * He told me it was strange that these days, when I wore a nappy, I hardly ever wet or soil myself but, as soon as he puts me in briefs (which I insisted on wearing like other boys my age), I inevitably peed my pants. He also noticed that if I got excited about anything, no matter how small (or huge) a deal it was, I would somehow manage to let a little trickle of pee out, often without even knowing I’d done so. I remember fairly early on that Daddy took me to a Christmas Panto and I’d got so excited while watching (there was a lot of flashing lights, bangs and smoke) that I wet myself and the seat pretty badly. I think he was embarrassed as he explained to the manager what had happened but he just smiled knowingly and told Daddy that he’d be surprised at just how many kids wet themselves when the villain appears. I would even wet myself whilst watching TV, or if I received a new toy or even saw a toy on TV or in a shop window. It appeared to Daddy that anything and everything slightly excitable could lead me to fill my pants and the only way to prevent that tell-tale damp stain was a nappy and thick plastic pants. This led me to become even further embarrassed and nervous about going out in public. Despite carrying on alarmingly about having to wear them, he eventually convinced me that they were necessary, and so as not to cause further humiliation (I think he meant arguments and damage to people’s furniture), they became compulsory. Of course I argued about how unfair it all was but time and time again I was thankful to have my boy bits safeguarded as I inadvertently wet my pants. * Daddy has been quite strict with me since those earlier days of messy tantrums and fits of non-stop weeping. He said he understood why these things were happening to me but from that early age he curbed my mental anguish by instilling a ‘nappy regimen’. He said that because I found it ‘calming’ the ‘daily diaper’ (a term he used occasionally) became part of both my waking and sleeping arrangements. He checked that everything fitted well and was watertight so no drips or dribbles would appear in my bed or on my outer clothes. He also hoped I wouldn’t feel ill at ease to do all the things an active boy wanted to do. The bulk I eventually got used to and Daddy’s constant approval and compliments gave me confidence. If I asked him if he thought the nappy was too obvious he would tell me how well it all fitted and how no one would be able to tell so, over time, he persuaded me I need not worry. He also convinced me that my needs were paramount and other people’s opinions didn’t matter. Throughout the years daddy has taken great delight in making sure I was always clean and dry. He loves to see me in a pristine nappy and my plastic armour (as he calls them), often making sure that all the fabric is tucked under the smooth, glossy cover and I’m waterproof. Daddy insists on what I should wear, what I should eat and the TV programmes I am allowed to watch (which even now he still keeps an eye on) and to do as I am told - he will not take any cheek or disrespect. In those early days my rebellion was met with understanding but as soon as I went to school and adopted my friend’s defiance, he became more and more insistent on making sure my conduct was acceptable. The strict nappy regimen was the way in which he curtailed any bad behaviour and, he pointed out, the thickness of my protection made my overall attitude a lot more agreeable. Although he was firm on this point, he was also very loving. He admitted that what makes his life worthwhile is seeing me out and about enjoying my childhood, whilst a glimpse of my plastic pants when I’m charging around wearing shorts (which I now wear all the time) confirms my status as a little boy who still needs his Daddy to look out for him. I wore padding under my school clothes because I wet unexpectedly. I didn’t want to but the embarrassment of a damp smudge appearing on my school pants would have been a beacon to the rest of the class to torment me. Because of the precautions that Daddy took, I was never such a target. However, once home he would check to see if I was wet and we were both often amazed at the amount of pee my nappy had soaked up though thankfully leaving me feeling relatively dry. So now I do what I’m told with no argument because I have learned that Daddy is always right and to defy his ‘rules’ is a stupid course of action. It wasn’t all instant acceptance; it took a couple of extremely fierce spankings to begin with for me to grasp that Daddy’s word was law and, even though I might have once wanted to dress like a big boy and be treated as such, I had to learn that Daddy insisting on my childhood being extended for as long as possible is a good thing and not a punishment. He likes me to dress more as a toddler than a teenager. He thinks that it is far more appropriate for a boy wearing a nappy to sport such clothing. He says it fills him with pride and delight to see me running around in my colourful outfits with my protection clearly defined. The thick nappy or pull-ups are always augmented by a pair of colourful plastic/rubber pants, which sometimes get revealed if I bend over or stretch. Daddy says it teaches me my place in his life - that of a sweet, innocent little boy who wants nothing more than to please him. Besides, as these are the only clothes I get bought I am now used to them and, the up side to this is… I am so well protected I never get embarrassed by any unforeseen wet spots. He says my ‘individual look’ constantly reminds him just how precious and unique I am and if my protection wasn’t there I’d actually miss not having that secure feeling between my legs. However, Daddy likes it best when I act like a kid; a silly, irresponsible little kid who just wants to enjoy himself and one not bogged down with the baggage of growing up. The clothes and how Daddy treats me certainly help me feel that way, with the lack of restraint to do anything, say anything that is anything but childishly fun has me behaving exactly as Daddy wants… and I love it. I might have to wear juvenile outfits but I have a terrific, fun-filled life and we do loads together. Daddy loves me and I love my daddy. * Week days my bed time is seven o’clock unless we are away or on vacation, then it can move around a bit. But daddy used to insist that on school nights I was ready and in bed for seven and that is the same now as it was when I was four or five. Daddy thinks boys should get a good night’s sleep at any age and that just staying up watching TV is not good for a young mind. Since we’ve moved out to live in Spain permanently I spend more and more time in just my protection. Certainly around the villa, which is quite private, it has a pool and a large garden and even the two young guys who come to keep it all tidy don’t appear to bat an eyelid as I play around wearing my plastic pants. I chat to them in my very poor Spanish as they trim the vegetation or keep the pool area clean. They are two very handsome young guys, probably a little older than me, and I really feel at ease around them. Sometimes, as I’m lying out in the sun I wonder what they’d look like wearing what I do. I’m sure Daddy would be happy to have them dressed in protection as they went about their business but alas, as yet, they seem content wearing just their bright red shorts and matching red and white t-shirts. They’re always good-humoured and comment with a smile when I wear something colourful, shiny, rubbery and new that Daddy has bought. At night Daddy fixes me into my night time protection after he’s applied all the various lotions and potions he says I need to keep me from getting a rash. He makes this fun and I’m giggling as he pins me in and pulls up my night time rubber pants - they are a good deal thicker than what I wear during the day but Daddy says this is all just a precaution to keep me safe and my bed dry. It’s a nightly routine that I like and makes me feel very special. Sometimes, depending on the temperature, I am left to sleep in just my protection but other times Daddy zips me into a onesie or footed PJs or something else he thinks I look cute in. More often than not I get fed a final juice or a warm bottle of milk, which I suck down as he gently rocks my sleepy body cradled in his arms. Once that’s finished, if I’m not drowsy enough he’ll read me a story or put some soothing music on to help me relax. I have a selection of dummies and stuffed animals that also accompany me to bed and he’ll make sure I am sucking on a dum-dum and cuddling a furry friend before he turns out the light and leaves me to the Sandman. Even now, I like this routine as I feel it brings me and Daddy closer together… and I love my Daddy. **********
  7. Let it... flow (Nothing to do with Frozen) I was looking at some old photographs the other day and one of them was of my dad holding me outside our terraced (and somewhat dilapidated) old house. The caption, obviously written by my father, read - 9 month old Popsi and me taking the morning air. Apparently, my nickname as a baby was Popsi and, from the image at least, my sex indeterminate, which I suppose is OK for a baby, as it really doesn’t matter. As it was, I was dressed in a grey looking smock but my large white nappy was clearly visible resting on dad’s arm. I was giggling about something, and dad was smiling, so it must have been a fun occasion for all concerned but the thing was, I never remembered ever being called Popsi. Now you may be wondering why I’m telling you about this. In fact, I have no idea why I’m sharing this little titbit of my life except as a reminder of the things you forget or aren’t aware of. I’m sure I was called Popsi (by my parents at least) for quite some time although as far as I know, I’ve never had a nickname at school or throughout my adult life. So, although that early part of my life has been forgotten, there is one thing I do remember because in one way or another it continues to this day. * Like I remember, I must have been about six years old and having a bath on my own. I was enjoying playing with my little plastic boats and suddenly I needed a pee. Of course I was already in the bath so it seemed silly to get out and then pee in a different ‘bowl’ of water so I just relaxed and let it flow. I was completely transfixed by the small yellow plume that emerged from my little ‘pidge’ and found that it was something I ended up doing every time I had a bath. Quite simply it was fun and felt good to do. The problem was, even though my potty training had lasted until I was four and I hadn’t wet the bed for over two years, I suddenly started again. These days I can see a link between the two incidents but at the time, well I was only a kid and it never occurred to me. The warmth of the bath and the warmth of my bed both perhaps working on my brain to give me a similar feeling of relaxation; the two experiences were becoming one and the same. However, the connection between the two wasn’t made because no one knew I peed in the bath, all mum saw was that one morning I woke up to a soaked bed. That was followed by further wet bedding and jammies so after a week of such accidents, mum said that I had to return to nappies until I was “over it”. To say I wasn’t happy about this announcement was a bit of an understatement as I threw a tantrum and became very angry. The very idea of being returned to a ‘baby’ had me screaming the house down in protest, which didn’t help my case. Now mum had never been a fan of disposables, I’m not sure if that was a result of worrying about the environment or because of the expense, either way, she never had them in the house. As babies we were always put in thick cloth nappies covered in a rather milky white pair of rubber or plastic pants. I have to say they seemed to do the job remarkably efficiently and mum never seemed bothered about colour or fashion. She is also a no nonsense type of woman. She’s very loving but once her mind is set on a course of action nothing is going to change it. I think dad liked that spark in mum and that’s why he married her (also my oldest brother was on the way). So, once she’d decided on what needed to be done to protect my bed and bedding, her damp little son was going to be well-wrapped at night whether I liked it or not and, as I said, I did not. Besides, I had two older brothers and they would just take the piss (so to speak). They did - as soon as they saw the plastic under-sheet being fastened over my mattress. I was now fair game being referred to as the ‘baby of the family’ and spoken to as if I was still a toddler. My brothers didn’t tire of ‘diddum’s this’ and ‘diddum’s that’ or be constantly checking my padded night time nappy and telling me it was time all babies should be in bed… at 6.30 or earlier. Anyway, it wasn’t something you could talk to a six year old about so my parents just assumed I was being lazy, which may have been part of it, or that I’d probably grow out of my bed-wetting problem soon enough. In the meantime, nappies were the most obvious solution. On that first night mum put me in them I was furious but had no option, both mum and dad said it was for my own good and that the sooner I stopped wetting the bed the sooner I could return to my normal PJs. That initial night was hell, I couldn’t get used to them. They were hot, bulky, uncomfortable and sweaty, which made me squirm around in bed until they were so loose they ‘accidently’ wriggled off. This was a bad move on my part as in the morning my bed was soaked but not the nappy so it was obvious to mum that I hadn’t been wearing it. I got a couple of quick swats to my bare bottom for both lying to her about how it came off and for wetting once again. The following night she pinned me in, added plastic pants over them and made sure I was under no illusions that if everything wasn’t exactly as she had left it (I.e. me in my protection) I’d be feeling more than the little ‘taps’ I’d received as punishment earlier. She had also made it very clear that I wasn’t to take it off, only she and dad were allowed to do that, so I was to stay in my nappy until told otherwise. It was still a damned uncomfortable night but I dare not wriggle free of them this time. My crinkly plastic pants and under-sheet adding to my awkwardness but in the end sleep did visit and so did the pee fairy because in the morning my nappy was soaked. Thankfully, as mum saw it, everything else was dry so her precautions had been a huge success. It felt really awful sitting at the breakfast table with my brother’s giggling at my bloated nappy and plastic pants. Mum said she’d change me when it was time for school. This really worried me because I thought she meant I’d have to wear a nappy to class but in the end she didn’t mean that at all and I went to school in my normal undies … and uniform. What a relief. I didn’t have accidents during the day it was only when I was asleep or in the bath… but then the ones in the bath weren’t accidents… I really liked the feeling and watching the almost invisible pale yellow trails disappear into the rest of the water. I also discovered that if I peed near the surface, and my boats were somewhere near the flow, I could get the current to make them sail in a particular direction. I got pretty good at keeping a load of pee for when I was scheduled for a bath so I could spend more time on this incredible discovery. However, protection at night became a regular feature of my bedtime and eventually my brothers got used to seeing me being wrapped in terry cloth and fitted into rubber pants before I went to bed I shared a room with my two brothers, Leo, the eldest was nine and Gary who was eight shared a big double bed, whilst mine was a small single bed pushed up against the far wall. When all three of us were up or in the room at the same time, like when getting ready for school, it was a very cramped space. With draws, a wardrobe and of course the beds, we had no room for play, it was strictly a place for sleep and changing. This meant that when mum changed me into my night time protection, this was dealt with on my bed and became a bit of a ritual before my brothers needed to get ready. Otherwise there simply wouldn’t have been the room for us all to be changing at the same time and the bathroom was quite small, so there wasn’t much space in there either. We coped but it had to be done to mother’s precision organisation. She liked to apply the various oils and powders and though I resented being put into nappies, that resentment was getting less and less every time. The thing was I was enjoying peeing in my nappy. On more than one occasion I’d woken up and could quite easily have made it to the toilet in time but enjoyed the warm surge. My nappy, like the bath, became the place to let it flow. Mum was slightly annoyed that her washing line was once again filled with my flapping nappies and rubber pants; she thought she was over all that, but as the alternative was fluttering bed sheets and jammies, she let it go. My night time toilet arrangements became quite a topic of conversation between mum and the neighbours who commiserated with her on my immature return to nappies. As far as I knew, and certainly mum never led me to believe otherwise, I was the only six year-old on the estate still needing night time protection. Mum made sure if I was staying up to watch TV or we were doing something else, she always wanted to make sure I was in my protection well before bedtime. She dreaded that I might nod off when not in protection and shame myself by leaving a pool of pee that someone else might notice. I couldn’t understand this as I never arrived home from school in wet pants so why she thought I couldn’t be trusted I wasn’t so sure. Although I suspected it was just the normal amount of gossiping and conclusions drawn that went on between ‘concerned’ neighbours. If mum or dad were going to be busy, on more than one occasion I’d arrive home from school or from playing out and I’d be taken upstairs and made ready for an early night. So, quite often I’d be in my nappy for ages before actual bedtime. So seeing me totter around the house wearing just a t-shirt and nappy was not unusual. I’d try and disguise my padding by choosing a brightly coloured t-shirt, which to me at least, drew attention away from the bulky material between my legs. However, the urge to fill it then was strong, but I was sure that if they knew I could’ve made it to the bathroom and yet didn’t, then I would be in a great deal of trouble. If they thought it was accidental, and I did it in my sleep, that was acceptable. Sometimes I’d have an early night just so I could pee in my nappy as soon as I got into bed. The feeling was wonderful and I’d often fall asleep almost immediately after the event. Mum once or twice checked me when she came to bed and, finding me wet would change me into a clean and dry one only for that to be soaked by morning. There was no doubt I was peeing in my nappy more and more and both Leo and Gary started to complain about the overpowering odour of these ‘mishaps’. As I didn’t seem to be in the process of stopping (and there was nowhere else for me to sleep) her solution was thicker nappies, thicker soak pads and very robust rubber pants. Mum claimed that nothing would get out of this fortified prison and all my changes were to be performed in the bathroom from then on. It was far more cramped and uncomfortable but I couldn’t complain (although I did a little bit). Mum was giving me more and more responsibility for my own changes. I was left to put it on myself, after suitable instruction and supervision from her, and I got quite adept at pinning myself into multiple folds of soft white (now slightly yellowing) fabric. The doctor I went to see told dad there was nothing wrong with me and after giving him the third degree about how I was punished, and satisfying himself I wasn’t being abused, said that I’d probably grow out of it pretty soon. Dad was annoyed that the doctor assumed it was his fault I wet and as a result, I was constantly under dad’s scrutiny and encouraged to improve my night time toilet habits. I did try. I hated that dad was so upset with the disgusting insinuation he was abusing me, so I did get dry for a week or so. Eventually, the strain of staying dry gave way to the pleasure of being wet so nothing changed. Although the outcome of all this was, because of his inquisition dad refused to let me see a doctor again regarding my nightly ‘accidents’. Even when I reached my seventh, eighth and ninth birthdays I was still wearing my night time armour (as I’d jokingly come to call it) but that changed when dad got promoted and transferred to a different town. A change of house, school and friends suddenly had me more interested in that than my wet habits and miraculously (as mum and dad called it) I suddenly found I was dry and the toilet was not an alien place for me to visit at night. Pretty soon, after almost three years I was back to proper nightwear and a dry bed. From then on I hardly ever thought about my ‘golden flow’ and certainly didn’t miss the thick nappy. # Here I’m going to do a potted history of my life then until now, simply because what happened during these years from when I stopped has no bearing on what I want to tell you about (well I don’t think so). I had been working since I left school at eighteen though I never went to college, but found myself at a new firm that had ambition and a workforce that functioned very well together. I was one of their go-getters and the firm was in the right place at the right time for the technical facilities it offered. It was a great place to be and we all did fairly well sharing in the company’s successes. At twenty-one I inherited money that my grandparents had put in trust for me. It was quite a considerable amount and enabled me to put the deposit down on a place of my own. By twenty-four I was married to a nice girl but my sex drive, which had never been prolific, eventually drove her into the arms of another man (a workmate) and I was divorced by the time I reached twenty-seven. During in all that time, I never thought about nappies or wetting and those two thoughts have only just recently surfaced, and that has taken me to a place I wished I’d found earlier. Let me explain. # It’s several months since my divorce and I now live alone. Recently I was taking a shower - don’t get me wrong, I’d taken many showers since the decree absolute, it was just this one was sort of a turning point. It was early morning and as I let the warm jets pulsate against my head and back I let my night time bladder build-up go in the cubicle. Now I’m sure I’d done this more times than I remembered but on this occasion something actually happened. As the stream of bright yellow pee joined the river of warm water I watched in wonder and my mind was immediately transferred back to the moment when I was six and peed in the bath for the very first time. Then it was pale yellow and in volume hardly much at all but now I witnessed a yellow torrent mixing and mingling with a clear water flow and disappear in a swirl down the plughole. It was magical. It brought back that instant over twenty years earlier, when a shiver of excitement, wonder and sheer pleasure led to that most joyful of discoveries - peeing was fun… and not only in the bath. I’d been in a little bit of self despair because I felt useless and it wasn’t just because of the break up. The divorce hadn’t hit me hard because I more or less knew it was coming from the moment I married Penny. We were more friends than lovers and we’d let ourselves fall into the trap that friends could be lovers. Alas, after just a few short, frustrated years (for Penny) it was over. Since then my self-imposed depression meant I wasn’t the bundle of fun I used to be and quite a few of my ‘friends’ took the opportunity to let our friendship slide. I can’t blame them I wasn’t much company but it was all a mask for something… though at the time I hadn’t realised what that might be. However, a stream of pee and a delightful memory had had the most amazing effect and I bounced into work a new man. For the first time in absolutely ages I felt happy. There was energy to my attitude and a zing in my step. I was, to put it mildly, amazingly focused on ME. Not in a depressed state of mind, not self-destructive, not in a negative way at all. In fact, I was all the things I used to be before I got tangled up in growing up. It was surprising how liberated I felt. I could do my job, I could function around others, and the divorce I realised meant a great weight of a lifetime of responsibility had been lifted from my shoulders. THANK YOU GOD… or whoever is in charge of such things. Now, as I live on my own, I saw no reason not to indulge once again in a physical reminisce and went out to purchase a bag of Abena Abri-Form M4 disposables and a couple of pairs of thick shiny plastic pants (they were in packs of two). This was an incredible, life-changing decision. From now on, when not at work (and occasionally when I was, though not as thickly) nappies, disposables and plastic pants would be my underwear of choice. I have once again begun to appreciate that soft rustling sound of a slick pair of vinyl pants, the bulk between my legs, the smooth rounded front to my genital area and wondered why had I let these feelings go? Powder, lotion and a return of baby pins that help make my fabric nappies fit tightly and look so special was like finding old and much missed friends. Now I was older peeing in the bath had more force. I watched the few suds being swept into the current and being destroyed, much to my juvenile enjoyment. I began to drink more liquid in the hope that my bloated bladder made the length of pee last much longer. I now try to hold off from going to the toilet wanting to keep it for my bath time ritual… or later. When bed time comes I just let nature take its course and I find filling my disposable immensely satisfying. I don’t want my complete childhood back but there are things I do that make me giggle like the little kid I once was. The little kid who peed in the bath and enjoyed the sensation of letting go… and letting it flow… a newly warm wet nappy is a thing of immense pleasure. ##################################################
  8. Plastic pants have always been a big turn on for some reason. I have worn them at night over disposables. However, last night I tried a cloth diaper and plastic pants for going to bed. OMG! What a great turn on. Just need a female partner that feels the same. Good luck, right?
  9. TheBabyPants

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    From the album: TheBabyPants

    You got to love the combination of thick cloth diapers, plastic pants and leather on a DL.
  10. TheBabyPants

    DLBiker_20180506 (1).jpg

    From the album: TheBabyPants

    I cut off some jeans to make some Daisy Dukes, I think they may be to short as my diapers and plastic baby pants show now. Well this should be an exciting time at the grocery store.
  11. TheBabyPants

    DLBiker_20180330 (10).jpg

    From the album: TheBabyPants

    One more to go on the Domwife-Missy sissy diaper marathon challenge this one sent me out driving for takeout to Outback in just diapers and plastic pants with no pants in the car. So being the sissy I am, I put on one of the thickest diapers I have and my favorite yellow nursery print plastic pants for the trip. Of course I took pictures along the way.
  12. Les Lea

    The Visit 1-6

    The Visit I'd been invited to spend a few days with a friend and his lover who I hadn't seen for quite some time. My mate Luke is 6'3" tall, blond, blue-eyed and gorgeous. His lover is a Morgan, 5'8" stocky and a spunky Aussie who works with him; they are both air stewards. Unfortunately, when I got to their apartment I found a message that said that they were going to be a day late as their flight from Abu Dhabi had been delayed. The life of a flight attendant is often thought of as glamorous, living out of a suitcase and darting off all over the world is pretty thrilling but it can be very disruptive to any kind of routine. This hectic lifestyle means that washing is often left for weeks simply because there is no time to attend to this simple task between flights. To me this was a godsend. I found their laundry basket with all their dirty clothes in it. To be honest… I am a bit of an underwear perv… and I knew that these two only bought designer styles. The thought of rooting through their collection of Boss, Dolce & Cabana, Armani and other designer briefs just drew me in and I was already pulling off my clothes in eager anticipation. I delved deep into that basket hoping that some of these classy items had been waiting for some soapsuds for a good few weeks… I was in for a huge surprise. At the bottom of the basket were several, well-used, cloth diapers. At first I didn’t realise what they were but I noticed the large safety pins on the dresser and put 2 and 2 together, also, as I dug even deeper I came across a couple of pairs of pop-stud sided plastic pants, one pink and one white. I was quite intrigued as I had no idea my friends had this fetish and although I had read about it, it had never appealed to me. However, my curiosity had been stirred, not least wondering which of the two wore the pink pants and who wore the white… or even if that was an issue. I pulled everything out of the basket and sorted the diaper stuff from the rest and couldn’t believe that the whole idea was having an effect in my pants. If my friends were in to it then it couldn’t be bad and I wondered what it would be like to wear a diaper. I stripped out of my clothes and attempted to put on one of their festering diapers. It had obviously been pissed in but thankfully nothing else. I struggled to get it to fit without it, once pinned, immediately slipping off my hips and landing on the floor. Eventually, using a pin on each hip, the stiff fabric held for a short while and I had the idea that, if I put on the plastic pants that would hold it all into place. It did. I looked in the mirror at the ‘baby’ reflected back and wasn’t sure what to make of it all. I tried to imagine what Luke would look like dressed like this. He was a tall guy and I really couldn’t see it, however, the smaller Morgan, I could definitely see him wearing a diaper and plastic pants. The firmness in my pants increased as I thought about it and I decided I’d explore further to see if they had any photos… or anything else to go with it all. The thickness between my legs felt strange… yet despite the diaper not being fresh and clean, there was something very comforting about wearing it. I checked out their closet and on one shelf were a box of disposable diapers, assorted styles and coloured plastic and rubber pants, as well as a stack of clean cloth diapers. Hanging up were a couple of onesies; a blue one with ducks and rabbits all over it, the other a lighter blue, decorated with teddy bears wearing diapers, both had pop-stud fastenings, like the ones on the plastic pants I was wearing, that fastened between their legs. I wanted to see both my friends wearing them - I bet they would look as cute as hell. Their laptop was password protected so I couldn’t check out if they had any images on that but my mind was spinning as I mentally put the two of them in various situations whilst wearing their diapees and onesies. Of course, the more I imagined, the harder I got and the thick restriction of the diaper and plastic pants meant that, although I could get off on the soft, smooth and slippery feel of my protection, my cock had to throb away unmolested… this idea was turning me on even more. To take my mind off of my diapered situation I decided I’d make myself useful and resolved to do their washing so; they would have some clean clothes on their return. I filled the washer/drier, set it going and went off to make myself something to eat. There wasn’t much in the fridge but I found a packet of pasta and a can of tuna so was able to make myself a reasonable meal. Thankfully, being air crew there was plenty of booze around the place so I didn’t want for some heavy refreshment. I ate, ironed the dried clothes and watched TV, all the while wearing just the diaper and plastic pants. I was really getting into the whole ‘thing’ (I wasn’t sure what it was yet) but then, before I went to bed, I decided I’d swap what I was wearing and try one of their disposables and as the packet was already open I assumed they wouldn’t miss one. I un-popped the plastic sides and they fell to the floor, quickly followed by the warm but wet diaper. I hadn’t pissed myself (or at least I didn’t think I had) but my cock had leaked quite a bit and I definitely needed changing. The disposable, an Abena, was a lot easier to put on. The sticky side tapes soon had me all wrapped nice and tight and snug. I checked out the pile of plastic pants and found a pale blue pair with white sort of lacy bits across the bottom, they looked very girly and childish and I thought, with a shrug… “What the hell”. God, my reflection was turning me on even more and although I could have put my hand up the leg or down the front, I really wanted to just have the sensation of not being able to relieve myself. It was like a game… a baby game. I assumed that a baby couldn’t put its hand down and play with itself but it could enjoy the silky sensation of its pants (I know, I know - What kind of baby has these thoughts? But I did say it was a game). I checked myself out from various angles and found that my bulging and well-padded bottom looked fantastic and the thick protection at my groin sort of emasculated me, which again I found a surprising turn on. With my dick leading me, I went to the closet, pulled out the pale blue onesie and pulled it over my head. Then, with a bit of manipulation and some contorting I was able to pull the flap between my legs and fasten the studs together. When I straightened up the onesie pulled tight and gathered the diaper and plastic pants up very close. There was no doubt about it, this was a very snug fit but I quite liked the image of my bare legs, my teddy bear onesie and my diaper and plastic pants bulging out. Not an image I would have even thought about only a few hours earlier but now I was hooked. By now it was getting late so thought I’d change out of it all but then I was struck by the thought of wearing it a to sleep in. I decided I could wash and dry everything first thing in the morning before the guys got home, so no one would be any the wiser. Once in bed the situation got a bit more complex, the outfit seemed too tight to sleep in and my mind was filled with desperately wanting to relieve myself. Sleep was a long time in coming as I thought about all this babyish stuff, my two mates, my apprehension about what I was going to say to them, whether they’d want me involved in their diaper activities… my mind just raced from one situation to the next. Sleep eventually overtook me but the next thing I knew was I awoken with a start. I could hear voices coming from the living room and it didn’t take me long to realise the lads were home... early. They obviously knew I was there because I heard Morgan say how nice it was that I’d washed and ironed their laundry… and there was a little giggle from Luke as he said that there was a lot more stuff to be done now they were home. I suddenly realised what I was dressed in and I could also feel that I had wet myself in the night. Panic was flooding my body like I’d flooded my diaper as the door opened and in walked my two best friends. ===tbc===
  13. Chapter I I was watching the Sprint Cup race at my friend Ted’s place the other night, and when I used his bathroom during a commercial break I happened to notice that there was a pair of transparent plastic pants hanging on the shower caddy. They looked big enough to fit him. We’ve been friends for quite a while, and we’d had a couple of beers during the race, so after the race was over I asked him about them. He said, “Oh, I’ve been wearing them to bed now for a few months.” “Oh yeah? Tell me more.” “Well, you remember all that stress I was having at work last summer, those crazy shifts I was working and on weekends…I was surfing the web one evening and ran across a site where some guy said that he wore plastic pants to bed every night, and had done it for years, and the main reason he did was because they relaxed him so that he could sleep better. So that was just some guy online, but I got to thinking about it, and I remembered when I was a kid the family next door to us, all their kids wet the bed until they got to be 8 or 10 years old, so they wore plastic pants and diapers. The boy who was my age said that they all slept really well because they knew they were protected from wetting the bed, so they could relax and fall asleep easily. So I figured, why not give it a try? Of course I don’t have any need for diapers so I figured just the plastic pants would be better. I searched online for plastic pants and found quite a few places that sell adult-size plastic pants. Like everything else online, they were quick and easy to buy.” “It must have taken some time for you to get used to wearing them…” “Yeah, about three days or so, I guess. I felt kinda weird putting them on the first night, especially when I realized I had them on backwards. I thought they were the same front and back until I had a closer look at them. So I could really feel them on me the first night, and it took a while to get to sleep. But I felt fine when I woke up, and even better the next morning. By the end of the week I was falling asleep right away, and waking up really refreshed in the morning. Now I’ve gotten used to wearing them, I wouldn’t go to sleep without them.” “So what does Alice think of them? I’ll bet you had some explaining to do.” “Yeah, I did, I told her pretty much what I just told you. She knew how the stress had been affecting my sleep, because it affected hers too. She was kinda dubious about the idea at first. Said they looked like baby pants. I said no, they actually look kind of like yours but see-through. Just a few days ago she told me she really likes the idea of me wearing them - not only do we both sleep better and get enough sleep, but she said that with my package in there they don’t look like baby pants at all.” “Are they hard to take care of?” “No, not at all. I just rinse them off in the shower and hang them there, and they drip dry in just a couple of hours. Sometimes I wash them in the sink with hand soap just to make real sure the elastics are washed clean.” “Don’t you get all sweaty in them during the night?” “There’ll be a little sweat on them in the morning, nothing that doesn’t wipe off with a little toilet paper. That kinda surprised me, I thought there would be more.” “So you’re convinced it’s a good idea wearing them…” “Oh, yeah, they give me a feeling, a relaxation that I never felt before. I’m going to try getting some more in different colors, maybe some bikini-cut ones for the summertime. Then I can trade off and they won’t wear out so fast.” On the way home I had plenty to think about, never having considered this idea before. Chapter 2 So a couple of weeks later i was puttering around online and it occurred to me to see what I could find out about people wearing plastic pants. It didn’t take very long to find out that there’s a lot of online activity about wearing plastic pants. I discovered that it’s a huge fetish for some people and that others wear them over diapers because of incontinence. Not only are there dozens of places to buy plastic pants online from quite a few different countries, but some of them have other kinds of plastic garments as well. The next time I talked to Ted I asked him if he thought he might develop a fetish for plastic pants now that he was wearing them every night. He said, “No, I don’t think so. It’s true that I do like to wear them, but it’s because they help me sleep, not because they turn me on or something.” Well, that made sense to me, because I definitely did get the idea from reading people’s posts online that most people who had a fetish for plastic pants or anything else developed it when they were really young. I decided that maybe it would be a good idea to try wearing them to bed myself, just to see if they’d help me to sleep better. I could tell that Ted seemed a lot more relaxed lately but still able to get plenty of work done. I looked at a couple of different websites and decided on one of them, because the site had lots of information on choosing sizes depending on whether a person would be wearing the plastic pants by themselves or over a diaper. I mentioned to Carol, my wife, that I was going to order some plastic pants, and of course she wanted to know why. I explained to her about what I’d learned, and that I really thought they would help me to sleep. “Well, that sounds like it may be worth a try - if you didn’t toss and turn so much I could sleep better too.” I showed her the full-cut translucent pants I planned to buy, and she said, “Why don’t you get a couple of them - that way you can switch from one to the other and they’ll both last longer. We don’t need to get any more until we find out if this plan of yours really works.” I went ahead with the online order, and in a couple of days the package showed up in the mailbox. I opened the package and examined the plastic pants. The soft, smooth plastic material had a faint, pleasant odor. I was surprised at how large the pants seemed until I realized that the plastic didn’t have any stretch to it, so the pants had to be big enough to cover me, with the elastic at the waist and legs to make them fit and hold them in place. The seller’s website had recommended that the new items should be washed before wearing for the first time, so I washed them in the sink with a little soap and warm water. I decided they’d dry faster if I hung them upside down by one of the legs. I thought to myself, “That’s the way Ted’s plastic pants were hanging when I saw them.” They weren’t dry yet at bedtime so the next morning I folded them and put them in my underwear drawer. That night we got ready for bed, and as I undressed I realized that I was a little bit nervous, because this would be the first night I hadn’t slept nude or in underpants since I was in junior high school. And of course Carol was watching, or at least I felt that way although she was doing her normal bedtime routine. I took one of the plastic pants out of the drawer, made sure they were turned right, put my feet through the leg holes, and pulled them up my legs into their place around my middle. When I got into bed the first thing I noticed was that I couldn’t feel the sheet against my plastic-covered butt, or against my penis and scrotum. I could feel the elastics around my waist, and I noticed how warm and soft the smooth plastic was. I did feel quite self-conscious though, and it seemed to take a long time to get to sleep. I hoped that I’d soon be able to fall asleep, and that was the last thing I remembered until the alarm went off in the morning. Carol reached over, patted my ass, and said, “Get up, sleepyhead - oh, that feels smooth…” When I showered, I took the plastic pants into the shower and rinsed them off. There had been a little sweat in the front of them, but not as much as I thought there would be. I hung them on the shower caddy, and we both went about our day. That night I still felt a bit self-conscious when I put them on, but once in bed I found myself relaxing, and fell asleep quite readily. The next morning I woke up feeling quite relaxed and ready to get up and go. This continued for the next couple of weeks, and I started to get over being nervous about putting the plastic pants on at night. One Saturday a couple of months later when I brought in the mail there was a package addressed to Carol from the same seller that I’d bought my plastic pants from. I took it into her sewing room and handed it to her. “Look what came in the mail today….” She took the package and said, “Bob, I’d been planning to surprise you. You really have been sleeping so well lately that I thought I’d try getting some plastic panties too. I was looking through that website you bought your pants from and saw that they had some really cute bikini-cut plastic panties, so I got some pink ones to wear.” “Oh, yours are panties but mine are just pants then…” “Yes, that’s how it is, dear.” So that night when we were getting ready for bed she was the one who was a bit nervous. When she had put her pink plastic panties on for the first time, she turned and looked at herself in the mirror and said “How do you think I look?” I’d figured that I was going to reassure her that she looked great no matter what, but when she stood there in front of the mirror in that pink plastic bikini she did look just fine. “You look so fine in that….” I walked over to her and caressed her ass and “…you feel so fine too!” Well, as it turned out it was a while before we got to sleep that night, me in my clear pants and her in her pink bikini panties. Chapter 3 It wasn’t very long after that night that I realized one Sunday morning that Carol was wearing her plastic panties under her bathrobe. I asked her if she was just wearing them until she showered. She said, “Yes, probably…”, and it turned out that this was what she did. The only thing was, she didn’t shower until almost noon. Another day when we were getting ready to go to dinner and a movie I saw her change into her plastic panties. At dinner I said, “You really like to wear your plastic panties, don’t you?” She grinned, “What was your first clue?” Then she continued, “Yes, I really do. I love the way they feel on me, and they give me a really neat, kind of a secure feeling. Also, I like that you think I look foxy in them.” Then she went on to tell me that when I originally asked her about me wearing plastic pants to bed, she had already been thinking about plastic pants, because the subject had come up for discussion when she was having coffee with three of her friends. They had been talking about when they were kids, and one of them said that the people next door had kids that were bedwetters, and they often had plastic pants and diapers hanging on their clothesline. The two girls wore diapers and plastic pants until they were 12, and the boy was still wearing them at 15. The mother had told her once that she had also worn plastic pants and diapers for bedwetting until she was in junior high school. Another one said that her father-in-law had had a fetish for plastic pants and had worn them often. He hadn’t ever said anything about it but she’d found out from her mother-in-law. The third lady remembered that her mother had worn plastic pants when she had her period. So Carol felt a little weird that she was the only one of the four without any plastic pants story to tell. I said, “I wonder how many other people are wearing plastic pants. It seems that there are all kinds of reasons for people to wear them, doesn’t it?” “Yes, it certainly does. I wonder why we haven’t heard very much about people wearing them to bed just for the relaxing comfort they give.” “Maybe it’s because they feel weird talking about them. Lots of people wore them as babies, but everybody thought they were just for babies, and big kids didn’t need them anymore.” “Hey, look at the time - we’d better get going to the show.” Chapter 4 Now it’s a year later and things are going well. We’re both still wearing our plastic pants - or panties - to bed and sleeping very well indeed. Last time I bought more clear plastic pants for myself, I also got some pink and some red bikini plastic panties that I’m going to give Carol for her birthday. She likes wearing her pink plastic panties sometimes during the day as well as to bed. On some of the really warm days last summer she would just wear them and a bra or bikini top. Sometimes when we get ready for bed I see that she already has her plastic panties on. I haven’t really thought about wearing mine at other times - I’m saving mine to wear to bed. We’ve both talked a little bit about them to some people we know, but I don’t know if any of them have started wearing plastic pants to bed. Ted and I talk about them from time to time and he’s still wearing his every night. In a way it’s just a small thing, but on the other hand most people think it’s kind of a big deal to change what they wear to bed. We are so happy that we discovered this method of improving our sleep that we don’t mind talking about it, and bringing into the mainstream the idea that wearing plastic pants to bed helps people sleep better.