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YouTube Tuesdays: The Stars of YouTube

YouTube Tuesdays: Video #9

Tuesday, April 21, 2009

"The Stars of YouTube"

YouTube has its share of 'stars' - cybercelebs who've taken the internet by storm. Chris 'Leave Me Alone' Crocker. LisaNova. KevJumba. The What The Buck show. The list goes on and on and tediously on...

The ABDL world has cyberstars, too. Without a doubt one of these would be PullUpsTrainingPants.

When I first saw this user's video I expected to see some sort of marketing effort on the part of Kimberly-Clark. Big Kid Central, or something along those lines. I was surprised when one of the videos I was about to pass over looked more like an AB than a baby. I clicked 'play' and, sure enough, found one of us. "He won't be around long," I thought... "someone from K-C will find his YouTube vids and have him deleted..."

He's still here. Dozens of videos later.

And they're all cute as hell.

Enjoy...

In this video, our Pull-Up'd friend asks the haters to leave him alone. Defend him, y'all...

In The News: OK, fess up... which one of you is this?

Guard punched as desperadoes flee with diapers

Associated Press - April 21, 2009 11:13 AM ET

SPOKANE, Wash. (AP) - Authorities in Washington state say a couple were so determined to make off with merchandise without paying that a security guard who tried to stop them got punched.

The loot that was so important to the couple was a package of disposable diapers - $18 worth of diapers.

Spokane County Sheriff's Sgt. Dave Reagan says a security guard tried to stop the pair as they walked out of a Safeway on Saturday with the diapers in their cart.

Reagan says the man yelled "sorry" and then punched the guard in the face.

The guard grabbed the man's shirt, but it ripped and the man was able to run away.

Reagan says that while that was going on the woman made it to her SUV with the diapers and drove off.

Information from: The Spokesman-Review, http://www.spokesman.com

Copyright 2009 The Associated Press. All rights reserved. This material may not be published, broadcast, rewritten or redistributed.

5,000 Hits... And Check This!

BLOG UPDATE: TONIGHT I WILL ALMOST UNDOUBTEDLY PASS 5,000 VIEWS. Not bad for a blog that just started in late-November, eh? Thanks, y'all...

My friend Grant lives in the Phoenix, AZ area. He's straight, and not into diapers, but he once made an Aby.com profile to try to find out more about the fetish, and he's offered to wear a diaper overnight for $100 on his next visit to Orlando. (I think he'll do it for free, lol... he's that curious). 

He wants me to move to AZ in '10 when he graduates from college, and has promised to install a nursery if I go halves on a house with him. I'm seriously considering...

Anyway, Grant in 24/7 finding diaper pictures online. Many of them are of the 2,500,000 Facebook friends he has; others are just randoms. He sent me one today in a text message, and I had to share it with y'all...

Anyone know this dude, or the story? 

I'll try to find some more of the pictures he's found. I've posted some on my www.Aby.com page.

Diaper Fetish: Ripped Right From the CIA Manual

When I was a newcomer to the diaper scene I happened across an older, daddy-type on that day's diaper 'community', DPF.com. He was from another part of New York state and, since there weren't very many of us back then, he found me - a collegebaby at the time - and immediately set his sights on me. He wanted to meet - something I wasn't entirely comfortable with at the time - and, what's more, he wanted me to drive the four hours to visit him. I was less-than-enthusiastic, being young, busy with college, and not interested in guys in their 40s, so I made excuses - I've always tried to be nice, it seems - and put off the inevitable just say no.

At some point the guy got the impression that I was afraid to meet anyone and began to attempt to assuage my fears, offering several important facts to relax:

• he wouldn't take pictures without my permission - lol.
• he would stop if I asked him to stop... uh, ok.
• diapers are not illegal.

I appreciated the first two points, as much as they probably creeped me out at the time. The third made me laugh. I was quite aware that there was no criminal statute against putting on Depends - even for our purposes. His telling me this was not going to make me jump in the car and head on down the highway.

Still, in the years that have passed it's amazing how many times I've had people bring up diapers and the law.

When I departed from New York for the south in 2006 more than one abdl told me they'd been secretly warned - diaper daddy drama, lol - that they should "be careful" because that "Abysitter dude is a cop."

(Me: "There is no law that says you can't wear a diaper, son... wtf.")

And I've had people meeting up with me ask me point-blank: "Are you a police officer?"

The irony that I have paid straight, non-ABDL dudes to wear diapers many, many times isn't lost on me. That is, in fact, a form of p-r-o-s-t-i-t-u-t-i-o-n; doing the diapers-for-dough thing requires a dozen different safeguards, since the actual P-word doesn't take effect until there's some sort of sexual contact or act; even then, paying someone to wear a diaper doesn't actually break any laws. 

Still, with the number of people in our fetish masquerading as "daddies" so they can seek out and have sex with young people... coupled with the few amongst us who enjoy child pornography instead of the adult version... I guess it's no wonder the topic of diapers and the law comes up occasionally.

Today the government admitted that diapering people is no big deal.

My 40-yo Daddy Friend was a prison guard and, for a time, he specialized in transporting prison inmates through New York state. To help illustrate his point that diapers aren't a crime, he told me about how they're used in the prison system: during transports inmates are either required, or allowed, to wear adult undergarments. They're sometimes called Dignity Pants, and inmates are allowed to put them on to make the transport more - well, dignified.

Inmates who are high behavioral risks are sometimes outfitted with shock devices which allow correctional officers to zap them with high-voltage shocks if they get out of hand. Such a shock causes an inmate to involuntarily lose control of his bladder and, sometimes, bowels. Allowing the inmate to wear a diaper is supposed to lessen the humiliation of such a shock. (Considering the fact that one guard sometimes carries the trigger for shock devices for up to half a dozen inmates, and mistakes have been known to happen - including a courtroom brawl in which four inmates were shocked before the frazzled guard got the shock collar for the right one - a surprise wetting/pooping isn't entirely uncommon). 

The buses used for transports are sometimes outfitted with cages and, for longer transports, inmates are often advised they won't have the option to use the lavatory mid-trip; these inmates will sometimes opt to put on adult diapers for the same reason. 

My friend figured that I'd say Well, FUCK it... if they're good enough for rapists and killers they're good enough for me!

But, not quite.

Today, though, the Obama administration released documents which detail what most of us in the community have known for quite some time: diapers are being used by the CIA as part of their interrogation techniques.

(Put a diaper on a terror suspect and they'll tell anything! HUH?!?!) 

Now, I know what some of you are thinking: America doesn't torture... diapering interrogation suspects, that's sheer bliss!

If you're not a diaper fetishist, however, being diapered as part of an interrogation isn't pleasurable at all.

It's hard to believe America does it. But we do it every day.

According to a report in 2007 from the International Committee of the Red Cross, renditions - operations in which we kidnapped terror suspects from the streets of their home countries and transported them to foreign countries for torture - including diapering:

Conditions of Transfer - According to a 2007 report by the International Committee of the Red Cross (ICRC—see March 15, 2009), detainees flown on CIA rendition flights would be: 
 Photographed both clothed and naked; 
 Subjected to body cavity (rectal) searches, with some detainees later alleging that they were administered suppositories of some sort; 
 Dressed in a diaper and a tracksuit, with earphones placed over the ears (through which shatteringly loud music would sometimes be played), a blindfold, black goggles, and sometimes cotton wool placed over the eyes; 
 Shackled by hands and feet, and thus carried onto an airplane, where they would remain, without toilet privileges, from one to 30 hours. 
The prisoners would usually be allowed to sit upright, but the ICRC will later find that on “some occasions detainees were transported lying flat on the floor of the plane… with their hands cuffed behind their backs,” causing them “severe pain and discomfort,” as they were moved from one location to another. [NEW YORK REVIEW OF BOOKS, 3/15/2009]

Detainees referred to in the above report claimed that they were given suppositories and one, in fact, is suing, alleging that he was given an enema and then diapered. (The suit doesn't state whether he was diapered immediately following being given the enema). Soldiers responsible for transporting large groups of terror suspects have described conditions in which as many as fifty diapered detainees were held in the belly of cargo planes for over twelve hours, with diapers quickly becoming stinky and the stench becoming atrocious.

Today's CIA memos released by the Obama administration include a document authored by legal counsel under the Bush administration. He lays out a lot of techniques considered torture under the Geneva Conventions - and anyone with an ounce of common sense. Waterboarding? OK. Slapping inmates? OK. Diapering inmates? Go for it!

http://www.aclu.org/safefree/general/olc_memos.html 

Check out the link above.

From CNN.com:

"Another memo to Rizzo, from Principal Deputy Assistant Attorney General Steven G. Bradbury on May 10, 2005, noted that nudity could be used as an interrogation technique.

"Detainees subject to sleep deprivation who are also subject to nudity as a separate interrogation technique will at times be nude and wearing a diaper," it said, noting that the diaper is "for sanitary and health purposes of the detainee; it is not used for the purpose of humiliating the detainee and it is not considered to be an interrogation technique."

"The detainee's skin condition is monitored, and diapers are changed as needed so that the detainee does not remain in a soiled diaper," the memo said."

I know about one hundred ABDL people - myself included - who would find the idea of being diapered, and having our diapers changed, by soldiers to be something of a fantasy.

For others, however, it's tantamount to torture.

Go figure.

I figured I'd take a moment from my usual blogging to share a little bit of current events with everyone. And what's more eventful than the U.S. CIA admitting it likes to put a diaper on a guy from time to time? Nothing wrong with that...

You go, CIA! 

But as for the rest of that torture stuff you do... go fuck yourself.

Pampered Pals: Part IV

I clicked the garage door opener and the door began to ascend. 

"When that door goes down, there's no turning back," I said. Craig started shaking his head and laughing, and I heard him groan. The door open, I nosed my station wagon into the garage, pulling up along the Mustang that Craig would be going through his Toddler Week for.

"There she is, my baby," he said, and I saw his eyes light up. "No turning around now. But I'll be turning around giving you the finger when I'm blowing past you in that car!"

"Big talk for a little toddler," I teased, and Craig groaned again.

"It'll be worth it," he admitted. We stepped out of the car and Craig opened the door to the Mustang. "Can I sit in it for a few minutes? I want to get a feel for it." I didn't answer immediately and he started to try to convince me. "It'll give me inspiration for this week," he offered.

"Let me hear you cry, Cwaig," I told him, and he let out a pretty authentic baby cry. I started laughing. "You've been practicing, huh?" 

"Yea," he said sarcastically, rolling his eyes. "I've been practicing being a baby." 

I waited a few minutes and, after Craig had gotten a thorough feel for the car, I ordered him out. He grabbed the wheel like he had no plans to let go and began to hug it. 

"Nooooooo! Nooooooo! I don't wanna!" he cried out. I laughed, snapped my fingers, and pointed to a rocking chair. 

"Move it. Now."

Craig obeyed, walking slowly to the rocking chair. He sat down on it and waited expectantly, giving me a look as if to say "Yea?? I'm waiiiiiting..."

"Get naked," I told him. His face turned beet red; he'd been naked in front of me a number of times, but he never failed to blush when I said those words. I chuckled to myself as I walked around to the back of the car, opening it, and removing stuff we'd picked up from the grocery store. I carried it over to Craig and then up the stairs into the kitchen, then turned around and walked back down into the garage, where Craig sat, naked. 

He was sitting forward, his knees pressed together, his elbows on his knees, trying to hide his penis. I laughed, and considered making him lay down on the floor, but realized it was pretty cold, and decided to wait. I pulled up a chair and sat in front of him, looking right into his eyes. He instinctually looked away, submissively, embarassed to be sitting nude while I was fully clothed. I reached out and grabbed onto the arms of the rocking chair, pulling it toward me until he was about a foot away from me. 

"This is your last chance to back out," I told him. "I'll still sell you the convertible for $400. Or, if you want the Mustang, I'll hold it for you until you can afford the full price." I didn't need to sell it, and I knew he had his heart set on it now. "It'll be garaged for the winter, and ready to roll in spring. Not a bad deal," I said. 

"I'm good," he said, declining my offer. "I can do four days in diapers for this."

"It's not just four days, bro," I reminded him. "It's four days, the money you've paid me, and additional payments all summer." He nodded, and I asked one more time: "You're sure?"

It was time to review the rules. I looked him right in the eyes and he looked down again. "Look at me," I ordered, and he did, rolling his eyes and laughing involuntarily. "Shhhhh!" I ordered, and he stopped laughing for a moment, laughed again, and then got suddenly serious.

"You don't walk, you crawl," I told him.

"Duh."

I faked a glare. "Try 'duh, sir', Craig" I told him. He looked surprised, and asked me if I was serious. 

"Serious as diaper rash. Let me hear sir every time you open your mouth." 

"Uh, okay," he said. I stood up and ordered him to do the same. He did and I immediately turned him around and gave him a swat, hard-as-fck, across his rear. 

"No spanking!" he cried out. 

"No whining!" I teased. "You want to avoid spankings? Don't break the rules." 

Craig started to complain and then thought better of it, stopping. 

"I don't know if I'll be able to remember to say sir. Sir," he said. 

"Good boy!" I praised him. "Anyway, I bet after a few whacks on your bottom you'll get with it."

He rolled his eyes. "Yes, sir." 

I directed him to resume sitting while I went through a number of additional rules. 

Obey instantly, without hesitation, or get spanked. 

Do nothing without permission, or get spanked. I could see Craig beginning to have second thoughts. Speak when you're spoken to, and only then... or get spanked. He raised his hand. 

"What if I need something... sir?"

I laughed and shook my head.

"What could you possibly need?" I asked. He thought about it for a minute, and then suggested he might need to ask to use the bathroom. "Craig... you're wearing your bathroom." Craig blushed a few shades and I laughed before continuing. 

"What do you sit on?" 

"Furniture?" Craig looked confused. I shook my head and told him I was talking body parts now. He blushed some more. "My butt?"

"Stand up," I directed, and he groaned as he took the next spanking. "Sit down." He obeyed, and I told him to try again.

"My butt, sir?!"

Try again.

"My... uhhhhhhhh... bottom? Sir?"

Good boy!!

What do you pee with? 

"My... uhhh... fuck, I don't know what to call it, sir" he said. 

"Fuck? Uh, no... that li'l thing ain't good for that," I teased him. "I said pee."

He groaned. 

"My pee pee?"

Works for me. 

It was time to go upstairs. I snapped and pointed, and Craig stood up, then quickly sat down, a look of fear crossing his face. He raised his hand. 

"Yes?"

"I need to ask permission to stand up and go upstairs, sir!" he said. He seemed proud that he'd gotten it right.

"If I tell you to go upstairs, you move that bottom," I told him. "You don't need permission if I'm telling you to do it."

"Yes, sir."

I snapped and pointed to the ground. "You do know better than to go walking across the room," I said. He immediately got down on all fours and crawled the three feet to the stairs. He looked up at me, bewildered. 

"Can I stand up?"

I shook my head. "Crawling, Craig. Crawling."

He groaned and shook his head. He hoisted his diapered bottom onto the first step, then stopped, as if he was catching his breath. He waited what must have been ten seconds before hoisting his hiney onto step two.

"Every ten seconds I have to wait is a smack on your ass you're going to get," I told him, and he sighed and made haste, making it up the stairs in about thirty seconds. "Not bad, not bad... what's that, three?" I asked.

"No spanking, sir!" he said. This time he sounded like he was begging.

"We'll see." 

We made it into the kitchen and Craig actually looked a little tired. I walked through, opened the door, and pointed to the next flight of stairs. I picked up a paddle - actually a wooden cutting board - off the kitchen table. 

"Move," I told him. He did.

About five seconds later Craig was in the second floor hallway, crawling. I told him to stop. 

"Get your fanny in the air," I said. 

"Fanny, sir?"

I waited, and he eventually lifted his bottom. I wound up and whacked him with the paddle and he cried out. 

"You obey immediately, not ten seconds later," I told him. He was laying on his stomach shaking his rear from side to side, and he begged me not to spank him again. "Tell you what," I offered, and he looked up at me expectantly; he knew me pretty well and already knew that I was going to offer him some relief. "We'll call this a 'do-over moment'. You start from scratch. No more spankings now, but cross me and there'll be plenty of them later."

"Yes, sir," he said, relieved. "Thank you sir."

"Infant crawl. On your tummy," I ordered. He did and a few minutes later was in my bedroom, laying next to my bed. 

"All fours," I told him. "Nose right here." I pointed to my mattress and Craig crawled up to it, putting his face against it. I lay down on the bed. "If I see your eyes, your bottom is mine." He mumbled a yessir and I chuckled, then took my shoes off and put them on Craig's back. "Don't let those fall."

"Yes, sir."

Let's pause here for a minute. 

Have you ever diapered your best friend?

Have you ever taken the hottest straight guy you're friends with, stripped him, diapered him, and made him crawl around? 

Have you ever spanked him?!

It's surreal.

I'm pausing now, and I had to pause then, too.

I had to take a few minutes and enjoy how lucky I felt at that moment. 

I had a friend who was down for being Pampered and punished. My three favorite things together, and I was fortunate enough to be doing them with someone who was dope as hell.

So as Craig knelt, kicks on his back, dick flopping around, bottom in the air, I sat back, enjoyed the moment, and marveled at how lucky I was. 

I wanted to thank him, and tell him I appreciated doing it. 

That would take the edge off the rest of the week, though; I thought better of it. 

But I was fucking appreciative.

After fifteen minutes of balancing my shoes on all fours Craig looked tired. My plan had worked; I'd worn him down. I took my shoes off and put them in the closet, ordering Craig to lay down, which he did immediately. 

I walked over to my dresser, a big six-drawer number which was almost as tall as I am. It was full of baby products - diapers and everything that goes with them - and I began opening drawers, getting everything I'd need. Diapers... check. I threw one on the floor and it bounced and flew up, hitting Craig in the face. Baby powder... check. I tossed it down and it slid across the linoleum and came to a rest at Craig's arm. Wipes... check. They followed the powder. I picked up various accessories, carried them to the bed, and snapped my fingers.

"Up."

Craig began to climb up.

"Get your stuff," I told him. He did, throwing it into the middle of the bed before starting to climb again. Craig put his left foot on the floor and began to stand, and I immediately slapped my hand across his bottom about as hard as I could. He fell to the floor, groaning and rolling around. 

"What did I do?"

I slapped his bottom again. 

"What did I do, sir?" he repeated. 

"Good boy," I said. "You got that one. But do we walk? Or crawl?" 

"We crawwwwl!" he said. "But how am I supposed to get onto the bed, sir?" I started to laugh; he had a point: it was a king-size bed, with a huge box spring and a huge mattress. He wouldn't be able to get into it without standing. 

"Better figure it out," I taunted, picking up the paddle. And Craig tried his best. He reached up and gripped the comforter with both hands, trying to pull himself onto the bed, but the comforter began to slowly slide off in his direction. When that didn't work he tried placing his knee on the rail holding the box spring in place. He found very quickly that it wouldn't hold him, and his knee crashed down to the floor. "Owwwwww! Owwwwww! Charlie horse, sir!" he groaned, rolling around again. I let him recover, and once he did Plan C was put into effect: trying to lay on his stomach and putting his feet onto the top of the mattress before pushing himself up, backwards, into bed. He'd almost gotten there when gravity took hold and his legs slid sideways, back to the floor.

"Is there a time limit, sir?" he asked. 

"Here," I said, putting my hands in his armpits and pushing him up to the bed. "Pull yourself up." He put his hands on the mattress and gripped, pulling, while I pushed from behind. In a minute he was on the bed. He looked exhausted.

"Tired?" I asked. He nodded. "Good thing it's almost bedtime, huh?" He glanced over at the clock. It was 6:45 p.m. He groaned. 

"What have I gotten myself into?" he asked, then watched me start toward him. "I mean, what have I gotten myself into, SIR!" 

Craig was laying on his stomach, head on the pillow, still breathing heavy from all of the climbing. I had to tease him a little.

"Tomorrow when I bring you to the playground I hope the jungle gym doesn't give you this much trouble," I said. He looked at me incredulously. 

"Please tell me we're not going to a jungle gym. I don't even want to leave the house in diapers, sir!" 

I laughed. "We'll be going a lot of places. But I think we'll skip the playground. I mean, if you can't even crawl up onto the bed..." 

Craig closed his eyes, and I lay back. For a few minutes we just lay there. I enjoyed Craig's tan, toned body and my favorite feature, his beautiful, beautiful bottom. I put my hand on it and rubbed it a little. Craig didn't protest. After a minute or two of rubbing he opened his eyes, looked at me, and said "well, good night sir!"

"Not quite, Craig," I told him. "You're not dressed yet."

He laughed. "I figured you were enjoying my bare bottom. No need to get dressed, sir!" 

I reached over him and grabbed the diaper, slapping it across his ass a few times. 

"Not taking any chances, bro. I don't want to wake up in wetness." He rolled his eyes as if to say as if I'd pee your bed, and I climbed out, reached over, grabbed his knee and elbow at the same time, and yanked him in my direction. He was on the edge of the bed, now, eyes still closed, and I picked up the diaper, and set the bottle of baby powder on his stomach.

"I have to pee, sir." 

I looked at him sternly about the same time he opened his eyes. 

"You mean go potty?" I asked him. 

"I guess. Sir."

"Give me a minute," I said. He looked relieved until I grabbed his feet with my hands and lifted them up in the air. He blushed, again.

"Maybe you didn't hear me, sir?"

"Oh, I did," I corrected him. "And I told you to give me a minute. Maybe you didn't hear me?"

"Sir..." 

And Craig was speechless. I picked up the diaper, shook it open, and got to work.

TO BE CONTINUED...

And, as always, thanks to Cale for the pics!

Pampered Pals: Part III

In 2003, after getting my first real responsible salaried job, working a lot of overtime, and amassing a tidy little savings account, I decided it was time to trade in my sportscar for a more responsible car. 

I settled on a model within my price range, went to the car dealer, and made a purchase. I returned home with my new car where it joined a stable of Mustangs - a now-barely-running 25th anniversary convertible and a much newer, faster coupe. 

I'd gotten used to driving fast, sporty cars. My new car - a station wagon boasting class-leading gas mileage but little else - was definitely out of place. 

Worse, I lived in New York... home of snowy winters. And I'd made my car purchase in the month of December. Not a smart idea when you have a two-car garage and your new car makes a trio. 

I did some creative parking, but even a half-day of moving shit around in the garage wouldn't make three fit. I parked the convertible on the lawn and, within a day, a blizzard hit. The plow guy was complaining, my neighbor was complaining, and, if it could talk, the Mustang would have been complaining, too. "You don't treat a Mustang that way, Chris..."

I'd had three cars just barely long enough to resent the insurance bill when one of my best friends, Craig - see previous blog entries - approached me with a proposition. He wanted to purchase the coupe. 

I wasn't looking to sell at the time. I loved that car! I'd purchased it salvaged from a southern state, paying $6,000 cash. There was no warranty - it was salvaged, after all - and, before I brought it home, my parents told me I was crazy. "You bought a junk car with cash?!?!?!" 

After I brought it home and they saw how beautiful it was, though... no more complaints. It had become a part of my identity in the three years since, and I had hoped to keep it as my second car. The convertible had served that purpose for a number of years, and it was looking for a break.

"Not interested," I told Craig.

Over the next few days Craig would call, pleading. He needed a car. I had three. Did I really need three cars? Did I really want to insure three cars?

The short answer, of course, was no. So, eventually, I offered him a good deal on the convertible. "$500 and it's yours," I told him. Craig had the five hundred. But he also had his eye on the coupe. He said he'd consider the convertible, and wanted to come out for a 'test drive'. In other words, he wanted to come out and continue to work me in person. 

Craig came out with me a week after his initial offer. He test drove the convertible and, as I'd expected, found many problems. "I'm suprised you can ethically even sell this to someone," he guilted me. "I mean, with all of these problems..."

"You're a pretty good mechanic," I told him. "I'll sell it to you for $400 as is." He didn't budge.

Over the weekend Craig continued to work me, but I was as determined not to sell as he was to get me to. I didn't need the money, I loved the car, and Craig didn't have half what the car was worth to offer. 

I drove him back to his city after a weekend of hanging out and having fun. We were within a mile from his house when Craig announced his "best and final offer"...

"I'll give you $1,000 up front..."

I told him it was easily worth $2,500.

"I'm not done. And another $500 in payments."

How many payments, I wanted to know.

"Uhhh... one a week for ten weeks."

Not enough, I told him. But I'd consider it if I became desperate.

"Still not done," he told me. And I cut him off before he could offer hours of chores to make up the difference; he still owed me about a week's worth from a few weekends of bringing girls to my boat. Craig was all about offering to do household chores when he wanted something. Let's skip the empty promises...

"Not that," he said. "How 'bout hours of chores... in diapers?" 

With that he shot me a smug, satisifed look; an "I'm about to get this car" look.

Whoa.

Craig gave me a proposal which involved him spending a long weekend - actually four days, three nights - at my place, as a toddler.

I was quiet for a minute, probably because I was shocked. He read that as hesitation on my part and began giving me a vivid description of how much fun it would be. I'd already made up my mind, but let him continue, just for the entertainment value. 

Then I agreed.

The following weekend I picked up Craig and his $1K downpayment. 

I'd had some time to think about it, and I was sure that it was something I wanted to do. He was my best friend, he did need a car, and I really didn't need three. Still, I'd had a lot of second thoughts between his proposal and the pickup. And, just in case, I'd given him a seven-day cooling off period to see if he might not have had second thoughts, as well; he'd worn diapers for me before, but never longer than an overnight. Four days and five nights? That's a haul...

He seemed as excited as ever, so we hit the road. It was dark, and we'd only gotten a few miles on the Thruway before I decided to have some fun.

"You sure about this?" I asked him.

"I can't wait to drive back in that car, bro," he answered.

I reached into the back seat pocket and pulled out an Attend.

"Slap this on," I told him, tossing it into his lap.

He started laughing. "Oh my God, noooooooooo!" he complained. "Dude... not in public. When we get there, okay?"

I feigned slowing down, gave him a serious look, and shook my head.

"Now. Don't make me ask again."

Craig shook his head four or five times, and I could just see him rolling his eyes in the dark. He began to grumble but, obediently, the pants came off, followed by the underpants. He tossed them into the back seat and I reached back to make sure they were within arm's reach, just in case we got pulled over. Craig lifted his ass ackwardly, angled himself on his side, and sat down on the diaper. He put it on rather haphazardly - not a good fit at all - and then sat down on it. I took a sideways glance, careful to keep my eyes on the road, and saw that he'd barely hit all three tapes on my side. It looked like it was about to spring off any second.

"I can keep my shirt on?" he asked. I chuckled. I hadn't planned to make him take his shirt off for a ride down the Thruway in the middle of January, but it was a nice night, unseasonably warm, and his question had invited my response.

"Of course not."

He begrudgingly removed his shirt, hanging it over his neck. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the back seat and he pulled it off and tossed it. He was now sitting nearly naked, diapered with socks on, and the embarassment was very noticeable - I could even see his face was red in the glow of oncoming headlights. 

"What if we get pulled over?" he asked. Get dressed right quick, I told him.

"What if someone sees me?"

I waited until I was passing the next car before slowing down to mirror their speed. Craig slunk down in his seat - "Dude, stop!" - and I chuckled. I turned the dome light on for a second, and the driver in the car next to us looked over. I turned it off, accellerated, and was gone. Even if they'd seen anything it would have been Craig shirtless; I was pretty damn sure nobody would guess that he was diapered. But for Craig, never before diapered in public, I was sure they may as well have been able to see through the door.

We drove along for a few miles before I pulled the pacifer out of my bag. "Mouth this," I told him, and he complied without question. We rode along for about an hour before he began to relax. Craig was (and, actually, is) very athletic; his muscles stood in contrast to the diaper in a way you don't usually see on the pages of Aby.com. I enjoyed the view, and Craig's embarassment, asking him once or twice if he'd changed his mind yet. He hadn't.

The trip was long and Craig eventually announced that he had to pee. I started to laugh, and let him know that it was his lucky day; he was wearing a diaper!

"I know you don't think I'm going to wet this thing in the car," he said increduloulsy. 

"I figured you'd hold it til we get there, actually," I said. "But it sounds like that may not be possible."

He asked me - and, then, begged me - to stop at the rest stop so that he could use the Port-a-Potty. I sternly told him there would be no Port-a-Potty for him, but I pulled in to the rest area - a nearly-deserted pull-off consisting of five picnic tables, two porta-johns, and a pay phone - and pulled over.

"I have to piss," I announced. "Be right back."

I got out of the car and went into the restroom, returning after a minute or two. Craig sat there, diapered, ducking each time a car drove by on the highway next to us. I got back in and started the car.

"Seriously," he said, sounding irritated. "I have to go."

I drove up to the picnic table, parked, and turned to him.

"So go."

Craig put his seat back all the way so he was laying down. He looked angry. 

"Waiting, Craig," I reminded him. "We have places to be." I got out of the car and got a fresh diaper out of the back, and brought it, and a towel, to the front of the car, setting them on the hood. I returned to my seat to wait. After a minute or two I turned to him and, quite seriously, said "If you have to go, now's the time."

"Dude," he said. "I already went."

I reached over and put my hand down the front of his diaper. Sure enough, it was soaked. 

"Get out," I told him. He began to protest, and I got out and shut my door. He was still complaining when I picked up the diaper and towel and stood at the front of the car, waiting. I snapped my fingers and pointed to the ground, a symbol he recognized as meaning "move your ass."

"There's no way!" he said, but I could tell from his tone that Craig was already well aware that he'd be stepping out in a diaper.

"Now, Craig," I told him. "We're not riding around in my new car with wet bottoms. Let's go."

Craig looked left, then right, then left again. He opened his door and very gingerly stepped out, then got spooked by headlights and dove back into the car, slamming the door. False alarm: the lights belonged to a car that was passing the rest area, staying on the highway. So did the next. And the next. We listened to cars breeze past at 65mph. It was just us and a few 18-wheelers in the rest stop, and they were occupied by drivers who had probably gone to sleep hours ago. I snapped my fingers again and pointed to the table. This time I verbalized it.

"Move that ass."

Craig jumped out, and ran past me to the table, nearly leaped on, laid on his back, and put his feet into the air - sort of. 

This wasn't his first time on the changing table, and he wanted it to be quick. It was cold, and the fear that a car could pull in at any moment was overpowering. And exciting. (For me). 

I untaped his diaper tapes and pulled the Attend off of him. He was now laying on the table, in 45 degree weather, bare-bottom, dampness throughout his diaper area, with nothing but socks on. He shivered. 

"My ass is wet, dude, and this is freezing," he told me. I gave him a good, hard smack across his buttcheeks and reminded him to watch his mouth. 

"My bottom is frozen to the table, bro," he reiterated. "I just want to get this done before I'm stuck here all night."

As I carefully walked Craig's used diaper to the wastebasket five tables away I chuckled, visualizing him being frozen to a picnic table. I returned to the changing table just as slowly. He shook his head, craning his neck to see if any cars had turned in. None had. 

Across the lot a truck's interior light came on, and movements could be seen inside. I slowly unfolded Craig's new diaper, lifting his feet and sliding it underneath him. 

"Uh, Chris... could you hurry a little?" he asked me. I shook my head.

"Gotta do this right," I explained. 

The trucker was in the cab now, and I was halfway finished taping Craig's Pamper to him when the engine fired to life. Craig jumped, then turned onto this side to look at the truck. The driver was occupied and, I was quite certain, couldn't have seen us anyway. Craig, of course, was certain he was looking right at him. I slapped his bottom again, told him to lay still, and he obeyed. 

I finished taping his diaper and then ordered him to "stay". I told him to come to the car when I beeped the horn. I walked back to the car slowly, got in, and waited a moment, enjoying the sight of my friend laying, diapered, on top of the picnic table. I had considered picking him up earlier in the day, something which would have made this very-public-diapering impossible. I was glad I'd waited!

Out of the corner of my eye I saw a car turning into the rest area. It was coming quickly, and I considered: keep Craig on the table, or let him return? He sat up straight, and I knew he saw it too. I considered my options; being in public in a diaper is not illegal, so even if it was an officer for the state police we were safe. On the other hand, no sense in pushing the envelope too far. I beeped, and Craig bolted. He was seated beside me in a matter of seconds, seatbelt fastened. The car stopped right next to us, and we both realized how close Craig came to being spotted out in his diaper. 

We drove another ten minutes to the toll booths and, as we were nearing them, I ordered him to get dressed. Craig didn't need to be told twice, and had his diaper covered in about thirty feet. He was pulling his shirt on when we rolled up to the booth, and by the time I had paid he looked like an ordinary 21-year old. Albeit a 21-year old in a thick disposable diaper...

"You're going in to get the formula and baby food," I told him as we approached the grocery store by my house. 

He groaned again, and I knew I was in for a fun weekend...

TO BE CONTINUED...