Thugs in Hugz: Part VI

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YouTube Tuesdays: Expanding Our Horizons - Espanol

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Thugs in Hugz: Part V

After I had my diaper taped up nice and tight I rolled over so I could see Chris. He lay on the couch cushion mattress, and I saw where the cushion under his diapered ass had a trace of wetness. This was not good.

"Come up here."

Chris got up on his knees, facing the bed, and groaned.

"My legs are sooooo sore, sir," he complained. "All of the crawling does not do a baby good." I had to laugh; he seemed to be taking his new role pretty well. When a thug can make jokes about being in a soaking wet diaper...

Chris grabbed onto the bed and hoisted himself up onto it, then waited tentatively for my next command. I ordered him to lay down and he did, careful to bring his diaper down slowly, apparently aware of how wet it had become.

"What's that on the cushions, Chris?" I asked, pointed down. He put his hands on the side of the mattress and pulled himself over, looking down.

"Did I do that?" he asked, laughing. There were three wet spots. Anyone who wears diapers knows a saggy diaper that leaks leaks at the top and the sides; the three-wet-spot curse has probably befallen us all. But this was Chris's first time in a wet diaper, and I wanted to embarrass him a little. It seemed, though, that he was above embarrassment.

"Sorry, sir! But you gotta think... who picked out the diaper? Who put it on me? Who didn't change me for a whole hour, sir?"

Cocky little fucker...

I ordered Chris onto his back and he complied. I untaped his diaper and pulled the top down to his knees. He was hard as a rock, and his face immediately turned red. Could Chris be... enjoying this? It seemed like it. I decided to make sure he got to enjoy it a little more... but not quite enough... hehehe...

"Feet in the air," I ordered, and Chris complied. I reached over, picked up a pacifier off the nightstand, and popped it into his mouth. He rolled his eyes.

Anyone who's ever changed a diaper knows that, at this point in the game, there's a conundrum: you have to get the wet diaper away from the diaperboy's behind so you can dry it off and yet, the moment you pull the diaper away, you have a urine-soaked bottom on the mattress. Who wants that? I took Chris's feet in my hands and pulled them towards his head, until his feet were practically touching the pillow.

"What am I, a pretzel, sir?"

I gave Chris a stern look and he started laughing. He seemed about as comfortable as a 'gangsta' can look butt-ass naked, feet over his head/ass in the air with a pissy diaper under him.

"Not a pretzel... but you're pretty damn flexible, I'll give you that..."

"Thank you sir," Chris replied, sounding genuinely happy to be praised for something. "It's a gift, I tell ya."

"And now I've got another gift for you," I continued. "A dry diaper."

More laughter.

"Best gift I've had all year, sir!"

I pulled Chris's heavy diaper from under his behind and tossed it onto him. It landed wet-side-up - lucky for him - and stretched from just under his chin to his belly button. Chris grimaced but didn't make a move to try to move it off of him.

I climbed off of the bed and walked across the room to retrieve some diapering supplies. As I did, I caught Chris's reflection in the window. He really was dope. He was someone I'd see on the street and just have the urge to diaper... a thuggish bad-boy with a chip on his shoulder, that swagger you only see from guys from the ghetto - or, in this case, a poorer neighborhood in a city with no real violent crime to speak of, lol. Chris was 100% thug in a town where he didn't need to be; clearly someone looking for his identity. For the next few days, however, his identity would be Baby Chris. (Or, Adult Chris Who Just Wears A Diaper And Drinks A Lot).

I walked back to Chris and checked him out as I did. I hadn't really noticed during the first batch of nakey time, but he was a big boy; his penis had been on the larger side when I'd diapered him an hour ago but now that it was erect - damn. I'd diapered fifty-plus people of nearly every race and creed, and Chris was probably the biggest I'd come across so far; I was surprised that his penis hadn't popped over the top of the Pamper while it was hanging down off of his rear. Chris's abs were somewhat toned but not all there, and I pictured him being in shape for sports in high school and letting himself go somewhat afterward; weed and beer were his dietary staples, it seemed like. Still, he had a two-pack or four-pack if he sucked in, and he was muscular. Me likey a lot!

Chris was still hard when I tossed the dry diaper, baby powder, and baby wipes one by one onto the bed beside him. His hands were busy holding his feet over his head, and he seemed tired, but he let go for a second to pick up the diaper and examine it.

"This one's different, sir."

He was holding an Abena X-Plus in his hand - the thickest diaper known to man. If you've never held an X-Plus I'm not sure if I could adequately sum up the experience. It's like you're holding a board or something. It's this thick-ass diaper that you could almost knock someone out with. It barely even bends. (I know all of you who wear Depends or CVS brand because you can't get anything better are probably salivating right now, and I'll tell you: if you're a true AB or DL, you need to make one of your life's goals (the diaper ones, at least) be trying an Abena X-Plus.

"That's an X-Plus, bro," I told him. "It's probably the - "

"They have names, sir?" Chris interrupted.

"They do. And that's a diaper for nightime use. I could probably leave you in that for over twenty-four hours and not have to change you."

"You won't, will you, sir?" Chris asked, seeming genuinely concerned. He'd pushed his limit with the wet diaper he'd been forced to crawl around in, and that had been wet for less than an hour. Twenty-four hours? I assured him I was exaggerating, and he seemed relieved. "I much prefer a dry diaper, sir," he said, laughing.

I picked up the wet Attend and held it in the air. I picked up the X-Plus in my other hand and had to chuckle at the difference. On the one hand, a flimsy, light diaper, the padding having long since broken apart and shifted to the lower end of the diaper; in the other hand a thick, heavy disposable. I tossed the Attend into the trash across the room; it went right in.

"I see you have some experience with that diaper-throwing thing, sir" Chris said. "If they ever make diaper-tossing an Olympic sport, I bet you'll bring home the Gold." I laughed.

"You're just trying to butter me up so I won't warm your tail for getting my couch cushions wet with piss, huh?"

Chris's face turned red again and he turned to face the window a little, his feet in the air moving with the rest of his body.

"It's almost dry, sir," he announced. "Barely see it's there."

"You know what sucks even worse that a pissy wet couch cushion, Chris?" I asked.

"Umm... no, sir?"

"A pissy dry couch cushion, Chris. You'll smell why when I put you back down there."

"Ohhhhhhh. Yuck," he said. "But isn't the fact that I've gotta sleep on it punishment enough?" I walked over to the dresser, opened the top drawer, and pulled out a paddle. Really a cutting board, it was flat with a handle and, with a nice square end, made a better spanking implement than a frat paddle or something similar. Chris shook his head and grimaced. "I guess not, sir?"

"How many wet spots were there?" I asked him. Three, he answered. "That's how many swats you get."

If Chris had seemed hard before he was even harder now. I walked over and stood beside him, putting my left hand over his feet and giving them a gentle push even closer to the bed. The paddle in my right hand, I put it on his ass, rubbing it back and forth for a minute. His eyes were closed, now...

"Left leg wet spot..." I intoned, and then brought the paddle crashing down on his left cheek. Chris winced and, a moment later, contorted his face. The paddle had come in at just the right angle to inflict the maximum amount of pain - and leave a big red mark. I hoped it wouldn't turn into a bruise and mar that beautiful bottom...

"Right leg wet spot..." I said, and brought the paddle up. Chris instinctively squeezed his ass tight and then, a second later, forced it to relax. Clearly someone who had some experience with spankings, he knew that the more relaxed your bum, the less it hurts. I wound up and brought it crashed down and he yelped a little, shook his head, and opened his eyes.

"I just want to point out that you are the one who put me in that paper-thin diaper, sir," Chris told me. I looked at him, very seriously, and he smiled and closed his eyes. "Just sayin'."

"Front-side wet spot," I continued, and brought the paddle up. Just then Chris, in a moment of panic, let go of his feet, using his hands to cover his privates. He opened his eyes again.

"Sir..."

I was surprised. Did this dude really think I was going to paddle his front-side? That'd be... crazy. The look on his face must have shown him how surprised I was, because he quickly apologized, grabbed his feet, and pulled them back over his head. I watched Chris roll from side to side to get his ass as high in the air as possible; he wasn't taking any chances.

"You can hit me twice if you want to, for that, sir," he offered.

I reached back and brought the paddle down across both cheeks. I'd been thinking the front-side wet spot was in the middle - all you diaper-wearers who wet know what I'm talking about - so the spanking would be in the middle. Left cheek + right cheek + center-of-butt - not left/right/groin?! Chris winced in pain and clenched his ass, rolling from side to side a little. I was impressed that he managed to keep his feet high over his head. I wound up and brought the paddle crashing down again, once again managing to hit the 'sweet spot' on his backside, and Chris yelped, let go of his feet, and turned over onto his stomach, waving his bottom in the air. I looked at him - he was soooo dope - and he looked back at me guiltily.

"What, sir?" he asked. "I figured you were done. It was time to turn over." He grinned as he said it, probably realizing how far-fetched it sounded. I rolled my eyes.

"You don't diaper someone while they're on their stomach, Chris. Nice try."

Chris thought a moment, and then his face lit up.

"You're such an expert at diapering I figured you could do it no matter what position I was in," he tried. I shook my head and motioned for him to turn over. He did, and took it upon himself to this time grab his own feet and pull them next to his ears.

"You can relax now, just put your feet in the air for me" I told him. He let go and his feet sprang toward me. He balanced them in that right-angle diapering position and I flapped open the X-Plus and slid it up underneath him. Some thorough wiping and powdering, and then the diaper was taped up. Chris patted the front of it with his hands and then tried to push his legs together - not happening. He seemed impressed.

"Turn over," I ordered. Complying was a challenge; Chris was tired and sore, and the diaper was thick. Unable to push his hips together and simply turn he was forced to sort of push himself up into the air and do a twisting maneuver. Once he was on his stomach I snapped my fingers and pointed to the front of the bed. He scooted up and I positioned him diagonally, his head at one corner and his feet near the opposite. Then I pushed his legs apart and got into position between them, resting my head on the pillow which was Chris's thickly-padded bottom.

I lay there for several minutes, enjoying the moment. I heard Chris nuk-king on his paci. He seemed content and relaxed. I wondered if he was incredibly uncomfortable - straight boy having a guy resting on his ass and all.

"How uncomfortable are you, on a scale of one to ten?" I asked. Chris laughed.

"Is one really, really uncomfortable, or comfortable?" he asked. I explained that I'd asked how uncomfortable he was; ten was extremely uncomfortable, on down to one.

"So one is like... I feel like this was where I was meant to be, sir?" he asked, rolling his eyes and laughing. I nodded.

"Well, sir... my butt still stings a little, and I'm sore as fuck - er, frick - from all of that crawling. So I'd say a five. Now that I'm not in my own pee, maybe even a four?"

I thought about that for a second before it occurred to me that Chris had missed the point of the question. I was taking about his comfort level with another guy feeling on his ass; he was talking about physical comfort.

Cool.

I pushed my hands up underneath Chris's diaper, using them to push his bottom up in the air a little. Chris cooperated, pushing his own behind up a bit, and I found his still-rock-hard junk and put my hands underneath it. Chris instinctively pushed his bottom a little higher in the air and made this funny inhaling sound. I began to move my own diapered ass up, down, up, down against the mattress, at the same time rubbing my hands hard up and down the front of Chris's diaper. I could feel his penis getting even harder through the thickness of the diaper, and he tensed up.

"Do you want me to stop?" I asked him. He shrugged.

"No, sir. I'm down for whatever..."

TO BE CONTINUED...

YouTube Tuesdays: Frat Babies Are Back...

YouTube Tuesdays: Video #11

Tuesday, October 13, 2009

"The Frat Babies Are Back"

Disclaimer: Thanks to AB Daddy Mike for bringing this video to the attention of the diaper community at large, via RUP. It's adorable. It's October 13th, and frat pledging at most universities has recently ended. How many freshman were forced to wear diapers over the past month? How many were forced to drink until they urinated on themselves, to crawl around baby-slave style waiting on their big brothers? And how did I not know this type of diaper humiliation existed when I was in college?!?!

Thugs In Hugz: Part IV

"It's time for a 'challenge'," I told Chris. His head cocked to the side and I could see he was both nervous and interested at the same time.

"This whole thing is a challenge, sir" he said, laughing. "You mean it's time for a More Of A Challenge?"

"It is."

I snapped my fingers and pointed to the center of the floor, and Chris quickly crawled to the middle and sat, waiting.

"Challenge #1 is a prize-or-punishment challenge. If you meet the challenge you get a prize. If you don't, you get - "

"A punishment?" Chris interrupted. I nodded.

"I guess you're probably hoping to be able to win a trip to the toilet," I continued, and he nodded vigorously. "That's fine, Chris. I was going to give you a choice of the potty or the Patron. I guess we'll say it's the -"

And I was interrupted again. Chris swiveled on his Pampered behind, turning in the direction of the liquor cabinet.

"Damn."

I'd expected Chris to notice the liquor right away; everyone else did. Between crawling around, obeying orders, and kneeling with his nose in the corner, he'd completely missed it.

"So... I can win... that?"

I laughed.

"One at a time, Chris," I cautioned. "But then... no baffroom..."

The look of consternation on Chris's face literally made me laugh. He couldn't decide.

"Sir... are all the bottles in play?" he asked. I took a second look and realized that some of the liquor in the cabinet were in the higher-end range. He was thinking what I was thinking: go for the Hennessy. Or the Courvoisier.

"All of the ones except the ones on the top shelf," I told him. That still left a number of bottles, any number of which would make a great prize.

"And to earn one of those..."

I laughed and shook my head, suggesting we start small.

"Yes, sir."

"You win the challenge you get the bottle. You lose, you get... the paddle."

"No problem, sir!"

It was becoming clear to me that, for Chris, this was win-win. LOL.

"Just one question, sir... what exactly is the challenge?"

I couldn't wait for it to begin.

"Corner!" I ordered, snapping my fingers. Christopher crawled to the corner and got his nose up in there, kneeling.

I walked over to the liquor cabinet and picked up some of the smaller bottles, three in one hand and three in the other. I walked around the room, setting them on windowsills, behind the couch, and in the space between the fridge and the counter. I went back to the cabinet, found four more, and took them into the bathroom: under the sink, behind the toilet. The last two went into the bedroom: under the bed, and on top of the dresser. Then I returned to the living room and lay down on the couch, watching the outline of Chris's beautiful bottom quiver as he began to tire in the corner.

After a minute or two, his hand shot up. Hmm, a question?

"Uh... yes?" I acknowledged.

"I still have one problem, sir," he answered me. "I have to... pee.. like a racehorse. Can I... win... a bottle and a trip?"

I laughed.

"I guess that's my answer, sir?" he said, shaking his head.

"You can choose," I told him. "But the challenge is timed, and it involves a lot of crawling. If I were you I wouldn't need to stop for a bathroom break. Consider that..."

Chris groaned audibly.

"Come here."

Chris came and sat in front of me, waiting instructions. I could see from the way he was flexing his asscheeks that he had to piss and was trying not to. He was in for a rough evening...

"The challenge is simple," I began. "I've hidden ten bottles of liquor around the house. You need to find them and bring them to me."

"That's easy!" he exclaimed.

"I'm not done," I continued. "You need to find them one and a time, and bring each one to me. Once you've brought one I'll give you permission to go for the next one. And you have three minutes."

"Still easy!" Chris said, seeming relieved.

"We'll see," I said, standing up to walk over the microwave/timer. "You ready?"

"I will be in one minute, sir," he replied. "I can see I'm going to be crawling a lot, and I really have to go. I'm just going to go before we start, okay, sir?"

Chris, of course, had no idea how "okay" that was.

I returned to the couch and sat down. Chris got up on both knees, kneeling for more than a minute - his diaper dry the whole time. He turned red in the face, looked sheepish, and asked for permission to stand up. I shook my head.

He continued to kneel, putting both of his hands on the front of his diaper and leaning forward like he was trying to use a toilet. After another minute or two it became apparent that he wasn't going to be able to go.

"We have to get started," I told him. "You ready?"

"Sirrrrrrrr," he pleaded, "I have to go so bad that it hurts. I just... can't. I'm kidney shy or something!"

This certainly wasn't the first time I'd dealt with 'shyness'.

"Lay on your stomach," I ordered. He did. I took a pillow off the couch and put it by his head. "Turn over, face down in the pillow." Chris complied.

"Wet when you have to go bad enough," I told him. I picked up a magazine and started to read. As I did, I watched Chris's disposable go from white to yellow. The blue strip up the center of his bottom turned dark, and he visibly relaxed.

"Easier when you're face down, huh?" I asked, and he nodded. He was soaked.

I stood up and walked back to the microwave. I pressed a few buttons and then turned to face Chris.

"Ten bottles. One at a time. Be quick."

"Easy, sir!" he repeated.

Beep. Beep. Beep, beep, beep.

"On three... one... two... three!"

And Chris was off.

Chris crawled to the center of the room and took stock of his surroundings. He instantly spied a bottle of Absolut on the windowsill and took off like a flash. He was halfway across the floor when I reminded him to tummy crawl. He groaned but dove onto his stomach, continuing to move towards the object of his attention. He swiped the bottle off of the shelf, turned around, and crawled back to me. He set it down and wheeled around, and the bottle toppled over.

"Doesn't count if they're not rightside-up," I warned, and he grimaced, turned, set it back up, and began crawling across the room again.

"Two minutes, thirty seconds!" I shouted.

"Oh my God, sir... this task is... impossible!" Chris blurted out. He was starting to wheeze and I could see that he was tired after only one bottle. Nine to go? I wasn't sure if he would make it. Still, he continued on, spotting the bottle by the fridge and making a beeline for it. It was in his hands as he elbowed his way back to me, setting up up - carefully - and twisting around to tummy crawl across the floor for number three.

By number seven Chris was struggling. He was out of breath, and out of places to look. He was frantically searching for number eight when he made an observation:

"I knew I should've quit smoking when I was in jail!"

I laughed, and Chris continued. I called out THIRTY SECONDS! just as Chris spottled bottle number nine. He brought it to me and began wildly looking for bottle ten. I knew it was on top of the dresser. Chris, however, was mislead by the fact that the other nine had been low, and was looking under stairs, behind flower pots, and anywhere else he could see at eye level.

Fifteen seconds.

"Hint: look up, Chris. UP."

Chris had reached up to grab bottle ten about the same time the microwave dinged. I watched him crawl around the corner with the bottle on his hand and an angry, angry look on his face.

"Sir... that wasn't fair. You tricked me on that last one!"

I could see Chris was ready to argue. I stopped him cold.

"You'll have another chance. Now, drop your pants."

Chris shook his head, and began laughing.

"You promise I'll be able to try again, sir?" he asked, seeming excited. "I mean... maybe I could do better the second time around?"

I nodded.

"And I can't argue with dropping my pants," he told me, laughing. "They're dropping on their own..."

Chris was right. His diaper was hanging low, about six inches below the crack of his ass. In fact, he'd been trying to hold it up with one hand as he crawled in search of the last few bottles; I half expected him to cite that in his reasons why he should be awarded the prize. In seconds Chris had stripped, holding his heavy, wet diaper in both hands out in front of him. I took it from him, then grabbed his shoulders and positioned him into spanking position.

I got the spanking out of the way quickly - but firmly - and gave Chris some time to cool his buttcheeks off as I re-hid the bottles. The next challenge would have to wait for the morning; it was getting late. Still, Chris had worked hard... he deserved a little taste.

I called Chris back over, put him on his back, and got to diapering. Chris seemed much more relaxed this time around. He'd been in his own piss for twenty minutes, and just being allowed to take his diaper off seemed to take a weight off his - well, shoulders. (And hips). Now he lay there, looking up at me, almost babbling, as I wiped him, powdered him, and taped an Abena X-Plus to his bottom.

"This one is a lot thicker, sir," he noted. I watched him try to push his legs together, only to be met with the resistance of an X-Plus. "Wow, I can't even close my legs!" he exclaimed. "Dang! Sir."

I walked over to the liquor cabinet and grabbed a bottle of Cabana Boy rum.

"A little sippy before bed?" I offered, and Chris's eyes lit up. Yezzir!

I walked over to him, rum bottle and glass in hand. I poured some rum into the glass and reached down to hand it to him. He reached up and I swooped it past him, pulling it towards my mouth and taking a sip. He shook his head and laughed.

"That's teasing, sir. You shouldn't tease a baby."

Chris was adorable.

"Shouldn't give a baby liquor either," I replied. He groaned.

"Okay, I'm not a baby then," he offered. "I'm just a guy who wears diapers. And drinks a lot."

I picked up a baby bottle from my pile o' supplies, unscrewed the nipple, and filled the bottle with Cabana Boy. Chris started laughing and shook his head, rolling his eyes.

"Are you serious, sir?"

I nodded.

"Want some rummy in your tummy? You dwink from the baby bottle, like anyone else who wears diapers."

More eye rolling, then I reached down and put the bottle to Chris's lips. He slurped on it until I pulled it out, then smiled. "Coconut. Baby's favorite!" This time I rolled my eyes. I replaced the bottle and he continued to suck.

After fifteen more seconds of sucking Chris made a funny growling sound, and I pulled the bottle out from between his lips.

"Problem?"

"No, sir," he replied. "It's just that... that's straight rum. It's kind of... strong. Good... but strong."

I offered to mix it with juice, but Chris declined. He just needed a moment to breathe.

"I'm ready for some more," he finally said, smiling. I leaned over him, tipped the bottle toward him - and watched with surprise as rum squirted out of the nipple straight into Chris's eye. Chris grabbed his face with his hands and began rolling around dramatically, moaning.

"Sir, I can't see! Oh... my... fricking... God... this hurts!"

I jumped up to get a wet rag from the sink, then brought it over and put it in Chris's hands. He dabbed at his liquored-up eye with the rag, and I could see from the redness and watering that we had a situation on our hands. I wondered if alcohol does permanent damage to eyesight and - even though it sounds strange - I thought back to high school history. During prohibition rumrunners made illegal liquor that, often, caused blindness. Could that be because they were rubbing it in their eyes?

A minute or so later Chris was feeling better, though.

"You're supposed to be protecting the baby, not squirting him in the eyes!" Chris feigned shock and disgust. I apologized for the fifth time, and stepped up to put the bottle away.

"Where are you going, sir?" Chris shouted out. "There's still rum to drink. Dwink!"

I laughed, but reconsidered, brought the bottle back over, and sat down. I ordered Chris up to the couch and laid his head on my lap. (A little more careful this time). I held the bottle while he finished it and, when it was completely gone, pointed back down to the floor.

"Bedroom. Crawl," I directed. I watched Chris's diapered behind as he made his way across the living room and into the bedroom. I pictured that diaper full of rummy piss in the not-too-distant future and then, chuckling, picked up two couch cushions, walked them in, and made a bed on the floor. Chris climbed up onto it and I lay on the bed next to him. I reached over, grabbed a diaper of my own, and put it on. As I did I looked over at the sliding glass door Chris lay next to and, against the snowbank growing higher on the other side, caught Chris watching me in the reflection. He saw that I saw, and, embarassed to be caught, looked away.

"Don't worry, Chris... you'll be up here in a second." I heard him laugh and, in the window, saw him shake his head.

"I can hardly wait, sir" he replied dryly.

Pun intended...

And the night was about to get interesting...

Coming Out Of The Closet...

[ABYSITTER'S NOTE] Forgive me for not continuing the Chris story so far... I've gotten a bunch of emails/texts from people wondering where the next installment is. The thing is, it takes some energy to write about real-life stuff; I have to re-live it and then figure out how to put it into words. I've started an entry but things are hella busy and I haven't had time to finish it. Stay tuned... today, just a quick story or two...

A few years ago, before I moved from upstate New York, I rented a two-bedroom apartment smack-dab on the shore of a lake. It was tight as fck. I had the shore to myself on most of my days off, and actually got bold enough to wear only a diaper as I lounged around to get a tan. In the afternoon neighbors would begin to come home and I'd have to slap on some swim shorts, but for a few hours it would just be me, my diaper, and the sun. I loved it.

The apartment was cool, too. It was a townhouse-type place with two floors. The lower floor had a kitchen, a fully-stocked bar (woot woot!), and the living room, complete with a huge picture window overlooking the lake. I had four aquariums and a ton of nautical decor, and it was a pretty cool place to hang out. Upstairs were the two bedrooms; the smaller back bedroom, which I used as a guest room/office, and my bedroom on the lake side.

I had people over a lot. Most of my friends would drive out from the city, about an hour away, and spend the weekend. We'd have fires on the beach, mix drinks, and cook out. Good times. I also had the opportunity to do a lot of diapering. Between a roommate who liked to wear for me, people who'd done the diapers-for-dough thing and were up for a ride and an afternoon at the lake, and a few friends who wore just to do it - yep, I have tight friends like that - I probably Pampered people a few dozen times. Bedroom, beach, you name it.

Plus, I am AB myself, and when I can, I like to take a day (or night, or weekend, or whenever), diaper up, and let Cwis come out to pway. Wearing diapers on the rocks is fun, but an afternoon of crawling around, sucking on a paci and sipping from a baby bottle - that's an afternoon of relaxation and fun.

So, to keep my diaper life separate from the party side of the place - and to make sure I was readily stocked with supplies whenever I had the chance to diaper someone, or myself - I created "Cwis's Closet".

The closet was a small walk-in off the side of my bedroom. I put a dresser inside of it, and stocked that motherfucker up. Every kind of diaper you can imagine, from the blue ones I used to get in Buffalo to Attends, X-Plus, even Depend... drawers full of diapers.

I had a virtual collection of baby bottles, too. The short, fat ones; the tall, thin ones; the kind with the little baggies; even the ones that are bent to reduce gas? All of them. And they took up a whole shelf of their own. Hanging from that shelf: a half-dozen pacifiers. Each on their own paci-leash. I had a different pacifier for every day of the week. I don't know why, but when I go shopping and see a pacifier I like... I have to have it.

Hanging up on one side were my baby clothes. Footed sleeper, cartoon t-shirts and jammies, Underoos... all hanging from hangers, sort of spread out just enough to give you a concept of the collection.

And, of course, I had wipes, powder, and everything else you'd find in a diaper bag. And I had a lot... of empties. See, every time I finish a bottle of powder I put it back on the shelf, and then put the new one next to it. So if you'd looked into my closet at the time, you would have seen about twenty bottles of baby powder, and a half-dozen boxes of wipes. At least, you would've thought that's what you were seeing. If you are an AB, it was impressive site.

To finish it off, I had the closet decorated like a nursery. I took a nursery-print sheet and covered the back with it, and hung a crib mobile I found at a second-hand store from the ceiling. And one day when I was in a particularly sitterish mood I went to Big Lots, bought a bunch of different 'baby' picture frames, and put a few pictures I'd taken in them. They were strategically placed in the closet.

In short, it had everything except a crib. And while it wasn't as nice as an actual nursery, I guarantee that if you were an actual ABDL you would step inside, smell the diapers and baby powder and take in the sights around you, and piss yourself.

Kyle, The Closet, and the Sheriff...

I tell you all of this not to brag about my 7x10' baby space, but to set up the story of what comes next.

For about six months of my time on the lake I had a roommate. We'll call him Kyle.

Kyle was college-aged but too dumb for college. He was beautiful, with model good-looks. And, when we were simply friends, he'd seemed pretty mature. It wasn't until I agreed to let him live with me that I began to see his true side.

Kyle, you see, was a fucking idiot.

Those of you who get to wear diapers with me and lay next to be in the 'crib' will get to hear some crazy Kyle stories. I won't bore you with them here. But let me say that, when you do hear them, you'll laugh; the kid is/was truly retarded. It's too bad it took me a few months to figure that out.

Kyle wore diapers for me one day a few weeks after moving in. He was a beautiful sight, his tanned, chiseled body enveloped in a Pamper. He crawled around a lot, sucked his thumb, and baby-babbled, and it was cute. He wasn't ABDL but he'd offered to wear, no doubt attempting to ensure his stay when his rent money ran out, and I couldn't resist. For weeks afterward he'd talk 'baby talk' all over town, asking me if I'd brought his sippy cup at the diner and referring to horses we passed as "nay-nay's". It was cute, and didn't begin to get annoying for a while.

Eventually Kyle was wearing a lot, and it began to lose its appeal. I'd come home from a tough day at work and he'd be laying in my bed in a disposable diaper. I'd just want to go to sleep, and Kyle would be prancing around in a Pamper. His personality began to show through around this time; he started to become argumentative, even about stupid stuff, and the fact that he'd be diapered while he was arguing didn't make it any less irritating.

To make matters worse, Kyle quit his job and then, because he didn't have reliable transportation, couldn't find a new one. The lake isn't on a public bus route, and his job at a local store was one of the few jobs within riding distance of where we lived. I was pissed, and though he offered to wear diapers more often to cover his share of the rent until he found something, even his adorableness wasn't enough. Eventually, I let him know that he'd have to start looking for a place that was better situated to allow him to work, etc.

Kyle didn't want to move. Why should he? The lake was the party spot, full of every kind of liquor imaginable, good cookout food, and friends coming and going on a daily basis. He'd be returning to life in the 'hood, sleeping on someone's couch, and fighting for a spot at the local pool - the 'public potty'.

Kyle became more argumentative, I wanted him to move out more, and things worsened.

"Starve him out," my friends were recommending. "Stop stocking the fridge." As a last-ditch effort I stopped buying groceries. We figured that, if Kyle got hungry enough, he'd start to want to move. I was wrong...

Somehow, Kyle began to shop for himself. I'd come home from 10-12 hour workdays to find Kyle lounging in a diaper, sucking down Little Debbie snack cakes and drinking soda - an idiot's idea of nutrition. I was impressed by his resourcefulness - using his trips into town with the neighbors to shop for himself? Maybe I'd never get rid of him...

Right.

One day I came home from work to find my apartment door unlocked. I was pissed, because Kyle knew I don't like to leave doors unlocked, even if I was just down at the beach; pretty irresponsible, I was thinking.

I walked upstairs and into my room and, to my surprise, the door to my closet was wide open, diapers and decorations plainly in view. WTF.

The closet was routinely locked, and while Kyle had seen me get the key to unlock it once or twice, and eventually accessed it himself to get himself diapered before I'd come home, I assumed he would be smart enough to keep it locked. Even more pissed I locked the door, walked back downstairs, and headed for the beachfront to try to find Kyle.

As I was walking across the driveway my neighbor pulled up.

"Did you hear what happened?" she asked me, all excited to have some gossip to share.

"Uh, no... I've been at work," I replied.

"The Sheriff's Department arrested Will and Kyle!" she told me. "They've been stealing from the store they worked at, and the Sheriff showed up here with a warrant for their arrest."

My neighbor had been dating Will, and he and Kyle had become friends. I'd come home to find Will and Kyle both wearing diapers one day, and while I was annoyed that Kyle had shared my ABDL secret with someone, it was cute, and it became clear that Kyle had given his friend the impression that diapers were his thing, not mine.

I'd also gotten the impression that Will was intelligent. Kyle, on the other hand...

We were talking about the thefts - my neighbor admitting she'd never driven either of them to the store to buy anything, contrary to Kyle's claims - and it hit me: my door was unlocked; my closet door was open.

"Uhh... did the deputies go... into... my place, at all?" I asked her.

"Oh my God, yes!" she exclaimed. "They searched every inch of your place, my place, even the neighbor on the other side's place!"

Oh, fuck...

A week later I got a letter from jail - from Will - and got to hear the story.

A team of sheriff's deputies had come to the apartment building with a warrant. They'd knocked on each door and searched every apartment top to bottom. Mine was the last one, and by the time Will and Kyle realized why they were there, it was too late; they were under arrest. You see, surveillance camera + your former boss = certain arrest. Like I said, Kyle was an idiot.

Will explained that the deputies had searched the rest of the house, and found all of the food/candy/soda that was stolen. They entered my room last, and demanded that Kyle open the locked closet door.

"Uh, that belongs to my roommate," Kyle had said. "He won't be happy with me if I unlock his stuff."

"We have a warrant," they'd replied.

"I don't want to get in trouble," Kyle had said, in handcuffs. "I think I'm gonna pass. You can break the door down if you want to."

Instead, a deputy popped the lock, opened the door, and... voila.

I can't even imagine the looks on their faces when they opened the door and saw a stack of huge diapers, enough baby bottles and pacifiers to stock a nursery ward at the hospital and - best of all - photos of diapered wiggers. OMG.

According to Will, the deputies were speechless. One opened a drawer, looked inside, closed it, and turned to face the others.

"Well, no stolen goods in here," he said. And, with that, they each turned and walked out, Kyle and Will in tow.

On the ride in to jail the oldest of the deputies turned around in his seat, looked at Will, and asked him, point blank: "So is that... a diaper feetish? Or are those... medical?"

Will told me it was all he could do to not laugh at the old man's mispronounciation of the word. And, at the man's ignorance; he'd seen baby bottles, pacifiers, even pictures - and was asking if the diapers were medically necessary."

"FETish," Will told him.

The old man sat shaking his head and, after a minute or so of silence, admitted having heard of it before to Will.

"My wife says she saw that on Jerry Springer," he told me. "I thought she was making it up. I'll be damned. Right here." And then, the kicker. "What ever happened to people being attracted to breasts, dicks, and ass?"

I never heard anything from the sheriff's department but, about a year later, I had the occasion to meet with a deputy in an official capacity on behalf of my job. The deputy was cordial and gave me no hint that anything was up but, after the meeting, my neighbor, who was also a co-worker, saw me come out of the office and ran up, all excited.

"That's one of the guys who searched our apartments!" she said.

O...M...G.

I read a lot of "caught in diapers" stories on the various diaper site forums, and I even have a few of my own. But I've never read a "my diaper closet got searched by deputies" stories, haha.

Holy Bat Piss!!

My other diaper closet story is a little... gross.

My last few months in the lakefront apartment the building began to have a problem.

With bats.

For a while I heard a fluttering in the attic above my bedroom. I assumed birds had gotten in and built a nest. I'd seen bats flying across the water at dusk, eating insects, but I didn't know anything about them. Did you know they live in peoples homes?! I didn't.

One day I woke up at around 2 a.m. and heard a high-pitched squeak.

OMFG, I thought... is there a mouse in here?

I reached over and turned on the lamp, scanning the ground expecting to see a rodent scurry across the carpet. I was absolutely disgusted. I hate mice! But... nothing.

Just as I reached over to turn off the lamp I saw it. About eight feet from me, perched on the curtain... a fucking bat.

I just about pissed my diaper.

I lay very, very still for over an hour. I tried not to move, certain that, if I moved a muscle, it would attack me. Again, I knew nothing about bats. I was petrified!

And, after an hour, it began to occur to me: I'm tired as fuck, and I can't do this all night.

I began to slowly move my feet towards the floor. I saw that bat turn its head, and I froze again. Just as I made a decision to bolt, the bat sensed my intentions. It swooped at me. I exploded out of bed, falling onto the floor and getting carpet burn as I crawled to the door. I slammed the door shut and heard the bat fluttering around. Bump, into the door.

Thank God the door was closed.

I walked downstairs and tried to figure out what I should do. Call 9-1-1? Call the landlord? What do you do in that situation?

And then it hit me: I was dressed in nothing but a diaper. And every stitch of clothing I had was in my bedroom.

I could put a towel around myself and call an exterminator? And then I realized: my wireless phone was also in the bedroom. With the bat.

I sat on the couch all night long, wearing nothing but a diaper, afraid to go back upstairs. I finally came to the conclusion that I had to. I'd left my closet open, all of my clothing inside, and my phone was there. Believe me, it was a tough decision to make, and as I stood with my hand on the door handle, strategizing my escape, I actually found myself glad I was wearing a diaper; it would contain the piss if I got scared and... yea, I'm a pussy.

Long story short: the bat had disappeared, and I was somehow able to get dressed, get my phone, and lock my closet all without being attacked.

Bats are nocturnal, and it must have found a dark place to hide - maybe my diaper closet - for the day.

I called the landlord, who called an exterminator. He called me and told me he was on his way out.

"I'll need to go through every inch of the house, and get into the attic," he told me. "Bats like to hide in dark places."

It occurred to me: I needed to do some un-decorating.

In the two hours it took the exterminator to arrive I removed every trace of toddler from my closet. Everything boxed up and away, it was again a plain old walk-in closet. I was sad, but I knew I'd be able to have some fun re-decorating later. And, truthfully, I was just relived not to have found my furry little friend in there!

The guy showed up around noon. His business card said he was a "bat expert", and he explained that he'd studied bats at Cornell University, among other places. "I love bats," he told me excitedly. "I love everything about bats!"

WTF?

So the guy is looking through every inch of the house. I'm following him. He goes through the closets downstairs, the pantry, and the hall closet upstairs, and finds nothing. The whole time he's sniffing the air and using a flashlight and some sort of listening device.

We made our way into my bedroom and he opened the closet door.

He shined his light up into the crack in the ceiling - one of several entrances to the attic - and the light caused a fluttering.

"Yep, you have bats," he said.

He began sniffing. And then stopped.

"I smell... guano. And urine," he told me.

"What is guano?" I asked.

"Well, that's the scientific term for 'bat shit'," he told me. "It has a very distinctive odor. It's faint, but I can tell it's here. You've heard the term 'bat shit crazy'?"

I had...

"This stuff'll drive you crazy. It's not good for your health," he said.

I was disgusted. I had bats. And bat shit. And bat urine.

"That's disgusting," I told him. "Bat shit and bat piss... I don't think I want to live here anymore."

He told me not to worry; everything would be cleaned up.

"By the way," he said. "Not bat urine. Urine. Human urine."

I stopped and looked at him. Holy fucking shit, this guy was good.

"You're trying to tell me you smell piss... in my closet?"

He nodded. It, too, was faint. But he was a sensory detection expert, he explained. Comes with years of searching homes for bats.

"There's guano, sure. But there's also... good, old-fashioned, human urine."

Fucking Diaper Genie!

Like many of you, I wet and then rely on a Genie to store the soaked disposables until I can throw a bunch of them away.

Usually, the smell of baby powder, diapers, and other baby-related stuff is pretty overpowering - in a very pleasant way. I'd never noticed guano. And if I'd smelled pissy diapers, I hadn't noticed. And here was a Cornell University expert, standing next to me, telling me he'd smelled piss in my closet.

"A faint odor of baby powder, too," he went on. "Someone have a baby?"

I almost laughed.

"Neighbors across the wall do," I told him.

"Ahhh," he said. "Of course. These walls are thin." And, with that, he continued on his way, searching the rest of the building.

I've always wondered if he noticed that, on the other side of the wall, there was no baby; he slept about thirty feet from the barrier between our apartments.

If he did, he didn't let on.

The bat problem was fixed soon after - and I have more funny stories for when you're laying next to me in the crib, heh. I moved soon after that, to a more diaper-friendly house.

And I've rarely used a Diaper Genie since then. These days soaked diapers go straight into the trash.

A lot of people who read this blog can describe the humiliation of being caught wearing a diaper - as can I.

But of the times I've been caught, I don't think any have been as embarassing as the day I stood in front of an empty closet and tried to figure out an explanation for why it reeked of urine.