False Advertising?

Cute add for Rosetta Stone. (They have awesome marketing, btw). Odd, though... I've been trying this technique; it's not working...

Shopping...

I gotta start getting these things delivered.

Today the woman in the store said, nice and loud, "Is that it? Just the DIAPERS?!" lol.

While I was getting them there was this hot jock looking through the packages of diapers. He was eyeballing some fabric-style Attends when his girlfriend shouted out "What are you DOING?!" He told her he was "checking out the adult diapers" and she let out this huge sigh. They were apparently waiting for her father to finish talking to the clerk about something. I sooooo wanted to turn to his hot ass and say "ABDL?" but I bet she would've shanked me. Closet ABDL? I almost snuck a pic of him, grrrrr, so cute holding the diapers studying the package.




Some guy next to my car looked over while I was taking this. Fuck him.

Growing Up: The Cottage - Part III

To read the entire "Growing Up: The Cottage" series, and other blog entries I've written about growing up, click here.

Last month I wrote about my family's summer cottage, a small one-bedroom shack-like structure smack-dab on a lake in upstate New York. My grandfather built it decades before I was even born, and it became a special part of the lives of my grandparents, parents, andso many family members and friends. I recognized it's specialness at a very young age. It became a part of most of my childhood memories worth remembering, and remains just as special today. It's the basis for my love of the water; if you know me you know what I'm talking about. Most of all, it gave me a place to experiment with my toddler alter-ego. I'm writing about some of those experiences here...

Best Friends...

"It's not a diaper," I said. "It's not even close to a diaper."

"It's white," Mark replied. "It's absorbent. And, in a minute, it's going to be strapped to my ass."

"It's not a diaper, though," I insisted. Mark shook his head and laughed, and it pissed me off. "It's not, bro..."

"Dude, you're about to pin it to my ass with diaper pins. DIAPER pins. What does that tell you?"

I groaned. I could see I wasn't going to get through to him. I picked up the adult diaper I'd pulled out for him and tossed it up toward his head. He picked it up and tossed it on the floor.

"I'm telling you, bro... this is the closest to a diaper you're going to get," he repeated. "No other guy will ever get to see my bottom, so just getting this far is an amazing opportunity."

"Wow, your modesty almost matches your integrity," I said sarcastically, and Mark laughed.

"If this feels right maybe I'll let you wrap me in that plastic one," he said, motioning to the Attend on the floor by the bed. "Let's go slow..."

Mark was my best friend in high school.

And the first person I ever 'came out' to about my interest in diapers.

The first day I met Mark we were in seventh grade. We were in the same English class together, and on the first day of class Mark chose to sit next to me. As soon as I saw him I was hooked. HIs family had recently returned to our town from Raleigh, NC and everyone he'd known before the two years they'd been away wanted to see him again. Our classmates were actually clamoring to get to talk to him again, a testament to his popularity. "Mark, sit here!" Instead, he plopped down in the desk paired with mine, stuck out his hand, and introduced himself.

"You must be new here," he'd said. "I am, too. Let's be friends."

We'd wind up being best friends.

When you're thirteen you're discovering yourself sexually.

These days thirteen year old gay boys need turn no further then MySpace for a gay role model or two. Or two hundred. Guys from thirteen on up are shakin' their skantily-clad asses on the internet, everyone wanting to be the next Jeffree Starr or Chris Whateverthefuckhisbritneycryingasswasnamed.

When I was thirteen, though, it wasn't that way.

I knew I was attracted to guys. But I didn't even know what 'gay' meant. And I certainly couldn't go online to find out, or find out that there were millions of other people just like me. So, in addition to struggling with my love for diapers, I was struggling with the realization that I wanted to suck Mark's dick so bad I could taste it - and the realization that I was wrong for feeling that way. Sick, even. Definitely different.

Mark, though, seemed to understand. So even though it went undiscussed, at age thirteen, fourteen, fifteen, and on Mark would regularly treat me to... well, Mark. I probably saw Mark's naked body more than I saw my own. After swim practice he'd make it a point to change in front of me, standing bare-bottom facing our friends while he stood inches from me - and I pretended not to look. In the shower he'd soap up and then stand under the water for ten, fifteen minutes - letting me know "I waited, dude," after the showers cleared and I entered. (I was self-conscious about showering with other guys, always afraid (needlessly) I'd get an erection and everyone would spot my gayness - wtf, lol?)

We'd spend weekends at each others houses. The routine was always the same: strip down to our underwear, sleep in the same bed, and wake up spooning. Or with my hand on Mark's ass. Or Mark's arm around me. For as straight as Mark was in public, at night pretty much anything went. Anything non-sexual, at least. This is, undoubtedly, where my torturous love for straight boys took hold. Look, maybe even touch... but not too much. Grrrrr...

Mark was straight and macho as fck - Italian and short, tanned, with a naturally toned physique -and cocky as hell. My adolescence was almost literally spent next to him; we were inseparable. We were in most of the same classes, we were on the swim team together and swam in the same lane, and we even took lifeguarding classes and became lifeguards together - me at the Holiday Inn, Mark at the Sheraton right next door. Weekends would be spent at each others' houses, and we'd ride our bikes miles to get to each other, and miles more to get to wherever we wanted to go, proud of our independence and relishing our privacy.

In middle school we discovered "wrastling". For some inexplicable reason Mark would jump me, knock me to the floor - he was pretty built for a little dude - and I'd wind up pinned, trying desperately to keep my pants up. The goal of "wrastling" was to pants the other person, and once I got in the spirit of wrastling it provided me with countless views of Mark's beautiful bottom, and everything else. Sometimes his little brother would get in on the act, and occasionally his father would join in, too. (Creepy? Probably, but at the time it just seemed... fun?)

In high school we discovered Speedo Wrastling. We'd wait until Public Swim had cleared out, then lock the doors and jump into the pool. It would start innocently enough every time: a little splashing, a dunk, and then... see ya, Speedos. The winner was whichever of us held the other's swimsuit in our hand in the end. Usually, we both wound up winners. Once or twice the old-ass janitor would unlock the door; we'd hear the key turn and it would be a race to get our suits back on before he came in. Since he was old-ass, it wasn't usually a problem.

Let me say that, if you haven't had your high school best friend's bare bottom pressed in your face underwater, you haven't lived. Short of diapering someone, there's not much hotter than stealing his Speedo and, when you hear the key turning, throwing it as far from him as possible and watching him race to get to it in time to save his dignity.

I know what you're thinking... what the fuck does any of this have to do with ABDL?

"My ass is cold, and I might have to pee soon," Mark warned me, shaking his buttcheeks vigorously for effect.

"That fake diaper shit isn't going to stop you from soaking this mattress," I complained, now resigned to the fact that Mark was going to go back on his word. "So I'd highly recommend you hold it."

"I don't really have a lot of choice, do I? Your bitch ass won't put a diaper on me."

"Ohhhhhh," I said, drawing the word out for effect. "If it's a diaper you want, you need only look as far as the floor over there."

"That's not the kind of diaper I want," Mark continued, laughing. "I want the cloth kind."

"Don't have any, I'm sorry," I answered, reaching for the diaper on the floor. Mark playfully leaned over and batted it further away, laughing. I started to get off the bed to retrieve it and he reached up and grabbed my wrists in his hands, pulling me down onto him. "Let go," I protested, and he laughed.

"Is little Chris gonna cry cuz he's gotta settle for this?" Mark taunted me, picking up his fake diaper and spinning it around in the air, lasso-style. "Maybe Christopher needs a diaper first..."

Mark - my middle school and high school best friend - was the first person I ever 'came out' to.

Not about not being straight. Mark got that, almost as soon as I did, I thought.

About diapers.

He made it easy.

But, if you're ABDL, you know that, no matter how easy the other person makes it, your first time telling anyone you know in real life is never easy. It's scary as fuck.

Mark helped out, though. He found a copy of Penthouse with an article about DPF.com and left it in my car. When I called him to let him know I'd found it he suggested I read it.

"There's something in there I think you're really going to like," he told me.

I remember feeling hurt. I thought his leaving a girly mag and then suggesting I read it - because I'd like it - was some sort of insult. I'd had my hands on his bottom multiple times. How could he not realize? Or did he? Was this his way of trying to convince me to go straight?

"Seriously, Chris... read it. For me."

I promised I would, hanging up. I remember feeling pretty hollow while I thumbed through the pages. Snatch pictures... great. Articles about snatch. Great.

I was part-way into the article about diaper fetish before I even realized what it was.

It stopped me cold.

It wasn't the content of the article - an article about Tommy from DPF, and some of the pedophiles who'd been arrested for doing sick stuff within the confines of the diaper fetish concept.

It was the fact that my best friend had given me a magazine containing an article about diapers, and then suggested something in the magazine would be something I'd like.

I'd never told Mark about diapers. For all he knew I'd had a Speedo fetish. Or a Mark Teague ass fetish. But diapers?

I wasn't sure what he was getting at. Was the fact that there was an article about diapers a coincidence, or was Mark trying to tell me something?

I had to find out...

To Be Continued...

Baby Pictures: Baby Jamie - Part I

Baby Jamie is an on-again-off-again baby who I diapered in '07-'08.

He occasionally makes an appearance on some of the diaper sites.

If you're in FL and have the opportunity to meet him, do...

Want to see your

(adult) baby pictures

on the blog?

Email me at

abysitter@gmail.com!

YouTube Tuesdays: Expanding Our Horizons - France

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Anyone willing to try this?

I found this dope-ass photo on a blog I frequent. I don't know who this guy is but he's got one of the hottest asses - and coldest weens - I've come across.

Any of our northern U.S./Canuckian babies (or DLs) willing to don a diaper and go ass-end up into the snow?

ANY diaper/snow shots would rock. If you have the balls to do it, send 'em and I'll feature them here.

Brrrrrrrr... that's HOT.

Baby Pictures: Baby Nick

Baby Album: Baby Nick

Baby Nick is an adorable redhead,

a fairly new collegebaby from Canada.

You can find his profile here.

I'll be including a few more of his baby pictures

in a future entry...

Thanks, Nick!

Have baby pictures you're proud of?

Share them with my blog readers.

Just email them to abysitter@gmail.com.

Visiting Orlando? Let's hang... FAQs!

Visiting Orlando?

Let's hang in Huggies... lounge in Luvs...

I currently live in Orlando, FL. I am twenty miles from Disney World and Epcot Center, and even closer to SeaWorld. I am less than 10 miles from Orlando International Airport (MCO), and less than five miles from the executive airport, for those of you with your own private Learjets.

Coming for a visit? I love meeting new people. Let's chill...

Stuff To Do In Orlando...

Disney World & Epcot Center

Waterparks Galore

Wild Safari & Other Animal Parks

SeaWorld

Universal Studios

NBA Professional Basketball: Orlando Magic

Daytona Beach: Atlantic Ocean Beaches 45 Minutes Away

Daytona 500 Speedway

Tampa: Busch Gardens & Gulf of Mexico Beaches 90 Minutes Away

Blue Man Group, Cirque du Soleil, & Other Shows

Q: Do you charge for abysitting?

A: I'm not a professional abysitter. It's something I do for fun. I prefer to abysit guys who are younger than me, and guys who I'm attracted to, although I've made a few exceptions. So, if I've approached you about the idea of some toddler time (a la abysitting), rest assured there's no charge.

I sometimes do abysitting for others who contact me. If I am travelling or taking time off from work, a fee to cover losses/expenses would be negotiated. Again, I am not a professional. If you are looking for a professional abysitter I have several I can refer you to.

I've had people offer to pay me thousands to travel to them and do a week (or longer) of professional abysitting. I am flattered, believe me, and I appreciate the offers. But I've never taken anyone up on one.

Q: Do you host?

A: My place is small, and is not really meant for AB play. If I know you I will have you over for some toddler time, as well as a lakefront photoshoot if you desire. (And there's nothing better than some late-nite diapered coffee under the stars with a skyline view).

As for week-long visits, I only invite people I've gotten to e-know well, and even then only occasionally. I am looking at the possibility of renting an apartment or condo, but am not sure how long I will remain in Orlando, so don't go purchasing plane tickets hopin'... hehe.

Q: So where will we hang out?

A: If we're just meeting up for a few hours there are plenty of places in Orlando to chill. From theme parks to local parks (Lake Eola downtown, Crane's Roost in Altamonte Springs, and others), shopping centers, even the airport... I'll meet you pretty much anywhere.

If we're doing some toddler time or I'm abysitting you, we'll be returning to your hotel or, if we've made previous arrangements, coming back to my place.

Q: How long will it last?

A: Anything longer than a day/night has to be arranged well in advance. If you're in Orlando and have some free time don't hesitate to hit me up, but my schedule is pretty tight, so it'd definitely be cool if you'd give me some notice - a few weeks, if possible, if you're hoping to guarantee anything. For the right situation I might be available for a long weekend, or even a week.

Q: Do you meet up with everyone?

A: Definitely not. I'm a normal person, just like you. There are people I see on the various diaper-related websites I would like to meet, and people I've seen who I'd rather not. There are also people I would like to meet but just don't have time while they're here. I've had people get angry when I tell them I don't have time to meet up. It's nothing personal.

Q: What would we do during an abysitting session?

A: I love to abysit and, if I've agreed to abysit you, I can't wait. That said, I write a whole blogon this topic. Re-typing what will happen during one of our sessions, as much as I get asked, gets a bit tedious, and I try to avoid it as much as possible. I thank you, in advance, for getting as much information as you can from this blog before you ask.

My ideal abysitting subject is a younger guy looking for that authority figure, be it a babysitter, big bro, or - eek, don't make me say it - daddy. If you're looking for that kind of experience I'm down. If you're looking for something different I'm down for discussion...

Q: Do you take pictures?

A: I enjoy it, and am more than willing to, especially if you're going to allow their use on my blog. But I don't have to, and will, of course, do so only if we agree. I've met people who only wanted to take pictures, and I've diapered plenty of people who didn't want them taken.

Q: Do you have baby clothes?

A: I do. At any given time I have at least one or two brands of disposable diapers. I also have a small footed sleeper, plastic pants (white and nursery prints), Rugrats t-shirts, Underoos, cartoon jammies, etc.; I'm always trying to add more. And you are, of course, welcome to bring anything you have with you...

Q: Do you have big baby furniture?

A: My place is small, as I said above, and it's not a real nursery. If you visited me in New York you probably remember my toddler bed, crib rail, and high chair. None of those made the trip. Here in FL I have a playpen - you'll see it in some of the pictures here - and a toddler rail. That's it. I hope to have an entire nursery one day.

Q: Are you a part of any 'groups' in Orlando?

A: No.

Q: My friend (insert name here) says he met up with you while he lived in/was visiting Orlando. Do you know him?

A: There are at least three people named Chris in the Orlando ABDL scene. We don't know each other. Some of the people who believe they've met me haven't, for whatever reason... I guess it gets confusing? In any event, base your decision to want to visit me on your own communications with me, and not what anyone who claims to have met me may have told you. :)

Q: I'm visiting Orlando, but we're not meeting up. Can I still ask you questions about stuff to do while I'm there?

A: Definitely. Email is abysitter@gmail.com, and it's always on me. Just email away.

Q: Do you travel?

A: July in upstate New York, August briefly to Portland, OR. And, if you're providing transportation and lodging (i.e. you have a car and a place), I can travel to other places, too.

Q: Anything else?

A: You have to be 18. No exceptions to that one. And, if you look like you just started college in the last year or two, I'll be asking for proof that you're 18, in the form of a scanned/emailed driver's license or state ID, before you come. Please don't be offended by that. It's for our safety. Thanks for respecting both of us enough to understand.

IN ORLANDO?

Email: abysitter@gmail.com

YIM: abysitter

MSN: abysitter@gmail.com

Text: 407-459-4675

THINKING OF VISITING?

Email: abysitter@gmail.com

YIM: abysitter

Happy Valentine's Day!

That dope-ass li'l Cupid, flyin' around in his diaper filling the world with love. Happy Valentine's Day, y'all...

Looking for blog contributors!

Looking for Contributors!

Looking for members of the ABDL community

with stories to tell and decent writing skills

to write guest entries for the blog.

If you are interested in writing a one-time entry

or a weekly or monthly "column"

email me: abysitter@gmail.com.

Stories about growing up ABDL...

...reflections on the community...

...diaper reviews...

...nothing is off-limits.

Hit me up with your ideas

and become an Abysitter.com blog contributor.

Baby Pictures Wanted!

Starting in March I'll be posting

"baby albums"

once a week.

Some of the 'baby pictures' you'll see

will be ones I've used before.

Others will be brand spankin' new.

Looking for anyone with 'baby pictures'

(or diaper pictures)

to feature.

Send me what you're willing to have featured

to my email inbox

abysitter@gmail.com

and I'll select five or six.

I'll be sure to give you props

and link the entry to your

profile...

To Summarize...

Write an entry for Abysitter.com

Write a regular 'column' for Abysitter.com

Contribute your 'baby pics' to Abysitter.com

Email me:

abysitter@gmail.com

20,000 VIEWS!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!

We have hit

20,000

blog viewers!

Just want to thank

all y'all

for visiting.

So many of you

have offered to share

pictures

and

stories,

or just

provided

feedback.

Please continue.

Thanks for helping me

reach

20K.

It means a lot...

Hope y'all come back

just as often.

Chris/Cwis

Abysitter

Email continues to be abysitter@gmail.com.

Just in time for Valentine's Day?

They're pink, and they're adorable. Sissybabies... Target.

Happy Birthday To...

...you know who you are. Happy Birthday to you... remember, you may be a year older, but that wet diaper you're rockin' keeps you about the same age!

Baby Pictures: Part I

This summary is not available. Please click here to view the post.

Growing Up: The Cottage - Part II

To read the entire "Growing Up: The Cottage" series, and other blog entries I've written about growing up, click here.

Last week I wrote about my family's summer cottage, a small one-bedroom shack-like structure smack-dab on a lake in upstate New York. My grandfather built it decades before I was even born, and it became a special part of the lives of my grandparents, parents, and so many family members and friends. I recognized it's specialness at a very young age. It became a part of most of my childhood memories worth remembering, and remains just as special today. It's the basis for my love of the water; if you know me you know what I'm talking about. Most of all, it gave me a place to experiment with my toddler alter-ego. I'm writing about some of those experiences here...

Cloth Diapers...

If you're a regular reader of my blog you know that I wore cloth diapers past the age many children do - by choice, not by force - and that, after a few years of potty-trained hell, began sneaking Pampers from my baby cousin's stash, or manufacturing my own.

By age twelve I was making my Gladlock diapers on the regular, sleeping in them several nights a week and, whenever allowed, using them all day during 'hooky days'.

The summer presented even more opportunities to wear, with entire days home to make diapers and, sometimes, wear them.

Long weekends, and weeks, spent at the cottage, however, presented a challenge: close proximity to family around-the-clock, and sleeping in an open bedroom right above my younger brother and within earshot of my parents. Making diapers was next to impossible, and wearing them - well, that wasn't happening.

Crinkle, crinkle...

Um, no.

Until one day, when I came upon the solution.

Can we say... Sham-Wow?!

Disposable diapers made out of plastic garbage bags are a decent stand-in for the real thing. Judging from the emails I receive, and links to YouTube videos I've seen, I'm far from the only person who has discovered this. I've seen diapers made out of garbage bags, grocery bags, and even Target bags. (One, with a target symbol displayed prominently on the back of the diaper, was downright hot.) Luvs they will never be, but when you have that instinct to wear a diaper, they work. And we all know it.

[Speaking of instinct... if you're not an ABDL and have stumbled across this blog... my position is that many, if not all, ABies and DLs wear diapers out of instinct. I'll be blogging more about this later, but believe me when I say: I was never forced to wear a diaper, or asked to wear a diaper; I just never stopped wanting to wear diapers. Instinct.]

I couldn't wear my Hefty Huggies at the cottage without risking detection. So, at night, after a day of exhausting fun swimming, hiking, water skiing, and boating, I'd lay awake in my pajamas, wishing. Some nights I'd be so tired I'd fall asleep quickly and barely notice. Other nights, though, I'd stay awake, sticky from the heat and having difficulty falling asleep. During these times one thing was clear: I knew I'd be fast asleep if I was diapered. Grrrr!

When you're an AB and you're used to wearing diapers - even homemade ones - on a semi-regular basis, having to go a long weekend, week, or weeks without them is difficult. You really miss them, not just because they cover your ass while you're sleeping, but for those of us on the AB side of this lifestyle, because they allow you to escape into that toddler headspace that most of us crave.

And crave it I did.

This went on for a few summers. Age ten: diaperless nights at the cottage. Age eleven: diaperless nights at the cottage, save one in which I attempted to use a towel, learning quickly that towels and my penis are not friends.

At age twelve I discovered... chamois.

It's like a chamois. It's like a towel. It's like a sponge.

It's like... a diaper.

It holds up to twelve times it's weight in liquid.

You'll be saying "Wow!" every time...

As a competitive swimmer I'd been familiar with chamois for a while. We used something called The Shammy - a small, square chamois towel excellent for drying off on the pool deck. If you're not familiar with chamois, it's a magic-like fabric that literally wicks away wetness. Think diaper stuffer, but on steroids.

The Shammy was nothing like a diaper. They came in colors - mine was baby blue - and were about the size of a big washcloth. Not enough material to cover one part of my ass...

One day I was messing around in the boathouse, probably sitting in the motorboat dreaming about the day I'd have my own - a popular pastime for me as a kid - and I saw what appeared to be a gigantic towel. It was on top of the cabinet that held ski gear and snorkels. I'd seen it before - it was the cloth my father used to dry off the boat seats when ski spray soaked the boat. But I'd never really noticed it, and now, for some reason, hanging off the top of the cabinet, it took on the shape of... a diaper. (Although, with my diaper obsession, it's probably safe to say that many things reminded me of diapers).

I walked over to the cabinet, jumped up, and grabbed the towel. It wasn't soft or supple at all; it was hard and rigid, and it fell, smacking me in the face on its way to the floor. I picked it up and tried to fold it; it was too rigid to be bent in half, which would have made it the world's biggest diaper. Damn. No chance of hiding that under my jammies...

I wasn't saying "wow" at all.

I was irritated, and I tossed the chamois across the boathouse. Being fairly hard, it caught the wind and flew further than I'd expected, landing in the water next to the boat. I scooped it out and noticed the difference. Why hadn't I thought of this? It was soft and wet. I wrung out the excess liquid and folded it the way I'd intended to before; voila! I had a bootleg version of a cloth diaper.

The chamois was grey - not exactly diaper-color - but my jammies were grey, too, and I knew it would blend. I quietly carried my new toy along the beach and into the cottage, somehow escaping detection, and carefully placed the 'diaper' underneath my mattress. Tonight I would be... toddlerized.

I had fun the rest of the day, although I don't remember it. What I do remember was the anticipation. If you're a true AB you know what I mean; you've probably experienced the urge to toddlerize simultaneously with an inability to do so. Knowing your next regression fix is just around the corner causes a kind of exciting that could best be described as a mixture of happy and horny. I'd been twelve for a week without a break, and that night I'd be back in diapers... quiet, non-crinkling diapers that would fit under my pajamas and sort of blend in. I was excited.

Bedtime came early for me, on purpose. The rest of the family was getting ready to go for a sunset boat ride, but I begged off, claiming sleepiness. Putt, putt, putt... the boat putted away and, as soon as it was out of earshot, I practically raced into the cottage, whipping my diaper out of its hiding spot. I dropped my jammies to the floor, climbed onto my brother's mattress, and lay my little bare ass on the 'diaper'. For several minutes I lay, silent and still, envisioning myself being diapered. I don't remember who was diapering me in my thoughts, but it quickly became clear who wouldn't be diapering me in reality: me. I finally started to pull my sham Pamper up over myself and - not happening. The diaper had dried and hardened, and forcing it to fold did nothing more than bend it in half. Not comfortable at all.

I had the solution. I jumped down and ran, bare-assed, out onto the beach. I looked around, making sure nobody was able to see me, and scampered to the water, dropping the chamois into the water. I let it get wet, then pulled it out, wrung it out, and ran back inside. The diaper was now soft and damp. I grabbed my jammy bottoms off the floor and threw them up onto the top bunk, then climbed up the ladder, spread the diaper across the mattress, and plopped my ass onto it.

I centered myself, folded it up between my legs, and stretched it out. (Chamois is stretchy). Within minutes I'd cinched it diaper-style with two safety pins.

I lay, 'diapered', and regressed, for nearly an hour. In my head I re-lived the events of the past week - except, for each of them, I was diapered. Water-skiing in a diaper... running around the beach in a diaper... eating dinner at the picnic table in a diaper.

At some point my thoughts began to insert a high chair into the picnic table scene, and a playpen on the beach. This was how I wished I could spend the summers; even at age twelve I knew I still wanted to be a toddler. And, once I was fully toddlerized, it was time. I turned over... and began... to hump...

I'd recently discovered how to masturbate. I'd stumbled upon it by accident, actually. Laying on my stomach writing some kind of regression story or other - I've always like writing about diapers, probably not surprisingly - I began to rub up on the mattress, enjoying the feeling of my garbage bag diaper against my penis, the feeling of the paper towel rubbing against the inside of my ass. Imagine my surprise when I... peed. Or so I thought. I'd always been careful not to pee on school nights, wanting to avoid having to take a shower in the morning. I was surprised as hell, but it felt good. I did it again three more times that night. Having to get up earlier to take a shower was worth it... but man, was I one tired toddler that morning.

Back to the cottage. I lay in bed, slowly moving my bottom up and down, my penis pressing against the chamois material. Outside boats puttered by and sounds of fun carried across the water. Inside I was two years old, laying in my crib, sent to bed early while the 'grownups' had their fun outside. Less than thirty minutes later I squirted. BAM! As only a twelve year-old can, I soaked the front of the fake diaper. Chamois really does soak up liquid, I found, and within thirty seconds I was feeling dry.

I lay, tired, and groped around for my pajama bottoms, finding them and pulling them on. About the time they were covered my 'diapered' ass I heard the familiar sound of our boat puttering into the dock. Footsteps came down the dock and I quickly switched on the lamp, checked myself to make sure the diaper was hidden underneath my pajama pants, and turned the light back off. As it switched off, and the screen door creaked open, it registered: my mattress, and the front of my pajamas, were discolored. They were wet. Not with cum, but with lakewater. I'd wrung out most of it but there was some left, and it got left on the mattress and, now, my jammies. Damn!

My brother came into the bedroom and hopped right into bed.

"Should've come!" he told me.

I did, hehehe... I was thinking.

I lay in bed, now bathed in light as my brother read or drew or did whatever he was doing down below. In my thoughts I was still a toddler. My top-bunk rail was my crib rail, my family were the 'grownups', and Little Cwis was laying in his crib, toddler-style.

At some point, like all toddlers, I had to go potty. My grey diaper was pinned tightly onto me, and it was all underneath my grey jammies; In my mind I was safe walking around, if I had to; chamois doesn't crinkle, and it was still damp enough to fit like a diaper. Who'd have known?

Except for the dampness on the outside of the diaper.

I checked my jammies. Still discolored with wetness. Damn! Even if I quietly unpinned the diaper, my pajamas were still wet. Climbing down the bunk bed ladder I'd quickly be found out, and even if my brother didn't see, or say, something, my parents would see me as I slunk out for the outhouse.

I lay in bed, uncomfortably tossing and turning, hoping my brother would tire of reading, and my parents would turn in. No such luck. And hour later everyone was still reading, my jammies were still damp, and I had to piss like there was no tomorrow.

But there would be a tomorrow. And I'd have to get my little bottom up out of bed, hide a damp diaper, and hope to God my pajamas were dry again.

It finally became obvious that I wouldn't be getting any relief from darkness soon. I threw my blankets off, exasperated, and began to climb out of bed. Maybe I can blame it on sweat, I thought, oblivious to the fact that a cool breeze had lowered temperatures in the cottage significantly. I put my foot on the ladder and began to climb over, when my brother reached out and pulled his towel off of the ladder rung beneath me.

"Sorry, I set it out to dry," he told me. I continued to climb down, and he continued. "You can put your pajamas there instead, if you need to." He giggled.

If he could see my parents would be able to, so I pretended to retrieve something out of the dresser and climbed back up into bed. I lay still, and when I couldn't take it any longer I decided it was time...

...to wet the bed.

I lay on my back and slowly inched my pajamas down toward my feet. I slid them over my 'diaper' and down to my knees, then kicked them off. I set them out over the inside rail, out of eyesight but in the open-air. Drying time! I pulled my blanket up to my neck, pushed my hand down into my diaper, and pointed my penis down.

Squirt...

I squirted just a little, feeling the pee trickle down the chamois, along my asscrack, and kind of get soaked up by the material. I turned my penis on and off like a faucet, peeing, waiting for the soakation, and peeing again. Squirt... soak... squirt... soak. I discovered that, if I wet slowly and waited, the liquid was mostly confined to the inside of the diaper. A lack of plastic pants wasn't fazing my Sham-Wow Pamper... by the time my bladder was empty my diaper was soaked as fuck, but the mattress had nothing more than a small wet spot. Chamois diapers are... amazing!

So, at age twelve, I lay above my brother, and in the next room from my parents, in my "crib", my soaking wet diaper keeping me from climbing out. It was as close to being a real toddler as I would come, and - despite my embarrassment and fear that the odor, or my brother's habit of pulling my blanket down off of the floor for fun, would find me out... barely an afterthought.

I remember very vividly how I felt that night - and, how much I wanted to recreate that experience every single time we stayed over at the cottage afterwards.

To Be Continued...

Coming up: I get caught in diapers. More than once.