KevJumba??

Internet celebrity KevJumba (also from the Amazing Race TV show) and his new onesie. Looks like one I've seen in pictures on a lot of the sites, I don't know... ;)

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=JPwd4DbDp38&sns=em

Merry Christmas!!!

I hope the holidays are finding all of you wet, and well. I hope you found diapers, footed sleepers, and plenty of toys under the tree. And I hope you enjoyed time with family, friends, and those who surrounded you this holiday season.

As always, I had many ideas for a new Christmas blog. And, as usual, I decided to go with the old standby.

The same blog entry I posted in 2008 when I began the blog.

Merry Christmas...

http://abysitter.blogspot.com/2008/12/ghosts-of-christmas-diapers-past.html

ABDL & Age: Submissions Wanted

Over the next few weeks I will be writing a few entries on our fetish/lifestyle/community, and the age factor.

Age.

We are a fetish community that is largely rooted in 'ageplay'. We are either adults who enjoy being treated as babies (in the case of ABs), or adults who enjoy wearing clothing reserved for babies (in the case of DLs).

Age is just a number, so they say - but within our community it is a very important one.

I'd like to know your thoughts on it.

I'm talking about disrespect and discrimination shown towards his older members of our community.

Likewise, I'm talking about younger members of our community who clearly state age boundaries yet have those disrespected by people outside of them.

I'm talking about younger people who aren't taken seriously by the older people they attempt to strike up friendships with.

I'm talking about older people who feel that they have been taken advantage of by younger people in the community.

Really, if you have any thoughts on any aspect of 'age' as it pertains to ABDL, I'd love to hear from you.

In my next blog entry on the subject I will be asking several questions on this. However, if you have any thoughts you've like to share first, please email me. Please share your thoughts, and feel free to include your username, age and location, and any contact information you'd like me to share. You may also include a picture of yourself, ABDL or not, and I will try to use it if I put your thoughts into my blog entries; this, of course, is not required. (You may also ask to keep your thoughts anonymous).

It is high time I wrote a thoughtful blog entry like I used to, and after the many responses I received from my blog entry on keeping it 18+ last week, from younger people and older people - a lot with thoughts on age - I thought this would be the best topic to start with.

Please don't disappoint me. My email is abysitter@gmail.com. I hope to hear from as many of you as possible.

Cwis

YouTube Featured Video: Cloth Diapers

A featured YouTube video this week:

http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=9YxIvhjkC7g&feature=youtube_gdata_player

RIP Scott Baio

http://www.sheknows.com/entertainment/articles/850057/scott-baio-death-by-diaper-rash

Seriously... death by diaper rash?

When Charles was in charge I used to have some pretty crazy big bro fantasies about this guy.

This is, of course, just an internet prank. But all day long #diaperrash has been trending on Twitter...

18

I am fully aware that there are more than a few people in our community who are not fans of my "18 and up rantings". (Someone showed me a screenshot of that phrase related to my blog in a chatroom recently, and I had to laugh...)

Fuck it. Did you know there are nearly a dozen members of the greater ABDL community under age 25 locked up for possession of child pornography, distribution of child pornography, or involving actual children in ageplay?

When you consider that our community is thousands of members strong, that's not a very big number. Probably not that much different from society as a whole.

But when you stop to think about the fact that the vast majority of us are engaged in age play anyway - an activity/fetish/lifestyle in which ages are blurred... in which an 18yo desperately longs to feel like a baby again, in which a 22yo can be a 'daddy' to a guy old enough to BE his daddy... it all gets pretty fucking confusing.

It makes sense to have some strict, universal limits.

For me, the number is 18.

Eighteen.

18.

A hard, fast limit. 

Of 18.

Have I said it enough?

18.

As an ABDL in my 30s I'm the first to admit I've been pretty lucky. 

Since I started doing the Pampz-for-pay thing in college... to my more recent encounters with other ABDLs, either on my various road trips or the many visiting Orlando... pretty fucking lucky: I've easily diapered more than 120 people, a number that includes a few dozen ABDLs and quite a few abysitting sessions, too.

I like younger guys. 

Preferably thug types. Sometimes jocks. Skaters. And guys who don't fall into any category. 

But collegebabies rock, and I've been lucky enough to diaper way more than my fair share.

Gay, straight, bi, asexual... they've all been different.

But whether I babysat/abysat, hung out in Huggies, or humped as I rubbed that glorious diapered ass (mmmhmmm) one thing has always been constant.

You already know what it was.

That's right... 18+.

I have diapered guys in their 20s, guys in their 30s, and have even gone older on occasion. But when you primarily diaper ABies who are college aged, you learn to check ID. 

Before I started my blog and started ranting about the importance of having standards, I had actually been hit up on at least one or two of the now-defunct websites from guys who admitted, eventually, to being under age 18. 

I'm no dummy. I know that there are a ton of community members who aren't 18. They're all over ADISC, Stanley's site, and other places.

I definitely don't hate people under 18.

We were all under 18 once. 

I remember wanting a 'big bro' as much as some of the collegebabies I have diapered have wanted a 'big bro' or daddy. The urge is pretty intense, for those of us who are truly AB. (I still have it myself sometimes... keep watching for the 'Baby Mikey' stories, which I promise to have finished by this weekend, for more on that.)

So yea... I understand that our community is full of people who are under 18.

Which is why it's even more important that we all have standards.

I look at it as being similar to the big kids' table at big family dinners. As children we are often relegated to sitting at a children's table, a table like the adult table but with more juvenile conversation and usually not as prime pickings when it comes to food.

As we get older we are eventually allowed a place at the grownup table. 

Some of us desperately try to prevent this, wanting to stay at the kids' table for life. 

But, eventually, we all have to move up.

Today's kids' table ABDLs are 12, 13, 14, 15, 16, even 17.

They're on the Internet. 

They're impersonating adults, sometimes.

They're using the same pictures I saw on sites when I was in college, and they're calling them "new".

They want a place at the grownup table: the adult sites (RUP, ABDLC, and others). 

They're relegated to the kids' table for now: ADISC, Stanley's site, and others.

And that's how it should be - mostly.

Now, picture it.

You are sitting at the grownup table, and you look over at the card table filled with your cousins, nieces, nephews. 

Wait a minute... who's that?! Isn't that Uncle Bob? He's almost 50! How did HE get a seat at the kids' table?!!

Just like there will always be kids who try to work their way into 18+ sites, there will always be adults attracted to kids who head for sites where children congregate.

That is true in our lifestyle, and in society in general.

People who do this are generally called pedophiles. True, sometimes there are people who have true altruistic motives, such as trying to keep younger people safe, but it's often hard to tell the difference.

I have stopped trying to tell the difference.

I have hard, strict, unyielding standards when it comes to age. If your ID not say 18 you're not getting a pack of cigarettes (unless you're in the hood), you're not voting, and you're not getting abysat by Cwis.

I know there are a number of people who think my age limits are stupid. 

These include younger ABDLs who wants to be babysat, and older ABDLs who think I am telling them how to live their life and/or ruining their chances with those they seek to diaper. 

I have my share of haters, and I've been linked to chats and forum conversations from people who think my blog makes our community less community-oriented because I "espouse exclusion" - another expression I've LOL'd at in the past.

I'll be straight up. If someone tells you that my blog is stupid because I advocate keeping a boundary between of those older than 18 and those younger, be suspect of that person.

I once spent a whole weekend with a collegebaby visiting Orlando. We had a lot of fun, and after it was all over, as I dropped him off at the airport, he told me that he was surprised it had been fun.

"A few people told me that I shouldn't meet up with you," he told me. 

I didn't have to ask him who. I named a name or two, and he rounded that out with another names or two.

"Let me stop you right there," I told him. 

And sitting in front of the departure/drop off at OIA I did a quick Google search, finding an article about a young person arrested for child pornography. My new friend read it, looking confused.

"See the mug shot?" I asked. He nodded. "See the arrest date?" I asked. He nodded again.

I took my iPhone back and opened to a diaper site, clicking a few links until I'd come to a group shot. I handed him the phone.

"Recognize anyone?" I asked.

He looked through the more than a dozen faces until he'd spotted the one he'd just seen. 

He froze.

"See the date that picture was posted?" I asked him. He looked, and then looked at me.

"Chris... that's fucked up..."

"You have been getting advice from the other people in that picture," I told him. He looked again.

"That's really fucked up..."

18 +.

I often wonder if the kid in the article I just mentioned would have been jammed up if he been surrounded by people who had taught him about setting age limits, instead of by people who taught him that age is just a number.

Reading the article I've linked to below brought me back to that same thought. It is about an Eagle Scout arrested at age 19 for trading diaper pictures with a 13 year old fetishist. 

He was just sentenced to more than 12 years in federal prison.

It's fucked up. 

It's the reason 18+ is so important.

And the reason it only works if we all enforce it.

I will be writing more about the dynamics of age as it relates to ABDL in the future.

For now, click the link, read, and consider...

All I Want For Christmas Is... a $17K Paci?

http://newsfeed.time.com/2011/12/14/the-11-most-extravagant-gifts-money-can-buy/#babywit-diamond-pacifier

Hall of Shame

I've said it before and no doubt I'll say it again: 18 & up!

• Do not diaper minors.

• Do not diaper the handicapped.

• Do not take pictures of either of the above.

We are all ambassadors of this community. When one of us does sick shit, in the minds of some we've all done it. 

Don't do it.

A few stories about one guy who did do it... and got 12 years...

Rosemount, Minn., man sentenced for shooting videos of a girl in a diaper | Rosemount Town Pages | Rosemount, Minnesota

In a Feb. 1 meeting Marquardt told police he was aroused by diapers. He said he had been downloading images of children from the Internet for 10 to 15 years, and said he recorded the girl – and in some cases uploaded the photos and videos to online sites – because he thought she was "cute."

Marquardt's computer also contained images of him wearing a diaper.

http://www.rosemounttownpages.com/event/article/id/29255/group/News/

'This is taboo... wrong... and sick': Minnesota judge orders jail time for baby-sitter with diaper 'thing' | Grand Forks Herald | Grand Forks, North Dakota

http://www.grandforksherald.com/event/article/id/223260/group/homepage

Update: Toronto Millionaire Case

Update on the case of the Toronto millionaire ABDL... charges stayed...

http://www.nationalpost.com/m/wp/news/blog.html?b=news.nationalpost.com/2011/12/06/murder-conspiracy-case-comes-to-puzzling-end-as-prosecutors-stay-charges

Update: Guilty

Update on the case I posted in the entry below.

http://www.bnd.com/2011/12/03/1965180/crutchfield-could-receive-life.html

In The News: Abuse

Six years old. Locked in a closet, diapered. Not ABDL-related, but a recurring theme. Fucked up...

An Excerpt...
During a second videotaped interview, Crutchfield told Taylor that Ryon slept inside the closet and was let out that Christmas Eve to use the bathroom. Crutchfield and Lohman placed diapers on the boy because he had started wetting his pants, Crutchfield told Taylor.

When they took him out of the closet, they found he had a dry diaper and had urinated inside the closet, Crutchfield said. Lohman began spanking the boy, Crutchfield said. When she went to put him back inside the closet, Crutchfield said he told her to stop because he noticed blood in his mouth. Ryon bit him on the finger.

Crutchfield told Taylor that he punched him a couple of times in the chest and twice in the face. Crutchfield said in the videotaped statement played for jurors that Lohman told Ryon that he shouldn't have bitten Crutchfield's finger.

She went to put him back in the closet, but Crutchfield said Lohman told him that she thought he was seizing. He said he told Lohman to put Ryon in his bed.

"He did still call me (an epithet) from that bed," Crutchfield told Taylor.

Read the whole article...
http://www.bnd.com/2011/11/30/1960873/he-hit-him-and-hit-him-and-hit.html

RERUN! "Pampz For Pay - First Time" - re-posted from 12-19-08

[CWIS'S NOTE] Over the next week I will be re-posting several of my favorite blog entries from the past three years. There have been more than 450 of them, including a number of stories from myself and others. I will try to pick out the stories and other entries which have meant the most to me - or have meant the most to you. 

If you have any suggestions, my email is abysitter@gmail.com.

Today's entry was my first entry about paying non-ABDLs to wear. It originally appeared on Friday December 19, 2008. 

http://abysitter.blogspot.com/2008/12/pampers-for-pay-first-time.html

(Not Trevor. Or an actual ABDL.)

Most ABDLs know about the Diaper Catch 22. 

It concerns relationships - or lack thereof. 

You're ABDL. You like diapers. You, quite possibly, like being regressed to the age of two.

Yet you want a boyfriend, or girlfriend. 

And you find that, in the world of ABDLs, it's sometimes slim pickin's when it comes to people you consider deserving of you, people you'd want to have a relationship with.

So you're stuck.

You want a relationship. And, you want to be ABDL.

Sometimes it seems like you can't have it both ways.

Over the past few years I've had a lot of conversations with other abies. 

And I think I've heard it all... from people who arein relationships but desperately hiding their AB sides, to people who have been dumped when they brought their diaper interests into the relationship and the other party didn't take to it well.

I know a sophomore in college who "quits" the fetish every few months. This usually coincides with his finding a special guy; he decides that a relationship is what he really wants, takes his diaper pictures down and throws the Pampers in the trash, and dates. Later, when the guy turns out to be no-so-special after all, the photos get reposted and the diapers come back out.

A long time ago, when I was in colllege, I was in the same predicament. I was gay, young, attractive, and wanting to be with someone. And I was a diaper fiend, always wanting to wear and diaper other hot boys. It was like Dr. Jeckyl and Mr. Hyde; my multiple personalities were forced upon me, because I found that you couldn't have both.

Take Mike. I worked with a friend of his, we were introduced, and he developed a crush on me, which he wanted to take to "another level" several weeks into our friendship. He was attractive, nice, and had his shit in order, and I briefly considered trying to build something out of what we had. After we'd gotten to know each other fairly well, and he began to really push for us to kick it up a notch, I decided to have the conversation.

"I like you a lot, Mike. But there's something I should probably tell you..."

The next time I saw Mike, we were at a drag show benefit for a mutual friend with cancer. I won some prize in the raffle, and when I walked up on stage to get the prize he screamed out "fuck youuuuuuu, diaper boy!" 

I was embarassed. And disappointed that he'd taken my secret that poorly - and public, haha.

(Footnote to the story: another diaper dabbler/watersports kid was at the party, and sought me out after hearing the special shoutout; it all worked out in the end hehe).

Anyway, I realized then that bringing diapers into a relationship isn't a very easy thing to do.

The next relationship I had I didn't bring diapers into it. And it didn't go far. I had the "I have to be honest..." talk; I'm just "not really able to have a relationship right now"... I have to "get my shit together before I committ"... you get the idea.

In truth, I knew that I would, eventually, be bringing diapers into the equation.

And I was afraid to.

Long ago, I decided that diapers are an important part of my life. I'm not going to quit them for anyone; any relationship I have will involve diapers or, at the very least, be open enough so that I can continue to do some diapering, despite the relationship.

I also decided, a little bit more recently, that a long-term relationship isn't for me. While everyone else is getting excited about Gay Marriage I'm wondering why people want to get married at all. If I was to marry, I strongly believe that I'd cheat; I relish meeting new people - and diapering them. Putting someone in a diaper for the first time is a turnon, and I'm not sure I'd be satisfied if I was forced with a lifetime of diapering the same old ass for the rest of my days.

For this reason any relationship I have will be diaper-related. I'm resigned to that, as I think many of us are. 

When I was 23, though, I still had hopes of a relationship. 

Me and my friends would chill on the Party Line. The Mama Raven, I think it was called. There was the Butt Monkey, and a few other ones, too. You'd dial this number - 770-something - and instantly be connected with dozens of other people from your area. 

Economics rule social networking. People with money could afford internet connections; most had AOL, and did their networking online. The rest went on the phone, made a free call, and tied up their phone lines for the rest of the night.

I had AOL, but the party line was more fun. Some nights I'd do both.

Some nights I was Chris. College student. Like movies, long walks on the beach. Looking for somoeone 18-24 for friendship, relationship.

Other nights I was Cwis. "I'm ABDL." I'd put out my message and hope, against hope, that someone else would get me. I'd get lots of questions. Nobody ever was...

One night I was chillin' in my apartment with a friend. I was wearing a disposable diaper and laying on my bedroom floor on my desk phone; he was on the bed on the cordless. We were in "CB Mode" - it allowed you to listen to other people's messages and choose whether to reply back with one of your own, connect with them, or block them. Or you could just move on.

We did it mostly for entertainment. We'd go on the girls' side, and listen to the messages guys were leaving. Most were desperately pathetic. Corny-ass guys trying to sound cool. Wankstas trying to sound gangsta. And guys openly trying to get head. We'd laugh for hours.

Sometimes I'd hear messages from guys who sounded, for lack of a better word, dope-ass. They seemed smart, genuine, and you could just tell they had it going on. What's more, you could tell that they treated women with respect. My friend and I would laugh for ten minutes, because we knew the trashballer girls on the line were probably passing them right by, looking for the next wanksta.

I was a little jealous, I remember. I would've been on them like a diaper.

Anyway, this night we're party-lining, having a good time. My friend is explaining that I need to be more open about diapers. "Put it right in your greeting," he kept telling me. "Hey! I like diapers! Lets wear them!" He was half-joking, but quite serious; he'd worn them with me a few times, so he was qualified to give an opinion, I guess...

We're listening to messages. "Hey, ladies, who wants to give some head for weed?" and "This is Dark Wolf, who wants to roll tonight..." etc.; then a message came across...

"Hey, guys... my car broke down, got towed, is in impound, and I gotta raise $100 to get it out tomorrow morning. I'll do just about anything."

We laughed.

"Tell him to wear a diaper for a dub," my friend told me, chuckling. I laughed, and he crawled over to the side of the bed, looked down at me, and I saw that he wasn't laughing anymore. 

"Dude, do it."

We discussed it. The pro's and con's. 

It's illegal.

It could be my chance to diaper someone!

What if he's offended?

There's nobody else into diapers around here, why not an outsider?

Truthfully, that day, the idea of asking someone to wear a diaper for dough was distasteful to me. I felt like I was above having to pay someone for sex. My friend pointed out that this wasn't sex, this was "diaper sex" - and fought for his position, asking me how soon I expected to find someone else into diapers. 

He had a point.

I decided to go for it.

"Twenty-five dollars to wear a diaper." 

We both laughed as we waited for his response. We joked about what it might be, from "fuck you" to "go fuck yourself." We were pretty sure it would include one of the F-words in some manner or fashion. Fuck... faggot...

And then we heard it.

"You have a message from... Trevor."

I looked at my friend, he looked at me, and we waited. 

"Sure, man. Pick me up!"

I still remember how nervous I got. In the back of my mind I'm thinking This Is Prostitution! Right? I imagined myself appearing on COPS, the guy who shows up in the car, talks to the hooker, then gets boxed in by five police cars while the prostitute pretends to be surprised and goes back to the police van. Could this be a trick?

On the other hand, I hadn't asked anyone to do anything sexual. I asked someone to wear a diaper. Big difference, right?

And other risks came to mind. What if he was some crazy, raging lunatic... a homophobe, ready to shank a faggot, or someone who thought anyone into diapers must be into babies - you know the ignorance that surrounds this fetish. Was I taking a risk?

My friend came up with a plan. He'd stick around the apartment for a while - on the party line, of course. When I picked up my diaper model I'd call and let him know I was "back in town". That was code for "I'm not in handcuffs or dead." Then he'd vacate the premesis, but call me at 12 a.m. to make sure I was still okay.

Sounded good. I decided to go for it.

I rolled through downtown towards the designated meeting spot, a payphone at a gas station in a pretty questionable section of town. I had a Mustang at the time, with a pretty nice system, and I was feeling un-fuck-with-able. Boom boom boom... I chilled back in my seat, peering through the tint, looking at people as I drove along. I was a little early, and I figured this dude was probably on his way on foot - his car had been impounded, after all - and I wanted to make sure he saw me looking fresh before I rolled up on him.

At 11 p.m. on the dot - our designated meeting time - I drove into the parking lot.

Problem: there was a bank of four pay phones. One on each corner of the pole. And someone different was on each of them.

I sat in my car, watching. I hadn't given this dude the description of my car; I figured I'd easily spot him, beep, and we'd be off.

Maybe I can eliminate one of them, I thought. The guy on the payphone facing the side street seemed a little old. Not him, probably. (Hopefully!) So I was down to three. The guy on the phone across from him is Hispanic... he didn't soundddd Hispanic. Not him, probably. 

I was left with two, and I was nervous as hell. I didn't know how to go about this. They were both young, thuggish, and hot; one was blond, one wasn't. I wished I'd paid better attention to the guy's description.

Payphone #1 Boy hung up the phone and looked straight at me. He started towards me, and I rolled my window down. He gave me a strange look as he walked by, and I saw that he was heading for a girl sitting on the sidewalk behind me. I'm retarded, lol. I rolled my window back up and continued to wait.

The last guy was now joined by other people - this pay phone was fucking busy - but I determined that none of them were who I'd talked to on the phone. It had to be the guy talking on the phone, I thought. I continued to wait. And wait. And wait. He looked at me what must have been five or six times before I flicked my high beams at him; he didn't respond. I rolled my window down and stuck my head out. Could I be any more obvious? He stayed on the phone.

Maybe it's not him...

I finally started my car and drove past him, into the street. I was dialing the Party Line as I drove... maybe someone else would be interested, lol. I watched in my mirror, and saw that my phone friend was clearly off the phone and standing by the side of the road now. I got to his place in the CB greetings; his message was gone. He'd hung up on the Party Line... but had he actually showed up at the gas station? Was he on his way?

I turned around and drove back. I watched the talker standing by the phone. Was he waiting for a call?

All of a sudden I remembered something. I knew his name. I drove past him, rolled my window down, leaned out, and said "Did you hear anyone on the phone saying his name is Trevor?"

"Chris?" 

Um, yea. Wtf?

"Get in," I told him. And he did.

The ride back to my apartment was only ten minutes, but it seemed like an hour. He looked nervous as hell, sitting next to me all rigid with his hands on his knees, trying not to touch anything. 

"I didn't know if that was you," he said. "I figured if you saw me on the phone you'd figure I was on the P.L. and know it was me."

And I knew, right away, that my new friend wasn't all that bright...

"Nah, I didn't know," I said, trying to sound equally unintelligent. "I almost left."

"Glad you came back!" he said, and I could tell he meant it.

I dialed my friend.

"Welcome back!" he said.

I remember driving up to my apartment. I lived in a nice building on a lake, and most of my neighbors were elderly and had lived there for years. Two things crossed my mind:they'll know I'm bringing home a hooker! and What if he kills me and then starts with the neighbors?

This dude was hot. But he was clearly a thug. He was a year or two older than me, but looked like he'd aged faster. He was dressed like a little Eminem, complete with bandana and hat turned sideways. I remember thinking he could have sold his sneakers and paid the impound fee - they looked brand new, and pretty fucking fancy. Easily $150. Maybe he doesn't need money at all, I remember thinking. Maybe this is a game... Rob the Fag? 

"Ever done this before?" I asked him.

"When I was a baby," he said.

LOL. 

"I mean stuff for money," I explained. 

"Oh, haha," he said. "Sure."

I couldn't tell if it was a yes sure, or a hell no sure. But it made me feel a little better. And I brought him inside...

We walked into the apartment, and I noticed right away that my friend had left only moments before; I had a light in the living room that was timed to stay on for less than five minutes after you touch it, and my friend had clearly done so in the last five minutes, probably scooping up his keys and running out the front door as I brought my new friend in the back. It occurred to me that he might be hiding someplace in the apartment out of concern for me, and I did a precursory check, peeking into the second bedroom, a closet or two, and the front balcony. The coast was clear...

I brought Trevor into my bedroom. He instinctivly took off his shoes and shirt, without me having to say anything.Maybe he has done this before, I thought. 

"What do you want me to do?"

And I paused. Truthfully, I hadn't really thought about how this was going to go down. Across the room from me a hot thug was standing, shirtless, waiting to be diapered. Would be be cool with me putting the diaper on him? Resistant to that, insistent on putting it on himself? I hadn't really explained what I was looking for; I'd said "twenty-five dollars to wear a diaper." What did that mean, exactly? 

"Lie down on the bed," I told him. I figured if I took an authoritative tone it might go a little better for me. He obeyed, and I decided my plan was to go with my gut, and hope that he went along with it, too.

I walked up to him, set my diaper bag down on the bed, and started rummaging through it. Trevor's face was red, and I could see that he was embarassed. He started talking about his girlfriend as I pulled out accessories, and I got the message: Trevor is into the chicks; he just needs a little money right now.

I pulled out a pacifier and tossed it to him. "Mouth that." He looked at it like he'd just watched me pull it out of the trash can. "Is it clean?"

Of course... what self-respecting ABDLer doesn't take pride in his diaper stuff?

I pulled out the diaper, held it up, and stretched it out. He looked at it and I could see he was shocked. His face was much redder, now. "Say word! Yo, when you said a diaper, I thought you were talking a diaper. That's like... abig diaper. That's a huuuuge diaper, yo."

Yea. LOL.

"Who they make that for... you?"

I explained that you could buy them in any drugstore. And that they were made for elderly people, and handicapped people, and people who were just incontinent for other reasons. 

"And you," I told him. 

He laughed and started shaking his head. His face turned another shade. I pulled off his left sock, then his right, and I noticed right away that, underneath the $150 kicks were the dirtiest feet I'd ever seen. Did this kid walk through the streets barefoot or something? Had he been walking along with no shoes and find these?

"I don't wear shoes around the house," he said, and I realized that he was embarassed. I wasn't here to judge. "It's cool," I told him. I loosened the button on his jeans, unzipped them, and slowly pulled them off. This kid was ripped - abs, stomach, six pack, the whole nine. He was wearing a pair of white briefs, and I remember thinking how lucky I was to be diapering someone so hot - and so straight. This was a beautiful thing...

I reached up and put my thumbs in the waistband of his briefs, and slowwwwly pulled them down. He was naked now, and I lifted his left foot, and then his right, pulling his underpants off of him. I threw them on the floor, and as they sailed through the air I saw it - brown. 

And not just a little bit of brown. 

A whole lot of brown.

I walked over and picked them up again. I looked at them for a minute, then at him. His face was nearly purple now. I couldn't believe that someone could have so much dookie down there. Wtf?

"I'm sorry," he stammered. "I had to borrow my brother's underwear." 

The ridiculousness of this hit me right away. Questions came into my mind. And I had to ask one.

"You didn't notice that when you put them on?"

He was a darker shade yet again, and I could see him thinking, reaching for a response. 

Finally... "It was dark, yo."

Immediately I knew I had to call him on it. I pulled out the box of baby wipes.

"That's cool," I said. "So when I hit you up with a wipe, it's gonna be white, is what you're saying. Just the underpants are filthy." 

He paused, and I could sense that he realized it was time to give up.

"I don't even know, dude," he told me.

The wipe wasn't white. Far from it, in fact. I looked at this hot-ass thuggy boy - he could have been a model, maybe, or a dancer in a video - and then back to the wipe. It was as brown as anything I'd ever seen. I shook my head.

"Bro... do you need diapers? Seriously?"

He looked offended, and I realized that my half-joke might wreck my chances of diapering him. Truthfully, my stomach was turning - but I knew that dookie does sometimes go with diapering, and I still wanted to slap one on this dude. He explained how money was tight, and toilet paper had run out a few days ago. More reaching, I thought.

"Son, nobody should go a few days without wiping their ass," I told him. "It's not healthy. You need to findsomething..."

He sort of yammered on, explaining how they had paper towels, and napkins, and other materials, so it wasn't like he wasn't wiping... just not wiping well. I realized that, if he was telling the truth, the problem was simple: his hygiene habits were... well, shitty.

"Bro... seriously... I want you to watch how I do this." I could tell Trevor was embarassed, but I wasn't kidding now... he couldn't go through life meeting people with dookie drawers. 

I wiped him until he was squeaky clean - we're talking a dozen wipes, and I'm not exaggerating. I showed him each wipe as they got progressively whiter. The last one was completely white. "See any brown on this one?" I asked, and he shook his head. "That's what I need you to check every time you wipe, okay?" He nodded, and I could tell he was thoroughly humiliated now.

I slid an Attend underneath his bum, and told him to put his feet in the air. He did, and as I sprinkled powder on him I saw those filthy feet again. Half a dozen more wipes and a whole lot of scrubby action and I had them reasonably clean, as well. 

I rubbed powder across his junk, on his tummy, and all over his bottom, then sprinkled a huge dallop in between his cheeks before I pulled the diaper up over him and taped it. I'd just seen more dookie than I wanted to see for a long time... maybe enough powder would overpower my senses and help me forget, lol.

"Turn over," I ordered, and Trevor complied, burying his face into a pillow; he was probably relieved to be able to hide his face after everything I'd just put him through. I pushed him towards the corner of the bed, pulled his legs apart a little, and gazed at his now-diapered bottom while I undressed and diapered myself. 

"Is this the weirdest thing you've ever done?" I asked him. 

I was nervous as hell, now, and I didn't know what else to say. I felt kind of guilty... I had a straight dude in a diaper, laying on my bed, and he was only doing it because he needed $25. I'd diapered friends before, but it was different... they wanted to try wearing, out of curiousity or friendship. This dude just wanted his car back out of impound.

"It's cool," he said. "I really am sorry you had to wipe my ass."

I laughed, and then said "If you decide you can't handle this, let me know and I'll stop." 

He laughed, now. "And I'll still get paid?"

"No," I told him. "But I will give you a ride back to your place, free of charge..."

"Thanks," he said. "But, truthfully, this is pretty easy. It feels kind of good, getting all cleaned up and laying here in a diaper." I sort of wondered if he might pretend to be into it, since he was getting paid and might figure it was what he was expected to do. It really seemed, though, like he meant it.

I lay down on the bed next to him and rubbed his diaper. He had one of the nicest bottoms I'd ever seen, tight as hell, and it looked perfect all Pampered up. I couldn't have asked for a better butt-rubbing experience. I patted his bum, and instantly a powder cloud formed; I'd overdone it a little. But hey, at least I couldn't smell anything but powder...

I chilled there for well over an hour. I won't get into what happened, but I'll say that he did everything he was told, and I felt the most relaxed that I'd felt in a long time. We talked a lot, and between his explaining how thuggy he is - a real gangsta of the North Side, it turned out - he reminisced about memories from when he was actuallyin diapers the first time around. 

"My girlfriend has a son," he said, "and I change his diapers all the time. I never thought that someone would be putting a diaper on my ass." We both laughed. "I think the next time I diaper him this is all I'm going to be able to think about."

We talked more about his situation - financial problems, unemployed girlfriend, off-and-on employment. 

"Sometimes I look at my girl's son, laying in his crib, and I'm jealous," he confided. "He's got it easy... he cries and someone comes running with a fresh diaper, a bottle, whatever he needs. Why can't I have it that easy?" 

And it occurred to me that Trevor was - unknowingly - getting into the spirit of my ABDL fetish.

And then he said it.

"Yo. Anytime you want to put someone in a diaper, don't go looking for anyone else on the Party Line. Wait 'til I'm on, I'll be down every time."

I finished up, stood up, and put my pants on.

"You're driving me home, right?" Trevor said, looking concerned.

No, dummy... I'm going to put you outside in the front and let you ask my neighbors for rides.

"Yea, bro. Don't worry."

He looked at me incredulously, and shook his head. 

"You're wearing... a diaper... out in public?" he asked.

I laughed. 

"Yea, bro. So are you."

I picked up his underpants and threw them into the hall. "Get dressed." Trevor hesitated, and seemed like he was going to say something, but thought better of it. He picked up his jeans and put them on, then put on his Shady shirt, and picked up his socks and shoes and sat down on the bed. His jeans bulged in the front where the diaper pressed up against the front, and he sort of waddled to get into place on the bed. He slowly put his socks on, and then his shoes. Then he looked at me.

"My girlfriend's home, bro."

OK? 

"You ready?" I asked him. He looked embarassed, and his face was red again.

"I guesssssss..."

I laughed. "You wanna stay overnight in a Pamper, huh?" He laughed, too. "For another $25, maybe," he said. But I was a starving college student and my budget was tight. Another time, I told him.

We walked out into the hallway, and I walked past his poopy underpants. 

"Pick those up," I ordered. He did, and started to try to stuff them in his pants pocket. "Nah," I told him. "Carry them."

I could see that Trevor was embarassed, carrying a brown-streaked pair of drawers in his hands as we walked through the halls of my apartment building and into the parking lot. I secretly hoped a neighbor would come by - even a jogger or someone - but nobody did. We got to the car and got in; his underpants had not been seen.

It had been cute to listen to his diaper crinkle as he walked. I could see he was having a tough time moving in his Attend, and it was fairly clear that he was having to walk funny; his once-tight jeans were puffy in the back, puffy in the front, and I had no doubt that if I pulled his shirt up plastic would be protruding from his pants 360 degrees.

It occurred to me... I liked the idea of embarassing this dude.

I felt guilty, yet proud, all at the same time. I was parading a thug - a North Side gangsta - across my parking lot in a diaper. There was enough baby powder between his asscheeks to diaper ten people. I could still smell it. I was sure he could, too, and despite what must have been a humiliating moment for him, I was enjoying myself. 

"You gonna be alright?" I asked him, sort of teasing, partly serious. He looked at me, very seriously; I'll never forget the look on his face. "Well," he said, and I pulled the car into gear and flew up the road, waiting for what would come next.

"I do have to walk a few blocks from the phone to my apartment," he told me. "And the streets here are pretty tough, you know?"

Don't worry, I told him; I can drop you off anywhere. At your front door, even.

He thought it over, trying to find Plan B.

"And my girlfriend is home, bro... so when I walk in, do you think she'll be able to tell I'm wearing a diaper?" 

Probably, I told him. Head straight for your room, and put it in a bag before you throw it out. A diaper wearer's secret, I told him.

"Dude, do you mind if I put my drawers back on?" He finally just came out with it. I shook my head, and looked at him as I rolled down his window.

"Nah, bro... you can't wear those things again. It wouldn't be hygienic." He looked somewhat alarmed, and I was sort of enjoying his embarassment. "Toss 'em."

He moved his underpants closer to the window, but held onto them. 

"Bro, I gotta walk home. Or at least into the house. I can't walk into the house in a diaper." 

I shook my head. 

"You're not walking into the house in poopy underpants, bro," I said. "At least not if we're going to do this again. Toss them. Now."

The idea of being blacklisted because of brown stains in his underwear was too much for him, and I watched his underwear fly through the air and land behind us. Some poor bicyclist would probably try to do the environmentally correct thing by picking them up to dispose of them and get an unpleasant surprise. Not my problem...

"Good boy," I said, and he laughed. 

"I really am sorry, bro," he said. "It won't happen next time."

And I decided, at that moment, I had a new rule.

"From now on, when you come over, I'm going to give you a smack with a paddle for every wipe that isn't white," I told him. "Nothing but snow white wipes, or your bottom will be red. If you want to do this again. Sound fair?"

"Word."

We rolled up to the pay phone and I pulled into the parking lot. The neighborhood's resident trashballers were sitting in a group underneath the No Loitering sign, and police sat across the street in a parking lot, surveying the scene. Trevor looked uncomfortable. 

"Want me to just drive you home?" I asked.

He agreed, but with a condition: that I not show up unannounced to pick him up for "diaper time." I chuckled to myself; it had taken every bit of courage I'd had to meet with him the first time, and now he was planning subsequent visits. 

I told him the same rule applied. "Don't show up at my apartment when you need money and think you can put on a Pamper and make $25," I said. He laughed. "You're onto me!" he told me. 

We pulled up to a dead-end street and I could see how well the DPW regarded the area Trevor lived in - it looked like it hadn't been paved in a decade. His car was probablyhappy to have a night in the impound yard, I thought. He pointed to a driveway. "You can turn around in there, I'll walk from here," he said. I pulled in and waited.

"I can't believe I'm about to walk down my street in a diaper," he said. I opened the glove compartment and pulled out a twenty and a five. And then another five. I'd had fun, and this kid had been cute, hot, and dope... I could afford a little extra. I handed him the thirty dollars and waited for him to exit.

"This was worth it," he said. "Even if I didn't need the cash, it was easy money. If you ever want to do it again, let me know. I'm on the P.L. every night..."

I promised I would. He got out and started the diaper waddle up the road. He turned around, laughed, and said "Yo, son! I feel ridiculous!" Get home, I told him. He waddled some more, turned around, and said "You're enjoying this, huh?" I watched for a minute, then started to pull away. And then a thought occurred to me.

"Yo, Trevor... come here for a minute."

I reached into the back seat for my ever-present diaper bag, and pulled out one, and then another, travel pack of baby wipes. 

"I don't have toilet paper, bro. But here, take these."

He seemed reluctant, and it occurred to me that I'd be sending him down the road in a diaper with baby wipes. He probably didn't want to be seen. I handed him a bag too, and told them to put them in. "If you want them."

"Definitely, Chris," he said. "Are you sure you don't need them?" 

I laughed. "I do. But you definitely need them more."

"Thanks, yo."

Trevor had started out with dirty feet and an even dirtier behind. 

I'd cleaned him up, put him in a nice soft Pamper, and sent him home with a little dough and some baby wipes. 

All the thoughts about prostitution, immorality, and danger were out of my mind, now; I'd had fun. 

I'd put a diaper on one of the hottest straightboys I'd ever seen, and he'd rolled with it. 

It had been worth it. 

As a gay person, I'd been hesitant to diaper a straight guy. I got over that right quick.

As an ABDL person, I'd been hesitant to diaper someone who wasn't into diapers. I got over that right quick.

And as a person, I'd been hesitant to pay someone to do anything remotely sexual. I got over that right quick, too.

I realized that, as a gay ABDL person, the people within this fetish won't give me everything I'm looking for.

$25 gave me all that I'd hoped for, and more.

Since then I've diapered more than seventy people. Less than a dozen were true ABDL. A half-dozen or so were friends; the other fifty were straight dudes wearing diapers for dough. I'll share a lot of those stories in this blog. 

RERUN! "Baby New Year" - re-posted from 12-31-08

[CWIS'S NOTE] Over the next week I will be re-posting several of my favorite blog entries from the past three years. There have been more than 450 of them, including a number of stories from myself and others. I will try to pick out the stories and other entries which have meant the most to me - or have meant the most to you. 

If you have any suggestions, my email is abysitter@gmail.com.

Today's entry was my first. It originally appeared on Wednesday December 31, 2008. 

http://abysitter.blogspot.com/2008/12/baby-new-year.html 

It's meant to be symbolic.

Out with the old! In with the new!

And along comes Baby New Year, in his diaper - followed by that monument to geriatrica, Father Time, in his funeral attire. 

Bye bye Father Time; hewwo's, Baby New Year!

Goodbye, 2008. Welcome to... 2009!

It's ironic that so many holidays give us an opportunity to incorporate diapers into the mix. 

Baby New Year wears nothing but a diaper.

Cupid? He wears a diaper, too.

And anyone can wear a diaper on Halloween. Ah, glorious costumes!

Am I leaving out any?

I don't think so.

But New Year's Eve is my favorite. It almost symbolizes age regression. 

Get rid of the old guy. Bring in the baby!

It's what I try to do every time I put on a diaper.

Bring on New Year's!!!

Every year since I was a junior in high school I've been diapered for New Year's Eve. 

It's my own personal tradition, and I know that there's a chance that, one year, it could come to an end... diaper shortage... freak Florida snowstorm... or some other impossibility, maybe? 

Until then, I do what I have to, year after year, to make sure that it doesn't, and so far my streak continues. And so far, it has.

Start the next year in anything but a diaper? I don't think so. It's the start of the next year, symbolic of the entire year ahead! Starting it in diapers just seems... fitting. 

I know I'm not the only ABDL who feels that way. Nor am I the only ABDL with a diaper-on-New-Year's ritual.

I've talked to many more.

Many years I spend New Year's Eve at home, with friends. I prefer not to drive; there are five times the number of drunks on the road this one night as any other night of the year, and many of them are drunks who only drink one night of the year. I had a close call in upstate New York one year and realized how dangerous the roads really are.

So I host my own fun, some years; a little bubbly and some snackage, the ball on the TV, and I'm good to go.

And, of course, me in diapers.

I've spent a lot of New Year's Eve celebrations at home. But I've also spent them in other ways. As a senior in high school, and my first few years of college, I spent them on an upstate New York lake, on an overcrowded party boat, out in the middle of the water, freezing with friends. 

In diapers.

A few years later I spent one New Year's Eve flying with a few friends in a Learjet, cross country, with a midnight toast over one state in the mountain time zone and another midnight toast an hour later. Sweetness! I almost left the diapers at home for this one, but at the last minute decided to do it...

In diapers.

The year before I moved to Florida friends with a huge luxury RV threw a party at a snowed-in state park a few miles from my home. I'd planned to stay home, explaining that I didn't want to drive, but they brought the RV by my house and I couldn't say no. Watching the ball drop in a big-ass bus on the plasma, with every kind of liquor you can imagine, was surreal. And of course, I did in...

In diapers.

Over the years I've done the clubs, the bars, and even church. I worked one year. Maybe two? But, no matter what I was doing when the clock struck midnight and it became, well, whatever year was next, I've done it all in diapers. 

After all of that, my favorite New Year's Eve memories are of the years in between, when I avoided the crowds, stayed home, and was free to be Baby New Year. 

Being able to relax at home, wearing nothing but a diaper, beginning the next year sucking on a bottle and taking on the Pampers persona - great way to ring in the New Year. 

I'd give up clubs, bars, RVs, even the jet to be able to stay home, by myself or with friends, and just be myself. 

Cwis.

Tonight I'm going to a party at the Vue, a downtown condo here in Orlando. 

I tried to figure out a way out of it, but not going would mean an angry friend, a miffed business associate, and a good possibility of heartburn later. So I'm going.

I imagine it will be fun. I'll spend two hours standing around mingling - networking, really - and talking to a friend or two about how jealous I am that I don't live in this building. We'll step out onto the balcony and watch the fireworks, and toast at midnight. And then I'll battle the alcoholics and the boozen noobs, fighting for my place in the street all the way home. With any luck, I might even make it!

However it goes down, I will be diapered, without a doubt. 

But it won't be the same as what I'd hoped to do.

If I could do anything tonight, I'd stay home, watch Dick Clarke on television, and drink my champagne in a baby bottle. 

I'd suck my thumb, and as the ball drops, I'd soak my Pamper; fuck it, may as well start '09 damp, right?

I've been cajoled into going out, though, and so I shall. 

But it's not how I'd choose to greet 2009.

I guess it's just part of being... grr... a grownup.

On the other hand, the people at this get-together will have a real-life Baby New Year at their bash. They may not even realize it, save for an occasional waft of baby powder breezing in from the balcony, but Baby New Year will be there in full force, his disposable diaper puffing out from under his khakis.

So lucky them! Even if unlucky me.

In addition to Baby New Year, parties, alcohol, and Dick Clarke, New Year's Eve is also the time for... resolutions.

Resolutions are changes we resolve to make during the next year. We start off strong and, usually, forget all about them a week into the year. 

Most of us wind up at the gym. Some of us vow not to drink ever again. And a number of other resolutions are resolved, some kept, some broken.

It's a tradition.

I'd like to suggest some resolutions for the ABDL community:

• Resolve not to look down on other factions of the fetish. Abyfurs don't look down on non-furs, and vice versa. DLs don't look down on ABs, and ABs don't look down on DLs. We're all players in a crazy little fetish world that outsiders don't understand; let's resolve to, at the very least, be civil to each other.

• Resolve not to judge a book by its cover - or an adult baby by his diaper cover. Let's let things like age, attractiveness, immaturity, and other features be less important than what's inside someone. Let's resolve to give some credence to personality, and get to know people before we discount them as people we don't want to know.

• Resolve not to whine and cry when people don't like us. Save the whining and crying forreal babies! With all of these different factions, and people who will place emphasis on what's sexually attractive to them, it stands to reason that there will be people who, to be blunt, won't want to get to know you. Move on. Resolve not to let it bring you down - or the community down with your crying rants on various ABDL bulletin boards.

• Resolve to exclude those who don't understand the difference between adult babies and actual babies. Teen babies have their place in the ABDL community, but it's our responsibility to keep them safe. We need to take it seriously. People under 18 are generally not allowed on most ABDL websites, with the exception of some TB sites, but they nevertheless find their way. Unfortunately, they sometimes find their way to people who would victimize them; resolve to remember that, as hungry as someone may be for that daddy-son experience, if they are underage, it's not a possibility. And resolve to exclude the adults who don't know this - or who don't care - from our community.  

If you have others, I'd be interested to hear them... feel free to drop a comment below. 

Or just make your own.

And resolve to keep them.

It's New Year's Eve, and around the world people are putting on their diapers to play Baby New Year at New Year Eve parties. 

And I'm putting on mine to be Baby New Year - in secret.

I hope that, in some way, you've managed to incorporate a diaper into your New Year's Eve ritual, too.

But whether you begin 2009 in diapers, or out of them, I hope you have many opportunities to wear throughout the year, and that it's a good year for you ABDL-wise and in every other way.

Happy New Year.

Cwis