[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.
