The Bus Ticket...

I sent out a shit ton of Facebook friend requests last night. 

They mostly went out to people I see a lot or people I've gotten to know via the site's different ABDL groups. 

All went to people with non-ABDL profiles, and to people who have a significant number of mutual friends.

I started out just accepting some friend requests - people I'd gotten requests from over the last few weeks but who I'd been hesitant to accept, for fear of mixing my diaper life with my - well, my life. 

Somewhere along the line accepting friends turned into requesting them. 

I didn't send messages with any of my requests, so I knew that some would be accepted, and others would be ignored.

Then I got a message from someone who wanted to ask a question. 

I figured it would be something like "who are you again?" or "how do we know each other". 

It wasn't. 

The person I had friend requested is a young man who is a fan of the blog. He also interacts with me on Tumblr quite a bit, but he likely knows me as Cwis/Abysitter - my diaper persona - and doesn't know who I am on Facebook - the "real" me. 

What he does know, however, is that someone from our community suggested he message me, probably to start a bit of diaper drama, and for whatever reason he was unable to say no. 

In his message he asked me why I'm "antisocial" - why I want to be his friend on Facebook when I have snubbed some of his friends. (He probably forgot that he has his friends hidden, so I can't see who they are or how I may have snubbed them. But I have an idea...) 

He asked me to provide an answer to him via a message back on Facebook. He said something like, 

"Once I see it, I'll be able to understand. Then I'll accept your friend request." 

Translated: I am going to screenshot your response and share it with the person who asked me to send this message... 

No, thank you, sir. 

I deleted my friend request and ignored the message. 

But it irritated me the rest of the night. 

I'll share a story. 

In 2006, I didn't know anything about diaper cliques. 

I didn't realize there were groups of like-minded ABDL enthusiasts - I'd come from a place where I was lucky to find another ABDL, let alone two in the same room. 

So as I embarked on my 'road trip' from New York down south I sent messages to dozens of ABDLs on the former Aby.com website, asking people in every city I'd be coming near if they wanted to meet, chill, role-play - whatever. 

I met so many chill ABDLs. It started in Scranton, PA, with Baby Max, the first real ABDL I ever got to diaper. 

Then on to Boston. 

And Pyramus, NJ. 

And Cary, NC. 

And Statesville, NC. 

Well, almost Stateville, NC. 

It was in Pyramus that I first got a hint something was odd. 

The person I diapered was cool as hell, and it was a lot of fun - but he was already out the door when he asked me to come back in so he could tell me something. He wanted me to know that he'd had fun, and I seemed normal, but that some friends of his in a diaper group had asked him to "scout me out" - and that some had been telling people not to meet with me because I was a police officer (not true - and diapering people isn't illegal, anyway) and that it was all a set up (again, not true). 

I thanked him for the knowledge, but it made meeting people afterward awkward. I met up with an amazing kid in Cary who was cool as hell and even treated me to dinner, but I kept expecting him to confess some weirdness to me about being a scout, as well. 

Then, in Statesville, I got a prank phone call. Someone calling my hotel at 4 a.m. to ask me how my road trip was going. The thing was, I had only told one person I'd be in Statesville - I told everyone else, and my MySpace blog readers, I'd be in Charlotte, nearby. 

That kind of freaked me out. Our community has some odd ducks, and I was being stalked by at least one of them. 

My next city was Charleston, SC, and I blew off my Pamper pal there. 

Next up: Savannah, GA. I met up with one person, in public at a cafe, and it wasn't fun for me. 

Finally, Atlanta. I would be spending two weeks here, and had planned to meet up with a few people for some overnight fun. I had been stoked at one point - this would be the first major metropolitan area I'd travel to, I had a whole case of Abinas, and I couldn't wait to do some abysitting. 

Still, between my job interviews and visits with non-ABDL friends and family I couldn't bring myself to meet with anyone. I kept thinking back to the creepy voice on the other end of that phone call. 

I could tell I was letting people down - some people had really been looking forward to meeting with me. It hurt me when one of them basically listed all of his faults in a single email, asking me which had caused me not to want to meet him. Was it because he was a bit overweight? Was it because he was black? Was it because he was into messing? 

It was none of those things. 

That finally made me share what was going on. I told him that I'd been cyber-stalked by a creeper, and that people I didn't know were saying fucked up things about me to other people I didn't know in some weird scheme to get the second group of people I didn't know to avoid me. 

He agreed that was fucked up, and was glad that I had shared it with him. 

He told me if I had any problems in the ATL to hit him up, and he'd come stomp out someone. 

I told the next person, and the next. They were understanding, as well. 

Then I told one last person - the most persistent, the person who'd tried to put every guilt trip imaginable on me when I said I wasn't down for meeting any longer. 

"I have some creepy group of people stalking me, and I don't feel comfortable meeting with people at the moment," I told him. 

I'll never forget his response. 

"Those people aren't creepy, they're my friends! And they're ten times as cool as you'll ever be!" 

He then went on a rant like nothing I've ever seen. And as he ranted, I clicked onto his Aby.com profile. I looked at his photos, and the people in them. And then I clicked on the profile photo of each of his friends. 

I now had a pretty good idea who the creepers were. 

I never did get to thank him... 

A few weeks later I was rolling around the next city I visited, my semi-ABDL friend seated next to me in the passenger seat surfing the internet on my phone, when a YIM message came in. 

It was from someone I'd seen on Aby.com, and had sent a message to weeks before. 

He wanted me to know that he could get "in trouble" for talking to me, but that he was a rebel and was going to anyway. 

But he made me promise - promise! - not to tell anyone, because he was living with his "daddy" and could get into a lot of trouble, maybe even kicked out. 

I agreed. I still didn't understand the whole "daddy effect" our community has. 

My semi-ABDL friend was pissed. 

"If he has to meet with you in secret, FUCK THAT DUDE," he kept telling me. "Anyone who can't hang out with you and be proud of it doesn't deserve to in the first place." 

I could see his point. 

But I'll be honest - my standards were lower, then: the kid was hot, I'd wanted to diaper him since I'd first seen his profile at the beginning of my road trip, and I wanted to go. I could keep a secret lol.

The kid wanted to meet up and chill in diapers. My friend was doing the messaging for me. I agreed to his proposal, but my friend instead typed that I'd suggested lunch to start, LOL. We agreed to meet at a cafe. I tried to get my semi-ABDL friend to join us, but he refused - he said something like "I have too much self-respect for you, even if you don't have it for yourself..." 

Damn. :( 

We met the next day, and honestly, I was glad that I'd ignored my friend's advice. This kid was chill as hell. And, he was even cuter in person that he'd been in his Aby.com pictures. We ordered food, and he was sitting there, randomly telling me stories about diaper experiences he'd had, and he's kind of just rambling - something I find adorable. He's talking a little loudly about being diapered, and I tried to shush him once or twice, but he was either oblivious to the fact that other people could hear, or maybe he didn't care - he just kept going... and going... and going... 

He's telling me about being diapered with some area guys, and he mentions something about the first time - something about "seven years ago." 

I remember screwing up my face and looking around to see if anyone else heard that. Of course, nobody had, or everyone was pretending not to hear... 

The kid caught the look on my face and stopped talking. 

"Wait... what's wrong?" he asked. 

"How old are you, again?" I asked him. 

"Twenty. Why?" 

I remember sitting there trying to do the math in my head. 

"That would make you, like... 14," I finally said. "Your first time." 

"I think thirteen," he corrected me. And then he continued to tell his story. After another thirty seconds of watching me look what could probably be described as a mixture of surprise and disgusted he stopped talking again. "What?" he asked me. And then he waited. 

"You understand that wearing diapers with adults at age 13 or 14 isn't something that's cool, right?" 

I'll never forget his response. He got defensive. As if he'd done something wrong, and I was calling him out on it. For a minute I thought he might tell me off and get up and walk away. I interrupted him. 

"I'm saying, bro... if you were 13, nobody should have been putting you in diapers. You were too young. It was illegal." 

"Tell that to [names redacted]," he told me. "They did it too." 

He was talking about other people his own age. As if he was trying to justify what he'd done. Like I was accusing him of wrongdoing. 

WTF?

I realized that I was speaking to someone who literally had no understanding of how the age of consent works. 

And as he sat across from me, lecturing me on how being put into a diaper isn't even sexual, and comparing it to changing a baby or an elderly person, I wondered how many other people in our community felt the same way. 

I would learn, later, over time - mainly from writing this blog - that this feeling once pervaded our community. In fact, in some corners - probably more than I'd like to think about - it still exists. 

The kid was back to explaining his life from age 13 on up, and as he talked he told me a story of a kid who fought with his parents in his early teens, moved in with his daddy around 16, and gave up the chance to move cross-country with the rest of his family the year before. He'd wanted to stay with "Daddy." His parents weren't happy about it, but didn't have time to help convince him to change his mind. 

He finished his story, and then asked me for mine. 

I was still a little shaken up, but I told it the best I could. He got to hear some of the same stories some of you have read on my blog, and it was clear that he was enjoying them. Back then I wasn't blogging like I am now, so any chance I had to tell my stories I was ready to roll them out. 

Still, I couldn't get past some of what he'd told me. 

It was also clear that I'd gotten him thinking. 

He seemed distracted, even as I was regaling him with tales of Pampz-for-pay and my first ABDL play date. After a while he sort of interrupted, and asked me more about the age of consent. Specifically, he wanted to know if the younger person could get into trouble. I explained that it doesn't work that way. What if there were other younger people involved - could he get into trouble then? I kind of pressed him for details, but he seemed ashamed, and didn't go much further. 

We talked a bit, and I realized that, for whatever reason, he'd literally never thought of himself as a victim before. To him, it seemed entirely normal. Even now he was thinking of himself as the one who'd done something wrong. 

I remember realizing how I'd seen his picture so many times, thought he was cute as fuck, and had wanted to diaper him my entire road trip - and now, having heard his story and having explained the deal to him, I wouldn't be able to go through with it. I wanted to hug him, not diaper him. 

Right around that time, of course, as if on cue, he asked if I wanted to come back and diaper him. 

"I don't think so," I told him. He looked disappointed. 

"Can we at least drive around and talk some more?" he asked. 

So we did. 

As we drove around, him helping me navigate a city I'd never been to before, we talked more about some of the experiences he'd had. He elaborated on his parents moving - his father had gotten a job with a company on the west coast, but his parents weren't supportive of his sexuality, and they wouldn't let him wear diapers at home, so he'd decided not to go with them. 

"That's why you wouldn't go?" I asked him incredulously. "Dude... nobody's parents let them wear diapers at home. Parents are just - not into that." 

"My Daddy does," he reminded me. 

The kid was clueless. 

I tried to explain that the relationship was anything but parental, but wasn't sure I was getting through, although he nodded his head a lot and acted like he understood. 

An hour or two later we were sipping coffee on the causeway when he confessed that things weren't always good - his "Daddy" was starting to socialize with younger boys, and was suddenly becoming increasingly rude to him, even making suggestions that he move out whenever any sort of argument erupted. 

"It's like he thinks I'm not fun to diaper anymore, just because I'm in my 20s." 

I nodded. I knew exactly what he was talking about. I wondered if he did. 

"To tell you the truth," he confided, "there have been a bunch of times that I wonder if I should have just gone with my parents. If I had the money to go, I'd probably just go." 

And that was all he had to say. 

I'd recently bought a friend a ticket on Greyhound to come and visit me in my new city, but my friend has only mentioned that he had a court date for the week he was scheduled to come after the ticket was purchased. I was so annoyed I called and canceled it, and didn't even offer to reschedule. I now had a $180 credit with Greyhound, and for an additional fee they would let me transfer it into another name. 

"I'd cover the ticket if you got on the bus while I watched," I told him. 

Now it was his turn to look surprised. He turned to me and kind of screwed up his face. And then some more. And then some more again. 

"Wait, what do you mean?" he finally asked. "You mean you'd pay for my ticket?" 

"Yes. If you got on the bus and I watched it pull out with you on it." 

"Why?" he asked me. 

"Because if I'm going to drop a few hundred on a ticket I want to know you're going to make it out of town." I'd recently been burned by an idiot friend, and I was damned if it was going to happen again. 

"No. I mean... why? Why would you do that? We hardly know each other," he said. "I mean, we just met. Why would you buy me a ticket to go home?" 

I was a little bit embarrassed. He was right. I barely knew him. And I was about to spend $250 on a bus ticket so he could move. I really didn't know why. I just knew that it felt like the right thing to do. I'd offered it instinctively. I tried to think of how to put that into words. 

"Bro. That shit I said really got to you, huh?" he finally said. I remember wanting to explain to him how truly pissed off it had made me, but not really being able to put it into words, still. "I'm sorry," he told me. "I didn't mean to upset you. I was just trying to share my story, like you asked..." 

I asked him if he really wanted to move. I began to suspect he was having second thoughts. 

"I'll go today," he told me. "If you are going to front me the money, I'll go today. You can take me by my Daddy's to get a few things, and I'm on the next bus out. Man..." 

He seemed excited. I called Greyhound and found out the next bus was minutes away, and the one after would't leave until late that evening. We decided to spend a few more hours together instead of trying to rush, and he helped me find our way back to the place he was calling home. 

I waited on the street while he went and retrieved a bag of his things. I remember thinking - how would hanging out in diapers have worked? In his "Daddy's" house - with his "Daddy" threatening to kick him out of the house if he met with me, or anyone else who wasn't a part of the clique? What if that guy had come home? The whole thing had been a dumb idea. 

Still, I was glad that we'd gone through with meeting, anyway, because it was looking like something good was about to come out with it. 

He came back out and I noticed that his demeanor had changed. He looked like he was having second thoughts for sure, now. I hadn't paid for the ticket yet, and I wanted to give him a chance to back out. So I asked him, point blank, what was wrong. 

"I just realized that I invited you all this way to diaper me, and now you're helping me but you didn't even get to put me in diapers or anything." 

"That's all that's bothering you?" I asked him. I almost laughed. 

"Yea, man. I don't want you to think that I am a user or something like that. I just..." 

"I don't think that at all, bro," I reassured him. Truthfully, I looked at him and saw someone who'd been used, by at least one person and likely more than one, and just thinking about it made me angry. I tried to change the subject, but he blurted out that I could diaper him any time I came to visit his new city (unlikely, lol) and that he'd send me the bus money back when he had it, either way. He insisted that I write down my address, and I did. 

"One thing that I think is funny," he told me while we sat outside the bus station. "My Daddy was mad when I told him I was even thinking of going to meet you. Can you imagine how mad he'd be if he found out we actually met, after he said he'd kick me out, and you actually paid for me to move out and back with my parents?" He seemed excited by the idea, and was kind of laughing now. 

It was then that I made him make me a promise - a promise not to tell anyone that we'd met, or that I'd paid. 

"I don't need to have any more trouble with people here than I already do," I told him. 

"You're gonna have trouble either way, man," he told me. "But it won't be because of me. I won't tell anyone, you've got my word. Your secret is safe with me." 

After I paid for the bus ticket and walked him to the bus he told me that, while his "Daddy" had made a number of suggestions that he move back with his parents, any time he agreed it would be a good idea his "Daddy" would taunt him because he was broke. 

"It was like he wanted to make me feel like I should move all the time, but didn't really want me to move," he told me. "I don't get it." 

I got it. 

"You know, I'm glad I had the courage to meet you today," he told me. I sort of risked everything, and look what I gained?" 

It was kind of poignant, like a scene in a movie lol. We hugged, and then I watched him get on the bus, and waited as it pulled away. 

And then I got back into my car, and I drove back home.

As I drove down the highway, the anger set in. I thought about what he'd said, and in the privacy of my car I sort of seethed and raged. 

What the fuck adult thinks it's okay to diaper an adolescent boy? 

Who pulls a teenager away from his family over diapers? 

And who the fuck uses their "Daddy" status to tell people in our community who they can or can't see, or threatens to kick them out of the house, or group, or clique, if they don't follow the rules? 

As I drove, I resolved to 100% avoid these types of people, and the people who associate with them. 

I don't know if he ever told anyone or not. 

His Aby.com profile was deleted shortly after he would have arrived in his new state, and though I did find profiles with his photos on them a few times, they appeared to be fake or dormant accounts. You know the type. Daddies sometimes use them as lures for fresh diaperboys. I questioned whether I should even send a message to them, and never did. 

I started blogging in 2008. I hoped that he'd see my blog and reach out, but he didn't. By 2011 my blog was getting 150+ viewers a day, and I remember wondering from time to time if he was one of them. Still, I never heard from him. 

In August of 2012 I was going through a fairly low point in my life when, out of the blue, an envelope arrived in my mailbox. It was in an envelope from a bank, and I remember thinking that it looked like a car loan offer or some sort of rebate scheme - the kind of mail you might get with a fake check inside. Still, I opened it. 

It was a money order for $211. And, on the other side, a note, written on bank stationary, as if it had been written as an afterthought: 

"Your blog is the shit, Chris. I check it every day. I keep wondering when I'm going to see my story up there. You should tell it one day. Cannot repay you for what you did, but I will try anyway. So here. Doing better than you could imagine. Stay in touch." 

No return address. Just the address for the bank. 

I called the bank the money order was written on, asking if they could tell me who the accountholder was. I got, in return, a very snotty lecture on the difference between a bank check and a money order. I held on to the money order for a few weeks - it meant more to me to look at it, and appreciate it, than it did to deposit it. 

Eventually, though, I did. 

I felt a little guilty. I hadn't really paid $211 - I'd had a credit for $180, and after the fees were taken out of that I might have spent a total of $75 on the bus ticket. I hadn't told him that, because I wanted him to keep his ass on that bus, and not hop off mid-way and come back... I figured his thinking that I'd paid more would give him more incentive to make the full trip. Obviously, he had. 

Plus, I hadn't really thought he'd ever pay me back. I hadn't expected it. After six years, I'd almost forgotten. 

But when the $211 hit my hand, I remember how I'd felt the day we'd met, and how angry I'd been when he'd shared his story with me. 

Six years had gone by, and I'd managed to stand by my principles 100%, in all that time. 

There were times that I missed out on diapering some amazingly attractive diaper boys because I saw that they, too, were close associates of [Daddy's name redacted], and just couldn't bring myself to do it. 

There were definitely times I questioned myself. Was it worth missing out on [insert potentially amazing diaper experience here]? I wasn't sure, sometimes, to be honest. 

Partially because I'd gotten to talk to some of the people in my little friend's former clique over the years, and partially because I've talked to so many of you in my years of blogging about diapers, I have come to understand how pervasive this shit is, and how much of a negative affect it has on our community. 

And how accepted it is, by some.

I'm talking about possessive daddies and cliques, and I'm talking about diapering people under 18. 

It's disappointing, really, on both fronts. 

I've primarily kept the story out of my blog. 

I've touched on it in the past a bit, including a blog entry I wrote in 2011. But, for the most part, I try to keep the blog drama-free. 

Even today, I won't mention any names. 

I've been told that I should call them out. 

But unless you're someone I've grown close with, and laid in diapers next to, there's a good chance you have no idea who I'm talking about. 

If you do, it's because you're suddenly realizing that the people who have talked shit about me have done it for different reasons than you expected. 

If that's the case, they sold themselves out. 

So, to my friend who Facebook messaged me today, hoping I'd get back in a message that could be shared across Facebook - and to anyone else who has gotten the same message from the same person/people - I'll just say this: 

I know when you sent that drivel

you probably didn't know it was me. 

But if someone you've talked to

who has never met me

(or anyone else in our community) 

tells you that

1. you're not allowed to hang out with that person; 

2. that hanging out with that person could get you in trouble with "Daddy"

3. or kicked out of a clique or group or social gathering; 

4. because that person is "antisocial" or "anti-community"; 

5. or any other bullshit excuses they might provide;

question whether there might be

a whole other side to the story; 

be an adult, 

an individual, 

and make up your own mind -

especially before you send them a message

on behalf of someone else

and make an ass out of yourself. 

There is way, way more to the story that I'm not telling here, because to tell any more gives away too much, and I'm trying not to do that. 

I won't name names, or cities, or even states. 

If you're one of the person who's been diapered by me here, or at the cottage, and you're someone I care about and trust, you may have heard parts of it. 

Or you may have heard the basic points from the people I've avoided all these years, and just put it all together just now. If so, go you. 

If you've followed my blog all of these years, you already know how I feel: 

• Keep it 18+, always;
• Avoid the people who don't. 
• Friends are good; cliques are bad;
• Individuals who stand on their own two feet are a huge turnon;
• There aren't enough of these in our community; 
• People who disrespect others for the sake of a daddy or group suck ass; 
• There are still too many of these people in our community;  
• There are people in our community who are good people - figure out who they are. 
• If you've ever treated someone in our community poorly, it's never too late to apologize. 

PS: If I ever paid for a bus ticket for you, it's time we reconnected. Email me or text me. Contact info is on the blog.