Growing Up: The Cottage - Part VI

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My New Paci...

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

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

Best Friends... Part III

Mark lay flat on his stomach, his ass in the air just a touch, flexing his shoulder blades, probably knowing how much that turned me on. I lay next to him, rubbing his asscheeks, feeling their hardness, a little envious. Mark was truly an attractive kid. I was decent, with a swimmer's build and blond hair which became lighter in the summer. But I always had to work at it, whereas Mark could sit on his beautiful Speedo-clad ass and eat Haagen-Daas ice cream straight from the carton and still be... hot.

"So when you first realized... wow," I marveled aloud, thinking of what Mark's reaction must have been. "I guess I owe you a thank you. I'm surprised you didn't spread the word..."

"Fuck no, you're my best friend," Mark replied. "You know everything about me, and I thought I knew everything about you." I could tell Mark was being semi-funny, but he sounded a little hurt, too. "I mean... if I'm not the first person you've told about this... at least I am the first person you've put one of these on, right?"

He was.

I continued to rub Mark's ass, thinking. He'd known for weeks, and we'd hung out a whole bunch of times since he'd found out, but he'd never let on that he'd known until today. Thinking back, I realized he'd dropped some hints; I'd been invited over for a family BBQ and Mark had picked up his younger cousin's diaper bag and tossed it to me. "You should know where this goes," he'd said. I hadn't thought anything of it. Meanwhile, Mark had either been making fun of me or trying to signal that he was in on the secret...

Several weeks before I put a Hanes tighty-whitey diaper on Mark, he'd driven to the cottage to surprise me.

Mark had been to the cottage many times with me. Never by himself. But he'd gotten his driver's license, and cell phones weren't commonplace yet. The cottage equaled solitude - I still yearn for that feeling sometimes, knowing I'll probably never experience it again - and Mark couldn't call to tell me. So he drove there.

I'd not told Mark I was going to the cottage that day. I needed some toddler time, and had decided to roll on out on my lonesome, happy to become Little Cwis for a day or two. Mark had first driven to my parents house and, after sharing the news with them, had decided to take his first big trip, down the Thruway and to the lake.

That day I'd spent the entire afternoon in nothing but an Attends diaper. I'd wet once, twice, then a third time and, by the time I was finished, I was soaked and leaky. Not wanting to leak on a bed or furniture i'd rolled out the guest cot, put a plastic mattress protector on it, and laid out my Peanuts/Snoopy sheets, setting everything in the center of the living room floor. There was a small chance someone could stop by, but it was remote, so I wasn't worried much - in fact, I'd done this whole routine before. I'd open the huge windows on every side of the cottage and, as lake breezes cooled the indoors, I'd lay on my tummy, feeling the wind on my diapered bum.

I'd fallen asleep that day, and slept for several hours. When I'd awoken I'd decided to drive out to a lakeside hamburger stand for a cheeseburger and a milkshake. Not wanting to test my luck with a wet, stinky diaper I'd changed, leaving the wet diaper in a pile by the door and heading out in a dry, powder-laden diaper. It would be, in fact, one of the first times I'd wear in public.

While I'd slept, Mark had arrived.

And he wasn't alone...

"Are you sure that nobody else knows?" I asked Mark, hoping to be reassured. I continued to rub his ass and, by this point, had moved a hand around to his front-side, pressing it up and down against his erect penis, without protestation.

"Nobody knows, dude. You have my word on that... why would you even think you had to ask?"

"Well, think about it, Mark... you were with Sean Pace. Sean Fucking Pace. Sean 'I Can't Keep Anything To Myself' Pace. How would I not be a little worried?"

Mark considered this, then turned over suddenly, sitting up.

"Sean didn't see anything, and he doesn't know anything," Mark said, looking very seriously. "And if he did see something, or did know something, he wouldn't say something, because he knows I'd stomp his fucking ass."

I was feeling reassured.

"Nobody knows, and if they ever found out, they'd be talking about how you wear diapers, and now I've worn one too," Mark continued. "And yes, I know this is a 'fake diaper'. If they knew I'd wear a real one. And I'd wear it right into school. I'd walk up to Sean Pace, take a big fat dump, pull my diaper down, and smear it in his face. And I'd say 'It's time to stop talking now, Sean.' Every time he smelled a shitty diaper, for the rest of his life, he'd think of me, and the importance of keeping a secret."

I was chuckling now.

"But calm down, dude. He doesn't know." And he added after thinking: "And if I were you I wouldn't go telling him, hoping he'll squeal and I'd get to see Mark Teague walking around school in a shit-filled diaper."

I assured Mark that wasn't my plan.

Mark had picked up Sean and driven the sixty minutes down the Thruway and along country roads until they came to the lake. They'd driven down the dirt road to the cottage, Mark's Bronco handling the treacherousness with ease. (I was jealous of Sean; Mark had been talking about taking his Bronco 'off-roading' at the cottage for the longest, and I'd missed being the first person he'd gotten to do it with.)

Mark knew I wasn't particularly fond of Sean - Sean could be annoying in a major way, and was fond of talking about people behind their backs, but Mark was eager to share his first solo Thruway drive with someone, and Sean was my replacement. Knowing there was a chance I'd be annoyed Mark left Sean to wait, hoping to give me a few minutes advance notice before Sean joined the three of us on the beach.

Mark had walked down the steps to the cottage, excited about surprising me.

He'd walked along the beach, glad to see the motorboat, row boat, and canoe were all present; that meant I was around somewhere.

He walked into the cottage and, I imagine, was stunned by what he'd found.

In the middle of the living room floor, on a rollaway cot, lay his best friend - in a huge, wet, baby diaper.

I can't even imagine the look on his face when he first saw.

He was quiet, presumably, because I never woke up.

Not even when he quietly picked up a blanket off the floor, placed it over me, and tip-toed out.

Mark had told me later that he'd been worried someone else would see me.

I remembered waking up with the blanket covering me, thinking I'd been sleepwalking.

Instead, Mark had covered me up, then trudged back up to the Bronco.

He'd told Sean that I wasn't feeling well and didn't want company.

Sean had complained, suggesting that the two of them at least go for a swim. Mark had refused, and would later tell me that Sean had been pretty persistent. To placate him Mark drove both of them to a get burgers and fries. Several hours later, having no idea of any of this, I'd drive my diapered ass to the same stand.

I couldn't even imagine Mark's reaction when he'd first told me all of this.

A few weeks later I had a Penthouse magazine about DPF in my hands.

And a few weeks after that, Mark's fake-diapered ass in my face.

Mark arched his back, his cock pressing up against the material his 'diaper' was made of.

I continued to rub, working my hands up and down his penis. At some point Mark turned over, sticking his hard little ass into the air and requesting a massage.

"Rub, please?"

I was more than happy to oblige and, as I rubbed Mark's tush, I marveled at how lucky I'd been.

My best friend had found me in a diaper and, instead of telling anyone, he'd protected me.

He'd later pledge to humiliate himself to defend my honor.

I'd get hints which would go unrecognized and, eventually, a magazine left in my car in an attempt to broach the subject.

And only a few weeks after it had all begun, my best friend - straight and definitely not into diapers - would propose wearing something which resembled a diaper in an attempt to understand my fetish, and/or identify with it.

This, plus the fact that Mark was beautiful inside and out, made me realize how fortunate I'd been.

So when Mark asked me to explain a little bit more about the diapers, I felt at ease...

"I get that they're relaxing, Chris. But I know you relax no matter what you're doing down here. So... what else do you get out of wearing diapers?"

To Be Continued...

Happy St. Patrick's Day!

Anyone have any Irish gear? I've seen stuff for just about every holiday but St. Patrick's Day...




Can I get that in an XXL?! Hehe...




Hope your day is "lucky"...

Baby Pictures: Sissy Baby Danny

A few pictures courtesy Sissy Baby Danny, a friend I met on Pixel. Danny is a 21yo AB from Scotland. He's into babyplay "wholeheartedly - so if a baby does it, so will I." Danny is frustrated by the number of dope-ass diaperboys who create accounts and go on to do nothing with them - aren't we all? In his spare time he works out at the gym and belongs to a kickboxing club.













Want to get to know Danny's adorable diapered ass? Visit http://bit.ly/djhtvH.

18+ and want to contribute some 'baby pics' for the blog? Email them to me at abysitter@gmail.com.

Diaper Stations

I went to a McDonalds to get one of those swanky McCafe frozen lattes, and was surprised... the inside was all nice, not like the McDonalds I remember. Rich mahogany woods... marble tile... probably all synthetic and fake, but it FELT fancy. Even the diaper station was top notch. I wasn't wet, but I wanted to hop up there and give it a go...

Growing Up: The Cottage - Part IV

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

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

Best Friends... Part II

"Does Cwissy need a diapey?"

I looked at Mark sternly and told him to stop. He just laughed and continued.

"Cwissy need his Pampers on?" He got to his knees, one on each side of me, and flapped an opened diaper in my face. I grabbed his junk and gave a light squeeze and he groaned and fell on top of me. In seconds he had my arms over my head, held tightly by his hands and his entire body weight on them. "Do that again and I will pee on you. And I am not wearing my diaper yet." I laughed and he flopped on top of me, rolling off to my side. "What are you going to do about that?"

"I guess I'm going to fake diaper you," I told him, sitting up.

"Well, be careful grabbing me while you do it, I may fake squirt in your face," Mark quipped, his eyes averting to his penis.

I rolled my eyes and picked up the 'diaper'. It was a big pair of Hanes underwear, tighty whiteys that Mark had cut down the sides to resemble a cloth diaper. They were new, but too big for Mark - I'd seen his underpants many, many times.

"What are these, your Dad's??" I asked.

"Dude, are you kidding?" Marked asked me, seeming incredibly serious. "Chris. Think. My Dad doesn't wear diapers."

I remember having a full erection while I read the Penthouse article about DPF.

It wasn't the content of the article, which mostly mixed factual information about diaper fetish with some tales of people who'd been arrested for putting children in diapers.

It was thinking of my best friend having read it first, and recommended it for me.

How had he known?

The entire time we'd known each other I'd gone to great lengths to conceal my love for diapers. Mark was my best friend, and it was one of those friendships you don't fck up with an admission like that. We'd seen each other naked, practically spooned while we slept in the same bed, and had stripped each other naked while wrestling, but talk about diapers? That was too close to talking about sex, and even though it was clear I was enjoying every second of groping Mark's bottom, I felt I could never admit I was enjoying it.

And I could definitely never admit I enjoyed diapers.

I finished the magazine and hid it in the back of my station wagon. There was a lot of stuff back there, and I figured it would escape detection. (I didn't mind sneaking diapers into the house, but sneaking a pornographic magazine might have sent my parents over the edge). I remember that my thoughts were racing...

How had Mark known?

I envisioned myself having said something in my sleep.

"Mmmmmm... I think I wet the bed, and I'm not wearing my diaper."

I imagined Mark's reaction if I'd let something like that slip as we slept. Would he have kept it quiet? Could he have kept it quiet? Mark was pretty cocky and outspoken. I pictured him responding right away. Shaking me awake, even, if only to make fun of me. Had he really kept it quiet, and subtly responded by planting a magazine with a related article in my car??

It had to be more in-depth than that...

How did he knowww???

"Want me to pick my feet up?"

I nodded.

"Like a baby? Or like a seventeen year-old?"

I laughed and pulled Mark's feet up, pushing them toward his head. I asked him what the difference was.

"I don't know," Mark replied after a few seconds of looking thoughtful. "I figured you'd tell me..."

"Like a seventeen year-old baby," I answered, and Mark rolled his eyes.

Mark bent down, grabbing his feet in his hands and pulling them behind his head. He was bent like a pretzel now, his sweet bottom right up in my face. I fished around for the baby powder, among the baby stuff strewn across the bed, and Mark reached over, felt for it, and put it in my hand.

"Sprinkle liberally over baby's skin," he read from the bottle as he passed it. "Sprinkle it on my bottom..."

"I know what I'm doing," I cut him off, laughing. Truthfully, though, this would be my first time diapering someone. I'd only diapered myself, albeit dozens of times. I unscrewed the cap and held it over Mark's midsection, the bottle in my right hand and Mark's 'diaper' in my left. I flicked the cloth toward the center of his ass, letting it fall toward his bottom, then spread the cloth out until it was perfectly positioned in line with his ass cheeks. Mark reached down to help, fishing around for the fabric and pulling it up underneath his butt.

The talcum rained down on Mark like a blizzard, white powder piling up on his penis, balls, and down into his ass. I poured until he was almost completely covered, figuring if he wasn't going to wear a real diaper, he could at least smell like he was. And he did... he reeked of baby powder by the time I was done.

Mark was tan. It was part of his Italian-ness, something which was very important to him. Mark envisioned himself a gangster and, while his heritage was actually Polish-German-and-Italian, Mark referred to himself as Italian and thought of himself as the same. At the cottage Mark would strip down to his Speedo to tan as much as possible, using straight baby oil instead of tanning lotion. If nobody else was around besides me, he'd take the Speedo off, too. Many, many afternoons we'd floated around the lake on a big raft, Mark bare-assed, relying on me to toss his towel over him if a boat came too close. I'm tanning my can! he'd yell if the boaters had seemed to seen him.

Because of this, every inch of Mark was tan, making the baby powder's whiteness contrast against the tan-ness of his ass. It was hot. I rubbed the powder around, watching the marks my fingers made against Mark's skin. Mark lay back, arching his back a little, pushing his penis up toward me. It was becoming hard.

Before anything else could happen I set the powder down and pulled the cloth 'diaper' up toward his tummy, pushing it down across him. I lifted his hips on his right side and tucked the Hanes diaper underneath, the rolled him from the other direction and did the same on that side. I pulled the back of the 'diaper' from underneath, equally on both sides, and stretched it as much as possible, managing to get each end to meet in the center of Mark's front. A diaper pin on the right, and a diaper pin on the left, and Mark was 'diapered'.

I had to admit that the bulge of his penis against the 'diaper' was hot as fck. I rolled him over; the diaper stretched across his asscrack was hot, too. I patted his ass, watching baby powder cascade into the air. Mark began laughing as he squeezed his ass, mock-humping the mattress. He playfully put his thumb into his mouth, making a sucking sound for a few seconds. And then...

"I see what you mean, bro... this is relaxing. I'm glad I decided to bring this up..."

I was glad he had, too.

I only wished he had the first time he realized diapers were my thing...

To Be Continued...

Baby Pictures: Baby Jamie - Part II

More pictures from a 2008 abysitting session...

...so cute, and lots of fun.

Thanks, Baby Jamie!

Want to see your

(adult) baby pictures

on the blog?

Email me at

abysitter@gmail.com!

False Advertising?

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

Shopping...

I gotta start getting these things delivered.

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

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




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

Growing Up: The Cottage - Part III

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

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

Best Friends...

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Mark was my best friend in high school.

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

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

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

We'd wind up being best friends.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

About diapers.

He made it easy.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

It stopped me cold.

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

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

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

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

I had to find out...

To Be Continued...

Baby Pictures: Baby Jamie - Part I

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

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

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

Want to see your

(adult) baby pictures

on the blog?

Email me at

abysitter@gmail.com!

YouTube Tuesdays: Expanding Our Horizons - France

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

Anyone willing to try this?

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

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

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

Brrrrrrrr... that's HOT.

Baby Pictures: Baby Nick

Baby Album: Baby Nick

Baby Nick is an adorable redhead,

a fairly new collegebaby from Canada.

You can find his profile here.

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

in a future entry...

Thanks, Nick!

Have baby pictures you're proud of?

Share them with my blog readers.

Just email them to abysitter@gmail.com.