In The News: Here's A Woman With Great Taste!

This one can hardly be believed. 

This woman either has great taste - or no taste buds at all. Otherwise, why would she be addicted to chewing on wet diapers?

This article from The Daily Mail (UK) is about Keyshia, a 22 year-old woman from Queens, who is addicted to the smell and taste of wet diapers. She gets them from friends and even strangers, and keeps them in her purse, in her dresser drawer, and even in the kitchen when she's cooking dinner. 

"It has to have pee in it," she explains. "The heavier ones that have more pee smell better." 

Many of us know about the aroma when wet meets baby powder. I've heard it described as comforting, and I've heard it described as an aphrodisiac. But damn... she's eating them. 

No judgement. Anyway, check out the official TLC My Strange Addiction page here. 

Bon Appetit. 

In The News: Diapers as Punishment - Update

In June I posted a blog entry about parents who forced their 12 year-old son to wear diapers. At the time I mentioned that it was unlikely to be something directly-related to diaper fetish - although, with the way a few of our members continue to fuck up, it's impossible to say for sure. 

In this case, the boy was being forced to wear a diaper as punishment. It was designed to humiliate him - because, as impossible as it seems for us to believe, diapering someone is the most degrading act some deranged people out there can come up with. 

You might remember my entries about the parents of Christian Choate, who was killed after years of being locked in a dog cage and a diaper. There were also the parents of the 8 year-old boy who made him attend karate classes in diapers. I've included stories like this more than half a dozen times. And, sad to say, some of you came into your love of diapers because of your own involvement in situations like this.

More has come out in the news regarding the story I posted above. 

[WARNING: Graphic]

Jose Franco and Amanda Gonzales have been accused of beating, starving, and forcing the young boy to wear a diaper. The photos showed major bruising on the boys bottom and red marks that looked like a rash on his inner thighs. Cops arrested Franco and Gonzales last May when a family member came forward with disturbing claims that the boy was forced to wear a diaper, endured physical beatings on a regular basis, and was forced to stand for long periods of time. 

Today the aunt of the 12-year old boy took the stand. She says she discovered that her young nephew was being abused and called police. Today she went into detail about what she saw. She described the day Jose Franco and Amanda Gonzales let her take the boy saying, "when he sat in the car he took a deep breath in like he was safe." She says slowly throughout the day her nephew began sharing his tales of abuse. She says he told her, "mom doesn't feed me." She says he went on to tell her he only got 30 seconds to use the restroom and every second he went over he was hit with a pinata stick.

During opening statements, state prosecutor Brittany Jensen told jurors the abuse from the couple was a result of allegations the boy molested his younger sister. But the couple's defense attorneys told jurors the child had behavioral issues, at one point hospitalized for schizophrenia following molestation allegations.

You might remember that Christian Choate's diaper/dog cage punishment came after allegations he'd molested a relative, as well. He was tortured and eventually beaten to death. 

If you're so inclined, you can read the stories about Jose Franco and Amanda Gonzales here, here, and here.

I include this story in my blog because I know that a whole bunch of members of the ABDL community developed diaper fetishes after similar punishments. One of you wrote an entry about it (update coming soon), and a whole bunch of you have told me about it in less than a full blog entry (or in person). You've seen other 'In The News' segments about parents forcing their children to wear diapers as punishment. Parents set out to humiliate their children by diapering them, and sometimes those children turn into adults with diaper fetishes.

Let's pray these two get a long term in prison. And that this kid, despite all of his issues, winds up to be as well-adjusted as possible under the circumstances.

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On Doing What's Right...

I've published more than 1,000 blog entries since I started blogging in 2008. 

Not every blog entry I write will be directly related to diapers, kinks, or fetishes. 

Most will be.

Probably 99.99%. 

But every once in a while I try to write something that is more related to life in general. 

Like my College Guide, which I published last year for everyone to see. 

Or any number of a dozen or so 'secret' entries - entries I've written in response to problems people have approached me with and then privately linked to the people who they are intended for. 

Or entries like this one. 

This one, aimed at a friend who I know reads my blog. 

I could hit him up directly, but I suspect that would lead to little more than him defending himself, making excuses, etc.; fuck all that. 

Plus, I suspect there are more than a few people in our community who this could apply to. 

So if you read it and think it might apply to you... it probably does. ;)

 Click on the graphic to make it bigger. Note: though the quote is mine, the artwork is not.

 
IF YOU HAVE TO HIDE THE FACT

THAT SOMEONE

IS YOUR FRIEND,

THERE IS A GOOD PROBABILITY 

THAT THEY ARE

NOT REALLY WORTHY

OF YOUR FRIENDSHIP. 

First, a totally non-ABDL story from me growing up.

One August morning following my freshman year of college will stand out in my life as a day I will never forget. It was one of those days that would change my life forever, although I probably wouldn't recognize how much until later. 

I'd spent the night at the cottage with a friend. We'd gotten up early, needing to return back so that my friend could make it to an important court appearance and I could see a friend I hadn't seen in years. We were in a bit of a hurry.

It was probably 6:30 a.m., just a little after sunrise when we left the cottage. It was maybe 7 a.m. by the time we hit the New York State Thruway. We'd only been driving for a few minutes when we rounded a curve and saw, to our horror, a car overturned in the median. 

It had obviously just happened. The car sat on its roof, tires still spinning, nobody anywhere near it. 

My friend was horrified. He grabbed my arm in a vice grip. 

"We have to stop!!!!!" he shouted.

Gone were any thoughts of the reason we were in a hurry; none of that mattered even a little bit now. 

I was already slamming on my brakes. My car slowed to a stop just beyond the accident. My friend and I leapt out of the car and ran back. We ran up onto the scene, where we found a woman and her teen-age son. The boy was unconscious, hanging from his seat. The mother was screaming her son's name.

As we stood there, a car heading in the other direction was slamming on his brakes, too. He stopped just beyond the accident in the other direction, got out of his car, and ran back toward us. A girl followed closely behind him. The four of us stood facing each other for a minute. 

"My friend is a lifeguard. He knows CPR!" my friend offered. 

"I took a CPR class a few years ago!" the other person, a kid about my age, volunteered. 

Without speaking we ran to the passenger seat. I reached in and felt for a pulse, but there wasn't one. I unclicked the teen's seat belt, and he immediately crumpled onto the roof of the car. We carefully pulled him out and pulled him along the ground away from the car as the girl went around to the driver's side of the car trying to comfort the woman and get her to stop screaming. 

Then, still not speaking, we began CPR. 

I'd taken CPR classes many times. I'd never needed it. In all of the swimming lessons I'd taught, open swims I'd lifeguarded, swimming practices I'd coached, and swim meets I'd worked at, I'd never ever had a need for CPR. 

But I needed it now. And, despite my innate fear that what I was doing might somehow cause more harm that good, it was instinctive. Me and the other kid worked as a team, barely speaking but functioning like CPR-trained robots. Those classes had been well worth the money...

I remember a few things very vividly about that morning. I remember that the grass was wet with dew, and I ruined my pants. I remember the smell of that car - it wasn't on fire, or even smoking or smoldering, but the smell was an awful burning rubber smell, maybe burning plastic, and it made me sick to my stomach. 

And I remember feeling completely lost. None of us had a cell phone, and there was no way for us to call 911; we just stopped, knelt down, and took action. 

Finally, I remember how, even though dozens of cars were passing us each minute from both directions, they all slowed down - but, for minutes at least nobody even stopped. 

It was me, my friend, some other teen, and his girlfriend. None of us had any medical training beyond a Red Cross CPR class, and yet we were the only ones who'd stopped. This kid's life was in our hands. 

Finally a car stopped and a woman stepped out and ran toward us. 

"I'm an emergency room nurse," she shouted. "Can I help?" 

The other teen stood up and stepped away, and she knelt down next to me and picked up where he'd left off. As she gave chest compressions she explained that her husband was a doctor and he was driving behind her. Sure enough, about a minute later a man in an RV pulled off the road directly into the median. He ran back toward us shouting that he'd called 911, and I stepped back to let him in. He and his wife continued CPR.

It was a few more minutes before the first state trooper pulled up. I expected him to spring into action, but he looked even more scared than I felt at that moment; he saw that things were under control with the boy and went over to the mother's side of the car to talk to her. 

A few minutes later an ambulance finally arrived. The paramedics took over, and they had the boy on a stretcher within minutes, driving away and leaving only the sounds of traffic noise, flashing emergency lights, and a mother crying for her kid.

A little while later she, too, was headed away in an ambulance. The Trooper came over to ask everyone for our driver's licenses, and he asked who was first on the scene. My friend volunteered that we were, but that we hadn't actually seen the accident, just the aftermath. The Trooper interrupted him: 

"We won't need witnesses. The mother already told us she fell asleep and just up and drove right off the road." 

I remember feeling dizzy and wanting to cry at that moment. We hadn't been successful in reviving the teen, and had no way of knowing what would happen to him. I couldn't imagine that grief a parent would feel knowing that something like simply falling asleep at the wheel had killed their child. The girl who's comforted the mother was crying. The nurse went over and gave her a hug.

The Trooper wrote down our information, handed us our driver's licenses, and thanked us; he then joined other police officers who'd begun investigating the scene. Meanwhile cars continued to roll slowly by, everyone making sure to get a good look.

The doctor walked over to me, my friend, and the other teen. He put his hands on us and pulled us closer to him. Then, in a voice so low it was hard to hear over the traffic noise, he told us that, if the boy lived, it would be because we stopped and rendered aid so quickly. It would be because our actions had directly helped keep oxygen flowing to his brain. It would be because a couple of teenagers had stopped, gotten out of their cars, and done what needed to be done. 

I won't lie; I was crying a little. I think we all might have been. 

"You would think with all of these cars that passed, someone else might have stopped to help. Yet the only people who did were a group of young people. It gives me and my wife hope, to see young people willing to put themselves out there like that, when so many people won't even be bothered." 

By then his wife and the other kid's girlfriend had returned. They were still hugging, and the doctor reached his arms out and pulled my friend and the other teen next to him. 

"I'd like to say a prayer," he said. I stepped in and let the other teen put his arm around me, and then put mine around his girlfriend. Soon we were in a sort of huddle, standing in the median of the New York State Thruway as this doctor spoke to God, more in praise of us than anything. It was surreal. I felt more connected with these people than I'd ever felt with anyone, and I didn't even know any of their names. I noticed that the State Troopers had all stopped what they were doing to watch. I wondered what people driving by must have been thinking. 

I wondered what people would have to tell themselves to convince themselves that driving past an accident scene with obvious injuries was okay.

Once he was finished there were some hugs, and then he and his wife said goodbye and began walking back to their vehicles. He stopped, suddenly, and walked back to us. 

"You know, the first time you go through this is always the hardest," he said. "I want you guys to know that, no matter what the outcome is, you did the right thing. If this kid's life is saved, it's because you saved it. Not a doctor, not a nurse, not the EMTs, certainly not that cop - you four. But if for even a minute you feel like you need to talk to someone about this, I urge you to. A counselor, your pastor, a parent, a friend... if you need to reach out to someone, do it." 

With that he returned to his RV, got in, and the two drove off. 

I turned to the other teen and his girlfriend. 

"My name is Chris. This is Jarrod." 

"I'm Keith. This is Brianna." 

"Good job," I told Keith. 

"You too," he said. "I was so scared, dude." 

"Me too." 

Brianna was still crying, and just nodded. Jarrod was quiet, and I could tell that he was still in shock from it all. 

We stood there, awkwardly for a minute moments. Then the Trooper came over to us. 

"I heard what he said," he told us. "That's probably what I should have said. You guys aren't like trained first responders, EMTs, anything like that huh?" We shook our heads. "Well... thank you for what you did. And he's right... if you need to talk to someone, do not hesitate." With that he handed us each his business card.

And that was it. 

There wasn't much left to be said. So we said nothing more. We just sort of nodded goodbye, walked to our cars, got in, drove off, and continued in the directions we'd been headed.

I wanted to call the Trooper to find out if the kid made it. Something told me, though, that he probably wouldn't even know. And, even more than being afraid to find out that he hadn't, I was afraid to find out that the officer on the scene didn't know if he had or not. 

I kept his business card in my wallet for the next five years. 

Many times I'd clean my wallet out and think... I should really just throw this out. 

But I couldn't. 

It wasn't until my wallet was stolen that I lost the card. But by then I'd seen the information on it so many times I knew I'd never forget it. 

Never found out whether the kid lived or died. Wanted to find out so badly, but preferred to just tell myself that he'd probably lived. So I never tried to find out. 

Jarrod and I talked about it years later. He told me that, to this day, he tells himself that I saved the kid's life - even though he acknowledges that it's probably unlikely. 

"You and that kid saved him, dude. All while his mother screamed, that girl cried, and I stood there like I didn't know my own name. And hundreds of people drove by like they didn't give a fuck.." 

I remember being pretty jaded for a long time after the accident. I knew there was a high probability that at least some of the people who'd driven past were medical professionals, off-duty police or EMTs, or firefighters. Why had nobody else stopped? 

As I got older I began to understand why. 

For the same reason that I didn't call that Trooper to find out if the kid had lived or not. 

Sometimes it really is just easier to pretend that everything is going to be okay. Sometimes it's better to let someone else deal with the shit and tell yourself that it's being taken care of.

The story above ties into the point I am trying to make to my little ABDL friend, who shall remain nameless. 

It also relates to us as a community - the greater ABDL community at large. 

How? I'll explain... 

In our community there are some genuinely good people. 

And there are also some really bad people. 

To try to correlate it more directly to the story above: 

     Good People = Teens Who Stop

     Bad People = Accident Scene

If you actually slogged through that TL; dr story up there, you probably thought that I was going to say that the bad apples were the people who just drove by, refused to stop, and didn't do shit, right?

But that is not the case. 

Those people from my story would represent our community at large. 

The majority of the ABDL community in general. 

Because, within our community, there are far too many people who are fully aware who the bad apples are but who, whether because they want to fit in or for some other reason, are more than willing to look the other way. 

I've seen it the entire time I've been a part of this community. 

I've watched members of our community form groups, and then use these groups to try to keep other people out of their functions and events.

When I was new to our community, before I had a blog with hundreds of readers, I was one of those who felt the wrath of such a group.

I've watched groups and/or daddies dangle their youngest, most attractive (and, usually, unsuspecting) members to try to attract others into the fold.

I've seen people, young and old, try to come between real friendships and ruin relationships - sometimes out of jealously, and other times simply out of resentment that two people within our community can find real friendships or happiness.  

And I've watched pedophiles and child pornographers find acceptance with people who - were it not for the diapers - I suspect would never approve of stuff like that.

What the actual fuck is wrong with some of us?

I've had people approach me countless times. They want to meet, or maybe even be friends - which is great - but they know that I know the deal, so first they need me to understand that, yes, they're friends with so-and-so - they "just don't approve of some of what goes on here." 

If you don't approve, don't be a part of it.

I have little patience for people who are willing to overlook bad shit people do just because they want a place at the diaper table. It's like some of us see a bunch of people in diapers and suddenly watching shitheads be shitheads to others is something we fail to notice. 

Selective blindness? 

Something like that.

Even though I resent it, I understand it. I've watched some of the brightest people I know - college-educated people, people I know to be brilliant in some areas of their lives - dumb themselves down to attempt to fit in within this community.

I could never do that.

In my view, if you let your desire to belong to a community cloud your morals or judgement, that's shameful. 

If you see someone in our community doing shitty things to other people, step the fuck up. 

Don't be afraid to say "no" to a friendship with someone just because you want to be friends with who they're friends with.

And if you choose to be friends with someone who you know treats people in our community poorly, at the very least do your part to make things better. 

If you're not a strong enough person to effect a change, at the very least own that friendship. Don't try to deny it or hide it, so that you can be friends with the shitty people and the good people, too.

Because, again: if you have to hide the fact that someone is your friend, there is a good probability that they are not really worthy of your friendship. 

And if they are worthy of your friendship, that probably says more about you than it does about anything else.

Take that to heart. 

On a positive note, I have been fortunate enough to meet some dope-ass people within our community - including one or two people who, despite their youth, have a refreshing sense of right and wrong. 

They don't associate with people they know do bad things.

They're not so desperate to make diaper connections that they're willing to look the other way when people treat other people badly within our community.

And when they do see something negative happening, they have the courage to speak up.

Best of all, they don't have to hide who they choose to be friends with.

You know who you are...

...and you know that I'm proud of you. 

You're what our community needs.

I love that... 

...and let's be honest, y'all: there's something about an ABDL who is independent enough that he's able, and willing, to stand up for what's right that's incredibly attractive. 

We need even more people like that...

Click on the graphic to make it bigger. Note: though the quote is mine, the artwork is not. 

 

If you read all of that and you have no fucking idea what I'm talking about... good for you!

(You're either doing the right thing, or you're just clueless ha.)

But if you read it and you're thinking... maybe that's about me... than it might as well be. 

So make a change. 

Or don't. 

It's definitely easier to just keep driving by, look, and simply let someone else do something truly meaningful. 

But I'd like to think we're the kind of community where nearly everybody stops - and the only people that keep driving are the ones we'd like to say goodbye to, anyway. 

But that's not the reality of it. 

I just keep hoping to see a few more people join us at the side of the road. 

Questions? Comments?

Email me: abysitter@gmail.com. 

Cwis

Baby Pictures: Baby Dalton

Up today I have some hot shots from someone new: Baby Dalton.

Dalton is a very popular AB on Tumblr. He posts all-original pictures, which I love to see on that site. He's 23 (going on 1!) and lives in Chicago. 

Up today I have some stuff featuring him and a friend. He's promised to snap some adorableness for Abysitter.com, and is up for ideas, so if you can think of anything you'd like to see post it in the comments and I'll send it along. 

Want to contact Dalton? You can email babydalton@ccmmail.dyndns.org or text him at (563) 275-5397. 

Thanks, Dalton... you rock! 

Anyone other Tumblrs have pics to share? 18+ to abysitter@gmail.com.  

www.BabyDolton.tumblr.com

(note the variation on the spelling of Dalton) 

 

[PHOTOS COPYRIGHT ABYSITTER.COM]

[DO NOT REDISTRIBUTE WITHOUT PERMISSION]

 

 MORE TO COME FROM BABY DALTON...

Got ideas for him?

Post them in the comments!

and check out his blog:

www.BabyDolton.tumblr.com

(note the variation on the spelling of Dalton)

 

The Stash...

I've seen a shit ton of diaper stash pics posted around Tumblr and other places, so I wanted to show mine off. Especially since I had to ship some out to a friend (who'd shipped me some of the ones you see here - diaper trading is awesome hehe) and needed to get to the way, way back of my closet. 

My underbed storage containers are filled with diapers - these are just some of the ones I have in boxes in storage. I may be putting these to good use as prizes in an upcoming contest, not sure yet. One thing is for certain: I need to step up my abysitting game and start using some of these diapers!

Note: you'll see some rare ones here, including Attends size small (no longer made, I only bought them because the drug store was trying to get rid of them... they're the little blue ones in the front) and some remaining Dry 24/7's from the original stock (the blue ones in the back right). Some of those have been used since these pics were taken. Nice li'l selection.

What am I missing? I wanna try to Aww So Cutes... what else? 

 

You can check out the video on my Tumblr page. 

Sorry, Blogger is not accepting videos at this time 

STORY TIME! The CB Radio & The Trucker - Part IV

STORY TIME! The CB Radio & The Trucker - Part IV

STORY TIME! I wrote the Part I and Part II to this story last month, and Part III a week ago. Click those links to get caught up. BUT BE AWARE: there is some sexuality in this series, so if you're an innocent little diaperdunce and you don't want to get caught up in all the X-RATED ish, these entries might not be for you...

PART IV: THE END

I awoke to the sound of a knock at the door.

At first I thought I must be dreaming. I checked my flip phone, plugged in on the table next to me. It was 1 a.m.

No missed calls.

Who could be at the door?

My first thought was my next door neighbor, Andrea. She'd told me that she was having a friend over while her children were out of town with their father... I doubted she'd be knocking on my door at 1 a.m., but the building was a mess, with basement flooding, electricity issues, and bats in the attic. (You may have read my story about that in a previous blog entry). Maybe something had happened.

I put pajamas over my diaper and stumbled around looking for a t-shirt. Finally finding one I put it on and made my way down the stairs to the front door. I peeked out of the blinds and could clearly make out the form of a male.

Hmm.

Andrea's friend?

Or could it be a prison guard from two doors down? The third apartment in our building was essentially a flop house for prison guards. It was occupied by at least ten guards who used it overnights on occasion, since all lived in another part of the state and were only working at the prison nearby until they could get re-assigned to one closer to home. This low seniority in the prison system meant that they were young, fit males; I'd hoped that one would knock on my door at 1 a.m. many times, but never thought it would actually happen.

Now I wondered... wtf? Wrong apartment?

I opened the door and, instead of finding a prison guard, I saw a trucker.

It was Kyle.

The look on my face must have been one of complete surprise, because he instantly started laughing. He held my business card up to my eye line, and there I caught it: my apartment address.

"Maybe I should have called first," he told me.

"Well... it's okay... I mean... what are you..." I mumbled.

"What am I doing here?" Kyle asked, a big smile forming on his face. "Waking you up, apparently. Can I come in?"

I was surprised, to say the least. I moved out of his way, and he stepped past me and flung a backpack onto the floor. I stepped out into the parking lot and looked around. A prison guard stood outside the apartment to the right, smoking a cigarette. He nodded. I nodded back. I looked around the parking lot, which was filled with vehicles, as it often was from midnight to morning. I didn't see a Corvette. I wondered where Kyle had parked. I turned around to ask him, and saw that he was butt naked in my kitchen. My train of thought now completely vanished, I simply closed the door.

Kyle walked up to me and patted my bottom. Crinkle, crinkle, crinkle.

"Good, I'm glad to see that you're wearing a diaper," he told me. "Now I know you're not just some fake who shows up at truck stops pretending to be into this diaper fetish thing." I laughed, because I'd told Kyle about my theory that some of the people in our community aren't really into diapers at all, that they pretend just to be to meet hot young diaperboys. Kyle had remembered.

"I am running low on diapers," I admitted. I lived at the time in an apartment more than an hour in two directions from my source of diapers, and I'd been picking up a lot of OT shifts. I had only a few left.

"Not to worry, bro," Kyle replied, pointing at his backpack. "I came prepared." With that he unzipped it and revealed Molicares, Attends, and some other diapers I'd never seen before.

Kyle zipped it up and tossed the bag at me, and I caught it. Then he dropped to his knees, lay on his back, and began kicking his feet in the air, sucking his thumb.

"Uhhh... let's go upstairs," I suggested. He nodded vigorously but made no attempt to move. I walked to the stairs, turned, and waited. He continued to lay on the floor.

"You have to carry me," he informed me. I had to laugh. Kyle was slim and fit, but muscular and I knew there was no way in hell I could lift him off the ground, let alone carry him. I shook my head. "Then I'm not moving!" he told me. He was trying to use a little kid's voice, and while he didn't do a very good job his attempt was adorable. His legs continued to kick, and I had a thought. I walked over to him, bent over, and gave him about as hard a smack on his bottom as I could manage. He looked surprised, but instantly stopped kicking. "Oh yea," he said, in the voice of a grown-ass Kyle now. "Okay, I forgot you were into that, too. Yes, I will crawl..."

And with that he crawled across the floor, put one knee up onto the stairs, and began the long, slow crawl up to the top. I stood behind him, carrying his diaper bag, his amazing bottom in my face the whole way.  I love an amazing bottom. I was in heaven. When we got to the top of the stairs he waited for me to point the way. I directed him into the bedroom and up onto my bed. It seemed a shame to cover that ass with a diaper, but I pulled out the mystery diaper and taped it on him.

The diaper turned out to be some cheap-o drugstore diaper. I immediately wished I'd picked the Attend; they were thicker and had a better quality covering. Still, the thin diaper I'd chosen made Kyle's ass show very nicely. I turned him over and pushed him toward the top of my bed, then lay down on the mattress between his legs. I put my face down on his diapered bum and began to hump. He let out a kind of yawn, stretched, and pushed his bottom up into my face a little.

I love using an amazing diapered bottom as my pillow.

I continued to hump. At some point I pushed my fingers into the leggings of his diaper and found his penis. It was hard. As I humped I began playing with his shaft, rubbing it back and forth, back and forth, back and forth. I felt it grow even more, and that made me get even harder. I was humping faster now, and Kyle spread his knees and kind of pushed his ass up into the air. I put my chin square in the center of his behind, rubbed the tip of his penis, and continued to hump. Kyle began to shudder, and after about thirty seconds told me that he was about to squirt. I immediately stopped what I was doing and let him go soft.

 "Damn, bro," he said. "That's just mean." Kyle was laughing, and I let him know I'd help him come after I was finished. He shook his head. "You're torturing me, huh?"

Then Kyle asked me if it was okay if he wet his diaper.

"You mean while I'm doing my thing?" I asked him. ("My thing" is code for humping, for anyone who hasn't yet figured that out). Kyle nodded. I'd never had someone wet their diaper while I was doing it, and I wondered how that would affect my whole humping routine. Still, I realized that I hadn't asked if Kyle had to use the bathroom before he'd arrived. I agreed.

Have you ever felt someone wet their diaper? It's hot as fuck. I've since experienced it a few times, but this was my first. With my fingers still inside of Kyle's diaper, he flooded it. My fingers got soaked, and I removed them, placing my hands square underneath the front of his diaper.

I could feel the diaper get warm - almost hot - and get soggy soaking wet. It was an amazing feeling, and as I lay resting my head on his bottom I could feel the wetness travel up his asscrack and begin to change the consistently of the part of his diaper that was serving as my pillow.

"You really had to piss, huh bro?" I asked him. He nodded vigorously. "Wow, I'm not sure if I've ever felt such a wet diaper..."

"Fuck," he replied. "I think I leaked."

I pulled my hands out from underneath him and felt around. Sure enough, he had. My bed had a big wet spot on it.

"I'm sorry, Chris," he told me, and I could see that he was embarrassed. "I didn't mean to get your mattress wet. I'll pay for that to be cleaned, okay?"

Nonsense! I explained to Kyle that I had to do laundry anyway.

"Besides," I told him, "do you think this is the first time that my bed has gotten wet from a leaky diaper? Really?"

Kyle laughed and seemed to feel more comfortable again. I pushed my hands back up under his joint and, as I did, I could feel the diaper leaking even more. I pushed my face back into his bum and noticed that it had a completely difference feeling now - no longer was it soft and padded - it was wet and kind of hard. I sort of preferred the softness of the dry diaper, but this was a new experience and I wanted to try it...

I continued to hump. Kyle smelled of pee, now. I couldn't tell whether to be turned on or disgusted. I've never gotten into water sports (although I've always been very curious about it), but something about a hot trucker with an amazing ass laying in a soaked diaper seemed hot. I busted just a few minutes later, and flipped an all-to-willing Kyle over so that I could play with his for a little.

Kyle was hard again, and it didn't take long for him to get even harder. But he had a special request.

"Yo, Chris... can I hump on you this time?" he asked. I agreed and began to turn over and move to his position on the bed, but he shook his head. "Just lay still," he told me. Kyle then proceeded to crawl up onto me, lining his soaking wet diaper up with my diaper. He humped for about two minutes, shivered, smiles, and lay still.

"That... was... amazing," he told me. I was glad that he'd had such an amazing experience, but I realized how one-sided diaper humping is. I was seeing it from the other side; the person doing the diaper humping is ejaculating and you're just laying there waiting for it to be over. Still, I couldn't complain; it was hot AF. The aww-so-cute smile on his face was the icing on the cake. Kyle still on top of me, I couldn't move. I asked him to turn off the light, and he reached over and did, then lay back on top of me, his head resting on my chest.

He put his thumb in his mouth. I knew he was just doing the 'little' thing to make me happy, since he'd never mentioned being into the AB side before, but it made my heart melt. As I lay in bed I stared at the ceiling, watching an orange glow from outside flickering - probably someone having a campfire on the beach across from the apartment, I thought. Kyle began to breath heavily, and I could tell that he was asleep. I pulled his legs apart so that he was straddling me, and tried to make myself a little more comfortable. A few minutes later, so was I.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

I was again awoken to the sound of knocking. This time it was louder and more deliberate. I looked around. Kyle was laying next to me, his soaked butt poking into my side. I rolled over and climbed out of bed, put on a pair of shorts over my still-dry diaper, and walked to the stairs. Kyle remained sleeping.

KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK!

"Coming!" I shouted. I wondered who could be at my door now. Had Kyle blocked someone in? Was Andrea's car broken down again? I looked at the clock on the stereo; it was after 8. I walked into the living room. The blinds were closed, but it still seemed dark. I hoped that it wasn't raining; I'd wanted to take Kyle across the street to the beach, maybe even go swimming before he left.

I opened the door. In front of me stood a sheriff's deputy. He looked at me. I was surprised to see law enforcement at the door. I stepped outside and looked around. Andrea was gone, as was her 'friend'. All the prison guards were gone as well. The parking lot was empty, save for the Sheriff vehicle. Nothing seemed to be going on. Hmm.

"I'm trying to figure out who belongs to the truck," the deputy explained.

I looked around. He was standing in front of an SUV with "XXXX SHERIFF" on the side. I looked at him, a little perplexed by the question.

"Isn't that yours?" I asked.

"Not the Tahoe," he told me. "The big rig."

I stepped outside and looked around again.

"Around front. Parked on the street," he said.

"Wait," I asked him. "Do you mean to tell me there's a...." my voice trailed off. I could hear Kyle stirring upstairs, and then heard his feet hit the floor.

"US Express?" the deputy offered, trying to be helpful.

"Uhhh... that might be my friend," I told him. I heard Kyle walking to the stairs. It occurred to me that he'd been wearing nothing but a very, very soaked disposable diaper just a few minutes before.

"Kyle," I called out. "There's a deputy sheriff here..."

 I didn't know what else to say. I heard Kyle call out that he knew, and then he came bounding down the stairs. I saw that he was wearing long underwear - he must have carried those around all year, even in spring, I thought - and, underneath, a very thick, wet diaper was showing. He put on a small Abercombie shirt, but it did nothing to cover the bulge. The deputy noticed and looked surprised, but said nothing. He did, however, ask if Kyle owned the Freightliner parked outside.

"Sure do," Kyle replied. "Why, did ya run into it?"

"Uhhh... no," the deputy said. "It's just that... this road isn't really wide enough for a tractor trailer to stay parked on it... "

"Oh, I won't be here for much longer," Kyle told him. "Just long enough for a shower, a shave, maybe a quick breakfast. Another hour or two tops."

"Well... okay..." the deputy answered. He seemed to not know how to address this. I was still shocked that Kyle had driven his fucking truck to my house. That explained why I hadn't seen his Corvette, or any other vehicle that belonged to him, although the lot was sometimes so full that it required people park on the side lawn, out of view of the apartment. I slowly walked to the front window and opened the blinds. There it was - Kyle's truck, HUGE AS FUCK, parked on the street, completely obscuring the view of the lake in front of the building - and the sun as well.

"That explains why it seems so dark," I mumbled. The deputy laughed.

"That truck is bigger than this building, I think," he said. Then he asked Kyle if he could put some more flares out behind it. I immediately realized what I'd seen glowing through the window the night before - traffic flairs. And Kyle's blinking hazard lights, probably.

Kyle agreed, and grabbed his keys and walked outside. His diaper was obvious through his long underwear, and it kind of smelled a little. The deputy looked at me, and then back at Kyle, but apparently thought better of saying anything. I walked outside, too, and realized that the crinkle of my still-dry diaper was apparent. It didn't seem like the deputy noticed - or maybe he was just trying to be polite. Anyway, we followed Kyle's padded ass down the driveway and into the road, and watched him jump up into the cab. He came outside with two additional flares, placed them by the burned-out remnants of the other flares, and lit them.

"I just have a question," the deputy finally spoke. I hoped that his question wouldn't be about diapers.

"I'm incontent," Kyle said, as if anticipating it.

"Incontinent?" the deputy corrected him, and Kyle looked at me and started to laugh. I could tell he didn't give fuck one about being seen in a diaper. Maybe because he didn't live in this town. I did, though, and I sort of wished that we'd both changed first. But that wasn't the deputy's question anyway. "I wasn't going to ask about that," he said. "I was just wondering... how did you get this truck down Lake Street?"

"Oh, that?" Kyle answered. "Let's just say... slowly and carefully. Slowly, and carefully."

Kyle climbed back into the cab, and the deputy turned to me with a confused look on his face.

"I'll be damned," he told me. "The railroad bridge is only 11' high. I have no idea how your friend made it under that. That's some amazing driving." With that he walked toward his truck and opened the door. I could see he was still shaking his head in wonderment. Kyle walked around the corner whistling. "Just have it off the road before it gets dark, okay?" the deputy said, and Kyle nodded.

"Of course!"

With that the deputy drove off.

"Sorry, bro," Kyle said, turning to me with an embarrassed look on his face. I couldn't tell if he was referring to the diaper or parking his truck on the road. It didn't matter - as long as there were no tickets to be written, I was okay with either.

"How did you get under the bridge?" I asked him.

"Fuck that," he replied. "That shit's 11 feet high. I could never drive underneath that. I just drove up to the other end of the street and backed this shit down the road."

"What the fuck?" I blurted out. "Dude... that's like a quarter-mile from the turn around."

"I know, Chris... I backed down it. It took me thirty minutes."

It occurred to me that Kyle probably hadn't called ahead because he figured I'd tell him not to come. An 18-wheeler really wasn't a good fit for Lake Street. The street was narrow, and on one side sat a cliff overlooking the lake - backing just a little crooked could result in catastrophe.

"I can tell what you're thinking, bro," Kyle told me. "I'm a good driver. Mad backing skills!"

"But that's at least a quarter mile, dude," I repeated. I was picturing how hard it must have been.

"Chris... I live my life a quarter mile at a time," Kyle said, in complete seriousness. "Nothing else matters. Not the mortgage. Not the store. Not my team and all their bullshit. For those thirty minutes to an hour, I'm free."

I had to laugh. I'd seen The Fast and the Furious, too.

"Besides," he told me. "I knew what was waiting at the end..."

I made pancakes for breakfast, and Kyle stepped into the bathroom, took a shower, and came out into the kitchen with nothing but a towel wrapped around his mid-section. He sat at the table just as I was putting a plate of pancakes down.

"I'm hungry as fuck, bro."

We sat and ate in silence. Kyle was beautiful. I thought, again, at how lucky I was to have met him. The last time we'd seen each other Kyle had found me randomly on the CB. This time he'd just surprised me. I'd lucked out both times. I thought about the fact that he'd wanted to see me badly enough to back down a crazy-ass road in a huge-ass truck.

I was lucky as fuck.

Honestly, the night before had been an exercise in hotness that could not compare. But as I sat there watching Kyle across the table, chomping on our pancakes, I realized that, even if he hadn't wanted to wear a diaper, I wouldn't have cared. Just having him here was amazing. I'd first met him in the middle of a snowstorm, and our relationship had started off with me helping him find his way. Now he had become a friend.

Lucky. As. Fuck.

After we ate Kyle stood up and took his towel off.

"Let's go swimming!" he suggested. I could see how excited he looked. The lake in question is deep, and takes a long time to warm up in the spring; I started to explain to him that it would be too cold, but he interrupted me. "C'mon bro, I drove all this way to walk around diapered on the beach with you... let's do this."

"Let me get a swimsuit," I answered. I went upstairs and got two, changing in to one and bringing the other one back to Kyle. He grabbed his towel and a second one for me, and then grabbed a diaper out of his backpack.

"You aren't going to wear a diaper?" he asked me. He looked disappointed. I started to explain that the beach wasn't that private, but then thought better of it. The neighbors were all gone. Nobody ever used that beach except me, anyway - the prison guards only slept here, and Andrea and her kids couldn't swim.

"Let me go get one on," I answered. Kyle replied that we could diaper each other, so we went upstairs and did just that.

"Cover up," I told him, throwing the swimsuit at him. He looked annoyed, but obeyed.

 "Afraid to be seen parading around in your Pampers?" he asked me. "I understand. Just because one of us is proud to be diapered doesn't mean both of us are." I could tell he was joking but I did feel a little pang of embarrassment; I wished that wearing diapers outdoors was as normal for society as it felt for me.

Kyle and I walked down the driveway and around to the other side of his truck. I saw how close he was to the cliff - less than six inches away. A stiff breeze would blow this thing over. I shook my head. Then I realized that his truck completely blocked the view of the beach from the road. This could be win/win...

Kyle had I walked down the steps and stepped onto the beach. It was deserted, as it almost always was. The sunshine was warm now that we'd passed the truck blocking it. Kyle immediately stepped out of his swimming trunks and tossed them onto an adirondack chair.

"This what you've been dreaming about?" he asked me, and as I watched he posed in his diaper. I nodded. There was that lucky feeling again. "I remember you telling me about wearing diapers on the beach before," he told me. "I thought, this is something I want to experience."

Kyle walked out toward the water and I watched him. I realized how things had seemed different in the sleeper cab of his truck. Like, even though I could tell he was amazing, I hadn't gotten the full experience. Seeing his stretched out, standing on the beach, in nothing but a diaper... holy fuck.

Kyle stepped into the water and stopped cold.

"What... the... FUCK, brah," he said, turning to look at me. "This water is like... ice."

"It just seems cold when you first get into it," I told him. "You get used to it."

He took a few more steps, and then turned back to me. The look on his face was one of sheer discomfort.

"Are you coming in, Chris?" he asked me.

"Fuck no!" I replied. "That shit's like 50 degrees."

"Um, yea. Fuck that," he said, turning and walking back out. "I think we can enjoy the beach from the beach." With that he plopped his adorable ass into a lounge chair and turned over, the sun warming his bottom. I knew that feeling. I lay down in the lounge chair next to him and, reached over, putting my hand on his bum. I rubbed for a while, and then Kyle began to breathe heavy. I couldn't tell if he was sleeping, but I stopped rubbing and he mumbled for me to continue. I did, and after a while could hear him snoring. I lay there, aware of the stairs (in case someone came down them, lol) but mostly just enjoying the view.

An hour or two later Kyle woke up.

"Was I sleeping?" he asked me, looking surprised.

"Yep."

"Damn, bro... that felt so good. The sun just warms your ass up."

"Yep."

Kyle asked me to tell him another diaper story. A whole bunch went through my mind. I couldn't remember if I'd told him about the time an old man had caught me diapered in my father's boat. Or the time that I'd been nearly seen laying on the dock in just a diaper. Or the time that my grandmother had walked downstairs and seen me, in my diaper, through the screen door. Or maybe I'd tell him about the first time I wore a diaper in front of a friend. Hmm.

Instead I told him a story about a more recent experience.

I told him about this time I was parked at a gas station in a snow storm, and had seen this amazing kid walk by. And he'd gotten into a truck, and I thought surely he was going to steal it, but no - he actually drove this thing. I told him how I'd raced to get my CB radio out, just wanting to hear his voice, and how excited I was when he noticed me talking to him and inviting me to come over to this truck. I told him how, when he asked if I wanted to stay the night, I could barely contain my glee. And how, sleeping in that dude's truck that first time felt more amazing than I could even describe. How happy I'd gotten when the kid was curious about wearing diapers, and even happier when he asked to actually try one.

"I like this story," he interrupted me. "Keep going."

I explained how the dude had told me he didn't have a cell phone, but I wasn't sure if he really didn't or if he just didn't want to give me the number. Kyle's face soured and he looked like he wanted to interrupted, but just nodded. I continued, explaining how I'd been worried I'd never see the kid again, but had been surprised when we'd seen each other a bunch more times. I told him about how I'd once been surprised to hear a familiar voice over the CB radio when I was least expecting it, and how it had turned into what might have been the most amazing sexual experience I'd ever had. Kyle was nodding again. I told about how I'd been surprised at a surprise visit - a visit made way more meaningful once I found out that the kid had wanted to see me so much he'd put his truck, and possibly his career, at risk to back down the road and park in front of my building. Kyle nodded and sat up.

"It ends with me basically making what I hope will be a friend for life," I concluded.

"I'm going to give you a hug, bro," Kyle said after a few moments. "And yes... friends for life is definitely what we are going to be."

Kyle and I hugged for what must have been five minutes. It felt amazing. At some point he was kind of rubbing my back and I heard a car pull into the driveway overhead.

"Neighbors must be back," I said.

"Fuck the neighbors," Kyle said. We both laughed, and then he continued, "but I do have to hit the road again. Back to the schedule."

Kyle stood and pulled his bathing suit up over his diaper. We both walked up the steps, me enjoying Kyle's ass one more time - even in a diaper and swimming trunks it was amazing. As we stepped around his truck I could see Andrea looking out her window. She was shaking her head and pointing to the truck, but she stopped when she caught a glimpse of Kyle.

"OH MY GOD" she mouthed through the window. I just smiled. As we rounded the building I saw her blinds open a peek, and I knew she was getting a good glimpse. Kyle and I walked back into the apartment and he gathered his things.

"I'm going to pee," he told me. We walked to the bathroom, and I sat down at the kitchen table as he walked in. He left the door open, and I saw him pull his penis through the legging of his diaper and piss. Hot. He removed his bathing suit, hanging it on the shower curtain rod, and pulled a pair of jeans up over his diaper.

"Walk me to my truck?" he asked me. Of course I would. We walked to the truck and stepped into the road in front of it. Kyle turned to me and spontaneously hugged me. It seemed to go on for five minutes. At one point a car drove slowly by, staring at this 18-wheeler parked in the road, and Kyle and I continued to hug. I glanced over and saw Andrea sitting on her bed just enjoying the view. I had to laugh; I bet she wouldn't be complaining about a tractor trailer obscuring it; she'd probably forgotten there was even a lake there, what with Kyle to distract her.

"So Chris," Kyle finally spoke. "This has honestly been one of the best days of my life."

I was touched. I'd only gotten to spend an hour or two with Kyle on the beach, but it had definitely been one of mine as well. I told him that.

"You thought I drove my Corvette, huh?" he was laughing now. "Well bro, how about this summer I actually do drive my 'vette up here, and we spend a few days hanging out. I'll even go swimming with you just in diapers. Would that be okay?"

Okay? That would be a fucking dream...

"Definitely," I told him.

Kyle stopped hugging me and stepped up into the truck. He closed the door and rolled the window down, and then leaned out.

"Friends for life for sure, Chris."

I nodded. I was getting that sad feeling again, realizing it would be a while before we'd see each other again.

Little did I know it would be the last time we'd see each other.

"OH!" Kyle said. "I almost told you before, but I didn't want to interrupt your story. I'm getting a cell phone! My mom said she feels like she's getting older and there might be an emergency or something, so she got us each one on a family plan. I don't have it yet, but when I next go home I'll get it and call you with it. Then we can plan this stuff out!"

I was excited.

"And, Chris... I wouldn't lie about having a cell phone, bro. I really don't have one."

I nodded. I don't know why, but I suddenly felt bad about sharing that part of my 'story' - but also very good about knowing that I hadn't been deceived.

"I'll call you, bro," Kyle said. He started his truck and it roared to life. I heard him release the air brake, and I backed up across the road and into the driveway. He looked at me and smiled, this beautiful, melt-your-heart smile that literally gave me shivers. "Friends for life. I like that, man. Friends... for life."

"Thanks for everything, bro," I said. He pulled away and drove slowly down the road. I turned and watched him drive away, and as I did I could see that he was watching me in the side mirror of his truck. We both kind of watched each other until he'd rounded the bend and was out of view. I sighed, and walked back up to the apartment.

"Oh my fucking God, who was that?" Andrea stopped me. She'd been watching us the whole time and couldn't wait to ask me.

"That's my friend Kyle," I told her.

"He just drove that big rig down here and spent the night with you?"

"Yep."

Andrea shook her head and told me how lucky I was.

She didn't need to tell me, though. I already knew.

I walked back into the apartment and saw how light it had become. Kyle's truck had really provided some shade for the sun. I thought about how much I enjoyed this apartment's view - I'd moved here because it had an amazing view of the lake, despite all of its other problems. Now I realized I'd probably happily trade that view in for a view of a US Express truck, if it meant that I could have Kyle here all the time.

I began to feel sad. I realized how lucky I was, but how unlucky, too - all at the same time. Because I'd found a friend - a friend for life - willing to wear diapers with me. But, once he was on the road again, until he was returned, I'd be lucky to find anything similar. I probably wouldn't. Cursed this diaper fetish, I said, probably aloud.

It was possible to feel like both the luckiest guy in the world, and the unluckiest, all at the same time.

I woke up with a start and sat bolt upright in bed.

It was 3 a.m.

It was maybe two weeks after Kyle's visit. 

I'd moved to a house the next city over. There'd been a problem with bats - they were flying straight into the apartment through a hole in the ceiling, and the bat expert who'd come out quietly informed me that my landlord wasn't willing to pay to fix the problem - he'd asked for a board to be nailed over the hold in the house. In essence, I was about to get a whole bunch more bats inside.

I'd moved into a house. I'd notified the landlord after I moved; he was angry that I'd left without a month's notice and demanded that I pay the next two month's rent. I refused. He began harassing me. I called the health department, who came out and quickly condemned the building. Now I was off the hook for any additional rent, but the harassing calls - mostly hangup calls - continued. The night before I'd called my phone carrier and changed my number.

Oh. My. God.

I'd moved. And then changed my number. Kyle now had a business card with zero current information on me. How would he get ahold of me?

I called my carrier. I asked them if I could change my number back.

"Once you've changed it, the old number cannot be retained," the customer service representative told me, apparently reading from a screen.

I asked for a supervisor.

"Once you've changed it, the old number cannot be retained," the supervisor told me.

I could see I would get nowhere.

The next day I found the corporate number for Kyle's trucking company. I called, and spoke with a receptionist who spent the entire time chewing gum (or something) in my ear.

"I'm looking for a driver named Kyle," I told her.

"Kyle who?" she asked.

I realized I had no idea. I'd never asked Kyle for his last name. I hadn't needed it, really. I told her that I wasn't sure.

"Sir, we have numerous employees by the name of Kyle. You'd need to know a last name."

"He's a driver," I told her. "He was just in my area a few weeks ago... maybe that will help?"

"I'm sorry, sir. We don't get messages to the drivers. Does he have a cell phone?"

I wasn't sure.

"Maybe you can just tell me his name?" I suggested. "He was just in upstate NY two weeks ago. I can be more specific."

"Sir, I'm not allowed to provide names of the drivers."

"It's important that I get ahold of him."

"Sir, I'm not allowed to provide names. We don't get messages to the drivers. Try him on his cell phone."

Damn.

I can't begin to tell you how depressed I felt. What was worse, I knew that, if Kyle drove his truck backwards on Lake Street for 30-60 minutes again, he'd do so for no reason. I thought about leaving my forwarding information taped to my now vacant door, but realized that would pretty much make paying to have my number changed meaningless. Besides, the landlord was pissed - he'd just rip it down. Damn.

I spent a lot of my free time over the next few months sitting at the truck stop, CB-radio in hand.

Nothing.

I even went up to a few drivers in US Express trucks and asked if they knew Kyle. None did. One told me that he'd pass along my contact information if he ever met a Kyle, so I wrote everything down. A few weeks later he called me. He explained that, every time he passed another US Express truck he called on the CB for Kyle. My mind took me back to the time that Kyle had been calling for me: 'Diaper Kyle to Diaper Chris' in the hopes that he'd find me. The trucker told me that he had found a Kyle, but when he went to pass the information to him the man told him he didn't know a Chris.

Damn.

A few months later I drove past the old apartment building. Summer was hear, and I was feeling even more depressed that I'd nearly had a vacation with Diaper Kyle and was probably going to miss out. I saw someone sitting in front of the building and slammed on the brakes. It was someone new. I backed up, instantly thinking of the time Kyle backed a whole 18-wheeler up, and parked at the base of the driveway. I got out of my car and walked up to the man sitting on the porch. He eyes me suspiciously.

"If you're selling something, we ain't buying," he told me pre-emptively. I shook my head. I could see that he was a redneck - there was even a confederate flag flapping behind the house. He was chewing on a piece of grass, and looked like he'd just got done doing some sort of sweat-inducing work.

"Look, sir," I began. "I used to live here. And I have this friend, and he only knows how to get ahold of me by coming here. I was wondering if..."

"What's he drive," the man interrupted, and I was immediately hopeful.

"A big truck," I told him.

"Like a Ford F-250?" he man asked.

"No," I told him, my heart beginning to fall. "Like a Freightliner. An 18-wheeler."

"Son," the man said, sort of condescendingly. "You couldn't get an 18-wheeler down this road. There's a bridge at the other end."

I knew that. I didn't want to explain the part about the backing up.

"Well, I don't know what he'll be driving," I told him. "I was just hoping he'd been here... left me a note... something like that."

"Are you the feller who reported this house to the health department and got it condemned?" he asked me.

Shit. I figured I might as well just walk away now. Instead I nodded.

"Well, then, I owe you a debt of gratitude," he told me. "I got this building for about one-third of what it's worth because of you. The landlord couldn't get rid of it, so he just wanted to get rid of it. Once we get that cellar patched up and the house straightened it's going to be our duck hunting cabin."

I wanted to tell him about the diaper magic that had happened inside. I imagined nothing like that would ever occur there again. How sad...

"I'll tell you what," he told me. "Write your information down on a piece of paper. If your friend ever stops by, I'll be sure to give it to him."

I did.

It's been nearly ten years, and I've never heard from Kyle.

Friends for life. 

Since meeting Kyle I've moved to another state.

On my 'diaper road trip' in 2006 you better believe I watched for US Express trucks. I approached every once I saw at a truck stop. I never saw Kyle.

At some point I realized... it's probably not going to happen.

What kills me is wondering whether Kyle tried to get ahold of me and couldn't, or just somehow outgrew his desire to be diapered and didn't try.

Friends for life. 

Kyle seemed so convincing when he said that.

I believed him. In fact, I still do.

So I have to believe that this kid tried to reach me and, because of my own fuckup, couldn't.

My last view of Kyle - and probably the last one that I'll ever have - was of him staring at me in the mirror as he drove off.

"Thanks for everything, bro."

I'm glad those were the last words I said to him, because I couldn't pick something more appropriate to say.

Thanks for everything, bro. 

FINAL THOUGHT: If you're lucky enough to find a friend in our crazy community, be sure to get a couple of different ways to contact them. Cell phones get shut off, cell numbers change, email accounts close and new ones open. If we'd had Facebook back when Kyle and I became friends I have no doubt somehow we'd be in touch today. I still hope that one day he finds me and sends me a message. But it'll probably never happen. Don't let that shit happen to you, because it sucks.  

NOTE: I normally change the names of the characters in my stories. In this case, I haven't. I have hoped for ten years that Kyle might join a diaper site and look for me. Or, even though my blog isn't searchable through Google, might stumble across it. So far, in almost a decade on diaper sites and more than five years of blogging, that hasn't happened. 

It's doubtful that I'll ever see Kyle again. But if anyone out there does know a trucker named Kyle who's into diapers, please send him the link to this blog entry. 

And Kyle... if you're reading this: thanks for everything, bro. Friends for life? 

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